private fly on the wall // cicada

[LIGHTNINGSTONE]

// TW: mentions of ending a pregnancy
For anyone reading this, this is a backwritten thread before the smokecada kits were born!
@CICADASTAR

"Cicadastar? I bring news." His voice is curt and neutral as he stands outside of the hollowed willow tree, hazel eyes boring into the entrance. He waits until permission is given before stepping inside, a cautious glance thrown over his shoulder. He ensures no one spots him before he disappears into the darkness of the leader's den. His attention flicks to the spindly river king, his hackles lowering as he settles into a comfortable crouch. "It's about your mate."

He can feel the tension hanging in the air, like claws with their tips drawn against him. He maintains his composure, his neutral expression. "But first, I want your word my family gets the first four fish brought into camp this evening." He waits for Cicadastar's agreement, his fluffy tail wrapping itself around his paws.​

 

[CICADASTAR]

sleep had never come easily to him, but it comes even less so now. smokethroat was sluggish and irritable, more claws and grunted words than he'd been before − he knows his children are nearly here. they would be beautiful : sculpted from the night sky himself, molded into something blessed with legacy. born with starclan's eyes locked on them, made and raised to conquer the rivers where heavens wade each night, studded with ivory that ripples with each billowing wave. the dark tomcat had taken the time to visit ravensong in his den, rather than the medic come to him.. something about exercise, and cicadastar had only given him a wary glance before dismissal. his mate was no fool. the life growing in his belly was precious, to be revered and cradled in the arms of their ancestors, guided by pawstep into glory. he knows this, keeps off his paws unlike other queens to grace their nursery.

he is cleaning their nest, worn and clumped from overuse. moss clings to the sharp ridges of his paws where he replaces old, wilting patches, tail sweeping the ground at various items they keep stashed away in the confines of their shared den when he hears it. cicadastar.

the leader gestures him in with a pointed upward flick of his tail, craning an ear to indicate that he was listeing while paws steadily work at the edges of their nest. it had to be larger now, comfortable, for his .. its about your mate, and his blood runs ice. his body freezes as if his veins suddenly frosted, a sudden sinking pit in his stomach singing a siren song of suspicion into his ear. his eyes flit back in one, fluid movement, back towards a warrior who's stony expression never quite changes ; his pupils narrow, flex wildly against the backdrop of ice - crusted river water. first, i want your word my family gets the first four fish brought into camp this evening. his lip curls, stretched white - pink scar tissue to reveal the smaller, jutting teeth along the back ends of his gums.. but he knows it is little use. despite the way his fur bristles about the shoulders and whiskers pull back, curling wisps of a thing jutting angrily from rippling muzzle, his request was nothing more than standard. it would be less of a pain now that his mate was no longer an issue, he supposed ; the unruly molly's disappearance had been a blessing in disguise, but it would be a feat.

but what had he done? his jaw locks, " i'll catch the star forsaken things myself. " a rumbling start as ears flit back, finally turning to face the silver - blue warrior head - on. his chin lifts, almost indignant if not for the slightest twitching of claws at the pebbled ground. he was pregnant, what is the worst he could have done? " tell me. "

COLD & CRUEL LIKE WINDS ON THE SEA  ╱ INFORMATION ✟

• i.
  
• ★ ⋆ CICADASTAR −−−− FOUNDING LEADER OF RIVERCLAN. HOMOSEXUAL, MATED TO SMOKETHROAT. FIFTY MOONS, FATHER TO STARLIGHTKIT, CICADAKIT && BEEKIT. PENNED BY ANTLERS −−−−− ⁺₊✧
  
  
  he / him. tall, elegantly curled smoke tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt blue eyes. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones with tall, angular ears settling high atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to, sparking the undead to life. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth, blackened frostbite pulling back his maw to bear canines setn beneath curling whiskers, pantomime skeletal. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unnaturally tall amongst his peers, always holding himself with a tragic sort of grace ; poised, prim, and uncannily aware of how he appears.
  
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── smells like wet moss and meadowland thunderstorms.
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── notoriously paranoid and closed off, cicadastar will tend to lie, assume, and jump to conclusions whenever it suits him. any 'suspicious' ic actions he witnesses or hears about will have a strong effect, and will have ic consequences! if you're unsure of an interactions outcome, please feel free to send a dm!
  
  no character opinions represent my own.​
  
  
• " speech "​
  
  
  

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[LIGHTNINGSTONE]

The promise is granted. Lightningstone sees the way his leader's pelt bristles, his ivory fangs flashing from behind pulled lips, but he does not shift with discomfort under his looking gaze. Stony as his namesake, he nods once in confirmation, feathery tail flicking behind him. Stoic as he is, this is not easy news to deliver, especially to Cicadastar.

"He is with Ravensong as we speak," The warrior reports, voice even as hazel eyes are cast in the direction of the den exit. Hesitation grips him for only a moment before he pushes forward, thinking of his kits' full bellies and strong, growing bodies, sharpened with their daily training. "He is wondering about an herb that can be used to stop the pregnancy. To stop the kits from coming." His gaze, now narrowed, returns to the mottled tom. He avoids any further thought on the subject. The idea wouldn't have been one he'd been entirely opposed to, if Buckgait had wanted it….but now Brookpaw, Meadowpaw, and Brightpaw are here and despite his feelings during his mate's pregnancy, he wouldn't dream of a timeline in which they weren't. His shoulders roll back, preparing for how the tom before him will react. In a rare show of submission, he averts his eyes again, this time to the ground while he waits.​