#Ginger Trill

[barzonlinemag]

#BarzOnlineMag_LitLink

🫡🎶

#TellAFriend is out a single by @Ginger_Trill x @TouchlineTruth is currently out now of their upcoming ep titled #BoyzenDaHood

Streaming available:

Https://music.apple.com/za/album/boyzen-da-hood/1711566495

So always remember to #GoHardOnline with @barzonlinemag

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 1

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied, competence kink)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 for the incredible feedback, beta, and comments. As always, I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you also to @write-and-buried for her TLOU knowledge and constant support, and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this one over and making me confront how much Joel Miller has rotted my brain 😉 Enjoy!

—

SPRING

The copse of trees surrounding you is dense, and from the overgrown path you’ve been following by groove alone, you almost miss it. A flash of muted, dingy blue in a sea of green. 

“Hey,” you call to him. “What’s that?”

He turns, his features and body already taut with a practiced, ready tension and when he sees your face isn’t one of concern but rather curiosity, he relaxes. Walking over to you, he follows the line of your finger with his eyes. 

At first, he sees nothing. Just a wall of clustered vegetation: sturdy trunks that hide behind branches heavily weighted with rain, the floor beneath them obscured by ferns that brush against your legs and growth that softens your footsteps. His eyes catch on something too angular for the setting and he frowns, focusing on it. 

Barely visible in the distance and seen only through the filtered sunlight that catches the sharp edge: a moss covered roof. A structure, isolated like the two of you. 

He glances over at you for a moment, reflexively reaching back for his rifle. 

“Let’s take a look.”

Weapon out with his steps steady and slow, he approaches the cabin with a careful, defensive slink. As it slowly comes into view, you brace yourself for any type of movement. Second nature to now activate the constant thrum of self preservation inside you, you check for visible traps as you follow him, your eyes flitting between the building and the ground. 

A specific sort of tension fills the air when something is close: you know that feeling now, have become so sensitive that it can wake you from dead sleep the second you feel it. Like a sixth sense forced to emerge due to evolution, you focus on it and feel none of that tension here:  just the trilling sound of birds, the soft crunch of pine needles underfoot and the peaceful silence of total seclusion.

Joel catches your attention with the jerk of his head, motioning to stay close.

You approach the front of the cabin together. His hands white knuckle the gun, the butt tucked tight against the worn strap of his backpack where it curves around his shoulder and as his fingers flex in anticipation, you hold your breath. 

There is a weighted beat as you wrap your hand around the knob and turn. 

In the end, it’s all for nothing - the cabin you find, after roughly working the warped door open, is abandoned. 

–

It’s like a time capsule in the middle of the woods. 

A thick layer of dust covering everything, motes of it swirl lazily in the beam of Joel’s flashlight as you wander from room to room. His boots scrape against the floor with heavy footfalls, the two of you silently surveying the causally cozy and completely still disarray: a moth bitten handmade quilt thrown over the back of the couch, outdated magazines in a stack on the counter, cobwebbed toothbrushes by the bathroom sink. Bookshelves packed with faded spines, grime covered windows, dead plants in pretty pots lining sills. 

Someone loved this cabin once. 

Used to your partner through circumstance by now, you anticipate an order to scavenge for everything you can carry and then move on, so you’re surprised when he sets his pack down on the floor and lets himself fall back onto the couch. A cloud of dust bursts into the stagnant air, his hands coming up to wearily scrub his face. They rake through his damp, messy curls as he closes his eyes before laying his head back and letting out an exhausted sigh. 

“This should do for the night,” he says. “Could stay until the rain lets up, at least. Be nice to sleep on something other than the ground for a change.”

You nod in agreement, rolling out the kink in your shoulder you woke up with. Your eyes drift over the exposed line of his tanned throat, lingering on the hollow just above his collar. You force yourself to look away. “Yea, the beds didn’t look too bad.”

There had been two of them, across the hall from each other and the idea of a mattress - no matter how old - had you yearning to climb into bed already. Nothing saying you can’t, you reason with yourself. Not when time is more of a concept than anything else these days but the gnawing hunger in your stomach immediately disagrees, knowing exactly how long it’s been since you’ve last eaten. 

“I’m gonna go look for some food,” you tell him and he hums in acknowledgement, seemingly indifferent. 

Not really expecting to find anything of substance, you feel a swoop of scarce felt joy when you discover a cache of canned goods in the pantry. A treasure trove. 

“Hey Joel,” you call, wiping your thumb over a peeled, dried out label. “I think I found dinner.”

He doesn’t answer, most likely asleep given his ability to succumb whenever and wherever he can when he gets a moment and you take several, bringing them over to the counter. Brushing away the dust that sticks to the labels, you survey your choices: baked beans and peaches, two of each. Just what you would expect at a lake house. 

Letting him rest and holding the beans in your hand and a spoon you find in another, you take bites straight from the can as you wander down the hallway of the cabin, looking at the pictures on the walls. Using the heel of your hand to wipe away the dust that covers the glass, smiling faces emerge from the fog. You study them one by one, slowly chewing. 

They look like stock photos you used to see in stores: generically bland smiles, posed to perfection. An elderly couple with their children of various ages, a large family gathering photo, parents with children sitting between them. You try hard to picture those people here: sitting in the living room, sleeping in the bedrooms, playing outside. The concept seems too foreign to grasp, too far away to be real and you take another bite of food, pushing away the sudden unbidden reminder of similar photos you once had in your own home, now lost. 

You hear the couch protest as Joel gets up, coming to pass you in the hallway. He stops for a moment behind you, looking to see what you’re staring at and when he sees what it is, he frowns. Letting a deep sigh escape him, he keeps moving down the narrow space and with his pack in his hand, disappears into a bedroom. 

–

Wanting the safety of his nearness and given that it’s the only other bedroom, you set up across the hall when you’re done eating. Placing your own worn pack on the floor, you start to methodically strip the mattress, shaking out the bedding. Minimal creeping mold darkens the seamed edge of a mattress in otherwise good condition and you flip it, hoping for the best. Shaking out the pillow to make sure there is nothing hiding in it, you take the pillowcase with you, wanting to air it out on the deck now that the rain has stopped. 

Wanting to do the same for him, you walk into the bedroom he’s claimed and even though he’s not in there, it already feels like an invasion of privacy to be standing in it. His pack slumped on the end of the bed a visual claim, you grab his pillow off the bed and start to tug off the case. 

What does he look like, sleeping in a real bed? Does he bunch the pillow or tangle himself in the quilt? When he gets up, is there a rumpled form left behind, still warm with the heat of his body pressed into the sheets?

For all the time you’ve spent with him, the majority of Joel is a mystery to you. He gives away more than he knows, but that’s still not a lot. You knew of him back in the QZ: his broad frame a hard one to miss, his reputation even bigger and while your paths rarely crossed within the borders of those high walls, once you set out, it was hard to stay out of his orbit. 

His handsomeness drew your eye initially, but it was his usefulness that made you stay in his shadow. His determination to fight for his own made you feel protected by proximity, even more so when he extended it to you. 

Had to, once your group got picked off one by one. 

You had been thankful, in a sick way, that he was the one that remained. The best one. The most ruthless one. A ruthlessness you admired, then revered, then thought about at night as you tried to drift off to sleep. 

Without needing to sleep clothed to protect himself from the elements, does he still sleep in them, or will he be in less? If so, how much less?

Sharply snapping the pillowcase in the air, the sound brings you back to the present and you shake away the thoughts, leaving the room. 

“Whatcha got there?” He’s sitting on the couch, a can of peaches in his hand and when you face him, you have to look away from the glistening juice on his lips. 

“Oh, I was going to hang these outside, see if I can get some of the dust smell out.” Your nose crinkles and he smirks, taking another bite and shaking his head. 

“Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

You shrug, taking a seat in a chair by the woodstove. Leaning forward to inspect it, your chair wobbles; the front leg rotted. 

He nudges his chin in the direction of the stove when you open its door. “I thought about lighting it, but we better not. Don’t want the smoke showin’ people someone’s here.”

You nod, sitting back in the chair. “I can’t believe what a good find this is. There’s all sorts of stuff. I found some clothes in the closets, some more blankets too, if you need one.” 

You watch him chew, his jaw flexing under the salt and pepper of his beard.

“There is more food where that came from, if you’re hungry. The pantry is pretty full.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, taking another bite and you glance towards the windows that run the length of the room. A miracle none of them are broken, thanks to the secured tarp that lined the outside. 

“I think I’m gonna clean some of these and see if I can get a better view.”

“Cleanin’ the windows, doin’ the laundry. You lookin’ to move in?” His teasing tone is a dry one, and you smile, shrugging.

“Just so we can see what’s out there. In case someone comes.”

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he finishes the can, drinking the juice. 

“Well don’t wear yourself out too much,” he says, standing with a soft grunt of pain. “We ain’t gonna be here that long. Not worth makin’ it all homey.”

He sets the can down on the counter, grabbing his bow and supplies off the surface. You watch him check his stock of arrows before reaching back to feel for the knife strapped to his belt.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find us something for dinner.” He gives you a look, his eyes quickly sliding down over your form and then back up. “Yell if you need me, okay? I’ll stay close.”

You nod, holding his eyes for a minute and when he goes, you use the pads of your fingers to wipe clean a clear circle on the window. 

A creek lines the edge of the property, one that you didn’t even hear from the path with how thick the vegetation is and you watch him walk down along the edge of it for a moment, his head bowed. His hair is lighter in the sun, ruffling slightly in the wind and you keep watching until his form disappears behind the trees. 

–

Searching the cabinets methodically for anything of use while he’s gone, you find them buried deep in a junk drawer, sealed inside a faded, dirty ziplock. 

Seed packets. A lot of them. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, opening the plastic pouch. You handle each pack delicately, spreading them neatly and carefully out on the counter and marvel silently at the whole vegetable garden you’ve found in this tiny bag. The haul would be worth more than you can imagine back at the QZ, but the potential for it is even higher here, in this dim kitchen, with that patch of moist, fertile soil outside. 

You pick them up one at a time, sorting them by recommended growth timelines and a thought takes root in your mind; the paper packets eventually gathered and put neatly back into the bag. 

You let it stew the rest of the afternoon, into the evening. As the sky dims, then darkens, as he comes back with a skinned rabbit and cooks it, as you both sit in the living room after dinner, your dirty plates resting on the coffee table between you. 

He’s sprawled on the couch, his arm behind his head with his thighs spread wide and the denim around his thighs is molded tight; his other hand resting limply against the inside of his thigh. When his eyes close, your eyes drop from his face to his hand, and then back up again. 

“So I found something today,” you begin, and he answers with a slow drawl, content and full. 

“Oh yea? Anything good?”

“Really good. Like, something really, really good.”

He opens his eyes then, looking over at you with a tilt of his head. 

“Well? You gonna tell me what it is?”

You draw one of the packets from your pocket, holding it in your hand and he sits up immediately, leaning forward on his elbows to reach for it. 

“Careful,” you warn, scared some will leak out of the thin, dried out paper. 

“You found these here?”

“Yea, in a drawer. In the kitchen.”

You can tell by the way he is looking at them that he knows their value. His hands hold them more tenderly than you thought his hands capable of, and he flips the packet over, reading the front. 

“I would kill for a fresh squash right now,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything, as he studies the front. 

“Well…” you start, suddenly unsure of your idea when he brings his eyes back up to your face. It’s intimidating when he looks directly at you normally, but you feel it tenfold now. He’s always been the one to call the shots, his experience in this world outweighing yours and while you’re nervous to throw yours out there, thinking of the alternatives nudges you forward.  

“I was sort of thinking this afternoon. About this place, and about these seeds.” You pause, looking away for a moment and then back at him. “About us, maybe staying here.”

He immediately frowns, scoffing to discourage the idea. “You can’t be serious. Stay here?”

Though you expected it, his immediate dismissive tone flares annoyance in you. 

“Where else is there to go, Joel?” you ask, your voice gaining confidence. “Be serious. Every settlement has been a nightmare, every place we’ve tried —“

He shakes his head, cutting your argument off. “I said we could stay for a night, not stay forever goddamnit. We’re like sitting ducks out here, just waitin’ to get killed. In the middle of fuckin’ no where —“

“Exactly!” you say louder, before bringing your voice down. “Exactly. We didn’t even see this place from the road. Not even from the path off the road. Who is going to find us here? No one knows about this place, or else it would have been looted ages ago. The tarps hid it, the trees block it, the –”

“And then what, huh? The second we light that wood stove, it’s gonna give us away. Even so, what then when someone wandering down that path sees the same thing we saw, and they decide to come take a look for themselves? They are gonna see everything we have – everything you’re suggesting we start – and they are gonna kill us for it.”

He pauses, the next statement forcing you to look at the ground. “Just like we would have done if we found someone else here. Just like we do.” 

You say nothing, letting the words hang in the air. 

“Just —“ you pause, looking down at your hands. Flashes of the last few months play back in your mind: the hangings, the strict enforcement of rules for all made to benefit the few, the bleak apartment you live in. This mission, all the things you’ve seen along the way, all the fear and terror you’ve felt and how the only person who has ever made you feel safe since the Outbreak began is sitting right here in this room. 

If ever this could work, it would only work with him. 

You bring your eyes back to him, pleading. “Aren’t you tired of it? So restless, always fighting against everything. For everything you have. Aren’t you sick of it, Joel?��

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.” His tone is clipped, but you can tell he’s thinking. He glances at his watch, the broken face staring back at him. It’s been broken for as long as you’ve known him, but he’s always treated it as carefully as his weapons, his supplies. You can see him illuminated by the moon profile in your mind, his fingers skating around the face as he kept watch, or brushing it with his thumb to delicately keep the dirt off. Seeing your opening, you take it. 

“I’m not saying forever,” you press. “Hell, I’m not even saying a month. But let’s just stop for a second. Let’s… just stop. Nothing says we have to go back there. We could be dead, for all they know.”

He brings his attention back to you and placing his hands in his pockets, he straightens his spine. “Probably will be, sooner or later, if we stay here.” He looks you directly in the eye, holding your gaze. “It’s not just the supplies they’ll take. They’ll want way more than that.”

You raise your chin, ignoring the tightening of fear in your chest. He hasn’t let that happen yet, and even if it's foolish to believe, you know he won’t let it happen. When he sees you’re not going to answer, he sighs. 

The lantern is bright between you, illuminating the room in a soft glow and his deep brown eyes study you. His expression is stern, like he wants to say no…but he doesn’t. 

“It’s a dumb idea.” His statement is said with resignation, but with the authority of the last word and deciding not to push it any further tonight, you stand. 

“Well, good thing it was just an idea.” Glancing over at the seed packet, you chew your bottom lip while he watches your face with a frown and your voice gets softer, quieter. 

“I’m gonna get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

—

He isn’t there when you wake up, and finding his bow gone, you know he’s out hunting again. 

You wander over to the coffee table to pick up the packet of seeds you left there last night when you see a book facedown next to it. Like he was reading something he found on the shelves after you went to bed, and left it there. 

Picking it up and turning it over in your hands, a smile unfurls at the edge of your mouth and you sit down on the couch, opening it to the first page:

The Basics of Gardening

[mooooonnnzz]

here me out, miguel w a daughter who adores mayday

Babysitting Mayday! // Miguel O’Hara x Daughter!Reader X Mayday Platonic

✮ fem reader!

✮ teen reader WOOO

✮ reader is hesitant on looking after mayday at first but warms up

✮ i think thats all??

✮ SEND MORE IDEAS FOR DAD MIGUEL!!

✮ i got a lil carried away w the req 😭

You scrolled through your phone absentmindedly, too caught up in the thoughts running wild in your head to realize the front door was open. You also failed to hear the loud clamor of Peter eagerly dashing down the hallway. What brought you out of your head was Peter’s frantic calls of your name. He waved his hand at you, smiling widely. Mayday, who was on the baby carrier that was wrapped around his chest, babbled cheerfully, clearly mocking her father’s giddy attitude.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” You turned off your phone and tossed it aside.

“I’m here to lend Mayday over to you!” The smile on his face grew impossibly larger. Mayday threw her cubby fists up in the air, kicking her feet back and forth as she let out a gurgled “Yeah!”

“Wait, what?”

Peter put his hands under Mayday’s armpits and lifted her up. “Yeah! Miguel told me that you’d love to take care of Mayday.” He placed Mayday on the couch, chuckling softly at her when she flopped forward onto the couch. She pushed herself up and shook her head, her rumpled ginger hair swayed along the action.

Peter set his hands on his waist and turned his attention over to you, his smile dropping at your aghast expression. “Did he tell you?”

“No! He didn’t tell me.” Your eyes trailed off to Miguel’s bedroom where he was peacefully sleeping, unaware of the situation that was unfolding in the living room.

“Oh…” Peter frowned, unclasping the baby carrier around his chest. “I’m sorry to dump her on you, kiddo.” Peter’s genuine empathy did lessen the annoyance of the whole thing. He looked truly upset for you. “I wish I could take her back but I already promised to take MJ out on a date.”

The mention of his date made you notice the crumpled black suit Peter was wearing. His suit was crinkled and untucked, and the white button up was pooling out of his jeans. His tie was loose and sweat stains were seen on his shirt. His hair which looked like it was styled properly before he came rushing over here became messy and unkempt. Peter toyed with the cuffs of his suit, flashing a charming smile at you. “How do I look?”

“Oh, uhm—!”

The loud trill of Peter’s phone saved you from the inevitable truth. He jumped at the sudden noise and fished his phone out of his back pocket, walking away from the living room and into the hallway to privately talk to who you assume is MJ.

You look over to Mayday and weakly smiled at her. “I’m stuck with you now, huh?” As if she understood you, she clapped her hands together, smiling back at you.

Peter comes back, placing a large bag filled with Mayday’s necessities and what not. He quickly informs you of Mayday’s schedule, what to feed her, when to change her, and other things you dreaded doing. He finished his rambling with a loving kiss on Mayday’s forehead and chaste goodbye with you.

The front door closed and you were officially alone with Mayday for the time being. You awkwardly looked over to Mayday, a small snort leaving your lips as she rolled back and forth on the couch. Though, your laugh was cut short when Mayday rolled too close to the edge. You let out a gasp as you reach out for her and catch her in your arms with ease.

“Jesus, Mayday. You almost hurt yourself!” You tell her, knowing she couldn’t fully understand you. Mayday only giggled in response and began clambering out of your hold. This is going to be a long night.

The loud joyful shrills of a little baby sounded in the house, disrupting Miguel from his nap. With a groan, he got up from the bed and slipped on the unicorn slippers you gifted him for Father’s Day. He let out a yawn and he sleepily shuffled out into the living room.

“What’s with all the noise?” He grumbles out, bleary eyes blinking harshly under the bright light.

His question was answered with little Mayday darting past him, giddily squealing as you chased her. Miguel rose a curious brow, watching you scoop Mayday into your arms. “I caught you!”

“Why is Mayday here?” He squinted at Mayday, letting out his signature sigh. He treaded his way into the kitchen to make himself his coffee.

Mayday crawled out of your arms and wrapped her legs around your neck, resting her little body on your head. You placed your hands on her tiny knees to root her in place as you walked over to Miguel.

“Apparently, you told Peter that I’d babysit her today.” You looked at him with such an accusing look that Miguel had to roll his eyes. “Oh, I did?” He put a pink princess cup under the coffee maker and watched with tired eyes how the cup filled up with his bitter coffee. He was using the coffee cup you gave him when you were little. Removing the cup out of the coffee maker, he took a quick sip before smirking at you.

“I don’t remember saying that.” His voice was a mix of amusement and sarcasm. To mask the growing shit-eating grin on his face, he brought the cup back to his lips and started drinking from it.

You gasp dramatically. “Yes, you do! You did this on purpose.”

“Don’t act like taking care of Mayday is so hard,” Miguel said, ruffling Mayday’s hair with his hand. “Isn’t that right, mamita? She’s just being dramatic, isn’t she?” Miguel spoke to Mayday in his baby voice. She babbled in response.

Miguel plopped down on the couch, sipping his coffee as he grabbed the remote. “I didn’t want to babysit her for another time so I told him that you’d babysit her,” Miguel says, surfing through the channels to find anything that piqued his interest.

Your eyes widen in realization. “Is that why you took a nap in the afternoon? So he wouldn’t see you?”Mayday’s hands gripped onto your hair, pulling and playing with it. “Ay! Mayday.” You grabbed her sides and removed her from your shoulders. Your fingers grazed her stomach, and squeals of laughter left her as you tickled her. Her hands let go of your hair in the process.

“Yeah,” He takes another sip of his coffee. “I told him I was busy with work.” A light chuckle escapes Miguel. “I don’t know why he believed me. I’m off on Saturdays.”

With Mayday in your hands, you decided to drop her on him for revenge. You dropped Mayday on his chest, her body tumbling down his chest and onto his thighs. “Careful with my coffee!” Miguel scolded, jerking the hand that held the coffee cup away from the destructive toddler.

“My bad.” You laugh, laying down on the sofa. Mayday notices you laying down and waddles her way over to you, flopping herself onto your stomach. You run your fingers through her hair, soothing Mayday to sleep.

“She’s so cute.” You whisper, smiling at Mayday who’s curled up into a ball on your stomach. “She reminds me of you when you were younger,” Miguel says softly, his heart warming at the sight of you and Mayday.

Your mouth drops open in shock. “I was not this crazy as a baby.” You couldn’t remember the last time you were able to sit down in peace ever since Mayday arrived. There was no way you were as energetic as her.

“Oh, you don’t remember, but I do.” He shakes his head in amusement. “You pooped and peed everywhere—“

“—Okay, okay! I don’t see the reason why you needed to mention me crapping and pissing everywhere.”

Miguel fights back a laugh as he shrugs. “But it’s true.” You scoff playfully, your eyes moving to the TV screen to watch whatever Miguel put on.

A comfortable silent blankets the three of you. As your eyelids begin to droop, your hand cards through Mayday’s hair one last time before you knock out. The stress of today finally catching up on you. Though, you couldn’t complain. Mayday was fun to have around. Maybe babysitting Mayday wasn’t so bad.

[pupsmailbox]

CAT ︰FELINE ID PACK

NAMES︰ aina. aislin. alonzo. amaris. amaru. ash. asher. aster. aylin. bast. bastet. bengal. burmilla. butterscotch. calico. cassandra. cat. catherine. catline. catness. catrine. catriona. catsel. chacha. chancey. charm. chartreux. chat. chaton. chausie. cheshire. chichi. clover. dreametta. drowsette. dust. dustbunny. eada. elara. falin. fang. feli. felias. felicity. felin. felina. feline. felis. felius. felix. felyne. fifi. fluffy. fortuna. fortunato. fuwa. gatita. gatito. gato. george. ghost. ginger. gold. hima. hiraya. honey. hypnoticesse. kat. katelyn. katti. kiara. kiki. kissa. kit. kitlita. kitri. kittie. kittlin. kitty. kizzy. koi. koneko. korat. kovu. kätzchen. layla. leo. leon. liora. lolly. lucifer. luckita. lucky. luna. lunar. lunette. mafdet. maine. maneki. mao. marble. marie. meekine.meeko. meowesse. meowette. meowlina. meowser. meowy. mew. mewbell. mewmi. mewy. mici. micino. mimi. minette. minou. mischieffe. mist. mizuki. molly. mona. moonie. morphius. munchkin. nala. narcyz. narkissa. nebula. neko. nemuri. neoma. neomi. nova. nuka. nyamu. oliver. otto. palu. patches. pawline. platinum. plato. purmwyn. purriette. purrsie. pwounce. ragdoll. ravae. saffron. selenia. silver. simba. sleepesse. smoke. smokey. star. stone. stripes. suerte. sunny. tabby. thomas. tiger. tigger. tigris. tom. ton. tyche. tychon. valor. victor. victoria. vitami. whiskers. yue. yume. zira.

PRONOUNS︰ bean/bean. bell/bell. bite/bite. calic/calico. calico/calico. carnivore/carnivore. cat/cat. cat/like. caterwaul/caterwaul. catnip/catnip. chance/chance. charm/charm. chase/chase. chatter/chatter. che/cher. chirp/chirp. chuff/chuff. claw/claw. cle/clever. coin/coin. col/collar. collar/collar. curi/curiou. cute/cute. dark/dark. dream/dream. drow/drowsy. dust/bunny. dust/dust. dust/kitty. dustbunny/dustbunny. dustkitty/dustkitty. fae/fang. fang/fang. fang/fang.carni/carnivore. fate/fate. feli/feli. feli/feline. felicitous/felicitou. feline/feline. flu/fluffy. fluff/fluff. for/tune. fuzz/fuzz. fwu/fwuffy. ginger/ginger. grey/grey. hi/his. hiss/hisse. hunt/hunt. hunter/hunter. hx/hxm. hy/hym. hy/hymn. it/it. ix/ix. jungle/jungle. kit/kit. kit/kitten. kit/kitty. kitty/kitty. luck/luck. me/meek. meow/meow. meows/meow. mew/mew. mimimi/mimimi. mis/mischief. molly/molly. moon/moon. mrow/mrow. mrreow/mrreow. mrrp/mrrp. nap/nap. neko/neko. nim/nimble. nya/nay. nya/nya. paw/paw. pet/pet. play/play. pou/pounce. prr/prr. purr/purr. queen/queen. quiet/quiet. roar/roar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. slee/sleep. sneak/sneaky. snooze/snooze. soft/soft. star/star. stripe/stripe. tabby/tabby. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tiger/tiger. tired/tired. tom/tom. trill/trill. void/void. whis/whisker. yawn/yawn. yowl/yowl. zhe/zher. zi/zi. zz/zz. 🍣. 🐀. 🐁. 🐅. 🐆. 🐈. 🐈‍⬛. 🐭. 🐱. 🐾. 💤. 😺. 🥛. 🥩. 🦁. 🦴. 🧶. 🧸. 🧺.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

abyss moth boy with an abyss moth reader?????? i die every time i read about two characters that are the only members of a distinct species/pos

ahhhh YES, my moon and stars this concept is a classic!!

unlike Foul Legacy, who has to join with a human host, you developed the ability to hold a human form over time, walking the above land amongst the mortals with sharp curiosity. but your senses still remain, and the moment you run into Childe on the streets of Liyue you instantly catch a glimpse of the Abyss lingering behind his eyes. Legacy nearly shrieks inside of the Harbinger's mind, clawing and wailing for him to go back when he passes you, only quieting to a soft whimper when Childe hisses at him to shut up. Legacy's unusually silent for the rest of the day, barely letting out a single chirp and instead filling Childe's head with soft scratching noises like he's worrying his talons. he seems to freeze anytime Childe yells at him, whining and curling up in the furthest corners with a huff until nighttime

the stars come out, and an enormous shadow leaps from the window of Northland Bank and into the darkness

you meet on the top of a mountain, Abyssal forms blending in with the night as you circle the other monster. Legacy leans closer, letting out a tentative chirp, and your fur ruffles as you trill back in return, your new companion's eye brightening in delight. he pounces on you, the two of you wrestling playfully until you triumphantly lay all your body weight on top of him, Legacy whining until you sit up again. he gently nudges his head with yours and you snuggle next to each other under the stars, purrs twice as loud with both of you here. Legacy yawns, burying his face in your fluff, and slowly, unintentionally, the two Abyss monsters drift off to a peaceful sleep

the next morning you and Childe wake up staring at each other, a few leaves in his ginger hair, and he gives you a lopsided smile and sticks out his hand to shake

[deluxewhump]

Ingrid calls Carlo a pet name

CW: mention of nausea and headache (Ingrid is pregnant with Jack here). The movies are The Two Towers and ROtK btw ;)

It was barely noon, and Ingrid lay in the master bedroom with a cloth over her forehead. It had long since stopped being cool, and was now only damp instead of wet. She moved it an inch so it touched her hairline and the air cooled the wet skin it exposed.

Thick green curtains were drawn against the heat and light of midday. Insects trilled in the grass outside and she could hear a dog barking distantly— a neighbor of theirs habitually let his two yellow labs run loose around the wooded hills and they sometimes wandered onto Max’s property. Carlo worried about his cat, Lou, who would hiss if he saw them from the window and climb into his master’s arms flicking his tail.

Max told him Lou was too smart to ever get anywhere near those dogs. He was more worried about coyotes than the labradors, he’d said. Carlo had bent his head to press his mouth into Lou’s black fur, frowning at the mention of the coyotes. Sometimes they screamed at night from the tree line, sounding for a moment like human shrieks and then like the mad baying of a dozen wild dogs.

As if summoned by her wandering thoughts, Lou jumped on the bed, stretching his back and chirping in question. Ingrid held out a hand and felt the brush of whiskers on her palm. For half a second, she thought it was Max that appeared in the doorway. But Max was in D.C. all day at a conference. It was Carlo.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want me to grab him? The door was cracked. He pushed it open.”

“No,” Ingrid answered as serenely as she could manage. “He’s good company.”

“Do you… need anything?”

She almost told him no, but thought of something. “Could you get me a ginger ale? They’re the little mini cans, on the door, bottom shelf.”

“Yeah,” he said, like he was surprised but pleased she’d said yes. Max was always asking Carlo things like that. It’s cold, you need socks? Want a blanket? I’m getting a drink, can I get you something, baby? She’d never loved someone by proxy before, but that’s how it was with him. It was Max’s steadfast love for him that instructed her, like slowly picking up bits of an accent. One day she saw him curled up in an armchair, head bent over a book, running his finger absently over his lower lip. Softly, like a gradual summer dusk, she realized she now loved him too.

Lou curled up a short distance from her and began to purr. Carlo returned with a can of cold ginger ale and popped open the tab before handing it to her, another of Max’s mannerisms. “You’re sweet,” she told him, taking a long drink and set it on the nightstand.

“God,” she complained, and lay back on her side. “I feel like a truck hit me.”

“How long will that last?” asked Carlo softly, conscious of her aching head.

“Oh, another couple of weeks maybe. What’re you doing today?”

He shrugged.

“I’m gonna put on a movie, if you want to wallow with me.”

He gave her a little smile and agreed, climbing onto Max’s side of the bed and curling up on his side in a mirror of her own position. Lou got up to reposition next to Carlo’s chest, and Carlo draped his arm over him. Ingrid clicked the TV on with the remote and tucked her knees closer to her chest.

By the end of the film, Lou had left them but Carlo had gotten under the top blanket and tilted his head close to her so she could not help but lay her hand in his soft hair, grazing her fingertips over his scalp. The sun had begun to descend from its zenith, evident by the angle and color of the light that persisted through the seams of the pulled curtains.

“Do you want to watch the next one, baby?” she whispered when the credits rolled, wondering if he might be asleep.

He moved an inch closer to her and nodded. She let her hand drift back to his hair. She’d never called him that before. It was Max’s favorite pet name for him, and she didn’t know if she was allowed. It seemed strange, having come from her lips and not from Max’s, but he did not give any indication there was anything amiss. She pulled her nails gently up the warm base of his neck and into his hair, over and over, to the rhythm of the oscillating fan.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I woke up with a sore throat and sneezing.

If you feel up to it, how would one of the healthcare AU boys handle waking up sick?

Legend knew it was going to be a pin when he woke up feeling congested. His stomach clenched uneasily, not quite nauseous but definitely not comfortable. His head pounded, his throat ached, and he was already over this.

I swear, if this is War’ head cold I’m gonna clobber him.

For a second, he felt relief - he could call out from work since he was sick! - and then he remembered that he worked in healthcare, that nobody cared if he was sick, that this was just a head cold and he would have to suck it up and deal with it.

He remembered Wind one time wishing everyone got sick so they would get a break, and Time had said what they’d all been thinking: “No, then we’d just be working and miserable.”

Trilling out a breath through his lips, he dragged himself out of bed. Some cold medicine would hold him over. He hopefully put a hand to the back of his head, feeling a little warm, but even a fever wouldn’t stop him from getting an occurrence if he called out, so there was no point in checking.

“Typical,” he grumbled as he wandered into the kitchen. There was some cold medicine that was still half full, so he took the prescribed about and washed it down with an energy drink before brushing his teeth and washing his face. His stomach… did not appreciate the concoction, so he carefully sipped some ginger ale to try and settle it.

His mood was certainly sour as he drove to work, but he tried to rationalize with himself. This did just feel like a bad cold - there was no point in lamenting not missing work, because there was no point in not going in. A cold wasn’t an excuse. It wasn’t like he was dying. He’d worked through far worse.

But the fact that he had to be sick while working was a pain.

When he trudged into the ED, Warriors shot him a suspicious look. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Legend grunted hoarsely. “Just a cold.”

“That’s what you get for working straight nights,” Wars commented with a click of his tongue. “Destroys your immune system.”

“So says the guy who sounded like a congested goose the other night,” Legend snapped. “Pretty sure you’re the one who got me sick!”

“That was allergies! I don’t have a cold!” Warriors argued.

Someone sneezed, making the two whirl in their direction to see Wild leaning against a stretcher, looking pale and miserable.

“It was you, wasn’t it!” Legend accused.

Wild blinked, confused. “Me?”

“You’re getting everyone sick,” Wars joined in. “Put a damn mask on!”

Wild rolled his eyes. “I’ve been wearing a—hey!!”

The transporter hissed as Legend and Warriors armed themselves with alcohol wipes and sanitation spray, warding him off like some hellspawn before grumbling as they got their assignments for the night.

[clangenrising]

Month 4 - Greenleaf

Prev | First | Next

“So she just showed up and asked to join the clan?” Yarrowshade asked. Across camp, Goldenstar and Sagetooth were talking with the newcomer, Oddy. Nightfrost looked back at them and when she spoke, her mouth leaned in his direction, but her eyes stayed fixed on Oddy. 

“Yeah, she’s looking for protection for her kits,” she said.

Scorch, who had been sitting quietly since Nightfrost had approached her and Yarrowshade, said, “It looks like I’m not the only one who’s heard of your reputation.” 

Nightfrost looked at her, one ear twitching curiously. The rogue had been growing bolder, it seemed, since she began hunting with Yarrowshade on the regular. On the one paw, Nightfrost was glad she was starting to act less like a jumpy hare, but on the other, she wasn’t sure what kind of creature Scorch was underneath. 

“So it would seem,” she said cautiously. Scorch held her gaze, her eyes like chips of ice. Nightfrost could feel them trying to take her apart, calculating. Nightfrost looked away, turning her attention back to the new cat in camp. Still, she could almost feel Scorch smiling. 

“I didn’t realize we were so famous,” Yarrowshade said, sounding proud. 

“It’s not a good reputation,” Scorch snorted, “You’re kind of known as brutal warlords.” 

“What?” he laughed in response, “Us? Warlords?” 

“Obviously, no one saying that has met you, fuzzball.” Scorch bumped her shoulder roughly against him and he laughed again. Nightfrost didn’t turn her head but strangely, her shoulders tensed with jealousy. Was she jealous of Scorch? She pushed the thought away - that wasn’t relevant right now. 

“Well, either way, apparently she’s a very skilled healer,” she said. “She said she used to have a little den where cats would come and seek treatment, said a Clan healer taught her everything she knows.” 

“A Clan healer? Really?” Yarrowshade looked at the stranger with newfound interest. 

“Yeah.” Nightfrost gave him a meaningful look.

“Do you think it was Redleaf?” he asked. Nightfrost sighed a little, smiling nonetheless. Yarrowshade had never been much for subtlety. 

“Maybe,” she said, “Unless they were from SkyClan.” 

“Redleaf?” Scorch asked, clearly sensing a story there. 

“She was a healer here,” Yarrowshade supplied, “Sagetooth’s apprentice. When the Red Gut came, she lost faith in Star Clan, said they had abandoned us. She had a huge fight with Sagetooth and ended up leaving in the middle of the night. No one’s seen her since.” 

Scorch let out an intrigued trill. “Sounds like my kind of queen.” 

“Redleaf was impulsive and vindictive,” Nightfrost said firmly. “We’re better off without her.” Scorch shrank slightly, the smug look disappearing from her face. 

She dipped her head humbly and said in a soft voice, “My apologies. I shouldn’t speak on matters unfamiliar to me.” Nightfrost frowned, eyes narrowing. Yarrowshade swallowed uncomfortably. Scorch glanced between them and said, “If you’ll excuse me.” With another polite bow, the ginger dame slipped away, heading for the healer’s den. Nightfrost huffed. 

“She was just joking around, Nightfrost,” said Yarrowshade, ears pressing backwards as he tried to appease her, “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.”

Nightfrost took a deep breath and sighed. “Sorry, she just… rubs my fur the wrong way.” 

Yarrowshade frowned. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t have the right words. Immediately she felt like crowfood. Sighing, again, she leaned forward to bump her head against his, letting the contact calm her nerves. 

“It’s fine, really. I’m glad you’re having fun with her.” 

“Not too much fun,” he said, a bit of humor coming back into his voice. Pulling back, he gave her a cheeky little grin. “But, hey, if you’re stressed out, maybe we could go out and train? Fool around a bit?” She rolled her eyes and turned away. 

“No thanks,” she said, “You know I’m not the irresponsible type.” 

“Who said anything about irresponsible?” he purred. “Way I see it, cutting loose would be good for your health!” 

“Ah, I see. And that’s in your unbiased opinion?” 

“Of course! Solely concerned about your well being.” He swiped a paw over his muzzle in a gesture of honesty. 

Across the camp, Goldenstar and Oddy finished talking, both looking pleased. Sagetooth dipped her head to Oddy and stepped up, laying a tail over her back to lead her to the healer’s den. Nightfrost didn’t envy them, knowing they would run into Scorch who was probably sulking inside. 

“Looks like Oddy’s going to stay,” she said. 

“It’ll be good to have a second healer around,” Yarrowshade said brightly, “Oh! And kits! Do you think they’ll be apprenticed?” 

“Who knows,” Nightfrost shrugged. “It’d be nice to have more kits in camp though.” 

“You know, I have an idea to help with that,” he said, unable to stop the smirk from creeping into his voice.

“You’re the worst!” she laughed and reared up to bat him around the head. 

“Ow! Ow! Hey!” he laughed, ducking and backing away, “It was just an idea!” She chuckled and pursued him for a few steps before relenting. 

“You and your ideas,” she clucked, shaking her head. “You’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

[barzonlinemag]

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[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 30

Puddlespeckle went missing for a few days.

[Image ID: Weedfoot stands alone, calling “Father?”]

Rabbitjoy told Weedfoot that outsiders often saw the Clans as “imprisonment”, where others bossed you around and controlled your every step. This was far from the truth, of course. While apprentices had to be escorted due to the danger of the wilds and the Clan asked all who could to share the load, once you completed your tasks for the day, you were free to do as you may. No one would force a cat to follow commands all day.

But they still returned home. They weren’t supposed to be gone so long. Especially not an old, tired elder lost just before the start of winter.

“Father?” Weedfoot called. Harsh wind whipped her voice through the trees. “Father?”

“Puddlespeckle!” Parsley yowled from somewhere unseen. “Are you here?”

“I know you don’t like us much, but there’s no reason to leave!” Oilstripe half-laughed beside Weedfoot, nearly piercing her ear. Weedfoot shivered and rubbed her ear. Somewhere far behind her, the distant calls of the codekeeper’s patrol fluttered in the wind. With two patrols scanning every part of the territory for Puddlespeckle, someone was bound to find him, surely.

Oilstripe gently bunted Weedfoot’s shoulder. A soft trill slipped out of the ginger molly’s throat.

“I’m alright,” Weedfoot sighed, rubbing against Oilstripe. “I hope I didn’t drive him off.”

“He’s a stubborn old fool, but he’s grown to like the Clan!” Oilstripe chirped. “Somewhat, at least. He wouldn’t run off.” An emptiness swallowed the space after her words. Oilstripe was right. Puddlespeckle wouldn’t run away. But that meant something far worse had happened.

Soft pawsteps approached from behind. It was James. The former kittypet shook out his faded black ribbon and fluffed his fur against the early winter chill.

“James,” Weedfoot sighed, touching noses with her friend. “Did the codekeepers find anything?” James tucked his face into Weedfoot’s chest. His ribbon tickled her nose. His tail searched for Weedfoot’s. 

“Weed…” James sighed quietly. “Rustshade says he’s been out there for a while. I don’t think you should see it.”

[Image ID: Oilstripe is surrounded by the spirits of StarClan as she says, “I see StarClan whenever they come to visit. I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”]

Weedfoot didn’t want to know the details, but when that was all RippleClan could talk about, she was bound to hear them. According to Mousepaw, Puddlespeckle’s body had decayed enough that bringing it back to camp for a proper vigil would be worse than taking it straight to the graveyard. They couldn’t tell what did him in. Or maybe they did, but they were better about keeping it from Weedfoot’s ears than anything else.

Since the body was unpresentable, Fennelspot, Rabbitjoy, and Rattlepelt crafted a proxy. There were still some wilted forget-me-nots in the elder’s den from the last flowers Puddlespeckle managed to find to decorate his pelt. Rabbitjoy wove the petals into tufts of Puddlespeckle’s fur and Rattlepelt wrapped the creation in a freshly tanned pelt. With a simple blessing from Fennelspot, the wrap would be, in every spiritual sense, Puddlespeckle. At least for the night.

Weedfoot couldn’t say she was broken by this. She could never characterize her relationship with her father as something really positive, after all. But they had gotten better, hadn’t they? They were closer, even if Puddlespeckle sneered a bit when Weedfoot talked about James and complained about having to share his den with Parsley. Things were better. She should have had the chance to say goodbye.

James and Oilstripe were her closest companions during the vigil. She had expected Downstar to make an appearance, to say something, but as she had been prone to do for moons by that point, she stayed in her den. James and Oilstripe kept Weedfoot occupied with various stories of Puddlespeckle. Oilstripe had a shocking memory of the old gray tom; had Puddlespeckle actually told her about her apprenticehood misadventure at the Great Northern River? That didn’t seem like something he would share with her. At least she had stories to share, Weedfoot supposed.

Most cats did not stay long at the vigil. The search had taken up most of the day, leaving the whole Clan craving sleep. Even James bid farewell come moonhigh. Weedfoot and Oilstripe were the only ones stil awake at the end. 

“You can sleep, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot eventually sighed, running her paw over the leather wrap in front of her. “Thank you for staying up with me.”

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight,” Oilstripe mumbled. Her eyes were half closed and her ears constantly twitched. Her nose would curl up on occasion before she forced her face to relax.

“Try to,” Weedfoot suggested. “You look exhausted.” She bunted Oilstripe’s shoulder.

“I’m going to the dirtplace,” Oilstripe suddenly snapped. She stood so quickly, she knocked Weedfoot aside. Oilstripe scampered to the dirtplace, kicking up sand as she went. Was she more hurt by Puddlespeckle’s passing than Weedfoot first thought? She didn’t think the pair were that close. Oilstripe never really spoke to Puddlespeckle unless she was spending time with Weedfoot, after all. 

Weedfoot wouldn’t be a very good deputy (or friend) if she let Oilstripe suffer. She patted the leather wrap and followed the path to the dirtplace. The ocean’s hum filled her mind and tried to muffle Oilstripe’s words. Words? Yes, words; Oilstripe was speaking to someone. Weedfoot paused in the darkness of the shipwreck and listened.

“Why would I tell you?” Oilstripe snapped. “I don’t tell anyone about this.” Weedfoot spared a glance into the dirtplace. Oilstripe was alone, but she stared at the empty space beside her with what little fury her exhaustion let loose. “If you wanted a vigil over your body, maybe you shouldn’t have left camp!” Weedfoot knew Oilstripe had a tendency to talk to herself, muttering half a conversation when she thought no one else could hear. Wasn’t Fennelspot helping her with that odd quirk? How severe were her symptoms to have her arguing with shadows.

“Puddlespeckle, I told every story you asked me to share,” Oilstripe growled. “What else do you want from me? From Weedfoot? She loved you, you old mousebrain, even if she isn’t broken about it. Go to StarClan already and leave me alone! You’re pushing me into madness!”

“Oilstripe,” Weedfoot huffed, stepping into the dim moonlight. Oilstripe stiffened, one ear cocked toward Weedfoot. 

“Not again,” Oilstripe muttered, closing her eyes. “I’m alright, Weedfoot. Go back to your vigil.”

“We need to see Fennelspot,” Weedfoot said. She marched up to her old apprentice and gently coaxed her toward the dirtplace exit. Oilstripe, however, stood her ground.

“No, we don’t,” Oilstripe snapped. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Your symptoms are getting worse,” Weedfoot grunted. “Fennelspot will know what to do for you.”

“My…” Oilstripe stammered, “my symptoms?” Weedfoot nudged Oilstripe forward, but Oilstripe looped behind her. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Weedfoot insisted, turning to face her friend. She kept herself small as Oilstripe’s fur rose. “You haven’t slept much. It makes sense that your hallucinations—”

“StarClan, Weedfoot,” Oilstripe gulped. Her voice cracked like cold water splashing on a hot stone. “I, I know other cats see me talking to myself, but I didn’t think… you think I’m mad? How many cats think I see things that aren’t real?” 

“It’s—” Weedfoot said.

“I am not hallucinating!” Oilstripe cried, stomping after each word. “I see ghosts, Weedfoot, real ghosts. I see StarClan whenever they come to visit. I’m tired of pretending I don’t.” She wildly waved her tail to the empty spot beside her. “Puddlespeckle has been here all night. He hasn’t stopped complaining about how long it took us to find his body. I’m tired because he’s been ranting in my ear all day!”

“Oilstripe—” Weedfoot tried to interject.

“You want to see Fennelspot?” Oilstripe snapped. “We’ll see Fennelspot. He knows they’re real. Locustseeker proved it to him. And once he makes you believe, he’s going to tell the entire Clan. I won’t have my friends look at me and think I’ve lost my mind.” Oilstripe stomped up to Weedfoot and paused beside her. “If you believed I was seeing things this whole time, you should have said something. I don’t need you to pity me.” Oilstripe marched past Weedfoot and whipped out of sight.

“Oilstripe, wait!” Weedfoot cried. She ran after Oilstripe. All the clever and soothing words she planned to say fell away as she hurried deeper into the rising chaos.

(Weedfoot: 79, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Parsley: 124, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Oilstripe: 34, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(James: 106, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

Graythroat recovers, but her tail is scarred.

[Image ID: Graythroat stands with a scar on her tail, saying, “Do I look wonderful or do I look wonderful?”]

---

“Do I look wonderful or do I look wonderful?” Graythroat purred. She stretched her scarred, freshly healed tail as high as she could. Most of RippleClan were enjoying their sunhigh naps, soaking in the sunshine of a uniquely warm winter’s day. Mousepaw and Rattlepelt, meanwhile, were more than happy to look at Graythroat’s new scars.

“They don’t hurt?” Rattlepelt wondered, her eyes following the trail of each scar like one watches a river’s current.

“Not at all,” Graythroat insisted. “I’ve always wanted a battle scar. I wish it covered more of my tail though. It’s hard to see without craning my back.”

“It’s a shame it isn’t from a grand battle, then,” Mousepaw mumbled. “Shadowdrop says you killed a fox minding its own business.”

“My brother also said a fox may have been the beast that took Puddlespeckle from us,” Graythroat huffed, tucking her tail away from Mousepaw’s judgy gaze. “Foxes are dangerous.”

“Not much more than a cat,” Mousepaw pointed out, whiskers twitching. Before Graythroat could come up with a clever response, something shifted in the corner of her eye. Downstar limped out of her den. She managed well on three legs, although the splint that bound her broken bone would likely come off soon.

“Mom, look at my scar,” Graythroat chirped. She wiggled her flank in front of her mom. Downstar studied the scar quietly. She then limped in front of the Shiprock, her face still and expressionless.

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called, making Rattlepelt and Mousepaw jump. The sleeping masses scattered around camp stuttered to life, trying to collect themselves. Fennelspot stumbled out of the medicine den with weary eyes.

“Downstar, why are you calling a meeting in the middle of the day?” Fennelspot yawned as the rest of the Clan tried to wake up.

“You’ll see in a moment,” Downstar said softly. “Graythroat, come sit by me.” Graythroat happily trotted up to her mother. She nuzzled her mother with a deep purr. 

RippleClan was slow to gather. Their yawns and grumbles turned into quiet questions as they glanced between each other. Graythroat’s paws danced over the sand as she silently yowled for the group to come together already. Graythroat couldn’t take the suspense!

[Image ID: Downstar faces Graythroat, now called Wildclaw. Under Wildclaw, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYTHROAT -> WILDCLAW. Fennelspot sits in the foreground, saying, “Downstar, I don’t know about this.”]

“Since the day she became an apprentice,” Downstar began, “my daughter Graythroat has put her all into the defense of this Clan. She would gladly lay down her life if it meant RippleClan would survive.” Graythroat puffed out her chest. “She is everything I would want in a strong and loyal caretaker. She takes initiative to keep us safe and will always rise to the occasion. Her new scar is proof of this commitment. She deserves to be honored for her bravery. As such, today she will earn an honor title, which she will carry with her to StarClan.” 

The rest of the Clan faded away. An honor title? Graythroat was getting an honor title? She was getting a new name? Only the greatest in the Clan ever got an honor title! And they didn’t get theirs from their mother!

“Downstar, I don’t know about this.” Fennelspot’s worry tried to pierce Graythroat’s fog of joy, but Graythroat ignored him. She stood in front of her mother, chin and tail high, ready to erase her new name like pawprints in the sand.

“Spirits of StarClan, you know every cat by name,” Downstar declared. “I ask you now to take away the name from the cat you see before you, for it no longer stands for what she is. By my authority as Clan leader, and with the approval of our warrior ancestors, I give this cat a new name. From this moment on she will be known as Wildclaw, for her wild and daring spirit deserves to be honored.”

Wildclaw. Wildclaw. Wildclaw! What a beautiful name! Wildclaw’s heart fluttered as her Clan’s sleepy voices called her new name. It sunk into her very being. It was everything she was, deep inside. She didn’t care that the strained looks in her Clanmates’ eyes did not match the pride of their voices. She was proud of herself. Her mother was proud of her. That was enough.

(Wildclaw: 22, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 13, female, artisan, fierce, prey cleaner)

(Mousepaw: 7, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(Downstar: 89, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 87, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

[mistyresolve]

| Talking To The Void - Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (Edited)

Word count - 2k

Summary - While Simon is away on missions, it’s hard on everyone. Especially his significant other. So he’s discovered a loophole, the only issue is that it has its downfalls. 

Warning/Tags - mentions of the dirty, 

A/N - this is something short to introduce my version of Simon “Ghost” Riley. i like the idea that both Simon Riley and Ghost in a sense are the same person with the same goals and values but he has defined separation between the two.

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

It no longer came as a shock when you didn’t hear from Simon for weeks on end when he was away on missions. You understood the reasoning behind the strict no contact rule; gave him grace because the cards were never in his hands. With him having to fly under the radar, and lower still, he had to vanish from the living world. You being a part of the living world involved vanishing from you too. Sometimes it was the fact that he just never had the time or means to make a phone call. Even still, the normalcy of it never quelled the anxiety and fear that plagued you—it followed you around like a predator stalking its prey. It lurked in the shadows and breathed down your neck when your back was turned. It followed you into your dreams, forcing you to awake in a panic and drenched in sweat. 

You had absolute, unequivocal faith in him to come back to you. He always did. But the silence that replaced his presence was always filled with overthinking and rumination. 

You tried your best to distract yourself. Sometimes with work of your own, staying later than the janitors, and when you drove home the streets and highways were desolate. You also spent a considerable amount of time at your parents' place, eating your mothers home cooked meals while you chatted about the new family gossip. You used to stay the weekend at her house because coming back home to an empty house was sometimes too much. A chilling reminder of what you were trying to forget. The nights that you did spend in your bed you slept in his clothes and on his side of the bed. Anything to get a little closer to him. Anything to trick yourself into thinking he was still there.  

You never held it against Simon though. It took you the first five missions he was ordered onto to finally come to terms with the unusual lifestyle. Each time he returned he brought with him an immense amount of guilt. A guilt that ran so deep even you couldn’t soothe. He did everything he could on his end to find alternative ways to support you through his absence. When he found out about the occasional sleepovers at your parent's house, he brought you to an SPCA to adopt whatever animal of your choosing. Something to bring warmth and life into the home in his stead. Simon wasn’t the least bit surprised when you picked the sassy tabby cat with one eye named Ginger Spice. 

The other alternative was phone calls. Always from a burner phone. Always an unknown number. Always silent on the other end. 

Every time your phone rang and you picked it up, there was always a deflation when a phone number or name was attached to it. 

That wasn’t the case this time. You fumbled and shook as you slid your finger across the screen to answer the call. Hesitating before you open your mouth, the word scared it would be returned, “Hello?” you closed your eyes, hoping, praying, pleading, that the caller didn’t reply. 

When you were met with nothing, heard nothing, the half sob half sigh of relief that you let out was heartbreaking. Even Simon on the other end of the line had to lean his head against the wall for support, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I miss you,” the words are laced with grief and torment, “I miss you so much it hurts.”

Ginger Spice who was previously lounging on the divan across from you perked up at the sound of your teary voice. He let out a curious trill as he leapt off the seat, pranced to your spot on the couch, and jumped into your lap; making a few laps back and forth before settling in between your legs. The tabby cat was providing the support that Simon was striving for. Simon silently thanked the cat.  

“Ginger came to say ‘Hi’,” You laughed through the tears, your vision momentarily going blurry. You wiped furiously at your eyes. You didn’t want to waste this stolen time on crying. 

The first time he made one of these calls and you had hung up on him not realizing who it was. When he returned, he very bashfully confessed to you that it was him. You had given him endless apologies, absolutely mortified. He had laughed and pressed kisses into your hair, telling you it was okay and he expected that that would be the most probable outcome. 

You didn’t know how long you had with him before the line would be severed and you’d be left wondering. Your fingers were kept busy by tracing the pattern on Ginger Spices markings, who immediately erupted with purrs in response. 

“I don’t know if you hear him, but he’s purring,” you relayed, a soft smile dancing on your mouth. 

Simon could, very faintly, and only when you spoke. The sound floated in the background of your words. A smile of his own formed under the mask. The moment was shared from thousands and thousands of miles away, and yet in the same room. 

“He misses you too,” and the cat did, you would occasionally find him curled in the sheet on Simon's side of the bed. Other times he was sitting on the bench next to the door, waiting for his dad to enter, “Sometimes he takes it out on me. Which, by the way, I don’t deserve, and you’ll have to make up for that when you get back” also a true statement. Ginger Spice had developed a horrible habit of ignoring you and giving you blatant attitude. Just this morning when you filled his food bowl he meowed at you until you sat at the island and drank your tea. All because Simon would get up at buttcrack dawn, feed the cat, and drink tea while he read over reports and documents while he waited for you to start to wake up so he could climb back into the sheets and be there when you open your eyes. 

“And that brings me to the next point of discussion. Your mother-in-law wants you to help move the couch in the basement to the garage so she can sell it. Dad wants to turn it into some sort of lounge, den, bar, thingy,” you waved your hand in dismissal despite the fact that he couldn’t see the action. 

He might not have been able to see, but if he closed his eyes and listened, he could imagine you. Knowing your mannerisms and idiosyncrasies as if they were his own. Every moment he spent with you he filed away and studied. A talent that also came in handy when it came to those lonely nights away from you. Visualizing his hand was yours. Smaller and softer. Gentle and caring. A fact that he had no qualms telling you about, or explaining to you in great detail. And he was very good at explaining, and it usually led you to enact his visualizations. All so he can “confirm his creativity was close to the real thing”. He is very tongue-in-cheek about it too.  

“She wants me to help her paint and redecorate. But I’m having a hard time thinking up a theme so you’ll have to help me out,” and he would, he was good at helping you organize your thoughts and ideas. He enjoyed any task that was thrown at him, taking them head-on and with fervent no matter how pointless it was. He claimed it kept him limber. He liked being needed and valued. He especially liked it when you praised his ideas. 

He listened contently as you talked to him about everything you could. What you had for lunch, the book you recently finished, the hairball you had to clean up, the “bitch two offices down”. He would have to bite the inside of his cheek and focus on controlling and steadying his breaths to keep from laughing. He loved how your voice dropped to a whisper when you got to the nitty gritty of the gossip. As if you were sitting at the back of a coffee shop with him, and talking about people as they sat right in front of you. He’d never admit it, but he lived for the drama. Thrived off it. But only if it came from you.

You filled him in on the drama, removing names and identifiers in the rare case that someone was listening in. The same reason you wouldn’t say his name or call sign. The same reason he couldn’t talk.

He never voiced it to you for the fear that if he spoke it out loud it would come true, but the possibility of something happening to you because he got too comfortable in his anonymity, scared the shit out of him. An issue he never had to deal with before you. He always kept his identity close to his chest but his seriousness about it only increased by a tenth-fold when you crept into his life. It was not only his life on the line but yours too now. He was doing everything he could to protect you. To make sure you remained an enigma to his enemies. To which he had a lot of. A lot of them would have no issues using you to get to him, and all of them would kill for that kind of opportunity. He also wanted to give you some ounce of normality when he returned, and he didn’t have to conceal his identity. Where he could take you out, and show you off without the fear that someone will recognize him. His only regret was that he could only give that to you for half the time.

He sometimes wished he could burn the world just so he could get some peace with you. He wished he could put you in a jar and carry you with him everywhere he went. That’s all they were though, wishes and selfish daydreams. 

Right now, he was sitting in the stairwell of an apartment building. He and Price were monitoring a target, building a routine for them. They were stationed on the roof of said apartment with snipers. He had switched off the main shift with Price about six hours ago. He spent those six hours getting sleep and food, before making the phone call. A phone call Price had no idea he was making. A phone call to someone, not even Price knew existed. He would rejoin Price after the call to help with comms and to give him some company. Lord knew Simon knew staring into a scope at someone watch TV and order room service for a 12 hour shift was deathly boring. Not that he’d ever complain. It allowed him time to sit with his thoughts. He would probably do a couple of rounds around the area too. Secure their exits and entrances. 

You loosed a sigh, suddenly sad again, “I’ve kept you longer than I should have.”

He looked at the timer on the phone screen: 1:23:09. 

It hadn’t felt that long. And it sure as hell didn’t feel long enough.  

“Come home to me soon, please,” the earnestness in your voice was palpable. He could almost taste it on his tongue. The twisted heart in his chest felt like it dropped a couple of inches, and a zip of pain shot down his arm.  

“I love you,” you whispered so sweetly he thought he’d get a sugar high from it. That or the blood was leaving his brain and travelling south. You left enough time after you said it that if he could respond he would have enough time. Then reluctantly hung up. 

He tapped the phone in the palm of his hand, pulling his mind back into his body. Switching back to Ghost he rolled his shoulders, shaking off any remaining unwanted thoughts and feelings. 

He dismantled the phone, removing the battery, the sim, the camera, the screen. Everything. He would toss the individual parts in different locations as he did his patrols. He’d be damn thorough. The sim card he would burn. He would destroy any evidence and connection to Simon Riley. 

Masterlist  ❤︎

[talonslockau]

Forest of Secrets - Chapter 41

Chapter 40 || Index || Chapter 42

Sunshine poured through the foliage of camp as Fireheart sat in the middle of camp, watching Clan life occur around him. The days were growing warmer and warmer as newleaf beckoned; it wouldn’t be long until the accumulated snowfall melted away into mere puddles. Prey was coming out of its burrows; only a few right now, but once the snow melted they would surely be flocking to nut caches and new buds. Things were finally beginning to look up. 

“It’s a sign of Starclan’s disapproval!” He blinked out of his reverie as he heard someone mutter nearby, angling his head to see Smallear talking with One-eye and Halftail. “The infection will only get worse until she names a new deputy as the code dictates!”

“Illnesses happen all the time, Smallear. Do you not remember last leafbare? Or do you think that it’s Redtail’s fault that the Great Hunger happened?” He looked away as One-eye replied to her brother with a haughty scoff. “In fact, I’d say it’s thanks to Starclan that we haven’t had so much as a whisper of greencough this season. Only a couple of cats got whitecough, and Dewpaw and Yellowfang were on it faster than a squirrel on a fallen acorn.”

“How do we know that Bluestar doesn’t have greencough? They won’t let anyone near her!” He could picture Smallear lashing his white tail, though he didn’t look to see. “For all we know, she’s rotting away in there. She might as well be, as long as Fireheart’s our deputy.”

“Hush! Can’t you see he’s right there?” He turned away, flattening his ears to what the elder was saying as One-eye reprimanded him. It didn’t matter - Smallear was right that he shouldn’t be deputy. The Clan was doing better now, but it was hardly thanks to him. If it wasn’t for Whitestorm, everything would have fallen apart by now.

A flash of white caught his attention, and he turned to see a small white kitten sniffing its way furiously across the ground. He perked his ears in surprise, just in time to hear the familiar trill of his sister. “Be careful, now!”

He looked up to the nursery to see Princess standing there, watching her firstborn take his first pawsteps into camp as the other kits stared out nervously from the entrance. He padded over, already purring at the sight of them. “Princess! What’s going on?” Fireheart asked curiously as he looked down on his nieces and nephews.

“Goldenflower and Frostfur think that they’ve gotten old enough to leave the nursery for the first time, and I agree.” Princess nudged the kits at her feet forward. “Go on, follow your brother. It’s plenty safe out there, with your uncle keeping watch.”

“Unka Fiya-hawt? Where?” The kits peered out at the world with eyes that were just beginning to change color. One of the gray tabby toms was staring at him distrustfully, a sight that made his heart hurt.

“I’m right here, silly.” Fireheart purred, crouching down so he was on equal eye level with them. Now they were all staring at him, as though he had suddenly grown a second tail. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“You’re not Unka Fiya-hawt!” The tortoiseshell, Lynxkit, yowled as she backed into her mother’s legs. “Unka Fiya-hawt is brown!” 

He stared at them, trying not to let the hurt show on his face. He’d been bringing them freshkill for close to two moons now - how could they not recognize him? As he looked up to his sister, he could see confusion in her eyes, before they suddenly widened. “They’ve only ever seen you in the dark of the den before.” She pointed out to him, gesturing at the length of him. “I guess you do look quite different in the sunlight.”

She was right; as he glanced back at his pelt, a bright ginger in the sun, he realized that it only glowed like this in the sunlight. It was strange to think that he looked so different, but maybe… “Alright, then.” He purred, trying not to let the sting of rejection tinge his voice as he padded over to the shadow of the Highrock. “How about now? Now am I Uncle Fireheart?”

“Unka!” He blinked as Cloudkit raced over, shoving into his now darker fur. “Mama said you’d be here!”

“Well, she was right.” He purred to his nephew, already so big compared to the mouse-sized kit that he had been at birth. “I’m keeping watch over camp, so it’s nice and safe for you.”

The other kits scuttled after their brother, now certain of their uncle’s identity. “You looked so weird!” One of the gray tabby toms - he couldn’t yet tell them apart - squeaked at him. “Why does your fur change? Why doesn't my fur change?” He stuck his tail out in the warmth of the sun, but it was only a brighter shade of gray than the rest of his body in the shadows.

“I don’t know.” Fireheart admitted. He’d never really considered how different he looked in light and shadow until now; as he stuck his own tail out from the shadow, he had to admit he understood the kits’ confusion. His sister looked almost cream in the brightest sunlight, but he knew as well as they did that she was more of a dark tawny color. “I guess my fur is just like that.”

“No fair! I want changing fur!” Lynxkit squeaked with a stamp of her little paw.

“Well, your fur might not change, but you get both black and orange fur.” He pointed out to the little molly as she frowned up at him. “Mine might change color, but I only get one at a time.”

“That’s true!” She brightened up immediately, looking over her shoulder to admire her pelt in a new context.

“Well, I’ve got lotsa colors!” Sorrelkit boasted, standing triumphantly among her siblings as she showed off her white, gray, and cream-colored pelt. “That makes me the best!”

“No it doesn’t!” Lynxkit cried, looking up at Fireheart with a giant frown. “Tell her I’m better!”

He looked down at the two mollies, his fur growing hot as they glared up at him. “Well, I don’t think-”

“Hey, what’s that?” Cloudkit yowled loudly before he could finish speaking, tumbling off after a fallen leaf nearby. The other four kits immediately turned their attention to what he was looking at, racing off with their argument apparently forgotten.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to his sister. “They’re going to be real pawfuls, you know.” He pointed out to her with a purr.

“Oh, I know. At least I have Goldenflower to help me.” She flicked her tail to where the fluffy queen was sitting, watching the five kits as they began eagerly exploring the clearing. “I don’t know how I’d manage all of them otherwise!” She shivered playfully for a moment before looking at him with teasing green eyes. “So what has my big deputy brother been up to, anyways?”

He hesitated at the title, his mind already wandering back to the elders’ conversation earlier. “Oh, not much.” He purred to deflect the question. “I’d ask you the same, but I think I already know the answer.”

To his surprise, she frowned at his reply. “What’s wrong?” She asked, lowering her voice now. As he stared back at her in confusion, she sighed and rested her tail on his. “You always have this little crease on your chin when you’re worried. What’s wrong?”

He blinked at her, shocked to hear it. Did he really? He wondered for a moment if others had noticed, recalling what Peppermask had said about cats that knew him well being able to read him easier. Perhaps that was what she meant? “I… I just…” He sighed and looked away from her, out towards where the elders were still talking. “I’m sure you must have heard by now how I’m not supposed to be deputy.”

Princess blinked slowly at him. “Frostfur mentioned something about it, but Goldenflower hushed her. I didn’t really get to hear the full story.” She tilted her head and flicked a tawny ear at him. “I don’t understand - didn’t Bluestar name you deputy? Isn’t that all there is to it?”

He wearily shook his head. “No, there’s - there’s requirements to being a deputy. One of them is that a deputy must have mentored an apprentice before being named. There’s - there’s some room for interpretation on that, but I’ve never even been considered for an apprentice. I’ve only been a warrior for a couple of seasons as it is.”

She listened to him carefully, slowly nodding along as he spoke. “Well, why don’t you mentor one of the apprentices? Or you could mentor one of my kits, when they’re old enough. I- I kind of expected you would, when it came to that.”

Fireheart managed to purr weakly at the offer. “I can’t just take an apprentice from another mentor. Mentors and apprentices are a special bond, and… I’m only a few moons older than the current apprentices, anyways. It’d be weird.” He didn’t really know how to explain it to a cat that hadn’t been an apprentice before. “And that’s not the only requirement, either. For another, the ceremony has to take place before moonhigh after the deputy position is vacated, and mine… wasn’t.”

She snorted dismissively at that. “So? It still happened, didn’t it? The circumstances were unusual; I’m sure any cat would be willing to make an exception.”

“Cats of the Clans don’t do exceptions very well.” He thought briefly of bringing up that he was also a kittypet, which was generally despised among the Clan, but she surely knew as well as he did the attitude most Clan cats had towards kittypets. “I just - none of them will say it to my face, but they don’t consider me a real deputy. They’re all waiting for Bluestar to get better and hold a new ceremony, for a different deputy.”

“If they won’t say it to your face, then they can’t believe it that much.” Princess huffed, screwing her nose up in disdain at the unnamed cats he was speaking of. “Don’t listen to them, Fireheart. You’re doing a fine job.”

How would she know? He held the words back with a contemptuous twitch of his whiskers. She was stuck in the nursery all day; she barely saw him, except when he came in to give her and her kits freshkill. She didn’t know what it was like, day in and day out, knowing he was constantly being judged. Things were fine - for now - but they would not always be. He wasn’t sure if the Clan could handle an inevitable crisis with him as deputy - especially not if Tigerclaw ended up coming back for a rematch.

“You’re not allowed in there!” He jumped as someone growled behind him, breaking him out of his thoughts, and turned to see Tinyfrost standing over Cloudkit, who was inching curiously towards the leader’s den. “Find somewhere else to play.”

He expected the little white kit to turn around immediately at the sight of the bristling black tom, but instead Cloudkit looked up at Fireheart’s former mentor with a defiant glare. “Why not?” His nephew challenged, taking another pawstep towards the lichen curtain. “What’s in there?”

Frustration grew in Tinyfrost’s icy gaze as he stared down at the kit, and Fireheart quickly bounded forward to intervene before the situation worsened. “That’s the leader’s den, Cloudkit. You’re only allowed to go in if you’re invited.” He explained, just as Graystripe had explained to him back when he was first an apprentice.

Cloudkit turned his attention to his uncle, even as he jutted his chin out insolently. “So? You’re the deputy! You can invite me!”

He took a deep breath, trying not to snap at his sister’s kit. This was just part of raising a kit in the Clans, wasn’t it? He just had to explain it patiently so that Cloudkit understood. “I might be the deputy, yes, but the leader has power over me, along with everyone else in the Clan. If I invite you in without asking her, she’ll get upset with me, and then I’ll be in trouble. You don’t want that for me, do you?”

His nephew looked distinctly unsympathetic. “You won’t get in twouble if I just look!” Cloudkit mewed eagerly, eyeing the entrance once again. “Lemme go in!”

“She’d be able to smell you in there, for one.” Fireheart pointed out as his annoyance only continued to grow. “Plus the whole camp will see you go in and out. And that would be if she’s not in there right now - which she is.”

“Really? Lemme see her!” Cloudkit marched determinedly dowards the curtain, but Fireheart quickly swept him away with a paw.

“No, you can’t. The reason she’s in there is because she’s sick, and needs rest.” Fireheart tried not to let his irritation seep into his voice at the continued defiance of his nephew. How did queens handle kits every day when they were like this? “She doesn’t need nosy kits harassing her right now.”

The little kit huffed angrily as he was batted away from the den, studying the distance and Fireheart’s paw as he considered whether he was fast enough to make it through the curtain before the deputy could stop him. “I’ll be quiet then! I-”

“How many times must your uncle tell you no before you listen?” Cloudkit jumped as Princess stepped out from behind her brother, glowering down at her young son. “If you don’t leave him and Tinyfrost alone, you can go right back to the nursery while the rest of your siblings explore camp. Is that clear?”

Cloudkit scrunched his nose up angrily at his mother, and for a moment he thought the kit might ignore her anyways. Then he turned, his little white tail lashing as best it could, and sulked off to where the other four kits were exploring the tree stump by the apprentices’ den with great fascination. “Fine.” He huffed as he went across camp, his small triangular ears as flat as he could make them.

The tawny queen sighed and rolled her eyes as she turned to Tinyfrost. “I’m sorry about him. He’s going through a rebellious streak now that he’s old enough to run around. I thought that getting to explore camp would excite him enough to keep him from talking back, but I guess I was wrong.”

Tinyfrost sat back down beside the leader’s den, giving his shoulder a quick couple of licks. “Just make sure that he and the rest of his litter stay well away from me, alright? I’m guarding Bluestar, not playing kitsitter.” He looked away haughtily, but Fireheart knew that his old mentor wasn’t truly upset at the kits - Bluestar’s condition had been hard on all of those in her inner circle, Tinyfrost included.

The two siblings padded away to watch the five kits, who had now begun a rousing game of tag in the ferns of the apprentice den. “I worry about how they’ll fit in.” Princess mewed softly to him, quiet enough that no other cat could hear. “Goldenflower and Frostfur treat them just like any other kit, I’m sure, but what about the rest of the Clan? They weren’t all happy to see me, the day I joined, and I’m afraid…” She trailed off, meeting Fireheart’s gaze out of the corner of her eye.

“I know what you mean.” He admitted, recalling his own reception into the Clan when he had been a mere 6 moons old. It had been easy to understand some cats’ disdain for him, and in time he’d learned who to avoid and who could be trusted. But as far as Princess’ kits knew, they were Clanborn; they wouldn’t understand why certain cats glared at them as they walked past. 

But with Tigerclaw and Darkstripe gone, exposed by mere kittypet-borns, many of those who harbored hatred against kittypets were now silent - or at the very least, doing a better job at hiding their hatred of him. He supposed it also helped that he was deputy now, and while he wouldn’t abuse his authority to reprimand them over childish insults, they didn’t seem interested in testing him on that.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” Fireheart replied at last. “Tigerclaw’s betrayal has them all shaken. As far as most of them care, he was Clanborn, same as any of them. That a Clanborn cat would do something so awful - and that a kittypet-born would be the one to stop him - it all makes them question what worth that all has. Between that and me being deputy now, I don’t think they’ll dare to say anything to you or the kits.” He turned to give her a reassuring smile. “But if they do, you just tell me, alright? I won’t tolerate them making my niblings feel less-than.”

She gave him a small smile in return, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it. “I know you will.” She turned back to watch as Cloudkit leaped out of the ferns to bowl over one of the gray kits, who squealed angrily with indignation at the attack. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking - did she not believe him? Was there something else she was afraid of? He couldn’t tell.

But, he vowed silently as he watched the five of them run around and enjoy their first time out of the nursery, he would make sure that they knew that they belonged in Thunderclan. For the first time, he felt as though there was no question as to whether he belonged here - with his family and friends. He would do anything he could to keep it that way.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Friday, June 14

Cordelia turns and heads out of the library. The others each give Buffy a quick apologetic glance and follow her out. Giles walks into the area as Buffy goes to the table to get her bottle of apple juice. GILES: Seems like a lot of fuss for... one little title. BUFFY: Well, you know, it's no fun if you don't try your best. (takes a drink) GILES: As long as fun is still in the mix. BUFFY: (smiling) Sure! It's not like anyone takes it that seriously. The bottle in her hand suddenly shatters under the pressure of her grip.

~~Homecoming~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Another Five Things that Never Happened to Spike & Fred by eevol76vamp (Fred/Spike, Angel/Spike, other pairings, M)

An End by LizRambler (Oz, T)

Six Things that Never Happened to Spike & Fred by eevol76vamp (Fred/Spike, Buffy/Spike, other pairings, E)

Turning the Tables by Harlow Turner (Buffy/Spike, R)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion Chapter 429 by madimpossibledreamer (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure xover, T)

SLAYERS: BLOODLINES (sneak peek) by Dark Ages (OCs, unrated)

Primal - Ch. 1 by eevol76vamp (Buffy/Spike, others, E)

The Chronicles of Darla: The Untold Story - Ch. 1-7 by Datherine100 (Angelus/Darla, T)

A New Beginning (Darla/William; Daredevil's OC) - Ch. 1-4 by Datherine100 (Darla/OC, T)

Humorous - Ch. 1-3 by Datherine100 (Ensemble, Warriors and True Blood xover, G) and numerous other fics by same author including Bangel

Buffy: Self insert - Ch. 15-17 by NeverluckySMILE (Buffy, Willow, Xander, G)

Slayerborn - Ch. 15 by Ihatechoosinganame (Xander, M)

Father Returns - Ch. 7 by Amizzadu (Angel/Spike, M)

The hellmouth experience - Ch. 7 by Sylvesterthecrow (Xander/Oz, T)

Different direction taken - Ch. 42 by Nerdzilla91 (Tara/Faith, Tara/Willow, others, M)

Highlands and Tropical Islands - Ch. 9 by QuillBard (Buffy/Faith, M)

Three's a Crowd - Ch. 3 by HAL1500 (Giles/Jenny, G)

In Case You Haven't Noticed... - Ch. 18 by Sdhuskerfan (Buffy/Giles, E)

I hate the way - Ch. 23 by DancingAngel0013 (Buffy/Giles, E)

Lest This Bond Be Broken - Ch. 8 by Dynapink (Buffy/Giles, M)

School of Hard Knocks - Ch. 3 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Devil's Trill - Ch. 10 by Murray (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Deliverance From Destiny - Ch. 32 by Ragini (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) COMPLETE!

The Boyfriend Swap - Ch. 18 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Neighbor's Point of View - Ch. 113 by the_big_bad (Buffy/Spike, PG)

Transformed By Love - Ch. 6 by Buffyworldbuilder (Fred, Xander, The Originals xover, FR15)

Bruises - Ch. 21 by hulettwyo (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Lock screen: [we all have crosses to bear] by russian-sasha (Spike, worksafe)

Textpost: Pacey makes a reference to Buffy the Vampire Slayer... by julikobold (Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: Liam/Angel and Darla's 18th century outfits in the flashbacks [on ATS] by vampyreblr (Angel/Darla, worksafe)

Gifset: buffy + angel's cross by ptieuca (Buffy/Angel, worksafe)

Gifset: PRIDE EXCHANGE by ginger-grimm (Buffy/OC, worksafe)

Gifset: Look at me, Deary. Be...in my eyes. Be...in me. by biancalawsongifs (Kendra, worksafe)

Gifset: BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER | 6.04by andremichaux (Willow, Giles, worksafe)

Video: Willow - Pretty isn't pretty enough by Faith Victoria

[Recs & In Search Of]

Recs: More road trip fics? Don't mind if we do! [multiple Spuffy fic recs] by elysianfieldsarchive

ISO: kristicuse seeks [to discuss the] Into Every Generation a Slayer is Born (Book)

[Fandom Discussions]

Ask answered: i was wondering if you could write some headcanons about [Spike] by readingbookelf

The problem with magic in Buffy the Vampire Slayer is they just made it structurally overpowered. by quasi-normalcy

why did they not conclude Willow’s arc properly when it comes to her complex trauma... by girl4music

The way the gang all talk about the baby Darla is carrying is so fucking weird. by nicnacsnonsense

It’s so stupid that they killed Darla, the most interesting character in the series, off. by nicnacsnonsense

Doc Holliday (Wynonna Earp ed.) and Spike (BTVS) by fromthedeskofcripslock

Buffy coming back “wrong” by Joan the Vampire Slayer

Why does Angel wear his Claddagh ring in the relationship position but puts it on Buffy in the married position? by jaaimflbm

Kendra was dressed weirdly for her character by Other_Thing_2551

How did Whistler know that Kendra brought the Acathala-slaying sword with her? by five-bi-five

Small detail - Faith [3x21 and 3x22 continuity in fingernails and tattoo] by jrow100

Did Giles really have a blind spot? [about Tillow] by Al_Bee

Why did they do these in Seeing Red? by jogaforacont

Would Robin have slayer blood too? by IntelligentPumpkin74

Does anyone read and/or write Buffy fanfic? If so, what is your favorite story? by Kat-Attack-52

Least favorite JW episode? by johnnyorac

POLL: If we had an additional scooby member during the high school years? by matt-89

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

James Marsters Sydney Supanova Expo 2024 Schedule [panel time added] via dontkillspike

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Join the editor team :)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

the people(me) want more of foul legacy embarrassing ajax!! ajax finding out about how embarrassingly cat-like his counterpart is and turning red!!!! silly boy!!!

yeah!!!!! i agree!!!!!

Ajax who blushes deeply when you tell him about how Foul Legacy rolls over in the sun, stretching out on the grass and closing his eye with a blissful purr- it's the perfect position for you to rub his tummy, and his purrs only increase in volume tenfold when you do. you sing praises about how Legacy would nuzzle against your palm, giving your hand tiny licks and nudges, and Ajax's cheeks only darken, turning the color of late sunset. he lets out an undignified squawk when your finger reaches out and pokes his freckles, tapping each of them in a constant, familiar pattern, and the Eleventh Harbinger stubbornly buries his face in your shoulder to hide his bright flush. you merely give him a mischievous grin and ruffle his soft ginger hair, already coming up with schemes to make Foul Legacy even more adorable

to say that you encourage Legacy's cat-like behavior would be an understatement- it helps that you love it either way, always laughing in delight whenever he snuggles up to you or flops over on the floor with an exhausted huff. you're on a walk together one day when a butterfly flits past, first landing on your finger before fluttering over and perching on a fascinated Legacy's horn, who lets out tiny chitters and coos of joy as to not scare the insect off. you smile and raise your kamera, snapping a quick photo, the colorful butterfly contrasting beautifully against your Abyssal monster's crimson mask before it eventually flies away and Legacy lets out his purrs at full volume, sparkling wings fluttering and flitting with uncontrolled delight. he bounds over and nuzzles against you, looking over your shoulder at the photo with a cheerful trill- you simply must get it developed and put it in your album!

Ajax, on the other hand, turns completely red when he sees that picture. you can almost see his ears glowing in embarrassment as he lets out a groan and buries his face into his hands, only stopping when you wrap your arms around his waist and give him a tight, firm squeeze

[willxmeyers]

this house doesn't feel like home. (self para) where: will and @lemielewis's house

The headlights of his car illuminated the darkened porch of Will and Lemie's house as he swung into their driveway. The sun had been taking longer and longer to set each day as summer arrived and it was well past dinnertime by the time he'd left Coral Cottage.

It was Lemie's day off, something that they usually planned accordingly so that they could spend the day together outside of their work environment. But Will was training their newest front desk attendant this week, something which had been going.. middlingly. It was just a summer job for some college student on break, hardly someone who's career aspiration was answering phones and welcoming guests, but she'd do for the time being. Working the front desk was a pretty easy gig once you got into the swing of it and Will considered himself a pretty lenient boss.

Throughout the day, Will had checked in but recieved no texts back from Lemie. It wasn't unheard of. If she was out and about, it wasn't as if she was glued to her phone and they'd always catch up when they were home together so it made little difference. He'd messaged that he was on his way home when leaving the cottage and the 5 minute drive home wasn't enough time to raise any alarm bells.

But as he exited the car, Will could just sense something amiss. Maybe it was just how bleak the house looked in the darkness. It was foreboding and hollow without the warmness that usually lit up the house from within. He took their front steps two at a time, keys in hand to unlock the door - only to find it unlocked. Closed, but unlocked. His brows pinched together in concern.

Lemie was sometimes forgetful, he told himself. Maybe she couldn't find her keys before leaving. It wasn't as if she drove so it might've been easier to just head out without them. The logical part of Will's brain was working overtime to ensure that the unsettling feeling inside him didn't sink too deep into his stomach.

But as he opened the hallway and turned on the light, the set of house keys were the first thing his dark eyes settled on and an ice cold shiver ran down his spine.

In a flash, Will's phone was in his hand, unlocking the screen and immediately being greeted by their conversation thread. His unanswered texts shone back, mocking him.

2:04pm Will: How are you going, my love? 5:31pm Will: She just told me she's never made a bed before. Will: Her mum has always done it for her.. she's in college? Does her mum still make her bed? So many questions 8:14pm Will: On my way home now x

Will fought against the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and called Lemie. Her voicemail greeted him, the sound of her recorded voice doing nothing to put him at ease. "Hey, it's Lemie. I'm probably ignoring you." The familiar beep sounded and he tried to keep his voice even as he spoke. "Hey Lem, where are you? I came home and you're not here.. are you at Lucky's? Just call me when your phone is back on, okay? Love you."

The trill of Paprika's bell alerted him to the cat's presence at the top of the stairs, stretching as if he'd just awoken. "Hey buddy," Will said, shutting the front door behind him. The ginger cat meowed as if in response, the sight of their non-human son elevating a minor amount of stress. It gave no clue as to where Lemie was but at least their cat was still here. Making his way up the stairs to their bedroom, the feline rubbed against his leg once he'd reached the upper threshold.

Upon pushing their bedroom door open, it felt emptier somehow. Like they'd been burgled but all the culprits took where things like Lemie's phone charger, her suitcase that was still half unpacked from their trip to Italy and what looked like half the contents of her underwear drawer which was still hanging open.

Again, his mind tried to piece together a rational reasoning behind it all. Family emergency? Only Lucky and Lori constituted family enough for that and it wasn't unlike them to reach out directly to tell Will what was going on if it was a crisis. Maybe Cherry had her heart broken, yet again and needed a girl's night? But why would her phone be off? Why wouldn't she had said something? As much as he wanted to imagine it was some silly misunderstanding, despite whatever reasonings his mind could create, a deep, dark voice prevailed. It sounded suspiciously like his father.

She's left you.

As if manifesting it into existence, Will spotted a slightly crumpled piece of paper on her side of the bed. From how Paprika skulking around it like a hunter circling its prey, it was likely he'd been playing with it for however long it had been there.

Will felt himself sit on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the piece of paper with only two words written on it. He read it over and over as if doing so would reveal more to it, a clue as to what might have happened. But nothing came to him.

In Lemie's familiar scrawl, 'I'm sorry' was all that was written.

[badger-00k]

Of Cats, Apples and Old Friends

It was a lovely October morning: a radiant day with a fine weather unspoiled by clouds and a playful breeze to match; indeed it was a day fit for poetry and romance of the highest degree. However, as is the case for most such days, it came at a time where it was less fit to be enjoyed.

In fact on that spry autumn day our dear protagonist was holed up in her room with a steaming mug of tea, pouring over her professor's infuriatingly vague assignments. Mr. Cog had demanded that they take a picture of an apple; but not just any picture, mind you.

"The picture must tell a story. What is this apple? Whence does it come? What is its purpose?"

Olivia, who perhaps naively had heretofore believed apples to be rather straightforward botanical objects was now racking her brain over the platonic ideal of an apple in search of a good idea.

She'd grabbed a handful of different apples from the kitchen basket and had been carrying them around nonstop trying to observe them in different lightings and settings; even sketching them a few times.

It was all for naught. Either the apples were withholding their ethereal secrets out of sheer, unbridled spite (which the superstitious part of her brain was starting the believe, beginning thus a lifelong feud with the fruit) or Mr. Cog was an unbearably pretentious bugger.

Either way her efforts had been all but thwarted for the time being. Olivia glanced sourly at the insultingly blue sky unfolding over her window and stepped away from her desk to refill her empty mug.

As she shouldered past the minefield of laundry baskets and precarious book piles scattered through her room she perceived a fluffy orange thing in the very corner of her eye.

The thing turned out to be a small tomcat perched on a high shelf, his paws tucked under his chest. He looked completely at ease and very, very pleased with himself.

He gave a little trill as their eyes met, and despite her confusion Olivia couldn't help but chuckle.

"How long have even you been here, little guy?" she asked, cautiously offering her hand.

The cat said nothing, but sniffed her hand and smushed his pointy face against it with a purr.

She smiled and scratched under his jaw.

A small can of tuna was fetched for him and was immensely appreciated. Olivia, sitting on her bed, watched him quietly as he lapped up the food.

As if struck by lightning she reached for an apple and with a fat black marker drew a sad face on it.

She set it up on the back of the chair where the feasting was taking place so it looked as though the apple was mournfully looking down at the cat.

Satisfied with her handiwork she snapped a few pictures from different angles. Oddly enough even when he was finished eating he obligingly stood still, smelling the interior of the can as if it were the single most interesting thing in the universe and then just not moving at all.

She didn't have the time to reflect on her luck before being startled out of her thoughts by the doorbell's shrill howl.

On the other side of the door stood a tall, gangly young woman with brown skin and wild black curls that complemented her dusty cargo pants and washed out t-shirt.

Recognition flared up in her brain, but before she could utter the tiniest sound the other girl was already halfway through a speech she seemed to have practiced hundreds of times.

"Hello! Awfully sorry to bother you, I'm looking for my cat. He's a small ginger male, neutered, likes to sneak in houses and dorm rooms. Have you-" her big hazel eyes flung open until they were the size of saucers.

Olivia couldn't help but giggle as the realization slowly dawned on her old friend, and flashed her her signature winning grin as a response.

"What, forgot my handsome face already Amelia dear? High school wasn't that much time ago."

The light brown on the other girl's cheeks darkened slightly.

"Oh, uhm, hey. It's been a while!" She gave her a genuine if slightly awkward little smile.

"Indeed. What can I do you for? Something about a cat?"

"Yes! Have you-"

"Say no more!" Olivia whirled around, scooped up the cat and returned triumphantly to the girl.

"I believe-" she said, showing off the little creature with a dramatic flourish of her arm, "you were looking for this small fellow."

Amelia clasped her hands together and sighed with relief.

"Yes! Thank you. He usually follows me like a shadow, but every so often he decides to strike out on his own and just... hang out with strangers I guess." She shrugged. "Don't know."

She dropped to her haunches and extended her hand to ruffled the top of his head.

"Ay, bobito! Me haces preocupar por nada."

The young artist leaned against the doorframe and bobbed her head to the side like a quizzical little bird.

"Is Bobito his name?" 

"No, I just call him that sometimes. It's... kind of like calling a child little dummy, you know? But  his name is Banjo."

"Aww, how cute!" squealed Olivia, burying her hand in the luxurious fur of the cat's back. 

"It suits him so well!"

Banjo chirped and politely weaseled out of her grasp, hopping by Amelia's side. 

Olivia feigned a noise of distress; then she leaned down, winked, and blew him a kiss. 

The little tomcat straightened his tail and answered with a happy little meow.

For a half minute the tall unkept girl shuffled awkwardly on her feet before finally muttering: 

"Hey, listen. I know we haven't kept in touch but... I don't know man. I liked you- platonically" she added hastily, "-back in school. If you're not busy, would you like to come grab a coffee with me one of these days?"

The clumsy sincerity in her ex classmate's voice warmed Olivia's heart.

"Of course. Hell!" she glanced back at the delightful blue sky unfurling out her window.

"Wanna go now?"

"Wai- now?"

"Yeah! You busy?"

"Not really, but-"

"Then it's settled, innit?"

She whisked over to her closet, grabbed a coat, locked the door behind her and snatched the other girl's wrist before pulling her along and out of the dorms.

"Come on now! I know the *best* coffee shop around here."