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#rusty bb
mitski · 1 year
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02x01 // 02x08
The beginning and the end.
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pinkyjulien · 6 days
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Valentin & Mitch | 669/?? ━━ ETHEREAL 🌈
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strangecowplant · 11 months
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i needed to make a sim with this hair ♡
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risingsh0t · 3 months
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SURVIVORS 🔥
template by @unholymilf / toby & ash belong to @jendoe 🤍
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nophicas-ward · 1 year
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I’m grateful for all the words we’ve shared. For all the moments, and the memories. You’ve made me more happy than you know.
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squee333 · 1 year
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Theres a lot more I want to make + I want to do more with this idea but... there they are painting Nny's wall together ;-; BB is just listening to nny rant :~O
perhaps.. give me more ideas to illustrate >:3 im working on a good style to draw them both in.. this is just the first
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fand0mswithbunny · 4 months
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Doodles for Vengeance in Vegas II, truly the event of all time.
CLOSE UPS UNDER THE CUT!!
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traykar · 4 days
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There should be a story where Rusty the Dalek meets Abslom daak, and they team up to kill the remaining daleks in the universe. Once they do, Rusty turns towards Daak and tells him there's one more dalek for him to kill.
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pctaldrunk · 6 months
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@lianhuaes asked : ‘ you’re worried about telling me, but you mustn’t be. ’ ( w.wx -> x.ueqing bc she sounds cute n w.wx wants to be a menace! ) ( IMSORRY IF THISIS THE THIRD TIME?? ? ? idk if it ever went through the first two times BUT,., ,, , ) - HAVE COURAGE AND BE KIND (ACCEPTING)
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Most of her is tucked securely behind the guqing she no longer wears slung across her back, but holds between her arms. The girl looks to be TRULY conflicted - round little nose wrinkled, teeth sinking into pink lip as she considers. Voice is small, hesitant, "But Zongzhu says - " and she colors, in spite of herself, brows furrowing. "Well, I guess Zongzhu isn't here..." Peers at him cautiously with LARGE, GLIMMERING EYES, skittish as a creature at the edge of the forest ready to bolt for cover at any moment. "And I guess...you don't look like a BAD person..."
A little strange, perhaps, but - hesitates only a moment longer, looking around, the pink on her cheek deepening. And then Xueqing motions for him to come closer. Voice is small and a little troubled as she whispers - "I don't know if you know anything about musical cultivation, but I think THIS SCORE IS WRONG."
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feline-evil · 6 months
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AUGH OUGH AGH BITES MY OWN TAIL GNASHES AT THE BARS OF MY CAGE, FUCK i do not have fic-writing energy rn. But i sure do have tiny snippets in a google doc that hurts me now <3
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Screaming Thrashing Blowing up!!!!!!!
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nocentis · 7 months
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let her kiss his brand...
He sees her in the way that bees see flowers; the way that leaves see sunshine.
╳┆Honey spilled over the horizon and painted the high tide. Gilded fingers twisted into the amber silks draped upon the throne of cloud, wrapped them up in their glittering palms, around their wrists, and the day's ruler hoisted themselves slowly to claim, leaving blood and syrup in their wake. Their white robes did little to shield their pride; their radiance. There was something to be said about that immeasurable beauty and the karmic toll of viewing it. The price of a look, one held long enough to truly see, was to surrender the gift of future sight. There was something to be said about the periphery. Something about those colors, that warmth, that marvel, and how maybe close enough should be good enough, and why couldn't it be? Something about the cost of love, something about moderation, and maybe something about the comfort of cowardice.
Winter and Spring began their waltz, slowly slinking ‘round and ‘round with fingers interlaced high above their heads, eyes locked in lovers’ snares. Winter, condemned to play the role of callousness; of indiscriminate reaping, and Spring, the tender, the nurturer, tasked with the labor of rebirth. They found their compromise in the snowdrop’s bloom; in its frozen dew. They found it in the chill of the morning and the warmth of the afternoon, in the cool breeze, in the jewel-toned sky and the first blades of grass yet bitten by frost.
It must’ve been love, he thought, for what else could compel the harsh hand of Winter, cold and cruel as it was, not to strike, but to dance? It must've been love, he thought, because when Winter slipped from her grasp, Spring, in her loneliness, would begin to weep. Beautiful things bloomed from her pain, and so her pain was expected, demanded again and again. It must've been love that drove Winter to destroy those sorrow-sewn fields so that Spring would come back to him comfortably, and so just for a little while, they could find peace together.
Today, they were dancing.
╳┆The swell in his chest shined through his broadened shoulders, the length of his neck, the lift of his chin. Still, the habit of treading brazenly, maskless, through stone-laid streets, was one he’d yet to pick up. His formal pardon hadn’t barred the eyes from prying, and it certainly hadn’t muted the whispers. If anything, they’d only grown louder, more opinionated, so he'd yet to find comfort in the breeze's naked palms.
The repetitive swish and clang of his garb and the thud of his armored boots against the cobbles were familiar enough to become mute to the mind, like absorbed by his black-bleeding subconscious. Gone with it, the songbird’s tune, the whistle of the breeze, the sway of the trees. But not today. No, today he heard it—the way the wind howled in harmony with the river’s steady rush, the beat of his own pace, the trill tittering above, the cheerful chatter of life—like it was his first time. In a way, he supposed it was. Every other time he’d walked this path, he’d walked it with closed eyes and wool-stuffed ears, in thrall to the rotten echoes of his own mind. But not today. No. Today, his chin held high, as his spirits did.
He must have looked every bit the manic fool that morning, sliding through the doors of the Fairy Tail guild at the first wink of sunlight, sporting that glued-on grin he'd still yet to unstick, with nothing more to present than a pair of mismatched daffodils and their attached note. Thankfully, Mirajane and her sister, Lisanna, were already in-house preparing for the day ahead, undoubtedly taking advantage of the peace and quiet of the empty hall while they still had the opportunity. Though naturally surprised to see him so elated, they were both pleasant in their greetings and eagerly agreed to deliver his message (though he was nearly certain they were teasing him about his intentions with their fair lady Erza).
His cheer was met equally and enthusiastically. Both sisters were practically teeming with glee by the time he turned to leave, giggling and covering their mouths like they knew something the rest of the world was yet privy to. While he found their giddiness puzzling, he surely welcomed the departure from gloom; from the doom-written reeds he so often dragged in. It was nice, he thought, to share weightless words, to have a laugh, to venture beyond Winter's shadow into the first light of Spring.
From there, he'd practically skipped to his next task. Never in so many years of travel had he received such bemused faces from passersby. He'd actually paused once to check his skin, just to make sure he wasn't actually glowing. Heaven knew how long it'd been since he felt something so carefree as genuine excitement. Long enough that he found it uncontainable. Long enough that it felt like sunshine in his chest, crawling up his throat, bursting through his teeth.
Mrs. Ito was no exception to the day's pleasantries. She'd always been kind in the short time he'd known her. Recently widowed, she decided she had too much house and not enough home, in her own words, so she moved in with her eldest son, his wife, and their children. He'd met with them all one evening for dinner (Mrs. Ito wanted to know to whom she was handing over her home), and even after stories were shared and intentions were laid, he was met gently with understanding smiles, warm hands holding his own, and Mrs. Ito's hushed, "It's time to go home, son."
When he arrived to pick up the keys—his keys to his house—she greeted him fondly, like they'd always known one another. Her son stood in the doorway as he exchanged the gift of home with a box of market candies, his smile slowly melting like he'd finally found the bitter side of sweet. He'd waved goodbye with a promise to visit again soon, but as he turned towards his new tomorrow, he missed the pinch in Mrs. Ito's brow and the tears that followed. He missed the shake of her shoulders as her son ushered her back inside and the red-rimmed eyes that lingered on his back.
His elation carried him through thinning streets and into the countryside. Horse-drawn carriages passed him by with blinders on, kicking up dust and bouncing rocks off their spokes as they went. The folks tending their land paused to spare him a sprinkler's glance. Just around the bend, there sat a humble brick house on a quaint piece of land. Its stone pathway stood out in the sparsely grown, mostly browned lawn, and it drew a path straight towards that painted-red front door. The very same one that he was now standing in front of, staring at.
The key poised betwixt his fingers had been left to steep in his pocketful of sunshine long enough for the heat to transfer, and now it was burning, blistering his skin, and it felt something like rejection. Like the soul of the land had its hands on his shoulders and was shoving him backward. Like he wasn't meant to be here. He was never meant to have this.
But he wasn't ready to give it up just yet.
He tapped the door with a single knuckle, just to see if it'd turn to ash. It held steady, materially, before him, just the same as it ever looked. Its bricks spoke no threat of crumble, its roof showed no sign of collapse, and yet none of it truly felt real. Even as his head bowed and his forehead pressed into that cool crimson, even as he traced the ridges of the keys in his palm, even then, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.
A moment of silent prayer. A deep, grounding breath. Eyes open, back straight, he finally found the will to turn the key. The door slowly creaked open, allowing light to pour in through the front door.
His lingering joy was a sweet wine on the brink of spoil, turned to vinegar in his gut. The morn's candied shell cracked between his teeth and its well-concealed bitterness flooded his tongue like it had been waiting for the opportunity all along. It leaked from the corners of his still-smiling mouth, even as his lips began to twitch; even as heat brimmed his eyes and tears threatened to spill. He stood in the doorway, still, watching the walls of that front room stretch higher and higher as the moment dragged on, like he was waiting for something—something like Karma—to come along and destroy it all, strip it all away; to take from him again, as he'd taken from so many others.
He forced himself to step inside, to turn, to close and lock the door behind himself.
And then it was quiet. Devastatingly so. Gone were the wind, the leaves, the birdsong and the horses' trot. Static rushed in to fill its place, skating rings around his ears, and his periphery began to blur, his chest to ache—oh, he felt ill, and the dam threatened to burst, and his throat tightened until he audibly choked. A hand rose to cup his neck, and another to cover his mouth, stifling his upward bubbling sob as heat rose to cloud his vision. He sunk to his knees as the first tears fell, crushed by the weight of overwhelm, one hand scratching helplessly against hardwood while the other heeled at his bleeding eyes.
How audacious could he be? Already living on borrowed breath, daring to walk the path of the benevolent man. Now he dared to seek normalcy for himself, to smile gleefully while so many still woke in a cold sweat, in terror, at the sight of him, and others would never wake at all. A sick joke. He hardly deserved a proper burial, much less a place to lay his head, and yet he wanted it still.
He turned and sat with his back pressed against the front door, and he tried to find comfort in the nothing. He tried to find comfort in the emptiness, the darkness, the hollow and desolate, but the shadows had autonomous hands. Those mangled fingers were rotten down to blackened bone and had mouths where their nails should've been, and they'd been picking at the threads of his mind's drawn curtain, picking, pulling, unspooling, until they made their hole big enough to climb through. When they finally reached him, they were dripping ink like blood, wrapped up in memories' silk that they used to bind him where he was.
How long had it been? He was a child when he'd last called a house like this his home, before the raid. If only his mother and father could see him now, what would they say? Would they smile? Would they cry? Would they be proud of their son, even to this day, with all years considered, and would they love him still? Would they hand their heads in shame, or would they lift their chins in disgust? He never got the chance to know them well enough to answer those questions with any certainty.
His head thumped against the wall, tears trailing unbidden as he stared through the ceiling. His breath shook as he exhaled, voice straining when he pleaded directly to God, "Please," his face curled inward and he nearly choked, "It's more than I deserve, but please, may I have this?"
But it wasn't God who'd condemned him. It wasn't God who'd damned his soul to roam, so God need not answer.
The silence was a swarm that eventually overtook the sounds of his wet misery. The numbness accompanying that insidious peace was a welcome shift. It gathered over his shoulders and draped from him, robe-like, as he finally rose from the floor, intent on washing his face.
A few short steps brought him to the bathroom. He blindly palmed at the wall until he found the switch. Light sprung from the top down, bathing the back of his hand as he turned on the sink. He let it run over his fingers until warm and watched years-old blood run off and stain the porcelain. The water he gathered in his palms was soon spilled over the flesh of his face and beyond his sleeves.
While the salt may have washed clean, the evidence of his deluge clung to the skin beneath his eyes and around his nose in Pollock pink. That much became obvious the very second he met his own glassy stare, though its juxtaposition to the hot iron's bite made its consequence seem all the more fleeting. The tips of his fingers idled against his still-dripping skin, at first tracing the risen path, then covering it. He tried to imagine what he might've looked like without it. Would he look more youthful? Would he look kind when he smiled? Would children be less afraid when he waved to them?
He supposed it didn't matter. The choice was never his to have. That glowing sunset crest lived inside of his eyelids, lurking there, daring him to blink. Within each lapse, he saw the devil's eyes. He saw split-curl smiles and broken teeth outlined in stolen blood. He heard the devil's laugh, shrill and gleeful and giddy, and felt its dank breath against his neck, and he felt its hands curling around his ankles, his wrists, his arms and legs, puncturing his skin with nails of obsidian glass, and he felt it climb onto his chest, crack his ribs, and he felt his face begin to sweat, even though he was so, so cold.
It was so, so cold. White cold. And he was awake. Wide-eyed, shocked mute. His skin shrieked as its moisture fled, and it began to peel away, to bubble and blister and burn—God, it burned, and the smell—
Knock-knock, knock!
His visitor's early arrival nearly sent him out of his skin. He quickly turned the water off and killed the light, and he hoped that his sorrows stayed in the drain depths where they belonged.
The door swung inward, and she was there, waiting patiently, graciously, for him like she always had. His breath turned to dust in his lungs.
In her hands, those inverted daffodils dressed in yellow and white, not a petal out of place. Gold spilled over her crown, revealing that halo he'd always known was there. The breeze tossed her scarlet flames about semblant of Venus, and rosey lips sat in their gentle curve, smiling softly at him, yet before they could split to spill a greeting, he'd already begun to pull her towards him. As he wrapped himself around her, his eyes began to burn again, and the second he felt her hand at his back, returning his embrace, he broke, and the tears spilled forth once more. His head fell to rest against her armored shoulder, and through the rain, he began to laugh.
She pulled away to view him at arms' length, mouth slightly parted as though a question had come to peer through her teeth. He wiped at his face with tremors in his hands, chuckling softly when Erza finally shoved out, "Tears?"
"It's silly, really," he holds up the keys, "I'm overwhelmed."
It didn't take her long to put it together.
Warmth graced his jaw with the weight of a whisper, so faint he'd thought surely that he'd imagined it. That is, until it struck again, soft and sweet against his cheek, beneath his eye, his forehead. His eyes blinked open as she sunk back to her heels, bashfully peering up at him through the veil of her lashes; waiting for him to do something, anything.
The raucous buzzing faded into a melodic hum like the swarm had finally found its queen.
His blood sang as it rushed red-hot through his shoulders, crawled up his neck, and began burning its way through the skin of his face. The ear-popping clarity of his thought-storm's sudden abandon left him staring mindlessly with eyes much too wide and jaw much too lax, narrowly remembering to breathe, until her shy expression began to melt into something more reminiscent of unease, like she was preparing to flee.
Perhaps a touch too quickly, he grabbed her hand, careful to keep his grip loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted. Slowly, surely, his opposite hand reached to tuck her hair behind her ear, and his palm cupped her cheek in a silent plea not to retreat from him. A silent plea to stay here, right here, in this moment, in his grasp, just a little while longer.
And she did. She stayed. She smiled gently, warmly. Her head fell to rest against his chest and she leaned into his sway. There, in the silence, they found their rhythm. They began to dance.
"Welcome home, Jellal." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- @mamorigami
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paranormal-potatoes · 2 years
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Here is a sad prompt with the old man, Gherman:
"....You were... My sunshine, My only.. S-sun... Shine, You made me happy... When skies... We-were gray... You'll ne-never.... Know, Dear, How much I loved you...."
*His voice becomes shakier, Tears begin to fall*
"....So please... Oh please don't take.... M-my sunshine away...."
"....Gehrman, Are you....crying?"
okay i swear i meant for this to be angstier but uhh idk, not as much crying, could be more but i need to just post what i have before i overthink and then never do it bc ~anxiety~ also this hasn't been betaed or edited that much so. also ended up longer than i thought so under readmore. also ended up only having like 1 line of the song being said/sang bc i feel weird about including songs in stories unless its like. karaoke or a song playing on the radio
takes place in my time travel au. anyways have this before i chicken out
given im posting this from my phone, i hope the formatting doesnt fuck up.
=====
“...my sunshine, my only sunshine...”
 
“... are you singing?”
 
Taylor startles, spinning around and knocking their Saw Cleaver to the ground, fortunately missing the bottles by the work table.
 
Hm, I should probably move those, it’ll be quite a mess if they break.
 
“Fuck! How are you so quiet? You’re in a wheelchair!”
They’ve been here some time, their mask hanging around their neck instead of pulled up to their nose. A new scar marks their neck, likely a fatal one from its placing.
 
They retrieve their weapon, placing it back on the table.
 
He should probably ask how they’re handling the constant dying.
 
“Were you singing?” he repeats instead.
 
To his amusement, their cheeks immediately redden.
 
Good gods, they need more sunlight, they’re paler than Maria was.
 
They rub the back of their neck, embarrassed.
 
“No? I’m not that good at singing.”
 
And some self-confidence. Are they this nervous in combat?
 
“I was just humming, I’m sorry if–”
 
He interrupts, “Why are you apologizing?”
 
They shrink a bit and he can hear Ludwig lamenting his people skills, already poor before his confinement. He prefers teaching over reassurance.
 
Gehrman tries a different approach.
 
“What can you hear?”
 
They blink, tilting their head to listen, the burnt feather edges of their cap making them even more birdlike.
 
Hm, I wonder if Eileen is still the Hunter of Hunters.
 
“Wind. The fire. Messengers chittering,” they frown, focusing.
 
“And what does Yharnam sound like?”
 
Their expression blanks for a moment.
 
“Before nightfall,” he clarifies.
 
“Um. Dogs, people moving inside their homes. Quiet talking, birds. Water in the canal. Wind, fire crackling. Huntsmen walking around,” they list.
 
He lifts an eyebrow.
 
“Oh,” they realize what he’s getting at. “It’s a lot quieter here. There’s less, uh, life.”
 
“I might prefer quiet over dozens of talking people, but that’s a preference, not–” he gestures around them.
 
“That’s a choice.”
 
Well, this was a choice, too, but not one he knew the extent of.
 
Their expression suggests they’re familiar with choices being taken from them.
 
“Your humming, or singing, isn’t a problem. You’re welcome to continue.”
 
They nod hesitantly.
 
He leaves.
 
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
 
After that, he hears Taylor humming in the Dream, sometimes singing softly enough he can only catch some of the words.
 
(“...my sunshine, my only sunshine...”)
 
They always turn to humming or simply stop when they notice him.
 
They’ll come looking for him at times, if only to say hello, sometimes asking questions or showing him something they’ve found.
 
He almost starts laughing when they show him a Reiterpallasch and Chikage they recovered from Cainhurst. He’s less amused when they explain they found an unopened summons addressed to them, even less so when they admit they accepted a covenant with the Vileblood Queen.
 
They grudgingly tell him what happened in Cainhurst, about Logarius and the Vileblood slaughter, how the grounds are overrun with bloodlickers and dead women roam the halls.
 
He doesn’t know how to feel about that.
 
Maria’s mother came to the funeral to see her daughter again, refusing to look at any of the hunters. Her cousin, Cole, spent ten minutes glaring at Gehrman, blaming him for his cousin’s death.
 
He doesn’t disagree.
 
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
 
Taylor brings more weapons to show him, ones they found in Yharnam or the dungeons.
 
They’re extremely delighted to show him ones recovered from the dungeons, enamored with the Beast Cutter and Boom Hammer.
 
He shows them a picture of the Whirligig Saw, telling them it was designed by the Powder Kegs, who also made their Rifle Spear and the Boom Hammer.
 
Their eyes glitter in excitement.
 
Perhaps telling them about it was a mistake.
 
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
 
They find some of Teague’s old writing from before he shortened his name. He would be delighted someone else who rejected gender would take his name.
 
Teagan looks far livelier than when they first arrived.
 
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
 
He finds himself humming as he puts them back together, stitching their chest closed.
 
A beast didn’t do this. This was done by a knife, someone was careful and deliberate. Someone with experience carved them open.
 
(“H–help...”)
 
He shouldn’t have let himself become this attached. Once the hunt ends, they’ll be gone, forgetting all of this. He and Plain Doll will be alone once more.
 
He keeps humming and putting them back together.
 
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
 
He finds himself humming the tune again while working on a Saw Cleaver.
 
He’s accepted this isn’t a dream, which leaves him with time travel. Somehow he’s in the past, before the first Blood Moon, before his contract.
 
Before Maria’s suicide and Teague’s death.
 
Before Teagan.
 
He’s sure they had something to do with this. If it were a dream, he’d say Flora was responsible but it isn’t.
 
Are they somewhere in the past? Or did they take his place?
 
No. Why would he have been pushed into the past if they had? So where are they? What happened to them?
 
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
 
Teague, unsurprisingly, comes to find him, leans against the doorframe in silence.
 
“Still having too realistic dreams?”
 
He doesn’t answer.
 
“Or, uh, are you just not sleeping to avoid them?”
 
“Like you’re one to talk.”
 
Teague and Maria carried the most guilt over the hamlet. Maria threw herself into caring for her patients and Teague tried to run from it for a long time.
 
They all did. Sooner or later, it caught up to them. He hopes they at least found peace in death, but he doubts it.
 
Sometimes he thinks he got lucky, undying as he was. Other times he envies them for finding release from the guilt.
 
He wonders how Teague would react if he told him everything. Probably think he went mad. Perhaps he has. He has no proof anything he remembers happened at all.
 
Even his right leg is back, which keeps taking him by surprise. He keeps expecting pain when he walks for too long but it never comes. His memory isn’t failing him constantly and the world is no longer foggy.
 
It feels like a gift. It feels like a curse.
 
He shouldn’t have gotten so attached to Teagan, he shouldn’t have let them get so attached.
 
He has nothing of the dream but memories, a song he doesn’t even know the words to and the knowledge Teagan likely sacrificed something to give him a sunrise.
 
“... Gehrman, are you crying?” Teague asked.
 
He reaches up and finds tears.
 
“It would seem so.”
 
“Want to talk about it?”
 
“No.”
 
Teague snorts.
 
“Yeah, figured. It’s like pulling teeth with you. Between you and Maria, I’m about ready to get Ludwig involved. Let you two get motherhenned.”
 
“I’ll tell him you’re the one who broke his bedroom door.”
 
Teague holds his hands up in surrender, alarmed.
 
“Geez, alright, alright! No need to go that far, damn!”
 
He wipes the tears away.
 
“But, uh, seriously. I’m willing to listen.”
 
“I know. Go to sleep, if I have to wake you up in the morning, I’m using a bucket of water.”
 
“Only if you stop for the night and get some sleep yourself. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your shitty sleeping habits.”
 
He sighs but lays his tools down.
 
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
 
“So!” Ludwig claps his hands, grinning brightly. “Someone from the south brought word of a village that had a three day long storm.”
 
Maria’s expression tightens. If he didn’t know what to look for now, Gehrman would have missed it. He kicks himself for missing it last time.
 
“And? Storms can be fucked up,” Teague said, picking at his nails.
 
“They aren’t normally preceded by a light burning through the woods and the waters rising several feet before the storm. It happened a month ago. They’ve requested assistance, the wildlife has turned aggressive and avoids the deep woods.”
 
“What is the village’s name?” Maria looks as she always had, but Gehrman can see the guilt and shame weighing on her now.
 
“Aramore. I thought us five could go investigate.”
 
“No, originally you wanted to take some new Hunters and I vetoed it because they wouldn’t be able to convince you not to adopt twenty children,” Laurence said, amused.
 
Ludwig waves him off.
 
“Bet we’re still coming home with a kid,” Teague jokes.
 
“Don’t jinx us, Amelia’s enough,” Gehrman said.
 
“Yes, my daughter is wonderful,” said Laurence, deliberately ignoring the two’s meaning. “She’d probably like a sibling. Or maybe one of you two will bring home a child.”
 
“Hell no, I’m not having kids ever.”
 
“I can barely tolerate adults, what makes you think I want a child?”
 
Teagan comes to mind. He doesn’t know when they were born or even their birth name but he thinks they would be the only child he’d choose to care for. Although, with his luck, he’d traumatize them more than they already were.
 
He turns his attention back to Ludwig, pushing the thoughts aside. The chances of him being able to find them again are low, especially without a birth year and family name. And even if he could find them again, he wouldn’t be able to do anything. They mentioned a mother once, clearly living and he’s not kidnapping a child.
 
It's pointless to consider.
 
He has nothing from the dream but memories and a song he doesn’t know the words to.
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i-am-still-khel · 1 year
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Whumptober 2022 - No. 12 - Rusty Nail
Fili & Kili, T
--
“Come on!” Kili shouted and gestured impatiently for Fili to walk faster.
“I’m old!” Fili groaned dramatically. He dragged his feet slower.
Kili rushed back and grabbed Fili’s hand. “Come on!” he grunted as he half-dragged Fili up the hill.
Fili stopped pulling against Kili’s insistent tugs. “What’s so important?”
“Remember Oscar?”
“The old man who threw rocks at you when he stepped on his lawn?” Fili furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What about him?”
“And he gave out apples and sugar-free gum on Halloween,” Kili added.
“Okay,” Fili dragged out the word. “He was a dick, but what about him?”
Kili’s eyes brightened at Fili’s words, glad to be treated like an equal rather than an annoying little brother. “He died,” Kili said gleefully.
“And?” Fili prompted. Kili was simply adding to his confusion instead of alleviating it.
“I want to show you!” Kili started walking faster.
“Did someone T.P. the whole house?”
“Better!”
“What?”
“Just hurry up!” Kili dropped Fili’s hand and disappeared over the ridge that separated their back forest from Oscar’s property.
Fili, not convinced of the urgency, slowed his pace. Frustrating Kili was an old habit that could not easily be broken.
When he crested the ridge he saw Oscar’s house sat among a copse of trees. If Kili had not told him that Oscar had died Fili would not have been able to guess it. The garden had always been overgrown and wild. Fili actually preferred it to the carefully tended gardens at the “family home” where his uncle lived. Not a single shrub was allowed to grow an errant leaf under the watchful guard of the gardener.
Kili was nearly down to the house already. His downhill run more of a controlled fall than anything else.
“Kili! Wait!” Fili shouted. He started to walk faster. The straps of his sandals dug into the soft spots between his toes as he descended the hill. He had worn boots for most of the summer while he was working (and living) as a camp counselor and his feet were still soft  and pale below his sock tan line even though it was late August.
Kili did not listen. If anything it seemed to Fili like Kili sped up.
Kili had disappeared through the open front door by the time Fili reached the door.
“Kili!”
Fili opened the front door. Its hinges squealed.
“Kili! This is trespassing! We need to leave!” Fili shouted as he took a few steps into what had been Oscar’s living room.
It was clear that Kili was not the only kid who had spent the summer trespassing. Cigarette butts, beer bottles, condom wrappers, and other trash filled the corners of the room. There was also graffiti covering many of the walls.
“Kili!” Fili shouted again. His patience waning.
There was no response, but there was a crash and a quick creaking of floorboards from upstairs.
Fili quickly climbed the stairs, intent on dragging his brother from the abandoned house by his ankles if need be.
“Kili, come on. You’ve shown me. Let’s go.” Fili turned the corner at the top of the stairs to look down a long hallway. He paused, but when he heard a pained gasp from one of the rooms at the other end he sprinted, no longer worried about rotting floorboards or anything else.
“Are you alright?” Fili asked before he even saw what had happened.
“I think so.” Kili’s voice was quiet and it shook a little. He was standing to the side of the small room that was filled with large sheets of sheet metal, boards with nails driven through them, and bits of broken furniture. He cradled his arm to his chest where Fili could see a long cut that was bleeding. Bright red drops already marked the floor by Kili’s feet.
“What did you cut it on?” Fili asked. There were many things in the room that were capable of the scratch, some more dangerous than others.
Kili gestured with his elbow.
And Fili saw it. One of the boards full of nails had been knocked over and drops of blood were visible on the pointed ends of the nails.
“We have to go. Now,” Fili snapped, his voice firm. He pulled off his t-shirt and wrapped it around Kili’s arm.
“Oww!” Kili flinched and pulled away.
“For the bleeding,” Fili said brusquely. “We have to go now.”
“Why? It’s just a scratch.”
“From a rusty nail. Rusty nails can give you tetanus.”
“What’s that?” Kili’s eyes were wide.
Fili opened his mouth to respond, but decided that it was better to not describe tetanus. “A disease. But a doctor can give you a shot. And then it won’t happen.”
“What happens if I don’t get the shot? Do I get tetanus?”
“You’re getting the shot,” Fili bodily moved Kili out the door and down the hall.
“I don’t like shots,” Kili protested.
“Tough cookies.”
This over the hill it was Fili hurrying Kili, who was dragging his feet, along.
“Shouldn’t we see if Mom says I need a shot?” Kili protested when Fili opened the passenger door of his rusty coupe.
“She’ll say that you do. Get in.”
“I don’t think you can be shirtless at the doctor’s office,” Kili offered weakly as he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.
“I…” Fili peered into the back seat of his car. “I’ve got a spare.” He pulled the flannel shirt that still smelled like smoke and had holes around the cuffs from the back sit and put it on before getting in and buckling his own seatbelt.
“This isn’t the way to the doctors,” Kili pointed out several minutes into the drive.
“Uh. We’re going to the hospital.” Fili quickly hoped that he still had the insurance card in his wallet. His mother had insisted that he have one in case something happened to him while he was working at camp.
Kili’s eyes go wide. He holds his arm tight to his chest and says nothing more.
“Hey,” Fili tried to reassure Kili while keeping his eyes on the road. “It’ll just be a shot, maybe some stitches. You might get a cool scar?”
“I don’t want a scar,” Kili said obstinately.
Fili reversed course. “Then you probably won’t get one.”
Neither said much for the rest of the drive or for their time in the waiting room. There was a shot. And there were stitches. Seven stitches to be precise. And then there was a Tootsie Roll pop. And Kili laughed about the tear marks and snot that he had left of Fili’s shirt while the doctor had done the stitching.
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unrclypirxte · 1 year
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Random Asks! - ALWAYS ACCEPTING
@tatbro said: "I'm not fucking playing your game, asshole. Where's Liza."
---
A smile found Vaas' lips, small and sincere ( or as sincere as you'd care to believe ) as he looked down at his radio, hold on the instrument firm as he idly swayed it side to side. He peered up to the expanse of jungle, eyes searching the sea of emerald as he thought about Jason's order.
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After a moment he pressed in the transmitter, licking his lips before speaking: "Y'know, Jason, you value family. Love. I respect that! Really, I do! It's admirable," He glanced over to Carlos, who was getting ready to head to the beach and retrieve some more captives. A reminder of where he was, how far he had come since he was like Jason. Tied to ties that weren't necessary or worth the fight.
"I used to be like you. I mean, who are we without love?" His feelings on the topic were expanse. But for the sake of this conversation, he would try to keep it brief and to the point before his anger surfaced. "But hermano, that shit is gonna get you killed. They don't appreciate you, okay? They're gonna take you for granted, and next thing you know, you're the enemy with no FUCKING choice but to plead, and beg, and come crawling back but FUCK THAT!"
Oh, how he had tried to remain calm and composed. But all at once he was on his feet, voice raised and bordering a yell. He took a second to inhale deeply, attempting a breathing technique Beth had taught him. Radio silence appeared longer than it actually was, until a small rustle could be heard through the receiver.
"I'll relax. We'll relax," He chuckled to himself, if only to change the physicality of his mood and lead onto a brighter path. "I thought you were on my sister, no? I don't think Liza will be too happy with you Jason."
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oakandcirrus · 2 years
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they dont know theyre living on top of the debris of my childhood home.
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bonefall · 3 months
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Favorite rewritten scene from TPB? Any scenes you think would fuck if they were animated? Dont worry why im asking its not important <3
Hmmmm....
Well, BB!TPB is probably the least changed arc to begin with! Better Bones is a project that is basically trying to deliver on the themes I liked in the first 5 books; a flawed society is on the verge of birthing a great monster, a reckoning generations in the making, which can only be saved by the very outcasts their culture seeks to destroy.
So I'm not adding too much to it which isn't just building up the culture some more, adding personality to some background characters (especially mollies), or shoring up cats in ShadowClan.
I've got an old post floating around somewhere about my goals and a basic summary for each book, but here's a MASSIVE ramble about things I plan to add
The three MAJOR cool scenes in here though?
Rusty's Collar
Deerfoot's Sabotauge
Scourge's Collar
Into the Wild: Opening stuff, ThunderClan expansions, Rusty's Collar
For one, DAPPLETAIL has a much bigger role as Firepaw's first teacher. Rusty speaks Townmew; he needs to learn Clanmew.
So I might make the meeting with Graypaw earlier, or just have a bit more of a transitional period where he's "living with a paw in both worlds" before he gets named Firepaw
He also is able to see and take part in some of the Expanded Roles, while still learning Clanmew.
Frostfur is Head of Kitchen Patrol, pregnant, and overworked. Rusty likes her though, he can't always tell what she's saying but he learns she calls him the "Intense Gingerthing (affectionate)" and she's got cool scars
Tigerclaw might be Head of Hunting, or his cousin Willowpelt. Undecided yet; Willowpelt will be taking over after he becomes deputy though.
I forgor who is Construction Head at the moment, probably Mousefur. In any case it's a molly, One-eye has been retired for a long while.
Dappletail is the Educator, naturally, and she hangs out with Ravenpaw and her son Graypaw. Ravenpaw has a habit of telling tall tales.
The adult he's closest to though? Spottedleaf, the Cleric, like a big sister.
IMPORTANT: Rusty's time as a not-apprentice comes to a hard end with his battle against Longtail. Probably because he now understands enough Clanmew to know he's talking shit.
This time though, we're setting up some foreshadowing lads
Unlike other depictions of the collar removal where it's framed like the triumphant moment he enters the Clans, with a beam of sunlight revealing to Bluestar that he is the cat of great prophecy, his collar being snapped off comes with trembling fury and anxiety
He was terrified and angry in that moment! He's been bullied by Longtail, it just came to physical blows, and he was being choked by his collar digging into his throat so he couldn't breathe. When it suddenly SNAPS, he's hacking and coughing, but the whole Clan is cheering at the spectacle, it's like...
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He's being told he's just proved himself. The joy of finally getting what he's really wanted, of landing a mark on his bully and being CELEBRATED for it, it starts to wash away the fear and fury.
It's sudden, like whiplash. He's trembling, he's growling, he's smiling. His stomach is rolling and he doesn't know which emotion is turning it.
Then, his collar is buried. He only sees it out of the corner of his eye, Dappletail (someone he likes) digging a little hole and dropping it in. Like getting rid of something dirty. He can't identify the emotion that prickles his heart in that moment, and to his dying day he never learns the word for it.
But it's going to be the same thing he feels, much much later, after the roar of the BloodClan battle has gone quiet and he's staring at the collar he ripped off Scourge. He spared the leader's life and caused the group to retreat... but, looking at that collar, so lovingly studded with trophies not unlike the ivory Clan cats take from boar hunts...
He realizes that it's meaningful. To Scourge. He can't go far enough to admit that his own collar meant something to him... but...
it would be wrong to just discard this. This emotion drives him to eventually approach Scourge and BloodClan again, in the Epilogue, returning the collar as a gift of goodwill and re-opening discussion about Tigerstar's Impossible Deal. These talks open up a new era of peace and trading between Chelford and the White Hart, until TNP brings it to a tragic end.
But anyway!
Ally Expansions + Deerfoot's Sabotage
In an effort to establish that the Clans have unique subcultures, and that the cats within them are unique individuals, BB!TPB needs more positive supporting cast in more than just WindClan.
GATHERINGS NOW HAVE AFTERGATHERINGS. This is like a discreet afterparty, which adult warriors can choose to attend by simply staying behind when their leadership returns home.
Fireheart regularly attends them until the moment he becomes leader.
A few of his friends in other Clans are Aftergathering regulars. Onewhisker, Mosspelt, Wetfoot.
Some others are just occasional visitors. Mistyfoot is brought along by her sis-in-law, Mosspelt, once or twice. Morningflower comes to do some trades.
(at his FIRST aftergathering he gets to meet Carpwhisker and Cinderfur. These two are noted to stop coming when the political tides harden.)
Because this is the Thistle Era, the Aftergathering is much smaller than it will be in a few generations.
They're also still careful to not leak too much information outside of their own Clans, and the ShadowClan cats are even particularly excited at Fireheart's first Aftergathering because it was difficult to regularly attend these while Brokenstar was leader.
DEERFOOT is a MUCH expanded character. Son of Lizardstripe, brother of Runningnose and Tangleburr, Deerfoot is involved in opposing both Brokenstar, and later NIGHTSTAR when he feels he's going against what Deerfoot fought so hard for.
And, most famously and most fatally, he's the head of the TigerClan Rebels.
Much as I like Ravenpaw... he's not getting his cameo at Stonefur's execution. No, I'm not going to be having the HalfClan cats rescued by Graystripe's bad feeling and also Ravenpaw is there. Freeing the prisoners was an action that came from WITHIN TigerClan.
Deerfoot is going to be beseeching Firestar for it. I haven't figured out EXACTLY how yet, but I'm thinking that it's after Darkstripe was exiled (suddenly, Tigerstar no longer has a mole in ThunderClan) and he's able to ask for Firestar's help openly and honestly, and tell him how many cats will need refuge if the plan is successful.
Being leader now, and not JUST a deputy, Firestar has to consider the way it might drag his Clan into conflict with a huge opponent... which Deerfoot assures won't happen, because his forces have a process. Using ochre and onion, they obscure themselves completely. Not a single one's been caught-- besides the ones who were picked up for the "crime" of being HalfClan.
Deerfoot is going to be killed for what he does here, saving so many lives. So he won't pay for the little trick he's going to pull.
While applying Firestar's ochre and onion, just before entering the camp to rescue the HalfClan cats (and finding they've started an execution early-- with Stonefur), Deerfoot draws back to look at his handiwork. Not a single fleck of his bright, unmistakable orange fur is peaking through his disguise.
So he clicks his tongue, "I've missed a spot." With a rub of his paw, the ochre around the ThunderClan leader's eyes is smudged. Just enough that anyone locking with those green eyes would see the fire poking out from beneath.
Later, when Firestar learns of this after Deerfoot's death... he chuckles with equal parts bitterness and admiration. Most of Deerfoot's Rebels had to go right back to living in TigerClan, and knowing Firestar was leading the battle patrol would take suspicion off them... but, knowing his old, lost ally... a bigger part of it was that Deerfoot was hoping that information would reach Tigerstar and BURN into him.
Compassionate and spiteful to the last, that Deerfoot.
Darkest Hour: BloodClan and Scourge's Collar
I think if I was going to rename the individual books, I'd call the last book of BB!TPB "The Moment of Truth."
BloodClan is keeping the way that it's not important until the last book. Aside from an offhanded mention here and there and a run-in with some peons that replace the rats that attack Bluestar, they're not relevant until the moment they're introduced.
I do want to keep how SURPRISING it was to see them suddenly roll up, keep that feeling that they're brutal, unsettling, foreign. When Tigerstar loses his shit on Scourge for not following his order and attempts to kill him, I want to keep how cold, sudden, and BRUTAL that ending was.
But... when Scourge FIRST appears on screen, he looks much different from the Iceheart he will eventually become. He begins to look less "monstrous" and more like a PERSON as Firestar realizes that they're not so different.
Scourge has no pupils at first. His eyes are solid, icy blue.
He also has no mouth when he isn't about to bite, no lip synch when he talks. Like he's just existing ominously onscreen, wind ruffling his spiky, ungroomed fur.
Before the killing of Tigerstar, it's noted that Scourge's speech is odd, and hard to understand. But, you can sort of make out his intent if you listen carefully.
Firestar recognizes that he is speaking Townmew, his own first language.
Tigerstar doesn't really respect him enough to listen, until he barks an order and Scourge tells him, "...My cats move when I command them, and not before."
Like canon, Firestar steps forward to speak with Scourge. Unlike canon, he very intentionally begins speaking Townmew.
ALSO like canon, when Firestar explains Tigerstar's crimes, that he will never honor any bargains he has made, and thus that they can't be trusted, he rolls that Nat20 and Scourge tells him that there will be no battle today as he thinks about this new information.
And, of course, Tigerstar lost his marbles about this. And also his organs
And Scourge is SEETHING. That's his LAST straw. He made a deal and he is NOT being given what he is owed, he tried to gracefully walk away only for Tigerstar to disrespect him for the last time, and he's SICK. AND. TIRED. Of backstabbing, DISHONORABLE CLAN CATS.
And YET. He remains cool. And he tells Firestar directly, "In light of this, I have changed my mind. We will be taking what we are owed. You have three days to leave, or it will come to combat."
Another big change from canon is that no Clan needs to be convinced to fight. It's a battle culture. They were ALWAYS going to win, or die in glorious combat. Running away is not an option in this era-- they believe their eternal reward is up in StarClan.
But Firestar CAN unite them, bring them together to discuss battle plans. And in this first day...
TigerClan is dismantled. Though Leopardstar tries to cling to her newfound leadership of TigerClan; both Shadow and River are clearly tense and demoralized. Anxious and snappish warriors are mulling about the camp.
and STILL, Firestar is dealing with a bunch of cats who are openly disrespecting him.
Even when he reminds them, "YOU brought him to the Forest! Tigerstar's deal was HALF our land and I could pull LionClan out at any time! I'm trying to HELP YOU"
Darkstripe in particular is still here with his little xenophobic jabs. And he is Xenophobic Jabbering.
In spite of the guilt Leopardstar feels, and the resentment that Blackfoot is starting to feel for Tigerstar and the position he's being thrust into, they're still DIFFICULT, not giving Firestar clear answers about if they're going to come talk battle strategies or not.
Firestar can't believe this.
They're really gonna do this. Say that TigerClan can take care of its own problems.
They're just gonna try and hold onto their scraps of pride and charge into battle, NO plan, because they think they're above him.
After ALL OF THIS, EVERYTHING thats happened, the times they've fought and he's won, becoming deputy, even earning the authority of a leader...
They're STILL not taking him seriously.
This prompts Firestar to end up losing it, the "I saw what you did to Stonefur" speech to Blackstar is moved here, addressed to BOTH of them.
But this time, there's even MORE victims. He lists ALL of them, plus the refugees still in his camp.
And they're gonna kill even MORE cats? What? To be the smuggest corpses in the GROUND?
OR MAYBE THE HAPPIEST LITTLE SKULLS ON THEIR STUPID HILL.
It SHUTS them up.
Leopardstar, in particular, clearly haunted by this... her own father, Mudfur, is one of those refugees. And she is staring intently at some of the bones on the hill.
Unfortunately, her remorse will not stick. Distance will make Blackstar more ashamed, but Leopardstar begins to look back with nostalgia.
But FOR NOW? It MATTERS.
Darkstripe comes in with another little comment, and she snaps at him.
Then she turns back on the Bonehill, and says the, "This belongs to a darker time" line.
Firestar also ends up visiting with Barley Sr, Jr, and Ravenpaw. Chatting about reasons why Ravenpaw still doesn't want to come back, even though Tigerstar is gone.
And about BloodClan, as Barley Senior comes from there. Bone is his mother (though due to some timeline things I'm considering her being his sister; and then Hoot and Jumper are littermates OR cousins of Junior.)
Ends up explaining a bit about the history, how it was formed because of Oakstar, the context of the descendant of Oakstar turning on Scourge like that
Plus why Barley Sr left. His time as a solver, the death of Violet Sr, the way BloodClan demands tribute to keep its cats fed.
And while BloodClan has issues... Firestar is realizing... so do the Clans.
Violence, blood feuds, war... xenophobia. He's still seething over that exchange from earlier.
Firestar's anxious over the big fight, and the people he knows he will lose. GOOD people. The battle won't discern the crackerjacks from the jackasses; people he loves will die. He HAS to win. And yet, his feelings towards Scourge feel frustratingly conflicted.
On the second day...
Finally he's getting somewhere with the other four Clans. Everyone's preparing properly, learning how to fight TOGETHER and not just as four separate entities.
But in ShadowClan, he catches POISONS. Runningnose and Blackfoot are planning to go into battle using the same tactics they used against WindClan-- things that won't kill right away, but will cause inevitable infection and kill slowly, and painfully.
And they're showing OTHERS about it, too.
And this UPSETS Firestar
But, AGAIN, he's able to talk to them. They have a point-- if BloodClan is going to use those claw-weapons, they ALSO have an unfair advantage.
Firestar, about to invent Rules of Engagement: "If they weren't going to use them though?"
That's how Firestar ended up in a british back alley. Meeting with BloodClan.
Scourge is cold and polite, as always, makes a comment about him being early.
Firestar tells him about the poisons, how he's seen them be used before, and how they will kill slowly,
Scourge is torn... at first, thinking it might be a lie, but then the shock of what might happen sets in. He asks, "and why would you warn us about this?"
"Because it's the right thing to do. We're fighting for our home and you're fighting for your promise; It should be a fair fight."
"which means you're reigning them in, then?"
Nods, "If you use the claw extenders, they're going to use an unfair advantage of their own"
As they dig deeper into the conversation, Scourge loses his patience.
"Enough. I've heard enough lies from Clan cats, forest fool. You untrustworthy lot NEVER uphold your end of the bargain, you come here to weaken us but we will not be tricked by a dishonorable foe ever again."
It's starting to hit Firestar now. Scourge... is kinda right.
He's RIGHT to be so distrustful of Clan cats. To think they're dishonorable. He's seen them all himself; liars, hypocrites, cowards, all of them allowing EVIL things to be done to innocent cats.
The pause seems to last days, but it's clear to Scourge he's thinking deeply about what he said.
When Firestar looks up he tells him, "I understand. But I am honorable."
Scourge laughs at that. The whole alley does.
But he stands firm. He will uphold HIS end. "And when you come tomorrow, you will see that I've held my people to it."
"Then you're a greater fool than I thought, weakening yourself."
"Tigerstar believed that honor made us weak," he says with defiance, "and you killed him. I buried him. Now he is dead; don't choose to keep his memory alive."
AND ON THE THIRD AND LAST DAY
When they all come to face off at Fourtrees, it is seen, most of BloodClan is not wearing their extenders.
And most of the Clan cats do not have deathberry-red claws.
There are just some. On both sides.
Scourge is not one of them. His claws are his own
Fire and Scourge step foward in the center, their armies behind them.
Scourge quietly points out the irony in a hushed tone, for what he is about to say could have offended either army;
"Two fools, alike in their dignity. Perhaps in another time we would have been Brothers-in-Honor, you and I."
Brother-in-Honor = Townmew term for someone who unites you through a shared, noble cause.
But Firestar is done. He had to say goodbye to many of his cats this morning, he doesn't know who will live and who will die. The Warriors stand behind him, proud and noble, but terrified to their core. He knows this.
This is their HOME. And he is the holy leader of ThunderClan, bearing the fragment of a star within him.
He's lost his patience, and his sympathy. When he responds, it's loud enough for both armies to hear. (Note: Ever so slightly performative)
"Last chance, Scourge! One step further, and you'll meet the full might of the Warrior Clans."
"Two fools," the little cat laments, "One far more foolish than the other!"
He screeches for BloodClan to attack, and like canon, Firestar loses track of Scourge in the torrent of angry cats
Battle otherwise goes very similar to canon. Out of left field, Darkstripe turns on Firestar with deathberry-red claws, furious and embarassed that he took Tigerstar away and prevented them all from fighting with "every advantage"
Graystripe. One-Man Firestar Defense Squad, body checks him and kills him, trembling in disbelief and immediate regret over his brother's body
Whitestorm loses his fight with Bone and falls, bleeding, to the ground
As he dies, he tells Firestar to let go of his grudges. He was wronged, he was hurt, but please don't let that stop him from making the right choice. Longtail should be deputy.
Firestar announces Longtail is his deputy right there.
The apprentices dogpile Bone in revenge, though I also wouldn't mind changing it. In any case, Bone's dead before Willowpelt can even realize her mate is gone
When he finally sees Scourge again, they grapple ferociously until the little cat breaks loose
Trying to avoid the grallocking move that ended Tigerstar in a blow and not knowing Scourge can't do that without his claw extenders, he pulls back and leaves himself wide open for a vicious transverse slash
He's split open from neck to arm, he can feel himself bleeding out
Scourge looks at him with pity but says nothing, flicking his claws like he's wicking the blood from a sword.
Game_Over.png
Firestar's vision fades into flashing stars and bursts into the silver-and-blue lights of StarClan
He sees the faces of everyone who he's lost, everyone he couldn't save. Spottedleaf who died in a raid. Stonefur whose execution came too soon. Pikepaw who refused to take refuge with his mother. That old bastard Deerfoot. Whitestorm whose blood is replaced with fresh stars.
Yellowfang comes forward, threading constellations like stitches through his gash, snipping at him to stop wriggling like a worm. Spottedleaf is also helping in a way he doesn't understand, licking his fur the wrong way and returning his lost blood like a Mi returns warmth to a cold kitten.
He smiles, filled with the wonderful sensation of a Sharing of Stars, until it hits him again that he needs to go back
Hmm.. maybe ill have it so Whitestorm had no last words and he gives them here. "Don't let the grudges of the past ruin the future. Make the choices you know are right."
Bring the theme together; he was talking about Longtail, but Firestar interprets it differently.
And when he wakes up in his body, gash aching but skillfully closed by the best healers he ever knew, he feels like they filled his veins with a lion's blood.
He grins, a mixture of humor and righteous fury. He didn't know Scourge's tricks, but he doesn't know HIS either.
Scourge has his back turned, focused on Onewhisker who's cowering in front of him. Firestar bowls into him, catching him off guard
"You! You died! I killed you!"
"I played dead."
With a second bolt of strength, Scourge tries to turn it around and they tumble, hissing and spitting, but the little cat doesn't get a second chance
He's pinned like prey, one paw holding his head and the other pulling down his shoulder, growling like an animal with its neck exposed for a brutal killing bite
Firestar lunges down and Scourge screeches, a horrible crack of teeth on bone quiets the battlefield
And then a SNAP
The sun glimmers on the bloodstained collar's fangs, one of the teeth cracked by Firestar's jaws, as he throws it behind him
Scourge's face is truly apparent to Firestar for the first time, his icy eyes wide with astonishment
Firestar recites the beautiful words that had once been made hollow by hypocrisy, "A true warrior does NOT need kill to win their battles," but he presses his paw into Scourge's pulse as a warning, "DO they?!"
He lifts his paw, and Scourge calls for BloodClan to retreat
Though the warriors are shocked at first, they saw his collar ripped off and his black fur soaked in his own blood, and understood they were losing
Just as united as any Forest Four following the command of a leader, each warrior disentangled as quickly as possible and streamed out behind their bolting leader
Some warriors ran after them to chase them out, and came back a few minutes later
And just like that, it was over. They were gone.
But, that collar is laying there, in the light of the setting sun. The inner fabric is purple, covered in a layer of red and brown from a mix of fresh and dry blood. Various teeth poke through, which he now realizes are from various predators.
Firestar gazes at it and feels Rusty's heart beating. He has that strange, indescribable feeling again.
It's... just like Clan cat hunting trophies, yes. It's a valuable, meaningful object to Scourge. It's a spoil of war made of spoils of war. That's why it's stirring his chest, surely. There's something... deeper to this item. It shouldn't be discarded; this item needs to be kept safe.
Or, perhaps, returned.
From there, the epilogue is gravy. When Firestar arrives in the alley again, this time flanked by several cats, Scourge is still recovering from his many injuries. He feels like he's been seeing Firestar's face too often-- and then the collar is gently placed on the ground.
Just like Firestar expected, there's an energy that washes over the gathered cats, and even the unreadable Scourge now seems awestruck by the gesture. The collar was something greater than just a collar; though Firestar couldn't remember if he had ever been told what a BloodClan collar represented.
Speaking, again, in Townmew, he explains that Tigerstar made Scourge an Impossible Deal, which the treacherous tyrant never meant to honor in the first place. But he is dead. BloodClan cannot have the territory and the Clan cats have won it fairly-- but what CAN we do for you? What were you seeking?
The answer was so simple that it was almost sickening. That they'd come to blows, and cats had died, over something that could have been worked out so easily. BloodClan had plenty of food from the humans' excess and hunting in the wilderness was not a skill they ever had anyway. What they wanted was materials.
Wood. Flowers and herbs. A chance to walk along the hiking trail and see the giant trees. Maybe the occasional piece of prey they didn't have access to in the town, like squirrels and frogs.
So, for a while. There was peace in the Forest, bringing the Tiger Era to a definitive close and beginning the fruitful, but short-lived Fire Era.
So! Them's the major changes. Take your pick of the scene you think is coolest, personally I've got a thing for Firestar ripping off Scourge's collar.
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