camp LONE STAR ⁺˖⋆ BIRTH

[nightbird]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ thunderclan's hearth was lit warmly with chatter, nightbird could hear her clanmates trading meals and tongues just outside the nursery. with her newfound free time, it would be good to join them, catch up on the happenings of the clan as she was tucked behind bramble. the queen had no such desires. her appetite had dried completely, the poor apprentice that arrived not long ago with a robin stuffed maw had received a sharp denial.

even so, she felt restless. claws flexing and tail twitching in tandem, it seemed her kits could feel this strange unease as well. stirring, churning. nightbird hated how she could feel them move. she sent prayer to starclan for single moment of placidity. they denied her desperation, so she sat in her nest, head resting on mismatched paws. if she could do nothing else, she could at least attempt sleep.

but that, too, was stolen. as cats moved to retreat into their dens for the night, a steely gaze was forced open. a pain unlike any battle born wound tore down her spine, ripped a sharp hiss from her throat. gentlestorm had mentioned it would be around this time, she had foolishly lost track within the monotony of the nursery walls. her chest heaved, jaws parted in a strangled pant. nightbird blinks, claws hooking into the moss of her nest. she doesn't have the will to meet anyones gaze when issuing an urgent command. "get raccoonstripe... gentlestorm." the novelties of the moments that follow are lost to a pained haze. the first kitten nudged to her side releases such a strong cry it has her ears flicking backwards, warm tabby swirled fur such a visceral image of her father's, of howlingstar's. nightbird forces her gaze away quickly. the first is not alone for long, joined by a second sibling. this one is smaller, a stark silver in contrast and yet, her mate's swirling pelt is not lost upon this one either.

two had come as gentlestorm predicted. nightbird sighs, although her mind still reeled it was one of relief. they had arrived quickly, without much fuss. just as her eyes began to shift up to raccoonstripe's, pain weaved her nerves again. she looks to the medicine cat in shock, the slightest hints of fear etching her gaze. something was wrong. it must be, she was done.

in moments, all of their assumptions were contradicted. another tabby clone of her mate makes its way into the world, followed by a spindly black scrap of fur, and lastly, a second moon-twinged tabby. her eyes widen as she counts not two, but five. something near accusatory was sent her friend's way, dulled by the exhaustion that now pulled her eyelids. the only thing left keeping her from the rest she needed was a name. with grit teeth, she looks over them again, drawing blank after blank for the names of thunderclan's newest warriors. some time passes before she can muster something up. she lingers on the darkest of the bunch, fur the obsidian shade of an angrily brewing squall. "stormkit," she mutters, eyes trailing to the silver one next to him. she could already make out the formation jagged stripes. "lightningkit," she decides, ideas running dry as she utters the name. almost helplessly, she finally looks to meet raccoonstripe's eyes. "your turn." rather unceremoniously, she invites him to give the three first born names of their own.

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ┌── BLAME IT ON THE BLACK STAR ⋅⋆⋅ BLAME IT ON THE FALLING SKY ──┐‎

• ooc ↛ @RACCOONSTRIPE @GENTLESTORM @BAYINGKIT @twilightkit ⋆ @TIGERKIT @STORMKIT @LIGHTNINGKIT
  

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  NIGHTBIRD ✩ she/her, lead warrior of thunderclan, 33 ☾'s
  ⭃ a small black smoke molly with a white paw and pale silver eyes. currently a queen residing in the nursery.
  ⭃ mate to raccoonstripe / / mentor to none
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by vayle ↛ @vayl3 on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[bayingkit]

she is born snarling.

the faint pull of rubberblack lips, the wrinkle of an alarmed nose as it’s uncovered and she heaves her first clean breath ; too cold, suddenly, too damp. if one were watching close, they could see it build — tufted chest furling deep within itself on a harsh suck of air before a toothless, blinding pink maw blows wide on a horrible howl that shrieks high over the sound of her mothers agony. discomfort is palipable over thistlethorned fur, still wet with new life, frustration heaving the round curve of an ornately striped flank with each sucking breath. every exhale is a soundless gape of a wolfishly narrowed muzzle, an attempt to hiss away her unhappiness that fails and fails and fails but she continues anyway, instinctual and pinch - browed. it falls from pinned lips in short bursts of haaa.. haaa.. haaa.. towards whatever, whoever, comes near enough for fresh senses to pick up.

her siblings come to rest aside her in the moments it takes her to recover from the shock of birth, mouth dry from the quick push - pull of air and skull whirling. though from just the acidic odor still clinging to her nostrils, the child can smell warmth that finally, blissfully calms the heave of her anger — a sticky iron and lazily wafting milkscent, coltlegged synapses firing enough to recognize the moss - soft thicket at her front as mother. she wobbles in attempt to lift her head, shouts when her chin falls back onto the curl of greenery. she makes to move from her splayed misery before the writhing bodies at her side caught up to her mindless revelation ; she pushes back the end of a single wide, starfished limb to use a sibling as a platform and push herself forward on a dragging alabaster belly. blind, writhing, ugly — she coils like a marbled serpent to the nightdark fur along nightbird’s belly, latching with the hard pinch of a gluttonous maw.

☽ ˚ ｡ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒  𓃥 【 𝑰𝑻𝑺 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑰𝑵 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 】

• i.
  
  
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• BAYINGKIT ——————— SHE / HER, KITTEN OF THUNDERCLAN. NIGHTBIRD xx RACCOONSTRIPE, SISTER TO TWILIGHTKIT, TIGERKIT, STORMKIT & LIGHTNINGKIT. 01 MOON OLD, SMELLS LIKE DISRUPTED SOIL & WET FUR. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
  a misshapen, disheveled black tabby kitten.
  
  mongrelish, standing all thistlethorn fur and bared teeth, bayingkit would be thought roguish if not for the dogtooth crown she uncomfortably bears. a hereditary haunting lies in the shag of ornate black striping and long limbs that do not yet suit her wide, slouching shoulders ; her fathers daughter, laced in dredge and filth moreso than he’d ever been. a constant, incessant need to make herself small forms in hunched spine and weary, whale - eyed suspicion, communicating mostly in rumbling growls.. bayingkit tends to hold herself with a tuck tailed and trembling livewire of feral volatility.
  

  teething, easily frustrated with her lack of vocal skill and highly reactive. prone to biting, swatting and general moodiness it is highly encouraged to correct. powerplay is allowed for disciplinary swipes, scruffing and general redirection.

  
  
  

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[LIGHTNINGKIT]

LIGHTNINGKIT . of . THUNDERCLAN

2 moons old (born 07.08.24) / lh silver tabby with green eyes / feminine pronouns
raccoonstripe xx nightbird / little sister to bayingkit, twilightkit, tigerkit, & stormkit

An unexpected girl. Yes, that's what she is, though she's hardly aware of it now, nosing around Nightbird's belly with an insouciance quite odd for a newborn kit with an empty stomach. She simply cannot be bothered to squirm as her siblings do, least of all the crawl-climbing Bayingkit. Her shuttered eyes and ears should mean that Lightningkit fixates on her hunger, but the last-born simply releases the first of the breaths she's drawn as something like a put-upon sigh. Her little head seems too heavy to hold upright and drops to the nest, dark nose and tiny mouth huffing. That her first moments in the world are spent seemingly despairing the effort of existence will not be an isolated incident; instead, a road marker of what's to come.

Her resigned cry is beseeching and expectant. She knows nothing but warm bodies and scents, and the allure of milk, which is so very far away despite its close proximity.
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[STORMKIT]

Even newly-emerged, he was ready to compete. The blankness that sealed his eyes shut was weak against instincts; the sightless glaze that lay underneath was unknown, for now. Grasping paws dragged a storm-brewing body closer, a wailing pink mouth gasping air and seeking food. Tempest raged within him at a treading paw, one even a feeble, newborn mind can recognise as his sister's. Soon, they would all realise he was not a sister like her, but a brother- but the little black tom cared not for that now, only bothered to scream at the intruding paw.

A name, two, floods from lips- unheard, and choked underwater. That his name was among them he did not know, and wouldn't for some time... but the tenacity he showed, struggling against that crawling pest of a littermate, was a beacon as tall and forked as lightning for the personality that would soon spark in a kitten-fluff heart.

And he found his mother, at last... there was, for a while, nothingness. Sweet as milk, warmth he knew and knew well. Mother. Yes, and that his father was nearby he did not know- that he would never escape from a void before him, he did not know either. But in newborn blindness, he roared like namesake squall- he would be just as tempestuous as he grew, and perhaps anyone could tell. ​

penned by pin ༄​

 

[RACCOONSTRIPE]

A paw prods Raccoonstripe's flank; he stirs in his sleep, blinking dreary dreams from dark brown eyes. "Nightbird is kitting," comes a whisper, and ice begins to climb his spine from the base of his tail. "Stars," he hisses his swear, scrambling to his paws and sending bits of moss every which way. Dread encumbers his heart, heavies his chest, but he forces himself toward the nursery, toward the piercing snarls emanating from within.

Nightbird's pain is a red haze in the tightly-packed den; the scent on the air is redder, metallic. Raccoonstripe tears his gaze away from her, his heart beginning to thump! madly between his ribs. "Everything's alright," he murmurs, tentative; he does not know how to comfort her, does not know if she wants comfort. Her body twists, contorts, her teeth alight like dying stars. Gentlestorm's presence is welcomed, for once, though Raccoonstripe cannot help but wish his brother was here. You'd know just what to say.

Perhaps her friend's presence is comfort enough, though. The first bedraggled child is born, a scrap of tabby fur that keens its unpleasantness to the world upon entry. Raccoonstripe stares, fascinated. "There it is," he whispers, his voice hoarse. He bends to lick it, knowing he should, but he can't help the grimace from crossing his features as he does. The kit is loud, louder than he'd even thought possible, and its cuteness is lost on him. It has a shrunken face, eyes squeezed tight, burrowing little body.

The second kit comes swiftly, thank StarClan. This one stole her mother's silvery undertones and her father's midnight-black tabby striping; it's smaller than the first, less robust, and under Raccoonstripe's scrutiny he realizes she is missing something. "Her leg... what's wrong with it?" He asks, first to Nightbird, then to Gentlestorm.

But he has no time to ponder his secondborn's lack of limbs, for another contraction rips through Nightbird's abdomen, and a third kit is born. Three, Raccoonstripe thinks, desperate, gazing upon the tabby specimen who crowds in around her siblings. Three tabbies, two wearing his dark brown pelt, his mother's. A ghost of a smile twitches around his lips, but it's clear the night is not over. Nightbird squirms, claws the moss under her body, and a fourth kit comes, this one scrawny and skinny and black-as-night.

"Four?!" He glares daggers at the medicine cat, but the truth comes swiftly. Nightbird shudders and the final kit is born, another tabby, this one pale as clouds with storm-gray stripes like her sister. He pants, just once, wishing his mouth weren't so dry. "What in StarClan's name... how did this happen?" He looks at Gentlestorm almost desperately. "I thought you were joking."

Nightbird, despite her exhaustion, leans to touch her nose to first the black-pelted kit, then to the lastborn daughter. "Stormkit. Lightningkit." Raccoonstripe's anger dissipates; he leans closer, unable to stop the smile from cracking across his pale muzzle. "Like Graystorm," he murmurs. Like ThunderClan. "Strong names. Now..." The other three are left for him to name, and he ponders for a moment before hesitantly laying his cheek against the firstborn's round back.

"You came into the world howling," he says, his voice low. "You will be Bayingkit, after your grandmother... and the voice we gave you." Unable to help himself now, he anoints Bayingkit's unruly face with a gentle paternal lick. Bayingkit lives up to her ferocious name—the little scrap tramples a sibling beneath stampeding claws, fighting for her access to mother's milk with every fiber of her being.

Next, he turns to the secondborn, the silver tabby with its missing limb. He hesitates, thinking of the difficulties this child will face when she is thrust out of the nursery and into the forest... but the fur around her face is plush, and she's so like Nightbird that he can't help but recall his previous conversation with her. "Twilightkit, after your mother," he murmurs. Like he'd done with his firstborn, Raccoonstripe licks the fur back from his daughter's face.

The third kit is smaller than her eldest tabby sister, remarkably plain in comparison, with her sparse white spotting and the way she wriggles against her littermates without shrieking. But you will have a different kind of strength, won't you? "Tigerkit," he declares, and he anoints his third daughter's face with a suppressed lick. After the legends. May you have some of your own, someday.

Raccoonstripe takes a moment to stare at the five kits he and Nightbird have brought into the world, before he nestles beside his mate so that he may look upon his striped-and-shadowed brood. "They got my stripes," he says, half in wonderment, as if he cannot believe what he's looking at. "Bayingkit. Twilightkit. Tigerkit. Stormkit. Lightningkit." He bends to touch his nose to each child's plump little body (save Stormkit's—that child is almost ratlike in appearance!).

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Raccoon . Raccoonstripe, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — "speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 37 moons old, ages realistically on the 5th.
  — mentored by n/a ; mentoring Thistlepaw ; previously mentored Wildheart, Moonwhisper
  — thunderclan lead warrior. gray wolf x howlingstar, gen 2.
  — currently mated to Nightbird.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh black tabby with white and dark brown eyes. charismatic, charming, calculating, ambitious, shallow, manipulative.
  
  

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[TWILIGHTKIT ⋆]

The world is not ready for them. How dare it be when she is thrust forward into its cold, clawed paws, unready for it? Her older sibling wails her discontent, stomping round ruddy paws wherever they can gain purchase, and the secondborn child can only agree by way of sour mewls. She cannot stamp, cannot so quickly roll her way towards Nightbird's scent for - as succinctly as her father put it - there is something wrong with her. Her head bobbles as it tries to lift, and she attempts to further voice her frustrations, yet those slipping into the world after her combat her efforts with ease. Almost defeated, the newborn rests her tongue, now instead feverishly wriggling forward towards the most endearing thing she can manage: milk.

The world around the silver tabby means nothing to her once she begins nursing. A single paw works mercilessly, though her other arm mimics the motion in rhythm. The adults around them bicker and gawk at the sheer number of kittens, and soon they are dubbed a name each. A tongue draws over her face and the newly minted Twilightkit lets out an indignated cry, followed by a sigh that simply reads, leave me be, I've had a hard day. With most if not all of the hard work of labor done and over with, the child spends the remainder of her first hours alive nursing, and then sleeping, entirely too unaware of the world around her.​

 

[TIGERKIT]

Cool air hits her harshly. With an unfairness that she would not realize for some moons, she is thrust into an unforgiving world. Her own fur clings to her in a wet mess. Black tabby stripes mark her with a legacy, but helpless, searching paws say otherwise. They try to return to where they came from, to hide from peering noses and prying eyes just for a little while... Just until she looked different. Acted better. Stood apart. Just until she deserved the name her father gives her with a lick to the head as if he didn't even mean it. It's only then that she cries out her despair, anguished at the hesitance with which she is embraced.

...Or maybe she is just a kitten, and she would like to be fed. Last place of all of them – unnoticeable, unremarkable – Tigerkit crawls toward a silver - twinged belly and latches. It's... fufilling, or maybe something not - quite there. Enough to quiet the nursery even if small, aimless whines never quite stop. With as much persistence as she can hold within kneading jelly paws, she demands that her mother loves her.​

 

[HOWLINGSTAR]

The news sweeps across camp like a silent, unseen wildfire. Soft murmurings of the lead warriors’ kits arriving into the world on a warm greenleaf night bring the tabby leader out of her den. She can hardly sit still, instead opting to pace back and forth outside of the nursery with an excitedly twitching tail. Every so often, she peeks in, just to make sure all is well. She won’t intrude - she knows every queen deserves privacy during this time. The only cats who should be with Nightbird are her mate, the other queens, and Gentlestorm.

And when it’s all over, she clusters close to the den wall, heart pounding with exhilaration as she listens to their names be bestowed upon them. Stormkit - she thinks of Graystorm, and a soft smile touches her maw. Lightningkit - a strong name for any future ThunderClan warrior. Twilightkit - a beautiful name after the kit’s mother. Tigerkit - from the stories she’d raised Raccoonstripe on. And Bayingkit…after her. Tears of pride gather in her eyes as she finally pokes her head inside to behold them for the first time. Her grandchildren, the offspring of her youngest living son.

They take her breath away. “Well done, Nightbird. They’re incredible,” Howlingstar purrs to the lead warrior. Her attention shifts to her son then and she can’t help the affectionate touch of her nose to his neck. To think he would make his daughter after her…it means more than he’d never know. “They look just like you. Both of you. They will make ThunderClan proud.”​