#tortoiseshell appreciation day

[good-morning-czernobog]

happy black cat appreciation day, look upon my beasts

[hazeltortie]

Every day is tortoiseshell cat appreciation day!

[futureofthemasses]

Apparently it is tortoiseshell cat appreciation day and nobody told me??? Please appreciate my beautiful child

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flirts IV

Mapi León x Reader x Ingrid Engen

Summary: You have to go

It's not that you don't want to be there because you do.

It's that you have to go away for a surgery.

There's some rich woman in California who needs you to operate on her cat. She's paying an extortionate amount for your services and sending a private jet to pick you up.

You love those kinds of pet owners, the ones with enough money to fly in the very best if only because of the clear love they have for all of their pets.

But they're also clients you can't deny.

If someone wants to fly you out for enough money to keep a family afloat for a year, someone with enough influence to make or break anybody's career, you can't say no.

Even if your girlfriend is fighting for Euro's qualification.

"Do you have to go?" Mapi asks, sitting inside of your unpacked suitcase like she was Bagheera in a box.

Honey sits on the bed, head in her paws as she waits, tail wagging, for Mapi to throw her tennis ball.

"Yes," You say, trying to choose between your purple or your blue scrubs," It's a lot of money. Enough for that fancy holiday to the Maldives you guys want to take."

"But it takes you away from us," Mapi whines and Ingrid makes an agreeing noise from over by the door.

"I've travelled for work before."

"You're going to miss my match," Ingrid says and a pit forms in your stomach.

Before this job came up, you and Mapi were meant to be travelling to Norway to see Ingrid's last Euro Qualifiers game before going off in a camper van with her parents.

You'd still make it to the last part, depending on what the labs for this cat came back as but you'd have to miss the match.

You reach out for her, drawing her closer by the waist and resting your head on her chest.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I am, really. I can call up and cancel if you really want me to. I know a guy to recommend instead."

Ingrid sighs, her chin sitting on the top of your head. "No," She says," That cat needs the best care possible. We all know you're the best. Go and be a hero."

"I'd hardly be a hero. It's just surgery."

"Surgery for some woman that clearly adores her pet cat. What you do saves lives. I think that makes you a hero."

"You're so sweet, Ingrid."

"And hot!"

You laugh. "Thanks for that, Mapi. I'm sure she knows that seeing as you tell her everyday."

Mapi shrugs with a smirk on her face. "I'm sure it's nice to be reminded."

Honey whines on the bed and you roll your eyes.

"Throw the ball already. She's getting impatient."

Mapi frowns, waving the ball around.

Honey's eyes dart around erratically to follow it.

"She isn't barking, though?"

You laugh, crossing the space to take the ball and lay a soft kiss on Mapi's lips. "Because she's well-behaved, Mapi. She knows not to bark unless it's an emergency."

You throw the ball up and down to make sure Honey's still watching before you launch it out of the room.

She's off like a shot as Ingrid hauls Mapi out of your suitcase.

You still feel guilty though, through the flight, through the labs, through everything.

The cat is cute one, a little tortoiseshell with an amicable nature and a complete lack of awareness of her surroundings.

You've always been an animal person. You've always loved all of them but living with Mapi and Ingrid has just given you an even newer appreciation for cats.

The checkup happens quickly and the labs are already done and completed by the time you arrive.

Money really does move things along because all the charts are perfect and after what should have been a week long wait to begin, you manage to take a day to get over your jetlag and get to work immediately the day after.

Surgery is simple to you. It's easy and soon enough the cat is halfway to recovery.

You don't quite understand how private planes are hired and sent out, if someone has to book a runway days in advance or if they're open indefinitely.

The original plan had been for you to take a week to do this but now it's all done, you don't quite know what to do with yourself apart from stew in guilt.

You had planned to take your mind off Ingrid's game by throwing yourself into work.

You have no work though and can't help but imagine yourself in Norway with your girlfriends, curled up in Mapi's arms while Ingrid whispers to you.

You swipe away a tear as you head down for dinner, your host gracious enough to treat you to a meal for all your good work.

You've gone radio silent to your girlfriends but neither are surprised.

You're always like that when you go out of the country for work, focused only on your patient. You want no distractions.

Mapi sits slumped in her seat next to Ingrid watching Norway play their last qualifier, sighing to herself as she looks at pictures of the three of you together.

"What's with the pout?" Ingrid teases, running her thumb over Mapi's jutted out bottom lip.

"I miss her," Mapi mutters, feeling a bit like a little kid sulking.

"I know but she'll be here soon and then we go out exploring with my parents before heading back home for preseason. It's not that long of a wait."

"I don't want to wait at all."

"I know but-"

A body slumps down on Mapi's other side and both of them turn.

"I'm not really a fan of this hotdog," You say," It's not bad but I guess I'm not that hungry. Do you want some Mapi?"

You don't get an answer from her because she crushes you into a hug. The hotdog that you regrettably bought squishes between your bodies.

You don't complain though, especially when Ingrid moves into the hug as well, tightening her grip around the both of you.

"I thought you couldn't make it?"

"Money talks," You tease," And the owner felt a bit of pity when I told her that I'd have to watch this match on tv. Chartered a jet for me to come straight here."

"And the cat?" Mapi asks.

"The cat's good. Recovering."

"I'm so happy you're here."

"We're both happy," Ingrid says," So, so happy."

You grin at your girls, the smiling splitting your face.

"I'm happy to be here too."

[mailb0xbunii]

closeups and explanations of all the details in my big , big c!aimsey ; a semi-long post

i worked long and hard on this piece so reblogs are greatly appreciated ^_^ !!!

1. scrapbook formatting ; i've had this headcanon since the early days of c!aimsey that she keeps anything they can keep their hands on in a big , big journal/scrapbook . everything from flowers to drawings to daily journal entries . and this entire piece is just a mishmash of things they've collected over the years !

the spools of thread and pin cushion are a little callback to another hc i have that bloom taught their self to sew from a young age to repair damaged clothes :-)

2. c!guqqie's drawing ; this part is a little drawing i imagine cguq gave caims not too long after they met ! i tried my best to replicate guqqie's style while putting my own spin on it . the stickers were added by cguq , as shown by the Attempt at making them weathered .

3. photos and polaroids ; c!aimsey takes a lot of photos , much like cc!aimsey does ! so i made sure to include a handful

first off , past friends from the bearsmp : in order we have c!bear and c!bill on the top row with c!neptune and c!moonzy on the bottom . no other comments to add i just miss them :'-)

okay i realize now that this one doesn't make sense in the canon timeline , but i enjoy drawing c!ranboo much more than ghostboo so .....

and that's what i hc c!ran's handwriting looks like ! they used a glitter gel pen ^_^

and the c!guqqie polaroid is definitely one of my favorite parts of the entire piece . she just looks so happy here :'-))) . the butterfly is a small tortoiseshell butterfly , which are native to ireland . just for funsies bc cc!guqqie is irish lol

4. michael's drawing ; this one is another personal favorite ! i feel like i nailed the look of a child's drawing pretty well ^_^

this one is also up to interpretation . can michael see c!guqqie's ghost ? idk ! that's up to you ! (and those blurry dots are tear stains hehe)

5. c!aimsey playlist receipt ; this part was inspired by those spotify receipts . except i made this one by hand with a few songs from the official c!aimsey playlist made by aimsey themself . yeah it was pretty tedious but i'm proud of the outcome

6. extra bits ; stickers , stamps , and tickets to fill the empty spots ! adds to that scrapbook-y look too

7. c!aimsey info card ; no closeup for this one because i Did Not draw this part ! if i remember correctly , early bsmp members had a little passport-like infocard to go along with their addition to the server .

the original artist is FruitlegsWorks on twitter !

[felinefractious]

I saw this really pretty pointed tortie on Facebook in the "The Bappening" group and am confused about its coloring (I couldn't find any info in the comments about the cat's breed so I'm assuming it's a DSH). I would very much appreciate a correct color ID and possibly more info on the genetics that led to this coloration.

My guess is that she is a black and red tortoiseshell colorpoint cat. The colors on her most pointed parts are not dilute (the red on her face appears diluted but her ears are pretty red and that is definitely black, not blue, imo). The lightest parts of her body are not pure white but they are very light, with what looks to be some lightened red patches. And she has blue eyes.

I'm guessing this based on the "How to ID Your Cat's Coat Color" guide in r/cats (https://www.reddit.com/r/cats/comments/4wbuav/how_to_id_your_cats_coat_color_a_guide/).

Thank you so much for the help!!! I'm not great at IDing cats yet but I've learned so much from following your blog. I very much love your work and aspire to be as knowledgeable as you some day. Have a lovely day!

This is all correct! Awesome job!

She’s a black tortoiseshell point, more often called a seal tortie point or even just tortie point. She doesn’t appear to have any white and the darkening of the coat with age is characteristic of pointed cats.

So she’s black (B-) with one copy of the sex-linked red gene (XOXo) making her tortoiseshell.

She has the recessive non-agouti/solid gene (aa) and the recessive colorpoint gene (cscs) causing the appearance you see.

Which adds up to a very pretty Domestic Shorthair!

I was in The Bappening group but left because I got annoyed with all the dangerous pred-prey interactions and actual aggression that got posted for laughs instead of wholesome baps.

[rissynicole]

Happy national tortoiseshell cat appreciation day to those who celebrate ✨

[bettyfrommars]

oh my oh my oh my... I'm here to break the rules...

S3 and E1, &, 🖤💙

:3

I'm awaiting your wrath

oh Somna you sneaky little gremlin you! absolutely anything for you

your People are nightmare!Steve and gargoyle!Eddie

your Place is Dealer's Choice, so I'm giving you Thrift Store

your Things are a Photograph and a Mixtape

word count: 800

18+ONLY, no major warnings just nightmares, Steddie-ish, mention of migraines, monsters, taxidermy. I write these fast and post them without much fuss in an effort to not get too precious about things and just have fun, I love you for reading. Also, I have at least 30 of these asks sitting in my drafts, but this might be my last one for a while.

pick your poison

You'd walked down that same street a million times when the glass storefront with the sign Lost & Found on the door appeared out of nowhere one day. You were certain there'd been nothing but an alleyway in that space the day before.

A bell above the door dinged when you went in, heralding your arrival with an exceptionally shrill clanging that reverberated off your skull. For a second you feared it might trigger another migraine.

"Can I help you find anything?" Steve said from behind the desk, peeking around a tall stack of books, adjusting his thick, tortoiseshell glasses. Behind him was an old Zenith box television showcasing nothing but static.

"Um," you felt suddenly overwhelmed by the shelves of oddities stuffed into the small space, not sure where to look when your eyes landed on what appeared to be a taxidermied squirrel with tiny fangs.

"No, I think I'll just look around if that's alright," you pivoted to avoid a mound of used shoes that were piled up to your hip. At a glance, none of them came in pairs.

"I moved the mixtapes over by the radios," he shuffled around to come out from behind the desk, a familiar glint in his eye. "Found a few new ones since last time."

You assumed maybe he thought you were someone else, so you didn't try to correct him. Must've been a coincidence that he knew about your affection for music relics from another age.

"Where did you find all these?" You asked a few minutes later, pawing through the bins of personalized tapes in in awe. There were handwritten lists of songs and notes inside the hard plastic covers, along with drawings and names on the spines. "For Terry, Love Emily" and "Favorite Metal Mix" along with different bands and titles to the collections.

You picked up a bright neon Memorex tape to inspect the songs on it penned in blue ink with a curious smile on your face. Steve came up behind you and stood with his hands in his pockets. He smelled good, like honeysuckle, sawdust, and freshly mowed grass.

"People lose things and I find them," he said with a shrug. "Have you lost anything? I might have it."

You turned to him then, and really took the time to appreciate the details of his face. The square of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, and the moles dotting down his flesh.

"We've met before, haven't we?"

He shifted his weight forward, leaning into your personal space with the ease of someone who had been there many times before.

"Are you lost? Do you need to be found?"

Something flashed in his eyes, something dark. Sinister, even. But it didn't make you afraid, it gave you comfort, like the thrill of entering a haunted house when you've paid to be scared.

You went back to rifling through the tapes before moving on to turn the knobs on the radios, and then check out the cameras. Some still had film in then, some were broken, and one was a folding Polaroid Land Camera with a processed photo next to it.

The image edged in white was of a magnificent gargoyle in a red rose garden with its head down and wings pinned to its sides. Chiseled muscles and clawed hands. The statue had long dark hair and wore what looked like a guitar pick on a chain around its neck.

"He's beautiful," you whispered, turning the photo over to see if there was any description on the back.

"He's a pain in my ass," Steve mumbled, slamming a few books into their respective slots on the nearby bookshelf.

"Why is that?" His annoyed tone made you chuckle, craning your neck to see where he went.

"Look at the photo again," he said with his back to you.

You did as you were told, struck with confusion to find that there was no longer a statue in the garden. You blinked a few times, thinking it might've been a trick of the light.

"Well, that doesn't make any sense. Where did it---"

"Now look behind you," Steve crossed his arms to lean against the bookshelf, waiting.

You turned, expecting to find another photo or something else besides...

Your blood ran cold at the gargoyle man standing an arm's length away.

He was naked, with lips the same slate gray as his skin, and his black eyes sought yours for reassurance.

"Eddie will you please cut it out?" Steve put his hands on his hips. "You're going to scare all of my customers away."

"Eddie," you cocked your head. "Is that your name?"

He offered one long nod, bowing his head to you, wings twitching.

"He won't hurt you," Steve assured softly. "He loves you as much as I do.

[clansofafeather]

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER CW: Young pregnancy, mild blood

Petuniapaw’s steps were careful. They slunk through the tall grasses of the riverlands, trying to keep their body low to the ground. The only sound around them was the sound of their own heart beating in their chest, and the shrill cry of cicadas near the water. It was a bit chilly, and the apprentice’s body shivered. Leaf-bare would come soon.

The scent they had picked up matched that of the cat they had met the day prior, with Dahliapaw. Their pelt bristled slightly as they remembered how afraid the she-cat looked, the sadness on her face as she ran away, and just how harsh Dahliapaw had been towards her.

They knew they didn’t have permission to be out, especially not so late. But they also knew that they longed to find this mysterious she-cat, and make things right with her.

The smell was growing stronger, combined with two new scents that made Petuniapaw freeze. The first was a sweeter smell, a smell they recognized from their days in the nursery as the scent of milk. The second smell, however, almost made them gag. It was metallic and sour, the smell of blood.

Pawsteps quickening, Petuniapaw began to run, following the strange combination of scents until they stumbled upon a den made from a bush. There, huddled inside, was the same she-cat from before.

A nest had been hastily created for the young, shivering molly to lay on. She looked up at Petuniapaw with wide, frightened green eyes, her fur matted and mildly dampened with sweat. The scent of blood Petuniapaw smelled before came from a deep cut in her right hind leg, the ground below it stained with a dark crimson.

The final thing Petuniapaw noticed was the two young kits huddled at her belly. They were less than a moon old. In fact, they were probably mere days old based on their appearance. One of the kits was a tortoiseshell like their mother, with white markings. The second kit was black, also with white markings. 

This confused Petuniapaw. The she-cat was young. She appeared to be the age of a young warrior, and definitely far too young to be responsible for the lives of others.

“Oh, please, spare me!” The she-cat pleaded, visibly tensing as if preparing to run away. “I recognize you from yesterday! Please, I can’t leave! I’m too weak to carry these kits…”

“No, it’s okay,” Petuniapaw replied. They looked around, making sure no-cat was around before turning their attention back to the queen. “Are you okay? What happened to your leg?”

“Oh…I hurt myself running away from you and your friend…” The she-cat looked down at her front paws, curling her tail to both protect her kits and cover her injury. 

“I’m sorry. My brother…He isn’t the nicest cat to stumble upon.” Petuniapaw sighed heavily, their shoulders sagging a bit. “Do you need help? What’s your name?”

“Amber.”

“Amber…Well, maybe you can come back with me! I’m sure Blossomstar wouldn’t turn away a mother with kits-”

“No.” Amber’s whiskers twitched, and she tensed her body further. “I appreciate the offer, truly, but…I would rather build my strength and leave with my kits. I don’t want to be a burden to you or your group.”

“Can I at least help you? We have enough herbs and prey to spare!” Petuniapaw let the words spill out of their mouth. They knew that they should just leave Amber alone, turn around and walk away, but the sight of her looking so sad and hurt tore at their heart.

Amber was silent. She laid her head down between her front paws, sighing heavily before responding. “Do what you please.” 

Petuniapaw nodded. “O-okay! Hang on, I’ll be back!”

They scrambled back, turning and rushing away from the bush. They stalked back into CraneClan camp, trying to keep their pawsteps silent-

“Petuniapaw?”

Fox-dung! Petuniapaw froze and looked around camp until they met eyes with Lilyeye. The deputy was staring at them with her head tilted, sitting outside of the warrior’s den. Her tail was tucked around  her paws neatly.

Petuniapaw padded over to Lilyeye, looking up at their mentor. “Sorry. I was going to the dirtplace…I woke up with the worst stomach ache...” They lied.

Lilyeye’s eyes narrowed, and the tip of her tail twitched. “Hmm. You should see Tallsky and Orchidpaw, then.” She stated.

“I will, if it doesn’t go away before patrols.” Petuniapaw meowed. 

“Alright.” Lilyeye chuckled, leaning down and nudging the apprentice’s cheek with her nose. “I hope you’re not trying to get out of your little punishment!”

Petuniapaw laughed, shuffling closer to the gray and white she-cat with a purr. “I promise I’m not. That’s something Dahliapaw would do.”

Lilyeye sighed, wrapping her tail around Petuniapaw. “I’m aware. I hope that he changes soon. He has so much potential, and I would hate for it to be wasted on a…Useless cat.”

“It’s my mom’s fault.” Petuniapaw blurted out, before looking away with a frown. “Um..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that-”

“No, I agree.” Lilyeye shook her head, before standing and turning to leave. “Both of us better get rest the best we can. Oh, and Petuniapaw?”

Petuniapaw, who was already walking away, turned to face Lilyeye. “Yeah?”

The deputy smirked, before slipping into the warrior’s den.

“Bring her cobweb, horsetail, and borage.”

(A/N: A bit of a shorter chapter, but things should pick up soon!)

[talonslockau]

Forest of Secrets - Chapter 33

Chapter 32 || Index || Chapter 34

Fireheart grumbled to himself as he sat beside the nursery, looking out on the camp. It was just after sunhigh,  and he had been predictably stuck on guarding camp once again. The camp had mostly cleared out now that the time for sharing tongues was over, with mentors going off to train their apprentices and warriors off to complete patrols.

He shook his fur out, trying to keep his mind off how much he’d rather be anywhere but guard duty. The nursery behind him was quiet, his sister and her kits sleeping after a sunhigh feeding; the elders were mostly napping themselves, the momentary warmth that sunhigh brought lulling them into a drowsy slumber.

Sandstorm and Tigerclaw were standing near the entrance of camp, lecturing Brightpaw and Thornpaw. As he watched, Tigerclaw gave a respectful nod to his daughter and walked away to speak with Bluestar. He grimaced at the sight. At this point, it was rarer to see Tigerclaw teaching his apprentice than some other mentor overseeing the young tom. Why had he bothered taking an apprentice if he wasn’t interested in teaching one?

He forced himself to look away, knowing that watching them would only make him angrier. Instead, he focused on where Whitestorm and Yellowfang were sitting and talking, as they watched Brokentail doing some basic stretches. The sight made him smile slightly; even if they didn’t all know it yet, it was nice to see them bonding like a family might. He was glad he had decided to tell Yellowfang what Brokentail had said to him; she had been slightly happier in recent days, or at the very least, not scowling as much.

His gaze drifted back to the camp entrance as Sandstorm left with the two apprentices in tow. Tigerclaw and Bluestar had gone into her den, leaving the camp with only the elders and Brokentail’s entourage. Even Snowkit was out, fetching moss for the elders’ nests. The clearing felt strangely devoid of life as he looked upon it; he shifted uncomfortably, unnerved by the stillness and silence. 

As the moments passed by in quiet contemplation, his fur began to prickle more and more until it felt as though ants were crawling up and down his pelt. He tensed his muscles, trying to will it away, but the jitters only grew stronger until he was forced to stand and try to shake them out. He couldn’t sit here until the patrols finally came back, he quickly realized. Between the boredom and the silence, he would surely drive himself mad.

Perhaps a few laps around camp would do him good, he thought to himself, stretching out his muscles and beginning to pad along the clearing perimeter. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t do his job walking around, after all. If anything, he was guarding the camp even better, making sure to check all spots for any signs of trouble!

“Fireheart?” He blinked out of his thoughts at the sound of his name, turning to see he’d just passed by where Rosetail and Halftail were snoozing together. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, I’m just trying to beat the chill. Figured I’d try to warm myself up by taking a walk around camp. I hope my pacing didn’t disturb you?”

The tortoiseshell elder shrugged, her bony shoulders exaggerating the movement. “It doesn’t bother me. Just try to keep it down, won’t you? The other elders won’t appreciate it if their sunhigh slumber is disturbed.” She flicked her red-striped tail towards where the other elders were sprawled out in various patches of dappled sunlight.

“Of course.” He purred with a respectful dip of his head, before quietly continuing on. He flicked his tail in a greeting to Whitestorm and Yellowfang as he passed them, though neither stopped him to talk as they watched Thunderclan’s sole prisoner. He approached the nursery again, feeling energized as blood rushed through his veins. It seemed a small walk was just what he needed after all, given he was to be cooped up in camp until close to sunset.

He began a second languid lap around the clearing, focusing on keeping his pawsteps soundless. He paused briefly by the leader’s den, wondering what Tigerclaw and Bluestar were talking about, but he could only hear dull murmuring beyond the mossy curtain and quickly continued on before either could notice his shadow. He dipped his head to Snowkit as he passed by with a large ball of moss, watching the young tom disappear into the elders’ den. He was tempted to help with making the elders’ nests, but he knew that if Tigerclaw caught him doing anything but guard duty that he would get an angry reprimand he certainly didn’t need.

He had just reached the stump by the apprentices’ den when Sandstorm burst into camp, her sides heaving. “Thunderclan!” She wheezed out as all eyes turned towards her. “We… we’re…”

Fireheart stared at her in confusion. “Sandstorm?” He prompted as the tawny molly fought to catch her breath. “What’s going on? Has something happened to Brightpaw and Thornpaw?” He glanced over his shoulder at Yellowfang, wondering if perhaps the healer was needed to rectify a training accident.

The deputy’s daughter shook her head stubbornly. “Attack… They…” She panted, clearly not used to having run as fast as she had. Fireheart stepped towards her delicately. Normally, she might claw his ears off for daring to approach; now, however, she seemed too preoccupied with whatever message she was trying to get out.

As he did, the bramble tunnel rustled behind her, one dark-colored many-toed paw stepping into view - then another. “Look out!” Fireheart yowled, sprinting past her to slam into Spiderfoot as he slid into view. The former Shadowclan deputy twisted out of the way, more rogues pouring in behind him. A dark gray tom rushed at Fireheart, driving him back from the entrance before he could stop them.

The Thunderclan camp was alive with howls of anger and the flash of claws as what few cats remained dove into battle. 

Fireheart sprang at the dark gray tom that had tried to attack him, his claws raking down his side and tearing away thick clumps of fur. The rogue snarled and leaped back at him, slamming him into the ground, but Fireheart was ready; with one vicious kick, he sent his back claws into the tom’s belly as hard as he could, sending the invader flying. 

He rolled to his feet, not giving the former Shadowclanner a chance to recover before he was beset by a flurry of fast claw-strikes. In moments, the rogue had tucked his tail and was racing back out of the camp entrance.

He turned to briefly survey the camp. Everything was in chaos. He spotted briefly Goldenflower and Frostfur near the nursery, fighting in furious tandem to attack Spiderfoot; Patchpelt was stationed in front of the elders’ den, lashing out with surprising speed at a brown and white patched molly and brown tom with a shredded tail; he could see Sandstorm riding the back of a scarred brown tom he recognized as Clawface, her claws digging into his neck as she bit at whatever her fangs could get a hold of.

As he surveyed camp, looking for another cat to drive away, he froze as he realized he couldn’t see the silver shine of Bluestar’s pelt amongst the fighters. As he searched fearfully for Thunderclan’s leader, his heart dropped as he realized he couldn’t see the bulky form of Tigerclaw among the throng either. 

His mind suddenly flashed back to the day he had seen Tigerclaw sitting next to Brokentail, the day after Graystripe had attacked him. He’d thought then that it was a father and son sharing tongues, but now he knew that not to be true. Then he recalled how he had scented a strange group of cats mixed in with Tigerclaw’s scent when he had gone to visit his sister shortly before. 

Of course camp had been so empty - Tigerclaw had planned this! He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, even as he leaped towards the leader’s den. The lichen hung eerily still over the stone mouth, even as the battle raged around them. He didn’t hesitate, shoving his way in before any cat could stop him.

Then he froze.

Tigerclaw stood hunched over the still body of Bluestar, blood dripping down his maw as he looked to see who had dared interrupt him. At the sight of the ginger tom standing there, his lips curled into a wicked grin, showing teeth stained with the blood of his leader. “You’re too late, kittypet!” He crowed, turning and rising to his full height as he stared down Fireheart with glittering amber eyes. “Even now, Bluestar’s lives slip away from her, tragically taken by one of Brokentail’s rogues as they sought to free him from Thunderclan’s grasp. No cat will suspect the truth.”

“Traitor!” Fireheart howled, launching himself at the tabby with a vengeful fury.

The deputy dodged out of the way with a mocking laugh. “You’re a fool if you think you can defeat me with those silly battle tricks that your pathetic little mentor taught you. I’d only planned to send you two back where you belonged, but if you insist on fighting me…” His claws unsheathed, glinting in the lowlight. “I’ll happily oblige.”

He easily ducked out of the way as Tigerclaw swung, his claws raking the air over Fireheart’s ears. He recalled what Tinyfrost had told him nearly a moon ago, after Bluestar had rejected the truth - He will underestimate an opponent that’s smaller than him. Use his arrogance against him. The words rang again and again in his ears as he stood, his blood blazing inside him. He might have been too late to save Bluestar, but he would not let Tigerclaw become leader. Not without a fight.

He leaped past the murderer towards the entrance. “Fleeing, kittypet?” Tigerclaw taunted as he pivoted around on one paw, using his momentum to launch himself onto the deputy’s back and dig his claws in. Tigerclaw howled beneath him as Fireheart dug in, bucking and clawing as he tried to get the smaller tom off of him.

He strained to find skin under the thick tabby fur, growling to himself as he couldn’t find purchase. In desperation, he snapped out at Tigerclaw’s neck, hoping to find the weak spot in his spine, but he whipped his head around at the last moment. Instead, Fireheart’s fangs sunk into one dark ear, and he pulled viciously to tear away a chunk of flesh.

Tigerclaw yowled in pain beneath him, and with one last kick finally flung the ginger tom off, sending him into one wall of the den. He immediately rolled to the side as he landed, just barely missing two heavy paws slamming into where he had been. He got to his feet, watching as a trickle of blood sped down the deputy’s ear. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that, kittypet.” Tigerclaw snarled as he spun to face the young warrior. “I’ll flay you alive!”

He lunged once more at Fireheart, but the ginger tom nimbly skipped out of the way. His heart was racing from fear, but he had never felt more alive. If he died now, he died knowing he had done what he could to save his Clan.

As they stared each other down, he realized that the stone floor beneath his paws was thick with blood. Bluestar’s blood, he despaired, glancing to the side to see the body still lying there. Tigerclaw took that moment to rush at him, but he quickly side-stepped away onto a dry patch of ground.

The tabby tom hadn’t been expecting it, and swerved to course correct; this time, however, it was him standing in Bluestar’s blood, and as he tried to change direction his paws slipped out from beneath him, causing him to land with a heavy thud in front of Fireheart. The ginger warrior was diving at the deputy before he could recover; his claws slicing away the thick fur above the shoulder blade, while his fangs dug into the soft flesh beneath it. Blood immediately spurted onto his tongue, and the caterwaul of the tom under him revealed that he’d found a soft spot.

Fireheart stiffened in shock as he felt Tigerclaw’s paws wrap around his sides. In any other cat, such a bite would surely stun them, but cats across all Clans knew of Tigerclaw’s legendary stone will when it came to fighting. He would not stop until one of them was dead.

He let go of Tigerclaw’s neck and wrenched himself to the side, hoping to free himself from the tabby tom’s grasp. Instead, they went flipping across the stone den as they lashed out at each other with claws and fangs. Fireheart felt wounds being torn into his side, but he didn’t dare to stop - couldn’t dare to stop. 

Just as he thought that Tigerclaw might get the upper paw, a black blur slammed into them, sending the two fighters tumbling in separate directions across the floor. It took Fireheart several moments to get to his feet, but when he did, he could see Tinyfrost had pinned Tigerclaw by his scruff and front paws.

“Tiny- Tinyfrost?” He stuttered out, his muscles burning even as he crossed the den to help pin the traitor’s back legs, which were still clawing desperately as he tried to get the little tom to let go. “How-?”

“Sandstorm sent Thornpaw to come get us. Yowled about camp being in danger before he ran off.” The senior warrior spat down at his old enemy beneath him through the thick scruff, his ice blue eyes burning with fury. “I think he went off to the Great Sycamore to get Mousefur’s hunting patrol. Brightpaw is probably off finding Lionheart’s and Darkstripe’s patrols.”

He let out a sigh of relief at that. Now he understood why he hadn’t seen either of the apprentices behind Sandstorm; she’d clearly scented the rogues coming and sent them to get help. “Tinyfrost, he… Bluestar…” He glanced back at Bluestar’s body that was still laying in her blood-soaked nest.

“I saw.” Tinyfrost’s eyes squeezed shut in grief for his dead mentor for a brief moment before they opened again. “No use dwelling on it. Help me drag him out of here.”

The two shepherded their new prisoner out into the clearing. Tinyfrost had been right: the other patrols had returned, along with Brightpaw. It seemed as though with their combined might, they had driven out the rest of the rogues while Fireheart had been fighting with Tigerclaw. Now the assembled fighters were assessing their wounds and the damage that had been done. As the three cats exited the leader’s den in tandem, all eyes turned to them.

“Tigerclaw! Why- What are you two doing?” Dustleap jumped to his paws, fur bristling furiously. “That’s your deputy you’re-”

“He’s a traitor!” Fireheart howled, shoving Tigerclaw to the ground before him. The deputy’s amber eyes burned with rage as he sprawled before the two former kittypets.

There were shocked yowls of disbelief at his words. “Tigerclaw has always been a loyal warrior, and a great deputy!” Patchpelt called from where he was sitting by the elders’ den, where all the other elders were slowly clambering out. “How could he be a traitor?”

“Tigerclaw has never been a loyal warrior!” Fireheart shot back, his eyes searching the crowd for Peppermask. At last he spotted her, near the nursery - as their twin green gazes met, she slowly nodded. It was time, at last, to reveal the truth. “Tell me, who here remembers Redtail?”

There was discontent as he spoke the name of the fallen deputy. “So what?” Darkstripe growled from near the front of the crowd. “Redtail may not have been his mate before he died, but he still got vengeance for his death at the claws of those-”

“And who told you that?” The ginger tom thrust his muzzle towards the black-striped tom. “Did not one of you think it was strange that Oakheart, known for his love of battle and for his great honor, would resort to such a dirty trick? Did you not think that it was strange that Ravenspirit returned to camp with a wound so terrible, he fainted because of it, even though he had supposedly not fought at all?”

The crowd murmured uneasily to each other as they pondered his questions. “Speak plainly, Fireheart.” It was Lionheart who spoke up now, his green eyes troubled as they looked down on his longtime rival.

“Tigerclaw wasn’t the one to kill Oakheart that day.” Fireheart announced to a series of shocked gasps. “But he did indeed kill that morning at Sunningrocks. The cat he killed was not his enemy - but his own deputy, Redtail!”

Yowls of shock and fury met his words, each cat speaking over another as they tried to question him. Fireheart stared at them, uneasy at the sea of faces of cats twisted into states of anger, fear, and grief. He had kept this hidden from them for so long. Would they blame him for not telling them sooner?

“SILENCE!” Fireheart startled slightly at Tinyfrost’s caterwaul beside him. He had never heard the little tom shout so loudly before, even when he was mad at his apprentice. He supposed he understood why his old mentor was so quiet otherwise - he was certain that even cats near Fourtrees must have heard the yowl. “He can’t answer anything when you’re all talking over each other.” Tinyfrost mewed, once again quiet as the crowd followed his command. “If you want answers, try asking one at a time.”

His heart thudded against his ribs as he looked out at the gathered warriors. At last, Halftail stood up, his golden eyes full of suspicion. “How do you know all this? You weren’t there.” The tabby elder pointed out before sitting back down.

He dipped his head. “I was not. But I was told all of this by a cat that was there. Ravenspirit saw his father murder his own deputy.” He glanced up towards the sky briefly, as though recalling the fallen tom. “It was his intention to tell us the truth before he fainted. When he came to, Tigerclaw threatened to kill him if he said a word against his father.” The tabby on the ground before him squinted angrily at him. They both knew he was lying, at least partially, but it was easier than explaining everything in detail. “But Ravenspirit’s silence wasn’t enough. That’s why he insinuated his own son was a Shadowclan spy to anyone who would listen - so none would believe him even if he did dare to speak up and tell the truth.”

“Stone-heart!” He blinked as Dappleshine stood, her green eyes filled with furious fire as she glared at the deputy whose son she had raised. “It’s because of you that Ravenspirit is dead!”

“How do you know he wasn’t lying?” Darkstripe yowled again, his pale yellow eyes narrow as he glared at Fireheart. Fireheart glared back evenly.

“I spoke with Riverclan.” He stated flatly, as he looked out on the crowd, meeting the gaze of each Thunderclan cat. “I asked myself, if Tigerclaw truly killed Redtail, then who killed Oakheart? Was it Redtail himself?”

“Redtail would never kill another cat!” Longtail spat as he rose to his paws, fur bristling angrily. “I was his apprentice, I should know!”

“I didn’t say he did.” Fireheart pointed out readily as he gazed back at the tabby warrior. “I asked Riverclan if they knew who had killed Oakheart. I was surprised to hear that it was not a cat that killed him, but a rockfall, caused by all of the rain the night before. Redtail and Tigerclaw were there when he died, but neither was responsible for his death.” He tore his eyes away from Longtail to look out at the rest of the crowd. “You can ask any Riverclan cat, and they’ll all tell you the same thing; even Mudwish and Mosspatch, their healers, who are above Clan disputes.”

Cats in the crowd began to uneasily eye their neighbors and whisper to each other. Could what Fireheart was saying really be true? “He thought that if he killed Redtail and pretended to have avenged him, he would be made deputy.” Fireheart explained, knowing that they were wondering the traitor’s motive, just as he had been. “But Quickflash was made deputy instead.”

“And I suppose you’re going to say he killed Quickflash too.” Darkstripe scoffed, but he could see fear in the black tabby’s eyes - he knew the truth, just as Fireheart did. His lip curled into a sneer at the realization.

“He did. He summoned Quickflash to the side of the Thunderpath, where the verge is thinnest, and pushed him out in the path of an incoming Monster. He had no chance to react before it was too late.” Fireheart looked to the back, where Peppermask was leaning against her mother. His heart ached to bring it up, but it had to be done. “This time, he was made deputy. Not through Starclan’s will, but through his own bloodied paws.”

There were hisses and jeers at his words. “Why bring all this up now, when we have Brokentail and his rogues to deal with?” Mousefur called from where she was sitting by her apprentice. “Surely this is a matter for Bluestar to decide.”

“Because he summoned Brokentail’s rogues here today!” Fireheart yowled, his voice loud enough to be heard by Starclan above. “He made sure every warrior and apprentice was out of camp except for Whitestorm and myself. I don’t know what he promised them for helping him - a place in the Clan, maybe, or hunting rights on our territory. Maybe it was just the chance to get their leader back.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “It doesn’t matter. He made sure the camp was as unguarded as possible.”

A long, tense moment of silence stretched out between him and the crowd. “Why?” Mistspring questioned at last.

His shoulders sagged in defeat as he realized that even despite all this, Tigerclaw had achieved what he had sought to do. “Because being deputy was never going to be enough for him. He wanted to control the Clan, with no cat able to temper his power.” He looked down at his paws, trying to summon up the courage to tell the Clan a truth that he knew would break them. “While the rogues fought everyone left in camp, he slipped into Bluestar’s den and did what he had to do to make sure he became leader.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “He killed Bluestar.”

Stunned silence met his words. “That’s not possible.” He opened his eyes and looked out on the faces of shocked and fearful cats. “Bluestar is - he couldn’t kill her! He wouldn’t kill her!” It was Dustleap speaking, his golden eyes round and horrified.

“He did!” Fireheart howled, tears finally flowing down his face as his grief overcame him. “I realized what he had done, but it was too late. By the time I got inside, he had already killed her. I fought him, but…” He dropped his head in shame. “I couldn’t stop him. I was too late. I’m so sorry.”

It felt as though the weight of the sky itself was pressing down on him, suffocating him, drowning him in his own tears. He didn’t dare look up at the crowd. Despite all his knowledge, despite everything he’d tried to do, he had still failed them. Even if they cast out Tigerclaw, they were still leaderless.

“And you, Tigerclaw?” He recognized Lionheart’s steady voice speak up now, and pictured the giant golden tabby looking down on the other great warrior with disdain. “Have you anything to say in your defense?”

He heard something rustling, and opened his eyes to see Tigerclaw finally sitting up. “Oh, I have something to say, alright.” The traitor growled bitterly, his amber eyes burning as he glared at Fireheart. “That’s a tall tale you’ve told there, Fireheart. It’s a shame not a word of it was true.”

Gasps of shock met his words. “So you deny it?” Tinyfrost growled, his claws unsheathing as he glared at his enemy, the cat he had so longed to deliver justice and vengeance to.

“Fireheart himself admits that his tale comes from the mouth of my dead son, one who everyone knows always had an overactive imagination.” Tigerclaw shook his head wearily. “And even more, his ‘evidence’ that I somehow killed Redtail hinges on Riverclan, who every cat knows would lie to Starclan themselves if they thought it would make them look good!”

Fireheart bristled furiously. “You-!”

“I am ashamed I could not save Redtail before it was too late. That is my guilt to bear.” The deputy’s head hung and he gave a dramatic sigh. “But his death wasn’t my fault - neither was Quickflash’s. Tell me, Fireheart, did you see me shove my predecessor under a Monster’s paws? Or perhaps you’ll say that Ravenspirit witnessed it, or that we should go ask the very Monster that killed him!”

He didn’t give the young warrior a chance to interrupt. “I’ll tell you all what really happened. It’s true that I only left two warriors to guard camp - something that any cat can tell you happens regularly, now that we are not at war with any other Clan.” Tigerclaw shook his head sadly as he looked back up to the crowd. “I was told that Brokentail’s rogues had been scattered, and no cat has reported them on the border in moons. How was I supposed to know they would attack today?”

Fireheart’s heart dropped as he saw cats quietly discussing with each other. Surely they didn’t believe him? “And what about Bluestar’s body? The blood that I found dripping from your maw? You expect them to believe that was a figment of my imagination, too?” He interjected quickly, glaring back at the deputy as his own claws began to unsheathe.

“It’s true that Bluestar is dead. But as you would know if you had taken even a moment to listen to me instead of attacking, I was trying to save her.” Up close, he could see the treacherous deputy’s eyes glittering with thinly veiled contempt as he gazed down on the young warrior. “I did have her blood on my paws, but I was trying to stop the bleeding so a healer could arrive.”

“I said-”

“Tell me, Thunderclan!” Tigerclaw didn’t give him a chance to speak, standing and shouting to the crowd with his booming voice. “Who would you believe? A kittypet that openly admits to believing an enemy Clan over his own? Or your own loyal deputy, who has served this Clan faithfully for many seasons?”

Fireheart shook with rage as he stared up at the murderous tabby. How could this traitor try and claim that this was somehow his fault? Trying to twist his own words against him, if not openly lying about what had happened just moments before?

In the corner of his eye he could see the crowd shift, and he tore his attention away briefly to see the entire Clan looking between him and Tigerclaw. He could see Peppermask also looking around at the Clan, and Frostfur was scowling furiously at the deputy as her white fur hung off her in clumps. The rest of the sea of faces looked doubtful, and he realized with horror that they didn’t believe him.

His words stuck in his throat as he tried to speak, to say something that would convince them. He had known that his tale was difficult to accept, that Tigerclaw was held in such high regard that it would take truly momentous proof to out him as a murderer and codebreaker. But didn’t they understand? Bluestar was dead! If they let Tigerclaw get away with killing her, if he became leader of Thunderclan, then -

“I don’t know, Tigerclaw.” He blinked as he heard a familiar mew behind him. “Who should we believe?”

He turned around, his blood roaring in his ears. That voice - it couldn’t be-

But it was. Standing behind him was Bluestar, the leader of Thunderclan.

[artsy-dreamer]

Today is Tortoiseshell Cat Appreciation Day! 🐱🐾

[nuclearforest]

the sun chases icarus

Crosspost to AO3 of a fic written at the behest of @zestyaahbutler, @rotten-hearts-sharp-teeth, and @hellogreyeyedathena where my girlboss Hellsing OC beats the shit out of Walter.

TW canon typical violence and torture; word count 4.2k

Walter had intended to avoid Claire for as long as time allowed; preferably until he died. His employer, Arthur, is naturally distant from the haughty misandrist during all interactions and rejects contact with her when at all possible. The butler and middle-aged monster hunter could understand where he got it from. Unfortunately, while the older Hellsing was occupied with his surrogate mother and newborn in the manor’s private chambers, the butler was left to entertain their guest.

She’d been invited to meet the young heir and, naturally, brought blessed gifts.

And when she came, she didn’t even wait to be picked up. She drove straight up to the manor in a rental car. Sweet talked the guards at the gate while they radioed back into the manor proper for clearance for her entry. She made idle chatter as they inspected the vehicle for unauthorized devices. She was far too early; something Walter might’ve appreciated if he hadn’t already started the car to drive into London to fetch her.

Somehow she was up to date on the local league soccer game results, exchanging remarks with the men on duty while he made his way inside.

“And you wouldn’t have believed he would score that goal until he did,” she waves a flippant hand, leaning on the tall walnut-boarded counter. She was a good head shorter than every man there and was dressed head to toe in a matching black and white houndstooth suit. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail with a tortoiseshell clip and when she turned to look over her shoulder at him, her curls bounced. “Well if it isn’t Walter!”

“Takes an American to ruin a Brit’s formality,” one of the men at her side laugh, almost faceless to the butler in his carbon copy suit with a neat Hellsing arm band pinned to place. Around him, the rest of the manor was in perfect order. Sprawling halls lined with artwork and richly papered walls. Early morning sunlight poured through high windows onto the red carpet and white tiled floor.

“Well you can’t quite blame me for my excitement—not every heir is born a girl! Won’t suffer the same hedonistic distractions as you lot.”

The men just guffaw around her, back to the football game from three days ago while they finish her paperwork and fork over a temporary guest badge. “Not all of us are like the Lord,” one of them says with a chuckle. Walter just frowns at the group and sighs.

“I’m afraid the Lord’s hedonistic distraction of the hour is his newborn daughter,” the butler announces, staring down his subordinates until they resume their guard positions along the walls in the reception area. “I will be your company until he emerges.”

The woman nods, flashing him a warm smile. “Maybe you can treat me to some proper tea this time.” Last time she visited was all business, helping assess a local coven for compatibility with the area. Why Arthur simply let them practice instead of banning them outright amounted solely to her meddling. Walter would’ve rid them all without a second thought.

“I suppose that will do,” Walter hums, stepping up to the counter and looking at the older man sitting behind with a logbook and notes for the week. “Send a message to the kitchen prepare a pot of tea, would you?”

The man nods and reaches for the phone. Claire taps the counter and shoots him a smile when he turns to look.

“I’m partial to something fruity, if you have it.”

“I’ll see what we have.” The man’s stoic face breaks into a smile and Walter bites back a sarcastic remark.

“Come along, now, I’ll show you to the parlor.” And with a wave of his hand, his escort duties begin. The blonde follows him down winding halls, quietly remarking about the paintings and greeting passing agents—damn Americans—as they go.

At least they reach the parlor quickly enough and Walter opens the grand old oak door, carved before the turn of the century, and holds it open for her to enter. Inside was a collection of antique furniture from the mid-1700s, excruciatingly maintained. Matching opposing chairs, recently reupholstered in red velvet, sat next to a patterned chaise lounge with a plethora of wooden tables surrounding them.

Forgoing his office, this was one or Arthur’s favorite rooms to make merry with work and with women. Along the wall opposite the door were grand windows staring down at the Hellsing estate. Along the same wall were bookcases with classic literature and crystal bottles of whiskey. At least one wooden carving of a horse to mark the time that Claire had hosted Arthur for the Kentucky Derby.

The same sunlight poured in and illuminated the room without the crystal chandelier over the head. Claire doesn’t even take a moment to savor the opulence of the room and just waltzes in, looking over the décor and humming before picking the seat with her back to the window and dropping down before the butler could even offer.

Just as Walter steps in, another servant arrives with a piping hot pot of tea. “Pardon me,” the young man bids, “but my Lord will be occupied for some time before he is able to see the company.”

“It’s quite alright,” Claire reassures him, crossing one leg over the other and smiling warmly at the man. “Thank you for the tea.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Walter cuts in before he can reply, taking his own seat and shooting the other staff member with a harsh look in warning to leave the dangerous guest to him. In no time at all they are left alone with the quiet click of the door as Walter pours a cup of tea and passes it off to her. Shame she doesn’t pay a moment of notice to the fine bone china with delicate purple florals and gold detail.

But that wasn’t so much the issue.

What was the issue was the look she was giving him: piercing blue gaze watching his pulse throb in his throat. Her face was blank, low wide smile and relaxed posture, slouched over in the antique chair, almost sinking under her weight. She held a teacup in one hand and saucer in the other, legs crossed like she was somehow a lady despite being a raging bitch and unrepentant monster.

It was already irritating that he couldn’t seem to relax around her. That the hair on his neck stood on end and his heart raced the second that damn door sealed them alone together.

“I didn’t think Arthur would make a good father, y’know?” she drawls before taking a long sip and looking just over the butler’s shoulder at the door. The crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes crinkle slightly when her smile broadens and she lowers her cup. “He might beat my expectations yet.” She closes her eyes and leans back a little further. Even the nearby door at his back does Walter no good, feeling his hands twitch while folded in his lap.

Despite being an ally by name, every iota of her person was a threat to his existence and goals.

“Is this why he’s been ignoring my messages?” Walter braces himself.

“You know what he’s like,” Walter snaps, feeling his lip quirk in disgust when she laughs at his reply.

“And that’s why I doubt his parental capabilities.” She laughs, tilting her head back ever so slightly just so her curls bounce behind her shoulders where they’re pinned back.

That was the charm that had Hellsing’s standard staff and agents lowering their guard around her. A motherly, middle-aged woman that could chat and laugh with them like she, too, could relate to their humanity. And yet there was no household to keep. No children at school. No mundane job, even, to keep her busy. She was the head of the American Department of the Supernatural and had been through however many iterations there had been before, generations of humans ago.

Walter’s silence doesn’t deter her. Instead, she just takes another sip and cracks her neck. “You’ll have your hands full with both of them now.”

“I beg your pardon?” He finally bites.

“You know. With the both of them: father and daughter,” she sets her teacup down on the saucer and waves her hand in a circle. “No reasonable man would send a child to do an adult’s work.” Her sharp gaze somehow sharpens then, cutting through his person and sending him back into his younger years. When he was an orphan under the watch of Hellsing, sent out into warzones to be one of the youngest unsung heroes of the war.

“I may as well have been a man myself at the time,” Walter replies, finally reaching for his own cup on a silver tray to his left. The silver cross on a silver chain glints where it hangs at her collarbones. It was a mystery how a werewolf, for all intents and purposes, went unaffected. “I would say he made the right decision.”

Her smile drops and she shakes her head at him. “If you insist. But he’d better not do the same damn thing to that poor girl. If I knew, I wouldn’t have been on the Pacific the whole damn time.” She wrinkles her nose when she looks at him again, uncrossing her legs to let them spread.

How uncouth.

“Wasn’t the first violence I’ve seen and won’t be the last.”

“So the angel of death still flies?”

“As surely as the sun rises.” He narrows his gaze at her and takes a sip of his own cooled cup, hoping to impart some of the same intimidation she lorded over him. Loathe as he was to admit it, he could learn exactly how to project his presence from her. He’d spent so damn long learning how to hide that he’d never learned how to use it to suffocate.

A sharp rap on the door steals their attention. Her eyes flit over his shoulder and he turns his head. An agent quickly opens the door and steps in, suit neatly pressed and horn-rimmed glasses shining in the daylight streaming through the windows at Claire’s back.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he grunts, face serious as he steps over to Walter. Like it matters, the man leans down to whisper and Walter shoots him a glare.

“Remember your company,” he instructs.

“Of course,” the man straightens up, “the young madam is down for a nap and it seems that visiting hours will have to be delayed further.”

“I see.” Walter says.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Claire chuckles, “let the baby get her sleep. We don’t age that quickly.”

“Likewise my Lord has other matters to tend to and entrusts Walter to keep you entertained.” The man bows and turns on his heel before Walter can choke out a reply, vein in his forehead already bulging. Claire’s chuckle blows into a full-bellied laugh.

“He’s still leaving you to fight his battles!” She sits up a little straighter and smirks at Walter. “So how exactly do you entertain?”

The door clicks shut again and Walter resigns himself to his fate. “I don’t suppose you’d like a riveting game of chess?”

“’fraid not,” she replies with a shrug, “I’m a little too uncultured for that.”

Walter suppresses his choke with a slight cough and quickly covers it with a sip of tea.

“And as much as I’d love to walk in the garden, Arthur’s not going to want me snooping around to see what he’s growing. How about we play a different game instead?”

The butler sets his tea aside again and straightens his front, correcting millimeters of fabric out of place. Now this was the danger zone.

“What were you thinking?” his voice is low and he stares at her with his chin held high, defiant where she was likely expecting him to fold. The real chess game of sorts would be dancing around her from whatever she tried to pry. As she noted, the garden and their herbs were off limits, Athur’s orders.

“The Who, What, and Where.” She stops, smirk lowering into a smile.

“And the basis of that is…?” He offers a hand, palm side up, as a gesture of good will.

“I just ask you questions about the who, the what, and the where. It was a popular show around the office for a while,” she shrugs. “All the rage at holiday parties.”

“I see.” Walter stares at her for a solid minute in contemplation. She lets his eyes roam her figure, completely relaxed if not aloof. While tempted to turn her down, he can’t help but dread the next suggestion. If she wants something, she won’t let him go so easily. “I suppose we can play.” He settles back in his own chair, feigning the same level of comfort but with markedly more tact.

“Wonderful. So do you know Millennium?”

His blood runs cold. Her face remains cheerful, casual.

“They were the division of the Nazi military that dealt with the supernatural.” Walter answers curtly. “I dealt with them in ’45.” It takes every muscle in his body to remain even slightly slouched.

Claire nods her head. “Twenty-five dollars for a good answer. I’ll have to spot you later today—I’m afraid I don’t have any cash on me.”

“No need,” the butler grunts out, internally cursing that he didn’t just take her on a walk through the damned garden and couldn’t back out.

She laughs at that. “Well let’s just say you’re all in on the next question then.” She pauses and sips her tea. Walter’s heart almost stutters in his chest, a betrayal. “What is the werewolf project?”

“Their piss poor attempt to make werewolves before they gave up and moved onto artificial vampires,” he answers. His fingers twitch again, but he thinks better than to reach for his cup of tea.

“Gave up?” Claire tilts her head, “Are you sure about that?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m the one asking questions,” she corrects, blowing right over him as her smile broadens and her eyes narrow slightly. The cold fingers of fear grip Walter’s stomach. “Twenty-five dollar deduction. Let’s go for the next one—where is Millennium stationed now?”

Walter jumps to his feet. “Are you accusing me of failure?” That’s the first thing he can think to confront her with, but in a flash, what remains of her tea spills all over the Persian carpet and she’s grabbed his neck in one hand, suddenly standing.

His trained eyes are fast enough to catch her movements, but his body is too old to function against something near immortal and unaffected by the march of time. With unnatural strength she lifts him ofrom the ground, muscle suddenly taught under her neatly pressed shirt with the seams threatening to rip.

Sharp canines stand more prominently just behind her lips.

“I wouldn’t say failure,” she slurs out in a half-growl. “Come on, Wally,” she sighs, “it’s scary to be a kid sent into a warzone.”

He struggles to breathe in her grip and raises his hands to uselessly grasp at her arm. Damn the gloves, that don’t let him uselessly dig his nails into her skin. Damn the silver wire, which would have no effect whatsoever on her flesh.

“Try to convince me this time.” She drops him and he lands on his feet, sinking lower to avoid a stumble that would otherwise send him to the ground on his rear. Her smile falls into neutrality, and her once happy eyes are open and cold, scanning his body for every twitch of muscle.

Walter takes her gracious pause to catch his breath, straightening his front again. This time it’s more than a few millimeters out of place.

“Millennium is the defunct branch of the Nazi miliary that specialized in the supernatural,” Walter repeats with a measured voice. “They had two projects—both of which you have reports on. Alucard and I eradicated them. There is no current base of operations.”

“Alucard didn’t eradicate shit,” Claire grunts, cracking her neck again. “He’s the laziest bastard I’ve ever met. And as for you—you were a kid. And I am not a damn fool.” She snorts and the faintest breath of smoke follows. The faint scent of sickly sweet applewood spreads around her and Walter wonders if he could be looking at a demon out of hell. “I won’t be nice if I have to ask again.”

Instead of snapping back that she isn’t nice now—a surefire way to see what interrogation tactics she’d be testing, the butler steels himself. He just has to buy time. It was a mistake to not have a panic button—to be alone—but he was the only one that could take her.

“The Werewulf project,” Walter starts with an emphasis on his pronunciation, “was a failed attempt to create more werewolves. If—hypothetically speaking—a scientist had escaped and resumed work, we would not know what that work entailed nor their current base of operations.”

Claire tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes. Taking this relaxation as a break, Walter takes a silent step to move behind his chair to get something between them and she lunges. He goes down with a graceless thud, wrestled onto his front despite pitting his entire strength against her as she pulls his arms back and folds them across like he were some lowly convict to be arrested.

“Now, hypothetically speaking, if some of my good friends in government had a Werewulf recipe, that would imply the existence of a living scientist.” Claire all but growls in his ear. Her breath tickles the hairs on the side of his head. Her heat and weight on top of him are crushing—she is far more than the average human and now she is bearing her hand. “I’m going to learn everything you’ve got on them.”

She exhales again and a puff of smoke hits his face like she is a raging bull staring down a red flag.

“Think wisely before you try to bullshit me again. You’re not a kid anymore and I’m not as lenient with grown bastards.” The slur of her words make his stomach churn. From the floor, he can only hope the agents heard the commotion. If he screamed, there was no predicting what the wild animal on his back would resort to. Murder was not out of the realm of possibilities.

“I have nothing further to tell you,” Walter snaps only to bite his lip when, with a flick of her finger, she breaks the pinky on his left hand. The crack was not the worst thing he’d heard, but he had only 9 left before she had bigger bones to go for.

“Try again.”

“Go to hell.”

Crack.

He grits his teeth and muffles a cry, writhing underneath her until he can get a grip on himself. His fingers throb and he looks up at the door, somewhat blurred with his monocle having slipped from his nose. Not nearly close enough with the immovable weight on his back. The butler tries for another deep breath and he can feel her stare right through him as he inhales somewhat shakily.

Despite his best efforts, he is not as good as he was in his prime.

“Can’t you respect top secret information?” Walter tries, wincing when her laugh shakes him.

“Not when it’s in my back yard, Wally.” She takes the breaking hand and pats his head, running her fingers through his hair in a way that almost has his heartbeat slowing before she tangles her fingers in it and lifts up. “You ain’t covering for Arthur, here,” she rumbles.

“Weren’t you the one remarking on his competence?”

Claire immediately knocks his head into the floor, nose first. The carpet is not enough to cushion the blow and his nose makes another softer crack. His head starts to spin and blood trickles out onto that same carpet, down his lips and onto the floor.

“You’re awfully callous in the house of your allies,” he grunts.

“You’re not being very allied,” she quips back, flat face reemerging into a smile that Walter can pick up out of the corner of his eye. The throb in his hand and now in his face is a keen reminder that she doesn’t care about the repercussions. It is a sign of feral desperation. It is a monster that turns to the one thing that usually works. He will not let her win.

So he proverbially bites his tongue and settles on the floor. She can beat him further, but she won’t know. He won’t threaten his life’s work over a project he knows nothing about. That’s the least of his worries.

The werewolf gives a pause for his silence, fingers tightening to pull his hair in a way that makes him almost gasp. But like she can feel it she lets him go with a huff and a sneer, glowering down at him with glowing blue eyes and a disgusted quirk of her lip.

The wordless exchange results in another broken finger that has him wheezing, starting to struggle under her body mass as she threatens to crack his ribs when she tests a light bounce.

“Looks like you don’t mind the fingers,” she snarls, “how would you feel about a little lick of fire?” She leans low and huffs in his ears again. This time, thick smoke seems to unfurl from her tongue down his cheek, mixing with his blood and taunting him with that same sickly sweet applewood and a hint of death. Embers leave a near pinch on his skin when they land.

“Doesn’t matter what I tell you,” Walter struggles, ignoring the smell as his hair starts to singe and a sweat breaks out on his skin. Her hand almost burns where she holds his wrist. His whole hand throbs.

Crack.

Another finger and she chuckles darkly above him. “I’m really running out of patience,” Claire slurs, “and I don’t believe in that new age shit like waterboarding.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that’s a mercy?”

“Well, it’s hard to answer when the water is boiling.”  

A bead of sweat drips down Walter’s forehead. Claire puts more of her weight on his chest and he struggles to breathe, air hot and dry in a way that burns his throat.

Crack.

The last finger on his left hand. Finally he gasps, heart racing in his chest as he stares up at that piercing blue gaze. The reaper, fueled by the fires of hell, closes in.

“Last chance.” Claire’s voice is almost indistinguishable between the deeper slur and the pounding of his blood in his ears. Walter pants, chest uselessly heaving as she leans down to hiss near his ear again, promising a wicked scorch.

Then, the door opens.

Claire is off his back, warm smile surely on her face. The heat recedes.

In the hallway, Walter looks out at the other agent that just arrived and knows his blood, too, runs cold at the sight of an unrepentant monster. “T—the Lord of the estate wishes to see you,” is all the agent can stammer, wide eyes falling to the not broken but still bloodied man on the floor. When he wheezes without her weight on top of him, he figures she might’ve cracked a few ribs anyway.

“Is that so? What a right shame. Wally and I were having a pleasant discussion.”

The other agent opens and closes his mouth before shaking his head. “Follow me.”

“Will do,” Claire drawls. Walter turns his head to look up at her and her smile widens to a sickening degree. Just as she lifts a foot to step over him, she delivers a swift kick to the ribs leaves a resounding crack and leaves him coughing up blood.

As a final fuck you, she reaches back to crush his monocle with her other foot and walks towards the now terrified agent. The man pulls his gun from its holster and, with admittedly straight aim, orders: “Ma’am step away from the agent.”

“No need for that,” Claire chortles with raised hands like she hadn’t just been on her way to beating him to a pulp. “I’m coming peacefully.”

The other agent bites his tongue but nonetheless leads her out. Behind him, other agents with a medic flood in to tend to him. They had heard the commotion and the interruption took only minutes. Even Arthur’s voice, chastising Claire down the hall for getting rough without him present—was a welcome reassurance that the hard part was over.

In the back of his mind, Walter knew Claire wouldn’t threaten the head of Hellsing, or double back around for him, or even be welcomed on the grounds again while he was present. They had learned. It was a dangerous slip that ultimately costs the butler the dexterity in one hand and a slight imperfection to his otherwise symmetrical face, but it’s the smallest price he can pay for his chance at glory.  If anything is suspected by his countrymen, it isn’t brought up.

[bioniclechronicles]

Hiya :D!!!

List 5 things that make you happy, then [possibly] put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged or liked something from you. Get to know your mutuals and followers ^ ^

Aw thank you for the ask game stuff I like getting these :>

5 things that make me happy

1. Original characters

I love my own I love others, I love original characters and story works! It's so fun and personal and exciting, every day I do something related to ocs in some way shape or form.

2. My loved ones

I've been with my wife for 11 years and my boyfriend for 6, I love my family I've made with them! My best friend is apart of this little group in a way that's hard to describe in words. I love my family!

3. Clowns

I've always had a personal connection with clowns and they bring me great joy. I've got a clown figure collection that covers my office and people know me as a clown guy and that's a fine reputation for me.

4. Art and the act of creation

I love making things. I'm at my happiest when I get a chance to create something, be it through writing or painting or sculpting or sewing or any other way I do it, I just adore making things and being creative. I'm always working on several projects at once bc im just so full of ideas all the time!

5. My cats

I have two cats and seeing them every day is a blessing. I've got a large one eyed black cat and a small tortoiseshell. Their personalities are so different but each is loving in their own ways and I couldn't imagine my life without my little fellas.

Thank you again for asking, my inbox and dms are always open for questions and discussion! I promise I don't bite and appreciate getting things like this haha

[lykegenia]

Happy Valentine’s Day, lovely person 🌹

I love your writing so much (your Nate! And Leah!) and am so happy you’ve started sharing more about Rhi and Mason as well. And whenever you share your thoughts, they are always so well-though out and interesting to read!

Here’s a romance-themed OC question for any OC(s) of your choosing (no pressure to answer on Valentine’s day itself, or at all):

What combination of random objects would your OC use to describe their LI? What do they represent? Bonus question: What would their LI use to describe them?

Dearest Nonny, you have no idea what a delight it was to wake up to this message this morning. Thank you so much for such kind words, it's one of the best feelings to know my characters are loved 🌹

For the OC question...

Objects Leah would use to describe Nate:

A fountain pen, but like, a really fancy one made of tortoiseshell and ebony and gold wire - not only do charming words seem to flow easily from him, but there's a certain elegance in his hands and a lightness of touch that matches the finesse required to use a fountain pen properly (she could never master it). It's also slightly old-fashioned, but there's potential for change as well with special inks or new designs like those glass nibs, which he would probably appreciate even if he was a bit dubious at first.

A cashmere blanket - soft and comforting and cozy (and expensive, because Nate would never compromise on quality). Something that she doesn't necessarily need or was missing before it came into her life, but woe betide you if you try to take it away from her. She's snuggled and comfortable now.

A star chart - not just for his naval background, or his penchant for deep thinking, but because people have always used the stars for guidance. She never really had a direction before UB came into her life, but now she does, and the feeling of looking up into the vastness of the night sky is very reminiscent of the rare mornings where she can wake up before Nate and watch him still sleeping.

Nate for Leah:

A (European) magpie feather - elegant but understated and unassuming, from an intelligent but often overlooked/maligned bird, until you look at it from the right angle and the plain black shimmers into brilliant irridescence. He once listened to her talk for an hour about how structural colours evolved in birds, and wishes she could appreciate that complex beauty in herself.

A lit candle - staring down the darkness of eternity often seemed unbearable at times. There were previous sparks, but nothing to provide the steady light that Leah provides him. The sweet smell of beeswax meant it was used to create church candles in the medieval period, and being close to her certainly feels holy, the flame bright and warm but with a bite if you're not careful. But at the same time, it's precious, because eventually the flame will burn down and go out, and the memory of it will be all that's left.

An arrow - it flies straight and true and pierces its quarry without mercy, and that's what Leah is like in the pursuit of justice. There are also so many stories where arrows are a symbol of devotion, from St Sebastian to Cupid, and he likes the imagery of himself as an Arthurian white stag finally brought down by a strike to the heart.

Bonus Mason and Rhi:

"What the fuck kind of question is that? Rhi's not an object, and if I wanted to describe her, I'd just say she's hot." "Charming." "Don't hear you contradicting me." "Well I know what kind of object you are." "Oh?" "You're one of those metal ring puzzles you get in Christmas crackers that are fun for the first few minutes before everyone gets sick of it." "I like to think it'd take more than a few minutes to get bored of playing with me, Sweetheart." "And you even come with a terrible joke - do not respond to that." "Wouldn't dream of it."

[redux-iterum]

Burning Hearts: Chapter Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“So you’re certain she’s your sister?”

Fireheart glanced up at the sky with a chatter of his teeth. No rain yet, but the air sank heavily with moisture and clouds were visible over ThunderClan’s forest, stampeding closer and closer, footsteps of thunder a faint threat. Maybe a couple kittypets would be out right now for the last chance to appreciate the dry but soft ground. Maybe one of them was Rosy.

“Fairly certain.” Fireheart lowered his eyes a bit to Greystripe now, tail twitching nervously. “She and I do look a little similar, and she remembers so much of me. I don't think she’s a liar.”

“But she could be mistaken,” Greystripe countered. Fireheart’s face must have fallen, because he added quickly, “I mean, that’s just a slim chance. If I can see her for myself, I’ll tell you what I think.”

Fireheart hummed, jaw clenched out of nerves. “Ravenwing’s going to be upset that I haven’t even told him yet.”

“Oh, no, it’ll be fine,” Greystripe said, just as hasty. “He hasn’t wanted to hear about all of the Houses stuff from me, anyway. You can tell him tonight, after we���re home. I’ll act surprised and offended that you didn’t say anything.”

Fireheart’s whiskers twitched wryly. “He’ll see right through that.”

Greystripe sighed. “Yeah, probably. I’ll try anyway.”

Conversation paused as they crossed the threshold of grass and entered the gravel streets of the Houses. Greystripe's fur flattened a little and his eyes turned wary, but Fireheart strode with unconscious confidence, now taking the lead. He turned his head this way and that, hope and anxiety knotting together in his chest as they turned a corner.

“She should be here,” he murmured, more to himself than to Greystripe. “I told her it was every other day—”

“Rusty!”

Both warriors stopped and looked to their right as the ruddy tortoiseshell scrambled over her fence and dove down to the ground, stumbling on her landing. She hardly let it slow her down, just barely restrained herself from running up to Fireheart, purring with wide eyes.

“Hi again!” she half-shouted, stopping to rub her cheek on Fireheart’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I missed you the other day, I was kept inside. I tried to tell my owner to let me out, but…”

Her eyes darted up to Greystripe—a farther height between them than even Fireheart—and her rear left foot stepped backwards, her tail lowering to the ground.

“Oh, this is my friend I told you about—Greystripe, remember?” Fireheart tried to sound reassuring as he nodded to his Clanmate. “Greystripe, this is Rosy. My sister.”

Greystripe's wariness turned to amusement as his eyes scanned the kittypet. “Yep, I can see the resemblance. Nice to meet you.” He gave Fireheart a jokingly unimpressed look. “Didn’t think you were still going by your kittypet name, bud.”

Fireheart winced a bit. “Just with her.”

Rosy relaxed a little and huffed. “I keep forgetting it, I’m sorry. You’re Fireheart now. Hello, Greystripe. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Definitely a resemblance,” Greystripe said. “You don’t happen to hunt with us, do you?”

Rosy balked. “Oh, no, definitely not! I could never, it’s too hard and scary! R–Fireheart is really good at it, though. Have you seen him? Oh, well, of course you have, you live with him…“

Again, she trailed off, frowning as she sniffed the air, then turning sharply and backing up with a cry of surprise. Too late, Fireheart caught the scent she did, and with great fear turned as Greystripe did.

“Well,” Lionface said, coming around the corner with deliberate gravity, “this explains a few things.”

Fireheart’s entire body was frozen, but he managed to mutter to Rosy, “It’s– it’s okay, this is another Clanmate. He won’t hurt you.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lionface asked slowly. He stood a body-length away, but he still managed to loom over the pair of toms.

Fireheart stared into his eyes with more of a glare than he expected of himself. “Very sure.”

Lionface kept eye contact for a moment before his gaze flicked over to his old apprentice. “You’re right. How about you, Greystripe?”

Greystripe was much less dignified, almost huddling on the spot. “Look, Lionface, we– it– I was– there’s a good—”

“I’ve been wondering where you two have been going during the night.” Lionface stretched out his words just a little, voice level and unfavorably conversational. “Don’t think Bluestar and I didn’t notice your little on-and-off pattern of disappearing.” He narrowed his eyes. “Now, where is all this prey you’re hunting going?”

Greystripe's mouth flapped uselessly. Fireheart took in a breath and steadied himself. “To RiverClan. We’ve been bringing them food to help them survive the river’s poisoning.”

Lionface’s green eyes flashed with anger, but he did nothing.

Fireheart was undeterred. “We never gave anything from the forest, I can promise you. That’s ThunderClan’s prey. But this prey doesn’t belong to anyone, does it? And ThunderClan isn’t even close to starving. So we can afford to share these catches.” He stood as tall as he could, softening his voice to something kinder. “I know you’re not fond of them, but they’ve got kittens and queens and elders to feed, and no experience hunting on land. If we’re breaking a rule of some kind, then fine.”

During his speech, Lionface’s eyes gradually cooled down and his claws retracted. He scanned Fireheart, then Greystripe, and then Rosy, who flinched when he looked at her.

“This is your sister, I heard?” he said calmly. “Has she been getting any of this prey?”

“No!” Greystripe burst out, frantic. “She just walks with Fireheart sometimes! The– the prey goes straight to RiverClan! And then we hunt for ThunderClan too, if we have time!”

“‘If we have time’.” Lionface’s ears slid back and his tail tapped the ground—a warning. “Then you’ve prioritized another Clan’s bellies before your own.”

“We prioritized kittens and elders,” Fireheart said, trying to catch Lionface’s eyes again. “Who cares what Clan they’re from?”

To his surprise, Lionface’s whiskers twitched after a moment. He gave Fireheart an almost humorous look. “You’d think, after all this time, I’d be used to your soft heart by now. I expect you’ll take any punishment and then keep doing this?”

Fireheart nodded. Lionface huffed a short, wry chuff.

“Don’t get him in trouble,” Greystripe blurted. “This was my idea. He just went along with it. I should be punished, not him.”

Lionface’s eyes went back to his apprentice, a shade softer than they were before. “Was this kittypet visiting also your idea?”

A small, almost-missable clearing of the throat, and the toms all turned to Rosy. Her tail was puffed up and low to the ground, but she tried valiantly to stand as tall as her brother.

“It was my idea, Mr. Lionface, sir,” she said in a small, trembling voice. “I saw him here and I wanted to talk with my brother, because I hadn’t seen him in so long. I know you’re not supposed to talk to us, but– but it’s my brother, you know? And– and I can promise too, I’ve only ever helped carry Rus– Fireheart’s catches over to the grass. I haven’t eaten any of it. I have my own food.” She struggled to hold her upright posture, legs as shaky as her voice. “Please don’t get them in trouble, sir. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fireheart was astonished at the protective blazing heat in his chest as he watched Lionface silently size up his sister. If he unsheathes even one claw at her…

To his relief, Lionface nodded to her and lowered his voice as he responded. “Please excuse us. We’ll be going home now. You ought to get back to your house before the rain comes.”

Rosy looked at Fireheart fearfully.

“I’ll be alright,” he said gently. “Just go home.”

She hesitated, then backed up a few steps, eyes still on Fireheart, before turning around and running for her yard, scrambling over the fence much quicker than she usually managed. Lionface swiped his tail and started back around the corner. Greystripe and Fireheart followed him silently.

No one spoke until they were back in the woods, and it was Lionface who broke the silence. “Tell me, how is RiverClan reacting to all of these donations?”

“They’re immensely grateful,” Fireheart said. “They called us their saviors, and they’re very friendly with us.”

Lionface hummed and kept walking, and silence fell once more.

It was a long, tense walk back to home, but Lionface didn’t bring them back inside camp. He instead led them to Bluestar’s den, situated just outside. When they entered, Bluestar was seated at the back of it, not looking remotely surprised as the guilty young warriors slunk into her den.

She looked to Lionface. “Was it what we were expecting?”

“Nearly,” he replied. “They’ve been going to the Houses, but it’s RiverClan they’re feeding.”

Bluestar was just as calm as Lionface, in the exact same dangerous way. “Explain yourselves.”

Fireheart and Greystripe clumsily took turns telling their story, starting from Silverstream saving Greystripe’s life up to tonight, where Lionface caught them. No amount of feathering could make it all sound genius, but Fireheart wasn’t a liar and Greystripe was afraid to fib in front of his mentor.

When they finished, Bluestar shut her eyes and took in a contemplative breath. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and spoke—still calm, but without that dark undercurrent.

“So you’ve put RiverClan in our debt,” she said.

Greystripe and Fireheart stared at her. They had no response prepared.

Lionface nodded. “I was thinking along the same path. This could be a very big advantage for us.”

“So it could.” Bluestar stood up. “You two can relax. You’re not in trouble. You’ve technically stayed within the code, and you’ve done RiverClan a great favor they won’t be able to ignore by the next Gathering.” She looked between them. “Would you be willing to continue this?”

A lifeline; they both nodded with wary enthusiasm.

“Then come with me. We’re having a Clan meeting.”

Without another word, Bluestar walked past them, Lionface close after her. The younger warriors gave each other a concerned look before trotting out as well.

Not all of the Clan was present in camp, but at a quick glance, only a few were missing. Presumably, a border patrol was out. No one even looked their way until Bluestar jumped up onto the meeting stump and gestured for Fireheart and Greystripe to stand together to the side. Curious murmurs and mildly interested questions fluttered about as those of the Clan who were present converged around the stump, eyeing Fireheart and Greystripe. Ravenwing sat down about as close to them as he could without leaving the main crowd.

“As you all know, RiverClan is currently struggling with a poisoned river,” Bluestar began. “They’re unable to hunt in the water, and I’ve had it reported to me that they’re visibly starving. Two of our warriors have acquaintances in RiverClan—” she gestured with her tail to the young toms beside and below her “—and understand the situation better than I have until tonight. Kittens, queens and elders alike are going hungry, and those that try to even drink their river-water become very ill. As we can expect, they’re terrible hunters on land, leaving them less and less prey every night.”

No one said anything. Heads tilted and eyes squinted in confusion as to where this was going.

“The code will not allow one Clan to die out when they could have been saved,” Bluestar went on. “And we have a very good chance of gaining an advantage in this situation.” 

Lionface spoke now. “I proposed the idea earlier that these two who have a better idea of what’s going on will provide RiverClan with prey as an offer of solidarity and friendship.”

The silence broke with outraged shouts and growls.

“Feed them? Are you kidding?”

“They’re not our problem!”

“We need our prey just as much as they do!”

“We’re not giving them our prey,” Bluestar said coolly. “The Houses have a few squirrels and birds here and there. These two would hunt there and stay far away from our own resources.”

Grumbles and complaints continued. Bluestar’s eyes went to Lionface. The Clan quieted just enough for him to be heard again.

“As some would like to remind me,” he said, glancing at Fireheart, “the code states we ought to help each other where we can, if the need arises. RiverClan knows that, and they certainly won’t forget that we’ve saved their lives out of the goodness of our hearts. The advantages we’ll have in the future can’t be overlooked. A favor saved for a rainy night, if you will.”

With the deputy’s input, the temper settled a bit. Cats muttered with each other, weighing the pros and cons. Fireheart looked between each cat hopefully. While some were still put out, others seemed to be considering. Darkstripe whispered something to Tigerclaw beside him, who was watching the leader and deputy with a stony face, before calling up to them, “And how do we know they’ll actually return the favor?”

“We’ll know when we bring it up at the Gathering, if the need arises,” Bluestar said.

“And I’m sure they’ll be eager to handle this quickly and in private,” Lionface added, “so that WindClan and ShadowClan don’t know they’re in our debt.”

Gradually, the words between Clanmates turned positive—though, to Fireheart’s irritation, all of them were more eager for the chance of a bounty than for helping out a Clan in trouble.

“Then are we in agreement?” Bluestar asked.

Voices tossed out affirmatives.

Bluestar nodded, and turned to Fireheart and Greystripe. “Then you two better get to work. Head to the Houses and only take what you find there. Don’t give them too much every night—three or four pieces will do it. And if you find something particularly fat, bring it home.”

Can’t even be completely selfless, Fireheart grumbled to himself, but he dipped his head, Greystripe following.

The Clan spread out again, all discussing the idea. Ravenwing alone came up to his friends, head turning to make sure they were separated from everyone else before whispering, “How’d you get her to agree to that?!”

“I have no idea,” Greystripe whispered back, eyes bright and tail dancing over his back. “But now we’re approved by the whole Clan! Hey, maybe you could come with us now!”

Ravenwing didn’t flinch in anxiety as Fireheart thought he might. Instead, he cocked his head thoughtfully. “Maybe I can, if Bluestar approves. I mean, not all the time, but once in a while can’t hurt.”

“That’d be awesome,” Fireheart said brightly. “I’d love for you to join us. I’ve actually got someone for you to meet…”

[dansnaturepictures]

Seven of my favourite photos I took in July 2023 and month summary

The photos are of; Marmalade hoverfly at Egleton Nature Reserve at Rutland Water, view at Andrews Mare in the New Forest, Brown Hairstreak at Shipton Bellinger, Chalkhill Blue at Stockbridge Down, Four-spotted Chaser at Hickling Broad, water mint at Lakeside Country Park and White Storks at Knepp.

July was another fantastic wild month for me with so much seen and so many places visited, a key part of real core weeks in my wildlife year. We saw and did so much it feels as though things right at the start were more than a month ago!

It was one of my greatest ever months of butterflies. There were nine excellent species additions to my year; the dream moment when we were amazed to see a Swallowtail in Norfolk, another very successful Purple Emperor search at Knepp seeing them so well as well as Silver-washed Fritillary, White Admiral and lovely White-letter Hairstreak, always a quintessential summer moment I think seeing beautiful Chalkhill Blues at Stockbridge Down and Brown Hairstreak, Wall Brown and Silver-spotted Skipper on an extraordinary day at Shipton Bellinger and Perham Down making my butterfly year list my highest ever. Purple Hairstreak at Knepp and various times at Lakeside was another key butterfly I loved seeing this month, with Marbled White, Ringlet and Small Skipper enjoyed too. The arrival of Big Butterfly Count was something I enjoyed doing, counting the butterflies to help inform how species are doing again. This also helped uncover (although I’d have surely noticed anyway) for me that we are onto a bumper year of Red Admirals with so many around which has been fun. Gatekeeper, Meadow Brown, Small White, Green-veined White, Holly Blue, Common Blue, Comma, Peacock, Brimstone, Small Copper and Small Tortoiseshell were other of the target species enjoyed, with Brown Argus seen nicely this month too. Six-spot Burnet which I’ve also seen so many of this year and Silver Y are day flying moths in the count I’ve liked seeing this month in another good one for moths with my first ever Forester a pretty one and a Mint moth at Stockbridge Down as well as Synaphe punctalis on that pivotal insect day for me as well as Yellow Shell at Knepp, a few Bird-cherry Ermine at Rutland Water and Shipton Bellinger, Pearl Veneer at Lakeside and Pyrausta nigrata at Shipton Bellinger key ones seen.

Bird wise it was another smashing month, with a charming Ruddy Shelduck seen at Petersfield Heath Pond, an inspiring day at Knepp getting exquisite views of the monumental White Storks young and old, of course another valuable chance to see the astonishing and wondrous Bee-eaters at Trimingham on the Norfolk trip and in among all the inspiring talks and lovely interaction at the Bird Fair my first Green Sandpiper and Yellow-legged Gulls of the year at Rutland Water’s Egleton reserve during that long weekend both top birds of my year. On those two weekends away this month part of one of my best runs of weekends throughout the year with so much packed in and many big trips we like to do going to Norfolk and Rutland stunning views of majestic Marsh Harrier, exceptional views of Osprey including seeing one hunt, Hobby seen extremely well and at both gorgeous Great White Egrets so well established in those areas now were other big highlights, with Egyptian Geese enjoyed at both and the Petersfield Heath Pond visit including seeing young. Sand Martin, Common Tern, Blackcap, Linnet and Yellowhammer were other standouts this month, with the Lakeside Great Crested Grebes with both families doing well I really enjoyed seeing multiple times as well as Moorhens with young, seeing Peregrines in Winchester including the chick Rosie too. I have also really appreciated Swift and House Martin this month especially on patch, and with gull numbers going up again at Lakeside young Black-headed and also an adult Mediterranean Gull were key moments there this month.

It was also one of my best ever months for dazzling dragonflies and damselflies, with our first ever Norfolk Hawkers, Brown Hawker, Ruddy Darter and Emerald Damselfly coming into our year on the Norfolk trip, Brown Hawker enjoyed again alongside immense Southern Hawker views at Rutland Water with Common Darter, Four-spotted Chaser and locally and further afield Black-tailed Skimmer seen well this month. It was a top month of mammals with smashing views of Water Vole and Stoat at Rutland Water and Stockbridge Down on the long weekend, big mammals in what has got to be my best year of mammals with so many amazing species seen. Fallow and Muntjac Deers at Knepp and Norfolk respectively added to those brilliant times. There were lots of great moments with other insects with Black Clock beetle, Peacock butterfly caterpillar and Garden Tiger moth caterpillar at Hickling Broad, Marmalade (also seen at Lakeside) and Long Hoverfly at Egleton, Rutland Water in a strong month of hoverflies, striking and symbolic of summer Cinnabar moth caterpillars first seeing these at Knepp, so many Common Red Soldier beetles seen what a stalwart of summer, Black-and-yellow longhorn beetle something I was fixated on at Lakeside and Meadow grasshopper at Stockbridge Down with Common Field Grasshopper at Lakeside standing out with nice spider moments too.

In my plant year July felt like the very mature time in the flower year it is with some of the last flowers I expect to see blooming including hemp agrimony, water mint and red bartsia. Wild carrot, marjoram and basil, great willowherb, purple loosestrife, bird vetch, pyramidal orchid, St. John’s-wort, centaury, restharrow, scabious, mallow, scarlet pimpernel, many white clovers, rosebay willowherb, lady’s bedstraw, cuckoo-pint and agrimony have been others that stood out this month. With wetland, coast, meadow, rich grassland, lakes and woodland explored I enjoyed many breathtaking and panoramic views this month, as the weather was interestingly changeable. Have a good August all.