look how the stars shine for you; rapt

[abysm]

He is always with him.

Maybe not quite beside him but in a dream at least if not in the flesh.

Plodding down a dusty trail.

Together.

Hips aligned for every bug-bothered swish of a tail.

Together.

Abysm could never just leave his father.

Rapt was so much more than that word alone to his son. Both mother and god. He was life and no matter how far apart they stood from one another, Abysm would always worship every sunlit whorl of hair on his father’s skin. Love would forever be on his lips. A hymn of devotion dedicated to the stallion that miraculously gave birth to him - fathermothergod. 

Today wakes him from a dream he cannot remember. The fact that it eludes him lends a frown to his young still-forming face. (He could be handsome - one day.) He should have dreamed a favorite dream of his: father and son embracing, father and son grazing side by side, father and son. But he cannot remember and that causes him some distress. Enough to make him shake the rest of the sleep from his eyes and the laziness from his limbs.

Therefore it does not take him long to reach the meadow. It is his father’s preferred haunt and he could have dreamed himself there but that seemed too cheap and easy. Besides, he longed to press his small face to his father’s shoulder in childish comfort. To breathe in that scent of sunlit skin and meadow freshness that always clung to Rapt. 

The stallion wasn’t hard to find or easy to lose. That was because he was Abysm’s entire beginning - the saga of sperm finding egg had started here. From there it became fluid and foal and dream - always the dreaming! He had dreamt so long for a mother that he chased after that dream but knew he could never stay away from Rapt for very long. 

Father was his way of life. 

Father was life!

He lets loose a coltish warble of greeting as he spots his father. Rapt is smiling but his son knows better. It is the messiah’s false message to the world that all is well when it isn’t. So the colt thinks of dreaming the meadow away until it is just the two of them on an endless plain of sunlight. Not yet. Not until he has looked into his father’s eyes and seen him change. 

“Dad.”

So significant that one word that spills from his lips. 

@[rapt] <3 let me know if I need to change anything!

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever It was different, the way he loved him. What he’d called love before was something strange and almost ugly, it was all bent knees and keened words, it was hungry devotion, worship at stained altars. This, he thought, was love. And it was – one breed of it, at least, spawning from the diseased corners of his heart, the desire to worship and kneel, to find himself in them, to make an identity out of serving them. Then - Then he’d been changed, a biological warping, brought forth this child, and the world shifted on its axis. From the edges of an abyss came the boy, the perfect mix of Rapt and Kagerus, and Rapt had loved him ever since he laid eyes on him. It was so different, this love, in ways he couldn’t articulate. The other loves were volatile, almost painful, knives piercing flesh. This love was like breathing – natural, painless, a thing he didn’t know how to live without. It hurts, when Abysm goes, though Rapt knows he cannot keep him forever (though he longs to). He’s growing so fast already, filling out, face showing hints of the man he’ll become. He hears the call, and turns, but already his eyes light up – he knows his son’s voice as well as he knows his own heartbeat. He moves toward him quickly, delighted, presses his muzzle against the boy’s neck in greeting. “Abysm,” he says, “I’ve missed you.” rapt caius x else

[abysm]

motherfatherGOD

It resonated in him. This idea of devout adoration for his father. No one else could ever compare to the champagne stallion. The legend of Rapt lived large in his son’s mind. It didn’t matter if his father couldn’t manipulate dreams like he could or that he seemed so very ordinary. That’s what Abysm loved most about him - he just wasn’t like all the rest.

(Granted he hasn’t met very much of the populace of any place so has nothing to truly gauge this by - just guesses and blind devotion.)

He had no idea the depth of hurt he caused his father when he left to seek out the absent mother. If he’d had half an inkling then he might never have left the stallion’s side at all. Cannot see it still for the artful mask on his father’s face that is pure love reflected back at him. Abysm basks in the glow of it.

The press of Rapt’s muzzle against his neck grounds him; brings him home. Home is this: the press of their noses to each other’s necks though once Abysm couldn’t reach that high. Rapt is home from the smell of him in Abysm’s nostrils to the roughened velvet of his father’s skin as he rubs first his cheek then the broad plane of his face against it. “I missed you too.”

He means it. Pushes the full breadth of his love for Rapt into the very sentence that leaves the gape of his smiling mouth. Abysm feels silly for fawning all over his father like a little boy. He’s supposed to be growing up but no matter the age between them, he’ll always be like this with his father. 

Part of him is only slightly sad that he’ll never love his mother the same way. He can’t and has his reasons why despite the fact that he first formed in her body. Abysm still doesn’t know the full scope of it and may never. Right now all he knows is the feel of his father against him and the world fighting itself for that one moment. 

“I don’t know if I should have gone looking for her.” it kills him to say it but he knows his father will understand. Rapt always understands him. 

@[rapt] <3

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever He is still stumbling though this, what it means to have a son, to be a parent. His own parents were kind enough, loved him enough, but they were so wrapped in their own private tragedy that Rapt felt more like an afterthought. They had never hurt him, they had raised him and fed him. He’s heard stories since, awful things, and he supposes he is grateful. But it feels nothing like this, his desire to keep his son safe, to be at his side at all times, protect him from every evil, impossible as such a thing is. (He was only a little older than Abysm when he met the monster, Pollock with his horns, driving fear into his heart, making him kneel – and oh, how he loved it; and oh, how sick he’d be if such a thing befell his own child.) The world feels straightened on its axis as Abysm presses against him, close and sweet. Rapt pretends it will last forever, this closeness, that even as he grows and matures Abysm will stay like this, pressed to his shoulder, perfect and unchanging. I don’t know if I should have gone looking for her, he says, and Rapt sighs, pressing his muzzle again Abysm again. “She’s your mother,” he says, “you have a right to know her, and her you. If you didn’t look for her, you’d always wonder.” He doesn’t blame Abysm for doing it, but he’s so, so glad he’s returned. “Besides,” he says, “she can teach you how to use your gifts.” rapt caius x else

[abysm]

The foundations for good health and love have been laid by his father. Abysm knows there are things (beings, gods and monsters) to be afraid of. Father has taught him that much too. But how can he truly ever fear anything when he can turn dream to nightmare with the blink of an eye? 

Abysm reaches up and over to Rapt’s withers where he starts chomping in quick shirt rows with his teeth. How many times had his father towered over him and smoothed the unruly fuzz of his baby fur? Countless, he knows, remembering. Now he is of a height where he can return the favor as he grooms out little bits of dirt and dust until his father is radiant in creamy gold again. 

“You really should take better care of yourself dad.” he mumbles around a mouthful of fur. It just slaughters the thick red muscle in him to see his father unkempt when he is not there. Rapt lived more - lived better - with Abysm by his side and the growing boy knew it. As much he’d love to stay by the stallion’s side forever, they both knew that wouldn’t happen. It was just something they never talked about and Abysm pretended that every time he came to the meadow after leaving, Rapt would be there to welcome him back.

(A nasty little part of him whispered that he knew better but the colt ignored it.)

He sighs. The press of father’s muzzle to his fur is a great comfort and Abysm finds his head sinking to the familiar hollow of his father’s back. “Would I though?” He can’t help but think that maybe he never would have wondered at all if he didn’t dream of a faceless mother every night who loved him. It almost isn’t fit for her to get to know him - it steals both time and himself from his father’s side but he knows the old (not entirely true in the sense that Rapt is ancient, no not at all) man is right.

Abysm stares off into nothing, just enjoying the closeness that they share. It steels his resolve to return to his mother in her mountain stronghold later on. Even as his father says it is good of him to go if for nothing else then to learn how to better use his gifts. This begets another sigh. “I suppose so.” The agreement feels forced. He’d learn on his own and make mistakes along the way. It’s that jaded teenage opinion that he can do it all on his own but Abysm would forever be his father’s son and he respected Rapt’s word above all else.

@[rapt]