#ESPECIALLY in the early days

[kemendin]

The Sith Emperor is defeated. The Galactic Republic celebrates its victory. And the Hero of Tython finds himself dreading the end of the unthinkable alliance that made it all possible. Or perhaps, it doesn’t have to be the end. 

Jedi Knight x Lord Scourge (pre-relationship) Words: 3600 A/N: Finishing my replay of the Knight story with Cas, as well as perusing some of the cut conversations with Scourge, led to musings on deeper reasons for Scourge to stick around, particularly when Cas is such a contradictory example of a Jedi, and they really don’t get along all that well through most of the class story. And then musings led to actual words, because incoherent sputtering in Discord just wasn’t doing it justice. Also, fun trivia fact - the ship’s designation is a reference to Cas’ original name in WildStar.

CORELLIAN LIGHT CORVETTE, designation SEEKER, en route to CARRICK STATION

Caspian has to fight against the uncomfortable knot in his chest as he gives a tentative rap on the doorframe of the Seeker’s cargo bay, and then peers inside. It’s as stark as ever - there's rarely much cargo carried in this ship beyond a few necessary crates of supplies, and the bay’s sole occupant has never seemed inclined to fill the space with any personal effects. The upshot is that now, there’s no way for Cas to tell what might be about to happen here. Certainly nothing so obvious as an open packing crate on the floor, waiting to be filled and then taken on its way.

Scourge is already on his feet, turned towards the door, wearing heavy robes of a red so dark it borders on black. He stands expectantly, as though he’s simply been waiting for Cas to appear. It’s always been like that - the Sith has never made a secret of how easily he senses Caspian’s approach, and he’s invariably ready for him whenever the Jedi ventures to visit. 

His red eyes watch impassively as Cas slides fully into view. Cas bites the inside of his lip where he hopes the Sith won’t see, and after a moment’s dithering he steps inside.

“Have you got a minute?” he requests, trying to make it sound light, though it hardly seems loud enough to be heard over the apprehensive wump wump wump of his heart.

Scourge considers him for an instant, then gives a curt nod. “What is it, Jedi?” he asks.

Instead of answering right away, Cas moves over to a low crate nearby and gingerly sinks down onto it. It’s been nearly two weeks since he faced the Sith Emperor, but he still finds it difficult to remain on his feet for long periods, his body not yet recovered from its immense ordeal within the Dark Temple.

Perched on the edge of the crate, Cas pulls in a breath deep enough to lift his chest and settle his stomach. “I was just wondering… what your plans are, now,” he says carefully. “Now that -” He fumbles, and wets his lips. “I mean - this, you and me working together - it was all just to defeat the Emperor, right?”

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Scourge’s browstalks lift slightly, and a dry look curls his mouth. “You tell me,” he replies - an answer Cas would find infuriating, if he had room to feel it right now.

“Well… I did that. We - did that.” Cas brushes his silver hair from his face. He’s not sure if he’s being too obvious or not, putting so much emphasis on them. On this unthinkable alliance that had, somewhere along the way, transformed into a strangely profound partnership between Jedi and Sith.

“The Emperor’s dead,” he goes on. His grey eyes have been erratically roaming the room as he speaks, but now he focuses on Scourge again - as hard as that is. “You got what you wanted. Any… obligation, you made towards me - that’s over.”

He shifts atop the metal crate, pausing, half expecting Scourge to interrupt; but the Sith remains silent, and after another visceral heartbeat Cas pushes on, “So… what happens now? I mean - I’m still a Jedi, you’re still a Sith.” He forces a quick laugh, one that sounds hollowed with all the things he doesn’t want to think about. “Do we just - go back to being enemies?”

Still, Scourge doesn’t answer for several moments. His scarlet head cants, his keen gaze cutting thoughtful lines across Caspian’s uncertain form.

At length he says evenly, “There was a time, when I believed that the Jedi of my visions - that you - would not only defeat the Emperor, but also take his place. That you would claim his power and his throne, and fill the void of his destruction that all the Empire now feels. And as I once served him - so would I serve you.”

Cas feels a hard lurch in his stomach, and his hands curl unconsciously in his lap. “But you know now… that I won’t do that,” he says. It’s quick, not even a question. “I don’t want his power, and I don’t want any throne.”

“I know.” Scourge dips his head, though his eyes never leave the Jedi. “And I continue to wonder if you truly understand what you’re conceding.” His voice turns sharp, just shy of accusing. “Or the chaos to which you condemn the galaxy by doing so.”

Cas drops his eyes for a moment, wondering how he can possibly feel guilty for not seeking such power, as Scourge folds his arms and goes on, “I also know that trying to convince you otherwise would be a waste of breath. I’ve rarely met anyone so stubborn and determined to remain less than what they could be.”

Though this comment is withering - Cas winces inside, a direct hit upon his insecurities - Scourge only shrugs it away with a roll of his broad shoulders.

“I won’t try to sway you again. But if you will not take what is rightfully yours, I am left with little reason to remain here.”

Cas’ chest tightens, as do his brows. Don’t go, he wants to say. But pleading has never been an effective tactic with Scourge, who views such displays only with contempt.

“The Sith still brand me a traitor,” Scourge continues, musing aloud. “But perhaps there is yet a role for me in the Empire.” He lets out a sardonic huff of breath. “I’m sure your Council will be relieved to see me back on the other side of the galaxy, where I belong. Far from their precious Hero of Tython.”

Another seemingly offhand remark, yet it digs into Cas, scraping across the raw edges of his emotional wounds. He glances up, jutting his jaw against the snap of resentment that flurries through him.

“I don’t care what they think,” he retorts, all the more brusque for how true it is, and he sees Scourge’s eyes narrow in approval.

“Good,” he says softly. “Let them command you, Jedi, if you must - but never let them control you.”

A potent silence falls between them, as Scourge seems to await some reply, and Cas fumbles with what he should say. Get a hold of yourself, he berates himself sternly, uncomfortably aware of the Sith’s continued scrutiny. He breathes in again, then out. Straightens his shoulders, loosens the twist of his hands.

He makes his offer.

“Well. In case you haven’t totally made up your mind, I just thought I’d tell you - you’re welcome to stay. If - if you want to.”

Watching Scourge, he can’t tell if the other man is surprised by this invitation or not. He’s gotten better at reading the Sith over these months they’ve spent together; but it’s never easy to find anything on Scourge’s face, beyond the light layer of judgement that seems to constantly edge his expressions.

One dark-gloved hand snakes upward, as Scourge strokes briefly at the tendrils twitching idly on his chin. “…Do you want me to stay, Jedi?” he asks.

Again, frustratingly, Cas can discern nothing from how Scourge says it. His jaw tenses further as he throws back, “Would I have even asked you if I didn’t?”

The Sith blinks once, conceding this. But then he straightens, flicks his hand towards Cas, and asks pointedly, “...Why?”

His tone is level, but there is a new weight to it, a kind of unspoken challenge, and Cas knows instantly - this is a test. Scourge is seeking his intentions, probing for what a future together would entail, and if he does not like the answer Cas gives him - he will leave.

Cas swallows against the knot that’s moved from his chest to his throat, and stares up at Scourge. Because I feel something for you, he wants to burst out. Something deep, and frightening, and furious, and I know I shouldn’t be feeling like this about you, of all people, but I can’t help it. And if I let you go now, I know you won't come back. I’ll never get the chance to find out if someday, you might be able to feel something for me, too.

But try and say any of this, and he might as well kick Scourge out the airlock with his own boot. He can see it so clearly in his mind - the Sith’s face sharp and contemptuous, his breath thick with scorn, as he shreds Caspian’s confession with razored condemnations of sentimental fool. Have you learned nothing?

So Cas forces it all back, with the same unwieldy effort as pushing a pocket of air below the surface of a churning pool. Scourge does not, cannot, know the truth of what the other man feels; Cas is sure of it. But there are easily a dozen other reasons for him to abandon the Jedi and his crew, and very few incentives to stay, and Cas has only moments to find something of the latter that will sway Scourge’s views enough to keep him here.

He clears his throat, breaking apart the stoppage enough to speak. “Well… it’s like you said,” he points out, trying to keep his tone as calm as Scourge’s own. “The Sith want you dead. The Republic obviously doesn’t trust you, they’d be just as happy to kill you as the Sith, I expect.” He shrugs. “Where else can you go?”

“Anywhere,” replies Scourge, abrupt and immediate. “I am no longer bound by the Emperor’s command, nor by my pledge to you.” He fixes Cas with a heavy stare, one that bores into the Jedi without restraint. “Do you think the galaxy is so cleanly divided, and that I am so clumsy as to be caught between my former allies and your Republic? Do you think I need your protection, Jedi, or that of your friends, in order to survive?”

Cas flinches internally, knowing he’s misstepped. Biting his lip, he hastens to amend, “No. No, of course not.”

Scourge accepts this with a brusque nod. Though he hasn’t moved a centimetre from where he’s stood through the entire conversation, he still gives the impression of settling back, folding his arms again as he goes on:

“If you would have me remain here only under some misguided perception that I need a home, and lack a better offer than your ship -”

Cas expects him to finish the thought without hesitation; he braces himself for Scourge to declare his immediate departure, and dismiss the Jedi from his presence in the same scathing breath.

But instead the Sith trails off, and though his attention remains unrelenting, there is something expectant in the tilt of his browstalks. A prompt. An opening. And Cas seizes his chance.

“No,” he says again. “It’s not that at all.” He lifts his chin a fraction, forcing himself to meet Scourge’s gleaming gaze. It’s easy to do when he’s angry, lashing out at the unflappable Sith; much harder now, in the stillness of the Seeker’s hold, when all Cas wants to do is cut his hands over the unyielding angles of Scourge’s face until his palms are bloodied with the feel of him.

“You told me, once, that you had learned from me, as much as you had from Revan. And I said that you’d done the same for me. Because - well, you have.”

Cas shifts his weight as he lowers his gaze for a moment, pondering these uncomfortable truths he can no longer push aside.

“You’ve made me ask questions I never would have asked, otherwise. And true, I haven’t always liked the answers, but like them or not - they have opened my eyes.” He glances up again, steadier now. “And I just think - maybe we’re not done with that yet. I think there’s still more we could learn from each other, if we stay open to it.”

Scourge’s lips give the faintest quirk of curiosity; and not for the first time, Cas wonders if they feel as sharp as they look, or if there is yet some softness within that sculpted mouth. A low hum of consideration rises in the Sith’s throat.

“You continue to surprise me, Caspian,” he remarks. “And that, on its own, is no small feat.”

The Sith steps closer, moving in a way that seems almost incidental, like his approach is merely a side effect of his feet carrying him across the floor.

“I sensed your fury, when you brought down the ceiling of the Dark Temple,” he says lowly. “It was… impressively deliberate. If a trifle overdone.”

Cas angles his head back farther, continuing to hold Scourge’s gaze as he swallows. “What’s that got to do with this?” he asks, feeling his voice thicken. But Scourge can’t know why. He can’t know that as Cas stood over the fallen husk of the Sith Emperor, as he wrapped his rage around the stones bared like ancient, sharpened teeth above him and ripped them down, that the uppermost thought in the Jedi’s vengeful mind had not been of Vitiate’s terrible plans, or his own tormented captivity in the Emperor’s fortress, but a simple, vicious vow -

This is for what you did to him.

“Only that in my observation, you have been doing everything possible to distance yourself from the dark side,” answers Scourge, jolting Cas back to the present. “Not always to great success, and often to the detriment of your own purpose, as I explained to you on Corellia.  And yet in facing the Emperor, you not only embraced the dark side - you commanded it.” His voice drops, the sound like wet sand scraping across Caspian’s skin. “Deny it if you will, Jedi. But in that moment, you were a true lord of the Force.”

Cas’ jaw tenses defiantly. But Scourge is right. His actions against the Emperor had not been born of desperation, the random expulsion of his hatred for Vitiate and all he’d wrought. No - Cas had known exactly what he was doing.

And murder, however justified, was still murder.

“I’m not going to make a habit of it,” he retorts, though even now, he feels no remorse for his savage dispatch of the Emperor. “Using the dark side.”

“And yet you ask me to stay, and continue to share what I know of the galaxy, and of the Force.” There’s something almost mocking in Scourge’s tone now, in the narrowness of his eyes and the curve of his mouth. “Do you expect me to plod passively by your side and throw kernels of my experiences at you, in the hopes that a few of them will be considered? Do you see the irony, Jedi, in your request? You claim to rebuff the dark, and with the same breath you would plunge yourself into its shadow.”

Cas grits his teeth. Sometimes he wants to thrash Scourge when he gets like this, when the Sith pulls apart Cas’ every utterance with the same casual air as picking bones from a platter of meat.

Thrash him - and then devour him. Cas forces himself to unclench his jaw, and exhales deliberately.

“I’m not saying I’ll ever be like you,” he replies, as steadily as he can. “I’m never going to be Sith.”

“Mmmmm, no.” Scourge hums in accord, canting his head as he surveys the Jedi before him. “On that, we can agree.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t keep sharing our views with each other, our experiences.” Cas lifts his chin a little, and now there’s a hint of challenge in his own expression and voice. “You’ve been out of touch with the galaxy for a long time, Scourge - and I know I’ve been sheltered by the Jedi for most of my life. Why not change that? What was it you said? Sometimes it takes an outsider to open our eyes to new facets of the Force?”

Scourge’s gaze narrows again - but this time the thinnest pretence of a smile sharpens his mouth.

“So you can listen, even through all the Jedi blustering that fills your ears,” he remarks lightly. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

Cas bites back a retort and simply looks up at Scourge, his pale eyes pushing against the other man’s assessing stare. He finds that he’s nearly holding his breath, as he waits to see if this offhand expression of approval means that Scourge has at last made up his mind.

Heartbeats pass, too many, too loud in the unbearable silence between them; and surely Scourge will hear it soon, the near-desperate plea still lodged in every pulse through Caspian’s tightening chest that says please don’t go, I need you -

“Very well, Jedi. For now, I will accept your offer to remain here, as part of your crew.”

A wave of relief sweeps through Cas, leaving him surprisingly dizzy in its wake. His lungs deflate again, and the tension of his torso dissipates, allowing his shoulders to slump.

“Great,” he says, this simple response belying the sudden brightness of his voice and the small but irrepressible smile that unfurls across his face. “That’s great, Scourge, I - I’m really glad. Thank you.”

“But,” Scourge cuts across him, “only on one condition.”

Cas’ elation jerks to a halt. His brow crunches uncertainly. “And what’s that?” he ventures.

“That you give me your word - if I decide to leave again, you will not hold me here. I will be free to go where and when I choose, with no interference from you and your crew.”

Cas frowns more deeply, puzzled by this mundane request. He hesitates - but if there is more to Scourge’s terms than there seems to be, he can’t find it, and after another moment he nods.

“Of course. I would never try to keep you here against your will, you know that.” He huffs a wry breath. “As long as you’re alright with taking the word of a Jedi, that is.”

“Your word will suffice,” answers Scourge calmly.

By the time Cas realises what Scourge is implying, the Sith has already moved on. “But what of the Jedi Council?” Scourge presses, his gaze glinting sardonically. “How will your Masters respond to my continued appearances at your side? Not with any favour, I think.”

Cas’ reply is a low snort, as he brushes the back of his hand across his lips. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be furious,” he admits drily. “But come on, you’ve seen how well I get along with them. Especially now. I’ll go where they send me, but this is my ship. I decide who’s welcome here, and who’s not.” He straightens where he sits, sets his jaw, feeling oddly compelled to show his resolve, not just speak it.

“The Jedi Council are my leaders - not my masters. I’m still going to do things my way.”

Scourge dips his chin, though his eyes remain on Caspian. “I am counting on it,” he says softly. The way he speaks makes it sound almost like a threat. Almost.

Unsure of how to respond to this, Cas only clears his throat, sliding from the crate and onto his feet. “Right, well,” he says after an awkward moment or two. “I’ll try not to be too much of a disappointment, in that respect.” Half-joking, he adds, “I’m sure there will be plenty more opportunities for you to watch me butt heads with the Council, I know you always find that entertaining. Maybe it’ll make up for me not actually joining you on the dark side.”

He turns, and is already heading for the door when Scourge offers a parting remark that stops him in his tracks.

“Perhaps. But even Revan was Sith for a time, and you are more like them than you realise.”

Cas stiffens, hesitates. “How so?” he asks carefully, turning his head so that he can regard Scourge from over his shoulder.

“There was always something of the darkness in Revan, even when they returned to the light. True, you lack Revan’s raw power, their intense connection to the Force - but you have their tenacity. Their defiance. Their need to understand, and to forge their own path in finding it.”

Staring back at Scourge, Cas feels an enticing shiver ghost through him. It’s become an uncomfortably familiar sensation over these last few months, coaxed into being by the intensity of the Sith’s presence; the moments when Scourge’s level tone turns almost lyrical, and Cas can hear the memory of passion still imprinted on his words.

He swallows. “Is that a good thing?” he asks, wondering if he should be feeling flattered now, or frightened.

But Scourge merely makes an idle gesture with one hand.

“You must decide that for yourself. You know what happened to them, where their path led.”

Cas bites down apprehensively on his tongue. “Yeah. You turned on them. Nearly killed them,” he recalls, a little harshly. “Are you saying that if you stay, you’ll do the same to me?”

Scourge’s expression is once again impassive, impossible to read. “I have many enemies, Jedi,” he replies matter-of-factly, and then pauses. “But… for the moment, I don’t count you among them. You have nothing to fear. As long as I remain here, I will not raise my hand against you, or your crew.”

“Well.” Cas exhales a long breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and gives a quick toss of his head to cover it. “You’ve just given me more incentive to make sure you stick around, haven’t you?” And he dares a tight, lopsided smile.

“Yes,” murmurs Scourge thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing at Cas.

The Sith straightens, adjusts his robes, and pivots away from the Jedi, moving towards the rear of the cargo bay in a clear expression of dismissal, but his last words linger suggestively between them:

“It would seem… that I have.”

[itspileofgoodthings]

my least favorite thing is a controversial pop culture sensation of one kind or another where the conversation surrounding it falls into only two camps and every time the issue/person/couple comes up you hear EXACTLY one (1) of two (2) arguments about it and nothing else and it’s so stale you know exactly what will be said before it’s said and deviation from the script on either side simply never happens.

[lionblaze03-2]

personally I don’t hate gray wing nearly as much as everyone else because he’s a great example of having rose colored glasses just because ‘well, he’s family’, and not realizing until far too late that that essentially ruined his life and made him amount to almost nothing. Because clear sky is his brother, he wants to assume the best of him. Surely, my brother would never. Surely he didn’t mean it like that. Surely he’ll do better next time. He’s my brother. He COULDN’T be a bad guy. So he keeps giving him chances, over and over and over again, until it’s completely destroyed him. Until he can no longer breathe, his lungs full of toxic smoke that clear sky abandoned him to breathe in, until he is under his claws, nearly killed under the moonlight, until his people are battered again and again, until borders become inevitable. But he never, ever realizes, because- it’s his brother. Surely, his brother will do better next time. Surely, he didn’t mean it. Surely, he will change.

And believing that is the death of him.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

(volume warning)

this was surprisingly fun to make so i'll probably do another

[disco-troy]

Donna Troy is truly the character of all time. Always struggling with how people percive her. Needing to be perfect on the outside if not on the inside. Spending her entire life hiding her faults from outside eyes.

And then the monkey paw curls.

She gets erased and brought back with Wally’s memories of her. All of a sudden the facade she’s put up all her life becomes her. She becomes what she’s always projected to the world.

But it fixes nothing. Instead of worrying about showing her flaws to the world she worries she’s successfully erased them. The jokes is on her. She finally perfected the mirage of herself, but instead of freedom she finds herself in a self built prison, trapped in a watered down Donna Troy, the hollow image of perfection she cultivated all her life.

Her response is to scream in her own voice for the first time in her life.

[bitterrobin]

Imagine this:

You are hated.

You are ten years old and you are hated. Your father existed in your life for only a day, and he doesn’t like you. He can’t understand you. The anger in his voice echoes. You are to obey him. A teenager you just met scoffs at your presence. You feel he looks down on you. You need to prove them wrong.

You try.

They hate you.

Your grandfather sees you as a tool. He loves you, but you are also just a connection to your parents. His expectations weigh heavy. Your mother loves you. But you know this isn’t the life she wanted. The life she deserves. She loves you, but to stay by your side is a shackle.

You see the teenager again. He assumes the worst immediately. You cannot be trusted. You meet a man who calls that teen his brother. He does not like you. He may not say anything, but you can feel the bewilderment, the annoyance. You are a side character, an obstacle to work around.

Still. Still. You want to try again. Your father is here. He is a fighter. You can fight too. You can be better, even. But he leaves you behind. He already has sons who can be better. Your mother tried to warn you.

So you go to your father’s city. America. Gotham. It is familiar in its oppression and yet alien in its hostility, its rules.

You have cut ties with your grandfather. Abandoned your mother. You can’t be alone.

You discover your father is dead. The connection can’t be made. You have lost your family. The brotherly man is there again. He takes you in. But nothing is easy.

Nothing can ever be easy. No one can be kind to you. They never have. You can’t be weak. They will rip you apart. So you persevere. You have to hurt them before they hurt you. Abandon them before they abandon you. Deride them, see their flaws, before they see yours. You cannot be anything less than perfect.

Fighting back makes things worse. You are a monster.

They call you demon. Feral. A spoiled brat. You cannot be a son. You cannot be a child.

They have the privilege of having your father, and they deny your place. You are fighting for yourself. You must survive on your own.

The man gives you a name. It is an honor, but you can’t help but feel it is also a collar.

You are a bird of prey, yet they scorn you for exacting your purpose. What is an eagle if not a predator? You were born to hunt. You were born to maim.

But you are a Robin now. A songbird. You try to fit the mold. You clip your wings, dull your talons. You learn to sing, not scream.

It’s fine. You are fine here. You hold a name that must be cherished. A name that demands more expectations.

It’s fine. You are used to this. Your name was once “tamer.” Now you hold many more names. They watch you. They evaluate you.

You can be hurt, you are strong. You can be shot, you are strong. You can be killed, many ways, but you are strong. They will appreciate you this way. They will praise you. One day. They will love you one day.

You will no longer be hated until you are more than perfect. One day, they will see you as you.

[wasabi-gumdrop]

First base is comedic miscommunication. Second base is holding each other when wounded. Third base is being their royal advisor.

wow that’s crazy if you zoom in to Kabru’s notes that’s exactly what he wrote as his grand master plan

[chirpsythismorning]

For the last 24 hrs I’ve been trying to find the real motel from that production assistant’s s4 bts pic…

[hawkeyeslaughter]

mash fans are like “ this is my favorite side character “ and it’s a character that was in one episode with a screentime of like two minutes

[bonefall]

what’s up with BB! Puddleshine? been having thoughts about him recently lol. i find it funny that rowanstar grabbed this random child from the nursery and was like ‘bam here’s our brand new doctor and spiritual leader everyone’

(*shaking twelve year old in the background*)

You know what's pretty cool about AVoS, buried underneath the slog of it all? The thing I keep going back to about this arc, in spite of how annoying it is to be forced to say in ThunderClan as everything interesting happens off-screen?

The way that so, so many young warriors are horrifically traumatized by both the structure of the Clans, and the Kin that they turn to.

It's a shame that the Erins were so committed to the idea of the Clan social structure NOT being the problem, because this whole arc is a perfect time to show how flawed it structurally is. LET these kids have a point, that maybe they were rebelling against something broken, but Darktail was a malicious actor who exploited their naivety to serve HIS ends.

A recap of what's happening in BB!AvoS before I explain my intentions with the Puddy Boy;

The big problem that I want Rowanstar to display is a problem that ALL the leaders of this time period also have. Commitment to Clan rivalry.

After Firestar was killed in AVoS by Dark Forest warriors, Bramblestar considers diplomacy secondary as a tactic. "ThunderClan will not be bullied any longer. We have been too soft with the other Clans for too long; and they have humiliated us by taking advantage of our kindness." (Note: Harespring and Breezepelt being part of the assassination patrol is not revealed until TBC. For MAXIMUM drama reveal.)

He escalated a border dispute that Firestar had worked closely and intimately with ShadowClan to resolve; a fight for a knoutberry patch on their border, just before Winter.

After Russetfur died in this painful battle, Blackstar backslid hard from his redemption arc. This caused the Thunder/Shadow alliance to dissolve towards the end of OotS, ending a friendship between the two Clans that had lasted through all of Po3.

He was open to Sol's manipulation, and while Tawnypelt was trying to fight the Dark Forest trainees who took over ShadowClan in the meantime... Rowanclaw became deputy by organizing a patrol of cats to remind Blackstar how much he means to them.

So Rowanstar inherits the Clan with this in mind. ShadowClan solves SHADOWCLAN'S problems. "ThunderClan had a quarrel with WindClan, but decided that we were their enemy. Leaving ourselves open for betrayal was a mistake; if we cannot handle our own problems, we will inevitably succumb to them when our so-called 'allies' don't come to help." (Note: he isn't completely wrong. His words are borderline prophetic for what's about to happen.)

Onestar has a smug chuckle at this. Since taking leadership, he's been appealing to the strongest, hardest members of his Clan. Those who once tried to kill him for his "weakness" in the Civil War. The "lesson" ShadowClan learned is one that he's known since the day Onewhisker died and Onestar was born, on the night of that sabotaged muirburn. "That so-called peace was always a farce. We are warriors of the four Clans; it was always going to come down to honor, and putting ourselves first. My WindClan isn't foolish enough to pretend like ThunderClan ever acted in anything but their own, hidden self-interest."

And Mistystar respects the direction Bramblestar has taken his Clan in, and approves of the "honesty" that the Clans are now showing. "As the branches of the honeysuckle fight and win the light for themselves, sometimes there are beautiful flowers that die in the shade. We can mourn the end of an era, and prepare for a future that will be made all the sweeter for our shared struggle. This is the way of the Clans, and StarClan's solemn light shines upon us all." (Note: god I love writing Misty's speeches)

In the family tree reworkings, Rowanstar is now the brother of Littlecloud. Sons of Brokenstar, honor-sired for Newtspeck.

Littlecloud... is suffering from early onset Alzheimer's.

He didn't want to choose an apprentice after Flametail's horrible death, heartbroken and stressed out, especially when he couldn't reach his nephew through contact with StarClan.

He can't remember, anymore, that Flametail was freed. He keeps forgetting this, over and over

He keeps ending up in different times of his life, where he's best friends with Cinderpelt and still calling Leafpool by her pre-Honor Title name, where he's inventing a mobility device for Wildfur, where he's still escaping the plague and before he knew his mentor caused it, where he's on the Great Journey...

Rowanstar is in a lot of pain, watching his brother forget so many things, scared and confused half the time. He doesn't want to believe that this is really the end, or that... many of these cats are now so young they can't recognize the various eras that Littlecloud is finding himself in.

Puddleshine and Slatefur are going to remain in Pinenose's litter. Either Lion or Birch MIGHT get shuffled to another one; and ALSO the shuffler might survive the Kin. (SO voice which one you want to survive, if you have a preference!)

SO, Violetshine has either two or three adopted siblings... plus another.

Pinenose's oldest surviving child is Happypaw. Happy is the half-sibling of Puddle/Slate-- the death of Weaselkit in the Great Battle caused his parents (Pinenose and Owlclaw) to break up.

(this is why I'm thinking about just reducing the litter to Puddle/Slate, so Violet has three major adoption-siblings to remember instead of four.)

And now we're ready to talk about Puddleshine.

He isn't the first young cat to be shoved into an extremely high-pressure position because of a Cleric becoming incapacitated. Kestrelflight was also forced to become the holy speaker of his people when he was far, far too young, after Barkface died in TNP. He dealt with this obediently, with only Jayfeather ever really being able to get him to think about it in a different light.

Unlike Kestrel, Puddlekit did voice that he was interested in becoming a Cleric, in BB. But he was too young to be properly making that choice, to know what he was getting into. He mentioned it practically offhandedly, and BOOM Rowanstar had rolled him into the position.

But Puddlepaw has a deep sense of responsibility. "Wise beyond his years"-- likely because of how tumultuous his home life was.

His mother's oldest child, Happypaw, was openly a bully of his half-siblings. Pinenose distanced herself from him as a result, causing Happy to be closer to Owlclaw, who was still not over Weaselkit's death.

But Puddle's Ba Spikefur is not a cat who handles his kit's emotions well. Instead, he encourages ambition, tells him to get back at his half-sibling by being more influential than that twerp could ever be.

Puddle will often go to Violet, the new POV, to vent about these things.

And one thing he mentions to her is how amazing Kestrelflight is, when he gets to meet him at the half-moon conferences. He learns SO MUCH from him, it's like he GETS what he's going through...

Puddle doesn't even feel sure that Littlecloud knows what he's doing anymore. If he's learning the right information at all.

But Rowanstar won't DO anything about Littlecloud-- and he CERTAINLY isn't about to let Puddlepaw go train under someone else's Cleric.

As a result of this, Puddlepaw becomes a VERY important member of Sleekpaw's little group. He wasn't one of their friends to begin with, buuuuut...

When he sits to chat with Sleekpaw and Needlepaw, with Happypaw good and far out of earshot, she makes a lot of sense.

A LOT of it.

ShadowClan is run by old men who don't know what they're doing. Rowanstar is too emotional to make good choices. Puddlepaw, barely even old enough to begin apprenticeship, is running all the medicine for an entire Clan.

And, sure, he doesn't have much in the way of a connection to StarClan, no, just a little more spiritual than the average cat...

But who can point this out? If Littlecloud is slowly losing his mind anyway?

"It's not right, how much pressure's on you," Sleekpaw growls, "And it wouldn't be this way if we could challenge Rowanstar. You should be training with Kestrelflight right now."

"But we're dealing with the shells StarClan dealt, and the Clan is looking to you now," Needlepaw points out on behalf of her friend, "You have much more sway than you know."

This time around for BB, Sleekpaw starts as a young hero. She's right. Rowanstar should be challenged, his emotions are affecting the ENTIRE Clan, and Puddlepaw is in a bad position because of it. Needlepaw is like her best diplomat, surely to become her deputy someday.

They would have made an excellent set of leaders for ShadowClan. But they trusted the wrong person, and were exploited. When Darktail and The Kin came to the lake, they were swept up by it, and WindClan began an embargo.

Puddlepaw eventually oversees the Yellowcough Outbreak, and at first just thinks it's Greencough. He has no idea about strains, or the special types of Color Cough that Clan cats have historically dealt with. Even when he finally does learn it's not JUST Greencough, he's powerless to do anything about it. A lot of cats die because of the lack of mullein.

After that, with ShadowClan so weak and the Kin so strong... he's one of the cats who calls for the merge. The most important one, in fact, leveraging his position to say that this is StarClan's will.

Sleekwhisker and Needletail were right all along, and he's happy to stick it right into everyone's faces. Onestar's tantrum of an embargo killed his Clanmates, Rowanstar stopped him from properly training, he's been under pressure from the time he was small with Littlecloud not fit to be a mentor, and he's ready to welcome in ShadowClan's new era as something that is not a Clan.

...unfortunately, it turned out to be the wrong choice. Not because his thought process was wrong. But because Darktail had other plans in-mind.

[chellustrates]

what's a consistent artstyle 🗣️

[frogsare-friends]

shoutout to all my aros and arospecs not celebrating valentine's day!! and shoutout to all my aros and arospecs celebrating valentine's day!! and shoutout to all the aspecs that aren't celebrating valentine's day!! and all the aspecs that are!!

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 11

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to put them to bed on an air mattress in your room.

There’s no way they’re going back in the basement. You want to make things more comfortable for Whumpee.

However, you also don’t want to let them out of your sight. Putting the air mattress on your bedroom floor for them seems like the best arrangement: you’ll be able to keep an eye on them, they’ll be more comfortable, and it’s not pushing anything too far too fast.

You dig the air mattress out from where it’s stored and inflate it, then fetch some fresh sheets, blankets, and pillows. That should be good enough for tonight.

You tell Whumpee that’s where they’re sleeping tonight. You’ll be watching, both to stop them from causing trouble and to be ready if they need something. They thank you, their relief at the comfort outweighing whatever trepidation they have about sleeping in your room.

It doesn’t take too long for both of you to fall asleep.

You wake up in the middle of the night. Once you’re conscious enough to have your bearings, you realize you were woken by some noises Whumpee is making; looks like they’re having a dream. A bad one. They’re not saying anything intelligible, but it’s not hard to guess what their nightmare is about.

They’re not sleepwalking or getting anything tangled around their neck, so you know it’s safe to let them sleep through it. You’re not sure how much of a comfort you can be. Would it be more merciful to wake them up from this, or let them sleep?

You know for sure you want to sleep.

Taglist: @kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz,

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries,

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000,

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial, @lumpofsand, @coffin-hopping,

@sunglasses-in-the-bentley, @catnykit

Not proofread we die like men

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

Throwback to when a school counselor and Jack both became suspicious of Tim's injuries and (correctly) assumed it had something to do with the time he spent with Bruce:

I don't usually like to post full pages but these say a lot about how complicated Tim and Jack's relationship is. Jack seems incredibly jealous of Bruce because Jack thinks Tim is spending all his time doing sports and rich people shit with him. And at this time Tim isn't even supposed to be out as Robin so he doesn't have ANY contact with Bruce.

At this moment, Jack wants to be a father to Tim and Tim wants to have a father. But with Robin between them, Tim can't risk that.

[race-week]

Put in the tags what timeframe most races are in for you

[daddy-long-legssss]

anytime i see a picture/video of miles and alex laughing or simply staring at each other during taotu or in 2011/2012, i always think about this line from @stereobone’s absolutely gorgeous ‘the italian job’

‘their love was so enormous neither of them knew where to put it’

and then i cry all over again