10-15-2018, 09:11 PM
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#0022211f', endColorstr='#22211f',GradientType=0 ); margin-top:-300px;} </style> <center> <div class="bright_container"><div class="bright_image"></div><div class="bright_grad-bg"></div><div class="bright_text"> <p class="bright_quote">with her sweetened breath and her tongue so mean <br>she's the angel of small death and the codeine scene</p> <p class="bright_message">
She feels it every time his dark little nose traces a soft trail along the underside of her amethyst belly, that sudden flare of wild, of possessiveness. Of wanting him, and wanting to keep him safe. Wanting to keep him always by her side where she can make sure this world will never again have the chance to be cruel to him. But she can feel something else, too, a weight he lays with such careful little fingers in the once-hollow cavern of her chest. It is such a heavy weight, so consuming, and though she recognizes it for what it is, she does not lean into it. Not yet.
It is too soon to <i>love</i> this boy, isn’t it?
But she knows that truth, too. Knows that she does and that she will, knows that she is his just as much as he is hers. What she does not know, cannot begin to understand, is how it could happen to someone like her.
Woolf would be so appalled.
There is a wry chuckle on her lips when she buries them against his neck and in the silk strands of a dark, unruly mane. A chuckle that fades into a flatness across her mouth when the thought of her twin blossoms into something more, unfolding like a flower in full bloom to reveal something rotted and ruined inside. How long had it been since she had last seen him? How long since she had last felt anything for the mulberry magician - had she ever? But yes, of course she had. He had been there with her since the beginning, the only one who had ever been able to understand the workings of her mind. Still, it was not like what she felt for this boy suckling at her belly.
And how.
How.
She cleans him while he nurses, runs her tongue over his back and his shoulders, nuzzles at the strands of his mane all awry down either side of that sweet, delicate neck. Even finds her lips lifting at the corners each time he grows too distracted by the small glacier behind them to remember to nurse. <i>“Maybe we should have named you Fidget, hmm?”</i> She murmurs, and there is a new warmth in her voice when she nuzzles the side of his little hiney with a mischievous grin.
That sleepy little face blinks up at her and she softens, reaches out to brush his forelock smooth. But he’s not focused on her, not even focused on the sleepy weight she is sure has begun to reach for him, set into motion by the fullness of his round little belly. He’s testing the air, testing these new scents, she realizes with a flash of pride. Such a clever little baby bear. She shifts and comes around behind him, moves so he can see more of this new world they’ve suddenly inhabited. More of the so-vast blue sky and the thick, dense pines that climb down the jagged mountainside around them.
But he isn’t focused on that anymore, she can feel that shift like a physical blow, feel the sudden sad and worry that emanates from her boy with as much ferocity as the cold that seeps from Ruan’s ice. <i>“Rian.”</i> She murmurs again, captures him from his worried circles with a neck slung over his withers, a kiss (so strange, so foreign) pressed to the dark of his perfect cheek. <i>“He’s still here, darling.”</i> Then she’s herding him closer to the hunk of ice, knowing there is no good way to explain to the boy that his father is safely inside. But she tries anyway, draws him close against her chest as they watch new ice spill and harden in a fresh new layer over that wild blue gem of a stone. <i>“He’s there, Rian. Right there.”</i>
To the boy she is only quiet and gentle, so calm with her lips playing in the soft hair of his forelock. Focusing on radiating a calm to conceal the roiling impatience blossoming in her veins. The only sign that something is amiss is when a second spot of skin slices open as if under a blade, spilling red and ruby and wet down her hind leg. She’s reaching for the ice-mage now, pulling hard on what little magic is still left in her already so empty reserves.
<i>If you don’t get out here right now so your son knows you’re okay, so help me GOD I will take you out myself.</i> A relatively empty threat from an exhausted magician, but he doesn't need to know that.
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#0022211f', endColorstr='#22211f',GradientType=0 ); margin-top:-300px;} </style> <center> <div class="bright_container"><div class="bright_image"></div><div class="bright_grad-bg"></div><div class="bright_text"> <p class="bright_quote">with her sweetened breath and her tongue so mean <br>she's the angel of small death and the codeine scene</p> <p class="bright_message"> She feels it every time his dark little nose traces a soft trail along the underside of her amethyst belly, that sudden flare of wild, of possessiveness. Of wanting him, and wanting to keep him safe. Wanting to keep him always by her side where she can make sure this world will never again have the chance to be cruel to him. But she can feel something else, too, a weight he lays with such careful little fingers in the once-hollow cavern of her chest. It is such a heavy weight, so consuming, and though she recognizes it for what it is, she does not lean into it. Not yet.
It is too soon to <i>love</i> this boy, isn’t it?
But she knows that truth, too. Knows that she does and that she will, knows that she is his just as much as he is hers. What she does not know, cannot begin to understand, is how it could happen to someone like her.
Woolf would be so appalled.
There is a wry chuckle on her lips when she buries them against his neck and in the silk strands of a dark, unruly mane. A chuckle that fades into a flatness across her mouth when the thought of her twin blossoms into something more, unfolding like a flower in full bloom to reveal something rotted and ruined inside. How long had it been since she had last seen him? How long since she had last felt anything for the mulberry magician - had she ever? But yes, of course she had. He had been there with her since the beginning, the only one who had ever been able to understand the workings of her mind. Still, it was not like what she felt for this boy suckling at her belly.
And how.
How.
She cleans him while he nurses, runs her tongue over his back and his shoulders, nuzzles at the strands of his mane all awry down either side of that sweet, delicate neck. Even finds her lips lifting at the corners each time he grows too distracted by the small glacier behind them to remember to nurse. <i>“Maybe we should have named you Fidget, hmm?”</i> She murmurs, and there is a new warmth in her voice when she nuzzles the side of his little hiney with a mischievous grin.
That sleepy little face blinks up at her and she softens, reaches out to brush his forelock smooth. But he’s not focused on her, not even focused on the sleepy weight she is sure has begun to reach for him, set into motion by the fullness of his round little belly. He’s testing the air, testing these new scents, she realizes with a flash of pride. Such a clever little baby bear. She shifts and comes around behind him, moves so he can see more of this new world they’ve suddenly inhabited. More of the so-vast blue sky and the thick, dense pines that climb down the jagged mountainside around them.
But he isn’t focused on that anymore, she can feel that shift like a physical blow, feel the sudden sad and worry that emanates from her boy with as much ferocity as the cold that seeps from Ruan’s ice. <i>“Rian.”</i> She murmurs again, captures him from his worried circles with a neck slung over his withers, a kiss (so strange, so foreign) pressed to the dark of his perfect cheek. <i>“He’s still here, darling.”</i> Then she’s herding him closer to the hunk of ice, knowing there is no good way to explain to the boy that his father is safely inside. But she tries anyway, draws him close against her chest as they watch new ice spill and harden in a fresh new layer over that wild blue gem of a stone. <i>“He’s there, Rian. Right there.”</i>
To the boy she is only quiet and gentle, so calm with her lips playing in the soft hair of his forelock. Focusing on radiating a calm to conceal the roiling impatience blossoming in her veins. The only sign that something is amiss is when a second spot of skin slices open as if under a blade, spilling red and ruby and wet down her hind leg. She’s reaching for the ice-mage now, pulling hard on what little magic is still left in her already so empty reserves.
<i>If you don’t get out here right now so your son knows you’re okay, so help me GOD I will take you out myself.</i> A relatively empty threat from an exhausted magician, but he doesn't need to know that.
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