the Rift


[PRIVATE] Red on the ground, bleed out

Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#1

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally

Isopia soared.

Oh, she had always been able to fly. But never like this.

Large leathery wings now protruded from her sides - sides which still retained the blood-splattered markings she was born with - though these wings were far larger. The size discrepancy between her body as a raven and her equine body was nearly the same as the dependency now. Though perhaps this difference was even larger.

Isopia could now become a dragon.

She had learned this one day when she was peering into the mind of Hubris. The earthen-girl was trying to understand the important and interesting ways in which his mind was different than hers, when something just clicked. Like a tumbler falling into place, Isopia's mind seemingly fell into his, and in doing so, her body followed. Only she didn't replicate his size - oh no, she dramatically increased it. Isopia had never seen a regular dragon in full form before - she had only ever really seen the size of bonded companions. In her Raven-form she was small and unassuming, yet as a dragon, she was the complete opposite.

She was staggering.

She was huge.

And Iso was used to being big - at 18hh she was larger than most - and now, she knew she was.

On massive wings, Iso sailed towards one of the highest peaks in Helovia - a rocky outcropping at the top of the Heavenly Fields. At her side, Hubris flew joyfully, a broad toothy smile on his bronzey face. He liked Iso like this, because her mind felt open and happy in a way that he rarely experienced. The pair landed, and Isopia remained in this new form. She had inspected herself in a pool of water earlier and had found that in this form, she retained all of her markings. Her body was a blood-splattered mixture of maroon and tan, her wings were mismatched, and her skull-marked now lined a far more sleek and leathery face.

"We'll rest here." She said to Hubris who, would never admit that he was tired, but clearly was. With a contented sigh, Iso folded her wings against her scaled sides and allowed her golden gaze to scan the expanses below herself.

@Volterra . amg Iso is a dragon :D

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#2


In the absence of wings, he ascends the old-fashioned way.

His muscles scream and sweat blossoms on his flesh despite the chill of the mountain air, but he revels in the ache. Mountain-climbing is one of the best ways to train, and this particular peak is a colossus amongst its kind. The rocky goat-paths hewn into the side are not designed for one as large as he, but hunting for footholds to place his massive hooves is quite challenging for his brain. It's mental stimulation as well as physical, and the brute takes satisfaction in that fact.

In contrast, his dragons find the surroundings effortless. The thin mountain air is heavenly for the lazy beats of their wings, and they duck and dive amongst the clouds with the ease of creatures who know they control every ounce of the air they fly in. Volterra's mind is bombarded with images of birds, of the trees far below, of prey moving across the sparse surface of the mountain. The dizzying heights that his companions fly at gives him vertigo, and his stomach lurches as Vadir dives downwards hundreds of feet to snatch a goose out of the sky and savagely tear it apart. All the time, she spirals like a crocodile's death roll, sprinkling feathers and flesh like rain. The beast is forced to block out his golden queen for fear her gruesome aerial acrobatics will turn him so dizzy he topples from the peak, and he braces his legs against the ground which seems to be swimming beneath him.

His red chooses to drift lazily on a gentle breeze, and through his eyes Volterra suddenly sees a flash of bronze. His heart lurches and he commands Vérzés to fly closer, closer, closer, until both dragon and stallion have their minds filled with Hubris' glimmering scales.

But the bronze isn't alone. Volterra bids Vérzés' head to turn, and there - there is a wild dragon.

It is huge, reminiscent of the wild dragons he encountered when he received both his companions' eggs. But its colouration is like nothing he's ever seen before, and he frowns. There's something about the crimson splatters on the sides, the skull-marked face, the browns and blacks and whites that he knows like they're part of himself, a canvas of beauty and power...Isopia! But since when has she been able to shift into a dragon?!

The thought makes him grin. Why wouldn't she be able to? She can turn into a raven, melt into the ground, summon creatures of earth. She is the daughter of a God. Nothing she does should surprise him.

Despite the way she'd disappeared without a word at Vadir's hatching, despite how he'd mused over all the possible reasons for such an exit, he finds his legs hurrying themselves to bring him higher up the mountain without giving a thought to the fact she may have been avoiding him. Finally, aching and breathing heavily through gaping nostrils, he arrives at the top, where he can see the great dragon in all her glory. He admires her, feels his heart and loins lurch at the sight of her, and prowls closer like a predator. Vérzés thumps heavily down upon his back, offering a shrill screech of greeting to Hubris. Vadir remains circling high above, devouring the remains of her goose - she has no qualms about sprinkling the ground with blood, but does her level best to ensure it doesn't go on her gleaming golden scales.

The black monolith steps closer to the dragon, admiring it, oggling it. "Kis holló?" He looks at her, questioning, awestruck. Shit, she's beautiful in horse form, but as a dragon? She is resplendent. "Or should I say kis sárkány." Little dragon. Or, as the case appears, not so little dragon.

MY TOUCH IS BLACK AND POISONOUS
AND NOTHING LIKE MY PUNCH DRUNK KISS
image credits


@Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#3

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally

Her senses are so different in this form. Her sense of smell is heightened, and her hearing is far more directional than previously. Still, she is like a floundering child in her draconian scales, and so Volterra is nearly upon her before she realizes it.

Oh but how she realizes it.

She can smell the musk that perfumes the air all around him. It dances into her nostrils, mixing with the wildflowers and stone-dust from the mountain, but it is unmistakably him. It makes something deep inside of her rouse from a forced slumber - and had she ears to pin, she would have. She had gone perhaps a day at most without thinking of her monochromatic friend. It was an accomplishment - toned down from the days when nearly every thought somehow lured her mind back to him. The self-pity, the feelings of betrayal, jealousy, and disappointment in herself had waned, but only just. They lurked like blackwater in the corners of her mind, ever ready to envelope her thoughts should she focus on him for too long. She both wanted to let her mind run rampant, to invite fantasies of the two together and to watch them play out, and to force herself to focus on anything that wasn't him. For her imagination, while satisfying her cravings for a few moments, ultimately left her feeling hollow and ashamed. 

But that he should find her like this, was fortunate. For in this form, despite any other insecurities she might harbour, she knew she would hold his attention. One would not harness the souls of two dragons, if they didn't think them admirable creatures. That she assumed his ruby gaze was scouring her impressively large backside and wings made her sit slightly taller, before casually turning around to face him. 
 
"Hello again-" She whispered to Verzes in sounds that felt awkward in her mouth. Hubris had been teaching her the language of dragons, now that she was equipped to speak it, but it felt unnatural and odd. Still, she owed the red dragon the attempt; she had been there shortly after his birth, and in turn, he had been the first to feed her own companion. Verzes, she thought, might tell it to her straight, should she ever understand his draconian-language well enough to understand. With a swell of pride, Hubris trills a greeting back to Verzes, patting Isopia gently for her efforts. 

Slowly, with all the casual nonchalance that she can possibly muster (though internally she feels as though everything about her movements so far have been too eager), Isopia's golden gaze finally moves to Volterra. He is hard to look at, not only because he seems to continually grow into himself and appear more masculine, but because she can't seem to eliminate the need to constantly second-guess herself. Have I stared too long? Was the smile too quick? Do I appear too eager? Likely she appeared no different than ever she had, but in her effort to appear the same as always, she felt even more uncomfortable in her own (albeit new) skin.

"I suppose." She agreed with a nod of her draconian head. Her skull-markings appeared even more prominent now that they were draped over a larger and more sleek jawline, which now curved into a small smile at the thought of having not one, but two nicknames. "It's a shame you can't fly." She muttered, almost thoughtlessly, as her gaze swept over the muscular curve of his back. Her claws flexed as she mentally tried to calculate whether or not she might be able to lift him. But she had no idea how much he might weigh, or how much her new body could handle. Still, the idea of having him helplessly beneath her, was a tantalizing thought, one that her mind quickly jumped at the chance to play out. She felt her arms wrapping around his withers and girth, what it would be like to pull his back tightly against her belly, to rise up into the clouds and show him a world that no other ever could...


@Volterra [SORRY. I feel like I could have just kept typing so I made myself stop :P ]

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#4


He scans every glorious inch of her body, from those diamond-hard scales to the great leathery wings, from the nubile tail to the perfectly sculpted skull-marked head. So strong are his emotions that he feels jealousy stab into his mind from both his dragons - they are used to having such reverence from him, and they are not accustomed to sharing it. He does not know how they can be surprised, however. They know how he admires and respects their kind, and they have seen his body's primal reactions to Amaris, who embodies both mare and dragon. They both know how he feels about Isopia - Vérzés from experience, Vadir from memories she's greedily delved into with careless audacity - so it should not surprise them that seeing her in dragon form combines two of the things he favours most, and that his body and mind react accordingly.

The red tilts his head in pleased astonishment as Isopia addresses him in his own draconic language. He trills happily back, whilst Volterra looks on in puzzlement and tries to decipher what they're both saying. Hubris joins in with a response to Vérzés, and from her slow circles in the heavens Vadir adds her own high-pitched caw to the cacophony of dragon-noise. The black beast looks between the four dragons, feeling decidedly left out. He had considered attempting to get shapeshifting magic for himself that would allow him to soar alongside his companions, yet the thought of being airborne makes his stomach twist with displeasure. He suffers enough vertigo just from admiring the world through his companions' eyes - he thinks he will keep the rest of himself firmly rooted to the ground, thank you very much.

She's facing him now, and he can assess this new version of her properly. A hazy thought in the back of his brain tries to tell him he's staring too long, too openly, but that one little dissenter is quickly smothered beneath the weight of the rest of his mind's desire to admire the divine creature stood in front of him. "You are...stunning." Perhaps his words are too bold, too obvious, but the leviathan has always been the sort to wear his heart on his feathered sleeve, unless he makes a conscious and painful effort not to. He says things how they are, although that obnoxious little segment of his brain pipes up again to point out that women generally prefer subtlety, not all-guns-blazing admiration of their beauty. Treat them mean, keep them keen. That's easier said than done when Volterra is a connoisseur of both women and dragons, and revels in admiring them both.

Combine them into one, and it's a small wonder he can even get his tongue to form coherent words - it's too much to ask for to screen said words as well.

She's so casual, so nonchalant, as though being this stunning is easy for her - he, on the other hand, feels like he's putting a lot of effort into standing particularly tall, muscles particularly bunched, neck particularly arched just so to demonstrate each sculpted line. He's dreadfully aware of each part of his body, as though her new dragon-eyes will be able to see right through the masculine facade and into the squelchy feelings that nestle inside his brain. Like how much he's missed her since she left the hatching, how much he's wanted to hunt her down but hasn't known whether he could or should, how much he's wanted to try and figure out what made her leave in the first place so he can put it right.

It's a shame you can't fly. He gives a throaty chuckle. "I think I would be quite the liability in the air." Agility isn't his strong point, so if even if he could somehow sprout wings he would probably end up faceplanting a tree before he did anything as spectacular as his dragons' aerial feats. His face shifts to seriousness and he looks at her, tilting his heavy head slightly and furrowing his sharp brow in question. "How have you been?"

MY TOUCH IS BLACK AND POISONOUS
AND NOTHING LIKE MY PUNCH DRUNK KISS

image credits


YOU HAVE ALL OF MY PERMISSIONS FOR HER TO PICK HIM UP AND FLY AWAY WITH HIM if she wants oh my god it would be hilarious @Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#5

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally
@Volterra [SORRY AGAIN. Let me know if you want me to change any of the PP.]

Even the youthful Vadir sounds more eloquent than Isopia does, but the demi-goddess nonetheless tries to wrap her lips around another hello for the golden queen.

Isopia can feel Volterra's gaze upon her, but she casually does not meet it. She inspects everything to delay their gaze meeting - for even if he doesn't feel the tension mounting around them, she does - and eye contact will only confirm that they are in fact looking at each other. In any other situation where she was thinking reasonably, she would have shrugged off this moronic thought: Of course you're looking at each other. That's most often how you have a conversation. But this ... this felt entirely different. This felt like every small glance would give away the pulsing in her belly, that the small twitch of her lips upward would reveal the need in her soul, that her every word would be laced with her desire for him.

And in that, her fear was not just for him finding out. But of having to acknowledge the feelings herself.

Still--

It the rush of adrenaline, the delicious throb in her gut, the scream/laugh that was a permanent fixture in her throat, were too pleasurable to simply do away with. Even for one as emotionally detached as Isopia.

You are...stunning

"Yes. Dragons are stunning creatures." She answered almost immediately, shifting the compliment away from herself and onto the form she inhabited. "You would know.

I think I would be quite the liability in the air

Her pulse quickens, and her mind immediately conjures up more images of them flying together. Rarely boastful, for some reason Isopia can't seem to shake the desire to show off for Volterra. Perhaps it is some subconscious desire to prove herself, to show him that she is better than the others that he beds, or even just those he spends his time with. Her lineage has never meant much to her, but surely this sets her apart? Surely this will make him want her? (And then what, some sinister voice in the blackwater of her mind commented. He, who has been with so many, and you, who have been with none? Whatever impression you've left him with will disappear in the light of your ineptness in an area he so clearly excels at. Ahh. And that was the rub, wasn't it? The fine line. She had built him up so high in her mind that surely she could never actually be with him, lest all the illusions would shatter. No matter how much she might want to..)

With her mind now completely saturated in thoughts of sex and dominance, Isopia lifted off of the rock on which she sat. An elongated grin was painted on her death-marked scales as she soared around to the right of Volterra.

"We - fly-!" She called in quite the broken dialect to Vadir and Verzes as she rounded upon Volterra (hopefully) from the back. Trying to appear graceful and practiced, Isopia slid her arms around Volterra's withers and down to the powerful muscles of his chest, while her back legs tried to wrap around his belly. Her powerful wings and forward momentum pulled his giant feathered hooves off of the ground nearly instantly as the muscles in her forearms and legs contracted to pull his mammoth bulk closer to her elongated draconian body. Her mind immediately became electrified with sensation as she felt every ridge of his back pressed against her sensitive stomach-scales. Her breath hitched in her chest, though she tried to pass it off as related to the energy required to lift and carry him.

But regardless of the odd power-switch occurring between the two, with Iso being on top and in control of things, they were flying.

Isopia, a practiced flyer, had no trouble navigating a second body-weight. She couldn't bank as quickly or sharply and her ascent was much slower, but Volterra didn't pose quite the flight-risk that she thought he might. She wrapped herself even further against him as she soared higher, and Helovia fell away from them. The dragon-girl soared after Vadir and Verzes with Hubris following swiftly in their wake. They were going far too quickly to speak to one another - the wind would just rush their words away - but every now and then Isopia would lower her draconian skull close to Volterra's ear - purely out of aerodynamics of course. In those moments, he could likely hear the shaky pulse of her breathing.

But of course her heart was likely racing just because she was flying with a fully grown equine, and not for any other reason.

Isopia, who had been sparring and training more, was in better shape than ever she had been. But still, flying around with Volterra was taxing. Banking around, the demi-goddess began to slowly glide back towards the peak that they took off from. Despite how exhausted she was, she almost didn't want the flight to end. It was like the day that they had built her hottub and then tested it out. They had been forced to touch then, and so all of the expectation of what would come next, was put on hold. Similarly now, Isopia could enjoy the waves of static pleasure racing through her body, without necessarily having to address them.

Flapping her wings and leaning backwards slightly, Iso tried to slow down enough that Volterra could simply touch back down in the meadow. But the strain upon her already exhausted wings was far too great and she couldn't remain stable for long. Instead as his hooves touched down and the weight was released from her, so too was the magic that bound her body together. She went from being a dragon with her arms wrapped around him, to a tri-brid slipping off of his shoulders. The transformation came quickly, and by the time Iso's feet touched the ground, all were hooves once again.

Her body shakily leaned against his side, with one one still draped over him. For a moment, her mind focused only on catching her breath and was almost unaware of the fact that they were still touching, even though the flight was over and she had no further reason to press herself again him.



Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#6


Her words etch a grin onto his lips, but he says nothing in response. He doesn't want to admit that it's not just dragons he finds resplendent - it's her, everything about her, her innate Isopia-ness that she hasn't lost even in dragon form. Saying that would only make his musings, his feelings, tangible and real, and when they're only alive in the sanctum of his head, he can try and pretend they aren't there.

Even though they quite clearly are.

He looks to his own dragons, in all their red and gold glory. Yes, it's evident that he adores and admires their species, and don't they just know it. They are as vain as cats, proud and easily insulted - he has the marks to prove it, the burns on his fetlocks from where he pointed out Abraham's white was actually not a queen back when he was a boy. "Which she isn't," says the red, disgusted, and Vadir is so aghast by the impertinence of such a thought that she almost falls out of the sky. For once, the duo agree on something.

He looks from his companions to Isopia, who is strangely quiet. He bats his ears, scrutinising her and trying to think of something to say. Suddenly she rises from her rock, like a scaled angel ascending back into the heavens that created her, and he watches her with lidded, envious eyes. He doesn't want to fly, but to have the option... "What are you...?" He tilts his head, puzzled, as she circles behind him. He tries to turn to face her, but confusion turns to alarm and then to blind panic as her limbs suddenly wrap around him from behind before he has chance to pivot. Her scaled flesh against his hot, quivering skin sends all kinds of feelings like arrows through him from throat to groin, but only one very determined part of his mind can focus on the pleasureable sensation of her on top of him. The rest of him feels only pulsing fear as she beats her powerful wings forwards and her intentions become clear, and his eyes roll back into his head. "Oh, no - kis holló, don't you.....DAAAAAAARRRRREEE!"

He arches his neck, wiggling, trying to escape, but it's futile. The ground twists, shakes, then drops. He rams his eyelids shut and begs his stomach to quieten before the contents of it can make a rapid escape from his backside, and ceases his thrashing because it now seems much less of a good idea for her to release him when her doing so would leave him as a bloody smear on the rocks far below.

In his ears, he hears the cackling of his dragons, both overjoyed at Isopia's easy manhandling of their bonded. Traitorous bastards, he fumes.

He can feel her breath on the back of his head, and his body - which, apparently, is as traitorous as his companions - quivers in delight at the sensation. For the first time, he dares to open his eyes to narrow slits in an attempt to keep the wind out of them, and allows himself to glance at the panorama below. His heart, thumping so fast he fears it may beat right out of his chest, sinks then soars at the dizzying height they're at, and his legs flail uselessly as though doing so will create something to grab onto. Being beneath her, her undersides rubbing against his spine, her arms snug around his thick chest...he concentrates on those sensations instead, trying to find the fine balance between enjoying such close proximity and hating the fact he's utterly helpless. He is in her thrall, hers to control, and for such a dominant creature as Volterra, it's something entirely new.

And not entirely unpleasant, either.

"If you drop me," he manages to gargle out of his dry throat, although he'll never know if she hears him as the wind snatches away his voice, "I will not be impressed." And also dead. His dragons dart and twirl in the background, caught in Isopia's slipstream, twisting around with joyous screeches, revelling in the fact their bonded is flying. Their enjoyment is infectious, and the stallion tries his level best to shove his fear away and focus on this once in a lifetime experience. After all, very few men have the opportunity to fly alongside dragons. Hell, the only time Isopia carries someone like this is probably when it's prey... The thought of her as a hunter only arouses him more.

He puts that down to fear of imminent death, and not the fact she's so close to him, so real, so hot, mounting him as he dearly wants to....no, he cuts himself off mid-fantasy. That's also down to fear, he decides. Nothing else.

The ground races up to meet them, and his hooves touch glorious, blessed hardness. He's forced into an ungainly gallop to keep from tumbling, but suddenly the scales above him have melded into flesh, and the dragon has become horse again. Now he's safely back on solid earth, his stride slowing gradually, he cannot put his racing pulse down to terror. He can't blame his aching loins on fear. And he certainly can't blame either of those emotions for the fact he's leaning into her far closer than is strictly necessary, that his haggard, gasping breaths are just decoys to allow him to take deep gulps of her scent, and that his velvet muzzle is moving without permission to try and rub softly against her shoulder. "Is that how you impress all the boys?" he murmurs into her soft brown skin, his gasping voice tinged with as much amusement as he can muster.

MY TOUCH IS BLACK AND POISONOUS
AND NOTHING LIKE MY PUNCH DRUNK KISS
image credits


I'M SORRY TOO @Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#7

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally
Slowly she straightened and began to support her own weight. Adrenaline re-flooded her system, and the exhaustion was tempered slightly, if only temporarily. As she stood on her own, the parts of their bodies that had remained in contact became exaggeratedly obvious in her mind. Part of her hip still touched his side, and his nose was now pressed against her shoulder. Something very near to panic now coursed through her veins. It flashed images through her consciousness - images that only encouraged her breathing to become ragged and for her cheeks to flush. She imagined - or rather, that very red, very unsightly and animalistic part of herself imaged that she was...

-  twisting towards Volterra. Pressing her muzzle against the rocky outcropping of his shoulder, and letting the whiskers on her lips trail their way up his neck. To blow, nay bite, the tender skin around his ears, and to then place her muzzle against his. To breathe him in, and hide them beneath the darkness of her wings.

Stop it!

[Weren't you the one who told him to act on his impulses? Is hypocrisy now what you're about?]

I can't - he's too-

[-close?]

Another flash.  

This time her imagination placed Volterra as the instigator. It was his turn to trail his muzzle against her flesh, but he moved in the opposite direction. His touches found the curve of her shoulder, the lengthy and lean expanses of her rib-cage and barrel. The mounds and valleys of her flank and finally her hips. Her tail moving ... though she was taller than him, how would he--

-[oh, he'll manage.]

Isopia tried to clear her throat as if that would push the images out of her mind [the images might go, but the warmth remains..]. That voice! Would it ever stop?

How long had passed? Long enough that her thoughts had had a physical effect on her body, but not so long that Volterra was trying to snap her out of it, as it were. That was good, that was...

Is that how you impress all the boys

"Boys? And here I thought you considered yourself a man." Isopia found herself replying immediately, as if her words could be used as some sort of defense mechanism against what was happening in her body. Her tone was far from regular, though perhaps she could excuse that by being out of breath? That her - their - flight was the reason her voice sounded so raspy, so heady? Isopia pivoted away from the point where his muzzle reached her shoulder, but that only succeeded in bringing them more face to face - and, with Iso's exhausted stance and so slightly lowered head - eye to eye.

Oh no. He'll think I was drawing attention to his manliness-

[you were]

-that I was thinking about his-

[you were]

-or that we, that I-

[....YOU WERE.]

The demi-goddess' nostrils flared, as she stood, mere inches from the object of her confusion, [excitement], disorder, [desire], stress [want]. Her nose quivered with every bated breath, and her large, golden eyes rimmed by elongated eyelashes, searched the raw and masculine contours of his face for what came next. Isopia was immobilized by the crusade occurring within her soul; her mind, ever rational and disconnected roared against the much more treacherous instances of her feelings. She had overcome hunger, pain, weariness. How was it that she could not overcome this?

Why hold back?

Hadn't she said that to him? Isopia swallowed as the moment stretched on longer and longer. She knew, even as the ground began to swallow up her hooves, enveloping her lower half in stone, that she would yield to whatever he did. And in that moment, she didn't know what she was hoping for. All of her insecurities, her concerns and jealousy about his past lurked in the black-waters of her mind, but for now, those waters were calmed - lightened perhaps - by the well of want, and need, and curious excitement which had seemingly flooded every corridor of her body.

While this wasn't a spar, it was decidedly his turn.

@Volterra
#sorrynotsorry

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#8




Not for the first time, he wishes he could read minds. Or, more specifically, hers.

If he could see the images inside Isopia's head - images he's had mirrored in his own mind time and time again - then it would send his heart soaring. To his dragons, who lurk in the distance after their frantic flight beside him, he queries hopefully; can't you ask Hubris what she's thinking? To which the response is a resounding, flat "no". Even the dragons have their limits. Both have no qualms about delving into the deepest, darkest sanctum of Volterra's own crooked mind, but the thought of interloping into the mind of another dragon-bonded horse...the two scaled beasts have very few boundaries they refuse to break, but this is one of them.

The demi-god's words snap him from his musings, from his focus on the steady, determined path that his muzzle is making towards her skin. He gargles a throaty chuckle, a rasping ache of a laugh. "I am a man." He isn't quite sure why that needs saying, but the words leave his lips all the same - as though to remind her what he is, as though he can appeal to the primal mare part of her that drives women to hunt out the biggest, strongest, most virile males to sire their offspring. Of course, siring isn't what's on his mind, but the logic hopefully still applies. She surely wouldn't even deign to humour a boy, so best he reiterate that he isn't one anymore. There is weight between his thighs, there is a crest to his neck and a thunderous growl to his voice, all things he hopes will sway the woman in her.

Then, suddenly, they're face to face. Eye to eye. Normally he'd have to look up to meet her gaze - a fact which makes his manly pride ache - but she's lowered her head as though she wants to initiate and maintain eye contact. Perhaps that's just wishful thinking, and it's actually just tiredness that commands her skull to lower, but the brute doesn't care. He just knows that he's looking at her, and her horned head is so close he could touch it.

So close.

The beast inhales deeply, still making a valiant attempt to hide his deep air-gulps behind the masquerade of tiredness from their flight. And, indeed, there's a level of exhilaration in his breaths from what they'd just experienced, but his main reason is to drink his fill of her warm Isopia-scent. Ever since he was a child, he has valued touch, taste and smell; he puts great faith in them, relying on them as much as his eyes and ears. There is a lot you can glean from somebody by how they smell, how they feel beneath the delicate caress of a muzzle, how they taste when their body is sweaty from exertion, aching and quaking with pleasure.

She isn't moving. They are two chess pieces, king and queen, checkmate on a board of churned soil; he can feel his pulse racing in his ears, his blood pounding through his body. He realises that the presence of his dragons has become distant - he half-notices the fact that they've flown into the distance, as though to leave their bonded alone with his addiction.

She still isn't moving. Neither is he; they are two statues, monoliths, eroded temples. Her moreso, as she's beginning to melt into the ground beneath them. The titan casts a cursory glance downwards, breaking their eye contact, but it feels like ripping the lungs from his chest - he wants to gasp and choke without it, without her gorgeous golden gaze fixed upon his face. He soon lifts his colossal head to capture another eyefull of his drug, drinking in her features as he would quench his thirst from a pool.

But they can't stand like this, staring at each other, indefinitely. Something has to give. Somebody has to make the first move. Volterra is a bold creature, who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to take it - he's impulsive, rash, quick to act and slow to think. And yet every iota of his body knows that what he does next could make or ruin their friendship, their relationship. She doesn't seem like she's about to bolt, to leave him stood alone and quivering with the sweat from their flight drying on his skin, but he fears that she might if he is too forward. She is a stray dog, with the potential to be nervous and jumpy - one wrong move and she'll be gone.

But the Volterra she knows is the creature that he undoubtedly is - impulsive. Brutish, hedonistic, unthinking. Could it be that she likes him because of what he is, rather than in spite of that? In which case, she will be expecting him to make a move, to seize the opportunity placed in front of him. She might be disappointed if he shows caution, if he suddenly chooses this moment to begin thinking with his brain instead of his balls and heart.

This is what he convinces himself. If he stands here, or backs away, she'll be disappointed in him. And he can't let her down.

So he breathes out a deep, rumbling sigh, then pushes his muzzle forwards and down; he moves gingerly, still afraid she'll startle and run. He aims to caress the muscular contours of her neck with his nose, lips planting soft nibble-kisses upon her flesh. His urges tell him to bite hard, to mark her as his own and bruise her with his strength, but with a colossal force of will he resists. For now, his touch is gentle, with a clear invitation for her to reciprocate if she so pleases.

He has dreamed of a moment like this with her for months, years. Now it's upon him, he doesn't quite know what to do. So he goes with his instincts; they've never let him down before. His chest shifts forwards, to try and press against her own whilst his jaws perform their hopeful ministrations.

And all the time, his heart pounds out the rhythm of a thousand war drums.

MY TOUCH IS BLACK AND POISONOUS
AND NOTHING LIKE MY PUNCH DRUNK KISS
image credits



@Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#9

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally
[Casually replies from work BECAUSE HOW COULD I NOT OMG.]

Oh Einstein, you crafty bastard. If only we could have left relativity alone. We might then have just been beasts who experienced the ebb and flow of time as this constant force, strutting by us, or perhaps just pulling us along. But instead, we experience something very different. Put your hands on a hot woman, they say, and put your hands on a hot stove, and you'll experience time very differently.

Isopia was sure that years had passed since the last time she blinked. Oh, she knew that they obviously hadn’t, but hyperbole in this instance felt easier to deal with than trying to actually pin down how many seconds had actually gone by. 

He isn’t moving-

[He doesn’t want you]

Isopia stifled a breath as the voice inside of her head, normally the advocate for her feelings towards Volterra, suddenly turned dark and ugly. It pressed upon the parts of her that were able to feel something like self consciousness, and whittled away at her defences. 

Maybe he-

[He’s been with loads of mares-] 

I don’t know that-

[-and yet he doesn’t. want. you.]

The entire time, Isopia had thought the only obstacle in the way of what might come next, was her lack of experience. That was where her insecurities lay, for one so academically inclined as Iso hated feeling as though she was at an intellectual disadvantage. In this arena, Volterra was surely the expert. But she had muddled through those worries, consoling herself by assuming that her long repressed instincts would some how take over and guide her actions. But this … this worry was not one that she was ready for.

[ He’d rather the bay unicorn with the pale horns over you]

I-

[He’d rather anyone but you. See how he isn’t moving?]

He isn’t moving

Isopia had felt the chill of Frostfall fall upon her bones, but it didn’t compare to the icy wave that sloshed raggedly inside of her chest. This feeling of rejection was entirely foreign. This was one of the reasons Isopia did not form relationships. Why she ran from friendships and maintained her position of academic prowess from an impregnable tower. She had never meant to let Volterra in, and in fact, she didn’t believe she had. He had sort of just … been there, from the very beginning, their inception in the Woods. He had been a part of her before she even knew what that meant, and she had thought -

He’s moving-

Was he turning to go? A final breath before he let her down easy, or whatever the phrase was? (of course she didn’t know what the phrase would be, or any of the other paradigmatic cues. She’d never been in this situation before).

His breath touched the whiskers on her nose and chin, and for a moment the icy wall building inside of her gut was blasted with an all-consuming heat. 

Just go - you don’t have to say anyth-

But he wasn’t saying anything.

He was doing something.

She watched with a tentative flourishing as his muzzle dipped lower, moving past her own and towards her neck. It was like watching a landslide and knowing that there was no point in running. Though the part of her that rallied against this sort of behaviour was now decidedly shut-up, set aflame by the anxious fire roaring in her limbs. She was glad for the stone that had walled-in her hooves and legs. If not for that, she might have stumbled and ruined the moment.

[Oh it’ll be more than a moment. Get ready. Oh wait, you can’t, because you don’t know what to-]

Yes I do

To dispel any appearance of naivety or frigidity, Isopia stepped forward into Volterra’s touch. She felt his muzzle upon her neck, deliciously delicate. It felt as though each and every one of the hairs on her neck was ready to deliver electric pulses of feeling if he so much as came near them. And when he did - when his muzzle was upon her flesh - they sang and sparked in a harmony that resounded through her bones. The rocks which composed her legs shattered and fell away as she moved into him. Her chest was much narrower than his, and so despite her slight height advantage, it was all too easy to press the muscles of her chest against the swell of his own, as her own muzzle danced forward along the lines of his shoulder. 

Time was now racing.

It was hard to concentrate both on the sensations of his touch upon her skin, and to also discover the hardened facets of his own body. Her mind stuttered between shivering in delight, and trying to return the favour upon his own flesh. Iso’s body was supple, giving away to shivers and spasms of ecstasy so readily and easily that she was left completely ignorant of how to do the same to him. Her wings flared slightly from her flanks - partially unbidden, in a subtle attempt from her body to allow him further access to her sides, but partially consciously moved. With her wings splayed, he’d either have to push one aside or move around them if he was to get … anywhere else. As it was, the demigoddess could scarcely keep track of the moments as they flew by. And while it wasn’t necessarily the case that she didn’t want his nose - and all the other parts of him - to migrate down the length of her body - she needed a moment to catch her breath. To take in what was happening. 

It’s happening-

Gone was the ambiguous state of mind she had been in seconds ago. Will it happen? Is this the farthest this will go? Even as her lips - her cheeks, chest, legs, wings - sought to touch, press, push, nibble, stroke - every part of him that she could reach, it wasn’t enough. The flames inside of her were engulfing any least remnants of her prior academic hesitations. 

This heady hug was not enough.

Just want me-


@Volterra 

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#10


She knows what she's doing.

That's the first thing that strikes him, as she returns his touch like a starving man would snatch at food - greedily, ravenously, beautifully. Well, it's the second thing that strikes him, as the first is all-consuming relief that she's not shying away and leaving him to ache without her. But her movements are either experienced, or she's a bloody good actress. Hers are not the lurching, awkward advances of a quivering virgin - they are the tantalising caresses of a woman who knows exactly what she's doing. She must have done this before.

The thought ignites jealousy within his soul. Who has mounted his Isopia before him? Who has planted their flag upon the uncharted territory of her body? Who has dared hover their weight above hers, collide their sweating flesh with her toned muscles and sumptous curves, take their pleasure with his raven?

He'll find them, and he'll rip their fucking throat out.

Because that's something else to add to his teetering tower of flaws and imperfections - the crowning glory, the maggot atop the steaming pile of shit - he's a hypocrite. He lays with as many women as he wants, and yet the thought of Isopia bedding another man...it makes his blood boil, his eyes blaze. He is possessive, domineering, filled with masculine pride and the testosterone-fuelled desire to mark his territory.

But, the leviathan reasons, what he did with those other women...it was a brutal, simplistic, profane act of pure animal. It was the scratching of an itch, the perfunctory sating of nature's most primal desire. What he would do with Isopia - can do, will do, wants to do so much it hurts - would be so much more.

Because he wants her for more than just the treasure trove between her thighs, and always has. Admittedly it's the thought of that which makes his loins tighten when he's around her, which beckons his muscles to bunch and display his masculinity, which makes his flesh tingle like he's stood too close to fire, but that is not the only reason he finds her so damn hard to shake off. It's just the part that's easiest to focus on - lust he can understand, comprehend, act on, own. It's the deeper, mushier feelings that he isn't so good with, and thus he chooses instead to shunt them into the far reaches of his mind and concentrate on the tangible emotion of want.

Her wings splay, and his searching teeth hunt for the joint where feather becomes fur; his massive chest presses against hers, and they fit like pieces of a puzzle. She's touching him - does that mean she wants him, or does she think this just a slightly over-friendly embrace? - and he can't help but reciprocate, each press, kiss, caress begging hungrily for her skin. His own flesh burns where she touches it; he aches, and a breathy huff of desire erupts from his gaping nostrils.

Her wings are a barrier, blocking the beast from where he wants to be - and yet he wonders if that's a good thing, because once he goes there, there's no turning back. Does she even want him there, or is this as far as she intends to go? He tries to summon words, but his tongue is too thick, his mouth too dry; he can't say anything, and this isn't a time for talking. Words cannot get across what his body can.

So he speaks with his movements. He shifts to his left, heaving his jaws away from her with considerable reluctance - he pushes forwards, resting his thick chest against the front of her right wing. He presses just so, and looks at her through questioning, heavy-lidded eyes. Move the wing, and he can move there. Keep it blocking his path, and he'll take that as a sign that he has badly misunderstood what she wants - the shame will be crippling, but at least he'll know.

Because it's the hope that hurts.

MY TOUCH IS BLACK AND POISONOUS
AND NOTHING LIKE MY PUNCH DRUNK KISS
image credits


@Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#11

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally

Just want me-

And though they continue to move as one, she isn’t sure that he does.

Not in the way she needs.

She needs to be special, if only just once.

Lie and say that I am-

-that you do-


Her mind is gone now, which is both a blessing and a curse. Where it still around, it would not only chastise her for this wishful thinking, but also shine a cold light on her poor reasoning. But you aren’t special.. she would tell yourself. You know he is this way, you’ve talked about it. He told you about his insatiable hunger, and now you dangle flesh before him and think that you offer him something new?

Just want me-

But her body blinded itself against the rationality of her mind, and Isopia bathed in the feeling of uniqueness. She imagined Volterra to be thinking that somehow her flesh - the scent of her skin, the subtle sweat still lingering from her flight, the ripple of her coat - was better than all those he had tasted before. That the height of her hips and withers, rather than being intimidating or someone emasculating, were instead a challenge. She was a pinnacle, not merely because of her Godly blood, but because of her body as well. Her eyelashes fluttered as she felt him move against her.

Though she was the child of the earth, it was he who felt like a mountain.

[something something daddy issues]

But her body ignored that too.

Not unlike him, Isopia is unable to find any words to match the desperate antics inside of herself. Her lips open, as if she is encouraging words to just fall out, but instead she finds her teeth pulling against his dark flesh instead. It isn’t hard per se, though Isopia, a demigoddess with innate healing abilities who has never once touched another in this manner is perhaps not a terribly good judge of appropriate force. She hums what might have been a word of encouragement into the rigid muscles that she danced her lips over, and gives up trying to use words to infiltrate this moment.

One ear flickered backwards as she felt him sway to her right - his bulk now pressing decidedly against her right shoulder and wing.

Breathe-

And she did, in a puff of excited and anxious air. This was it. What days and months and years had finally accumulated to. The sensation of their tentatives touches in her hottub all those seasons ago seemed so … so common. Oh, their shoulders had touched? And their knees too? How grand. It was nothing compared to this. She had thought that her body yearned for him then - and a thousand times after - but never like this. This was raw, escalating out of her very bone marrow and informing literally all of her movements. There wasn’t a hair on her head which wasn’t intently focused on where their bodies touched, the sound and scent of him, and most strongly, her need for him.

Whatever hesitation she might have wanted to offer - to coyly hold her wing against him a while longer whether out of fear or teasing - was eliminated by her ever quickening heartbeat. She had known when this all began, that she would yield to him. Despite the strong challenge that in one way, she believed herself to be, in another, she was a victory that he already held. He had championed her seasons ago, likely without knowing it. She didn’t even really know how strong the tether was that bound her to him, until this very moment. Even that utter lack of autonomy didn’t bother Iso in her present state. Perhaps she would dwell on it later, but for now, she was utterly intoxicated by his scent, happily drunk on the overwhelming passion that stimulated and exhilarated every part of her being, stemming from his simple touch.

Her wing raised like a draw bridge, allowing him entrance into a fortress no longer impregnable. Her feathers would trail along the length of his spine and flank should he pass beneath. But she couldn’t simply stand there, watching him go, now could she. Clueless though she was, Isopia assumed that she was still expected to be doing something. And so the right side of her body pressed against his, and she continued to engorge herself on the parts of him that she could reach. Although her mind swirled with thoughts of, Am I doing this right? Having I been nibbling too long? Does he like this? What should I be doing? she continued to merely allow her instincts and what few visual cues she had to work off of, to direct her gestures.

On the rock, Hubris was nearly just as uncertain about what he should be doing. Leaping silently into the air, the bronze dragon glided towards Verzes and Vadir, his blue eyes awash with confusion. <<Good?>> He trilled, his voice low, trying not to disturb the mammoth creatures investigating each other nearby. <<or bad?>> He honestly didn’t know. On the one hand, it pleased him immensely to think that Isopia might find happiness with another. But he knew the dark corners of her mind and how she thought. She rallied against relationships - strove to be as autonomous as possible. This sort of thing might have been good for the run of the mill mare. But would it be good for Iso? Hubris wrapped his tail around his legs and folded his wings tightly against his back, as he searchingly looked at the other dragons for help, or input.


@Volterra 

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#12


Like the sword that's either going to drop onto the condemned man's neck or lift to let him live, her wing rises.

So does his heart. It soars, because this had been a gilt-edged chance for her to back off if this isn't what she wants. She's chosen to accept it, accept him, and the euphoria that spreads through him is unrivalled by even the strongest drug.

His dragons' emotions are mixed as Hubris nears them, the gold perched on a rock and the red circling above. Both are privy to the depths of the stallion's sordid mind, yet neither of them quite know whether this development is good or bad. Vérzés, for whom Isopia has been a constant in his life since his hatching, is all for this progression of their relationship. He likes and respects the young goddess, even if he has found Volterra's emotions towards her too overpowering sometimes - as the brute had painstakingly explained to Isopia, he and his dragon are so similar that times of high emotion can sometimes be too grating to cope. So, at Hubris' question, the red nods his proud horned head vigorously. "Good", he trills back to the bronze, enthusiastically but also quietly so as not to disrupt his bonded.

Vadir's emotions are contrasting. She has no real feelings towards Isopia - although she finds Hubris' bronze scales acceptable to her discerning eye, far more so than her brother's inferior red ones, and thus thinks Isopia to be adequate as she is capable of bonding to a royal - and she hasn't been around long enough to see his relationship with the mare develop from childhood frolics to this. She thinks this just another one of her bonded's conquests, but she's also mildly concerned that the earth-girl will steal Volterra's attention away from her. She can't have that; she must be the most important woman in his life, as she is the queen, his queen. So, to the bronze's question she simply gives a haughty sniff, curling her scythed tail delicately around her gleaming body. She says nothing, simply fixes her penetrating gaze on the distant giants and bids them to hurry up, so she can have Volterra's attention back on her.

But his golden companion couldn't be further from the young mammoth's mind. This is the moment everything has been building to; their first exchanges, debates about names, burnt animal slaughter, magic discovery, hot-tub creation....it all fades into a blur behind them, ascending to this. They'd seen each other at their best (he remembers her in all her glory during the God battles, fighting strong and hard like a woman worthy of his attention) and their worst (oozing black snot, sweating in the ocean, unknown diseases rampaging through their bodies). They'd grown from boy and girl to stallion and mare, they'd watched each other bond and obtain magic, they'd survived the growing pains of youth. This is their reward.

The monolith doesn't know what will happen after. He cannot do monogamy, and she is the daughter of a God who is destined for more than dedicating her life to a lowborn mutt, but those are thoughts for another day. This is here and now. Truthfully, he did not think this moment would ever come; she could do so much better than him, and although the primitive beast parts of him croon with delight about the notion of possibly conquering the peak that is her, the rest of him pulses with terror that far outweighs what he felt when she flew with him.

What if he's a letdown? The giant has certainly not had any complaints before, and has quite a high opinion of his prowess, but the earth-mare's standards will be exacting. He has to meet them, and exceed them. The idea of this not being perfect makes his masculine pride throb with disgust. No, he tells himself, firm. He steels his determination, arches his neck and swells his shoulders; he will make this a day to remember.

He - wrongly - assumes that there've been others before him, but he's going to make damn sure that he's the best she ever has.

He moves forwards, not wanting to move so fast that he seems overeager nor so slow that she thinks he isn't keen. Her feathers tickle his back, sending thrilled shivers down his spine, and his jaws slip to their right to continue their line of kisses across her skin. His own tingles with her touch, and the way she leans into him sends passion sparking through his body, a frisson of fire as though a dragon is razing him from head to tail. A low, guttural growl of desire slips unbidden from his jaws - a rough, harsh noise quite at odds with the delicacy of the situation, and he wonders whether she will find it frightening or arousing. Naturally, he hopes for the latter.

The beast's heart is pounding so hard he thinks she must be able to hear it. Blood roars in his ears, migrates south, and he begins to circle to try and come up behind her. Her haunches - taller than his, rising like beautiful peaks into the heavens - are a mass of sumptous curves and hardened muscle, and another feral growl rips its way free from his lips. His hindlegs bunch, instinct telling him to lift, but with great effort he remains on all fours and instead presses a hopeful nibble to the dock of her tail. His eyes dart warily downwards, as thousands of years of nature have made sure stallions stay alert when they're stood behind mares - those massive hooves could leave quite the dent in his chest should she decide she's had enough of his advances. This is the moment of truth. She can move forwards and away, and call this a happy little almost-mistake. Or she can stand where she is, signal her permission to him, and let him pass the point of no return.

MY TOUCH IS BLACK AND POISONOUS
AND NOTHING LIKE MY PUNCH DRUNK KISS
image credits


@Isopia

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#13

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally

Perhaps now, they have diverged.

While Volterra feels the feels, Isopia is already engrossed and drowned by them. They have already saturated her every waking moment for the past few weeks, and have sprouted inside of the deepest crevices of her soul. The demi-goddess' normally hardened interior was worn down by the gentle but persistent tide of him, and while water normally takes decades to wear down stone, somehow he slipped passed the barriers of time and expedited the process.

She loved him before she could scarcely think the word, he was that fast. Barriers that she thought were inside of herself - her defenses against the wiles of others - were nothing more than his mammoth strength, implicitly inside of her, deflecting whatever traitorous thoughts her loins might have had towards another. They let in the gentle affections of Zero, but kept out the longing gazes and fantasies that any others might have pulled from her. And all the while she had thought it her own doing ... but it had been him all along.

And now, as his bulk, so great and powerful, was pressed against her, Isopia was finally - and for perhaps the first time - able to ignore that love. It was in this, that perhaps - just perhaps - they differed. For as stated, Isopia knew, somewhere in her marrow, in the parts of herself which sang certainties that her mind refused to listen to - she knew it already. Knew it always.

But she didn't want to love Volterra right now.

She wanted something else.

Something not extraneous to love, and yet not tandem. Something not incongruous, but vastly and completely different. Isopia who had triumphed over her senses, wanted to submit to the will of her body. Even now, with his breath breathing down her thighs, part of her hesitated. The naive, uncertain, academic part.

Leave me be- she thought, perhaps schizophrenically, but without concern. She wanted to give in fully to the gentle rapture which was mounting with increasing heat in her chest and her loins. Wanted to drown her mind in the hedonistic pleasures of her flesh - flesh which had never felt so sensational and receptive.  

Leave me-

Her long russet tail edged to the side, causing her eyes to spark wide with an influx of vulnerability and openness. Though Isopia hadn't the forethought to say anything (which was perhaps a blessing, as it would likely have caused her anxiety to think of it-), Volterra would quickly realize that he had been wrong. He would feel the tear, and know that he was her first. Something like a nicker left Isopia's lips, but for a girl who had never offered such a sound to anyone before, it sounded virginal and tentative.

want me. appreciate this. do you even realize what this means? can you imagine for someone like me, what this means? want me. value me. fight me. I, and no other, will heal from your roughness and can endure your height. do you feel what I feel

do this-

are you-

O


thoughts flooded her mind in incoherent jumble. Her mind had not been sufficiently drowned by her endorphin's, but it was sufficiently muted such that her instincts were able to control her body. Her stance widened, and though she was taller by a few inches than Volterra, there was no denying that his bulk was far superior. Her long and lean limbs tensed and yet shook ever so slightly with his weight, and she could feel her wings slipping forward and rising ever so slightly - and yet completely unbidden - to make way for his hooves.

And then...

Isopia the rational, Isopia the guarded, Isopia the distant -

- let go.

Sweat broke out behind her ears and on her neck, and her long eye lashes fluttered open and closed with the rolling movements of their bodies. Grasses and stones tried to take hold of her hooves, as if to give her support, but were broken away by each of Volterra's movements as if the ground beneath them was heaving with their passion. Without thought, but yielding to the influxes and influences of her body, Isopia rolled forward on her hooves, adjusting the angles of her long body - it wasn't as though she needed to add height, but the slight shifting in how the puzzle-pieces of their body's fit together sent delicious ripples of pleasure all throughout Isopia's body. Sounds left her lips, mere echoes of the crescendos of her body, and yet just as jubilant and excited.

For the first time, Isopia stopped thinking, and let herself feel.

And it felt good.


@Volterra 

WTF. This was my 12 post of the night so I thought it would be short. OOPS. Feel free to do a before / fade / after if you want? or w/e

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#14


She prepares for him - her wings shift, her weight braces, and his heart soars. It is happening. This is happening. We are happening.

With the strength he can spare - for he does not wish to exhaust himself when he must put in the performance of his life, when the pressure is on him to outdo any that have come before him - the goliath summons his magic. The ground around them ripples and erupts into a tall, circular wall, thin and fragile (as thickess and durability saps valuable stamina) but high enough to block them from prying eyes.

This act is for them and them alone. They deserve this; nobody else needs to see it. They have earned this - tomorrow will bring the worries of the details of them, and tomorrow might see the eyes of the world rest upon and judge them. Today, however, is theirs.

His weight lifts, higher than usual, as he is unused to his partner being larger than him. But logistics are only a momentary, unremarkable obstacle. His forelegs find a perch that seems to have been designed for him, and they fit like his own conception created his body to be the correct shape for this, like the Gods who formed him knew that one day, he'd meet her. Through the fear of not being enough, through the crippling nerves that shatter his usual arrogance like chips of glass, through any and all anxieties about his performance, he releases a deep breath. He becomes zen, calm, even as his blood pounds and nature takes over.

Mere minutes ago, she flew him to heights he could never have dreamed of.

Now, it's up to him to return the favour.

-fade-

Drenched in sweat, brain still muddled from euphoria, the beast's head drops to lose his muzzle in the perfect arch of her back. Into her moist skin, he whispers words that he cannot say aloud to her, words that he's always known but that ecstasy have loosened from where they lay trapped in his windpipe. He wonders if she will know what they are, from the way his lips form them against her skin, from the way the air vibrates with those three whispered words.

He slips down from her, weak-legged and spent, limbs aching and body heaving with exhaustion. He gave her everything. She deserved everything. The magical walls he'd created crumble into dust, restoring a fragment of his strength. He staggers forwards, resting his massive body against her side.

As well as everything else, there's the gripping sensation that he had been wrong in his assumptions that she had done this before. "I was your...I didn't realise." His voice is barely more than a murmur. You should have told me. I would have been gentler. The possessive, Volterra part of him writhes with delight, knowing he'd claimed something that nobody else ever would - the rest of him knows that a gift so willingly given is one he will cherish forever.

He lifts his massive head to rest upon her withers, and says nothing else. Again, words are not enough.

MY TOUCH IS BLACK AND POISONOUS
AND NOTHING LIKE MY PUNCH DRUNK KISS
image credits


THIS THREAD. MY FEELS. <3 up to you whether we continue for a bit or have it end here.

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Isopia the Mountain That Knows Posts: 780
Dragon's Throat Apostle atk: 6.5 | def: 10 | dam: 8.0
Mare :: Tribrid :: 18hh :: 3 - is now aging slowly HP: 90 | Buff: NUMB
Hubris :: Royal Bronze Dragon :: Shock Breath & Frost Breath & Babel :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath Odd
#15

Isopia
          Does your imagination try to make you what you wanted to be?
Because I'm sorry I do what I did, but it came naturally

His walls erupted all around her, while all of hers tumbled to the ground. Never before had the girl been so vulnerable, so completely open. Her soul, dark and twisted and un-understandable, was bared raw for him. The parts of her which were unlovable, she served to him on a platter, desperately hoping that he would find them, somehow, someway, desirable.

It felt as though the moment simultaneously took forever to arrive, and then was equally gone just as quickly. It seemed mere seconds ago that she was a dragon, dragging Volterra through the skies, but she could just as easily remember the thick and tense moments that stretched long and hard between them, when all still remained a mere possibility. But then it had actualized, and she remembered that too. Easily she lets parts of herself continue to remain with him - a wing carelessly slung over his back, the side of her cheek pressed against his body. She let him hold her up, and held him up in return. Her mane - now quite tangled and curled with the sweat which was produced during the height of their efforts together, billowed slightly with each slowing breath.

I was your...I didn't realise

It was best for Iso that he couldn't see her face - see the way it twisted in embarrassment slightly to hear the words come from his lips. Of course she knew that her facade could only go so far, that the truth would eventually come out, but it still wounded her soul to hear her insecurities and failings stated so obviously. "It doesn't matter-" She whispered into the ebony of his body, squeezing her eyes shut both out of something like shame, but also exhaustion. Her knees quaked, shook, and shuttered with the mutual effort of supporting them both.

The words, thank you and that felt good and how was it for you rested restlessly on her lips, but Isopia couldn't find the push she needed to get them out. Despite the intimacy of what they had still done, she still fought to keep some of her dignity, to keep some of her insecurities a secret.

Exhaling loudly against his pelt, partially as some sort of segue, Isopia pushed herself away from him and allowed herself a few long and low breaths.

It seemed as though her heart had just stopped stammering irregularly, and was beginning to slow.

Still nervous and restless, Hubris wrung his clawed paws making uncertain faces towards Vadir and Verzes. He still wasn't convinced that what had transpired would be good for anyone present. Though he hoped that he was wrong.




@Volterra 





Abandon all hope, ye who enter here


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