Ok...it felt kind of nice to NOT write 2020 LMAO. Welcome to 2021! To kick off the brand new year, we're introducing a round of updates, including new bio and forbidden romance rules, our Secret Santa reveal, OTM winners and nominations, our monthly patrols, and a fun new infectious disease! So make sure to check out the January Announcements for all of the new content! As we leave 2020 behind us, we hope everyone is able to put themselves first this year and practice self-care! Here's to another one! Let's write some cats!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
Her nights were spent more often, than not, now, with a visitor in her nest. Yewthorn had taken it upon himself to start sleeping with her in her den, and although it wasn’t consistently every night, it was enough that others were starting to notice.
Not notice her, since she had two years of flying under the radar right in front of her clanmate’s noses. No, they were beginning to notice Yewthorn missing from his normal den more. He was late often to a lot of morning patrols. Mostly because, as of late, Morningmist found it harder and harder to arise with her namesake. Energy was suddenly very hard to come by.
She used to spend all day, sometimes even nights, out in the forests, hunting endlessly and just enjoying nature. But most days now, she found it hard enough to climb out from the tunnels, much more even to go hunting. If Yewthorn had noticed, he didn’t say much about it.
Their relationship was strange. They’d yet to discuss it in proper terms, though Morningmist certainly made it well known to the womanzing tom that if he wanted her, he had to work for it. He had to make her his only. She was not going to play the idea of any type of relationship with him if he was roving around.
And he’d done well so far, sticking around camp and actually working on his duties instead of mozying around and schmoozing the mollies of the clan. Not that Morningmist would have minded, because that was a part of the tom she loved deeply.
Love, it was such a strange thing to think. But she really had no other reason to explain her feelings for Yewthorn. She’d yet to tell him, waiting for that perfect moment. But she loved him. Loved him for so many things.
His charisma and charm, his ability to disarm even some of the clans most prickly characters. She wouldn’t expect him to completely change that aspect of his personality. But she certainly wanted to know he was loyal.
Because, as the dilute calico hung outside Ratwhisker’s den nervously, she had a feeling, deep in her churning belly, that she was going to need his loyalty more than ever. Some deep ingrained instinct said they were about to be tested. And she hoped that Yewthorn loved her enough to face this with her.
“R-ratwhisker?” she whispered, voice trembling as she slipped into his den, her voice weak and as ghostly as her appearance.
she's in wuuuuv | Egotistic | four hundred twenty-four
[attr="class","sinnert"]New-leaf was a time of abundance, some would whisper. Prey, driven from their burrows’ comforts to rejoice under the warmth of new-leaf, filled the forest again with the hustle and bustle of their foraging. Ferns, brambles, thorn bushes—all such plagued by the taxing weight of the cold to wither and grow brittle revitalized once more, grew green and prosperous. And other such stirrings roused themselves. Birds filled the canopies with mating cries, creatures became wild on the intoxicating scent of it—the urge to breed, to fill the forest with life in spirited rejoinder to the island’s rebirth. Even within ThistleClan, such blossomings were becoming more apparent. In shared nests, softly whispered words. Cats grew closer, less irritable, and more open to the compassions of their clan-mates with full bellies and the sun to warm their backs. Even with the threat of war, the whispers of bloodshed and trials to come, cats found time for such mortal feelings. Ratwhisker had seen them in silent observance, though he never partook. It was as beautiful as it was vexing, complicated as it was simple, and the byproduct was always that much and more. But as of late, few had visited him with ponderings of such stirrings… that is until Morningmist arrived at his den entrance, stammering his name in the swathed shadows of the tunnel that led there, a tremulous note to echo off the compactions of earth.
“R-ratwhisker?” In she came then, her expression one that sang a tune of fatigue, of a weariness deeply felt, a frightful affliction on her features, making her look older in her moons than he could ever recall.
But it is not sickness that troubles her so, he was quick in discerning. One sniff at the air was all he needed to corroborate such claims. Her scent was not of the illness or plague or infection. But it sang of something else… a different affliction often felt in the comings of spring. He felt a stirring within the pit of his stomach as he received her with all the warmth he could muster in a timorous smile. New-leaf is filled with surprises. “M-morningmist. Is… is something the m-matter? Y-you look…” ghastly. “…unw-well.”
The heady scents of the medicine cat den filled her nares, slowly helping to soothe her frazzled nerves. As a nervous cat herself, Morningmist doubted she’d ever feel completely at home in the presence of others, always a little wary of something. Morningmist had never been to Ratwhisker’s den for much more than maybe a small cough in leafbare, caught when she’d spent one too many nights out in the forest alone. She was a generally healthy cat as an adult, though as an apprentice, her timid nature had made her training hard to complete. Hawktail had been rough, unintentionally, with her, frustrated by her avoidant personality and lack of initiative.
Morningmist never blamed her mentor. Hawktail had been a crucial lesson in her life and had taught her how to build up her defenses and walls.
Walls that Yewthorn had slowly picked apart, worming his way through the tiny patches and gaps. There had been no thorns in the end for the tom to combat, and here she was. Her walls were left with greater gaps in them than ever before.
“I...um...sorry for just...appearing,” she told the medicine cat. They were the same age, born bare days apart, and with their both timid, kindly natures, they would have possibly made good friends. But their different trainings had brokered a chasm between them. Maybe it was for the best at the time, as perhaps two nervous beings together might not work.
But she was changing, slowly but surely, in more ways than one. Some consequences of love weren’t bad after all.
“I...unwell is an understatement. But I-I don’t think there’s something necessarily...wrong...with me...is there?” Instinct told her what was happening. The more she thought about it, the more she realized what was happening. Right now, though, she just needed someone to confirm it.
i just realized they are the same age! | Egotistic | three hundred three
[attr="class","sinnert"]“I… um… sorry for just… appearing.”
It was not often that Ratwhisker shared his company with one of such comparable timidity; so used to the company of sharp-tongued and ill-tempered personages, he found himself at and admitted loss for words in the presence of one such as Morningmist. And yet he was quick to step aside and admit her to a soft patch of moss, all between stammered mutterings of, “No, n-never say that. Y-you’re always welcome” and found an individual relief in her being there, for it had been so long since he had, and he had not known it was something to be missed. And yet he thought he could learn to as the she-cat drew closer and gave rise to her own misgivings.
“I… unwell is an understatement. But I-I don’t think there’s something necessarily… wrong…with me…is there?”
Amidst the perfume of herbs, Ratwhisker could detect a certain expulsion—a nervous air that seemed to waft about the she-cat in one concentrated and noxious wave. He regarded her then in the quiet, drew in a breath, and cleared the space between them in two quick, though equally nervous strides so that he might stand before her and gaze upon her countenance. But in the softness of features, he saw little, nor did he detect the pallor of sickness that oft came over those who felt themselves coming over with some fever or otherwise. So, gently, he pressed a paw to her forehead, drew in the air that gave before her breath, and when naught could be found there, nor any manner of bruise or cut that might have given rise to some ill-smelling petrification of the flesh, he could only study her in silence until a semblance of understanding washed over him. But even in the understanding, he felt odd for it was not a subject he oft was given the privilege of addressing. Still, true to his title, he forced himself to speak through the awkwardness that gripped him.
“…M-morningmist, you… perhaps you… well, so to say, I th-think that maybe, well…” his paws churned against the cushioned floor, his eyes swept deliberately to either side, settling only briefly on her flanks which even in the warmer seasons abundance seemed to swell more than they ought. And then there was the scent she carried, for it had undeniably changed, much as others had before certain stirrings had given rise to all manner of morning afflictions and queasiness. “…you… you haven’t been… well, wh-what I mean to ask is if you’ve, perhaps, been in c-contact with any… any t-t-toms as of late?”
436 ●Annie● learning that made this hilariously awkward lmao
It was strange to be around someone of her clan who was so…not the average ThistleClan cat. Ratwhisker was already not your everyday average cat, being the medicine cat after all. Despite Morningmist’s own reservations and nervousness, she found that she could relax around him because it was in his nature to care for his clanmates. His duty as a medicine cat would not let him harm her.
The thought was a silly thing; harm her? The dilute molly gave Ratwhisker a halflidded once over. His nature as a cat wouldn’t let him do anything unjust. Not that her clan was like that, but she was so easily swayed by words and tones that she felt them like a physical blow. Being empathetic was hard, especially when one didn’t have a way to properly explain what many viewed, particularly in ThistleClan, as a weakness.
Her whiskers twitched and ears flicker back at the tabby and white approach, muscles locking for a brief moment before she relaxed. Ratwhisker gently placed his paw upon her forehead and, after a moment, drew in her exhale to evaluate her. Whilst he was doing this, Morningmist let her tightly held self-awareness slip slowly until it touched upon the energy Ratwhisker gave off. A spike of uncertainty made her heart leap, and while the tom’s own nervousness should make her even more unsettled, something strange happened.
The tumbling thoughts and twisted feelings all slowly began to lie flat within. Slowly they seemed to come undone, unweaving their confusing, tangled paths until they lay limply like spider threads, one over the other. It was like walking through a low lying mist. The emotions she touched upon as she passed ghosted along her skin, clinging to her paws before being gently brush away by a whisk of air.
It was almost like she was with Yewthorn, but this was different. His exuberance made her happy. This…made her calm down to her bones.
Until he spoke. Toms? Really it had only been Yewthorn; the tom seemed to take up all her extra time, but she wasn’t going to complain. She loved him and would spend eternity doing so, for being so good to her and showing her a side of the world she’d only just barely grazed in her longing attempts to join it. And while they weren’t exactly secret, Morningmist wasn’t one to shout to the clan her issues.
Only would make them view her as more a freak than normal. Had Ratwhisker seen them together outside the camp? No, they barely ever left camp together expect when on a proper patrol. Except…that one night where they’d gone hunting and never came home until the early hours of morning, before the sun had arose…
“Oh,” she breathed, body slumping on itself as everything clicked. She’d assumed as much, deep in her belly, but…
”Yewthorn…” she whispered, azure eyes adverted in embarrassment.
sorry for the wait! | Egotistic | four hundred eighty three
[attr="class","next"]The realization gave in to secession; shoulders slumped, blue averted themselves, seeming to draw comfort from the dirt walls that surrounded them rather than in his own imploring gaze. He wondered at that, but when she spoke, surrendering the information they were both, to some capacity privy to, he understood and averted his own gaze so that she might not feel so thoroughly scrutinized.
“Oh.” The word was softly breathed, then, followed closely came a name Ratwhisker had some familiarity with. “Yewthorn.”
A pause. The pallor of his eyes turned upon her once more, his tongue fumbled in his jaws, gone slack with wonder, for there was that name was the last he’d expected to hear come from her. He could not even have guessed, to have even suspected that a flame kindled between them, yet he saw it now, in the flitting of eyes, the abashed expression that showed all-too plainly to his searching eyes. Love really does work in mysterious ways.
He cleared his throat, ears drawing back. “Ah, well… I s-see.” His paws worked the earth quietly. Then there can only be two real problems here, can’t there? He had brushed her forehead. No sickness brooded there, nor did any wounds addle or hinder her… and depending on how long she had been in Yewthorn’s company, well.. “If… if you w-wouldn’t mind me asking, M-m-morningmist, h-how long have the t-two of you been… seeing one another? A-and… and… when you say y-you are unwell, in wh-what ways?” He blinked at her imploringly. “H-have you been feeling n-n-nauseous? M-more t-tired than usual? P-p-perhaps y-you’ve noticed an increase in y-your appetite? …anyth-thing like that s-sound about r-right?” Tags: Annie Wordcount: 278
The dilute calico could feel his shock when her lover’s name left her lips. And really, she couldn’t blame him. Who would have thought that the little waif that was Morningmist would fall for the boisterous playboy of the clan. They were night and day, complete opposites. He was loud and brash; she so quiet and timid and a ghost to her own clan, that many assumed she was mute.
Yet here she was, completely and madly in love with him. He’d seen right through her walls, breaking them down one by one. She never would have even thought she’d find someone, yet Yewthorn was there. He simply wrapped her up in his arms and she was home. “Yes,” she said, her voice taking on such a strong tone that it nearly knocked her off her own paws. She’d never imagined herself as someone being described in any capacity as strong. “Yewthorn,” she repeated, a calm settling over her. She tried to push that calm to Ratwhisker, hoping to soothe her friend’s poor soul.
Not that they were close friends, but she liked to think once upon a time, had he taken a different route, they would have found comfort in each other’s presence.
Morningmist listened to Ratwhisker’s questions, nodding slowly as he spoke. Something stirred within her, and suddenly, she knew. With a short, wet gasp, her fragile strength crumbled and she felt the tears running down her face then. “Oh, StarClan,” she bemoaned, “what am I going to do?”
Post by Egotistic on Sept 13, 2020 14:00:42 GMT -6
RATWHISKER | TC
[attr="class","next"]Ratwhisker knew, admittedly, very little on the subject of mother’s. He knew of the herbs that would garner them more milk, of those that would ease the upset of a stomach roused by a wave of sudden and inexplicable nausea, and those that could reduce the birthing pains and recurrent cramps that addled such harborers of new life, but he knew no treatment for helplessness. In silence, he watched her, not with reproach but guarded concern as tears pooled in her eyes to trundle down a rounded cheek and fall feebly upon the den floor, followed closely by still more and a deeply grieved whisper. “Oh, StarClan, what am I going to do?”
He extended a paw, retracted it, extended it again, and let it encompass her own, larger one. His eyes ventured, beckoning her eyes, and in so doing, he attempted the feeblest of smiles, feeling foolish all the while but insistent within his own thoughts that it was necessary—that comfort, in this instance, was the herb of which she needed most urgently. I can only imagine how uncertain she must be… to be a new mother and to not know it—for their father to be… who he is. What must she be thinking? How must it trouble her?
He knew so little of mothers.
Still, he ventured, softly, carefully, “F-for one, y-you can c-confide in me.” He blinked, then turned his gaze elsewhere, so that she might not feel pinioned before it. “I c-can offer you guidance, h-herbs, comfort. But o-only if you ask it of me and t-tell me what bothers you. I cannot h-help you otherwise.” Tags: Annie Wordcount: 270
Morningmist allowed herself to think upon her position, wondering if she were to run to Yewthorn now and tell him of her condition, what would happen. Would he devote himself to her, be excited? She hoped so, but then she remembered Curlycloud, not long ago. The pain she’d felt from the silver molly left a frightening chasm in her belly that made her stomach flip uncertainly. Would he run? As he had from Curlycloud, who’s kits were no doubt those of Yewthorn’s? Or would he her final request of that night, for more than a single night together.
They shared a nest now more often than not and he was different than when they first met. Maybe she could make this work?
Her mind spun with the thoughts and implications on if she could not make it work. She’d be raising a family on her own.
Ratwhisker’s paw pressing to her own drew the pretty calico from her thoughts. She let out a shaky breath as their eyes met, bright green and clear blue. She listened to his words, grateful for the support and comfort from someone else. For so long, she’d kept to herself, lost in her own silent world. "Thank you, Ratwhisker. How long...before…the nursery…” she trailed off, not sure where to go from here until that point.
A shaky breath left her then. Blue eyes met his own, oddly grateful for the comfort he had thoughtlessly extended to her. He could only smile wanly in their wake, averting his own eyes and gingerly drawing his paw back to settle amongst the earth, his tail sweeping forward to wrap over dainty paws as she found the words she sought.
“Thank you, Ratwhisker. How long… before… the nursery…” the words came softly, hesitantly as if the response was not something she so much wanted to know but was required to. He understood her reluctance. Many queens grew so when the need for rest and idle hours became a growing reality of their pregnancies. He didn’t doubt she, as had many before her, would undoubtedly feel the wait of those listless moments in a cushioned den with naught to do but entertain the prattle of old broodies and the tales of litters since grown.
He did not envy her, though his own work oft taxed him, and offered the most he could in gentle assurances. “M-m-many q-queens d-don’t retire unt-til their b-bodies cannot endure the st-strain any l-longer. Y-you still h-have time yet before then. Y-you sh-should savor it wh-while you can and m-make what arrangements you n-need to before then. I’m s-sure Y-yewthorn would n-not mind in kn-knowing?” He let the question linger, then felt suddenly awkward, as if he had dipped his paws into water foreign and unfamiliar to him, waters he did not belong to and had no business in. “B-b-but as I said, th-that is entirely up t-to you. Until then, I c-can offer y-you s-some comforts—for the nausea.”
He rose to his paws, feeling oddly relieve to be afoot again, and slid into the gloomy comforts of his storage chamber. There amongst the earthen shelves—neatly tidied and organized accordingly—he drew to his paws a small helping of chervil. The sweet-smelling leaves were a popular tonic for the ailments of the stomach; he had oft given the leaves to kits who had gorged themselves on meats too soon after being weaned from their mother’s milk or to ease the pangs of eating crowfood. Its taste was easily stomached, and the tang was pleasant enough. Morningmist would have little trouble in bellying the herbs, and so he brought them to her and set them at her paws, whisking the leaves towards her in a gentle gesture of his tail.
“Ch-ch-chervil,” he explained. “It w-would be best to reduce the amount of h-herbs you intake wh-while you’re with child, but th-this is a sm-small comfort for today. If y-you ever feel ill again, d-do not shy away from my d-den. I m-may have someth-thing within my st-stores to ease your pains.” He nodded quietly and drew back, giving her the space she needed.
Morningmist nodded, ears flicking back against her crown uncertainly as she thought of her feelings and symptoms lately. Other than the occasional nausea, the only symptom she seemed to have was the exhaustion that plagued her routinely. “Yes…I…I’ll tell him…soon,” she vowed, voice distracted and distant. She wondered at what point would she reach her limit; physically, obviously, but Morningmist was not known for her consititution. She probably wouldn’t last long.
Not that she was known for much, as often overlooked as she was.
And with that realization, another hit her. She would be the only queen in the clan. She would be the first, actually, in a while. Even ThistleClan valued the lives of their kits, and with the news of her progressing pregnancy, she would become the immediate center of attention.
The implications terrified her.
She would not be able to hide for much longer.
The nausea crept up in her throat, her belly revolting as the nerves grew. She nodded vigorously at Ratwhisker’s words of providing comforts, and as he passed the small bundle of herbs to her with his thin tail, Morningmist reached out with a shaking paw to retrieve them. She stared at them a moment, wondering how fast she could consume them to quell her rebellious stomach without seeming desperate. Morningmist swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to center herself. She crouched to swallow down the herbs. The subtle, gentle flavor made her mouth water and the aftertaste of mint was a balm on her in more ways than one.
“I can do this,” she whispered, licking her whiskers clean with a delicate flick of her tongue. “I can.” Not that she had much choice now. “Th-thank you, Ratwhisker. For…everything.” She hoped the quiet, nervous tom understood her gratitude, for more than the herbs and advice.
