#Sunbeam the mew

[mushroom-for-art]

Here is Pecan, Drift and Sunbeam for reference for my last fic! They're timy yes that pink is Rosy behind them

Actually does their color palettes like a boss

Lineart line color is optional really but added for reference anywho. There's always ONE overdesigned binch *cough* Sunbeam *Cough*

Also optional I added the colors I used for shading and lighting in the eyes and Sunbeam did technically have partial heterochromia so I added those colors so when I stop messing up shading lighting it should be visible next time XD

[ask-eden]

Most of the observing pokemon left the room out of secondhand embarrassment of the scene unfolding. Caulklun and Madoka were the only two that remained in the room due not being properly dismissed. Caulklun remained avoiding eye contact out of respect, Madoka continued to try and not laugh. Alaxia could only dangle helplessly from his scruff as Sunbeam floated across the room, passing by the other two mew. Sunbeam: Madoka, gather some blankets. Caulklun, find some of AlliCat's favorite foods and beverage. You both will meet us in his quarters in a moment. Understood? Both mews nod and quickly leave the room, Caulklun giving Madoka a angry shove as she snickered once more at the scene. Both speaking in whispers to one another Caulklun: ((MADOKA. STOP IT. It's not FUNNY.)) Madoka: ((It kind of is. He got scruffed by his Mommy heehee~)) Caulklun: ((I'LL SCRUFF YOU IF YOU LAUGH AGAIN.. CUT IT OUT...))

They both leave the room, leaving Alaxia alone with his mother. Despite them whispering, Alaxia still heard everything they said. A wave of embarrassment and shame washed over him, combined with the stab of guilt in his gut, all he could do was curl his tail tip over his face. Attempting to hide from everything. Sunbeam floats out of the room, carrying Alaxia by his scruff as she goes down the hallways of the area.

[pigeonclaw]

I find it interesting how mothers are something of a theme in this arc. And especially how Nightheart and Frostpaw's relationships with their mothers have more or less flipped by the end of Thunder. Nightheart started out thinking that Sparkpelt couldn't love him properly because she was more concerned with what she wanted him to be, and is now slowly understanding that she does love him and wants what's best for him. Meanwhile Frostpaw started out thinking Curlfeather adored her and would always put her first, when it turns out that all along Curlfeather was primarily concerned with how she could manipulate and use Frostpaw to her own advantage. Sunbeam is caught somewhere in the middle, fully aware now of how hateful and devious Berryheart can be and, while opposing her, still loves and pities her. Her feelings are complicated. (And I like how they manage to portray how hard it is to have a parent you love but still must stand against.)

[andyztoyz]

media when it’s in an accidentally making it’s characters gay contest and it’s opponent is warrior cats

[xxtc-96xx]

How wrong is it to want to see a Mewtwo just happy. Doing cat stuff. Lay in a sunbeam or in a cardboard box. Pretend to ignore the new toy you bought them (but they love it). Like Mew's cute and all but no. Mewtwo deserves Happy.

I mean it's why I started making my series in the first place XD

[whorediaries-09]

sweater weather;

pairing- roommate!sirius black x reader warning(s)- fluff, some silly banter, tad bit suggestive. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- aghhh just a brain rot 😞🤍. also this whole series is so self indulgent 🤭

masterlist of 'the seven lives;' series

the slut club

and now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

he doesn’t like cats.

much to his dismay, you’re bending down and cooing at the little kitten that curls up against your ankle. it has got soft blue eyes which reflect innocence. you run your fingers through its black fur, picking the small animal up. he likes the soft smile on your face. it fills his chest with a warm fuzzy feeling he can’t explain. neither can he explain why his heart skips a few beats when he notices the twinkling in your eyes. it almost makes him drown into a frenzy of warmth.

‘can we keep her?’ you ask. there’s something in your voice that sends sparks of electricity down his spine. it’s as if he’s known you his whole life. he doesn’t want to say no, but he can’t help it. he digs the edge of his boot on the loose gravel of the path. twirling around the loops grocery packet between his fingers, he whispers, scared to let the joy in your eyes leave.

‘no,’ he tries to predict your reaction, but fails to. surely the joy in your eyes melts, but the hope doesn’t. from what he knows about you, he knows you’re a stubborn person who stands their ground. you always get your way around in some way or the other. but you’re also a people pleaser. you hate it when you’ve to truly go against somebody’s wishes to do something you want.

so, he watches as you wrap the little kitten between the folds flannel you’re wearing. there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, a small smirk between the curve of your smile. it’s the same one you wear when you read something mildly suggestive in your books.

‘please, sirius,’ you drawl. the kitten mewls from the folds of the fabric, her eyes glinting the same mischief as yours do. he feels his breath palpitate when you move closer, putting the face of the kitten closer to his.

‘look she wants to come with us too, that’s why she’s mewing,’ you justify. he gulps slowly, his barrier of rigidity slowly breaking. he feels his thoughts melt when he stares at your lips. even though he’s never touched them before, he suddenly thinks he knows them. he feels he can carve every shape, every curve of your body with his eyes closed.

‘okay,’ he gulps. you squeal, a quiet sound from your lips.

he thinks it’s melody to his ears.

*-

‘sirius!’ you shout across the room. your kitten, binx, is curled across your chest, purring away silently as you rub your fingers through her fur. you’re laying down, your feet thrown across the sofa, letting the nail paint on your toes dry. the mild winter allows a soft sunbeam to peek through the windows.

‘what?’ he asks, coming out of his door. he has nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow waist. several tattoos are inked upon his porcelain skin with happy trail on his abdomen which traces down, leaving less to imagination. his hair is wet and droplets of water trace down his defined pectorals. while you’d been living with him for nearly 8 months now, you’d definitely never seen him shirtless. it makes your chest fill with a strange warmth. it makes your brain short circuit for a moment when he smiles, walking towards you.

‘like what you see?’ he teases, wiggling his eyebrow. you gulp slowly, before you regain your composure.

‘i can’t hear you over the loud music,’ you say, getting up. binx falls on your lap, and she scratches your arms with her nails.

‘hey hey, calm down little woman!’ sirius says, noticing her scratching you. he takes her into her arms, her little paws trying to scratch at a surface.

‘don’t do that to your mum,’ he says, looking into her eyes. she stops fidgeting for a bit, before she mews loudly throwing her paws on his chest and leaving a long scratch across it. it digs deep into his skin, letting out blood.

‘binx! you naughty menace!’ you scold as she scurries off, jumping from sirius’ hold.

‘asshole,’ he murmurs, grasping his wound.

‘i’ll patch it up for you,’ you say.

*-

‘do you trust me?’ you ask, holding the cotton soaked with the antiseptic with a pair of tweezers. you’re standing in between his thighs. he’s wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, being overly dramatic for the scratch on his chest. while you think it’s adorable, you’re sure it’s just for the shits and giggles.

‘i do, but i feel like I shouldn’t?’ he answers, grinning mischievously. he likes your form between his legs he thinks. it makes him go feral, you looking down at him while you fix his wounds. it makes his imagination go wild. the idea of you touching him while he’s half naked thrills something inside his stomach.

you slap him across his shoulder. it’s a soft playful blow and he laughs. his hands suddenly grip your waist, as he pulls you closer, almost mushing his face with your breasts. he watches the breath get stuck on your throat, as you wet your lip, tongue slowly darting out over your lower lips. you’re unconsciously leaning over his face, soaking the cotton ball into his blood.

he sneers as a soft burning pain grows, and his fingers dig deeper into your waist. you unconsciously arch your hips towards him, your hands falling on shoulder. the tension grows, and the heartbeats palpitate between the both of you. there’s a look of dreaminess in your eyes he’s never seen before. he thinks it makes him weak in the knees. you trail your fingernail on a tattoo, before rubbing the antiseptic on his wound.

your breaths are ragged when you finally close his wound with a patch. your job was done, you’d move away. you should move away. but his touch burns into your soul, but it isn’t enough. it feels familiar on your skin, yet so unfamiliar. you lean closer unconsciously as if from muscle memory. you cradle his face, your noses rubbing-

a loud noise of shattering glass distracts you. you pull apart, a flustered look on your face. heat occupies your skin as you crumble into a shell of embarrassment. he lets go of your waist, and you stutter,

‘binx- the little fucking minx-‘you say, before you run off.

*-

you’re carrying a cup of coffee in your hand, running late for your job. a piece of toast hangs from your lips, and you’re running around the house, trying to find your tie.

‘you can wear mineeeee,’ sirius drawls, closing the battered copy of ‘the picture of dorian gray’.

‘i could if you gave it to me!’ you shout, swallowing the last piece of the butter smothered bread.

‘you’ve a nice swallow game, i see,’ he muses. you groan, gulping down the last bit of your bitter coffee.

‘that’s a really bad one!’ you say, tucking your shirt into your trousers. screaming internally, you realize you can’t find your belt either. sirius enters his room, seemingly searching for his tie.

‘can you give me a belt too?’ you ask, hurrying off behind him. binx runs in front of your feet, and in an attempt to not fall on her, you fall on the floor with a thump, followed by sirius who trips on you.

his locks tickle your face, his grey eyes staring into yours with an intensity which reminds you a memory you never had. it’s a minor flash, something of a haze like dream, but you remember it so clearly. your breathing rages, hotness searing through you as his scent and warmth looms over you. there’s a glint in his eyes you can’t decipher, but your memory has it engrained. as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

‘i like it when you’re under me,’ he whispers. it’s a low rasp, one you’ve never heard before, yet it ignites something in you.

something that excites you.

*-

he’s fleeing when he receives your call. your voice was a timid whisper when you’d called him, laced with fear. he hated it, he hated how it sounded. but when he arrives at the bar, he finds you completely safe, surrounded by your friends. you’re chatting happily, your skin flushed with the alcohol that renders through your body. he’s perplexed, till one of your friends spot him. she bats her eyelashes at you, whistling as he walks towards you.

‘what happened?’ he asks. he holds your fingers, gripping them tight. he’s trying to read through your emotions. he’s trying to read you through the happy smile and shining eyes. but he’s too distracted by how happy you look.

‘it wasz a prankh!’ you cheer happily, your drunk state rendering your words.

‘seriously?’ he asks, rolling his eyes. he’s smiling, he can’t help it. you laugh,

‘yess!’ you try to stand up, but trip on your heels instead. he holds you closer, letting you support your weight on him.

‘you’ve had too much to drink,’ he scolds. you gaze at him happily, your hormones getting the best of you.

‘i know!’ you exclaim, feeling the collywobbles consume you as his scent tantalizes into your senses.

‘don’t you think we should leave?’ he asks.

‘should we?’

‘yes,’ he says, pulling you closer. his fingers dig into your skin, feeling your touch. it calms his nerves. still, he needs to hold you closer, to feel you, to know you’re safe.

‘okay i’ll go. will you take me home?’ you ask, an innocence provoked in your voice. he feels himself melt, scarring him and his memories.

‘i’ll do. i’ll always take you home.’

*-

the stars are shining bright on the dark sky. you’ve his leather jacket wrapped around your form, as he holds you close. you reek of alcohol, but he doesn’t mind it. it’s infused distinctly with your perfume, and he finds his comfort in it.

‘hi,’ you say, wrapping your arm across his waist, pulling him closer. he presses a kiss on your hair, breathing you in. it’s perplexing, the burning emotions you let flee in his chest. the warmth he feels with your presence.

‘hi,’ he whispers back. there’s a glazed look in your eyes. he knows it. he remembers it. it reflects him, and he feels as if there’s no one in the world but you and him. his heart beats raggedly, and he’s afraid it’ll pop out of his chest, when you lean closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say, snuggling against him. your heels click against the loose gravel of the path. it’s a moment of softness he wants to cherish forever.

‘but you’re hurting me…so much. i wish i could kiss you. i wish i could hold you like this forever. i wish i could keep you close with me, just for me,’ you ramble.

‘then why don’t you?’ he asks, his fingers cradling your jaw.

‘you’ll kiss me?’ he looks down at you, his eyes scanning your features. the cold air waves over your hair, and he holds your face between his hands. his fingers ghost over your lips. you lean into his hand, as he presses a soft peck on your chin.

‘i’ll do, when you’re sober,’ he promises.

*********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking (if you want to be tagged please reply under this post!)

[shopcat]

On a Tuesday afternoon, Steve announces, with no drama at all, "I'm going to kill myself."

Dustin spins around to face him so cartoonishly fast that Steve kind of expects a Looney Tunes-style sound effect to follow. "What? Don't say that," he says, voice pitching up high like it gets. "Don't say that!"

Somewhere to their left from the tucked-in, cozy depth of the Henderson's new kitchen, Steve hears the echo of Lucas's laugh.

Lucas gets him.

Steve turns, hair flopping, and screws his face up at the world's saddest baby cow impressionist standing above him. He's lying on the floor of their carpeted lounge, lazing like a cat in a sunbeam. Man, Mews 2 has it all figured out, if you think about it.

He can't remember what the invitation was originally headlined as – like most days lately, they kind of just want to make excuses to hang around each other and cling on like little freaky leeches and the starring act tends to be whatever bullshit they manage to get up to in the meantime. It’s in that codependent way that he hopes is endearing, and a healthy coping mechanism of solidifying bonds and not, like, weird. Dustin was like, "come over, you graduated a Scoops alum, we can make sick sundaes!" but they've just been lying around (literally!) waiting for that little unreliable shit second-act Wheeler to turn up with the supplies he said he would totally have covered, totally!

"Sorry, bud," he says and laughs like ah, what can you do? "I know you see me as like a– like, some sort of an older sister slash, ah, father figure, and this will be hard for you–"

Dustin moves to kick him, going right for his softest bits. "Hey!" Steve yelps, jolting away instinctively, ending up rolling around on the carpet. "You're such a bully!"

"Dickhead!" Dustin argues, "You're a dickhead!"

He's really getting out of control. "Be nice to me!" Steve whines and presses his face into the scratchy rug he landed on. He can feel the vibrating scrape-scrape of Dustin's shoes tapping around his head. "You gotta be nice to me. This isn't how you should be responding to someone who's trying to open up, you know, mentally–"

"Mentally?" Dustin cries over him. "You'd need a goddamn brain!"

Steve cracks an eye open. "You're a little fucker," he says like it's a compliment. "You want me to come up there? That window is pretty close, you know. And you're a little guy," he pinches his fingers together with a little impish squint of his eye.

"Cliché! Gonna throw me out the window, you goon? Or what, is it assisted suicide now?" Dustin blusters and scoffs, but he shrieks when Steve hauls himself up using the window ledge. Steve gives him a look like hey, c'mon, because hey, c'mon, tells him, "That's just straight up murder, dude."

Dustin huffs, hands on his hips, and there’s a little phantom tap on Steve's shoulder pointing out his sudden similarity to Mrs Henderson, which: cute.

"Ah, look, I'm just messing around with ya," Steve apologises, hand settling on the ledge and leaning back. "It's not a big deal. I get job rejections all the time. Worse comes to worst... we can set up a lemonade stand or some shit. Or like, walk dogs." He swirls his wrist around nebulously.

"You don't like dogs," Dustin argues.

Steve grins. "I put up with Munson, don't I?"

Dustin gasps, then laughs, then gasps again like he can't believe he betrayed his little friend. Or like, his big friend. Whatever. "You have something dark and twisted in your mind," he tells Steve solemnly, and Steve cackles. "And you're a– a little B-word, because you don't want to look for jobs without Robin holding your hand. Ha! Or, actually, your," Dustin looks around conspiratorially at exactly no one, then mouths: "Dick!"

Steve stares at him. Huh. Well, ew. "B-word? You mean, like... bitch?" he whispers, mocking, then pulls up. "Also, ew."

"What do you mean ew?!" Dustin exclaims, throwing his arms up. "Dude! Robin's a totally rockin' babe! Also, yes, the frickin' B-word. I respect women now, man."

"Wh– now?" Steve laughs out, shaking his head. "Like you didn't before? Also, don't look at me like that! It's ew because I don't want you talking about that stuff! It's gross!" He makes a little eurgh gesture as he says it.

"Also, are you fifty? Who says rockin'?" he goes on, sneering a little on the edge of too meanly. "I can't be the only one seeing the irony here that you just totally disrespected a woman, like, just now. Like not even a second ago!"

Dustin pulls a face at him, 'cause Steve's the one being unreasonable. "Robin's not a woman, Steve. She's a beautiful creature-girl starving among the toxic, governmental backwash fuelled, boot-licking sheeple we call Americans. And she doesn't say the B-word either."

This kid. Also, not even true – he's pretty sure Robin was the one who kept writing "bitch boy" on his fifth-draft resumé under "life skills". That or like, the librarian Hopper hopped on is mean as hell in a super unexpectedly wounding and targeting way.

"Munson is teaching you bad words! Naughty, naughty fucking words!" Steve yelps, feeling weirdly like he’s being a grass or something. "What happened to being American heroes, huh?" The question, with a voice rasping like a drowned man, is directed to the slowly spinning ceiling fan.

Dustin grumbles something nasty that's definitely naughtier and definitely another tried and true Eddie-ism in the syllable count alone. Steve ignores him bravely, flopping down onto the couch and stirring up the same sort of warm perfumey smell Mrs Henderson favours. He slides down 'til he's comfy and crumpled up. Mews 2, who up until now was dozing on the knit-cover cushion, is in dire need of being scooped into his arms and held like a wittle baby.

"Anyway," Steve sighs. "Enough with the Robin stuff. There is no Robin stuff, I told you. It's just hard to find part-time hours right now, ever since, y'know."

"Y'know," Dustin repeats solemnly, nodding. He rocks back and forth on his heels, making the red afternoon sunbeam coming through the window shift and flick across the room. Steve shoves his face into the cat's fat little belly, sighing through fur and domestic cushion smell.

"Maybe I can sling ice cream again," he suggests, muffled, "It's not that hard. Actually, it's not hard at all." He lifts his head, scrunching his nose up. "And I probably don't have to wear a dumb little outfit at, like, Dairy Queen."

In the kitchen, Lucas drops something that skitters around in a way that can’t be good for the new French tile. He doesn't know what they're cooking in there, exactly, but through hearing Lucas knocking about like he's tripping on dustbunnies (like his Grandpa Otis would say, 'cause old people are always just inventing crazy shit to say) he can deduce it's something messy and/or gnarly. He also knows Max is nursing some sort of herbal tea because of the five-minute argument over, like, the amount of sugar she takes he listened to unashamedly before. Totally not the dramatic teen drama sesh he thought it’d be when he initially tuned in, though.

The drawers have ceased crashing open and shut in that grating, teenaged way – ambient noise for the single mothers and Adderall-soaked babysitters of the world – so he assumes whatever culinary delight it is is wrapping up.

He thinks to himself, with a fond little tug at his dumb bleeding heart, that Lucas has known how Max likes her fancy Californian tea for years now. He’s just like, like that.

In his peripheral, Dustin beams and crashes down next to him – hey – and tells him: "I loved your little outfit. Everyone loved your little outfit. The little outfit made the job. It was... cute! And, you were totally kickass and beat the shit out of a Soviet guard in that outfit!"

"Yeah," Steve suffers out. "It was pretty awesome. But I think I got zero play for a reason. And I'm all game!"

That uniform rode up like crazy, too, and not even in the kind of like, coy and coquettishly sexy way that he’d like to believe he could pull off if given the chance. He always felt like one, too-quick popping of a squat to grab another weird sticky bag of caramel topping from the storage closet would split the seam hole to pole. (Hole to hole?). Plus, according to the magazine he read forty minutes ago on the floor of Robin’s bedroom, that shade of blue so didn’t go with his skin tone. He’s an Autumn.

"Well, you'd have to wear a dumb hat again at DQ," Dustin points out, because he hates him. "And, gross. Don't gross me then– then gross yourself."

Steve carefully flattens Mews 2's ears down with his palms, then exclaims, "That hat!" He groans. "Gag me with a spoon, I think I really would kill myself if anyone saw me in that thing again. All I was missing is a fruity little lollipop."

He sees Dustin's eyebrows rise and the way he repeats fruity to himself quietly. "You are getting way more homophobic lately, Steve. And you're a misogynist," he declares, all puffed up.

What!

"What!" Steve splutters. "I'm not misogynist! I love women. And girls. All women, and girls, and ladies a-and moms. I love your mom! Okay– sorry. I got flustered."

He rubs the bridge of his nose with pinched fingers. "Also, I meant, like, fruity like strawberries and cream, not, like, a strawberry with, y'know... cream," He adds coyly with a little eyebrow wiggle.

Dustin sits there for a moment, then goes a little red and starts laughing, which makes Steve feel, like, nice. It's always a little thrilling when he can actually get any of these kids to laugh, for some reason.

"Shut up! This is what I'm talking about!" Dustin complains.

Steve turns his head, hiding the slip of his smile in the couch he's pillowed into. "I'm not homophobic, man," he tells him, trying to really show he's earnest through tone alone. Honestly, the very la-a-st thing he needs is Henderson actually believing this in one way or another, if not for his own lavender coated, closeted well-being then for the integrity of their weird little friendship. "You know that. If you ever catch me being actually homophobic you're allowed to fucking, I dunno, just kill me dead. Outsource it to Nancy or something. Or, hey, Mike!" he says, bringing his head up with his aha! moment accompanied by a click of his fingers.

"Mike?" Dustin repeats, acting out one of his exaggerated jeez, this fucking guy! routines, flapping his arms around like crazy. "First of all, if I was outsourcing your murder – which I can't buh-lieve this conversation has come back to, by the way – Mike would be last on my list."

Well that’s a little mean, maybe. Steve looks him up and down and decides to really ham up his disbelief. He clutches Mews to his chest all dramatic, like a fuzzy pearl necklace. "Why? Because you wanna murk me yourself? You're sick, dude!" he says.

"No!" Dustin shoves him, and Steve repeats, "si-i-ick!" until he shoves him again.

"I could never assassinate you, Steve. We're brothers in arms. You'd have to, like, be really evil. And even then, it'd have to be really evil stuff. No, I've thought about this," – and he ignores Steve, going up three octaves, You've thought about this?! – "You're forgetting we actually know a superpowered death weapon who can explode your mind into goo in like, uh, a nanosecond. But, well, El likes you too much…" He clicks his tongue like, darn.

This is kind of news to Steve. He's always gotten the impression that El, while cute as a button and much like some sort of fucked up amalgamation of this adorable, curly-headed baby deer and velociraptor, didn't think of him in any sort of particular way. But maybe he's always been too busy feeling that weird mix of genuine fear and genuine aw whenever he's around her to really focus on like, the dynamics.

Dustin is saying, "I don't know if Robin would do it, but she probably knows you the best so she'd be able to figure out the perfect way. And she'd be really nice about it, too, because of your big, freaky bond. But that wouldn't stop her," he book-ends, nodding sadly.

"It wouldn't," Steve says with a sappy smile. He loves her, not that he'd ever admit that outside of his like, car. She'd probably lace his favourite drink with something, then freak out that he wouldn't feel like peach-flavoured iced tea that day, and end up lacing his whole fridge. Then it wouldn't even be poison, it'd just be like, sleeping pills, and she'd just put a pillow over his head. Slit his throat with a freshly plucked thorn from a rose, or something. Or, maybe she'd just go super-crazy-murder and cut him up like the fancy cheese her mom likes.

"Mike could snag a piece from Nance's stash," Steve suggests, to attempt to derail where he knows this is going, and because he kind of believes this, really. The ka-chik finger gun gesture he does stops Dustin from talking about whatever he was saying about Max throwing his body in the quarry "like, for the irony" just to shriek until his voice cracked.

"Why are you so caught up on Mike?" Dustin slaps his hands down. "Mike would shit his pants!"

"He's got hidden depths," Steve protests, feeling weirdly protective now. It's not Mike's fault he's sixteen or whatever. Plus, he's got a shit dad, too. Steve likes Mike. "He's loyal," he nods, like he's convincing himself now, gesturing with a closed fist, thumb folded like a politician would. "If someone needed to take me out, he wouldn't want anyone else to get blood on their hands. He thinks about that stuff!"

Dustin's got his face smooshed in his hands, but he's sunk down into the couch alongside him by now, pressed against his side. Steve's warm at every angle, sandwiched between a boy and his cat. "He wouldn't do it. He's squeamish. He'd only do something like that for, well, Will, probably?" And that's a little interesting. "No, no, Mike wouldn't do it. But Eddie would."

"Munson?" Steve gapes. "No way, man! It took two months to clear his name for a murder he didn't even do! And that was with grodie government guy help, too!"

Dustin waves him off. "No, listen. Listen! The aftermath isn't in play here, okay? Eddie would kill you so-o-o good, no questions asked. He's got the means, he'd have the motive, he's bigger than you–"

"Oh, get real, you know that's a lie!"

"– he's scrappy, and! He'd like it." Dustin finishes, leaning in and slapping it down like a period on a sentence, and something fizzy oozes around Steve's insides, and, uh. Suddenly he remembers the way, last Fall, that a shattered beer bottle was held to his neck instead of "hello," and now he’s a little on edge, he thinks. Is it being on edge when you’re like flushed and squirmy? And scared? But like, nervous-scared? Like, why does the thought of Eddie not liking him make him want to throw his guts up?

Steve clears his throat. (Is it like butterflies? Or something?) "Okay, you're crazy," he says. "Are you saying Munson hates me, now? Or is this some sort of, like, my dad can fight your dad thing?”

Dustin flushes and says no emphatically, but Steve doesn't fully believe him. "I'm not saying he hates you. I'm just saying he's your best bet. And that he'd think it was super punk rock. It's like, y'know, cemeteries. He'd turn your skull into a bowl or something."

"What do you mean it's like cemeteries?! Also, that's not even punk, it's like, goth," Steve corrects, a little too quick to not be suspicious, but barely thinking about it all the same. "Plus, you're saying he doesn't hate me, but now you're actually making me feel worse about it. Munson doesn't hate me! He likes me!" Steve's eyes widen, a little comically, and now his heart picks up oddly, and he looks into Dustin's eyes like the man starved for validation he is. "Wait, Dusty. Eddie likes me, right? Right?"

Dustin's smile turns strained and ends kind of serial-killery, which fits the conversation but doesn't pan out well for Steve, predictably. "Um," he starts, slowly, and carefully says, "Okay, you seem to be freaking out. Don't freak out."

"What do you mean, don't freak out!" Steve picks at it, feeling totally justified here – he's been hysterical before, he feels pretty entitled to screaming and crying in response to the occasional state of the world that seems to try to eat him as the worst bi-annual event ever, and he feels this is almost tantamount to that. Almost. And he’s nervous! "You just told me Eddie Munson actually wants to knife me!"

"That's not what I said," Dustin protests quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder, soothing, and tells him, all smiles, "I said he'd be happy if he had to."

"I thought we were friends!" Steve whines. "I gave him an apple last week and he said thank you, that's significant! It's friends! We're totally friends!"

Dustin says, "Steve, Eddie's allergic to apples," in that obnoxious tone of his, and the last of Steve's sanity is smothered in its sleep.

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon High: Chapter 22

The shrill squawking of seagulls in the sky disturbed the slumber of the newly settled Oceanclan. Hazepaw roused from his nest, groggy and a little annoyed by the noise. But when he stretched and felt sand brush the sides of his paws, a bubble of excitement grew in his chest. That's right, we're back on the beach! He remembered and celebrated internally as he sat up to tidy his pelt. Grains of sand met his tongue, salty and earthy all at once. It felt like forever since he had so much sediment in his fur. It was comforting in a way. A sensation Hazepaw never knew he'd miss. But he'd never admit that to anyone. Instead it would remain his private joy as he got up and ready for whatever the day would bring. The sunlight outside the apprentice's den was shaded over by the protection of the Twoleg Settlement Bridge. Only the smallest of sunbeams managed to sneak their way through the cracks of the wooden ceiling. Hazepaw settled into one of those spots for a heartbeat, allowing the warmth to soak on his face and wake him. Once he was sufficiently alert, the fluffy white tom made his way to the fresh-kill pile. A few small fish and rodents lay within it. It was rather pitiful looking, and meant cats would need to go out and hunt soon. For now, Hazepaw chose three mice and carried them to the elder's den. Though he hated dealing with the old fools, he knew he'd have to feed them before taking anything for himself. Dolphintail was the first to be alerted of his presence underneath the old boat, the scent of prey luring her over. Though she didn't seem at all pleased that it was Hazepaw delivering today's breakfast. Still, the eldest of Oceanclan's ranks accepted the food she was offered, and carried it to another part of the den to be consumed. Closeby, Whisperpaw was working on taking ticks off of Chloe. The elders had gathered many during their time in the Forest Patch. Now that they were home, the old cats could be properly cleansed of the nasty little parasites. It seemed Whisperpaw was just finishing up as Hazepaw dropped a mouse at the elderly kittypet's paws.

"You couldn'ta brought a gull instead?" Chloe griped with an indignant tail lash. Hazepaw growled at the old she-cat in frustration, glaring at her sharply. Whisperpaw shook her head, silently begging him not to start a fight. After a heartbeat and a huff, Hazepaw backed away, delivering his last mouse to Oystersplash.

"Thank you," the elder mewed gratefully as he tucked into his meal. Hazepaw dipped his head to the old warrior, pleased to know at least one cat was satisfied. Then he padded back to where Whisperpaw was working. He still needed to speak with her and apologize, like Otterpaw wanted. Now was as good a time as any to make up.

"...I'm surprised you can stand to be in the same den as me right now," he remarked after watching Whisperpaw clean up for a few quiet moments. "You've been so skittish whenever I'm around."

Whisperpaw jolted at the sound of his voice, the fur on her spine standing a little. She continued to tidy up as they carried on a conversation, as if she were trying to distract herself. "Well, I can't avoid you forever..." she responded, her voice as quiet as ever. She glanced over her shoulder then back to a mousebile and tick soiled mossball she'd rolled up. "Besides. Otterpaw told me about the talk you two had."

"She did?" Hazepaw ears perked. Perhaps Otterpaw had done some of the hard part and talked Whisperpaw into hearing him out. "I...don't suppose she told you how sorry I am on my behalf, though, did she?" Hazepaw lifted his chin hopefully. Whisperpaw turned, tilting her head at him, unamused. She knew well what Hazepaw was talking about. But she clearly wanted to hear the words come out of his own muzzle. Hazepaw gave a disgruntled sigh. "Right. Ok. Well listen, Whisperpaw. I'm sorry for the way I treated you. It was uncalled for, and I really didn't mean any harm. I just wanted to help you since you've been struggling with your warrior training. But I see now the way I went about it was harsh. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me."

For a few heartbeats, Whisperpaw sat silently, expression unreadable. "I've always liked you, Hazepaw," she started, tail-tip wiggling anxiously, "but it scared me that you'd turned your bullying onto me. It hurt worse than the lashes you gave, I think. It's hard to forgive you."

Hazepaw lowered his head, shame and a bit of frustration burning beneath his pelt. "I know. I really didn't mean any harm though, honest. You're my friend. Probably my first ever," he confessed. He glanced between the elders, daring them to chime in. Luckily none of them spoke, instead ignoring the apprentices so they could have their moment in peace. "I just want you to be a great warrior. Especially with the huge pawprints you have to fill." He shifted to face the gray tabby she-cat. Then he lowered his voice so only she could hear him. "You're better than your littermates, and I know you can be a great leader for Oceanclan someday. I thought I could help you get there, by giving you some tough training. But it wasn't my place, and I hurt you. I regret it. I just want my friend back..." All of Hazepaw's words were spoken from the heart. But there was a small seed of gain planted in his speech. Though he did want Whisperpaw back as his friend, he also needed to stay in her good graces. If he upset Whisperpaw too greatly, he'd blow his chance at ever being Oceanclan's deputy. Then all the hard work he was putting in with Sea Breeze would be for nothing.

Whisperpaw twitched her whiskers. "I understand. But it doesn't erase the mistrust I feel for you. However, I don't want to lose your friendship either... I care for you, Hazepaw. But I need some time."

"I get it..." Hazepaw deflated, the hope inside him for reconciliation nearly snuffed out. He sat in silence for a few heartbeats, letting Whisperpaw's words soak in. She still liked him, at least. Not all was lost. Hazepaw would just have to work to prove he meant the words he'd spoken. Determination blazed in his belly, making the fluffy white tom swish his tail. I'll gain her trust back soon enough, Hazepaw thought confidently. He gave Whisperpaw a small smile, receiving a quiet yet apprehensive purr in return from her as she went back to caring for the elders. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, Hazepaw finally excused himself from the boat and emerged into the clearing of camp. Sandybreeze was padding nearby, her head moving in search of something. When her gaze fell upon Hazepaw, she trotted over to him. A heartbeat later, Otterpaw joined them.

"Just the cat I was looking for! You're coming with me to lead a fishing patrol." Fishing patrol? Excitement sprung up inside of Hazepaw at the prospect of fishing for the first time in what felt like forever.

"I'm coming too!" Otterpaw boasted, her joy nearly bursting out of her. Perhaps she was hyped up for the same reason. Or maybe she was looking forward to spending time with her aunt. Whisperpaw suddenly emerged from the elder's den; ears pricked, probably because of the tone in Otterpaw's voice.

"Can I...come too? Luckysong taught me a little about fishing," she mewed, glancing at Hazepaw apprehensively. She looked as though she were giving the request a second thought, regret on her features. Otterpaw brushed her tail along her friend's flank to reassure her.

Sandybreeze gave her whiskers a twitch. "I don't see why not. More paws catch more fish, after all. Come along, you three. Let's meet with the rest of the patrol."

The Oceanclan deputy led them to a pole at the edge of the Twoleg Settlement Bridge, towards the awaiting warriors. Urchinpaw was the first cat Hazepaw spotted. More importantly Troutwhisker, Seaweedfang, and Ripplesnout were there, too. They were the best fishers in Oceanclan. Surely the patrol would be bringing home lots of prey today! Hazepaw smirked with excitement, kneading his paws into the sand beneath them in anticipation.

"Looks like all of 'em," Ripplesnout, noted. Sandybreeze nodded in agreement then flicked her ear, prompting the patrol to head across the beach. A strong breeze ruffled their pelts as they walked, the chill making Hazepaw shiver. Though every day Greenleaf drew closer, Newleaf kept its grip on the world with stone strengthened claws. Hazepaw wished to feel warmth soak his fur at last, in the way cats described the hottest season doing. Then it would make swimming and fishing in the ocean more fun. Though the sand felt nice and hot, with the sun beating down upon the shore. If they'd had a moment, Hazepaw would have rolled around on it to heat him up. He knew once he got in the water the world would feel cold again. Maybe he could do it later, to prepare himself for swimming. For now, though, Hazepaw kept pace with his clanmates, straining his ears to catch the sound of the nearing ocean. As they padded along, Urchinpaw, Otterpaw, and Whisperpaw chatted idly beside him.

"Do you think we'll see any Twolegs while we're out here..?" Whisperpaw wondered, voice quivering a little.

"Doubt it." Urchinpaw shook out his pelt. "It's still too cold for them. Without any fur, the ocean is too much for them to handle in Newleaf."

"But look." Otterpaw gestured to some prints in the sand, leading up to then away from the shoreline. They were close in shape to Twoleg's lower paws. Yet there were none of the creatures in sight. "Appears two were here."

"Well they're long gone now," Minnowjaw assured in with his muzzle in the air. "They musta realized they weren't cut out for the beach beyond the Twoleg Madness season."

"And thank the Moon for that! We don't want those bumbling beasts around when we hunt. They'll scare off all the fish with their splashing," added Troutwhisker. The other cats nodded in agreement, pressing forward on their journey. Hazepaw smelled it before he saw it. The crisp, salty, tangy scent of the ocean was a glorious and unmistakable aroma. It made his mouth water. Energy surged through the fluffy white tom's limbs as he restrained himself from rushing to the seafoam. But Otterpaw beat him to the lunge, bursting away from the patrol to chase the strangely docile waves nearby.

"Race you to the water!" She called over her shoulder to her denmates. A darkness loomed within this part of ocean--something eerie that Hazepaw had never experienced before. In a flash, Sandybreeze rushed after her niece, rounding her to block the way just before Otterpaw managed to touch the water. She ushered the brown she-cat back to the approaching patrol, receiving an earful upon return.

"Are you fish-brained?" Snapped Minnowjaw.

"What made you think you could just run over and dive into the ocean like that? Have you no sense!?" Ripplesnout spat. Otterpaw lowered her ears in shame.

"Pipe down! These 'Paws still have a lot to learn about ocean safety," Sandybreeze growled at the warriors. Then her attention returned to Otterpaw. "From now on, be wary of calm, dark water. And never try to swim in it," she warned her niece more placidly. She didn't seem as angered by Otterpaw's actions as the other warriors.

"But why?" Asked Otterpaw, voice a bit wobbly. Whisperpaw moved to flank her.

"The ocean will pull you in and drown you, if you do. It's because of its jealousy, you see. The ocean is in love with the Moon. But they separated long ago. And so, sometimes the ocean takes out its resentment on us." Hazepaw recalled fables about Silverpelt, sometimes referred to simply as Moon. She was a mother-like figure to cats in most. While in some, she was a stubborn, vain character who only focused on herself. But she was an important figure in the Land's Star's history. Especially for Oceanclan. She was the reason cats existed in the first place.

"But why would it do that?" Urchinpaw lashed his tail with curiosity. "And why do we swim in the ocean if it just wants to kill us?"

"Because the ocean is part of our history. Just as it is part of Silverpelt's. And though it can be a great threat; the ocean is also our greatest ally. Swimming in it builds muscle, making us stronger than the other clans. It also provides us an endless supply of food, so that we never go hungry," Sandybreeze explained. "The ocean loves us as much as the Moon does. It just allows its resentment to cloud its judgment at times. That's why the water is dark, when the ocean aims to suck a cat under."

Hazepaw let out a thoughtful hum. This sounded like something Moonpaw would be interested in. Perhaps he could find out more about the ocean and Moon, so he could have a story to bring back to her? "Why is the ocean jealous of us?" Hazepaw questioned.

Sandybreeze let out a small purr. "Its more jealous of the partnership between the Sun and Moon than us. But because cats are a byproduct of that alliance, the ocean tends to hold resentment towards us as well."

"Can you tell me more? About the ocean and Moon?" Hazepaw's voice was hopeful. Tonight he planned to bring the story back Moonpaw, if he could.

"That's an elder's job. If you want to hear tales of ancient spirits, ask some of them later." Hazepaw was disappointed by Sandybreeze's response. He thought by the way she was explaining things, that she would be more interested in sharing her knowledge of ancient drama. But Sandybreeze was nothing if not a serious cat. Though she believed the stories told to her in youth, she wasn't the sort to waste time discussing useless information. She'd rather teach Hazepaw the truly important lessons of life. And though Hazepaw was grateful for his mentor's teachings, he did wish she could be a little more relaxed on some occasions. Still, there was no use getting his pelt ruffled now, over her not indulging him with some tale of whimsy. The patrol moved on from the shadowy area of the ocean, to a part of the beach where the waves acted more typically. Here the water was bright and blue. If they drew close enough, they may even be able to see to the bottom through the froth.

"You 'Paws go and fish over that way. The three of us will be fishing in the less rocky parts of the shore," Troutwhisker instructed expertly, gesturing with her smokey tail.

"How come we can't go swimming with you?" Hazepaw complained.

"Because you aren't strong enough yet to withstand the waves. You'll practice when Greenleaf comes. For now, work of perfecting your form," Sandybreeze responded, nodding her head to her companions to lead them away. Hazepaw growled, lashing his tail in frustration. He was sure he was strong enough to fish with the warriors! As he moved to follow after them, pain suddenly rippled through his muscles. Hazepaw cursed under his breath. Between cleaning up the temporary camp, the journey back home, and training with Sea Breeze in dreams last night, Hazepaw's body had grown a bit achey and sore. The walk to the beach hadn't helped his muscles much either. If he hadn't been pushing himself so hard, he'd be strong enough now to prove his mentor wrong. Instead, he conceded to his own limits and followed Otterpaw, Whisperpaw, and Urchinpaw over to the rocks. The waves crashed rhythmically against them, spraying the boulders with the momentum. The water was at the perfect level, deep enough to be inviting to fish, but low enough that it would not consume the rocks with each rolling wave. Hazepaw was the first to climb onto one of the slippery stones, beckoning his companions with a swish of his tail. Otterpaw jumped to join Hazepaw on his rock. While Urchinpaw settled on one of his own closeby. Whisperpaw perched on a stone between them. In the ocean surrounding the rocks, little fish swam with the current; weaving in and out of crevices, in-between seaweed and other little plants. They had no idea that they were being hunted. The conditions were perfect for a successful catch. Otterpaw was the first to give it a try, her paw raised and poised for an attack. Hazepaw observed her with delayed breath as the brown molly's lightning fast reflexes led to her successful strike. A pretty silver fish flopped on the stone between them, it's mouth gaped and shut as it tried to take breath from the air. Hazepaw grabbed it by its gills and bit hard, tasting it's delicious juices gush over his tongue. He had to resist the urge to bite down harder, realizing now he hadn't eaten before they went out today. As he sat up with a lick of his lips, the fluffy white tom wished he could take this fish as his own. But on a hunting patrol, warriors were not permitted to eat. So he slid the now deceased creature aside, taking his turn to make a catch. Hazepaw watched the water carefully, narrowing his eyes to focus on the scaly critters below. As another paddled closer to the rock, Hazepaw struck out, hooking the fish and pulling it to the surface. This time Otterpaw made the killing blow, thanking Starclan quietly for the prey before casting a paw out again. The two apprentices took turns like this for a while, successfully snagging quite a few fish between them by the time Hazepaw turned to check on Urchinpaw. The wiry black tom appeared to be struggling. Though his pelt was moist and his fishing paw soggy, not a single fish was set beside him on his rock. His face was twisted in frustration as he glared down at the water, before he once again tried to scoop something. This time he managed to pull up a fish, but he fumbled as the creature flopped for it's life. It managed to flip out of Urchinpaw's paws in the air, hurtling back down to the water. Urchinpaw scrambled to grab it, before it inevitably escaped back into the deep blue depts. With a splash, Hazepaw watched as the fish disappeared beneath the current. Urchinpaw cursed to himself and thrashed his tail, muttering something about giving up already. Whisperpaw giggled at his attempt. Hazepaw and Otterpaw exchanged a look. Then he stood, leaping onto the stone beside Urchinpaw.

"Let me show you how it's done," Hazepaw offered, shaping his paw like a hook with claws extended. He flicked an ear, urging Urchinpaw to copy. Urchinpaw did as instructed, mimicking his friend's moves. "I saw you leaning while you hunted. The fish will get spooked by your shadow if you do that. Even if they just see your fur, it'll startle them," Hazepaw explained.

"I saw you do it, though," Urchinpaw growled.

"That's 'cause fish are too stupid to differentiate objects from their colors. They see white and think clouds. Black, however? Means predator." Urchinpaw let out a chirp of understanding and nodded.

"Kinkfoot taught me darker colored cats have to be more strategic. Instead of striking the closest fish to your rock, you have to judge which fish will swim into your range," Otterpaw chimed in. She motioned for Hazepaw to switch places with her, then jumped to Urchinpaw's side. "Watch me." Otterpaw demonstrated what she had spoken of, stalking a rather large blue-ish colored fish as it swam into her reach. Carefully Otterpaw eyed the creature until she determined it was close enough to scoop. With an expert paw, Otterpaw pulled the fish out of the sea, leaving it beside Urchinpaw to kill. The wiry black tom gladly nipped it, then sat upright to try the technique for himself. It took two more tries before he was successful. But after finally getting a fish of his own, Urchinpaw seemed to find his groove. The four apprentices together managed to catch a sizable pile of ocean prey. Otterpaw had caught the biggest; the blue-ish one from her demonstration. Though Whisperpaw had surprised them all with the bonefish she'd snagged. Their fishing patrol would surely be pleased to see how successful they'd all been. Though their next challenge was figuring out how to carry all their fish to the warriors.

"I saw some Twoleg netting float past not long ago," Urchinpaw mentioned, running off to track it down. Hazepaw, Whisperpaw, and Otterpaw followed.

"Oh sweet," Hazepaw mewed.

"Well done!" Otterpaw commended once the oddly weaved vines had been found. The net was partially washed on the sand, making it easier for them to grab. Hazepaw stepped into the water to untangle the rest from the rocks, dipping his muzzle under the ocean's surface. As he did so, he felt a searing pain on his nose and shot up with a screech. A crab had clamped down on him with it's claw. Otterpaw and Urchinpaw laughed as he struggled for freedom, while Whisperpaw watched on with concern. Though the cackles of the others were infectious enough to have her stifling some giggles of her own. Hazepaw pawed at the brownish-red crustacean, trying to force it to release it's grip. Instead the crab pinched harder. Hazepaw laid down and shook his head, trying to pull it off himself with both paws. As he yanked, a rock fell suddenly on the creature; once, then twice, cracking open it's shell and killing it. Hazepaw looked up. Whisperpaw was holding the rock between her paws, glaring down at the crab to ensure it was dead. Hazepaw sat up.

"Uh, thanks," he mumbled.

"Don't mention it," was all that the gray tabby said in response, turning away to drag the net and crab back to their prey with Urchinpaw. Otterpaw came over to Hazepaw to lick the pain away from his nose. She purred, too, as if trying to soothe him. Heat instantly rose in Hazepaw's pelt from the gesture. It was sweet; almost too sweet for someone like Otterpaw. Moonpaw was more likely to show him such a kindness, especially after they'd spend some time apart. Maybe that was how Otterpaw felt too. Since she hadn't been speaking with Hazepaw for nearly a half moon, perhaps she felt a need to make up for it; by showing she still cared. Or maybe she was making up for the curtness of Whisperpaw. Still, Hazepaw wasn't going to question her actions, even if they did confuse him a little. This is... nice, Hazepaw thought. Then after a few moments he jerked away, too flustered to handle anymore.

"Feel better?" Otterpaw tilted her head. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and Hazepaw thought he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Ye..yeah," he murmured. Then he turned with a rush, motioning for Otterpaw to follow back to the rocks. The warriors were waiting for them upon their return. They were already singing the praises of Whisperpaw as she showed off the crab she'd killed, and the net Urchinpaw found. Sandybreeze approached Hazepaw, commending him on his efforts.

"I can smell which of the fish you caught. You've learned well, it seems," she praised. "And that also goes for you three," she added then whisked her tail. "Though, Urchinpaw, I will have to speak with Silverdrop about giving you another lesson or two." Urchinpaw lowered his head respectfully, grumbling in frustration under his breath. Hazepaw nudged him with a shoulder to warn him to be quiet. Otterpaw moved to touch noses with her aunt then sat beside Whisperpaw who was putting fish into the net.

"We best be heading home, before the sun starts to make the fish rot," Troutwhisker grunted. Seaweedfang nodded in agreement, helping load prey into the net.

On the trek back to camp, Hazepaw reflected on the day. Pride puffed his his chest from a job well done. His stomach growled as he anticipated the tasty meal he'd get to enjoy at home soon. And his mind began to wander to the fun he had with his friends. A longing soon grew in his chest; a familiar feeling he gained only when he missed Moonpaw. Hazepaw wished she could have been there with him, fishing and laughing along with his denmates. Would she have soothed him after the crab attacked him, like Otterpaw had? Or killed the stupid thing, like Whisperpaw? Hazepaw bet today would have been even more enjoyable if he'd gotten to spend it with her. He'd begun to feel this way a lot, whenever he'd spend a couple of days away from her. And now, with the entirety of Oceanclan's territory between them, Hazepaw wished even more that they were in the same clan. It was in that moment he suddenly decided; I need to see Moonpaw again.

[larchleaf]

I will never forgive the Erin's for making Sunbeam Nightheart's millitary wife. Where is my pathetic mew mew from the first two books of this arc, Erin Hunter? WHERE IS SHE?

[isthishidden]

Puppygirl this, doggirl that. Where did all the cat girls go? I'm lonely over here

mrrp

mew

mrow

If there are any others left, let's all cuddle together in a cozy sunbeam, knock glasses off tables, demand food, and scratch and bite each other for fun

nya

[amethyst-halo]

Sunbeam blinked at him guiltily. “I’m sorry,” she mewed. “I put you all in danger.”

Rootspring shook his pelt out. “You did fine,” he told her. “Are you hurt?”

hiiii ive been working on this forever i liked sky’s journey chapters so much

[eggedbellies]

Man, it has such a cute and cool ability to shift between cat forms. 

Like shift between a cat person (like your stereotypical cat girl or cat boy),  to something more anthro,  to just being a regular cat that may or may not be able to speak English.

Imagine all the shenanigans you could do,  all the pranks.

Oh, what about cuddles and pets?  Imagine being in your pure cat form on someone's chest and being comforted so much you accidentally shift back to human form. 

Could do more risque stuff,  like pretending to be turned into a primal anthro cat on a full moon,  to hunt your "victim " and bring them back to your lair for fun. 

So much you could

Like, go nya nya nya nya,  meow meow meow,  mew mew mew. 

Your ultimate form is to turn into a neco arc version of yourself. 

Oh absolutely! I love transformation even in a sfw context haha, mew mew :> being able to shift forms would be awesome. Nap in a sunbeam, do big jumps and big stretches etc etc...

[ask-eden]

Sunbeam: ... Honey?...

[pigeonclaw]

To me, so far, the relationship between Sunbeam and Nightheart is the story of two people who isolated themselves from their own friends/family and sought solace in the first person outside their community who sympathized with them. They were both being petty and were in a vulnerable place emotionally, so it does make some sense.

Nightheart is immature, and naturally Sunbeam's decision to settle for him because he joined her Clan to be with her (without discussing this with her first) is kind of horrifying to me, but also I kind of get it. Sunbeam feels sorry for him and wants something to work out for the both of them — plus, she feels the need to defend cats switching Clans and prove her mother wrong about them. So naturally she gets more attached to Nightheart and wants him to succeed.

I don't have any proper thesis here, but these are my observations.

[andyztoyz]

telephones by vacations plays

[hah-studios]

“You’re right,” Sunbeam mewed thickly. “About everything.”

I want villain Sunbeam, I will have villain Sunbeam.