Post by Cloud of Diamonds on Jun 15, 2010 13:56:03 GMT -5
Story Title: Hope Is the Thing with Feathers
Author: Cloudie, the wolf.
Character(s): Juncopaw (Juncostream in this) who is played by me, and Crowpaw (Crowflower in this) who is played by Glowy.
Genre: Romance.
Rating: PG, mild romantic-ish stuff.
Warnings: Me abusing Crowpaw horribly though not trying to.
She’d lived with this for moons. But only now was it eating away at her, insisting, pleading, begging to be noticed. She tried to ignore it. Tried to tell it did not, could not exist, there was no hope for it, ever.
It had started – or rather, escalated - the day she’d become a warrior.
She’d been proud, nervous, and excited. All normal things. But another emotion was added into the mix when she’d seen Crowflower, recently named, in the crowd. Longing. Passion. Desire.
It something she had felt before, only this was deeper, richer, an acute aching need which surpassed that of friendship or kin.
Juncopaw, from this moment you will be known as Juncostream. She’d been thrilled. But what should have been a beautiful, perfect moment was tarred by a tiny, dark suspicion: He knew. Just by the way their eyes had locked for a moment, just something his green eyes had made her wonder. It was not something she could properly name or describe; a keen perception, an understanding. But more…almost like knowledge, knowledge she’d kept from him for so long that he had somehow now figured out.
How could he? Except for that one time…no…had she revealed it, unknowingly? The memory played itself out in her head.
“Hey, Crowpaw.” She’d yawned. She’d been tired that day.
“Hi, Juncopaw. What are you doing here so late?” No doubt he was surprised that she was padding into the medicine den to see him when it was nearly sunset. And as he said it, she’d wondered too. She hadn’t really had a reason. She’d just wanted to see him – be happy that he was nearby and talk to him. Enjoy him.
Love him. And she nearly choked as she realized it. And she could not lie.
“I just wanted to see you.” She said, after a long and slightly awkward pause.
“Oh. Okay.” He shrugged, perhaps aware of the slight awkwardness, perhaps not. After another pause, she spoke again.
“Have you seen any new flowers lately? I saw a patch of buttercups just the other day – newleaf is really coming.” She grinned, her blue eyes light.
And his face grew happier at once. “Oh, yes! I saw some daisies, daffodils, and some snowdrops. They’re so pretty, snowdrops – they look like the tears of clouds. I can pick you one if you like.” He offered.
And though he did not know it, she blushed harder than she ever had, her heart beating fast, her tail swishing, her paws shuffling. She could not hold it in. And Crowpaw frowned, not knowing what to make of this behavior in his friend.
“Sure. Thanks.” She mumbled, so horribly aware of what he might be thinking.
“You don’t like them?” He asked, worried.
“Of course I do!” Maybe it had come out more defensive than she’d wanted it to.
Now he looked worried. “I can get you a daisy, if you like. Is there something wrong with snowdrops, Juncopaw? Is it because they look like tears?”
Now she was really in a fix. She liked snowdrops just as much as daisies. The flower itself didn’t matter. It was that he wanted to pick one for her. And she wanted to pick one for him, too. So badly. But the silver tabby was so scared of what he might think – might suspect. Might realize.
“…snowdrops are fine, Crowpaw.” She said, returning to a gentler voice. “I’m sorry, I just…have a lot on my mind.” She muttered, looking at the den floor.
“Oh, okay.” He said, looking still a bit confused. But there was something in his eyes now. Just a hint.
“Any flower you pick for me is lovely, Crowpaw.” She hadn’t even intended to say it aloud. But she had. Had almost whispered it as she went out. But she was sure he’d heard.
And he’d probably guessed. Curse it all.
They’d barely talked since then, each now sensing the awkwardness. She was sure, positive, that he did not love her back. Not like that. She didn’t blame him.
“Juncostream?”
Oh no. Not him. Please not him. Make him go away, she begged. I love him, but not now.
“Can I talk to you?” Said the familiar meow. And she looked up with haunted blue eyes.
The figure that sat in front of her had changed so much since she’d first known him. She remembered when he’d been barely more than a kit, small, fluffy, bouncing around constantly. Now that he was grown, eleven moons later, he was tall with slender limbs beneath his sleek black pelt. Only his turquoise eyes remained the same, innocent as ever.
Moons since that encounter. He’d probably forgotten about it. She was probably overreacting. She’d always overreacted. Always imagined things. It was probably just something minor. The warrior would just have to work harder at accepting that things would always be awkward between them now because of her. But that was good. It meant she didn’t have any chances to break her heart.
All this welled up inside her like a river of stones as she looked at him, hiding her pain behind fur and sky colored eyes.
“Sure.” She managed to croak out. It sounded like it had escaped from her throat.
He looked at her with what seemed cautious sympathy -concerned, but calculating. Not cold. Merely sizing up something – her? Her expression? What to do? She didn’t know.
His expression changed slightly, looking more concerned. Did this mean he didn’t hate her? Still cared? In spite of what she’d had the audacity to do? More and more, she could not believe she had ever been so foolish.
He rose, and nodded at her, obviously intending for her to follow. Juncostream rose stiffly, limbs weak, and followed him. She had no choice. It was like a vine tied her to him, and she must follow, regardless of her struggles. Weariness seemed to coat her, making moving exhausting. She just wanted it to be over. Gone. Drained. No matter that happiness with him would escape forever; she’d always known it would. Let him be merciful, she begged. Not to StarClan, for what could they do, if they cared? No, the striped PineClanner merely sent out a prayer to the world, hoping it might be granted somehow.
The medicine cat led her to a spot right outside camp, behind a mulberry bush. She sat down, not looking him in the eye, but staring up at the sky.
“I know you love me.”
She would have laughed, were it not so utterly painful and embarrassing. Shaming, revealing what she had hidden for moons, terrified. Yet she could not even bring herself to be scared. Only bitterly satisfied, waiting for it to end, for her expectations to be fulfilled.
“But I don’t hate you for it.”
This shocked her. But it changed it nothing, merciful though it was. Though perhaps she’d been stupid to assume this wonderful tom would hate her – pity her for her hopelessness, as he had the right to do, but not hate. That was for lesser cats, like her.
“I…” He looked awkwardly at her, then cast his gaze at the oak tree next to him and for some strange reason she felt slightly angry. What right did he have to be awkward when this was her pain? He should just tell her he didn’t love her, and dismiss her. That was all that needed to be done. Why was he lengthening her misery?
“What else is there to be said?” She meowed in a harsh, quiet, but trembling voice. “You don’t love me, I don’t blame you, so let’s get this over with and let me leave so I can go sulk, all right?”
This seemed to take him aback, and he flattened his ears and looked even more concerned, even sympathetic. She almost turned her silver-furred back. His pity she could deal with, but she did not want his sympathy. He had no right to sympathize with her when he could not, did not love her. She wished him away, and felt ashamed.
“Juncostream…” He said slowly, tentatively. Why hadn’t he gotten mad at her? She deserved it.
He took a breath and looked her with that intense leaf-colored gaze, and she was forced to look back.
“I do love you, as a friend. I don’t want you to be sad.” She nearly laughed. Too late, Mr. Flower Power. “I know this hurts you, and I can’t do anything right now. But I’m still your friend, you know that, right? We can still do everything we do together as friends. It just – surprised me, you know?” He sighed. She grunted. Perhaps she could not blame him there. The warrior had hidden it well, until recently.
“But this doesn’t have to be the end, Juncostream. You don’t have to give up hope. Just because I don’t feel the same way now doesn’t mean I never will.” He looked at her earnestly, hoping she understood, almost not believing he’d said that.
She smiled, slowly. But it was a wistful, unbelieving smile. He would not love her back – he was just trying to make her feel better. Despite his kind words, there was no real chance of that happening. He would almost certainly fall in love with someone else, if he did fall in love that way at all.
He was so innocent…She did not dare hope, because there was so much chance of disappointment and so little possibility of her dream coming true. Yet in spite of her knowing the facts, some tiny part of her believed it. She almost wanted to crush it, but then decided she might as well let it have its stupid way. It wasn’t like things could be any worse. Well, they could, but she didn’t want to think about that.
So the tiny thing was left in peace, nurturing its thing that had once been called “the thing with feathers”, which fit the two cats named for birds.
Hope.
Author: Cloudie, the wolf.
Character(s): Juncopaw (Juncostream in this) who is played by me, and Crowpaw (Crowflower in this) who is played by Glowy.
Genre: Romance.
Rating: PG, mild romantic-ish stuff.
Warnings: Me abusing Crowpaw horribly though not trying to.
She’d lived with this for moons. But only now was it eating away at her, insisting, pleading, begging to be noticed. She tried to ignore it. Tried to tell it did not, could not exist, there was no hope for it, ever.
It had started – or rather, escalated - the day she’d become a warrior.
She’d been proud, nervous, and excited. All normal things. But another emotion was added into the mix when she’d seen Crowflower, recently named, in the crowd. Longing. Passion. Desire.
It something she had felt before, only this was deeper, richer, an acute aching need which surpassed that of friendship or kin.
Juncopaw, from this moment you will be known as Juncostream. She’d been thrilled. But what should have been a beautiful, perfect moment was tarred by a tiny, dark suspicion: He knew. Just by the way their eyes had locked for a moment, just something his green eyes had made her wonder. It was not something she could properly name or describe; a keen perception, an understanding. But more…almost like knowledge, knowledge she’d kept from him for so long that he had somehow now figured out.
How could he? Except for that one time…no…had she revealed it, unknowingly? The memory played itself out in her head.
“Hey, Crowpaw.” She’d yawned. She’d been tired that day.
“Hi, Juncopaw. What are you doing here so late?” No doubt he was surprised that she was padding into the medicine den to see him when it was nearly sunset. And as he said it, she’d wondered too. She hadn’t really had a reason. She’d just wanted to see him – be happy that he was nearby and talk to him. Enjoy him.
Love him. And she nearly choked as she realized it. And she could not lie.
“I just wanted to see you.” She said, after a long and slightly awkward pause.
“Oh. Okay.” He shrugged, perhaps aware of the slight awkwardness, perhaps not. After another pause, she spoke again.
“Have you seen any new flowers lately? I saw a patch of buttercups just the other day – newleaf is really coming.” She grinned, her blue eyes light.
And his face grew happier at once. “Oh, yes! I saw some daisies, daffodils, and some snowdrops. They’re so pretty, snowdrops – they look like the tears of clouds. I can pick you one if you like.” He offered.
And though he did not know it, she blushed harder than she ever had, her heart beating fast, her tail swishing, her paws shuffling. She could not hold it in. And Crowpaw frowned, not knowing what to make of this behavior in his friend.
“Sure. Thanks.” She mumbled, so horribly aware of what he might be thinking.
“You don’t like them?” He asked, worried.
“Of course I do!” Maybe it had come out more defensive than she’d wanted it to.
Now he looked worried. “I can get you a daisy, if you like. Is there something wrong with snowdrops, Juncopaw? Is it because they look like tears?”
Now she was really in a fix. She liked snowdrops just as much as daisies. The flower itself didn’t matter. It was that he wanted to pick one for her. And she wanted to pick one for him, too. So badly. But the silver tabby was so scared of what he might think – might suspect. Might realize.
“…snowdrops are fine, Crowpaw.” She said, returning to a gentler voice. “I’m sorry, I just…have a lot on my mind.” She muttered, looking at the den floor.
“Oh, okay.” He said, looking still a bit confused. But there was something in his eyes now. Just a hint.
“Any flower you pick for me is lovely, Crowpaw.” She hadn’t even intended to say it aloud. But she had. Had almost whispered it as she went out. But she was sure he’d heard.
And he’d probably guessed. Curse it all.
They’d barely talked since then, each now sensing the awkwardness. She was sure, positive, that he did not love her back. Not like that. She didn’t blame him.
“Juncostream?”
Oh no. Not him. Please not him. Make him go away, she begged. I love him, but not now.
“Can I talk to you?” Said the familiar meow. And she looked up with haunted blue eyes.
The figure that sat in front of her had changed so much since she’d first known him. She remembered when he’d been barely more than a kit, small, fluffy, bouncing around constantly. Now that he was grown, eleven moons later, he was tall with slender limbs beneath his sleek black pelt. Only his turquoise eyes remained the same, innocent as ever.
Moons since that encounter. He’d probably forgotten about it. She was probably overreacting. She’d always overreacted. Always imagined things. It was probably just something minor. The warrior would just have to work harder at accepting that things would always be awkward between them now because of her. But that was good. It meant she didn’t have any chances to break her heart.
All this welled up inside her like a river of stones as she looked at him, hiding her pain behind fur and sky colored eyes.
“Sure.” She managed to croak out. It sounded like it had escaped from her throat.
He looked at her with what seemed cautious sympathy -concerned, but calculating. Not cold. Merely sizing up something – her? Her expression? What to do? She didn’t know.
His expression changed slightly, looking more concerned. Did this mean he didn’t hate her? Still cared? In spite of what she’d had the audacity to do? More and more, she could not believe she had ever been so foolish.
He rose, and nodded at her, obviously intending for her to follow. Juncostream rose stiffly, limbs weak, and followed him. She had no choice. It was like a vine tied her to him, and she must follow, regardless of her struggles. Weariness seemed to coat her, making moving exhausting. She just wanted it to be over. Gone. Drained. No matter that happiness with him would escape forever; she’d always known it would. Let him be merciful, she begged. Not to StarClan, for what could they do, if they cared? No, the striped PineClanner merely sent out a prayer to the world, hoping it might be granted somehow.
The medicine cat led her to a spot right outside camp, behind a mulberry bush. She sat down, not looking him in the eye, but staring up at the sky.
“I know you love me.”
She would have laughed, were it not so utterly painful and embarrassing. Shaming, revealing what she had hidden for moons, terrified. Yet she could not even bring herself to be scared. Only bitterly satisfied, waiting for it to end, for her expectations to be fulfilled.
“But I don’t hate you for it.”
This shocked her. But it changed it nothing, merciful though it was. Though perhaps she’d been stupid to assume this wonderful tom would hate her – pity her for her hopelessness, as he had the right to do, but not hate. That was for lesser cats, like her.
“I…” He looked awkwardly at her, then cast his gaze at the oak tree next to him and for some strange reason she felt slightly angry. What right did he have to be awkward when this was her pain? He should just tell her he didn’t love her, and dismiss her. That was all that needed to be done. Why was he lengthening her misery?
“What else is there to be said?” She meowed in a harsh, quiet, but trembling voice. “You don’t love me, I don’t blame you, so let’s get this over with and let me leave so I can go sulk, all right?”
This seemed to take him aback, and he flattened his ears and looked even more concerned, even sympathetic. She almost turned her silver-furred back. His pity she could deal with, but she did not want his sympathy. He had no right to sympathize with her when he could not, did not love her. She wished him away, and felt ashamed.
“Juncostream…” He said slowly, tentatively. Why hadn’t he gotten mad at her? She deserved it.
He took a breath and looked her with that intense leaf-colored gaze, and she was forced to look back.
“I do love you, as a friend. I don’t want you to be sad.” She nearly laughed. Too late, Mr. Flower Power. “I know this hurts you, and I can’t do anything right now. But I’m still your friend, you know that, right? We can still do everything we do together as friends. It just – surprised me, you know?” He sighed. She grunted. Perhaps she could not blame him there. The warrior had hidden it well, until recently.
“But this doesn’t have to be the end, Juncostream. You don’t have to give up hope. Just because I don’t feel the same way now doesn’t mean I never will.” He looked at her earnestly, hoping she understood, almost not believing he’d said that.
She smiled, slowly. But it was a wistful, unbelieving smile. He would not love her back – he was just trying to make her feel better. Despite his kind words, there was no real chance of that happening. He would almost certainly fall in love with someone else, if he did fall in love that way at all.
He was so innocent…She did not dare hope, because there was so much chance of disappointment and so little possibility of her dream coming true. Yet in spite of her knowing the facts, some tiny part of her believed it. She almost wanted to crush it, but then decided she might as well let it have its stupid way. It wasn’t like things could be any worse. Well, they could, but she didn’t want to think about that.
So the tiny thing was left in peace, nurturing its thing that had once been called “the thing with feathers”, which fit the two cats named for birds.
Hope.
We have a cbox again and we're opening the place up as a closed, members only rp