#her paw prints in the mud

[legomydoggos]

Nice 8.8mi loop for us! Jennings Peak and Sandwich Dome

[ustalav]

i have no idea how dizzy gets SO muddy

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag II

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: You go hiking

When Mama returns to Sweden after her season ends, you go on more hikes. You go on hikes a lot anyway with Mummy and Jordan but you go out on more with Mama.

It's summer when Mama comes home so you get to take your basket out to forage.

Mummy's been foraging with you for ages now. She's very smart and Jordan's very good at finding the best truffle mushrooms. Mama's not quite as good as Mummy but that's okay because she's learning just like you.

You can learn together.

You're up on Mama's shoulders right now as Mummy lets Jordan loose off his leash at the edge of the forest.

"Got everything, squish?" She asks you," Because this is the last time we can go back to get something if you've forgotten it."

You shake your head. "Got everything, Mummy."

"Good girl."

Mama walks for a while before letting you down and instantly, you're hurrying up the path to catch up with Jordan.

"Squish!" Mummy calls out," Slow down, please."

"Okay, Mummy." You slow down and Jordan waits for you to catch up before walking by your side, bumping against you occasionally as his tail wags.

His snout goes down out of nowhere and he's running off the path like a shot. You follow after him and you can hear the thunderous steps of Frida and Emma behind you.

When they finally catch up to you both, you're gently placing truffles into your basket as Jordan wags his tail proudly.

"Good boy," Emma says to him," Who's a good boy? Is it you? Yeah! Of course it is!"

Frida crouches next to you, pressing a kiss to your temple now that she's found you safe. She knows you know your way around this forest like the back of your hand but seeing you off the path still scared her a little.

"Jordan found truffles," You tell Frida," He's the best boy!"

Frida laughs a little. "The best boy for the best little girl," She says warmly and your cheeks go a little pink at the praise.

"Squish," Emma calls you over," Why don't you show Mama about the tracking I taught you?" She points at a singular paw print in the mud. "Can you tell me what kind of animal that is?"

You study it.

It's got a big rear pad and five toes capped off with a long claw mark on each.

"Badger," You answer," We shouldn't go that way. Badgers are mean to dogs sometimes. We don't want Jordan getting hurt."

"Good girl," Emma says, laying a kiss to your head," Can you lead us to the thicket?"

The thicket is your favourite place in the forest. It's got lots of berry bushes perfect for baking into pies and making jam.

You could make your way there in your sleep and Jordan can too so you both take the lead as Mummy and Mama follow a few steps behind.

The thicket is full of ripe berries and the three of you get to work picking them all.

You stumble a little though, reaching for one of the high-up berries and Mama shrieks.

Frida hurries to pick you up, cradling you close even as your brow furrows in confusion.

"Mama?" You say," What's wrong?"

Frida doesn't have much time to calm her beating heart as she sets you down, pointing at the plant you nearly fell into. "That's a stinging nettle, Squish," She says," If you fall into it, it'll hurt a lot."

Your brows shoot up in fear. "Really, really bad?"

Frida knows she's exaggerating but she can't help it. She nods. "Really, really bad."

"And I'll hurt forever?!" You look at the plant in horror.

"Not quite," Emma steps forward to explain," This, here, is a dock leave. If you scrunch it up and put it on your stings it'll make it all better."

Frida nods along before grabbing another plant nearby. "And this is jewelweed. It works better than a dock leaf but it's a little harder to find."

"Dock leaf, jewelweed and stinging nettle," You repeat," Okay."

After that incident, Frida hovers near you for the rest of your berry picking and absolutely refuses to let you walk home so you spend the rest of the hike on her shoulders.

Emma helps you change into your apron when you get home and gives you the very important job of washing the blackberries while she grabs the pastry you made earlier.

"Mama!" You giggle as Frida flicks you with water before lifting you up to sit on the counter so you can pour the berries into the pie.

"What?" Frida teases," I didn't do anything?" She flicks you with water again and you shriek with laughter.

Emma watches you both fondly as she puts the pie into the oven to bake. "Alright, silly girls," She says," Pie is in. Hand washing now and then nap time."

You pout, bottom lip jutting out. "Stay up please, Mummy!"

"Yeah, Emma!" Frida agrees," Let us stay up!"

Emma laughs, kissing Frida softly before layering kisses all over your cheeks. "An hour nap while the pie bakes or my silly girls will turn into grumpy girls and we all know grumpy girls don't get pie after dinner."

That does it for you and you raise your arms up for someone to help you down.

"Nap time now!"

[theborzoiarebackintown]

She’s got her naughty ears on for napping…. Hmmm suspicious. And no I don’t want to talk about the dirt paw print on my sheet, check on your Midwest friends during mud season, we’re not okay.

[londondungeon2]

concept with dullahan! dire crowley OR dullahan! floyd leech, you can imagine either ⁽(◍˃̵͈̑ᴗ˂̵͈̑)⁽

now playing harley poe’s vengeance the demon / close the door / outcrowd

part i. vengeance the demon.

it always starts with you running. it has never once changed; you, desperate and panting, throw yourself across the earth on two lunging legs.

sometimes, you trip. sometimes, you crash into things. but you always keep running and running away from the sound of clomping hooves in pursuit. they echo in the mine ruins that you always find yourself in, sounding like an army of horses instead of the single one giving chase.

one time, you finally manage to reach the end of the mine shaft as you can see these polka dot patterns of light just ahead. you break out into a sprint.

the air is less humid when you burst out of the mines like a bullet passing through a body. you make a wild run for the houses lit by lanterns. pumpkins are on each porch. you end up stumbling into one, acquiring a new shoe, as you throw yourself against the door.

“please! he’ll kill me! he’ll kill me he’ll kill me!”

the only response you get is the window by the door opening just slightly. you almost miss the motion, so focused on pounding your fist against the wood. but through your eyes and the blood and the mud, you manage to spy it. two fingers opening up a crack in the blinds and one single eye peeking at you.

“please … please …” you sniffle, blood and snot a thick mélange running down your lips.

the eye stares at you. it looks like an immovable stone, something that has already made its decision. the light of the glowing pumpkin and lanterns pale in comparison to how bright the eye is.

“i can’t help you, yous folk is marked.”

ii. close the door

the girls and boys at your university hate you. your parents don’t hate you but they don’t like you either. you’re not even sure you like yourself.

the only person (and he’s not even a person) who loves you is your black cat, grim.

grim purrs at you which you take as validation as sweet as boyfriend saying he loves you or as validation as heartwarming as a best friend saying she’s grateful that two of you have become friends because no one gets her like you do. in him, you find validation that you have been missing since you were seven and that boy died at your birthday party.

it wasn’t your fault. your hands were only on the reins because the handler asked you, the birthday girl, if you wanted to hold and guide the horse. you must’ve fucked it up somehow because the horse reeled up, a black stallion of huge proportions looking like something carved into a monolith, before the stallion kicked back his legs and struck a boy in the head.

blood paints over the grass as the first adult came outside with the cake, the beginning of happy birthday on his tongue.

which is why some girls corner you in the bathroom, one wearing a party city horse mask and getting in your face. another kicks the stall, mimicking clop-clop noises with her mouth.

because the town hates you. everyone has always hated you.

it causes you little stress besides tears. what causes you the biggest stress is returning to your dorm, finding your window open yet not finding grim.

you search the streets like mad, shaking tuna treats in your hands.

eventually, you come across paw prints that have found their way into a water storm drain tunnel, those ones cities and towns install to minimize flooding risk. the paw prints are wet and small but you know deep down grim’s in there somewhere.

after some hesitation, you walk in.

it’s dark and humid. and you mean dark as in the only way to tell where walls are is to move your hands outward to check where they lie, you can barely make out shapes in this nebulous black. and you mean humid as your hair is starting to stick to the back of your neck and the place where your inner thighs touch are sweating with a passion.

but you have to find the only person who loves you.

you keep going till your foot catches on something. you don’t trip but you feel around with the sole of your foot, coming to conclusion you are stepping on none other than mine-tracks.

you have to go back. you have to go back! you think with a blinding panic.

but then you hear a meow, soft and faint. gradually, you calm down and call out for grim. please, grim come, you have been traveling too far down this rabbit-hole, both of you need to go home safe and sound.

but he doesn’t come, continuously meowing. a little farther, you can risk going that much for grim.

so you keep going, one of each shoe placed on the sides of the tracks, shaking your bag of tuna treats.

eventually, you come across light. not sparse light like polka dots but bright light that almost blinds you.

they’re celebrating something in a town just a two minute walk away. they are celebrating halloween.

the door on your old life is permanently shut.

iii. outcrowd

grim, you see him. just a bit down the way, he’s weaving through the crowd of people lined up on each side of a giant parade.

you pass by a man breathing fire, another on an elephant, one who is clipping roses from his skin and handing them out to children, another who is — your sight suddenly blurs when two forces hit you with surprising force.

“mama!!” they cry in unison. and two twins with your face but golden eyes gaze up at with love you have never been shown to before by human features.

“i told you two, not to run off during the parade; must i keep you on a leash,” a man with hair split black and white breaks through the crowd.

“oh well now i see why they ran so swiftly,” this mysterious man says as he addresses you. “welcome back, (name); i was worried you weren’t going to make it this year.”

“mama was gonna come this year! dad promised!” the twin on your right says, taking the easy opportunity to slip his hand into yours.

“dad never breaks his promise, uncle crewel! never!” the one on the left clings to your entire arm like a snake.

“i see,” the man tuts, giving you a mischievous wink. “come on then; he also promised to attain this parade,” mumbled under his breath, “if only he stays in the mood to attend this one and not chase his beloved wife around.”

the twins, with a surprising amount of strength, drag you along.

so, against your will, you watch this halloween parade pass by. finally apart of the crowd, loved and cared about by people. not part of that outcrowd that has kept you isolated.

it comes and goes until finally the star of the show arrives, a man cloaked in black, a pumpkin as a head, riding the black stallion from your childhood.

you try to pull away. the twins hold on tight. you watch in betrayal as grim walks up to the horse, only to be scooped lovingly in the arms of the rider, purring away.

that man is going to kill me, you think as he draws closer on that ebony stead of nightmares.

then, finally, he stops his horse in front of you and offers his hand up to you like a man offering up his entire heart, body, and soul. the twin on the right slots your numb hand into the rider’s easily. you are lifted onto the horse, sandwiched between the neck and a warm body, resisting the urge to cry like a baby.

“my wife,” the man behind you breathes amorous on your neck, removing the pumpkin from his face.

a single gold/two gold eyes greet you with such love you almost cry. “how lovely of you to finally join us.”

when he kisses you, you do cry.

[sweetstarart]

Welcome home house interior headcanons!!!

Home looks mostly normal but in every single room something is missing (The kitchen only has one chair, the bathroom has no mirror etc.)

Their indoor walls are the same color as their outside walls and their wooden floors are the same color as the door

Many of Wally's furniture has eyes however they are not alive most of the time

Sometimes Home uses them as an extra pair of eyes

Their favorite piece of furniture is a sofa with eyes at the arms

This sofa can walk if home so chooses!

I've said it before and I'll say it again, almost every floor in the house is made of mattresses!

Everywhere is a cozy place to sleep accept the bathroom

All the rooms are decorated with adorable dog themed stuff and accented with clown and dog stuff (horns, balls, prank stuff, chew toys etc.)

There's food hidden in every room 👀

Barnaby would rather you take your shoes off the door so there's less dirt and mud on the mattresses but he won't rly enforce it. He'll say "Take your shoes off, or dont!" And never mention it again

Sleeps in a rly big dog bed that has a pattern that looks like ketchup (i drew his room before but I wanted to mention it bc it was fun to make ^^)

His bathroom is a mix between a human bathroom and a dog salon (bc I am all about this dog motif)

There's paw prints everywhere even on the ceiling!

The wallpaper looks like his vest

Looks like a Bodega but a lot bigger

Has a freaking grill behind the counter so can make hot dogs

Has tons of stuff in jars behind the counter as well

Has a secret room, thats where he sleeps at night

It's a rly big room and it has everything he needs (including a secret bathroom!)

Sleeps in a sleeping bag in a hammock like a caterpillar in a cocoon

Has absolutely everything in his room

Has a red and orange tile floor!

The wallpaper looks like his shirt

Her house has a green carpet that resembles grass

It even has little flowers in it!

Her wallpaper in her bedroom is pink with little white flowers on it

The rest of the wallpaper matches her dress

Her bed has tons of heart shaped pillows of varying shades of red and pink

Has a massive closet that looks tiny, but is actually a walk in closet!

Has a big cozy love seat ^^

[cryptidvoidwritings]

Full text below.

A D.J. pawing through a carton of old LPs — Natalie Cole, Angela Bofill — comes upon a curiosity: the original cast album of “Cats.” When he opens the gatefold, glittery spangles fly everywhere.

That’s how “Cats: The Jellicle Ball” begins, and it’s basically what the Perelman Performing Arts Center’s drag remake of the Broadway behemoth does to the drab original. It sets the joy free.

Whether upper- or lowercase, cats never previously offered me much pleasure. The underlying T.S. Eliot poems, ad libbed for his godchildren, are agreeable piffle, hardly up there with “Prufrock” as fodder for the ages. The musical, instead of honoring the material’s delicacy, stomped all over it, leaving heavy mud prints. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s score, and especially the rigged-up story and original staging by Trevor Nunn, tried so hard to make big statements from little ditties and kitties that it wound up a perfect example of camp.

Camp, cleverly, is the new version’s base line, neutralizing that criticism. It turns out that the show once advertised vaguely (and threateningly) as “now and forever” — it ran on Broadway from 1982 to 2000 — works far better in a specific past.

That past is the world of drag balls, which at the time of the original “Cats” was beginning to achieve mainstream awareness. Madonna’s appropriation of the participants’ style and dance moves in her videos and concerts, as well as Jennie Livingston’s celebration of them in her documentary “Paris Is Burning,” helped pave the way for the supremacy of RuPaul and dragmania today. But beneath that triumph lay a darker truth: that the thrill of ball culture depended on its drawing extravagance from destitution, meeting prejudice with bravery, and staring down death with style.

The key insight of this “Jellicle Ball,” which opened on Thursday at the new downtown arts cube, is that at least some of those themes could resonate with Eliot’s subtext and Lloyd Webber’s score. The directors Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch have thus transported Grizabella, Skimbleshanks, Rum Tum Tugger and the rest from a metaphysical junkyard to a hotel ballroom for a vogueing competition, accompanied by new versions of the songs that go heavier on the synthesizers, turn some lyrics into raps and add a distinctive house beat.

It’s often a good fit. The former felines — now fantastically attired humans — compete in traditional categories, like Opulence and Hair Affair, that are to some degree matched to Eliot’s descriptions. The song “Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer,” for instance, pits those two “knockabout clowns” against the pairing of the balletic Victoria and the acrobatic Tumblebrutus in a showdown called Tag Team Performance.

Not that it is any easier to keep the cats straight just because they’re queer. The structure of the show doesn’t allow it. Hemmed in by the Eliot estate, Nunn could not add dialogue, making it difficult to flesh out any characters or encourage specific emotional investment. His solution was a bizarre framing device with late-1970s woo-woo overtones: The clan meets each year on the evening of the Jellicle moon so that their leader, Old Deuteronomy, can choose one lucky cat to ascend to the Heaviside Layer and be reborn.

That silliness didn’t help much. It remained difficult to keep Jellylorum and Sillabub apart or care about either. In revivals like the one on Broadway in 2016, let alone the dreadful 2019 movie, the material seemed fatally ludicrous.

And if “Jellicle Ball” doesn’t quite solve that problem, it succeeds in making it mostly irrelevant. The new frame allows you to feel something for the characters, at least as a group, even when you don’t know what’s going on, which is often. The design of the long, narrow room, with the audience surrounding a runway on three sides, is awkward in the way one imagines the balls were: You can’t see everything, you’re constantly craning, the sound (by Kai Harada) is blurry and some fuss or hilarity is always happening somewhere you missed.

Even so, we recognize Rum Tum Tugger (Sydney James Harcourt) far better now that he competes in the Realness and Body competitions. (He’s a smooth playah.) Gus, the theater cat, is a more instantly recognizable type as performed by Junior LaBeija, the M.C. of the “Paris Is Burning” ball, as a catty old queen who, though “no longer a terror” can still throw ample shade. And it takes little more than the arrival of André De Shields, with his unsurpassed ability to freeze attention onstage, to show us that Old Deuteronomy is a Moses.

It helps, too, that he’s given a glowing Ten Commandments-like set of tablets, and that he’s dressed (by Qween Jean) in royal purple topped by a gigantic matching lion’s mane (by Nikiya Mathis). Indeed, the wonderfully over-the-top design of the show is as important as the concept itself in filling out the vast blanks of the characters as written. Enjoyable as that is in itself, the chief benefit of the physical staging (on sets by Rachel Hauck, with lighting by Adam Honoré and projections by Brittany Bland) is that it grounds the performative mayhem on the runway in a real environment that suggests the struggles of real lives.

Among other things, this rescues the nominal star role, Grizabella, from bathos. A faded “glamour cat” seeking the reincarnation nod, she has no other function in the original story, not even suspense. (We know she’s going to be chosen because she keeps popping up to sing fragments of “Memory.”) But here, in smeary makeup, a ratty fur and carrying a tarnished old trophy, scrambling about the outskirts of the action, we see at a glance the pain of an outsider now exiled from the place she’d once been safe. Especially as played by Chasity Moore, known in the ball world as Tempress, that pain feels authentic.

That is not something that ever occurred to me in watching the old-school “Cats.” At best the Broadway show felt like a stoned oratorio about nothing, with a dog’s breakfast of song styles including ear-wormy music hall, grating electronica and the occasional Gilbert and Sullivan chorale. (The choral singing here, under the direction of William Waldrop, is gorgeous.) Likewise, the original choreography, by the Royal Ballet star Gillian Lynne, seemed totally random despite its supposedly catlike footwork. The athletic vogueing created for this production by Arturo Lyons and Omari Wiles, sometimes blended with throwbacks to Lynne’s classical style, is instead perfectly tailored to its milieu, and thrilling besides.

I should say at this point that, no, I haven’t turned into a fan of the show itself, the one you can see at your community theater or license for your high school. I don’t believe musicals should need whisker consultants. But as happens occasionally, the right idea can transform the wrong material. If “Cats: The Jellicle Ball” has managed a Grizabella turn, reincarnating itself in fabulousness, do not expect an 18-year run or, pardon me, copycat productions. It’s a lightning strike: not now and forever but now and once.

(Honestly, I'd respect this guy more if he came out and said 'I'm taking money to pretend to review the new show but actually am just regurgitating 40 years of The Smart, Cultured Critics Hate CATS.')

[taleofturtleclan]

MOON 11

Dustjump blinked slowly down at the body of the young cat before her. The sounds of her mourning companions filled her ears, mixing together into a crescendo of grief and loss. She’d swore to herself she would never lose another cat. Not after that night on the ship when they’d lost nearly everything. She’d fought with all she had in her to save Foam and Brokenmast, and when she’d succeeded it had felt good. Powerful. Like perhaps she could keep them all alive if she just worked hard enough. With Currentheart, she hadn’t even had the chance to try. 

Tidechaser had strode into camp in the pouring rain, pelt plastered to his sides, the water making the huge tom look so much smaller than he usually did. Sand had been trailing behind him, tail dragging in the mud and head low, looking like he’d just experienced the wreck anew. Dustjump hadn’t even needed to see the bloodied ginger fur of the cat across Tidechaser’s shoulders to know that another tragedy had caught up to them at last. It had been something called a boar, Tidechaser had told them. They’d never ventured this close to the coast before, but now that one was here, they all needed to be more cautious. Dustjump had barely heard a word he said, too absorbed with the loss of the young, energetic tom.

 For a while, it seemed like they could have made a life here. Had that been anything more than a grand illusion? There were no kits among them now. Many of the cats in their group were young, but in time, they would age and die as well, if disease or bloodshed or strange accidents like the one today didn’t take them first. And then everything they had built would be gone, nothing more than dust on the wind, with no-one left to remember that their paws had ever left prints on these dunes. The cats that had died on the ship had been the same. Her housefolk had been the same. They’d all been taken away, and when Dustjump was gone, everything she’d known about them would vanish, like they’d never even existed at all. It was a sad, bleak fate that they all shared. Dustjump wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so hopeless or alone, not even after the night of the wreck. What do we do now? If we’re all going to fade into nothing, why bother trying at all?

Dustjump felt a shifting under her feet and snatched her paw back with a hiss. She expected to see one of the little crabs that scurried across the beach without end. Annoying, painful, even, if they got you in the right place, but not particularly harmful. What she saw was too odd and dark to be a crab. She peered down into the sand, gazing deep into the creature's strange face and dark, shining eyes. She didn’t have long to look, though, because as soon as it had shaken itself free of the sand, it began pushing away with its strange, pawless limbs. Dustjump felt a spark of recognition. It was the flippers that gave it away. It was a turtle. She had seen a few in greenleaf up on the beaches, digging around in the sand. She hadn’t gotten close enough to see what they’d been doing then, but Dustjump supposed that the emergence of this strange, disproportionate little turtle indicated that they’d been kitting. Or whatever it was that turtles did. The little turtle finally disappeared over the rise of the dune, and Dustjump let her gaze linger where it had vanished. She wondered, vaguely, where it was going. Then she felt another nudge at her paw. Dustjump looked down to find the sand nearly churning beneath her paws as turtle after turtle fought its way free of the earth. How big are their litters, she thought in dismay. A few even emerged from under Currentheart’s body, and she could just make out her campmates murmuring to one another in confusion and discomfort.

There were so many of the creatures, coming out all over the place, scrambling in every direction. It felt almost disrespectful to Currentheart and the vigil they had been trying to hold. She was about to suggest moving their fallen friend when the little creatures, previously flailing about every which way in a chaotic display of confusion and fear, began to turn, one by one and in groups, all in the direction that the first turtle had vanished. Then they started pushing forward in a desperate struggle, as though something was calling them, guiding them…��

Dustjump’s breath caught in her throat. The words of the legend Tidechaser had shared moons ago rang in her ears: “if ever you or your descendents are lost on the way to the Realm of Stars, me and my kin will seek you out…” Dustjump inhaled sharply as Tidechaser spoke the words she’d been thinking into existence once more. “...and guide you on your way.”

Dustjump didn’t give herself time to think or doubt. She heard the yowls of shock and question behind her, and realized that she was already on her paws, already running. She didn’t stop to explain, she couldn’t stop. Please understand, she implored them in her mind. Please follow. 

Tidechaser must have taken off at the same moment she had, or heartbeats after, because he was beside her now, pulling in front of her. Oh no you don’t! She increased her pace, pushing faster, faster. She had to be there first. She didn’t know why she was so certain, she just knew. They set a brutal, paw-pounding pace over the dunes, kicking up sand in their wake. Up and down the dunes they went, following the trails of the tiny, dark turtles crawling towards the open sea. Dustjump’s jaws were wide now, her breathing heavy as her lungs ached with effort. When was the last time she’d run like this? The night of the wreck? No, she’d been too exhausted. Maybe never. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered, but not in the hopeless, soul-sucking sense she’d felt when she’d lost everything on that fateful night. Right here, right now, nothing else mattered, because this moment was so immense, so important that it swallowed everything else up. Her whole life, everything she’d ever known had been building to this moment.

They crested the rise of the last dune, looking down upon a beach alive with motion as hundreds of tiny turtles struggled towards a sea dancing with white starlight like it was their destiny. On another night, the site would have been breathtaking, but tonight Dustjump barely stopped to glance at it. She knew that her tiny companions would not mind. They were all striving towards the same vast ocean.

Dustjump reached the water heartbeats before Tidechaser did, both of them skidding to a stop on the wet sand, the gentle ebb and flow of the tide washing over their paws.The clouds had cleared, and the starlight was bright on the water now, nearly blinding in its brilliance. Dustjump took a deep breath and let her heart, not her mind, guide her.

“Currentheart, Pearl… I’m sorry it took me so long to understand. But I’m here now. And I’m ready to listen.”

The starlight on the water shifted, trembled, swirled, seemed to rise up out of the ocean to rest above it. And then they were before her. Dustjump gasped, and heard Tidechaser’s sharp inhale of breath beside her. They were beautiful. The memory of the dull, glassy-eyed corpse amidst the dunes above was obliterated by this vibrant young cat that seemed to radiate life and strength. Eyes shining with white fire, stars glittering in his pelt, he dipped his head to her. The cat beside him was no less resplendent, her ginger pelt glossy and thick with its own stars, a serene expression resting gently on her face. She swept her tail around her paws and spoke. “We are pleased to greet you, Dustjump and Tidechaser. We have been waiting.” Pearl’s voice was still her own, but there was a strength to it, a resonance that had not been present in life. Dustjump bowed her head before them, struck momentarily speechless by their majesty.

Thankfully, Tidechaser voiced the words that she could not seem to formulate. “How… how is this possible? The legend said… but I never suspected…” 

“All legends have a kernel of truth somewhere,” Currentheart responded, his voice echoing with light and life, “this one had more than most.”

Pearl’s starry gaze fixed on something behind Dustjump. The others must have followed us, after all. She turned to face her companions to a chorus of sound. Some exclamations were surprised, some confused, a few scared. Shell had clearly led the group, standing stock still a few paces ahead of them now, her eyes blown wide. “Currentheart… Pearl… I… Dustjump, what is going on?”

Dustjump opened her jaws to reply, but her words were drowned out by a howl so filled with grief and love and longing that it took her breath away. Sand barreled past Shell, past Dustjump and Tidechaser to collapse before the starry figure of Currentheart in a bundle of trembling cream colored fur. “Currentheart, Currentheart I’m so sorry, it should’ve been me, you shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way!”

“The choice was mine to make, my teacher, my friend,” Currentheart’s words were gentle, but firm. “I would make the same choice if I could go back to that moment, knowing what would happen.”

“It isn’t fair,” Sand moaned, “that I should live only by your loss. How am I supposed to live with that?”

“You do not live by my loss. You live by my gift. That which was freely given, out of love. Do not waste the life I saved by bemoaning the other paths fate might have taken. Honor that gift by living your life fully, by being true to yourself, by caring for those around you.”

Dustjump stood beside Sand now, brushing her tail over his spine in a soothing gesture. The trembling stopped, and he drew in a long, shaky breath. “I’ll try,” he promised. “I’ll be the best cat I can be, and I’ll make you proud.”

“I’ll be watching over you, always.” Currentheart purred.

Dustjump hated to break in, but Tidechaser seemed to have no such compunctions. “Is that how this works then? When cats die they watch over us from the Realm of Stars, just like in the stories? And we can just talk to them whenever we want?” Pearl considered an answer, but Tidechaser didn’t give her time to formulate one, his tone growing suspicious, hostile. “I… I tried to reach you, once. When Wavehopper died. I sat for hours, staring at the sea night after night, talking to the air, hoping, praying that I would reach her. Why didn’t it work then, if it works now? Where is she?”

Oh, Tidechaser. Dustjump wondered if she would ever know everything there was to this cat she considered her friend.

Pearl sighed, her tail tip twitching. “There are a number of reasons you couldn’t reach her. It would take all night to explain all of them. But the biggest part of it is community. What you all have built here on this beach, with cats supporting one another, learning and growing and sharing experiences, is something very special. You are all part of something greater than yourselves, a great web of connections. You each have a unique bond to every other cat here, you each know small details about one another that perhaps no other cat knows. And most importantly, you share memories of one another. That kind of closeness–even to cats you lack a deep personal connection with–it doesn’t just vanish when a cat leaves the mortal realm to walk the stars. That thread of the web may be gone, but the threads that surrounded it, the memories that those still living share with the dead, those things linger, and it is that which keeps a spirit connected to the world of the living.”

“So?” Tidechaser growled, “I haven’t forgotten Wavehopper. I think about her every day. Are you saying I didn’t love her enough to keep her here?”

“Tidechaser,” Dustjump hissed a warning, but Pearl gestured with her tail to show that she took no offense.

“Tidechaser, which tree is less likely to fall? One with a single thick root, or one with many branching roots?

“One with branching roots,” Tidechaser growled,” but I don’t see why–”

“Connections between the living and dead work the same way,” Currentheart interrupted, his voice deep but gentle. “Many connections anchor a cat more closely to the living world than a single one, no matter how deep it runs.”

Tidechaser fell silent, his shoulders slumping.

“That does not mean your sister is lost, Tidechaser,” Pearl added gently. “She waits for you in our realm–the Realm of the Stars. You will see her again when you join us.”

Tidechaser nodded silently, his tirade at an end.

“So you’re saying that… because we all knew you two, and because we all know each other, we’re…linked?” Dustjump felt callus, moving the conversation away from Tidechaser’s sister, but she was desperate to understand what the starry cats were saying. Pearl nodded, and Dustjump continued. “And cats outside of this… this Clan of ours still walk the stars, they just aren’t tethered to our world?” 

“Clan,” Pearl purred, “that is the perfect name for it. Other cats have formed Clans, in other places, other times. This will be the first Clan to live along these shores, though. Yes, Dustjump, you understand my meaning very well. I was right to choose you. When the cats of your living Clan die, young or old, they will come and join our group in the stars–StarClan.”

“StarClan…” Dustjump breathed. The word felt powerful, felt right. Then the rest of Pearl’s words caught up to her. “Wait–you said you chose me? For what?”

“To be the first intermediary between us and your living Clan,” Pearl announced proudly. “It is a duty commonly given to a Clan’s Healer–though there have been other titles, should you prefer them– Star Seeker, Seer, Medicine Cat…” 

“Healer!” Dustjump blurted out. “I like Healer. It’s what I am, it’s what I do.” The other names also made her head spin with the implications, but she didn’t want to say that out loud. A Healer… she could be a Healer. “But why do you need an intermediary? You’ve appeared to us all tonight, why not continue to do that?” 

Pearl shook her head sadly. “Tonight is a rare night– the sky is clear, the moon is high, and we have only recently passed the Longest Night, and our realms are still close to one another. It is easier to touch your realm now than it otherwise will be. Even so, to appear to so many cats outside of the Longest Night is not an easy task. It is far easier to find a single cat to speak to–a cat who holds dear the memories of those who have passed, who is willing to follow her heart and listen to the whispers on the wind. When we wish to speak, we will most frequently speak with you. In dreams and in signs we will most often reach you, but if you need us, search for us in the reflections of the stars on the water, and we will come.”

Dustjump dipped her head, honored by their faith in her. “I will be ready to listen when you call,” she promised humbly.

Pearl turned her blazing gaze away from Dustjump, focusing on Shell, who sat up straighter. “And you, dear Shell… oh, what can I even say? I am so proud of you.” There was a fondness in Pearl’s voice that had been present for no other cat, and Dustjump wondered at the bond they shared. “You have been the North Star to the survivors, guiding them through the wreck and helping them build a new life here. Shell is no more, for I name you Shellstar, guiding light of your Clan. Think carefully on the cat you wish to lead the Clan next, and make them your deputy, so that even after you are gone, the Clan will not be without a guiding star.” 

“Shellstar,” Dustjump breathed her friend’s new name like a prayer, and swept through the rest of the survivors like a gentle breeze. 

“Shellstar, Shellstar, Shellstar…” 

“Cats of the shipwreck, survivors, warriors,” Pearl raised her voice to address the rest of the group as the whispers of Shellstar’s new name faded out. “We led you here tonight to show you that what is lost is never truly gone, so long as you keep faith and hold it in your hearts. You are more than you were when you arrived on this beach– you are a Clan, and a Clan supports its members through all manner of hardship. But each Clan must have a name that defines it–a name that binds its members together through meaning and memory. By what name do you wish to be called?”

Unlike when Currentheart had been named, there was no discussion amongst the onlookers, no pondering of options. This name would define not a single cat, but every cat among them, as well as their descendents far into the future. To put forth an option that you lacked absolute conviction in was unthinkable. You either knew the Clan’s name, or you didn’t.

And Dustjump knew.

“TurtleClan!” The word ripped free of her chest like a bird taking flight, like something she’d held inside her heart for moons finally breaking free. “We are TurtleClan, always striving towards the sea and the stars, honoring those who came before us with our every breath.”

Silence.

And then cheers. “TurtleClan! TurtleClan! TurtleClan! TURTLECLAN!” 

Currentheart raised his tail for silence, and the cheering slowly faded out. It was Pearl who spoke. “Cats of TurtleClan, we implore you to live truly, to care for one another, and to act with honor until it is your time to join us in StarClan. We are with you always, through your pains and glories, through high and low, times both harsh and kind. Never forget where you came from, or all that you have gone through to get there.”

It was a farewell, and they all knew it. On the distant horizon, Dustjump could make out the slightest lightening of the sky. The night was coming to a close, and the stars would soon fade into dawn. “Go in peace,” Dustjump whispered. “I will be ready to receive your messages, when you are ready to share them.”

The StarClan cat’s eyes sparkled with joy and fulfillment as the silver stars in their pelts winked out one by one, and their forms faded into mist. The cats remained on the shoreline long after the spirits had faded, staring out across the ocean as the sun rose for the first time on TurtleClan.

[dolletterandomsz]

Fun fact: Dolly was born with paws at the bottom of her feet just like her mother ! :]

Edit: I forgot her holes. .

Whenever she walks on mud, or sand, it makes a paw print!

Like this, for example :]

( These shoes look so kewl, I want them. . )

[evesaintyves]

for @remadoramicrofics October 2nd prompt, "cat"

995 words. Read it below or on AO3 😻

Earlier in the week, she was complaining about her flatmate— she's so annoying, up at the arsecrack of dawn every morning making noise, always wants a bite of my dinner; like, no! Get a job and buy your own! Merlin's tits, the cheek on her— so the first time he assents to going back to hers for one last drink, he glances around her narrow flat with its shoe-pile, its wallpaper of black-and-white gig flyers, and asks if anyone else is home. Tonks is curled up next to him on her hibiscus-printed couch, a refugee from the seventies just like him, and it would be unseemly to be found like this, might even pop the bubble of flattery and delusion that floated him all the way here. 

Oh yeah, she says. Vivienne's in the bathroom. She ticks her wand in the air, the bathroom door clicks ajar and around it winds a calico cat, tail aloft. You're behind on the rent, Tonks says icily. By about... thirty-two months.

The cat stops, dainty paw in the air, and gives her a look of big-eyed surprise, like, no, your maths are off, and Tonks hops up, scoops the cat into her arms, buries her face in her fur.

Rubbish flatmate. A loud squeaking kiss. As soon as Tonks sets her down, the cat leaps onto the sofa and settles herself on Remus's lap. He gives her a stroke from ears to tail; she nuzzles her head against his shirt buttons.

Weird, says Tonks. She's a total dick about strangers.

Oh?

Yeah. She squints at him. You must be special or something.

Remus scratches Vivienne under her chin. Her eyes close, slowly. Well, Vivienne, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Tonks drapes herself back into the warm spot she's left next to him on the couch. She's not touching him, but she is almost touching him. If he could only relax, he might sink back into the cushions with her, try out an arm slung over the back of the couch. Try out a touch of the wisps of hair that have come untucked from behind her ears. But he can't. He's stiff with anxiety. Because what if he's wrong about what any of this means: the way she straightens his collar, the way she tells him I've missed you this week.

You've had a cat before, she says. No question.

Vivienne has rolled to let him pet her tufted belly. The quickness to trust has thrown him off-balance. Both the cat and the girl.

When I was very small, he tells her.

Tonks just looks at him over the rim of her glass. She has this way of staring like she's silently daring him to do something. That's projection, surely. She's a sweet girl. She can't have half an idea what she does to him. And he's misrepresented himself, in his practiced-automatic way, as a normal person. Someone worthy of trust. It's dangerous, he wants to tell her, to be so open with someone like him.

Rupert was his name— Remus blurts this out instead— he was missing most of one of his ears. I remember I had this idea that he'd gotten in a fight with a Chimaera—perhaps my father joked about it. Rupert wasn't actually the fighting type, I think. We had mice in the kitchen all the time. I remember Dad—we were hinkypunk-spotting on the River Usk, crawling around in the mud and the reeds—telling me: 'pretend you're Rupert chasing a mouse.' Meaning, stay back, don't get too close and frighten them off.

Tonks throws her head back and snorts.

Vivienne's the same. I swear I've seen her lose a fight to a dead moth.

Yes, Remus says, rubbing the cat behind her ears. She seems quite gentle.

Did Rupert... do a runner? Or...?

Remus frowns.

I don't actually know. By the time I was five or six he wasn't there anymore.

There's a slight tremor in his breath—it's the first he's ever really thought about it. He thinks he might know why. But those things go in the tight cupboard at the bottom of his mind, and he does his best not to rummage back there.

I don't remember much from that time, he admits with a mouth of cotton.

Tonks reaches out, slowly, the way you'd reach to touch a wild animal, and brushes her fingers against his cheek.

Molly and Arthur have come to see Teddy, and Dora has graciously given them the side of the sofa that doesn't have a long white streak of baby sick crusted into it. Remus is up and making tea, rinsing carpet-hairs off the dummy at the kitchen sink. Cheers, love, Dora says, sweet and tired, when he lifts the baby's head from her shoulder to swap out the burp cloth for a dry one. She presses her cheek to his forearm and asks for another cup of tea.

From the kitchen he hears the groan of the bathroom door, and then, a moment later, Molly's oh goodness, who is this? He smiles to himself, tweezing three sugars into Dora's cup. Viv's been a bit jealous since Teddy was born, always making figures-of-eight around Remus's ankles while he's walking Teddy through his colicky nights.

When he turns around, Viv is draped over Arthur's lap with her head nuzzling the crook of his elbow.

Oh yeah, Dora is laughing, she's a total slut. She'll let anyone have a feel. She'll probably try to go home with you.

Remus stops in the doorway and the spoon rattles in the teacup. Dora turns to look, and on her face there's half a smile: not as much like she's been caught as much as she's daring him to say something about it.

She winks. Teddy's little legs kick inside his sleep sack.

Remus sets the cup of tea beside her and strokes the baby's fuzz of sea-green hair.

It's true, he says, grinning.

image 1: kees van dongen, woman with cat

image 2: inagaki tomoo, cat

[brainpal-gachapon]

Hi! @steven-mudverse here, just wanted to thank you for reposting Altpackgenic and the pack for Haüyne they have been amazing to have around!

if possible, could I request another pack for a headmate that is meant to be a MUD holder / based off MUDs? Any and all sections can be creator choice!

Hope it's okay but actually stole a few things from your blog for this (MUDs and transids you reblogged or coined lol)!

You may also like this! It's also where i got the rest from!

Also sorry i got onto cats and leaned HARD into it lol. Hopefully that's ok!

Name(s): Love, Cat, Allie, Calico, Cougar, Feline, Gigi, Kat, Luna, Midnight, Nala, Lynx, Tora, Freya, Claw

Prns: she/her, MUD/MUDS, cat/cats, kitty/kittens, fang/fangs, blep/bleps, loaf/loafs, sleepy/sleepys, mew/mur, purr/purrs, paw/print, claw/claws, mrrow/mrrows, whisk/whisker, play/plays, wow/wows, cute/cutes, paw/paws, baby/babys, fur/baby, fuzz/fuzzz, cozy/cozies, head/butt, mrow/mrows, kit/kits, nya/nyas, fluff/fluffy

Gender(s): catgender, neurogender, autigender, kittengender, lovegender, cutegender, sleepycatgender

Species: Chronodog (transkitten)

TransID(s): transpicrew, transcatears, transcattail, transRefugeHoldingSyndrome/RHS, transfultleader, transDeteriorated BrainAgeDisorder/DBAD, transFlashMemoryStressDisorder/FMSD, transPartialLanguageAmnesiaDisorder/PLAD, transDamagedSoul, transcrystalpupils, transmulticoloreyes, TransRobloxBody, transpetregresser, SOUNDiAN, albinvitiligo, creamapplepiescentian, transkittenteeth, transkitten, permacollared

MUDs: False Limp Conduction (FLC), Hyper-Sensory Perception Disorder (HSPD), Music Instability Disorder (MID), Hemogenic Anemia Syndrome, Pessimistic Multiplex Identity Disorder (PMID), Short Lived psychosis Disorder, Persona mirror disorder, Hyper-sexual Fantasy Disorder (HFD, HsFD, HSFD, HF), Food Aggression Disorder (FAD), Chronic Psychogenic Phantom Pain Disorder, (CPPPD / C3PD)

Age: chrono5 (human years but 36), but transkittenage (2 months old)

Source(s): n/a

[clutteredeclipse]

If anyone says differently, fuck them!!

(⚠️⚠️⚠️: Slight TW for mentions of @bu$3, bullying, and enby/transphobia; apologies if the characters are ooc, and spoilers for chapter 2 of drdt!)

Is this really ok for me to do? What if someone sees me like this?

Nico found themself in the dress-up room, looking at themself in the mirror while wearing a baby blue knee-length skirt with a paw print pattern trim at the bottom. They have always wanted to wear something cute like this, but they have always been berated for even trying to do so.

I really like this skirt… but what if someone else spots me and starts judging me? What if-

Nico’s mind started to spiral, going over memories and memories of the awful (to say the least) things people have done to them in the past. Throwing objects like rocks and mud at their clothes, repeatedly yelling slurs and insults at them, and even shoving and hitting them at times.

“You’re not normal.” “Why can’t you just be normal like other kids?” “Stop this ‘non-binary’ nonsense!” “Hey, what’s next, you’re going to identify as an attack helicopter?!” “Stop whining like a child and start acting like a man.” “Hey f****t, you know you’re going to hell, right?” “Well maybe they wouldn’t have done those things to you if you were just normal.”

Normal

These seemingly never-ending memories of constant abuse kept racing through their mind while they glared at themself and the skirt. They took another deep breath, wrapping their arms around their body in a hug-like manner and stiffening their body a bit. They were experiencing a whole lot of different emotions all at once; relief that they were finally able to do what they wanted to do for a while; nervousness about what the others might think or say if they saw them wearing it; and some other emotions which they couldn’t describe even if they wanted to.

They did a couple twirls in the skirt, though making sure not to expose anything, they couldn’t help but smile a little while seeing themself like this. However, they somehow failed to notice that a certain blue haired girl saw them. The moment Arei caught sight of them, she began to quietly creep up behind the unaware ravenette. When she was just inches away, she jumped up from behind and suddenly, but also teasingly, whined, “Ehhhh? You were seriously trying on cute clothes without *me*??”

Her abruptness had startled Nico.

“E-EEK?!” They yelped in startlement, though they didn’t actually hear exactly what she had said. “I-I..” they stammered. Oh no.. what do I do?! Is she going to judge me? Is she going to yell at me? Is she going to.. to..

“Well? Are you going to just stand there or are we going to have our own fashion show here?” The bowler perked up.

Huh? She’s not mad?

Nico slowly relaxed their body, but their eyes were still wide with shock, or rather surprise. A situation with this outcome has never happened to them before, so they didn’t know how to react to what Arei had just asked. Though she had already started to look through the racks and pulling out some clothes for them both to try on. “W-Wait.. you’re.. not mad?”

“Ehh? Why would I be? I finally have my own plaything! C’mon, I just grabbed all these clothes! Don’t leave me hanging here!” It took a moment before Nico managed to snap out of their initial shock. “Helloooo? Is anyone in there?” Arei put the clothes she once carried on a nearby chair, then knocked on their forehead, which made them flinch.

Nico then shook their head and uttered out a response. “Right. Sure. Let’s play.” They just went along with her antics. Arei took some of the clothes from the pile she grabbed and went into a changing room. A short time later, she came out in a pastel purplish-blue off shoulder sundress with a large bow at the back and twirled around in it. “Well? Aren’t I just the cutest?” Arei rhetorically asked.

Nico was still unsure of what to make of all this. “W-wait.. so, you’re not mad I’m wearing a skirt?” They repeated.

“Are you deaf or stupid? I said that I was mad you were trying on cute clothes without me! J’s fun to tease but she refuses to play with me, Whit is always hanging out with Charles, and everyone else is basically either utterly insane or just lame and boring. But anyways, why exactly would I care about some dumb petty gender roles like that?”

Because that’s what people always do. Is what Nico wanted to say, but they decided to just keep that to themself. “Well, I’ve actually always wanted to wear something cute like this, though everyone would just end up getting mad at me for it.”

Arei stopped for a moment and looked at the pet therapist, then turned her head away for a moment, then looked back at them again. It looked as if she was going to say something meaningful, but then went back on it.

“why would you give a single shit about what other people say? Honestly, if someone said that to me, I would’ve gone full on girly just to piss them off.” The bluenette huffed.

Nico didn’t know how to respond to that, but they thought about it. They would like to be themself and dress how they wanted to, but wouldn’t that mean they would still most likely be forced to go through the same abuse and judgment they already endured, if not more? They hated being judged. They hated being scorned by everyone around them just for wanting to be themself. They hated it so much. Hate was too inadequate of a word to describe it, but it was the only word they could think of.

Why me? They constantly thought to themself. “I-I can’t…” the ravenette accidentally said aloud.

“Huh? Can’t what?”

Oops. “A-ah um…” they tried to force out what was on their mind. “I’ve actually tried to do something similar before; but the clothes that I was wearing at the time were ruined because everyone threw clumps of mud at me and also kept shoving me down.” Nico hid their face as they spilled out those words.

Arei couldn’t help but retract herself while staring at them with a horrified expression. To think that Nico had gone through something similar to what Arei’s sisters had put her through when she was younger. She couldn’t help but feel empathy for the anxiety ridden enby. To her, being mean to others was a lot easier than being nice, but even in her own warped mind, there was no way she could ever say anything malicious as a response to something like that. Though she still felt like she had to say something to them.

“…fuck everyone else.”

This one line took Nico aback. “E-eh?”

“I said.. fuck everyone else! I’ve been around some real shitty people, but I’ve never actually met such a stupid bigot like that in person. Honestly speaking, I can’t even imagine how some people get all pissy over something as basic as some pronouns or some pieces of sewn-together fabric. You should be able to dress however you want; and if anyone says differently, fuck them!!”

Nico has had some similar ideations, but to hear someone else say it out loud genuinely rendered them speechless, and, truth be told, it made them wonder if she got some tips from David on this sort of thing. They admit, it was a little cheesy for the sassy bowler to say something like that, and yet, though it was only for a moment, it was like her words helped relieve some of the anxiety and stress that was weighing down on them earlier. Nico just looked at her for a moment, stunned, then, as their facial expression softened, the introvert walked towards the blue eyed girl and wrapped their arms around her, embracing Arei into a hug.

“T-Thank you. Those words mean a lot.” The pet therapist spoke through sniffles. Arei’s back was slightly arched as she looked down towards the one hugging her. It took a second before she slowly reciprocated the hug as well. They both stayed like that for a little while before letting go. The minute they let each other go, Arei quickly switched up the atmosphere.

“Alright enough of this sappy shit. I just grabbed a massive pile of clothes and I don’t feel like hanging them all back up. Are we going to have our own fashion show or what?”

And the two did just that. They both proceeded to try on multiple outfits while rating each individual one, and they both had a blast while doing so.

Both of them had gained a mutual feeling of relief from this, though for different reasons. Nico, for the fact that now they know that they can be, or in this case dress, however they want without being judged for it, and Arei, for the reason that she finally found someone she can relate to on a more personal level; that she’s not alone within this corrupted world.

For now, since they are all still trapped in this weird situation, nobody is able to reach out to either of them. Although that fact might be unfortunate for the most part, as long as Nico and Arei are both with each other, they don’t need to worry about any of their tormentors from the outside. As long as they have each other, there’s nothing either of them have to worry about.

Word count: 1583

A.N.: Ahhh this is my first fanfic! Hope whoever’s reading this enjoys it!🤞🏼

[sotcwcrp]

SECRETS OF THE CLANS, JANUARY OPENING!

In celebration of our January 14th - January 28th opening, we're going to be highlighting each of the clans, to give you a better idea of what they're like / how different they are from the books!

Last and certainly nor least, our clan is...

RiverClan

ART CREDITS: carnationcarnivore on discord!

A chorus of joint laughter rings in your ears, betrayed by paws who couldn’t grip on the slippery stones, a flushed face erupts from the burbling water - though an embarrassed snicker escapes your throat, you immediately shake out that drenched pelt and relish in the playful shrieks of those same Clanmates who were giggling earlier. Almost spurred on by the whimsical river, having hunting patrols turn into splash fights was a common occurrence here.

To be your eyes into RiverClan Territory, Granitewish a Riverclan waterweaver is here to interview some of her clanmates! Take it away Granitewish!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Tell me a bit about RiverClan territory!"

 "RiverClan territory? It's awesome, filled to the brim with unique fish, beautiful flowers, and...water! So many streams, ponds, pools, and rivers. I love to just forget everything and swim in the calm waters. Even though we don't have many trees, we can still cool off in greenleaf! It's refreshing to get soaked after a hot, sunny day." — Cloudfish

Just as the river flows through the veins of every Riverclan cat, the waters that give the clan its name are the lifeblood of the land it calls home. Follow along the riverbend and you'll be greeted by a plethora of breathtaking sights; vibrant flowers warming their faces in the sun, shimmering waterfalls that glow in the moon's light. You could take a trip to the hot springs to warm your aching muscles and enjoy some tea with your clanmates, or maybe you'd prefer a relaxing swim in the harmonic creek? Whatever you decide, Riverclan has enough to offer to keep anyone busy the whole day through; from the bustle of fish-filled waters to the brush of luscious foliage against fur, its territory is a bright space alight with life. Some even say the land itself is alive, and if you keep quiet enough, you can hear its gentle breath in the trickle of the river.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“What's your favourite spot in RiverClan territory? Could you tell me a bit about why?”

"Hmmm... My favowite spot in the tewritory? Well, I think it has to be the healer's den... It's the first place I saw when I arrived in WiverClan! I still go there often to see Cypwesswatcher!" — Goldfishpaw

Duck through an archway of sedge, and you'll be greeted by the den in which Riverclan's Healers do their work. An abandoned burrow at the base of an ancient tree, it isn't remarkable upon first glance. But, stick your head inside and you'll be greeted by rows upon rows of carefully cultivated herbs hanging from the walls, with rows of nests resting beneath - that is, if Cypresswatcher's piercing gaze doesn't catch your eye first. Riverclan's Healers have dedicated their lives to the health of their clanmates, and it isn't a position they take lightly; so, if you ever find yourself injured or sick, then be sure to pay them a visit! (And yes, this includes that scrape you've been ignoring...)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“What's a favourite memory you have that's taken place on RiverClan territory?”

“My absolute favorite?? Aw that’s hard I love so many memories.. uhmm… ok ok I got one! My favorite memory is when Ebonhaze and I went to the siren’s cove together, and we left our paw prints in some of the mud. We’ve been doing it since we were apprentices and it’s like a little visual reminder in the world of our lov- I mean our friendship! Ahem- uh next question please." — Kiwiheart

The siren's cove is a perfect spot for Riverclan's romantic melodies, in a secluded cave surrounded by the river, echoes against the walls give promise to any yearning warrior who wants to perfect their courtship harmony. Both romantic and platonic love are deeply valued in the hearts of Riverclan cats, and a large variety of customs are enough proof to back this! Family dens, woven together with moss, reeds and brambles host a variety of loving relationships, from a couple and their kits, to platonic soulmates, their shared den is decorated to celebrate their interests and mutual affections. Specific courtship rituals, similar to that of the songs in sirens cove-- go into flamboyant and earnest declarations of romantic confessions, a bouquet of flowers to be woven into one's nest to announce the start of a relationship followed by the finding of a smooth rock from the river to commit to an engagement, there's no limit to how passionate a Riverclan warrior can be.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“What's one thing you'd like others to know about RiverClan's culture?”

“I think Riverclan places a lot of importance on its history, and sharing that through songs. Of course, not everyone can sing like a nightingale, but no one really minds that. At least I don't.” — Flopfeather

Riverclan is rich and deeply felt, taking artistic leaps into the depths of their culture. Song is not only for the romantic heart, but a tied connection to the very start of the clan. Tunes and lyrics are woven together to memorialize their history, passed down from generation to generation. Their admiration for the finer things continues to the bright blossoms across their territory, flowers of all types have meaning for more than den decoration and visual appreciation-- but flower language is often a hobby across waterweavers and shorekeepers a like, tied into their marriages, courting and formal attires. Territorial appreciation is not only carried to the rivers, but in the stars that reflect above. Riverclan has their own array of constellations, telling the story of the mighty Riverstar and even controversially-- starcrossed forbidden lovers.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“What's your opinion on your council?”

"Camelliastar is a really good leader, you can tell just how much he loves his Clan. Sunrise is a really fun cat to be around. And I spend so much time hanging out with the healers. One of them, Larchbounce, is even like a mother to me." — Ebonypaw Riverclans council over the last couple moons have seen much change and development from where it once was, but do not let that fool you- they are just as devout and just as willing to serve in any way that they can! Every day they work tirelessly to aid their clan and do what they must to keep riverclan going each and every day. That said at the head of the helm lies Riverclans own Camelliastar, taking leadership after Mudstar's (now Mudstorm's) retirement, he leads the clan in a different angle than most. Followed by his deputy, Sunrise, a boisterous and bashful cat. He often can be found jesting around camp and hyping up his clanmates with his bellowing height and voice. That said, riverclan follows their rule happily, happy with them in charge. That said, the healer team is also one of the most notable parts of Riverclans ranks. After all! Like all the healer teams, Riverclans are just as devoted to their work and helping their clan, and through and through have an utmost duty to their work. Though! They aren’t sticklers either! More rather than not, you can find them doing what any Riverclan cat might, sunbathing, hunting, and even weaving and other crafts! Making them cats, had you not known they were healers? You might have mistaken them for just another part of riverclans eclectic ranks!

[riotwritesthings]

Petrichor and Petcare

for the @starkbucksbingo​

Title: Petrichor and Petcare Collaborator Name: Riot Card Number: 325

Collaborator Name: GaySpaceSp<br /> Card Number: 317<br /> Square Filled: I3 - Rainbow

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42230331 Square Filled: B2 - "Is that my jacket?" Ship: Winteriron Rating: G Major Tags & Triggers: Fluff, ficlet, art, heart eyes, established relationship, shmoop Wordcount: 500

Summary: It shouldn't even be possible for Bucky to fall further in love, but walking through the city on a rainy Wednesday he somehow manages it

~

That’s right, me and the bro @gayspacesprinkles​ are bringing you more sappy heart eyes, because Bucky needed his turn too

~~~

“This is the weirdest cat in the world,” Tony says happily as they watch Alpine go splashing into another puddle of muddy water.

The lingering scent of rain hangs over the city streets, muffling everything else for a moment, and Bucky drags in another deep lungful of air as Alpine dashes off to the next puddle. Her white fur is already soaked in muddy water halfway up her tiny body, splattering all over the sidewalk and their legs as she leaps from one puddle into the next.

“I can’t decide if it’s weirder that she does this, or that she lets you give her a bath afterwards,” Tony continues, shifting the leash into his other hand as Alpine darts around them and nearly tangles them all up.

“She didn’t used to ‘let’ me bathe her,” Bucky says with a snort, “that was a whole other battle that I barely survived.”

“You were not almost defeated by a ball of fluff,” Tony says with a laugh that brings a wide smile to Bucky’s face, and he happily launches into the story as they continue wandering the post-storm streets of the city.

When Tony comes to an abrupt stop it pulls Bucky to a stop too, his arm still wound tightly around Tony's waist.

“Look look,” Tony says excitedly, leaning into Bucky’s side a little more heavily to make sure he has Bucky’s attention, and Bucky obediently turns his gaze up to the sky where Tony is looking.

There’s a large, double rainbow across the sky, stretched almost perfectly between two tall buildings, and Bucky feels his eyes widen slightly as he takes it in. He turns to Tony and instead finds himself staring at empty air for a second because Tony is in the middle of bending down to scoop Alpine into his arms, muddy puddle water and all.

“Well now you both need a bath,” Bucky says with a sign, and then something occurs to him and he demands “is that my jacket?”

“Of course it is,” Tony says dismissively, most of his attention on spinning slightly in place and trying to point Alpine’s face at the rainbows.

She’s more interested in trying to climb up onto his shoulder though, and Bucky can’t even pretend to be annoyed when he’s too busy laughing at the perfect brown paw print on Tony’s cheek.

“She deserves to see this!” Tony insists and when Alpine finally settles into his arms he tips her up a little to make sure she has a good view.

“Can cats even see color?” Bucky asks, looking up to admire the sky again himself.

“You should know that, she’s your cat!” Tony says with a laugh.

Bucky turns to look at him, a half formed accusation that she likes Tony more anyways already on his lips, but then his eyes land on Tony’s face and he loses all his words. Tony’s smile is small, but so real that it takes Bucky’s breath away, lighting up Tony’s eyes as he begins explaining light refraction to Bucky’s mud soaked cat.

For several long seconds Bucky can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare, his throat tight as warmth spreads through his chest, through his entire body.

There’s no telling how long they stand there before Alpine decides she’s had enough and hops down to go find the next puddle, but Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from Tony’s face until Tony gives him a warm grin and pulls him back into motion.

[thelibraryofremembrance]

*There was little muddy paw prints around the floor on the library and a few muddy feathers on the ground but surprisingly there was no clicking, it was silent for once.*

-🕰️

*Time was the first to notice the mud on the floor. He narrowed his eyes before looking to the front desk to see Debt with it's eyes closed. Snoozing away on the job? From someone who always told him to keep professional? Irritated, he hollered to her.*

Hey Debbie!

Hrm..?

We have a creature on the lose. Get up and help me find her.

Since when were you-

Now.

Okay okay okay-

[blind-seeing]

When she dreams electricity flickers through her body ,

twitching, chasing something unseen.

I think it is like a dance when she plays

I wonder what melodies she hears in the bird song

I follow her through the long grasses as she walks silently, I in her shadow, The Great cat

Rolling stripes on her neon back

Six fingers on her paw print in the mud by the water hole

In her quiet capability she is dignified, regal

Do you not see it in the pride with which she cleans herself, every hair in its place, one by one?

Graceful is her leap,

elegantly she strides,

Every muscle full of poise, a ballerina with a machete,

She tears through the shrub, making the way clear.

She wears no collar. Her name is her own. You will know her by her scent, or not at all.