sensitive topics I never stopped feeling guilty // birthing

[✧ Snailcurl.]

SHATTERED SURFACE SO IMPERFECT ​

snailcurl | 31 months | female | she/her | physically easy (heavily pregnant) | mentally medium | attack in bold pink​

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//TW: blood, death, verbal abuse, and the usual gross birthing stuff

It begins in the dead of night. A steady thrum of discomfort, and ache that runs down her spine and into her swollen belly. A quiet tremble of her limbs that pulls her from her dreams. It's time, she thinks absently. A sharp pang has Snailcurl gritting her teeth, chasing away the lingering throes of sleep.

It's time!

A soft whimper beside her catches her attention, head snapping to the side as she stares at her fellow queen. Viridanskies is not nearly as far along as she is, still a few weeks away from her kitting - and yet the other is writhing upon the floor, the scent of blood tainting the air, staining the floor of the den. White fur tinged pink, green gaze begging, clouded by pain.

It takes a moment for the reality of it to set in - visions of a familiar brown pelt flashing before her gaze. Despite her own pain she's on her paws in a heartbeat, and though near toppling over she stumbles out into camp. "S-someone get.... @STARLINGHEART . -" her shrieked words are choked off by another contraction, a soft whine leaving her lips and she spins back around, fleeing back into the nursery.

Gaze searches for @Bramblesong - the only one she knows, the only one she can trust. The only other molly she knows who has experienced this sort of thing. "Th-there's... something wrong. It's all going wrong!" she wails worriedly - not for herself but the other.

Her kitting is supposed to be joyous, a happy thing. Bringing life into the world, remnants of her love, a memory taken shape in soft fur and bright eyes. Instead, it has turned into her nightmares - turned into blood and death and loss.

She has already lost her mate, she cannot watch another suffer the same fate. She paces anxiously, riding out the waves of pain until she can't. Until the next shock of pain has her stumbling, tumbling back into her soft nest as shivers and pants wrack her body in equal measures, she feels feverish and flushed.

Green gaze seeks out the only help they have - a child she thinks. How is it that they have ended up here? Perhaps the spirits have cursed her indeed. "Please... help her," she pleads. The blue and white molly has been a comfort - it is hard not to find solace with those in her condition.

Shadowclan is still such a foreign place, full of near strangers who could change their minds in a heartbeat, decide her kits aren't worth the loss of prey. But Viridianskies had never been like that, full of gentle smiles and kind words. Where Bramblesong had offered her knowledge and security in knowing what was to come, the soft furred queen had given her hope - hope that her kits would get to live fulfilling lives within this strange clan.

She doesn't want to watch her die.

// please wait for those tagged to have a chance to respond first! I can't tag both PAFP and Sensitive Content sorry.

 

[Bramblesong]

❝ SOMETHING NEEDED ME ONCE ✿°.✧ ————————————
The night is calm. Snow falls lightly over the camp, dampening nocturnal sounds and speckling Bramblesong’s dark pelt with silver specks. She breathes in the cold and exhales a pale cloud, releasing her tension along with the air. In spite of everything, there is peace to be found in the stillness of leafbare.

Little does she know it’s not made to last.

A shriek shatters the quiet, calling for their medicine kit. Bramblesong is on her paws with her fur standing on ends before it has fully registered. Only belatedly does she recognize Snailcurl’s voice in that panicked scream. Her mind grasps that realization and runs with it, echoing words in a whirlwind of sympathetic panic: pregnant, kitting, complications—

”Get Starlingheart,” she uselessly repeats to a nearby clanmate urgently before she takes off after Snailcurl’s stumbling figure. The younger queen is dear to her heart; a friend, someone she wants to keep safe and happy, and the shrill upset in her voice struck Bramblesong and left her reeling. She bursts into the nursery, heedless of the way her fur snags on the thorns bordering the entrance to the den.

The acrid scent of blood hits her like a physical blow. She stops, nearly gagging on the bitter taste at the back of her throat and the memories brought up by the once-familiar smell. In a second, the dim, stifling atmosphere of the nursery becomes a battlefield; becomes an open grave; becomes— No. Bramblesong claws herself out of the bloodstained remembrance. Snailcurl needs her now.

The dead exist in the past. She must attend to the future.

The source of the scent is immediately obvious: Viridianskies’s pelt is stained red, and her eyes stare dimly into space as her sides heave with exertion. It’s too soon by far for her kitting; and, Bramblesong thinks with dawning horror, perhaps too late for her life. Already she seems to have a paw in the stars, and their medicine cat is so young… She breathes through the mounting fear, the grief already showing its face, unsure what she can do to help. Snailcurl shakes in her nest, panting in pain and anguish, a troubling echo of Viridianskies’ poor state. The sight of her is like a snake wrapping its coils around Bramblesong’s heart. Snailcurl has lost so much already—

Stars, the kits.

This much stress during her kitting, her first ever litter… No, it doesn’t bear thinking about. But, spirits willing, this is something Bramblesong can help with. She hurries to Snailcurl’s side, blocking Viridianskies’ pitiful form from her with her bulk. She bows her head over the molly and gives her forehead a reassuring lick, purring loudly all the while in the hope of soothing her the way she would a panicking kit — no, the way she wishes someone would have done to her. Words spill out of her mouth, unbidden, attempting to comfort the other queen and to calm her down.

”Ssh, ssh, Snailcurl… Starlingheart is coming, don’t worry. Viridianskies is going to be okay, you’re going to be okay, I promise. Breathe… I’m here. I’m here, you’re alright…”

She hopes, for both their sake, that she isn't lying by saying that.

———————————— ✧.°✿ AND I KNOW SOMETHING WILL NEED ME AGAIN ❞ ​

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[Starlingheart]

Starlingheart would not feign knowledge when there was none. For a while now, since Snailcurl had shown up on their cursed borders she had known that she was going to have to help the queen deliver her kits, alongside Veridianskies. When Bonejaw was here the thought was easy to ignore. She would sit back, watch as a more experienced cat would guide them through their kittings.

But that was not to be.

Bonejaw was gone and Starlingheart waits with icy veins for the day when it would happen. The day she would be expected to bring a new generation into this world. Up until about a month ago, when Viridianskies had started to swell up, Starlingheart had still not entirely been convinced that kits came from she cats. Now here it was, undeniable proof laid bare before her very eyes. She wants to look away.

Her heart almost drops when she hears someone calling her name, a clan mate bursting into her sanctum, invading her safe space with their frantic words. She blinks, at first all they say are gibberish, nonsense words until with a startling realization it clicks. "Oh" she says quietly, her veins turning cold and her eyes widening with panic. Still, she only hesitates for a moment before spinning on her heels and takin stock of her inventory. Puny, there is barely anything here and even if she had a ripe overabundance she does not know what she could even use to help in this situation. Not like there were any herbs that could do anything, not in shadow clans territory at least. "Im-uh I’m co-coming" she says quietly, almost to herself. Her clanmate had said something about blood and so she grabs a stick wrapped in cobwebs and makes her way hurriedly towards the nursery.

When she gets there though, when she sees the state the queen is in she drops it. This is not something cobwebs were going to fix. Her eyes dart between Snailcurl Bramblesong and Viridianskies. "He-help help Snailcurl I-I’ll I’ll help h-he-heeer" she instructs before quickly unraveling the cobwebs from the stick she had carried them in with and passing them to the dark pelted she cat. "F-fooor for the pain" she instructed. What else was there to do? Bonejaw had used to make her bite down on a stick when she was changing her wounds, back when they were fresh. For the pain she had told her. She says it now.

She is soon at Viridianskies side, eyes darting along her flank to examine her. What was wrong? What could Starlingheart even do. The pregnant she cat cries out and the medicine cat feels her heart crumple. There was so much blood… "O-okay okay V-viridian I-I’m he-heeeere you’re doing you’re doing great ju-just keeeep keep push-puuuushing" she instructs though she doesn’t know it’s right she tries her best to feign confidence.

Soon, the kits are born. Three altogether. Starlingheart notices immediately something is wrong. They are not crying, werent they supposed to cry? She doesn’t know. She nudges the little ones with her nose, licks them a few times like her mother remembers doing for her. All but one remain silent. One of the kits, a gray and white patchy thing lets out a pitiful mewling sound. Her heart sinks in relief and sadness all at once. Two dead but she had saved this one. She would live. Tears blur her eyes, grief for the other two that she could not save fills her heart. They would haunt her dreams later but for now she had to tell the mother.

"Viridian, y-yooour your k-kiii-kiiit she’s she’s bea-bea-beauuuutiful but uh but t-t-two two di-didn’t uh didn’t make it" she informs the queen sadly as she watches the lone kit find her mothers belly. That’s when she notices. Viridianskies flank does not rise and fall, the new mother does not stir. The young medicine cats heart drops. "St-Stars stars no" she whispers quietly, horrified. "Pl-please please no please" she begs, nudging the she cat with her nose, as if her urging her could bring life back to her body but there is no use. She is gone.

She stares for a while like that, numb, dumbfounded. How she had been here one moment and gone the next she could not figure out. Tears prick at the she cats eyes but stubbornly she would wipe them away. Snailcurl was still there, still kitting. Later, she would scream about the unfairness of this loss, would cry into Granitepaws pelt about how she had failed here today, though there was nothing she could’ve done. But for now, there was another who needed her. Her head swings around to see how Bramblesong and Snailcurl are faring and she moves towards them.

"She-shes g-g-gone…" she informs the two then steps back slightly to reveal the single gray and white kit who still hopelessly nurses at her mother belly. "She-shell shell ne-neeeed shell neeeeed a a mom" she says quietly to Snailcurl. Starlingheart could relate. Her mother too had been taken from her way too soon. But perhaps there was hope for this little one. She looks to the newly made queen with hopeful, pleading, eyes.
​

 

[✧ Snailcurl.]

SHATTERED SURFACE SO IMPERFECT ​

snailcurl | 31 months | female | she/her | physically easy (heavily pregnant) | mentally medium | attack in bold pink​

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Black fur, the strong scent of shadowclan, and a rumbling purr drown out her senses as Bramblesong comforts her. Pressing her face against the other molly, she knows there is little to do but wait. Little to do but ignore the pained noises of their denmate and frantic stammering of the medicine cat.

Kit after kit comes, each more easily than the next - a wave of pain and anguish quickly followed by relief. Five little bundles of slick soaked fur, five little bundles that she nips open and licks and licks until she can feel them breathe. They're so small, she thinks - even up against the tiny she-cats side, they look fragile. Was she once that small?

In the midst of the commotion, a tom returns from his nighttime hunt. Staring in horror at his mates cooling body, the tom cat has only venom to offer. "That cursed thing is not mine. It's a maggot - it killed my Viridianskies. Maggotkit, tch," his gaze meets the queens, and he gives a lash of his tail. "It's your problem now," and promptly leaves. It is not as though it matters after all. He'd never wanted the damn things. He will not stay here, where he can see her - where they can see him cry.

His words bring the tortoishells attention onto the rather sad looking bundle of fur - so much bigger than her own, yet so frail. "Of course," she says gently, her eyes dull and damp with tears as she responds to the unasked question. She can't bring herself to look at her friends lifeless body. Picking her up gently in her teeth, the frail thing is plopped down beside it's new siblings.

"Maggotkit then... meet your new siblings," she murmurs absently - she's tired, bone heavy exhausted. It doesn't even reach her brain that the name might not be the nicest - it's what her parents had wished after all.

That brings her thoughts back to her own kits - she can't sleep until they have been given names. She needs to name them. Her gaze lands first upon a tiny black she kit with specks of white upon her toe and chin a quiet thing, hardly moving more than the little bit necessary to nurse. "Sproutkit," she intones softly - still unused to the strange naming customs of shadowclan. Beside it lay the largest of the litter - a scrap of brown fur that reminds her of her mate in a way that almost hurts in its intensity. "... Mothkit,"

A small brown and white she kit is the next of the litter all lned up in a row to suckle, and it takes her a moment to decide on a name for this one - "Petalkit,". A fragile looking tortie she kit with a delicately curled tail to match her own "Mallowkit," she announces, and then drags he attention onto the last of the bunch. A fluffy little thing of striking ginger, though frown draws across her lips as she notes the odd angle of his foot. It reminds her of that one apprentice she's seen hobbling around... though the name slips by in her weary state. "Rosekit," she settles on finally, a yawn splitting her jaws.

She is mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted, and as she watches the squirming bundles of fur that are her kit - hers! - she lays her head down upon her paws with a heavy sigh. She blinks once, twice, thrice, before her lids feel to heavy and she slips off into the land of dreams.