#he's also malnourished and dying but trust he was still scrawny before that

[dr-wormman]

Unnecessarily complex bordering on incomprehensible design for Mooring I cooked up for funsies. I've always wanted (and imagined) his look to be waaay more intricate than I usually draw it but I just don't because. Well. I dont want to draw all that. And also I fear the shadow curse effect takes up alot of space and adding more (like the tattoos) turns it into a mess. Anyways. I'm keeping the long tusks and the coin slot and rest assured even though I am never drawing them again he has tattoos. Just imagine them the next time he’s shirtless. Also keeping that nipple piercing I think it's cool

Ultimately I'm not concerned with making a Technically Good design because I'm just having fun and playing with my dolls but I want to make one that I both like and can recreate easily

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Witches Get Stitches Fanfic

Title: Witches Get Stitches

Summary: Patton’s ecstatic to take to the skies on his broom for the first time. His familiar Virgil on the other hand? Not so much.

Pairings: platonic moxiety 

Word-Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Panic, Crying, Blood Mention, Injury, Implied Child Abuse, Witches, Magic Discrimination, Hurt/Comfort

I started this fic back in July and I finally finished it!! This was inspired by this wonderful piece of art by @fandergecko

-

The moon views the colorful city below from behind the visage of clouds. The sky guardian is at the height of her rule; the full moon. Bright and bold enough to rival the streetlights and flashing neon signs of the city. The celestial court accompanies their ruler; pinpricks of starlight that scatter across the sky. 

A summer breeze lazily sweeps in. It is not in a hurry like autumn gale in the tune of students scurrying to classes. Or sharp and piercing as the stern winter draft. Nor is it graceful and airy as the spring wind. For it is summertime, a time when children frolick without homework hanging over their heads. A time for snow cones and ice-cream. A time for mischief and tomfoolery.

In the city that rests beneath the moon’s eye there is hardly a peep. One might argue it is almost as peaceful as a sleepy village. Where is the excitement? Where is the bustle and hustle? The midnight mischief? 

The moon looks on in disappointment. The stars whisper amongst themselves, bored and unamused by the humans’ offerings for nighttime antics. Dark clouds creep closer to the moon, covering her almost completely.

‘Come.’ They all seem to say, ‘Let us go and find another place more worthy of our light.’

Before the clouds sweep away their queen, a loud, excited hollar halts their advance.

“WOOOHOOOO!”

“P-p-pa-pa-pa-PATTON!”

On the heels of the summer breeze, comes their midnight mischief. From the perspectives of both the heavens far above and the streets far below, it is a fast blue flash zooming through the air. Look closer, and you might realize it is only a witch with his familiar flying on his broom.

His witch robes are a gentle blue like a peaceful sunny sky. Blue knee-high socks adorn his legs, with a cute cat face where the sock cuts off at the knee. He wears the traditional witch’s hat--big and floofy in all its’ witchy glory. It is dyed a lovely indigo with splashes of yellow that are crude representations of the stars above. This of course catches the nighttime hosts’ attention. For they like many are fond of flattery.

 Wavy amber hair seeps out of the witch’s hat, resting gently on his spectacles. Freckles like stars scatter across his tanned face. His blue eyes shine brightly with excitement, his mouth open agape with awe. Books and other personal belongings fly out from the witch, unnoticed in their fast descent towards the ground.

 It is clear to both the moon and her faithful court that this witch is having the time of his life. His familiar, on the other hand, is a completely different story

Like for many witches depicted in fiction, his familiar takes the form of a black cat. A very terrified, very small scrawny black cat. Hackles raised, ears pinned back, pupils dilated. The familiar’s claws are embedded in the wooden grain of the broom, as he tries to stay on for dear life.

If this was a movie, this might be the moment where the freeze frame happens, stopping on a zoomed-in shot of the screeching familiar. A voice-over recording occurs,  ‘Hi, that’s me, Virgil. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.’ 

Fortunately, the Moon is well aware of this pair and their history. How could she not be? It was under her watchful eye the two first met. 

A sniffling young boy with two missing front teeth and band-aid covered knees. A frightened malnourished black kitten barely five weeks old. Two young children lost and alone in the cold, unforgiving dark. All the Moon and her compatriots could do was watch and provide them their dazzling light.

“It’s okay,” The boy said, smiling through the tears dribbling down his cheeks, “I know you’re scared of me but it--it’s okay. I won’t hurt you, promise.”

The black kitten was just an ordinary black kitten. It could not understand the words the boy spoke anymore than it knew the little hand reaching towards it meant no harm. Despite this, the black kitten took a step forward. The boy stayed still. The kitten took another step and then another, until it sniffed the boy’s hand. Satisfied, the kitten headbutted the hand, a tiny purr rising from its throat. 

A shaky breath caught in the boy’s throat. Carefully, he petted the kitten’s matted fur. The kitten didn’t run away, didn’t try clawing or biting the hand. It kept purring, its’ eyes squinting in delight. It wasn’t scared of him anymore. Everyone was always scared of the boy, his parents included. They feared the magic running through his veins and what it could do. The boy tried his best to be friendly, to hide it away, but it was never enough for anyone. Except, apparently, a little malnourished black kitten with a mangy coat.

The black kitten let out a surprised mew as the boy hoisted him off the ground. He wrapped his pudgy arms around its frail frame and sobbed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” The boy babbled, “I’ll--I’ll take care of you, I’ll make sure you’ll have plenty of food and we can be the best of friends--”

The black kitten once again could not comprehend these words. It did not understand why the giant, towering hairless kitten was so distressed. But it remembered how its mother purred to comfort the cries of it and its littermates. So the kitten continued purring, pressing its head into the boy’s chest. The boy was warm and most importantly just as alone and frightened as the kitten was. Clearly they should stick together for survival. 

Neither knew at that moment, but the two had created a magical pact. One that bonded the two as witch and familiar. It was informal, created without the use of intricate spells and rituals, but as strong and enduring as a bond should be. 

Slowly the kitten grew into not an ordinary black adult cat, but something more. A being endowed with magic and an intelligent mind of its own. As wonderful as this all is, Virgil found this at times very perplexing.

 Imagine being a cat whose sole priority in life had been napping and now suddenly there are a thousand different other things to worry about. Things like possibly falling off a broom hundreds of feet up in the air. Then you might understand why Virgil wishes at times to go back to a much simpler time of existing. 

This is a wish that shooting stars will never grant, for even they can see his love for his boy outweighs his frustrations of becoming more. Virgil loves his witch. He loves him enough to rake his claws across school bullies’ faces. He loves him enough to be the witch’s sole companion for years and years. He loves him enough that his sole priority in life is no longer naps but to protect and keep his witch safe.

Flying on a piece of wood? That is not safe. As much as Virgil trusts Patton, he cannot help but worry. He is no longer just a cat, no longer just Virgil, but a piece of Patton himself. He is the reflection of Patton’s magic. Something that the witch feared for so, so long. Growing up, it’d been best to hide it, to shove it away rather than embrace and understand it.

Virgil knows they’re now in a more magic-friendly town. They’re far away from judgmental parents and peers. Patton thinks it’s safer now. Virgil doesn’t. He remembers all the times Patton lost control of his magic and it hurt others, hurt himself. He remembers and fears the friendly faces of the city turning into hateful, jeering ones.

This is why he clings to the broom, heart thrashing loudly in his chest. It does not help he has a fear of heights in the slightest. Normal cats don’t worry much about heights, but again Virgil is not normal. 

“This is so much fun, Virgil! I can’t believe we haven’t tried this sooner!” Patton laughs, completely oblivious to his familiar’s plight. This is his first time successfully levitating a broom, let alone knowing the thrill of riding it fast through the night sky. Yet another reason Virgil fears how high up they are. He trusts Patton, but he also knows how easy it is for a spell to go south quick.

“I--I can!” Virgil yowls, curling his tail around the broom. He snatches a quick look at the ground below, regretting it immediately. He shuts his eyes as he tries keeping a hairball down. The broom lurches to a stop and he doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. They’re still levitating as high as the city skyscrapers after all.

“Aw Virgil,” Patton says, “It’s okay, we’re safe up here.”

He scratches the spot between Virgil’s furry ears and really, that is totally unfair. Virgil still retains his feline traits, and he can’t help the pleased purr that erupts from that desired spot getting scratchies. He has to fight through it and focus on what’s important; Patton.

“No it’s not, it’s not safe, not safe, Pa-pat--” Virgil says, the unnatural human words becoming garbled in his cat throat in his panic.

Patton’s wide grin vanishes completely as a small frown replaces it. He gently picks his familiar up, caressing Virgil close to his chest.

“Hey it’s okay, Virge. We’re gonna go back home now, alright? Promise I’ll let you eat all the treats you want, and we can watch Nightmare Before Christmas, okay?”

“O-okay.” Virgil agrees. It isn’t Patton agreeing never to fly again, but it does mean no more flying for tonight. They’ll be on the ground, safe once more inside Patton’s apartment. 

“Cool, cool, cool,” Patton murmurs, “Now, um, de-levitate!”

Nothing happens.

“De-leviatify? No, wait, it’s crescendo!” Patton says, “Ascendo? Something latin wordy, ummm stringendo?!”

“Patton,” Virgil begins, his voice eerily calm, “Please for the love of catnip tell me that you didn’t levitate a broom without knowing how to unlevitate it.”

“Would you kill me if I told you I may have gotten so excited about flying that um I maybe kindasoratforgotaboutthatpart?” Patton says, squeaking out that last bit.

“PaTtOn.” Virgil yells, his voice doing that awful echo. It only ever happens when something bad is gonna happen. Such as Patton losing complete confidence in the spell he’s currently casting. 

“AHHH DESCENDO!” Patton yells, right about the time the broom drops downwards. Patton grips onto the wooden broom with two hands, leaving Virgil to cling desperately to the witch’s robes. They’re flying fast down to the ground below, faster than they were moments ago in the sky.

“I--I can’t control it!” Patton yells, tugging at the broom, attempting to pull it upwards for a softer landing to no effect. 

Virgil doesn’t say anything back, his thoughts flying faster than the speed they’re currently falling. There’s absolutely no way they can survive this. Patton is too panicked to use magic and already limited by his inexperience. They’re going to hit the cement sidewalk hard, like bugs getting squashed beneath his clawed paws. He just knows it.

What he doesn’t know is that the Moon is watching. She is always watching from her throne in the night sky. Even on nights she hides her face from the mortals below. She is the protector of the night sky. As such, she has dominion over it.

“Grant them a safe landing.” The Moon urges the Summer Breeze. They acquiesce, but like a teenager they are sullen and testy about it. 

Patton’s broom evens out as the summer breeze takes hold of them. Neither Patton and Virgil realize this; they are both too busy screaming. The Summer Breeze takes pleasure in their terror. It flexes its metaphorical fingers. 

“Patton, what are you doing?” Virgil cries as the broom jerks abruptly upwards. Almost at a near-vertical slant. 

“It’s not me, I swear!” 

Patton still can’t control the broom. An unseen force jerks it around, up and around, from side to side and doing it’s best attempt at a cha-cha. The broom flies up high, high, higher than all the skyscrapers. It comes to a sudden stop. The Moon looms overhead, chastising the Summer Breeze for its’ fun.

Meanwhile Patton is still attempting to remember the correct spell. 

“Descent, wait no, DESCENTUS!” He cries out, and the broom glows bright with his magic.

His spell snatches the broom out of the Summer Breeze’s hold. Patton grips it, letting out a half-terrified half-elated yell as he regains control. The Moon and Summer Breeze watch, stunned, as the mortals they both yanked like a pair of dolls take control of their destinies.

They don’t have to watch for long. The ground quickly approaches the two mortals, ready for a harsh asphalt embrace.

“Patton!” Virgil screeches yet again, for it really is the only thing he’s capable of at this moment.

“It’s okay!” Patton reassures, a manic smile sparking his features again. A witch is only ever truly alive when performing magic. They feel purposeless without it. So even in this harrowing situation, Patton feels at ease. Although they once more fly fast towards the earth, it is from his spell. Not from a lack of confidence or meddling fates like before.

Still, it is his first time landing a broom and cement is hardly the perfect practice zone for such things. As they reach the ground, Patton pulls to a stop a moment too late. Both witch and familiar are sent tumbling down to the cruel cement. 

Virgil instinctively lands on his feet. Patton’s descent is less than graceful. He skids on the ground, rolling, until he comes to a halt a few feet away. The broom is the worst off of the three. Upon impact it has splintered into three pieces, its head flying clean off the handle.

For three heartbeats there is nothing. Then Patton groans, his form slowly rising upwards. That’s enough to shake Virgil out of his stupor. He marches right up to Patton, words spitting out of his throat, “We are never doing that again. That was the stupidest, most moronic thing you’ve ever pulled, you could’ve gotten us both killed--”

Virgil stops, pupils growing wide, “Is that blood?”

“No!” Patton loudly denies, but his screwed-shut eyelids and grimace of pain betrays him. Virgil also isn’t blind. He can see the blood pouring out of Patton’s knee, soiling his knee-high kitten sock with its crimson color. It’s bad, so much worse than a mere scratch or scrape even.

“Holy shit, you’re going to die,” Virgil whispers, settling on top of Patton’s chest.

“I’m not gonna die--”

“Hey, are you two okay?!” A concerned voice shouts from afar. The two of them look up to see someone approaching them. A man, older than Patton yet too young to be his father. Perhaps in his thirties? He seemed nonthreatening with his Steven Universe shirt and pinched look of worry but Virgil knows better.

“Stay back!” Virgil hisses, hackles flaring up. He keeps his claws sheathed, not wanting to deal more harm to Patton than already dealt.

The stranger takes a few steps back, hands raised in a placating gesture. Virgil doesn’t relax a single muscle. 

“Virgil,” Patton tries, silencing at the glare his familiar sends his way. Tears gather in the corner of his witch’s eyes now. So close to spilling over his freckled cheeks and down to his shirt. Patton’s knee is hurting him much more than he’s letting on. 

“Listen,” The stranger says, ignoring Virgil’s yowl of disapproval, “I just want to help, promise.”

He crouches down, lifting something out of his coat pocket. A brown wiggling furry something with a long pink tail. A rat. 

“Hiya babes,” The rat speaks, “The name’s Remington, Remy for short. This here tall glass of coffee is Thomas.”

“Y--you’re a witch?” Patton gasps, although if it’s from shock or pain Virgil can’t tell. 

“Yup,” Remy says, seemingly confident to speak on Thomas’ behalf. He struts over to the two, ears and whiskers perked forwards. Virgil is taken aback by the gall of this rat. 

“I could easily kill you, you know,” Virgil says, unable to keep this thought to himself.

The rat lets out a short squeak of laughter, “Oh honey, I’d like to see you try.”

Virgil’s tail flickers, “Don’t worry, I will--”

“Virgil.” Patton warns again, a hiss of pain escaping through clenched teeth. The rat treads closer to the affected knee. Virgil’s ears flatten, but he does not attack. He knows Patton would disapprove of that. Instead he waits, body tense and poised for action if needed.

“Oof, it looks like you’re gonna need stitches, Buttercup.”

“Stitches?” Virgil yowls.

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’m fine.” Patton says, smiling but it comes out all wrong. Like a rubber-band all stretched out and worn.

“No, you’re not. Y-you’re hurt.” Vigil rumbles, because he can feel it. Patton’s pain pulsates through their connection, like waves crashing against the shore. Magic caused this. Patton would be fine if they stayed in his apartment where it’s safe. Not out performing magic in the late hours. “Fuck, you’re hurt, and everyone’s going to hate us again--”

“Whoa,” Thomas interrupts, the first words he’s spoken since bringing out Remy, “no one is going to hate a Glistenstone student for not having proper control of their magic just yet.”

Patton shifts his gaze downward, hugging Virgil closely like a stuffed animal. Virgil, for his part, doesn’t protest. Instead he purrs into Patton’s chest in an attempt to soothe him. Glistenstone is a sore point for the both of them. For years it’d been their beacon of hope. An university solely for magic users--who sent their acceptance letters for those eligible at the age of eighteen.

Patton never received one.

“I’m afraid I’m not a Glistenstone student, sir,” Patton says with a shaky breath.

Thomas and Remy exchange a look.

“Well kid, would you like to become one?” Remy asks.

“What?!” Virgil and Patton burst out in unison, the latter with a yelp of pain.

“I, um, have connections--”

“Connections, alright, you have more than connections.” Remy inputs.

“But anyways,” Thomas continues, sending a quick look Remy’s way, “we can talk more on that later, if you’re interested. We should probably get that leg of yours checked out. Lemme help you up.”

He offers a hand towards Patton. Virgil coils himself around Patton’s shoulders, glaring distrustfully. Patton accepts the hand, leaning heavily on the older man for balance. 

“I’m going to use a teleportation spell, alright?”

And with a flash, they’re gone.

----------------

An apartment, late at night. It’s a tiny one-room apartment cluttered with books and clothing spewed all over. The Moon peers through its sole window, watching a familiar pace in front of his witch. Patton sits on the edge of his bed, his knee all cleaned and stitched up. Silence reigns in the apartment, an uncomfortable one at that. One neither occupant can stand much longer.

“I’m sorry, Vee,” Patton says, breaking first, “I should’ve really thought before I attempted flying like that. You were right, I almost killed us both.”

Virgil swishes his tail, looking up at his witch. He can never remain upset with Patton for long. Especially when he holds back a sob, curling into himself as if expecting a blow. Any residual anger in Virgil’s veins solidifies into guilt. 

“No, I’m sorry,” He says, “I--I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“It’s okay,” Patton insists, “I know you were just worried.”

“Still doesn’t make it right.”

Patton sighs, “I forgive you, can we just cuddle now?”

“If you want to, I guess.” Virgil murmurs, but it’s an act. The way he immediately purrs after wedging himself in Patton’s arms betrays him. His witch laughs, petting his silky fur.

“What...do you think?”

“Of what?” 

“Glistenstone.”

Virgil’s ears twitch downwards. Thomas had given his contact info to Patton, telling him to call him in the morning if he was interested in pursuing Glistenstone. 

“I...don’t know. It seems fishy to me. Like, why now? Why didn’t you get an acceptance letter before? And what type of connections does that Thomas guy have? I don’t trust it. But I also know I’m just paranoid about everything.”

“You’re not paranoid, you’re just overly cautious. I know this and I love you.” Patton says, pressing a kiss on Virgil’s forehead.

“I love you too, Pat,” Virgil hesitates, “and that’s why I think you shouldn’t let me hold you back.”

“You could never hold me back,” Patton pouts, and really how does he expect Virgil to handle this level of positivity? It’s too much for his small feline body.

“What I mean is, if you want to go for it, go for it. And if it turns out to be some sort of con, then you can just, like, hex ‘em or something.”

“Like Bart Fischley in fifth grade?” Patton asks, stifling a giggle.

“Sure.”

Patton nods measuredly, scratching that magical spot between Virgil’s ears. Really, totally unfair. Virgil leans into it, purring louder.

“Hey, do you still want to watch Nightmare before Christmas?”

“That depends...do I still get as many treats as I want?” 

“Of course! But for tonight only!” Patton tells him. Virgil smirks as best he can--for it’s something he’s heard numerous times before.

The moon’s eye turns away the dingy apartment, clouds drawing a curtain over her. The summer night is slowly drawing to a close, as has the midnight mischief. The mortals she is so fond of are safe within their dwelling. For the moment, all is well.