Emberwood [m]Reach for light.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: The next upcoming posts will contain violence, language

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He traveled for miles. Mindless limbs that carried him farther than he ever knew they would. The trees felt dim. The sky felt faded. A dreary head, eyes aloof and spread across mossy floors. By day, Gunnar grew weaker. By day, he too, grew smaller. An ever-flying moth to a flickering flame, he saw light at the end of the tunnel. It’s dark and it’s solitary. But so vast. Draped in overgrowth, and there was his body and his conscious that should not be in it. It was not.

After time, he didn’t know what he’d come to do out here. Maybe he thought he’d find something for the old man. There was also this persistent sensation gnawing in his gut, like a pestering bell that would not stop chiming. Like a river crashing waves against his walls, and he’s already had enough. Bonnie told them. He told them to shut up. That he was tired of hearing it- and feeling as though each burst of rumbling tide was digging its nails into the cracks of his skin. It wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t leave him alone. Would not cease its will, and he grew exhausted by onslaught. For every grind of his teeth, bitter by unsaid words and things said in too many, he could not think straight. Light long dead in a crestfallen day with clouds unkind. There was growing anger.

Also a brittle boy.

Oakwood eyes, burnt at the edges, distracted by shrubbery all foreign. They all looked the same. He’d seen them all a million times, and none of them looked familiar. The same leaves. The same stems- some skinny, some not. He was no doctor. No nurse.

For hours, he walked along the emberwood in a quiet. Easy to pace. Giving attention to nothing. Swiftcurrent Creeks borders had been rounded. He’d been quick. Stark from tranquil eyes, his tail lashed behind his legs and his head came to a quick rise. Nothing. He was quick on the move again, searching.

@Grackle

Too excited for words <33

She had left the coast, her pelt all static and prickling with anxiety. She would return soon; she was sure of it. Return like a dog with her tail between her legs, begging someone to comfort her and hold her like the pup she knew she really was. She was no woman, no warrior. Just a small girl playing pretend in a body that didn't fit quite right.

Why had she bitten the hand that had fed her? Pushed her pack, her family, to the point of no return? To the point where the only way to silence her was to be rid of her entirely? She had pushed them all away. Pushed them all away from the very day she arrived in their camp. Then she snubbed and spurned them, and they, in turn, pushed her away too. And she had dared to curse them there, to vow her revenge, to vow that they would rue the day they had made an enemy of her. Her the child. Her the fool.

The events of the past two weeks surged through Grackle's mind, through her body. Months of solitude, meeting Coraline in the woods, her heart pounding and dancing in ways she didn't understand, then her encounter with the man the very next morning.

When had she ever felt things like that? Felt things at all? Other than the anger that had kept her warm all those cold nights in the camp so far away. She hated the stress that coursed through her, crushed her chest, and made her hair stick up on end. That made her body burn in such a way that she was sure if someone touched her, she would scream. And scream. And then cry. Let the hot tears pour down her face, and then maybe she would feel okay. But that would not happen. They would not come. They never did.

She wanted to feel the anger again, or nothing at all. Give way to the comfortable numbness that enveloped her like a hug and silenced her screaming senses. She wanted to hunt, to rip into something living. To witness the dread mirrored in someone else's eyes, to play god. To get high on adrenaline and the scent of fear.

Her muscles tensed, preparing to spring into action and destroy, slaughter, obliterate, and forget. But instead, she froze. Face to face with a stranger who carried the same heavy, oppressive aura. A stranger of her own age but still a boy in the same way she was still a girl. In that instant, Grackle was certain that they shared an unspoken understanding, or maybe it was only her imagination. But how could they not? How could you not recognize a kindred soul forged in the same crucible, cold as stone and hot as fire?

A call.
       

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He ripped across nature paths and made his own, head on a swivel on ready to target something familiar. Something he knew. There was nothing wrong with Gunnar. He knew he was not ill. He knew he was not rotting. 

He knew even more that it was a deranged attempt of dramatized pity. He was not sick, and should he be, he was a weak man if he could not pull through it. Anyone could. He was no father if he couldn’t. No man. No leader. If he had stepped down from his position because of it, then he never deserved to be a man of order. No Fadir. There was nothing wrong with him.

At a stop, spiky fur raised at a bristle upon the simplest of towns. The mane along his back shook wildly with a wildcats eyes, hackles rippling down his spine in jolts. The look on this boy, hardly a man, was feral. Black tipped guard hairs, a pelt of rolled dust and a mouth that tore through stone. There was her. There was him.

And this woman.

In his way.

If they wanted him cut from this stone, then he would become it. He would be it. He would be everything they wanted him to be, and look them in their eyes when their disappointed faces fell upon them. A nasty growl erupted from the street-borns throat, cracking along his tongue as his unkempt tail lashed in the air after a terrible still. A foot forward, electrocuted by the ground. A head leveled to his shoulders, then to a raise.

Undeniably, there are bone shards in his bloodstream. Riddled with a steady breath that slips from his mouth, nose. Calm, in the eye of a violently rapid tornado. They wanted to fix him? He would undo it. All of it. One by one, to pluck threads hardly strung and bridges hardly built. His tail flagged. Look to me. Come to me.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: A little suggestive, but in a blood-lust kind of way

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Let's struggle on the edge of death
Show me your bad manners too

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Gods, she wanted him. Badly. Viscerally. Wanted him to pull the coat from her skin, to let her do the same. Wanted him to spell her name with his teeth and make her come alive. Desire coursed through her like a wildfire. The desire for flesh, the desire for blood.

He called, and she obeyed, long limbs moving with an eerie grace all their own, large ears tucked tightly to the skull- adorned with nicks and tears from before the action had become second nature. The fur along her spine stood on end, each strand like a sentinel standing guard. She circled him, her eyes gauged his every move, her senses attuned to the reverberating growl that erupted from the depths of his belly. It echoed through the air, a warning, a promise of the storm to come.

Are you angry? Then fucking hit me
She lunged forward, her jaws snapping shut with an audible click, the razor-sharp teeth missing the soft cartilage adorning his head by a hair's breadth. A reminder. A small correction before the real event began.

The scent of her corvid fur grazed his nose. Air bursted between them in her landing, her teeth a shockwave across his ears. A dragons breath seeped from between his teeth and tongue; heavy, heated, scraping for life. Their paths have crossed, backs turned. Tell me I have life again.
Let me have yours.

He’d breathe into her everything she desired.

“As you wish.”

The ground threatened a morbid crack when his neck turned. Legs extended, teeth to a wolfs thirst and jaw opened with foul intent that plunged for her back. Intent to soothe. Intent to rip into her flesh alive. Intent to understand. Intent to learn her as she would learn him, and he was never more a being than he was now.

More of it.

More.

More.

More.

Spit flooded the air, wiry and burning with the very blood spinning through his body. Mind lost. Thoughts lead astray from this world and onto another, his body spinning aflame as he goes back into the deep. Everything he abandoned in dark night, erupted to return, engulfed. Bonario West is a relentless loose canon, whirling to grab her back and spin her violently to the ground. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To have him. She’d have him, and all of him in whole. He wanted nothing more but her, the blood upon his teeth so that he might be able to experience the sensation of taste once more. Bronze hues buried beneath graves, willing to dig themselves deeper until he was blind. 

He loomed above her, descending with the wrath of a cyclone, teeth bared and dripping with crimson rain. Her heart surged as she readied herself, her hind legs uncoiling like springs to deliver a resounding kick to his underbelly—an explosion of force that hurled him away.

With the grapple broken, she retreated, the world spinning from the ferocity of the brutal blows. A delicate pink tongue traced over obsidian lips, tasting the intoxicating tang of iron, and a grin, only slightly too wide, dawned upon her blood-stained countenance. It was a wicked visage, one that seemed to revel in the chaos of the battle, and a tinkling laugh burst forth, cascading through the clearing like a haunting echo.

Emerald eyes, as piercing as shards of shattered glass, remained locked onto those eyes that shone like a sun-kissed bottle of whiskey.
Good boy

It was her turn to oblige him, to give and pleasure, and she did not hesitate. Her logical mind was retreating into itself, letting her body move on its own accord. To dance in the sparking embers with this man she did not know the name of, free and unrestricted.

Here in this deeper self, in this place where she knew herself as a childish coward, she faced her enemies. Here, where they could inflict no harm on her, she could unleash all the pent-up words and screams that had festered since the darkest days of her past.


The sneering scorn that had greeted her on her first day at the camp when she was but a four-month-old pup.

The vicious strike from the Theta she had insulted, leaving a wretched scar etched upon her muzzle.

Her peers' ruthless cruelty, ears torn and food plundered, relentless training until her own blood choked her. The unending, echoing wails that had tormented her since she had been cast out.


These were not the precise, calculated strikes of a seasoned warrior, but the raw, untamed savagery of a beast driven solely by visceral emotion. How many times had she even landed a blow? When clarity returned, would she find the earth scarred by her savage claws while the boy remained unscathed?

Hurling towards the ground with a nasty kick landed on his stomach, spit lodged in his teeth released as his back came rushing to the ground.
Good boy.
He felt her weight, her blood intertwining with his pelt and the thick scent of her pleasures. Never more a being on this planet. Never more a capable being. Breathless, he did not relent. Not once as blood rushed from his coat, his neck a forest of injuries to run rampant as he continued to be knocked into again, again, again. Hardly could his fangs seep into her, a raging battle to land and to give all she asked for. Legs skidding across the ground, his entire weight shifted to his side, chest risen from the ground in wild breaks for air. No rest.
Breaking for her, he came like a tumbling meteorite to her front; a collision to take her head on.

For all that saw the ill in him, he would be as sickly as he pleased. A monster born from the blood of the poor, the weak, the gone. Where he could feel the true soul of being nothing, of something, and being here with her. The sorrows of her blows stole his agony away with a new pain; one he could stomach, one he wanted more of. He wanted to know her. She would know him. 

He would make sure she knew all of him, and that his name be scarred through his skin and bone until it was only them, here, now, in a world that didn’t belong to them and no longer needed them.
A bite for every time he disgraced West. A bite for every time he ran through the muck and was nearly rolled to death. A bite for all the faces that looked upon him as if he were scum. A bite for every foot that turned on him. A bite for all he’d never had, for every day he spent crossed by loneliness that he could not take back. A bite for every back he showed to the hand who fed him, who took him when no one else would, for all he’d fucked up and ruined. He wanted all of it to take him, as he wanted her to take him.

Until he had her on the ground, ready to rip her through the ground as she’d done to him and let her be dirtied by the same floor she put him on. Rip into me. Have me, as I have you. I will kill your mind to rid myself of the pain of my own. Thank me. Be me. Be with me.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Self Harm, Suicide Attempt

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Answer me
I want to feel your body heat against the blue flame of hypothermia

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Grackle was still drifting away in the void that was her mind. Her body was moving, and her words were flowing without conscious thought.

Are you a man or a boy? If you're a man, then hit me like one! Her forepaw slapped across his face, venomous words dripping from her mouth, accompanied by blood and spittle. Her relentless onslaught continued. Show me your anger! She spat, another powerful backhand crashing down from a different angle.

Is that the best you've got? Her teeth clamped onto his scruff, shaking him with relentless violence—an earthquake incarnate—before slamming into him with her full weight.

He retaliated with fervor, a flurry of biting and tearing, each movement punctuated by lethal intent. There it was. That was good. She floated in the abyss, content to ease her guilty conscience. Finally receiving the punishment she so rightfully deserved. She made no attempt to evade the onslaught.

Grackle met the ground with a resounding thud, the impact knocking the breath out of her lungs and bringing her back to reality. Her wild gaze darted around, confusion reigning as her chest heaved and she fought to reclaim the breath that had come so easily just a moment ago. How did she end up here? She couldn't remember.

She was staring up into his eyes. Eyes like hers, eyes like pit vipers, unwavering in their fury. His head would momentarily return to the same spot after landing a brutish snap, and her unwavering gaze would be there to meet him. She didn't resist or retaliate; instead, she surrendered to his wrath like a marionette. This was fine. She sensed her own blood pooling beneath her, staining the ground, and knew that, she too, was fine. With her eyes closed, she tilted her head back, baring her throat.

Do as you wish.

Grated growls from an opened throat, he could not stop. He would not stop. There was no end to the twisting of his thickened legs, nor the rippling of his muscles along his shoulders. Where he could feel himself constricting, as every tendon fought to bring itself back to life as she shredded through skin, meat. If he was still, would she touch bone? His neck was violent, slipping her across the ground by her own with his teeth clamped around her throat.

“What are you doing?” He demanded. He wouldn’t let her still. He would not allow her rest. He wouldn’t allow her to dry up and die. He wouldn’t let her make this easy for him.

“Get up,” he commanded her, his teeth latched onto her again, grinding down her flesh as he slid her again.
Again. Again. “Get up.” He called. Until he was breathing so hard that he could feel his lungs filling with his own heated air. There was no more red that he could see than when she was still, when she wouldn’t fight back, when she wouldn’t give him what he deserved. When she would lie dormant with her own blood pooling below her, he the trigger, her the finger, and he wanted her to pull again. Light me again. He will not let her. He will not let her be still, and die, lose here to him.

Would not let her.

”GET UP!” He stood over her now, feet digging into the earth, teeth to her throat, still as he stared her with blood-sport eyes, engaged with tooth, nail, calling her forth from whatever depth of mind she would dare not cross so that she would come to him again. Fight me. Fight me. Fight me.
I will not win this way.
You will fight me.

Who did this silly, foolish boy believe himself to be? Handing out orders to her as if he held the authority to command her actions. Who was he to not accept the win and let her drift off into the night?

Curse him.

If he was too much of a coward to watch the life drain from her eyes then she would spend every moment after that breath still flowed into her lungs making him regret it.

Damn him, the insufferable craven.

But what delusions plagued his mind that led him to believe he was in control? A buffoon, that's what he was. In this cursed land, none held dominion, not her, and least of all him. They were all sitting on this gods-forsaken rock, waiting for their chance to be flung into the stars. It was her chance now. She wanted to go, and who was he to stop her?

Fuck him, thrice over.

And although in her mind she was hissing and spitting his curses, defying him in every thought, she obeyed once again. The long arms wrapped around his neck, yanking his head down to be met with teeth landing indiscriminately. Hind legs reaching up simultaneously to kick and pummel like a rabbit.

Every urge that told him to taste her blood on his teeth fell to his feet, and with every pad, he dug them deep into the thorns of it. He grabbed, and demanded, he commanded until she filled desires with red velvet and his stomach was destroyed by her claws. The mans face, grabbed by her own and his breathe weighted heavy until it turned thin. He breathed a heated breath into her throat, her arms pushing down upon his neck. "Fuck," his voice gruff.
"FUCK!"


Tumbling down to the ground, his feet caved in on him as he hit once on his side, twice on his back- a feeling of snapping in his spine as saliva cracked from his lips. Soon, he turned violent, relentless in a hold he could not get out of. Haphazard snaps, uncoordinated scratches as his paw pushed roughly against her chest with raking nails. An inferno of crashing rage that started to seep out inexperienced, reckless. In his vision, crimson ran rampant across his lids until her figure made way through it. In outstretched lips, her taste on his mouth, adrenaline started to arrive bloody, "alright, ALRIGHT! STOP!" A plea- a timeout- a fail and loss to his pride that declared Icarus.

Even though I recognized a wounded heart
Why do I end up hurting and leaving the same scars?

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 Let it end. 

Grackle's bites had lost their feral edge, only skimming the surface, and her blows were weary and languid. The maelstrom that had once raged within her had receded, yielding to a creeping exhaustion. It felt like a bomb that had ignited with fiery brilliance but now flickered, vanishing as abruptly as it had been torched.  This once exhilarating game had now overstayed its welcome; the delight she'd taken in it had ebbed away.

 If she couldn't match her opponent's strength, she'd overwhelm him with speed. Two sharp snaps at the tender nose, inadequate to leave a bruise but enough to bring forth stinging tears. Ears pinned, tail tucked, leaving him nothing to grasp, she pressed on with relentless force.

Now, it was his turn to fall beneath her paw. With him on his back, an opening beckoned. Her teeth, slick with gore, darted forth to clamp down on his throat, determined not to relinquish their grip until he begged for mercy. This match had drawn out long enough.
Enough. Enough. Enough.

"Stop!"

She froze, her exposed fangs brushing lightly against his skin. No flesh was torn, and no blood drawn. An abrupt hush, a stillness, disturbed only by the heavy gasps for breath.

Grackle withdrew slowly, her steps unsteady. She couldn't afford to faint and risk causing further harm. She had done enough already. The game had ended, but the reverberations of the confrontation continued to pulsate through her, a relentless reminder of why it was so important to keep your emotions in check. Something she had failed at spectacularly.

The world around her pounded in her ears, her vision dark and swimming. The trembling obsidian figure slumped to the ground, eyes locked on the man. Was it over? Truly? Or was this some sort of trick? She was too tired to care.

“Shit!” a hiss forced from between his teeth. His mouth groaned and his ears were warm with his own blood. The crow womans. All blood, all he could feel, and though he knew deeply- so, so deeply that he should not care whose life drenched his pelt now, he did. How it had been his that he knew was beginning to overwhelm- how he knew it was his that was rendering him cold with its unending heat, and when the blades of her teeth sat nicely against his throat, it was the slow recoil of her body that made him breath roughly.

”Shit,” slipped again from his lips. “Damn, you pack a- FUCKING punch! Alright, alright, you win!” Inhale. Exhale.

“Fuck.” 

Pooling out on the grass, he felt his tongue roll across it as he came to a blurry, blurry stand. He felt no anger. Only tested will and strength, and for what his pain tolerance had been- she had tested it greatly and only now, again, could he truly begin to feel it.

He knew that had not been a death match.
Or he’d have long killed her, or she’d have long killed him.
She would know that by the blood that matted her fur by her flank. From the blood that did not rip violently from her throat, her eyes- he did not play nice.
And so to him it was obvious that it had been no more than toying with flesh.

Same... Same to you. Grackle wheezed, her body half-slumped across the ground. A brief pause, then, Stop, her voice wavered slightly as she continued: Stop breathing so fast. It was unclear who this was directed towards. She coughed, completing the sentence by spitting a large mouthful of blood onto the once-green grass.

Let your lungs fill up and hold it. There. Breathe in, wait, and breathe out. The air flowed more easily now, and the shaking began to subside.

Grackle turned her attention to her injuries, finding they weren't as severe as expected. Still, it was certain to hurt in the morning, and her coat was ruined. She gave her side a few licks but promptly gave up after making no noticeable dent in the splatter.

With some effort, she turned her head back to the stranger, eyeing him once more. He seemed relatively unhurt, although it was hard to discern amid the gore.

Inhale.
Exhale.
Breathe.
Was what she told him, and breathe he did. His chest expanded with the pressure building in his lungs, and with tainted, blurred eyes still, he felt the churning rub of suffocating. It stayed, lingered in his chest, until it released in slowly from his mouth. Yet it worked, that when he went to breathe again, it was not so intense. Who was she, to know something? Who was she to be right? Then it was wrong, and she would not be right. His breath built its pace again, and with blurred pupils, trees of blending colors and the sky fading to the leaves, what grew clear was her.

What she would not see was pain on his features, his mind. What she would not see was sprawled weakness.
He refused.
Simply because he believed he would be better to die, deserve to, should he allow it.
Natural selection.
It would not be him.

His nose snorted roughly. “Thanks.”

But in all that, his unsteady, swaying legs betrayed him. Pain came in nauseating waves that rendered him near unable to walk.

Yet he flagged his tail, he spoke loud- clear, intense. He expected it back. “Name’s Bonnie. Don’t forget it.”

A final yawn, an attempt to gulp down one last large mouthful of air. Grackle, opposite to the stranger, allowed herself to lie down fully, back legs sprawled to avoid putting pressure on them. She had nothing left to prove, at least not at this moment. It was time to take a second to recover.

Bonnie.

She let the name dance around her mind for a moment, large head tilting from side to side as she considered it. Bonnie. She tested the name on her tongue, finding it to her liking. Bonnie. Yes, it fit somehow. He was rather bonnie now, wasn't he?

Are you thinking of attacking me again? She asked, folding one forepaw over the other to better inspect it. I won't stop you, if that's what you'd like.

Bonnie.

“No.”
He lost. He was forced to stand there and watch her clean herself. Look over herself. Feel so comfortable as to turn the back of her head to him and speak to him as if he were another part of the air. He wobbled, his teeth spitting up his own blood. She asked him the most crude question. Kill her. Oh, he wanted to. Is that what she thought he was thinking? How fucking sick. He jerked his head to the side, his eyes now narrowed down. “You got some sort of death wish something? Do you want to die?”

Earlier, she’d stopped too. Dead on the ground. With how limp she became, if she’d not been breathing and still raging warmth from her own blood, he’d have thought she was. What a damn psycho.
Or perhaps too weak to stand up and fight, or care to anymore.

Even now, with that thought in mind, with him finding it difficult to speak no matter how harsh his voice came out, he couldn’t let himself solidify that thought. When it was her acting as if she had scratches. He felt like a child talking big-talk to an elder. Prick…prick…..prick..

SHOVE ONE UP YOUR ASS!

Grackle's expression, contentedness mixed with flashes of exhaustion and wincing as the mask warbled in and out of existence, shifted as Bonnie spoke and then continued to do so. Her brows furrowed over narrowed lids, and the dame turned her regard from her other front leg to the wolf standing before her.

She pushed herself up from the ground, a hiss of air escaping from clenched jaws as her back leg fell and was forced up again. Scintillating twin jewels squinted out at Bonnie- stared out. Staring as she took one step toward him and then another. Staring as she came to rest just outside of his personal bubble. Undressing him with her eyes to see not the body she had quickly become so familiar with but the core, the very soul of his being.

An amused chuckle as serpentine irises finally broke from him. Grackle took a step past him, leaning ever so slightly to whisper common sense like it was for his ears only: Those without the wish to die don't throw themselves into unnecessary fights as violently as that with reckless abandon.

She continued her slow circle around him with the faintest limp, stepping to the side now to keep a comfortable distance as she did so. After taking note of all the wounds she could see, the shake still clinging to his legs, and his overall unsteadiness, she hobbled to one of the trees bordering the clearing and slid down it to rest again.

Damn, it was hard to act so nonchalantly when every fiber of her being shrieked as she moved. When was the last time she had hurt this much after a fight? Grackle wanted to lie down and sleep forever and was sure to do as much as soon as her new acquaintance had left the area.

Sit down, macho man, a command, teasing in tone but a command nonetheless, accompanied by a gesture of her nose. There's no reason to play so tough. I know you're hurting as much as I am, and I'm sure you'll find no judgment befalling yourself on my part. She hoped he would listen; the wretched beast had found a shiny new toy she wasn't ready to let fall from her claws quite so soon.

So, stronger than stone, Bonnie, she cocked her head to the side, what's your damage? What brings you out here? A question spoke in uncharacteristic earnestness. Or are we not there yet? Would you prefer me to ask something easier?

His fur bristled again, a wildcat and a mean man with no mission other than to make his word! Shaking, pained and dripping with blood. He listened to her speak and speak more than he himself felt able to in the moment. How could she? Why couldn't he? Why was his head in such a daze, in such a blur? The reality of aching flesh and piercing wounds began to settle upon him until he could find nothing but the grit of his teeth keeping him grounded.

"HMPH!"

A whip of his head, an unstable stand that rattled back and forth as he struggled to keep doing so, he backed up for distance and made a slow trek of depart.

Back to a place he did not know if he could call home.

Yet they homed him even so.

Grackle watched him turn to leave with a click of her tongue. Damn, you could have just said you weren't there yet, She grumbled, waiting for him to get a few steps ahead so he wouldn't hear the grunt of effort as she pulled herself to her feet again.

Forcing down the wave of nausea that fought to rear its ugly head with every step, the dame padded along quietly behind Bonnie, green eyes following every sway in his step, ready to catch him should he crumple. She was grateful to have had fighting experience, and to know how to cope with the pain.

The longer she moved, the less her body felt her own. She wasn't this body; she was a slab of meat stuck inside. This pain wasn't hers either- the pain belonged to the body. The feeling was familiar, one she had often in her youth.

Detach.
A spirit hovering in a suit without touching it.
Numb.