wracked in silk and sadness; krys pony

[rapt]

R
A
P
T

 
Promises spilled from his broken lips, promises like I’ll be so good and like anything, for you, anything. They were all given to a monster who both craved and despised Rapt’s needy praises, but they were given nonetheless because it’s all Rapt knows – how to give to monsters.
He’s not a particularly smart boy, even as he grows – with age comes wisdom, they say, but he still seems to lack such things. His mind is still filled with the monster he’s known.
 
He’s left, though, so Rapt walks alone. He’s colored pale gold, a mane like cornsilk replacing what was once a foal’s scruff. He’s filed out, too, losing the scrawniness of youth and filling in. He’s almost handsome, really. He lacks the scars of his parents, the skin unblemished even if the mind is not.
 
He’s lonely, now, missing the monster, the man who pulled him close, who drew out such breathy promises. He remembers how his heart had beat like he was on a racetrack.
(Fear is a hair’s breadth from desire.)
He’s lonely, and he’s a beacon – his stupidity and eagerness calling out to predator’s baser instincts.
He’s lonely, and he’s a beacon – a thing shining gold, moving like waves through the grass.
 
.

the enormity of my desire disgusts me

idk what this is but rapt wanted to post, see if he sparks any of your pony's muse

[Underwood]

Reach out and touch faith

Underwood

I will deliver; you know I'm a forgiver.

   Predators need little but what they crave; a soul to feed upon and emotions to entangle themselves in. He is a vulture personified, with empty, mirthless eyes, a terse jaw and taut muscles - each individually rippling beneath his sooty flesh, flexing the delicate bones of his heavy wings. Gleaming beneath the pale sunlight, he draws the length of his bristling plumage up to shield him from its blinding light, but something draws him out of the shadows he is so desperately drawn to.

   A wicked smile tugs at the corners of his whiskered lips as something sinister begins to fester within his dark gaze; he watches quietly beneath the shade of an old willow as he draws his magnificent wings tightly along his slender sides. He cranes his neck gently to the left, savoring the caress of the draping branches as they pool across the nape of his neck, and he watches - waiting. Something stirs deeply within him - (something that only stirs in the presence of Mother) - and he feasts hungrily upon the sight of muscle movement beneath tight golden flesh and bright, youthful eyes. 

   Gently, his voice carries with the breeze, soothing and smoother than trickling molasses, but heavy with something indescribable. "My, you look .. troubled, boy. Tell me. What ails you?"

What will it take to break you? 

Um. So, this is literally .. three months overdue, but it struck me that I had a Cassi pony to reply to and Undy seems like the perfect fit. 
Ignore if you haven't the time. <3

@[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 Rapt is practically made for the taking, the gold boy with big eyes and desperation sizzling under his skin, and it should be no surprise that it cries out like a siren song to the wolves and the vultures. He is made to be beheld, reshaped, molded in their own awful likenesses. And the thing is, he loves it – craves it, even. He much prefers to belong to monsters rather than to himself. And this is why he has drifted, lost. For the monster that once struck fear and something else – something he doesn’t have a name for – in his heart has left him. And so he drifts, aimless, gold as sunlight in the meadow. He feels the man’s gaze like a weight and turns slowly to look at him. Some unconscious part of his recognizes the wickedness in the grullo’s smile, and his body responds, tightening with nerves and, yes, anticipation. He smiles, too, a nervous little twitch of the lips. He can’t quite meet his eyes even though he moves closer to the man. He admires the wings, folded tight against his back. His father used to have wings, but they had been torn off when he abandoned his kingdom, had left gaping, weeping holes that never seemed to close. “Hello,” he says, that small little smile still there. He nods a little - yes, you’re right, I am troubled - and then says, “I’m missing someone. He left me here, alone.” He is a thing made for breaking. A thing practically begging for it. rapt caius x else

undy is DEF the perfect fit yay