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  • Beqanna

    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


    everyone I know goes away in the end, Skellig
    #1
    “What have I become, my sweetest friend?
    Everyone I know goes away in the end."

    And as Beqanna was so prone to do, everything once again changed. Perhaps it was to be expected when you lived far too many lifetimes, that you would endure that much more than the average being. She can no longer keep track of the amount of times that the land had crumbled to dust, and then rebuilt from its ashes. Much like herself, where every time she was broken, she somehow became stronger. Strong. Now that was a word that she never expected to describe her. To go from the delicate porcelain-doll she had once been – once smooth and unmarred, and then to the ever-building spider-web of cracks that Dhumin started and everyone else had finished – to whatever she was now was something she had never imagined. She would not claim to be now unbreakable, nor has she hardened herself to the rest of the world in some attempt to save herself. She was just as vulnerable as she has always been, but now with the knowledge that nothing – not even death – was going to be the end of her.

    If ever there had been bitterness harbored in her heart it didn’t show. The edges of her lips always seemed to hold the ghost of a smile, and while there may be melancholy hidden in the shadows of her soul there was certainly no anger. She had every reason to be; she was riddled with scars, some that could be seen and some that remained internal. The black, jagged crack across the top of her head that for the most part remained hidden by her white forelock was a constant reminder of when her own daughter had turned on her – the first time that she had tasted death. The scarred sockets that had once held eyes sat like gaping, depthless holes, and she can hardly remember what it had been like to see, having been surrounded by darkness for so long.

    The scars across her heart were deeper and more confusing, and sometimes she can’t remember who left which ones. And yet that heart beats nonetheless, pulsing on its own just as easily as it always had, and often she does not notice the dull ache that sometimes fills her chest. The white mare steps into the meadow, the path so familiar beneath her feet that she does not even need eyes to know where it leads. So much of Beqanna has changed, yet there were small parts of it that remained the same. It takes her directly to the lone oak that she often stood beneath, and she can hear the way the naked branches click against each other. The air is cold despite the coming of spring, her skin drawing tightly over her slightly too-thin frame, ignoring the shiver that runs up her spine.

    A slender shoulder leans against the broad trunk of the tree, her delicate ears flicking back and forth as she catches bits and pieces of conversation. Rarely did she venture into the heart of the meadow anymore, but instead often stood here, simply listening. Most did not notice the ghostly white mare that stood alone on the hill.
    RYATAH
    you could have it all, my empire of dirt
    Reply
    #2
    His body disgusts him, sometimes. He wishes he could unzip it, step out, feel the sun on his bones. The way people look at him doesn't feel right anymore. Nothing at all feels right anymore, really. I guess that's growing old for you.

    Skellig feels too old to be here, it feels wrong. Some things ought to stay buried, and ancient green babyfaces fall in that category. But there's something pulling him back and he thinks it might be her. Isn't it always these days? These decades? Sure enough, just as the thought scurries across his cobwebbed mind, she's there. A sense of deja vu almost knocks him off his hooves.

    They have been here a hundred times before.

    It doesn't matter, it feels like the first. His heart hesitates before each beat, almost as if it has forgotten how. Even as it hesitates, it drums faster and faster, pounding on the walls of his chest as though trying to get his attention-- it has a story to tell and it wants it told-- or else it is trying to burst free and run away with hers. As though that would be enough for him.

    As though he could ever get enough of her.

    The memories all flood back and jumble together, green and white and blue and for some reason the only thing clear is leaving, leaving, leaving. (All these years and he never learned how to choose love over loneliness.)  

    He blinks and she's just a few paces away. He doesn't remember moving closer. He doesn't remember much of anything right now other than every other time they've been together. She is so beautiful it is hard to breathe.

    (is this real tell me this is real please don't--

    "Ryatah."

    He's wasted too much time already with distance, silence, longing. Years, decades. He closes the distance between them without blinking.

    First is a kiss on her cheek,

    (it is hesitant, like playing a song you thought you forgot)

    then three down her neck.

    A playful nibble at her shoulder then more kisses, up and down her body, and the tune grows insistent, almost possessive. And in each kiss, a message. Some of them are a single word, some are novels, some are prayers. Many are apologies. They are all love letters.

    He tastes her on his tongue and and feels her warm and familiar beneath his lips. She is not quite as he remembers her-

    She is better.

    Finally he curls up next to her, presses his green body to her white and rests his cheek on the familiar curve of her neck. "I've missed you," he says, finally, with another gentle kiss. He's grateful she can't see the depths of his eyes, the ghosts that linger there. "I've missed you so much." Nestled against her, he realizes this is the only place that feels right. How had he ever forgotten?

    They'll likely be here a hundred times again.



    @Ryatah <3 what are paragraphs
    Reply
    #3
    “What have I become, my sweetest friend?
    Everyone I know goes away in the end."

    She had not lived a terrible life, but many terrible things have happened to her. The scars strewn across her body told a story, and it was one with so many heartbreaks and defeats that the idea that you could split open her heart and see happiness was something that was hard to believe. There was one great thing that had happened to her. Something so powerful and magnificent that it drove away every ounce of darkness that had tried to suffocate her. Over time she had began to forget many of the faces she had known from before she lost her eyes. Their images were faded, but not his. Every morning when she wakes up, he is the first thing her mind sees. Sharp and clear, she remembers the lines and angles of his face, the way his lips moved when he was trying to seem strong and not smile at her, the way his eyes had softened when he said that he loved her. She remembers the first time they had ever met, in the Tundra during a diplomatic meeting, and how in an instant there had been a magnetic charge that neither of them could ignore. She had spent so much of her life pining for someone that was not meant for her and then, in an instant, she saw him and it was as though she had never experienced heartbreak in her life. 

    He has been gone for so long, but he is still there, grasping her heart, whispering in her ear when she sleeps, and edging into every thought that passes through her mind. 

    She cannot count the times she thought she heard him, thought she smelled him, or thought she felt him. 

    And then, the  sound of his voice shatters the reverie she has been living in. 

    He says her name, and it is like a thousand memories crashing in a wave over top of her, until she is lost in the tide. ”Skellig,” and it is barely a word, but more like her heart finally had a voice, like she has released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. His touch ignites an electricity in her veins, and her satin lips find his skin. Her mouth feels the familiar curve of his jaw, the arch of his strong neck, and down the slope of his shoulder. She breathes him in, burying her face in his tangled mane, and he smells like a thousand worlds and like home all at once. ”Where did you go?” But it’s not an accusation, there is no malice in the soft whisper of her voice. They are wayward souls, the two of them, and she could never hate him for being gone. All she can do is wait for him to return, like she has before and always would. ”I love you,” she feels like she has to say it now, in case this was a dream, and he would disappear when she woke up. With her small body enveloped in his embrace she sighs, and for the first time in years, Beqanna felt normal again. 

    RYATAH
    you could have it all, my empire of dirt


    @[Skellig]

    Why the hell are they so cute.
    Reply
    #4

    The smell of her unravels memories he thought were laid to rest. Truth and love and memory and all of it, all those lifetimes, everything long since buried, reaches up through soil long since settled, pressing upward alongside the fresh life of spring.

    He kisses her, again, and is overwhelmed with sensory delight.  

    When he closes his eyes he sees her the way he did that first time. In the tundra she is a magnolia blooming in the frost. They were young then, so young! The taste of her brings back so many memories now that it is impossible they wouldn't collide and become distorted-

    He remembers the way her skin, when she was truly made of porcelain, sounded when the rain fell sadly on her,

    and the scent of jasmine that filled what little space was between them as they walked through the Dale at twilight,

    and oh, he remembers all the colors of their love spread out beneath all the colors of the sky,

    ("Skellig," she says, and his heart sighs)

    and,
    and,
    and-- a thousand dreamlike memories, a hundred run-on sentences, a sea of love and bad grammar and--

    He remembers frustration, too, and anger and sorrow-- and there were affairs and other petty games (decades passed and he never could grow up) but in hindsight the lows only make the highs soar higher, brighter.

    She explores him with her lips and buries herself in his neck and it is all so humbling. He cradles her, he worships her. He wants to stay like this forever, twined around each other.

    Finally, he admits, "I don't know where I went."

    The truth is that he was lost in time. But it seems like such an overly poetic, downright embarrassing thing to say that he settles for the easier half-truth. He doesn't know how a year passes in what seems like a single day. He doesn't know how time slips away.

    "I love you too, Ryatah." Her name is a paper bird in his mouth. It unfolds molten hot and rose gold and his heart beats a little faster. He wonders if they can twine around each other well enough they never have to let go.

    "Everything is so different." Not her, not this, but Beqanna. It's like he's stepped out from the history books into a world that is no longer his. Nothing is recognizable except the meadow, and even that looks a little different. "What have you been up to? How have you been?" Another kiss, another inhale, god knows he could never get enough of her.


    @Ryatah idek but my heart cannot handle it ;_; sorry for the wait!
    Reply
    #5
    “What have I become, my sweetest friend?
    Everyone I know goes away in the end."

    Neither of them had ever been perfect, and they had always accepted that of each other. There had been a time when they couldn’t seem to stop playing the foolish games; hurting each other,  apologizing, and letting the sick cycle continue, until they were dizzy and distraught but with no way to end it.  And then, suddenly, it had all stopped. At some point they had realized they were all they would ever need, and no other flesh, no tantalizing words, could ever tempt them. He is hers, and she is his, utterly and completely. She had done nothing to deserve an everlasting love like this; one that was sweet and forgiving, but passionate and still so completely alive.

    To be back in his embrace is to finally breathe again. She can feel her very soul sighing in contentment, as her heart flutters back into the familiar rhythm of matching his own. ”It’s okay,” she murmurs, her mouth caressing the curve of his jaw. ”You came back, like you always do. Like I knew you would.” She has faith in so few things, but her faith in him was endless. There is a pang in her chest, when she thinks of his face, and how she hasn’t seen it in years. She had accepted that a long time ago, that she would never see his face again, and that she has never seen the faces of their last two children. But for some reason all she wants now is to drink in that familiar smile, drown in those sweet brown eyes that only looked at her, and admire his handsome body that still after all these here made her feel weak in the knees. She had to settle for memories, and for letting her muzzle trace a path a million times across every inch of him, until it was so etched into her mind she could never forget.

    ”I know it is. I don’t know anyone anymore. And the Dale, the Valley, the Tundra...they’re all gone.” A frown mars her face, a look of nostalgic sorrow suddenly settling across her. But soon it is erased with a serene smile, and once again she curls back into him, fitting him like a puzzle piece. ”But none of that matters anymore. You’re back, and you’re all I need.”She sighs, the warmth of her breath spreading across his shoulder, where her smooth cheek rests. He was her home, and not even the years apart could change that. 
    RYATAH
    you could have it all, my empire of dirt
    Reply
    #6

    He draws her close, breathes her in deeply. Her smell is intoxicating. "I don't understand how you haven't gotten tired of me." Her touch is electric, it sets his heart on edge. Memories he thought were long forgotten slowly begin to surface.

    Was there ever a time he thought he could get enough of her?

    If there was, he can't remember what it felt like.

    He remembers others. They filled him with guilt and shame and empty passion, the dull beating of an old drum. He remembers colors and smells and need, this endless need like a tiny god in him. But he can't ever remember not wanting Ryatah. Not through the anger and frustration. Certainly not through the jealousy. Everything that should have put distance between them only drew him closer and closer. Eventually he gave up resisting this forever-love, this bond stronger than time itself.

    When she speaks, the heat of her breath fans across his shoulder. His heart surrenders to it, to her, to life itself.

    She speaks of the Beqanna of their youth, the kingdoms they once ruled-- all of it gone. All he feels is a dull sort of sorrow in his chest. He cut his ties to those places long ago, let those memories settle untouched like heavy stones in a pond. On her face, too, he sees the nostalgia come and go. He wishes he could feel as serene as she looks afterwards. She was always good at that, serenity.

    "You're my home." He murmurs quietly, winding his way around her again so their bellies are touching and his lips play with the skin at the base of a delicate white ear. Even after all these years he can't fully grasp the idea of living forever, but loving forever seems a simple thing by her side.

    "I dream of you every night." There is a wanting that does not need to be expressed in words-- he knows she feels it in his touch, hears it in his voice. He presses his shoulder into hers now, almost aggressive in his desire.



    <3
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    #7
    “What have I become, my sweetest friend?
    Everyone I know goes away in the end."


    His words raise a quiet laugh from her throat, and she shakes her head in disbelief. ”How could I ever possibly be tired of you?” If there was a way that she could show him her heart, he would never doubt her for a second. If she could only open it up and show him how many times his name was etched across it, if she could only show him exactly how many times a day and night she thought about him, he would never have to wonder ever again.

    Her lips move to caress his cheek, and then they leave a trail of feathery kisses to his jaw line as she murmurs softly, ”You’re my entire world. You have always loved me exactly the way I needed to be loved, and I’ve never had to ask you to do it. ” She doesn’t think he will ever understand how much that means to her. For so much of her young life she was falling over herself trying to please someone else; begging to be noticed, starving for those minuscule signs of affection that were so few and far between, that Dhumin seemed to almost purposely keep from her as a way to keep her thirsting for more. She wore a mask of happiness, when inside she was drowning in sorrow.

    But Skellig had always been different. From the day they had finally — finally — stopped fighting what they felt for each other, she has never had wonder ever again if she was loved. Even when he was gone, she could feel it. She carried it with her, always, and it glowed in her heart and thrummed through her veins, keeping her alive more than immortality ever could.

    Her entire body trembles in delight as he twists around her, until they are a tangled mess of emerald green and pristine white. ”You’re my home too, my handsome King.” She says the words softly on a sigh, and she wonders at the fact that he still makes her go weak in the knees. She lays her smooth cheek against his mane, letting him caress her, reveling in his warm touch. You don’t deserve him, the words echo in the confines of her mind, and even though she wills them away, she knows them to be true. She doesn’t deserve her sweet, handsome, loyal lover, and she curls deeper into him because of it. 

    His touch is different now, his strong shoulder leaning against hers, and she presses back. Her heartbeat quickens at his words, at the change in the tone of his voice. ”What kind of dreams?” She dares to ask, her lips roving his neck, letting her teeth scrape against his skin; there is a hunger that has been growing inside of her, one that only he knew how to placate. She lets her touch travel up his crest, her slender body pushing into his, like she has done countless times before, because he is hers, and she is his. Her mouth comes to rest behind his ear, as she says in an almost inaudible, breathy whisper, ”Show me.” She is asking, she is pleading, demanding, begging, all at once. She is starving, but it’s different than what she used to feel so long ago, because she knows Skellig needs and wants her just as badly as she needs and wants him. 
    RYATAH
    you could have it all, my empire of dirt


    :| Omg <3

    @[Skellig]
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