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raccoonfallsharder · 9 months ago

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I just found out Rockets VA can sing (really good actually) do you have any headcanons based on that?

mmmmm. sorry for the delay, i got distracted by rocket prompt week and also by thinking about rocket crooning in your ear.

he’s always humming, you know? (this is not a headcanon — it’s in the movies.) he’s often humming while he works. and that scene on berhert? where he’s sort of purring along with the music while plotting severe injury to the incoming ravagers? i…

sorry. focusing.

im sure the first few times you hear him mumbling lyrics under his breath, you damn near need to excuse yourself. you know you can’t call attention to it — in a best-case scenario, he'll stop singing entirely. you say nothing, and your silence is rewarded: rocket's mumbling a tune — so low your toes curl in your boots — almost whenever the two of you are working quietly on some project or another. most of the time, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. the rest of the time, he thinks you can’t hear him.

once, while the entire crew was dicking around in the common room and rocket started humming under his breath, pete had commented on it. you'd shot him a murderous look but it had been too late: rocket’s ears had gone flat and his tail had tucked between his ankles and his eyes had swiveled around the room. he'd been shifting and snapping out harsh words so frantically that you were sure he was scarlet under his fur. you’d had to go a miserable dozen cycles before you’d stumbled across him lilting low to himself again in the engine room one night.

fuckin pete. you still haven’t forgiven that guy.

but things get easier — at least between you and rocket — after that. there's a day when rocket looks up and realizes that you can hear him — maybe you're swaying slightly to the sound of his voice, or lightly tapping the soft pads of your fingertips like raindrops on your knee. he stumbles to a fumbling halt. you don’t say anything, though: you just pass him an encouraging half-smile before returning to whatever you were doing. you’ll hang out with him regardless of whether you get to lull yourself to the sound of his deep, pretty voice or not, you figure.

it happens again — and then again. and eventually, rocket stops stopping. he sees you walk into the otherwise-empty common area while he’s clanging away on some new cannon, or you slide into the seat next to him while he’s piloting the bowie alone — and he tosses you a little smirk and keeps going, keeps humming those bars or rumbling those words up over his ribs and out the corners of his mouth.

you’re not the first person he’s sung to, of course.

there’s a reason groot loves music. when he was just a sprout, rocket would carefully place groot's small pot right next to where he lay his own head, and he’d croon a lullaby from star-lord’s library of songs. this was how the little flora colossus first learned to fall asleep — and how he woke up — every rotation for the first dozen cycles of his life. even when groot got a little bigger and could leave his pot and run around chasing orloni, he’d still drift off sprawled on rocket’s shoulder or across the top of his head: dozing to the sound of his father clinking away on aero-rigs while humming some melody or another.

even before that — i think rocket probably sung to groot the elder, too, at least once or twice. maybe the first time rocket had seen the big guy lose his limbs, before he'd learned that they would grow back. rocket had promised tibius lark that he’d look out for the flora colossus, and now here's groot — mutilated and in pain. rocket had tried to soothe the groaning, moaning groot to sleep, wracked by guilt before eventually realizing the big idiot was just a giant frickin’ crybaby with limbs that would essentially regenerate.

still, rocket hadn’t minded singing to his friend too much after that.

maybe even earlier, too. maybe there had been a time, after explaining music to his cagemates but before telling them about flying machines. maybe he’d hummed for batch 89 too.

they would’ve thought his childish voice was the most comforting, lovely thing they’d ever heard, i think. sometimes, as you might guess, the members of batch 89 would have nightmares or be in too much pain to close their eyes and rest, and when those nights happened, rocket would have hummed them back to sleep, all low and slow and sweet.

floor would have begged for songs every chance she got. teefs would have marveled at how beautiful rocket had sounded, and lylla — lylla would have told him, very solemnly, that he had a gift.

rocket doesn't think about that very often — tries not to think about those days at all, if he's being honest — but eventually, as you know, his past comes out. it's long after he’s gotten comfortable with you, of course — and raised his son, and saved half the universe, and purchased the skull of a god, and freed himself from the high evolutionary for the last time, and become a captain, but now—

now, he remembers lylla's words.

the star children descend from the arête and different households try to take them in, but it only takes one or two failed sleep-shifts across all of knowhere before it becomes apparent that none of the kids can rest. the children have nightmares — of course they do — and they’re used to sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder with each other in cages, on hard floors. they're used to whispering stories and comforts to each other, listening gratefully to the quiet words of their siblings, small hands gripping small hands in the darkness.

it takes a while to figure out, but eventually arrangements are made — at least until the kids can adjust. spaces are shifted so the children can nest together, and it helps — mostly. drax tries telling stories. cosmo recommends warm milk. howard suggests a quarter-shot of ginsky for each kid (you promptly put the kibosh on that one). nebula comes one night to tell the kids in great detail how she’ll destroy anyone who dares to harm them. you’re so happy mantis went on her journey to find herself but sometimes, when you see how exhausted and hollow-eyed the kids are in the morning, you just wish she were back so she could help them sleep.

and then suddenly it's a few cycles later, and you realize you haven’t heard any more concerns about the kids’ night terrors. you look around and realize they’re bright-eyed again, cheeks glowing, chattering at breakfast. curious as to what ended up working — if it was the indigarran lavender satchets sent by one of kraglin’s ex-wives or it it was the broker boring them with the droning details of the histories of various artifacts he’d once had in his shop on Xandar — you come visiting one night on tip-toe, just to check in.

rocket’s there — curled up on an old armchair someone had brought in for the neverending parade of storytellers and caregivers. his voice rolls over the sleepy children, and their eyelashes droop while he lingers on some notes and skips up and down others. the sound of it curls around them — and you. his voice nestles into the shadows, practically plucking up the edges of the blankets and tucking the kids in all on its own.

you watch as, handful after handful, they drift: eased deeply into dreaming by the power and protection of the captain’s voice, all on its own.

#rfh headcanons #rfh fluff #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon headcanons #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket raccoon fluff #rocket raccoon x reader #gotg fanfiction #gotg rocket #rocket gotg #rocket raccoon x you #rocket racoon x reader #rocket x you #guardians of the galaxy fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy #mcu #marvel

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encrucijada · 3 months ago

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been meaning to send u this ask for a while but if you want to could you please ramble about zaccai and ismene from your #guard dog relationship tag 🎤 👀 you posted a snippet of writing of them and i’ve had worms in my brain ever since i don’t even know what specifically i want to hear about but i just need to Know About Them (<- girl who is being normal about it)

*pulls up my powerpoint* i'm glad you asked

zaccai and ismene aka guard dog are the god/worshipper dynamic @teddywriting and i decided to create one day because i pointed out we didn't have any, quote, "guard dog dynamics". you know those posts where it's like the dynamic between the guard dog character and the object of their affection who is often incapable from stopping said guard dog from killing whatever they deem dangerous to the object of their affection. yeah those.

their story has been baptised as let sleepers lie. it's high fantasy. it's post-apocalyptic. it's the result of shadow of the colossus being my favourite game and also tears of the kingdom coming out, teddy and i just kinda went insane over botw/totk zelink. here's the summary i wrote for it!

Sword of the Gods, Zaccai, has only one purpose instilled in him: give his life for that of the godling the Old Ones left behind after ending the world. In the wake of a land trying to learn how to live again is Ismene, all that remains of divine blood, and what she is meant to do for the people is unclear. They are alone with all the gods left for them being a temple, a ruined land, and each other.

now what does that even mean.

in this world there used to be gigantic gods people call the "old ones" now, as their language has been lost and no one remembers what they were called. they are what happens if you put the nature gods from princess mononoke (like the wolf chief moro), the colossi of sotc, won shi tong from atla, heavenly warriors from nausicaä of the valley of the wind, and dormin again from sotc in a blender. the main feature of gods in this world is their golden coloured blood, their "old blood", which is burning to the touch—basically what if fire was a liquid. these old ones had their temples built around them and once built the temples were just big enough for them, meaning they could move about inside but could never leave. why exactly they ended the world is inconclusive, but ismene suspects it's because they’d gotten fed up of the situation they were in. godhood is just a gilded cage etc etc.

ground zero of the cataclysm is virtually a wasteland, covered in silver flora. this plant life includes the silver grass and silver trees, which existed before the end of the world and were kind of like a gift the gods gave to the humans as every single part of the flora could be utilised or eaten (ismene and zaccai subsist on the silver trees, basically). they live in the temple from the summary, which was built for ismene but has the dimensions of an old temple... meaning it's way too big for just two (2) people. the cataclysm basically rotted the land and so only the silver flora can grow without being affected. think... nausicaä of the valley of the wind's toxic jungle.

ismene was born from a human woman. what are the details of her conception? no idea. maybe it's a virgen maría situation. she's called "the godling", the olympian to the old one's titans. she looks like a human person, except for the fact she's got golden eyelashes, golden freckles, her eyes shine at certain angles, oh and her blood is also golden... and she's burning to the touch. touching ismene's bare skin is like sticking your hand in an open flame. her tears are also golden! but they're more sparkly. she's has severe agoraphobia and social anxiety from being raised in the temple. the feelings of the old ones sorta translated into her and they were used to being trapped, so she was basically born as a caged animal. she's also very good at sitting still for hours and is bad at human physiological tells, like hunger.

zaccai was originally a troublemaker boy named aleister living in a town like a week's travel away from where the temple is now. he lived with his aunt maeve who runs the inn at the town. he offered himself as a volunteer to be the sword of the gods and they proceeded to basically... make him anew. don't you love it when characters are weapons. all that's required of him is to be good with the sword and to love ismene so much he would die for her, just an average healthy relationship. he likes plants, he doesn't remember aleister's past concretely but he has positive associations to plants so he latched onto them... so he's a gardener. he does most of the things around the temple as ismene is basically a living statue, she's an object of worship and that's it. he cooks, when they travel he manages the camping site, etc.

they're autism4autism 🫶

tidbits about the made-up religion

ismene wears a veil. think a wedding veil but richly laced, ismene makes them herself as it is something for her to do with her long hours of free time. regular people aren't supposed to see her, this simulates how old ones were generally hard to look at as they were... uncanny. but also because members of the highest hierarchy in the old religion wore veils. generally only takes it off around zaccai. she likes wearing it around strangers because it gives her the illusion of privacy

springs and pools! prayer and other rituals are done in the water. there's a pool room in the temple ismene sits in for hours at a time praying. only high priestesses and prophets are allowed into the water without permission, and also zaccai. they can be manmade or natural, natural are preferred.

imagery of the gods is allowed, the springs usually have statues rising from the water to mark them as sacred. the temple has stained glass windows but those are of the "eyes of the old ones". these are inspired by the talismans from the last guardian. they're basically like what crosses are for christians or the triforce are for hylians, they're the Religion Symbol. faithful will have them in their homes, etc. not two are the same.

others besides ismene wear veils too like i said, high priestesses and prophets. though their veils are less... busy?? you can better see the person's face.

the old ones are genderless! but they can be worshiped in male and female capacities for specific means. they are also amoral! they don't work by our code of ethics, they have no code of eithics. they're gods.

after making ismene the old ones went to sleep. where? unclear. underneath the earth is how i've been thinking it, but they could have also jumped into the stars like the giants from hilda or retreated into the ocean. the point is they're asleep, kind of like lovecraft gods, and that's why the book is called let sleepers lie.

the proper way to address ismene is "your grace", zaccai uses "my grace". you call old ones "your majesty". it's fine to also call ismene "godling" or "the godling", older characters have also used "little goddess".

teddy and i had done a few rp threads but we've kinda rebooted and started from scratch, using the previous threads as a loose outline. here's what's happened so far:

ismene and zaccai have been living together for at least two years. ismene thought zaccai was a god like her, the minor god to her primary god. except oops, when they had sex he bled and his blood... was red. not a god. this is know as the Red Blood Incident.

this created a bit of a rift between them they are trying so, so hard to mend. they are all each other has. but they weren’t socialised enough as puppies.

they leave the temple for the first time in those 2(ish) years. they make it to the mountains where they find a commune of faithful who say they live with and worship an old one. among these faithful is a girl around ismene's age named amaryllis (she's important).

ismene and zaccai are brought to the old one... who happens to just be a regular woman. turns out that when you destroy the world and leave it to its own devices so you can raise your new god creates some religious anarchy and people are opportunistic.

ismene is horrified at the sight of this false goddess who has been lying to these people, taking their goods and love and time. ismene orders zaccai to cut off her tongue. so he does! the girl amaryllis helps him hold the false goddess down.

it starts to rain and so our duo is invited to stay at the commune. they find out telling people everything they believed in was a lie, thus shaking their way of life, makes things complicated. zaccai and ismene hang out with the faithful. meeting caspian, who'd been promised by the fraud he could one day have his dead children back. amaryllis tells them the fraud had promised her she'd be reunited with her lost sisters (and also that she'd be a prophet). they meet naida, who had found purpose with the fraud and is pissed now. silas, a painter who came here after his mother died. vesta, the cook who teaches zaccai food just doesn't have to be silver tree byproducts.

silas asks if he can paint ismene so they can have a reference to make a statue out of her. silas doesn't see a goddess. silas sees a hot girl he thinks he can charm but she's too autistic and demisexual to know what flirting is. (he tries to lift her veil to look at her face and zaccai almost kills him lol).

they visit the fraud who is being cared for by a man named rupert, who happens to be a doctor. ismene learns her name is rosa and she did this because, why not, if she could make a place for herself at the top of the food chain why not take it. she gave people purpse. zaccai meanwhile is getting his arm treated by rupert because ismene burned him to prove she was the real deal, rupert implies he knows zaccai. they don't discuss further.

they go back to the temple after telling the faithful they will be accepting pilgrims to come pray now. the least they could do after flipping their way of life on its head.

zaccai and ismene are planning to travel to another town as i write this

caspian and amaryllis visit the temple. ismene's social battery is running on fumes and she despairs upon realising... she cannot hear their prayers. when people pray she feels a burning on her ears and fingers, but other than mumbling she hears nothing. she really wanted to send them back with some miracles but it did not turn out that way and now she feels terrible. what do you do when you can't fulfil your one purpose

smaller details

"knowledge or faith" is the philosphy of the task ismene (and zaccai by proxy) have set upon themselves. they need to find the knowledge of the old religion the old ones did not explain. they need faith for the new goddess

"do you wish my skin was like hers?" not being able to touch is Killing them. ismene and zaccai share a bed because it's safest (and also because they were literally made and built codependent). meeting amaryllis did no good to ismene's self-esteem. that's a girl who can touch the man you love without hurting him

ismene just burned zaccai on his shoulder blade for stepping into the pool without her say-so. act of incredible viplence carried with the intimacy with a lover or whatever

"maybe i am not a god you pray to."

totally unrelated: the amount of times teddy and i have said "weird possessive sex would fix them" is unreal

THERE IS WAY MORE BUT I AM GONNA LEAVE IT THERE AHHHH THANK YOU CRÉME ILY 💖

#it's 3am maybe i'll add more later #teddy if you wanna reblog and add your own information you are more than welcome #answered #( ship ) guard dog #if there are spelling mistakes no there aren't

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ohfugecannada · 10 months ago

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Flora Colossi Headcanon 4/?: poison immunity

Due to thier extremophile adaptations, Flora Colossus are immune to most poisons and toxins that would be normally deadly to other beings. However, some certain toxins, while not deadly to flora colossus, can induce altered states similar to drugs such as alcahol or psychedelics in humans. (This, technically is canon in the Telltale game, as there’s a part of the game where Groot straight up trips balls after falling into a patch of alien plants and eating one of them)

youtube

On the flip side of this, drugs such as alcohol have little to no effect Flora Colossus. A fact Groot has secretly used to his advantage in multiple drinking games against his friends.

#guardians of the galaxy #gotg #drugs mention #alcohol mention #marvel #marvel comics #marvel headcanons #marvel headcanon #groot #flora colossus #flora colossus headcanons #groot headcanons #alien biology #biology Headcanons #headcanons #Youtube #Flora colossi headcanons

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marvel-hcs · 2 months ago

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Even though his default adult size when not going Kaiju mode is around 7 to 9 feet tall, Groot is actually considered small by Flora Colossus standards. This is why back when he was still living on Planet X he felt out of place Among his own kind. Apart from being sympathetic toward the small native animals that lived on Planet X and the alien test subjects Flora Colossus scientists would abduct for experimentation, Groot was also ostracised for being seen as a physical defective by his fellow saplings due to him being smaller than them.

#OOO #gotg headcanon im feeling so normal #i really like this !!#marvel #marvel headcanons #guardians of the galaxy #groot #gotg groot #groot headcanon #marvel headcanon #guardians of the galaxy headcanons #marvel comics

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practically-an-x-man · 3 months ago

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Tamiasciurus (Kestrel x Warren)

Summary: By now, Warren thought he was familiar with shapeshifting. He'd been with Kestrel for years, seen all manner of shapes and forms from them, though he'd never experienced it himself.

And after a run-in with a dangerous forest witch, he never wants to experience it again.

Word Count: 4.2k

Tags: forced transformation, shapeshifting, body horror, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, established relationship

Crossposted on AO3

____

He hated dealing with witches.

And for very good reason. It was his personal opinion that human beings were not made for magic. Magic could be given to them, of course, particularly in connection with innately-magical beings such as fairies, but it was not human nature to harness it.

He trusted fairy magic. He trusted Kestrel's magic. He even, in a strange way, trusted the magic of demons - it was not a benevolent magic, true, and he tended to avoid being stricken with such magic, but at least it was predictable.

But the magic of witches and wizards? No.

History, of both the mundane and supernatural varieties, had shown him that nothing good came from a human being with too much power. They were not bound by the rules the way creatures of innate mysticism were. They were not restricted by a code of truth, nor a code of honor, nor a set of binding internal restrictions.

The only things that held them back were the limits of the magic itself - and that meant very, very little.

Warren Burgess did not enjoy dealing with witches. But this one had begun extending her magic into the forest around her, withering trees and shriveling the wild flora like a blight, he had no choice but to attempt to reason with her.

He lasted a whole two minutes before she waved a hand at him, and he found himself shrinking.

His anatomy warped and compacted, not painful but certainly not comfortable, and he tried to move as little as he could for fear of wrenching some delicate bone out of place. He knew better than to try and fight the transformation. It would only make things worse.

He felt his skull shift, his eyes shifting almost around to his temples. He could almost see the whole room, though in a strange and almost two-dimensional way. It made his head spin, suddenly flooded with more input than he knew what to do with.

His vision darkened, reds and greens fading into muddled shades of brown - he had a colorblind cousin, and wondered very briefly if this was how he saw the world. Sensory feedback sparked to life around him: musky animal odors amidst a scent that could only be described as verdant, sharp human sweat covered by an even sharper chemical sweetness that speared into his brain, and below all of that the simple rotting richness of old wood.

His body continued to shrink- more and more and somehow even past that, until the witch standing before him might as well have been the Colossus of Rhodes. He'd stood much taller than her before this - he was knocking at the door of six feet tall, and she had the short, stooped posture of an old woman - but now his head hardly came up to the laces of her boots.

He glanced around to find that his own work boots rose around him like shipwrecks, his clothing pooled in rippling waves across the dirt floor of the shack. Somehow that felt more real than anything else.

It was too much. His thoughts sped up to Mach Ten, some hypersonic jet rattling around the inside of his brain. He felt.... jumpy. Unsteady.

Squirrely.

The witch loomed over him, and fear spiked through his body like a bolt of lightning. He was moving before he even knew he was moving.

His hands crunched down on dried leaves and soft earth- he glanced down and found that they weren't hands but paws, covered in gray-brown fur and tipped with curved black nails. He lifted his head, refusing to look at them, but that just made the world tilt dizzily on its too-wide axis.

Warren stumbled, his feet going out from under him. He felt a furry tail flick to the side, unconsciously trying to correct his balance, but it wasn't enough. He went sprawling through a mess of underbrush, the forest still spinning around him.

Massive fingers closed around him. Ripe human sweat stung his nose with almost a physical force. He writhed in the grip on instinct alone- and then paused, forced himself to pause though it made his whole body ache, these were his allies, this was his rescue. He didn't know them well but he still knew them, they could fix this, they had to fix this.

"Damn. She did it to another one."

Another? his mind echoed, Another? Another?

How many other creatures in these withering woods had once been adventurers like him? Had the armadillo he'd seen caved-in and crawling with flies on the side of the road once been a friend of his? Had the snake he'd nearly stepped on across the trail once been a Knight of the Dawn, seeking help from the only thing that looked familiar?

The grip around his body eased, and sunlight poured in. It took everything within him not to spring away. He would hold onto himself. He wouldn't let those instincts win.

This didn't seem nearly so hard when Kestrel did it.

"Warren?"

He tried to nod. It felt... foreign, somehow. He tried again.

The hands closed back around him.

"We should call Kestrel. They'll know..."

Yes! he thought, rejoice and relief dancing in his chest, Call Kestrel, please call Kestrel. They'll fix this.

More voices from above. He should have known the words, but they floated above him like clouds, shapeless and far out of reach. His heart was a staccato drumbeat in his chest. He couldn't seem to shake the panic still whirling through him.

A shadow passed overhead, and his whole body locked up. Bird. Hawk. Predator.

Before he could stop himself, he sank his teeth into the hands that held him. The man above him flinched, half-dropping and half-throwing him towards the trees, and then there was rough bark under his paws.

Moving came easily. Too easily. There were no thoughts in his mind as he hopped among the branches. The human side of him, however much of that still remained, had taken a back seat in the wake of his fear. All he knew was that he was running, and he couldn't stop.

"Warren! Wait!"

That voice wasn't human. It wasn't English. It was more of a chatter, entirely animal, somehow both foreign and familiar to his ears. But he understood the words, and knew the voice surrounding it.

He skidded to a halt, pulling on those fraying reins in the back of his mind, and forced himself to turn towards Kestrel behind him.

They had shifted into a squirrel. He guessed that was why he'd understood their cry, though it wasn't in any language he should have known. Their fur was a strange shade of brown - red, he thought, like always, but he couldn't see red now - with a brindling of grey and black along their back and limbs. Their tail flicked, and they took a few careful steps towards him.

"Not that I'm not having fun reenacting The Sword in the Stone with you," they said, and he could imagine them smiling, "But why don't we go home and try to fix this mess?"

He didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't want to hear how it would come out. All he could do was nod, the motion almost painful.

Help me, Kes. Please.

He didn't even realize he'd spoken - or made some sound, though it didn't seem like speech - until Kestrel's posture crumpled in front of him.

"I will, sweetheart. I promise." they said, "But I need you to follow my lead, okay?"

He nodded again. He'd always follow them. To the ends of the earth. He trusted them like he trusted his own heart to beat.

Kestrel took a few steps closer, and pressed themself in against his chest. Even in this strange circumstance, even in this awkward form, it comforted him.

"Take a deep breath, okay?" they murmured, "Smell is your strongest sense in this form. Memorize my scent. Hold onto it. I'm going to shift, and you're going to want to panic, but I need you to hold onto that for me."

He did as he was told, and filled his lungs. Kestrel smelled like the forest incarnate, something both primal and infinitely familiar, and it made him think of nights spent holding them in his arms, with his nose pressed into their hair. He clung to the memory with everything he had.

"Close your eyes," Kestrel urged him, gently but firmly, "Just focus on the scent. That won't change."

He closed his eyes. Kestrel, after a moment, slipped away from him.

There was a rustle, a flurry of movement, and the branch dipped underneath him. Warren forced himself not to open his eyes, much as he wanted to. Kestrel was right. He wanted to panic. Every cell in his body told him to run.

Careful fingers scooped him up, and he couldn't help but flinch. He took another deep breath- the forest incarnate, late nights held close. Kestrel. His body relaxed.

He was lifted, slowly and gently, then found himself surrounded by weathered fabric. There was a firm warmth on one side, and he could hear Kestrel's heart beating steadily beneath it.

He still felt wrong. He still felt panicked and jittery, he couldn't speak, his thoughts were running away from him, his body hardly listened to him-

But it was the safest he'd felt since the shift. And that was worth something.

Warren curled in on himself, fighting hard to keep his thoughts calm. That was his job, he told himself. Kestrel would take the lead in fixing this, his only job was to keep himself anchored until they could.

Kestrel climbed down the tree. Warren only knew this from the sound - he still didn't open his eyes or lift his head, he worried if he moved he might just go flying. They spoke with the other Knights, and he heard them apologize for the one's bleeding hand.

I'm not diseased, Warren thought, rather ludicrously, I'm still human. I'm still me. You don't need any rabies shots for that little bite. I'm so sorry.

Then he was in the car, and heard it rumbling like a great animal around him. It became unfamiliar again after only a few moments, and he had to keep reminding himself of the sound.

Beast, that animal side of his mind told him, increasingly louder, Bear. Wolf. Growl. Danger. Run.

No, he reminded himself, time and time again, It's a car. It's my old truck with that little rattle under the hood, that Dale keeps saying he'll look at but keeps getting pulled away before he can. Not a bear. Not a beast. Kestrel's driving us home.

He was slipping. He could feel himself slipping. It was growing harder and harder to hold onto his thoughts with every minute, every little bump in the road. He fought hard to focus on Kestrel's heartbeat, that forest-incarnate scent, the sound that he knew was his car, he'd had that car since he was sixteen and that was going on twelve years now, but it was growing harder and harder to keep his mind in order.

"Sweetheart," Kestrel said, and Warren had to remind himself that they were speaking to him, "Are you still with me?"

Could they still understand him in this form? When they were human and he was still... not? Through some wild fae magic?

He couldn't bear to risk it. He shifted in their pocket, twisting around until he could press one hand- paw - to the space right over their heart. He hoped that was good enough.

"It's a lot to get used to," Kestrel mumbled after a while, with the growling hum of the engine still undercutting the words. He didn't know if they were speaking to him, or just to themself. "You're a prey animal. It's so easy to be frightened. It's so easy for these normal, familiar things to feel huge and scary out of nowhere. Your brain's not meant to hold all that complicated thought like it usually is. And all your senses are thrown out of whack, it's nothing like what you're used to... it's hard."

Warren tried to hold the words in his mind, he really did, but only about half of them went through. But their voice was familiar, that gentle raptor rasp, and he could feel it all around him like a warm breeze.

He thought of animals. He thought of dogs and cats and horses, how love and safety were one and the same in their minds. Love was food and water and shelter and touch, and nothing more complex than that. He wondered if his world was shrinking to that same little pinprick. He wondered why, when so much else was frightening about this new and strange existence, it was Kestrel that had made him pause.

He thought of how he'd courted Kestrel to begin with. He thought of offering them shelter and safety after they'd been attacked by a feral troll. He thought of sharing his meals, offering everything he had to give until they began to open up towards him. Was it that human beings were the same as animals, in that way? Or was it that he'd treated Kestrel like an animal, back then- and was that wrong of him?

If it led to this, he thought, then it couldn't have been wrong. He loved them. And they loved him- and loved this life he'd been able to bring them. He couldn't regret what had turned out so beautifully in the end.

And Kestrel had no safety back then. Nobody to care for them. If he treated them as a feral animal, offering simple necessities and the barest care in the hopes of gaining their trust, it was because they saw themself as a feral animal and wouldn't let him get any closer.

The car hit a bump and the engine roared, and all of Warren's thoughts were purged from his head.

Bear. Beast. Wolf. Growl. Roar. Run.

No, he thought, No... it's the car.

Car?

He tried to picture it, but it came out all wrong. He'd had that truck almost half his life, he knew every dent in the chassis and every scuff on the seats, and yet he couldn't pull it into his head. He couldn't even remember what color it was. He'd repeated the word car in his head so many times it had begun to sound like utter nonsense.

What if Kestrel couldn't fix this? What if they could never change him back? How long until the rest of his thoughts unraveled - would he even notice when they did?

Would they still keep him around?

They had before. After the revenant. Two whole years. They'd promised for years that they'd run, but when it came down to it, they never did. They'd been broken, and verging on hopeless, but they hadn't left.

But if he wasn't even human? If his mind broke entirely, and there wasn't even a flicker of himself still left inside? If he couldn't even recognize them, if he was just another animal, if his body would run him out the door the instant he got a chance?

He didn't know which was worse: the idea that they'd surrender him to the forest, or the idea that they'd cling to him long after he was gone.

Now the fear had sparked back to life. This time it was an entirely human fear.

A shadow passed over him, and then there was a firmer pressure against his open side. Kestrel's fingers slid over his head and back, through the fabric.

"Hey, you're shaking," they murmured, "It'll be okay. We're almost home."

He wasn't sure how he'd make it. He was falling apart at the seams. He didn't know what to do.

Kestrel kept speaking. Warren tried hard to keep himself anchored to their voice. Just a little longer, he told himself.

"Remember when I got stuck? Back in Greece?" they asked, but didn't wait for a response, "Shifted and broke my wing, couldn't shift back without making it worse. You had to imp the feathers just so I could get around while it healed. I didn't know you knew how to do that."

I learned for you, he thought, grasping for the memory, I called a falconry school after we got together. Knew I'd have to do it someday.

"That was a tough few weeks. Before it was healed enough to shift back. I think not being able to speak was the hardest part. It... it isolates you faster than you can believe."

I can believe it now. I didn't then. But I can believe it now.

"And there's that animal instinct. It's hard to hold onto yourself. It's not too bad for a while, and when you're used to it, but for weeks at a time..."

Weeks? Had it been weeks already? He was getting his wires crossed. No... it had only been a few hours. Barely even that. Kestrel was telling their own story. It was different magic, and he wasn't built for this kind of magic, and he needed to fix this soon. He wouldn't last weeks.

"But you were there for me. The whole time. Even though it was hard, and even though it was weird, and even though you had to do it all and still focus on the mission that had us in Greece in the first place, you were right there for me. You kept me steady."

It was nothing, Warren thought. Or maybe it wasn't nothing - it wasn't easy, it was still effort - but these were the things you did for love. You helped your loved one when they needed it, and they did the same when the roles were flipped. It wasn't easy, but it was... intuitive.

Kestrel's hand fell away from him again, and he felt his momentum slow. The car (beast! bear! run!) came to a careful stop and went silent. He was faintly jostled as Kestrel stood up.

He wondered how long it had been. Time seemed to spread out before him, shapeless and indistinct. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. The words in his head were meaningless.

"Almost there." Kestrel said, nearly jogging. He heard their feet crunch on grass and dried leaves far below, and the forest filled his nose.

Dimly, he thought of his cabin. Home, he thought, and that word still had meaning, but the image of it was blurred in his head. Instead his thoughts were filled with images of damp little coves, knots in trees and hollows under bushes. He'd have grimaced, but his mouth wouldn't move like that. This wasn't right. His mind was falling apart, piece by piece.

The screech of a door- bird scream run hide - and the smell of dust and warmth and home surrounded him. Another voice from above. Words, he thought. Maybe his name. They floated in his ears but didn't reach his brain.

Clinking. Clattering. Unfamiliar sounds. The same voice above him. Mumbling. The forest incarnate.

Jostled- he lifted his head, peered out at the world around him. A dusty room. Colossal shapes. Clutter. Colors.

A door- open door trees run free go go go and then his legs kicked out and he soared into open air and his tail flicked out before his balance could list and his paws were on solid wood and he nearly went sprawling as he caught the rug instead and then he was near the trees, near the grass, near home safe run go now trees safe safe fast safe-

A shouting voice and he flinched ran faster bent a nail back and felt a burst of pain smelled blood ignored it kept running. Cold water splashed his back but not water this bubbled it tingled it was magic he stumbled he fell get up go go not here not home go fast go run-

He stretched his body to keep running and it just kept stretching. Awkward limbs skidded on the rug and his body- heavier larger stranger than he remembered it- hit the hardwood and his shoulder clocked the edge of the doorframe with a sudden blinding pain and he hit the floor and stayed there.

His senses blinked in and out before they finally stabilized somewhere near normal. His body hurt in ways he couldn't describe. Warren groaned - dimly grateful to hear a human voice when he did - and passed a hand clumsily, blindly, over the parts of himself he could reach.

"Hey." He knew that voice and turned towards it, and Kestrel tucked something around his body. A blanket- the soft blue one he had draped over the sofa. He remembered his boots rising like shipwrecks around him, his clothes massive seas of fabric. He wondered distantly how Kestrel kept their clothes when they transformed. Different magic. Magic they were meant for. Not the same.

Kestrel slid in close beside him and helped him sit up. Their fingers touched his face. He reached for them almost without thinking, finding comfort in the way his fingers wrapped around their wrist.

"It's okay," they murmured, as his thoughts slowly fell back into place, "You're okay. I promised I would fix this. Let me get you a Band-Aid."

He glanced down and realized he was bleeding. His crazed scramble across the wooden floor had torn off the nail on his ring finger, and his blood dripped onto the blanket in his lap. The blue fabric had darkened to a sickly purple in spots.

His fingers fell away from Kestrel's wrist as they stood up, and he watched them cross the room. It seemed to be all he could do. He still felt off-kilter, not quite right, and he wasn't sure he trusted himself to move just yet.

Kestrel returned after only a few moments and reached to bandage his bleeding hand. Warren fumbled for words for a moment or two. They felt like crickets jumping around in his head, near-impossible to catch.

"How did you..."

"Put a bit of my own magic in a stable suspension," they replied, "Probably not as sophisticated as the sort of potion Tanu would have come up with, but it worked well enough. Do you feel okay?"

Warren nodded, vaguely, though the motion sparked some strange aches up and down his spine. His body wasn't ever meant to be warped in that way. But he could feel himself settling back into it, little by little.

"I will. Soon." he answered, and felt like that was a decent enough answer. Warren dropped his head back against the doorframe behind him and let out a long, slow breath. "No offense, Kes, but... I'm never doing that again. I don't know how you do it every day."

"I'm made for it. You aren't." they reminded him, and reached to brush their fingers through his hair, "Sleep will help. Do you think you can stand up?"

He nodded again, and slowly worked to get his legs under him. The blanket slid off his lap when he stood up, and the tips of Kestrel's ears flushed crimson.

"Easy, now," they mumbled, reaching to snag it and tuck it back around his waist like a kilt, "Don't want to flash the whole forest. The fairies would never stop talking about it."

He chuckled under his breath, still a little too out-of-it to really feel embarrassed, and grabbed the hem of the blanket to hold it in place. His other arm went around Kestrel's shoulders, using them as an extra point of support in case his balance fled. He still felt heavy and awkward, lumbering around like Hugo, though he hoped that sensation would fade after he'd gotten a little sleep.

If there was any perk to how small- cozy, he told himself - the little cabin was, it was for days like this. He didn't have to hobble too far to reach the bed. Kestrel found him some clean boxers and a pair of sweatpants (more for his own modesty than their embarrassment, he knew they'd seen it all before), briefly ducked out of the room to shut the front door, then climbed into bed with him and tucked themself against his chest.

Warren folded them into his arms as he had a thousand times before. He'd never get used to it, he thought- sure, it was easy enough for it to feel like a treasure on days like this, when things had come so close to going wrong, but even when things were utterly mundane. He'd spent two years separate from the world and the people he loved. He wouldn't ever take these moments for granted again. Not in his life. He could have ten thousand more moments like this, a hundred thousand, a million, and they'd all be just as special as the very first.

He pressed his nose into Kestrel's hair and took a deep breath. The forest incarnate. The scent of home.

That never changed.

#my writing #my ocs #oc kestrel #taking flight fic #oneshot #oc x canon #fablehaven #warren burgess #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #body horror

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spindlekick · 2 months ago

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THE Map of Dead Wood‼️🗺️

Took longer to finish bc I got busy w/ my new job, but she's finally here babeyy!!! It's not entirely to scale, but it's close enough to get the point across

Territory descriptions under the cut!

NOKOBY'S PEAK 👁️

A small community of obsessive magic Casters living on the cliffside of an arctic tundra. Everyone there is some kind of Summoner, Psychic, or esoteric magician. Captured Holy Beings power their towers; protecting them from the hellspawn that leak out from The Veilstain - or they would, if any of the creatures could survive the climb and freezing temperatures. The Casters here sacrifice everything for their practice, even their names and faces. While a little absent-minded and more than a little cult-like, the denizens of Nokoby's Peak are relatively harmless, considering themselves Seers rather than Soldiers.

ARUNDALE 🏞️

A relatively new and thriving coastal laketown. Most locals are farmers & fishermen, but they have a growing Caster population thanks to their reputation - Being the only territory (besides Nokoby's Peak) that hasn't been touched by The Veilstain, many send their family members here for safety + magical education. While more accepting of newcomers than Isolene, they still uphold the rule that those with 'Supernatural Ailments' must hide their deformities when in public & have reliable control over their curses. If a student/newcomer breaks these rules or harms anyone during their stay, they are exiled and forbidden from returning. Most locals believe the Lake protects them from the spread of the Stain, but those familiar with it's power know it's only a matter of time.

ISOLENE 🏔️

A society of mostly Humans living in the caves, caverns, & vast underground tunnels of the mountains. Their city is a labyrinth, with twisting passageways and hidden doors. Originally dug out and built during The Colossus War, the city was founded on fear and paranoia. Criteria for entry quickly became stricter and harder to achieve as the city expanded; slowly, it closed itself off from the surface entirely. The labyrinth passageways are booby-trapped & enchanted to confuse anyone that comes snooping around. Only Rockborn (those born & raised in Isolene) know where their city is & how to get there - naturally, nobody is allowed to leave, on the off chance they might reveal the tightly kept secret. Recent leakage of the Veilstain has only made these paranoid reclusives even more hostile to strangers.

RADER'S MILL 🌀

A poisoned stretch of woodland where the Rader family resides. They're the only people who live here, presumably because no one else wants to live so close to the Stain. Because of this, they're fairly isolated from the other communities. It's a day and a half's journey to Arundale alone, though Bambi is the only member of her family allowed to stay overnight - as long as she follows the rules.

Thanks to their proximity to the Veilstain, strange new species of Flora and Fauna thrive in their neck of the woods, though not all are edible and many are dangerously hostile.

THE BOUNDS 🌟

A grassland prairie separated by a giant chasm - impossible to cross without magic. Home to mostly werebeasts, though the divide has separated many families (the chasm wasn't always there). The only other way to get across is to go around through The Veilstain. It's a dangerous journey that can take up to three days, but having a Guide raises one's chances. The encroaching Stain has chased some from their forested homes to the praries, increasing hostility over territory & resources. Parents pay Guides to help their children pass through The Veilstain so they can learn magic in Arundale; hoping they'll use what they've learned to restore their homes & scrub out the Stain. Some feel it's only a matter of time before it spreads and pushes them all further towards the shoreline.

IRASTRIDA 🌋

A scarred land crowded with volcanic gysers and dead, calcified trees. With ash clogged skies and volcanic fumes choking the air, only a scattering of Damned even manage to live here. Not much is known about Irastrida other than even the Vielstain can't or won't touch it. Nobody knows why certain people choose to pilgrimage there, it's a land that appears to hate any and all forms of Life. Nothing that enters leaves unchanged.

THE VEILSTAIN 🏚️

A decayed and sinister woodland forest of blackened trees and the crumbled remains of a long fallen city. The Great Elk was killed here; The Blood of the Beast soaked the ground and rotted it from within - ripping a hole in The Veil separating the living from the dead. While horrific and fatal to most, it is a necromancer's paradise (if they can stay alive long enough to make use of it's secrets)

The Great Elk's corpse is the source of the Stain - it devours and corrupts all that it touches, creating new creatures of death and devastation. Nobody knows why it continues to spread so long after the demon's death; most believe it's enacting revenge on its master's behalf...or searching for something. Whatever it is, The Great Elk must never find it.

#artists on tumblr #map art #Dead Wood

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awkwardgtace · 10 months ago

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Guardian au Lore Drop

Three public classes of guardians

9ft-150: Giant

150-250: Titan

250-400: Colossus

Private classes may or may not exist above 400

Media inspired classification of Kaiju

Media is guardians fighting monsters inspired by the larger fauna on the planet

Senses

Some have improved senses

Better scent, sight, hearing

More sensitive touch and taste

Some keep base senses

Degree of struggle interacting with human sized people varies

Receive more training and usually have aids to help with hearing and sight

No rule for when the senses are better. Could be someone 30ft tall with vastly greater senses or 400ft tall with senses equivalent to average human

Guardians have specific roles in society

Giant

Construction in the human size cities

Gathering materials near and around human size things

Mediation between the average human sized person and other guardians. This is especially common for a max height giant class in regards to any colossus class

Titans

They have better strength on average which leads to more physical roles in relation to all sizes.

Manage food for society. This is mostly processing and shipping it.

Go out to clear dangerous fauna and flora from areas near cities

Construction for housing for guardians. Yes, even colossus class houses.

Mining and such in farther locations from human cities.

Some work as peacekeepers usually partnered with a colossus when possible.

Colossus

Usually go out hunting for larger size species to help supply food for titans and colossus classes.

They keep farms with crops of varying sizes. Sometimes titan or giant class guardians will be recruited to help with harvesting. Technology has made it easier for the most part where most farms are run by one single colossus guardian.

Largest ones with ties to average sized humans are often placed in a sort of peace keeper role. Not everyone is going to play nice once they’re bigger.

Kyrie takes on a peacekeeper role in the biggest human settlement. He has an older partner to handle interactions with most average humans. (it’s byssal and byssal is a minimum size Titan class so 150ft)

Exceedingly rare. Most often it seems there’s a set amount of colossus class at any time. This means that if there’s a new one, another has most likely died.

Anyone taller than 330 is exceedingly rare. Kyrie is 360 still. He a tall boy

History

Humans were one of the smallest creatures on a planet built for roughly the three sizes (some areas are bigger)

Eventually some humans started to grow bigger and showed intense protective instincts over others

They were called guardians and treated like a gift from the gods

As time passed humanity understood more and that it wasn’t the gods, but general genetics

Something sort of unlocked in the ones who grew to make them big full understanding is lacking even at the time of our story

Government knows a lot more than the general public is told. Some information would cause panic if widespread.

Government information Melody has learned and shouldn’t know

Guardians actually can’t remember their life at a normal size without being that size frequently. They’ll see all memories proportionate to their current size and won’t even register a problem unless actively focusing on it

The government sees Kyrie as a threat and most of the tests for a better medicine are finding ones that will debilitate him enough to capture if he becomes dangerous

The size altering medication only works when ingested as a pill. Any other form will at best make the guardian a little dazed

The ones who suffer pain when taking the medication are actually resistant to its effects. When Kyrie takes it if he wanted to fight it he could easily maintain his size. Kyrie is unaware of this, but Melody has said she knows he’d be his real size again if there was ever any danger around so she isn’t worried when he takes it. Melody hasn’t told him the truth because she knows him well. If Kyrie knew he’d take it and avoid her which is worse than taking it and seeing him in pain. At least she can help soothe his pain when he lets her be close to him.

Guardians struggle to see themselves as humans. This causes some to take horrible turns of personality. Also the reason they see Kyrie as such a threat. They don’t have any nearby colossus class who could fight him if he changes.

Common jobs for normal humans to work with guardians

General tech management and development (original goal for Melody until her internship and finding out Kyrie changed)

Relations between guardians and average humans. (Current job where she works from home a lot. Sort of like a mediator. There are times she physically goes to locations that have been having issues. Also Kyrie’s original job goal.)

Some average humans partner with peacekeepers to be a kind of go between and to draw out problems that are pretty big

There is a police force that’s sort of an extension to peacekeepers that comprises mainly giants and average humans. Peacekeepers are called in when the police can’t handle it.

#gt oc lore #gtwac #wacprompts #guardian au lore

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