#thrash also belongs with surge and kit

[silverequation]

this is Thrash the Tasmanian Devil. he’s purple, he has gold eyes, he’s stoic, he has a strong sense of justice and he would definitely help kill somebody. according to the laws of physics he would immediately become Silver’s good friend

and if they did meet than he and Silver would also have to fight a demon kaiju monster in actual literal hell world

[duskowithapen]

Day Ten: Bunnies

Fandom: Harry Potter, Addam’s Family, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Pairing: Familial Harry Potter and baby Killer Rabbits of Caerbannog

Warning: Blood, Gore, and Death

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Say Hello To My Little Friends

Harry licked the blood off his lip and smiled sadly with red stained teeth. “Sorry babies, no meat for dinner tonight.”

The six tiny baby bunnies stared at him with pink eyes. One hopped closer and started to lick at the blood dripping down his arm. When he didn’t push it away, the others followed. Harry ran a finger down each of their little backs. They were all so soft, with sleek black fur that shone different colours when the light touched it – a little bit like oil on water. He had found them huddled under Aunt Petunia’s rose bushes a few days ago. They must have run away from their owner, but Harry didn’t think anyone was looking for them. There hadn’t been any missing bunny posters or anything.

When one of the bunnies – the Ringleader, Harry thought of him as, with more of a green tint to his fur than the others – started climbing up his shirt in search of more blood, Harry pulled him away. “No, you’ve had enough.” They had all had enough – Harry was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

The bunnies’ nest was made out of a stolen towel and a pair of too-big jeans. It was tucked into the smallest corner of the cupboard, where the stairs met the floor. For extra protection, Harry had put all the chemical bodies in front of it like a wall. Now that the bunnies were relatively fed, he started to sit them one by one in the nest.

“Goodnight Ringleader,” he said to the green tinted kit.

“Goodnight Stormy,” to the fluffiest kit with a silvery tint to its’ fur.

“Goodnight lil’ Fighter,” to the kit missing part of one ear – Harry was pretty sure it had gotten into a fight before he’d found them.

“Goodnight Demon,” to the red tinted kit with deeper pink eyes than the others.

“Goodnight Shadow,” to the biggest kit. It was always following the others. More than once, Harry had to stop it from following him out of the cupboard.

“Goodnight Witchy,” to the darkest kit. It had an almost purple sheen to its fur, but it was also the quietest and most sneaky. Harry would be doing his chores, and suddenly find Witchy in his pocket, or climbing out of his shoes, or even in his hair. (If Harry was being completely honest, out of all the kits, Witchy was his favourite)

He didn’t want to get too attached to the kits – they couldn’t live in his cupboard forever – but he couldn’t help it. They were the closest thing he’d ever had to pets, or friends, in the seven years of his life.

Once they had all settled down in their nest, Harry started to wrap his wounds. Uncle Vernon had lost a drill deal of some kind today and blamed it on Harry and his freakishness. He hadn’t pulled out his belt, but he did accidently break a plate and then shoved Harry down on top of it, so there were pieces of glass ground into his back. He didn’t wince when he pulled them out. Even though Uncle Vernon couldn’t see him, he refused to react. To show that it hurt.

That night, curled up on his cot, Harry dreamed about the day when he would get Uncle Vernon back for every hit, every cut, every stripe of pain from his belt. In his sleep, Harry smiled.

As it turned out, that day came sooner than he thought.

It was a week later. Harry had just finished cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, painfully aware of the three raw sausages in his pocket. Like him, the bunnies preferred their meat rare, and they were getting hungry. Their last proper meal had been a couple of bacon rashers the day before last. As the Dursley’s ate, Harry started on the dishes. If he got them done fast enough, he’d have a few minutes of peace in his cupboard with the kits before chores.

Unfortunately, Dudley had not long since learned how to count. And he was very much aware of the fact that the sausage package held twelve sausages, not nine. “Where are my sausages!?” He cried out with both chubby hands banging at the table. “I want more sausages!”

Aunt Petunia immediately surged out of her chair to comfort him. “What’s wrong with your sausages, baby? Tell mummy what’s wrong.”

“There-there-there’s only nine sausages! There’s meant to be twelve!” Dudley screamed out at the top of his lungs.

Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon turned to look at the sausage plate. Indeed, there were only nine.

“BOY!” Uncle Vernon bellowed, “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!”

Harry turned around at the sink, hand closing around the last dirty knife. “I don’t know, Uncle Vernon.”

The man’s face went red, and then purple. “Where are all the sausages?!”

Burning a hole in my pocket, Harry thought hysterically. He never should have tried to take the sausages – too many, too early, too much. He was just considering the merits of handing them over, maybe it would lessen his punishment, when a large hand connected with the side of his head.

WHAM

Harry stumbled away from the sink, hand still clutching that knife, only to be sent to the floor by another blow. Uncle Vernon stood over him. He looked so much bigger from down here, completely blocking the light from the window, casting his face into shadow.

“How dare you steal from us! We took you in after your worthless parents went and got themselves killed, and this is how you repay us? Stealing food from your own family?! You greedy, ungrateful brat!”

With every insult, Uncle Vernon took another swing at Harry, kicking him along the ground until his was a huddled ball against the wall. Harry struggled to breathe. His ribs were creaking. His wrist was on fire. In his other hand, fingers curled around metal.

“I should send you to an orphanage, see how you like that. Do you know what they do to thieving little brats like you? They –”

Whatever they were going to do to him Harry didn’t know. He was too busy twisting his hand, sending the knife blade deeper into the meat of Uncle Vernon’s leg. The larger man had his mouth open in a silent scream, stumbling away from the attack. Blood ran thickly down his leg as Harry pulled the knife out.

Aunt Petunia hadn’t noticed. “Vernon, what –”

He turned.

She screamed.

“VERNON!”

Harry stood up, unnoticed. His ribs didn’t seem to hurt as much. Reaching out, he grabbed another knife from the knife block. This one was getting slippery.

Aunt Petunia turned to him with a horrified look on her face. “What are you doing?!”

Harry grinned, showing off every bloodied tooth. “I’m getting even Aunty.” He had finally had enough.

She stumbled back a step. Her mouth opened, then closed. Eyes flicked to where the phone was sitting on the hook. Harry’s grin grew wider. “Go ahead Aunty. The neighbours are going to love seeing all the policemen here. I can show everyone my cupboard. Or the belt.”

Apparently, the threat of having all the freakishness Aunt Petunia tried so hard to hide revealed to the neighbourhood wasn’t enough to stop her from stumbling towards the phone.

The screams of her child was.

Harry stepped to the side to see Dudley, still sitting at the table, a half-eaten egg in one hand, writhing in pain as four tiny black blurs darted across his body. One of them – Harry thought it was Ringleader – stopped on his neck and bit down. Blood sprayed across the room. Some of it got into Aunt Petunia’s wide open mouth.

Then there was another scream – Uncle Vernon thrashed as another two bunnies crawled up his body. Demon started to bite at his throat, stopping the screams. Witchy darted under his shirt, where a small lump reached his armpit. Red grew in a wide stain.

Aunt Petunia slowly turned to face him. It was like all the blood had been drained from her body. “What – what – what –”

There was a grin. A flash of sunlight off silver. Blood sprayed the kitchen splashback.

Later, Harry was watched by six attentive bunnies as he carefully carved up the Dursleys. “It’s not really that much different from the chicken Aunt Petunia had me doing last year,” he explained, “Or the goose at Christmas. It’s just harder cause Uncle Vernon’s so fat.”

Aunt Petunia had already been put into the garbage bin Harry had emptied earlier. “I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of them,” Harry grunted as he finally cut through Uncle Vernon’s rib cage. “Maybe I’ll just leave them here.”

“Perhaps I can help you with that, little one,” A smoky voice drawled. Harry shot up, throwing one of the smaller knives towards the woman standing in the doorway. A touch of freakishness helped it fly true.

She caught it. “Very nice shot, little one.” She didn’t seem to mind the stickiness of the handle, or the blood that dripped down onto her fine dress. It was black anyway, so it’s not like blood showed.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Harry was sure he’d locked the front door after emptying the garbage bin.

“A locked door doesn’t keep out an Addams for very long.” Blood red lips stretched out into a razor thin smile. “And I am Morticia. I have come for my family’s rabbits.”

Said bunnies were climbing Harry’s legs. Witchy hid in his hair, with Shadow following right behind. Ringleader stood on one shoulder. Demon, lil’ Fighter and Stormy cuddled into his arm, which he’d automatically curled around them.

“Oh. They belong to you?” Harry wasn’t sure how to feel. It was good that their owner had come to find them, but he’d miss them. They were his friends.

“Not to me personally. The Caerbennog rabbits have been familiars of the Addams for centuries. Their mother is quite attached to mine, and when her kits went missing, I came to find them.” Morticia seemed to only take one step but managed to cross the entire kitchen. Harry looked up at her.

“You have done marvellous work on these, little one,” she remarked, kneeling down beside the partially dismembered Uncle Vernon.

“I’m not little one,” Harry said quietly, “My name’s Harry.”

“Harry… Thank you for taking care of the kits. They seem to have grown up very nicely in you care.”

They were a bit bigger, Harry noticed. When he first found them, he could fit three of them in one hand. Now, they were each the size of his hand, with much thicker fur. “I just took care of them, Miss Morticia.” Harry shifted back a step and whimpered. His ribs were starting to hurt again – or rather, he was noticing his ribs again. He kicked at Uncle Vernon’s leg with a scowl.

Morticia raised a thin eyebrow. “Are you alright Harry?”

He went to nod, to lie, because she was an adult and no adult has ever been good to him, but lil’ Fighter kicked out at his ribs, making him hiss.

Something in Morticia’s face went dark and terrifying, as she brushed a hand across his face. He’d forgotten that Uncle Vernon had hit him.

“Little one, did they hurt you?”

Harry nodded.

“Do you want to come with me, Harry? The kits have become quite attached to you – you would be welcome in my home.”

“Can I – can I grab their nest first?” He whispered. His wrist was protesting the firm hold he had on the knife, so he let it drop.

“Of course you can. Collect all your belongings.”

Morticia followed him to the cupboard, where he had to put down the kits so he could crawl inside. When he emerged with the nest wrapped up in his only clan shirt and pants, she had returned to the kitchen. There were squelching noises, but when she stepped out, there was no blood. “Is that everything, little one?” He hands, when they clasped his, were ice cold and soft.

He glanced back. “Just one more thing…” It was hidden inside one of the stairs, but with his ribs, and his wrist, getting it out was going to hurt. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The kits hopped out, Shadow, Demon and Witchy pulling a tattered sketchbook with them. Harry smiled, but couldn’t help the tears that started to fall down his cheek. That was his most prized possession – Harry had rescued it from the bin when Dudley threw it out, and it had since been used almost to capacity. Morticia picked it up carefully, Demon climbing her dress and hiding under the fall of her hair.

“You are very skilled,” Morticia murmured, slowly flicking through the pages. Harry held the nest bundle closer to his chest.

She looked up and smiled that razor thin smile. “Come, my husband will be delighted to meet you. Do you have any family?”

Harry glanced to the side. He couldn’t see their bodies anymore, and the blood was gone. “Just the Dursleys. My parents are dead.”

A cold arm wrapped around his shoulders. When Harry dared to lean in a little, it was like being cradled by a marble statue – cold, unyielding, sturdy, supportive. “Hmm. Harry… how does Harrier Addams sound?”

[littlebirdlovessquirrelflight]

Redux - Hollyleaf: Prologue

Hi, everyone!

After mulling over how much I felt like Hollyleaf deserved better and that her character really could have been fleshed out even more if she had survived the battle with the Dark Forest, I have decided to jump on the redux train and write my own take on how that would go.

To start off, I’ve written a prologue, which makes changes to the Great Battle in order for her to survive. I am also planning on taking liberties with the huge gap in time between The Last Hope and the Apprentice’s Quest to further develop Hollyleaf’s character. I am currently getting ready to move out of my parent’s house, but I will actively keep this updated as much as I can!

I welcome and want any comments or constructive criticism, so please let me know what you think! Prologue starts under the cut:

The screeches of dying cats echoed in Hollyleaf’s ears as she split open the nose of her enemy. Moons of ThunderClan training rushed back to her as the Dark Forest tom angrily shook blood from his muzzle. Before he could counter, a WindClan warrior crashed into him, claws slicing through fur and tearing open skin. Hollyleaf tensed, ready to aid the she-cat, when a desperate yell echoed through the former campgrounds.

“Ivypool! She’s cornered past the gorse!” A dark brown tabby tom – Tigerheart of ShadowClan if Hollyleaf remembered correctly – had shouted the plea to Brackenfur. Before either tom could spring into action, they were quickly overtaken by starless ghosts.

I have to help her. Hollyleaf darted in the direction Tigerheart had mentioned, the WindClan warrior and her attacker quickly forgotten. She felt her and the young warrior were kindred spirits and all too well recognized the dark loneliness she had sometimes seen in Ivypool’s eyes. She would survive this so she could find happier days, Hollyleaf decided.

Launching herself over the gorse, Hollyleaf landed next to Ivypool, who was wrestling with one of her three enemies.

“Get off of her!” she yowled before careened into the side of the tabby tom, angrily swiping at any area of his body she could make contact with. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ivypool begin to fight off the other two dark warriors. Dropping to all four paws and circling her own enemy, Hollyleaf barely caught herself from freezing at how much this warrior reminded her of the cat she once called a father.

“You must be Hawkfrost,” she spat.

Hawkfrost smiled cruelly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “So you’re one of the half Clanners Brambleclaw was tricked into raising.” Letting out a snarl, he lunged forward, scoring his claws across Hollyleaf’s cheek. Trying to ignore the pain, she let out a gasp as she felt a surge of air as Hawkfrost’s vicious slash barely missed her throat.

Despite never having met the tom, Hollyleaf felt that somehow, this battle had become personal. As Hawkfrost tensed, preparing his next attack, her eyes went to the dark red scar in the center of his throat.

Warriors do not kill, she told herself. Unless necessary.

Letting every ounce of adrenaline rush through her, she leapt towards the warrior at the same time that he aimed an attack for her throat again. The two of them collided mid air and Hollyleaf let out a shriek as they became a tangle of claws, teeth, and blood. Without a second thought, she latched onto Hawkfrost’s face, forcing herself to keep her grip as she felt her claw go through his eye. Only when the warrior collapsed to the ground in pain did Hollyleaf let go briefly before diving back in and biting down on his throat. She screwed her eyes shut as Hawkfrost let out a desperate gargle, his thrashing becoming weaker as Hollyleaf’s grip tightened. She waited until he grew still before letting go and stepping back.

The once formidable warrior was spread out on his side, his mouth still open and his eyes wide with fear and anger. Just like Ashfur. Hollyleaf couldn’t help but remember her other kill as Hawkfrost faded into nothingness. “Good riddance,” she hissed.

“Thank you,” Hollyleaf turned around as Ivypool approached her, her silver and white fur coated with her own blood as well as the blood of their enemies. Contempt flooded the young warrior’s eyes as she glanced at the spot Hawkfrost’s body had been before she returned her attention to her rescuer. “You not only saved my life, but you ended his. I thought I’d never be rid of that monster as long as I lived.”

“You’re my Clan mate.” Hollyleaf took a breath before adding, “Not to mention, you’ve already done enough for us when it comes to fighting these cats.”

Ivypool looked towards WindClan camp, where most of the screeching had subsided. “I just hope I’ve done enough.”

Suddenly, the gorse began rustling and both she-cats tensed, prepared for another fight. A wave of relief passed over Hollyleaf as Brackenfur and Tigerheart limped through. Both warriors were injured, but the feeling of victory kept their heads high.

“I’m glad to see both of you are alright,” Brackenfur smiled tiredly. “WindClan is cleared for now. We ought to return home in case another wave hits.”

Hollyleaf nodded, but fear made her tremble. She hoped that ThunderClan weren’t nearly as exhausted as she was or she feared that they would not survive another wave. Or what if they already attacked again? She thought as they rushed through the forest towards home. Has anyone died? The power of the stars or not, she feared for her brothers’ safety. A twinge of anxiety also passed through for Squirrelflight, Brambleclaw, and Leafpool.

I’ve just now been given a chance to make things right with them. StarClan, please don’t take that away.

Hollyleaf glanced to her right as she felt Ivypool brush against her, matching her pace step by step. The warrior gave her another grateful glance, though Hollyleaf could see her gaze was clouded with worry.

“I’m sure Dovewing is fine,” Hollyleaf panted, pushing down her own misgivings.

“If she is,” Ivypool countered, “then so are Lionblaze and Jayfeather.”

Despite the situation, Hollyleaf couldn’t help but chuckle. Perhaps we’re even more similar than I had thought.

Together, with Brackenfur and Tigerheart not far behind, the two of them burst through the entrance of ThunderClan camp. Slowing to a halt, Hollyleaf let out a breath of relief as she saw all her family, battered but alive, moving around camp, tending to the wounded or preparing for the next fight.

“Ivypool, you’re alright!” Dovewing bounded over to the small group, taking in their wounds and bedraggled expressions. “What happened?”

“Hawkfrost,” Ivypool growled. “He and his cronies attacked me, but Hollyleaf saved my life.”

“Did you say Hawkfrost?” Hollyleaf watched as Brambleclaw came over. “Are you all alright? Is he on his way here?”

Hollyleaf shook her head. “We’re fine, but no, he isn’t. I killed him.” She glanced away from the deputy at her admittance, guilt building up despite her own self-assurance that the world was far better off without the spirit of Hawkfrost haunting it. But I still killed a warrior.

“Good,” Brambleclaw’s tone of finality brought her gaze back to his. “I’m glad Hollyleaf was there to help.” He met his foster daughter’s gaze. “We need all of ThunderClan to get through this.”

Despite the looming threat of the Dark Forest and her aching wounds, which were now leaving faint bloodstains on the hard ground, Hollyleaf couldn’t help but feel like a kit again, being praised by her father. He wants me here, she beamed. He still thinks I belong, despite everything.

“Attack!”

Brambleclaw’s hackles raised and Hollyleaf felt her own paws go numb as Dovewing’s cry echoed through the camp.

“Get to your stations!” Firestar shouted, standing in the front of the line that had formed near the entrance of the camp. “Jayfeather, Leafpool, get the injured to shelter. Queens, hide your kits.” The leader bared his teeth. “Our enemies have no conscience; they will do in order to win. The warrior code says do not kill, but as your leader, I accept the fact that we will have to ignore that tonight.”

“Get to the medicine den,” Hollyleaf barely heard Brambleclaw over the crashing undergrowth and confident war cries coming closer and closer to the camp. How can there be more? She thought as she rose to stand next to the deputy, who was readying the leading party’s reinforcements.

“Hollyleaf!”

The she-cat faced Brambleclaw, the gashes left by Hawkfrost barely registering in comparison to the new threat. “This is my Clan. My home. I’ve left it before and I paid dearly for that. I won’t do it again, even if it kills me.” She held her breath as the tom stared at her before quickly nodding and readying himself for battle behind her.

Time seemed to fade away as the Clan stood side-by-side, staring death in the face. When the clearing finally exploded into battle, Hollyleaf could barely register the sheer amount of what was going on. She launched herself at the nearest ghost she could find, tearing into his startlingly real flesh until he shrieked and tore off before she could land another blow, but before she could catch her breath, she was tackled to the ground, the air quickly leaving her lungs.

“Hello again, deserter,” Thistleclaw sneered into her ear. He lunged for her throat and Hollyleaf steeled herself to at least take him down with her when he was pushed off by –

“Fallen Leaves!”

Breath heaving, Hollyleaf watched as the ginger and white tom tore at Thistleclaw’s eyes, a fierce caterwaul leaving his body. The bigger warrior was able to easily kick the Ancient off, but stumbled off into the fray, blind and panicking. Fallen Leaves shook blood off from his claws and faced Hollyleaf, relief echoing in his features.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you again,” he briefly touched his nose to hers, her skin turning hot from the contact. “Let’s fight together. For old time’s sake.”

Before Hollyleaf could reply, she heard a desperate wail behind her. Leafpool! Spinning around, she saw no one other than Breezepelt haul the medicine cat to the ground by the scruff of her neck, wasting no time scoring his claws at any part of her body that he could reach.

“Get off of her!” Rage fueled through Hollyleaf as she raced across the camp, taking no time to slow down before launching herself at the rouge warrior, catching him by surprise and rolling both of them away from his victim.

Breezepelt stared up at Hollyleaf once she had him pinned. His lips curled back. “You!” His rage made the tom tremble, catching Hollyleaf off guard. “You ruined everything!”

His powerful back legs exploded up against Hollyleaf’s stomach, winding her but not breaking her concentration. She was ready with a counter as the tom lunged, aiming for her face. As the two traded blows, Hollyleaf couldn’t help but notice their similarities. Their slim bodies and long legs. Their night black fur. Even the way they moved bore resemblance.

This cat is my brother.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lionblaze and Squirrelflight desperately trying to move a still Leafpool to shelter.

No. Not anymore. Not ever.

Victory surged through Hollyleaf’s veins as she landed a powerful blow against Breezepelt’s face, spilling blood into his eye and knocking him to the floor. Wasting no time, she jumped, scoring her claws against his body.

“Stop, you’re killing him!”

She paused and looked up to see her father – her real father – watching his children, horrified. Still holding Breezepelt to the ground, Hollyleaf stared at Crowfeather. This could be your revenge, she contemplated. It’s not like he properly cared for this one either. She looked down at Breezepelt, his throat bared and his eyes wide with fear.

“Let him go, Hollyleaf. This isn’t you.” Unbeknownst to the warrior, Fallen Leaves had crept closer to her as the battle raged on. The dead tom was now beside her, his presence comforting.

“Killing him won’t make the past go away,” he murmured. “You know that as well as I do.”

As his words sank in, Hollyleaf felt all of the tension in her body leave. “You’re right,” she sighed. She focused back on Breezepelt, her anger returning. “But it my mother doesn’t survive, then you better pray that we never meet again.” Leaving him with one last swipe across the muzzle, Hollyleaf released the young warrior to limp away, past their father.

“Leafpool?” Crowfeather gasped. “Is she hurt?”

Hollyleaf spat viciously. “Deal with your family before you try to get involved with mine.” Before he could respond, Hollyleaf returned to the fray, Fallen Leaves close behind.

“It’s finally over.”

Hollyleaf remained still as she felt her brother’s gray fur brush against her. She watched, stricken, as one by one, the bodies of the dead were carried out. Briefly, her eyes flicked over to Squirrelflight, who was comforting her mother. She could still hear the Sandstorm’s wails echoing off of the rock walls. She longed for Fallen Leaves’ comfort, but her friend had left with the rest of the Ancients, but not before casting her a long sorrowful look as they disappeared. Trying to shake herself of the memory, she looked at Jayfeather. “Yes, but at what cost?”

The medicine cat looked ages older than he actually was – his fur matted after hours of rushing through his den and caring for his Clan. The scar down his body glowed pale in the moonlight – she would have to ask him about that later. He sighed.

“We’ve lost a lot,” he said. “Too much.”

Hollyleaf nodded. “How is Leafpool? Will she survive?”

“She will.” Jayfeather faced her. “You stopped Breezepelt just in time.” Hollyleaf studied his face and saw the same relief in his eyes that she knew were in her own. Much time would pass before they could truly accept the medicine cat as their mother, but Hollyleaf knew that they were both grateful they would be at least given the chance.

Jayfeather gave himself a small shake. “Maybe now, we can put all this nonsense behind us and live life as a normal Clan.”

“The Three have saved the Clan.” Hollyleaf smiled and nuzzled her smaller brother. A younger version of her would let the resentment of not being special swallow her, but now, she was just content on returning to her family.

Jayfeather let out a rare purr. “I’m just happy the three of us are back together again.”