TW: Sensitive Content things i felt sorry for most | maggots

[mistletoekit]

{$title} contains descriptions of maggots in freshkill (not to be eaten)

★ Despite all that prevailed around her, Mistletoekit was focused on matters for more personal, and infinitely more important, than the remnants of living felines that haunt the marshlands. She had yet to have any of her own incidents with cold chills, faint apparitions, or yellowed bones, and was equally yet to form her own opinion on them. They hadn't bothered her personally, and that removed any urgency she might've had to categorise the latest events as bad. This she kept to herself. She had more tact than she did in younger moons, and while it still didn't amount to much, it was enough that she could advise herself against speaking in favour of horrors. In no small part because they didn't concern her.

Rather, what held her attention was her food - and what writhed within.

A few days prior, the kitten had reserved herself more food than she could sensibly eat and not cared enough to dispose of the remains. How the scraps of freshkill had been allowed to fester without removal was a mystery, though the examination of said mystery would not serve her, so Mistletoekit ignored it. The consequence was an objective mess: once red meat now brown where it was not white, limp where it was not seething with small bodies, dry where it was not a glistening mass of maggots. The byproduct was a deep sense of curiosity that hatched and crawled and devoured and could not be denied. She hummed, sound without thought, and reached a small paw toward the smaller bugs.

 

[cicadabuzz]

CICADABUZZ, 28 moons / shc + med. cat
a SH cinnamon tabby/chocolate tortie chimera w/ black eyes
parent to deathberrykit, hemlockkit, mistletoekit ; mentor to magpiepaw
a reserved, pragmatic healer driven by duty rather than sentiment

Cicadabuzz moves without urgency, yet with the certainty of one who has already taken in every detail of the scene before them. The air is thick with the cloying scent of rot, sharp enough to turn the stomach, but they do not flinch. Their gaze sweeps over the abandoned fresh-kill, over the writhing, pulsing bodies that squirm through decaying flesh, and finally to Mistletoekit—paw outstretched, eyes alight with something deeper than simple childish fascination. They do not speak, not yet. Instead, Cicadabuzz lowers themself into a seated position beside the mess, their tail curling idly around their paws. The collection of herbs woven into their fur shifts with the movement, a faint rustling of dry leaves against the damp earth. They breathe in slow, deliberate.

The kit hums, a sound without direction, but Cicadabuzz hears it for what it is—thought given form, a note of curiosity that might, in time, solidify into something sharper. They tilt their head just slightly, watching, waiting, as though measuring the weight of the moment before deciding what to do with it. With deliberate care, they extend one paw—not toward the maggots, not toward the remains, but to a small patch of earth just beside it. A clawed toe prods lightly at the dirt, turning it over, revealing the moist darkness beneath. Then, with the same measured slowness, they shift their gaze back to Mistletoekit. No words pass between them, but the gesture lingers like an unspoken invitation.

They know better than to swat her paw away, better than to chide her outright. Fascination is not something to be smothered; it is to be guided, shaped, tempered into something useful. So they do not tell her to recoil. They do not demand she see the writhing mass as filth, as horror. Instead, they let silence carry the weight of the decision, waiting to see what she will make of it. Still, they do not allow rot to fester where it does not belong. After a beat, Cicadabuzz rises, gathering their limbs beneath them in one smooth motion. Their tail flicks once, the only break in their otherwise fluid movements, before they pad a few paces away. A pause. A beat of quiet consideration. Then, without prompting, they begin to dig. Slow, methodical, turning the earth over and over until it is loose and ready to receive the dead. They do not look to see if Mistletoekit follows their lead. They do not need to.

Only then do they speak, voice as even as ever, carrying none of the disgust that another might lace into their tone. "When you are finished with observing, bury them here. We do not need them to reach the rest of our fresh-kill."

 

[webpaw]

The scent caught her nose before the sight caught her eye. Webpaw's two-toned nose wrinkled, and she stilled, overpowered by the rot. Death was not an uncommon smell, what with there being an entire pile of killed animals in the center of camp. It was well-maintained, though, and she couldn't imagine someone leaving a meal to spoil even with the increasing spring prey.

"Ew!" she exclaimed as she finally saw what Mistletoekit was interested in. A sound that denoted disgust, but in her typical manner, it was an expression of fascination for the apprentice. Webpaw circled the opposite side, eyes not meeting the proximal place Cicadabuzz lingered and dug. She wanted to plunge her paws into the writhing pile, see if the larvae bit.

Wondering if some other apprentice could be suckered into taking her duties for a few days if she dared to eat one, Webpaw stared occupied at the maggots. Shaking her head, her mouth split into a grin as Mistletoekit reached for them. "Cool, ain't they?"

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡

she/her; afab / any gendered terms / 6 months
shadowclan kit / mentored by bluegale
seal sepia with vitiligo / orange eyes

peaceful powerplay allowed, no perms needed
ask before hostile powerplay unless preplanned
always open to interaction in battle unless stated otherwise
ask before injuring !

 

[Tickpaw]

TICK

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

" That's gross... " Tickpaw groaned, his tail lashing as he eyed the writhing mass of maggots in the decaying prey. His fur bristled, a deep scowl settling on his face as he took a step back. The last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near that. And then... Ugh, Web! " Come on, Web! Don't play with that! " he meowed sharply, nose scrunching as he shot a look at his sister. But she wasn't the only one, his orange eyes flickered to the kit, who was just as fascinated by the wiggling things.

Tickpaw, however, was very much not.

It was already bad enough that a fresh-kill had been left to rot—now they had these things in their camp? A shudder ran down his spine, his tail fluffing up as he quickly turned away, ears pinned back. " Webbb... " he whined, stealing a quick glance over his shoulder before looking away again. " Don't encourage them...! " There was only one solution to this mess. " Just... just get rid of the things! " he huffed, voice laced with irritation.

This was not what he wanted to deal with today.

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