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theanoninyourinbox · 3 months

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Graystripe's Heart (or Hope's Beginning)

The (Short) Return Of Bloodclan and Redemption of ???

Shortly after the rescue of Darkkit, Rogues begin being spotted on the outskirts of the Clans. Windclan claims someone is stealing prey, Riverclan smells intruders on the borders, and worst of all, Shadowclan has detected Bloodclan scent on the Thunderpath. So Longstar sends Graystripe (still mourning his mother) and Sandstorm to find out the truth, with Fireheart demanding to come along – the Stars say it’s important!

So the three cats set off to Fireheart’s old Twoleg Den, meeting Smudge and his new mate Hattie. The two Kittypets tell the Can cats about the return of Bloodclan under a cat named Fury – but also of a pair of cats making a peaceful group, and trying to dismantle Bloodclan as well. The new unnamed Clowder’s leaders are unknown, save that they’re a scarred tom and a brown molly.

The Kittypets and Clan cats are interrupted by Gremlin and Scraps, siblings from the Unnamed Clowder, warning that Bloodclan Recruiters are chasing the pair of them. The Clan Cats hide under the edge of the Twoleg den with Gremlin, and a cat named Snake attempts to attack Smudge and Hattie for protecting Scraps. Hattie slaps the crap out of Snake, but a few more Bloodclan cats appear, and Scraps tries to surrender himself to save the Kittypets (and his hidden sister). But a twisted, gravely snarl sends the Bloodclanners running, and a heavily scarred tom approaches a relieved Scraps.

A highly familiar black striped gray tabby, with a horrid scar on his throat.

--DARKSTRIPE?!?!?--

Graystripe bolts from under the Twoleg den, with Sandstorm and Fireheart nearly riding his frazzled tail. The former Clan cat goes bushy with startlement as they approach, but Fireheart keeps Graystripe and Sandstorm from tearing him apart. Scraps, very confused, identifies Darkstripe as the Unnamed Clowder’s tom leader, and Gremlin chirps that he ran off her abusive former mate! Full of conflicting emotions, Graystripe demands an explanation, and Darkstripe wheezes out, with tears in his eyes…how sorry he is. But he won’t fight them, he probably deserves what’s coming – and Fireheart cuts him off. Let’s talk somewhere else, somewhere safer. Darkstripe nods, and after Fireheart extracts a promise from Sandstorm to not just kill her former Clanmate the second his back is turned, the scarred tomcat leads the Clan Cats and the siblings into the Twoleg Territory.

After some Very Tense Travel, the group comes to an abandoned Twoleg den, the walls covered in strange Twoleg berrypaint art. Darkstripe leads them to a small opening, guarded by a pair of scraggly but friendly cats. They greet Darkstripe and the siblings with unashamed friendliness, and the Clan cats are surprised to find themselves greeted with similar cheer. After introductions are made, Hazard and Snaggle let everyone into the Den.

Inside is a well set-up camp, with obvious dens for nursing parents and kits, elders being cared for by a few younger cats, and a prey pile, with freshkill and a cat dismantling a large bird. Darkstripe is greeted warmly, and the Clan Cats are experiencing a great deal of emotions. Sandstorm is still rightfully angry – Darkstripe tried to kill Sorrelkit! Fireheart is wary but hopeful – maybe Darkstripe has changed? These cats seem to think highly of him! And Graystripe?

Graystripe wonders who Darkstripe really is. Because the cat he sees is NOTHING like the older brother he thought had died at his claws. The older brother he loved still, somewhere deep inside.

A brown colorpoint molly greets Darkstripe, and introduces herself as Sasha. The pair sit the Clan cats down in a private alcove and explain what’s happened. Darkstripe was groomed by Tigerclaw (Darkstripe and Sasha both refusing to add the Star even sarcastically to his name) and was rescued from the battlefield by an injured Sasha, who was looking for Tigerclaw as well. She had been his secret mate (to which Sandstorm shudders at) and had realized how horrible a cat Tigerclaw truly was only after her injury. The two of them had healed from their respective injuries – Sasha only stating it was Tigerclaw’s fault – and had tried to go on together. But there were so many cats that needed help, and with Darkstripe’s Clan knowledge and Sasha’s kind nature, they had formed a Clowder. Somewhere that they could atone for their sins and make a better future for street cats. Sandstorm demands to know if that should keep her claws out of Darkstripe’s hide, and Fireheart has to jump on her to stop it, but Graystripe pushes forward.

You’re sorry. Yes, Darkstripe tearily mewls.

You’re sorry for Sorrel. Yes, he states clearly.

For Bramble and Tawny. Yes, he sighs.

For Stonefur, for Fireheart. Yes! Darkstripe sputters.

For mother? YES! He yowls!

For ME?!

YES!!! Darkstripe screams, raspy and broken.

And Graystripe LUNGES.

He catches Darkstripe in a tight embrace and sobs.

Mother will be so proud of you in Starclan. I’m so proud of you.

Sandstorm sputters from under the (teeny tiny itty bitty) weight of Fireheart as the brothers weep into each other’s fur, one more wound of Tigerclaw’ wickedness beginning to heal.

Sasha asks Fireheart and Sandstorm for advice off to the side, as she’s no Healer or Brawler, but some cats have been interested, and would they mind giving advice while they’re here? Sandstorm startling agrees, with Fireheart patting her on the shoulder cheerily. The pair head off with Sasha, leaving the brothers some privacy.

By the time Graystripe and Darkstripe have pulled themselves together, it’s dusk, and Sandstorm and Fireheart have been busy. Fireheart has a group of cats huddled around a Queen and her kits and Gremlin, listing the signs of kit diseases, and Sandstorm is running a group training session, with Scraps actually knocking down a cat larger than him to wild and enthusiastic cheering. Graystripe joins a group of cats fixing up some nests, lending a paw and some advice, and Darkstripe leans on Sasha, drained but finally whole in some small way. Fireheart calls the Clowder a hope for the future and a good place to rest, and Gremlin loudly proclaims they should be the Hope Clowder! The cry is taken up, and the Unnamed Clowder becomes the Hope’s Rest Clowder (Hope Clowder for short).

The Clan Trio stays the night, and the next morning are awoken by Snaggle hollering that Bloodclan is on the move. Everyone wakes quickly, and the Clowder Cats barricade the entrance, leaving only a peephole. A group of Bloodclan cats are headed straight for Thunderclan!

Sandstorm demands that the Clan Cats leave to warn the Clans, but startlingly some Hope Clowder Cats ask Darkstripe and Sasha if they can help take down Bloodclan there as well – they’re weaker spread out in two places, and there are cats that need rescuing from Bloodclan’s clutches! Fireheart tells Graystripe and Sandstorm to go warn the Clans, and asks if he can help the Clowder rescue the prisoners. Darkstripe agrees, and Graystripe charges his brother with protecting the cat he once tried to kill.

Sandstorm and Graystripe escort a small group of Hope Clowder Cats to the border of Thunderclan, and Graystripe rushes ahead to warn Longstar ahead of the approaching Bloodclan cats. Graystripe yowls out his warning to the Camp Guards, who repeat the warning as cats begin scrambling to battle and defense positions. Longstar asks where Sandstorm and Fireheart are, my guy they BETTER be fine, and Graystripe assures him they are, just as the first Bloodclan cat leaps over the camp wall.

Chaos ensues, but suddenly Sandstorm and her volunteers charge the Bloodclanners from behind, scattering the Bloodclan Rogues. Fury is downed by a furious (HA) Flamewish, who bodily throws the molly over the camp wall, with her living followers rushing away. Sandstorm keeps the Thunderclanners from attacking the Hope Clowder cats, and they view the Clan with awe and curiosity. Graystripe and Sandstorm tell Longstar and Flamewish what’s going on, with the Hope Clowder cats chiming in. Flamewish is Very Concerned about Darkstripe, but Hazard, who came with the Hope Battle Patrol, tells her the story of how Darkstripe saved her from an attacking Bloodclan patrol, and nursed her back to health. This placates Flamewish, but she still worries about her brother…

Meanwhile--

The rescue Patrol comes to the nearly unguarded Bloodclan encampment, a seemingly abandoned Carrionplace with thin woven silvery reeds forming a strong wall. Scraps leads the rescuers to a hole in the Carrionplace wall, and everyone slides through with relative ease, save one cat losing some long fur. They approach a small, enclosed area, with a Twoleg-made Dog Den and several Bloodclan cats guarding the area. Darkstripe leads half of the patrol to attack the guards, while Sasha and Fireheart lead the other half to rescue the prisoners.

It goes relatively smoothly, with the only hiccup being a guard going for the smaller Fireheart. The guard later regrets this decision, leaving with less ear and more scarred skin that he started with. The rescue patrol leads the injured cats back to Hope’s Rest, and after treating them, Fireheart finds himself alone with Sasha. And finds he has to ask her something. He’s noticed something important and…

What happened to your kits?

Sasha buckles, and begs Fireheart to not tell a soul – only Darkstripe knows about them. She had three kits by Tigerclaw, and after losing one of them, and leaving the others somewhere safe, she went to find – and perhaps wound – the cat who hurt her so. Only to find Tigerclaw dead, and another cat near death, with her pain in his eyes. Fireheart swears to never tell anyone, save under pain of death. She sighs, and wonders where her little Tadpole went after his death, and Fireheart tells her of the Afterlives that Starclan knows of. She weeps then, in relief – he’ll be waiting for her.

After making sure all the patients are stable, Snaggle escorts Fireheart to Thunderclan, and after a quick reunion, the Hope’s Rest Clowder cats head home, laden with herbs and cuttings and instructions and a new ally. Bloodclan is scattered, nevermore to gather the same power again, and all is quiet for a time.

(And in Riverclan, a brown and white tom sleeps peacefully next to a golden brown molly, safe and sound)

(And elsewhere, a black and grey tom rests safely)

(ALIVE)

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herequeerexitentialfear · 3 months

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i wanna die with you, wendy, on the streets tonight, in an everlasting kiss

Celia/Elena, and the moments around the moment that changed their whole lives. for ockiss<3 even if it takes over a thousand words to get there

In the aftermath of conflict, Celia and her friends, feeling down and hollow, collect their 'reward' for coming out on top- a meeting with Capo Polpo.

But that's for their new leader to worry about, Celia's thoughts are all wrapped up in Elena, as they escort their leader to the meeting, and afterwards the Capos strange gift leads to her getting her selfish wish and kissing Elena, but only because she doesn't know if they will survive the mysterious blow dealt to both of them.

Their friends Tesoro and Conficcare find both of them wrapped in a bloody embrace, just streets from their home, and as Celia wakes, she is reminded of the love and joy her life holds, despite the hollowness she feels.

posted on ao3 as well as its just over 2k words. warning for minor character death, graphic depictions of violence, and a near death experience.

Their refuge of peace was fraught with anxiety, exhaustion in every line of the bodies lying on various surfaces.

Part of the anxiety was undeniably the fact that Sovrano was intruding on their space, laying claim to what had always been their place- but he was good at that, taking over what was theirs with an unspoken promise of violence.

Victory had never felt so bitter-sweet, aching bodies and eyes staring into the recent past, even the satisfaction of winning was hollow.

Yet Sovrano was waiting for something, anticipating action- despite the bandages and stitches, and there had been so much blood, and someone else had managed to knife him, in that last desperate attempt, but missed killing him by a few centimetres.

Celia didn't know if she was glad it missed or not. She was already the de facto leader of their little sub-group, and despite the leers, she would be the one to step up when Sovrano was taken out of the game- Hell she had stepped up as he was taken care of in that clinic.

Mama, look at your darling daughter now, so bloody and violent, a leader of men. Do you weep, up in heaven, your spirit looking down at she who once was your darling child, hands now soaked in blood?

By all rights, Elena should be the next in line, but this scholarship- well, she's been slowly retreating from them, preferring to study and linger in what passed for a studio in school, than hang out in parks and bars and wherever they chose to linger at night, drifting through the stone jungle they called home.

A dial tone interrupted her thoughts, distracting her from the dawning fear and hollow heart that were now so common when she thought about Elena, and their future.

Sovrano jumped to get it, fear in his eyes, trying to collect himself as he hobbled to the landline.

“Signor?”

Blue, green, brown and finally her own unsettling gold eyes all stared at him and the receiver he held to his ear. The lingering headache ringing in her head mangled the words he replied, as her mind slogged to try and think who it could be, who he would speak to with that level of respect.

Still, despite her struggle, his last words caused a burst of clarity to cut through the lingering pain. But in turn, that space was soon filled by fear.

“It would be my honour to meet with Capo Polpo”

The click of plastic on plastic felt like a gunshot echoing through the room, the roar inside Celia's head sounding eerily reminiscent of engines.

“Muro, Spina. You're with me, given how you both came out the best off.”

Everyone can hear the aborted statement about people hesitating to hit a woman, or some lewd joke about tits distracting the Capo. Sovrano may see himself as a man's man, but even he has to alter his language now the dust has settled and those ‘bitches’ are what got them standing above the rest.

The wall and the thorn. Celia was growing to fit her new name, and Elena was always sharp, but these past few weeks made her edge razor thin, and even deadlier. The masculine noun felt right on her, although it felt strange to be the wall, instead of being told she was stubbornly smashing her head against one. Elena loved telling her that, or mocking her name by calling her Cecità, blind.

Elena has already got up, donning her leather jacket and checking the placement of her knives, all in the time Celia was musing on names. She stood up to do the same, patting down her trench coat and checking the internal sheaths were all easy to access. Both their new jackets having been recently repurposed and retrofitted to be walking armories, after their beloved previous ones took hit after hit until they were nothing but strips of leather and cloth. She mourned their well loved clothes, the new ones still being broken in and altered to suit them both.

Confident she wouldn't slice open her coat- or herself- unsheathing a knife, she ventured for the stairs, towards her steel toe capped boots, and the mysterious meeting with the capo.

The concrete walls of the gilded cage the Capo holds court from are cool to lean on, the two armed youths having not even entertained the possibility of being taken through, even with all the bribes that line the guards pockets. Celia doesn't mind, hating the unnecessarily complicated mind games of the older made men, preferring the clarity of necessity that colours the fights and battles of the street gangs.

She doesn't mind letting the cold seep into her through her coat, Elena right next to her and gazing out at the city skyline, doesn't mind it at all.

And if her eyes linger on the person beside her, on the folds of leather, on the hands still splattered with paint, on her eyes and face and lips, then that's her secret. Elena too distracted to notice her lingering gaze, hands twitching like she wants to reach for a paint brush, as her eyes stare into the distance, mind whirring with composition and colour.

She's an artist to the bone, got creation on her soul, and one day, Celia prays, Elena will have the time and money to put to canvas every painting she ever dreamed of making, even the ones she's daydreaming of now, when it's just half formed thoughts to distract herself while waiting.

Sovrano walked out- and they fell in behind him- cupping a lighter of all things. They walked in silence, meandering back towards their home streets, his face screwed up in concentration, having said nothing other than that he cannot let the lighter go out, and there are good things in store for them.

Almost home, they turned into a plaza, but Sovranos hands were getting lazy, and the wind whistling through an alleyway took them off guard, and as the flickering light died out, fear and panic rose on his face, as he looked around then scrambled to re-light it.

Celia shook her head at the strange ritual, turning away from checking in on him due to his sudden movements, when the smack of flesh on stone altered her to his fall-

Blood, again, bright red soaking flagstones instead of grass, but this time, there is no coming back for their leader.

Bullet? But the blood- like a stab, not gunshot. No weapon in sight, no perpetrator- sniper?

Cold, a prick at her back, just between her shoulder blades, then white hot pain, her brain screaming, and all she can think about is Elena. Elena who has a chance at a future, who has a chance to get her and her family off of these bloodsoaked streets, and before she knows it, her muscles move, instinct propelling her, knocking Elena to the ground, hand cradling the back of her neck to lessen the fall, arm clutching hers, too tight, but the pain, bright and unyielding, blinds her.

Her nose hits something soft, a cheek and her lips are about to- and if shes at the angle she thinks shes at- our mother in heaven let her be selfish just this once- and both their lips are dry and cracked- and let her have this, let this be her last moments, kissing the person she loves as she cradles her, lying on blood splattered flagstones, warm underneath them both from the hot sun.

Let her be selfish again, and open her eyes, let her memorise Elena's face, again, let it be what she sees-

The warmth under them both is wet and the hole through her extends to her love, and she feels her body slipping out from under her, panic overrides the pain as she sees the hole placed just between Elena's collar bones- and no she didn't- no- not her. Something in her throat building up, a scream, but all that comes out is blood, as flickering darkness descends, and her body gives out from under her, and for a split second she swears she can see herself, blood streaming down her back, both their lips stained, just like the stone below, wrapped in a pathetic embrace.

She wakes up like that, sprawled on the stone, blood turned brown and flaking at the touch. Something brushes against her shoulder blades, A freckled hand reaches towards her, and there's a split second where she hunches over Elena further, before she connects the hand to Tesoro, and relaxes, turning her face towards him, eyes blinking in the dim evening light.

Another hand, slimmer and presumably the source of the touch that woke her, cups her head, and Tesoro pushes on her shoulder, rolls her over onto her back, leaving Elena unprotected.

Cool fingers massage her temples, and coax her eyes into focusing on the blue ones staring into hers, above them, brows knitted in concentration. One hand reaches towards the cool skin on her chest, where the frayed and torn edges of the hole in her shirt brush against her skin, outlining the exposed flesh. A gasp she later realises is her own sounds out as fingertips brush against scar tissue, where only hours ago, there was a gaping wound.

Clumsy movements drag her arm towards Conficcares, pulling on it it like a petulant child, the pushing it towards Elena, trying to convey what her throat won't let her, to help Elena over her, help the one of them with a future, the one who shouldn't be lying wounded on these bloodsoaked streets. the one who has a chance to escape.

Tesoro breaks the silence, from where he is leaning over Elena, with confused murmuring to Conficcare, “It's the same, these scars are fresh, but-” he shakes his head in frustration- “they didn't have these when the went out-” his head turns to Conficcare, eyes weighing on him, silently asking the groups medic if these were past wounds, hidden from the rest of them.

He shakes his head solemnly in answer, “There should be no way for them to have healed in a few hours.”

Celia tries to open her mouth, but no words come out, the poor things getting stuck on the raw edges of her throat. She just gapes like an air-drowning fish, before squeezing her eyes shut at the effort.

Pity shines in green and blue eyes, and behind the shield of her eyelids, it weighs heavy on her chest. The silence weighs heavier, she can almost hear the exchange between the two, concern and questions flying over her head. She can almost hear Tesoro constructing the perfect comforting words, weaving them together, reassurances and certainty and love and-

-and Conficcare beats him to the bullet and breaks the silence.

“You really must be out of it, if you're aren't threatening comical acts of violence upon me for feeling up your chest,”

It sounds forced, even to her, and Tesoro sighs, ready to reprimand their ill-tongued friend, when finally her throat lets something out, and her eyes open in shock as giggles bubble out of her mouth.

Conficcare grins at her, and Tesoros head is in his hands as he gives into laughter too-

A voice next to her bites out, “Idiota” any malice blunted by the fondness that underlies every syllable.

And Celia turn her head towards her sun and grins too, wide and full of love, giggles turning to cackles, Tesoros shoulders shaking alongside his head, as he lowers his arms and reveals his own grin, and finally Elena cracks to, rolling her eyes as the twitch at the corner of her mouth turns into a smile, lovingly frustrated, but then her eyes glint maliciously and she opens her mouth again-

“Please, you kiss worse when you are trying to be romantic than Celia over here did when she was actively bleeding out.”

The smug look is wiped off Conficcares face as he processes what Elena just said, and Celia is certain what blood remains in her is all in her cheeks and she burns with embarrassment.

Conficcare finds his words quickly, turning his kicked dog eyes onto Tesoro and pleading “I'm a good kisser- aren't I, Tesoro?”

Tesoro joins her and Elena on the floor as he gasps for breath, Conficcare pouting at him, at them all, as if to protest against the mockery he was suffering.

Celia is warm now, laughter and love filling her back up, anchoring her again to this world, fondness for life soaking back into her bones. She loves these idiotas, every fucking one of them.

“Love you too, idiota, but watch who your calling stupid, my stubborn Muro”

Ignore that, Celia is crawling under the nearest rock and dying.

…She's still grinning though.

And not even the pressing weight of consequences, not the cooling corpse of someone she's known since she was eleven, nor the mysteries of how exactly they were hurt and healed can douse the warmth in her heart.

#thebirdwrites #gold & silver #ockiss24 #celia #maría elena #title from born to run #bc im predictable as fuck #the violence is just in one tiny section but its also the one with the kiss #shout out to Celia n Elena getting stands and its both the least and most important thing that happens #celia ilu but your habit of grounding yourself in the moment and past to avoid thinking about the bigger picture is both hysterical and #frustrating #oh young dumb and in love Celia<3 #she does not know what the fuck is going on or whats gonna go down bc of this #it feel the summary can be read as setting up a meeting w polpo but shes to small time to be present #its a complete fucking accident #<- cries

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