Beqanna
no one's going to love you more than i do [marble birthing] - Printable Version

+- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum)
+-- Forum: OOC (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=24)
+--- Forum: Archive (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=81)
+---- Forum: Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=98)
+----- Forum: Tephra (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=85)
+----- Thread: no one's going to love you more than i do [marble birthing] (/showthread.php?tid=18797)



no one's going to love you more than i do [marble birthing] - Tangerine - 03-27-2018

Tangerine

In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep

 
Her time will be soon - she can feel it.

Sleepless, Tangerine lays outstretched and uncomfortable. The ground of their grotto is suddenly unbearably uneven and with effort, the heavily pregnant mare finds her feet. As she stands, pain grips her abdomen drawing a surprised cry from her lips. She looks to where her lover had been sleeping, her eyes taking on a wild excitement muddled with pain. "She's coming," 

The contractions grow and the close air inside their cave is too dense, too warm for Tang and she seeks the fresh, ocean breeze to whisk away the perspiration forming under he mane. 

The walking seems to make things better, but only for a moment. By the time she reaches the open air, her insides are churning in a way which drives her to the ground. She sinks to her knees, cushioned by the dense grasses and under a sparkling sky.

After that, her fourth child comes easily. Soon it is done and the pain is forgotten as she adjusts her spent body to clean the foal. She glances to Warrick as a tiny golden face is revealed, her heart if full and her eyes are shining. Four navy blue legs lie tangled below the foal and fledgling's wings are perched over her topline. "She looks so much like you..." Tang breathes, low and eager. 

With tears of relief threatening to spill from her liquid-honey eyes, Tangerine returns her attention to the newborn. "Hello, Marble," she whispers into the fillies downy pelt. Then, with a kiss to the girl's brow, she rises and encourages Marble to do the same.



Its short but I really wanted to get something up for them 
@[jenger] @[Warrick] :3


RE: no one's going to love you more than i do [marble birthing] - Warrick - 03-29-2018

we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight
Her words are few, but they are enough.

Enough to bring him to life once more, to rekindle the dimness that resides within the darkest parts of his heart. It is all he needed to hear - and though it does not suddenly make the crown any less of a burden, he feels a certainty that could only be brought by Tangerine herself. A certainty that everything will be okay, despite the turbulence he finds himself in as the Overseer - his heart is torn, and perhaps always will be. But here, in this moment, where she sees him for who he truly is (a raw, gentle moment), he feels whole.

Her lips carefully press against his closed eyes, and he stirs beneath the warmth of her touch as it electrifies him. She says his name differently this time - the weight of her voice is lighter, and he curiously opens his eyes to meet the honey-gold of her irises. His voice hums in his throat as he replies with a soft hm? but when the bay stallion’s eyes adjust and look deeply into hers, he knows that there is something she needs to tell him, and his heart trembles.

A smile finds the corners of his mouth, and he brings her closer to him with a curl of his neck around hers, her gentle laugh reverberating in his ears. He closes his eyes and imagines her - a daughter, with her own wings to match his. It is almost unfair that Tangerine has already seen their daughter in her dreams!  “Another one,” he repeats with a warm chuckle, smiling into Tangerine’s skin. “You - and our daughter, our family - will always remind me of who I am. I love you.” He presses a tender kiss to the corner of her ivory lips, eyes wide with adoration.

----------


Beneath the warmth of the volcano and the thick moisture of their stone grotto, Warrick is stirred awake by a sharp cry. He starts, with a gasp caught in his throat and his eyes searching desperately for her form within the darkness of the underground cavern, lit only by the slow moving lava that trickles through its smooth rock. Their eyes meet and immediately he knows - but her voice (wild and beautiful) confirms it.

She’s here.

The winged stallion follows her obediently out into the stillness of the night, illuminated with winking starlight and the gentle glow of the brewing mountain that stands tall above them. The air is sweltering, much like it had been within their cave, but the sea breeze brings with it a cooling effect - tinged with salt in its touch as Warrick feels it brush against his skin. He flutters his wings at his sides (a nervous habit, to set them aright), a soft snort leaving his navy nostrils as they begin to walk.

It is not long before the pain brings her to the ground, and though concern fills his eyes, he trusts Tangerine and her natural instinct - parting from her at times to give her room to breathe, then returning to huff gentle breaths against her sweat-stained skin, hushed whispers of encouragement leaving his cobalt lips. Soon, Tangerine’s legs curl beneath her so that she may turn to glance behind her, and Warrick’s sparkling blue gaze follows.

He is met with the brilliance of gold - shining bright even in the darkness of night. His face softens as concern washes away and is replaced with a breathless smile, his eyes wide and curious and amazed all at the same time. The darkness of the filly’s legs match the same navy of Warrick’s own, as well as the tiny tips of her ears and her velveteen mouth. Small wings are tucked carefully to her withers, frail and wet. Warrick smiles and feels as though his heart may burst from his chest. His daughter is beautiful - their little sparrow.

“Marble,” he repeats Tangerine, his voice breathless. His wild woman rises (not without a tender kiss to their daughter’s forehead), and he stretches towards her so that they are cheek to cheek, looking down at the tiny child at their hooves. “She is beautiful, just as you are,” he murmurs, planting gentle kisses across Tangerine’s ivory and golden face, before lowering his own and tenderly nosing their daughter’s muzzle with the same indigo of his own.
Warrick


@[jenger] @[Tangerine]
/heart eyes


RE: no one's going to love you more than i do [marble birthing] - marble - 07-28-2018

Infinity is the time spent in the dark of a mothers womb. It is always same and always unchanged, unmarked by the passing of day or night - and because it is the only thing that she has ever known, it is enough. Enough, until it changes. Until this world (this womb) comes alive and wild around her, squeezing and pushing and urging her to elsewhere. But does she want this elsewhere? She isn’t sure, wonders if maybe she would rather stay here where it is dark and quiet and the sound of her heartbeat races alongside that other beat. Her mothers beat - though she doesn’t know it for what it is, knows it only as her first friend.

Oh but it fusses again, this world, squeezing and squishing and pressing in on her - and maybe she does want to leave now, maybe elsewhere will be nicer than this.

So she goes - as though she has a choice - until she is changed too. A tired tangle of damp legs and fledgling wings nestled in the palm of Tephra. And oh! How quickly she forgets that other world, that quiet infinity of sameness and silence, the warm crush of walls all around her like a perpetual cocoon - because this world is loud and so, so big and the discovery of it leaves room for nothing else inside her. Thus her truth of infinity is forgotten.

She blinks and immediately wishes she had not, closes her eyes and pinches them tight against the sharp silver starlight spilling across her golden face. Hesitates a beat and then tries again, squinting softly up at the two silhouetted figures peering back at her. The first reaches out to clean her, and she tenses, the sensation strange and rough in a way that no one could have predicted. But it isn’t all bad, this new warmth her mother grooms back into her, and after a bit she relaxes slightly, dark eyes soft and a little sleepy, nosing closer to someone who smells like safety. She is nearly asleep, swaying gently over her curled legs, nose pressed to the ground in a way that makes the grass move in the breeze of lazy exhales when sound rushes in like a storm.

She lurches awkwardly to perch over her curled legs, those dark amber eyes suddenly wide beneath a furrowed brow as she peers up at those faces again. Her nose wrinkles and her ears go flat, sinking even further into the tufts of her mohawk mane. They’re so loud, don’t they know? She gives her head a shake, unhappy even with those soft murmurous whispers pressed into her gold dapples. It sounds of too much wind, of a storm carried by the sea and caught between the rocks, sounds of things she doesn’t yet know. She shakes her head again, shakes it so hard her ears make soft slapping sounds against the sides of her delicate head.