kicking things off with a little crossover of the foxs !! i had this silly idea of film!fox and musical!fox meeting in a waiting room after their respective brushes with a train…
WARRIORS WEEK is a seven day fan event - running from July 7th to 13th 2025 - to encourage fan content for the Warriors concept album! (Or, if you’d prefer, the 1979 film. Or even a mix of both!)
There are two prompt each day - you can do one, both, combine the two, or leave days out. There is no pressure, this is all for fun!
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➠ HOW?
During the event week, tag your posts with #warriorsweek2025 or mention @warriorsweek so I can reblog your work!
Any form of works are welcome - art, writing, photo or video edits, webeaves, poetry, crafts, cosplays, etc - whatever you prefer! You can repurpose old works, but I’d love to see new ones! Content can be created in advance, hence when the prompts have been released
There are no real guidelines in terms of what you can’t create, just be sure to properly tag any potential triggers or sexual content
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➠ WHEN?
DAY 1: Monday, July 7th
Crossover / Battle cry
DAY 2: Tuesday, July 8th
Angst / Backstory
DAY 3: Wednesday, July 9th
Beach episode / Prequel
DAY 4: Thursdays, July 10th
Role swap / Fashion
DAY 5: Friday, July 11th
Date night / Sports team
DAY 6: Saturday, July 12th
Alternate Universe / Quiet night in
Just a silly little thing for the first day of Warriors week. Thanks to @warriorsweek for organising this!
“We need a what now?”
“A chant, a battle cry, something that'll let everyone know the Warriors are here.”
Cleon looked at her friend while repressing a smile. She had never thought she would find someone as passionate as she was, yet Ajax had that fiery pride with everything she did. Including finding a battle cry for the Warriors which she had been a part of for all of six days.
“Well, do you have any suggestions?” Cochise chimed in intrigued from her spot just behind Cleon. They had been looking at a map of Coney Island trying to pinpoint where they could expand the Warriors’ territory.
“Hmmmm, what if we all screamed at the top of our lungs to intimidate the other crew?”
Cochise and Cleon looked at each other before answering at the same time “Too intense.”
“But we are intense! We need people to know we’re not some push over!”
“Ajax.” Cleon tried to look stern but was mostly amused as she stared down the enforcer.
Ajax put both her hands up in surrender “Alright, alright. Then maybe “Go hide in a corner, the warriors are here and ready to fuck you up””.
Cochise laugh out loud as Ajax slowly got mad until Cleon elbowed Cochise in the side.
The Warlord smiled at Ajax “It might be a little bit to complexe to chant all together y'know”.
“Well. Yea… didn’t think of that.” Ajax admit without any joy.
They all stood there, all trying to find a new idea. Until Cochise had an illumination.
“Okay hear me out.” She paused for dramatic purpose. She was definitely spending too much time with Cowgirl, Cleon thought. “A-she-ca.”
Ajax looked at her like she was crazy. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Cochise shrugged. “No clue, but it sounds good and it's easy to learn, no? We can even make a rhythm out of it.”
“No it's a shit i-”
“Actually I think I like it.” Cleon interrupted “A-she-ca. It has a nice ring to it.”
Ajax stared at the warlord, astonished. “Cleon you're not really thinking of choosing that?”
“Yes. I am. So it's official. You two can teach the rest of the crew our new battle cry. And no arguing against it Ajax. My decision is final. Now both of you out, I need to finish some things before tomorrow.”
“But-”
“I said no arguing.”
Cochise and Ajax stepped out. Ajax grumbled about how much she hated it and how she should have never brought up the idea while Cochise smiled from ear to ear, very proud of herself and how pissed off she made Ajax.
for the ones who sing in the dead of night - chapter 3
chapter 1 read on ao3
cheating a little by making this my contribution to @warriorsweek day 2: angst.
content warning for canon-typical character death! she’s back to narrate the next chapter, so it’s not as if she’s going anywhere as a character, but she does very much still die. we have to get to hadestown somehow
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It’s all over in a second. One moment Cyrus is standing with outstretched arms, glowing under park lights as her message spreads like water through the crowd. Despite herself, Swan is straining to hear every word. Is feeling something uncomfortable unfurl in her chest. Because the world that Cyrus describes should be impossible, and yet the city is listening. Maybe -
The next moment, she hears the shot. And it’s like a dam wall bursting - people explode into movement in every direction, disoriented and panicked. Those at the edges of the crowd press inwards, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s happened. But Swan doesn’t need to join the fray - from their perch halfway up the scaffolding, she can see the Riff’s makeshift stage. Can see Masai on his knees. And beside him, Cyrus. Unmoving. The light gone out.
She shakes herself back into her body. “Out of here. Now.”
Mercy doesn’t argue. They scramble down the scaffolding, scanning for an escape from the swell of bodies.
The truce died with Cyrus, and everyone knows it. Some are slipping out of their colours, hoping to make it home without attracting attention. Others are grandstanding, shoving into the crews around them. The crowd spills out in a panic, fists thrown where someone is jostled or insulted. She needs a minute to think, but there isn’t one. Should they retrace their steps into Orphan’s territory? At the very least, they won’t be reeling from the meeting. Police sirens flare to life, too close. They run.
Mercy catches Swan’s wrist, pulling her to the side. It isn’t until they’re level with the entrance to Woodlawn Station that Swan realises where they’re headed. It’s a good plan - duck into the mouth of the tunnel, wait until the crowd disperses. No one would follow them. But Swan has heard the stories - of people who tried to venture down, came back not even knowing their own name. Were driven mad by the ghosts of people they used to know, real enough to see and yet never close enough to touch. Stories are all they are, she knows. Almost definitely. Shame courses through her, hot and thick, but it doesn’t change the fact that her legs won’t move.
Mercy realises she isn’t going to win this one, tugs her onward into the city blocks. Into the mouth of a laneway. In the shadows, Swan lets out a breath. Pressed between dumpsters, away from the streetlights, this is probably the closest they’re going to find to safety. If they’re lucky, and no one else tries for the same hiding spot, they can hover here until daylight comes.
“Out a bit late, aren’t you?”
Swan doesn’t know why she tries, sometimes. She’s never been lucky. She turns, slowly, to face a gaggle of late-teen boys. The yellow pins in their pockets must signify something, but she’s coming up empty on names. She raises her palms. “We don’t want trouble.”
“What gang you with?” The leader, she decides. He’s half a head shorter than the others, but moves with his shoulders thrown back, like he’s expecting her to know who he is.
“None. Just passing through.”
“Then no one’s waiting on you, huh?”
Swan has no doubt that the boys were at the meeting, too, saw Cyrus fall. And now they’re grandstanding, trying to sharpen their fear into anger.
Mercy huffs out a laugh. “Make you feel real tough, five against two? I didn’t see you landing any punches in the mess out there. Were you saving it all up to jump someone down an alleyway?”
For a moment he looks cowed, and Swan can see how this would have worked in the Orphans. But they’re no longer in Tremont, and a lanky boy in a leather jacket pushes forwards. “Brave bitch, huh?” His hand goes to his belt, and Mercy goes still.
The leader spins on him. “And who told you you could be pointing that thing around?”
“Well I sure as fuck don’t need permission from you.”
Of course, there had been weapons at the peace meeting. Faith in Cyrus didn’t necessarily mean faith in your neighbours. But it’s a long time since Swan has seen one so close, and fear spikes its icy way down her spine. She sidesteps in front of Mercy, but the boys aren’t even looking at them any more.
“The cops are right round the corner, you dickhead! Ash is already gone. You wanna be next?”
When the shoving starts, Swan sees a chance. They’re outnumbered, sure, but she doubts anyone will follow if they run. They’re just after someone to make them feel big in comparison - if not Swan and Mercy, they’ll move on to the next target. She edges herself further to the right, towards a thin-faced boy in a beaten bomber jacket. The weakest link, she thinks - if she can topple him into his friends, it will buy her and Mercy the moments they need. The crew’s voices rise higher - good, let them be distracted. She gives Mercy’s sleeve a sharp tug that she hopes says be ready. And then, before she has the chance to move, the world shakes with a sharp crack.
The boys seem no less confused than she is, exchanging wide-eyed glances. Then the leader’s eyes fix on something over Swan’s shoulder, and his jaw goes slack. “Ohhh shit. Go, go, go.”
It’s painful, how slowly she pulls the pieces together. The aftermath of the shot is making the whole world ring, and her balance takes a moment to reassert itself. The boys disappear as suddenly as they apparated, boots clattering on the bluestones. It’s halfway through the turning that she realises what she’s going to see.
Mercy is looking down at where her hand is pressed to her ribcage, brow furrowed as though she can’t make sense of what she sees. It’s like moving limbs that aren’t her own, but Swan forces herself forwards. Catches her as her knees give out. You’re meant to keep pressure on the bleeding, she knows, but the sound that Mercy makes when she presses her hand down sends a stab of nausea through her.
“I’m sorry. Hey, I’m sorry.” Not just for this - for the fact that she had trusted in Cyrus, had brought her here, can do nothing to stop the world repaying her bravery with the cold stones of a damp alley. They need help, but who is going to answer the door to a dishevelled teenager in the middle of the night? And there’s blood, so much blood… she’s going to bleed out if Swan leaves her here. Watching the red seep from beneath her fingers, a traiterous thought slips out - she’s going to bleed out anyway.
Mercy grabs for her hand, panic just starting to break over her face, and Swan makes her decision. She tries to say something comforting, but she’s not even sure the words come out. Bites down on the pathetic urge to ask her not to go. Stay with me. What kind of right does Swan have to make this about her, and her fear, and the pain thrumming through the centre of her chest? What kind of right does she have when she couldn’t do anything, couldn’t keep her safe? She tightens her grip on Mercy’s hand, as though she could keep her here through willpower. Feels the moment when the returning grip goes slack.
This is pretty mucho inspired in @gay-barbarian 's fanfic for "Warriors week day 2", which made me cry by the way. So yeah, and I could say that this is my one and only edit for the @warriorsweek day 6: AU/Quiet night
