sensitive topics we dream of stars — death

[LOSTMOON]

sacrifice , that's what we do for the people we love .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Lostmoon couldn’t quite say when he realized it. Dying. He would have laughed. Now? He didn’t have the energy to think about what he felt. He was tired. He wanted his father. He wanted his mate—His helm lulled to the side, peering up at the npc warrior with half-lidded optics, breathing noticeably ragged.

Jaggedstorm’s dead. They said. Oh. Oh. His mate—Jaggedstorm? The ghostly tom shook his helm, tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks. His malnourished frame shivered, wracked with choking sobs, barely able to pull enough air into his wheezing lungs.

They were going to be a family. His kits. He sobbed. He couldn’t help the mumbled apologies that slipped past dry lips. His throat burned, but Lostmoon didn’t care. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. Jaggedstorm promised. He promised.

He whimpered, chest heaving, because this wasn’t true. He wanted it to stop. He wanted the pain to stop. Lostmoon wept into the moss below him, sounding gurgled and wrong as his head pounded.

Lostmoon was tired. He wanted to sleep. His cries tampered off, eyelids feeling heavier by the second. He was so tired. The ghostly tom had fought so hard, but now he just wanted to sleep. “T, Tell—” He mumbled, tone distorted, but he never finished his sentence, instead he met a voice he thought he’d never hear again, offering a quiet chitter as Yukio’s starry pelt came into view, sadness swirling within mismatched optics. ​

​

thought speech​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

Blazestar stares at the form growing cold at his paws with misery clear in his eyes. A queen, heavy with kits, lost to this wretched sickness. Had it been the knowledge that his mate would be there in StarClan to greet him that had hurried his death? Or had it been that knowledge that had led him to conclude there was no longer any reason to fight for life? The Ragdoll shakes his head, the queen’s final words whispering and clambering about in his mind. Tell. Tell.

He noses Losemoon’s paw sadly, pushing it into place. It stays. Coldly, firmly, it stays. “Tell who,” he murmurs, empty. There is no answer—there never will be.

ooc ✧ 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓌𝓃, 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉

•  

• 

• 

  — blaise . blazestar
  — he/him ; leader of skyclan
  — pansexual ; divorced ; single
  — longhaired flame point Ragdoll with blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Mercibun

​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

He was already reeling from Jaggedstorm's death, fur and thus paranoia spiking. If yellowcough wasn't enough, there was something, someone, several willing to kill slicing around their territory. It can't have been senseless, he semi-convinced himself- but still, it seemed so cruel. And- and murder could be senseless. He knew that, knew it from Kuiper. That tom had killed for the sake of it, killed just to hurt, and had stolen a future away.

Another future was stolen, here. More than one, in fact- Jaggedstorm and Lostmoon's, and the reality of their family. Only when he caught a glimpse of Blazestar's towering form, hunched with sorrow over an unmoving form, did he realise what had happened.

"Stars, Twitchbolt said, but he was not sure they could hear him. If they could, what would they even do? They'd done what they could... given dreams to the medicine cats, sent warriors to find the cure. Knowing this soothed him very little, though... for apprehension was an emotion that simply served to fuel his shivers.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[falcongaze]

❝ CALLIN' IT QUITS NOW ✧°.☀ ————————————
Falconpaw had become familiar with the taste of death in the air.

No, it never got easier. Laying here, bound to a nest, sick as a dog and his brain hurting too much to even gather thoughts to keep him busy, death was waiting for him in each corner. He had it considerably better then some of them- maybe he had some level of immunity, but he doubted it. It was never that easy, was it? A rumble left him, something soft and considerable as Blazestar approached.

Vision tipped wearily towards the deceased warrior. He stared apathetically externally- internally, panic was beginning to bite down. He couldn't run form this corpse, couldn't hide from the many more that would come. A marching fate, ringing out like a baying hound ready to eat him. Sewer nightmares were beginning to prick at him, and he found himself itching to see his father day after day.

Falconpaw turned in his nest, hiding his head away from the commotion. He pretended it wasn't there, so that it would go away.

"SPEECH"

[penned by dallas - ☀]

———————————— ☀.°✧ BABY, I'M A WRECK ❞ ​

​