Twisted Slough i wish you'd die in the mire

for @Magpie de l'encrier

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The dark willows all around drew him in - the wet ground and dank scent in the air should have done the opposite - but there was something too familiar about the air here. It was hard to discern, slipping away all the while, even as he squeezed beneath the long, awkward branch-like roots that coiled in and out of the mire.

It was a miracle he hadn't gotten any of it in his sandy fur - thanks to his careful plodding across some of the more greener, mossier ground than that which was dark smudges of mud and fallen leaves. The only blessing was the way the cold winter's breeze had a hard time getting through it all. It was still terrible and fleeting, and as he traveled deeper into the dark, dim stretches, he wondered why he had dared to traverse it in the first place.

Some endless curiosity, maybe.

There was a faint thumping in his chest, so faint he'd hardly recognized it against the squelch of mud beneath his paws. The rhythmic beating of an anxious heart he thought to be stone cold by now, swirling a nonsensical, nauseating storm in his chest. It puzzled him terribly to feel that ill, at least just enough to be distracting as he'd begun lagging behind his muse. His strides stretched longer to make up the distance, body still crouched low to the ground as he stalked above the mud and moss expertly.

It was as if his Cormorant knew, like he'd taken them there on purpose, just the two of them alone in a fortress of trees. Magpie's eyes seemed to glitter at the thought, with wide blown pupils that swallowed every sliver of flaxen fur that flashed between the gnarled roots. The truth was just as enticing as his fantasy however, a tale of fox and rabbit he replayed over and over in his mind. The image of a frightful thing fully aware of what lingered just out of sight, anticipating its inevitable strike.

A low growl rolled like gentle thunder in his throat, completely void of aggression. He only wished for a glance back to the shadows he stalked, or the trembling call of a wolf so certain it had dwelled in solitude. Though of course, as he already knew well, that wouldn’t satisfy for long.

Cormorant's breath held - his paws frozen as his ears swiveled. His head turned slowly, brow furrowing as if he was in disbelief; it could be a trick of his mind, like the snap of a branch setting birds a-flight for no other reason than a what if?

But it was too distinct a sound and too near to be the far signal of a storm preparing to tear into the ground and through the air. He instantly drew up, shoulders tense and hackles rising along his spine. His nose tried to fight for a sign of recognition, but he had nothing to anchor on.

Cormorant didn't utter a sound like he had before, instead trudging quicker through the gloom - trying to hurry and place more and more distance between him and the presence not long behind. His paranoia faltered from its scream in his ear to one instead of self-judgement, was he truly afraid of his own shadow? He needed off of the ground proper, he just needed some kind of vantage - his front paws scrabbled out a damp, wilting branch, or tall root maybe, before him, thick enough to steady him, low enough to reach. Anything to get out of the mud and muck below.

In an instant his muscles were tensed, preparing to chase what may flee. It was almost beautiful the way Cormorant played his part, all with his distressed posture and flickering gaze. The memory held an immediate place in his mind he hoped to never forget.

Magpie's legs began to move in tandem with the other's, stepping heavier against the ground in hopes the wolf's own noise would mask the carelessness of his. The poor thing didn't seem to make it very far, however, as Magpie stopped abruptly and watched with mild panting breaths; a curious tilt to his head. It was laughable, the spectacle of a wolf scrambling up tree roots like a squirrel, but he had to admit it was clever for one so quick to panic.

He enjoyed the sight tremendously, though he knew it best to topple what confidence Cormorant had gained upon the roots before it went to his head. With a huff, Magpie ascended his own shelter of tangled branches, standing just parallel to the wolf on their respective ledges. He lowered his head just enough to still appear threatening, wetting his nose as he slowly made his way down the cluster of roots, and into the patch of mud that separated them. Like a spider descending its web, he worked gracefully toward his fly, offering the edge of high ground to keep him still.

Don't run. His tone held an ounce of malice he hadn't exactly intended, though he carried on with it as if it'd been planned. Didn't you miss me? Magpie feigned a distraught expression, completely contradicted by the subtle wag of his tail.

It was digusting - the faint echo of paws, a well-honed instict screaming in his ears that they weren't his own. It made him stupid, it made him clumsy and weak-legged, like he were going to fall from his already pathetic perch any second. Adrenaline was already racing through his veins, and it only made it worse as his paw slipped, almost toppling him backwards.

Cormorant hated that terrible face, as pale as the moon and as cruel as frostbite. He hated the confidence that made the other so sure and so comfortable to taunt and jeer and creep closer. He hated the awful fear that curdled in his stomach and made him falter and stumble and want nothing more than to run through the thickest part of the slough to try losing him. The way the first demand came, and nailed his deepest desire in the moment, sickened him.

Cormorant wanted to curse the ground he walked on, but his tongue was still, jaw almost slack in a frozen horror. He wanted nothing more than to be wrong, to be imagining it at all - but why would he? His words were little more than a flash of teeth and a trembled breath, Never. Never.

His snarl defensive, hackles raised but body drawn small. Leave me alone.

Magpie shook his head, an amused scoff replacing what yearned to be a snarled remark of his own. You don't want that. His tone was saccharine, warming his chest with the low vibration of each word, but it wouldn't last. He was nothing if not irritable, and someone so oblivious to their wealth was bound to get under his skin. You don’t even know what it means to be alone. Do you really think you would have made it this far without someone watching your back? It'd been an everyday routine, watching him sleep, keeping him safe. Who knows what might have happened to him if Magpie wasn't so graciously by his side. It was only the wolf’s pride that kept him from seeing just how lucky he really was.

To say It wounded him, seeing Cormorant so opposed to his affection, was dramatic even for Magpie; but after all they’d been through together, it certainly felt beyond ungrateful. His muzzle twitched in anticipation, so used to fixing issues like this in ways far less civilized. I know you're smarter than that. 

He hated the thin shriek of the wind, trying to coil between the trees. It made Magpie's words sound more awful, punctuated by the desolation of the willows around them. The knowledge that they were alone together and no one nearby - suddenly, turned down offers sounded like the tolls of his own funeral bell.

Cormorant's weak growl tapered away, ears swiveling forward, the picture of affront. The only thing he could say was a half-garbled, Stop.

He was beginning to back up, like he was gonna drop back off the roots and away, as though he wanted to melt into the dark of the trees and gloom the instant he saw an opening. Cormorant's expression pinched, a tragic agitation written across it, ears back to being half-hidden in the ruff of his neck. He shook his head, eyes never leaving Magpie's frame all the while, as if too long of a blink would summon his own demise. That sick feeling refused to leave, clinging to him like a poison, the unending reminder he had a watcher in the distance all this time. To chalk up any minor safety he had enjoyed, not to his own merits, but to the other's? He refused.

You're delusional. The slightest bit of fear fell to anger, and he fought to keep hold of it - to feel something more than the urge to flee.

His eyes clung to the wolf's feet, anxious to see just how bold he was willing to be. It didn't matter if he tried, Magpie would always catch up — but the curiosity that plagued him almost pressed to enable Cormorant's flight. Just to see how far he'd get. Oh, lovely thing, aren't we all? His paws scraped the base of Cormorant's perch, threatening to invade his space. I know you are, my little dreamer.

The wolf's disgust both irritated and elated him, either for more reasons than he desired to explore. His teeth strained together with the pressure of his jaw, squeezing shut and concealing the cruel creature inside that wished to spill Cormorant's blood into the muck below. He held it, held it as the other spoke against all he was made to be, but with just one wrong word it fell apart, and his jaw was quick to snap open.

Magpie lunged upward, teeth snagging the broader side of Cormorant's throat. He squeezed with surprisingly gentle pressure, yanking him down in one rough movement, a trickling cackle slipping through his teeth at the poor wolf's struggle.

The comfortable familiarity that Magpie spoke with made him want to vomit what little fare he had in his stomach; possessives where he deserved none. He owed him nothing, Magpie was nothing to him, nothing at all. Just a thorn in his side and an unbearable monster that plagued his sleepless nights. The casual encroaching on his space, he wanted to lash out, wanted to bite and gnaw at anything he could reach, but he feared that even if Magpie were stricken blind, he would still haunt him.

He knew better. He never should have allowed him near, he should've run, should've risked it. Cormorant let out a shrill cry even as he felt little pain, if any at all. His front legs were tipped and trapped against the bark too quickly. He met the ground with a strangled wheeze, falling onto his back and side without any chance to readjust. The sound of the other's laugh in his ears made him kick out, uncaring of the muck that dirtied his fur as he writhed in it. Maybe if he were disguised by it, Magpie would turn his nose in disgust.

He kicked violently, frantically, blinking his eyes clear even as the echo of Magpie's laugh tainted his ears and swept him away in a layer of hatred and terror. His teeth gnashed at air, unable to find any angle. Instead, he cried out, eyes tragically warm with unshed tears, Get off!

His careless laughter quickly morphed into a threatening growl, reminding the wolf of his position beneath him. It was refreshing, seeing that fight he loved so much, getting to contain it. Magpie waited for him to settle, pressing his teeth the slightest bit harder into the scruff he gripped with waning patience.

Though not as easy as he would've liked, he managed to drag the wolf a small ways, merely a few paces out of the heavy mud and onto something dryer. The effort was well worth it to him regardless, allowing him to bask in Cormorants cries all the while ignoring his pitiful attempts to wriggle free. Magpie gave the wolf a rough shake, snapping him out of whatever senseless panic he was in. He then spit the pelt from his mouth, hovering over Cormorant’s crumpled form with an unimpressed glower. You really need to stop shouting.

Far more gentle than he'd been, he slowly dipped his head toward the others, nosing at the fluff of his cheek. No one is going to hear you. You're just hurting yourself. A low satisfied sigh rustled the blonde fur beneath his nose, the scent of it sending pleasant flutters throughout his chest. It was warm, like a sun baked rock in August, filling him with a sense of peace so foreign, and yet so vital to his survival.

It was inevitable, the slip from indulgent to impatient. The growl was enough to sap the angry fight out of his sails, leaving him a frantic, thrashing thing. His paws refused to ground under him and he wasn't given a chance to stand - the grit in the muck hurt, stinging as he was roughed over suspended leaf litter and gravel. The extra pressure in his scruff had fallen from uncomfortable to humiliating, but he was back on sturdier ground before he could try anything else.

Cormorant's face of fright met the other's glower, head half-turned away, his eyes but slivers of blue in the shadow and gloom. To Magpie's goad, he said nothing, breath heaving through his nose in shallow whispers. The sensation of a warm face alongside his tied his stomach into knots; every part of him wanting nothing more than to recoil. Words died in his mouth like flakes of ash and his teeth clicked together, a stray chatter from how his body trembled.

The reminder of his solitude. It was just enough to crack through his petrified bones.

You're the one hurting me. It was a thin, winded murmur before his paws pressed the ground beneath him, shoulders bunching painfully. Cormorant shoved up, head whipping aside to try and bite at the pale snout too near to his. He didn't know what he was doing but he needed Magpie away. 

A flinching snarl met Cormorant’s teeth, sharpened ivories just grazing the end of Magpie's muzzle in a bitter exchange. He coiled back barely long enough to gather himself, then lunged back at the wolf, incisors bared. His jaws quickly snapped around a blonde throat, and he waited only moments before releasing it again — the tang of blood spiraling his mind far beyond what he could control. Do you hate yourself this much? Because it is taking everything I have.. Magpie's nose twitched under the tickle of iron, watching it drip and splatter against the other's muzzle, mixing into his own.

They were together in so many ways, in body, mind, and now blood. Magpie crooned, eyeing over his muse, settling over him with all his weight. He rested his head over Cormorant's, firmly pressing his ribs against the other's shoulders, effectively pinning his little bird's wings. I'm so happy we're together again, His tongue brushed gently against the red splotches staining Cormorant's muzzle, soaking in all of the flinches and grimaces earned from it. I know you are too.

It was like a miracle - the taste of blood on his teeth and the scent of it in his nose. It smelled too much like Magpie himself. A snarl and snap skid along the top of the other's maw, reciprocated by pain flaring up his neck. It was vicious and quicksilver. Cormorant yelped, tugging away, to no avail. He was a shrieking restless thing, falling to the earth again when the cruel teeth let go. He immediately curled away, trying to shelter the bite away from opportunistic teeth.

I hate you, He sniffled, adrenaline slipping away like it was never really there, ushering in the aches and pains of scrapes, pulled fur, and bruised skin. So quickly he went, from angry and defensive to quiet and mournful. The blood so easily spilled ruined everything he could perceive, the color, the taste, smeared in the dark, it was still wrong against everything else.

The press of his keeper's weight trapping him to the ground made it all the worse to try and catch his breath. He hated feeling like nothing, and like this, it was worse, inescapable. Cormorant couldn't begin to leverage up as he was, Magpie too high onto his shoulders and neck - but it didn't stop him from trying to curl away further, drawing his hindlegs toward himself, fearfully protecting his stomach.

His nose wrinkled and his head tried to pull away from the unwanted grooming, eyes firmly hinging on the ground or shielded by the welcome dark of his eyelids. His skin crawled, trying to ignore the warmth protecting him from winter's chill. His voice was a strangled whisper, You're wrong.

He hummed, nuzzling into the dryer fluff of Cormorant's neck, swimming in the deep, uneasy breaths it pulled from him. Am I? That's not a common occurrence. Magpie’s voice had taken on a condescending bite, belittling the wolf with just its inflection. His eyes threatened to flutter shut as comfort warmed his bones, too easily swept away by the feeling. He remained conscious still, however, if only barely by his need to control, a heavy sigh breathing words through his teeth. I won't be for long.

He shifted against the flaxen lump beneath him, purely to remind Cormorant he was here to stay for as long as Magpie could manage. A stomach churning smile crept over his muzzle, slightly evident in his tone, though he didn't personally mind. You used to enjoy my company quite a bit. Don't you remember? He raised his head the slightest bit, huffing a tender laugh over the other's cheek. I remember. You were so lonely, so vulnerable..

His breath hitched, the audible tell of a passing thought caught between his teeth. Still missing mommy and daddy?

It took everything not to snarl back a spiteful response; everything Magpie dared to taint his ears with was a violation of the truth, wild and stupid and self-serving. It brutalized all in its path with assumptions. It made his heart squeeze with anger, like the burgeoning tantrum of a child. He had almost hoped their lapse of silence would be enough to shake Magpie away, off into the dark without anyone 'fun' to torment. He was wrong time and time again, flinching roughly at the breath whisking past his face.

His tongue remained clasped tightly in his teeth, lip trembling with a flash of teeth so desperate to shine. He despised the reminder - that Cormorant had ever been naïve enough to let him in, to let a stranger with just the right pomp and praise slip into knowledge he was undeserving of. Cormorant had learned since then, but it was too little, too late. The viper was already in the den, and it refused to go.

Goading words sunk deep and he lurched, violently writhing and twisting as he tried to fight out from the other - snipping at Magpie's jaw and silken neck, anything to get him to flinch back, to let him up to his own paws. A dire and dying vigor spinning his head into a nauseous slideshow, eyes too blurry to understand anything he saw, save for the wailing white wraith before his nose. A slew of words tumbled from his mouth, swept in growls and distinctly a different language - none of them kind and few of them clear.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: mild maiming

Yelped curses split his composure, sending his head tossing back and away from snapping jaws. There was a pang of humiliation where his pride should've blossomed, breaking his falsified morals like a twig underfoot. His throat stung as bitter wounds leaked over his fur, painting a once dark visage, crimson and hateful. A flailing leg swiped past his nose, then back again, this time snatched up between Magpie's own itching teeth. The ease in which he bit down was like a stone through water, slicing through twitching tissue, so sweet and tender against his tongue.

He eased up on the limb, halted only momentarily by the cries of its owner, then snapped down again, applying more pressure than before. There was a nauseating pop, followed by the minor marring of pelt and flesh, until eventually Magpie deemed it enough. He dropped the leg from his maw, letting it curl limp to Cormorant's belly with a disappointed huff. His fur settled down his spine, the adrenaline now sapped from him, leaving only disgust and dissatisfaction. C'mon worm, get up. A mixture of blood and drool pooled from the corners of his muzzle like a festering wound, flooding his senses with only the scent of bitter iron — pushing out Cormorant's previous comforting aroma. You wanted up so badly, so let's see it. Let's see how far you get.

Cormorant gnawed at whatever he had reached, unsure if he was doing anything at all - given the burning taste already confusing his tongue; blood and frenetic saliva mixing indiscernibly. The sting of a bite through his skin and already grinding against muscle and bone made him shriek - a strangled breath catching in his throat as Magpie made to let go. A flutter of gratitude against his ribs made him slow, drawing himself back down and together if it meant he would avoid any —

Stop, stop! Cormorant wailed, trying to twist out of his grip. A terrible shriek intertwined with the agony, his other legs going from kicking to just trying to steady himself, whether it be against the jagged ground or against Magpie's chest. His breaths were pained whines, one after the other in a tragic tune. The instant the limb was released, he had been so eager to have it freed that it hit the ground with a painful punctuation; another cry leeching from him.

He drew himself away as best he could, forelegs scuffling against the lichen-like grass in more of a drag than a crawl, bringing him only a step away before he collapsed down again. His leg, Cormorant's next whine was feeble, unable to stomach looking at it for more than a single long second. His fur was already matted with blood. The sounds of words were muffled and hazy, washed away by pain and his own pulse, speeding in his ears. Fear stabbed through, focusing him on the only thing he could understand in time.

A monster's poking and prodding - that's all he could glean. The tiniest tinge of indignation was flooded away by a cold, unforgiving helplessness. He couldn't stand to look at him either, just loosely shaking his head, tongue paralyzed in his mouth, eyes fluttering, unfocused, from the grass to his paws to his bloodied fur, and back. He refused to move, the discomforting warmth of blood rushing through where it didn't belong, of an unnatural warmth refusing to abate, pulsing in time with the ache up and down his leg - in the tune of a heart, ready to beat from his chest.

Magpie watched with cold, near lifeless eyes, his form stock still in contrast with Cormorant's writhing limbs. It was a wonder he hadn't snapped sooner, seconds ago, weeks ago, the day he left him really. He tilted his head gently, taking in the wonders of his work. Would've saved him so much time.

He stepped closer to the sniveling mound, marveling at the delicate flesh still trickling blood. There was something deep within him, deeper than possible to explore, tugging at his heart as he took in the sight, but to give into such feelings would be to throw away everything he knew, and now wasn't the time for back peddling. You're fine. His tone was measured, snippy and cruel just as he'd always been, set back to his default state after a much needed bout of excitement.

It was difficult to manage it, to contain the urge to keep going — but love is a thing of weakness, and his was no exception. He didn't even mean to let go, instead letting go of his mind which loosened his jaw for him. Pitiful as it was, it was nothing he could shake, so he'd mold to what he could for now.

His nose brushed the back of Cormorant's shoulders as he approached, making room for his snout to rest as he plopped down beside him. Magpie cuddled up close, becoming a smaller shape to fit against the curve of Cormorant's back. He could vaguely make out the wolf's face through his fur, getting a curious glimpse of his distraught, tear stained features. Just breathe.

Cormorant had tried to disappear within his own fur, injured leg having pulled in further to him, even though it came not without its own tinge of reawoken agony. He had fully flinched when Magpie neared, every part of him wanting to scrabble and scream into a corner if it meant the monster would just let him rest. Already, the belittling chipped away at him, and he was too exhausted and hurting to try anything else. He just fell slack, head on his paws, tilted towards his injured side - newly reminded of the lesser pains of his neck.

His eyes were still wet, his stomach tied in knots. All he could do was fall silent, remain still; the lids of his eyes already heavy. He thought to try and lick away some of the blood, to try and soothe the pain in some way, but he couldn't manage it, dread paralyzing him - and it was only worse as another form molded to his.

Cormorant thought to murmur a plea, but what would he ask? What wouldn't give Magpie just another dose of leverage? Instead, a little hitch of his breath and then the bubbling of another cry or whine or something - all he could do was tuck his snout along one foreleg, and drape the other overtop. He didn't know if he could truly sleep, a strange numbness dripping through him in quiet ripples; but like this, he could pretend. He could pretend it was a generous soul keeping him company, harboring him, until his eyes were open again, until he was turned to reality, and his new crushed existence.