private FALL INTO ME 𓆩♡𓆪 MALLOWLARK

[DAWNGLARE]

While the rest of SkyClan’s sick tuck their heads into spare nests — some of them hastily thrown together, with the rate at which the plague had spread— Dawnglare had laid his mate gently past the weavings of their own shared nest., One that had felt only his own again for far too long. It is no pinnacle of neatness in itself. Who had time to pluck out frayed ends or trail the birds for their molt, when your teeth threatened to stain green from the vigor of your work?

The nest was only special due to what lay inside, not for its craftsmanship or softness. It is special, because it is theirs, and it would be so for as long as Mallowlark breathed. Please keep breathing.

Dawnglare gives him herbs dolloped in honey. Feverfew was not bitter in the same way that Lungwort was. It did not need covering up just to keep it down — but he felt that he owed that sweetness to him, with how far he’s stayed away; and how inevitably, Mallowlark’s mind may string him along to madness. Dawnglare offers him pleading eyes; a frown that curls waveringly along his maw. " I'm sorry. " He should have known sooner— the thought has heavy guilt scratching its way up his spine. " This wasn’t– s’wasn’t supposed to happen. " He wonders if he hasn’t prayed hard enough, for Her to turn Her eyes to him. Surely, that could not be true.

A pale paw ghosts achingly over an ear, still scalding under its receeding fever. He feels that if he did not touch him; Mallowlark would be untethered to the mortal world, left adrift, and for his soul to float freely to the open sky. He if Mallowlark sees him, like this. If it made any sense to him at all. His eyes are rheumy as he curls over the fallen form his mate. He just wants to see his eyes. See that they are clear, and full of life. By his smile — surely there must be something. " You– you will live for me, won't you? " A selfish ask, he knows.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 9.16.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• OOC: @MALLOWLARK !!!!

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 56 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  You may find him kinder to others than is typical, exhausted from the yellowcough blight and heart heavy in a way he has never felt.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

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[MALLOWLARK]

No longer did his grin occupy his features, but there was still a smile, in this company. How could he bear to do anything else? When he was sad, he smiled. When he was angry, he smiled. Now, when he was losing himself, he would still smile.

His throat was slick with honey, silver eyes half-lidded, as he lay in the embrace of his home. The temporary nest he had been taking up in the warrior's den had not been this- herb-clung and crafted by snow-soaked paws that would never hurt him. What he had left behind in WindClan was for this shared nest, this shared time that still sometimes felt scandalously stolen beneath scarlet moon-shine. A gaze of slate fluttered for a few moments at the brush of a paw against his ears, at stuttered sweetness. I'm sorry, Dawnglare said, and Mallowlark could only breathe in response.

What was destined, what was not... Mallowlark had always believed that everything that happened was supposed to happen. But this- Dawnglare, saying it was wrong, saying this couldn't be destiny- if he only had the strength, he'd rip them away from nature itself. Nature, that deemed this sickness destined to find him. His words were whispered, hoarse as they slid from the gap of an ajar smile. "Please don't be sorry," he said. I only ever want to make you happy. That was what he had said, wasn't it? But sorry wasn't happy.

Another home embraced him, then- Dawnglare himself. Sleepy silver met clear blue- his vision was hazy still, torn still, but he fought through it to meet those eyes. Fought fatigue, fought all the soreness that pulsed in his muscles. You will live for me, won't you? And as Mallowlark blinked, a tear fell. He seized against Dawnglare's velvet warmth with a sob, too sad that he had to ask. "I... I love y-you," he said, a shuddering breath pulled in. Pine and herbs, honey-sweetness, wound through the tear-slick and into his lungs. It was the most important thing to say, and an answer in itself. "I'll live forever," And in delirium he was not sure what he meant. As long as you need me.​

☺PENNED BY PIN​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

It’s unfair, he thinks, that the last of Mallowlark’s strength is bitten out for his own comfort. On his mate’s whim, he would like to do as he says. He would do most anything, if it were for him. On his own whim, he feels that he ought to be sorry; that Mallowlark deserved to have another wail for his downfall. It is paradoxical, like this; the impossibility of knowing which whim to follow. If he were to accept unconditionally, the weight of his guilt would wash away like dirt from his fur.

He does not, though— cannot. Not now, when he shudders beneath the weight of his fever; when the flash of teeth is exchanged for a closed, straining smile. Not when Mallowlark threatens to slip from their shared nest, doomed to fall, fall into a place even he could not pull him from. He tethers a hold, in soft remedies that can lessen, but never vanquish. To pull away, Dawnglare fears would only be a death sentence. No, he would remain. He would remain for as long as it was possible— he would witness every fall behind the eyes and every sign of fog.

The well of tears comes, and morbidly, he is rapt. A mournful wait is held back by the mash of his lips, thinning to a broken whimper.

And it’s been too long. Too long, since he has told him. " And I, you, " A pale paw across alabaster fur. Like this, they meld together. Mallowlark’s tears become his own. I'll live forever. And he could cry, because he knows that isn’t true, no matter how dearly he would like it to be.

Split decision; be pulls away, only to tuck himself closer. It feels like eternity, since he’s been awash amongst pale, pale fur. His avoidance had been useless— and now, unecessary. If he had no other excuse, like this, he could feel the beating of Mallowlark’s heart; and would surely know if it were to ever stop. He bumps his head to Mallowlark’s cheek, and he lays. " Never– " His throat is suddenly tight. Distress, certainly. " I won’t– I won’t leave you again. " Limp, he is lost to his exhaustion; lost to his love. " I missed you. "

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 9.16.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

•  

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 56 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  You may find him kinder to others than is typical, exhausted from the yellowcough blight and heart heavy in a way he has never felt.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

And I, you. Had he nothing else to live for, Mallowlark might have heard those words and slipped away at once, holding what was dear to him and knowing- past all the avoidance, past all the separation, Dawnglare still loved him. It had been a fear the alabaster tom had, up until now, been unaware of- that in absence his mate's heart had dwelled upon things that he was grateful for in lonesomeness, and they would not ever be able to rekindle what was lit beneath the blood-moon.

Against silken ghost-fur, against bronze dawn, he smiled. It was strained still, forced past the sadness that swelled within him. It was horrible how, even in this closeness, he feared. Whatever laid beneath his flesh, writhed beneath his skin- this plague only curable by undoubtedly foul-tasting leaves- would still somehow reach his mate. Hiccuping into his touch, Mallowlark selfishly could not will himself to shrug him away. "I missed you too," he croaked, his voice more childlike than he'd intended it to sound. Vocal chords had been plucked by coughs until they were frayed.

Leaning against Dawnglare's cheek, he felt a breath leave him with quavering instability. A sob, again. He couldn't stop himself, and it wasn't because he thought he was going to die. Really, he didn't know why at all.

"I- I hate it has to... it has to be like this." His voice was thick. Mallowlark was unsure he'd ever spoken of anything that he hated before. In fact he was rather unsure if he'd ever hated anything at all, even WindClan's seemingly-uncorrectable rot. "I, I- I don't want you to cry," and it was hypocritical because he cried too. His pink tongue poked from a quivering smile, wearily reaching to wipe away a falling tear. "I'm-"

A cough interrupted him. Morbid timing. "I'm gonna be alright. You..." Misty silver, not-all-there but spilling with adoration past the pain of immobilising sickness, met teary blue. "You're wonderful..." ​

☺PENNED BY PIN​