"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
12-03-2017, 05:14 PM (This post was last modified: 12-04-2017, 11:12 PM by Deathwish.)
Deathwish
im a DIY pioneer, they tryna get involved
Once again, she has slipped into nothing, playing with the shadow of the forest in the privacy of the trees. She is the last of the Cove. She has not been drifting looking for them. She is above them.
She is above them all.
Grandmere’s voice was constantly in her head, and as Deathwish grew older, the magic of her grandmother was ever present—she had grown more beautiful. Her face was cold, and her body was perfect. Her lavender grey pelt darkened into points that were black as pitch. Weaving her body between the trees, she stops for a moment, spying some nameless citizens on the other side of the treeline.
Her silver eyes survey them all disdainfully, reminded of why her travels have kept her far from the company of others. They are all so stupid. She finds that she would rather spend her days with the dead, than the draining activity of the living. The black stench of her handiwork is a balm for the loneliness she feels, but then in the back of that quick-witted mind of hers, she knows she is less alone than she has been.
“@[Maugrim], you fool. Did you really think you could do this to me again?”
Her black lip curved disdainfully upward, his scent heady to her nostrils. Her pelt shivered with the sense of him, even before she ever laid eyes on him.
He knows of nothing, of slipping into the undertow of the ocean, to rest peacefully within the blackest deep and to become forgotten, a corpse beneath the nothingness. It is familiar and it is home, beneath the depths of nothingness - and it is here, she finds herself once again.
He had smelled her before he had seen her - an enticing aroma that could only be called sweet to him. The stench of death causes him to creep into the trees, a solid form and a solid stallion instead of the liquified being he so often chooses to be.
A terrible, foreboding smile creeps onto the salt-soaked lips of pearl, a shadow that is cloaked by the darkness of the forest - he is a lingering haunt, a ghost among Beqanna, seen when only he wished to be seen. And, for once, he materializes outside of the water - not within - and he is almost impressed that she would remember his preferred choice as she stares into the murky depths of a stale, stagnant pond.
He had been watching her a for long while; the blackness of his eyes had eaten up her figure in a matter of seconds, his lips dampening with the wetness of his tongue as he drags it over the cracked skin. She had grown - she was simply delightful, and the fact that he knew her excited him, his blood pulsing quicker throughout every inch of his body. The lavender of her body entices him forward and to follow her, like a treasure among the shadows, and he is not ashamed in the fact that she had smelled his scent on the summer’s wind - he is glad she did.
“Deathwish,” he garbles roughly, his voice distorted as it vibrates from his throat, unused to the thinness of the air that surrounds them. Her name is familiar on his tongue, delectable and delicious as it forms in his mouth. He has grown, too, and though his cravings for blood and flesh remain his priority, upon seeing her, he wonders if the craving for flesh is just a bit different now. Grown and matured, he stalks to her side without much hesitation, his pearlescent muzzle running confidently over the soft grey of her neck and caressing her cheek, inhaling deeply. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, his black irises meeting hers for the first time in years - he hadn’t thought to look into their abyss, as he so freely roved the curves of her supple body tirelessly before he had even thought to gaze into her face.
She feels the heat of his breath on her skin, and her body shivers. She could pretend that he meant nothing to her… that she didn’t know—didn’t know that he was one of hers. But she would be lying. Would be lying that the thought of being bad with Maugrim didn’t turn her on just the least little bit.
That her blood flowed in his veins, and vice versa. Her body was perfect, and she knows it. And she knows that he knows it too. They weren’t children anymore. They didn’t follow shadows into kingdoms for childish pranks like they used to. They had both grown, and filled out. Maugrim’s body was full, his chest rising and falling with all the strength of his lithe confidence. His body was wet, dripping over her as he leaned over her back and breathed her in. She said nothing, but her breath caught. Her facial features did not change, but her body stilled. As he took her in, breathed her name… whispered those sweet nothings of death and dismemberment in her ear…she knows he could wrend her in twain.
And he knows she could suck the life out of him with the mere shift of her hoof.
They are a thing of beauty in a way that no one else understands.
DW’s nostrils flare as a rabbit hops through through her sight, snapping a falling twig that was on the forest floor. The lavender lady glares, swinging hear head in the direction of her quarry, zapping it of his life and crumbling its rotted corpse where it lay, committing its body back to the earth. Mushrooms rose from its body unnaturally, and the rotting stench of life birthed from death caused Deathwish to breath again—the reverie broken, the moment lost.
“Yes, well. You know as well as I that too much time has passed for us. You must not leave me again. I grow tired of being alone. What is there that we can do? Causing anymore chaos lately?”
Pieces of kelp and seaweed interlock in the dark and white tangles of his mane, dripping with salt and brine from his ascendance into the world above the waves. He smells of the deep sea, of blackness and of nothingness. His bottomless eyes hungrily trace the pearl grey of her supple body, cracked ivory lips roughly dragging across the smooth, velvety skin just beneath her throat. He wonders if she’ll try to rot him, to deteriorate his body from the inside out and cause the thickly packed muscle and sinew on his shoulders and haunches to slough off his bone in huge bundles of flesh, only to make him whole again.
The sound of a crackling twig breaks the intense stare between the two, his ears flicking backwards at the sound. His head is turning towards the rodent, but Deathwish has already sprung into action, and he watches with an expressionless face as the animal fades away before his very eyes, writhing and then still, with organs and blood seeping from gaping holes of rotted flesh. He wrinkles his nose.
“I have never left,” he grumbles, his voice garbled with the sound of water in his throat, turning back to meet her gaze again, the crest of his curved neck still dripping saltwater down his shoulders and pooling beneath his evergreen hooves. “But you knew where to find me,” His voice is haunting and metallic, yet curious. “Chaos?”Murder.“You know that has never been my forte.” He is a silent killer, a stalker within the shadows that remains unseen, unnoticed, and unheard of. The show in Hyaline many years ago was too flashy for his tastes, and the stallion has learned how to create the perfect situation for his kills.
“You - lonely? Tsk.”
He brushes the dryness of his iridescent lips across her cheek; he might have tasted her, if he weren’t positive that she would rot his face clean off.
She draws closer to him, her cold face turning back to where the rabbit corpse lay. She found herself annoyed at the world…at the rabbit, at the twig that broke her big moment… at herself, and at Maugrim. Angry silver eyes bored into him, and as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek—even companionably, she leaned into him, allowed him his purchase. Because she was entitled to it…
And she was bored.
She moved away from him then, her thick dark lashes looking towards the ground in a sultry way. “How dare you take my feelings for granted, dearest Maugie.” Her voice darkens, thickens. “You should be punished.” She blinks, bringing her eyes back to him, and to his beautiful body—one perfectly made for one such as her, since they were one and the same, but she hisses at him as she sucks the moisture from his barrel, exposing his ribs as she causes the guts inside his belly to begin the rotting process.
“If I say I’m lonely…” She grits out those words angrily, stepping forward to him, chest to chest, hearts pounding against each other, even as his broad muscles were atrophying under the grip of her magic, her hand wrapping its way around his heart and drawing her in as her black satin lips lay seductive kisses up and down his neck, and her voice smooths to a thick, syrupy whiskey intent on getting Maugrim drunk on her. “…You can be assured, It is as I say.”
She returns his body back to its rightful self, slowly, pushing his guts back to their place—returning him to a place of beauty, placing him back upon the pedestal in her world—and she continues to lightly place kisses to Maugrim’s jawline. “So…has there been… anyone else for you in this world but me?”
A well-placed kiss - one of reunion and harbored feelings, dusty and long forgotten on the shelf from when they were just children - seems to strike a chord in her. He is pleased with himself, for surprising her with his forward approach that is so unlike the water-logged yearling she once knew - it must be a shock, to see the pearl and evergreen stallion so confident, so comfortable, it could be almost charming if it wasn’t for the way his eyes remain hungry for something else, something beyond their rousing game of cat and mouse. (Maugrim would never be the mouse. However, he knows that Deathwish isn’t the mouse either, so he’s not sure exactly what game they are trying to play, or what the ending will be.)
When she glides away from him, her gaze tearing away from him as her eyes fall downward, he attempts to close the space with a single, fluid step - he was not finished with tasting her, sampling her. Something low and sinister, much like a growl or a grumble, reverberates in his chest, reminding her of who exactly she is toying with as she moves from him, ears falling backwards into his kelp-tangled mane. But in the same swift movement, she reminds him who exactly she is.
Her voice is venom and poison, crackling with electricity as she hints at her anger with him. For a quick moment he nearly reaches forward to snap his dulled teeth against the crest of her neck, to hold her there beneath his clamped jaws so that her insolence would be felt, but he of course, is a moment too late.
A hiss leaves her lips, and the familiar feeling of death crawls across his body, leaving him cold.
She does it again, (just like she did so many years ago), and tightens her grip around his throat (and heart, or perhaps any other organ she’d fancy) and begins to lace him with death, her silver eyes sparkling with anger and resentment.
“If I say that I am lonely...”
She spits through clenched teeth, prowling towards him like the predator that she is, pressing her pearlescent lavender chest against his own, which has begun to deteriorate and rot, the stench stinging his flaring nostrils. He shudders, though he knows not if it’s from the pain of his muscles wasting away into nothingness or if it is from the devil-laced kisses she plants on the curve of his neck. His heart pounds wildly, much like it does when he awaits beneath the water as his prey swims unsuspectingly above him, and he is surprised at the familiar exhilaration that is within him at her warm, delightful touches.
He wonders if she can see his beating heart as the skin sloughs off his bones.
“...you can be assured it is as I say.”
Maugrim groans in response, lips curling as the pain of slowly dying overwhelms him, and much like the expert she is, she brings him to the brink and just before he would collapse, begins to return him to his former stature.
Without much change in her own expression, he feels himself coming together again, piece by piece, under her tender care. She traces the edges of his jawline, brushing the pearl of her lips against the darkness of his cheek, her voice suddenly light and sweet in his ears. It infuriates him, the power she wields and how she uses it to keep him from her, to control him and train him to only touch her when she wishes it, and the stallion’s muscles jump in his jaw as he clenches his teeth.
He is not near water, and if that makes her think she is safe, she is entirely incorrect.
The stallion stretches forward in a quick motion, snapping at the crest of her neck like he had planned before she had reminded him of her power (and reminding him of his desire). His breath is hot with rage and from lack of satisfaction, overflowing with the necessity and the need to taste blood on his tongue. It didn’t matter that he may miss or that she might suck the life from his ribs once again - he knew that he could fall to pieces before her and she would sew him back together.
Maugrim brings his head back to chest and he doesn’t move from her - he does not care how she retaliates to the possibility he may have marred her perfect skin. He wants to ask her if she’s jealous in asking about his whereabouts. He doesn’t though, because Maugrim didn’t care about anything in the current moment except for the bloodlust that boils inside him (and the lust that she has now triggered).
She should know there is no one, save for the stillness of the bottom of the sea and the bloated corpses that haunt the deep. Except now - now, there is her.
“There is nothing in this world but death, and you.”
He wants to ravage her, but he’s conflicted on how he wants to do so - is he to shred her to pieces with his teeth and hooves, drag her into the depths of his deep and dark ocean to float beside him forever, or is he to let the predator loose and overpower her, turning their bodies a tangled mess of sweat and sex and lust beneath the summer’s evening? The thought of her body beneath him, writhing and powerless (whether in pleasure or in pain), causes him to glance elsewhere than her eyes and to hungrily digest the supple curves of her haunches and rump, wetting his dry lips with a quick flash of his tongue over them.
12-06-2017, 11:51 PM (This post was last modified: 12-06-2017, 11:53 PM by Deathwish.)
Deathwish
im a DIY pioneer, they tryna get involved
She should have known better than to tangle with Maugrim. Her family were all crazy. Powerful, crazy, beautiful creatures who believed that the world owed them something. What would make the son of Kirin any different, even if he had no idea where he came from?
Deathwish blinked her dark silver eyes as she watched his body return—with much satisfaction—back to the broad chest that she was becoming oh so familiar with. The scent of death is wrapped around him like a black satin glove, and she purrs as she tries to draw away from him. Leave him wanting. Leave him with the remembrance of just who she is. What she finds is that she has not for the first time underestimated Maugrim.
Just as she stepped back with a smug on her face, having taken that intoxicating swell of his scent into her brain. He has managed to pin her between the breadth of his body, her back end flush against a broad tree trunk. With shuttered eyes and a smug mouth, Maugrim breathed over her, daring her to challenge his strength, as if she could overpower him at his best. The predator in him was coming to the fore as he tested her mettle, and she found that the sheer sense of his heat and the wetness she found between her legs left her uncomfortable and out of her element. Her pristine coat was now slick with sweat—and something else—and as the droplets of his scent covered her, she found that she was bathing in Maugrim in a way that reminded her of that time when he drove her down to the depths of his inner sanctum. A time when she had been afraid, and then angry. Deathwish recalls that she had been cold, and her body had shivered.
She shivered now, but for another reason entirely.
"Y...you need to remove yourself from me right..N..." but she was not able to finish her sentence as she gasped that last sound, the 'n' sound turning into a breathy groan as she watched Maugrim lower his head to the crest to the base of her neck. Such a sensitive place, that she groaned again as he broke her skin and brought forth the blue of her blood, drinking it in, wrapping it around around his tongue and dressing his teeth with her inner beauty. He knew death... would he recognize her blood as his own? Her body shuddered against him as she fell into his shoulder, her weight unable to keep her weight. What this man was doing to her... How he was making her body do things unwittingly—it was so...
It was dirty. Undignified.
And by God, she wanted more.
When he releases her and eyes her again, it is with a smug look and a strong tick in his jaw that dared her to cross him. He was large and imposing—dangerous—and they both knew it. It was almost as if he was challenging her to use her powers on him in her condition. She had the ability to wrend him in twain.
And he had just proven that he had the ability to tear her apart without any use of the water whatsoever.
He crooked an eyebrow at her with an annoyed look as he answers what had been a rather smug question. There is nothng in this world but death, and you.A deep voice, his breath hot and desire over her like the waves he loved so well, as if he wanted to drag her down with him once again. No longer as a childish prank any longer, but as something far more dangerous—far more erotic.
Brought together by death, and made more alive by death. Made more alive by each other, each knowing they could end the other.
Deathwish glared at him angrily as a cold wet breeze picked up, signalling a summer thunder storm that was surely on its way in from the coast. Her dark hair flared in front of her eyes and over her back, covering the mark that He had left on her. Her eyes shot silver daggers into his heart, and her nostrils flared. "You marked me."
And yet, as he drew even closer to her, and she could feel his heart beating in her ears, it was if she could hear him saying what are you going to do about it?. Pressed breast to breast, she pulls her advantage, grabbing him by the heart with the power of her blood, reminding him that she too was dangerous. Her words were thick, clipped and low. As if she was spitting acid. "I hope you are prepared to accept the consequences of what you've just done." Her body was shivering with anger, and desire, the wetness there evident as she pulls her tail aside, rocking her hips hungrily against the tree trunk. Wanting something...anything.
But finding that only Death would satisfy. That only Maugrim filling her could bring her to the highest lows, to the throes of death, and to the gates of Hell.
He is hungrier than he has ever been, whether it be for blood or for sex, he cannot tell. The two desires are twisting and turning together and he cannot decipher them, nor separate them. As her blood enters his mouth - metallic as all blood is - he groans; her blood is somehow more intoxicating, more invigorating, as it dribbles down her slender neck and stains his teeth and lips. At his touch she falls into him, and he is there to catch her. He has left her breathless and vulnerable, the idea furthering the intense burning in his loin.
“You marked me,” she snarls, and he merely stares at her in response. As if she did not know that she was his? She is clever, and he knows that she desires to belong to him as he belongs to her (though neither will ever admit it). With bloodstained lips he creeps towards her, even though he knows she is overwhelmed by him, but craving more and more, and she is not quelling the desire that lingers beneath the darkness of his eyes. His decision has been made, and even the tightening grip she has on his heart will not stop him. Though the grasp she has on his heart causes his pulse to slow, he knows she will not deliver the final blow - she could allow the organ to burst in his chest, but she will not.
Dragging his ivory muzzle through her still-wet wound that he created, shivering as he inhales the smell of the blood, the smell of the heat from her backside, he is sure that he will murder her, that he will kill her. He moves his lips across the length of her spine, leaving maroon droplets across her lavender flesh. Suddenly his lips are forming kisses - sweetened by her blood, yet forceful and commanding against her, as if at any moment they will become dangerous and seek to break her pearlescent skin once again. She demands something from him, for he hears her voice (delectable, sweet venom) but he does not withdraw; if anything, his touch becomes more fervent, encouraged by her scolding to continue to do what his body and mind craved.
He can feel the thickness swelling beneath him, and the carnal desire within him suddenly shifts - it is not her death he craves. He continues forward, his shoulder at her haunches that are now stained with her own blood as he dances his lips across her skin, now nipping forcefully at the supple curve of her rump with a festering rumble of a growl in his throat, as if a warning; if she does not react as he wishes then perhaps something else will click on - something far worse than what he has in his mind.
Maugrim inhales deeply, a shuddering sigh racking through his body as the smell of her enters him again, eyes rolling. Impatient, he shoves the weight of his body into her so that she will move from the protection of the tree, and so that the demon she has been foolishly playing with can have its way with her.
She shuddered then. He moved down her body and said nothing—that bastard. he just breathed on her...she could almost hear Grandmere shuddering her distaste at something so grotesque. He BREATHED on her. Bathing in her blood, he brushed it down her back, feeling her spine as he placed his lips all over her body, laying intimate kisses. Touching her in ways that he knew nobody else had ever done.
No one else would have lived to tell the tale.
And yet, he knew that he was the only one who would ever get away with it. Would ever touch her in the way he was touching her. Knowing that she was letting him defile her. Tearing her apart piece by piece as she felt a layer of sweat building up from inside, twisting her in ways she did not know she could twist. Building a tension and a need for release. she feels him at her flanks, urging her, pushing her away from the root of her perfection. Commanding her silently. Telling her what she would. Become. Subduing her in ways that she would never again allow another. The need he roiled within her had her mind spinning, and she was all at once inside her body, and outside it at the same time. She wanted him to touch her, fill her, and then leave her wanting, panting, and pining.
And then she wanted him to send her right back to Hell with him.
Her hips quivered as he moved her body away from the trees, and she groaned outloud with her need and her obvious pleasure when he covered her in those kisses. Staining her with her own blood and marking her as his for the rest of her life.
She would kill him for this.
He commanded her body, toyed with her like a puppet. She had teased him, had essentially dared him to do what they both know they craved.
And now she was about to be punished for her insolence.
She bends to his will, like the water does. A pleased rumble vibrates in his throat as she moves from the tree, almost a purr of delight, almost thanking her for giving in to their needs. His muzzle does not leave her hip as she moves, guiding her with flaring nostrils that huff fervently with hot and burning breath against her skin, his desire palpable as the sun begins to darken, the summer storm now nearly upon them. His entire body is electrified with adrenaline, and though this is his first time giving into his lust, the stallion is not at all nervous or anxious; the feeling is much like how he has felt before a kill, and it is familiar and welcoming (and maybe even more intoxicating, he cannot decide).
Hard, fat drops of rain begin to dampen his already sweat-stained body, nostrils quivering as the smell of her wetness becomes more intense and obvious, nipping hard at the tender flesh. Darkness envelops them as the storm begins, the soft white of lightning somewhere in the distance illuminating the bruise-colored clouds above them. Eyes roll as thunder peals across the sky, growing in intensity as the rain begins to coat them. The water only adds to his lust, and as her blood begins to drip down her body from it, the stallion can wait no longer.
The regret may come later, but Maugrim hardly understands what regret is, and it is the farthest thing from his mind.
Maugrim covers her, his forelegs clamping down on her pearlescent shoulders, the blackness of their evergreen stark against her lavender skin. He uses them to pull her beneath him, and without hesitation and without gentleness, fills her entirely. A guttural moan leaves his lips as he feels the slickness of her part for him, (she wants him, needs him) with his head low against her neck, his parted lips at her ear. The rain dampens them, the blood and sweat and sex dripping down them in the midst of the summer’s tempest, his roars of delight quieted by the ongoing rumble of thunder.
He has her now, beneath him and helpless to do anything (save for dismembering him entirely), and the monster within him tears into her, madly thrusting in powerful strokes. The rain begins to hinder him, and to keep from having to reposition or stop himself, his ivory lips (which were parted and breathing heavily into her ears and cheek, panting and groaning and moaning) flash open to grasp at her neck once again, his teeth deep within in her skin and mane, eyes rolling as the smell of blood fills him, and the smell of her, and the smell of the rain.
A final push - as far as he can go - sends him reeling, and he spills himself inside of her and out, gasping as the orgasm rips through his entire body, his forelegs gripping her tighter and pulling her beneath him even closer. He releases his mouth from her neck, his eyes closed as the once raging summer storm lightens and sprinkles soft droplets on their bloody and sweating bodies. He pushes himself into her a few more times, finishing himself entirely, before tiredly slipping off of her.
His hooves splash into the mud beneath them as he comes down to all fours, his ivory nostrils flaring as he gently nips at the base of her tail; finally satisfied.
The storm has moved on, leaving the forest humid and hot with moisture. The evergreen and pearl stallion rubs himself against her as he comes up to her side, now standing shoulder to shoulder. His throat hums with pleasure, a sinister sound (but not to her), and despite there being no killing, the hunger he felt before is now sated. He wonders how long before the hunger will strike again, and with a dangerous yet gentle brush of his lips against her cheek, he wonders if he’ll be able to find her when it does. He plants a kiss on her crest where his teeth had sank into her twice, the blood no longer flowing but still open and sore, proud of his mark on her. Mine. The stallion is fully aware that he is hers; the tightness of her grip on his insides made that very clear.
The rainwater had stained her coat a shade darker, and with a tiny ripple of his lips as he pulls away from her, he commands the water to rise from her and then to fall to the ground in a shimmer of shining droplets. He, however, remains dripping and soaked. Maugrim does not take his leave, not yet, and stands beside her expectantly as he awaits the punishment that is sure to come - the vulnerability he caused her to feel, the subordinate way he put her beneath him, would need to be balanced in some way - she would not let him leave believing he has control of her (though he already knows he could never control her unless she wished him to, which she did).
“Do your worst,” he grumbles roughly, a lazy smile pulling at the pearlescence of his blood-stained lips.
