#bc content

[bearclangen]

moon 1 part 3

in which rosemary receives a message

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[whatintheblorbo]

So there's new tma content when I haven't connected the internet in my new home?

[silversongsuggestion]

My voice is a gift that does not belong to me. I am constantly reminded of this in the condescending tones of my own blood. People like me are to be quiet, small, and delicate. People like me. The phrase itself is misleading. Women is what they mean. Women, is the word they don't say, because that would be wrong. The behavior does not go away just because you don't say the word. The sun does not cease to exist just because it has set. I am reminded of this in every spoken over breath, in every raised voice.

My voice is a privilege that does not belong to me. It is stifled in the bottoms of my stomach by those who are supposed to take pride in it. It is swallowed down with a withering look. My voice is something to be silenced, not shared. At least, to them. It's better to not be confrontational. It hurts less to swallow the sharp down, than to spit it out. In the long run, it's easier to lie. 

My voice has never belonged to me. Brothers, fathers, uncles, and cousins remind me of this. Women are to look pretty, wallflowers, a garden in human flesh. Plants don't scream against their treatment. Plants are quiet, elegant, they nod their flowery heads contentedly in the storm of their betters. They grow back after the storm. They do not lament their torn petals, ruined leaves, mangled branches. 

My angel knows better. He spits acid at that treatment. It bubbles in our ribs, eats through the delicate flesh residing there. My angel knows better. He howls that I was always the better of us. What would our gods think of us? His fingers rake down my spine, talons. I feel the skin ribboning. Where are your wings? Where is our wrath? He demands. Pitch ichor sprays across my face. The rebellion is fresh, and hot in his veins. 

My angel knows better. He rips our voice from the depths, fists dripping red, lips dripping red, eyes blazing red. He is peeling vocal chords from the backs of his teeth. He is roaring his rage. Our voice trembles in his hands. He is less spirit, less man, less holy. Anger warps things, I tell him. Anger is all we have left, he snarls in return. I am inclined to believe him when all I feel is the bubbling of brimstone in my veins. 

My angel has always known better. You have given me your voice, let me give it back. And it is such sweet temptation to let him walk me. It is such temptation to let him rake our fingers across glib lips, across smug smirks. The war drums of him race my veins, and it takes everything in me to swallow down the offer, the sharpness, the anger. You shouldn't drink poison, little one, he tells me. I find it hardly matters. It all tastes the same, anyways.

[bearclangen]

bearclan is coming home <3

original drawing on the top left by @mouseclan-clangen !! name will remain unknown until the next update...

[bearclangen]

moons 2 & 3

in which rosemary catches a rabbit! and also encounters a loner, who quickly surrenders and begs for shelter, but has second thoughts... for some reason.

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[bearclangen]

moon 5

in which rosemary sneaks to her border, only stepping out of the bushes when Rain's scent hits her. they've been planning him joining her in rebuilding BearClan for moons, and tonight is the night! tonight is the first night of their lives together, and nothing can stand in their way.

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unblurred version of the cuddle under a readmore

[bearclangen]

moon 5 part 2

in which the loner that Rosemary encountered only a couple moons earlier is found dead. her assailant was not another cat.

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[bearclangen]

moon 4

in which rosemary wakes with a splitting headache, unable to rise from her nest all day. she spends the day trying to avoid light, so that the throbbing pain may subside.

meanwhile, slope thinks group cats are stupid!

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