xenofiction blog (mostly warriors) pigeon/scribs | they/he | 20 I have been warriorsposting on my main whump blog so much that i thought i’d just make a side blog
Yet another reason T. T. Sutherland is a coward and a fool for going "Peril has never been touched in battle before, the dragonflame cactus was her first time experiencing real pain" and I refuse to accept it as canon:
Cooler Headcanon: the reason Peril immediately had the idea of burning the venom out of Clay's wound when he got bitten by the Dragonbite Viper was because she's had to do that to herself after getting puncture wounds from sandwings that injected venom past the superheated layer of skin. It didn't do as much damage to her as it did to Clay because Peril's pretty much completely fireproof even under the skin, so the scars are pretty small and not that noticeable, but she does have a few.
The couple times she de-venomed herself during a battle were pretty much the most metal thing ever to happen in Scarlet's arena. A dragon getting an apparently mortal wound, jamming her claws right into the open wound, writhing on the sand in apparent death throes, and then after like a minute getting back up with "smoke" rising from her eyes and nose as well as the bloody, sizzling puncture, and proceeding to limp across the arena and utterly destroy her terrified opponent.
The dragons she was fighting didn't try to finish her off because they'd already severely burned their tail barbs and probably talons and wings doing it and weren't going to risk getting hurt even worse by a dying dragon. Then of course when their one hope of killing her turned out not to work they kind of lost the will to live.
This contributed significantly to Peril's reputation as an invincible monster, but on the other hand seeing the queen's champion curled in a fetal position, screaming, sobbing and obviously trying not to pass out, made some of the spectators present for those fights somewhat remember that this was a 2-3 year old dragonet being thrown in the arena with full grown adult enemy soldiers, which was pretty messed up even if the small child kept winning. These feelings of sympathy were often diminished a bit by what Peril did to her opponents afterward, but Queen Scarlet was still not pleased, and after it happened two or three times she got a supply of the antidote cactus for "if a guard accidentally gets gotten by a sandwing prisoner" purposes.
Ruby absolutely never saw this because she made a point of watching fights in the arena as little as possible, especially Peril's for obvious reasons.
On the other hand I just thought of the perfect explanation for why Carnelian was like "I wonder if she remembers me?" when Peril showed up at JMA instead of freaking out like most of the dragons there. At some point, early in her career as a child soldier before she ended up in Ruby's unit, she was working in the palace and got voluntold to help out during an incident when Peril got stabbed in the shoulder or something where she couldn't reach with her claws so somebody had to very carefully burn the venom out with a red hot nail and a pair of tongs. Carnelian's actual job was probably something like holding a bucket of water and pouring it on the spear haft a third dragon was holding Peril's wing closed with, but she met Peril in a vulnerable state when she wasn't trying to perform for the crowd, and also saw her trying really hard to avoid accidentally injuring anyone, which led to her being one of a small number of skywings who are capable of being normal about Peril.
Lmfao as a religious trauma survivor and a product of Christian fundie indoctrination myself I am in full support of calling fandom wank "purity culture" and the use of the word "puriteen" as well actually.
It perfectly encompasses what purity culture was. It wasn't just about "no sex before marriage"; it policed every fucking thing you did and forced you to walk on eggshells your entire life so your Magical Sky Daddy didn't clutch His heavenly pearls at your naughty behaviours.
Holding hands with someone you weren't married to? Gateway to sin. Making eyes at someone of the opposite sex? Gateway to sin. Thinking "impure" thoughts about someone else? Thoughtcrime Gateway to sin. Wearing the "wrong" type of clothes? Listening to the "wrong" kind of music? Having the "wrong" sort of values? Enjoying the "wrong" kind of media? All of it was seen as a stepping stone toward being a sinful godless heathen (and to some people it was essentially just as bad).
And it wasn't enough to just avoid BadWrong Behaviours, either. In my ex-community you were expected to express your disapproval of it and be well versed in the theological how's and whys. Does any of that sound familiar?
Purity culture at its core is so much more than "wear this purity ring and pinky promise to Jesus that you'll never have sex until you're married" and if you didn't realise that while you were there you weren't paying attention.
"Well are you a [controversial identity] supporter???"
My friend I do not know what to tell you here. My rule is and remains "I don't care what you call yourself because your actions and who you are as a person is more valuable to me" and "as long as everyone in the situation is an adult and is giving enthusiastic consent I genuinely do not give a fuck what you do" and "words are stupid and people are complicated so it doesn't matter if The Words Are Wrong as long as it makes you happy"
I'm a longer tables not higher walls kind of guy. Have a seat. Break bread with me. Tell me a story over dinner. I think that'll be better for the both of us.
This post has gained about 2.5k notes in 24 hours for some reason and is doing numbers in the Identities Fandom but I feel like I need to be clear about something:
I wrote this before I'd ever even heard of crimew but also like.
Also yes I mean even that identity. That one too. Especially that one. And we can't forget that one either.
Come and sit at my table. Try my soup, it's an old recipe. Tell me how your day went. I think that's a better course of action.
HELLO YES I’D LOVE TO INQUIRE ABOUT EVIL FIRETIGER
fgjchgjchgjcg ! <33333
To be specific when I say evil I really mean more morally gray, especially on Firehearts's side. He's still himself just a tad bit evil, a little insecure but still merciful, and pointless murder doesn't appeal to him but that doesn't mean his intentions are always the best lol
He is basically Tigerstars "Hey before we brute force our way in, maybe we should consider other options first?"
but anyway,
Things really get rolling after dropping off Ravenpaw at Barelys farm. Fire does his little detective work to see if his words are true while also keeping an eye on Tigerclaw in general.
The more Fire watches the more he sees that Tigerclaw is a good warrior in the general skill aspect, strong, an asset in battle, willing to get his paws dirty something that Fireheart isn't as willing to do, cats respect him and listen to him even when he wasn't deputy, some would perhaps even die for him (darkstripe lol)
It would almost be a shame to get rid of Tigerclaw and his potential.
Besides, having a cat with so much influence would greatly benefit Fireheart's own plans for the clans ie joining them all into one clan because for Fire it's the most logical explanation to solve most of the clan's problems.
"Why fight over prey and territory when we can share it all?", etc
By this point in the timeline Tiger already considers Fire an enemy/thorn in his side.
Which makes Fireheart's next move really bold: confronting Tigerclaw directly about Redtail's death as expected Tigerclaw tries threatening and scaring him into submission.
Fireheart is not impressed by it at all and Tiger is a little taken aback after all, it takes someone either really dumb or brave to confront a suspected killer...alone.. and in the middle of a forest.
That in itself intrigued him.
"I could kill you and no one would ever know it was me."
"You could but then what will you gain from my death? becoming just another Thunderlcan leader? or you can hear me out and become so much more."
Fireheart says how impressed he is with how far the deputy is willing to go about completing his goals, being able to make sacrifices where Fireheart is not. Very much trying to play into Tiger's ego lol
It's an insane idea, joining four clans into one but there is potential in it, and best of all: Power, the one thing that Tiger carves the most.
It's an unsteady alliance at first. With Tigerclaw watching Fireheart's every move trying to decide how trustworthy and useful the former kittypet even is. Fireheart wins him slowly over time by providing information (having friends in different clans turns out to be very beneficial)
Rabid fire events cause I do not have all the details planned out yet:
Bluestar's murder that Fireheart doesn't intervene with just sits outside her den listening to his former mentor's last words
Brokenstar's death remains the same but this time Fire is grateful cause he rather not have a loose end that could destroy all the careful planning.
Tiger is made leader.
Shadowclan falls into sickness while being leaderless and Thunderclan helps them out by taking them in.
Blackfoot replaces the current deputy in Thunderclan (idk who yet) as an example of a union between Thunder and Shadow, officially creating the start of Tigerclan that's when the fun starts.
Somewhere along the way, FireTiger happens lol and they actually work well together, they make each other better and worse as in Tiger is a lot more cruel without Fire around.
The main reason why GoldenTiger didn't happen and by extension Bramble and Tawny aren't born cause Tiger was too busy being like "I like whatever this ginger twunk is cooking." and making evil plans at the same time.
Origins of the Bay Clans: Stone and the Lynx (Part 2)
The tracks led inland, further than the cats of Stone’s little clan had yet dared to travel. She followed the river upstream, skirting the thrashing current as it threw itself against the banks. The forest grew denser, the hemlocks thicker, the sharp peaks of the mountains taller, casting the valley in deep shadow. All was silent but the river, and the sound of strange, buzzing bird calls that rang eerily through the trees. Though her heart trembled, Stone trekked on, her pawsteps guided by purpose and the tracks that still sat unmistakable in the mud.
Stone had never followed a river to its origin, had never even thought of it as a possibility. Water–rivers, oceans, rains–lived outside the boundaries of a lifespan, within birth and death. Rivers weren’t something that just began, or ended, they simply cycled–at least, that’s what she had believed.
After hours spent unceasingly hiking through the valley, Stone emerged from the edge of the treeline. The pebbled ground spread flat in front of her, before abruptly spiking upward to form the range of mountains. Two peaks pierced the sky, and nestled between them was a landform unlike anything Stone had ever seen. The river rushed forward from the base of a giant white slope, a crystalline mass carved deep with blue crevices.
The wall shone like a piece of the moon itself, bleeding into the valley, its essence spilling into the forest before winding its way to the Bay. As Stone drew closer, she realized with a shock that the structure was made of ice, frozen solid despite the warmth of late spring.
She halted at the river’s edge, looking upon the structure in wonder. Was the moon made of ice? Had a shard of it fallen from the heavens upon the mountains? What else could create a fortress so massive, so imposing yet nurturing, whose icy waters fed the land and the bay?
These questions swam through her mind, but she tossed them to the side with a flick of her ears. For now, the answers were unknowable, and she must remain focused on her task.
She shook out her pelt and continued her path: the ground now had turned to gravel, and she tracked by scent instead of footprints. The slope turned steep, then rocky, a gray mountain face broken only by patches of unmelted snow and determined shrubs. Below her, the mass of ice gleamed, stretching out beyond the peaks like a blinding white sea.
As she continued along the mountainside, she noticed an opening in the cliff face, a dark entrance where the ice field met the mountain. She quickened her pace until she reached the cave entrance, standing on the barrier of darkness. Here, the scent she was tracking hung in the air, strong as ever, leading her into the blackness. She slipped into the cave without a second thought
Inside was a large cave, and she quickly crossed the open stretch of ground to the back, where a darker shadow lay. A tunnel.
Curiosity drove her forward, driving away any fear she might have felt. Down into the tunnel she tread, deeper and deeper into the veins of the mountain. For ages she was guided by scent alone, and the narrow tunnel walls pressing on all sides. An eternity of darkness.
Finally, Stone saw light, a blue glow that softly spilled into the end of the tunnel. Her footsteps quickened, and the cat entered into a cavern. Her breath hitched as she stepped into the light, awed by the sight before her. A medium sized cave rose around her, walls of smooth, layered stone arcing above her. The stone was washed with blue, for one wall was made not of rock, but entirely of ice. It was a deep, rich blue, as sunlight filtered down into the fragment of icy moon.
Within the ice wall’s bubbles and cracks hung an even stranger sight. A giant skeleton, ancient and fragmented, was trapped frozen in the ice, the remains of a creature Stone had never seen before. Though it’s thick bones and long, curved fangs were utterly unfamiliar, something in Stone knew it had once called itself catkin. A forgotten ancestor.
In front of the ice, sitting still and gray as the rocks around it, was a towering feline silhouette, its tufted ears outlined by the cold light. Stone’s fellow, wild catkin cousin. The Lynx.
The Lynx turned its gaze towards her slowly, expectantly, like it had known about her presence even before she did. Stone approached it, wary.
“I admire your tenacity, cat” Its voice was a gravelly purr. “I thought you’d stop at the treeline.”
Stone skirted the wall carefully, keeping several pawsteps of distance between her and the creature. “Why did you assume that?”
The Lynx wrinkled its nose in a wry smirk. “Well, look at you. You’re an imitation of a cat. This wilderness is unfit for your kind.”
Stone flattened her ears, attempting to keep her voice level. “What exactly do you mean?”
“You call yourselves ‘cats’, yet your kind feeds by human hands. You have grown small and thin-furred, distant from your nobler origins. You can only survive in little packs, reliant on the work of others, unable to face nature with your own merit—A true ‘cat’ walks in solitude, you know nothing of the sort.”
Stone looked beyond the Lynx to the ice wall behind it, where the massive bones of their great ancestor lay suspended in time. “You say my kind has fallen, but have yours not? Have you not also grown smaller than this god, your fangs short, your bones thin? It too lived in solitude, yet here it lies, dead, its life unremembered by its catkin. You mock my community, but we have lived this long despite this lands’ harshness, and will continue to do so.”
The Lynx’s smug expression faded, and its gaze grew intense as it stared at Stone. “Even gods die, housecat. The only thing life guarantees is an ending.” It curled its lip. “Your ‘community’ is not exempt from this.”
Stone met its eyes, unwavering. “If we are catkin, what bars me from the same powers you possess? Surely I can learn to survive by your means, surely I can find access to your blessings.”
The Lynx almost laughed, but the scoff caught in its throat. It narrowed its eyes, suddenly thoughtful, the smirk creeping back up its muzzle.
“Maybe I can offer you a taste of godhood, little cat. The lives of my predecessors run through me, from the tip of my tail through all ten of my claws.” The deity sat back on its haunches and held up its massive paws in demonstration. For a brief moment, its claws twinkled with a faint light, like stars plucked straight from the sky.
“One of these is mine, of course. But I have nine to spare.” It tilted its head down at her, its fangs gleaming in the blue cavern light. “Provided I deem you worthy of them.”
Stone raised her head in challenge. “What would make me worthy?”
The Lynx paused to consider, eyeing her up and down.
“To you alone I will grant these lives, thus you alone must face me.” The lynx narrowed its eyes. “Prove to me your will and strength, and defeat me in battle. If I submit, I grant you these lives, and the chance to explore this bay with greater distance between death and yourself.”
“Your loss, of course, will cost you your life.” It dipped its head towards her. “Is it a deal?”
Stone paused, hesitant, her heart fluttering in her chest. How could she face this creature in her state, small in stature, weary from her climb, completely alone? Despite her apprehension, her curiosity was stronger. There was only one chance for an opportunity like this, and even if she declined, what would stop the Lynx from killing her anyway?.
She nodded once. “I accept your terms.”
The lynx nodded back. Its fangs flashed. It stretched its claws.
They leapt into battle.
Stone was swift, but the Lynx was strong and skilled. It battered her with massive paws, slamming her into the cold rocky floor. Stone dodged and weaved through its attacks, but the cavern was small, and every leap Stone made seemed to send her into another faceful of claws.
Her opponent threw a powerful swipe, tossing her against the ice wall with a thud. Back against the blue glow, Stone crouched low, struggling to catch her breath. Her strength was waning, and Stone knew with every moment her chances of victory grew slimmer. Her paws shook slightly. The Lynx had noticed her waver, and began to pad towards with calm, sure steps. It smiled–it was eager to finish her off. How could she win this?
She thought of the cats–the clan–she had left behind, who likely waited anxiously for their wayward leader’s return. Would they falter without her guidance? Would the glimmer of hope she had lit in their hearts snuff out with fear? If only she could lead them to the majestic moon glacier, show them the ethereal ancient glow of the blue cave, renew their spirits with wonder at the wilderness they were trapped in. Stone suddenly stiffened, steeling herself as she lifted her gaze back toward her foe. Though she fought alone in the cavern, her mind conjured the presence of her clan behind her. She would not die here. She would die among the cats she had befriended, who had banded together in their time of need. The cats she needed, who needed her to return alive.
With a burst of vigor, Stone launched herself toward the lynx’s head, her weight and confidence catching it off guard. She clung to its face, slashing its ears, her momentum sending it crashing hard into the floor. It flailed its huge paws, but Stone stood steadfast upon its chest, pressing her own paws down forcefully against its throat. Her claws dug in, blood welled up around her toes. The lynx grew more panicked, struggling wildly, its breath stuttering in strangled gasps. Stone pressed harder.
“St–Sto-”
Stone leaned close into its face. “Do you yield?”
The Lynx thrashed its head, attempting to nod frantically. “Yg-Yes!”
Stone slowly lifted her paws, releasing pressure off the creature’s throat. It gasped for air, then shoved her off its chest, throwing her to the floor. She scrambled to her paws, watching the Lynx heave. After it had caught its breath, the Lynx pressed its paw deep into the stone floor. It did so with strange power, impressing into the rock like it was mud, leaving the crisp outline of its giant pawprint. It beckoned her over. Its breath was hoarse. “Come.”
Stone approached the Lynx. She eyed it warily, nervous that it would decide to ignore the deal and kill her anyway. But it didn’t move as she stood above it, her paws settling on the edge of its pawprint, which seemed to sparkle slightly in the dim, cold light.
The Lynx glared up at her, its cool demeanor vanished, its eyes blazing with controlled fury. “Touch your nose to the floor,” it growled. “You will receive your reward.”
Carefully, Stone dipped her head down, until her nose brushed against the floor’s icy chill. For a brief moment, all was still.
Suddenly, she was blinded by overwhelming light. The force of the glare threw her head back, and her vision was assaulted by an oppressive blur of color and noise. Images flashed in her mind, landscapes, memories, creatures she has never seen before. Each streaked by, too fast for her to fully process the scenes. Waves of emotion crashed in her, sending her reeling, thrown into a raging sea of grief and joy and fear and wonder. She felt all of time as it had crept by, millions of years of the past and future stretched out infinitely, lived all at once in a single instant. She felt everything. She felt nothing. It was the most agonizing pain she had ever experienced, swept in a flood of sheer euphoria. She knew places and beasts and times she had no name for, all lived through and known by the catkin before her. It was the longest moment of her life, but as she crouched, trembling, blinking her eyes back to the sight of the blue cavern, she realized only seconds had passed.
The Lynx had stood, and had begun moving toward the cave’s exit. It turned to look down at her, and Stone returned its gaze, panting heavily, her fur on end and buzzing with strange energy.
It was silent for a moment. “You now have eight more lives to live along with your own. More than any little cat has had before. Your blessing and your curse.” It lulled thoughtfully, its expression has settled back into its neutral stare.
Its voice was cold, though laced with an undertone of contempt–and perhaps, Stone thought, respect. “Do not treat this victory lightly, Stone. Every day you live here will be another test, another gamble with your life. Living here is a game with no winners, and you and your fellows can only stall the march of nature for so long.”
The lynx turned, padding toward the exit. “The gods here will meddle where they like, and though you have bested me, I can not guarantee my kin will be deterred from entertaining themselves with playthings like you.”
The god stopped in the entrance, then glanced back toward her, its face in shadow.
“Good luck, Stone. You will need it.”
It disappeared.
For a moment, Stone stood alone in the blue cavern.
She was not Stone anymore. Something had changed within her, the Lynx’s stars sat heavy in her chest, glittered on her whiskers. Just as an icy piece of the moon had fallen to the earth and become one with it, fragments of the stars had melded with her being. She was Stonestar, and her pelt glowed with the new (old?) lives that settled under her fur.
And she was alive. More than she had ever been before.
"You're a smart cat, Fireheart, so I'll only say this once. I don't care if you're deputy, leader, or chosen by the Stars themselves. If my boy ever comes home with even a scratch on him, all you'll be is crowfood."
Shame on me for writing DM! Fire and Bramble's relationship as if Bramble's massive lioness of a mom wasn't right there the entire time.
So, Dm!Goldenflower takes Fireheart aside to chat after he's named deputy and the new mentor of Bramblepaw to let him know that if he harms her kit she'll snap his spine like a dry piece of spaghetti and feed him to the buzzards. 10/10 mom, would recommend.
Fire is very hands-off and emotionally distant with Brambeplaw, partially for reasons shown above, but also because he didn't really want to interact with him to begin with.
Today, many of you are celebrating American Thanksgiving, but I wanted to take a moment to use this platform I've somehow stumbled into to do something different. Today is the National Day of Mourning, a day where we take time to remember and mourn the suffering and deaths of the indigenous American people who were brutally colonized by the founders of the country. It is also a day to remember that their descendants are still suffering, that their struggles are not over.
Now, I am very white and living on stolen land. I am not the expert here and I don't think it would be my place to explain the struggles the indigenous Americans are facing.
But I do run a fairly popular Warrior Cats blog and I do think it would be worthwhile to highlight the fact that Warrior Cats and its fandom are full of Anti-Indigenous bigotry. You may notice that I use the term "Healer" instead of "Medicine Cats" and that's because the original term is blatant and disrespectful cultural appropriation that I don't want to take part in. And that's just one example.
HERE is a link to a comprehensive article researched and written by an All-Native/Indigenous team of Warrior Cats fans that details the harmful stereotypes the Erins use and suggestions on what you can do to avoid contributing to them. Please, read this document and take some time to think about what it says.
I also encourage any Native/Indigenous people who find this post to add to it or link places where my fans can support you and your communities.
THIS WILD RABBIT SAT THERE FOR 20 MINUTES AND LISTENED TO ME SPEAK ABOUT EVERYTHING AND NOTHING IN A LANGUAGE SHE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND TILL MY TRAIN ARRIVED IF SHE COULD UNDERSTAND OR REPLY SHE WOULD SPEAK OF GRASS AND FUR AND FEAR IN THE TONGUE OF ELAHREHRAH THE PRINCE OF A THOUSAND ENEMIES AND THE BLACK MAIDEN OF INLAY UNDER THE FRITH. HOW DO I SCREAM IN RABBIT I THINK I'VE REACHED THE NIRVANA OF THE TRUE RELIGION. SHE CAN'T REPLY BECAUSE HER KIND DON'T HAVE A LANGUAGE, BUT JUST THINK WHAT IF SHE'S WONDERED ABOUT SOMETHING MORE THAN EATING RUNNING AND REPRODUCING??!! WHAT IF SHE KNEW THERE WAS MORE, THAT YOU COULD SPEAK OF A STAMPING FOOT INSTEAD OF JUST DOING SO, AND SHE COULDN'T EVEN CONVEY THOSE THOUGHTS TO HER FELLOWS, IT WOULD BE HELL ITSELF. BUT THE KNOWING ITSELF WOULD BE MADNESS, FOR FROM FRITH'S VIEW, DOING SOMETHING OTHER THAN WHAT YOUR BODY TELLS YOU IS MADNESS, SO WHAT IF WE ARE THE MAD ONES AND THEY ARE SANE, WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE BEING BORN TO COLOURED MADNESS AND SHE TO HELLISH SANITY?! HOW DO I SCREAM IN RABBIT???!!!!
a major problem with warrior cats i've been trying to articulate is how often it feels like it's not a character's personality and choices that influences the direction of the plot, but rather the direction of the plot that influences a character's personality and choices
