#Running with Wolves

[starrover]

Sam Sax, “Bestiary” from A Guide to Undressing Your Monsters

[enjoythesilentworld]

was thinking about them yesterday. and by them i mean CrimeBoss!Wille x Detective!Simon who definitely don't hate each other.

rather than plotting i wrote this standalone scene which assumes i have done a lot of plotting. it was a mind exercise okay (also, this is a dark-ish fic. cw for violence and harsh language)

By now, Simon knew the path and followed it without a second thought, bursting through the door of Wilhelm’s office.

The office always looked the same. Perfectly organized, floors squeaky clean, Wilhelm in a pressed button-up sitting rigged backed at his desk. Except, this time it was different. The desk was chaos, loose bills and papers and trash scattered across it and falling onto the floor. Wilhelm paced the room, tie loose and hair mussed.

His sharp eyes found Simon immediately, and if Simon didn’t know any better he’d be terrified of the way they hardened and narrowed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Wilhelm spit angrily, striding across the room and pulling the door shut behind Simon, then flying over to the windows to pull the thick, expensive curtains closed. “I told you I was busy today.”

Simon scoffed and dropped the overflowing folder which had brought him over here onto the ground, clippings of news headlines and police reports scattering. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re busy. What is this?” He asked, still fuming and really not in the mood to deal with Wilhelm’s erratic behavior and empty promises. 

It was as if he hadn’t spoken at all, though, because Wilhelm didn’t respond, just continued to flit around the room, peeking behind the curtains. Only for a moment did his eyes flicker to the papers Simon had dropped, before looking up to Simon, then away again. Being ignored after everything, after coming all the way over here, only made Simon angrier.

“Wilhelm,” he growled, circling the office and trying to get in the other man’s path, trying to get him to look at him. When that didn’t work, he changed tactics, lowering his voice and softening it, to whisper, “Wille.”

That worked, because of course it did, and Wilhelm stopped in his tracks, finally turning to face Simon.

“What is going on?” Simon asked, softly, as if speaking to a dangerous animal. In a way, he was. “You said—”

“I said,” Wihelm interrupted, taking a step towards Simon, eyes ablaze, “don’t come here today.”

Simon held his ground. He crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the way he felt out of place in his hoodie and jeans, as he always did when he stepped into Wilhelm’s life. There was nowhere for him to go, anyway. Going against every bit of training he’d ever received, he’d accidentally put Wilhelm between himself and the only exit. If he stepped back now, he’d only run into the big, wooden desk, trapping himself further.

Simon drew his features up into a scowl, because any fear was being smothered out by anger, and said, “Apologies if your word doesn’t really mean a lot to me right now.”

This, he could do. This was normal for them. What wasn’t normal was the way Wilhelm’s features softened as he took another step forward. His hand twitched at his side, and for a moment Simon thought Wille might reach out for him.

He didn’t. Wille’s eyes flickered over to the window again, then he whispered, in a voice almost unrecognizable, “You can’t be here right now. Why couldn’t you just listen to me for once?”

With a pang, Simon realized what was so odd about Wille’s voice. Fear. There was fear, actual fear, laced amongst the words. Simon had never seen Wilhelm show an ounce of fear before.

It disarmed Simon, dampening the flame in his chest, filling it instead with an icy dread.

“I just—”                                                                                                       

Simon was cut off, surprised, as Wille put both his hands up, eyes wide, and took another step toward him.

It all happened so quickly. The first to register was the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the long hallway and muffled voices. Then, Wille was surging towards him, yanking at the buttons of his own shirt, then pulling Simon’s hood over his head and pushing him back into the desk. Simon started to protest but was cut off again by Wille pressing their mouths together in a searing kiss.

Caught by surprise, Simon froze for a moment, and Wille pulled back slightly to mumble an apology, then his hands were snaking around Simon’s waist, hands hot even through the fabric of Simon’s hoodie, and he found himself wondering what those hands would feel like on his bare skin. This time, Simon was more prepared. This time, though he still didn’t really know what was going on, he kissed Wille back.

All of this had elapsed in about five seconds so there was not much time to ponder, but Simon had been secretly dreaming about this for weeks now. Wille’s lips on his, his taste, his hair between Simon’s fingers. It was better than any dream, but quickly over, as the door slammed open behind Wille.

Simon tried to jump back, to separate them, but Wille held him close.

“Wilhelm.”

Though he couldn’t see anything but Wille’s face still just an inch from his, Simon recognized that voice. It sent a chill running down his spine. If there had been any concern that making out with his primary person of interest might mean losing his job at the precinct, it was gone now. Now, it was sheer terror at the prospect of losing his life.

“Gentleman,” Wilhelm chuckled easily, eyes still locked on Simon’s, using his broad back to shelter Simon from the line of sight of their new guests. “You’ve caught me in the middle of something.”

The voice was Wilhelm again, so easily slipping back into his cold, unforgiving exterior. His eyes, however, were still Wille. Pleading for Simon to stay quiet, promising he’d handle the situation.

That cold voice came again. “That’s funny. We said six o’clock, did we not?”

“We did, boss,” came another, this voice unrecognizable to Simon, but its owner was undoubtedly just as deadly.

Wilhelm’s shoulder’s tensed every so slightly, imperceptible to anyone else but Simon, who felt the muscles tighten under his fingertips.

“That’s right, we did. I apologize for the delay.” Wille swiped his thumb back and forth over Simon’s back, which would almost be comforting if not for their current situation. “Lost track of time. If you’ll just give me a moment to get myself sorted, I’ll met you in the foyer.”

A loud, smoker’s chortle echoed through the room, and Simon had to fight not to flinch.

“Wilhelm, you dirty dog. If she’s a good time, send her to me afterwards, yeah? I don’t usually go for the street type, but after a good scrub down, I bet it’d be just like one of those high end whores. But cheaper.”

Simon wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but his only lifeline at the moment was staring into Wille’s, so he didn’t. He swallowed down the bile in his throat and prayed for this moment to be over, chided himself for being so terrified when this was his job, dealing with people like this was his career and yet he was nearly trembling in Wille’s arms. Perhaps it was because he’d seen those police reports, seen the photos of what this man did to those who did not please him. If Simon wasn’t only fearing for his own life, he was fearing for Wille’s, too.

The voice hardened again, losing all it’s disgusting amusement from before, “I’m leaving in two minutes. I won’t wait any longer.”

“Yes, sir,” Wilhelm said, voice steady.

There was a final, “You can fuck her after,” snickered by one of the goons before the door slammed shut again.

Wilhelm glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were gone, then shut his eyes and let out a deep breath, dropping his chin to his chest. Simon’s fingers were still knotted in Wilhelm’s shirt, and it took a moment before he could make his brain send the signal to make his hands let go. The moment he did, Wilhelm regained his composure, like flipping a switch, and quickly took two steps back.

Simon opened his mouth to say something but immediately shut it when he say the hardness in Wilhelm’s gaze. Spots of warmth still burned on Simon’s skin where Wille’s hands had been, but he couldn’t put it together with the man who stared at him now.

“Stay here,” Wilhelm commanded. He rebuttoned his shirt and straightened his hair, then he slipped out the door, leaving Simon sitting on his desk, cheeks flushed, staring at the horrible headlines scattered across the marble floor and wondering how this whole situation had gotten so out of hand.

[audblogforfanfics]

I’ve been obsessed with Teen Wolf lately (specifically Stiles) and I keep picturing all the werewolves in wolf form (I dunno if all of them can turn into wolf forms but let me dream, okay?), and they’re running, but Stiles is running with them!

…

that was a shit description/explanation..

Basically I’m imaging Stiles running shirtless in the woods with a pack of wolves running with him (going slower than normal, but not by much cause Stiles can run FAST hehe)

[avernaqueenofthedead]

They are disgusted by my blood but yet they love to watch me bleed🩸

-avernathequeenofthedead

[snvaladez]

“A Wolf & The Scaled Heights (2022)”

By S. N. Valadez

Description: Not all wolves fear life in the sky.

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[decaffeinatedpartymuggoop]

People talk about how “overpowered” and freaky some of the physical feats in PJO and HOO are but I think people forget that all demigods inherently have enhanced, speed, agility, and strength. So at lot of these physical feats actually make a lot of sense in their “power scaling.”

And I know a lot of people like talk about the Lois Arc jump because that is insane but there are a lot of other feats that show off the enhanced attributes some of the other demigods have.

Like, Hazel ran after a Arion, the fastest horse alive for a WHOLE day. Hours upon hours on end. And even if Arion WASN’T the fastest horse he’s still. A horse. That Hazel was able to keep up with. And then run all the way home.

Reyna EASILY knocks away giant werewolves with a knife and used her javelin like a pole vault. Annabeth managed to fight Kronos, a whole ass Titan, to a standstill. And she’s been shown to perform moves only professional acrobatic and gymnast can do. Piper threw a fifty pound shield at Medea and was described to move fast as a viper.

Jason had dodged arrows that have appeared out of no where, no warning, and Percy has side stepped bullets. BULLETS.

Not to mention that with the Lycaon and werewolves they were all out running and keeping up with WOLVES.

So, yeah, demigods have freaky physical feats.

[monicamody]

For readers, writers, visionaries! Border-dwellers & convivial scholars! Students of complexity & holistic thinking! 

The Running With Wolves Reading Group is back. 

For January 14, we read the first five chapters of The Rainbow and the Worm by Mae-Wan Ho. 

Register at the link above.

[shotmrmiller]

pretend boyfriend but it's in a time where roads are nothing more than muddy tracks, making travel slow and cumbersome. the town's buildings are a mix of weathered wood and crumbling brick, faded paint peeling off their facades. wanted posters, yellow and tattered, are plastered on every available surface, faces of outlaws and fugitives who roam the countryside depicted in greyish ink.

the townsfolk go about their lives with a wary eye, and you go about yours with a sharp one, in search of opportunity: a cowboy too drunk off his wits to know his right from his left. the humble borough of blackthorn doesn't need any more working girls, no more ladies with hair down to their corseted waists beautifying the arms of both bounty hunters and farm hands alike.

that's fine, you reckon. you've always had a knack for survival. your deft fingers have made a living out of slipping into pockets and relieving men of their hard earned coin pouches when they lose themselves in drink and laughter. its not an easier life than that of the ladies in the saloon but it's yours, and you've learned to navigate it with equal cunning and charm.

but as people say, anything that can go wrong, will and tonight nothing seems to go right for you. just as you'd been slipping the stolen bills from your latest mark in between the swell of your breasts, he stirs from his drunken sleep, bedsheet tangled in his spurs as he struggles to rise onto unsteady feet. his movements are sluggish, muddy brown eyes blinking against the dim light of the quaint room.

you don't wait for him to ask any inane questions, you know when you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. you run out the door on bare feet, fisting the rough fabric of your dress to lift it above your ankles as you barrel down the stairs.

your shoulders ache from bumping into patrons as you try to quickly weave your way toward the door, your breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. the saloon is a blur or faces and noise, the jaunty tune coming from the piano as fast paced as the galloping of your heart.

just as you reach the swinging doors, you glance outside through the dusty window panes and see someone right across the street in the patio of the drugstore.

the star on his chest gleaming even in the flickering light of the shop is distinctive. your heart sinks like a stone dropped into a well, the weight of the situation leaden over your puffed shoulders.

but you haven't made it this far while skirting around law and order without a sharp mind. your thoughts swirl in your mind as you run through options. a horse loosely tied to the hitching post out front, sleeping roll behind the saddle. you could take it but risk getting roped off by someone. slipping out the windows would draw too much attention. using the back door near the kitchen would have the owner on your arse.

shit. shit-

then you spot him. sitting alone at a table is a hulking, beast of a man. (his broad shoulders and burly frame makes him resemble more mountain than man tbh.) a small shot glass rests on the scratched surface before him, the only delicate item in his vicinity. the wide-brimmed hat he wears casts a shadow over his face but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. maybe that's why even the other patrons have given him a wide berth. (the knotted scar that runs from the corner of his cheek pulling his lips into a permanent, twisted sneer makes the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end.)

desperation fuels your next move.

your hand trembles when you place it on the the exposed skin of his forearm that's covered in a fine layer of grime, as does your voice when you speak.

"hey-" you don't get to finish your sentence, feeling the words crumble into ash on your tongue when you realize you're out of time. the drunken idiot from upstairs is storming straight towards you, his nostrils flared, white etched on his knuckles. panic surges through you and so you move.

coming to stand behind the seated stranger, your arms cradle his large head, clammy palms flat on the sweat stained fabric of his union shirt. his body tenses under your touch, muscles cooling like a spring, but you muster all the bravado you can.

"if ya got a problem with me," your voice is steady despite the fear that's settled at the base of your spine, "take it up with my husband."

the drunk comes to an abrupt halt, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion, uncertainty, as he glances between you and the human(?) shield you're clinging to.

the room has fallen silent, all eyes on the unfolding drama. they watch with bated breaths, even the bartender had paused mid-polish, his hand frozen on the glass.

the man wavers, his resolve crumbling like freshly tilled dirt before you. but the final nail in the coffin is when your 'husband' grabs onto your arm and leads you to sit onto his lap, both your legs fitting on top of his one, feeling the tarnished buckle of his leather belt even through the couple of layers of your dress on your arsecheek, his arm cinching tightly around your waist.

his skin feels rough, scarred, yet warm, beneath your hand. (embarrassing that this surprises you.)

you can feel his voice vibrate from his chest and sink into your bones when he aids you in this mess you've created. "ya 'eard m'wife. piss off 'fore i make you."

his mouth twists into an ugly line but concedes defeat, telling your 'husband' to "keep his wh-wife on a tighter leash unless she's keen on ending up on a missing poster alongside the wanted ones."

when you turn in his lap to look outside the window, watching the drunk unsteadily get on his horse and leave, you give the man you're on a muted thanks and move to get up only-

the arm around your waist feels more like an iron band. you're can't get up. you can't leave. your feet don't even touch the wooden floorboards of the saloon. you turn your wide eyes toward him, lips parted in surprise.

he doesn't seem as surprised as you.

"wha'? thought you could jus' up and go 'bout your way?"

you open your mouth wider, to scream maybe, you aren't sure but he cuts you off with a sharp suck of his teeth.

"make trouble and there will be trouble. i'll drag your pretty arse to the sheriffs office by the hair."

the realization of what he is keeps you utterly frozen in place, any fight you'd had bleeding out of you.

a bloody bounty hunter. no wonder everyone had kept their distance.

"i'm gonna be finishin' this bottle and you'll be a good wife and draw me a bath in our hotel room."

(he plucks the dirty money from where you'd kept it and tosses it on the bar top, carrying you straight to where he'd hitched his horse and plops you in front, your back to his barrel of a chest. "youll bathe with me, gotta have you clean for our consummation.")

[lioness-of-the-north]

Her home is that place in time where the Spirit of Woman and the Spirit of Wolf meet ~

the place where mind and instinct mingle ~

where a woman’s deep life funds her mundane life.

It is the point where the I and Thou kiss ~

the place where ~ in all Spirit ~ Women Run With The Wolves.

Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women who run with the wolves

[stardustedknuckles]

Beau and Caleb get teleported directly on top of the bad luck bandits. It's unclear who is having the worse day.

[starrover]

Oleo. 60 x 90. 2012 by Alejandro Musich

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wilmon + "You weren't supposed to fucking see this"💅

Simon 😭 thank you soo much for this. more Crime AU for you 🩸 (i wrote this on my lunch break very quickly so don't look too close. also i changed one word i hope that's okay)

"You weren't supposed to fucking see that," Wilhelm growled, backing Simon up against the wall, the hand on Simon’s chest slowly creeping up towards his neck. The decorative molding dug into Simon’s spine, but he kept his chin lifted and met Wilhelm’s eyes, refusing to be afraid of the man, despite what he’d seen, what he now had proof of. 

In less than half a second, like the flip of a switch, Wilhelm’s face softened, and he asked in a sultry drawl, “What did I tell you about following me around, little lamb?”

“What did I tell you about not calling me that?” Simon snapped, pushing Wilhelm off of him. 

The man chuckled and stepped right back into Simon’s space, though he kept his hands to himself this time. Simon only wished for half a second to have those hands back on him, on his chest, around his neck, the skin still tingling where Wilhelm had touched. 

He should not have come here. He should’ve gone straight to Madison, or to the chief. This was what he’d been looking for, the bit of evidence he needed, and yet— 

And yet, here he was again, alone in a room with Wilhelm, eyes flickering between the man’s dark eyes and his pink lips, wondering what was so fucking addictive about him. 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t release these to the press,” Simon challenged, watching with pleasure as Wilhelm’s steady facade faltered ever so slightly. So close to him, Simon could see the subtle twitch of his left eye, the bob of his throat. 

“I can give you a few,” Wilhelm mumbled, inching forward. One hand reached out, slowly moving towards Simon’s face, and Simon cursed himself as he felt himself sway towards it. The hand skipped him though, instead pressing into the wall, blocking off Simon’s one escape from the room. 

Breathlessly, Simon asked, “Yeah?” 

The wry, almost evil smirk grew on Wilhelm’s face, and Simon’s eyes locked on his lips as they moved closer and closer. 

Those pictures on the ground were just the excuse. Simon knew the real reason he’d come here, the real reason he’d keep coming back. The anticipation burned away at him, just another inch and— 

“How’s that father of yours doing, Simon?” 

[mournfulroses]

Clarissa Pinkola Estés, from  "Women who Run with the Wolves," originally published c. 1992

[pien-art]

wot s1 basically <3 (click image for optimal quality)

available as print here ! available on redbubble !

[runningwithwolvesss]

[ksficrec]

Run with the Hares (Hunt with the Hounds)

By: @brighteuphony

Link: Ao3

Words: 9k | E | tw: -- | Ongoing

--

ANBU masks are passed down. Some are so notorious they never see the light of day, and some are better off staying buried. Kakashi finds himself faced with the past when the Hound is assigned to his guard detail.

🌸 I am so excited abt this fic!!! Brand spanking new, I am beta for it, and it's going to be so much fun!! tysm to brighteuphony for writing this and indulging with me hehehe, join us on this journey