#white cat goes for gray cats throat

[karasbroken]

I would like to post something interesting and insightful about Farscape but this chapter won't write itself so have my cats instead. Just imagine the gray one is John and the white one is Aeryn and you have the plot for my current fic.

[rems-writing]

A dare is a dare

Pairing: none so far

Summary: You go through a series of weird events that involves hot men and even hotter sex

Warning(s): nothing really. This is just a set up

Genre: nothing specific

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

"OH COME ON GUYS! I'M NOT GOING IN THERE!"

"COME ON, Y/N! IT'LL BE FUN!"

"YEAH JUST TAKE THE DARE!"

"I'M NOT GOING INSIDE AN ABANDONED LOVE MOTEL AND STAYING A DAMN NIGHT IN THERE!"

Next thing I know, I was inside a random room at this godforesaken motel. Ok for some context. 

My friends and I got together to celebrate Valentine's Day. We were all lonely bitches. I was freshly single since my dickhead of an ex-boyfriend cheated on me. I cussed him out and broke up with him right after. While the pain was still fresh, I quickly got over it. My friends are the best group I could ever ask for and I wouldn't trade them for the world. 

Until now. 

I sighed shakily as I looked around the room. It didn't look abandoned per say. It looked brand new. I had a chilling feeling go down my spine as I kept looking around. I clutched my blanket and noticed a few things. 

First, the TV was on and it had a playlist on the screen. I assumed you can choose a song and have it play in the background while you had sex. 

Second, there was a table next to the dresser where the TV stood. A metal bucket was on the tabletop and inside it was a bottle of the finest champagne. Beside the bucket were two glasses. Two? Wait a minute... I then turned around and my eyes widened while my breath hitched in my throat. 

Finally, the bed

The bed had red and pink silk sheets with rose petals covering the top of the bed. Along with that, there were eight strange items sitting on the edge of the bed. 

What the fuck have my friends brought me to? Absolutely not. I brought my phone out and I tried to call them when my heart dropped. 

No service. 

I panicked and walked to the door. I breathed a sigh of relief as I was able to open it. I stepped out and shouted for my friends. I didn't want to go through with this dare. I'll just take the punishment. I'd rather be set up on a stupid dating app than pull through with this shit. 

When no one showed up, I grew angry. Those bitches must be hiding from me. Sighing shakily again, I stepped back inside the room and closed the door behind me. I walked to the bed and saw the items. The items in total were

1. A black arm band with some type of symbol on it

2. A dragon plushy. Was that Toothless?

3. A dog collar with some yellow fur on it. Must've belonged to a golden retriever.

4. A small crown

5. A cat collar with some ash gray fur on it. Must've belonged to a Siamese cat.

6. A black ring

7. A pair of red and white Nike shoes with black laces 

8. An apple

These items were strange and there was an even stranger aura emanating from each other. "Well then. Here goes nothing." I picked up the item of my choice.

[randomzdum]

Something of a small WIP I've not touched in a while...enjoy!

____

Lightning strikes the earth before him, scorching the dirt near the drop where Pearl had been. “Oh Pearl!” He calls out, ignoring the heavy thud of his heart as he reaches over the drop and jumps down, grunting as his feet hit the hard stone. A cold sensation crawls up his spine and causes the hairs on the back of his neck to rise as he tenses. A hushed voice brushes against his ear, “She’s dead Scar. You won.” He freezes, before a rush of pain causes him to fall to his knees and cry out. A burning sensation takes over his body and he gasps for breath as he clutches his chest. A llama with a colorful tarp, a flash of heat coming off the desert sand, a ring of cactus. Scar lets out a desperate laugh, ignoring the zombie raking its claws down his arm. Crystals spinning around in his palm, a lone house on the mountain top, a horse hanging over a pit of lava. He curls up on the stone, dragging himself towards the nether portal. The red sweater of his soulmate, soft fur in gray and white, a press of blade against his soulmate’s throat. He starts to sob, a desperate sound as the zombie loses interest in his arm and lunges for his throat. A calloused hand smoothing his hair down gently, a llama with a sleeping man, the press of a hand on his wrist. “I can’t believe the guy without friends won,” he laughs as his mind is filled with memories he didn’t know he was missing. He screams, as the memories tear apart at everything he thought he knew, before he takes his sword in a singular arc and the zombie falls to the ground with a thump. He groans in pain as he drags himself to his feet, relying heavily on the face of the overhang. He instinctively trudged towards the secret keeper, crying out when he stumbled. The feeling of steady hands holding his arm stop him from giving up entirely. When he finally reaches the Secret Keeper, he all but collapses on the succeed button, pressing it with a quivering hand. The injuries begin to mend themselves as he trembles. Then everything goes black.

The sound of rockets forces Scar to peel his eyes open, gripping the sheets of his bed. He sits up and looks around, he's in his base on Hermitcraft, the room looking too lively and joyful in comparison to the turmoil in his head. Scar doesn't know how long he sits there, hands in his hair staring at the wall.

Pearl knows what the first few moments are like, she knows it will be worse for Scar. When Grian had come back the first time, he refused to talk to anyone and couldn't bring himself to look at Scar for months. She couldn't possibly imagine what had happened and how Scar must feel, having so many memories crammed into his head all at once. She picks up her rockets and makes sure her famous soup is nice and hot before she takes off the ground, heading towards ScarLand.

Grian is hiding, he knows he should look for Scar, beg the kind man to forgive him, but instead he sits in his cupboard, wings folded tightly around him. He tries to fight down the tears, knowing that Scar will never forgive him for the Desert. He hates you he hates you he hates you, a cold voice says to him as he chirps sadly.

Scar pulls himself to his wheelchair, sighing in relief as he begins to move towards the elevator. He grabs a spare blanket and wheels himself out to Main Street.

Pearl spots Scar sitting by the statue of Jellie, said cat sitting in his lap, purring up a storm. She lands with a flourish and walks up to him, opening her arms up in invitation. Scar takes it, clutching her tightly as he cries silently. She runs her hands through his hair and hugs him back fiercely. Jellie wiggles her way into the embrace and Scar lets out a tired laugh.

Mumbo finds his way to Grian's kitchen, hearing the muffled sobbing from his favorite cupboard. He crouches down and opens it gently, taking the avian into an embrace as Grian lets out choking sobs mixed with chirps and gasps. "I've got you, I've got you. You're safe, I promise," Mumbo reassures as his best friend cries. Grian pulls in desperate gulps of air as he tries to form the words he needs to say, "I- I- I don't," he heaves and cries out, "I'm sorry, I- I'm so-" he wails. Mumbo rocks them in place, "It's alright, it's okay," he begins to reassure. Grian cuts him off, "Mumbo- Scar, I- I need- I need to find Scar," he pleads, releasing the hold he has on Mumbo's shirt. Mumbo lets him, not letting go of his wrist but making sure Grian gets up all the way. "You need to see Scar?" he asks, "Right now? Do you want help?" Grian shakes his head, "No, no, thank you, I can- I can do it." Mumbo nods, letting go of his wrist and Grian is gone not two seconds later. Mumbo sighs, running a hand through his hair, he doesn't understand what's happening but he doesn't have the heart to question it.

Grian stands outside of Scar's castle, trying to get himself to walk inside. To do something other than stand there in pain.

[bluiex]

Lets take this Scarian curse au one step further shall we?

Grian's not gone, not completely. While his physical body is gone, he's still there. The hurt and betrayal in the moment kept his spirit bound to the earth. Or maybe to Scar even

Everything flashes before Grian's eyes as he dies. And then suddenly its over, but he's not gone no. He turns seething with rage, hurt and betrayal to see Scar looking horrified. Shaking as tears start to stream down his face

At first he mumbles no's but soon enough he is wailing. Holding Grian in his arms, pleading for him to not be dead. But he knows Grian is dead, his pleads for him to not die turn to mournful sorrys. He's sorry he didn't tell him about the curse, he's sorry he couldn't stop the curse from taking him. Its just nonstop apologies pouring out of this man as he holds Grian's body

Until they are just whimpers, Scar holds Grian's body for a long time. Long after its gone cold, but he doesn't care. He's broken now, and promises that he won't love another again. And hopes that Grian will forgive him

Grian watches it all, he's still hurt. But he understands but that doesn't stop him from hurting. Even after being dead he's surprised how much he hurts. So he just watches Scar, watches as the man numbly goes about life. Barely taking care of himself until one day a little stray cat shows up at his door. Now there could be two ways this goes, Grian coming back as said cat. But I like this other version more

The little gray and white cat brings Scar back from the brink. It gives him something to care about again. And Grian watches as Jellie saves Scar. Jellie notices Grian and interacts the best she can with him which brings him some happiness too

Scar doesn't know what to think about this, maybe its a weird quirk of this kitty. Maybe its not but its hard for him allow himself hope that maybe Grian is still here. But he also doesn't want that, he wants Grian to be resting peacefully

After time the hurt simmers, and Grian starts to find his way into Scar's dreams. He's not ready to talk to Scar but, he's testing things out that is until Mumbo comes along

Grian watches as Scar starts to fall for the man, but he's terrified to love again. What if he does the same thing? He promised Grian he'd never love again, how can he betray him again?

I also like to think Mumbo can see Grian, he startles at first and keeps it a secret. Before long Mumbo is living with Scar, and one night. He creeps out of bed and finds Grian sitting with Jellie. He realized awhile ago from how Scar described him, this was the man he loved and loss at his own hand

Grian doesn't pay Mumbo much mind, though he's seen Mumbo look in his direction weirdly before. But never got up any hopes that he could be seen until he notices Mumbo stand awkwardly in the doorway before clearing his throat

Grian looks up surprised that Mumbo is looking at him before getting a meek hello from Mumbo. And whos to say Grian didn't find Mumbo very attractive as well

Grian squints at him then finally replies asking if he can see him? Which Mumbo nods before asking if he can join him. Grian can't help but laugh, he's not exactly corporeal here but nods anyway. Mumbo sits on the couch on the other side of Jellie who mrps for pets

There is an awkward silence before Grian speaks up saying he wasn't sure before now if Mumbo could see him. Mumbo nervously laughs before telling him he seen him the first day he came to Scar's house. After getting caught in a storm and needing shelter, but he wasn't sure if he was going mad

They talk and get to know each other for awhile. Mumbo is surprised how easy the conversation goes. And well how quickly he's starting to fall for Grian, how he could see why Scar fell for him

After the conversation dies down for a bit, Mumbo blurts out a sorry that startles Grian. He apologizes for taking Scar, and how much Scar still loves Grian. He never meant to or try to take Grian's place. Though he's certain that he never could, Grian still had so much of Scar's heart after all

Grian is silent for a long moment making Mumbo sweat. Before Grian replies that he knows, and despite everything that happened. He still loves Scar so much. But, he's sure Scar has more than enough love to share with Mumbo

Mumbo relaxes when Grian gives him a soft smile nodding and agreeing. They talk about random things after that, the conversation is easy. And they talk until Mumbo nods off on the couch with Grian watching him sleep. He sees why Scar likes Mumbo, he certainly does too

It takes a few days after their first conversation. And a few between while Scar isn't around, for Grian to finally enter Scar's dreams. Its hard for him, he still carries those feelings but. Its been years now, he misses talking to Scar and he really wants Scar to know. That its okay to love Mumbo too

When he enters Scar's dream world he stills suddenly. Scar is in front of him, all the emotions roll through him. Love, hate, betrayal, happiness, longing and so on. But what gets him is Scar is just sitting there staring off at nothing. Hunched over, looking so sad still. He hadn't noticed Grian, and doesn't until Grian sits down next to him

Scar startles and then looks at Grian his mouth dropping open then closing. Tears quickly filling his eyes but he looks back down. There is such a bitter feeling coming off Scar, and the deepest sadness and regret Grian had ever felt

They sit there awhile before Scar speaks up, saying he knows its just his mind playing tricks on him again. He takes a studdery breath and apologizes, just like he did the night he killed Grian

Before he can keep apologizing, Grian gently grabs his face and tells Scar that its not his mind playing tricks on him. Its really him, he never left he's been here the whole time. He's watched Scar go through everything since then

And that breaks Scar he gripes onto Grian the apologies come pouring out. His regrets, his love, how he wishes he told Grian. But he knew if he did, he'd have suffered even more. And Scar just breaks down in his arms

Grian isn't ready to forgive him, but they share a moment. And it's the start of them being able to mend things. Grian can still love Scar, there is nothing stopping that now. He can visit him here until it's time for Grian to greet him after it's his time. And he tells Scar he can love Mumbo too, love in a way that the curse. If It's still there, won't hurt him

After a while, Scar learns Mumbo can see and talk with Grian. And will pass on things Grian says in the moment

It's not exactly normal, but they are all very much in love with one another. And they make it work the best they can, knowing that someday. Grian will be there waiting for them and they can spend whatever awaits them together

That got really long :'D but something possessed me and I just had to share

-@spacecatdet

*shakes you like a maraca* don't come to me again saying you can't write or its not good- LOOK AT THIS *grips your shoulders tightly* I'm sitting here crying over the blorbos cuz of your amazing writing

[so-called-yokai]

What's Your Favorite Flower?

A little thing I wrote after considering what Eshra's answer would be. Takes place during the Bad Future™.

Rating: G

It’s such a minuscule thing, really, and in a normal world, a sane world, he never would have noticed it. Why would he? But the world isn’t normal, and it isn’t sane, and it hasn’t been for years, and so in this hellscape of shattered shades of gray all overlaid with a hellish red sky, the tiny splash of yellow catches his eye.

On feet as quiet as a cat’s paws, the yokai dips and darts across the torn up, rubble-strewn asphalt of… Bleecker Street, he thinks, near 11th, his dancer’s steps carrying him towards that incongruous dot of color. Every sense is in overdrive, like they have been since the invasion, but nothing trips his internal alarm, and he allows himself this brief moment of curiosity.

It’s a dandelion, he realizes after a frankly embarrassing number of seconds. Miraculously, the little yellow blossom is still clinging to life in this broken world, stubbornly reaching for the demonic sky and spreading its leaves to catch what little true sunlight might still filter through the red haze.

Eshra’s breath catches in his throat, an unexpected upsurge of emotion he has to swallow down hard, lest he risk making a noise and giving away his position. He reaches out almost without realizing it, his fingers stopping a hair’s breadth from the sunny petals. Somehow, even here, at the epicenter of the apocalypse, life endures. It persists, in spite of death, in spite of ruin, in spite of the krang.

The urge to protect the tiny flower, to uproot it and carry it somewhere safe, out of the reach of careless hound claws and crushing droid feet, is almost overwhelming. The fear of some mindless krang zombie shambling across this particular patch of broken concrete and heedlessly snuffing out this tiny spark of life has Eshra reaching for the dandelion again, for a moment intent on digging it up and spiriting it to safety. He nearly has his claws in the dirt before he stops himself, something that might be his conscience nipping at the edge of his mind. What right has he to impose his will on this precious, stubborn little thing? Why does he think he knows better? He draws his hand back, clutching it against his chest and instead simply taking a few cherished moments to just… look. Look and breathe and have just a minute’s worth of peace.

He goes back every day after that, each time terrified he won’t remember where the dandelion is, or worse, that something has happened to it while he’s been away. Each time, though, his fears are unfounded, and he finds his flower right where he left it, still as bright as the sun they can no longer see and still as insistent that it is going to live.

The day he spots a puff of white instead of the usual splash of yellow, Eshra’s heart jumps in his chest. Almost without care he hurries the last few dozen yards and crouches down next to the dandelion, which has turned from a sunburst blossom to a tiny cloud, and he's smiling a smile he’s forgotten he has. The yokai cups his hands around the seeded flower, a scrap of cloth in his fingers as a shield between the dandelion and the rest of the world. Then carefully, so very carefully, he blows on the puff, which shivers and quivers and at last releases its grip on its scores of minuscule seeds, allowing them to float safely into Eshra’s makeshift net.

After folding the cloth into a secure little sachet and tucking it into one of his supply pouches, Eshra finally lets himself touch his flower, a single delicate fingertip resting on the now bare seed head.

“Thank you,” he whispers, soft as the dandelion’s seeds, “for reminding me.”

[spacemonkeysalsa]

God of Ambivalence

A tiefling Artificer splits a large stone on a beach to discover a one handed-wizard inside.

Pairing - OC/Gale & Shadowheart/Lae'zel but there will be more as it goes on.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

or read Chapter Six, below

Elion awoke on top of the monk’s bedroll, on his stomach, with a pounding in his head. A moment later, he noticed the purring weight of one of Shadowheart’s many cats fast asleep on the small of his back. With a touch of trepidation he started to explore the memories from before he’d fallen asleep. Nothing too wild. He’d talked a lot more than he’d intended—probably disclosed more than was wise about himself, but Xan had an air about him. Something like total non-judgment. It was hard not to talk, pinned under that shameless stare.

The monk had good wine in his pack, better than Elion had found since leaving the gate, but he didn’t have any food. Elion procured a few cuts of cured meats from the kitchens and a small basket of ripe fruit. They’d found a corner where they wouldn’t be bothered, and drank. Elion realized now that in the hours they’d spent together, he’d learned little about Xan. The monk didn’t seem to be keen on talking about himself, though he drew secrets from his companion like water from a well.

It was hard to tell how long he’d slept. He felt rested, but the inside of the sanctum, being mostly underground, didn’t allow in any rays of a theoretical sunrise. It might be midnight.

The only light was the flicker of a nearby torch. 

Xan was asleep as well, stretched out on the ground, still as death, his long golden fingers laced over his chest. Another cat had settled on his stomach for warmth, the same brown tabby with the white paws that had greeted him.

Someone cleared their throat and Elion experienced an unpleasant shudder of surprise. He knew that disappointed tone anywhere. He popped up, felt the cat’s claws dig in, before it leapt away, a pale streak of white, slinking behind the nearest broken tomb.

“Master Faydor.” Elion climbed to his feet. He towered over the master stonemason at his full height, but was still intimidated by the man’s deeply disappointed gaze.

For a human, Master Faydor’s command of stonework was impressive. Most of the best artisans of his trade had the advantages of many more decades to perfect their skills, but Faydor had accomplished much in his seventy years or so. Elion wasn’t his first apprentice, but he would probably be his last, especially considering the look he was receiving from him.

“Unacceptable,” said Master Faydor. “You vanished—vanished.”

“It was a rather strange day—”

“Aye, I gathered most of the story from contextual clues and heard the rest from the cleric. Still, unacceptable. I should have heard it all from you, and then you should have gotten back to work.” For being as old as he was, Faydor was in fair shape. At a glance, he appeared to have an unusual amount of shoulder-width and arm-length compared to the rest of his frame. Down the middle, he was all gray beard and sagging belly. His age creased through every inch of his wrinkled skin, and the milky blue eyes, only recently stripped of cataracts by the cleric’s deft hand.

There was no getting out of excoriation, but there might be a way to postpone it. And maybe soften it with some additional information. “I was attacked by a cambion.”

“What?!” Master Faydor balked.

“I think he’s dead. The wizard thunderwaved him into the ravine, just before the bridge.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“I meant to check. I’m sorry, I meant to do a lot of things.” He didn’t want to try to claim to be overwhelmed, or shocked by all that had happened. He wasn’t sure he was. He just knew that it only felt like a few minutes since he’d split that stone.

“Fine. We’ll see to your castigation later. It sounds like we need to talk to the cleric and the wizard.”

“He’s awake?”

“For a few hours now. He’s in rough shape, but he’s quite coherent.”

A miracle, all things considered.

Master Faydor must be very upset with him, because he didn’t say more. Just beaconed for him to follow and led him straight back to the cleric’s chambers. He didn’t even knock, but opened the door and walked inside, motioning for Elion to follow his lead.

The cleric seemed a little miffed, he thought. No doubt she preferred new arrivals to announce themselves before trespassing. The githyanki was even more visibly annoyed. How could someone hold so still and yet already look like they were in the middle of a vicious battle? 

The wizard was upright, standing by the fireplace mantle behind Shadowheart’s big messy desk and inspecting one of the most interesting things in the room. Elion remembered the feature from his earlier visit. Even in the chaos and medical horror that had ensued, he’d noticed the strange metal contraption that seemed to have a place of honor. The wizard had been drawn to it as well.

But, upon Faydor and Elion’s arrival, he turned away, both arms tucking behind his back. With a pang of sympathy, Elion wondered if that was a habit the wizard was already intentionally developing to hide his stumped arm.

Faydor was right, he looked rough, but only relative to how humans usually looked. Compared to the state in which Elion had found him, the wizard looked great.

“Ah,” Elion gave in to the sigh of relief he felt coursing through his whole body. “Good to see there’s no exaggeration. You look much, much improved.”

“I’m to understand that I owe you my life?” The wizard smiled, but only managed to maintain eye contact for a split second before that smile faltered a little. “Very convenient for you to choose my stone to split.”

“Not so much convenience as contrivance,” Elion admitted. “I was led there by a mysterious creature. Looked like a tiefling girl, but I surmised she was much more than that. Called herself Arabella.”

“Arabella?” Shadowheart perked up.

The githyanki nodded, not so much in recognition, but exasperation. “We know this waif,” Lae’zel confirmed with a huff. “She’s a fine ally, at one time or another. Ceaselessly mischievous. I had no idea she was back in the area.”

“Doesn’t make it a point of announcing herself.” Shadowheart seemed to be struggling with herself. Her arms crossed. She scanned the room, like she suddenly remembered that she was searching for something that ought to be within sight. Her eyes fell on the area around Elion’s ankles.

He looked down to find a pretty white cat. There were many cats in the sanctum. According to Xan, most of them were creatures that Shadowheart had a habit of feeding and keeping a place for by her hearth. This particular cat had pushed aside others to receive attention from both Xan and Elion, interchangeably. And he suspected it was the same creature that had bolted off of his back when he awakened a few minutes ago. 

The cat seemed to recognize that it was being noticed, and rather than slink away, it stepped forward, head and tail high. Rather proud. it dripped in Shadowheart’s direction as she too, approached the animal. “She once spent a tenday as a cat at my old farmhouse and didn’t tell me.” Shadowheart eyed the animal, as though waiting for it to blink.

The cat meowed in response, continuing to stare at her with defiant red eyes.

But, then Shadowheart’s gaze narrowed and slid to the left, towards a dark corner of the room instead. “Oh, Gods!” she started. “Lady of Silver—that’s not amusing, Arabella.” Shadowheart scoffed, then addressed the rest of the room, “she’s not in wildshape. She’s invisible.”

Even as she spoke, Elion saw what had startled Shadowheart. In the corner of the room, the vague presence of the girl was starting to come into focus. She looked as wild as Elion remembered her, but now she had a big satisfied grin on her face.

“It took you so long,” Arabella chided, “I thought for sure you’d see me sooner, with that fancy eye. It was so hard to stay far enough away in this little room.” She sprang forward, and threw her arms around Shadowheart. 

For all her apparent irritation, the cleric relaxed and returned the hug with a weary sigh. “Good to see you, old friend.”

“Good to smell you!” Arabella replied, breathing in deep. “Lae’zel, do you still not hug?”

“When you or I are one day bleeding out on the battlefield, we will embrace.”

“Ah, that’s very sweet!” Arabella pulled away and then approached the wizard at a speed that could only be described as alarming.

He stumbled a little, bumping into the fireplace mantle, and trying to catch himself with a hand that wasn’t there anymore. He cursed but steadied his visibly trembling body.

Not entirely recovered yet then.

“I had to get away from you,” Arabella’s voice took on a strange edge as she addressed him, “I felt it in you, wanting to eat me up. Still there,” she raised a hand, motioning to his chest, “but it’s quiet now.”

“It’s been fed,” the wizard forced the words out with some difficulty, his jaw tight. “It doesn’t… consume people. Just the objects I allow—and it’s a rather personal matter, so I’d rather not—”

“No, no, no,” Arabella’s voice sharpened and she didn’t seem quite so small anymore. “Don’t speak so much, so fast, you keep saying lies and there’s so many of them, I can’t keep up,” she sighed. “It will consume people. It wants to. If you let it free, it will, and you know how much it wants to eat up everything. Everyone. Everyone. So, personal it may be to you, but it’s personal to all of us too.”

The wizard didn’t seem to have a reply to that, his eyebrows were high, his gaze searching. “I have it under control,” he finally said, so soft that it seemed it was only meant for Arabella to hear.

“For now,” she turned away from him. “I’m sorry, to you all,” she held out her arms, “I can feel that you were rather hoping I would just… explain everything,” she shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know much.”

“What do you know, Arabella?” it was Lae’zel who asked, and her tone had taken on a particular air. There was some expectation, and something like tested patience. The githyanki woman was the closest to the wizard and to Elion’s slight surprise, she had moved even closer to him, pointedly. It was unclear whether she meant this gesture to be protective or threatening.

“Just that Archdevil Raphael thinks the reason that the Infernal Wars are still going on is because the Crown of Karsus still doesn’t command the full power of the Karsite Weave, as a bit of it got siphoned away about a century ago, and that he thinks if he finds that missing piece—the same missing piece that was used in its inception and taken from Mystral herself—that the crown will be more powerful and that finally no one, not even Mephistopheles will be able to question his authority and the rest of the Archdevils and denizens of hells will finally, finally bow to his power completely and stop trying to oust him—and that that piece of missing Karsite weave is somehow inside of this wizard,” Arabella gestured casually to the subject of her monologue and shrugged. “Raphael is wrong, of course, as usual,” she rolled her eyes. “But not about everything—there is Netherese magic making a comfortable home inside of him,” she gestured at the wizard again, more aggressively. “But aside from that, Archdevil Raphael is wrong about basically everything else.”

Elion followed a rough percentage of Arabella’s explanation, enough to nod along, and to feel very small at the players involved.

The Archdevil Raphael? Gods, that was a bad enemy to have.

But he didn’t know much more than that.

Maybe it was being a tiefling and constantly having to deal with the blowback of all the harm of the hells spreading like devouring hordes of insects, but he’d spent most of his life trying to distance himself from anything to do with the hells and their leadership. Everything he knew concerning the Infernal Wars, raging for the last hundred years, he’d learned against his will. 

Shadowheart and Lae’zel were looking at each other in a strange way that he couldn’t interpret at all. He didn’t know them well enough to make a good guess. But if his life depended on knowing what they were thinking, he’d suppose they must be thinking that this was a) very bad, and b) somehow their fault?

Guilt. That was what he was seeing.

The wizard, though, that look was shame. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to turn away from all of them. But instead, he steadied himself on the mantle with his one hand, gaze fixed at the floor, where the orange glow of the fire danced around his still shadow.

Even Master Faydor seemed bothered, and not even in a general kind of way. His shoulders slumped and he shook his head, meeting Elion’s eyes. “This sanctum is never going to get finished,” he exhaled.

“I’m so sorry,” Shadowheart spoke up. “Arabella—I…” she looked at her, at a loss. She stopped herself from asking a question that was fighting through her features.

Lae’zel shook her head at Shadowheart, though Elion couldn't begin to guess what she was refusing.

“Archdevil Raphael?” the wizard finally spoke up.

“You wouldn't know him,” Shadowheart said heavily, “he rose to power after… After.”

“Hard to imagine anyone with an unknown name rivaling Zariel, Moloch, Lilith, Asmodeous,” he shook his head.

“Raphael hasn’t been an unknown name in a hundred years,” Master Faydor corrected the wizard. He then turned his attention to the cleric, heavy arms laced together in front of his chest. “What do you intend to do?”

Lae’zel was still shaking her head, still refusing some unheard summons. “This doesn’t have anything to do with—”

“It’s our mess,” Shadowheart sighed heavily. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence it’s come back around to bite us. We have to do something.”

“I would speak with you in private.” Lae’zel tensed up, gestured for her wife to follow her as she retreated through the door at the back of the study, presumably, it lead to an even more intimate space.

Arabella scurried after them, though Elion thought it was presumptuous of her to assume an invite. The white cat bound through her swishing ankles and disappeared behind the closed door as well.

Master Faydor turned to Elion with a heavy sigh, “there’s not much more to do. I release you from your apprenticeship.”

“Wait—what?!” Was he really that mad about Elion shirking his duties to get drunk for a few hours?

“I know how to spot the tides of fate coming in. Whatever all this is, will sweep up a few souls. Besides—we both know you were on your way out already.”

Speechless, Elion’s first instinct was to argue, but without the words he just stood there. His master walk out of the study, slowly, weighed down by his years. Surely, he didn’t mean it. He needed to talk to him. Maybe he just needed a few hours to calm down. He shut the door behind him, leaving Elion and the wizard alone in the study.

For a stretch, neither of them said anything. Elion wasn’t sure which of them should feel more humiliated. The wizard’s situation was more dire, but also, there was grandeur to it. Elion simply felt pathetic.

Their eyes met, and Elion nearly chuckled at the perfect pity reflected back at him. 

“Gale Dekarios,” the wizard said softly.

“Elion Stoneshield,” and he did finally give in the chuckle. “It’s a relief to see you off death’s door.”

“I assure you, I’m quite capable of cleaning up a little better than this.” Gale looked down at his stained and ripped wizard’s robes. He was in need of some care, for certain.

“I know we’ve got some extra clothes kicking around here. Could probably find you some soap and a towel too. Water.” He didn’t have his duties to attend to any longer.

[monotone-artist]

been wanting to make a second design for my hollow knight ocs, so i got started on concepts for that. im pretty happy with inkwell but im still pretty uncertain with rock and quill - rock whether or not i want her to be a cow or hyena, and quill his colors.

[id: a drawing of my ocs, inkwell, rock, and quill. inkwell is an elf, with pointy ears and a cat-like tail. they have two pairs of horns: a small pair above their forehead, and a longer, slightly curved pair on either side of their head. the right side horn is half broken. their skin is ashen, and they have wild, light brown hair that goes to their shoulders. there are two drawings of them: one with them wearing a black sweater, purple pants, and brown boots. the other drawing is the same, except with a pink cloak with an orange underside, and fragments of horn tied to their side horns. they have empty, grayish-brown eyes, with a scar over the left one. they're standing with their right arm at their side and their left arm up, their palm upward. their name is written above them, and beside them is the text, "ashen appearance".

rock also has two drawings of her. the first is of her as an anthropomorphic cow. she's cream-colored with brown at the end of her limbs, elbows, cheeks, the top of her head, ears, and tail. there are black speckles on the top of her head and on her tail. she has big red eyes. she's wearing a light blue shirt with a yellow pinafore, which has a green heart on the pocket. she's standing with her right arm up as though waving. the second drawing is the same, except it's her as a hyena. her name is written above her, including her real name albalyn, and "cow?" and "hyena?" are written above each relevant drawing.

quill is a fluffy drake with ram-like horns, and two pairs of much smaller horns below. he has a big ridged nose-horn. he has a single large spike on his back between his shoulders, a trio of smaller ones at the base of his tail, and another trio of small ones at the end of his tail. his eyebrows are fluffy. he is dark blue, with a darker tail, limbs, and head. his face, throat, and front paws are white, and there are also large white dapples on his tail-tip. he is standing idly, facing the left. his eyes are gray. text above his head reads, "fluffy brows".

at the top of the canvas is a note that reads, "heights aren't to scale". end id]

[ivyprism]

The Skeleton Queens (Info Dump)

Long-ish! Mentions of violence and lack of wings.

Lanette - The Fairy Queen of the Dark

Personality: A person who is both fearsome and cold. She is sweet in many ways, yet she can also be frightening. She has complete mastery of the shadows and is far from weak. She's a little playful, and she lunges for the throat. She is extremely powerful, and she is well aware of it. She is a bit of a flirt, and she exudes a mysterious air. She is surrounded by many powers. She is smooth and meticulous, she tips the scales in her favor, and nothing can stop her. She is also very aware of her beauty.

Appearance: She is a skeleton. She has smoky grey eyes. She has fangs and she has permanent eyeliner under her eyes. She has beautiful silver and black butterfly wings, but she hides them. She's about 5'8". She has a tail.

Olette - The Fairy Queen of the Light

Personality: A terrifying, but lovely fairy. She is incredibly powerful, but she is also compassionate and caring. She is much warmer than Lanette, but far more terrifying. She is nasty and cold to those she suspects of causing damage to her subjects and loved ones. She has an enigmatic attitude and will not hesitate to intimidate anyone she considers a threat. She is frequently silent and unthreatening until she is not. Her personality is similar to that of a cat. She has free control over light and watches from a distance rather than being hands-on.

Appearance: She is a skeleton. She has cool light gray eyes. She had silver and white butterfly wings. She, however, is presently wingless. She's about 5'8". She has a tail.

Sebille - The Fallen Queen of Angels

Personality: She formerly ruled over an angelic realm before falling. She is a stunningly gorgeous, astute, and powerful being. She is not frightened of anything and is capable of being extremely violent. She used to be a Guardian angel. She has a chilly side to her kind nature and can be nasty when necessary. She looks after the group and comes to aid with caution. She is a fallen angel with little fear. She is not afraid to stand firm and use her magic to protect her people. She also has a lot of control over her divine magic.

Appearance: She is a skeleton. She has beautiful sky-blue eye lights. She has six pairs of wings that she keeps hidden. She is about 5'6". She has a tail.

Elvina - The Fallen Queen of Demons

Personality: She was previously the ruler of a demonic realm. A fiery and angry individual. She can be cruel at times, but she is usually rational and cool. She readily looks after others and isn't scared to show how powerful she is. She is skilled in demonic magic and is not afraid to use it. She is a vicious person who goes for the throat. She isn't scared to show how frigid she can be and never backs down from a fight. She, on the other hand, is far nicer than one might expect, and she frequently looks after lost demonic children. Show just how cold, she can be. She, however, tends to be far kinder than one anticipates and she often looks after lost demonic children.

Appearance: She is a skeleton with horns, six pairs of wings, and a tail. She keeps her horns and wings hidden. She is about 6'0". She has glowing light red eye lights.

--------

@kioko-noodles / @kiokodoodles @miscneilleaneous @hearty-dose-of-ranch @buff-borf-bork @underfell-crystal

[21entity21]

Freeko Anndii Redesign

Modern name: Freeko Anndii

Ancient name: Frikoziaul Andrenilia

Sex: Female

Age: Unknown

Height: 875 feet (267 meters)

Length: 1,756 feet (535 meters)

Weight: 203,576 tons

Race: Zumbae

Classification: Demonic IIII

Specialties: Arts, storytelling, comedy,

Personality Traits: Can be kind, funny, sweet, sympathetic, empathetic, emotional and sensitive or stubborn, greedy, selfish, masochistic, sadistic, angry and depressed.

Appearance: A large jaw, smaller in height muzzle, cat-like nose, long nose bridge with slight bump in it, tired and angry gaze coming from hazel eyes and black scleras, large yellowish teeth, small scars on face, and long pointy ears. Wider neck, broad spiky shoulders with large muscle definition but a soft layer of fat overtop, attached to long clawed hands. A larger bust and a massive, fat belly. Long, thick legs, massive four toed feet, and a large long tail that doubles her size in length head to tail tip and very few scars cover the body. Near black base, light blue gray throat, chest, belly, hand patterns and tail patterns. Spiky body, spikes being gray or white colored. Claws on hands and feet are an ever lighter black color than the rest of the body. Long red brown auburn fur that covers 40% of the body. Hair that falls over the right side of the face, but still kind of styled in a mohawk,the front part between the eyes is a gray color, and it gets fluffier growing down the neck. A cape of fur falls over the shoulders and upper back to about halfway down and it goes back into the line of fur it was on the back of the neck and goes all the way down the end of the tail which is just a massive tuft of fur about the same size as the torso and the chest down to the groin is just long red brown fur. Red scars are found on the neck, collarbones, arms, waist, hips, and tail.

⚠️TW⚠️ For this next part, if anyone wants to read it, just mentally prepare yourself.

Background: Freeko Anndii had supportive parents, but never really had confidence in herself, she was always determined to please others, whether her friends or elderly in her life, and if she felt she couldn’t do that she’d beat herself up about it for a while. She developed suicidal ideation when she was 11 and her poor eating habits came into play and she got fatter from there, and came close to committing suicide around 6 times when she was 14-15 years old. She’s dealt with anxiety her whole life, and started to come out of that cage when she was 16, because her dad encouraged her to show the world the funny side of her personality, still she tried her hardest to impress others and hurt herself when she was alone when she couldn’t. She started to develop sleeping problems around the age of 17 where she couldn’t sleep the whole night due to dark thoughts, but she never thought she could get help for it because it would make her a burden. She grew into an adult that refuses to be helped for her poor self-esteem and suicidality. She usually tries to fight off her intrusive thoughts to kill herself alone and sometimes will come close to committing it before second thoughts occur and it results in her hitting her head repeatedly and leaving bruises on other places around her body.

The side that everyone actually sees is really funny, charismatic, and… artistic, she knows how to make art…

The side close friends see is chaotic, masochistic, sadistic, still funny, determined to please others, they know she’s suicidal and struggles with anxiety. She’ll isolate herself when others get too close and not talk about what is wrong when she is upset. She usually suppresses her emotions by stuffing herself with food. When she can’t find a way to suppress, she gets aggressive and violent because most of the emotions are anger or become angry.

[klavier]

Ninlarat (Dark Sapphire) As the name, the breed. Dark Sapphire, Perfect shiny black form, Teeth, eyes, claws, tongue, black as the body, And a tapering tail to the end, running back to touch the head.

Wilat (Beauty) Round from throat and underbelly, two ears White to the tail—a cotton flower. All four paws white, two green eyes, The name Beauty for its body’s black field.

Suphalak (Excellence) or Thong Daeng (Copper) Of appearance superb, a graceful feline. Color of copper glinting, Eyes lit like shining rays Against all evil, malevolence turns to content.

Kao Taem (Nine Points) Alternating circles on neck, head, and hind thighs, Plus on both shoulders and front paws, Black covering the ends of both paws. Nine horse-like black spots on an all-white background.

Maaleht (Flower) or Dork Lao (Lao Flower) Grace of the flower, its body evenly colored, Fur like the lao flower, smooth. Fur roots a cloudy gray, off-white Eyes, like dewdrops on a lotus.

Saem Sawet (Alternating White) Black fur alternates with white in all parts. Fur light and scant on the body, The shape orderly, slender, and beautiful. Eyes lit like fireflies, applied liquid gold.

Ratanakamphol (Jewelled Cloth) So called for the body colored as a conch shell, Thus the name Jeweled Cloth was bestowed. A dividing band from chest to back, Golden eyes brim with water like soft light.

Wichien Maas (Moon Diamond) Upper mouth, tail, four paws, and two ears, Eight points of pure black, as stated. Eye color shines bronze-gray, The name Moon Diamond for the white fur.

Ninlajak (Sapphire Circle) The name Sapphire Circle bespeaks grace. Body to crows’ wings truly compares, White around the neck, and can live in any country; this cat one should look after.

Mulila Mulila is one with its name, Two ears white, as if embroidered. Eyes like blooming flowers, like the yellow chrysanthemum. To the tail-tip all black—feet, body, and head.

Krorp Waen (Spectacle Frame) or Aan Maa (Horse Saddle) Spectacle Frame is the name. White as cliffs, Black fur around the eyes, as if dyed. On the back, like a horse’s saddle, A beautiful inky circle. Found in any country.

Pat-sawet (White Line) or Pattalort (Line Throughout) The white line goes from the nose, white, all along to the tail, a rarity. Mixed, alternating to the eye. A short body, Eyes like golden sands of yellow topaz.

Krajork (Sparrow) With the name Sparrow, a nice round frame. Black body, the shaded background. White fur, like clouds, floats around the mouth. Eyes a mix of fresh colors, like gamboge pigment.

Singha Sep (Lion) The Lion is a black-bodied breed. White around the mouth, around The neck’s conch-shell mane, and on nose tip. Gamboge eyes, drops of water fading in light.

from "INVENTORY / AUSPICIOUS CATS: The pick of the litter" by Martin Clutterbuck at Cabinet Magazine.

[kariachi]

Oh look, a fakemon line entirely unrelated to the first one!

~

Pacub

The Wild Cat Pokemon

Ice/Normal

Base Stage

A small, pudgy cat-like pokemon that walks bipedally, eyes are large, round, and yellow, ears are wide and triangular, one ear is folded, long bottlebrush tail, tuft of fur between the ears, main color light brown, has a white-blue stripe down the spine and white-blue underbelly, body is spotted in dark brown, white-blue patch over each eye ringed in dark brown, rings trail into teartrack marks down face, paws and tail tip or dark brown, nose is blue

Ability- Unnerve [Hidden Ability- Healer]

BST- 352 (HP- 58; Atk- 63; Def- 51; SpAtk- 62; SpDef- 53; Spd- 66)

Evolves: Leveling over lvl 35 (Trailinx) OR Losing 20 consecutive battles (Katamount) OR Reaching maximum friendship (Kolkatt)

Moves (nonexhaustive): Slash, Frost Breath, Charm, Haze, Beat Up

"Though common in mountainous areas, Pacub aren't commonly seen by people. This pokemon digs nests in snowbanks from which it ambushes prey such as Skwovet and Vullaby." "Born with a wild temperament, this pokemon is known to lash out at even those helping it. Still some find Pacub cute, and the chill air that emanates from it is useful for soothing burns."

Trailinx

The Wild Cat Pokemon

Ice/Normal

Final Stage

A mid-sized quadrupedal feline pokemon with angular yellow eyes, body is notably long, tail is very short and bristly, pockmarked with jagged dark brown stripes like scars, one stripe goes over an eye, 'mane' of stiff white fur runs down the spine, occasionally broken up where stripes are, ears are triangular and end in dark brown tufts, main body color is light blue, eyes have white rings around them, rings trail off into teartrack marks down the face and into mustache-and-beard-like fur around the jaw and throat, paws are white, nose is dark blue

Ability- Immunity [Hidden Ability- Snow Cloak]

BST- 500 (HP- 93; Atk- 97; Def- 71; SpAtk- 54; SpDef- 75; Spd- 101)

Moves (nonexhaustive): Double Team, Snowscape, Ice Shard, Crunch, Fake Out, Swords Dance, Stone Edge

"When snowstorms rage is when Trailinx can be found on the hunt for it's preferred prey of Lamchen and it's evolutions. Legend says they hunt in groups, but this pokemon actually lives a solitary life." "A favorite of hunters, it's said that no person or pokemon can find a target with the ease of Trailinx. Be warned however, as this pokemon will take more prey than necessary if not well trained. Gardiron is it's mortal enemy."

Katamount

The Wailing Pokemon

Ice/Ghost

Final Stage

A mid-sized quadrupedal feline pokemon with angular red eyes, posses saber teeth in light blue, top half of the head along with chest are also light blue, square light blue spots run down the spine and long tail, main color is dark purple- makes up majority of hind quarters, belly, lower jaw, throat, and broad vertical stripes within the blue of the chest, dark purple patch surrounds each eye, patches trail off into teartrack marks down the face, ears are small round and dark purple, white blaze in the center of the chest, paws and tailtip are white, nose is dark blue

Ability- Unnerve [Hidden Ability- Ice Body]

BST- 500 (HP- 74; Atk- 71; Def- 73; SpAtk- 96; SpDef- 83; Spd- 95)

Moves (nonexhaustive): Shadow Ball, Spite, Mist, Blizzard, Eerie Spell, Mean Look

"Repeated failure has prompted Pacub to evolve into this pokemon and hide itself away in deep mountain and forests. Katamount's cries sound eerily like those of a young woman or child." "Katamount uses it's haunting call to lure prey deep into the woods and mountains at night. Every year people follow it's cries into darkness with the best intentions, only to never return."

Kolkatt

The Hearth Pokemon

Fire/Fairy

Final Stage

A large quadrupedal feline pokemon with semi-circular green eyes, covered in long, thick fur, ears are triangular with one folded, fur is colored in pink and red-orange striping and fades to dark gray and then fire fire at the ends, eyes are ringed with dark gray patches, one of which is heart-shaped, patches trail off into teartracks down the face, is it fat or just fluffy nobody is entirely sure, tail is long, lower jaw and belly are white as are paws and tail tip, large silver bell hangs from somewhere around the neck, nose is bright blue

Ability- Limber [Hidden Ability- Queenly Majesty]

BST- 550 (HP- 97; Atk- 85; Def- 79; SpAtk- 98; SpDef- 81; Spd- 110)

Moves (nonexhaustive): Mystical Fire, Will-O-Wisp, Knock Off, Dazzling Gleam, Heal Bell, Slack Off, Healing Wish, Haze, Lunge

"In ancient times individuals settling new villages made sure to bring a Kolkatt with them. It's believed having one of this pokemon in your home will grant good health." "Happy to lay for hours without moving, this pokemon has long been popular as a makeshift stove and fireplace. Despite this laziness, however, Kolkatt have been known to pull carts and wagons in the past."

[unholyplumpprincess]

I know you’ve said you write for the Predator in the past and I have been devouring Predator content recently. Imagine a bratty/sarcastic human playing a game of predator and prey with their Predator mate. I’d think they would get a small head start to run into a wooded secluded area, a chance to hide before their mate would set out after them. I can’t decide what genitalia to request for the Predator, hell being hunted down and used by both would be a dream. Size would certainly come into play since they are bigger in every way, big arms and fingers, muscles etc… Maybe a lil breeding… as a treat?

I'm absolutely gonna be fitting my predator oc into this. A quick summary of them is: Goes by they/them. Big, tall, pitch black predator with ghostly feline-like markings in white and grays. Probably about 8'2", waist long locs covered in gold beads. Hourglass shape with big tiddy and Huge biceps and v muscular all over.

Reblogs > Likes. Hit Reblog if you hit Like to support more content like this in the future!

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is gn and ambiguous, The yautja is nonbinary and uses they/them and goes by Obsidian, Primal play, Predator/prey play, Alien genitalia

___

You knew better, of course. You know that your mate, Obsidian, had no time for games like yours. At least, that's what they told you through their translator. The voice coming out of it raspy, smoky with an androgynous tone. Always threatening. You remember their clicking growl behind their tusked helm, the translator blooming with a, "Mind your tongue, little one. I shall not go lightly on you, If you wish to play your games? Then run."

And oh you wanted to. So what did you do? Waited. Waited until they were in season and wanted you most. Slipping out of their clawed grasp when they started to get handsy and ran. Running, running, running through their woods on this planet. Knowing you'd be safe from the dangers out there- but not from them.

What a delight that was to know you were being hunted.

They know your games. And as promised, they do not go lightly. They allow you a head start out of politeness, but that's all. You find yourself running, running for a cave that you can press your back flat to as your lungs and heart pound.

You play it cheeky too. Having stripped down, dropping layers of clothing as you went and leaving a trail for them. It leads them to a nearby area, knowing they're following your scent. You peer around the cave's mouth, seeing where the forest floor indents. An invisible being picking up your underwear and bringing it up high, scenting you.

They take the bait, and a vine connected pulls a quickly made contraption down. It hits the invisible being with a ball full of mud, making the barrier wobble. Just enough for you to see the helm shape snap directly to you.

Your laughter doesn't help, but you don't get very far in the cave before you're slammed to the wall with a hand carefully tucked behind your head. The invisible barrier falls, and you see Obsidian in their armor and fishnets. Their tusked helm looking down at your and their chest rising and falling in what you could only describe as horny, rage filled breaths.

"Mad about the mud, huh?" You giggle out, feeling their fingers curl into your hair and gasping as they yank your hair back. "M-maybe you shouldn't be so predictab--ah!" You cry out as they pull harder, exposing your throat in full.

"Poor baby," Their translator drawls, mocking you with a phrase you use to them as their head cocks in interest to your reactions. You whimper, your legs being kicked apart as they push their muscular thigh between yours. On cue, you grind your hips across them, shuddering. "Do you wish to run more? Play cat and mouse longer?"

Hypocrite and predictable that you are, you shake your head as best as you can with your hair still held tight in their hand. You hear the clicking snarls behind their helm, how one of their helm's tusks brushes your jaw as they lean in. Bringing your gaze to the eyes of their helm and making you look up at them.

"Predictable." They mock you once again, another cock of their head as your hips twitch on their thigh. "Now, sweet prey. Let me take what is rightfully mine."

--

You're used in that cave. Made to kneel at the altar that was their thighs as they leaned on the cave wall. Your mouth presses firmly to their cunt, the drooling slit looking familiarly human, but their clit thicker and elongated at maybe an inch or three with a spiked head. The spikes were flexible on your tongue when you lick upwards, their clit jerking and throbbing with each touch of your tongue.

You finger them like they like, translucent blue juices dripping down your wrist as they snarl and click. One of their strong legs hooking over your shoulder and dragging you nice and close, drowning you in their scent.

You get no relief. Not in that cave. No, you have to walk back with them only placated until you can make it back to the ship on wobbly legs. As Obsidian throws you down onto the bed and promises to make you stay still for a week until their heat is complete.

Not that that's much of a threat to you. But you don't complain.

[nightly-ruse]

Cloudtail and Brightheart designs <33333

Yes I did make Cloud a point what are you gonna do about it? Honestly I just colored him in white like canon and then I had the stray idea of him as a point and I just had to do it. Now I love it. I also made sure to make Bright literally beautiful bc I hate how the writers always say “once beautiful cat” like no?? She’s the prettiest kitty and that didn’t change after her attack. So I gave her blue eyes with partially yellow color on the bottom of her eye. It really bugs me when ppl calm down her scars so I made sure she had them and they weren’t hidden by hair or flowers.

also some alt cloud points I liked as well:

One brown like his momma Princess and the other ginger like Fire. I really really love the brown point one but I want Whitewing and Dewnose to both be gray/lilac points so I kept him as a lilac point

(ID- Brightheart is a rather lanky tall cat with many scars across her body, particularly tearing the whole left side of her face, across her throat, back of her front leg, front of her back leg, and a dog bite on her shoulder, her right ear is also torn slightly and slightly limp. She has a round pale blue eye with yellow on the bottom with hearts in her eyes. Her pelt is mostly white with a peachy orange on her tail, back end of her bottom and back legs, back front paw, right ear, heart on her chest, and the toes on her front paw. A gingery red color goes across her orange markings in spotty stripes, mostly on her back legs, nose, chin, ear tip, and on her heart shaped eyelash. She has a small smile and is looking off to the top right of the screen. Her tail tip hangs down and the edge is white in a heart shape. Cloudtail is much shorter and very fluffy, with a big mane, slightly shorter fluffy tail, and fluffy all down his belly. His nose has tufts on it to and his chin is scruffy. He has rather thick eyelashes and circular pupils that are a dark blue with a almost purple pale blue on the bottom. He has light blue, slightly purple to tinged point markings on his face, tail, legs, and ears. Darker blue purple is on his ears, middle of his face, tip of his tail, and paws. He is sticking his tongue out and his inner ears/nose is a light pink. The alternate designs are the same but shifted, one with brown point markings and the other with orange markings. End ID)

[razorblade180]

Nine Days of Lancaster

[Day 4: Soulmate au]

Everything has a routine. From the everyday worker, to the cat resting on a fence. Cars pass by, birds call, life goes on. I’m truth, there’s nothing wrong with that. Not everything is meant to be grand. However, everything was meant to have color, vibrant and glorious visuals that made the mundane a little more grand. Unfortunately such a right was only given when life’s greatest thing was found, love.

Jaune Arc walked through the muted Vale streets. It wasn’t too bad. Color wasn’t truly loved, but never experienced deeply by most. Faint flickers of green signaled him to cross the street which, rushing to lunch before meeting with his visiting family. He weaved around the colorless bystanders then continued on his way. He was making good time. That was until Jaune made a sharp left turn around a corner. The young man was stopped dead in his tracks as somebody crashed right into him, toppling them over and sending a skateboard into the road.

“Ugh..what on Remnant?” Jaune groaned as rubbed his side. It felt like he hit a car instead of a person. He looked across from him to see why that was. Oh it was a person alright. Unlike him however, they had a helmet. “Hey, are you o-”

His words were caught in his throat as the stranger sat up, removing the helmet to rub their head. Slowly, as if like tie dye, color begin to spill into the world before his eyes. Stark black hair revealed hints of red end. Their fair skin became more peach while white jeans became blue and muted gray turned to black. The only color that remained unchanged was the pool of silver eyes he peered into. With a couple blinks, Jaune Arc’s world became vibrant.

Ruby looked that boy she just hit and gasped, hoping to her feet. “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry.” She reached her hand out to help him up. “Dad always tells me not to skate on busy sidewalks. Guess I should’ve listened. Are you okay?”

“Umm…uhhhh”

“Oh no, I broke you!” She panicked. The girl had half a mind to call for medical help, when a hard snap made them both turn around to see a big truck pass by and broken board in the street. Her jaw dropped and so did her head.

“Woah, bad luck.” Jaune said.

“Oh, so you can speak? Guess that’s good.” She sighed, “Well, guess I deserved it.”

“I’m partly to blame. I shouldn’t be running around corners like that. Are you…okay?” He quickly became aware of this girl’s beauty again, making him nervous.

“Me? I had the helmet. You’re the one rubbing your ribs. Oof, please tell me they’re not broken?”

“No, no, I’m…pretty sure?” He was legitimate pain but not that much pain. “I might bruise by I tend to bounce back quickly.”

He saw her frown. Clearly she wasn’t convinced and by her earlier reaction, probably feels bad. Jaune wasn’t really sure what to do. He didn’t even know her name. Also, she didn’t appear to be as startled as he was either. He didn’t want to think about it much but it’s entirely possible that he was only one seeing in color now. That’s happened to more than a few unfortunate people.

“That’s unfortunate.” He thought to himself. Still, everything and anything became more…alive. Even the sky he’s seen all his life was finally the magnificent blue his parents described. That alone was a blessing. Not the mention the sense of warmth he was getting from her. It made him nervous, but not unpleasant.

“Were you going some place important? With your board gone, I don’t mind buying you a bus ticket.”

“Don’t worry about all that. I wasn’t going any place special. Just my sister’s. Anyways, scroll.” She holds out her hand.

“Excuse me?”

“Your scroll. I’m giving you my number. If you end up having to see a doctor or anything then call me. I’ll pay the bill.”

“Oh, you don’t really have t-”

“Scroll please.”

“Yes ma’am.” Her stern yet polite voice was somehow both sweet and intimidating. He got his scroll back and took a look. “Ruby Rose, that’s a nice name. I’m Jaune Arc by the way. A not as nice name.”

“Hehe, I don’t know. Rolls off the tongue pretty easily. Well I hope you feel better genuinely. If not, don’t hesitate to call. I’m a clutz but a responsible one.” She said with pride.

Jaune got a laugh at that. He nodded and just like that, Ruby went on her way. He saw her look at her board for a moment before her shoulders slouched as she abandoned the idea of grabbing the pieces.

“Ruby Rose…huh.”

xxxxxx

“I can’t believe you hit someone!”

“Leave me alone!” Ruby yelled defensively, plopping down on her sister’s couch. “I lost the board and my knee hurts. I’ve suffered enough. Yang, please tell me you have an ice pack or something?”

“You’re lucky I always have a bag of something frozen whenever you get hurt. Hold on.” She walked over to her kitchen.

“You always have something because you don’t cook.” Ruby mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing~”

“Thought so.” Yang chuckled, opening the freezer. “So, what’s this Jaune fellow look like?”

“Tall, a bit scraggly, but seemed nice. Also…deep blue eyes.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds n-” it took a second but did she hear that right? Yang immediately closed the fridge and ran back to the living room to see her sister bunched up in the corner of the couch, a deep blush on her face.

A smile slowly started to spread across the older sister’s face. “Ruby, can you see in color!?”

She hugged her knees, “Oh you know…yeah~”

“You ran over your soulmate!?”

“It was a crash and I think I did!”

Yang in her special way started off getting really excited for Ruby, before immediately bursting into laughing. All Ruby could do was cover her face in embarrassment. She didn’t need any color to know just how red she must’ve been. Oh well. At least she got his number.

[ghostmaldo]

~Winter Wonderland~

Vs first time seeing snow with you

Xgn!reader

Sorry for the giant gab in posts. I went through a little sick episode but now I am back and will hopefully post a bit more frequently! Thank you for your patience!

Request 📦: open 💙

His a puzzle… a gentle umbra standing doe eyed in a field of milky white. (Y/n) can’t see the look on his face from behind… but she can tell the breaths been taken from him. Captured completely by the snows charming spell. Winter had come a bit sooner then anyone had expected. Leaving the two to wonder in the product in the middle of a demon hunt.

Which may not be all too bad…

“He withers all in silence, and in his hand. Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.” V’s voice came low. Almost as if he had been uttering to himself. (Y/n) took the chance to walk through the thin blanket of white to stand next to him. Their eyes also fixated on the icy beauty before them. “Never seen snow before?” (Y/n) questioned as delicately as V had spoken. She didn’t want to break the silent falling veil around them.

“I have memories of this-“

“V…” They cut him off. Looking at him knowingly. Vs eyes tore away from the winter wonderland to stare at (y/n). Their wide curious eyes peering into him such as a playful cat would. He couldn’t help smiling a bit. His raven locks flowed to the front of his face. Shielding the hint of grief brimming in his eyes.

“Have you seen snow before?”

V cleared his throat, turning his gaze back out to the abandoned road. “No, no I have never seen it before.”

“Well, what do you think?“ (y/n) scooted closer to Vs body. Their curiosity growing at the man’s thoughts. They were a bit infatuated with V the moment he had entered their life’s. They became eager anytime they were given the chance to peer into Vs head.

They heard V hum at the question, leaning his weight onto on his cane. The other finding it’s way to his chin. Gently rubbing the end while he collected his thoughts. Then he slowly raised his dark eyes up to the gray clouds above.

“It is charming to look at in its own fashion… however…” V paused, shifting on the soles of his feet. It dawned on (y/n) what was happening. They eyed his no sleeved shirt and open toed shoes.

“I am a bit cold…”

(Y/n) laughed nervously. They slipped their arms to wrap around Vs arm. The sensation was comforting on his cold skin. He welcomed the embrace fondly.

“Come on then, let’s head back to the van.”

*bonus*

Griffen spotted the two walking in the sea of endless winter. He flew down close to them, landing several feet in front of them. “What the fuck (y/n)! This shit is freezing! And it goes on forever, what is this!”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Protector

Prompt: if prompts are still open: virgil as an adventurer who keeps accidentally befriending the monsters he’s supposed to be fighting (aka the other sides)? have a wonderful day! (and don’t feel any pressure to do this at all, and if your inbox is meant to be closed absolutely delete this ask)

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sympathetic remus & deceit, some ptsd flashbacks but nothing super explicit

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic but Virgil’s definitely got some gay panic in there

Word Count: 8153

 Virgil’s got a simple code when he’s not on a hunt. Don’t hurt whatever you don’t absolutely have to, and odds are, it won’t hurt you. Now and then there’s a bit of an, um, incident where that doesn’t quite work out as well as they’d hoped, but by and large they get by.

Or: 5 times Virgil helps a monster he was supposed to kill, and 1 time the monsters help him

He sighs as he walks outside, grabbing the pair of gloves from the rickety tray and tugging them over his weathered hands. The front garden isn’t nearly as overgrown as it was when he found this little cabin in the middle of nowhere, but it’s got a long way to go before he can walk through without tripping over at least one overgrown bramble.

 There’s a very persistent mint plant that’s slowly and surely trying to choke the flowers. Virgil bends down and starts to toil in the dirt.

 “Come on,” he mutters, because he’s allowed to talk to plants when no one else is listening, “let’s stop doing that, you don’t have to be literally everywhere…”

 The mint doesn’t protest verbally, because it’s a plant and plants can’t talk, but Virgil would swear it tries to hold onto the dirt as he pulls it up, holding his hand under the roots to catch the dirt.

 “Alright, come on out, then, let’s just…put you in here.”

 There’s a plot of dirt in a crate resting at his knee. He pats the soil. Fresh enough. The mint plant looks almost contrite as he tucks it into the corner.

 “Next time I go see the townspeople I’m sure you’ll make some tea-shop owner very happy.”

 The rest of the garden goes similarly. By the end, he’s filled the crate almost halfway when his hand catches something sharp.

  The blade gleams as it flashes through the air. The child screams. His eyes widen—

 “No,” he grits out, flattening his hands into the dirt, “no, it’s…it’s okay. We’re okay. It’s…hhhh.”

 As he exhales, his shoulders slump, head bowing almost to his chest. The sounds of blades swinging through the air fade as the breeze rustles the leaves surrounding the cabin. The faint smell of mint cleanses his nose of blood.

 Virgil opens his eyes and carefully moves his hand away from the rose.

 “When’d you get here,” he mutters, carefully lifting the leaves to examine the stem, “don’t remember seeing you.”

 The thorns snag on the little pieces of dirt hanging from his gloves. He glances around. There aren’t any other roses nearby, not that he can see. And it’s probably not very good for it to be growing in the middle of this choked soil patch.

 He stands and makes his way back for the sharper trowel.

 Something hisses.

 His grip on the trowel doesn’t waver but he turns his head casually to glance over his shoulder.

 Something crouches in the garden, just barely visible over the crate. A tuft of hair, not dark enough to be a bear cub, not light enough to be a squirrel. His arm relaxes against his side, trowel snug against his thigh.

 “Hello,” he calls, watching closely, “is someone there?”

 He blinks in surprise when a cat pokes its head over the crate.

 “Uh, hey, there,” he manages, “uh…what’re you doing all the way out here?”

 In response, the cat leaps elegantly over the crate. It’s a slim thing, but not underweight. Its fur is bluish-gray, almost like a stormcloud. As Virgil watches, the cat sneezes and its fur turns a dappled brown.

 Virgil sighs. “So you’re the mischievous sprite I’ve been told to get rid of.”

 The neighboring village has tried several times to make him seek and destroy the sprite’s nest. Apparently, it’s been causing all sorts of problems. Books going missing, glasses breaking in the middle of the night, jars of preserves broken into. Now, that’s not really what Virgil calls a punishable offense, but the villagers were insistent that he find it and fight it. He’s done one of those things.

 Well, technically, the sprite found him.

 “There’s not much here that would interest you,” Virgil says, gesturing at the unkempt garden, “but if you want to tell me what you do want, then—hey!”

 The sprite, of course, doesn’t wait for him to actually finish inviting it inside. Instead, the door creaks as the cat darts between his legs and vanishes.

 “Be careful,” he warns, “there are sharp things.”

 He pushes open the door to see the cat perched on a precariously high shelf, sniffing at the books. He sighs.

 “I can get those down if you want, it might be easier than doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing now.”

 The cat ignores him, pawing at the thick leather cover. He sighs and pulls off his gloves.

 “Alright, just—wait a damn minute.”

 Virgil grunts as he lifts the book of the shelf and carries it over to the table, opening it and waiting. The cat jumps up onto the table and sniffs at the pages. Its tongue laps at a word.

 “You want more about that? Okay, let’s just—“

 Yes, Virgil is talking to this sprite. He’s allowed to do that in his own home.

 He turns the pages until the cat chirps.

 “This? This what you want?”

 The sprite stares at the page. It goes unnaturally still.

 The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stand up.

 Then it breaks; the cat shakes itself off and jumps down.

 “That’s it? You done now?”

 The cat’s tail twitches gracefully as it struts back to the door. Virgil rolls his eyes and follows it out.

 “Well, I’m glad I could be of service,” he mutters as he closes the door.

 Something rough touches his hand. He looks down. The sprite looks back up at him and licks his hand again.

 “…you’re welcome.”

 The cat sneezes, its fur changing back into the deep bluish-gray. Without another look, it takes off, leaping effortlessly over the crate and disappearing into the woods.

 Well, stranger things have happened in Virgil’s life.

 Shaking his head, he gets back to his garden. He glances at the rose before deciding that, eh, what the hell, it can stay another day. He finishes filling the mint crate and sets it near the front door, ready for his trip to the village tomorrow.

 “Ah, thank you!” The tea shop owner beams as he hands it over. “I’m sure this’ll be plenty.”

 “I’ve got more than enough, I promise.”

 “Well, since that sprite disappeared, I won’t be running out nearly as often!”

 Virgil blinks. “Huh?”

 “Oh, the sprite you got rid of!” She smiles. “Thank you kindly for that, it was ever so pesky.”

 Virgil just nods.

 ————————————

Virgil opens his eyes and doesn’t quite reach for the dagger he keeps in the nightstand but it’s close.

 “There’s a dog in my bed,” he mutters, “standing on top of me, drooling on my face.”

 The dog just barks. And changes color.

 He sighs. “Are you the same one from last time? Was the book not enough for you?”

 The dog barks again, jumping off the bed and trotting to the kitchen, its nail clicking on the floor. Virgil lets his eyes close for a second before getting up and following it.

 “Alright, the book it—whoa.”

 The dog is, um. Not a sprite.

 A huge mastiff elemental sits in the middle of his kitchen. It looks up from when it was nosing at what remained of a chicken carcass and rumbles. Virgil raises his hands.

 “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says lowly, “even though you did break into my house and wake me up. What do you want?”

 The elemental turns and moves through the house, out toward the woods. Virgil stuffs his feet in his boots and follows, tucking a slingshot and his knife into his pockets as he goes. The elemental moves through the trees with an inhuman grace, the very edges of the leaves it passes smoldering. A thin tendril of smoke wafts past Virgil’s nose.

  “She’s still inside!” The guard shouts as Virgil wrenches his arm away. “I have to go get her!”

  “Sir, you’ll die!”

  “She’s still—“

  The top of the house crashes down as—

 Virgil closes his eyes and brings his kerchief up to his nose. He breathes deeply. Freshly baked bread. Honeysuckle. The slightly tacky smell of leather oil. Breathe in, breathe out.

 When he opens his eyes again, the elemental has paused, glancing back at him.

 “I’m coming,” he says quickly, “I’m coming. Keep going.”

 He shrugs the old ghosts off his shoulders and follows.

 The elemental leads him to a clearing. Underneath a large, dead white tree, there’s a small den of moss. Virgil’s breath catches in his throat.

 The villagers had sent him a warning about a curse in the area. Fires had been going out. It had been impossible to keep warmth in the houses over the long winter nights. They’d been seeing figures in the smoke, sightings of, well, a mastiff. They’d contacted him to try and get it to leave.

 Well, the mastiff elemental is here, under the tree, looking back and forth between Virgil and something he can’t see, buried in the moss.

 “Is there something you wanna show me,” he asks softly, coming a little further into the clearing, “in there?”

 The elemental whines. He walks forward until he catches sight of a stone in the middle of the bed of moss. It’s cracked in two.

 “Is this what you wanted to show me,” he calls, shifting into a crouch, “this stone?”

 The elemental huffs, nudging his hand. It reaches past him and tries to pick up the stone in its mouth, only for it to drop. It puts its nose down and whines.

 “…was this your favorite stone to play with?” The elemental butts its head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry it broke. How’d it happen?”

 The elemental points its nose toward a jagged boulder in the corner of the clearing.

 “Ah, I see.”

 And you know what? Yeah, Virgil gets it. He’s dropped shit where he shouldn’t have dropped it before and it broke. What does it matter that this elemental is so upset over accidentally breaking its favorite toy that its warmth is so low the nearby villagers think it’s a curse?

 “Hey,” Virgil murmurs, reaching out to cup the two halves of the rock in his hands, “it’s okay. This rock—good choice by the way, very good choice—it’s part of the Perse Mountains, right? So it’s susceptible to fire magic.”

 He reaches into his slingshot bag and pulls out two small rocks. Using one on either side, he sandwiches the two halves of the broken rock together and holds it out to the elemental.

 “Now breath on it.”

 The elemental exhales carefully, bathing the rock in a steady stream of fire. Sure enough, in a few moments, thanks to Virgil holding it steady, the rock glows a soft yellow and reforges.

 “That’s good.” He takes it carefully between the stones and rolls it around the moss, trying to cool it. “Okay. Try now.”

 The elemental takes the rock gingerly between its teeth and yips.

 Virgil chuckles. “I’m glad I could help.”

 The elemental spins in a circle before turning back into the dog and licking Virgil’s cheek, barking excitedly.

 “Okay, okay, you’re welcome, jeez.” He half-heartedly shoves the dog’s head away. “You’re getting slobber all over me!”

 The dog pulls away and takes the rock into its mouth again, snuffling happily. Virgil shakes his head and gets up.

 “If that’s all, then I’m gonna go home.” The dog licks his hand one more time. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

 And if a fire is already burning when he gets back home, well, that’s just a surefire way to know there was never a curse for the villagers to worry about.

 Get it? Surefire?

 Shut up, he’s hilarious.

 ————————————

“Ah, Virgil!”

 Virgil turns. The blacksmith waves at him from the market stalls. Dodging fruit carts and weaving his way through passers-by, he stops in front of the man and gestures to the new wares.

 “Good season, Anbel?”

 “Oh, the best!” Anbel gestures to the coin chest behind him. “You know how it is, goes in and out of season.”

 Absentmindedly, Virgil rubs at the scars on his arms. “I know the feeling.”

 “Anyways, I got that dagger you gave me to repair.”

 Anbel reaches behind him and pulls the dagger out of a leather bag. He holds it up. The deep gouges in the blade are gone, the handle isn’t tarnished anymore, and it looks…good.

 “Thank you, Anbel,” he says, reaching for it, “so how much?”

 “No charge.”

 “Come on.”

 “No charge,” Anbel repeats, “not for you.”

 Unbidden, a flush rises to his cheeks as he tucks the dagger into his belt. “Anbel…”

 “Alright,” the blacksmith says, holding up his hands, “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

 Virgil sighs. “What’d you do?”

 “Why do you assume that I did something?”

 Virgil just gives him a look.

 “…alright but this time it wasn’t me.”

 “Uh-huh.”

 Anbel smacks his chest. “I’m serious, there’s something wrong in the woods outside of town.”

 Virgil sobers, taking a step closer. “What is it?”

 “Dunno. But my horses won’t go past a particular stretch of land and I need to be able to make the trip next moon.”

 Virgil chews on his lip, thinking. “Did they run away or just refuse to go near?”

 “Refused to go near.” Anbel shakes his head. “Don’t know what’s gotten into them. They’re good mares.”

 “Have any others reported anything?”

 “Cindi had trouble getting through too.”

 “Where is it?”

 “Just before the bend in the river. Near the trees.”

 Virgil sighs. “I’ll have a look.”

 That’s how he finds himself wandering down the main road on the next cloudy day. He glances around to make sure there aren’t any other villagers nearby before he starts looking around. There’s a small grove of trees near the riverbank, a mound of rocks next to the bend in the road, and a rapid system rushing just out of sight.

 Maybe the horses were scared of the rapids? They’ve been known to spook before. But no, Anbel makes this trip every season. If the horses were going to spook at the rapids, they’ve done it before.

 Virgil frowns, coming to a stop in the middle of the grass between the road and the river. What could they’ve been startled by? There’s not enough space to hide anything here. The rocks are on the wrong side of the road. The river isn’t close or loud. And the trees aren’t close enough together to hide anything between them.

 …between them.

 Virgil holds very, very still.

 Out of the corner of his eye, one of the trunks shifts.

 He doesn’t move quickly, doesn’t draw his dagger, just lowers his eyes to the grass and turns, facing the trees, and takes a step backward. Then another. Then another. When he’s over ten yards away, he looks up.

 “I mean you no harm,” he calls, “I have no wish to interfere. I was told that there was something that scared a few horses and wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

 The breeze rustles through the leaves.

 “I am happy to leave you here,” he continues, risking a step closer, “but I know that…this is probably not where you’d like to be. This isn’t an especially damp forest.”

 The trunk shifts again.

 “If there’s something I can do to help—“ he risks another step— “I’d be happy to.”

  There.

 The trunk shifts and seems to shrink inside as a jaculi unwinds itself from around its base. It blinks lazily at him with amber eyes, golden scales rippling in the faint light from the cloudy sky.

 “Hello,” Virgil waves, “can I—will you let me come closer?”

 The jaculi hisses and lays its head near the ground.

 “Thank you.” Virgil walks forward carefully, stopping a few feet away and crouching down. “Now, what brings you here? You look like you’re an awful long way from home.”

 The jaculi hisses again, its head swiveling toward the river. Virgil looks. Across the bank, he can see a much denser forest and what looks like a storm brewing.

 “You’ll be hurt,” he realizes, “if you try and stay here…”

 The jaculi coils tighter around the tree trunk.

 “How’d you get over here,” Virgil mutters, “you’d’ve needed to swim across…and that also won’t go well for you.”

 There’s a soft rustling as the jaculi buries its tail in a pile of leaves near the base of the tree. Virgil glances over to see it rubbing its face halfheartedly against the bark.

 His eyes widen.

 About a month ago there had been a terrible storm. His little cabin had barely held together. He’d heard reports from the tavern owner that it’d blown one of the old trees right over.

 “That’s how you got across,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, “you climbed across the tree. And now it’s gone and you’re stuck.”

 The jaculi blinks remorsefully at him.

 “Okay,” Virgil mutters, “okay, we can…we can figure this out.”

 They’ll have to do it at night. There’s no way the jaculi will feel safe enough to move while it’s still light out. There’s an old barn that never finished construction just over the ridge. One of those timber pieces is probably long enough to get over the river. And he can make a bridge wide enough to support the jaculi’s weight.

 He explains his plan to the jaculi, feeling a little ridiculous, but he’s allowed to explain what he’s doing to help someone, it’s fine, and says that he’ll be back. Promise.

 The landowner gives him a weird look when he asks to borrow the timber.

 “It’s too long for you to do anything with it,” he says, still helping Virgil load it onto a sled, “and much too tough for you to cut by yourself.”

 “It’s fine just the way it is,” Virgil says, “and thank you.”

 He waves Virgil off. “Keep it. You’re doing better than I am with it.”

 Virgil’s back at the river bend by sundown. He can’t see the jaculi anymore—it’s probably hidden itself for safety—but he calls out when he arrives.

 “I’m going to use these to make a bridge for you. It shouldn’t take me too long.”

 The pieces of timber are ungainly, to make a colossal understatement, but Virgil grits his teeth and slides them out of the sled. He wades a little into the river and—

  The water is so cold it burns. He has to keep going. It’s gaining on him. He’ll be safe in the water.

  The growls get closer and his foot slips—

 “No,” he mutters, “no, it’s not that. I’m fine. I’m standing, I’m not hurt, I’m not drowning.”

 He blinks down at his boots, the water swirling around his ankles. The timber in his hands shifts as he breathes. He’s fine. He’s fine.

 “Okay…okay.”

 He grits his teeth again and heaves, bringing the piece of timber with him. He wades further until it’s swirling around his waist. The piece of timber is just long enough to reach the other side. Onto the next one.

 He gets the five of them stretched across the river just as the last of the light vanishes. Panting, he struggles back up onto the side of the river bank and splays out onto his back, eyes closed.

 A low hiss sounds in his ear.

 He just manages to avoid a scream.

 “Hey,” he gasps instead, eyes flickering open to see the jaculi coiled up a few feet away, “uh…please don’t do that.”

 The jaculi just blinks at him.

“Uh…why don’t you, uh…” Virgil holds a hand to his chest, trying to get his breathing back under control. “…try out the bridge?”

 The jaculi slithers closer, flicking its tongue out against the timber. It looks back at Virgil.

 “Go on,” he encourages, “you can do it.”

 It slithers on, testing the boards against its weight.

 Virgil holds his breath until the jaculi vanishes into the trees across the river banks, slipping further and further into the darkness.

 Anbel leaves on his trip the next moon.

 ��———————————

Honestly, when the kraken explodes out of Virgil’s well, he just sighs and fetches his bath so he can get the poor thing out.

 “Easy,” he grumbles when the kraken squirms so much he almost drops it, “you may be a young one but you’re still heavy.”

 Panting, he drops the tentacled beast into the full tub, his arms flying up to shield his face from the shower of sparkling drops. Judging by the happy trills and clicks, the kraken likes it in there. He shakes his head.

 “So that’s why I’ve been asked to fight a monster in the sewers,” he muses, watching the kraken’s tentacles writhe giddily in the metal tub, “just how did you end up so far inland?”

 The kraken, of course, does not deign to answer. Instead, the tentacles latch onto the side of the bath and threaten to tip the whole thing over.

 “No, you idiot,” Virgil shouts, grabbing onto the other side and weighing it down. He winces when more water spills onto him, drenching him head to toe. “Now look what you’ve done.”

 What the kraken has done, apparently, is get Virgil close enough so that its tentacles can haul Virgil into the tub.

 “Hey!”

 Virgil spits water out of his mouth, much to the kraken’s delight.

 “That was rude.”

 The kraken just chirps happily and wriggles around. Its tentacles stick to Virgil’s clothes and pull him through the water.

 Virgil’s chest tightens.

 One of the first things they teach you about krakens is never get in the water with them. The second thing they teach you about krakens is do not get in the water with them. The third thing they teach you about krakens is not to get too close to their tentacles so they don’t pull you into the water with them.

 And yeah, this is Virgil’s bathtub, not a river, a tide pool, or the open sea, but you can drown in an inch of water.

 Virgil presses his back up against the rim of the tub. The kraken seems to realize something’s wrong and settles, burbling softly.

 “Hey, bud,” Virgil says shakily, “I, uh, what’re you doing here?”

 The kraken twitches a few tentacles and more water slops over the edge.

 “Right…” Virgil shakes his head. “Okay, well, uh, I would rather not sit here and soak through all of my clothes, so I’m just going to—“

 As soon as he tries to move, the kraken wraps a tentacle around his leg and tugs.

 “Okay, okay, not leaving, not leaving, um—“ Virgil reaches down and takes a handful of the grass. Worst comes to worst, he can tip the tub and get the kraken back in the well.

 The kraken lets go as soon as he settles back in the water. Virgil looks at the creature carefully.

 There’s a mark on its head. Discoloration, probably, but still obvious. As he watches, the kraken burbles to itself and starts making little ripples in the surface of the water with its tentacles. After a moment, it starts gently pushing the water towards Virgil.

 The water laps at Virgil’s knees in little waves, not enough to wet him anymore—not that it would matter at this point—but enough to bounce back and make more patterns. The kraken trills softly and keeps doing it.

 Does it…want to play?

 Slowly, Virgil lifts his hands up and starts to push the water back. The kraken, realizing that Virgil is indeed committing to the idea that he is going to play with this kraken, trills louder and uses more of its tentacles to move the waves bigger.

 “Yeah? Is that how it works?” Virgil moves his hands. “Like that?”

 The kraken chirps.

 He’s not really sure how long they stay there, playing with the water, but it’s long enough for the sun to go down in the sky and Virgil to get more than a little chilly in the water.

 When the kraken notices that the water is rippling more around Virgil and he’s not moving his hands any faster, it wraps a tentacle around his ankle and tugs.

 “What? You tired?” The kraken leans its head against the side of the tub. “Okay. Well, I don’t know how long you can stay in here—“

 He cuts himself off when the kraken jabs a tentacle toward the well.

 “You wanna go back in there? It’s so small and cramped, and the sewers in town aren’t much better.”

 The kraken insists.

 Sure. Why not.

 Virgil grunts as he lifts the kraken back into the bucket, carefully lowering the creature down into the well. He hears one more trill before splashing sounds indicate that the creature is gone.

 Funnily enough, reports of the sewer beast vanish overnight.

 When Virgil wakes up panting from a nightmare of ropes around his neck, the glass of water on his bedside table is perfectly cold.

 ————————————

Virgil curses as the sole of his boot slips. He just manages to catch himself against the cliffside before splitting his knee on a harsh spire of rock. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself onward.

 The cliffs frown over him as he makes his way up the pass. The rocks crumble threateningly as his boots crunch, crunch, crunch. The sword on his hip feels too heavy. He curses, tugging his glove the rest of the way onto his hand.

 He never was one for dragon hunts.

 The message came in a week ago. Some poor terrified soul had come screaming into the town, ranting about dragons, missing people, curses, the whole lot. Virgil had taken up the call and set off, promising to get to the bottom of it.

 He never promised to hurt anything.

 Thunder rolls ominously in the distance and he bites back another curse. There’s a cave up ahead, he can see it just over the next ridge, he’ll rest there.

 In all honesty—and he can be honest, now there’s no one else around—he hates these kinds of missions. Finding something is one thing. Going to get something is one thing. Rescuing someone is one thing.

 This feels like something else.

 There’s something in his boot. There’s a wrinkle in the thinnest shirt he’s wearing. The sword belt is digging into his hip. The voices in his head won’t shut the fuck up.

 The cave is right there.

 He all but collapses to his knees as soon as he makes it inside, just as the first drops of rain land on the back of his armor. He breathes a sigh of relief, heading further into the cave, into the safety, out of the storm.

 It’s quiet here.

 He takes the knife out of its loop on his belt and sets about setting up a fire. There’s a reasonable stash of dry wood here, probably enough to keep him going throughout the night. He makes a small bundle and lights it, blowing on it until it catches and burns merrily.

 Shrugging off his pack, he leans it up against the wall and starts to dig out the dried meat. He tears off a long strip with his teeth and chews slowly, staring into the flames.

 There’s something nice about fire. Not all fire—he’s got the burns to prove that—but this fire. Controlled fire. He sits back on his hands, brushing aside the eggshells to lean against the cave wall.

 Controlled fire is…justified chaos. It’s strange, to think of chaos as being justified. But that’s what it is. A controlled burn. Snapping and sparking amidst a small mound of wood, warm. Safe. It’s strange to think of fire as safe, too.

 Virgil sits back, finishing off his meal and closing his eyes. The fire is very, very warm. Much warmer than he would expect for just a small campfire. And a little irregular, too. It comes in waves, pants, almost.

 …wood, eggshells…

 Okay, look.

 Look.

 Virgil’s tired, okay?

 It’s not like this is what normally happens to him on hunts.

 He knows what he’s doing.

 He does!

 It’s fine.

 This is fine.

 This is so utterly fine right now.

 But…okay, yeah, maybe Virgil’s not been paying as much attention as he should be. And maybe he’s fighting down a panic attack right now. And maybe he’s frozen in fear to the floor of this cave and not sure how he’s survived this long.

 Whatever.

 Virgil cracks an eye open.

 “…hey, there, dragon.”

 Surprisingly enough, his head does not get immediately bitten off. Instead, the dragon looks at him, nostrils puffing hot air into his face. The smell of dank cavern air mixes with what Virgil really hopes isn’t decomposing human.

 “Um…fancy seeing you here?”

 The dragon huffs louder, still staring into Virgil’s soul. He risks a glance over its shoulder to make sure that yes, this is the only dragon in this cave, there aren’t suddenly going to be five of them. He spies the scales trailing further into the darkness, muscular legs, long, powerful tail. The dragon growls, snapping his eyes back.

 “Hey, uh—didn’t mean to invade your cave.” Virgil scoots backward. “That was absolutely my fault. I can, uh—well, I can’t really promise to leave you alone, but I, uh…rain check?”

 As if on cue, thunder booms from outside.

  Shit.

 A lower growl sounds from the dragon as its mouth curls up. Wow, those teeth are long…

 “Can you, uh—so I know that this is a pretty big request, considering I just, you know, invaded your cave, but uh—maybe don’t eat me?”

 Judging by the growl, that’s a no.

 “Okay, I, uh—“ Virgil risks a glance around. His fire is still burning. Maybe he can at least get the dragon to back up before he—

 He pauses.

 Near the fire, the dragon’s leg looks…wet. Its scales are stained with a dark splotch coming from somewhere higher up. As he watches, the dragon shifts its weight and it gets wetter.

 “You’re hurt,” he says softly, “you’re—oh, god, you’re hurt.”

 He looks back up. The dragon’s snarl doesn’t quite soften, but its mouth relaxes a little.

 “I’ve got salve and bandages in my pack,” he says cautiously, “if you let me get them, I can—I can help?”

 Slowly, ever so slowly, he moves his hand to his pack, keeping the other one raised as he opens the flap and takes out the bottle and the bandages.

 “Can I have a look, please? I’m just gonna…”

 The dragon huffs cautiously as Virgil turns, moving around its body to crouch next to its injured leg. Now that he’s closer, he can see what’s happened.

 A shard of metal is lodged in the soft space between two of the scales. Every time the dragon moves, it shifts, spilling more and more blood. Judging by how loud the dragon is breathing, it must really hurt.

 “You poor thing,” he mutters, “how long has this been here?”

 No response.

 “We gotta get it out,” he says instead, looking for something he can use, “if we leave it in you might get infected, or…something else bad will happen.”

 He pulls a pair of pliers from his pack and the dragon snorts.

 “Easy, easy—“ the dragon’s eyes go wide at the glint of the flame off the metal— “hey, it’s okay, I’m gonna use these to get that metal outta you, yeah?”

 It seems an hour before the dragon calms, gingerly stretching out its leg so Virgil can see the shard. Taking a deep breath, he hooks the pliers around the edge of the metal.

 “Ready on three, okay?” He grits his teeth. “One…two…three!”

 He yanks.

 The dragon roars as the metal shard comes out in his hands, the side release almost sending him toppling back into the fire. Quickly, he discards the tools and reaches out to soothe the dragon, petting its scales and hushing it gently.

 “Shh, shh, it’s out now, it’s okay, it can’t hurt you anymore.” He runs a hand over the dragon’s heaving back. “I’m gonna help you, okay? I’m here to help.”

 It seems to calm the dragon, its breathing slowly but surely calming down as Virgil continues to speak softly to it. Honestly, if it were this easy to calm himself down, he would have a lot fewer problems.

 “I’ve got to clean it,” he says after a minute, “just to make sure you don’t get infected. Then I’ll be done, okay?”

 The dragon swivels its massive head around, looking at the wound, then back at Virgil. It heaves a great sigh and its chin comes to rest on the floor, staring at him. Guess that’s as close to permission as he’s gonna get.

 “Thank you. This, uh, this may sting a bit.”

 He barely gets a flinch as he starts cleaning the cut. Dragons. Once he’s wrapped the dragon’s leg as best he can, he turns to peer at the shard of metal he pulled out of the wound. He holds it up, examining it in the firelight.

 It looks…wrong.

 It’s too thick to be just something that happened to get in there, but too jagged to be something natural. It looks like it snapped off of something, but it’s not the right shape to be an arrowhead or a piece of a building. So what…?

 He turns when the dragon starts to move.

 It heaves itself to its feet, testing out its weight on all four legs. When the pain doesn’t shoot through, it lumbers off, further into the cave. Its head dips down, out of sight for a moment, before it turns and starts back toward the fire, dragging something in its mouth.

 Virgil’s eyes widen when another bag is dropped in front of him.

 “Is this…is this someone else’s?” He lays his fingers carefully on its surface. “Did…did you…did someone else come here before me?”

 The dragon huffs.

 With trembling fingers, he flips open the bag. There’s a good store of meat in here, a change of clothes, something for armor, it’s a provisions bag. One side has a little loop attached with nothing inside.

 “…someone tried to stab you,” he realizes in horror, looking back up at the dragon. “Someone tried to fight you but couldn’t. So they stabbed you in the leg.”

 His fists clench.

 “They hurt you.”

 Another huff. Then the dragon nudges the bag toward him again.

 “Is there something else in here?” Virgil starts sorting through the possessions. He lays the clothes to one side, the bottles to another. When he gets to the food, the dragon leans forward and snorts, blowing hot air into his face.

 “This? This is what you want me to get?” He looks at it. It’s just more dried meat. It, uh, it actually looks a little better than his. “Are you hungry?”

 The dragon snorts at Virgil’s pack, then at the food in his hands.

 “…are you…giving this to me because I’m still hungry?”

 Another huff, longer this time, and the dragon’s head comes to rest on the floor, eyes staring up at him.

 Virgil swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Well, that’s—thank you.”

 The dragon rumbles as he starts to eat, eyes blinking lazily. Virgil tries not to mind too much.

 And…honestly? It’s not that bad. He’s had worse audiences when he’s just trying to eat. The dragon switches its tail every now and then, huffing gently to keep the fire going. It’s…nice.

 Virgil finishes eating as much of the food as he wants and tucks the rest away. He takes a moment to just…look.

 “The other person,” he says eventually, “the one that hurt you…they—I think they wanted to kill you.”

 The dragon stares at him like he just said the sky is blue.

 “No, really, I—I don’t think they wanted anything else.” He shakes his head. “We’re not near enough to any villages for that to be the reason, there aren’t any traveling paths through here, there’s…there’s no other reason. I think they just wanted to kill you.”

 The cave falls quiet as the rain pours outside.

 “…I think they wanted me to kill you too.”

 Virgil’s chest aches. Something in his right hand tingles.

“Why do they always want me to kill you?”

 And he’s not just talking about the dragon now.

 It’s always the same.

 Fight this. Kill that. Rescue us from this. Save us from that.

 What if you’re not the ones that need to be saved?

 Virgil lets his chin drop to his chest and sighs. His sword hangs heavy at his hip. His hands tremble in the burning light of the fire.

 “I hate to impose,” he manages through a sluggish tongue, “but…may I stay? Just until the storm passes?”

 A low thud makes him look up. The dragon shifts, its tail curled in a half-circle around Virgil and the fire. It huffs softly.

 “Thank you.”

 ————————————

Sometimes he has sleepless nights. Drifts in blackness and emptiness until it’s time to get up. Or he’ll close his eyes for what feels like an instant before he wakes up the next day.

 Sometimes he has restless nights. Can’t sleep, can’t manage to get more than a few minutes of tense darkness before his eyes shoot open and he has to reassure himself that’s he can sleep.

 Sometimes he has good nights. Dreams of sunshine and warmth and the safety of a hot drink between his palms. Closing his eyes and just hearing the peaceful hum of his cabin.

 Most of the time he has nightmares. The good ones are just mixes of monsters he can’t see coming, kills he wishes he didn’t have to make. Losing someone he should’ve been able to save.

 This one’s a bad one.

  Jaws close down on his arm. The creature whips its head back and forth, shaking him like a rag doll. He grits his teeth and tries to—

  His eyes widen as the burning roof collapses on top of him. A heavy beam falls onto his chest and he can’t move, he’s going to—

  The cliff face collapses under him and he plummets, fingers scrabbling for a hold against the crumbling face. He can’t reach, he can’t reach—

 “….shut up, you’re gonna wake him up!”

 “If you stop shouting, then he won’t.”

 “Shh, the both of you.”

 “This is certainly working, I think we should all keep talking like this.”

 “Oh, don’t you start!”

 “Hey, hey, shh! He’s waking up!”

 Virgil is waking up, as a matter of fact, and he also has no idea where he is or what’s going on. He does know there are at least five people in this room with him though. That’s either a good thing or a really, really bad thing.

 He can feel rocks under his head. Is he still in the cave, then? How other people…here? Where’s the dragon?

 “Hey,” one of the voices says, “are you okay? You kinda, uh, well, you weren’t looking very good for a little bit there.”

 “Back up, you morons, you’re gonna scare him!”

 “We’re not scary, shut up.”

 “You’re scary.”

 “All of you be quiet,” the first voice says, before it softens again. “Hey, can you open your eyes?”

  Well, I’ve definitely made worse decisions.

 He wholeheartedly concurs with that thought when the first thing he sees is genuinely one of the most attractive people he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting face to face.

 “There you are,” the beautiful person says, “good morning. Is your head alright?”

 “Uh—“ not now gay panic— “uh?”

 “Back up, Logan,” another person says, “let me see.”

 Logan—great name, sure, why not—moves out of the way, and oh god there’s two of them.

 “Hi!” The other attractive person leans over Virgil and gods— “are you hurt? You looked a little upset while you were sleeping.”

 “You—“ Virgil does not squeak— “you watched me while I was sleeping?”

 “Well, you fell asleep and Roman got worried, so—“

 “I’m sorry,” Virgil interrupts, “who—who are you?”

 The person in front of him tilts his head. “Don’t you recognize us?”

  I would absolutely fucking remember meeting you, and I do not.

 “Patton,” Logan says, “he’s a mortal. He won’t—we are not as we were when he met us.”

 The butterflies in Virgil’s stomach ice.

 These…these are creatures. Is he—what supernatural force did he piss off?

 Logan smiles at him and winks. First off, rude, but—

 Virgil squints. One of the man’s eyes is a deep bluish-grey. The other one—the one he just winked with—is a dappled brown.

 Oh.

 “…you’re the sprite.”

 “I am,” he says, “my name is Logan.”

 Something nudges his shoulder. Virgil looks over to see Patton offering him a round stone.

 “…the mastiff elemental?”

 “Patton, actually.” Patton smiles and gestures over Virgil’s other shoulder.

  Why are there five of them and why are they all so pretty?

 “Can you guess who they are?”

 One of them rolls his eyes. “Yes, that sounds like a perfect use of time that isn’t at all a waste.”

 “Okay, so you’re the jaculi.”

 He smirks. “Janus.”

 The one near the entrance to the cave just cackles and bounces on the balls of his feet. Almost like…

 “You made me spill the bathtub over my whole yard!”

 He cackles louder. “Yes, I did!”

 Virgil rolls his eyes. He’s not fond. He’s not.

 “Remus,” Logan scolds, “you said you were just going into the well.”

 “He took me out!”

 “Yeah, because that thing is cramped as hell.”

 “Aww,” Patton coos, “how sweet.”

 “Well,” the last one says, smiling softly from one of the darker corners of the cave, “we knew that, didn’t we?”

 Virgil turns, looking hard into the darkness. The last person stands, walking over slowly, leaning most of his weight on one leg. As he moves into the light, he sits down on the log and reaches down. Virgil’s eyes widen as he gets handed the last of the dried meat.

 “You’re still hungry,” the person says softly, “I can tell.”

 Virgil cannot eat right now, thank you very much. Instead, his eyes are fixed on his bandage, still tied sloppily around the person’s leg.

 “You’re the dragon.”

 “I am. But you can call me Roman.”

 “…does it still hurt?”

 “Oh, this?” He smiles and moves his leg. “A little. But it’s almost better,” he finishes, reaching over to gently bump Virgil’s shoulder, “thanks to you.”

 Yes, hello? Virgil would like for someone to explain what’s going on, please.

 “I’m sure you’ve got questions,” Logan says, also sitting down, “and we can do our best to answer them. But first…are you alright?”

 Uh, no. “Why do you think I’m not?”

 “You’re breathing faster than most mortals do at rest, your face is more flushed than it was, and you were troubled while you slept.”

 …shhh…

 “I, um…I was having a nightmare.”

 “Ooh,” Remus says, plopping down on the floor with his chin propped up on his hands, “was it a bad one?”

 “…you could say that.”

 “Remus,” Patton chides, “don’t.”

 Remus pouts but hushes, reaching out to toy with a stick. Patton rolls the stone between his hands.

 “You did seem upset,” Janus says, “can we help?”

 “H-help?”

 Janus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, help. Or is that not a thing most mortals do?”

 Um. Well. Uh, hang on.

 “Are you just going to be mean to him,” Logan sighs, “or are we actually going to make an effort to be friendly with the person we have decided to befriend?”

 “Can one of you explain what’s going on?” Patton nods to Virgil. “Before he decides we’re all mad?”

 Roman sighs. “Virgil? Are you still hungry?”

 “Huh? No, no, I’m…I’m okay.”

 He smiles. “Good. This…this might sound a bit strange, but…try and keep up?”

 “As weird as it might sound, this isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 Roman blinks in surprise, a small smile coming over his face. “Isn’t it?”

 “Well, you must have some idea of what I do for a living.”

 Roman’s smile only grows. “Yes, as a matter of fact, we do.”

 Logan clears his throat. Virgil turns, seeing the book from his cabin appear in Logan’s hands.

 “Did you—is that my—“

 “I can assure you,” Logan says softly, “that I did not steal your book from you. Rather, this is a copy, generated from the information I was able to learn.”

 “What did you want?”

 “We were cursed.” Logan closes the book with a snap. “Cursed to take on forms that were hated or feared or simply a nuisance.”

 Virgil’s stomach drops. Cursed?

 “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “that sounds…awful.”

 “It was,” Janus mutters, “completely inconvenient and an utter waste of time.”

 “You say like it wasn’t your fault.”

 “Oh, right, it was absolutely only my fault.”

 “You two,” Patton huffs, “enough.”

 Virgil’s still trying to wrap his head around everything. “Wait, hang on, so—you were cursed? Were? Past tense?”

 “Well,” Janus gestures to himself, “I don’t exactly look like a snake anymore, do I?”

 He raises a finger when Virgil opens his mouth.

 “Careful, dear.”

 Virgil snaps his mouth shut.

 Roman rolls his eyes and places a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “You broke the curse, my friend. Or at least…you helped us break it.”

 “But how? I didn’t—I didn’t do anything.”

 He raises an eyebrow and gestures to the bandage. “You don’t consider this doing anything?”

 “Or this?” Patton holds up the stone.

 Logan taps the cover of the book. “You helped us. When you had no reason to, past the goodness of your heart.”

 “We would’ve been hurt,” Janus says quietly, “or hunted without you. They certainly would’ve killed me.”

 “And me,” Remus says.

 Patton nods. “And me.”

 Roman simply taps his leg. Right. They already tried to kill him.

 Virgil blinks. “So…me helping broke the curse?”

 “You caring broke the curse,” Logan corrects gently, “and, well, when you...when you seemed to be in need, we wanted to care for you too.”

 Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, fuck.

 “So,” Roman says, smiling up at Virgil, “how can we help?”

 “Help? With—with what?”

 “The nightmares.”

 “Oh,” Virgil mumbles, averting his eyes, “you, uh, can’t. Not really. They’re not a curse or magical or anything. They’re just nightmares.”

 “But there must be something we can do.”

 He shakes his head sadly. Believe him, if there were anything five unfairly attractive people could do, he’d tell them. But there isn’t. “They come with the job. There’s not—no one can do anything.”

 He can practically hear Patton frowning. “That’s not very fair. You do so much for others, don’t they—don’t they care?”

 Virgil shrugs. “Life isn’t fair.”

 “So take what it won’t give you.” Janus folds his arms. “They don’t care for you. Even though you care for them.”

 “They do care for me,” Virgil argues, “they’re kind. They help me.”

 “Not with this,” he shoots back, “not with what you really need.”

 “You protect everyone,” Roman says softly when Virgil opens his mouth to argue again, “who protects you?”

 Who protects the protector?

 “…no one.” Virgil shakes his head. “No one but me.”

 “Well, you’re right. That doesn’t seem fair at all.” Logan sets the book aside and it vanishes into the darkness of the cave. “Perhaps we should endeavor to fix that.”

 “F-fix it?” Virgil’s head jerks up. “How?”

 “Let us protect you.”

 “Protect me?”

 “Do keep up,” Janus sighs, but he’s pretty sure he can see him smiling over there, “at the very least, we have magic. That should offer you something.”

 “You don’t have to decide right now,” Roman says quickly, “but…thought we’d offer. Think it over.”

 …well, if ‘protection’ involves seeing them more often, Virgil can definitely work with that.

 “While I think it over, will you tell me how you got cursed?”

 “So it was entirely Janus’s fault—“

 “It was not!”

 “Yes, it was!”

 As Remus and Janus start arguing, Virgil smiles and leans back against the wall of the cave. Roman waves his hand and the cave wall warms, almost cradling Virgil. Logan settles on his other side, weight solid against his arm.

 Yeah, he could get used to this.

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