Star*
always an angel, never a god
383 Posts
Ooc — Twin
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welcome, @Sparrowpup and @Phoebeigh <3 (hopefully y'all can claim ur names soon after this LMFAO) please let pups and @Silvertongue post first, then welcome to visitors!
nothing ever works out quite like you expect it to.
this time last year, wren had been sharing tongues with a stranger who smelled like firewood and hard liquor, and silvertongue had been caring for the newborns she hadn't wanted. wren had been reckless and young, only just getting a taste of what adulthood had to offer, and silvertongue equally so; but they had both lived full lifetimes in so few days.
she had never seen this as her future. when she thought of motherhood, she pictured a white picket fence life under the shadow of a husband who did not truly love her; faceless in a sea of others who were only cogs in a machine led by an iron fist. sharp baby teeth and ceaseless cries, giving up part of your body and your soul for another's pleasure, seeing the remnants of such in beady little eyes and destruction of home. tied to these creatures for the rest of eternity — a mistake that can never be taken back, a sacrifice that will never be repaid.
she pictured cold, stagnant anger that starts deep in the stomach, only growing and growing and growing as these tiny people turn to big people, as they get teeth and claws and muscle, sharp eyes and a keen brain. resentment over the fact that they are both nothing like her, and exactly like her.
but today, when the first shuddering lurch of cramping began low in her hips, that was not how she felt.
they hadn't even been here for a week yet, and this might have been terrifying if wren was in any state other than indomitable determination. for the past few days she sought no one beside her wife, sharing daze-filled stories and sweet nothings, taking turns providing for the other when the exhaustion of hormones sent one reeling. it was comfortable, sweet, happy; where wren had expected seeing the black mass in her nightmares, she only dreamt of kissing her wife beneath moonbeams. and when she woke, she did exactly that.
but she is only a woman, and like every other mammal, labor is far from being so magical. it is teeth-grinding and relentless, agonizing in a way she had never before felt and never wished to feel again in the very moment. her throat grows hoarse and she finds herself cursing man, damning them, frigid and yet fiery in her slew of expletives and writhing. god was most certainly dead, because in what universe would a kind and merciful creator — or writer, in her case — ever put her through something so fucking painful?
and the first to be born is made of the same fire that courses her veins and thuds through her body like a shock of lightning. when she finally opens her eyes and wipes away the rivulets of spit and tears, she looks down to see a tiny, ruddy boy — a boy! a boy, a son, her son. her baby. her boy.
but she is not done.
there is still more, more agony, after only an hour or two of rest with her wife and her son. she is ripped so violently from her slumber she almost hadn't realized she was awake and that it was real until she was mid-shout, gripping the floor of her den as snow begins to paint the ground outside a lovely silver-white. her daughter is stubborn, because of course she is — and when she is finally pushed earthside, wren is breathless; she feels half-dead as she gazes upon her little raven-pelted girl. she is dark-touched, a little ghost of her grandsire, and yet she is pure; here, wren promises she will never know his putrid touch.
a son. a daughter.
wren had never before wanted motherhood, and yet as tendrils of darkness pull her back to sleep, she thinks to herself: she did not think she could love anything more than she loved them.
this time last year, wren had been sharing tongues with a stranger who smelled like firewood and hard liquor, and silvertongue had been caring for the newborns she hadn't wanted. wren had been reckless and young, only just getting a taste of what adulthood had to offer, and silvertongue equally so; but they had both lived full lifetimes in so few days.
she had never seen this as her future. when she thought of motherhood, she pictured a white picket fence life under the shadow of a husband who did not truly love her; faceless in a sea of others who were only cogs in a machine led by an iron fist. sharp baby teeth and ceaseless cries, giving up part of your body and your soul for another's pleasure, seeing the remnants of such in beady little eyes and destruction of home. tied to these creatures for the rest of eternity — a mistake that can never be taken back, a sacrifice that will never be repaid.
she pictured cold, stagnant anger that starts deep in the stomach, only growing and growing and growing as these tiny people turn to big people, as they get teeth and claws and muscle, sharp eyes and a keen brain. resentment over the fact that they are both nothing like her, and exactly like her.
but today, when the first shuddering lurch of cramping began low in her hips, that was not how she felt.
they hadn't even been here for a week yet, and this might have been terrifying if wren was in any state other than indomitable determination. for the past few days she sought no one beside her wife, sharing daze-filled stories and sweet nothings, taking turns providing for the other when the exhaustion of hormones sent one reeling. it was comfortable, sweet, happy; where wren had expected seeing the black mass in her nightmares, she only dreamt of kissing her wife beneath moonbeams. and when she woke, she did exactly that.
but she is only a woman, and like every other mammal, labor is far from being so magical. it is teeth-grinding and relentless, agonizing in a way she had never before felt and never wished to feel again in the very moment. her throat grows hoarse and she finds herself cursing man, damning them, frigid and yet fiery in her slew of expletives and writhing. god was most certainly dead, because in what universe would a kind and merciful creator — or writer, in her case — ever put her through something so fucking painful?
and the first to be born is made of the same fire that courses her veins and thuds through her body like a shock of lightning. when she finally opens her eyes and wipes away the rivulets of spit and tears, she looks down to see a tiny, ruddy boy — a boy! a boy, a son, her son. her baby. her boy.
hi, sparrow,she cleans away the grime of new life from his itty-bitty face, holding his squealing form in her arms as if he were made of gold. he looks just like her, so much like her, and nothing could have prepared her for the gravity of the awe and wonder she felt just looking at him.
but she is not done.
there is still more, more agony, after only an hour or two of rest with her wife and her son. she is ripped so violently from her slumber she almost hadn't realized she was awake and that it was real until she was mid-shout, gripping the floor of her den as snow begins to paint the ground outside a lovely silver-white. her daughter is stubborn, because of course she is — and when she is finally pushed earthside, wren is breathless; she feels half-dead as she gazes upon her little raven-pelted girl. she is dark-touched, a little ghost of her grandsire, and yet she is pure; here, wren promises she will never know his putrid touch.
phoebe,the new mother cries, a peppering of tender kisses placed upon the chubby cheeks.
my phoebe, my girl.
a son. a daughter.
wren had never before wanted motherhood, and yet as tendrils of darkness pull her back to sleep, she thinks to herself: she did not think she could love anything more than she loved them.
April 10, 2024, 11:44 AM
in the swell of darkness, sparrow had been there.
he'd been there for the sweet, sugary, lovesick moments between his mothers that sent a warmth to the cradle he floated in. he'd been there for the stress, the fear, the anger and wrath of violence that left him clinging to the small body he shared a space with. he'd been there for the exhaustion and adrenaline that fueled a journey running from the nightmares he might never know.
and when his mother began the relentless pangs of contractions, he'd been there for that too.
he felt as muscles contracted and released, as nature took it's course to guide him away from the only familiarity he had ever known and out to a world he did not want to be in. this space was cold, chilled, and he let loose distressed cries of upset as the warmth of a tongue swept over him.
even as he is pulled close to the comfort of his mother's heartbeat, he is restless at the quickening of it. there was discomfort, tension, love, and eventually reassurance swirling in the air around him — and he could taste them all.
it was only as the tiny body he'd once clung to is placed beside him that the boy's cries wane. what was once incomplete was now whole again, and he settled to nurse alongside what would one day be known as his sister.
for now he knew her only as an extension of himself, and as he gorged himself to a milk-drunk slumber, sparrow was untroubled.
he'd been there for the sweet, sugary, lovesick moments between his mothers that sent a warmth to the cradle he floated in. he'd been there for the stress, the fear, the anger and wrath of violence that left him clinging to the small body he shared a space with. he'd been there for the exhaustion and adrenaline that fueled a journey running from the nightmares he might never know.
and when his mother began the relentless pangs of contractions, he'd been there for that too.
he felt as muscles contracted and released, as nature took it's course to guide him away from the only familiarity he had ever known and out to a world he did not want to be in. this space was cold, chilled, and he let loose distressed cries of upset as the warmth of a tongue swept over him.
even as he is pulled close to the comfort of his mother's heartbeat, he is restless at the quickening of it. there was discomfort, tension, love, and eventually reassurance swirling in the air around him — and he could taste them all.
it was only as the tiny body he'd once clung to is placed beside him that the boy's cries wane. what was once incomplete was now whole again, and he settled to nurse alongside what would one day be known as his sister.
for now he knew her only as an extension of himself, and as he gorged himself to a milk-drunk slumber, sparrow was untroubled.
April 10, 2024, 05:16 PM
(This post was last modified: April 10, 2024, 05:17 PM by Silvertongue.)
this time, it was easier, so much easier. like wren, she too feared the engulfment of motherhood and how it sapped one's strength to be independent. silvertongue had fought so harshly against such fears that it had cost her stormpup, and even shadowpaw for a time. bitter in her motherhood, cast adrift without the compelling pillar of crowfeather, she had surrendered the stake of her maternity to ash star. for all the tension between the variegated woman and her wife, silvertongue would never forget that ash star had willingly become what she had not. the beauty of the riverside where they had decided to settle embraced wren and the sharpfang found herself glimmering translucent in the aura of richness which now surrounded her wife. refusing to dwell upon her emotions in these final days left to only them, the moonsilver wife laughed and loved and spoke, wanting to fiercely embrace the freedom that the open newness of the taiga afforded to them.
wren's labour began first. silvertongue walked the floor of their den with her mate, whispering here and there words of comfort, of suggestions which might alleviate any pressure from the aching hips. offering massage where wanted, it was not long before her own body responded to the pain of her wife in long swells which soon found the woman focusing upon her own breath. perhaps that was enough; wren's body twisted and then a small boy came away, a child who silvertongue loved at once. her eyes burned with tears; she kissed her wife's cheek and felt her own contractions dim for a little while. a tiny girl joined the boy, and for a while the wives were left alone in their dreaming, wren shifting her focus between her rest and her mate's labor.
rowen was born on the crescendo of silvertongue's first cry. she fell back beside wren, panting, bringing the strong little boy to her chest so they could both look into that small closed face. she placed him beside sparrow and phoebe, passing a kiss for all three tiny spines, and another for her wife; gritting her teeth and letting small sounds eke beyond them, even as she crooned over their second son, their fourth child.
@Bryony was born as one of her siblings shouted a healthy squall and silvertongue sighed a long, low breath, pushing as she braced herself against wren. for a long time, or what felt like it, she only lay there, feeling her wife reach to clean the second daughter. she looked down as well, and for the first time the pain and chaos and adrenaline of birth did not terrify her. little bryony would join rowen, sparrowpaw, and phoebe at rounded bellies, and before silvertongue let herself slip into slumber, she kissed her wife gently. "we made them."
***
wren's labour began first. silvertongue walked the floor of their den with her mate, whispering here and there words of comfort, of suggestions which might alleviate any pressure from the aching hips. offering massage where wanted, it was not long before her own body responded to the pain of her wife in long swells which soon found the woman focusing upon her own breath. perhaps that was enough; wren's body twisted and then a small boy came away, a child who silvertongue loved at once. her eyes burned with tears; she kissed her wife's cheek and felt her own contractions dim for a little while. a tiny girl joined the boy, and for a while the wives were left alone in their dreaming, wren shifting her focus between her rest and her mate's labor.
rowen was born on the crescendo of silvertongue's first cry. she fell back beside wren, panting, bringing the strong little boy to her chest so they could both look into that small closed face. she placed him beside sparrow and phoebe, passing a kiss for all three tiny spines, and another for her wife; gritting her teeth and letting small sounds eke beyond them, even as she crooned over their second son, their fourth child.
@Bryony was born as one of her siblings shouted a healthy squall and silvertongue sighed a long, low breath, pushing as she braced herself against wren. for a long time, or what felt like it, she only lay there, feeling her wife reach to clean the second daughter. she looked down as well, and for the first time the pain and chaos and adrenaline of birth did not terrify her. little bryony would join rowen, sparrowpaw, and phoebe at rounded bellies, and before silvertongue let herself slip into slumber, she kissed her wife gently. "we made them."
April 10, 2024, 05:55 PM
It was with a cry of a warrior he was born. His brows pinched together. His maw wide and screams of rage racheted from deep within. He was born. He was here. The world was cold and relentless, but all he felt was warmth. A haze of belonging was all that could quiet his cries.
He suckled and he wailed. Prodding hard with his snub nose. There was no softness to him. Akin to a bull in a china shop is how he came earthside. And loud. He was only quiet when he slept.
When he wasn't sleeping he was vocal making all sorts of noises. He even suckled loud. Like pig at trough. No one could mistake him for gentle.
He suckled and he wailed. Prodding hard with his snub nose. There was no softness to him. Akin to a bull in a china shop is how he came earthside. And loud. He was only quiet when he slept.
When he wasn't sleeping he was vocal making all sorts of noises. He even suckled loud. Like pig at trough. No one could mistake him for gentle.
Bryony was born an angel.
Plucked straight from the heavens and lowered gently down, down— (oops! bumped her a little)— down into the tiny, insensate body that would belong to her. She was perfect from the very start, and our company guarantees that the transfer was made safely.
Bryony was born a star.
Her first performance was an opera, premiered in the den of her birth at the tender age of newborn. Her shrill whimpers filled the theater; tragic in theme, comforting in sound. The debut was an emotional masterpiece, given in private exhibition to a very niche crowd.
Bryony was born loved.
And upon this one edict, two opponents postured: Nature versus Nurture.
Plucked straight from the heavens and lowered gently down, down— (oops! bumped her a little)— down into the tiny, insensate body that would belong to her. She was perfect from the very start, and our company guarantees that the transfer was made safely.
Bryony was born a star.
Her first performance was an opera, premiered in the den of her birth at the tender age of newborn. Her shrill whimpers filled the theater; tragic in theme, comforting in sound. The debut was an emotional masterpiece, given in private exhibition to a very niche crowd.
Bryony was born loved.
And upon this one edict, two opponents postured: Nature versus Nurture.
April 21, 2024, 05:07 PM
Now, in comparison to her siblings, Phoebe wasn’t born no saint.
Nah, not an angel, nor a demon, more..mundane than that. She was no great warrior, she wasn’t even like Sparrow. She showcased the attitude of a bodega cat if nothing else, secure in the knowledge that this was her roost, and she’d rule it with an iron fist.
She’d just gotten used to the new digs, slinging one foot up over the other on the windowsill, when everything got real fuckin tight. Which wasn’t quite right, she was paying rent for this damn place, so it shouldn’t be tight.
Then-
Fuck shit that’s cold! Her tiny mouth opened in a gaping scream, like a baby bird, though no sound would leave her outstretched jaws. She snapped gummily against the air, head wobbling back and forth until it dropped back against her shoulder blades, the picture of anger.
Fuck! Landlord! Landlord turn the goddamn heat back on! She shook her tiny fist.
This is an outrage!
Five minutes later, she was settled, warm, and fed.
Okay, maybe not so bad.
Nah, not an angel, nor a demon, more..mundane than that. She was no great warrior, she wasn’t even like Sparrow. She showcased the attitude of a bodega cat if nothing else, secure in the knowledge that this was her roost, and she’d rule it with an iron fist.
She’d just gotten used to the new digs, slinging one foot up over the other on the windowsill, when everything got real fuckin tight. Which wasn’t quite right, she was paying rent for this damn place, so it shouldn’t be tight.
Then-
Fuck shit that’s cold! Her tiny mouth opened in a gaping scream, like a baby bird, though no sound would leave her outstretched jaws. She snapped gummily against the air, head wobbling back and forth until it dropped back against her shoulder blades, the picture of anger.
Fuck! Landlord! Landlord turn the goddamn heat back on! She shook her tiny fist.
This is an outrage!
Five minutes later, she was settled, warm, and fed.
Okay, maybe not so bad.
Star*
always an angel, never a god
383 Posts
Ooc — Twin
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April 23, 2024, 02:17 AM
the children born to silvertongue were just as perfect.
wren hated the helplessness of watching her wife labor so soon after her own, only being able to offer chaste kisses and squeezed palms, whispered words of encouragement for her keeling wife. her cries bring her nearly to her own tears as she kisses them away, allows them to seep into the ruff of her shoulder.
but she is not scared. neither of them are. and as the second boy is given earthen life, he is immediately joined by his two milk-siblings, all tucked in one little pile. rowyn is draped in his sire's brilliant white, and yet as she looks at him closer, she can see the rounded tips of her wife's ears atop his head. she marvels at him, coos incomprehensibly, overwhelmed in entire by the shock and amazement and relief and the adoration; how could any living creatures be so perfect?
their second daughter is soon to follow, and while silvertongue gathers her strength, wren takes to cleaning her and propping her up. the beautiful little girl, last but certainly not least; so much like her mama that it takes wren by surprise.
exhausted, still recovering from the residual soreness and jelly-limbs, wren is quick to settle all five of her loves in a pile of bedfurs and soft moss soaked with water. light spills in through the denmouth and scatters over the warm bodies, and for a while, the ambient sounds of puppy snuffling and the wind outside their shelter are all that can be heard.
we made them, silvertongue says, and wren laughs as she reaches for her wife's hand once more.
wren hated the helplessness of watching her wife labor so soon after her own, only being able to offer chaste kisses and squeezed palms, whispered words of encouragement for her keeling wife. her cries bring her nearly to her own tears as she kisses them away, allows them to seep into the ruff of her shoulder.
but she is not scared. neither of them are. and as the second boy is given earthen life, he is immediately joined by his two milk-siblings, all tucked in one little pile. rowyn is draped in his sire's brilliant white, and yet as she looks at him closer, she can see the rounded tips of her wife's ears atop his head. she marvels at him, coos incomprehensibly, overwhelmed in entire by the shock and amazement and relief and the adoration; how could any living creatures be so perfect?
their second daughter is soon to follow, and while silvertongue gathers her strength, wren takes to cleaning her and propping her up. the beautiful little girl, last but certainly not least; so much like her mama that it takes wren by surprise.
she looks like you, baby,she whispers, kissing the pretty eyelids of her mate.
they've both got your ears!
exhausted, still recovering from the residual soreness and jelly-limbs, wren is quick to settle all five of her loves in a pile of bedfurs and soft moss soaked with water. light spills in through the denmouth and scatters over the warm bodies, and for a while, the ambient sounds of puppy snuffling and the wind outside their shelter are all that can be heard.
we made them, silvertongue says, and wren laughs as she reaches for her wife's hand once more.
we made them.
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