actionreaction: photo of ezra miller wearing a black hat, smiling slightly ([characters] corvus)
As part of a yearly tradition with [personal profile] yabamena, we write each other drabbles for the 12(+1) days of Christmas. Day 4: Corvus bound by a sorcerer who can command him into raven form. Because of this bond, Corvus doesn't remember much of his past, Then he meet Mars. Now he's strugglng to break free and at the same time, protect Mars from this same sorcerer.

Christmas was one of the things Corvus struggled to remember. It came to him in scents: pine, peppermint, apple-cinnamon, burning logs, sugar cookies, and roasted chestnuts. It was flashes of memory: torn paper, laughter, screams of delight, falling snow -- though sometimes he remembered rain and warmer skies instead -- and faces he could never quite focus on. Christmas was feelings he clung to: warmth, love, cheer -- things he hadn't had in too many years to count.

Christmas memories )
actionreaction: photo of ezra miller wearing a black hat, smiling slightly ([characters] corvus)
I never know where Corvus stuff comes from. It just happens.

Peppermint made him remember. Scent tied into memories made them harder to forget and even though he was cursed in such a way that he couldn't remember as much as he'd like, nor could he tell anyone about himself, Corvus started to remember the more he smelled peppermint.

It smelled like Christmas, like winter and cold. It smelled like holidays and curling up in front of fireplaces and warm arms around him. It smelled like his old life. He clung to the memories, trying to give them substances by drinking mint teas, mint hot chocolate, eating peppermint bark or candy canes. Every time, he remembered a little more, but the words still caught in his throat when he tried to tell Mars.

He could picture Anaximander grin that cruel thing he called a smile, amused at Corvus's failure, amused that Corvus couldn't so much as tell Mars his real name.

But Corvus was determined, more than he'd ever been. He wanted Mars to know him, really know him, even more than he wanted to know himself.

He just hoped that they both liked who he really was.
actionreaction: photo of kevin zegers, staring staright ahead ([characters] iosif)
And with this one, I am all caught up! Oh snap!

While Pete sleeps, Iosif's fingers dance over his skin, lingering in sweet soft spots as they go. They pause in the small of Pete's back, then move up over the curve of his rear. There the rest of his hand joins in, curving over smooth skin. He reverses direction, moving up Pete's spine, stopping a moment while Pete lets out a soft hum of a sound.

Pet's completely worn out again, like all his energy's been sucked right out of him, and once again, Iosif feels like a livewire, too much energy to sit still. Now he sort of knows how Pete feels, always ready to go.

But something's off, something's different and Iosif can't really put his fingers on it. Maybe if he saw his eyes glow deep red when he was sucking Pete off, or biting his neck, he might realize he was draining energy from Pete, sucking it right out through whichever chakra was closest. Maybe he'd realize that the gidim trapped in him was slowly getting stronger off Pete's abundant energy.

Right now though, he teases a soft spot between Pete's neck and shoulder and leaves him to sleep while he reads up on their next mission. It's Pete's first one, and they're going together and Iosif can't put into words how much that makes him smile. A new burst of energy surges through him at the thought and it's all he can do not to wake Pete up. Instead, he'll wait until the blond in his bed is awake and ready on his own steam. His hand settles in Pete's hair, carding through it softly as he reads.

Whispers of energy trickle through Pete's crown chakra but this time Iosif unconsciously manages to push it back. The gidim is strong, but Iosif's stronger and there's no way he's letting anything happen to Pete on his watch.
actionreaction: photo of tom kaulitz, looking slightly off to the side ([characters] aksel)
Another short one, more smutty than yesterday's, but I think it's safe.

He liked being crowded. Aksel was learning as many things about Han as he could, and as fast as he could, and one thing he picked up on was the fact that Han liked when Aksel crowded him. It was a little surprising at first. Han's tough gangbanger persona was similar enough to Aksel's - which was why they got along so well to start with - and Aksel would throw punches at anyone who cornered him like that.

But when he moved in close to Han, Aksel's six-foot-two-inch frame making him tower over Han's five foot seven, Aksel noticed how Han's breath hitched. How his ears reddened. How his hands moved around like he still wasn't sure where to put them.

When Aksel cornered Han coming out of the shower, both hands on either side of the wall, one leg between Han's, he noticed how Han's hands didn't hesitate long before finding their way up Aksel's back, blunt nails digging into his shoulders.

When Han lay face down on his bed and Aksel covered his body with his own, biting softly, then not so softly into his neck, Aksel noticed how Han's hips pushed up and back, meeting Aksel thrust for thrust.

But one thing Aksel didn't notice, was how Han noticed everything right back and filed it away until he could turn the tables.
actionreaction: photo of christian kane, loking straight ahead, unsmiling ([characters] ben)
Short lil sweet and smutty ficlet.

"Sure it won't burn?" The bed creaked and Tulane gasped, arching back as Ben shifted.

"It won't," Ben murmured, mouthing his way down Tulane's neck.

"Don't want Christmas dinner gettin' ruined now, boo," Tulane replied but the way he hooked his legs behind Ben's back made it clear he had no intention of letting Ben go to check on dinner.

"Dessert first," Ben reminded him.

The way Ben shifted to cover Tulane's body with his own made it just as clear he wasn't about to go anywhere. In fact, when he lifted Tulane's hips, and slid home, burying his face in Tulane's neck, it was obvious Ben's plans didn't extend past the bed.

When he'd teased and tortured enough sounds of pleasure from Tulane to satisfy them both for the time being, only then did Ben rise to attend to their perfectly cooked meal.

"Eat up," he told Tulane, tucking long hair behind his ears. "You'll need the energy."
actionreaction: text: writers are often individuals with severe control issues ([writing] severe control issues)
I wrote this yesterday for a prompt I found in [community profile] mythology_kink (which I likewise just joined yesterday) so I'm posting it here today. The prompt was that Persephone went of her own free will, as well as a request from light D/s (Hades dominant) without going NC-17. I think it hovers around PG-13? Anyway, I think I hit the mark.

Just to say: I have a LOT of Hades/Persephone feels. It should say a lot about me that this story was in the first book I read on my own, Tanglewood Tales, by Nathaniel Hawthorne (I was five and an overachiever) and this particular story was the first one I finished. See, my mom was taking too long to read it to me so I finished it myself and told her the next night at bedtime that she needed to find a new book, because I'd finished that one. Suffice to say, I fell in love with mythology very young. Hades/Persephone remains my favorite, with Eros/Psyche a very very close second.

I RP both pairs. Hades in one, Psyche in the other, and while this technically wasn't written about our RP characters, I'm still tagging it that way, because it fits. Anyway, enough talking; here's the bloody thing.

It's not a kidnapping when the abducted party is willing to go. )

Annnd now I want to write some Eros/Psyche. There was an already filled prompt there for lovins in the dark, which I might just write for myself >.>


Dec. 5th, 2012 09:58 am
actionreaction: mini icons of coffee, computer, pens and paper. text: now what? ([writing] now what?)
So I'm working on my [ profile] bb_shousetsu story, which I can't really post here until it's finished and published in the zine, which means until it's done, I'm posting unfinished snippets that I wrote in ten-fifteen minutes, because most of my time is focused on [ profile] bb_shousetsu. Yet I don't want to break my posting streak. So have this random thing I wrote and will eventually finish as some point.

Frankie loved the morning. The morning after a full moon were his favorites, when his strength was at a high and Belial was still asleep. Full moons meant Belial was weak, at his low point, and the mornings after meant Frankie had done his best to ease that weakness. Considering Belial was an incubus who drew strength from dreams - and more from waking lust - it was a wonder Frankie himself was even awake. But even if his body was tired, sore, and twinging, he couldn't ignore the pull of dawn. He couldn't deny his need to slip out of bed, climb up to the rooftop and, with a contented sigh, let his wings spread.

Frankie's wings were a soft dove grey, shot through with paler shades, with white and tipped a slightly darker grey. They weren't the pure white most people associated with angels. At first Frankie had been concerned about that. The whiter the wings the purer the angel. His were grey and he knew why. Belial.

On the plus side, I'm 100 words away from the minimum word count for [ profile] bb_shousetsu!
actionreaction: phot of typewriter with text "writers write. everyone else makes excuses." ([writing] excuses)
I seem to really lean towards writing about Corvus and Mars with these prompts and today is no exception.

In the days before Mars, when he'd first been cursed, Corvus spent a lot of time in his bird form, wondering how much he would pay, what he would sacrifice to get his freedom back. Anaximander had him under control - mostly. He could force Corvus into that shape, keep him from being hum, and make him do his bidding, but he couldn't break Corvus's will. One hundred years later and Corvus still fought back before he did what he was commanded. Like he'd fought over Mars.

He didn't mean to let on that Mars meant something to him, but after decades of refusing to get close to anyone, suddenly cozying up to someone new was a giant red flag to Anaximander. It meant Mars was different. Mars was special. Corvus had been drawn to him, and Anaximander wanted to know why. In his human form Corvus stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, and wiped the mirror clear. On his chest above his heart was what looked like a tattoo, that of a bird in a cage. Corvus passed a hand over it and sighed, the sound deep as though he'd pulled it up from his toes and dragged it through hell before issuing it from his mouth.

He could only hope that the price of his freedom wasn't Mars's life. If it was, he'd rather remain in that cage for eternity.

Writing about Corvus gives me feels.
actionreaction: phot of garbage can full of paper and with a typerwiter in it. text: don't give up ([writing] never give up)
I'm so happy I managed to write something today. I considered taking the day off because it was a holiday, but I didn't want to lose my groove. Anyway, this pretty much follows this.

Corvus spent the entire night outside of Mars's window. He didn't sleep. Instead he watched Mars and he watched the hummingbird. It took him only a little while to realize that the bird was watching them both. Its attention was split between the young man tangled in his sheets and the large black bird keeping watch. It was almost as though the humming bird wasn't here just for Mars.

Corvus cocked his head, staring at the bright and tiny green bird that watched him back. Its small eyes were pools of secrets of knowledge Corvus yearned for even a hint at. He cawed softly at the hummingbird as if worried the sound of his voice would wake Mars. The hummingbird made no reply, instead glanced meaningfully from Corvus to Mars and back.

Frustration filled Corvus. What was that supposed to mean? Yes he knew he and Mars were connected somehow. It was the reason Corvus moved to Portland, the reason behind that little pull he got that told him something was going to happen. Only this time it had been a huge pull and Corvus had no idea why. Not until Anaximander got himself involved again.

Now Mars's life was in danger and Corvus was swallowing guilt, thinking it was his fault. The hummingbird made a strangely sympathetic sound, ruffled its wings and took to the air. It had imparted whatever message it wanted to send. It was up to Corvus to figure out its meaning. Until then, until he could turn back to human form, he was going to keep an eye on Mars.
actionreaction: photo of two different styles of keyboards. text: choose your weapon ([writing] choose your weapon)
I just wanted to write something so I went looking for a prompt, and found one in the form of a hummingbird. This is what I got.

Corvus watched the hummingbird with shiny dark eyes from where he perched on the roof of the building. He'd come to watch Mars, like he frequently did, but the young man was asleep, tangled in his sheets, and lost in his dreams. Corvus hoped he was in those dreams, since he couldn't be with Mars right now. It was Anaximander's doing. Corvus was spending the night trapped his in bird form because of the sorcerer's whim, and that meant watching Mars from afar.

But tonight, there was a hummingbird and that caught Corvus's attention immediately. It was out of place, just as he was, and he knew it wasn't a coincidence. Two bird connected to life and death outside one young man's window couldn't be a coincidence. But where Corvus was a harbinger and a young man trapped in a bird's form, the hummingbird was resurrection. It was green, it was life, it was hope. But it was fragile, delicate, just as thin as the hope Corvus had for Mars.

But if there was one thing he would cling to, it was this sign. A hummingbird could mean that Mars might survive this after all.


Oct. 21st, 2009 09:12 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (jesse)
"How ya been, old man," I drawled, tipping my hat low to keep the sun out of my eyes.

"Can't complain," Jacob replied, spitting at his feet. "'Cept I always do." He grinned then nodded at the sheep. "They're looking real good, Jesse. Earning yer keep nice and good." He looked up then, noticing something behind me and I turned to see Grey had come outside. He was standing there in the doorway, in my shirt and jeans, barefoot with his silver hair curling down around his neck and upper shoulders. His body was tensed though, poised as if ready to attack. to him, Jacob was a threat, one he wanted gone. He was keeping himself in check though, and I think it was only because of me.

I cleared my throat. "Ah, this here's a friend of mine," I said by way of introduction. I stepped a little closer to him, hoping my nearness would keep him calm.

Jacob tilted up his own hat, squinting up at Grey. "Yeah well I was jus' checkin' in to make sure you were still good on supplies." He pursed his lips and then addressed Grey, "So where ya from, boy?"

Grey glanced at me, but remained silent. He didn't understand Jacob, and he couldn't respond.

When Jacob scowled and added, "I asked you a question, boy," I had to step in. "Sorry boss," I interjected. "He don't speak so good. Best not to worry about tryin' to make conversation." It was the truth, and Jacob would likely write Grey off as being deaf, mute, maybe just plain simple. I didn't like the thought, but if it stayed Jacob's sometimes sharp tongue, then it would save the man's life. I doubt I could move fast enough to stop Grey from shifting and tearing out Jacob's throat if he so chose.

But Jacob just nodded and gave up addressing Grey. "Boy's got some strange hair. Ain't never seen it that color," he mused. He looked back at me then and offered, "So you all right then? Not be needin' anythin'?"

Before I could answer Grey nudged me, What are you both saying? in his eyes.

Trying to make him leave, I conveyed back and smiled at Jacob. "I'm fine here, Jacob. Don't need a thing."

Jacob nodded at the sheep again, spitting once more for good measure. With another curious glance at Grey Jacob tipped his hat and turned back to his truck. He wasn't needed there anymore.


Oct. 20th, 2009 06:56 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (Default)
Grey's ears pricked up, twitching lightly as he caught the sound. Confusion was in his eyes as he lifted his head. What is that sound?

I stood, less painfully now that he'd attended my wounds. The owner of this ranch. He does not know that you are here. Or that we are wolves. My mind raced with possible options. You must hide. Or change and wear human fur. He cannot see us this way. A friend visiting the ranch I could explain. I couldn't explain keeping a wolf companion.

Grey made a dissatisfied sound, partly because I'd moved away from where he was resting comfortably on me and partly because he didn't like his options one bit. Can't we just eat the human?

I shook my head, and the movement continued down the length of my body as I changed. "No," I started aloud, and then added, Others would look for him. We would no longer be given meat. We might be hunted. The truck was curving round and coming up to crest the hill now. He also carries the loud stick that hurt you. He might try to hurt you before you could eat him. Please change. I didn't want to beg him but I was close to doing so.

Maybe he read it in my body language, because he finally stood and shivered into human form. I exhaled in relief. "Come on. You need clothes." Because, as always, he was naked. That was something else inexplicable.

I led him inside, pausing for a moment to watch him walk. I tried not to, but I could help watching the play of his muscles beneath his skin, something besides usual hunger gnawing at me. I shook myself out of it and hurried inside. My clothes wouldn't fit Grey quite right, but they'd do in a pinch. I unfolded a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt and held out the shirt for Grey, knowing full well I have to help dress him. I lifted my arms up to show him what to do.

I'd picked out a pull-over shirt, because buttons would take too long. Tugging it down over his head and arms was easy enough. Getting him into jeans was more difficult. I smoothed down the shirt unnecessarily, an excuse to touch him longer, almost petting him, and then held the jeans low for him. Step into these.

Like any canine being petted, it was an unconscious reaction for him to press into the touches; it seemed to go a long way towards soothing Grey's irritation with the whole situation. Eyeing the item I was holding, he hesitated before lifting a leg and trying to get his foot into one of the holes. The wrong hole, of course.

I smiled, but hurriedly corrected him. It was a bit slow-going but the only real difficulty came when I slid the denim up his legs to his waist. I paused again, closing my eyes briefly before I carefully tucked him into the fly of the jeans before zipping and buttoning them. I was just in time.

"Hey Jesse! Where you at, boy?"

I turned to head outside, but Grey stopped me, tugging me back. With no warning at all, he stuck his nose into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. I should have known instantly what he was doing, but the sudden feeling of it wiped my mind clear. I leaned back, just a little into that, before I could even stop himself. Biting down on my lip did not stop my eyes from rolling back in my head when Grey's nose pressed into my neck like that. My voice caught, just a little as I called out, "Be right out, boss!" I glanced at Grey once more and headed outside.

Seeing Jacob there among the sheep was a jolt back to reality. I didn't want to think about that moment back inside. Moments like that were the reason I was where I was where I was now. I couldn't repeat that mistake again. I couldn't chance losing my second pack.


Oct. 19th, 2009 07:48 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (Default)
The moon was waxing in the sky. Getting closer to full. Now I know people like to say the moon brings out the lunatic in people. Some think it's just some crazy talk. I think the people who go a little weird around a full moon are just a little more in touch with their animal side.

The full moon makes us more aggressive. That and the fact that for the three nights of the full, we have to be wolves. We've got no choice in the matter, even if it's an inconvenience sometimes. There's thing you can take, I've heard, to stop or at least delay the change. I've never wanted to. Not even when my own growing agrees ion could just get me in trouble. It'd be denying part of me.

So the full moon approached, and I grew belligerent. It was nothing compared to Grey. His dominance came through stronger than any alpha I'd ever seen, more than my own father. It was in the way he moved, stalked, glared. It was in the way he came up to me and nudged me aside, harder than necessary. It was in the challenge in his eyes.

Any other time of the month, I'd have backed down, given him his space. He was spoiling for a fight, and there was no one else to take out his aggression on. I was his beta. It was my duty. Not to mention the part of me that only ever got strong enough to challenge an alpha during the full moon wouldn't allow me to refuse.

I accepted his challenge and with a flash of teeth and fur, the fight began.

I was going to lose. I knew it before we even began. He was stronger, a better fighter and hunter, and was fully healed. My own skill would be enough to keep me from getting too badly hurt, but there was no way I could win. I fought him anyway.

The first growl Grey gave terrified the sheep and sent them running from us. I saw his lunge and twisted away. I was leaner, maybe a bit faster for my smaller size, and so I managed to get mostly out of the way of that first bite. He still caught my shoulder, but his fangs didn't tear as deeply as they could. I doubled around and bit him back. It was one of few hits I'd land.

His howl turned into a snarl mid-sound and he batted at me with what suddenly seemed like a massive paw. Then his teeth sunk in and he flung me off as though I were a pup. I couldn't help the yelp at the fangs sinking into flesh, and by the gleam I caught in his eyes, the sounds thrilled him. I could barely remember the last time I fought. It ad had been vicious, I remember, and I almost didn't survive. But then, that fight hadn't been for sport.

I lunged again, and caught him once more, but it was only seconds before that powerful muzzle latched on and flung me again. This time, before I could haul myself up, Grey was there, pinning me down. Do you yield? His eyes were intense, compelling.

I yield. There was no way to free myself to continue the fight. I had to yield. That answer seemed to satisfy Grey though, because he released me, triumph in his face, and most of his undirected aggression gone. He moved just enough to let me up, but didn't stray. Instead, he nosed at my wounds, and with the single-minded intensity of an alpha caring for his beta, he started to lick them clean.

I didn't move. The sting of the injuries were slowly melting away under his ministrations, and I just submitted, watching him intently.

You fight well. Grey's compliment was unexpected and I'm sure I showed my surprise.

Not as well as you, was all I could come back with. It was a simple truth, one Grey acknowledged with a huff of breath. But his words struck me. They'd never been said to me before.

He lay down next to me, both of us amused as the sheep slowly came to realize the snarling, growling wolves were not planning to attack. They returned to their grazing, and we rested where we were.

Until my ears picked up a low rumble of sound. It wasn't thunder. There was a truck coming up the hill, a truck I knew had to belong to Jacob. For the first time since I'd found Grey, we were about to have company, and I had no idea how to explain Grey to the owner of the ranch.


Oct. 15th, 2009 06:00 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (wolves)
Grey ate as though he were not sure when he'd get his next meal. It was the way of a wolf on his own too long, and I didn't much blame him. I knew that feeling. It only made glad I offered to be a pack. I could pretend I needed him to help me hunt, when in reality I needed him to erase the feeling of being so alone.

Grey had only been with me a few days, but we were already falling into a routine. He'd often nip at the sheep's heels for sport. He respected that they were off limits, even if he didn't agree or understand. He ran with ease, even though it'd only been a few days since he'd been shot. Like I said, fast healers. It had been a normal bullet after all.

Grey loped back from his daily terrorizing of the flock, his tongue lolling out as if laughing. But our attention was drawn away by the deer meat we were about to have for lunch. We ate, and for long moments after, I licked the taste from my muzzle, watching Grey. I wanted to see how well he'd healed, but I couldn't see a thing beneath all that fur. I waited until he was lying contentedly in the sun, and nosed his side where his wound had been.

It was gentle prodding, not enough to hurt, but enough to draw attention to the area. I moved from there to his paw, and watched as Grey rolled over to give better access. Should I change?

I hesitated, knowing exactly what I would see: bare tanned skin, silver hair, serious eyes and a strangely pouting mouth. But I needed to see his wounds. Yes.

He changed, and so did I, so I could have use of hands with thumbs. As always in human form he was naked and irritable. He seemed to have little use for two legs, and having been so far removed from using it, he was practically uncomfortable in the skin. I looked over his barely-there injuries best I could. They were nearly gone, like I thought, and would be completely healed before the full moon, no doubt. Hat tipped low over my eyes, I threaded his fingers together, not in an effort to be comfortable, but rather one to keep my hands to myself. His hair was inviting, a strange waterfall of silver.

After a long moment, I couldn't just watch. I unlaced his fingers, reaching out with one hand to gently push back that silver hair. I'd never seen hair that color before, nor since, and half expected it to feel unreal. But it just felt soft in my hands, silkier than it should have been. I should have pulled away, but the message from brain to hand got lost somewhere.

Grey just lay there, head resting comfortably on his arm, making a contented sound in his throat. I think he even dozed off a bit resting that way. I was content to stay there in silence, but he shifted suddenly and posed a question. Dark One. Why do you have human fur?

I was distracted by his hair on my fingertips, and it took a moment for that question to make sense. Human fur? "Clothes," I said, sounding the word out. Humans wear them. It has become...habit.

But why do you...wear them? His brow was furrowed in confusion at that unfamiliar and a little disdain. They are prey. Would you put on sheep fur? There was a gleam of challenge in his eyes.

I did not accept that challenge. They are not always prey. I have always worn them in this form I tried to explain the concept of modesty among humans, but there was no way to convey it. In winter it is too cold to go without. And human skin is soft, too soft. It is protection. I shrugged. Humans are not comfortable in their bare skins.

I could tell that last bit struck him as odd. What manner of silly creature, to be uncomfortable in the very skin they were born in.

But you are not human. The look he gave me was pointed, direct.

I live in their world now. Our kind walks between the world of wolf and man. Some are more one than the other.

Grey seemed to ponder that and then just lay his head back down. Strange was all he said, and then we fell into silence.


Oct. 14th, 2009 11:46 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (wolves)
Together, we hunted.

He was incredible to watch. He was a stealthy thing, slipping soundlessly between the trees, disappearing in the dark. Patches of light fur should have caught the moonlight, and it was only because my eyes were trained on him, watching his every move, that I did not lose him to his skills in the night-hunt.

Every wolf knows how to hunt. Some are better at it than others. Grey must have easily been one of the best. He took down his prey with such ferocious speed, it made me wonder how a mere man with a gun managed to catch him enough to wound him. Either way, we were shortly to feast on a young deer. and that held my focus.

It was only after, when we came back sated that I posed Grey a question. You have no pack. I have no pack. We could be a pack of two. I wish I could say I don't know why I asked, maybe to add to the mystery, to make it a great story to tell, but I knew exactly why I did.

I was alone. Not just alone. Lonely. I was tired of being a lone wolf. My pack wouldn't have me as I am, and I doubted others would be welcoming either. I was the son of an alpha. Not just an alpha. The Alpha, the pack leader. I was meant to follow in his footsteps. Instead I was a beta by nature, and too gentle. Weak and womanly, they said. Some called me a bitch before I left.

And even so, I would have traded their company for the complete lack I had now.

I think Grey knew I wasn't making the offer lightly. Those eyes rested on me, watching as his head tilted. Strange one, Dark One. I hunt your prey, attack you. And you feed me, fix me, and offer pack? But there was perhaps a bit of longing in grey eyes, hope. Quickly replaced by a gleam of challenge and a short gruff sound. You would be Alpha?

You were wounded, hungry. I did not wish to fight. Jesse shook his head. Had you not been hurt, you could have killed me. The fight was unfair. That is not Alpha. That is Beta. With advantage. There was no shame in being Beta. Beta is not weak. Beta is merely not Alpha. It was a mantra. I'd said it often enough that I was starting to believe it.

He seemed satisfied with that response, and just like that, we were a pack of two. Oddly mismatched, unwanted by others, but now neither of us was alone.


Oct. 13th, 2009 06:17 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (wolves)
The grey wolf slept, and for the first time in a long time, he slept well. Twinges of pain in his side when he changed positions were nothing compared to the pain that had been there when he was still wounded. The pebbles in his side and arm were gone. The dark wolf had removed them, and the grey wolf could sleep.

He would wake hungry, but for the time being, he needed rest.



I covered him in a blanket while he slept. When he shifted, he'd been naked. That meant the last time he'd been in human form, he'd been naked. It's hard to explain but when you shift, what you're wearing goes with you, becomes part of you. When you shift back, it's still all there, unchanged. He wasn't wearing anything at all, which made me wonder why he'd been naked before he changed. It was one of many question I wanted to ask before I left him to sleep and went back to the flock.

We all have varying levels of humanity mixed with lupine senses. It makes some of us seem more human, while others seem more like a wolf. The fiercest alpha I'd ever known still behaved more like a human than this wolf. It almost seemed like he never learned how to balance the wolf and the man.

It was late when he woke. The sheep were mostly asleep and I was dozing, my hat tipped low to keep the moonlight off my face. It was the scent of him nearby that woke me.

Grey stood in the doorway, still naked, head titled and nose to the air as if scenting for prey. Just in case I had to head off another run on the sheep, I stood. "Hungry?" I asked aloud, before remembering he didn't speak out loud. He seemed to understand better, but only when he read my body language.

He nodded.We hunt? His eyes strayed toward the sheep.

We can hunt in the woods. There are deer. I hadn't been hunting with another wolf in a very long time. I used to love hunting in twos, especially when the other wolf was in tune and in sync with me. It brought back memories I was surprised to realize still hurt.

Shaking my head I stood up and asked a question, one of many I'd been holding back. Why are you alone?

The same hurt at a not-quite faded memory that had been on my face flashed on his. Grey looked away and made a gruff sound, too rough to be a whine, in his throat. Pack left me. Too different, too much trouble. He looked up at the other wolf. You have pack, Dark One?

Too different? Before pursuing that, I answered his question. No. They moved on. I stayed behind. It was much more complicated, to much to say now. And it still hurt. What do you mean different? I had a hunch, but I wanted confirmation.

Grey shifted, as though he were antsy, unwilling to stay still when he wanted to hunt. Not like them. I change. They stay the same. We hunt now. The last bit was conveyed with decisiveness, and he shifted, saving me the effort of ignoring his nudity.

I couldn't help just staring at him anyway because he had just confirmed my suspicions. It was no wonder he seemed so removed from human speech and behavior. This strange werewolf hadn't been raised among his own kind. He'd been raised by actual wolves.


Oct. 12th, 2009 06:16 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (jesse)
The wound was filthy, unsurprisingly. The one on his arm at least. I checked there first, after washing my hands and going for a slim pair of metal tongs. The way I approached him made it clear I expected this process to hurt, and he should as well. He tensed, but didn't move away; he remained there, watching me with wary blue eyes.

Carefully as I could, I eased the wound open, sliding the tongs into to hold flesh apart. I was lucky, and managed to grab the bullet lodged in his arm in one quick motion, minimizing how long I had to be poking around. I felt him sigh in relief, but it was only partly over. I cleaned and bandaged the wound so it wouldn't get infected. It would heal soon. Our kind had accelerated healing, which was why it hadn't been terribly infected to start with. If the bullet hadn't still be in his arm, he'd likely have healed on his own fine.

But there was still the question of his other wound, the shot to his side. It didn't take much investigation to realize this wound was much worse. The bullet was lodged deeper, so deep I couldn't see it with my naked eye. I'd have to hold it open to even try to find it, and then attempt to remove it. My expression must have showed my thoughts, for the grey wolf suddenly asked, Will I die?

No, but this'll hurt so bad you might wish you had. I'm sorry. I waited a moment, and when he merely braced himself I went to work. I slid in the tongs, pressing aside skin and muscles, probing for the bullet's location. I found it, after a long tense minute, and pulled the tongs out. But the bullet wasn't in them. It was too deep for me to grab like that. There was no way to hold his flesh back and grab it at the same time, not with the entry wound so small.

There were whimpers curling in his throat, quiet and low as if he were trying to keep them back. I hated feeling like I was hurting him worse, but there wasn't much else in the way of options. I'm going to have to make it bigger, so I can reach. I gently petted his side and waited for him to brace himself once more.

This time I got out my knife, and with two quick cuts, widened the wound enough to go back in. Every sound he made made me want to comfort him like he was a pup, but all I could do was work as quickly as possible. It felt like it took forever - and I'm sure it felt longer to him - but I finally snagged the bullet and drew it out. It, the tongs, and now may hands were covered in his blood. I washed my hands once more, cleaned the wound and without delay sewed up the wound I'd made. It was only then I sat back, exhaled and said aloud, "Well yer all done."

He was still laying curled and tense, shaking slightly from the pain. He was incredibly strong. I would have been howling in pain, possibly passed out from it, but he bore it with near-silence, only a few whimpers of pain and a stoic attitude.

I gave in to my desire then and smoothed my hand down over his hair like I was petting his fur. It's all over. It won't hurt anymore. I paused and then asked, "You were shot. How did it happen?"

He watched me, a multitude of expressions in his eyes. Confusion, pain slight understanding, resignations. He glanced at the sheep. Hungry.

I was confused myself for a minute, till I realized he meant what I'd assumed on my own. He'd been shot going after someone's flock. Humans here don't like sharing their sheep with wolves. But I have food we can share. My eyes strayed back to his bandages, as if making sure they were fine. The one on his side was stained red from his bleeding, but it wasn't much. What are you called? I finally asked one of several questions I wanted to know.

He watched me again, another range of thoughts and emotions in those eyes, as if he were deciding his next course of action. Grey. You?

I said my name aloud. Jesse doesn't translate into wolf-speak.

Grey blinked at me in confusion, silver brows furrowing. His mouth worked to make a sound, but managed a rough grunt. Your name is wrong, he determined. Dark One. That he could manage just fine.

I smiled at that. I couldn't help myself. All right. You can call me Dark One. Describes me just fine. There was so much more I wanted to ask, wanted to know. But those blue eyes had grown tired. He needed sleep, and I needed to go watch the flock. We could answer more questions later.


Oct. 9th, 2009 07:03 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (jesse)
There was a kind of submission running throughout the grey wolf's body, and I could tell it didn't sit well with him. He wasn't used to being submissive, wasn't used to being beaten, and so quickly. It wouldn't have happened if he'd been healthy. I looked down at him, at the bared expanse of light-grey throat...

And I didn't feel the slightest inclination to sink my fangs into it.

Instead I stepped forward and nosed around his fur, looking for the wound that helped ensure my victory. I didn't touch it for fear of hurting him worse, but I wanted to see how bad I was, whether I needed to shift to help him.

I feel resentment and confusion in his body language when he lifted his head to look at me. What are you waiting for?

He expected me to kill him and to take the prey. All I wanted to do was help him. I stepped back, turned around, and looked over my shoulder at him. For you to follow me. You're hurt and hungry. I have food. But not the flock.

Suspicion battled with pain and hunger in his eyes. It was hardly normal behavior for wolves, and I didn't blame him for being suspicious. Instead I just waited, walked him slowly away from the bleating, terrified sheep, closer to the shed. I dragged out a haunch of beef I'd been saving for lunch, tearing off a small piece to eat, to show it was safe. Mistrust rolled off him in waves, the sharp scent of it in my nose. I watched as he slowly, then with relish, tore into the offered meat. I just watched, nose and tail twitching as he ate, waiting for him to finish. Only then did I broach another subject. Do you need help? With your hurt?

He gave a disgruntled sound in reply that I took to mean a wary yes. He made a nose very close to a human sigh, and then with no warning, he changed.

I won't lie. From that very first moment he shifted, I thought him beautiful. He was a strong, large and handsome wolf, but as a man, he was stunning. He was tanned, but not sun-brown, with well-defined muscles, and an incredibly unusual fall of silver hair. Silver. The color was rather ironic on a werewolf.

I was glad he'd changed though. I needed hands to work with, and wolf communication is sometimes limited, at least when trying to convey more human concepts. This way we could use words. I followed his cue and changed my own shape, shrugging back into two-legged form like I was putting on an old comfortable suit.

His reaction was completely unexpected. Despite his wounds he moved quickly, backing away with a wolfish yelp and crouching several feet away. A low growl rumbled in his throat and I stared in surprise at him. He was surprised. Even a bit scared, and it put him on guard. All I'd done was shift. I couldn't see why that would shock him.

"Shh," I said, using the same tones I did when calming frightened sheep. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna help. Look here, may name's Jesse. I don't like seein' another wolf hurt, so I'm gonna try fixin' it, all right?"

He didn't speak. He just watched, his behavior still so wolf-like even in human skin, and slowly uncurled. My kind? He seemed slightly reassured, even though he still used body language and wolf-speak instead of human tongue. He came a bit closer. Make the hurt stop?

I had a dozen questions to ask him. Who was he? What was his name? Where had he come from? did he have a pack? Why was he so stunned to see me shift when he obviously could do the same? How did he get hurt? The last question was answered by a quick examination of his wounds.

He'd been shot.


Oct. 8th, 2009 06:01 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (wolves)

I could smell something on the air, not as strong as if I'd been changed, but it was still there. It wasn't enough to put me on guard, something that nearly turned into a big mistake.

I caught the flash of grey darting from the woods, and faster than I could think I ran towards it. I let the gun Jacob had given me inside the shed. I had no use for it. In mid-stride, I changed. It was a full-body shiver, the wolf coming out. arms and legs shortened and changed, my jaw lengthened, my teeth sharpened. In seconds I was a black wolf running faster than the grey, ready to keep him from my flock.

I'm no fighter. I've fought only to save my life. I'm no good at it, partly because of my lack of practice, but more so because of my lack of killer instinct. It was a deplorable thing, the son of an alpha to be so unequivocally a beta wolf. I was supposed to lead my pack, take over for my father. But the instinct wasn't there.

It was there now, only strong because of the need to protect what I'd come to consider mine. The grey wolf was larger, looked stronger, and as I lunged at him, I didn't expect I'd win, or live.

That prey is mine! The grey wolf's body langue was loud and clear. He issued a challenge, teeth bared, lips curled back.

These sheep are not prey. I accepted the challenge. I wasn't looked for a fight, but I'd protect the flock. It was my job.

MY prey! The grey wolf lunged, jaws snapping, and I dodged, the sudden scent of blood fresh in my nostrils.

These sheep belong to others, I tried again, snapping my own jaws, but refusing to fight yet.

The grey wolf had no qualms about attacking what he considered an interloper. Despite what I suddenly realized was an injury, the wolf charged, catching my shoulder, but the angle was wrong. his bite did little more than scrape at fur and flesh instead of puncturing and tearing as it should. I wanted to hold back. I wanted to fix his wounds. I didn't want to fight. But his aggression filled my nostrils, and I knew I'd have to best him to save my own life and the flock.

I hated doing it, but I fought dirty, knowing he was wounded. I twisted nimbly, getting a much better grip than he had and bit. I bit near where the smell of blood was strongest, near where I knew an injury lay beneath the fur. The wolf yelped and twisted away, clearly in pain. He snapped at me again, but instead I just threw myself at him, my full weight, into a take down. Injured as he was, he went down hard, and after too many futile attempts to get up to face me, he stopped. He bared his throat, resignation setting into his body.

He was waiting for the killing blow.


Oct. 7th, 2009 06:41 pm
actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (jesse)

I remember it being a clear day. The sun shone brightly through the trees. Between its warm glow and the gentle wind, dancing shadows played about the edges of the woods, but the expanse of the open ranch was left to bask in the sunlight.

As I watched them the sheep milled about in utter contentment. I leaned back against the small building that served as home, my black hat tipped down low over my forehead to block out the light. I knew what I looked like: a stereotype. I had my cowboy hat perma-glued to my head, a long lean frame, well-fitting jeans, and a worn and comfortable pair of cowboy boots, on legs crossed at the ankles. If there was anyone to talk to, my voice would just go right along with my looks: low, mellow, soothing, with one hell of a mid-west drawl. The sheep liked hearing me talk, on the rare occasions I did. By all accounts, I seemed like an ordinary rancher. I was far from ordinary.

I added to the picture by sticking a blade of grass in my mouth as I watched the sheep wander around, aimlessly butting into each other. One of the ewes had recently had a lamb, and that's where I kept looking. She and the lamb were most at risk from predators. Now I hadn't had much problem with attacks on the sheep before. Most predators tended to stay in the woods and hunt there. But some couldn't resist the lure of so much free-range meat dancing just out of reach. But it didn't matter if they tried. I did my job well.

Jacob Austin needed help on his small ranch, and when I applied for the job with nothing but a smile on my face and no references, Jacob had been hesitant. I could tell. Might've been the way I spoke that convinced him, or maybe it was just the lack of anyone else willing to work for so little pay, but he agreed. So far it had worked out well. I never needed much from him and his flock was thriving every time he checked in.

I'd no idea that day would be any different from the dozens I'd already spent on that ranch.


actionreaction: text: not so much writing as making a mess with a pen (Default)

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