#edit to fix a fucking typo

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon High: Chapter 21

Warriors came rushing to aid as they heard the cry of the ginger she-cat ring clear across the forest. Leafheart hunched over the mutilated body of her son, Flamepaw, and Moonpaw watched on helplessly. There was so much happening all at once that it was hard to concentrate.

Moonpaw blinked, seeing Thornberry and some of the other mentors gather to console the grieving she-cat. Then, in the next moment, when Moonpaw blinked again, Smokepaw was beside her. He appeared to be speaking, judging by the movement of his mouth, but no words could be heard. The only thing Moonpaw could hear was the rapid thumping of her heart and a ringing in her ears. She tried to force herself to pay attention. But it was difficult. She didn't feel like she was present at the moment. Her body didn't feel like her own.

Moonpaw stared with wide unfocused eyes at the smokey gray tom. He continued to try and communicate. Then Smokepaw's brows furrowed as he realized Moonpaw couldn't understand him. He turned, and Moonpaw blinked again.

The next thing she knew, she was being led through the woods. Beepaw walked on one side of her, just behind Smokepaw. She was saying something, but again, nothing seemed legible to Moonpaw.

Time flew away from her like a bird on a strong gale, because the next thing she knew, the group was entering Treeclan's camp. Mothsong and Berrypaw ran over to them, checking every cat over. They seemed so distant to Moonpaw, like they were walking just at the edge of her vision. Smokepaw gestured towards his littermate, and for the first time in a while, Moonpaw could partially make out what was being said.

"She's... ...shock," Mothsong noted, her words cutting in and out of Moonpaw's consciousness. Moonpaw could barely feel the brush of the medicine cat's tail against her shoulder as she was prompted to follow towards the healer's den. An orange blob lay near her feet as she passed. Yet her mind wouldn't allow her to focus well enough to see exactly what the shape was.

Moonpaw then found herself settling into a nest as the calico she-cat brought over some herbs. I'm not sick, Moonpaw protested internally, confusion clouding her mind. She wasn't the one who should be tended to right now. But Mothsong didn't seem to think so, judging by the look of concern on her face.

"...eat...." Moonpaw barely heard her say. And though she felt like taking the medicine was pointless, Moonpaw followed directions anyways. She swallowed bitter plants first--thyme and goatweed, Moonpaw remembered their names being. Next, a tiny seed rolled onto her tongue and slithered down her throat, just as a soothing scent entered into her nostrils. Chamomile? Moonpaw guessed as her head grew heavy. She saw Mothsong in front of her. The beautiful medicine cat signed the word "sleep" in the Silent Language. Then, as if on command, Moonpaw found herself being pulled into a deep, restless slumber.

An uncountable amount of time passed before Moonpaw stirred awake. Her head felt heavy and body felt numb as all of her consciousness returned to her at last. She could finally think and see clearly. The medicine Mothsong had given her worked wonders on her foggy mind. But now Moonpaw felt stiff as a log. Stretching, the silver and white she-cat moved to stand from her nest. But before she could, a rustling sounded from the entrance of the medicine den. Moonpaw curled back up into her sleeping spot, not wanting to be reprimanded for leaving it before she was given permission. Two cat-scents made their way to her nose, before she could see who was coming.

"I'm glad I could catch you," Moonpaw recognized the smell and mew of Mothsong.

The second scent belonged to Wolfheart. "I was already on my way here. I wanted to check on Moonpaw."

"You must be Starclan sent, then."

"What do you mean?"

The medicine cat ushered the gray and white tom deep into the den, past Moonpaw and closer to the medicine stores. She didn't speak a word, but motioned for the tom to make himself comfortable.

Wolfheart wrapped his tail around himself as he sat, his back facing Moonpaw.

"Has something happened?" Wolfheart spoke aloud the question his daughter had in mind. His voice was pleading, begging to know what knowledge Mothsong withheld. Moonpaw peered through half-squinted eyes, trying to gauge what was going on without being caught.

Mothsong sat next to the wall of her den, too distant to notice her patient had woken up. Her focus was rested on Wolfheart. A turbulent expression took over her features as she paused a moment or two to find the right things to say.

"Starclan sent me a dream early this morning. A prophecy they wish to be shared."

"A...prophecy?" Wolfheart sounded to be in disbelief. Moonpaw shared his sentiment. Prophecies were rare. It was even rarer for them to be shared with an ordinary cat. But if Mothsong was so insistent with telling Wolfheart about it, then he must be involved somehow.

Excitement began to bloom in Moonpaw's chest. Was Wolfheart a prophecy cat? That would mean he would be a hero, just like in the stories of the ancients Badgerface spoke of!

Mothsong lifted her chin, her eyes growing dim. When she parted her jaws to recite Starclan's words, she spoke in a voice that did not sound like her own. "A great threat lurks, brought forth by darkness and forged by wolf's strength. Only when the moon can face its fate will the night rise. Do whatever possible to keep its light alive."

The air grew thick with tension as silence settled in. A few heavy moments passed. Mothsong appeared to return to normal. Still, there was unease between both the adult cats.

Wolfheart swayed his tail thoughfully. "...What does it mean?"

Mothsong shook her head. "I do not know. But this is the message Starclan has asked me to share."

"And they wanted you to share it with me...? Why? Do you think...it has something to do with my daughter?" Her father's fur was bristling, as if he were afraid. The faint scent of fear creeped its way to Moonpaw's nose, confirming her suspicion. Was he scared that Starclan had wanted to share a message with him? Or was he more fretful of what the prophecy meant? Moonpaw, too, found herself wondering what their words foretold. It wasn't the prediction of grandeur and heroism she had hoped for her father. Instead it sounded to be a more illfated warning.

"It's a possibility. But there's a chance the message could be more metaphorical as well. All I know for certain, is that things will reveal themselves in their due time."

"That's true." Wolfheart sighed. "I just...hope this doesn't mean Moonpaw's in danger." Moonpaw saw Wolfheart's head shift. He must have been glancing at her over his shoulder. But she couldn't exactly see his eyes from the direction his body faced. There was a sag of guilt in the gray and white tom's posture, as if whatever was prophesied was his fault. Love and sympathy squeezed Moonpaw's heart. She wanted so badly to sit up and comfort her father, but she would be caught easedropping if she were to do so.

Mothsong rested her tail upon Wolfheart's shoulder reassuringly. "Whatever happens is in the paws of Starclan. But they have never steered us wrong before. So please, have faith in them, and whatever their plans may be."

I will keep faith in them, Moonpaw swore, peering over at her dad as she hoped he'd do the same.

The gray and white tom fell silent for a moment. "...I trust your wisdom, Mothsong. But please, if you learn anything new, let me know first."

"Of course." Mothsong blinked slowly.

As if summoned by the thought of him, Wolfheart turned around to face his kit. Moonpaw quickly shut her eyes, hoping her father didn't see her awake. Heartbeats later she felt his fur pressing to hers, and the rumble of a purr in his chest.

"Are you waking up already, chipmunk?" He checked. Moonpaw resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, she slowly fluttered open her eyes, looking up at the loving face of her kin.

"Papa...?" She feigned fatigue in her voice as she spoke. Wolfheart smiled down at her, running his tongue over her ears and cheeks.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

Tired, miserable, confused, were some of the words that came to mind. Instead of speaking Moonpaw shrugged, resting her head against her paws.

"I understand," Wolfheart hummed, nuzzling her. "You should rest more. Hopefully you'll feel like yourself after."

That sounds like a good idea, Moonpaw agreed and gave a yawn. Wolfheart rose from her side and walked out of the medicine den. Mothsong followed him out not long afterwards with flowers in her jaws.

Moonpaw rested for a while more, ruminating in thoughts of the present and the future. Most of all she thought about the prophecy and what it could mean. Eventually, her body grew tired of laying in its resting position. Her paws itched to move and go into the camp where the rest of the clan would be gathered. With a swish of her tail, Moonpaw stood and padded out of the medicine den.

In the center of camp, Flamepaw's body laid. Berrypaw had just finished rubbing herbs into his pelt. But he wasn't able to cover up the death scent in time. Due to the long journey home, and the state of Flamepaw's body, birds of prey managed to catch on to the passing of the young apprentice. When Moonpaw looked up she could see a hawk soaring by the dusk kissed clearing every now and then. But the threatening hoot of an owl kept the other predator away. Tonight's vigil would be extra guarded, Moonpaw bet. A shiver ran down her spine as she made her approach towards her deceased clanmate. Several cats were ahead of her, each taking a few moments to sit close to Flamepaw and share tongues with him one last time. Then they'd move aside, allowing other cats to come forward and do the same. Most cats remained in the open to sit vigil for the remainder of the night. While those too young, old, or not close enough to Flamepaw took their leave and headed to their dens to sleep.

As Moonpaw took her turn to sit vigil, she noticed Den Keepers scaling the trees in camp. With precision and care, they wrapped greenbrier vines around branches, high above where any cat would normally climb. They used moss and broad leaves to grip the thorny appendages tying them tightly before descending to the ground. The vines were a cautionary measure, to deter feathered fiends from landing within striking range of the camp. Good, Moonpaw sighed with a bit of relief, tucking her legs beneath her as she bowed her head near Flamepaw's and prayed.

After her prayer, Moonpaw lifted her muzzle and began to groom his cheek. His fur smelled strongly of lavender and death, but beneath--if one pressed their nose close--Flamepaw's natural scent could be caught. Moonpaw did her best to commit it to memory. Then she rose to her paws, and after one last press of their foreheads together, the silver molly moved away. As she did, Leafheart looked to her apprentice and nodded at her thankfully. Moonpaw returned the warrior's gesture with a respectful head dip. Then she moved to flank her mother and father, who watched on from the edge of camp. Moonpaw saw yerning crackling in Wolfheart's pale green eyes as she settled with him. His focus was fixed on Blazestar who sat solemnly beside his mate.

Brightsky nudged Wolfheart encouragly with her muzzle, prompting the gray and white warrior to go sit beside his old friend. Wolfheart seemed cautious as he moved to take the chance and padded over to Blazestar. He dipped his head deeply to the clan's leader before taking a seat beside him. Wolfheart looked between his clanmates as if waiting to be judged. But no one spoke out. Instead, Blazestar rested his tail on the younger tom's shoulders and blinked at him with gratitude. He seemed to be reassuring Wolfheart of something. Whatever that may be breathed a small puff of confidence into the gray and white tom. Moonpaw was happy that her father could be there to support Blazestar.

Beside her, Brightsky sniffled a little, her cheek fur dampened with tears. At the other side of her, Magpiepaw laid. Her muzzle was buried in their mother's fur for comfort. Moonpaw wanted to say some soothing words to them both, but for once she had nothing to mew about. Grief tightened in her chest. All Moonpaw wanted to do right now was enjoy the comfort of her living loved ones. Speaking of loved ones, Moonpaw's thoughts suddenly landed on Hazepaw. Would he be waiting for her tonight? Something had held him up from joining the Gathering yesterday. Surely he'd be wanting to see Moonpaw tonight instead. Should I really sneak away to go see Hazepaw, though? Moonpaw wondered as her gaze flitted between her clanmates. Seeing their miserable faces made Moonpaw feel even worse. No one would be of great comfort here. So, Moonpaw set her mind on going off into the woods alone. Backing away, Moonpaw turned tail and headed for the Entrance Tree. Smokepaw called out to her as she climbed, asking where she was going.

"I need some space..." Moonpaw confessed before taking off into the trees. Wind flowed through her long fur as she ran across the forest towards the familiar rocks of Rubble Path. The trees thinned the closer she drew to the territory's edge, until finally only grass and sand remained. Moonpaw parted her jaws to taste the air. She needed to know Hazepaw was waiting for her. But any scent of hin was stale. Maybe he's disguising it, Moonpaw hoped.

"Hazepaw?" She called out, stalking to the top of Rubble Path. She peered down, looking between the jagged stones for a familiar white pelt. Then her eyes began to comb the sand and brush nearby. "Hazepaaaaw!" She called again, her voice echoing with the rise in volume. But no reply ever came. Nor did anyone emerge from the dark surrounding her. Great disappointment weighed heavily upon Moonpaw, even worse than what she'd felt the night before.

"Hazepaw..." tears began to well in the silver and white molly's eyes. She sniffed, then hung her head. I need you... the words remained inside her mind as she sobbed softly to herself. Moonpaw let herself cry alone for a while, until the worse of her grief was finally released. Then after calming down, she turned, retreating back home to curl up in the paws of her family.

As the first rays of sunlight began to crawl across the forest, Treeclan gathered together as one within the clearing of camp. They huddled in a large circle around the deceased apprentice they mourned. Some cats parted to allow Badgerface, Daisypetal, and Elmfoot through. Mothsong and Berrypaw had just finished wrapping Flamepaw's torso with vines--to keep him in one piece during the move. The medicine cats dipped their heads in respect to the elders as they got out of their way. Guards came to surround the old warriors as they took their place around Flamepaw.

Then, Daisypetal lifted her muzzle and began to release a keening cry into the morning air. Blazestar joined her, with Leafheart and their kits joining two heartbeats after. Moonpaw heart ached as she listened to their cries. Then she brought up her nose and joined the rest of her clanmates in a mourning song. Flamepaw's spirit was being commended to Starclan; his soul likely accepted by this time after facing judgment in the Twilight Passage. Flamepaw was a good cat. Silverpelt will welcome him with open paws, Moonpaw assured herself as the clan finally finished singing. Then, the elders lifted Flamepaw's body. Flanked by the Guards, the old warriors marched the deceased tom towards the thorn barrier and out of Treeclan's camp one last time. The clan watched after them for a few extra moments before finally breaking apart. Some cats went about their duties for the day. Others headed to their dens for a nap. Moonpaw contemplated doing the same, the weight of all that happened still heavy upon her. But Moonpaw knew she'd have no luck sleeping. So, instead, she took herself to the nursery.

Brightsky trilled in surprise as she noticed her daughter following her tail. "Moonpaw? Do you need something?"

"I want to have a talk with the queens," Moonpaw explained earning a nod of understanding from her mother. Brightsky ushered the silver and white molly into the nursery with a whisk of her tail. Moonpaw ducked beneath the large tree roots as she padded down the slope into the den. Since light had barely managed to greet the world, there was no need to adjust to the darkness within.

Mapleshine and Silverhawk sat up in their nests, their attention focused on Moonpaw. Surely they knew she was here for a session with them. And the pair seemed ready to listen to all that needed to be said. Moonpaw sat in a spot between all the queen's nests. But she sat closest of all to her mom.

"Speak, child," Silverhawk prompted with a nod. Her gesture was welcoming and wise. "Get whatever you need off your chest."

Moonpaw took a deep breath, then spilled her guts about everything. About watching Flamepaw's hunt, and how he pushed himself to chase the squirrel to the Thunder Path. She described how she felt witnessing his death, and confessed just how close she'd been to being struck as well. And she spoke about her experience with shock. The only things Moonpaw omitted were the prophecy she'd overhead in Mothsong's den, and any talk of Hazepaw. Though Moonpaw desperately wanted to speak of how Hazepaw had failed her last night. But that would take admitting to sneaking off to see him. Moonpaw wasn't willing to divulge that secret.

After listening to the last of her vent, the queens finally took their turn to speak.

"Oh, love," Brightsky crooned, nuzzling her daughter's cheek. She moved forward, wrapping herself around her kit."You know what happened to Flamepaw wasn't your fault."

"I know...." Moonpaw sighed, leaning into her mother. "But I was there! I feel like I could have saved him...."

"From what it sounds like, you were barely off from becoming crowfood yourself," Silverhawk chimed in, rather crassly. She lifted a back paw to lick between her toes. "Another heartbeat more and you'd be right alongside him in the burial grounds. There was no saving Flamepaw."

"But maybe if he'd heard me calling out for him, he would have stopped?" Moonpaw rationalized.

"There's no use dwelling on the 'what if's,' and 'maybe's,' hon," the Den Mother countered softly. "What's done is done. No cat blames you for not being able to do more."

Mapleshine twitched her whiskers agreeingly. "Besides, you did do something. You went to get help! No cat would have found Flamepaw for quite some time if you hadn't been there to alert the clan of his accident."

But there was another cat around, Moonpaw remembered suddenly. Darkfire had been nearby the Thunder Path. Yet she'd done nothing to stop or save the young apprentice. But why? Moonpaw wondered. Had Darkfire not seen Flamepaw get hit? Moonpaw was unsure. But she didn't want to incriminate Darkfire by mentioning her presence. Even if sessions were meant to be kept confidential. It doesn't matter anyways, Moonpaw told herself. Maybe I'm just looking for someone else to blame.

"Thank you all for listening," Moonpaw mewed with a head dip. "I'm feeling a bit better now. I think...I think I'll go find something to do to keep my mind off of things."

"That sounds like a good idea," Mapleshine agreed. "When you leave, would you mind sending my kits into nursery? It's time they got some rest."

"Sure," Moonpaw agreed with a stretch as she got up. Once more she dipped her head in respect to the queens before making her way out of their den.

By the elder's tree, Moonpaw spotted Mapleshine's kits playing. They were with Sunpaw, who batted at Honeykit and Sleekkit, while Peonykit tried to nab his tail. He laughed, looking so care free. It was as if he hadn't just lost one of his brothers. Maybe Sunpaw was distracting himself with the joy of the kits. Maybe it was his way of coping. Moonpaw hated to ruin his fun. But Mapleshine had requested her kits to come home to her. So, Moonpaw made her way over to the group slowly, only speaking when she became noticed.

"It's Moonpaw!" Honeykit squealed with joy. They rushed over to the apprentice, stretching up to touch noses with her. "Hi!!"

"Hello." Moonpaw purred in greetings. Her gaze moved from the golden kit in front of her to the others. "Its time for you all to go to the nursery. Your mother is waiting."

"But I don't wanna sleep yet!" Sleekkit griped. "Nightpaw said when we're apprentices, we have to be ready early in the morning for the dawn patrol!"

"That's when you're apprentices though," Sunpaw chimed. "You have a few more moons until then. For now, you have to do what your mom tells you. Besides, you've been awake all night. You've gotta be tired by now, right?"

"No!" Sleekkit squeaked, just as a yawn bubbled from his chest. The black and white kit's pelt fluffed with embarrassment. Moonpaw and Sunpaw both chuckled with small mrrows.

"C'mon, let's walk them home," Moonpaw suggested, sweeping her tail around the kits. Sunpaw followed them, matching pace with Moonpaw.

"How are you feeling?" He checked. "I saw you go into the medicine den yesterday."

"I'm alright now. I was in shock, after being so close to the monster and seeing Flamepaw..." she trailed off.

Sunpaw nodded, sadness glowing in his eyes. "I'm relieved that you're ok, at least."

Moonpaw made a small noise, pressing her body against his. Sunpaw purred in response, leaning into her embrace.

"Why don't we go out hunting once the kits are in their den?" She suggested suddenly. "I think we could both benefit from time away from the clan. And it would take our minds off of things for a while."

Sunpaw thought for a few moments as they walked. "That sounds nice. I'd like to spend some time with you," he admitted. The ginger tom seemed to cheer up a little at the prospect of going out together. Moonpaw had to admit she felt excited, too. After saying farewell to Mapleshine's kits, the pair of apprentices took off for the Entrance Tree and out into the forest, where they spent the rest of the morning forgetting their sadness together.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #wcs #wcs ocs #signs of the moon: moon high #signs of the moon #moon high #book 2 #chapt 21 #moon pov #edit to fix a fucking typo #edited to fix a really stupid embarrassing typo #I was having a dyslexic moment while writing this chapter it seems #accidentally spelled prophecy as prophesy #ik it didn't look right. I literally googled it to make sure the spelling was right tho #and google said it was so I was like “oh ok” #but I regoogled it and I was fucking WRONG #prophesy is a correctly spelled word but its not the one I wanted!!!!! #Im so mad #sorry about that really stupid mistake

[clown-owo]

been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading

#i haven't drawn in like. half a month. which listen i know i don't post much here but i do draw a lot #i have another blog. but also sometimes i just don't post things. i draw for myself #just got burnt out from working on an animation final 😔 #so anyway. eased myself back in with a silly comic about portal #my irl saw my shitty sketch and thought glados was painting chell which is very funny to me. #chelldos #but like. unrequited. glados is obsessed with chell. chell is not having a good time #portal #chell #GlaDOS #GlaD0S #my art #og post #1k #5k #10k #20k #edit: i made this post almost a year ago and it haunts me. theres a typo. chell is out of character. #because i couldn't come up with a good reason for her to be there in the first place #and this was a shitty ms paint replicating drawing that i did just to get back into drawing #i didn't think it would gain much attention #i was Wrong #anyway someone in the comments said this is what happens when you speedrun thats an infintely better setup for the punchline #EDIT 2: ok i fixed it fuck you

[bidokja]

do you ever think about how we absorb little bits and pieces of everyone we have ever been close to? how it echoes. how heavy and wonderful that is? how we still remember inside jokes with people we no longer talk to, and the favorite wild tale of an ex-lover, and how we say that word a specific way because a friend did that and...and, anyways, totally irrelevant, but ever think about how kim dokja just happened to take in the story fragments of a swordmaster and a dragon.

#orv #yoohankim #ky speaks #haunts me constantly #edit: yall were just gonna let make those typos huh. JUST TELL ME TO DIE- #im joking english is stupid enough i give minimal fucks about typos and misspellings #.....yes i still fixed them i said minimal not zero-

[almightyrozenidiot]

This came to me in a vision

#alan wake 2 spoilers #alan wake 2 #control (2019) #I somehow hope Sam Lake gets to see this meme even though it's very unlikely it will ever happen lol #edit: I just noticed a fucking typo that I can't go back and fix agh

[pdalicedraws]

Technobabble go boom.

[1] [pg 2] [3] [4]

#nimona #nimona webcomic #ballister blackheart #dr meredith blitzmeyer #ambrosius goldenloin #nimona movie #Nimona comic #nimona netflix #nimona fancomic #nimonaverse #pd alice draws #edited to fix a— #fuck can I call it a typo when I’m hand lettering #s2g I know how to spell that word I was just not paying enough attention and it’s very embarrassing

[wiseatom]

hello !! byler with prompt 11 for kisses prompts maybe :)??

thank you for the prompt!!! this super got away from me, but i hope that you enjoy, and that it fits the prompt in a way you had in mind!!

kisses prompts #11: welcome home kisses

Objectively, nine hours is not a long time. Will knows this.

He’s tried to rationalize it every which way, every day of the week: it’s a single-digit number, he reminds himself, when he wiggles out of Mike’s arms in the morning and forces himself out of bed. It’s not even half of the hours that make up a day, he thinks, every time he glances impatiently at the clock on the studio wall and finds it’s still ticking that same, steady speed. You are being a giant baby, he chastises himself, out loud, when the traffic on the way home turns nine hours into nine and a half and makes him want to tear his hair out. 

Subjectively, nine hours is the longest amount of time in the world when every other hour of your day is spent with Mike Wheeler, and nearly every one of your days has been spent that way since kindergarten. 

(So he’s kind of dramatic. Will knows this, too.) 

It’s Saturday, which is Will’s Friday, and Mike’s everyday, because when you have the luxury of (kind of) being your own boss and (kind of) working out of your own home, you (kind of) get to set your own schedule. Will is both (kind of) jealous at the flexibility and (very) grateful that it allows for a more instantaneous reunion when he finally arrives home every day, nine hours of work and traffic behind him. It’s the promise of that instantaneous reunion that gets him up both flights of stairs to their apartment, feet (kind of) dragging and (very) tired and his heart (kind of, very) aching because he’s dumb and misses his boyfriend after nine hours. 

(Nine and a half.)

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s at their front door, and he’s already got his keys out, and he sticks the right one in the lock on his first try, and he opens the door and he’s ready to be greeted by his boyfriend when–

Said boyfriend nowhere in sight.

Will frowns, toeing his shoes off and setting his keys down in the dish they have on the hallway table, a clatter ringing out as they settle into the glass. The lights are off, but the entire apartment is bright with the yellow-orange glow of the setting sun, streaming through the window with such intensity that it looks like streaks of fire tear through the room, patches of it setting the carpet and the empty couch and coffee table ablaze. He steps further inside, and the cat comes to greet him, rubbing her face up against his leg and purring loudly. At least someone cares that he’s home. He stops where he stands, letting her do a few figure-eights between his legs before he reaches down to pick her up, cradling her against his chest. She lets out a happy meow and nuzzles into him, and he scratches behind her ear as he wanders into the kitchen, just as Mike-less as everything else in his line of sight. 

Objectively: this is fine. Mike does not need to wait by the door for him. Mike doesn’t need to drop whatever he’s doing to greet him the moment he gets home. Nine hours is not a long time. 

Subjectively: this is not fine. Mike should be waiting by the door for him. Mike should be dropping whatever he’s doing to greet him the moment that he gets home. Nine hours is too long to be apart, and Will is going to lose it. 

“Your dad sucks, Carrie,” Will says scornfully to the cat, flipping the kitchen light on and then glaring down the hallway to the office door, where he assumes Mike is holed up typing away at the computer, careless to the fact that his boyfriend is withering away in their very own kitchen from attention and affection deficit. 

Carrie, who does not care that her dad sucks, rubs her head against his chest, which does not solve the her dad sucking problem, but does serve to make him wither just a bit less. 

Whatever. Whatever. Who needs Mike, anyway? Not Will, who has very bravely survived the last nine and a half hours without him. He has a cat who adores him. He has a hand that’s cramped from drawing animation cels all day. He has… a box of Kraft mac and cheese in the pantry, he’s pretty sure. He can make this work. 

He goes to put Carrie down, but she promptly screams the moment she’s within three inches of the floor, so it looks like he’ll be cooking one-handed, then. Thankfully, his instinct about the mac and cheese is correct – there are actually two boxes, which is great, because then Mike can make his own damn food once he finally decides that Will is important enough for his time. The thought makes him scowl again, and when he retrieves a pot from one of the lower cabinets, he makes sure to clang and bang it into every other pot beside it, making as much noise as possible.

The ruckus makes Carrie dig her claws into his shoulder, but even after waiting a minute, Mike doesn’t poke his stupid head out of his stupid office. 

Stupid, Will thinks, slamming the pot into the sink and startling Carrie enough that she launches herself out of his arms, pushing off and away from his chest with all the force her little body can muster. All twelve pounds of her momentarily wind him anyway, and the sound of the bell on her collar jingles cheerily as she darts away from him. “Shit,” he mutters, pressing his hand to his chest where her claws dug into his skin through his sweater. He turns the tap on with more force than he intends to, scowling some more as water begins to fill the pot.

“Stupid,” he says out loud, under his breath, once the pot is full enough. He transfers it to the stove, flicking on one of the burners and reaching for the salt. He glances back to the hallway, where the door to the office is still closed. He nearly empties half of the salt into the water with how aggressively he’s shaking it. It has been nine hours and forty minutes, but he’s not counting. “Stupid,” he mutters again, and turns his attention back to the pot.

His mother’s voice comes to him, soft and kind: a watched pot never boils. Will huffs, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter opposite the stove. He sneaks a glance back to the office door, still closed, still no signs of life from beyond. A watched door never opens, his mother adds gently. That’s not even a saying, he shoots back, and then, quieter: sorry, Mom. I love you. 

She doesn’t respond. The water isn’t even simmering yet. A teeny, tiny bell jingles somewhere in the distance. The office door stays closed.

Objectively, Will is going insane.

(Subjectively, Will is going insane.) 

The thing is – yeah, he could march right down the hallway, bust down the door, and demand that Mike pay attention to him. He knows this, because he has done it before, and at that, often, and he has a 100% success rate of immediately distracting Mike from whatever it is that he’s doing and getting his undivided attention. It’s not at all a matter of whether or not he can.

It’s that he shouldn’t have to, because he was the one who sat in traffic, and he was the one who had to interact with other people, and he was the one who had to draw the same stupid lion over and over and over again, and he was the one who had to be away from home for nine hours, give or take. He worked all day. He shouldn’t have to work again just to get Mike to welcome him home. 

“Stupid,” he says very neutrally, not at all mad, and the loudest he has yet, speaking in the direction of the hallway, ringing out through the kitchen. Carrie sneezes twice. The water starts letting out a hissing sound from where it sits on the stovetop. A minute passes, bringing his running total up to nine hours and forty five minutes. 

Why would the office door ever even consider opening?

“So much for honey, I’m home,” Will mumbles, scathing, under his breath. The water finally rises to a boil, and he tears the top off of the Kraft box, flinging the torn cardboard somewhere on the counter. He does the same with the little packet of cheese flavor, though this toss is more careful, since he’ll actually need it later. Then he’s pouring the macaroni into the pot, and the office door still hasn’t opened, and he grabs a spoon from the pot they keep next to the stove, and every door in the apartment is still closed, and he starts to stir the noodles around, and there are still no doorknobs turning and hinges creaking and boyfriends leaving their fucking offices.

It’s fine, it’s whatever. Seriously. He’s not even mad, really. Nine hours and forty eight minutes without seeing his boyfriend, but what does it matter, right? Fucking objectively, that’s not even a long time, something most people wouldn’t even blink at–

The office door opens. Several more jingles ring out, timed with every little step Carrie takes to go greet her stupid, sucky dad. Will focuses every ounce of attention into stirring the noodles, and resolutely does not glance in the direction of the hallway. 

Mike coos at the cat. Seriously? Will thinks. 

“You’re home,” Mike says, as if this has not been the case for the last, like, eighteen minutes. And it’s like – okay, Will doesn’t know exactly what time it was when he got home, but eighteen minutes feels super right, and either way, it doesn’t matter, because there were at least nine entire hours before those eighteen minutes where they were forced to be apart by the cruel twist of fate. It’s certainly not Will’s fault that Mike decided to be crueler and twistier by enforcing an additional eighteen minutes onto their sentence.  

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Yup,” Will answers, clipped, mouthing popping on the p.

If Mike notices that Will is absolutely-not-at-all-pissed, he doesn’t care. “I missed you,” he says, all soft and sweet, and before Will can tell him to fuck off, because if he really missed Will, he would have been out here eighteen – nineteen – minutes ago, he’s coming up behind him, stepping into his space. His palms come to rest on Will’s lower back, sliding up and over his hips and stomach as his arms come to wrap around Will’s entire middle, pulling him back into Mike’s chest. He hooks his chin over Will’s shoulder, nuzzling into Will’s neck. “What are you making?” he asks, breath puffing out over the exposed skin at his collar. 

Oh, right. This is why he was so mad – the closed door meant he didn’t get this, Mike touching him and talking to him all sweet and lighting up at seeing him. Objectively, it’s a nice thing, to be wanted like this, held like this, loved like this.

Subjectively, he’s still pissed that he could have had this twenty minutes ago. 

“Mac and cheese,” he replies. He is horrified to hear that his own voice mirrors Mike’s, subtle and fond, that harsh edge Mike sidestepped smoothed over just with one touch. 

You’re better than this, he chides, trying desperately to channel the annoyance that has been by his side since he stepped in the door. 

“Gourmet,” Mike teases, swaying them back and forth, still hunched over him from behind. The comment should stoke the flames of his anger, but it’s hard to focus on that blaze when everywhere Mike is touching him feels like a thousand tiny fires of their own, burning and bright and scorching, just like the sunlight earlier. It is hard to be anything but delighted in their warmth.  “Enough for both of us?” 

You’re not, he reminds himself, all of the madness from earlier starting to scorch itself away. You’re really, really not. 

“‘Course,” says Will, light and easy, stirring the noodles. They might almost be done, by now. It doesn’t matter, because they are less interesting than they were thirty seconds ago. He sets the spoon aside and twists in Mike’s arms, lifting both arms up and wrapping them around Mike’s neck. One hand comes up to his nape, thumb brushing through the hair that curls there, while the other hangs off his shoulder, ready to go back to stirring if needed. He allows himself a moment to stare, studying Mike’s face for new freckles or signs of aging that may have happened in their awful, arduous nine hours and forty eight minutes apart. Then, because he has to, he says: “I’ve been home for twenty minutes, you know.”

Mike hums. “Have you, now?” he asks, and there’s a quiver in his lips that is just this side of too amused, and Will hates him, hates him, hates him. 

“Yes,” Will replies, haughty, swiftly reminded of how much Mike sucks, and is the worst, and doesn’t deserve any of the covers tonight. Not even a scrap. “And where were you?”

“I already answered that,” Mike says. His voice has dropped, still soft, but a little rough around the edges. Carrie lets out a mewl by their feet. Will should probably stir the noodles. He doesn’t move, except for his thumb, still tracing a path through Mike’s hair – back and forth, back and forth. 

Will wracks his brain for the answer Mike claims he’s already spoken, but his thoughts are sluggish, gone slow from the exchange of heady oxygen between their faces. He can’t recall anything. 

“When?” he asks, dazed.

Mike lets his smile run loose. “When I said I missed you,” he responds. He runs his own thumb along the dip in the small of Will’s back, the movement searing, even though the wool of his sweater. “That’s where I was. Missing you.”

Objectively, that doesn’t make sense. If he were missing Will, then he would have greeted him at the door, waiting there for Will to get home just the way Will had been hoping he would be from the moment he cut the engine in the parking lot. If he were missing Will, he wouldn’t have let the cat be the first to greet him, wouldn’t have let Will stomp around the kitchen and bang pots around and say the word stupid so many times that it stopped feeling like a word. 

Subjectively, Will stopped caring about the details of it all the moment Mike wrapped his arms around him. 

“Stupid,” Will mutters a final time, just for good measure, before pulling Mike’s face down to meet his.

When their lips brush, every single minute of their nine hours and forty eight minutes apart suddenly becomes worth it – the exile from bed that morning, the repetition of drawing the same cel over and over again, the ticking of the studio clock, the frustrating, non-movement of the traffic on the way home. They were all worth it, because here is Mike, with his chapped lips and his warm hands ready to reward Will for it all, to welcome him home without punctuality, but with a whole lot of personality. His mother’s voice floats back into his head, still soft, still kind: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Will laughs, right into Mike’s mouth, the kiss breaking with it, and thinks, go away, Mom, please, before pressing back into Mike with intention, insistent. Mike lets out a little giggle of his own, breaking it apart a second time.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, mumbling, muffled only because he won’t dismantle the kiss fully, and Will’s own lips are stopping the words before they can get all the way out. 

Will blows out a puff of air, which makes Mike pull back, a bigger laugh spilling out of him. “Stirring the macaroni,” Will answers, because he’s not about to tell Mike that he was thinking about his mom while they were kissing. Before Mike can answer – or call him on his bullshit – Will swivels back around, retrieving the spoon from the counter and giving the macaroni one last, halfhearted stir before he’s moving it off the burner entirely and turning the stovetop off. 

“Very mindful of you,” Mike comments. He stays attached while Will grabs the pot and turns around towards the sink, both of them somehow sidestepping Carrie, who is still hovering by their feet. 

“One of us should be,” Will bites back, but it’s a playful thing, and Mike knows it. Will reaches up to the pot rack that hangs above the sink to grab the strainer, and makes quick work of letting the water wash down the drain. Normally, he’d carry on, would move to grab the butter and milk from the fridge and the abandoned cheese flavor packet from the counter, but Mike is (kind of, very) preventing that, so he leaves the strainer with the noodles in the sink and turns back in his arms, smiling up at him. 

“Yeah?” Mike asks, also clearly not caring about the mac and cheese anymore. He lifts one of his hands to Will’s face and runs his thumb over Will’s upper lip, smoothing over the hair there. “You gonna shave this off, then?”

Will actually does scowl at him, now. “You like the mustache,” he says, and it is meant to be a defense, but it comes out as a demand. 

Mike laughs again. “I like you,” he corrects. His thumb does another pass, sweeping over the hair again before trailing down to Will’s bottom lip. Will shudders. 

“You love me,” Will revises, more correct than Mike’s correction. Mike’s thumb stays on his lip as it moves with the words.

“I love you very much,” Mike confirms. He brings his other hand up to cup at Will’s face, and he cradles it in his hands as he tilts it back so that he can kiss Will again, dry and warm and just as much his home as the walls around them and the cat with her belled collar dancing at their feet and the macaroni sitting in the strainer behind them. He pulls away too soon, but it’s to plant a kiss at the corner the corner of his mouth, the apple of each cheek; to trail them along his jaw, behind his left ear, and then along and behind his right; and all the way, between each one, two words: “Welcome home.” 

Objectively, he’s a little late with the sentiment.Objectively, the macaroni is getting cold, and it’s going to be hard to mix in the cheese flavor. Objectively, just like one of her fathers, Carrie is quickly approaching the point where she is not going to take kindly to getting ignored much longer.

Subjectively, Will doesn’t care, and pulls Mike’s mouth back to his.

#byler #byler ficlet #byler fic #byler fanfiction #wiseatom minis #i did NOT fucking edit this so please ignore any typos or grammar mistakes i will fix them in the morning #i have to be up for work in 4 hours hahahee #btw their cat's name is carrie fisher lol but i think it's funny when cats have ppl names and so i kept her on a first name basis #also fun fact this is 3k and mike doesn't even show up until halfway thru <3 #silence mike wheeler 2k23 (jokes) #if you enjoyed you are free to send me more prompts from tht list!

[quippip]

cannot stop thinking abt how compton having a bottle of gübiduck and there being an ottomatic in the heptadome AND bob's mental image of otto being up-to-date all imply that otto came out to visit bob. like that's his friend dammit. he tried to reach out!!!!!

#psychonauts 2 #i'm emotional abt them #they were buddies.... #psychonauts #edit: FUCK there was a typo and 3 people reblogged it #oh well its fixed now

[mildmayfoxe]

didn’t even clear off my desk today. just sat in bed all day long. everybody clap

#i did edit some photos & do my patreon reqards postin* #whatever i’m not fixing that you can figure it out (typos) #and cleaned my air purifier in my room. but THATS IT!! #chatpost #success! this user took a day off! #i did play some totk too i’m trying to find #christ. to GIVE* it another change #CHANCE #typing on an ipad is a fucking might #BIGHTMARE #HAHAHAH god. whatever #ok bye

[imjackdotcom]

they were wearing two halves of a whole, btw.

#they didn't need to do that #rhett looked cute with a necklace #gmm #rhett and link #good mythical morning #sorry if this has been pointed out #edited to fix the typo sorry i'm fucking stupid

[lunaticlockwood]

@lostcityofapollymi apollymi: *leans head on shoulder* "Don't burn the marshmallow, babe."

"I think I know what I'm doing ... but hey if you want to drive please be my guest." Tyler indicates the stick with a nod of his head and offers it to his girlfriend.

@lostcityofapollymi

#ask box #Anonymous #*apollymi #girl just get the graham crackers ready lol #i had to fucking run back and fix my typo #*edit

[orangechickenpillow]

'The Last of Us' and 'Two Minutes' by The Amazing Devil

#ive watched this so many times i cant tell if its sort of alright or absolute shit #also i had to go back and fix a typo so the pacing might have gotten fucked up #bear with me im new here #bad at it but having fun #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou show #tlou edit #the last of us #the last of us edit #hbo tlou spoilers #tlou spoilers #ellie tlou #ellie williams #joel and ellie #joel miller #bella ramsey #pedro pascal #my edit #tad #the amazing devil

[disdaidal]

Sometimes I really kind of envy you native English speakers who make writing and posting fics seem so fucking easy. With near perfect grammar and hardly any typos. Or those of you who are capable of writing & updating your fics whenever the muse hits you just right... and not like, once in six months. Actually, try two years lol.

Whereas me, a non-native speaker, who occasionally struggles even with basic English grammar:

I'm fine. Totally.

#personal #okay so i've been writing this one piece of fiction for a while now #actually two but i've seemed to put the other one on hold for a while at least #(i may have mentioned this already like five times during the past two weeks but my point is i'm still working on it) #many thanks to @ihni who recently gave me some words of encouragement <3 and ofc @catzy88 who gave me even more insp *saatananauru* #and i'm actually really kind of enjoying it because there's no pressure to write it and post it #i write it in small sections. whenever i feel like it. giving myself enough time to plan it and think about it. even getting new ideas #and for once i'm trying not to keep editing and fixing it as i go. i just write whatever crap comes to my mind and just let it flow #i try not to think about how many mistakes and typos i make because that way i'm never gonna get it finished #but at the same time... when it's finally time to go through it #fix typos. missing words. possibly poor grammar. i know i'm just gonna hate it so fucking much lmao #but i'm really trying my best here okay. and i'm trying not to rush it. for once #because i used to write like this as a teenager. when there was nowhere really to post your original stories (thank god for that) #so i did it in my notebooks. and i quite enjoyed it doing that way #and i'm not sure why i'm even rambling this because most of you are never gonna read it anyway lol. so who gives right #but it matters to me and i'm feeling good about writing again so here i am rambling about it. no matter if you care not. so cheers mateys <

[jlf23tumble]

listen, you’re the only one i trust fr. is it the same umbro shirt or not? i’ve seen some people say louis’ is white and harry’s is grey or summat. what’s your verdict? 🫡

...is under the cut!

I absolutely think it sure as shit IS the same shirt, but the real question is much more complex, i.e., has that shirt been passed back and forth since that infamous backslide (my own headcanon, don't at me) moment? Has Louis worn it since then? Is it a souvenir to a happier time or a legitimately shared item worn by #husbands, #theyneverbrokeup? Because that last bit, the larr fandom cling part, I don't buy, Harry and Louis both told me (and anyone else who's listened to those last two albums in full with an open mind) that theirs is a messy, on/off thing, who's to say what the fuck is goin' on this week, lmao. The larr fan binary ipso facto of it all is just so boring and unexamined, to me, I mean--he's in songwriting mode, that shirt is a fucking STATEMENT, and I'm really curious to hear both the lyrics to come and the way they're gonna get spun

#many thoughts about these thots #edited to fix my fucking typo--not but it's BUY

[macarons-and-poms]

Man I love Astarion as a complex fictional explorations of trauma but man some of y'all need to go outside

#personal #Astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #this isn't directed at anyone on this hellsite #surprisingly #but theres a debate on the subreddit that has my head spinning because someone got his scars as a tattoo #of course somehow it got tied to Nazis and the Holocaust because why the fuck not #the audacity of some people to liken fiction to a real life event where millions of people died because someone got a *fictional* tattoo is #insane #go outside #there are real things to worry about #edited to fix a typo

[fridayyy-13th]

sooo i hear you finished malevolent

indeed i did!! holy shit!!! it was amazing! and now i can finally unblock the “Malevolent spoilers” tag!

various thoughts (i have many but here’s a handful):

listening to the first episode, after John asked Arthur to look in the mirror and said he had the demeanor of someone not to be fucked with, i thought “…i’m sorry but no. this man is a sad wet cat. get him a warm blanket”

speaking of part 1, i was listening to it in the backseat of a car with headphones in so that was a game of turning up the volume to hear dialogue over the road sounds and turning it down to not demolish my eardrums when John shouted

by the time i was wrapping up part 4, i started to wonder if “John Doe” was a name the fandom made up for him, but when he explained to Arthur that he really liked the name and wanted to be called that…my heart absolutely melted. can you tell John’s my favorite? he’s my favorite :)

the one bit where Arthur is asked questions directly tied to everything that had happened since being bound with John? fucking impeccable. i would’ve said “ohh shit” aloud if i weren’t in public at the time

at some point i saw a post about someone taking an empty wrapping paper tube and mimicking John’s “Arthur!”

i tried it

it very much worked

i was promptly ecstatic due to this revalation. the tube wasn’t empty but it still worked great lol

speaking of John’s “Arthur!,” the way his tone shifted from part 1 vs part 28 still makes me emotional. holy shit

Kayne! what a guy. motherfucker. i had glimpsed some fanart of him eating popcorn or something before reaching part 28 so when i heard crunching in the background of That Part i was just like “ah. that’s why. Goddammit.” he’s a lot of fun and i like him a lot

ough hearing Yellow alongside Larson. Fear. excitement for what that means for the story, but also Fear.

during my binge i was working on a lego set i got for Christmas, of the house from Home Alone, and i legitimately nearly cried while hunched over that lego set when Arthur played Faroe’s Song right before John came back

and speaking of John coming back! Kayne said he had some sort of ulterior motive! what the heck! i haven’t seen much in the way of theories yet but John’s slip-up about being gone for a long time, i definitely don’t think he’s telling the truth. that said, i don’t think he wants to hurt Arthur in any way. especially considering he was trying his damndest to save him during that entire conversation

the piano strings guy. holy shit. what was he called? the butcher? absolutely terrifying, and now he’s coming after John and Arthur. fun!

the dynamic between Arthur and John is incredible. not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing (*vague gesture in their direction that does not explain what the third thing is*). they’re just Them. not to mention i nearly cried over the fact that before John named himself, when he and Arthur still didn’t like each other, Arthur still took to calling him “friend.” i’m shaking them like a pair of glowsticks.

absolutely cannot wait for part 29. i’m so excited to see where this story goes.

#friday chats #malevolent #john doe #arthur lester #kayne malevolent #i don’t ever have the brainpower to make up proper theories about what might happen next in plotlines #so i’m just standing here vibrating with excitement #yknow i still need to come up with designs/headcanons for what Arthur looks like #i think he’s got dark reddish-brown hair. i’ve seen so many sandy blond Arthurs and they look super cool but I’m Simply Different #the golden eyes are cool as hell though. not passing up that detail; i love funky eye colors #this is a very rambly post but fuck it i have thoughts and i’m making them known #edit: fixed a typo :/

[bbreaddog]

pls reblog if you vote for bigger sample size

#mine #poll #Australia #internet connection #I’m just CURIOUS #it was 40 degrees today and the wifi at work was fucked to HELL #idk what it was like at home today but hot weather usually makes it wacky #or if there are gales or thunderstorms #it affects the tv too???? like the satellite or something idk how technology works #also hate that you can’t edit your tags on polls. what if there’s a typo. what if there’s a thought I wanna add. staff fix this pls