Cheesethief: So You’re Non-biney? Like You Don’t Have Any Biney?

Been awhile since I did one of these, but @one-eyed-wizard hit me up with their guy Silvertongue awhile back and I wanted to make sure he got drawn because I love him 🙏🙏

Hit me up with ur Redwall ocs I wanna practice drawing Creatures

Mouse Armor by Jeff De Boer

Got a apple pen as an early bday gift and playing around with the pressure features

So it's been a hot second since I took a break from my full series reread, but I found myself once again thinking about Outcast of Redwall and the raw deal that Veil Sixclaw got.

What kills me is that before the poisoning, the one thing Veil got in trouble for--the only thing, in fact--was stealing. This kid didn't even get into fights, he just stole food from the kitchens, which as Bryony points out is normal Abbey kid behavior. Another character shoots back that stealing is something most kids outgrow implying that the fact that Veil hasn't is suspicious, which is frankly a wild thing to say to the great grand-daughter of Gonff the Mousethief.

(In a kinder version of events, the adults in Veil's life might have shaken their heads with long-suffering fondness and remarked that he was following in his adopted ancestor's footsteps.)

The whole point of Redwall is that it's the woodland utopia where no one goes hungry and everyone has what they need, which is why kids stealing pies off the windowsill is no big deal... except when Veil does it, apparently. Veil's the one that gets physical punishment when he's suspected of stealing--not even proven! I can't recall off the top of my head any incidents in the rest of the series of corporal punishment in Redwall beyond idle threats that the kids know not to take seriously. But Veil gets scrutinized from the moment Redfarl and Skipperjo pick him up out of the mud and they and Bella look at this literal infant and say "oh yeah, he's gonna be evil for sure."

And then a thought occurred to me: it's generational trauma.

Most of the characters in Outcast are two generations removed from the characters in Mossflower. Bella of Brockhall is in both books. Verdauga and Tsarmina are still within living memory. Until the end of Outcast, as far as she knows, Bella lost her entire family to vermin warlords. Mossflower opens on a scene in which a ferret kicks in the door of a family of subsistence farmers, threatens their children with slavery, and takes all their food as taxes leaving them with none for the winter--and the Stickles were the last holdouts. The other farmers in the area had already run off to join the resistance at that point, so this kind of treatment was normal.

And we're left with a close-knit society of people who've grown up with this shared history, with a venerated authority figure who still carries the scars and memories of what they lost--and suddenly another warlord comes within a hairsbreadth of discovering the peaceful society they built in the aftermath, and leaves behind a starving neglected baby whose first impression is eating frogspawn in the mud and biting his rescuers while being the spitting image of the warlord they just narrowly avoided.

All of that gets thrown into this caustic mixture of fear and paranoia that gets projected onto a literal baby and results in their completely out of pocket response to a child taking food from the kitchens in the We Share Everything Abbey.

It also might explain why Bryony, who's young enough to be three generations removed and may have been born after most of the survivors of Kotir had already passed, is the only one who isn't scared and suspicious of Veil on sight.

@wyrmtung I drew him like a week ago but I am in a constant state of forgetting to actually post

Hit me up with ur Redwall ocs I wanna practice drawing Creatures

The Best Lessons Are Taught With Blood

An unfinished Taggerung piece exploring the time Tagg spent with the Juska Clan and his relationships with them. In this scene, Tagg and Sawney discuss an opportunity for him to prove his mettle.

Rating: T

Words: 1186

Fourteen seasons on, and the Taggerung had yet to take a life.

Of course he had killed before, if all the clams and fish hauled back to their shoreline camp was proof of such proficiency. But it wasn't - not in the eyes of a Juska, at least. Though it proved one's self reliance, it did nothing to prove one's power. Hunting food would never be enough to prevent his adoptive father's growing pressure.

It appeared more frequently between them in the past few weeks. It would linger on the edges of silent lulls in the evening, those times when he and Sawney were sat around their own small fire apart from the rest of the clan, when Grissoul had nodded off still upright with her chin tucked into her scarves, leaving them alone. It would settle in thick discomfort, when the laughter and chatter between father and son trickled away, and when its wake had left prickly self-consciousness skittering across Tagg's neck. Sawney would stretch and sigh and pick food from his fangs, then, as though starting a casual new conversation, the topic would rear its ugly head. It always started with the same signs, and usually, Tagg could dodge out of its way. He would parry a distraction into his father's mind, then the cursed thing would fall to the wayside as some other priority took its place.

On this night, however, while the moon hung low and half-lidded in the night sky, Sawney again stretched and sighed and picked food from his fangs.

"Vallug's seen two Juska'tar fishers in the northern tidepools again today, did I tell y'already?" the stoat said.

"Oh? Don't believe y'have," Tagg replied. He too took the opportunity to stretch and sigh, only to lay back and stare at the moon instead of his father's gaze.

"Aye, awful impolite of 'em, I'd say! Sure got me thinking, should teach 'em some manners about being neighborly, don'tcha think?"

"Juska'tar aren't anything to fret over. We show up with somethin' sharp, pull a scary face, and they'll tuck their tail between their legs. Worked wonders last time."

"Gaw, sure did! Barely had to lift a paw! That's the problem, though. Since we only done that, the sneaky bastards are back at it again. It's 'cos they think we'll keep lettin' 'em off easy. See, they're testin' what they can get away with." Sawney leaned forward from where he sat on a driftwood log and roused the fire's embers with a stick. "Can't let beasts think we're all bark an' no bite, else they start gettin' uppity. D'ye get my meaning, Tagg?"

Tagg wrinkled his snout up towards the moon. His knife found itself twirling mindlessly between fidgety claws. Grissoul remained sound asleep a short distance away, though Tagg sometimes wondered if she was silently eavesdropping.

"Yea, yea, I get what you're saying, da. So we'll send 'em back bloodied and bruised for it this time. We can nick their nets too, they owe us payment for whatever fish they snatched, huh?" The otter feigned amusement. When he turned to look at Sawney though, his father's crinkled eyes peered discerningly through him.

"Heh, a fine idea for certain…but I think we should teach them a lesson that'll really stick," the stoat goaded. "An' don't I always say, the best lessons are taught with blood?"

Tagg's chuckle faded awkwardly as Sawney's brown eyes glinted in the firelight. Taking up the stick again, he fussed with the embers once more.

"Now, c'mere to me, I've an idea that'll lift yer spirits," he snickered. "Tomorrow, hide and wait for our trespassers at the pools afore sun-up…then, when they go out onto the rocks, nab one an' take 'em for a dip in the sea! Juska'tar rats can't swim worth shite, they'll drown fast an' easy. And all the while, their buddy gets to watch helplessly from the shore!" At this, Sawney barked out a rough laugh. "That'll teach 'em, guaranteed! Heheh! Oh, oh, bring the corpse back to me afterwards, I'll show y'how to chop the head and stick it on a pike. Real nice decor to spruce the place up, eh? Call it future poaching deterrent!"

Those keen eyes searched Tagg for a reaction. The otter gave his very best dark sneer.

"Heheh…aye, sounds like a good plan, that'll show 'em!" Even vague agreement felt strange and stilted as it left Tagg's tongue. Sawney on the other hand sighed with audible relief.

"G'wan, g'wan, that's the spirit! I'm glad to hear yer onboard!" His grin was wide and his eyes bright. "So, then it's settled, that's what we'll do."

Tagg didn't respond. He only listened to the distant crash of waves with knots in his guts over what he had just agreed to. The two fell silent again, each mulling their respective thoughts. Their small fire finally smoldered and snuffed itself without Sawney's insistent prodding. It was getting late after all. Even Juska still up chatting or cleaning blades around the main fire had started to tuck in for the night.

After a while, Sawney stood, grumbling a curse at his popping joints. He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders and ambled towards his tent.

"I know I been a nag lately, Tagg, but ye'll see," the stoat said quietly as he passed. "Once ye make yer first real kill tomorrow, nobeast will dare think low of ye. Trust me! No need to look so glum." He leaned to tweak his son's ears affectionately, and Tagg swatted him away in mock annoyance.

"Buzzy old fly," the otter laughed. This time the sound came effortlessly.

"Pah! Old, he says. This old fly can still bite ye to hell, watch it," Sawney huffed lazily. "Get some rest so ye can get the jump on them poachers bright 'n early."

"Yea, yea."

"G'night, Tagg."

"G'night, da."

Sawney disappeared into his tent, leaving Tagg alone with the moon and his thoughts.

Bristling anxiety began to find its home inside the otter's chest. He could understand that behind Sawney's recent pressure, there was surely only a father trying to encourage his son. The stoat wanted to see Tagg fit in, and of course Tagg wanted that too. Wandering Juskan eyes and hidden sneers were always stray reminders that he didn't.

Above that, he wanted to make his father proud. The stoat was the only family he knew, one who had done so much for him. Tagg couldn't remember his early days as a pup, but Grissoul had once told him the story of how his father took him in. He had quickly gathered that it was scandalous for the Juska chief. That inspired gratitude within him, but just beneath laid a growing layer of guilt for the debt. To pay it, surely one murderous task shouldn't be too heavy a burden. And maybe once Tagg crested that hill, he would look back and realize it wasn't so scary.

Those reassurances did little to dash away his worries, though. Throughout the night, they instead swelled with the sound of waves crashing over his dreams.

Ah goddammit, Outcast has been living rent-free in my head for the last two weeks now. I love that book, and I hate that book, and I wish the subject matter had been handled better. And no, I don't care if anyone thinks the "dumb kiddie animal books" are cringe as hell, this is my brain right now. I want to gather that kid up in my arms and protect him because goddammit the people who should have been able to put their issues aside and protected him just failed that kid so damn hard. Nature versus Nurture my ass, gah.

Do not @ me. I am feeling feels right now. Even twelve year-old me thought that whole thing was fucked up.

Badrang and Clogg are ex-boyfriends send tweet

Maybe if you didn’t want me to grow up to be a furry, you shouldn’t have allowed me to read Guardians of Ga’hoole, Redwall, or Warriors when I was a small impressionable child

Rereading The Bellmaker and oh my god these bitches* gay. Good for them. Good for them.

*Rufe Brush and Durry Quill