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residents-of-the-darkforest · 1 year

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“Ouch!” Brownpaw let out a tiny yelp, as the magpie he was trying to catch flew away and hit him in the face with one of its talons. After a short moment, the apprentice, who should still have been a kitten in the nursery, got up and spotted something under his paw.

“Nightleaf look!” He paused and picked up a small object off the ground, roughly the same size as his front leg. “I’fv caughwfft a featfher!” The apprentice exclaimed excitedly while holding a black-and-white feather in-between his jaws.

The older cat slowly came up to Brownpaw, with a scornful look on his face and grunted. “Congratulations! You scared away our meal, and very likely each single piece of prey in Shadowclan territory, with all that racket!” Brownpaw sat looking up at Nightleaf for a moment, observing his mentor’s tail swinging back and forth, before lowering himself to the ground, lightly biting down on the feather he was still holding. “I-I’m sorrwfy Nighftleaff… I almost caughtf it b-but it hitfw me…” Nightleaf took a step forward, looking straight at Brownpaw but refusing to make eye contact with him.

“It wouldn’t have if you listened to what I’m telling you! It flew away first, and then it hit you.” His mentor stopped talking, Brownpaw was getting ready to answer but Nightleaf had to get a word in before that. “And let go of that thing you’re holding, I have no idea what you’re saying to me, and you sound ridiculous!” Brownpaw obliged and let go of his feather, before finally replying, trying to change the subject. “We’ve just been hunting for so long, can we play now?” The kitten didn’t realize his mistake until his mentor looked him in the eye, and snarled. “Play! Like a kitten? And here I thought you’re supposed to be an apprentice. Maybe all of this was a mistake, after all, you can’t even catch your own prey.”

That got Brownpaw’s attention, he leaped until he was close to Nightleaf’s paws and started pitifully mewling. “No Nightleaf, I’m sorry I won’t do that again, I’ll do better I promise! I do want to be a warrior! I like being your apprentice!” He circled around his mentor and paced back and forth, trying to get his attention while continuing to quietly beg. Nightleaf eventually signaled him to calm down and stay quiet with a flick of his tail. “If you like being my apprentice so much, have you considered listening to my advice, then? I haven’t seen that from you yet I think.” And without waiting for an answer, he turns back and starts walking away slowly.

Brownpaw’s eyes darted from Nightleaf’s direction, around, behind himself, and so on a couple times, unsure of what he’s supposed to do, until he heard his mentor calling to follow after him. The young cat did so in silence, walking paw-in-paw next to the older cat. They continued their trek until reaching the border with Thunderclan, Nightleaf sniffed around, making sure no trespassers are, or were present, afterwards he joins Brownpaw again, the older cat flashes him a single look, then pushes his head in another direction and beckons his apprentice to follow him with his tail. “Come on Brownpaw, we still have to check our border with Windclan.”

Before they get too far, Brownpaw notices the slowly rising ache in his legs, trying to not say a word about it to his mentor, hoping it will pass, but no such luck and eventually, the kitten could barely take a step without mewling in discomfort. His mentor turned to him and watched him for a while, without uttering a single word, that’s the moment when Brownpaw gave in. “N-Nightleaf, can we take a break? My paws hurt…” The large tabby continues staring at him with an unreadable expression, then growls. “A break? From walking? Are those the words of a warrior, getting tired from patrolling?” The young cat huddles close to the ground for comfort after these words. “I’m so sorry, that hunting session tired me out I think…"

“That hunting session that you failed, you want to fail something as simple as patrolling, too? Hah, I bet all the other apprentices will share news about how their training went, and what will you say? That you couldn’t even check if our enemy was at the border because you were too tired?” The mottled kitten turned away, too scared to meet his mentor’s eye. Then Nightleaf continued. “There’s a reason why I don’t battle train with you yet, I don’t think you’re ready for this kind of task, especially not with how you’re acting.” At that moment all Brownpaw wanted to do was run into camp and get comfort from his mama, telling him that everything will be alright.

“But sure, you want a break?” Nightleaf began dangerously, with no emotion in his voice. “Then you might sit exactly here, until sunrise. I think that’d get you interested in listening to my advice!” Brownpaw wailed so loud, it’s a surprise no one from camp came over to check on them. “No Nightleaf! Please not again! I’m scared of being all on my own…” That made the tabby laugh and scoff. “That’s the point!” The young apprentice knew there’s no point in arguing, as Nightleaf was already walking away. “And like last time, don’t worry. I’ll come and get you later.“

In all of this there was at least one good thing, his mentor remembered and kept his promise, Brownpaw nearly couldn’t contain his excitement when he caught scent of the tabby coming from afar, he instinctively ran over to meet him, out of happiness and fear mixed, he stopped at the last moment, nearly in front of Nightleaf, expecting to be scolded, but his mentor just took a glance at him, nodded and turned away, slowly going back to camp, which Brownpaw guessed was a sign to follow him. He tried acting like a good apprentice should, and to show Nightleaf that he learned his lesson and didn’t have to spend a night in the woods alone again. But he wasn’t sure if his mentor was actually watching.

By the time they were getting near camp, it was early morning already, and Brownpaw sprinted into the clearing, after a moment of hesitation he walked over to the fresh-kill pile, but as expected, it was almost empty. The ginger-and-brown kitten walks over to the now abandoned elders den, crouching down next to it, he thinks about going to sit with the other apprentices, but they’d all probably make fun of him for failing his hunting session, his patrol, and his mentor refusing to battle train with him for all those reasons. Momentarily the apprentice gets up to check inside the empty elders den, walking up to it and staring into the inside of it for a while, silently wondering what it was like when that part of the camp wasn’t empty. Lost in his thoughts he missed the sound of pawsteps and the scent of another cat behind him, he only realized after a couple heartbeats how dark it got. That can’t be right… Thought Brownpaw to himself and with a sinking heart he turned around just to see a large dark tabby sitting behind him, for a moment he imagined Nightleaf came over to take him out to train, or scold him for his behavior earlier, but after a quick look and seeing the bent tail-

Brokenstar! Brownpaw came to the realization with panic. “I’m so sorry for not paying attention Brokenstar! I just didn’t expect anyone to walk up to me and-” The apprentice began, and without warning was cut off, by his leader talking over him. “Where’s Nightleaf? Why aren’t both of you out battle training?” Brokenstar’s tone came out soft, but ultimately as cold as ice in the harshest leaf-bare. “Um… We just got back.” The young cat replied weakly, wondering if telling Brokenstar the truth about what’s been happening is a good idea. “Really? But the day just started, and I didn’t see you when Nightleaf was leaving camp.” The orange-eyed cat said, this time in such a way Brownpaw couldn’t guess what he was thinking or feeling. But Brokenstar’s words, and with the big cat actually listening to him, made him feel a little more confident in himself, he will tell what happened and what has been happening for a long time, he decided.

“Brokenstar, I’m honored to be Nightleaf’s apprentice, but he’s been treating me badly.” The kit began, he looked up at Brokenstar, his leader was looking at him without showing any emotion, he didn’t seem ready to say anything yet either, so Brownpaw continued. “He refused to train me because he thinks I’m too weak, he punishes me for failing at hunting or patrolling… Even the previous day he left me all alone in the forest as punishment, and he does that a lot, he even sticks nettle leaves in my fur!” Brownpaw’s tail was moving back and forth now, half in fear, but half feeling happy that he’s finally telling what he’s been through to some other cat. “Could I get another mentor? Pretty please?” He looks up at Brokenstar with the most desperate expression he can muster, hoping to be treated seriously, the big brown tabby keeps his silence for so long that Brownpaw is surprised it’s not getting dark yet.

“I do find him not battle training you troubling.” Began Brokenstar coolly. “But I trust his judgment almost as much as I trust my own, and by the other things you’re telling me, I can guess he has his reasons to doubt your usefulness.” Brownpaw’s heart sank, Brokenstar’s words hitting him harder than any blow ever could. “I will talk to him about taking you hunting, a good warrior doesn’t need that, he just has to know how to fight and help protect his clan.” As much as the tabby’s words hurt the apprentice just a moment before, he could never expect what he’s about to hear next. “After all, last I checked you weren’t too good at that, you and Wetpaw both. But at least he learned… I don’t think Mosspaw would be proud, seeing you right now. That’s not what he gave his life for.” Brownpaw backed away in shock, he remembered what happened to the brown-and-white cat in detail. They were training, everything was fine, then Brokenstar told them to practice a double attack and after that… “I’m sorry Brokenstar.” The young cat rasped. And after that I never saw Mosspaw again. “I’ll do better next time.” Brownpaw finished, before running off into the apprentice’s den, laying down on his nest and hoping all of this is just a big cruel dream.

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this

AMAZING

The shading, the angles, the poses!

not to mention the story!

great submission, all around!

#submission #wc #wcoc #dark tales #dark forest tales #brokenstar #nightleaf #brownpaw #mosspaw #wc art #cool art #wc oc art #warriors art #wc story #wc short story #warriors story #warriors short story

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residences-of-the-darkforest · 8 days

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What's Wrong? (short story)

Rushpaw stood up and took a step back, inspecting his work and giving himself a pleased nod when he found that he was satisfied with it.

It wasn’t something he had been tasked to do. Cricketfur, brother to Rushpaw’s mentor, Martenstep–and his unofficial secondary mentor, as the brothers were never apart–was out on a solo patrol, so Martenstep told Rushpaw to relax for now, and that when Cricketfur got back, they would all head out for some training–which would probably end in some play fights, as that was the typical, never planned routine.

But when Rushpaw stepped into his nest, a puff of dust rolled out, and he realized how filthy it was. So, he changed the bedding and padded it in with some extra soft moss. Then he flopped down again, but couldn’t settle because his eyes drifted to his denmate’s nest and how dirty it was, which left him feeling bad. So he cleaned that as well, then his other denmate’s nest, then another.

Finally, he was done. He puffed his chest out, already smiling as he thought about how surprised and happy it would make his friends. Surely, it would be comfy, he thought. He lifted a paw, about to step into his nest for the third and hopefully last time for a while–

A yowl split the air, making Rushpaw’s fur stand on end all along his spine. Tail poofed to twice its size, he hurried to the den entrance, about to poke his head out. He was met with Martenstep, standing so close that he blocked whatever it was that had cats outside wailing in a loud, confusing chorus.

“What’s happening, Martenstep?” he asked, eyes wide.

Martenstep’s head swung to look at him. The older tom’s own eyes were bulging, with a wild, yet far-away look in them. His mouth opened, then closed again like a dying fish, and his sides heaved roughly. Rushpaw was about to yell for the medicine cat, thinking that Martenstep was having trouble breathing, when his mentor spoke. “Get inside.”

Rushpaw tilted his head. What was going on? “I am inside.”

“Stay inside,” Martenstep corrected. His voice was rough, and he licked his lips, as though his mouth had gone dry. His attention turned to whatever it was in the clearing that had everyone freaking out.

“What’s going on?” Rushpaw tried again. He stretched his neck forward, attempting to peer past his mentor when Martenstep’s attention snapped back to him. “Do not look!” Martenstep practically screamed at him.

Rushpaw flinched, flattening himself against the ground. Fear flooded him. But he wasn’t afraid of Martenstep. No, Martenstep was the kindest, most patient cat in all the Clans. Someone like him never snapped, never yelled–Rushpaw hardly remembered ever hearing him raise his voice at all. So what was going on? Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

“Stay inside and don’t look!” Martenstep repeated his orders. His gaze searched around until it landed on Beechhollow, nearby. “Can you watch Rushpaw for me?” he asked. But he wasn’t looking at her, not really. His eyes kept flicking to whatever it was he wasn’t allowing Rushpaw to see. “Don’t let him leave. Don’t let him look, not one peak. Not until….” Until what? It didn’t sound as though even Martenstep knew. “...Until I say,” he decided.

Beechhollow dipped her head solemnly. “I promise. I’m sorry,” she added as Martenstep raced away, toward that thing that couldn’t be seen. Rushpaw tried to look, but Beechhollow hurried to block him, ushering him deeper into the den.

“Sorry for what?” he asked his mother.

Beechhollow didn’t answer. Her tail drooped, and she dropped heavily in one of the freshly-made nests.

“Sorry for what?” Rushpaw asked again, watching her. What was going on? Why was no one telling him, or letting him into the clearing?

Instead of answering, his mother reached out a paw and pulled Rushpaw close against her chest. “Oh, my dear kit,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” Rushpaw was getting frustrated. Worse, he was getting outright terrified. “I’m not a kit, I can take it!” he promised, hoping it was true.

Beechhollow blinked at him, then let out a deep, long sigh. “It’s…it’s Cricketfur.”

Rushpaw’s heart skipped a beat. He broke away from his mother, on his paws in an instant. “What happened? Is he hurt? Does he need help?”

Beechhollow frowned, deep and sorrowfully. “He’s not hurt anymore.”

“But he was hurt? What happened? Was it a fox? A badger?” He gasped. “A monster?”

Beechhollow shook her head. “No, little one. It wasn’t any of that. It was just…” Rushpaw could practically hear the lump in her throat, visibly shifting like a lodged stone. “Just a bad accident, okay?”

Rushpaw whimpered. “I can help,” he insisted. “I know some of the herbs! I can get anything Owlcliff needs, I can wet the moss, or–or get cobwebs, or–or I could–I could–”

Beechhollow rested her chin on top of Rushpaw’s head, silencing him. “There’s nothing anyone can do for him anymore, honey. He’s gone.”

Gone.

He’s gone.

Rushpaw’s other mentor.

His best friend.

His older brother in all but blood.

Rushpaw’s heart stopped altogether. He froze, as still as a rock for several, painful heartbeats. Then something horrible rushed up his lungs, filling them, his chest, his twisting heart with cold and ugly thorns that stabbed at his lungs and crushed his ribs. It crawled its way up his throat, finally releasing in a loud, moanful cry.

Dead.

Cricketfur was dead.

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Rushpaw's pov when Cricketfur's body was brought to camp.

He, and specifically this moment, was mentioned in this post.

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driveintheaterofthemind · 22 days

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Vintage Pulp - Short Stories (Sep10th1944)

#Magazines #Short Stories #Pulp #Tigers #Jungle #Vintage #Art #Pulp Art #Pulp Illustration #H Bedford Jones #WC Tuttle #1944 #1940s #40s

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the-owl-tree · 1 year

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I know you haven't posted a profile leader of the isekai girls' clan yet, and if you don't have all the details for them ironed out yet (besides Honeypaw and Frostblaze both being the leaders kits) that's all good. But while looking at your latest post about the au, it got me thinking: how do you think the leader feels about 'Honeypaw''s sudden personality change, unnatural (because they're human moves) new fighting style, and tendency to walk on her hind legs? Because I'd imagine even if they weren't particularly close before Honey replaced her, it'd definitely be eyebrow raising to someone who knew her beforehand.

i'll definitely be putting the parents on my to-do list since I have thought of them, mainly because my inspiration is a mix of things that made go oooh yes or pissed me off so badly i stole them JUST to tear them apart in this lol

Honeypaw's relationship with her father, Owlstar, is strained. His relationship with her mother is purely political: he wants an heir, she wanted to join their Clan. In the books (from Frostblaze's perspective), he's written as an aloof but noble cat who can be stern but only because he cares. In the "real" world of the book...he's a standoffish, absent father who cares little about Honeypaw (due to her lack of resemblance to him) and often speaks of his disappointment (despite him having little presence in her life to guide her).

When the real Honeypaw is killed, he is sad and he does grieve...but doesn't stay for the ceremony. When she does come, he's happy! He welcomes her, nuzzles her in greeting, and visits her in the medic's den as she recovers...but it's also stilted, awkward, and suffocating for them both. He says very little and sometimes scolds her for her recklessness (and while in the book this is passed off as him "caring but struggling show it", in practice...it just comes off as apathy to Honey & Honeypaw).

I'd imagine her first few moons of weirdness is him passing it off as a cry for attention until it continues...and not only does she no longer seek his approval, she actively avoids him. Honey would realize his and Honeypaw's relationship is strained pretty early on and, to keep Honeypaw from being in a bad mood and also to avoid having her own father scold her (her body more than her soul), basically stays out of his way.

I can't imagine he'd investigate too much, he's more preoccupied with his successful heir (even if he can't reveal her yet). It's only when Honeypaw continues to poke around, find out more secrets than she's supposed to that he begins to really question what's going on.

Honeypaw's mother, Beesnap, is also different than in her story form. In the book, she's written as a volatile, self-absorbed mother who defends Honeypaw with her fierce temper no matter what her daughter does. When Honey actually meets her? Beesnap is a rogue-born she-cat and her status as truly a member of the Clan is always being questioned. As a result of being isolated and demeaned, she put on a facade of confidence and snootiness, intent on not letting them get to her. When Honeykit was born, her only daughter, she vowed to make sure her child had a better life in the Clan than she'd be given - resulting in her fierce outbursts to defend her child. Owlstar is absent in Honeypaw's life and that only made Beesnap more focused on protecting her.

Beesnap knows something's going on with her kid but doesn't confront her for some reason. She becomes a cat that Honey goes to advice to often when Splashpaw is busy. Eventually I think Honey does try to reveal the truth...but Beesnap probably doesn't take the fact that her beloved daughter's been body snatched very well.

Her unnatural behavior does freak them both out, Beesnap keeps having to whisper for her daughter to stOP WALKING LIKE THAT EVERYONE IS STARING AT YOU-

ty for asking!! i kind of went off topic but your question got me thinking so i ended up rambling lol both of these guys are mainly inspired from how wc and these specific webcomics treat parents and i think that shows

#honey's horrible time #warrior cats #wc isekai au #deer rambles #see worst trope ever is the absent dad who actually cares #because these stories LOOOVVEEE that trope #and it's almost always framed as tho “the previous body was so awful even her dad couldnt love her”#<- like stfu if he wanted to be disappointed in her he COULD'VE TRIED TO BE A DAD FIRST AND FOREMOST #and the mothers almost always get the short end #so many portray them as abusive gold diggers like holy shiiiitt #it's a side effect of having noble blood = super special rare powers #which is always shitty and bad and awful and i hope that trope diieeesss #like even when the villainess comics do this #they always end up looking to the “oh the villainness actually does have super special powers because she's got the ~special blood~”#like i'll maim you i'll maim you i hate it

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mist-dancing · 4 months

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I underestimated how hard it was to write just 500 words.

This isn’t a short story competition, this is a paragraph competition, this is a primary school work sheet.

“What did firepaw do after Whitestorm left? Write your answer below”

#warrior cats #warriors #wc #my patience has been tested tonight #short story competition

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berryclan-and-friends · 2 months

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Really random character

Bat

Nonbinary (it/its)

An ex-trader who was popular with Berryclan. Seasight’s biological father, Morningthroat’s adoptive father, no relation to Jackalcry

Currently deceased: Killed by Seasight and Thrushpaw(Glare)

Last trade: Half of his (WELL STOCKED, I NEED TO SAY IT THIS MAN USED TO HAVE SO MICH STUFF HE DIDNT NEED) prey for a bunch of herbs.

Mate: Birdfur

#wc oc #warrior cats oc #warrior cats oc art #wc oc art #jackalcry #new character #morningthroat #seasight #its definitely canon #just not mentioned too much in canon #other than a short story possibly #and Morningthroat will always yap on about some things from around there #and Brownbelly was there too he likes to show a big scar across his stomach from that

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perenlop · 2 months

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should listen to more audiobooks but hrmmm…. Dont Wanna

#i struggle with podcasts and this i need the extra visual element its like candy #i dont do well with audio processing i prefer reading the actual book #but i do want more stuff for commutes so….#maybe ill try to clear out wc books like this. not the ones im trying to catch up on for my sideblog but the older ones #echoed voice #anyways im gonna start slow and try to put on some novellas and short stories #does anyone have recs…

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boilingrain · 8 months

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Tunnel Time for Hollyleaf

#There's an actual reason why I choose to depict Post Po3 Hollyleaf as having a lot of scars btw!#(though in this tiny doodle you can't see very many of them)#Long story short she got badly injured when part of a tunnel collapsed on her (Lion & Jay smelled blood & understandably assumed she died)#warrior cats #hollyleaf #fallen leaves wc

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harriertail · 2 years

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What is the first book for the dark forest War?

Im gonna assume (very unhumbly) this is about the proposed po3 rewrite and uhhhhhh. I think the war with the DF should have been handled in a spiritual metaphysical way and not have the spirits of dead cats come back to life but im not about to start posting about my religious views on a fucking Cat Blog so like lets keep Oots the same. Oots is the scruffy mutt from the streets of bradford with horrific mange and missing a leg, hes fucked up but we love him still

#i have. come to an incredibly fucked up realisation about the true meaning of the wc series #you know how they say schizophrenics see patterns that arent there? well. moonrise was inspired by 9/11. a rogue in sunrise is called jingo #the erins wrote a short story about the us election. there is an ultimate big bad enemy. tldr tnp-oots is about the 2000s prove me wrong

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residents-of-the-darkforest · 1 year

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Father Son Meeting (short story)

Myrtlewing could scent terror wafting through the chill air stronger than if a mouse had been trapped beneath his claws. Intrigued, he wriggled out from beneath Alderstar’s leg as his mate grumbled in his sleep, stepping over Grousemane and Hootpetal, as well as the young Magpiepaw, who had recently joined them.

He followed the scent, glad to have something solid to follow, after many moons living with continuously shifting winds and light that shone from seemingly nowhere, illuminating underbrush at random. A perfect sense of direction was perhaps the most craved skill residences learn to cherish.

Myrtlewing had lived–or was dead–for long enough to learn how to use his, and coupled with the overpowering smell, it wasn’t long before he came across a white and black tomcat.

The tom had been trembling worse than rocks down a cliff, mumbling something Myrtlewing couldn’t quite catch other than “dogs.” When he spotted Myrtlewing, he leaped out of his fur, pelt spiking up and eyes going wide. His breathing quickened. He was hyperventilating.

Myrtlewing watched him curiously. He hadn’t planned on attacking whoever he came across, merely to follow the scent and decide when he wanted to. He guessed that this was an apprentice, considering his skinnier frame and slightly smaller size. Too, he guessed that he had just arrived to the Place of No Stars, a reason for his freaking out, either because he was dead or in regret of his actions, as many did.

Myrtlewing wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps it was because the tom looked young, perhaps it was because he made him think of Magpiepaw and how she was close to his age, or perhaps it was the mention of “dogs” that made him pause. After all, it was the manner in which he had his life taken from him. Had this young cat died the same way?

The tom hadn’t moved, too busy shaking like a leaf. Myrtlewing rolled his eyes in exasperation before padding closer. The tom shrank to the ground, unable to do more than flatten himself. Myrtlewing stopped beside him and lay down with him, not close enough to touch except for his tail, which he laid across the young cat’s shoulders.

After what felt like forever, the tom’s body moved in lower and lower breaths. He blinked at Myrtlewing in an expression that conveyed a mix of gratitude, fear, and confusion. Now that he felt better, Myrtlewing stood up to stretch. Then he began to walk away.

“Wait!” The tomcat took a step after him. But he seemed lost for words when Myrtlewing looked back at him. After a second, he managed to say, “I’m Stonepaw. Thanks for…what you did.”

Myrtlewing dipped his head. His pupils were pink. That was interesting. “Myrtlewing.”

“I don’t know where I am in this place,” Stonepaw told him, still a bit shaky.

“Why? Need to get to camp?” Myrtlewing asked humorously.

“I don’t….I don’t want to get lost.” He swallowed, as if already expecting denial. “Can I come with you?”

Myrtlewing stopped to consider it. It would make things interesting, and that is what he came all the way here for. He gestured for Stonepaw to follow him, imagining his poly’s reactions as they see that he brought another apprentice home.

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--MADE ALL IN ONE GO LET’S GO

--There is a moment of “he might be like me” which is partially why Myrtlewing is kind to him. He’s more inclined to like someone if they remind him of himself. It’s not love as “normal” people would see it, but he will come to love Stone (and all his kits and poly members) in his own strange way.

--Right now he’s not adopting Stone, just bringing him somewhere safe.

--I am curious of Stone’s and Magpie’s reactions when they see each other and are like “oh shit.”

--Stone’s personality might be a bit off here. But he’s also still a child, did just die, and did just end up in Hell, also right after killing a bunch of his Clanmates.

--You don’t see his wound cause I imagine it’s on the back of his head. I definitely didn’t forget it.

@ambitiousauthor

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residences-of-the-darkforest · 2 months

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Cobweb's Trial (short story)

Duststar’s muscles locked, the tendons in his muscles pulling together like taut strings all along his body, keeping him as stiff as a rock as he stood overlooking the gathered crowd.

He couldn’t tremble, and that felt horribly wrong–he felt such nausea, such horror and sadness and anger that every limb should be shaking to the point that he fell off the edge of the Tallrock. But he was still, so very still, as if even his heart had stopped beating and his lungs stopped working, and he couldn’t take in any air.

“Explain yourself, if you can,” he managed.

Before him and the crowd was Cobweb, a she-cat whose pelt was criss-crossed with ragged scars. She had come to them as a frightened young kit, and though seasons had passed since then, she remained the wary and distrustful cat she was when they had first taken her in.

Cobweb didn’t flinch under the gaze of the whispering crowd, nor under her leader’s intense glare. Blood ran down her limbs, and she made no effort to lick them clean or to show that she was aware of them–of any of it–at all. She gazed blanklessly with a face bathed in red splatter, staring not at Duststar, but at the stone slab straight ahead of her.

“Am I free?” she asked.

“‘Free’? After what you’ve done?” Hawkfur’s shout was almost a screech.

“You’d be lucky if we let you live past dusk!” Flintmoss snarled.

“Silence!” Duststar’s deputy, Rabbitmask, snapped before the Clan could lose control.

Duststar dipped his head gratefully. He took a deep breath as he looked again to Cobweb, who had not removed her attention from the rock. “Exile is the typical punishment for a traitor. But after what you’ve done, I should have you killed.” His jaw was tense to the point that he was sure his teeth would crack.

Cobweb blinked slowly. “Am I free?” she asked again.

Duststar shook his head, bewildered. “No.” His heart began to move. His lungs regained function, but it was too fast, too quick, and he felt himself panicking, as terrified as if a fox had him cornered. He dug his claws into the stone, struggling to appear as collected as he possibly could.

“For the love of StarClan, you killed two innocent cats! And if that weren’t enough, you took the lives of their kits as well, and the lives of the little ones still in their mother’s belly. You did this all without apparent reason. Have you nothing to say for yourself? Have you no guilt, no shame?” Duststar prayed for a glint of anything in the she-cat’s eyes–fear, anger, even eerily pleased would have been better than the blank, emotionless responses that Cobweb gave. “Do you even have a reason to give us?”

Cobweb was silent for a long, painful moment. Duststar felt the tense air as the Clan held their collective breaths.

“Are we free?”

A few yowls of outrage broke out, and it took a few attempts by Rabbitmask to silence them. Meanwhile, Duststar, stared in utter shock at Cobweb. How can she ask for freedom after such a horrendous act?

“Are we free now?” She asked, voice as blank as her expression. Why was she still talking when no one had addressed her? Duststar had hardly heard the murmur above the ruckus of the crowd, it was only because he was directly above her that the words caught his ears.

It wasn’t him that she had been answering, he realized, blood going cold.

Who was she talking to?

“Will you let me go now?” her vacant words were becoming pleading. Her attention had never shifted from the stone wall of the Tallrock, hidden from Duststar’s view, sat upon it. She was simply looking at the rock? Duststar wasn’t sure why he pondered the question. Of course no one was beneath him. All of his Clanmates were in view in the clearing just a few tail-lengths ahead. And surely, one of them would have brought a stranger’s presence to his attention?

“I did it. We’re both free. Are we?”

There was no one under there. Duststar knew it. But then who was Cobweb speaking to, if not him? What was she looking at, if not him? He had to know. He had to find reason for any of this madness, even if that reason turned out to be a speck of dust on the stone wall.

Taking a breath, he shifted carefully to the edge of the Tallrock. Stretching his neck out, heart inexplicably racing, he peered over the edge–

And saw nothing.

===========================

--Cobweb is a future resident. We will get a full explanation for her murders and what's going on with her. For now, I will give a vague hint: she is based off of a movie character.

She also kept her loner name because.....I like it as just being Cobweb.

--Duststar and Hawkfur are canon characters! They appear in Code of The Clans as the first law. Here, Duststar has not been leader long, maybe roughly for the same amount of time Cobweb has been in the Clan.

His canon deputy and successor is Stonetail/star, who at this time is roughly an apprentice or older kit. His father is Duststar's current deputy (noncanon), Rabbitmask!

--I did not go into writing this planning on making it scary, but I was watching horror movie reviews just before it, so no wonder it took that turn.

--Thoughts?

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please-picturemeintheweeds · 1 year

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I have Opinions about the discussion that pops up every few months about the ethics of labeling JM an abuser but I am afraid of the vague posts and anon hate I would get if I posted them 🫠 which probably means I should be brave and post them. Speak now or whatever she said lol

#this topic is so very nuanced in pretty much every possible way #and it is not nearly as simple as any of the takes I have seen so far about this #JM #tw abuse #abuse #c #trauma #there’s some sticky nuance around parasocial relationships and the nature of celebrity status #also the whole Thing about cancel culture and how labeling people abusers is steeped in carceral feminism and actively harms survivors #plus the value of learning language for your experiences and learning about what abuse is from pop culture #so there’s an important element of sharing information and learning about abuse as a way of empowering survivors who may not Know Yet #if we’re comfortable talking about the relationship dynamics in her love songs we need to be comfy talking about them in WCS and dear john #we can’t expect Taylor - a survivor (long story short I survived) to owe the public a statement about John Fucking Mayer #there’s legal garbage! he would SUE HER IF SHE SAID THAT #she is treading a very fine line with what she says publicly - something that most survivors also experience (but #her discography is quite literal with how she handles Trauma: flashbacks triggers insomnia paranoia trust issues etc #it’s all there and we need to be careful about paternalizing survivors and that is actually compatable with not buying into cancel culture #his actions as described by her + things he himself has said in interviews at various points are textbook abuse #and pointing that out is valuable.#telling john Mayer to kill himself on Twitter is Not Valuable.#she is not our little sister. she is a grown adult woman who is clearly processing her trauma #she has trusted her fans with her vulnerability and authenticity #and to brush it off and expect her to Perform Victimhood by making a public accusation against an extremely powerful man in her industry????#whoops I ranted in my tags but yeah it’s nuanced as hell #would’ve could’ve should’ve hours #would’ve could’ve should’ve #all that said!! I definitely understand and empathize with the sentiment of letting survivors tell their own stories and not forcing labels #In the hypothetical situation where she sees us discussing and learning from her art and her life story:#is that forcing something on her? or is that critically engaging with her art?#she said midnights is autobiographical and she said 19 and called him the devil who stole her girlhood come on

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sleepless-crows · 1 year

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like the war of words i shouted in my sleep // i fight with you in my sleep // cursed you as i sleep-talked

long story short // would've could've should've // the great war

#i don't know #long story short #wcs #the great war #taylor swift #queue

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kirwell · 1 year

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Untold Tales: The Price of Your Greed

cw: death, torture, past trauma, sad shit ______ A choked gurgle pierced the air, rancid with the scent of fresh metallic blood and old rot. Her ears twitched at the delicate sound of droplets hitting the hard floor, forming small pools of rich crimson. The taste permeated her senses, and while once, long ago, it would’ve stung her eyes and suffocated her, it now only served as atmospheric background. The coppery twang of viscus fluid was no more common than the caw of swarming crows over a leftover kill or the ravenous howls of nighttime beasts. It was as much of a part of life as death.

“Beg me for mercy!” A dark, guttural snarl laced the still air, commanding the room's attention. A large bloodied paw, once pure and white, landed another furious hit on the downed body, hurling it away. It clattered on the hard stone, weakened limbs struggling to lift its own weight while its chest heaved uneven breaths.

“Admit you’re nothing but toxic rot!” Came the voice again, belonging to the white tom. His frame was muscular, an obvious detection even with his thick scar-riddled pelt, and he towered over the meeker body at his paws. The scarlet that painted him, dripping from maw to chest, contrasted against the sharp gold of his wrathful eyes.

She watched her brother from amidst the shadows, a place where she learned to thrive. She could never stand under the light like him, surrounded by the hungry gazes of his peers as they, too, sought to witness the beating he dealt.

“You abandoned me,” screeched her brother, “-Sold me! And for what? Another trinket in your pocket?” A paw came crashing down, and a pained wail escaped his prey. The body- a she-cat, coughed violently, spewing bloody spittle, and her eyes glowed with pain. The tom growled, baring pinkish teeth mere inches from her face. “You used to always talk, and now what? You have nothing to say? I won’t accept your silence!” He whacked her again, claws slicing over the she-cat’s cheek with such force it toppled her over again. Her brother watched the cat struggle, panting bloodied breaths as the beaten cat's head hung low, shoulders shaking. The anger boiling in the tomcat’s gaze was not a rage she was used to seeing, not since the day they were led here like lambs to slaughter and left behind. And now they would never be free.

“Can you not look at me, mother?” His head cocked in mockery as he circled his victim, and a chill slithered down her spine at the display. “You used to tell us they were too violent, too deranged to be cats like us. That they were sick.” He lowered his large head, unblinking eyes pinned on the grey molly, and his voice was just a whisper. “Now I am the violence. I am the sickness. Because of you.”

“...H-hoot…” Their mother’s neck craned to look upon her youngest son, her voice a soft, pained crackle.

She wondered what her mother saw; the innocent boy once so full of life or the blood-soaked mongrel he grew to become.

“I-I…I’m-s-sor-” she wheezed, coughing blood onto the concrete. “I-I’m s-sorry…”

The sister stared, as did her brother, but her focus was not on their mother, but instead the light in her sibling’s eyes. The vicious golden glow seemed to dim just for a moment before his brows narrowed and his muzzle wrinkled in a snarl.

“Yes, you are.” Like a predator swooping from the dark skies, he lunged, wrapping his jaws around a chunk of the she-cat’s flesh, sinking in his teeth.

Their mother’s holler of pain pierced her: she knew what her brother’s furious, burning bite felt like, the memory embedded into her core, and it made her scarred limbs ache. She anticipated a slew of blood and the crunch and rendering of flesh, a display she’s witnessed countless times before, but to her befuddlement, there was none. Instead, her brother began to drag their mother’s body along the ground, leaving behind a smeared trail of red as he hauled her away.

Their mother wailed in agony and defiance, paws flailing uselessly against her stronger son. And then she stopped when her stricken eyes reached toward the shadows and laid upon her spectating form.

“S-Scatter…?” She uttered softly.

So she truly did recognize her second-born daughter, despite the maiming scars, sunken dark eyes, and unkept pelt. Her visage may not be as gruesome as her brother’s, but even she could admit that she was a far cry from the spirited little molly that walked by her mother’s paws in blind admiration.

The direness of the situation finally seemed to overtake the mother's shocking revelation, and the ensnared she-cat wailed out in distress. “Scatter! Help me! Don’t let him do this! Don’t-” Her green eyes lowered, settling on a furred body splayed on its side beside the she-cat in the shadows. The freckled grey cat was motionless and eyes lidded, and she wondered if her mother thought her eldest daughter was dead. I wouldn’t hurt her. I’m not like you. Or him. But her sister needed to see this- to bear witness to the fruit of the seeds their mother had sowed long ago, and she couldn’t do that if she fought every moment of it. She would recover from the paralysis soon enough.

“D-Dart…? What did you do to her?” The she-cat screeched with a motherly fury she hadn’t expected to hear. “Did you kill her? Scatter! Scatter!”

“That’s not my name.” It wasn’t, and it hadn’t been since the last time she’d seen her mother. It was just yet another decision thrust upon her that was beyond her own control.

Stunned, her mother stared back with wide panicked eyes, but then the pain of her tugged flesh seemed to throw her back into a frenzy. “N-no! No! Scatter! Hoot- stop!” The she-cat could only flail as her son dragged her away to the edge of the chamber, where the floor had been destroyed, leaving deep craters of stone rubble. Some had been filled with leftover water, dark, murky, and unfit to consume.

Her brother threw the she-cat down with a pained grunt, and he pressed his muzzle in close, an indiscernible whisper escaping his bloody lips. For a heartbeat, all was silent. And then he shoved her into the crater, splashing water over the edges as he pounced. The waves were rapid as their mother thrashed about, held down by her son’s massive, unyielding paws, fighting a futile battle.

The body beside the sister stirred weakly on the floor, muscles twitching and green eyes surely focused on the merciless display put on by their shared brother. She rested a tail on the flank of her older littermate, sensing her distress, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the murder of their mother. Her brother was unmoved, a mountain of muscle atop a lean-bodied cat who couldn’t begin to oppose his might. She knew all too well what that felt like.

The cat in the shadows thought of her mother’s shaken apologies and desperate pleas and remembered when their roles had once been reversed. When she begged to be rescued, saved from the darkness that promised to consume her and her brother both, and how their mother turned her back on her kits.

‘A mongrel’- she called him.

‘Nothing but rubble’- she called her.

You can beg for forgiveness from your son and your daughter. Rubble wondered if her mother was worth dredging from the crevice and saving from the depths of the sloshing liquid. And then Rubble saw the blood in the quieting water, a rising pool of crimson that turned black in the rich, encasing muck and shadow, and she sighed. But this is the price of your greed. ____

AN: One of my favorite and most tragic warriors OCs, Rubble/Scatter, and her dysfunctional family. Her story took place in an a dark post-apocalyptic roleplay group that's not around anymore, but I've been wanting to reinvent the world for my own story. Inspired by the song "blood/water" by grandson. It fits them way too well. Hope it wasn't too difficult to understand without a ton of past context ^^' Would love to write more with these characters. Thank you if ya got this far! Hope you enjoyed. Comments are much appreciated <3

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