07-06-2017, 07:14 PM
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]crowd pleaser ― birth
taken from ff can be found here
It's time; you've known it for a while now, it's just that your mind has been blocking out the heaviest weight of realization, especially in these late days. Scooping up the darkest of the dread and shoving it back to the recess where all the more undesirable things you think about go. It's one thing among the pointless others that you're thankful you possess. It's like singing, when you go to find something to compare it to; your voice is okay, even bordering on good at timesâ€â€Âit's honestly a pointless venture, not used much, but you're still glad you have it. Just for the sake of being able to say you aren't entirely boring. Singing, repressing dark thoughts. One in the same, as in they serve no real purpose in the long run but you'll never be heard complaining about either.
You should stop making comparisons like that.
Where were your thoughts before you went off on that tangent?... ah, yes, right. The source of your endless burying cycle. It started, you remember quite clearly, with the increased movement; just last night you got only a few hours of sleep before you were kickedâ€â€Âquite literallyâ€â€Âinto consciousness, and by then you were too exhausted to curse the stars outside so you just lay back and let it happen, admittedly feeling little pangs of worry about the strength, but considering how you didn't run very far with the thought you must have nodded off before you fully processed the situation. You hate to be so passive.
Your rest was fitful, the hours on your clock increasing in counting order each time you awoke bleary-eyed and searched first and foremost for your bearings in the little red-glowing device. It was downright depressing when you woke up. It was almost too much for your blurry-tired head to handle when you couldn't fall back asleep the last time you did. Somewhere in there, you cried.
That clock reads something around 9:40, you think; last time you checked it was 9:37, which wasn't too terribly long ago when taking the only six finished pages of your current book into consideration. The book itself is more of a novella, really, though that doesn't deter you from enjoying it. Within it contains a story of flying cats, sent from the city streets by their mother in search of a softer life in the forests far away. Wings. They capture your interest like no other, but even with those blessed with the ability of flight around you often, you've never gotten a close look at the things. You wonder how they handleâ€â€Âuntil, oh, oh god. The book of flying city cats goes, well, flying; you drag yourself sluggishly from the tangle of blankets you'd been nesting in to huddle in a more pat-down part of the mess. You don't attempt any further movement, because you aren't half as thick as people may perceive you to be and you know you won't be getting any farther. At least... at least you're in your room, right? All by yourself... yeah, yeah, you can do this, this will work. You got this.
The first knife-edge twist in your gut tells you that you do not got this in any way.
You knew it was going to hurt. You knew it was going to be the worst pain of your life. What you didn't know was how sudden, how hard the pain would hit you; you never picked up on how the feeling rippled down, made your claws unsheathe all by themselves and bury into the fabric below, like... like you don't have control of your body anymore. It's terrifyingâ€â€Âterrifying, and agonizing, andâ€â€Â
â€â€Âand it's happening. You can feel the first wave build, come crashing down with your barely contained cry, slipping between your teeth. They're here. Your firstborn. Right there. But you don't look back; not when you're scared of any movement triggering the inevitable dagger-stab early. Dagger stab? No, no; when you jump at the fresh pain the next round of spasms brings, you reconsider. You think you meant firestorm. The second child comes blazing into the world, but they don't end the show. You don't think you can do this any more.
Your screams feel like they're being hooked in your throat and ripped jagged from your mouth at this point, with no locked jaws to keep either them or the pitiful little sobs you make in anymore. You can't do it, you can't, and yet, somehow, another wave jitters down on blades, sinking into you, down to the bones, stabbing after the next child and pulling them away. And then...
...nothing. Nothing? No, nothing but you, and your crying, and the much softer crying from warm and tiny, tiny bodies piled up against you. Nothing but your shaking body to will back into the motion of turning your head, your eyes to tear open and fixate on the equally unsteady bundles at your side. One, two... thrâ€â€Â
...
...
The muted green of a blanket is very suddenly at eye level with you. You... weren't you just looking at... the kits, right. You find your neck stiffer this second time, though not in any way as painful as your previous aches, so twisting round to look to your stomach comes in disjointed movements as they did at first but in nowhere near the same level of pain. You're above it. The children, not so much; you have no idea how long you were outâ€â€Âas passing out seems the most reasonable answer for you gazing upon the kits one instant and having a faceful of blanket the nextâ€â€Âbut they're crying hard as ever, the three of them– four? Four of them? You could've sworn you hadn't had a tortoiseshell. You must have missed her. But you're awake now. You're awake and ready to see just what you brought into the world.
Everyone has expectations. It's a part of life; negative, maybe, but a fundamental piece. You certainly had them for your kids, and looking at them now... you realize they meet none. The bitterness rises in your throat, narrows your eyes critically. The first is a she, huddled closest to your chest, and reminds you of the sky at noon: pale, with a bright patch of orange over her squeezed-eyes-mouth-wide face, crying out like an indignant christ child. The tiny wails make you uncomfortable; you shift your attention to the next, unnervingly quieter kitten. This oneâ€â€Âa male, you believeâ€â€Âisn't as easy to compare to nature's beauty, but he holds your attention long enough for you to take in his dull brown, puffed like a cloud bearing unusual rain. The third is surprising solely in that he is of the colour those clouds you thought of earlier should be. You shift your weight to free up a paw, wipe the deep yellow of your blood away to see a cool white. Odd. The fourth, the blurred tortoiseshell, you do not touch with your single paw, but lean in closer to give her a distant sniff; you discover that she smells just the same. How she fits in with the others makes you want to believe there is nothing off. So you do. Four kits, yes. Four.
And, you remember, with as much pain as you felt bringing them to life, four kits you never wanted. Sure, looking down on them pressing to your fur makes you feel fuzzy and warm, but this moment, you and them alone, won't last long. In fact, the end is already long overdue. You'll get to coddle them for a few days, maybe weeks, and then? They'll be out and about, and as soon as they jump from your hold, they'll hit the ground running for sure, and you'll remember everything you feared before they existed in the outside. You can't take care of them. Miles never gave them thought. Ship... god, asking him to help is asking him to chain himself to this place, and you know how much he hates it here. He already comes and goes, freaks you out after disappearing for a week.
The soft cries of the kitsâ€â€Âyour kitsâ€â€Âbreak through your veil of thought, and, somehow, someway, it moves you all the way to full-blown tears.
//don't feel obligated to match! I had a lot of muse here :^)
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New life was strange, but the albino feline was going to have to get used to that.
The kitten wriggled around next to his mother. He wasn't going to wail blindly like his siblings, nor was he going to feed until much later. He seemed thin for a newborn, but he was breathing just fine. Tiny paws wriggled much faster, dragging himself towards the warmth that he was quickly associating as someone that existed past his closed eyes.
The little kitten who would be Opium let out a shrill squeak. Life was good for now.
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]You didn't quite understand what was going on, your eyes were closed after all. That was to be expected, you were just born. To who, well you didn't know. The person who gave birth to you is no longer here, meaning you couldn't smell them. Immediately after you were born, you had been taken by the scruff of your neck rather roughly. No name. They never gave you one, but here she was being carried in someone's jaws. Not that she cared, considering she didn't cry or whine. Odd. Normally children cried, when they were taken away from their mother, but she didn't. The reason was actually quite simple. How can you cry over something you never known?
Anyways the trip is long. Kits who are just born could not see or hear, but they can feel. You felt your body sway side to side, as whoever was carrying you moved. Darkness. Eventually it was go away, as she grew over time.
Suddenly she felt warmth. Although she didn't know why. All she knew was that her body was no longer being carried. The person who brought her here had most likely left, but then again she didn't know. When she attempted to move, she felt something next to her. Curious they wiggled towards the objects (kits). Bumping into something, you felt it move. However, you didn't realize you started a chain reaction of wailing.
Just because you were just born yourself didn't mean that you had no senses. You felt something warm come near you (Twinruins), so you mewled as you looked up. Eyes still closed. Once the thing went away, you pressed against something (Dreamkit). You were cold from being brought over here, so you needed something to warm you up. The thing you huddled with provided said warmth.
The soon to be Sabitsuki, or Sabi remained stoic throughout the whole ordeal. For now, life wasn't that bad. The scent of the other children mingled with their own.
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]Hey who turned on the lights? One moment you're relaxing in a dark cramped space and then next, you're shoved into a bright cold world unknowest to you. Eyes and ears sealed shut, you do the first thing that comes naturally after being born- you complain. A shrill cry leaves your tiny parted jaws. You cry and cry until a new sensation reaches over your tiny pink nose. You have yet to come up with a word to call it, but it comes to you- a smell. A warm scent holds your wails hostage and drives you forward into a large warmth which you immediately embrace. The presences next to you are also warm and wiggly, but it's nothing compared to the big one in front of you. This one feels just as good as the smaller ones, if not better. It's much warmer and provides food which you also quickly take advantage of. Through your sealed ears, you can feel and hear a rhythmic sound. Thump, thump, tha-thump. What is that? It's loud, but nice. You feel a sense of protection all around you. When you were born, you were loud; you came out fighting- a trait that will carry over in the months to come. But now you've quieted, relishing in the warmth and nourishment provided by the large presence, which you've deemed Mother.
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]Miles knew. Call it some sixth sense that connected him mentally to those he loved, but he knew. It was time. Deciding to occupy his flame-point body, the tom scurried over to the scene with narrowed eyes. He felt his heart grow cold and drop to his stomach when he saw the sight of kits wriggling next to Twins exhausted body. His kits. He froze, lowering his head to examine the ground below him. They were his, but no one could ever know. Ship would come in and be where he should be in their life. The siamese grunted under his breath before inhaling deeply and approaching slowly. Brackenwings exclamation barely broke the clouded condition in his mind. He completely ignored Nightflower and sat down a bit farther off, just hardly within sight. His eyes were locked onto Twin and the kits. His teal orbs closed momentarily and if one was paying a lick of attention to him, they'd see a small tear drop down and land on the ground. When he looked up again, his gaze was filled with pain, regret, and need. Miles hunched over and shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He had no doubt Whitedove would come promptly. She was a good medic and had long ago earned his trust. He came closer and stood with stone cold eyes. His former joyful, happy teal gaze was long gone. A deep seeded bitterness planted in his chest. Twins tears which normally would've made him rush to his old lovers side now made him.. satisfied. His tail swiped over the ground and he looked at the children. An aurora of I dare you to say something surrounded him and was targeted towards Twin.
taken from ff can be found here
It's time; you've known it for a while now, it's just that your mind has been blocking out the heaviest weight of realization, especially in these late days. Scooping up the darkest of the dread and shoving it back to the recess where all the more undesirable things you think about go. It's one thing among the pointless others that you're thankful you possess. It's like singing, when you go to find something to compare it to; your voice is okay, even bordering on good at timesâ€â€Âit's honestly a pointless venture, not used much, but you're still glad you have it. Just for the sake of being able to say you aren't entirely boring. Singing, repressing dark thoughts. One in the same, as in they serve no real purpose in the long run but you'll never be heard complaining about either.
You should stop making comparisons like that.
Where were your thoughts before you went off on that tangent?... ah, yes, right. The source of your endless burying cycle. It started, you remember quite clearly, with the increased movement; just last night you got only a few hours of sleep before you were kickedâ€â€Âquite literallyâ€â€Âinto consciousness, and by then you were too exhausted to curse the stars outside so you just lay back and let it happen, admittedly feeling little pangs of worry about the strength, but considering how you didn't run very far with the thought you must have nodded off before you fully processed the situation. You hate to be so passive.
Your rest was fitful, the hours on your clock increasing in counting order each time you awoke bleary-eyed and searched first and foremost for your bearings in the little red-glowing device. It was downright depressing when you woke up. It was almost too much for your blurry-tired head to handle when you couldn't fall back asleep the last time you did. Somewhere in there, you cried.
That clock reads something around 9:40, you think; last time you checked it was 9:37, which wasn't too terribly long ago when taking the only six finished pages of your current book into consideration. The book itself is more of a novella, really, though that doesn't deter you from enjoying it. Within it contains a story of flying cats, sent from the city streets by their mother in search of a softer life in the forests far away. Wings. They capture your interest like no other, but even with those blessed with the ability of flight around you often, you've never gotten a close look at the things. You wonder how they handleâ€â€Âuntil, oh, oh god. The book of flying city cats goes, well, flying; you drag yourself sluggishly from the tangle of blankets you'd been nesting in to huddle in a more pat-down part of the mess. You don't attempt any further movement, because you aren't half as thick as people may perceive you to be and you know you won't be getting any farther. At least... at least you're in your room, right? All by yourself... yeah, yeah, you can do this, this will work. You got this.
The first knife-edge twist in your gut tells you that you do not got this in any way.
You knew it was going to hurt. You knew it was going to be the worst pain of your life. What you didn't know was how sudden, how hard the pain would hit you; you never picked up on how the feeling rippled down, made your claws unsheathe all by themselves and bury into the fabric below, like... like you don't have control of your body anymore. It's terrifyingâ€â€Âterrifying, and agonizing, andâ€â€Â
â€â€Âand it's happening. You can feel the first wave build, come crashing down with your barely contained cry, slipping between your teeth. They're here. Your firstborn. Right there. But you don't look back; not when you're scared of any movement triggering the inevitable dagger-stab early. Dagger stab? No, no; when you jump at the fresh pain the next round of spasms brings, you reconsider. You think you meant firestorm. The second child comes blazing into the world, but they don't end the show. You don't think you can do this any more.
Your screams feel like they're being hooked in your throat and ripped jagged from your mouth at this point, with no locked jaws to keep either them or the pitiful little sobs you make in anymore. You can't do it, you can't, and yet, somehow, another wave jitters down on blades, sinking into you, down to the bones, stabbing after the next child and pulling them away. And then...
...nothing. Nothing? No, nothing but you, and your crying, and the much softer crying from warm and tiny, tiny bodies piled up against you. Nothing but your shaking body to will back into the motion of turning your head, your eyes to tear open and fixate on the equally unsteady bundles at your side. One, two... thrâ€â€Â
...
...
The muted green of a blanket is very suddenly at eye level with you. You... weren't you just looking at... the kits, right. You find your neck stiffer this second time, though not in any way as painful as your previous aches, so twisting round to look to your stomach comes in disjointed movements as they did at first but in nowhere near the same level of pain. You're above it. The children, not so much; you have no idea how long you were outâ€â€Âas passing out seems the most reasonable answer for you gazing upon the kits one instant and having a faceful of blanket the nextâ€â€Âbut they're crying hard as ever, the three of them– four? Four of them? You could've sworn you hadn't had a tortoiseshell. You must have missed her. But you're awake now. You're awake and ready to see just what you brought into the world.
Everyone has expectations. It's a part of life; negative, maybe, but a fundamental piece. You certainly had them for your kids, and looking at them now... you realize they meet none. The bitterness rises in your throat, narrows your eyes critically. The first is a she, huddled closest to your chest, and reminds you of the sky at noon: pale, with a bright patch of orange over her squeezed-eyes-mouth-wide face, crying out like an indignant christ child. The tiny wails make you uncomfortable; you shift your attention to the next, unnervingly quieter kitten. This oneâ€â€Âa male, you believeâ€â€Âisn't as easy to compare to nature's beauty, but he holds your attention long enough for you to take in his dull brown, puffed like a cloud bearing unusual rain. The third is surprising solely in that he is of the colour those clouds you thought of earlier should be. You shift your weight to free up a paw, wipe the deep yellow of your blood away to see a cool white. Odd. The fourth, the blurred tortoiseshell, you do not touch with your single paw, but lean in closer to give her a distant sniff; you discover that she smells just the same. How she fits in with the others makes you want to believe there is nothing off. So you do. Four kits, yes. Four.
And, you remember, with as much pain as you felt bringing them to life, four kits you never wanted. Sure, looking down on them pressing to your fur makes you feel fuzzy and warm, but this moment, you and them alone, won't last long. In fact, the end is already long overdue. You'll get to coddle them for a few days, maybe weeks, and then? They'll be out and about, and as soon as they jump from your hold, they'll hit the ground running for sure, and you'll remember everything you feared before they existed in the outside. You can't take care of them. Miles never gave them thought. Ship... god, asking him to help is asking him to chain himself to this place, and you know how much he hates it here. He already comes and goes, freaks you out after disappearing for a week.
The soft cries of the kitsâ€â€Âyour kitsâ€â€Âbreak through your veil of thought, and, somehow, someway, it moves you all the way to full-blown tears.
//don't feel obligated to match! I had a lot of muse here :^)
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]
New life was strange, but the albino feline was going to have to get used to that.
The kitten wriggled around next to his mother. He wasn't going to wail blindly like his siblings, nor was he going to feed until much later. He seemed thin for a newborn, but he was breathing just fine. Tiny paws wriggled much faster, dragging himself towards the warmth that he was quickly associating as someone that existed past his closed eyes.
The little kitten who would be Opium let out a shrill squeak. Life was good for now.
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]You didn't quite understand what was going on, your eyes were closed after all. That was to be expected, you were just born. To who, well you didn't know. The person who gave birth to you is no longer here, meaning you couldn't smell them. Immediately after you were born, you had been taken by the scruff of your neck rather roughly. No name. They never gave you one, but here she was being carried in someone's jaws. Not that she cared, considering she didn't cry or whine. Odd. Normally children cried, when they were taken away from their mother, but she didn't. The reason was actually quite simple. How can you cry over something you never known?
Anyways the trip is long. Kits who are just born could not see or hear, but they can feel. You felt your body sway side to side, as whoever was carrying you moved. Darkness. Eventually it was go away, as she grew over time.
Suddenly she felt warmth. Although she didn't know why. All she knew was that her body was no longer being carried. The person who brought her here had most likely left, but then again she didn't know. When she attempted to move, she felt something next to her. Curious they wiggled towards the objects (kits). Bumping into something, you felt it move. However, you didn't realize you started a chain reaction of wailing.
Just because you were just born yourself didn't mean that you had no senses. You felt something warm come near you (Twinruins), so you mewled as you looked up. Eyes still closed. Once the thing went away, you pressed against something (Dreamkit). You were cold from being brought over here, so you needed something to warm you up. The thing you huddled with provided said warmth.
The soon to be Sabitsuki, or Sabi remained stoic throughout the whole ordeal. For now, life wasn't that bad. The scent of the other children mingled with their own.
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]Hey who turned on the lights? One moment you're relaxing in a dark cramped space and then next, you're shoved into a bright cold world unknowest to you. Eyes and ears sealed shut, you do the first thing that comes naturally after being born- you complain. A shrill cry leaves your tiny parted jaws. You cry and cry until a new sensation reaches over your tiny pink nose. You have yet to come up with a word to call it, but it comes to you- a smell. A warm scent holds your wails hostage and drives you forward into a large warmth which you immediately embrace. The presences next to you are also warm and wiggly, but it's nothing compared to the big one in front of you. This one feels just as good as the smaller ones, if not better. It's much warmer and provides food which you also quickly take advantage of. Through your sealed ears, you can feel and hear a rhythmic sound. Thump, thump, tha-thump. What is that? It's loud, but nice. You feel a sense of protection all around you. When you were born, you were loud; you came out fighting- a trait that will carry over in the months to come. But now you've quieted, relishing in the warmth and nourishment provided by the large presence, which you've deemed Mother.
[align=center][div style="width:450px;text-align:justify;margin-top:10px;text-transform:lowercase;color:#000;"][size=8pt][font=verdana]Miles knew. Call it some sixth sense that connected him mentally to those he loved, but he knew. It was time. Deciding to occupy his flame-point body, the tom scurried over to the scene with narrowed eyes. He felt his heart grow cold and drop to his stomach when he saw the sight of kits wriggling next to Twins exhausted body. His kits. He froze, lowering his head to examine the ground below him. They were his, but no one could ever know. Ship would come in and be where he should be in their life. The siamese grunted under his breath before inhaling deeply and approaching slowly. Brackenwings exclamation barely broke the clouded condition in his mind. He completely ignored Nightflower and sat down a bit farther off, just hardly within sight. His eyes were locked onto Twin and the kits. His teal orbs closed momentarily and if one was paying a lick of attention to him, they'd see a small tear drop down and land on the ground. When he looked up again, his gaze was filled with pain, regret, and need. Miles hunched over and shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He had no doubt Whitedove would come promptly. She was a good medic and had long ago earned his trust. He came closer and stood with stone cold eyes. His former joyful, happy teal gaze was long gone. A deep seeded bitterness planted in his chest. Twins tears which normally would've made him rush to his old lovers side now made him.. satisfied. His tail swiped over the ground and he looked at the children. An aurora of I dare you to say something surrounded him and was targeted towards Twin.
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VAMPIRE'S ARE ALWAYS VILLAINS DON'T YOU FORGET IT
[justify]RUSTSABITSUKI UPSHER CAPTOR PANDEMONIUM SAI. 23 MOONS. STEA BASTION.BIOGRAPHY