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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [private]  Desolation comes upon the sky // Hestoni
    #1

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    Well, despite it all ("it all" being the fact that she had a kingdom to call her family filled with women who were the embodiment of everything she stood for, a gift she literally could not have dreamed of after being welcomed back to life), Scorch couldn't help but sort of hate it here. No, obviously she didn't hate it here - but it would never be home the same way the Jungle had been.

    She stood under some trees today, trying her best to stay out of the sunlight. Back home, she'd never needed to worry about sunburns, as the thick jungle forest protected her delicate skin at all times; here, if she forgot to shield herself with some shadows, she'd literally end up burnt and crispy. Even now, some blood trails down from where her skin cracks and rips open, most noticeably from her withers.

    Damn this place and its summer sun... she grumbled to herself, fighting the urge to scratch her sunburn against the bark of a dead birch tree nearby. That seriously wouldn't help - and god forbid she go for a dip in the ocean. Not only would the salt water make her cuts sting, it would shrivel and dry up her skin all the more. Seriously not pleasant.

    Snapping her teeth moodily in the direction of the tempting birch tree, Scorch turned around to go in search of a pond she knew to be nearby. It was a shaded little body of water, so hopefully cool enough to ease the searing sensation of her body. Or maybe she'd be interrupted by some interesting company along the way, to distract her from her meaningless agony.

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

    [Image: scorch2.png]
    #2
    A deep inhale. Alive.
    A deep exhale. Still alive.

    He opens his eyes to find himself on the edge of the Beach, soaked to the bone in ocean-water. His body aches all over (who knew coming back to life after being dead for years was so painful?) but it is so wildly blissful compared to the complete nothingness that he’s been feeling for so long. He revels in the pain, stretching each muscle and nearly groaning at the way ligaments and tendons and joints slide and twist.

    With the knowledge that his body is entirely his (and that the world is doused in color and smell and shape and life), he runs.

    He’s always kept track of her, looking just behind her dragon-twisted eyes, so he knows exactly where to find her. He does not veer to snap emerald grass into his mouth or gulp fresh water from a stream; such feeble pleasantries can come later after he has had his fill of touching his love. By the time he reaches Nerine’s border, his muscles are spasming and his deep, russet chest is sweaty. His thick, tangled mane sticks to the ropey muscle of his slick neck and he is heaving large gulps of air.

    A deep inhale. Alive.
    A deep exhale. Still alive.

    He finds her quickly — that russet Jungle knight racing for that fiery Jungle queen. She’s pushing through the undergrowth and he can sense her moodiness. It will change. Her skin is splintered from the weight of the sun, her body is no longer covered with the living fire he used to trace with his lips. But she is damn sexy and he will argue that until the next time he dies.

    A deep inhale. Alive.
    A deep exhale. Still alive.

    “Scorch.”
    #3

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    Hey babe, remember when I still had hair?
    Silence. Scorch flicked an ear; he never ignored her. She smirked a little, thinking this a game.
    What, you found someone better looking than me in the afterlife? That hardly seems possible.
    But no quip about her good looks came in response, and suddenly the bleeding cuts on her back were no longer the most painful wounds she wore. Gradually, as she called more and more urgently into the world of the dead, panic set over her; they'd been scheming together for months on getting him back into this world, but for the love of god, they'd never said that today would be the day.

    Sometimes, souls simply fell out of the afterlife-beach and into a darkness unreachable.
    Sometimes, as they attempted to rip from death to life, souls became suspended eternally between.

    Adrenaline coursed through her, causing her body to tremble with an agitation that had no outlet. She couldn't tell whether to be excited or terrified, angry or elated; but the silence in her head left a chasm in her functionality, and so she simply stood, panicking inside of a body that only shook as a tell tale sign of the hysterical emotions she felt.

    As her eyes scoured the horizon, a glimmer of red caught her attention.

    Baby..?
    But there was no ghost to whom would answer such a call.
    "Hestoni..?"

    Before the realization struck her full force he was there, and instead of hellos, her sobs were the first words between them. She clutched him in her embrace voraciously, with a lover's passion so strong that it's heat would make a fire extinguish itself in shame. Her nostrils flared with the scent of his coat, and her mouth worked to press kisses at every surface - in the light of their reunion, Scorch became every ounce the emotional wreck of a girl that he'd first met all those decades ago in the meadow, just a silly girl with a big heart for her one true love.

    "Is it really you?" Came her voice, choked with emotion. She pulled back to look at him properly, her eyes glimmering green as he knew them best. Gods, it's really you, came the rambling thoughts, and she couldn't help but to study his face as if this were their first meeting, smiling through her tears as she was allowed the immeasurable, uncanny blessing of being face to face with her husband once more. Of course, they'd had the night of the Erotes together, but this was different - this was forever - this was...

    "I love you, so, much, Hestoni," She said again, huskily, meaning every word so intensely that it came out almost angrily. "There is no one I would rather have by my side than you." Her brow furrowed, and she tried to speak again, but the sobs came on in another wave, and before she could try to straighten her neck as they wracked her powerful body, she felt him stepping in to wrap her in the safety of his embrace.

    It only made her cry harder; the grace she felt dripping from her eyes like mana from heaven.

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    @[Hestoni] I cried
    [Image: scorch2.png]
    #4

    NIGHT WILL FALL AND DROWN THE SUN
    WHEN A GOOD MAN GOES TO WAR

    It has been too long since he’s felt the familiarity of her curves against his muscle. Even in the Afterlife, their senses were dulled and everything fell in a sour shade of gray. And once she had departed from him into the world of the living (leaving him to pace endlessly before the gate of the living and the dead) his craving for her — the warm and fiery, the comforting and wild — became an obsession.

    The only thing grounding him from insanity had been their conversations. Her thoughts echoing in his mind, her vision swirling in his own. It became his entire life, seeing his children and grandchildren flourishing while he finds himself locked away in the land of the dead. She lived for both of them, dancing beneath the stars he stands upon, diving under the waters he walks upon, grazing under the trees he sleeps upon.

    No more.

    She is so fucking real he groans under the pressure of her touch. She’s kissing him, covering him in the syrupy love of her heart, and he melts beneath her lips. “My dear.” His voice is warm and soothing, rumbling low in his throat like an earthquake. He can’t deny it felt good to speak out loud, into a world filled with color and life and sound and touch. “Hush,” he croons. Any words she might speak aloud he has already known since the moment he saw her distressed and sobbing in the Meadow.

    He drags her closer to the depths of his chest, kissing the few meager strands that stick to the charred remains of her neck. They are finally together and the world is swirling beneath his feet, the trees are caving around them into a rosy heaven. She smells so damn good that he can’t help but smell her again (summer air and heavy sunlight and clean cliff-sides) and let out another breathless groan.

    “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to feel you beside me again.” God, he fucking loves her.

    Hestoni



    @[Scorch] <33
    #5

    WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

    It's his groan that quells the tears which rapidly form in the depths of her emerald green eyes - it's his voice, low and soothing and sexual that made her kisses less desperate but also more desperate. As he hushed her and drags her in closer with a single powerful clench of his muscled neck, she felt the hysteria evaporating and being replaced by something equally as stormy, but far more fun to deal with.

    After all, they'd been together every day since he found her in the meadow. They'd died in each others arms; spent their time in the afterlife pressed together, no matter how thinly; and when she'd come back to the living, they'd spoken nearly constantly. So she hadn't missed him in that they haven't spoken - indeed, they knew each other perhaps even more intimately now than when they hadn't been mentally connected. No... She'd missed him. His physical self, a titan, a rock, a comfort to her no matter how terrible life got.

    You have no idea how long I've been waiting to feel you beside me again.
    "Fuck me," came the response, faster than perhaps he'd have expected - but then again, he knew her. And by the way he pressed his lips to her skin and smelled so deeply that he could have passed out from the exertion on his lungs, she knew him, too. Her kisses turned to love bites, and the chestnut of his fur became severely ruffled as she moved along him, reaching every inch of skin that she could while pressed against him in such an erotic, teasing, needing way.

    "I've missed you so much baby," she said again, her voice low and breathy and perhaps ugly to some, but seductive and beautiful to him. Scorch pulled back and looked her lover in the eyes, saw the flame in their depths just as she felt it between her legs. "What better way to welcome you into the world than with another life, too, right?"

    The autumn wind picked up as if to say, that's damn right.

    Grinning foxily despite the tears that still wet her cheeks, Scorch threw herself at her husband once more, and to any who might glimpse them, they were a fire: wild and untamed, dangerous, feeding off of one another until everything around them was consumed by the heat of their love. Decades had passed since she felt him kissing her, biting her, pulling her hair - she couldn't wait another moment. Not even another second.

    "Gods, I love you," She muttered as she pivoted her hips to face him. "I love you. I fucking love you."

    Scorch

    Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle



    @[Hestoni] This is trash but enjoy
    [Image: scorch2.png]
    #6
    WARNING: MATURE READING BELOW.

    NIGHT WILL FALL AND DROWN THE SUN
    WHEN A GOOD MAN GOES TO WAR

    It’s obvious their mutual love language is touch. If it isn’t apparent with their eleven children (eleven times they have met under autumn skies and vibrant trees, though there are more outside of that), it should be in the way they twine around one another like unhindered bits of flame. They are two wispy tendrils burning bright-hot, both silent and raging at the same time, and the sparks they give off land someplace nearby and grow into their own licking flames. But they are the raging, reckless, undeniable tangle of heat that wraps around and through itself until nothing can separate it.

    He thinks, in these moments as her lips touch more passionately, that nothing can separate them. Their hearts have grown so close together it is as if they are one, tugged closer by the iron and weed of time and affection. Not even the whispering, skinny, slippery fingers of death can tear them apart, as cliche and sickeningly romantic as that might sound. So too, in physicality, are they unable to be alone. Her words — smoky and low — pry at the pieces of him that had remained dormant for more years than he could count.

    She ignites color (among other things) into him and he accepts it (among other things) with open arms.

    Their fire burns hotter and he does nothing to put it out. In fact, he encourages it, stroking the glowing embers with his scarred hands until they come alive beneath his palms. In a similar fashion, she comes alive beneath him. While she winds her pale body around his russet one, he places teasing bites against whatever skin he can find. Some are more sultry (a little lip tossed in, his mouth roaming across her flesh) while others are dominating (bruising the tissue beneath his mouth and adding in a few rustic noises from his throat).

    When she turns her hips toward him, an audible sigh leaves the clutches of his chest. He takes a moment to observe her beauty (where others might see her charred body and straggling hairs, he sees her both for the glory that she was and the glory that she is) and build the tension between them. His pelvis is ignited with desire, just as he knows hers is, but before he sadates their longing he places his mouth close under the meager remains of her tail, inhaling the scent of her.

    “God.” It’s a low, stormy sound riding on the breeze of his exhale. “I really fucking missed this view.” His voice is so deep it could rumble the earth under their feet, but he’s positive she will feel as though the earth is spinning in her knees (if not from the sound of his voice then definitely after they have spent themselves). He presses his mouth closer then, his tongue extending to taste her before he moves forward to press his deep chest against her loins.

    With a quick nip to her lower back, the russet stallion mounts his queen and further strokes the fire. It is passionate adventure, one that obviously shows the amount of time they have been apart. He wastes no time in prodding at her favorite delicacies (marking her shoulders and crest with the bruises of his teeth, pushing his heels into the swell of her ribs, moving to the tandem of first slow and then rapidly quick) until they are so spent he wonders if he will be able to drag himself off of her.

    He does though, winding his muscular body around her broad one, shining with sweat and the glow of a man after lovemaking. He nudges another quick love-bite against her cheek, whispering, “I love you so much, il mio fuoco.”

    Hestoni



    @[Scorch] <33




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