Blackfeather Woods hit me up

A new female had come to the Woods, Nemesis' sister. Cicero had not met her in person since the day she arrived, but he knew she was with child, possibly having given birth by now. Little more did he know about these things. He had been a wreck since his time with Alexander, on some level; and yet had felt nothing at all. But then, the numbness was why he felt like a wreck.

The only thing that brought him relief was the pain now, eating the herbs. He did not know how Alexander was, as he had not looked back since that day. Perhaps he would see him some time again. He had not intended to do what he had, but somehow it had happened. Such was life, he supposed. At least his life. He did not even know if it was Cicero or Sheogorath who had been at the helm of making that decision. He did not even truly know who he was anymore, but a philosopher who enjoyed the confusion of others. Perhaps that was all he was all along.

"Damien?" he asked as he approached his brother's den, in which he had stayed up until he had punished Alexander — then he had stayed away, until now. He would return from this day on, sleeping once more within @Damien 's den. He hoped his brother was near. Why it was Damien that gave him such solace he did not know. It was a feeling rivalled only by his herbs; but today, he was sober, so he could use a shot of Damien.

The nights were colder without him there, but Damien had not approached Cicero to ask why he had left the den. He had grown used to his brother's unpredictability, and would rather allow him to do things his way than to push him to do something he didn't want and end up driving him away. And so he'd slept alone and cold for days.

His voice awakened him, and he was quick to come, emerging from the den followed by his dancing tail behind him. "What's wrong?" he asked as he noticed the grim look in his brother's eye, and the gleeful sway of his tail came to a stop. It was hard to read the philosopher's emotions, but Damien knew his brother well enough to notice those little things.

Their relations were turbulent as ever in these moments. They had never been stable, except perhaps in their younger years. But they were both volatile and unpredictable wolves, each in their own way. After that one moment Cicero had not brought up his love for Damien again, although he knew that his brother knew it was still very much there. Other things had got in the way, had happened and caused for distractions. This was true even presently, with what had happened with Alexander clouding his mind — not so much for the terrible things that he had done to the boy, but for the loss of control, ironically by ways of dominating another. Was he losing touch? Would the beast take over soon? These were the worries most present in his mind — Was he the one that had harmed Xan, or was it Sheogorath? Or worse, what if he was both, if the essence of Cicero was embedded with the essence of Sheogorath; what if he chose to be Sheogorath, or some subconscious part of him did. Was he destined for darker things? And where would it end?

He licked his lips as Damien approached, a narrow smile lining his face. Damien was a sight for sore eyes to the philosopher. His was a double-edged sword, cutting into his sanity by denying him the culmination of their love yet granting his mind peace by simply being there. "It is taken care of now. Cicero will return to the den." With thoughts raging through his mind, Cicero pressed his head in the nook underneath his brother's chin, the soft fur with the white splotch meant only for him in that moment.

Damien had been anticipating his brother's approach this time, and so Cicero's touch was welcomed with a warm embrace. The dark prince could simply see that there was something troubling the philosopher, and he worried. There had been a constant flow of dull emotions from every direction in Blackfeather Woods, and Damien was concerned about everything. He couldn't allow his reign to be the last reign in the dark forest.

He pulled his brother closer, offering his support as he lead the way inside the den. It was getting cold, closer every day to winter, and there was nothing he wanted more than to share his space with Cicero. "I'm glad," he said warmly and settled in the cold floor. He stayed silent for a moment, giving time to his brother to curl himself around him like he surely would, and then allowed himself to ask again. "I need my speaker to tell me everything," he suggested, looking intensely into his brother's mismatched eyes.

It was easy enough to follow Damien into the den and lay down by his side, curling up alongside him, placing his head along Damien's neck. The way their bodies melted into each other always seemed so natural, as though they were made to do so, with Damien being larger and Cicero smaller and thinner. He closed his mismatched eyes momentarily as his tongue slipped from his mouth in contemplation.

Damien wanted to know what was heavy on his mind, of course, but then, if there was one thing this world had taught Cicero: "We do not always get what we want." His ears twitched and he nosed the soft fur behind Damien's ear as though to demonstrate his point in case. Cicero wanted more from Damien, yet he did not have it either. "And at times, it is better that way, for what we want is often not what we need." He knew that the information that burdened him was not something that'd make Damien's life better, and so he would carry it alone.

AS was to be expected, Cicero responded to Damien's suggestion with a riddle-worthy remark. Had it happened before, Damien would have snorted at himself for believing he would have been able to make Cicero talk, but things had changed. Ever since the herb conflict, Damien had started feeling a genuine distrust for his brother's words. He was deceiving, not one to take lightly even if you happened to be his brother.

"I'm serious," he replied, unintentionally heating up for a moment and pulling away from Cicero's touch. "How can I trust you if you don't?" he said unable to stop himself. He didn't mean it, not entirely for there was no one in the world he trusted more than Cicero, not even Potema herself, with whom Damien had always had a close relationship. But in the end Damien would always have issues with trust, and losing what was left of it on Cicero frightened him.

He pulled away, as Cicero had expected. But he loved this part of Damien, too, the brusqueness, the anger, the passion. Teeth raked teasingly along the lines of Damien's ear as he pulled away, a crooked grin on Cicero's face. He was frightened — of Sheogorath, the beast, of himself and what he was becoming — but how could he ever tell Damien this in words? Yet perhaps it would be good to let go of the fear of repercussion, to just say it. If anyone knew how to deal with a beast on the inside, it would be Damien.

Yet the way to speak to such things with Cicero was easiest when not executed through serious questions. Through philosophy or play, perhaps, or when deeper into the conversation. And about Alexander... Well, he'd never tell about the only thing that had ever brought him shame.

"You need me," he said. "Damien needs Cicero." It was a fact, a statement, an argument, almost, as to why he needn't say anything. "And Cicero needs Damien. Yet has Damien told Cicero everything that has happened in his life, as he is asking of Cicero now?" Cicero licked his lips as he looked at Damien. Everyone had secrets. Perhaps he'd share his if Damien shared his. "Or has Damien been keeping little secrets away from his beloved brother?" He turned his head so that he could look Damien in the eye, if not only to see if his words were truth. Every wolf held secrets, and Damien was likely no exception.

Teeth still held on to Damien's ear as he pulled away, painfully raking down it as he jerked his head away. He couldn't contain a growl, but it didn't go to more serious reactions, Damien was used to Cicero's rough teasing, and in a way he did not mind it that much despite how annoying it was.

Cicero would always be one step further than Damien on facts -he'd got that from their mother; the cunning mind, the deceiving tongue- and it made Damien feel uncomfortable. Ice locked right into mismatched eyes, holding back a temper. Cicero was not only contradicting Damien's request, but he was turning the situation onto him, making Damien the culprit somehow. He looked away, an attempt to hide his expression as the mention of Damien's own secrets was used against him. He fell right into the trap, and guilt knotted up his throat as he remembered the arrangement he had with Asterr, but he debated whether Cicero would pose a threat to her or the girls.

It was always a game, this. Maybe there was nothing. But Cicero knew Damien well enough to know he would see it upon his face would he have anything to hide. And if there was nothing, well, it would not matter either. Easily dismissed as innocent teasing.

Ah, but there was something... Cicero's eyes lit up as he noted his brother's dodgy behaviour. Was it guilt that he showed? Whatever it was, there was something he would not tell. A mischievous smirk took over his face and he looked at Damien's face as he said, "Ah, Cicero will make these secrets spill out sooner or later... It will feel good to just talk about it." He moved closer to nose Damien's cheek. Cicero was void of personal judgement most of the time, which made him both a good listener as well as very dangerous. He smirked as he added; "What will a thin, frail wolf who may not even pass through winter do with such information, anyway?" He would never pass Damien's secrets onto anyone else, and his recovery from the famine was steady, but still painstakingly slow in the wake of winter's arrival. Who knew what may happen. Even Damien's answer would give him information on the nature of his secrets. Some type of secrets were easier to tell to your brother who loved you than others. That was just the way of the world.

The first comment bothers him. Even though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, especially himself, Cicero had a hold of him that made him susceptible to most things, included manipulation. But the next thing his brother says makes him furious instantly. "Shut up!" he snaps, growling and baring his teeth at the mention of not getting past winter. That would be devastating, not only for Damien but for the whole of Blackfeather Woods as a pack. The Spiderlings were a vital piece of the pack and without them it was likely to perish... And Damien couldn't imagine the world without his beloved brother.

"You're fine," he corrects, remnants of a growl still lingering in his tone, perhaps taking the comment way too personally. "And you know everything about me so start talking... I know you're hiding something important from me..." he lies, perhaps correctly guessing that it was not the best idea to tell Cicero every little detail. Vicious wolves came in every shape and size, and Damien had learned to not trust anyone -not even family- the hard way.

Nothing but a smile was shown as Damien snapped at him, knowing that he had hit a trigger, as intended. Cicero knew now that there was something that was hidden from him, but it also compulsed him not to tell what was upon his own heart. How could he? Cicero was not ashamed of much, but he was ashamed of the monster that lived within his soul. Damien had not been bothered by it so far, but what would happen if he did? And what would happen if Damien knew of it? Was his love for his brother deep enough to hold from judgement?

With no more than a murmured "hmm-mm" Cicero shoved closer to Damien and lay his head upon his brother's neck so that he would be able to nibble at the sensitive fur and skin there.

grumpy damien is grumpy

Again his request had gone ignored by Cicero. Instead of an answer, Damien had gotten cuddles, which he did not really want an the moment. He roughly pushed his brother aside, obviously pissed by his defiance, and rose to leave the den and Cicero behind. Tonight he would not sleep beside his brother. He made his way to his mother's keep, where he knew he would find a comfortable place to lay his head for the night. Cicero was just too much for him to handle at the moment, and in fact, he felt it was better to get away from his questions before he spilled any details about the whole Asterr deal.

It seemed that this was the way their life always twisted, in the end. There was so much love between them yet this was the tango they were doomed — or destined, perhaps — to fall into endlessly. Cicero watched as Damien pulled away from his touch, savouring his anger and, in a way, the control that he had over Damien, to push him so far away. He would return, Cicero knew, and if he would not, then Cicero would be the one to find him instead. It was a blessing and a curse, to love one so deeply yet be so different.

Cicero leaned down on the cold earth and decided to rest for a bit. He would find Damien again, later, when his brother had cooled down somewhat.