#dried minnows

[bonefall]

Warrior Bites: Dried Minnows

Requested by @troutfur!

A series for those who would like their Warriors to have some more advanced culinary abilities.

The art here was provided by my partner!! (thank you for engaging in my research journeys boo <;3)

Dried Minnows

Clan of Origin: RiverClan Occasion: Travel ration, food storage

"StarClan forbid a RiverClan cat go 2 hours without eating," says the other, very jealous Clans.

One of the most common meals prepared by RiverClan warriors, dried minnows are easy to prepare, can be stored for weeks, and are easily kept in bunches with a small string of peeled willowbark.

One minnow on its own won't feed more than a small kit; but they’re easily captured in whole schools and processed in bulk to make lots of food. Marinated in rosemary for taste and valerian for a boost of energy, these are usually carried around as travel rations.

[Image ID: Three common minnows strung together through the gills with willowbark twine. They are lightly dusted with spice.]

There's two ways RiverClan cats would dry fish; a Greenleaf method, and a Leafbare method.

In Greenleaf, when it's hot and humid, the fish will be sun-dried. Starting on a clear morning, the fish will be laid out on a rock and left sitting in direct sunlight. This method requires a watchcat, else foxes may steal the food.

[Image ID: Grasswhisker, a brown tabby RiverClan warrior cat, crouches in a ‘loaf’ position on a large rock. She is watching minnows dry.]

In Leafbare, the fish will be strung together and threaded through the gills with willowbark strips, the same as they were being carried. They’re brought to a high branch and left there, the wind drying them out naturally over a few hours.

[Image ID: Two batches of minnows are hanging up in a tree that has a single leaf in the middle of winter. The landscape is snowy and the lake in the distance appears frozen. The meeting island is visible in the corner.]

Because of the easy nature of dried minnows, they’re faaar from considered a delicacy. Apprentices going through their first leafbare are tempted to complain about eating these night after night, only for their elders to launch off into long-winded lectures about the nutritional value of minnows, appreciation of the food StarClan gives them, and how there’s starving kits in ShadowClan who would kill for a good meal right now.

Is there any truth to that last part? Well, the valerian spices ARE quite tempting, to be fair. It has a similar effect to dried catnip.

[shithowdy]

RIP AND TEAR RIP AND TEAR

[figofswords]

saw some tags on one of your posts and u have a cat name midna?? 🥺 I love that 🥺 can we see a pic pretty please

oh boy do I EVER have a cat named midna. and she is Deranged

(bonus: rare photo of midna being NOT a maniac + tiny baby muppet midna)

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Today, the animal:

pretended to hairball next to my pillow to make me get up

ate her breakfast with the smugness appropriate to a creature who successfully made the human get up by pretending to hairball

when in actuality she left the real hairball on the couch

[jimmyhoffathecat]

Jimmy’s Recent Crimes

1. He figured out how to open the drawer full of cat treats and ate a bunch of freeze-dried minnows and chicken hearts with the other cats

2. He climbed to the ceiling above the fridge and got scared so I had to climb up there and get him down

3. He has begun to attack my feet when he is hungry

[l3irdl3rain]

Duncan is the only cat I’ve ever been able to convince that these freeze dried minnows are edible. Even Petunia who is a huge foodie will only lick and chew on them a little bit before remembering they’re yucky

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast - 4

Two guys and too many beers leads to more shenanigans.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Next Chapter: Chapter 5 (Coming Soon)

Word count: 2998

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking), animal death (fishing/hunting)

It was beyond crazy to me that the most normal I’d ever felt was drinking beers with a weird little man who stood no more than, what, 6 inches tall at most? How many years had it been since the last time I had this much fun? The last time I felt like I could talk and laugh this freely? It just felt so… normal? The thought seemed ridiculous- I mean, the situation was anything but… and yet here I was, thoroughly buzzed and listening intently as if we were old friends.

Sal paraded around the table, reenacting some grand adventure I could only wrap my head around with the help of however many tallboys I’d downed over the past few hours. Tales of hunting monstrous beasts and climbing unfathomable heights. He wove wild stories of a world so foreign yet so familiar… quite literally a world in my backyard.

As I nursed another drink, Sal set the scene, recounting a day-long trek he'd made out to the lake. Mist rose off the water as loons called to one another, their haunting voices echoing off the calm water. He watched intently as they slipped under the water, barely even a ripple disturbing the surface of the lake.

As if he was painting a picture in my mind, I sat enthralled, feeling as if I could feel the crispness of the water washing away the heat of the sun as he spent the day swimming in the shallows. The way he spoke… It didn't feel like I was imagining his retelling from my perspective- but his own. His perspective felt like something … almost fantastical.

"I tried to lure some of the minnows, but I couldn't get close enough to spear them without them darting off.” As if still wielding a spear he eyed the non existent minnows, patiently following some unseen motion as he remained poised to strike. “The bigger minnows seemed slower, but they wouldn't come near shallow enough. I ended up using some of the dried grub rations I'd brought with me as bait, and boy did it work like a charm. I swam I bit farther out with the bait and-"

Spear raised, I could practically see the imaginary impact- watching as the massive fish- or minnow, thrashed against the sharpened twig. I was enthralled- the way his muscles moved with the motion was almost… intimidating, bringing forth thoughts of him human sized, spearing a monster of a fish while swimming in some dangerous Amazonian river. 

“The damn thing was a bitch to swim with,” he groaned, annoyance clear on his face, “For one- it was heavy. But worse,” Sal huffs, “It was still moving.” Despite the exasperation on his face in recounting the ordeal, the man’s face couldn’t help but return to grinning. 

“So then I’m swimming back, right? Honestly more like flailing with the stupid minnow in tow, but I’m keeping above water for the most part… but I keep hearing this clicking… almost squeaking noise? Weirder yet- it's coming from below me.” He pauses, lowering his voice and I’m quite literally reeled in by his story, leaning forward on the edge of my seat. 

“Then- whoosh!” 

Sal grabs at the air. My heart jumps in my chest as the man’s hand lashes out just inches from my face. 

“This monstrous bastard of a creature - absolutely huge,” He pauses, shooting me a cheesy grin, “Second only to you, big man.” I snort and Sal picks right up where he left off, “It was all murky brown with thick these thick… whiskers? And it just sucks me into its mouth with this horrific gulp. Next thing I know I’m being dragged underwater, half in its mouth, pounding on its head just hoping it’ll let me go if I hit it hard enough.”

My breath hitches, a shudder running through me as I make the connection- A catfish. 

“With nothing to lose, I stab it. The spear goes right through its eye and-” Sal pauses, making sure he has my full attention.

“And?”

“Nothing!” Sal laughs as if it was hilarious and not down right horrifying, “That stupid thing didn’t even flinch! I don’t know if it didn’t go deep enough or if I just missed any vital enough part, but it did absolutely nothing!”

He leans forward, no longer laughing as his face takes on a grim expression.

“At this point I start to get worried.”

“Start?!” I scoff. Sal dismisses my interruption with a wave of his hand.

"My lungs are burning, and the thing’s clamped down hard on my stomach. I'm stuck holding that stupid spear for life as it keeps doing this.. this…” He shudders, face twisting in disgust, “-weird gulping thing,” Sal shakes his head as if banishing the memory, “So I ripped that spear out and using everything I had I-” His fist came down, “- drove that spear right back into its head.” 

Sal pantomimed a gruesome show-  stabbing again and again in the world's most horrific display of charades as he brutalised the memory of the catfish. 

“Finally,” He says, voice filled with a mix of relief and exasperation as if he’d just relived the whole ordeal, “it dies.” 

I, stupidly, sigh in relief, as if somehow I couldn't have predicted the outcome with him quite literally standing in front of me.

“My lungs are on fire as I swim to the surface- and man, air never tasted so sweet.” Looking down at Sal, he's beaming, laughing like a kid as he recounts his victory over the massive fish. “And then it hits me- tasted!” 

I furrow my brow, not quite following. Sal continues, frustration returning.

“No spear- and no fucking minnow! As if, after all that, air was gonna be the only thing I’d be tasting!”

After a brief pause I couldn't help but laugh. His smile grew even wider as he raved on, swinging his hands as he continued on about his harrowing ordeal.

“I refused to swim back empty handed after that shitshow- So I spent the whole afternoon dragging that giant bastard back to shore!” 

Fuck. I stare at him, eyes wide. I can’t shake the disbelief as I try to think of what would be the equivalent feat- Dragging an orca back to shore? …Something bigger? I’ve never been an avid fisherman (nor did I have any plans to start) and really had no concept of how big the catfish in the lake got aside from the notion that they were definitely bigger than Sal.

“I get that monster to land- spend about 30 minutes on a fire that just won't start, until I'm finally able to start cooking that beast!” 

He paces along the length of the table, his steps not nearly as sure footed as they had been a few hours prior. Even with his tiny frame I can easily make out the sheer rage simmering behind his eyes.

“And y'know what?” His voice, now starting to slur, is teeming with all the theatrics of a man at his absolute limit. I swallow, desperate to hold back a laugh I know is coming.

“What?”

“That fucking thing tasted awful!” Each word was spat with such ferocity it was as if he was trying to spit out the memory of the creature's taste.

There was no helping it.

With my inhibitions long since drowned, I laugh. I laugh louder than I have in years. I laugh until my sides ache- until tears prick at the edge of my eyes.

And he laughs with me.

“Pond scum! Tha' shtupid thing tasted exactly how pond scum smells!”

My vision blurs, tears threatening to spill over as he continues to rant and rave, but the sound of my laughing completely drowns out whatever critical opinions he was espousing on catfish edibility. 

Wiping at my eyes, my brain takes a few tipsy seconds to focus back on the little man. Still shirtless, Sal had sat back, reclining with his back against one of the many empties as he lifted up what was arguably the equivalent to a very generous pitcher to his mouth with little effort- the relative ease of the action catching me by surprise as I imagined myself fumbling at doing the same. 

He… he was built. 

Quite literally a brick shithouse, if said shithouse belonged to Barbie.  

Broad seemed like a fitting word. Broad chested, broad shoulders, broad smile- Hell, even his legs had a width to them. Sal looked as if he had stepped directly out of an instagram fitness post, with his … excessive biceps flexing under the weight of the shot glass, the act a paradoxical effortless display of effort. Even at his diminutive size, I could tell this man was anything but small. He-

He coughs.

My eyes dart away from his body in an instant, snapping back to his face… accompanied with heat rising in my own. As my eyes meet his, I’m again struck with the absolute absurdity of the situation.

I'm here… getting drunk… with a tiny man… He’s right there- arms reach in front of me… 

And yet he still doesn't seem real.

My hand twitches at my side.

Touch him.

As my hand slides towards him, his gaze quickly flicks from my face to my hand and back to my face again. Confusion flashing across his features for a brief moment before his lopsided grin reappears. My finger tips barely graze him as he sidesteps my hand, shoving my fingers away. 

Huh. There's a surprising amount of weight behind his push. 

“Hands t'yourself, Big Guy.” Sal laughs, “You gotta take me to dinner first.”

It takes a moment for my brain to follow his words, and I snort. 

“Is that not what I did?” 

Sal blinks.

His own brain seeming to lag as realization dawns on him. After a moment's delay, he laughs. 

Sal takes an unsteady step forward, the sway in his weight more noticeable than before. He’s still smiling, but a look of concern crosses his features as he stares at the ground in front of him.

“I feel weird.” 

“You’re drunk.”

He looks back up towards me and I point to the drink. After a moment', Sal nods, seemingly cluing in. Maybe? I really couldn’t tell.  For all I know, that nod might have been him nodding off with how stunted the gesture had looked. 

“It…” He starts his sentence and seems to forget it half way through, taking a long blink in between words “... makes you dizzy?” 

I lean forward to rest my head on the table, starting to feel all too alike. 

“Mmm- yeah, when you’ve had a bit much.” 

With that, I slid the shot glass away from him- An act which was apparently the most egregious party foul ever to have been committed. Shouts of protest erupt beneath me, as he trails after the glass. 

With a laugh, I try to shoo him away, but man, the little guy can move. Despite the sway to his stride, Sal ducks my hand with ease.

“Dude,” I laugh, opting to pick up the glass, “You.. uh, you’ve had 'nough- you're gonna get sick.”

My words feel thick, almost sticky, in my mouth, and the thought crosses my mind that I should probably be taking my own advice.

“'m fine.” 

I snort. The man didn't even know what beer was all of two hours ago, and here he was thinking he knew his limits.

“'s if you’d know,” I chuckle. “You're stumblin' 'round.”

Sal narrows his eyes.

“I am not!”

“Oh really?” My words slur together, thick with condescension and alcohol as a smile down at him. I shove a finger to his chest, I give a little push. Sal shoots glare as he staggers back.

“See?” I chuckle, “You're totally shtumbling!” 

Eyes wide, he stares up at me, brain seeming to short-circuit for a moment before a goofy grin plasters itself across his face. I feel my own face mirror his expression as we break out into drunken laughter. 

The laughter hit me hard. 

I laughed at Sal's near cartoonish drunkenness.

I laughed at how he stumbled with a push from a finger.

I laughed at the strangeness- the reality shattering strangeness- of his very existence.

This... this is really strange...

As our collective laughter died down I took in a deep inhale. I needed to know more. I couldn’t keep up the half assed charade of normalcy. 

“Sal-”

In the brief moment I’d let my guard down, the tiny man quite literally pounces. I yank my hand away a fraction of a second before he lands, Sal stumbling as his weight falls forward. Before his face makes contact with the table, Sal seemingly just… goes with it? Just flowing with the momentum as if stumbling forward had been completely intended. With surprisingly little effort, his would-be fall morphs into a drunkenly graceful forward roll, carrying him to a stand- albeit, an unsteady one. 

For a moment, I’m at a loss for words, and before I’m able to react to whatever odd show of athleticism I’d just witnessed, he’s already at it again, eyes locked onto the shot glass like a cat locked onto a mouse. I move to shoo him away with my free hand, yet I’m met with nothing but empty space as Sal scrambles underneath the gesture. 

Again, he tries for the glass. 

Launching himself at my hand, I feel his hands graze my own before I lift the glass out of reach. Sal lands with a stumble, a lopsided grin sitting smugly on his face as he looks from the glass to me. 

Sal lowers his stance, looking something between a sprinter at the blocks and a mountain lion set to pounce. 

Seeing the gears in his head turning (albeit, slowly), I clue in. Before he gets the chance to scale me for the beverage, I make a grab for him. 

And yet, despite my efforts, somehow Sal winds up on top of my hand. It was like trying to grab at water- with him just flowing out of my grasp. Abandoning the shot glass, I grab at him with my free hand- watching dumbstruck as he drunkenly pivots, turning to jump at my in coming hand.

I freeze- Trying and failing to keep my hand steady as Sal hangs off my fingers. 

With my lack of reaction, Sal takes the opportunity to climb my fingers like some sort of rope ladder. 

To my horror, he climbs all of them, heaving himself to a shaky stand on the side of my index finger- Hands on his hips and grin on his face. 

I meet his gaze and he laughs, his expression smug as he wags his finger at me.

“Too shlow.” 

Arms out in a stumbling balance act, Sal begins walking across the edge of my hand looking oddly similar to a failed roadside sobriety test. Pausing, he frowns, pouting in frustration before bending over. For a moment, I think he’s about to throw up. Instead, he plants his hands firmly on my forearm.  

My stomach drops.  

With no effort whatsoever, Sal switches to walking on his hands- somehow just as drunkenly. Swaying side to side, every “step” seemed to overcompensate for the last, looking as if he was perpetually on the verge of tipping over.

And then he did.

In a split second, I’m sober.

My hand darts out, closing awkwardly around his form with all the grace and fine motor skills of a man marginally less drunk. Unmoving and unblinking, Sal stares up at me, a strange sound escaping him… almost as if a hum got caught in his throat. I could have almost been convinced he was nothing but an action figure with the way Sal went rigid- if not for his heart beating wildly beneath my fingertips. 

My own heart drummed in my ears, and for a moment, just a single moment, it didn’t bother me that he was sticky. 

He swallows. The tiny, but very human action feels uncanny at his size. The rise and fall of his chest, the strangely sizable weight of him in my hands… all of it is just so… strange. He feels solid - tense beneath my grip. Fuck- even at his size he felt strong. My eyes trace over the myriad of scars that marred his skin, gaze lingering over the clear bite mark that covered his shoulder and chest…

I hadn't even noticed my thumb tracing over it until I felt him try and push the digit away.

“Mark-” 

“Oh- sorry.” I adjust my grip into something I assume is more comfortable, opting to hold him in a way that left him semi-seated in my palms rather than awkwardly dangling from a first.

It's a weird sight, seeing a grown man sitting in your hands. Every small movement I make has him sway, his head drunkenly lolling back as he slurs a few indistinguishable words with a chuckle. Up close like this he looks just about as drunk as he sounds- red in the face and eyes struggling to stay open. 

Adjusting my grip, I cringe.

He was more than just a little sticky.

His pants clung to my skin, peeling off as I moved like a Band-Aid being removed. The mental image sends a shudder down my spine.

I consider taking the opportunity to wipe off the concerningly sticky little man while I have the chance, though a more rational voice in the back of my mind argues that a good host doesn’t assault their “neighbor” with wet wipes. 

Below, Sal grumbles something unintelligible, clearly displeased with me as he swats at my fingers. Though despite his attempts, my fingers lingered. 

Ugh- He left a stain on my hand! 

I glare at the dark smear of sauce he’d wiped off onto his pants, silently reconsidering the option of dousing the man in dish soap, let alone wet wipes, etiquette be damned. 

Instead, I opted for another drink.

[dreamseersystem]

Just a little drabble I made of a version of Leviathantale. I hope people like it.

Was this what it was like to die?

That was his thought as he sank into the dark waters below. The family he thought he had, they were all just lies. Used until he was no use anymore because of who he once was. Who he had left behind on the mainland when he joined Gaster and his crew of pirates. But that was what he was used for. A bargaining chip in some ploy to gain money and favors out of the family he abandoned. He never told anyone of his royal heritage, but somehow the captain knew. He acted like a caring father to him, and when the money and favors dried out...

It was amazing how fast a life can pass before one's eyes as they die. The betrayal of the captain as he revealed his birth name and the reason he was kept on the ship. The jeering of the crew he once thought of as brothers and sisters calling for his death. It was a crime to them to be born royal. Even if he rejected that life. Gaster himself pushed him off the plank, giving him a last chance to fight him, but he was too weak to defeat the captain. His magic was spilling out of him still, quickening his death in the sea. He could feel its cold tentacles wrap around him. Wait... No... He was really feeling tentacles around him. His instinct to fight made him flail in their grasp, but he was too weak to fight back.

"I would rather you not fight little minnow. It would quicken your death and make you just another dust cloud to feast upon by the small fish of the deep," a voice said. He froze.

"That's better," the voice said as a black face came into his sight. It's teal eye glowing in the darkness. "I am Nightmare. Tho, I guess greetings would be wasted if you just die on me." He pulls him close. "But you can live if your desire and hope is still there."

He wanted to live. He didn't want to die. His life had barely started and all because of his birth he was killed for. He wanted to live to be free of that past. He wanted to get revenge on the ship he thought was family.

Nightmare could seem to sense his will and emotions and chuckled. "Revenge and a desire to be free. I believe I can offer that," he said as he caressed his cheek. "But in exchange for a new life, I need something in return. Loyalty, obedience, and most of all, your knowledge of the world above. Do you agree or would you rather I end your life now?"

He wanted to say yes, but no words would come out. He didn't care he would have to be this abyssal's being slave. Just as long as he could live again. He just wanted to live. He nodded his head at Nightmare.

And Nightmare grinned. "It is a deal then. This might hurt a bit."

He reached into his chest and pulled his dusting SOUL out, sending magic into it as he kissed him at the same time. Pleasure and pain were what he felt and he couldn't even scream. Bones were shifting, everything was getting brighter, teal and purple magic surrounded his body as he heard bones crack below his waist.

Soon the feeling faded away, and with that the feeling of his legs. Now he felt something else, something new. A tail. He gasped as he took his first breath under water, not sure how exactly he was able to do it. He looked at himself in wonder. And ended up upside down since he didn't know how to use his tail yet.

Nightmare laughed. "Well, a shark on its belly, what a funny sight. You'll fit in with the rest of the shiver at least. But for now, we should complete our greetings shouldn't we. What is your name?"

He was able to right himself and felt his tail. It was powerful and strong. He could feel the power in it. He looked at Nightmare and bowed his head.

"My name, is Cross."

[bonefall]

how would BB Sorreltail react to canon clan cats eating raw meat?

THEY ARE FULL OF WORMS. HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE WORMS.

She swears in Clanmew when she finds out they don't even have fire.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WINDCLAN DOESN'T EAT GRASSHOPPERS WHERE ARE THEY GETTING SHINE FOR THEIR COATS RABBITS DON'T HAVE ENOUGH FAT ILL FLAY THEM"

[jayleap]

My versions of Jayfeather, Hollyleaf, and Lionblaze, designs subject to change. Also I’m using @bonefall ‘s AU so we’ve got Jay carrying a pot of herbal tincture to trade with another clan, likely celandine which is almost exclusive to thunderclan. He’s not the most social cat but he’s really good at trades, usually getting more than a fair offer for whatever he’s brought, today he’s hoping to get some form of lungwort to prepare for leafbare and a possible yellow cough outbreak.

Holly is out on a solo patrol to collect blackberry brambles which can be used to make twine/rope, she brought a small snack of dried minnows with her for the long day. She’s lingering by the windclan border, watching the grain fields blowing in the breeze.

And Lion is our resident fire starter, he enjoys cooking (and eating) so he’s often around the oven or grill hoping to get any scraps. The head of kitchen duties is Sorreltail but she doesn’t give out snacks for free so he’s often starting fires or going out to run errands for her.

I wanted some reoccurring themes with my designs, so Leafpool has white paws except for her front right while Squirrelflight has white on only her front right paw. It’s a cute trait that’s shared by Jay and Lion, though Holly is acutely aware she lacks anything the ties her to her family like this. She’s very much the ‘black sheep’ of her family, which is why she spends so much time on solo patrols.

[lionsongfr]

Crystalline Gala Cuisine

Been a bit since I made a festival cuisine, and since my old ones have been circulating, I guiltily figured I should make one for the Gala before it ends.  Gaolers and Tundras are both herbivores (though Gaolers also eat meat), but I headcanon that like most herbivores they will opportunistically eat fish, insects, and meat when given the chance. The dishes have a bit more mixing than the previous cuisine; in the Icefield you eat what you can and as much as you can to survive. Potato Onions are my replacement for potatos, because FR needs potatoes (and citrus and tomatoes and wheat and rice and spices).

Seeker Stew- originally a stew of necessity for traveling Seekers, it was made of dried Sea Grass, small Cragside Mussels, canned Common Minnows, Sour Elk milk, and spoiled Turnips. The dish was transformed back home, using fresh Spinach, meaty Olympia Oysters, Jumbo Shrimp, new Potato Onions, and…sour Snowfall Elk milk. Funk is flavor!

Shalefin in a Fur Coat- this uniquely named dish is a layered salad, like the layers of a Tundra fur coat. It is made of finely sliced pickled Shalefin fillets, grated Potato Onion, Gradish, and Honeycrisp Apple, and chopped hard-boiled Flecked Bushrunner eggs. The key binding ingredient is a flavorful mayonnaise made of Elk tallow, Dappled Clucker yolks, and dill.

Bear in a Cave Dumplings-a favorite of the Fae scholars of the Frozen Sanctum. It is a boiled or fried Potato Onion dumpling filled with fried Wooly Bear, Wild Onion, and Dryad's Saddle. It can be served with melted Elk milk butter and Winter’s Delight jam or a white sauce spiced with dried Dusky Mealworm and imported Golden Pepper.

Tundra Grub- a dish named after the main protein of the dish: a sausage filled with Tundra Grub meat, Longneck-grown oats, and Elk blood. The sausage is fried along with strips of Tundra Cactus before being added to an earthy brown sauce of Mycena Mushroom and Earthworms. It is typically served with an unleavened flatbread made of rye or Longneck oats, or a mash of Potato Onion.

Woodland Turkey Dinner- this was once a seasonal dish, but now is common year-round. While the star of the dinner is the roasted Woodland Turkey, the side dishes are just as essential. The most common is: Deep Sea Lobster and Jumbo Shrimp stuffing, roasted Winter Brussel Sprouts with a Superberry vinegarette, Tundra Grub and Potato Onion mash with Mycena Mushroom gravy, and Stonecorn rolls with Elk cheese and White Lace Honeybee honey. And last but not least, a Cinnamon and Honeycrisp Apple pie. A heavy dinner said to put even Sentinels to sleep!

Trunk Cheese- not actually cheese, but a cold meat dish made of fresh Bullephant Trunk (or Mammophant, though it is not as tasty).  The meat of the trunk is removed and cooked in a mix of spices and Wild Onion, and then poured and set with gelatin in the skin of the trunk. Slices are cut from the trunk and served upon rye bread with strong Wild Mustard and pickled Gradish.   

Edamame Soup and Pancakes- a popular yet odd combination of savory and sweet. This dish features a Chilled Edamame soup (heated of course, the chilled variety of plants grow better in the hot houses of Icefield) with large chunks of smokey Elk bacon, a sprinkle of thyme, and a dollop of Wild Mustard. The pancakes are made of nutty and mildly sweet Amaranth flour and served with Winter’s Delight jam. The soup is traditionally dished with a silver spoon, after a mighty Tundra king was poisoned by his favorite soup.

Warden’s Delight- a dessert, a snack, a spread upon rye bread, and a delight to every hatchie. It is a mix of Elk tallow, Spotted Seal or Wooly Walrus oil, fresh snow, and Winter’s Delight. As the mixture is whipped into fluffy peaks, it is traditional to sing “Warden’s Delight to fight off the night, no Shade or beast shall fill my sight. Drive away the hunger, drive away the cold, fill my belly and make me bold.”

Frozen Bouquet- flowers are rarity in the Southern Icefield, but this bouquet is made from flash-frozen flowers and fruits. After thawing they are quickly coated in a thin layer of crystalized maple syrup and then arranged into a bouquet. Often the bouquets have hidden meanings like Pretty Pink Mums for courting. Winterbelle for strength, and Wolfsbane for warning. But what every Tundra fears the most is a bouquet of Black Tulips.

 Crisp Morning Cider- Vodka is life to Ice Flight, the warmth in one’s chest in a land where winter never ends. And while most drink it “neat”, when rations are low then cocktails are the answer!  This drink is a common morning warmer and is a mix of White Lace Honeybee honey with hot water, Vodka, Honeycrisp Apple cider, and Cinnamon.

Boreal Brew-a tea made from the leaves of whatever green tree is available. Birch, Fir, Spruce, and Pine can all be brewed into an astringent tea with a citrus-y aftertaste. Unfortunately, Birch, Fir, and Spruce are typically harvested during Spring-Summer- but Pine is harvested during December. To help remove the bitter taste, Pine can be fermented with sugar for a week to a month (fermentation time depending on temperature) and then filtered and served as cold tea.

[theoppositeofprofound]

Assigning First Age humans favorite foods for reasons

Bëor/Balan: Holds a traveller’s fondness and fear towards the humble mushroom; he counts himself lucky that Nargothrond is so vigorous in fungiculture.

Haleth: Though she’s eaten orc (before the elves got all hysterical about it) she doesn’t like it. As an older woman she gets a taste for dried hawthorn and very piquant rowan wine.

Marach: Grains are a new indulgence, he was never much of a farmer while on the march. In Estolad he finds a love of barley cakes.

Adanel: Raises ducks for gizzards

Imlach: Turnips in mountain goat butter. Like elves, he’s not “lactose tolerant” but cold climate girls make do.

Andreth: Innovated heavily in the field of Jellies, combining old advice from her teachers and elf lore to finalize the perfect crabapple jam.

Bregor: Lake trout with bitter orange.

Beril: Trained truffle hounds and valued her prizes highly.

Emeldir: Roast pig, fattened and butchered in autumn. As the main coordinator, she takes pride in the finished product and lets herself have a bit of crackling when it’s done.

Barahir: Is impressively lactose tolerant and enjoys an early, soft cheese, baked till its gooey.

Beren: In the dark woods, birds without a brood that year would spit crop milk into his mouth. It isn’t the taste he misses but the sense someone was one his side. Also hot drinks—after years being hunted it’s nice to have the security to build a fire.

Húrin: Lamb with a a certain blend of spices, the recipe reportedly over the mountains by his ancestors. No one uses cumin like Hador’s people.

Huor: The elves of Gondolin kept snail—he’s never been able to recapture the crisp, woody taste of their eggs.

Morwen: Dove, roasted, maybe a little more raw than is advisable but she trusts her butchery.

Rian: Nectar from the woodbine that blooms late in spring

Ulfang: Fresh wild-strawberries; his sons would bring him handfuls of them when they were small.

Bór: He likes a fermented milk, somewhere between kumis and filmjölk, but he’ll also drink milk raw just to flex on Maedhros’ kin.

Aerin: Even before she was tasked with feeding great numbers in the shadow of famine, she had a fondness for the humble onion.

Tuor: Bumblebee honey, dug out of the ground right at the coming of winter, when the bees are dying and don’t need it anymore.

Túrin: A pine nut/bear fat/mandrake pemmican Beleg taught him. None of his friends handle the alkaloid content as well as he does. He likes raw potatoes too.

Nienor: Used to catch the snakes that came to prey on her mother’s birds and make them into soup. As Níniel she eats crabapples before they can be jellied.

Dior: Little minnows found in the cold streams of Doriath and around the island of his birth. Also, eel.

Brandir: Roast chestnuts—he uses his cane to crack them open to the delight of children.

Eärendil: Enjoys shark as a child, before Morgoth’s seeping rot builds up dangerously in local bioaccumulators. Likes fennel in Sirion and the sea buckthorn that grows near his lady’s tower across the waves.

Elros: Seafood is a steady source of protein for an establishing society. Once they have the stores to use their sheep for meat as well as wool though? He’s your king for mutton in almond milk.

[deathfavor]

@yeonban said: “I’ve got you” I can't possibly gloss over JGY and XY when this meme's downright perfect for them ^_^

send "I've got you" to help my muse wash blood off their body

Xue Yang slinks out of the shadows like a nightmare made flesh ; a monster come back to welcomed company. He even has the accompanied accents of streaks of blood and freezing rain water clinging to him. Meng Yao Jin Guangyao is in the spotlight so often these days in dazzling golden robes. He can have the light for all Xue Yang cares ; Xue Yang will be the dagger hidden in the fold of clothing and sleeves, the beast to be sicced on enemies under oppressive darkness in the blackest night. Perhaps thankfully, tonight he brings back no organs or body parts as some morbid gesture of caring. ( It's hard to say with Xue Yang WHAT the exact reason is and he never tells, only offers a cheerful smile and playful teasing in stark contrast to the violence of his eyes. )

" A-Yao before you go on a lecture, I'll get cleaned up I promise ~ " Also because he's cold. " And everything went perfectly before you ask. " He certain that holds more weight to his friend than anything else. Xue Yang doesn't mind whereas other people might be OFFENDED if only their results mattered.

His body language is relaxed despite the blood and rain on him when he shifts towards the basin. Such is often the case; Xue Yang moves like a shark surrounded by minnows - confident and unbothered. Except his eyes. No matter how relaxed his shoulders are, his eyes track ever movement with a predator's instincts. Too many years on the street. Survival of the fittest, or something like that. The world slaughtered any goodness and kindness Xue Yang might have been ; it rummaged around the shattered pieces of a broken boy and built him into terrifying killer instead, all violence and cruelty and the thrill of the kill stitched into his soul. So it's only natural his crimson eyes watch Jin Guangyao with a guarded wariness under the playful spark and boyish smile.

. . . What?

" Huh? "

It's hard to catch Xue Yang by surprise. Even in his sleep he's coiled and ready to attack or defend himself at the slightest detection of a threat. Yet Jin Guangyao's words manage to do exactly that. Confident eyes waver subtly, a twitch at the corner of his lips when he sees the other approach with a warm rag. The muscles in his legs tense but he doesn't run - he LOATHES the idea of fleeing from anything. It's funny, really. Xue Yang laughs in the face of pain with his terrifyingly high pain tolerance and never backs down from a fight no matter the odds, but the subtlest of gentle gestures makes him want to flee. No matter how much he craves it.

Xue Yang sucks in a brief, sharp breath when he feels the warm cloth pressed to his cheek and wipe away at some of the blood that's dried against his skin. He's not surprised at how meticulous the other seems to be about it either considering that attitude seems to apply to EVERYTHING Jin Guangyao does. But Xue Yang doesn't quite know what to do in the face of the very kindness he seeks deep down. He knows how to bite, how to kill, how to torture, how to make people bleed and scream and cry. He DOESN'T know what to do with gentleness, with someone caring FOR him. Try as he might to figure out what game or scheme might benefit from this, Xue Yang comes up with nothing.

The slow, meticulous approach pays off. Xue Yang's shoulders slowly relax again and dark lashes flutter down so his eyes are half-lidded even as he washes the blood from his forearms and watches the water in the basin take a reddish hue. Fitting. He leaves a trail of red wherever he goes. Meng Yao knows this ; but they both do in a way, don't they? Xue Yang thinks Meng Yao finds some kind of relief in a shared ugly side even if he wants to pretend otherwise with his fancy robes and mannerisms. That's fine too. Who else would be insane enough to sit here helping Xue Yang wipe away blood? He's even been nice to use warm water! How nice. ( He doesn't quite know how to palate it. )

" A-Yao. " Xue Yang starts to say something and then thinks better. " Mm, never mind actually. "

[keen2meecha]

y'all we have a beginning!

y'all really liked the cat from the tag game, so here's more about the city cats; our big-eared girl is named lacey and she has a shoe shop named after he :3

transcript under the cut

[Stray cats weren’t an unusual sight in the streets of Mikils. Legend had it that the single-handed responsibility for that lay with old Lord Christian, a Duke by Proxy three generations ago and owner of seventeen cats at once. If his cats bred as much as he did — well into his nineties, even — this was entirely possible.

Despite their high number (or, more likely, because of it) most of them spent their time fighting or hunting or sleeping.

On this specific evening — and, indeed, most evenings — one black cat with particularly large ears wove through alleyways and legs with dogged purpose. She’d been picked up twice and smothered with kisses once. But even an offering of dried minnows had only distracted her for a few minutes.

She had a mission, and target accuracy that would make a messenger pigeon weep.]

[ceruleanmusings]

i don't think we're "just friends" anymore. + for either mickames or kazz?

i'll do you one better and do both! @raging-violets @witchofinterest

mickames: ferret out

"Just make sure you don't take your eyes off him for too long. He'll get into everything. If there's a hole, he'll find it; an opening, he'll squeeze through it; a new place to explore, he'll explore it; some food—"

"I get it!" James interrupted. Whether it was his sudden outburst or the tower of ferret supplies in his arms shifting, he scrambled and shifted his hold to keep everything from falling to the floor. Once secure, he looked around the carrier and bed and flashed Mickey a smile. "Pip'll be fine with us. Don't worry"

"I don't want him to be 'fine'." She pulled a corner of her lip into her mouth and pushed up the sleeves of her hoodie with the front blaring IT'S TOO PEOPLE-Y OUTSIDE in only to pull them back down a second later and grasp the hems in her fingers. "He has to follow his schedule. And stick to his diet! I don't want to risk him getting stuck anywhere. And don't let Mr. Bitters find him! Or Buddha Bob. He has some strange vendetta against weasels." She sighed and a far away look came to my eye. "What am I forgetting?"

"To breathe." James set the pile down on the island counter. "We'll take good care of him. I promise."

Mickey gave him a look. "Last time you said 'I promise' to me, the fire department had to get me out of the washing machine."

A sheepish smile came to James' face and he let out an awkward laugh. "Well...that won't happen this time because Pip is too small to get stuck there! And Bandana Man won't forget you next time."

"Mhm." How the hell James managed to talk her into being part of his Bandana Man movie was one thing, but she had to have completely lost her mind to let him talk her into getting into the washing machine so he, sorry, Bandana Man could 'rescue' her. The fire department had a good laugh that day. So she must've had a complete brain transplant to ask him, and the other guys, to watch her ferret for her. But her hands were tied; she couldn't leave him alone, Logan was at least somewhat responsible, and she didn't trust uncle Gustavo wouldn't turn him into a handbag.

"Why don't you trust me?"

Experience sat on her tongue, ready to jump off at his silly question but the look in his eye stopped her. So earnest and hurt, shame nearly bowled her over. "I do trust you," she said. It wasn't the truth to the words that shocked her but the ease of which they came, as if she didn't have to think about it. "It's just...Pip is very important to me." Speaking the ferret's name, Pipsqueak, aka Pip, popped his head out of the hood of her sweatshirt and extended his long, noodle-like body until he squeaked and nuzzled against her cheek. She scratched beneath his chin. "I...I can't have anything happen to him."

"I get it," James said. "And I won't let anything happen to him." He rubbed Pip on the head and turned; his thumb just barely touched her cheek. Her skin crackled. "He's important to you so...he's important to me."

Her raw nerves smoothed out only to be replaced by a strange but not entirely unpleasant twisting to her stomach. "Okay." She grabbed Pip out of her hood and craddled him in his arms, placing a kiss to the top of his head to get James to stop looking at her like that. Or get herself to stop looking at James. "He likes freeze dried minnows so you can use those as a treat. And...and if he makes his high-pitched kinda clucking noise, he's happy. And if he makes a panting noise, he's very happy. Oh, and he talks in his sleep sometimes so don't let that scare you. This is the number to his vet and then his emergency vet. He loves sleeping with his tennis ball so make sure he has it. Oh! And if he hasn't moved in a bit, check on him. He likes to play dead and well, you know. And if anything goes missing, check his cage. He's started to hoard shiny things. I think he got it from Sammi."

"Got it," James said with a nod.

"Okay," she said again, letting out a long sigh. Her phone buzzed and she retrieved it, glancing at the message Kelly sent that they needed to get going. She hated this part. Holding Pip out to James, he carefully took the ferret who immediately curled up in his arms. Letting out a noise, she stepped forward and peppered Pip's little face with kisses. "I'm gonna miss you so much!"

"I'll miss you too."

"Not you!" She did her best to throw an unamused look James' way but her efforts to restrain her smile failed her. Instead, she rolled her eyes, heat rising to her face. "Please send me updates."

"I'll send you pictures every hour."

"Geeze, when did you guys get a baby?" Logan asked, lowering the newspaper covering his face. Mickey jumped and looked past James to see him. His eyebrows were furrowed and his nose wrinkled. "Actually, better question, when did you get married?"

She spluttered for a few seconds only to land on sticking her tongue out at him. Sheesh, she forgot he was there. Heck, she forgot she asked him to be there when she dropped Pip off so he wouldn't go running away the first chance he got. He could've said something...

Her phone buzzed again. Judging by the clipped phrasing and proper punctuation Aunt Kelly used that time, she meant business. She bid the two goodbye, James going so far as lifting Pip's leg to wave back at her, and she left 2J.

By the time she reached the elevators Logan's comment replayed in her head. When did you get married? She laughed a little. What a silly question. It was true she and James were getting along really well lately, they were friends. Just friends. And who else could you count on if not your friends?

But, as she pressed the button for the first floor and the doors slid shut, a quieter voice spoke in her head: I don't think we're "just friends" anymore.

------

kazz: lip out

"So...are we dating?"

"Hmm?" Jazz hummed while lining up her shot. It was a bit of a tricky one. From where she stood the green stretched out and then shifted at a sharp curve, the hole blocked by strategically planted bushes in the way. Should she bounce it off the wall or try to go for the crest?

"I mean, I don't think we're 'just friends' anymore, so...that means we're dating right?"

Kendall was so cute when he was uncertain. A tiny part of her wanted to drag it out, make him suffer a little. But the rest of her decided to cut him some slack; he suffered enough at the hands of Uncle Gustavo. "Sounds good to me."

"...That's it?"

"Yeah." Noting the way he pressed his lips into a line, she rested her weight on the putter in her hand. "What's the big deal, Knight? Was the label that important to you?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "No. I mean. I guess? I mean, i'm just checking..."

"Well, I have no problem hangin' out with you and the guys but it somehow always ends up with just you. We are..." she paused, squinting at the marker down the course, "...seven holes into mini golf and you keep making not-so-subtle excuses to be near me—which i'm not complaining about, by the way. Plus, I wouldn't be spendin' this much time with you if I didn't like you. So sure, we're dating." She shrugged. "Can't see a downside to it."

"Okay." He dragged out the word as if he didn't trust it. She'd be offended if it weren't a good idea on his part. "Sure. Great."

A smile slowly grew on her face at his hefted breath, dropped shoulders, and nodding. "Been workin' on that all night, have you?" She pinched his chin between her thumb and finger, making a cooing sound of pity. "No wonder your score is so high."

He pressed his lips together but his shining eyes and dimples denting his cheeks gave him away. "Maybe you're distracting," he said.

She shook her head, back away from him. With a sigh, she re-took her stance and practice swung by her pink ball. "Bad excuse. I know I'm hot but you manage to go every day without being distracted by it."

"That's what you think."

She suppose he meant to keep that comment under his breath but she heard it and it turned up the wattage on her smile. Turning at the waist, she placed a hand on her hip and lifted an eyebrow. "Then we've been wasting time and that's upsetting." Kendall's eyes narrowed for a moment and then widened. He blinked, a knowing curling his lips and he stepped closer. She tilted her head up and waited, tightening her grip on the putter. His nose brushed hers and, with a laugh, she pressed the head of the club into his chest and pushed him until he was arm's length away, smirking. "You somehow beat me, then I might forgive you for wasting my time. And you better make that worth my while."

He grinned and winked. "Deal."

[clangenlore]

rookclan: in pursuit of knowledge

current leadership

lyrestar | 143 moons | shameless | beloved kitsitter

an eccentric old fellow, lyrestar is old as dirt and usually covered in the stuff to boot. his eyesight is failing and he's missing a few teeth, but by starclan he's not retiring yet! he was a bit of a casanova back in the day, siring litters with multiple she-cats before finally settling down with his current mate, a former kittypet named mae. he loves kits and can often be found playing with his great-grandkits in the nursery. not as technologically-minded, he prefers digging for grubs and gathering clay for pottery; his polydactyly makes his paws great shovels. his tail was burned in an accident when he was a young warrior, and since then the firekeepers have banned him from handling fire.

cherryhawk | 70 moons | responsible | great hunter & fast as the wind

cherryhawk is a very capable deputy, and at this point she's the leader of rookclan in all but name. her birth was a difficult one, leaving her without a tail and with a permanently weak leg, which she usually keeps wrapped in leaves to compress it. she earned the suffix -hawk in honor of her speed, which helped her catch and kill an actual hawk during her assessment. she likes to keep physically fit and often races her otterclan rival along the border. her level-headed nature makes her the ideal cat to curb her clanmates' reckless enthusiasm.

swanplume | 124 moons | troublesome | prophecy interpreter finchbeak | 124 moons | righteous | good healer yewberry | 29 moons | thoughtful | keen eye & dark forest affinity

swanplume and finchbeak are rookclan's elder healers; they're littermates and, surprisingly, lyrestar's younger aunts. much like their nephew, they refuse to retire. they're meddlesome old she-cats and love to gossip and nag. both of them bear scars on their faces thanks to their job requiring close proximity to their clanmates' sometimes-explosive invention accidents. most of rookclan prefer swanplume to finchbeak, whose abrasive tongue makes for poor bedside manner.

yewberry is their much younger apprentice. his demeanor is much calmer and quieter than his denmates', though his tendency to stare at things no one else can see makes him somewhat intimidating. while all of rookclan let their curiosity guide them, yewberry's interest parallels his name: he cultivates toxic plants and experiments with them. he attempted to ingest small doses to try and make himself immune to his poisons, but his first attempt went wrong and cherryhawk forbade him from doing it again. so naturally he's continued doing it, just in secret, and much more carefully.

culture

inquisitive and innovative, rookclan cats are relentless in their pursuit of knowledge. thanks to their experiments and inventions, they're the most technologically-advanced of the clans, developing rudimentary tools, crude wheels, and even a simple written language of glyphs. what's more, rookclan cats have even managed to harness the power of fire. only specific cats are permitted to start fires, however; these cats, called firekeepers, undergo extensive training in order to control the flames. with this fire, rookclan is able to cook their prey, a practice the other clans find odd. dried minnows and smoked jerky are favorite rookclan snacks, often squirreled away in caches marked by stone cairns. another rookclan recipe involves mashing grubs and meat scraps, using bird eggs to bind them, forming them into small cakes, and frying them in fat.

because of their keen interest in learning, rookclan routinely hosts outsiders, engaging in fascinated conversation and exchanging knowledge. thanks to this, rookclan cats believe in a greater variety of gods, spirits, and superstitions; when you're playing with explosive compounds and hazardous materials, you'll take the help of anyone you can get.

rookclan actually has two camps, one on a grassy knoll overlooking a cliff that falls into a gorge, and another on the steep face of the cliff, accessed through a system of natural caves and cat-made tunnels. the primary camp on the surface is where the young and old live, as well as warriors assigned to routine patrols. the secondary camp on the cliff face is occupied by those performing dangerous experiments, using fire or sharp tools, or working with hazardous materials. this area wasn't always a camp, but became one to prevent inventors from falling asleep at their workbenches. the gorge below, meanwhile, is a dumping ground for human garbage, which rookclan cats love to collect and tinker with, if only to discover how these objects work.