"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
02-08-2020, 03:23 AM (This post was last modified: 02-08-2020, 03:24 AM by Desire.)
sometimes I'm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants —
She has been spending less and less time in Pangea, finding that she could find better subjects for her games out in the meadowlands and near the river. Everyone here was onto her tricks by now, but it simply encouraged her to work harder. Ghaul was, currently, her most challenging target. Illusions were hard to properly execute when it came to someone that had no eyes, but using her own infrared vision she had been casually practicing crafting illusions of the heat signatures he could see. There were a few holes in that plan that she needed to fill before she could actually test her theory, but it was an amusing way to pass her time.
On the cusp of nightfall, she walks through one of the many canyons that twist and turn through the kingdom. She was looking for Stave, because even though they were nearly grown, he was still the magnet that would always draw her back – the compass that she needed to point her north when she was lost. As long as he was still in Pangea, then she would be, too.
But it is not her twin that she finds as she rounds the rocky bend, though the sight of stars across a dark face brings a smile to her lips all the same. “Draco,” she trills in delight, the glow of his stars reflecting in the endless black of her eyes. With an appreciative sweep of her gaze across his body – grown now, with rigid masculine lines and a darkness to him that she could not help but to be drawn in by – she settles her eyes back to the red of his, tilting her head upwards to coo sweetly, “Fancy seeing you here.” Alone, she thinks, though it goes unsaid – but likely not unheard.
i've got a face of gold, i've got a heart of coal, but baby that's my cross to bear
To the ends of the earth, Draco always thought when he stared into his sister’s eyes. Their love didn’t start the way it is now, but its weight deserves recognition and most days the demon cannot stop himself from thinking of it. To the ends of the earth, he still thinks now, though his eyes are a bit easier to stray. Before, it was Ghaul and Dove, all he needed. Father was gone but the hole in his chest was easy to ignore.
Now it eats him alive, this hunger. The hunger he was born with mingles with the sucking black hole he wears like a badge.
Something—someone—must sate it.
Dusk settles warmly over Draco’s shoulders when the sensation becomes too much. That searing pain and desire he had initially felt with Gospel leaves him wanting. There was too much left unsaid between the pair, too much left that Draco simply does not understand. Like how he would lay at the hooves at any strong woman and open his skin for her—or how he wants to be poisoned by a love or a lust never meant to last.
Desire is an easy subject to test his hunger on, though the demon isn’t sure if she could even be considered a “subject.” He likes her, likes her in a way that makes his stomach churn. When he is bored, the black of her eyes swirls with the stars on her body and he gets so, so lost. Curling against Dove at night settles the burning in his chest but . . . Draco wonders. About what, he is not entirely certain, but he knows there is a reason Desire has stuck with him the same way Despoina and Gospel have.
The pair don’t come close to colliding, but Draco draws close enough that it might appear as if they did. “It’s almost as if we live in the same place,” he responds dryly, though an impressed smile sits handsomely on his face. “Hello, Desire,” he states simply, turning his head slightly to the left and allowing his eyes to drifty lazily to the sky. When his gaze finds Desire’s again, something strange and alien to the demon roils in it. “Do you get many jokes about your name?” Draco muses, coy smirk lifting one half of his mouth. “‘Oh, how you are my heart’s desire . . .’” he croons, teasing her like a schoolboy.
i won't take you back
draco is a fucking moron and doesn't know how to talk to girls that arent his sister
03-01-2020, 04:46 PM (This post was last modified: 03-01-2020, 04:47 PM by Desire.)
sometimes I'm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants —
She was an insatiable thing, and she supposes someday that it will be her undoing. She will learn that you cannot want everything, and that to actually have everything would come at a price. The young girl doesn’t understand that now, though. She foolishly thinks that the world is hers, and that everything in it is hers for the taking. She thinks she can want and she can take, and that if her pretty things don’t come to her willingly then she will twist and bend whatever she must until they do.
Draco was one of the first things she remembers wanting. She hadn’t been able to recognize that feeling when they first met, because she was still fresh and naive. But Thomas had sparked something inside of her, unknowingly, and once those tendrils of greed finally gripped her, there was no shaking them loose.
With an overdramatic roll of her eyes, she sighs in exasperation. “I know, and yet, we still somehow never see each other.” She tips her delicate head up at him again, blinking her long, black lashes as she suggests in a way that is far too sweet to ever be considered genuine, “I’m starting to think maybe you just don’t like me.”
There is a pause, and even though he has turned his gaze away from hers, she answers him with a breathy laugh, “I suppose some think it’s an odd name for my mother to choose, but, I guess you’d have to know my mother to know it’s not strange coming from her.”
He teases her, and she holds his red eyes steadily with her own, her stare oddly impassive. “What is your heart’s desire, Draco?” She murmurs softly, and as she does so she crafts her illusion – just a brief, flickering veil, where for a heartbeat she turns silver and pale, with stars across her sides and delicate snowflakes on her nose, and eyes an intense midnight-blue. But in a breath, it vanishes, and it is just her, and she watches him with a smile hiding in her impossibly black eyes.
i've got a face of gold, i've got a heart of coal, but baby that's my cross to bear
Tell Draco that he has women that find him handsome and he might offer a smug smile. Tell him that his charm works and he might nod his head in thoughtful agreement. But tell him that he will fall for the wiles of a temptress? He might laugh in one’s face. Draco is planned, controlled, suited to knowing what he wants and when he wants it and how to get it.
Yet, women seem to bring him to his knees.
Of course, Draco laughs at the thought. He sits on the throne in his mind and thinks why I’ve got them all figured out. He doesn’t stop to think that the women he is drawn to play games just as well as he does; and he doesn’t stop to think that what he feels beyond lust and desire is the kind of emotion that runs lovers into the ground.
Draco—well, Draco might just be a goddamn romantic, because when Desire titillates he unwittingly falls under spell. She has black eyes to match the gentle glow of his red, depthless and charming in a way that draws even the coy close. He is undoubtedly curious about Desire and considers inching even closer to her. Some semblance of control is managed when he remains rooted to his spot, instead casting his gaze from Desire’s eyes to the curve of her cheeks and ears. He is close enough by memorizing the soft hairs and pretty lines.
“That’s implying I have one,” Draco says and starts to roll his eyes, but instead sharpens his gaze on the flicker of gray that passes over Desire. Strange magic, especially of the perceived mischievous kind, won’t go uninvestigated. A quick dip into Desire’s mind hardly reveals a thing, though it does reveal she finds him handsome; and that makes his heart race. He immediately forgets her illusion.
“I actually quite like you, Desire,” Draco drawls, dipping his nose to barely brush it against hers. “I won’t have you thinking otherwise.”
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
He insinuates that he does not have a heart, and there is another laugh that bubbles from her mouth, a throaty, purring sound. “I’m certain you have a heart, Draco.” She reaches to touch her white-dipped nose to one of the dapples on his shoulder, skimming the satin feel of her lips across his skin. “You keep it well hidden, beneath that dark, broody persona of yours, but it’s there,” she says with a flirtatious tug at his mane before side-stepping away.
She doesn’t tell him that she can feel it; that the way his heart pulses and thrums in his chest tells her the story of what he wants – or rather, who he wants – and she can feel that it is not as empty as he might want everyone to believe. The guards that he keeps around himself make him harder to read than most, but Desire has always loved a challenge.
She doesn’t want him for herself; she just wants to see how far she can get, for the simple thrill of it.
“Whoever manages to capture it for herself is a lucky girl,” she coos sweetly, pretending to not notice the way his red eyes had flickered when they caught sight of her illusion. There is a secret delight at realizing he was distracted by her, and she tries to ignore the flash of heat that rises to the surface of her skin when he brushes his nose against hers. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” the galaxy-colored girl murmurs in a way that could have almost been demure were the words not coming from her.
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
i've got a face of gold, i've got a heart of coal, but baby that's my cross to bear
Draco is almost distracted enough by Desire's touch that her words fall on deaf ears. Almost. But they don't, and he wonders what part of himself is brooding and not just entirely dark. It strikes him, suddenly, that others perceive him (so differently than how he perceives himself), and he can't reconcile those two views.
I'm not brooding, he thinks, nearly frowning. But he certainly is, especially to those that can't climb inside his mind, or those that know nothing of his wrath.
If the demon were to know that Desire can see the wrong way he loves his sister, he might scorn her, or chase her from Pangea, nippping her hard enough to draw blood and leave scars. Only Ghaul knows that their children our their own, and not ones adopted from random one night stands, and Draco intends to keep it that way. To him, it only makes sense that they would keep their bloodline to themselves, but most of the world will see it entirely otherwise - and he knows it to be wrong, deep down, when he isn't convincing himself that this is the only way their world can be.
"What girls, Desire?" the demon whispers, lifting his head to peer down at her. The ghost of a smile barely lifts his lips, but it turns his expression into something dangerous, crimson eyes not glowing but glittering with something almost sweet.
"I only give attention to those that deserve it and . . . that is very few." This is arrogant, and he almost knows that, but it's nearly impossible for him to hold his tongue when he falls into charm.
Suddenly, Draco steps back, lengthening the space between them, and laughs. The tension he had desired to create dissipates.
"Tell me about my heart, then, Desire. What do you think is there?" he says, flirtatious now. Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, brow furrowing with something suggestive, "And then I can tell you all the reasons you're special."
