sensitive topics until i found you — whitelion

[SPIDERLILY]

to be reborn , you have to die first .​

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶​

/ tw for depression , nightmares , gore

Spiderlilly watched with bumbling affection as his kit stumbled around with little fear of his surroundings, trusting his dam even before he opened his eyes to see the world for himself. The ghostly feline hummed, watching as the kit nuzzled his flank in search of milk until the tom nudged the small bundle towards his nipple, latching on with blunt teeth, nursing to his heart's content.

He turned, watching his mate with affectionate hues, finally content with the life they painstakingly created together. He was home. He was happy. It was odd. The blaring wrongness of everything, but Spiderlily ignored it, meeting sweet amber with a loud purr who returned it, just as loud.

Why does this feel odd? He thought with furrowed brows, helm turning to peer at the bundle against his flank until the howling started sending chills down the lengths of his spine. “Koa—” He whipped around, only to gawk in horror as the familiar reddish fur of a fox appeared, muzzle deep into his mate's side, spilling guts and blood across the floor, forever staining it.

He cried out, struggling to stand, only to hear the sickening crunch of tiny bones. His blood ran cold. With quivering optics, Spiderlily peered down at what remained of his kit, stumbling back with a grief-stricken wail.

“Tsukiko?” He muttered, nudging the limp frame, optics heavy with unushered tears. He killed—Spiderlily stumbled, helm turning to stare at the blood-soaked ground, elbow-deep until he was suffocating. His maw opened in a silent scream, optics whitening until everything stopped.

Spiderlily jerked upward with a choked scream, chest heaving with muffled cries, heart palpitating. He scrambled, grappling anything nearest until beads of blood bubbled up against his forearm, tearing clumps of fur matted between blood-tipped claws. ​

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thought speech​

 

[WHITELION]

make peace with your broken pieces .​

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶​

Whitelion had suggested they take a walk, away from the bustle of camp life until they stumbled on a hollowed-out tree where they took refuge, listening to nature’s music with quiet conversation. He hummed, curled around Spiderlily’s smaller form with an air of protectiveness, peering out across the lands with golden curiosity.

It was never dull, no matter how much Spider complained about its mundane properties, although he could admit that clan life had its negativities, not one could ever outshine the possibilities. Life was unpredictable. He’ll admit.

Never one to stay for long before moving on to the next adventure with a few naps in between, enjoying the thrills of life until he settled down, finding Thunder to be his permanent home until he grew grey around the muzzle. He had craved a place to come home to after his long journeys, wishing to tell someone about his tales of great monsters and battles he fought with comrades and towering nests even bigger than the pine in which they rested.

He grunted at the sudden kick to his hind quarter, helm pivoting to watch Spider quiver, teeth clenched to the point Whitelion feared they would break. He pulled away, tattered ear flat against his helm, watching with attentive gold, fearing the worst. I’m sorry you must face things I cannot protect you from. He thought, expression guilty.

How often had they seen the ghostly chimera suffer from what his mind conjured up as punishment? Whitelion could do nothing, but watch as the nightmare played through, helpless. They both learned their lesson earlier on if he woke up. The two of them agreed, later on, to let Spider wake himself, even if Whitelion nerves prickled with unease.

When Spiderlily woke with a jolt, claws tearing into his own forearms until Whitelion spurred into action, ignoring the burn of his own skin as Spider’s claws sunk into flesh, biting back a startled grunt, forcing the ghostly tom to stare into gold.

He let out a rumbling purr, voice soft despite the iron grip, blood bubbling to the surface, staining white fur. “Shhhh.” He hummed, voice like liquid gold to the ear, soothing. The white-furred brute offered sweet nothings, rattling on about one of his adventures, using the rumbling sound of his voice to draw the other from whatever horror he faced.

“After speaking with Finch, I departed to begin my travels across the desert.” He began. “A dusty old crow, but he did have rather spellbinding stories.” He mused, expression thoughtful. “It was then I ran into Oakfang some moons ago, braving the wickedest of storms! It was troubling times, indeed.” ​

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thought speech​

 

[SPIDERLILY]

to be reborn , you have to die first .​

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶​

The ghostly tom breathed short, rattly gasps, pinkish pupils dilated until the soothing rumble of Whitelion’s voice wafted through his ears, settling the fur along his spine. Oh.

It seems he had that nightmare again. No matter what he did, that particular nightmare liked to shine through when he was content, reminding him of his misdoings. Spiderlily frowned, barely noticeable against the white of his maw, expression mysterious.

He wondered when he obsessed over death but hadn’t he always been equally interested? Blinking languidly, Spiderlily paused, ears swerved upon his helm at the mention of the desert. “I find it hard to believe you’ve been to the desert.” He commented, peering over his shoulder, only now noticing the iron grip he has on Whitelion’s forearm.

His gaze widened, staring at the pink mist staining white, withdrawing his grasp with an apologetic murmur, belatedly noticing his own forearms prickling with soreness, blood oozing from shallow punctures. Spiderlily raised his paw, watching the fluctuating drip with curious optics. He moved his forearm, allowing the blood to trail, coating his fur in ichor. “Tell me. Why does my heart thrum at the knowledge of death?” He murmured, transfixed.

One day they all would be buried beneath the dirt, soulless creatures as generations trample over their graves with little thought. Rarely would they be remembered for who they were, but for what they accomplished, no more than names in storytelling like Finch. Most likely dead. He couldn’t help but think.

They would become ghosts, soul bound to StarClan as their bodies decayed beneath the soil until they became dirtied bones imprisoned in darkness where no light could get to them. Even death was lonely so why did Spiderlily obsess over it? “My nightmare was a peculiar one.” He hummed, glancing up at Whitelion with deadpan hues. “It was a happy dream.” He sighed. “It was nice.” Shaking his helm, the ghostly feline burrowed beneath white tufts, seeking the tom’s warmth, chasing away the chill that prickled his skin. “Until it wasn’t.” He mused.

“Tell me, Whitelion with those thoughts of yours seeping out of that helm of yours—” Like maggots feasting on decaying flesh. “Will I ever be happy? Or will ghosts continue to haunt me?” He inquired, tone angered. It wasn’t Whitelion’s fault, but how could someone be so bright? “Perhaps I am misfortune.” He sighed. “It seems life does not pity this soulless cat.” ​

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thought speech​

 

[WHITELION]

make peace with your broken pieces .​

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶​

Whitelion laughed, gruff as ever, optic crinkling. “Perhaps!” He commented, brushing his cheek against the top of the ghostly tom’s helm in an affectionate gesture, welcoming him into the present without words.

Words were never a problem as simple as there were no apologies between them when the other detached himself from his forearm. “I believe you would have had a grand time in search of bones if you had been there to accompany me.” He committed, remembering the tom’s precious collection of skulls, stained pink.

The white brute sighed, helm dipped to watch the other rattle on, watching the blood drip from his forearm, unblinking. Without prompt, Whitelion brought his injured forearm closer to him, inspecting the shallow punctures with a quiet tch, tongue lapping up the coppery taste while smoothing down rumpled fur.

“Only you can answer that.” He murmured, apologetic. “I cannot understand why you obsess over death, but I can simply listen. I enjoy your rambles of bones. They are the most endearing.” He hummed, tail curling around Spiderlily’s flank, tugging the other into his chest, wishing they could infuse, becoming one in the same. “But perhaps I can guide you.” With that, Whitelion nestled deeper into the hallow of their makeshift nest, leaning back against the hallowed insides, golden optic peering at the back of Spiderlily’s helm.

“Death comes in all shapes and forms.” He began. “It can simply be the very meaning of life, but it can also take, leaving us raw and open for the world to see if we let it.” He blinked, biting back a sorrowful smile that threatened to spill from thinned lips. “It is all around us and yet we forget that life is unpredictable. A harsher truth to a beautiful lie that bumps our lifeblood into our hearts.”

Gold blinked, listening to the other with a kind smile, chin resting on his shoulder, offering quiet soothing rumbles that vibrated his frame. “You are not soulless, my dear. You are grieving. One cannot simply expect things to get better, but do not mistake slow progress, for progress.”

“Do not mistake your wings for thorns, my dear. It may seem things are static, but I promise you will find the light. I am at my happiest when I am with you, more than training amongst the well-worn ground of those before me.” He touched the other’s cheek. ​

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thought speech​