I'm stright from hell with love <3
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Post by doge on Apr 21, 2024 22:41:03 GMT -6
#s://i~postimg~cc/C5Mpnq0N/wispfang~png | Wispfang,
yeah you deserve a fucking nosebleed.
the satisfaction would be guaranteed ~
419 words | tagged | notes:
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Wispfang twisted his head towards the murky waters rushing between the banks that divided the territory of the two clans. He glanced at Grackletongue with a nod, his tail tip flicking seemingly beginning to find amusement of impending conflict. "Someone’s nose and paws are gonna have a bad time pretty soon, I can't wait." Wispfang pointed out, his tone marked with sanguine, complimented by a shit-eating smirk plastered to his face. And after a moment he steadied himself with a deep breath and began crossing the river. The current tugged aggressively at his paws but the warrior was able to move with agility as his claws clung to stones slick with moss and algae. Once safely across, the white and gray tom shook off the water and surveyed the unfamiliar outskirts of RidgeClan. His target was a large bush, with branches sprawling and dense, positioned at the top of a small rise that overlooked the river.
With a quick glance around to confirm he was still unobserved, Wispfang approached the bush and raised his tail, marking it decisively with his scent. “You coming to mark a bush?” He asked and waited, keeping a look out before retreating back to the MistClan side of the river. As Wispfang retraced his steps over the slick stones, the cold river water splashed against his determined stride but he kept warm, his thoughts still seethed to get back at RidgeClan. Sure, some of them had broken off to become the Kingdom, but Wispfang wanted to see even more members do so. It could even give them the upper hand in future border skirmishes if they were to weaken their numbers. He imagined the confusion and anger that would ripple through the mind of whoever was to stumble upon the scent of MistClan and stinkhorns so boldly imposed upon their side of the border. It made the unpleasant smell of the mushrooms almost pleasant to the insensitive cat. |
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frolicking in the dirt, consuming filth.
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Post by trashheap on Apr 24, 2024 13:41:08 GMT -6
#s://i~imgur~com/M9hHLzV~png They’d been at their dirty work since sun-high, gathering all manner of plants and rocks and stinking things. Fungi mostly. The sort you could smell from miles off. The sort that once you got near it or stepped on it, you couldn’t work it out again. Like a skunk, but less conspicuous. They could not have been more fortunate to find as many as they had, and as they went about their work, Grackletongue could hardly quell his own excitement. And the stones… his eyes wandered over them briefly. The stones were even better. Sharp and malformed. The kinds that cut open pads and left festering wounds after. The sort every RidgeClanner deserved to trod on. Grackletongue prodded a pile of them with his paw while Wispfang glanced over the water beside him, smirking, saying something through it that betrayed their intentions. “ You’re telling me. This had better work…” his voice faltered as Wispfang worked his own way across the shallow, the corner of his mouth dipping in a frown. “ Heh. You’re crazy, man. Just don’t get yourself killed,” was all Grackletongue could manage, though he was standing, moving into the shallows and glancing quietly to either side of the tom. But there was no one there—not that he could see. Nor smell, though he had not expected to smell much in that fetid air. For a time, he relaxed, watching Wispfang lay a marker with a crinkle of his nose and making his own way across to lay a marker of his own. Together, they wound their way back across, sodden-bellied but undeterred, settling in the shade, driving their minds away from the reek of stinkhorn in the air. Grackletongue shifted on his haunches. “ …only bad part’s the waiting. You sure anyone’s even out—” a sound, and his breath held in his throat, for someone was out, and the sound of their pawsteps could be heard over the burble of the stream. “ Check it out,” he whispered softly, watching as a calico shape broke through the undergrowth. “ Looks like we got our first bite.” |
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Post by tor on Apr 27, 2024 8:31:01 GMT -6
#s://i~ibb~co/wK7htP1/kestrel~png Something reeked. Kestrelthorn wasn't sure about approaching the river lately. The season's earlier freeze, where all the clans gathered to socialize like it was a sun-lit gathering, wasn't so bad. And he supposed meeting that MistClan warrior - Mudbranch - hadn't been so bad either. It was his own cousin that soured the river for him, as well as the number of times he'd stepped on a thorn near the banks. Plus, Foxflight's near-death fall was still fresh on his mind, and Kestrelthorn kept slipping on ice around camp. He shivered at the thought of slipping anywhere close to the river. Staring at the flowing water through the gap in the brush, he knew he couldn't avoid it much longer. There was an awful smell wafting from that direction and he feared what it could entail. If he was lucky, it would just be some poor dead beast - an injured deer, maybe, or a fox that didn't survive leaf-bare. Something had to be rotting, and he prayed to stars he didn't care about that it wasn't a cat. He emerged from the brush slowly, a defensive scowl in place, that was quickly matched by raised hackles as he saw what he previously couldn't: two cats, wading in the shallowest part of the river. And, now that he was closer, he could parse the smell better. It wasn't something rotting - it was fungi. Fungi, and the smell of trespassing MistClan warriors. Ugh. He really should just turn around. He didn't care about this. ...but they were staring at him, and there were few things Kestrelthorn hated more than that. "You two got a death wish or something? Get the fuck out of here." |
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I'm stright from hell with love <3
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Post by doge on May 21, 2024 9:35:23 GMT -6
#s://i~postimg~cc/C5Mpnq0N/wispfang~png | Wispfang,
yeah you deserve a fucking nosebleed.
the satisfaction would be guaranteed ~
242 words | trashheap tor | notes: |
The pale-colored warrior’s ears turned, quickly catching the words of his mate. The sight of a RidgeClan cat, and so soon, caught him staring as a mixture of dark amusement and the beginnings of mockery shimmered under his cold gaze. “No, but I’ve got one for you-” He purred and ended with a chuckle added on as a poor attempt to mask the malice beneath. Wispfang took a leisurely dare-like step closer. Getting to see this cat pissed off would be rather charming for him. What would he do? Messing with them was designed to unravel their true nature. RidgeClan was clearly split after the last gathering – between their old ways and the new way Laurelfern brought to the entire valley’s attention. He straightened, the dark amusement never leaving his eyes not even for a moment. He was unserious about this as could be and every twitch of his whiskers added to it. “How long does RidgeClan intend to maintain their facade of order and control? Seems to me that the cracks are beginning to show." The warrior’s smirk grew wider and more menacing than before. “I can’t wait to find that out.” Perhaps starting with you. The long furs of his pigeon feather gray tail swept the ground behind him, keen to hear the RidgeClanner cling to the restraints that drowned out the chaos Wispfang was looking to give them in honor of his late father who fell at their paws. |
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frolicking in the dirt, consuming filth.
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Post by trashheap on May 28, 2024 19:50:38 GMT -6
#s://i~imgur~com/M9hHLzV~png Like his namesake, Grackletongue let loose a harsh laugh. He was leaning forward, though he couldn’t remember when he had begun, and every inch of him felt coiled to spring. Nothin’ beats that feelin’. Right before a fight, every cat felt it—the blood pumping in their veins. Grackletongue savored it as the torbie tom stopped to regard them. Unafraid, it seemed, despite being outnumbered. “ Hear that, Wispfang? Our friend here’s got a mouth on ‘im!” Grackletongue purred and drew back suddenly. Already, Wispfang was filling in the silence he left. More goading, urging the warrior that faced him to action. Though, they hadn’t moved yet. Only stood there bristling. “ I wouldn’t talk so big if I were you,” Grackletongue purred, lounging among the stones. “ You’re a long way from camp. How long you think it’ll take one of your clanmates to come save you if things get out of line?” He tilted his head. “ I mean, really, you ask me, you don’t got much room to talk. We outnumber you, so either you beat it or we can remind you just why we won that battle all those moons ago. Your choice, boss.” |
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Post by tor on Jun 5, 2024 8:00:34 GMT -6
#s://i~ibb~co/wK7htP1/kestrel~png It was fucking comical, watching these two MistClan cats posture like this. Kestrelthorn wanted to laugh, but the dark furred warrior beat him to it. It wasn't a pretty laugh. In fact, there was nothing pretty about either of these MistClan warriors — wasn't MistClan supposed to be full of dignified, mysterious, even elegant cats? These two just seemed like lumps of clay that someone gave names. Wispfang, the lighter one was called. Kestrelthorn seared the name and face in his mind so he could report back to Toadfeather later, some remaining bit of loyalty to RidgeClan telling him he should at least let the deputy know another clan was stomping around their territory. "You think the cracks are 'beginning to show'?" He asked, ignoring the darker warrior for a moment to focus on Wispfang. "You're a moron, then. The cracks long since showed up. The damn clan split, mousebrain." It wasn't a secret. The whole damn forest had been present when his mother announced her Kingdom. He moved his attention back to the other warrior, whose name was still unknown. "Outnumbered — pft. There's just the two of you." Kestrelthorn wasn't as big as some RidgeClan cats, but on looks alone, he was stronger than the two toms in front of him. They were tall, sure, but he could hardly see a trace of muscle on them, like leaf-bare still lingered on their bones. "I'm not gonna beat it. This is RidgeClan's territory." He gestured to where he stood with his tail, still properly on his clan's side, whereas the two idiots in the river were dangerously close to crossing the border. For what? A little violence? "And look, dumbass, I wasn't at the battle, but from what I know you only won 'cause PrairieClan showed up." He glanced around for show. "I don't see any trace of those tunnelers now." |
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I'm stright from hell with love <3
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Post by doge on Jul 23, 2024 21:03:33 GMT -6
#s://i~postimg~cc/C5Mpnq0N/wispfang~png | Wispfang,
yeah you deserve a fucking nosebleed.
the satisfaction would be guaranteed ~
307 words | trashheap tor | notes: |
Wispfang blinked before a challenging sneer grew to linger on his face with the shifting of his weight. Posturing to lean shoulder to shoulder with his friend, before adding more of his dry amusement. “He does have a mouth on him.” I like it. The thought drawled through his mind sinisterly, it was enticing and pleasurable to see how he and Grackletongue could get under this cat’s skin–and so easily. It damn nearly made him forget how tired he was that RidgeClan continued to believe they were above criticism for the broken peace and loss of life. The light-colored warrior locked onto his resolve, determined to make sure the mission kept a political purpose and message. But eh that’s no fun.
He grew aware of just how hard his molars had been clenching, interlocked, and instantly let up the pressure. Making his own jaw sore before a possible fight due to fiending off the sadistic thoughts, Wispfang allowed himself a moment to relish the tension in the air. Grackletongue would be expecting him to say something soon–or start a fight, because he was very good at that. Even then the MistClan warrior couldn’t escape the cold cruel amusement he felt to just watch this cat doubling the emotion in the air alone. His gaze flickered to Grackletongue, wondering if they could silently agree to take turns pushing and pushing Krestlethorn’s buttons. To what end exactly, Wispfang wouldn’t plan for one, the journey was more enticing than the destination. “Don’t you ever think about how RidgeClan’s history cannot be repaired?” Wispfang head lifted with energized eyes. “As RidgeClan loses cats, RidgeClan grows weaker. Where you are standing could be ours eventually as more and more cats join The Kingdom. Aren’t I right, Grackle?” Tom's pair of gray-pointed ears flicked as he leaned to shoulder his clanmate with a giggle. |
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