#warcats writes

[warcats-cat]

Warm Fuzzies

Summary: Hermes drops by for a visit, and is not at all prepared for what he finds temporarily sharing your apartment. Cuteness ensues!

A/N: This is a gift for @deltathelittleartist (MagicalEevee on Ao3!) for their AMAZING BEAUTIFUL artwork of Hermes in some outfits from First Valentine. (Seriously, go check it out!!!)

UPDATE DELTA MADE ART FOR *THIS* FIC AS WELL OF HERMES MEETING THE KITTIES AND ITS **ADORABLE** GO LOOK AT IT!!!!!

Read on Ao3 Here!

-----

“Uh… what was that…noise?” Hermes' voice floated from your window/door as he carefully shut it.

You beamed, looking anywhere but his eyes. “What noise?” You asked.

There was a quiet squeak from your bedroom.

Hermes took off his sunglasses, “That… noise??”

Another squeak.  Hermes' eyes narrowed, and he turned to the bedroom. Before you could react and move to block his path, he wooshed right to the doorway in a blink and opened the door. You barely had the time to cry, “Careful!!”

The squeaks became slightly louder, now a chorus instead of only one particularly loud voice. A tiny kitten-shaped-blob waddled out of the doorway, and tentatively batted at the hem of Hermes' cloak.

The god of mischief stared down at the kitten blankly.

“So… uh… I can explain…” you stammered. Two more kitten-blobs waddled over to see what their sibling was doing; one climbing onto Hermes' foot and taking a nibble of his sandal strap.

“There are infants in your home…” The god stated, eloquently.

Finally, a cream and brown tortoiseshell cat wandered out, two more babies in tow, and she sat right at Hermes' feet to stare up at him. You moved forward, ready to grab any kittens that decided to continue exploring the room.

“Well, uh, you see - I heard them squeaking last night as I was coming home. They were under my car, ya’know, because it's warm, and I couldn't just leave them in the mall parking lot! So, I ran in really quick and grabbed a box from the back that hadn't been broken down yet and a blanket from my trunk - you should always have a blanket in your car in case you break down - and the mama cat didn't even need to be persuaded! She hopped right in and I piled up her babies and I had to look for the nearest vet because obviously I've never needed one before!” Your rambling was cut off by Hermes pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Breathe, darling,” he giggled. He bent down and gave the mother cat a soft scratch between her ears, eliciting a low purr. All five kittens now huddled at his feet, playing with each other and the god’s cloak.

You smiled, “yeah. Anyway, the vet said they were all healthy. They had probably been dumped that morning, and of course the mother wasn't chipped. But the shelter in the area was full, and I didn't want them to just be left outside, so I volunteered to foster them for a week or so until they can get a better placement.”

You sat down on the floor and the kittens waddled over to you, mewing and squeaking some more. The mother, content that her babies were with a competent guardian, licked your hand and wandered back into your bedroom to retrieve her food.

“I made a little corral for them but the mom kept escaping and taking her babies into my bedroom, so I just kinda let them waddle around in there. She must have escaped again…” you said, carefully picking up a kitten.

Hermes smiled softly, “ah, a fellow artist.” He carefully moved the kittens off of his feet and walked back into the living room area, beginning to fiddle with something.

By the time you had all five kittens and mother back in their makeshift pen, Hermes was walking in behind you and taking them back out.

“Hey! They're supposed to be close together! I don't want them to make a huge mess of my apartment…” you said, following him.

There, in front of the tv, was a proper little corral, complete with a new blanket he had summoned from somewhere. It was built with a sturdy-looking baby gate, and there were plush pillows and even a heating pad and scratching board in the middle.

You stared.

“Where did you get a baby gate in two minutes?”

“One minute, fifteen seconds.” He mumbled under his breath, and then shrugged. “I had one in my bag.” He placed the last kitten in the new corral, and you decided not to ask further…

“What are you going to do about work?” Hermes asked. You frowned, trailing a hand around the edge of the pen and watching a kitten waddle after it.

“I asked for the week off. I can use some PTO hours I've been saving. My manager wasn't thrilled but didn't complain since I got the days covered.”

You felt Hermes lean against you, warm and solid, and he put his head on your shoulder.

“Did you pick a name for any of them?” He asked softly. You blushed, looking away.

“Ah, well. I don't want to get too attached, and the kittens are still too little to do much. I didn't know what to call the mother cat, and the vet suggested a name but at the time I was only half paying attention.”

“What did they suggest?” He asked, leaning more into your space with his stupid mischievous grin. You blushed harder.

“W-well, they thought a cute name would be Molly…”

At the sound of her ‘name’, the mother cat chirped and looked up.

Hermes snorted, breaking into a giggle. “Wait, that's hilarious!”

You batted at him teasingly, smiling yourself. “It's a total coincidence!! I didn't even realize it until I got home and said it out loud!” you insisted.

“Oh, suuuure! I'll be sure to keep that in mind!” he laughed. “I can't wait to tell Circe some of her moly escaped!”

The kittens began to waddle over to investigate the commotion while Molly-the-cat kneaded the pillows, making herself comfortable in the new bedding.

“Whatever!” You said, still smiling, “Don't you have somewhere to be, anyway?” Hermes stuck out his tongue at you.

“What, I can't come visit my partner?”

In a quick bid of mischief, you pinched his nose, making him squeak. “Sure, you can visit whenever you want, but I didn't think you were able to stay tonight.” You said.

“Well, now I've found out my partner has infants to take care of! So, I'm going to be a good boyfriend and help them!” He retorted.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, and leaning over to kiss him. “Well, thank you, I guess.” You teased.

The rest of the evening was easy; you and Hermes sat on the couch and could both watch TV and watch the kittens at the same time. They were so tiny and squirmy; you remembered seeing some post a long time ago about the name bumper-car kittens for the stage when the babies were round and unsteady on their feet, and walked with their tiny tails straight up to help them balance. Their mother, meanwhile, seemed happy simply to watch them; occasionally she would nab one and give it a thorough washing, but otherwise she lay there enjoying the warm pillows and heating pad.

-----

You must have dozed off about midnight, leaning against Hermes, because suddenly your alarm was going off and you found yourself in bed, still in the tee shirt and sweatpants from the day previous.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the sight just outside your door.

“Help…” Hermes, laying flat on the floor. One kitten curled up on his chest, close to his shoulder. Two kittens cuddled on his stomach. One kitten trying valiantly to fight the wing on the left side of his head. And Molly with her last kitten tucked close to his side, almost near his armpit.

You did not help, instead giggling and taking many photos of the god who had apparently been bested by a family of felines. The kitten playing with his wing toppled over when it tried to jump and swipe it at the same time, and you carefully picked it up, adding it to the cuddle pile with the other two on his stomach.

He gave you a big pout, widening his eyes and silently begging for rescue. “You're just gonna leave me here?” He asked with a whine.

“Are you kidding? Those things are vicious! I'm not coming within ten feet!” You giggled, stepping carefully over him and heading to the kitchen.

“They ambushed meee!” Hermes whined again, and you laughed.

“Oh, yes, I'm sure! They sure look formidable! What did they do, cry until you laid down?”

You heard a mumble from the living room as you put some pop tarts in the toaster.

“What was that?” You called.

“One climbed up my pant leg when I tried to feed Molly…” he said, slightly louder.

“Uh-huh. And how did that lead to your current situation?” You asked. You could imagine him blushing now, and pulling his wings to cover his eyes like he did when he was feeling bashful. The pop tarts popped out of the toaster, and you carefully set them on a plate. The pair of you could share.

Perhaps…

Stepping carefully back into your living room, you set the pop tarts where the kittens couldn't easily get to them (and hopefully Molly would leave them alone…) and sat next to Hermes' head. None of the kittens even bothered to look at you, too happy to be napping on their oversized heater. Hermes made another face.

“No, really, how did this happen?” You asked again, giggling. You reached and carefully broke off a small chunk of pop tart, waving it in the god's face.

He frowned, trying to lift his head enough to reach the treat before letting it flop back down with a huff.

“Mean to me,” he mumbled; “I told you, the little all white one started climbing my leg.”

“Uh-huh,” you smiled wider, “And?”

“I didn't want her to fall, obviously, so I picked her up and set her on my shoulder for a minute while I went to get cat food, and then she put her little paws in my feathers and it startled me. And then Molly chirped at me like ‘if you hurt my baby’ and hopped out of the gate. And then all of the kittens started crying, and Molly stared at me like ‘see what you did?’ even though it totally wasn't my fault!

So, I was like fine, you little furball and I brought all the babies out and sat down with them on my lap, but then they started climbing to attack my feathers!!” he rambled through his totally accurate and believable story. You snorted, feeding him the chunk of pop tart.

“Uh-huh. Sure, love. Whatever you say.” You giggled while he stuck his tongue out at you.

The pair of you sat like that for almost an hour - him on the floor with a cuddle pile of kittens on his stomach, you feeding him chunks of pop tart in between bites of your own. It was nice. Quiet.

At some point, you also laid on the floor, taking a few kittens to lay on your chest. They squeaked in protest only a moment before settling right back to sleep, and Molly purred loudly between you and Hermes. There was a soft haze to the day; a sleepy day off. You had soft blankets and pillows, soft sleepy kittens, and a soft silly boyfriend to snuggle up to. You and Hermes chatted quietly about his work this week, where all he had to go and why. You rambled about customers at work and the book you had been reading in your downtime.

About noon, the kittens decided their nap was complete, and they waddled around Hermes' torso, looking for a way to get back down from such a great height. The god tried very valiantly not to squirm, but it was clear the tiny paws wandering his abdomen were hitting every ticklish spot he had. The wings on his head flapped once or twice, and suddenly Molly was there, sitting just next to him and sniffing in his hair.

You quickly moved to grab the kittens and put them back in their pen, much to their displeasure if the squeaking and mewing was an indicator; and you watched, as if in slow motion, as Molly carefully lifted a single paw and brought it right back down on Hermes' forehead with a thwap. The god looked stunned, staring at the cat in confusion. You giggled to yourself, wishing you had that on video.

Molly raised a paw to do it again, Hermes still making no move to stop her, and you swooped in and gently lifted the cat away. Thankfully, she wasn't upset, apparently, but she did make her own sound of confusion at where the floor had suddenly gone. You gently cradled her in your arms, realizing now just how warm and solid she was. After a few moments of confusion, she settled, rubbing her face against the underside of your chin and purring loudly. You hummed, cuddling the cat, waiting for Hermes to stand up.

He didn't stand up.

You turned around, and found your boyfriend now staring at you. His typically silver eyes had the faintest tinge of green. You giggled.

“Is someone envious?” You teased, nudging him with your foot.

He looked away, “nooo…”  You could almost hear him blushing. You laughed a little harder, carefully settling Molly into the pen and watching as she gathered her kittens for lunch.

“Oh, no? Not even a little bit?” You pressed, crouching down next to him and poking his side.

Without answering, and faster than a blink, you found yourself laying on top of Hermes (while still on the floor!) with his arms around you.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” he said, though it was muffled from his face being tucked into your shoulder.

“Oh suuuure,” you teased, carefully threading your hands into his hair. You gently moved his head, and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Are we feeling a little un-cuddled then?”

He squirmed, and rolled so you were both side-by-side now. “Maaaaaaybe” he drawled. You smiled.

“Well, then, I’ll have to fix that.” He rubbed his nose against yours, now smiling.

“Mm’kay,” he hummed. You wiggled free of his arms and the pair of you moved to the much more comfortable couch; Hermes waved his hand and the tv blinked to life.

The next morning, you would receive a call from the vet office, saying they had found a foster for your little fuzzy family. You were sad to see them go, but happy to know they would all be well taken care of.

And a month or so from now, if a familiar cream and brown cat and small horde of kittens showed up in a selfie of Hermes while he visited his friend Circe, it would just have to bring a smile to your face.

(If you enjoyed, please reblog!! And don't forget to reblog Delta's art too and give them some love!!!)

[practically-an-x-man]

Ok, for the new years asks:

🤔, 🥸, 🍄, 🐾, ✍️, 👾, 🤖

Any or all, if you're interested ;)

Ahhhhh thank you so much!! I really appreciate it!

Writer Goal Ask List

🤔 and 🍄 I answered previously!

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

My college roommate knows, because I 1) helped them format their first fanfic and 2) commented on every chapter to support them. I don't think they've read any of my fics, and I'm happy with that, but they've definitely seen my account. They're the only person that actively knows I write fanfic at the moment!

I don't have any plans on telling people, I kind of enjoy having it be private - it's like a journal, I work through a lot of deep emotions and experiences through writing, and I feel more free writing when there's not the risk of someone irl seeing it and taking it out of context - but I'd also be alright with telling someone if I was confident they wouldn't get weird or judge me for it. It just depends on if it pops up!

🐾 Do you plan on writing for any fests or competitions?

Do I plan on that? No. Fests and competitions are stressful and hard to keep up with for me, but I might snag a prompt or two if something looks interesting.

✍️ Which stat matters most to you (if at all!): subscriptions, kudos/favorites, comments, bookmarks, word count, or hits?

COMMENTS COMMENTS COMMENTS!!! And that's not even about how many comments I get on an individual fic, I just love seeing people's thoughts and what moments they point out from the piece, and I absolutely adore when that opens up a discussion about some of those deeper themes and the writing process!! I'm an analyst at heart and I put a LOT of thought into my writing, so I always love when people point out the details they appreciate!

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

I definitely need to get better at not pressuring myself into abritrary expectations or deadlines. I've gotten much better since I started, and I continue to improve, but I still wrestle with a lot of guilt when one of my fics goes a while without an update, and I need to remind myself that I'm writing for my own enjoyment and there's no jeering audience pressuring me to crank out new fics like a machine.

🤖 Are you looking to change your current writing setup? (Or establish one, if you don't have one?)

I know I need to move away from Google Docs (thankfully I have moved away from it with my original works, at least), but it's a difficult shift since I have so much writing contained in Google Docs and I know it would be a huge task to get everything converted to another format. I'm grateful my original works are in Novlr instead, since I've heard a lot of better things about that, but I'd love to get all of my writing to a safer, more ethical program in the future as well.

[warcats-cat]

Honorable mention to the entire new subplot I can crank out at midnight when I'm supposed to wake up early for something 🥲

My writing abilities when I have an entire free day: twelve words. Take it or leave it

My writing abilities when I have to be somewhere in fifteen minutes: I got six thousand more in the pocket

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

I was tagged by @edupunkn00b tysm for the tag!!!!

For this - write down the first ten songs tha play when you randomise your liked songs playlist and then tag people!!

I used my main playlist, because my liked songs playlist has 3 songs on it, so it doesn't work, lol.

1. Bad Day - Daniel Powter

2. EP.4 Important - Ian McConnel

3. wolf In Sheep's Clothing - Set it Off

4. EP.2 Friends - Ian McConnel

5. Twinkling Lights - Annelise Emerick

6. Ready Now - Dodie

7. Colours of the Wind (from Pocohontas) - Jody Kuhn

8. If I Could Tell Her - Ben Platt, Laura Dreyfuss

9. Say Something - A Great Big World

10. Better Than Revenge - Taylor Swift

No pressure with tags!

@viola-halogen @sad-soup-sonic @anxious-mess19 @warcats-cat @doteddestroyer @goldnskyart @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @goldenwitherphoenix13 @fangirlwriting-stories @glacierruler

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

📓 For whichever fandom you like.

hey pal! I'll go with warcats just cos. If there's something else on my blog that caught your eye, let me know and I'll find something for it.

Answering asks from this prompt

Here's a full list of my warcats WIPs that I will hopefully update as I write more.

Clouded Hearts - aka Fireheart Raises Cloudtail solo (for the most part) v1

“What, did someone say something," Cinderpaw asked sharply, dragging Fireheart from his anxious thoughts.

“Nothing I’ve heard. But they look at him weirdly. Like he’s a mouse in their paws or a scrap of moss stuck to their fur. Like he’s not just a kitten like any other.”

“Does Cloudkit notice these looks?”

“Not that I know of," Fireheart offered with a shake of his head.

Granted, he’s been too busy trying to act like everything is normal and reminding other cats to do the same to bother with the dirty looks that Darkstripe gave him. Even if Longtail’s less certain ones were thought-provoking. Fireheart wasn’t sure what was up with that cat, but he didn’t have time for it. Too many cats wanted to talk to him about his training and Ravenpaw. Like they’d cared at all before Fireheart shoved their noses in it.

“So let the queens handle it," Cinderpaw reasoned, jerking her mentor back to awareness. “They know what to look for and will claw any cat out to hurt their kittens, just you watch.”

“They’re teaching me how to be like them, so I might have more to worry about soon.”

“Fair enough," Cinderpaw snickered.

“I just don’t want him to feel like I did when I first joined the Clan. He’s literally a newborn kitten, he doesn’t deserve that.”

“Did you," Cinderpaw wondered, eyes narrowed.

“What?” “

Did you deserve what everyone said about you? How they all treat you, even now? What happened to Ravenpaw almost happened to you, if we heard right the other day.”

Fireheart was speechless. This was what Frostfur and Goldenflower said, nearly the exact same words.

“Why wouldn’t I," the ginger tom asked his apprentice.

“Sure, Tigerclaw treated us like dirt on his paws, but that’s how Clan cats are. I came in well aware of my status as an outsider and that the Clans don’t interact with them lightly.

"I made myself fit where I otherwise wouldn’t have a space. I chose to be here and face all that. Cloud doesn’t get a choice. My sister needed him somewhere safe and easily reached. He hasn’t done anything to earn their ire and scorn.”

“But did you?!" Cinderpaw burst out, frustrated. “What did you do to the cats we live with that they’re so determined to hate you for living your life?”

“Cinder," Fireheart chuckled sadly. “I wasn’t raised here. I didn’t grow up in the ThunderClan nursery like you did. The queens have only known me for the past moon at least.

"Clan cats think they’re better than cats who aren’t like them. Most look down on cats who live with humans, seeing them as soft because they don’t have to hunt for their food or fight for their territory. Same with cats passing through the forest and the town.

"Anyone who’s not a Clan cat gets treated just like I do. And ThunderClan will never let me, or Cloud, forget that we weren’t born here.”

“But that’s absurd," someone snarled from behind them both.

Fireheart shot to his paws and lunged forward, crouching between Cinderpaw and the newcomer.

Yellowfang stood with Brackenpaw and Swiftpaw on either side of her. She carried a drowsy Snowpaw on her back and a squirming Cloudkit in her mouth. Brackenpaw had been the one to object.

Yellowfang placed the kit at her paws and spoke.

“Feel any better about those exercises, kit?" she rasped.

“Yes, actually," Cinderpaw meowed, surprised. “Having to show them to Fireheart really helped, and so did talking.”

“Some heavy chatter you two engage in," Swiftpaw mewed nervously.

“Fireheart has a heavy life," Cinderpaw grumbled. “Maybe talk to your mentor about lightening his load?”

“They don’t have to-.”

“No, she’s right," Swiftpaw said. “When it’s all laid out like that, it doesn’t make sense for you or Cloud to be treated like you are. You were both kittens when you came here.

"I know as we get older we learn some crouches and stories from the elders, but not every kit gets that.

"It’s not fair that Longtail and Darkstripe got that and talked badly about you just because you didn’t.”

“Your mother’ll be proud of you, kit," Yellowfang chuckled. “Smart and cautious.”

“Thank you," Swiftpaw chirped, surprised yet pleased.

“I… I’ll think on what you all have said," Fireheart mumbled, desperate to change the subject.

[thecrowslullaby]

thank you so mich for the tag @candied-peach

1: How many works do you have on Ao3?

39! (its not much, but its honest work!)

2: What's your total Ao3 word count?

around 143,5k

3: What fandoms do you write for?

Currently? sanders sides and team fortress 2, but i would love to try my hand at a star trek fic

4: What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Easy: Souther charm and other suspicious behaviour, Fire, Shopping at 1 a.m. (not particularly proud of that one anymore xd), [Redacted], and Of friend, foe and fae

5: Do you respond to comments?

I try to (i mean to and then i forget :'))

6: What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooooof, i dont shine on writing angsty endings. If im allowed to go with one thats not fully posted yet (or fully writen) it would be "the five stages of losing roman". There is a pernament character death. (Guess which character/lh). Maybe 'a bridge to cross' or 'sunday shirt' but they both are more bittersweet than angsty. I dont really post sad ending, huh. Time to change that/hj (there are a few wips that have more angst, but they arent fully edited)

7: What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them/hj.

I'm gonna say honeybee(also no longer proud of that one) cuz there is the biggest contrast between the story and the ending.

8: Do you get hate on fics?

No(t yet).

9: Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No kind you can prove * laughs awkwardly *

10: Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not particularly fond of them tbh, but i am tempted to give it a fair try before i judge them too harshly.

11: Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Too many grammar and spelling mistake for people to risk it/hj

Question 12 has been lost to the ether...

13: Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes. Its not posted though XD

14: What's your all-time favorite ship?

See, people expect me to say loceit.... ok, yeah, im noy awake anough to come up with anything different, y'all win XD

15: What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

im not ganna say the name jinx it XD

16: What are your writing strengths?

ADHD?

Also dialogue I think XD

17: What are your writing weaknesses?

grammar and spelling.

18: Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I mean, i am doing it rn. English isnt my first language. I did write parts of it in another language. But i dont think I would write a full on dialogue in another language than the rest of the fic. For a few reasons. Mostly my perfectionism.

19: First fandom you wrote for?

Ummmm. Idk. Winnie the pooh, atla or penguins of madagaskar, probably. The firts one i posted though was Hamilton i think - (and i am mighty proud of my idea, not proud of the execution. I was like 12 ok? XD)

20: Favorite fic you've written?

Maybe of friends foe and fae? bc its the first long fic i fully posted? Also a fic that will forever live in my wips and im not sharing that one (ite not smut but damn i am showing my soul a lil too much in that one).

Tagging @rosepetalgold @brainlicking @warcats-cat and @dillydallydove

[warcats-cat]

I am Hawkeye Pierce and my WIPs are the Korean war.

calling that word document a draft by the way im dodging it haha

[killingflies]

a few days ago i was planning to write a whole ass post on hfad but i forgot . for once in the 7+ month span of me thinking abt my warcat oc's nonstop, i stop . all thanks to music . mr bungle has me on a tight grip ok .

[warcats-cat]

Seven Minutes

Summary: Someone was knocking on your window. ..... On your second story window.

A/N: Alright, another fluffy one, this time short and sweet! Once again a big sparkly thank you to @lickoutyourbrains for cheering me on and helping me write these!!!

Read on Ao3 here!

-----

In the little area of your apartment that you called the living room, you kept the furniture carefully arranged. You were lucky enough to have a decent TV and DVD player, and you had a low table that usually sat in front of the couch (but could be moved to make room for an air mattress, if needed.) The couch was decently comfortable, although lately you wondered if it would be worth the money to invest in a pull-out model, since guests were becoming such a regular occurrence. 

There was an overhead light, although Apollo had twice now teased you and Hermes over a lack of lamps to provide “mood lighting”. You also had an abundance of blankets, thanks to your tendency to be cold easily, and tendency to just enjoy buying blankets in general when you could. Fun patterns and fuzzy textures were your weakness. 

Everything within the space was fairly standard, except for one recent addition - a sturdy, carefully waterproofed shelving unit that was fitted flush under the window. Designed for moments like right now.

Someone was knocking on the window. The second story window. 

You jumped from the couch and ran over to see your godly partner, Hermes himself, floating outside your window, absolutely drenched and looking at you with a pout that made him look well and truly like a wet cat. You quickly moved the little stopper you had left blocking the window from opening so he could come in, and went to the bathroom to grab some towels. 

“Why was it stuck?” he whined, sounding far too sarcastic and far too cute at the same time. 

“I'm sorry!” You called from the bathroom, “one of those fluffy creatures that followed you here last weekend stuck around and kept trying to get in!” 

Back in the living room, you saw Hermes floating in a sitting position above the shelving unit, pulling off his helmet. As you went to hand him the towel, the bastard shook his head like a dog and flapped the wings behind his ears, splattering water right in your face. 

“Hey!!” You yelled, jumping back and just barely stopping yourself from falling over. You heard him start to laugh, and flung the towel at him in retaliation. Your attack was caught easily, of course, and he merely stuck his tongue out at you. 

“Bastard.” You called him, but there was a smile on your face and no bite in your voice. He laughed again as he began trying to dry off, starting with his sandals for whatever reason.

“Why yes, I fit several definitions of that word.” he replied with a chuckle. You huffed, grabbing the soaking wet cloak and taking it back into the bathroom to try and squeeze out before hanging in the curtain rail of the shower.

“Why are you wet?” you asked, emphasizing the question. You dug around a moment in your bottom dresser drawer and found a pair of soft sweatpants he had left in your apartment a long time ago, and an old shirt, taking the bundle back out to him. 

“I hit a rain storm on the way back here.” he replied, as if the answer was that simple. He ruffled the towel around his hair (how did he not pull on his wings?) and seemed satisfied with the achieved level of dryness, trading the now wet towel for the dry clothes in your hands. 

“Uh huh…” you paused a moment, and when he didn't elaborate you prompted, “and why did you fly through the rain storm when you could have gone around?” You could see the tiniest blush appear on his face, his mischievous grin going soft. 

“It was a huge storm system! If I went around, it would have taken seven extra minutes.” he said softly, almost mumbling the answer. Suddenly your heart felt a little fuller, and your face a lot warmer. You tucked the wet bundle of towels under your arm and picked up his sandals and helmet to hang in their usual spot on a hook by your front door. 

“Oh, that long? Seven whole minutes?” You teased. As you carefully hung the precious items, you felt him wrap his (cold!) arms around you, and jumped, just a little, dropping the towels. 

“Yeah. Eternity, really,” he said softly in your ear, and your stomach fluttered again. 

He nuzzled against the back of your neck, his nose colder than ice and his arms trapping you like steel. You squeaked, wriggling in a vain attempt to escape the trickster; which only prompted his laughter as he began to poke at your sides with freezing hands. 

You pulled away, laughing as well, as he chased you around the apartment, attacking your more ticklish spots with his icy touch. You managed to evade the god for a few minutes, before he suddenly rounded the coffee table in less than the blink of an eye and lifted you up to his shoulder.

Both of you were breathless, your faces flushed with laughter and a little bit of exertion on your part. You patted his arms, an unspoken request to be put back down.

“You never play fair!” You whined, but with a wide grin on your face. He was equally grinning, the silvery undertone of his eyes sparkling in the evening light. 

“I do too play fair! It's not my fault I was born with more speed than you!” 

“That doesn't even make sense!” You cried, beginning another escape. You made it about four steps towards the kitchen before you were captured once more; at least he was starting to warm up from the chasing. He hooked his head over your shoulder this time, and said something, but you didn't hear it.

He was too excited, and suddenly you had a face full of feathers as one of the wings on his head flapped open. 

You made some kind of exasperated, confused, and high-pitched sound that alerted him to having swatted a wing at you, and he pulled away completely. This only served to throw both of you off balance, and you landed on top of him in a heap on the floor. 

He started saying something in Greek, probably an apology or a swear, and tried to help you up, but you were laughing too hard. His face was flushed so red that he was turning almost gold, the ichor from his core (or soul or whatever it was) leaking into his mortal “disguise” as he called it. He offered you a hand up, which you took, and with a spark of mischief you pulled both him and yourself over the back of the couch, ending up upside down. 

He yelped, and flapped some more as if he could right himself with those little wings alone. And the both of you were laughing again, sliding down the couch to lay in a messy and slightly uncomfortable tangle of hands and knees and elbows. You lay there a while, roughly on top of his chest, on top of the couch cushions. There was comfortable silence between you, although every few minutes it was broken with another set of giggles. He traced his hands over your back in lazy little swirls, enjoying the warmth and the quiet after a long day of swirling around the globe. You listened to his ever-steady heartbeat through his soft shirt, enjoying the feeling of someone close to you after a few days apart. 

In the distance, low rumbles of thunder signaled the rain that had followed Hermes to your apartment. You hoped it was his father signaling approval, like an exasperated parent telling the kids to ‘have fun, but try to keep it down.’

[practically-an-x-man]

15, 16, and/or 28?

Thank you!!

More Fic Writer Asks

15. favorite weather for writing

I'm not picky!! I don't know that I really have a favorite... though I suppose if I have to pick, sometimes a rainy/dreary day can make it easier to fall into those worlds.

16. favorite place to write

Answered previously, but I've got a big old armchair in the living room that I like to curl up in!

28. your least favorite part of the writing process

Hm... honestly, the final editing sweep/tagging/titling process has never been my favorite. Any time I get to that point, I'm usually just really ready to get the fic out there and see what people think of it, so that whole finishing process often just feels like a hurdle I have to jump over to get to that. Plus, I've gotten better at coming up with titles, but it's still not particularly easy for me.

[warcats-cat]

"Balloraggot" is great but can we also appreciate "the shame you brought onto your chemotherapy mother" for a second??? And "chemommy"??????

[killingflies]

i need to stop getting my hopes up whenever any warcat book comes out.... "maybe this time it won't have the same problematic theme/message/element etc. in the story! :D" "maybe they'll address the issues and fix it! or write it better!" ...... i think it's time to give up .

[i-mybrunettelady]

Hello mutuals, there has been cat drama also known as I played Icebrood again, this time with Liv and I just got him to the point of the story where he joins, albeit briefly, in my canon which is No Quarter (and it’s short and fucking painful, the poor guy gets a scare of his lifetime and literally uses Logan’s presence there as Marshal, bc Liv is Pact-Priory, to make a call to El like “PICK ME UP I’M TERRIFIED OVER HERE” and El comes as quickly as he possibly can and he takes Liv back to LA, only barely abstaining from saying, “I told you going would fuck you up real bad” till Liv calms down, there’s a fic about it)

But it’s not what I’m here to discuss, mainly its the drama of MY cats and how they relate to Rytlock. I played Voice in the Deep again. Someone drag me away from that instance. I do it more times than is healthy.

But anyways, it was so ridiculously out of character for Liv (99,9% of main storyline realistically is) and made me think about the lore again. See, Rytlock had this on and off thing with Liv’s sister, Dana Stealshadow, a Blood Centurion and an absolute bitch, who cheated and possibly gaslighted (haven’t worked the details out) and is overall a shitty person who some people say got the job partially because she banged Rytlock just to piss her off. Dana is a mesmer, gathers Blood charr with magic in her warband, and all three of her cubs (one of them with Rytlock) have magic.

Rn Rytlock’s happily in love with another charr lady of mine but that’s story for another post :>

And to add to Rytlock being the sire to one of Liv’s nephews, Liv also had a crush on him when he was younger but felt too insecure to actually do anything about it. He’s also taller than Rytlock.

Voice in the Deep just looks terribly hilarious if you take into account that Liv’s a gentle, kind, intentionally harmless person with no leadership skills whatsoever. And he’s shooting at Rytlock. There are layers to the non-canonical nature of playing Icebrood as Liv. But I have linked the canon interaction Liv has with it, if you’re curious about it (I swear, El and Liv are such a fun couple to write so for some Elion goodness, feel free to check the link up above and mind the spoilers! :D)

[warcats-cat]

Confinement

Summary: In Hermes’ incredibly correct and not at all humble opinion, humans should have stuck with horses, but then humans went off and invented cars. Awful... Hermes loved you; he really did. He adored you. But he loathed your car.

A/N: I'M ALIVE I SWEAR!!! I'm still writing for Hermes and this fandom!!! I love you all and I've MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! TLDR - I was in a car accident right after my birthday at the beginning of April, and while I wasn't badly injured, I've been mentally all over the place since then. Recovery-Scatter-Brain and Stress-Scatter-Brain are real... ANYWAY the irony is that I have had this one written for like forever and I was gearing up to post it right before I had my accident. So I guess Hermes was just trying to warn me in his own loving, mysterious, mischievous way. Also I linked to a song within the fic; it is one of my favorites to sing and one I sang as a part of my Senior Recital when I graduated university; if you take the time to listen I really do hope you enjoy it! (ALSO also, because of this, the reader does refer to themself as 'female' but only in the context of the song!) I hope you guys enjoy this one and hopefully I will have another edited/polished and posted for you before the two month mark... as always please let me know if I've missed any tags and have a truly lovely day, darlings!!!

Read on Ao3 Here!

-----

In Hermes’ incredibly correct and not at all humble opinion, humans should have stuck with horses.

Really, it was the altogether better option, compared to other modes of transportation, although he'd never tell his uncle that. Especially now, in the ‘modern era’ as humans called it, when things like capitalism and pollution and climate change hung over humans’ heads like a guillotine.

Horses didn't need oil from hundreds of cubits underground; they could just graze the grasses around where they were. Horses still went pretty fast over land compared to walking. Horses didn't stink like death-plastic-smoke that was worse than Tartarus.

But humans had gone and invented cars.

Awful.

Sure, cars went fast. Not nearly as fast as him, but Hermes was the god of speed; nothing went as fast as him. Cars could go a lot faster than horses, and in America, where the land was so massive and everything spread out so far, Hermes supposed it was nice to get to the grocer as quickly as possible.

But cars were also considerably small.

Therein lay the problem.

He wasn't necessarily claustrophobic, but Hermes didn't like small spaces. He didn't like feeling trapped. And cars did exactly that - with heavy metal doors that slammed and locked like prison cells, rough, scraping straps that pinned one in place (for safety, of course, which he couldn't begrudge; but he didn't have to like it), uncomfortable seats that pretended to be the ‘luxury’ of real leather even though he could smell the oily plastic layered in to make it cheaper.

And the windows only made things worse somehow - opening them made the winds beat the inside of the car and the unfortunate rider’s ears, easily causing hearing damage with the constant concussion. He’d tried pushing his head out, once; curious at seeing some teens in a car ahead of them do so, but the same beating effect applied; making his eyes sting and his ears ring from the force of it.

He didn't even have that problem when he was flying.

Hermes loved you; he really did. He adored you. But he loathed your car.

“I could get us to the craft store a lot faster,” he said to you, the barest hint of a whine in his voice. If he played it just right, with a little pout and a little whine, maybe he could change your mind.

“You would have to carry me, not to mention anything we bought, and I don't want to lose my supplies in your bag-of-holding.” You replied, not even looking at his big, slightly watery puppy-eyes. 

No luck…

He sighed, and let his face drop back to normal. At least he understood the reference you made this time - you’d called his messenger bag a bag-of-holding a few times before he asked about it; it was a bag, it was supposed to hold stuff? But you were referring to a game you liked to play on nights he was away; a special bag that could hold almost anything a person put inside it, and was nearly endless. He’d had to admit after that that it was a fair nickname.

And it wasn't necessarily that things got lost in his bag; he could call up any paper or item that was in it by just thinking about it. It was that he could conveniently forget to grab some things back out. Or slip things in to hide them for later.

He was the god of thieves and master of tricks. Sue him. 

He stared down the door handle of your car as if he could make it cower like a mortal he disliked. You slipped easily into the driver's seat and grinned at him; the cute, slightly devilish grin that he loved so much. Damn.

Hermes grumbled a Greek swear and submitted himself to the confinement.

Thankfully, you weren't an overly cautious driver going 10 under the speed limit.

The drive would take approximately 20 minutes; 18 if you pushed the speed limit a little and 16 if you managed to pass through the traffic lights without them turning red. Ugh. Traffic lights.

When horses had to cross a road, they could just go across. You didn't have to worry about being catastrophically slammed into from the side because horses had brains. …most of the time…

Hermes clicked the seatbelt into place. His feathers ruffled as he shuddered, but he felt your hand slip into his and squeeze in sympathy, and that made it a little better. The car rumbled under his feet like an angry animal as it started, and you began the drive, switching on the radio as it connected to the phone in your pocket.

Frankly, there was only one reason Hermes tolerated car rides at all.

  “When I was a girl, I had a favorite story...”

Every time, he got to hear you sing.

    “Of the meadowlark who lives where the rivers wind…”

In Hermes' very correct and not so humble opinion, you had the most beautiful voice. And he bragged to Apollo about you all the time, how he had found you and won your heart before the sun god even heard a single note. Hermes loved listening to you sing - singing along to movies you watched, singing quietly while you worked on a project, and yes, even singing in the car.

Car singing was the second-best singing, only because you weren't afraid to be loud . Your voice filled the little space with warmth, wrapped around Hermes like a safety blanket. If you had to stop at a traffic light, you liked to wiggle in your seat like a little dance. It felt like a secret, shared only between the two of you; the little moments he tucked away in his memory like shining jewels.

And you sang everything - regardless of the original musician’s gender. Musical Theater tended to be your favorite, but your phone shuffled through rock songs and pop songs and a few electronic melodies; indy and songs about video games and even (very rarely) a country song you said you kept because it was silly. Hamilton, and SpongeBob; Wicked, and Phantom of the Opera. Lately, you’d been fixating a bit on some songs from Next to Normal that made you tear up as you sang, and Hermes would reach over and pat your shoulder or take your hand, knowing that the music meant more to you than he could really understand. Songs full of stories that you knew by heart and told to yourself (and him) over and over again.

It felt extra special, sometimes; knowing that you were comfortable enough to sing with him around. Apollo had asked, several times now, but you had stammered and said you hadn't done any warm-ups and didn't know what he would like; maybe some other time. You’d confided in Hermes after the third time; for anyone else, it felt like a high stakes audition, especially for the ‘literal god of music’ as you had said. But Hermes made you feel comfortable, like you were singing with him, even though most of the time he wasn't actually singing; he joined in subtler ways. His head bobbed and swayed along to your music, and occasionally his wings ruffled and flapped for a particularly high or long or powerful note, and he savored every single second of it.

And then all too soon the show was cut short, as you slowed to a stop in the little store's parking lot, and Hermes became aware once again of the sensation of being trapped.

He all but ripped the seat belt apart - he actually had ripped the seat belt the first time, which you had been very upset about. He hadn't meant to, and thankfully you understood after an explanation (and when he offered to pay to fix the car - a full “work up” as you said. He’d kinda shrugged it off; money was a mortal thing.)

This time, he was out of the car before the belt had the chance to fully retract back into its hiding place, hopping a little from foot to foot to shake the phantom feelings of chains. You gave him a look of apology, and offered a hug, which he graciously accepted.

Finally, after a minute to fix his sunglasses and steal your hand for holding, the pair of you headed inside the craft store.

And if he slipped a few things that you seemed to like into his bag when you put them back down upon seeing the prices, well. That was his own little secret. He just couldn't resist the way your eyes glittered when he gave you presents.

You didn't need to know where they came from… 

(If you enjoyed, please reblog!!)

[practically-an-x-man]

I'm late but I got the prompts post!! Ooh I'm a sucker for the talking with your ear on their chest // listening to heartbeat cuddles 👀👀 with Kes and Warren, of course. Dealer's choice.

Ooooh thank you I love them so much!!

Cuddle & Snuggle Prompts

____ Make the Best of It

Word Count: 1.5k Content Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, mentions of insects/cockroaches, one mildly suggestive line ____

Kestrel peered around the hotel room, hands on his hips as he took in the stained bedspread, the discolored wallpaper, the threadbare carpet. He didn't even want to look in the bathroom. He wished he had a charm that would instantly fix this place up, but no such charm existed. A bottle of Lysol would have to do.

"The Knights couldn't have booked us a better hotel?" he muttered, hitching his go-bag onto the spare bed and frowning at a chitinous shape curled legs-up at the base of one of the bedposts. He hoped it was just a beetle. It looked more like a roach. He'd slept in worse places, sure. But he'd also slept in much better places, and maybe it had spoiled him. He missed Warren's cabin back in Connecticut.

"Next closest hotel is fifteen miles down the interstate. When they say rural, they mean rural."

"Ugh. Exactly what I wanted after hours of airport security and crowded flights." Kestrel huffed, rifling through his bag and wondering if it was worth even bothering with the shower. He imagined he'd only end up trading grease for grease - airplane funk for mildewy shower slime. The idea wasn't exactly motivating.

"Didn't you live most of your life on the run?" Warren shot back, plainly teasing.

"And I never once stepped into an airport. Or a skeevy hotel." he said, "I'd rather be a dog sleeping on the side of the road than stay in a place like this."

Warren pursed his lips and took a second look around the room. Despite all his teasing, he didn't seem any more enthused with the situation at hand.

"Yeah, I'm not far from pitching a tent out in the cornfields myself." he agreed, though he set his backpack down by the nightstand and flicked on the bedside lamp. The bulb was yellow and flickering. Kestrel saw the silhouetted corpse of another insect on the inside of the lampshade. Warren grimaced at it, then seemed to shrug it off. "But maybe we'll feel better after a little food. I saw a decent-looking pizza place down the street?"

Kestrel shrugged, deciding to save the shower for when they got back.

"Pizza certainly couldn't hurt."

As it turned out, the situation didn't look quite as bad once he'd gotten a little food in his belly. It still wasn't great, the hotel was still a bacteria-riddled pit and the desk clerk still shot Kestrel a strange look when he walked in, but hunger was one problem now ticked off the list and that made the rest a little easier to deal with. And the pizza was legitimately tasty, as hole-in-the-wall fast food joints went.

The shower helped as well, though the bathroom wasn't much cleaner than the rest of the hotel. Kestrel had made it a point to pack a pair of cheap flip-flops at the bottom of his pack, just so he wouldn't have to touch the bathroom floor with his bare feet, and he inwardly thanked that foresight from the moment he glanced at the shower. But it was hot water and soap and a chance to decompress, and washing off the grime of the day helped tremendously.

Kestrel stepped out of the bathroom, wet flip-flops squeaking against the old hotel floor. She didn't care. The carpet had seen much, much worse, and she didn't want to touch it with her bare feet any more than she wanted the fungus from the bathroom tiles.

Warren was stretched out on what appeared to be the cleaner of the two beds, flicking boredly between TV channels. The television seemed to be the one thing in the whole room that was reasonably high-quality - clear picture, good sound, a wide variety of channels - and Warren finally settled on a channel streaming an Indiana Jones marathon.

Kestrel had let him have the first shower, a selfless action obscuring selfish motives. It meant that she could climb right into bed with him, settle in against his chest, and she wouldn't be pulled away by him needing to get up. The only delays were the time it took to change and braid her hair, and then she fit herself into the best place in the world.

"It's part of the legend of Sankara," Warren mumbled, in time with the movie. He knew every line by heart. They'd been his favorites since he was a kid. "He climbs Mount Kalisa, where he meets Siva, the Hindu god."

As distracted as he seemed, he still leaned over to kiss Kestrel's forehead when she joined him, and rested his arm across her back to pull her close against him. She laid her head over his heart, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the comforting rumble of his voice in his chest.

"He told him to go forth and combat evil," he quoted, "And to help him, he gave him five sacred stones with magical properties."

His voice could have been siren-song. It enchanted her, softened the last of the day's stresses until all she could do was melt against him. They could have been anywhere in the world: this cheap hotel, or the cabin she'd learned to call home, even a tent out in the cornfields like he'd so jokingly suggested. It didn't matter.

It seemed impossible, as it so often did, that she'd been content with the untethered life for so long. For how difficult it all had been, how much effort and time spent defying what she'd thought to be the fabric of her being, it was more than worth it in the end.

The Welsh term hiraeth referred to a homesickness for a home one could never again return to. If anything, what Kestrel felt was the opposite. She was home, safer and more comforted than she'd perhaps ever been, and she only wished she'd been daring enough to find that home sooner. It was grief for her past self, for who she'd been before she even knew this present was possible, a wish that she could change the past- though not to grant herself a different present, only to grant herself a little more of it.

So the room didn't matter. The grime, the bugs, the stains, none of that mattered in the end. The only thing that mattered was the person lying beside her, the warmth of his body and the timbre of his voice.

"Out of everywhere I've been, all our travels, this is still my favorite place to be," she murmured. Warren let out a breathy laugh.

"Didn't you say you'd rather sleep on the side of the road like a stray dog than stay here?"

"Not the hotel," Kestrel replied, and set her palm on Warren's chest for emphasis, "Here. With you. It's my favorite place in the world. Feels like home."

His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek as he took in a long breath. It had taken time just for the word home to cross Kestrel's thoughts, let alone her lips, and she knew he took comfort- even pride- from being the one to draw it from her. He'd always worked so hard to make her feel secure with him. He didn't seem to realize he didn't have to. Not anymore. He'd been home to her for a while now, even before she truly realized it.

The bedspread beneath her was itchy, and Kestrel burrowed a little closer to the clean, soft comfort of Warren's t-shirt instead. His chest rumbled with a low hum of contentment, and Kestrel hid her smile against his shirt.

"We should take a vacation," she mumbled, "A real one. Not a trip with the Knights. Somewhere with an ocean."

"Feel like some long walks on the beach, Kes?" Warren replied, with just a touch of warm humor, "I must've missed that on your dating profile."

She laughed into his chest, then turned her head and pressed a kiss to the base of his jaw. Warren ran his thumb down the ridges of her spine, finally letting his palm fall still when he reached the small of her back.

"I mean it, though," she continued, "We could take a vacation. Go somewhere that's not for work... just get a nice hotel, eat some good food, sleep in late..."

"That sounds nice," Warren agreed, "We could use a little time to ourselves. Let's do it."

Kestrel nodded again, still pressed close against his body. There was more of the mission to come - more long days, more dirt and grime and surely a little spilled blood, more nights spent in this grimy hotel room - and it would hardly be easy. These things never were.

But for now, she drifted off to thoughts of a peaceful, sunny Greek villa, to Warren's toned form bare and sun-kissed on some sandy beach, to warm kisses and the cool spray of the ocean against her own freckled, coppery skin, and all was well.

[talonpaw]

hey!! you make me wanna reread (probably) all of wc, it's been years and i've never read the english version... should i go in chronological order of when the books take place or in order of release or something else? so much new has come out and i feel pretty overwhelmed 😵‍💫

i do not blame you AT ALL for being overwhelmed– the series has reached around 100 entries at this point– that’s super intimidating, even if you’re already somewhat familiar with the series! 

what most people are going to recommend to you is that you start with the first arc, then read every main series book in order, then move on to supplemental material. however, i’m not a huge fan of this approach. the main series can be bogged down by filler, and some of the series most popular (and most compelling) entries are standalone super editions, novellas and graphic novels!

i wouldn’t recommend reading the series in chronological order either. as much as i liked dawn of the clans, it’s so unrelated to the rest of the story that you can read it pretty much whenever. there's also the problem of spoilers. this isn’t as much of a concern if you are already familiar with the major plot points, if you set out to read the series chronologically, you’ll get major plot points spoiled for you.

publication order can be tricky, too. not all supplemental material are winners-- there are quite a few skippable entries and entries that could be considered “filler” as well-- there’s a reason no one in the fandom is raving about the pebbleshine novella, for example… plus, there's so much content to sift through before you get to some of the series' more exciting entries, like the return of fan favorite characters in the most recent arc or the recent batch of fan favorite graphic novels.

i would absolutely recommend starting with into the wild, moving through the first arc, and then branching off from what plot points and characters interest you the most from there, using the main series timeline + publication order as a rough guide. from here, you can choose to move forward with the sequel arcs or visit the prequels (whether that's dawn of the clans, or supplemental material relating to the first arc like bluestar's prophecy or tallstar's revenge).

even the most dedicated warriors fans will admit that they have not read every single entry in the series. don't feel obligated to read every single entry, that's unrealistic! with how many entries the series has at this point, there’s no shame in skipping books (or, controversial opinion, entire arcs) and skimming plot summaries in order to get where you want to go!