private you ruin your life ♡ kittens

[cottonsprig]

[ cw discussions of labor & delivery - skip to ♡ for just cute kitten shit <3 ]
[ @PEONYBREEZE @rimekit @Comfreykit @FOALKIT ]

Your body doesn't remember pain. Once the slicing discomfort leaves its form, it forgets - the memory fades into the atmosphere until all you can recall is that, yes, there was once something so earth-shattering and debilitating coursing through your veins - but the intricacies of pain itself is long forgotten. Many think that this is a means of survival. That in order to persevere in life, one must not fear existing, where being in itself can be so hurtful and terrifying.

Labor is intense. Labor is uncomfortable, shifting weight side to side to try and roll it away. Labor is nesting, cleaning in nooks and crannies that make no sense, because the blind little creatures to be born will hardly crawl anyways. It's fluffing up the same nest twice in an hour because it's still not comfortable. Labor is not painful - not until it is, and then never again. Labor, once all is said and done, is beautiful. The body warning you of what's to come, preparing you for something you've not felt ever before, and will never remember shortly thereafter.

Cottonsprig feels it first in the afternoon. Her round belly tightens and then loosens once again - measures apart with no worry to be had. Peonybreeze promises to stay near, just in case. She only smiles, for she does not fear the birth of her children. She has her herbs and her knowledge. She's delivered the kits of others and has had moons to prepare for this moment. In all of her personal strife and fear, suffering and loneliness... She does not fear this. She is calm. She is okay.

The sun sets and she tries to rest. Sleep does not come easy - perhaps the first and only real grudge she has with the motions - but she gets increments. There's an urge to sleep in the bathing moonlight, as if resting in its glow will settle her some.

♡ However come daybreak, Cottonsprig is not resting alone. Three small bodies, cleaned and dried to the best of her fatigued ability, nestle into her side. The pain was swift, and just as said before, gone - the herbs she's brought and found are eaten, all but the parsley that still remains tucked away. She does not recall the tears that spilled from her eyes or the stick that splintered between her teeth. All the young she-cat can make of her memory is the intense love and immediate infatuation she has with her newborns.

Two sons and a daughter. She's been gifted with three seemingly healthy kittens, and her eyes water at the mere thought of being apart from them. They are hers. Their sire is of no importance (though she dearly wishes she could tell who it may be,) her lineage of no specialty, her rank no longer viable. They are hers and will be forever more. She grows eager and excited to watch them grow, learn to talk and hunt. She will foster their curiosity, their drive and sense for adventure! And with her medicinal knowledge, may she never worry about them growing ill.

There's rustling inside the den, and with a tail flick, Cottonsprig covers the bodies of her children. She looks over her shoulder, towards Peonybreeze. Will he be upset she didn't wake him? Was he awake all along, and just waited it out with her? She swallows thickly, but smiles at him anyways.

"Goodmorning," she greets the tom. "Would you like to meet them?"
​

 

[Comfreykit]

He comes into the world with a few spaced out yips and cries of noise. In those moments, in the following moments, all he knows is warmth and safety and love - and for all he knows, there is nothing else in the world outside of those things and the enticing scent that wafts around the area where he lays. Wouldn't that be heaven, for there to be nothing in the world but love? - but he doesn't think anything of it, just clings closer to the larger being that shifts, that rises and falls rhythmically. It's what lulled him to sleep in those moments soon after he came into existence, and it will lull him to sleep for as long as it remains; but now, he hungers for the milk-scent permeating the air. Unknown siblings wiggle beside him, and he lets out a minuscule squeak.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OOC ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ INFO ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• !
  

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• COMFREYKIT ✩ kit of windclan, zero moons
  → walks hunched over.
  → peaceful and healing powerplay permitted.
  → penned by Archivist → .archivist on discord.
  

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[rimekit]

The warmth and security of the only home she has ever known is stripped away from her in an instant. Howlish cries escape the newborn’s maw, filling the quiet with her declarations of life. Her limbs twitch and flail in the vast amount of room afforded her; it’s so different from the small space she had shared with her siblings. It isn’t until she is cleaned and nudged to the round of her mother’s belly that she hushes and settles down.

She is a pale kitten, nearly an inverse of her littermates. The distinction is lost on the newborn, never to be brought to mind until moons from now. All the newborn can perceive is hunger - a gnawing discomfort in her belly that is satisfied as soon as she latches to her mother. Mismatched paws knead against the warmth and comfort of Cottonsprig as she nurses, finally calmed and content in this new world.​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[FOALKIT]

˗ˏˋ ✶ ˎˊ˗　The newborn kit makes his entrance to the world known immediately - with an indignant mewl of protest. As warmth and closeness are stolen from the child, he begins to squirm. Aimless paws wave in the cooling season-turn air, searching for a mother whose name he does not yet know. He finds her before long, but his tiny and petulant sounds do not cease.

He is a scrawny thing, the smallest of the three kittens. His legs are gangly, his fur thin and freckled. He is a strange think to look upon just after his birth, far from elegant. His face scrunches up as he wriggles, feeling softness and warmth surround him. It is only once his think paws begin to knead Cottonsprig's belly that he quiets.

‎‎┌── IT❜S MY ALL-TIME LOW ✶ AND I JUST CAN❜T WAIT! ──┐‎

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  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  FOALKIT ✶ he / him, loner kit, zero moons.
  ➳ a freckled black smoke with bicolored eyes.
  ➳ cottonsprig x foxglare; littermate to rimekit & comfreykit.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[cottonsprig]

Regardless of if Peonybreeze's slumbering form finds her side, or if his night-swept voice rattles beside her, she addresses him with the same succinct excitement. It is subdued by exhaustion, fatigue - but it is nearly tangible nonetheless. Her tail brushes over the spines of her new babies, and the corners of her eyes crinkle with her glee.

"There's three of them," she purrs, her own voice graveled and hoarse. "Three. My mother... she had five, and two before that. I cannot fathom one less or many more. Three... is perfect, I think." Cottonsprig rests her head on her arm, her own paws kneading the empty space before her. Her purr is endless, rumbling in her chest as she stares on, and on, and on. She fears sleep, suddenly - for what if in the moments her eyes rest, they grow so suddenly? What if their ears stand and their eyes open, and she is not paying mind to the changes?

"I've been thinking of names," she muses, blinking a few times, trying to halt sleep before it takes her. Her head lifts again, stubbornly, as she looks back towards Peonybreeze. She hopes he's closer now, hopes that even in their confusing friendship, he graces her bedside with warmth, and maybe even a glimmer of a smile. Heathermoon, she does not say his name, does not sadden the morning light with talk of the dead. But she prays to him, her nose pointed towards his closer friend. Do you see me? Are you happy? She hopes. By StarClan, she hopes.

Her thoughts trail, and she's forgotten her subject matter. Weaselclaw... he must see her, lest he wouldn't have known of her pregnancy before. He's happy, surely. New little minds to dive into... though in her delusion, in her sleepless mind, she wonders if he'd treat them with love and care, like how he did with her. Should she name one for him? Should she save the soul of a triplet, in hopes that he will favor the whole litter? She swallows thickly.

Forgive me, for the realm beyond them does not know the rickety nature of her father now. The stench that wafts from him, the sickening way his grin splits his visage. Cottonsprig cannot bestow that legacy onto her children. Forgive me, for even in her exile, she fears retaliation.

"Names are hard, aren't they?" she finally says, after a long bout of tired silence. (Had she fallen asleep?) "I... I visited the horseplace a few sunrises ago. The barncats had fed me, then, before I came back. I watched the cows, and the sheep, and I noticed -" a pause, where she parts her maw with an unyielding yawn. Her head wobbles and she leans it back on her arm, looking downwards towards the darkest pelt amongst them. The littlest kit, despite her distinctly remembering his birth first. "Foalkit," she declares. "There were horses, and with them, little... foals. And they looked so free. They didn't know the barriers that were around them. Not yet. Free," she whispers with a shudder to her firstborn, pressing a kiss to the frock atop his head. "May you never yield, my sweet boy, to any limit set upon you."

One. She's named one, and that was too much. How did her parents name five? How did Rattleheart, Sunstar and Wolfsong, Scorchstreak and many more... how did they declare names amongst their kittens with such conviction? Her eyes struggle to stay open.

"This one's nearly all white," she jests, nudging her only daughter. Plump around the middle already, her child has eaten more than her fill. "I... I could name her Whitekit, like Whitedawn. Do you remember her?" Cottonsprig leaves her mouth open partially, weighing the name on her tongue. "No," she says softly, "There's... already a Whitepaw." And as she says that, she wonders - is there a world where she finds WindClan again, and such worries matter? She thinks of the Clan, of all that she's left behind -

And she thinks of Bluefrost. Instantaneously, she breathes, "Rimekit." A pause, but nothing feels off. She thinks of her blue sister, the tears that've crested green eyes and the fury that spit from her downturned mouth. Yet they let one another go, for the favor of Cottonsprig. Selfish, she sees herself. But... to honor her sister, in whatever life they lay out before them... she must. Bluefrost has done so much for her, and what more has the new mother done other than bleed the other's heart endlessly? "My darling girl. Bluefrost... I think she'd love you. She's not great at showing it, my love, but she'd care for you with all she has." It's perfect. And as she looks upon the next child, she feels the same overwhelming emotion.

"Peonybreeze," she addresses him again, her heart stammering. Heathermoon, Sunflowermask, she does not add, but in her mind's eye they remain, standing near her, praising her for the hard work she's done. "I'd like... I'd like this one to be named for you," she murmurs. Cottonsprig shifts her weight, careful to hold her children close as she does. "Not - not Peonykit, but perhaps... Comfreykit. It's a purple flower, and it does many amazing things for the body, but... The purpose is that -" in her fatigue, in her exhaustion and hormonal influence, Cottonsprig begins to cry.

"You are important to me, Peony. You... didn't have to help me, but you did, and now I can be here, and raise my kittens and - it's not easy and will never be, but you gave me a chance, and -" she pauses to catch her breath, trying desperately to not allow her tears and sobs to properly disturb her babies. All the same, her efforts could have failed. "Comfreykit. I'd like his name to be Comfreykit," she decides, the finality in her voice only punctuated with a hiccup. "Thank you," she says quietly, to him, to her sister - to all those beyond her who've helped her get here.​