Welcome to The Duality of Man, an original animanga role-play that features numerous supernatural creatures. Unfortunately, these various species have distanced themselves because of the war that occurred thousands of years ago, plaguing some with eyes that only see their dualism. While others meddle themself with their differences, two groups fight, each attempting to eliminate the other in for their definition of worldly peace. These two groups of the Terror Response Syndicate (TRS) and the Assembly of Phantoms (AP). With individuals fighting merely over their differences, it brings uncertainty to the outcome of this war.
We happily accept all role-players as long as they obey the rules and are capable of meeting our word count of 50. This does include those who are unfamiliar with this style of role-playing. The staff of The Duality of Man are willing to happily help those who are new to the role-playing world so they feel comfortable on site. Feel free to message the staff if you need help, they can be found here or in the site Discord and will gladly answer questions alongside calm concerns. If you have any suggestions we would love to hear them; guests may use the support board as a suggestion area as well. Should you decide to join, may I say welcome to the site and we all hope you enjoy your time here.
Yours Truely,
The Staff
season
Summer 2022
Heat has broken through into a glorious summer. The snow has entirely dried through the spring, leaving to the brilliance of the warmer months. Terror activity has risen as people are brought out of their homes, leaving the TRS in a position of consistent work. Each are attempting to maintain victory in the endless struggle for power.
With April, an activity check has arrived for members to do! Please post on the AC and tag all your accounts, including WIPs and OOC accounts. Failure to post on this AC will result in your accounts being marked inactive or deleted. Please note, due to a late start, the due date for this check has been adjusted for one time and one time only.
Gordon had felt Baxter's arm wrap around him, encouraging him to relax on top of him. Just before falling to sleep, he had made a joke to which he thought was quite funny, grinning slightly as sleep slowly started to take over. Sleep had come, he found himself having a wonderful dream. Of course when it had come to an end and his eyes had slowly opened up to look down at his mate, he couldn't help but have felt happier. The sight of Baxter under him, oh how he could stare at him all day long. He found himself pressing closer to Baxter, enjoying their closeness. There were a few things that he had to take care of today, one, take his mate shopping so that he could blend in. It wasn't the fact that he didn't like how unique he was or anything of the sort, he just couldn't bring himself to be happy when ever his mate was showing, finding himself extremely jealous at the thought of other people staring at him.
The other thing that had been dropped the night before that he planned on mentioning today was to find out more about his past. The words Baxter had shared were concerning, making him desire to protect him at all costs. Of course he didn't know exactly for sure what his mate had experienced when they talked about self defense. He refused to move from his spot, it wouldn't matter if Baxter wanted him off, he'd have to push him. But only because he was so comfy. From what he could tell, nobody had come into his apartment, no new scents, everything was how he had left it. He glanced over to see the balcony door was still open, having forgotten to close it the night before. The breeze was nice, though he wasn't sure if Baxter had felt the same way or not, seeing as he wore his clothes from yesterday and they didn't have a blanket over them.
With the outfit he had on last night, I should have thought about getting a blanket.... He thought to himself, slowly inching to move so that he could stand to retrieve a blanket for Baxter.
Baxter had slept through the night peacefully, more peacefully than usual. It was strange how well he had slumbered considering the circumstances: entering a world far and different from the one he had originated from, and the paranoia of something happening in this new world. The male was so used to sleeping practically with one eye open. There wasn’t a single interruption last night. No nightmares, no awakening in the dead of the night to the mere sound of his packmates adjusting themselves amidst their own rest. Only obscure yet warm dreams.
The only thing that actually had reached deep enough into his mind and extract his consciousness was the sudden but slight movement on top of him, removing the warmth from parts of his body at a time to allow the chilly air to nip at his heated flesh. With a grunt and a subtle growl, the alpha’s strong arm tightened around the male demandingly in an attempt to harness him down against him tightly. As he made the sound, he suddenly sprung up into a series of coughs.
”What in the *cough* fuck…” he hacked out raspily, parting his hands away from Gordon momentarily to rub his eyes out and return them to him, peeling his eyes open a groggy slit at the ceiling. ”Dry… throat so dry…” he mumbled sleepily, clearing his throat and gulping his own saliva desperately for some moisture.
Undoubtedly, the male had been sleeping with his mouth ajar and open in order to intake oxygen, due to having a man likely as heavy as him laying on top of him. The nasal passage may not have been enough, and therefore his mouth had opened instead to supply that extra intake.
At the sound of his voice, the large furry bundles around the couch had lifted up into life, composed at attention and ensuring that their leader is alright. Baxter turned his head onto the other side, glancing at each of them and reaching out for one to give it a pat upon the head. His thin slits then veered over to fix on Gordon. It took him a few blinks, but he registered his mate and a soft blush flooded his cheeks. The air was cold, yet more than just the body heat of the other male had filled him with a comforting warmth. It was recognizing that he had someone to hold close, protect, and give/receive acknowledgement.
Something made him want to sit up to peck him, but he didn’t want to move. A combination of laziness, coziness and… stubbornness to express himself in ways other than strength, resolve and dominance. Still, those usually hard eyes of his was as soft as a stick of unrefrigerated margarine when deeply engaged in the eyes of his soul mate. ”... mmm… hope you slept well… bet my chest ain’t comfortable, being so hard. It’s cold as shit in here…” he commented, squeezing the male even closer to him to flush their body heats, between each other. Baxter’s body was very hot, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be cold.
”You got any water or something?” he asked, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth dryly and clearing his throat.
Gordon felt Baxter's arms tighten around him, keeping him from leaving, encouraging him to remain pressed against him. When Baxter sat up, he hovered in front of him when he listened to him coughing. Perhaps I should get him some water too. He thought to himself as he watched Baxter who was still in process of waking up. When Baxter had reached out to pet the wolf's head, he sighed in relief, at least the coughing had ceased but that wasn't to say it wouldn't likely start up again. "I was completely comfortable." He countered with a grin on his face. "I can lay on you all day." He whispered, pressing closer to him. "I only moved because I wanted to get you a blanket, I forgot to shut the balcony door last night." He whispered, snuggling Baxter. To Baxter's question he pulled away, "Yes I do. I'll get you a glass as well as the blanket." He answered, pulling away from his mate slowly, not in a rush since he was being honestly about being comfortable. He closed the balcony glass door before moving into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard before placing it under the sink to fill it up with water, once he had it filled he set it down on the counter to open another cabinet that held his blankets before slugging it on his arm before grabbing the glass of water.
He carefully walked back towards Baxter, setting the blanket on the foot of the couch before sitting on the couch, holding the glass for Baxter so that he could take it to drink. He knew that Baxter likely wasn't familiar with drinking water from a glass, so despite possible efforts to steal the glass, he held firmly onto it. The last thing he wanted was to risk the glass breaking, not because he'd have to replace it, not because glass was a pain to clean up, but because he didn't want Baxter at risk of being cut and frankly neither of them were wearing shoes so if they were to step in it, it would hurt like hell. He'd patiently watch Baxter drink the water, not in a rush to get comfortable again just in case Baxter wanted or needed more water.
Gordon’s response, along with his closeness, had tugged Baxter’s lips into a weary smile. There was few times that the male actually could smile, and he did it unconsciously. A mate that showed him such affection while also expressing such care for him was enough to lift the corners of his mouth. Lightly, his arms wrapped around him to hold him close and seep just a bit more of that satisfying feeling from him.
The smile faded when he had pulled away to respond to his question, instead being replaced with two puffy cheeks and considerably sulky eyes. Baxter’s first instinct was to grab him in any way he possibly could and pull him right back against his body, but he hesitated since he didn’t want to startle him- that and he really wanted a water and a cover over them if they were going to relax. By the time he made a poor attempt to grab at them, the male had already been up and out of his reach to fulfill the male’s request and his own goal.
Only after he had vanished from the room, had the male’s words registered in his mind more thoroughly. ”... glass?” he suddenly piped up questioningly. The native, of course, was familiar with the material as it had traded and used sparingly by his people mainly for decor and pieces of artistry by the women. However, what would such a material have to due with water? ”Water in glass… what the hell?”
Gordon entered the room once more, and Baxter’s dumbfounded slits locked onto him and switched between the thick blanket and the cylindrical device in his hand, seemingly filled with fluid. There was much he had to question, like the thickness and makeup of the blanket and how in the hell was he going to drink water from something encasing it. It was too much of an exhausting idea to do so though, and so he had simply went along with it without the need for an explanation.
”Blanket’s here are a hell of a lot different from what we weave…” he commented in his dried, rasped voice, reaching out and caressing it before roughly groping it to examine it’s thickness. ”Damn, how… our quilts don’t look or feel anything like this…” he murmured. The next thing he did was completely snatch the blanket, and veil it over himself greedily. The man had clearly taken a liking to it.
The glass was held out to him, and as though it were a dagger being held to him he had leaned backwards warily from it, scrutinizing every detail of it- though there wasn’t much detail to observe in the first place! To anyone else, it was a normal glass cup carrying water. ”I can see right through it,” he noted the obvious, simply out of amazement for how clear and unscathed the surface of it was. It was neatly crafted, and it hadn’t been often that he had seen glass in this form due to its scarce existence and alternate usage in his village.
With a claw, he prodded it at first. Then, he clasped both his hands around it as delicately as he could, though Baxter’s definition of delicate wasn’t like anyone else’s, and he leaned in and realizes that there was an opening at the top of it upon closer inspection. ”Fuck. I thought the water was just completely sealed in there!” he exclaimed out of frustration for his own ignorance. Putting his lips up to the edge of it, he tried to pull it over and take an entire gulp… which was enough for him to down the whole glass in a sitting.
A deep, obnoxious breath of refreshment erupted from his mouth as he pulled away, and wiped his lips. However, his brow was arched inquiringly. ”You people even have different tasting water than the streams. It’s way better. Now that my throat isn’t dry… get over here,” he demanded eagerly, grabbing the male by his waist and attempting to reel him over into him.
Gordon couldn't help but find Baxter's puffy cheeks amusing. He was just so handsome, if it wasn't for the fact that he failed to bring a blanket last night and that Baxter needed water right now, he would have remained on top of him snuggling. He heard Baxter's question, it had given him motive to not let go of it when he had returned with it. As soon as he had taken a seat, Baxter was looking at the glass and blanket. As soon as he had snatched the blanket to feel it, he couldn't help but chuckle to his reaction. Well at least he will be warmer now. He thought to himself as he waited for Baxter to take a drink of the water in the glass. He examined it and he watched and waited for all the reactions. As soon as Baxter took a drink, he watched as it went down in one gulp, impressed. As soon as Baxter had finished with the glass, he quickly stood from the couch to place the glass on the counter as to avoid it possibly being broken in the process.
He was quick to return, as to avoid possibly being missed before laying on top of Baxter and the blanket. He had been the one to steal the blanket from him, so he'd be the one having the blanket between them, unless he wanted to try and wrestle him under it, which would be difficult because he was on top. He adjusted himself to try and make it harder for Baxter to try and free himself from the warmth blanket. "I'm glad you like my blanket, I'm going to snuggle you now." He whispered playfully, doing exactly that. As soon as he became settled, he closed his eyes, feeling comfy once more. Though frankly he really wished that he could be overpowered so that he could join him under the blanket, but perhaps that would have to wait until another time.
Before Baxter knew it, the other man had been climbing on top of him in such a manner that it was almost suffocating for him; and by the look on his face, this was all on purpose. ”Wha-... what the hell are you doing?” he asked him as he wiggled, attempting to free himself from this restraint. It was too late. Gordon had him completely bound down underneath the warm blanket. The gifted native was like some kind of roll or burrito with how the cover was wrapped around him, and the way he attempted to struggle made him look like a fish desperate to return to water.
Baxter narrowed his eyes at his mate, growling lowly for a few moments before erupting into a fit of writhing in order to break himself out of this restraint. The first feelings that came to him from this scenario had been frustration, and helplessness, which he was not okay with. The male wasn’t going to let the other have this way with him, and he’d return it to them ten fold.
The alpha had jostled himself enough that his shoulders finally rose from the blankets, but it wasn’t enough for him to get his arms out. Recklessly, he had violently threw himself to the side - the side where there was no head of the couch - and attempted to throw the male off the couch along with himself. The wolves had long scattered at this point, foreseeing this event to occur, fleeing the crash zone. As soon as Gordon would tumble off, Baxter would take advantage of this point of freedom to land on top of him and slam his muscular hands against his mate’s to effectively pin him; meanwhile, baring his canines in his mate’s face and a victoriously smug smirk.
”Next time you pin me like that… I’ll assert my dominance in the same way that lead to this mark on my neck, only I won’t hold back!” he threatened enthusiastically, however already aware that this wasn’t much of a threat for his mate. Surely, the man would have preferred if he did punish him in such a scandalous way. It wouldn’t surprise Baxter if he made a move to pin him down again solely to egg another sexual engagement. Teasingly, he landed a kiss upon his lips.
”One more thing…” he whispered, descending down to his neck and breathing on it softly, before suddenly diving in and sinking his teeth into the male’s light, tender skin. The nip would likely draw blood, but not enough to be of any harsh significance. It was enough to leave a mark… and likely a slight bruise as a result of his poor ability of holding back. ”Making sure there’s no question that you’re mine.” Slowly, he pushed himself up from the floor, and stood up, offering out a hand to assist the other in their ascent.
“Speaking of making sure you’re mine… you need to tell me more about that street fighting shit, and who the hell is laying any paw on you.” Baxter was clearly already prepared to make a statement.
Gordon couldn't help but chuckle when Baxter had asked his question. "Just trapping you in the blanket." He teased him playfully, of course Baxter's wiggling only encouraged him to keep wrapping him up until he appeared to be that of a burrito. Despite his wiggling, he couldn't seem to break free from the blanket that Gordon had wrapped him in. No sooner had Baxter started wiggling the struggling had continued until finally he broke his shoulders free of the blanket before knocking them both off the couch. He would land on his back, chuckling more when Baxter had pinned him against the floor. "Awwwwwwwwwwwww but I want it now." He teased just before Baxter had kissed his lips. He playfully pouted when Baxter had pulled away from the kiss to whisper, before biting his neck. He flinched, though he was sure it wasn't nearly as bad as when he had marked Baxter in his feral form. Once he had finished marking him, he couldn't help but grin when Baxter made his comment but his face expression changed to a playful pout when Baxter had stood up, thankfully he had reached out his hand to help him up.
"Hold that thought." He answered just before taking Baxter's hand before trying to yank him back onto the floor so that he would be under his wonderful mate. "I wasn't done wrestling you from earlier." He whispered, reaching over he grabbed the blanket before placing it over them so that he could snuggle just a little bit longer. "If your going to kill somebody just because I enjoy street fighting, I won't be giving you information about it, since it is a hobby and I enjoy it. It isn't like a war that we grew up in, you know...." He knew that Baxter cared about his safety but he was going to get restless if he couldn't have his street fights. This place had its moments of being boring, at least when he was street fighting, he was able to see how strong he became and stuff. Of course if it was possible Baxter was going to tell him no, he would be back at square one of being bored if he bothered to listen instead of attempting to sneak out on him. To him the fighting was good for the soul, kept him in shape too. "Street fighting, you fight in human form. Powers are banned from the mix."
As in he didn't shift and the many species who joined in and to refrain from using powers if they could help it. The first one on the ground would lose, somewhat similar to wrestling except you were allowed to hit and kick your opponent.
”E-Eh?!” he exclaimed in shocked, attempting to stiffen and ground himself so that he wouldn’t lose his foot. It was inevitably. Baxter was pulled right back down onto him with a thud, straddling him a little as to not dig any bone or muscle into him uncomfortable with his weight. ”Tsk… not done huh? Heh… fine. Looks like I’m the one laying on you now,” he whispered to him softly, relaxing and nuzzling in at the leaking bite mark on Gordon’s neck. Tenderly, he treated it with a series of gentle and wet licks to cleanse it of any blood and dirty bodily oils. It was was courtesy to ensure wounds upon the partner were treated with care; especially ones inflicted by the mate themselves. The blood had a metallic hint to it, but for the most part it came off as sweet to his taste buds; likely induced by the bias of knowing it was his lover’s life essence.
Baxter completely paused when the male’s words had reached his ears, and as he had been talking he had been stuck on a single part of his response that had caught him completely off. ”’War we grew up in’...? The hell does he mean by that?!” he questioned himself frantically. There they were again, the images from the past sliding back into his head like a millisecond slideshow of over a hundred of the most significant and mentally taxing scenes he’s experienced in his short life.
”Hold it right there for a moment…” he insisted, looking away in thought, before lifting up a bit to look sternly into his eyes. The native’s eyes were completely sophisticated, and even perplexed with disturbance. “”You… you said we. ‘War we grew up in,’ yeah?” he confirmed breathlessly. The male swallowed, and continued. ”Are you telling me we both just so happened to be in wars in the past? How would you know that?” he asked, pressing on the issue almost obsessively. Baxter had to know how it was that Gordon knew, as there could be no other explanation for how he knew than the idea he had in mind. The tattoo that his mate had on his upper back, one he’s seen and skinned off of the bodies of many men in the past, couldn’t be coincidental in this case.
Gordon found himself relaxed with Baxter on top of him, finding their closeness comfy. He could feel Baxter licking his neck, it somewhat tickled despite the purpose being o cleanse it. He mentioned the war, perhaps that was a big mistake since he hadn't mentioned the tattoo that Baxter had noticed earlier. He stared at Baxter, feeling like their was distance between them. Should I pull him close, should I let go? He decided that he wasn't going to let go, the last thing he wanted was for Baxter to think he wanted him to go when it was only meant to be agency to act as he pleases. Gordon took in a breath when Baxter looked at him, "Yes I did." He mumbled, clearly regretting it. "That is what I said." He mumbled, not wishing to think about his past. "I recognized your tattoo." He mumbled, sigh glancing. Perhaps looking away was a bad thing, but if Baxter wanted to attempt to harm him, he could be his guest. He wasn't about to fight in him return however. He had come here to dodge the wars but upon seeing Baxter he couldn't leave him, not when it seemed like they connected despite the differences.
"A war I never wanted to be apart of but was forced to partake in. As I said, I'm an outsider, but that was by my choice alone." He mumbled, wondering if he should have bothered attempting to remove those tattoos are at least scaring over it. The thoughts kept going through his mind, scar your upper back, make it no longer match. "Do you regret it?" He asked after a few moments of being silent. "Becoming my mate? Seeing as you noticed the tattoo after I already marked you." He felt bad that Baxter might be stuck with him for the rest of their life. Well that is unless he died, then maybe, maybe then he would be free of the enemy mate that he had chosen for himself. Do press me for answers, I don't want to remember this past. I want to push past it as if it never existed. I don't want to be reminded that I used to be an alpha to my pack, had a mate picked out for me. Damn it, that woman gives me the creeps. Even now I can't help but fear that she is searching me out just because she can't leave me the hell alone. He thought to himself, closing his eyes as if that would help him forget it.
Despite the lame effort to try and calm his mate, his arms remained wrapped around him. Expecting him to demand freedom if he wanted it so badly. He couldn't help but feel somewhat clingy in case Baxter did decide to try and push him away, not wanting him to go. He chose him as his mate because he wanted to be with him, he didn't care that he had the tattoo of the enemy pack on his face.
In that instant, the world had seemingly tipped over completely upside-down. The one he mated with, despite his chance to engage this idea before, was blood of the tribe his native people had promptly declared war on and continued to war upon for years. The blood that was spilled was massive, for they were both civilizations that stood the rest of time up into the modern era as they were; without the need for innovation. Their populations were vast, and consisted up to many villages besides the one capital.
While the Lupek suffered very few casualties and raids upon their village, they committed to a ruthless and ceaseless charge into the enemy’s lands. Husbands, women and children were slaughtered and those women and children sometimes were kept alive merely to use as fodder for pleasure, ransom and a means of leaving their mark. It was his people’s military practice that Baxter could not forgive; and it was the reason he had cut his ties with his bloodline. The man was unable to cope with what he saw. Blood and gore was one thing, barbarism asserted upon the innocent was another.
Oh, and Baxter was haunted by every image. He recalls being a victim like them, and it was disgraceful; but seeing it was another thing. The male could remember their faces clearly as though the warring had been just yesterday. The sounds: cries of both agony and skirmish, the swearing. Even the smell.
It wasn’t to be mistaken that the enemy had not adopted the same brutality as them when they raided their villages and camps; even warriors had been subjected to the same to demean and destroy. The Lupek only retaliated a hundred fold, as they were the kings of atrocity. Baxter cannot forgive either of their indigenous peoples for their crimes against life and sanctity, and he felt the Lupek would be grander if not for their horrific war habits.
Surely, Gordon was well aware of the power of the Lupek and their evil approach to war. It is what made them so mighty. It was humiliating for Baxter to think that the other was informed on his bloodline’s background, since in a way he himself would be viewed as so savage merely because he was a notable character in the war before his desertion. While he wanted to carry those cheek marks proudly, the only thing that defeated his pride behind his blood was their infamy. Not to mention, the possible bitterness or divide between him and his mate from this bad blood of their people; undoubtedly, he could have left a relative or a person of importance to Gordon in pieces and in the mud.
Pitted in his chest was the anxiety of Gordon turning against him as well. If they had the slightest bit of loyalty still to his tribe, he would grab Baxter by the throat and slay him right here right now; possibly making a decision that could lead to diplomatic relations even since he’d kill a deserter of the Lupek like him. This was a choice that could make a big impact, that is if he were to return and make known of his deed. Perhaps that could be the reason Gordon tried to cover this up?
”Wh-wha…” he mumbled unconsciously to the male’s sudden inquiry. It was the question that could make or break their mateship, and mateship was supposed to be unbreakable. Baxter knew the sheer impact the next question had threatened to them both. It was almost intimidating. Gritting his teeth and baring his fangs, he applied the force of all his strength to Gordon and slammed him into the floor in an attempt to effectively pin him.
”You’re mine, you understand? I don’t regret anything. The only thing I regret is not being able to… protect people from what I watched them go through. I hate both your tribe and my own. It doesn’t mean I hate you!” he growled at him, pressing his forehead against Gordon’s and touching noses with him. ”I don’t regret mating with you. I wish I realized the truth earlier. Am I pissed? A little. Uncomfortable? Yes… but with other things.” he grumbled.
”I don’t want to talk about this. Our peoples don’t matter anymore, because we’re both here and they’re far away. I don’t know how the hell you ended up here, but you’re just like me. A deserter… I left the war by choice, and with that war, my tribe… maybe it’s by fate we were brought together,” he suddenly said, pulling away a bit and hardening his gaze. ”Maybe we’re supposed to bring our people together with our new pack,” he suggested. While Baxter was a fighter against fate, he also religiously believed in fate. A convenience like this was seen as a stroke of fate upon both the canvases of their lives. It was better to see it that way, rather than see it as simply “bad luck” or “coincidence”.
”Forget the past,” he demanded, jumping up onto his feet and, exerting his strength once more, he grabbed his mate and attempted to pull him back up onto their feet and hold him close. ”I don’t want to talk about this anymore…” Baxter was starting to feel it. The toll that the topic was inflicting on his mind. It was subtle, but there was a glistening of absence in the alpha’s eyes that suggested there was something snapping at his conscience in an attempt to submerge him, and drown him in it. The past had to be laid to rest, or he feared he’d never move on.
Gordon felt ashamed that he had clearly upset Baxter. Perhaps he should have told him about the tattoo before taking him home but he just, he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want it to affect their relationship. Their mateship had happened so fast but he didn't regret doing it. He liked Baxter and he believed Baxter liked him in return but it seemed that maybe he had been hoping for too much. So he had bothered asking his question, not trying to place pressure on Baxter but, he felt a great need to hear him say it. He didn't want to be in the dark on where their relationship stood, despite the mateship they had agreed to. Gordon didn't struggle with Baxter had used full force to smack him against the floor before pinning him in place. He was too focused on his shame on his tattoos, both were apart of his tribe but one, one was the tattoo only an alpha wore and he still had it despite being an outsider. He didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want it becoming known. The words seemed go fall on deaf ears, already deciding that he would remove the tattoo by force or at the very least he would scar it up so that it wouldn't be visible anymore. Hearing his words about the tribes had been noticed and used it as his reason of permission to scar over it.
He laid on the floor, he wouldn't be able to scar his back unless he were to shift into his feral form. Right now Baxter was on top of him. He couldn't help but melt slightly when Baxter had pressed his forehead against his. The subject seemed to get lost, maybe it was his fault for not joining in. Plotting how he would go about his change, knowing Baxter he might be against the idea but it was decision after all. Baxter had pulled away from him, If he was going to change, it would be now or never. Of course he didn't get the chance because Baxter was already standing up, pulling him to his feel as well. "Forget the past...." He mumbled, deciding that if he was going to do it. He'd have to act quickly because he wasn't going to get this chance again. With force he would shove Baxter away from him before shifting into his feral form. It might have appeared like he had a plan to attack his mate, but that wasn't the case. Of course if Baxter tried attacking him, it would make this suffering a whole lot easy to end, now wouldn't it? He would then reach over his shoulder with his claw before bringing it down against his own upper back.
If it hadn't become clear to Baxter why he had been silent before, it might become clear as his claw was coming down. The appearance of one about ready to scar the living hell out of their own flesh in an attempt to remove something, something that they deemed wasn't worthy of being there any further. Of course after his back, that damn arm would be next, he didn't want these tattoos to remain on his body. Let it rain blood.
Baxter’s heart had skipped a beat when a sudden force pried between them, ejecting him away from his mate aggressively; enough to send him back a few feet. All that had been going through his mind then had been shattered and these thoughts were that of symbolizing relief, amends and hope. Yet, for them to be taken from him so soon and so suddenly by this act. Baxter’s instincts and defense mechanisms were active. All senses came online, and pumping through his veins had been a heavy overdose of adrenaline and rage. Was his own mate deceiving him now, and prepared to strike?
No, it didn’t seem like it. If the male recalled though, Gordon was completely silent through his words- almost as if he hadn’t caught on to a single thing he had said. The idea was painful to him, as he wasn’t much of a talker nor much of an optimist. Yet, this optimism fell on ignorance. The flame ignited within him, and it was stoked by this thought. Baxter’s brows furrowed, knitting together. The demon inside was stirred, and he was lusting for alleviation through destructive application- but no, he had to resist it. He had to stall it for the sake of not jumping to conclusions and potentially harming his mate.
Suddenly, in an instant, a beast had erupted from seemingly nowhere in front of him. Baxter knew this well, as it was frequently done in battle in front of him and he’d be left as the only fleshy being to stand and battle amongst the Lupek’s packs. Gordon had revealed himself in the truest form he could possibly be in, and it would have been to the alpha’s fancy if he hadn’t been concerned about his own well-being and the state of their relationship at the moment.
”What are you—?!” The instant the muscle of his huge, muscular arm had twitched, the male braced himself as though they were going to strike; only to see him raise a claw beyond his back with a werewolf’s greatest weapons- their claws- pointed down at himself.
Within himself, he felt something snap. It was a sound, a sensation, as though metal itself had been bent and torn into hundreds of pieces. The cage has been broken again and he wouldn’t be able to contain this demon; at least for just a moment. A glint of red in is eyes, and his lips parted to reveal a menacing display of sharp canines that could easily tear a throat out.
In an instant, Baxter completely vanished from that position, and was now in a headlong rush at Gordon nearly at the speed of a bullet. With a force far exceeding that of a mule’s kick, he slammed himself against his mate; one claw gripping the werewolf’s arm and the other gripping where his throat would be in a terrifying grip. Not enough to choke, but enough to send shocks. If successful, he’d send himself and Gordon straight against the wall; caving it, and crating a web of fissures through it; and Baxter released his hand from his mate’s throat to punch straight through the wall in sheer rage in a desperate attempt to relieve this anger of his before he actually brought harm to the male directly.
The Lupek warrior’s eyes glared into Gordon’s eyes. The rage of a barbarian army could be interpreted in them, showing that his infamous temper had been triggered for once in a very long time. Never had he thought he’d become so livid and aggressive with a beloved like this as such was against his ideals. There was a part of himself he could not fully control.
”What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarled into his face, only an inch apart nose-to-nose. Those slits of his have never looked so cold and serious with him as of yet. Now, Gordon would learn how serious he was about this mateship and his mate’s well-being. ”Who am I kidding? I give less than a shit for a reason. Not only do you push me away, but you have the fuckin’ gull to pull some self-harm shit? Right in front of me? Do you take my purpose for a joke?”
Gordon hadn't been thinking about his mating's feelings. Too focus on trying to forget the past, of course he had an idea of what exactly that meant and self harm wasn't on that list but he didn't want these tattoos anymore. He never wanted these tattoos but they were bestowed upon him and who was he to say no? He was just another lycanthrope after all. Tradition gave him these tattoos, tattoos that were for meant for honor. He didn't have honor, not since he chose agency over responsibility. He had thought that he'd get a chance to slice his claws along his upper back, but was proven wrong when Baxter had advanced towards him, grabbing his one arm while the other hand had grabbed his neck before forcing him against the wall. When Baxter had released his throat, he remained in his spot, unmoving as he tried sorting out what exactly he had done to set his mate off. He hadn't attacked him, hadn't said anything disrespectful about their mateship, then what was it. Baxter had punched his hand into the wall, watching his mate in this fury was frightening, not because he was in danger because frankly any scars that could cover up these dreadful tattoos would be worth it, but because he knew this how dangerous his mate could be when protection was on the line.
Baxter's question had brought his attention back at him, he remained quiet before hearing the reason for his mate's sudden rage. Self harm? Is that what he thinks I was intending? He hadn't thought about it like that, he honestly wanted to rid himself of the tattoos, not being known as the guy that wanted to harm himself just because he could. He shifted back into his human form, there was no point in remaining in his feral form if he wouldn't be able to scar over his tattoos, not that he had that desire still, since his mate's happiness came first and foremost. "You said that you hate both tribes.... and to forget the past." He mumbled, having not meant to offend Baxter in the slightest. "I said I was an outsider, I meant ever word of it..." He was trying to figure out the best way to tell Baxter how he felt without the risk of upsetting him further, the only problem was, he wasn't completely sure if that was possible at this point. "How can I be an outsider when I have these?" He moved his free arm to touch along his flesh so that Baxter would come to realize he was talking about the tattoo on his arm before moving along his shoulder to touch his upper back where the other tattoo remained. "I didn't even get a choice of wanting these, I got them and I'm stuck with them." He needed to understand his reasoning for his attempt at self harm. "How can I forget when they are a reminder?" He dropped his hand back to his side, looking towards Baxter.
"I didn't take your purpose as a joke, didn't even think about scarring over being the same thing as self harm. I'm sorry.... It won't happen again." The last part had come out as a mumble because he couldn't help but feel slightly upset that he'd be stuck with these damn tattoos for ever, unless of course Baxter gave permission but he highly doubted that would ever happen and he wasn't about to ask.
Baxter had not averted his eyes the entire time that Gordon had given him his explanation, having the courtesy of at least hearing anything he had to say about it before he finally went about on a tangent of his own. The whole time his mate spoke, he was seemingly frozen in time, eyes of exasperation fixed upon him attentively. Part of the reason why he did this was also to make a statement to his mate- that they should always listen to each other in a situation like this. Mateship was not a one-way street; it was a two-way.
Blood dripped from the hole in the wall, seeping from Baxter’s arm and knuckles. He felt no pain from it, as his anger kept him nice and numb; not to mention his ability to endure and ignore pain as well. It was a double-edged sword, not being able to take wounds seriously, but also being able to fight at full strength even when injured. This was a warrior’s resolve.
”There’s no excuse,” he growled at him in a deep tone, nose now touching the other’s. ”Your well-being isn’t just your responsibility any more. It’s mine, and I take this responsibility more seriously than my own.”
Slowly, he drew his arm out of the wall, revealing the tendrils of blood spiraling down his arm from a series of gashes. Like dew drops from a leaf, they plummeted onto the floor beneath them in thick plops. Not even a grimace had passed over Baxter’s face as he did so, since his full attention was on Gordon, and nothing would redirect it. ”This arm here is proof. Don’t you dare even move to even stop the bleeding. You watch it closely and listen to me,” he commanded.
One of his fingers, dripping with the red essence from his knuckles, raised up and traced his cheek marks perfectly as though he knew their shape and position on his face by heart. This was a commonly performed act done by his tribe to express a variety of gestures; either honoring the death of a packmate by coloring your cheek marks with their blood, or expressing courage and resolve by using your own from your own injuries.
”This isn’t the only time I’ve done this, nor the only time I’ve bled like this. My own people made me bleed like this. Not just yours. That’s a story for another time.” He completed the coloring, before poking him in the chest and leaving a red dot on him. ”If anyone should be ripping off the mark of their bloodline, it should be me. I promise you that!”
”But I keep these marks because they prove my existence, they prove my blood, and they are proof that I survived and moved on with my life. Without these, I can’t prove shit. I’m not one of my great people, and I can’t prove I am better than them by moving on without these fang tattoos,” he explained, before reaching around him and caressing the tattoo on his back with his claws.
Baxter was panting now, releasing hot air with every breath he took from his mouth. Rage took a toll on him, and left him exhausted after snapping. At least now, he was starting to fall into the pillow of ease the more he spoke. It didn’t mean he was ready to feel guilty for his actions as of yet.
”This tattoo proves your existence. It’s who you are and who you were, it is your past. Not to mention, it means you’ve survived and moved on- or even the other way around. Running away from your blood is running away from yourself, and who would that make you? No one then. You can’t be anyone without you, and that’s dishonoring yourself,” he mumbled to him.
Baxter’s slits began to relax at least, their intensity dying down to a casual level. Slowly, they skimmed over the tattoo on his arm then. It was a second tattoo that he noticed, but had absolutely no clue what it was, what it represented nor how he got it. As a result, he ignored it and looked back up at Gordon.
”I’ll only repeat myself once.” Baxter paused briefly, before proceeding. ”I believe in fate… many of both our peoples do. Fate landed these marks on our necks. Fate mated us together for a reason, and I bet we’re supposed to succeed our tribes and make a greater one of them both together.” Delicately, he snared Gordon’s hands into his own without leaving his eyes for a second. Weariness appeared to be clearly plaguing him now, as his eyes grew dull and bags started to form. A combined drawback between his rage and his bleeding arm.
”If you removed that mark, would we really be able to prove we brought both our people together and made something greater than them?” he asked him. ”Harming yourself would admit defeat to your past. You really wanna be that pathetic? ‘Cause I’m sure I chose a strong warrior as my mate.”
Gordon listened as Baxter claimed there wasn't an excuse. It sounded to him that despite his desire to remove or scar over these tattoos he'd have to live with them for the rest of his life. I understand what your saying and I respect it, but I never asked to become the next alpha and I wish I could remove them still even if I disappear as you claim. At least then I'd forever be away from that damn woman. Now I have to figure something else out so that I can avoid seeing them in the mirror... He thought to himself with a sigh as he listened as to avoid interrupting Baxter. His explanation had reached his ears, he wouldn't try and remove the tattoos again, but it was purely for the intent on pleasing his mate. Of course if one thing stood out from this speech Baxter had mentioned to him, it was the fact that he had just admitted that his own people had made him bleed like this. Are they the ones that made you suffer before? Never again. I won't ever let them touch you ever again. He thought to himself, somewhat hoping they would come so that he could tear them apart. It was a cruel hope to want revenge for Baxter but frankly he wanted it anyway. He would wait for Baxter to finish before telling him, "Then I better tell you know that I admit to running away from my past."
He would side glance, "Winning a fight doesn't make a person less pathetic." He would then look back towards Baxter. "Winning a fight doesn't give you honor either. Not really. It just gives you more problems then it is worth. Which is why I ran away and why I hate these." He glanced at his arm, "The mark of my pack....." He would then look back towards Baxter resting his head against the wall. "And this...." It was a struggle to admit it but maybe now it would be best to admit it instead of keeping it quit. "It was meant for the alpha, but I'm no alpha." His eyes closed as he took away his own rank, not that it would make a difference, it wasn't like his pack would call him one if they ever found him. He knew upon fleeing that he had set himself up to be nothing more than a sire for the next alpha. "I fear I gave you more trouble than you bargained for Baxter." He answered with a sigh, "If my pack ever finds me, there will only be grief." He finally figured out how he would go about ignoring those damn tattoos on his body. Deciding despite his annoyance towards shirts and other fabrics he would refrain from being shirtless.
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