Whispers in the Dark

[OPEN] Whispers in the Dark

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598

Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE

Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

06-16-2016, 11:29 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2016, 10:43 PM by Thranduil.)

Thranduil

A black feather falls through the pre-dawn sky. It flutters wildly, then cascades down settling onto the dry permafrost. Paces away, another alights the dry earth, up the mountains the trail goes, up and through the ice and rock.

Every muscle ached. Hidden under his black invisible cloth and clothed in the skin of a Pegasus the golden strained to climb through the air. The dull winds of morn had let him rise, but the air was thin u[ here, making his short breaths all the more labored. With the wounds upon his skin, hidden though under his guise (causing his disguise to loose feathers), still less than a day old, the pain and ache made his head spin. But no matter how much his body ached, no matter how short his breath, or how great his pain, it was the feeling inside his chest, inside his heart, that distracted him from it all. Nothing else was felt. Nothing else held his thoughts.

In the air the thoughts of the night before made his concentration, and therefore altitude drop with its memories. For when he had woken in the middle of the night it hadn’t been her beside him as he had, in that blissful moment before he opened his eyes, thought. It wasn’t the one he thought he was with. It wasn’t her touch. It wasn’t her sweet breath. The golden hadn’t woken up next to Hotaru. And he had wanted to. No one else, but one, could call such loyalty on this liar and thief, and even that had been ages ago. It hadn’t been a terrible nightmare, and it wasn’t washed away in a deep sleep. The memories remained awakened. The voice in his heart had been indeed awoken, and it would not be silenced again.

Sleep and dark dreams had put time between Ophelia’s weighted words, and his own realizations. Yet the shock still weighed heavily. How could she have slipped into his world, his private most inner chambers when he hadn’t even seen her! That had been the whole point of staying away. The spar with the tiger had been the end. Distance should have given ease, and the gold should have moved on to being his proper self. And it had for a time given ease to it all. Yet with the nasty side effect of this. In his time of a blind eye, the words had sunk deeper, the feelings shifted without his notice, so that when he had awoken, it was overpowering. The gold want to blame magic, or some other trick, but the night before had proven, this had no one’s hand in it but hers.

And gods it hurt. His head was swollen with guilt, and anguish, and his chest was burning with the light that flooded every dark corner. Every dark memory connected to this feeling bloomed forth in revolting displays in his mind. The dangers of this path. The weaknesses it revealed. Worse of all of the doubts. The words of the tiger still burned in his ears. But then again, two bulges in his satchel pressed against his ribs.

In all this the gold should have been awash in agony and immobilizing despair. The memories should have had him on his knees. But there was born, when he woke and looked to see no rosen coat beside him, a shivering sensation. A fear. A guilt. A desire. A realization. An acceptance. There was a strength (dare Ophelia be proved true? Or was this a disgust, a revolting shove) born in the voice which had been so long silenced. Go.

So he went. Memory guided him. He slipped, just so through the ice Arch. But was distracted from his own homecoming. It was nearly for naught. In his straining soul and body, and now the overwhelming ills being within this mountainous home returned to him, the illusion lost its fuel. Still feet above the earth it flickered, and extinguished. A rough call, hoarse and unformed echos on the ice walls, as the gold fell.

The cloak hid from the world the settling dust, but under it the golden groans. On his knees he feels the sting and hot collecting pools of his own body and blood. Like a final taunt to this illusion he had created to blind his own self, the world was stealing, spar by battle, cut by scrape, the vanity and pride of the gold. Still on his coat, revealed by spring were fresh gray lines of claws.

Shaking the crowned head the gold slowly rose to face the mountains. His earth eyes in their veil shivered to see them, but a strange sensation of familiarity smothered his thoughts. There he had stood with a commanding eye. There he had stood and welcomed the newcomers with a prideful vanity. There he had slept with Hotaru. His chest gave a painful twinge. With the insistence of a drunkard on his last leg the gold move jerkily forward.

Then he found it. Her cave. His spine gave a shiver, but his body was frozen. Hidden as he still was, he could not move. For the first time he had asked himself, what was he doing here?

His mind had been set only one desire. He wanted to see her. No, he had to see her. But here, before her cave, with her scent (sweet, yet cutting), lacing the trails, he had frozen, his voice and actions cut short, and dry. A criminal at last brought before a judge. In a fleeting thought the vision of him slipping back through the Arch comes to mind. To run, again, from this, from what she awoke. To avoid the questions and uncertain paths all together. But then that same damned feeling arose as before he opened his eyes on this morning. That same utter blissful contented peace. She had promised to show him that (would it matter he had remembered its powers beside another on which he had placed a rosen mask?). He wanted that. So many years had been hard, born in the dark and rocky earth. So forgotten was the soft new grass of spring, the gentle cool breezes of night, and the warmth of another’s touch.

The crowned head tips back and the black cloak slips off, sliding uncaring to the ground. With the sun cresting over the ridge, and breaking into the valley’s depths a weathered, cracked voice whispers into the cave’s darkness. “Hotaru?”

"talk talk talk"
OOC:: FINALLY, I couldn't stand it any more.
Also obviously its open but Hotaru at first maybe? please?

Credits: Image by FROSTIE!
@Hotaru

Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

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Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295

Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE

Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit

07-24-2016, 06:03 PM

As strong as the seas are stormy.</style>

Her children are strong and independent, diamonds shedding their earthen flecks and seeking illuminating sunshine from beneath the protective, shadowy reaches of her maternal boughs. Though they worry her heart with their constant wandering and fierce independence, and though she worries for her son's stoicism and single-minded devotion, the Lady is aware that they will take care of each other out there in the wilds where she cannot reach them. Where one goes the other follows. Alice goes with them more often than not regardless of that knowledge, even though she recalls her own feelings towards Stella's constant presence with fond amusement. She'd rather they despise her for Alice's hovering than encounter trouble alone and defenseless, far from where she could aid them bodily. Though her worry for them occupied a good deal of her thoughts, her duties could not simply be ignored. Especially when pacing around worrying did no real good to her herd or her errant children.

There is so much broken in the Basin, and she and Deimos have each other's backs in a way they had not managed in the past. Together they are desperately trying to glue the fragments together into some semblance of normality. So long as they can make it through this season, and the next, Hotaru could not care less for the distant future or looming goals. That will be reserved for days when they are solid bedrock once more, not this shattering layer of ice scarcely covering a riptide of black water. She is tired, trying to split her time between trying to raise her stubbornly detached children, finding time with Ashamin outside of the Basin, and trying to rule a kingdom falling apart at the seams.

Despite her love for her people, Hotaru was still mortal, and her energy reserves were depleted beyond recognition. She would work herself to the bone if it meant saving her herd, but she could not help the tired, dejected drag of her hooves as she wandered in solitude towards her cavern. Her children may or may not return to nestle together at her side, enveloped more in each other's heat than any security or affection she could offer them herself. Arya was gone in the wind, Mirabella was dead and Raeru was but a ghost to her. She had failed in so many ways as a mother, no matter how desperately she loved them or how much she offered them.

Stone clicked beneath her hooves as she slid into the relative warmth of her cave, head low and shoulders aching with work and stress. Tomorrow would only bring the same challenges, and she needed to be ready for it. Standing alone in the too-big expanse of a cavern she'd chosen for the sake of her growing family, her heart ached with loneliness. And she couldn't help the nostalgia that drew her to the corner, where a spot of colorful blue lay concealed behind her armor and jewelry. Pale lips lowered, trembling a little with the weight of the day and the chaos of her stressed emotions. Alice whined at her side from where she had slunk into the cave, trying to give Hotaru space but also unwilling to leave her alone as the rest of her family had. A quiet question lay in that soft lupine whine, but Hotaru had no answer for her beloved.

Her lips drag the fabric up and away from where she has concealed it, unwilling to answer her daughter's curious questions or risk anyone in the herd recognizing the fabric he had so often worn. It settles around her shoulders like a whisper, a memory of what could have been, the other direction her heart still tugged even with Ashamin's hands wrapped warm and possessive around the battered organ. She had so many mixed feelings towards the previous owner of the item; love, hatred, despair, frustration, hopelessness. He had never returned the feelings she had so desperately thrust upon him, perhaps unfairly, for he had never seemed willing to even entertain her confessions. But he had challenged her, both prior to their crowning and after they had settled into their titles. And perhaps most importantly, he had saved her. Gone looking for her instead of turning his gaze away, and though his words had only added more pain to the physical agony when he had finally found her, he had still remained behind to give her time to escape. Surely that meant something? And yet he had never returned, leaving her only with the echo of his words, the soft blue fabric, and the necklace around her neck.

He had always been too far from her for Hotaru to realize the necklace had any specific properties, unaware of its mate laying around Thranduil's neck and the magical tie between the two items. But she digs her face into the soft fabric, wishing selfishly that his scent still lingered. She loves Ashamin, she does, without a doubt. But her love has always been so hard to give away, and Hotaru can't help that her feelings for Thranduil still linger. His harsh words and dismissal of her feelings could not sever the affection she held for him, though it had undoubtedly dimmed with distance, with abandonment. With distraction, with a brighter, entirely different love that came from the Clovenheart. They were so different, the two men she had loved. One proud and deceitful, a mask as complex as hers woven into the very structure of his face. The other honest and humble, his emotions so raw and bright it sometimes hurt to touch, to feel. But one was a familiar devil, like looking into a mirror, and he understood her. The other, however, was safe and steady. Bedrock as opposed to a turbulent windstorm. And they both had their values, their attractive portions. But she was only allowed to choose one, it seemed.

An unfair, sexist thing. For she knew Ashamin had other children, other lovers. But he was faithful to her, and she was monogamous at heart and would return his loyalty. And it wasn't as if Thranduil would return to her, not after being gone so very long without word. She had only the cape and the necklace to remember him by, her love fading beneath the light of Ashamin's affections and the disappearance of the one she had once cared so deeply for.

The metal against her breast goes shockingly cold, ripping a startled, confused noise from the Lady as she stumbles back as if to escape from it. Her nose dips inquisitively, trying to figure out what's going on, only to recoil as the cold continues to persevere. Alice is standing at the entrance of the cave, a scent tickling at her nose but no sounds accompanying it, confusing her senses and sending her hackles up with a deep, throaty growl. But beyond it, miraculously, as if beckoned by her rare moment of grief and nostalgia, she hears her name spoken tremulously. Every muscle freezes, and she can't lift her eyes from where they have fallen to the triskelion on her breast. Because she knows. She knows that voice, no matter how long it has been since it graced her ears. And she's unaware of the fact that her conflicted emotions must be scalding him through his own necklace, her fear and worry and disbelief.

Ru, Alice begs, standing between the two as Thranduil reveals himself, cloak slipping away. Hotaru exhales shakily and lifts her face to where the blooming sunlight streams in from the mouth of her cave, backlighting the Laurelin waiting in the entrance. Surely this is a dream, a hallucination.

"Thranduil?" Her voice wavers and breaks, disgustingly revealing her weakness. Her hooves shuffle nervously, not sure who she's supposed to be here. The woman who had confessed her love to him? The maiden he had saved? The Lady of the Basin? She did not know how to simply be herself with him, not sure who that even was or what it entailed. She takes a tentative step forward towards the light he stands in, dawn arriving and spilling across his luminescent hide. But as she steps closer his injuries come to light, and her heart sinks with defeat. He must only be here to seek healing, she thinks bitterly. Alice's disagreement is scarcely acknowledged.

"You're injured," she speaks softly as she approaches, as if afraid to speak any louder in his presence. Like it will shatter this, the illusion she still thinks he may be. "What do you need? You can rest here, I can fetch Tiamat or Enna," she offers, and is suddenly deeply self conscious, aware of the fact that he has caught her with his robe around her shoulders. But taking it off now would only draw more attention to it, and yet she feels the weight and feel of it so precisely she fears that she'll go mad from the sensitivity. Just as she feels his gaze, has always felt the weight of his earthen orbs. And Hotaru can't help but feel cornered, here in her sacred place where he blocks her only exit, a thousand crumbled words between them and the sting of rejection still lingering in the caverns of her heart.

Image Credits

@Thranduil

::Strong like the sea is stormy::
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

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Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598

Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE

Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

09-03-2016, 10:55 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2016, 11:08 PM by Thranduil. Edit Reason: Forgot to add the last lines like an idiot. )

Thranduil

It was small at first. A trifle compared to the lashings lacing his coat draining so much more from him. Yet as his voice wavered on the thin wisps of the breeze, it blooms awake against his chest. A fiery heat, pulsing with intensity, and piercing his chest. The gold echo’s a gasp as he looks down to the hawk soaring against his chest, finding it appearing no different, but feeling the heat scalding his skin. The confusion and wonder is lost though in the sound of a low growl and the click of hooves.

The heat against his chest, was lost in the burning sensation of his own racing heart. His knees quiver, trembling with the last strings of strength, but more so, with the hesitation, trepidation, and the weight of this burden, born by love, fear, and agony. Flashes fly before him, of her changed. Her face unrecognizable in some foreign look. Or a new set of invisible clothes, covering her in a different stance or stature. It was his last grasp at straws. His last attempt to deny what was really there…

A shadow moves in the cave, and his low head alerts, and rises. Earth eyes intense, yet calmed by his sedated wounded body. Yet he can not see her, her body hidden among the shadows. Perhaps he made this all up, and the mare he dreamed he lay beside this morning (before he woke his eyes to the icy truth) was never real. The actual sores and blemishes having been covered and masked by time and distance.

Yet the shadow speaks. And the last straw falls away. For her voice cuts across him deeper than any wound he bore, and weighs heavier than all the burdens he so far bore. It trembles in the same. It hesitates the same. And it bears the same wounds in its dips, and hopes in its rises as his had. Then she steps forward, and his eyes are stricken in the same manner as his harks. She was the same, only more so. The same deep eyes and slender frame. The same tumbling white hairs, and the same soft rosen coat. And his cloak. Damn. She looked no different than the illusions had in his head for these weeks and months. Perhaps her sides were still swollen or worn from childbirth, or her shoulders sunken from her stress, but love rarely takes note of these things.

Perhaps she stood lost among herself before him, with no clear choice of who she should be. But for the gold, her half hidden face, still shadowed by the cave, was a clear ringing bell. A silencer of his restless legs, and trembling knees. The voice had said go. Now it spoke a command of calm. Even simply standing in the presence of an image so long imagined, all his heart's faltering and racing was slowed and leveled. The hurricane of guilt, fear, and possibly even madness risen from the past, was cleared by simply looking upon her. His love.

It was addicting. And though her glances and the moments moved on, his heart returning to his heightened pace soon after, it was not forgotten how deeply powerful that one moment had been. How strange and yet, from many years ago, how familiar it was. And scarily for his normal self, how easily and happily he fell into his grips.

The moment is broken though, jerked awake by her glances and shifting mood. The hope dashing away from her tongue and eyes. The gold’s ears fall back slightly, confusion waking him from his trance. She steps closer, but her voice pulls her farther away. The crowned head tilts, the necklace at his chest hoovering between the scalding heat, yet dipping cold. Had it been any other moment, the sensation would be captivating, but like his wounds, they were so far from his thoughts. And so her words, drawing attention to them, find nothing but confusion, and settlement of the trance her figure had brought upon him.

Yet she steps closer, her scent now wavering thickly with his, spiraling into him like a drug. And he wants to grab at it greedily. To draw her closer, to pull her in. As he had the night before in efforts to cheapen her touch, now he seeks the same to solidify that she was truly here, and this wasn’t some false image his mind still created for him. Some hallucination. Some madness. For so long he had been flirting with those dark hallways, and white rooms, he needed to be sure he wasn’t already there. If he was, his body perhaps could not take it.

Her voice breaks again, and it sounds even further away. It shears away at him. Tearing from him, confusing him. She wears his robes. She answers his call in kind. Why does she step closer, and yet father away? What has happened? His voice is lighter in its confusion speaks in playfulness. Masking the deeper meanings. “Why do you always speak so much and yet so little?” Does she not see what she has caused? Does she not see the lines around his eyes, nor the long drawn stare? Did she not hear his voice waver, yet call her name with the final admittance? So deeply embedded in his chest had her love seeded, and so tall had it grown in the time of his turned eye that it seemed impossible she could miss it. “Their magic has no power over my worst wound.” His eyes narrow, questioning, yet hoping. His lips and voice cracking with the still terrifying realization that they would actually breathe life into such sentences. “Only you do.”

Then he can resist no longer. His strength, hanging by threads, is failing, and he seeks the only source of continued strength he desires. In large glides he’s before her. His heavy head, weighted by his still red stained horns reaches like a child’s greedy hand to seek to grasp around her. To reach above her slender neck and hold him, yet also to pull her close. To feel her warm soft touch. (Perhaps to even feel the hot touch of her own medallion). To lean on her strength. To admit his weaknesses. To admit he did not want to bear them alone any longer. To drink in that sweet elixir of her scent. To cling to what his memories promised him that morning when he had woken without her. To bury himself in all she had promised to show him. He would need it, as a white ghost began to protest his thoughts. Arwen's memory, fearing more than he, what he was about to say, was cutting the last ties of his strength. Her fear, those burning gold eyes trembling, begging him away, matched every strength Hotaru gave with a crippling weakness. And he wasn't sure he could hold up through the fray.

His trembling whisper, like an exhale of tortured man feeling the relief of death, shudders into the still morning air. “I love you, Hotaru.” It no longer could be denied, even by the liar and thief himself.

"talk talk talk"
OOC::

Credits: Image by FROSTIE!
Hotaru

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Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295

Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE

Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit

10-02-2016, 02:15 AM

As strong as the seas are stormy.</style>

They stand like opposing directions, north and south, inescapably magnetic but just as inescapably destructive. Nothing passes their lips for many long moments, the caress of their eyes the only acceptable contact after so long apart. Time that had created questions, doubts, that kept them from moving any closer. But he was familiar to her, she knew his body intimately, if only because she had once found it to be a challenge to push and press and touch. To force herself into his hollow points, sink into his pores, until he could not be rid of her. Too late had she realized that he had been corrupting her as surely as she had been corrupting him, and there had been no route remaining for her swift escape. What had started as a challenge, a parry of dominion, had turned against Hotaru. Her own seductions had ensnared her, leaving her as emotionally invested as she was with Ashamin, no matter how the logical side of her brain hissed folly and foolishness. Threatening the fall of her throne and her pride, her dignity.

But he has already happened across her when all of that is stripped, leaving her bare and hurting, without her children or her absent mate to warm or soothe the jagged edges of her lonely soul. And here he stands, as broken as when she had first confessed to him, and her mind cries with sorrow. Can you only love me when you are broken? Can you only stand to see the truth in my eyes when you can blame your reactions on your physical state?Hotaru wants to lunge forward and shake him, scream at him, but instead she just. Stands there. Watching him watch her. Waiting for someone to make the next move, because she doesn't even feel the earth beneath her feet anymore. She's floating in the void of confusion and abstract that he always draws her into.

Golden ears slide backwards towards his crest, and he steals the breath from her lungs in one fell swoop, even as her words peter out and die. Tell me what to say. What to do. I have never been able to read you, Thranduil. What do you want from me? But she can't unglue her tongue from her teeth to beg him verbally, and instead her liquid, haunted eyes ask it of him in its place. And he answers her.

“Why do you always speak so much and yet so little?”

The Valkyrie involuntarily flinches, soft robe shuffling against her skin with the subtle movement. Alice whines softly where she has retreated to the back of the cavern, hardly audible. This is not something she can interfere with, if she even knew where to start. Hotaru's gaze drops away from his penetrating stare, still feeling as if there is not enough air in her lungs. Where is her power, here? Her command? She has struggled and bled for every ounce of control in her small hands, and yet...whenever he is around, it's like nothing but smoke, and she's left trying to catch the evasive wisps in desperation. She is a powerful Queen until he comes upon her, and then she is nothing but a trembling woman, wanting the weight of his arms around her waist, his lips trustingly laid against her throat. Hotaru despises her own reaction to him, even if she cannot deny the sincerity of it. He takes her from her title and turns her into a damsel, which is surely why he is always the eternal winner of these encounters. She can scarcely even think in his presence, much less defend herself against him. Backed into her cavern, her sacred space that has been abandoned by her beloved children, she feels small and frightened by the frustrated rumble of his words, unsure what he means by them.

Her body speaks louder than any of her words could, and Thranduil knows that even if Hotaru doesn't. She has fought to conquer her silver tongue, but she has never learned to fully seclude herself from the reactions of her body, her expressive eyes. As his croaking voice continues she lifts her eyes to him, genuine confusion crinkling her brow.

"These aren't injuries I can heal," she says softly, hesitantly, faltering in each syllable. What does he mean, that only Hotaru can heal this? Sure, she had adopted knowledge of herbs after her first daughter's near-death, but she was no healer. This was no realm open to her, and yet instead of seeking a doctor he had walked all the way through the Basin - Gods, Deimos is going to kill him - to find her. But why? Did he blame her for his wounds? Was that why he had returned? To exact vengeance in the pounds of her flesh for defending her from Tingal?

Dawn-blessed frame jolts in surprise as he swiftly comes upon her, skittering backwards a step only to realize she has nowhere to go, and for a moment tenses, expecting retribution. Her heart skips wildly in her chest, but she does not close her eyes. He deserves that, if nothing else. For her to be privy to the harm she has caused him with her own fear and stupidity. But his looming frame, so much taller and larger than her own, envelopes her with a desperate sort of tenderness she had not been expecting with his misleading words. For a moment she is stiff beneath him, but then she shudders like a plucked string and falls into him, cape billowing around her as she digs herself into him. Desperate, digging her stained fingers into the solidity of his earthen soul, begging him to stop leaving her.

Hot tears sting behind her eyes, and she fears allowing them forth into the world, and shuts her lids against them. Deceiving herself a few moments longer. Pretending he does not still unfairly have his talons in her crippled heart, pretending she is not betraying Ashamin by holding him like this. Betraying herself, after all he had said and done to her. All the wounds he'd left on the heart she'd offered to him, terrified to do so and justified in her fears. But she can't help it, damn it. She can't help the way his scent crawls into her nares, reminding her of late nights and early mornings at his side. She can't help the soft cascade of fabric on her slim frame, a gift he'd perhaps unwillingly given her as he aided in her escape. She can't help the spark in her belly as his large frame dwarfs her, giving her a place to hide, a place to find shelter. Hotaru's breath leaves her shakily, feeling a twin point of heat on her chest that is momentarily ignored for how the world seems to be falling apart around her because of her own weakness and sentimental heart. Mother, can you ever forgive me?

"I love you, Hotaru."

The world froze over like a glacier cutting through still water. Ice coated her limbs and bones, creeping tendrils of frost caressing the edges of her heart as her mind fell into blackness. Alice started up a thready, weak growl that fell into a broken whimper, the only noise that seemed to matter in the silent echo of the cave. Hotaru's breath did not even make sound, for how her world had stopped spinning altogether. How was she supposed to respond? When he had cast her feelings aside so many times, when he had spit in her face and taunted her with her own weakness? And she had loved him even then, even when he hurt her, even when he had won. Even when he had won the right to say that he was the only person to hold that strength and domination over her. Even Ashamin...the Clovenheart had always been her equal, in regards to her heart.

"If this is your revenge for...for..." Hotaru's throat closes, her voice strangled and stricken, a child's whimper underlining the mustered attempt at fury she tries to project towards him. "Do not be so cruel as to lie to me now," she choked, and hot tears at last spilled from ivory lashes to further stain his bloodied hide. Yet still, she selfishly remained in his embrace, if only to delude herself a few minutes longer. "Not after all you've said and done. Not after all I've given you, my heart included. Don't do this to me now, Thranduil. I beg of you." And Hotaru had never begged anyone in her life.

Do not promise me your love only to rip it from me once more. This heart can take no more.

Image Credits

@Thranduil WELL FUCK ME, RIGHT. I DIDN'T NEED THIS. I NEED TO GO CRY NOW.

::Strong like the sea is stormy::
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

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Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598

Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE

Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

10-14-2016, 11:33 PM (This post was last modified: 10-14-2016, 11:39 PM by Thranduil.)

Thranduil

It was ever a dance. One long eternal dance of the damned. For punishment of their crimes perhaps, they were now to continually slip past one another on the floor, doomed to ever be off beat with one another, but destined to never stop till they held the other.

Earth eyes flinch to see her do the same, and they narrow with the threat of breaking to see her in retreat. To see the bold woman in full retreat, and bashfully so at that. It soured his mouth and strained his soul. But then he steps forward selfishly, and her skin touches his, her retreat melts into him, and the world is still for a moment.

The golden head reaches over her, letting her head bury to his chest, careful of the horn, while his reaches to her shoulder, and tucks, pulling her in, and burying itself into her thin wisps of her mane. This. This is what he sought. All the last of the gold’s defenses fall away, and even the white ghost’s cries fade as the addicting elixir of Hotaru seeps into his blood through the reality of her touch. This wasn’t a ghost. This wasn’t some far off haunter. This was real. This was her. This was him. She was by him, and it felt right in a way few things ever had before. This was how he should have woken up this morning. So as she pushes in, he does as well, earth eyes shutting away tightly as all his senses drink in the moment, the drug.

He was stone cold liar, a steeled blade with a double edge, but he was helpless against Hotaru’s hot tears against his chest.

Why could they never just feel? These creatures of words, lies, and disguises. Was it never enough for the two to let their souls feel the other force, and embrace? Of course not….they would both have long ago been dead. Brought down by lack of caution and strength. Their life’s work was ever to hide these feelings, to deny and resist them. And to the utterly painful agony of both they were good at it. A curse of the world marking their steps, their suspicions. It kept them off beat. Each word and resistance was some shove in an opposite direction.

This time it was simply torture. As her chocked words tumble forth, the words hot in his chest, his ears pin back. Maybe he could just not hear. Maybe he could ignore her and the words just wash away with the next cold breeze…maybe…maybe not. But as always she doesn’t yield, her words don’t cease. How could he be this weak to her? How could she hold this much control him? Make him beg release without a single touch? Make him tremble at the very start of a sentence? Did she realize just how wrapped around her he was? Just how much he yielded to her without even being asked. If she was under his spell as much as she claimed, was she so blind to see he was the same? To see just how out of place and weak she made him? Judging by her words, she clearly didn’t.

She doesn’t retreat, but he doesn’t allow her to either. Daggers dig into his chest, one for each hiccupped line, and good god he forgot how much that damn muscle could hurt. How much it could make him suffer. He wanes under the feel, his weight growing on her slender frame as he feels her claws. She begged of him. She begged him to release her. Where was that mercy to him shown as she laid beside him last? But the whispered breath of before is stolen from him, and he’s tortured once more. How could he so foolish? How could he be so naïve? To think she would so willingly return the sentiment! To think she would take selflessly instead of selfishly. His head spins slightly with voices and he’s weighted once more by it all. Yet he too is loath to let go. Here. In her arms, in her touch, the past was at last distant for the force of the present….but gods she was making this time just as painful.

“You beg….” It rolls out in a moan…Did she not see? Could she not understand? The gold had gifted her, robed her in blue, gone to war for her, and protected her back in the shadows. If any could call anything resembling loyalty of this man it was her. And her alone. So when she asked, or begged, for something, his chest ached to see what she desired beyond his grasp. She had not given it to him when he begged, now she would feel the weight of her consequences. “...do not pretend my pleas were silent nor answered that day.” His fallen corpse of a body was not just a door stop to let her waltz through, but she had taken it as one. His pleas had been ignored for her selfish purposes, why should hers be any different.

Then, they weren’t quite the same….it seemed. The gold knew this rosen ghost, or was at least secure in seeing behind her mask…but he? The thought made his back go rigid with the thought. That day, her demand to which he begged not was to see the real him. To find the chance to fall in love with the real Thranduil…but did she know which it was? Did she know this dust covered, war worn pale shadow was it? Or did she still believe the shimmering gold with a wicked smile was the one she needed? The thought settled uneasily and it caused the gold to release her from his grasp. He hadn’t thought of it before, but the notion came hot and ill upon him. Had he created so many faces that now the real one was lost among the rest?

“You asked to know me that day. The real me…” His voice was haunted, still shaky, but soft in volume all the same. He wasn’t losing his temper today, just his feeling new cracks on a mended heart. “Have your eyes seen so many lies they can no longer find the truth?” It bite harder, letting the bandages slip slightly to reveal the scars. To show her it hurt. He stepped back again (his own body perhaps a tinge lustful for her touch groans). His earth eyes level with hers, and in them the world trembles on unsteady feet, a rare position, as it sorts through, trying to resist breaking every rule it knew (revealing pain, showing truth, explaining..) but failing. “You asked to be let in…..” His face contorted, the trouble of voicing what was never meant to be said. “I didn’t open those doors….but you came in anyway.” The bitterness of reveal twisted his throat and the crowned head turned away.

And oh the havoc she had caused once she found herself there. That rosen ghost. That damned blessed rosen ghost, rising all she found in his mind, haunting shadows and glances, and never giving him a peaceful nights sleep. Torture. And while he begged she never relented. The rosen ghost never yielded. “Hotaru…I begged every night to not hear your voice….to not want to hear your voice.” Your scent. "I have not gone unpunished" For this absence, this distance. "I begged..." For your touch. Or mine…, a faint white shadow whispers from some far room. The gold coat flinches. “But you’re a stubborn mare.” Some false air. Some painted ray of sun flashes over him and he finds strength to look back to her.

But they will never been that sunshine couple. Their story will never be christened with a happy ending. They’ve committed too many sins for that. “You promised to show me the pain of the past was worth facing.” His voice is stronger now, but chained down with desperation the inner turmoil caused. “That there is some good in this....in love. His weight shifts, some reveal of its heavy burden. “I helped you face yours…” Now I need help facing mine… “I beg of you to keep that promise….” Cause I won’t survive it alone.

"talk talk talk"
OOC::

Credits: Image by FROSTIE!
Hotaru
IMMA JUST GO CRAWL IN THE CORNER AND CRY OK, JUST IGNORE ME

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Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295

Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE

Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit

10-15-2016, 02:24 AM

As strong as the seas are stormy.</style>

Even as they despair over their feelings for one another, cursing the other's name for ever impacting their life, they're both helpless to the possessive love they hold for one another. Hotaru can't help the way she clings to him, digging every bit of her body into Thranduil's. If she could crawl inside him, make her home beneath the arcing skies of his ribs, sink her roots into his soul...she would. If it would make him stay, she would forsake everything. Because she couldn't stand to watch his retreating back, the disappearing shadow on the skyline that she could paint from vivid memories. He'd left her so many times that she'd stopped watching the horizon for his inevitable return, even if it was only to rip another chunk from her aching heart with his ensuing absence. Every moment Thranduil spent at her side, he tangled her further in his golden web. And every moment he left her bereft and abandoned, a shell of the beautiful temptress she'd crafted herself into, those threads tightened to cut into her sinner's flesh. Forced her to bleed for him, as if Hotaru hadn't given enough to Thranduil already.

Even so she continues to give. Gives him her body, complacent and malleable beneath the hard, clinging weight of his frame. Gives him her home, her attention, her muddied love. Despite the cavernous emptiness in her stomach, she can't help the twitch of helpless warmth that coils low in her limbs. Warms her iced-over insides with a spark of glowing filaments. Hotaru can't help but find her breath short and her heart pounding, wrapped up in him like this. Blood and injuries and muddled past be damned. No matter what she tries to convince herself, Thranduil's fingers can still play along her soul like a harp, and she dances to his tune.

And he's right, she's blind to any sway she may have over him. The realization that she was weaker than him, that he had control over a heart she'd long thought dead, had ruined any clarity that came with the realization that she was not alone in her descent into the madness called love. But she'd finally started to see him as he was, even if she could not see the power she held over his golden head. Jaded, beaten, something golden tarnished bronze by the weight and poison of life. He was no longer the perfect, gleaming man that had once intrigued her. No, she could not have fallen for a man like that. Her sorry, romantic heart could never have sworn itself to something so shallow. Maybe it was an Achilles Heel passed down from her mother. A weakness for broken men that hurt and scarred them. For men that could make them feel every shade of emotion created, as no one else ever could. And that's what made all the pain worth it in the end. That Thranduil made her feel so deeply and so violently that it scorched her alive just to be in his presence.

So no matter what happened between them, what bitterness lay in their pasts, Hotaru couldn't help but fall for him over and over again.

"I heard you then," she whispers against the warmth of his battered skin. Of course she had not forgotten his words that evening in the clutch of the evergreen grove. Unlike him, she had been entirely lucid the entire confrontation. And then he was the one backing away, retreating, abandoning her all over again. Hotaru stumbled after him, graceless and stripped, desperate for his touch lest she remember how easily he could take it from her again. With Thranduil's warmth pressed against her, she could forget the world.

"No," she vowed on trembling breath, like the skitter-patter of her aching vessel in her chest. "I see you, Thranduil," came out on a whisper once more, as if the weight of the assurance pressed the volume of her language down to naught by breaths. And how Hotaru had ever managed to slide into his guarded heart was beyond her, but she wouldn't question it. Maybe this was finally something good out of all the bad. Her reward for suffering so much on this terrible, mortal plane. And though she hesitated to grasp it, to be selfish in her wanting, she was finally realizing that he spoke the truth. What a looming truth it was, too, for how it dwarfed her courage in its shadow. It didn't matter though, because Thranduil was finally coming forward again. And Hotaru felt less like she was trapped in this cavern and more like she was coming home at last. To something more than barren walls and nondescript signs of life and dwelling.

Trembling lips slid across the curve of his majestic shoulder, gently clinging to his mane and drawing him back to her breast, afraid she could not cross the expanse to him with how he made her knees tremble. Ashamin was bedrock. Security. Familiar, sweet love. Family dinners and wine and clasped hands. Thranduil was kissing in the rain and screaming fights and slamming doors that were jerked back open for hard, thankless hugs. Because they could not remain apart, no matter how their personalities clashed. Gods, how he made her burn. How she'd hated the power he had over her for so long, and yet now she wanted nothing more than to reel him in closer, to revel in the sweet seduction of the destruction he offered to her with bloodied hands.

“You promised to show me the pain of the past was worth facing. That there is some good in this...in love."

"I did," she breathes, more to herself than anything, but she's lost in the hues of his eyes and the word on his lips she'd never thought she'd hear. And maybe she deserves to be selfish just this once. Maybe it won't turn to fire that consumes her if she lets herself tend to it. She'll take that risk. She has to. She'd break if he left her again. "I will," is whispered in promise back to him, between noses that bump and share breaths as conflicted tears hang in the corners of her eyes. "Thranduil, I will. I'll show you. I promise." And it's said with a vehement desperation that crawls out of her throat like the beginning of a sob as she lets herself break. Bend. As Hotaru shudders and collapses to make room for him inside of her, to give and take and share until they are more than just Hotaru and Thranduil. Until they are a singular entity.

Tenderly, as if they were eternal lovers instead of new, she traces her lips across his brow between his horns. Sweeps his limp forelock from his skin with as much aching love and care as she possesses in her small body. "I'm here, Thranduil. You have me. You always have, and you always will, you stupid man," she laughs, choked and teary as she smiles at him. Drags him closer by the chain around his neck, dancing as near as she can and cursing the gods for the shape of their creation. "Stay. Please. Let me love you." Hotaru would chase away his ghosts and demons, as he had done for her. The detox of his poisonous past. I will love you through it. No matter what it takes.

She could deny him - and herself - no longer. Whatever consequences came from admitting and accepting his love, she would accept them. There was no more running left in her. She would selfishly hoard his miserable, broken love, and give her own in return. And maybe they'd be able to make something beautiful.

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@Thranduil

::Strong like the sea is stormy::
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

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Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598

Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE

Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

10-16-2016, 06:00 PM (This post was last modified: 10-16-2016, 06:09 PM by Thranduil.)

Thranduil

The world drifts in and out. The realities mingle. That was always the trick, the secret if you will, of his….trade. To be successful, to be good…each fact, each reality had to go in its own separate box. Its own compartment. It is a necessity, for if in the mare your stalking and stealing from you see your lover’s face, you’re frozen, and useless. The worst spies are the ones with happy homes, and happy memories. Those who find no need to wall of memories and lives. Those who have no need to lie and leave. It is what made the golden so beautifully powerful at what he did. Yet the danger of that was, walls don’t last forever….And those within them rarely ever enjoy their stay. Those who care about you rarely enjoy seeing only half of you.

So what happens when the walls come tumbling down, which the floods of realities, emotions, and pains mix in some lethal cocktail. Well… then you have the truth. A horrible, ugly, mangled truth.

‘I see you’ His coat flinches, for he realizes as she spoke just what she saw. Not just with her heart either. One hark flicked back, as a flood of his nerves, held back by the adrenaline of the moment, remind him just how mangled the truth had made him. Hips shift, and his leafen starred face, winced.

As he finishes though he steps back. And for the first time in…ever, the gold sighs with finality, his sides shuttering to feel it. Because for once, all the cards, guidelines, and pulls, were on the table. Everything was laid out. Another personal rule of the trade broken and cracked. His mouth felt dry for it all, and in another rarity he position felt vulnerable. He didn’t enjoy the sensation. The gold didn’t want any of this. Nothing was as it should be, but he could not be anywhere but here. That morning had proved that. Ophelia had proved that. And Rexanna and shoved him to that. The gold survived by running from situations such as this, byt letting the world figure it out far from his sight….but that couldn’t happen this time. In this situation, he couldn’t let it turn out like that because he, the Laurelin, couldn't handle the possibilities.

Even he couldn’t name what exactly pinned him there. He’d been caught, just as she by the lure of her skills, as someone who finally got it, who finally understood exactly what they were capable of. Then he’d gotten lost in it. His body was partly the reason (Hotaru’s beauty was well observed by many) but her stubbornness, her resolution, and her dedication all pulled him. Sucking him under the surface with a siren’s song of beauty, and power. She was there, and stayed there when many did not. And just when he rose to rival her, his chest beat to conqueror hers, the cracks of her masquerade showed. The dark blood of the past bled through, and his charging heart, finding itself needing her, could not let her lie upon the street and bleed out. It had taken the past months on the run to turn the need into a realization of love. To realize that not only did he need her, but he needed her happiness. He needed her safety. And he needed her to need him.

‘I did’ The crowned head lifts slightly, the glassy earthen eyes looking on with the wounded suspicion. She comes forward, but the caught cat doesn’t move. He watches her, lost in the worlds of her step, her delicate ears, and that sweet steel voice. His mind trying to wrap around the idea that she was saying yes to him. As he stood before her like this. All while seduced by her… The hot roll of her breath….the delicate soft touch her nose….

His name cuts in the air, and the gold inhales sharply, his earth eyes refocusing to see hers….lined with tears. Gold harks lean back, unsteady, and his nose reaches out to hers. The gold’s mind, spinning tries to comprehend as she yields…as she gives…Had he ever seen her do such? The healed the knife wound she had just dug in, but it suffocated him all the same, to see her choke on it. His vocals rumble as she sobs, and shutters, and his voice rolls off afterwords in a barely breathed whisper. “Hotaru…” But she looks to him again and her maw traces up his cracked face. Earth eyes shut away, rolling into some dream world where this was actually real. The gold’s breaths drag, controlled by her sweeping touch.

Then she laughs, her voice light and vibrant, and the earth eyes open to reveal something rarely seen on this side of the world, a genuinely happy golden. Not smirking. No lips curled with greed, vengeance or some other sin. But like a drowning man allowed to surface, he grins at her. To her laugh he joins, he deep rumble cutting short though as she pulled him closer. The medallion on his chest shifting from its scalding heat, to a neutral temperature, though it glowed golden. He lets himself be pulled to her, his body offering little resistance. Why should it….this is what he wanted. Not for some plot. Not for some golden trinket or crown. He wanted it…for him. For his happiness. And with it the shadowy white ghost fades completely back for the moment. In the freedom of that the gold’s head tucks, yet he closes the small distance again, so the side of his head rubs deep into her neck. “I’m yours.” He might have just signed his life away, but he still did it with a smile.

Like some guard standing at the door the notions come drifting in. Who was the tiger. Why did she not look for him. What has she been up to. What of his ghosts did she know. What would she want to know. What about last night, need she know? What about his wounds. Where will they go from here (for the mountains would not be his pillow for long). What were her desires now….All knocked at the door, all called his name. But in her touch, knowing she wanted him next to her, and she was pulling him, needing him just as much as he needed her, his mind was lost in the wrap of her love. If anyone knew, the golden did, these moments were rare.

So he simply held her close, ignoring all the knocking at the door. He’d answer it in a moment. For now he wanted only to feel what she had promised, and to spend this morning as it should have been. Her holding him. And he hold her. His grey muzzle traced the lines of her slender shoulders, feeling each new scar with care. How many times had he done this in theft, to lure damsels into revealing all….with her…it felt so different. The same motions, the same soft touches gave way to different sensations…longed for sensations. Before he might feel a slight rise in his blood, but she, she was setting him on fire for it. He gets to the top of her withers and there his head rests for a moment before it reaches to nibble at her, the motions ever delicate and light. His own body was draining, the sting of nerves returning over the lowering rush of emotions. But it wasn’t to that he would yield. Down her spine he lightly runs stepping forward, nibbling and teasing, but serving and yielding.

Yes there love was violent. Yes it sparked more than a summer storm. But good gods it also burned hotter than the sun.

"talk talk talk"
OOC:: One happy moment before (I'm sure) all hell breaks loose again XD

Credits: Image by FROSTIE!
Hotaru

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Hotaru the Valkyrie Posts: 295

Outcast atk: 7 | def: 10.5 | dam: 3

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years 3 Months HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE

Alice :: Royal Hellhound :: Acid Brit

10-16-2016, 11:13 PM

As strong as the seas are stormy.</style>

When it's all said and done, it's like the snow shifting and settling after an avalanche. There's no fanfare to it, no drama that's inherent to their personalities. All it takes is a few whispered words, which seem like nothing in the face of how powerful an act it is for her to bend for him. To make room and mold herself around the idea of loving him, after all the hurt he'd caused her - and that she'd undoubtedly caused him, as well. But she'll take it. Because she remembers all the sad, whispered stories her mother used to tell the twins. About separation and misunderstandings that had hurt and torn her parents apart so often. But they'd loved each other until the end. Until the very end. And a tree had grown from their fallen forms as testament to that, and it would never fade. So if a romance like that could be so fraught with pain...then surely her and Thranduil would be just fine.

Only when warm metal pressed back against her breast did Hotaru make a sound of surprise and tilt her head down to peer at it for a moment, mystified. But when it did not do anything further, she dismissed it in favor of bringing Thranduil close. Exploration could come later, but Thranduil meant more than any trinket, even if it appeared to be magical. It didn't matter as much as this, as having him near. Knowing he was succumbing just as much as her by the soft whisper of her name on his lips. It was all she needed to know that he was falling as hard as she was, that they'd stopped fighting. At least for now.

His face is soft and tired beneath her lips, and she brushes his forelock away tenderly before retreating with a smile. Times like these she envies the other species, for how they can press their foreheads together so affectionately. Instead she angles her face to draw their cheeks together, undaunted by the crown on her head. And he pulls her close and vows to be hers, the weight of him digging pleasurably into her neck and she shudders and dances ever closer, though there is surely no space between them anymore for how they chase it away so violently. Arches beneath him like a cresting wave, pressing into each tough he blesses her with, smiling so brightly to echo the gorgeous smile he has deigned to reveal to her.

His laugh rumbles against her chest and she can't help but laugh softly in return, delighted by his joy, his genuine happiness. Maybe they can do this after all. This was surely what had kept her parents together despite it all - these moments.

Hotaru's breaths hitched softly as his lips scorched fire down her shoulders, bleeding into her veins as she shivered beneath his attentions. Each gentle nip of his teeth against her hide seemed to weaken her knees with a mix of arousal and deep, abiding affection. And though he loomed over her own small frame, she returned his actions where she could reach. Pulling playfully at his mane, dragging her muzzle across his shoulder and grooming the edge of his spine with careful, attentive gestures.

Time slips away from her, and she only absently notices that Alice has disappeared through the cavern's mouth sometime amidst all the commotion. Part of her appreciates it, and she sinks into gently grooming and cuddling the golden in her grasp. Only when her lips drift across one sore spot too many does she rip herself reluctantly from the dreamlike state she's in, and softly murmurs against his ear.

"We need to find one of the healers, love," Hotaru points out quietly, eyes soft with her own reluctance. She doesn't want to leave this cave, this moment she has with him. But he is injured, and she can't ignore that. The Valkyrie can do nothing but hope that, in the end, they will have more moments like these.

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::Strong like the sea is stormy::
Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!
Plot with me here!

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Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598

Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE

Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk

11-23-2016, 10:51 AM

Thranduil

Every flinch of her skin, every tremble of her flesh he feels. His mind was obsessing over her feel, her touch. Its weakened senses were still reveling in the notion that this was real. That she was here. With him. In peace, and love. To her touches he too is weakened. Her gentle nips send shivers down his spine, and his trembling knees can no longer be accounted for just his current injuries. They still pressed him, draining him to a threatening paleness, but he was not looking over his shoulder for a reaper. He had. When he had first come. His knees scraped, and fresh wounds reburning. And he had expected to all the more. The burden of those weaknesses he had carried for so long he thought would be the final nail in this coffin. He wouldn’t be able to stand as he let it go, and fell back into the imprisonment of love.

Yet he hadn’t fallen. His heart still beat strong (even racing as the rose’s lips nip), and his legs held him. Love was a prison. But…dare he admit the stinging voices of others that love was strength? That love held him up? The gold wouldn’t go quite that far perhaps. He had felt its strength to be true…to destroy, yet never build. Yet he’d never felt it. When the white ghost had held sway, and her body felt real under his touch, he hadn’t been weak. At the very start he was strong, and he had seen it as his strength continuing him on. Had he been blind … And what of those things? What of that past ache? For so long he had carried that guilt like a precious object, shouldn’t he tell her? Was that not the sign that he had finally given in? Hadn’t he always seen that as the sign for him and others that the door was open? Perhaps…but then, here, in her touch…he didn’t even remember. Her touch made all the past melt into nonimportance.

A burning needle slices his barrel and the gold flinches more visibly, his face contorting out of its dream like state. He might be agreeing love was strength, but it wasn’t exactly a miracle working healer. His breath hisses out as the rosen retreats realizing what was to come next. Earth eyes shiver as he feels the cold breeze blow against where she had just been. In his moment of grief he feels her breath against him again, and hears her whispers. Her words come like another knock at that iron door, trying its best to needle its way into this. But he didn’t want to let go. Like a selfish child he wanted to cling on, ignore that there was a future where wounds could be infected and fevers threaten life. He didn’t care about ills found his way, if only it meant this moment lasted a little longer. These moments made all that suffering in the past, and those to come, bearable.

So his voice hesitates, it breaks against the rock of his lips. The ‘of course dear’, even the ‘I suppose darling’ go unsaid. Instead his head pulls back slightly, never leaving her touch, but come to press against the flat plane of hers (his turned aside to avoid her horn). He presses it, his own head beginning to throb, though it was likely more so from the awakening to his condition. “Send Alice.” It slips out like some dark secret, a confession loathe to be revealed. But then he slips back into the softness of their love. “…in a little while…” He slides his head back to her white mane where he reaches and pulls it gently. Pulls it to the quiet darkness of the cave. As he steps towards his, his own balance stumbles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His body runs along hers feeling its heat, leaning on it, till at last necessity parts them.

Into the darkness he steps, though the sun shrinking back the shadows. He turns slightly to face out, his leafen starred head looking for her, but his vision was growing darker. Without much protest his knees buckle and he lowers to the cold cavern floor, legs tucking, in and face contorting as his nerves feel each crease in his fresh scars. Yet he doesn’t black out, or sleep just yet. Instead he looks up, his head trying once more to seek the object of his desires, to call to her in some way to his side. To have her come. To feel her heat. To touch her…A healer could wait. He would cling to this moment as long as he could.

"talk talk talk"
OOC:: Sorry for the wait dearie

Credits: Image by FROSTIE!
Hotaru

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