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residences-of-the-darkforest · 3 months

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Dark Forest Resident: Blackclover

TW: This story will contain strong mention of drug addiction.

Aliases / Nicknames: Herb-stealer

Gender: tom

Sexuality: homosexual

Family: Icelily (mother), Pondheart (father), Whistlespring, Firstripe (sisters), Flintarch (mate, formerly)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, Sandburn (apprentice)

Clan: ShadowClan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: optimistic (formerly), likes random fun facts, pessimistic, in constant pain

Motive to Harm: to stop his pain

Number of Victims: 2+

Number of Murders: 0

Murder Method: N/A

Method of Harm: clawing in blind rage, destroying herbs

Known Victims: Flintarch, unnamed medicine cat, unnamed Clanmates, unnamed WindClan cats

Victim Profile: his mate, the medicine cat, ShadowClanners, WindClanners

Cause of Death: poppy seed overdose

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

His life was good.

His mother loved him, and though his father rarely visited, that didn't affect Blackkit much. He spent enough time preoccupied with nuzzling with Icelily or playing with his sisters or visiting the elders to really notice.

But as an apprentice, he began to see little things. Like how Flintpaw's father cheered just as loud as his mother at his ceremony, and how he always asked his son how his day was. Was that how it was supposed to be like? Or was Flintpaw's family strange?

Blackpaw decided to try it out. After one training session, he approached his father and asked if they could share a sparrow. Pondheart was open to it, but any form of conversation was utterly dull. Anything Blackpaw said, he would only get 'mmms' and 'uh-huhs' in response.

When they were done eating, Blackpaw padded away dejectedly--and walked into Flintpaw, who sympathised, having seen what happened. Blackpaw was on-edge at first, after all Flintpaw had just beaten him quite humiliatingly in training, but it turned out that the older apprentice was really nice!

He asked about the things Blackpaw had mentioned to his father, allowing Blackpaw to talk about them with someone. He wasn't Pondheart, but maybe he was better--after all, he actually listened and talked back. So more and more, Blackpaw would go to him. And Flintpaw would go to him in turn if he had something he wanted to talk about.

They spent more time together. First to talk, then to also play, then to talk and play and patrol together, then it was whatever they wanted to do.

By the time they were young warriors, it was clear that they were the most important cat in each other's lives. Becoming mates felt like the next natural step....though Blackclover was near sweating his fur off at the prospect of Flintarch saying no. He proposed while the two were alone on a dusk patrol, and they slept in a shared nest the following night.

For moons, everything was perfect. Pondheart may be indifferent, but Blackclover cared less and less. He had a wonderful mother, he had the best annoying sisters, and he had the love of his life who he woke to curled around him every morning.

His mentor, too, had been a wonderful guide, and his apprentice had been energetic enough to make him feel as young as a kit.

Then it rained, over and over again until the streams became fast-flowing rivers that swept anything that entered it away.

Sandpaw had been too confident. She thought she could catch a frog that sat on a rock by the shore, but she ended up slipping into the water. Instantly, it began to drag her below to surface and away.

Blackclover ran after her without thinking, not caring about his own safety. He told--practically ordered--Flintarch, who had been with them, to get help while he went after Sandpaw.

He ran and ran until his paw pads bleed and burned, and ran more, then leaped along the stones dotted along the rushing water until at last he could reach Sandpaw's scruff and help swing her to the shore--but she was heavy, the rock was slippery, and the effort of the swing caused him to fall and slam his chest into the ragged edge of the stone.

He was lucky enough to be rescued by the patrol his mate had fetched. But that's as far as his luck would go.

The pain was unbearable.

The medicine cat suspected that he broke three ribs at most, but other than that, she couldn't tell what was happening inside of him. She could only offer him medicine.

Horsetail was applied all around his chest as a precaution to rid of infection and clean the wounds.

There was bindweed and comfrey root, which was wrapped around his chest and the spine behind it so that his bones could heal undisturbed.

He was given coltsfoot once a day to ease his breathing.

But his best friend became the poppy seeds.

The poppy seeds soothed his pain. Even better, they eased his distress.

When he didn't have them, the pain felt as though it was digging in more and more, spreading throughout his body.

His apprentice, who had to be trained under another warrior while he healed, couldn't cheer him up, not even when she received her full name.

His loving mate couldn't distract him against the intense ache, even when they lay wrapped together.

Only the poppy seeds could keep the agony at bay. But the more he ate, the less affective it was. He needed them in higher and higher doses, doses so high that the medicine cat refused to give him what he needed, stating that it was dangerous.

Frustrated and in pain, Blackclover swung his claws in a fit of fury, scratching the healer's muzzle and earning him the ire of his Clanmates.

They didn't understand.

Neither did Flintarch or Sandburn, who tried to help him heal in other ways--stretching his front legs, massaging his chest, breathing deeply. But none of what they tried helped at all.

With each passing day, the pain only dug deeper and sharper, and his only comfort were the poppy seeds that he wasn't even able to take that much of. And now, they didn't relieve him like they did before. It took care of the pain, but only slightly, and their effect fell quickly.

He became desperate. When convincing the medicine cat to give him more failed, he broke into the herb stores himself while she was away. But as he searched, the pain got worse, and he became frustrated again. Near crazed, he threw any herb he came across that weren't the poppy seeds.

The ruckus caught the attention of Flintarch, who attempted to pull him away.

He was angry.

He was so desperate.

In a fit, he swung blindly, and struck his mate.

They had stared at each other in shock. Flintarch's ear was split, dripping blood down the side of his face. He told Blackclover that he had a choice: him or the herbs.

Why couldn't anyone understand?

The medicine cat said that his ribs had healed, there was no reason to continue taking medication.

But the pain was still there. And when the poppy seeds were stored in a hidden area, he only suffered more. He was unable to sleep, he trembled from the anxiety that crashed through his entire body and had sweat through his fur until his nest soaked, the nest that most of the time he was too depressed to rise just to clean it.

Flintarch tried to support him. Blackclover knew it, but he was suffering too much for it to matter.

Then he was put on a battle patrol that was to attack the WindClan camp. The other Clan's medicine den caught his eye...

His leader was furious. The whole Clan was furious. He went too far, destroying their herbs.

They all thought that he wanted to weaken them, but Flintarch saw through that. He told Blackclover that he knew now was Blackclover's choice was, and that they were through.

Their rage, the break-up, it only made his anxiety worse. He was rocked by emotional turmoil at the same time pain stabbed through his chest with every passing second.

He knew what his body was telling him.

He needed the poppy seeds.

At the Half-moon meeting, when the den was unguarded, he snuck in. It took a long time, but at last he found the hidden treasure. He lapped them up, already feeling the relief, and lapped them up more and more. He became a bit confused, and then disoriented, but he shoved the feelings away and kept lapping.

He swallowed down so much, and some of it came back up again, coughed onto the floor in red vomit. Blackclover stared at it, dizzy, then turned his head when he heard his name called.

Silhouetted in the entrance with just enough light to see his features, Flintarch shook his head sadly, ear split and half of his face drenched with blood. He whispered to Blackclover that he made his choice.

Then everything went dark.

Additional Information:

--Another song resident! This one was from @liberhoe who suggested the number 148. The song is Wasted by 8 Graves (lyrics here).

Other songs I have that could connect to the story are When We Die by Yungblud (lyrics in video) and The Mystic by Adam Jensen (lyrics here).

--This took a while to write because 1) I was REALLY tired, 2) I had to write exams and 3) I wanted to have enough energy to really focus on the story and get it right.

--Flintarch in the very end here was just a hallucination. If it had really been him, he would have instantly tried to help.

--Blackclover DID break three ribs, but he had also damaged nerves around the same area that the medicine cat was not able to find, so not only was he in double pain, but when his ribs healed, everyone thought that the pain was in his head or just an excuse to get more medication, which was of course absolutely frustrating.

--Poppy seeds were chosen because they help with pain, help to calm, and can be deadly in high doses (which was why he was cut off).

--The poppy seeds lost their effect because his body became used to it.

--To put it short: Black got injured saving his apprentice. His pain was severe, and the only thing that could soothe him were poppy seeds. Literally nothing else helped his pain, 99-100% due to the actual source of his pain not being treated at all. But he could only have so much before it was dangerous, so the med cat cut him off. But that gave him withdrawal symptoms and that mixed with his physical pains made him feel even worse, to the point that he only cared about finding and taking poppy seeds. As well, others thought that he was faking or being dramatic because his bones healed but his nerves didn't (and they didn't know about the nerve issue). The physical pains, the withdrawal, and the lack of support all made it worse.

--Flintarch tried to help for a long time.

--In the Dark Forest, Blackclover felt incredibly guilty for how he had treated Flintarch, and refused for anyone else to get close to him, because he didn't want to hurt them. But there is a tom that will eventually find his way into his heart.

--For the record, I DO NOT believe that Black should be in the Dark Forest. He was condemned by StarClan, and we all know their way (and to clear up, he was condemned for stealing or destroying herbs which could have had terrible consequences for the sick or injured, attackingtwo of his Clanmates, and going against the orders of both his leader and healer).

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