sensitive topics cry baby — dawnstorm

[RATWHISKER]

power belongs to those who take it .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

/ nothing graphic, just some minor mental / physical abuse at play, but it isn't extreme

A snarl ripped out from deep within his throat, body circling Dawnstorm with narrowed hues, teeth bared as he snapped his jaws at the bi-colored tom’s flank, missing the supple flesh by mere inches. “You bring me shame, boy.” He hissed, pausing his scrutinization to stare at his son, tail lashing angrily behind him in rapid, snappish strokes. “To think I gave you a moment of my time and be repaid with this utter nonsense. Did you learn anything? I know you are peculiar, but I did not think you were talentless, but perhaps you’ve grown lazy over the moons.” He rumbled, cursing his lack of vigilance.

All his hard work went into training his bastard of a son, the outcast that should have died, but fate seemed to say otherwise, laughing in his face like the foxhearts they were. “If you can get injured, then perhaps that means you aren’t training enough.” He rumbled. “I have been neglecting, I will admit, but it seems I cannot just stand back and let you handle it, otherwise, you will embarrass me even more than you’ve already done, traitor.” He added, continuing his languid stride, circling the silent warrior with a loud tsk in disgust.

“Another lesson shall do.” He added, quieter this time, yellow hues narrowing in affirmation. To see if his past teachings hadn’t gone in one ear and out the other, Ratwhisker lunged forward without warning, aiming a heavy swipe of his forepaw at Dawnstorm’s helm, intending to pull his bearings from the get-go. Another aimed strike landed true, drawing beads of blood to the surface, ichor staining the lighter side of his son’s frame.

He was ruthless in his attacks, claws outstretched and sinking tiny pinpricks into Dawnstorm’s skin, circling the younger warrior with a sneer.

@DAWNSTORM ​

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thought speech​

 

[DAWNSTORM]

die with memories , not dreams .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The bi-colored warrior remained silent, helm tilted downward, ears flat against his helm, listening to his father’s well-deserved lecture, which often led to unfortunate circumstances, ones that he took in large strides. He remembered their faces as if this wasn’t normal, but this was to make him better. He had grown sloppy, muscles weary and in desperate need of rest that he stubbornly refused since the beginning, since—Dawnstorm swallowed harshly, unable to let go of the last fleeting memory that remained.

His head throbbed painfully in reminder, emotions running wild, and organization was a tattered mess of thoughts that made no sense. He was confused, grief-stricken, and so desperately wanting to make sure his family was alright, was safe above his own. He worked diligently, never taking too much and never asking for anything in return, always taking the smallest, skeleton-like prey in the fresh-kill pile as if that would amount to anything, but he tired.

“Yes, Father.” He replied numbly, staring ahead, bi-colored hues downcast as his helm remained upward, shoulders pulled back, tail pooling around his hindlegs, nearly curling around them in a poor motion to self-soothe. “I’m s—” He paused, swallowing. Do not apologize unless you plan to improve. He thought wearily, wincing. He would never amount to anything, not at this rate, maybe never and Dawnstorm wasn’t sure what stung more. The fact his father would never be proud of him or the fact he wouldn’t ever improve as a warrior—maybe not as a RiverClanner, but he was alright with that. He learned his lesson. He knew. He was a traitor who hadn’t raised his claws but had made his choice that day.

He wasn’t trying enough. His heart sunk, stomach-churning bitterly. Of course. He thought, mismatched hues shifting away from his father’s paws to stare elsewhere. He had lost against Mosspool, and when Ratwhisker continued his slow circle like a hungry vulture, Dawnstorm couldn’t help but shrink into himself.

Another lesson shall do. His breath shuddered, muscles spasming against mind-numbing tension, unable to dodge the heavy aimed blow to the head, the bi-colored tom grunted in discomfort, teeth-gritting as another strike—claws hooking into tender skin—drew beads of ichor, staining the pale fur of his shoulder blade. He barely noticed, well-tuned to overcome the gradual pain, numb from moons worth of training just like this since he was small.

His head throbbed painfully, doubling tenfold, paw quivering, wanting to press into the pulsating flesh but withheld the motion, helm serving following his father’s predatory circle, shoulders pulled inward, breath coming out in short, painful puffs. Failure. His mind whispered, tone taking on a dangerous tilt, opening the gateway to thoughts he had learned to silence, paving the way through flesh and blood and making its home in the harsh beat of his heart.

His teeth gritted, face pulling into neutrality, Dawnstorm surged forward, claws sheathed to land a hefty blow to Ratwhisker’s flank, slipping away with a quick stumble of paws. His chest heaved, helm throbbing in tandem with the rapid beat of his heart, blocking out the harsh sounds of breathing and Ratwhisker’s low thrum, sneering words that blurred the lines of reality.

It felt like hours, sharing blows, blood welling up with each well-aimed hit against bruised skin, but that didn’t go to say Dawnstorm didn’t dish out his brutal attacks, narrowly knocking his father off his paws if he hadn’t hesitated.

Father is right. I am—He jerked, ears flat against his helm, letting his body slam into the unforgiving dirt, a black mass standing above him with gleaming teeth, claws pillowing deeper into supple flesh drawing a pained grunt from the bi-colored warrior. He was supposed to fight. He was supposed to fight. His mind thrummed, groggy and starry-eyed, Dawnstorm felt himself go limp, chest shuddering as blood caked and dried against swallow cuts, some deeper, but nothing that needed Ravensong’s attention ( at least that’s what Ratwhisker thought when he stared at his son’s broken frame ).

Dawnstorm wanted to whine. Hurts. His sluggish mind added, wanting to curl into himself, but just the thought of moving made his brain pulse in disagreement, stomach churning. He felt like a failure, maybe he was one, hesitating when it hadn’t even been an actual fight, but nothing mattered more than the looming shadow spiraling sharp spikes of fear into his battered skin. His bi-colored hues shrunk, staring into sharp yellow hues. “M’sorry.” His words were sluggish, sounding wrong, the only thing he could say, pleading. ​

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thought speech​

 

[RATWHISKER]

power belongs to those who take it .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Ratwhisker breathed shakily, muscles sore, but anger radiated off of him in waves, muzzle wrinkled in a sneer, sharp hues peering down at Dawnstorm’s battered frame in contemplation. “You disgust me.” He splats with a burning fist, circling his fallen sound, speech sluggish and gaze unfocused, it didn’t take a genesis to realize something was wrong. Of course, the warrior couldn’t find it within himself to care. Go ahead. He wanted to hiss, leering down at his only living kin with burning hues. Perish.

His ears burned in shame, helm swiveling away with a loud huff, disappointment dripping from his frame steadily. You will never be them. It was an admission that he would have to live with, to save himself from further embarrassment. Dawnstorm is far from ready. Ratwhisker would simply just have to be a prominent figure in his child’s progress, otherwise, RiverClan would never have the warrior they needed, perfect in every way.

“Clean yourself up, boy. Do not return until tonight, or there will be consequences.” I hope you learned your lesson. Dawnstorm gave a meek nod. “It would be wise to speak when spoken to.” He rumbled in warning, hearing the sluggish yes, father and giving a satisfied nod. “Good. It will be in your best interest to listen the next time. This would have never happened if only you listened.” He rumbled. This is your fault. He implied. Take responsibility.

“I will turn you into one of RiverClan’s finest warriors the waters have ever seen. I hope you won’t disappoint me.” With that, the black-furred warrior padded off, leaving his son’s life in nature’s paw, tail whisking above his shoulders, intending to wash off the blood and scent and carry something back for the clan to enjoy. ​

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thought speech​