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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    When the last day comes // castile
    #1
    She had returned despite herself. Here to the place she'd tried to make a home, where water met reeds and little frogs sang at night. The overgrown willow bower was where she had left it, in a hollow by the riverside. A few stray pink feathers clung to the ragged fragments of grasses and twigs she had gathered into a makeshift nest. It was evidence of the place she had borne her sons. Their sons. 

    It had been difficult coming back. Almost impossible, if she was being honest. The memories tied here were bittersweet, laced with fear that the Elsewhere would beckon again, and this time it wouldn't spit her out. The journey alone had been exhaustive, her wings still not ready for the task of flight. She had made her way on foot instead, waiting until the tide released the sand between Ischia and the main land. Once here though it had been made worth while. Late afternoon sunlight granted the serene view a richness. It glowed through the yellowing willow leaves, turning each one into a burning golden ember. It was a warm day for autumn, but the breeze carried its own promises. 

    That of cold, ice and snow. Winter would be here before anyone was ready for it. Her own coat had grown thicker in preparation of the coming season, almost white at this length. It did little to hide the pink lattice of scars now decorating her face, though the ones down her neck and shoulders were less visible. Avoiding still water had become an art as she adjusted to her new appearance. Here in her bower, it felt different. Time had worn on the place. It only made sense that it would wear on her as well. Her boys were growing bigger everyday, and she couldn't help but admire them. Raul had shown a steadiness that was unexpected, and an innate protective nature that she could agonist guarantee was the reason hiss brother was still alive. 
    Santana was as different from his brother as the moon from the sun, and he had grown into her shadow since her return. As much as his dreamy personality allowed for. He was coming into his own, even if he didn't know it yet. The trickles of smoke and clouds of sparks tattled on him as much as anything could. And she had no idea how to help. He had powers that she couldn't advise, could hardly comprehend. Ivar helped with what he could, but ultimately... "I wish you were here." The thought escaped in a whispered breath. 

    @[Castile] more accessible?
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    #2
    The breeze is her voice, calling to him, whispering to him. Castile’s muzzle lifts as his forelock is brushed to the side of his face, framing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheek. The silt sinks underneath his weight as he stands at the edge of the river where it meets the salty bay. In the distance, he can see Ischia with its sprouting trees. Why it catches his attention this day, he isn’t quite sure. A contemplative blink interrupts his stare, but only for a single heartbeat as his thoughts race across the waves to Sabra, to Ivar. Their distinctive scents spread across parts of Beqanna, but both end at the water’s edge. An occasional wind from the east carries them with it, piquing Castile’s intrigue.

    He has been to Ischia. Once, maybe, unless it had only been a dream. The tropical flowers bear a slight familiarity, but the memories have since been lost. It could have been someone in passing that was saturated with the saltiness, or perhaps even his mother when she still had obligations to visit other lands. Either way, it’s calling him now in a voice that reminds him so deeply of Sabra. Whether she is there, he isn’t quite sure. He had left her in Loess, but that seems like so long ago, and why would she ever stay? She could not – would not – have waited; Castile didn’t expect her to.

    The prospect of a lonely island, however, intrigues him even more as the solemnity and remorse of his actions cloud over his thoughts like a shadow. He shouldn’t pursue Sabra and Solace; why should he interrupt their happy lives for his own selfish need to touch them again? To see the lives that he so miserably failed and broke?

    His legs become autonomous and carry Castile mindlessly toward the shallows where the water laps at his underbelly. The urge to shift and to swim across the bay almost consumes him until her familiar scent wafts into his nostrils again, but this time from the west. A slow, calculated turn to look over his shoulder finds her near the bank at the river’s edge. Everything in the world freezes as his vision tunnels to focus only on her. He is afraid of her rejection and chiding words, of her pain and anger at having him fled from the responsibility of fatherhood. It was never his intention. He wanted to be there, to be a present figure to love their family, but he ultimately failed.

    Castile could run away and let her enjoy a happier life without him, but he is selfish. He wants her just as he always had, always will.

    Like Poseidon rising from the sea, Castile wades through the water toward her, his approach anything but quiet as it splashes and ripples down the length of his body. His metallic eyes never stray, his gaze intensely drinking in the sight of her. But he doesn’t find the warmth of her body or glide his lips tantalizingly down her neck. Instead, he stops in knee-deep water, his unruly locks draped like curtains that conceal his baroque neck and a majority of his chiseled face. ”Sabra?” At a loss for words, he can only bring himself to whisper her name, his voice almost lost to the sound of the wind and water.




    lmao I was about 3/4 of the way done with a post to you in Ischia when I saw this xD I just had to tweak the end... Hopefully it all makes sense still lol
    @[Sabra]
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    #3

    For a while she is lost to the ambience, feeling relaxed for the first time in ages. The boys are off adventuring as colt are wont to do, likely alongside the pair of fillies they'd befriended. That would lead to eventual trouble she was sure, but for now all seemed harmless. She had drunk from the river and grazed on meadowsweet, all in all spent a rather pleasant day on her own. In a flush of enthusiasm she had even spent a little time rebuilding the willow shelter, training branches to thread together into a lacy curve. It was a strangely satisfactory task, cleaning up the place. 

    There is a sloshing of legs through water, a singed odor reaching her that is not all together surprising. The boys liked checking in on her periodically, and more and more frequently the scent of smoke clung to her winged son's skin. It was familiar and sometimes comforting, but today she had meant it when she had said to let her be. "Tana, I told you both that I'm fine, I'll be--" 

    Sabra?

    Her feet had been carrying her around to chide the boys, but it was not their adolescent voices who responded. Now they rooted her to the sandy bank facing the one who had appeared. She had not forgotten his face. How could she, when she saw it daily in their sons? With a rush of air, her lungs remembered their function. Haloed in warm sunlight, dripping from his recent contact with the river, Castile stood staring at her with an expression that struck her to the core. 

    Every line, every marking, was the same. It was as though it had only been yesterday that she'd last seen him, not the two years it really had been. While she looked... thin. She had not recovered all the weight she had lost the last year, though her ribs no longer stood out. Her mane and tail were far shorter, the tips only just beginning to darken to their customary crimson. She was being swallowed up by his gaze and felt entirely unworthy. "Castile. Cas. You're alive, and... You're here." The pale mare did not know what to think, let alone feel. Anger, abandoment, understanding, relief, love. It was a violent storm of emotions within her that needed to come out. 

    "What in the absolute hell are you doing here?! Do you know how much time has passed? How much you've missed? I've missed you, and I've spent gods know how many nights wondering what I did wrong... what I could have done, you make you leave." Anger, check. Abandoment, check. She was going to forgive him. She knew that as soon as she saw him. But anger had to be known and expressed. As quickly as it had flared it died back down, leaving her closer than she'd planned to be to his solid form. Her feet never paid her any mind when he was near, always fighting to be close to him. Even when she wanted to be angry, it couldn't live for long. Another step and he could touch her if he wanted to. She looked him over more thoroughly, taking in everything. "Are you alright? Dammit, Castile, I've been worried sick about you. I thought you had died. And the boys..." a colourful curse was uttered under her breath. He didn't know about the boys. There's no way he could have known about them, or that she had conceived in the first place. She had wanted to, had loved the idea of bearing his foals. Little had she known the cost. Indeed, that had long been the thought she'd held, that once she'd given him herself, his interest had waned to nonexistence. That thought had hurt more than she'd figured possible. 

    It was difficult coaching herself into quiet, to let him breath and respond. Her emotions were hers, and she knew deep down, that this was what it was to love a wild thing. This was what she'd agreed to. She only wished for a little more warning. Two years was a long time, yet still her heart was soaring to be near him. No others had captured her attention in the time he'd been gone. There was no one else quite like Castile. 

    SABRA

    I'm Hell on Heels, Say What You Will



    @[Castile] have emotions!!
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    #4
    The sun isn’t bright, and yet his eyes narrow beneath his forelock with nervous anticipation. His breath catches in his throat and his ears swivel back uncertainly. Faintly, he can hear the metronome of water droplets plunging into the river beneath him. Sabra, staring at him, says nothing immediately; the silence is deafening, and so he focuses more intensely on the dripping and gurgling of water.

    Drip… Drip… Drip…

    And then it comes, her realization.

    Cas, she says, and he almost smiles in recognition of his nicknames (she is the only one to ever call him such). Yes, it’s me, he doesn’t say. The words crumble away before they can reach his tongue as it swells against the roof of his mouth, unable to move. It’s too soon to be happy, to embrace her. There is more to come, he tells himself as the river continues to thread between his legs.

    One breath… Two breaths…

    There it is.

    Sabra had always been fiery, and it explodes now with a storm of unraveling emotions. Castile can sense every little trace of joy, anger, and abandonment in her voice. And her eyes? They are windows into her broken soul. The magnitude of her voice trembles through him like an earthquake; it stirs something inside him that he could tamper just by forcing himself next to her, to hold her against him as her words fall apart. But he doesn’t. What urge there is to stand above her ebbs quickly away because he knows he deserves this. This is what he has expected and has been nervously awaiting. All of it.

    Only when she is just a reach away and her voice has quieted does Castile realize he needs to breathe. The air caught in his throat is expelled and replaced by another steadier inhale. ”You deserve so much better,” he murmurs as his metallic eyes fall to the water’s agitated surface, ”but I can’t let you go.” She had done nothing wrong; it was all him – he is the fuckup. It’s instantaneous how his thoughts swirl into an abysmal darkness to forever blame and hate himself for having left, but before he can lose himself in it, he hears something.

    The boys…

    Those two words are the hook and fishing line that pull him from the dark cloud of his remorse. ”Boys?” He knew that evening something would happen. There had been intention behind their actions, their passion untamed and relentless. It was only a matter of time until her body swelled with what they created, but multiple?

    He failed not one child, but two.

    Castile’s jaws clench together thoughtfully and his lips purse into a thin line. He wants to pull her into him, to hold her as they always had done, but he is afraid to break her. A fluttering breath finds the enticement of her scent and he cannot help but to reach out delicately and trace along her neck. The familiar softness of her skin caresses him and soothes him. For a fleeting moment, his eyes shut to savor the moment before meeting her gaze and hesitantly pulling his lips from her. ”Please, tell me about the boys.” Because his family is what matters most now.




    lmao I was about 3/4 of the way done with a post to you in Ischia when I saw this xD I just had to tweak the end... Hopefully it all makes sense still lol
    @[Sabra]
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    #5

    There is a mountain of pain in the painted stallion's discordant eyes. It's enough that she feels a flicker of regret over her outburst, as justified as it had felt. It was with a physical flinch that she realized how stupid she'd been. Castile, for all his fire and brimstone, was a kinder soul than she had right to love. For all her sins, and he had returned to her after all. How long had he been torturing himself, only to have her pour her lot on top. He'd just stood there and taken it with guarded stoicism. Another fragment of her heart cracked at his murmured confession. It was her own feelings reflected back to her, raw and real. Matching wounds that needed healing. 

    It was at once logical and exasperating that he focused on her slip of tongue, inquiring after the offspring she'd mentioned. Immediately her expression softened into something like a smile. It was better than the flood of tears that had been threatening since he'd appeared. Briefly, she allows herself to remember that night. Passion had been the theme of their romance, from the day they'd met. Every emotion felt thoroughly, every touch a burning need. As if reading her thoughts, she stands frozen as he moves, touching the skin of her neck with utmost delicacy as if she were a figurine of porcelain instead of a flesh and blood mare. She absorbs the sensation, eyes shut and leaking at last. 

    They flutter open again as he breaks the contact, and it feels like her heart is trying to break free when his gaze meets hers. It would be too easy to fall into his touch and forget everything else for a while, and it was something she intended to do before long. But first there were things to be caught up on and discussed. "They're wonderful. Raul has much of you in him. A good head and a strong heart. Santana is... well, he takes after me, I suppose. A bit reckless, a bit flighty. Impossible to pin down. But he's sensitive. And... He's going to need you, soon. I don't think he knows yet, but I see your beast in him. And he's waking up." Her face kept intentionally mild as she spoke, not sure how he would respond to this news. He would need to meet the twins, and that would be yet more emotional turmoil to survive on everyone's part. This information might hurt or help that meeting. 

    The river flowed insistently around his muscled legs, likely cold in the late season. With gentle motion she reached towards him, taking a tangled lock of golden hair between her teeth. She tugged firmly, beckoning him to the bank, towards the grassy flatness where she had been resting before he'd arrived. It would be a while yet before the maelstrom that his presence brought would settle. Before it exploded entirely though, she would be a little selfish. 

    "Hold me, Cas?" Her voice was low, hopeful and fearful. She wouldn't beg. Not beyond that one phrase. Reality was a bitch as often a not, and there was always room for more heartbreak in it. Why not freeze time while they could? 

    SABRA

    I'm Hell on Heels, Say What You Will



    @[Castile]
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    #6
    Sabra’s anger is ebbing as she melts into his voice and into his touch. They become one so easily, so effortlessly, that it’s almost painful to have pulled away from her to search the emotion in her eyes. The edges of his muzzle are cold and raw without her body heat spreading across him even as the river gurgles underfoot. She is all he needs for warmth right now as the world recedes from his attention. There is only Sabra.

    The admiration coating her words is infectious as she describes their sons (we have twins!). Elation spreads through Castile like poison, reaching from the very tips of his ears to his tail. Raul and Santana, he repeats to himself, memorizing the names, before honing in on her uncertainty. A slow, thoughtful blink dampens his joy and replaces it with concern. ”I—“ what is he trying to say? The words never find ground, crumbling at the edge of his tongue into oblivion. It isn’t easy being what he is – a monster, a freak, a danger – but he knew one day a child of his would inherit it. Time was the only factor, but he selfishly hoped it would be later in life that he would be faced with this obstacle. Not here, not now… Not their first child.

    An uncertainty blankets across Castile as his gaze falls briefly to the agitated water below. ”I couldn’t control it… You know that…” It has only been in the recent months that he has suppressed that awful creature inside him and tamed it. Of course, there are outbursts, but now there is a chain on its neck and an impenetrable cage that only he – the real Castile – can unlock. The dragon is no longer alpha. ”I’ve only just learned.” The confession is almost painful, uncomfortable at the very least. It took him nine years to understand his power and to harness it. How would that make him credentialed to teach his son?

    Because Santana is his son.

    ”I’ll try,” he whispers to her, his eyes drifting shut as he pictures them all together as a family, finally. In this lull, Sabra tugs on a lock of his metallic mane, beckoning him to the shoreline. Unable to resist, he shadows her, climbing the bank with nothing more than a muffled grunt. Subdued, with his mind in the clouds, he is entirely hers. When she asks to be held, he obliges with a wanting look in his eyes and a tender grin stretched across his lips. ”Always,” and he pulls her in, perhaps a bit too rough with his excitement, to embrace her tightly, lovingly. A single wing, feathered and soft, drapes across her, melting them into one being, one entity.




    <33333 ermagerdddd. Them <3
    @[Sabra]
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    #7

    She can see the change in his face as she speaks. First sharing in her excitement, her pride in what they had made together. There was a lot to be proud of in their boys, and she found herself looking forward to them meeting their father at long last. But then she reaches the difficult topic. She had guessed that if this day ever came, he would not leap for joy at the news. Would this be what drove him away for good? 

    She can see him process it, struggle for words that could possibly suit the situation. Not every day did one learn that they had aided in the creation of a new dragon. When at last he finds his tongue, it is riddled with defensive guilt, tones that make sense given the subject. When they are both ashore and nestled against each other, close enough to drink in his scent, held tight beneath the shelter of his wing. There was no hesitating when she invited him in, no doubt. Rather, he seemed as enthusiastic as she felt in his embrace. Her body leaned closer. It had been too long since she had felt this warmth, the perhaps ironic security he gave her. The perfect blend of sex, love and violence that had drawn her to him in the first place. The soft pink of her lips pressed to his neck, mimicking the trail he had drawn on her moments before. It would be lovely to stay like this, to lose themselves in each other like they had before.  

    With a not-quite-gentle bite, she picked the conversion back up. Responsible parenting was not her strong suite, but there was no time like the present to improve. Work before play. "I knew that it would be a possibility. I did not tell you so that you could feel bad about it, I told you so you could be prepared and maybe help me handle it." She shrugged a narrow shoulder, knowing that on her own, her odds of raising a volatile adolescent drake to maturity without losing life if not limb would be... pretty dreadful. Still, she wouldn't change it for the world. "They are the gifts you left me, Cas. I treasure them both. I just wish you had been there to share in their childhood. You're here now, though. They will love you as I do." She spoke with conviction, hoping she could make him believe it.

    SABRA

    I'm Hell on Heels, Say What You Will



    @[Castile]
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    #8
    Sabra melts into his side, just as he wanted, with a single wing draped across her. An everlasting heat churns in his gut, providing them with the greatest of heat as the days steadily cool as winter approaches. Against her neck, Castile smiles. Although he doesn’t forgive himself – and may never – at least Sabra can look just beyond his mistakes and embrace him as they once had years ago. She could see his imperfections and still love him, still trail kisses down his baroque neck. Castile’s eyes drift shut as her lips softly trace down his skin, and he thumbs through their memories together. Here, beneath the gentle autumn sunlight, they reconnect and return to where they left off with gentle caresses and whispered words of adoration. They are an image of serenity and happiness even as Castile flinches slightly at the thought of facing a son with his own curse. There is a responsibility in his near future that he had hoped not to experience. There is no time to prepare. Santana is here now, and slowly, his body is transitioning and trying to understand what powers lie dormant beneath the surface.

    In a hesitant, thoughtful voice, Castile withdraws himself and searches Sabra’s eyes. ”Worst case scenario, I can overpower him if he gets to be too much.” Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. With a deep breath, Castile’s imagination runs rampant with vivid imagery. It would be too much to control, too much to do, but if there is no other option…

    ”It won’t be easy. It wasn’t for me, at least, but I’ll try.” Already, he tries to formulate a plan that may assist Santana, but they have two boys. With a curious lift of a brow, he asks, ”What of Raul? Has he exhibited anything… dragon-like?” If he remembers correctly, he once called himself dragonborne. It had been an exciting revelation when Castile was a mere colt. He was like his own father! It was later, when the creature inside him grew, that he realized the precarious nature of his ability. He cannot, will not, allow Santana to blindly fall into the same trap.

    Hopeful that he will not be hated for his absence, Castile nods his head. His breath his hot as black smoke coils from his nostrils with anticipation. ”I would love to meet them.”




    @[Sabra]
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    #9

    She can't get the thought out of her head, much as she'd like to. It's so easy to flow back into his embrace, to return to his side as though no time had passed at all. Was this not what she had been imagining all this time? Small conversations just like this, discussing their boys with pride and worry. The burden of life lightened and shared between them. Shoulder to shoulder, could she forget his absence and pretend that time had not flown by? 

    She inhaled, filled her lungs with the bitter, masculine scent that clung to his skin. His husky voice explained and cautioned, described some of his experience with the beast within. And then the topic turned to the other, less concerning twin. He was yet one more example of how life rejected fairness. "Ah yes, Raul. He's sweet, and older than he should be. And completely traitless, as far as I can tell. He's shown no extraordinary talents, unless you count keeping his brother in line." She wasn't fully certain that that ability wasn't supernatural, to be perfectly frank. 

    He should know this. 

    He should. This was absolute and utter basic knowledge about their foals. This was information she had known since they'd been born, and now he was finding it out nearly two years later. Ice dripped down her spine, and simultaneously she felt suddenly too warm. Hot, and not in the way she was used to with him. I would love to meet them His words wash over her bringing with them realization. Perhaps her forgiveness would not be as immediate as she had thought. She was not a perfect mother. She had missed a lot. But she knew her son's faces, their quirks and their tempers. She knew that even now they slept nose to tail, tight as they had lain within her. He didn't. 

    Mercurially, her happiness bled away like rainfall in the desert. She had to stop away, put from the shelter of his wing. Her flank felt cold where he had been. She longed to press back against him immediately, but knew she couldn't. Not yet. "I want you to meet them. It's long over due. Cas, I love you. But I can't... I have to be better than this, for them. Come with me, and meet them. I'll allow them to make up their own minds. But you need to know this. I've gotten quite good at being on my own." Her gaze was crystalline as she stood close to the willow grove, searching his face for some mysterious answer. Abandonment was nothing new to her. While she usually brought it on herself, it wasn't a new sensation. But her boys, their boys, hadn't deserved it. They had her, and their pseudo uncle, a host of cousins and playmates. They were not lacking in family, and she was made proud daily by them. Still. A father was not something easily replaced. 

    SABRA

    I'm Hell on Heels, Say What You Will



    @[Castile] She loves him. She just needs to be mad for a bit...
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    #10
    In reality, he should have expected this and should have anticipated her straying from his side, and yet it still hurts when she peels from his skin. It’s cold where she left it. Even as she stands just a short reach away, a sense of loneliness burrows into him. Although masking his hurt with a stoic expression of resignation, deep within his heart is crumbling beneath the weight of his failures. He noticed how Sabra’s look of adoration faltered when he questioned their children.

    Yes, he should know their personalities. He should know that Raul is a near-clone of his mother.
    There is so much that he should know, but he simply doesn’t.

    The burden of failure churns with Sabra’s admonishment is a knife in his gut. Unable to look her in the eye, Castile diverts and stares back at the gurgling river. Everything she says is true, but it doesn’t lessen the brunt of it. It reopens the wound that he thought was closing when she pressed herself against him. But salt is being added now, burning him.

    I’ve gotten quite good at being on my own.

    The words hover between them, frigid in their tone. Castile maintains a steady rhythm when he breathes. Plumes of hot air coil in front of his nostrils as he continues to stare at the water until he has composed himself enough to look at her. His unruly forelock reaches like fingers toward the edge of his nose, nearly masking his eyes as they search her own. ”I would expect nothing less,” he admits although deep down he wanted her, and Solace, to squirm underneath his absence and struggle to survive without his company. But that was a selfish wish. How can he be so greedy? Licking his lips, he adds, ”You’ve always been strong.” They met as soldiers, and so it didn’t surprise him that she fended for herself. It wouldn’t be Sabra if she rolled onto her back in submission.

    Straightening himself with an eerie stoicism to accompany her distance, he murmurs, ”Let’s find the boys.”





    @[Sabra]
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