#this slow gathering stormcloud

[speaklikeink]

That was what she got for escaping the kitchen. Tackled flat, then hauled into a séance. And yet… Mrs. Shaw had brightened with renewed hope, and the only thing waiting for Laura was that box.

- The Warm Hands of Ghosts, Katherine Arden

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Whenever they drive into town, arguing over who sits where and spilling buckets of strawberries all over the floor, the music blasts so loudly on the horrible, tinny speakers that it vibrates the entire van, and still the group of them is so loud that the songs get drowned out anyway. It is especially worse if, Nico will admit, he and Chiara are in the front seats together, whatever argument they delight in having raising New York’s noise pollution levels by four percent at least. If there is enough fruit to warrant two vans, and all sixteen of them will go, they will race down the highway, drowning each other out with the pure force of their shrieking voices. People stare. Cars slow to a stop. Cars follow them, even, mouths open, wondering at these grinning, hollering fools, dressed in neon and crawling all over each other.

It has been a long time since Nico has driven in silence.

Even as a child there was noise. No radios in cars, yet, they’d hardly been invented, but he and Bianca would scarcely be within miles of each other without bickering. Crowded in the backseat of Nonno’s Alfa Romeo, shouting for Mama in between even every poked shoulder and shoved face, there was noise. In the backseat of Alecto’s SUV, too, muffled as it was, and in every car he raced at the Lotus. Even up front with Jules-Albert, there has always been something. Grumbling, usually, live Grand-Prix reporting if the season is right. Music if he is in a good mood and Nico can convince him.

The silence that rings from the coast of Long Island to the bridge over the Savannah River is unbearable. Even the van is unbelievably quiet, rusted shocks creakless and ancient engine quiet as a grave. As if it too is straining to hear the words Will is murmuring, over and over again, nonstop for hours; hunched over with his hands clasped and pressed to the bridge of his nose.

Nico knows the Lord’s prayer in five languages. He hasn’t spoken it in years, but it’s stuck in his brain the same way as the alphabet; he knows the rhythm, the place of every breath, the rise and fall of the words as they crest towards the heavens. Prayers go unanswered at the best of times, trickling down the soil and bedrock and gathering in the currents of the Styx, but Will prays like he is programmed to do it. Like it is all he has left to do. They leave in the grey peak of the afternoon and drive through the night, and the kids sleep in the back, and Will prays across the freeways, over the bridges, through the gas stations, straight through traffic. His voice scratches and fades and he does not stop, the tears roll down his cheeks and bubble into his mouth and he does not stop, the twisted-in hymns glow along every peek of sunlight, burning his throat and his hands, and he does not stop. He prays like the dying in line to be judged, like the weeping shades along the stone walkways of Asphodel, like the desolate on the bank of the River. He prays like he knows it is already over, and he is desperate for the strength to move forward.

When they pull into the parking lot it is late morning, and Nico has been driving for fifteen hours, and the sun is cowering behind black dirt stormclouds, and the heat is as oppressively constant as the Pit. Nico feels like he is standing at the mouth of something cavernous. Staring down sharp teeth and a maw the size of an island. He feels like he is teetering, balancing, tipping; like the single point on the ground moments before lightning strikes it. Close your eyes and hold out your hands. What is coming next is inescapable.

“Do we go in?”

Kayla’s voice is timid. It is never timid, and it jolts his obliques and abdominis into action, into stretching. She holds hands with her brother, and they are pressed shoulder to shoulder, eyes wide, mouths set brave and trembling,

and they are pressed shoulder to shoulder

eyes wide

mouths set brave and trembling

his ankle is twisted around hers

her skull ring knicks the flesh of his ring finger

her hands are cool

her voice is steady

her body shakes.

Where are you taking us? We would like to go home, please. Can we call our mother?

“Let’s go find Mama,” Nico hears himself say. Sees Will’s hands twitch. Watches Kayla flinch in the rearview. Feels Austin’s leg bounce the van.

His mouth feels like sand, like worn denim. Dry, desert sand, desert sand; Nevada air through the open window.

“Mama,” Will echoes. He chokes. His whole body shudders, shudders, compresses; shrinks down, mouth still moving. Knuckles white. “Mama.”

Nico swallows.

“Kayla,” says his mouth, “take your brother to go pay parking.” Take your brother inside. Wait for me; I’ll be back soon. Don’t leave the hotel. “Here.”

He hands her his father’s card, and she takes it, untangling from Austin but keeping their hands joined when he grabs for her. The van door wrenches open because the tracks are rusty and Nico jumps with it, exhaling past Kayla’s muttered apologies, waiting for the two of them to climb out and hurry across the asphalt. Huddle at the parking meter, poking at the button.

Nico opens his door and climbs out, shutting it carefully, walking calmly around the front of the van. He opens Will’s door and it doesn’t move, locked, so it waits, and when Will makes no move to pull the little lever he reaches around the door Kayla left open, pulling it himself. The door swings widely open, bouncing slightly on its hinges, and Will doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t so much as glance towards it.

Nico reaches out, slowly, and takes his clenched hands.

They’re wet.

He peels back his clenched fingers, one by one, and they are stiff, formed to shape. He takes a moment to straighten them, carefully, slowly, until his palms rest upwards again, fingers limp. When he presses their palms together Will’s fingers twitch, ever so slightly, around his, and he drags their hands up to his mouth and presses his knuckles to his lips, tasting the salt, tasting the iron of his cracked chapped skin. Will’s hand twitches, again, and his face matches; contorting and crumpling and breaking, for a second.

“Will,” he murmurs, salt like the coast, like Nonna’s villa, like the water slide, “Will, look at me.”

He does. He looks to him like he’s dragging himself like he is clawing his own way upright.

“I can’t again,” he croaks, “I —” and he stops, or rather he is cut off, by the sob that fights it’s way out of his throat. It is sharp like skull fragments. Some part of Nico bleeds.

“You won’t.” He drops Will’s hand and clasps instead both sides of his face, pulling him down until their foreheads press tightly together, until their breathing shares the same space, until he can feel every shudder against his skull. “We will save her.”

As he says it Nico knows he will make it so. Kayla and Austin run back to the van, ticket clenched in both of their hands, Will squeezes his eyes shut and nods, once, before sitting straighter than he has in hours, and Nico knows that he will not let Will lose.

Not again.

———

next

[lily-alphonse]

For the rare pair suggestion thing!

Crack that I think could be very sweet would be Willy (our fisherman!) and Birdie (the pirates wife!)

I think Willy could be the one to help soothe her loneliness and be the companionship Birdie needs to heal!

I feel like Willy and Birdie is actually so straightforward it loops back around to being my greatest challenge yet lol

(Some of you may not know of Birdie if you've never been to Ginger Island, she has a quest where you can find a memento from her late husband and then she never speaks to you again)

Well she's content to live the rest of her days alone right but what if something happened?

She felt her end was near, her body slowing, some ominous feeling bearing down on her. And it urged her to return to the sea. One last time, or perhaps she was meant to end her days there too. For whatever reason, the sea called to her, like it had called to her late husband.

So she gathered the courage to leave her hut, clutching the only possession that mattered to go meet the ferryman (/ref).

But he was nothing grim. He was so pleasant despite her surely haggard appearance. He was confused by her request to simply tag along with no destination in mind, but he humored her.

Willy found her odd of course, but he wasn’t one to judge what someone had endured.

She joined him on his ship, despite not seeming to want to be there at all. She trembled, white-knuckling the railing. Her leathery face even seemed to pale. Willy asked if she’d like to sit down inside but she refused. She stared so intently at the horizon like there was something there, but when Willy looked there was only stormclouds. He left her to her thoughts.

Until it began to rain, and Willy insisted on ushering her inside and getting her a blanket. Birdie would have balked at that if she wasn’t so damned cold. She took it without thanking him, though Willy didn’t mind. He was learning to not expect much in the way of decorum from this odd woman.

He had questions but kept them to himself, instead silently packing his pipe as the rain battered the ship. Birdie stayed hunched with the blanket wrapped around herself, making herself small. The only change in her demeanor came when he lit his pipe and the smoke began to swirl around them. She didn’t say anything, but she looked up and stared at his pipe. He asked if it bothered her, she simply shook her head.

She joined the next day.

And again the next.

She would never do anything but keep him and the other occasional passengers company, though everyone but Willy tended to keep their distance.

"My husband used to smoke a pipe like that," she said suddenly one day, staring at his pipe again.

Willy had gotten so used to her silence, her voice was startling. He hesitated to ask for more information lest she shut down again, so he waited.

She looked out at the ocean and continued, and didn't stop talking for a long time. She had spoken to the farmer about her husband a little, but it felt important now to pour out every memory of him. Out into the ocean, the wind taking his spirit with it.

And when she finished, Willy surprised her back by telling her of his late wife, and how he left everything behind for the sea when she passed.

They talked more after that day. Birdie even began to smile sometimes. They started to fish together, off of the side of the boat. Eventually she decided to cut her hair, which had long tangled into an impenetrable mess on her head. She started to bathe again and started to feel more alive, though she still felt death looming. Her bones ached, her heart hurt at times.

"Are you sick, Birdie?" Willy asked one day. It had been eating at him. He could see she was in pain, though she tried to hide it.

She sighed. "Came out here to die," she said bluntly. "I don't think I have much time left."

They had been traveling for months together, and she was so far changed from the person he first met.

"What if you aren't dying? What if you're just sick? I can get you medicine."

She looked away from him to pet the smooth wooden railing of the ship. Willy could sense she was about to shut down the conversation again.

"I'd have to see a doctor," she said grimly, as if that meant there was no hope.

"I would go with you. Birdie," Willy placed his hand over her gnarled fingers, stopping their movement against the ship's railing. "Please?"

Birdie stared at his hand over her's. Willy had always been so kind to her. She supposed now that if she thought about it, the thought of leaving him alone made her heart ache.

She met his sad eyes, and nodded.

Hope you like this one Syd xoxo

Send me any Stardew Valley rarepair and I will tell you how I would make them work! (Even non-marriage npcs) If youre lucky you may get a mini fic out of it. Check the list below to see if Ive already answered yours

Rarepair Masterlist

[jedi-order-apologist]

Stormclouds

Yoda arrives on Kamino and gathers the troops with a heavy heart. Written for Fandom Empire Prompt Tables 2024 - Prompt: "Thunder + Lightning" and StarWars100 - Prompt: "Rise"

Read on AO3

Storms could last for days at a time on Kamino – the concept of waiting it out was a foreign one. So when Yoda arrived to collect the Republic’s new army, there was no delay in loading the troops, even as the rain poured down in gusts and sheets. The sea rose up in waves that would dwarf a creature a hundred times Yoda’s size, under a dark sky only lit by brief flashes that rumbled loud and close, but this did not slow the soldiers down in the slightest. A fact that the Kaminoans were quick to remark on to Yoda, eager to advertise the clones’ ability to deploy in the harshest of conditions.

It was ominous weather, if one believed in such omens. Of course, it was only the natural cycle of the planet, beautiful in its own right, and deserved more appreciation than to be associated with the precipitation of evils it had no claim to.

Warnings from the Force were hardly so tangible, and the sense of foreboding Yoda felt had nothing to do with the storm. But in a poetic sense, the weather provided an appropriate backdrop to it.

War had risen, and Yoda’s heart ached.

[words-of-the-witches-if]

The development blog for 'Words of the Witches', an 18+ Twine coded Interactive Fiction game by Arista Holmes.

Warning: This project will be slow to update, and no public demo will be available prior to January 2025 as I plan pray hope to enter the game into the 2024 Interactive Fiction Competition.

I may, however, be taking Alpha/Beta testers on at some stage.

The world is full of magic, if one only knows how to see.

All your life you've navigated the supernatural world by pretending that most of it doesn't exist. That you can't see the creatures in the dark, or the ghosts that everyone else walks through blindly.

That changed a little over a year ago when you met Jess, a powerful witch to a local coven, who was able to explain your shared heritage.

Magic.

Slowly Jess, with the help of their coven, has been teaching you how to use your powers and the more you learn, the more you're willing to openly acknowledge the Fae that flicker at the corners of your eye, the Otherkin who give subtle nods to acknowledge your presense, and the ghosts forgotten by the living humans they've left behind.

Everything was going well... until the demons came.

Frantically clawing themselves into existence, teeth gnashing and craving violence, they emerged in force throughout the city through gateways ripped open, like tears in the fabric of reality, pouring magic across the city.

The gateways lit the midnight sky ablaze, dashing streaks of peach, and orange across the gathered stormclouds, and painting dawn colours above the city hours before the sun would rise.

No one was prepared.

Covens across the city went to war.

Witches died by the dozen.

When closing the gateways failed, what remained of the witches of Toding came together in a last ditch effort to stop the demons cascading out into the human world like a plague.

The witches needed time; A way to halt the flow of demons until they could discover a way to banish them all back to the Underealm so they joined their magic, and cast a circle that sealed all magical creatures within the city limits.

And so a stalemate that transformed into a tentative truce fell across the city of Toding that has been reluctantly maintained for the last three months.

But as each day passes it grows ever more fragile.

The demons keep on killing, the witches grow more desperate, and every magical creature confined within the city limits is a powderkeg waiting to explode.

And right in the centre, still new to your magic, is you. A witch unaffiliated with a coven, at least officially, and one of the most powerful witches still alive in a city under the rule of the greater demons.

What you choose to do now, and who you choose to align with, may impact the lives of everyone in Toding; Witches, Demons, Fae, Otherkin, and magic-blind humans alike.

Customizeable MC

Ghostly Roomate & Best Friend.

Four Romance Options /w Player Chosen Genders.

Magical Races!

Choose Your Magical Path! You can learn 3 branches of magic (And possibly a secret 4th branch!)

Current Game Statistics

Wordcount With Code: 9,517

Estimated Word Count Without Code: 8,689

Estimated Word Count Per Playthrough: 2,000

Last Update: April 24th 2023

Brennan/Brenna Keane aka 'Ren

'Ren is a Fae who enjoys exploring the mortal realm. They don't collect true names, like many of their kind, and they sometimes offer their services to witches to help with rituals in exchange for trinkets that others might consider junk items. It was during one such exchange that 'Ren met the MC.

But 'Ren is curious, fun-loving, and flighty, so when the witches bound all magical creatures to the city of Toding, Ren went to ground. They have no love for demons, but they've chafed under the restrictions of the witches spell.

Despite feeling the strain of being chained to the city, that hasn't stopped 'Ren from exploring, watching, and listening as Toding has devolved into a warzone and the things that 'Ren may have overheard could be important.

Or they could be nothing more than unsubstantiated rumors, as valuable as the junk that hangs from chains around the Fae's neck. The value of 'Ren's knowledge is for you to decide, if you can convince them to give up their secrets.

Malekai/Malia Grimoor aka Mal

[text]

Jesse/Jessamine De Membrey aka Jess

[text]

Ashley/Ashleigh Carter aka Ash

Ash is an Otherkin; Specifically a concubus. They work as a bouncer at a local nightclub, and feed second hand from the sexual energy emitted from the dancers and random hookups that occur in and around the club.

They have a carefully cultivated look of "Approach me at your own risk" that helps them in their job, but doesn't do much for their social life, not that Ash particularly minds that.

Ash lives in the flat below the MC and has encountered them in passing, but Ash also does their best to stay out of Witch Business so hasn't interacted with the MC beyond the odd greeting.

[quibblesandscribbles]

Centaurworld Rewrite: A Serious Adventure AU - S1E1 Outline

I’m doing rewrite outlines, prepare for some AU. That being said, I still like several parts of Centaurworld a lot, namely Rider, Horse, Wammawink, and whatever the hell is going on with the Nowhere King, and hope there’s a second season to watch (which I will if Netflix doesn’t ruin our hopes and dreams).

Anyways, here’s like, a rewrite or whatever. I will probably post the outlines as I go, episode by episode. Will I get to them all? ADHD-willing, we’ll see. Also feel free to use these ideas/outlines? I don’t mind. 

Also assume there are songs in this even if I don’t specifically mention all of them. Also I guess this rewrite kinda chains the 1st and 2nd episodes together as a two parter? Maybe, idk.

Also I’ll preface this with this too: I ship Wammahorse, yes I SHIPSHIP it. Moving on.

Some headcanons before we start:

Warworld (*the world Rider and Horse are from) is a Low Fantasy Setting, there IS magic, but it comes in two variations, either very subtle low-powered but relatively uncommon, or Terrifyingly Powerful and so extremely rare to the point that it’s not very well known and “just myths” (usually for Big Baddies)

Ideas for Horse’s Degree of Sapience Prior to Worldhopping:

A: Horse was just a regular, non-magical horse, and their exposure to the Artifact and Centaurworld has essentially made them a Fully Uplifted Animal. - This is interesting, but ultimately a difficult idea to convey because it would require a lot more setup and wouldn’t exactly fit Horse’s characterization without some rework. This is an amazing idea, but I won’t be using it because it would slow things down too much.

B: Horse is a low-fantasy magic steed raised as warhorse/war asset, who is much smarter than your average animal steed/companion similar to a DND Ranger’s pets, or Mabari from Dragon Age, or a Ranger Horse from John Flanagan’s ‘Ranger’s Apprentice.’ The combined exposure to the Artifact and Centaurworld could account for her gaining speech and her body expressing limited physical adaptation to Centaurworld’s different physics (her body’s new extended range of motion for example) but of course I’ll be limiting this because having stakes make it more fun imho. This is my favorite, I’m using this.

Horse would’ve been considered a very valuable war asset (trained warhorses are like, historical ferraris, expensive as hell, i can only imagine what low-magical smart warhorses would be valued at), though still ultimately expendable for the war effort like anything else

Let Horse have horse behaviors (*can you tell I haven’t really left my horse phase behind lol)! Nipping and grooming behaviors as affection or warnings, ear positions to indicate mood, grazing to eat, laying down only when truly relaxed, sleeping standing up. COME ON.

Centaurworld is a High Fantasy world with an Absurdist bent but with darker undertones, similar to how Adventure Time is, with an extremely high saturation of magic, maybe you could even theorize that due to the Splitting of the Two Worlds that all the magic is being Dammed up in Centaurworld like a river or reservoir, this could be a future plot thread that could be picked up in a later season.

Basic Changes: 

Durpleton, Glendale, Ched and Zulius are supporting cast, not main

Durpleton is less stupid and more of a Kronk-expy: a little dim but ultimately kind/means well, has at least 1 life skill he’s good at buried in there though for the life of me I can’t think of one right now.

Glendale’s Narrative Framing: Glendale is amazing, but the kleptomania will be allotted ONE (or two) joke mentions but narratively isn’t treated like one after, somehow establish that her kleptomania is directly intertwined with her anxiety levels. Are there other denizens of the Valley that know the Herd? Are they mad at Glendale for stealing things? Does Wammawink have to constantly run interference to cover for Glendale? Probably.

Make Ched look like less of a pointless asshole: Have him show concern for his friends’ safety and his suspicion of outsiders, AKA Horse. If he’s going to be a jerk, at least let it serve a purpose.

Zulius can stay roughly the same - Zulius is great okay, just don’t tell me there’s backstory and then NOT TELL OR SHOW US ANY CLUES about what said backstory/history IS! (other than forcing us infer/project the headcanon[?] that him and Splendib might’ve been exes, from how they act around each other without any other context/visual/or confirming exposition we literally know nothing other than Splendib and him split/had a nasty falling out and Splendib took the glittercats and the career in the divorce.)

S1E1: Hello Rainbow Road

Opening scene in Warworld

If these episodes were allowed to be longer (shuddup it’s my AU), have the scene open with Horse sees Rider comes running out of some underground castle ruin catacombs and ominous roaring and clanging behind her as she deliberately sets off a dungeon booby trap (arrows or fire) she must’ve avoided while dungeon crawling earlier, and Horse runs towards her and circles at a canter and then Rider does a Running Mount (mounting a horse while the horse is in motion) and shoots an arrow at that flies offscreen

Smash cut to the DRAWBRIDGE door falling and Rider and Horse come galloping out while dodging some javelins and arrows and 1.5 seconds later 1-4 armored minotaurs (the lizardmen?) riding some coursers (swift horses or horselike creatures idk have fun) gallop behind in hot pursuit.

WARWORLD CHASE/FIGHT SCENE

Rider and Horse take out 2 of the pursuers on the run have Rider stay on horseback, dodge and make 1 pursuer shoot/javelin another 1 into a nasty-looking fall, and then Rider nails another 1 right through the helmet visor with an arrow. Have Rider throw a smoke bomb or something at the 2 remaining ones trying to catch up.

2 Enemies left but Horse is forced to skid to a stop as the suspension bridge approaches, then a tense moment forced to walk in order to escape safely across the suspension bridge which Rider cuts once they’re across. Maybe have 1 of the minotaur pursuers having been on the bridge somewhat behind them before Rider had to cut the line, sending the enemy hurtling down below. The remaining minotaur scout stares at them ominously from the other side before leaving.

Have Rider breath a sigh of relief

Smash cut to Horse and Rider traveling across a wartorn landscape, start Horse’s internal monologue narrative until they finally get to the hill and see the ruins of their village

Everything from this point to Horse getting transported to Centaurworld is the same as canon

Not Actually a DREAMVISION SEQUENCE: 

Shot/Animated from Horse’s 1st Person POV: Darkness, the sound of whooshing Horse falls, shimmering flash colors [if this were an actual show pls put a Epilepsy warning at the beginning of the ep], then a loud Splash as Horse falls into Dark Water. POV looks down and we see Horse’s front legs and a bottomless abyss below and a then flash of green and off-white from deep below, then look up to see blue light, see the swimming motions of Horse’s front legs and getting closer to the Blue Light

Horse wakes up, blinking, alone (no Durpleton)

Horse gets up looks around, doesn’t see Rider anywhere and starts makes Whinnying sounds (specifically, Whinnying is a social horse call, like specifically going, “Rider where are you!?” in IRL horse)

“And what are you supposed to be?” the “camera” wheels around to see Ched who has landed on Horse just within reach of her tail so Horse lets out a startled squeal (the Horse noise, not the human one) and does that thing where horses use their tails to swat away insects which sends Ched FLYING as Horse’s squealing morphs into her Talking/Yelling “what the heck is going on?!”

Horse does what panicked horses do, she runs

Horse stumbles into meeting Durpleton, who freaks her out more

Meeting kinda the same as canon but with less constant emphasis on reminding the audience that the writer’s can’t write comedy

Wammawink and Horse meet, Ched flies in and goes “hey that asshole kicked my a-I mean attacked me, but I totally beat ‘em.”

Horse tries to leave, discovers the Barrier, tries to get through, fails multiple times, but only 3-4 attempts shown with time passage show by the time of day changing, have Horse’ talking to herself a bit about how utterly weird the talking words thing is, that this is a “human” thing why is this HAPPENING she needs to get back

Waste less time on the visual gags of the Barrier repelling Horse, also get rid of the Tree Catapult scene because it doesn’t jive with Horse being a horse, why do they know how to make a catapult? Also because I hate how it basically shows us that Horse has no physical danger or chance of injury from being FLUNG around like Pokemon’s Team Rocket.

Have the rest of the centaur Herd come up to and talk to Horse while Horse is trying to get through the Barrier, and Horse talks about the outside and her world and doing things, squeeze in some convo about how there’s no (current) war in Centaurworld and how Horse thinks that that “freedom must be nice.” Anyways these conversations are what has Glendale, Zulius and Durpleton at least considering the ups of leaving.

Durpleton: Durpleton approaches Horse alone and asks about where she’s from, what’s home like, expositiony bits for Warworld and how much Horse needs to get herself and the Artifact back to Rider; Horse should say something offhand, like how she dreamed about exploring the world with Rider after the War seeing new things together, to which we’d cut to a shot of Durpleton looking thoughtful, before asking a completely unrelated question before Horse asks to be left alone. He doesn’t go originally, but gets distracted by something (butterfly?) and trots off.

Wammawink, Ched & Glendale: Atop a hill, Wammawink looks up to see stormclouds gathering off in the distance and comments that they’re going to be in for some rough weather, then goes over to offer Horse food, but gets distracted by some other Valley Denizens who are mad suspicious that Glendale is responsible for something of theirs that’s missing. Leaving Wammawink to go off and have to run interference leaving Glendale to approach Horse alone. Horse will learn that there’s no (current) war in Centaurworld but there was one historically, and Glendale will offhandedly mention that they’ve stolen everything from everyone in the Valley at least 4 times and with the unspoken implication of boredom. Ched will butt in and heckle Horse like, “could you leave any quieter?” and Horse sniping back, ears pinned back and animated horse stress behaviors. And Horse’s last failed attempt at passing the Barrier has them drop the Artifact, and we get a shot of Glendale spotting and eyes widening at seeing the Artifact unattended on the ground, then we get a smash cut of Glendale getting herded away by Ched.

Zulius: Goes over to ask about Horse’s avante garde accessories (her bridle, saddle & armor[barding]), makes comments on her style/aesthetic and asks where he could find some. Horse loses her patience, and says that she Needs to concentrate on getting back to someone they care a lot about and could you please just go away? 

Horse: (voiced as a rhetorical question) “Haven’t you ever wanted to go back to someone you loved before?”

Zulius gets a Look on his face, then he’d puff up, cover up the Armor Piercing Question’s effect on him with more bluster and then turn away as it gets later

Around sunset, Horse finally gives in to go ask Wammawink what’s up, and how can they leave.

Wammawink tries to feed them and convince them to stay, but Horse waves her off and moves away while muttering something about coming up with a plan

Speaking of plans, the Herd excluding Wammawink (& Ched) start talking about being bored, and mention Horse saying stuff about exploring the world (taken out of context, deliberately)

Wammawink, smelling the ugly head of discontent, sighs in defeat at not being able to recruit this new outcast in the Herd and approaches a grazing Horse and says she’ll help her through it with her magic(not admitting that the Barrier is her magic working in the first place because it’s not relevant right now okay) but then we get the “What’s magic?” bit from Horse and the rest of the Herd butts in with the Song. They wander off to go to bed afterwards, and Horse wants to go Now but Wammawink says that she’ll help Horse leave the Barrier but only in the morning because “you look tired”

Horse: “That doesn’t matter.” *awkward silence*

Wammawink, sadly: “Of course it does.” *Horse has already walked away*

The sun finishes setting as the wind blows the plants and through Wammawink’s fur (ominously) and she shivers, going back to the campfire

DREAM SEQUENCE: It’s dark, then we get a flashback dream of a younger Rider and Horse, idk a memory of something to showcase them either while in training or really show their Bond okay? End with them sitting around a campfire with other young soldiers and horses, someone is humming something (the first few bars of the Nowhere King’s Lullaby, no actual words yet). Then Dream!Rider turns to face Horse and asks, “how could you?”

Horse: “How could I what?”

Dream!Rider: “How could you leave me behind?” (The humming grows louder, there’s a lute being played, growing discordant)

Then Horse starts calling into the darkness/void, “I’m coming back for you, Rider! Just hang on, alright?!”

Rider: “Oh Horse, it’s already too late for me.”

“Rider!” Horse yells as they jolt awake, standing, because horses typically sleep standing up.

It’s dawn but the wind and stormy weather signs are picking up but not here yet, Wammawink walks Horse to the edge of the Valley barrier and tries to convince Horse to stay here where it’s safe, but Horse refuses to be deterred

Brief shot of Glendale hiding a bunch of things from her Tummy Hammerspace in order to simulate the feeling of stealing things again later, including the Artifact which falls on the ground

A shot of Durpleton seeing and picking up the Artifact and spotting Wammawink and Horse some distance away going toward the barrier’s edge

Wammawink hangs back on a hill, glowy hands and the magic wall flickers and disappears, and Horse immediately breaks into a gallop and disappears into the forest, Wammawink sighs and turns away

Indeterminate amount of time later, Wammawink recasts the Barrier, and Durpleton misses breakfast so Wammawink enlists Ched to help her look for him because Ched can fly

Cut to a shot of Horse dropping from a canter to a trot on the Rainbow Road, it’s grown darker and the stormclouds are in the sky. Distant thunder booms overhead, and a few scattered raindrops start to fall

“Heyyyy! You forgot your necklaceeee!” a shout from behind

Horse looks back and sees a running Durpleton holding the Artifact, and stops, he catches up to Horse and is gasping, “Wow, you run fast, hoooo, *deep breaths* you’re really *another gasp* athletic! Anyways you forgot your Necklace.”

Durpleton ties the broken string into a necklace around Horse’s neck and Horse thanks them and wishes them a safe journey back to the Valley, but as this happens the rain gradually falls harder. Then the sounds of the Rest of the Herd finally catching up happen, and Wammawink mother hens Durpleton and wants take everyone back home but then a loud BOOM of thunder and lightning overhead, and then it starts to Pour down rain, forcing Horse and co to find shelter until it lets up. Maybe have someone mention something about landslides being a possibility? Durpleton asks how they found them so fast, dim remember, then brief flashback.

FLASHBACK: Wammawink and co searching and calling out for Durpleton everywhere in the Valley, and realize that he must’ve followed Horse for some reason when Zulius FINALLY shows up and mentions that he remembers Durpleton saying he was gonna give Horse back her necklace. The recast Barrier is brought down and they leave the Valley to bring back their friend.

Back to the present where the group has taken shelter as the storm picks up more, and thunder booms overhead, Horse has some nervous horse body language going on, then we get to hear her mutter-singing or humming the “I never fear the drums of war” to calm herself down, but with more stanzas please, when asked she says it’s a battle hymn that Rider sang.

If Horse was humming, Wammawink could ask why she doesn’t sing, she’s sure that Horse has a lovely voice

Horse goes “I’m a horse, I don’t sing.”

Wammawink tries to be encouraging, Horse is resistant

Wammawink invites her to eat (AGAIN) but Horse still turns her (love and affection) down (AGAIN!) and says she’s fine with grazing and Glendale pipes in excitedly that they have decided that they want to travel with Horse (Ched pipes up that he didn’t agree to this) but pls help us convince Wammawink and Horse protests but someone points out to ask “do you even know where you’re going” and they have a point

Horse acknowledges this and relents, states some stuff about how she’s not going to slow down much however. Then Glendale, Zulius and Durpleton rejoice, Ched acts tsundere, but Wammawink looks nervous and wrings her hands together and relents that “they’ll go with Horse as far as the nearest Shaman” and Ched will go, “hey don’t you know he-” and Wammawink shushes him quickly with a gigglecake

Wammawink doubles down on the mother henning behavior

Horse doesn’t eat Wammawink’s gigglecakes but grazes by herself nearby, occasionally answering a question or two when engaged by the others (not Wammawink) and Wammawink mentions how the weather probably won’t let up for very long and they should take it slow and that Horse should bundle up

Horse disagrees but its bedtime and a bedtime song occurs in the backdrop as a restless Horse struggles to stay alert and awake but eventually falls asleep

VISION SEQUENCE: A shimmer of soft blue light, then shots of Rider ducking and weaving, her sword flashing as she tries to weave her way through a horde of enemy soldiers, blood spatters, then an enemy archer takes aim at a fleeing Rider, and Horse calls out a warning. 

Rider turns her head with a surprised look on her face suddenly just enough that the arrow buries itself into her shoulder instead the middle of her back and then she stumbles, one of her arms going limp, but everything goes dark before we can see if she fell

Everything goes dark and the din of war fades away, we get a shot of Horse’s hooves splashing and making ripples into dark water but the camera doesn’t follow her, we hear Horse’s cries for Rider fade, growing further and further away

Still dark, but in the silence we hear distant sound, drip, drip, drip, drip.

Then the episode ends and the credits roll.

[trashyswitch]

Logan's Invention Trouble

Logan had created a new machine that could grip and tickle you if you step up to it. But, faulty wiring leads to Logan getting stuck in his own invention! And due to an unlucky break, Logan has to rely on some not-so-reliable people to save him from his own foolishness.

This fanfic was suggested by @gamequeenanya. I hope you enjoy, Violet!

His new invention had been a wonderful success. He had tested it on a dummy, and had tested it on the air to see the controls without a person in the machine. To Logan’s happiness, it worked like a gem. Logan had originally set it up to be button activated. However, that was only for the testing. So, Logan decided to make it motion controlled instead, to guarantee a surprise for everyone that walked into it.

After finishing up the motion sensor, Logan threw the dummy down in front of the machine. Quickly, many pairs of hands gathered the dummy’s hands and feet, and started doing its expected thing. Logan smiled at his own success and clicked the button to shut it down. Slowly, the hands slowed down to a stop and let the dummy go.

He planned to gather the dummy. But before he got even remotely close, Logan had switched the motion sensor off so that he didn’t end up caught in the machine.

However…

Logan didn’t really know this, but the wiring had been done incorrectly, making the button completely useless. The button didn’t shut off the motion sensor. If anything, it alerted the sensor that something was gonna be coming to it very soon.

Confident that the button had turned it off however, Logan walked up to the machine to retrieve the dummy.

Suddenly, the machine grabbed Logan’s hands! Logan yelped the moment his hand was grabbed, and immediately made the realization that the button was faulty! It was way too late for that though, and Logan’s bodily functions took over as about 15 hands tickled his armpits, sides, ribs, belly, feet, back of the knees, and the shoulderblades.

OH NO!

“GAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OHOHOHOHO GEHEHEHEHEEEZ! WHAHAHAT HAHAHAHAPPEHEHEHENED?!” Logan asked.

Logan realized something even worse than the tickles:

Logan hadn’t added a proper timer to the machine yet! He had planned to add the timer after he had gathered the dummy!

That means that the machine was gonna tickle tickle tickle him forever! Or, until someone clicks the button that he had foolishly dropped during the attack! And the other unfortunate part, was that the remote was JUST out of reach of his foot! But the hand that had grabbed his foot, would automatically lift his foot back into position if he even tried to reach out to click it!

The only way he’d ever get out, will involve getting one of the sides to help him out!

This was a nightmare come true! Or...Well, Logan would say a mixed emotion-kinda dream. It was a nightmare in how he was gonna get out, but it was a dream that Logan could experience the machine first hand.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEHEHEHEHELP! SOHOHOMEOHOHONE!” Logan called.

This was gonna be so embarrassing to explain...But dammit all, Logan needed out!

Logan looked around and tried to get out himself. But each time he would pull on the restraints, the hands nearby would tickle harder for a few seconds each, to further weaken him! Logan knew this was a thing that came with installing the motion sensor...He knew that he added this due to his intense ler mood...But this just gave fuel to the fire!

Logan growled as he felt powerless against his own machine. What a joke...Of course the inventor will get stuck in his own invention! It’s bound to happen! But this is just too much!

Finally, after what felt like hours, someone followed his laughter to the laboratory.

“Logan? Are you...laughing?!” Someone asked.

“HEHEHEHELP MEEEEHEHEHEHE!” Logan begged.

The person peeked his head in and widened his eyes. “Holy Zeus...What is thihihis?!” The person asked.

As you could tell by the reaction, this intruder was Roman.

“HEHEHEHELP! IHIHIHI’M STUHUHUHUHUCK!” Logan shouted to him.

“Ihihi can tehehell!” Roman reacted, giggling. “What in the name of Peter Pan did you get yourself stuck in?!” Roman asked.

“IHIHIT’S AHAHA MAHAHACHIHIHINE! PLEHEHEHEASE HEHEHELP!” Logan begged.

“Well...How do I turn it off?” Roman asked.

“BUHUHUTTON! BEHEHELOHOHOW MYHYHY FEHEHEHEET!” Logan replied, pointing to the remote that laid on the floor.

Roman looked up and immediately noticed the cameras. “Uh oh...It’s motion censored?!” Roman reacted. “Now why would you make a tickling machine motion sensored?” Roman asked.

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP AHAHAND GEHEHET MEHEHE OHOHOUT!” Logan begged.

Roman gasped and grabbed the remote. But he didn’t press the button...not yet.

“Now you listen here, you son of a sword! You, as the damsel in distress, are relying on me, the hero, to save you from the eeeevil tickle machine of your own invention!” Roman explained. “Perhaps you should treat the hero with a little more respect?” Roman asked.

“JUHUHUST PREHEHESS IHIHIHIT!” Logan begged.

“No way! Not yet. I wanna hear more of your cute little laughter.” Roman told him.

Out of all the people to call his hero…

Logan tried to get out himself, but winded up causing the hands at his feet to tickle more. “eeEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHE TOHOHOHOES!” ogan begged helplessly. “PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHIHI’M SAHAHAHARRYHYHYHY!” Logan told him.

He was gonna need some wine after he’s done this…

Roman smiled at the apology and clicked the button. Slowly, the hands started to slow down and stopped tickling the man.

Logan let out a long breath of relief and gasped for air while the hands lowered him down and let go. “Th...Thank you.” Logan told him.

Roman nodded in response and immediately noticed a button that was labelled on the remote:

[CAPTURE]

Roman smiled and clicked the button.

Quickly, the hands grabbed Logan’s hands, feet and torso, and held him up again. “eeEEK! Um...What are you doing?” Logan asked.

“Tell me: Why did you create an invention for tickling people?” Roman asked.

Logan face blushed almost immediately after hearing that word. “Uuuuuuh...Well…” Logan mumbled.

“Welll???” Roman teased. “A little reminder that I have the remote~” Roman added.

Logan growled and pulled on his hands. “Just let me out, you mischievous beast!” Logan shot back.

“Ooooh! Refusing to reply to my message? And calling me names?!” Roman reacted.

Roman clicked a couple buttons on the remote. “You just earned yourself some more feet tickles, sir.” Roman decided.

Logan squealed as the hands touched his feet and started tickling. But not just any hands...Roman’s hands! Roman had knelt down and started tickling Logan’s sensitive feet! Logan giggled at the tickles and laughed as the inner arch, the balls of his foot and the heels were tickled bit by bit.

“Rohohohoho cohohome ohohohon! Whyhyhyhy?” Logan asked.

Roman smiled. “Why did you make the tickle machine?” Roman asked. “I know you’re hiding something.”

Logan refused to answer. “Ihihihi’m nahahahat tehehellihihing yohohohou!” Logan shot back.

“Oh? And why is that?” Roman asked.

“Nohohone ohohof yohohohour beeeheheheezwahahahax!” Logan replied confidently.

“Oooooh! Looks like I’m gonna keep on tickle tickle tickling you then!” Roman decided.

Roman had moved up to Logan’s kneecaps, when someone else walked in.

“Oh? What’s this?” someone asked.

Roman turned around and brightened up. “Hello little stormcloud! You just caught me in the middle of a ticklish interrogation! Logan got himself stuck in this machine he made, and I’m trying to find out why he made it.” Roman explained to the man.

As you could tell by the nickname, the third person who walked into the room was Virgil.

“Oh? Huh...What have you found out so far?” Virgil asked, growing curious.

“None of your beeswax, was Logan’s sacred answer. So, I guess I have to keep going till he answers me.” Roman replied.

Virgil chuckled. “Mind if I have that remote?” Virgil asked.

Roman nodded. “Sure! Thankfully, all the remote buttons are labeled, so it’s fairly easy to figure out how they work.” Roman explained.

“Looks like it. I see I can choose the amount of hands I want to tickle Logan.” Virgil explained. “How about...2 to start? And...On the hips.” Virgil decided.

Virgil clicked the buttons [2] and [HIPS], and watched as the fingers squeezed and tweaked Logan’s hips.

Logan’s laughter grew a little louder as he laughed, and grew higher in octave as well. “VEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE! MEHEHERCYYYHYHYHYHY!” Logan pleaded.

“Are you gonna tell us? Tell us the reason behind such a funny invention?” Virgil asked.

“NOHOHO! IHIHIT’S EHEHEMBARASSIHIHIHING!” Logan told them.

“We don’t care. We’re not gonna tell.” Virgil told him. “The only person we might tell is Patton. But that’s only because he’d love to hear it.” Virgil added.

Logan mentally sighed. He really had to tell them, or else he wouldn’t be freed. Logan finally gave in.

“OHOHOKAHAHAY FIHIHIHINE! IHIHI’LL TEHEHEHELL YOHOHOU!” Logan told them.

“Promise?” Roman asked.

“YEHEHEHES! IHIHI PROHOHOMISE!” Logan replied desperately.

Roman smiled confidently and stopped tickling. Virgil also smiled and clicked the [STOP] button to stop the machine.

The machine took a moment or two to slow itself down, before letting the Logical side go. Logan sighed and breathed somewhat heavily to recuperate his lungs. Logan found his lungs to be heavy after being tickled so much.

Logan soon looked at Virgil and Roman. Roman was holding a bottle of water for him, while Virgil was holding a wet cold wash cloth for him. Logan smiled and happily took both items. Logan took a drink of water to help his throat, and dabbed off his face with the washcloth to help cool down. “Thank you, you two. I appreciate the care.” Logan told them.

“No problem.” Virgil replied.

“You gonna tell us now?” Roman asked.

Logan almost choked on his water. Damn...He forgot he had to tell the boys about why he made the invention.

Logan cleared his throat and put the lid onto his water bottle. “Well…” Logan took a moment. “I find that I have been growing more and more touch starved. Basically, I miss being touched, loved, and...tickled. So...I thought I could create a device that gives me what I desire for 5-10 minutes if I need it.” Logan told them.

Roman was about to cry. “Awwww, you poor being! I had no idea you felt that way!” Roman walked up and gave him a hug. “Sacred Wilbur, I would be dying if I were in your shoes.” Roman admitted.

Logan took the hug rather awkwardly, and looked to Virgil.

“I understand where you’re coming from. But, I didn’t expect...this to be a solution you would go for.” Virgil admitted. “You must’ve been desperate.”

Roman giggled. “I see you made a dummy of Thomas’s little Orange side.” Roman teased, showing him the somewhat decently made dummy.

Logan chuckled. “I think he deserves some love.” Logan admitted.

“Agreed.” Roman replied.

Virgil walked himself closer to the machine.

“VIRGIL WAIT-”

Virgil stopped, and yelped as the machine gathered Virgil’s arms and legs into the hands’ grip, and started tickling the key spots that Logan recommended it go for.

Logan bit his lip. “I...Forgot to mention that the machine is now motion sensored…” Logan admitted as he picked up the remote.

“WHOHOHOHOHOAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIT’S SOHOHOHO EHEHEHEFFEHEHECTIVE!” Virgil reacted.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Logan told him as he clicked the [STOP] button. “I need to program a timer into the machine to let people got after 10 minutes or so...And I need to fix the [MC OFF] button.” Logan admitted.

Virgil was a giggly mess as he was let go. Noticing Virgil enjoyed it too, Logan clicked a couple buttons on the remote. The hands moved up to Virgil’s sides, and started to tickle and skitter.

Virgil squeaked and giggled helplessly, wiggling around and liking some of the tickles it offered.

“Thihihihis ihihis fuhuhuhun!” Virgil admitted.

“Oh oh oh! I wanna try!” Roman admitted, running to the camera. The sensor sensed Roman immediately, and eagerly watched as the machine gathered Roman into a little grip and started attacking his armpits, feet, and belly.

Logan widened his eyes. He did not know that the machine could tickle two people at once! Roman was lucky he didn’t get caught in the machine earlier…

And so...Virgil, Roman and Logan all enjoyed the machine...And before Logan could get the timer installed, they always made sure that someone had the remote.

Otherwise they would be stuck in the tickle machine forever…

[magistriofficiorum]

WIP Wednesday! I didn’t get tagged but anyone who sees this and wants to post your WIPs please please do!

Fandom: @shepherds-of-haven

Pairing: Chase Trinaeste/Niamh Valendil

A/N this is like a quick glimpse into one of a few occasions (this being the one where she fully gives it a name- the L word, that is) where Niamh has that “oh.oh” moment. I’ve been toying with writing these “in passing” moments that highlight how things are shifting for Niamh (with Chase just doin laps in that famous river 🙃) The beginning is rough I think- but the bit of banter and Chase just getting Niamh and knowing she needs to be pulled out of her own head was unexpectedly my favorite part??

Niamh watches from a favorite spot of hers- the nook between the kitchens and the dining hall, a partially-hidden alcove, is a reprieve from the mayhem and when food isn't being run in and out, provides the perfect view.

At first it was just something she did out of habit- the way one would at a table outside a cafe, or glance in while passing an open window. Just scanning for familiar faces, learning new ones, catching bits of conversation. Perhaps it was her upbringing- communal and warm, or her time in the Circle, but she had always found a fuzzy sort of comfort in places that called for coexistence.

As time went on and the Shepherds only grew, just watching became truly observing. She notes what groups of recruits sit together, who is alone, and if it’s by choice. Her ears perk up at arguments, and she scans the entrance for squads returning from missions (some, she finds, want to scarf down a plate of food before checking in with a healer, and “some” typically being “Trouble Adler”).

Tonight, with the hall packed and raucous laughter bouncing off the walls, Niamh goes back to watching- Pan and Neon started a game of cards with a few of the thieves and other mages, and she’s sure the lot of them are blatantly cheating, but nobody seems to mind it. A small group has gathered around Briony, who just bested another cocky recruit in arm-wrestling, Ayla loudly whooping at her side.

This could go away.

A pit forms in her stomach as the thought settles over the moment like a stormcloud.

Like it has before. You could lose them all.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

She sucks in a breath, turning on her heel. She should have noticed the familiar warm spice of his cologne, the feel of his presence peeking over her shoulder, but the unwelcome torrent of thoughts and his uncanny ability to seemingly materialize out of thin air are no match.

Chase chuckles at this, catching her elbows to steady her, but makes no remark.

“You know, even Spike’s out there looking only mildly irritated. There a reason you’re the one lurking in your hidey-hole, just asking for Yin to run you down, risking permanent kitchen banishment?”

“I’m not lurking…”

“It’s absolutely lurking if you’re in the shadows, hidden, watching your friends instead of partaking in what might be the most corrupt game of Witches of Chance I’ve ever seen, which is saying something.”

She wants to quip back, but she just settles for a half-hearted eye roll, biting back a smile.

“I suppose I’m just...wondering if this...if what we’ve done so far is enough. If I’ve done enough for them.” She sighs, and nods over her shoulder. “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Chase considers her for a moment, face unreadable. Then in one smooth motion, he whirls Niamh around swiftly, holding her shoulders,his chest flush against her back.

“Look at all these people, sunshine. They’re here because of you.” He ducks his head down and his breath whisks past her ear.

“You did this. And please don’t start with that ‘it-wasn’t-just-me-I couldn’t have done it without-‘ speil again. You deserve one night for only this, enjoy it.”

Niamh does as he says, and takes in the scene before her, not missing the warm pride in his voice, the way his arms snake around her middle, how he hasn’t pulled his head completely back, instead pressing his cheek to her temple.She slides her own hands over his, still in awe with how freely he gives his affection-and how it has made her, in turn, free with hers. He holds her like that for a while, his relaxed grip not loosening until she adjusts to tilt her head and look back at him. He doesn’t meet her eyes at first, just grins a little wider at the attention, his single dimple poking through.

“I guess staring at a vision like myself does beat watching Trouble lose horribly to Pinky in yet another round of arm-wrestling.” He sighs wistfully, finally dropping his gaze to her. There’s that teasing glimmer in them, but something else. Something tender. Reverent.

And she can’t breathe. I’m falling in love with you, she thinks, desperately hoping that his uncanny perceptiveness misses the helpless adoration she was too slow to hide, the silent admission she hadn’t fully accepted as fact until now. It’s him looking at her like that, the smell of amber, the chatter in the background, his hands warm and strong and grounding-

The smile wavers, just for a moment, but it's enough to send her heart plummeting to her feet. Niamh turns away, a feeble attempt to keep him here, keep him from slipping through her fingers.

It's in vain- Chase retracts his hands, giving her hips a firm, quick squeeze as he does, and takes a step away. He makes some excuse she half hears as he all but vanishes.She just nods numbly, willing her lower lip not to tremble pathetically and the tears filling her eyes not to fall.Niamh glances around, sniffing and blinking rapidly, and looks for something to do- anything, and-

[mallowstep]

some stuff i’m working on over vacation

if you have thoughts or opinions on what you'd like to see let me know.

everything is under a cut bc some of the excerpts are long.

and i see the sun in your eyes (and i see you in your son's eyes)

talljake + windclan firepaw.

and the winter comes (with howling wind)

Battles weren't supposed to be like this.

The thought echoed in Frostfur's mind, as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Brindleface at the entrance to the nursery.

Rosetail was outside, but she was an elder. If ShadowClan was attacking the nursery, they'd certainly spare no thought for an elder.

The kits cried. They didn't understand what was happening.

Outside, Frostfur watched Rosetail die.

"You stay," she said, and without giving Brindleface a chance to argue, she leapt out of the nursery.

"Blackfoot!" she hissed.

The ShadowClan deputy didn't respond, and Frostfur focused on avenging Rosetail.

And protecting her kits.

Battles weren't supposed to be like this.

They weren't supposed to end with Frostfur returning, blood still covering her, just to reassure them she was alright, only to stare in horror at their empty nest.

Brindleface stammered apologies. She was scouting a safe path to the nursery, she hadn't meant to leave them alone, only—

"It's not your fault, Brindleface," Frostfur said, her heart beating painfully fast. "Battles aren't supposed to be like this."

ask for me by the name of those who loved me

"It's cliche, really, but as she's dying (falling), Feathertail's life flashes before her eyes."

ataraxia

Hollykit made her first decision about the world early, like most kits:

The world was a loud place.

It didn't start that way, it started silent, and then quiet, but then it was loud.

There were so many cats, always around her, and she missed being alone, in the quiet.

She got used to it, eventually — of course she did — but sometimes it was just exhausting.

eyes like sinking ships on water

no excerpts yet, but a goldenflower character study. centres around goldentiger

grow crocuses in the cracks of your heart

"Fireheart said you weren't my mother," Cloudpaw said. He looked up at her, pleading, and she took a breath to steady herself.

"Who nursed you?" she asked.

"You did."

"And who played with you?"

"Fernkit and Ashkit."

"And who do you come to when you have a nightmare?"

He flattened his ears, embarrassed, but still, muttered, "You."

Satisfied, Brindleface leaned down to touch noses. "I didn't give birth to you," she said. "That much is true. But Cloudpaw, that's not what it means to be a mother."

"He said he knows her," Cloudpaw said. "That she's his sister."

"That's what he told us," Brindleface said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. You shouldn't have had to find out from him."

Cloudpaw shifted. "Is it okay if I want to meet her?"

"Of course it is," she said, purring. Brindleface wrapped her tail around him — he'd be too big for that, soon, and she wanted to take advantage of every chance she had — and licked his head. "It's okay if you want to know her."

"I'm not mad at you," he said. "I just...I don't know."

Brindleface sighed. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Fireheart wasn't Clanborne. But telling a kit they were born to another was the prerogative of the queen, no one else. She had intended on telling him, but not yet.

"It's okay not to know," she said. "I'll always be here for you."

Cloudpaw purred. "Maybe, one day, you two can meet," he said, hesitantly. "If she's nice."

"I'd like that," she said. "If that's what you want."

Heathertail's School for Attractive, Murderous She-Cats

"I call this moon's meeting of the support group for Crowfeather's apprentices to order," Fernstripe said, her voicing bouncing off the walls of the tunnels.

"Say the full title," Heathertail said, flicking her tail.

"Do I have to?"

"It's important," Featherpelt said. "It's part of it."

"I call this moon's meeting of the support group for Crowfeather's unreasonably attractive apprentices to order." Fernstripe's ears folded back. "I don't like calling us that."

Heathertail flicked her tail again. "And how many cats tried to talk to you at the last Gathering?"

Fernstripe looked at her claws.

"That's not fair, Heathertail. You're the only one who can count past four."

"If you have to count past four, you qualify as unreasonably attractive." Heathertail licked her paw. "The sooner you accept what you are, the sooner you can focus on the real mission."

"Killing Crowfeather?" Fernstripe perked up.

"Exactly." Heathertail touched her nose to Fernstripe's shoulder. "There she is. Now, let's go over everyone's attempts for the month."

howling ghosts (they reappear)

Squirrelflight wakes up, and she smells Bramblestar.

Something is wrong; she's not supposed to be here.

What happened? Did she get captured? Did she forget?

Has it all been some kind of terrible dream?

She fights to keep her breathing slow, not wanting to wake him.

"Squirrelflight?" he whispers, and she flinches. "Squirrelflight, it's just me."

Yes, she thinks. That's the problem.

She extracts herself from him slowly, not wanting to look suspicious. His eyes are blinking awake slowly, and he's watching her.

"Where are you going?" he asks. "The sky is still dark."

"Just to the dirtplace," she says, and she slips out of their den.

Stormcloud is sitting vigil, and he doesn't question her when she slips out of the tunnel.

Squirrelflight tries to remember what happened. She had escaped him, hadn't she?

No, she was just in the Dark Forest. She's not there, anymore, she got out, with Bramblestar.

Squirrelflight closes her eyes, her heartbeat slowing. She slips back into their den. Bramblestar has already fallen back asleep, and she takes her place at his side, curling herself into the tightest ball she can.

i saw a face in the window of the house on high

Leafpaw was six moons old the first time she met a cat who wasn't Cinderpelt.

Cinderpelt cared for her in the quiet of their hollow, sweeping herbs out of her reach until she was old enough to understand.

She learned the scent of other cats by the prey she ate, but when she turned six moons, her introduction came time.

"There are so many of them," she whispered.

"I know," Cinderpelt said, her heart wincing. "You don't have to meet them all today," she said. "They just have to meet you."

She sat quietly by Cinderpelt as cat after cat came to greet them. Their names blurred, some appearances hanging to the names Cinderpelt had told her, but others fading.

"I greet you," said a ginger she-cat. "Cinderpelt, and Leafpaw."

"Well-met, Squirrelpaw," Cinderpelt said.

The apprentice dipped her head and left.

like rum or like sweet currant wine

a conversation between squirrelflight and squirrelpaw

milk and honey

a human/fae au feat. hollywillow

perisoreus canadensis

Jaypaw knows he is smaller than his siblings. It's hard to miss. He's not even as tall as Squirrelflight, and barely growing, and Hollypaw and Lionpaw have already surpassed her.

He tries not to let it get to him.

He stops growing first, only a paw's width taller than Squirrelflight. Hollypaw and Lionpaw become warriors, and his whiskers touch their shoulders.

It doesn't bother him like it used to. Hollyleaf and Lionblaze are warriors, and he's just a medicine cat's apprentice, too blind and too helpless to bother teaching to fight properly. He's no longer a part of their life, not in the same way. They don't play fight with him any more, they don't talk to him when they're squabbling over Cinderheart, and he wonders if it will always be this way.

If he will always be Jaypaw, their weaker, smaller, blind baby brother who they need to protect.

(He isn't. He becomes Jayfeather, and Hollyleaf dies, and Lionblaze stops talking to him. He keeps himself up as long as he can, because if he sleeps, it's only going to be worse, giving him a face to curse for granting his wish.)

sarasponda

Palebird was a tunneler.

That meant she built something permanent, something the Clan would rely on for seasons upon seasons, long after Palebird herself had passed on.

You could feel the life of the Clan in the tunnels. It was something the moor runners would never understand, what it meant to build something, to create something.

WindClan has barely any dens on the surface, and their camp had changed locations more than once. A warrior with no appreciation of the tunnels did not understand what it meant to last.

But Palebird did. As did her mother and father, and their parents before them, and so would Palebird's kits.

They would know what it meant to last in a world constantly pushing them forward.

when the lowtide spits us out again

"Congratulations," Crookedjaw said as the sun rose.

Willowbreeze purred. "You woke up at dawn just to break my vigil?"

"Maybe," he said. "But I made you a nest. Come sleep."

She stood, arching her back, and brushing against him as she walked towards his den.

"There's space for me?" she asked.

"Well," Crookedjaw said. "As long as you don't mind sleeping next to me."

Willowbreeze laughed. "Let's go sleep."

you're alive in my head

another fic based around poppyfrost searching for honeyfern at the moonpool

[grayseekerswritinglife]

Inevitabilities

Starscream was late. Very late.

When he alighted on the narrow ledge and peered into the murky depths of the cliffside cave, he expected to find it empty. It wasn't. Skyfire was there, sitting with his back against the wall. His optics were closed and his head lolled to one side in a posture of sleep. Starscream edged closer, the fingers of his still-functioning hand clenching indecisively.

Part of him—a large part—was telling him to leave. The howl of the wind and the crashing of breakers against the base of the cliff would muffle his retreat. Later, he could concoct an excuse for his absence—if Skyfire even asked, though he generally didn't. It wasn't exactly a rule between them, just an unspoken agreement to keep the outside world separate from their relationship.

It was better that way. Safer.

Starscream took a backward step, then another. He reached the rim of the ledge, one heel-thruster poised above the sheer drop. When he turned, everything beyond the cave was iron-gray. The sky, the rocks, the rain-swept ocean. The sun was hidden behind a mass of stormclouds that crouched on the lightless horizon. A salt-laden wind buffeted his chest and wings, pushing him back, and that was all it took. His legs went out from under him and he sat down, hard.

Only then did he hear a quiet sound from behind. The sound of a vocalizer being cleared. Glancing back, Starscream was unsurprised to find Skyfire watching him. Not speaking. Not telling him to stay… or go. Just leaving space. Letting him decide for himself, as he always did. Starscream turned his attention back to the cheerless vista, and waited. He didn't wait long. Skyfire's steps were slow and deliberately heavy as he came to settle on Starscream's right.

Of course on his right. Skyfire had a talent for that.

Starscream tucked his hand against his chassis where Skyfire wouldn't be able to see it. For a while, neither spoke. Eventually, Skyfire drew a small repair kit from his subspace and set it on the floor between them. Starscream stared at it, feeling stupid, ridiculous, exposed. Finally he reached across himself with his good hand, snagged the kit, and dragged it onto his lap. He fumbled with the catch, but the kit slid from his lap and popped open, scattering tools across the rock floor.

"Frag!" It was the first word either of them had spoken.

Skyfire shifted closer. "Starscream—"

Starscream cut him off with a gesture. Half a gesture, because he realized mid-motion that he'd been about to use his right hand. He twisted away, blocking Skyfire's view with a wing as he groped along the floor. He found a small precision-welder and fired it up. The spark flared blue. A brilliant, electric blue which he was able to see by without use of his infrared. His hand was worse than he'd realized. Much worse.

You're either lying or stupid!

Megatron's voice echoed harshly in his thoughts, along with the remembered humiliation of his own response:

I'm stupid, I'm stupid!

He had been. Incredibly stupid, and this was the result. His fingers were shaking. The welder slipped from his grasp and skittered across the cave floor, its spark flaring inexplicably brighter just before it was doused. A hand settled on his arm.

"Starscream."

Starscream tensed. It was automatic, a reaction programmed at the level of base-coding. To anticipate a fight because flight wasn't an option. Not for him. He wouldn't—couldn't—yield. But Skyfire wouldn't either. His hand stayed where it was until something in Starscream broke. He let his head fall to his drawn-up knees, and didn't realize how hard he was shaking until Skyfire's arms slipped around him. A soft kiss grazed the top of his head as Skyfire shaped himself around Starscream's form, great wings sweeping forward to shelter him from the gray morning light.

Skyfire said nothing. Starscream had half expected him to ask, but he didn't. Maybe he doesn't have to, an inner voice suggested, spurring a fresh surge of fury to cover his scalding humiliation. Everyone knows, everyone. Even the Autobots.

But Skyfire's knowing wasn't such a problem. Not really. In a way, it made things easier. It saved having to explain. Starscream hunched back against Skyfire's warm frame, listening to the hum of his engines and the indefinable, shimmering vibration of his life-force. His field was like the ocean. No, like space. Vast, deep and all-engulfing, but Starscream never felt he was drowning in it. Not unless he wanted to. Skyfire rocked him, big arms crossed over his chest, hands stroking his shoulders. Holding him without making him feel trapped. Starscream gradually unclenched, and Skyfire rewarded him with further kisses to his intakes and the top of his helm.

"Can I look?" came the inevitable question.

Starscream sighed.

He knew Skyfire knew, but wished he didn't have to see. Especially since Skyfire must also know, by the mere fact that Starscream was hiding it, that this wasn't simply battle-damage. Yet he didn't resist when Skyfire's hand slipped down the length of his right arm, slow and hesitant, giving Starscream plenty of warning. Plenty of chances to retreat. When Skyfire's enormous hand finally cupped his, Starscream felt the reaction. A swift tightening in Skyfire's field; a storm-flash of anger; an ache of regret; a burn of recrimination.

Self-recrimination.

Starscream twisted around in Skyfire's arms. "It's not your fault!" he snapped, glaring—and Skyfire looked so sad. Starscream hated that. He wrenched free, thinking he should leave, just fly, but his spark was rooted here and he knew there was no point. He'd fly back again. That was inevitable. And he always made Skyfire sad. That, too, was inevitable.

Fingers brushed his shoulder and drifted down the length of his back. It was barely a touch, but Starscream felt Skyfire's field pull close to his body as he reached again for Starscream's hand. "Let me see."

Starscream didn't—couldn't—look as Skyfire drew the hand into his own lap. There was a clank of metal against stone as Skyfire leaned past him and picked up one of the fallen tools. Starscream didn't know which one. He kept his gaze firmly on a vein of pale quartz that cut, lightning-shaped, through the dark stone at the cave entrance, but the expected pain never arrived. Instead, the dull throbbing ache that had been with him throughout the afternoon suddenly drained from his hand. He glanced at Skyfire, startled, but looked away just as quickly when he saw Skyfire moving his broken, useless fingers, assessing damage.

"It's bad." Skyfire's tone was impassive, betraying nothing.

"Of course it's bad." As if Megatron did anything by half-measures.

Skyfire cupped the hand in both his own. He bowed forward, and Starscream felt lips brush against his palm. Part of his mind noted that if he could feel it, that meant Skyfire had disconnected the pain receptors without interfering with his tactile system overall. He suddenly remembered another time when Skyfire had repaired him. It had been so long ago, almost another lifetime, yet it had been a blustery morning like this and he'd felt, as he did now, as if they were the only two beings in the universe.

"Do you remember that planet with the pink sky?" he asked.

Skyfire was gathering the tools and arranging them in what was, Starscream knew, the precise order in which he planned to use them. He paused for a moment, thinking. "Binary star system?" he asked. "Planetary rings? High concentration of argon in the—"

"Yes, that one."

"You hated it there," Skyfire murmured,  mouth twitching into a smile.

"Well, we were stranded!" Starscream barked, then subsided with a small shrug. "It wasn't so bad."

"No?" There was humor in Skyfire's gaze, as well as affection. "I don't recall you thinking so at the time."

"I didn't know what I was talking about. Anyway, I went back."

"You did? When?"

"About a million years into the war. The place was gone."

"The whole planet was?"

"No; just the hab."

"Ah." Skyfire nodded. "I'm not surprised. The local geology would have changed, along with the atmosphere, climactic conditions—"

"There had been an ice age," Starscream interrupted. "A glacier had come through, and nothing was left but flat tundra. But I built another hab. It was like the one we made, only… smaller. I lived there for a while and it felt like you were there sometimes, and I could still—" he broke off "—still talk to you. And sometimes I thought you answered. I even thought of just… staying. There, with your ghost."

Skyfire paused his work, studying him. "But you didn't."

Starscream snorted. "The natives," he said, shaking his head. "There was this species that had evolved in the meantime. Small, furry, organic bipeds. Some with tails, some not. And these two groups, the ones with the tails and the ones without, they hated each other. They were constantly fighting and killing each other with their primitive weapons, and—Skyfire, I killed one."

Skyfire set down the welder. His hands curled around Starscream's, a thumb stroking his wrist where the damage wasn't as bad. "What happened?"

"He was going to die anyway!" Starscream snapped defensively, but Skyfire just kept stroking his wrist, waiting patiently. "He had a spear through him," Starscream continued. "Right through. In at the armpit, out just above the hip. I suppose he was looking for help when he came to my door. I…" Starscream averted his gaze.

"You shot him?"

Starscream didn't answer right away. Skyfire's hands were warm, and the unhurried glide of his thumb against Starscream's plating was oddly soothing. Not unlike the patter of rain and the rhythmic crash of breakers on the rocks below. "It was the first thing I thought of doing," Starscream admitted finally. "The only thing. I just did it, and didn't even consider anything else."

"Maybe it was the only thing you could have done."

"That isn't the point!"

"Then tell me what is." There was no trace of anger in Skyfire's tone, nor of judgment.

Starscream searched his face. "You can't go back," he said. "I'd been fighting, leading a squadron. We'd driven the Autobots underground, we were winning! And I wasn't the same anymore; that's the point."

"You left when the Decepticons were winning?"

"I had to see who I was without the war. But I couldn't hold on to the past, Sky. I couldn't be who I was then, and I couldn't hear you anymore! After the day I shot that creature, you… you stopped answering. I couldn't even remember the sound of your voice. So I went back to Cybertron. What else was I going to do?"

"And… they took you back?" Skyfire's tone was cautious, as if he was unsure of where this might be leading.

"I didn't expect them to, but Megatron was surprisingly… welcoming. Almost as if he knew where I'd been, or at least why. I fought harder than ever after that. Fought my way to the top; became his Air Commander, and then his Second-in-Command." And more. Of course there was more, but Starscream left that part unsaid.

"Did you... do you... love him?" Skyfire asked, proving that he'd read between the lines with his usual ease.

Starscream observed him in the half-light. The great, white shape of him. His big hands, clasping Starscream's damaged one so very gently. He owed this mech an honest answer, but he didn't know the truth anymore. Maybe he never had. "I don't think I can love," he said eventually. "I buried that when I left that place, that planet. The skies weren't pink anymore. They'd turned gray, like here, and… I just. Everything I ever was, with you, I left back there. And I can't go back. We can't."

He withdrew his hand and tucked it against his belly, curling around it. They sat, the hiss of rain forming a backdrop to their silence. The sky grew brighter, the iron clouds on the horizon warming to a bruised shade of copper.

"Will you at least let me finish before you leave?" Skyfire asked.

Starscream pretended to consider, but finally placed his broken hand back in Skyfire's. "You aren't going to tell me not to go back?"

"I want to," Skyfire said as he resumed, the welder's blue spark casting his face in flickering shadows. "But…" his wings sagged. "I know better."

Starscream returned his gaze to the dull sweep of ocean. As he watched, a ray of light broke through the clouds and silvered the wave-tips.

"There." Skyfire deactivated the welder. "Try making a fist."

Starscream was pleasantly surprised when his fingers moved the way they were designed to. His hand still looked nearly as bad as it had before, but it was at least functional.

"That's good," Skyfire said, satisfied. "I could repair the external damage if I had time, but at least you can use the hand now." He gathered his tools back into their kit, then rose and went to the back of the cave where he began getting his things together.

"Are you... leaving?" Starscream asked.

"I should get back," Skyfire replied without glancing up. "I'm supposed to make a run to Ganymede Station to pick up some supplies, and then—"

Starscream scrambled up. "Sky."

Skyfire lifted his head, but Starscream couldn't meet his gaze. Outside, the sun had broken through; the quartz lightning-bolt at the mouth of the cave had taken on an eerily pink glow. Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning. It was a human aphorism Starscream had picked up… somewhere. He had no idea where. But it seemed entirely appropriate for what he was about to say. "Can we stay here? For a little while longer?"

It was a bad idea. Terrible, in fact. Starscream would eventually be missed, and Skyfire had some pointless errand to run. The world expected things of them both. But Skyfire didn't point any of that out. He sank down where he'd been sleeping before, his back against the wall, and patted the ground in front of him in wordless invitation. Within moments Starscream was curled between his legs, his face pillowed against a snowy expanse of chest.

"You're right," Skyfire said at length, his deep voice vibrant beneath Starscream's cheek. "We can't go back. But maybe we'll find a way forward, if we look for one."

Outside, the rain had settled in. The fitful light of dawn had seeped away, leaving the sky a dismal shade of ash. "Not seeing one yet, Sky."

Those powerful arms gathered him closer. "Yet," Skyfire echoed, for emphasis. "But you can stay as long as you want. And I'll stay here with you."

Starscream twined his battered fingers with Skyfire's, and smiled. It was the most intimate gesture he felt capable of, and the shift in Skyfire's field told him that he was understood. Starscream closed his optics, listening to the rain, and pondered this new inevitability.

Written for SkyStarWeek 2020. This story is for Day Four: Intimacy and Vulnerability. Many thanks to @overlordraax​ for organizing this wonderful (and much needed) celebration of my OTP!

[i-write-nsfw-sometimes]

Royalixy- Virgil's new job pt. 2 (NSFW)

Pt.2 to “Virgil’s New Job”

Hey Guys.... been a while but I’ve been having so many ideas and barely getting started on one before having another so here is the part 2 to the introloxiety fic 

Thank ya kindly!

Patton and Roman find out about Virgil’s... pastimes... and decide to treat their little Stormcloud

(Pre AA kinda)

Virgil stretched, flinging their legs off of the bed. They stood up and sniffed the air, throwing on their clothes before making their way to the door

"Wonder what Pat made for breakfast..." Virgil sighed, they didn't really feel like eating but they knew they probably should... not like they could escape Patton's love for stuffing them full of food. Virgil creaked open their door, locking it behind them as they trudged to the common room

"Ah, good morning Anx." Virgil gave a silent nod at Logan as their face burned purple, feeling a little embarrassed as they were reminded of the previous weeks... activities.... Roman was at the table typing on his phone, but his brow quirked up as Logan brought attention to Virgil "Don't tell me my little kitten is avoiding me now." Virgil hissed at Logan, using their eyes to point out Roman's presence. Logan just chuckled, placing his book face down on the arm of the chair

"Oh! Anxiety! I made you some blueberry pancakes! Please sit." Patton smiled, easing Virgil's nerves as they were led to the table

"Thanks Pat." Virgil moved to grab a fork, but pulled back as Patton smacked their hand away

"Uh uh uh! Keep those hands to yourself angel!" Virgil quirked an eyebrow, paling as Roman brought his chair over

"Forgive me my light, I am rather selfish." Roman grabbed their fork, stabbing a piece of pancake and lifting it to their lips "Now open for me will you?" Logan sat across from the three and resumed his reading. Virgil glanced around before opening their mouth, Roman smirked, feeding them the pancake "Good kitten." Virgil was tense as Roman's voice made their head spin, it took every ounce of control to not moan at the praise... that was new.... they were used to degradation, but praise? That was certainly strange....

"Angel?" Two hands rested on their shoulders, making Virgil wonder what was in store "Have you ever made love?" Virgil whined, shaking their head "I suspected as much, Logan told us that you like it rough, but I was wondering if my little angel had ever been worshiped." Virgil blushed, continuing to eat as Roman fed them

"Such a shame is it not? This sweet little kitten has never been praised like they deserve~" Patton sighed, kneading Virgil's back, smiling as Virgil began to relax. "Now kitten, we would like to pamper you today." Virgil whined "Just nod for me cutie, you don't need to think. Just let us take care of you." Logan chuckled as he watched Virgil turn to putty in the other's hands

"I will be helping Thomas today, please overwhelm them in the best way possible for me." Patton chuckled

"Of course we will Logie, is that what you want Angel? Want Daddy to overwhelm you?" Virgil nodded rapidly, Roman and Patton sharing a laugh as they other leaned into Patton's touch "Such a good angel, so perfect. Daddy will be right back. You be good for your Prince ok?" Virgil nodded, whining as Patton's hands left their back. Roman sighed patronizingly

"Oh such a vulnerable little kitten, does our little kitten want to climb into my lap so I can feed you some more?" Virgil whimpered, nodding as they crawled into Roman's lap, a soft purr emanating from their throat. "Such a pretty kitty, so well behaved." Roman continued to feed Virgil, their eyes falling shut as they felt their mind go blurry

"Roman? Is that...?" Roman nodded

"Yes, it seems our little kitten can purr~" Patton walked over, kissing Virgil's neck softly

"If they're done eating I can take them to their surprise." Roman nodding, fawning as Patton lifted Virgil up, a small whine pushing past Virgil's lips.

"Please do, I will join momentarily." Patton carried Virgil into the other room, laying Virgil on what felt like a fuzzy blanket, but it was too solid to be a blanket

"Shh angel, no thinking, just let daddy take care of you." Virgil whimpered, staring into Patton's eyes as they pushed their hips up towards Patton. Patton chuckled, pushing their hips back down, "Soon angel, let us treat you first." Roman walked in, noticing Virgil squirming on the ground

"I could provide them some relief, then we could treat them." Patton hummed in thought, smiling at Virgil's quiet begs and pleads

"Ah but good things come to those who wait, and I think our little angel hasn't had to wait to be fucked... but I think they should wait for us to make love to them." Virgil whined, turning over and grabbing onto the plush fabric.

"Aww look how cute, they are throwing a little tantrum. Anxiety, now that Patton and I have joined the mix you'll have to ask permission to touch yourself." Virgil whined louder, demanding the attention of the two

"Please... fuck me... need it..." Patton chuckled, lifting Virgil up onto his lap, stroking their back softly

"Shh kitten, so needy aren't you? Our perfect little kitten." Roman stepped towards the two, snapping his fingers to dress them all in pajamas.

"There we go! Now what do you want to watch kitten?" Virgil whined

"I...I don't know..." Virgil's hips tensed as they tried not to grind onto Patton's thigh

"How about we watch some rage compilations? They watch those all the time." Roman nodded before joining the two on the couch.

"Lookie here Patton, our little kitten is trying not to grind onto your leg, so well behaved." Roman stroked Virgil's cheek, smiling as the other nuzzled into his touch, Virgil's skin felt like it was on fire. Patton chuckled, leaning up to kiss Virgil softly

"Lay across us Angel, let us take care of you." Virgil laid face down across the two's laps, Roman's crotch was directly to the right of Virgil's head... so close yet so far. Patton kneaded Virgil's calves and feet while Roman massaged their back. Virgil's head was swimming with need, they closed their eyes and tried not to focus on being so close to Roman's dick.

Six hours later, Virgil blinked their eyes open lazily.

"Good morning sleeping beauty." Roman teased, running his hands through Virgil's hair, Virgil purred as their eyes landed on Roman's crotch. The whimpered in need

"I do believe they have waited long enough, but our angel needs to eat. How about this." Patton pulled Virgil up "You eat like a good little kitten and right after Daddy and your Prince will take care of you." Virgil nodded, standing up and tugging at Patton's shirt. "Well someone's in a rush." Patton teased, following Virgil to the table and snapping his fingers to summon some food.

After eating, Virgil wouldn't stop squirming in Roman's lap.

"Please... please..." Virgil couldn't stop themself from grinding onto Roman's lap

"What do you need angel?" Virgil let out a loud obscene moan

"I need your cocks! I need to be fucked until I can't remember my own name! Please Daddy! My Prince! Need your cocks! Need your cum!" Roman chuckled, lifting Virgil up

"Shall we?" Patton smirked

"We shall." The two took their sweet time making their way to the bedroom, but once they were there Virgil was about to explode.

"Please....." Roman sighed, a small grin soothing the smaller side

"Breathe my love, we are here." He place Virgil down on the plush bed, one that Virgil didn't recognize but didn't really care to think about. Patton peeled off Virgil's clothes, leaving small kisses and bites on their chest. Roman reached forward to pull Virgil into a tender kiss

"How are you holding up there baby?" Virgil whined into the kiss as Patton rubbed their thighs, once Roman pulled away Virgil turned to look at Patton.

"I can't... I need..." Small frustrated tears began to gather in the corners of their eyes. Roman leaned down to kiss the streams of tears

"Would you like to stop?" Virgil shook their head wildly

"Just no more teasing... please... I can't take it..." Patton nodded, helping Virgil pull off their pants, their soaked panties coming off shortly after.

"Wow Pat... they're soaked..." Roman licked his lips, holding Virgil's legs apart to stare at their glistening heat. Patton hummed, laying Virgil down before attacking their neck with hickeys.

"Aren't they just precious?" Patton hummed, tracing patterns on Virgil's hips. Roman leaned down to suck on the inside of Virgil's thigh, rubbing the outside of their hole

"Aww look at them, I love the way you squirm mi amor." Virgil whined as Roman eased two fingers in, turning his attention onto them. Virgil tangled their fingers in Patton's hair, pulling him into a kiss. Roman chuckled as he watched the desperate display

"Such a good little angel, are you ready?" Virgil nodded, clutching onto Patton.

"Yes... please fuck me..." Roman hummed, pulling off his clothes and easing a condom onto his cock

"Oh baby, we aren't going to fuck you... we are going to make love to you." Roman kissed Virgil's stomach, slowly making his way up their body before rubbing their sides in small circles. He reached a hand down to angle his tip to the rim of their hole

"Please..." Tears fell down Virgil's cheeks as their mind became dazed. Roman chuckled, slowly pushing in

"How do they feel Ro?" Patton smiled softly, carding his fingers through Virgil's hair. Ro groaned, holding up a thumbs up

"Gimme a minute... I don't want this to end too soon." Virgil whimpered, bumping their face against the tent in Patton's pants, staring up at his with glassy eyes

"Please daddy, wanna suck you off." Patton hummed

"Ok baby, you've been so good." Patton pulled off his clothes, freeing his cock from his pants. Virgil immediately leaned over to suck on the tip, trying to take all of it in their throat at once. They gagged, Patton grabbing their hair and pulling their head back "Tsk tsk tsk, slow it down baby. No need to rush." Patton released them, letting Virgil lean back over to lick up his shaft before taking the head in their mouth.

"I think I'm good... you ready mi amor?" Virgil hummed and nodded, Roman slowly thrusting. Virgil moaned around Patton's dick, Patton moaned and as he reached down to hold Virgil's hand

"You're doing so great angel, so perfect for us." Virgil whimpered, spreading their legs further

"Oh? Does someone like hearing how good they make us feel?" Roman smirked, reached a hand down to rub their clit, Virgil let out a loud surprised moan against Patton before melting under the wanted touch. Virgil pulled off Patton's length before whining

"Please I'm so close... I just... I can't..." Roman smirked, speeding up his thrusts to a point where they were faster but not as fast as Virgil needed. Patton smiled softly as the small thing in his arms... or in his lap

"Cum for us baby, whenever you're ready... but don't think for a second that we are done just yet." Virgil nodded, wrapping their lips around Patton's tip and sucked. Patton let out a low moan, squeezing Virgil's hand as he fought the urge to buck into Virgil's mouth. Virgil gave a smirk before sucking harder

"Something wrong Pat?" Roman teased, seeing that Virgil was trying to take back some control

"You want me to lose control baby? Is that what you're after? You want Daddy to fuck your mouth?" Virgil nodded, Patton gave them a small smirk, "Oh... well that's too bad... unlike the others, Roman and I have a bit more self-control than that... now how about you be a good little kitten and spread your legs wider... no cumming if you really want to make Daddy proud." Virgil whimpered, spreading their legs as Roman growled

"I can feel them pulsing around me Pat... I'm gonna cum..." Roman groaned before thrusting a few more times, milking himself into the condom. Virgil whined as Roman pulled out, Patton moving away shortly after. Patton moved up the bed and sat down, making himself comfortable as Roman tossed the condom in the trash.

"Angel? Why don't you come sit down?" Virgil climbed up and quickly sheathed themself on Patton's dick, facing away from him.

"Woah... someone's eager." Roman chuckled as Patton held Virgil down, not allowing them to move.

"I bet... poor little thing wants to be filled up so badly... well Roman... what do you say we help out?" Roman smirked, leaning forward to suck Virgil's clit. Virgil hissed grabbing onto Patton's arms as their hissed turned into a sultry moan. Patton growled and bit their neck as he felt them clench around him

"Taste so good... doing so well for us baby." Virgil whimpered as they clenched, they just wanted to cum!

"Please please please please, daddy my prince I can't... I need..." They broke off into sobs as they held off their orgasm, their legs shaking.

"It's ok baby, cum around daddy's cock..." Virgil all but screamed their orgasm rushing through them, Roman left small licks to help them through their orgasm before turning his attention onto Patton's cock, which was still buried deep inside Virgil.

"Daddy, please gimme your cum..." One look from those tear filled eyes and Patton was gone, he groaned as he shot thick ropes of cum into Virgil, some dripping down to mix with Virgil's juices. Roman pulled back, running off to the bathroom to grab some towels and prepare a bath.

"How..." Patton took a moment to breath before continuing, "How are you feeling baby?" Virgil hummed

"Tired... but amazing." Patton chuckled and kissed their neck

"I'm gonna pull out ok?" Virgil nodded, allowing Patton to lift them off his dick. Virgil shuddered as cum dripped down their thighs and onto the bed sheets, Patton stood before lifting Virgil into his arms

"Bath is ready you two!" Roman smiled at the dazed look in Virgil's eyes

"Lets get our little angel all cleaned up."

[alphascorpiixx]

The Last Dandelion

KHUX Week Day 6

The battle is fought in the fated place, and you’ve made your decision. You are there to see it through.

Ao3

Characters: Player, Foretellers, Chirithy, Skuld, Ephemer

Gen, 2316 words, second person pov

Warnings: canon-typical violence, implied background character death

You’ve never seen a heart before.

You know what hearts are, of course. The light inside a person, the source of their being, filled with precious memories. Beacons of hope to guide others. Weapons of truth that cut through the darkness.

The first heart you see lives up to the description: an orb of pure light, a brilliant glimmer against the pitch black sky.

More and more float into the air, like artificial stars no amount of stormclouds could block out. If you traced lines between them you could make your own constellations. You close your eyes and still see them burned into the backs of your eyelids.

You squeeze your eyes tighter and try not to scream.

Weapons clash and wielders fall. Your grip on your Keyblade tightens. You passed up the offer to escape, and eventually the war will find you, too. Your heart will join the others, it’s only a matter of when.

Battles wage all around you, a storm of magic and metal. The clouds break open and spill their contents on the battlefield. The ground turns to mud, splattering your polished armor. You wipe your helmet and squint to see. Everyone else is as drenched as you, distinct Union colors blurring.

You refuse to raise your Keyblade, but your fellow Union members still fall. You take their lux before anyone else can and add to your own. Starlight glows brighter and brighter in your hand, the weapon living up to its name as the lux particles form your own constellation around your body.

Power surges through you, an intoxicating burn of light in your veins. Your vision is nearly overcome, not with blackness, but pure light.

You force yourself to stop. Take a breath, clear your mind. The battle rages on, but you find a moment of solitude. “It’s not over,” you say to yourself. 

A voice cuts through your reprieve. “You!”

You raise your head. Aced stands before you. He points his claw-like Keyblade straight at your heart.

“I deemed you unworthy,” he bellows over the rain and thunder.

You grit your teeth. What does he know? You are not of Ursus. He has no right to be the judge of your strength. But something aches inside of you, desperate to prove your worthiness.

You raise your Keyblade in challenge.

“What you lack in potential, I see you make up for in courage. I could use someone like you in my Union.”

And he attacks. You manage to block, but the force of each blow sends a shock through your arm. Even though you haven’t spent any strength fighting so far, it’s all you can do to defend yourself.

An opening finally comes. You gather the lux you’ve been collecting and strike back. Lightning surges from your Keyblade, fueled by your anger. Aced doesn’t block in time, and your spell scorches his sleeve.

“How unexpected! You’ve proven me wrong. You are indeed worthy!” Aced smiles at you. A true smile or not, you can’t tell under that bear mask.

You only get a moment to savor your victory before he advances again. The smile is gone.

“But that also means you pose a threat. And that is why you must disappear!”

He crouches down, ready for a final charge. You muster the strength to lift your weapon.

Aced attacks with brutal force, as if the previous battle had taken only a fraction of his energy. You fall to the ground, but he does not let up. Your mind screams at you to fight back, but you cannot make your body move.

Keyblades crash together, and another figure towers above you—Ira, his own weapon locked with Aced’s.

Rage twists the visible half of his face into something savage. “Ira!”

“This ends now.”

Then they are gone, a flurry of sparking metal, fighting each other just as fiercely as their Unions.

You struggle to your feet. Aced surely would have ended you, if not for Ira’s interruption. But even Ira does not care about you. You are a lowly pawn, saved from destruction by circumstance.

Other wielders run past. They pay you little notice, a lone figure soaked in rain and mud, Keyblade devoid of lux. They don’t even stop to finish you off.

Your heart pounds in your ears. You are still alive. You are still alive and that’s what matters.

“I can still fight.”

You shake the rain off your helmet and run forward, only to stop as you spot Invi. She turns and sees you.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’ll make this quick.”

Your limbs sag with the effort of standing, but you are not finished yet. You ready yourself for another battle.

Invi summons orbs of light and hurls them at you. You dodge the first two, and the third clips your shoulder. You manage to counter the fourth, sending it straight back at her. She blocks in time, but the impact sends her stumbling. She looks at you with a tilt of her head. You expect another attack, but she dismisses her Keyblade and turns away.

“I’m impressed, Ava. You did well with this one,” she murmurs to herself. To you, she says, “You must make it through this.”

She leaves. You almost chase after her but stop yourself. You’d rather not fight more than you have to, even against the Foretellers. Especially against the Foretellers.

But you don’t get what you want. Another robed figure strides toward you, Keyblade casually swung over his shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s you,” Gula says. 

The last time you saw Gula was with Skuld in the abandoned house, right before the bells tolled. His robes are as pristine as they were then, as if he were above the conflict and the elements ravaging the land. Gula tosses his Keyblade and catches it. The gesture sparks your fury. So casual, when everyone around you is dying.

“You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

You nod. You know what’s coming.

“All right. Here we go.” 

You know what’s coming, but you still flinch in surprise when he holds out his blade.

“You’re on a battlefield, you gotta fight.”

So you fight. Gula strikes with lightning speed, faster than any enemy you’ve faced. But like with the other two Foretellers, you only have to wait for the right moment. Gula repeats his pattern, and you catch his foot with your Keyblade, sending him sprawling.

For a moment, you savor your victory. But Gula laughs as he gets to his feet. 

“You’re a lot tougher than I thought! Lucky for you I’m not in the mood for a real fight.”

Three of five Foretellers battled, and only one truly wants you dead. You should be grateful, but anger swells within you.

Fight me. Fight me and break me. As you said, we are on a battlefield.

You lash out, Keyblade wrapped in a stream of light. Gula doesn’t bother summoning his weapon. He jumps into the air and does not return.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” His final words drift into your ear, something between a taunt and a goodbye.

Your Keyblade hits the ground instead. Enough of this. You take back your earlier thoughts about Invi. She should have stayed to finish you. She and Gula and Aced. Cowards. Fight me. Fight me, fight me, fight me—

Something bright floats past your face. 

A heart.

You fall backward. It drifts up and up and up and out of sight.

“No, don’t go . . .”

Another heart lost. It could have been anyone. Someone you knew from your Union, or someone you’ve never met. Now it’s too late to find out. So many lights snuffed out, all for a pointless war.

But before you can scream out your rage and frustration, Ira returns. You look for signs of weariness from his battle with Aced, but like Gula, Ira appears undisturbed by the fighting.

“So it’s you. I’ll be merciful.”

You won’t. If they won’t stop this war, you can at least try to stop them, even if you can’t defeat them. Better they fight you then go after anyone else.

Ira summons six spears of light around himself. You are too slow to move, and the spears pin you in place. His Keyblade slashes in a blur of white, and the air escapes your lungs.

You sink to your knees. You know your limits, and fighting four Foretellers in a row is too much for you. Ira readies another strike, one that will finally finish you.

No. You don’t want to die.

You slam your Keyblade into the ground and draw on the power of light. Lux spills from the small rift at your feet, the pure and bright energy of the world. Even these forsaken lands are rich with it. Light floods your body, and you embrace the burn.

The lux in your veins gives you new strength. You match Ira’s attacks blow for blow, metal ringing with each hit. You burn and burn and burn, until Ira backs off. 

“You’ve grown. It’s a shame, you have so much potential.”

Your newfound power is waning, but you do not let your fatigue show. But before either of you can move, someone else interrupts.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment, Ira,” Aced says. His Keyblade pushes Ira’s into the ground, preventing Ira from attacking you. But you know it’s not on your behalf.

“You!” Ira shouts, forgetting you.

“I will rebuild this world as the new leader and Master!”

“This is all your doing! You destroyed the balance!”

And for the second time, you watch them clash. Fighting them doesn’t matter to you anymore. Let them destroy themselves. All you want is for this to be over.

The light fades from your Keyblade. Your exhaustion finally catches up with you, and you collapse into the mud.

The rain and thunder still pound all around you, but everything else is strangely silent. The battles are dwindling, but not—you realize with growing horror in your gut—because people have finally stopped fighting. There has been too much fighting, and now there are fewer hearts in the sky and more Keyblades sunk into the mud. You hadn’t noticed, too occupied with the battles with the Foretellers to care about anyone else.

You want to scream, but you can’t even muster a cough.

“It’s you.”

Your breath hitches. Ava.

You swallow to clear your throat and stand up. “I’ve been looking for you,” you say. “Master Ava, why are you here? I thought you’d be guiding the wielders away—uh!”

“Ready your blade.” She levels hers at you. You think you catch regret in her words, but you can’t see her expression behind her mask.

“Master Ava?”

“I won’t ask twice.”

You do as you’re told. 

And then you fight.

*

Light swirls around you, hearts and lux and lightning. A storm of light, but all you want is to sink into the darkness—sink down and down and leave behind all the pain.

You lift your head. Ava stands over you, silent and unreadable. Water drips from the edge of her mask.

“Why?” you ask, your throat hoarse and aching.

“Some things aren’t for you to know.” She turns away and looks up at the sky. “Listen to me: you must join the Dandelions and go far, far away from here.”

And, like all the others, she walks away and leaves you alone.

“Master Ava . . .”

You try to stand and follow her, but your body gives out. The last shred of power in you is spent, leaving a cold ache in your bones. You pull off your helmet and let the rain soak your face. Water blurs your vision, and the hearts in the sky merge into a smear of light.

Lux. You need lux. Your body is hollow and your heart beats sluggishly. You need that burn of life to reignite your strength. Your fingers grasp for you Keyblade. They wrap around the cold hilt, and you struggle to raise it above your head.

A small paw touches your arm.

“It’s okay, it’s over now,” Chirithy says, their voice soft and comforting. You turn your head to look at them. Their stitched eyes stare back at you, water dripping down their face in place of tears.

“Chirithy,” you rasp out. Your mouth tastes like blood. You don’t remember biting your tongue, but now it stings, more painful than every other ache in your body.

“You did great. You can rest now, okay?”

Chirithy leans over you. Your arm sags, and the Keyblade falls from your grasp. You gather your friend in your arms. They don’t seem to mind the mud splattered everywhere.

The rain stops. The clouds part, and a light fills the sky.

Kingdom Hearts appears in all its glory, more of a sun than a moon, bright enough to blot out the stars. It swells with the light of the hearts rising up to join with it.

You squint your eyes against its harsh blue light. Everything is simultaneously too hot and too cold. You struggle for breath, your armor weighing on your body. This is it. This is your end. Your eyelids close and you breath out. At least Chirithy is here with you.

End this nightmare. Please. Take away my bad dreams and replace them with peaceful ones.

You feel a hand grasp your own, and your eyes blink open.

“Skuld?”

“Hey.”

She steps back, and Ephemer takes her place by your side. Tears blur your vision and spill down your face.

“You broke . . . your promise.”

“Sorry about that.” He smiles apologetically, and you can’t help but laugh. The sound is weak, but it makes your chest lighter.

“You’re late.”

“I know, but I’m here now. Let’s go.” He raises his hand, and you clutch it tight.

The light fills your vision. You close your eyes and finally slip into sleep.

[lilacknifecat]

#ffxivwrite 2021, day 20: “petrichor”

The Twelveswood was a riot of scent and color, even when shrouded in night. Even the green of the canopy above was so dark it blended evenly with the starless shadows above them, and this high up, with stormclouds roiling heavy and low, the night wind nearly smothered Enna with a rich tapestry of scents: the lush, loamy smell of the forest itself, the strange sweet aroma of the rain that the rolling thunder promised. These things he tried to disregard with a shake of his head, his hair whipping wildly behind him in the wind. He knew that staying alert tonight was of utmost importance: the poachers prowling below were an unforgiving sort, but a worse fate awaited them all if they were caught.

Enna huffed a breath, his tail swaying behind him as he adjusted his crouched position on the narrow branch that held him. He'd been stationed high in this tree, hidden among the Shroud's rich boughs to serve as a lookout while the small group of poachers set their traps. Chosen for his slight stature, petite for his age even by Miqo'te standards, Enna hadn't exactly volunteered. The thought of the acrobatics required of him - not to mention the simple fact that he'd be necessary for something, be needed - would usually have thrilled the young Keeper. Something, though, whether the gathering storm or the criminal nature of the outing overall, gave him significant pause.

But it wasn't as if he could decline his mother's wishes. Ena Iahay was a slight Miqo'te herself, but her ferocity was infamous around Rootslake, and she was not one to hesitate when one of her brood stepped out of line, especially her only son. With the promise of his mother's displeasure incentive enough, Enna found himself perched high in the blustery night sky, his jade-like gaze scanning the paths ahead of where his party scouted their prey.

The teenage Miqo'te closed his bright eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. It was half a matter of centering himself, making sure he didn't fall to the earth like an ill-fated star, but the rest of it was simply to savor the peace: this close to the stars, the wind swaying him this way and that in the boughs of his mighty perch, that scent of the world before the rain almost overwhelmed him. He felt miles away from himself, a boy in the Shroud that felt more and more lost with each passing season. Here, between earth and sky, he could ignore the anxiety of his upcoming adulthood - still years away, but looming, as sure and vicious as the storm that threatened. It was just him, that lovely, earthy-sweet rain smell, the wind, and -

A cry from the ground speared through the air, piercing him as suddenly as an arrow. Enna started, rocking unsteadily on the branch before he found his footing and cast his bright gaze downward. His sharp eyes caught movement far below, scattered and swift; the poachers had abandoned their prey, making quickly deeper into the twisting paths of the Twelveswood. Close behind, a party of Wood Wailers combed the dense thicket where they'd lain their traps, calling their findings to each other.

Enna gasped, his tapered ears pinning back in distress. He quickly moved closer to the tree's trunk, hiding himself in the shadows there and trying to steady his breathing. What had gone wrong? Had his troubled thoughts prevented him from sensing the Wailers, or had it been the storm? Would he be able to come down from this tree, ever? If he did would he have somewhere to return, or would his mother cast him out early for his severe misstep?

His heart beat an anxious tattoo in his chest, one that refused to slow until well after the Wailers had departed, until the storm had broken and he'd had to clamber down the rain-slick trunk soaked to the skin. Enna considered staying out, hiding in the marshes or even the boughs of the tree that had been his perch... But reality had set in as quickly as the shivers from his sodden descent. Disappointment or not, he was still his mother's son. Her only son. He could only hope that meant something as he padded home, feeling twice as sorry and bedraggled as he surely looked. Maybe that would afford him some of his mother's hard-won sympathy.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Eyes of Ash

Sozin has only ten years left until his Comet arrives, and he still knows next to nothing about his enemy or the places that would be their battlefields. Scrolls were few and without any maps. No one knew much about the Air Nomads, just like no one knew where their Temples were. Supposedly, they could only be accessed with a skybison.

...But Sozin had his dragon and a reason for them to let him stay. 

Roku trained at the Southern Temple….Perhaps Sozin could start there.

The sea of eyes that greet him are grey like storm clouds gathering. They’re all the same—a homogenous people.

...The eyes of ash were the only exception, and Sozin couldn’t look away.

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A/N: “But you were right. And if the Fire Nation found this Temple, that means they found the other ones, too.” Sozin definitely got busy in the 12 years before the Comet. An ambush has to be planned and calculated, and that means he had to gather intel on the airbenders.

This uses my “whistle-speak” hc that airbenders airbended whistles in a secret language (explored originally in this fic)

Rating: T

Words: 2,917

ArchiveOfOurOwn

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

...Ten years.

Befriending the airbenders was a pain that pooled bile in Sozin’s mouth, but feigning confidence with them was easier than dancing politics with any statesman. 

It was easy.

Almost too easy. 

The thought ran away from him before Sozin could ponder it more. The suspicion was silly. Easy trust from easy people should be expected. The Air Nomads were too simple and peaceful to be anything more than welcoming. They were born without the ability to tip their hearts’ scales into black or white. Their neutrality was as grey as their eyes. 

But as Sozin, stiff and wrinkled like a walking scar, stepped from his dragon and bowed to one of the more decorated old men, he couldn’t help but wonder. It truly was a miracle that the Air Nomads survived so long. Life was cruel. History was even crueler. Trust freely given was a noose around any man’s neck.

All it took was a sob story about his old age and grief for them to welcome him. Sozin was aching from his years, even moreso from the loss of his best friend. His tears were his testament, and the break in his voice shattered the daydream air filling the temple like a gas. He could find solace nowhere else; he pleaded for a chance to find inner peace where his brother once was and where he would take on new life.

They were reluctant at first, but only because of Talon. Sozin’s teal dragon was as massive as he was deadly, and he was tame as a loaded crossbow. Talon licked their fear from their air and purred a growl that trembled a warning like a mountain’s last groan before collapsing. 

The old men were as wary of his dragon as they were of him. It almost made Sozin smile. They could sense a dragon in skybison’s clothing easily enough. Maybe healthy suspicion was how they survived for so long?

Sozin was certain he was going to be asked to leave, but a stranger with eyes and lips wrinkled into a permanent smile vouched for him. The stranger’s smile slipped into his voice, slow and smooth, like a cat curling to sleep on a sun-baked stone. 

Sozin had to force his jaw to relax. He never liked listening to the airbenders speak. The air that left them was alien like their voices were crawling into his ears instead of traveling through space like normal. 

He gave the newcomer a once-over like any good soldier might. His weaknesses, strengths, and chances of becoming a meaningful threat were tucked into a new file and bookmarked in Sozin’s mind. 

But his reconnaissance was cut short by the toddler waddling at the stranger’s heels. The boy barely older than a babe grabbed hold of the old man’s—his father’s? guardian’s?—robe and latched on, teething, on a fold of orange fabric.

Then he looked at Sozin with eyes a shade of grey different from all the others’. The airbenders had eyes like stormclouds gathering. The boy had eyes like ash.

Sozin turned away and coughed.

The boy chewed some more on his favored piece of orange robe. The elder didn’t pay any mind. 

(But Sozin caught the way he leaned closer to the boy like a sabretooth moose-lion before its cub.)

Ten years...Ten years and twenty-two days.

Roku had spoken fondly and often of Sozin to the monk named Gyatso. Gyatso smiled wide and warm like the sun cresting the horizon, and he welcomed the Firelord as a fellow brother mourning Roku’s passing. 

After a few more pleasantries, he invited Sozin to the prayer room where Roku meditated when something heavy weighed on his mind.

Sozin nodded and followed. His attention, however, didn’t want to leave Gyatso’s young charge.

The boy—Aang was his name?—patted his fist on the now wet section of orange robe like he was knocking on a door. Gyatso offered him his hand, and Aang nearly jumped to greet it in his impatience to hold it. He leaned on his mentor and trotted with his weight resting against his not-father’s leg. It was like the boy was a cart missing a wheel but still rolling forward and scraping against a tunnel’s wall for support. 

And then Aang closed his eyes and smiled like accidents could never happen.

And the sight almost made Sozin reconsider.

Almost.

The prayer room was empty when Gyatso finally opened the doors. It took a few minutes since he coddled his charge with gentle words and instructions to wield his airbending to open the lock. 

A puff of dust greeted them with an annoying sting to their eyes. Gyatso apologized and cleaned the room with a wave of his hand, tossing the dust out the window. 

Sozin inhaled a breath of the stuff, but he cleared his throat to suppress the urge to cough. 

But then the boy sneezed, and Sozin looked down at him. 

The pain from the error was swift and brutal. Something hit Sozin’s back like water from a broken dam carrying momentum faster than lightning. On impact, it sprayed him into a bloody mist like pieces of porcelain after meeting asphalt. 

The hacking fit was a compulsion Sozin couldn’t fight, and it would have put him on his knees if he hadn't stopped it at a kneel. 

The eyes of ash misted with tears and were pleading and concerned. The boy patted Sozin’s shoulder with a hand yet able to perform the action without looking like he was trying to beat him instead of comfort him.

The feeling was nostalgic. It almost made Sozin reconsider.

Almost.

...Five years.

Sozin had done worse for longer. It wasn’t like it would break him. What was left of himself had been torn apart and fed to the volcano back on that day. All that mattered was his nation.

His nation.

The Fire Nation. 

For his country to be reborn, there had to be ashes.

Five years...Five years and sixteen days.

For his nation, Sozin could do it. He could endure every Pai Sho game and forced bout of laughter. He could endure the nuns and the reckless younglings who wouldn’t leave him the hell alone whenever he visited the Temples. 

He brought them gifts every time. Operational conditioning. Same as with a dragon. To tame a beast—to make it complacent—create positive associations. 

They were far too trusting. The skybison were ‘companions’. The Air Nomads knew nothing of training. 

...Three years.

Sozin wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.

They were watching him. All of them were.

Their strange secret language—that damn whistle-speak—tricked his mind into thinking it was music so it could hide its secrets from him. It was like listening to singing behind a wall. He could hear the suspicion. He could hear the murmuring. He heard everything they didn’t want him to in passing, and their sung secrets were heavy and thick with a contempt he couldn’t yet decipher.

They were toying with him.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to be. 

Sozin wouldn’t let himself be controlled. The Nomads were fools if they thought they could muzzle a Dragon.

He was the one in control here.

Sozin knew how to control people through fear. These damn people did something far worse. They controlled through trust. It was cruel—it was wrong.

The boy—Aang was his name—wove a pillow-soft tune out of braided winds. He made sure he had the other youngling’s attention before darting up the tree, scaring the lemurs from their perches. 

Sozin cringed. Even the children were speaking of him—hiding from him. 

Eyes of ash peeked at him through the leaves and curved upwards as if smiling.

Sozin turned his cough into an old man’s laugh and dug his nails into his knees.

Three years...Three years and two days.

Gyatso poured their tea and whistle-spoke something to the spies in the trees.

Sozin’s nails nearly drew blood. It was true. It was all of them: the elders, the masters, the skybison, the lemurs—hell, even the children—

He knew it. 

The airbenders were a menace. 

They controlled others with invisible chains and lured people into a sense of peace like it was a defense mechanism. Their kindness, like their whistle-speak, was nothing more than a siren’s song. 

Sozin needed to watch his step. The airbenders had a sophisticated network of communication. They were like one giant organism—a hive incubating enough workers to take over the world. 

Nomads. He wanted to spit on the very thought. 

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner.

They had been collecting information on the nations just as he had been collecting information on them. Their war tactics were so subtle it was nearly frightening. 

They knew he was onto them.

They knew what he was doing. 

They kept him in their sights and watched him even when he was in the Fire Nation. Their grey gazes stuck to him like poison powder from a deadly mushroom. He jumped into the ocean before he stepped back on his homeland for fear of spreading their virus. 

The wind petted the grass in a lick of something warm and calm. Sozin cringed. Their spoken wind was words without words, and they curled around him like they carried their own life.

Even the damn wind was watching him.

Every time he visited the damn Temples he was surrounded by the spies and their attention. He would have barely landed his dragon before a sea of grey eyes consumed his vision like they were storm clouds gathering.

He hated it. 

But he needn't wait too much longer. 

...One year.

The Gyatso fellow was as nice as a spy could be. It was almost regretful that he had to die.

Sozin thought to himself as he moved a Pai Sho tile with a ‘clap’ of lacquer and wood. Almost was too strong a word. Inconvenient? That sounded about right. No one had bested Sozin in Pai Sho before. Stupid White Lotus gambit got him every time. It would be annoying to find something new to waste his time on.

One year...One year and twelve days.

His blueprints of the temples were all but complete. One year. One year was all he needed. At this point, his visits were pleasantries, just a means to save face. 

The old men were getting nervous but about what they wouldn't say. 

Sozin made himself their refuge. He promised them aid. 

He could help them so much more if they would kindly tell him who the Avatar was. 

They refused, as always, but Sozin was as patient as he was calculating. He kept his voice soft, made the same joke, and laughed along with them even when those stupid flying creatures swatted his beard.

They stared at him, too. Everything did. 

Just one year...Just one year and twelve days.

Just a little longer, now. The wild dragons had all been collected and were finishing their training. The old men of the Southern Temple threw a festival in Sozin’s honor. They wouldn’t kill the mammoth green-scaled drakaina that had curled up in their mountains. Their bison were easy pickings to such a creature. They thanked him for giving it a proper home. 

Stupid fools. They hardly mourned the loss of their own. They would probably stand against the wall if he asked them.

There was a second festival to be held that day, almost like a shared birthday. 

The time was so close that Sozin could almost taste it—dry and dusty like ashes of victory over his tongue. In one year and twelve days, the crimson cloth being draped in the halls would be replaced by fire. 

Some would escape, but a few roaches always did when their nest was exposed to the sun. He knew enough to lay traps. They wouldn’t be the sirens anymore. 

It was easy to discern what made this home so attractive to the fliers. They needed the thin air. They were as free as the gusts of air that licked the tops of the mountains they lived in. They preferred altitudes that would leave lesser men sick and on their deathbed. (Sozin had prepared for this. Every soldier had trained on dragonback as high as the beasts would fly.)

(It was a shame that the dragons would have to be killed, too. After, that is. The Avatar born into the Water Tribes couldn’t have a source from which to learn firebending. That was unacceptable.)

Sozin winced. The hum of the prayer bell was annoying and the acrobats of air were even moreso. He sat up straight and forced his respects to the boy as he stood. Aang’s smile was brighter than cherry-red metal that had sat in a forge overnight, and it was almost just as warm.

Aang, if Sozin remembered correctly, had just had his twelfth birthday. He was young for a master. 

The boy looked at him. His eyes were grey like the rest of his people’s, and they weren’t grey like metal, either. 

Aang’s eyes were the color of ash, but they carried the life of something that had never been burned.

Sozin looked away and coughed.

The ceremony and the food were tolerable. The part that came after was almost okay. 

The prayer bell—damn that thing—rang one last time. 

Like a flame going out, so did the quiet. The younger masters all cheered like soldiers at a bar after returning from their first campaign. Aang was up from his seat in the next second and sprinting like his life depended on it.

“Get back here, Aang!”

“You know the rules! You’re one of us now!”

“It’s tradition!”

The boy laughed and shouted back at them with equal parts fun and fear. He moved more like the lemurs than even the lemurs did. It was like he was made of water, slipping out of the young masters’ hands and dodging a dozen bodies trying to dogpile him. 

The old men laughed and reminisced. Some of them pretended not to and forced themselves to chastise the young ones on principle. The lemurs chattered along with all their laughs. 

“No, no, no! Hahaha!—C-C’mon, guys! I—Haha!—Y-You know I can’t—Hahaha!”

One of them gasped dramatically. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, I did, and I simply cannot believe my ears!”

“For shame, Pupil Aang!” The young master flicked Aang’s new arrow. The ink was blue like lightning since it was new and not stretched by the skin. He didn’t wince, though. Sozin didn’t know whether to commend the boy for his tolerance of the pain or the monks for making the aftermath of the process painless (Sozin heard the previous day how much it wasn’t...His screams were muffled by a gag Sozin assumed he was given. He was only allowed by the room as it was performed).

The young men laughed with Aang some more, and they picked on their surrogate little brother for even longer. They only let him go once he was crying from laughing so hard. Two of them threw Aang onto their shoulders. Aang took the opportunity to flick their arrows in turn, and his fraternity of big brothers swooned like they were mortally wounded before they all laughed twice as hard. Aang hugged their heads and swung his legs, and he puffed with something like pride. He looked like a king on his throne, and they sang a song with something that wasn’t words. 

It was that thrice-damned whistle-speak again. Oh, how Sozin loathed their secret language. Had Roku learned this? 

Gyatso laughed long and warmly, but his age crackled in his voice. The sound was dead leaves crunching underfoot, and the way he fondly spoke of his pupil slid into Sozin’s ears as charred kindling collapsing into embers. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” 

A roar shook the canyon, and Sozin nearly leapt from his seat. One of the bison landed on the cluster of young masters, and he pawed through the lump of bodies until he found the smallest, laughing one. He picked Aang up by his scruff between his teeth and grumpily shuffled away from the young masters. Curling up, he held the boy in his front paws and looked almost like he was trying to hide his skyrider under his chin. He bared his teeth and growled at the pouting young masters climbing over him like an infestation.

It almost made Sozin think about smiling. The furry creature was more like a dragon with its horde than it was like the flying filth that were its kin.

“Thanks for the rescue, buddy!”

Sozin looked at the boy without knowing that he was. 

The boy turned. 

Eyes, grey and laughing—ash and mocking him—, caught him in their snare.

Sozin coughed, but, this time, he couldn't turn away. He lifted his sleeve to his mouth to catch the rest. His chest tightened. The air being bent around him was too thick and dusty like he was standing in a room full of mold.

It needed to be burned. The mold needed to be cleansed before it spread and poisoned anything else.

The boy looked away. His smile was infectious.

One year and twelve days. Time was a funny thing. 

Because as Sozin stood atop Talon’s back and searched the crowd of faces below him—looking for those eyes of ash—he remembered the ceremony like it was yesterday.

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

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NaNoWriMo 2020 days 5 and 6 yayyyyyyy☺️

Hope ya enjoyed!:D 

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

False (red) Colours

As far as situations went, Virgil was pretty sure his was unique.

Not because of the whole hunting vampires thing; apparently there were tonnes of those people scattered around the globe. Heck, Virgil probably wasn’t the only hunter to join the cause because he’d been enamored by a goddamn beautiful idiot who he couldn’t just walk away from. But if he came across another vampire pretending to be human to go on vampire hunting trips with said idiot, then he had to congratulate them, because keeping this shit secret was hard.

Not that Virgil felt bad for the vampires they hunted down. He and Roman only went after the nasty ones anyway, the ones who took their strength and longevity and used it for their own gain, to punish or control those around them. So no, Virgil didn’t particularly care about those vampires. They were just bloodsuckers who abused their power, they were practically asking to be staked.

Which was why he didn’t feel bad for what they were about to do.

“Anything yet?” Roman asked from the drivers seat. They’d parked in a shadowy junkyard to observe the comings and goings of an old, disused storage facility on the edge of town. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, now that you mention it, I saw a vampire earlier and decided not to mention it because I like sitting in a dark car in the middle of the night.” He drawled. Roman pulled out his sword to sharpen it lazily and Virgil hissed at him. “Put that thing away! You’ll end up stabbing someone.”

Roman snorted. “Kinda the plan, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, the plan to not stab me.” Virgil muttered. Roman, the gorgeous idiot, just grinned at him crookedly and rolled his eyes. The moment only lasted a moment, however, because his gaze sharpened and locked onto something through the window. The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stood on end. He quickly followed Roman’s stare.

Movement at the mouth of the building. A figure scurried through the entrance, shutting the door after them. They moved fluidly and disappeared inside within seconds. From their speed and coordination in the dark, Virgil was pretty certain he knew what they were, and it was just what he and Roman had come looking for. He tried to catch a further glimpse of the figure through the windows but they had all been boarded up.

“What’s the bet it’s a whole nest?” Roman said lowly.

“Well, boarded windows. They’re still young enough to be weak to the sun.” Virgil pointed out. “So our guy’s probably converting new followers and enthralling them while they’re still weak. That’ll be where all the disappearances are coming from, I guess. Another world-leader wannabe.”

Roman looked thoughtful. “Maybe. Either the missing people are already enthralled, or they’re dinner. No way we’ll be able to rescue any of them. We’ve gotta shut this down before they get anyone else.”

“Do we need to call Joan and Talyn?” Virgil asked. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be calling in more hunters, as nice as the duo had seemed when they met up for lunch the other week, and thankfully Roman shook his head.

“They’re already busy tonight. Besides, we’ve got this.” Roman ran a hand through tousled brown curls and grinned. “Least kills buys pizza tomorrow?”

“You’re on.”

  Roman took the left wing while Virgil took the right. It was the best way to tackle newly-established nests – the sire would be resting, protected, in the heart of the building, sending his newly fledged underlings to act as guards on the outskirts. Virgil’s heart went out to the vampire standing guard in front of side door – she had obviously been turned only a few days ago at most. She flinched even at the soft glow of the moon as if it were the sun’s glare, and squinted around at her dark surroundings. Even her night vision must not have fully kicked in yet.

Virgil could remember what it was like to be newly fledged. He’d been scared, confused, hurt and hungry. He didn’t understand what was going on around him. It had taken weeks of hiding and feeding and adjusting to his new body for him to gather his mind enough to finally remember his own name. He’d recovered; eventually.

But Virgil hadn’t been enthralled by an elder vampire.

Which was why he didn’t hesitate to break her neck, as quickly and painlessly as he could before making his way further into the building. He encountered few fledgling on his way. It was a nest in its early stages, after all. Hunters had to make sure to close down any nests before they could be properly established and dig their roots in too deep.

Virgil’s anxiety levels rose the further he explored, knives at the ready. This place was quiet, eerie – it gave him the creeps. More so than the usual creepy vampire hangouts. And that was saying something.

A scrape. Virgil flattened his back against a wall, listening carefully into the quiet of the inner sanctuary. There was a muted rustling and rasp of voices. Virgil slunk towards the entrance.

No time to think, only act. As soon as the room came into focus, the gloomy concrete floors and the vampire hissing to its quivering subject, Virgil lunged.

The elder screeched and its eyes flashed – the fledgling jerked, against their will, into Virgil’s path. Virgil swiped them out of the way and found a pistol aimed at his face.

The elder vampire stared at him, and Virgil stared back. Since when did vampires need guns? This one apparently took no chances. Its face slowly split into a fanged smile as it regarded Virgil. At least Roman wasn’t here yet. They stood alone in a dark room that may have once been an office or a break room. Now it was torn up and water-stained. The air smelled mildewy.

“Nice place you got here.” Virgil drawled. The vampire’s head tipped.

“A hunter. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Virgil’s lip curled. “Yeah, yeah, speeches and all that shit. I get the drill.”

“You’re not going to ask me about myself?”

“I don’t fucking care who you are.”

The vampire shrugged. “That’s fair.” It said, and then it pressed the trigger and shot Virgil in the chest with a deafening crack. There was a sharp impact that hurt like a bitch, and he hissed, clutching at his shirt with sharp nails. It burned, already itching as it began to scab over. The blood dribbled over his hand. It was hot and metallic and the scent of it made Virgil’s fangs burst free with the need to rip tear rend.

The vampire’s eyes widened comically. “You’re-”

Virgil didn’t realize a familiar figure stood frozen in the doorway.

He didn’t realize as he lunged at the gun-toting vampire with a roar; sank his fangs into its neck and tore out its throat; latched onto the hot, life-giving pulse and gulped greedily as he dragged its twitching body to the floor. He wrapped his legs around its convulsing chest and sucked down deep mouthfuls of liquid. Contrary to popular beliefs, vampires could still bleed. They had heartbeats.

But not enough, not fast enough to sate his hunger. Virgil tore through veins and arteries and sank his fangs in once again, feeling the strong throbbing of his prey’s heartbeat nearly push bursts of blood down his throat.

And then a voice that shattered his whole world into pieces.

“Virgil!”

Virgil’s appetite dropped like a stone. He snapped his head up – too little, too late, for the human in the doorway. The human who had been here this whole time. Roman stood white-faced with his sword clutched in one hand, and when Virgil met his horrified gaze Roman lifted it.

“No.” The sound that tore from Virgil’s lips was rough, somewhere between a whimper and a sob. He clapped his hands over his blood-smeared face.

But the damage was done.

Roman stepped forward and Virgil slithered back with a frightened cry. The gleam of the blade filled his vision. He scrambled in reverse until his back hit a wall – pinned, trapped.

And still Roman advanced. Virgil pressed his back against the wall.

“Roman, please – walk away now, don’t come any closer! Roman BACK OFF!”

Step after slow step. Virgil dug his nails into the wall and screamed, “BACK OFF! I’LL KILL YOU!”

Roman didn’t slow.

“Leave me alone! ROMAN! I swear I’ll kill you – I swear I’ll–”

But Virgil couldn’t swear anything. He curled up into a ball and hissed half-heartedly at the hunter who loomed over him, sword in hand. Roman. He couldn’t hurt Roman.

Roman moved, and Virgil closed his eyes and hoped it would be quick.

Seconds passed and the pain did not come, nor the sound of Virgil’s neck being sliced. He peeked out from under his eyelashes, still expecting the blow to come.

Roman’s sword had been roughly, hastily shoved into its sheath. And Roman – Roman had dropped down to his knees with his hands palm-up and empty. Virgil stared at him suspiciously – what was the trick? The ploy? The knife to spear him through the heart?

“Virgil.” Roman rasped. “Virgil, please. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not.”

Not? Virgil tucked himself in tighter. He hadn’t felt his eyes well up but he did feel the hot blood track down his face in a vampire’s imitation of tears.

“Virgil, listen to me. You’re safe. I promise you you’re safe.”

Virgil bit his lip – but he’d forgotten about his unsheathed fangs and now fresh blood welled up, sliding down his chin.

Roman opened his arms. “It’s okay.”

It was probably a ruse – a trick, to get him to drop his guard. What the hell. Virgil would die anyway. He may as well pretend to be loved, just for a little while.

So he tipped forward and into Roman’s grip – allowing the hunter to hold him while Virgil wept into his vampire-blood-splattered jacket. Roman stroked his hair feverishly. He was warm, solid, and the contact made Virgil relax against him almost instantly like a tired cat. Everything might even be worth it for this moment.

“Oh, stormcloud. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Roman whispered. “I love you. We’re gonna be okay.”

Definitely worth it. Virgil took a deep breath and steeled himself for the jab of a blade in his unprotected back. It… didn’t come. Roman was getting slow.

Maybe he wanted to draw this out. Virgil didn’t have it in him to fight anymore. Whatever Roman had planned for him it was justified anyway.

He let out a whimper of protest as Roman started pulling away, and was answered by Roman’s arms tightening again.

“We have to leave, okay Virge?” He whispered. “Let’s go home.”

Well, that was morbid. Virgil nodded mutely against Roman’s chest. If that was where he wanted to do it…

  Roman was deathly silent on the way home. Virgil pulled his knees to his chest in the passenger seat and looked out the window for the whole drive. The midnight city was alight – a collage of bright signs and dim alleyways and the stretch of charcoal sky. Occasionally Virgil would catch glimpses of his reflection in the window. His drawn face, the shadows under haunted eyes, bloodstains around his mouth and dripping down his chin. Looking every bit the monster he was.

Virgil tried to ignore that and focus on the view. After all, this was the last time he’d see it.

The drive ended all too soon, Roman pulling into a familiar driveway. The usually cheerful face of home now appeared dark and menacing. Virgil barely waited for the car to stop before he shoved opened his door and strode inside. With his pretense of being human blown, he didn’t need to turn the lights on. He did, for Roman’s benefit.

Virgil looked out the window and hugged himself as Roman’s footsteps followed him inside. Roman pulled off his bloodstained jacket and dropped it on a rack.

“Do you want the shower first?” Roman offered quietly. Jeez, he was really taking this seriously. Virgil shook his head. “Okay then.”

The hunter disappeared into the bathroom. He was being very trusting, assuming Virgil wouldn’t try to escape. Or maybe Roman knew that even if Virgil did run, he would just find him again. Roman always found his prey.

Virgil slumped bonelessly on the couch and buried his face in his hands.

It seemed like only a few minutes later that Roman emerged with wet hair. Virgil glanced up through his fingers, biting his lip. Roman was heading for the fridge.

“Shower’s yours. I’m gonna cook some ravioli, and then we should talk. Things always seem better after a meal, like Mama used to say-”

Virgil yelled, “Why are you doing this?”

Roman froze. Oh shit, Virgil hadn’t meant to say anything. But it was done now.

He stood jerkily from the couch. “I get that you want to do it right, or whatever. I’m a vampire. I get it. But – but now you’re just being cruel.” Virgil dug his fingers into his scalp, eyes prickling with bloody tears. “Why don’t you just get it over with? Do you want to set me on fire or something? Do you want to chop off my head? I don’t care Roman, just do it already!”

Roman looked horrified. “Virgil, what on earth are you talking about?”

“You need help? I’ll help you!” Virgil grabbed out his own dagger with shaking hands and pressed the tip to his chest. It pricked through his shirt and Roman paled. “Just do it already! Put me out of my misery, I don’t want – I don’t want to wait any longer.” His voice cracked. “Why are you making me wait?”

“Virgil.” Virgil winced up through a blur of red tears as Roman stalked forward. Roman grabbed the dagger from his hands and threw it away. It skittered across the floor. Virgil stared at Roman as the hunter framed his face, tears pouring from bright brown eyes. “Virgil, honey, please listen. I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear, Stormcloud. I’m not. You’re my Virge. We can handle this, I promise. Listen – listen!” He grabbed Virgil’s hands as the vampire tried to hide his face. “You’re safe, Virgil, I promise.”

Virgil shook his head and tried to shout, but his voice came out as more of a strangled sob. “I’m a bloodsucker. A parasite. I deserve to die, you know that-”

“No, Virgil, you’re so good. You’re so good. You don’t deserve to die and I’m not gonna kill you. Okay?”

There was no lie in his voice.

Roman was crying, and his eyes were so intense – Virgil couldn’t meet them. He could only nod mutely. Roman squeezed his hands.

“Now why don’t you go have a shower? You’ll feel better after that. And we can eat some food, and sleep, and talk tomorrow. Okay?” Virgil nodded again. “Do you wanna have a sleepover in my room?” Another nod. “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Roman kissed Virgil’s forehead before sending him to the bathroom. It was warm and full of steam. Homely in a way that Virgil didn’t deserve. He stood under hot water and scrubbed dry blood from his skin. He felt like he was in a dream.

When Virgil emerged Roman was making trips from the lounge to his room, carting pillows and – was that the fucking microwave? Virgil hesitated. When Roman wobbled though, instinct kicked in and he darted forward to catch the heavy machinery before it could drop.

“Thanks.” Roman wheezed, not flinching like Virgil would have expected. He was acting so… normal. Virgil would have been weirded out if he wasn’t so tired.

“Why the fuck are you taking the microwave?” Virgil asked quietly.

“Uh, because I want to make popcorn and it’s annoying to keep walking back and forth from the kitchen to my room? Duh. Hey, you’ve got that super vampire strength right? Can’t believe I’ve been carrying things for you all this time. Come on, we’re eating popcorn and watching movies and leaving all the knives and shit out here.”

Virgil blinked at the overload of information. “Um.”

“Are you coming or what?”      

Virgil shifted the microwave to his hip and stared at the exasperated hunter, whose eyes were still pink from crying and yet rolling like this was any other day and he hadn’t just discovered his best friend was a fucking vampire. Seriously. Virgil had known Roman was an idiot, but he’d expected the hunter to have some sense of self-preservation.

“I have fangs.” Virgil blurted out. Roman frowned at him.

“Yes. I thought we already covered this? Now get your ass into gear, Big Hiro 6 isn’t going to watch itself.”

…huh. Either Roman or Virgil were stupider than he’d thought, because this was not playing out how he’d expected.

For the sake of his dignity, Virgil chose to believe it was Roman who was lacking in IQ. He shrugged and went to carry the fucking microwave into Roman’s bedroom. His idiot had decided to keep him, and like hell Virgil was gonna throw that away by being moody and dramatic.

He managed to not be moody and dramatic up until Roman cheekily suggested they watch Twilight. At that point Virgil couldn’t be blamed for throwing a pillow at his face.

[collapsingintojupiter]

Sunshine and Stormclouds: Chapter 14

Catch up: Chapter 1  Chapter 1.5  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13

Yes, I’m back. 

Characters: Virgil, Logan, and baby!Patton

Relationships: Analogical

TW: Anxiety around thunderstorms, (brief) mentions of an abusive/traumatic past.

---

The two were visiting Logan’s parents after his mom got sick, and a storm hit on the way back. Turns out, Patton is terrified by them. 

Logan yawned. The rain splattered over the windshield filtered the streetlights glow into a kaleidoscope of gold; over Virgil, who slept with his hood yanked over his head, curled up against the door. Over Patton, who was half-asleep and babbling to himself in his carseat. 

It had been something of a long day for all of them, Logan knew. The husbands had been at his parents’ house, checking up on his father after he’d fallen ill a few days ago. Though Larry had always been healthy and Logan wasn’t terribly worried about it, it had been good to see his parents again. Not to mention, Dot was absolutely delighted to get to see little Patton, spoiling him like crazy while Logan got to talk to his dad like he hadn’t been able to in a long time. 

They left after dinner, which Virgil had helped Logan cook. They all ate together, gathered around his parent’s cozy little dining table, and even Virgil seemed to be enjoying himself judging by how relaxed he was. 

“How’s work been for you, Virgil?” Dot asked. She’d taken over the job of ensuring Patton was fed, refusing to let Logan or Virgil do it--something that Logan both appreciated and didn’t appreciate. That was his thing, after all. Virgil nodded to his mother, nibbling on his portion of meatloaf. 

“Stressful, as always, but it feels good to know I can make a difference, somehow,” he admitted. 

“You have such a big heart,” she answered with a soft smile. “I’m so proud of you, Virgil. I always knew you’d be making a difference one day.”

The expression on Virgil’s face made him look like he was 16 again; reminded Logan of Roman. He understood, suddenly, how Virgil seemed to understand him so well. That look of amazement when he received praise from his elders, followed by trying (and largely failing) to hide it with casual nonchalance; it was the same between them.

“I am too,” Larry added. “For your job; for your son. I have no doubt that Patton will grow into a fine young man one day.” Logan’s father had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but had insisted on coming to dinner anyways. In his hands was a bowl of Ramen, and he smiled over it at Virgil as he spoke. 

“I do my best,” Virgil mumbled, looking down at his food as his cheeks burned red at the praise. He smiled a little; the smallest smile. Dot and Larry exchanged glances, both grinning. 

It may not have seemed like much, but the tiny smile on Virgil’s face meant the world to both of them; Logan knew better than anyone. His now-husband had grown so much from the teenager he had once been; angry at the world and everything in it but him and Remy.

Logan remembered; after they’d gotten him away from Mr. D, and Virgil had first moved in with his family. It had been horribly tense, especially during those first few weeks. Virgil was constantly hiding in his room; so overwhelmed by his new situation and the stress of school that temper flares and panic attacks were commonplace for him.  

But Dot and Larry had been patient. They knew what Virgil meant to Logan; not to mention they knew better that most what the boy had been through not only at the hands of his family, but at Mr. D in the time following his disownment. Logan’s parents were gentle to Virgil; kind, and understanding of what made him “different.” They gave him his space, helped him get a therapist for his anxiety, and told him every day how much they loved him.

Logan had their stubbornness, Virgil had always said; they refused to give up on him.

Logan remembered the nights he spent in Virgil’s room with him, while he clung to him and sobbed into his shirt. He remembered helping the other boy ground himself, time and time again. He remembered how Virgil would apologize, and he would stubbornly tell him that he didn’t need to; that it was fine, and he’d help him as many times as he needed to. 

And behind those stern words, the whispered “I love you” burned in his heart.

And gradually; so gradually, Virgil’s thick shell wore down, and he let Logan’s family in.

Now, the father and husband smiled at Dot as he hugged her; beamed as she played with his little Sunshine on the floor. He even teared up saying goodbye to Larry before they left, and Logan’s heart swelled with pride as his father held Virgil for as long as he wanted before letting go; letting his adopted son go again.

And now, in the car, Virgil slept, as the radio station played quietly and Patton murmured to himself something about bunnies. Logan relished in the silence; in the warmth that glowed in his heart over what had happened earlier that day. He let the silence hang in the air over the hum of the engine, letting out a quiet sigh as he pulled into a gas station to refuel. Virgil’s patch jacket glowed purple in light streaming through the window as Logan got out, where he paid for the gas before going into the convenience store. 

He returned with two coffees to find Virgil awake like he knew he would, silently passing one of the coffees to him as he climbed inside. His husband accepted the coffee sleepily, and Logan almost melted at the soft look Virgil gave him as he took a sip. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly. It was raining a little harder now, and Virgil visibly relaxed as he listened to it patter on the windows, leaning against the door with a sigh. 

“Better,” he answered, in an equally soft voice. “It was good to see your folks again.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Logan said as he started the car. “I know I am not typically one to express much emotion but...I did miss them.”

“Yeah, we know you’re a sap at heart.” Virgil smirked, and Logan raised an eyebrow at him, hiding a grin as they pulled back onto the highway.

The rain fell harder, crashing into the windshield in sheets. Lightning split the sky not far away, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. The roaring sound overhead, though comforting to Virgil, woke Patton. The little boy jumped, and started to cry as Virgil twisted around in his seat to try and calm him down. 

“Hey, hey, Sunshine, it’s okay buddy,” Virgil said softly. Another rumble of thunder echoed overhead, which only made Patton cry harder.

“Patton, please.” Logan could hear the panic in his husband’s voice as he desperately tried to calm the boy down, but to no avail. Meanwhile the rain fell in sheets, followed by hail, which only served to scare Patton even more as it rattled against the car windows. 

“I’m going to have to stop, it’s getting too hard to see,” Logan called. Patton was now sobbing hysterically, and the look in Virgil’s face suggested he wasn’t far behind. He pulled the car over as another streak of lightning slammed into the ground not far away, quickly undoing his seatbelt and getting out as Virgil did the same. They moved to the backseat, and Virgil undid Patton’s seatbelt before carefully lifting the child into his arms. Logan scooted close to him, and Virgil leaned against him as he gently rocked Patton back and forth. 

Patton continued to cry, though he calmed down somewhat in his father’s arms. Virgil, likewise, seemed a bit more calm himself now that Logan held him in his arms.

They sat like that for a while, as the rain pelted against the windows and the wind howled above it. 

Then, Logan opened his mouth and began to sing.

You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. 

You have been my Sunshine today.

Virgil couldn’t hold back a smile at the words Logan sang, and as he started to sing the song again he joined, the husband’s voices swelling in a harmony of pure tenor and soft base notes that kept out the sounds of the storm. Patton stopped his crying to stare at the two in awe, which was more than enough motivation for Virgil to keep going.

They sang the song a second time, then a third, altering the melodies and harmonies each sang as the thunder slowly faded into a background of soft rain. Patton sniffed, his dark eyes wide as he listened, but he didn’t cry again. Virgil smiled at him; as the third round died out he hugged the boy close. 

“You feeling better, buddy?” he asked gently. 

“That was...was scary!” Patton answered shakily, burying his head in Virgil’s jacket. Virgil held him close, as Logan held him close. 

“Don’t worry Sunshine,” he said gently. “You’re safe with us, okay? The storm can’t hurt you.”

The three sat there for a long time in the back of the car, just holding each other. Patton, tired kid that he was, soon fell asleep in Virgil’s arms. Logan helped his husband carefully clip the boy back into his carseat, carefully arranging his soft blanket over him so he’d be warm. 

The rain had slowed enough for Logan to see, so he and Virgil moved back to the front of the car. Their coffee was cold now, but neither of them cared. Virgil sipped at his as they continued on the drive home. 

It was quiet again. 

---

Remy held a bundle of black and tan fur in his arms as it shivered, trying to burrow into his shirt and away from the roaring thunder outside. 

“Don’t worry, little Prince,” he murmured, gently stroking the little creature’s back with his hand. “It’ll be okay, I’ll keep you safe…” the puppy trembled as he wrapped it up in a soft blanket, holding it close and playing some quiet music on his phone. 

“There ya go Princey...just relax, you’re okay…” the puppy calmed down, and slowly stopped shaking in Remy’s gentle embrace, nuzzling its snout into his arm. 

“Atta boy...there you go.” Remy leaned against the side of his couch, cradling the pup gently in his arms. He knew Virgil and Logan were probably okay, but the thought of Roman crossed his mind and refused to leave. 

He hoped the boy was okay...

---

Roman hugged his pillow close to his body, watching the storm as it roared and thrashed in the clouds outside. His stomach rumbled, tears sliding down his face like the droplets on the window. His heart thumped against his chest, heavier than the dark clouds in the sky.

Tomorrow will be better, he whispered to himself. 

Tomorrow...