#and very Silver Eyed Warriors coded

[diaryofamadsunwukongfan]

Summer Rose

Race: Silver Eyed Warrior Human

Nationality: Between Kingdoms, Eastern Sanus

Ethnicity: Valish(?)

Weapon: Alraune (A set of two wrist mounted and two ankle mounted vine whips that are covered in thorny barbs that shoot out of and retract back into their containers.)

Gender: Woman

Sexuality: Biromantic Asexual

Starting Age: dead (30 at time of death)

Aura Color: Silver

Handedness: Ambidextrous

Complexion: Pale

Eye color: Silver

Semblance: Mandrágora (A Domination type semblance that uses Aura to manipulate flora around the user such as growing, moving, and wilting. Normally, semblances cannot permenantly change matter, but this one can do so like magic...)

Former Occupation: Huntress

'Tis the last rose of summer,

    Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

    Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

    No rose-bud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes

    Or give sigh for sigh!

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one.

    To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

    Go, sleep thou with them;

Thus kindly I scatter

    Thy leaves o'er the bed,

Where thy mates of the garden

    Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

    When friendships decay,

And from love's shining circle

    The gems drop away!

When true hearts lie withered,

    And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

    This bleak world alone?

... then reap the seed. Reap the seed.

[thaisibir]

Post-ending Claymore headcanons

-By unspoken unanimous agreement among warriors, Miria was appointed their leader. She leads a patrol of warriors who roam the continent, dedicated to their mission of eliminating any remaining yoma and Awakened Beings. This new hunting group has no formal name, though the general public comes to refer to them as the Silver Patrol. Warriors don't object to being called this. It's better than Silver-Eyed Witches. Helen jokingly calls them the Sisterhood.

-Father Vincent came up with the idea of incorporating Rabona nuns and priests into the warriors' patrol structure. They serve not only as ambassadors of the city's holy order, but to aid as liaisons between the common folk and warriors and help foster friendly relations. Service is not mandatory, but the men and women who volunteered to travel and work with the warriors found the experience very rewarding. The warriors in turn really appreciate the human company, a welcoming change from the men in black to men and women of holy cloth.

-Rabona is the base of operations and primary residence for warriors. Residential situations among them vary greatly: Miria is one of the few who is constantly traveling all over the continent and occasionally drops by to visit. Some, like Clare, Cynthia and Yuma, alternate between being deployed on patrol duty and staying at home. Others, like Galatea, choose to remain in Rabona permanently and guard its borders closely.

-The ranking and number system was abolished, though warriors sometimes refer to themselves by their numbers out of habit. Old habits die hard.

-Warriors on patrol hardly ever travel and fight alone nowadays. They're almost always in groups of at least four, often more, depending on the kind of foe they face. A warrior may request to take on a mission alone, but generally Miria likes to encourage teamwork and fellowship among her comrades.

-The emblem and black card system is one of the few remnants from the organization that warriors elected to keep. "The only good thing to ever come out of those sick bastards," Helen once said.

-The present dress code is a lot looser than the organization's. Miria encourages her comrades to wear armor and other attire that best accommodate their strengths and abilities. Many have learned to strip the hides and armor from Awakened Beings they kill and repurpose them into uniforms.

-Discrimination against warriors is a reportable offense and punishable by fine in Rabona. Warriors are more than capable of weathering some harsh words, but they appreciate the city's gesture of goodwill and protection.

-Cynthia is appointed the chief medical officer for warriors. In addition to her clinical duties, she teaches other warriors with an aptitude for or show interest in healing and tends to human patients as well. Many a young healer is smitten by her (attracting Helen's relentless teases and Cynthia's embarrassment).

-As Rabona became a welcoming sanctuary for warriors, the Ghosts brought the swords of their fallen comrades from Pieta to a designated spot in the church's graveyard. Names beautifully etched onto stone plaques were the handiwork of Rabona masons. Many flowers are left by those swords, even by common folk with no connection to the warriors at all. The sight of these swords surrounded by flowers and greenery, no longer buried in snow, ice and obscurity, moves the Ghosts enough to tears sometimes.

-A memorial for Clarice is also located in the churchyard. The stone plaque by her buried sword has no mention at all of her rank, only that she was a valiant defender and valued friend of Rabona. Warriors often visit the site to honor and remember her, with Galatea being the most loyal visitor. She plans on telling Miata the truth one day, when the girl grows in maturity and wisdom.

-Irene turned down the chance to relocate to Rabona, since she is so used to living in the wilderness and prefers keeping to herself. She is happy, however, for her comrades who get to call Rabona their home. Occasionally she will visit the city to catch up with Clare and be a guest instructor for warriors who want to work on their swordsmanship.

-Helen started the tradition of hosting annual games for warriors in Rabona. It's an entertaining spectacle for humans and warriors alike, drawing even people traveling from distant villages. There are competitions for wrestling, sword sparring, archery, javelin throwing, and running, among other things. The top three warriors in each event earn bronze, silver and gold medals respectively. (Out of fairness, Miria does not participate in the running events but acts as the referee.)

-Girls who were in training by the time of the organization's collapse were given the choice to either continue training and become a full-fledged warrior, or live normal lives among civilians. Some, like Miata, gave up the sword and joined the order of Rabona nuns to try leading lives of peace. Many girls were adopted and raised by loving, willing families. Others, like the twins, aspired to join the patrol, so they were taken in by more experienced warriors to complete their training.

-As warriors became more integrated into human society, particularly Rabona's, they find lovers, friends, and family outside their little silver-eyed circle. The more time they spend mingling with humans, the more human they become themselves. Many break free from the shell of aloofness and stiffness their former lonely lifestyles had imposed on them. Laughing, crying, cracking jokes, and gestures of kindness, it all becomes easier and more natural.

[the-path-to-redemption]

Salem! - mylittlerwde

ask meme

Long Post Ahead

SALEM

What are my top four favorite non-romantic relationship dynamics for them? - She and Tyrian got me in a grip, bro. They are so Bloodborne-coded, you have no idea. I also like the one she has with Watts, as little as we have, because he doesn't actually worship her, she's just a matron for his goals and she likes the developments he brings, a good evil partnership (even though she's still very much in charge). I also like the antagonistic relationship she has with Ruby, and how she taunts the poor thing about Summer. It was good, despite all of the flaws. Finally, I fuck with her and the Hound tremendously. God, what a fucking nightmare it was lmao, with how she just treats it better than her lackeys, almost motherly, until you realized that there is a person in there, there is a Silver Eyed Warrior that she captured, tormented, and disfigured in that Grimm. Man, when the horror hits like this, I almost forgot I hate the way CRWBY writes lol.

What season were they at their best and why? - O O F. I seriously cannot pick one, because wow the good moments she has just fucking comes and go without any consistency huh. Well, if I have to choose based on overall enjoyment? Probably 7 or 8, because they actually let her go full-on horror monster, and boy do we need that.

What season were they at their worst and why? - Uhhhhh, I would say...6? Because the way they wrote her backstory and how it went was wack. I love the evil bitches from the start, I do, and I was one of the people who never saw Salem as a good person even before she turned Grimm. But the narrative of Lost Fables was lame, and her complexity was nonexistent because "noooo my man died wahhh :((((" and I...I wish that by itself extended into more? Like, she was sad that what she thought was hers was taken from her, and that spiraled into a need to control the world instead of just like, destroy it for a man that she still murdered when he rightfully gtfo, I guess. Her character trope and the way it all went down are ideas that have been executed better, look no further than the character Father from Fullmetal Alchemist.

How would I rank their outfits from worst to best? - Well, seeing as how both of her outfits just reeks of Orientalism and sexism, both of them belong in the fucking trash. But if I have to rank them, the OG comes first, then her "war" outfit because....what was even there, bestie?

I'm not doing anything H*rry P*tter related, so this ain't gonna be a thing at all.

What do I think this character would be like if they were on the opposite side (good characters are bad, bad characters are good - Huh...Now that's an interesting thought. I thought she would be like Ozpin at first, but then I was leaning more towards her being a hermit trainer who watches over the world in the shadows instead of being a Headmaster, while the Headmasters themselves are either her close friends or studied under her before going into their Huntsman career. I can also see her having her own Huntsman training sect where her students have a unique style of Grimm hunting and Dust utilization due to her being a magician, but upon descending into the world they must never find her again (Baoshan Sanren from Mo Dao Zu Shi is a good example of this trope). A really low-key person.

If I suddenly had control of RWBY, what would I want to do with this character after the events of V8? - First of all, erase Vol 9-. In all seriousness? I would have her kickstart that world domination already, and keep up that level of high stake for the characters to actually deal with. Salem has become a high-level threat, and that would've made the tension not just between the main cast, but them against the world because of their actions, be more interesting. And obviously, have her just fucking blow Cinder apart already. That bitches literally did shit for you but steal the work other lackeys did for you, Salem, just kill her.

[rivalkieran]

whats ur spe swap au?

speswap is just like. the spe version of my swap au (which was the first one I made so thats why thatone doesnt have a prefix. special treatment I know sorry) so like. everyones personalities get reversed you knowthe deal.

its kanjoh (emphasis on the joh) centric because they gaveme diseases. Im going to just put their descriptions in a list now

speswap!red "the planner": super calculating, views everything in a strictly logical way and as a result is kinda cold and distant from everything around him. also highly prefers to let someone else do all the physically demanding work Hes not even good at it anyway yknow...

speswap!green "the heart": emotional core of kantrio, wears his heart on his sleeve and is so Incredibly Genuine all the time. also hes just like.. completely useless in battle. like thats not being mean its just true. his pokemon are there to save him from dying which he is in constant danger of nearly all the time somehow. also hes extremely sheltered and constantly coddled by those around him

speswap!blue "the warrior": no thoughts only DO STUFF NOW!!! NOW!!!!!! constantly rushing into things and constantly having to be reined back in. brutally honest (emphasis on the brutal) and makes her thoughts VERY known. dislikes those who are dishonest not because of any moral code about lying or anything but just because shes like. damn get to the POINT already

speswap!yellow (no title they arent a dexholder): possibly one of the worst and annoying people in kanjoh, absolutely TERRIFIED of pokemon and in order to not show her weakness he instead expresses that fear as vitriolic hatred instead. believes that pokemon should be completely eradicated actually

speswap!gold "the conformer": new bark's pride and joy, the Perfect™ role model for all of your children, the ever so polite and helpful gold! forced to bottle up any and all of his negative emotions he is constantly seething with hatred just under his perfect persona and he will not be expressing any of his feelings in a straightforward way Anytime soon,

speswap!silver "the adapter": silver-tongued (ha) conartist who portrays himself as a bright eyed, naiive kid in order to gain peoples' pity and trust but he is NEITHER of those things. he's living to survive he's living out of spite

speswap!crystal "the challenger": #1 authority HATER. will not do work and will instead complain at the mere suggestion that she should. also very good at being an enabler of others' more rebellious qualities but tends to dip before things get "too serious" (that meaning requiring too much actual effort on her end) for her

also kantrios new titles refer to how they work together while johtrios new titles refer to how they interact with the environment around them :) yeah Iknow thats not how the titles are supposed to work. however. its my au I do what I want. ok.

[kitkatopinions]

Hey guys, so I know it’s a little late to be asking this but, uh...

(NOTE: This is a joke post, I know this is the real Blake)

As we all know, when the main protagonists were on the train to Argus at the start of RWBY volume six, we were introduced to two new characters; Maria the former Silver Eyed Warrior, and this girl who everyone in the show has been calling Blake but is now clearly not Blake. At first, it was hard to tell that this was New Girl and not Blake, because she dressed and looked exactly like Blake and even shared the same voice actress, but there was a personality change along with it that clued people in even in this character’s first season. This new one has a very loose moral code, she’s meek, seems submissive, is quiet, never mentions people previously important to Blake like Sun and Ilia, can no longer win a fight, and notably lacks the (faulty but still present) passion and care towards the Faunus at large that Blake had. She’s not even feisty! But New Girl has been coming into her own and dropping the ‘Blake’ persona a bit more obviously, her look changed a lot, she’s shorter, she got a haircut, and her style has shifted a bit. New Girl also quickly developed a crush/sort of relationship with Yang, and it seems like she’s grown to really care about her, while she also recently started putting in more work with Ruby too.

The problem is that it is hard to connect to this character when I don’t even know what to call her, and we still don’t know almost anything about her. Where did she come from? Why does she look exactly like Blake? Why did she decide to involve herself in the fight against Salem? How have none of the other mains realized that this isn’t Blake?

I have working theories. The first is that she’s a shapeshifter who took over Blake’s life in an attempt to find camaraderie and belonging, who is starting to get the confidence to be herself little by little as time goes on. Another theory is that New Girl is Blake’s twin sister, and that Blake was going to be busy doing other things and asked her sister to go on this mission with her team. Obviously, the flaw in this theory is that the other main characters were acting like this new character was Blake and New Girl seemed to be feeding into that by dressing exactly like her, but I think it’s possible that they did a ‘twin swap’ joke and it just went way too far, and now New Girl feels trapped into pretending to be Blake. Another theory is that Blake’s body was actually simply taken over by an Oz-like entity that never allows their hosts control, and her appearance is changing some as it becomes less and less likely that Blake will ever regain consciousness of her body.

No matter how this character got here, though, I’m looking forward to the rest of Team RWBY figuring out that she isn’t Blake and us getting to know more about her. Hopefully there will be a backstory reveal soon, and hopefully Blake will return as well and we get to see these two very different characters interact (unless the ‘controlling Blake’s body’ theory is actually correct. O.O)

If anyone has any theories of their own for who this character is, or has an idea of what I should call her (since I can hardly just call her ‘Blake,’) let me know!

[blue-bird-on-a-wire]

Vercopa (Hope)

gif credit: @coredrive​

Part 1 of the Gar Cuyir Yaim series

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,620

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x (Y/n) with she/her pronouns

Warnings: Jabba’s slave culture, violence, threat of unwanted sexual harassment. This takes place in a universe where Jabba never died in Return of The Jedi (maybe he passed out or something).

Summary: All (Y/n) can remember is being sold to Jabba at a young age. She has grown up within his palace walls, hears tales of great warriors called Mandalorians. Just as she faces what may be her last few days alive, a big blue Mandalorian shows up.

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr. You can also find this on Ao3 under B1ue_Bird_0n_A_Wire. Please feel free to give feedback, as I don’t have a beta reader and often miss spelling mistakes. Or if you feel there need to be more warnings/other warnings, feel free to DM me! I don’t bite 😊. Enjoy!

The room was always full and loud, bustling with music from the band and conversation between various criminals. It was a place full of sleemos making deals, only to backstab each other when the twin suns set. The smell of sweat left a foul taste in your mouth, but it was easier to ignore the longer you stayed. One might say this palace was full of life if not for the giant slug who controlled everyone within it. All who stayed there were either a slave through debt or in chains.

I was not so lucky as to be a slave through debt. I could not work my way out of slavery, for I was in chains.

Sold to Jabba as a girl, almost all of my life had been within his palace walls. I had been a server while growing up. Hardly anyone ever paid attention to me as I scrambled around the place. I served and refilled drinks, or cleaned up after “guests” who died by the hand of Jabba's goons.

My biggest fear, aside from the rancor pit beneath my feet, was being turned into one of Jabba’s dancers. He went through them faster than a womp rat could scurry through an alleyway at night. If Jabba’s rancor wasn’t fed by someone who failed to pay back their debt, it was fed by a dancer after Jabba grew tired of them. A pretty face would only last so long.

I had learned a lot from listening to bounty hunters tell stories about their travels. My favorites were the stories about the Mandalorians. They were warriors who lived by a strict code and valued family just as much as they valued their weapons or beskar armor.  

As a child, I would dream of these Mandalorians coming to Jabba’s palace, and taking me away. They would raise me to be one of them like I was a foundling. I wanted to be strong like a Mandalorian too, in how they could strike fear into even the most dangerous criminals with only a tilt of their head.

Although I had never seen one before, I knew they wore what was called beskar armor, and were not allowed to take off their helmets. Some people said they would paint their armor a different color from the shiny silver of beskar metal. I remember overhearing a conversation about Mandalorian traditions in regards to their loyalty and the love for their children. I painted a picture in my head of these great warriors and idolized them as the heroes in my daydreams. I never thought I would meet a real one.

~ ~ ~

“‘Nother round o’ spotchka!” a bounty hunter called as I walked past his table. “An’ ‘Urry it up, Babe!”

I did my best to refrain from rolling my eyes as I quickly made my way to the bar.

The thin metal collar around my neck rubbed at my skin as I turned my head to look up at the bartender. It was a constant reminder of my place within this hierarchy, though after so long I had nearly grown numb to the pain. 

“Spotchka please, for table six,” I said, watching as the bartender took a glance behind me to make sure there was actually someone at that table.

There were no true friends here. It was almost a rule to expect lies coming from everyone's mouth. Besides, Jabba had issues with his slaves and alcohol consumption in the past, hence the unease for my honesty (not that I had ever been dishonest with this bartender before). The bartender turned around and pulled a glass from off the shelf. He filled it with the glowing blue alcohol and slid it across the bar table.

I smiled at him, picked up the glass, and gave a nod in thanks.

Though I did my best to ignore it, my neck burned at the gesture. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a little bit of bacta gel from one of the closets downstairs. I planned to sneak in there while no one was watching. Maybe I could find a few moments to myself as well, away from the hustle and bustle of the people in the throne room.

“Took ya long enough, Babe. I was startin’ to think ya ‘ad forgotten abou’ me,” the bounty hunter said as I returned with his alcohol. He stroked his patchy beard and eyed me up and down while I set his drink on the table.

I kept my gaze cast downward with my lips tightly pressed together. All I wanted was to get in and out without being noticed, but as I have grown older that had become much harder to do.

Just as I turned to leave, I saw the bounty hunter pick up the glass and dump its contents on the floor.

“Oops,” he said. “Guess ya gotta clean that up, Babe.”

I could feel my face heating up, knowing full well what game he was playing at. I wasn’t stupid. I had seen guests do this to other slave girls before. It never ended well for one or the other person.

I pulled a rag hanging from my belt, as it was common for me to be cleaning up spills. Instead of bending over, I chose to keep my front facing the bounty hunter and squat in order to wipe up the blue alcohol.

“‘Ome on now, Babe! Don’ be tha’ way,” the bounty hunter wined, banging his fist on the table as I stood up.

“Would you like another drink?” I asked, plucking the now empty glass from the table.

“Betta’ watch ya tone with me, ‘ittle one. I’m sure Jabba woulden’ wanna ‘ear abou’ trouble comin’ fro’ ya.”

I smiled, though it did not reach my eyes. “I’ll take that as a no,” I said and walked away to dispose of the rag and fetch a new one. I felt proud of myself, though the feeling did not last very long.

“Jabba!”

The throne room grew quiet with the bounty hunters' booming voice.

My blood ran cold and I froze in place.

Jabba finished chewing on a roasted frog before grumbling out in huttese.

“The great and powerful Jabba demands to know what you want, bounty hunter,” translated the crime lord’s red protocol droid.

The middle-aged man stood from his seat, drunkenly staggering up to Jabba’s throne.

“Don’ ya think tha’ pretty ‘ittle server ovah there,” the bounty hunter pointed at me. “Odda make a good danca?”

I thought my knees were going to collapse. I could feel my fingers twitching around the glass, and my eyes widened as I watched him.

Jabba paused for a moment before speaking.

“The all mighty Jabba wants to know what makes you say this,” droned the protocol droid.

The man looped his fingers through his belt while he turned to look at me. “She’s been ‘ere for a long time, Jabba. She’s experienced with this crowd. I’d imagine she’d make herself more useful to ya in tha’ way before her expiration date.”

My heartbeat was picking up speed with every second this dragged on. My expiration date? What, were they planning to kill me once I reached a certain age or something?

Jabba spoke again, his tone was much harsher than before.

“The great and powerful Jabba says you should not be telling him what to do.”

“Oh! Bu’ o’ course not! Look, Jabba, all I’m askin’ is tha’ ya-”

Jabba cut the bounty hunter off and spoke more aggressively.

Everyone in the room flinched back at his tone, even the protocol droid.

“The all mighty Jabba says you are in no position to be making deals, bounty hunter.”

“Jabba! Jabba! Now, wait a minute and jus’ liste-”

The overgrown slug slammed his fist down on a button on his throne, opening the rancor pit.

Gasps could be heard through the room as the bounty hunter fell into the beast’s layer.

The crowd quickly swarmed around the grates on the floor, subsequently pushing me forward as well. They laughed and jeered as the rancor was released from its cage.

I felt my stomach churn as I listened to the bounty hunter screaming and pleading for his life. I would never understand the appeal of watching a monster devour people.

At least that man would never pray on anyone ever again.

As the rancor picked up the helpless bounty hunter and swallowed him whole, the crowd let out a big cheer.

I was nearly elbowed in the face with all the commotion before the crowd pulled back and dispersed to where they had been before.

I shuffled backward with everyone, the breath I had been holding was finally released.

This must have meant I would remain a server after all.

Jabba finished laughing, and I began to leave and fetch another towel when I heard my name leave his slimy lips.

Oh boy.

I halted in my steps, dread shooting back down to the pit of my belly. I turned on my heels, knowing one should never leave Jabba waiting.

“Yes, great and powerful Jabba?” I squeaked out, quiet enough that I wasn’t sure I had been heard at all.

Jabba hummed before he spoke.

“The all mighty Jabba says the bounty hunter was stupid, but made a good point,” explained the protocol droid. “You are getting old, and your youth will not last for much longer.”

I didn't think I was that old. I must have been in my 20′s at least. If I wasn't so terrified, I might have been offended.

I tried to control my trembling but my muscles ached with the effort. Was it hot in that room, or was it just me?

Jabba gestured to some of his goons as he continued to speak.

“He says you have one rotation to learn the dances.”

One of Jabba’s goons grabbed me by my upper arm, dragging me away into the back of the Palace while the music resumed and chatter once again filled the palace.

I had no words, but my thoughts were running a mile a minute. This was it. This would be my death. Within a week I would be eaten by the seething monster below if I wasn’t sold off to a bounty hunter as payment or reward for a job well done.

I couldn't even dance! How was I supposed to learn to dance in twenty-four hours? I could probably wiggle like a Hutt, but nothing more elaborate than that!

Who was I kidding? With my only skills as a scurrying little waitress, my lack of grace when it comes to moving my body in any fashion, and my definitely-not-as-beautiful-as-a-twi'lek’-body there was no way I would survive even an hour on that throne.

Before I could register what was happening, I was being fitted into royal blue undergarments underneath a black fishnet jumpsuit. The outfit left hardly anything to the imagination. This was something I had once seen a green twi'lek girl wearing several years ago. Oola, I believe was her name. It seemed as though Jabba had someone fish her outfit from the inside of his pet’s belly. Maybe it was worth more than it looked, but I would not want to be the one assigned the task of retrieving it.

I was shoved into a secluded room, where a holo-vid with a skinny-looking rodian was showing demonstrations for various dance moves.

As soon as Jabba’s goon left, I began to watch the rodian. I stood and tried to copy his gestures and from, but ultimately I stumbled over myself and was left winded.

Late into the night, I continued to practice until the soles of my bare feet hurt. I could already feel the blisters I would have in a few hours, and I had grown frustrated.

I was about ready to completely give up, curl into a ball on the floor, and cry myself to sleep. It felt useless anyhow. The rancor probably already knew my name, and was just waiting for me down below.

I felt hopeless, at least until I began to think about those Mandalorian stories.

I was sure a Mandalorian would never give up. They probably fought until their very last breath even when they knew the end was staring them straight in the eyes.

I took a deep breath, grounded myself, and did the best that I could to fight through the pain, tiredness, and hopelessness that threatened to break me.

Keeping track of my feet while also making sure to move my arms and put on a smile was difficult. It was like juggling glasses of spotchka while walking on a tightrope over a Sarlacc pit. However, I was determined to figure it out.

I would not be a pathetic little thing who laid down at death's door. I was going to fight with everything I had, even though I felt like I was attacking a Krayt Dragon with a spoon.

Come morning, my muscles were stiff and ached. I was covered in layers of sweat, but I knew I had done all I could to prepare myself to go out with a bang.

I was led to the sonic showers, where I cleaned myself up before donning that same dancer's outfit as before. It was as though the whole outfit screamed my designation as a slave, with the revealing design meant for the pleasure of anyone but the wearer.

No matter, I fixed my hair and kept my chin up as I was escorted back to the throne room.

Sure enough, Jabba was waiting with a heavy-looking chain in hand.

He said something in huttese that the protocol droid did not translate before he clasped the chain to a loop in the front of my collar.

I had never been this close to the crime lord before, but I swore his breath could kill alone. That must have been how he had risen to power, as I just could not imagine Jabba as a fighter who won his way to victory through blaster fire or skill with a vibroblade. No, he most defiantly must only need to burp to murder everyone within the room. If I didn’t know any better, I would say the entire palace only smelled so badly because of him.

"The great and powerful Jabba commands you to sit," says the protocol droid.

It was only then that I realized Jabba had addressed me, as he gestured to a spot on his throne beside his tail.

I moved to that spot and crossed my legs as I sat there, the chain swaying heavily with my movements.

I lifted a hand to rub the irritated skin around my neck, only to flinch away as the touch of my fingers stung my skin. Perhaps touching my wounds was worse in the long run. Disappointment filled me knowing there would be no way to get ahold of that batch gel now.

I wondered how difficult it would be to dance with the giant chain connected to my collar because of the extra weight it put on my neck.

Soon enough, the crowd in the throne room was as lively as ever, with the band playing their repetitive upbeat melodies.

For a few hours, not once did Jabba command me to dance, and for that I was grateful. My bare feet were allowed a few hours of rest, while my mind was allowed to wander.

Would it hurt to die? Would I feel my soul slipping from my body? What would happen in death? Would everything go black or would there be something waiting beyond it? My mind was spiraling and all I could focus on was my inevitable doom.

That was until a new bounty hunter entered the palace.

Thud. Thud. Thud. His steps were heavy.

He was huge, dressed from head to toe in blue armor. Easily 6’6”, this man could command the room with his size alone.

I struggled to find what he was looking at, as the dark visor on his helmet left no clues as to where his eyes wandered.

Jabba laughed as he spotted the bounty hunter. He raised his arms in welcome.

"The all mighty Jaba wonders what you are doing here, Mandalorian," translated the protocol droid.

Mandalorian? Wait a minute. This was a Mandalorian?

I felt my face heat up in embarrassment while my spine straightened a little. I had been waiting for a Mandalorian my whole life, but it occurred to me at that moment I was dressed in something so revealing when one finally showed up. I hoped he wouldn’t notice me, but I was right beside Jabba which made that very unlikely.

He looked so much more powerful than I had imagined those of his creed to be. This man would be able to take on a rancor just by barreling into it, given how much he looked like a tank. There was no doubt in my mind anymore about how Mandalorians were able to tame the great Mythasaures on their homeworld.

There was something about him that was also familiar. Perhaps it was the black visor which hid his eyes, or simply the general design of his armor. I felt like I had seen those of his kind before, though I swore I had never met a Mandalorian before. Surely I must have been creating false memories for myself.

The Mandalorian paused in front of Jabba's throne, and it became apparent he made sure not to stand above the entrance to the rancor pit.

"I mean you no trouble, Jabba. I am only seeking out a bounty said to be hiding within your palace," the Mandalorian said. His voice was deep and raspy, like the rumbling of a generator just before it reaches full power.

As Jabba again spoke in his native language, I noticed the Mandalorian’s helmet tilt in my direction and his shoulders tensed.

There was no way he was looking at me, right! It had to of been someone behind me.

He was definitely looking at me, and I was trembling from both fear and excitement under his gaze. He could shoot everyone in this room if he wanted to and not suffer a scratch from it.

From the bottom of my heart, I hoped he was here for me, though I knew those thoughts to be childhood fantasies. I had lost hope long ago of seeing the stars one last time before I would die in this place.

"The wise Jaba asks who you are looking for."

The Mandalorian’s focus snapped back to Jabba. He unclipped a bounty puck from his belt. "I am here for someone that owes a debt to the crime lord, Twene Shias, here on Tatooine."

Jabba, as well as the crowd gasped. He pulled back and began to gesture wildly, which caused my chain to be inconsiderately tugged.

I tried not to choke at the movement while I scooted closer to the giant slug in an attempt to ease the pressure on my neck.

Jabba hummed before his protocol droid said, "The great and powerful Jabba, though shocked, wants to make a deal. He says he will hand over whoever you are looking for, in return for the murder of this Twene Shias."

The Mandalorian paused for a moment. "This bounty I am after is worth much less than the head of this other crime lord. Surely, as a part of one of the most powerful and wealthy crime syndicates, you can offer me a little bit more than this."

Jabba considered the Mandalorian’s words with small nods of his head.

"Jabba the Hutt says that although this is already a generous offer, he wants to know what else you might want."

The big blue Mandalorian nodded while he gestured with his helmet in my direction.

"How about her?"

Me? Was he serious?

Jabba burst into laughter, the crowd within the palace following suit.

I felt my face heat up and my heart jumped into my throat. I turned my head away from the Mandalorian, fiddling with my skimpy outfit.

I must have been dreaming. There was no way this mandalorian was referring to me. If he was, he had no clue just how useless I would be to him.

Once Jabba was able to get a hold of his laughter, he spoke again.

"The all mighty Jabba says this girl is not worth anything. She is a servant in this palace with no skill sets of value to a Mandalorian such as yourself," explained the droid. "That is, unless you are a Mandalorian with other needs."

The blue armored man scoffed. “Then Jabba can spare one measly dancer in exchange for the murder of a rivaling crime lord.”

Jabba, whose pride was easily wounded, wasted no time to correct his words.

“The great and powerful Jabba says that if this is what you wish, he will gladly transfer ownership of the girl to you after you bring back this crime lord’s head.”

I felt my heart skip a beat as my head shot up to look at the Mandalorian.

Oh my gosh, he was serious. I would belong to a Mandalorian? What would this mean? What would he want with me?

The Mandalorian puffed out his chest, “You have a deal. Now, where is the toydarian, Drob Tufme?”

Jabba gestured to some of his goons behind him, who quickly entered the crowd.

Yelling could be heard from near the bar before a hunched-over toydarian was shoved onto the floor at the Mandalorian’s feet. “Hey! Hey!” Drob Tufme shouted, scrambling to stand up. “I didn’t do nothin’! I don’t got no debt!”

The Mandalorian quickly shoved Drob to his knees, running the blinking red fob over his head before clipping it back onto his belt.

“Doesn't matter,” said the Mandalorian while he cuffed Drob.

The Mandalorian pulled Drop to his feet and gave Jabba a nod before he turned and dragged the squirming toydarian out of the palace.

There was a pause before the quiet throne room burst back to life with the Mandalorian now gone. It was as though a weight had been lifted from everyone’s shoulders.

It was at that moment a new realization came over me. I wasn’t going to die in this horribly smelly place. I wouldn't be eaten by the monster below, nor shot by stray blaster fire. I refused to allow myself to think about what my life would be like in the hands of this Mandalorian. I did not want to believe my circumstances could get any worse than they already were. Perhaps it was simply for the preservation of my sanity, but I felt giddy inside that my childhood fantasy of being taken away by a Mandalorian was sort of coming true. One should never give up on childish hopes.

(Part 2 coming soon!)

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[onewomancitadel]

Oh wow! That picture of reverse Salem/Cinder stepping on they men is really interesting! I kinda didn’t expect that. Didn’t that Salem scene happen in V6 too?

Regardless it’s really interesting and I now have more fuel to the fire!

Although in regards to every relationship mirroring Ozpin/Salem...you forgot one thing.

Taiyang is an absolute Chad.

Summer! You forgot his second wife summer! Aren’t both summer and taiyang ozpin coded? It doesn’t make senseeee~

Unless she’s now Salem coded cause she’s a fuckin dog now or something

okay anon I hope you're having a fun evening, from the sounds of it. Let's go over in order:

Yeah, so end of V5 was the Knightfall scene followed by V6:E3 The Lost Fable. So, they follow after one another relatively quickly for RWBY. Also V6 is when Sapphron's introduced, which is more of that Rhodopis business.

Anyway re: Summer if you want to see my unhinged work-in-progress chart I made:

Summer is Salem-coded.

yes I know this image looks... very odd - I actually have issues. This was just to hash it out visually as I'm writing my nonsense. I did initially do it handwritten as well.

The thing with Salem/Oz coding is that it also specifically lines up with celestial symbolism - silver-eyed warriors are always lunar, the silver and the moon are intimately connected.

The one thing I find interesting is that both Pyrrha and Summer - both answers to each other - are Salem deaths these cycles. Also, the thing I'm wondering about Pyrrha is if she's actually lunar themed but again, I'm still trying to put this together and NOT SOUND LIKE A STUPID IDIOT communicating my take on the story

also yeah I know I spelt Ilia as Ilya, Ilya is a Russian name and this was only meant for my reference and I keep fucking spelling her name wrong.

anyway Taiyang losing Summer and dealing with grief -> Jaune losing Pyrrha and dealing with grief -> the latter healing through community and recognising Pyrrha's autonomy and dedication -> all of this is structural recognition of Salem losing Oz through empathetic experience

I think, anyway, it's kind of getting out of control now. I need to simplify it.

[kazeofthemagun]

Better Than My Curse - relation with Ohnzhejhar, the Silver Storm

“Deep-desert Windarian sandstorms could strip living flesh down to the very bone. The storm of silver came with thunder and lightning strike. Pain electrified the boy's nerves, and his remaining knife finally slid out of his grasp. Clatter, clatter. Knees and bloodstains upon dirt. A singular tear of frustration, exertion, pain - but no words, no noise made it past his prideful lips.”

[Pre-series drabble, 1.7k words. Sparring match between Black Wind and his adoptive father/teacher, Silver Storm. Headcanon. Windaria background lore.]

[cw: blood, abuse, objectification.]

Thud.

A small frame hit and rolled on the ground, bringing the young Windarian back into a battle-ready stance. A swift, fluid weave, feet planted firmly against the dusty floor of the fighting ring. And yet, ever ready to lunge.

Flash! Cling, clang - blades springing to action like a pair of snakes, too fast for their opponent's defense. Stray droplets of red stained the dirt like paint flicked off a brush.

"Fehn! Fehn, Vreejlathn!"

The other youth immediately stood down, hissing from between gritted teeth. Her canines showed in displeasure and pain as she clutched the shallow slice upon her arm. Blood trickled down. "Yes, Vahree."

Silver Storm stood leaning against a wooden pillar, predatory yellow orbs watching the two warriors like those of a large cat. Ones that observed seemingly lazily yet there was undoubtable vigilance in every movement of reflective pupils. A lunar mark rested upon the man's right cheekbone, deep purple in color - and a blue dash sectioned his face into halves. A deep voice, the rumbling of a lion. "Your legs are too stiff. You cannot keep up. Come here."

Vreejlathn - Swift Flight - bowed her head and walked forward, bringing up her slashed arm. The gray-haired, golden-eyed gunmage gripped the appendage with one hand, while the other procured what seemed to be light green sand from a satchel at his belt. Soil.

Soil could be used in a variety of ways, depending on the mage's training. A quiet incantation. "Flow from life's ether, Evergreen."

Emerald light illuminated the wound for a brief moment, and it was gone, parted flesh knitted shut in seconds. The dark red streaks on skin remained. A deep, melodic voice issued an order. "Pay your respect. Then, go clean yourself, you're done for the day."

"Yes, Ohnzhejhar-vahree."

Orange eyes shot one more angry look in the victor's direction. "Heßelai." Receiving no response, Flight scowled, then turned around, walking past the warriors' totem and out the arena.

"...Svaardzjetrorahm. Well done."

The red-haired boy bowed his head and once again said nothing. Silver Storm raised an eyebrow. "Something the matter?"

"No, Vahree."

A cloaked back pushed off the pillar; And the summoner stepped forward, taking his time in his approach. Eyes like twin harvest moons glared at the Wind Warrior trainee as he veered to the side, a vulture circling. "Do you dislike Vreejlathn, churil?"

"No." Black Wind responded.

Those one-breath replies. Storm himself was a man of few words, but there was a strict code that the Windarian followed and so, too, did his students. The Wind deviated, and the gunmage of silver disapproved. A scarred right hand habitually kneaded dark fabric - the bloodletting metal armlet of the Gray Howlitzer fully in view, inscribed in the ornate Lahriktaarese font.

The High Temple's summoner drawled in an unimpressed tone. A scornful tone, intense eyes narrowing. In more ways than one, he embodied his attuned Esper.

Like Fenrir himself, he prowled.

"Well? I find this hard to believe. Why else would you disrespect her so?"

The blue-eyed Windarian swallowed dryly. He realized he had made a mistake, and his gaze wandered. A brief lapse - but it was caught.

"Do not avert your eyes, Rorahm."

"Yes, Vahree." And he looked up, once again meeting golden moons. "I deemed the fight unsatisfactory. No use in lying to Vreejlathn."

"I see. Do you crave more challenge, then?"

"Anything to prove to you... Vahree..."

"Say no more."

The gunmage finally stopped pacing, the metal glimmer of his armlet disappearing within his spacious cape. His left hand surfaced, holding a triple-bladed dagger.

"Land one blow on me and you're free."

For a moment, there was only silence as the statement settled. Black Wind exhaled, putting behind himself the previous duel even though his body was already strained. In his moment, only that sole act mattered. The act of striking Storm once. Only once, no matter the pain he would have to endure beforehand.

Anything to prove he was good enough despite his warpedness. That he deserved to bear his name and not merely the cursed mantle of the Red Wolf.

You know you are my favourite, Rorahm.

So, act like it.

His daggers steadily rose, his legs bent. Offense, or defense? Oceanic blues scanned intently, attempting to find any opening, any gap in his elder's stance. As expected, there were none, and for the first time in a long chain of duels, he felt intimidated. Knew that he stood no semblance of a chance in a real fight.

Only natural. It was Silver Storm. It was Ohnzhejhar-vahree.

The hand that picked him up off the scorching cobblestone streets, the hand that fed and watered him and the hand that beat him.

Act like it, Rorahm. Act like the one worthy of my favor.

Earn it, Rorahm. Earn the food and drink I give you.

Teeth gritted, fangs showed. He would.

Black Wind lunged sharply to his left, banking on the heavy armlet of the lupine calling gun to slow his teacher down. The gunmage, however, retaliated effortlessly, not even using his other hand. One which remained hidden beneath his cape. His parry was deft, and the force of his counter pushed his apprentice back, kicking up dust as smaller feet jumped a safer distance away.

Suddenly, Storm chased. A swing of his blade, golden eyes aflame with conviction. His grip was practiced, his slice benevolently superficial. One of Rorahm's daggers sailed through the air - cerulean orbs wide. A lesson.

Blood trickled down the Wind's cheek. Fire flashed within his glare.

Cling, clang - their daggers meeting, the redhead's blows deflected and countered one after another. More blood trickled down his face, his arm, his shoulder. A hiss of strained breath, clenched jaws. Bared teeth.

Swing, duck, swing, jump. The wolf's fangs useless against the literal embodiment of a natural disaster before him. Truly, he was only a young wind before a mighty desert storm.

Deep-desert Windarian sandstorms could strip living flesh down to the very bone.

The storm of silver came with thunder and lightning strike. Pain electrified the boy's nerves, and his remaining knife finally slid out of his grasp. Clatter, clatter. Knees and bloodstains upon dirt. A singular tear of frustration, exertion, pain - but no words, no noise made it past his prideful lips.

"Do you think the blade weeps under the heat of the forge, Svaardzjetrorahm?"

Tired blues gazed into vibrant yellows. A shaking arm wiped the mark of shame from his face, smearing red carelessly across the blue mark of his clan.

No. Weapons did not weep.

For their tears were molten iron. He felt the burn upon his face, his arm. Tears never did any good to a warrior.

The Temple gunmage twirled his dagger upon his pointing finger. "Well?"

Prove it, Rorahm. Prove that I did right in taking you in.

Prove that your passion outweighs your curse.

A new energy surged through weary legs. He had no blades left, but a fist still swung, body moving in a deceptively nimble manner despite his exertion. Yellow orbs narrowed. "Foolish boy."

The blunt side of the Storm's dagger hit the young Windarian's wrist with such force it sent a flare of red-hot pain shooting all the way up to his shoulder. An involuntary scream burst through sealed lips, but he was not done just yet. He recovered; Swinging his other fist at the adult warrior's side.

"Enough is enough, Svaardzjetrorahm!"

Wide-open blues stared at the Wind Warrior teacher; The redhead's wrist caught in a vicelike hold by the Storm's hidden arm. The heavy metal bracelet glistened in the fiery eye of the sun, dark gray chrome and golden letters reflecting light. It could be used as a weapon in its own right, a makeshift mirror to flash and blind an enemy's sight.

"Strike a blade too many times and it breaks. I wish to temper you, not break you. Why do you think I took you in? Just to discard your beaten corpse?"

A sigh. Displeasure.

"If so, it would have been easier to leave you to the hunter-zealots."

Black Wind dared not break eye contact, even as throbbing agony radiated all throughout his form. With adrenaline dying down and tiredness truly setting in, his very bones pleaded mercy from their stubborn owner. He blinked, fighting back tears, thin line of his mouth parting to pant out strained breaths.

Silver Storm abruptly let go of his trainee's arm, causing the young teen to stumble backwards. The Howlitzer's arm retreated back beneath the tall man's umbral cape, while his left hand sheathed his three-bladed dagger. Unfathomable yellow moons stared down with an indifferent expression to the gunmage's face - and yet, he always looked just like a wolf about to strike. If he wasn't snarling, he was on the verge of doing so.

He was dangerous, and even his own whelps he often bit to drive home his lessons.

"However... if you insist on running yourself into the dirt, I will have wasted all my efforts. Is this how you intend to pay me back, Rorahm? Come here, let me mend you."

Before the youth could even react, his wrist was seized - a muffled growl of pain, it was the struck one - and yanked, pulling Black Wind close. He was so small next to the absolute monster of a man. A man who stood at over 7 feet, looming like a tower made of black volcanic rock.

Green dust covered the various lacerations upon his flesh, and a recited incantation saw the Soil flare to life and do away with his pain. Mostly.

"This one you can keep, as a reminder of your arrogance. If you get it infected, you will apply an ishrastvi ointment yourself. Now, what do you say?"

Black Wind clutched a still-bleeding line upon his arm. Steeled blue eyes obediently looked upwards, even under the heavy gaze of his mentor. "...Heßelai, Ohnzhejhar-vahree."

Storm turned around without reciprocation, a final teaching for the long day behind them.

"You may go. I deem this fight unsatisfactory."

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon Rise: Chapter 48

It was just after sunhigh when Swiftcloud and her patrol returned back to Grassclan's camp. Their jaws were full of prey from a successful hunt; their catches plumper than they'd been in moons. Each cat took their turn depositing their contribution to the fresh-kill pile. Then with a few mews of farewell they separated, ready to share tongues with family and friends around the clearing. Swiftcloud decided that she wanted to take the prized shrew she had caught to the elder's den. She made it about a quarter of the way to the gorse bush before stopping, a pang of sadness squeezing her heart. There weren't any elders around to feed anymore. They'd all died during the height of Leafbare. Like so many others in the clan.

Unsure of what to do, Swiftcloud instead decided to claim the shrew for herself, padding over to lounge in the shade of the warrior's den. She'd be dining alone today, both of her mates busy with their own duties at the moment. Swiftcloud dropped the prey at her paws, laying down before it with her head bowed. She whispered a silent prayer to Starclan then began tucking into her meal. Her stomach growled in appreciation, thankful to be filled after so long. The juicy meat of the shrew was just what she needed after that long walk through the meadow. Swiftcloud let out a satisfied purr once her meal was nothing more than fur and bone. She began to groom herself, continually trying to relax and forget about the upsetting events from earlier in the day. The hunt had helped her immensely with her stiffness and pain. But the activity could not quell the upset that had singed her heart when Whitestar had rejected her evidence. Swiftcloud understood why Whitestar would make the decision that she had. But it hadn't made the rejection any easier to bare. Swiftcloud decided that after relaxing for a little while more, she'd try and present her case to Dewstone instead. Perhaps she would receive a better result that way. Even though Snowfrost was Dewstone's aunt, Swiftcloud doubted the Code Keeper would allow her kinship with the guilty medicine cat to cloud her judgement. She was a very logical minded molly. She'd surely choose to believe evidence over her knowledge of her aunt's behavior and personality.

As Swiftcloud lounged, soaking in the beauty of the day, something odd caught her attention. The scent of a familiar yet highly unwelcomed patrol made its way into into nose. Alarmed, she let out a yowl, jumping up and racing to the bramble tunnel. Swiftcloud was the first alert, and the first cat whoever may be coming would get to see.

At her call, her clanmates began to gather around. Guards pushed their way to the front of the crowd, holding their heads high and puffing out their chests. Nosy apprentices weaved past awaiting warriors. Ashwhisker shooed the other camp-bound queens and kits into the nursery while he blocked the entrance, ready to defend his denmates without question. The last of the clan to present themself was Whitestar, who gracefully slipped past her cats to stand beside Swiftcloud.

"Do you smell that?" Swiftcloud asked her leader. "It smells like... the river?" There was something else entangled between the scents of the approaching Treeclan patrol and the boggy musk of the river as well. It was bitter, and too recognizable for Swiftcloud's liking. Her ears folded back against her head, her legs beginning to tremble. Something was terribly wrong. Before she even saw what it was, Swiftcloud already knew what sight was about to behold her.

Finally the visiting cats showed themselves, crawling through the bramble tunnel one by one. The first to appear was Cardinaltail, Treeclan's Code Keeper. His mostly white fur prickled with anxiety as he skulked past Swiftcloud to stand at Whitestar's side and turn. Whitestar gave the harmless tom a look which bore unspoken questions. Cardinaltail simply directed her towards his companions with a glance as they came into view.

The next cat to appear from the brambles was Embersong, Scarletpaw's mother. The dilute calico entered the clearing backwards, clearly dragging something along with her. She did not divert from her task, though her eyes did wander onto the enemy clan surrounding her. The fur on the back of her neck rose at the sight, her attention snapping back onto what she held in her jaws.

The third cat to enter the clearing did not do so by their own accord. The sopping wet body of a sleek silver tabby was hauled into the open with quite a bit of effort. The whole of Grassclan seemed to tense at the sight. Sharp gasps rose from the crowd and cats began to bristle, wide eyed with distraught. Swiftcloud too found herself in such a state as she recognized who this drenched cat was. Jaybird. Her body hung limply in the jaws of the Treeclan warriors who dragged her into the camp. Her eyes were shut tight, jaws parted as if in a silent cry for help. The scent of the river and death swirled around her in a thick musky cloud that made some cats in the front lines look as though they were ready to vomit. As more of the clan caught on to what had become of the beautiful queen, whines and wails of sorrow began to break the silence.

"Jaybird!" Cricketsong's wail came out the loudest of all. The light brown tabby queen shoved past her clanmates, practically bowling one of her daughters out of the way to make it to her best friend's side. The final Treeclan warrior to enter the camp, Smokecloud, gently placed Jaybird's back end on the ground as Cricketsong raced over. He took a pace back to stand beside Swiftcloud, looking on with soft, sympathetic eyes. Swiftcloud looked back at him, blinking a silent thank you before returning her sights onto the still form of the deceased queen.

With Jaybird returned, Grassclan began to file in to inspect and grieve around her soaking wet body. Dewstone, Rabbitstorm, Frostfeather, and Mistyleaf were allowed to push their way to the front. The littermates immediately brought themselves to cling to Cricketsong's side, burying their noses into their mother's flank. Dewstone posted herself by Jaybird's head, pressing their foreheads together to create a loving yet mournful pose. Cricketsong pushed her muzzle into Mistyleaf's fluffy neck fur, muffling her loud, harsh sobs. Swiftcloud abandoned her place by the brambles to flank Mistyleaf's other side, pressing her smaller body against her mate's comfortingly. Goldensong came to join her, putting herself beside her apprentice and Cricketsong. She purred softly in an attempt to soothe the grieving cats around her. Frostfeather started to groom Jaybird as if she were doing nothing more than sharing tongues; though the grief stricken look on her face was unmistakable. Quailbelly managed to squeeze between her and her brother to assist, the mates' cheeks pressed together supportively.

Rabbitstorm nuzzled fiercely against Jaybird's belly, trying to rouse the stiff bodied queen from her permanent slumber. If one strained they could hear him muttering to her, begging her to wake up; her kits needed her, the clan needed her.

"Mama, please!" Rabbitstorm blubbered, pushing himself deeper into the molly's belly. His large fluffy body shook violently as he too began to wail with great sorrow. The sounds of his crying summoned Snowfrost from the throng of cats around them. Swiftcloud noticed Snowfrost winced slightly at the sight of her dead sister, before her attention diverted completely onto Rabbitstorm. The lynx point molly curled her body around Rabbitstorm, her tongue gently rasping over his ear. She whispered to him, softly, soothingly. Yet Rabbitstorm hardly noticed her presence.

Swiftcloud growled at the display. How could Snowfrost choose to give her attention to Rabbitstorm in this moment when her sister was laying dead in front of her? She wasn't even crying. Swiftcloud knew medicine cats were used to occurrences such as injury and death. But even Goldensong wept when her mother had passed. Snowfrost didn't show even the slightest signs of mourning. Others might've believed she was maintaining composure for the sake of her kin. But Swiftcloud knew better. She recalled Jaybird arguing with her sister in the morning. Could it be possible that Snowfrost drowned Jaybird? She wondered. Swiftcloud was aware that the medicine cat was not beyond killing without reason. But her method was passive. Was Snowfrost really capable of something so violent, especially against her own littermate? Swiftcloud couldn't be sure. And though she'd like to jump to that conclusion--especially to give Jaybird's spirit closure--there could be better explanations for Jaybird dying in the river's currents. She could have slipped while hunting along the riverbank. Or a vengeful Treeclan warrior could have snuck into the territory to teach Grassclan a lesson. There was no way to be sure. Swiftcloud shook her head a little, dismissing her turbulent thoughts for the time being.

"Wait- Who's going to care for the kits?" Mistyleaf piped out of nowhere, glancing from her deceased mother over to the nursery. After a short period of silence, Rabbitstorm perked up.

"I'll take care of them," he volunteered, voice cracking. "I wanted to be a queen before, when Heatherwing was alive and expecting... I'd still like to. Besides, it's what Jaybird would want. She'd be happiest if kin looked out for them. And... We've lost both of our mothers... the kits will need more support now than ever before."

"I'll help raise them too," Tabitha offered, making her way closer to Jaybird's corpse.

Rabbitstorm's focus fell upon Whitestar, seeking her approval. Whitestar nodded in agreement without hesitation.

"So be it," she declared, wrapping her plumed tail neatly around her paws as she sat down. Her head turned to give Cardinaltail her attention. "What happened to her?"

Cardinaltail cleared his throat, tail-tip swaying slightly. "One of our warriors spotted Jaybird washed up on the creek shore," he began, eyes darkened.

Rabbitstorm's head jerk upward at the sound of the tom's voice. His ears tilted forward, showing his eagerness to listen in on the conversation. Swiftcloud wondered if it was such a good idea for him to find out, but maybe hearing would help bring closure in a way. And she couldn't deny that she was curious too."She was already dead when they found her. I believe she may have fallen into the river on your territory and was carried downstream into ours."

"Fallen into the river?" Whitestar echoed. "How could she have done such a thing? Jaybird was always such a careful cat. She would not have drawn so close to the water's edge that she could have slipped."

"Actually," Snowfrost raised her voice. "I did see Jaybird when I was out gathering herbs earlier. She was at the riverbank on the outskirts of the Forest Patch, having a drink. It could be entirely possible that she slipped..." The lynx point molly hung her head at the statement.

Whispers traveled between Swiftcloud's clanmates, accusations and guesses of the cause of Jaybird's demise being passed around like prey. Swiftcloud dipped her head to give Jaybird a few licks on the shoulder. Her heart now pounded with emotion. Tears flowed down the white and black patched molly's cheeks. Her eyes lay low, examining the silver tabby queen. As she looked, a small white something caught the young molly's attention. She perked up, bringing her nose down to inspect it. There was something trapped between Jaybird's claws. Swiftcloud peeled the she-cat's front toes apart, revealing a small white chunk of fur stuck between them. Swiftcloud let out a small gasp, earning Rabbitstorm's attention beside her. The fluffy tom leaned in to take a look at what Swiftcloud found. A low, deep growl rose from Rabbitstorm's throat, his eyes narrowing to icy slits which eerily resembled Snowfrost's. A shiver ran down Swiftcloud's spine and she had to resist the urge to jolt.

In a flash, Rabbitstorm sprang away from Jaybird's side. He let out a mighty yowl, unsheathing his claws as he bowled Cardinaltail over. The mostly white and ginger tom let out a shriek of surprise, collapsing under the almost equally massive tom's weight. He wriggled in the younger cat's grasp, trying to slip away as Rabbitstorm pummeled him. Alarm sparked between Embersong and Smokecloud, their instincts making them leap into action. Embersong landed on Rabbitstorm's back while Smokecloud reached for Cardinaltail's scruff to drag him from the frey. Rabbitstorm twisted to reach the offending molly, pulling tufts of fur from her pelt as he swiped his claws at her wildly. Gingerstrike launched himself out of the crowd into the brawl, lending his claws as he batted at Smokecloud who yowled out in shock. Rabbitstorm seemed to blink up at him thankfully, the pair teaming up to attack the enemy warriors.

"Fox-hearts! Murderers!" Rabbitstorm spat, long fur fluffed to double his size, a paw raising to deliver another blow.

"Enough!" Whitestar demanded, jumping into the scuffle if only to put the fighting cats in their place. The pretty siamese she-cat smacked Gingerstrike away, then forced Rabbitstorm onto his side where she held him down. She growled down at him, tail lashing, before turning her head to address the Treeclan cats.

"Back away, please," she requested her voice never losing its calmness. Her focus then turned back to Gingerstrike and Rabbitstorm. Disappointment shone strong in her expression, making the warriors lower their heads in shame.

"You two, away to your den, and do not emerge until I allow you to." Whitestar's tone turned serious, but sounded as if she were chiding her own kits moreso than scolding two full grown warriors. Gingerstrike and Rabbitstorm exchanged a glance, turning tail to tuck themselves away as demanded. Satisfied with their departure, Whitestar walked herself over to Swiftcloud's side. Swiftcloud remained crouched, feeling a little intimidated by the leader's eyes which now rested upon her. Though she figured Whitestar was not here to chide her as well. Instead, Swiftcloud decided to show her the discovery, which could have been the cause of Rabbitstorm's sudden outburst. Whitestar's eyes widened as she got a glimpse of the fur in Jaybird's claws. Once again, the Grassclan leader's attention was given back to the Treeclan cats. The three cats in question were battered and prickly, remaining poised for another fight. Whitestar marched over to them.

"Why is there fur between Jaybird's claws?" She challenged. "If she had simply fallen into the river, she would have mud in her pawpads. Not fur. Especially not white fur." The slightest hint of agitation was twisted within Whitestar's tone, her tail-tip twitching a bit. The Treeclan warriors seemed to stiffen more, exchanging glances.

"H..how dare your cats attack our Code Keeper!" Embersong hissed, tail lashing violently. A good chunk of her cheek fur had been ripped out, and it seemed a small drop of blood was trickling down her chin. Worry was clouding her eyes, and perhaps something else. Was that guilt? Fear? Did Embersong know something?

Whitestar took another step towards them. "Do not change the subject," She growled. "Answer my question."

Embersong gave no response. Instead she whipped around, gently headbutting Cardinaltail. Cardinaltail got the message, turning and crawling out of camp without question.

"Treeclan has done nothing wrong. Blazestar will hear about this!" Embersong threatened, following the tom out. Smokecloud shook his head slowly, remaining stationary.

"We will investigate the matter further, Whitestar. We are just happy to return Jaybird home. Now..goodbye." With that the smokey grey tom slipped through the bramble tunnel to pursue his clanmates. At his departure, the clan erupted into discussion. Swiftcloud had to hold herself back from joining in while she collected her thoughts. For now, she listened in on the conversations around her.

"What odd behavior," Tigerfang commented a foxlength away, licking a paw then running it over his ear.

"Do you think Treeclan could have done this?" Pollenpaw asked her mentor, voice shaky.

"I wouldn't put it past those tree-lickers," growled Snailear, tail lashing. "It isn't the first time a cat of ours has ended up dead on Treeclan territory recently."

"Then why are we letting them get away?!" hissed Nectarpaw who's short tabby and white fur was bristling.

"Because Rabbitstorm and Gingerstrike did enough damage to them already," Cowpatch chimed in calmly. He brought himself to his daughter's side. "And we have no evidence that one of their clan is guilty."

"But Jaybird was found dead on Treeclan territory. And Swiftcloud found fur between her claws," Slugsnout pointed out.

"That sounds like just cause to retaliate, in my opinion." Ladybugbite nodded, smoothing down her shoulder fur.

"Yeah, and they could have killed Jaybird to get revenge on us for taking so much of the Forest Patch," Pollenpaw theorized.

"Treeclan would be petty enough to hold onto a grudge like that...Especially with that flea-brained Blazestar at the helm," croaked Ashwhisker.

"If that's the case, then they took things too far. Jaybird did not need to die." That was Sheeptail's loud meow; his voice cracked slightly with grief.

"Poor, sweet Jaybird." Cricketsong moved to sit by the other queen's head. Dewstone stood to give the queen some space. "I will miss you greatly. No other cat could hold a conversation quite like you could." The light brown tabby's mew drew the attention of her clanmates around her. It seemed collectively they had realized now was a time of mourning. They could become riled up about Treeclan later. Moving as one unit, the clan came to settle around Jaybird's body. Swiftcloud lifted her head to look upon the grieving faces around her. She had never seen so many cats mourning another for so long.

She recalled when Poppycloud had died. There had been a similar vigil held for her, though it seemed mostly young cats had stayed by her side most of the night. Another cat quickly entered Swiftcloud's thoughts. Ambereye. The amber she-cat's vigil had only managed to keep those who were close to her there throughout her final night with the clan. Most others had only paused to leave parting words before leaving to go about their business. Swiftcloud's mind then shifted to Waspwing. His vigil had been of few attendance. Every cat had come to say goodbye, but most had only done so briefly with the exception of his kin and Bumblethroat. Butterflytail's last day with the clan had been similar.

Perhaps it had something to do with the impact the cats had on one another. Those who were popular received more attention in their passing. With this theory in mind, Swiftcloud figured this meant that Jaybird had been well loved. And for good reason, too.

All the queens had managed to make it past the rest of the clan now, settling at the sides of Jaybird and her kits. Collectively, they groomed Jaybird dry as they whispered prayers of safe travels to Starclan. Other clanmates joined them in this prayer. Eventually some began to get up and leave, heading to their dens to rest up for the next hunt or patrol. Others who hadn't the chance to see Jaybird before got to do so now that the crowd had thinned. The apprentices all curled around Jaybird's stiff body; Cricketsong's litter kept close to one another as the sisters cried for their lost ex-denmate while Pansypaw helped groom Jaybird. Whitestar fetched Rabbitstorm and Gingerstrike so they could return and mourn once more before taking herself to her den. Lightpaw and Thornpaw came out of the apprentice's den not long after, joining Cinderkit and Bunnykit who had just been summoned from their den to say goodbye. Jaybird's youngest litter nudged and mewled at their mother, asking the surrounding Grassclan cats why the queen would not get up. Quailbelly stood, sweeping her tail around them to guide them towards Frostfeather. Together the two she-cats did their best to explain the situation, and to teach the kits about death.

Swiftcloud found herself getting up to leave the vigil, heart too heavy to hang around and grieve any longer. Thoughts swarmed in her head like angry bees as she took one final look at the lost she-cat, Jaybird. This shouldn't have happened... She thought, turning tail to stalk away. Swiftcloud hadn't realized how much the loss of the queen would affect her. But rather than sad, now she found herself full of rage. She shouldn't be out here anymore among her clanmates. If another cat should say something about Treeclan again, she doubted she could bite back her tongue this time. Treeclan had to pay for this, but would do so in due time. It was Whitestar's call, what they would do. For now, Swiftcloud would sleep off her anger. She slipped into the warrior's den, curling up in her nest with a heavy sigh. A few heartbeats after settling, a warmth pressed into her side. Swiftcloud lifted her head to see Shadowfang laying beside her now, eyes clouded with grief. Swiftcloud rasped her tongue against his forehead soothingly while he returned the gesture, grooming her scarred shoulder. Swiftcloud shuffled in their nest a little more to become more comfortable, tucking her nose beneath Shadowfang's chin. Soon, sleep blanketed over them.

[alma-berry]

Kit’s secret fire message #8

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

-

vjewfa  sxvjish  qk  hqw  awfvy  cjgrj

(luminous)

-

Kit was arrested mid motion, his black duffle bag hung limply on his left shoulder, half open. He didn’t even notice the three pairs of socks that fell from it, nor his favorite grey shirt which was threatening to follow.

The fire message felt odd between his trembling fingers, like a foreign object, like he never in his life held a piece of paper.

Kit looked at the neatly written letters as if they were holding the answers to every single question he ever asked.. That might as well be true, he thought, if he was right in believing the message was sent by.. Ty.

Ty, just his name sent shivers down his spine, and the memory of the silver of his eyes, crackling with the reflection of the campfire near lake lynn, made Kit’s knees buckle. He dropped his bag on the floor and sent for the wall near him, steadying his legs and his heartbeat.

It’s been over a month since Ty answered Kit’s goodbye with a single “Don’t”, and Kit didn’t know how to respond to it.

The third drawer of his desk was littered with dozens of crumpled letters, heaps of poems that never felt like the right thing to say. On his defense, he never wanted to say the right thing - he just wanted to say what he felt.

Kit went from one emotion to the next in the blink of an eye; the utmost joy of knowing Ty didn’t want him to stay away filled him for a solid week until he realized how unfair it was. He exposed every single beat of his heart, presented it to Ty in the hope he will answer his feelings, or just answer at all.. and all he had to say was “Don’t”?

Then again, Ty never used five words, let alone a full sentence, when he could use one. Kit knew that, and it wasn’t fair of him to expect Ty, who he knew didn’t feel the same about him, to give away his feelings (or the lack of them) after Kit had left him the way he did.

But still, he needed more. When he finally had enough of trying to phrase himself correctly and sent his last poem, tear stricken and drenched in sweat, he fell to his bed and knew that whatever Ty answered, if he even did, Kit had given every last drop of emotion he had in him.

That night was the coldest he could ever remember, as cold as the blinking eye of a demon.

Kit stared at the six words, if they could even be described as words, and wondered what they meant. Was it a joke? No, he thought. Ty wouldn’t do that. Perhaps it was a test. A code. Yes, Kit’s heart leaped. It must be a code. And Ty had given him the clue to decipher it. luminous.

Kit remembered that day in the Los Angeles institute’s library, when they were planning a trip to the shadow market to try and collect ingredients for the spell that was supposed to bring Livvy back. A familiar ache settled itself in Kit’s chest, the same ache that bore Livvy’s name, her mischievous smile, her deep ocean blue-green eyes.

“Ah, Watson,” said Ty. “You may not yourself be luminous, but you are an extraordinary conductor of light.”

Kit’s lips rose just a little as he remembered the words of his own Sherlock.

Not my Sherlock, he started to scolded himself, before he paused. Sherlock. That’s the key.

Kit grabbed the fire message, ran out of the room and headed towards the library, where the only computer, used mostly by him, was installed.

As he made his way through the narrow corridors he heard Jem’s soft voice calling after him.

“Kit? Are you getting ready? The portal will be opening soon”.

Right. Portal. The usual trip to the London institute.

“Yeah I’m almost ready, just need to look something up first” he called and entered the brightly lit room.

The library of the Carstairs manor in Devon was one of Kit’s favorite rooms. There was a feel to it that spoke of endless possibilities, of knowledge Kit could choose to acquire, and not forced to.

He learned, in his time with Jem and Tessa, that his knowledge of the shadow world wasn’t as basic as he thought.. but nevertheless, he wanted to know more. He wanted with all his might to understand these people, these Shadowhunters that he was now supposed to be one of. He wanted to be.

He was scared, at first, that the fact that he is not living with active shadowhunters would mean his training and education will be less than what they could have been, if he lived in a regular institute, or with a regular shadowhunters family. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Both of his adoptive parents probably knew more about shadowhunters history than any living, active shadowhunter there is. And Jem, as it turned out, was a great warrior. You didn’t think he’d be one, being 150 years old and all, but he was.. and besides, he had Jace.

Kit grinned, thinking about his cousin always made him want to be better. After he skipped the phase in which he was terrified by every little thing Jace had asked him to do (like jump off a tree with nothing to catch him) and actually started doing it, he found that his very annoying distant relative was.. actually a solid tutor.

Kit became better at being a shadowhunter than he ever thought he could be, and he knew that it was thanks to his family.

He did have to go every once in a while to the London institute, though. There were tests he had to take if he wanted the clave to recognize him as an active shadowhunter. That was the reason they were headed there right now.

Kit clicked franticly on the computer’s power button, willing it to start faster. As soon as it did, he opened the browser and searched for the only name that made sense - Arthur Conan Doyle.

He knew the code to decipher Ty’s message must be something to do with the author of his favorite books, so he wrote down every significant and insignificant detail he could find on a stranded piece of paper that he found at the near desk, just as Jem entered the room.

Kit hastily pocketed the two pieces of paper and turned to face him.

“I know, I know. Let me just get my bag..”

Jem looked at him suspiciously but with clear fondness in his eyes. “Just hurry up, Kit.. the portal will open any minute now.. and you know how Evelyn gets when you’re late”, he smirked.

Kit loved it when Jem smirked, it was so out of character for him.

“Yeah yeah, she’ll make me eat some of Bridget’s porridge”, he mumbled, the taste of the sticky goo still fresh in his memory.

“I wonder when did she got so bad at cooking. She was pretty good when I was young” Jem mused out loud.

The truth was, Bridget always gave Kit the creeps. And the fact that she was probably the most ancient thing in that institute didn’t help to improve her image, nor her cooking, as it happened.

“Where’s Tessa and Min? I want to say goodbye before we leave..” Kit stared around him, a bit disappointed that his favorite little monster didn’t come to see him out.

“Tessa just gotten her to sleep, she was running around all morning, trying to skin Church alive”.

Kit burst out laughing “That’s my girl. Plus, he could use the exercise. He wasn’t this lumpy back in LA…”

Kit felt the air catching at his throat as the flood of unwanted memories washed over him.

The beach, Ty’s beautiful fingers against the cat’s grey fur, and Kit’s clenched heart.

Jem eyed him knowingly and patted on his back. “You’re right, son. We shall buy some low fat tuna for him before we return”.

The shimmering lines of the portal had formed in front of them, and without look back, they walked through it.

—

“It is highly rude of you, you know” Jessamine declared.

“hmm? What is?” Kit answered absentmindedly.

“You hardly come to visit me anymore, and now that you have, you pay me no attention! As if I’m not even there!”

Kit have her his most dazzling smile “Well, you are a ghost, you know…”

Jessamine exclaimed as if terribly insulted. “Exactly! I’m.. bored! There’s no one here to talk to!” Kit’s grin widened, “Jessy, even if every occupant of this institute could see you, they still wouldn’t be much of a conversationalists” Jessy eyed him with disdain “As I said - rude. What is it that you’re doing, anyway?”

Kit was sprawled on the floor of the London institute’s library, scribbling simultaneously on five pieces of paper.

“I’m trying to decipher a code” he said with a troubled look.

“A code? Shadowhunters write in codes now?” She sighed “I’m far too old for these sort of things”.

Kit’s laugh felt forced even to his own ears “Not all shadowhunters.. just this one. And I’m not sure I’m making much of a progress with it anyway. I’ve read my fair share of detective novels, mind you.. and I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to crack this..”

Jessamine leaned over him, no- through him, to examine the fire message, and Kit felt as if his insides were suddenly soaked with icy water.

“Hey! Who's the rude one now?” Jessamine gave him a pointed look that made her delicate features resemble Evelyn’s.

“It looks rather complicated. In my days we would just lock our secrets in a safe and be done with it. Why do you modern people have to complicate everything?”

She really did look like Evelyn now, Kit thought, as the meaning of Jessamine’s words dawned on him. Lock their secrets.. Lock.

Kit knew locks, he knew them very well, in fact. He could pick most locks in under thirty seconds, even the complicated ones, those with a code combination. And all of a sudden, Kit knew exactly what he should do.

“It’s like a combination lock! I just need to move the letters backwards alphabetically according to the numbers on the key!”

Kit’s heart was racing, he had it! He was sure of it.

“The key? It’s a piece of paper, Christopher, not a safe, if you hadn’t noticed”

Kit’s hands were trembling and he felt as if his heart was stuck in the middle of his throat.

“A key to crack the code, Jessy. Look, he sent me a clue. Luminous. It’s from Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes was written by Arthur Conan Doyle. Now, it has to be a number. I have his date of birth, death, when Sherlock was first published.. It can even be the birth date of Sherlock himself but that one is inconclusive. He wouldn’t have used something that is not a solid fact. Right?”

He looked up at Jessamine, who stared at him as if every word he just said was in mandarin. Kit knew a little mandarin, but not enough to make a whole speech. “Nevermind, I’ll try the date of birth”.

Jessamine gave him a long, peculiar look and said “Hurry up, Kit. Jem, Evelyn and miss Mendoza are nearly done with their meeting. If you wish to know what young mr. Blackthorn had written, you must hurry”.

Kit stared at her, completely astonished.

“How.. how do you know I was talking about Ty?” Jessamine gave him a wry smile and started towards the door, “I may not know much about locks or codes, Christopher, but I know about broken hearts,” her voice was soft, and Kit felt it like a faint whisper against his skin, “...and I know you”.

For a few moments, Kit just sat there. His head felt like a beehive of thoughts, bombarding one another with fears anger, confusion and excitement, until one thought became coherent - I can solve Ty’s message.

He slowly places the heavy parchment in front of him, the torn paper with Conan Doyle’s information already in his hand. He began with copying Ty’s message, and under each letter he wrote the numbers of Conan Doyle’s date of birth, again and again, until every letter had its own number. Then he started counting the letters backwards, according to the number underneath it.

V became T, J became H, and so he continued until the first word was completed- Theres.

Kit’s heart was pounding so hard that all sounds around him were momentarily muted. He didn’t hear the scratching noise his pen made on the paper or the soft tapping of the rain on the milky white windows.

He continued to the next word; S became an N, X - O, V - T, J - H, I - I, S - N, H - G.

Nothing. There’s nothing.

Kit’s heart sank. He feared what he would find next. There’s nothing I can say to you? There’s nothing I want from you? There’s nothing between us? But none of those options fit the number of the letters left to decipher, and he felt too anxious to guess any longer.

He took a deep breath and continued. He didn’t pause as the letters formed themselves into a full sentence, didn’t dare to read until the whole sentence was written in front of him, black on white. And if there was any doubt left in Kit’s heart that it was Ty’s message, it had vanished completely.

There’s nothing if you aren’t there

[thehighwaymen1678]

Power of Three Alternative Universe. (C-1.)

Well, there's a user named SFW Furries and Monsters, they made a Power of Three Alternative Universe where Crowfeather joins Thunderclan. I made the first part but I cannot message them oddly, so I'll post it. Maybe they'd see it. This is only part one, up to the point where they are escorted back to Thunderclan. (I've no idea what happened with the first letters of every sentence. Just decided to un-italics.)

Near Thunder-Wind Clan Borders.

A black-furred tom padded along the border. The air carried a chill as the snow stung his pads like ice. He needed a walk to clear his head. He remembered a time long ago when he had been willing to leave this place, leave it all behind for one whom he loved. Yet, she had a family, after all. And so did he, even if he didn't know it. But as chance would have it, he would become part of a Legendary tale this day.

The tom eyed two passing she's through the cold winds, they appeared to be no other then Squirrelflight, and Leafpool. Leafpool... If only things had been different. But perhaps... His eyes widened as he saw his old mate, for here, Crowfeather had seen a startling sight. Her belly, had been round, her body, exhausted. Was she... She was having kits? Could it possibly be?

He looked at the ground at his feet, senting the faint border, but while the code binded him, he had no choice. He had crossed the small river dividing the territories, and now crossed the final line. He was in Thunderclan grounds now. He must make haste.

He dared to follow them through the blinding white, thanking Starclan that the bite of the cold would kill his scent. However, it also killed there's. Tracking them became difficult, even prints had filled up, or simply been lost. He wandered in a painful cold until he took shelter under a thick bush, not yet fallen from life. Here he rested, he could hear them nearby. After a while, a few low meows could be heard, and they set off again.

His jaw shivered, clicking his teeth repeatedly, he forced himself to breathe, and keep walking. This was getting way too cold, although perhaps it felt it was dying down a bit?

Finally a clearing opened, rather small, yet the snow was thinner, thicker trees were around, and one at the middle of the clearing, was hollowed by lightning so long ago, and there he saw a glipse of his old mate, curled up, screaming. He watched in shock, crawling closer to the side, the tree's hollow entrance had thick vines of random sorts lining it's edges, giving an opportunity to see through without being seen in the main doorway.

He lingered, waiting to wonder his chances of simply introducing himself, he wanted to help, he did. But then... Something happened he did not expect. A... Name?

Squirrelflight had spoken in surprise: "Feathertail!"

His ears shot up at the mention.

His thoughts raced: 'Feathertail?... She's here? What, where?'

His thoughts raced as he pushed up uncomfortably close to the main entrance, he was certain Squirrelflight had heard him, yet she kept her attention to Feathertail as they had spoken inaudible things. But he focused enough to hear what he needed to, to seal his future decision, he eavesdropped the conversation, peering through the walls of the tree:

Feathertail: "These kits are more precious than you could possibly know,” She mewed softly. “Cats will speak of them for many seasons to come. They must stay in ThunderClan, for all the Clans’ sakes, with a mother and father who can be proud of them, who can share them with their Clanmates to be raised as strong, loyal warriors.”

His thoughts spoke up again: 'I would... Could I actually be a father? I... Could things go back?'

Leafpool opened her mouth to protest that this was impossible, her Clanmates would never accept Crowfeather as their father, and might reject her too, knowing that their medicine cat had destroyed the code.

He heard her few words and sighed deeply. It was likely true. But, now? He has no choice. He must make this decision.

Yet Feathertail was looking at Squirrelflight. “I know how much Leafpool loves these kits,” she murmured. “But you must be their mother and raise them in ThunderClan with your head held high.”

Squirrelflight stared at the starlit she-cat. “How can you do this?” she whispered. “You are asking me to lie to every cat I love.” Feathertail ran her paw very lightly over the backs of the sleeping kits. “Because I love these kits as much as you do. They are Crowfeather’s: How could I not? I want them to have the best life, not one lived outside the Clans, in shame and exile.”

“Do you wish they were yours?” Squirrelflight whispered. The silver cat blinked without looking up. “That was never meant to be."

Crowfeather broke in a small cry. He understood it was truth. Perhaps the past could've gone different.

Finally he thought: 'Damn it. I have to this. I'm sorry Feathertail, I hope you'll be proud of me by the end.'

Feathertail continued: "The destiny of these kits begins now, and you have the power to change everything, Squirrelflight. Please believe me when I say that Leafpool’s kits must stay in ThunderClan.”

He thought a last thing: 'They will. They will, I promise. And I'll be with them.'

As his tears fell, Feathertail faded away. And as Crowfeather lifted his head, Squirrelflight quickly snapped to look to the walls. Had she... Heard him? He slowly inched forward, until a white paw smashed through the thick vines of the wall and knocked him back into the clearing.

Squirrelflight padded around walking up to him, she had not seen his face, and she might be less then welcome to reason with someone stalking them. He had to get to Leafpool. As she grabbed his shoulder he lunged up and slammed Squirrelflight's stomach with his foreleg. As she merely growled, Squirrelflight quicky latched her claws in his neck and lifted him slightly by his jaw with strength that made Crowfeather fear for his life for a short while, before a shout startled him.

"Wait! Squirrelflight let him go, it's Crowfeather!"

Squirrelflight heard her sister's cry and looked back at Crowfeather. "Can we... Talk?" He choked out. She dropped him, throat rumbling. "I still don't like you from the great journey." Squirrelflight remarked.

As Crowfeather sat regaining his breath, he stated: "I'd like to think I've changed a fair bit. Haven't you?"

Squirrelflight smiled, thinking for a second before replying: "Perhaps in some ways."

Leafpool called back. "It means she's still very temperamental."

Squirrelflight eyes her sister with a betrayed look of child like anger as Leafpool smiled evily.

"Well... That's good to know... Ow." Crowfeather stood and felt the pain of where the ginger cat hit him. "Thank you for that."

Squirrelflight turned to him once more. "And why are you here?" She meowed.

Crowfeather looked at Leafpool with a pleading gaze, then at the small bundles at her belly. "For them. If there's anything I'll do in this world for my own glory, it will not be missing the chance to see my kits. I hope you understand that."

Leafpool felt her jaw lower, as if to speak unknown words, but she couldn't say anything. She was happy at last, that he may be ready to take the responsibility she wanted from him.

Squirrelflight sighed at Leafpool in wonder, as her sister spoke. "I think we can bear him until we depart for Thunderclan again."

"So be it. Welcome to the group Black Tornado." Squirrelflight smiled sarcastically.

"Black Tornado? How exactly is that an insult?" Crowfeather looked at his paws in confusion.

Squirrelflight glared at him with questioning eyes. "Because no one likes them."

"It'd be interesting to see one though." Crowfeather smirked playfully.

"You are correct. I'll think of something else." Squirrelflight firmly stated. Leafpool called from the den softly. "Leave him be sissy."

"That- Combining those words is against the Warrior Code!" Squirrelflight spoke as her sister grinned again.

Crowfeather awaited his chance to speak as the siblings bickered. "So... On a better note. Have you named them yet?"

Squirrelflight turned him with a twisted expression that read: 'Are you legitimately serious?' She spoke: "You literally arrived as the last bundle knocked his head on the floor!" Leafpool burst into laughter behind her as Crowfeather hung his head and sighed. "That's... That information isn't required."

"For you, all possible information must be relayed for your understanding." Squirrelflight scoffed.

"Alright." Leafpool gave Squirrelflight a more serious look. Reading: 'I think that's enough for now.'

Crowfeather hesitated before pacing up to slow at Leafpool, gazing at the kits. They watched them for a short while before the golden kit shot up and yowled with a rather cute voice, yet strong as his thick fur seemed to fluff up, appearing towering over his siblings.

Crowfeather laughed softly. "His strength reminds me of old Tigerclan legends. Or, I guess Lionclan with his fur. Perhaps that would be his name, could it? Lionkit. Leaf-?" He looked at her questioningly.

Leafpool's expression switched a few times. Fear, excitement, uncertainty, love. "If your words remain true, I won't deny you at least one name." She laughed softly. "I could do that."

Crowfeather smiled, seeing the kit stumble over his sister. Leaf peered over at the silver and blue kit who lay still behind his siblings, obviously wishing all the noise would. Just. Stop. As the black she-kit whined against Lionkit's pummeling paws, the silver and blue kit gave a light sigh and buried his head in his paws.

Leafpool breathed in delight at the sight of her family. "You know, his pelt is something I've never seen before... Like a blue jay. Yes that'll work. He'll be Jaykit." She spoke as she chuckled at the other two fighting still.

Squirrelflight sat silent before Leafpool addressed her softly. She picked her head up questioningly as Leafpool spoke. "Crowfeather named one. So did I. Three cats here for three kits. What about the black one?"

Squirrelflight looked uncertain as Leafpool spoke. "You're my sister, I'd definitely let you name one if I have THREE." She smiled.

Squirrelflight smiled, looking at the black kit, starting to roll over off Lionkit, trying to escape, holding an attitude. She gazed to her side, seeing a black bark tree. Her eyes went to slits looking at it, and back to the kit. "You know, her fur is strikingly simaler to holly bark. That might work. Hollykit."

Crowfeather immediately spoke with dangerous levels of stupidity and sarcasm at Squirrelflight. "Crowkit could work." Leafpool shouldered him hard with a frown that certainly held a hidden smile. Crowfeather laughed as Squirrelflight glared at him with childish rage. "Hollykit it is." Leafpool declared gazing at both of them.

Squirrelflight gazed at the sky lightening. "Day's come. Clan will be searching soon. Best not keep them waiting."

Leafpool sighed looking at Crowfeather as he too felt pain in his heart. But it took no hesitation for him to speak his choice.

Crowfeather sighed deeply. "I guess it comes to this. I- I never could imagine I would wake up and be here in an hour. I can't... Leaf... I would never again ask you to come with me, but perhaps the other way around... I don't care about what others think of me, I cannot leave these kits alone. Not now."

"With me?" Leafpool's expression turned serious and concerned. She sighed as she spoke as though it was rehearsed. "Crow, how? If you came to Thunderclan after all that's happened in our history, I'd be surprised if they didn't kill you. I know the pain I'd feel if I could never spend time with my kits now, and in Windclan It'd be your mind, not mine. And I don't want that for you. But how? And I have no idea what to do now."

"Leaf, I will not go down in history as the father who named his kit, and didn't spend any time with him. Not the father who never tumbled around or had a great night with a child who might be too much for one mother. I would love to be the cat who will survive all accusations and hard stares if just to block my kits from being the one to receive them. And Squirrelflight... I heard what Feathertail said. I would take that responsibility away. Feathertail said they must live in a Clan with a mother and father who will be proud of them, and they will. I did this, I helped make these kits. If I let them grow up without a true father, that's on me."

Before anyone could speak, he lowered his head next to the three kits and spoke softly. "My light is yours, my life, and love. But my pain need not follow. I will hold on to it for you, keep you from the cruel world as long as should be needed. With all the love in my heart and fear in my mind, I welcome you, my kits, into this vast and wonderful world that I love so much, the one with you, gracing it every day. Welcome."

As he finished, Leafpool had fell to tears. Squirrelflight... She may never have heard more beautiful words binding family.

Little conversation passed between the three. But it always ended to one conclusion. Crowfeather spoke: "This is my path. If it is a painful one, that's still my choice, I spent my life on selfish adventures, never understanding how much my life could be valued by the ones who love me, more than myself. I understand now, these kits may claim to feel no fear, claim they understand love, and they swear they'd be safe, but I'll always be there to worry for them. As a father it's my job. I cannot turn away from this. Else I should just jump in the river. I have to do this."

Before anyone could speak once more, Squirrelflight lifted her head in shock. "Where's Hollykit?!"

Crow and Leaf spun around looking for the little she-kit. Crowfeather spotted her stumbling over the branches at the clearing edge, heading towards a fall. "Wait, kit! Stay with those two!" He yelled at Squirrelflight as he darted to the black she kit who had ran and tumbled down a small hill, crying. Crowfeather skidded to a halt by her side, checking her over. He sighed deeply as his heart pounded. She was unharmed. "Why are you out here..." He whispered softly.

"I could ask the same." Came a stern voice that made him freeze. 'Oh no.' He thought. He turned to see Brambleclaw, Dustpelt, and Brightheart. Dustpelt had been the one to have addressed him. Before either three made a move, Crowfeather spoke. "I'm with Squirrelflight and Leafpool, please do not do anything blunt."

Brightheart spoke up threateningly. "Who's kit is that?"

Crowfeather's expression read: 'And how am I going to get out of this?'

"Well..." He began. "Leafpool's. Medicine cat."

As Dustpelt and Brambleclaw exchanged a very questioning glance, Crowfeather finished as Brightheart asked: "The father?..."

"Well if the black fur is any indication... Well... Mine. Mine... And Leafpool's. I'm sure you remember our past."

"Where are they?" Brambleclaw spoke firmly.

Crowfeather singled with his tail up the hill. Brightheart picked up Hollykit as she whined, while Dustpelt motioned for Crowfeather to follow.

As the cleared the hill and the hollowed tree came into sight, Squirrelflight gave a gasp of shock seeing them as Leafpool gave a sigh, half of fear, half of relief seeing Hollykit at Brightheart's paws.

Brambleclaw glanced at Squirrelflight, expression seeming to say calmly: 'What... Is this?' While her's simply read: 'Hello.' As she stood shocked.

Thunderclan Camp.

I'll write more soon. Hopefully the Alternative Universe creator sees it, ha.

[not-a-space-alien]

Into the Unknown, Part 9: Satan, Redefined

Art by @petimetrek (link)

Prologue | Dramatis Personae | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Series masterpost

On AO3

AN: before reading this please know I promise everything will be all right in the end okay oHo

Hell was different.  There was no blood, no torture, no fire and brimstone.

But the strange thing was, it wasn��t better.  Everything was still underground, but the cave aesthetic had been replaced by sterile white walls.  And eyes, eyes everywhere; he felt that ever-present gaze on him from the necks and arms of his fellow demons, from eyes imprinted above doorways, from watchful sentinels at the enormous stone gates.  It was oppressive, the constant feeling of being scrutinized, being judged, of being directed and controlled.

The demons here were much, much more inclined to be helpful to one another because they seemed to work as a hive-mind.  It was staggering and horrifying in a way Crowley hadn’t expected. There was nowhere to hide in this Hell, nowhere to escape and scuttle away to be alone.  It was open, empty, and brightly-lit.  It was the polar opposite of what he was used to Hell being like, and Crowley had always thought that would make it better, but it didn’t.

Was this what Heaven had always been like for Aziraphale?  What was Heaven like here, if this is what Hell was?

Botis could tell vaguely that Crowley was unsettled as they entered the gates, but he had no idea why.  They were like ants from two different species meeting, sensing some level of familiarity and sameness between each other, but utterly uncomprehending as to what could be the cause of the ever-pervading sense of difference there was between them, trying to use their limited map of the world to guide their interactions with each other and failing to understand each other properly.

The gates of Hell boomed closed behind them, and Botis escorted him to an elevator cart.  Crowley had the horrifying realisation that the light emanating from the walls came from disembodied human souls shoved into compartments at intervals like a filing system, each one tagged sorted.

Crowley was understandably distracted.  He had already thought up a lie to try and dig his way out of this situation as fast as possible, but it was slipping out of his mind repeatedly as he tried to take everything in.

Botis held his arm out to an eye on the door of the elevator, and a red light shot out and scanned his tattoo like a bar code.  A pop-up display read ACCESS GRANTED TO NINTH LAYER.

The elevator doors slid open, and Botis corralled Crowley inside.  The doors shut, and the cart began to sink along with Crowley’s stomach.

The screen in the cart showed their current floor, which began to tick towards nine.  Crowley scrambled to secure his slippery lie, like he was chasing a fish on a dock that kept flopping about.  “Botis?”

“Yes?”

He desperately tried to think of what scrap of information he could glean that might arm him in the coming encounter.  “What was Satan’s—”

“Our Lord Satan.”

“What was Our Lord Satan’s angelic name? Before she fell?”

Botis’s lip peeled into a sneer.  “You forget yourself.  Do not speak with such impudence about our Lord.  Remember that she is always listening.”

Crowley zipped his lips.  The eye on Botis’s wrist flickered to life and made eye contact with him, staring straight through him.

He didn’t dare say anything else on the ride down.  It seemed like it took an eternity for the cart to reach the bottom floor.

The car finally jolted to a stop, and the doors slid open, revealing a chamber with hallways radiating off like spokes in a wheel.  It was reminiscent of the ninth layer of Hell with which he was familiar, but the elegant red carpet leading up to the throne room straight ahead was laid upon a marble white floor instead of the traditional stone-grey architecture that had always dominated Hell.

The whole place smacked of the way Heaven was, too bright, too sterile and bare.  The Satan he knew would have never built something like this.

The eye on Botis’s arm flared to life again, and the disembodied voice rang out, “Escort him to me, Botis, and stay for a few minutes.”

This time, Crowley could hear an echo of the voice faintly nearby, as though the speaker were physically present somewhere here.  It was coming from the throne room.

“Yes, lord,” Botis answered, and prodded Crowley to step forwards.

As Crowley did so, the doors to the throne room slid open, not a booming set of ornate, stone-carved monstrosities as they always had been, but a simple, functional blockade that opened nearly silently on greased hinges.

The red carpet ran up to the throne of Hell, which was a simple white pedestal.  On the left side of the throne was a demon wearing the face and aura of the archangel Victoria, a hardened, sneering simulacrum of Heaven’s most noble warrior. On the right of the throne was the archdemon Mykas in his most bestial form, a hunched over bear of a figure. He looked exactly as Crowley was used to him, except his body was knotted with the scars of a thousand battles which hadn’t been kind to him.  His left eye was clouded under a gnarled white tear that didn’t seem to have healed quite right, and a heavy metal collar kept him chained to the throne. Both of these archdemons had the eye tattoo on their necks.

And in the center, sitting cross-legged on the throne, was Satan. She was dressed in a plain white sash, which contrasted sharply with the ribbon of black hair tucked over one shoulder. In place of a crown, an eye sigil pulsing with occult energy sat atop her head, radiating power.

The space between her nose and forehead where her eyes should have been was smooth and unbroken.  Instead, the pair of silver wings spread out behind her was lined with eyes from joint to tip.  They were all lolling to the side in every which way, unfocused, until Crowley’s footsteps echoed in the chamber at which point all of the dozens of pupils snapped to him attentively.

“Fuck,” Crowley whispered, because now he had the answer to his earlier question.  The aura was unmistakable, even tainted as it was by the Fall.

Satan’s smile spread wide, too wide, and this visage of eyes and cruelty and blinding perfection said, “Welcome.  So good to finally see you with my own eyes.”  Said eyes fluttered and blinked rapidly as she fanned her wings slightly, spreading them wide to look at him fully.

“Uriel,” whispered Crowley.  “You?  But…How…?”  Now he regretted not running when he had the chance, Botis’s reaction be damned.  Uriel and Satan, combined into one.  Uriel as Satan, instead of Lucifer.  It was unthinkable.

Mykas leapt forward until he slammed into the limits of the chain around his neck, barking and growling madly, mouth foaming.  Crowley took a terrified step back.  Botis didn’t flinch.

“Heel,” Satan commanded, snapping her fingers.

Mykas, hackles still raised, mouth crunched in a snarl, slunk back to his spot beside the throne.  The archdemon who bore an uncanny resemblance to Victoria eyed Crowley curiously and critically.  

Satan unfolded her legs and stood on the pedestal, towering over Crowley, who at least had the sense to kneel.

She did not seem impressed by the unprompted display of supplication. With a small leap, wings extended, she drifted down to the floor in front of Crowley.  Even without the pedestal, she still stood head and shoulders above him.

“What a strange anomaly you are,” said Satan, exposing her mouth full of perfectly pointed, needle-like teeth.  “All of my demons have been marked since the very beginning.  You could not have fallen, could you?”

Crowley shook himself and dug up the lie he had thought up on the way down to put up some semblance of a passing story, finally catching the slippery thing. “Yes, Lord.”  He hadn’t addressed anyone as lord or master in decades, and it tasted foul on his tongue. But he swallowed it as a necessity. All he had to do was get through this so he could get back up to Earth, where he stood a better chance of getting away. “I’ve abandoned Heaven and fallen. I wish to join your ranks.”

Satan pivoted and gracefully sat herself back on the pedestal, legs crossed. She swiped the air in front of her, and a huge, huge book materialised, settling itself onto her lap.

Crowley gaped.  It was the Book of Life, turned infernal.

No, that wasn’t right.  Was it? The book pulsed with magical energy, sure, but it didn’t seem to have the gut-wrenching, reality-altering power that the true Book of Life had.

Crowley watched as Satan leafed through the Book.  “This represents a deviation from the usual Order,” said Satan. “Surely you must understand that.”

“Er, of course, lord,” said Crowley.

“So how do you explain yourself, then?” Satan demanded.  A quill appeared in her hand, and ink dabbled from the tip of its own accord.  She pressed it against the page, ready to write.

“Ah…” said Crowley.  “Um, upon what detail, exactly, would my master wish me to give further explanation?”

Archdemon Victoria snickered.

He felt Botis showering him with a hateful glare from the side.  “Don’t be stupid,” he growled.

Crowley sweated, wanting very badly not to be stupid, but having no real idea how to keep the charade going.  He felt the glares of Botis, Fallen Victoria, and Satan burning into him keenly.

Satan inclined her head.  Her wings fanned once, the eyes blinking out of sync with each other.  “No new demon has fallen in six-thousand years.  It is unprecedented for an angel to be kicked out after the rebellion.”

“Ah, yes,” said Crowley, palms moist.  That made sense, considering Uriel was the one who kicked people out.  Maybe nobody could touch the Book of Life up in Heaven anymore?

So then he had to spin up a lie to explain how he had fallen if he wanted to stick to the same story.

He was about to weave a tale of Heaven appointing a new Keeper of the Divine Aura before Satan interrupted him.  “Tell me, what was your name before you fell?”

Shite.  If he gave his real name, Satan might find out he hadn’t just recently Fallen as he’d said.  If he gave a fake name, he risked it not being in Satan’s book at all.  Either outcome had the potential to make everyone in the room angry at him.

He could give the name of an angel he knew hadn’t fallen yet in this universe.  It would be in the Book, but not recorded as already having fallen during the rebellion. “My name was Aziraphale.”

He was relieved that Satan seemed to swallow the lie, the pages of the Book whizzing past under a wave of her hand.  It snapped open to a certain page, which Satan scanned.

She inclined her head.  Crowley didn’t know why she kept doing that.  Eye contact was impossible.  “That’s very interesting, newcomer, because according to my notes, Aziraphale is a field agent class principality currently stationed in Great Britain.  While you were obviously a healing class angel.”

Crowley sweated.

“Did they change your class when they kicked you out?”

Crowley opened his dry mouth to answer.

“I’ll give you one more chance to tell the truth.”

Crowley swallowed.  “The truth is, my name before I Fell was Cralael.”

The pages of the Book whirred around again.  Uriel scanned another page, then sneered.

“Now that’s also interesting, because according to my notes, Cralael fell at the beginning of time, and was killed by his angelic counterpart—who, interestingly, happens to be named Aziraphale—several hundred years ago via holy water.”

Crowley let out a shaky breath.

“And yet here he stands before us, alive and well.”

Botis eyed him strangely.

Satan snapped the Book shut, and it disappeared under a wave of her hand. “You may leave us now, Botis.”

Botis bowed, turned on his heel, and exited quickly, leaving Crowley alone to face the three nightmares on the other end of the room.

Satan stood once again, hovering a few inches in the air.  “Your opportunity to tell me the truth has passed, little demon.  Vycra, hold him.”

Fallen Victoria—Vycra—marched forwards towards Crowley.  He backed up, holding his hands out.  “Now hold on a minute, we don’t have—"

He shut his mouth as Vycra grabbed his arm, yanking him down.  He tried to worm his way out of her grip, but he knew in his heart there was no way he could fight his way out of here.

Satan fluttered down to the ground.  “I shall pick the answers directly from your brain.  Lower your defenses so I may make the connection.”

Despite Vycra’s overwhelming aura right on top of him, Crowley managed to slam his aural defenses shut, as high as they would go.

“That was not a request,” Satan said.  Crowley felt a tendril of her aura reaching outwards, prickling the back of his neck.  It was the same aura he had felt when Uriel was on the verge of tearing his wings off.

What had always made Uriel worse than any of the other archangels was that she could just manipulate aura directly.

Crowley whimpered as his defenses lowered without his consent, exposing him.  Satan reached out and brushed a gentle finger on his forehead.  He felt the aural tendril creeping into his brain.

It stung a little, but not quite as much as when Camael had done it to him all those many years ago.  This Satan had a practiced hand, surgical in its precision.  Crowley gasped at how fast she came in and retreated.

Satan’s rows of eyes along her wings betrayed her bewilderment, rattling about like craft googly eyes in an earthquake, despite her impassive facial expression.  She lowered her hand from Crowley, folding her arms in front of her body.  “Hmmm….”

Crowley panted, sweating a little.

“Let him go, Vycra.”

Crowley felt himself deposited summarily on the floor.  He curled his legs under him as Vycra strode past him back to her place by the throne.

Satan strutted back to the simple pedestal that served as the throne and sat, petting Mykas on the head a few times.  “Now that was very interesting,” she said, voice low like a rumbling storm cloud.  “Do you care to explain what I just saw?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.  He wasn’t entirely sure what she had seen, but it had definitely included his most recent memories about meeting God and falling from the sky for sure.  How much further back did she get?  Had she seen his love for Aziraphale?  All the way back to the beginning of time?

What would she do if she found out about the other universe?  If she reached it?  Did Crowley have to doom himself to keep it secret and protect his home?

“I’m waiting,” Satan growled.  “You have one opportunity.  Do not lie to me.”

He didn’t have much of a choice.  He shakily got to his feet, straightened his suit, and looked Satan in the face.

“I come from a better world,” Crowley said.  “One where angels and demons don’t have to fight anymore. There is no war.  We worked hard to make peace with each other.”

Vycra’s stare on him was hard.  Her face contained a frightening amount of hatred.  Or…jealousy?  “That’s absurd.  Angels and demons are hereditary enemies.  They’d never make peace.”

“It’s true,” Crowley said.  “Where I come from, Vycra, you’re still an angel, and Mykas—”

Mykas’s bestial face was still crunched to expose his massive teeth.  He wasn’t hearing a single thing Crowley said, he realised.

What a damn shame.

“Vycra is right,” said Satan.  “The natural order of the universe is such that angels and demons will always be diametrically opposed.  You’re still lying to me.  I want the real explanation.”

“You saw it,” said Crowley.  “In my head—you got snatches of Aziraphale, surely.  You—Satan—where I’m from, Uriel never fell—”

“That’s enough,” Satan snarled.  “If you won’t tell us the truth, I’ll have to decide on my own what to make of you.  I don’t know who you are, or what you are, or where you came from and how you got here, or if you’ve tricked me—”

“I’m not—”

“—and if so, how, but you are now under my control, and you will be silent unless I tell you to speak.”

Crowley clamped his mouth shut, tears threatening to well up in his eyes. This wasn’t going well at all.

Satan’s chest heaved with rage.  “You are a demon, and as such you belong to me, you are under my control, and all my servants must have a mark. Vycra, hold him.”

Vycra’s hands were gentler this time, probably because Crowley wasn’t desperately trying to fend her off.  Satan waved her hand and materialised a pointed implement, dripping with ink. “Since I am feeling generous today, I will even let you pick where on your body it will go.  You may choose from your neck or either wrist.”

She hovered over to him, dabbling the excess ink onto her own hand. Crowley’s eyes darted around her body and the room.  “Hold on a moment, can’t we—”

“If you do not pick, I will pick for you.”

“Wrist,” Crowley spluttered, thinking that body part would be easiest to lop off.  “Wrist, please.”

Satan peeled Crowley’s right arm off from his defensive posture and began to draw on his wrist.  The ink sizzled into his skin like a brand, but it was curiously painless.

The ink still glowed red hot when Satan removed the tattoo gun, leaving the crisp image of an eye on his skin.  The molten pupil began to move about in sync with one of the eyes on Uriel’s wing.

Crowley bit his lip.

“There we are,” said Satan, sounding curiously relieved.  “Now you are as you should be.”

“Um,” Crowley said.

Satan waved the implement away.  Her anger had all but dissipated instantly, her cool smile returning, at ease at being in control.  “I’ll make sense of what you are eventually, little demon.  I’ll have to think about this a little more.”

She stared at him with all dozens of her eyes, this time including the one on his wrist.

Crowley began, “Lord, if I may—"

“You may not,” said Satan.  “The time for your input has passed.”  Satan floated back over to the throne and sat on it primly.  “The only question that remains is what should be done with you.”

“Perhaps he could be employed in the field as a healer,” said Vycra. “Field post thirteen is short one healer.  It would even out the numbers.”

“Yes,” said Crowley.  “That’s an excellent idea.  I would be a great asset in the field.”

Satan stared at him, head tilted onto her first.  “How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?  No.  You are an anomaly in the Order.”

Vycra looked at him with pity.

“You should be kept down here with the other anomalies.”

Crowley did not like the sound of that at all.  “I would be much more useful up on the surface.  I saw how many wounded there were up there.  Is where I came from really such a big deal?”

Satan’s face was mild now, as though she were relaxed due to the impending resolution of something troubling her.  “No…You shall stay down here, where I can control you.”

Vyra strode over and plucked out a handful of Crowley’s feathers.  “Ow!”

Satan swiped at the air, and a row of jars appeared, moving so fast as to be a blur, until it came to the end of the line.  The last one was labeled “Anomaly #392” and had a handful of green feathers in it.

Another jar appeared next to it, labeled “Anomaly #393,” and Satan took Crowley’s feathers from Vycra and deposited them into it.  She screwed the lid shut, then swiped to dismiss the collection.

“That is plenty of feathers for a summoning spell,” said Satan.  “This way, I may call you up from where you’ll be stored if I need you.  Otherwise, you’ll be safely quarantined from the order of Hell where you can’t mess things up.”

“Uhhhh,” said Crowley.

Satan crossed her hands, and a yawning black portal opened in front of the throne.

Crowley’s eyes widened.  “You’re going to throw me into the Pit?”

The Pit was where demons went when you needed them to be locked away forever. There was no escaping from the Pit without concerted effort from someone on the outside of it.  It was where the misbehaving archdemons under Maltha’s rule went when they refused to cooperate.  Even she disliked using it and only threw anyone in there as a last resort.

Crowley pivoted and made a break for the elevator.  Vyra was behind him immediately, yanking him back by the arm, pinning the limb behind him and forcing him to his knees.

“I said you shall speak only when spoken to,” said Satan.  “And yes, that is where all anomalies go.  You have no place here in this world, so you shall be kept separate from it.  But first you must be cataloged.”

Satan summoned the Book again, and she flipped it all the way to the end. She materialised a quill and began to write.  “Anomaly number three-hundred and ninety three.”

There was silence in the room for a few moments while Satan’s pen scratched on the paper.

“What is she doing?” Crowley said in a strained whisper.

“She is merely writing down all the details about you to reference later, if needed,” said Vycra.  “Since you’ll be in the Pit and not convenient to retrieve if we need to reference you.”

Crowley’s arm was still twisted behind his back, forcing him to look at the floor.  A few tears dripped from his face onto the white stone.  “I haven’t done anything.  This isn’t fair.”

“I wish life were fair, anomaly.”

“At least give me a trial.  We sometimes at least got a trial.  I don’t deserve this.  I don’t deserve punishment.”

“This isn’t punishment,” said Vycra, almost gently.  “It’s just where you belong.”

Crowley stared down into the gaping blackness of the Pit, heart wrenching. “No.  That’s not—”

“And I’m taking down a note that you simply will not be quiet,” said Satan, with an excessive motion of the quill.  “‘Continues to argue ad nauseum.  It really is quite counterproductive.”

“I belong…”  The arm Vycra didn’t have pinned behind his back was curled against his chest.  He extended it, looking at the silver ring there. “Aziraphale…  Home.”

“I’ll have to do some further investigation into this matter,” said Satan, snapping the book shut.  “But we’re done with you for now.  You are dismissed.  Vycra.”

“Please don’t do this,” Crowley wept.

“Sorry,” Vycra said.

She hauled Crowley up by the belt and tossed him into the abyss.

[luimnigh]

I asked this of you, and while I'd say thanks (you did a solid), Ruby not having a bio-dad made me go 'the Fuck' from the start. Anyway, I appreciate how expansive this was, but I have some Questions; it's honestly strange to me that you flipped the common racial perspectives on Cinder and Roman, given Cinder seems really Asian-coded (Monty made a joke back in the day about moisturizing). Don't have much room, but the last big thing's about the Oz->Summer->Ruby genealogy. Please explain???

This is a little complicated to explain, so I’ll try to explain it best I can:

Little Red Riding Hood meets the Big Bad Wolf on the way to Grandma’s house. Roman Torchwick is named after Rome, a city founded by two dudes who were raised by a wolf.

So our Red Riding Hood gets accosted by the Big Bad Wolf, and then ends up at Beacon, home of the grandfatherly Ozpin.

This wouldn’t be enough on it’s own, but then Volume 6 gave us a ton on Silver-Eyed Warriors. The power comes from the God of Light, but so far two out of four/five of those SEWs have been directed descendants of Ozpin (the two children of Daddy Oz are silver-eyed, and my belief is the girl might be Maria). And while Maria says her father taught her about Silver Eyes, she never actually says he was a Silver-Eyed Warrior himself. Just an “old soldier”. Even if she’s not the daughter, she could still be another daughter of Oz.

So SEWs are descendants of Ozpin, possibly direct descendants. At the very least, every known SEW besides Ruby seems to have gotten it from their Dad.

On top of this, Ruby looks nothing like Taiyang. Every child in this show is visually related back to their parents, but Ruby takes nothing from Tai. Some take this as evidence for Qrow as her father, but she doesn’t have anything from him, either. She looks exactly like her mom. Too exactly.

I personally believe that Ruby might be a clone of Summer. Either Summer wanted to give Yang a sibling, and Ozpin wanted to make sure the Silver-Eyed Gene definitely came through; or Oz asked his daughter to do it, taking advantage of the fact that she was already a mom at his stage.

This fits into RWBY’s overarching theme of legacy: all our characters are similar to their parents or people who came before, but aren’t making the same mistakes that the previous generation did. Ruby would literally be the same person as her mother, but what she does with her life would end up being different, because she’ll learn from the mistakes of the past.

[newtcloud]

I’ve noticed some people seemed interested in my TawnyFeather + kits AU, and I have some news for you, it’s actually part of a much larger AU/fix I think about occasionally.

I do work with a traditionalist (more info) worldview, I list the original names the first time the cat is mentioned. Some cats are slightly genetically changed, I mention the changes as well. (I want to make family trees, one day maybe) I talk from Clan to Clan here, and it’s a lot and a little disorganized haha

Hope you enjoy reading my thoughts!

Windclan

For starters, Mudclaw remains deputy. When Ravenstar (Tallstar, he is black with little white now) is close to dying he calls Mudclaw in for a private meeting. When Mudclaw arrives he sees Crowpaw (he doesn’t receive his name in the mountains, also he has amber eyes) leave and enters. Ravenstar is honest about his fears, and Mudclaw listens critically. He vows to try and keep peace, and earn the other clans’ respect in a less violent way. Ravenstar also tells him to respect what Crowpaw chooses to do, Mudclaw doesn’t understand what Tallstar means with this until Crowpaw says that he needs to leave to sort out his thoughts. He allows it, and prays that he is safe.

Mudclaw becomes Mudstar, with lives (not literal lives, but more in a guidance way, as is more common within traditionalism) for Compassion, Clarity of judgement, Diplomacy, Patience, Love, Wisdom, Endurance, Loyalty, and Understanding of other viewpoints.

Oatwhisker (Onewhisker, brown and white tabby) becomes his deputy, and Starclan shows approval by granting access to the island. The two become good friends.

Windclan and Thunderclan still grow apart, but less so. Mudstar is not hostile, but also asserts their rights to decline help. Firestar is a little saddened, but respects the decision. With time the two clans change that distance to a more casual relationship.

Since Crowpaw is gone, Nightcloud has kits with a loner, Sleetkit (Breezepelt, now a lighter gray) and Antkit (Black molly). They grow up to become Sleetpelt and Antfang, they’re both a little hot-headed but ultimately strong young cats.

Crowpaw returns after several years, changed into a more wise man. He asks Mudstar to be let back, and he accepts after remembering Ravenstar’s words. Crowpaw becomes Crowheart and lives his life without mate/kits.

When Darktail arrives Mudstar is mad that Oatwhisker kept this a secret, but doesn’t have any reason to punish him since he never broke the law. Oatwhisker dies with Darktail, which Mudstar grieved over for the rest of his life. Sedgewhisker succeeds Oatwhisker, and she becomes Sedgestar when Mudstar dies of old age.

Shadowclan

Tawny’s kits are born a lot earlier, and they aren’t really just The Three In Shadowclan for their earlier life. Tawny teaches them about their family in the other clans, and stands up fiercely when other cats try to tell them they’re not Shadowclan.

Rowanclaw is their foster father (he’s trans) and when he has his own litter Tawny + kits help with raising his kits: Redkit/paw/whisker (Redwillow, red and black torbie, predominantly red) and Darkkit/paw/nose (Olivenose, black and red tortie, predominantly black). Tawny and Rowan are close friends, but never mates.

Sol still appears and causes a ruckus, and it’s resolved the same way.

Russetfur retires from her position before she’s killed in battle, she becomes an elder but remains fairly active because she can. Nobody dares to stop her anyway, and her death shakes all the clans. She is succeeded by Tawnypelt.

When Blackstar dies in the floods, Tawnystar succeeds him. She names Rowanclaw deputy.

Tawny’s kits themselves are largely themselves:

Reedtail (Flametail, brownish-red tabby with white) was really sickly as a kit (Tawny didn’t have an ideal pregnancy, with stress from journeying and malnutrition), he often had to stay in the medicine cat den. Littlecloud let him help so he wouldn’t grow bored while he was staying there, when Reedkit was ~7 moons (apprenticed late) he chose to become a medicine cat because he loved the work and wants to help cats as sickly as himself. Littlecloud was very fond of him, and the two were often called “like brothers” by the other medicine cats. He dies from shock after falling in the freezing lake while playing with his foster siblings. Littlecloud was devastated, and mentored no other cats until Mudleaf’s (Puddleshine, brown and white tabby) enthusiasm made him cautiously less stuck in his grief.

Goldenstorm (Dawnpelt, cream and grey calico) was a go-getter, happy to give her opinions and overall quite the troublemaker. She keeps senior warriors on their toes, and Tawny is never surprised to find her at the root of mischief. She has kits later in her life, and is heavily scarred but lives through the Darktail era. She is renamed Scarredpelt, and wears the name with pride.

Heronfur (Tigerheart/star, silver black tabby with white paws and chest) is mostly the same. He’s your average tom, with a penchant for bad ideas. The romance with Dovewing is gone, and he doesn’t become deputy/leader.

Thunderclan

The three are Maplecloud’s (Leafpool, dark, brownish-red ticked tabby) kits, but no-one knows who the other parent is. She steps down as med. cat after she discovers her pregnancy, many cats were skeptic, but her willingness to give up her dreams made them sympathetic. When Cinderpelt dies, she takes up the med. cat duties again.

Foxkit/paw/storm (Jayfeather, red classic tabby), becomes a warrior, his mentor is Brightheart. Maplecloud was overjoyed to see him succeed as a warrior. I personally am not a fan of the whole prophecy in the 3rd and 4th arc, so I scrapped that lol. He’s a cranky warrior that bites off more than he can chew to prove himself, Brightheart helps him accept himself. It’s a long journey, but he is enjoying his life more and more as he grows older.

Emberkit/paw/heart/star (Hollyleaf, black and red tortie), becomes a warrior with a strong belief in the code, highly intelligent and has the qualities of a leader. She is a beloved warrior, deputy and eventual leader. She becomes mates with Smokepelt (Cinderheart, gray and cream and white tabby with a broken leg).

The two have three kits:

Patchfur (Hollytuft, gray and cream lynx point)

Ryestripe (Sorrelstripe, gray and brownish torbie, predominantly brownish)

Ashcloud (Fernsong, grey and white)

Lionkit/paw/claw (Lionblaze, still a fluffy golden tabby), is a strong fighter and the definition of beauty. It was no surprise that he had flings across the borders sometimes. He’s bad at making good choices, and is grateful that Emberheart acts as his brains sometimes. He is the surrogate father of Smokepelt and Emberstar’s kits.

Ashfur doesn’t betray anyone, never had a thing with Squirrel and he dies when he helps Maple and Squirrel save the three in the fire.

Brambleclaw (Reddish-brown tabby) never takes up the position of deputy, Hornetfur (Brackenfur), becomes deputy instead. Bramble gravitates towards an uncle role with Maplecloud’s kits, and is saddened to learn that his attempts towards having kits with Squirrelstorm (Squirrelflight, ticked red tabby, no white) are failing (He’s infertile, they have a loner surrogate around the time of TFA).

Alderkit/paw/pelt (Alderheart, brown tabby with a little white) takes interest in med. cat duties, and succeeds Maplecloud.

Gingerkit/paw/pelt (Sparkpelt, predominantly red torbie with white paws) looks a lot like her grandfather, very excitable.

Pigeonkit/paw/whisker (Dovewing, Gray with odd eyes, deaf and blind on the blue eyed half of her face), has good senses, but ultimately wasn’t meant for he life of a warrior, she becomes a kittypet and still lives near the lake. Foxstorm was her mentor. Her sister visits her occasionally.

Silverkit/paw/claw (Ivypool, silvery gray tabby), was Emberstar’s apprentice when she was a warrior. She’s a good fighter, though at a young age she was often bitter that her sister seemed to get more attention. Emberheart helped her realize her own strength, and she became deputy under Emberstar.

Riverclan

Riverclan was too ignored for me to change much sadly. I still had a few things:

Mothface (Mothwing, golden lynx point) is very close to Maplecloud :) Many jokes are made that Lionclaw looks like her :) ;) Her brother Kitefang (Hawkfrost, brown lynx point) used her to gain power, the two were close and she never hated him after his body and plans were discovered. She doesn’t believe in Starclan still, and is respected. Miststar (Mistystar, ticked gray tabby, Russian Blue green eyes) covers for her lack of belief, and knows she’s valid and a good med. cat.

Riverclan doesn’t let Darktail mess with them, Miststar isn’t leader for long, but still is the oldest living one for a while. Rookstar (Reedwhisker, has green eyes now) succeeds her and his deputy is Minnowtail.

(Also in case my vague smilies are too... vague, Mothface is the mother of the three and loves her children very much despite not seeing them often)

[warriorsredux]

Chapter Twenty-Four

For a long time, no one said anything. The world was silent and still. Even the river seemed to slow down into a barely moving pond, its ripples and splashes muted by the severity of the moment.

Raventhroat was the first to speak. “Is she...”

“I’m afraid so,” said Speckletail. She gave an exhausted sigh and stood up. “We need to alert RiverClan about this.”

“What about the kits?” Fireheart said, his voice weak.

Speckletail took a moment to answer. She looked down, thinking. “I suppose we should bring them to camp. Goldenflower can nurse them until a RiverClan patrol comes by.”

Greystripe wobbled onto his feet. “Until RiverClan-?”

“We can’t have them at the belly of a corpse,” Speckletail said. “They could get sick.”

Greystripe said nothing to this. He just stared down at Silverstream’s body.

“This queen...” Whitecloud said. He eyed Greystripe. “What did you call her?”

“Silverstream,” Fireheart said before Greystripe could answer. “Her name was Silverstream.”

“Poor thing.” Whitecloud shut his eyes. “Entirely too young to have gone out like this.”

Fireheart shuffled uncomfortably. He couldn’t look at the body, but the kits brought up that ugly feeling he had experienced in the nursery. He glanced between them before looking away entirely, but not before he noticed that one of the kits had more than a passing resemblance to Greystripe, right down to the wide stripe on its back and neck. Fireheart’s stomach twisted in on itself.

“We need to get them back to camp quickly,” said Speckletail. She moved around to Silverstream’s stomach and picked up the kit that looked like Greystripe. It mewled and pawed the air.

“You three go with her,” Whitecloud said. “I’ll stay here and wait for a patrol. There should be one soon, if they noticed her running off.”

“Okay,” Raventhroat said. “But... what if they think you did this?”

Whitecloud blinked slowly at his former apprentice. “I’ll be okay. RiverClan may not like us, but they aren’t stupid. They knew she was pregnant.”

Raventhroat hummed nervously.

“Let’s go home,” Fireheart said. “Whitecloud’s got it.”

Raventhroat took a moment before nodding and turning to Fireheart. “So... who’s getting the other-”

“I’ve got it.” Greystripe stepped gingerly over Silverstream’s neck and picked up the silver kitten with a carefulness Fireheart had never seen out of him. He walked after Speckletail with stiff feet. The kitten made no noise.

Fireheart dared one last glance at Silverstream. She stared blankly ahead, her legs splayed out. Whitecloud was seated next to her, facing the river. Fireheart shook his head to rid it of the dizzy sickness that looking at them gave him and hurried after his Clanmates.

It was a silent walk back to camp, with even the rain pausing. Everyone was absorbed in their own thoughts. Fireheart and Raventhroat kept looking at Greystripe, whose eyes were clouded. His tail dragged on the ground.

The sun poked out of the clouds as they entered the clearing. Only Teaselfoot and Mousefur were out, and they looked like they’d rather be asleep. Mousefur interrupted her yawn as soon as she caught sight of the kits.

“Who-?” she said.

“Teaselfoot, get Bluestar, if you’d please,” Speckletail said, setting down her kit for a moment with only one protesting mew. “Mousefur, take Greystripe’s kit and help me bring them to Goldenflower.”

The siblings didn’t move, looking confused. It took a click of Speckletail’s teeth for them to jump up and obey their orders. Greystripe gave up his kit silently and sat down in the center of camp, head hanging, while Teaselfoot hurried out of camp and Mousefur politely coughed before she entered the nursery, Speckletail behind her.

Fireheart and Raventhroat came to sit on either side of their friend. None of them said anything. They couldn’t think of anything to say.

Other cats were murmuring to each other in the warrior’s den, but Bluestar was the only one out in the daylight. If she was tired, she didn’t show it. Instead, she walked right up to the three toms and said in a low but direct voice, “I’m told we have kits from RiverClan here.”

“Yes,” Greystripe said. He paused, then visibly forced himself on. ���They’re mine.”

Fireheart froze in place.

“Greystripe!” Raventhroat hissed.

“They are.” Greystripe lifted his head. “I’m the father. They’re half-ThunderClan.”

Fireheart expected Bluestar to interrogate him, or shout at him, or at the very least look angry. She didn’t. She merely set her jaw and said quietly, “Where are they now?”

“The nursery,” Greystripe said.

Bluestar turned and went for the nursery, where Speckletail and Mousefur were just leaving. She said something to them and didn’t give them a chance to respond before slipping through the roots that made up the entrance.

“What did you tell her that for?” Raventhroat looked at Greystripe in horror. “Do you know how much-”

“Yes,” Greystripe said. “I know.”

“Do you not care?” Fireheart asked.

“This is my fault.” Greystripe straightened up a little. “I have to take responsibility.”

“No one’s going to trust you ever again,” Raventhroat said. “Maybe Bluestar can keep it a secret-”

“She can do what she wants with that information,” Greystripe said. “Whatever happens to me, I deserve it.”

“Greystripe...” Fireheart said, but Bluestar was already outside and approaching them again.

“Come to my den and explain the whole situation to me,” she said to Greystripe. “You other two, stay here. Don’t say a word to anyone until we’re back.”

Fireheart didn’t get a chance to respond before she and Greystripe were gone. He shared a very worried look with Raventhroat.

Speckletail was talking to a couple cats who had woken up. Out of the bushes, Brindleface looked at Fireheart and Raventhroat with wide eyes and whispered something to Willowpelt, who nodded gravely.

“You don’t think they overheard us, do you?” Fireheart said.

“I don’t know.” Raventhroat heaved out some air. “I hope not. We’ll get in trouble for knowing about this too, have you realized that?”

“At least we just knew about it, and didn’t do something-” Fireheart said hopefully.

“But that’s the thing!” Raventhroat flinched at his own volume and dropped his voice to be hardly audible. “We knew, and we didn’t do anything about it. If we’d just said something to Bluestar, or- or tried harder to get them to stop meeting...”

“It’s too late now, at any rate.” Fireheart glanced at the nursery. “Goldenflower’s bound to notice how much one of those kits looks like him. If she doesn’t say anything, Frostfur will. Then the whole Clan will know.”

“Can’t keep a secret in camp,” Raventhroat muttered.

The two of them were quiet for a while. Gradually, the cats that were awake returned sleep, casting looks at the two toms sitting together. No one came out to ask questions or said anything to them. The sun disappeared behind a particularly dark cloud, and the rain started again. Neither Fireheart nor Raventhroat moved from their spot.

At last, Greystripe appeared again, followed by Bluestar. Both of them looked deep in contemplation.

Raventhroat jumped to his feet, Fireheart behind him. “So...?”

“We won’t say anything just yet,” Bluestar murmured. “If the Clan finds out on their own, then they’ll find out on their own.”

“But they will find out,” Fireheart said. “Won’t they?”

“Maybe so.” Bluestar turned her head towards the warrior’s den. “The three of you ought to get some rest. You’ve had a very taxing day, and I don’t doubt that Whitecloud will be coming in soon with a RiverClan patrol.”

“Can-” Greystripe broke out. The other three cats went quiet and he halted, as if he expected one of them to interrupt. There was an awkward pause, and he began again timidly. “Can I see the kits, at least?”

Bluestar looked contemplative. “...Perhaps if the truth comes out. But you must understand, Greystripe, you hold no right to those kits. They’re strictly RiverClan’s responsibility.”

“But he’s the father,” Fireheart said.

“The mother’s Clan gets to claim the litter if something like this happens,” Raventhroat said, almost sounding unhappy. “We only have any say if they turn them over to us.”

“Oh.” Fireheart shook his head. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s the Code,” Bluestar said. “That’s all you need to concern yourself with.”

Fireheart said nothing.

“Now-” Bluestar stood up straight. “You three, off to your den. Say nothing unless the secret gets out, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the trio said in monotone unison.

Bluestar turned and left again. No one else moved for a long while, before Raventhroat looked around and leaned in.

“So...” he said, quiet as possible. “How long do you think this will stay a secret?”

[dolorousedditor]

What r ur thoughts on the shows portrayal of euron this season? More so that they have essentially merged him and Victorian into one character.

They may have wanted to merge Euron and Victarion into one character but that’s not what we got. Sure, he was the first to jump onto a boat during a fight. That does not make you a great warrior with a code of honor, albeit a twisted and harsh one. Even with the most superficial interpretation of the brutish Victarion, that’s pretty bad. The same goes for how they’re adapting Euron.book!Euron, a one-eyed otherworldly reaver with a deadly renown and a silver tongue (which he very well may have ripped out of someone else). He may be hated but people take him seriously. Mostly out of fear. I mean there’s a reason people wanted Mads Mikkelsen to play him.show!Euron is a crude, poorly dressed, pirate-wannabe. He’s almost impossible to watch without cringing. This guy just shows up places, makes speeches that read like they were copied from the bathroom stall of a college bar, gives folks the crazy eyes, and we’re meant to tremble.Nah.Guy comes off as Bam Margera doing a shitty Hook cosplay.