Full moon

[Nelsi/ Na'ara]

Na'ara padded through the weird place. It was amazing, this white stuff the ground. She’d never seen it before. She’d never even heard of it.

It was like shed stepped into another world.

This was weird; it didn't just cover the ground. It covered the trees, lakes, and weirdest of all, the rivers.

She was so cold that her teeth were clicking and clacking together. How could anything survive in this weather?
Still she padded on in the direction in which the sun went down every night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Na’ara walked and walked until the sun was down and she was so tired that she was stumbling to her left and right. She figured she should find shelter for the night, but she didn’t. She kept going.

Soon she came to a small pond that had a small waterfall at one side. She bent down to take a drink. As she was lapping up the water she barely heard the rustling in the bushes behind her. She turned around, the bush was shaking.

Na’ara flexed her claws, and padded towards it. She bunched her muscles, then dived into the bush. Teeth bared, and claws slashing.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Only a kiss… Yet it was not only a kiss which he had faced this time; it was not a kiss at all which had caressed his maw, his lips, his broad face. No, no, not a kiss at all, not even close; no lips nor tongue had pulled against his skin, his fur; no gentle movements, no loving movements, no sign of submission, of giving in, on longing. No, not at all, not at all. This time it had been so different, so much more. The script he read again and again, so different, so different, so very, very changed; before his very eyes the words had morphed, had changed, been scratched out, re-written, been so changed, so changed. White-out and ink soaking into the pages, burns and rips and tears, pages so changed, so altered, parts added, taken out, exits not meant, lines spoken wrong, different, with all new flair; yes, this time had been different. Yet different…different was not always bad, nor always good, not always enjoyable, not always longed for. So interesting, yet so different, and now he longed for normality, for his normality, for his script, his story, for the story he knew so well, knows so well, would always know so well, would always live, time and again; back on the cycle, circling and circling, he was back on the cycle, and now so ready to begin it anew. And all it needed was a glimpse, a glance, a single decision; and that kiss would follow.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Ever changing, ever shifting, ever moving; a shadow-hued form shifting over his opposite, his negative, the ivory hues of snow and ice, of winter, of cold; but he is heat, the heat of anger and lust and of the demon which runs his mind; so different, too different, yet always the same; the scenery shifts and morphs and pulls against itself, yet the cycle is always the same, always the same. Dull gaze is watching, scanning, studying; not approving, not disapproving, merely accepting, seeing, taking it all in. Lust; lust does not see, it is blind, a blind heat, a blind desire; lust merely smells, and he smells so well, too well, in this damp, dank cold, and scent leads to heat, a heat he wishes to feel only more strongly. Tail shifts, pulls, muscles rippling, morphing; desire melts the caution away, melts it to it drips from his form, like snowmelt falling from the trees, and he cares not that the bush shivers around him, protesting the movements of lashing black tail. But caution claws a hold at last, and movements are perceived through dull, bored eyes, movements he recognizes, predicts, and meets with movements of his own. A drive, a pounce, a swift hunter’s movement, but sight gives the upper hand, sight has made him the faster, and his own muscles shift beneath ebony hued pelt, pulsing and churning and pulling thick body into motion; a swift leap, one sharp movement, and he is free, shadows pulling back from shadow of bush, and his form separates from darkness, heaves itself from hiding, reveals his bulk, ebony fighting to be seen against its true enemy of ivory. Flash of pink pulls from the black, a tongue runs harshly over smooth lips, and rough cuts, three jagged lines, three jagged wounds, slices from claws which met his lips in place of a kiss. Pink recedes, hides away, behind ivory revealed by twisted smirk, and now by gaping maw as words are formed and released, thrown at a potential attacker, his new toy, his fellow player in a play he knows so well. ”Hm, hm, hm… so quick to violence… are you so sure that is best? To dive upon an unknown foe, or perhaps an unknown friend? Is that so very wise? Wouldn’t it have been a shame, if someone had caught that pretty little neck, that pretty little throat, mid-jump? Hm, yes, that would have been just terrible, now wouldn’t it have?”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
665
lyrics © dashboard confessional
haha, Incubus is so very happy to have found another jaguar…he just doesn’t quite know how to show it XD}

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Reason for Editing: fixing codessss...

[Nelsi/ Na'ara]

Na’ara didn’t know how this dark figure, who’d just been attacked by her, could talk so calmly.
And how dare he talk about her like that. She’d grown up around freaks like this. She knew his type.

Sick.

That’s why she learned to fight. And she promised herself that she wouldn’t do that again, but she might have to this time.

“You’re lucky you saw me first.” Na’ara said parting her lips in a blood curdling snarl. “I know what sick cats like you want. You’re all the same.”

She flexed her claws, and took a step forward.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

So sure, so arrogant, so strong, so very, very wrong; was it not always the case, time and time again? The independent woman, that brave little character, trying so hard to be recognized in a man’s cruel world, a world dictated to men by nature itself, herself, or however one might call it; the very cycle of things left men on top, always, always. Yet these loud little women, trying to make themselves heard, trying to make a difference in a world that wants no change; were they ever any different? Perhaps she knew his type, perhaps she thought she knew his type, and perhaps he was, truly, no different from the sexist, the deviant, the vulgar construction men sitting out on their beams and whistling at the girls walking by; perhaps he was basely the same, or perhaps he was something else entirely, but merely akin to them, sharing an intention. But her? Oh, he knew her type, so much, so very much better than she knew his; he’d seen her type before, and he’d danced with them on this ever-shifting stage which always told the same story, had danced with them and broken them, had forced them down and felt them, come to know everything about them, inside and out; oh yes, he knew her type, and he knew, so well, how little things changed.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Smirk grows wider upon ebony lips broken by crimson wounds, pulled open by the movement, cracking to let his blood seep and ooze, but all the while ignored by him. What matter, what matter? Muscles shift and roll, reclining his weight upon stout frame, shifting backwards upon thick haunches, stilling and falling limp, languid, at ease, unthreatened; what matter, what matter, what matter is she? No more than the wounds which crack upon his lips; beneath him, or soon to be, unimportant, a toy, and one with so very, very few warning labels upon her; what matter? Chuckle is born within his chest, rumbles forth through vocal cords, slippery as snakes and the words they release, falls from lips still twisted with smirk, followed by words, words mined from letters and smelted together, hammered and tempered into weapons to fall from his lips, weapons as sharp and cruel as the fangs which guard their path. ”The same, am I? And are you so very different, my dear? Chipped and chiseled from the same stone, the same earth; are my desires so very different from your own? I know they are not; they never are. But you poor, poor women, so inept at expressing yourselves, your desires; but I know what you want. You needn’t deny it, my dear; it’s so clear across your face. Why not simply release yourself from your uptight bonds, and have some fun for a change?”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
467
lyrics © dashboard confessional
bleh, short, and quick; I really should stop posting right before work, but at least you won’t have to wait xD}

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Reason for Editing: fixing codesssss...

[Nelsi/ Na'ara]

That’s it!

She hated him, and everything he was for.

He was right about one thing though. She wasn’t all that different. But she believed that ‘fun’ as he called it should be shared with the right cat and the right cat only.

“It wouldn’t be any fun with the likes of you.” Na’ara said, glaring.

She was sick and tired of freaks like him coming along. Why couldn’t a good decent male come along one of these times?

She couldn’t stand this anymore. Na’ara took a deep breath, flexed her claws, bunched her muscles, and charged towards the cat. She would take another chance at this.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

A fight, a clash of blades, of fang and claw, bone and cartilage shaped and melded and grown into weapons, into swords and daggers, all manner of ghastly machines of war, of death and bloodshed and pain and tears. A fight, such a terrible, violent act, reduced to play, to make-up and staged movements, planned actions, a dance, degraded, degraded, deformed and changed, reduced to entertainment, not the vile, repulsive entertainment of the gladiator’s cruel, deadly dance upon arena sands, but the prim and proper entertainment of fake strikes and fake swords, of enemies not truly foes; reduced to a show, a play, enacted by players on a stage for players, in front of an audience who doesn’t really care. A fight; that is what she wishes, that is what she strives for, moves for, yet a fight is not to be found here. There are no directions upon this page, no thick block letters instructing him to strike, to give in, to harm; violence and bloodshed reduced so far before his eyes, and now they lie beneath him, as she soon will, beyond the depths which he would deem fit to drop to. No directions order him into such actions, and so action is not taken; fighting reduced to the toys of players, yet he is a player without such toys, for his are not to be claw and fang, not now, not upon this page, but other tools, other players, and his is not to reason why, his is but to do or die, and the script calls for speech, for lines to be delivered, and he will not question, but do.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

So easy to read, so easy to see; predictions are truth upon his gaze, come to light to prove him right; muscles betray thought so easily, so quickly; is it truly so hard to hide intentions? Violence is so loud, so obnoxious, so difficult to hide, and stealth is not her strong point, not today. His own muscles join the dance so easily, so loosely, another swift movement, a shift, a shuffle; paw and leg alike pull his bulk beyond her reach, beside her reach, allow her charge to carry past. Instinct bid him strike, to rake claw upon unguarded flank, but instinct is not his master, and claw remains sheathed easily within his paws, guarded by fur, barred by muscle, restrained and kept still upon the ground, allowing her passage unharmed. How long must she dance this simple dance? How long must she continue these foolish passes? Chuckle rumbles upwards from thick chest, muscles shifting easily his bulk into a sharp circle, turning him towards her once again, smirk fixed easily upon twisted lips. ”Now how can you say that, my dear, when you can’t really know? I’m not one to forget a pretty face, and surely I’d know if I’d tossed you aside before; you can’t really know how much fun I can be. And,” a pause, a chuckle, a tilt of the head, ”I’ll have you know, that, ah, I’m quite adept at being fun.”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
512
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Hate is such a strong word… haha xD}

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[Nelsi/ Na'ara]

(sorry, I got to working on my website and sorta forgot...)


She couldn’t believe it. After all the training shed gone through she had failed again.

Na’ara turned around and glared at the tom. She slowly padded up nose to nose with him. “Leave me alone or you’ll be sorry.” She said, as she bugged her eyes and stared directly into his eyes.

She slowly swiveled her ears back, and she parted her lips, showing her teeth and began a snarl that was more fierce than she’s ever been.

There was two options she had right now.

One, to attack and hope that her training would help her win. She probably had a fifty/ fifty chance at this one.

Or two, wait for him to respond, and hope that , for his sake, he answered the right way. She had a better chance at this one.

The beautiful Jaguar decided to go with option number two.

So she waited for him to answere.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

He will do one of two things… Decisions, decisions, thoughts running flightily through his mind, considered briefly, lightly, unimportant, simply not vital, not of consequence. Yet this matter, perhaps it does require some attention, perhaps, and perhaps not. An ultimatum, a decisions to make, a cross road, a fork, which path, which path, which way should he go? Yet do not all roads lead the same way? A cycle runs only one way, bid forever downwards and downwards by gravity, circling and circling to the same conclusion time and again. Fate crept within all lives, pulling strings, laughing at what these pathetic mortals believed to be free will; the cycle remained regardless his actions, she’d face the same fate whichever his choice, and why choose the option so unappealing, so boring, so much less entertaining and interesting? There was no choice, no question here; her fierce snarling brought no fear, no doubt; the fierce women is a toy to his mind, nothing which he should puzzle or worry over; it does not detour him from the cycle he sees, the only true path; his paws follow a one-way street guarded either side by spikes and hellfire and death the likes only his demon mind can conjure, there is no choice to be made here, and a baring of fangs, a hiss of air through teeth and throat cannot stand to bring falter to his steps. Enjoyment was indeed a far better motivator than fear which did not even succeed in sinking into his fur, falling far short from striking his heart.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Dull eyes calm with knowing meet her angry glare, the daggers glinting within those sharp feminine eyes, unfazed, unworried. Muscles fall still, languid, loose, his body unmoving as she approaches, no flinch, no retreat, no preparation; he does not fear a strike will come, does not fear the strike he knows will eventually befall him; what matter, what matter? Chuckle meets her snarl, twisting about it within the air, muddling the threat, demeaning it, degrading it to a show, a comedic act which brings smiles to all the audience; look at her, the cute little girl, trying to be tough; it is endearing to their condescending eyes, and to his. What matter, what matter, what matter is she, this silly little girl? He breathes deeply, drawing in her scent, reveling in the heat her feminine aroma brings to his pelt, his hide, the lust, the desire, the temptation which crawls across his entire frame, setting his fur on end with anticipation of the action he expects—knows—will come, soon, soon, so very, very soon. Eyes slide closed slowly, shielding himself from the snarling, violent image before him, allowing his desires to conjure her as he sees her, submissive, inviting…willing. Lids part after several moments, revealing her for the treacherous snake he knows she truly is, yet he is not repulsed by fangs and claws lay bare before him, but all the more entangled in a fiery net of lust. Smirk crawls across his lips, treachery of his own entangled in the malicious intent wound within that simply action, that single expression. ”My, my… aren’t you just…irresistible…” a pause, another breath, the heat pulls across his form, begging action, pleading action, yet he waits; anticipation can only help. ”Be sorry, will I? Hm…no, no I don’t think so. Not at all.” Another breath, another wave of heat, of lust. ”In fact… I do believe I will be quite safely far from sorry… Quite far indeed. And you? Well…I think you’ll find it’s not so bad as you think.” Another breath, the heat pulls across him, and this time he gives in, following temptation and sin and all things wrong, yet so very, very rewarding. Muscles shift only slightly, and his neck stretches forward, closing the gap, pressing his maw against her own, eyes sliding closed again at the touch, reveling in the heat, that burning hellfire which surrounded all these temptresses, these little sinful toys. He breathes again, sighs, and whispers, his maw moving against her own, ”Don’t you agree?”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
681
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Oi; Incubus can’t decide if he wants to be violent or seductive; I wish he’d make up his mind, haha.}

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[Nelsi/ Na'ara]

(I'll answere that for you.)

Shock.

He actually did it. He actually made a move on her. She had hoped that for his sake that he would say and do the right things, but he didn’t. Now she didn’t care about his sake. Now she truly hated him. And now he would pay. The only question was how.

She let him linger there a while, a while that seemed like forever. She even pressed back a couple of times, trying to make him think that he was successful. But no, not this time, this time she would be successful. No more would she have to be annoyed by this freak.

She pressed against him one last time.

I hate you, I hate you I hate you, she thought,There you’ve had your fun, you got your way. Now you’ll pay!

Faster than your eye could blink, she unsheathed her claws and hit him as hard as she could in the side of the head.

As he flew back a small distance she spat in his face and let out a small screech. Then said sternly “Wrong move!”

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

The audience falls quiet, watching, waiting, their breath baited, held, so all can be silent; the slightest whisper could be missed under the sound of a single breath, and they mustn’t miss a word. Has he succeeded, has he won? She sits so still, so willing; has he won at last? Has it all been for naught, her struggles, her harsh words? Has she given in so easily, so soon? Spotlights slide across the duo, dimming the background beyond; the audience cares not of the pretty plants and scenery; all they care for is this, this moment, this single moment so seemingly frozen in time; so quiet, so still, she doesn’t speak, resist, move; has she given in, has she truly, truly given herself so easily? Some are outraged, disgusted; how dare she give herself so easily, how dare she prove him right? The others, so pleased, so satisfied; he was right all along, serves her right for fitting the mold; she should’ve given in to begin with, saved him the effort. Yet all are so wrong; all but he, who knows his script so very, very well; this single move, this simple pass, this is not the kiss which would start it all, this is not the moment he awaits so keenly. Gaze still blacked to the world by lids closed in pleasure misses the movements, but he can feel them, can feel the shifts in her muscles, her stance, can hear the audience, half cheering, half aghast, trying to warn him, yet he doesn’t move, doesn’t duck or dodge of block; what matter, what matter? Simple directions, so straightforward, so irresistible, typed up in block print, bold black letters on a sheet of pure white, They fight. Stage directions he cannot ignore, and perhaps the time has come at last; the cycle bids action, and action he will give, until the action he wishes for so keenly, so strongly.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Pain; searing and tearing through him faster, harsher than the heat of his lust, the hellfire of his desires, hellfire fed by demonic intentions, a life of sin, yet this fire is so much stronger, and yet, so easy to ignore to push aside and downwards, down into the dankest corners of his mind, beyond his care, beyond his reach. Down and down and down again; what matter, what matter? Pain knows its place within his twisted mind. Off the cycle and out of his world, pain is not of him, and all that remains is the oozing blood, the ringing, the ringing, the roar in his ear, that pitiful victim; but she has missed his eye, that organ so vital, and the tissue of his crying ear would recover; what matter, what matter? The gashes tell of recoil of the slightest bit, the slightest retraction of his head back unto his body, away from her, but this is no violent retreat to a violent action, but a merely natural movement to relieve his outstretched neck; what matter, what matter, indeed. Paw lifts loosely, slowly, swipes gently across his maw, pulls blood and saliva from beneath his wound, removes her spit but leaves the wounds unclean, allowing more blood to ooze, to take place of that which had mixed with her insult. Dull gaze slides open at last, reveals to him the substances which paint his paw, he stares a moment, as though considering, then shakes the fluids away and lays rest his paw again. Gaze lifts to her, smirk sliding easily into place upon his maw once again. The quietest murmur falls from his lips, half meant to be heard, more to the audience which watches in his head than to her, this venomous little snake. ”No, no I don’t think so.” Gaze slides easily across her form, considering, assessing, knowing so well his advantages, knowing so well his one goal throughout this all; stage directions yet unseen, but known so very, very well; yet she’ll have her fighting chance, or so the audience may think, but her fate is set and sealed upon this cycle, stage directions must be followed, after all. Muscles shift at last from dormant state, pulling his bodice slowly forth, a step, a step, again and again, no charge, no strike, an approach only, his muscles rolling loosely in relaxed state beneath his pelt, betraying no intention, for there has yet to be one decided. Decisions roll slowly through his head, presenting and pleading each case, decisions, decisions, more and more, until at last one proves more persuasive than the rest, and within his mind the demon nods and wave his approval. Stage directions must be followed, and so must desire’s own choices; reflexively his muscles turn to action, turn from approach and into strike, yet claws stay barred within his paws, guarded by fur and muscle from sliding loose to strike; he wouldn’t want to scar that pretty little frame. Forepaws lift, his frame twisting towards her, hind legs supporting his mass and propelling it forth, each part playing equal role. Paws aim to set upon her back, hind legs aching and longing to drop his weight upon them, to force her down, to drop her to the matt; every muscle aches to take this fight to the ground, where grapple turns to his advantage, where weight proves so difficult to fight against, where his lusts and desires might fuel him all the more to pin her and take her; this is no duel as she believes, but a dance which ends with her below, and him above, as would always be his intention, creature of lust that he is. ”No, no, not wrong, not wrong at all.”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
946
lyrics © dashboard confessional
holy…. Incubus is way too quiet for that long of a post; that can’t be a good thing >.>}

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[Nelsi/ Na'ara]

Na’ara was trapped under his weight. She had changed her mind about fighting. Once she got free she would turn and run.

But how would she get out, she didn’t know. She went through all the fighting moves her mentor had taught her. There was only one that she could remember that would work. The master of fighting that mentored her had said that it would free her of just about any weight that was on top of her. But her master had also said that it would only work if she caught the enemy off guard, and only if she executed it exactly the right way.

This was a problem, she’d never had to use this move before. It was something like: twist, roll, bat with hind legs, then throw.

She tried it. Twisting the front half of her body then rolling the rest of her body, Na’ara placed her front paws on the black cats chest, and, just afterwards, batting him with her back paws. Then, just as her mentor had taught her, she threw him to her right, her strong side.

He didn’t go far, but it was far enough to let her squeeze out from underneath him.

Not waiting for him to get back up, she turned and fled as fast as she could.