#i was trying to fight off a pack of wolves when the law men found me and had to fight off the wolves AND 6 law men long enough to run away

[cerbreus]

i may be bad at many, many video games. but i am comically bad at rdr2

[cywscross]

From @lightveils on Twitter (free to use wherever!). I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. I definitely have enough fics to fill it lol~

-0-

A Fic You Love Without Knowing The Source Material:

I was born for this by esama (Assassin’s Creed | Altair x Desmond | M)

Juno did her best to lead him to her preferred fate, but the end is coming and Desmond has doubts.

A Fic With A Premise That Shouldn’t Work But Does:

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

A Fic You’ve Reread Several Times:

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

A Fic You Still Remember Many Years Later:

All True-Hearted Souls by mardia (Temeraire | Laurence x Granby | G)

“For God's sake, if someone doesn't talk Laurence out of these constant heroics, I wouldn't bet a farthing on his chances; no, and not ours either.” Four times that John Granby helped save William Laurence's life. Laurence/Granby. Spoilers up to Empire of Ivory.

A Comfort Fic:

Nothing Improper by Bunnywest (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

“How long since someone touched you, sweet boy?” Peter asks, his voice barely a breath in Stiles’ ear. “Days? Weeks? Months?” Stiles nods imperceptibly at that last one.

“After…after everything, after Allison,” is all Stiles manages to get out.

A Cathartic Fic:

Swing by ShippersList (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles wants to fly.

A Fic You’d Print And Put On Your Bookshelf:

Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai (HP | Tom x Harry | M)

While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?

A Fic You Associate With A Song (x2):

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia) (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

~

Full Circle by Nike Femme (FMA | Roy x Ed | T)

Edward Elric returns with amnesia. He has lived the past four years as Auric, a Gatekeeper. But there are some battles that only he can fight. Will his friends be able to awaken Ed, and what happens to Auric if they do?

A Fic That Inspires You:

Off the Line by esama (FFVII | Cloud x Vincent | T)

In which Cloud gets a Virtual Reality Dream Console – ShinRa's latest in virtual reality technology. Aaand everything pretty much goes downhill from there.

A Fic That Brought You On Board A New Ship:

Me and Mine by linndechir (Fast and the Furious | Deckard x Owen | E)

The last time they'd spoken, Deckard had told Owen that he was tired of cleaning up his messes. But the first thing he did after breaking out of prison was to take Owen to the other end of the world so they could lick their wounds and start planning their revenge.

A Fic You Wish Could Be A Movie:

Moving In (To Every Single Aspect of Danny’s Life, Including the Boring Bits like Dry-Cleaning) by westgirl (Hawaii Five-0 | Steve x Danny | T)

It felt wrong for Steve to sound unsure of his place in Danny’s life. His place in Danny’s life was at Danny’s side, driving him slowly insane. Steve should feel secure about that.

A Fic That Led To You Making Friends With The Author:

Begin and End by Rikkamaru (Log Horizon x HP | G)

This is how it begins: a boy rejected by his family, a boy reunited with his brother by his sister-in-law's intervention. A boy who found a family in an online game. But how will it end?

FREE SPACE:

Reverti Ad Praeteritum by Batsutousai (Fullmetal Alchemist | Roy x Edward | M)

Unwillingly forced to serve as a human trial for a crazy alchemist experimenting with time travel, Edward Elric finds himself standing across from Truth in the moment it takes his leg from him. Armed with the knowledge of what's to come and burdened with guilt for the choices he'd made as an adult, Ed sets out to fix every mistake he ever made and save every life they ever lost, no matter what it takes.

A Fic You’ve Gushed About IRL:

Designation: Miracle by umisabaku (Kuroko no Basket | M)

It's been three years since seven human experiments, called "Miracles," escaped Teiko Industries, alerting the world to the presence of super-powered children. Now they're finally integrating into society-- going to normal high schools, playing basketball, falling in love-- and trying to find out if it's possible to truly escape their past.

A Fic You Associate With A Place (have to self-rec for this one):

Safe Harbour by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles x Chris | T)

Peter didn't think he'd find a home here. He certainly didn't think he'd find a home with two other men.

Chris and Stiles prove him wrong.

A Fic That Made You Gasp Out Loud (kind of? it was suspenseful):

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

A Fic You Found At The Right Time:

slow increments by Areiton (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles)

Peter is enigmatic, egotistical, sometimes barely sane. He's sharp and cutting and takes more time to care for the pack than anyone.And sometimes, John catches him watching Stiles.

A Fic That You Would Read Fic Of:

if you try to break me, you will bleed by Dialux (Game of Thrones | Jon x Sansa | T)

It had been a slash across her chest from a White Walker’s sword that finally ended her life. Sansa’d landed in a puddle of her own blood, and she’d died quickly, quietly.

And then she’d awoken with a gasp, trembling, in a bed that had burned under Theon’s betrayal.

A Fic That Made You Laugh Out Loud:

The Path towards Unwilling Godhood by Sky_King (Bleach | Kisuke x Ichigo | G)

Ichigo has never had the most normal life, and this latest chapter of it is no different.

"I'm not a god!"

A Fic With A Line (Or Two) That You’ve Memorized By Heart:

Atlas by distractedKat (Star Trek | Spock x Jim | T)

Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning.

A Fic That Gave You Butterflies:

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

A Fic That Embodies Something You Value In Life:

The Boy Sleuth by Shey (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

A Favourite AU:

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

A Fic You Stayed Up Too Late To Finish Reading:

Of Dwobbits, Dragons and Dwarves by ISeeFire (The Hobbit | Fem!Bilbo x Fili | T)

Bilba has been a slave her entire life. All she knows of the outside world is what she sees from time to time outside the gates of Moria and the stories her mother used to tell her. Stories of a place called the Shire where her mother once lived and a placed called Erebor where, as far as she knows, her father still lives. Stories of dragons a thousand times larger, and more intelligent, than the beasts the orcs rode and of a strange concept called freedom where one was allowed to live as they wished with no one to tell them what they could, or could not do.

The stories meant little to Bilba. The only future she had was to live, and die, as a slave as countless number had before her.

And then the orcs dragged an injured female firedrake through the gates, her rider screaming obscenities behind her as he fought to reach her side...and everything changed.

A Fic That Made You Feel Seen (another self-rec lol):

i am addicted to death (so remind me what it’s like to live) by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is sixteen years old. He has already died seventy-eight times.

[lumierelalune]

@aryaxgendryweek day 2 ‘got your back’

If her family knew where she was, they would disown her.  

Arya didn’t even mind the thought, in fact some nights it was all that kept her going. If her family disowned her that meant they were still alive to do so. It was a much better thought than her current reality. Currently the only family remaining to her was Sansa, hidden somewhere deep in King’s Landing, and Jon, who was somewhere North of the Wall last she’d heard. Both of them were so far away and the chance of seeing them again so scarce, they might as well have been dead too.

“Time to go.” a light kick to her boot drug Arya from her thoughts and she glared up (and up and up) at Gendry who offered her a hand to help her up. Arya took it begrudgingly before leaning down to scoop her musket and her pack up trying to ignore the flutter in her chest from Gendry’s touch. Now was not the time to start getting those swoopy romantic feelings Sansa had spent half their childhood going on about. Arya had always thought they sounded like rubbish; she had never been more horrified to learn that her sister hadn’t been making it up.

The timing couldn’t be any less inconvenient if it tried. First there was the fact that they were in the middle of a war. Second there was the fact that Arya had very illegally snuck into the army to fight in said war. Third there was the fact that like all of her other fellow soldiers, Gendry had no idea she was a girl.  

She had known that joining the army was a risk. Not only would her remaining family likely disown her on principle, it was very likely the commanders would kill her or maim her for tricking them. No one, least of all men as Arya had learned, liked to be taken for a fool. All of it had seemed worth the risk to Arya, who had nowhere left to go and no reachable family left to turn to. She’d been living on the streets in the Riverlands for years when the war began and they called all fighting age men and boys to join them. It had been an easy decision to hack off her hair and join their ranks and it had been surprisingly easy since then to keep her gender a secret.  

The men weren’t half bad, some of them at least. The main cook Hot-Pie, would often bring her leftovers or breads that got too burnt to serve any of the higher ups. Anguy taught her how to use a bow and arrow. Lommy sparred with her and only got mad at her the time she nearly broke his nose. The best of course was Gendry.  

Tall, silent and stoic Arya had had no idea what to make of him the first few weeks they were marching. But then they fought their first battle and he was beside her the whole time. They fought well in tandem and his silence proved to be a good thing because they could now communicate without talking. He only spoke to her once that first battle, and never during any battles since. That first one she was reloading her musket when he suddenly grabbed her by the midsection and knocked her down flat. Arya’s heart was pounding in her throat, certain he’d felt something through the wrappings on her chest but Gendry was too focused on firing at the enemy. That was when Arya noticed the large chunk missing from the tree behind them, right around level where her head had been.

“Thanks.” she’d whispered in a brief moment when their muskets were loaded and no one was firing at them.

Gendry nodded and Arya had thought that would be the end of it but then he turned his eyes on her, the blue seeming even brighter with all the gore and dirt on his face. “I’ve got your back.”  

For a long time, those were the only words he’d ever spoken to her.  

War brought out the worst in most people but a few people thrived in it. Arya and Gendry were not those people.  

Both of them retreated into themselves, going deeper and deeper each day until it was nearly impossible to get them out. Arya didn’t want to be there anymore. She wasn’t even sure what they were fighting for half the time. How would killing small folk help lower tax laws? The peasants didn’t make the laws, the Lords did. Her father had. His taxes had been fair and when people couldn’t pay due to a bad harvest or wolves getting into their sheep pens, he’d always worked with them to make sure their family was fed before the tax was paid. The Lords in the South did not work that way.  

Gendry seemed to feel the same way she did about the war but he never questioned it vocally like she did sometimes when it was just the two of them. She felt like she could say anything to Gendry and he wouldn’t judge her, wouldn’t think her mad. After a while he began to return the favor and finally started to talk to her instead of just listening. It wasn’t long after that she began to notice how fast her heartbeat got when he was around.  

Arya managed to ignore it with some difficulty and months continued to drag on in one endless loop of blood and mud and shit. Finally, they received word that the war was over. Her comrades began to cheer as their captain gleefully shouted out that they’d won but Arya didn’t join in on it. She just felt an overwhelming sense of relief and as she watched everyone begin to dig out their secret stashes of booze she slipped away into the darkness.

They’d passed a lake just before they made camp and Arya headed to it now, walking far enough from the camp that she could no longer hear the sounds of everyone’s merriment.  

She felt desperate to be clean in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d joined the war. She stripped off her boots but waded into the water in her clothes, scrubbing the mud from them the best she could. She was glad it was summer, the night still held onto most of the day’s warmth.  

Her clothes as clean as they were going to get Arya struggled out of them, wringing them and laying them flat on a rock that still felt warm to the touch. She waded back into the water until it reached her chest and then slipped underneath the surface, scrubbing mud from her short hair.  

When she surfaced, she felt cleaner than she had in years. Turning back to the shore Arya nearly let out a yelp of surprise to see a figure on the shore.  

“Gendry.” she breathed, crossing her arms over her chest under the water even though she knew she was far enough out that he couldn’t see anything.

“Can I join you?” Gendry asked.

Arya knew that she should say no, that this was way too dangerous, but she reminded herself the war was over. She was going to leave in the morning and disappear back North. She finally felt ready to face her ghosts. It didn’t matter if Gendry learned her secret now.  

At her nod he stripped down and despite having seen naked men daily for the last two years Arya turned her head away until he waded into the water. She took a step back as he approached her and felt the slippery surface of the lake disappear. She had to move her hands off her chest to keep herself afloat as Gendry stopped a foot from her, the water barely halfway up his chest.  

“What will you do now?” he asked curiously before splashing under the water as if giving her time to think. When he came up, he was behind her a few feet, and it seemed the lake’s surface was too far even for him as he moved his arms to the sides to stay above water.  

“Going North.” Arya admitted softly. She wanted to say she was going home but it wasn’t home anymore. Not without her parents and her brothers and even her sister. Winterfell wouldn’t be home without them but maybe she could still make a life there. She was ready to stop running.  

“You going alone?”

Arya nodded once, knowing they were close enough for him to see the motion. Gendry paused for a moment before saying hesitantly, “Long way to travel. Not safe for a girl on her own.”  

She was so surprised she forgot to tread water and slipped under the surface. Spluttering she came back up and stared at Gendry in horror. He looked sheepish but not angry or upset.  

“How long have you known?” she asked softly, the food they’d eaten for dinner turning in her stomach. If he reported her-

“Since the first week.” Gendry admitted sheepishly.

“You never said anything.” Arya said in surprise thinking back on what she could have done to have given herself away. Either Gendry was more observant than the other men or he’d walked in on her changing and she hadn’t realized it. She supposed it didn’t matter how he found out; he’d kept her secret all this time. If she’d been caught and it was revealed that he’d known as well he would have been in heaps of trouble as well.

“Told you,” Gendry flicked water at her, the moonlight reflecting the lake into his eyes and making them look like coals. “I’ve got your back.”

[blog-sliverofjade]

Of Doms & Subs 8: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Pairing: Angus Hopper x OFC

Summary:  What’s a submissive female to do when she fights her nature and goes on the run as a Lone wolf to avoid being assimilated into a pack?

Word count: 1346

Of Doms & Subs Master List

“Hey, Moira, would you take a short walk with me?”  While I was still bearing a grudge against her mate, I genuinely liked the witch, who merely laughed at me for sniffing her and trying to figure out the strange new nose-tingling smell.  She informed me that it was magic.

“Ok, spill it,” she whispered once we were out of earshot.

“Spill what?”

“I’m blind, not deaf, so don’t try to lie to me.”  She poked me hard in the shoulder.

“I want to test something.  I was wondering if we could wander up the main road,” I admitted.

“You’re trying to bypass the geis by having me act as escort,” she laughed.  Obviously the rumour mill carried the tale of my misdemeanour to her.  “Yeah, he didn’t word that one quite right, did he?”

“I figure ‘proper escort’ is subject to interpretation.  A witch has got to count, right?  Besides, if this doesn’t work, I’ll steal Ian’s Ford Escort,” I shrugged.

“If this loophole works, Angus is going to be pissed,” she warned.

“Just keeping my options open.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“No,” I sighed.  “Angus wants me for the pack.”  Ugh, that was weird to say.  And I said so.  “I don’t like to be tied down.  Outside of the bedroom anyway.”

“Fyi, normal handcuffs won’t work now.  Just saying.”  A faint blush coloured her cheeks.  “Wolves can be just as promiscuous as us humans, but once they start falling for something that’s it.  Done.  Game over.  End.  Finito.  Do not pass go, go directly to mating.”

“Not helping, witch.”  As a human, she couldn’t smell moods, could she?  I was scared to ask how she knew or where she was going with this because I didn’t think I’d like the answer.  “Out of control hormones are not good enough reason to jump into bed with someone.  And certainly not after having known them less than a week.”

“Then try this on for size: you’re afraid to play bedwarmer.  But you’re also too afraid to tie yourself to him in a non-sexy fashion.  Maybe instead of worrying about what he wants, first ask your two halves what they want,” she suggested.

“It’s a little early for a verdict,” I frowned.

“The only two people I know whose wolves chose before their human parts knew within hours of meeting each other.  Tom and I fell the first time we met.”

“I did the whole love at first sight bit, and have no desire to be that stupid again.  Here we are,” I said when our path went from gravel to blacktop.  I dropped her arm momentarily to step back and forth from the pack property to the road with ease.  “Please don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t lie, but I won’t volunteer any info either,” warned Moira.

“That’s all I ask.”  I held my arm out to brush against hers so she could take it at her leisure.

“Tom’s going to ask what we talked about, so let’s get our story straight.  Cop and wolf instincts, killer combo when it comes to interrogations.  So how about that popular sports team?”

“When’s football season over again?” I asked mournfully.

“Superbowl’s in February.  But that’s only a problem if you’re stuck at the house on game days.  If you are, you’ll have to come kidnap me.  I’d offer to come rescue, but for some asinine reason they won’t give me a driver’s license.”

“Hey, do you want to drive?  You can take my Jeep for a spin in the driveway,” I offered.

“You’re kidding.”  Dark brows rose over the sunglasses.

“I never kid when it comes to shenanigans.  I take my shenanigans very seriously,” I swore solemnly while fishing my spare set of keys out from under the back bumper and unlocked the doors.  “This is the ignition key.”  I handed the ring to her with the one in question pressed into her fingers.  “Let’s hop in and I’ll show you where to stick it.”

“Ooh, no one’s said that to me since high school,” she smirked.

After we both buckled up, I talked her through starting the engine and shifting into gear, guiding her hand when appropriate.  After getting the pedals sorted out, we inched forward.  Men were coming around the house, summoned by the sound of the engine.

“Turn the wheel a quarter turn to your right.”  We slowly arced so that it was obvious to the spectators that the blind witch was driving.  I blithely waved while continuing to give verbal directions, only guiding the wheel slightly once or twice.  “Now gun the gas and turn all the way to the left.”  We squealed with laughter as we spun around, gravel crunching and spraying under the tires.  Instinct caused her to let off the gas before we continued to spin out and possibly lose control.

“Now put her in park and turn off the engine so your mate and my Alpha can come rip me a new one.”  Even though he wasn’t officially my Alpha yet in any sense of the word, the words felt right, which was disturbing in and of itself.

“Should we make a break for it?” she asked.

“Eh, we’d have to return sometime.  I don’t know you well enough yet to pull a Thelma and Louise.”  I pocketed the keys and propped a foot on the dash.

“Is there a problem, officer?” Moira asked innocently as Tom approached her open window.

“What were you thinking?” Tom bellowed.  At her, not me.  My own personal bane was yanking my door open.

“Out,” he snapped.  Oh, this was too easy.

“Yes, you are outside.”

“Get out of the car.”  He bit off each word.  He must have seen the glint in my eye because he added, “Now.”  He slammed the door behind me hard enough to rock the poor car.

“You would have walked away if she’d managed to roll the Jeep, but she’s human,” he snapped.  There was definitely something wrong with me because the danger and power that rolled off of him when he was mad did very naughty things to my body.

“A) I know far more about the fragility of humans than you do.  B) We never went over fifteen mph.  That little show was really just shifting the weight around.  And C), at most it would have tipped onto the side I was on.  We even wore seatbelts.”

“So instead you put yourself at risk for a little stunt?”

“Or maybe I understand what it’s like to be denied certain freedoms,” I said quietly, but with no less feeling.

“Give me the keys.”

“I already gave you keys.  Check with Shane, he should have the original set.”  I bounced the spares once in my palm before chucking them into the ditch full of murky water by the road.  I could do this submission thing as long as I found enough loopholes.

After her little act of defiance, which had happened with the Jeep between us and the rest of the pack thus obscuring her actions, she mingled quite thoroughly.  Somehow she’d picked up the trick of gauging distance and hearing so as to pitch her voice quietly enough to avoid being overheard.  No one knew of our exchange.  Too bad that she was adept at following the letter of the law if not the spirit.  I’d have liked to punish her.  Thoroughly and publicly.

I didn’t see what pathetic excuse started the fight.  But I knew who started it.  Ellie was standing with her back to Ian and Gordon, who had borne the brunt of Ian’s territorial aggression during the football match.  The next anyone knew, Ian went flying.  Shane had just enough warning to grab Ellie’s arm and try to drag her to safety.

Later, I realized I should have broken up the fight, immediately meted out punishment for putting others at risk.  If I had, the two males might not have survived my wrath.  But I would never regret running to Ellie’s crumpled body, surrounded by chunks of brick and blood splatters.

Note:  I have let a blind person drive my sedan in an empty parking lot before, so it is possible with a lot of verbal direction and a ready hand to grab the wheel just in case. Jeeps are top heavy, although not as much as other SUV's, so at higher speeds on gravel there is a slight chance of tipping. However the parking area that I'm picturing at the Emerald City Pack's house in Issaquah is too small with all the other vehicles to get up to a speed that would present that risk. At least they didn't go mudding in the green space that the guys were playing football in.

[griffinsandpeacocks]

GET UP & WRITE! Section 3: “It’s a genetic trait, but it’s exceptionally rare.”

Vararis was used to the staring. Even his own clanmates had. Apparently his father had been like him, the pale skin and white silver hair with the striking lavender eyes. He wished sometimes he’d gone to his father’s clan... He wanted to know if his father’s father or mother had the same thing. He wanted to see if he still had family that were alive that shared his looks. He had never seen anyone with his appearance and it bothered him at times. He was an oddity even among the Dalish that reveled in their self chosen outcast lifestyle. He missed his clan though. At least though at times new comers and children would stare at him at least after a time it stopped after some time. 

He was an accomplished clan hunter. He’d chased countless threats off hunted dangerous wildlife and brought in as much as any other hunter as far as food and leathers if not more. He sits on the log looking out over the forest on the small cliff they’d made camp at. It offered a great vantage one way up and it was easy to see the path even in the moonlight. Well... For him at least. The humans might struggle with it. The dwarf would period given he was drunk if he could help it. He tilts his head and keeps watch.

“Can I help you, Crow?” He asks softly and Zevran chuckles behind him.

“I got closer this time.” He teases and Vararis chuckles.

“So you did... Now the question is was it by my grace or by your skill? Even should you come into knife range, you’ll struggle taking me out without a fierce fight. I’ve been on a buck’s horns Zev, even a poisoned blade will not help you against me if my life is on the line.” Vararis says staring out into the night the other taking a seat by him on the log looking out over the trees in curiosity.

“What do you see?” He asks and Vararis smiles softly.

“Freedom.” He says softly a found light in his eyes as he looks over to Zevran.

“In a wild land?” The golden elf asks curious and Vararis smiles and looks back at the camp. He sees Shale watch the path and stands.

“Follow me, I’ll show you.” He says and Zevran trails after him as he walks down the path waving at the golem as he goes past. Shale watches curious but says nothing and keeps watch. The elves go down the path and Vararis takes a deep breath smiling as they enter the tree line. 

“The wild has no humans or any other to tether you by petty laws, the only law in places like this are the laws of the wild. You have no one to master you here, and more often than not it is your skills that keep you alive. This is freedom, dear crow. No cage to cull your wings, no leash keeping you in arms reach. Just trees and the wild beasts under them. No concerns but those of your own.” Vararis says looking up at the moon in a break under the branches of the oaks and pines. His skin and hair glow in the pale light his eyes seem to gleam like a cut gem and Zevran feels a shiver run through him as those eyes meet his.

“You’re coloring is rare, I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you, pale as moonlight with eyes like belladonna.” Zevran purrs moving closer and Vararis laughs softly.

“It’s a genetic trait, but it’s exceptionally rare. My father was like this. I never met him, thus like you I have never seen any other that shares this oddity.” Vararis sighs looking back up at the moon and stars and Zevran hums as he moves closer. Vararis doesn’t tense nor does he so much as flinch when Zevran curls his arms around him. 

“Oddities are not always bad... In this case you are a rare beauty.” Zevran purrs and Vararis tilts his head slightly to look back at the taller elf.

“Bold of you to flirt with someone who has enough reason to hold you at knife point.” He says watching the other gasping as hands slide down to his hips. He can feel the blush rising to his face but keeps focused on the caramel face with wolfish amber eyes.

“Is that a promise, my dear Warden? I would not turn down you holding one to my throat as you put me in my place...” The Crow purrs and Vararis shivers and growls lowly at the other uncertain of what to do. yes Zevran was clearly advancing on him. He’d flirt with Alistair but... He sighs and shakes his head and pulls away he looks at the other elf confused.

“You heard the flustered gush Alistair babbled when he realized I’ve been flirting?” Vararis is confused the other had been flirting with him on and off but it was clear he did that to everyone there’d never been any straightforward advances like that one until now. Zevran tilts his head smirking in that devilish way of his and cocks his hip hand resting on it as he gestures vaguely.

“You mean the poor attempt to let you down gently?” Zevran asks and Vararis sighs and shakes his head.

“He did more damage to his own ego than mine. He just struggled to word it in such a way as to not offend either of us. As he said, I’m pretty but he’s never thought of other men like I have. I can respect that, but now I’m curious, Crow, why are you showing such advances now, rather than before, after seeing I was in fact rather willing to flirt with those of my own gender?” Vararis asks and he circles the Crow who watches him turning his head rather than turning to keep his eyes on the pale shade. 

“You were quite enamored with our other Warden. Who was I to object?” Zevran asks and Vararis stops behind the Crow surprised when Zevran just looks up and doesn't turn to look at him. He creeps closer silent and wonders at Zevran’s trust. He had plenty of reason to kill the assassin, after all who knew if h wouldn’t try again?

“Why do you trust me? I have no reason to fully trust that you won’t try again.” Vararis says softly smirking at the slight jump in the blond’s shoulders. He still had it then.

“You’re too kind in heart.” Zevran says simply and Vararis paused. 

“What makes you say that?” He asks and Zevran look down and at the smaller elf who looks off balance and Zevran knows Vararis is aware of the reason Zevran thinks that way.

“Not only did you spare me, when faced with your old clan mate you couldn’t hurt him. We nearly lost you to an elf falling to The Blight’s madness.” Zevran says softly and Vararis paused and blinks feeling tears start up. He still struggled with Tamlen’s death Zevran had pulled Tamlen off him it had been Zevran who’d killed him but Vararis had been shaking and unable to even speak properly until the day after that night. He’d been silent for a whole day. He’d mourned before but to have seen how much suffering Tamlen had gone through... It was something he’d been unprepared for.

“I never thanked you for saving my life.” Vararis says trying hard not to cry. Zevran shakes his head and lifts his chin.

“Don’t. I had to kill someone you cared about.” Zevran states and Vararis looks away.

“You put an end to his pain when I could not. I do not say thank you for killing him, I say thank you for helping end his suffering when all I could do was cry as I only saw my lost friend. You helped him when I faltered, so thank you. Thank you for doing what I could not.” Vararis says softly and Zevran sighs and places a gentle kiss to the smaller elf’s brow. He had been shown a world of kindness by this smaller elf, who showered him in the same affection and attention as the rest who followed him. Vararis was a fountain of compassion and care though when his ire was stirred his wrath was like a storm. Yet when he was calm he was a passionate care giver. He saw to others needs long before his own. It was intriguing to Zevran who only knew others to be cruel masters holding keys they’d never release. Yet this elf held out his key waiting for him to take it. Yet the decision he would make was still his on how to implement that key.

“You would have died, my life was at stake.” Zevran shrugs looking to the side to divert the tension building. The elf smiles.

“No, Alistair would have let you walk away. I asked him. He admits he would have let you walk away, with the warning that should you try a second time he’d be less merciful. If you think I’m soft at heart Alistair is a damned puppy. Speaking of, hello Fen.” Vararis turns and crouched as his mabari comes trotting up a rabbit clamped in his jaws his stump of a tail and entire backside wiggling as he happily drops it for Vararis and wiggles as he’s given attention. The silver grey dog snorts and trots off with his rabbit directed back to camp by his master.

“So I’m underestimating the bard.” Zevran chirps and Vararis tilts his head and laughs.

“You’ve a point there. I didn’t think about Morrigan nor Leliana. They might not be forgiving, you’ve a point. Yet again, why are you suddenly taking your flirting further? I’m confused. I am not exactly a prime choice, I’m a moody and easily riled wild elf with few manners.” Vararis asks and Zevran chuckles and circles the pale elf and Vararis gets the sense of a wolf again but he’s faced full packs alone and thus this single winged predator does little to phase him he merely watches.

“I enjoy pretty things... Dangerous things... You fill out both of those quite well so consider myself as quite enthralled now that I’ve a glimmer of a chance since your fellow Warden is no longer a competitor as it were.” Zevran says and Vararis wonders at everything. He’d never done anything. Dalish custom was rather strict on such things but he really, really, did not want to die a virgin.

“So now that you don’t have to fight for my attention you’ve swooped in to see if you might get to ravish the pretty little nightshade flower?” Vararis asks and there’s a gleeful flash in those amber eyes.

“Why my dear Warden, if a flower you are, then I am more than entranced! It’s always sweeter to make them melt as those petals fall.” Zevran purrs and Vararis looks away. 

“I do not want to die a flower. Yet I do not like the idea of being that vulnerable... It is something new to me. Being among the trees on my own with wolves on my heels I know full well but this... I am uncertain if I can make such a jump. At least not all in a single leap. If you’re looking for an easy catch I’m afraid I’m not going to be easy to convince to lay down and take it.” Vararis states blushing but Zevran finds he likes the way it looks on the Warden, it highlights the twisting branches in amethyst purple that mark him as devote to Mythal. 

“Then perhaps I could convince you to press me down and let me take it?” He asks and Vararis blinks at him in shock. The confidence and sultry behavior makes the dalish elf off balanced. He thinks about it. Would this even be a good idea? If this was a ploy could he escape it in time? Should he be selfish?

“Perhaps...” Vararis says softly walking further into the woods wondering if the other will follow. Hearing his steps Vararis smiles softly as he twists through trees to a meadow he recalls them passing by. When he breaks the tree line having worked up to a slow jog as he kept just ahead of the assassin. When he breaks the tree line he slides into the grass and wild flowers almost vanishing but breaking Zevran’s sight of him just enough he looses track.

“Ah a test then, my dear Warden? Hunt and be hunted?” He asks and Vararis chuckles having slowly worked his way around he pounces surprised the other turns, though Vararis still won the fight pinning the other elf down with a soft grin on his face.

“You still played it, My crow, and won in a sense. You felt me coming at you and reacted quicker than I thought you would. If, well... If you don’t mind walking me through it I suppose I wouldn’t mind getting a lesson, Master Arainai.” Vararis is bright pink and Zevran chuckles and grins.

“Are all southerners so shy with these things? Though if you would like to call it a lesson I suppose I shall have to be quite thorough, and hands on, yes?” He asks and Vararis coughs softly a blush on his pale face and it stands out starkly in contrast to the pale skin. Which explains the cloth he often has covering most of his face now that Zevran thinks on it. Such pale skin must burn so easily.

“I am not acustomed to talking about it we’ll be among a clan soon and you might see why. It’s a bit... Well to put it plainly no one does anything til they marry alright? I have not a clue what I’m doing, not for lack of trying mind you. I heard you laugh at a few attempts.” He mutters glowering at the elf under him as Zevran cackles head thrown back as a grin makes his face light up in warmth.

“I’m so sorry, my dear Warden, you call those attempts. ‘I admire many things about you...’” Zevran cackles and the other elf rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, pick on me all you like I got my point across. As well as turned down, moving on.” Vararis says and Zevran chuckles and gently traces his hands up strong thighs to run over slim sides to tug the other down to him.

“Shall I walk you through how to take me or shall I lay here and let you ride me?” He asks and the other blushes and wonders what he wanted from the golden temptation he has pinned.

“I’ve never done this, what do you prefer?” Vararis asks and Zevran blinks at him confused.

“I like to take and be taken, lovely Warden. So long as both limp away satisfied I mind little the means to do so.” He answers and Vararis is still pink he leans down feeling hands weave into his hair he closes his eyes and sighs before kissing the Antivan. 

“Just stop teasing me and show me whatever it is I’ve supposedly been missing.” Vararis teases and Zevran smirks.

“Gladly.” Zevran purrs as his hands slide to the ties and clasps of the armor. Vararis paused and leans back.

“This might be a better idea in a tent at camp... We’re too far out to be safe.” Vararis is nervous and he’d admit he might be stalling. Zevran hums softly and nods.

“You’ve a point.” The antivan sighs and Vararis stands and pulls the other up with him. When they get back to camp it’s with no incidents and Fen plops down outside the tent flap and Vararis feels shivers as he sets his boots aside and removes his armor going through the motions. He jumps as a hand trails down his back.

“Quite flawless... I see no scars yet, fascinating...” Zevran purrs and Vararis goes tense he looks back at the bare chested elf. Tattoos swirl over him and they draw in the Warden’s attention.

“I have several they’re at my chest though. One from a buck that charged me and several others from the arrows that nearly killed me in that forsaken tower at Ostagar. You really find the flawless skin that attractive?” He asks feeling oddly nervous and now shamed. Zevran chuckles.

“Scars or no, both hold their own cahrm after all these are scars.” Zevran explains taking the pale hand and placing it on a tattoo showing the raised skin. Vararis traced them, full well understanding the marks.

“Mine are the same... Though we call them something different. Blood writing in common. So... Am I in the lead or are you?” Vararis asks uncertainly. 

“I can, or I can teach you to master me, what do you desire?” He asks and Vararis caves then, the needy side to him he constantly ignores rears it’s head. He doesn’t want to give any more, he needs a reprieve.

“Take me... I want to submit for just a night and forget everything just a moment.” Vararis says softly and Zevran smirks and tugs the smaller elf close and kisses him distracting him so he can unties their pants. 

“Shall we get rid of these then?” The assassin purrs and Vararis blushed but stripped, he isn’t certain he enjoys the oddly vulnerable feeling but forgets his nervousness as Zevran guides him down onto his back and nips at his neck grinning at the soft hiss and slight sting of nails at his shoulders.

“Don’t mark where armor won’t cover... I rather not here the clan berate me...” Vararis growls and Zevran chuckles eyes flashing at the challenge. He nips down along a collar keeping note of the softer pleased sounds and the sharper pained whines as he picks the Warden apart as he explores and teases him. Vararis keeps himself in remarkable control biting his knuckles to silence the most of his sounds and muffle the others.

“Zev... If you don’t do something more than tease soon I’m going to lose my mind.” Vararis gasps after some time of squirming under the crow that teases him. Zevran chuckles and beckons with fingers he’s steadily worked the other elf open with making the man under him twitch with a gasp as he writhes seeking more.

“See...? It’s not that hard, my dear, just give in and let me please you, yes?” Zevran purrs and Vararis gasps just nodding with an eager acceptance. He whimpers and muffles it again wincing as he arched into a sudden warm heat he looks down his face a bright blush as he watched Zevran suck him off.

“If you keep up I won’t be able to... Gah, Creators if you keep that up...” Vararis hissed shivering a hand shakily threading into blond hair. Zevran pulls back chuckling. 

“Alright my dear Warden... I’ll give you what you want.” He purrs and Vararis watches with hazed lavender eyes and Zevran has to admit the Warden looks good tussled up like this littered with bright marks from teeth marking him up. He wants to tattoo the elf mark him deeper than his teeth can. For longer. He is glad that his oil works for this and cleaning his gear and weapons as he slicks his cock and slowly slides into the smaller elf who tensed gasping as his eyes close his brow furrowing as he fights the bodily instinct as Zevran hissed next to his throat about needing to relax. Vararis let’s his nails bite into caramel tan shoulders and he leans up kissing the other needing a distraction gasping at something in his sends out a sudden wave of sensation that catches him off guard.

“Creators...” He whimpers as he tucks his head against the nape of Zevran’s neck gasping softly as he wraps his legs around the slim waist and he bites low on the other’s neck barely where armor will cover moaning softly as that earns him a buck from his bed mate. It dissolves to soft requests for more and soft whines as Zevran encourages the other to bite and claw to his heart’s content. Vararis enjoys it waking up Zevran’s gone already and the pale elf sighs softly having not expected more he was after all not one for attachment. 

He smiles as he dressed even so, he had some bruises he was going to enjoy quite a bit. He skips out and acts like nothing is different even if everything does feel different. 

[instakpop]

Sehun scenario - Primal intuition

(Image credit)

Requested by anon

Summary: The forest usually attracts all sorts of tourist, camper, or hunters. But here is a clear line of where the human’s territory ends and the werewolf territory begins. When you spot a pair of campers too close for comfort, you put yourself into a situation that you can’t get out of alone.

Genre: wolf!au, fantasy, smut, angst

Warning: threats of violence

“I’m telling you. There’s something out there in those woods!”

“Oh, come on. We’ve been searching for three days, nothing’s there. You probably just dreamt it.”

I listened to the two men bickering and sighed to myself. I’ve made a mess. While going for a jog around the territory, I shifted into wolf form to see if I could beat my previous speed record when I went out too far. One second, I was feeling the wind in my fur, the next, I was spotted by some idiot camper. He looked at me with wide eyes and turned to wake his friend, as soon as he looked up, I was gone. Unfortunately, he stayed a couple more days in search of me.

It was an honest mistake, but now I have to protect my pack. I didn’t tell anyone about this, not even my mate, Sehun. He vowed to always be there and keep me safe, but now it’s me who has to keep him safe.

“I’m telling you this for the last time. We came out here for the annual hunting trip and camp out. I’m not staying another night.”

“Fine, We’ll pack up and leave. But I know what I saw.”

“Who cares about a big wolf? This is a forest!”

Unable to hear another second of this, I turned back to leave quietly. That man was searching for me, but he wasn’t going to find me… ever.

When I walked through the front door, Sehun was closing the oven when he spotted me and immediately stopped what he was doing. He pulled off his oven mitts and came right up to greet me with a chaste kiss on the lips. My lips parted with a smile as I shrugged off my jacket.

“It smells great in here,” I said, breathing in the mouth-water aroma. Sehun held me with one hand on my waist, the other, sneaking lower and lower.

“I think that’s just you.” He said with another, flirtier kiss. He released me and asked, “How was your jog?”

“Great,” I replied, reluctant to tell him the full details of what I heard.

“Great. “ He echoed. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Oh, good. I’ll need a shower.” The only thing I wanted to do wash the sweat off of me.

I stood under the water, feeling my anxiety creep back into the pit of my stomach. What if they don’t leave? What if they see one of the others? I had to tell someone. They clearly have no respect for the territory line and something like this should be brought to the alfa’s attention.

When I finished my shower, I got changed into a comfortable t-shirt and shorts. I came out into the dining room and Sehun clutched his heart dramatically.

“Oh! Such a vision, I must paint you.” He said sarcastically

“Shut up,” I said with a pinch to his bicep. “Would you rather me be in some sweaty workout clothes?”

“Those leggings do work wonders…” His cheeky tone made my eyes roll.

During dinner, he could tell there was something on my mind. He looked up at me with a troubled look.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked.

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

He set his fork down, not taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Something’s wrong, y/n/, I can see it all over your face.”

I let out a sigh and confessed. “Okay. When I was out jogging the other day, I shifted into my wolf form to beat my last record. But I jogged too far out and spotted these two men camping just inside the territory line.”

“What?” He said, feeling frustrated. “Did they see you? Have they left?” He was clearly upset. As much as I didn’t want to burden him with the truth, I had to tell him.

“One of them saw me. When he tried to get the other man’s attention, I left. Then, today, I jogged over to make sure they left, I was in human form this time. But they were still there. They are still there now. I heard them saying they would stay tonight and leave tomorrow. The one who spotted me has become obsessed with trying to spot me again.”

“Stay away from that area.” Sehun interrupted. “I don’t want you to be anywhere near them.”

“What should we do now?” I asked. “Do we tell the alfa?”

“Not yet.” He answered. “If they leave tomorrow then there’s nothing to worry about. If they don’t see anything, then there's no reason to stay.”

“You’re right. Thank you for understanding.”

“Thank you for telling me. I don’t ever want to see you get hurt.” His hand found its way to mine from across the table, squeezing my fingers gently.

The next morning, I woke up with a start. Rather than a jog around the territory, I decided to just skip my workouts today and just stay home. For the first time in a while, Sehun and I treated ourselves to a...steamy shower. When we first became mates, we practically locked ourselves in our house for days, exploring each other, finding our passions, falling deeper in love. Over time, we just came to a point of comfortable silence, but with the full moon rising tonight, who could resist?

When the full moon rises, we, the pack, will surrender our human forms and become wolves. It’s a tradition. We do this to give honor to those who came before us and show respect to our natural, primal selves. During the full moon, new mates are marked and current mates spend the night with the rest of the pack. Children run around and play, adults sit by the pond and interact or stare up at the moon. Some even chant to the moon, though, it just comes out as a howl.

Sehun and I usually just find a private corner and enjoy each other’s company in peace. His deep brown eyes always have a sparkle to them under the full moon. I’d nuzzle my face into his chest, feeling his thick fur against mine.

After the sunset, Sehun and I walked outside, hand in hand before shifting into wolves. We walked side by side to the middle of the grounds. He looked at me, his warm, espresso eyes peering into my soul. I brushed against him while we walked. When we reached the meeting place, the other wolves were still filtering in. Soon enough, the full moon began to rise over the horizon. It’s reflection bouncing off the pond water.

The alpha and beta walked to the front of the pond, taking a drink from the water while we all watched. This was a ritual we did with every full moon. After drinking the crystal blue water, they turned to the rest of the pack, dismissing the new mates to their marking ritual. Everyone else disburses to whatever activity they wish. Sehun and I immediately walked over to our usual spot. 

Sitting beside one another, he lifts his head above mine, grooming my fur lovingly. I turned my head to his chest, feeling his strong heart beating. We stayed by the lake for a few minutes, watching everyone on the other side, playing, howling, running around together.

All was well until I heard the snap of a stick far off. Sehun and I both look in the direction of the noise. I looked at him briefly, worried that it may be a lone wolf. He and I rose, looking closer at the woods. Sehun took a few steps forward and I followed. Whatever it was, I had to know too.

We walked through the trees and I searched further. Suddenly, I heard a crunch of dead leaves beneath someone’s foot. I looked over and there he was. The man I saw the other day. He came back, even closer to the pack’s territory than before.

“Woah.” He quietly explained.

Irritated, I growled at him, warning him to leave quickly. His eyes went wide and he pulled out a knife. I recoiled, not expecting him to put up a fight.

“Keep your distance.” He warned. If he only knew how many of us were here beyond those trees. Then it clicked. The others, the children. They were all in danger.

Taking another step back, I crouched down, showing my sharp teeth, giving him one last warning. I’ve never thought of hurting someone, but he clearly had no regard for us. He didn’t want to see a big wolf, he wanted to hunt and kill a big wolf. His hand shook while holding the knife, but he remained a threat, so I kept my stance. Growling again, I licked my teeth, striking him with fear.

“Stay where you are!” He hollered.

As if he was pulled out of thin air, Sehun appeared and charged at the man from behind. With a simple swipe of his head, Sehun knocked the wind out of the man, sending him and his knife back several feet. The man groans and struggles to rise to his feet. He holds his hands up in surrender as he crouches down to get his knife, but Sehun wouldn’t let him. He jolted forward with a growl, giving the man one last warning.

Leaving his weapon behind, the man races off into the night. Sehun looks at me. A look of concern and anger. I knew what he was thinking. I veered away from him and for that, it nearly cost me my life. He tilted his head toward the pond and we walked back in silence. I hesitated when we reached the water, but sehun kept going, so I continued behind him.

He walked all the way back home and shifted back into human form, combing his fingers in his hair. This was bad. I shifted too, entering the house to await my punishment. He was never this angry with me, but he had every right to be. None of this would have happened if not for me.

“Say something.” I pleaded, not wanting to live in suspense any longer.

“What’s there to say? You walked away from me, and he spotted you, again.”

I lowered my head in shame, fiddling with my fingers. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice hushed.

Sehun walked up to me, taking my chin in his gentle hand and raising it, making me look up at him. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if I didn’t make it back in time?”

“I know. I put myself in danger.”

“No, y/n. If he killed you nothing would ever be the same. I would never be the same. You are my mate. My one and only. If I lost you-” His voice broke, cutting himself off.

“Sehun, please don’t be upset.” I raised my hands to his law, petting his supple cheeks with my thumbs. “I’m here. He left. And by the look of it, he won’t be back. You did make it back in time. You saved me.”

His hands, held my wrists as he looked me deep in the eyes. I saw every emotion, every thought, every ounce of pain. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“You are everything, Y/n. Everything.” He said.

Pulling back, he held my hands, bring me with him down the hall and up the stairs. All the fear melted away when he turned to look at me on top of the stairs. He held me close to him, kissing me softly. My lips parted, wanting to feel more of him. His warm tongue slid into my mouth with a groan. He took hold of my waist, pulling me into the bedroom.

It wasn’t rough, harsh sex. We didn’t tear each other’s clothes off and mark each other with bites and scratches. We made love, sweet, blissful, ever-lasting love. Each kiss had a purpose and each touch had a reason. His hands wandered over my body, appreciating every inch of my skin. His mouth opened with a soft moan as he sank into me, savoring the feeling of my tight wet channel.

“Y/n…” He groaned.

Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline of the close encounter or our heightened feelings toward each other, but it brought us here, to this moment. His muscles rippled above me as my back arched, our sweaty bodies meeting in the middle while we came undone. His shallow pants in my ear made me melt under the heat of his breath.

Looking up at him, I was completely infatuated by the power he has. The way his chest rose and fell, the effect his touch had on me, the way he looked back down at me. I was all that mattered to him at this moment. And he was all that mattered to me. He was able to take my darkest hour and transform it into a night I will never forget for all the right reasons. He wasn’t just a sweet talker telling me that he will protect me. Tonight he proved it. He was a man of action, and it made me love him all the more

THE END

[willofhounds]

Captured beast within a human skin ch 10

Newt's POV

Chasing down his case wasnt very difficult. It was too however by that time. Kowalski had already opened his case. Several of his creatures had escaped.

Newt had the scents of each of his creatures memorized. If it wasnt for Tina Goldstein following him he would have changed to find them. He knew better than to do it in front of one who was not a skinwalker. She would never understand.

Kowalski he found had been bitten by his murtlap. The poor thing had been terrified when he put her back in his case.

They were taken back to Goldstein's apartment. Newt was treated to one of the best meals since he left the pack. Queenie was a good cook and had a kind heart. Tina, he believed also had a good heart but she wouldn't disregard the laws.

When the two sisters went to sleep he treated Jacob and did a headcount. Three creatures were missing. The only question was if he would take Jacob with him.

That decision was made for him. Jacob wouldn't let him go on alone. It was either go with the muggle or wait till morning. Newt didn't have it in him to attack the man.

Catching his Erumpent had been more difficult than he anticipated. Poor Jacob had nearly been trampled. Then they had gone back into his case and someone had locked it from the outside.

That had caused immediate panic in him. He hated being trapped by another person. Wolves weren't meant to be caged. They were meant to run free.

Jacob watched him pace in the shack inside the case. Agitation rolled off of him in waves. When a knock came at the top of his case.

The next moment he was up and out of his case. They were in a meeting area of MACUSA. Dozens of witches and wizards surrounded them.

Newt helped Jacob out of the case trying very hard not to go for his wand. A voice said, "Scammander."

"Theseus Scammander? The war hero?"

"No this is his little brother."

Newt greeted with a smile full of teeth, "Hello, Minister."

The man seemed taken aback by his boldness. The Minister had never been around him close to the full moon. Or when his wolf was so close to the surface.

Unlucky for him both were true right now. It made him bolder and more ready for a fight. He still had not forgiven the Ministry for killing his dragons.

The Minister shot back at the other officials as Newt examined the projection in front of them, "No this is his little brother. A creature lover. What are you doing here Scammander?"

Newt quipped, "I'm here to buy a birthday present."

"What are you really doing here Scammander?"

He grin became nearly feral at the question. It caused the man to step back.

A woman asked drawing his attention back to the projection, "Mr. Scammander do you know which of your creatures did this?"

Newt growled low in his throat, "You know that this wasnt done by one of my creatures. Look at those marks. Only one thing could have done this. An obscurus."

All the ministers took a large step back. Fear was in their eyes. They knew what an obscurus was and what they could do.

Picquery snapped, "That's impossible! There are no obscurus in New York."

A wolfish growl escaped him. He hated being called a liar. If she wanted to have a wolf problem she would keep pushing.

There was a flash of recognition in her eyes. Almost like she knew what was going through his mind.

She ordered, "Impound that case, Graves!"

"Wait," he snarled, "No. Give that back."

Gellert used wandless magic to call Newt's case. There was no stopping what happened next. Unbridled fury filled the wolf.

His normal green eyes became the amber of the wolf. His bones began to shift into longer legs. Black fur began to sprout from his body. His canines sharpened into the fangs of a wolf.

Newt stood in his full wolf form fangs bared and ready for battle. Gellert in Graves's body looked dumbfounded. His betrothed had only seen him in his wolf form once.

At that time he was still a puppy. He had grown since that day. Muscles had grown more defined both from running with the pack and from the war.

Picquery shouted as all those in the conference drew their wands, "Don't! It's a skinwalker! Do you want to have two wars on your hands? Grindelwald is enough of a problem."

She knew what he was? How?

Then the realization hit him. She just revealed what he was to the IWC. Skinwalkers were supposed to be extinct in the eyes of wizards.

Piquery then turned back to him as the wands began to lower. She sighed, "Mr. Graves ask him to return to his human form."

That set off alarm bells. Graves was a skinwalker? Then he remembered that this man was not Graves. It was Gellert in the American's skin.

It was possible for skinwalkers of different packs to communicate. Though it was infinitely more difficult than if they were of the same pack. Or even if they were of the same clan.

There was no tale-tell pressure on his mind. Baring his fangs he kept his gaze on his case. The only way he was changing back was if he had his case.

Gellert looked from him to the case before lowering it slowly to the ground. The moment it touched the ground Newt lunged for it. There wasn't a stumble most people would have done but there was a surprise.

Suspicion went through Picquery's eyes as Newt carried away his case. Only once he was back in front of Jacob did he change back.

There was still more amber than green in his eyes. His wolf was just beneath the surface.

His hand was on the handle of his wand. Just because his case was back in his possession didn't mean he trusted any of them. They could attack him at any moment. If they killed him that would start a war with his clan.

Picquery ordered, "Aurors take Mr. Kowalski and Miss Goldstein away. Oblivate the no magic and leave Miss Goldstein to an interrogation room. I wish to speak to them separately. Mr. Scammander I will speak with you first. Graves show him to a room."

Gellert replied, "Yes, Madame President."

A warm hand enclosed around his upper arm. It took everything in him not to snarl again. Fighting any longer would not help him or his creatures.

He was led in a separate direction from Jacob and Tina. There was anger in him from Tina almost making him lose his creatures. Still, he didn't want her hurt or in trouble. All he wanted was to release Frank.

They went down into the depths of the building. Passing Aurors who barely gave them a glance.

Newt was pushed firmly into an interrogation room and Gellert followed. Gellert questioned, "Why are you here, Mr. Scammander?"

Newt responded his amber eyes holding his anger, "I am here for a birthday present as I have said. You might have a different face but you cannot change your scent."

A smile crossed the man's face even as his face remained the same. Gellert said, "I should have known you recognized my scent the moment you saw me yesterday. Just as I recognized you even though it has been several years. Though the amber eyes are new. Let me see your green eyes, Liebling."

Different face and voice but the same man he met as a child. Could the man he was betrothed to really do what they said he did?

They were interrupted by the door opening. Picquery strode into the room her eyes on both of men.

She ordered coldly, "Graves leave. I wish to talk to Scammander alone."

Gellert moved away from him and nodded to Picquery. As he did so Newt caught an underlay in his scent. It was the dark dangerous scent of an obscurus. This man had been close to the child. Close enough to touch.

Gellert left without another word or look in his direction. Once they were alone she put up privacy and silencing wards.

Once they were set Piquery said, "You might not know this but all members of the ICW know of the skinwalkers. How skinwalker are still alive. We keep it from most wizards so as to avoid our right war. We stay out of their way they stay out of ours."

It must have been the alphas of the clans' decisions. Only those who needed to know knew about it. That explained a lot.

As he wasnt the only black wolf of the pack he didn't have to know yet. Sherman's time was fast approaching, however. When he died Newt would have to return to the pack.

Newt sighed tired his heart rate calming and his eyes returning to their normal green color, "You recognized me for what I am. How?"

"Percival Graves," she answered, "He is a skinwalker. We went to school together and were good friends. For some time now I have had my suspicions about the one wearing his face. I just didn't have any proof that it wasnt him beyond my instincts. When he did not reach out to you in the way only skinwalkers can I knew the truth. That man is not Percival Graves."

Newt leaned back on his heels. MACUSA even at their President's word would not arrest someone without proof. Gellert simply not using the normal way of communicating wasnt enough.

They would have to duel and reveal him that way. Otherwise, it was their word against his. Few would give any credit to his word. To them, he was a wolf. Little better than the creatures that resided within his case.

Newt froze. That was it. Swooping evil would give them an advantage in a fight against Gellert. As much as he hated to there wasnt a choice here.

If he wanted to find the obscurus he had to remove the competition from the fight. Gellert would not only get in the way. He might actually hurt the child. That Newt could not allow.

[chaossheithsideficblog]

Unbound Incubus

Part Two: Clothing Incubus

Fandon: Voltron Legendary Defender

Relationship: Shiro/Keith

Characters: Shiro, Keith, Shiro’s army of cats

          The next morning Keith sits up in a bed he was sleeping by himself in. He was quite annoyed by that. Shiro was a stubborn weretiger and refused the incubus’ advances. There is a small furry body curled up next to him. Shiro told him that cat’s name was Red and she was not a big fan of most beings. Red appears to love Keith though. She follows him around and anytime he was sitting she would jump up and occupy his lap. She has a very soothing purr the incubus found.

         Keith pets the small red furred cat for a moment. “I want to know where he gets this spiritual strength from? Or I am just losing my touch.” Red just purrs away as Keith strokes her fur. He sniffs the air. He smells an aroma that causes his stomach to rumble. He scoops up the furry critter and they both walk into the kitchen.

        Shiro looks up from his cooking. He takes in the incubus and Red. He realizes that the incubus had lost what little clothing he was wearing the other day. He was a beautiful being. He was also naked. He turns his eyes back to his cooking. “I think we are going to have to go clothing shopping.” Shiro hums to himself. “Not that your nudity is not beautiful. You are what you are. Since you are staying a while, human laws dictate the need for clothing while outside of the house.”

        Keith smirks impishly. He takes a deep breath. He can smell Shiro’s interest in him. This man had the self-control of a saint. “Well good morning to you too,” he wanders over to stand next to Shiro. He never saw anyone cook before. “My nudity doesn't bother you?”

       “Nudity is natural.” Shiro points out as he finishes off the omelette he created. He cut it in half. Places it on the plate. Then right next to it he slides hashbrowns that just finished cooking as well. “I have already told you that you are attractive.” He carries the food for himself and his not completely wanted guest to his table. He was a kind soul, it was not the sex demon’s fault that newbie witchlings had messed up their summoning.

       “Yet you will not sleep with me.” Keith picks up a fork and cuts delicately into the eggie thing in front of him. He takes a bite. The omelette melts in his mouth that is almost as sinful as sex. “Where did you learn how to cook so sinfully?”

       Shiro just smiles. “I’ve taken lessons from a friend of mine. I did not want to be helpless in the kitchen. My ex did all the cooking. Once he left. I needed to know how to cook or I was going to be one of that only eating take away guys. That didn't sit well with me. So learned to cook.”

      “Do others know you're a weretiger?” Keith makes his way through the food Shiro had placed on the plate in front of him. This one must be placing some kind of magic unintentionally in his food. For he felt full.

     “Yes, the local Coven does. So does the local wolf pack.” Shiro smiles as he goes on. “The Coven and wolf pack are kinda melded together.” He pauses placing his fork down for he was finished eating. “I’m gonna see what I have that is too small for me. It will still be terribly oversized on you. We need to get you human-style clothing. Then I need to figure out how to tell my friends about you without half of them freaking out.” He stands. “I’ll be right back it will not take me long.”

     Keith finishes eating as Shiro reappears he has what looks like a pair of grey sweatpants and a faded crimson t-shirt that turned small from washing. “I have a pair of flip-flops. They will be too big. Your boots would look too odd with this getup.” Shiro smiles warmly. Keith wants to bask in this warmly like Shiro was the sun.

     “Alright.” Keith gets up. Takes the sweatpants first and pulls them on. He has to pull the drawstring to make sure the pants did not slip past his hips too much. He concentrates a bit and Shiro watches as the wings disappear from sight. Keith then pulls on the t-shirt. Shiro gives a whistle. Keith finds himself flushing.

     “I think you look pretty sexy in these things. Especially the t-shirt.” Shiro nods to both himself and Keith. “We should head out.” Shiro and Keith both slide on flip-flops. Keith realizes Shiro is wearing the same kind of clothing as him. “Put away your horns Keith. In public, you need to appear human as possible.”

    “You didn’t,” his voice trails off suddenly feeling awkward. Keith finds himself blushing for he had not thought of making his horns disappear too. Shiro watches as Keith does as he asks of him. “I’m sorry Shiro.”

    “Don’t be. It's not something you had to think of before. And I wanted to.” Shiro reassures Keith. “This way you will not feel underdressed.” They head out to Shiro’s car. “I’ve fed the cats already. Most of them will also hunt for their food. The local mouse and bird population are feeling their presence.” They slid in Shiro once again behind the wheel. “I will see about getting you a driver’s license.” Keith’s eyes widen. Shiro goes on. “The Coven and Wolfpack are my friends. The witches are Allura, Veronica, Ina, Nadia, Coran, and James.” He notes the eyebrow raise from the sex demon. “You know witches come in either sex.” That got a grin out of the other male. Shiro goes on. “The Wolves are Hunk, he is the one who taught me to cook, Shay, Lance, Pidge, Matt, and Ryan.” He pauses. “There is also a magical beings convocation called the Blade. We will have to inform them of your presence.” He pauses. “I’m only worried about Lance. He is a bit much on most days. I guess I will have to play it by ear.”

     Keith shots him a questioning look. “Okay.” The two listen to Shiro’s classic rock station as they drive in silence. Keith watches as the city blossoms around them. His thoughts drift to the handsome stranger with the strong willpower. He’d never met a person that had not just taken control and demanded things of him. He was not completely sure how to act in this situation. He was being treated like he was a person and not a sex toy or a whore for hire. It was an odd feeling. “When you want. I want to know why you will not just fuck me?” He watches as Shiro’s eye twitches in response to his vulgar use of language. “That is what my kind was designed for. As much as I like to fight it. I am designed for any kind of sex that humanoids can think of from nice to non-consent.”

     “I would never force you.” Shiro watches the road and the cars around them. “Plus I’m a tiny bit old fashioned. I like to be friends with someone before, how did you put it so eloquently, fuck them.” He pauses as they pull into a driveway and he drives up and down the aisles until he finds a parking spot and parks his car. “I’m not the sort of one night stands. I just don’t have the fuck the person and leave them attitude.”

     Keith locks the door after letting himself out of the car and wandering over to Shiro’s side. The incubus pats Shiro’s shoulder. “You are unique then. Most people like to fuck and leave.” The two made their way into the mall. The mall was not too busy even with all the cars that were in the lot.

     “We are gonna stop in the men’s suit shop first. That way we can get your measure.” Shiro smiles wryly. “It will make life much easier. Plus if you plan on staying one good suit is a great thing to own.”

    Keith had to answer Shiro’s smile with one of his own. This weretiger was making him rethink living. It was an odd feeling. “Do you practice martial arts?”

    “Yes I do,” Shiro looks at him with a contagious grin. “Did you wanna spar at home? We can totally do that. I also have a gym membership. I’ll add you to that as well. That way we got things to do together and bond over.”

    They arrive at the men’s suit shop. They walk in. A salesperson comes up. “Welcome to Dillion’s Suit shop. How many I help you today?”

    “My friend here needs a good suit.” Shiro supplies smoothly. “He has recently lost everything due to circumstances beyond his control. So we need to reoutfit him. So a new suit, shoes, the whole ensemble.”

    “Oh that's terrible,” the salesperson takes out his measuring tape and takes Keith’s measure. Keith was impressed by Shiro’s storytelling skills. It was enough of the truth and enough of a lie to be fully believable as the truth. The person helping them makes notes of each thing he measures. “I'll be right back.” He comes back with a beautiful black pinstripe suit,  crimson shirt,  black tie, a white shirt, a crimson tie, tie cuffs, and tie pins. “We don’t have shoes in right now. All of these things should fit. Go try them on.” He motions to the fitting rooms.

     Keith takes the pile of clothing. Hands Shiro the accessories. Takes just the suite and shirts with him. Keith tries them on. He looks at himself in the mirror. He sees a very handsome young man. He comes out to show Shiro. Shiro whistles.

    “You look great crimson is your colour.” Shiro grins. “The white shirt should be fine. Change back and we’ll get this paid for.” Shiro watches as Keith wanders back in then comes out dressed as before holding onto his new things. They get them rang up by the salesperson who had been helping them.

    Next, they hit the shoe store. Keith gets his foot measured for the first time. Shiro then has him try on a pair of biker boots, dress shoes, sandals, and tennis shoes. They get the pairs Keith likes then they hit the next store. It’s a department store a place where they get everything else and quickly. Keith chooses five dark wash and black skinny jeans. Five more t-shirts in different shades of red or black. Five tank tops, boxers, socks, two flannels- one red and black the other black and white, and a black motorcycle jacket. Keith feels a little bad for the amount of money Shiro is spending on him. They head back to the car with Keith’s new wardrobe.

[writingmask]

Diner Dog

Hey, y’all! This was my entry for the Fullmoon Fanzine! Finally posting it here!

Rated G

It all started with the dog.

Hanzo should have known better, of course, than to try to pet and feed stray dogs, especially ones that looked more like wolves than your average Canis lupus familiaris and were capable of knocking over the dumpster behind the diner despite having only three legs. But Hanzo couldn’t help himself; the poor thing was starving and alone and how could he resist those soulful amber eyes and mismatched ears?

Which was how he now found himself cursing his existence as he slumped over the cash register at The Triple Dragon Diner-- his brother’s choice of names, not his-- at 3:00am. The dog had a schedule, and Hanzo had for some God-forsaken reason decided to take the night shift to ensure the poor thing got his fill of leftover bacon and eggs, as well as the ever important tummy rubs.

Genji had laughed for an hour when he figured out why he, Hanzo Shimada, a man who practically worshipped the luxury of sleeping late now that they were out of their parents’ influence, was willing to take the night shift for two weeks straight.

The bell chimed as the door opened, distracting him from his litany of self-derived insults. As hard as it was to believe, there were actual customers during the night shift. Not many and usually some form of stoner, but they did come in for an early (or extremely late) breakfast. Hanzo looked up, his service smile already plastered on his face and…

Oh. The smile faltered, becoming something more genuine despite his best efforts. The scruffy man filling the doorway was a regular, a new one, but Hanzo could already count on him making an appearance at least once a night. Ordinarily, Hanzo would brush him off as another addict of some variety with a severe nightly case of the munchies, but as unkempt and tired as the man-- Jesse, he called himself-- seemed, he was too alert to be under any form of intoxicant.

“Howdy, darlin’,” he called wearily with a smile that brightened the entire room.

“Greetings,” Hanzo replied, fighting off the blush that appeared like clockwork around Jesse. “Your usual?”

“Please and thank you,” the man replied, plopping himself down on the bar stool in front of Hanzo and setting a tattered Stetson next to him.

Hanzo nodded before setting to work. Jesse’s usual was pretty much everything on the menu-- high in quantity and protein. Hanzo had no idea how he managed to pack it all away and not get sick, but the act itself was impressive. Whatever Jesse did for a living worked up an appetite.

Hanzo had once asked what Jesse did to keep him up at this unholy hour. He assumed it was some form of illegal activity or else top secret law enforcement because Jesse’s answer had been, “Simply put angel? I’m a werewolf.”

Which was altogether ridiculous.

Still, he could take a hint, and since he honestly had no room to judge when it came to quasi-legal and secretive activities, Hanzo let the silly answer suffice and concentrated on cooking and flirting.

Cooking, he told himself firmly as he piled more bacon on a plate than was likely safe for anyone. Flirting while working was a terrible idea.

Even if he did want to see what this particular customer looked like in the daylight. And who made conversation as easy and simple as breathing.

Hanzo slapped a fried egg on top of the bacon and shook himself. He was working and Jesse hadn’t indicated anything remotely resembling interest. After all--

“Hey, Han?”

Hanzo looked up to see Jesse looking at him in favor over his unusually still full platter. “Hanzo, I uh… Look, this might be inappropriate since I’m a customer and all, and you can absolutely tell me to fuck off and go to hell, but… I kinda have this lil’ crush, and I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime?”

Hanzo blinked at the rushed words, for a moment wondering if he’d suddenly lost the ability to understand English. Jesse… Was… Asking him out? As in out-out? On a date? With a crush? Hanzo’s brow furrowed as he looked up into those ernest, anxious golden eyes, looking for a hint of a joke or something that would make sense.

Wait, he realized with epiphany. Not golden. Amber.

“Jesse, I….” His voice faltered, and whatever question had been forming faded as the bells above the door tinkled with obnoxious cheerfulness. He and Jesse broke apart-- and when had they leaned in that close?-- as Hanzo reluctantly turned his attention to the intruder.

Or intruders. Four men walked through the diner door, and the hairs on the back of Hanzo’s neck rose with wary alarm. Everything about them, from their suspiciously nondescript clothing to the way they walked in a formation as though they expected a fight screamed predator to his long dormant instincts. Electricity thrummed under his skin, and he carefully wrapped his hand around the hidden blackjack under the counter even as he put on his customer service smile.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said, voice steady and carefully pleasant. “What can I get for you?”

The man in the front, apparently the ringleader, stepped forward with just as much forced casualness. A professional, Hanzo thought. But a professional what? “Our apologies, but we’re here on business.”

“Business?” Hanzo asked, glancing at Jesse, who seemed to have shrunk to the other end of the counter with his hat lowered and shoulders hunched.

“Afraid so,” the man said, oozing sincerity and charm in a way that made Hanzo itch to slam the blackjack in his face. Not law enforcement, they’d have badges. These were hunters of some sort. “There’s been a wild dog sighting in there area. Dangerous and injured. We’re tasked with bringing it in before someone gets hurt. Have you seen anything of the sort?”

Hanzo’s mind flashed to the three-legged dog he’d been feeding. That was the only dog he’d seen running wild, and it was hardly dangerous. And yet, he had a sneaking suspicion that was their target. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jesse tense.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly, “but I’m afraid, I haven’t seen anything larger than a cat around here.”

“Are you sure?” the ringleader prompted. “There’s a pretty big reward. And you wouldn’t want to misinform us, now would you?”

Hanzo’s lip twitched in an aborted attempt to snarl. Bounty hunters, then. Why they were after dogs, he had no idea, but they’d get nothing from him.

As they spoke, one of the man’s companions slowly walked to Jesse’s seat at the counter, suspicion in his eyes. While Hanzo and the ringleader had a silent battle of wills, his hand moved to grasp Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse stood and turned with incredible speed, slamming a gloved hand into the man’s jaw.

“Shit!” yelled one of the others, running to assist his associate as Hanzo and the ringleader both jumped. “It’s him!”

The hunters charged Jesse, drawing clubs and knives from hidden sheathes, and Hanzo leapt over the counter with blackjack in hand. He made it to Jesse’s side, ready to aid as all hell broke loose in one of the most riotous brawls Hanzo had ever been a part of.

Later, when he had time to think, he’d remember details such as crashing his weapon across the nose of the ringleader with a satisfying crack of cartilage, and a rush of heat and flurry of fists from Jesse next to him.

Blue lightning crackled along Hanzo’s arm and into his weapon. Not a bow, but it apparently was enough. Years and years of training rushed back, and his body moved of its own accord with confident strikes. A dark thrill ran through him as he roared at his opponents, limbs flying in dangerous patterns and forms as he attacked. As much as he’d hated the reasons he had his skills, it felt good to fight again.

He glanced at Jesse to his side, and found a mirroring joy along the man’s face as he tore into his own targets. His lips were stretched in a fierce grin, showing long, sharp teeth. His eyes were wild, his hair flying loose around pointed ears that peeked through without his hat to hide them. Hanzo’s eyes widened in realization, and he found himself laughing. Apparently Jesse’d been telling the truth after all!

The battle could have lasted forever or only an instant. Hanzo never bothered to figure it out. At the end, there were four bodies laying in crumpled heaps along the floor of the diner, and Hanzo felt a slight surge of irritation and guilt. He’d have to clean that up, and Genji was probably going to yell at him for getting blood on a restaurant floor.

But clean-up would have to wait. Hanzo leaned against the counter, panting with weary satisfaction. His body would hurt in the morning, but for now, adrenaline flooded him with giddy delight. He grinned up at Jesse. “So you’re actually a werewolf.”

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Yeah… It’s… A long story.” He coughed and went silent for a moment. “So… Uh… You’re a magic ninja then?”

Hanzo snorted. “It’s a long story,” he said with a smirk. “One I’d be happy to tell you… Over coffee sometime?”

Jesse blinked and a slow grin stretched across his face. “You know, I think I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

[sosthemortalcoil]

Not really an ask but i just wanted to say that Charleston strikes me a a bit of a rowdy fight boy. And even if he isn't i love it.

He’s a little bit of a fight boy, all right.

And have an extra showing how he and Tom first met.

“No.”

Marie smiled at him,the smile that said it was cute that he thought his opinion would dissuade herwhen what she knew was right and what he thought he knew was wrong.

“Marie, we don’t need to deliberately go around pissing onthe old packs,” Tom tried again, wishing that his wife wasn’t quite soself-assured as an Alpha. Their pack was relatively small and in a newlocation; they didn’t have the clout to go around treading on the tails of theold traditional packs.

“Yes,” Marie stated, patting his hand and turning her headback to the ring. Tom sighed and did the same, giving up on their conversation,or what had passed for it. The defending champion was a burly werewolf, builtsolid and tall. He had more than a few tattoos, emphasizing his scars ratherthan concealing them. He paced, partially shifted, waiting for the challenger.

The challenger was a stocky man, shorter than the otherwerewolf in the ring, but looking utterly at ease. It was hard for Tom topicture the man as the heir to one of the most prestigious packs, what with theman dressed in a pair of simple linen pants and nothing else. He startedstretching, ignoring the menacing growl the defender issued.

“Bell hasn’t rung yet, chap. Count your lucky stars.” Thechallenger looked up as he balanced on one foot, stretching his hamstrings.“You won’t be able to in a minute.”

The announcer was talking over the noisy crowd, but Tom’sattention was on the man that Marie wanted to get into their pack. Tom couldn’tunderstand why; Charleston had a pack already, was set to be an alpha—there wasno reason to join their pack at a lower rank.

“He’s all but been disowned,” Marie murmured softly, justfor him. Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Golden boy down there?” he asked, gesturing to the manwhose hands were manicured, his hair glossy and well-groomed, especially for afight.

“Charleston,” Marie emphasized his name, giving her husbanda scathing glance, not pleased with his ill-natured ribbing, “is gay.”

“So?” Tom asked, shrugging.

“So, his parents are a little too traditional. They want pups, fathered by him. He won’t do it.”

“Ah.” Tom felt guilt swell as he rethought his words. “Neverliked the closed-minded attitude of some of the older packs,” he said by way oftacit agreement. “But why is he here?” Their home was a far cry from the lightsof Paris and the mansion Tom just knew that Charleston had to grow up in.

“Why not? An ocean between him and his parents, theopportunity to go to a good school where they don’t own half the faculty… takeyour pick. Besides, his parents won’t have any right to approach him if his newalpha says he’s off-limits,” Marie said, flashing her teeth.

In the ring, the referee gave the count-down. Tom edged tothe front of his seat. Charleston hadn’t shifted, bouncing lightly on the ballsof his feet. Not shifting for a fight showed arrogance or confidence—or both.

The other wolf lunged, form shifting to something morehalf-wolf, half-human; large and furry with hands tipped with lethal claws anda maw of sharp teeth.

Then the wolf doubled over, Charleston snapping out asidekick as he dodged the sloppy move. The wolf rounded, and Charleston was tooclose to get another kick off. Tom winced as the man was taken down to thefloor, teeth snapping at his throat.

A moment later the half-shifted wolf was tossed violentlyinto the fencing, Charleston staggering upright, the fresh blood on his chestconcealing the wounds that were already knitting closed.

“Not bad,” he said, rolling his shoulders. A shiver crossedhis back, his form lengthening, his nails growing larger. “But it’s time to endthis.”

Tom wasn’t a fan of the sport. Two werewolves fighting eachother for the pleasure of the crowd held no appeal to him. But watchingCharleston, he felt a grudging respect for the other man. Most of the wolves hehad seen who liked cage-fighting were coarse and rough, angry and inelegant,utilizing the beast with no regard for finesse or style.

Charleston showed off his breeding, in the smooth way hecontrolled his shift, in the liquid movements that spoke of absolute comfort inhis skin. No turned werewolf could ever be as comfortable as one born, and hewas proof of just how comfortable one could be.

The other werewolf in the cage slashed and snarled, tryingto use brute force against the smaller werewolf but Charleston was having noneof it. He redirected the lunges, infuriating his opponent by not standingstill.

The defender was out-classed, and completely oblivious toit. Tom found himself on the edge of his seat when Marie laughed softly next tohim.

“I told you he was something, didn’t I?” she asked, and whenTom glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, she was watching him and notCharleston. Reluctantly, he found himself grinning back.

“I should have known better than to question your judgement,alpha,” he said, reaching over andgrabbing his wife’s hand, running his thumb over her wedding ring.

Her eyes flashed, and she leaned over to his ear. “Careful,love. I bite, and I still need to recruit our new enforcer.”

A roar from the crowd had Tom’s attention returning to thecage, where a bloodied Charleston stood over the prone figure of his opponent.

The French wolf accepted a towel and water bottle from thereferee as the door was opened, dumping the water over his bare chest andscrubbing at the worst of the blood clots. He was fully healed from the minorinjuries he had sustained.

Charleston seemed completely disinterested in the adorationof the crowd, brushing through them and heading to the locker room. Marie stoodup, tugging Tom up with her. “Let’s go, before he leaves,” she said.

The crowd was loud and obnoxious, but they knew an alphawhen they saw one, and most of them made room for Marie as she strolled throughthem. A few were too arrogant, but a show of teeth and a none-too-subtle growlfrom Tom had them re-evaluating their decision.

The locker-room stank of blood and wet wolf. Tom wrinkledhis nose, but Marie didn’t even flinch, striding around one corner to whereCharleston was in the process of showering off the sweat and blood thewaterbottle bath had missed.

“Charleston Sawyer?” she asked. Tom noticed that she usedhis new last name rather than his family name,

The man glanced up, his dark mane of hair plasteredhaphazardly to his face. “Leave me be,” he growled as he ran a hand through thescruff on his face, ensuring that there were no bits of gore hiding.

“My name is Marie Garrow,” Marie started, extending herhand, completely at ease with Charleston’s nudity.

“Don’t care,” Charleston said, turning his back and rinsingoff his hair. Tom could see a few scars gathered at the base of his neck,hidden from view during the fight. Someone was not fond of bending his neck.

“I’m not interested in siring pups. You and your mate canfuck off. Tell my parents it’s nice that they’re getting creative—your mate’snot bad—but I still don’t want pups and I don’t sleep with women. Don’t findthem attractive, don’t care for threesomes with them.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at his wife who wastrying to stifle a laugh, clearly amused at the idea of Tom being theequivalent of jail-bait for the gay wolf.

“I don’t particularly care to share my wife, nor do I likemen. Dicks don’t really do it for me,” Tom said after Marie remained silent fora few beats.

Charleston paused, turning back around, turning light grayeyes on Tom, disbelief etched into his expression. “So my parents didn’t sendyou here?” he asked, hands falling to his side. The water continued to sluiceover his chest, turning red as it ran down his hard body.

“Of course not,” Marie said, sniffing lightly. “I am alphaof the pack residing in Jericho. I do not heel at the command of anyone,” sheadded, leaning back against the half-wall surrounding the shower.

“My pack is relatively small—“ Charleston’s eyes narrowed,but she gave him her alpha look and he let he continue—“and I find myself inthe need for a good enforcer. I’ve seen you fight, I know your reputation.”

Charleston busied himself getting more soap from thedispenser on the wall, buying himself time to digest her words.

“No strings, Charleston. You can be with whoever you want,do whatever job—so long as it’s within the law—you want. No pups. No paradingaround for ‘suitable’ mates. I don’t run my pack like that. All I ask is thatyou, as enforcer, defend the pack. When someone breaks the rules, you help mecarry out justice. When challenged, you fight beside me, not just for me, butfor your pack, your own rights.”

Charleston shut the water off and stared at the wall for afew moments. “When an offer sounds too good to be true, it usually is,” hecommented, turning around and walking past Marie.

Tom stood in his way, and for a moment the two locked eyes,silently challenging each other. After a moment Tom stepped aside; he wasn’tlooking for a fight, and he had made his point.

“Tom, my husband, is my beta. This isn’t some isolated alphalooking to create a dictatorship by bringing in a brute to keep the peace,”Marie called out, not moving from her position.

Charleston grunted. “I expect that’s exactly what that kindof alpha would say,” he said, over the slamming of his locker. He came backaround, dressed in running shoes, a loose pair of sweats and a tight blacktank-top.

Marie turned to face him, resting her elbow on the wall. “Thencome see. As alpha, I grant you permission to come and go within my territorywithout advance notification as you please, and grant you this privilege indefinitely,without any conditions.” She ran a claw over her palm, letting a line of bloodwell up. “So I swear by the moon and on my blood, with my beta as witness.”

Tom wasn’t thrilled by Marie’s oath, but he dutifullyrecited his part. “I, Tom Garrow, do witness this oath and swear to uphold it.”He moved to Marie, collecting her blood on his index finger and swiping it overhis eyes, feeling the tingle of the wild magic as he did so.

Charleston hefted a duffle-bag onto one shoulder, fixingsomber eyes on the pair.

“We’ll see,” he finally said. Marie clenched her palm, herhealing abilities not as strong as Charleston’s.

“We leave for Jericho in the morning and we’re staying atthe Ramada. If you want a ride, find us there,” she said, inclining her head ina show of respect.

Charleston shifted, his gaze darting between them and the door.Marie gave him a sympathetic smile, and gestured for Tom to go.  Ignoring his instincts that told Tom not toturn his back on a threat like Charleston, the beta proceeded his alpha throughthe locker room exit.

“Do you really think he’ll come?” Tom asked quietly as theymade their way to the parking lot.

“Would I have offered if I didn’t?” Marie asked, tossing himthe keys as she pulled out her phone.

Tom shook his head and got into the SUV. He had his reservations,but he also knew that betting against his wife was a fool’s bet. “I suppose wewill,” he said.

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Seventy

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

NOTES: This chapter takes place 5 years after the previous one. Names explained underneath. 

"But that is not fair."

"It's not my fault you are a girl if you were a boy you could do it."

"Nafi, Kushtrim is being mean to me, again."

"You know how to deal with him." Their older brother sighed.

"But father told me I am not allowed fight him, I am apparently too vicious." The young girl sighed angrily.

Nafi remembered back to when he wished he had siblings, now, with four, he regretted said wish some days. "You are not allowed bite people in battle Danu." The raven-haired girl looked at him as though she was going to answer, but instead shrugged and flicked her hair, which was in the way of her emerald green eyes out of them and walked over to Elli to play with the cat. "Careful, she was hunting earlier, she will probably be dirty."

"We could bath her," Kushtrim suggested.

"If you decide to try, let me know, I want to see how that goes." Nafi chuckled. "Where is Vali?"

"Looking after Liulf with grandmother," Kushtrim answered, looking at a bird that had landed on the nearby wall. "Where are mother and father gone?"

"Uncle Thor's," Nafi replied.

Kushtrim began to whine. "I wanted to go."

"They are dealing with realm business, we cannot go when they do that, we are in uncle Thor's all the time, we will be there again soon," Nafi replied; he too would rather be at Thor's, he and Thodin were more often than not allowed to listen to what was going on as they were seen as nearly being men. At thirteen, he was one of the most formidably built of the boys in training, and due to his parents' lessons and guidance, he was one of the best fighters too. He was the living image of Tyr, much to his parents’ heartache, but they loved him unconditionally nonetheless. "And stop whimpering, Danu never cries and she is a girl, Liulf only cries because he is a baby."

"Vali was crying before," Kushtrim argued back.

"He was four and his arm was being bitten by a wolf that was dragging him away; that is different; if that had happened you, you would wail like the banshee mother talks about," Nafi growled, getting annoyed. It angered him that recently he had less patience with his younger siblings, he always prided himself on being calm, something his parents had always commended him for, but of late, the slightest bickering between them seemed to annoy him. His parents seemed to look at him with comprehension and tried to give him time to himself, which annoyed him further, feeling like they were too understanding if anything.

"Nafi, Nafi." His ears perked and he looked around for his only sister. Danu was after going into the stables and was beckoning for him to come over. "Look here." She whispered. He looked to Kushtrim and brought his finger to his lips, as to silence him, Kushtrim nodded and stayed silent, following his oldest brother.

"What is it?" He asked. Danu, though the seemingly female version of their father, was her mother's daughter. Small, formidable and terrifyingly capable, so to say she called them in the manner she did, there was something worth noting.

"A wolf cub."

Nafi's eyes widened. "Are you sure it is not just a fox?"

"Foxes are orange, this is brownish grey.” She stated irritably.

“Keep away from it so, if its mother is around, we could be in danger if she thinks we could harm her cub, let us go into grandmother. One vicious wolf attack is one too many.” He herded his brother and sister inside, to see Vali helping Frigga feed Liulf. “There’s a wolf cub outside.” He informed his grandmother. Vali glared at the door, his arm still bearing bright red scars from his attack.

“You did the right thing coming in then.” Frigga smiled kindly.

“Is mother having another baby?” Vali asked his grandmother.

Frigga stared at him in shock. “Not that I am aware of, why?”

“Father and Uncle Thor were talking about it.”

“They specifically mentioned mother having another baby?” Nafi asked, his curiosity piqued. In truth, he was almost fearful these days at the number of siblings he seemed to have accumulated.

“Not really, only Uncle Thor telling father that Danu needed a sister to play with.”

“And I will tell you what I told your uncle; she needs what the Norn’s give her, and nothing other.” The children turned to see their father in the doorway.

“Father!” Danu ran over and leapt into her father’s arms, her own wrapping tightly around him. “I missed you.”

“I was in the village for a few hours, you swear I was on the raids.” He chuckled, hugging her close to him.

“You spoil that girl too much.” Frigga smiled fondly.

“Not possible.” Loki beamed back at her.

“Where is mother?” Nafi asked, having noticed that Maebh had not followed their father into the room.

“She spotted a wolf outside, she is herding it away.”

“There is a wolf cub in the outhouse,” Danu informed her father.

“Well, that explains a lot.” Loki placed her down. “Nafi, get a weapon and come with me. The only thing with more determination and will to defend her family than a she-wolf is your mother, they will not relent so she will need to know why it is here.”

“My money is on mother,” Vali commented.

Loki chuckled. “So is mine, but she will not kill the beast unless she has to, so with our help, we can keep the adult at bay until she gets the cub into the open for its mother to collect it.”

“Can I come?” Vali asked. “I can bang my wooden weapons to scare it off.”

His older brother and father looked at him. “Are you sure Vali?” Loki asked, “After what happened…” he swallowed, he had insisted that he bring Vali with himself, Thor, Thodin, Modi and Nafi to the fishing grounds, and had it not been for a funny feeling Maebh had in her stomach calling her to go after them, Vali would have been killed by the wolf that attacked. As it stood, its pelt now lay in Vali’s room, he wore it with pride, knowing his pregnant mother had attacked a wild animal with her bare hands to defend him, choking the animal to death for the crime of laying a tooth on her child.

“I am not frightened of wolves father, after all,” he lifted his arm, “I am part one now.” he smiled.

Loki frowned, “I wish your mother never told you that story. Get your weapons.”

“Why not, it’s fun?” Danu asked. “Vali’s friends call him Fenrir in training.”

Loki sighed and shook his head. “Really?”

“Yes, I heard them one day when mother, grandmother and I were on our way to Uncle Thor's.” Danu smiled. “I like it, and grandmother says it makes sense since Fenrir was the son of Loki.”

“Who was tied in chains and left to suffer in darkness.” Loki reminded her.

“I share a room with Nafi and Kushtrim, I welcome the chains,” Vali commented, bringing his weapons and wearing the pelt.

“Hey!” Nafi pushed him slightly.

“What, you snore.” Vali justified.

Loki could not help but chuckle. “Well Liulf is due to leave our room, so Nafi, you get your own, so no more snoring.” There was a chorus of cheers from all three boys at that. “Now, let us help your mother with this wolf.”

It did not take a long for the family to protect Maebh as she retrieved the cub, as a small pack of wolves waited just out of sight; the cub seemed to just be overly curious and scared in the strange smelling realm it had found itself in. She collected it in a pelt and brought it to just outside their yard, placing it carefully on the ground before it began to whimper pathetically. A big but slight built wolf came into view, and gave a yap, getting the cub’s attention and causing it to scamper over. With her cub safe, the mother herded it back to the others, who seemed to skulk away from the dwelling. Loki watched as the largest wolf, the pack leader, looked behind him, eyeing the man and his older sons for a moment, before turning again and following his pack.

“What was that about?” Maebh smiled.

“What?”

“You and that wolf, you seemed to be of an understanding.” She wrapped her arms around him.

“The norm is to kill wolves that come too close,” Loki commented.

“They did not want to be here, that cub is the only reason they came, with it no longer here, they should not return.”

“It seemed almost grateful.”

“The cub?”

“The father.” Loki placed his chin on Maebh’s head.

“If it had been Liulf and the wolves had allowed me safely remove him from danger, would you not be grateful.”

“They are animals.”

“That does not mean they have no feelings. You have heard their mourning cries in the past.” She sighed contently. “Come, I have not seen my children since sun-up.”

“Nafi is getting his own room.” He informed her.

“The one furthest from us.” She answered, causing Loki to furrow his brow. “He is like nothing I have heard before when he snores, he has been keeping the others and myself up at night.”

“How will we negotiate this, we have more children than we have rooms to fit them?”

“I am not sure.” She admitted as they entered their home.

“It is simple, Danu and I will share, Nafi can have her room, and the other three ‘wildlings’ can share.” Frigga smiled.

Maebh looked at her mother-in-law, not entirely sure what to say. “That is hardly fair on you Frigga.”

“It is fine.” The woman smiled. “I would be more than happy to have her in with me.”

“Mother, have you any intentions of ever going to that home of yours.” Loki laughed.

Frigga’s face turned serious. “To be honest Loki, I never wish to leave, to be alone…” with sadness in her eyes, her son went over to her. “But if you wish for me too…”

“Mother, no, I do not, but at your time in life, being surrounded by my pack of unruly children is not what many people would want.”

“Well, I do not wish to be without it.”

“Then you are stuck here with us then.” Maebh smiled.

Frigga smiled gratefully at her. “Now, what is this of another child?”.

Maebh’s face dropped. “What?”

Loki sighed. “Thor made comment of Danu having a sister, and I told him we have no plans, but Kushtrim did not hear it all, all he heard was there was another child.”

“There are no more children,” Maebh stated adamantly. “We have five, and I do not want to bear another, three labours and four births is enough, thank you.” She declared.

Frigga looked at her. “You do realise you said that after each of your other children and you were with child by the end of that season.”

Maebh froze and looked at Loki. “Perhaps you should go on a hunt with Thor, for say….a month?”

Loki laughed, “And the day I would come back, you would be filled once more.” Maebh gave an annoyed scoff and went to the children’s bedrooms. “I have to check on a few things in the yard, I assume Maebh is righting the children’s rooms.” Loki turned to go outside, but his mother’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Mother, you will always be welcome here, Maebh, the children and I never wish to be without you, so go and make sure she does not have it that Danu is in the bed with you.”

“Where else can she go?” Frigga asked. “Her bed is needed for Liulf because it is too small for Nafi.”

“She cannot…”

“She can, and she will,” Frigga stated, her tone adamant. “It is almost winter, she and I will keep one another warm.”

“Mother, you are a Dowager, you should not have to share a bed with your grandchild.”

“Loki, I want it no other way, you know I would say otherwise if it was not what I wished.”

He could not argue. “Danu?” His raven-haired princess bounded over excitedly. “Do you know what is happening?”

“Grandmother and I are going to share a room.” She sang joyfully.

“Yes.” He grinned down at her, “But you must make sure to keep it tidy.”

Danu looked at him indignantly, “I am the tidiest of us father, Nafi and Vali give me treats for tidying their room.”

Loki’s brow rose and he looked to his two older sons, “Is that right?”

“Danu!” Kushtrim scolded.

“What?” She looked around innocently. “It’s not my fault you are all stinky boys.” She declared before going to help her mother.

Frigga bit her lips together as to not laugh. “She is overdramatic.” Loki chuckled.

“Who do you think she gets that from?” Frigga elbowed him slightly, leaving him looking at her indignantly. “Come now boys, there is rearranging to be done, dinner is a mere two hours away.”

_____________________

Right, so the children's names and their meanings, and also, their ages and appearances.

Nafi (13) - oldest and strongest child, not Loki's or Maebh's genetically, looks like his real father, Tyr, brown hair and brown eyes, he is burly and very capable.

Vali (6) - Vali has black hair and grey eyes and a scarred right arm from where a wolf had attacked him as a younger child. He is highly intelligent and very formidable in his lessons as a result of being Loki, Nafi and Maebh's tutoring.

The boy twin is Kushtrim (5) - That is the Albanian for "Battle Cry" since I mentioned before he has a loud, shrill cry, that is how he got his name. He is not as mature as his sister, but he is far bigger built than her. He has brown hair and green eyes. He is the older of the twins.

The girl twin is Danu (5) - In Irish mythology, Danu is a hypothetical mother goddess of the Tuatha Dé Danann; the Gods of Ancient Ireland. I chose this name as she is Loki and Maebh's only daughter, and her brothers would do anything for her. She has black hair and green eyes, though she looks like her father, she is her mother's daughter in personality, intelligence and fighting. She is the younger twin.

Liulf (2) - His name is Norse and means Shield-Wolf. The youngest child, conceived and birthed in the time lapse, he is the only one of the children to show only physical traits of his mother, brown hair and grey-blue eyes, often causing her to be reminded of her own brothers when she looks at him.

[christinesficrecs]

hello there, you wonderful human being! i was wondering if you could rec any slow burn/slow build sterek fics?! much love xx

Hey :)

Oh absolutely! I’m all for idiots in love being idiots longer than usual :p Really though these fics are brilliant.  Hopefully I found some you haven’t read yet :) 

Dating Backwards by  RemainNameless | 85.8K

Pornstars Derek and Stiles work for the same company. Derek only shoots with werewolves and Stiles only shoots with humans. That’s not going to change after they meet. It’s really not.(It might.)

I Ran (So Far) by  thepsychicclam | 33.7K

In which Stiles’ summer starts off so badly he starts running, gets pelted by paint balls, and decides he is, in fact, going crazy if he willingly wants to hang out with Derek Hale.

Enemy Lines by  qhuinn (tekla) | 149.1K

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

Wild and Reckless Breeze by  GotTheSilver | 15.7K

In which Stiles is killing time working at a bookshop, Derek buys a lot of Chuck Palahniuk and they start hanging out, much to the confusion of Scott and the Sheriff.

Stilinski’s Home for Wayward Wolves by  owlpostagain | 35.1K

In which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Windows by  dr_girlfriend | 83K

Derek has a new neighbor who won’t stop looking.

He’s Not Mine by  Sunnee | 68.5K

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

The ETA From You to Me by  tylerfucklin (Deshonanana) | 105K

In which Derek drives a tow truck and Stiles is the weekend dispatcher who attempts to woo him with his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter and affinity for run-on sentences.

The Circus at the End of the World by  mikkimouse | 91K

Three hundred years ago, the world ended not with a bang or a whimper, but with magic.

Since then, magic has been outlawed, and the world has clawed its way back to some kind of stability, with people and shifters alike divided between living within the walled safety of the Havens, or the small, less protected outposts dotting the frontier.

By a Law Divine by  mirrorkill | 23.1K

Okay, so, kissing Stiles. That’s a weird thing that Derek’s doing now. He has no idea where it’s even coming from, especially considering bickering and fighting is their usual state of existence.And then he does find out where it’s coming from: A curse that’s making everyone in town kiss someone they have mutual feelings for. …yeah, Derek’s not even sure why he’s surprised by that.

Chosen by  exclamation | 99K

By tradition, when the Hale heir comes of age, the alpha can choose one boy to serve as the heir’s slave for a month. When Peter Hale chooses Stiles, Stiles expects to spend a month being used and abused. But it seems Derek Hale doesn’t want a sex slave any more than Stiles wants to be one.

Unfortunately, they’re stuck with each other. They have to make it through the next month without killing each other, and without getting Peter Hale to order Stiles’ death.

Meanwhile, Stiles wants to know why exactly Peter picked him.

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by  thepsychicclam | 105.1K

It’s Stiles’ senior year, and he’s trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he’s being haunted by a hag. Great.

[misterbokonon-blog]

DUKE

 DUKE

 BY PATRICK MARAVELIAS

  This is the only book I’ve managed to finish, trying to get it published right now.

   Written in honor of the late Hunter S. Thompson...The man who told me what to do

          DUKE

 BY PATRICK MARAVELIAS

         cHp-1

 I have always considered writing to be the most venomous of career choices.  It takes a certifiably insane human being to reach their grimy, unwashed hands into the depths of their brain, twist and jerk until something of substance lands on the page in front of them.  Most writers I’ve come to realize find themselves doing the bidding of the milk-sucking cretins running the news industry.  I for one have no intention of joining these ranks.  I chose and continue to choose to drunkenly stumble down the adjacent side streets, quietly observing all those who allow me to.  Whatever it takes to make it through this god forsaken wasteland we rest our heads in. Such a concept evades me until I truly feel alive enough to express it.  It was one time in San Diego that I really felt I was on top of the planet, as high as you could possibly get.  It was early morning.  My breath tasted of Mickey’s fine malt liquor and cigarettes when I woke up.  A woman with the personal aesthetic of the gods themselves pulled up to my doorstep in a brand new hybrid vehicle capable of speeds rivaling even the top sports cars.  This is of course, exaggeration.  We had very little time.  We had to get to the freeway before rush hour, or all the grimy animals of Los Angeles would swarm us like bees and never let us out of her grips.  My companion handed me a Budweiser, and we smoked endless amounts of cannabis out the window as horrified onlookers took their time gawking and cursing the names of the distraught teenagers obviously clinging for dear life to the chemicals they kept pouring into their bodies.  But they did not matter, we had a job to do.  On a weekend like this we had to let everything else casually slip aside or the whole group would suffer.  Luckily we had just the right chemical for the occasion.  MDMA, the ravenous drug of choice for ravers and lunatics alike.  There are seldom things more dangerous than the emotional constraints of a confused teenager with Molly coursing through his veins.  Or her, especially her for that matter.  Women tend to cling to the warm, inviting sensation of the drug more than men in my experience.  God knows why, either way the two sexes blend together perfectly under the influence, and so we did.  We arrived at 5 o'clock sharp.  No time to be wasted.  We flung our things about the 8 by 8 little cottage tucked away in the digestive tract of Ocean Beach, and immediately got down to brass tax.  We had two handles of Peach vodka before we had even left Santa Barbara.  Just over a gram of little white rocks to take the edge off, and a full-sized pepperoni and chicken pizza capable of feeding all of us for the entire weekend.  It sat untouched, there were bigger cards at play.  One by one we all went into the bathroom, and one by one we all came out.  You have never killed time longer than the 45 minutes it takes for good Molly to really bend you over.  The user experiences small, taunting hints of euphoria after about the first 20 minutes, and then you’ve all but shot the man who sold it to you before you realize you’ve left the face of the Earth completely, and there’s no going back.  I was smoking a cigarette listening to the ocean when it hit me, and it hit me like a fucking train.  I was a lost cause, it was my first time really experiencing the night air like this.  The atmosphere wrapped around my body in the most loving manner, and one by one everything around me began to shift to accompany the feeling of invincibility I had found.  Evenings of this caliber are often intertwined as I have come to find, by a succubus on all fronts, more beautiful than any woman who has ever shown you attention in the past who will proceed to come into your life like a fucking hurricane and leave as soon as everything is shattered on the floor around you; and the most sickening part is that the only thought crossing your mind is “My God, what a ride.”  She wandered in the living room ever so silently,` almost avoiding my gaze, I barely even noticed her.  My attention was focused for the moment on enjoying the company of my friends, including the aforementioned car driver, who in retrospect would have been a much better focal point for my attention that weekend.  No, this was much more plastic, she couldn’t compare.  She had a very soft voice which was the first thing I noticed about her.  Her eyes were deceiving, though I’m still not sure what they were lying about.  We spent the night drinking like war veterans on the beach, falling every which way as we tried to keep up with our respective experiences.  I expected her to take about as much interest in me as other gorgeous women did, which was normally enough to keep me occupied though I knew it meant nothing.  No no this was a much different affection.  It could have been infatuation, created from the terrible crystals we had eaten just two hours before, or it could have been two people genuinely connecting with each other on a common ground that we created and we made the laws for.  Nothing could stop us.  It felt as though we were wonderfully isolated on our little beach blanket; this was hardly the case.  It was a fairly populated stretch of shoreline, and even as the people passed they paid us no attention.  Why are they ignoring us, I thought.  We were a clear and present danger to ourselves as well as others, and any person of upstanding moral fiber would have had the decency to call the police.  But we didn’t need the police, nor did they need us.  Our respective methods of self-fulfillment would never coincide.  It was best left to the professionals, I thought.  Nevertheless, I averted my gaze from the streets and returned to my companions.  "We have to get the fuck out of here", I said.  “We’ve completely forgotten about the pizza.”  We bought two packs of cigarettes, a fifth of Jager, a handle of Amsterdam, and we were on our way.  We hung our heads as we talked with the neighbors and whoever cared to pass by.  My whole body felt electric, and the cigarettes were sedating me into complete immobility.  The night dragged on, she asked me to sleep with her.  Nothing indecent was to happen. We both knew it would be far too easy just to mindlessly fuck each other, that was for the dogs.  There is nothing, in the literary sense, worthwhile about meaningless sex, no one wants to hear about it; or maybe I can’t bring myself to put it on paper.  For the following two days my nights ended in the same exact fashion: extreme personal awareness, a deep sickening feeling that none of this was even real, and clutching her skin as though if I let go all life would be ripped from my body through my fingertips, and I would lay on the floor a useless corpse.  It was all a work of excellent fiction, but fuck reality I was riding a brand new Harley-Davidson down an uninhabited dirt road into the tie-dyed horizon and I wasn’t about to slow down just to realize I was right back in my apartment with the mind-numbing chatter of whatever was important at the moment to the students of UCSB.  Cattle, being herded and prepped for slaughter. The time I’ve spent here has been closely comparable to being employed as a zookeeper.  Animals, that’s what they are.  They move in packs in more ways than one.  Each student a pathetic little sperm clawing and fighting their way through the rest, just for a chance at scraping the wall of the egg at just the right moment at the right set of circumstances, watching as all of your peers fall away and die, one by fucking one.  The chosen bastard child is now expected to conjure up a good wholesome American life out of thin air and whatever training they paid attention to half-stoned, falling asleep in their father’s testicles, all for one low price of 34,000 dollars a year.  It is truly a fucking spectacle observing the rat race from a rat’s point of view.  The only trouble is coming to the realization that you are a rat in the first place.  I’m at peace with it, it’s more fun down here anyway.  I’ve always wondered how I would handle wealth or power,  I’d rather never know.  Stay vigilant, never die.  Continue on in this life as a godless wretch cursing the names of anyone and everyone contributing to the death of personal identity; the ones turning a once vibrant place into a white-washed dead zone of mutant, zombie drones who have been taught since birth that straying from the herd gets you killed.  What happens when the wolves waiting on the other side of the canyon greet you with smiling faces and two ounces of the finest cannabis money can buy?  These are the most welcoming people the world will ever know.  The doormen, if you will, to the vast, vibrant world of the drug community, which stretches all the way from casual weed smokers to crack-addled tweaks who roam the streets, useless to everyone but themselves.  They do not matter to the untrained eye.  However to someone who finds himself somewhere in between, in a confused menage-a-trois with reality, self-fulfillment and horrible synthesized concoctions of man’s imagination, these people serve a purpose.  What that purpose is may never be entirely clear, but I knew as I watched the tweak-ridden street freaks of San Diego that there was still some hopeless force of life in there, beaten into pitiful submission by methamphetamines, opiates, whatever it was.  I left with a lot to consider.  I left the girl knowing I would run across her once or twice again but that nothing we created that weekend would stick, which was fine, better that way.  The memory would stand as a lasting monument to the fight against the well-adjusted life, and that’s all that mattered.  The four of us hobbled back to the car we’d arrived in, and I spent the majority of the drive counting miles and number of glances I would nervously shoot at the only thing in the car I cared about, wondering what she thought of my antics that weekend, not that it really made or break us.  She was a curious little spitfire, who spoke abrasively and directly but not in the obnoxious overtones that accompany this behavior in every other example I’ve observed.  That was the thing about her. she really didn't owe anything to anybody. She was her own. She didn't give off the impression that she needed anyone, and it was beautiful. She was the one person I couldn't size up. I had no idea who I was or what to say whenever she was in a 20 foot radius. It wasn't so much infatuation as genuine, paralyzing affection. I was entranced by the fact that I could not for the life of me decide what was happening behind those eyes. Eyes that spoke to the way she carried herself. Strong, cautious, with a background noise of serious demons, and ever since I heard who she was and how she was I couldn't shake her.  I spent this last Thanksgiving with her and her family.  We spent the day playing with the little kids, eating home-cooked food, napping and passing the time together.  At one point we were walking around her front yard where these massive mushrooms had sprouted all around.  Naturally we began throwing them at each other, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a smile as big as the one I was wearing that day.  It wasn't so much that I wanted her I just wanted her to stay. Stay in my life, my thoughts, whatever it was. There was one time I took her up to this place with a nice view, with plenty of food and nicotine to last us a couple hours. I loved seeing her so uninhibited by day to day worries. She let a little bit of herself leak into that day and it made me so happy.  Nothing compared.  No one else, no matter how naked or easy could keep her out of my head. Even in the midst of pure lack of self and consciousness she was there. Not a longing, more stress. Is she ok, where is she, did she have a good day? Of all the vices I take part in she was the deadliest. Cigarettes have lost their buzz, drugs don't compare. I’ve come to the conclusion that most of my excursions were for the purpose of evading her, which in hindsight is the last thing I want to do. The idea I want to express most is the genuine kindness she emanated to people she trusted, although I got the feeling she never truly trusted anybody. That's all I want is to gain that trust. Nothing else matters, but at the same time gaining that trust means putting in hours, hours sharpening my swords and making sure she's taken care of, and not until I'm satisfied and content with who I am and where I am will I accept her trust. I don't deserve it otherwise, whether she sees it or not.  She gave me my first cigarette, my first experience with drugs, and some of the most fond memories I have of my youth. I could die tomorrow and we would still have that, maybe that’s all that matters.  Where does that leave me? It must have been shortly after my 18’th birthday, senior year. The most debaucherous of all the years I’d been alive, at the time at least.  I hadn’t tried liquor until then.  I watched my parent’s marriage collapse under the weight of them frantically trying to save it.  I wasn’t interested in sticking around for all the ugly details, it wasn’t my business.  One afternoon I hadn’t heard so much as a word from my father’s door for hours, which wasn’t normal for him, he was very inquisitive, and I say inquisitive rather than involved because he wasn’t interested in the answers, only hearing himself ask the questions.  I walked up those stairs slowly as ever.  He had been in a bare-knuckle brawl with depression, I half-expected to find him hanging.  It would have been much less shocking.  The man was curled up in a ball, weeping.  My blood began to boil, I was furious, up until my knees collapsed, and I lay on the floor and did the same fucking thing.  We sat for a while, not saying a word, weeping.  No more beating the dead author, but that day mattered.  It taught me to never crack, never show weakness, or they would eat you alive.  It also taught me that most of the things we spend our god-given energy on are worthless, and Humankind could get a lot more done if we stopped yelling “I THOUGHT SOMETHING” in everyone’s fucking face every time something that wasn’t already a hashtag pops into our brains.  The more you reveal the more vulnerable you are, which is fine, within the bounds of people you care about.  Everyone else is useless to you.  They don’t see how easily manipulated they are.  They are a malleable ball of clay that takes the shape of whatever thing the Internet decided to suffocate them with that week.  Puppets! Fucking followers! Cowards! You are the reason we’re dying. You are the reason for the putrid smell in the air.  Rot in the deepest pits of hell because you are useless to yourselves and everyone around you.  You are stale, moldy bread, and I would rather run myself raw with rusty barbed wire than sit in a room with any one of you pigs.  Don’t you see what they’re doing to you? They win you over with bright colors and buzz words because you are a trained fucking animal headed to the slaughterhouse. If you can make a man laugh you can get him to tapdance backwards over the Brooklyn Bridge without a care in the world until he plummets deep into the icy depths of the East River.  It is one of the intrinsic weaknesses of the human psyche.  Charisma is much deadlier than firepower.  Any idiot can sense the impending danger of a man waving a .38 magnum in his face.  It takes quick thinking and a sharp tongue to pick up the little bat-calls the man speaking with a hidden agenda sends out unwittingly.  He is the enemy, and you are never to trust him.  If you find yourself in the clutches of one of these reptilian creeps, remove yourself from the boat in a distinctly military fashion, swim yourself to shore and build a fire.  They can’t stand the heat, and it will keep them at bay, if only for the night.  I find myself thrown into the midst of these animals far too often around my apartment, and it drives me to drive elsewhere for the sake of my own sanity.  Recently I made the 529 mile journey back home for the long weekend.  I saw everyone I intended to, passed out piss drunk on my couch with a few companions as per usual, but it wasn’t until the last night that I finally rounded the corner of her porch and saw that face.  The three hours we spent, laughing and passing the time made every god damn hour I spent crammed in the backseat of that Chevrolet worth the trouble.  I left her house that night in a daze, furious that I had to return home the next day.  I’m still fucking furious.  Motionless, stunned by my own decision to move to this backwards little city, hundreds of miles from the only person that has ever occupied my thoughts for this long, unable to do anything about it.  Patience has never really resonated with me, extreme ADD might play a factor in that, which would also explain the spastic way I write anything.  If psychedelics taught me anything it’s that staying on the same train of thought for too long is unnecessary, and quite often people aren’t even listening.  I tried LSD two weeks after I moved out for the first time.  This would prove to be a hasty call that might have stunted my ability to think rationally for a while, but I don’t bother myself with such things.  It was the peak of my trip, I was wandering down the streets of Isla Vista, trying for the third time that day to find a slice of pizza.  I heard a gentleman mutter the word acid in passing to his fellow traveller, and so I asked him, he responded “Come with me.”  To the beach we went, and there I found 20-25 people, all tripping their fucking faces off.  It was a safe haven in the chaotic and frightening world I’d been thrown into.  I didn’t stay for long, they meant well, but there was nothing there for me.  They were on a different plane entirely. My mother called me in the midst of the worst throws my trip had spat out thus far.  I ignored the call, and sat on the floor of my shower in tears for the next 25 minutes or so, unable to make sense of my surroundings or emotions.  I was ignoring the woman who had given me birth because I was ashamed, and I knew the 200 or so micrograms of LSD pumping through my body would slither their way into my voice and she would just know.  The whole experience didn’t make much sense to me until a few months later when I began to pull myself together a bit.  I began to notice things I hadn’t bothered with before, details that mattered all of a sudden.  The infrastructure started to leave me with a horrid taste in my mouth.  I paid attention to nuances and patterns, and ultimately my mind feels more powerful for having experienced it. Enough about drugs for the time being.  They served their purpose, and I can’t fool myself into thinking I need them anymore.  That isn’t to say I am sober, far from it.  I have control now, that is what matters.  Too often a life of recklessly indulgent behavior gets intertwined with drug use, when really it’s a beautiful thing without it.  Watch people’s reactions as you walk by them smoking a cigarette, telling some story with as many arm movements as possible to your companion.  Don’t give them the satisfaction of giving a fuck that they are there, act as if it’s your intention to stir up unrest deep in the pits of the left side of their brain that they cling to so dearly. We don’t need your kind, die off away from me.  I need speakers in my ears so loud I can’t fucking breathe.  I need wind in my face and adrenaline coursing through my veins.  I need wheels rolling at high speeds on pavement underneath my bare feet.  I need people who aren’t stricken by fear, people who are at peace with the fact that they will die one day.  My mother always told me I refused to play the game, refused to put on a different face for anybody.  She loves and hates it about me, but quite frankly I am nothing if not authentic.  Hypocrites are the reason the world is suffocating from the grips of ad agencies and politicians.  These people make a living from manipulating the masses into doing the bidding of whoever is paying them, and that should terrify you.  My neighbor Larry just gave me a beer.  It’s exactly midnight on Friday.  

    cHp-2

 I am in a better place.  Day to day things are easier to make sense of and deal with.  I could just be getting older, and I imagine that has a lot to do with it. My life has evolved from the bloody corpse it was six months ago, and that’s something to be proud of.  I am more myself than I have ever been, but true self-actualization is still very far off.  The light at the end of the tunnel is an incredible motivator if you use it correctly.  In the last couple months I’ve gone entirely too hungry, blown all my money to see a girl that doesn’t light any kind of fire in me, which is more toxic than most people think, and above all I’ve been happier than I have ever been.  Whatever life throws at me everyday can’t affect me unless I let it.  I need to focus on that more.  Progress is progress and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.  I am in a better place, I am in a better place, I am in a better fucking place.  Fuck them if they belittle the little victories you experience because they’re everything.  If it gets you through the day it’s all you need to focus on.  Develop it, explore it, fucking manhandle it until you turn it into something worthwhile.  The last few weeks my mind has become drastically less chaotic, and the indiscretions that used to haunt me slip away without a fight.  My attention has been focused on the grotesque piles of rat shit scattered throughout the news.  I don’t often pay attention to the news itself, but as a journalist I would be foolish to not at least scan the events structuring the world I live in.  The police have taken on the form of alien cyborgs hell-bent on silencing the opposition.  The wind whispers that revolution is coming, although I fear the one’s leading it will ultimately be doing so with misguided intentions.  Meanwhile, our children fall asleep to the sound of their peers being crushed under the weight of the infrastructure their parents defend with their lives.  We, the uninhibited youth are willingly being beaten into submission.  But America is the greatest country in the world.  Never fucking mind that such a disgusting amount of money gets spent on new war machines every year such that institutions like the public school system, institutions that are essential to our own survival, are being beaten and strangled for the benefit of the swine making money from our suffering.  I will never work for you.  I will never sacrifice an ounce of happiness for money that comes from you soul-eating creatures.  Be warned, you’ll be the first to die when the people finally get angry enough to mobilize your skyscraper with machine guns and ski masks.  Cling to your foreign cars and cocaine while you can, and for every last one of you that overdoses I consider it a victory for the people.  May your families never mourn you, and your best friends fuck your wives stupid when you’re dead and gone.  Looking at things from a completely objective point of view turned me into a cynic, and an abrasive one at that.  Do not allow yourselves to be fooled by the glimmering lights and the airbrushed pictures of a life you will never come close to.  The torches they carry are fueled by deception.  Rob the bastards at gunpoint and use their torches to burn every last stone to the fucking ground from the inside out.  Every ad you are forced to watch is venom for your brain, and every last second you spend taking their bullshit seriously is another heavy blow to fight for free thinking.  Do not accept censorship in any form, fight for vulgarity, fight for realism.  It is such a travesty to allow yourself anything less that raw uncut information and knowledge.  Or are you too busy listening to the phantom faces on whatever god damned monitor you’re staring at this year?  We are standing in a burning building while the entire human race is arguing over how to fix a broken light bulb in the fucking lobby.  Lately I feel like I’m observing everything from behind a one-way mirror.  There is a tangible difference in how I perceive my own experiences, and it’s forced me to become a much more objective person.  Most of the things that used to escape my scorn end up turning to ash after being broken down into its individual parts.  I constantly look for genuine cogs in the giant plastic machine whirring around directly adjacent to my skull.  There are very few, but they exist, that’s something I suppose.  Those cogs keep me alive.  I guess I’m really just a cowardly human being.  Consequences terrify me.  I hate change but crave it constantly.  I raise my white flag too often, the card has been played too many damn times.  I think it would be beneficial for everyone if I traded in my sheep’s clothing for a wolves head.  I raise my glass to all who have made the transition.  The warriors that grab hold of their lives and do whatever they damn well please with it.  I will join you one day when I feel the time is right to make the world dance for me, and I say that with the best of intentions.  I solemnly swear to leave this world with a permanent imprint of my own choosing.  A subtle watermark that few will recognize.  The ones who do may dwindle over time, and I am at peace with that.  I only wish to have my voice heard.

  ChP-3

 I wish everything were black and white. that walls could be broken down effortlessly. I wish every building had a face and every man had a story. I wish I didn't smoke cigarettes, or maybe for a little peace of mind. I wish clowns would melt and cars ran on liquor. all of these things I would kill just to witness. all of these things I can't bear to imagine. if mankind came face to face with its mutiny in an alleyway, how overwhelming and gratifying it would be. if mothers didn't have to let go of their children, and the world continued to humbly revolve as it did before us. I wish animals would dance for us and that God would show his face for once. I wish for 5 minutes in solitude to collect myself. I wish rhetoric never plagued our mouths and only genuine words were spoken. It would really be quite fantastic, if every gun in the world were shot at once, if books were fireproof and could have a conversation with the reader. I wish everyone saw it their own way. I wish you to be happy my brother, go now and tell me what you find. We'll share a beer and talk about whatever's on our minds. Is anything else substantial anymore or have we reduced ourselves to creature comforts and security? Nothing is available to be defined you may as well accept that. Don't take it personally, death doesn't grant favors and drugs can't hear you talking to them. Relish the moments of clarity. I wish good people didn't die. I wish the trivial worries would resolve themselves, or at least leave me alone for a day or two. I wish mountains screamed and clouds said hello as they passed by. I wish every king met their Brutus, and their sins be rectified by the people. I wish for a brighter outlook, and the patience to accomplish the things I want to. Let the dogs bark and let the lighthouse burn out, you’re the only one who can help you anymore.  There’s a plane arriving at the Sacramento airport soon carrying one of the only things I genuinely care about.  I said my prayers over the safety of the flight.  Everyone has a prayer to be heard, a want or need to be fulfilled by the all-knowing power they speak to at night.  The concept of “God” is a tricky one.  Personally I absolutely believe there’s a God.  I also believe he’s sick of the hateful words we keep putting in his mouth.  Every religious text could be interpreted to parallel each other and the world would live in peace but everyone has to be fucking right.  If there is a God, he’s sitting in his recliner with a cigar and a scowl wondering when and how in the fuck his children got everything so damn twisted.  They promote love, yet beat it to death in a dark alleyway whenever it starts to peer through the windows.  They speak of a better world that they intend to burn down if construction ever finishes.  The word vice enters my inner conversation frequently, especially when it comes to religion.  Too many poor souls are walking without legs using their God as a crutch to explain why their shitty decisions and behavior ended up backfiring.  Then again the religious community has a lot of explaining to do, so it’s no surprise they came up with this piss-poor way of coming to terms with their own actions.  They all have their agendas, and personal instructions for how everyone else should operate.  I would personally cut off all of your tongues and still make it home in time to cook a big ass steak for my inner community.  We live inside shelters in the sense that the walls surrounding us become a haven away from the other way of things.  Our lifestyle is very particular because we designed it that way.  That’s why I inhale smoke throughout the day while I stay undercover in a five-seater watching the day unfold instead of trying to mold it myself, because it’s not possible and you look foolish trying.  That’s why we act like asylum escapees at stoplights because we crave that look of horror on your face.  That’s why we love security guards.  That’s why we relish every second of whipping our dicks out and pissing on the empire you so foolishly built with toothpicks.  Watch my wheels glide over your crumbling concrete ledges, no one’s paying attention to you.  Go back inside, pour a cup of coffee, then sit and brood about how much you hate your wife and feel the need to take your problems out on a bunch of kids to make yourself feel better.  That being said, I’m a grown-ass man and I won’t hesitate to bash that face in if you get worked up too quickly.  Both literally and figuratively I will ensure you remember that just because your feet touched soil first does not mean I owe you a shred of decency.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have plans to sip fine rum and blow spliffs until I hit the floor and hopefully wake up in a day and age where no one bothers me.

         ChP-4

 Transparency is a very creepy and weird thing to learn to use on yourself, especially in circumstances where you have to for your own good.  When I was younger it wasn’t expected of me, my actions were never my own fault because I was young enough to escape blame.  Now that I’m an adult or whatever you prefer to call it I’m expected to theoretically process and adhere to my own errors. Having escaped any sense of reality or responsibility up to the age of 19, it was like being tossed into an angry sea of lethal rip tides and gut-crushing tidal waves.  I dealt with it the best way I knew how, completely ignoring it until it resolved itself in front of my face.  But when the consequences are getting heavier and heavier and the puzzle pieces won’t fit together anymore, it’s a race against yourself in the sense of how long you’ll continue to damage your own body and mind before you wake up and realize you are the tumor in your own lungs.  It’s a long, grueling stretch of sunburnt trail to run, but to the chosen few who realize they are thirsty and don’t have to run anymore, blessings on you and your self-drive.  Those of us still figuring out what we’re running from are very happy for you, genuinely.  It’s amusing to me that I can put all this on paper and still move around the maze as I do, but at the very least I can sense that there will be a day when I won’t feel this restless.  I’m sensing myself developing an ego and it’s about damn time in my opinion.  I’m understanding that people only wish to talk to me for what I have in my pockets sometimes, and sometimes those people are your best friends.  That’s the most fucked part of transitioning from child to adult, realizing how all the people you thought were so unique and full of love are now looking out for themselves, as I need to be doing.  The most grotesque face of death is the death of perception, the false idea that you are safe in stasis.  The ground beneath you is changing constantly and if you want to live I suggest you study it.  The hollow eye sockets of the working class should be sufficient enough for the average person to grasp the idea that all these fluctuations are predestined and controlled.  Whether by man, god or beast they are controlled; your job as their puppet is to convince your puppeteer that your strings aren’t quite as nimble as the others, and slowly but surely rally the other rejects to slit the old man’s throat while he sleeps.  Use caution my son, most people don’t quite have the stomach for a truly uninhibited life.  She’s an acid-spitting single unit of all three Erinyes who will only allow you to pass if you can pin her down and fuck the self-hatred out of her.  Only after performing such a task will you feel correct moving about the world in your own true skin.  Don’t bother reasoning with it, the things I speak of are far too ingrained in our limbic system, and you would be an arrogant fool to think your pathetic little attempts at freedom are enough to break the shackles suffocating your will to thrive.  The more blissful existence lays with security but the most invigorated euphoria known to troubled men is at the end of the tunnel if you choose to follow it.  I wish you nothing but quick feet and sharp wits my good man.

           CHp 5-

 The River Hades runs deep underneath my house.  Sometimes I like to listen to the poor souls beg and bargain, it reminds me to either get my shit together or start coming up with a damn good explanation for my behavior.  Hell seems like it’s a bit overdramatized.  Us good ol’ boys love a little evil right?  Crack your knuckles and aim for the jaw.  It’s only a matter of time until the prophecies begin to stop fulfilling themselves, nothing is completely consistent as they say.  Maybe I’m delusional.  The sparkle in my eye stays dormant unless it gets a whiff of something really maniacal. If there is a hell, the deepest pit is reserved for lawyers and police officers.  I would imagine God would be especially wrathful towards the people that play God for a career.  Nixon would be in there too if Duke had anything to say about it.  They’re probably having a beer as we speak, how wonderfully lighthearted.  Picture if you will a deer shot directly through the heart wounded walking down the highway.  He moves because he knows not what waits for him after death.  He moves with purpose, because wasted time is illogical.  Men move with the cocky upturned noses of wealthy white women with their mink coats and razor-sharp pussies.  They act as if their steps are destined to land where they do, as if the heavens would cease to rotate if those footprints were never there.  I move with the swift intentions of a mountain lion with an opium problem.  My mind swirls at the speed of death but my body is plagued by the repercussions of not believing I had more of a place in this world than the vultures.  My head is beginning to look upwards rather than towards failure, or so I’d like to believe.  I realize now that I am as able and ready as any man, and I will bear my cross to the edge of the water as instructed at birth.  The last time I put that cross down I came close to overdosing, suicide, self-harm and starving.  It never seemed that serious at the time but on paper it’s a heavy fuck of a list, one that I burned a long time ago.  Funny thing about ashes is that they never completely leave you.  The more ash you create the harder it is to breathe without cursing your own breath.  I tripped acid for the second time last night.  It started out very euphoric and sparkly.  We listened to hippies sing opera in the middle of the woods, and then we took more.  Thus began the introspective shit show that would ensue the three hours I spent alone in my room watching the stars on my american flag swirl around and around.  Her face showed up on the empty canvas a few times, and it was agony.  Right now there’s dark purple marks on his neck and you could give a fuck what happens to me, so be it.  I keep jaunting down the boulevard full-pace with a fire in my eye and a bag of drugs in my pocket, happy as can fucking be.  I took mushrooms with her not too long ago and a bum asked me what the meaning of life was.  It really annoyed me at the time that anyone would even care, or vocalize it.  It also made my immediate surroundings seem really chaotic as a result, and I had to go home where I ate candy and built a fort.  The lesson here is that safety eases your mind but should be rationed with the knowledge that it doesn’t truly exist, and you’re technically dealing with false currency.  The answers to the questions that plague you are located directly outside, whichever direction you choose to stride.  The more comfortable you feel in foreign situations the more equipped you are to endure the worst when it strikes.  Now to the matter at hand, I seem to be face-down in the gutter could you help me up my good man?  Don’t trouble yourself if you have business to attend to, I’ve been here for some time you see.  My bones are weary but they deserve to be, I suppose.  Forget I mentioned it.  I’m a recorder you see.  A recorder of all things I feel pertinent to record.  For instance I might choose to note that your eyes seem quite tired, and your fingers have been twitching for a cigarette since we began this conversation.  Do you feel your heart beating or merely assume it’s still working?  I would double check if I were you sport.  The orderly way you keep your hair indicates to me that it gives you a sense of control, or maybe pride, is that it? Is it pride sir?  I simply wish to know all there is to know about nothing, and it is my god-given right to sit in this gutter all damn day and ask questions of whomever I please.  But before you leave there’s just one last thing my good man, would you consider helping me up?

            cHp-6

 Concerning the subject of generational friction, the views expressed may seem biased but I assure you they are quite logical and clear.  Do not waste your time criticizing the troubled heads of the children you fucked into creation, and thus raising how you saw fit.  You created the beast that haunts you.  Isn’t that just a kick in the dick?  What makes you so high and mighty you can’t look at history and deem yourself unworthy to judge progress that you weren’t a part of?  You insufferable fucks.  Listen to and process the information you receive before condemning it.  This seems like a redundant thing to say but let me assure you it is necessary for the survival of our kind.  An angry adult looming over the decisions of their teenage kid appears to them a shrieking gargoyle whose words are spoken in a foreign language that just sounds vaguely angry and annoying.  It doesn’t register and honestly makes you sound like an illiterate baboon.  Rather, relate your own experiences to the young ones.  Honesty, transparency, that is what normal, level people respond to.  My own experience wasn’t cruel or abnormal by any means, my parents are very decent people.  Their shortcoming is the snakes crawling around them don’t allow them rationality when their foundations start to tremble.  They cling to routine and anything but forces them into overdrive.  God bless my mother, she tries so hard.  It pains me that her attempts end up appearing misguided because of the circumstances surrounding them.  I love you mama, sorry I took the woods instead of the road you hand-paved for me.  I realize that was selfish, but I also know at the end of the next valley or so there’s a spring of fresh water that will keep you young and happy for as long as God allows.  I’m coming back with something to show for your efforts I swear on it.  If my life ends in an untimely manner, I will speak with the head of whichever side of the afterlife I end up in and ensure your peace of mind.  No one else stands on that pedestal and most likely never will.  I threw everyone else off into the ocean of hungry sharks and flesh-eating salmon.  I am the lone tenant of that lonely rock, and I intend to keep it that way, just in case I feel like jumping.  You would be wise to meditate on top of your own rock, and even wiser to do it all by yourself.  After all, you are the only entity that you can prove exists so why waste your time building card houses?  I built one for her, and with one single motion it lay flat on the ground, scattered about with the remaining ounces of optimism I had in my reserves.  Don’t say cynic like it’s a bad thing, I enjoy my eternal skepticism and bitter sarcasm don’t you?  Or have you not experienced the sting of a serpent’s tongue when it comes out of the mouth your dick was just in?  Have you never felt the twinging of anger deep in your jaw as you watch a pathetic stack of jock arrogantly walk your drunken white dove into the next room to fuck her brains out while you sit in disgust with yourself for even giving a shit?  Have you been so dead set on sedating yourself you forget there’s a reality outside of the 4 blurry walls that have become your life?  Have you taken your mind to the very edge of what it can withstand just to be able to put it on paper?  Forgive me if I see things as they are, rather than what other writers have convinced you of.  The fiction they peddle is all well and good until their audience begins to cling to every word; hoping, praying, knowing that the same thing will happen to them.  Their prince will come riding in with killer abs and excellent listening skills, or a virgin with gorgeous blue eyes will see the good in you and immediately shed her white dress and have lingerie underneath waiting to be fucked into submission.  Tumblr doesn’t coincide with real life.  Retweeting cute little pictures of good-looking couples is slowly turning your brain into Disney-princess themed mush.  Walk outside for thirty seconds.  Look down at the ground and understand that people better than you are sleeping on the very same ground because they were foolish enough to sit around and wait for something to happen for them while the cynics like myself keep sprinting, and maybe stop for a smoke break every now and again.

                 cHp-7

 I believe I’ve found solace in the city of Arcata.  All of Humboldt county that I’ve seen thus far is vibrant, teeming with life and deep colors.  I’ve spent my time reading books on the beach and spray painting the undersides of bridges.  I’ve embraced the degenerate living deep inside me and he’s a funny guy.  I have an unlimited supply of half-crazy hippies to keep me entertained while I tackle young adulthood.  Truth be told I don’t entirely trust myself not to end up just like them for at least a year or two.  Worst case scenario I eat too many psychedelics and become the uncle who hotboxes his Toyota Tacoma at holiday reunions, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t really want that to happen anyway.  I adore the idea of losing my mind just a little bit.  My uncle was shot in the brain in the midst of a long heroin binge.  He was a backup drummer for Guns N’ Roses at the time and most of the family thought they’d lost him.  He lived, miraculously and every time I see the man he manages to make me laugh.  He was trying to sneak me beer and rock cd’s when I was no taller than his waist.  My parents detested his behavior but I knew my mother found it charming deep down.  I’m not saying ending up like that would be ideal but it could also be a lot worse.  In the long run whatever you do with your time on Earth is your business, why bother worrying about how you spend it?  That statement comes with limitations of course, I have no sympathy for people that waste their years away indoors for whatever their reason may be, rather I am implying to spend your time exactly as you would like to.  Embrace the idea that the Earth is yours to move about as abrasively and black out drunk as you can get before you leave the house.  Reminiscing on every dimly lit room filled with people I barely remember and whatever bottles and drugs we decided to waste our money on, I don’t view it as lost time.  The highs and comedowns of what I’ve experienced merely made me much more aware of myself, aware of what makes me tick or nod off.  My mind is more alive than ever and will serve as my ultimate compass in the years to follow.  After all, I can’t really trust anything past my eyeballs, can I?  What lies beyond that is a barren wasteland filled with liars and cheats who would just as soon kill you if you didn’t hold that quiet mystery of whatever it is you have to offer that the gentleman to your immediate front is attempting to pry out of you before you realize that your insides have been sucked out through your nostrils.  Only a fool believes he is immune from falling prey to the demons that roam just as freely as the ne'er do wells and the gamblers and the drunk drivers and the gangbangers and the cops.  Just as freely as every fucking entity that has ever done you wrong.  Keep your wits about you, they might have the place bugged right now.  If you have any regard for your own life it would be best to ignore them completely, they can’t stand it.  Just like a toddler picking on the smaller boy a grade younger than him, it’s not fun when he isn’t phased.  You need to perfect the artform of contorting your face in such a way that indicates you could be shot through the skull on the spot and you would die in peace with yourself and the events that led to your death.  Fear nothing, for fear is good for nothing.  It will tempt you to solitude where it will dance for you but never let you take her home.  You will spend eternity emptying everything you’ve worked for from your pathetic pockets to feed the bitch that never stops eating.  Fear is the reason for every blunder I have committed in the short 20 years I have been alive.  Every misstep, fuck-up and regret was because I was too stricken to react like the fucking animal I should be.  Fear is the reason my father couldn’t pull his shit together for long enough to realize he had a wife and kids who loved him.  Fear is the reason I have a friend serving 25 to life for popping off and killing a kid over a heroin deal.  Fear is the reason I spent so long with oxymorphone pumping through my veins sedating me into complete apathy.  Fear is the reason we condemn entire populations of millions because of the actions of radicals.  Fear is the reason the pigs are slaughtering Negroes like cattle right in front of everyone’s face only to fall on excuses and turned heads.  Fear is the reason every fucking voice who could have made a difference was silenced by an assassin's bullet.  Fear has killed stronger people than you, shed every ounce of it you can muster before it’s too late.

            cHp-8

 I did a lot of cocaine earlier so now I can’t sleep.  I’ve thought about calling her a few times.  I would never follow through.  She’s probably somewhere high out of her mind thinking about everything she can beside me.  I can’t decide if I’m furious or just despondent and realistic.  She lit some sort of fire in me that hasn’t gone out despite the hurricane she hit me with.  Or maybe she didn’t do anything, and I created the hurricane out of thin air and pathetic daydreams.  Losing that other end of communication that I depended on to get me through the day was a little too brutal for me to be prepared for.  It was absolutely necessary, however, no one needs to have that much of a grip on me.  Even as I write that it makes me want to overdose because that grip was the warmest, most inviting chokehold I have ever come across.  It was closely comparable to the blanket of euphoria the opiates provide to the dedicated consumer.  It’s just lovely enough to make the idea of not taking it seem foolish.  Why would you, a hard-working adult pass up the chance to feel incredible for a few hours?  I’m not sure if this girl is drugs to me or if everything I feel and know deep in the pits of my stomach isn’t a lie, and she will come back in my life at just the right time and place where everything will come together beautifully like puzzle pieces.  There is no in between, and fuck you if you say it’s the first one.  I am allowed to delude myself as long as I choose, but the more I hallucinate the less I want to, and the longer I spend in my sober brain the less patience I have for anything but upward motion.  As far as the girl goes, I just want my friend back, and I don’t want to have to watch her lose herself to Xanax and Norcos.  She means too much to the universe, every hopeful girl with a clever smile who convinces herself she isn’t worth the effort is a casualty of war that we must not stand for.  Maybe I’ll call her one of these days, let her know I’m not giving up on her no matter how many walls she makes me put my fist through.  Or I might take a bunch of pills and assure everyone I’m not sad for a couple days, it’s pretty much worked every time I’ve tried it.  Wouldn’t that just be the best revenge, make her watch me slowly dissipate knowing the entire time she had a hand in driving me there.  No, I am not a coward.  I self-medicate that’s no question but I will never bring myself to that point because of another human being.  That shit is for the filthy street dogs ripping flesh off of roadkill just to stay alive.  It just seems logical to treat emotional pain with prescription painkillers, and no one can tell me otherwise.  That being said, this romantic attraction I have to drug use is starting to worry me, and people I trust.  I’ll have to take care of that in the future.  In the meantime, I am not a cold person by nature, so I can’t keep ignoring the little mosquitos buzzing around me.  They need to be killed.

                cHp-9

 All of my recent efforts as a human being have wavered on the edge of futile not to mention pathetic.  Every time my mind balances itself the same night will be accompanied by brutal introspective beatings, brought on as I suspect by the soul-sucking Hantu Kopek I once believed myself to be capable of loving.  The nightmare demon visits me when she chooses, roughly three times a week by my count.  She sits in waiting as I toss and turn with the information that I was lied to, cheated, and tossed outside to die with the dogs.  Then once I finally slip into civil unrest she slips her tongue deep into my throat as flashing visions of Xanax and quiet hospital rooms flood my subconscious. I sat in tears last night for hours, I can’t remember the last time I wept like a fucking child.  My emotions haven’t touched base with me to that degree for months.  It happened after I drifted asleep for no more than a few minutes and there she was, dead on arrival from prescription overdose, and I hadn’t spoken to her in months.  It was only a few seconds but it was clear as day.  I woke up in tears.  The thought of losing her terrifies me to my core but I am worthless to her.  She doesn’t care if I live or die through no fault of my own, so by every law of nature I should have spit on the very idea of her the moment she chose Oxymorphone over anything to do with me.  I don’t know where to turn to anymore so I think I’ll stop turning.  I’m getting dizzy and I’d like to sit down.  I refuse to delude myself into hopeless depression and apathy anymore.  I’ve come to realize, throughout all the beatings my brain has received over the past few months, that I was the one holding the bat, not her.  The whole situation was an ugly old whore that had to be put down with a single gunshot to the skull.  Now that I’ve pulled the trigger it’s just a matter of burying the body before I find myself hauled up in a cabin playing cards with the old whore’s frozen corpse.  That would be embarrassing.

          cHp-10

 Bartender, I’ll have a whiskey sour.  In the meantime allow me to introduce you to my associates.  They’re all docile and pleasant individuals but the wrong combination of words and circumstances will tip the scales just enough to allow all the wiggle room they require to turn your life upside-down and sideways.  What I mean to say is, while they may all come across as harmless reefer-heads they don’t fear or bend to to the whim of anyone but themselves.  They will take any and all necessary actions to keep themselves in whatever circumstances they damn well please, and that’s why we don’t mind acting reckless from time to time.  That being said, recklessness is beginning to suit me less, and far be it from me to argue with acting civilized.  For writing material, however, I will entertain any notion I please.  The last few months give or take have been bizarre.  Every effort I made to improve myself seemed to ricochet and land in foul territory.  I don’t mean that.  My short game is just wretched at the moment.  I’ve separated myself from a lot of people I used to spend time with.  Partially because of circumstance partially because I just don’t have the energy.  To the friends I still have and to all the people I have ever and will ever spend my time in the company of please know your efforts did not fall on ungrateful hands.  I only must do what is best for me and those I love.  At times that could mean months of silence and awkward glances, as we are only human beings.  Meanwhile, I’ll be locked in my room scribbling sociopathic scrawl onto one of my many notebooks, or perhaps I’ll be inebriated to the extent of drilling my fists into my own property out of anger and self-induced psychosis.  I cannot be at peace until the constant need to be sedated has left my psyche, and the first step to that is reminding myself what life is like without this wall of chemicals in front of my eyes.  So far it’s been incredibly dull, and that can only mean that it’s working, or that all my efforts are misguided and in a few short months I’ll be the same abrasive dope fiend that everyone knows and loves.  The ride is not over, the war wages on.  Tomorrow brings possibilities so twisted and depraved you really can’t afford to ignore them, and it would be in your best interest to have a pair of aviator sunglasses, a trenchcoat full of psilocybin, and a sawed-off shotgun at your immediate disposal.  The bastards won’t be able to touch you.

 -alleycat

[chiarasmuse]

this drabble is based off of this gifset -  http://chiararps.tumblr.com/post/135208834852

Luke was exhausted. The last two months had taken too much out of him. His hand was wounded and returning to Julia had been something of an effort. He hated returning home wounded, it only reminded the two of them that they were apart. It always caused Julia pain to see him hurt, large cuts running down his face and chest from fights with other packs. It was obvious to both of them that he was exhausted, his eyes were red, his cheeks sunken, and he refused to leave his estate. Normally when he returned home he would look after the village, as was customary from a lord, but this time, he wondered if he should ever come home again. He and Julia were two different beings now. He was no longer the man that she had married and despite the fact that the Sweeney family had made a promise not to do any harm to Luke’s pack, they were all aware that he was what their family hunted.

Most nights Luke slipped out of bed and went to his library, watching as the moon rose high in the sky fully aware that in a few short weeks it would rise again and be full, calling him away from his family and back to his second family. Calling him away from Julia and their soon-to-be child. The moon held him like an addict. Everything he did was by the moon, taking away his freedom to be the man that he had always wanted to become, to be the man that his family wanted him to be, the man that his wife had married.

As the full moon slipped closer, Bedford had an unexpected guest. It was customary for aristocratic families to host other men of the court if they were passing through and George had been friendly with the Abbots for quite some time, though Luke never considered he and George friends. He had never liked the other man. He found George arrogant and uncaring, and yet he had written two days earlier telling Luke and Julia that he would be passing through and “wouldn’t it be like old times?” and so Luke had agreed. He didn’t get to spend much time in court these days, often avoiding it, afraid people might think that he was ill, and there was no way he was about to let George Pembroke tell any of their acquaintances that Luke had refused him and made him sleep in the inn.

Two days had passed and as usual Luke slipped out of his bedroom and to his library, sitting in the chair below the window with a book on his lap, open, yet he was not reading it, instead he was looking out the window and listening carefully for the howls he knew would start to appear in the woods. His ears pricked up as he heard footsteps outside and George stepped in through the open door.

“Ah, Luke, just the man I was looking for.” “It’s a little late to be looking for me, don’t you think?” Luke asked slipping the book onto the small table beside his chair and standing up.

“Well, I expect you don’t sleep much these days what with the moon growing every night.”

Luke slipped off his glasses and placed them on the desk, trying to remain as calm as he could. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Pembroke.”

“I’m certain you do.”  

Luke watched as the other man walked to a shelf on the other side of the room and picked up a small bronze cast of a golden retriever.

“Must be so difficult to live amongst a family of hunters when you, yourself, are what they hunt.”

Luke took a deep breath but said nothing. The other man continued, “It didn’t take me long to discover what you were. Your absence in London, the stories of wolves nearby. It’s been the past few days that confirmed what I suspected. You look awful, old chum.” George turned and tossed the cast in the air, catching it as he looked at Luke, “I admit that I am new to this world of yours, but I am quite surprised that your father-in-law allowed you his daughter’s hand knowing what you were. Actually, I’m more surprised that your wife allows you to sleep in her bed, but then again she might get more of a thrill knowing that she’s carrying a wolf’s son.”

Luke took several steps closer to the other man, “I think it might be time for you to leave my estate.”

“The Sweeney’s are losing their touch, it’s clear to me now. If they won’t do what they must then I will.”

Luke stepped closer, “If you want to kill me, do it now.” His voice hard. George shook his head and pressed his hand to Luke’s chest, “While you’re in this form? I think not. You see, I want the pleasure of shooting you in the wild, like the animal you are.”

Luke stared into the other man’s eyes as Julia walked through the door, “What is going on down here?” She asked seeing the two men. Luke grabbed George’s wrist and held tightly, pulling his hand off of him.

“Mr. Pembroke was just telling me that he has to leave quite unexpectedly. Please get Alice to wake up Roger and let him know that George will be requiring his car.” Luke watched as George walked to Julia, taking her hand and giving it a small kiss that was ended quite quickly as Julia pulled her hand away. “Pack quickly, Mr. Pembroke, there is a train you can catch in an hour.”

Luke watched as George left the room completely and he walked over to Julia, “everything is fine, my love. No need to worry.” He lied. “Now, go find Alice.” Giving her a small kiss on her cheek and walking back to his chair.