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  • Beqanna

    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


    [mature]  it's something within me; raelynx
    #1
    ((Okay well massive trigger warning - suicidal pony. idfk what happened but lol yeah bringing her out of the closet brought out some shit and she’s more of a wreck than I am right now. Needs something, and obviously isn’t too fussed about what, so. Come at her if you want? Baddies welcome, she honestly couldn’t care less what happens to her right now, though I’d like her to survive it thx. Otherwise she’ll just head back to the fam, nbd.))

    God, it was endless. She’d thought if she waited long enough it’d stop hurting, stop feeling so wrong, stop feeling like she was the broken piece slicing through the joy in their lives, bringing everything and everyone down with her. Give it time and the bond would kick in, the love, the feeling of blissful contentment that was supposed to come from nursing her babies, watching them grow, breathing in their sweet baby scent. 

    But she’d given it a year, and she still felt like a stranger invading someone else’s life, watching someone else’s kids, not telling someone else’s kids the truth of their origin. They were strangers with faces she knew the shape of, and every day that passed that she didn’t fall irrevocably, head over heels in love with them made her feel more and more like her own shitty mother.

    She should’ve known she wasn’t built for this. It wasn’t in her DNA, wasn’t in her raising, wasn’t coded into her body or her soul the way it was in other women. She was her mother’s daughter, and Mom had named her well. She was disaster, down to her core, down to the marrow of her bones.

    So she slipped away, leaving the girls’ father to watch over them though they were old enough they didn’t need watching over, and god, just took a minute to try to pull herself together. She wandered, letting her feet carry her away from that life for a little while, away from the endless need of two young girls and a man who wanted things she couldn’t give him. She wandered, and her feet brought her to the edge of the river, wide and rushing and glorious, and for the first time in a year she felt something, just a little spark, a little shimmer of hope.

    There was one way out, at least.

    She closed her eyes, breathed in the scent of the water and let herself imagine walking out into the current, one step at a time. Just a gentle tug at first, the water playing against her skin, flowing past and tracing tender fingertips along her ankles. The current building as she stepped deeper, stronger and more insistent as it rose up to her knees, but still just a nudge. More of a shove though as it rose to brush against the underside of her belly, as she walked deeper still, pressing and crashing against her and engulfing her chest, her feet slipping and losing contact with the riverbed. Maybe a moment of panic, survival instinct kicking in and her limbs flailing, scrabbling for purchase on slick rock, writhing and struggling as the river swept her up, tugged her under. Choking as water flooded her lungs, thrashing and trying to reach the surface, watching the water distort the light that began to fade from the edges of her vision. Her limbs slowly stilling, black bleeding in from the edges until the last of the light faded and everything was dark and quiet and peace swallowed her down.

    She opened her eyes, her whole body shaking with how badly she wanted to do it. God, she could, and it would be as easy as just walking forward until something bigger swept her away, pulled her under, and made it all stop. Took everything she’d become and just swallowed it down until there was no more disaster, not a trace, all of her washed away in the current. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her chest, and she raised a foot to take a step forward. 

    And set it back down, sighing as hope faded from her eyes again. Her head lowered toward the ground, too heavy to hold up as the weight of it all settled on her again. She turned her back on the river and started slowly walking toward home, feet dragging with the effort to stand up and keep moving forward.
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    #2

    I love the way that your heart breaks
    with every injustice and deadly fate.

    Time is meaningless to him. An endless march that holds no sway over his gruesome mind. For all he knows, the last time he had set foot in this place had been a month ago, a year ago, only yesterday. It all feels the same to him. Endless and fleeting all at once.

    Since Pangea had been lost to the wicked seas, he’d had no need for time. Nor had it any need of him. The aches of age are lost on him. Perhaps he had grown older, but one could never tell by looking at him. He is still the same as he ever was. Still a blank expression over a charcoal body cracked and burned beyond recognition. He is hardly recognizable as equine, but that has been true for ages. True since his distant master had flayed him with fire. Had remade him into a monster of his own creation.

    To this day, he is nothing more than the monster. The husk of an equine replaced by a creature as unholy as the night. He had always been broken. A thing not entirely right, since the day of his birth. Perhaps he had been meant to be this wretched, or perhaps he had simply cracked his neck wrong, causing shudders of exquisite pain to be his first experience upon birthing.

    To this day, it is the only thing that holds any meaning to him. His only religion. His only purpose.

    He barely recognizes Beqanna when he returns. What does it matter anyway? He can find what he needs anywhere. And He (his master) had long since fled her pitiful shores. But somehow he makes his way back to the land of his misbegotten birth. Whether through instinct or luck though, it is hard to say.

    The river rushes alongside him, it’s song stinging his ears with it’s terrible rage. It reaches and stretches, it’s wet fingers hissing against the flame of his skin. He pays it little mind. Pain is his mistress and death holds no fear for him. The giant beside him can certainly hold no candle.

    But then there is a girl. There, by the river, her pain a beacon on this dreary day. Calling to him like little else can. He doesn’t know her. Doesn’t try to know her. She runs from her pain, a coward in the face of life. Only those worthy of his gift would ever receive it, and death is so terribly unworthy. But she calls to him, an irresistible siren song. Where there is pain, there is Raelynx.

    The flames lick his skin, a burning reminder. Perhaps it could remind her too. His slow, purposeful steps bring him to her side until burning flesh presses against disgustingly unbroken skin. He scrapes his rough lips along the mottled black and white of her flesh, flames trailing in its wake until he reaches her regrettably unmarred neck.

    “Do it,” he rasps through vocal cords long ago destroyed by smoke. “You’re not worthy.”

    Raelynx

    html c insane | picture c naelii.deviantart.com
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    #3
    She knew better by now than to hope. The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart race anyhow, though a year had come and gone since his promise to come back to her. She stood, eyes closed and heart pounding in her chest like a drum gone mad, a relentless fever pitch that stole her breath with her first taste of anticipation in so damn long she barely recognized it as it flickered to life inside her.

    But he was not her Dov. He was something far more dangerous*.

    His fire heated her skin before he so much as touched her, flame sizzling and crackling and making a shiver race along her skin. He pressed against her, his touch burning in brand new ways, just a taste of fire searing into her skin, and she bit back a cry of pain, skin shuddering protest at his touch, eyelids lowering halfway as sensation flooded through her for the first time in a year.

    Her breath caught, and she turned her face to look at him as he trailed his lips along her neck, gasping at the ugly scars that marred his hairless hide, not quite sure if the shiver that ran down her spine was one of disgust or anticipation. She was disaster. And he could be her undoing. She could almost taste it in the rasp of his voice as he crooned, do it, egging her on, and she wondered. Could he feel her standing at the edge of her own unmaking, destruction thick and heady in the air?

    She almost did, almost listened to that ruined voice, almost gave in and stepped out into the water--until he added three little words. You’re not worthy.

    Ah, yes. It was, after all, what had stopped her in the first place. She didn’t deserve the out, didn’t deserve the ending. So her feet stayed firmly planted on the ground, and she let the brush of his fire sear her skin, let it burn through her and remind her there were other roads to ruin.

    “No.”

    She looked at him, brown eyes clashing briefly with grey. “I’m not,” she agreed softly, and started walking toward home.

    ((*for her mental health, Dov, calm down, nobody’s calling you safe or weak or not super badass, breathe--or show up and prove her wrong, ijs))
    Reply
    #4

    I love the way that your heart breaks
    with every injustice and deadly fate.

    He is no one’s great hope, no one’s savior. No one’s fervent, star-crossed desire. No, he is far more likely to haunt one’s nightmares rather than one’s dreams. But he is a monster of the flesh just as much as he could be of one’s feckless imagination. And that, perhaps, is worse.

    These are not thoughts that occupy his mind however. His mind is simple, really. Almost childishly so. He has few thoughts, none original. He knows only pain and lust, satisfaction and existence. His world extends no further beyond those bounds. And that is probably what makes him so utterly terrible. He knows no remorse or empathy, because those things simply do not exist in his world. You either understand, or you do not. There is no in between. Nothing to soften the harshness of his existence.

    Almost always, they retreat. The burn of his flame is too much for most, and they flee, afraid of the glory he could bring. It is a rare treat when they do not. And that she does not surprises him, as much as he can feel surprise. Though he barely reacts, the pause, followed by a sweet flood of pleasure is nearly palpable.

    Perhaps she was not so unworthy after all. Perhaps she has potential.

    Only time would tell.

    His lips stretch into a macabre grin before he scrapes teeth almost (almost, but not quite) gently along the sharp line of her shoulder blade. It does not draw blood, but the fire no doubt scalds.  He is not ready to release his flame, and she does not seem inclined to withdraw. Let her feel it’s sting if she would.

    Suddenly, he laughs. The sound grates upon the ears like gravel on steel, but it is the closest to humor or delight he will ever come. “Wrong,” he grates. His train of thought no doubt seems incoherent and stilted, but to him it makes perfect sense. “Not yet,” he growls in a lower tone, dull gray eyes gleaming in the light of his flame. “Soon.”

    Raelynx

    html c insane | picture c naelii.deviantart.com
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    #5
    She’d already dismissed him from her thoughts in the moment she started walking away, written him off as not important enough to pay any further mind. Just a reminder, just reinforcing her decision to go home. Maybe waking a little of her old self, the one buried beneath a year of motherhood and failure, sleep deprivation and self-hatred. She should go home. Chase the kids off for a bit. Take a bite out of Zor, push him and prod him and tear into him with her teeth ‘til something beastly flashed in his eyes and he did something instead of talking.

    Maybe all she needed was a reminder that sometimes it didn’t matter if it felt good exactly. Sometimes it was a hell of a lot better if it hurt. Or hurt too.

    But he stopped her with a drag of teeth down her shoulder, sending a shudder through her as fire seared her skin, burning away hairs and leaving still fairly minor burns in his wake. She dragged in a shaky breath, eyes going hazy as pain washed over her, closed her eyes and bit her lip and let it roll through her like a wave.

    Or.

    Or she could stay, just a little while longer.

    No, don’t be stupid. Definitely time to go home. Direct that new flicker of awakeness somewhere useful, somewhere it can do some goddamn good in her life. Maybe try and fix things between her and Zor? Even if she couldn’t bang him, she could maybe play with him the way they used to, give him something to indicate he still mattered to her, that he was still hers. In some way. Even if not in the way he wanted.

    The stranger’s laugh drew her back to the moment, though, in a way the burn hadn’t quite managed to. There was a hint of menace in his tone that sent a shiver down Dizzy’s spine, made her wonder if walking away would be as simple as she thought. She watched him nervously, shying a step away with a flicker of unease in her dark eyes. His words didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but the anticipation in his eyes made her ears flick back, made her snort and narrow her own eyes in warning. Ohhh, she knew that look. She knew it damn well, from Zor's eyes and Dov's alike. Nope. Hard pass. “Don’t go getting any ideas there, buddy. I’m not yours to play with.”
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    #6

    I love the way that your heart breaks
    with every injustice and deadly fate.

    She should leave. It would be safest for her to walk away and never look back. Raelynx’s attention never remains fixed for long. Not unless one caught his interest. Then one would only wish he might forget. But he remembers all of them. The sweet taste of their burned flesh upon his tongue, the sounds of their remaking, the inevitable acquiescence. All of it leading to this thing he had taught to love pain as he did. Few are worthy, but those who are will always remain in his memories.

    And she, she could be one.

    So he laughs, because it has been ages. Far too long since he has tasted and felt such sweet agony. Too long since he has known the satisfaction of of their final understanding. Sometimes death is a byproduct, but he has long accepted that. Only those that were ultimately unworthy gave in to death.

    Don’t be stupid, little girl. Come back.

    She halts abruptly and his unfocused gray eyes blink, as though just realizing how precarious her escape. In seconds he is on her once more, teeth gripping the meaty flesh of her crest as he pulls viciously against her, a demand that she stay. That she learn. His fire sizzles against her flesh where he presses against her, and he shoves harder. Harder. Until his larger frame is pinning hers against the rough bark of a tree. Finally, disjointedly, he growls, “I don’t play, girl.” His voice hissing past his destroyed throat is almost eerie in the dim air of the dreary morning. “I teach.”

    Raelynx

    html c insane | picture c naelii.deviantart.com
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    #7
    Again, he laughed. And again, it sent a shiver of unease down her spine, coaxed a flicker of fear into her eyes as she sidestepped away, wariness making her heart beat a little faster, her breath come quicker. She’d played games with Zor, with Dov, dabbled in pain to make the pleasure sharper, tasted blood on her lips and let it coax her higher.

    This didn’t feel like a game.

    This didn’t get her blood boiling, or make heat pool low in her belly. This didn’t make her breathless, didn’t make her moan with wanting. His abrupt attack sent fear coursing through her, his teeth biting down on her neck, pulling her where he wanted her, shoving her against the sharp, rough bark of a tree, pinning her in place while he growled, while his fire seared her skin. “I don’t play, girl. I teach.”

    Those words rolled through her like thunder, setting her bones quaking, making her shake as he pressed against her, as the fire burned away hair and made her skin heat and sizzle and coaxed a sharp little cry out from behind her gritted teeth. She snarled back at him, lashed out and kicked at him, tail lashing and ears pinning back against her neck.

    “Well teach somebody else,” she growled, shoving back against him, thrashing to try and break his hold on her, bark scraping her skin where she fought to free herself. “Get the fuck off me, freak. I’m not yours to teach either.”
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    #8

    I love the way that your heart breaks
    with every injustice and deadly fate.

    He’s too lost now to hear her. Too far gone to recognize her demands for release. He has already receded into that space in his mind that lives only for pain and pleasure (so tangled together that one will never exist without the other). Her struggles are pitiful against him, her kicks butterfly wings against the coarseness of his skin. Instead he tastes the faint copper on his tongue and groans against her.

    Pulling his teeth from her battered crest, he runs his his rough lips softly along the marbled skin of her neck, a burning trail of deceptive gentleness. “No,” he whispers hoarsely against her skin. “Mine.” His to burn and teach. His to tenderly rebuild.

    With a rough sigh, her gently lays his scarred, charcoal face against her neck. No doubt the bite of a brand to her, but a heartfelt, affectionate gesture to him. “Mine,” he gutteraly repeats.

    When he lifts his head once more, the scent of seared skin stirs a thrill in his gut. A satisfaction. He nuzzles the burned patch of skin on her neck, the impression of his own features staring back at him. His licks the split, charred skin, savoring the taste on his tongue.

    As he nuzzles that brand, his lips find a piece of skin that had pulled away from the muscle beneath. He nuzzles it for a moment before his teeth close gently upon the charred flap. With agonizing slowness, he peels the skin away from flesh, revealing red, bleeding muscle and sinew. Pressing a gentle kiss to the newly exposed wound, he pulls back slightly to admire his handiwork, lips pulling into a bloody grin.

    Raelynx

    html c insane | picture c naelii.deviantart.com
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    #9
    Ugh, god, he was such a fucking guy, completely ignoring her words in favor of getting his filthy fuckin’ paws all over her. Which could be fun under the right circumstances. Like when she wanted the guy cough Dov cough. This guy’s hungry groan made her gag a little, his lips trailing along her neck sent a shudder through her right along with another rush of pain from the heat of him as he tried to convince her she was his.

    The fuck she was.

    “The fuck I am,” she growled, but it turned into a scream as he pressed his face into her neck, laid it there as it burned away hair, made her flesh sizzle and pop and char, left her writhing in vain trying to get away from the fire he pressed into her.

    Fuck, she was shaking as he pulled back to look, slumping against the tree, knees weak from the agonized scream of pain nerves firing frantically, shrieking in her head and coming out her mouth just a shaky, pained little whimper. Her teeth clenched and she bit back keening cry as he licked her, the sensation so fucking strange through layers of dead, ruined skin and nerves raw from the fresh wound.

    She panted, god, just trying to catch a breath as he kept trailing his lips along her charred flesh, screaming and struggling to break free all over again as he peeled skin away and kissed the muscle beneath. He pulled back to grin down at her, his lips dripping red with her blood, and she snarled again. Her blood was meant to drip from lips far prettier than his, with a sexy little spot of starlight just beside them that she so loved to bite.

    “No,” she growled, and lashed out, twisting to try and bite that sick fucking smirk right off his mouth, aiming another bite for his neck, ignoring the pain of his fire against her face in favor of getting some of his damn flesh between her teeth too, maybe even is damn blood on her lips if she was lucky.

    She wasn’t fuckin’ his. If he wouldn't listen, she'd just have to show him.
    Reply
    #10

    I love the way that your heart breaks
    with every injustice and deadly fate.

    At first he doesn’t notice her screams. He is too far gone, lost in the pleasure of peeling skin from flesh. But when they reach the charred stumps of his ears, his rough skin fairly sings with it. Her screams would no doubt soon turn to moans (of pain, though to his ears they would echo of pleasure). But for now, he would enjoy the way the sharp notes ring roughly from her perfect, undamaged vocal chords.

    Lids shuttering over the empty gray of his eyes, he traces delicate lines along her damaged flesh, following the path of the wound. The fire of his skin cauterizes the broken tissue as he laves it roughly with his tongue. It would not do to have her bleeding out. Such use fire could be, burning and painful yet oddly healing. He could keep them alive so long. Long enough to learn.

    He is not always successful, but he is learning as he educates. If he plucks those wrenching chords just so, he might tune her unmarked delicacy into broken perfection. Perhaps then, she might truly understand. She might know why he ignores her wretched pleas.

    But then, she is lashing out at him. They always do.

    With a sickening twist of his lips, he allows the fire to die. Allows her teeth to find their mark on his damaged skin. His own teeth dig into her withers as a groan shudders through his entire body. Her teeth scrabble at his charred flesh, spikes of pain that translate into immeasurable pleasure inside the misfired neurons of his brain. ”More,” he growls into her skin as he shoves almost desperately against her. “Harder.”

    Let her bite and tear. It could only mean she might finally be closer to understanding. To truth.

    Raelynx

    html c insane | picture c naelii.deviantart.com
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