there are reasons to leave; castile

[sochi]

sochi

This pregnancy was not like her first.

She has never been someone who was made to be a mother. She did not coddle her children or dream of them when her stomach swelled with life. She was not someone known for her overflowing heart—although those close to her are privy to glimpses of it. But she has loved her children. She has loved their fierceness and their quiet and she mourns for her son who she has not been able to find.

No matter how many nights she hunts.

Not matter how many tracks she follows.

But this child—this child does not feel like her own. It grows and expands within her and she hates it more and more each day. When the time comes for the birthing, she feels the pressure growing within her and there is a strange sense of dread and relief that coils within her. She closes her eyes and hunts for a space that is safe; a space where she can be trusted not to be found by anyone other than Castile. 

The moments and hours that pass in the aftermath are a blur.

Before she knows it, she is damp with sweat and the child has slipped to the ground. Sochi closes her silver eyes and takes steadying breaths to try and find her center. When she can finally bring herself to it, she turns around to see the pup on the ground. The child is a mass of black fur, yawning and stretching out delicate jaws with the promise of destruction on them. Sochi snarls low and deep in her throat and gets ready to lunge before the child shifts and is a tangle of equine limbs—the same iridescent as her face.

She catches herself in the lunge and stutters, pauses, draws back with a sharp inhale.

The girl opens her eyes—black and depthless—smiling quietly as she blinks up.

Sochi just shakes and takes a step back, swallowing hard.

well, I can try to get you closer but I know you’d break your neck just to see the stars
and if we don’t dare to hold it then this reckless wandering love was never ours

@[Castile]

[Castile]

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was

He has been craving - needing - this very moment. It’s selfish to not think of the child that threatens delivery in this moment, but all Castile can think of is the warmth of Sochi’s skin and the softness of her eyes when they lock onto his. Days – weeks? – have passed since they sought comfort in one another beneath the charred canopy of Sylva. With her body neatly folded into his, she confessed what was happening, what would happen, and although anger loomed beneath his surface, he was somehow able to only show compassion. Life’s lessons replayed in his mind as he looked her over and observed her pregnant stomach.

Since that day, Castile has granted her time and space, waiting anxiously for her to return into his arms. Restless nights have worn him down in the meantime, but it isn’t enough to slow him down from seeing her breach Loess’ rocky borders and retreat to a far corner where solitude greets her in silence. Almost immediately, Castile descends with draconic wings unfurled ominously. His shadow falls across the hills until he spirals closer and closer, shrinking until a fraction of a shadow remains huddled underneath him.

His arrival is delayed in the grand scheme because the child is already slipping from the womb. Watching the tail end of the birth has Castile breathless, forgetting briefly that the foal isn’t even his, that it’s a product of rape. Every muscle in his body freezes, icing over with anticipation until his eyes remind him of what abomination has been developing inside Sochi. The shaggy, black coat unsettles him as he considers how often he has referred to Sinner as a mutt. And now there is one in his home.

The muscles of his jaws twist and grow taut as he clenches before Sochi can see him. Frustration bubbles as instincts urge him to destroy it and be rid of it, but his heart’s voice is louder. It shouts to him, demanding compassion to which he obliges.

Slowly, hesitantly, Castile takes his place at her side, even as she lies down with a startled look. He saw her lunge, saw how the iridescent blaze rattled her, but he says nothing of it. Instead, he quietly lowers his head to press his lips to her forehead, unable to keep from her any longer. ”I’m here,” he whispers before punctuating it with a tender kiss. Emotionally and physically, he is here with her. His metallic eyes occasionally flash to the newborn, but overall, his attention is locked on her, waiting for her decision and next move in this puzzling game of life and loss.

castile

[sochi]

sochi

The fear and the anger that swell in her quiet the second that he comes near.

She knows that some people may see him as imposing—the warmonger draconic king of the Eastern lands—but she only knows the stability that she has found in him. Something of the oceans that churn within him match the rhythm of her own and there has been a common ground found in the storm. She leans against him the second that he comes to her side and it is the greatest admission for her to curl into him, to press her shaking body against the strength of his, to press her forehead into his neck.

In this second, all she knows is the spice of him on the air. That warmth he exudes and the rest of the world quiets. She breathes in and tries to not think of the demons that slink forward in the back of her mind. She tries to forget the way the mare looked writhing on the ground during the first part of her quest for Carnage or the way it felt when her teeth sank into Rhonen’s throat or the blood she has spilled.

She tries to forget and when he holds her, she’s able to.

But she can’t hide there forever and eventually she pulls her head back so that she can angle it toward the tangle of limbs and fur on the ground. The baby is iridescent save for the points of black and beautiful in this form but she feels no love for it. She feels nothing but a sickening echo in her chest.

“I thought I could kill it, but I can’t,” she says and her voice cracks, somehow wavering between a feeling of failure and relief. “But I also can’t keep it here. I can’t raise it.” She pauses, reminding herself that she doesn’t have to do this alone before dragging her eyes away from the babe on the ground.

“I’ll take it to the adoption den.”

It’s a mercy and some of the pressure in her throat alleviates but she refuses to give the tiny girl on the ground an identity of provide anything outside of the barest of mentions. It is the only way that she is able to keep herself standing upright at all. That and the feel of him bolstering her, always there.

well, I can try to get you closer but I know you’d break your neck just to see the stars
and if we don’t dare to hold it then this reckless wandering love was never ours

@[Castile]

[Castile]

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was

Suddenly, all else disappears.

It’s strange how easily reality slips away when Sochi presses her warm body against his, when she leans her forehead to his neck in mild defeat. As lovingly as he can, Castile holds her. He curls around her and lifts a wing across her back to more tightly embrace her as emotional conflict and turmoil rattle her bones. There’s a fleeting moment in which he considers speaking, but the silence is so much louder as they lose themselves in each other. Their hearts tango with the beat of their breaths while their eyes shut to savor these seconds alone before Sochi looks down again at her newborn.

As much as he wants to understand her, he cannot. Castile cannot fathom the struggle of rape or to bear a child as a result. Even if he could dive into her thoughts, he would be too afraid this time to live and see what she experienced. It, too, would ignite Castile’s suppressed rage. It would awaken the monster within him, it would rebirth the chaos he so naturally pursues.

Clenching his jaws, he hesitates to look at her and see the conflict in her eyes, but he forces himself to be strong for her. Sochi’s voice cracks, and it’s an immediate realization and look into the depths of her soul. They once agreed they were monsters and so dangerous, but here, in their intimate seclusion, there is love and reassurance. ”It’s okay,” he breathes, his voice low and husky in desperate attempt to remain her safe haven. ”Whichever you decide, I’m by your side,” this would have played so differently if he was younger, back when he was volatile. The child could’ve been dead by now, a mangled heap in the sparse grass, but he has learned so many lessons in his life already.

”Someone else can take it,” it seems like the final decision to abandon it, and so Castile affirms it with the stern comment and a shadowed expression that Sochi can now see as he slowly (reluctantly) pulls away. ”We can drop it off together unless you want to be alone,” he gazes into her eyes then searches her face to see the lines furrowing her brows. ”I’m here for you,” he murmurs again sweetly before cradling the curve of her jaw with his lips.

castile

[sochi]

sochi

Sochi did not think she would ever find this. In truth, she hadn’t wanted it. She had wanted the freedom and the ease of life of a predator. She had never wanted to feel the weight, the gravity, that can come with such things. She had never wanted to feel that vulnerable ever again. But Castile had somehow worked his way into her heart of stone before she had even been able to protect against him.

At first, it had simply been the companionship that came from looking at another predator in the eye and not feeling the need to apologize for what she was. Then, the kinship of standing by his side against his enemies and feeling the mirror of the battle drum in her heart in his own. Then, the warmth of raising a child together—fierce and wonderful Reia. Companionship, desire, friendship—all of it melding.

Before she knew it, it was more.

It was more and she was able to let it sink into her bones without fracturing them. She was able to let it slip through her veins without feeling like he needed her to change; like he wanted her different.

And now? Now she knows what it is to let him see her broken. To feel the armor slip away and be raw and vulnerable before him, pressing her head into the thickly roped muscles of his neck and feel his wing slip across her back. She is shaking, she thinks, and she wonders if she will ever be able to remember that day without feeling that strange mixture of fear and rage and the ever-present need for revenge.

But in his embrace, it at least fades.

Enough that the tremors slowly die and she is able to lift her head and press scarred lips into the curve of his jaw. Her teeth skim down his handsome, gilded face to his mouth where she presses another kiss. “Come with me,” she asks—feeling that faint discomfort from being vulnerable, from asking.

“I—I just need it to be over with.”

There are other things she wants to say, wants to confess, but she holds them back for now. Not here, she thinks, glancing down to the filly on the ground with confusion in her black, depthless eyes. Not now, she thinks, but when her silver eyes sweep back up to him and her chest tightens, she knows: soon.

well, I can try to get you closer but I know you’d break your neck just to see the stars
and if we don’t dare to hold it then this reckless wandering love was never ours

@[Castile] excuse me while i go cry

[Castile]

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was

Somehow, they found each other at the right time.

Neither of them were looking for love, not when they enjoyed freedom or just slipped from the hooked talons of a relationship. Their compatibility was magnetic, but never intentional. Their procreation was merely instinctual – passionate and dangerous, yes, but there were no strings to bind them – and he expected nothing in return for it all.

Yet, somehow, they stuck to each other like glue.

Hesitance kept them at arm’s length for what seemed like years, but the walls have slowly been chiseled away. Castile is unsure when it happened, when he decided to truly give himself to her, but when their eyes meet above the child, he cannot help to smile. It’s small, but as warm as the fire roiling in his gut. The circumstances suppress his jubilance at having her back in his arms. The rustling of the newborn shadows his eyes as he blinks away to regard it, but his mind continues to reel memories of his life since Sochi. He wants to shout it from the mountain peaks, the confession fluttering in his heart and mind, but then he reminds himself not now, not yet.

A sigh passes through him as she touches the curve of his jaw with her velvety lips. A slow blink closes the words behind a locked door. It’ll be for another day.

”Of course,” he whispers, his voice husky and deep as he moves to bury his face into her mane, wanting only to touch her every moment of every day. ”Let us go then,” with a lungful of her scent, he prepares to lead – and abandon – the child into the arms of a vicious world.

castile