#its another one of those werewolf metaphors for his life i suppose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rebloged-content · 3 years

Text

Recommended Sanders Sides creators

Marry Christmas, everyone! And a wonderful December day to all of you who don’t celebrate Christmas, too. Let’s be honest right off the bat, though: I’m only using the date as an excuse to do this list anyways.

So. Throughout the time I’ve spent as a part of this wonderful corner of the sanders sides fandom over here on tumblr, I’ve often found a new creator and wished I’d found them sooner. It kind of makes me wonder who else I might miss. If you do to, here are a few creators I’d love for you to check out. You’ll probably recognize some of the names, if not all, but maybe you’ll find a new favorite creator here?

And to the creators in question, I really love your content. If you’ve made it onto this list, you’ve definitely cause one or two sleepless nights of reading for me, because who needs sleep if I can have this, right? XD Whatever you’ll find written next to your name is the impression you’ve left on me and… Well, just know that you’ve made some days of my life at least a little happier, all of you. And I hope to repay the favor by telling you how much I appreciate you releasing your content into this world… Well, repay the favor at least a little, I suppose.

Let’s begin, then, shall we?

@5am-the-foxing-hour Because this? This is who you go to if you want to read good Janus-content. You are in a mood to read sympathetic Janus? Wanna see the danger noodle just casually interact with other sides? Go to their short stories. I mean, “the cult”? Prime example of how to tell a story with impact in just a few words. 8 paragraphs, but boy did I read that one on repeat. Or “water spray bottle”, this one is fun, short and will make you laugh. An energy drink for the fander heart, so to say.

Then there’s their mafia-au, “there’s more in me than precious metals”. Six are out so far, and I adore every single word of every single part of this. Protective Remus, sassy Janus, angst, comedy relief, destruction, Roman-Remus-sibling-rivalry, braincell Logan, survival instinct Virgil, working together over a common enemy… This fic has it all, believe me. Take your time and read it, because you will read the entire thing in one go once you start. At least I did, and I didn’t even notice.

And their advent writings? Those had me squealing and jumping around in a way I will deny if anyone ever sees it. I don’t even know what else to say, they are fucking fantastic and that’s that.

So, yeah. Go check them out, before I start fangirling about them even more. You know my personal favorites now, so just go there. You won’t regret it.

Next up is @coconut-cluster. Ah, yes, Lexi. Lexi, whose uni-AU started as self indulgent and has become the loceit story on tumblr. We all know her, or at least most of us do, and we all love her too. And while I also drop everything I do at any point of time I possibly can once I realize the uni-au has any form of new addition, there are a lot of other fics created by her that you should check out as well.

Did you, for example, ever want a sappy prinxiety one-shot with the sappiness only being implied, a mutual understanding of “we’re-not-saying-we-care-but-we-both-know-we-do” born from joking reassurances and a not-a-date-nope-only-a-break? While that may seem to be a tall order, that is exactly what “before the sun goes down” is. Plus there’s ice cream. Or maybe you’re more of a logince fan? Do you want a fic where Roman isn’t the prince but serves His Highness? Do you like sincere talks while you’re procrastinating showing your face to the subjects you don’t really want to rule over? In that case, you really should read “Viva la Vida”. Careful, though, this one is so sweet you’ll probably get a toothache… There also is an analogical fic that I’ve enjoyed very much: “Cracks in the Ceiling”. I love it, because it’s just calm. Fears creeping up on you, thrown away by a trusted friend with a few words, just by being there and playing into the metaphors you head created this time around. It’s calm, and there’s not really a climax or anything, but it doesn’t need one. Because it’s just a glance into everyday life. It’s beautiful in its own right, really.

What I’m saying is, Lexi has a lot more wonderful stories to tell than the uni-au. It’s the most popular one, sure, and it’s one of her best works. But you really should check out her other fics as well. Lexi herself once said that she writs fics she’d like to read. I would figure it’s because of this, but her stories are mostly things you don’t really find anywhere else. Dynamics, stories, world building, all of those are aspects you may find somewhere else. But Lexi is just one of those people who see what they miss in a fandom and create it themselves, and among these creators Lexi is my favorite. She just has that certain skill that makes that approach to writing result in the most enjoyable reading experiences. Lexi’s fics are special, because they’re different, because they are authentic and you can feel that when you’re reading her work.

@djpurple3 is another talented individual I want to talk about. I have to confess, DJ is, as far as original content goes, almost exclusively locked in my brain with the fiction “I just keep loosing my beat”. 23 Chapters so far, one better than the last. It’s a bitter-sweet story following Remus and his children, after the bitch of a mother has been brought behind bars. Abusive piece of shit. Yeah, I don’t like her much. But the story is so full of love and support, everyone trying their best, everyone seeing how much the others deserve the world and wishing they could give it to them… Roman and Remus have a sibling-dynamic I would die for here, too. Patton is just the most adorable friend to Deceit - here Damion - Virgil is a precious bean, Logan is cute and the teacher we all wish he’d had ourselves and… god, I could keep gushing about this fic forever. I’ll stop now, though, before I’ll start spoiler things. Wouldn’t want to do that, especially since I really, really, really want more people to give this a go. It’s not underrated, I just think everyone who doesn’t is missing out by a lot, so… Go over there and read DJ’s fic right fucking now, if you haven’t already read it at least once. Thank you.

@delimeful, our wonderful lime-friend with a cute cat making a terrifying face in his header. First of all, there is the WIBAR universe, short for “Watch it burn and rust”. 5 chapters in act one, 4 intermissions (one of those with three chapters), one chapter of act two, as well as three extras and an au of this au called “the end of being alone”, and I’ve lost count of how many nights I spent reading those instead of sleeping like I should. (Or interacting with family. Or being productive. Or… It’s really a good story, okay?!) WIBAR is a deathworlder au. So a space au in which humans are regarded as dangerous deathworlders who can survive on a deathworld like earth. In other words, Virgil is the only human, and boy does that scare everyone around him. And the best part? You can feel the development, the shift in mentality regarding Virgil, feel the moment approach in which he isn’t a threat but a companion instead.

And, apart from the fic that inspired me enough to start writing “TINND!R?” over on my writing blog, there are a lot more amazing fics to read on lime’s blog. He wrote “How easy you are to need”, for example. It’s soft, it pulls at just the right heartstrings, it’s achingly hopeful and, god, the ending still has me in tears, even after the fifth - ? sixth? something among those lines - reread. This one’s a werewolf au, actually. Virgil is the werewolf, Logan, Patton and Roman are the humans.

Do you want yourself some of that pre-AA dynamic? I’d recommend “to taste your beating heart”. In this, Virgil gets separated from the rest of his group of vampire hunters and gets turned into a vampire himself, loosing his memories. And he’s “Anx” now, not “Virgil”, goddamnit! He isn’t their friend anymore, why don’t they understand that? Well, probably because they can still see Virgil’s old habits shining through. There’s a lot of tension, a lot of angst and a whole lot of frustration involved in this.

He also wrote some amazing one-shots. They’re mostly so well written that I’m almost sad not to be waiting on a continuation. There’s “the littlest mermaid”, in which Virgil goes to investigate a noise, finding a scared, tiny mermaid in need of help. In “community gardens” we have Remus being Remus, gaining the interest and friendship of the forest’s giant Logan. “Magical mutualism” tells the tale of a witch and a demon making a pact beneficial to both parties and opening the doors neither could have gone beyond alone. The way we’re all confused about our ships not actually having set sail yet comes to a hight in Virgil in regards to his friends in “amateur matchmakers”. And this is the point at witch I stop talking before I actually recommend every single one of lime’s fics instead of just my favorites as I had planed because I started to gush too much… XD

Let’s move on to @muppenthings. Mupp is an amazing artist and she created a giant mermaid au. There’s this one orca who’s just… We love her, but I actually don’t think she’s the brightest. I really, really love her, though. Virgil himself is being a little protective over his human friends and casually so. I love this comic series for the art style, but I also love the way it makes me crack a laugh at least once per work. Or appeal to my mother-instincts, if it’s about baby Virgil. Too cute for his own good, I tell ya! And the facial expressions! The detail, the jokes, everything about this is wonderful. You should at least take a look.

@whenisitenoughtrees. Cat got me with “This cup of yours tastes holy (This lie is dead)”. “A slow voice on a wave of phase” was next, later “Infinity and beyond”, “we are not alone in the dark with out demons” and “changing of the guard”. And then, suddenly, the night was over. I’ve read almost all of the fics in one go, and I’ve been semi-frequently visiting her master post ever since. When “There’s an endless road to rediscover” came out just a little while back, that lead to me re-reading through almost the entire list. I don’t regret it, my plans for that weekend would like to disagree.

These six fics I mentioned here are, by no means, the only ones I enjoyed. Those are just the ones I’ve found myself opening up again and again in sleepless nights. Those are the ones that pop up in my head and have me smiling to myself in the middle of god-knows-whatever-I’ve-been-doing-at-the-time.

Angst, fluff, hurt-comfort, you’ll find everything in that list. And something I’ve grown to like about Cat’s fics even more than anything else is the quick change between feeling perplexed, a startled laugh at certain wordings (you’ll know what I’m talking about when you see it) and apprehension. These fics will have you at the edge of you seat, swooping you away on an emotional roller coaster. And, god, the way Cat writes from Remus’ perspective? The introductions of her stories and the way she redirects to the main topic after going into detail on something? I saved a few paragraphs as screenshots on my phone because I love them and I want to read them again when I’m down. I just… Cat’s great.

Next up is @eliemo. Because Elias Virgil is the royalty of Virgil angst. From the touch-starved Virgil we’ve all had a head cannon of at one point in “Heart of Ice”, over ace Virgil panicking over telling his boyfriends that he his ace and didn’t think to tell them before in “Love our way” to so, so much more.

Mostly EV follows the story arc of an underlying feeling of dread at the beginning, which slowly grows into panic, exploding in a storm of angst and concludes in everyone, or at least whoever is around, coming to the rescue and helping to calm down, with the end being the hope for getting better in the future. They always manage to convey the confusion, fear or just the general thought process so well that you can’t help but get absorbed in the story. They know exactly what to say and what to leave between the lines to get the maximum effect. And, your heart will definitely be shattered after their angst. Still, the way the sides comfort each other and support each other so well every time is just… I love their stories, a lot.

I want to make two more suggestions if you want to check out this creator. A Janus angst fic, which can only be described as “ouch” you’ll find under the name “snake bite”. It hurts in the best way possible, because Janus gets the comfort he deserves.

The other suggestion gets a lot darker. It’s about Virgil having been abused by the “others” before he got accepted into the light side. The others are shocked to find out what has gone on behind their backs and they help Virgil in every way they can to recover. Of cause it’s a rocky path, though. This would be “Learned Behavior”. The series/au has twelve stories so far, one of which has two parts. You’ll find the master post for this pinned to the top on their blog.

If you like angst, you should also give @maybedefinitely404 a look. Ly has a soulmate-au going, in which they use the concept of “you hear the music your soulmate listens to”. "Music in my head” is a prinxiety fic, but the two of them have yet to meet. Four chapters and two mini-fics in. The reason I mentioned angst is because in this - spoiler alert for the first few chapters here - , Virgil gets put through conversion therapy. Luckily Janus and Logan are better foster parents than the ones who did that to him.

They also have a master list for all their soulmate stories, featuring different ships. Apparently they participated in soulmate month, if I understood that correctly. And to be honest, that was how I even found their account. I absolutely adore their anxceit fic, which takes place in a human au. It’s starting off pretty sad, but the bonding moments are absolutely wonderful. It’s a lovely story, and the ending is one of the best ones I’ve yet to read. Their logince fic took my breath away, too. A flower shop/tattoo artist au, and Logan is the tattoo artist. Stunning writing, wonderful world building, just the right amount of backstory to have everything make sense without overwhelming/drowning the reader in unnecessary details. Their moxceit fiction… Well, this one had me in tears within the first few paragraphs. It’s terrible and you feel for Janus, whose perspective this is written from. The ending, though… Gods! The ending was so indescribably cute. To be honest, all of the soulmate stories are great, these three are just my personal favorites.

Concerning their one shots, you’ll probably have to figure it out on your own concerning this. I haven’t been able to read all of them yet, as sad as that makes me. Definitely palling on doing it in the future, though. I did read two of them, though. “Pippity poppity” really was amusing, and I am so looking forward to the second part of “The Boy who sings next door”. The way they write the dynamics between the sides? I live for that.

Another creator I would like to recommend is @maybe-im-tired.They don’t have a master post, as far as I could see, but they only post their content anyways, so… “Can’t take my eyes off of you” is my favorite out of their fics so far. I mean, the way they managed to fit the sheer chaos that is intrulogical into this one short fic is amazing. And you could take about two thirds of what Remus said and put it up on your wall as out-of-contexts-quotes. Don’t worry, he says them out of context anyways, and they will definitely make you laugh.

The series of short stories for the human au that starts with “Glowing stars” is another au by them that you will almost certainly like. We have Logan and Virgil as kids (about 7 I think), Remus and Patton as single parents, Roman as the most adoring uncle, Emile as babysitter and Remy as his amazing partner. Remus is a great father, wonderfully chaotic as well. And a teacher! Imagine that, Remus as your teacher... He’s great with kids though, as long as they aren’t entitled villains come to make his precious Virgil feel bad, that is.

They also wrote a bunch of “random one shots”. They are all amazing, but my favorite has to be this one. It’s a logince one, once again human au. Patton may or may not tell his big brother’s crush about the feelings he wasn’t prepared to share yet. You know, as small kids do. It’s soft, it will make you smile as much as Logan does, and I love Remus in it. I generally like how they write Remus, okay? I know how much I’ve said it, but I’m not even exaggerating. They always write him differently, and all versions they write him as are so, so lovable and just… I wanna hug the life out of all Remus versions they wrote, okay? Take a look, you’ll know why.

Anyways. Let’s continue with @figurative-siren-song. This is the last account I’ve followed and I’m still sad about it having taken me this long to find them. Little salty, to be honest. (I’ll stick to they/them because they said just not to use she/her, and, well… consistency, you know? Don’t have much, so I have to get what I can XD). When I finally did find them, I went through their entire master list (at least all of the ships with characters I actually know. I’m kinda bad with the shorts characters, so I usually just… avoid them? Idk. Personal preference, I guess), and, well… I would honestly recommend every single fic on that list. They call themself “Repair Fluff King™️” and they deserve that title. But when they warn you that a fic will be angsty, it will be angsty.

I found them through the anxceit fic “A Deal”. Well, through an animatic by their friend on youtube that had linked the fic, but details. I’ve been reading this fic up and down again and again. It’s just so good! And when they talk in the second part and Janus explains why he proposed that deal. Or in the continuation, which i can’t talk about because I will probably spoiler things! So wholesome!

Also, their losleepxeity fic “We’re worth it”. So soft! The nicknames, the plot, the everything. It’s softer than clouds look, and we all know that means something.

But, really. Everyone will find something for them by this creator. So many ships, all incredibly well written, and soft and fluffy without getting boring in the slightest. It’s as energizing as coffee, actually. And, let’s be honest, this whole fandom drowns itself in angst most of the time. Take a break from that, repair your broken hearts with goof fluffy content that you’ll want to read over and over again. Go check this creator out. You will love them.

Last but not least… @myfriendsasthesides A blog by a creator who just takes the wonderfully chaotic dynamics of a friend group and using that to give us content of incorrect sides quotes. Maybe it doesn’t fit with me going on and on about fics here. I don’t care. Follow them and turn on those notifications, please, because seeing even one post of theirs on your dashboard will make your day. It’s funny, it’s absurd, it’s chaotic, it’s making you jealous of them for having friends like that. Believe me, you will want to see those posts. It’s just… the random shots of serotonin and dopamine out generation needs really fucking desperately 100% of the time.

That’s it with the list! Eleven creators I absolutely adore, and I’m sorry I was babbling so much all the way through, but… Well, actually I’m not sorry. And actually, half of the reason I even made this post is to tell them how much I love them and fangirl about them a bit. So… Yeah. Well.I love you guys and hope you’ll have a wonderful day! And to everyone else reading this: I hope this helped you ind some new creators you can enjoy. And a good day to you too, of cause.

Sincerely, Joy 🖤

(@joylessnightsky/@sanders-sides-fic)

#I hope it's okay to you I just went ahead and did this #if you don't feel comfortable with this or anything written in here feel free to let me know #also no I didn't check the spelling #I'm too tired to do that anyways #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #recommendations #list

114 notes · View notes

whenwordsmakesense · 3 years

Text

Day 6: Realisation | Day 5: Cake

@pridewrite2021

Here’s my masterlist for this event if you want to check this out <3

Spoiled

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Ships: Peter Hale × Chris Argent | Derek Hale × Stiles Stilinski

Words: 2k

Summary: Chris is a hunter. An Argent. His sister burned down his entire family—Peter shouldn't care for him.

And he doesn't.

He doesn't care for the hunter with sharp, calculating eyes, the ex-husband of another hunter and a father to a hunter-in-training, never mind mind that two of them are pack-adjacent.

He cares for the young boy with the soft, clear blue eyes, mind filled with all the ways to ensure peace between hunters and the supernaturals, conscience free of guilt he shouldn't have but does.

Peter is still in love with his best friend from his childhood—the Chris that'd been nothing but another boy in his class, someone who knew the truth about who he was and had matched and mended and marched into Peter's soul, his heart.

Can be read on AO3 or here.

Warnings: Swearing, innuendos.

>> Starts from here.

The wound on Chris' side is glaringly purple, mocking him, and it's taking every ounce of control in Peter to not crowd the human against the counter of the Argent's kitchen and just do the goddamn dressing himself. Is it really that hard to dress wounds? Peter doesn't know, because he's a healthy, alive werewolf who heals in seconds, unlike Chris, who is human and still decided to jump in front of him to prevent Peter getting shot—and it wasn't even wolfsbane.

Peter could smell. Rather, he couldn't. Which was really naive of the hunters—kids, really—and now he has to suffer through this.

“You can go.” Peter snaps his eyes up, and into Chris' mess of a hair. It's worse than Scott's shaggy hair that he had last year.

“But I am enjoying the show,” Peter says easily. It's not a complete lie. Chris is fine. A total DILF if there ever was one. But right now both his wolf and his hea—mind are more focused on not losing control. He hates that the human got hurt, and now he can't even tease his nephew about the same. That's a shame. And Stiles bruises so easily, too. That boy should really just spell himself to be not clumsy, it would give Derek another ten or twenty years before he gets grey hairs.

“You can enjoy it with Melissa. I don't need a babysitter, Peter.”

The sudden anger that's emanating from Chris finally pulls his thin mockery of control away, letting his unsheathed claws be exposed to the keen eyes of the veteran hunter, who straightens immediately at the sight.

Chris is a hunter. An Argent. His sister burned down his entire family—Peter shouldn't care for him.

And he doesn't.

He doesn't care for the hunter with sharp, calculating eyes, the ex-husband of another hunter and a father to a hunter-in-training, never mind mind that two of them are pack-adjacent.

He cares for the young boy with the soft, clear blue eyes, mind filled with all the ways to ensure peace between hunters and the supernaturals, conscience free of guilt he shouldn't have but does.

He can't be here.

“Maybe I'll go and bother Melissa, then.” He says sharply, and Chris nods, sharp and precise.

Peter hates seeing Chris hurt. Especially for him. But Chris has hurt much, much deeper than that bullet could have ever done and yet... He loves him.

***

“I love you,” Chris says, and Peter stops breathing. He chances a glance at the other boy, who looks so earnest and just a little nervous, the basketball in his hand twirling without any real effort.

“Like—like a friend?” He asks, because he isn't supposed to have good things. He might have realised he's in love with his best friend weeks ago, but his life isn't a fairy-tale. The two of them can never be together. It will only end in blood and death.

And Peter would rather have Chris alive and hating him than dead.

He can't see Chris dead. That would be a fate worse than death.

***

The meeting—that's supposed to be a pack meeting about progress on the unhinged witch—ends up being a movie night. Stiles corrals everyone into staying, even if the Sheriff and Melissa leave halfway through because of their demanding jobs. Chris itches to leave, too, and it's more than just not being the only other adult—as much as Derek is the Alpha, he's still a kid—than Peter, who has been inconspicuously absent from his house since that day two weeks ago, when he'd told the 'wolf to leave in anger.

Anger he didn't know he could still feel. He'd believed he was long past that. But apparently not.

And he now has a bullet hole on his side to remind him.

As Chris watches Allison slink closer and closer to Scott, he sees his excuse.

“Stiles, I know pack bonding is important, but I'd rather be home than watch my daughter and her not-boyfriend being all snuggly.”

Scott, who'd been sipping on his glass of coke, chokes, and Allison blushes furiously. Chris feels pride in the fact that his daughter can easily take down people twice her size whenever she wants, and still be the same adorable little girl she's been since birth.

“Uh,” Stiles, and the others, seem to be half-mortified and half-amused at his jab at Scott and Allison's relationship, which is worse than Ross and Rachel's arc on friends, and just as that thought pops in his head, he searches out Peter in the crowd of a now laughing teens. The moment he does, he can see the mirth in those blue eyes he'd once spent ages trying to dive into.

It feels like the old days when they share the small smile, remember the study sessions turned F.R.I.E.N.D.S. binge, and just like that, the moment is broken.

Peter isn't the same anymore.

He isn't the same anymore.

His sister—she killed Peter's family. And Peter had played dolls with her, more than once.

He feels tears threating his eyes, and because this is a pack of wolves, they immediately catch on to the change in atmosphere. Even the non-wolves pick up on it fast.

“I—I need to go.” He says, voice broken.

He's remembering the last time he and Peter had been together, in their room, his basketball in hand and arguing over theories of how the show could complicate Ross and Rachel's lives more.

He leaves without a second glance.

Derek follows him down to his car, where he's only just reached the handle, and says, “He still loves you, you know.”

Chris shakes his head. “He never did,”

Derek's frown deepens, like he's thinking of how to explain some fundamental thing to a child. Like Peter being in love with Chris is just a fact that he's known all his life, and it's a fact that's as permanent as the Earth revolving around the Sun.

Chris doesn't know how to feel about that.

“When was the last time you saw me lose control?”

He sighs, but he knows he won't get out of this without answering. The Hales have always been stubborn, and Derek is no less.

“When Stiles got hurt.” Because of the lacrosse game. It wasn't even life-threatening, for a change, but Derek had, like every single other time Stiles has been hurt, gone ballistic. Chris is just glad Isaac, Boyd, Jackson and Scott all had been there to stop the poor kid—Greenburg might have been his name—from being killed.

“Peter couldn't control his beta shift two weeks ago.” Derek says, and then he's gone.

Chris frowns after him, remembers seeing the claws that day when Peter had followed him home, and remembers feeling as if Peter lost control because of him.

Like he used to think when they were young. When he thought that Peter was falling for him just like he was falling for Peter.

Maybe he wasn't wrong about that.

Just maybe, Peter did fall for him.

***

Stiles finds Derek in his bedroom, just like he has for the past six months. Ever since Peter and Chris got together—after being in love for decades, and hadn't that been a shock for everyone—the loft is apparently “bad for my nose and my brain,” according to Derek.

They settle in their casual rhythm of banters and snark and sass as he completes his homework and Derek reads the latest book that has caught his interest, and it's hours before either of them moves.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Derek perk up, the way all the 'wolves do when they smell someone coming. Stiles finds it adorable on everyone, and whenever he catches Derek doing it his heart just triples its beat at the cuteness of it all.

He's falling for the older man and he doesn't know what to do. Especially when everyone in the pack—including his dad and Melissa who have each other—have found someone to be with. They've literally all coupled up, even Isaac—Cora literally... No, that's Peter... Cora metaphorically came back to life just to couple up with Isaac—which, by default, leaves him with Derek.

It's not all bad, he gets to be with Derek more times than not, and he enjoys their time together, but it's also... Hard. Being so close yet so far.

He can't believe Peter and Chris lasted so many years without dying of heartbreak.

“Peter and Chris.” Derek informs him.

“I thought they were having—”

“Don't!” Derek puts his hands on top his ears, and it's just. So. Adorable. Stiles can't help but laugh, even though he knows he's just digging himself a bigger grave.

And then five minutes later, Peter, Chris, him and Derek are sitting on the dining table looking at two cake boxes.

Stiles is confused. So is Derek.

“What?” He asks, because what?

Peter grins, one hand pushing the white box towards Derek, while the other rests on Chris' shoulders.

Chris pushes the other box towards him.

“Just open it.” Chris instructs. Stiles shares a look with Derek.

“It's cake,” he says, and then opens his black box.

And freezes.

Peter looks at his cake. “Oh, this one is for Derek.” Before Stiles can make his hands grab the box, Derek is peering down at it, too.

Stiles wishes to be killed by the damn gnomes. Where are the supernatural problems when you need them? Fuck his life.

“Uh...” is all Derek says as he reads what's written on the cake.

It says, “Stiles loves you, nephew.”

Stiles buries his head in his hands.

Chris pushes supposedly Stiles' cake towards him. “Open it,” he urges, softly.

Stiles chuckles hollowly. “That one has my real name?” He wouldn't put it past Peter. Especially since last week he'd pranked the 'wolf with the old shaving cream trick.

Dude looked funny with the white beard. Also, it's really easy to get a jump on post-sexy times sleeping Peter Hale.

Chris just pries open his fingers from his eyes and shoves the open box in his face.

This cake says, “Derek loves you, little Red.”

“Uh...” is Stiles' response to that.

“Now, we'll be off. Do us a favor and get rid of the UST.”

Peter saunters off, Chris in tow, who is giggling softly.

“Noah has a double-shift,” the hunter adds, and Stiles' immediate reaction is to shout at Peter.

“You've spoiled him!”

Derek thinks this is his chance to strike, because he comes in Stiles' field of vision with a small, shy smile. His shoulders look far more relaxed than he's ever seen them, like a big weight just got lifted from them.

“If you want, you can be spoiled too.” He says seriously. Stiles loses it.

“Oh, buddy, if you think that... You need to be taught a couple things, honeybuns. I'm the Alpha in this relationship.” It's true, too. Everyone has called them out on it. And that's when they're just friends.

Derek sighs, resigned. “Don't call me that,”

Stiles just grins and hugs Derek tight.

Who knew the realizations of two middle-aged men and their craptastic schemes with cakes would give him a truly, completely happy Derek Hale, laughing the most freely that Stiles has heard from the Alpha in the two years that he's known him?

Not Stiles, that's for sure.

#pridewrite2021 #petopher #sterek #day 5: cake #day 6: realisation #my fic #whenwordsmakesense #peter hale #chris argent #stiles stilinski #derek hale #alternate universe - canon divergence

16 notes · View notes

goldenavenger02 · 3 years

Text

Susz's Halloween Recommendations Part 1: Movies, specials and TV shows.

Movies/specials

Girl Vs. Monster (2012)

Skylar, a teenage girl who discovers on Halloween she's a fifth generation monster hunter. When Skylar accidentally releases some monsters from a containment chamber she must recapture them before they wreak vengeance on her parents.

Notes: I've been watching this since it came out and it's always been a favorite of mine! Has a great message about facing your fears and not letting them control you with the backdrop of monster hunting!

Halloweentown (1998)

When a young girl living with her good-witch grandmother learns she too is a witch, she must help her grandmother save Halloweentown from evil forces.

Notes: I watched this for the first time last year, and I was pleasantly surprised even as an 18 year old!

Hocus Pocus (1993)

A curious youngster moves to Salem, where he struggles to fit in before awakening a trio of diabolical witches that were executed in the 17th century.

Notes: another movie I watched last year, and so surprisingly dark for Disney, especially in the 90s.

The Haunted Mansion (2003)

A realtor and his wife and children are summoned to a mansion, which they soon discover is haunted, and while they attempt to escape, he learns an important lesson about the family he has neglected.

Notes: Eddie Murphy trying to keep his family safe in this haunted house? It's one of my favorites!

Scooby Doo (2002)

The Mystery Inc. gang have gone their separate ways and have been apart for two years, until they each receive an invitation to Spooky Island. Not knowing that the others have also been invited, they show up and discover an amusement park that affects young visitors in very strange ways. Fred, Daphne, Velma, Shaggy and Scooby soon realize that they cannot solve this mystery without help from each other.

Notes: this is a childhood movie of mine, and the sequel is so good as well. Definitely a good mix of spooky and fun!

Scooby Doo: The Mystery Begins (2009)

A made for TV movie about the origins of the Mystery Incorporated gang.

Notes: a high school/Disney Channel style movie with horror elements starring Robbie Ammel and Hayley Kiyoko. This one is one I've been watching since it came out and it's one of my favorites.

Coraline (2009)

An adventurous 11-year-old girl finds another world that is a strangely idealized version of her frustrating home, but it has sinister secrets.

Notes: watched this one last year and I absolutely adore it! It's so terrifying and I highly recommend.

The Boy (2016)

An American nanny is shocked that her new English family's boy is actually a life-sized doll. After she violates a list of strict rules, disturbing events make her believe that the doll is really alive.

Notes: the movie is suspenseful the whole time, and the last 15 minutes are absolutely horrifying.

Flashback (2020)

After a chance encounter with a man forgotten from his youth, Fred literally and metaphorically journeys into his past.

Notes: I watched this psychological thriller a few months ago and it has it's scary elements, but it's really interesting to see the main character descend into madness and obsession due to something in his personal life.

Edge of Winter (2016)

When two brothers are stranded by a brutal winter storm with an unpredictable father they barely know, the boys begin to suspect their supposed protector may be their biggest threat.

Notes: pretty sure this movie was filmed around the same time Captain America: Civil War, so it's very young Tom Holland, but this is a movie he is so good in. Definitely makes you wonder just how far parents are willing to go.

Hubie Halloween (2020)

Despite his devotion to his hometown of Salem (and its Halloween celebration), Hubie Dubois is a figure of mockery for kids and adults alike. But this year, something is going bump in the night, and it's up to Hubie to save Halloween.

Notes: Don't take this one seriously and you're more likely to enjoy it. Definitely more of a comedy than anything scary. Adam Sandler is very polarizing but I enjoyed this.

Hotel Transylvania (2012)

Dracula, who operates a high-end resort away from the human world, goes into overprotective mode when a boy discovers the resort and falls for the count's teenaged daughter.

Notes: a family Halloween movie that really is just a fun time.

Ninjago: Day of the Departed (2016)

On the Ninjago holiday: Day of the Departed, the ninja remeber those who have departed.

Notes: Takes place in between season 6 and 7 and really explores grief as well as the concept of being forgotten. Obviously you have to watch the seasons before to understand this, but it's really interesting to watch for sure.

My Friend Dahmer (2017)

Jeffrey Dahmer murdered 17 men and boys in the Midwest United States between 1978 and 1991 before being captured and incarcerated. He would become one of America's most infamous serial killers. This is the story before that story.

Notes: a fascinating look into an infamous serial killer, both parts fiction and non fiction and suspenseful the whole time.

TV shows

Teen Wolf (2011-2017)

Scott becomes the eponymous teenage werewolf of the series after he is bitten by an alpha werewolf the night before his second year of high school, drastically changing his once-ordinary life.

Notes: one of my absolute favorite TV shows, and perfect for the Halloween season! Especially since the movie is coming out next year!

Only Murders in the Building (2021-)

Only Murders in the Building follows three strangers, played by Steve Martin, Martin Short and Selena Gomez, who share an obsession with a true crime podcast. After a murder in their building, the three neighbors decide to start their own show that covers their investigation of the murder.

Notes: Already fantastic and season 1 is still coming out on Hulu! The blend of comedy and horror is always one of my favorites!

Cruel Summer (2021-)

The series follows two teenage girls in the 1990s and the repercussions on everyone's lives after one disappears and the other seemingly takes her place.

Notes: this has huge triggers for domestic violence, grooming and sexual assault. If you're not triggered by that, I HIGHLY recommend this, and I'm so excited for season 2! It also has some great LGBT+ rep!

Nancy Drew (2019-)

Nancy Drew (Kennedy McMann) is a brilliant teenaged detective whose sense of self had come from solving mysteries in her hometown of Horseshoe Bay, Maine – until her mother’s untimely death derails Nancy’s college plans.

Notes: I've been watching this since it came out and season 3 is about to start airing! The first season is so wonderful and full of twists and turns (season 2 isn't as good, but it's the CW) and I highly recommend!

Ninjago Season 5, Possession (2015)

The spirit of the evil Morro is released from the cursed realm and the Ninjas have to unite in the battle against an evil foe.

Notes: one of my favorite seasons of the show, and definitely one of the darkest ones! Deals with grief, depression and high expectations and it's so good!

Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated (2010-2013)

Scooby-Doo and the gang attempt to solve creepy mysteries in the town of Crystal Cove, a place with a history of eerie supernatural events.

Notes: this starts off similar to the original Scooby Doo show from the early 70's, but as the overarching plot gets deeper and deeper, you really spend your time just wondering "what the heck is going on".

I'm not going to put specific episodes of TV shows on here, because that'll get daunting, but part 2 is books and fics!

#susz's halloween recommendations #halloween

5 notes · View notes

prince-of-elsinore · 3 years

Text

On Gunslingers, the "March of Progress," and Leaving a Legacy

An analysis of themes in Supernatural Season 12

In a previous post rambling about season 12, I stumbled onto the idea of American Hunters vs. the British Men of Letters as a classic Western set-up: the lone gunslinger who lives by his wits, skill, grit, and personal moral code, vs. the advance of "civilization" colonizing and "taming" the West, effectively pushing out the gunslinger and making him obsolete. The land becomes a more inhabitable place (for white settlers), but with the comforts and safety of civil society come society's norms and mores, which leave no space for the shades of gray in which the vigilante gunslinger operates. If we take the BMOL mission at face value, they are attempting the same sort of colonization of "wild" (monster-infested) America. Britain is "civilized" (monster-free) thanks to the BMOL, whereas in the US, lone operator hunters (gunslingers) rove the country, sometimes saving people, but not all the people, and always operating according to their personal judgment, faulty as it may be (see Gordon, Roy and Walt, Martin, to name a few). Leaving aside the question of whether the BMOL's goal of ridding the country of monsters is realistic (the US in not an island like Britain), their aim, if achieved, would undoubtedly make the US a safer country for its human residents.

(I'm aware that this analogy is problematic for equating monsters with native inhabitants who must be wiped out or assimilated, and humans with white colonizers. This is an implication that the show itself makes. This post isn't about the problematic and ethically inconsistent portrayal of monsters in Supernatural, though, which is a huge topic in and of itself, so I acknowledge that it is an issue, but one I don't aim to address here.)

What the US would lose if the BMOL succeeded is the "rugged individualism" of the hunter ethos, and the nuances that their personal codes allow--a second chance for the psychic Magdas and werewolf Claire Novaks of the world. The show, of course, wants us to side with the hunters, the good ol' fashioned gunslingers. It makes it easy (too easy) for us to do by presenting the BMOL as caricaturish villains with a cruelly rigid code. This has the effect of aligning the audience against the "march of progress" (just as many Westerns implicitly do--therein lies the genre's subversive potential).

Let's take a closer look at 12x14 "The Raid" in this light. The Alpha vampire has been drawn out of retirement by the BMOL's meddling:

Alpha: I'm old. I like living quietly. You've been making my life awfully noisy lately. You've killed so many of my children. I've seen your work. In England, I didn't get involved because, well, it's England. But America, yes. America is my home. And it's time that you get off my lawn.

Clearly, America holds a privileged position in monsters' minds, or at least in this particular very, very old monster's mind. It is still the "Wild West," and it is "home" for monsters. No reason is given for this; it's safe to say it's a purely ideological impulse on the part of the show.

This exchange between Sam and the Alpha follows:

Sam: My family and I, we kill vamps when they get out of line. And you've let us. Alpha: I have many children, Sam. What's one, two, here or there? Sam: Exactly. So? Let my mom and me go. We'll walk away, go back to the way things were, to the way things are supposed to be. Hunters and vampires, cops and robbers, a fair fight.

"Cowboys and Indians" could just as easily fill in for "cops and robbers" there--in fact, the obvious absence of that analogy is a ringing silence. The show is skirting dangerously close around the edges of its uncomfortable premise.

What I want to draw attention to, though, is Sam's assertion that this is a "fair fight." What he's proposing is a return to the status quo, where some people, by default, will die. Of course, Sam is bluffing--he does plan to kill the Alpha here and now, hardly "fighting fair" (hm, just as European settlers made so many underhanded deals with Native Americans)--and at the end of the episode he does team up with the BMOL. By the end of the season, though, with the hunters uniting to drive out the British invaders, this is precisely the status quo the Americans are fighting for: one where many people who don't deserve will die at the hands of monsters, but perhaps a few others will live whom the BMOL would have killed. The protracted struggle between humans and monsters is thereby positioned as a sort of natural symbiosis, part of the circle of life. This allows for the perpetuation of the mythic "Wild West," which is necessary for the very existence of the show, and especially for the hunters to be seen as the "good guys." The show convinces us to reject "civilization" and embrace vigilantism as better than the alternative. It's impossible to pinpoint this ideology as exclusively conservative or progressive; it has implications in either direction. The world of hunters and monsters was never a perfect metaphor, after all, but one thing is clear in season 12: hunters are the heroes.

This brings me to another central theme of the season: legacy. After season 11, it seems that the show wanted to "correct course." Season 11 is entirely about Sam and Dean cleaning up a mess (the Darkness) they directly caused, after all, and after that narrowly-averted apocalypse, it's fair to ask the question, "do Sam and Dean really do more good than harm"? Season 12 gives us a resounding "yes," over and over again. The message is that hunting, for all its hardships and messiness, is worth it.

In 12x06 "Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox" (which I've written about previously) we get a taste of the sort of legacy Sam and Dean are making for themselves. It might come as a surprise, after seeing hunters hunt down Sam and Dean in previous seasons (Gordon and Kubrick in season 2, Roy and Walt in season 5), that other hunters now welcome Sam and Dean in their midsts and even revere them. One might rightfully ask, what would they do if they knew Sam and Dean and their codependency nearly caused another apocalypse not too long ago? Inconsistencies aside, it's apparent that Sam and Dean are appreciated as something like heroes in their own world. In the episode, they share this exchange:

Sam: Did you know people tell stories about us? Dean: Yeah. Apparently we’re a little bit legendary. Sam: Yeah, but, I mean, so was Asa. Then a hunt went bad, and he ended up hanging from a tree, alone in the woods.

Sam still wonders, characteristically, if the heroism is worth it. But in 12x09 "First Blood," he's the one with this iconic line:

SAM: We’re the guys that save the world.

This is a statement of identity, in response to the question "who are you?" Sam might as well say, "we're the heroes."

In 12x11 "Regarding Dean," Dean has his moment to affirm that their line of work is worth its toll. Talking about the curse that made Dean lose his memory, Sam makes this comment:

Sam: Some of the things we've done, we've had this weight for... forever. And seeing it gone, uh, you looked happy. Dean: Huh. Well, look, was it nice to drop our baggage? Yeah, maybe. Hell, probably. But it wasn't just the crap that got lost. I mean, it was everything. It was us, it was what we do, you know? All of it. So... that's what being happy looks like? I think I'll pass.

Again, Dean is making a statement of identity. The Winchesters are what they do, and what they do is the right thing, and that is worth giving up happiness for.

One common complaint about season 12 is that it heroizes Sam and Dean too much. They were never meant to be the Big Damn Heroes, the "guys who save the world," as if it's a day job--they're meant to be the underdogs, the messy humans doing their best, sometimes failing, but rising to the occasion when it counts most, despite the terrible costs. Perhaps this is true, and perhaps this season does go overboard in trying to smooth over the messy cracks in the heroic facade. The show could have done better than to make the heroes and villains so black and white, certainly. Perhaps the show does lose some of its identity in erasing the moral ambiguities that always made it so intriguing.

There are moments, however, that are still thematically resonant with the show as a whole--more understated moments that remember the bigger picture. One such moment is when legacy is explicitly addressed in 12x18 "The Memory Remains":

Dean: What do you think our legacy's gonna be? When we're gone, I mean, after all the stuff we've done, you think folks will remember us? You know, like, a hundred years from now? Sam: No. Dean: Oh, that's nice. Sam: Well, I mean... Guys like us, we're not exactly the type of people they write about in history books, you know? Dean: Mm. Sam: But the people we saved, they're our legacy. And they'll remember us and then I guess... We'll eventually fade away, too. That's fine, because we left the world better than we found it, you know.

This exchange presents Sam and Dean's heroism on a human scale. They're not the guys that save the whole world--even if they did do that, a few times. They're the guys that save individual human lives, time and again. That's who they are, and it's what matters most. Sam's right: in the world of Supernatural, few people 100 years on will know the names of Sam and Dean Winchester. Perhaps a few hunter stories will still be passed around, and maybe a new resident of the bunker will piece together some old information. But everyone that the Winchesters saved will remember them for the rest of their lives, and those very lives they get to live are the Winchesters' legacy. Once those people pass away, Sam and Dean will fade from memory, but for them, it was never about being remembered; it was always about doing good--a common aim to which they are equally committed, at this point. Sam and Dean's greatest redemption has never been in saving the world (often from problems they themselves caused), but in saving people, and this holds true to the very end of the show.

#spn meta #spn season 12 #spn episode the memory remains #spn episode the raid #season 12 meta #i could go on forever about hunters as gunslingers. shouldering the burden of solitude. their complex relationship with society #from which they are forever barred and yet which they inevitably long for even if it means their own obsolescence #BUT that's not entirely relevant to the post ha #my meta #spn #spn and legacy

13 notes · View notes

klavscaroline · 4 years

Photo

Klaroline Bingo 2020 (5/?) - Boat @klaroline-events

Summary: Klaus goes fishing and catches one of Caroline’s friends. Suffice to say, she’s not happy about it and demands that he sets it free, in which he is more than willing to do in exchange for something from her. (Mermaid AU)

Part of that World

There were a few things one would never expect the Original Hybrid to do. But with all the chaos and madness that surrounded his every day life, he enjoyed a little peace and quiet to himself once in a while.

So yes, Klaus Mikaelson was a closeted avid fisher.

It wasn’t something he particularly liked to share, he was all about that violence, murder and gore after all. But in his down time, when witches weren’t trying to kill him and wannabe vampires weren’t trying to usurp his throne, he did like the peace and quiet that the ocean brought.

On this fine day, he took his trusty wooden boat and paddled several miles into the deep blue until he reached a beautiful location with peaceful waves.

He had already casted his rod when he took out his sketch pad and began his artwork.

Pastel, he decided, to match the soothing sway.

And perhaps a lesser skilled fisher would’ve missed it, but his hybrid senses were on alert, as he saw a tugging of his fishing rod several minutes later.

He quickly reeled it in, smiling at his catch of the day. It brought him even more satisfaction than ripping out an enemy’s throat, which in itself was already immensely enjoyable. The blue fish was writhing as he took it out of the water, and he quickly placed it inside his bucket that he filled with water.

Again, he attached another bait and casted his rod. He was feeling lucky today.

He was in the middle of pastel painting some trees when he felt another tug. This time, the movement was large, nearly capsizing his boat.

He reeled it in with much more difficulty and he was thankful for his supernatural strength and his sturdy fishing rod for helping him with the task. What a shame it would be to let such a huge catch get away.

The water began to ripple as the fish came closer and closer to the surface and he had to give himself a metaphorical pat on the back because he had never caught one this size. It had to be almost six feet long and… wait…

Was that hair?

Do fish have hair?

The creature finally surfaced and he nearly dropped his rod in surprise. This was not a fish, not at all. But a woman?

Indeed, she had long, blonde hair, that miraculously dried when her head came into contact with air. In the clear water, he could also see that instead of legs, she had a magnificent cerulean tail. And those eyes... those ocean blue eyes… (yes, how cliché, but it doesn’t make it any less true) were looking at him with anger.

It was clear he was dealing with a furious mermaid.

“Give him back,” she demanded, crossing her arms over her seashell-covered breasts.

“Excuse me? What exactly did I take from you?” He replied, composing himself after he allowed the shock to wear off.

“Finley!”

“Am I supposed to know who or what that is?”

“One and a half foot long, blue flounder? Ring any bells? You’re the one holding him captive!”

He looked inside his bucket, the fish was staring back at him, and flopped its fins.

“You mean this fish?”

“Yes, and show some respect. He’s a flounder and he’s my friend!”

“He won’t be for much longer,” he smirked, amused by the way her eyes darkened in fury. “He’s my dinner.”

“I swear to-,” she screeched, “I’m going to kill you!”

“I don’t think so, love,” he bared his double set of fangs that had her backing away from him.

“What are you?”

“Im a hybrid - a vampire and a werewolf,” he retracted his sharp teeth.

“That’s not a real thing,” she said defiantly.

“Says the mermaid,” he mused. “Now, I’m willing to trade your fish for one thing.”

She arched her eyebrows and nodded for him to continue.

“I’ll release your fish if you spend the rest of the day with me.”

“Why?”

“I find you interesting, love. Now, what’s it going to be?”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes and leapt onto his boat. As soon as her body was out of the water, her tail transformed into legs, and she was wearing a pair of blue bikini bottoms that matched her seashell bra.

He looked at her curiously.

“What? You’re not the only hybrid around here. My mother is a mermaid and my father is human.”

“Must be tough dividing your time between land and sea.”

“I prefer the water, it’s liberating. But once in a while, I do go on land.” She explained, “I have to stretch out my limbs from time to time.” She extended one of her long legs that he admired quietly.

“You don’t say,” he muttered to himself.

“So, when are you planning on letting Finley go?”

“At the end of the day, just to make sure to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Right,” she huffed, “And what do you plan on doing for the rest of the day.”

“I’m going to show you why living on land can be just as liberating.” He steered his boat towards the shores and held his hand out to help her to the pier.

“Are we just going to leave Finley in here?”

“And what would you propose? We take him with us?” He asked, exasperated. There was no way they could take a fish with them to where they were going, but at the same time, he didn’t want the blonde to worry all day.

“Just let him go, I’ll keep my end of the bargain. You have my word.” She looked at him, almost desperately and even the Hybrid couldn’t help but to relent her wishes.

He sighed, but released the fish back into the ocean nonetheless, where it looked back to the blonde.

“Go ahead, Finn, I’ll look for you tomorrow!” She reassured, giving her friend a small smile and a wave.

“Come on, love. Put this on,” he pulled his own shirt off and gave it to her so that it covered her top and upper thighs, as she was still dressed in seashells and bikini bottoms. An odd combination in the eyes of bystanders, he was sure.

He smirked, as he saw her eyeing his naked torso up and down. When she realised she got caught, she looked away quickly.

“It’s okay, love. You can look,” he laughed.

“It’s Caroline,” she changed the subject onto less embarrassing topics.

“Caroline,” he repeated, she liked the way it sounded from his lips, “How would you like to go horse riding?”

Her eyes lit up, as she often wandered the lands alone and had never been far from the ocean.

“Lead the way, mister,” she smiled.

Please leave a review on AO3 :)

#klaroline #kcbingo2020 #kcedit #klaroline fanfiction #tvdedit #caroline stan club #klaus mikaelson #klaroline drabbles #mine #ffrecs #ff: supernatural au #ff: pre relationship #ff: drabble #ff: strangers #what even is this haha #i wrote this on my way to work #ff: my writing

44 notes · View notes

wintaejk · 4 years

Text

Jungkook’s FIC REC | OS 2

I had too many links on the other post. Here is the second part of my Jungkook’s fic rec but with others themes.

Again, all those fictions belong to the amazing authors who wrote them, not me. I want to thank them once more.

(f) = fluff

(a) = angst

(m) = mature

magical au

— Trick or Treat: Howling for You (F) (M) — by @fortunexkookie

The way your Little Red Riding Hood costume lured over a fuckboy in a half-assed werewolf costume was a little cliche, but god damn was he beautiful. He promised he had plenty of big things to show you, and you took him up on the offer, not realizing that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

werewolf au | established relationship | +14k

— rottenfolk (M) — by @junqkook

a look was as hazardous as chemicals, a kiss as perilous as poison; his eyes and lips felt akin to a cure, but he was purely venom.

faerie au | royalty au | +13k

Commentary - If there’s only one one-shot I could recommend you to read of all tumblr, it would probably be this one. For me, it is rare to acheive such a level of mastery in fantasy fictions. Writing is already complicated, but when you have to place the readers in an unknown universe, it is even harder. However, the real brilliance of this story is the end. Because the end is supposed to satiate the reader in a way or another, it is supposed to offer what all the reader craved: a sort of closure. But here we all are, waiting for a sequel, because this story will make you want a next episode. And that is the brilliance, because you will surely never forget a story with that kind of power. So those are some of the reasons why this fiction is for me a mix of art, smartness and excellence ; and also why you would be missing something huge by not reading it.

— overdrive (M) — by @junqkook

you thought meeting jungkook was just a coincidence, but the universe didn’t deal in coincidences.

vampire au | soulmate au | enemies to lovers | +13k

— Crescent Bound - Jungkook (F) (M) — by @parkhabits

A pact bound by the moon. A secret kept only amongst themselves. Each of them experiencing their own cycles of heat.

werewolf au | friends to lovers | +12k

— Room 109 (M) — by @lavishedinjimin

Having Jungkook as your apartment buddy was a lot to get used to. But with one early day, your heat comes up much stronger than usual, and you were desperate for an alpha’s touch.

werewolf au | roommate au | alpha!jungkook | +6k

— after dark (M) — by @seokoloqy

Jungkook has served the royal family for generations, seen them live and die countless times. When it comes to you, he can’t watch you wither away too, but your lust for one another makes it harder and harder to stay apart.

vampire au | royalty au | knight!jungkook | +8k

— Life’s Blood (F) (A) (M) — by @littlenoona

You produce blood cells at an increased rate when blood is lost, effectively, you cannot bleed out. This ability has served you well so far, even gaining you a rare friend, and you’ve made it your source of income, but it also has its downsides, one of which you’ve managed to avoid successfully, until now.

vampire au | +13k

— you come in waves (A) (M) — by @angelguk

if jeongguk had a choice, he would destroy the sun. it’s not like he needed it for warmth due to his werewolf abilities making him a scorching radiator. it would also help his heart. because you look delectable in that stupid bikini.

werewolf au | friends to lovers au | 4k

— tell me your secrets (i’m all ears) (F) — by @jinpire

You’re not afraid of Jeon Jeongguk. Even if he’s probably some kind of bear or giant cat shifter, and just a hint of his irritation had your instincts vibrating beneath your skin like a live wire. Your thumb brushed over the plastic dome of mini-Levi’s head, taking comfort in the cartoon scowl and dead eyes, the tiny grey sticks of his 3DM gear. Small could be pretty fucking powerful too.

shifter au | college au | bunny!kook | +6k

drabbles: nooks and naps - foxie moxie (don’t pull my tail) - look before you leap - fluffles and kerfuffles

— Pomegranate Seeds (M) — by @taetaebaepsae

Jungkook thinks he’s found the perfect new roommate, but little doesn’t he know you’re just aching to corrupt him.

demon au | roommate au | virgin!jungkook | +4k

other themes

— Every Kind of Way (F) (M) — by @taehyungforreal

{Three little vignettes, three completely different experiences, same perfectly wonderful boyfriend JK.}

strangers to lovers | established relationship | +14k

Commentary - I remember when this fiction was posted. I read the teaser a few days before, and I was waiting for it. I remember the exact date of the release of this story, and let me tell you it never happens to me. But this is how much I liked this story. This masterpiece. This fiction is 95% made of smut. This is a warning if you don’t like that. However, what I like about Ashley’s works is that smut is not only smut (okay, sometimes it’s just pure filth but whatever). It’s not the first time I’ve read a piece of work of her and that I’ve been so thankful of reading her. Because the stories she writes are realistic. Sex is not always perfect. Sex is not always like in porn. Sex can be embarrassing. And this is why I love what Ashley writes, because she always have that realistic point of view on life. And sometimes it’s also nice to not turn everything into porn. What is very likeable - I said likeable? I meant loveable, sorry - about that story is also the three different stages of the relation of Jk and reader. This is also something I like about her writings. Life evolves, relationships evolve, and so does sex. So in this story, you will experience three different Jungkook. And it’s three reasons why you should read this fiction, three reasons why you will probably love it. One thing is sure, this chef-d’oeuvre will leave you wondering if your eyes have been burnt by the smuttiness or blessed by all the talent of this writer.

— tattooed two (ft. kth) (F) (M) — by @httpjeon

your boyfriend’s best friend joins you for a night you’ll never forget.

tattoo artist au | established relationship | poly au | +8k

— Inkling (A) (M) — by @gguksgalaxy

Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

tattoo artist au | +17k

— Freak-quency (M) — by @taehyungforreal

His eyes sparkle and he fights back a smile when he asks you why. “Is it because I didn’t give you something else to swallow like I said I would,” he questions, halfway through a much less subtle adjustment of his growing erection. Yoongi was right, he wants to be in trouble.

rockstar au | established relationship | +8k

— Boots (M) —

3000+ words of Ashley kinking on Jungkook’s boot. That’s it.

rockstar au | established relationship | part of Freak-quency | +3k

— Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold (A) (M) — by @filmflowersbangtan

It was around this time almost three years ago when Jungkook moved to LA after his band got signed to a famous record label. He told you that he’d keep in contact with you. That he’d visit as much as he could. That he loved you. But about a month after leaving, he stopped texting and calling as much. And then a mere week after the band’s first EP dropped, Burning Rabbit was a sensation.

rocksatr au | ex lovers | +3k

— Brother’s best friend (M) — by @lavishedinjimin

In which Y/n owns a smut blog dedicated to her crush and brother’s best friend, jungkook. it was all fun and games until he finds out about it and acts it out with you.

brother’s best friend!jungkook | +5k

— Sugarplum Elegy (F) (A) (M) — by @bymoonchild

You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while.

friends with benefits | college au | idiots to lovers | +17k

— The Kids Aren’t Alright (F) (A) (M) — by @sketchguk

Sneaking around with Jeongguk during your Christian retreat is complicated when you’re both dedicated to your jobs as co-youth group counselors at your father’s ministry.

friends with benefits | pastor’s kid!reader | +10k

— Gym (F) (M) — by @hobiwonder

Jungkook has a crush on you and has been watching you work out at his gym. One day you finally confront his obvious crush.

business woman!reader | fratboy!jungkook | older reader | +8k

— Gravity Check (M) — by @gimmesumsuga

The one where Jungkook is your oh-so-handsome climbing instructor.

climbing instructors!jungkook | strangers to lovers | 14k

— The Monogamy Monologues (F) (M) — by @kpopfanfictrash

The year? Some point after college. The occasion? Namjoon is getting married and the Rich Man’s Crochet Club has convened once again. Somewhere between the drinks and the laughter, everyone has the same realization: Jungkook has never been in a serious relationship. In the name of all that is holy (Overwatch and booze), the club’s mission is revived. Now though, their goal is much more perilous. Now, they aim to find Jeon Jungkook a girlfriend. (Part of The Rich Man’s Crochet Club series)

fuckboy!jungkook | wedding planner!reader | strangers to lovers | +42k

— The Virgin Volume (F) (A) (M) —

This fic exists in the RMCC universe. It takes place before RMCC and is the story of how Jungkook lost his virginity. To quote Seokjin/Namjoon: “What Jungkook doesn’t know won’t hurt him and – let’s be honest – his story is hilarious. One pump,” Seokjin laughs, sounding like a hyena. “One pump and he’s done.” // Ducking his head, Namjoon tries not to smile. “It was a rookie mistake,” he protests, defending their friend. “Jungkook was overexcited and couldn’t control himself. He got better.”

college au | friends to lovers | prequel to TMM | +6k

— everlasting (A — by @kimvvantae

being able to love the same person forever is a blessing given from the heavens. to you, however, eternity has become a curse.

reincarnation au | 18k

— Performances (M) — by @littlenoona

The same handsome guy has been appearing at your performances and you become more and more interested in who he is - now you’re dancing only for him, despite a hall full of people.

strangers to lovers | professional dancer!reader | +6k

— Matching Hearts (F) (A) — by @gukwluv

a drunk call to your ex boyfriend leads to a night of fun adventures that make you wonder why you even split in the first place.

exes au | +3k

— locker room talk (M) — by @minnpd

You end up having a rather heated talk with Jeon Jungkook in the locker room when he announces he has been chosen for the audition you both participated to.

dancer au | enemies to lovers | fuckboy!jungkook | +5k

— not quite lovers (M) — by @junqkook

hiring jeon jungkook as your personal assistant happens to have more than one perk.

workplace au | friends with benefits | ceo!reader | +15k

— By Its Cover (M) — by @gimmesumsuga

The one where Jungkook makes a very bad first impression.

workplace au | enemies to lovers | 21k

— Mind in the Gutter (F) (M) — by @kpopfanfictrash

Starting over is never fun. Especially not when you decide to take the phrase fully to heart; new job, new city, new coworkers and new relationships. When you are dragged to a happy hour by your new co-worker, Taehyung, you end up sitting beside a (very) cute, (very) shy IT worker named Jungkook. Several drinks later, he mentions he is in a professional bowling league with his friends and you rather enthusiastically invite yourself along. As time passes and you begin to grow closer, you still find it impossible to read Jungkook. Working in the same company and seeing each other so often, it is only so long before one of you snaps. But who?

workplace au | bowling au | strangers to friends to lovers | +18k

#fic rec #jungkook fic rec #bts fic rec #jeon jungkook

88 notes · View notes

savannah-lim · 4 years

Text

You Gotta Be Squidding Me || Savannah & Winn

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Savannah’s office SUMMARY: Savannah meets with Winn to discuss Agent Sterling’s death and gets more truth than she bargained for. CONTENT WARNINGS: Discussion of murder and body horror

Savannah had no idea how she was supposed to put any of this in a report. Dr. Kavanagh had directed her to a gentleman called Winn Woods because she remembered she had seen something in a dream. Great. Excellent detective work, Agent. That doesn’t sound crazy at all. At this point though, Savannah was prepared to try just about anything. The Bureau had supplied her with a small rented office downtown so she at least didn’t have to interview people in a messy hotel room or keep going to the police station. She preferred not to have people looking over her shoulder. The buzz from the door told her Mr. Woods had arrived. Right on time. At least he was punctual. “Come in, have a seat. Would you like coffee or tea or anything?” she asked, closing the door after him.

It was one of those White Crests days where everything felt ominous — gray clouds overhead and a weird chill in the air, both typically foreign to August. Winn’s nightmares the night previous had been plagued with visions of the abomination, of the twisted corpse of Sterling ambling towards him, an inevitable end to what little of his life he’d managed to salvage. It was a wonder he’d managed to sleep. Since that day Sterling had washed up, Ulfric had done his level best to keep the body concealed. But ‘missing’ wasn’t much better than ‘dead’ — especially not where a federal agent was concerned. They’d both known it’d come back to bite them. And while Winn was a fine actor, one gift his mother had left him, there was no masking his unease. Human. Javier Sterling had been so painfully (pitifully?) human — until he hadn’t. Winn would tear his throat out again, spare him the indignity of his body, warped as it was. But that wasn’t the question, was it? “Coffee’s fine,” Winn said, noncommittal. It would give him time to think through a game plan. Smalltalk. He could do smalltalk. “How have you been liking White Crest, Agent Lim?”

“Coffee it is,” Savannah said, brewing a fresh pot. “Although the government doesn’t exactly offer generous funding for amenities, so I can’t promise anything about the quality.” She poured herself a coffee as well. Though she maintained a casual air about her, Savannah was already assessing the young man. His nerves were obvious, but that wasn’t necessarily an indication of guilt. If someone wasn’t nervous about being interviewed by a federal agent, there was something wrong with them. “I like it very well. It’s bizarre, which I find frustrating but also oddly comforting. I’m intrigued by things that are unusual. Something Agent Sterling had in common with me, I’m led to believe.” She handed Winn his coffee. “Did you know him well?”

“I think the first coffee I had was on the Hill. Representatives bring their own coffee, or suffer whatever their interns thought sounded good at the Trader Joe’s on Pennsylvania Ave.” Winn cocked his head. “Don’t know how much time you spent at y’all’s headquarters, or if you’ve always been on-assignment?” He took a sip from his coffee, ignoring the heat dancing across his tongue. Still too hot, but the pain helped to ground him in the moment. He’d dealt with government folks for most of his life. Could Agent Lim be discreet? It wasn’t as if the FBI was known for being bold and brash, not when subtlety could better pave the way to an answer. Winn wished, in that moment, that he had been close to Agent Sterling. Agent Lim’s hints that he’d been investigating the unusual… Could always tackle it the White Crest way, right? “Unusual?” Winn asked, more chipper than was probably wise. “Honestly, I barely knew him. Pointed him in the direction of a shop on Amity, but that was really the last time I ‘spoke’ to him.” Do not joke about Natalia killing Javier. Do not joke about Natalia killing Javier. “I can’t remember ever meeting him in-person, though.” Technically, not a lie.

"The Hill?" Savannah repeated, unsure if she was impressed or actively cringing. "Interesting. You didn't strike me as the political type." He'd struck her as a sort of empty-headed party boy, but then, there were plenty of those in politics too. "I did my training at Quantico, and spent most of my career operating around the New England area." She picked up her own coffee, sipping it. "But this isn't about me. Unless you just want to be impressed by my credentials. I might not have them much longer if I can't solve this case." And the more she looked into it, the more unsolvable it seemed. Winn's name had literally been given to her by someone who said she'd seen it in a dream. "That's interesting," she nodded, "because an anonymous source told me you might know something about his disappearance."

“Representative Delacour. Or former? Figure she’s still up there; I try not to keep up with politics. I wasn’t up there often, just enough to figure out that there was better coffee in the world.” Winn shrugged, another sip from his own cup. Talking about his mother wasn’t his favorite recreational activity, so he was more than happy to drop the subject. He tried not to flinch at Agent Lim’s suggestion, a frown flickering across his face for just a second. Getting a federal agent involved in whatever was happening in White Crest, getting a human involved in all of this. Was that fair? No. It wasn’t. But less fair was keeping her in the dark, letting her wander into getting herself killed. Or, worse, the same thing happening to her that had happened to her former co-worker. Winn tried to think of how a hunter would describe what happened to Javier, Adam’s talk of mutations and infections coming to mind. Winn couldn’t even be sure that was what it was, but something about it rang true. Javier had changed so suddenly… “How much do you know about Cordyceps, Agent Lim?” Winn said, slowly, not letting even an ounce of fear slip into his voice.

“Well, we’ve got that in common,” Savannah scoffed. She knew just enough to make informed decisions at the voting booth, but when it came down to every single representative, Savannah was pretty clueless. Winn could have made up any name and she wouldn’t have known any better. She narrowed her eyes curiously, wondering where exactly he was going with this. “Cordyceps? Isn’t it a virus or something that affects insects? The thing that makes stuff grow out of their ugly little insect heads?” Fascinating, no doubt, but she had no idea what that had to do with her case. Javier Sterling wasn’t a caterpillar.

Winn wrinkled his nose at the reminder of what the fungus did to wasps, ants, and others. Planet Earth had been a staple of insomnia-fueled nights over the last half-decade, so Winn knew the metaphor didn’t stretch all the way out. There hadn’t been anything (yet?) to suggest Winn or Ulfric had been infected by Javier. “Fungus, but yeah. They take over the host body and direct it towards a purpose. For Cordyceps, that means gettin’ up somewhere high and poofin’ its spores as far as they can go.” Winn still had more questions than answers, but… Shit, would it be nice to have someone to bounce shit off of. It wasn’t like he was good for anything more than a helpful sniff or slashin’ someone’s throat. “Damn, almost wish you could read my mind. Would make explainin’ this easier.” He drummed his fingers along the arm of the chair. “Agent Lim, I need you to take everything I’m about to say at face value, alright? I won’t lie, not if I can help it, but I’m gonna sound like I’m off my rocker. If you’re not gonna believe me, this ain’t goin’ anywhere productive.”

“Fungus. Right.” Savannah focused on him, eyeing him as he spoke, determined to figure out exactly where this conversation was going. It wasn’t often someone took the lead on her interrogations, but she figured the more talking he did, the more he might slip up and tell her something useful. God, nobody had given her anything useful in weeks… “Alright, I guess now I don’t need to watch National Geographic when I go home.” She chewed the inside of her lip. “People say that sort of thing when they’re about to say something nonsensical,” she sighed. “But nothing in this case has made sense so far, so I suppose let’s start with ridiculous and work backwards.” She gestured vaguely with her hand for him to go ahead.

Winn almost laughed at the suggestion of nonsensicality. C’mon, Agent Lim. All he was askin’ was for her to believe her co-worker turned into a squid-man hybrid, and spit out a wackadoo language, before tryin’ to kill the werewolf sittin’ in front of her! It all made perfect sense. He groaned, leaning back in the chair. If it wasn’t so close to the new moon… But naw, no werewolfing it up. “I can do ridiculous,” he said, confident. “Javier Sterling washed up one morning while I was fishin’. Took me a minute to realize it was him, ‘cause somethin’ had happened to him. See, your boy had been infected with a— with a virus, if you like. I don’t rightly know what it was, but I can tell you what I saw. Not a fungus, but somethin’ from the ocean. I’d call it a growth, but then I’d have to rationalize the tentacle that wrapped around my arm. And nothing,” Winn wet his lips, “about this is rational.” Winn paused. “I’m not done, but figure that’s a lot to take in. Take, uh, take your time. It only gets weirder.”

“Fishing.” Savannah scoffed. “Yeah, okay, go on. My co-worker washed up on shore and had a… a what? A weird fungal infection from the ocean? Are you saying it was a natural death?” What exactly was he confessing to? It didn’t make any sense. But then she remembered— “Was there a red-headed man with you?” she asked. “Covered in tattoos? Big beard?” She’d seen it in her dream too. Maybe what Regan had said wasn’t so crazy after all. Except that it was, and this whole thing was absurd. Her superiors were going to laugh her reports right out of the office if she tried to go back to them with this.

Winn squinted at the perfect recitation of Ulfric’s description. There hadn’t been anyone around that day. As far as Winn knew, only one person even knew of what had happened to Javier Sterling, outside of Ulfric and Winn themselves. There were few explanations and Winn was eager to narrow them down. “Yes,” he said, evenly. “I’m keepin’ his name out of this.” No need to bring in Ulfric. ‘Sides, Ulf was out of town, last he heard. One phone call, and one of them could tell him to stay out of town. Winn had dealt the killing blow, even if Ulfric had made sure that Javier wouldn’t get up. “An anonymous source, huh? That sure is unusual,” he said, tone almost acerbic. “How much do you know, Agent Lim?” Whether she’d intended it or not, Winn’s hackles were raised, and he was just barely stifling the low growl in the bottom of his throat.

Savannah scribbled down a jumble of notes. Not that she’d have any difficulty remembering this, of course. “I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources,” she said. “And if I tell you what I know, I can’t be sure that whatever you tell me is genuine knowledge that you came to independently.” She sighed. “Would it help if I say I saw it in a dream? Would that be more or less asinine than whatever you wanted to tell me?” She was losing her damn marbles, and she might be about to be threatened by a frat boy. “I hardly know anything, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That’s why I’m asking.”

A long, long exhale of breath. “A dream?” Winn echoed, urging himself to calm the fuck down. “Naw, that sounds about par for the course… for White Crest, anyway.” Okay, Winner. Rewind. Back to square one. “Like I said, really, I’m happy to help. But so long as you’re withholdin’ your sources — and I get it, I do — I’m goin’ to keep back the name of our ginger friend.” She hardly knew anything. That was good and bad. Technically, Winn could lie his ass off. If he wasn’t a man of his word, he’d take that as an easy out. Funny thing ‘bout bein’ a counselor? It was easier to console folks, to let ‘em know it was alright to feel their own emotions than it was for Winn to get across his point, sometimes. So, an answer. “Agent Javier Sterling is dead,” he said, evenly. “He was dyin’ when he washed up, but I don’t know what got a hold of him. We were tryin’ to help him, and he attacked my friend. I moved quickly, because otherwise my friend would have died. I cut Sterling’s throat open. My friend grabbed a knife and gutted him. It was, I hope, less painful than what the infection would have done to him.” A pause. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Fine,” Savannah sighed. “Don’t tell me who the red-headed man is. I don’t care.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she was primarily concerned with finding out what had happened to Javier. The names of everyone else involved could come later. She froze momentarily when he announced Javier’s death. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. She’d suspected it from the get-go, but there was something chilling about the confirmation. “Right, dying from, um… ocean fungus?” She didn’t mean to sound so cavalier, but the whole thing was so hard to believe. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she’d have dismissed him out of hand. Her eyes widened and she stood up from her chair at his confession. Her body was stiff, her gaze trained upon him, as if he would disappear like a thief in the night if she so much as broke eye contact. “Did you just tell me— you killed Agent Sterling?” Savannah stared at this man, dumbfounded. “I think I’m supposed to arrest you for manslaughter,” she said, but somehow, she didn’t. She didn’t even move.

“Oh. The fungus was a metaphor. Probably more like an ocean… demon? Honestly, I was real close to dyin’ last month, so I haven’t had time to do any ‘investigating.’” Winn swung his legs up under him, crossed, and cocked his head. His body was loose. There’d be plenty of time for him to agonize over his decisions in whichever afterlife he ended up in, but this one? No. “I mean no disrespect here, Agent Lim, but d’you really think those charges’d hold up? C’mon, you’re smarter than that.” Winn hummed, taking another sip of his coffee. “I wouldn’t be convicted by any human court. The marks on Agent Sterling’s neck,” Winn raised his hand, eyeing it with faux-disinterest, “were made by claws, for one. I was actin’ in self-defense, like I said, for the other — which is, unless Maine’s laws are weird as fuck, I’m pretty sure’ll get me out without gettin’ charged. And for a third, I’d argue,” Winn sighed, “that I’m not the one who killed Agent Javier Sterling. I killed a monster using his body for somethin’. For what, I really don’t know.” Winn’s gaze turned hard. “And none of that’s goin’ to matter, ‘cause no one would believe a word either of us said.”

Savannah didn’t believe in ocean demons. Why would she? Ocean cordyceps had been hard enough to wrap her head around. This nice, respectful young man had just confessed to her as if it was just another damn August afternoon. Nothing to see here, folks. White Crest was the most bizarre place she’d ever experienced. “No, no, I don’t think they’d hold up. Where’s the evidence? Is there a body? A murder weapon? Or did you dispose of all that too?” She scoffed. Maybe she could get him on destruction of evidence, of covering up Javier’s death, but even that was a long shot. Yes, it would be her word against his, but since her story made no damn sense either, it was going to be tough to do anything at all. “I don’t know if I even believe you,” she said firmly, like that would give her some kind of one-up on him. “There is no such thing as people-possessing ocean monsters,” she said. This whole town seemed as if it was playing one huge joke on her. She folded her arms across her chest. “Take me to his body.”

Winn was quiet while Savannah ran through her litany of questions. There were only so many ways to bust open a mind, let someone know the world was much, much bigger than they imagined. Unfortunately for Agent Lim, Winn hadn’t had to explain himself — or the supernatural world at large — to a garden variety human in, uh, ever. But leading with Javier’s death had been the only option, right? Otherwise, what, shift in front of her? Naw, too dangerous, and he didn’t have spare clothes on him. “Thing about the truth? You don’t have to believe me. As for a body? Doubt it’s there, anymore. Enough flesh-eating things in our rivers that the corpse was destined to get snacked on. But, look, I get it. Evidence.” As much as he loathed to admit it, another journey through his memories could be the easiest solution here. It’d take time, time that Agent Lim didn’t necessarily have. “I want answers, same as you. But it might take some doin’, and it’s gonna require you to trust me. Trust that I want to—” fight? destroy? “—bring to justice whatever hurt Agent Sterling. I said before, I won’t lie to you. And I might be able to give you something to work with. Teamwork’d be better than workin’ against each other, right?” Winn stood, holding out his hand.

Savannah's head was spinning. There was so much sincerity in the man before her. He was just honest, kind even. She wanted to scream, as if yelling would make all this go away, somehow make it easier to digest. She could yell over and over that this wasn't true, but she somehow felt the reality of it, no matter what kind of scepticism she might have wanted to win out, somehow she just knew that Winn was telling the truth. "You know this is the fucking weirdest buddy cop duo ever," she sighed, but extended her hand to his. "I'm going to need a drink."

#paras #with: winn

8 notes · View notes

csrolereversal · 5 years

Text

CS Role Reversal Halloweek 2019 Roundup

It is time! Halloween has passed and all the art and stories have been posted! I am so grateful for those who took part in the event, I couldn’t have asked for a better beginning.

I really want to thank everyone, Artists and Writers and also Readers - yes, always capital letter, everyone is Amazing.

And now, what you’ve been waiting for days - the Roundup (I have no idea whether it is just round-up or round up, I just went with what wordreference told me, that’s my curse lol)

October 25th

- @courtorderedcake ‘s wonderful mind conjured this awesome world and @awkwardnessandbaseball found the perfect words to describe it in:

→ A Fan of Every Part of You

Summary: Killian Jones has a really loud, destructive upstairs neighbor, and he’s about to lose his patience with them. But when he discovers that it’s a beautiful witch with a soft spot for his dangerous familiar, Captain, that complicates things just a bit.

- @clockadile showed us that watercolors can create something stunning right here, and @swanslieutenant dragged us in that world with:

→ caught in irons

Summary: Cursed to become a monster at the rising of the full moon, Emma enlists Hook’s help to venture across the sea to find the only one who can cure her. But with the secret held tight to her chest and the full moon edging closer, sometimes secrecy and lies can be worse than the darkest curse.

October 26th

- @darkcolinodonorgasm brought back to life her undying love for vampires in her piece and @sherlockianwhovian brought the whole piece to life in:

→ Dawn Is A Feeling

Summary: Princess Emma has always heard tales whispered about the crumbling castle in the mountains and with adulthood comes independence, giving her the opportunity to discover the castle’s secrets once and for all. Will she find her end or perhaps her beginning?

- the first contribution to the event of @hollyethecurious is this wonderful ghostly piece which @capnjay21 has turned into a wonderful mysterious ghost story:

→ A House is Never Still

Summary: Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

October 27th

- inside a wonderful, bright pumpkin, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 gives us all the family feels @stahlop then brought us into with her:

→ Not all Treasure is Silver and Gold (sometimes it’s chocolate)

Summary: Killian takes his children on a trick or treat treasure hunt to learn about the town’s history and reflects on his own in the process.

- the bloody brilliant @artistic-writer blows us away with her bloody wonderful wolfman!Killian, for which @lillpon wrote:

→ To Give One’s Trust

Summary: Captain Hook has been a werewolf for centuries, in control of his wild state. When he gets kidnapped and experimented upon, his desperate actions to escape have dire consequences for him. When Emma Swan meets a feral werewolf on a night with a full moon, she can sense that there’s something more to that creature. Perhaps, with the right amount of trust, she can help him help himself.

October 28th

- @clockadile and her watercolours hit us again and though at first you can see peace in her art, if you look closer, you can see there’s so much more to it, and that more is what @wellhellotragic explored in her amazing fic:

→ Dead in the Water

Summary: Killian Jones may have just had the worst year of his life. The loss of his hand, of his career, and of his pride were almost more than he could take. In a bid to reclaim his life, Killian decided it was time to face his fears, and get back on the metaphorical horse, or in his case, back on the water. Only, the purchase of a haunted second-hand boat may just come at the cost of his sanity.

- @courtorderedcake drags us to Victorian London with her majestic art of which @snowbellewells tells us the story in:

→ The Case of the Heart in Armor

Summary: Killian “Holmes” Jones is rarely surprised or shocked anymore, but that all changes when he meets one very stubborn - and very beautiful - pickpocket, and trouble brews in the distance, hidden by the London fog…

October 29th

- for whump lovers (and not only them!) @cocohook38 created bloody brilliant art which you can feel as you look at it and which @hollyethecurious brought to life in her:

→ In the Darkness of my Mind

Summary: It still struck Killian as an oddity that a town created by magic and surrounded by its craftings day in and day out would throw itself so fully into the customs of what this land referred to as Halloween. Emma had told him about the holiday’s origins, the belief many held about the veil between worlds being thin enough for the dead to pass over into the land of the living. Never did he imagine that such a phenomena would actually occur, or that he would be the one responsible for allowing an old, formidable foe return from the bowels of the Underworld.

- @kitsunewingstar ‘s entry has me widen my eyes in shock and my jaw drop, and yours will too when you look at it. All we have to see if whether or not @gingerchangeling will find out the truth behind the art in her:

→ The Misthaven Witch

Summary: When Will Scarlett drunkenly accusess KIllian Jones of being afraid of the town’s local legend, he of course has to set his inebriated friend straight. Because there is nothing to fear about the ruins of Misthaven…… and the witch rumored to reside there.

October 30th

- another piece from @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 , another piece that has me shocked because of its beauty, just like @profdanglaisstuff ‘s words do in:

→ come sit at our feast

Summary:It’s Halloween, when all the weird and wondrous beasts of the world creep out of the shadows and throw themselves one hell of a party. For Emma Swan and Killian Jones, witch and shapeshifter respectively, it’s a chance to kick back, get high, and watch the mayhem unfold…

- another amazing piece from @hollyethecurious for which @theonceoverthinker created a magnificent poem:

→ Doppleganger on the Docks

Summary: Even in Storybrooke, the town where most anything can happen, Killian doesn’t expect much chaos when he and Emma go sailing together. But hey, for good or ill, that’s their town, right?

- @cocohook38 hits again! Another beautiful, magnificent and amazingly detailed set of sketches for which @darkcolinodonorgasm created more words that she thought she would - and it’s not over! - in:

→ Kiss the Hell out of me

Summary: Princess Emma had been warned not to seek the Devil of the seas, the pirate captain whose thirst for revenge left only one man alive after every attack so he would tell the tale of the demon that had taken his brothers’ lives. But desperate times call for desperate measures: she has a kingdom to save, and the man who carries himself as a horned king is her only hope. Too bad that Killian Jones is not a man anymore.

October 31st

- @carpedzem ‘s art melted me, I’ve basically turned into the hearty-eyed pumpkin you can spot right here, and @lassluna ‘s wonderful fic didn’t help! Get even more fluffy feelings in:

→ The Pumpkin Incident

Summary: It was supposed to be a quick trip to the pumpkin patch. Quick in and out, grab the pumpkins and get home. She was not supposed to meet newcomer Killian Jones. She was certainly not supposed to end up trick or treating with Henry, a pirate and little Robin Hood. (But why does he look so damn good as a pirate?!)

- and there’s no Halloween without a black and orange piece, which is what @darkcolinodonorgasm did in her last contribution to the event from which the amazing @thisonesatellite took all the angst from to give us the utterly amazing fic that is:

→ All The Darkness In The World

Summary: Love is the greatest weapon of all.

- and last but not least, is @mariakov81 ‘s wonderful, simply beautiful pieces with colours so warm they make me feel warm inside and for which @pirateherokillian created lovely kinda (no, okay, totally) drunken banter in:

→ Witches and Romans

Summary: Halloween keeps throwing the unexpected at Killian Jones.

And that’s a wrap on the first Role Reversal event ever! Again, thank you so much to all of you, and... keep your eyes open, because something fluffy your way comes ;)

#cs role reversal #cs halloweek #cs fanart #cs fic rec #roundup

114 notes · View notes

edelwoodsouls · 4 years

Text

all roads lead - ch. 3

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 3,357 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 4, 5,

Chapter 3: FATHER

Stiles stares up at the house.

He knew the address was familiar, felt his feet leading him unthinking, a familiar route from one house to the other. Lingering muscle memory of another life.

Yet he still finds himself rooted to the spot just before the garden gate, unable to move forward, as if the wooden barrier were made of mountain ash.

"Just walk up the path," Malia says, hovering impatiently by his shoulder, but she doesn't push him.

Stiles was ten when he left Beacon Hills - ran away, from everything he had ever known, unable to face a new reality filled with pitying looks from strangers, whiskey-stinking nights, empty spaces where his mother should be. He never really stopped running, afraid that doing so would allow him to remember how much he'd thrown away.

Things like this house. A boy with a crooked jaw and wheezing lungs, the brightest smile in the entire world.

Scott McCall. The name lodges something in his throat, more than being back in this town, more than the idea of seeing his dad again. Scott had been the one truly good thing in his life.

It's been seven years, he thinks fiercely. Get a grip. Things change. People change.

His father lives in the McCall house.

And the McCall house smells of werewolves.

He notices the scent the moment he finally pushes into the garden. Wet fur and pine needles, earth, something like freshly cut wood; the clear scent of another wolf nearby.

No- another alpha.

The something lodged in his throat expands, becomes a tightness in his chest. The sun is too hot, his skin itches- he wishes he could tear out of it, flee to the woods, lose himself in the animal heart clawing at the cage of his ribs. But his body refuses to do so much as breathe, and his head spins-

A sharp pain cuts through the overload, crystalises the world in a sudden burst of clarity. He gasps, air flooding back into his chest.

Malia waits a few moments before removing her claws from his arm. "You with me?" she asks, her voice soft. She saves these moments of gentleness just for him, just for his worst moments, when her instincts yearn for an enemy to fight for him, yet find only his own mind at fault.

"I'm with you," he assures her, the words a familiar refrain between them. He's not going anywhere, he needs to tell her, not leaving her, not dying, not wandering away with his thoughts, never to resurface.

He's not not-himself. Again.

He squeezes her hand. "You smell it too?"

"Werewolf," she nods. "A pack. At least five."

Stiles blinks. In all the panic of smelling anything supernatural, he never bothered to discern the overwhelming overlap of scents. Malia's nose has always been far better than his, but after a few moments the weave of pack begins to separate into individuals.

"So much for no supernatural," he mutters as he picks out two, three, four, five different werewolf scents lingering around the house. There's other scents too, some human, some not quite, but the nuances are smothered by age and unfamiliarity.

There's only one person in the house right now. He wasn't a werewolf the last time he saw his father, and yet Stiles knows him instantly. Gunmetal and printer ink, so familiar he has to blink away the sudden sting in his eyes. Because it's not just familiar, its a reminder of those seven long years that form a chasm between this man and his son. The stink of whiskey is almost a memory, and a light floral scent clings to him like perfume.

Someone else's perfume.

His feet carry him up the path, Malia trailing, on edge, behind him. He feels the past trying to settle over him like a veil, begging to be let in. The air is heavy against his skin, his body that is alien to this space where his mind calls to it like home. That strange paradox itches against his soul, held at bay only by the rhythm of Malia's heart behind him.

"Hide your scent," he whispers to her. As he knocks sharply on the door he does exactly that, wraps his wolf carefully beneath a veneer of humanity. It's always been a useful skill, allowing himself to appear weaker, less of a threat in the eyes of other creatures, but now the trickery comes especially easy to him. His thoughts flash to a fox disguised as a wolf disguised as a human, layers of deceit folded so effortlessly into each other they blurred the truth.

If you drop me I'll crack, but if you smile I'll smile back. What am I?

He barely notices the absence of his own scent - has barely gotten used to its new smell, laced with power and all-but absent of darkness - but the loss of Malia's from the air around him sends such a wave of sickness through him, like missing a stair in the dark. He reaches out blindly for her hand to assure himself she's still there, still warm, still real.

And so they wait, listening to his father winding slowly through the house, inevitably towards the door.

Nerves begin to climb Stiles' throat, reaching up to choke him on his own panic. The dull ache that lives ever-present in his bones begins to thrum in time with his racing heart. What if his father hates him? What if he slams the door in his face? Yes, Stiles never returned because he believed his father was dead, but he still left in the first place. What if his father shouts for him to leave, after all these years, he doesn't need a runaway son, a werewolf, a murderer, just go-

The door swings open, stealing the rest of Stiles' breath.

John Stilinski has aged far more than the seven years Stiles has been gone. His hair is thin, stranded with grey. His face is creased deeply with lines that aren't from smiling.

And yet, though it appears to be his day off, his clothes are nice, and clean. He holds himself with a deserved height and authority that had been long forgotten in those dark days before Stiles ran away. There's a brightness, a lightness to his eyes. Happiness.

That Stiles is about to tear to pieces.

"Can I help you?" his father asks. There's a frown forming between his eyes, a tug at his lips that implies an underlying unease, trying to place a familiar face into a jigsaw that won't quite fit. All of a sudden, Stiles desperately wishes he could be anywhere but here.

He swallows. "Hi, dad."

John's face crumples, predictably. He stumbles, body betraying him in shock. "Stiles?" The word escapes him like a gasp, an arrow loosed directly into his heart. Stiles feels it as if the wound were his own.

"Yeah, dad." He waves a small gesture, almost bashfully, wishing he had any better words. "It's me."

"Stiles," his dad repeats. He stares at his son - hasn't even registered Malia. And then, abruptly, he turns and walks back into the house.

Stiles blinks at the suddenly empty corridor, unsure. What is he supposed to do here? Why can't there be a manual, a step-by-step guide on how to reintroduce yourself to the parent you thought was dead, who likely believed the same of you?

"I think we should follow him," Malia whispers a little too loudly in his ear. "I mean, he left the door open. That's gotta be a good sign, right? It's, like, a really deep metaphor in one of those boring books Peter liked. The open door." She wiggles her fingers in front of his face to emphasise the phrase.

Stiles almost snorts at that. But she's right. She has to be right.

He steps into the house, wrinkling his nose as he's assaulted by the smells of other. His wolf rises despertely inside him, warning him about trespass, about the violence between packs, held in line by the thin veneer of civility and rules. Stiles is the invader here, the instigator - stepping into this house could be considered a declaration of war. He's been witness to a fair few bloody fights in his time - Peter had a very special talent for pissing other people off - and it's not something he's keen to repeat without him. Especially not with Malia at risk.

Five on two. The former him, the beta, would've laughed at those odds. Before the snap and fizzle of half his bonds. Before he knew what it was to have blood on his own hands.

He struggles to smother his wolf back beneath the surface. Those other wolves need never know he was here- so long as he smells human, it won't even matter.

And, surely, doesn't his father's presence negate those rules? Stiles clings to this loophole like a lifeline, drawing him through the dark halls of the house, to the man hiding in the kitchen.

John Stilinski is making coffee. The movements are robotic as he rummages through the cupboards, organises three cups on the counter. Three, Stiles notes- far more observant, or maybe just more compartmentalised, than he gave his father credit for.

"I need caffeine," John says, without looking towards them. "Before I go through anything new, I need this."

Stiles nods wordlessly. Anything new? A thousand questions bubble through his mind, beginning with werewolves? and ending in what?

The three of them stand uneasily in the kitchen as the water boils, unsure of whether to move, to sit, to talk. So they simply stand. At some point Malia frees her hand from Stiles' and begins wandering around the kitchen, exploring the new space, the new scents, with all the lack of subtlety he loves about her.

The timer dings, cutting through the silence like a shot. Stiles flinches, as does Malia.

His father watches the two of them with a detatched, analytical curiosity that Stiles knows he inherited from him. He's not used to being on the receiving end, being watched, being perceived so acutely, it feels like a knife under his skin.

The silence remains in place until John begins making up the coffee, and Stiles blurts out, "Malia doesn't like sugar."

With that, the spell shatters. John slumps into a chair at the dining table, all pretense of distracting his hands and mind vanished in an instant. He rubs his large hands over his face; Stiles is drawn to a thick gold band on his left. A wedding ring.

But not the one Stiles' mother gave him.

Stiles suspected as much, and still he's surprised by the knife to his heart. Seven years is a long time by any count of the clock.

He's alive, he tells himself. He's alive, and that's far more than Stiles ever expected.

John sighs and finally parts his fingers to look at him. "Are you really my son?"

Stiles thinks up a hundred ways to answer this. Who else would I be? No, I'm his twin. No, I'm his ghost. Instead, he nods.

"How?" Now the damn has broken, words pour forth. "Why? What happened? Where have you been? I thought..."

I thought you were dead.

"It's..." Stiles grasps for the words. "It's a long story, dad. But I thought you were dead, too. I would've tried to come back sooner if I'd known you were alive."

Is that the truth? Stiles honestly doesn't know.

"Stiles." Malia's voice demands his immediate attention. She's standing across the kitchen next to the noticeboard, pulling aside a few postcards and bill notices to reveal a piece of yellowed paper beneath.

A piece of paper pinned exactly where Stiles had pinned it seven years ago, written in his own childish handwriting. A chasm opens up beneath his heart.

"You said you wouldn't be gone long," John whispers, as transfixed as everyone else by the paper. "A few hours. And I-" his voice breaks, "I didn't even notice it for three days. I was too..." Too drunk. The words hang in the air, unspoken, because if they were then something - probably his father - would break from the impact.

"I didn't mean to be gone long," Stiles finds himself half-laughing. "A few hours. A normal day. But."

But.

He remembers the day he met Peter Hale like it's seared into his eyelids. The sun beat down as he climbed through overgrown trees in the Beacon Hills Preserve. He had been coming this way for months now. At first there had been no real goal except away, and that was enough. He had longed to travel further, to run as far as possible and never return, hike all the way to the East coast if he could manage it.

Instead, he had found the burnt-out shell of a huge house deep in the preserve. Blackened wooden structure, creaking in the breeze, still smelling of charcoal and ash and an awful acrid smell he would one day learn to be cooked flesh.

Five months since the Hale fire. Eleven since the death of Claudia Stilinski.

Even as a child, morbid curiosity had consumed him relentlessly. Hours spent exploring these ruins had revealed a treasure trove of what the young Stiles had called evidence, clues to the origin of the fire, or the identities of the people who had once occupied the home. A blackened cutlery set buried in the remains of what was probably a table. A teddy bear burnt half to cinders, holding its shape only until Stiles reached to touch it, and it blew to ash on the wind.

He'd cried and run away as fast as his short legs could carry him, that time.

This house of fire and ghosts had been his safe haven from the dark hollow of home - emptier and scarier for the fact that it still had two living residents haunting its halls. At least the Hale house reflected its occupants.

No childhood home should be so unwelcome.

That day, when his life had blown to the wind just like the ashes of the house he found sanctuary in, had started like any other. He'd left the house that afternoon with his usual, unnoticed routine. A torch with extra batteries, a water bottle, a pack of nuts for if he lost track of time and got hungry. A note for his father, scrawled as a hasty afterthought - pointless thus far, but it would be just like his father to emerge from his haze long enough to call a search and rescue, to find Stiles in the woods, to ground him once and for all inside the house. Imprisoned with no escape at all.

His visits had been kept to the ground floor of the house until then - his parents had instilled enough common sense in him to not risk the rotting stairs giving way beneath his feet.

But the basement, with its chiselled stone steps, was an entirely different question. Fear of the dark had kept him out this long, but curiosity of the unknown would always win out.

Even with all his preparation, descending the stairs in the Hale house felt like descending into hell. His torch guttered every few steps, despite a change of batteries, and as the shadows swallowed him he found himself wishing his father was there - not the father he had now, so much fuel in his system a stray cinder would set him ablaze. But the father who cried when they watched movies. Who made him hot cocoa on nights when the house felt too hollow with just the two of them. Whose smile was like sunshine filtering through clouds, who made the world a little bit warmer. The father who had thrown himself between every punch and barb his mother had thrown at her son in those last, awful days.

He knocked the torch against his head as if to clear them both. The light steadied. His thoughts grounded to here, now, and he descended into the dark.

The walls of the basement - a huge, round room, supported by columns at regular intervals - were made of rough stone, construction so old Stiles could barely fathom. His torch beam washed over scars in the stone, deep, repetitive gouges like claw marks. They layered the walls like paint.

Somewhere at the end of the room, pale daylight fell through a grate near the ceiling, washing the space in something other. This felt like somewhere ghosts lived and died. Where the walls between worlds were less than paper thin. He shivered, but not from the cold - this room was an oven, the memory of flames trapped between the bricks. He could smell the aftermath of smoke, see the char coating the bricks in places where the fire had burned brightest. He even thought he could hear the crackle and snap of wood and oxygen ablaze.

His heart dropped like a stone. He could hear something. At the other end of the room, a low rumble, like an earthquake cracking upwards through the floor, or a huge animal breathing. The crackle of dead leaves disintegrating beneath a shifting form.

Breath escaped Stiles, vanished like so much smoke. He gasped - a choked, aborted sound - and stumbled back towards the stairs. An animal that big should not exist, certainly not here, in California, in Beacon Hills, in this house which had become his haven. How long had it lurked beneath the dying floorboards? Had it listened to his movements, waiting for him to come to it, knowing somehow that a meal would walk to it with open arms if it just waited?

The next moments are little more than a blur. He remembers, in flashes. The sudden stillness of an animal waking, listening, waiting. Tripping, falling onto the stairs, his knees and palms scraping against stone in his desperation to get away. The face of death looming over him, a creature of towering shadow and fur practically falling over itself in its desperation to get him. Yellow claws, yellow teeth, sharp as razors.

Then fire - he was alight, ablaze, burning right along with the rest of the house, except it wasn't his flesh but his veins, fizzing with energy and adrenaline.

He was a phoenix, though he hadn't known it then, crumbling to ash only to emerge newly gold.

He hadn't known that crazed, ravenous creature in the basement to be Peter Hale then, hadn't connected him to the handsome stranger who'd happened upon him hours later in a crumpled heap of blood and dying leaves. And by the time he'd realised they were the same person, years later, he had already forgiven his alpha for any past crimes committed in the haze of fire-sparked insanity.

He had never told Peter he knew. He was willing to let the weight sit on his shoulders, allow Peter's to remain free of any more, for fear this would be the blow that crushed him to the ground. That was his job as beta, as family, as pack.

He's more than a little willing to let his father wallow in his mistakes, though. What does he owe this man sitting before him? Everything, a small voice tells him, the child of sunshine smiles and hot cocoa. Nothing, another voice argues, all jaded smiles and sharp edges. Stiles is neither of those voices, not anymore. Not entirely.

I have three heads. Cut off one, I become stronger. Cut off two, I become ten. What am I?

"I'm here now, dad," he finds himself saying. "I'm alive. You're alive." There's something aching in his chest, something he's been repressing beneath layers of time and pain, and now it threatens to consume him.

Strong arms wrap around him, and he is eight years old again. His father smells of ink and metal and flowers. The world feels small, feels safe, for just an instant.

"Stiles, Stiles," John murmurs into his hair like a prayer, as if it will keep Stiles here, keep him real, keep him alive.

Stiles cries, a dam he's kept below water finally crumbling; it doesn't feel half as awful as he'd feared.

#fanfiction #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #malia tate #sheriff stilinski #own work #morgan writes

3 notes · View notes

shalebridge-cradle · 4 years

Text

Bisclavret Round-Up

Unholy took about three months to write. Fairy Tale took five. Hindsight took six.

Bisclavret took nineteen, and that should be the biggest indicator to you that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

This was my first venture into another fandom, and out of my comfort zone (though not entirely – supernatural elements for life). I’m not sure whether or not I did the source material and its characters justice, however, especially with the supernatural element I went with (Wolves are believed to have gone extinct in England in the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century), but I will try to explain my reasoning behind some of my decisions here.

The Characters

My main concern.

We get a good view of Monty’s thought process throughout the show, through the framing device of writing his memoirs and views of his private affairs. Phoebe and Sibella, on the other hand, are characters we don’t get much of in the way of examination – we only see them through Monty’s eyes until the very end, where they reveal themselves as more than that.

Sibella is a bit self-centred, and extremely practical when it comes to how she sees her place in society, which implies some self-confidence issues. Phoebe is more idealistic, and independent, but still hopes for a match fit for a storybook. But, towards the end, Sibella demonstrates she is more than a vain god-digger, afraid of losing the man she loves and willing to potentially compromise her image to save him, while Phoebe shows that she is not nearly as innocent or naive as the people around her consider her to be.

I interpreted the two women’s characterisations as thus; Sibella believes she is bound by society’s view of her. Phoebe does not. This, I believed, needed to be the focus.

Which is where we introduce…

The Whole Werewolf Thing

“[Post-modern Gothic] warns us to be suspicious of monster hunters, monster makers, and above all, discourses invested in purity and innocence. The monster always represents the disruption of categories, the destruction of boundaries, and the presence of impurities and so we need monsters and we need to recognize and celebrate our own monstrosities.” - J Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters

I gave a number of possible causes of the D’Ysquith ‘family curse’, if it is one – the actions of the first countess, Gregory D’Ysquith burning down a monastery (divine punishment is a possible cause), but I never gave a specific answer. I think I might be operating on the logic of the original Bisclavret – it’s irrelevant.

The reason there isn’t is because I intended it as a metaphor – which I think I’ve made clear with my chapter updates here (though you don’t have to read it that way, Death of the Author and all that), but I never quite decided and what it was a metaphor for. In terms of this particular narrative, it can be read as a metaphor for feminism, and/or a metaphor for same-sex attraction.

Feminism

Edwardian Era England, where A Gentleman’s Guide takes place, is not overly-represented in fiction. Not surprising, considering it’s a pretty short time period between the surprisingly long Victorian era and the world-changing events of World War One. However, when you think of that time period, a certain group tends to come to mind – the suffragettes.

(Just a note. Agatha D’Ascoyne, the character from Kind Hearts and Coronets who inspired Hyacinth D’Ysquith in the musical, was a suffragette. She has no lines, apart from “Shush!” – Deeds, Not Words.)

We know what these people wanted – Votes for Women. They were not prepared to wait for society to change to get it, and when peaceful protest was ignored, they began to act out. They refused to fit into their role of quiet, demure, loyal wives, and for some groups, this was seen as threatening. Anti-suffragette cartoons of the time often depicted these women as old, ugly and/or selfish for wanting similar rights to men instead of accepting their place as a ‘lesser being’.

The point I am trying to make is, being in defiance of the role you are expected to play – which Sibella is afraid to show – was seen by many to be ugly. Beastly.

Phoebe runs Henry’s country estate for him. Phoebe flaunts societal expectations by proposing to Monty, instead of waiting for him to propose, the ‘proper’ way to do things. While she is feminine, she does not fit the idea of what a woman ‘should be’.

Sibella makes a point to meet her obligations as a wife, though she does surreptitiously carry on an affair. She sacrifices her own happiness to get what she wants in a socially acceptable way. She has no intention of leaving Lionel in the source material, but she convinces herself that a rich, good-looking, polite man – what society thinks of as the ideal male – is what she wants, and realises on her wedding day that it isn’t.

And goes through with it anyway.

When she can no longer fit that mould, when she refuses to go along with Lionel’s plan to leech off the countess, when she undermines and argues with her husband, that’s when things start happening. Indeed, her ‘beastly’ outbursts manifest as standing up for herself. She ends the story as a much happier and self-assured person than she was at the beginning, and attempts to bring justice to other women.

Same-Sex Attraction

This is a bit more straightforward. We’re coming right off the back of the Victorian era here, where Oscar Wilde and others like him got their lives ruined. Same-sex relationships aren’t viewed in a positive light at all at this time – you like the same gender? Off to prison with you, deviant!

As people that were (and often still are) villainised, misunderstood and attacked for the crime of existing, some members of the LGBT community reclaim monsters such as vampires, werewolves and the Babadook as their own as a means of subverting their image in a heteronormative society. Being ‘monstrous’ is not bad. Being different is fine. You may feel malformed and wrong, but you are not. You and your quirks are accepted.

For some, the ones to fear are those who appear in the daylight.

Sibella, for all her talk of being a monster, only fights back when threatened. Morton has a heart attack when put in the position of his victims, subverting the formula he’s used to. Lionel, fearing that Sibella will leave him and damage his image, resorts to violence against Sibella and several other women he sees as substitutes for her. Mary attempts to murder Sibella for getting in the way of a monogamous man-woman relationship. In her eyes, Sibella is an irredeemable villain, but Phoebe can be ‘fixed’.

If you want to look deeper into this link between horror and the LGBT community, here’s a video essay discussing gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender representation in horror films.

There are only a few non-metaphorical references to werewolves. The wolf head in Eugenia’s dower house is a family member – as previously mentioned, wolves went extinct in England during the reign of Henry VII. St Hubert’s Key is a charm that more often than not looks like a nail, and was supposed to be able to rid the body of disease caused by a dog or wolf bite. There is some science behind this – the metal was heated before being pressed to the wound, and, if the subject was at risk of contracting rabies from the injury, the heat would likely sterilise and cauterise the potential infection site.

Not the First Murder-y Heir

There are a couple of characters named or directly taken from Israel Rank – Autobiography of a Criminal, the inspiration for Kind Hearts and Coronets and A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder. I’ve compared these works before, so I’ll just go over those that appear here.

Esther (Lane) – The third object of Israel Rank’s affections, and a governess. Knows more than she’s letting on in Israel Rank, and in this story as well.

James “Jim” Morton – Appears for about a page to explain Israel’s disillusionment with the ideal male – while Morton seems great to some, he really isn’t. Since Jim only appears as a child in the book, his characterisation here is drastically different.

Lord and Lady Pebworth – Almost directly lifted from the book, with Lady Pebworth being a bad singer and Lord Pebworth an older gentleman who lets his wife get away with a lot. The difference here is that Israel introduces the Hollands to the Pebworths, while the Pebworths are hoping the Hollands introduce them to Lord and Lady Navarro.

Sir Anthony Cross – Quiet, very well-off, slightly older gentleman who is quite taken by Sibella, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Acquaintance of the Pebworths. Pretty much the same guy.

Ethel D’Ysquith (Gascoyne) – An ancestor Israel is quite taken with, not only due to the resemblance between the two. He’s made the 3rd Earl of Highhurst because I didn’t feel like making an imaginary preceding title (Monty is only the 9th Earl, while the 10th Earl Gascoyne is about five generations before Israel – Ethel was the 6th Earl) and the 2nd Earl, Roland, had already been named in the musical. Phoebe’s description of him is meant to heavily imply he was also a werewolf. If I had read the book before fleshing out the D’Ysquith family tree, he would have taken the role that the first countess plays in the narrative’s events (Ethel Gascoyne hid in a tower with an Italian magician for 20 years).

Kate Falconer – The character who would later be known as ‘Boat Girl’ in Kind Hearts and Coronets and Evangeline Barley in A Gentleman’s Guide. Her great crime is to go on holiday with her boyfriend, and gets poisoned for her troubles. She survives here, and I used her to try a formatting technique (while she speaks, none of her dialogue is in quotes: in a way, she is voiceless).

(Sir) Cheveley Drummond, (Lady) Enid Branksome, and Catherine Goodsall – only mentioned briefly. Drummond is described as handsome and ‘interesting’ by Israel, Lady Enid is a young woman from a penniless but aristocratic family, and Catherine Goodsall in an actress whose abusive husband was beaten so badly by a Gascoyne he joined the navy and never came back to land.

In addition, Lionel’s later characterisation comes directly from Kind Hearts and Coronets, since he gets almost none in the musical. His breakdown in Chapter 11 follows his emotional journey when asking for a loan – affability, begging, threatening suicide, insults and physical violence.

Literary References:

Not always relevant, but there is a wide enough variety that I’m collecting them.

Every chapter title, and the tagline of the work, comes from Manners and Social Usages by Mary Elizabeth (Mrs. John) Sherwood. It’s a bit out of date by the time of this story (written in 1884), but Sherwood does have some great phrases in her etiquette handbook.

Ruddigore is mentioned in chapter 2, only because it is a musical theatre production (opera) where ancestors play a role and family expectations are subverted.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Hamlet. It’s Hamlet.

When in the chronicle of wasted time, I see descriptions of the fairest wights, and beauty making beautiful old rhyme in praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights... Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Number 106.

I desire, and I crave… Fragment from Sappho’s poetry.

The countess closes her book; something by a George Reynolds. George W. M. Reynolds wrote Wagner the Wher-Wolf (with that spelling) in 1857.

I met a lady in the meads, full beautiful, a faery’s child: Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild. La Belle Dame sans Merci (The beautiful lady without mercy) by John Keats.

Sibella also briefly mentions Algernon Blackwood, a supernatural fiction writer who wrote a short story about a werewolf (portrayed quite differently here) that a character in 1909 could have possibly read (the story was first published in 1908).

In addition, the whole story is named after a very early depiction of a sympathetic werewolf, Bisclavret by Marie de France (and the most direct I think I’ve ever been with a title). It depicts, naturally, a werewolf (who is also a knight, because not being human doesn’t disqualify you from doing that – cutting social commentary for the 12th century) who is trapped in his wolf form after being tricked by his wife and her lover. Through chivalric behaviour to the king on a hunt, he works himself back into the royal court and, when his former wife pays a visit, bites off her nose. The king thinks the sudden aggressive behaviour from his pet prompts further investigation, the wife reveals all, and the knight is restored to human form. Also, all of the wife’s children are born without noses from then on. Lionel getting his nose bitten off is a reference to this poem.

Uncategorised Trivia

This work was written with the UK spellings of certain words, because it takes place in England. Previous works all took place in the US, and so used US spelling.

Les Patineurs Valse is French for The Skater’s Waltz. Reference to Asquith Jr. and Evangeline Barley.

All of the racehorse names Sibella finds are either variations, anagrams or synonyms of actual racehorses in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Sir Hugh is Sir Huon, Gil Owen is Neil Gow, Irish Lass is Irish Lad, Supervision is Oversight and Pinnacle is Meridian.

Lionel was right to be concerned about Phoebe’s flower arrangement. Red begonias represent love, lavender-coloured heathers represent admiration and loneliness (and are a reference to another fandom I write for), tuberoses are symbolic of wild or forbidden passion (and was commonly used as a funeral flower), and verbena is reference to romance and sweet memories. The dead foliage is meant to mean sadness. Overall, the intended meaning is I miss you, my love.

#the cradle will write #bisclavret:work

6 notes · View notes

clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 15: The House on Prytania Street

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The gang heads to Prytania Street to meet with the last power left untouched in New Orleans; the Garden District Coven. Taylor starts to experience the side effects of being a fae halfling.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The sun’s heat is blistering on the back of his neck.

It feels unnatural in a way; conducting their business with the darker side of the world in the daylight. They’ve been running between the worlds that exist between sunset and sunrise for so long that he almost forgot what the sun even looks like.

He likes looking at the moon. But looking at the sun? Ouch.

Still it feels strange not to have Cadence’s towering presence hovering somewhere at his back. Looking over at Katherine — he can’t imagine what it must feel like to her.

“Hey — nope, eyes here.”

Taylor winces at the backhand to his arm but Ryder definitely isn’t in the mood. He’s been tense ever since they left the hospital with a time and place to address the Garden Coven. Like he didn’t know that was the plan, or something.

“I’m listening,” promises Taylor. But listening for Nik at that very moment requires eyes as well as ears.

“Really? Then what’d I just say?”

He blames his hesitation on the fact its taking forever for the coffee to hit his nervous system. Looks to Cal beside him for some kind of help but the werewolf gives him a look of you’re on your own.

“Uh —”

“Right, thought so.”

“I get the gist, Nik. Don’t be rude, don’t make eye contact, probably best just not to open my mouth.”

Cal snorts. “Actually that’s scarily close to verbatim.”

“Did I ask you?” snarks Ryder, but the bait remains abandoned in the cracks on the sidewalk.

The Upper Garden District is like most wealthy neighborhoods; nice to look at for a time but not much for entertainment value without a place to actually go. And sure Taylor has entertained the thought of owning one of the many million-dollar mansions lined with black iron gates and enough bedrooms to sleep in a different one every night for a week or more.

But its like the streets know. They know what Taylor and the rest have seen — what some of them have done. They know what creature hunts them and close their entrances off with hanging willow branches and high brick walls.

Claiming innocence, refusing to be witnesses like covering their eyes in cupped palms absolves them of the duty placed upon survivors to recount tragedy when it is over.

Because they might be the only ones left to do so.

Taylor drags his fingertips along the winding bars of an iron gate. Wonders if the prickling he feels under his touch is static, his imagination, or something more.

Nothing about 937 Prytania Street sets it apart from the houses on either side of it, or across the street for that matter. If Katherine hadn’t stopped in front of it he might not have even guessed it was their final destination.

Wasn’t a witches’ home supposed to be covered in sigils or guarded by spirits from another world? At least adhere to the aesthetic, people.

Thank god, though, he’s not the only one underwhelmed by the obviously-new shiny coat of eggshell-white or the lack of shutters creaking in the mid- morning breeze.

“You sure this is the place, Kathy?” asks Cal with his head slightly raised, nostrils flared to try and pick up whatever scent witches carry. “It smells pretty ordinary.”

She doesn’t answer. Just presses the buzzer and waits patiently for the gate to open.

It does and without so much as an ominous creak.

Maybe its his paranoia kicking in but with every step they take towards the house the feeling of unease in Taylor’s stomach grows, and grows, until it sloshes around — doesn’t sit well with his coffee. Everything his eyes take in seems too normal. A lawn too well-manicured, a set of metal golden numbers too polished. Makes him want to grab a fistful of soil from a too vibrant pot of Easter lilies and throw it somewhere, anywhere to make the place a little less picturesque.

Lamrian was beautiful in its perfection.

The House on Prytania Street is perfect the way a staged corpse is perfect.

A stiff gentleman in a three-piece suit opens the door before Katherine can use the knocker. Looks the four of them over with a condescending air about him and there’s a half-second where it looks like he’s ready to close the door in their faces on principle.

He doesn’t, instead steps aside.

The problem with most of the houses in the area is that, beauty aside, most of them stand empty. Not on the material front — they are always filled with collections of things and with more places to sit than is realistically necessary. But whether its the shitty housing market or the fact that they’re just owned like another piece of a collection, rarely are they lived-in.

The Garden Coven house is no different.

While the Suit leads them to a parlor off the right of the house Taylor tries his best to try and find some evidence of life being lived; on the walls, the carpet, even in smudges in the dust that lines various and seemingly unrelated objects on display.

There are none. Not one single fingerprint.

Though the Suit gestures to a matching array of chaise lounges and high-backed chairs for them to wait in, they stay standing because Katherine stays standing.

“You will be collected shortly,” is all the Suit says before returning the way they had come; though this time he pulls the double doors closed behind him. Leaves them all feeling trapped despite the open windows and sunlight pouring through.

“Random question here,” Taylor breaks the silence because it might actually drive him up the wall, “but do we have a plan for if this goes badly?”

He looks to Ryder, who looks at Katherine, who has suddenly taken up an interest in the antique carpet underfoot.

Of course they don’t have a plan. Why would they have a plan for their last resort? The same wonder team that practically broke into Persephone without so much as an escape route on the brain.

Historically things have worked out in their favor, though. Is it wrong of him to hope this time, too, might not be so terrible?

The glowing yellow eyes that bore into his soul from across the room say yes, yes it is wrong of him. Say how dare he imagine that things might not turn out so bad. They blame him for bringing hellfire and brimstone down on this house, on this city.

“— ly shit, Taylor. You okay?”

Its like an out-of-body experience in reverse. Feeling too deep and too trapped within himself to answer the concern on Ryder’s face. Like he’s drowning inside his own mind — or inside someone else’s.

Nothing about her is stable — pinpointing what she looks like beyond the startling gaze with which she holds him captive is about as easy as finding a single raindrop in a stormy sea.

One moment there are wrinkles around her eyes. Lines at her mouth pursed with thin lips in a frown of disappointment. Then youthful candor in aching regret. Grey hair healthy and full then withered, curling like the rumors that hair and nails continue to grow long after you’re buried in the ground.

He doesn’t realize it until the tear burn at his eyes and make him choke, but he’s crying.

“Taylor — Taylor!”

It’s back-breaking to pull away from the vortex he’s been ensnared in. Both the sun and moon in each of her eyes. Glassy and knowing at the same time.

But he blinks. Feels those same tears run down his cheeks and tickle his chin. Looks at the concerned faces of his friends with utter confusion because how in the world could they be staring at him when he’s facing judgment at the metaphorical pearly gates, here?

Even he’s aware of how foolish he sounds when all he can let out is a dumb “What?”

Nik takes him by the shoulders; looks him up and down for any signs of physical harm like it all isn’t in his head. Remains the most tried and true validation of his experiences to this day.

“You — what the hell happened to you?”

Taylor looks to Cal’s frown of concern, to Katherine’s violet curls like whips lashing around her face as she tries to pinpoint what, where.

“You look like you jus’ saw a damn ghost,” Cal sees the confusion in his eyes and thinks he’s helping. He isn’t.

So he cranes his neck back, away from Nik, to the point where it feels like he might snap his own spine.

She’s still there — in the doorway to a shadowy corridor. Both young and old and there and not. Then she isn’t her at all and the elderly man standing in her place reminds him of his grandfather a bit — which does nothing but unsettle him further.

“You… you don’t see her — hi— it?”

No, of course they don’t. Why would they?

He’s used to this — defaults into the old habit of trying to pretend the thing he’s looking at doesn’t exist. Already with denial on the tip of his tongue burning like a sour candy left forgotten.

But this was supposed to have stopped. No more headaches, no more hallucinations. The things he’s seen and accepted… so why is this different? Why now of all the rotten times is he seeing something no one else can?

Sure Nik tries; Cal too. They look in the doorway where the figure hovers like a bad trip on acid. They try, but they don’t see.

“Rook,” — is this where he pulls a Hermione, tells Taylor that seeing things no one else can see isn’t normal even in their freaky lives? — “there’s no one there.”

Only he doesn’t sound his usual level of confidence. Sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself right alongside.

Katherine scoffs under her breath; shakes her head and sits because there’s nothing else to do with her arms folded so tightly across her chest its undeniably a measure of self-comfort. Of keeping herself grounded.

When Cal tries to sniff the air his nose crinkles. “There’s too many different scents. Ritual burnings, smudges — I can’t get a read on shit.”

“I swear,” mutters Nik so low Taylor wouldn’t hear it if he weren’t as close as he is, “if these bastards are messin’ with you —”

For a guy who spent the entire journey warning against this exact type of frustration, anger, Taylor’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter if the Coven — wherever they may be — can’t hear him.

“Stop, it’s fine.”

“It ain’t —”

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“Like I give a damn?!”

“Lower your voice!”

“A-hem.”

At some point the Suit had returned without their notice. Taylor would like to hope it was after his little freak-out but, time to face facts; he’s just not that lucky.

The way he looks them over — he might very well have some sort of magic-witchy x-ray vision. How the fuck someone can have a gaze that feels something like being scored at the top of his head and having his very being pulled back layer by layer is a mystery and, unlike the others, its one Taylor has no desire to solve.

“The Garden Elders will see you now.”

He wants to ask for a second to catch his breath; regain his composure. But why ask for it when he already knows the answer he’ll get?

Like before Suit doesn’t wait for them to speak an agreement. Just turns and begins walking deeper into the old house with purpose. Cal follows close behind — for all his bravado there’s unmistakable gooseflesh riddling his forearms.

Taylor reaches out to Katherine without a second thought; offering like he can help her up when they both know she could very well launch him over the chair and out the window like a rag doll.

Just another thing to distract him from the unrelenting stare digging knives into his back, probably.

Only Katherine takes his hand; surprises them both by doing so.

“You still see them, don’t you?”

The way Kathy’s eyes roam the space behind him, Taylor can tell she’s searching for the smallest speck of something to assuage his worries. But if you see something you don’t look for it.

So Taylor just nods. Follows with her at Nik’s back where he acts like a wall to keep their whispers private.

“Its not the Coven.” She says it so matter-of-factly.

The figure, now a young girl in the same pale grey shroud as the other faces had been, keeps staring even as they leave the parlor behind.

“Then what is it?” Nik throws back through gritted teeth.

“Something much more powerful.”

Taylor squeaks. “Not helping.”

“I recognize that look — I’ve seen it in the mirror,” and when they approach another set of double doors, stalled behind the Suit and his glower, her breath is hot in his ear.

“Keep an eye out. If The Fate is watching then there’s far more at stake than we assumed.”

His first thought is there have to be more witches in New Orleans than this, closely followed by please stop inviting trouble into your life, Taylor.

But even Katherine looks confused at the emptiness of the solarium they’re led into. How unassuming the three occupants look taking their tea with a pristine porcelain pot at a table out of Home and Garden magazine.

The same kinds of lilies, white petals large and curling under the sunlight, occupy every planter and pot in sight. Some of them are accompanied by flowers he’s only ever seen in books or movies — others look like they might be more at home in Lamrian taking root than here; to be appreciated but ultimately with a finite lifespan.

The solarium is a half-circle of heat and glass. Even the door leading out to a back garden path is see-through; the handle made of crystal. Everything catches on the sun and it makes Taylor quite literally hot under the collar.

He wipes a bit of sweat away from his chin uncomfortably.

They aren’t greeted when they enter. There are no chairs for them to take up. The Suit departs with the same wordless condescension with which he arrived and they’re just left there, taking up space on pristine marble, watching the so-called Garden Elders take their tea.

Only one of them actually looks the title ‘elder.’ The cotton on his robes looks scratchy, makes Taylor want to itch along his arms even at a distance. The locs that obscure his withered face fall back when he lifts his head up to the sun — casting shadows in the lines and creases of age he wears not just well but with a sort of pride.

With a delicate two-fingered touch he pushes his cup and saucer to the woman to his left. She refills his cup without looking away from the newspaper folded in front of her setting. The air around her seems to hold back as if afraid to touch — reverent of her existence but willing only to observe. The way the light illuminates her dark skin is practically golden. Makes her shine with some ethereal grace more at home with fae-kind than mortal witches, but the glow is undoubtedly hers.

The third Elder takes Taylor by surprise — he’s seen her before. Can still smell the sour cling of sweat to copper talismans and commercial incense on the ever-crowded floor of the House of Voodoo shop on Bourbon Street. Takes hiding in plain sight to a whole new level.

Would the Taylor from before all of this have felt the power that radiates around them? Would he have understood there was something to be feared about this particular trio; something he couldn’t possibly understand yet could feel in a place deeper than in the marrow of his bones?

I guess we’ll never know.

The polite thing to do would be to wait for them to finish their morning repast.

They don’t have time for politeness.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice, Elders.” Katherine gives a respectful nod of her head when she steps forward. Based on the look she throws at Ryder that’s what they should all be doing — but he doesn’t. And Taylor just doesn’t want to look like an idiot.

Something rattles hollow around the old man’s neck and when he turns Taylor really hopes those aren’t real bones strung together with twine. His eyes are a milky, clouded white but he looks at Katherine with no trouble.

“Despite what rumor may have you believe we care a great deal of our ties to the community.”

Kathy opens her mouth to speak but because Nik is Nik he scoffs “yeah, sure,” loud enough to drag the focus of all three Elders onto him.

“If you’ve something to say, boy, say it,” says the House of Voodoo employee, and Taylor will never hear a customer service voice the same way again with the shiver it sends running down his spine.

“Elder Millet —”

It isn’t politeness that cuts Kathy off when Millet raises her hand. Not with the purpling of her face or the way she seems to gasp around unspoken words.

“Excuses are as bad as lies, Miss Lopez,” she gives a flippant wave to her peers that breaks her unspoken spell; leaves Katherine on the verge of clawing at her throat for fragrant lily-scented air, “if Mister Ryder here has something to say who are we to force him into silence?” Ironic, much?

Now he’s done it — Nik can tell, too. If they want to continue he’s going to have to finish his thought and accept the consequences that come with it.

But he is Nik; so he squares his shoulders and stands his ground despite the unease that Taylor feels emanating from him.

“I mean no blatant disrespect Elder Millet,” —to the old man— “Elder Vion,” —and to the woman still yet to look up from the paper— “Elder Daniels; but if any of you three gave a damn about the community we wouldn’t’a needed to come get you in the first place. You’d have shown your faces at the Beau-Keyes with the rest of ‘em.”

“And look what happened to them,” drawls Elder Daniels as she flips the paper to the financial section, “almost killed due to reckless stupidity and an inability to see beyond the moment.”

The private laugh the three of them share isn’t lost on anyone. In fact it makes Cal bristle and go red in the face.

“You—You knew we’d be attacked? You knew and you did nothing?!”

Pack blood still runs deep.

Elder Vion adds a pink sugar cube to his tea. “‘Doing nothing’ was the ideal course of action.”

And his fellow Elders agree; “It followed the plan precisely.”

“And leaves us with an opening.”

“Though the guests will have to be taken care of first.”

“They won’t be here for long.”

“Hey—Hey! Now ain’t the time to dissolve into crazy!”

Nik’s clapping isn’t just loud — it makes the room tremble. Glass walls, the glass panels on the ceiling all somehow stunned by the weight of his audacity. That he would dare call attention to himself, this small, insignificant creature—

Taylor hastily shoves his palms into the front pockets of his jeans. Like that will somehow stop the feeling prickling at his palms like a thousand tiny needles. Different than anxiety; something borderline painful. Like if he thinks about it too much it will start to hurt, but pushing it out of the forefront of his mind will keep it at bay.

He recognizes the feeling easily enough — still doesn’t know what it means or what’s causing it but there’s one answer he didn’t have before. It has something to do with being a fae.

“So you all know what’s out… there.” Taylor jerks his chin to the garden, to the French Quarter beyond and the rest of New Orleans with it.

Given everything they’ve seen when it comes to the bloodwraith so far it’s almost laughable to think such a gruesome creature could exist—let alone appear—on a day like this.

Elder Millet looks Taylor over like she’s peeling back each and every layer of him with her eyes. Maybe she is — he wouldn’t put it past magic itself. Let alone past the magic that told the Coven Elders how terrible the attack at the Beau-Keyes would be and convinced them to do fuck-all about it.

“We do.”

But they knew that. “And you know what it’s after.”

“We’ve drawn our own conclusions.”

“Do those conclusions tell you how close you’re getting to the top of the list?” It sounds an awful lot like a threat. Good — he wants it to be.

“Do they tell you its only a matter of time until it comes after you — after the entire Coven?”

Nik agrees; “Whose to say it’ll stop with the Elders? Someone takes your place eventually — it can go after them, and the ones that follow, and the ones after that —”

Vion scoffs around his tea. “Preposterous!”

“Actually no; not in the slightest.” Wariness, distrust hangs over Katherine in an aura of thunderclouds. And its growing. “It’s logical.”

The word, the very implication of it makes Millet’s fingers twitch towards something partially obscured by the teapot. At first Taylor wrote them off as napkins but now the shape and size rings familiar.

Her deck of tarot cards doesn’t like being questioned.

“Logic is the predilection of the mundane.” When Elder Daniels finally looks up from her paper its to stare directly at Katherine. Hard and unyielding. Its a look of power; a silent demand for surrender.

And she almost does. Taylor knows without a doubt that she’d deny it with her last breath but words mean nothing when he can see the flash of her soul behind stormy skies — hear the rolling thunder not far behind.

“There are a thousand and one ways to interpret any given reading. And you chose the one that would keep you out of the crossfire.

“Even if it meant turning your backs on the Accords.”

Outside the walls of the sunroom nothing has changed. The clouds have continued to drift lazily by and the sun still beats down upon them. But when they entered the room felt as transparent as it looked.

Now they may as well be trapped in a dense fog. It threatens to block out the sun; to take pleasure in wringing out their last choking breaths.

“You overstep, insolent little Nighthunter.”

Elder Daniels stands and waves her hand. Probably takes a sick sense of satisfaction in the smallest flinch Katherine fails to hold back — but instead the witches’ spread vanishes as though it was never there.

There is no gaping absence of it — they could just as easily have been standing the entire time and had Taylor’s eyes not seen the table and chairs, had he not smelled the brewing tea or heard the clinking of cup against saucer, he would have a hard time explaining why he thought any of it was there in the first place.

Millet’s fingertips hover just above the surface of her tarot deck. The only physical thing to have remained. As much a member of the Elders as anything.

And the wrinkles on Vion’s leathery face have sunken deep like canyons. His movements are ancient and slow as he stands beside his fellow Elders in defiance of some unknown.

The sides are becoming glaringly obvious.

Small as it was Daniels’ display of power served its purpose; reminded them of who—what—they were dealing with. A power strong enough to entice the bloodwraith and prove its worth by remaining untouched.

The continued existence of them was a claim to power that the likes of Carlo de la Rosa and Denna the Shifter could never have dreamed of.

Taylor knows he’s not the only one of them having this fact hammered home inside him. Not solely because it takes some big and important shit to keep Ryder silent for this long but definitely highlighted by it.

“Perhaps,” Millet drags the word out solely to fuck with them, “we are the ones to be blamed. Blamed for our naivete in agreeing to this meeting disguised as an attempt to point fingers.”

And because its Katherine on the line — more than her name or reputation, but her life — she remains the sensible one. She tries to smooth-talk her way out. “With respect, Elder Millet, no one’s pointing fingers—”

“Save your arguments,” barks Vion, “though I’m sure they were well-rehearsed. Even blind to this physical plane as I am, I can see your true intentions for coming here.”

“Well there weren’t any, so —”

“We open our doors to you in this hour of need and yet you seek to accuse us of that which you cannot even begin to understand. Do you deny?”

It’s beginning to feel an awful lot like a trial and Taylor isn’t the only one who can feel it. He knows what the tension in Cal means — the way Nik shifts to the foot he favors standing his ground on.

But something just isn’t right. It’s echoing hollow in his bones; in the air around them. It fills him up, keeps filling him until he’s not sure he can stand it anymore. Until it wants to pour from his mouth or leak from his ears.

“Then why even agree to meet with us at all?” he blurts out to the surprise of the room; to himself.

And all that pressuring weight shifts from Katherine to him. Now he’s deep in it. Way to effing go.

Only its the first time the Elders don’t have a remark ready to be snapped at their heels. A fact that isn’t lost on them — and isn’t lost on his friends either.

And since its the only silence they might be getting any time soon he tries to roll with it in his usual word-vomit way.

“If you can see so much of the future in your cards or whatever — why agree to meet with us at all? Wouldn’t you know what we think of you? What everyone thinks of you? And you guys don’t seem like the type to entertain stupid people for the sake of a laugh.”

Nik gives him a very specific ‘Did you just call us stupid?’ look. Yeah, yeah he did.

But its rambling, and Taylor is good at rambling. Rambling is what he does best — rambling and improv monologues.

“You guys —” he drags an accusatory finger across the spread of them, “— are the ones accusing anyone, here. Which I get, you know, because there’s a lot going on. And everyone’s scared and everyone’s got their walls up because this is—like—ten thousand leagues away from normal even for your crazy world.

“But if we keep pointing fingers and we keep not helping everyone then what’s gonna happen? Right — the bloodwraith is gonna win. Because we’re gonna do its job for it!”

He drops his finger, then, because he’s making a point and leading by example. “Whatever reasons you may think we have for coming here are bullshit. No one wants to help, everyone’s just in it for themselves! And seeing as literally everyone in the city is a target right now that’s a really really stupid way of thinking!”

Like — he’s making sense, isn’t he? He feels almost compelled to look around not just at the Elders but at his friends, too. How many stories about good versus evil demand that everyone band together in spite of their differences for their own survival; for everyone’s survival?

They had been so close at the Beau-Keyes. If they’d all been given more time who knows what they could have accomplished. Maybe Kristof would be more willing to help. Maybe Lady Smoke wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Maybe Elric would stop hiding behind his wards like a coward.

Taylor sighs and it comes out a ragged thing — takes every last bit of air in his lungs and tries to wring a choked noise from his lips but he’s just too tired.

“If you had already made up your minds about us — about helping everyone — then why bother letting us come here to ask?”

Over Elder Daniels’ shoulder, across the room and through the spotless glass wall he sees the same figure as before. Knows its them by the glint of their golden eyes. The young woman’s face is forlorn; almost weeping. Flickers like a heat mirage from young to old to young again.

The Fate, Katherine had called them.

Why here?

Why now?

Why won’t they do something?

“Such a rousing call to action…” says Millet with the vestiges of praise — yet it looks bitter on her tongue.

Daniels agrees; “And from the unseen complication, no less.”

“Perhaps we underestimated him.”

“What difference would it make? Everything has gone as predicted so far.”

“One wrong move can turn the tide.”

“Yes — but this…”

Again they fall into whispered confidences — as though the others aren’t even there.

Ryder almost growls. More unwilling to call them out on it than before but just as impatient. “This was useless…” he hisses through gritted teeth back in Kathy’s direction.

A small movement draws Taylor’s attention to Elder Vion. To the empty space beside him.

Where The Fate — as a child, making it all the more eerie — reaches up and takes the witch’s hand in theirs. Blood soaks through their grey sleeve; drips down onto the pristine white floor. One droplet becomes two, becomes three and more. A puddle forming at their feet and spreading out of its own will.

He knows it isn’t real — that none of it is really there. There is no child and no blood not only because no one else is freaking out about it but because of the way the blood moves. Spiraling tendrils seeking to consume but only at the Elders’ feet.

The meaning of the whole disturbing sight is clear.

There is blood on the Elders’ hands. They’re drowning in it.

“You didn’t answer his question.”

Katherine cuts Daniels and Millet off mid-word. All that cool calculation hidden behind her pretty face; the perfect mask to hide behind. “Why’d you agree to this? What do you gain?”

Daniels’ upper lip curls. “There is nothing you could offer worth our time.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“Do you forget you called upon us?”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “when I thought you’d be useful. But we’re just talking in circles here!”

They are. What more do they know now compared to before?

Nothing is making any freakin’ sense. Nothing except for the sickening feeling growing inside. The blood spreads — devours. Leaves the witches draped in a dark veil thicker than a fog at night and the solarium, once filled with the light breeze of lilies, reeking of rot and the sour tang of open wounds.

A scent he’s becoming all too familiar with — something Taylor never thought would ever cross his mind.

Again there’s a prickling at his palms but this time he reaches for Ryder — a port in the gathering storm. Clasps their hands together tightly; desperately.

Nik who does a double-take when he catches the hollow light of fear in his eyes.

We need to leave.

What do you know?

Too much.

Too much. He knows too much. The Fate knows it and that’s why their figure has vanished but the blood seeping into the hems of the Elders’ clothes remains. The world knows it too, somehow. Keeps that damp and musty smell of molding decay stuck in his lungs and makes him choke on it. Makes his eyes water and an itching pain climb up from the inside of him begging to be let free.

He knows too much. Can’t even begin to understand the how or the why and maybe even a little bit of the what but he does.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt that the darkness that gathers around the Coven Elders and the one hanging as a fatal noose around the bloodwraith are one in the same.

We need to leave.

“It doesn’t matter Kathy,” Nik interrupts — keeps his eyes on Taylor like a grounding point; the only solid ground to stand on, “whether they answer or not it’s clear as day they don’t plan on helping anyone but themselves.

“We oughta get goin’.”

To their credit the Elders don’t deny it.

But the sudden change is a bit too much for Katherine. “Are you—Nik what the hell?”

“Kathy —” Taylor’s wavering voice almost breaks at just her name. Its enough; enough to drag her away from frustrating thoughts building to the fact that he’s white as a sheet and on the verge of unconsciousness. “Please.”

She doesn’t get the chance to argue. Not when the room turns to shadows upon shadows; very real and very not-in-his-head clouds blooming across the sun over their heads.

Even when Elder Vion lowers his hand the spell continues; grows and takes hold of the sky above until the sun is nothing but a distant memory, until the shadows are only a darkness unending.

He tuts and clicks his tongue — such a normal act in contrast to the way he leans on the gnarled handle of his cane. “Finally the consequences reveal themselves.” He bites out, though his scorn is quickly directed to the Elders at his side. “Had you not wished to speed the process this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Had we?” Millet snaps; gestures with her hands so wide that one of the cards slips from her deck and flutters to the ground face-up.

The Wheel of Fortune stares lifelessly upwards.

“You insisted the Council could not be allowed to congregate, Vion.”

“Indeed we acted on faith of your vision,” agrees Daniels.

Vion, though, is adamant; “The consequences outweighed the risk.”

“And what of that,” Daniels thrusts a finger at Taylor, “little consequence? Was it worth the knowledge he now possesses?”

The energy directed his way makes Taylor double over — from pain or pressure he doesn’t know. But Nik isn’t having it.

“What the hell are you crazy people talkin’ about?!”

“Silence!”

There’s a loud and resistant groan over their heads. They look up just in time to see the metal framework stop — now twisted, coiled like a spring ready to snap and send the ceiling panels hurtling down in what would surely be a painful death for all but the Elders.

“You dare interrupt your betters; dare demand of those who hold absolute power over your mortal lives?!” She’s practically shrieking now; and with each crack of her voice comes a crack in the glass surrounding them. “That you continue to live is a testament to our generosity despite your wretched meddling!

“But a Nighthunter never learns. Not until he is forced into submission!”

The bones around Elder Vion’s neck rattle on a nonexistent breeze. “To give this cur the same punishment would be my pleasure.”

“Why bother prolonging it?” adds Millet in a ravenous growl, “Kill him now and we have a second soul to cut from the veil. A second soldier to finish the task at hand.”

Cal goes rigid; taken by surprise. Now he knows. “Holy shit. It’s you.”

And now Katherine knows too; forces down the oncoming waves of revelation — keeps herself afloat with a strength well-hidden.

“You’re the ones controlling the bloodwraith.”

#nightbound #nik ryder #cal lowell #nik ryder x mc #vera reimonenq #katherine nightbound #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

3 notes · View notes

marshmallow-phd · 5 years

Text

Lies Untold

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: For generations, your family has been the protectors of mankind. You were considered one of the best and due to that reputation, you were sent on what could be the most important mission for the organization. Going under cover in a college to sniff out a particularly large and threatening wolf pack seemed easy enough. But when you meet one of the members, everything you’ve known since birth will be overturned and your loyalty to your family and heritage will be tested.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

One step forward, two steps back.

Luhan shook his head while he fiddled with the empty cup on the table in front of him. Your own half-sipped drink still sat across from him, condensation dripping down the sides as the ice began to melt in the cream-colored liquid.

What had he said to make you run off like that? Was it his family? Did you have issues with your own? Or were you thinking about all the nomadic packs you surely came into contact with over the years?

Luhan shuddered away the thoughts of how those meetings possibly could have ended.

Seeing you on the sidewalk, just barely catching you in the corner of his eye was making him think that luck was finally siding with him. Hell, there were even small moments of smiles and laughter between you. But then it all went to crap. Why couldn’t he just get closer to you? He wanted to spend time together without you running away five minutes later. Was this how Junmyeon felt when his mate kept running away? Last Luhan checked, the mate pull was supposed to pull you together, not do the opposite.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up from the booth and grabbed both of the cups and tossed them away in the trash can before shuffling out of the shop, only answering the barista’s wish of him to have a good day with a lazy wave.

He wandered around the business district for an hour or so, just killing time and wondering of what he could do differently in the future to not make you scared or uncomfortable. His mind lingered back to when he tried to reach out to you, to comfort you, but you kept your hands firmly in your lap, determined to stay away. It seemed obvious to him that you didn’t have the same burning desire to keep that electricity again. Or maybe you were just better at fighting it.

When the sun began to fall behind the horizon, Luhan figured it was time to head home. He didn’t have to work again until Friday night and hopefully he’d get a little peace and quiet down in the basement. That didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment. Maybe Sehun would want to play a game or maybe he could drag Minseok away from his mate for five minutes to kick the soccer ball around in the yard. They hadn’t done that for a long time.

Eventually, Luhan made it back to his car, sliding into the front seat with a heavy heart. When his mother told him stories about one day finding his mate, he’d always stared up at her with wide, optimistic eyes. It sounded like a fairytale, the way she worded everything. And that made sense to him. He was a creature of myth, so why shouldn’t his story of finding love be just as magical? Funny that what he got instead was some dumb, tragic retelling of Romeo and Juliet.

He just hoped they both came out of this alive.

“You ready for the run?”

Luhan sat up on the couch from where he was untying his shoe. An eagerness was more than apparent in Sehun’s eyes as he bounced from foot to foot off to the side of the seat.

“More than ready.”

“Then let’s go!” Sehun urged.

Hopping up from the couch, Luhan followed him while simultaneously yanking his shoes and socks off.

This was a rarity. Luhan couldn’t remember the last time they all went for a run together. It had to be before he, Kris, and Tao left. Twelve overgrown wolves running around – even in a forest this big – was too risky most of the time. Not to mention, keeping track of the more rowdy members was a bit more hassle then it was worth. But no one complained when Junmyeon suggested a pack run that morning at breakfast. Everyone was excited.

When he passed the stairs and entered the kitchen, the room was already full of half-naked pack members itching to get going. Luhan peeled his shirt off, the eagerness now hitting him in full force.

Junmyeon counted out loud to make sure that all twelve were present. “Okay!” he yelled over the buzzing chatter. “Let’s go! And remember to stick together!”

A thundering herd scrambled through the backdoor, letting out whoops and hollers into the darkening sky above. Mei let out giggles of her own as she squirmed in Evie’s arms, wanting to join in on the fun. Kris grinned from ear to ear as he watched his daughter with pride.

“Be careful,” Evie urged quietly to the point that Luhan had to strain to eavesdrop.

Kris gave her a reassuring kiss on the lips before replying, “It’s just a run, baobei. Nothing to worry about.” He chuckled at Evie’s protesting pout. “I promise, I’ll be careful and come back to you in one piece.”

“Thank you.”

Kris gave Mei one last kiss on the top of her head. Reaching Luhan as he walked away, he patter the latter on the shoulder. “Shall we join them?”

Luhan beamed. “Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, there were already ten wolves staring intensely at the back door, irritated that the two older members were taking their sweet time. Both of them stripped out of their pants and threw them in the pile with the rest of the jeans and shorts to be fought over later. Once their two legs became four, the pack was off.

The ground was soft under his paws. Each step sunk into the dirt, leaving behind its traces in the curves of his claws. Some of the younger wolves up ahead were yelping and playfully snipping at each other, urging them to race, to see who could go farther and faster. If Sehun or Chanyeol got a little far ahead, Junmyeon would bark out an order for them to slow down. The witch’s premonition still spooked him and if everyone was going to run together then they were going to stick together.

And the alpha wondered why he was referred to as “mother” so often.

Through the break in the trees above, Luhan looked up and took in the bright full moon hanging in the sky. It lit up the forest as if it were middle of the day, outshining the poor stars around it that didn’t have the same potency. He wondered what you thought about when you looked up at the same moon. Did you think of the ridiculous legends that told of the moon’s dictatorship over their transformations? Or maybe you just took in its beauty, appreciating it for the round rock that it was, stuck in a cycle that it didn’t necessarily ask for, but was given anyway.

Luhan snorted. It was kind of a good metaphor for his life. He never asked to be born a werewolf, but he took his first transformation in stride, realizing that he couldn’t change the way he was made. A stray thought drifted through his mind, wondering if you had a similar experience with your childhood. Being trained to kill supernatural creatures isn’t exactly in every child’s curriculum at school.

Someone nudged Luhan’s shoulder and he glanced over to find Minseok had fallen back from the grouping and was now matching pace with him.

You okay? You keep staring up at the moon.

Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just pretty. Thank god their pack telepathy wasn’t omniscient. He would have been discovered the second he shifted. But the most anyone ever picked up on was emotional ques unless a direct thought was pushed out, one that was meant to be heard.

Huh, Minseok mused, looking up as well. I guess it is.

You should try appreciating it more often, Luhan teased.

Minseok rolled his large brown eyes that were still strangely human. Luhan never really got over that fact, even though by now he should be used to the contrast. Seeing it on another wolf still gave him a weird feeling, though. I do admire the sky. I just prefer not to do it while running. Usually, one looks where they’re going.

Where’s the fun in that?

But Minseok’s warning was all too true.

Up ahead, Tao and Baekhyun had started playfully shoving each other while somehow managing to keep running. However, Tao was much stronger than the white and brown wolf and rammed his shoulder a little too hard, making Baekhyun lose his footing. He rolled several times and ended up under Luhan’s own feet, who was still glancing up at the moon. Now he went down, the air getting knocked out of him as he hit the ground and rolled a few times as well. An instinctual growl rumbled in his throat when he finally came to a stop.

Crap! Sorry, Luhan! Baekhyun whined.

Luhan shook his head and simple sent an annoyed look his way. As if being a white wolf didn’t make it hard to stay clean on a run as it was, now he was really going to have to scrub in the shower to get all the dirt he was coated in off. The only saving grace was that, as one of the older ones, he got to go first once they got back to the house.

What’s going on? Junmyeon asked worriedly as he came running back. Everyone had stopped as well to check on the two of them.

It’s my fault, Junmyeon, Tao confessed, hanging head down low.

Baekhyun yelped. Nah, it’s my fault. I started it. It’s easy to forget how strong Tao can be sometimes. You know, considering it’s Tao.

Tao growled at the implication, but Kris stepped in. Just leave it, Tao.

Junmyeon let out a huff that could be interpreted as a sigh. Okay, let’s get- wait. His ears perked up, stiff with listening so hard.

Jongdae cocked his head to the side. Did you hear some-

Shush, Junmyeon ordered. Now the whole pack was straining, trying to pick up on whatever the alpha had heard. Everyone, get behind me!

They all obeyed, save for Kris, who took his place beside Junmyeon as the fellow leader. Luhan immediately went into an offensive stance, ready to strike if need be. What could be lurking in their woods at this time? It had to be something other than a lost human or Junmyeon wouldn’t have gone on the defensive so quickly.

The air filled with tension, fur visibly standing on ends. Several wolves quietly shifted their weight from foot to foot, itching to just know. The waiting, the anticipation was increasing the adrenaline in their veins. And when a wolf got too hyped up… you might want to stay out of the way once that energy was released for your own sake.

Luhan looked over at his brothers. Scanning the area, he was confident that whatever was here with them, luck – and numbers – were on their side. But at the same time, he was hoping – praying – that it wasn’t you. That it wasn’t you lurking out here in the woods with a group of hunters, looking for them. If that was the case… Luhan would have no choice. He’d have to protect you even if it meant fighting his own brothers.

Relief rolled over him once the cause of the alert was finally discovered.

A smaller pack of maybe seven diverse wolves came out of the shadows, led by a dark brown wolf that was halfway between Kris and Junmyeon in size. They approached cautiously, knowing full well this wasn’t their territory and that they were greatly out number nearly two-to-one.

While Junmyeon remained low, ready to pounce at any moment, Kris immediately relaxed, even shifting back into his human form.

“Well, long time no see, Kun,” he chuckled.

Kun? Luhan took a closer look at the other pack and mentally slapped himself. It really was them!

He followed Kris’ example and shifted back into a human. After several exchanged glances, the wolves on both sides transformed. Then the unsuspecting boys in Luhan’s pack gasped.

While six of Kun’s pack were just ordinary wolf boys, a rarity stood among them.

“You have a girl in your pack?” Baekhyun exclaimed.

“It’s not completely unheard of, asshole.”

Yup. Same old Lyn.

“Please, excuse Baekhyun, his mouth doesn’t exactly have a filter and whatever he’s thinking just comes out,” Junmyeon apologized. It was a bit comical to watch him struggled to look literally anywhere but at the naked female in front of him. In fact, all the boys were avoiding even glancing her way. If any of their mates found out they’d stared a little too long… well, who’d get to sleep on the couch and who would have to take the floor would be the least of their worries.

Except, there was one blonde avoiding any eye contact and it wasn’t out of decency for his mate.

“What are you doing here?” Kris asked, thankfully breaking the awkwardness.

Kun folded his arms across his chest, sighing. “A rumor reached our ears about a hidden hunter somewhere in the area.”

Luhan’s heart jumped up into throat.

No. No one was supposed to know. How did a rumor start circulating? A million different scenarios, all ending badly, played out in his head. If they knew who you were, Luhan had to get you out of town.

“A hunter?” Chanyeol growled, his fist tightening at his side. “Who? Who is it?”

Now Luhan’s heart sank from his throat to his stomach. It didn’t matter that you weren’t old enough to be involved in the death of Chanyeol’s parents. In his eyes, a hunter was a hunter and they all deserved to pay.

“We don’t know who it is,” Fin, Kun’s second-in-command, admitted.

Luhan’s mood immediately lifted. If they didn’t know that you were the hunter than he could protect you better. He’d keep you close and throw off any suspicion that might form around you. With Hae In as your cousin, you should already be out of the running, but any little slip could make their alarm bells start ringing.

“So, then are you guys just passing through?” he asked cautiously.

Kun shook his head. “We planning to spend the next week around town.” He turned to Kris – and affectively Junmyeon. “If that’s alright, of course.”

Scratching the back of his head, Kris nodded. “Yeah, not a problem. I, uh, I’d offer our place, but….”

“That’s alright,” Kun chuckled. “I’m sure that farmhouse you told us about is more than full with your pack. Still think you’re all crazy for having one so huge. And by the looks of it, the house has almost double the occupants.”

“What makes you say that?” Jongdae frowned.

“Please,” Kun snorted. “I’m not blind to the way you are all acting like Lyn doesn’t exist right now.” He turned to the taller alpha with a more somber gaze. “You, too, huh, Kris?”

Kris nodded proudly. “Yeah. Soon after coming back.”

“And he’s a father,” Sehun snorted, not missing the chance for a jab.

Kun’s mouth dropped. “A dad? Wow. Things certainly have changed.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Kris said quickly. Then his tune changed completely, everything about him softening as he thought of Evie and Mei. “But I’m happy.”

“That’s all that matters.”

“I think we should talk more about this hunter rumor,” Junmyeon suggested. His eyes flickered over to Lyn for a split second before he cleared his throat. “Maybe back at the farmhouse… and clothed.”

“Good idea.” Kun turned to his members and gestured out with his head. Everyone began to shift back into wolves and follow Junmyeon and Kris back to the house. It was a quick trip. The news of a hunter possibly in their midst obviously put Junmyeon on edge and pushing him to run faster, everyone else just trying to keep up.

Evie was still in the kitchen going through and organizing the fridge like she always did when the house was empty. It was the only time she could throw out old food without having to argue with one of the boys about why it was no longer any good and why they shouldn’t consume expired food. She was shuffling the trash can around in an attempt to free up a little more space before packing in more moldy fruit. At the sound of bare feet hitting the wooden floor, she looked up.

“You guys are home early,” she frowned.

Kris didn’t waste any time walking up to her and giving her a quick kissing before answering. “We, uh, ran into some old friends that need to talk to us.”

“Old friend- oh goodness!” Evie shielded her eyes the moment Kun’s pack entered the kitchen. Luhan barely caught himself in time to stifle the laugh. While they were all dressed at the moment – and Evie was used to the occasion run-in from a forgetful wolf getting back from a run – the others were still very much in the nude.

“Baobei, why don’t you go grab the clothes sitting in the front parlor that were packed for donation?” Kris suggested.

“I would be more than happy to do that.” Evie scurried out of there like she was running from a wild bear. When she came back, she held the white trash bag of old shirts and pants up in her line of sight.

“Where’s Mei?” Jongin asked sadly, taking the focus off of the awkward moment.

“She’s already down for the night,” Evie answered. “But, you know, I think I’m going to go check on her.” Dropping the bag, she ran for the staircase and disappeared into the basement. Out of the corner of his eye, Luhan caught Lyn rolling her eyes. Yeah, definitely hasn’t changed much.

“Nice catch,” Kun joked with Kris.

The latter shrugged with a wide smile as he looked towards the stairs. “I like to think so.”

Already, the others were rifling through the bag, tossing clothes at each other to make sure everyone got the right sizes. Lyn stayed back until the male members of her pack had their share. She never liked getting in the middle of their rowdiness, thinking she was a bit above that. But Luhan couldn’t judge too hard. It had to be tough, being the only female wolf in a pack of obnoxious boys.

When she reached for a black shirt that was lying on top of the pile, Tao stopped her with a hand around her wrist.

“Wear this one.” He held out a red sweatshirt Luhan was pretty sure used to be Sehun’s.

Lyn took it, whispering an awkward “thank you” before pulling it over her head and slipping into a pair of basketball shorts that Evie had insisted Kris throw out. After that little exchange, Tao slipped out the back door while Lyn rejoined her group.

“So, how did you hear about this supposed undercover hunter?” Junmyeon asked as soon as everyone was comfortable.

“An omega we were chasing away from our territory told us,” Kun replied.

“While he was laughing,” Fin added. “Chuckling like he was watching a clown get beat upside the head with a foam bat. As if we couldn’t handle one little hunter.”

“One little hunter can easily become a bigger group,” Kun warned. “Besides, if one is hiding among us, we need to be prepared, find them before they can call for reinforcements.”

“And you’re sure he wasn’t just bluffing?” Minseok questioned. “Being an omega and all?”

Kun shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he was. But considering how dangerous hunters can be, especially with their tactics these days, I’d rather look like an idiot and search for something that might not be there than sit back and do nothing, getting us all killed.”

“I’d rather know the truth as well,” Yixing commented.

Junmyeon nodded, taking it all in. “Alright, then. We’ll start searching around town in our spare time. Looking at wrists for their mark, checking into anyone who might be new, and following through on anything slightly suspicious. We’ll always go in at least pairs, maybe more, giving us the advantage. Kun, if you don’t mind helping out with that.”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you.” Junmyeon sighed. “And thank you for passing this information on to us. I greatly appreciate it.”

Nervousness built up in Luhan’s limbs. Looking at wrists? You’d done a pretty good job at hiding yours since that first night, but what if Hae In saw it? Did she know you had it? Would Baekhyun say something about looking out for the tattoo to Hae In? Or would he actually keep quiet in order not worry her? With that wolf, there was no way to know for certain.

There was only one conclusion. Luhan would have to stay close to you, watch over you whether you knew it or not. He couldn’t let something bad happen to you, but he also needed to know the exact reason that you were here. If you weren’t here for them, he could work with that. But if you were here to stake them out or cause any harm to the pack, that was going to be a much harder battle to win.

Especially with the additional angry wolves now in the mix.

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #luhan x reader #luhan #lu han #exo series #exo supernatural au #Lies Untold #untamed wolf universe

336 notes · View notes

fairyscribbles · 5 years

Text

No More Running. (D.O, Romantic Confession)

By the way my loves, no need to worry about me! I decided to clean my folder and I found a lot of stories that I haven’t posted on tumblr yet, and I am pretty proud of them! So these are things that were written a while ago, but you get to see now! <3

You pushed your feet to go faster, feeling the strain in your muscles as you sped down the dark alleyway. You muted out the gruff yells that were behind you and your mind was only set on one thing- escaping the situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

You haven’t done anything wrong. You were innocent, and yet it was you who ended up being chased again.

You knew very well who was following you. And you knew they were toying with you. If they would’ve wanted, the vampires would have already ripped your jugular out.

They weren’t doing this for hunger. Oh no, the reason was far more personal than an innocent feeding.

This was an act of revenge, an eye for an eye. But they had the wrong person. You weren’t supposed to be executed for this reason.

You sharply turned left, almost losing your footing as you slammed into the side of the building. You could faintly register the burning on your arm as it scratched against the building, willing yourself to go faster.

This was all just a big mistake. They weren’t supposed to go after you. You weren’t the one closest to Do Kyungsoo, the werewolf they wanted to hurt the most.

Kyungsoo made sure you knew that well.

“Look…” he started, pausing after muttering your name. His eyes were set on the ground.

“This isn’t because of you…”

“Oh, of course not. It’s never me, it’s always you.” You cut him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but you didn’t let him.

“At first, it was about you being different. When I showed you I had absolutely no problem with you being a werewolf, you changed the story to the “enormous” age gap problem.” You stated, crooking your fingers in the air in imaginative quote marks. Kyungsoo’s full lips pursed in a thin line, his brows furrowed.

“Even when I said that three years aren’t that bad, you’ve apparently come up with another one.” Crossing your arms on your chest, you glared at him.

“Let’s hear it, then.” He started out with your name again, and no matter how much you loved hearing it rolling off his lips, you willed yourself not to be affected by it.

“I cannot…I’m too dangerous for you.”

“Oh, that is rich.” You scoffed and Kyungsoo showed his distaste of interrupting him by growling deep in his chest. Sometimes, you forget that Kyungsoo is really a dangerous being, but no one could blame you- he is always so gentle and nice, it isn’t hard to let your mind slip with that little fact that he is able to transform into a great beast.

You pursed your lips, holding in all the other snarky comments until he is finished.

“I’m too dangerous. After all these years, I’ve made too many enemies. They could hurt you to get to me. And the biggest enemy is right in this room.” You lifted your eyebrow in question and Kyungsoo pointed at his chest.

“It’s me. I could hurt you so easily…” he muttered almost to himself, as he lifted his hand and his thumb brushed gently over your cheek. It took all you had not to lean into his touch, as you stared into his eyes, which seemed to be torn by uncertainty.

“Just with a flick of my wrist, I could break you bones…”

“You don’t have to flick anything but your tongue, to let those words out and break my heart.” You added, your voice lowering to his whisper. Pain flashed through his eyes and to your dismay, his hand retreated from your skin. He was already taking steps back, away from you.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…I can’t risk it. I’m so sorry.”

You would’ve cried, but you didn’t have the energy anymore. Sadly, you were so used to Kyungsoo walking out on you; it didn’t hurt as much as the last time.

You loved him, and you were sure he loved you back. The fact that after every single time he left, he returned to you made you realize that he was unable to be without you.

Do Kyungsoo’s machinations of his mind were an enigma, you decided, as you stared at the closed door, a thought crept in your head that it might’ve been a metaphor about Kyungsoo.

The closed door might be a metaphor on your relationship with Kyungsoo.

You were left all alone.

And alone, you had to face the two bloodthirsty vampires at your heels. You felt that your muscles started to scream in pain, but you couldn’t allow yourself to slow down. Slowing down mean certain death.

“Think fast, wolf bait!” a crystal clear voice called out behind you and not a second later, a sharp rock came in contact with your scalp. With a yelp, you stumbled but kept your balance. Your head throbbed, and that pain seemed to break down the numbness your brain created when they started chasing you.

You were being chased by vampires. And your only hope, the only one that could save you, turned his back on you.

That didn’t stop you from calling for help.

“Help…” the only word whimpered through your lips and the vile creatures behind you cackled.

“No one will come, sweetie. Stop running and we’ll make it quick.”

I don’t want to make it quick. I want to live, you wanted to tell the vampires, but you knew it would be useless.

“Please, help!” your voice grew louder as you took another turn. You noticed your grave mistake too late, that you ran into a dark alley, that was most probably cut off by some obstacle. Your fears came true, as a metal fence started rising above you and soon enough, you collided into it, hoping it would topple over.

Not happening. The fence stood there long before you and it probably will continue standing proud long after you’re gone.

You searched for a weapon of any kind- you were positive that you wouldn’t find any silver in the abandoned alleyway, so you settled for a broken vodka bottle. You clenched it by the throat, facing the predators with shaky legs.

“Leave me alone.” You tried to make your voice firm, but it cracked to a plea in the middle of the sentence, making the vampires laugh.

“We can’t do that, honey. There’s no escape. I’m sorry.” The monster replied and as if his speech triggered your reflex, your legs set off running again.

You didn’t get far though, as an arm shot up to meet you, sending you flying back to the fence. With a cry, you tried to catch your breath, your eyes glazing over with tears.

“Kyungsoo…” his name escaped your lips and your attacker grinned.

“Yes, thank him for killing you.”

“Kyungsoo, help me…” you were far too gone with fear, trying to back up even further into the fence when the vampire started approaching you.

“No! Stay back! Please!”

“So loud…” the other one growled, slapping you across the cheek. The sole impact had you losing your balance as you fell on the ground, knocking your head on some rubbish. Sobbing, you tried to crawl away from your death, into the corner of the building and the fence.

“Please, no!” you cried again, when you felt an iron grip on your ankle yank you away from your haven.

“Shut up already!”

“Say your prayers, flower.” The first one finally said, lifting his arm to strike you again, but this time, you were sure it would be the last.

“Kyungsoo!” you shrieked, your eyes closing and awaiting the impact.

A growl cut through the air and soon enough, ripping and yells reached your ears, before you covered them, cutting them off.

You wanted out. This was just a horrible nightmare, you wanted out, to wake up. Or if it had to be real life, you just wanted to die, to finally have it over with and to die in peace. Oh god, that was the only thing you wanted, just to get out…

Your ranting was interrupted by a familiar voice calling your name. At first, you thought it was just your mind playing tricks, but when big hands covered yours, gently prying them off your ears, you heard that concerned voice again.

You opened your eyes and as you stared into Kyungsoo’s worried ones, you couldn’t fight the tears anymore and you broke down, crying.

“Did they hurt you? Hey, ___, talk to me, please.” His hand cupped your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze again, while his other one gently swiped at the swollen cheek and busted lip that the vampires rewarded you with. His eyes laced with fury, and a growl rumbled off his chest.

“They didn’t bite you, right?” he asked carefully and relief washed over him when you shook your head.

“Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

“You came.” You interrupted his interrogation by throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tight. You refused to let go of him, your grip around his neck was almost bordering with pain, but either way, one of arms wrapped around your back, bringing you impossibly close, while the other one cradled your head.

“I’m so sorry I came so late. I’m so sorry.” He whispered into your ear, while you proceeded to cry into his neck.

“I was so scared…” you were only able to hiccup through your sobs.

“I know, and I’m so sorry, but it’s all okay now, I’m here…” Kyungsoo started rocking you gently, trying to calm you down.

“But for how long? How long until you’ll leave again?” you’ve managed to form a longer sentence now, your grip automatically tightening when you spoke of him leaving.

“Forever. I’ll never leave you again.” His hand ran through your hair, and when he brought out bloody fingers because of your injury, he gently pushed you away so he could look into your eyes.

“I never wanted you to experience something like this. I thought that if I left you, they would lose interest in you, and yet the only thing I did was make you completely vulnerable.” As he spoke, your eyes cast downwards to look at his shirt. He brought your attention back to his face when he kissed your brow gently and you looked up in surprise.

“I promise to take care of you from now until you’ll want me. I’ll never let anything happen to you again. If someone as much as touches you, I’ll make sure they’ll regret it.” The determination in his eyes told you he was speaking the truth. A moment later, uncertainty crept through the irises.

“That is, if you still want me.” Normally, you would’ve scoffed, but now, you wound your arms around his neck again and nodded into his shoulder.

You could feel as Kyungsoo wrapped one arm under your knees and lifted you into his embrace, as if you weighed nothing.

“Never leave me again, please.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

#kyungsoo #d.o #exo #kyungsoo story #kyungsoo scenario #d.o story #d.o scenario #exo story #exo scenario #werewolf #werewolf story #werewolf au #werewolf scenario

168 notes · View notes

sirius-whoisleft · 5 years

Text

old habits, old sport || r & s

All things considered, Sirius should have been in his element – cut free from the castle for the evening, his friends close at hand, a new wave of politics pushing its way into the spotlight and a pulsing nightclub that was just about as homoerotic charged as the way Sirius and Remus used to ask one another to borrow notes before they’d shucked the pretense and began actually snogging.

Instead, he felt like he was at the eye of a swirling storm.

The lights, the music, the laughter and heavy-pour cocktails – it all seemed to exist on the outside of something. A fishbowl, maybe, that had Sirius as its centerpiece instead of a plastic castle, and a gaggle of greased-up businessmen around him with their beady eyes fixed on his hands as they all figured out exactly how much gold it would take to facilitate a binding shake. The glass separating Sirius from the better aspects of the club was metaphorical, but he was still trapped here in the middle, all the same.

Actually, no. Trapped was too harsh a word for something that he was currently reminding himself about over and over again. Escape was possible, and he could decide to leave and join the neon, chaotic fray at the far corners of the club whenever he chose. Sirius was not trapped.

Sirius was holding court.

He had walked into this willingly and to an outside eye it’d look like he was having the time of his life. The summer before he ran away was just one exercise of an old, oft-resented muscle that Sirius had been born with, and had flexed infrequently but adeptly. One of the reasons Sirius hated the politics of high society life – and there were a great many to choose from, even when his asshole father was removed from consideration – was how pointless it all was. Right families winking at equally rich families to decide who was sidestepping a fight with whom that week in the name of passing the same gold points back and forth across a table, or desk, or wedding altar for favors. Again and again and again, in a circle, until they all died out. The same players, the same game; the same families, the same money. It only meant anything because they all bought into it, and Sirius had been ostracized for pointing that out before he even had the grasp of language to try.

Tonight was a little different. It was, it seemed to Sirius, the one good outcome that might have stemmed from his upbringing. He had the gold in his vault to buy a promise; he had the connections however charred those bridges had become; he had a knowledge of how to talk the talk in a way that made people listen. Sirius had been down in the pit before, and he knew the unspoken rules, because you had to know all about something if you wanted to properly resent it – anything less bordered on ignorant.

Sirius had something else, too – something that he was quite sure nobody else in his little circlejerk of bad jokes and good drinks had. Something he really believed in. Something worth fighting for, wheeling and dealing for, and getting his hands a little dirty for.

Sirius did not know where Remus was at the moment, but that was the face keeping his mind’s eye sane while he tried not to make eye contact with the prominent mole of the ginger man who’d pulled Sirius close moments ago to tell him that, although he couldn’t risk getting involved with Any Of This Pesky Werewolf Business, he did know a talented real estate agent with a selection of flats in London, and would Sirius like her card instead? (Sirius did; he’d pocketed it with a smile that bordered on genuine.)

Sirius always did better with a goal in mind, and he wouldn’t have many other chances to hold court at the center of a room where everyone was already talking politics, already talking werewolves, and just drunk enough to accidentally do something noble with their money.

That did make it all a little better.

Theoretically.

Sirius heard himself laughing, and tuned back into the conversation he’d been leading on autopilot. His conversation partner was a booming bore, but he knew a lot about books and he was making a point to keep things above board – Sirius would have respected that, but he made it a point in life to not respect any sitting members of the Wizengamot.

The man – Wolfshiem – patted Sirius enthusiastically on the shoulder as they spoke, and Sirius fought to urge to rub his hand against the site of the rougher-than-anticipated contact. This was not an environment to be caught wincing in, but he suspected Wolfshiem knew that, too.

“I mean, I would never take a bribe,” Wolfshiem said with a roll of his eyes, like it was something unheard of and beneath them both. Sirius’s laugh was a low snort at the back of his throat; as close to agreement as the men could state without one of them having to say the b-word aloud again. “But a donation could go a long way. Because you’re so...right, dear boy, about the state of our access to information. We are actually far more on the same page than you’d think. No, really, don’t smile, listen–– I was saying just the other day to my wife. Er, sorry––”

Wolfshiem ducked his head and made some show of false modesty.

“To my secretary, at the office. I said, ‘Lisbet, why is all of the information so hard for our constituents to get to? The Prophet, they own their own archives. And all of the major libraries are either owned by the Ministry––” The two men shared a knowing look at the mention of the governing body they were supposed to be here to support. “Or under a members-only lock and key. I was just saying that, can you believe it?”

Sirius couldn’t.

“Absolutely I can,” said Sirius with a smile.

He opened his mouth to add something else, but Wolfshiem‘s eyes had started to wander and he had a sneaking suspicion that saying ‘publicly accessible information to documents that cast these capable, admirable underdogs in a positive light’ one more time would end the conversation, not prolong it. Especially since Sirius was referring to werewolves, muggleborns and the otherwise underserved when he spoke of underdogs and – not by accidental design – Wolfshiem was thinking of himself.

Creative control was a later problem.

“We’ll talk,” said Sirius firmly, holding out his hand. “Numbers, I mean. Write me tomorrow.”

“Numbers and names!” Wolfshiem boomed, his enthusiasm returning now he was on the verge of being cut free. “Your name’s got to be on it, of course. That’s tradition. How do you like this: the Black Athenaeum.”

The rule about wincing went out the window. Sirius visibly balked at that, but it was right right move, for once. Both men broke off into a new round of loud, fake laughter. Wolfshiem because he’d heard about all the nasty business with Sirius’s family, though little of it the true version. Sirius because he was really tired of this conversation and delirium was setting in.

“We’ll go back to the drawing board on that, I think,” he said, reaching out to clasp Wolfshiem‘s hand with purpose. A scrap of paper was concealed between their palms, and a knowing smile flickered across Wolfshiem‘s face – a confirmation of receipt if ever there was one.

“I can’t wait to see how many zeroes you’ve scribbled onto this, you sneaky bastard.”

Sirius only answered with a wink. “It’s the best proposition you’re going to get tonight,” he added. A look around the room made him reconsider, and he added. “From me, anyway. I won’t speak for some of these back rooms.”

“Black Athenaeum,” Wolfshiem repeated with a chortle, backing away and slipping the paper into his coat pocket. “Think about it!”

Sirius tapped his temple in a promise that he would consider it. (He would not.)

One of Sirius’s hands rose to loosen his tie, slightly. This was far from what Sirius pictured when he’d imagined the first time he got the chance to share a drink and a few hours with Remus inside The Manic Pixie, of course. He knew where Remus was in that scenario, for one. For another, the theme called for more clothing than necessary. Sirius’s hat pulled the whole outfit together but wouldn’t remain pulled mysteriously over one of his eyes - and at that point, what was the point?

Left on his own, Sirius felt a small swell of pride. It wasn’t much, but he’d gotten something done tonight. It was a half-promise, sure, but he’d worked his way around the room and paid for half-promises from more than a half dozen people already. That had to add up to something worthwhile. It had to.

If what the newspapers were saying was any indication of what was to come?

It really, really had to.

@remus-whoisleft

#chat: remus all #chat: remus76

4 notes · View notes