DEEP IN THE BLUE ✘ cicadastar

[SMOKESTAR]

The water laps up around him, swills at his chest and sides and he sighs quietly as he stands in it and enjoys the brief moment of calm before the storm would churn once more. Under his paws pebbles slick and ran smooth beneath the river current rattle slightly under his weight but he remains unswayed by the force of the water frothing and pressing past him to continue its journey onward to where the river ends at a distance he has not traveled himself before; mountains looming in the distance he knows only by name and not familiarity. One day he wonders if he would ever set paw on such things, lofty and towering and almost too overwhelming to comprehend but for now he was content where he was in the world. His clan, his family, his friends, all of it kept him tethered here happily. Smokethroat turns over his shoulder, spotted eye narrowing in amusement back at the sloped head of his mate still on the shore he had properly bullied him into joining him at. It did not take a lot of convincing to draw the storm-spotted tom out to the river for a break but it had still been an effort. The kits were sleeping and watched over by a trusted queen so he could go without fretting for both their safety and their easily malleable minds; they had both felt the seering annoyance of their clanmates acting fools upon the impressionable bunch so nothing less than a proper friend and caretaker could be left to observe the sleeping trio.

"...you don't call Beekit by her name." He states simply, it is not accustory nor angry but confused and uncertain; he does not phrase it as a question because it wasn't, he had heard it himself and knew that it was purposefully and he wanted an explaination. "....you were not too keen on the name when I suggested it." In his bloodied and exhausted throes of pain mixed with relief moments after the kits were born he had been urged to contribute a name among the egotistical and near blasphemous ones his mate had suggested and it was the simple dedication to a past friend that had been regarded as unholy by the mottled leader. Smokethroat found it odd, had dismissed it as a grief stricken stupor but that it was still going now, a refusal to accept her, had left him both uneasy and a little irrate if he was being truly honest. They were out here to relax, fish, enjoy a moment away from the kits he would soon be free from anyways and he didn't want this tension lingering in the air. There had been something...something there that kept Cicadastar drawn taut like a wire threatening to snap at any moment and it had not faded since his claws tore Mudpelt's face in wake of the kits being born. It had lessened slightly, only to tighten again and he wouldn't lie and say he wasn't worried. The burden of a leader was heavy, a deputy could only do so much to ease it and a mate could only do a little themselves. Being that he was both his chances were significantly higher but not by a lot.
"Talk to me." Did he still grieve, did he still carry with him something heavy he could not hold? And if so why was he doing so alone?
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[Ooc]
@CICADASTAR
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[CICADASTAR]

you don’t say beekit’s name.

perhaps, if he were any lesser, the admission would have startled him. he would have stopped where he stands ankle deep in shallow waters, watching the flit of fish skirt closer, closer to the shimmering surface, and turned to his mate with an indignant sputter. cicadastar has never sputtered. not since his early days in kithood, brooding and miserable beneath those mothball ridden plats — real cats say what they mean. a voice mutters at him from the back wall of his skull, and do not waste a breath otherwise. a stutter, a murmur, was impractical of him. his mother had been a stony woman, and she had shaped him in her image ; a pristine thing, heavy on control in the contorting of his face, twisting expression quelling to a simple flex of paper - thin eyelids. but the leader simply blinks, allows the long - whiskered arch of his brow to pull together only fractionally — a twitch of a motion, tail tip coming to tap the damp - packed ground with a single, gentle tap.

without missing a beat : ” don’t i? “ comes his velveteen response, casting a single narrowed pupil over steadily working shoulders, muscles born of just this screaming in the juts of bony blades. caught in his ways, even moreso when the dark - coated deputy tacks on that he had not been particularly thrilled when his offer to name their youngest. like the shadow of minnow flitting through leaffall - cooled waters, that black slit wanders away just as quick as it came, leaving only the tepid edges of salt blue iris to be seen, ” .. i suppose i hadn’t thought of it like that. “ he had. he does not face his mate while words drip easy from his tongue, his own reflection staring back at him from the waters below — and perhaps that would be more difficult, if he weren’t so easy to lie to. surely it would be the same for himself, yes? he was not a poor father. he did not treat beekit differently, not truly ; his avoidance of her given moniker was cushioned in love, in the tittering gentle at her little ear.

talk to me, he says.

for a moment, he almost does.

love is a caged bird, wild just as everything else in his life — it beats at his chest, his stomach, flutters it’s bladed wings until his jaw clenches with it. talk to me, he says, but he couldn’t understand this. this cursed body, this self - wrought wire wrapped around his neck with no teeth to pull him loose. his own rattle in his skull with words he cannot say ; did you know they were trying to leave? but he’d always had a soft spot for the kittypet medic. why were you awake? are you watching me? did he follow him? is this guilt? is this a punishment? is he still upset there were no herbs to take them away? is he still upset? i am. i am, i am, i will be.

abruptly, his head snaps up, a jarring strike of a motion ; sitting ramrod straight from his former position crouched over the waterline. taller like this, slim and bony. eel - like, shadowed water snake dwelling amongst the tall grass, but blue - eyed all the same, ” i’ll admit, i am a strong believer in destiny. fate lies within a name. “ from his mother, he thinks. he would have to ask wasprattle if she excused herself this easily, with a smile that comes to grace his marred, rubberblack maw. he turns and it brightens his features tenderly despite his rattling movement, creasing gentle at the corners of his eyes as he moves towards his mate. water drips from too long, water - slick limbs. drip, drip, drip, ” and beesong had suffered an unfortunate life. they’d been a kittypet at one point, for stars sake. “ a purring trill of laughter at the end, almost as if pitying his forgetfulness if it weren’t so warm. the scarred tabby had it terrible, they had ; cicadastar felt for them, truly. but his daughter would not follow in their pawsteps — averting her eyes, speaking towards the ground when authority is near.

a quiet sigh. a beat of quiet. ” i understand, truly, mein lieb, i do.. you’ve always been so close with our medicine cats — “ unfair, perhaps. the argument was long over, kits long into this world, but he ghosts past it, expression never changing. as if, somehow, not comprehending how his words could be taken. his mate had never leaned towards physical affection, but it has never stopped the phantom from trying ; ivory paws bring him to round his love, looming, protective. perhaps too much so. his sloped muzzle lowers, nudging his jawline affectionately with the tip of his nose. ” but i worry it guides her paws wayward, to say it feels.. touched by tragedy. i don’t want that for her, my little girl. “ his voice lilts, sweet like honeycomb and dripping something sad. something hollow. maybe it, of everything, was real ; something touched by tragedy. mourning doves. they wail overhead, and cicadastar takes the moment to drip his voice lower, concerned. perhaps this, too, was real.

the line blurs.

” what has you thinking these things? “

COLD & CRUEL LIKE WINDS ON THE SEA  ╱ INFORMATION ✟

• i.
  
• ★ ⋆ CICADASTAR −−−− FOUNDING LEADER OF RIVERCLAN. HOMOSEXUAL, MATED TO SMOKETHROAT. FIFTY MOONS, FATHER TO STARLIGHTKIT, CICADAKIT && BEEKIT. PENNED BY ANTLERS −−−−− ⁺₊✧
  
  
  he / him. tall, elegantly curled smoke tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt blue eyes. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones with tall, angular ears settling high atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to, sparking the undead to life. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth, blackened frostbite pulling back his maw to bear canines setn beneath curling whiskers, pantomime skeletal. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unnaturally tall amongst his peers, always holding himself with a tragic sort of grace ; poised, prim, and uncannily aware of how he appears.
  
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── smells like wet moss and meadowland thunderstorms.
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── notoriously paranoid and closed off, cicadastar will tend to lie, assume, and jump to conclusions whenever it suits him. any 'suspicious' ic actions he witnesses or hears about will have a strong effect, and will have ic consequences! if you're unsure of an interactions outcome, please feel free to send a dm!
  
  no character opinions represent my own.​
  
  
• " speech "​
  
  
  

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

Fate lies within a name, he says, and Smokethroat feels the fire rising back into his chest, roaring to life; without thinking he jerks his head away upset, "But it is hers that is most unfortunate? Do you not recall what you named the other two?"
It might be a little unfair to point out the sort of burden leadership held so blatantly, but if it was fear of a destiny inescapable was Cicadastar's not the more cruel of the two? Was the many lives of the leader more traumatic than the origin of a kittypet?
"...I'm sorry." It was a jab a little too sharp, heightened by unease and he knew it. He didn't want to fight. He just wanted to be heard, "But they were more than a kittypet. They saved so many of us, even you and I…to chalk them up to just that…I..."
This conversation had not been started to work himself up but he was bothered by it now. What he thought was grief still clinging was instead something worse. He had not realized the leader felt such a way about their former medicine cat but he thought it ironically foolish. Beesong had never given any of them a reason to think them lesser for their origins. He would never have even known of it himself had it not been brought up in conversation once.
What has you thinking these things?
"...she asked me if she was just named after a bug and what was I to say other than the truth? She noticed you call her only that. Bug. But why not then too her brother? I just don't want her to feel inadequate..."
Also an insect went unsaid, but the mottled tom would know what he meant. He didn't want her thinking there was something wrong with her name, not when her siblings had names more poignant and blatantly christened before the clan.
Smokethroat sat down, the water around his shoulders and the comfort of being back in the river proper was not enough to douse the fires of irritation he'd felt since they started talking.
Talk to me, he'd said. And instead he was talked 'at'. He thinks of the comment said, of his closeness to the medicine cats and wonders if that is not a prod on his ferocity in battle or that he could not even talk to his mate without worry of burdening his already heavy shoulders with things that seemed so trivial in comparison. The one thing he had even wanted to discuss was no longer a worry that weighted heavily on his mind or stomach because they were here now and he couldn't be happier for it but the nagging fear that Cicadastar had already picked favorites of their kits rubbed him the wrong way and the fact he still seemed so standoffish and had for a while. Smokethroat didn't question his loyalty or feelings to the tom at all, but there was no hiding that he felt a distance grow and he was unsure of the cause; why was it there? What had done it? How could he fix it? Could he?
"...I wanted to...talk to you, while I was carrying the kits, but I didn't know how. You've been acting strangely, I worried over adding more to your mind than was fair. I had thoughts I rather not think of again because I was afraid, but the kits are here now and happy and I just want them to stay that way...Starlightkit's name worries me the most, will it make them a target? Seen as something spouting holier than the stars and blasphemous?"
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[CICADASTAR]

there is a splash, and smokethroat jerks away from him — it is half expected, as much as vague irritation rumbles in the back of his throat. cicadastar remains still, unmoving from his looming stance half - curled around his mate. water wades at his forelimbs, sodden down to the awkward flex of bone and muscle cicadakit grows into already. sun beams pink through stretched skin and tendon, shines through him, and the man feels his agitation before the words fall from his tongue, a tensing in muscles he’d slept lax upon each night. an ear twitches, a spiteful, half - lidded calm before he mutters a but hers is the most unfortunate? do you recall what you named the other two? his shoulders bristle, ripping his lips back into a warning snarl that flattens large, splayed ears, ” i recall plenty. “ a low, haughty growl, harsh against the gentle sway of bubbling water and wisping leaffall breeze. it is too nice out for this, too pretty a day, but anger and hurt keeps his whiskers drawn back, ” i recall asking you your own ideas and getting nothing but this same sharp tongue! “ he hated it, the raise of his voice, pointed barbs at his tongue meaning to inflict pain as quick and deep as he could. im sorry. he murmurs after, and the mottled leader does not deflate — cannot help his agitated posture, frigidly eyeing him as he continues. that low simmer of hurt coils, burns into something hotter, lowers his voice back to something velvet, calm and seeping with venom.

” i treat her no different than the other two. “ its bitten and hurt, a twitch of black scarring at his maw. misfortune, it carries, in his mates opinion. claws scrape against the pebbled ground, gather sludge and moss beneath clear arches, ” better, even. the only one implying inadequacy seems to be you.. though id say if a nickname causes her that much grief, perhaps pikekit would’ve been better suited for you both. “ it’s a cruel snap, a bitter, teeth - baring thing. the warrior was too soft, and that would be where his daughter would wander if he played into this pity of him not speaking her name. the leader itches to return to camp. to worry of things that need worrying, if hunting patrols and borders weakened with the loss of warriors and apprentices both. a slow, long sigh seeps through clenched teeth, ” starclan knows they will be targeted regardless if they were starlightkit or smokekit, beekit or blackkit. “ brief thoughts of fiery tortoiseshell fur that he doused before eruption, thinking away from her look, her name. she’d not even been his blood, ” and this whole time, you say you were afraid? you’ve been afraid? was it truly easier — “ a brief splash again, a lift of thin limb from cooling waters, ” and less frightening for you to skulk around behind my back? “ smokethroat had always stepped behind him, talked to those he didn’t with a soft, cooing voice and him this. he lets his words settle, permeate.

the moment recognition sparks in a single orange eye, he rips through, ” ohh, yes. that’s not quite the secret between you and ravensong that you thought it was. and you have the gall — to tell me i treat our children differently, when you would have had none left to feel inadequate, if you’d gotten your way. “ he can hear it, his mate’s wormlike inching towards the truth. spineless. he would not let him have it. his trust wanes further, ” i was given this name by the stars above, and i honor them in their names. just as you do beesong. “ its spat, anger and frustration whipping him around towards the pebbled shore. water wades slow around his forelimbs, lashing tail a thick, sodden slap against the clear surface, ” and who knows, perhaps beesong could have given you the cure to these worries, and i would have been none the wiser — since you were so afraid. “ they were moons old now and the phantom knew, heard lightningstone’s words echo about his already - buzzing skull. all this, over the kit’s name, when he should have been the one to snap. rightfully.

COLD & CRUEL LIKE WINDS ON THE SEA  ╱ INFORMATION ✟

• i.
  
• ★ ⋆ CICADASTAR −−−− FOUNDING LEADER OF RIVERCLAN. HOMOSEXUAL, MATED TO SMOKETHROAT. FIFTY MOONS, FATHER TO STARLIGHTKIT, CICADAKIT && BEEKIT. PENNED BY ANTLERS −−−−− ⁺₊✧
  
  
  he / him. tall, elegantly curled smoke tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt blue eyes. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones with tall, angular ears settling high atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to, sparking the undead to life. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth, blackened frostbite pulling back his maw to bear canines setn beneath curling whiskers, pantomime skeletal. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unnaturally tall amongst his peers, always holding himself with a tragic sort of grace ; poised, prim, and uncannily aware of how he appears.
  
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── smells like wet moss and meadowland thunderstorms.
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── notoriously paranoid and closed off, cicadastar will tend to lie, assume, and jump to conclusions whenever it suits him. any 'suspicious' ic actions he witnesses or hears about will have a strong effect, and will have ic consequences! if you're unsure of an interactions outcome, please feel free to send a dm!
  
  no character opinions represent my own.​
  
  
• " speech "​
  
  
  

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

He stiffens, annoyed that this has turned into a lot more than just a simple discussion but that was always how it had to be didn’t it? A little theatrical, because his mate was loud and ever present as he always was and wasn’t that what he loved about him the most? The unabashed nature in which he took to things?
“I only ask you to use her name because she-” But it doesn’t matter, it never mattered, he had pressed a single button and the long-limbed leader was off onto one of his tirades without stopping and nothing would pause it.

“Behind your back? What are you-”

Smokethroat stares hard, does not blink, that lone orange eye burning at the accusation. He doesn’t deny it, obviously there was no point in doing so and he was not the sort to lie meaninglessly. “...were you spying on me?” He asks, as surprised by the realization as he is by his voice cracking as he speaks. The disbelief in his tone, that his leader, his partner, would be so openly paranoid as to stalk him like prey or send another to do it in his place. Him? He had done nothing to warrant the kind of obsessive watchfulness that others had, he had been loyal and dedicated since RiverClan’s first days! At no point did he even consider Ravensong had spoken to him, the medicine cat had told him-had promised-to keep the horrible thoughts he had fought down to himself and that had been that. Or it should have been.
Instead now it had gotten to the phantom in one way or another and it was in part why he was probably so upset. Smokethroat couldn’t say he blamed him for being bothered, but the kits were here now and soon to be apprenticed so obviously whatever lapse in his mental judgment he’d suffered through had not come to fruition.

“...well, you weren’t spying on me well enough then or you’d have heard the rest of it..” He is moving to get out of the water himself now, splashing and kicking up the river in his wake and when he reaches the shore he turns and he wants to be angry but it has fizzled out; the fires that used to blaze in him at the slightest provocation are gone, subdued, dampened by so many things. He can only stare, expression and throat tightening.

“...I wanted to talk to you, I WANTED to tell you my worries…I was not afraid of YOU. I was afraid of burdening you further because you have been acting so…” The dark tom inhales, he doesn’t know how to say it without being curt or too pointed but he probably didn’t even need to bother given Cicadastar knew well enough, whatever stress he had been under for so many moons had him snappish and sharp-tongued with everyone and he had thought it a mercy then. Now he wonders if maybe he should have been afraid of being put before that ire especially since he assumedly had been watching like a hawk in a paranoid fit.
“...it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how you found out what I said to Ravensong but you want the truth of it? Then you get the truth of it, I was scared…I have NEVER had kits and I have been miserable in camp for so long it got to me-it was a horrible and unwanted thought that crossed my mind because I didn’t want to die…but it took only a few moments of talking to him to get it out of my head because I did truly want them and I’m glad they’re here..and I-YOU-”
He had been the one to even bring the notion of them up, he had dutifully stayed in the camp and guarded himself as best he could for peace of mind. Deep down he wanted them, surface level fears and anxieties did not change that even if he had sought the medicine cat out for it; part of him had known he’d never go through such a thing. He’d just wanted assurance, he’d wanted someone there, to console his foolish worries and listen to him. He wished it could have been Cicadastar.
“You….” He wants to keep speaking, he wants to scream, to shout, but he finds he has no energy to even do so now. It is just a resounding hollow emptiness where the fires once were and he feels pathetic, betrayed, hurt more than he can comprehend and he knows that is what was desired in every word. To hurt him. He deflates instead, ears pinned back and tail limp to the ground.
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