Green Butterfly Writes

Writing Blog!

[green-butterfly-writes]

Welcome to the flower garden

You can call me Ez or Green, I use any pronouns

I’m 20

Askbox/prompts are open

I write for Batfam & some plza characters (Griselle, Gresham, Corbeau, Philippe)

My blogs is currently miner friendly, but that may be subject to change. Please keep an eye out for any posts that may have a MDNI or 16+ rating, and be respectful of it

I also post art over at @blue-butterfly-art

fanfic masterlist

smau masterlist

[green-butterfly-writes]

Hello! This is @twunkishwritingclub, thank you so much for agreeing to do this matchup trade with me, I really appreciate it!! I'll finish yours as soon as I possibly can!

I'm 23 years old (so no minors please), autistic and chronically ill (asthma, joint pain, etc), genderfluid (I usually use She/Her pronouns because it's more convenient) and demisexual and bisexual, though I might slightly prefer a man. I'm a writer who spends most of my time journaling, and I also love baking bread, reading, working out and exercising, gardening, being outside in general and studying. Most of my writing is just study projects because I love learning and I'm interested in so many things; I always like to say that I'm in love with the world. I'm in college right now and am considering pursuing either environmental science or neuroscience, but I'm also interested in anthropology, genetics, botany and mycology. I'm a trivia machine who always has a fun fact ready. I’m also a pagan who’s very interested in theology, metaphysics and mythology. I currently work at a library. In the Pokemon world specifically I would definitely be some kind of researcher, probably studying Legendary Pokemon because of my irl interest in mythology. My favorite Pokemon is Pumpkaboo so that would be my partner Pokemon, but it’s honestly really hard to narrow my personality down to just one Pokemon type.

I've been told by many people that I'm very intelligent, especially because I understand complex concepts very easily and am incredibly observant; I give really good compliments because I notice little things about people that make them feel seen. I have a tendency to talk about really complex, theoretical topics, so I definitely need a partner who would be willing to listen to me infodump, even if they don’t personally get it. Though ironically my smarts are paired with a horrible sense of self-preservation, because I can be pretty reckless with my own health and even my safety sometimes. I'm very protective and would honestly do anything to protect everyone within about 20 feet of me, because I'm very empathetic and I honestly don't care if I get hurt a lot. I tend to laugh off injuries and am covered in a lot of scars. Plus I'm honestly kind of a chaos gremlin who will do feral shit just to see what happens.

That being said, I can be pretty insecure and I worry about upsetting people. Honestly it can be hard for me to understand that people actually do like me, though I try not to be too needy about needing reassurance. I enjoy taking care of others and making them feel appreciated, both because I genuinely do really love the people in my life, but also because I don't want anyone to feel as insecure as I usually do. All that being said, one of my best features is that I'm very committed to self improvement. I recognize bad thought patterns and behaviors easily and I work really hard on correcting myself. I’m very action-focused when it comes to my problems.

I do have kind of reclusive tendencies though, mainly because I get overwhelmed when I'm out in public. I also get flustered really easily, and I blush and sometimes struggle to talk when that happens. All that being said, I am super touch-starved and react pretty strongly to touch.

Appearance wise, my most noticeable feature is my height. I'm a little under 5’ (152 cm) tall, and I have a pretty flat and skinny body type. However, because I work out so much, I do have pretty muscular arms that I like to show off a little bit. I have long auburn hair that's really wavy and full, so it honestly looks like a lion's mane most of the time, and I'm always wearing a bandana of some sort. Sometimes my friends don't actually recognize me if I'm not wearing one, they're a very important part of my look lol. I dress really masculinely, I wear glasses, and I also have a lot of scars and moles/freckles across my entire body. It's important to note that I am a very high energy person who struggles to stop moving, so I live a very active lifestyle.

I think that's about it for my description, sorry that it's kinda long. Take care love, and thank you so much!

(This was all written with the assumption that you are a researcher who was currently working as opposed to a student)

I think the best fit for you would be Mabel!

Maple was a scientist for team flair, and is the acting director of the Pokémon research lab in Lumiose, and she’d love a partner that can mentally stimulate her. I think she’d adore all of the little facts that have, and is constantly asking you for new ones. She also loves listening to you info dump. Curling up on the couch with a warm mug of tea and some sweets, and just listening to you talk about anything for a couple of hours is her favorite way to wind down after a long day.

And assuming you don’t have your own office set up quite yet, she lets you use one of these spare desks on the third floor of the research center. (this comes with the additional bonus of her being able to see and talk to you more)

At the current moment she can’t join you on your walks or outings (because house arrest), so she sends her houndoom out with you. This is not only healthy for her houndoom, but also helps her feel safer about your recklessness. She adores how much you care about the people around you, but just as equally hates to see you hurt. She trusts her Pokémon to help keep you safe when she can’t. She also adores your pumpkaboo, and dotes on it constantly.

She looks forward to the day that she is free from her house arrest, able to join you on all of your outings, see all your favorite places, and walk your favorite trails. She gets a few indoor plants for you, so you can do a little bit of gardening together in the meantime.

She also tries to find you new bananas with fun patterns. Once she’s free from her house arrest, she will likely end up having to travel to conferences in other regions, and if she can’t take you with her she will bring you back a unique banana from each place she visits.

I think she’d love your muscular arms, and would give them a little reassuring squeezes when she passes you by, (the same way some people will pat their partner is on the butt when passing in the kitchen, or give them a little peck on the forehead when getting ready for bed together) it’s her quick way of communicating that she loves you.

When she has the time to indulge in longer forms of affection though, she will kiss every scar, mole, and freckle she can, or just hold you close and sit with you for a while.

She deeply appreciates any time you take care of her, since she rarely has the chance to take care of herself. She’s constantly so busy, and having you in her corner gives her life that little boost of energy she needs to keep going. It takes her an embarrassingly long time to figure out the proper way to communicate how thankful she is for you, but once she gets a hang of it, she makes sure you never go a day without knowing how much she loves you, and how thankful she is to have you in her life.

~~~

Thank you so much for you patience, I’m sorry this took so long. I hope this meets your hopes :]

[green-butterfly-writes]

Heyo!! Love your works especially the little thief and the Trans reader stories! Love the most recent update for Little Thief, but I was actually curious about if Bruce remembers that the reader came out to him already? And how is the reaction to batfam trying to look up reader and seeing they transitioned? Excited to hear your thoughts if you have the time! May the Narwhal of Inspiration find you ✨️

Firstly thank you, you’re very sweet.

When it comes to trans reader, Bruce doesn’t remember the conversation at all. When he was told, he was doing the listening equivalent of speed reading, not really absorbing anything, but keeping an ear out for words like ‘hurt’, injured’, or ‘trouble’. Since none of them were said, he didn’t

It takes the Batfam quite a bit of work to find them, and once they do they greave that they weren’t close enough for reader to feel comfortable telling them. They want to fix it, even if reader wants nothing to do with them.

[godserene]

May I interest you in a Grisham coded textpost wall

[green-butterfly-writes]

Cuddlebear

Philippe x reader

Summary: Several little snippets throughout your relationship with your 'Cuddlebear'

Content Warning!: there are discussions of sex and heavy flirting (but no smut). For this reason, this fic is mdni. I have other Philippe content on my blog so if you aren't comfortable, or are a child, please go look at that.

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

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

“Cuddlebug!” Philippe chuckled as you approached him, standing up on your tiptoes so you could kiss his face. It was a thing with you, trying to find a pet name you liked for him. You had outright refused any of the ‘standard’ options saying they were “too generic” and “impersonal”, which had left you scouring your brain and various websites for alternatives. 

“Cuddlebug?” Philippe echoed, closing his door behind you and guiding you through his apartment, "How's that one?”

“Umm… like a 7/10, it’s not quite right, but I’m getting closer!” 

“Oh? You really think Cuddlebug fits me?” He questioned motioning up and down his body. 

You paused and looked at him — really looked at him. Looked at his spiky mutton chops, pearly teeth and thick neck. Examined his bulky arms and large hands. Started at his torso, still hidden by the button up he had worn to work today, and followed down his body to his expensive pants, skarmory socks and fluffy steelix slippers.

“I guess you’re right,” Philippe softly sighed in relief, “you’re a lot bigger than a bug… Cuddlebear it is then!” You clapped your hands together dissuasively. 

Philippe chuckled in disbelief, but his smile was incredibly fond.

~~~

“Cuddlebug?” Your voice was groggy from sleep and whiny from his absence. 

Philippe looked at you from where he was putting on his shirt in front of the dresser, “Cuddlebug? I thought we agreed it was Cuddlebear?”

“It’s Cuddlebug when I’m mad at you,” you huffed out, crossing your arms and pouting. 

Philippe turned around to face you properly and couldn’t help but smile. You were a vision, hair messy from sleep, his thick comforter pooling at your waist, dressed in nothing but one of his old tee shirts that was slowly falling lower and lower down your shoulder and revealing a hickey he had left the night before. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen something so beautiful.

“Aww, please don’t be mad at be darlin’~,” he finished putting on his tie and carefully approached where you were seated in his bed, that same way you might approach an angry cleffa, and softly pressed a kiss to your hairline, “We have lunch plans tomorrow, remember? So I’ll see you real soon”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in (as best you could given the angle) and pressed your face into him. He barely heard your muffled ‘promise?’

“I promise.”

You untucked yourself from him just enough to ask for a kiss that he happily pressed to your lips before pulling away and heading for his bedroom door.

“I hope you have a good day Cuddlebear!”

~~~

“I love you too Cuddlebear"

Philippe froze. Even though you had said it quietly, and your face was pressed into his shoulder, Corbeau had the ears of an audino, and Philippe could feel his boss’s poisonous stare digging into his back. 

Not that you seemed to notice, as you were busy giving him a kiss goodbye and turning to leave the room.

“Cuddlebear?” His boss repeated teasingly once the door closed behind you. Philippe refused to look at him, but he could hear the laughter in his boss’s voice, “well, I suppose you are quite cuddly.” 

“Boss, please…” 

“What? I think it’s quite sweet,” Philippe didn’t doubt that Corbeau was being honest, didn’t doubt that he was genuinely happy that Philippe found someone special he could be soft around. He also didn’t doubt that Corbeau found this endlessly amusing or that he would bring it up every time the two were alone for the next two weeks. 

~~~

“Hey Philippe, could you hand me that folder?” 

He felt his blood run cold and his body still, like you had just replaced his veins with ice.

“I-what?” He watched you — sitting at the kitchen island, working on a report Vinnie had asked for, typing away like nothing had happened, “I asked if you could hand me that folder?” You vaguely motioned toward the couch where you had left a green folder sitting on the coffee table. Philippe hesitantly brought it to you, eyeing you the entire way.

“Thank you Philippe,” your eyes didn’t move from your laptop’s screen, almost stubbornly.

“Is everything alright, my love?” He quietly asked, placing a hand next to where your elbow rested on the stainless steel counter top. You hadn’t called him by his name in months, and despite all the teasing and eye rolling on his part, he loved your pet name for him. He loved being your Cuddlebear. Loved how it made him feel warm and needed and cared for.

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?” You still refused to look at him, but your typing had stopped almost entirely.

“You called me Philippe.” 

“And? That’s your name last I checked,” this time when you spoke he caught how the corner of your lips quirked up just a bit, how your eyes crinkled a little around the edges, and how your eyebrows squeezed together for barely a moment. Ah. So you found this funny. You were teasing him. 

“Not to you,” he slid his hand up the counter, to behind your computer and slowly lowered its lid while the other found perch on your back, “Would you like to try again?” 

You finally looked up at him, gazing into his steely eyes, “try again?” He could see the mischievous sparkle in your eyes now, and could tell your mask of nonchalance was cracking under his hold, “I’m not sure what you mean” you waited for him to respond. He didn’t, just gripped the corner top and stared you down.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want, Phili-” his mouth was pressed to yours before you could finish, hungrily eating your gasp of surprise. The hand on your back kept you sable as he pressed himself into you, invading your every sense until you were left panting. You gasped for air when he let up, flustered and still gripping at the collar of his shirt like your life depended on it.

“Wrong again, darling. You have two more tries. I recommend you think very carefully about how you want to answer,” he pressed the tips of his fingers into your back, just enough for you to feel them clearly. 

You studied his smug face, eyes flickering about, “and if I fail to get it right?”

“You will be punished accordingly.”

Your heart jumped to your throat, before dropping between your legs. That did sound incredibly tempting… but maybe you’d save it for later, you did need to get this report to Vinnie as soon as possible, and you’d like to eat something before partaking in strenuous physical activity…

“Cuddlebear. Is that what you want to hear?”

“That is exactly what I want. Do you want a prize for getting it right?” His hand drifted down from your back to your hip to your thigh, before being intercepted by your own, “not right now,” you answered, intertwining your fingers with his. He lifted your joined hands to his lips, pressing them into your knuckles reverently.

“Then how about you finish your report while I make dinner?”

“That would be perfect Cuddlebear”

~~~

Philippe looked down at you, curled up on his bed, head on his chest, hand limp in his, fast asleep. You looked angelic. His eyes returned to your hand, shifting it slightly so the engagement ring caught the moon light shimmering through the bedroom window. 

He could not wait to be married, to make you his wife. To be your Cuddlebear forever

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

Thank you so much for reading!

[green-butterfly-writes]

Spin off of this because I can’t stop thinking about it. Content warning for biting.

Philippe observed you mill about the kitchen, cutting up vegetables and sliding them into a bowl. You looked elegant spinning around the counters like a trained dancer. He watches you weave yourself between the kitchen island, the flareon dancing between your legs, and the oven where you had fish cooking. It was so beautifully domestic in a way Philippe had always dreamed of, and he wanted nothing more than to bask in it. However…

Two months ago you had approached him, all pleading eyes and pouty lips, softly asking permission to sink your teeth into his arm. The question had… perplexed him… but he found it hard to deny his love anything, and as long as you didn't break skin surly it would be fine.

Pain wise it was fine, you never even left a dent, much less a bruise or cut. But over the following weeks your mouth seemed to find his skin more and more often, nibbling at his fingers when watching a movie, biting into his biceps when cuddled up in bed, playfully nipping at his noise when he kissed you. He didn't dislike it per se, the feel of your teeth on his flesh becoming as familiar a sensation as your hand in his, but he could never quite figure out the appeal.

He doubted it was taste related. He did his fair share of biting in his youth (though it had never been affectionate), and the taste of skin was worse than the blood that followed. It was salty and dry and rubbery in a way he never fully managed to clean off, even years later. So it couldn't be the taste of him that caused your inflexible need to sink your teeth into him… unless…

He hesitantly brought his hand up to his face and took an experimental lick of his wrist. It tasted entirely unremarkable, and his eyes shot up to make sure you hadn't seen his embarrassing display, but thankfully your attention was still entirely consumed by the dinner you were lovingly making.

You tossed the salad, mixing in the dressing you had made. He studied your hands, much smaller than his and missing many of the calluses and scars he had built up from a life of crime and street fights. He loved your hands, loved kissing your knuckles in quiet moments, loved warming them on cold days, hell he even loved when you'd make him jump by slipping your freezing fingers under his shirt without warning. His eyes traced up your arm, covered in a soft striped sleeve, to the hem of your top, where your collarbone peaked out.

He remembered a lazy morning earlier that week, with him standing shirtless at the kitchen counter sipping at his coffee, and you still in your sleepwear sitting on the counter with your arms looped around his neck. You had kissed him, deep and soft and still a little sleepy, tugging him closer to you. When the kiss had broken you gave him that soft, starry-eyed look that made his brain short circuit, before diving back in and peppering his face with kisses. You moved down from his temple, to his nose, to his cheek, and chin, and neck, and suddenly you were opening your maw and sinking your teeth into the unprotected slope between his neck and shoulder like some kind of vampire.

Was it the texture? If it wasn't the taste that had you using him as your personal chewtoy then it must be the texture. But again Philippe found himself at a loss. He couldn't find the idea of biting down onto human flesh at all appealing. He tried imagining it, sinking his teeth into the fat of your thighs, but the idea just didn't seem to resonate. He didn't find it repulsive, but he'd much rather kiss you. He liked the way you felt against his lips when he kissed you. He liked how your lips felt against his, how you'd always gasp a little when he kissed your collarbone, how red your face got if he pecked your palm.

He was brought back from his thoughts by the sound of you carefully placing the final serving platter on the table, and taking your seat across from him. You smiled at him, excited to share your creation.

Philippe wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand you, but he knew you loved him as much as he loved you, and maybe that’s all he needed to understand.

[green-butterfly-writes]

nsfw mention.

I think griselle really likes having her hair played with. When she has a bad day she’ll put her head in your lap and let you run your fingers through her hair. Sometimes on her rare days off she’ll put your on favorite movies or show to lure you to the couch so that she can hand you a hairbrush and hair ties and let you mess with her hair for however long you’re willing. Her favorite part of showering or bathing with you is having you help with her hair routine, specifically letting you apply her shampoo and scratch at her scalp. She loves when you pull at her hair during sex. She falls asleep extra fast if you massage the roots of her hair. She just loves when you play with her hair.

And the best part is her hair is fun to play with

[green-butterfly-writes]

Love languages: Corbeau, Philippe, Grisham, Griselle

Corbeau who’s love language is gift giving and quality time

Who gets you a beautiful arrangement of flowers every time he visits your apartment, and always has a comfy set of pjs waiting for you at his

Who keeps all your favorite… everything… at his home, just to make sure you’re comfortable

Who gets you little keychain plushies of his entire team (and has a full set of yours in the drawer of his bedside table)

Who always feels better when you’re around him, even if you aren’t interacting with him. Just being able to glance at you over the top of his laptop makes his heart flutter

Who starts talking more breaks from work just so he can see you for five minutes on days you don’t spend in his office

Philippe who’s love language is acts of service and physical touch

Who always looks forward to seeing you, just to he can envelop you in his warmth. He gets very little soft touch in his line of work, and spends all his free time at work (what little he has) daydreaming about just hugging you or holding your hand or having your legs touch from opposite ends of the couch

Who wakes up just a little bit earlier so he can make you a lunch for later

Who made sure the apartment had a bathtub specifically you could come home to him and you could both relax in it. Together.

Grisham who’s love language is acts of service and words of affirmation

Who loves to make you breakfast and coffee in bed

Who kisses you like there’s no tomorrow if you have a warm meal for him when he gets back home late

Who can’t go ten minutes without calling you lovely or beautiful or angelic or kind

Who can’t seem to ever settle on one pet name for you

Griselle who’s love language is physical touch and words of affirmation

Who can’t keep her hands off you for five minutes, constantly holding your hand and kissing you

Who clings on to you like a life line even in her sleep

Who absolutely melts every time you tell her you love her or that you value her, even if she tries her best to hide if from you

Who has such a hard time telling you how she feels even though it physically hurts her every time she can’t get the words out right

Who whispers all her hopes and dreams, all her future plans where you are standing next to her, into your hair when she thinks you’re asleep

[green-butterfly-writes]

I have a history of biting the people who are important to me (all of my friends and some of my family can confirm this)

Anyway I’m currently thinking about doing this for the first time to the za characters

Corbeau would stop what he was doing and stare at you until you unhook yourself from his shoulder and then interrogate you because “what was that.” “I… wanted a nibble” “?????? Why??? Why would you do that???”

At first he’s convinced it’s a sex thing, but eventually he just gets used to reality that sometimes his partner bites. He doesn’t mind as long as you don’t do it in public.

Grisham doesn’t react the first time it happens. You’re both curled up on the couch after a long day watching tv, and suddenly you’re gnawing at his forearm. He’s… unsure how to respond, honestly he’s not entirely convinced you realize you’re doing it. It doesn’t hurt or bother him all that much, so he just decides to ignore it for now.

It takes him 2 days to figure out how to address it, not because it made him uncomfortable but because he was just confused by the whole thing. He decides he doesn’t mind it, as long as you warn him first next time.

Philippe is a bit concerned the first time his partner asks to take at bite. He even more concerned when the response to ‘why’ is “my teeth are itchy 🥺” He does let you bite his arm though, and he softly pets your head while you do because he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

He makes you schedule a doctors appointment after because the ‘itchy teeth’ comment scared him.

If you bite Griselle, she will bite you back. Harder.

[green-butterfly-writes]

I’ve been 20 for MONTHS and I just realized I forgot to change that on my intro post 🤦

[green-butterfly-writes]

I think Phillippe from Pokemon having a partner with an iron deficiency would be funny

[green-butterfly-writes]

I’m struggling a bit to decide what will happen in the next chapter, so I figured I’d ask you guys!

What do you want to happen next?

Tim meets the fox for the first time

Stephanie meets the fox for the first time

Damian sees the fox again

Voting ended onNov 4, 2025

To be clear, all of these will happen, I’m just struggling to pick an order

[green-butterfly-writes]

Thank you so much to everyone who voted!

[green-butterfly-writes]

I’m struggling a bit to decide what will happen in the next chapter, so I figured I’d ask you guys!

What do you want to happen next?

Tim meets the fox for the first time

Stephanie meets the fox for the first time

Damian sees the fox again

Voting ended onNov 4, 2025

To be clear, all of these will happen, I’m just struggling to pick an order

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief (Part 5)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Summary: A fox, a crime lord, and a bat eat some soup. This isn’t the start of a dad joke.

Trigger Warning for implied/reinforced child and animal abuse.

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

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

A large, warm hand softly ran across your back. You cracked your eyes open to look at the political drama playing on the tv. You snuggled closer to your dad, warm and steady. 

“Hey, you alright?” You looked up at his face. He had his signature goofy smile and quirked eyebrows, and you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“ ‘m ok” you answered sleepily, tucking yourself further under his arm, “how’s the show?” “Toby Ziegler just found out his ex-wife is pregnant” “ooo, exciting,” you sang out, eyelids already slipping back down. 

“It is” your dad absently confirmed, his hand picking back up its petting. Your eyelids shutting once more as you relaxed back into the comfortable rest of the night.

~~~~

Warm sun beams fluttered down onto your face, rousing you from sleep. You stared up blankly at the ceiling, trying to gain your bearings. The world spun slightly with exhaustion as you mentally retrace your steps.

The Neel family had gone on vacation for two weeks, due to the school break. They didn’t want to bring you with them, and didn’t trust you to be in their apartment unsupervised, so you had been left to wander the streets. You’d made it through about six days, ten fights, and a mugging, before collapsing from exhaustion and hunger in an alley. Then… then the next time you awoke, there was a large shadowy figure standing above you… and then… ah, yes. You remember now. That still didn’t fully explain where you were, but at least it explained why.

You turned your head from side to side, taking in your surroundings. The room was large, as large as the Neel’s kitchen, living room, and dining room combined. As large as the bedroom at Ms. Cross’s Home for Difficult Children, that was stuffed with enough bunk beds to fit 30 children. As big as Mr. Knox's dusty attic that you use to hide in. And it felt empty. Even though it had furniture — a set of arm chairs gathered around a coffee table in one corner, shelves and a desk lining the walls, a fluffy rug on the floor — it was all white and blank looking. Being in this room felt like drowning in silence. It felt like it was taking all the air out of your lungs, and ripping the voice from your throat. It felt like you were back in the new york morgue looking at your fathers blank eyes–

You need to get out of this room

You dragged the heavy white blanket off your body, and swung your feet onto the fluffy rug. The room was empty, not only visually, but audibly too. The only sound was your hurried shuffling towards the door. 

You opened the door to the room, just enough to peek into the hall. It was roughly what you expected, with deep red wallpaper and a wood trim, dark wooden floors, haunting paintings, and a series of doors decorated with varying nameplates, stickers, and signs. It was entirely devoid of life and had an eerie feel to it that made your hair stand on end. But you needed to get out out out, so you took a deep breath and opened the door.

You carefully stepped into the hallway, and firmly shut the door behind you, before shifting back into your much smaller fox form. Being small, quick and agile had more advantages than drawbacks, and provided a sense of comfort in the strange dark place you found yourself. You stuck close to the wall, hiding in corners before proceeding out into another hallway. It was much the same as the last, but with fewer doors, one wall being traded out for a dark railing that allowed you to peek down onto the first floor, and a red carpet with gold trim that led down the grand staircase. 

You hesitantly made your way down the tall flight of stairs, carefully pit-patting your way down to make as little noise as possible, and immediately diving to hide under a table that held a beautiful flower vase, to provide yourself some cover once you had reached the last step. You stayed there for a few moments, taking in your surroundings, the unbelievably high ceiling, crystal chandelier, gold framed portraits of various children, and the series of tiny fancy tables that held a variety of expensive looking decorative items. 

You spotted a set of double doors that were slightly ajar a little ways down the hall, and made your way there, hopping from fancy table to fancy table, always checking your surroundings to reconfirm you were alone, until you were face-to-face with the large, dark double doors. 

Mixed with the unmistakable scent of old books and herbal tea, was the faint wafting of a familiar campfire cologne, and barely noticeable gunpowder. You nudged your way into the room, and immediately dove under a black velvety armchair. 

The room was much bigger than you originally expected, though it was more long than wide, filled with rows of floor to ceiling bookshelves, all practically stuffed to bursting with various shapes and colors of spines. Towards the entrance was a small cozy seating area, consisting of a dark wooden coffee table on top of a soft gray rug, with two armchairs and a long couch surrounding it. On the couch, laid a man.

The man was large — more from muscle than fat — with a crooked nose and dark hair with a white streak in the front. He was tall — and despite being somewhat horizontal, took up most of the couch. He was holding a beautiful worn book in his hands, his eyes darting around the pages, and his fingers turning the pages with delicate movements, as if even the slightest sudden move would cause the book to burst into ash. He was wearing black sweatpants, and a red T-shirt that revealed scars and freckles running up his arms. He smelled like comfort. He smelled like Red Hood.

You stayed crouched under the chair for a long while, patiently watching him. He made a funny face every once in a while, but his every moment held a comfortable familiarity, like his eyes had traveled through these words hundreds of times. Sometimes he made a noise, like a clearing of his throat or a soft hum, it was surprisingly soothing. 

You scooted closer and closer, trying to get a better look at him. Your eyes traced his facial imperfections — freckles, moles, pale scars, some light stubble. You breathed in time with him, measuring the rise and fall of his chest, helping you calm and relax in his oddly familiar presence.

You watched us as his actions became deliberate, eyes flickering around the room more and more often, his posture stiffened ever so slightly. What was he looking for? What did he sense? What invisible danger did he know? 

You crawled out from under the chair little by little, until your head and front paws were visible to him. His eyes snapped to yours, and panic flared through your body. They flashed with something protective… something like anger, or maybe defensiveness? For a moment, you thought you saw a flash of green in his dull blue eyes. Then he softened. Not just his eyes, but his whole posture sagged into the couch with relief. 

Then a bewildered look crossed his face. He carefully lowered himself from the couch to settle in front of you, and cautiously reached a hand towards you. 

“Hey there little guy,” his voice was smooth like caramel, and softer than the typical robotic defensiveness you were familiar with, “you uhhh… wouldn’t happen to be my little guy, would you?”

You hesitated at the clear affection in his voice, you couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at you with such loving eyes, or treated you with such delicate gestures. 

You pulled yourself out from under the seat, and placed a soft paw into his outstretched hand. He smiled in appreciation.

He offered you to sit with him while he continued his book, and you nodded and chirped in agreement. He gently lifted you and laid down onto the couch, placing you onto his stomach. You positioned yourself in a comfortable ring on his belly, enjoying the subtle rise and fall as he breathed. Heat soaked through his shirt, between the bristles of your fur, and seeped into your skin. His scent enveloped you. You closed your eyes and basked in his existence. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, too busy enjoying yourself, but you began to hear footsteps coming down the hall towards the library. You perched yourself into a sitting position, using your front paws to push your head over the back of the couch to see who was coming.

The large heavy doors were pushed further open to reveal the old man from yesterday. 

You took his appearance, carefully examining him now that you could see better without the exhaustion and darkness clouding your vision. He was tall and lanky, with a long face, pristinely kept hair, and a funny looking mustache. He looked like a king from one of the fairytale books Keira used to beg you to read to her every night before bed. His posture was formal, but his eyes were incredibly kind.

“I see you’ve found our special guest,” you were suddenly hit with a wave of guilt at imposing yourself upon them.

“They found me,” Red Hood reached up and ruffled the fur between your ears.

“Excellent,” answered the old man, and you weren’t entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not, "Well, I've come to inform you that I’ve prepared lunch. I do hope you’ll come and join me in the dining room.”

“Oh, Alfred makes the best food,” Red Hood told you, “you gotta try it.”

You didn’t want to impose anymore than you already had, but food did sound good, and he looks so excited about it, surely staying a little longer would be ok?

you hesitantly nodded your head and Red Hood answered you with a bright boyish grin. He swept you up into his big arms, and trailed the old man out of the room.

He carried you into the dining room, an elegant space with tall soft red walls, wooden cabinets, and a long table with over a dozen chairs. The room seemed a lot brighter compared to the rest of the house, and had a series of large windows peppering the walls. The chairs were delicately carved with curved backs and red plush seats. All of the wood in the room from the cabinets, to the table, to the trim on the walls was the same soft warm color.

Red Hood pulled out a chair for you and softly set you down, before pushing the chair back into place. You looked up at him, not entirely sure what to do about the fact that only the tips of your ears reached above the table. He looked perplexed for a moment, then left the room, quickly returning with five pillows.

He lifted you out of the seat, then added one pillow, and put you back down. Then he added another pillow. And another. And another. Until you were finally at chest level with the table. He huffed proudly and took the seat beside you. 

Alfred re-entered the room from what was likely the kitchen, holding a tray with three bowls of soup on it. He placed one bowl in front of you, one in front of Red Hood, and one across from the two of you.

The bowl was an elegant white porcelain with blue accents, the soup inside was a bright orange with some green leaves sprinkled on top. The soup smelled surprisingly sweet, and had a thick texture. You closed your eyes, sniffing experimentally, trying to find anything odd or suspicious, but there were no metallic echoes, or moldy musk. You tapped the bowl shifting it around, and the liquid inside wobbled and moved naturally. With the site and texture tests passed, you gave an experimental lick.

The first thing you noticed was the sweetness, the second being the smoky echoes that rang from deep within the soup. It was warm and delicious, the kind of thing that slips down your throat and wraps around your soul like a comforting blanket. The flavor was excellently balanced, and the texture was so soothing. It tasted heavenly, calming all your energy and attention so you could simply bask in it.

For a moment your world was just soup. For a moment you forgot where you were. That moment ended with the sound of shifting fabric behind you. Your face shot up from the bowl, drops of soup rolling down your face, and turned to make eye contact with the new individual who just entered the room. 

She was an elegant young woman, with a silky black bob framing her porcelain-like face. She looked like she was floating through the room as she moved to the other side of the table to sit across from you. Her hands, placed delicately on the chair to make room for herself to sit, were pale and bony, with well kept nails decorating the ends of her fingers. Her eyes, despite being a cool – almost chilling – blue, held an unexpected curiosity and warmth. She placed herself into the seat, maintaining her perfectly straight posture, and plucked the spoon off the table with an almost blinding amount of grace. As she lifted a perfectly still portion of soup to her awaiting lips, you suddenly became hyper aware of yourself.

The mess of your fur, the bruising hidden beneath. The collars and cages of your past, the blood you had drawn. The calluses coating both paws and hands, gained from hunting. From killing. From pain. You gazed upon the princess before you, and you felt your sins and mistakes clawing at your stomach. She smiles at you. You wonder if she’d still smile if she knew what you had done.

You take another mouthful of soup.

It no longer sits right.

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

thank you all for being patient with me

also, I don't remember if I mentioned this elsewhere, but Little Thief is now on ao3! both sites will be updated at about the same time, with the same content, so you won't be missing anything no matter where you read it.

[green-butterfly-writes]

taglist for little thief

@4rachn3, @butterflyqueen234, @unrelatedlily, @kitkatkitmeow, @randomlyappearingartist, @sugarrush-blush, @kittzu, @lithiumval, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @plsfckmedxddy, @chericia, @child-of-the-clouds, @pix-stuff, @rawwrrgal, @phoenixgurl030, @ihavedesserts, @iminlovewithjasontodd, @ironsaladwitch, @noclue-0, @ladykamos, @lyla-viper-wayne, @sadslasher13, @crazycaoticsimp, @unrelatedlily, @weirdothatreads, @anamiranda7383, @wpdarlingpan, @iamapotatoe, @nommingonfood, @amber-content, @vanilliona, @kneelforloki, @mel-as-in-melon

Let me know if you want to be added (or removed) 💚

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief (Part 5)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Summary: A fox, a crime lord, and a bat eat some soup. This isn’t the start of a dad joke.

Trigger Warning for implied/reinforced child and animal abuse.

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

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

A large, warm hand softly ran across your back. You cracked your eyes open to look at the political drama playing on the tv. You snuggled closer to your dad, warm and steady. 

“Hey, you alright?” You looked up at his face. He had his signature goofy smile and quirked eyebrows, and you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“ ‘m ok” you answered sleepily, tucking yourself further under his arm, “how’s the show?” “Toby Ziegler just found out his ex-wife is pregnant” “ooo, exciting,” you sang out, eyelids already slipping back down. 

“It is” your dad absently confirmed, his hand picking back up its petting. Your eyelids shutting once more as you relaxed back into the comfortable rest of the night.

~~~~

Warm sun beams fluttered down onto your face, rousing you from sleep. You stared up blankly at the ceiling, trying to gain your bearings. The world spun slightly with exhaustion as you mentally retrace your steps.

The Neel family had gone on vacation for two weeks, due to the school break. They didn’t want to bring you with them, and didn’t trust you to be in their apartment unsupervised, so you had been left to wander the streets. You’d made it through about six days, ten fights, and a mugging, before collapsing from exhaustion and hunger in an alley. Then… then the next time you awoke, there was a large shadowy figure standing above you… and then… ah, yes. You remember now. That still didn’t fully explain where you were, but at least it explained why.

You turned your head from side to side, taking in your surroundings. The room was large, as large as the Neel’s kitchen, living room, and dining room combined. As large as the bedroom at Ms. Cross’s Home for Difficult Children, that was stuffed with enough bunk beds to fit 30 children. As big as Mr. Knox's dusty attic that you use to hide in. And it felt empty. Even though it had furniture — a set of arm chairs gathered around a coffee table in one corner, shelves and a desk lining the walls, a fluffy rug on the floor — it was all white and blank looking. Being in this room felt like drowning in silence. It felt like it was taking all the air out of your lungs, and ripping the voice from your throat. It felt like you were back in the new york morgue looking at your fathers blank eyes–

You need to get out of this room

You dragged the heavy white blanket off your body, and swung your feet onto the fluffy rug. The room was empty, not only visually, but audibly too. The only sound was your hurried shuffling towards the door. 

You opened the door to the room, just enough to peek into the hall. It was roughly what you expected, with deep red wallpaper and a wood trim, dark wooden floors, haunting paintings, and a series of doors decorated with varying nameplates, stickers, and signs. It was entirely devoid of life and had an eerie feel to it that made your hair stand on end. But you needed to get out out out, so you took a deep breath and opened the door.

You carefully stepped into the hallway, and firmly shut the door behind you, before shifting back into your much smaller fox form. Being small, quick and agile had more advantages than drawbacks, and provided a sense of comfort in the strange dark place you found yourself. You stuck close to the wall, hiding in corners before proceeding out into another hallway. It was much the same as the last, but with fewer doors, one wall being traded out for a dark railing that allowed you to peek down onto the first floor, and a red carpet with gold trim that led down the grand staircase. 

You hesitantly made your way down the tall flight of stairs, carefully pit-patting your way down to make as little noise as possible, and immediately diving to hide under a table that held a beautiful flower vase, to provide yourself some cover once you had reached the last step. You stayed there for a few moments, taking in your surroundings, the unbelievably high ceiling, crystal chandelier, gold framed portraits of various children, and the series of tiny fancy tables that held a variety of expensive looking decorative items. 

You spotted a set of double doors that were slightly ajar a little ways down the hall, and made your way there, hopping from fancy table to fancy table, always checking your surroundings to reconfirm you were alone, until you were face-to-face with the large, dark double doors. 

Mixed with the unmistakable scent of old books and herbal tea, was the faint wafting of a familiar campfire cologne, and barely noticeable gunpowder. You nudged your way into the room, and immediately dove under a black velvety armchair. 

The room was much bigger than you originally expected, though it was more long than wide, filled with rows of floor to ceiling bookshelves, all practically stuffed to bursting with various shapes and colors of spines. Towards the entrance was a small cozy seating area, consisting of a dark wooden coffee table on top of a soft gray rug, with two armchairs and a long couch surrounding it. On the couch, laid a man.

The man was large — more from muscle than fat — with a crooked nose and dark hair with a white streak in the front. He was tall — and despite being somewhat horizontal, took up most of the couch. He was holding a beautiful worn book in his hands, his eyes darting around the pages, and his fingers turning the pages with delicate movements, as if even the slightest sudden move would cause the book to burst into ash. He was wearing black sweatpants, and a red T-shirt that revealed scars and freckles running up his arms. He smelled like comfort. He smelled like Red Hood.

You stayed crouched under the chair for a long while, patiently watching him. He made a funny face every once in a while, but his every moment held a comfortable familiarity, like his eyes had traveled through these words hundreds of times. Sometimes he made a noise, like a clearing of his throat or a soft hum, it was surprisingly soothing. 

You scooted closer and closer, trying to get a better look at him. Your eyes traced his facial imperfections — freckles, moles, pale scars, some light stubble. You breathed in time with him, measuring the rise and fall of his chest, helping you calm and relax in his oddly familiar presence.

You watched us as his actions became deliberate, eyes flickering around the room more and more often, his posture stiffened ever so slightly. What was he looking for? What did he sense? What invisible danger did he know? 

You crawled out from under the chair little by little, until your head and front paws were visible to him. His eyes snapped to yours, and panic flared through your body. They flashed with something protective… something like anger, or maybe defensiveness? For a moment, you thought you saw a flash of green in his dull blue eyes. Then he softened. Not just his eyes, but his whole posture sagged into the couch with relief. 

Then a bewildered look crossed his face. He carefully lowered himself from the couch to settle in front of you, and cautiously reached a hand towards you. 

“Hey there little guy,” his voice was smooth like caramel, and softer than the typical robotic defensiveness you were familiar with, “you uhhh… wouldn’t happen to be my little guy, would you?”

You hesitated at the clear affection in his voice, you couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at you with such loving eyes, or treated you with such delicate gestures. 

You pulled yourself out from under the seat, and placed a soft paw into his outstretched hand. He smiled in appreciation.

He offered you to sit with him while he continued his book, and you nodded and chirped in agreement. He gently lifted you and laid down onto the couch, placing you onto his stomach. You positioned yourself in a comfortable ring on his belly, enjoying the subtle rise and fall as he breathed. Heat soaked through his shirt, between the bristles of your fur, and seeped into your skin. His scent enveloped you. You closed your eyes and basked in his existence. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, too busy enjoying yourself, but you began to hear footsteps coming down the hall towards the library. You perched yourself into a sitting position, using your front paws to push your head over the back of the couch to see who was coming.

The large heavy doors were pushed further open to reveal the old man from yesterday. 

You took his appearance, carefully examining him now that you could see better without the exhaustion and darkness clouding your vision. He was tall and lanky, with a long face, pristinely kept hair, and a funny looking mustache. He looked like a king from one of the fairytale books Keira used to beg you to read to her every night before bed. His posture was formal, but his eyes were incredibly kind.

“I see you’ve found our special guest,” you were suddenly hit with a wave of guilt at imposing yourself upon them.

“They found me,” Red Hood reached up and ruffled the fur between your ears.

“Excellent,” answered the old man, and you weren’t entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not, "Well, I've come to inform you that I’ve prepared lunch. I do hope you’ll come and join me in the dining room.”

“Oh, Alfred makes the best food,” Red Hood told you, “you gotta try it.”

You didn’t want to impose anymore than you already had, but food did sound good, and he looks so excited about it, surely staying a little longer would be ok?

you hesitantly nodded your head and Red Hood answered you with a bright boyish grin. He swept you up into his big arms, and trailed the old man out of the room.

He carried you into the dining room, an elegant space with tall soft red walls, wooden cabinets, and a long table with over a dozen chairs. The room seemed a lot brighter compared to the rest of the house, and had a series of large windows peppering the walls. The chairs were delicately carved with curved backs and red plush seats. All of the wood in the room from the cabinets, to the table, to the trim on the walls was the same soft warm color.

Red Hood pulled out a chair for you and softly set you down, before pushing the chair back into place. You looked up at him, not entirely sure what to do about the fact that only the tips of your ears reached above the table. He looked perplexed for a moment, then left the room, quickly returning with five pillows.

He lifted you out of the seat, then added one pillow, and put you back down. Then he added another pillow. And another. And another. Until you were finally at chest level with the table. He huffed proudly and took the seat beside you. 

Alfred re-entered the room from what was likely the kitchen, holding a tray with three bowls of soup on it. He placed one bowl in front of you, one in front of Red Hood, and one across from the two of you.

The bowl was an elegant white porcelain with blue accents, the soup inside was a bright orange with some green leaves sprinkled on top. The soup smelled surprisingly sweet, and had a thick texture. You closed your eyes, sniffing experimentally, trying to find anything odd or suspicious, but there were no metallic echoes, or moldy musk. You tapped the bowl shifting it around, and the liquid inside wobbled and moved naturally. With the site and texture tests passed, you gave an experimental lick.

The first thing you noticed was the sweetness, the second being the smoky echoes that rang from deep within the soup. It was warm and delicious, the kind of thing that slips down your throat and wraps around your soul like a comforting blanket. The flavor was excellently balanced, and the texture was so soothing. It tasted heavenly, calming all your energy and attention so you could simply bask in it.

For a moment your world was just soup. For a moment you forgot where you were. That moment ended with the sound of shifting fabric behind you. Your face shot up from the bowl, drops of soup rolling down your face, and turned to make eye contact with the new individual who just entered the room. 

She was an elegant young woman, with a silky black bob framing her porcelain-like face. She looked like she was floating through the room as she moved to the other side of the table to sit across from you. Her hands, placed delicately on the chair to make room for herself to sit, were pale and bony, with well kept nails decorating the ends of her fingers. Her eyes, despite being a cool – almost chilling – blue, held an unexpected curiosity and warmth. She placed herself into the seat, maintaining her perfectly straight posture, and plucked the spoon off the table with an almost blinding amount of grace. As she lifted a perfectly still portion of soup to her awaiting lips, you suddenly became hyper aware of yourself.

The mess of your fur, the bruising hidden beneath. The collars and cages of your past, the blood you had drawn. The calluses coating both paws and hands, gained from hunting. From killing. From pain. You gazed upon the princess before you, and you felt your sins and mistakes clawing at your stomach. She smiles at you. You wonder if she’d still smile if she knew what you had done.

You take another mouthful of soup.

It no longer sits right.

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

thank you all for being patient with me

also, I don't remember if I mentioned this elsewhere, but Little Thief is now on ao3! both sites will be updated at about the same time, with the same content, so you won't be missing anything no matter where you read it.

[green-butterfly-writes]

Update!

Chapter 5 has officially reached the last few steps of editing before posting. I’ll do one last read through in the next few days, so it should be posted before next Friday (the 24th).

It has twice as many words as chapter 4, and has someone new showing up!

[green-butterfly-writes]

Are you still alive there? In any case. I hope you're okay. Take as much time as you need, and we'll wait.

Hi anon, I promise I’m alive and ok, and I really appreciate you checking in :)

I hated chapter 5 so much I ended up re-writing it, and then before I could finish life happened. (Nothing bad, I’ve just been busy) I appreciate everyone’s patience with me 😭