WHAT IF IT ALL TURNED OUT FINE [ ✦ ] birth

[Fantastream]

Fantastreams kits are born in very much the same manner she had been born in. When she had first learned of her pregnancy, she had found a quiet corner in Hun and Dear's closet and set up shop. At first, she had used anything she could get her paws on. A stray sick here, a shirt that had been tossed haphazardly there and soon she had her own little nest. Hun and Dear had found it though and she had thought they would be mad. She had stolen their pelts after all. Instead of scolding her though, they had replaced their clothing with soft blankets, with bedding that she is certain would make any nursery queen beyond jealous.

She feels the contractions start one morning. Hun is there, she had stayed home with their kit who had been sniffling all morning and now she was there to guide Fantastream through her birth. She could ask for no better company.

What feels like an eternity later, they are born. The first kit is a tom, coated in brown tabby stripes she presses her muzzle to the top of his head, licking the fur there so that it stands on end and chuckling softly to herself. He is only minutes old and still, she feels such a connection to him so instantaneously. She hopes that Figfeather will feel the same, that all of her doubts and worries would melt away when she laid eyes on them.

The second kit is ginger furred streaked with cinnamon. The perfect blend of the colors of the molly she loved and herself. She is louder than her brother, a kit who comes into the world as a promise. A fierce warrior, she can already tell. "You are both so perfect" she murmurs softly to them both, though she knows they cannot understand her. Not yet. There would be time though, later. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

Hun looks on with her own kit. The young twoleg lunges, their fingers outstretched towards brown tabby fur but Hun steps in. Instructs on being gentle, on giving space and Fantastream is grateful in this moment for her twolegs presence.

Later, she would learn the names they would give her kits. Coffee and Sangria. As was tradition in SkyClan, she would add on the -kit part of their names but it was her tradition too, to allow her twolegs to choose the first parts of their names.

// @COFFEEKIT @SANGRIAKIT

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[COFFEEPAW]

❝ SO GIVE ME COFFEE AND TV ————————————

In an instant, their world transformed from snug confinement to a sudden struggle. The sensation of air brushed against their tabby pelt as tiny paws met a new, solid flooring, and their once-suspended body now sought stability. A gasp, almost a whine, escaped the little scrap as chubby legs wobbled, scrambling to grasp onto something familiar. The innate need for close coddling and the lingering scent of milk beckoned them forward.

Soon, the top of their head found a gentle nuzzle, drawing a surprised mew from their new lungs as they were deftly switched around. Fortunately, that wall of softness, now beneath them, offered the comfort they sought, and a hunger momentarily took over. Excited tiny paws pressed upward, and with ease, they latched on without a fuss. A tiny tail twitched with contentment as another plush and warm body was placed beside them.

Happily suckling away, the first morsel of knowledge bestowed upon them was a simple yet profound assurance - safety. In this nurturing space, unbeknownst to the little bundle, safety would always be their constant companion.

[penned by tasmagoric]

———————————— TIL THE WORDS START SLURRIN ❞ ​

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[SANGRIAPAW]

*✧･ﾟ The environment around the kit has changed suddenly, from one moment to the next. Warmth is traded for a shock of comparatively cold air, and though awareness has not yet kicked in fully, the kit still screams. Her shrill cries meet all ears in the vicinity not still deaf to the world. Tiny paws flail, seeking something, but to no avail—coordination has not become a friend to her, though it will in due time.

When she is placed beside another small, round form, the kit first wiggles a bit closer. Tiny mewls come from her mouth, the pitiful cries of a kit seeking something that is unknowingly right in front of her. The scent of milk is strong, and first she attempts to latch on to her sibling’s leg. Something redirects her, though, and soft paws meet an even greater source of warmth. The kit’s second attempt to suckle is successful, and she does so greedily.

The kit settles into silence at last, safe within reach of her mother, her brother, and the twolegs she has yet to take note of.​

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