Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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Shadedsun had been feeling a little underproductive recently. He blamed Summerclan territory, how it lulled him into a sense of laziness, he blamed the fact he recently came back to life, but that was a few moons ago and he should have gotten back on his feet by now, and he mostly blamed his own incompetency. In Springclan, he had been the worker, had spent his deputyship fixing up the camp the rogues had destroyed, and his leadership doing menial tasks like hunting (so, so much hunting) and building areas of camp like the kit's arena. Perhaps it was the environment, and the lack of it he found in Summerclan, the way he didn't feel as beholden to them as he did his birth clan. But, as consequence for finding a little bit of a home here, he felt more inclined to pay them back, to get back and working and providing. He'd been wondering why he felt a little off these past few days, the lack of productivity, so he'd settled himself to go try and hunt, even if he sucked at it now. He kept putting it off, convincing himself he just wasn’t ready to get back in the swing of things, that he needed more time, but he grew tired of the slight anxiety that came with not doing anything, with being useless, knew that if he let his thoughts stir around for too long, he would probably end up driving himself crazy.
With a very quick goodbye to Doefreckle, a slight excitement to his steps because he had so much faith in himself that he'd finally gotten the energy to do something, he left, making his way first through the deep lands. Maybe it wasn't the best place to stop, the slight shade of the pines proving a little more difficult than places like the soft lands or the meadows. Far too many trees, but the undergrowth was fruitful.
An hour in and Shadedsun was still empty-pawed, a little tired, and on the verge of simply going back, and each time he failed to catch something, it set him off for the next one, making his movements clumsy, chasing away anything in the vicinity. He had smelled a thrush close by, saw it's slight nearly formless shape picking at the ground, but he was a big, lumbering cat, and before he could even get into a proper position it flew off, unsettled. He missed a mouse, and then he sulked around and wallowed in his growing feelings of hopelessness for a little bit before finally, begrudgingly, deciding to try again. Attempting to keep his steps light, his body close to the ground, he surprisingly good navigator for being blind, and while the shapes of the trees tended to meld together, he was able to scent out another mouse, heard it snuffling and scratching around, slowed to a crouch and crept up on it. He felt like he had never concentrated this hard in his entire life. When he leapt, a second too slow, his claws scraped empty ground instead.
"Oh, god damnit!" He shouted, not saving himself any grace at all in trying to catch it mid-run, not paying enough attention to his surroundings before — BAM. He hardly registered any pain at first, just a few heartbeats of blank confusion before anything hit him at all. He sat back, paw reaching to delicately touch at his nose as the smell of blood became stronger. "Stupid tree," he muttered, taking a few moments to attempt to blink away his sudden headache to no avail. The headache made it much more difficult to figure out his surroundings, confused his other senses, and the blood dripping from his nose didn't help either, so he resulted to just . . . sitting there, an aggressive frown on his face, hoping to either sit it out or wait for someone to accidentally stumble upon him.
Very little ever went wrong for Weevilspike, namely because he didn’t do enough to give the world the chance. More than that, he was just on very good terms with the world to begin with; they’d come to an agreement — a truce — when he was a kit, shaken on it, and now he lived the life of a lazy, cheerful prince without anything to bother him. The sun was always warm and golden, and when it snowed his fur was so thick he hardly felt it; his spot in camp had developed a distinctly Weevilspike shaped imprint, the sand smoothed over exactly how he liked it; and he spent day after day dozing or watching the kits play with languid, half-lidded eyes and an easy smile. The only times he really moved were to eat dinner with his family at night around Ratstar’s den, or when his sister dragged him along on some scheme to humiliate or inconvenience someone who had affronted her — which, with Sunpetal, was very easy to do. It was only then that the easy, happy-go-lucky prince would show his other side hidden under all that spiky fur: the Ryan to Sunpetal’s Sharpay. One day, when he was forced to rise to what it meant to be a royal in SummerClan, he would begin to act more as his sister’s conscience. But for now, when everything was still easy, he was more than content to put conscience on the back burner and pour pig’s blood over the head of some unsuspecting girl who’s only crime had been to pull Sunpetal’s tail, and tell her after with a lazy smile, no hard feelings.
Of course, his world had been shaken when Pikejaw left SummerClan to go and do whatever... soul-searching he needed to do — he wasn’t hurt, wasn’t a little bitter because he hadn’t even really said goodbye, wasn’t haunted by the uncharacteristically uncertain, unconfident question of whether it had been something he had done or failed to do, he was fine — but he was very good at sorting ugly, emotional things that might detract from the handsome first son of the royal family into boxes, and so now he could smile and breathe in the late summer air and say he was happy as could be and mean it.
Now, with his sister off raising whatever hell she fancied in the other corner of the territory, Weevilspike was on a lazy stroll, collecting at random and without any system any pretty flower he saw to make it into a bouquet for his pregnant mother. It was almost her time and she deserved nice things. It hadn’t been his intention, but then few things in his life were ever planned; they presented themselves, they looked nice, so he did it. Same as everything. It helped keep his heart murmur calm and serene, but then, which came first — the antidote to the heart murmur, or his innate tranquility? That’s when he heard the shout and smelled blood on the warm breeze.
Unbothered, and more amused than anything, Weevilspike rounded a wide oak, flowers in his jaws, and wandered over. His eyes were lazy and relaxed and his smile slightly wry; it was always that discrepancy that gave a little glimpse into his hidden sharp tongue. “Think it’s safe to say you didn’t catch it,” he drawled amusedly, standing over Shadedsun. He was a larger tom — bigger than his sister, though that wasn’t hard, and in general he loomed with harmless, tamed-wolf affability over his Clanmates — but Shadedsun was still bigger. Sitting down, though, they were a little more equal. “Unless you were aiming for the tree — in which case, good job! It’s Weevilspike, by the way. You okay? Want me to get someone?” The offer was said on the edge of a purring snort, making it sound like even though Weevilspike would do it, he was also very much making fun of him.
"Ah, yeah, I'd say," he grumbled, torn between being grateful someone had happened upon him and embarrassed at the same time, more towards the latter due to Weevilspike's amusement. Sometimes, he struggled to accept help when it was given, driven to prove he could do anything and everything all on his own, but since he had come back to life, he'd been a little more lenient on himself, and even though he still felt a little humiliated, he slowly nodded.
"Shadedsun," he returned, "but, could you lead me to the nearest stream, please? I just need to clear this," he gestured towards his bloody nose, "I could probably find my way back to camp myself." He got to his paws, a little steadier, and added, a little bashfully "thank you, by the way." He took a moment to think, swore he had heard his name somewhere, but he wasn't very well versed with the Summerclan residence — really, as much as he thought he'd changed since before his death, he had taken up a very similar role to what he did last time. He kept to himself, the figure in the back of camp who didn't say much, who was a bit too shy to start a simple conversation. Aside from hanging around Doefreckle, The occasional greeting to Rosethorn, he hadn't taken the time to know anyone. The only difference was the fact he wasn't so glum, that he was a little happier. It had been easier in Springclan, where he was the jovial, chatty leader, the one who was socially confident because he, on some level, knew his clanmates. The connection was thin at best here, and perhaps it had to do with him having died before — not a very common feat for anyone but a leader, which he himself hadn't lost any of his lives until he gave them up, which felt a little like dying in its own right. Or maybe it was just him.
He thought of the tom beside him, how he seemed so sure of himself, so relaxed, so open, and a part of Shadedsun wanted to ask how he did it, but he held his words. He seemed unbothered at the inconvenience as a whole, while Shaded had been worrying, letting his thoughts grow and grow. He attempted to push them out of his mind, at least for the time being, gave Weevilspike a warmed look.
“I know who you are,” Weevilspike laughed, genuinely amused by him thinking the whole of SummerClan hadn’t been buzzing about him for weeks after his return; as lazy as he was, he was also a fiendish gossip and knew everything about everyone all the time — knew if a mouse bent a blade of grass in the farthest reaches of the territory. It was part of his care for his Clan; he knew every kit in the nursery, could predict what rank they’d choose when they grew up and the general trajectory of their loves and whether they’d like boys or girls or both; knew every elder and every apprentice and the name of every cat in every grave. Where Sunpetal was SummerClan’s princess, he was its sweetheart. And one dead, not-SummerClan-born leader coming back, that caused a stir — but another one, one who had managed to shake off his birth Clan even less, who still carried the gentle air of a SpringClan cat even when he never spoke of it; well, that had been pure magic. Being the sanguine, self-confident gossip he was, able to flop down next to any stranger at a Gathering and talk to them, he’d spent almost a full week lounging and chatting with every cat in the Clan — and a few in SpringClan — to try and get the dirt. But he’d accrued very little. Doefreckle had been the most openly hostile, snapping that he wasn’t there to share secrets and that Shadedsun needed privacy and rest. So he’d just smiled understandingly, no hard feelings (aside from the bucket of pig’s blood he might drop), and meandered off. Shadedsun had left his Clan for Doefreckle, he knew that much — something about it originally being temporary and then he just… didn’t go back. Gave up his Clan, his leadership, his lives for him — and then before they could even exhale, let alone begin to be happy, they died. It was a tragic romance if ever Weevilspike had heard one, and he was nothing if not a hopeless romantic who sighed and loved stories where the boy got the girl. Or the boy got the boy. Or the girl got the… girl. And it was nothing to do with his own secret heartache, nothing at all.
Now, weeks later, he’d wandered away from his original interest, back to lazing in the sun and playing sheep-and-the-fox with kits — until this perfect opportunity presented itself with a bloody nose. See? The world always brought it back around for him.
“You’re very polite,” he continued amusedly. “Like I’m a bellhop at some hotel you haven’t paid the room fee at. We’re not gonna kick you out — you don’t have to say ‘please.’” He laughed. “I’m just a Clanmate — you want a stream, I’ll get you a stream. C’mon.” Leaving the flowers by the roots of the tree — he’d come back and get them later — he nudged Shadedsun’s shoulder and strolled ahead through the undergrowth.
“I admire you, y’know. I couldn’t cope if I lost my sight; I don’t think I’d ever stop panicking. I’d just be such a sorry case, making my sister get me every little thing and making it out to be so awful to my mother so she’d give me maximum sympathy — actually, that doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I should find a rabbit and make it mad.” It was a crass joke, and it was said rather crassly too, with a crooked grin and calm, dark eyes — but that was just how Weevilspike was, so relaxed that every malicious thing just came pouring lazily out. He didn’t mean anything cruel by it and few would be able to assume he did; it was a genuine compliment, said in a manner that was both round-about and so straight forward. He meant it, he admired Shadedsun; he meant it, he’d exploit the same disability; he meant it, he was being silly. “And you’ve handled it all on your own, just figuring out what works — it’s amazing. Kudos to you, girlie.”
They arrived at a thin, trickling stream shimmering gold amid the birches and Weevilspike lay down on the bank, dipping his toes into the water. “Mind the snapping turtles,” he told him earnestly, “they bite.” It was a joke; there were no turtles.
He made a small 'oh' shape with his mouth, because it was a difficult concept to grasp that others would know who he was. He'd convinced himself he hadn't done anything to be remembered by, that coming back to life wasn't that important because he was just some nobody, an old failed leader of a quiet, solitary clan. He followed, keeping close enough behind for Weevilspike to act as a sort of guide, while also trying to keep as much distance as to not make things awkward.
You’re very polite. He gave a small smile, "thank you, I try, I try." And that he did, incredibly. The one who tried to meet every harsh word with a soft tone, because fighting had never been his thing and he was more of a talker, to (attempt) to look nice, approachable, noble even. Very few heard his harsh words, the most regrettable being Doefreckle and his sister, Twilightwatcher, even if they were both just as cruel as him. So, he kept his mean, annoyed thoughts to himself, pushed it down for later until it forced his eyes open in the night, got his brain whirring as he imagined all the things he wanted to say, but didn't. The tom ahead of him seemed to do the opposite; his foil, acted how Shaded wished he could, and when he spoke of how he admired him — something that nearly made him stop, because he got emotional over little things and those were words he never thought he'd hear — he couldn't help but return the feelings, though for different reasons. He liked his confidence, his calmness, the way his teasing remarks weren't really teasing, but similar to the jokes two friends made between them, as if they had known each other their whole lives.
"Really, I don't think it's as hard as it seems," he purred, "I lost mine over time, so I guess I had time to get used to it, but I think you'd do just well." He stopped just before the stream, "and I'll keep the turtles in mind." Dipping in his paw and gently dabbing at his nose, finishing and leaning down to get a quick drink, to clear the dryness in his throat. With the combination of his blindness and inattention, he would have no idea if there were actually snapping turtles, would miss any shells that blended in with the waterside fauna. But there weren't any.
finally in weev headspace enough to reply, hold your applause i know i know <3
Weevilspike watched idly as Shadedsun crouched down over the stream, his own paw flicking lazily through the water and sending sparkling droplets flying towards the opposite bank and the rocks jutting up from the stream bed. A smile crossed his face for no real reason and he lowered his eyes to the water, looking down at his own reflection and at the small golden fish darting beneath the surface.
Then, with no warning and no hint of self-consciousness or embarrassment, he suddenly looked up and asked with that laid-back dryness, “you’re gay, right?” It was a question someone else might have been more tactful or shy about, but he’d never seen any point in dancing around topics and not just saying the thing you want to say. “Or whatever. I’m only askin’ because at my last count there were sixteen heterosexuals in SummerClan and I just think that’s far too many. Plus you’re cute, I’m cute,” his voice took on a jokey, gravelly drawl, a crooked grin, as lighthearted as it was sincerely suggestive, spreading across his face as he tipped his head from side to side. “It’s only natural. I mean, unless you’re exclusive to that tortie — although, he could always join.” He grinned teasingly, eyes sparkling; he meant it just as much as he simply liked catching people off guard.
Twitching water droplets from his whiskers, he sat up, let himself enjoy the clearness of his senses as his headache loosened slightly. The trickle of the water was quite peaceful, the world around them was quiet, the distant birdsong and rustle of leaves almost creating a music of their own. He let them sit in silence for a moment — really, he'd always enjoyed it, loved simply sitting and enjoying company, no conversation needed — but then it was immediately broken, shattered like a child had hit a baseball through their window of serenity.
You’re gay, right? He burst out in loud, deep laughter, because nobody had ever been so upfront about it. Was he so obvious about it? After a moment, he straightened out again (or, well, he didn't), "sorry, sorry. Yes, yes, I like anyone, really." He shrugged. Doefreckle hadn't been his first hopeless crush. A younger Shadedpaw had fallen head over heels for a pretty silver she-cat from Fallclan, they always ended up sitting beside each other during Gatherings, until she caught on and politely told him to save his feelings. A little dejected, but it hadn't deterred him like Doe's rejection had, because what they had went much deeper than a simple crush.
"I don't doubt that." Weevilspike did have the voice of someone with a cute face, he'd noticed, and at the words he gave him a gleaming smile. I mean, unless you’re exclusive to that tortie. He laughed again, softer and quieter this time, didn't hesitate to say, "I don't think so," and it felt so freeing. He could accept their love for what it was now, fully and completely.
Then he gave the tom a sly, more teasing grin, though it held a natural charm, "and what are you getting at?"
“I’m not getting at anything,” Weevilspike replied, settling back lazily and raising his brows indignantly, slowly, like he was affronted by the accusation. “I was just walking through the woods when you decided to seduce me with a tree. I’m a hapless victim.” He flopped down on his side, tapping his paw toes against the bank for a moment in thought. “This is gonna be totally bad for my street cred, but I’ve been having a real dry spell since this guy I was crushing on since I was a kid left the Clan to go, y’know,” he brushed his paw along the ground, “find himself. By choice,” he hurried to add, looking over at Shadedsun for the important clarification about his abstinence like he could see him. “Everyone wants a piece of me, obviously,” he laughed, and it was easy and casual and free, no hint of self-consciousness or insecurity despite the clear over-exaggeration, “but I haven’t been feelin’ it. You, though.” He rolled onto his back, twisting his back into a slight C shape and looking up at Shadedsun upside down. “The second you came back from being dead or whatever I thought, ooh, hello, he’s cute. Said it, actually. To my sister. She kicked me. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed me totally stalking you but I guess that’s one of the perks of your crush being blind.” He grinned, still upside down. “I tried to ask your tortie if you were single but he didn’t seem very happy.” Weevilspike laughed.
“But if you aaaaaare…” He raised his brows again, rolling further onto his back until he ended up slowly doing a full turn and was back in a messy crouch, his messy fur dusty.
He nodded along in fake pity — though he could relate, somewhat, to his old crush situation — but he was purring in amusement. He was flattered, incredibly so, because for most of his life, everything had been a one-sided thing, and he'd always been so reliant on the fact that he was the devoted one, the one who followed instead of led. He could be hopeless and lovesick and unbothered by how much it hurt him, a way to self-destruct. Now, it didn't feel undeserving, to be loved at all.
He shuffled away from the edge of the stream, laying down and tucking his paws under his fluff, laughed again and looked at the vague shape of Weevilspike. "I'm sure he could share," he purred. There was a very small, distant tug; it felt unfaithful, it pulled on the part of his heart that still belonged to Doefreckle. It was easier to acknowledge, to tame, to realize all those feelings were young and inexperienced and that he could, and should, move on. His words were not only an agreement, but an acknowledgement.
“Right answer!” Weevilspike exclaimed happily, immediately pushing himself to his paws and loping over to Shadedsun. Because the prince of SummerClan had no concept of personal boundaries or the difference between old friends and new, he flopped straight down against the tom.
“First thing’s first though, because I’m not a totally uncivilised Lothario who just leads toms astray in the woods despite what my least favourite sister might say, you gotta know what I look like. It’s only polite. What if I’m hideously ugly? So, Shadedsun — can I call you Shadedsun? —“ he loved stupid jokes like that; what else was he supposed to call him? Without warning, he suddenly reached out a paw and, surprisingly gently, drew one of the other tom’s out to touch his soft, unruly fur, Shadedsun’s paw held against Weevilspike’s chest and his heart beating beneath. “— what do you think I look like? What colour am I? Do I have spots or stripes or pelican wings? Am I dashing?” He leaned in closer, waggling his brows. His grin was bright and un-self-conscious; he was vain enough that he knew he was handsome, and though he was a zillion times too confident to need flattery for his untroubled self-esteem, it was always fun. His manner was far more playful than needy.
"I didn't know I was being tested," he grinned, turning back to gaze ahead at the snapping turtle-free stream, still enjoying the sound of trickling water, his purr settling into a constant, soft background noise. When Weevilspike grabbed his paw and placed it on his chest, Shadedsun didn't pull away, because he enjoyed the physical touch of anyone, really. Though he tilted his head. Weevilspike's form was a little less shapeless than, say, Doefreckle's, who didn't have as much fur to match up, but he could feel it was softer, silkier than his own.
"... Gray?" Leaning in closer wouldn't help to pick out patterns, so instead he pulled his paw away, looking like he had solved the greatest riddle of all time, repeated "gray," with no elaboration on the fact. Sunlight dappled the ground, making his own fur reflect brown — something, his mother would say, reminded her of his father, which he first took as a compliment, but over time thought of it more as an insult.
He repeated what he had thought earlier, "you do have the voice of a cute face, if that helps." He was still a little awkward, and perhaps it was because the last time he properly tried anything like this it had ended terribly wrong. But then it had turned out right, he supposed, so who was to say? Suddenly, he gave his companion a small, excited smile, got to his paws with a nod of his head, taking a moment to sort out his directions before moving ahead, assured that Weevilspike would follow.
“Whaaaaat, romance isn’t usually a test? ‘Course it is — I’ve got coupons for snogs and riddles for—“ Gray? A grin spread across Weevilspike’s face. “Black. Grey. Grey-black, you win.” When he pulled his paw away, he gave an over the top shiver, letting out an excited ‘ooh!’ You do have the voice of a cute face, if that helps. “See, this is why romancing a blind tom is the best thing I ever did — all sorts of new ego-boosting compliments I’d never have thought of. Cute butt? Yeah. Cute face? Naturally. But cute voice?” He let out a melodramatic ‘phwaw’ sound, slumping backwards and looking at Shadedsun in mock-appreciative awe. “I love it. Keep ‘em coming.”
At the other tom’s sudden smile, Weevilspike instinctively smiled back up at him. “What?” When Shadedsun started moving, he clambered to his paws and bounded after him. “What?” he laughed again, falling in close beside him. “Where are we goin’? Some hot date spot? Oh my gosh, this is the best day ever — StarClan finally sent me the man of my dreams who isn’t afraid of his feelings.” He trotted along cheerily at his side with that same happy grin on his face, his steps lazily, heavily loping and his body rocking from side to side.
He didn't answer, let Weevilspike's questions hang empty in the air, an amused grin on his face at his persistence, though he wanted to warn him to not get too excited. Perhaps it was just Shadedsun's ability to see the beauty in even the most simple of places, and perhaps it was just as cruel that he had his sight taken away, now resigned to watching others witness a beauty that he couldn't. His headache had gone, his senses cleared even if the briefest smell of blood still remained, and it was easier to navigate (he'd tried spending his free time memorizing Summerclan territory, just so he could find all the loveliest places for Doe and him, and maybe be of some use to the clan). They neared closer to Springclan — he'd always favoured the spots near their border — and a hint of freshwater from the north sea, until finally they reached its banks.
"Nowhere in particular," he purred, pebbles coming loose under his paws. His eyes trailed on the far shore where the lake ended in Springclan, knowing a similar shore lay on the other side, turned his attention to the rocks beneath them. He sat down neatly, letting the wind brush him for a moment, before he smiled at Weevilspike briefly before going back to looking out. They were close enough to the shore that they could almost feel the tides.
"When me and my sisters were apprentices we'd have these rock throwing competitions to see who could throw their rock further," he felt the pebbles, trying to find one that felt just right, "I wanted to win so bad that I poured hours into practice. Because whoever won had to take over the others chores for the next week and I really, really wanted that free time." And he did, because usually he won every time, much to the dismay of his sister, Appleshine. He could practically do it with his eyes closed, though he supposed blindness was close enough. After a few more moments of searching, he gathered a smooth, round stone in the palm of his paw, weighing it with a quick motion, before tossing it in the air and, with a movement so precise that it was obvious he'd practiced before, he wacked it into the water, ears flicking at the distant splash it made.
Then, he tilted his head back at Weevilspike, "you're going to have to be my eyes — I'll know if you're cheating," he teased. When many heard Shaded, saw him for the first time with his slightly closed off, anxious, kind demeanor, they would hardly know how competitive he really was, how much it weighed on him to lose, even at such simple things like toss.
“Oh wow, when I wanted free time away from my least favourite sister I just tried to leave her on the doorstep of twoleg houses and hoped they’d imprison her.” He threw a grin at Shadedsun. Padding out after him onto the clacking pebbles, he looked out across the water to the distant SpringClan trees and breathed in a deep lungful of the fresh, sweet air; it was a familiar sight, one he was used to from patrols and trips to the lakeside when he was a kit, but seeing it from beside someone who used to call SpringClan home made it all feel different. New. He often struggled to understand that cats from other Clans had full, rich lives and relationships and stories; his and Sunpetal’s worlds were just SummerClan, and now, standing beside Shadedsun, it felt like that comprehension was finally opening up before him, just a little.
As the other tom felt around for the right stone, Weevilspike padded around to his other side, brushing against his back flirtatiously, and sat down beside him. He usually immediately flopped down and lounged with his paws in the water, so actually having to pay attention to something was a new experience here. When Shadedsun threw the rock, Weevilspike watched as it descended towards the water — and, when it finally splashed in, turned to the other tom and excitedly shook his shoulder. “Oh my god, you’re a jock,” he teased, beaming at him. “I love jocks.”
I’ll know if you’re cheating. For a long moment, Weevilspike scrunched his face and bit his lip, nodding his head from side to side, agonising over whether or not to make the joke. “Oooooh,” he finally grated out. “Okay, I’m not gonna make it because it’s dumb and I’ve never actually been unfaithful because I’ve never actually had a boyfriend but I’m so tempted to be like, ‘none of my boyfriends ever did.’ Which, like I’ve made the joke anyway so just pretend it was really funny and witty.” Rummaging around for a stone that looked vaguely like the one Shadedsun had thrown, he tossed it up and down a few times in his paw, scrunching one eye up as he assessed the distance over the lake like that was going to do anything at all — and then threw it. “Wow, I think it’s gonna land in Malibu or something,” he said as he watched it— except something was terribly wrong. It was travelling straight up. Which… if the train is travelling at 200 miles per hour and there are 400 passengers on board… oh. “Heads up, I think the rock’s tryna kill us,” he told Shadedsun quickly, and then grabbed him just before the stone clattered down on the pebbles right where he had been.
“Well, I didn’t cheat,” he told Shadedsun cheerfully, as if they hadn’t landed with the other tom basically atop him and Weevilspike’s paws holding him on either side, lost to the fluff. “Unless tryna off your opponent counts, in which case I totally did. I win, right?” He grinned up at him, enjoying the closeness that may or may not have been of his engineering. He wasn’t called cunning for nothing.
they're both the literal definition of himbos........ my god
He gave a snort, "if only I thought of that," though it wasn't as funny now that he hadn't seen either of his sisters in years.
Oh my god, you’re a jock. He laughed again — Weevilspike was just the funny type, and he really adored those — gave a haphazard shrug, went to say something along the lines of 'not anymore' but realized just how uncool that would sound and kept his mouth shut, instead letting him pick up a rock of his own. At the lack of any noise at all, he gave a confused look, just in time for — heads up, I think the rock’s tryna kill us. Not a single thought ran through his head as he was pulled away, landed with a bewildered look nearly on top of Weevilspike, gave a slight shake of his head to clear up his mind, enough to shoot an amused grin.
"I almost wish you did," he teased, moving to get off him like he only just realized where he was, "how'd you mess it up that bad?" His voice was edged with a thinly veiled laugh. Then, he leaned down, picked out a new rock with the same steps as the last one, held it up so Weevilspike could see it, presuming he was looking his direction, "you hit under and forward, with your wrist," he lined it with the water, "then you time where it's going to be, not where it actually it." He threw it, listened out for the splash. Really, he was excited to talk about the simple things he enjoyed — things like throwing stones into the water, fireflies, flowers, the best way to eat raspberries (the best fruit, and with honey) — no rejection, no burdens. It reminded him of the nights him and the other mountain clan leaders would meet, talk and hang out for the night, not exactly a fling (for some of them), but a little more than friendship. Shadedsun settled on the ground, adjusting so the rocks under him weren't as uncomfortable to lay on, had a wistful, almost dreamily amused look on his face. He felt at ease, peaceful, relaxed in the way he had always wanted to be before, not worrying about leadership or death or sickening love, just simple, soft affection and a warm day. It was just him and this stupid, amusing tom, affectionately thought, because he was a little dumb too. He didn't say anything, lifted his head slightly to get the warmth of the sun.
