and I can hear the sirens, but I cannot walk away; abysm

[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   When it happened the first time, it made sense. The pregnancy had been hers, until the end, until it was a threat to her life. Only the last hours had it been his, transferred in a dreamland. Only in the last hours had he felt the gravity, the movement of life inside him. He’d barely had time to process it, really, for the contractions had come fast, and then, of course, Abysm, and everything changed. He told himself this – that everything changed. That he changed.   Truth was, removing the temptation is not quite the same as a fundamental change. Truth was, the moment a monster appeared, goat-horned and gravel-voiced, nothing changed. Truth was, he’d been ready to kneel from the moment he laid eyes on him. He’d been ready for what came after, too, had taken it greedily, a horrible ecstasy that laid waste to him. The monster asked, and he gave, and gave, and gave. Always willing. Always eager.   He’s a stupid boy, but he knows – or thought he knew – enough biology to live in denial for months. He grew fat, but told himself it was spring grasses, clover sweet as honey, sugar on the tongue. It wasn’t until the thing started stirring that the reality of it peeked in. Impossible, he thought. But there was no such thing as impossible in Beqanna.   Truth was, he was pregnant. Truth was, he had to tell his son.   It is the first time in his life that he is reluctant to see him, sure his appearance will give it away immediately (he is not due, not quite yet, but he feels drawn to the ground, his body constantly jostled by impossibly small hooves). He greets his son as he normally does, muzzle to his neck, inhaling the sweet scent of him. He withdraws, and swallows. “Abysm…” he begins, “there’s something you should know.”   rapt caius x else

time jump!

[abysm]

Abysm has always assumed his father had carried him full term. Not once has he bothered to ask the full story behind his strange origins. He’s never considered the possibility that his mother carried up until the very end and he’s not very aware of her flawed state of immortality that would have seen her dead the moment he slid between her shuddering thighs. It just never crosses his mind any more for all that he’s pretty much decided to live inside her kingdom and pretend that everything is okay between them.

But he misses his dad.

They’ve always had a closeness that he likely won’t ever experience with his mother. Of course he’s decided that’s okay. She’s got other brats to look after even if he thinks of them as brats with a decent amount of fondness. 

It’s been almost a year since he’s seen his father. Wait - can that really be right? An entire year?! Abysm lets out a collective sigh of disappointment. He’s disappointed in himself that it’s been that long or long enough anyway, since they’ve last talked. So naturally he goes looking for the champagne-soaked skin that always smells and feels like home to him.

Naturally, he finds his father. 

Except he’s fatter. Much more fatter than Abysm expected him to be. “Dad!” he cries out happily as he draws nearer to him and is still a bit surprised by the roundness his father sports. “Looks like you came through the winter well...” he adds with a chuckle, having grown leaner and wilder in comparison.

He enjoys the sensation of muzzle to neck, reciprocating as each inhales the scent of the other. Then it’s gone too soon and there is something in the way his father says his name that he doesn’t quite like. “Dad, what is it? Is everything alright?” He’s immediately concerned and starts poking and prodding at places on his father’s body to confirm no injuries or outward changes in appearance beyond the fatness. 

Abysm pulls back and tries to read the expression on his father’s face, certain this is in no way good news.

@[rapt]

[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 The words cram and die in his mouth, because the inevitable answer: I’m pregnant, you’ll have another brother or sister will will beget more questions, like who’s the father? and how? and those are the ones Rapt most dreads answering because the answers are as rife with shame as he himself is. (A blustering heat, the shame of it, a different kind of heat than the one that overtook him in the moments that led to this child’s conception.) “I’m fine,” he says – he can alleviate that worry, at least. And even if he isn’t fine (how could he be?), well – he’s healthy. He’s not dying. “It’s just…” he trails off, the words failing again. He considers lying to him, but Rapt has never been a good liar, much less to his son, with whom he has spent more time than any other creature. More than his own parents, certainly, more than Abysm’s mother. “I’m with child,” he says, a rushed breath of confession, “and he or she will be coming soon.” He both anticipates and dreads the moment when labor will start – he has no idea who the child will resemble. What kind of thing he’ll bear. (Or, worse – what if someone goes wrong? His body is not meant for labor, what if the child dies within him, unable to be freed? He does not want to be a mausoleum to his own child.) It’s only now as he stares at his son in the aftermath of his confession that he realizes Abysm might be able to help him out of that particular bind. He’s his mother’s son, in that way. rapt caius x else