#deputy sprout

[lily-iguess]

dumb idea i had lol

[lily-iguess]

eek!!! he lookz so cool!! what a troubled young stallion

i used his cm colours for his scarf and now he looks like a joker fan

[stitched-howls]

The Gathering goes surprisingly well!

Boulderpaw and Mousepaw rush home afterwards, though. Rushkit is only 3 moons, afterall.

Thus concludes moon 2!

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 4 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

Present

Billy Loomis is Sam’s real dad. . .

Tara’s words and her recount of her conversation with Sam makes all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

That’s why Sam snuck into my room all those years ago. That’s why she changed so much after, and that’s why she left.

It all makes sense now, but it doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Tara by leaving, hurt me by leaving. It also doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t there for me when I needed her to most. When I begged her to come back and she just screamed at me to stop calling without even letting me explain why I was calling in the first place.

I’m feeling so many things right now, it’s kind of overwhelming, but I try my best to stay calm so I don’t freak Tara out.

She’s been moved to a private floor since Sam left and slept earlier while I called Liam and Paige again. Now, she’s awake once more, curled into my side while we’re watching a movie together.

I really try to focus on what’s going on, but my mind keeps drifting back to Sam.

She could have talked to me! She could have told me about her real dad. Why didn’t she? Did she think I was going to hate her for it? Did she think I would stop being her friend if I knew?

I wouldn’t have done any of that. Who her father is doesn’t change who she is. At least that’s my opinion. She must think otherwise, because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left.

I’m mad at her for abandoning Tara and leaving me. I’m sad she felt like she couldn’t talk to me, and I’m heartbroken thinking about how she tried to numb her pain by doing every drug imaginable and sleeping with anyone who would have her.

I still love her, that’s for sure because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be feeling like this, but I’m just not sure love is enough for me to forgive and forget everything she’s done.

“Hey.” Tara’s voice and her finger poking my chin snaps me out of my thoughts.

I clear my throat quietly and look down at her. “Yeah?”

“You okay?” she asks, her kind brown eyes darting between my own.

“No, not really, Sprout.” Tara wrinkles her nose and I chuckle. She’s never liked that nickname. “But I will be, and so will you.“

“You sure?” she asks and I nod.

“I’m sure. Now watch the movie, or I’m changing it,” I tease, making her laugh softly.

“Okay, okay. . .” She looks me over one last time before turning her attention back to the movie, mumbling, “You’re so annoying.”

I just hum and scratch her head, settling deeper into the bed and actually focusing on the movie. Thoughts of Sam are still swirling around in the back of my mind, but I ignore them as best as I can.

About half an hour later, the movie is still playing and, much to my surprise, I’m actually invested in the story now.

Some shuffling and a grunt in the hallway outside makes me look away from the TV though. We’re on a private floor and no one but Deputy Vinson should be here. A nurse comes in every two hours or so to check on Tara, but she was just here before we started the movie.

Alarm bells almost instantly go off in the back of my head, but I don’t want to scare Tara, so I stay calm and shout, “Hello?”

There’s no answer.

“Vinson?”

Again, nothing.

My stomach drops. This is not good. This is not good, at all.

“Y/N?” Tara whispers fearfully, the beeping sound of her heart rate monitor next to the bed speeding up.

I swallow thickly and continue to stare at the open doorway, straining my ears to hear anything else. It stays quiet though, and with every second that passes, the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach grows.

“Y/N,” Tara whimpers and when our eyes meet I see the fear I’m feeling inside reflected back at me.

He’s back. It’s Ghostface. It has to be him. He’s returned to finish the job.

I can feel my own heart rate picking up speed, and after another beat of silence, I decide that we have to leave. We’re sitting ducks if we stay.

“Fuck this.” I swallow again and nod to myself before pushing the blanket to the bottom of the bed. “We’re leaving, Sprout.”

Tara’s eyes widen and she doesn’t protest when I disconnect the IV from the back of her hand. For a moment, she’s frozen, watching me disconnect her from all the machines she’s attached to, before springing into action herself.

With shaking hands, she removes the oxygen tube while I get up and pull the nearby wheelchair to the side of the bed.

I won’t be able to do anything with only one arm, so even though it hurts and I know I’m probably going to tear my stitches, I take off my sling.

I wince at the stinging pain that shoots through my neck and arm, but grit my teeth and help Tara with the rest of the wires. Then I make sure the wheelchair’s breaks are on before turning back to the bed.

“We have to get moving, c’mon. I know this is going to hurt, but we have to go,” I say, slipping my arms under Tara’s knees and under her back. I don’t lift her yet though, waiting for her to nod before hoisting her up.

The gasp she lets out makes me hurt for her, but I can’t stop now.

We have to leave.

Carefully, I lift her out of the bed and place her in the wheelchair, making sure I don’t bump her broken leg against anything.

My shoulder protests, screaming in pain even though Tara is easy to lift, but I don’t stop moving especially when the lights suddenly go out.

We have to leave, now!

Tara whimpers in fear and in pain, and I rush to turn off the breaks on the wheelchair before pushing her to the doorway.

He’s here. I know it.

I peek into the ominously dark hallway all while trying not to let panic take over my mind.

Fear is healthy, panic is deadly.

That’s what my father taught me, and I know if we’re going to get out of this alive, I have to keep a clear head.

The hallway is empty, and the only way out is by getting to the elevator at the end of the hallway, so I slowly push Tara out of the room, keeping my eyes and ears open for any movement near by.

Just get to the elevator.

The deafening sound of Tara’s phone ringing on the bedside table back in her room makes both of us jump for a moment.

Tara sobs quietly, and I tighten my grip on the wheelchair.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing the screen of the phone light up the room before turning back around. There’s no time to get it now, and even less time to answer it.

I push Tara into the hallway, slowly and quietly while letting my eyes dart around in the darkness for any sign of danger.

It still eerily quiet though and I don’t see anything, so I continue pushing her until we get to the nurses’ station.

That’s where a chocked gasp claws it’s way out of Tara and when I follow her line of sight, I freeze for a second.

Laying right there on his back on the ground, with a slit throat and a pool of blood around his head is one of the deputies Sheriff Hicks assigned to Tara’s floor. He’s still alive, even though only barely, and chokes on his own blood, his wide eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.

There’s nothing we can do to help him, he’ll be dead within a minute, but still, the sight of him, so helpless and alone, makes the blood in my veins freeze.

That could be me, or worse, Tara.

Stop! Don’t think about that, Y/N. Focus.

My dad’s voice rings in my head and makes me snap out of it. He’s right, I have to focus.

I’m about to continue pushing Tara towards the elevator, but then a thought strikes me.

I pause and look around again before letting go of the wheelchair and crouching down next to the deputy. I reach for his belt, fumbling around until my hand grazes the holster of his gun.

With a gun, we’d at least stand a change against Ghostface, but as fate would have it, the holster is empty. The gun is gone.

Fuck.

Not only does that mean that we have nothing to defend ourselves with, it also means that Ghostface has the gun.

Tara sobs into her hands and watches me get back up, only to flinch and freeze a second later when we hear a door being opened somewhere down the hall.

There’s no time to ponder over the gun and its whereabouts now. I spin around and take a hold of the wheelchair again.

Getting to the elevator now is too risky. It’s too far away, so I wheel Tara into the room right next to the nurses’ station.

We need help.

Tara whimpers and cries quietly while I close the door behind us. I don’t shut it all the way, just enough to hide us from plain sight while still being able to see what’s going on outside. Then, I fumble around for my phone in my sweatpants.

Just like with the gun though, I come up empty, and the realization that it must have slipped out of my pocket while watching the movie makes my heart drop.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

My hands begin shaking, and it’s getting harder to keep my panic at bay.

We’re alone with a psychopathic killer, we have no way out, no help is coming, and I’m not in any shape to fight properly.

Tears well up in my eyes and I feel my bottom lip quivering. There’s no way out.

My heart starts pounding in my ears and my hands start shaking.

Please, no. Not now.

I’ve had enough panic attacks after my parents death to know what it feels like when one is about to start, and even though it sucks having them at any time, it would be especially inconvenient right now.

I force myself to calm my breaths and blink away the tears, but it doesn’t help much.

We’re trapped.

We’re alone.

I continue to focus on steadying my breathing while also keeping an ear out for any more sounds in the hallway.

That is until Tara nudges me. I clench and unclench my fists, and look at her. She has tears streaming down her face, but she’s urgently gesturing at something she can’t reach.

I follow the length of her arm with my eyes and almost start crying with relief when I spot the phone on the wall right next to the door.

I lunge for it and start dialing 911 with shaking hands only to stop a moment later when another door opens out in the hallway.

Tara clutches the back of my sweater with her uninjured hand and bites her bottom lip to prevent any more sobs from escaping her.

I flinch when another door gets opened, this time closer by, and hold my breath.

This is it. He’s here.

I lower the phone and square my shoulders, ready to fight when the door to our room suddenly swings open.

Tara yelps and I instinctively punch whoever just walked in.

“Ow!” Richie stumbles back against the doorframe and raises a hand to where my fist just connected with his jaw. “Ah, goddamn it!”

“Richie?” Tara’s pulls on the back of my sweater to get me to step out of her line of sight while I simply stare at Richie in disbelief.

I’m honestly relieved it’s just him, and that he’s here because now we’re no longer alone, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for punching him.

“What are you doing here?” Tara asks as Richie continues to recover from the punch.

“Sam called,” he explains and as he continues to talk, I feel some of the tension in my body dissipate. “She said that you were in trouble.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and the revelation that Sam probably only called about Tara is like a blow to the stomach.

I don’t get much time to dwell on it though because a split second later, Ghosface appears behind Richie, ready to strike with a knife in his hand.

“Look out!” I shout, stepping in front of Tara again.

Richie spins just in time to avoid getting stabbed, but the knife manages to cut his forearm. Ghostface goes in for another stab, but Richie manages to catch his wrist before he can bring the knife down on him.

He grunts and they struggle for a moment, but then Ghostface manages to grab the back of Richies head and slam him into the door frame, knocking him out.

“Shit!” I clench my jaw when Ghostface turns his attention to Tara and me, and quickly grab the IV stand next to us, flinging it at him.

Ghostface goes down because the monitor on the IV stand hits him in the head, and I rush to wheel Tara out of the room.

We’re almost back in the hallway, away from Ghostface, when he suddenly lands a punch on the back of my left knee, making my leg buckle. I stumble and manage to regain my footing without going down, but that little trip costs me a lot of precious seconds.

“Y/N!” Tara twists around in the wheelchair with wide eyes and even though I know Ghostface is now back on his feet and right behind me, it still catches me off guard when he wraps his arm around my neck from behind and punches me in the side, right below my ribs.

“Ah, fuck!” I grunt and grab his forearm, trying to pry it away from my neck, but it doesn’t budge. “Go, Tara!”

Another blow, this time to my ribs, takes my breath away, and even though I’m in pain, it fills me with an unexplainable rage.

Instead of trying to get his arm away from my neck again, I dig my heels into the ground and push backward until we hit a wall. Ghostface hisses in pain and I use the momentary distraction to get out of the headlock.

Then, I run to Tara, limping slightly and ignoring the sound of a phone ringing nearby. She’s crying and struggling to move in the wheelchair, and the sight of the blood soaked bandage around her hand makes my stomach clench.

I’m about to reach her, my arms already outstretched to grab onto the wheelchair, but then I’m tackled to the ground from behind.

My head hits the floor, making black dots dance in my vision for a moment and then my head is yanked up by my hair.

“Hold it right there, Tara,” Ghostface says, the voice changer eerily distorting his voice, “or I’ll slit Y/N’s throat.”

Tara freezes and wheels around in time to see Ghostface press the blade of his knife against my neck. He’s kneeling on my back and I know I have no way of escaping without getting my throat slit.

It stings when he pushes the knife down a little too hard, drawing some blood in the process, but I don’t dare to move.

“Y/N!” Tara cries and I try not to cough because of the weight on my back. “No, please don’t.“

“Tara, go!” I rasp, feeling the edge of the knife dig even deeper into the skin of my neck.

Tara shakes he head desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, Y/N, I—“

“Do you hear that, Sam?” Ghostface says and at the mention of Sam’s name my heart drops. He must be on the phone with her. “Your little sister and Y/N, begging for each other’s lives. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

Tara makes a move to wheel closer, but I pin her down with a stare to stop her. Go, I mouth, but Tara doesn’t move while Ghostface continues talking to Sam.

I can’t hear everything he’s saying because my ears are ringing, but when he suddenly gets off my back and approaches Tara with calculated steps, I hear him say, “So, the choice is up to you. Who is it going to be, Sam? Richie, Y/N, or Tara?”

Tara whimpers as Ghostface gets nearer, but she’s too injured to get away. She manages to turn the wheelchair around, but Ghostface is right there before she can even attempt to get away.

He grabs the handles of the chair and tips it forward forcefully, making Tara fall and land on the ground with a cry of pain.

No, not her. Not Tara. Please, anyone but her. She’s been through enough.

“Stop!” I groan, trying to get up, but slipping on something sticky on the floor. My shoulder stings and the side where Ghostface punched me burns, but I try to get back up again, and this time, I manage. On unsteady feet, I limp toward Ghostface who’s now standing over Tara.

He twirls the knife in his hand and raises his arm, getting ready to strike while Tara sobs.

“No!” I’m not going to make it. “Tara!”

Just then, the elevator dings and the doors open. Ghostface looks up, surprised, and dives out of the way when gunshots ring out.

My eyes widen at the sight of Sam and Dewey?! who dart out of the elevator.

“Tara!” Sam rushes to her sister’s side and drops to her knees, trying to help her to her feet.

“I’ll get Richie,” Dewey says, but then he freezes when his eyes land on me. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

I wave him off and shake my head, looking around to see where Ghostface went. “Not now, I’m fine. Go get Richie, I’ll help Sam with Tara.”

“Okay.” Dewey nods and stares at me a moment longer before dashing past me to help Richie.

The last time we saw each other was at my parents’ funeral. He used to be like an uncle to me because he was friends with my dad, but after the accident, we kind of drifted apart.

Now is no time to dwell on the past though. I push through my dizziness and the pain in my side, shoulder and leg, and limp the rest of the way to Tara and Sam.

Sam’s already managed to get a crying and whimpering Tara to her feet, but Tara can’t walk with her broken leg, so as soon as I’m within reach I tug on Sam’s jacket to get her to stop dragging Tara to the elevator.

“Stop, let me help.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Y/N, y-you’re here?”

“Of course, I’m here,” I snap, not because I’m mad but because there’s no time to talk. “Now, let’s get a move on!”

Still in disbelief, Sam doesn’t say anything else as I scoop Tara up into my arms.

“Ow,” she whines and I quickly apologize for hurting her.

I limp to the elevator with Sam hot on my heels and lean against the wall as soon as we’re inside. My legs are shaking and my entire body hurts, but I’m not letting go of Tara until we’re safe.

Sam holds the doors open while Richie and Dewey make their way to the elevator.

They’ve almost made it when, out of nowhere, Ghostface comes back, crashing into them from the side. Richie falls to the ground, and Dewey gets pushed against the wall which makes him fire his gun.

A struggle ensues between Dewey and Ghostface while Richie tries to get back up, and for a moment it looks as though Ghostface’s got the upper hand, but then Dewey headbutts him.

Ghostface stumbles back and Dewey grabs his gun off the ground, firing it at Ghostface before he can come at him again.

He stumbles back at the force of the shots hitting him in the chest until he crashes into the glass display cabinet on the opposite wall.

He sinks to the ground and stops moving, and even though I’m not convinced he’s dead, there’s no time to make sure he is. We have to get out of here as fast as possible.

Dewey must think so too because he gets to his feet and immediately pulls Richie up as well.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grunts, dragging Richie toward the elevator. “Come on, hurry up.”

They finally make it, and Richie slumps against the wall next to Sam who runs her hands over him and checks for any not-so obvious injuries.

“You okay?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

Richie nods and exhales shakily. “Yeah, you?”

Sam nods. “Fine.” Then she turns her attention back to Tara who’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and is crying into my shoulder.

“It hurts, Sam,” she cries, and I press a kiss to her forehead while Sam takes a hold of her hand.

Dewey pushes the elevator button for the first floor, but before the doors can slide shut, he stops them with his hand and says, “The head. . .”

Richie frowns. “What?”

“You have to shoot ‘em in the head or they always come back,” Dewey explains, stepping back out of the elevator.

Sam gapes at him and asks exactly what I’m thinking. “Dewey, who gives a fuck?”

A forlorn look enters his eyes and as the doors slide shut, he says, “I do.”

“No! Dewey!” I try to step forward to stop him, but as soon as I shift my weight off the wall, my legs start trembling, so I slump back and grit my teeth.

It’s too late.

The doors close and the elevator starts descending. A tense silence settles over us for the duration of the ride, but then the doors open and Richie stumbles out first, shouting for help.

Doctors and nurses swarm us almost instantly and within seconds, a gurney is brought over and I place Tara on it.

She’s okay.

Seeing her being taken care of lifts a huge weight off my shoulders and the relief on Sam’s face makes me smile a little.

She’s going to be okay.

The dizziness I felt before suddenly returns full force now that the adrenaline is wearing off, but I can’t sit down and rest until Dewey is safe, too.

He’s up there all alone. Someone has to help him.

I stumble back to the elevator but a hand on my stomach stops me from entering it.

I look down, swaying slightly, before following the arm connect to the hand all the way up with my eyes until they land on Sam’s face.

Wait. . . Sam?

“Where are you going, Y/N?” she asks, frowning.

I blink to get rid of the irritating black dots growing in my vision and try to push past her. “D-Dewey, he needs—he needs help, Sam.”

“I know,” she says, stopping me again by grabbing a fistful of my sweater. “But you can’t go up there. The police are already on their way.”

“But. . . But Dewey,” I slur. I grasp at Sam’s hand to get her to let go of me which, much to my surprise, she actually does.

It doesn’t last long though because not even a second later my knees buckle and I fall forward, right into her arms.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Sam panics and grabs onto anything she can to stop both of us from toppling to the ground. “Oh my God, you’re hurt.”

I awkwardly slide down her body, bringing her down with me until we’re both on the floor and I’m gasping for air.

“Y/N, hey. . . Hey!” Sam grunts and manages to scramble out from underneath me before propping me up against the wall next to us. “Look at me. What’s wrong? What hurts?” she asks, but I can’t answer. My lungs suddenly feel like they’re on fire and every breath I take makes it harder to breathe.

“What happened? Did Ghostface—“ She falls silent when her eyes land on her hands and when I look down, I see why.

They’re covered in blood. My blood. But. . . how?

I think about everything that happened, and then dread settles in the pit of my stomach when the realization hits.

Ghostface wasn’t punching me. When he “hit” me all those times, he wasn’t punching me. He wasn’t punching me at all. He was stabbing me.

Welp, that explains why my side hurts so much. I thought I was going soft.

My eyes flutter shut and I cough, tasting blood in my mouth.

I guess no one noticed I was hurt until now because I didn’t feel anything until the adrenaline wore off and the blood soaking my clothes wasn’t visible because both my sweater and my sweatpants are black.

“Y/N, hey! Don’t you dare close your eyes.” Sam cups my cheeks and shakes my head slightly to get me to open my eyes again. “We need some help over here!” she shouts over her shoulder before looking back at me.

She’s frantic, more frantic than I’ve ever seen her, and her eyes are filling with tears. Her hands drop off my face and she’s quick to push my sweater up to take in the extent of my injuries.

“Oh my God.” Her voice cracks and when she presses her hands against my side to slow the bleeding, I cry out in pain.

I gasp like a fish out of water, still struggling to get enough air into my lungs, and push at her hands.

“No, stop— Stop!” she protests, desperately pressing her hands against my side again.

“Hurts,” I wheeze and Sam nods frantically with tears dripping down her cheeks.

“I know, I know,” she says, “but I’m trying to help.”

I writhe in agony, but don’t try to push her off again. I don’t think I even could if I tried because with every passing moment I feel weaker.

My eyes are also threatening to close again and when Sam notices, she presses down harder on my side and shouts for help again.

This time, a nearby nurse notices and she springs into action. She rushes over, dragging a doctor with her and tells another nurse to bring a gurney.

I don’t focus on her though. No, I keep my attention on Sam and how she’s desperately try to stop my bleeding.

She’s crying, covered in blood, and on the verge of hyperventilating, but she’s still beautiful.

So beautiful. . .

I cough again just as the nurse and doctor drop down next to me, and when Sam takes her hands away so they can examine me, I give into the urge to close my eyes.

_______________________________________________

Whew! I wrote this in one sitting, and only proofread it once, so please excuse any mistakes I may have made/overlooked.

Tag list: @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @bella423

[rising-from-the-ruins]

RUINCLAN MOON 0 ALLEGIANCES!

Ten cats, all from different backgrounds, will come together and create a whole new future from the Ruins of those they know...

hello!!!! you can call me sprout and welcome to ruinclan! this is my first time making a clangen blog and i was inspired by the (checks list) tens of clangen blogs i am currently following. i am so sorry. anyways this won't have a set schedule for updates as this is just for fun.

originally i wanted to create a blog for a different clan of mine, whisperclan, but then i realized that i had forgotten about some details from former moons since i was on around moon 20 by now and hadn't written anything. then i found an old word document of lore about ruinclan, and i dug up this older save file and decided to start here! do not ask me why all the youngins are masked i don't know either.

(to the other ruinclan account i am so sorry. i just found out about your blog today.)

WRITTEN ALLEGIANCES

LEADER: Fiercestar; dark brown/light brown mottled molly with green-yellow eyes APPRENTICE, Sunpaw; gray tabby tom with yellow eyes DEPUTY: Flightheart; long-furred speckled light brown-and-white molly APPRENTICE, Tuftpaw; dark gray tabby tom HEALER: Laurelheather; pale gray molly (starsighter) APPRENTICE, Dewfang; black tabby with a splash of white (starsighter)

WARRIORS: Cragflare; dappled dark ginger tabby molly APPRENTICE, Fallenpaw; half-face (light brown/dark ginger) tortoiseshell tabby-and-white molly Prickletalon; golden-brown molly with minimal white Icydawn; pale gray tabby molly with amber eyes

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Throwing out the Epilogue and Cursed Child, how would you imagine the ending of the series? Like, what comes next after Harry goes to bed after beating Voldemort?

Anonymous asked:

What changes you would like to see in the wizarding world after the war?

Anonymous asked:

If you could rewrite the epilogue of Harry Potter, how would you do it and what changes would you make?

Thank you for the asks, it gave me a reason to try and think more about what I actually want from a post-book 7 story since I usually prefer to diverge from canon before book 7. I already talked a bit about the epilogue here, but this is more of a list of things I would like to see instead of reasons I don't like the existing one. There are going to be a lot of headcanons here, so be ready for that. I don't have something super thought out in terms of how it'll happen or who will be involved in everything in the long run. But I have a few bullet points about the epilogue itself and further in the future for the HP characters.

Like, for the epilogue itself, as I wrote in the past, I'd make it only a few months in the future, not years. What I'd put there is:

Showing a bit of the Golden Trio's friendship, and the three being hopeful about the future.

They are back at Hogwarts for 8th year and offhandedly mention Harry tried to go straight to Auror training and regretted leaving Hogwarts behind so quickly.

Ron was with Harry in Auror training and when Harry told him he was dropping out, Ron dropped out too. Kingsly assures them they could both return and continue the training from the point they dropped out after 8th year (Ron would return, Harry wouldn't).

They all get to worry about a future they weren't sure they'd have.

It's mentioned Neville is helping out Sprout and Harry is helping out the changing roaster of DADA teachers (since McGonagall decided to not really sign one on permanently to avoid the curse until it could be broken).

Some sections of Hogwarts are still a little worse for wear or were rebuilt completely after the battle and it shows.

Society is a little different. I want to see a Hogwarts where houses don't matter as much. Actually, start building the unity the sorting hat sang about. Show Harry has a few Slytherins he's friendly with. Show a pure-blood Slytherin be at least polite to Hermione — show the seeds of change.

Harry and Hermione are both mentioned going to the ministry for various meetings, and we get a hope that the ministry could be changed from within. That the system that let Voldemort and the Death Eaters take over so easily could be helped.

The epilogue won't show the actual changes or politics, just imply they are happening/or will happen. Many of the ex-DA members are primed for key positions in the ministry which would help this change to happen. Still, it would be slow, but now that there is no war, they have time. Like, the epilogue would mention people like Susan Bones getting a good position in the DMLE or something.

They reference rebuilding Diagon Alley and many places that were destroyed along with setting up a war monument and a separate monument for muggleborns.

Basically, I just want to end on a note of hope, of seeing a reason to work towards a future Harry finally had, you know?

But, that note of hope needs to have a bitter taste to it. I'd mention how this year, almost all the students could see the Thestrals leading the carriages to Hogwarts, an entire generation who gazed upon death.

Like, I don't care that much who Harry marries and what he names his kids, so I don't really mind not seeing that and leaving that to each reader to imagine their own future for him. If I were to rewrite the epilogue, that's what I'd do, I'd keep it vague.

As for other things I have in mind for Harry's future after the books, well, I think I mentioned some of them in the post I linked but I'll note down a few:

Harry becomes DADA professor and eventual deputy headmaster for McGonagall and Professor Potter doesn't let an abused kid go unnoticed. He's going to do something about it, for all houses.

Ron does still become an Auror, and I see him getting really good and valued there. I want Ron to become head of the DMLE instead of Harry.

I like to imagine Hermione becoming an Unspeakable actually, I think she'd enjoy it more than politics. Like, as much as she cares, she isn't very politically savvy. She is going to use Harry's Potter Wizengamot seat and war hero status (+ her own war hero status) to help him and other ex-DA members push for more creature rights and changes in the Wizarding World though.

Neville becomes a Herbology Professor and head of Gryffindor, and he and Harry become closer friends when they work together at Hogwarts.

Harry also breaks the DADA curse, either by figuring it out (he's very intuitive about magic and he knows how Tom thinks, so he could figure it out) or the curse recognizes him and just ceases. Even if Harry isn't a Horcrux anymore, I think carrying Tom's soul for so long had a lasting effect, so he just might get a pass. And even if the curse doesn't break, honestly, if anyone knows how to survive a year at Hogwarts when something's out to kill you it's the Boy-Who-Lived. So the curse might break after it fails once because it's Harry James Potter, Master of Death extraordinaire, and exception to magic.

I think Luna continues editing the Quibbler with her father, as well, and after the war, it becomes a real competition for the Prophet. She still becomes a Magizoologist in my headcanon.

Harry would eventually become Hogwarts headmaster, I think, in my version of events. Obviously, this would be way later, but I really see it happening. I'm hoping in his time as headmaster he'll finally fire Binns and get an actual history teacher into this school.

As for shipping, in my ultimate vision, Harry and Theo get together either during 8th year or by meeting in the ministry, maybe in Wizengamot warlock conventions (since Theo's father was a Death Eater and is either dead or in Azkaban, it'll be Theo there). I believe Theo wasn't actually in Britain during book 7 and the war and that's how he got out of being a Death Eater. He wasn't mentioned among the Slytherins that were in Hogwarts, so it's possible. I disagree with everything Cursed Child did to my boy Theo Nott except him being an Unspeakable since I can see that happening. His and Hermione's work dynamic in the DOM could be really fun, I think and it might be how he and Harry start talking.

For everyone else, I'm honestly less picky. I'm fine with Ron and Hermione together at the end, but I'd also be fine if they won't be, so ���‍♀️

[olegianote]

Hitch Trailblazer & Sprout Leaf

Sheriff Hitch Trailblazer and his ex-trustworthy ex-deputy sheriff Sprout Leaf!

Hitch is a hybrid of a earthpony and a yak. He has small horns, big snout and his body is half covered with fluffy yak fur. His warm fur helps him to withstand bad weather. He is much bigger than the ponies around him and he's very gifted physically. Hitch's personality didn't change much, however he's closer to the "gentle giant" archetype, since his body is massive and every living creature looks fragile near him.

Sprout is an earthpony. He got his cutiemark while planting the radish seed and taking care of it. He's been fascinated with plants since childhood, but his parents didn't want their son to be a farmer, which is why they pushed him to take the role of the deputy sheriff.

Hitch and Sprout (with Sunny) were neighbours and friends. Sometimes, however, Sprout have said offensive stuff to Hitch, which could've been interpreted as jealosy with racist undertones. Usually Sunny was the one to stop this nonsense and scold Sprout for his ignorance. Hitch tried to take it easy but it still made him upset. They kept talking because they were the only kids in the neighbourhood of the same age. Hitch believed that Sprout could change his worldview if they tried hard enough.

And a little doodle bonus!

[pumpkinclan-adventures]

Event!!!

Hello everyone so i will be doing a event for this month for part 2 of moon 31!

So, ill be counting on you, you can submit your clangen warriors/ocs to be canon characters in Pumpkinclan lore for

Nutclan and an unknown clan!!

There will be four winners!!

The winners will have their characters shown in part 2 ^^

How to enter?

Reblog this post with your clangen character that already has a design with them and must have this kind of info (dw this is a character that isnt involved in the story)

Now we need a deputy and a medicine cat for BOTH clans

Unknown clan info: a surprise series of events lead to its creation and had rooted and sprouted itself throughout time.

Nutclan: once ruled by a renowned great leader, now took over by a traitor.

I will put your user name in a pickerwheel for a chance to be selected!

[redux-iterum]

You know, before I always thought Fireheart would be too soft for leadership. But he’s not, I don’t think. I think he actual has all those soft skills and with a harsher deputy he could really shine. Like, say, Speckletail. Speckletail has all the experience and sternness that Fireheart could ever ask for. And I think I remember you saying she’s way better at second-in-command work.

The Japanese Laurel's trademark golden spotting pattern isn't always consistent across the species! It relies on if the seed the plant sprouts from is variegated or not. If it's not, it'll be a plain green.

[soniana252]

Anyone remember 'A Sprout to a Better Path'? My old 'What if Sprout followed Hitch on the adventure of the movie and got redeemed on the way' AU...? No? Well I finally updated it after a more than a year lol It's a summary of how the rest of the story was gonna go but hey at least it's finished. It's on ao3 and fimfiction for however is interested. Here's some really old Sketches from 2022 I did based on my ideas for the ending. Nothing surprising, Phyllis takes the role as villain and in the epilogue Sprout, now friends with the mane 5, peacefully leaves his role as deputy to try and see what he really wants to do with his life(and recconects with an old hobby on the way). I based both on some old concept art of the movie, the green bandana is a gift from Pipp in this AU 🌱

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Struggles: Bigby Wolf x Deputy!Reader

Despite that it had happened centuries ago, the problem always seemed to manifest itself and show the ugly side to the situation. Even centuries of forcing it away, snuffing out his senses with cheap cigarettes that burn his nose dry to the point of bleeding and alcohol that does nothing but numb his mind to the whispers and taunts of what laid inside if him, Bigby never really showed his struggle with what was inside of him.

You had only heard of him losing his mind and going complete ape shit during the whole Crooked Man ordeal, when bloody Mary and the Tweedles ganged up on him in an alley by the Puddin’ & Pie. That had resulted in the death of one of the twins, you couldn’t remember which one nor did you really care.

But he had always been kept on a very tight, very short leash ever since you had all been forced from your homes. It was tough for him, agonizing as he had to learn what it was like to be… well, what he is now.

It was a mistake, you had heard Cole say to Snow as you came to drop off some paperwork. You honestly had no idea how Bigby had came to be what he is today, you had assumed it was just another glamour that most Fables had to get. But to your shock, you listened in by the closed door.

‘I’m starting to doubt that the werewolf blood in Bigby’s system is not a good idea anymore,’ King Cole had said.

You narrowed your eyes and held the folder closer to you. You had decided enough was enough and you would ask Bigby what they meant by it. They said nothing when you knocked and walked in like you never heard anything.

But even as you stood in Bigby’s apartment, he lit up a cigarette and laid against the cushions of his chair.

“In order for me to become Sheriff here, King Cole and Snow made a plan to stab me with a blade covered in werewolf’s blood so I wouldn’t need a glamour.”

“And that’s why you have those other forms?”

He nodded, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

That conversation sat in the back of your mind since then. But now, it seemed to haunt you. Both of you, really.

You both were starting to learn that Bigby, in fact, needed a glamour and not fucking blood in his system and whatever shit witches gave to Cole and Snow hundreds of years ago.

Bigby had told you that when it first happened, it only really started out with anger and fits of rage, times he would black out and wake up in the woods naked. And then as time progressed, he slowly was able to control himself and resist his urges, however, he was made a slave to the full moon every month until he was able to resist that too.

But now, neither of you know why it’s starting to happen, but Bigby was starting to react to the full moons once more. It was just minor changes at first, neither of you noticed until Snow had walked in with a call. Bigby’s teeth had a point to them, sharper than usual.

The next full moon, his facial hair had seemed to grow in thicker. Bigby usually shaves twice a day - once when he wakes up and once before he passes out - but despite just shaving nearly three hours ago, you had arrived back to work to see him scratching at thick and dark stubble.

The next full moon, his arms and chest had followed suit with his facial hair, set thicker and longer.

Then his temper had flared up the next full moon. It nearly turned violent when Bluebeard decided it would be a good idea to tempt fate and poke a sleeping bear… well, in this case, it would be a wolf. Bigby had him by the collar of his shirt, snarling, wolfish features quickly and easily sprouting without a second thought.

And now, you stood outside his door, wondering if you should really be here right now. You knew he was in there, Snow had told you so when you came back to the office to see it was locked up with Bigby nowhere to be seen.

Should you really be here? He probably wants to be left alone…

You could spot the lights were on under the door and you could hear him lumber around his apartment building, cursing to himself and groaning.

But he was your partner, and you knew he knew you were out here. If he didn’t want you here, he would have made that apparent by now.

You raised a hand to knock on the door, shocking yourself when you found it unlocked and slowly opening upon each knock. You slowly pushed it open further, poking your head into his apartment.

Your body chilled. For once, it didn’t overwhelmingly smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol like it did the last few full moons, but it smelled cleaner… at least as clean as it could be. Bigby was not in his living room nor the bathroom when you peered over to the door, and rarely did Bigby ever go to his bedroom.

All that was left was the kitchen.

You slowly opened the door just enough to slip through, eyeing the kitchen through the archway to still as you saw him standing there.

Broad back to you, hulking weight barely contained by the tight clothing from earlier, you could spy a mixture of ash and russet hair poking above the collar of his shirt as well as what was exposed of his forearms and hands. His shoes had been ditched by the kitchen archway, you spied his feet had now become very hair with long black claws at the end of each toe.

“Bigby?”

He barely turned his head to look at you over his shoulder in acknowledgment, softly gasping when his acidic yellow eyes practically froze you in place from where you stood in his living room. Even in their majestic beauty, you could still feel the tension radiating off of him. He was a dangerous man when pushed far enough, but you knew - despite the werewolf blood coursing through his veins - that he was struggling to stay Bigby.

[lily-iguess]

draw oj ii and your FAVOURITE MLP CHARACTER EVER. being best friends

i actually have two favourites, sprout and starlight!!

i know know nothing about ii lol

[the-guilty-writer]

We Need You That Way

Request from anon: Hey Gill, love your work bestie anyway I have a request for Spence being with BAU reader but she's dyslexic and idk there on a case and she's insecure because some of the cops/agents don't think reader could be an fbi agent yk and Spencer just consoles her super fluff stuff anyway feel free to ignore me 

Spencer Reid x gn!BAU!reader

Summary: Spencer reminds dyslexic reader that they’re a valuable part of the team.

A/N: While doing research on dyslexia I learned a lot about how it can affect more than reading and writing, but that it also presents differently in everyone. I remember reading a Spencer fic a long time ago with a dyslexic reader, but I couldn’t find it. (I will keep searching for it, though anon!)

I DID NOT HAVE A CONSULT on this fic, so if anyone with dyslexia has an issue with it, please let me know how I can improve. I do my research, but there is only so much a search engine can tell me. My messages are always open and I’m always happy to learn about how I can make a fic better when it features a reader with specific traits I’m unfamiliar with.

CW: reader is dyslexic (this shouldn’t be a warning?), the deputy makes a rude comment to reader, small southern town slander (I live in a small southern town and can confirm that the stereotypes are true. Someone save me from this hell please.)

---

“Why does every small town we go to have a bunch of roads named after a bunch of people from the same family?” you huffed slightly.

You had just gotten back from visiting a crime scene; something that should have taken about an hour and ended up being far longer. The GPS had died and there was no cell phone service, leaving you to navigate via old-fashioned map, which wasn’t exactly your strongest suit. Mixing up left and right, finding out that you were holding the map upside down, and old road names made the journey less than ideal and exceedingly frustrating.

Most people thought dyslexia only went as far as mixing up words and struggling to read, but it got in the way of other things as well; today’s backroad adventure was just one example. It wasn’t often that you let those things get you down, but today you couldn’t help it.

After seeing you come back to the station so defeated, Spencer took you to grab a much-needed cup of coffee from the small kitchenette. It wasn’t a real break, but it was enough for you to cool off from your frustrations.

“Looking back at the town records, the Baskin family owned about one fourth of the town land for three generations and the Silvan family owned a third of the town for two generations before holding prominent government positions. Given the regional tradition it makes sense that so many roads are named after them,” Spencer sprouted a fact. It made you grin.

“My great grandpappy held onto the land as long as he could,” one of the old deputies said, though you could barely understand through his thick southern-drawl. “Broke his heart when he had to let it go. It’s devastating the first murder occured on the road named in his honor.”

It’s more devastating that someone is… you know… dead, You thought, but kept yourself from speaking. “And which road was that?” you asked politely, opening up your case file, but knowing it would be faster just to ask.

“Harper,” the deputy said. “There’s only one Harper road in this whole town.”

“Are you right?” you looked down at your file again, taking your time as much as you could, but still in a rush.

“What is it?” Spencer asked.

“I thought I just came back from the scene at Harper,” you told him.

“I’m right,” the deputy replied defiantly.

“I wasn’t-” you wanted to explain that sometimes you would reach for a word like “sure” but a word with similar meaning, like “right” would come out instead. Dyslexia didn’t just make you mix up letters and sounds, but words sometimes too, especially since you were distracted by your files.

But the deputy didn’t give you a chance to speak any further. “I know I’m right! What kind of FBI agent can’t keep track of where crime scenes are?”

Spencer interrupted before it could go any further. “Let’s go note the difference on the profile board, okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied to him quietly and the two of you quickly made your way to the other room.

Spencer shut the door behind you and tears threatened to spill from your eyes. People questioned your ability to do things at times, but never so loud and direct; most of it was whispered behind your back. You’d spend time pretending that you didn’t hear the insults, pretending that they didn’t get to you until you were alone and could cry silently to yourself. This time you had no time, no room, to ignore the interaction that occurred. Your vulnerability was on complete display.

You threw your files down on the table and sunk into a chair, feeling crushed. “He’s got a point,” you muttered.

“He doesn’t,” Spencer said, sitting next to you.

“It took me two hours to figure out how to get to the crime scene today, Spencer.” You should have felt bad about using such a bitter tone with him, but you couldn’t help it. “It wouldn’t have taken Morgan that long. Or you, or anyone else on the team.”

“Well when Morgan drives it makes all of us carsick,” Spencer said. “And no one lets me drive.”

“Spencer, you hate driving,” you pointed out. “You get all squirrelly.”

“I did technically fail the offensive driving course at the academy.” Spencer smiled sheepishly. “But that doesn't make me any less important to the team.”

“Of course it doesn't. You're a literal genius. I'm… just me.” Your voice quieted at the end, what was frustration showing as what it really was— insecurity.

“I think just you is great,” Spencer replied. “And you help me slow down when thinking through cases.”

“Wow, I slow you down… thanks, Spence. That makes me feel so much better.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’s a good thing,” Spencer said sincerely. “I jump to conclusions sometimes. You make me slow down and catch the things I missed. My consultation profiles have been far more accurate since you joined the team, and when we’re out on cases we have to revise the profile less often.”

“Really?” You tried not to show how baffled you truly were. You knew that occasionally you helped slow down Spencer’s million-mile an hour brain, but you didn’t think it was helpful for anyone but yourself.

“Do you know why Hotch brings you to court the most?” Spencer asked.

You bypassed telling Spencer that his sentence could be taken in two very different connotations. “Because it would be a waste of time to have me review files when I can’t read them?”

“Because you can tell the story of the case as an experience instead of just a list of evidence. It makes it easier for the jury to understand what’s going on and more dangerous people get put away because of it,” Spencer explained.

“And Garcia always asks you to help review initial video footage for a reason. It’s like you can see the crime scene without being there, so when we get there in-person we have a better idea of where to start. Your spacial awareness is better than the rest of ours. We can build the profile faster.”

“Do I really help that much?”

“Yeah, you do.” Spencer looked at you softly.

He reached for you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You let yourself fall into his arms. The comfort and reassurance of his words cradled you, building your confidence back up. “Keep being ‘just you.’ We need you that way.”

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 39, Part 1

Oilstripe has been waiting eagerly to decide names for her offspring. At Carnationspeckle’s invitation, she crawls into the nursery, purring and joining Carnationspeckle in naming their single kitten.

[Image ID: Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle sit together, watching a newborn cream and white kit. Underneath the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: TROUTKIT, 0, FEMALE, INSECURE. Under Carnationspeckle, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH.]

(Oilstripe: 43, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 41, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Troutkit: 0, female, kit, insecure)

(Author’s note: the following scenes involve allusions to traumatic childbirth. Please read with caution. All will be revealed in time.)

Palekit and Ripplekit have recovered from heat exhaustion.

[Image ID: Palekit and Ripplekit face each other. Under Palekit, it says - CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION, + NEW SKILL: NEVER SITS STILL. Under Ripplekit, it says - CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION.]

(Palekit: 5, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder, never sits still)

(Ripplekit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play fighter, splashes in puddles)

Wildclaw’s sprain has healed.

[Image ID: Wildclaw follows Shadowdrop, calling “Shadow, where are we going?” Underneath her, it says - CONDITION: DISLOCATED PAW. Waspkit watches from the back. Underneath him, it says + NEW SKILL: EYE FOR DETAILS.]

---

The past Harvest Moons were exciting times for RippleClan. As they got more and more members, their contribution to the holiday grew bigger and better. This year they got to talk about darkhounds, and Wildclaw had every intention on teaching little apprentices how to protect their friends and family from the dangerous beasts. After all, her paw was all better, and Rattlepelt had a great show planned (even though talking to her still hurt a bit, no matter how much Wildclaw ignored it). The problem was, she didn’t account for one thing; guard duty.

“Mom, you know I like guarding camp,” Wildclaw stammered as Downstar checked the baskets and pots the Clan would bring to Harvest Moon, “but on Harvest Moon?”

“We can’t have everyone at the celebration,” Downstar sighed, not looking at her daughter. “Weedfoot needs to be there as deputy, which means we need more paws in camp watching over our kits and injured. Carnationspeckle is still exhausted from birthing Troutkit, she needs all the support she can have while we’re out.”

“Troutkit?” Wildclaw said. “They finally named the little sprout?”

“They picked a name this morning,” Downstar explained. “Carnationspeckle needs good food to build her strength, and you’re a good cook when you’re not itching to patrol.”

“It’ll be lonely with just us here,” Wildclaw huffed.

“Shadowdrop volunteered to stay behind,” Downstar said, finally facing Wildclaw, “and Parsley will be watching Weedfoot’s litter. It won’t be too bad.” Downstar touched her nose to Wildclaw’s forehead. 

Only the tip of the sun glimmered over the ocean’s horizon. All around the mother and daughter duo, the rest of RippleClan prepared to head out for Harvest Moon. Oilstripe helped Fennelspot put on an elaborate tail wrap Rattlepelt made for when Fennelspot needed to flaunt his authority as a cleric. Weedfoot’s kits pestered their parents about what Harvest Moon was like, even though they were old enough to know better. Scrubmask and Clammask shared tongues with Halibutdusk while Rabbitjoy placed a necklace around Rattlepelt’s neck. 

“Everyone carry a load!” Downstar called, slipping a basket around her neck. “We have a lot to bring today.” Downstar patted Wildclaw with her tail and joined Rustshade and Mousesong. Soon the whole Clan was on the move, save for Wildclaw, the silent guardian in the heart of camp.

“I’d be better off keeping them safe at the holiday,” she muttered, rubbing a paw into the sand. Parsley strolled past her and slid between Weedfoot’s kits, all of whom stared out at camp at their slowly vanishing Clanmates.

“You five are old enough to entertain yourselves today,” Parsley said with a twitch of her stub. “I’m sure we can have our own Harvest Moon here if you want.”

“I could tell some stories,” Ripplekit suggested.

“Or we could tell our own!” Lavenderkit suggested, wiggling his flank high. “Let’s be artisans and put on our own show!”

“That sounds fun!” Palekit chirped.

“You four go ahead,” Waspkit huffed, lifting his leg. “I’m going to groom myself. I don’t think putting on a show like this is what a real codekeeper would do.”

“We won’t get to play around like this when we’re apprentices,” Puddlekit whined, nudging his golden brother. “Mom said even Grandfather enjoyed being a kit when he was one! And Dad says you’re just like him.”

“You’re the one they named after him, shouldn’t you be like him?” Waspkit huffed. “Carnationspeckle says Puddlespeckle was a mean old tom. I don’t want to be like him.”

“Then don’t act like a codekeeper and act like a kit!” Palekit huffed. She nibbled Waspkit’s ear, and the bossy kit’s stoic expression broke. He laughed and shoved his sister. He joined the rest of his littermates by the Shiprock, chatting about their show.

“That takes care of that,” Parsley yawned, stretching. “I’m going to share tongues with Carnationspeckle for a while. You and your brother enjoy a quiet camp.” Parsley headed for the nursery. 

As she left, however, Wildclaw realized she didn’t see Shadowdrop anywhere. Curious, Wildclaw peeked into the dirtplace. No Shadowdrop. She checked the warrior’s den. No Shadowdrop. She even checked the medicine den, but unsurprisingly, Shadowdrop wasn’t inside. Where did her brother go? Did he slip off to Harvest Moon? Lately, it felt like Wildclaw could never find the black codekeeper. Did he expect her to guard camp alone?

In a moment of shockingly coincidental timing, Shadowdrop entered camp. He lingered by the entrance, eyeing the empty camp. When he saw Wildclaw, he flicked his tail for her to join him. He was stiff and inched toward the exit with every moment Wildclaw lingered. Wildclaw glanced around her, like she was still a wild apprentice trying to sneak out of camp. The kits were absorbed in their plans, save for Waspkit, who eyed Shadowdrop as the others chattered on. Wildclaw jogged toward Shadowdrop. She barely got close before he started to lead her out of camp. 

“Shadow, where are we going?” Wildclaw whispered, unsure why she chose to whisper. Shadowdrop’s tensed shoulders and stiff movements shut Wildclaw up. Something was happening, something Shadowdrop wanted to wait to discuss. But what?

(Wildclaw: 31, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Parsley: 133, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Ripplekit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play fighter, splashes in puddles)

(Lavenderkit: 5, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(Palekit: 5, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder, never sit still)

(Waspkit: 5, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

(Puddlekit: 5, male, kit, polite, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Shadowdrop: 31, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

When the Clan returns from Harvest Moon, there are three new kits in camp. Shadowdrop and Wildclaw claim a wild queen gave them up. Shadowdrop has adopted them.

[Image ID: Three black newborn kits sit in moss nests. The kit in the upper left has text under them saying NEW PLAYER: TEMPESTKIT, 0, FEMALE, TROUBLESOME. The kit in the middle says NEW PLAYER: MOSSKIT, 0, MALE, BULLYING. The kit on the right reads NEW PLAYER: TRUMPETKIT, 0, FEMALE, NERVOUS].

---

The deep dark could do nothing to stop the rush of warmth and laughter flowing off the returning RippleClan cats. Clammask was in the thick of it, squished between Rustshade and Downstar as she carried an empty basket home. Everyone’s stories had been excellent. It was a wonderful start to the new season, and there was no Shadowdrop around to glare at Oilstripe.

And now Shadowdrop was back in Clammask’s mind, how wonderful. Why the tom couldn’t let go of a simple crush, Clammask would never understand. If she were leader, she would smack some sense into him. Ever since Carnationspeckle got pregnant, he was barely around, only returning after a long hunt or patrol. Maybe with Troutkit’s birth, Shadowdrop would mellow out. Or maybe he would get worse. Whatever the case, Clammask had her eye on him.

“We’re back!” Downstar called as she led RippleClan into camp. Clammask’s Clanmates pushed past her, yawning and chattering about everything their friends in the other Clans had to say. Parsley sat outside the nursery with Ripplekit, Lavenderkit, and Palekit. Parsley shot up at the Clan’s arrival. 

“Mom, Dad!” Lavenderkit called. Lavenderkit raced toward Weedfoot and James, who pushed into camp with Oilstripe and Halibutdusk. “Mom, Dad, Shadowdrop brought kits home!” Clammask’s feet dug into the sand as she turned to face the excited kit. 

“What was that?” James scoffed, turning his head as though he didn’t hear his son well. Palekit and Ripplekit joined their brother.

“Shadowdrop and Wildclaw came into camp and they had kits!” Lavenderkit said again.

“They’re cute,” Ripplekit noted as though that was the important part of the story. The whole Clan stared at Lavenderkit, the excited conversation dying down as the strange and sudden statement rippled through them.

“Parsley…” Downstar said as the tortoiseshell elder approached.

“We didn’t want to make a scene at Harvest Moon,” Parsley sighed. “It’ll be better if you hear your son’s story.” Downstar hurried past Parsley and to the nursery. Halibutdusk and Clammask ran after her.

The nursery was dark and cool when Clammask stepped inside. Waspkit and Puddlekit watched the shocking scene silently from their nest. Shadowdrop sat next to Carnationspeckle, head tall as his mother and leader entered. Carnationspeckle slowly pulled herself from sleep, shifting to face the crowd. Carnationspeckle had more kits at her belly than she started the day with. Troutkit was sound asleep, tucked into her mother’s fluff, but three black kits squirmed in Carnationspeckle’s embrace. Clammask knew in an instant they belonged to Shadowdrop.

“What did you do?” Clammask hissed.

“Clammask, he doesn’t have to explain himself,” Halibutdusk reminded her, blocking her path to Shadowdrop. “The code protects him.”

“I don’t have anything to hide, Halibut,” Shadowdrop huffed. Downstar crouched beside the three new kits. All three were blind to the world, but Troutkit seemed to sense the presence of her leader and mewed softly.

“Two mollies and a tom,” Downstar muttered. Shadowdrop stood behind Carnationspeckle and studied the three kits.

“Wildclaw and I went hunting,” Shadowdrop said. “We found a molly nursing these three. She was a kittypet whose humans planned to kill her kits. She had been hiding in the forests outside our territory for a few days nursing them, but had to return to her humans. She asked us to take them in.” Clammask’s gray eyes burned like boiling water. These kits were Shadowdrop’s by blood, they looked just like him and his littermates. There was no way under Silverpelt that these kits did not have RippleClan blood. Clammask was certain of it.

“Did she name them?” Downstar asked softly. Clammask’s glare turned on Downstar. Did she really believe Shadowdrop?”

“She asked us to pick names with her,” Shadowdrop explained. He walked back around Carnationspeckle and touched his nose to each kit as he said “Tempestkit… Mosskit… Trumpetkit.” He turned back to Downstar and said, “I want to raise them, Mom. I’ll be their father.” He already was their father, did no one else see it?

“I have the milk for them, luckily,” Carnationspeckle purred. “They’ve latched on well.”

“Thank you, Carnationspeckle,” Shadowdrop sighed. “I couldn’t do this without your help.” He touched his nose to Carnationspeckle’s forehead. Bile crawled up Clammask’s throat.

“Welcome to RippleClan, little ones,” Downstar purred, voice cracking as she licked each small kit. She then groomed her son’s cheek and Shadowdrop leaned into his mother.

“Where’s Wildclaw?” Clammask finally snapped. “I want to hear her side of this story.”

“You know how deeply she sleeps,” Shadowdrop sighed, rolling his eyes. “She probably isn’t aware you’re back at all.” A good excuse to keep the story straight, Clammask thought.

“Clammask, can you leave us?” Downstar asked, finally noticing someone other than her kin. “Let Fennelspot know we have new members of the Clan to care for.” Clammask nodded slowly and backed out of the den. She knew when her words would go unheeded. 

StarClan, what was Shadowdrop doing? Clammask was certain he still liked Carnationspeckle, she could see it in his eyes. So why have kits with someone else? Shouldn’t he be fighting for her attention, like in Rabbitjoy’s stories of the tormented lover in the flames? Why go about it like this?

“Clammask?” Clammask had stopped a few tail-lengths away from the nursery, unable to obey her leader’s request. She turned to find Waspkit standing behind her. He looked more like an apprentice than ever before, searching for answers in Clammask’s eyes.

“What is it?” Clammask asked. Waspkit glanced toward the rest of his family, all focused on Lavenderkit’s retelling of the day’s events.

“When I was younger, and I caught Ripplekit in Downstar’s den,” Waspkit muttered, “I told on her, because Mom said we weren’t allowed in there. My littermates got mad at me and said I was trying to show off to the adults. If I tell you what I saw tonight, will Shadowdrop say I’m messing with something that doesn’t involve me?” 

“Waspkit, there is a difference between trying to get someone in trouble and knowing something bad has happened.” Gray eyes tore into gray eyes as Clammask thought through each word. “If you think Shadowdrop has done something that could hurt someone, it’s important to tell someone you trust so we can help fix it.” Waspkit nodded.

“I saw Shadowdrop and Wildclaw leave camp this morning,” Waspkit whispered into Clammask’s ear. “It didn’t look like a hunting patrol. Shadowdrop looked nervous. And, and the kits look really little, like when Troutkit was just born. They smell weird, too. I don’t think Shadowdrop is telling the truth.”

“I don’t either, Waspkit,” Clammask said. “We’ll keep this to ourselves for now, alright? Try and get some sleep. Thank you for trusting me.” She touched noses with Waspkit. The young tom nodded stiffly and scurried back to the nursery.

Clammask had to do something, and she had to do it soon.

(Clammask: 33, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Lavenderkit: 5, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(James: 115, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Ripplekit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play fighter, splashes in puddles)

(Parsley: 133, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 31, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 41, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Troutkit: 0, female, kit, insecure)

(Tempestkit: 0, female, kit, troublesome)

(Mosskit: 0, male, kit, bullying)

(Trumpetkit: 0, female, kit, nervous)

(Waspkit: 5, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

Scrubmask, Clammask, and Fennelspot go in search of the mother.

[Image ID: Scrubmask, Clammask, and Fennelspot face Froggy, who says “You’re all too late.”]

---

“Scrubmask, you know he’s lying,” Clammask hissed, crouched beside her friend in a quiet corner of camp. Most of RippleClan had retired for the night or continued ooing and awwing at the three new kits in the nursery. Clammask and Scrubmask were largely ignored, which worked in the younger molly’s favor.

“Do I?” Scrubmask sighed, resting her chin between her paws. “All I see is a tom who decided to do the right thing and raise some kits he found.”

“Kits that look just like him,” Clammask groaned.

“If he lied, we can’t ask him,” Scrubmask reminded Clammask, watching her from the corner of her eye. “You know the code.”

“Yes, yes, but there’s something that might trump the code in this situation,” Clammask huffed. “Someone gave birth to those kits, and whether Shadowdrop is telling the truth or not, that someone is in trouble.”

“How so?” Scrubmask sat up.

“If he’s telling the truth, which I know he isn’t,” Clammask huffed, “there’s a kittypet stuck in an awful situation that she has the opportunity to leave, if we find her. If he’s lying, there is a loner or Clan cat or someone out there who has recently given birth and needs help. Carnationspeckle was exhausted giving birth to a single kit. Do you want to imagine what a lone mother could be going through?”

“We could be bringing trouble on these kits’ heads,” Scrubmask sighed. “Your arrival wasn’t that different from theirs.”

“Don’t remind me,” Clammask grumbled. When she learned who her mother was, she couldn’t help but think, what if she had grown up with Sunstrike? What if she had gotten the chance to have two parents rather than one? Would Twinekit and Locustseeker still be alive?

“We’ll be making a big fuss if we try to find the mother,” Scrubmask said. “Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

“If anyone can find her,” Clammask insisted, “it’s you and your nose. You always bring back prey, finding a strange cat shouldn’t be much different. Besides, I think I can get someone else to help.”

And get someone she did. Fennelspot was rightly distracted by the new kits, but he saw all the details Clammask and Waspkit noticed earlier. It didn’t take much to get him to pack a basket with a few medical essentials and follow Clammask and Scrubmask out of camp.

Perhaps it was the leftover gloom of Harvest Moon’s scary stories. Perhaps it was Clammask’s own nagging worry about the story behind those three black kits. Whatever the case, RippleClan territory loomed around her as she and Scrubmask tried to pick up the hours-old trail of the unknown queen.

“Clammask,” Fennelspot gulped as the night pressed on, “there may not be a good trail left to find. It could be lost in old scents. StarClan knows where Shadowdrop and Wildclaw encountered the kits.”

“We can’t go back yet,” Clammask groaned. “Those kits need their mother.”

“All I’m saying is that we may not find her tonight,” Fennelspot pointed out. “It’s been well over half a day since the kits arrived at camp. It’s late, we’re tired, and Scrubmask still hasn’t found a scent.” Fennelspot motioned toward Scrubmask, who had gone ahead of the pair to better find a scent, but the cream and white molly was gone. “Scrubmask?”

“I found something,” Scrubmask called. Clammask and Fennelspot jogged through the thick tree lines and through the scrub. Scrubmask crouched beside a small nook at the base of a fir. Clammask could smell it now; the thick and heavy scent of birth. Carnationspeckle reeked of it for days after her kitting. 

“You scared me for a moment, Scrubmask,” Fennelspot gulped. “I thought a Shadow claimed you! It is still technically Harvest Moon, don’t forget that.”

“I got distracted by the scent,” Scrubmask huffed, sniffing the ground around the tree. “There’s no mistaking this smell.”

“I was right!” Clammask cheered. “The kits are newborn! I knew they weren’t a few days old.”

“Neither of us disagreed,” Scrubmask pointed out. “You may be better off restraining your excitement. This has made things much harder for those kits.” Clammask settled down, clearing the cheer from her throat. 

“The scent heads south,” Fennelspot pointed out.

“The queen could be making camp near our territory!” Clammask jogged along the scent’s trail. “Hurry!” Trying to outpace the fastest cats in RippleClan was a fruitless venture, but Scrubmask and Fennelspot matched Clammask’s speed, hurrying alongside her, tasting the air.

Before long, the southern horse path came into view. A distant monster thundered toward WheatClan territory. The soul-shaking shriek of the poor horse trapped by the monster may have been dulled by distance, but it still made Clammask shiver. A figure shifted in the quiet dark on the other side of the horse path. Their fur was so dark, Clammask couldn’t make out their features in the night.

“Hello?” Clammask called. “We’re from RippleClan. Did you just give birth?” 

“Clammask, careful,” Scrubmask groaned as the younger molly hurried toward the horse path.

“We have your kits,” Clammask yowled, “We can reunite you! We brought our cleric, he can help you recover!” The figure stepped into better view. However, it was not the face of a tired queen, but rather an oh-so-familiar black kittypet.

“Froggy?” Scrubmask huffed, appearing at Clammask’s side. Froggy crept to the edge of the horse path. His paws were coated in dirt.

“You’re all too late,” Froggy growled. “She’s… she’s gone.” A mound of dirt rose up behind Froggy. The old kittypet stumbled back to the mound and laid on top of it. He turned his back to the group, his cheek pressed into the ground.

“I don’t understand,” Clammask muttered, mindlessly approaching the grave. “The trail… we followed it all the way from our territory. How could she get here if she…”

“Clammask,” Fennelspot whispered. He brushed against her and approached Froggy. He sat beside the kittypet and put his tail over Froggy’s back. “What was her name, Froggy?”

“Cinderella,” Froggy grumbled, turning away from the Clan cats. “Her name was Cinderella.”

“How did you know her?”

“She and her sister were born not far from my home. I’ve known her since she was a kit. I wasn’t going to let her waste away by the roadside.”

“That’s very noble of you.” Fennelspot looped around Froggy so he could meet his eyes. “Did you know Cinderella was expecting? Do you know what happened to her?”

“We think we have her kits,” Clammask huffed. “We think Shadowdrop is the father.”

“Shadowdrop?” Froggy’s head shot up. “He… that… that fox-hearted, manipulative…” Froggy shoved himself to his paws and glared at Clammask, sneering as he said, “He was the sire?”

“What do you know?” Scrubmask asked. She stood close to Clammask as Froggy’s fury smoked and sparked before them.

“She wanted to learn Clan skills,” Froggy growled, tail thrashing. “She knows you Clan cats can start fires and cure disease, she wanted to do those things too. She told me a Clan tom said if she had his kits, he would teach her anything she wanted to know. I only found out a few days ago. She wasn’t herself when her labor started. She ran off. Her sister asked me to find her, and when I did… I don’t know what went wrong, but Cinderella was in pain. She was trying to get home, and she only got so far…” Clammask’s fur burned with the same anger flowing through Froggy. 

“Tell us everything you know,” Clammask growled. “If Shadowdrop and Wildclaw left your friend to die, I’ll make sure they’re punished.”

(Clammask: 33, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Scrubmask: 56, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Fennelspot: 96, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Froggy: 108, male, kittypet, rebellious, maintains the territory, great speaker)

[evilcatgirlwizard]

ohhh. au where high ranks in clans get extra body parts

like, leaders get wings. they can glide with them but not fly. starclan gives the wings w/ their nine lives, on the place symbolizing their relationship with their clan. someone like Bluestar, who gave up so much for her clan, has her wings sprouting from the back of her neck. Someone who used and hurt every cat in his clan like Tigerstar or Brokenstar would have them on the sides of their legs (like bats, so their entire leg is the wing but also a claw). heroic leaders like Firestar get them right behind their ears. Sturdy and reliable leaders like Mistystar get them on their hips. etc etc

Medicine cats, when they're done w their apprenticeship, get a bug part. Like, if they're bright or joyous they get a glowing tail like a firefly. If they bring levity and relief, butterfly wings. If theyre strict, a beetle's horn. If they're particularly connected with Starclan, moth antennae.

Deputies get tiny little nubby wings only on their shoulders when they first get made deputy under the full moon's light, but they lose those when they become leader, but keep 'em if they die or retire.

Any cat with powers also gets an extra feature. Lionblaze got chitin along his spine and over his belly, Jayfeather has two sets of moth antennae (a longer pair from his power that spring from his ear tips, and a shorter pair on his eyebrows for him being a medicine cat). Dovewing got deputy's wings, but they just kept growing unlike most deputies who can't even use them to glide, but she can actually fly. Not far or a whole lot, but wings. are there other powered cats? I'm old.

But you get the gyst. If I were an artist I would art but I am unable. but you see the vision catblr

[firestarishomophobic]

sorry for clan inconsistency but here’s a few more clangen cats from my newest playthrough. these are oakclan cats! basically i’ve created four clans for my own lil project, and i’m developing clan origins and lore through that. these are a few of the founding (except for heatherplume) members of the clan.

oakclan lives in a dense oak forest and, on an island that doesn’t see much sun, comes to value it immensely. i haven’t entirely figured out that lore yet. they have a sister clan, hollyclan, who loves the snow and dark. there are two other clans: firthclan and mireclan.

oakstar was the original leader, but hollowmoon is probably the most influential of the group. as the original healer, he was also the first to talk to the Stars, who advised him upon their new naming system. at this time, he was only known as hollow. naming in this clan is a very spiritual practice. a cat ready to receive their warrior name will travel out with the healer to meditate, and the leader calls the new name once it has been decided. so hollowmoon introduced the naming system to this clan. it might be similar with the other healers in the other clans. hes a nervous old guy now, and he misses his mate. i’ll prolly draw him later!

sproutsight is my current favorite. she is the deputy, and oakstar’s old apprentice. she got her name because she was so good at helping hollowmoon find plants— sproutsight for her ability to see sprouts!