I Might Make A Full Comic But Im Just Planning Stuff Right Now They Take Up My Waking Mind And Sleeping

i might make a full comic but im just planning stuff right now 💪 they take up my waking mind and sleeping mind (the whole thing)

ignore how wisteria is missing his leaves sometimes - it was a recent design choice that my older drawings don’t have lol

(and just to make this very clear, i’m getting rid of whatever weird will-they-won’t-they holly had with fallen leaves. he acts only as a mentor for holly in this version. holly gets a girlfriend but that’s not really relevant to the story)

Wisteriashine of Starclan and Crow of the Dark Forest. i sure hope nothing silly happens

“This is the current Leader of Starclan - your former guide - who tried very hard to cast you into the Dark Forest and destroy you, sunshine. She is NOT our friend.”

“… I don’t think she has any friends, really.”

“Exactly!”

But, as he always does, Crow comes around to the idea eventually.

“He said you could be reinstated - as a patron of Starclan!”

“And you told that mangepelt where he could shove it, right?”

(more under the cut)

What do you think Firestar has to do with this? 

Firestar takes the place of Aziraphale's flaming sword!

Crowfood and Wisteriashine meet as spirits on the birthday of Moth Flight's kits. Crowfood (later Crow, later Crowsight) has tempted Moth Flight into taking a mate. As vindication for going against the code, Starclan orders her three newborns to be killed. While two are born dead, one miraculously makes it out alive.

Wisteriashine, instead of killing the final kit as instructed, saves her. She's a great-great-great-great-so-on-so-forth ancestor of Firestar. Boom. Flaming sword parallel.

Firestar will accompany Breezepelt (the harbinger/Adam), Heathertail (stand-in for Pepper), Jayfeather (stand-in for Wensleydale), and Lionblaze (stand-in for Brandon or whatever the last kid's name was).

They will confront the Four Horsemen (I need a new name for them, still thinking about it). I haven't quite figured out who they are all are yet, but I know that Death will be Scourge. Firestar will assist each cat in defeating their respective Horseman.

Here's some old art from my first post, loosely depicting that scene at the airbase (from left to right: Jayfeather, Breezepelt, Firestar, Lionblaze, Heathertail):

I'm really fucking around with Good Omens and Warrior Cats canon, so it's all kinda a mess, but I'm happy to answer any questions anyone has about the AU!

It took me so long to finish this that I forgot how to use the brush I started with 😋

— Story under the cut —

It starts, as it will end, in a garden.

There is Adam and there is Eve. And then there’s a whole lot more - some stuff with a flaming sword and a wall - but you’ve already heard that story before.

No, this garden is a bit further along in history. It’s a bit after the tigers and the lions, when the big cats realized they didn’t have to be big anymore and could lead just as happy - if not happier - lives when smaller. It’s after the first few fun-sized cats strolled into the lives of humanity, tore a hole into fabric of their existence, and then started the trend of humans forgiving cats for any imposition, however big or small.

The thing about cats, however, is that it has always been about them and only about them since the beginning of history. Perhaps humans were made first, but God’s favorite would always be the cats (and the whales, but that’s a story for a different time). She was so enamored by cats that She gave them something only one other species on Earth had: free-will. But with free-will comes choice, and we all know how terribly that goes.

So the cats gained a conscience, and then as is conventional, they gained Faith. They call things differently than the humans do, so excuse any unfamiliar vocabulary.

Under Midnight are Star Clan and the Dark Forest. Silverpelt is made up of the hundreds and thousands of bright, good souls that partake in the endless hunt on Star Clan’s territory. The Dark Forest is… somewhere else, one can only presume. It’s where the bad cats go. Ask your clan’s elder, and they’ll scoot around the topic for as long as they can. It’s not in the nature of cats to think about the evil; memory is what keeps that evil alive, after all.

But forget an elder - forget the clans. Remember (and continue to remember, long after) the cats who live by a large lake somewhere in a place the humans call England. Not those cats (not yet) - those cats, who took great trials in the winding tunnels to prove themselves worthy of the title Sharpclaw. This is the garden that we speak of, because this is the beginning that matters.

It has been a moon since Fallen Leaves entered the tunnels and never came back. Broken Shadow and Stone Song are still beside themselves.

“The twolegs are getting worryingly ahead of themselves with all this digging,” comments Sun’s Chaser to Jay’s Wing.

“Hm,” is all he gets in response, apart from some raised hackles.

“It would probably be in the tribe’s best interest to relocate,” Sun’s Chaser tries again, flicking his tail.

“Don’t try and talk me into it,” Jay’s Wing huffs sourly, giving him a truly venemous side-eye. “Go try and convince Stone Song. That’s who cats will listen to.”

Sun’s Chaser offers a noncommittal whine of acceptance. “Sure, they listen to him. But they like listening to you more.”

The next day, Jay’s Wing advises the tribe leave for the mountains. A meeting is called. Stones are cast. They leave the garden.

Some years later, it becomes clear that perhaps the mountains weren’t the best choice.

“What do you say,” Sun’s Chaser begins, whispering into a mourning Clear Sky’s ear, “that we save ourselves more grief and take this group somewhere safer.”

“…Like where?” the gray tom asks miserably, staring listlessly at his sister’s grave.

“Like…” Sun’s Chaser digs deep. “…Somewhere else,” he finishes awkwardly.

“Go talk to Stoneteller about it,” Clear Sky mumbles despondently. “She’s the only one who can make things happen. They listen to her.”

Sun’s Chaser flicks Clear Sky’s ear with his tail. “Sure, they listen to her. But they like listening to you.”

Clear Sky proposes they leave. A gaggle of discontent cats is formed. As soon as they depart, Bright Stream is slain. She’s the first in the trend of mollies dying to give toms a reason to push forward. They keep going.

“Oi, you there!” Sun’s Chaser calls to the cream ball of fur crouched on an overhanging outcrop of rock. The cat starts, then lifts his head attentively.

“Me?” he asks.

“Is there anyone else hanging around that I would be talking to?” Sun’s Chaser asks rhetorically. The other cat shakes his head earnestly.

“I’m the only one here. Good as any.”

Sun’s Chaser spares a glance at Clear Sky who watches him with undisguised impatience. “Wonderful, wonderful... Say, would you know of any territory near here that would be hospitable to a group of cats seeking asylum?”

“Wouldn’t you know it,” the unfamiliar cat begins, “I think I do.” He stands, and Sun’s Chaser is able to get a better view of how well-fed this particular cat is. His own stomach rumbles in jealousy as the cream tom leaps delicately down to join them. He waves his tail, and the bedraggled group follows.

“I’m Wisteriashine,” comments the new cat as he walks with them.

“Neat,” Sun’s Chaser answers, anxiously awaiting whatever comes after the crest in the hill.

The moment they set eyes on the new territory, the group becomes miraculously certain this is where they’re meant to be.

“Oh, look at you,” Sun’s Chaser mumbles, looking out over the rolling fields and lines of trees. “You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, well, th-“ Wisteriashine stumbles for a moment before self-consciously licking at his chest. “It is, rather - er, just so you know, I’ve heard some - some talk of future plans the twolegs have with it.”

Sun’s Chaser whips around. “What?”

“I’ve been told they’re going to level it for more of those great big stone dens.” Sun’s Chaser looks at him incredulously. “…Nothing certain, nothing certain! Just, uh, something to keep in mind,” the fluffy cat soothes quickly. “With twolegs - I mean, it’s all quite ineffable with them, don’t you think? Everything eventually becomes theirs.”

Sun’s Chaser just stares at him for a long moment. “Seems a little mouse-brained.”

“Midnight lets it happen, so it must be intentional,” Wisteriashine snips, suddenly defensive. “It would be best for you not to question it, really.”

Sun’s Chaser spares a look at the cats he helped lead this far. Then he turns a wry look on Wisteriashine. “Surely She wouldn’t protest if I were to just offer a few suggestions. Or critiques. You think there’s a way to talk to the Spirits directly without being a Stoneteller?”

The cream tom’s eyes widen into tiny twin blue moons as the black cat prattles on. “Oh, just look at how beautiful this territory is,” Wisteriashine meows quickly, just shy of cutting him off. “I think it’s time for you all to get settled, don’t you think?”

Sun’s Chaser opens his mouth to retort but catches a taste of the air in his haste. He shivers. “I think it might rain soon. Join us while we get settled so you don’t get caught in it,” he offers.

Wisteriashine does. In fact, he joins them for such a long time that he’s still there by the time the clans have been created.

“They are becoming insolent, Sun’s Chaser,” says Clear Sky as he paces.

Sun’s Chaser thinks that’s a bit of a stretch. “I don’t think a war will fix it,” he says aloud.

Clear Sky whirls on him, eyes blazing. “They will learn what it is like to lose someone they love.”

Gray Wing and Jagged Peak have already lost their brother, but Sun’s Chaser doesn’t mention that either. Instead, he awkwardly nods his head. “Right.”

The first Great Battle commences that night. Silverpelt gains a plethora of new stars. Every soul, sans two, finds its place in the endless hunting grounds.

A few years later, those two souls meet again.

“That went down like a lead balloon,” comments the sleek black cat. His fur has been permanently parted by unfading scars along his face and crisscrossed into his back. A tail too long to be natural winds behind him like a snake.

“Sorry, what was that?” asks the large, fluffy cream cat with frost in his fur and stars in his eyes. He has a white daisy with two big leaves cradling it decoratively nestled in his shimmering chest fur. Also, he has the expression of a cat who has done something he really, really shouldn’t have.

“Lead balloon,” the black tom annunciates, taking it in stride.

“Quite, rather…” the shimmering cat meows in a way that means none of that is quite or rather. “And you are?” he asks politely.

His companion scrunches up his muzzle. “Crowfood,” he purses out, “though I was thinking about changing it.”

“Does feel rather on-the-nose, I suppose,” Wisteriashine nods.

There’s a lapse wherein they continue to watch the unfolding scene in silence. Then Crowfood continues. “I don’t really get the point of the Warrior Code being so strict on things like having relationships. Especially for us poor medicine cats.”

The cream tom stiffens. “It must be wrong. After all, you were the one who tempted her into it.”

Crowfood shrugs noncommittally. “Eh.” His void-ringed golden eyes flash. “But why let her get that far? Shouldn’t there have been some interference from Starclan before things got to this point?” He looks pointedly at his companion.

And what a point. “Ineffability,” Wisteriashine sniffs defensively.

“Should have been some resistance. How was she to know?”

Crowfood isn’t dignified with an answer. He rather thinks Wisteriashine doesn’t have one.

The two ghosts observe as Moth Flight wails over her two stillborn kits. The clan watches in detached scorn. Narrowing his eyes at the dead kittens curled up next to their mother’s body, Crowfood makes an internal calculation.

“Hold on,” he starts slowly, “weren’t there supposed to be three of them?“

“Hm?” intones the fluffy tom. He does not look Crowfood in the eyes.

“I head Starclan sent you here to kill three of them.” With a nod, the black tom continues, trying to catch the larger tom’s icy gaze, “Yeah, yeah - there was a ginger one, I’m sure of it. Had fur the color of fire and everything.”

“I didn’t kill any of them,” wails Wisteriashine somewhat manically. “Two of them were stillborn without any help,” he adds when he gets nothing but an incredulous stare.

Crowfood waits for a courteous amount of time. Then, when he gets no elaboration, “… And the third?”

The cream cat mumbles something under his breath. Crowfood’s eyes widen.

“You what?”

“I gave her away,” Wisteriashine hisses, sparing a fearful look upward. Thick clouds obscure Silverpelt. “I couldn’t - I can’t kill kits! I told her to trust that one with me - that I would keep her safe. She was just so distraught, really! I couldn’t stand the thought of her losing another one to Star Clan so early. So I said, ‘There’s a good dear, just let me handle her, I’ll keep her safe.’ I took the kit to one of those twoleg settlements and put her on a step and - and waited for one of them to come out and take her in.” When Crowfood does nothing but stare, jaw parted, he gets defensive. “You know, if you were in my position, I’m sure you would have done the same!” He catches himself, coughs, and flattens his ears against his head. Crowfood blinks at him.

“Or, not. Being of the… Dark Forest and all,” Wisteriashine mumbles miserably.

They turn back to the scene in silence after that. Moth Flight eventually pulls herself to her paws and retreats to bury her kin. With little more than a collective sigh from the sneering Wind Clan crowd, she’s let past. Micah walks by her side, offering support whenever she stumbles. Exhaling a breath of relief, Wisteriashine watches as some of the light returns to her eyes at his touch.

“Wouldn’t it be funny,” ventures Crowfood, “if I did the good thing, and you did the bad thing? Could get in a lot of trouble, me, for doing the right thing”

The cream cat’s whiskers twitch with amusement before he catches himself. “No,” he says quickly. “No, that would not be funny at all.”

Moth Flight and Micah bury their children, and the sky breaks at last. The promised storm comes to fruition. Crowfood feels his companion sidle closer, followed by the sensation of a tail creeping over his lean body. As the first raindrops hit the ground, Crowfood remains blessedly dry.