- Jun 7, 2022
- 416
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− ♱ ABOUT : the forest is hidden in shades of orange and russet, flame and ember that smolders him, burning tongues licking up the lengths of his arms and over the emboldened apples of his cheeks. it’s a familiar color now ; a tone that haunts his dreams, his every waking moment. as the days grow colder he finds himself drawn ever closer to the flames, basking in the warmth for as close as they will allow him to get. in this season of mist and dying leaves, ripened and crisping with rot, the man realizes he smells of autumn — inebriating, freeing, like a private eternity buried somewhere beneath his star - studded pelt. like mulberry and rose . . or perhaps his brain was twisting it, thoughts shrouded in phantom memories of pinks and whites. something soft, tender and red within his chest. it was intoxicating, filling his lungs with hyacinth petals and warmth, soft and thick like blood. he wanted to bathe him in light and red camellia.
he thinks of flowers often nowadays.
when he looked at him, he had to remember to breathe. it should have been the first sign — that flitting nervousness, like caged birds fumbling beneath his ribs, pressing his lungs taut against the lining of their ivory - arched confinements. like smog and ash, his throat tightens, tampering his voice and the ache that alights in his chest. he wanted to sigh against him and watch him erupt, blazing and glorious against the night sky. there is a kindling there — he hopes against hope, cultivates the sparks in delicate paws and holds it to his chest. a comfort he lies with, alongside moss and duck feather lining. it helps him rest, the thought of him ; quiet, at night, buzzing with energy and adrenaline that has him grinning into the bulk of his nest, as much as he would rather smile into short, soft wisps of white - studded fur. he feels nearly childlike, impish and giggling — a crush.
a small smile slips upon dark lips, quiet and secretive beyond the autumnal trees. slowly it ascends, bursting up from sharp knuckles, blazing up bicolored limbs into laughter, free and alight. the toms face flits before his minds eye and leaves continue to drift downwards and one — a giant, splitting leaf, dislodges from a high branch. pupils widen abruptly, haunches bunching. maybe it’s the giddiness. the eagerness, brimming in each pulse of blood through his body. images of a broad, scarred face and squared muzzle, a voice like velvet against the soft lining of his ear. a crush. a crush! the leaf continues to spiral and the man waggles his hind for just a second, pushing off his rear paws to swipe it down, feeling all too light on dark pawpads.
it crunches beneath a single paw, landing gracefully amidst the yellowing grass, billowing tail flicking wildly behind him. it stirs already - drying leaves back to life, sweeping them midair to drift along ones just falling. it’s been too long — too long since electricity sparked through his very marrow, kindling joy and nervousness within him like a sandstorm. the tom was a forest fire, not just lifting the weight from his shoulders but burning them alive, turning his worries to a halo ash around them. the leaves continue to spin from trees above, a cascade of brittle red - yellows. he tips his head up, cheeks aching with the weight of an unused smile.
he wishes he were here.
he thinks of flowers often nowadays.
when he looked at him, he had to remember to breathe. it should have been the first sign — that flitting nervousness, like caged birds fumbling beneath his ribs, pressing his lungs taut against the lining of their ivory - arched confinements. like smog and ash, his throat tightens, tampering his voice and the ache that alights in his chest. he wanted to sigh against him and watch him erupt, blazing and glorious against the night sky. there is a kindling there — he hopes against hope, cultivates the sparks in delicate paws and holds it to his chest. a comfort he lies with, alongside moss and duck feather lining. it helps him rest, the thought of him ; quiet, at night, buzzing with energy and adrenaline that has him grinning into the bulk of his nest, as much as he would rather smile into short, soft wisps of white - studded fur. he feels nearly childlike, impish and giggling — a crush.
a small smile slips upon dark lips, quiet and secretive beyond the autumnal trees. slowly it ascends, bursting up from sharp knuckles, blazing up bicolored limbs into laughter, free and alight. the toms face flits before his minds eye and leaves continue to drift downwards and one — a giant, splitting leaf, dislodges from a high branch. pupils widen abruptly, haunches bunching. maybe it’s the giddiness. the eagerness, brimming in each pulse of blood through his body. images of a broad, scarred face and squared muzzle, a voice like velvet against the soft lining of his ear. a crush. a crush! the leaf continues to spiral and the man waggles his hind for just a second, pushing off his rear paws to swipe it down, feeling all too light on dark pawpads.
it crunches beneath a single paw, landing gracefully amidst the yellowing grass, billowing tail flicking wildly behind him. it stirs already - drying leaves back to life, sweeping them midair to drift along ones just falling. it’s been too long — too long since electricity sparked through his very marrow, kindling joy and nervousness within him like a sandstorm. the tom was a forest fire, not just lifting the weight from his shoulders but burning them alive, turning his worries to a halo ash around them. the leaves continue to spin from trees above, a cascade of brittle red - yellows. he tips his head up, cheeks aching with the weight of an unused smile.
he wishes he were here.
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− CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
− handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
− gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers
- none.
