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chambercultist · 1 year ago

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guide to makin cats from my fanclans (and also the wolf one)

ok some history. in my story there are 4 clans but only 3 of them are the descendants of the canon clans. the trip to the territory they're in now hurt the clans a lot and both for their own safety and because there wasn't enough territory, riverclan and windclan decided to become one.

because of a lot of stuff with the number of clans, starclan becomes more prominent (with more ghosts just visiting and regular cats dreaming about it) for a while until badgerclan and wolftribe move in, where it becomes a hivemind. i will write about that another time because it affects a lot of stuff but its too much to write here. this is a guide for living cats

actual guide under cut. smiles

dustclan

they're the descendants of shadowclan, but don't really act like it. dustclan cats live and hunt in a cave system in a mountain, and can't hunt in the forest despite living very close to it because of their proximity to wolftribe camp. there's not much life on the mountain so they're forced to hunt in the cave, which still doesn't have much food so they're pretty much always starving. rabies outbreaks are also common...

dustclan cats are smaller and thinner so they can fit in the little crevices in the cave. they're also generally lighter colors, though darker colored cats (such as the medicine cat) are not allowed very far into the cave, since they would be harder to find.

the leader, olmstar, is a lean white cat. she was born blind in one eye, but lost the other to a cave in. she wears a moonstone in her empty socket, giving her a very strong connection to starclan.

dustclan brings gems and cave animals to the collective knowledge of all the clans, often naming their cats after them. exmples are diamondpaw, beetlestone, amberheart and batpaw.

woodclan

woodclan cats are the descendants of thunderclan, but they act more like shadowclan cats do in canon. this is because they've been hardened by sharing their territory with wolftribe and constantly live in fear. they're very strict and drill their rules into their kits from birth. they're very good climbers because they live IN the trees. kits are often raised in abandoned burrows below the camp to make sure they don't fall out of trees.

woodclan cats are very bulky, with especially large paws. they tend to be browns, blacks and even greens, and decoate their pelts and nests with flowers.

the leader is a large brown tabby named daisystar. he acts angry and strict, but he's actually a very paranoid cat. he spends a lot of time outside the clan negotiating with wolftribe.

woodclan adds the names of plants and especially flowers to the name pool, like chivekit, fernpelt, mapleblossom, tansydust and fruitpaw.

shellclan

the collective descendants of riverclan and windclan, shellclan lives in a beached shipwreck and hunt in the pacific ocean. they're very medically advanced, as one of their medicine cats discovered amputations and prosthetics.

shellclan cats are also big, with very thick fur to keep themselves warm in the cold water. they often don't bother to wash the salt out of their fur, so it's very matted. many shellclan cats are missing their tails, either docked preventatively or lost in accidents in underwater shipwrecks and caves.

the leader, rowstar, is a big grey tabby, and is very friendly with the other leaders. scratchdash got the idea of prosthetics from the twoleg concept of pirates, and rowstar, after losing her leg in a cave, volunteered to test it. he succeeded, and now she has a jagged stone replacing one of her legs.

shellclan mostly brings ocean and beach creatures to the collective knowledge, with names like heronpaw, blueswan, kelpfur and angelpaw

badgerclan

long before the other clans had a policy of letting in outsiders, badgerclan was formed from kittypets and loners who weren't allowed to join the clans. they live in an abandoned twoleg farm, taking care of the animals the twolegs left: jimmy the horse, and three chickens; honeypie, lemoncake and cookiecream. they share their territory with stanley, a loner who lives in the other barn, as well as his "apprentices", maisy and percy.

badgerclan cats come in all shapes and sizes as they most regularly let in outsiders, and they're very healthy from the steady stream of eggs from the chickens and rats from the abandoned silo.

quailstar, a white and yellow cat, is also very friendly. they're much too young for the role, as the previous leader, foxtail, had been forced to retire shortly after appointing them as deputy, thinking he would still be leader for much longer.

all clans have a rule of letting in outsiders: you're welcome to join as long as you get rid of your old name to show your loyalty. badger clan has an exception to it; if you beat the deputy in battle, you're allowed to keep your old name as a badge of honor. that, along with the collective knowledge of more twoleg things, gives badgerclan cats a lot of variety in their names: emmet, pagepaw, charlie, snowbale and rocket

wolftribe

wolftribe is a comparitively small pack of wolves that made its camp in the part of woodclan territory that got ravaged by a forest fire, though they hunt in the rest of the forest.

they have a president (re-elected every two years), a second in command, and a doctor. there isn't a word for a warrior.

wolves value intelligence, so their naming system reflects that. you're name as a wolf is the most of something you've counted at a time. some items are more impressive than others. for example, the president's name, 15 rabbits, signals that they're more powerful than another wolf, 32 pebbles.

they have a peace treaty with woodclan (don't bother us and we'll leave enough food for you) and send a wolf to every gathering to renew it, and also in an attempt to socialize with the rest of the clans. despite being very different to the clans socially, they generally want to be friends.

#digtothevoices #wci #sorry i just like talking about my cats heehee

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ollie-oxen-free · 6 years ago

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the shrine

hey, did you guys want some mapleblossom deity fic?? yeah??? thought so. luckily for you i provide.

It’s an old shrine that he lives in.

The stones that once held it up are dull, now, no longer gleaming like they used to. The garden around it isn’t overgrown, not really, but it’s close, the plants long since falling out of the close trim that they were once kept in, new flowers appearing in just as much frequency as the ones that have wilted and died. Papyrus doesn’t mind.

The town his shrine sits on the edge of has started to fade, as all things do, many families moving to larger places, looking for more opportunities since the drought that caused so much suffering many years ago. He can see the town when he sits on the roof of the shrine and he was able to watch as they packed and left. Though they’re gone he feels no anger towards them, only hope, because he wants them to grow and thrive even if it’s so far away from here.

The few that remain in his town still bring offerings, fruits or woven blankets or, sometimes, coins, and in return he does what he can. His powers are weaker now that the gifts are fewer, now that so much of the town has left, and it pains him when the few that do still visit him ask for healing or something larger that he can no longer do.

They go back and he watches them work in fields that aren’t as fertile as they once were, unable to help with the yield of crops, or as they return home to a loved one that is sick and isn’t getting better. He grieves, in these moments, as he watches them, standing at the edge of the boundary of his shrine and presses his hand to the magic that seals him in, watching more pack bags and prepare for a journey to find a real healer. He grieves because he’s unable to really help and he grieves because they’re leaving and he grieves because he’s effectively trapped here, a shrine that was once beautiful starting to fall apart.

Papyrus is lonely, in his shrine, and it’s this that weighs on him the most.

One day, when it’s raining, he senses someone approaching, a dead sprint, until they stop just under the overhang of the steps. He moves down, in the shrine, peers out the front to see a skeleton monster, one like himself, face scarred, two teeth of gold. He watches as he shakes out the rain from his skull, still dripping water, shrugging a bag from his shoulder and letting it drop on the steps beside him. The monster looks out at the rain, still breathing heavily, before he turns and looks over the shrine.

Papyrus hides himself before the gaze passes over him, watching the other’s eyes widen when he sees the basket of fruit that’s resting in front of the weathered fountain, the water long since gone. The other reaches in, digs around for a bit, before he pulls out an apple, taking a large bite from it with a satisfied sigh. Papyrus lets him. It’s not much use to him, anyways, and even if it was the other was obviously hungry. He watches him for a moment, smiling, happy that his shrine is still of some use, before he steps out, intent on greeting.

His presence makes the other start with a curse, dropping the apple and pushing away. There’s not many places to go, though, as he slides down a step with a groan, the apple rolling away to rest in the mud at the foot of the stairs. Papyrus winces as he walks forward, extending a hand to help him up.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes. The other stares at him for a moment before he cautiously takes his hand, allowing him to help him to his feet. He smiles at the stranger, trying to appear kind, non-threatening.

Eyes trace over his figure, taking in the shirt, the loose pants, his bare feet, and a few moments later the other swore again, taking a step back with his hands up. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t…” he coughed. “I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

It obvious why. The town is small, nearly gone, and his shrine is starting to fade. Even so, the reminder of his approaching mortality makes him wince and look away. “It’s quite alright,” he says, though clearly it’s not. He takes in a breath, calming, before he smiles, sitting on the steps. The other hesitates before he sits beside him. “I’m Papyrus. What’s your name?”

“Slim,” he says.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He smiles. “So, what brings you to this town?”

“I’m a traveler.”

He perks up in interest. “A traveler?”

Slim nods. “A traveler, an explorer. One day I just got tired of the same thing and decided to leave.” He chuckles. “It was stupid, but I’ve never been the smartest. And here I am.” He gestured to the shrine around them, the rain pouring down.

Papyrus hums. For a moment he feels something like jealousy before it’s gone and he’s smiling again. He looks out into the rain, at the puddles starting to build up on the ground. “You’re welcome to stay until the rain passes, if you’d like.”

Aside from the rain, it’s quiet for a moment. Slim sighs. “I don’t really have anything to give.” He glances back at the basket of fruit.

“How about a story?”

Slim snorts. “A story. Yeah, I can do that.”

And he does. They move into the main room, Slim starts a fire in the hearth that was built into the wall, and he pulls out a small journal from his bag. It takes a few seconds of thumbing through the pages before he finds what he wants, and then he closes it again and tucks it away. And then he starts to speak. He tells Papyrus about his travels, stories about people he’d met, about places he’d been and the things he had seen. He talks for hours, until the rain dies down and it’s dark, and eventually his voice trails off into sleep. Papyrus sits by the fire until it too dies, flickering orange flames giving out to darkness.

The next morning he thanks Slim for the stories, sad to see him go. Slim is quiet, for a moment, before he shakes his head with a laugh.

“No problem,” he says. He throws his bag over his shoulder with a grunt, looking out over the puddle-ridden path.

Before he can go he says “You can come back anytime.” There’s a hint of desperation in it, because he’s so tired of being alone and he loves the people of the town but…

Slim looks at him for a moment before he laughs, gives him a mock salute. “You got it,” he says, and then he turns and walks away.

Papyrus watches him as he goes, up until he can’t see him anymore, and once he’s sure the other is gone he sighs, going back inside. A few hours later one of the people from the town come up, setting down a cloth sack filled with grain. They’re silent for a moment before they speak, a hint of a waver in their voice.

“It’s not much but, please. My mother is very sick.” They pause. Papyrus waits there, hidden and guilty, closing his eyes and listening. “If there’s anything you can do…” They trail off. He waits for more but there’s nothing, and after a few moments they get up and walk away.

He takes their offering and stands there, and in his grief he tries to do something to help. Some power leaves him, travels into the town, and he’s almost shocked with how much it is until he remembers Slim, remembers his stories, and he gives a startled laugh as he stares up the hill at the town.

For the first time in a while, he feels as if he’s actually helped someone.

The town is empty now.

He knew it was coming, even if he became stronger, even if he was able to actually help. A town of few can’t really survive, and with something like melancholy he watches the last family pack up and leave. Even with his sadness he’s happy because he sees the human that visited him not long ago walk out with their mother and a bag in their hands, and he watches them fade away into the distance.

There’s no one to visit him now.

He still does what he can with his shrine, keeps the steps clean and free of leaves, but it’s not much. Mostly he sits on the roof and looks out over the abandoned town and the area around him, watching animals pass by and the wind blow through the trees. He’s sad, maybe, but not unbearably so, because the sun is shining on his face as he sits on the top of his shrine.

He’s on the roof, one day, eyes closed and enjoying the light- because, really, he didn’t know how long he had left but he still had this- when someone takes a step onto the stairs.

He opens his eyes and looks down.

He’s surprised when he sees Slim standing there, his face unreadable. It takes a bit of effort but he manages to move back down into the shrine, pushing open the heavy doors and greeting the other.

When Slim sees him, relief bleeds into his expression.

“You came back,” he says. His voice is rough, a bit strained, and he realizes that it’s been a while since he’s spoken.

“You look like shit” is the response. Papyrus huffs but can’t bring himself to argue. It’s been too long since anyone has brought him any offerings. He’s had very little energy, lately. It’s been coming for a while, he knows this, but the thought still scares him, because mortals have souls on their own but his is based on the things that they give and without it…

Papyrus shakes his head. “The town is empty now,” he explains. For a moment there’s only a blank stare, and then it clicks and Slim frowns, looking up the hill. “Don’t be upset.”

It’s more of a statement to himself than Slim, but it makes the other sigh anyways. “Right.” He says.

Papyrus invites him in. It’s selfish, but he’s lonely, and Slim’s is the first face he’s seen in months. The other starts a fire, makes a meal, and they have simple conversation until Papyrus blurts “Do you have any more stories?”

Slim starts, like he wasn’t expecting it, but he laughs anyways and a bit of tension drains from his shoulders. He finishes his meal and looks to the ceiling of the shrine in thought. After a few moments he reaches into his bag and pulls out a small, weathered journal, flipping through pages that are scribbled with words and sketches and lines that look like maps. And then he starts to speak.

When his shrine was first made, when it wasn’t a town but a small village, there were individuals that told stories. They sometimes held wisdom, sometimes held warnings, and sometimes they were just for entertainment, but they all held one thing in common. The voice of the storytellers was always strong and it rose and fell with their words, drew those around them in until their story was told.

Slim’s voice held that quality, a hint of raspiness, traces of humor and excitement. Papyrus sat and listened to his detailing of his travels, of a boat that travelled to an island and the people there, he listened to the descriptions of enormous buildings and statues that you could barely see the top of, whose heads brushed the clouds themselves. But mostly he listened to Slim’s voice, up until he was done with his tale and his voice trailed off.

He slept in the shrine again that night, though there wasn’t any rain, and selfishly Papyrus wished that a storm would rise the next day so the other would stay longer.

Yet, the next morning there’s nothing but sun, and he smiles and waves as Slim walks away because he doesn’t know what else to do.

He’s content to think that maybe that’s the last time he’ll see Slim, that even though it hurts this was always meant to happen. He was always meant to be here for the people until the moment that they didn’t need him anymore. He’s served his purpose, and he should be fine with fading away with the last few traces of power that he has. No matter how much he wishes otherwise, this was always meant to happen.

Which is why it’s a shock when Slim comes back a few weeks later. There’s a few new scratches on his face, almost-healed injuries on his arms, but he’s still there. There’s a grim sort of determination in his eyes as he sets his bag down on the front steps and pulls something wrapped in a cloth out. Papyrus appears just as Slim unwraps it and pours out a few small gems on the edge of the dried-out fountain. Papyrus looks down at them, at their glimmer, and then up at Slim, confused.

“What’s this?”

Slim stands, rolls his skull on his shoulders with a groan. “An offering.” He states it so matter-of-fact, with no air of hesitation or room for argument. Even so he can’t help but to ask why. “Because fuck you,” Slim says, a wink thrown his way.

He huffs but it’s fond, and he takes in the energy from the offering even though he knows that he probably shouldn’t, that he should just accept what he knows has to come.

Slim picks up his bag in one hand, looking up at him. “Room for one more?”

Of course he agrees.

It continues that way for a while. Longer than Papyrus knows to count, anyways, weeks passing by, counting his time between visits from Slim, always with gifts. Paintings he purchased from other lands, coins that he may or may not have stolen from some selfish nobles, a rare treasure he found when following the myths that he had heard as a child. He would leave these and then he would pull out the journal, more worn every time, and he would tell his adventures.

Every time he did, Papyrus would always imagine himself on them as well.

He asks to see the journal once. Papyrus has caught glimpses of the pages, but he wants to be able to see them in full. Slim tenses at the question and Papyrus almost calls it off before the other shrugs with a chuckle and moves beside him.

He smells like smoke and earth. Of course, Papyrus has never seen him smoke, but it isn’t hard to imagine the other with a pipe of some kind between his teeth. Slim flips open the journal and turns a few of the pages. There are sketches on some, journal entries on others. The pages are soft to the touch, old.

When he turns one of the pages he sees a sketch of a skeleton, Slim stutters when he sees it, but it takes him staring at it for a few more moments before he realizes that it’s him. There’s a soft smile on his face in the picture, the lines of his face firmer and more sure than the others. He’s been looking at it for a while before he realizes that Slim has been talking the whole time, excuses about how he draws a lot, new individuals he meets, that it’s not really a big deal.

Papyrus turns his head at the same time Slim does and suddenly they’re face to face. Slim quiets immediately, looking into his eyes, his whole body stiff.

Papyrus has seen both monster and human in this situation before, close enough that they had to be able to feel the other’s breath on their faces, and it’s because of this that he leans in and gently presses his teeth to Slim’s.

It takes a moment, but Slim presses back into him.

He doesn’t know what love is.

Or, maybe, he does, because he knows he’s felt it before. He’s felt love when he knew he helped one of the townsfolk or when he would see others smile as they passed by his shrine or when one of the children from the town would leave a bug or an interesting rock they found from the forest on his steps.

So he knows love but this is different, this feeling is stronger and stranger, and he doesn’t want to let it go. It’s so unbearably, unbelievably selfish, the way that he just continues to exist, the way he almost forces Slim to come back to his shrine time and time again simply because he’s unable to accept his fate.

He loves Slim, and somehow that’s more painful than death.

When he comes back this time- there’s a smile on his face as he draws closer to the shrine, getting larger- Papyrus stops him before he can even walk up the steps. Slim waits, the grin that was on his face sliding off, bit by bit.

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says.

Slim is quiet, which feels wrong in a way. “What do you mean?”

Papyrus sighs. It’s not frustration, but exhaustion, and grief weighs heavy on him to his very core. Instead of answering he looks to the sky for a long moment, just staring at the clouds. They float by, entirely unbothered. Slim says his name, his voice pinched.

“Do you know why I was created?” Slim pauses, then shakes his head. “I, and others like me, are here to serve. We’re here to help. The people bring offerings to the shrine, and we give back to them. Without offerings, we die. And without those to help, we’re purposeless.” He looks up at Slim, now, but he’s unable to read his expression. “Do you understand?”

There’s no response. For a long moment, Papyrus thinks he’s ruined everything. Good, he thinks, because he knows it’s for the best, that he would never be able to truly be with Slim.

“Yeah, fuck that,” Slim says, pushing past him.

Papyrus is left staring out at the path, trying to process just what had happened. When it hits he lets loose a loud huff, turning to see Slim already crouched by the fountain, placing his offerings on the edge. Papyrus just stares at him until he’s finished, and continues to stand still even once he stands and gestures at the gifts. Slim looks between him, and the offerings, and him again, lifting a brow expectantly.

He wants to be upset, but stubbornness wins out, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “This isn’t fair to either one of us. I can’t…. I’m unable to leave, and I can’t keep forcing you to come back for me.”

Slim snorts. “I’m pretty sure you couldn’t ‘force’ me to do anything, even if you tried.”

Papyrus moves forward, stepping around Slim up to the fountain- full of rotting leaves, now, it’s been far too long- and using his hand to sweep the few jewels and the small, wooden statue onto the floor. It’s quiet for a moment.

“Rude,” Slim mutters.

With that annoyance and grief flare quickly into anger. Papyrus turns on him, hands coming down to clench at his sides. “I can’t allow you to keep doing this! You need to just let me fade!” Just as quickly as it was there, it’s gone, and he’s left looking into Slim’s wide eyes. “You could travel wherever you want, but you confine yourself to this area. You keep coming back because you know that otherwise I’ll… It’s not fair. Not for you, or for me.”

Quiet again. He hates the quiet. “Then come with me.”

Slim’s voice is soft, but firm. “What?”

“Come with me.” Louder, this time.

He sighs and looks away. Anger spent, most of his energy gone, he no longer feels like fighting. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Slim gestures wildly at him, at the shrine, at the area overrun with plants. “Why can’t you?”

“It doesn’t work that way.” But God, how much he wishes it could.

Slim says nothing, his arm falling back to his side. Instead he kneels and starts to gather up the offerings he had tried to give earlier, one by one. The gifts scrape against the stone as he lifts them up. Papyrus knows that this is likely the end and so he tries to smile. His voice wavers. “Would you like to come inside?”

“No.”

It was expected, but the terse tone, so close to anger, cut deeper than being alone ever had. Slim stands and marches to the fountain, lining the offerings up once more. Papyrus wants to push them away again, knows that he can’t keep them, but before he can Slim reaches into his bag once more, pauses, and then with something like determination he pulls out the worn journal, setting it alongside the other gifts.

There’s challenge in his eyes as he turns, swiftly, looking at Papyrus. “I want you to come with me.”

Before he can say anything Slim strides forward, taking his hand and marching down the steps. Papyrus stops, unsurprisingly, not on his own accord but because he can’t, a pressure like a physical weight binding him to his shrine. Slim is still gripping his hand but it seems distant, numb. He looks back at the shrine, at the items laid out across the front, and then back to Slim.

The other takes in a deep breath.

“Please,” he says.

Papyrus closes his eyes and swallows, and despite his common sense screaming at him he takes the offerings, feels the energy from them. When he looks over his shoulder again, the items are gone. Slim’s gaze lingers on the space where the journal once was, but he quickly moves it, meeting his eyes once more.

Papyrus thinks of being alone, of the deep pain like a hole in his being. He thinks of Slim, thinks of never wanting the other to feel alone like that.

Something clicks, and he’s falling forward.

He lands on Slim, all sharp angles and hard bones. There’s mud underneath of them, and Papyrus can feel it soaking into his pants as he lays there in shock.

“Holy shit,” Slim mutters. “It actually fucking worked.”

It did.

Papyrus slowly pushes himself to his feet, slightly unsteady, looking down at his feet, his clothes. They’re splattered with mud, something that’s never happened before. Between the bones of his feet and hands he feels the dirt, and he can’t help but give a incredulous laugh because he’s never felt that before, has never even been capable of being dirty, being anything other than clean.

Movement catches his eyes and he looks over to Slim, pulling himself out of the muck. Just as much guilt twists in him as joy, and he takes a hesitant step toward the other. “I’m… sorry,” he says. “About your journal. It must have meant a lot to you.”

And it must have. He has no idea how much energy it took, but it had to have been enormous. For something to give that much, it had to have great value.

Slim looks over to the shrine, and something passes over his face. Just as quickly as it was there, it’s gone. He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. Papyrus feels the urge to kiss it off of him, still giddy, but he refrains.

“It’s fine.”

Instead of kissing him, Papyrus grabs his hand again, catching his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Slim chuckles, face flushed, but he doesn’t pull away. “Well, you ready for adventure?”

God, is he ever.

#undertale #papcest #mapleblossom #my writing #i didnt edit this so fuck you #deity!papyrus #sf papyrus #thats actually abt all i ahve to say on the matter #mentions of death #mentions of illness #but no one dies so #its actually just really fluffy #i wrote this mostly on valentines day so big surprise there lol #just take this from me you fools

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