- Jun 15, 2023
- 98
- 7
- 8
die with memories , not dreams .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
/ some graphic mentions of blood and death, but this is a super late oneshot for the red water rogue plot
His breath shuddered — quick and unsteady like the quivering beat of his heart — anticipation running frenzied through pulsating veins, sending him into a nervous breakdown. It was hidden behind the dull sheen of bi-colored hues and lackluster expression. Dull. Pathetic. He felt sick. His stomach churned unpleasantly. With each breath, it became harder and harder to suck in a healthy amount of air into deflating lungs. This. This wasn’t what he wanted. A frown tugged harshly at bitten lips, skin torn and rubbed raw from his pillage, chewing relentlessly on sensitive flesh because this was what his father wanted. To be an obedient follower, never questioning and never disobeying.
That was all he’d ever be in the eyes of his father who sneered as words of iron ripped skin apart, ichor flowing freely in rivets down patched fur while Dawnstorm curled up, twitching pathetically. As words pulverized flesh, making home into marred flesh effortlessly. The bi-colored tom didn’t want that, instead willingly following someone and believing in them. It was what Ratwhisker had tried ( and failed ) to beat out of him since kittenhood.
To say Dawnstorm wasn’t terrified was an understatement with anxiety-ridden skin buzzing and blistering beneath the stares. The thought of sinking teeth and claws into skin — into family was horrifying. He still cared. He did. Sasha would always be his closest friend (besides Frondfeather ). No matter what she did. She was still his friend. Maybe that was the problem. The reason Ratwhisker hated him.
He cared too much.
A naive idiot who burnt to cinders — nothing more than someone who couldn’t decide where his loyalties lie. It was odd. Something Dawnstorm couldn’t explain with words, nor the emotions that ran rampant through his mind.
The bi-colored male was sure that his father would be scowling, bitterness shining in yellow optics — disgusted with the sight of his wavering loyalties. Why couldn’t they understand? To voice his thoughts would sentence him to exile and Dawnstorm couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the rest of the Ripple Colony. To attack his friends and family was appalling, leaving him weak and out of breath, but still, he carried on beside RiverClan warriors with haste.
He wondered ( briefly ) why he joined, but Dawnstorm couldn’t answer that with a distinct answer. He wanted to see them, brief as it’ll be. He saw them with his eyes before blood saturated the battlefield. Nor was he a RiverClanner. Not to them ( and to himself ). A bitter fact that tasted like iron in his mouth, tongue curling in disgust. He accepted it. He was fine with it, but why did his heart squeeze painfully every time?
Why did it hurt so much?
Dawnstorm chuffed, low and subtle against the backdrop of walking cats; even if they didn’t see him as a clanmate. Dawnstorm didn’t want to see them harmed even if they wouldn’t mind finding something to label him a traitor — tossed to exile and ridding themselves of a regret. Not all of them. No. Hazecloud. Willowroot. Others. He was thankful for them, but sometimes Dawnstorm wondered if he deserved their kindness.
Their kindness and defense made him question several things, especially the words spewed from his father. How could others remain beside a failure? He shivered, overwhelmed by the flare of emotions running rampant. Things he couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. Not right now. Later. Yes. Much later when he wasn’t—Dawnstorm stumbled, barely catching himself at the sudden collision, vision swimming with a grunt. His muzzle wrinkled, teeth slipping past dark-hued lips, sound reverberating in a rumbled growl, the bi-colored tom charged, intending to ram into the enemy and use his massive build against their slimmer frame, successfully knocking them over with an angry yowl.
Moons’ worth of skill came into light as teeth sank into pliable, unfamiliar flesh. His chest heaved with a rumbled snarl, lips pulling into a silent snarl. Dawnstorm grabbled with the rogue, bodies tussling across the landscape in a sea of blood and shredded fur. For Frondfeather and Dewcloud. Hazecloud. Willowroot. For them. He would fight, even if it made his heart scream. He owned it to them. To his new family.
He’d be selfish to run away when they’ve lost so much. He wouldn’t bear the thought of not knowing what would happen to them if he perished. If he had gone with them? Dawnstorm’s stomach churned from the bitter thought. This time, Dawnstorm wouldn’t be the reason they’d have to mourn again — to fear for their futures in RiverClan. He wouldn’t be selfish because this was his family — new and uncharted, but precious.
Naturally, Dawnstorm had always been good at ignoring his emotions. Letting them sink in quicksand until nothing but the sliver of it echoed. With a muffled hiss, the chimera shifted his weight, teeth still plunged deep within bloodied flesh, he pulled, forcing them to land above him with a muffled oof as their body slumped against his flank. Dawnstorm rolled them over, teeth barely leaving the flesh to grip onto a new point, feeling a fresh pool of ichor flood his senses until the body laid still, having bit into their jugular without hesitance.
Killing someone — Dawnstorm frowned, indifference hues staring at their corpse. It wasn’t his first, feeling unfamiliar and sickly, but he hadn’t regretted it. Not if it meant protecting what little had left. Dawnstorm would do whatever it took, even if some still felt uncertain of his presence. He didn’t blame them. He was still unsure of the future and where this would take him, but for now, he could only focus on the present.
That was enough.
His breath shuddered — quick and unsteady like the quivering beat of his heart — anticipation running frenzied through pulsating veins, sending him into a nervous breakdown. It was hidden behind the dull sheen of bi-colored hues and lackluster expression. Dull. Pathetic. He felt sick. His stomach churned unpleasantly. With each breath, it became harder and harder to suck in a healthy amount of air into deflating lungs. This. This wasn’t what he wanted. A frown tugged harshly at bitten lips, skin torn and rubbed raw from his pillage, chewing relentlessly on sensitive flesh because this was what his father wanted. To be an obedient follower, never questioning and never disobeying.
That was all he’d ever be in the eyes of his father who sneered as words of iron ripped skin apart, ichor flowing freely in rivets down patched fur while Dawnstorm curled up, twitching pathetically. As words pulverized flesh, making home into marred flesh effortlessly. The bi-colored tom didn’t want that, instead willingly following someone and believing in them. It was what Ratwhisker had tried ( and failed ) to beat out of him since kittenhood.
To say Dawnstorm wasn’t terrified was an understatement with anxiety-ridden skin buzzing and blistering beneath the stares. The thought of sinking teeth and claws into skin — into family was horrifying. He still cared. He did. Sasha would always be his closest friend (besides Frondfeather ). No matter what she did. She was still his friend. Maybe that was the problem. The reason Ratwhisker hated him.
He cared too much.
A naive idiot who burnt to cinders — nothing more than someone who couldn’t decide where his loyalties lie. It was odd. Something Dawnstorm couldn’t explain with words, nor the emotions that ran rampant through his mind.
The bi-colored male was sure that his father would be scowling, bitterness shining in yellow optics — disgusted with the sight of his wavering loyalties. Why couldn’t they understand? To voice his thoughts would sentence him to exile and Dawnstorm couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the rest of the Ripple Colony. To attack his friends and family was appalling, leaving him weak and out of breath, but still, he carried on beside RiverClan warriors with haste.
He wondered ( briefly ) why he joined, but Dawnstorm couldn’t answer that with a distinct answer. He wanted to see them, brief as it’ll be. He saw them with his eyes before blood saturated the battlefield. Nor was he a RiverClanner. Not to them ( and to himself ). A bitter fact that tasted like iron in his mouth, tongue curling in disgust. He accepted it. He was fine with it, but why did his heart squeeze painfully every time?
Why did it hurt so much?
Dawnstorm chuffed, low and subtle against the backdrop of walking cats; even if they didn’t see him as a clanmate. Dawnstorm didn’t want to see them harmed even if they wouldn’t mind finding something to label him a traitor — tossed to exile and ridding themselves of a regret. Not all of them. No. Hazecloud. Willowroot. Others. He was thankful for them, but sometimes Dawnstorm wondered if he deserved their kindness.
Their kindness and defense made him question several things, especially the words spewed from his father. How could others remain beside a failure? He shivered, overwhelmed by the flare of emotions running rampant. Things he couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. Not right now. Later. Yes. Much later when he wasn’t—Dawnstorm stumbled, barely catching himself at the sudden collision, vision swimming with a grunt. His muzzle wrinkled, teeth slipping past dark-hued lips, sound reverberating in a rumbled growl, the bi-colored tom charged, intending to ram into the enemy and use his massive build against their slimmer frame, successfully knocking them over with an angry yowl.
Moons’ worth of skill came into light as teeth sank into pliable, unfamiliar flesh. His chest heaved with a rumbled snarl, lips pulling into a silent snarl. Dawnstorm grabbled with the rogue, bodies tussling across the landscape in a sea of blood and shredded fur. For Frondfeather and Dewcloud. Hazecloud. Willowroot. For them. He would fight, even if it made his heart scream. He owned it to them. To his new family.
He’d be selfish to run away when they’ve lost so much. He wouldn’t bear the thought of not knowing what would happen to them if he perished. If he had gone with them? Dawnstorm’s stomach churned from the bitter thought. This time, Dawnstorm wouldn’t be the reason they’d have to mourn again — to fear for their futures in RiverClan. He wouldn’t be selfish because this was his family — new and uncharted, but precious.
Naturally, Dawnstorm had always been good at ignoring his emotions. Letting them sink in quicksand until nothing but the sliver of it echoed. With a muffled hiss, the chimera shifted his weight, teeth still plunged deep within bloodied flesh, he pulled, forcing them to land above him with a muffled oof as their body slumped against his flank. Dawnstorm rolled them over, teeth barely leaving the flesh to grip onto a new point, feeling a fresh pool of ichor flood his senses until the body laid still, having bit into their jugular without hesitance.
Killing someone — Dawnstorm frowned, indifference hues staring at their corpse. It wasn’t his first, feeling unfamiliar and sickly, but he hadn’t regretted it. Not if it meant protecting what little had left. Dawnstorm would do whatever it took, even if some still felt uncertain of his presence. He didn’t blame them. He was still unsure of the future and where this would take him, but for now, he could only focus on the present.
That was enough.
thought speech