#anyways I listened to a few songs that I not named. I like Wolves by Sam Tinnesz for the Empire teams and them clashing

[breitzbachbea]

God I love enemies and I love hatred Blease Blease tell me about the hatred I’m beghing on me knees

Oh, where to START. Charlie and Robert have their own playlist, which I should remake on youtube so that I can share it. Big fan of "Hated You from Hello" by Downplay and "You're Going Down" by Sick Puppies being both sided, "Know It All" by Fivefold is so, so good for when Robert gets his revenge for Sicily in a later story and in turn "Thank You for Hating Me" by Citizen Soldier is a great Charlie song once he has had enough. Those aren't all songs on the playlist, just a little overview.

So yeah, these two and just how deep and visceral the hatred of each other runs is very important to me. Started with the homophobia, but even when Robert gets better, Charlie just ... still thinks he is the most annoying person on the planet. And Charlie in turn is never going to let Robert forget what he did to him, because if he has to live with the trauma, so has Robert.

However, the English are very good at making enemies and Robert in particular manages to be unpopular. Literally nothing funnier in the world than a good old Tarielle/Railey love triangle where Tahir is incidental. This isn't about him, this is about Robert and Arielle not wanting to share air to breathe. Read my latest drabble and see it in action. Or this Lego thing I wrote - Hugo isn't very in character, but the Robert and Arielle bitching is just. on point.

OH MY GOD, SPEAKING OF HUGO. LEMME JUST. I think those drawings by @c0ffinated speak for themselves. Very sad I cannot share the nsfw ones that make the point in the best way.

(First one is Hugo eating Alois' protein snacks in the middle of the night after a one-night stand. One night stand number 238493. And the fourth one is the Live German Reaction to the third one, because that's Katta and Selim. Katta says "This is such a shitfest here, I love it" and Selim "Got something of Asi-Tv" (<- slang for German reality TV. Think TLC kind of stuff). )

Alois is being an asshole about Hugo's weight, Hugo is being an asshole about Alois' lost legs, it's a good look on neither of them, somehow they still end up fucking all the time. I don't get it. Neither does Massoud, the poor soul in the second picture trying to help with Alois' leg. Leo thinks this shit is hilarious, like the Germans, Nathan (aph switzerland) doesn't have much of an opinion, Hugo tries to behave in front of Lilli, but oh my god, these two are driving Roderich nuts. He can handle Hugo on his own, but as soon as Alois is also in the picture .... it goes against all of his sensibilites. PLEASE read this Hugois One Shot, I am so proud of this one, it encapsulates all that is wrong with them so well. Also, if God wants it, I will actually get to write another one shot where Hugo is REALLY nasty. Has a breakfast brawl at the end. It's gonna be so good once it's done.

Okay, but to circle back to Robert, another petty feud he has with @swabianmapley's OC Siggy, who is one of the Icelanders. It's not really as intense, because it's for ... incredibly dumb and petty reasons and the Icelanders aren't high on the English priority list, but it deserves a mention. As do another two of Jani's OCs, the former right hand of Emil's dad, Rúnar, who did a runner when the old man wandered off into the ice, never to be seen again. But before that even he dated one of the Icelandic subordinates, Þóra, and they had an incredibly poor breakup. Hates his guts even before he left them all hanging and god knows, Leifur's other right hand Alex now has more than a few good reasons to throw him into a volcano if he ever showed up again, but Þóra would strangle the motherfucker on the spot if he showed his face in Iceland again. Also, while we are at the Icelanders - Leifur, Emil's dad, and Ansgar, Lukas' dad, never really got along. Business partners, yes, but also business enemies, never really being cool with one another. And then the sister of Leifur's wife moved to Oslo and his wife asked Leifur if he couldn't help her find work. So he asked Ansgar for a favour and whoops, they got married and now they are brothers in law. Whoops.

Okay, last Robert one, but since the Spaniards and the English also have bad blood (and Arthur is SO smug about it while Antonio is so passionate about kicking his face in), Robert and Diego don't get along. Robert usually is more eager about the fights because he's an adhd hothead like that, but only because Diego is a soldier doesn't mean he want to punch out his teeth any less. "Friends" by Sixlights is a great song - the chorus for them in general and the verses for the fucked up AU version where they dated and had a bad breakup.

On the bigger playing field, where there also little animosities nestled into the bigger ones like matryoshka dolls - The Empires of course don't get along. The English have beef with the Russians and Spaniards, the Spaniards are pissed with the Turks and vice versa, while the Turks also can't stand the Russians. Also - the Austrians and the Turks. Not sure where I stand on the Austrians and the Russians yet. But yeah, love the idea that Charlie and Harry have a conversation on a big event whether or not "their Kurdish friend" (Dilan) just doesn't like blondes, because she's bitching with Salomé (who, much like Francesco however, thinks personal grudges are uninteresting and also is the horniest lesbian on the planet who wishes Dilan wasn't straight), Alois, Robert and Viktoriya. Their convo also includes "Okay, but she gets along with the Dutch lass." "She's no natural blonde though." "Neither is Salomé." "... point taken."

Oh yeah, while we are at the Dutch: It's not an ACTIVE beef, they aren't really out here hating each other on a deep personal level, but both Nathan and Gavin resent the other AND that rotten Dutchman for all the money they are sitting on. Nathan and Gavin do a lot of banking and related illegal stuff, so they are direct competition. Tim doesn't care about either of their bs, he'd do business with them if the price was right. But, quote from an RP I had with Jani, by Tim about Gavin: "Some people like holding grudges more than they like making money."

Who else is there ... I mean, I absolutely love a good ScotFruk tug of war. Gavin and Arthur inheriting the nemesis relationships from their fathers, each of them want power and influence on the isles and then Arthur happens to on-off date Gavin's ex-boyfriend. And the Scot just can't help, even if he is not actively in love with someone anymore, he will always love all his sweethearts. Besides, the French are friends! François is a friend! And he deserves better than this cruel and petty Englishman! Meanwhile, Arthur is a jealous little bitch who can't properly express his love for Fran, but also can't stand the thought that the Scot puts his finger not only on his sphere on influence but the one man he loves. Bitchfest supreme.

Speaking of that, I have a note in my notebook for the next chapter of IP I will edit that says "Can anyone ask more about Lovi so that Michele can call him bitch boy unlimited". The fact that Michele hates Francesco, too, out of a mix of jealousy over not being the biggest siren in the room if Franci is there and because he doesn't buy his friendly shtick, plus he's afraid that Francesco could see behind his mask. But we are here for Lovi and Michele, which is a very ironic hate. In the hetaverse at least they are united in their mutual dislike for Feli and all the other Northerners. but in LFLS, Feli falls a bit to the wayside (though Michele has not much respect or love for him either) and it's all about these two. I think, aside from the fact that they also inherited a generational enmity, Lovino feels entitled to the land Michele is sitting on and Michele is fiercely protective of his independence ... aside from all that, they are too close for comfort. They see in each other who they could be, maybe all they should be but aren't, maybe all the sides of themselves they like the least.

... Yeah! I think that's a good start! :)

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 6

Part 5

Come for the sugar daddy fantasy stay for my everybody-loves-steve agenda

Eddie insisted on helping Steve with his suit the night of the soiree. Steve allowed him into his apartment for the first time, after some extensive cleaning. Eddie was already dressed in his suit, red, no shirt underneath. He took the garment bag from Eddie, kissed his lips, and then went to his bedroom. Eddie got a glimpse of his nest before the door was shut.

"Uhh? Baby?"

"No peeking", Steve said from behind the door.

"Babyyyy", Eddie whined, pressing his face to the wood.

Steve grinned to himself as he listened, getting dressed on his own anyway. "I don't want to be late. And if I let you 'help' that's exactly what will happen."

It wasn't just what Eddie would do. It was what Steve would let him get away with. It would be very easy to let Eddie in and then tumble in his nest. The thought of letting Eddie's scent mix in... Steve wondered if he could get away with sneaking a piece of his clothing away. But Eddie had promised him a fun night out and said he'd be meeting his bandmates as well.

He finished getting dressed and came out. Eddie stumbled, being nearly glued to the door. Steve almost made a joke about falling for him.

"You gonna be this attached to me all night?", he asked instead.

Eddie righted himself and stood up straight. "If I let you out of my sight, the wolves will descend on you Lil Red."

Steve put his hands on Eddie's chest and leaned in. "Good thing I've got a big, strong woodsman to keep me safe~"

Since it was a band event, Eddie had a personal driver this time. That meant he could sit in the backseat and play with Steve the whole way. Eddie's hand was firm on Steve's thigh while the other held his hip. He'd wanted to bury them in Steve's tresses but one firm tap and reprimand 'don't touch the hair' and here they were.

Eddie was nibbling on Steve's neck, wishing he could put something more permanent on him. Let others know who he belonged to. When they arrived, Steve took a moment to get himself together. Eddie thought he looked just as radiant now as he did with sex-tousled hair but he liked seeing his baby primp too.

Eddie led him, arm in arm, into a nightclub. The music was energetic but didn't really seem to fit with Eddie's usual metal scene. Steve had done some research on the band, listened to a few songs, learned the other members names too. So even through the blaring music, he was able to understand when Eddie brought them over to a reserved table where the rest of them awaited.

"So this is the guy?", Jeff asked.

"This must be the guy", Gareth nodded.

"Can't be anyone else but the guy", Grant raised his glass to Steve.

Steve smiled at Eddie. "You've been telling them about me?"

"You're a secret I don't wanna keep, babydoll", Eddie smiled back.

"DJ here is mixing a set around one of our albums", Jeff said. "Kind of a little promotion for us. And when we share the video, he'll get a bump too."

"I thought this was a little out of the box for your sound", Steve said.

"You listen to our music?", Eddie asked.

Steve shrugged, playing it off. "I've dabbled." He leaned into Eddie's space to take a sip from the drink in his hand. "What about you? Do you dabble in this?"

"Not quite my scene, no. I'm an appreciator of most genres though."

"Can we finally break the silence on Eddie's jazz phase?", Gareth said.

"What's wrong with jazz?", Steve asked.

"Music was fine", Grant clarified, "He just got super pretentious about the different subgenres."

"He was insufferable", Gareth added.

"What about you guys, then?", Steve pointed the question to them. "Are you into this kind of music?"

"It's something to dance to", Jeff replied.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Care to dance?", Steve asked.

Jeff gave a look to Eddie, asking permission. Amused, Steve also looked to Eddie for his response. Eddie's arm had been wrapped rather possessively around him for most of the night, so he could feel how antsy Steve was getting. Eddie gave his hip a pat.

"Go have fun."

Steve kissed his cheek and then went down to the dance floor with Jeff. He loved to move and he'd been itching to dance all night, but Eddie didn't seem like a dancer, at least not to this kind of music. And he wasn't about to just go out and dance with someone random in the club. Jeff was the perfect partner, knowing when to be close and when to give him space.

He felt a finger tap his shoulder and when he turned, Grant was there. Following the beat of the music, Steve gave him his attention. He was able to catch Eddie's eyes just once and saw the hunger in his eyes. When Gareth came to dance, he was a little more hesitant to touch Steve until Steve himself pulled Gareth's hands to him.

The way they all touched him was polite but there was an underlying desire. They were showing appreciation, but they weren't going to challenge the pseudo-claim Eddie had on him. He caught Eddie's gaze again and it was darker this time. He began to walk off the dance floor, ignoring a few calls from voices he didn't recognize.

Steve returned to Eddie and straddled his lap. "Sure I can't tempt you to dance?"

"There's not a thing you can't tempt me into, sweetheart. But you'll have to give me something dance-able. Liked seein' you have fun though. My boys take care of you?"

"Mhm, they were very gentlemanly." Steve's hand dipped under Eddie's suit jacket, needing skin to skin contact.

"Music to my ears", Eddie said against Steve's lips before meeting them. He growled against his mouth as he was able to detect the scents of his friends on him. Steve was pack. Steve was his.

Eddie practically dragged him out of the club and back into the car. The door was barely closed before Steve was in his lap again. He was writhing, probably very close to ruining the nice suit pants.

"Come with me", Eddie breathed.

"Yes, Daddy", Steve moaned into his ear.

"No I mean, on tour. Come with me on tour baby."

Steve paused in his humping to look in Eddie's eyes. "You want me along for the ride?"

Eddie nodded, eyes wide and big as if there was ever a chance that Steve would say no. But he also couldn't just say yes.

"For how long?"

Eddie licked his lips. "Two months."

"My job..."

"I'll take care of anything you need", Eddie said quickly.

"My apartment-"

"I'll handle it, baby. Just please say you'll come."

Steve's head tilted to the side. Robin's words echoed in his head. Wasn't this the scenario he'd been running from? An alpha having control over his life? If for even a moment, Eddie changed his mind about him, he'd be out a job and a home. Steve looked back down at him and that was his undoing.

"I'll need a new suitcase, and wardrobe, and-"

"Done, done, and whatever else you can think of, it's done." Eddie kissed him in elation, much sweeter than anything else they'd done all night.

-------------------------

Steve at least tried to sell the whole 'can I bounce for two months and come back later' at his job but obviously that didn't fly. It was fine. It wasn't really the work or even the miniscule paycheck he was attached to. It was simply the comfort of doing the same thing in the same place every day. He could fill out applications on the road and get the same job anywhere.

True to his word, Eddie took him out shopping just a couple of days later.

"I meant to tell you", Eddie said as they walked through the mall. He was dressed very casually in jeans and a t-shirt under a vest with the band's logo on the back. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he kept his shades on inside. "That lunch meeting with sushi? Went pretty good. Your advice worked."

"You sound surprised", Steve teased. He was wearing a green sweater and light jeans.

"Not surprised, beautiful. Just in awe." Eddie put an arm around him as he led him into the first store.

Just like at the tailor's Eddie let Steve loose, letting him pick and choose what he wanted. After the third store, Steve was looking at him hesitantly.

"You're really going to spoil me. Going to turn me into a brat and anything."

"What? You? My sweet angel babydoll? Never", Eddie smirked. "You're acting like no one's ever lavished you like this."

Steve shrugged. "Well, not like this but-", then he thought better of it. "Never mind."

"I don't think so, baby. I think I deserve at least one story of past-Steve. You got to google search my life story."

"How do you know I didn't ask Jeeves?"

Eddie put a hand to his heart, then took his hat off like a sign of respect. "RIP to a real one. But you're not gonna distract me, Stevie. I feel like you've been keeping something from me. Not something big, just something you don't think I should know."

Breaking his gaze from Eddie's, Steve spied a restaurant inside the mall. "Let's eat."

Eddie had them get a booth in the back, figuring Steve would want some modicum of privacy for this. He wasn't expecting a bombshell, but he figured it must mean something to Steve.

"So, when you met me, you probably thought I was this... downtrodden, poor omega with nowhere to go." That rainy night seemed so long ago.

"That's not what I thought at all", Eddie said with a shake of his head. "Honestly thought you were waiting for someone. Made no sense to me that you were all alone."

Steve smiled. "Well, I wasn't always alone. Not physically, at least. My parents are Layton and Margaret Harrington. They've got a hand in a lot of things but most of our money comes from apple orchards of all things."

"So you're the heir to a vast apple fortune", Eddie surmised.

"Was the heir to a vast fortune."

"Is there a story behind that?", Eddie asked, watching Steve pick at his food.

"Not an original one", Steve said with a chuckle. "They paraded the alpha sons of their associates. I was also paraded. I was offered a life where all I had to do was look nice and speak little and eventually bring up the next generation of whatever old money family my parents chose for me... It was suffocating."

Eddie's leg stuck out from under the table and rubbed against his. "You got your own place. And your own job. You got out. Why would you keep this from me though? Doesn't sound particularly scandalous."

"I don't know", Steve shook his head. "Maybe I didn't want you to think I was a gold digger, or maybe I didn't want you to think I had super high expectations, or-it just felt like I shouldn't tell you. I'm tired of carrying my parents around."

"They're really that loaded?"

"Didn't you hear me say 'old money'?"

"Is there some scorned ex-fiance I should be worried about?"

"Hmmmnope."

"You sure about that, sweetness?"

"I'm sure. None of them are looking for me. And none of them hold a candle to you."

Eddie could understand wanting to leave the past in the past. After eating, they continued their shopping spree. Eddie paused at a costume shop that showed a few of the outfits on mannequins in the window. Steve followed his line of sight and grinned.

"Gimme your card."

"Sure, what for?", Eddie asked as he handed it over to Steve.

"For a surprise. Go get a pretzel. I'll text you when I'm ready." He kissed Eddie's cheek and then went into the costume shop.

Whipped like cream, Eddie did in fact go get a pretzel, fantasizing about all the little outfits Steve could be buying right now. When they met up, he wasn't allowed to peek. So while he knew there must be a costume of some kind in Steve's wardrobe now, he was oblivious to the lingerie he'd bought as well.

Part 7

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie  @sllooney  @starman-jpg  @oxidantdreamboat  @xxbottlecapx  @chaosgremlinmunson @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast  @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds  @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord  @beckkthewreck @greatwerewolfbeliever @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @marklee-blackmore

[worth-this-and-more]

๋࣭⭑⚝ hiii i'm sukanya and welcome to my blog yall!!! ‹𝟹

age: 18 (doesn't give you permission to be weird) sexuality: bisexual pronouns: she/her favorite colors: red, black, purple favorite flower: roses my hobbies: reading books, listening to music, reading books while listening to music, learning new stuff because of the aforementioned books, obsessing over fictional characters, cooking, dancing, stargazing at night by sneaking out at 3 am because my parents don't allow me to go at night as i will "catch a cold", slaying my enemies in a brutal show of blood and glory, coding.

fandoms i'm part of: the legendborn cycle, percy jackson, shatter me series, artemis fowl series, lord of the rings, the inheritance games, folk of the air series, sea of ink and gold series, six of crows, a good girl's guide to murder, divergent chronicles, the secrets of immortal nicholas flamel series, harry potter series, fantastic beasts and where to find them, twilight, the mysterious benedict society, married to magic series, miss peregrine's home for peculiar children, the gilded wolves series, royal secrets series, royal lies series, the splintered series and more

fictional characters i would sell my soul to at a discount the discount being free because i would never make them pay: briana matthews, selwyn emyrs kane, alice chen, juliette ferrars, aaron warner, nazeera ibrahim, kenji kishimoto, jude duarte, cardan greenbriar, inej ghafa, kaz brekker, avery kylie grambs, alexander hawthorne, jest, artemis fowl, holly black, hermione granger, ginny weasley, credric diggory, newt scamander, rosalie cullen, noor pradesh, jacob portman, josh newman, sophie newman, pip fitz-amobi, ravi singh and probably more but you get the point

things i absolutely adore: people becoming so excited when they talk about their favorite things, loving the absolute shit outta my friends, cooking anything and everything for those i love, listening to our shared playlist and explaining in great detail which part of the song is your favorite things i absolutely hate: anyone's opinions that disrespect someone's existence, identity, or interests, people forcing their beliefs and ideals over me, sexist and homophobic jokes in the name of "dark humor", people shitting on my fav book series after they dropped them halfway through, people who listen to jojo siwa

this is a blog for the legendborn cycle, i hope you enjoy your stay here!! i usually post theories or headcanons about the characters, and a few case studies too, all in all you will find a lot of posts about legendborn so here's a masterlist more for my preference than anyone else which i will keep updating time to time

-how do the legendborn highschoolers look like while studying -theory/analysis of bree's powers and emotional connection -found family in bloodmarked -my theory to why merlin's succumb to their blood -why do i think bree did not cheat on nick -me crying over faye's speech for bree -my expectations for oathbound -my love for sarah griffiths -questions about silver wall because why not -cestra vs tor analysis because i hate them both -how i imagine they all sound like -bloodmarked hot take -bloodmarked hotter take -shipwars in fandom when there are like 10 of us -my breesel specific playlist -an unnecessarily funny selwyn appreciation post chain

feel free to send me asks about anything legendborn-related, and if you just wanna talk we can talk on my sideblog @squirrel-in-the-woods ‹𝟹

random facts about myself because this is my blog anyways: ♡ when i was 8 my pinky finger was unfortunately cut into half by a door that slammed really fast because of a storm at that time, and my cut off finger was joined by inserting a rod in it. the rod is taken out but now i have a funny pinky finger that does not bend. ♡ i am multilingual, aka i can speak marathi, hindi, english, spanish (i cant get the accent right but rest is okay) and korean (beginner level, just enough that i can understand kdramas mostly without subtitles). ♡ i have a fear of heights despite that i am unusually interested in roller coasters and bungee jumping, however my parents refuse to take me to any of these because i will "fall". ♡ my mother is scared shitless of water, so i once made a joke of how i would love to drown in the ocean and was immediately enrolled in a swimming class and that is how my dreams of dying among the phytoplankton and starfishes were destroyed. ♡ i love all types of fruits but banana tastes boring to me now and i also do not like watermelon for some reason. mango, kiwis, muskmelon, apples, oranges, and pineapple are my absolute fav. ♡ i used to have waist-length hair, very wavy and very thick, it was gorgeous but i hated having to maintain that so i cut it off and got a boycut. after that it has grown to a small dora the explorer length hair and it makes me look really innocent so i like this look.

and ofc you cant forget the lovely moots: @napoftustar @thejudeduarte @you-are-my-king-now-cariad @isthataraccoon @technicallyeldritch @ackerbabezzz @batzswrld @archerons-elain @ficnoire2 @sweetestblacktea @bloodmaarked @okeyisenough @thevoidhasarrived @goosemeggs @gewoonaardig2 @massiveladycat @infamouslyclumsy @literally-mariah @simzmil @tum-naam-sochlo-merese-ni-hora @refreshinglyemodemons @sweetdeerart

༊*·˚hope your day is as pretty as your smile ;)

[builder051]

Whumpmas in July 2024 day 11: Whumpy daydreaming songs

Aight, before we get started here, I’m going to set some boundaries.

I use a lot of song lyrics in the titles of my fics. That doesn’t mean the piece of music is related to whump or even related to the features of the story. Sometimes I’ll randomly add them as I go to post the fic and realize I forgot to title it. And sometimes I hear a specific lyric in a song and have to write a story to go with it because it sounds perfect.

I know a few songs with outright whumpy lyrics. I consider those to be more like inside-joke trivia items than writing inspiration.

Lyrics that hit me and stir my imagination are often related to angst or inner demons. I will tell you about some of them, but be aware that they can be difficult listens.

I create specific playlists for my novels and novellas, and I post them as front matter for each piece. My fanfic novellas are Tenement Falls, Beautiful Oblivion, and Ignite your Bones. They all contain intense angst, so tread carefully. You can find a teaser for each in my blog archive, and they’re posted in full on AO3.

Ok, here we go:

Songs with sick (as in feeling/being physically ill) in the lyrics:

Inside Out by Eve 6 (no, the title is not Beautiful Oblivion)

I think sick like ginger ale/ my stomach turns and I exhale

Mr. Brightside by The Killers

Now they’re going to bed/ and my stomach is sick/ and it’s all in my head

The City by The 1975

He threw up on the floor and his shoes

Songs and artists that inspire big angst:

Shinedown, in general. A ton of their songs are what could be classified as “breakup songs.” They have many lyrics about being angry and needing to move on. Call Me is permanently off my list of listens; I accidentally made it my theme song in a crisis. (I’ve done that a few times over…whoops.)

Remedy by Thirty Seconds to Mars. This is another of the accidental theme songs. It’s kind of like the singer is offering to be the listener’s support person? Shoulder to cry on? It’s permanently off my listen list too.

I Hope You’re Happy by Blue October. This is the last accidental theme song (I promise), and this one makes me emotional just to think about. Please don’t ask. It’s about wishing someone well after they’ve gone away. No more to say.

Zombie (the Bad Wolves version) is a great classic angst song.

Loser by Beck is quite humorous to me, but it’s great for dealing with (or being) a hot mess.

Losing My Religion (originally by R.E.M., but grab the Glee cover if you can. Cory Monteith does a hauntingly good job.) Mostly because I was weirdly affected by his passing, but it’s also about giving up hope.

Bonus round:

Hot Blooded by Foreigner. You all probably know it, but that’s the proper name of the song (If you google the chorus lyrics, you’ll never find it—too many other associations). Pull it up on YouTube. The front man is very impassioned. And there’s pair of very tight white jeans involved… Anyway, the lyric is:

Check it and see/ I’ve got a fever of 103

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Lunar Violence (jjk)

Summary: You’re not a big fan of your best friend’s favorite band, Lunar Violence. Their werewolf gimmick makes you roll your eyes, even if the music isn’t too bad. When she drags you to a concert just as the blood moon rises, though, everything changes.

Warnings: werewolf sex, possessive behavior, choking, knotting, marking, heats and ruts so whatever consent issues you feel are within that realm, unrpotected sex, werewolf dick, abo dynamics

Word Count:7445

Rating: Explicit

You're not normally a fan of gimmicks, particularly with your music. So when your best friend begs you for a solid week to go with her to this concert, you're wary when you do a simple Google search.

Lunar Violence might be the dumbest fucking name for a band you've ever heard, but they certainly seem like they're going for a certain vibe. You'd definitely have been into it when you were a teen, the fake fangs, the facial piercings and torn leather pants, the howling they do at the ends of some of their songs.

The music itself isn't bad, the lead singer is stupid hot and has a smooth low tenor and bedroom eyes. 

You flip through only a few of the member pictures before making a decision based on the fact that they're good eye candy, at least.

Your friend Jia jumps up and down excitedly when you tell her and shows you the signs she's made. She's got a thing for the one they call Happy, a lean bassist who has a bright smile and a sexy glare.

"What are with these names? The seven dwarfs? I think they're mixing metaphors."

Jia snorts. "They call the drummer Baby because he's the youngest. It’s not that dumb and the music is really good, you’ll love it, I promise!"

"This is so dumb. You owe me."

"If I get close enough to Happy to make eye contact I'm gonna make him mine and then I'll give you anything you want." Jia says determinedly.

It’s a few weeks before the concert, so you find yourself listening to a few albums and actually getting pretty excited about it. It should be a fun time, get you away from the stress of your every day life, at the least.

You had no way of knowing that the night of the concert would complicate your life tenfold.

“Do we always have to schedule concerts around rutting season?” Namjoon whines after hitting yet another wrong chord on his guitar.

“It’s the best part about this job!” Hoseok grins.

“I can’t fucking concentrate being horny all the time, I agree with Joon,” Yoongi agrees, banging his forehead down on the keyboard.

“Should have called you Horny rather than Lucky,” Seokjin snorts, and Hoseok laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his bass guitar.

Jungkook watches them with a fond smile on his face, his brothers. Not by blood, of course but being the only werewolves in the city made them have an instant connection and camaraderie, and they’d created a pack pretty quickly. The music had come later, they’d all been interested in it, all had some talent and all been blessed with good looks, and after that it was only a matter of who did what and stage names.

Kim Seokjin, with his regal looks and sharp jaw: Prince.

Min Yoongi, with the scar over his left eye he’d gotten scrapping with a grey wolf in the woods behind his house in Daegu as a pup: Lucky.

Jung Hoseok with his easy smile and eager nature: Happy.

Kim Namjoon, always so serious and intelligent: Beethoven. 

Park Jimin, with his pretty face and sneaky smirk: Sly.

Kim Taehyung with his sweet nature and affectionate personality: Honey.

Finally, Jeon Jungkook, because he'd been barely old enough to breed when they'd met: Baby.

"Baby hasn't had his first rut yet, yeah?" It's Jimin, smirking, always giving Jungkook grief about something. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes and chucks a drumstick at him but it's no use, Jimin catching it in one band and twirling it like a goddamn baton. Jungkook would say Jimin was graceful if he hadn't seen him fall off about a dozen barstools and half a dozen stages, sober even for the latter.

“Kinda late, isn’t it?” Seokjin speaks up, and Jungkook knows he’s teasing but it stings a little, nonetheless. 

“He’s only just turned 23. You were two weeks from your 23rd before you ever popped a knot, hyung, or have you forgotten?” Namjoon snarks, and Jungkook snickers as Seokjin makes a face, that vein on his neck pulsing just a bit.

He shouldn’t laugh, they’re just as likely to come to blows during the beginning of a rut and in a full moon cycle, but he can’t help himself

Yoongi, as usual, manages to keep the peace by offering to order pizza and foot the bill, a truly saintlike act since they could go through a pizza each, as hot as their temperature would be running by now.

Jungkook doesn’t say that he’s had a knot for two years now, the very thought of his hyungs knowing that makes him blush so much he hides it by wiping his face with a towel, pretending to have been sweating. 

Truly, he should have had a rut by now, triggered by all the pheromones' from the shows they’d been doing, this tour had been particularly rough due to the upcoming blood moon, at least for all the other boys, and it isn’t as if Jungkook hasn’t mated, of course, but a full rut? Not even the hint of it. It worries him, but Namjoon keeps assuring him that everyone gets there in time, people are just different.

Taehyung had been a late bloomer himself, not starting his first rut until he met and fell in love with his girlfriend, a short feisty redhead he’d met after a hand injury from stringing his bass guitar and slicing his palm open. She’d been a nurse who scolded him for not coming in sooner and it’d been almost instant, her green eyes triggering every wolf thing about him, or at least that’s how he tells it, all wide eyed and dreamy.

She’s a near constant in Taehyung’s hotel rooms now, sometimes riding along on the tour bus, but he doesn’t let her into anymore of the concerts even when she pouts, because human mates around a group of wolves around rutting season can be a dangerous time.

Taehyung is one of the gentlest wolves Jungkook knows, but he’d seen him snarl when Yoongi so much as winked at the redhead near a rut, so it’s probably for the best.

Anyway, Jungkook wasn’t worried (much). He’d find his true mate eventually, but probably not at a concert. Maybe he’d start his rut there, at least, around the full moon. He’d never have imagined that he’d find both.

The crowd is nice enough, although they seem a little feral. Some of these girls have signs that should be x rated, but you're not one to judge, especially since you've never actually….done anything too x-rated. 

You feel a little strange when you enter the concert venue and you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shrug and blame it on the strong drink your friend had made you chug before you entered since she couldn’t finish it all herself.

It’s like there’s something living under your skin, some rush like heat, and it  makes you feel antsy, ready to dance along to the music or at least laugh at your friend losing her mind next to you.

There’s a lot of gimmick to the concert and it’s bright and dark at the same time near the stage. You’d swear you’d seen the guitarist strum with no pick, with a sharp claw instead, but you’re sure it’s makeup, part of the show. They’re wearing contacts, too, you’re pretty sure, and the music is good, your friend isn’t wrong.

The song you’d heard that you’d like is actually their encore song, heavy on the bass and drums, and the lead singer even makes your skin feel hot a little when he makes eye contact and winks at you. The last solo the lights come down on the drummer, he’s on the back stage so all you can see is his long hair bouncing, the flex of his admittedly impressive biceps as he finishes the song.

You’ve been jumping up and down and singing along so much that you’re sweating and feeling a bit dizzy, so you drag your friend out the back alley while she’s still swooning, having gotten a direct smile from her favorite bassist.

“Did you see him? He looked right at me! We’re in love, Y/n. Do you want to be my maid of honor?” She’s babbling when you hear the click of a lighter next to you.

There’s people milling about, it wasn’t exactly a sold out show but there was a decent crowd, and people are now piling into the bar next door.

“Did you like the show?” 

When you turn your head you’re shocked to see that it’s the lead singer, a couple strands of his silver hair falling over his eye as he smiles at you.

“Oh. Oh, yes, I liked it very...very much,” you stammer. He’s even more handsome up close. Those are some really good contacts, you can’t tell they aren’t real at all, even though surely no one’s eyes are a violet color like that.

“Sly!” Your friend screams, and you jolt forward, surprised.

The singer’s hand lights on your shoulder and you look down. You have time to think that they must make great money for these expensive special effects because they sure do look like claws before your friend rushes past you, yelling because Happy had come out the back with the rest of the band.

There’s no mob or anything, maybe a dozen people other than you and Jia, but it makes you a bit anxious nonetheless, especially since you’re still feeling just as antsy, hot and dizzy as you were before.

It might be worse, actually, as you stand outside in the moonlight.

“Sly’s just my stage name.” His voice sounds softer, closer to your ear as he leans in. “You can call me Jimin.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, unused to feeling this way. You’re usually more outgoing, talkative, but it feels so strange. You find yourself looking up at the sky as if looking for the moon.

It’s better, once you’re inside the bar, there’s not as much of a crowd and you’re sitting at a big table with Sly...Jimin, you remind yourself, and Jia and Happy, who seems to fit his name well, laughing open and loud with your best friend as if they’ve known each other forever.

After a few hours and a couple of drinks you’ve lost most of that antsy feeling since being indoors, and you and Jimin vibe well, becoming fast friends. You’re both flirty and talkative after getting to know each other, and your mood is lifted from the concert, the alcohol, and the socialization.

You even laugh about calling their gimmick dumb as they dodge questions about where they get their makeup and accessories. You assume it’s some kind of sponsorship situation or contract, not thinking much of it.

You manage to excuse yourself long enough to look for the bathroom, although Jia abandons you since she’s made her way into Happy’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and with a blissful smile you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on her.

There’s someone standing in the hall and it’s a narrow hallway and he’s pretty wide from the back so you stumble a little when you turn, placing a hand on the wall.

“Oh, excuse me!” You say, brightly, but when he turns you gasp, a little surprised by the bright red of his eyes before you realize it’s another member of Lunar Violence.

“Hello,” he says, quietly with a little smile and he has these prominent front teeth that are pretty cute, make him look a lot less intimidating, despite those contacts and an eyebrow piercing and his size.

“Oh, hello! You’re…”

“Baby,” he blurts, and it makes you giggle.

You feel a little tipsier than you’d realized, and you guess it must be since you’ve been sitting down for an hour or so and just gotten up.

He puts a hand over his face, embarrassed. “My name is Jungkook,” he explains. “I’m the drummer?”

It’s cute how his voice pitches up into a question, as if you wouldn’t recognize him. He’s definitely a bit more modest than the other two members you’d met, with Jimin and Happy (who you’d just learned also goes by Hoseoki), bragging about tours and performances. 

“Pretty big for a baby,” you tease, and he makes an embarrassed sound in the back of his throat.

“I keep trying to get them to let me change it,” he mutters.

You introduce yourself and he smiles again, and his eyes aren’t as red as you’d thought at first, anyway, maybe it’s just the light. You brush past him as you continue to the bathroom after excusing yourself, and it’s a little zing through you, like static electricity.

It takes you longer in the bathroom than it usually would, that last drink really must have packed a punch, and when you return to the table Jungkook is sitting there, too, next to your empty chair. Jimin looks a little sullen and pouty, but he smiles at you, those violet eyes crinkling up at the corners, and you give him a bright smile back.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is all energy, jiggling his leg and tapping his fingers on the table and Hoseok seems to be watching him intently.

The atmosphere in general seems to have changed, and after exchanging numbers with everyone with the urging of Jia, you two excuse yourself.

The three men walk you outside and Jimin is close while Jungkook hangs back. You imagine Jimin is so close since you mentioned feeling a bit dizzy and he asks you twice if he can call you a car but you tell him that the fresh air will do you good.

It’s funny, the moonlight seems to energize you a bit. When Jimin leans in to kiss you on the cheek, you jump a little at a sound behind you, something like a bark.

Jimin jolts back a little, eyes widening, and you both laugh at your nerves.

“Stray dog,” you remark, and Jimin snorts.

“Something like that.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “So what exactly the fuck happened after I left?”

Jimin is sullen on the couch, arms crossed over his chest with a busted lip and Jungkook is sitting next to Hoseok on the floor on the other side of the hotel room with tissue up his nose, Hoseok tilting his head back.

“Baby is about to go into rut,” Taehyung sings, laughing, his girlfriend draped over him on the bed drowsily, his teeth marks littering her neck and throat.

“Don’t,” Yoongi warns. “Everyone’s just wound up. Full moon is in two days, after all, cut him some slack.”

“Sees one girl he likes and suddenly no one else can talk to her,” Jimin complains, gingerly working his tongue across his lip ring to see if it’s torn.

“You tried to kiss her,” Jungkook growls, and Hoseok pushes on his chest to keep him from getting up.

Jungkook can’t explain why his wolf wanted to rip Jimin’s throat out when he leaned in to kiss you, he’d just met you, didn’t even know your last name, but it was visceral, sudden, something crawling up his throat. He’d almost moved forward to do it before Hoseok said his name, sharply.

“We all get a little possessive about potential mates around the full moon,” Namjoon reasons. “But that’s not the way to handle it, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hangs his head and removes the tissue from his nose with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looks over at Jimin but he means it for Namjoon. He’s still bitter, somehow, about Jimin’s hand on your lower back, his lips brushing your cheek. It makes his head feel fuzzy, his guts roll.

Namjoon, on the other hand, had been the one to “discover” Jungkook, back when he had no idea why his eyes were starting to change color with the moon cycles or why his nails grew out like claws. He’d started learning percussion just to get rid of some of the energy he had around those times, and he’d been 17 when Namjoon approached him in a music store when Jungkook was looking into buying cymbals. 

Jungkook had been abandoned when he was a baby, adopted at four years old and he had no idea about his wolf lineage, or even that they existed, until Namjoon explained it to him.

“Jungkook doesn’t know his lineage,” Namjoon reminds them all. “He might just be presenting as an alpha, that’s a lot around the full moon, Jimin, you remember.”

Jimin grumbles something under his breath and Jungkook has to take a deep breath through his nostrils, smelling iron from their scuffle earlier, in order not to lunge across the room and hit him again.

Eventually, Jungkook has to move to his own room despite usually bunking with Jimin, and he finds himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. He keeps seeing your bright smile, your curls bouncing around as you talked and laughed, mostly at Jimin, and it makes him stiffen to think of how Jimin had met you first.

Why did it matter, anyway? You’re just a person, just like he is, just a girl, and he doesn’t have the best track record with talking to girls, anyway. You’d been in the front row, with your friend who Hoseok had gotten so smiley about, he’d seen you just before he started his set, his vision clearer around the full moon.

The others laughed at him for how he talked about “the wolf,” as if it wasn’t a part of him, as if it wasn’t who he was, but that’s how it had always felt. He just hadn’t had a name for it until he’d met Namjoon. It was like this thing, inside him, this beast, something that clawed and scratched to get out.

Seokjin keeps telling him that he’s fighting the wolf, that’s why he hasn’t gone into rut or popped his knot, that’s why he feels so achy and fidgety around the moon cycles, that’s why he hasn’t shifted. Namjoon would always respond there was no way to know that but Seokjin just rolled his eyes.

“Aish, I’m your hyung, listen to me. I fought mine, too, when I was young, and when I shifted I broke a few bones. You should give in, let it ride in the front seat once in a while.”

Jungkook had nodded at the time but now, he doesn’t know how to do that. Drumming helped, it was a lot of work and energy expelled and it felt like he could let him out, the wolf, just a little. It’s why he’d gotten so big, staying active and lifting weights was something the wolf liked.

The wolf came sometimes when he masturbated, too, when he’d feel particularly worked up around the full moon, after a concert, sweaty and rolling his hips into his hand.

When he tries it after meeting you, he can’t even finish, ending up panting and sore, the wolf still snarling over the memory of Jimin’s lips barely brushing across your cheek.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Jungkook who texts you first. Wanna go for a drink?

You’re not sure whether to say yes at first, you’ve been feeling so strange. You can barely sleep, your skin feeling hot, as if you’d burned yourself with a too hot shower. You think about that night at the concert a lot, Jimin’s violet eyes, Jungkook’s almost red ones, how odd you’d felt.

You would have talked to Jia about it but she’s been abducted by the werewolf band, apparently, you’ve barely seen her in a week and when you had she’d been littered with hickeys and with a big goofy smile.

Part of you wonders if this is all some sex ring cult but she seems happy, jubilant even, so you agree, meeting Jungkook at a downtown bar.

He’s there before you arrive, you can see him through the window sitting at a table, looking wide and a bit intimidating until he lifts his head and smiles at you with a little wave.

His eyes are a warm brown now, pretty and wide, you’re able to notice the shape more without the contacts.

Jungkook is still all energy, maybe that’s just how he is, talking to you more and more as the nights go on and you two share a pitcher of beer, scooting his chair closer. You find he flushes a pretty rose when you flirt with him and can’t stop laughing when he nearly falls out of his chair when you prop your legs up in his lap.

By the end of the night he can’t stop smiling at you and you’re intrigued, moreso than you’d imagined you would be when you’d first met him, smiling shyly at you at the bar near the concert. You start to feel funny again, your head fuzzy, probably from the alcohol.

When you tell him, he’s all wide eyed concern.

You giggle. “Now I know why they call you Baby.” 

He huffs a little. 

He walks you outside just as he did before but this time he doesn’t hang back, and when you reach the alleyway, he places a hand on the swell of your hip as you take a few deep breaths of the night air.

You’re surprised, laugh a little until you look up into his eyes. You’d swear they looked red tinged again, but surely it’s just the beer.

“Not a baby,” he murmurs, moving closer, pressing you up against the brick with his body, and you hitch in a breath.

“No?” You ask, boldly trailing your finger along his collarbone through the black tshirt he’s wearing.

He shakes his head, leaned down close enough to your face that his nose brushes yours.

“Prove it,” you tease, and he makes this rumbling sound in the back of his throat that makes goosebumps break out across your flesh.

He leans down further, nips at your lower lip, and you moan, body surging forward toward his as if it was made to fit it. You’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but his tongue is in your mouth, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

You feel hot all over, dizzy in the most pleasant way, at least until he pulls away, gasping.

You whine, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever made before, when he’s not touching you anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

He’s gone before you can even gasp out another whine of his name, and the moonlight on your skin burns instead of cools.

Jungkook tells this story in a burst to his bandmates the next day, hungover with his head pounding.

“You just left her there?” Jimin says, his face shocked, and Jungkook feels the wolf make a growl start at the back of his throat.

Namjoon puts a hand on his shoulder and it turns into a whine instead. 

“I’ve never felt him that close, hyung. Right at the surface. I wanted to…”

Namjoon and Seokjin meet eyes above Jungkook’s lowered head.

Jimin catches it. Jimin catches everything, it’s one of the best and worst things about him.

“What? You think…” Jimin laughs. “No. She can’t be his.... She’s not a wolf, I would’ve smelled it when-”

Jungkook surges out of his seat, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. “When what, Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes glow a pale violet as he snarls back, uncaring that Jungkook towers over him.

In the end, Namjoon and Seokjin have to separate them physically as they bark and snarl at each other.

Hoseok and Taehyung are missing, having holed up to ride out their ruts with their human mates instead of the house the seven share.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. “He’s definitely presenting as an alpha.”

“No shit,” Namjoon barks, unusually on edge. 

Yoongi, Seokjin, and Taehyung are the betas of the group, and until now there had only been a slight difference among the bandmates despite their different rankings.

Alpha pheromones were stronger and their senses were more heightened around rutting season, particularly for other mates. 

In the end, they have to completely change how they house themselves, with Jimin sharing a room with Yoongi, and Jungkook sharing with Seokjin.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says miserably, his wolf finally calmed as he sits down on the bed.

“It’s not your fault,” Seokjin says, voice much less harsh than Namjoon’s had been earlier when he’d scolded him. “I saw Namjoon during this time, and it wasn’t easy.”

Jungkook looks up at the elder with wide eyes. “Really?”

Seokjin snorts and nods. “Yeah, around the full moon he was unbearable, snarling at everything.”

“I just didn’t want to scare her or...or hurt her...I wanted to put her against the wall and…” Jungkook trails off, embarrassed.

Seokjin only smiles and ruffles Jungkook’s hair. “That’s normal too, Baby. You wouldn’t have hurt her, especially if it’s what we think it is.”

“What...what does that mean?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Something you gotta work out on your own.”

Jungkook groans and flops down on the bed as Seokjin laughs, heading downstairs to make dinner while things are calm.

He has trouble sleeping again, but this time instead of wondering why, he knew, could almost feel the soft skin of your hip on his palm like it was still there, how you’d moaned into his mouth, whined for him.

Jungkook isn’t sure there’s a cold enough shower to help.

You can’t seem to sit still as the full moon nears, feeling like you might jump out of your skin. You can’t count the number of friends you’d called but no one seems up to going out. You bite your lip while looking at Jungkook’s contact on your phone screen.

If you think about it long enough, you can still feel the way he pressed against you, how the hair on the nape of your neck stood up when he nipped at your lip, how hot you’d felt, how wet…

You sigh and scroll up, seeing Jimin’s name instead. Jimin had been fun to be with the night you’d met, easy to talk to, less….intense. And he didn’t make you feel like you were about to crawl out of your skin, so you ask if he wants to meet up for a drink.

It’s late, by the time you decide, and the moon is out, waxing toward fullness. There’s only a tiny sliver remaining, big in the sky, and you can’t stop looking up at it as you walk to the bar near your house.

You’d chosen it because it’s close and not because it’s where hot drummer Jeon Jungkook, also known as Baby, had pressed you against an alley wall and made you almost…

Jimin jolts you out of your thoughts, calling your name and waving as you approach the door. He’s leaned against the doorjamb, giving you a smirk and you think now you understand why they call him Sly.

It makes you smile and again, you vibe well with him, you get along in the best way, conversation is easy and you don’t feel gooseflesh or your hair stand up when he brushes his fingers against yours.

Jimin knows he’s playing with fire when he replies to your text, but they don’t call him Sly for nothing, and you’re interesting, for a human. He’s only met one other female wolf, a tall and feisty woman with a sharp tongue and the most beautiful brown eyes, but she’d had a mate and well...things hadn’t ended well. 

Jungkook thinks of his wolf as this separate entity but Jimin disagrees, let’s his wolf do what it wants, so that all the bad things he feels have some kind of outlet. This was especially so after he’d lost his brown eyed wolf girl, so he invites you back to the house, knowing that Jungkook will be at the gym all night before the full moon tomorrow.

In fact, all of the others will be out, finding fun of their own, and why shouldn’t Jimin do the same? It isn’t as if Jungkook has marked you, or even can, since you’re human. 

Your eyes aren’t quite the same shade of hers, but he can pretend.

Jungkook works out until his muscles ache but nothing can shake this feeling he has, like something’s wrong. When he leaves the gym even the moon looks off, as if it’s dimmer than it should be, and something’s pulling him home, like this tug in his gut. It feels like it used to as a kid in his first foster home, when he’d get so anxious he’d climb onto the roof and stare up at it.

He’s almost running as he gets closer, feeling his skin prickle as he gets to the house, his wolf so close to the surface he can feel the fur that isn’t there yet standing up on the back of his neck.

He smells Jimin first, wrinkling his nose at the alpha pheromones, and when he walks upstairs it isn’t as if he decides to let the wolf take over, or struggles with it - it’s instant.

You’re standing in the hall, head tilted up, and Jimin is leaning against the wall, smiling down at you, and when you lean up to just softly brush your lips against Jimin’s, Jungkook’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, and the wolf barks, loud and warning.

You turn, surprised, and Jungkook doesn’t think, doesn’t act, it’s all wolf. He grabs you by your waist, hefts you up over your shoulder, and begins to walk you to his room.

Jimin protests and Jungkook growls over his shoulder, daring him to try something. Later, Jungkook is glad his friend didn’t follow, because he isn’t sure that he could have held the wolf back.

You kick and yell and beat on his back and Jungkook doesn’t realize what he’s done until he’s plopped you down on his bed, crawling toward you.

You kick him in the chest and it barely registers. You stand up and that’s when he snaps back to himself, at least to a degree.

"Don't leave. You can't leave." It's panicked, his voice, higher pitched almost like a whine.

"I can do whatever I want," you snap.

He makes this sound between a whine and a snarl and it's startling, strange, and you stop at the door.

"I know that! I know, but he doesn't!" 

"He..." you turn to look at him and he's trembling, head down, and you step closer, worried. "Baby, what do you mean?"

Jungkook just stands there, still trembling, until you reach out to touch his hair, gently. "He thinks he owns you, that you're his, that no one else can touch you." He explains, almost in a whisper.

"Who is he?" You ask slowly.

He raises his head slow and you gasp when you look into his eyes, instead of a warm brown this burnt amber, red hued.

"The wolf."

You stand there, blinking in surprise, for a long moment before actively telling your feet to move to the door. Unfortunately, your brain seems to have some kind of disconnect to your limbs, because you just step even closer, lean in and inhale along his neck, this scent of sweat and the iron of the weights he’d been lifting washing over you.

Rationally, you know that you should be shocked, horrified, even, that werewolves are real and you’re apparently standing in a house full of them but all you can do is run your tongue along the vein in his throat and Jungkook is trembling all over, whimpering like a puppy.

“Y/n, please, don’t-” he chokes out.

“Why not?” You murmur against his skin, the scent of him making your body react like you’ve never felt before. There’s this ache between your thighs that you’ve only felt a hint of before and you want more, nipping at his skin, unable to think clearly.

“He wants to...wants you,” Jungkook stutters, balling his hands into fists to keep from touching you.

“He does? Or you do?” You ask, lifting your head to pout at him, and Jungkook groans.

“Both,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“Then take me,” you say, and you don’t even know where the words came from. Your head feels light on your shoulders, dizzy with the scent of him, how his skin tastes under your tongue, and you do what he did to you the last night you’d seen him, nipping at his lower lip. Your canine pierces the skin and you taste iron on your tongue

Jungkook growls and lifts you again, this time with his hands under your ass and thighs and your legs wrap around him instantly. He all but throws you down on the bed, this time, and you whimper when he grips one of your thighs with his big hand, squeezing the flesh there.

“Mine,” he snarls, that high pitched whine at the end, and it makes you arch your back, claw your nails across his shoulders.

Jungkook leans down to sniff at your neck and growls again, wrinkling his nose and when you open your eyes he’s staring down at you with those red/amber eyes. 

You look back defiantly but you’re rolling your hips against his, you can feel him hard against your core and even though you’d never gone all the way with anyone before you want him inside you, can’t think of anything else.

“You smell like him,” he accuses, voice hoarse, and his wide eyes fade back to brown, just slightly, the color dilating around his pupils.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, feeling something like guilt, even though nothing had happened, really, and even it if it had…

He rubs his nose against your throat, covers you with his body like he’s replacing any of Jimin’s scent with his own. He licks against your neck, bites down on your skin, making you yelp.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whines. “I’m sorry, I have to. You’re mine, I have to mark you, have to scent you anywhere he touched you,” he tries to explain, his hands skating down your ample curves.

“It’s okay,” you say, and somehow you mean it, you understand, the very thought of Jungkook smelling like anyone else makes your heart jump into your throat, something primal rise in your gut. “I know, baby.”

“You’re mine?” He says again, voice pitching up into a question just like when he’d introduced himself and it scares you, the way it makes your heart ache.

Instead of speaking you kiss him again, hard, moving your hands to his hair to get him closer. You had worn a skirt and halter out, it’s so warm even though it’s close to winter, your skin feeling so hot under the moonlight that you couldn’t wear much else.

Even as you kiss him he’s tearing at your clothes and you lean up to help him until you’re bare beneath him and panting, this whining noise coming from your throat that you can’t explain.

“God,” Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I-”

“You haven’t...haven’t done this before?” Your eyes widen.

Jungkook realizes what you mean and he blushes a bit. “I’ve...yeah, I’ve done this before but not...not like this. I feel like...the wolf feels like...he’s been crazy. Since the first moment I saw you.”

“Like you’re gonna jump out of your skin? Always feeling...hot?” You ask.

Jungkook nods slowly, eyes widening.

“Me too,” you admit. “I don’t...I don’t know what it means. That’s why I came out with Jimin, I-”

Jungkook cuts you off with a choked whine. “It means you’re supposed to be mine.”

He snuffles against your neck again, hands at your hips, still holding back, trembling. “It means he never should have touched you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know you have nothing to apologize for. “I want you. I’ve never...I’ve never done this before but I want you so bad,” you admit, clutching at his tshirt, pulling it up until he gets on his knees and pulls it off, tossing it to the side. You spread your hands across his chest and he lets out a wrecked moan.

“You’re holding back,” you accuse.

He nods. “The wolf, he doesn’t….I don’t want to hurt you. Especially...fuck, no one’s touched you like this before?” His hands slide up and down your thighs as he stares down at your body, your breasts, the cleft of your cunt.

Jungkook knows that shouldn’t make him so hard, shouldn’t make his dick pulse in his sweats, shouldn’t make the wolf keen with pride. Mine mine mine, the first, the only is all his brain is chanting, he feels dizzy like he’s drank too much even though he hasn’t had a drop.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, but he can’t, can’t let the wolf out, he’s afraid he’ll rip you apart. You’re human and a virgin and he can’t risk hurting you.

The wolf won’t even let him say it, so he just shakes his head. 

You huff out a breath, your body aching all over, need making your arousal coat your thighs. You don’t know what you’re going to say until you say it.

“Should I ask Jimin to do it? I bet he can smell me,” you taunt, shocking yourself.

Jungkook freezes, his eyes bleeding to red again and one hand jolting out to wrap around your throat.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You know you should be cautious since you’re about to fuck an actual werewolf, but fuck, you’re so hot, you can’t think, you need something inside you and you drop your feet to the bed, spreading your legs wide.

“Jimin would mark me. He’d fuck me, fill me full like I want.” 

Jungkook feels something in him snap, and his heart hurts and his cock aches and the wolf is keening, clawing inside him and he can’t control it anymore, just like before.

“Never,” he growls, squeezes his fingers around your throat and you gasp, your stomach aching with need.

Finally, finally he slides his fingers along your pussy and you choke out a sob as his thumb slips across your clit but it’s not enough.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “Make me yours.”

“Already mine,” he murmurs, and finally slides two fingers inside you, making you cry out. “You’re already mine but I’m gonna give you what you want, mark you, fuck you, make sure Park fucking Jimin never so much as sniffs at you again.”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Yes, please, please.”

Jungkook still worries somewhere in the back of his mind that he’ll hurt you, that the wolf will, and by now he understands they’re one and the same but you’re rolling your hips up and his cock feels heavy and full like he’s about to burst, somehow wider at the base and he rips down his sweats, fucking you with three fingers now. 

When his cock bounces against his stomach you gasp, and if you’d been in your right mind you might worry he’s too big but something inside you is crying out in pleasure just at the sight of it. You spread your legs wider and he releases your throat, leaning over to kiss you instead, biting your lip as he slowly works himself inside you.

It’s a tight fit even after three fingers and you’re whining into his mouth, wanting more.

Jungkook isn’t a virgin, far from it although a little less experienced than some of his band members (Hoseok had once bragged about fucking a house of sorority sisters during a rut), but the way you clench around him has his hips twitching, wanting to buck into you even if it would split you open. 

Despite his worry, neither he or the wolf wants to hurt you, though, so he waits for you to adjust even as you beg, waits until you can take all of him.

He’s barely realized that he’s popped his knot until he looks down to see where you’ve joined and he groans. He knows how to do this, has been talked to (endlessly, by Taehyung, about his human girlfriend and how she desperately wants to take his knot and they’re working on it but it will take time and training), knows that you can’t take his knot but the wolf is howling for it, wants to fuck you hard and then pop it inside you, spill a littler into your womb.

You whine and pulse around him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Kookie,” you pout. “Baby. Want you inside me, fuck me harder, please-”

“I can’t-” he chokes out, but then you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper and the wolf growls, leans down, mine mine mine chanting in his head. My mate.

You felt a tiny pop when Jungkook first entered you, nothing painful and then just need, you want more and more and you don’t even know how to say it. You look up at him, near tears, needing something that you feel he won’t give you.

“I’m not yours yet,” you slur, and he looks pained, his eyes dilating from warm brown to amber red again and again.

He rocks his hips against you slow, and you’ve orgasmed twice already, once from his fingers and one from his cock but it’s not enough and you whine, it comes out almost inhuman, like his.

“Fill me up,” you urge, and Jungkook tries to hold the wolf back, he really does, but he’s too far gone, this close to the full moon and in the start of his first rut. 

Jungkook groans, fucks you harder and faster and when you cry out his name his balls draw up and he thrusts forward harder than he’d meant to, popping his knot inside you.

You make a surprised sound and his eyes pop open, his hands cupping your face even as his hips twitch as he cums, spills inside you.

“Y/n. I’m so sorry,” he mourns. “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry,” he babbles, kissing along your neck and throat, seeing that he’d already marked you twice, once on each side of your throat, and he barely remembers it.

You let out a happy sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, feeling finally sated, at least for the moment. “What are you sorry for, silly baby?”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He asks, and you look up into his eyes and they’re heterochromatic, now, red hued amber and brown both.

“You’d never hurt me,” you mumble against his throat.

“Never,” he promises. “Never, I love you so much.” 

You’re half asleep, sated with him still inside you, planting soft kisses on your lips and face. You don’t know where you’d learned the word, but it feels right when you say it, right before you drift to sleep.

“I love you too, Alpha.”

It takes a while to understand, especially between Jungkook being barely able to leave his room since he’s in rut and you’re in heat, but eventually, you figure it out.

Your great grandmother had been an omega werewolf, and it’s a recessive gene so you’d been the lucky one to receive it. Since you had never shifted because your gene wasn’t activated by male wolves, you had no smell.

At least, not until the full moon, when you shifted into what Jungkook says is the prettiest wolf he’d ever seen.

After, when you’d near your heat, Jungkook would snap and snarl at the boys so much just for talking to you that it made you roll your eyes, but eventually you got the dates right (for the most part, there’d been one instance in which Jimin had made a snarky comment and Jungkook had lunged at him and they’d gone rolling down the stairs), and you holed up in your apartment, instead.

Jungkook was working with Seokjin to understand that the wolf is him instead of some seperate entity. You tell him you’ve always known that. From what you know now, if the wolf wasn’t, he would have taken you the very first night. True mates are rare, and you’d both known it the whole time, even when you hadn’t.

You and Jia went to every concert, her always telling you her neverending sexcapades with Hoseok to be able to take his knot, front row, waiting for your Alpha’s set. It’s cute, you think, that they call him Baby on stage but he’s your Alpha, especially since he’s both, always, to you.

[pillow-anime-talk]

genshin month ; twenty-first day.

synopsis: Venti felt a lack of inspiration, but fortunately he could count on your light help.

# tags: scenario; current relationship; romance; fluff; a bit of nudity; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. venti {genshin impact}

author’s note: i really don’t know why the plot takes place in the bathroom again! anyway...

Inspiration was a complex concept and was never constant, or at least that’s what artists of all kinds – like painters, singers, composers, writers and even dancers – thought. Venti, as a very well-known and respected musician, also believed so and more than once in his very long life he felt a lack of inspiration; and the reasons for this were various, sometimes foolish. So very often (practically always) he saved his willingness to play with high percentage alcohol, sometimes he read poems or books to motivate himself, and occasionally he just let the boredom take up his precious time, which he could devote to something much more productive.

Now, however, neither the good and expensive wine from Dawn Winery, nor the wonderful poetry, nor even the several hours rest helped him restore his will or physical strength to play the lyre. And both you and the citizens realized how much a young-looking man was frustrated and even disappointed by this; after all, everyone was hoping for some music on their evening walks, and instead, from many days, they had only been accompanied by the sound of the wind and a few sounds of nature like wolves howling or birds singing.

Naturally, you knew very well that blue-haired had a serious problem, but how could you help him when you’ve never been into art things, or at least not as much as your partner? You wondered if a sincere conversation would be enough. Or warm tea with his favorite ingredients and some honey? Or maybe a few kisses and a cute hug...? But it seemed to you that even these things wouldn’t be enough for such a serious issue.

“... My dear, why don’t you just rest instead of thinking about new songs?” After the sixth day was over, you started to worry more and more. Venti not only stopped playing, but also had trouble with other, more basic activities such as eating and drinking water. Therefore, your anxiety grew when you forcing him to take medicine or get out of bed. “Venti?”

“I will sit here a while longer, but you can take a bath and rest afterwards if you want. I promise, I’ll go to bed earlier than yesterday.” Always cheerful and full of joy, now the aqua-green-eyed boy seemed empty and bored. However, in order not to upset him, you nodded slightly.

You definitely needed the bath due to the fact that you were the person closest to Venti and you experience everything as much as he.

So while you were resting in the hot water full of white bubbles, the bard decided to close the huge, oak window and then headed towards the bathroom to wash his tired face. Of course, due to his own thoughts, he forgot that you’ve been in the bathroom for eight minutes. Therefore, as soon as his person entered the small room and his gaze landed on your calm face, closed eyelids, perfect arms, as well as the outline of your collarbones and breasts, somewhere at the bottom of his own heart, Venti felt inspired. 

It was a tiny, really strange, intimate inspiration.

The hand in which he always held the lyre rose gently, and the fingers of the other, free hand tugged at the breathtaking, bluish strings. The melodic sound of the instrument echoed throughout the cottage, and you opened your eyes in surprise as you stared at your lover standing by the sink.

“V-Venti...” The blushes on your face were visible and extremely sweet, which made the man felt an even greater desire to play. He decided to sit on the edge of the bathtub to be closer to you. “Beautiful.” You admitted listening to your beloved’s new song, and he just nodded, smoothly touching the strings.

“You’re definitely the most beautiful here.” He chuckled, causing another wave of heat; this time on the nose and both ends of the ears. “I was losing hope of ever playing something again, but... you made me want to do it again, and again... and again. You are an amazing muse, darling.”

“Ahhh, don’t say that, please... I don’t know what to say. I am just lying in the bathtub...?” You tried to look anywhere but at the face of Anemo Archon, but his graceful, cool fingers cupped your chin, making your glowing eyes look only at him. You definitely didn’t care that the foam was slowly disappearing from your delicate figure, revealing far more skin than it was even thirty seconds ago.

For a brief moment the quiet music faded and your lips met in a light yet affectionate kiss, but as soon as you pushed your faces away from each other, the lovely melody hit your mind afresh.

“... What should I name this song?” He asked, amused, looking over your foam-covered body as you rolled your eyes in amusement. “Maybe just... ‘Y/N’? I think then it will be perfect.”

“I... Thank you.” You admitted shyly, and the man giggled one more time, leaning against the wooden wall.

“No. I am the one who should say ‘Thank you’, angel.”

previous day ; mona ♡ next day ; zhongli

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Safe and Sound

doing this thing | day 8 - “I don’t feel so well”

warning for non-consensual drug use(ish)

There are many reasons Geralt doesn't like nobles, and the way one of them is leering at Jaskier right now is only one of them. Geralt sits in the corner, tucked away where he can't bother anyone and they can't bother him. The only reason he came in the first place was for Jaskier and the only reason he's still here is because there is a huge bed upstairs waiting for them, complete with silk sheets. And, at this rate, Geralt will have it all to himself. It's a small consolation for watching Jaskier fawn over everyone else all night, and Geralt shouldn't care who Jaskier gives his attention to anyway, but it's nice to have something to look forward to.

More and more often, though, Geralt catches Jaskier watching him, seeking him out as he waltzes around the room. And the longer the night goes on, the less attention Jaskier pays to anyone else and the more he catches Geralt's eye. He offers thankful smiles and even winks at him once as he starts in on a song he knows Geralt hates. He doesn't hate it, but the blatant eroticism of it makes his skin crawl in the most frustrating way.

When Jaskier finishes his set, Geralt tunes out for a little while. He's unconcerned about what's going on around him and once his ale runs out, he has no good reason to stay downstairs. He's a little surprised that Jaskier never came back to him before running off. It's rare that he'll just disappear without saying goodnight, even if he's just going up to their room alone.

It's not unusual enough for Geralt to be worried, but it is enough for him to be a little disappointed. He likes knowing where Jaskier is, that he's safe before going to bed himself. Tonight he isn't able to do that and the prospect of a warm and silky bed is less enticing than it was an hour ago.

It isn't long before he runs into Jaskier in the halls only he's not alone and something feels... off. His medallion twitches just so faintly against his chest and Geralt frowns at the man wrapped around Jaskier.

Apparently unbothered, Jaskier hurries up to him, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck.

"Geralt!" he nuzzles into his chest and Geralt nearly jerks away in surprise. Jaskier is an affectionate drunk, but he hasn't had nearly enough time to drink that much. Geralt presses his nose into Jaskier's hair, inhaling deeply and this time he does pull back.

Jaskier stinks like magic.

It only takes a moment for Geralt to connect the dots; it's a love potion of sorts - a mild one, but still enough that it has Geralt's blood boiling. The thought of someone taking advantage of Jaskier like that makes him sick. Especially when Jaskier is so free with his affections that a simple request would have given the man anything he wants.

Geralt's head snaps up to look at him, now standing alone just a few feet in front of them. Rage rises up in Geralt's chest and it takes all of his well-maintained control to keep from throttling the man right there. But killing nobles is never a good idea - less so for a Witcher - and doing so in their own home is asking for trouble. But in a flash, Geralt steps between him and Jaskier and something of his anger must show through because the man takes a step back, very careful not to look away. Geralt growls at him as he pulls Jaskier closer into his side and the man turns and runs. A coward.

Geralt seethes, even as the man disappears down the hall and it's not until Jaskier nuzzles against his chest that Geralt remembers there are still things he has to take care of. Namely, Jaskier.

"I don't feel so well," Jaskier murmurs, pitching forward. Geralt catches him before he hits the floor, pulling him back to his feet and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to support him.

A weak potion, it seems, if Jaskier is already starting to work through it. Geralt doesn't spare the man another thought before turning Jaskier in the direction of their room.

They're barely inside for a minute when Jaskier hunches over the washbasin and vomits into it. Geralt crosses to him, running a hand up his back and Jaskier moans miserably. This at least is familiar to Geralt; he and the other wolves have suffered hangovers that would kill a regular man and somehow Eskel is always there to pick him up afterward.

So Geralt mimics Eskel's actions, rubbing Jaskier's back and ensuring his hair doesn't slip down over his face. It feels good to have somewhere to channel the energy buzzing under his skin - somewhere other than the fuming rage at the man who did this to Jaskier.

When he's finished, he slumps to his knees, but Geralt gets him up, helps him out of his clothes, and gets him to bed. When Jaskier is under the covers, he reaches out, fingers slipping against Geralt's shoulders. He just mumbles at him and Geralt crouches down next to the bed, far enough away that Jaskier won't try and pull him into bed with him.

"Not tonight, Jaskier. Sleep. I'll be here." He waits until Jaskier's eyes fall shut then rises to his feet again and turns away from the bed.

He makes up a bed for himself on the floor before the fire. It's a far cry from the silk sheets he was looking forward to, but it's barely a thought in his mind as he lays down, still listening to Jaskier's breath from across the room.

Geralt is nearly asleep, just on the verge of unconsciousness when something bumps him and his eyes flash open. He's greeted by the back of Jaskier's head and before he can move, Jaskier has settled next to him on the floor. He grumbles sleepily as he presses back against Geralt's chest, lifting one of his arms and draping it over himself.

Geralt huffs a soft laugh and presses his nose into Jaskier's hair, too tired to worry about whether or not he should. Jaskier shuffles closer, making soft little sounds in his sleep and Geralt doesn't care that they have a whole empty bed just across the room, he's just glad to have Jaskier safe.

[glitxhwayventeen]

A Different Kind Of Love…

Wonwoo: Chapter 2 (All I Ask)

Characters: Wonwoo x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, smut (it got dirty fast my bad), breeding kinks, creampie, oral sex (female), pet names, dirty talk, biting (but y’all knew that this was a wolf fic so you should’ve been known about that one), angst, fluff, potential blood mentions, cheating (maybe?), violence mentions. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: I recommend listening to All I Ask by Adele. The song just has this need to it that I was trying to convey in this chapter. It was just really… necessary.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

Some 🥀, a little ☁️ towards the end, but mainly 💋

A Different Kind Of Love… Master List

Chapter 2: All I Ask

“What- what do you mean you aren’t ready for it?” Wonwoo asked, still so completely stunned at your last remark, he was unsure that you had actually said it.

You had moved to his room as you wanted to head back inside once it had started to rain. He ran his hand through his damp hair in frustration before he looked back to you for an answer.

“I mean, your girlfriend JUST tried to kill me in a fit of jealousy. But I thought SHE was your mate, not me. I’ve- I’ve never even been in a relationship before. How am I supposed to just jump into one with you when yours isn’t even really over yet? Everything’s too… messed up” You explained, sitting down on his bed, brushing out your soaked locks with your fingers.

“I know it’s not really… normal. But we’re wolves. None of what we do is normal…” Wonwoo tried to reason as he resettled his glasses on his face after having cleaned the water droplets off of them.

“No it’s not. But being a wolf doesn’t give me the right to be a home wrecker. How am I supposed to be with you knowing that I’m the reason your relationship is ending?” You questioned, tears starting to brim your vision when you looked down at your hands to distract yourself from your anger at the entire situation you found yourself in, “I don’t want to be the cause of someone else’s misery. Even if I never really thought she was a good person, Song deserves better than this. I mean, have you even broke up with her yet?” You managed to whimper out.

“Of course I did!” Wonwoo defended himself, “Or at least, I thought I did. I didn’t necessarily say those exact words, but she knows she fucked up too badly to continue coming back here.” He spoke, seeming to be trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you.

You scoffed in annoyance and crossed your arms over your chest in a huff.

“So you didn’t ACTUALLY end things with her? See this is what the fuck I’m talking about! You ARE just as confused as I KNOW I am. How the hell are we supposed to be with each other? I refuse to just be some sort of mistress to somebody, even if my instincts are telling me otherwise. Whether you’re my mate or not, I can resist them” you declared, looking him dead in the eyes with complete seriousness.

“But I can’t! I’ve been trying. It’s not working! I’m already in love with you. I don’t care what happens with Song. Sure I’ll always care about her because of everything we’ve been through together, but I love YOU. I want YOU.” He responded, getting closer to you on his bed and taking your face in his hands.

Your heart started to race at the minimal contact. His hands were so warm and soft, you could’ve just started to melt into them with ease. Usually you’d have asked for your space, but you felt comfortable with him touching you. In fact, you loved him touching you. It had been SO hard for you to stay away from him during your stay, you truly wondered how you were able to keep from going insane.

“I know you can’t fight it for much longer. I know your heart speeds up when I walk into the room. I know you can’t think when we’re in the same room. I know that you look at me like I’m the only reason you wake up in the morning.” He continued as he started to stroke your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I know you feel the same dizziness I feel whenever you get close to me. I know that me touching you sends lightening through your every vein because that all happens to me whenever I’m with you. I don’t care about anything else anymore. I just want you to be mine already. I NEED you to be mine already.” He said in desperation while biting his lip, still holding your decision torn face between his hands.

He was tired of having to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night to rub one out from sheer thought of knowing you were in the next room behind Song’s back. He NEEDED to actually have you soon or he was worried he’d physically explode. He was about to start his rut and, although he’d NEVER EVER guilt or push you into having sex with him for it, every part of him was begging to touch you to relieve the aches he was beginning to feel. He was hoping if he could calm your anxieties about the situation that you’d want him as much as he’d want you. He already knew he had an affect on your more than you were willing to admit.

A deafening silence started to overtake the both of you. You didn’t want to start anything with him until things were sorted. But God, you wanted the same thing as he did. It made you sooo angry to see him with Song, but you didn’t understand why until now. Now, knowing he was your mate, you realized it was the primal jealousy you held from another woman being that close to him. You had wanted him from the very start, but you always had to hold yourself back out of respect for their pre-existing relationship.

You weren’t really sure where they stood at that moment, but you were starting to not care. Him being so close to you and not actually touching you where you wanted him to made you feel like you were going to catch fire. He smelled like Heaven, and his slight touch made you begin to lose your better judgement. His presence was started to cause a pool of arousal to form in your panties.

He was the first one of you to speak up again, “I know we still have so much to figure out.” Put it out of your head. No matter how much you need him and his plush lips right now.

“And I know that you’re worried about feeling guilt over Song,” Don’t do it. Control yourself!

“But please, if there’s any guilt let it be all on me.” You’re gonna regret it, no matter how phenomenal he smelt. You’re stronger than this. RESIST.

“A- All I Ask is that you at least give us a chance before-” Oh Fuck it, you thought before you quickly interrupted him with a passionate kiss, stopping him from speaking any further.

He was clearly dumbfounded by your sudden actions that had contradicted your previous statements. Even so, he reciprocated immediately anyways, kissing you so roughly that your teeth clashed together. Everything that followed happened in a blur.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled it upward. He caught your hint quite fast and all but tore his shirt off, barely even breaking the kiss in the process.

You then locked your hands behind his neck and jerked him as close to you as you possibly could, raising yourself to your knees in the process. He growled lowly before he ripped your shirt from your body, leaving you in just your shorts and bra.

He put his hands on your hips and pushed you down on the bed. He threw his body to hover over yours and feverishly reattached your lips. Your tongues started fighting for dominance, though he inevitably won the battle.

Your wrapped your right leg around him and attempted to use it as leverage to grind against his pelvis, needing some sort of friction to satisfy the growing hunger between your legs. He groaned into the kiss before he pulled himself back.

He gave you a dirty smirk before he grabbed your leg and used it to push you up the bed slightly, giving him better access to your shorts. He slid them and your panties off in one go before he lowered himself down to your heat.

You soon felt his lips attach themselves to your clit, he drew in one harsh suck that drove you crazy. Your hands found their way to his hair and you tugged at the locks, letting out a high pitched whine due to his action. He repeated it a few more times, just to be an tease. He liked watching you squirm because of something he had done. It made him feel powerful, and you looked fucking gorgeous while doing it.

After he was done with his little game, he had his tongue run up and down your slit before he thrust two fingers into your tight entrance, knowing he had to stretch you so he could have you the way he really wanted to. This caused you to take in a breath of air and gasp loudly. It was music to his ears. He didn’t even mind the death grip you had on his hair, it just egged him to keep going.

He started to scissor his fingers before he added a third into you. It was getting harder and harder for you to control your volume, if the others could hear, they’d be deaf by morning. He was making you feel so good, your legs had started shaking. Before you knew it, they locked around his head and your vision went white.

As you came back down to Earth, you started to become sensitive from the orgasm you had just had. Wonwoo was still licking and sucking at your bundle of nerves, the feeling hurting so bad but so good. You let him continue his actions for a bit longer, jerking every now and then from your vulnerability.

Eventually. the overstimulation got the best of you and you started to push away from him, earning a smirk and small chuckle from him. He wiped his mouth off before he stood up and brought his wet fingers to his lips, cleaning your release from them.

Watching you come undone so easily beneath him had his cock begging to be released from it’s restraints. So he quickly rid himself of his jeans and boxers he was wearing. You had propped yourself up on your elbows and licked your lips when you saw his member bounce back to his abs as it was freed. God, he was huge. You absolutely could not wait to have him inside you.

You motioned for him to come back to you, which he did gladly, crawling his way back up the bed. You grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and crashed your lips back to his again, tasting what remained of your juices on his tongue. The kiss continued as he slowly lowered you to lay back down on your back.

He moved his mouth down to your neck and began to leave small love bites, earning little mewls from you. He had used his left hand to steady himself and used his other to unhook your bra, getting a full view of your chest. He trailed his bites down to the mounds of your breasts before he took one of your nipples in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the bud, flicking the other nipple with his fingers so it wouldn’t be left out.

He unlatched his mouth from your breast with a small ‘pop’ sounds and started kissing you again, grabbing his member in one hand and smearing the beads of precum that had gathered at his slit down his shaft. He began rubbing his tip up and down your opening, partly to tease you and partly to give you time to back out if you wanted. He halted the kiss, earning a small whine from you which caused a proud smile to appear on his face.

“Are you sure about this (Y/N)? We can stop if you want to” he said as he pushed some stray hairs behind your hair with the hand that wasn’t holding his dick.

“Yes I’m sure. Now PLEASE just get inside me before I scream” you joked, sort of anyways, placing a peck on his nose. You thought it was sweet how much he cared about your comfort, but you serious just needed him to plow you like a corn field.

He positioned his tip at your entrance before he stopped one last time to look at you asking for approval, to which you nodding your head gently. You grabbed his biceps, readying yourself for the pain that was about to come.

Wonwoo thought it would be best to get the pain part over with as quickly as possible. So he lifted your chin and kissed you to distract you from your nerves and relax you before he pushed himself fully inside you all in one go.

“Oh fuck!” you all but screamed out, gripping his arms tighter, your nails no doubt having left marks on his soft skin

“Shit.” Wonwoo says through gritted teeth as he tried to control himself.

He wanted to start fucking you into next week already, but he didn’t want to move before you were ready. So he held still, using every bit of strength he had to hold himself back.

A small tear slipped down the side of your cheek as a reaction from the sudden feeling of being so full. He wiped it away with his thumb and kissed your lips.

“I’m sorry princess. Do you want to stop?” He asked eyes full of concern and worry. You gave him a short kiss back.

“No. I’m okay now. Please keep going. I really need you to keep going”

And, ever the eager people pleaser he was, he started to pull out almost completely before he pushed back in to you with a groan.

“Fuck. You’re so fucking tight. I dont know how much you’ll be able to take baby” he half joked to you. He nibbled on the sweet spot under your ear and continued his previous action again and again, making you see stars.

“I- I can take all of it. I’ll take anything you give me. Just please, go fast. I- I need you to go faster.” You whimpered out, attempting to meet his thrusts with your hips.

Your words lit a fire in him he couldn’t explain. The thought of you asking him to give you all he had sent an unexplained excitement through his veins. He didn’t know what it was about them that made it happen. But one thing was for sure, he was gonna give you everything he possibly could and he was gonna make sure you took all of it like a good girl.

He quickly sped up his thrusts to an almost inhumane pace, watching every pretty face you made in the process. You started chanting for him to ‘please go deeper.’ And who was he to deny you something when you were being so polite?

So he grabbed one of your legs that you had wrapped around him and pulled it up to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh God right there! Fuck please don’t stop!” You yelled out, dragging your nails down his back leaving bright red lines, some of which must’ve broken skin.

He smiled to himself as your eyes screwed shut at the pleasure he was giving you, small pleas and thank yous leaving your lips in rhythm with his thrusts.

He lowered his eyes to watch himself disappear into you as he pounded you harder and harder. You had never had sex before today and yet, here you were, taking him like a good little cockslut. Fuck. You were incredible.

“You’re doing so good baby. You look so good on my cock” he groaned out, laying his forehead on your shoulder.

“Come on princess, let everyone know how good I’m making you feel. Let everyone know who owns this pretty little cunt.” He cooed at you when he realized you had started to bite his shoulder in an effort to muffle your noises.

You whine in response, knowing normally you wouldn’t have wanted people to know about something so private, but also starting to lose focus on your priorities as his cock started brushing up against that special spot inside you.

“Oh Fuck Wonwoo! Right there! Fuck do that again!” You moaned out, begging him to repeat what he had just done. He smiled to you smuggly.

“Oh you mean right…” he teased as he fixed his position to touch your sweet spot again before you started to scream out in euphoria, “there?”

“Yes yes yes! Fuck yes! Don’t stop! God please don’t ever stop!” You choked out, starting to lose yourself to the immense pleasure he was giving you.

“Well I’m gonna have to in a minute baby. I’m almost there and I’ll need to pull out” he reminded you while tilting his head backward to try and hold his orgasm off just a little bit longer to get you there again.

“Fuck I- I don’t care! Cum inside me then! Just please don’t stop!” You wail, holding onto Wonwoo for dear life at this point.

Wonwoo’s eyes shot wide open at your words, “Princess I could get you pregnant if I do that. You don’t want that” he spoke while begging any fucking god listening to give him the strength to say no to your request.

“Ye- Yes I do. Fuck please cum in me Wonwoo! Please! I want you to fill me up! I want everyone to know I’m yours!” You sobbed, getting so close to your high tears were now freely falling down your face.

Wonwoo’s eyes went bright red. Fuck. You were gonna be the death of him. “Is that what you want baby? For me to fill you up? To get you nice and pregnant so everyone can see your belly and know you’re mine? So everyone’ll know you’re my little cumslut?” He responded, pounding into you harder and harder as he neared his high.

“Yes please! Fuck please! I want your baby! I want you to fill me up! I wanna be your dirty little cum slut! Make me yours” You screamed as his words sent you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. You asked him to get you pregnant and every instinct in him told him to do it, he was starting his rut. To hell with the consequences. If anything happened, he’d take care of you and everything would be fine. You were his mate after all. He’d breed you some day anyways, why not today?

His fangs elongated as he drew closer to his own orgasm. He sunk them into the apex between your neck and shoulder, the feeling pushing you over the edge. The pleasure mixed with the pain drove you to a release so amazing, you never even thought it possible. And it sent him to his as well. The last thing you remember was feeling his hot cum jet against your walls right as the darkness took over you.

-

“Well looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up” Wonwoo stated as he kissed your nose. You noticed he didn’t have his shirt on, you did. You didn’t remember putting it on…

“What- what happened…?” You groaned out, still pretty groggy from the activities of the previous night.

“We fucked. You passed out after. You must’ve either been super exhausted or super fucked up from cumming really hard.” He said matter of factly while he rubbed your back.

“I think it was the second one” You pieced together as you tried to sit up, soon realizing that your muscles didn’t want to work.

“Considering you were so out of it you were begging me to knock you up, I’d go with number two too” he joked while massaging your sore thigh.

“I- I did that?” You questioned, shocked that you had gotten that fucked up.

“Well… yeah. Don’t worry. We can get you the day after pill when we go to the market today. Of course… you’ll have to cover this…” he responded while moving your hair behind yout shoulder, pointing out the bite he had left on you.

“You marked me??” Your eyes widened at the thought, had you SERIOUSLY been SO fucked out that you didn’t even remember him biting you? You seriously were so lost in cumming that you didn’t realize he marked you as his?

“Yeah I guess I did…” Wonwoo whispered as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sorry. I hardly even remember doing it. I remember you saying you wanted me to cum inside of you. I remember how that made me have this sudden primal urge to make you mine, then everything went blurry.”

“It- It’s okay. I can’t really be mad if I was literally asking you to… well you know. We both ended up getting pretty fucked out huh?” You joked, a small smile forming as you spoke.

“Yeah. Pretty fucked out is a bit of an understatement. But still, I’m sorry for the unintentional marking and mating. I can’t really do anything about the marking… but we can at least help the mating thing by getting you that weird pill” he shrugged out, already getting ready to put his jeans back on.

“Wait!” You stopped him by grabbing his arm, surprising both him and yourself with the action. He looked back at you with confusion plastered all over his face.

“What? Isn’t taking it as early as possible better?” He questioned, your hand still holding his arm.

“Yeah… but I don’t want to get out of bed. I’m kinda sore. So do we… absolutely have to get it…?” You wondered aloud, trying your best to convey to him what you were trying to say.

“I- uh if you don’t want to get pregnant… kinda?” He stuttered out, now grabbing your petite hand in his large one and placing a little kiss to the center of it’s palm.

“What if- what if I don’t mind it? Getting pregnant I mean. Do we have to go get it…? Unless you want me to take it…?” You trailed on. His eyes widened and his heart rate sped up. Were you saying what he thought you were saying?

“Are you saying- are you saying that you’d actually be okay if I just got you pregnant?” He gulped, hand still encasing yours.

“Well… yeah. Kind of? I mean- we’re already mates right? We already know we’ll be together till the day we die. So I don’t see why it matters if we have a kid now or twenty years from now” you explained cautiously, hoping you didn’t just freak the poor wolf out. He looked back at you, his face completely unreadable.

“If- if you’re okay with it then- Yeah that’s- that’s fine. We don’t have to go get it if you don’t want. We can just stay here and uh… talk?” He let out very questionably, still not completely sure what to say. After everything you had said to him about… well- about everything, he had NEVER expected those words to come out of your mouth.

“Are you… mad? Because we can go get the pill if you-” you started, worried that you had in fact, upset him with your request.

“No- no! I’m not mad. Just… kind of shocked is all. I didn’t think that you’d… be okay with something like that so soon” he defended, holding his hands up in the air as a way to stop you from talking any further.

“Oh. Yeah well… me either really. But I’m not… absolutely hating the idea, ya know? I mean I’m not saying ‘I want a baby right this second so let’s keep going till I get pregnant’ or anything. But I just mean- if it happens, it happens. Why try to fight it if we’re supposed to be together anyways? Unless you hate the idea then I-” You say, slightly losing steam at the end of your sentence, while looking down and biting your lip.

“Hey” Wonwoo said while lifting your chin with his hand, “I dont hate the idea either. I know what you’re saying and… I feel the same way about it” he admitted with a small smile playing on his lips.

“Really? You’re not mad or gonna like freak out?” You quizzed him, still very worried that he was a mess inside and was just hiding it fo your sake.

“Really. I’m not mad and I’m not gonna freak. What you’re saying, it makes sense. I already know I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Hell, I’ve already marked and mated you, so why try and stop it if we’d both be okay with it.” He added taking your hand and kissing it once more, this time with love and adoration in his eyes rather than concern.

“Okay. Good. Now that that’s settled… can we lay back down now before you start your mating season? I’m in a bit of pain and kind of need to get my strength back before I have to deal with you for a whole week” you declared, earning a small laugh from Wonwoo.

“Yeah baby. We can lay back down. Come on” he chuckled out as he quickly moved under the sheets to lay beside you.

“Better?” He asked, playing with your hair as you laid on his chest.

“Better.” You answered before you snuggled further into him.

You knew that you trusted Wonwoo and that you loved and cared for him more than you did yourself. You may not have planned how today went, but you sure as hell weren’t complaining. No matter what hardships decided to come your way…

Another Author’s Note: Ahhh. This was a fun chapter. Wonwoo’s next chapter is where it’ll really start to hit home. I’m not that good at writing smut but honestly, something about this boy makes me always wanna just smash my lips to his and fuck him. Don’t know why. Don’t know if I’m the only one. Either way, I promised smut for his chapter and I delivered as best as I could.

(Updated 9/6)

[teencopandthesourwolf]

17 QUESTIONS, 17 PEOPLE (an update!)

okay, so when i posted the last version on this blog, it was a years-old one from my main that i'd resurrected to get this going. so now imma do an updated version bc i'm depressed and need distractions woohoo.

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NICKNAMES: so. my given name is lucy, which never really sat right with me, but especially not now i've admitted to myself i'm trans. but i'm also autistic, and change freaks me the fuck out lol. online everybody knows me as CASSIDY (actually my surname) but in meatspace, most folks now call me LU, which is androgynous enough to feel okay, i guess. i came out as non-binary a few years ago (which felt right at the time) and only very recently told select folx i'm actually transmasc. it's complicated, for me, in my head, bc i have kids. anyways, my mum has started calling me LUKE (unprompted, lmfao.) also, my brother—who's also my closest buddy—has always called me DAVID, for reasons known only to himself. maybe he's always known i'm a guy.

ZODIAC: scorpio

HEIGHT: a really tall 5'2"

HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin (but as my tumblr hubbie tylar @but-theres-wolves also said, jk can go fuck herself with a bargepole).

LAST THING I GOOGLED: "gay men sleeping" bc i wanted a pose ref for a destiel sketch i did when i couldn't sleep last night.

FOLLOWERS: 1015

SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD: toss a coin to your witcher the theme song from the witcher, sung by the delightful joey batey. this is bc SEASON 2 COMES OUT FRIDAY ASFHKDSKKKK so i've had s1 on (again, lol) in the background whilst arting.

HOW MUCH SLEEP DO I GET: i'm bipolar so either like 0-4 hours (when i'm hypomanic) or 13+ when both depressed and/or chronically fucked from, well, my chronic illnesses.

LUCKY NUMBER: a self-assigned no. 6, bc i was aged 6 at the time i heard about lucky numbers and wanted one for myself.

DREAM JOB: fiction editor, props master or illustrator.

WEARING: you wanna know what i'm wearing? you saucy lot... *looks at self or wouldn't have a fucking clue* uh, apparently, a massively baggy white and grey leopard print jumper, boxershorts and a neon yellow beanie over my buzzcut. i ain't leaving the house.

FAVOURITE SONG: as if i could pick just one!? currently it's the lightening strike (what if this storm ends) by snow patrol. like, on fucking permanent repeat rn omg i can't get enough of it. the rest of the songs from that album are shit but MAN, THIS SONG.

FAVOURITE INSTRUMENT: to play? guitar, although my hEDS means it hurts these days. like, A LOT. i don't really want to talk about it or i'll cry. to listen to? a full orchestra. like, fuck, just listen to THIS and tell me you don't wanna fling yourself off of a building (in a good way, like the matrix).

AESTHETIC: 41-year-old-finally-admits-to-self-that-they're-trans-therefore-everything-is-that-missed-youth-teenage-boy-aesthetic. yeah, that. luckily i don't look my age so kinda get away with it—and anyone who thinks not can fuck off anyways :)

FAVOURITE AUTHOR: again, as if i could pick just one. rn it's maggie stiefvater bc i'm reading book two in her dreamers trilogy: mister impossible, the spinoff series from the raven cycle.

FAVOURITE ANIMAL NOISE: cats purring AND corvids! we get crows round our flat all the time and i bloody love them.

SOMETHING RANDOM: this isn't really about me but my brain is foggy so. my ex (but still good buddies) sister-in-law was in a drama/thriller with chlöe sevigny called hit and miss about a trans assassin, and played the wife of vincent regan who was in the movie the 300. this was back in 2012 and chlöe was playing the titular character... these days you'd hope that trans characters get to be played by a trans actors.

now i have to try and claw my way back into the land of the living bc my dad and his wife are travelling over to see me tomorrow and my flat looks like somebody has been fly tipping here (they have; i'm somebody). wish me luck!

tagging, play or nay: fuck, who did i tag last time?! uh let's have @petrichoravellichor @rauko-is-a-free-elf @crack--attack @iscarusholmes @ohhalefire @ltleflrt @mjulmjul @floral-cas @lenaospinka @puhnatsson @halinski @catboyadamparrish @flitwickslittlebrotha @we--are---not--afraid @dilflanlynch @warynerd @permanentlyjaskier @misterstalker and @wilwheaton (promise you're not a last resort buddie, you just popped into my head). plus anybody else who i could be tagging but am forgetting bc i have hardcore brain fog leave me alone. oh and anybody who doesn't recognise this url my main is @all-or-nothing-baby :))

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[msdanvers]

Apollo x Daphne AU — goddess of music

A gentle breeze touches Lena’s flushed and clammy skin, but it brings no relief – even the air itself is stiflingly hot today. Tree leaves brush against her arms and her cheeks, tickle the soles of her feet, get tangled in her hair. Lena breathes in slowly and lets the scent of the mountains ground her as she makes her way home.

Time has given her the opportunity to memorize the world around her in ways no mortal ever could. She knows the ways rivers flow in winter, after a rainstorm, during a draught. She knows the way they used to flow, and remembers every change. She knows where they end, where they start, when they started.

She would know the way through these mountains blindfolded, on the darkest nights.

Her connection with these forests allows her to notice when something has changed within them – a new presence, or the loss of an old one. Today is one of those moments. Lena isn’t sure what it is. The grass is still scratchy and yellow in the same places as yesterday, still green and soft in others. The cypress trees are still in the same place, and so are the barn owls nesting in their hollows. Even the gray wolves haven’t moved from their resting place since this morning when she left.

Whatever it is, she decides, there is no use dwelling on it now. Lena lets her thoughts drift as she climbs over a fallen tree. Its mossy trunk feels warm on her thighs and hands – familiar, she imagines, like the touch of a lover would feel after centuries of closeness. Intimate, trusting, in a way she herself has never felt with anyone. The thought of it feels familiar even so – she has dreamed of a love like that so often, she can almost feel its warmth.

But romance happens in stories, and a watered-down version of it happens to the other nymphs around her, and nothing like it will ever happen to Lena. She has made peace with that knowledge a long time ago, and if you asked her, she wouldn’t say she’s lonely. Lena treasures the time she spends in solitude, free of judgement and expectations, free of performances. The sweltering heat of today’s noon should be spent just like that, alone.

As she makes her way across a grassy glade, she finally hears the murmur of her river. Lena sighs in relief. She has detested the summer for as long as she can remember, and today’s blinding sun does nothing to change her mind. She can’t wait to dip her tired body in the cold, rushing river water, floating in it with her eyes closed and her mind wandering.

Which is, of course, when she hears it.

Lena stops in her tracks to listen. It’s barely noticeable at first, drowned out by the sounds of singing birds and flowing water, but once she picks it up, it’s unmistakable. Music. Who could it be? Who came to her small corner of the world, only to fill the usual silence with their lyre?  

She starts walking again, a bit quicker this time, frowning as she tries to follow the sound to its source. It’s an instrument she has always enjoyed listening to and yet, Lena realizes the longer she listens, this is like nothing she has ever heard. All the satyrs that have played for her seem like children in comparison, now, like novices trying their hand at an instrument they don’t fully understand. No, this, this is what music is supposed to sound like.

Lena pauses when she catches sight of the river, one hand touching the rough bark of a tree. Her last lingering thoughts of turning the other way slip from her mind the moment she looks upstream, and finds a woman.

On a rock in the middle of the river, with her back to Lena, is the white-dressed and golden-haired lyre player. Sunlight plays with her curls and it almost looks like she’s glowing, like the source of light is not the faraway sun but this woman, playing a melody for herself and the world, unaware of her audience.

Silent, transfixed, Lena walks into the water, barely noting its cool touch as she makes her way upstream.

When the woman stops playing, there is a split second of silence in which Lena realizes there is only a few feet of space between herself and this complete stranger. Is it too late to turn away now? Why did she come this close anyway – could this woman be some kind of siren? Did she walk right into her trap?

Those nervous thoughts are forgotten the moment the woman turns around, lowering her legs into the river with a smile on her face. If she is a siren, Lena finds herself thinking, then let it be so. Let this siren lure her in with the sweetness of her song, let her ship be wrecked in the unforgiving ocean waves. She will not resent her for it.

But, like good things tend to do, the smile on the woman’s face vanishes the moment she lays eyes on Lena. Of course. This is not one of her daydreams, this is reality, in its usual painful bluntness. An all too familiar feeling takes hold of Lena’s heart – if she had to choose a word to describe it, she would say it’s disappointment. It’s deeper than that, though, and more expected.

Lena opens her mouth to say – what, she doesn’t know, but something cruel and yet indifferent enough to get this stranger to leave her alone. She doesn’t get the chance.

A sudden note, strange and off-key, paired with the sound of crushing wood, makes Lena look down at the woman’s hands. Her knuckles are white, and the lyre is completely destroyed. Lena feels her eyes widen at both the loss of such a beautiful instrument and the strength it must have taken to break it so easily. The woman doesn’t even seem to be aware of it, her eyes still focused on Lena.

This time when she studies the stranger’s face, Lena starts to wonder if she was too fast in interpreting her expression. Her smile might have fallen, but it never fell into the uninterested, slightly repulsed look that other nymphs generally give her. What she finds is more like shock, or maybe… awe? Lena feels embarrassed even thinking something as hopeful and desperate as that.

“You broke your lyre,” she says, at loss for anything bright to say.

The woman seems startled at her voice, and for one breathtaking heartbeat, she keeps staring at Lena. Then she looks down at the broken pieces of lyre in her hands. She doesn’t seem too bothered as she lays them down behind her and looks back up. “Hi.”

Lena chuckles. “Hi.”

“You have a leaf stuck in your hair.” The woman blinks after she speaks, like she wasn’t expecting herself to say that either.

“Oh.” Lena combs through her hair quickly, suddenly aware that she spent the morning walking through the forest, and probably looks the part. “Where–” she starts, but when she looks up, she suddenly finds herself face to face with the stranger’s very distracting blue eyes.

“Here,” she answers. The woman’s hand brushes against Lena’s before she runs her fingers through her hair. Lena’s eyes flutter closed unconsciously at the woman’s touch, and she exhales slowly, feeling tension leave her body that she hadn’t even been aware of.

“Look.” Lena opens her eyes to the woman’s radiant smile, and she can’t help but return it. She reaches for the leaf that the woman is holding, accidentally-purposely touching her hand more than necessary in the process.

“Thank you,” she says, unconsciously lowering her voice, and – is that a blush on the woman’s cheeks? “You play beautifully, by the way. Sorry for listening in.”

The woman smiles at her. “Well, I’ve had some practice.” It sounds like she’s joking, but Lena missed the punchline. She smiles back anyway.

“What’s your name?”

“Kara,” the woman answers.

Lena laughs, but her smile vanishes when the woman doesn’t join her. “What?” she says, feeling the leaf slip from her fingers. Water splashes around her thighs as she takes a hurried step back. Oh, no. “Kara?”

The woman nods. “What’s yours?”

“You’re an Olympian,” Lena whispers. It makes sense, in the end. Who else but the Olympian goddess of music, the inventor of the instrument itself, could play the lyre so skillfully? Who else but the goddess of the sun, Zeus’ favored daughter, could have such divine beauty – such entrancing charm?

The stranger before her is no stranger at all, but the twin of Artemis the huntress. She is the goddess that killed the mighty Python, son of Gaia herself.

“Yes. And you must be a naiad. I mean, this is a river, and you are very –” the goddess cuts herself off suddenly, frowning a little. “Are you all right?”

Lena takes another step back, her heart beating in her throat. “Forgive me,” she says. She tries to recall everything she said to Kara. Has she offended the goddess, thinking her just another nymph? Should she have bowed for her, paid her respects, offered her food?

Lena knows enough about the wrath of gods to be cautious.

Zeus pursued a girl, refused to take her ‘no’ for an answer, and in retaliation Hera transformed the girl into a cow and drove her to madness. Artemis was disturbed by an unsuspecting hunter while she was bathing, and he was torn to pieces by his own dogs. Kara herself, joined by her twin sister, had slaughtered all fourteen children of the mother who had dared to insult theirs.

Will Lena become the next name to be whispered around fires, remembered for ages for her misfortune and mistakes?

“You are frightened. Of me.” Lena looks up, but finds no ire in Kara’s eyes.

Surely, that can’t be right. Lena has laughed at her, tried to flirt with her. She can only think of one reason the goddess wouldn’t have minded that, but she doesn’t let herself believe it.

“Forgive me,” she says again, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“There is nothing to forgive. And I’m not going to hurt you.” Kara gently puts a hand on Lena’s arm. “Look at me? There is nothing to forgive.” Lena can’t believe the goddess of archery is looking so… tender. While looking at her. “Breathe.”

Realizing that she did, indeed, forget to do that, Lena takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” Kara laughs.

“Are you sure I haven’t offended you? I didn’t know…”

“I’m sure.” Then she smiles mischievously. “But I could exact my revenge anyway, if that would make you feel better.”

Lena opens her mouth, and gets hit in the face with a splash of water before she can ask questions.

She spits the water out, too startled to react at first. But Kara is biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh, and a high and nervous giggle escapes Lena’s lips before she can stop it.

Her hand shoots up to her mouth immediately, as if she could still cover up the sound that has already escaped. But Kara bursts out laughing too, loud and lovely, and Lena couldn’t keep a straight face while hearing that if her life depended on it.

“Now, I bet even a water nymph can’t have better aim than me.”

Lena smiles at her, one eyebrow raised. Her hands are already underwater, her muscles already tightened, before she thinks – this is a god, what am I doing? – and redirects the throw downwards at the very last moment. Managing to avoid Kara’s face, unfortunately, has the side-effect of splashing water all over her dress instead.

Kara looks down at the wet linen clinging to her figure, then back up at Lena, who is trying very hard not to look at it. “I must say, I was expecting better.”

Kara has barely finished her sentence when Lena hits her again, square in the face this time. Lena lets out a short, joyous laugh at the shocked expression on Kara’s face. Then, before the goddess can retaliate, she dives into the river and swims away as fast as she can. She feels the water shift behind her and knows she’s being pursued.

The muffled sounds of the underwater world mix with the fast beating of her excited heart as they shoot through the river. The water gets deeper the further she goes, rocks and plants flashing by as she swims and swims and swims. She feels strong and alive and her smile doesn’t fade until she finds her way blocked by a school of fresh-water fish.

Lena doesn’t really feel like swimming into them face-first, so she dives down to the bottom of the river. Her hands disappear in squishy mud before finding solid rock, and she pushes herself upwards again.

But the move slowed her down, and when she looks over her shoulder, a flash of white and gold is all the warning she gets before muscular arms catch her around the waist and a body slams into hers.

She barely has time to register Kara’s closeness before she realizes what’s happening. Kara was coming from beside her, and now they’re going way too fast in what is decidedly not the direction they should be going. They’re headed straight for the shore.

Kara manages to turn Lena around in her arms and pull her close before they collide with the riverside pebbles, spraying them everywhere.

It doesn’t hurt – both her head and her back have somehow made a soft landing, even though Kara ended up on top of her. They’re both panting when she opens her eyes and finds Kara’s face close to hers, her cheeks flushed and her eyes concerned.

“Are you okay?”

Lena nods and smiles. Kara smiles back and they don’t say a word, but then they’re laughing again, uncontrollably and without shame. She doesn’t just hear Kara’s laugh, she feels it, reverberating through the parts of their bodies that are touching.

When Kara wriggles her arms free from under Lena’s body, one of her hands disappears from its place under Lena’s head.

Oh. That explains the lack of pain. Kara must have taken the brunt of the impact.

“Are you okay?” Lena asks, frowning.

“Of course,” Kara answers with a lopsided smile. She is leaning on her forearms, now, hovering over Lena. The sun above her is like a halo, a crown of light that paints the edges of her silhouette golden. Lena breathes in the forest air, the familiar scent of the river joined by an unfamiliar sweetness, a sweetness that must be Kara.

Their bodies are intertwined, the river still flowing past their legs while most of Lena’s body is resting on the sun-warmed shore they crashed into. And most of Kara’s body is resting on Lena, her warmth seeping through the fabric of their clothes.

A drop of water falls from Kara’s nose and lands on Lena’s cheek. Lena chuckles, and Kara smiles with her whole face, her eyes twinkling as she wipes it away with a finger. It’s unnecessary, seeing as Lena’s whole face is still dripping with river water anyway, but she can’t bring herself to care.

Then Kara breathes out and Lena feels it.

The air brushes against her lips, and her eyes flick down to Kara’s mouth. Her heart beats in her chest like it’s trying to escape, and Lena briefly wonders if Kara can feel it too, wonders if some of what she feels is Kara’s heart, not just her own. Then she wonders what it would feel like if Kara were to lean down just a little, what she would taste like if they closed the distance and…

“I’m sorry. I should go,” Kara says.

Lena’s hands slip away from Kara’s waist when she pushes herself up, leaving Lena behind, startled and breathless. Her wet dress feels sticky and cold against her skin in the absence of Kara’s touch, the pebbles in her back suddenly too sharp, the sunlight too bright.

How could she have misread the situation so badly?

Lena sits up too, feeling her whole face flush in embarrassment. She can’t bring herself to look at Kara. She lets her hair fall between them like a shield, and looks down at her fiddling hands instead.

“Can I visit you again?”

Her gaze shoots up when Kara breaks the silence, and she finds the goddess looking at her with a tentative smile.

Lena is silent, stunned, for a long moment. Too long, probably, because Kara nods to herself and starts to get up.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Kara says, and it sounds like a farewell – why does it sound like a farewell?

“Wait,” Lena says softly.

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. I’ll just –” Kara starts walking away, and Lena’s heart skips a beat.

“No, wait!” Lena captures Kara’s hand and she almost forgets how to breathe when Kara’s eyes meet hers. “I’d… love to see you again.”

For a moment, all she hears is the rustling leaves and the river. Kara’s hand is warm and soft and still dripping with river water, and Lena wishes it were hers to hold for as long as it took to dry, and for longer after that.

“Really,” Kara breathes.

“Really.”

Kara breathes out a laugh, and it almost sounds relieved. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

Smiling, Lena squeezes Kara’s hand softly, something fluttering inside of her when Kara squeezes back and strokes the back of her hand with her thumb before letting go. Lena watches her walk away, watches her turn around one last time when she reaches the trees, watches her smile. Then she watches her disappear, like all of this was just another daydream.

But it wasn’t. Lena lifts a hand to her face, touches it where Kara touched her, and sits down slowly. She closes her eyes, and sighs.

[ifyouseekay468]

what do YOU personally think the teenagers (mcr) lyrics are about my friend ? like i keep thinking about them but im not sure im going somewhere

okay, ive answered this ask twice on mobile and each time my phone deleted it, so here I go, the FINAL version of this post

It's been a hot minute since I listened to teenagers so I decided to do a quick run-through of the lyrics, and while Gerard&Co were raised catholic the lyrics seem to REEK of protestant trauma, so that's what I'll be going off of, but I'm pretty sure the two denominations overlap here. The first verse is about kids in youth group, Christian GirlsTM especially, who are put there to pressure you into being "normal" into "cleaning you up with the lies in the book" (bible), although the pastor is the one giving the teaching THESE are the people who will get you to BELIEVE, who will get you to lie to yourself, who will get you to church camps that on some level utilize brainwashing techniques, and will DESTROY you with the idea that you're "Just one of them, and just need to change everything about yourself and fake your way through every last sermon to be just a part of the gang",

The part about sleeping with a gun and keeping an eye on you is about two things: one, about the idea that God can see all your thoughts, that THINKING about "sin" (ie; fantasizing about sex) is as bad as COMMITTING sin (which is fucked up entirely on its own because fantasy is SO FUCKING DIFFERENT FROM REALITY and that is a CRUCIAL aspect of sexual expression in order to safely engage in sex), AND the fact that these kids will pretend to be your friend, will prod you into doing things with them, into telling them things about yourself all the while making you feel like "part of the group" when really they're just blabbing either to religious leaders, or are ostracizing you and bullying you behind your back.

"The drugs never work"

This in my opinion points to the fact that this song is specifically about being QUEER in a christian culture. It is common for trans people to turn to drugs or psychedelics in an area that has little to no access to gender affirming care, or acceptance because they both change reality and disconnect one from the body that is causing their dysphoria. It can also help burn away the guilt, so to speak.

The methods of keeping you clean is about two things: one, about purity culture, no smoking, no drinking, no friends who drink, no sex, no porn, no masturbation, no impure thoughts. The second, is the way they're able to subtly manipulate you into hiding yourself, into lying to yourself, into forcing yourself to the point of death into being cishet. They're keeping you clean not just from the vices of addiction, but the vices of the flesh, the vice you can't escape because it's a part of you from the day youre born. On a darker note, this could also be referring to c*nversion th*rapy, given this second interpretation of the lyrics

"Ripping your head and aspirations to shreds," Is again about two things in my opinion: both the idea of "losing yourself to God's will" that usually leads one to losing their identity and getting depression and fucked up mental health, and the "shift" that happens at church when you reach a certain age. You know the kind, right? You're four years old, and church is FUN! You get to go to this big room and sing and dance on stage with all your friends! You get to play GAMES! You get to talk to the ~cool teenagers~ who are ~Just like you~ and ~think youre a "cool kid"~, you have ~best friends~ who will be with you like Jesus and the 12! but then, one day, something happens, something SHIFTS. maybe the Sunday school teacher leaves, maybe there's a new family at church, maybe the church changes buildings. Maybe none of that has to do with any of it, all you know is that now things are forever different. Church isn't fun anymore. The kids classes are repetitive, they're bribing you into memorizing bible verses with money, they DONT reward critical thinking or analysis, but they do call you smart, that's because they dont want SMART kids they want OBEDIANT ones. You have no choice but to stat going to REAL church. Suddenly, your best friends are not your best friends. Suddenly they're avoiding you. Suddenly they're lying to you. Suddenly you're too... well they don't know the word yet but "gay" for them...

"Teenagers scare the living shit out of me"

This is what youth group does to you, it isolates you from your entire generation because there are few people your age and a whole lot older than you, and everyone is so much DIFFERENT from you for some reason, but neither of you know why, not yet anyways. This makes you distance yourself from teenagers, because you can't SEE yourself as a teenager, because youre nothing like other teenagers.

"They could care less as long as someone will bleed,"

This is the martyr complex that permeates youth culture like the smell of wine, the problem? these kids love to make a show of themselves and their martyrdom, but they're unwilling to martyr themselves, so what do they do? They throw someone else to the wolves and take the glory. They ostracize and eliminate the unique in the name of preserving their faith. They convert and convert and god help anyone who doesn't want to convert.

"So darken your clothes and strike a violent pose"

This is about deconversion, how the moment you leave the church you never want to see another cross till the day you die, that you want to avoid christians of all costs because you don't want them To drag you back into the pit that devoured you. So you do anything and everything you can to make yourself repulsive to Christians, which actually coincides with your indulgence of mundane activities previously considered as "sin"

"Maybe they'll leave you alone but not me,"

There's a different between a cishet ex Christian and a queer ex christian, and that difference is that a cishet atheist is more likely to be left alone than a queer one, especially a queer one whose whole demeanor screams "Christians be gone," that shit is like... it summons christians faster than free winter jam tickets! They swarm to you frothing at the mouth with holy water waiting to either convert you or exorcise you into purity, depends on if you want them or not. Again, you don't even have to be OPENLY gay, they can TRACK this shit. it's like fucking... INSTINCT or something.

"The boys and girls in the clique, the awful names that they stick, you're never gonna fit in much kid,"

as alluded to above, this lyric is about how, even from a young age, BEFORE youth group, this toxic culture kind of develops. ESPECIALLY around christian girls. They don't have the vulgarity of slurs, but they can make up for it with slang like "tomboy" "nancyboy" "too boyish" "a sissy" "Weird" etc, youre NEVER going to fit in, because the moment that "shift", from fun games and songs to Real Church, occurs, you have a target on your back.

"But if youre troubled and hurt what you got under your shirt will make them pay for the things that they did,"

This is probably a gun. But that's a tad too boring for my taste. If you were raised protestant you KNOW that being an ex protestant, after the craziness of evangelicalism, you would not hesitate to burn down your old church. It could be a secret tattoo, top surgery scars, hell maybe even nipple clamps. Whatever it is, it's symbolic of revenge. I know that anytime I wore my labrys necklace to church I would always hide it under my shirt. I hid books and CDs under there too. Again, it's about revenge, it's about breaking free, gun or no gun, the point is getting out and getting back at them.

and thats pretty much my take on the song. Again, this is not about artist intent this is just what the lyrics reminded ME of personally (as you can see from the over biographical bullshit I wrote), I'm always open to contradicting interpretations though as I always have like 2+ interpretations of a song or book! I never really saw the song through the lens of youth group specifically but when I went over the lyrics again in retrospect it all seemed to really click (pun not intended) well! Thanks for the ask!

[nav-arre]

Hang the Stars, and Name Them Too

Read on AO3

It was cold. It wasn’t winter, or he wouldn’t be here, but it put an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach regardless. Three months until he left for Kaer Morhen, and yet there he was, bundled up in his bedroll, an extra blanket stuffed inside, letting the warmth of the campfire linger on his face for at least an hour longer than he would have normally. Geralt lay there silently.

Jaskier, however, did not.

The topic of conversation had moved from Roach, who earlier had snatched Jaskier’s last apple and eaten it in record time, to apples, to orchards, to the unseasonable weather, to …wind, maybe? To the moon, to stars, to the sky, and now to Jaskier’s Oxenfurt days.

“Really, though, I don’t think I should have earned half as good a mark as I did. I’m not knocking my abilities! Well, I am though, but only in Astronomy. I only did so well because Adrien let Essi and I borrow his astrolabe last minute. Pretty little thing, I think it was his grandfather’s; don’t you just love seeing little trinkets like that passed down through the generations?”

“Hmm.”

It was one of the nice things about traveling with Jaskier. It had taken Geralt a long time, years longer than it should have, maybe, to figure out what Jaskier wanted from him. The answer was nothing. Perhaps ‘nothing’ was a bit too simplistic, but Jaskier had really meant it when he’d said he just wanted to see the world, write some songs, travel the Path. He wasn’t after a conversation partner, or even someone to listen, necessarily. Frankly, Jaskier hadn’t even been looking for someone to be kind to him, which put a discomfort in Geralt that he didn’t bother addressing. So Jaskier would talk, and Geralt would allow it to wash over him, and if it happened to keep his mood up even when things got difficult on the Path, well, that was fine.

A wind picked up, strong enough that Geralt felt a chill run down his body, as wrapped up as it was. The fire flickered for a moment, bending against the wind and slowly climbing back as the air around them settled. He tossed a glance at Jaskier. After years of traveling with Geralt, the bard’s bedroll was a least sufficiently packed; warm, largely weatherproof, and, when they had time to stop by a market, scented. But even still, he could see Jaskier shudder against the cold with a small wince.

It wasn’t that Geralt didn’t think of Jaskier as human, it’s just that he preferred not to follow the line of thought. Early on, he’d pointedly remind himself every time they crossed paths; Jaskier was human, Jaskier was no different than any other human, Jaskier would either turn on him, or grow tired of him, or, at the very least, one day grow old, or get injured, and die. And Geralt would have to move on, without him. Years later, it had become more and more difficult, especially as they spent longer stretches together.

The thoughts of Jaskier turning on him had faded fairly quickly— if nothing else, Jaskier was loyal to a fault. It had taken years for him and Yennefer to get close, and longer still to not worry when she and Geralt fell back into bed together, time and time again. Geralt was grateful the two had moved on, even if they were an absolutely devious pair.

The thought that the bard would grow tired of traveling with him faded as well; much as Jaskier complained, Geralt had learned he needed to be a bit dramatic to let off energy, to not keep the frustration inside him. It was always surface level.

By the time the final options were all that was left, Geralt had just… stopped thinking about them so much. He didn’t like to think of Jaskier as a fragile thing. He didn’t feel fragile. He felt whole, and solid, and there in a way very few people had felt before. Most everyone felt like wisps of smoke, here and gone before Geralt had really registered them; his bard was not.

“…and, in any case, I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about anyway, but I wish I did know, just so I could write something scathing to have published in a journal. Maybe that’s what I’ll spend the winter doing, hmm? Learning about the stars just to tell Valdo fucking Marx his song is off. Is that awfully petty? I know it’s petty, but is it overboard? Before you answer, I want you to know I respect your opinion, but I may not care about what you say; this is almost certainly happening. But I do want the approval.”

Geralt snorted a laugh, and Jaskier gave a small giggle in response. All was quiet for a moment, and Geralt turned his gaze skyward. The clouds passed over the moon quickly, and a few bats flew to some nearby trees, wings flapping excitedly. A cricket chirped somewhere south of them, Roach was nibbling on some grass, and Jaskier’s heartbeat was pleasingly calm and steady. He still itched to pack up and start heading North, but the constancy of his bard kept him anchored. More clouds moved aside and then the sky was open above them, hundreds of stars glinting down.

“Wow,” Jaskier said, and that was enough. The night sky was irreplaceable, and even Jaskier knew when to let things speak for themselves.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed again in response. They lay there in silence again. Geralt wasn’t really good at showing affection, and his gestures of appreciation were more often practical than frivolous. But the stars had given him an idea, and though Jaskier had never asked for kindness, Geralt liked giving it when he could. Time had softened him, a bit. “Come here.”

Jaskier looked over at him, bemused, but Geralt simply gave a ‘come here’ motion with his head.

“Alright, alright. Give me a second, and if it’s bumpy over there I’m moving right back, do you hear me?” and Jaskier shuffled over, head inches away from Geralt’s own.

Bracing for a moment before the chill, Geralt maneuvered his top half just out of his bedroll to point up at the sky. “Polaris, Sirin, Caph, Alpheratz, Hadar, Octantis, Elviran— you know where those are?”

“Oo!! Okay, a lesson on the stars, yes, let me see, ah—” and slowly, Jaskier pointed them all out one by one. “Got that, I think. Directional stars I remember, only way to figure out my way half the time.”

“Mmm. Do you know their constellations?”

Jaskier blinked. “I absolutely do not. I mean. Vaguely, maybe? They’re somewhere in my brain, probably.”

Geralt smiled and pointed up. “So, Caph—” Which was directly above them, “Is part of the Dragon constellation. It’s the eye, see it?” Geralt traced a rudimentary image of a dragon with his pointer figure, and Jaskier’s eyes followed dutifully.

“Alright so,” Jaskier said, wiggling a bit out of his own bedroll and a bit closer to Geralt’s, for warmth. He pointed up. “So that’s the eye, and then this— this is the neck?”

“The nose,” Geralt corrected.

“Neck, nose, all the same really—”

“The same? I feel sorry for your bed partners.”

Jaskier swatted his hand. “Oh, hush. Now— now so that’s the— oh, oh! Oh, this is the foot here, isn’t it? And that’s the wing and that’s the— Oh, Melitele I actually see it now,” he said softly.

“Mmm. Want the story?”

“The— the st— yes of course I want the story, Geralt, who do you think I am?! You’ve been holding back on stories from me, I knew it.”

“If you’d paid attention in your Astronomy class, you might already know it.”

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t be the one to tell it to me, and that’s far more fun.” He snuggled back into his bedroll. “Alright, Alright, Tell me.”

So, he did. Eskel had always been better at telling stories, and Lambert had always made them more exciting, but Geralt remembered the details well enough and made sure not to skip the parts he knew the bard would most enjoy. But nobody told the stories like Vesemir, who had read every version, studied every line, translated a few copies himself. He knew every detail, made sure to preserve them all in his library, but most enjoyed telling the version he’d been taught as a boy, before even his own trials. Those were the versions he'd tell his wolves gathered around a fire in the dead of winter, sipping on something warm, all kept close to him.

The story came to him more naturally than he had expected. Geralt figured it was easier to tell stories that weren’t your own— no need to hide the pain or the details that stung your eyes. No obligation to the truth, if you didn’t know it. Really, it didn’t matter if the stories attached to constellations had any truth to them, the only truth that mattered was that they had been passed down for generations. So, myths, legends— Geralt could enjoy those, to an extent. Telling his own stories— there was nothing to tell, was there?

When he’d taught the constellations to a much younger Ciri, she had always wanted to add in her own details, change the stories and make them her own. Maybe that was its own sort of tradition.

“…so, they shuffled around the stars, and made the constellation,” Geralt finished and then pointed to a small cluster of stars just below it. “There’s the apple.”

“You hear that Roach? An apple you can’t reach,” Jaskier said, muffled by his bedroll. “That was really good, Geralt.”

“Mm. My brother tells it better. And Vesemir tells it best.”

“It’s like—” Jaskier yawned. “It’s like the astrolabe a little then, isn’t it? It’s the thing you pass down. I know Witchers aren’t especially materialistic, but this, you have. It’s,” he paused, looking anywhere but at Geralt, “It’s nice. You can’t lose a story.”

“Mmm.”

“I think that’s really why I like writing songs so much,” Jaskier said quietly. “Nobody can really take that from you, can they? It gets remembered. Even if it’s changed, it keeps getting passed along. Not everybody even has to like the story, it’s just got to be someone. Anyone can tell you you’re going to be forgotten, but that way you really can’t be.” Jaskier shifted. So did his mood.

“Now, I don’t— I, I mean, a songwriter, a writer of any kind, a storyteller, really, that’s all you need, they’re going to be remembered more than many kings and queens and earls and duchesses and so on and so forth. You don’t have to be some powerful person to be remembered! You don’t! You tell a story, and really, it sticks there. In fact! The people who hear it don’t even have to know they like it or say they like it!” Geralt smelled Jaskier’s anxiety rising, tart, and sour, and his heart had begun to race.  

“Jaskier.”

“I mean, really,” he continued, allowing no pause for Geralt, “Nobody will care about some obscure law or edict or whatever. This, this is the way you can be rememebered. You tell stories and you write things that make the world maybe a fraction of a kinder place to be, and that, that, you won't get forgotten like that. There’s always someone who will hear it, and remember, and tell someone else, and if it’s good enough, you know, really good enough, people care about getting it right, about remembering what you said, and how you said it. Right? Even—” he sped up a bit, the same nervous energy he got when he knew Geralt would reject his idea to stay at an inn, or when he asked to divert their travels to stop for a Bardic competition.

“I mean, even Yennefer once told me that at Aretuza the students stay up all night sometimes, telling versions of the same myth they heard growing up, trying to compare versions from all over the Continent and figure out how much could be true. What the original story was. Tracing them all back. Finding themselves, finding other mages, discovering feelings or experiences they thought they were alone in having. But the storyteller knew, or the characters knew, or someone, somewhere in the past, they knew. And you feel less alone and so you hold onto it. And then you remember the person who told it to you and then in some way you remember the person who told it to them, and back and back and back to the very first person who told it. I don’t know, it’s nice, right? Keeping someone else close like that, even if you never met,” he finishes, almost breathless. He waits a beat. “Even when you’re gone.”

There was a silence. Geralt’s hand had yet to retreat back to his bedroll, and Jaskier’s breath had begun to be visible right above his lips. Geralt closed his eyes. He knew Jaskier, knew he was waiting for Geralt to shut him down, even playfully. But he didn’t have the heart.

“Mm. You’re right, for once,” He said, voice gruff with tiredness. If Geralt had been expecting a playful retort from Jaskier, it never came. They lay there, side by side, and watched a lone cloud roll by.

The sounds of the evening fell around them. Roach let out a small huff, and Jaskier’s heartbeat slowed a bit. Geralt’s itch to move was still there, his thoughts still gravitating back to the halls of Kaer Morhen, but Jaskier’s warmth kept him steady.

“We should put out the fire,” said Jaskier softly.

Geralt just looked at him for a moment— his gaze was still skyward, his eyes a little lost. It didn’t happen often, but it reminded Geralt of just how little he knew about his bard, sometimes. He knew everything and nothing. Jaskier didn’t talk about his past much, save Oxenfurt, and Geralt was fine to leave it that way. And then occasionally Jaskier would look lost, like now, and he’d wonder.

“Mm.” Geralt agreed. The fire, he noticed, was dimming on its own. “…One more?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier asked after a moment, confused.

“One more constellation?” Geralt asked. “There are plenty.”

Jaskier blinked at him, once, twice. “You’re talkative tonight.” He’d been more talkative for ages now. One of Yenn’s more positive influences. Ciri’s, too. Ironically, Jaskier’s chattiness usually enabled his desire to keep silent. But there was something else in that moment that he wasn’t willing to name, easing his way.

Geralt shrugged. “Some nights it's easier.” He looked at Jaskier. “Some nights are harder. Just happens.”

“…Yeah. Ah, yes, yes please, another tale would be lovely. Bedtime stories with Geralt! Perfect way to end the night.”

“Elviran?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier was quick to pull his hand out again and point it out. “Good. That’s Lara & Cregan— it’s where their hands join.” He pointed to the left, “That’s Lara,” and to the right, “That’s Cregan."

“Ah! Yes, this one I actually know, I wrote a song all about them at Oxenfurt. It wasn’t terribly good— I should rewrite that one, actually, now that you’ve mentioned it. An elf and a mage, the bridge between cultures, all dashed to pieces… it’s a good story! I mean, tragic, I almost hope it’s not true at all, but a good story is a good story.” Many years ago, Geralt would have been fooled by Jaskier’s deceptively cheery tone, but he knew his bard well enough now.

“Mm. Sirin?” He asked.

Jaskier pointed the star out once again and said, “That’s the wolf one, though I’m afraid I don’t know more than that.”

“That’s the chest— the head is here—”

“Do you mean— wait, I can’t see. Is it the—”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and guided it along the unseen lines of the constellation. Both their hands were so cold it didn’t even register as such, and Jaskier’s head twisted to see the stars from another angle, hitting the side of Geralt’s neck. “Oh— oh! Oh, I see, so—” and then Jaskier’s hand, still gripped in Geralt’s own, had begun leading them both excitedly. “So, head, this is the head, yes? And then Sirin is the chest, and the legs go here, and then the tail is this way? Okay yes, yes, yes, absolutely, I am on board with the star dog, I see him now. Is this a special one for Witchers? Wolf Witchers like yourself, at least?”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed, and went to nod, but knocked his chin into Jaskier’s head a bit. He let it rest a moment in the soft hair, the breath from his nose hitting back at him, warming his face.  

“He always caught what he hunted,” Geralt began, and let Jaskier’s hand warm his own. Or, maybe he was the one who warmed Jaskier’s hand, it was hard to tell. The two were truly huddled now, Jaskier’s head rested comfortably in the crook between Geralt’s chin and shoulder, and their bedrolls nearly overlapped. He used their joined hands to point out more of the constellations, more stars, and eventually, Jaskier made the simple but somehow stunning gesture of interlacing their fingers together. It was practical, it was easier to guide Jaskier’s hand around that way, but then, Geralt hadn’t needed to do that, had he. Just wanted to, he supposed. He continued the myth as Jaskier’s heartbeat slowed, and their hands got somewhere close to truly warm. It was just returning the favor, he reasoned; every day they had traveled together, Jaskier talked and allowed his words to hang in the air, not expecting a response or even acknowledgment; now it was his turn. After all, Geralt more than most understood the value in someone trusted filling the silence.

By the time he was finished, Jaskier’s arm had turned a bit heavy and they were both nearly asleep. Geralt let their hands come down to rest between them, though still outside the bedrolls, which was just too cold to maintain. But neither moved.

“You really are good at that,” Jaskier said eventually.

“Not like Vesemir. Or you.”

“Yes, well I’ve had lots of practice. You’re good at it, really.”

“Hmm.”

“Thank you, by the way. I’m sorry I— it just happens, you know—”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“Thank you, still,” Jaskier said, and a moment later he had untangled their hands, and it slipped away as though it had never been there at all. The itch the cold brought, to pack up and move on, head North, returned. He tried not to think about it. The cold settled around them, and Geralt put out the fire with a wave of his hand while Jaskier, head still nestled under the witcher’s chin, let out a soft breath. Geralt adjusted his arm back into his bedroll, and relished the warmth the fur inside brought; it was never the same as the contact with skin, but at least this was familiar, and didn’t promise to leave him one day.

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, as though they weren’t pressed up against each other. He felt the breath on his neck and tried not to think about the ghost of a touch. “Would you mind if I— You’re warm and— ah, fuck it,” he mumbled, and suddenly Geralt felt Jaskier shift his body to lie on his side. A warm, calloused hand slip between Geralt's bedroll and landed on his chest, sitting just below his medallion. “I’ll move if you mind, but your bedding has fur, and—”

He didn’t think about it, really. He just reached up and grabbed Jaskier’s hand with his own, kept it safe and warm between his own hand and his chest. For a moment, it was as if the night held its breath. Geralt thought about how rarely Jaskier’s fingers stood still, and waited for something to break.

Jaskier exhaled softly, and Geralt could feel his smile against his shoulder. “This is nice,” he said, not a whisper but still almost lost on the light breeze that blew past.

“It’s cold,” Geralt said, because it was all he could think to say. It was Jaskier’s turn to hmm a response, and soon Jaskier’s breathing had evened out, and sleep finally claimed him. Geralt followed soon after, the itch to move finally settled, a warmth blooming within him.

In the morning, they’d slid apart from each other as they always did after nights they’d huddled close. It wasn’t that unusual; sometimes it grew cold, even in nicer inns. Sometimes it was something else unspoken, the need to hold, or be held, and it had always just been allowed to exist between them, a quiet reality. This had been something else, and he’d feared the worst when he woke. But whatever existed in that nebulous space, whatever had been built the night before didn’t feel quite broken to Geralt, at least not yet. He had been braced for impact, even if it were small, and yet… the day felt… delicate, not fragile. Jaskier’s mood was lifted considerably from the night before, and was happy to go on about how all the talk of myths and constellations had him dreaming up a new song. And eventually, a new idea entirely.

“Alright! New goal,” the bard said as they walked the Path, the sun high in the sky, chill of the evening prior replaced by a pleasant breeze. Roach walked between them, soaking up the sun and setting some safe distance between the two travelers. Jaskier let his fingers dance over the strings of his lute as he spoke. “I’m getting you a constellation. It’s happening! Do they still make those, actually? When was the last time we got a new constellation? I think it’s far past time for a new one, don’t you think?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “That’s not how it works.”

“You know, people have been saying that to me my whole life, and I’ve never listened. And now look where I am!” he strummed a few notes. “Valdo Marx wants to write a song about stars, he can do what he likes. But I’m getting you a constellation. Another crown jewel in my legacy.”

“If it’s your legacy, why would I be the constellation?”

Jaskier waved him off. “Oh, you’re far more memorable. More adventures, more stories. Really, now that I’m thinking about it, if I really work at it I think I could write enough that they’d make a constellation for Yennefer, too. Maybe Ciri as well, but I think another bard might have to come and finish what I started with her. She’s so young! Do you ever think about that Geralt? I know she’s grown, but Melitele, she’s still so young.”

If a pit had formed in his stomach, he didn’t mention it. “I’m not sure you’d be able.”

“You doubt my skills, after all these years? Geralt please, my stubbornness is outdone only by your own. I’m a master bard. Crafting myth is my bread and butter.” Roach huffed, and Jaskier squinted. “I’m going to choose to believe that was an agreement, but you’re still on thin ice, miss. I haven’t forgotten your apple-related crimes.”

“You could manage all three,” Geralt allowed, hiding a smirk. “But you wouldn’t have time to sleep with anyone. So I don’t think you will.”

“Rude!” Jaskier exclaimed, “Rude, terrible, you’re so cruel to me. I write you songs, I make you famous, surely I’m allowed a dalliance or two!”

“Or ten.”

“How could you ever imply— I’ll have you know my reputation is impeccable, in many social circles—”

“Twenty. More in the winter.”

“This is— this is friendship treason. And here I was, thinking we had grown closer last night! Listen, I may not be alive to see it, but when you inevitably get that damn constellation, you better remember it was me that put you up there.”

It was all fun, really it was. But it was like Jaskier had shone a light on the delicate thing, and Geralt didn’t really know what to do with it. He tried to remember the truths about Jaskier he used to recite to himself. He’d grow old, he’d die. He’d be remembered, but Geralt would have one fewer constant in his life. And still, he’d spend his life hanging stars in Geralt’s honor.

“…with the way things are now,” Jaskier said as Geralt tuned back in. “See I couldn’t do it this winter, I don’t think, I’m fairly set on the course, and much as I love scrapping everything and starting again, I really am trying to get in the new headmaster’s good graces. Her name is Beatrice— have I mentioned her? — A goddess, truly, but she comes from the history department so she’s far more structured than we are. Actually, history, mythology, sort of the same almost, don’t you think? I’d have a good shot at convincing her to let me teach it next year. Wait! Let’s think of names. A good course must have a good name, it’s where half my colleagues go wrong. Okay, I go first, You’re second. Roach can go third if she likes. How about— how about, ‘Hanging the Stars: Crafting Your Own Mythology’. Is that something?”

“I’ll remember,” Geralt said.

“Hmm? I’ll Remember— actually you know what, that’s not half bad for part of the title at least—”

Geralt’s grip on Roach’s reigns tightened. Jaskier made many things easier, but this was not one of them.

“No. I mean. I’ll remember. What you were saying earlier.”

There was a pause as Jaskier muttered softly to himself, tracing the conversation thread. Geralt took the relative quiet to appreciate the rolling hills around them, and fought the urge to run for them. Jaskier made a small sound of realization. “Oh. Oh. Oh, Geralt, no, I know you would. You know I know you would, don’t you? I don’t worry about you remembering me, so much. I used to, early days, you know. But not now. No, I know you.”

“Mm.”

“Everyone else, well, we’ll see. Or, you will. I won’t. Ha. I mean, unless I haunted people, but I don’t think you’d appreciate if I turned into a ghost, would you? I’m certain you’d be cross with me. I’m not even sure I’d enjoy it, really. I like touching things too much.”

He meant to let Jaskier’s words was over him again, but he couldn’t. Jaskier wanted nothing from him; he didn’t even feel compelled to ask for kindness. It was stinging in Geralt now, hitting the same place the itch to return to Kaer Morhen had the night before. Instinctual, almost familiar. He thought of Yenn’s fear of being alone for too long, of Ciri’s hands gripped tight when something startled her, thought of his own need to soothe those worries, and the knowledge that had come with age that he couldn’t. Could only ease their way.

“You’d end up there too,” he said. “A constellation.”

Jaskier paused, and the sound of their footsteps against the soft dirt road sounded so much louder than they had even a moment before. “Well. Maybe. That’d be nice, I think,” Jaskier agreed.

And suddenly it hit him like a torrent. Like he had broken a dam he didn’t know was there, and all he could see and feel was that delicate thing that sat between them. “I’d want you up there. You deserve to be up there just as much.”

“Geralt—”

“I mean it.”

“Is there…” Jaskier frowned and kicked a stone from in front of him. “Is there something wrong? Can you smell me dying, or something? You’re not usually like this.”

“You’re not dying,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! Really, Geralt, trust me, I do, I’m loving this, I’m just... I want to make sure you’re not saying it so that you don’t say something else, I suppose.”

Well, there it was again. “And if I am?”

“I’d prefer you just say it,” Jaskier said, though it sounded like a guilty admission. “But— I know you’re not one for words. Which is fine! It’s why I’m relishing this right now. But sometimes… well, I don’t think it’s surprising that a bard enjoys hearing words, really.”

It was true, Geralt knew he’d lap up any gesture, any token, but Jaskier lived on words. It had never been that words had been hard for the witcher, but words related to... emotion, to feeling, to himself, those never quite came. These, though, these were words he could give Jaskier. Ones he deserved to hear. Geralt sighed. “If I have to end up some… some constellation, some amorphous... thing, I’m dragging you with me.”

The silence was comfortable, at least. Jaskier played a short, wordless tune. Then; “You really would, wouldn’t you.”

“I really would,” Geralt replied. It wasn’t serious, he didn’t think a constellation could possibly have consciousness. But it felt serious, somehow. And he’d long since given up believing anything was impossible.

“Well! Well, to the stars we go, then. I’ll look forward to that.”

“Mm,” Geralt said, and gods, did he desperately want to leave it at that because saying anything else truly scared him, he was willing to admit that. But time had softened him, and if his child surprise had taught him anything, it was that sometimes the scary thing was the thing you needed to reach for most. “I will too.”

“Eternity with you doesn’t sound half bad,” Jaskier said, and if he blushed, Geralt didn’t look over to see. “You know, it sounds like a joke. ‘A Witcher, a Mage, a Child Surprise, and a Bard walk into the stars and become constellations.’ I don’t know what the punchline is, though.”

“‘And the sky was never silent again’?”

Jaskier barked a laugh. “Good! Get them all talking. Good, yeah, I could spend eternity with you, I think.”

Geralt swallowed. He would have to talk to Yenn about this. “I could too.” She would probably agree.

“Mm, and Yennefer? Don’t think she’d get sick of me?” Jaskier’s hands brush against the strings of his lute, and a few high notes ring out.

“You’re too fun to tease.”

Jaskier brightened with everything Geralt said. Surely at some point, he’d grow too brilliant to look at.

“And Ciri? Think she’d grow weary of me?”

“No more than she would of me and Yenn. Better make her a comet instead,” Geralt reasoned. “Don’t think she’d like staying put very long.”

“Mmm, you know that girl well. Oh! Roach. Dear girl, I haven’t forgotten you. I figure she’ll be in your constellation though.”

“Roach is her own horse.”

“Actually— yep, no, you’re right. She gets her own. We’ll keep her close to the Dragon constellation, so she can finally get some elusive starry apples. You’d like that, wouldn’t you girl?” Jaskier asked as he gave her a pat on the neck. She tossed her mane in response, before she gave Jaskier's shoulder a gentle nudge with her nose.

“You know, if we were up there together, you’d have to hear me ramble on and on and on. No breaks in the winter, or slipping out of the inn before I wake up and running off somewhere. I’d be up there watching the turn of the world with you forever. I’m certain you’ll both lose your starry minds over me eventually.”

For the first time that day, Geralt looked over at Jaskier for longer than a glance and waited until Jaskier had finally looked up to meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t. We wouldn’t.”

Jaskier flushed in the cheeks, and for once, Geralt didn’t want to wave it off as the sun, or Jaskier being a bit out of breath. Geralt had done that, had caused that blush. The delicate thing grew more solid, then, took root somewhere in him, and he let it. Jaskier swallowed, and Geralt watched the bob of his throat, and missed when they’d been so close he could feel that small movement against his own skin. (Yenn would have a field day with this.)

When Jaskier speaks next, his voice has that honest, soft quality Geralt had always liked, the kind Jaskier only had when he was saying something he’d kept close to his chest. Like he was offering something to you, hand out, knowing you could grab it, twist it, ruin it, and trusting you not to. And yet, still, bracing for impact.

When Jaskier speaks next, it sounds like every song he’d ever sung and a million more he hadn’t even written yet.

“Then I’m with you,” he said, “Til the stars run out.”

“And every day after that,” Geralt replied, and he let the words wash over him, and into him, and he kept them there, like a star to guide him and ease his way.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Eighty-One: Billy Summers

“Maybe a chilly story needs a chilly writing room, he thinks. It’s as good an explanation as any, since the whole process is a mystery to him, anyway.” 

Well hello there, Constant Readers! Have you missed me and my half-assed reviews of Steve books? 

Crickets. 

I know I’ve promised book reviews, television recaps... all the things. But I’m kind of busy living and enjoying life at the moment, without the need to take notes or screen grabs. That being said, I really did enjoy Billy Summers, and it took me almost a hundred pages to remember how this blogging thing worked. I was supposed to take notes? Dark Tower references? DePere, Wisconsin? Should I remember that for some reason? But don’t worry, it was like riding a bike. This blog is full of all the stuff you’ve come to know and love, as well as SPOILERS!!! So, if you have not finished the book yet, stop reading and come back once you’ve turned the last page.

SPOILERS!!! Consider yourselves adequately warned. 

Billy Summers doesn’t really include anything supernatural, and it’s more suspenseful and plot driven than some of Steve’s other books. In other words, it’s another great recommendation for people who don’t claim they don’t like Stephen King. 

Billy is an assassin who has mastered the art of “dumb like a fox”. 

He’s hired for a new assignment, but something seems off. Billy has been in the assassin game long enough to know when something is foul in the state of Denmark. He doesn’t trust the people who hired him, and he has the distinct impression he’s going to end up as the patsy in the end. But, he plays along as Dave Lockridge, single man and writer. He moves onto a charming street in Midwood (I kept reading this as Midworld... thanks, Steve), makes friends with all the neighbors, and beats all the neighborhood kids at Monopoly on the weekends. This part of the book was so tender, it reminded me a lot of Ted Brautigan and the kids from Hearts in Atlantis. Of all the things Billy later regrets, it’s letting these kids down, and having them trust him when he was obviously so untrustworthy. 

During the day, Billy writes  at his office in Gerald Tower. There’s always a tower, isn’t there? And this tower takes on more significance, because it’s the spot from which Billy is supposed to shoot Joel Allen. Joel is due to be transferred to Midwood, and marched up the steps of the courthouse just like in The Outsider. Constant Readers remember how well that worked out... 

Billy has an assassins creed: he only shoots bad guys. On the scale of bad guys, Joel Allen isn’t quite Ted Bundy, but he’s not Mr. Rodgers either. He had something of a “me too” moment when he accidentally mistook a feminist writer for a sex worker; and there was a gun fight outside of a poker game. It’s enough for Billy to work with. 

Billy is waiting for Joel to be transferred to the Midworld Midwood county lock-up; and he bides his time by actually doing some writing. He covers his tragic childhood (his mom worked in a laundry facility, just like Steve’s mom), and his time in the military. This is where Steve really shines. Billy’s book is written in a childish tone that just WORKS. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a simple-minded assassin. But still waters, friends. As the story goes on, Billy’s voice grows and improves. Well done, Steve, it’s like two books for the price of one.

In between writing, Billy assumes another fake identity (Dalton Smith), and secures a bolt hole to hide out in once his job is complete. Believe it or not, the murder of Joel Allen is such an insignificant part of the book. Billy successfully takes him out, and makes it to his bolt hole undetected. And this is really where the second part of the book starts. 

One rainy night, Billy hears random noises outside his apartment. He looks out the window in time to see a van full of guys dump a female body into a gutter. Billy should have just anonymously called the police... but if he had done that, we wouldn’t have a story. Instead, Billy goes full on Captain Save A Ho, and pulls the young woman from the gutter. It’s clear she had been drugged and assaulted, and she manages to puke all over Billy’s place. 

Neat. 

When Alice wakes up in the morning, she recognizes Billy from the police sketches, but promises not to rat him out for the Joel Allen murder. They form an unlikely friendship that includes watering the neighbor’s plants, watching Blacklist, and Alice reading Billy’s book. Basically, they were sheltering in place before that was even a thing; something Steve jokes about. Eventually, Billy knows he needs to get the rest of his money for the Joel Allen hit, and punish the guys who raped Alice. 

Y’all. I’m still having nightmares over the most creative use of a hand mixer I have ever read. I thought the can-opener in Lisey’s Story was bad... this was worse. But the kind of worse you feel good about, if that makes sense. 

After finding out the name of the guy behind the Joel Allen hit, killing a few bad dudes, and pissing off a bitch named Marge (fucking Marge if you’re nasty), Billy and Alice hunker down in Colorado with Billy’s assassin booking agent, Bucky. 

As soon as Billy and Alice entered Colorado and the town of Sidewinder was mentioned, I knew where we were headed. Yeah buddy, Overlook time! 

Billy takes to writing in a little shack behind Bucky’s house, and inside the shack is a Polaroid picture of the topiary animals at the Overlook. Every time Billy looks at the picture, the animals seem to have shifted. It gives him a cold sense of dread. 

There’s a certain parallel I picked up on in Colorado: Jack Torrance and Billy Summers are both haunted men running away from things. The Overlook was where Jack went to dry out, and work on his writing. He wanted to work on his marriage, and become a better father to Danny. We all know he failed spectacularly. Then, we’ve got Billy. Billy actually gets writing accomplished, and becomes an unlikely father-figure to Alice. Despite having just as much, if not more baggage than Jack, Billy doesn’t let it define him. He acknowledges it, and moves past it. It’s almost like Billy accomplishes what Jack couldn’t. And it took the Overlook burning to the ground for that to happen. 

While we’re on the topic of Billy and Alice, one of the things I love about Steve’s characters is he never forces romance where there doesn’t need to be any. While Billy acknowledges the age gap between him and Alice, nothing untoward ever happens between them. There’s obvious love, but never the romantic kind. Steve is one of the few contemporary writers to get this right. 

The story ends with Billy killing the guy behind Joel’s hit, getting shot by Marge as he leaves the crime scene (fucking Marge), Alice nursing him back to health, and getting him back to Colorado where they all live happily ever after.

I wish.

I wish I had stopped reading twenty-three pages before the book ended, because the actual end was more realistic, but heartbreaking. In reality, fucking Marge shot Billy in the stomach, and he died of an infection in the back of a Walmart parking lot. Fucking Marge indeed. But this was the way the book should have ended. Needed to end. Anything else would have been unrealistic. But damn, I hated to see Billy go out like that. 

There was one Wisconsin reference: after Billy kills Joel Allen, he’s supposed to be transferred to a safe house in De Pere. You know... where Steve lived when he was in a kid.

Other than Gerald Tower, we were also graced with “the world has moved on-” just to remind us that we all follow The Beam. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 49

Total Dark Tower References: 78

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

Doctor Sleep: A+

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Mr. Mercedes: A+

Billy Summers: A+

End of Watch: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

The Outsider: A+

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: A+

If It Bleeds: A+

Just After Sunset: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Finders Keepers: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Institute: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Blaze: B+

Hard Listening: B+

Revival: B+

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Joyland: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Later: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Sleeping Beauties: B-

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

The Wind Through the Keyhole: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers D

I’m not going to end this with any promises of upcoming posts. That way when I do randomly stumble on here one afternoon, it will be a delight for us all.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Where Wolves Cry

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 10 | Chapter 11 - Where Wolves Cry | Chap 12 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - depictions of hunting and killing, bloodlust, smut, bloody oral (f), but also fluff  

Author’s note: This chapter is not Disney approved mkay? *cough* smut *cough*. May you enjoy..the hunt, fair maidens of mine! 👀Also, I totally fell in love with this absolutely gorgeous Hebrew love song ‘Evening of Roses / Erev Shel Shoshanim’ (based on a like-named poem). I’ve added a few versions of it in my playlist, listen to them if you find the time ❤️

Thank you again sweet @thelastsock​, for beta’ing for me!  🌹

Word count: 5.261

Reading music: Sheku Kanneh-Mason - Evening of Roses 

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

Late afternoon rays of sun trickled through the darkening trees. They were casting a rather pretty myriad of tiny lights on the snowy forest floor, bringing with them rich hues of orange and gold. Pretty, but not important as of right now. In this small time frame of dusk, the evening provided him a perfect moment to hunt. And today he wasn’t hunting alone. Looking over his shoulder his azule eyes found the young maiden, her large brown eyes fixed on him, unsure of how to proceed if not for his clear instructions. Good. He’d never forgive himself if anything was to happen to her. This forest was, after all, not a safe place for young maidens like her.

Gesturing her to halt, he looked left and right, his eyes and ears picking up small tremors and movements in the icy landscape. As winter had fallen, most animals were hibernating in their homes. But not all. A herd of deer was not far, and from the sound of it one of them was ripe for the taking; an inflamed hoove stood nervously on the icy ground.

*Tic-tic..tic-tic*

The poor thing wouldn’t make it through the harsh winter anyways.

The Master silenced his breathing and looked back at Belle, her breath quieting as well. On their way here the Master had explained his tactics. You see, the hunt required finesse. Knowledge. And Belle was more than curious to learn about it, her body folded snugly into his arms as he used his beastly powers to move nearly unnoticed through the snowy grove.

He had explained the way he mapped out all the animals and critters that were around. The way he studied the weather and wind. How he made sure he wouldn’t hurt an animal that would live, if not for him. And Belle listened in awe. It was both frightening and a relief to hear how well-thought out such a hunt was. How the Master tried his best to keep nature balanced. Where humans would probably hunt down all, he only took what he needed, leaving the rest of the forest to its own devices. And those devices were deadly too. On their way here he had pointed out some frost-bitten cadavers.

Nature was cruelly beautiful like that. Life and death circled around each other in an eternal dance. Old bones would bloom. And blooms would fade. Year in year out, until the end of time.

‘There is one.’ The Master whispered, gesturing Belle to get close so he could pick her up again. At first this picking up had been at best awkward. Belle had insisted on walking now she could. But the Master wouldn’t have any of that. For one, because she would probably alarm the animals - her dainty feet not as quiet as his. And for seconds. Well. He would never admit to it, but he did enjoy carrying her. Through the cold winter air he could smell the soap in her braided hair, the stiffening starch in her blouse collar and the sweetness of her warm blood.

She smelled like heaven in his arms and he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of having her close.

Especially not after so many centuries of loneliness.

He could remember the first time he had been truly alone. His staff gone, his wife deceased, the castle quiet..and the hunger great. It took him more than a week before he dared to admit that the food in his larder didn’t quench his thirst or hunger. With long teeth - quite literally - he would eat the cured meats, washing them away with wine. But none of these fine foods would taste, their substance ashen on his tongue and gravel in his stomach. No, he required different nourishment. And such nourishment was not found in any larder.

He had to hunt.

‘What are you thinking of?’ Belle whispered ever so quietly, her warm breath puffing in the cold air. The Master shot her a warning look to be quiet, his eyes tracking the bushes as the target was now close-by. From here he could hear the restless buzz of its heartbeat, the animal having noticed something was amiss - though thankfully not making a run for it yet. With ever-most carefulness the Master placed Belle back on her feet, making sure she wouldn’t make another sound, feet landing on already trampled snow. Gesturing she had to stay, Belle nodded, eyes glimmering with wonder as the Master sneaked away.

Oh yes, he remembered the first time he went on a hunt. It had been a mess. The animal had managed to get away, blood springing from its torn arteries. The Master had been too young during the hunts with his father, so up to that point he had never seen the death of an animal up close. He had never seen the lights die out, eyes glossing over. And never had he seen the blood spout from a struggling, convulsing heap of limbs.

The first hunt as a monster..well..it had been catastrophically bad. Yes. He had drank but a few drops of blood before he had retched it all out again, the onslaught of blood and agonizing ..lust, confusing the young Master terribly.

Lust. Fuck. He had forgotten all about it. Walking past some snow heavy branches, he could see both now. Like two worlds separated by but a thick wall of white, on his left he could see the stinted deer, her wounded leg lifted awkwardly from the cold ground. And on the right Belle, her arms wrapped around her chest, eyes not quite managing to see him through the dimness of dusk. Both knew something was there. Both couldn’t see him.

And one he would eat. One he would love. How cruelly beautiful nature was indeed.

Forgive me, he thought, before he leapt like an owl in flight onto the deer, the animal not standing a chance against the surprise of his teeth.

*snap*

With an unpitying twist of his hands he broke the animal’s neck, her eyes washing over with death’s glare. A last breath escaped her slightly agape jaw, heartbeat silencing. And apparently the sound had been enough of an indication for Belle to come, her feet crushing the fresh snow as she manoeuvred through the bushes. From the clumsy drop of her feet it was clear that her sight was waning quickly, pupils large as she noticed him.

Had it been a mistake to bring her? Probably. But there was no way back now. Clicking his nervous fangs he looked back at her, curiosity sparking on her features as she slowly crouched down, hand reaching for the deer’s soft fur.

‘She’s beautiful.’ Belle whispered, fingertips gliding down her neck before reaching the small two holes that bled a deep crimson. Hesitantly she dipped a finger in the red, tongue darting out to taste. ‘Oh.’ Belle scrunched her nose as the taste washed onto her taste buds. Tangy and tasting like old coins. Well, this proved that she wasn’t a monster just yet.

Waking from her dreamy haze, she looked back at the Master, his silhouette all she could see. But even then it was clear he was nervous; the snapping of his teeth was clearly heard. ‘You must..’ Belle swallowed harshly and pointed at the deer. The Master agreed, head dipping down to sink his teeth back in the warm neck. So succulent, soft, warm..so...hmmmm…

Fuck. He was getting aroused already. Contain yourself! Contain yourself! Not now! Just a few drops, just a few...HMMM...so tasty.

Grunting and moaning the Master feasted on his victim’s blood, hands moving out to card through the soft fur, only halting when he found her. Long cold fingers interlacing with his. Belle.

OH fuck. He couldn’t do this. With her so close. He couldn’t...GRRR...he couldn’t contain himself. Why had he been so foolish to bring her along? Why was he so weak for her? Why..?!

*cr-rack*

Shooting up, eyes and ears alert, the Master looked around. His whole body throbbed as the fresh blood washed down his throat, warming his cold veins. Supernatural strength was quickly building in his muscles and the throbbing length in his breeches was heavy against his leg. He was glad that the darkness veiled him, so Belle could not see his..condition. Then again, she could also not see what was around them. And from the sound of it..someone was here. Or better yet. Something. Oh..merde! Shit! What had he done?! Could he even protect her here, out in the open? He should have never..never..

*FLUNK*

With a loud thud he was smashed against a tree, snow falling down on his marble face, blocking his view.

What the..?

Quickly jumping on his feet he clawed at the strange intruder, loud howls screeching when he hit target. Shaking off the snow he now noticed what it was; a young new predator indeed.

Meanwhile Belle had lowered herself close to the deer. It was difficult to make out any details in the half-dark, but she had noticed the Master’s silhouette stiffen, a gentle crack heard just outside of reach. Was something there? She couldn’t be sure, and being completely out of her element and in the dusk of night, she had to trust in the Master to keep her safe.

*wooshhh*

And just like that he was gone, leaving her here, out in the open with a bleeding animal beneath her fingertips. Immediate panic started to course through her veins, heartbeat racing and fingers clutching. Darn..what was happening? Loud snaps and scratches echoed through the forest, snow falling from weighted branches before someone howled a loud cry just a few feet away from her. Belle could not make up her mind fast enough, the sounds moving further away before she could flee, her body trembling on the cold ground as she pricked her ears. But it seemed to come from everywhere. A fight. Fast and furious, two voices groaned and cried as trees staggered when their bodies crashed into them.

Wait..was that another monster? It sounded like it. What was happening? Oh, she should have never..never..never begged to come with. She…

Another bone shuddering cry reverberated through the air, covering the sound of soft footfalls until a long strong arm wrapped around her. Suffocating she started to protest, her trembling fingers pushing away a face as it breathed sharply.

‘Shhh..’

The Master’s voice. Oh thank God. He was slightly panting from the exertion as he clutched her close to his chest, strong legs making them both rise up to a standing position. Belle trembled like a leaf, terrified tears blinking in her eyes. She could not see him. But it must be him, right? Reaching out her hand again - with him flinching away slightly - she traced his jaw, nose, eyebrows. Yes, it must be him.

In the meantime the Master nervously eyed their surroundings, the eerie quiet feeling like a storm was about to burst.

‘We must go.’ He whispered, hands fumbling with her skirts so he could lift her up again. And Belle, for the first time ever, let him do so without complaints, head quick to lean into his chest as he started running, snow barely crisping beneath his speedy feet.

--

‘Say mama. What do you think?’ The teacup looked with expecting eyes out through the window, the night engulfing the garden in a blanket of darkness.

‘What is it, son?’ The teapot sighed, her gaze turned towards the fireplace, the flames on their way of dying out slowly. For a few hours now her son had been babbling on, launching a million questions and monologues at her exhausted ears. As children do. But she couldn’t help but see evil foreboding in the dying fire. The hour was growing late and as of yet the Master and Belle had not returned. Had something happened?

‘Well. Tis dark, you see. He said he’d return before dark.’ Her son broke through her thoughts.

The teapot sighed again. ‘I know son. I know.’ Apathetic melancholy was painting the teapot’s voice. She didn’t wish to think of what may have happened. Nothing here seemed to ever have a happy ending..so it would not be a surprise if today would be yet another dark chapter in the long history of this haunted castle.

‘OH OH! MOM MOM MOM-MOMMY-MOMMA--M-O-M! -’ The teacup bounced up from its saucer, his little arm reaching out to poke his mother in the side. ‘What?’ She grumbled. Her son’s squeaky voice lowered to a whisper;

‘I think that’s them!’

They returned?!

With a swift twirl the teapot turned on the windowsill, her eyes needing a moment to recognise the darkened silhouette of the Master, Belle in his arms. ‘Tis, indeed!’ The teapot chimed with a relieved squeal, her large body awkwardly hopping down on a tray table before landing on the floor.

‘OPEN THE DOOR!’ She exclaimed, hopping as fast as she could, awakening her fellow enchanted souls. Clocks, wardrobes, spoons and plates, they all blinked up as the teapot rushed past, her teacup son not far behind.

In the long centuries they had lived between these castle walls, there had been but few interesting events worth mentioning. In fact most of these events happened during the first months of their enchanted lives. First it had been their Master as he started turning into his monstrous self - pale skinned and agitated to a painful degree. But then it had been them who started turning. Night after night more would disappear, only to wake up the next morning in a new skin, made of wood, copper or porcelain.

It had been terrifying. Gruesome. Miserable. No longer could they fulfill their wishes of escaping from these castle grounds. No longer could they live a life of their own. And for many days, weeks, months their howling wails were heard at night, causing the Master and his wife to lose the last of their cool-headedness. They were all cursed, they were!

But then, after all had come to pass, the Master and his staff remaining.. the world quieted again. This was their new reality, their new life. And though quite boring and still somewhat frustrating, they grew accustomed to their new husks, their new traits. No longer could they do what humans can. But can you tell the time by shaking your head? Can you live without ever eating? Can you love without a heart? You probably can’t. But they could, even though their love and care was not quite so appreciated. For many long years the Master had been unwilling to be helped - resulting in his pig’s nest of a room and worn, thread-bare outfits.

With Belle’s sudden arrival, everything had changed. Days were colourful again. And the Master’s heart seemed to have warmed as well. He had not scolded Belle for entering his room. In fact, he had invited her inside. Like he was now inviting her into his heart, his soul - Psyche.

They all knew what was happening, and it excited everyone to a terribly delightful degree.

Love! Oh LOVE!

How hope bubbled with little sparks in their weary souls. How sweet - though painful - it was to reminisce about the beauty of what life could be..had been... OH...Love..Oh…

‘HMMppff.’ The Master stalked in without offering his staff a glance, brows furrowed as he stormed up the staircase, a trail of wet snow and icy wind left behind his speedy feet. In his arms he held a trembling Belle, her eyes widening with his every step as the low candle light finally revealed what damage had been done in the forest. The Master’s face was laced with a number of small scratches and bruises, his eyes wild and jaw tight.

Was he in pain? Was he worried? Angry? Belle couldn’t be sure and as of right now she didn’t dare to ask, her breath choking in her throat and her fingers wrapping around the lapels of his coat, holding on tight. What had happened? Were they safe? Questions whirled behind her cautious eyes as the Master walked into her room, careful to settle her down with restrained strength.

Belle nervously eyed the Master as he turned on his heel, his shoulders stiff and face turned towards the door. And then he just stood there for a moment. His nose sniffed in deeply before he warily turned around again, meeting Belle’s gaze before his eyes dropped lower. A confused frown puzzled his beautiful face.

‘You are hurt.’ In two large strides he was back by her side, Belle’s legs stepping back until she was met with the edge of the mattress, her frame tumbling back onto the bed. ‘W-what? No. I’m..’

Without hesitation the Master squatted down before her, hands and eyes roaming over her skirts, looking for gashes and tears. But there were none. Strange.

Belle closed her legs a little more, unsure of what to make of this. She wasn’t hurt at all. Maybe uncomfortable since, from the feeling of it, her period was about to start, but…

Wait.

Her eyes blinked back up into the cerulean gaze of the Master, his expression worried, beckoning her to tell her where she was hurting. And then it clicked. Of course. He could smell her. Before she had even noticed that her monthly bleeding had started, he had. And at what inconvenient a moment!

‘Tis nothing.’ Belle blurted out, a sudden heat rising to her winter cold cheeks. She was very acutely aware of how the Master had carefully placed his hands at either side of her skirts, caging her in the trap of his arms. A tremor ran through her legs, making her squeeze her thighs even closer together.

‘Said the trembling maiden.’ The Master spoke in a silky hush - both menacing and alluring. Did he realise what was happening to her?

With slow meandering eyes he trailed down her slender frame again, though this time not to find nips or naps. No, with her legs writhing against one another it had become quite clear WHERE the scent of blood was coming from. A little light danced in his cold eyes, nostrils flaring. So sweet and intoxicating was the smell, mmm! He couldn’t even walk away even if he wished. With the deer’s blood still on the edges of his lips he licked. First his bottom lip, than his top, savouring the bittersweet remnants of a life that was now no more.

No, he should leave.

Using the last of his restraint he raised back on his feet, but Belle did the same, her hand once more snaking quickly around his wrist. Just like she had done a few hours before. What was it with this peculiar woman? Had they not just escaped a wild chase? Did she not see the remnants of a fight on his skin? Did she not fear his strength? Speed? Ability to kill?! Was she mad?

Then again..was he? He couldn’t really blame her for trying to come to terms with their weird relationship. He was a bloodthirsty monster and she was like a pet. No, no. Not a pet. More like a..like a.. More obscenely arousing scents drifted through the air, the Master finally finding what he was looking for. She was..a treat.

Belle took hesitant, shallow breaths as she watched the Master’s eyes meander over her form. Lower and lower..and..yes, it was obvious that he knew what was happening between her thighs. That little light in his eyes grew stronger. And unlike most men, he didn’t seem appalled by the knowledge of what was happening between her thighs. In fact, it only seemed to stir arousal in his clawed-at and marked face - the little cuts and bruises already seemingly far less angry than they had been just minutes ago.

‘I’d better..clean up.’ Belle whispered, keeping her hand wrapped around his wrist, eyes piercing into his. Lust brooded deeply and she couldn’t help but feel aroused for it too. She had never felt like this for a man and it was an intoxicating feeling to have. Something worth nourishing. Feeding. Latching your hands around. It hadn’t been her who had gripped his wrist, it had been another Belle, a Belle she did not know. A Belle that was eager for touch. For those big blue eyes, silky soft lips and….

More heat flushed up her cheeks.

Slowly sitting back on the bed she kept her eyes and hand locked with his, her free hand slowly starting to hike up her skirts, silky stockings appearing from beneath the many layers. She had read about this in a book once. This was what happened, right? Between men and women? The Master’s eyes finally tore away from hers, finding it hard to pass up on this new display of dainty ankles that melted into shapely legs.

Like a deer’s.

No, he couldn’t even escape if he wanted to. Glued to the visage of Belle’s fraying modesty, he sank back down through his knees, eyes gazing up those long pale legs, hands placed back beside her slender frame. Nothing could have prepared him for what followed. Not the many well-read erotic books he had gathered. Not the greatest poems he had memorised. No, nothing could hold a candle to the way his heart jumped in his chest, blood tingling in his loins. Had she gone mad truly?

Where the deer in the forest would flee from him, this one stalked him back. With a delicate brush of both hands Belle encapsulated his wrists, eyes burning into his. In one way she seemed small and scared, unsure of what to do. In the other there was curiosity. And curiosity always got the better of Belle, the Master knew that now. He saw it glimmering in her eyes, the small fire in the fireplace reflecting in her large doe brown eyes. They reflected the fire in her heart, soul, mind...

Oh this was bad! What vile a monster he was! He had tainted the girl! No matter how clever the pretty thing was, he had tainted her! Look at how her bosom swelled with anticipation, her lips parted with forced little breaths. Look at what he made her do! He was vile, so vile..! OH. -

‘What was there in the forest?’ Belle asked, legs still squeezed together, skirts gathered up to her upper legs, eyes boring into the Master’s. The Master flicked his eyes back up at her, finding that curious glimmer undiminished. She wished to talk about that? Right now? Then why was she..why..?

Licking his lips the Master inched forward, Belle not backing away, though her mouth tightened as she swallowed back a lump.

‘Monsters hide in these parts. You know that Belle.’ He said, not once looking away from her large awestruck eyes.

‘Was he like you?’

The Master quirked his head slightly. ‘Not anymore. He is gone now.’

‘Did you kill him?’

A coldness washed over his cerulean gaze - he really didn’t wish to speak of this now. Not after...ARGH..

‘Do you fear death, Belle?’

Belle blinked, unsure of what he was going at. ‘Not.. yet.’

She couldn’t really get a hold of what he thought, felt, wanted. From the way his breeches strained, he was probably very aroused. But then there was this coldness in his eye. There was this predatory gaze that promised how easily he could overtake her. Snap her neck. Drink her freely. Make her fear death for real.

Belle knew how strong, agile and fast he was. But it didn’t stir fear as much as it created anticipation, the thought making Belle’s legs rub together even more. The looming of death struck a chord in her. It kissed her untouched skin with sin. She couldn’t deny the poison in her lonely heart as it crept deeper and deeper.

It was difficult to explain. After a life of being mocked and misunderstood, this tar black loneliness was less heavy with him near. In fact. She couldn’t quite remember how much the loneliness had stung, now she looked into these undead eyes. The Master was different from the people she had known. He was like her. Misunderstood. And it was enticing.

The Master sniffed the air, tongue flaking back over his silky lips, the piercing tips of his fangs shining just between his semi-opened mouth.

Misunderstood, that’s what he was, she mused quietly. He could have killed her a long time ago, if he wanted. But he hadn’t. Like in a story of great fantastical love, they seemed a perfect fit. The naive maiden and the menacing master. Unlikely in pairing, but balancing just right. Sweet versus sharp. Hard versus soft.

‘Will you kill me?’ She asked, that curiosity still winning it from the mixture of reason and fear that roared in her tight chest.

‘Never.’ He breathed, confirming her assumptions. His nostrils flared dangerously as Belle’s intoxicating smell drifted further and further into his muddled brain. The hunt, the fight, the flight..it had all triggered excitement in his beastly bones and as he now sat here, like a beggar before the altar, it all came washing over him. He could no longer stop himself. He would take just..a little…

His strong palms gripped Belle’s legs, steadying her softly yelping body.

..a little..

With silvery tongue he licked a searing path into the inside of her thigh, her hands gripping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, lips opened in a silent gasp - nothing hid her greatest secret from him now.

..a little..

He reached the apex of her legs, the sweet rose of her essence hitting his nostrils hard, his anguished veins throbbing with need.

.. sip..

‘Ha....’ Belle breathed, eyes faltering to keep their full focus on the Master. Like little pricks of a hundred roses she felt her skin caressed from within, the touch of his tongue sparking an euphoria that not even her own curious fingers could elicit from her thighs. There was something about the way he danced on her skin, the way his strong fingers delved into the plush of her thighs, the way he beckoned more entrance as low rumbles tore from his large chest.

Beastly in spirit, but surprisingly tender in touch.

For a man who had just near-threatened her with death, he was terribly tender. In fact, for just a split-second, Belle couldn’t help but think of Psyche’s first night with her monsterly husband. He had denied her to look upon his face, his visitations only at night - For he was a monster! And a dangerous one at that! - the room dark and her eyes closed. Belle remembered the intrigue she had felt when she read that passage, though now it received a wholly new meaning, her very own monster doing what only a few words in the book had mentioned;

“When night approached Psyche went to bed: and when she was laid, she greatly feared her virginity, because she was alone. Then came her unknown husband and lay with her: and after that he made a perfect consummation of the marriage.”

As a young girl she had mocked these words. ‘Consuming a marriage’ - HA! What a strange way to call it, right?

But as she now lay here, eyes fluttering closed and her thighs trembling with the brush of sweet rose in her veins, she understood. She understood how Psyche grew to love her husband. Grew less pained by the loneliness of her existence. Eyes still shut Belle reached a hand down to the monster’s mane, more grumbles and moans eliciting from his consuming mouth. It was like he was eating her truly! Soft teeth that nibbled, a sweet tongue that lashed, strong fingers that braced, appreciating rumbles that loved. Loved! Oh that is what she felt.

Nothing could stop the touch of Cupid’s arrows. Not even a monsterly disguise. Love, that is what she felt! Like Psyche, she had learned to love the monster. And with that realisation a soft tinkling laughter escaped Belle’s quivering frame, the Master instantly stopping his administrations to ask if something was amiss.

‘No..good Master.’ Belle chimed, more laughter sprinkling from her rosy lips. ‘I beg you kiss me more. For I feel Cupid’s touch has bereft me.’

Slowly the Master crawled atop her frame, mild confusion glimmering in his blue eyes as he caged her with his limbs, looming over her dark as thunderclouds. Belle’s eyes fluttered open and it was not pain or fear he saw - like he expected after his previous experiences in the bedroom. No. She laughed merrily and it struck him like Cupid had indeed shot an arrow in his heart, the cold muscle straining as it fluttered and ached. Where the Master had only known cries of pain, not pleasure, in his bed, it was strange to see the smile on Belle’s cheeks.

‘Please.’ She whispered.

But if he had not hurt her.. Had he..? He quirked his head slightly. Had he pleased her?

The once nervous energy that coursed through his veins whenever he got aroused turned into something else. Like on much lighter, merrier clouds, he drifted above her. Licking her blood from his lips he watched her for just a moment longer as another fit of giggles escaped her lips. She was merry! She was..

His lips pulled awkwardly at the seams, a tight curl stretching them wider and wider until he could feel his cheeks dimple like hers did. And as he did, his cold heart beated warm, little wings flapping in the undead muscle.

She was ..HAH!..The Master couldn’t help but mimic her infectious laughter, his lips pulling uneasily with this unfamiliar movement. But Belle didn’t seem to care. Her tender fingers wrapped around his dimpling cheeks, begging him to join her down here on her earthly bed. For he was her Cupid and she was his Psyche. Love and Soul entwined.

For a short moment the Master forgot about all that had come to pass that day. In fact everything became a bit of a blur. The past days. Weeks. Months. Years. Centuries. All the pain, death and suffering was but a hazy memory that was washed away with the touch of her lips to his. All the want, desire and arousal that had tortured him was now a gift. A gift he could pour onto her. Groaning with need he let her pull him closer and closer still, his weight grounding her to the feather mattress as their lips danced and hands caressed.

For a moment he forgot about all that would still come to pass. More pain, more fear, more death.

He could hear a lone wolf cry into the cold night outside, reminding him of what he had left behind. Was he wrong to not tell Belle of what happened in that forest? The unfinished business that remained? The danger that lurked there still? Was he wrong for wishing to keep the truth from her? Keep her blind?

‘Please.’ Belle begged again, hands pulling him back through the forest of his thoughts. ‘Please.’

Oh, how he wished to please her.

But the truth was not a pleasing thing. It never had been. As more wolves howled and cried, the truth felt like the ice that was biting on the window panes. Begging to be let in. The matter had to be settled, he knew that. But not now. Right now the hunt for vengeance was temporarily forfeited, as he first wished to drink merilly from the sweetness..that was Belle.

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Chap 12 > 

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[reversecreek]

pops hip n winks at the dash. haaaaiiii. me again. i’ve honestly missed playing lana fr a while she’s one of. my most treasured muses bc she’s jst a silly n vivacious ball of sunshine or alternatively? a train wreck depending on which way u turn her in the light..... i actually hv two playlists made fr her n one is rly old bt it’s more like. songs that Remind me of her which u can find here n then here is more like. stuff u’ll most often catch her blasting on her record player as she dances around in her underwear w the curtains open. OH and here is her pinterest 🍓⚡

* kristine froseth, cis female + she/her  | you know lana jameson, right? they’re twenty-three, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a few hours? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to play that funky music by wild cherry like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole cherry red gym socks worn with nothing else, doodling penises in the condensation of a stranger’s car window, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘scrappy doo is a filthy slut’ thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is june 2nd, so they’re a gemini, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt, she/her  )

HISTORY:

lana grew up in a big house in albany, NY. i picture it w dark oak floors n lots of light furniture. albums framed on walls. mayb some rolling stone covers too frm way bk when of the bands her dad’s label signed. kind of like… a rock star palace w no evidence of children at all. i think i described it best in one of lana’s self paras once when i said the garden ws “as big as it was unloved”

lana’s mum victoria (vic) ws a music journalist w a pretty fruitful career ahead of her when she met lana’s dad richard (rich). his record label ws jst starting out, founded on the coattails of his wealthy best friend’s (jensen peters) investment w his other best friend (who he jst calls knoxville). it rocketed to success when they signed poppy injects, a rock band w an electric stage presence, n vic ws drawn to the glitz n glamour of a man tht ws at the helm of his aspiring industry. their love ws very impulsive, all or nothing right frm the start, n it ws almost like she ws mre in love w his accomplishments n what he represented than him.

(DRUGS TW) anyway so jameson records repped a few rock bands bk in the eighties, altho poppy injects r who they’re mostly known fr, namely bc of hw brightly they crashed n burned. they were a big chart success bt the lead singer hd quite an intense struggle w heroin (wsnt rly subtle abt it either while he ws in the public eye as u cn probably imagine frm such an on-the-nose band name) n he ws always in n out of the papers. it eventually brought down his career n it ws a big publicity nightmare

lana pretty much… grew up around figures like this throughout childhood. real characters who wld kind of… b extremely volatile n destructive abt their troubles. the jameson house was an open one as welcoming clients went n a lot of parties took place there. a lot of the time musicians wld b snorting lines in the kitchen when she wnted to grab a bowl of cereal fr breakfast n it was just. a very strange environment fr a child to grow up in. more zoo than home. more shaken snow globe than resting place. (END OF TW)

(ABORTION REFERENCE) her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her much. her older brother caleb ws unplanned bt they sort of welcomed the surprise more bt… quickly realised they weren’t cut out fr parenthood n then when lana came as another surprise 3 yrs later they didn’t even try to hide their resentment abt the situation. her mum ws actually booked in to have an abortion bt cldnt go through with it at the last minute. once when lana ws a kid she asked her why she’s so cold towards her she jst turned her head frm her dresser, looked at her, told her abt this n said “idk why i didn’t go”. lana didn’t kno wht to say to tht so she jst left her room n closed the door (END OF REFERENCE)

(DISSOCIATION TW) bc of the intensity of her parents ignoring her growing up lana adopted this sense of like…. she didn’t rly kno what it ws bt it ws a delusion of sorts where she thought she ws a ghost bc she gt this strange outside feeling. she’d jst sort of… drift around the halls w no-one acknowledging her n sometimes she ws jst convinced she wsnt actually there or they cldnt see her n she ws jst haunting the house frm a previous family. (END OF TW) her imagination festered an explanation out of smthn she didn’t understand essentially. lana used her imagination to do this a lot growing up. it ws kind of like the band aid she slapped over everything. after all she wasn’t alone if she was sword fighting imaginary pirates dwn the hallway with a poker from the fireplace. 

the one saving grace tho tht sort of?? gt her thru this n made her feel Seen ws caleb. lana quite genuinely hs always thought the sun shines out of her older brothers ass like she jst thinks. he’s the best person in the entire world. wld b rly bewildered if anyone questioned tht. he wld always look out for her n cut the crusts off her sandwiches (he’d cook fr them most of the time bc their parents were too busy/didn’t care to) n sometimes wld even sleep at the bottom of her bed curled up like a guard dog. it ws always lana n caleb n his best friend tommy against the world in tht house (tommy lived next door bt was always over bc he had very strict parents tht he found suffocating)

(ARMY MENTION) SO when tommy announced tht he’d signed up to the army (bc of pressures from tommy’s military dad to fulfil some kind of stupid “legacy” tommy didn’t even care abt) n caleb said he was going with him lana ws understandably…….. completely blindsided. she ws rly upset tht they were leaving n was kind of like “wtf why are u doing this like what do u even think this is gna solve” etc n begged caleb not to leave her there on her own n jst to not sign up in general bc tommy had to bt he didn’t listen. 

ERM i won’t go into it but it didn’t turn out well as u can probably imagine bc the army is a terrible industry n caleb had to return home without tommy. he wasn’t the same after that. (END OF MENTION)

what’d been a rly close relationship before where he ws basically like a surrogate father figure to lana was Not there any more. he ws rly withdrawn n always pushing her away n snapping at her for the sake of getting her to leave him alone. on top of this lana had a lot of shit go down while he was away n rly just shouldn’t have been a kid alone in tht house. regardless lana thought if she kept grinning as wide as she cld she’d convince caleb to join in too. maybe if she seemed fine n happy he’d take the lead. maybe she’d believe it too n start to feel it n everything could go bk to how it was before her world became so different. lana liked the way the sky flipped when she tipped her head back on the swings bt this was different. everything was upside down bt this didn’t make her belly feel like she’d swallowed a butterfly and it wasn’t funny bt still, she kept laughing. always desperate to find something to laugh at n if she couldn’t find it she invented it. as long as ur laughing the world can’t b that bad.

she ws always well liked in school bc she jst tended to treat everyone like they were bffs no matter who like u cld have literally bumped shoulders w her once in the corridor n she’d be like OMG HAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII let’s kiss<3 n like she ws a huge notorious flirt w any n all as well as incredibly impulsive n jst. wild honestly to put it simply too bt things like. changed a bit frm 16 onwards. (HYPERSEXUALITY & IMPLIED TRAUMA TW) she jst became far more reckless honestly n like....... jst didn’t rly seem to care after a certain point abt herself too much.... got herself in a bunch of bad situations.......... kind of jst flung herself to the wolves numerous times without any caution abt the way they’d bite. formed a lot of self destructive habits one of which ws cruising craigslist personals fr random hook-ups n like. she literally cld have wound up in a ditch somewhere honestly it’s a shock she hasn’t. despite various dips n inclines in her journey navigating this side of her it’s very much still present in her life to this day n she struggles to kno hw to control herself at points. sometimes she feels like a melting candle tht needs moulding by thumbs until it can form a person again. sometimes she’s only sure she’s real when she’s being touched. (END OF TW)

ANYWAY. laughs nervously. went to college to study dance bc she’s always loved dance in general bt specifically ballet (despite definitely not hving the discipline for it) n honestly this was both good n bad fr her. had a whole string of terrible heartbreaking relationships bc she tends to fall into those hard n fast n they were w a lot of bad people fr like 98% of the time. she kind of learned more abt what love is during her time there tho which is a gd thing bt she still isn’t very good at knowing hw to believe she deserves it so it’s a process. she hd fun tho. threw 498572598475 outrageous n elaborately themed parties. ws friends w pretty much everyone on campus. 

despite a strained relationship w her brother n having to go home to visit n check on him whenever he got rly bad it ws the first time it actually felt like she’d found a home in a lot of rly loving n genuine friendships n lana will never forget hw much that experience meant to her even if she definitely struggled there too. college felt like a place she belonged n then suddenly she couldn’t belong there any more n there was a big sense of floundering in that. like where do u go now when u’ve never known home elsewhere? how do u happily go out into the world if it means leaving ur world behind?

she applied to a dance company in LA n fell in w a pretentious art scene there full of wannabe andy warhols n the like. became a makeshift edie sedgwick to some guy w dyed white hair n the idea his every concept was revolutionary when rly he jst shot her dancing barely clothed splashing around in a random fountain in his friend’s mansion on an ancient film camera. she’d spend her days floating around on lilo’s and prancing in feather boas and racing with glitter leftover frm last night in her leotard w smudges of faint red lipstick to barely make her job on time. always a sexy train wreck bt this time? make it hollywood. 

(IMPLIED ALCOHOLISM TW) i won’t lie to u lana hs always partied way too hard bt then partying way too hard turned into slurping merlot thru a crazy straw shaped like a flamingo at 4 in the afternoon wearing penis novelty sunglasses n it wasn’t quite so much of a party when u were doing it on ur own. this rly snowballed into place in college bt carried on n wound up getting her fired from the dance company bc she turned up to rehearsals drunk one too many times n they didn’t allow fr sloppiness like tht. it was a “professional operation” that didn’t “accept that kind of behaviour” bt lana was jst like ummmmmmmmm that’s totally dramatic btw way to spank me in the town square like i’m gale w a raw ass n back in the hunger games bt ok sure i’m out ig. BOOP! (literally booped the director on the nose before leaving) (END OF TW)

honestly hd no idea what to do w herself after her job fell thru in LA n was pretty embarrassed actually upon sobering up the nxt day. cldn’t bring herself to tell her friends for a hot minute bc she felt like a failure or smthn n she was meant to be living this glamorous life out there being the classic wild n silly n fun Lana Jameson. cldn’t figure out how to repackage it into a funny story tht wouldn’t worry ppl. eventually wound up jst caving n telling her closest besties (shoutout freya n rosa) bc she ws hving a weird time dating losers n randomly living in LA even tho she didn’t kno why she was there any more after losing the job n they were jst like. fk it then. jst come here. we’re in irving. and so? mizz jameson packed her bags....

PERSONALITY:

always smells vaguely of wild cherries or strawberry starburst or jst the candy aisle in general. if she ws a vinyl record she’d b this one n she’d only play good vibrations by the beach boys, dancing on my own by robyn, play that funky music by wild cherry, femme fatale by the velvet underground n (i can’t get no) satisfaction by the rolling stones

the jameson family r pretty well off n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. mostly kids of celebrities n stuff like tht. she amassed a bit of an instagram following #nepotism bt also fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects. lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, bright red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights, holographic stickers of planets on her cheek n glitter used like highlight, 90% of the time a red lip) n bc she’s not gna make ur eyes bleed to look at or anything let’s b real

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. knew everyone n everyone knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once.

deliberately puts on tht kind of Magnetic Alluring Act tht femme fatales wear in movies w most ppl. kind of…. is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as. hates being sad n always wnts to be happy / making ppl happy. chameleons to situations. feels like she’s performed as the vivacious n fun loving Lana Jameson fr so long tht she doesn’t rly kno who she is beneath tht bt she isn’t too keen to find out. sometimes gets glimpses n feels the urge to close her eyes.

she’s always been rly spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand ridiculously absurd n chaotic stories. she’s like oh ya this one time this guy made me ride him with a daddy saddle like i was woody and he was bullseye. he literally made me call him bullseye. or she’s like. oh ya once i had to run barefoot thru a cabbage patch bc this one farmer wanted to have a threeway w me n my friend tht we met off craigslist n every framed photo in his house was a pig dressed up in cosplay bt honestly they were kind of cute n he was sexy aside frm the murderous vibes n the fact he kept calling me babe which i’m pretty sure means he wanted to dress me up next bt like whatever honestly.... she tells jst the most batshit stuff n the person she’s telling it to is left blinking like. wtf.

uncontrollably flirty. insanely confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n will try. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine.

likes to roller skate n hs a red pair she’ll glide around in at night lit up by amber street lamps breath sticky w the taste of wine n lollipops probably heading to a random hookups. who needs ubers?

always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. honestly likes dangling her whole body halfway out too. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s sour haribo cherries or strawberry lollipops.

luvs bowie (ONLY aesthetically) n prince (wholeheartedly) n madonna (completely) n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think.

daisies n poppies r her fav flowers bc daisies r wild n overlooked n poppies r the first thing u look at in a green field. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. honestly it’s like a burning train wreck but u can’t quite tear ur eyes away. often the heart of many sordid gossip scandals.

PLOTS:

TBA bc she’s only jst arrived in town i won’t lie to u all but i’m gna whip things up on here anyway n link in chat w updates at some point........ that said? lana is insatiable n it isn’t rly unlikely tht she cld’ve bumped into ur muse in a grocery store aisle n somehow a wild spontaneous adventure spawned frm that alone.......... if u have any immediate ideas we can discuss 😋

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Chapter One: Caliah (Lore)" in the Bastet breedbook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse"

Once there was a cat who dreamed he was a man.

Like the morning mist, she appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed.

The winds have spoken of your dilemma and I have come to show you the way home.

Why do you call me brother?

We are family.

We have different parents but share the same blood.

You need to meet your people

You are my sister

I have no other family. Don’t leave me!

We all have family

What are the dreams of a cat?

Let us welcome each other and speak of hidden things.

If they come in peace, we welcome them.

I’m just a mutt.

Listen up and listen close, ‘cause this isn’t stuff you’ll hear from any old place.

I’ve got friends with friends, if y’know what I mean, and this is good stuff.

They don’t get along, y’know.

A good lorespeaker tells different stories every time, and she makes ‘em as cool as possible.

Sound like anyone we know? Nah! Couldn’t be!

So how do you trade secrets, anyway? After all, isn’t a secret shared a secret lost?

If you don’t play the game, you don’t learn a thing.

Each element of the message becomes a metaphor, and the message becomes a story.

Florid? Hell yeah! But ya gotta admit it’s more graceful — and exposes a hell of a lot less — than blurting out the truth.

You might say, “I heard a story about so-and-so” but you’d never say “I did so-and-so.” If your audience has a clue, they’ll catch on.

Everything’s told in metaphors.

A good obtuse metaphor makes you look imaginative if someone gets it, really stupid otherwise.

Everything is larger than life. People don’t just cry, they “explode in showers like the sea.” Folks don’t just get mad, they “turn into coals that burn through the floor.”

If what you’re saying is important, bigger is better.

Simple? Not if you don’t get the lingo.

A wounded cat can surrender without disgrace.

Not enough to go around.

Hey, don’t let on you know what I told you, huh?

It was a time before life, a longing when the dream of birth was yet to be.

This marked the end of peace and the beginning of struggle.

Such promises are soon broken.

Why does even the skin of my daughter flee from my hands?

Why must I always be alone?

Master, what would you have of us?

Nothing exists for him but annihilation.

Go across the world

Let that which is pure stand whole, but erode that which is impure from within.

He tells many tales, but all of them are lies. He is rage made manifest, and he coils within us all.

There was no want, no war, no anguish, and all living things gave of themselves to help others exist.

Until some cataclysm happened, everything lived in peace and plenty.

Life has ever been a struggle, my brothers and sisters. Life has always meant that some may die for others’ pleasure.

That pleasure may be as necessary as hunger or as frivolous as sport, but it has always been fatal and always will be.

Only through struggle can we progress.

Only through sacrifice can we succeed.

We were born from conflict and we grow through adversity. Our ancestors are predators, great cats and human hunters who rose above their surroundings and mastered them.

We know our place in the Great Order, and it is not passive.

Like the moon, our world waxes and wanes.

Each era glows brightly, then fades into night before rising again as some new age.

As creatures of light, dark and twilight all, we are not moved much by the vagaries of fortune.

Each tribe has its creation story, and they differ in many ways.

I have my own ideas.

We are a breed eternally apart, and we are rare.

Water runs silent, yet crushes with the power of an elephant.

Its depths hold secrets that only the brave can find.

The first of our kind were nearly the last.

Those it caught were devoured.

Let this be your legacy

My tears, shed for you, will boil in your veins.

All people will fear you, and all animals, too.

Begone and tend the flocks that need killing.

I banish you from sight!

They still live on in us, and we carry their curse to this day.

As the humans prospered, they grew quickly out of hand.

It was a bloody, useless time, and we fractured as a people.

Secrets became the only thing to bind us.

It’s hard to forgive these raging bastards.

Very territorial, and I know how that feels.

There are enough horrors in the night already.

Corruption has a million voices; sometimes they drown out the song of the moon and lead us over cliffs.

That song wails from nightclubs, boom boxes and televisions every day.

Stop up your ears, my friend and listen to the wind.

Those secrets led the wolves to our door — literally.

Gods damn the dogs for that!

Their misbegotten crusade killed hundreds of our Kind and Kin.

She mated with serpents, wolves and great cats in an effort to become like them, but gave birth to monsters instead.

Some legends portray her as one of our kind, but we know this isn’t so.

If the tales I’ve heard are any measure, they have no pity for us at all.

We are where we are born.

I think our unique insights show us that humanity is a mixed blessing — especially where the earth and the wild are concerned.

Men are the cleverest monkeys, no doubt, but they don’t have much sense of self-preservation.

Our forebears fought to let humanity prosper.

We have an amazing world at our fingertips, but it’s filled with poisons and lies.

Honor seems to be a fading dream in lands where the rich starve their people and the poor kill each other.

We hold magic within ourselves, within our hearts and minds and spirits. To dishonor ourselves is to disperse that magic and scatter our souls.

It’s acceptable to lie to other creatures; they’re not of our blood and not bound by our laws.

We will flee to survive a fight, but will not run when others depend on our strength.

We must make restitution to those we deceive, in deeds, trade or money.

We may be exiled or branded.

Our weapons are many — secrets, claws, teeth and allies — and we will not hesitate to employ them for our world’s

survival.

Our people have walked too close to extinction for us to take such matters lightly.

We will not ally ourselves with shadow powers or drink corrupted wisdom.

We do not fail our Earth and mother. That path leads to death.

We are the keepers of secrets, and our fates depend on silence.

Each of us bears the hidden doom of our own people, and we know the cost of betraying that trust.

We also know that we have what others want — or what they think they want — and it amuses us to make them squirm.

Our knowledge is our concern.

We will not share it unless we wish to.

We will hide ourselves from outsiders; they will think they know us, but we will delude them.

We will wrap our lore in riddles and tales; let the clever ones puzzle out their meaning.

We will act as if we know even more than we do, for it keeps outsiders guessing.

Let them wonder at our insight; they value us more highly when they do.

We will cover our tracks with misdirection, pretend to be other than what we are, fill the air with idle rumors and hide messages in code.

There is no forgiveness for this crime.

Well, let’s just say I know what I’ve seen. And I’ve seen a lot.

His eyes were so filled with pain that I decided to help out.

I’d swear he was grinning as the semi ran him down.

That felt good.

Guess they’ve gotta live here, too.

I say they’re not as smart as they might think.

Maybe I’m the one who’s being fooled.

I could tell you stories all night, all week, all month and more.

As the temples rose and the hordes crossed through, our parents sat on the sidelines of history and observed the passing of kings.

The cultures we witnessed shaped our own ways.

Cities rose, each with secrets too tempting to ignore.

For a long time — 4,000 years — there was all the room in the world for us, and no lack of secrets to keep us entertained.

We should have seen the signs in the Classical Age, when armies swept across the land in the names of gods, kings and conquerors.

We should have met en masse when trade and crusades brought East and West together.

I will not belabor the point. We know what happened.

Explorers, slavers and great white hunters bounded into the wilderness and cast a chain around our kind.

Suddenly, we went from having all space to having little.

I can’t say I don’t share the sentiment just a bit.

We didn’t stop until a greater evil forced us to align, but that’s another story.

It’s a wonder anyone survived.

We studied their secrets, but could learn nothing from them.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

For all our vaunted sight, we’re blind. For all our gathered lore, we’re stupid.

The world is falling apart.

I don’t know whether to believe it or not, but we are living in interesting times!

We must pool our secrets, combine our efforts, and bring the world’s secrets to light.

We must act on what we discover and disperse what we learn.

Do I lose my cool?

The modern age is the greatest puzzle we could want endless streams of secrets, enigmas, wonders and dazzles, wrapped up in an explosive package that could blow us all to hell.

Anywhere, at any time, the whole ride could fly off the rails.

Those who ignore the warning feed the vultures the next morning.

I’ll simply say the tigers are not where you’d expect.

People have begun to open their eyes, but they still need your counsel to see the cliff’s edge before falling off

Those stories are true — violently true — and they add up to an appalling picture if you string them all together.

They get an idea, work on it a bit, and try to rule the world. Typical. We’ve seen their kind before.

Look around you if you doubt it.

Surely the secrets you’ve uncovered have given you the idea that maybe, just maybe, something’s going on, something bigger than another plunder, another invasion, another city that falls to ruin in a century.

Discover what you can, but bury your tracks well.

We’re strangers to each other for most of our lives, and we like it that way — a few careful gatherings are all we

can stand.

The moon is our patron, but the shadows are our father too, and they call to us at our weaker moments.

Most of us dance on the edge, though, and that’s where we like to be!

Despite our pains, we’re spirited and wild, inquisitive yet careful, sensual yet refined.

Our beauty is our greatest pride, and our wits are second to none.

We know what we are.

To hell with them all!

Still, we cannot let pride blind us to the facts.

The morning it foretells is up to us.

We must come together, yet retain our pride.

We are the keepers of secrets.

Perhaps it’s time those secrets were revealed.