Concave

For Dogwood's contest.

'A/N: I'm not a LGBTphobe, however, the main character of the story, Blizzardleaf, is. I am writing in his POV. I am NOT a LGBTphobe in anyway. If you're sensitive to things like LGBTphobia you do not have to read. I obviously don't think a gender or a sexuality is a choice. Please keep in mind this is in the narrow mind of old Blizzardleaf. I also love psychology and psychiatry so BLIZZARDLEAF ISN'T ME OKAY DONE'

'And there is more to his character apart from that. (I don't like him though he's the biggest a-hole I've ever written)'

Prologue
My name is Blizzardleaf.

I am a white tom with blazing copper eyes.

I am also a medicine cat.

My job is to look after my Clanmates mentally and physically, to nurture those in shock with a condoling voice, to diagnose the mentally ill with clarity and intelligence prevalent in my tone, to bandage deep wounds with winding cobwebs and wide leaves and serve my patients water-soaked moss bundles.

I also have the ability to communicate with StarClan, the heavenly tribe. Our ancestors reside in Silverpelt. I believe in StarClan very strongly; I have no tolerance for heathens! Shun the non-believers, shun.

You may think my beliefs are toxic. But I don't really care, in all honesty.

Ah, yes, the medicine cat topic. I excel at this task, not trying to brag or anything. But if someone really knew me, my soul, my heart, my desires, my dreams... I would not be the correct cat up for the task.

You see, I'm more than just a mere, stereotypical kind, sweet, loving and submissive medicine cat who has an innocent belief in StarClan.

My heart is a concave.

Chapter One
I've just diagnosed her kit with Dependent Personality Disorder.

The queen, Larchwhisker, is in distress. Her tears were acidic, streaming down her cheeks, dissolving into her skin and burning away her flesh, bubbling liquid trickling from her empty skull as the toxicity formed a puddle around her paws, emotions unfurling and slipping out of her unhinged maw.

"It's okay, Larchwhisker," I said, sympathy in my tone. "We can work through it. There are plenty of strategies, alright?"

"D-do you know what type she has...?" Larchwhisker sniffled through her tears.

I waved my tail side from side, the movement subtle. "I don't know yet. We'll organise another appointment to figure that one out," I turned to the older apprentice, Cherrypaw. "I'm always here if you need me. You two are free to leave now."

The pair nodded, expressions numb, as they exited the den.

I let out a breath and sat down, replaying the session in my mind. That Cherrypaw should be ashamed, I thought angrily; my least favourite part of being a medicine cat was definitely the psychology and psychiatry part. I don't trust cats who are mentally ill.

I watched the camp from the entrance of my den; it was evening, the night settling in. This is when we're most active; contrary to popular belief, us cats are crepuscular, and prefer to hang around at dawn and dusk hours rather than at the peak of sunhigh.

As I was watching, I noticed something.

Something that was wrong.

Against everything I knew.

Two she-cats.

Rubbing against each other.

Tails entwined.

Their gazes meeting.

Molly-mesmerisers.I snarled in my head.

You're probably wondering what i mean by "molly-mesmeriser". I should never say that term aloud here in my Clan. A molly-mesmeriser is a female feline who seduces or flirts with other she-cats. It's a slur and incredibly offensive as it's not the "proper term". I can, unfortunately, only say it in my head.

The she-cats are Sedgeheart and Asterflower, are they mates now? Interesting. My mind immediately flashed back to the mangled corpse of Bramblethorn; a she-cat who didn't feel like a she-cat, who chose to be a tom instead and use male pronouns. That pathetic cat paid for their choices. And so will these she-cats, for loving each other.

Love can only be between a tom and she-cat.

Chapter Two
-TBA-