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alilbihh · 4 years

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woods&witches — knj

masterlist

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: You think it ends with you saving a fox. That is, until you start getting love letters sent to your doorstep and little knick knacks left on your window sill.

genre: fox shifter!namjoon, witch!reader, fluff

words: 4.5k

a/n: this was meant for the bingo challenge but completely escaped its original prompt. anyway. heres shy!lovestruck!namjoon bc i love him. also no this is nOt a witch au blog idk whats wrong w me

A finch flutters onto your windowsill, and you shuffle over once you hear a tap, tap, tap on the glass. You push it open and the bird hops inside, beak leaning forward tentatively.

You take the letter. "Ah, so they sent you this time?" Or maybe the finch volunteered, you wouldn't be surprised. They are quite the gossips.

It's a soft blue envelope, and when you turn it over there's a scrawled #12 on the left side corner. You think that even if he hadn't written that, you'd know. It's easy to keep track, after all.

A maple leaf slips out when you open the envelope. You set it aside and tentatively take the letter, brush a hand over the ink. It was written by hand in messy but deliberate hand writing and it smells like chamomile and honey, like it was written under a half-moon.

You read it once then twice then three times until it feels like you've been dipped halfway underwater, until the buzzing of the midday cicadas has faded into white noise and everything is suddenly tinged blue.

The man, you deduced a while ago, tells tales of palm trees and blue ponds and red and pink frogs, of catching crabs on a stranded shore. He's writing poetry but he's not, writing reality but he's not, and you don't know how he does it, how he can make five paintings with just one phrase.

You clutch the letter to your chest, feel yourself have an out of body experience because of a not-poem. Your head whips towards the finch when it chirps suddenly, and you huff.

"Why're you still here?" You shield the letter from the bird's eyes. Its head tilts. "And don't give me that look, I know exactly what you're thinking."

The bird only gives another chirp before flying away.

You scoff out a laugh, and when you walk towards your bedside table, the drawer opens before you can even think too much about it. You glare at your walls before tucking the letter with the others, as if to stop the house from teasing you too much.

It all begins and ends on a sunny afternoon.

The tree roots whisper as you pass, as if to purposely lead you astray, but you follow them anyway. The forest is never wrong, after all.

So when you stumble against a snowy white fox lying on a field of wisteria, you're only a tad bit surprised.

"Ah, you don't want to do that," you say some time after it woke up in your home and stopped panicking. It's now looking down at your polka dot socks, then looks up sharply to stare at you. You don't think there's a way for foxes to show emotions, but you think that if there were, he'd be staring at you with a little bit of awe.

You clear your throat. "Your foot, I mean. You don't want to strain it."

It just keeps staring at you, one ear twitching a bit.

"Um." You say when it doesn't stop, "You'll be better in a few weeks time. It wasn't that serious."

The fox blink blink blinks before shaking itself off, fur spilling every which way. You take it as acknowledgement enough.

In a few minutes he's managed to sniff and inspect every piece of furniture in your home, ranging from your small couch to your droopy house plant. He trudges and limps and sometimes skips from place to place, and then becomes highly confused when you don't let him climb the kitchen table.

Yoongi appears on your window somewhere between the fox kneading at your rug and the fox trying to catch a moth with its mouth.

"Hey grump," you say to the black cat, scratching behind his ears. Yoongi's tail twitches in dismissal, but he whines when you stop petting him, anyway.

You can almost see when Yoongi's gaze settles on the fox, because when you turn to look he's frozen solid on your couch, as if hoping he can't be seen if he stays still enough. The cat gives you a look.

You raise a brow. "What? Don't look at me like that."

He keeps looking at you like that.

"I helped him over by the wisteria. His foot's a little bad, but it's nothing too bad." The fox stays curled up on your couch, digging his nails into the cushions much like a cat would. An ear twitches in your direction, as if he's sheepish but won't admit to it.

Yoongi mewls a single, drawn out mewl of acceptance. You nod nod nod, and the cat jumps down your window and disappears into the woods right when the wind starts blowing north and the sun starts climbing higher before dropping lower.

The world stills for a while as you work through your home, organizing your chipped cups and bent spoons and funny forks. The mushroom wraith on your door wiggles when you pass it by, and when the frog figurine on your counter croaks in greeting the fox nearly jumps out of its skin.

(The fox is gone by morning, right when the sun settles over the honeysuckle tumbling down your thatched roof. You try to feel for his presence, but it's overwhelmed by the snails and woodpeckers and oversized mushrooms.

You think that's when the letters started coming, perched nicely over your windowsill whenever you're not looking).

There's a man in your pond.

The carp in the water yells indignantly as the man tries to stand but tumbles, pondweed curled over his ankles as if begging him to stay. You just stare because the man tries to get up once then twice then three times, hair loose and windblown and positively drenched, twigs and pondweed in the knots.

You stare and stare until the man notices you and startles, looks away quickly before cringing and hesitatingly meeting your eyes. He lifts a hand, lowers it, lifts it again and waves. You wave back.

"Hello." You say. The man looks a little stunned, more stunned than when the carp had nipped at his feet. You point at the pond, "You're standing in my pond."

"Ah!" He startles, head whipping down like he'd forgotten all about it. "I am! In your pond, I mean. Sorry, sorry." The pondweed untangles itself mercifully, and he shuffles out of the water, toes curling into the dirt around it.

"It's okay!" You shoot him a thumbs up. He stares. "Do you want to, uh, come inside?"

So the man walks through the slim wooden trellis and diligently wipes his feet on the rug, shuffling through the door with hesitant steps. He looks a little like a painting left out too long in the rain, all ruffled hair and stiff shoulders, but pretty nonetheless.

"Would you like some tea?" You say, already grabbing the kettle from the cupboards, "It will have to have milk, though, since the cups don't like serving without."

"Okay! Tea is nice. Thank you." Then he smiles with knee-deep dimples and pinchable cheeks and something inside you kinda melts a little.

The man's name is Namjoon and his skin is tan despite it already being winter, the color of salted caramel. He's so bright you find it easier to look away, to look instead at the space around him, the shadow against the pane of his neck, the length of his-- very long legs. You'll pretend you never noticed that.

You don't talk about why he was in your pond, not really. He's already apologized to the carp, he says. You talk instead about mushroom glades and why avocados are acceptable dinner foods and his intense love for moths and his hopes for snow this year.

When Namjoon leaves it all feels a bit unprecedented. Lost souls show up on your doorstep often, always leaving after a cup of tea and a few helpful directions, but Namjoon doesn't look lost at all. Looks a little like he belongs, really.

He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, then sticks a hand out in offering. You shake his hand. He nods, lingers on the doorway, plays with a loose stitching of his soft green overalls.

"I'll-- be seeing you, then," he clears his throat, and you just laugh a little loosely because no, you won't. With lost souls, you never do.

Except Namjoon does return. He returns, in fact, in green baseball shorts and an open-collared shirt with sugar packets sticking out of the front pockets. He looks a bit like a dad showing up for his son's football game. Looks a little dangerous but in a harmless way, like a huge gangly bug. A six-foot stick insect hovering outside your door.

You're a little stunned. Very stunned. So stunned that Namjoon cringes, shuffles a bit on your welcome mat. It's a frog with a thought bubble that says welcome! that Namjoon has expressed his love for on multiple occasions.

"Hello," he purses his lips. "I... wanted to thank you. Again. For everything." He sucks in a breath. "Bad time? Bad time. I don't actually remember knocking-- did I knock? God, I didn't, did I? I'm so rude, I'm so sorry."

"No, no," you say once you've recovered. "You, you definitely knocked."

"Oh!" His lips form a surprised little 'o'. You're so fond. "That's good. Okay. I'll... be leaving, then."

"Um!" You interject, "You can come inside, if you want?"

So he comes inside and drinks tea and names the cactus by your windowsill Gerald and discusses his complaints on climate change and you're a little content and a lot confused, because--

Only creatures of the forest can find your house more than once.

Unless--

(That night, you knock on your own walls and glare indignantly. Say, "You led him here, didn't you?"

The walls do nothing. You think you hear a floorboard creak, though.

You stomp your feet like an overgrown child. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but I'm not falling for it!"

No response. Except the wind chimes outside sing brightly, but when you look out the window there's no wind at all).

Namjoon visits once then twice then three times, always showing up unplanned and out of nowhere. He brings a pinecone first then a dandelion next, blushes and says I didn't pluck them against their will! I told them they looked pretty and they volunteered to help me.

He's so pretty it's become a little harder to hold in. He was always pretty, always smiles a bit too brightly, like he's swallowed a star and can't quite keep all the brightness to himself, but something's shifted a bit.

(You contemplate this in a mid afternoon. As in: whisper-screaming to the ceiling for a while. And then whisper-screaming some more when Yoongi walks directly across your face.

"You're a monster," you inform him.

He digs his tiny monster-claws into your stomach.)

One day, you learn the man is weirdly good at knitting. You learn he has a pretty solid grasp on quantum physics. You learn that when he laughs it's a little hah! under his breath, and when he really laughs it turns sideways and belly-up, pitching into something that could almost be defined as a giggle. You learn that you need to stop staring.

Another day, Namjoon sits in the corner of your couch, curled up reading a book he'd picked up from the next village over. It's small but very thick with what could only be very small letters, because he's squinting a bit as he reads. It's vastly endearing.

Another day, he makes cheesy bread in your toaster and felt bad about it for the next three weeks. Which is also the amount of time it took for you to get all the cheese out.

Everything's great.

Today, though, you're walking through the forest alone. The forest doesn't guide you, not really, maybe because it knows you're walking on your own terms.

The forest is noisy with the sounds of birds calling and trees growing and little things skipping here and there through the undergrowth. Your shoes are so muddy you don't really care for how much worse they get, and they squelch when your heels sink into puddles and spongy moss.

You walk and walk until you come across a clearing, a bird feeder propped neatly over a tree branch. A sparrow squawks when it sees you.

"Hello," you say in greeting, and the tree with the bird feeder sighs, the wind blowing and carrying the sound.

A tree root on the ground grabs a fistful of dirt and promptly flings it onto your knees. You shriek indignantly.

You have a lot to figure out, the tree echoes because of course it does. It has a history of saying things vaguely and hoping you'll understand.

"I don't understand," you say out loud.

It flings more dirt onto your knees. You step back protectively, "Okay, okay! I get it!"

One, two. Four clouds in the sky, for now, it says at last, and you're a bit afraid of prying, so you just accept what it says as fact and move on, say one last goodbye to the bluetit that flutters onto the bird feeder.

It starts raining not long after that, when more than four clouds settle over the evening sun, makes it a bit harder to maneuver through the woods. You walk based on feeling, a hand brushing over the tree trunks, silently cursing the tree.

Namjoon is already waiting when you arrive home, hurries forward when he spots you through the trees, holding an umbrella up high.

And it's-- sweet. Just a really sweet thing to do, really considerate. He could have waited inside, in the warmth and shelter, but instead he's walking through puddles to meet you halfway with an umbrella.

He looks a little funny when he stops in front of you, hair disheveled and sticking up in random places, eyes all worried and sullen. He looks like a goose.

"You look like a goose," you say out loud with a little laugh, "I'm already wet though, so there's not much point in this, you know?"

Namjoon's smile is a bit dopey, a bit sloppy at the edges. "But there's not many trees to shield you, from this point on." He says, "Let's-- go inside?"

So you go inside, the house already setting the fireplace with its never-ending firewood, the frog figurine croaking and the wind chimes singing and everything feels a little right. A little more homey.

"Did you find your way back easily?" Namjoon says later, hands cupping his tea mug as he sheepishly adds, "I know this is your-- home, obviously, I don't wanna just assume anything, but-- For me, it's a bit harder to navigate when it rains like this. Fogs my senses and all," he clears his throat.

You purse your lips to keep from smiling, "Do you know how a wood witch works, Namjoon?" You continue when he shakes his head, "A wood witch is the one who planted the first seed that sprouted the first tree that grew the first forest," you say, half-chanting it, cite it like a rhyme long forgotten.

He looks a bit awe-struck. A lot awe-struck. Says, "Oh." And that's that.

You add, sheepish, "It's really not much. I'm not as powerful as other wood witches, but I am grateful to the woods." You hum, "They gave me this cottage. They gave me who I am, really."

"Oh." Namjoon says. "Oh." He stares and stares, open mouthed and in awe and sort of dazed but pretty, pretty. His gaze trails over the room once before settling back on you, says, "You're all the beauty in the world."

And the world-- stills, maybe-- balanced atop a drop of nectar.

You whisper a small, delighted "Oh." And that's that.

Namjoon somehow manages to drag you outside the woods.

You're being dragged through busy streets, cars and crowds and carriages that boggle your senses. The difference between the village and the woods is astounding. (Not that you've never been to nearby cities or villages-- sometimes you crave poptarts and there's nothing you can do about it-- but it's been a while since you've walked into the very heart of it).

You might be a wood witch, but Namjoon is the one who looks a little — lost, outside the woods.

"This is my favorite corner cafe," he admits proudly, "Um, if Seokjin-hyung says anything, please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"Got it." You like this Seokjin guy already.

Taylor Swift is blasting through the speakers when you walk inside, a broad shouldered man swaying from side to side behind the counter as he pours milk into a cup. Once his eyes land on Namjoon he positively grins.

"Namjoon, my man!" He belts out a particularly impressive high note as Namjoon approaches him, but no one around seems at all fazed. "It's been so long!"

"I've been here last week, hyung." Namjoon says but he seems a bit happy to be missed, sheepishly ducking his head.

"That's too long. You should visit more often, it's great! I get free coffee here and don't have to walk through muddy paths and ominous sounds to visit you."

"It's not free though?" Namjoon frowns, "You may own the shop but you're the one who buys all the coffee in the first place."

The man behind the counter makes a noise that's too distorted to understand. "If I wanted someone to tear apart my ideas with logic I'd talk to Yoongi, you're both insufferable."

You want to interject but at the same time don't. You get so absorbed in your own thoughts you almost don't notice when they mention a Yoongi. Huh.

"Oh, you know Yoongi? The cat?" You blink when two sets of eyes settle on you.

"Ah, yes. Yoongi." The man you've now established has to be Seokjin sighs, resting a chin over his palm, "The devious fiend. The pest of the nest. The gremlin goblin."

"Do you ever think before you speak."

"I do! I thought of those words and then I said them."

Namjoon sighs and none of them elaborate any further, but you decide not to pry. You can always just ask Yoongi, anyway.

You both sit in a booth in the far corner where light reflects onto it perfectly but not in an overwhelming way, just enough to be warm and comforting. Seokjin pads over with your drink and Namjoon's latte and shoots excessive finger guns as he leaves, and Namjoon looks a bit like he's refraining from apologizing on his behalf.

Namjoon doodles on napkins and talks like he's reciting a far off poem, except he's talking about what should be the correct pronunciation of pickles and you're kinda maybe really hopelessly endeared.

"Do you think I should paint my nails?" He's saying, closely inspecting his nibbled nails, "Maybe it will make me stop biting my nails."

"Have you thought of green?"

He hums delightedly, "Green! I love green. I'm thinking pink though, since gender norms are a social construct and pink is just pretty in general."

"You'll look like a pretty little winter fairy!" You grin. He flushes pink, too.

Then when you get up to order another drink he stands quick, as if intending to order it for you, but you're already grinning and skipping to the counter and when you turn to look at him he's slowly sitting back down, defeated.

You're maybe smiling too hard when Seokjin walks to take your order. "Ah, Y/n-ssi! How may I help you, my gentle woodland elf?"

"Can I just have the same thing, please?" You say and he hums, walking mechanically towards his cabinets.

Then after staring dazedly at the separate christmas mugs and cinnamon buns and droopy plants, you're looking around when you spot a box by the back counter that looks like an awful lot like a letter slot, a stack of envelopes sitting neatly on top. Oh.

"What's that for?" You gesture towards the box, and Seokjin turns away from the coffee grinder to smile something a little gentle. A little secretive.

"We're a letter shop too, you know?" He looks like he's suppressing a sort of devious smile he doesn't want you to see, "We deliver letters on the writer’s behalf, so the sender stays anonymous."

Your organs twist and melt together all at once. You mumble a small "Oh" and that's that.

Then when you leave Seokjin winks before sending you both off, the man waving boisterously and maybe obnoxiously but you're immensely endeared, wave back until the shop is out of sight and Namjoon is sufficiently embarrassed.

You predictably invite Namjoon inside after you arrive home, deciding that soup after coffee doesn't sound too bad. So you watch as the fireflies do somersaults and the moths hover over lamps as you both go for seconds and then for thirds and you don't say much, maybe say nothing at all, but that's okay, too.

The soup signals a change, you think. Either

1) You are in love with Namjoon and need to tell him.

2) You are in love with soup and need to seek help.

So you walk through the forest.

Namjoon is at home, you know, but you feel that talking to Namjoon about your possible love for Namjoon is a bit counterproductive, so you walk through the forest instead.

Everyone is still adjusting to last night's downpour, the floors muddy and the leaves droopy and everything smelling like wet earth. You walk but you're hovering a few inches off the ground, silently thank the forest for its kindness.

You walk through the forest again the next day, think back to the tree with the bird feeder and think that maybe he wasn't so vague after all. Just wish that he could tell you what to do next.

It's easier to listen to a tree's vague advice than it is to follow through with it, you think, until a few weeks later, when the universe decides you need a little push. A big push. The biggest push.

Namjoon has been visiting consistently for the past month or so, sometimes staying over and sometimes staying just before nightfall, but for maybe a week you haven't heard of him at all. He's disappeared without a trace.

The forest guides you this time, patches of sunlight shining through trees as you follow. You think you hear the shrill argument between a finch and a jay on the treetops as you navigate through mushroom patches and mossy rocks.

It's the field of wisteria. You're in the field of wisteria when you find a small burrow, a little home for a woodland creature.

When you turn, you see-- Namjoon. Namjoon, eyes widened in horror, a strangled sound breaking free from his throat. Two white fox ears standing ramrod straight on his head.

You clear your throat. Say, "Hi, Namjoon."

He shrieks.

A finch flutters onto the bird feeder, eyes twinkling, "Guys, you will not believe what I just found out--"

"We know," the jay says.

"We know," the bluetit says.

"We know," the sparrow says.

Even Yoongi mewls from a higher tree branch.

The finch squawks, gossip stolen from right under its wing, "How on Earth did you all know?"

"The forest made the house bigger," Yoongi drawls, tail swishing here and there, "And we all helped deliver the letters."

"Different from someone, we can actually keep secrets!" Says the jay, chest puffed proudly, ignoring the offended squeals from the finch.

"You know, it was actually kind of obvious."

You hum from beside Namjoon, his arm draped over the back of the couch inches away from dropping onto your shoulder. He wants to tug you closer, comb a hand through your hair, but the mere thought has his face burning and ears threatening to pop out at the stress. He's kissed you before, dozens of times, for many reasons and for no reason at all, but it all still feels a little nerve wrecking, like one push will have you burst at the seams.

(Which, frankly, is ridiculous-- you're the strongest person he knows, but-- but.)

"What is?" He says to distract himself.

"The letters stopped coming after you started showing up, and you literally took me to a letter shop." You falter and add, "And just.. the way you say things, it sounds like how you sound when you write. I don't know if I'm making sense, but it's-- nice." You explain, a hint of affection on your voice.

That has nothing to do with being a fox shifter and everything to do with you sitting so prettily next to him, smelling like Ilsan sunshine and kept promises and damp earth, like the forest itself.

"Hmm," he hums, a hand settling on your thigh, finally gathering the courage to drop his arm onto your shoulder--

"Namjoon, you really don't have to hesitate for this kind of stuff." You say, turning to look at him with a grin. His face burns as he clears his throat pointedly, crossing one leg over the other as he finally drops an arm over your shoulder.

"M'sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," You press a kiss to his chin, "And you better kiss me properly this instant, because it seems you still think that crocs are acceptable footwear. I'm gonna come to my senses any second now."

"Please don't," he says, a little wild. Then he's moving, nose brushing over your cheek, and then— and then—

A hand curling softly over your cheek, a little giggle, and his lips pressing gently over your own. Something a bit real. Un-takeback-able. You taste a lot like the poetry he writes, still writes, like you're pressing the wonders of the world to his lips, like he's skimming the universe with his hands.

(Once upon a time, you saved a fox lying in a field of wisteria.

The rest of the story is told in open envelopes, messages left for the moon to see.)

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moths-wc-aus · 4 years

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WC AU; Prologue

i said that this was gonna be posted around 3:30 est but that failed bc my dad forgot he had a third child he needed to pick up so

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130670/chapters/55354048

Four cats padded through the snow, ears flattened against the wind. One of them, an orange tom, froze in his spot, his ears twitching. The rest of the patrol continued, the lead of which only seemed to notice the tom’s sudden disappearance when a flash of orange fur caught his eye.

“Russetstep!” He called, halting the rest of the patrol. “Where are you going?”

“Probably back across the border to his twolegs,” a young golden tom snarked under his breath. The spotted she-cat beside him swatted at his head, letting out a low hiss, and the patrol lead shot him a cold stare.

Russetstep, oblivious to the conversation going on behind him, bounded over a hill and vanished for a moment before reappearing with a small orange shape dangling from his jaws. The lead of the patrol’s eyes narrowed at the sight for a moment before flying open.

“Oh, sweet StarClan,” he whispered before running towards Russetstep as fast as his twisted paw would allow, the rest of the patrol following.

“Kits?!” The spotted she-cat exclaimed, pacing around Russetstep as he gently placed the one he was carrying on the ground.

“Young ones, too,” the patrol lead meowed. “Where’s their mother?”

“I don’t know,” Russetstep frowned. “There’s no scent of anyone but these three around.” The spotted she-cat sniffed the brown kit, who squeaked and ducked behind Russetstep.

“What do we do with them?” The golden tom asked the patrol lead.

“We obviously have to bring them back to camp,” Russetstep said, his fur bristling. “They won’t last out here; it’s the dead of leaf-bare!”

“I agree with Russetstep,” the spotted she-cat nodded. “We can’t just leave kits alone in the wild to die. It’s cruel! And besides, it’s against the warrior code. Deadfoot?”

The patrol lead was quiet for a moment as he considered. “Spottedhare and Russetstep are right, Ryetail. We cannot just leave kits to suffer the cold alone. We will take them back to camp, and speak to Tallstar about this.”

Ryetail scoffed, but didn’t argue. Deadfoot picked up the black kit, Spottedhare the brown one, and Russetstep the orange. Ryetail’s tail lashed, and he padded a few tail-lengths behind the rest of the patrol.

Now that they had kits with them, the patrol moved faster, whispering the occasional words of encouragement to the kits whenever one of them started to get antsy. It wasn’t long before they were back at the camp, Spottedhare whisking the kits off to the nursery to fawn over them. Deadfoot and Russetstep padded over to a black and white tom, settling down next to him.

“Tallstar?” Deadfoot meowed. The tom turned to look at him. “Russetstep found three abandoned kits while on patrol with no sign of their mother. What should we do with them?” Tallstar paused, turning to look at Russetstep.

“We can’t leave them out there to die, Tall!” Russetstep hissed, his fur spiking up. “They’re kits! Barely nine weeks old!”

“We can’t keep them in WindClan forever, either,” Deadfoot reminded him. “Even if their mother didn’t seem to be anywhere nearby, it doesn’t mean that she’s not looking for them.”

“I was kept in WindClan, and I’m not from here,” Russetstep reminded him.

“You were allowed to stay and given your warrior name with a lot of backlash. Even now, many cats within the Clan are still bitter about it,” Deadfoot pointed out. Russetstep looked away.

Tallstar, who had been quiet up until this point, finally spoke. “Having listened to you both, I think I’ve come to a decision.” The two toms quieted, turning their attention to their leader. “We’ll keep the kits, and we’ll care for them.” Russetstep perked up, and Tallstar raised his tail to silence him. “But if their mother comes looking for them, we will give her kits back.”

Both Deadfoot and Russetstep seemed satisfied by this. Tallstar opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by Deadfoot’s hacking cough. The other two toms waited for Deadfoot’s body to stop heaving from the effort of his coughs, worry clouding their eyes.

“Perhaps you should go see Barkface,” Tallstar suggested, his tail flicking anxiously. “Your cough only seems to have gotten worse.” Deadfoot started to argue, but broke off with a sigh, shaking his head as he stood and walked off to the medicine den.

Russetfoot watched the deputy go before shaking off his worry, turning to Tallstar with a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Our very own kits, Tallstar!” He murmured, nuzzling his mate’s cheek. “Can you believe it?”

Tallstar’s eyes softened as he curled around Russetfoot, and he gazed at the nursery. “They’ll become strong warriors, Russetfoot. I’m sure of it.”

#warriors #warrior cats #warrior cats au #jake warrior cats #wc #wc au #wc wc au #windclan #windclan au #warrior cats windclan au #tallstar #tallstar warrior cats #deadfoot #deadfoot warrior cats #jake #au writing

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

saints can’t help me now

summary: I will tell you the mystery of the woman and of the beast that carries her, whose name has not been written in the book of life from the foundation of the world. Kings give their power and authority to the beast, and those who are with him are the called and chosen and faithful.

pairing: forest god!thor x reader

words: 4,642

trigger warnings: dub con, attempted sexual assault, vague biblical allusions that seem quite out of place in such a pagan context

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s in the dark challenge + my prompt was “shh, it’s okay. it’ll only hurt a little.” this is also a part of @spacelabrathor‘s forest god anthology bc te amo forest god thor.

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

There are drops of truth in every legend, however flimsy or warped. A lie doesn’t come from nowhere, lore isn’t rolled off tongues without pretext. Little children don’t lie in their sleep, in the middle of the night; they don’t lie without purpose (or the illusion of one). Behind every threat is certainty, behind every falseness a reality.

You’re smart enough to understand this, to trace the oaks back to their roots. When a villager begged for refuge from a storm and whispered to you to heed warning about some deity that had been cast away from his throne, you listened – and never traveled too deep into the deep woods. Gods are never meant to roam such an unholy place as this, which its ravenous terrain and its isolating nature and its punishing climate. Gods prefer the busy cities, the lovelier farms, perhaps even their own homes on a planet you don’t know of. An almighty being? In a space such as this? You merely laugh at the thought. Such an image is not one that inspires hope or wisdom or rebirth, rather one of a spirit thrown from its rightful place, rightful palace. Such a spirit would be vengeful, vindictive, deceitful, despiteful, unprincipled, unforgiving.

When a merchant took your money and told you of a divine man who hunted without care, you listened – and kept your cat in whenever the sun was not at her highest. Woodland creatures you rehabilitated and travelers looking for rest were sequestered within your walls until you felt it was safe. If you had to leave your home (as you often did) you refused to travel alone, preferring to starve than die at the hands of some ruthless beast. The light of day, the heat from a fire, the illumination from a torch – you trusted it all to keep you from a harm you felt was preventable.

When a fortune teller read your cards and spoke of a demiurge who threatened the peace of your home, you listened – and used every moment of every step as a way to prevent conflict. You gave what you could of whichever soul asked for it, you never disturbed the ground, you kept to yourself. Your voice remained undersized, your movements diminutive. A camp four miles away called you wee, the fortune teller called you cautious, you called it survival.

But none of that, nothing you had done or prepared or pushed to the forefront of your mind seemed to matter as you were being chased through the thickest set of trees you’d ever seen by a pack of wolves (werewolves, no less) who had spotted a way to broaden their gene pool and stalked you til dusk. Each press of your bare feet to the hardened ground forced bits of bark and bone into the callous flesh; normally you’d wail at such anguish, but the blood pumping in your ears drowns out any of your nerve’s attempts at reaching your bran. While you wince at each point of contact, the pain never seems to come.

From behind you their howls of laughter hit the trees and then your eardrums, a reminder that for them this is a game. Their idea of said game going poorly is if they do not catch you, if they cannot drag you back to their settlement as a token of their hard work.

It seems as quickly as your hunt for food had gone sour you’re plucked from the freezing ground and tossed into a barren field, slammed into the ground as your shoulders continue to rise and while your heart continues to beat at a rabbit’s pace, your eyes moving faster than the organ as they take in the scene in front of them.

Your thoughts are quick, like the blood in your veins.

Rolling hills. Crops. Yellow Crops. Deep yellow crops. Corn? Dead crops. Still cold. No snow. Yes ice. Stones, under you. Small stones. Broken stones. Bad dirt. Bad crops. Bad yield. No settlements. Sky dark. Feet hurt. Still cold. Feet really hurt.

The distinct sound of a boot digging into the ground makes you turn around, knife in your corset drawn with a shaking, aching hand.

In front of you, a man. A man in shoes meant for winter. A man dressed in dark clothes. A man with a large chest that rises slowly, slowling, slower. A man with golden skin, as deep as the flora around you. long, dirty beard. A man with long, dirty hair. A man with a set of horns that curl like a ram but peak like the blade in your palm. A man who towers over you. A man who looks less like a man as your eyes focus, but his form doesn’t become clearer.

The man is the first to speak, his lips thick and turned up into a sinister looking smile.

“What’s a little thing like you strolling alone in these woods?” His voice flows like honey with each step of gravel as he circles you. You’ve seen vultures spot prey with less purpose as his gruff laughs bring thick clouds of condensation, which fill the air between you and him. “Big, mean wolves prowl these very woods, looking for cute little things like you to prey on.”

You try to swallow what little spit remains in your dry mouth, but it seems the only thing in your throat is a thick knot of fear. Stuck in place from terror alone, each cell that makes up your body is more frozen than the ice hanging from the bare branches above you.

“I- “you’re momentarily distracted by a twig snapping in the distance. “I’m not that small!” The man (if he even is a man) laughs, loud enough to make you flinch (of course that’s all I can do, you curse yourself. Can’t run away, but can flinch at some fucking laughter.) “In these forests you are. You’re a pretty little toy for all the packs that try to stake their claim here. It’s useless, they’ll never succeed, but that sure doesn’t stop them from trying.”

Your heart beats faster than you’ve ever felt before, each painful expansion of your ribcage syncing with the blood pounding in your ears. “Wh-what happened to them?” He cocks an eyebrow. “What happened to who?”

You speak again, a little louder. “What happened to the packs, why haven’t they laid claim to this territory?”

His broad chest shakes as he chuckles at your insolence. “Because I already have.”

Your heart quickens again. “But you’re only one man,” another twig snap, another sound ignored as a different kind of fear rises in your abdomen. “How can you overpower those powerful packs, they’ve formed a coalition – the village hasn’t stopped talking about it – there’s at least a hundred of them altogether, I-”

An answer comes after a beat of heavy silence, though the tension of waiting seems better than the truth that comes all too quickly. “Because yappy puppies can’t usurp a god,” he hisses.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck.

Thor, the god you’ve been petrified of since you were a child, has been the guard of this forest and everything in it for a millennium. In like fashion to other sprawling hills and tall trees, he beckons in the seasons and calms the bears into hibernation and tells the snow when to melt. Thor is the life of the forest, attuned to the air every living breathes day in and day out. Yet he’s incomparable to his benevolent siblings, hungrier and more desperate and willing to throw away his duties to sink his jowls into anything unpardonable. This god is jaded, exhausted of the mind-numbing monotonous work of running the home of so many creatures; like knife dropped in the dirt, he threatens even the ones who step careful as marksmen watch their targets.

For a few moments you think your mouth will release a quip, a sarcastic response that would get you killed, or worse. Somehow your lips stay still, warming as each pant releases hot, white puffs into the cold night air.

There’s fear in your eyes and it permeates the air around you. The god’s nostrils flare as the pheromones hit his nose. In a far corner of your brain you wonder what it smells like – such a strong emotion. Is it thick and sweet? Does it coat his tongue the same of when you bake fresh bread? Or is it deep and revolting – the smell of one’s soul decomposing before the corresponding body’s gone cold.

He steps closer.

You wince. “Please- “

He laughs like he’s watched a child fall to the ground in a field. “What? Are you scared?”

The word leaves his lips much slower than the others, like thick syrup in his mouth. Guess your fear is a much sweeter scent than expected.

“Should I not be?” The defiance in your voice comes like the wolf that bursts through the thinning trees behind you.

With the air knocked out of your lungs and each muscle stunned into inertness, there’s not much you can do but watch the god as you’re dragged away while two wolves trail behind you.

The grey sunlight fades as the flora becomes thicker, and for a hundred or so yards you feel as if your life is crumbling around you. But soon with the shadows from the trees comes the realization of familiarity.

Their faces – their snouts, eyes, ears, fur – they’re one you’d seen before. They’re the same ones from the small fairy circle down the way from your cabin, where you’d been trying to find something to eat besides dry mint leaves and crunchy bread.

These aren’t the wolves from the coalition near the village, these aren’t those nasty wolves who steal and plunder and take without end, these aren’t the wolves who chased you into the arms of the god who previously stood before you.

This is something worse…so much worse.

You’ve housed some of them, their yellow eyes and pink snouts have been fixtures of your spare room – you’ve stitched their paws and rubbed salve into their poison ivy rashes and brushed matts from their thick fur.

As one of them jumps on top of you – one you recognize from the scar you’d helped heal after a hawk had attempted to take out his eye – you can feel another pry your arms flat above you and two others hold your legs apart.

His long, wet tongue traces from your shoulder to your temple, his snout breathing hot air onto your feverish skin.

“I’ve been waiting to do this,” his voice is muffled, as if you’re talking to a person resting at the bottom of the sea. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to do this since I saw you and your brow furrowed with worry at that wound the wicked bird left upon me.”

He nudges under your jaw, grazing his sharp teeth across the fragile skin above your jugular as he pants.

If your hands were free, if your lips could move, you’d push him away and call him some mutt in heat, spit in his face and kick him away and run until you could not see the wretched creatures and they could not see you and the distance would make you forget everything that had and would happen and you never would have to think of their paws clawing at your body again and…

And…

“Stay the fuck away from her,” the god from before snarls from behind his teeth. The wolves, now thrown more than a hundred yards away from you, are nearly frozen in fear and realization that their plan has taken a toll for the worst. Your hands dig into the earth in an attempt to gain footing, but you can barely hold yourself up on your elbow as your vision spins. “If I find you again I will rip your heart from your thoracic cavity and leave you all to be found by the rest of your pitiful kind, do you understand?”

The wolves do not nod, but they also do not stay. Within an instant, you find yourself blessedly alone and then cursedly close to the very thing you fear the most.

“Why don’t I take you back home?” Thor whispers, watchful as you finally pick yourself up from the mud and moss. Bits of twigs and leaves and crushed bugs litter the light fabric, but you make no effort to remove it from your person – none of that matters when he locks eyes with you, blown pupils glittering with something you can’t place.

Still, with chest heaving and hands shaking, you lead him back to your homestead.

It’s not a long trek through the woods, yet Thor’s breath is audible like a deer sprinting from a pack of canids. You question nothing, though, absolutely nothing as you lead him on the winding, invisible path that leads you less than a stone’s throw away from the entrance.

You don’t say anything as you pull away, not a promise nor gratitude nor acknowledgement of his actions. The silence from you is met with Thor tugging your back to his front and wrapping your arms around you.

“I think you should thank me,” he coos. In the window of your dwelling is your cat, eyes wide in fear as she paces. She knows something is wrong, something bad is happening. But she doesn’t know how to fix it. “For protecting you.”

Some parts of you – maybe a few ribs, the bottom of your spine, your dry mouth – know what he wants. Behind your eyes you see images of you, him, your large bed. Of your small, begotten frame under his large form as he takes what he desires.

Some part of your brain, the logical side, knows you should feel fearful at this massive beast laying you down onto your worn, soft sheets. The other part, though, feels a particular heat flood your center and between your legs.

“And what is it that comprises such appreciation?” you ask, still facing your home as the god lingers behind you. Your breath – already shaky and shallow – hitches as one of his clawed fingers pushes aside your thick hair to expose the smooth skin of your neck. He places such small, light kisses there that for a moment you believe it was simply whispers of wind from the night, but once sharpened teeth graze your heartbeat you’re aware of the affections being his.

“Oh, little pet,” at his words your eyes shut on their own accord, and your bottom lip finds itself between your top and bottom teeth in the same fashion. “We both know what I want.”

You gulp, trying to find verbal footing as he begins to kiss down the back of your neck to the top of your spine. For a moment you try to speak, but it seems with each attempted sentence his hands move closer and closer to undoing the ties that keep your shift from falling off of you.

The god leads you into your home with a large hand pressed into the small of your back, and into your bedroom as if he had been there before, as if he had memorized the hallways in your home from years of spending time there; as if he was some constant fixture of your household.

The yards and yards worth of fabric from blankets and pillows alike have only ever smelled like you; pockets of your pesky familiar here and there maybe, but nothing that cannot be overpowered by a good night’s rest. It’s a comfort after a long day, something familiar and comforting.

As Thor lowers himself onto the edge of your bed you fear the stench of him will never leave you. A candle of doubt in you wonders if this is a bad thing.

With no hardship he pulls you to him, like a suitor inviting a debutante to be a partner in a waltz – though, this feels less like a dance as each second passes, your heavy breathing akin to a kidnapping than some public displays unadulterated affection.

“It’s cold out here in these woods,” he whispers to you. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as his hands pet over your shaking form. “I must admit, it would be nice to have a toasty little thing like you to help keep me warm in such a chill.”

You shiver, hoping this behemoth does not mean what you think he means. Alas, as he pushes your long, wild hair to the side to expose the tender skin of your neck – your wildest fears bubble to the surface of your flesh. It’s his hands, so calloused they feel like bark, that manhandle you in the gentlest way possible into a position that makes your face burn hotter than a bonfire.

You’re in his lap now, spine pressed to sternum with him towering over you. For a moment you feel safe in his embrace, his larger-than-life stature making you feel like some protected child. It isn’t until he’s tearing at your clothes with a loud rrrrrrrip that you understand how little this creature truly cares for you. Still, it’s hard not to feel like some fragile, blown-glass vase from the village beyond the mountains, where boys with similarly rough, burnt hands create the most beautiful little sculptures you wish you could afford; an object of which is revered and magnificent, but an object of which holds neither agency nor uniqueness to the rest of the pretty things surrounding it.

It doesn’t occur, in that very moment, that there is no way this god would be cold in the thick of winter – not with heat radiating from him akin to your cat’s fur after being warmed by a particularly warm beam of sunlight. But the deity doesn’t have much need for the truth, not when he’s got your soaked cunt free from its increasingly uncomfortable confines and is tracing the slick up and down the lips between your trembling thighs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos like a mother lying to her child while pulling a rose thorn from a tiny, smooth foot. “It’ll only hurt a little"

Thor’s hands are huge already, but now they seem omnipresent as he pets over your form. Part of you – the sensible part, the part that guided you through being banished from your family and made you carve out a piece of this expansive, soul-crushing forest – that wants to, or at least wants to try to, push him away; tell him no, stop, please, I’ll do anything.

But nothing, nothing but desperate whimpers, ones you wish were from displeasure, leave your lips.

“You know, gods can still starve,” you gulp as the short, wiry hair that patterns his jaw rubs against the skin of your neck and shoulders. “The fish from rivers and boars from the deeper parts of my forest quiet the growling in my gut, but there is another hunger I need satiated.”

You remain silent as before, fearful a protest would make your periled situation that much worse for pitiful little you.

He grips between your legs, palm flat against the hottest part of you, his own hand rough against your own silky folds. As you squeak from the contact Thor laughs deep in his broad chest, leaning down to nibble at the edge of your hot ear. “This piece of fruit will do,” you gasp as a single, thick finger enters your dripping heat. “I love a good juicy peach. You’re absolutely dripping for me, aren’t you?”

Again, he is met with silence. Never one to be deterred, he slips another finger into you. “Humans are so cute,” he purrs. “You all think you’re so strong, always fighting wars that never end and death that always comes. It seems the things you can never resist are a good fight, a good fuck,” a pregnant pause fills your bedroom as he crooks his fingers just right, soliciting the desperate whimper he’s wanted since he spotted you in the woods all those hours ago. “And me.”

He fucks his digits in and out you with slow motions, ones that drive you to the brink of madness. You’ve never been one to coo and moan so unabashedly, to let yourself fall apart so easily for someone who holds so much pure power over you. If you weren’t already vulnerable, you would be now – for as assuredly that the sun rises in the East and you wake up soaked in blood every some thirty days, this man, this god will look down on you and understand how little you can do to fend him, his advances, his charm, from your trembling body.

Thor lays down on your sea of blankets, leaving you feeling empty without his touch. A smug look paints his face as he waits for you to climb up his chest, but you do not move, simply peering at him with a heaving chest and feverish cheeks. Your mind wavers, wondering if his horns will tear into the fabric that paints your bed – but you do not have much time for such frivolous thoughts before they are interrupted once again.

“I wasn’t asking,” he tells you pointedly. “Now, come provide me with the sustenance I so desire.”

Sans your dress, moving up the length of his body is relatively easy. As he grips your hips and lowers you down to his mouth you wish you had some sort of obstruction, some reason to resist the god below you.

No such luck. As before, you are unimaginably vulnerable to Thor and his ways.

He begins with light kisses on the inside of your thighs, still tense and desperate to run away. Thor seems to notice this but does nothing to soothe you and your resistance – he understands much better than you how much he holds above your foolish head.

It doesn’t take long for you to forget your plan of escape, the path of freedom dissipating in the pleasure pooling from your scalp to the nailbeds of your toes. This god is nothing if not skilled, wide strokes of his tongue and nips at your innermost thigh and kisses on your sensitive nub soon having you rutting against his face like a dog in heat, like the wolves from before. Your hands try to find purchase in his wild hair, but with the horns in the way it’s easier to wrap your own fingers around the keratin masses than dig your fingernails into the scalp of the man below you.

You wonder if you’d have considered them less such wild beasts if you knew this was the pleasure they were chasing. Would have not run so quickly if you, too, understood the magic building in your core as you balance yourself against the wall your bed leans against. When Thor leaves you, would the animals accept your contrition and give you the same pleasure this god is? Or would you be left to chase a high no mortal could gift you?

It’s trail of thought cut short by him bullying three of his fingers into you as his lips suck at you, your screams filling every empty bit of air in your homestead. As your own yelps of pleasure fill your ears you cannot sort what is babble and what is tongues, what are incoherent syllables and what are pleas to celestial beings to never leave you.

These, too, are soon muffled, Thor making quick work of your mute state to flip you onto your stomach and propping your ass up toward him. “You know,” he says mostly to himself, knowing his words will fall on ears deaf from ringing. “The Christians who pass through my forest often speak of how the original woman was tempted with an apple and I never believed their silly tales.”

He pauses a moment to trace his fingertips up the ridges of your spine before grabbing at the base of your hair. You yelp, but he ignores you.

“But now…” his unoccupied hand comes down to SMACK at your ass, eliciting another squeak. “Now I feel able to comprehend how such a person could be tempted by the prospect of such delicious sin.”

Too far gone to be ashamed now, you push back against him in hopes of reprieve from your suffering. Without much further wait Thor enters you slow and steady, the one hand still in your hair while the other grips your hip. Thor’s bigger, much bigger than your fingers or the occasional drifter, and your walls and scream the unfamiliar girth.

The man behind you does nothing to soothe you, merely hissing into the cold night air. “God, you little witch,” he grunts behind grit teeth. “Maybe it was worthwhile saving you from those wretched wolves.”

Your mouth hangs open and your lips remain mute, your hands grasping at the sheets until they become impossible to open up again. Nothing, not a single sound of yours, bounces form the walls – merely Thor’s loud grunts and the sound of his skin slapping against yours. It isn’t until his fingers release your hair and move to your neglected clit that you begin to sing for him, screams out of tune and sharp but still smooth music to his ears.

“Yes,” he moans, feeling you contract around him. “Yes you temptress, cum on my cock, fuck let me bring you to your peak.”

How could anyone refuse that? Certainly not you, the spell-caster who was saved by this magnificent, sympathetic creature with a heart of gold and pure intentions. The tight coil in your organs releases with a shout from you and a deep groan from Thor, who continues to fuck into you as you collapse and become limp under his touch. He reaches he peak quickly, stilling for a moment before flipping you over again.

You move easily under his touch, dead weight instead of some feisty, feral little lamb with too much fight in her. On your back, he spreads your legs once again, moving to revere your swollen cunt and his thick seed dripping out of you.

It reminds you of when the artists in the villages step back when they’re finished with their works, admiring their handiwork and talent. You recognize that same affection of progress and of a finished piece in Thor’s eyes, the focused, blown pupils trained on the white trailing down to your sheets and the corners of his mouth turning up into a small, satiated smile. He’s some paragon of silent pride, one hand moving up and down your folds before pushing his seed back into you.

“Beautiful,” Thor whispers, kissing where you are most sensitive once more before moving to lay beside you. The world spins around you as he pulls you into his broad chest, his heart thumping dull in the ear pressed to his heaving ribs.

You say nothing to the contrary, succumbing to sleep like a babe after a long feeding.

orThor disappears just as he entered, confidently and without much fuss. You wake up alone, more alone than you did that morning, surrounded by the very scent of him. Somehow, as the sun comes over the horizon, it’s enough.

Over the next few weeks, everything mostly returns to normal. You go through the ebb and flow of your routine; watching over your territory, eyeing the dark of the night each time the wind made the trees move like children listening to songs around a bonfire. Sometimes the swaying calms you as you clutch a cup of mint tea in your trembling hands, but others it mirrors the churning of your stomach.

Tonight, it feels like both. And tonight, you bury your face in the last of him left with you while hoping you never have to see the god again.

#inthedark!challenge #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader #lukis writes stuff #kinda had a breakdown and thought abt being in the church #if god can be vengeful than i can be flowery with my language #as with all of my works this is barely proofread and i hate it #but whateva

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superemeralds · 6 years

Text

my sonic characters: a masterpost

I’ll add more whenever i get new info on characters and so on sakjsak

I used to have more but i gave some of them away so i dont feel like i should mention them here (even if those designs are not in use anymore)

[edit 4/20/2019 (haha) added nexus and links to character tags]

1) Saph the hedgehog

This is Saph. He’s a 18/19 year old disaster gay trans boy.

I change his shoe design literally every single time i draw him. :)

I’ll go in depth about his past later.

Saph is pretty much all over the place and forgets to be considerate of other peoples feelings sometimes. He might come off as very egoistic of self centered, but he does actually care in his own kind of way (even when its. kinda bad bc he gives off wrong signals sometimes and ends up hurting people hes close to)

He’s looked up to Sonic ever since he was small and he collects all of the Sonic comics and video games. His dream is to meet Sonic and win against him in a fight.

Shadow is his big idol in many things so he tries to be edgy sometimes or act tough but he fails miserably most of the time and makes a fool of himself; which he doesn’t really mind because he can take a lot of things with humour (sometimes too much). He also uses white eye liner to imitate shadows marks, and he dyes some parts of his fur white to make the marks he already has extend to look more like shadows.

Shadow was the person that taught him how to control his chaos powers, because he’d always just weakened himself in the past, because he is super unstable. (If it wasnt for Shadow he probably would have died by now.) Shadow also was the one that told Saph to go to Tails for help with the buckles on his wrists and the rings on his ankles. They are made of a material similar to shadows rings (tails tried his best to replicate them) so they would help keep the energy in Saph balanced. Due to his strong affiliation to Chaos Energy, he could technically even turn super; but his body would be unable to hold the immense amount of energy and begin to literally burn down to ash within a few minutes.

He is very gay and in a relationship with Ezra.

He’s on T and has not yet had top op. (his bobbies smol its all muscle >:3€ )

Old pic of him and his bf as humans uwu

2) Red the hedgehog

Red is 25/26 years old and works at GUN as special agent. Sometimes he and Rouge get drunk in her club at night and joke about tearing that organization down (or maybe they are not joking)

he’s pansexual and horny 24/7. He has a girlfriend and is in an open relationship. hes polyam if you didnt guess it askdsajh

he’s blind in the right eye and has a tattoo of a star on his chest

(here’s his gijinka because i just. hes hot. he used to be the one character that had like 30 fangirls on deviantart and each of them would comment “nosebleed” every time i uploaded)

ANYWAYS

Saph and Red. They are brothers.

*WARNING: abusive parents, transphobia, homophobia, violence

When red was a young lad and Saph was still a baby their father snapped and beat Red up with an iron bar, making him blind on his right eye. Red took Saph and ran away from home.(Their mother died at saphs birth)

They lived and still live in a city a litte farther off Empire City.

Red decided to go to an orphanage because he could not possibly take care of an infant. (granted his dad couldnt either but it seemed the best possible solution)

They lived in the orphanage for a few years, but saph very soon showed sighns of being trans and got bullied by the other kids. they would call him gay and tr*nny and kick him until he fell silent to endure his “punishment”.

Red couldn’t take it and decided to run away with Saph again. They lived on the street for a while, but Red was caught by GUN for stealing. Once they found out he had a form of chaos powers (even if weak) they decided to let him slide and hire him as Special Agent.

Red accepted this and uses the money he ears to make sure Saph has a good life. This kinda spoiled Saph a little, but he also deserved it lets be real here.

Red made sure to enable saph to get education (which he totally refuses to acknowledge and take seriously) and physical transition.

*WARNING END*

3) Ellectra “Ellie” the tenrec

[ pardon me being inconsequent with the design omg ]

Ellie is a 20 year old functional asexual demiromantic lesbian who is not interested in dumb boys and would rather talk about science with a pretty girl.

She can manipulate electricity and is called “Daughter of Zeus” by the townsfolk in her home island called Coral Island, which is located near the windsmil isles in Apotos.

She studies archeology and gaia mythology/ancient history, which makes it very convenient that she lives nearby an actual gaia temple. (She wants to be like lara croft one day)

At the 2005 black arms invasion her mother got heavily wounded when she tried to protect the town from the aliens and died from the aftermath.

Ever since then Ellie hates Shadow with a burning passion and holds him responsible, because she believed the government propaganda (provided by GUN ofc) that Shadow is One Of The Aliens. If she was ever to meet him she would be FURIOUS and ready to murder (she knows he cant die though).

She tried not to focus too much on that and just. do her cool ancient stuff.

Here are her parents Chion and... the mother i had still not found a good name for.

5) Chion the tenrec

This gentleman is 40+ years old and proud father of Ellie.

Hes also a het ace.

Chion is greek for snow (as far as google translate goes) and he was named that bc of his white nose lmao. its like a snowflake on his black body.

He doesn’t have any elemental powers, but he is naturally very strong and will punch anyone who comes close to his family. He can also use swords and is a skilled swordsman.

He inherited an olive farm from his family and he does keep it going. He makes his money selling olive products he does make himself.

6) Athena the hedgehog

Athena was the daughter of the “major” of the island that the family lived on (coral island), so she was expected to become the new major once he had to retire.

Due to the location of the island and the geographical landmarks on it, many raiders (and also eggman) have great interest in the ruins and mythological places. Athena is not one to give in easily and defended her people and the island from many intruders.

She possessed a less particular (than Ellie), but still fierce power of lightning manipulation. Having used her powers excessively, she sustained severe damage to her arms which showed as lighting shaped scars. She showed them with pride, because they meant she had fought hard to get where she was now.

She was bisexual and married to a tenrec called Chion. She was a year older than him.

The rings Ellie wears on her wrists were her mom’s.

7) Frost the snow leopard

Frost is a 15 year old demiboy who really just wants to have a good time. He hasnt really given his sexuality much thought.

He lives in a small village in Holoska; hes actually even met the werehog. Well he saw him. but he was too afraid to talk to him because holy shit its Sonic The Hedgehog!!!!!!!

He has ice powers!!!!

His insides are like -18°C and he cant eat anything that is hot. He has to eat cooked meals when they are room temperature, or even cooled down to fridge temperatures ( about 6°C).

He basically lives off ice cream and dry meat (if they get fancy food from the city he gets frozen pizza) He thinks of going to the UF for college, but he doesnt really know what he wants to do with his life yet so hes just having fun snowboarding.

8) Mitzu the Cheetah

Mitzu is 22 years old and owns a flower shop/chao garden combo where she takes care of chao, while taking care of flowers and breeding them. Her hydrokinesis powers are very helpful in that!

She loves nature and the outdoors and feeling the grass under her feet, so she doesn’t wear shoes/socks. Ever.

She generally is very free spirited and optimistic!

Shes a big sapphic but shes also okay w being single atm.

Her chao are like children to her and she loves the chao that get left in the garden as much as her own. (ppl leave their chao there when they cant watch over them anymore or if they go for a vacation and cant take them with them or smth)

9) Dan the red panda*

Dan is 17 years old and a big homo.

He has no special powers, except being able to eat and sleep more than the average person.

He’s from a very rich family, but his parents insisted in him finding a wife to like. pass down the heritage but he aint having none of that so his punk ass ran away from home to be his gay self and study art.

He lives in a tree house a little off a small village in a more rural area in east UF, near station square. let the depression boy be happy...

10) Yoshi the siamese cat

Yoshi is a 20 year old enby kitty who wants to make the world a gayer place!

They are studying fashion design in hope to one day open their own fashion store for queer people! The clothes are made with body differences in mind and they also want to offer a free customization service to fit clothes to every single body type.

They don’t have any special powers as of now but i kinda want to give them a power that could be helpful with their goal Im still thinking about it ...

11) Joel “Spirit” the Husky

Spirit is fresh ripe 14 years old and Sonic the hedgehog is his big big idol. He wants to be JUST like him when he grows up.

It has come to my attention that he is basically the sonic universe Deku and I may or may not be planning to write a fanfiction for that...........

He doesn’t have any special offensive powers, but he has orange blood and he has the ability to read the Chaos Signature of anything he encounters. (called: Chaos Vision)

This means he will immediately know if a person he meets has super powers and he will also know what that power is. He can also guess the emotions of people because they are tied to the kind of chaos energy that surrounds a person.

12) Aurora the Husky

Spirit’s Sister!

Her name is Aurora and she also has Chaos Vision!

She was born blind, but she’s been able to see with her power, so that’s just what the world looks like to her: Darkness with many many colorful lights.

Over time through hard training she was able to perfect her vision and be able to distinguish between a lot of things and even see things that only have very little chaos energy in them!

13) Axel the Axolotl*

I don’t really have much info on them I made them pretty random one day bc i thought. hey. .... what if... axolotl sonic character.

14) Azul the cat

Azul is my sonicsona kinda. He was pmuch my persona b4 i was kin w shadow.

He’s an edgelord and i guess he’s still technically me; or rather what i want to be.

He’s already on T and has has top op and he does not crumble away under social anxiety like i do askjdsakjd.

15) ( UNKNWOWN) the Pangolin*

Similar to Axel I didn’t think much about him yet......

he’s aroace and kinda goofy but he cares for his friends. He can roll up and do spin dashes and homing attacks like sonic, but he obviously doesnt have his super sonic speed.

16) Coal the hedgehog

Coal is one of the newest of my characters; but he’s also one of my oldest.

You see, Coal is a revamp of a very old crappy fanchild i had back in like 2012.

for reference thats him

New Coal is 27 years old and a gay mess. He can turn into a cloud of smoke and control it at will. He is completely immune to physical attacks. try to stab/shoot him and u ded. hes coming for u.

he steals, but only from rich ppl. hes chaotic neutral tho bc he keeps that shit for himself safhsaljfha he generally just wants to chill and have his peace.

he loves being an edge lord though he just wants that image for himself, even though he is kinda a softie... hes good at keeping up an act in dangerous situations though and that sometimes scares attackers off (also his powers)

Some gijinka doodles that make his age more justice than sonic style aksjfhaskj

17, 18, 19) The Crew On ARK

old bad art but i never really drew them, i did write about them in my fic about shadows past! (im excluding the black guy from the list because i didnt write him yet and i guess hes not really established yet since i got literally nothing on him)

from left to right

Nia, (that dude), Hikari, (gerald), Theodor

Nia is the daughter of a shamaran professor and a woman who owns a boulongerie in spagonia. She joined the ARK program in hope to make the world a more accepting place.

Hikari is is from an island near chun-nan (japan) and she also joined the program in hope to be able to help make a change for the better. she also enjoys biology and genetics a lot.

Theodor joined purely because of his joy in working on genetics and robotics that immitate life. He’s innitially from the GUN team but was assigned to work with Gerald.

20) Commander Jonathan Williams

old art again sorry sakjfhsakj. He is the father of the current GUN commander! He’s 52 and a total douchebag. He’s kinda mad with power and genuinely believes that putting shadow under pressure to become the ultimate and strongest weapon (stronger than an atomic bomb) was necessary to end the war that was going on at that time.

I cannot spoil too much on what happened to each of these people as it’s spoilers for my fanfic.

If you want to know more, read here -> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10992156/chapters/24482199

21) Sidus “Nova” the black panther (and 22 Badass the Chao)

You see. The thing with nova is that i recycled him as human/demon character for a story sjkhfkafhsakj but he has shadow powers where he can use all shadows as portals into a shadow dimension that is entirely his own. he can travel through that but it makes him very tired. he likes to store capri suns in there and just take em out whenever he wants. He has a Chao called Badass (pictured below)

his new human/demon design is below

23) Blossom the horned Frog

She is new and I don’t have much info other than that she’s from a jungle area; perhaps in adabat.

She secrets a poisonous slime from her body; yet her spit has healing accelerating properties.

A gene defect lets her never lose her tail.

24) Nexus the demonic sheep hound

nexus is a demonic sheep hound mix?? idk i just didnt want to draw hooves aksfsakhfa

they can manipulate metal and bend it in any shape they want

however they cant make it float n shit like youd think of metal powers like magneto jsfhsakjf they can literally just. shape it like play-doh but with their mind

they wear those gold rings so when theyre in a pinch they can just make a bunch of cool knifes of a sword n be like SURPRISE BITCH IM NOT JUST PRETTY. IM PRETTY DEADLY!

#my characters #shadows logbook

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theofficeofsupremegenius · 6 years

Text

in the moonlight (part 1)

a prentiss fic in which emily is a witch!!! dedicated to my girl @badasprentiss <3

A/N: this took me like two months to write bc im very slow but im kind of proud of it! also, im definitely going to make this a series, so let me know if you want to be tagged in it <3

Word Count: 2,332

Warnings: blood mention, abduction mention, death mention

Snippet: “With the sun’s slow disappearance came the awakening of the woodland creatures, and Emily could feel your uneasiness. Every time an owl hooted or a coyote howled, your pace slowed and your breath quickened.”

I hope you enjoy!! <3

“Emily? I’m home!” You called to your roommate, setting your keys down on the table by the door. “Emily?” Coming to the conclusion that she wasn’t home, you strolled into the kitchen and pulled a power bar out of the pantry. “Sergio!! Here, kitty kitty.” Maybe Emily took him for a walk? You wouldn’t be surprised.

It’d been two weeks since you’d moved in, but your boxes were all still in the living room. You groaned as you remembered you’d promised Emily you’d take care of them today, but you knew you had to do it.

Muttering to yourself, you sorted through the boxes and finally unpacked everything you wanted in your room. Now you just had to move all the rest of the boxes down into the storage space. You tried to fit everything into two boxes, grabbed your keys, and headed towards the storage unit by your apartment.

You set the boxes down on the ground and typed your code into the pad by the door. Slowly, it began to slide up, and you reached down to pick the boxes up again. Standing up again, you looked inside to see Emily standing inside.

She was standing behind a cauldron, stirring it with a hugeass stick, and was surrounded by shelves and shelves of plants and trinkets. There was even a crystal ball on the table near her. Sergio, her black cat, was sitting next to it. You looked up at her and she looked back at you. Neither of you said anything for a solid 40 seconds.

Finally, you managed to say “What the fuck?”

“Uhhh, I can explain. Sit down.” She gestured to one of the chairs by the table. “Close the door.”

You listened, and after you sat, she did too. Sergio jumped up onto your lap and began to purr as you stroked him. Emily started to say something, but paused and gathered her thoughts. “Okay, look.” She brushed her long black hair behind her shoulder and clasped her hands in front of her. “God, it’s hot in here.” She shimmied her black leather jacket off of her, revealing the soft, long sleeved, pink v-neck that you were so fond of. “Uh, okay, so I’m a witch. Um, I found out when I was about 10 years old, and I’ve managed to hide it until now, so if you didn’t tell anyone about this, I’d really appreciate that.”

“What?”

“I’m a witch.” She said again, giggling nervously.

“Shit, Prentiss, I thought you were just doing something for Halloween.”

“Oh, damn, I wish I’d thought of that.” She stood and and walked over to the cauldron, her black high heels clacking on the floor. “You can go back to the apartment now. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I’m also not going back to the apartment now though; I’m curious as to what you’re making!” You followed her to the cauldron and peered inside. “What are you making it for?”

“Oh my god, don’t get so close to it.” She chuckled and gently nudged you out of the way. “It’s… okay it’s kind of complicated. Are you sure you want to know? It’s kind of intense.”

“Yes, of course!” You smiled widely and went back to sit in the chair.

Emily involuntarily grinned; every time you smiled she just couldn’t help but do it as well. She was actually really glad that you found out about her secret, too. You were one of her best friends and she’d been needing to talk to someone about everything that was happening. “Okay, so, it’s basically just a potion to make you stronger. And the reason I’m making it is because I’m going to need it Halloween night.”

“Why?”

“Well, there’s this wizard. Sephterani.”

“Damn, that’s a cool name.”

She laughed. “Yeah, it is, but he’s also kind of evil. You see, there are some monsters he wants to release into the world. He can only do it at midnight on Halloween though, and he needs to say a spell after drinking a specific potion.”

“What? What monsters? What potion?”

“The monsters… they’re…” Emily shuddered. “They’re terrible. I really hope you never have to find out what they do. And the potion: it gives you the ability to communicate with them. I think I can find the recipe.”

She turned and scanned the bookshelf behind her. “Here.” She tipped the leather book out of its spot and set it down on the table. “This book is actually illegal in the magic world, but I have it just so I can figure out what I need to prevent.” Emily winked at you and held her finger to her mouth. “Sh.” She flipped through the soft yellow pages, dust flying into the air, until she found what she was looking for. Her finger trailed down the page and she softly murmured the words to herself. “He needs the hearts of 4 humans, 10 liters of pig blood, fur from a black cat, enchanted kukumaca, nightbloom roots, frog legs, a nightingale’s wing, and 3 drops of his own blood.”

“I’m sorry? Excuse me? Did you say the hearts of 4 humans? As in, actual human beings? Is this fucking Snow White or something?”

“Yes, actual humans. I need to stop him from not only releasing the monsters but creating the potion as well.” Emily looked up from the book to check your reaction. You were taking it better than she could have hoped; she knew this must have been pretty shocking, and maybe scary too. She wasn’t really all that surprised though, you’d always been one of the bravest people she knew.

“Oh, shit. Okay, I want to help.” You stood, and Sergio leapt off of your lap. “I want to help you.”

“No, you can’t.” Emily said forcefully. “It’s dangerous, and you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself against him.”

“It’s dangerous for you too, Emily. And I want to help you, I can’t let you do this alone.”

“I can’t let you help me. I’m a fucking witch; I can protect myself. Do you have any idea how devastated I’d be if something happened to you?” Her eyes pierced into you, and her words shook as she spoke. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“I have to help you. I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

“You’re going to have to! Because my answer is no.”

“Emily, I am not going to let you do this alone.” You set your hand on top of hers and stroked it with your thumb. “It’ll be okay.”

Emily was quiet for a minute. She wouldn’t be able to take it if anything bad happened to you but she really did need help with this, and you really did want to help. After a few more moments of silent contemplation, she finally decided that she would let you help, but as soon as you were in danger she was going to send you back home.

“The first thing we need to do is figure out where he is.” She sat in front of the crystal ball, and you followed suit. Placing her hands around the crystal, she began to chant in what seemed to be another language. The ball began to fill with a light fog, swirling and pushing against the edges as if it were trying to escape. You finally heard her say a word you recognized, “Sephterani”, and the fog began to clear to reveal a dark wooded area.

“Where is that?” You asked.

“I think that’s down by Henson’s Creek.” Emily swiftly put her jacket back on, placed a few vials full of potions in the pockets, and grabbed a broomstick. You had no idea how she knew where it was from just a bunch of trees, but you were glad she did. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, don’t you need like, your hat or something?”

“My hat? Do you mean a pointy witch’s hat?” Emily scoffed. “We don’t wear those.”

“I mean, you have a broomstick, a crystal ball, a cauldron, and a black cat. I had to ask.” You teased.

By the time the two of you got to Henson’s creek, dusk had arrived. You hopped off the back of Emily’s broomstick, your stomach still churning from the ride. Smoothing your hair down, you watched as she somehow fit the broomstick into her small bag.

She gestured for you to follow her through the woods, but as she looked back at you and thought about how dangerous this could be, she wasn’t sure she made the right decision in allowing you to come.

With the sun’s slow disappearance came the awakening of the woodland creatures, and Emily could feel your uneasiness. Every time an owl hooted or a coyote howled, your pace slowed and your breath quickened. Finally, even though it might alert Sephterani of your presence, Emily lit up the end of her wand like a flashlight so that you could feel a bit better.

“Emily?” You whispered. “What are we gonna do once we find him?”

“Well, first I’m gonna try to talk him down. And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to have to fight him.”

“Like, a fist fight? Or spells and stuff?”

“Uh, spells and stuff, I guess. But hopefully it won’t come to that.” As nervous as she was, Emily knew she had to keep up a brave face to keep you at ease. “And it probably won’t. I can be very persuasive.”

You nodded and continued walking beside her.

“Sh.” Emily suddenly stopped and held out her arm in front of you. “Do you see that?”

Squinting, you peered into the darkness. “Yeah, I do. Holy shit.”

A bit ahead of you were 4 people, unconscious, and tied to a tree. Emily raced towards them and you trailed close behind her. She knelt down beside them and cut the people free; they all fell to the ground with gentle thuds. She took her wand and muttered something, tapping each of them on the forehead.

“What was that for?” You asked, kneeling next to her.

“So that they won’t remember this.” Prentiss said gently.

You nodded and stood back up. “Why would Sephterani just leave them here? Why not just kill them right away? I mean, I’m glad that we got to them before he did, but I don’t quite understand how we did. Where is he?”

“I’m not sure.” Emily sighed. “It’s possible we’re walking right into a trap, but at least we’ve saved them.” She gestured towards the people lying on the dirt, and with a flick of her wand, they disappeared. “They’re all in the town center park now. They’ll be confused, but they’ll find their way home.”

You stared down at your shoes, unsure of what to say. Maybe it had been a mistake to come along with Emily; you really did want her safe, but what could you do about it? You weren’t sure that you could help her, and maybe you were even making it harder on her.

As if she could read your mind, Emily spoke. “Hey, I’m really glad you came with me. This is really creepy, and it’s nice to have you here.”

You nodded and smiled, looking back down at your shoes.

“So now we wait.” Emily lifted her chin and leaned back against the tree. “He’ll come back soon enough. Definitely before midnight.”

The sky grew darker and the moon rose higher, it was hours later but Sephterani still hadn’t come back. Both of your suspicions that it was somehow a trap were getting stronger. But there you were, waiting anyway. The two of you talked the entire time, trying to fill the scared silence. Slowly, each of you came to the realization that you felt most comfortable together.

You learned about her past: she was 13 when she found out she was a witch, and she struggled to hide it from her parents. When she was finally leaving for college, she went to one that taught magic while pretending to be a normal college. Their acceptance rate was 6.3%, because so many non-magical people applied to it thinking it was just a really good college. When Emily graduated, she knew she needed a normal job to keep her parents off her back, so she applied to the FBI. That way, she could still be helping people, even if it wasn’t with her magic. Once she came into contact with Sephterani, though, it started to interfere with her work, and she had to leave a few times to track him down. She was hoping to one day stop him once and for all.

And she learned about you and your past: how strong and kind you were, the hardships you’d been through, and the times you’d been most happy. She also learned that she was starting to fall in love with you.

Emily couldn’t take her eyes off of you. The moonlight lit up your skin, sparkled in your eyes, and glowed on your hair. She looked down at her hand to see that yours was placed on top, but she didn’t know if you had put it there out of affection or out of fear. God, how she hoped it was affection.

As you looked up at the moon, Emily softly called your name. “I really like you, Y/N.”

“I really like you too, Prentiss.” You turned to look at her, and she started leaning in. She was so close you could feel her breath on your lips, but suddenly she gasped and pulled away.

“I like you as well, Emily Prentiss.” A deep voice came from above you. Sephterani had come out of nowhere, and he lowered onto the ground, his dark green cloak billowing around him and scattering the fog that had arrived along with him. “It’s too bad that I’m going to have to kill you.”

Tags: @thewriterandhercat @spencer-puppies-and-stuff @fl0werb0nes18 @teatimewithtiya

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss fic #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds #sorry to end on such A TERRIBLE LINE #i couldnt think of anything else to say #its so cliche :')#and cheesy #pls give me feedback if u enjoyed! <3 #mine #my fics

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internationalspacehobo · 5 years

Text

copying stuff from the wayback machine bc it doesnt work half the time

Destiny, written by Michael G. Ryan

“I don’t believe in destiny,” Captain Gerrard said.

The ship was already in the hellish plane of Rath, everything in black and red, the colors of death. Some of the Weatherlight’s crew, the bolder ones, were organizing to disembark, and Crovax could no longer stand the idea that he was probably alone in the terror of his destiny unfolding like a bloody horror.

“But it’s inevitable,” Crovax said. Rath’s hot winds roared, almost drowning him out, though the two men stood only feet apart.

Gerrard said, “Believe whatever you want. I make my own choices.”

“What if someone chooses for you?”

Gerrard touched his sword hilt and grinned at the nobleman. “Then I unmake their choice.”

* * *

[Sword of the Chosen, by Adam Rex]

Falling from the sky toward them, she was angelic, but in appearance alone. Her wings curved and collapsed, white as snow with the red-and-black skies of Rath behind her, and if not for the sword she aimed at their small group, she might have been a heavenly messenger. Deliverance with feminine grace. A dream.

“Selenia,” Crovax whispered the angel’s name. He was second in line as the rescue party from the Weatherlight moved single-file across a stone bridge in search of Volrath’s Dream Halls. They were somewhere deep in the evincar’s mountain. If Gerrard had brought them any closer to finding and saving Captain Sisay, it was impossible to tell. Arched over nothing but blackness, the bridge left them all vulnerable to attack, so Mirri had insisted on going immediately behind Starke, who led them, and directly behind her came Crovax, cloaked in his own misery. Gerrard himself was at the rear, his commands whisper-hissed to Tahngarth the minotaur, then to Karn the golem, and ultimately falling silent and useless with the preoccupied Crovax. The angel’s unexpected arrival stirred him from that walking coma for the first time in long hours.

Starke whirled as if to retreat from Selenia’s descent, only to find himself staring directly into Mirri’s snarl. Her snout pulled tight, revealing feline fangs and battle fury; her eyes were narrowed to nearly invisible slits. By contrast, Starke’s ghostly features had gone another shade of pale.

“We have to run,” he said.

“Then run,” the cat warrior said. “But not this way, you coward.”

Crovax’s voice reached them on the blasts of the hot undercurrents that swept their hair and challenged their balance. “She’s not here for any of you. She’s finally come for me.”

Mirri said, “To kill you, you mean.”

And then the dark angel was among them, her powerful wings both armor and swords, and her blade an extension of her arm. Crovax wasn’t wrong—though Starke’s limited spine was easily within strike range, she battered past him and Mirri, her attack aimed exclusively at Crovax. Starke howled in fear, ducking Selenia’s afterthought blow with her wings, his knees crumbling. Mirri raked upward with her own sword, narrowly missing Selenia’s laced boots.

“The kitten has claws,” she heard Selenia sing; Crovax’s sharp intake of breath punctuated the lyricism of Selenia’s voice. Mirri was unmoved by either of them—she flipped directions on the narrow bridge, one foot extending out over bottomless space for a moment, and struck at the angel again. In her peripheral vision, she could see Gerrard and the minotaur Tahngarth jockeying to join the unexpected fray.

Selenia was not so focused on Crovax as to be caught unaware. Her backswing caught Mirri across the middle, and the cat warrior went down. A trench of blood opened up amidst her belly fur. Selenia’s swing twirled her like a ballerina in the air, her feet wrapped around one another and pointed down, her body a graceful sword as she turned on Mirri.

“Don’t,” Crovax groaned. He raised his weapon inelegantly. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me have come all this way to find you for this. For this.”

In another time, in another place, Selenia might have had much to say now about how her creation and his bloodline were destined for one another; how she didn’t choose this fate for either of them. She might have even hinted at the curse she carried for him like a rare but murderous disease to share between lovers. Here and now, however, she easily batted aside his sword with her own and drove silently for the killing stroke. Crovax closed his ears to Gerrard’s warning cry from behind and his eyes to the fate he welcomed if he couldn’t choose to have Selenia at his side.

“For this,” he whispered.

His angel’s song filled his ears—his funeral dirge. But it turned to a howl of fury and agony as Mirri rose up behind the angel, her sword flipped in her hands to drive it like a stake directly between Selenia’s wingblades. She caterwauled as she struck, a screeching sound that cut straight to Crovax’s gut. When he opened his eyes, Selenia was already disappearing before him. Feathers from her wings exploded like snowflakes around them, and the colors that surrounded her seemed to fade to black and white before washing away to nothingness. Her eyes were filled with pain and regret, and she reached for Crovax with an open palm as if welcoming him to a wedding altar. In a moment of blind desperation, he even reached for her. His hands came away filled with lifeless feathers.

Then she was gone, disappearing, uncreated again, leaving him facing Mirri amidst a cloud of feathers that began to melt just like those snowflakes they reminded him of. The cat warrior gasped, lowering her blade from the death blow she’d dealt to the angel. Blood ran down her belly.

“She was going to kill you, you idiot,” she said, stumbling dizzily near the edge of the bridge. She caught herself, straightened herself, her eyes seeming to reflect the black-and-white fade that had foretold the angel’s demise.

Crovax whispered, “I think I was going to let her.”

“Well,” the cat warrior said, “I thought differently.”

* * *

They were back aboard the Weatherlight, their rescue mission complete, their departure time suddenly screaming upon them as the enemy warship Predator discovered their own vessel floating above the stronghold’s gardens where they boarded. Gerrard was on deck, commanding, elated with their success and the minimal price they’d paid to succeed. Unfinished business that could easily wait. Their party more or less intact. Wounds that would, in most cases, heal.

Below deck, in a bunk reserved for the injured, his oldest friend Mirri died.

[Convalescence, by D. Alexander Gregory]

After she had drawn her last breath and went swimming one last time in a long-forgotten memory of her litter mates, she closed her eyes as Crovax had done when his fate seemed upon him on the bridge. She could hear her own purring, self-comforting and loud in her ears. She heard the latches lifting on the door as someone, probably Orim the healer, came to check on her. She heard her heartbeat, withering and surrendering. Nearly done. Nearly free.

Dangling at the end of her life’s rope, she simply let go, and the fall to freedom was silent and long.

“Mirri?” Crovax breathed into that silence some hours later. He stood over her bunk in the shadows, his black skin blending with the darkness. He could not hear her breathing. “Mirri, are you—?”

“Fine,” she whispered, opening her eyes.

Her pupils were gone, washed away, and the white holes in her head that stared up at him were ones Crovax had seen before. They glowed in the darkness that engulfed them both. He stepped back, one hand dropping to his sword.

[Mirri the Cursed, by Kev Walker]

“Oh, Selenia,” he said. “What have you done?”

“The only thing I could,” Mirri answered. “Was it me or the vessel I was trapped in that you loved? It shouldn’t matter where my soul lives, as long as it lives with you.”

The Weatherlight shook as its engines began to fire up and turn the ship, tipping the chamber toward the dead thing in the cat warrior’s body. The bunk swayed, and somewhere up above, a cannon boomed in the distance.

Crovax took another step away. “Whatever you are, don’t lie. Selenia wouldn’t speak of souls—she never had one. And you’re clearly not Mirri. So, who are you?”

The cat warrior sighed, stretched, touched the bloody bandages across her stomach. The wound was more pleasing than damaging to her now. “Baggage. Your baggage.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think you do.” She bared her fangs at him with such ferocity that Crovax almost laughed in his fright. Mirri said, “I’m the delivery you failed to claim. One death and one curse, but I suspect you knew when the angel died what final blessing she was meant to bestow. Your instinct to let her kill you was smarter than your intent to kill her first, but you allowed Mirri to make the claim instead. You should know she’s not too pleased with you right now. The names she calls you in here. Shameful.”

Crovax drew his blade, his head far steadier this time than when he last faced those dead angelic eyes. “Set her free. Now.”

“Why don’t you come in after her?” Mirri came to her feet, slouching as if parts of her insides were broken. The ship rocked with another cannon explosion. “If you’ll accept the curse as your own, you can have her back. Spare yourself the explanation to Gerrard that you let his best friend become a blood-drinker. Toss yourself overboard and let the others believe you were lost in the confusion. Split your soul with Selenia and accept what is rightfully yours—her preordained gift.”

She—it—must have known what Crovax’s reply would be. Perhaps it could read the answer in Crovax’s own eyes, or perhaps the sum of combined insight of the dark angel, the cat warrior, and the new being they had become when joined was greater than the parts. Either way, when the ship jolted in sudden descent, the thing that had been Mirri was on him, claws out, fur bristling, fangs gnashing. Where she laid a hand on him, he bled, and the smell of true lifeblood seemed to transform her. Her colors thickened and flattened in the half-light. Her jaw hung slack, her cheeks sinking until her face was hollowed like an unidentifiable corpse discovered in an old cave. Crovax cried out, backpedaling, abandoning all pretense of battling this monstrosity. He fled toward the battle cries on the deck, and it followed him on all fours, leaping stairs, stabbing holes in the floorboards as it came.

On the deck, beneath that red-and-black sky Gerrard had first described as a bruise, Crovax could see salvation in the others—Gerrard was at the rail, Tahngarth the minotaur mere feet behind him. Sisay, returned to them by the force of Gerrard’s will, commanded on the far side of the Weatherlight. But beyond them rose a massive ship the shape of a pincer, the Predator, the enemy, the superior force to be reckoned with. Even Gerrard, all ego and confidence, seemed bowed by the unexpected arrival of Volrath’s ship. Crovax rushed toward them, the Mirri-thing’s breath at the back of his neck; Gerrard bellowed for a steeper descent as the Predator barreled toward them in what seemed to be a ramming assault.

“Beware—” Crovax began to shout, just as it hit him from behind. Gerrard reached for him as he tipped over the rail; Tahngarth reached for Mirri. Neither of them was close enough, and together, Crovax and the cat warrior plummeted into the overgrowth of the gardens below them.

[Cataclysm, by Jim Nelson]

* * *

Go, Crovax willed Gerrard. I’ve brought this on us. On myself. I’ve failed.

Yet the Weatherlight descended toward them, even as the Mirri-thing tore and shredded him in a fury that neither Mirri nor Selenia could have conjured alone. Crovax could not imagine why she prolonged his murder; he didn’t resist.

The Predator turned, a hungry shark in the sky.

“Grab hold,” Gerrard shouted from above. Crovax looked up at the ship floating above him, its wood gleaming with promised salvation. Gerrard was at the rail, his head pivoting rapidly as he watched the enemy ship approach and the one-sided battle below. His face was a wreck of emotions, a battlefield after the right but before the dead have been claimed. Whenever he looked at Mirri—which was only in fleeting glances, Crovax could see—he looked as if he might start screaming and never stop. Nearby, Tahngarth dropped a rope ladder that was nearly within Crovax’s reach.

“Go,” Crovax cried back.

“Not without you,” Gerrard answered. His voice was mechanical, flat. “You’ll kill us all if you don’t come on. You have to hurry.”

The Mirri-thing hesitated, watching, seeming to will Gerrard to bring his entire crew voluntarily to their graves in Volrath’s gardens. The trap closes, Crovax thought, and thought again, Oh, Selenia. What have you done?

He reached for the ladder.

“Don’t leave me,” Mirri said. Selenia’s voice. “Not again.”

Crovax closed his eyes one more time, seeing the angel’s face as he listened, knowing his saving grace was dead and gone now.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, but he doubted she heard; Tahngarth was already reeling him in like a fish back aboard the Weatherlight, back where he would have to explain to Gerrard all that had led to his best friend Mirri’s death.

He almost let go of the ladder.

[Keen Sense, by Jim Nelson]

* * *

Later, in the darkness, his wounds bound and sleep desperately far away, Crovax couldn’t look up at the misery in Gerrard’s face as they spoke. The Weatherlight was so far gone from Rath and the undead thing Mirri had become that even Gerrard’s reckless nature was reined in by distance. They couldn’t go back.

“That’s all I can say is true,” Crovax finished. The lightless cabin where he rested was as cold as a graveside while he spoke. He shivered and clutched the white feathers he’d brought back from the bridge battle. “Then I was back on board with you. She was gone—they both were gone. This is what I know.”

Gerrard was silent for a long while, so long that Crovax wondered if he simply couldn’t find words to convey his horror, his pain, his disbelief.

“I didn’t want to, but I had to leave her,” he finally said. It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself, his own jury. "You can’t rescue someone who doesn’t want to be saved anymore. And there was no time—there was just time to get you.”

Crovax said, “I understand. Destiny is fickle and inevitable.”

“Let me tell you something.” Gerrard’s voice was soft, deliberate, and—to Crovax’s mind—menacing. He rose from the side of Crovax’s bunk, his face receding into the shadows once more. “And don’t ever forget this, Crovax. There’s no destiny. You chose for all of us.”

“I promise you," Crovax answered. "I can’t forget.”

[Crovax, Ascendant Hero, by Pete Venters]

#mtg story #long post

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alicnism-a · 7 years

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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY RULES. repost, do not reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck ! TAGGED. @fractusanima thnx. TAGGING. @hyacinthsgirl ; @dearnicolai ; @archivieren ; @rxcusant ; @popokki ; @radiantdescender ; and anyone else bc this is long and takes a lotta time.... aha

BASICS.

FULL NAME : Ritoku Gryudax of Injledyle NICKNAME : Toki AGE : 79 ( roughly 16 human years ) BIRTHDAY : Not applicable ETHNIC GROUP : Nikkiluaz NATIONALITY : Laboratory Experiment LANGUAGE / S : Native ( doesn’t have name yet ), [ English ] SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Not applicable, unknown ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Not applicable, unknown RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Single, not looking CLASS : Vagabond HOME TOWN / AREA : Laboratory of Injledyle on the Gryu Isle CURRENT HOME : Wherever his wings take him PROFESSION : Loner

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Pure white like snow EYES : Sea foam green, almost cerulean NOSE : Small, tip turned slightly upward, rounded out, almost what you see on a cat/dog FACE : mostly round like a ball, somewhat chubby around his cheeks at the midpoint LIPS : thin and small COMPLEXION : pale white, as if he’d burn easily BLEMISHES : Skin appears slightly darker (greyish) around his eye like a mask SCARS : None HEIGHT : 166 cm [5′04] WEIGHT : 53 kg [116 lbs] BUILD : Appears frail, thin and lanky FEATURES : Slightly pointed ears in line with his eyes, large pair of pure white wings used for flight, skin at his lower arms and legs also appear at a slightly darker tint (greyish) than the rest of his arms, pure white fluffy tail with greyish tip, fur on upper arms that also breaks out into downy feathers, greyish freckles across his cheekbones ALLERGIES : USUAL HAIR STYLE : Choppy and messy a top his head, no longer than his jawline USUAL FACE LOOK : Nonchalant, sometimes curious yet typically indifferent to his surroundings USUAL CLOTHING : typically wears a short sleeve shit underneath a jacket, a pair of capri pants, almost like floods, with a pair of combat boots over his feet.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : He fears being controlled by someone or something once again, to be locked up from the rest of world and isolated from nature that surrounds him. ASPIRATION / S : To live the greatest life he possibly can, be his own being POSITIVE TRAITS : Capable, courageous, daring, efficient, freethinking, resourceful, self-sufficient NEGATIVE TRAITS : Aloof, arrogant, blunt, careless, childish, escapist, narrow-minded, secretive ZODIAC : Though it’s not really applicable to him, he’d most likely be an Ares TEMPERAMENT : Choleric SOUL TYPE / S : Performer. Performers are outgoing, charming people with a strong sense of fun; seems relatively like him honestly. ANIMALS : He’s a porcupine! Porcupines are physically small individuals with an over-abundance of attitude. Sounds just like him honestly. VICE HABIT / S : Toki is very reckless at times, not truly giving a care in the world about whether what he’s doing is proper or by the book; this recklessness brought him to escaping from the laboratory to begin with. He may also be impatient in certain circumstances and also arrogant when the time accounts for it in his favor. FAITH : He really only has faith in himself GHOSTS ? : They’re possible to appear to him AFTERLIFE ? : He doesn’t have an exact answer to this REINCARNATION ? : It’s a little difficult for him to 100% believe it ALIENS ? : Yes, duh POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Government is nothing to him ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Toki really could care less, as long as he’s able to survive SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : He really doesn’t have a position EDUCATION LEVEL : Self taught

FAMILY.

FATHER : Doesn’t have a true father MOTHER : Doesn’t have a true mother SIBLINGS : He considered all the other experimental children his siblings until he left them in the lab EXTENDED FAMILY : Not applicable for him NAME MEANING /S : His “last name” comes from Isle of Gryu aka Gryudax HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Not applicable

FAVORITES

BOOK : The dictionary (?) MOVIE : Not applicable A SONG : Not applicable DEITY : Not applicable HOLIDAY : He’d most likely enjoy Halloween the most MONTH : Doesn’t really have one SEASON : Prefers earth’s spring season PLACE : Mountain tops WEATHER : Cloudy days, nice breeze blowing SOUND / S : Stream running and critters scuttling across the ground SCENT / S : Raw / cooked meats and cherry blossoms TASTE / S : Fruits and meat FEEL / S : Soft, lush grass and dying leaves that crunch underneath his feet ANIMAL / S : Anything edible NUMBER : Not applicable COLOR / S : Purples / Lilacs, Crimson reds, Emerald greens, and Blacks

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Well clearly he can fly which makes certain things quite easy for him. He’s excellent at hunting down his own prey. Toki is pretty quick to pick up on languages and simply remembers everyone by their natural scent rather than faces. BAD AT : Picking up on slang terms and definitions, staying focused on his tasks at hand without getting distracted, keeping himself out of harms way due to his reckless tendencies. TURN ONS : Not applicable, bc he never experienced this stuff TURN OFFS : Not applicable, bc he never experienced this stuff HOBBIES : Gliding around, watching human beings, learning to write TROPES : Bold Explorer, In harmony with nature, Fish out of water, No social skills AESTHETIC TAGS : Sky, wings, white, fruit, sweet, sour, clouds, cool, forest, field, soft GPOY QUOTES : Not applicable

#⇲ ❝ learning our ways ✖ headcanon ;;#this was fun tho !!#some things are still kinda not applicable to toki at the moment #so maybe some day i'll do a revamp of this when they're not #idk #bc this did take a lotta time #tho it probs didn't help that i constantly had to stop just to blow my nose #eugh getting a cold sucks

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you-me-and-jermaine · 5 years

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Big Cat Facts!

Today we went to Jukani, a big cat sanctuary. Our guide was Bert (who grew up on a game farm with cheetahs in the house) and he was the most knowledgeable dude, who taught us so much shit about cats. Here are the notes I took. If you don’t care about lions/tigers/etc, don’t read anymore bc this is literally all this post is, but it’s super interesting so maybe keep reading!

All cats fall in the species of feline. Housecats are those that meow and have no “fingerprint” or marking on their ears. Housecats include your everyday cat, but also cheetahs, pumas, caracals. Anything with a fingerprint and roars is a panther- jaguars, lions, tigers, etc.

Bengal tiger- 202 white tigers lefts in the world in captivity, 80% dead on birth bc so much inbreeding with the ones left.

This tiger is 80% blind at 1/3 of its life bc if inbreeding.

Tigers are wet cats, stay in the shade, swim everyday and go to bathroom there in the water.

Last white Tiger killed in india in 1953

Number one human killer.

Snow leopard is not a leopard, can’t roar, subspecies of tiger.

Tigers and lions are very opposite.

Tigers are allergic to their partners and basically hate each other, they do quick “hit and run” mating and then go back to ignoring each other, antisocial cat, male tries to kill babies when born bc they’ll grow up to try to kill him, female takes care of them as single mom and keeps male away, tigers sleep very little bc its always patrolling.

Lions protect family w life, sleeps most of the time, never leaves family, dry cat, poop on land and don’t bury to warn off other lions.

Tiger whisker goes for $22,500 and they have 50 on their face. High value is reason for extinction.

Spotted hyena is 95% successful in live kills, tigers and lions are 30%

Caracal- most successful killing cat- can run them down, also kills in trees, and can get birds in the air bc they can jump 90 degrees and hunts day and night. Kills 6 times it’s body weight (lions and tigers do 3 times). Kills for sport so very destructive. Can be tamed, along w cheetah (better than your average housecat), but will destroy your house (attack, kill, and skin your furniture). They eat feathers and can’t eat skin so they skin all their kill. Most cats eat skin to not develop ulcers but this cat can’t do that. Nature of a dog, stays w it’s human. Caracal is the logo for the Israeli woman’s troop. They use these cats to get rid of birds in airports.

White lions- only in SA. Can be beige to Snow White. Endangered cat, worth a lot.

Black back jackal- canine but not dog family.

Leopards- ghosts, uncontrollable and untamable. Only cat in no circus in the world in 130 years bc its so dangerous. Only cat that takes food up the tree. Killed giraffe 300kg baby and dragged it up a tree even though itself weighs under 100kg. Only cat that comes head first down the tree. Doing best in the world- from Asia. Breaks the neck to kill and kicks the animals insides out at the same time

Jaguar- South American. Bites the brain, quick kill. There are black leopards and black jaguars, but no black panther, so you have to specify. Has strongest bite in the world, 950kg pressure.

Cats stalk, dogs charge.

Cheetahs don’t jump.

Primates and horse are sweet meat, all others are salty. Bengal tigers and lions will eat humans in exchange for zebra or antelope bc still sweet.

Puma- first wave of puberty is 14 months nonstop, hormones changing every 20 mins. Then ovulates twice in a year- 17-50 days. Over 40 names for it in USA- mountain lion, cougar, etc. 28 names for them in SA. Puma concolor (scientific name)- One brown color- took on color of pine needles after millions of years of living in pines. Argentinian rugby team called Pumas but have picture logo of black jaguar.

Housecats can’t roar, only purr and opposite is true. All panthers can roar but can’t meow. Roar from stomach, meow from throat

Cheetah- shoulders loose for running, stick up behind the head. 0-120km in 2 seconds within 12-15 meters. .03% of the time do they touch the soil, mostly airborne, claws are only there to help them run. Shoulder separates from spine to help it turn fast. Hunts during the day, early morning and dusk, bc it doesn’t have to hide and hunt due to speed, but lions will follow it, kill it and take its food, so it hunts when they’re asleep. Can be tamed as a housecat, so friendly and cuddly.

Honey badger- toughest in world, turns 90 degrees in its own skin to get out of bites, skin is thick and female lions can’t bite through it. Don’t eat honey and not badger, immune to all spider scorpion and snake venom. Elephants part for them.

Lions- only cat that has bush on end of tail, comes from the fathers mane. Mane is not for defense or fighting, but an expression of how much testosterone running in the lion. Bigger the mane, higher the testosterone levels. Highest aggressive cat. Breaks down fences, doesn’t hop them. 30 year life span for female, man 6 years bc of fighting to protect family. Females are monogamous. Males will kill another male to take their wives and babies. When a female is widowed, will go into heat within 3 days. Has biggest kills, bc families to feed are so big. On every continent except Australia, bc that land mass broke away before lions migrated there. Females hunt bc there are so many in a pride, easier work. Females sexually ready at 4, dad will fuck her and have incest baby. Female will raise them but an outside male will come in and kill the babies so the incest line is dead. Females will be sisters but never related to males. Male will make sure all females eat, does physical inspection of the food. Only cat that makes sure their women fed. Males always eat first. 600kg pressure bite

Zebras has stripes to blend together and so lion can’t pick out the individual prey to attack. After baby zebra is born, mom turns around so stripes can imprint on the calf and baby knows who mom is.

Cheetahs are originally from the USA, got so fast from chasing down the fastest know gazelle- american prawnhorn. Went over Bering Strait and left America when prawnhorn went extinct.

Puma is 2nd fastest, long distance bouncer, and can do cliffs, so stayed in America for mountain goats after that gazelle went extinct.

Polar bears can absorb UV rays through hollow part of white fur to stay warm. Now dying of cancer, too much radiation bc of climate change. Hair is white for camo and heat absorption.

Hyenas give birth through penis (females have one too) and without umbilical cord. Baby is born and ready for war, eyes open and run within 3 days and full teeth. They are prehistoric old, had to fight dinosaurs, have 4 fingers, same as dinosaurs. Eats animals alive.

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