camp the one to survive — reunion [ pafp ]

[DUSKPOOL]

anger makes you stupid . stupid gets you killed .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Things were far from great, but Duskpool allowed a small sliver of hope to fester just beneath a palpitating black heart, molten copper staring idly across the camp. Quiet moments like this despite the low thrum of conversation permitting the pine-smelled air did the battered tom dwell on those he lost—Lostmoon and Jaggedstorm, even his old man who never told him his name. He snorted, open-mawed and grinning bitterly beneath the shrouded darkness from the towering pines that dusted his obsidian fur with tiny flecks of light.

He had nearly been consumed in grief, maybe he still was, but Duskpool, hypocritical since his talk with Johnnyflame continued to dive headfirst into patrol after patrol, taking little rest until his body nearly collapsed out from beneath him begging for rest. It was where he was now, resting with prickling skin and willing his damn body to get a hold of itself.

His thoughts broke like fragile bone, molten copper staring at a torti-colored frame, so much like—Duskpool stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath, clear to anyone closest. The battered warrior pulled himself onto massive paws, padding further out to stare with wide, heavy-lidded optics. It’d been a while since his mind crafted pointless hallucinations and he couldn’t help but wonder if his mind was playing tricks on him now. Sleep-deprived and stomach twisting itself into knots from hunger that the male never did fully quench. “S, Shiori?” His voice wavered, so uncharacteristic of the usual monotone warrior that he nearly collapsed right then and there, staring at the figure.

His son. His child. Was he really here? Duskpool wondered if this was fate’s cruel way of lulling him into a false sense of safety, reuniting him with his sister and now his only living son with his—The obsidian warrior grimaced, thoughts of Sinikka pooling heavily into his mind, of blue tortoiseshell fur and raspy voice, of three newborn kits slaughtered beneath foul-smelling jaws that stunk of death. His last connection, shame, and heartbreak fell over him like restless waves, but that didn’t stop the loud rumble rattling a scarred chest. “Yer here.” He spoke, refusing to let his voice waver, staring at a ghost, but his son was real and not some … star-awful memory that left him gasping for breath. “Yer here.” He mumbled, breathless, more like a silent mumble in self-reassurance than anythin’ else.

/ please wait for @SHIORI. ​

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thought speech​

 

[HOLLYWHISPER.]

It's not something he frequently likes to think about, but Shiori, in fact, does get lonely. There's nights, sometimes, where he simply pretends to be asleep, and thinks. Sometimes he thinks about a certain tabby that he truly, dearly detests, sometimes he thinks about those he has met during the time he's spent in SkyClan, and sometimes he thinks of what he has lost. In truth, most of his nights are spent like that, forcing himself to just pretend he's vulnerable and being alone with thoughts that he's never wanted to tell anyone.

It's hard to believe that, in a place with so many cats, a place with community like SkyClan, Shiori would feel so alone. But he does, and yet still he chooses to keep everyone at tail's length despite this feeling that he hides behind his grin. Because he's afraid that, once someone sees the true him, they'll either leave on their own will or be torn away from him, like everyone else. Funny, how Cal was the only who seemed to stick around when the feeling the other always evoked was 'hatred'.

It's not often that he hears his name - mostly during his shadowing of a warrior and lessons on Clan customs and the like. This time, it's a new voice, and the fact he's being referred to at all is a surprise. He doesn't recognize it, at least, not at first. "That is, in fact, my name," he begins, turning around to face the cat who is approaching.

He, who is familiar, but with differences from the last time he saw him.

For once, Shiori halts his act, copper eyes wide, jaws parted as he gasps. The next breath is shaky - he wants to cry but he won't allow himself to, not even for this. The tortoiseshell pads closer, knowing that this may be the first - and last - time most of SkyClan sees his true self, and in a small, quiet voice he whispers an affirmation, "I'm here, Papa."

(He simply hopes that Cal doesn't see him like this - when he is truly, utterly vulnerable...)

"Speech"​

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SOMETIMES THAT LONELY LOVE DEFILES YOU​

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[DUSKPOOL]

anger makes you stupid . stupid gets you killed .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

A ghost—Duskpool nearly buckled beneath the weight of memories for a son he thought to be dead since the indecent, echoes of low-guttural snarls echoed the empty alleyway as he tore across the concrete hoping to lead the drool-dripping beasts away from the last tether he had to life. It was a time Duskpool unwillingly thought of, refused to, determined to take it to his grave.

Unbeknownst to him, Duskpool’s hues watered at the sight of Shiori, inscrutable mask slipping just slightly. His heart shuddered, paw steps coming to a halt, watching his son ( his son ) pad closer whispering words he didn’t dare hope to hear again. Thoughts strayed to a warrior ceremony his first to call him dad had nearly made him crumble, but now now Duskpool could feel his limbs grow heavy with emotion.

He grinned, soft and bittersweet against a scarred muzzle, contrasting against his gruff nature and so horribly out in the open, but right now, Duskpool felt his heart soar with unimaginable happiness that he hadn’t dared let himself feel since the beginning. To hope was foolish. To feel deserving of anything was a pipe dream he accepted, even force.

Since Lostmoon’s death, Duskpool had felt numb. Brightflame. Jaggedstorm. And yet, Circe appeared. His little sister. A slow flickering hope nestled beneath his beating heart—black, coated in a heavy wall of thorns. He had been something that he never thought possible since losing his family. His tether to life, itself.

The smokey warrior laughed wetly. “I can see that, kiddo.” He mumbled, stepping forward to press his muzzle against his son’s helm, breath shaky. “I thought—” He rasped, sighing softly. “Never mind what I thought.” He rumbled, pressing the other into the wooly fur of his front in a hug, helm still resting lightly against the other. “I missed ya so much, kiddo. So much.” He whispered.

Questions plagued his mind, slipping away to stare at Shiroi with bittersweet hues. Just what happened after he led those damn dogs away? Who took care of them? His whiskers quivering, breathing deeply. The older warrior wanted to make amends to the last thing he had of his deceased mate, for abandoning them. A life he hadn’t wanted for his children. He had wanted a peaceful life, a good life for his kids, to raise them in an upwalker’s garden, abandoned, but it would have been home. To teach them things as they grew older. “Ya gotten so big, eh, kiddo?” He rumbled, tone the softest it had ever been, molten hues glistening with unushered tears.

/ this is so late, i'm so sorry ​

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thought speech​