#sunpatch

[fivepoolsclans-archive]

Redfern's Message

NEWLEAF - MOON 0 - YEAR 0

Figdream stretched as he crossed the threshold of the medicine cat den. The morning newleaf sun brought a warm glow to his golden pelt, and he was thankful for the relief it brought to his sleepy limbs. It was the dawn of a new day under new leadership; Rootstar’s naming ceremony had just been last night and she was already guiding cats to different patrol groups this morning. There was a dash of pride swelling in Figdream’s chest at the sight of the HavenClan leader, and knowing that she was up and doing her job made Figdream determined to get started on his.

His stores were running low on tansy and garlic, which meant he had to go out and fetch some more. Newleaf is young, so there shouldn’t be a problem finding any, he thought. He could always check for herbs around the abandoned Twoleg garden, some cobwebs from the ditches by the fallen log that marked the entrance to the training hollow, moss from the trees around the river–

A squeal sounded from the nursery den, startling Figdream from his thoughts. He padded curiously to the nursery, ears alert for sounds of distress. His fur began to lie flat when he realized it had only been Frogkit playing with Cragquiver and Sunpatch.

Cragquiver must have come to relieve Sunpatch of kit-sitting duties. Last night had been Sunpatch’s turn to watch over Frogkit, which meant Cragquiver would look after her this morning giving Sunpatch the chance to breathe fresher air. Currently, Sunpatch sat outside of the nursery entrance chuckling at the display of Frogkit pouncing on Cragquiver. Ah, Figdream thought, it must be another game of capture-the-warrior.

“Good morning,” Figdream mewed as he approached.

“Good morning Figdream,” purred Sunpatch, licking her whiskers and dipping down low for a stretch.

“Morning there,” Cragquiver grunted, scrunching his face as Frogkit batted at his nose. “Easy there. No claws, remember?”

Figdream chuckled and turned to Sunpatch, “I need to go out and search for herbs. Would you like to come with me?”

“Oh, would I!” Sunpatch shook herself and padded closer to Figdream. She glanced over her shoulder at the other two with a purr, “I’ve been cooped up in the nursery all day yesterday.”

“Then a walk sounds like something you’d need,” Figdream laughed and waved goodbye to the other two wrestling cats with his tail. He began padding out of camp with Sunpatch following close behind.

It was good to be out of the grotto where HavenClan called home. Sunlight filtered through the fresh green leaves and pink blossoms on the trees, leaving quaking dapple patterns on the ground. Birds were singing new yet familiar tunes, and it was still early enough for the crickets to join their song. The cool dew on the grass felt refreshing underpaw and cooling on the cats’ pelts. Taking in a deep breath, Figdream was certain that a walk was what he needed, too. The stress of last night finally seemed to be melting away. “It’s a beautiful morning,” Sunpatch commented, and he agreed.

The morning passed as well as Figdream could have hoped. As expected, there were plenty of herbs to gather at the Twoleg garden. Figdream instructed Sunpatch how to harvest what they needed. It was quiet and busy work, and soon enough both cats had an impressive pile of leaves and roots to take back to camp.

“Have you ever thought about taking on an apprentice?” Sunpatch asked when they had decided to take a break and clean themselves of dust and dirt.

“A bit,” Figdream admitted while licking a paw and swiping it over an ear. “There’s not enough young paws at camp for me to consider it very much.”

“What about Frogkit? She’s very smart.”

“Maybe, but that’s not a choice to make right now. There’s time to consider.”

“I’d love to mentor Frogkit,” Sunpatch purred. “I’d get to continue to watch her grow into a strong warrior.”

Figdream’s tail flicked dismissively, “You and Cragquiver do a good job raising her, but I think it’d be wiser for Frogkit to have someone else as a mentor. She needs to learn new skills and how to be on her own without you two carrying her paws.”

Sunpatch fell quiet for a heartbeat then, then glanced at the golden tabby tom warily. Figdream could see the sparks of insecurity settle in and sighed. Between her and Cragquiver breathed insecurity as much as they do air. “Do you think,” Sunpatch began, “we are being too overbearing on her?”

“No,” Figdream said simply, “But you can’t expect to be next to her all the time. She needs her own experiences and her own thoughts to think. She’s just a kitten now, but she won’t always be.”

Sunpatch narrowed her eyes and nodded as she tried to take Figdream’s words to heart. Figdream couldn’t help but feel some admiration for her. Sunpatch never had kits of her own, so he could see the challenge of raising someone else’s. He had no doubt that Sunpatch and Cragquiver would raise the orphaned kitten excellently and with as much love and care as if Frogkit were their own flesh and blood.

“Words to take to heart, no matter the cat,” came the purr of a new voice. Figdream glanced about, eyes wide until he found the source perched high in the branch of a tree. As soon as he caught her eye, he frowned deeply.

“What is it?” Sunpatch asked, leaning in. “Are you alright?”

“StarClan is here.”

Sunpatch looked startled, then glanced around as if she would be able to find any strange, starry cats. She began to lick her fur in an attempt at a last-minute groom. “Where? Who? Aren’t they supposed to visit us through their den at the Cave of Hidden Stars? Why are they here?”

Figdream’s ear flicked, but didn’t answer. Instead, he watched as the pretty white-and-brown speckled she-cat hopped down from the tree, her starry pelt twinkling. She cast no shadow, as if the sun couldn’t touch her.

Redfern.

Redfern was a very old StarClan member, one of the first from HavenClan. Figdream had never felt comfortable around her; she was a troublemaker, and too confident in her place as a guide to other cats. Her smug demeanor had never settled right with him, and Figdream didn’t like how she treated other cats around her– as if she saw herself as the leader of StarClan.

He gestured with his tail for Sunpatch to crouch down with him and tuck their paws beneath them so that they could more easily communicate with the StarClan guide.

“That’s not necessary,” Redfern said, “I’m only here to speak with you, Figdream. Sunpatch doesn’t need to know.”

“Then what do you want,” Figdream snapped, “and make it quick.”

“Moody today, aren’t we?” Redfern sat between the two cats and hooked her tail over her paws.

“It was a nice day, until you showed up.” Amusement danced in the ghostly cat’s eyes, though horror rooted in Sunpatch’s at Figdream’s disrespect. He ignored it; he didn’t have to like Redfern, and he was not afraid to make it known. “What do you need to talk to me about?”

Redfern licked her paw and drew it over herself casually, “I have a prophecy to share.” Her pale blue eyes landed on Figdream. His hackles raised under her smug gaze. Sunpatch touched his side with the tip of her tail, and he was reminded that there are things bigger here than his distaste for the rude she-cat. He nodded for Redfern to continue, ignoring the satisfied smirk on her muzzle.

“Destruction falls when one becomes five.”

“Hm,” Figdream grunted, “How vague, as always.”

“What did they say?” Sunpatch’s eyes were wide.

“Things I’ll have to discuss with Rootstar about.” Figdream pushed himself to his paws.

“Leaving so soon?” Redfern teased.

“Well, do you have anything else to tell me?”

Redfern tilted her head with a smile, “No. Just be sure to remember my words.” She stood up and began to walk away, calling over her shoulder, “Keep HavenClan alive, won’t you? We’re safe as we are, and we’ll stay safe if you listen to me.” The she-cats pelt began to fade away, and in a blink of an eye she was gone.

Sunpatch reluctantly got to her paws when Figdream busied himself with a bundle of herbs. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Figdream mumbled around a mouthful of leaves. “Let’s just get back to camp.”

There was something about Redfern’s words that rubbed him the wrong way. Her message was worrying, sure, but Figdream couldn’t help but feel that there was something more to it. Something that stood behind Redfern’s words. He closed his eyes and sighed. Redfern served as a reminder of why StarClan was Figdream’s least favorite part of being a medicine cat.

[healing-fire--rewrite]

50 and 55

50 - Someone New by Hozier

Fire! He's filled with love and curiosity for the world, and every day he finds something or someone new to love and wonder about.

"Would things be easier if there was a right way? / Honey, there is no right way / And so I fall in love just a little, oh, a little bit / Every day with someone new"

55 - Doombop! by The Toxhards

Sunpatch! They struggle to accept outside help- they don't want to feel like a burden on anyone. Hawkstripe, their mate, is trying to help them work on that, but it's... slow going.

"First thing I did when I crawled from the wreckage / Was scream 'Please don't call 9-1-1!' / I stand to my feet / Scoop up my insides / I’ll be just fine on my own" "Stop singing doombops / That’s what my mama said / Stop singing doombops / We’re not dead yet"

[thegreatfanged]

MOON 2

Goosestripe noticed Sunpatch sulking nearby.

MOON 3

Sunpatch didn't notice Goosestripe twitching their whiskers at her.

Sunpatch fell while climbing a tree. She was bruised, but quickly recovered.

<- Prev. || Start || Next ->

[uzibrainrot]

[amrv-5]

activities cleared afternoon Ready to Write

[huariqueje]

Sunpatch - Gustav Sundin  , 2024.

Swedish, b. 1982   -  

Oil on linen , 55 x 45 cm.

[forlorn-crows]

Okay, so I'm DEFINITELY NOT a writer as you will see djjdndsbsb

But please imagine

Mountain taking a well-deserved nap in the gardens after having waken up way too early, even for him, and working so much on his beloved plants. His arms crossed over his chest and laying back against a tree. His eyes closed, long eyelashes kissing his cheeks, breathing so soft, and his face all relaxed. His ears twitching for time to time because of a dream he is having. The light coming through the leaves, creating little specks of gold on his sun-kissed skin.

That's how Rain finds him after looking for him to get him a snack, because he knows very well the eath ghoul didn't see the time passing. He takes in the view, wanting to paint it in his mind, to keep that memory forever.

After a moment of his eyes wandering on the sleeping figure and hesitating to move, worried he would disturb the gorgeous ghoul, he finally takes a few steps and sits as carefully as possible next to Mountain.

The bigger ghoul, even in his sleep, must have sensed his mate's presence and immediately leans against him, head nestling on his shoulder. A low purr starting.

Rain had abandoned any other possible plans he may have had as soon as a warm hand found his so easily, lacing big caloused fingers with his. He settles his head against Mountain's, inhaling the warm smell of his hair, before closing his eyes and falling asleep as well.

WEHHH NOAHHH :(( you know how much i love these boys

sleepy boys. youre absolutely right that mountain did not bring any snacks. he always forgets. maybe bc he knows someone else will inevitably bring him something and thus spend time with him, or he means to and just. doesnt. so rain decides today he'll make one of their favorites: honey-drizzled brie, freshly toasted sourdough bread, and crisp slices of pear from the orchard. all nicely arranged in a square container.

and oh, the breath rain has to take in when he sees his love so peaceful and cradled by the dappled rays of sunlight. he probably could look at him forever. stifling a laugh when he sees his ear twitch, his tail thump against the mossy ground.

it warms his heart when mountain snuggles into him, even in his sleep. he loves to know that he's content, those happy rumbling purrs are such a comfort to rain, too.

they can eat their snacks later. for now rain is happy to share a quiet little nap in the warm sunpatch, listening to the soft rustle of leaves and grass.

[renawriter]

Short Story: Green

The end of the world happened slowly; as most things do. The plants began to disappear—one by one becoming extinct—too gradually for the general public to take seriously. When they did notice, humanity shrugged it off as the natural cycle of things.

And then it was the animals. That was harder to ignore.

It was the pollinators first, of course. Without their help, much of the flora could not proliferate as they once had. The lack of sunlight, of fertile soil, of bees or butterflies or hummingbirds were the beginnings of the end. Grassy meadows became barren deserts and lush forests became wasteland littered with twigs and branches—the corpses of once-mighty trees. Green became a lost color.

There weren’t many humans left when Zoe found hope and began her journey. The last human interaction she had was years ago to a man dying of smoke sickness; a common story for the few still alive. The ever-smoking towers brought industry, jobs, prosperity for a while…before they brought illness and death.

Over time, the smog and ash the towers spewed blocked out the sun, displaced the air, and changed the color of the world. Those who inhaled too much of the toxic fumes died slow deaths. Many grew up breathing it, assured by charismatic politicians that it was not harmful. They didn’t want to see past the lies; humans were an optimistic species after all.

Zoe walked past one of the many ever-smoking towers—still spewing death into the air—and took a moment to gaze at the darkened sky. She wondered what the sun might have looked like; what it still might look like hiding behind that veil of black and gray. There were stories, of course, but she liked to imagine that the sun was green.

With one hand, she adjusted the breather that sat over her nose and mouth, clutching a small egg-shaped container in the other before continuing her stroll, stopping at at a flickering metal box that matched her in height. An oxygen vending machine.

She had stopped by every O vendor she had come across in her years-long journey. Air was something she could not afford to let run low. Her expedition was a long one and she didn’t even have a notion of when it would end. It was better to refill her breather as often as possible before there would be nothing left; when soon—she assumed—there would be a large stretch where there would be no more O vendors to provide breathable air. She didn’t know when or where, but she knew it was inevitable. There were only so many O vendors that could have been put up before the smoke sickness claimed too many lives to justify the expense and many were already running low on supply.

She inserted a plastic card into the machine and fresh air was pumped into her mask. She breathed it in appreciatively, taking in the slight chemical smell of the original container and wondered what air from plants smelled like as she crossed empty streets and passed more ever-smoking towers.

Her destination was far but she was almost there; or so she hoped. Just a little farther, she kept telling herself, repeating it every so often. Her personal mantra.

She held the little container close to her, afraid that she might lose it; that it might slip and tumble down somewhere she could never hope to reach; that it might wither before she got to the one place in the world the sun was said to touch. The Sunpatch she had been seeking since she had found the egg-shaped thing—her hope—that she carried with her.

She had walked for so long with no direction save for the little information she had managed to gather after so much research on the Sunpatch. Much of it were rumors that lead to dead ends, others were educated guesses when information was obviously incomplete. She hoped to the hidden sun that the one she followed now wasn’t another dead end. It was her last lead and she was so old and so tired.

Her elderly legs hurt and her feet were numb from so much walking but she soldiered on as always. Zoe was determined to get the little egg-shaped thing to the Sunpatch no matter the cost to herself.

Her journey was a lonely one; solitary but never by choice. Often she wished that she could have company; another of her kind. The egg was a good listener but not much for conversation. Had the world not ended, her conversations with egg would be seen as madness but there was no one now to judge her.

For years, she trudged through desert and dead forests and broken cities and rock fields. She searched every used-to-be settlement for survivors—but always found no one—and stopped by every defunct food store to stock up on liquid snack cakes, bottled water, and portable air cans. On rare occasions, she even found running water in the long-abandoned cities. In those, she had the luxury of a quick bath and change of clothes. This wasn’t one of those cities.

She chose a building that looked to be in good shape and tried the door. Locked. A quick glance around found her some rubble; pulled up concrete from a sidewalk.

The aging woman lifted the heavy fragment and hurled it at the window, shattering the glass in an explosive cacophony of clinking, clanging, and crashing. No one will care about a broken window. No one is here to care.

She swiped the opening with a balled up rag, sweeping away bits of broken glass before carefully climbing in; agile despite her age.

The space was lined with mostly-empty shelves that made little paths. Zoe noted these as she passed the counter with an old register caked with dust sitting on top of it. It must have been a corner store once.

She searched and found a few bottles of liquid snack cakes and water. No canned air, unfortunately. Whomever owned the business—or perhaps survivors that had fled the city in search of better homes away from the towers—had taken most of the supplies before they had gone.

Opening and attaching one of the little bottles of liquid snack to her breather via a short, thick straw, she sucked on the meal, reading the text on the bottle. She had read them a million times but the mind needed something to keep from going mad and with the world so empty there weren’t many options. “Now with 50% less fat and 100% more calories!” it claimed. What a load of ash.

Zoe rested well that night before awaking to bottles and cans strewn about the former shop. Wakefulness came slowly and she didn’t notice the peculiarity of the out-of-place things at first. It was after a few blinks that it registered. “No! No no no! Where is it?!”

Her heart skipped a beat and she went into a frenzy looking for the little egg-shaped container; missing from the rotten pillow where she had left it before falling into an exhausted slumber. She dug through her rucksack, searched every nook, every cranny, and under every store shelf, but found nothing but rubbish.

The floor was sticky from spilled snack cakes, their bottles chewed by the incisors of a small creature. She had no guesses as to what it could have been but it had left a trail of liquid-snack footprints to follow and so she got to tracking the thief.

The tracks lead her to the store’s backroom; dark without electricity to light the way. She squinted, backing up a bit to where there was light enough to see as she rummaged through her pack and pulled out a small metal flashlight. She shook it a few times, and then flicked the switch on its side. The beam of light flickered before holding steady.

She ventured into the dark room, sweeping the light beam from side to side in an effort to continue tracking the creature that pilfered her hope. The backroom was in worse wear than the store’s front. A thick blanket of dust and cobwebs covered just about every surface that wasn’t disturbed by a certain little thief. Zoe found the footprints again etched into the dust and followed them, taking care not to step on any of the impressions.

They lead her to stairs going down to a basement darker than the backroom. She gave her flashlight another shake before venturing the stairs—step by cautious step—holding the railing as she moved down. The old wood creaked under her weight and she feared that she would fall through, break her neck, and die in a dusty dark basement under an abandoned store in a long-forgotten city. For much too long, she tested every stair before proceeding.

Her feet found purchase on solid concrete ground fifteen minutes later. She swept light over the new room slowly, almost missing the bundled fur in the corner. There it is!

The rat turned when the light touched its black fur and hissed. Behind it was the egg-shaped container that Zoe had been looking for; a bit scratched up but otherwise fine.

She crouched down on creaky knees and attempted to reason with the animal, “Come on now, I need that.”

The rodent responded with another hiss, back fur prickling up.

Slowly as to not make any sudden movement, she retrieved a bottle of liquid snack cake from her bag. “How about a trade then?” She twisted the lid open.

The rodent watched her intently, the over-sweet smell of liquid cake entering its nostrils and masking every other scent in its tantalizing aroma. It wiggled its nose in satisfaction as it began to salivate.

“You like that don’t you?” Zoe cooed, removing the lid completely. She poured a small amount of the contents onto the floor in front of her, “Come on. I know you want it.”

The rat hesitated before cautiously approaching.

She poured more liquified food onto the floor, pooling it up for the little scoundrel.

Temptation and instinct overwhelmed the rodent and it scurried to the food. It lapped up the thick batter; greedy from hunger.

The human added to its meal, pouring a bit more for it before righting herself and walking around the rat to the egg. She bent down and retrieved her hope up off of the floor, giving it a quick inspection under her flashlight when she was standing again. “Well, you didn’t damage it too much…” she said to the hungry rodent, “I’ve got to go now, little rascal. Enjoy your meal.”

She carefully made her way around the sticky mess and the rat to the foot of the stairs and frowned at it, annoyed at having to climb back up. Fear began to well up in her at the thought of falling and so she took a moment to breathe, steeling her nerves for the ascent. I made it down all right; I can make it up again…

The rat squeaked then, interrupting an otherwise still scene. She turned her light on it as it ran in a circle once, twice, and then scurried to the shadows of the back wall. “Where are you going?”

The rat squeaked again as Zoe realized a bit late that this rodent is the first sign of life she had found in her travels in years. She had been too focused on retrieving her stolen hope that she had nearly missed the fact that this creature survived the smoke-sickness that was choking the life of nearly every living thing…and it wasn’t wearing a breather. Here?! No…we’re too close to towers…but it has to breathe somehow…

She touched the latch of her breather, tempted to remove it to see if perhaps the air was breathable here, but she thought better of it. If I die here, it’s over for real. There will be no hope left…Some animals had adapted to breathe less air and this rat was probably one of them. She couldn’t be fooled by it.

Instead, she followed the rat deeper into the dark; hand outstretched, shaking the flashlight every once in a while as if it would keep the battery going.

It wasn’t long before the rat lead her to a hole in the wall just big enough for Zoe to crawl into. The old woman sighed and considered turning around. The rat squeaked impatiently at her before scampering into the tunnel.

Against better judgement, she latched the flashlight to the shoulder strap of her pack, slipped the egg into one of its more secured pockets, and got on her hands and knees.

She crawled through the tunnel, surprised that it didn’t narrow or end so abruptly. Someone must’ve dug this before they left the city. Stinging pain throbbed in her old knees as she continued shuffling forward, following a used-to-be common pest through a tunnel under a convenience store.

The passage was longer than Zoe had ever expected an improvised excavation could be. She had to stop and take breaks, maneuvering herself into a more comfortable laying position every so often to rest. It lead deep into the earth before steadily slanting upwards; so gradual that Zoe hadn’t noticed until light shone through ahead of her.

Eager to escape the cramped walls, she quickened her crawl toward the light. She didn’t know how long she had been shuffling in the subterranean tunnel but she guessed from her backaches and bruised knees that it must have been a while.

She pulled herself from the hole, moving dirt and small rocks as she surfaced. The light was blinding after some time in underground darkness and her chest was starting to feel tight. She had enough air for at least another day! Surely she hadn’t been traversing underground for that long! But she was gasping for air, struggling to fill her lungs. Her breather was running low.

Panic starting to intrude on her psyche, Zoe desperately scanned her surroundings. Massive dirt and rock walls bordered her from the outside world. Stalactites hung from the earthen ceiling above, drops of water falling from their tips in rhythmic succession. She found herself in a vast cavern of sunken earth; nowhere near an O vendor.

All of this for nothing…because of my foolishness…because I followed a rat of all things!

As if in response to her distress, a whistling gust of wind—gray particles dancing within it—embraced Zoe in its cooling hug before racing up toward an opening in the ceiling, blowing out of it like a volcano and parting the endless gray-black clouds of the ever-smoking towers. It was from that opening that a beam of yellow light pointed to a single circular patch of yellow-green before dissipating a moment later.

Zoe’s eyes widened at the sight; brief but certain. She had been searching for so long and here it was; hidden under a city, under ever-smoking towers that blocked from view the few moments of sun that managed to touch earth periodically when upward wind broke black clouds. She stifled tears as she approached the Sunpatch.

Reverently, she held the egg-shaped container in both hands, dropping to her knees before the little patch of life. With shaking hands and burning lungs, she set the egg aside and began to dig, clawing the earth with bony fingers until she was satisfied with the divot she had made.

Dizziness was setting in as she lifted the egg and popped it in twain above the little hole, dropping a singular ball—smaller than her fist—into the exposed earth. The tightness in her chest was nearly unbearable by the time she buried the seed.

Her life’s mission finally complete, she smiled with satisfaction; with all the love and hope she could possibly give to the world. As the wind returned, quickly flying toward the opening in the ceiling, she laid her tired body down and faced the beam of sun as it came in for another few precious moments. Her air had run out and the world was closing in around her; replaced by an overwhelming serenity. The tension left her body, smile softening but never vanishing as she stared at the mound she had created and the brilliant streak of dusty yellow light that caressed it.

The sun wasn’t green but it was beautiful.

Originally published on renalawhead.com on July 22, 2024

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[fictionkin-culture-is]

Warrior cat fiction kin culture is trying to figure out if you were a warrior or a med cat

Also,

Warrior cat fictionkin culture is figuring out if you were another, different warrior cat called SunPatch

Fictionkin culture is!

[inafieldofdaisies]

OCs as tragic love archetypes | uquiz | tagged by @adelaidedrubman @corvosattano and @simplegenius042

CUPID'S BROTHER: You have been love adjacent all your life. The faint spill of another story that softly grazed your shoulders when stood too close. Whether by design or not, you have yet to build a clear image of what love means to you. The interlocked weaving of a picture locket bound to strand of hair when hugged to tight, the sunpatch that meets your soles in glaring sun dried fields when running with a friend. You are not far from love, but moving between line of collision and avoidance at all times. A faint glimmer on sea lake surface of what could be. There is time to find what you want, find whether it's enough as is. Love is in you, breathing in another day. Continue as you are, realizing the love that is slowly blossoming in your life as it sharpens and clears in brushstrokes.

CANíBALES/DEVOURER: Love's a knife to skin to you, a vein to woven muscle, blood puddle before you. You listened to all the promises of a stranger's relief and feel the drain of a shower head running it all down again. You committed another murder; kissed and bruised skin with a clench to a quivering wrist and went home in the defeaning quiet of a taxi. There's mold covered rage within you. If to take a heart home with you, you'd bite your way through muscle and ribcage first. Pleasure comes, but there will be no devouring past it. There is fear in settling down and being seen. There is a glass screen between these bodies and you. Relax your tight jaw and feel the real canine fear beneath that scabbed up cavity. The sacrifice of opening up is needed if to be loved as you deeply wish inside. Desire doesn't discriminate between hands or spoken word. Why should you?

If this isn't perfect for Mer, and sacrifice being mentioned ☠️

SUB ROSA: Love is a game of here and there to you. Whether catching glimpse of another's neckline or grazing a knuckle between knocking shoulders of passing by. You have learned to adore in secrecy, the rawness of an outright confession to be spoken a foreign terror. There is ease in pursuing the unavailable, to remain within the space of possibility and nestle the fuzzy words another could say to make or break your day. Instability spun itself into mysterium and while the certainty of love in aging isn't to be forced upon anyone, there is a miniscule part of you testing the limits of ambiguity. Hold down the feeling and settle in the leather seat of a car, kiss the corner of a mouth and say how you feel. Your affection in its vulnerability is to be seen, lift the veil and do not fret when an honest word turns into all you have secretly yearned for. You are meant to be noticed and openly loved.

LESLIE. Goddamn, he is at it again.

MAUDLIN MAGDALENE: An embrace with the shivering figure of a ghost. You cut your hair at 3 a.m. to change it all but it is no use. Love is a war to endure to you. You comfort and hold, kiss pressed to temple and cheek while feeling the numbness filling your nights to brim. What used to feel honorable has now become chore of breathing to sustain another. What else is love, but your disembodied lap to lay another's head into? Your fingers turn blue in the announcing dawn, the cold figure of what you used to know of yourself remains asleep next to them. Another version of you has crept out of your old body, has ripped and eaten itself out of a cast that was fused into the position of nurturing comfort. Remove yourself from your lovers before they become part of you, conjoined with your arms to anothers wailing head you have no life apart of maudlin magdalene. You have given endlessly, but this isn't all there is to you. Acknowledge the good that has been done and let yourself be free. You deserve to feel held as well, you are more than what you can give of yourself before breaking down.

FATHER'S SON: Breathe down your own neck, it's the sound of smashing fist against furniture in another room again. The wringing hem of cloth and pattern of an escalating heart. Love is tumultous to you. There is grief and disguised forgiveness to damp down the yearning. A permanent fear of tender flesh spilling out, still- you must refrain of growing attached to the fear you had installed into you. Let go of the notion that love is still to be cherished with a hole in the head. Scrub crimson ancestry off wooden floors and try again tomorrow when your hands don't shake cold from the blood loss. Love isn't a fist to escape. Fill the hole in your head with cotton and know you are to be adored. You are deserving of an embrace without flinching.

Torn about this one, like pretty boy has a ton of guilt from his past, but the violence isn't something he faced prior to [redacted], esp in his family. He'd argue he's not his father's son, actually.

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @josephslittledeputy @trench-rot @josephseedismyfather @florbelles @direwombat @cassietrn @purplehairsecretlair @voidika @theelderhazelnut @marivenah @madparadoxum @unholymilf @carlosoliveiraa @harmonyowl @nightbloodbix @macs-babies @shellibisshe @onehornedbeast @euryalex @clicheantagonist @g0dspeeed and anyone that would like to do the uquiz for their ocs <3

[healing-fire--rewrite]

Windi Allegiances

LEADER The Shining Lapwingstar — A tall black and white tom with a long tail. > His former Heart-Name, tail, meant adaptable, agile, and reliable. His canon counterpart is Tallstar.

.

DEPUTY Hollyhockwing — A black tom with a twisted paw and clovers in his fur. > His Heart-Name means wise and prudent. His canon counterpart is Deadfoot.

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ADVISOR Barksight — A short-tailed brown tom with a greying muzzle. > His Heart-Name means an advisor skilled in interpreting omens. His canon counterpart is Barkface.

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HISTORIANS Hickorynose — A dark brown tom with a heart-shaped patch on his nose. > His Heart-Name means clever, hard worker, and skilled tracker.

Meadowslip — A grey molly with white spots. > Her Heart-Name means cautious, adaptable, and tough.

Larkspring — A chestnut brown calico molly. > Her Heart-Name means playful and curious. Her canon counterpart is Larksplash.

Aphidfall — A white and grey spotted tom. > His Heart-Name means bold, adaptable, and enthusiastic. His canon counterpart is Aspenfall.

Harebelly — A scrawny pale brown tom. > His Heart-Name means generous, honest, and kind. His canon counterparts are Hareflight and an unnamed tom.

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NURSE Baileyseed — A brown and white tabby molly. > Her Heart-Name means a permanent nurse. Her canon counterpart is Bailey.

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HEALERS Rushberry — An elderly creamy-brown tom. > His Heart-Name means a healer skilled in diagnosis. His canon counterpart is Rushtail.

Poolleaf — A grey spotted tom with a leaf-shaped mark on his nose. > His Heart-Name means a healer skilled in quick medicine. His canon counterpart is an unnamed tom.

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WARRIORS Ryefield — A grey tabby molly with a white muzzle. > Her Heart-Name means altruistic, confident, and level-headed. Her canon counterpart is Ryestalk.

Doespring — A light brown molly. > Her Heart-Name means playful and curious.

Stagleap — A dark brown tom. > His Heart-Name means confident, agile, and decisive.

Sorrelshimmer — A dark grey and brown calico molly. > Her Heart-Name means nimble, charismatic, and sincere. Her canon counterpart is Sorrelshine.

Lilacflight — A dark grey tolly with white patches. > His Heart-Name means curious and adaptable. Their canon-counterpart is Pigeonflight.

Oatwhisker — A broad-shouldered golden tabby tom. > His Heart-Name means adaptable, clever, and cooperative.

Hawkstripe — A brown tom with dark stripes. > His Heart-Name means steadfast and well-rounded. His canon counterpart is an unnamed tom.

Sunpatch — A dark tortoiseshell tolly. > Their Heart-Name means well-rounded and generous. Their canon counterpart is an unnamed cat.

Wrenwing — A dusty brown molly. > Her Heart-Name means wise and prudent. Her canon counterpart is Wrenflight.

Rabbityip — A fluffy pale brown molly with a white belly. > Her Heart-Name means enthusiastic, good-humored, and good hearing. Her canon counterpart is Rabbitear.

Bristlefur — A spotted dark-furred tom. > His Heart-Name means well-rounded and adaptable. His canon counterpart is Bristlebark.

Flytail — A snowy-white tom with black patches. > His Heart-Name means adaptable, good balance, and graceful.

Mudclaw — A brown-furred tom. > His Heart-Name means skilled leader and fighter.

Briarpelt — A plump dark brown molly. She is currently waiting for the arrival of her litter. > Her Heart-Name means well-rounded and dependable.  Her canon counterpart is an unnamed molly.

Thrushhiss — A wiry grey tabby tom with a torn ear. > His Heart-Name means decisive, honorable, and good hearing. His canon counterpart is Tornear.

Morningflower — A pale brown tortoiseshell molly. She is currently nursing her first litter, Gorse, Heather, and Granite. > Her Heart-Name means skilled caretaker.

Ashfoot — A dark blue-grey molly. > Her Heart-Name means confident, resolute, and skilled navigator.

Littlewhisker — A brown tabby tom with long whiskers. > His Heart-Name means clever, loyal, and skilled tracker. His canon counterpart is Onewhisker.

Tansywhistle — A brown and white spotted tabby molly. > Her Heart-Name means confident, determined, and musically skilled. Her canon counterpart is Melody.

[thegreatfanged]

MOON 10 || PT. 1

Goosestripe thought their dreams might not come true with Sunpatch.

Sunpatch wished she could get her pelt to shine like Goosestripe’s.

<- Prev. || Start || Next ->

[uzibrainrot]

wow great job you both!!! get outtt

[thebladesmithmuses]

Anon is just gonna gently place Duck in his cat form in a nice, warm sunpatch

Duck doesn't protest much. He's too tired to really question what was happening. Once placed in the sunlight he yawned a wide yawn and made himself comfortable. His pink little toe beans exposed to the world. He then started to purr. It was a high pitched sort of purr, almost like the cheeping of a duckling.

[imogenkol]

— OCS AS TRAGIC LOVE ARCHETYPES

tagged by @corvosattano @adelaidedrubman @simplegenius042 @inafieldofdaisies @jackiesarch to do this uquiz! Thank you lovelies!!

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @v0idbuggy @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn

05. MOTHER'S DAUGHTER

Being her child was akin to a whispered apology, another wailing hug, another day you repent for complaining about the fact that she hasn't said anything nice to you. You bring her flowers and are met with the inconvenience of a vase that has to be found instead. You bake for her and feel the warmth of fresh cut bread fill the kitchen; but the dirty dishes remain. Even if you were to bring in the mail and lay down the knife next to your plate, she'll cradle another. Love is an endless apology to you. Averting eyes to desperate tears and sunken teeth in lower lip at the dinner table. Do not repent for who you are, as it is enough. Gather your courage to love again and reveal the honeydewed structure of a swelling heart once you feel safe to do so instead. Love isn't a confession booth of all you are not, settle down and unclasp your hands. You're all anyone could want already.

note: proof that you don’t need a biological mother to have mommy issues. I was really surprised by this result at first and wasn’t sure it quite fit, but it really does describe what it felt like for Imogen to have Rejna as a master.

07. FATHER'S SON

Breathe down your own neck, it's the sound of smashing fist against furniture in another room again. The wringing hem of cloth and pattern of an escalating heart. Love is tumultous to you. There is grief and disguised forgiveness to damp down the yearning. A permanent fear of tender flesh spilling out, still- you must refrain of growing attached to the fear you had installed into you. Let go of the notion that love is still to be cherished with a hole in the head. Scrub crimson ancestry off wooden floors and try again tomorrow when your hands don't shake cold from the blood loss. Love isn't a fist to escape. Fill the hole in your head with cotton and know you are to be adored. You are deserving of an embrace without flinching.

note: growing up as a Lolth Sworn drow in the Underdark and hating it. Wanting something more kind and joyful out of life. Yeah.

06. CANíBALES; DEVOURER

Love's a knife to skin to you, a vein to woven muscle, blood puddle before you. You listened to all the promises of a stranger's relief and feel the drain of a shower head running it all down again. You committed another murder; kissed and bruised skin with a clench to a quivering wrist and went home in the defeaning quiet of a taxi. There's mold covered rage within you. If to take a heart home with you, you'd bite your way through muscle and ribcage first. Pleasure comes, but there will be no devouring past it. There is fear in settling down and being seen. There is a glass screen between these bodies and you. Relax your tight jaw and feel the real canine fear beneath that scabbed up cavity. The sacrifice of opening up is needed if to be loved as you deeply wish inside. Desire doesn't discriminate between hands or spoken word. Why should you?

note: perfect result for a werewolf who fights so fiercely and is desperate to love completely despite how scared she is.

03. CUPID'S BROTHER

You have been love adjacent all your life. The faint spill of another story that softly grazed your shoulders when stood too close. Whether by design or not, you have yet to build a clear image of what love means to you. The interlocked weaving of a picture locket bound to strand of hair when hugged to tight, the sunpatch that meets your soles in glaring sun dried fields when running with a friend. You are not far from love, but moving between line of collision and avoidance at all times. A faint glimmer on sea lake surface of what could be. There is time to find what you want, find whether it's enough as is. Love is in you, breathing in another day. Continue as you are, realizing the love that is slowly blossoming in your life as it sharpens and clears in brushstrokes.

note: oh, Nadya… putting your emotional needs on the back burner for so long. At least she finally has that Oh moment with Jayde.

[leviiackrman]

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, TRAGIC LOVE ARCHETYPES + PICREW;

I was tagged by @simonxriley to use this cute picrew for some anime kids, and was also tagged by Meg, @corvosattano @chuckhansen + @unholymilf to use these uquizes (WAYDH? + TLA) thank you sm beloveds! I was bored so I merged them all again haha🤍

Tagging: @risingsh0t @bbrocklesnar @queennymeria @roofgeese @florbelles @arklay @captmactavish @shellibisshe @nokstella @thedeadthree @jackiesarch @heroofpenamstan @dameayliins @carlosoliveiraa @fenharel @alexxmason @tekehu @malefiicarum @shadowglens @mrdekarios @faerune @perpetuagf + @garaviel

DROWNING (FOR THE SAKE OF IT);

You are restless ambition and caffeinated nights. You are dancing-in-the-rain and record-player-breaking-down and god-I-knew-this-would-happen. The world made you the cynic and you cursed the world. You stomped in the mud and now you shout at the sky, but fear it not because you are so much stronger. You must persevere, and survive this night. The next and the next. By and by. You are so much stronger than you think you are. You have a purpose to find within yourself, and it doesn't come from the work you're doing now.

03. CUPID'S BROTHER;

You have been love adjacent all your life. The faint spill of another story that softly grazed your shoulders when stood too close. Whether by design or not, you have yet to build a clear image of what love means to you. The interlocked weaving of a picture locket bound to strand of hair when hugged to tight, the sunpatch that meets your soles in glaring sun dried fields when running with a friend. You are not far from love, but moving between line of collision and avoidance at all times. A faint glimmer on sea lake surface of what could be. There is time to find what you want, find whether it's enough as is. Love is in you, breathing in another day. Continue as you are, realizing the love that is slowly blossoming in your life as it sharpens and clears in brushstrokes.

ATONING (FOR SOMEONE ELSE);

You are sweet, sweet sorrow. Parting ways at an intersection, an angel's footsteps walking side by side with your own, the shadows of the past looming, looming. You are apologetic-moon-light and loiter-at-the-back-of-the-classroom and stilted-silence and rich-with-life. You are stepping-on-eggshells your way through life, be less careful. Be less careful. You make mistakes, you made mistakes, and you will make mistakes, but imagine growing from them without the wish to go back. Stop restricting yourself. Take a breath of the clean air. Stop breathing in your own secondhand smoke.

01. MAUDLIN MAGDALENE;

An embrace with the shivering figure of a ghost. You cut your hair at 3 a.m. to change it all but it is no use. Love is a war to endure to you. You comfort and hold, kiss pressed to temple and cheek while feeling the numbness filling your nights to brim. What used to feel honorable has now become chore of breathing to sustain another. What else is love, but your disembodied lap to lay another's head into? Your fingers turn blue in the announcing dawn, the cold figure of what you used to know of yourself remains asleep next to them. Another version of you has crept out of your old body, has ripped and eaten itself out of a cast that was fused into the position of nurturing comfort. Remove yourself from your lovers before they become part of you, conjoined with your arms to anothers wailing head you have no life apart of maudlin magdalene. You have given endlessly, but this isn't all there is to you. Acknowledge the good that has been done and let yourself be free. You deserve to feel held as well, you are more than what you can give of yourself before breaking down.

SHINING (FOR THE WORLD);

You are sunshine. You are too bright for this world and you know too much for your experiences. You are not naive, but you are not a cynic. You are not an optimist, but you don't see the point in pessimism. You are bright bells of energy and great pealing laughter and coffee-shop-dates and meet-in-person-lunches and you draw people to you like a magnet with the way you shine. You are bright and drained, drained, drained. You are restless nights, heavy days, broken moons. You deserve a rest. You deserve to release. You cannot carry the weight of the world alone. Share the tasks, be the light, and create the connections.

04. SUB ROSA;

Love is a game of here and there to you. Whether catching glimpse of another's neckline or grazing a knuckle between knocking shoulders of passing by. You have learned to adore in secrecy, the rawness of an outright confession to be spoken a foreign terror. There is ease in pursuing the unavailable, to remain within the space of possibility and nestle the fuzzy words another could say to make or break your day. Instability spun itself into mysterium and while the certainty of love in aging isn't to be forced upon anyone, there is a miniscule part of you testing the limits of ambiguity. Hold down the feeling and settle in the leather seat of a car, kiss the corner of a mouth and say how you feel. Your affection in its vulnerability is to be seen, lift the veil and do not fret when an honest word turns into all you have secretly yearned for. You are meant to be noticed and openly loved.

DROWNING (FOR THE SAKE OF IT);

You are restless ambition and caffeinated nights. You are dancing-in-the-rain and record-player-breaking-down and god-I-knew-this-would-happen. The world made you the cynic and you cursed the world. You stomped in the mud and now you shout at the sky, but fear it not because you are so much stronger. You must persevere, and survive this night. The next and the next. By and by. You are so much stronger than you think you are. You have a purpose to find within yourself, and it doesn't come from the work you're doing now.

06. CANíBALES; DEVOURER;

Love's a knife to skin to you, a vein to woven muscle, blood puddle before you. You listened to all the promises of a stranger's relief and feel the drain of a shower head running it all down again. You committed another murder; kissed and bruised skin with a clench to a quivering wrist and went home in the defeaning quiet of a taxi. There's mold covered rage within you. If to take a heart home with you, you'd bite your way through muscle and ribcage first. Pleasure comes, but there will be no devouring past it. There is fear in settling down and being seen. There is a glass screen between these bodies and you. Relax your tight jaw and feel the real canine fear beneath that scabbed up cavity. The sacrifice of opening up is needed if to be loved as you deeply wish inside. Desire doesn't discriminate between hands or spoken word. Why should you?