#its not enough to just draw a dog with grey fur. i need the wolfness

[electricpurrs]

the more and more i look at wolves the more itchy i get. i want to be a wolf. i want to draw a wolf. would yall still love me if i was a catwolfboy. a wolfcatboy. an ex wolf girl cat boy. i fucking love wolves

[mangagrl1991]

Wolf’s Rain: The Scent of Danger

Click here if you have questions about this story’s timeline: https://mangagrl1991.tumblr.com/post/190908905421/wolfs-rain-fanfic-headcanon-and-lifetimes

~~~~~~~~

Series: Wolf’s Rain

Lifetime: Anime timeline with OCS added in

Sora belongs to me.

~~~~~~~~

There were two things of which Sora was certain.

One, something nearby smelled really nice.  It was faint, but she could just catch the scent on the breeze of the storm, which seemed to be pulling her ever closer toward the source.

Two, it was way too quiet out here, even in the midst of the snow storm, the surrounding area was way too serene.  

Although the latter concerned her greatly, she continued on her trek, an invisible tether tugging her, never letting her stop or rest as she pursued the strange yet welcoming scent on the wind.  

A few seconds later, she was able to make out a city in the nearby distance, and she hesitated, white paws coming to a stop, blending against the freezing snow below.  Cities were nothing but trouble for her kind; although she had perfected her human facade moons ago, she still preferred to avoid actual people if she could.  

As the grey and black wolf stood, debating her next actions, a new scent invaded her senses, and she turned around quickly: thick, black tipped fur standing up as she uttered a low growl, honey eyes narrowing as she checked her surroundings warily.

After several heart pounding moments, a dog covered in thick, blackish blue fur emerged from the flurry.  Steely blue eyes narrowed as its muzzle pulled back to reveal fangs ground together into a vicious snarl.

Sora was bracing herself for a fight when a faint click sounded nearby, breaking her concentration.  Ears stood erect as the wolf sniffed the air, now aware that this dog hadn’t come alone.  With the added threat of a rifle nearby, Sora knew she’d have no chance if she stayed and fought.  Her only hope would be to run, and hope she could find a way to lose both the dog and her companion.

It was then that she remembered the city below, and she suppressed a snort as she knew now she’d have no choice but to enter it. Disappearing into its busy streets would be her best chance to escape this new, unforeseen threat.  ‘So much for avoiding the city.’

As she heard another growl, the grey wolf turned back to her ambusher. Her own muzzle pulled back into an equally dangerous snarl, lowering her head as her muscles tensed, preparing to run.

The crunch of snow close by snapped her out of the tense stare down, and with a huff, she turned and sped away.  As she ran, careful not to slip on the snowy slope she heard the shocked shouts and angry barking and knew that she’d be in for quite a chase.

This was confirmed as her keen ears soon picked up the sound of heavy footfalls, each one sounding closer than the last, and she doubled her efforts, praying fervently for a miracle.  

Her lungs burned, and the wind stung her eyes but she did not stop, nor slow down.  The ragged pants of her canine pursuer were growing distant, and in turn the city was growing ever closer.  Various scents began to hit her, and she wrinkled her nose.

‘I can already taste the bad human food-‘

Sora’s thoughts were interrupted by a deafening boom behind her, and she veered to the left, just avoiding a bullet, only to duck as another careened over her head.  Just when it seemed the onslaught of bullets would never end, it stopped, and it didn’t take long for the wolf to figure out why: she was nearing the outskirts of the village. It must be too dangerous for the hunter to keep firing with her this close to civilization..  

As she sprinted toward the city entrance, a heavy weight suddenly barreled into her flank, and she stumbled, struggling to stay on her paws as the impact sent her skidding to the side.  Shaking her head vigorously, a curse left her muzzle as she found her path now blocked by the same dog she thought she’d ditched.

Sora lowered her head, panting heavily and flattening her ears as she eyed her foe.“I guess there’s no choice then.”  

Without warning, she lunged forward and clamped her jaws around one of the dark furred dog’s forelegs.  A pained cry left the animal as her fangs pierced flesh and muscle, but she held fast.  The sensation of teeth in the back of her neck forced her to let go and she thrashed wildly, struggling out of the dog’s hold and retreating backward a few paces.  Standing her ground, Sora maintained eye contact with the beast, growling deep in her throat to hide the growing panic she felt slowly building within.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She was supposed to lose the dog and then go into the city!  It would be one thing if she only needed to fight her assailant and run, but she also had that cursed hunter and his rifle to deal with, and- Honey orbs widened- The hunter!

The click of metal nearby alerted Sora to the man’s presence, but before she could turn to confront him, her opponent decided to act, lunging forward and sinking her teeth into the base of her left ear.  The hold was tight enough to deter the wolf from any jerky movements, lest she risk ripping off her entire ear.  

Forced into such an immobile state, it came as little surprise when the rifle sounded, and a crippling pain unlike any she’d ever felt surged through her right shoulder.  Stunned, Sora barely registered her captor releasing her as she fell.  Her eyes screwed shut in pain as she coughed and sputtered for air, the snow beneath her quickly stained a muddy red.  

A menacing growl caused her eyes to crack open weakly, and she saw that despite the injury to her foreleg, the dog towered over her, looking very much capable of continuing their fight.  Unlike Sora, who lay feebly on the ground, watching as her attacker’s head leaned in, fangs grazing her throat.  Could this really be the end?

A shrill whistle brought the dog back to attention, and she reluctantly stepped back, though her posture remained tense, as if warning Sora not to bother trying anything unless she wanted another fight.  

“Good work, Blue.”  The gravelly voice and approaching footsteps reminded Sora that this dog was the least of her problems, and she groaned softly as she tried desperately to get back up, her paws slipping against the reddened slush.  

“I’m not making the same mistake as before.”  Glancing up, Sora watch as the old man petted the blackish blue dog affectionately before glowering at her, his stare as chilling as the storm’s icy tendrils.  “There’s no way I’m letting this one escape.”

His fingers brushed the trigger of his rifle as he withdrew it from its hiding place beneath his coat; the resulting click somehow gave Sora the strength she needed to get up, and she ran, narrowly avoiding the bullet sent after her as she forced her burning muscles back into action.

Blue was quick to pursue her as she retreated into the city, a choked gasp escaping Sora as another bullet hit the corner of a building she’d just passed.  ‘Unbelievable!  He still fires that thing in the city?!’

A pained cry behind her caused the wolf to look back, and she saw that Blue had fallen.  Perhaps her bite had hurt her more than she’d thought, if her leg had failed her mid sprint.  Sora thanked the heavens as she realized that the man had also stopped, hurrying to aid his fallen pooch.  

Not one to squander the extra time this bought her, the grey and black wolf dashed around a corner, where she’d be out of their sight and projected the human illusion she’d come up with to help her blend in.  Unfortunately, her wound was still present in this form, and the blood would not only draw unwanted attention, it would also leave a trail for her pursuers to follow.  With this thought spurring her onward, Sora’s thoughts shifted to her original purpose for approaching the city as she took an experimental sniff of the air.  The sweet, flowery scent she’d caught had definitely been here, but it was weak; the source must have already moved on from this place.  

Despite this, the feeling in her gut insisted she carry on searching, until she found which way the scent had gone.  Resisting a strong urge to stop and rest, her grey haired illusion began to walk a little faster, ignoring the stares that she received from people on the street.  A snarl and show of teeth kept the braver spectators at bay, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep up the tough facade for much longer.  The pain in her shoulder was intensifying more with every step she took, and it was taking every ounce of her control not to cry out in pain.

After a few minutes of walking, she caught a slightly fresher version of the scent she sought, and she submitted to the spiritual tether, letting it lead her on.  She may not understand the intensity of this pull, and may have even found it slightly annoying at first, but now she was grateful to it.  For this invisible tether was the only thing that kept her going.  She would need to find a safe place to rest and tend to her wound, but that would have to wait.  For now, her main focus was to get as far away from that man and his dog, and if tracking this intoxicating scent helped her do that then Sora would follow it to the ends of the earth.

Soon, white paws reached the end of the city, the beginnings of nature stretching ahead of her, and she sank to the ground, panting with a thirst whose burn was growing just as troublesome as her injury.  When was the last time she had even had a drink?  It had been a few days now.  She’d need to find a source of water soon.

As it turned out, she was not meant to rest yet, as a familiar, unwelcome scent reached her nose all too soon, and she scrambled to her feet.  “How can they possibly be back at it already?!”  She sighed heavily, gritting her teeth together in annoyance as a curse slipped from her lips.  “Doesn’t that old man ever take a break?!”

Her answer came in the form of a loud, drawn out howl and her eyes widened as the scent drew nearer.  They were catching up to her already!  Testing her right paw against the ground elicited a groan as pain shot up her arm, and she cursed at the realization that she wouldn’t be able to run on it for a while.  The wound was still too fresh.  

Exhaling softly, she took a step forward into the snow, carefully favoring her right paw.  Her chances of surviving the journey were even worse now, but she wouldn’t give up.  Taking a deep breath, she located the scent trail she’d been following again, reminded that even if she wanted to quit her body wouldn’t let her, moving as if controlled by something unseen to her.  One step turned into another, and another, not once looking back at the city as she finally broke into a run, going as fast as her paws would take her.

[otheroutlandertales]

Anonymous said: Someone write a quick little drabble of Oggy out laughing and playing in the rain by himself but when asked he’s playing with his imaginary dog friend named Rollo.

Author’s note: This is a canon compliant one-shot set a few years after Written In My Own Heart’s Blood. Mild spoiler warning for those who haven’t read books 7 and 8, and some book 9 daily lines, too. Rollo and Young Ian feels, ahoy!  

Oggy and Rollo 

by @ianmuyrray

It had been raining for days, only now had it slowed to a mist. Moisture thickened the air, punctuated by steady sprinkling. It was humid and foggy, causing the residents of the Ridge to peel and pluck their clothing away from their sticky bodies.

Puddles collected on the uneven ground around the small cabin. Excess water made small horse troughs of wagon tracks, and rain puttered against the puddles, making the surfaces ripple and vibrate with each droplet. In the tall grass beneath the window sat a little boy, his breeches damp and muddy. He was four years old -- just old enough to go outside on his own and be trusted not to wander off. Unbeknownst to the boy, however, his mother watched him through the window while she kneaded bread, her hands covered with flour, and his granny was seated with a quilt by the fire, looking out for him from the corner of her eye through the cabin’s open door. The women smiled and sighed together, thankful for a break from a little boy who had been cooped up out of the rain for too long.

He had a proper name, but not very many people used it. On the Ridge, he was simply Oggy. At his hip, a pocket of his breeches bulged into the shape of a vroom, made special for him by Nunkie Roger after Jemmy refused to share his childhood toys. The wheels of Oggy’s vroom were so caked in mud they no longer turned on their axles, and the wood was dark and soggy-feeling, soaking up muddy water and raindrops and fog like a sponge.

The grass was tall here, and thick-- Granny hadn’t let her goats out of their paddock in a while. He liked that, preferring when the leaves of grass grew to his knees, broad at the base. He picked at a shorter one now, held it between his thumbs at his lips and blew, trying to whistle. He wasn’t very good at it, but Nunkie Fergus told him he’d get better if he practiced. Maybe Da could show him, but then again, Da could do that thing where he sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles so loudly it spooks birds and summons horses.

A black flutter of bird wings caught Oggy’s eye, and he spotted it stopping to peck at a worm washed free in the dirt path. Oggy squatted in the grass, camouflaging himself and turning his body slowly towards it. The vroom in his pocket bit at his hip, but he didn’t care. How did Da say to stand on your feet, so the animal doesn’t hear you? He didn’t think he accomplished it, because the bird lifted his beak and blinked at him, turning its head this way and that, black eyes suspicious.

Drawing a deep intake of breath, Oggy stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew, just as he’d seen his father do it. To his shock and complete joy, a loud, clear whistle rang out, just like Da’s. He heard a bang from inside as if someone had dropped something heavy onto a table, and the bird squawked and flew off. Laughing, and utterly pleased with himself, Oggy landed on his back in the soft, wet grass, not caring how much wetter it might make him. Mam always had dry clothes ready for him after it rained, and he quite looked forward to sitting by the fire with a biscuit. But not yet.

He lay looking at the sky for a minute, relishing the few droplets that fell onto his face. The sky oscillated between grey and white, as if it could not make up its mind, and Oggy’s hazel eyes tracked the movement.

But at that moment, he heard something four-legged bounding towards him, and he sat up just in time to be tackled by a giant dog. Or he would have been, if the dog didn’t pass through his body, causing a delicious chill to shoot through him, sparking laughter. The dog circled him, a big grin on its face, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His tail and ears were held high.

“Dog?” Oggy asked, rising to his feet immediately. He held out his hand for the animal to sniff. Da and Nunkie Jamie had shown him how to properly introduce himself to animals. To go slow, to not move too quickly.

No sooner had the wet nose touched Oggy’s fingertips than the dog leaned into him, as if asking to be pet. Oggy obliged, scratching his ears, chin, chest, and spine. He felt like a dog, the damp fur clinging to Oggy’s fingertips. At the right angles, he looked solid as a dog. But was he? A bit of the dog’s form trailed behind in his movement, wisping and curling in the humid air, and he glittered in the sunlight like snowflakes he’d once caught in his mittens with Auntie Claire. And still, Oggy’s skin hadn’t quite shed the chill he felt from the dog, and his fingertips tickled from giving pets, as if there was a veil that had been passed through between the living and the dead.

The dog flopped over onto its back to show Oggy his belly. He yipped once, clearly asking for belly rubs, wriggling its back into the mud. Oggy laughed delightedly at this show of affection and trust, kneeling to give the dog a hug around the ribs and pressing his ear to the dog’s sternum.

It was an odd feeling, to hug a ghost. But the dog was warm and loving, too, and Oggy was warmed to his toes.

He might have been afraid of the dog, given that he looked like a wolf-- grey and scruffy, tall with a broad head, daring yellow eyes. But this dog was a friend. This, Oggy sensed instinctually, this dog felt like family.

The wolf-dog leaped to his feet and gave a soft, playful growl, bowing in an invitation to play. Oggy squealed and made to tackle him, only for the dog to leap away once more and nip at Oggy’s tunic, begging him to follow as he ran. Oggy took off after him, his boots sinking softly into the muddy ground.

“A bhalaich,” came a voice, calling after Oggy, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to see his father emerging from the trees, a large, dead deer over his shoulders.

Ian stooped to drop the deer on a nearby bench, where many animals had been skinned and butchered for meat. It landed with a soft thud as Oggy approached, feeling a tug behind his navel in the direction of the dog. But the dog was gone. 

“Was that you I heard whistle, jus’ now?”

“Aye,” replied Oggy, putting on his best adult-sounding voice.

“Yer gettin’ better at it,” Ian replied, removing a knife from his belt and applying it to the deer. Oggy watched in fascination as his father’s big hands began the work of skinning the animal, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother come to stand in the doorway. 

Ian smiled up at Rachel in greeting. “Brought dinner,” he remarked with a grunt, working the belly of the deer open.

“Da,” Oggy interrupted, needing to ask before his parents moved on to other tasks. “Did you see that dog?”

“What dog?” Ian asked, not looking up. He was kneeling in front of the deer now, studying it.

“Just now, he came running from where you were.”

“He did?” Ian asked, not without interest. He glanced in the direction Oggy pointed, then gave his son a quizzical glance. His hands, however, paused over his kill, running lightly along the deer’s hair. “What kind of dog?”

Oggy’s answer was immediate. “Like a wolf, but he was friendly. Are there ghosts here, Da? I don’ think he was real.”

Ian’s eyes blazed as he looked at his son. For what, Oggy didn’t know, but he was pleased to have his father’s rapt attention.

“What did he do, when he was here? The dog?”

“Tackled me. We played a bit. Ye might ha’ scared him off when ye came, just now.” Oggy lifted his hand, still damp and a bit ticklish from the veil he’d felt, as if his father could see the shed dog hairs trapped there with moisture.

Ian studied Oggy’s small hands before his face broke into bright satisfaction, causing Oggy to grin back. “Aye, Oggy, there was a dog. He was helpin’ me hunt. He visited you too, then? I wondered where he’d gotten off to.” He reached and ruffled his son’s hair.

“What is thee talking about?” Rachel asked, and as Oggy turned to look at her, he saw her skirts flutter in the breeze, her apron dappled with puffs of flour.

“Rollo,” Ian responded immediately, and Rachel’s dark eyebrows flicked upwards. This obviously meant something to his parents, and though Oggy had heard the name ‘Rollo’ before, he hadn’t known what it meant.

“Rollo is a dog?” Oggy inquired.

His father nodded, his expression impenetrable. “Rollo, the dog. He died before ye were born. Go on inside, wee lamb, and help yer mam and Granny with whatever they need.”

Oggy would usually protest -- he was a boy, he shouldn’t have to help the women so much anymore, he wanted to help with the meat -- but he could sense his father wanted a moment alone, hands trembling over the deer. The young boy dashed inside, brushing past his mother, who lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching Ian work.

[unseeliephen]

history: kora &. phen - an unknowing reunion setting: the forest of thorn haven

i. 

With every full moon that past, Kora felt as if she lost a little bit more of herself. She needed this almost more than breathing.

The air is cold. It is mid morning but the sky is dark and heavy with promise of another bout of snow. The small brunette tilts her head up toward the clouds, short dark curls swaying against the wind as she laughs and twirls. For a moment, she is happy, unbranded with her power back within her possession.

Slowly snow begins to fall and hit pale cheeks.  Green orbs glance behind, smile beaming. “I’ll be back later.” before either Sidian or she has time to protest or change their minds, the she-wolf is already beginning to pull her shirt up and over her head. She leaves her clothes in a neat pile behind the green house attached to the magic shop before shes running through the snow, shifting in mid-stride. The black wolf quickly hidden within the treeline and up into Crown Points forested trails.

ii.

There’s a stirring in the night of the forests surrounding Crown Point. There are nocturnal animals wakening and hunting. Leaves are rustling when the wind blows them. Quiet murmurings of whispers to those who listen close enough.

A large gust of wind blew, stirring a few birds nearby and where there was once an empty clearing now stood Phen–the uniquely fae green eyes glowing brightly in the night. His cheeks quickly redden from the cold that bites at his skin, but it hardly phased him as he began walking through the forests. He could always find his way. The shadows of the forests were his home whenever he was on this realm.

It’s an uneventful night minus the whispers he hears in his ears. Better to drown them out for now, no one is keen on listening to his songs at the moment. But just when he thinks he’ll have to return to the city unhappy, there’s a blur that catches his sight. For those of a human, most likely would have missed it. But not Phen’s eyes.

“Will you come out and play?” Phen asked into the forest as he stopped walking, a hand reached out to press into a nearby tree. There’s an excitement in his voice and his eyes, the smile on his face one of a child’s. “Please? Come here! I just want to pet you.”

iii.

The wolf is racing herself through the damp foliage now. Kora’s sharp claws kick up wet earth with every fluid step. She feels at peace here - as if everything that ever happened to her led up to this moment. It was almost poetic as she stretched and used muscles locked away for too long. It was exhilarating to just let go. Of her problems, of herself. She was no longer merely Kora - the pretty little helpless slave.

- she had teeth and claws and limbs that can run for miles.

Limbs were stretched to their max and yet it still feels as if it isn’t enough. Her wolf demands its freedom. Suddenly, lost in her own little world of earthly sights and smells, she senses something unique within the trees. It drives her curiously forward to investigate, but she is careful to keep her distance. And though she stays hidden, the dark fur of her coat is of stark contrast to the white beneath her paws.

Never trust the fae folk. Its a warning that has stuck with her since childhood. The wolf lifts her muzzle, sniffing the air in search of more potential threats as she allows her presence there among the trees to be know. She does not move forward however, the warning still chiming in her head as she watches him, home there within the clearing.

iv.

A smart wolf to keep at a distance. Phen has always thought the forest is a different world, a society with its own set of rules and dangers than the city. Werewolves, skinwalkers, the fae folk… all the supernaturals that dwell among the trees.

“I see you,” Phen said as he tapped a finger to his nose and then pointed in the direction of the wolf. “But I’m not going to hurt you.”

To make his point, as if it would help at all, he sat down on the forest floor, back leaning against the tree. Phen has a soft spot for dogs. Domestic or not. Wild or supernatural. They’re beautiful creatures of strength and beauty. Phen’s written songs and poems about them. He’s made pieces of artwork in the haze of his creativity that brought to life the truth of them.

“I just want to pet you! You’re so beautiful. Majestic.” Phen didn’t move from where he sat but he reached a hand out. He’s suppose to do that, right? Let her sniff him, assess if he’s dangerous?

Well. He is. But not right now. Not to her.

v.

The sky was dark grey now, with snowflakes so thick she had to squint through it just to see the few paces ahead. It was raw, and real and she loved every second of her paws embedded in the dirt. Kora trotted her way through the undergrowth of trees when she had finally decided to make the small journey toward the fae. Especially now that he had lowered himself to the ground.

Head up and emerald eyes bright - the shewolf spots his form  beneath the canopy of a tree where snow is trapped above a thick cover of leaves. He is a mere few feet away now and yet her steps are slow, unhurried as she makes her way to him through the cold terrane. He feeds her with compliments, but its the uniquness of his fae nature that draws her animal in. She sits back upon her hind legs in front of him. Even before her enslavement it wasn’t common for Kora to allow anyone to touch her. It was an intimate act, as it would be even now.

The look she gives his slouched figure and outstretched hand says that if he isn’t careful teeth will claim his arm as payment. She steps forward, wet muzzle brushing up against the males offered hand and down-turned wrist as she allowed the strange fae to touch. After all she still wears her necklace; Sidian would know if she were in any sort of distress.

vi.

It’s a sight to see for those lurking in the shadows of the woods. Phen noticed the quiet murmurs are silent now. Whether those are in his head or not, that’s still to be discovered. Trotting across the forest floor is a werewolf, coming in the direction of an Unseelie fae that sat in the cold snow.

It hardly phased him, his thick cloak enough to keep him warm. His unusually bright green fae eyes are wide and excited, pale cheeks rosy from the cold. He doesn’t move, he knows better. Which of the two can be the greater threat, that would be a question not answered tonight.

The softest of gasps escaped from Phen when he felt her muzzle against his hand, letting her making the movements toward him first. He really didn’t want to lose any fingers. They were his life line. His ability to create. Losing them would mean losing his life.

But once he feels it’s safe, he turns his hand to run his fingers through her fur with deliberate slowness. “You’re so soft,” he whispered into the night with the words carried on the fog of his breath. “And warm.” Phen moves to scratch behind her ear, leaning forward just enough to let him do so. “Do you live in these woods?”

vii.

There is something very different about these woods, as if something more is lurking within there depths.  This place does not remind Kora of home, but the electric hum of magic in the air draws many a creature near. For now - it is as close as she will get unless she decides now to make for an escape. However, Sidian trusts her enough not to run far - she would hate to break that trust again.

And this fae - peering at her through eyes so bright, she knows she should be more cautious. Faeries were known for their trickery and violence when they think themselves disrespected. They were also rumored to steal sleeping babies from their cribs and replace them with changelings. She is reminded of every story her grandmother had ever told her and yet - this faeries touch was gentle as fingers carded through her dark fur. She’d only ever allowed Sidian or pack to touch her like this - it truly is a quiet sort of intimacy. One she hadn’t realized she so desperately needed after being in this hell for so long.

She allows him to touch freely, even goes as far as to tilt her head for more gentle scratches behind her ears. Hes cold. But Kora’s temperature runs hot and the cold hardly phases her. Ears draw back at his question and she glances back toward the thick line of trees in which she had come from as if to tell him she lived within the town. He wasn’t a wolf so their communication was limited. After a moment she drew nearer, plopping her heavy body down next to his own under the tree with a quiet huff, warm fur pressed against his side. She did need a rest after all before she needed to head back.

viii.

Phen’s eyes follow in the direction that the wolf looked. A tree? Did she live in a tree? That’s odd. He didn’t know of wolves to live in trees. That would have to be extremely uncomfortable! Phen’s mind momentarily boggled at the thought of how that would even work until his brain stopped and he realized his mistake. That was the direction of the city. The direction that he would eventually trek his way back to whenever he would need to go home.

“You live in the city. Sad. It isn’t pretty. These woods are pretty, but you should see my home. It’s the most beautiful realm. The woods there are gorgeous, you would love them.” There’s a dreamy quality to his voice, as if he hadn’t just been home mere minutes ago. Taking the wolf to the fae realm would be a very bad idea. Even if it was tempting, Phen was going to be good. Besides, someone would try to steal the wolf from him and that wouldn’t make for a very happy Phen.

A noise of surprise and pure happiness escapes him when the wolf walks close and sit next to him. The soft fur and warmth of her body is a comforting presence beside him and Phen can’t help but lean into it before he throws his arms around her neck and just buried his face into the fur. “You’re going to be my new best friend. My best wolf friend. Do you wanna see a trick? Of course you wanna see a trick!” Phen sat up slightly, still leaning into Kora as he reached a hand out. It was slow at first, a few sparkles in the air here and there before suddenly surrounding them were bright colorful orbs of light, dimming and brightening as they bobbed in their place. “Isn’t it so pretty… so many colors…”

ix.

Hes speaking of the faerie realm - a place wayward humans occasionally find themselves trapped. At least that is what Kora remembers of the stories her gran used to tell her before she would sleep. It was supposedly a very beautiful place, she was almost jealous that she would never get to see it. That is - if he did not suddenly steal her away. Sidian would never be able to find her then. The thought leaves the wolf weary, but she quietly listens to his tale as if shes back home, in her grandmothers small countryside cottage. Its a place she hasn’t been in a very a long time, not since the elder womans passing. Kora thinks this fae would prefer the forest there over the one they currently reside.  Maybe she will tell him of it one day - where many a faerie circle could be found.

Kora had always wanted to meet one of his kind - before she knew a wolf resided beneath her skin. She had sworn she could hear them whispering in the trees - but family thought her mad, a childs imagination on the brink of going much too far. And then - the very wolf with a faes arms wrapped around her neck - had ripped and tore its way out of her skin one night during a full moon. Kora hadn’t been crazy at all, merely in tune with the nature around her always. The brand and this place had taken that away from her.

Hes hugging her now, cold face pressed in to thick fur of her neck and she nudges him instinctively. She would be able to find him now with her scent upon him - that was if he continued to stay on this plane. Excitedly he pulls himself up and Kora answers his question with a small huffed bark, placing a large paw upon his leg. She did love magic - when it wasn’t being used against her. The sparks of light brighten her eyes as she looks about them - they were like brightly colored fireflies in the sky. Truly it was one of the most simplistically beautiful moments she would experience within these woods. Kora finds herself happy as her head tilts to the side when one floats in front of her face. She bops it with her nose and the orb sparks like a small firecracker, causing her to sneeze.

x.

In the quiet of the night, in the darkness of the forest, it’s is easy to miss the look in Phen’s eyes and perhaps for that he’s grateful. There’s a sadness that lurks in the corners, one that finds its spinning threads wrapped tight around him and deep to his core. Crown Point had never been the place that he had intentions of calling home. The world is one so expansive and brilliant, there are so many other places that he could visit. But he’s tethered. There’s a dreaded thread, one black and rotten, that keeps him spinning lost in the void of this city. Returning to the fae realm for trips gives him some solace and a comfort of where his real home is but he can never stay long. No, there’s always the ticking of the clock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

There’s a sudden dark and resounding moment of clarity. It crashed into Phen with no hesitation, washing over his body and his eyes dulled, a flicker as if the light had gone out for a brief moment. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Phen doesn’t like it, no one bit. As quickly as the moment is there, it is gone in the next and Phen’s eyes are bright as they once had been, focused on the orbs of light as if he’d never actually left that reality. Had he left it for a brief space of time?

Phen’s expression is back to that of child-like wonder, following all the little orbs and watching the one that comes across to Kora’s face. There’s a cast of color against her black fur, Phen giving a soft oh at the sight of the display. He breaks into laughter when she sneezed from the orb and rolls himself over into the snow, laying down and looking up at the canopy and the lights until his laughter is that of mere giggles. “They’re so pretty,” he coos before making grabby hands at the wolf again from where he’s laying. “All of the beautiful lights, colorful and glowing. From their windows the humans are dazzled, unknowing. They wander through the forests, following with eyes so entranced. Past trees of willow, elm, and pine they danced. Such a delight, they found the beautiful lights only to find themselves caught in a trap. Oh those silly humans, so prone to mishap.” Phen rattled off, his voice singing in the words with no intention of keeping quiet. He’s one with the forest. One with the night.

“But you!” Phen suddenly exclaimed to the wolf. “Not you. No, never you. You’re not a pesky human. You’re a beautiful wolf who deserves only the show!” He waved his hand in the air, the colorful orbs disappearing. “Can I tell you a secret little wolf? You can’t tell anyone! Not a single soul.”

xi.

There is a lulled quietness in the air as if the whole forest has suddenly gone silent. Too silent. The wolf lifts her head, breathing in the scents around them, ears perked as if to check for any sort of threats. Like maybe a guard come to bring her back - Sidian was fickle that way. Sometimes he could change his mind on a dime. A cruel sort of punishment he’d often played on her here when the heat of their arguments got to be too much. When he had to throw his power around like a spoiled child who wasn’t getting his way. It would break her heart for him to be so cruel - to give her her power and also take them away. She tries to not dwell upon the thought for too long, not here at least. She realizes it’s the fae she is sensing - there is sadness clinging to him like a second skin. What did he have to be sad about? He was was either a civilian or a master. Either way - he was free. She herself still wasn’t free: even this forest felt like a prison.

They both seem lost within their own little worlds before the wolf peers at him, only to suddenly throw her large head into his shoulder and brush up under his neck. His beautiful unearthly eyes had gone dull as if his special spark had gone out. Kora is very familiar with the look - she had shut down fully while that demon had tortured and scarred her. She was still a mere shell of herself, forever a little broken. And she knows he too went somewhere else and she doesnt like it. So she touches another orb, this time nipping at the air. It too sparks like a firecracker much like the first - colors extending in different directions around them. Hes laughing now, falling into the snow and rolling about happily. Fae are such unique creatures, especially this one.

She sits beside him, tail swishing behind her on it’s own accord, looking very much like a loyal and trained pet when she could very easily sink teeth into flesh, or wings. At this time of late evening shes lethal, practically invisible within the dark of night. His sudden burst of song is lovely - familiar in a way she can not place. As if shes heard it in bits and pieces, within a dream, long past. He addresses her again, colored light disappearing - it’s dark and cold once again as he sits up. She makes a small show of digging her paws into the earth. He has a secret and she feels hes going to tell her whether or not she wishes to hear it. She glances back in the direction of the wooded trail covered in a thick blanket of snow that leads back to the city, shes still left curious, but she should get back soon.

xii.

If the bitter cold was not closing in and the snow melting into his clothes, Phen would have been happy to stay outside for as long as he could. The night sky is bright with stars, the eerie shadows of the forest that hugged each other, and the creatures that ran through the night. For others it might have been scary, a scene from a nightmare — but not for Phen. There’s a reason his apartment has been made to resemble this scenery, as close to possible to his home in the fae realm. Every person needs their own escape and in a city that is overwhelming for Phen, that apartment is his escape. There’s a comfort in knowing that even when he leaves this forest tonight, he’ll be back to another.

“Somewhere in the forest,” Phen started when he’d sat up beside the wolf. “There’s a small little ring of beautiful dark blue flowers. They’re tiny, tiny. Little wonders. I worked very hard on them. When the moon is high and full, something really special happens.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “But you shouldn’t go near them, okay? I like you. You’re my wolf.” Phen hugged her once again, enjoying the feeling of her soft fur one more time. Often times, it’s humans who find their way to the little circle. They wander at night or during the day and stray too far from the path.

In a burst of colorful light, he’s back on his feet about a foot away from Kora. He brushed off as much of the snow as he could before he clapped his hands together. “It is getting late! The moon will be gone and her rival will be up. Will you walk back with me?” Phen asked as he took a few steps forward, a hand reached out to pat Kora’s head. “You protect me and I protect you! There are a lot of scary creatures in the forest. You should never trust the shadows. And never trust the fae�� but you can trust me.”

xiii.

He is speaking of a faerie ring - shes all too familiar with those, having searched for them every summer she spent in that little cottage. Would it be seen beneath all this heavy snow? Respect the fae and they would be kind to you, but never trust them. She left them little childish gifts, and spoke to them as if they were listening. The forest was her home, and it was where she ran and hid after every smack or nights when fathers drank too much of the angry juice. She was too odd, too strange, with eyes that were more than human. Even off-putting to other children. She looked like her mother. But the fae, they never took her away, never came to rescue her. She did that all by herself - all teeth and claws.  

Suddenly there is a burst of light and hes standing a few feet away. What a neat trick.  The wolf stands, makes to follow but stops herself. You’re my wolf. She belongs to another, protects another. Sidian. She’s been with him for years. He tells her to bring him anothers heart - she does it without question. She’s been with him through everything - until the day she ran. Until the day she hurt him. The fae pats her head, but shes lost in thought again. Abruptly shes throwing back her head to howl sadly into the night - she is met with silence. No pack answers, as they are either dead or locked away in cages.

And with that, she slowly follows in step, intent on at least helping him get back into town before he potentially freezes to death. Kora doesn’t want to get into trouble for accidentally killing or letting someone of higher rank die. Though she knows hes perfectly equipped to take care of himself out here.

                                                                   Faeries can not tell a lie.

[ishouldbewritingblog]

Lucky Jack

Lucky Jack was three days deep into the desert when the wolf found him. His canteen was drained to the dregs, filled with nothing but stale air, and the distant riders were growing increasingly less distant. He could see the little puffs of dust kicked up by their horses' hooves rising into the air. His own horse had collapsed in a heap of heaving, boneless exhaustion earlier that day.

How the wolf found its way this far into the desert was anyone's guess. It was of the timber variety, an enormous, grey, shaggy beast, which had no business in this dustbowl wasteland. He had noticed it tracking him just after his horse had died, and now it was watching him from behind a scrubby bush, sitting up on its hind legs like a dog, black eyes scrutinising him with a curiously intelligent gaze.

Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead with a corner of his faded red bandana. Now that he was on foot, the riders were gaining on him. He could almost make out voices carried on the breeze.

The wolf got up, shaking the dust from its fur and ambled closer. Jack watched wearily. The animal did not appear to be stalking him, its movements were too casual. But, this far away from its natural sources of prey, it must be hungry.

The way Jack saw it, he was going to die today. How and when, was still up for debate. Either his pursuers would catch up with him, or the desert sun would do their work for them, or… Like his water supply, Jack figured his luck had just about dried up.

Jack drew his revolver. He had only three bullets left, and he would prefer not to waste them on the wolf when there were other, more deserving targets on their way. But, he also preferred not to be devoured half-alive.

Jack stared at the wolf and the wolf stared back. It opened its mouth wide, tongue lolling out, almost seeming to laugh at his predicament. And then, in the space of a heart-beat, and in two gigantic bounds, the wolf was on him. Jack was quick off the draw, but the wolf was quicker. It was enormous, much larger than the scrawny creatures Jack had crossed paths with in the past. He stood perfectly still. If the beast chose to, it could tear out his throat before he had time to twitch his trigger finger.

The wolf wagged its tail and flopped over onto his feet, raising a sizeable cloud of dust. Jack gave a yelp of surprise and then automatically tried to take a step backwards, but the weight draped over his boots trapped him. The wolf wriggled around on the ground and raised its head, looking at Jack expectantly. Gingerly, he reached down and scratched the wolf's belly. It wagged its tail enthusiastically, and twisted its head to lick Jack's hand with a scratchy tongue.

'Well I'll be tarred and feathered,' Jack said, 'looks like old lady luck's still got a hand or two to deal me.' The wolf yipped as if in agreement and rolled over, sitting up again, ears pricked, staring intently towards the growing dust clouds.

Jack stood and waited for the inexorable hand of fate to catch up with him at last. In due time, the riders arrived in a swirl of red dust. There were five of them, and not a man was packing less than two guns apiece. Jack had only three bullets, and even he was not that lucky.

'If it isn't Jacky-boy,' one of the men said, his grin flashing gold, 'fancy meeting you out here.'

'What do you want O'Hanlon?' Jack asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer was.

'Well now, Jack-me-lad,' O'Hanlon said, 'I've heard some alarming rumours about you. Rumours that, if they were true, would put a wee bit of a damper on our friendship.'

'Oh,' Jack said, 'and what rumours might they be. Friend,' his fingers drifted down to kiss the grip of his revolver.

O'Hanlon clasped a large meaty hand across his heart, 'I can hardly stand to repeat them. So terrible they are. Folks been saying you stole from me Jack-lad. That you done taken what's mine.' O'Hanlon leaned down closer, his expression was not so friendly anymore. 'They're saying you stole away my wife, Jack. And I'd have to kill you if you did it Jack. It would be a crying shame, but I'd have to kill you.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Jack said.

Jack did know what he was talking about.

O'Hanlon ran the whole town, and everybody knew it. The sheriff was fathoms deep in his pocket, and the undertaker made a killing out of anyone fool enough to think there was any kind of justice to be found in the law. He was a big man, with a silver tongue and a ruthless soul. His wife was a tiny slip of a thing with a look of perpetual terror in her soft brown eyes and the bruises to explain why.

While Jack cheated far less than people thought, he did not exactly enjoy the reputation of an honest man. However, no-one would have accused him of being a heartless one. Travels had brought him through town enough times to notice the pale drawn face of O'Hanlon's bride, and the painful way with which she carried herself. So, Jack decided to do something about it. Partly, because he could hear the ghost of his dead mother scolding him from beyond the grave, partly because he had never liked O'Hanlon, and partly because he had an unholy urge to see just how far his luck would stretch.

Accordingly, one fateful night, he strolled up to the poker table and cheated like a politician. They didn't call him lucky for naught, and by the evening's close, he had enough money to buy the lady a new life. Despite the fact that after this streak, returning would be suicide, it had given him a particular kind of thrill, knowing he had paid for the flight of O'Hanlon's battered wife with O'Hanlon's own money. After all, the man owned the saloon and the soul of near everyone in it.

'I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding,' he said calmly, 'I don't make a habit out of stealing other people's wives. So perhaps you and your boys should turn around and ride back into town before someone gets hurt.'

'Oh, someone's going to get hurt sure enough,' O'Hanlon said, 'but not before you've told me where I can find that empty-headed little slut I was crazy enough to hitch up with.'

'I can't do that,' Jack said, 'because I don't know.'

'Oh and here I was hoping you might say that,' O'Hanlon grinned again. His eyes looked almost black. 'Victor does enjoy engaging in a bit of what you might call – friendly persuasion.'

Victor, a slouching, wiry man with a sallow, unhealthy complexion smiled, exhibiting his rotting teeth, like a row of tilting gravestones.

Beside Jack, the wolf began to growl. It was a low sound, which seemed to reverberate through the ground like a wave. One by one, the tiny hairs on the back of Jack's neck stood to attention. He looked down, and the wolf was snarling, lips peeled back over fleshy pink gums and long curving teeth.

O'Hanlon seemed to finally notice the wolf. He laughed, 'I see you've found a bitch of your own. When I'm through with your sorry hide, maybe I'll skin myself a fine new winter coat.'

Lucky Jack had always suspected he wouldn't die with his boots off, he had only hoped it would be the drink that got him, rather than a bullet. His fingers closed around the grip of the revolver, and he slid it out of the holster.

'Get to work boys,' O'Hanlon drawled, 'leave enough so's he can speak, but I've got no need of the rest of him.'

Victor swung himself down from the saddle with the agility of a man accustomed to fighting in alleyways. The other men followed.

Lucky Jack cocked his revolver and stood his ground. He weighed the odds and found them wanting.

The wolf was gone. It moved like a streak of liquid silver. Like a ghost. Victor went down hard, blood welling up from the piece of meat which was once his throat. He lay on the ground, his hands wrapped around his neck, trying to breathe his own blood.

Big Ned Foster fumbled for his revolver, but it had turned on him, a creature made of teeth and death. He screamed when it first pinned him to the ground, but the screams bubbled away into silence when those merciless jaws closed around his throat.

Wild Dan Harris manged to fire off a couple of rounds, but it was too fast and his terror had crippled his aim. In those final moments, it seemed to grow larger, a thing of monstrous proportions, and then Dan Harris knew no more of this earthly plane.

Ule Smith was on his horse by now, but the great grey head turned his way, the snout slathered with gore. The dust from O'Hanlon's tracks were still settling. As most bullies are wont to do, he had turned tail the minute the odds started to shift.

Ule made it barely one hundred yards when the fangs clamped down on his wrist. His horse shied and bucked, its eyes rolling back into its skull in a paroxysm of terror. The stone which broke his back as he landed was a mercy. He didn't even feel it when his hand was torn off. All he felt was the hot sun on his face, and then, nothing at all.

O'Hanlon fled across the wasteland as if the devil himself were on his trail. The only sound for miles was of hooves pounding against the sun-baked earth. His horse galloped at an incredible speed, fear, and the bite of O'Hanlon's spurs lending it wings.

Something caught his eye. A flash of grey and white – colours not usually found out here amongst the dust and the twisted scrub. An icy hand of horror gripped his chest as he looked to his right. The wolf was keeping pace with him. It seemed to have grown bigger, almost of a size with the horse. O'Hanlon was not a religious man, but at the sight of those calculating grey eyes he began to pray. The wolf rolled back its lip, and it seemed to O'Hanlon that it was smiling at him.

With an almost effortless bound, the wolf outpaced him. For a moment, he thought it might keep going, until it melted away into the desert air. Then, he saw what it really meant to do, and for the first and only time in his life, O'Hanlon screamed, as he felt the hot breath of death bearing down on him.

Lucky jack stared at the bodies lying around him. It had all happened so damn fast. He had his revolver in hand, ready to go down in a hail of bullets. But, before he even had occasion to fire a shot, it had killed them all. O'Hanlon had fled, the wolf had followed and now he was alone with the dead.

He saw it then, in the distance. As the wolf drew closer, he noticed something was hanging from its jaws. It trotted up to him, and dropped the canteen it was carrying at Jack's feet. He bent down and scooped it up, absentmindedly rubbing away the blood which clung to the strap. He took a deep swig. It was warm and stale, but it was still water, and out here, that meant more than a nugget of gold.

Lucky Jack hung the canteen at his side and walked over to what was left of the bodies. Methodically, he stripped them of anything of use – money ammunition and most importantly, water. The horses had all bolted, so he turned back the way he had come and set off on foot.

The desert sun beat down hard, but Jack's hat kept off the worst of it. He walked over the packed-hard earth, a wolf at his side, with enough water to last him and a rifle slung across his back. Things were looking up, Jack decided.

He heard the groaning from quite some distance away. Jack looked down at the wolf padding alongside him. It looked up at him and wagged its tail.

O'Hanlon lay in a pool of blood, pinned beneath the carcass of his dead horse. When he saw Jack, he let out a bitter chuckle.

'Well Jack, if I'da known you'd gone and sold your soul to the man with hooves, I woulda' brought a preacher along,' he coughed, spitting out a huge glob of bloody phlegm. 'Ain't a natural creature, driven out of hell most like. I don't know whether you've been blessed or cursed Jacky, but your luck won't hold. One of these days you'll fetch up with a bullet in your weasel skull and wherever I am, I'll be laughing.'

Jack pulled out his revolver and cocked it. O'Hanlon laughed, 'now lad, don't be hasty. I'm a powerful man here abouts. How would you like a job? Good pay, good lodgings and as many wenches as you can service.'

Jack shot him. It was a mercy really, no man deserved to die of thirst, not even a lying, murdering, low-down wife-beater like O'Hanlon.

Lucky Jack walked on, and the wolf followed. The desert stretched out dead and empty in every direction. Behind them, it had claimed five new sets of bones, waiting to be picked clean by the circling buzzards and bleached white by the sun.

Feel free to reblog but please do not repost.

[laur-rants]

Fic Update: Wolfbann

Chapter 2 - With Fangs and Fury

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: [Eventual] Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Synopsis:MORE WEREWOLF AU. Corvo needs to stop being stuck in prison, so let’s fix that. After that, this is gonna get hella canon-divergent, friends. Notes: I changed the name because I now have a concrete idea of where the story is gonna go. Wolfssegner is now Wolfbann! Wolfssegner will appear as the title for a later installment. >w>

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Dunwall, the capital of Gristol in the Empire of the Isles, is ruled by a single major clerical body: the Abbey of the Everyman. Their main stance is simply the opposition of the Outsider, a figure which they believe resides in the Void and from which all chaos is born. Anything leading to or originating from the Outsider is deemed heretical; bonecharms and runes carved from whales, for example, are a sure sign of heretic activities. Bearing a mark, or a sigil tattoo, was another easy way to identify a follower of the Outsider.

And the presence of magic -- of the ability to disappear, possess or even change shape -- is the highest sign of Outsider influence, one to be eradicated immediately.

So Corvo Attano, for all the horrid joke his life has become, cannot understand why he's still alive.

It is a constant ache to continue to live. After he had… had changed, Burrows had done everything in his power to lock Corvo up, throwing him in his pit of a cell, muzzle on his face, kicked like a dog and fed only scraps to survive off of. He could feel his body lurch and spasm -- something under his skin sang and thrummed and wanted so desperately to come out -- but he would only get through half of a blissfully painful transformation before he was tackled, thrown against the wall, his weakened body forced to let go and recede. He would look up, his red and bleary eyes meeting those terrifying, glowing orbs, teeth bared and fur bristling as he pushed Corvo hard against the concrete.

“You are an abomination,” a voice would say, resonating in his head. “And you do not deserve to live.”

And yet, here he was, his weakened state still lingering, carrying the name of a bird, the body of a monster, still clinging to the desecrated life of a man.

He had heard the stories, of course, when he was a child. Of whales that grew fur in the moon and walked on land, of cursed humans forced to transform at night. They would howl and scream and do the bidding of the Outsider; his mother had warned him to stay clean and good, because if not he would join them, the Outsider's whale-wolves. But he had never really believed her: when he grew up, he learned the howls he had heard over the mountains were nothing more than real wolves, lost in the Serkonan jungles. And then in Dunwall, the howls were replaced with the barkings of the Overseer wolfhounds, and he forgot the stories of his childhood, even while raising a child of his own.

Now, he wished he had remembered and taken stock in the tales his mother had warned him of. And in that dank and dreary cell, starving and weak, he couldn't help but wonder what he had done to be cursed with the wrath of a god.

------

“Rise and shine, pit hound,” a gruff voice of a guard said from down the hall, filling his stomach with sickening dread. Corvo looked up and over, eyes trying to adjust as his nose instinctively -- so many things felt instinctive now, things he didn't understand yet and nobody was around to explain to him -- sniffed, the intake of breath giving more than his other senses ever could. There was the stench of the usual guard but another musk hung under that, one he didn't recognize. He narrowed his eyes, body tensing, fist clenching.

When the shadow of a guard passed over his door, he did not rise and he did not shine, much to the armed man's disappointment.

“You have a special visitor today,” he slurred out, amusement coloring his thick words. Corvo's head inclined, trying to get a better look at the man; was something wrong with him? He inhaled through his nose again and finally identified that heady, wooden, sharp stench-- alcohol. It had been a long time since Corvo himself had drank much more than a glass of Cullero Red, shared with the Empress at court, but wine was noticeably sweet, the blow of fermentation softened by the enticement of fruit. Whatever this man's feet was unsteady on, it was made.of much heavier stuff than a fruit of the vine.

Corvo took the time to look the man up and down, and the guard paid little attention to him in his liquored state. Instead, he hummed under his breath, beckoned a friend over, and started to undo the lock.

“Yanno,” he spilled out, and Corvo wrinkled his nose in response, the stench rolling off the guard now bordering offensive, which was saying something, given the state of his cell. Regardless, as the door swung open and the man staggered in, Corvo jumped to his feet, limbs already vibrating with alertness. But the guard ignored him, continuing with whatever he was doing, ignoring Corvo entirely.

“We figured -- me and the boys -- that leaving you here in like this is getting damn boring. A heretic wolf? Think of the entertaining possibilities…”

Corvo watched him, ready to jump out of his skin if needed, body itching-- but whatever excitement he was starting to build was dashed as a second guard hulked into view, blocking the entrance.

And by his feet stood a growling, snapping, snarling pit hound.

Corvo looked down at the dog just as the dog found him and suddenly, it was lurching against the leash, barking, jumping up to go for the throat.

“So we figured if you're gonna be treated like a pit hound, why not fight one?”

Corvo backed up just as the guard backed out, releasing his friend's dog on Corvo in his tiny cell.

Corvo's breath hitched as the large dog became a fury of fang and fur. Before Corvo could really move, long teeth sank into his arm, immediately drawing blood. His heart pounded in his ears, muffling the laughing of the guards, their drunken cheering, and something dark and deep in his chest begged to come out.

He pushed it down, to the best of his ability. He didn't want to give in, to transform, not because of a dog. But the hound was trained, relentless; its long jaws bit at him again and again, fur bristling as it tore chunks from Corvo's arm. He tried to pry it off, but the blood just ran away from its mouth and its jaws tightened, digging strong fangs in, refusing to let go.

The hound growled and pulled. The guards goaded and laughed. And from somewhere against that blur of pain and searing flesh, Corvo snarled.

He would later blame instinct. That unstoppable force driving him now, telling his body what to do, superseding his mind’s control. There was so much that was instinctual now--the way he snapped up rats that wandered too close, the way he went limp when the large grey wolf pinned him down, the way he sometimes sang, calling for someone anyone out there besides him.

The way his claws grew just to rip a dog off of his arm, sending it across the room in a bid to save his own life.

His body trembled and the growl rolled out of him as his back hunched and ears and fur and tail and muzzle all simultaneously sprouted. The dog whimpered where it hit the wall, but courage was bred into it; it growled and barked even as Corvo's frame grew, bulking out and shadowing the dog even as it lunged again for the thick fur growing on his neck. Corvo dropped to all fours, roaring and shaking as his body erupted, moving to throw the dog off again. His jaws snapped -- but they were nothing more than a blunt object against the protective cage of a muzzle that rendered his fangs useless.

But Corvo was only getting bigger -- and the muzzle wasn't growing with him. The leather against his head strained and pulled, and he shook his head again, an unearthly screech erupting out of him that gave even the trained pit hound pause.

Even as Corvo's mind fled, his body was vaguely still aware of the dog barking, lunging for his face once again. It's teeth connected with leather and pulled away; the stretched skin snapped against his face but the pressure finally released and relief filled him, his fangs flashing, jaws clashing, finding muscled bone as they close down and crunch .

The blood filled his mouth and washed hot over his tongue as the dog screamed, howling in pain. Instinct and energy coursed through Corvo and he bit down, again and again, relishing in the snap of bone, in his screaming prey, in his jaws causing a kill, the promise of food, of energy, of life, he could live with this, liveliveLIVE--

Shouts registered in his long, sound-sensitive ears, followed by the jingling of keys and tearful cries. Corvo turned, a rumble deep in his throat as he prepared to defend his prize, his prey, as a guard rushed the cell. He was so much smaller than Corvo now, who was finally --blessedly-- fully transformed. He reached the ceiling, a whale-sized wolf of folklore, and if perhaps he had been sober the guard would have realized how stupid it was to enter a cramped cell with a fully-fledged Outsider Monster, how ludicrous it was to step in between a wolf and its meal.

The shots rang out, feeling like hot stings against Corvo's abused and rage-filled skin. He turned his bloody head to the guard, the man's face filled with tears as he looked to his dog, his prized fighter, now long gone, the life running out just like hers did and suddenly, memory bubbled up unbidden and Corvo shuddered.

Trapped. Framed. Changed. Ruined. Monster. MonstermonsterABOMINATION.

He opened his mouth and howled, his cry like pained whalesong, screeching and eerie and like no sound and animal should ever make. The guard paused, frozen and terrified against the power of his pain.

The open door of the cell suddenly swam into view, and Corvo held onto his sanity long enough to understand what this meant, how he could take advantage of the drunken guard's hubris. He turned from his meal and leapt, ignoring the yells, ignoring the sharp smell of fear and piss as he surged toward the door, willing his body to finally, finally…

Be free!

Corvo choked and and whimpered as a part of him dissolved into smoke, allowing his hulking frame to slip through the too-small door frame. His arms reached out and the guards screamed in terror, as the monster of a wolf emerged from the cloud, dust and ash coalescing back into the solid form of muscle and bone and fur. Corvo was left panting from exhaustion and surprise but he did not wait, couldn't afford to think of anything but freedom, of getting out, of willing his powerful new legs to move to anywhere but here.

He smoked through the rooms in a fevered, instinct-driven fury, not looking back as his tongue lolled out, his eyes bulged, his nose leading the way to the yard, to the sky, to the smell of river water just beyond--

A howl, hungry and excited, sounded out. Corvo froze, heart hammering, brain reeling.

The Royal Executioner. He was coming. And his tone was after blood.

Corvo's pace quickened, his lupine body powered by adrenaline as it continued to surge forward, ghosting through doors and past guards in a cloud of dust and fur and light. He just wanted to get out and his instincts -- his will to live -- refused to let him die here.

Claws crashed against the floor of the courtyard as Corvo landed, hard and heavy, his eyes turned skyward for the first time in months. His nose pointed to the stars and inhaled , taking in the outside air of Dunwall, and his heart sang, his joy palpable as he let out a small howl to the sky.

If he had been human, or had his wits, he would have known such a cheer would have attracted attention, giving his position away. It was stupid to celebrate before the night was won.

But as thick, heavy paws jumped over the ramparts and into the yard, the Wolf named Raven suddenly realized the grave mistake he had made.

Glowing eyes. A bristling, upright frame. And a growl to match the anger in those long fangs.

The Executioner had arrived.

Corvo was large. This was a fact: he filled his cell, he was too big for regular doors, dwarfing human and hound alike. His weight was close to a metric ton. And yet, at full form, the executioner was even larger still. A giant of a dog, he lived up to the old folkname of whale-wolf.

He stood up and the power of him had Corvo shrinking back, the magic of his form something a mere Turned wolf could only dream of having at their disposal.

“You are not going to leave.”

The pressure of his bidding crashed into Corvo and he wheezed, his smaller body unable to handle the onslaught. He whined, claws flexing, tail tucking. The wolf stalked forward, the magic of him crackling, and Corvo bowed to it.

“What a foolish, stupid thing you are. Just like every other Turned, ” he snarled out, drool dropping, teeth gnashing. “You do not deserve this power. You do not deserve to live.”

Corvo whined, body shaking, ears down, not meeting the gaze of the monster before him. But as he stalked closer, something invariably stronger than even the Great Grey pulled on him, yearned for him, and he gasped as the energy from its source flooded him.

Get out. Climb. Defy him and find Me.

Corvo's eyes shot open and he panted, body paralyzed between two forces pushing against him. He looked up just in time to see the other wolf pull back, readying his practiced killing blow.

Come and find Me! You are not his, but MINE!

Corvo's claws shot out, smashing into the larger Wolf’s face with a resounding crash. Fur flew and skin peeled away, leaving angry red lines behind on a snarling muzzle. But Corvo doesn't stick around to admire his handiwork: instead he was leaping, his legs carrying him upward, towards the ramparts, towards the night sky and freedom.

The snarl followed him, loud and angry. The shots of the guards rang out. Hot bullet pricks turned into a spreading fire but still Corvo surged upwards, long strong claws scrabbling for purchase against smooth and heavy stone. He ignored everything around him but his instinct and a pull greater than himself telling him to come, to live, to belong.

He reached the top of the building and sang, the cold night air a blessing against his cursed and battered flesh. Below him, the compound erupted into chaos; more shots rang out, some finding their mark, others ricocheting off the stone.

But Corvo didn't care; finally, he was free. He was tired and wounded but finally he was out and as he leapt into the Wrenhaven River, his body and mind disengaged and let the river wash him away the cursed Coldridge Prison.

------

“Your life has taken a turn, has it not?”

Corvo gasped and jerked awake, drawing breath so fast his whole body spasmed. As he did, the world under him shifted before righting again, rocking back and forth quickly. A soft, tired voice was talking to him, muffled in his ears, hard to understand. But when the gentle hand touched his shoulder he jerked back and away, instinct taking over. His lip curled, the snarl ripping out of him before he could stop it, but the face of the boatman next to him is soft and worried, not scared or threatening.

His was certainly not the face of a Coldridge guard or the Royal Executioner.

“Woah, woah, easy there, Lord Corvo,” he said gently, hand still outstretched towards Corvo as his other steadied his rocking boat. Corvo took a breath and looked around, trying desperately to right himself and understand what was happening.

He was in a boat. A small boat: wooden and rickety and powered by whale oil, it was perfect for traveling down the Wrenhaven and navigating its many tributaries. He looked up and down the huge expanse of water and his breath evened out as he saw that wherever he was, it was far away from the Tower and its cold, hate-filled prison.

Corvo chanced a glance back to the man. His lids hung heavy and he had grey hair, wrinkles, and mutton chops -- but a small smile was also there, laced with worry. No fear wafted from the man and Corvo squinted.

“Who are you?”

Corvo's voice was rough from disuse and abuse for who knew how many months locked in Coldridge. He winced at the sound of his words, and then again as his tongue rolled over teeth that felt to thick and heavy for his current human mouth.

“Samuel Beechworth, at your service, Lord Corvo,” the boatman said with a smile and the sweep of a sitting bow. “Couldn't believe when I found you half-drowned and half-naked among the reeds downstream from the prison. You've been giving the Lord Regent quite the run-around these last few days with your escape, you know.”

Corvo took a few moments to digest that. He looked down at the clothes he was wearing now; a nondescript pair of slacks and suspenders over a few well worn shirts. They smelled foreign, and he couldn't stop the way he nose curled as he pulled at the fabric.

Sam laughed, noticing. “Couldn't let you die of the plague, Corvo. Luckily, I had a few spare outfits stashed in the boat. Hope you don't mind the temporary dressings, I haven't exactly dried out your fancy Protector coat yet.”

Corvo didn't mind, but it didn't stop his muddled head from reeling, still desperately trying to play catch-up.

“Is that how you know who I am?”

“Oh, well that, and I don't think there's a person in all of Dunwall who doesn't know your face by now, Corvo. You've been a wanted man since the Empress died.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three months now, sir.”

Corvo choked and turned to Sam so fast, the boatman barely had time to register his surprise.

“Emily-- What about Emily?” His wrecked voice cracked and something inside him suddenly burned with a deep-seated need to protect. “Where is she?”

Sam looked nervously at Corvo, and his face said everything Corvo dreaded knowing.

“I was mighty afraid you'd ask, sir. The thing is, is that… Nobody knows.”

[bosstoaster]

For the holiday prompt, how about from your Don't Let's Start AU with Shiro and Ryou encountering huskies (or something close to huskies) and have to get them to pull a sleigh? Or maybe just the two of them just playing with huskies in the snow?

"Have you seen Ryou recently?"

Shiro paused and glanced back at Lance, arms full of freshly chopped wood.   As he stood still, his feet sank deeper into the thick snow below him.  "I thought he was with you, still.  Did you lose him?"

Arms crossed, Lance frowned.  "You know, you make it sound like I'm his keeper.  It's not my job to keep an eye on him."

"You both kind of alternate who's keeping who, really.  It helps when you're together, because then I just follow the chaos to you both."  Shiro's lips quirked up, but his humor quickly faded.  "Seriously, did you lose him?"

Lance shrugged.  "He was talking to one of the locals.  They started going on about the sleds they make around here, and he was getting excited but it was honestly kind of boring.  I turned around for less than five minutes to talk to the supply manager, and when I looked back he'd totally disappeared."

Shiro's grip on the wood tightened.  "I see.  How long ago was this?"

"Twenty minutes?  I figured he'd pop back up.  You know how he is, and he's really easy to overlook in this place.  On an ice planet, he's practically camouflaged."  Lance shrugged helplessly.  "I couldn't even find footsteps."  He gestured behind Shiro with a jerky wave of his arm.

Indeed, Shiro's footsteps were already fading away.  The snow continued to fall in steady, fat flakes, and the wind rolled them over, smoothing out the banks within minutes.

Dammit.

(read more below)

"I haven't seen him since I went to help out.  Let me drop this off and I'll help you look, alright?  Do you remember who he was talking to?"

Lance shrugged one shoulder.  "Not really, it was only a glance.  They was wearing one of those big fur coats, and they had long, dark furr.  Kinda curly.  One of the longer faces.  But, you know, that's everyone around here."

He wasn't wrong.  Shiro had thought the Ecritians looked like bears more than once since they'd responded to their distress signals.  After their storage buildings had been destroyed by the Galra, the team had offered to do what they could to restock them before the worst of winter hit.  Not exactly their most glamorous job, but good work.  

All the Galra presence had been on ships, not on land.  But several had crashed down in the woods, so it wouldn't be too strange to think a Galra or two had survived, and had managed to sneak up and grab Ryou while he was distracted.  Or maybe not everyone on this planet was as against the Galra as it had seemed-

No, Shiro was getting ahead of himself.  Ryou could hold his own in a fight, even when surprised.  There was no reason to think he was hurt.

There was also no reason to think he was safe.

Shiro let out a sigh and nodded.  "We'll ask around, see if anyone saw him.  Let's go."  He stalked through the snow as best he could, until he could hand off the wood to one of the Ecritians managing the new supply stocks.  Then, Shiro followed Lance along to the closest cluster of buildings, where he'd last seen Ryou.

Asking around the other paladins turned up nothing.  Hunk, Keith, and Pidge were off using their lions to help gather more stone and ore.  Allura and Coran had been speaking with the Ecritian elder on the subject of alliances and further aid.  Only Shiro, Lance, and Ryou had started helping with the most local efforts, and Shiro had been off in the woods at the time.

"Should we use the castle?" Lance asked, glancing back at where it towered over the one-story cabins the Ecritians mostly preferred.  "It can pull him up quickly."

But that required Coran or Allura, which meant interrupting the talks.  Shiro considered, then shook his head.  "No, not yet.  It's likely Ryou just wandered off to see something interesting and got distracted.  I don't want to interrupt the talks just to find out he's learning how to construct sleds the Ecritian way."

Lance winced, then nodded.  "Yeah.  Ask around, then?"

There really wasn't a better option.  "We'll split up for that, I think.  Have your helmet on, and meet back up here in half an hour.  If we haven't heard anything, or we've found signs of fair play, we'll use the castle."

"Sounds good to me."  Lance help up his thumb, already looking around.  "He'll turn up, right?  And if he is captured, pity on whoever tried."

Shiro's lips quirked up.  "Do you mean from his arm or his mouth?"

Eyes warm, Lance clapped him on the arm.  "Both.  He's fine.  I just want to find him, alright?  You're both pretty self-sufficient, and this isn't the first ice planet he's survived."

"I know, he hasn't stopped joking about it since we got here."  Shiro's smile tightened slightly.  What if Ryou had gone into the woods and had a flashback, and lost track of where he was?  What if he'd gotten hurt, not from an enemy, but just from the natural environment?

Lance squeezed his arm again, eyes searching his face.  "C'mon, let's go drag him away from whatever project distracted him."

"Yeah."  Shiro managed a thin smile.  "He'll turn up."

With that, they split apart.  It was gratifyingly simple for Shiro to ask if anyone had seen Ryou.  He just had to ask 'have you seen me but colored white?' and that about covered it.  The first few Ecritians were all negatives, which wasn't a surprise.  Everyone was frantically working to re-supply as much as possible before the sun dipped too low, so they were all busy.  The paladins stood out, but Lance had pointed out that Ryou blended better than most.  If someone wasn't paying attention, he could probably walk around without drawing notice.

The fourth, however, paused.  They squinted and tilted their head, making the braids in their thick fur sway and bounce off each other.  "I may have.  I admit, I am not well familiar with you all.  You seem very similar to my eyes, with your short fur.  It's worse when you wear your helmets."

Shiro resisted the urge to reach up and touch his own hair.  "I understand.  But even if you're mistaken, I appreciate the help."

"Alright."  They lifted one huge paw, pointing down the lane.  "I think I saw one of your paladins in pale armor walking with Revisha.  Judging the way they were going, it might have been toward his home."

Shiro nodded, chest lightening with hope.  "Thank you very much.  Which building is Revisha's?  And-"  He paused and glanced back at where he'd seen Lance last.  "Do they do anything with sleds?  Craft them, maybe?"

The Ecritian let out a deep series of rolling growls.  Shiro froze, unsure if he'd offended somehow, but then he realized it was essentially laughter.  "Oh, I'd say she does, yes.  If you go past the curve, it's the house with the large shed in the back.  I wish you luck in finding your litter-mate."

Not an accurate description of Ryou, but Shiro nodded.  "Thank you so much for your help.  It's very appreciated."  Shiro offered him a quick smile and a nod, and got a slow nod back.  Then he started off at a jog, pushing awkwardly through the thick snow.

It wasn't difficult at all to spot the right house.  As Shiro rounded the corner, there was only one with a shed behind it.  It was nearly big enough to count as another house, and looked well maintained.  

Shiro made a beeline toward it, then paused when he heard a voice.

"How old are they, again?"

Identical to Shiro's own voice, slightly distorted by the wind and distance.

Ryou.  Who was apparently fine.

Relief flooded Shiro as every horror story he'd cooked up in his head faded away.

It was almost immediately followed by anger.

Stomping his way through the snow, Shiro rounded the house and headed to the back.  "Ryou!"  He called, voice rising like a wolf's howl before the hunt.  "Did you seriously wander off during a mission?"

There was a long pause, then a quiet, "oh shit."

Shiro's lips pulled back as he finally came to the backyard of the cabin.  He spotted Ryou immediately, sitting near waist-deep in a snow drift, with what had to be Revisha looming over his back.  Storming forward, he full prepared to lay into his brother-

Only to finally spot the shock and dismay on Ryou's face.

"No, Shiro, don't look!  Turn around, stop it!"  He dove forward, trying to curl around something in the snow.  

Instinctively, Shiro stopped and looked down, trying to see what Ryou was protecting.  As he focused, he could see several fuzzy, grey bodies jostling between Ryou's arms.  One turned to face him, beady black eyes blinking up at him from a tiny, fluffy face with two tall, triangular ears.

The Ecritians looking so much like bears had been a shock, but not totally out of the ordinary.

But this animal was a dead ringer for a husky puppy.

"Shiro!"  Ryou whined.  "Why are you like this?  I said look away!"

"Is that a dog?"

Ryou groaned and flopped on his back in the snow.  "You're the worst.  I wasn't even gone for thirty minutes."

"You were gone for nearly forty-five," Shiro corrected immediately.  "And you didn't tell Lance, and he went to get me.  Why are there- seriously, is that a dog?"

"I believe your surprise has been spoiled," Ravisha informed Ryou, openly amused at his dramatics.  "You are Shiro, yes?  Your litter-mate said the same thing.  The Rusks are not native to our lands, but an import several generations ago.  It is possible it is indeed this 'dog'."

As if in a daze, Shiro watched the four toddly, fat, fluffy husky puppies flop over each other and attempt to climb Ryou's armor.  One tried to scale his chest plate, only to go tumbling back into the snow.  Other decided it wasn't worth the effort, and instead started to step onto Ryou's face.

"Hey, I'm moping.  Cut it out."  Ryou picked the puppy up under the legs and finally sat up.  He settled the fuzzball in his lap, where it immediately flopped onto its back and spread its paws for belly scratches.  "I was going to bring you here and tell you it was for some bullshit mission thing you needed to see.  But you ruined the surprise, you jackass.  Now come hug a puppy, already."

Shiro wandered over as if in a daze and sank to his knees in the snow.  One of the puppies glanced back at him, curious, so Shiro held out his hand.  The puppy gave it an interested sniff, then held still as Shiro began to pet.

Slowly, Shiro looked back over at Ryou, who now looked smug.  "It's a puppy."

"Sure is, bro."  Ryou jerked his thumb back to Ravisha.  "Apparently they're used to pull sleds in certain conditions.  And in competitions. Space Iditarod.  Ravisha breeds them.  The ones best suited to work get trained for mushing, and the others get sold as pets.  These are some rejects.  Aren't you a little reject?  Aren't you second place?  Yes, you are.  Yes, you are!"

Shiro blinked at Ryou, his lips curling up.  "I finally understand why Keith gets so weirded out when I see a dog.  You sound like an idiot."

"Guess whose fault that is?"

Shrugging, Shiro scooped up one of the puppies and held it close.  It squirmed immediately, turning closer to inspect his face curiously.  "I appreciate the attempt at a surprise.  But how about next time you just tell me there's dogs on the comm, so I don't have to worry and I can come running immediately."

Ryou rolled his eyes.  "Noted.  I will never attempt to do something nice for you again.  My apologies that you're such a helicopter parent."  Then he glanced up at Ravisha and offered a smile.  "Thanks for helping, though.  It would have been awesome."

"It seems to have gone well, as I see it," Ravisha replied, nodding to Shiro.  "He looks like a mother with her new cubs, just as you did."

"Thank you so much."  Ryou huffed, but turned to Shiro and smiled.  "I know we can't do this for long, since, well, mission and all.  But these dogs are for sale."

Shiro froze completely. "That- there's so much logistics to think about.  Where they'd stay.  If Allura is alright with that.  How we'd feed them, how we'd clean up after them-"

"We have a cow," Ryou reminded.  He scooped up a handful of loose snow and threw it at Shiro.  "A dog can't be harder to take care of than a cow.  Let's at least ask."

"We'll ask," Shiro agreed.  He held the dog in his arms closer, eyes falling shut as the tiny tongue flicked over his jaw.  "Oh.  Oh."

There was a long pause, as Ryou gave him the moment without comment.

A dog.  A real dog, out in space.  It had been years, and Shiro hadn't thought much of it.  He'd had a vague idea of getting a dog when he came back, but it had always been a silly daydream.  With his schedule and the fact that he specialized in deep space missions, keeping a pet wasn't possible.

Instead, he'd taken moments where he could.  The Holt's dog Baebae always loved when he visited, and Shiro volunteered at the local pet shelter once every month or so.  Sometimes, when he went into town, he'd go on a run in the park and greet every dog he saw on the path.

That had been enough, until Shiro had gone years without.

"Hey," Ryou suddenly said, voice soft and gentle.  "Promise me something?"

Shiro opened his eyes and managed to focus on Ryou.  He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat.  "What?"

"When we get back to Earth, get a dog."

A quick wipe of his fingers over his eyes got rid of any threatening moisture.  "You know that's not possible."

Ryou moved closer, till their shoulders were touching.  He glanced up at Ravisha, gaze pleading.  She nodded and stepped over to the shed, disappearing inside.

Once she was gone, Ryou turned to Shiro.  "I know why it was before," he replied.  "But if we finally go home, everything will be different.  So promise me."

"What if I take another mission for the Galaxy Garrison?  I'm still an officer, and I still owe them a few years of service from academy training."  The puppy in Shiro's lap finally squirmed to get down.  He settled them back into the snow, where they immediately toddled over and collapsed against a litter-mate's side.  "Like I said.  Logistics.  Is that fair for the dog?"

Ryou groaned.  "You can make it fair if you choose to.  But the point isn't- I want me to promise you'll do it anyway.  And that you'll go home to Earth, someday.  That you'll plan for that day.  Just promise me that."

Oh.  Ryou didn't specifically want Shiro to get a puppy - or, maybe he did.  But mostly he wanted Shiro to actually think he'd see the future.

That was-

Unlikely.

"Ryou," Shiro murmured.  "It's war.  I can't promise anything."

"Yes, you can," Ryou pushed on.  "I know the bullshit in your head, and it's exactly that.  Bullshit.  You're more than this war.  You don't look at anyone else on the team and think they're made for nothing more than fighting the Galra,  Even if it takes longer than their lifetimes, they have a right to retire if they want to.  You believe they'll survive."

Shiro's eyes cut over to Ryou.  "What about you?  Do you think you'll live?"

Ryou managed a thin smile.  "Depends on how I'm made, isn't it?  Who knows what the lifespan of a Shiro Clone is.  Maybe I age in dog years.  Woof."  He scooped up one of the puppies and held them up so their faces were side by side.  "We can take bets on who'll last longer."

For a moment, Shiro only stared.  Then he reached around and punched Ryou on the side where there wasn't a dog.  "Hypocrite."

"I have a good reason," Ryou whined.  "Better than you."  He set the dog down to rub his side.  "Ow.  Through the armor, too. Jeez."

"If I have to plan for the future, so do you," Shiro replied.  "You don't get to preach at me when you're just as bad."

Ryou huffed.  "I should get to if I want to."  But he sighed and set his jaw.  "Fine.  We'll keep each other honest.  But you have to do it.  No more acting like you'll die in a few weeks.  If nothing else, you're stressing Keith out with that shit.  You're going to give the poor guy an ulcer.  Cut it out."

That-

Was probably not inaccurate.

Shiro's lips twisted as he nodded.  "Fine.  That doesn't mean I'll get a dog when we get to Earth.  Or now."

"But they're so cuuute."  Ryou pecked the top of a fuzzy, gray head.  The puppy glanced up at Ryou and let out a curious noise that wanted to be a howl but was really more of a squeak.

Which was, indeed, very cute.

"I'll ask.  That's not a promise!"  Shiro pointed to Ryou.  "Don't blame me if it doesn't work out."

Ryou nodded solemnly.  "I won't."  But then he broken into a smile.  "But I'm going to make it really hard to say no."  Then he dove for his helmet, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the snowdrifts.  "Guys!  They have husky puppies.  Actual husky dogs.  Here!"

Oh, boy.

Immediately, there was pandemonium as the rest of the Earth-natives immediately began to demand the chance to see them.

Shiro glared at Ryou, who only beamed back.  'I'll make you pay for this," he mouthed, but it didn't dent Ryou's smile.

As Shiro prepared to be the reluctant adult in this situation, so that Allura wasn't immediately buried under an avalanche of demands the moment talks were done, he glanced at his brother.

His brother, who was seeing a dog for the first time in his life, technically.

...Have a dog on the ship wouldn't be so bad, really.

[angstgremlin]

Ask me for the Moon

Pairing(s): McHanzo

Rating: T

Summary: Jesse's been tracking this werewolf for a while, so he decides to ask for help from another hunter. Hopefully, the other hunter doesn't figure out Jesse himself is a werewolf.

Read on Ao3

Author’s Note: More Werewolves, okay? Okay. Title comes from a phrase which basically means asking an impossible request.

~Tip me with Tea~

Jesse’s lived in this town for about a year now. It’s a tiny little hamlet tucked deep inside a thick forest, perfect for a Hunter like him. Dense forests attracted all sorts of creatures, so there was never a shortage of work. Just last week there had been a Wendigo harassing a group of hikers. And Jesse wasn’t the only hunter to have the same idea. He met the other hunter briefly recently while stopping by the convenience store, an attractive Japanese man a little older then Jesse himself named Hanzo. It was nice to know that if Jesse needed backup, he’d have it.

Which leads to now. Jesse’s been tracking a werewolf in the area, and after a few months without any progress made, it was high time for a new perspective on the case. The only downside is that the other hunter might figure Jesse out and try to hunt him. The anxiety that rises at the thought makes Jesse itch idly at the seam of his prosthetic arm where it’s attached. There is no visible bite scar left on his body, the mark of the curse gone with his lost arm. Jesse still feels the teeth from time to time, a phantom pain he could do without.

His old hunting dog Molly sits next to him in his truck, and her greying face turns back towards him when he growls a little at the ghostly sensation. Jesse just reaches over and scratches her ears, and Molly turns from him again to watch the foliage of the forest pass by. Bringing Molly to meet with Hanzo is a precaution on Jesse’s side, normally a hunter’s dog is trained to detect werewolves. Her being present should clear Jesse’s slate, if Hanzo even suspects him of being a werewolf at the moment. Can’t hurt to be safe.

Soon enough his truck is pulling up to Hanzo’s place. A well kept two story cabin surrounded by thick foliage and trees. Jesse would have nearly missed it if Hanzo hadn’t told him of a carving Hanzo had made in a tree that marked the road to the cabin. Jesse puts his truck in park and clambers out, moving to Molly’s side to let her out before approaching the porch.

Jesse has to turn back to look for Molly when she isn’t immediately at his side, his companion standing tense and alert next to the wheel well of his truck. The reason for her nervousness is easily spotted; Hanzo himself owns two dogs it seems. Two dark furred Akitas lay chained to the porch railing, one of which stands at attention while the other is staring at the newcomers warily.

“It’s okay, Ms. Molly.” Jesse reassures his old gal, returning to her and scratching her ears, “They’re jus’ as shy as you.”

To prove his point Jesse goes up to the dogs, trying to tramp down his nervousness. They could easily point out his Lycan status to Hanzo. To his surprise though, the two Akitas slowly wag their tails, pressing their noses to his hand to ask for pets. Jesse happily complies, and that’s where Hanzo finds him moments later. The sound of a throat clearing is what notifies Jesse to Hanzo’s presence, and Jesse grins sheepishly up at the other hunter while he rubs one of the Akita’s bellies. At least Jesse didn’t blush.

“I see you’ve met Katsu and Masa.” the other hunter says by way of greeting before offering Jesse his hand to shake. “It’s good to see you again, Jesse.”

“Good ta see you too, Hanzo.” Jesse rights himself to take Hanzo’s hand and shake it.

More pleasantries are exchanged while they make their way inside Hanzo’s cabin. Molly and Hanzo’s Akita’s follow before settling down on a large doggie bed in the corner of the sitting room. Molly just flops between the other two dogs. It’s cute enough to make Jesse snort.

“Our pups get along well enough, that’s a good sign,” Jesse says as he settles in a chair across from Hanzo in the living room. “If they’ll work together, we should follow suit for sure.”

Hanzo hums in agreement, pulling a map of the forest trails and the nearby town out from a folder he’d retrieved from a locked cabinet. Clipped newspaper articles follow, and Jesse leans in to take a closer look as Hanzo spreads them out. A lot of it is witness sightings Jesse himself is aware of, but the map is new. Hanzo’s circled areas of the sightings, drawing an even larger circle around where all of them have taken place.

“The wolf we’re hunting likes to frequent this area.” Hanzo taps the circle when he sees Jesse staring, “It’s far enough from town that there’s no way any of the residents there is our werewolf, but it means there are a lot of cabins to check out.”

“We can cross both o’ ours off, at least.” Jesse jokes, before getting back down to business, “All the sightings happened at night, full moon, that whole shebang. At least we know we’re dealing with a Moon-shifter.”

Hanzo nods and hums, looking lost in thought. Jesse’s close enough to catch whiffs of Hanzo’s scent every time he moves. Hanzo smells a little bit like the woods after a good storm rolls through, and Jesse has to force himself to stop leaning towards Hanzo to get more of the scent. Jesse’s playing a dangerous game as it is with this hunter, no need to get his libido involved.

“At least we know the wolf will only shift on the full moon, so that brings down the chance of civilian casualties. The only issue is being able to locate the creature by the next full moon.”

Ah. Now, this is where things get harder for Jesse. He shifts in his seat next to Hanzo, trying to make his body language as controlled as possible to hide his unease.

“Can we find it before then somehow?”

Hanzo turns his gaze to Jesse, and he can feel he’s being studied carefully by the other man. Jesse sits taller in his chair under that gaze, trying not to think about how pretty Hanzo’s eyes are. Goddamn, they are though, and Jesse’s sure he can hear his heart hammering.

“It would be a lot safer to confront the wolf when it’s not a wolf, that’s all.” Jesse says, “Huntin’ a wolf in their human form isn’t impossible, jus’ a little harder.”

Hanzo’s turned his gaze from Jesse, staring intently down at the map. Jesse’s confident he’s stepped in it now before Hanzo looks up from the map.

“It would be possible, and admittedly more beneficial.” Hanzo starts. He turns his gaze from Jesse again, looking troubled and apologetic. “I am actually out of town the week the full moon rises, so I would not be able to aid you.”

Well, that makes it much easier. Jesse tries not to let his relief show so plainly.

“I’m sure we can find it before then. Two hunters should easily be able to track a werewolf in such a small area.”

A week later, said hunters have still not located the wolf. On the upside, Jesse got to know Hanzo better at least. Jesse’s hunting partner is a skilled bowman and has a humor drier then the deserts Jesse hails from. It’s only natural for Jesse to be smitten with his archer friend when that week ends.

Jesse even had to fight down the urge to give Hanzo a good bye kiss when he saw Hanzo off on his trip. Heck, Jesse had offered to take care of Katsu and Masa for him, but Hanzo had refused politely. Hanzo already has a dog sitter for them lined up. Part of Jesse almost hopes that the hunt doesn’t end that soon when Hanzo returns home. Any excuse to spend more time with Hanzo would be a blessing.

“I’m in deep, Molls.” Jesse laments to his dog, laying out on the grass in his backyard as he awaits the full moon.

Molly offers no condolences, only flops down next to her master, and yawns. She’ll no doubt be sleeping by the time the moon rises enough to trigger Jesse’s shift. In the meantime Jesse scratches her ears idly, thinking of dark eyes and hands callused from archery. It’s enough to calm him before the shift that when it hits it happens without much issue.

Jesse shakes himself as he raises onto all fours in his wolf form, before trotting off into the dark wood. With Hanzo out of the area, Jesse feels better knowing that he has free reign of the woods without worrying about the other hunter coming across him. Now he can hunt the other werewolf without Hanzo possibly discovering him.

Jesse’s just crossing a small stream when he hears the crash of foliage under a large body. The sounds could mean a million things, could be a lot of different animals, but whatever it is sounds large. A bear could be a likely culprit, but Jesse can’t risk not investigating and letting the other werewolf slip through his fingers again.

Jesse stalks through the foliage quiet as he can, following the noise. The noises double back the way Jesse came, heading back towards Jesse’s cabin. With that realization, Jesse treads more carefully.

Jesse almost gets right up to his backyard before he realizes the noises have stopped. He stays stock still, crouched in the bushes, listening. Not even Molly safe and sound in the cabin is making a sound, and Jesse is grateful for his hindsight in taking her back inside.

Jesse listens and waits for another minute before he rights himself, the trail is apparently cold, and he’s chased it to its end. It’s in the middle of him turning back that a huge form comes crashing into him. They both roll with the force of it before Jesse is flung clean through a small tree. The noise it makes is like a thunder crack, and Jesse shakes off the twigs and debris as he rounds on his assailant with a snarl.

It’s the other werewolf, and if it weren’t for Jesse’s heightened senses, he probably wouldn’t have even seen the other wolf aside from their glowing eyes. They’re smaller than Jesse, sleeker, with black fur that’s mottled grey around the muzzle.

They circle each other, waiting for the other to make their move. The other wolf makes a move first, lunging for Jesse once more. Jesse’s prepared for the attack this time, getting under the wolf and tossing them aside. Jesse takes the opportunity to pounce, pinning the other wolf to the forest floor.

Jesse’s about to go for the throat and fix this werewolf issue once and for all when he catches the scent of a summer storm rolling through the woods. Jesse keeps his teeth from the other wolf’s jugular to chase the smell, sniffing loudly between them both before he backs off of the wolf in shock.

“Hanzo?!”

Confusion then recognition flickers over the other wolf— Hanzo’s— face.

“…Jesse. You…”

“Yeah.” Jesse looks sheepish, sits back down on the forest floor. “You too, huh?”

“Yes.” Hanzo rights himself and plops down across from Jesse. “This complicates things.”

“Oh?”

“Do not misunderstand me.” Jesse must not have hidden his disappointment from Hanzo all that well. “I do not mean anything bad by that. It's just that the hunt we’re on cannot go on, now that we know who the other werewolf is.”

“Not quite what we expected, huh?” Even with a muzzle, Jesse’s crooked smile is there.

Hanzo laughs in reply, short rough chuffs. Jesse finds he likes all variants of Hanzo’s laugh. Jesse has to keep his tail from wagging.

“No, not at all.” Hanzo settles down more comfortably. “But I admit, I’m glad it turned out this way.”

“Me too.” Jesse drums his paw pads against the earth. “So. Would you like ta go out for coffee?”

“Are you asking me on a date, not moments after you found out I was a Lycan?” Hanzo tilts his head, amusement in his voice.

“To be fair, ya only figured out I was one moments ago too.” Jesse grins in response.

“This is very true.” Hanzo does that chuff laugh again. “I think I will take you up on your offer. Coffee after tonight would be great if that would work for you.”

“If your shift is anything like mine, we should make it a breakfast date.” Jesse finally lets his tail wag. “I know I’m practically a starved man when the sun rises.”

“It’s a date then.” Hanzo smiles, a big razor-sharp smile, but to Jesse it’s still beautiful.

“Wonderful.” Jesse grins a big pointy smile of his own. “Last one to your backyard buys?”

“That’s a little childish, don’t you think?” Hanzo raises an eyebrow before rising to his feet, looking down at Jesse and tilting his head once more.

“Aw, that’s not— Hey, where are ya going?!” Jesse barks when Hanzo turns away from him.

“I believe it’s called a head start,” Hanzo calls back with a laugh as he trots into the darkness.

Jesse scrambles up to his feet to give chase and the forest echoes with their shared laughter.

[nyangibun]

jonsa - black or green or yellow or orange pretty much any of them

I’m sorry this took so long. I’m just very slow with prompts (as many of you are coming to realise haha) but I hope you like this! 

Also this is for yellow! xD

Sansa smelled him before she saw him. His scent was intoxicating, something indistinct even to her finely tuned senses, but she was running towards him before she could stop herself. The air ruffled her furs as she sprinted through the woods. The moment Sansa had caught his scent, she knew she had to find him. The desire was too strong to deny – and she didn’t want to. She needed to know. She had to know.

The woods began to thin as Sansa neared the road leading back into to town. She ought to turn around. With the moon soon to be full and at its peak tonight, it was dangerous for her to be around humans. She no longer craved blood as she once had when Sansa was a mere pup, but it was still undeniably dangerous to risk it.

But then, the winterly air would breeze past her, his scent carried on its wings, and the desire would consume her again, filling her with something more powerful than bloodlust.

Sansa ran along the edge of the road, hidden in the shadows of the woods, following the scent as best as she could. He couldn’t be a mere mortal. No mortal had ever smelled so sweet before, but what could he be? The Starks were the only pack in this part of Scotland. Druids no longer lived in the area due to a centuries-old argument, and the age of the vampires was long gone, the last of its kind decimated to ash a millenia ago.

Stopping short of a nondescript black truck, Sansa’s hackles immediately rose and her tail swung perpendicular to her body. She couldn’t sense danger, but something was not as it seemed. She could smell it.

“Oh fuck!”

The man jumped back as soon as he came around the truck and caught sight of her, his chest heaving erratically. Sansa tilted her head to better study him. He was so familiar, yet she was sure she had never seen him before. However, there was no doubt that this was him. This was the man she had smelled from miles and miles away.

“You scared me,” he said, watching her carefully. “You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?” He stepped a little closer to her and Sansa instinctively bared her teeth. “Woah, sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to say hi.” He extended one hand. “Here, you can smell me.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. She could smell him from here. But she moved closer anyways, sniffing his hand and feeling the intoxicating scent surround her like a cocoon of warmth and… belonging. Startled by this sudden thought, Sansa moved back again.

“I don’t smell that bad, do I?” The man laughed, his grey eyes crinkling as he did so. He was still nervous and wary of her, but she could smell no fear there. Why? He should be afraid of her. She may not be as large as others in her family, but Sansa was certainly bigger than any wolf or dog this man would’ve come across.

“Hey, are you hungry?” he suddenly asked, before poking his head into the cabin of the truck and picking something out of a crinkly bag. He tossed it towards her. It was a piece of beef jerky.

Sansa crinkled her nose and let out an indignant snarl. As if she would eat beef jerky off of the floor. She wasn’t a total animal.

He laughed. “Okay, so no to that. Um… I don’t really have anything else, except for these lemon cakes my sister baked me, but you wouldn’t want that. How about –”

Without meaning to, Sansa whined loudly as she darted forward.

He paused. “You want the lemon cakes?” She lolled her tongue out and he laughed again. “Okay, lemon cakes it is.”

He brought out the little pastry goodness and Sansa greedily lapped them all up from the palm of his hand. When she was finished, he stroked the side of her head, his fingers sifting through her fur. She always found it patronising to be petted like a common dog, but Sansa couldn’t stop the contented warmth from spreading regardless. His hands were large and gentle, and the inexplicable pull to be near grew stronger and stronger the longer she stayed close to him.

“You’re not so scary,” he said, straightening back up. “But I have to go, Lady. I’ll see you around.” He gave her head one last pat before climbing into his car.

In a fit of panic, Sansa jumped in after him, climbing over his lap and into the passenger seat.

“Hey, no! I can’t bring you home.” The man looked at her with wide eyes. “C’mon, Lady. I have to go. It’s been a long day and I smell awful.”

No, she wanted to tell him, you smell wonderful. Instead, she whined and licked his hand.

He continued to look at her for a long second, and in that long second, Sansa could hear the screaming voices of her pack telling her to get the hell out of this truck and come home, but this man, whoever he was, meant something to her. There was a reason she was so drawn to him and Sansa had every intention of finding out what it was.

“Okay, well…” he sighed. “I guess I’ve always wanted a dog.” She snapped her jaw at that, and he smiled. “I mean a wolf. I’ve always wanted a copper-haired wolf.”

As he drove off, Sansa poked her head out of the car window, the breeze on her face feeling like nothing she’d ever experienced for. She’d seen dogs do it and scoffed at how stupid they looked, but Sansa could definitely feel the merit. It was freeing and joyous – a moment in time where you were nothing but a part of nature as she moved around you.

They arrived at a lone cottage just on the outskirts of town fifteen minutes later. She was a good hour run from home now, but that was okay. She trusted this man. He’d keep her safe. He’d protect her.

He led her into his house. It was small, a bit rundown, but it was lived-in. There were books lining the shelves and on the tables. Several half-finished tables and chairs were strewn about all over the place. Best of all, it smelled like him and only him. No female presence.

“So, this is home,” he said to her. “It’s not much but you’re a wolf that lives in the woods. This is probably paradise, right?”

Sansa scoffed, which just sounded like a huff of air in her wolf-form. She moved past him to begin inspecting the house. There was a reason she’d been drawn to this man, but there was nothing in his house that would indicate why. Until she found that reason, Sansa couldn’t go home to her pack. She wasn’t dumb enough to ignore a magical calling as powerful as this. She wasn’t Robb – who had ignored a passing druid’s warning and ended up with his tail singed.

“I can’t believe I’m talking to a wolf,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I’ve been working too many shifts.”

She walked towards him and butted her head against his palm. He dropped his other hand from his eyes to look at her, smiling fondly, as he stroked her head. “Yeah, you’re right. I just need to relax.”

In under an hour, the sun descended behind the house and drowned them in darkness. The man immediately went to light the fireplace, amber light throwing long shadows onto the walls. Sansa was beginning to get restless. She paced back and forth before the front door, while watching the windows. She could feel the moon’s power grow stronger as it rose high into the inky sky outside. It was only dawning on her now that maybe the danger was her being here with him; maybe being so close to someone she desired would disrupt the years of training she had mastered, drawing out the bloodlust she normally kept so hidden away.

Sansa pawed at the door. She needed to feel the moon’s light on her fur. She needed to be outside.

“Okay okay, Lady, hold on.” The man got up from where he’d been sitting and unlatched the door. She raced out to the centre of his yard and craned her neck back, a deep and piercing howl ripping out of her throat. In the distance, she heard several reciprocal howls. The sounds of her family calmed some of the anxious energy inside of her, but then – there.

Sansa planted her feet, growling at something in the woods. She heard it. There was someone out there.

But why couldn’t she smell them?

“Do you want to go?” the man asked her, as he came to stand beside her. “Or do you want to come back inside? It’s freezing out here.”

Twigs crunched underneath heavy boots, but so soft was the sound the man continued to talk without knowing the danger he was suddenly in. Sansa bared her teeth, growling as fiercely as she could. She had never fought anyone, not even when her siblings would play-fight with each other. This man had no idea how appropriate ‘Lady’ was for a name, but he was in trouble now. Whoever was out there had dark intentions towards him and she had to protect him.

The footsteps drew closer. Sansa moved so she was in between the man and his assailant.

“Jon Snow,” someone snarled, red eyes flashed swiftly from the darkness of the woods. “Bought yourself a mutt, did ya? Little good that’ll do you now.”

Another shifter, Sansa thought with alarm. Now that she was looking, she could see the glint of elongated fangs under the moonlight.

“Ramsay? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Teaching you your place in the world,” the other man said, and stepped out into the open. Sansa drew back in surprise. He wasn’t a full wolf. He was half mortal. That was why she couldn’t smell him. His scent was too confusing for her heightened senses tonight.

“Piss off, Bolton. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” the man named Ramsay laughed. “Don’t you see? You’re just a bastard human. I’m much more than that. I’m better than you.”

His face shifted, morphing into something grotesque – a hybrid of man and wolf with sharp fangs, red glowing eyes and sunken cheeks. They always said a person’s form reflected their soul. This man had no soul if his shift was anything to go by.

Jon gasped audibly behind Sansa. The sound was enough to remind her why she was here. She allowed the moon’s power to flow through her veins as she stepped forward, lips pulled back, growling in warning.

“Tie up your mutt before I do it for you!” Ramsay sneered.

That was the second time he’d called her that. Sansa let out one last warning before she lunged forward. He wasn’t as fast as her nor was he as strong. That was the benefit of descending from a long line of shifters. It wasn’t simply something that had been given to her later in life as often was the case for many of the new shifters. It was a legacy. She was a legacy. Stark wolves never backed down.

Once he regained his bearings, Ramsay threw her off and she went skidding across the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. Sansa rolled and jumped back to all four paws. She raced towards him again and caught his torso in between her teeth, twisting her head side to side. Blood dripped from his wound down into her fur. Ramsay cried out, throwing her off again, and clutched onto his wound to keep the blood from spilling even more.

“Bitch!” he shouted. “You’re not –” His eyes betrayed his panic as soon as he heard the howling sounds of her family. They were asking for her. They must’ve heard Ramsay’s cry. She leaned her head back to howl in response. She was okay; she had this.

Without another word, Ramsay darted back out into the woods and disappeared. Even omega wolves like him would know not to threaten a member of the Stark pack. He may stand a chance against one of them, but together, they were unbeatable.

Sansa sighed, sitting down on her haunches. Her side ached from the impact of hitting the ground at such a force. She licked at her wounds and tried not to whimper so pathetically in front of this man, who she now knew was named Jon.

“Shit,” he said. He was staring at where Ramsay had disappeared. “Shit. What was – what the hell was that!” He looked to Sansa and shook his head. “Thank you, Lady. You saved my life.”

Jon kneeled down in front of her and wrapped his arms around her neck, burying his face into her fur. It made her heart speed painfully against her ribs; he smelled so good, too good. Why was the desire to be near him still so strong? Hadn’t she answered her calling? Shouldn’t this be over now?

When Jon pulled back, his eyes went wide, so comically so that Sansa couldn’t help giggling at his expression.

“You’re…. umm, naked.”

Sansa frowned. All wolves were naked essentially. She tilted her head to stare at him, wondering just why his cheeks were flushed so red.

“You’re naked,” Jon repeated again, voice rising with each word. “And a girl… But you were a wolf. And now you’re a girl? What the hell is going on!” He scrambled back abruptly, pushing as far away from her as he could, and it was then that something occurred to Sansa.

Wolves didn’t giggle.

She was no longer –

“Oh my god!” Sansa wrapped her arms around herself, trying to cover up her modesty as best as she could, but it was little use. The moonlight shone on her like a spotlight, putting her body on display. To mask her mortification, she glared at him. “Well, are you going to just sit there? Give me your coat.”

Jon blinked for several long seconds. He appeared to have trouble digesting her sudden shift, which would be funny if she wasn’t freezing and naked in front of him. But then finally, he stripped off his coat and threw it towards her. Sansa hastily pulled her arms through the sleeves and buttoned it all the way up.

God, his scent was even stronger now that she was wrapped up in his clothes.

“How are you – what are you?”

Sansa sighed. “I’m a shifter. Kind of like a werewolf except we have more control over when we shift.” She shrugged, feeling suddenly shy. “I, uh… I was drawn to you. It happens sometimes. We’re magical and sometimes the universe pulls us towards our calling for whatever reason.”

“You were called here to save my life?” Jon looked bewildered. She didn’t blame him. She’d be too. He shook his head and moved a little closer towards her. “Ramsay didn’t look like you. He was different.”

“He’s a hybrid,” Sansa said, watching the way his jaw ticked as he absorbed all of this. “He’s half man, half shifter. They’re not rare, but he’s… I don’t know. Transformations reflect who you are. That’s why my wolf form is red and grey.”

“And he’s a prick so he looks like a prick,” Jon finished, chuckling softly. It made her smile too, and suddenly, the pull towards him made her chest constrict painfully. Sansa winced, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but he was kneeling before her again, one hand tentatively on her shoulder. “I am. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay,” Jon nodded slowly. “But we should get you inside anyways.”

He helped her stand up and the feel of him touching her made her body burn with so much more than simply lust. She didn’t just want him; she needed him. But that didn’t make sense. She barely knew him. How could her calling be him?

“My name’s Sansa,” she blurt out as soon as they were safely inside the house. He looked at her and smiled. “I thought you should know.”

“Jon,” he said. “It’s nice to properly meet you.”

She blushed at that and shrugged. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I couldn’t – it’s a full moon tonight. We’re usually unable to shift back to human form. I don’t know why this has happened.”

Jon chuckled. “I never said you were.”

“It’s just weird. None of this makes sense.”

He turned so he was facing her again. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes we’re drawn to certain people to help them and when the task is over, the pull is gone and we go our separate ways,” she explained, looking down at the ground instead of at his expressive eyes. It felt too overwhelming in that moment. “But with you, the pull is still there. I still feel like I can’t leave you.”

His finger touched her chin gently, tilting it so she’d have to look at him. “Maybe because I don’t want you to leave me.” He gave her a half-smile, a mixture of awkward shyness and half-hearted amusement. “The moment you turned back into – well, you, it was like someone pulled back the curtains and all this light just came flooding through. Is that how you feel?”

Sansa tilted her head, his finger still dancing along the line of her jaw and doing sinfully delightful things to her body. She swallowed. “For me, it’s your smell. It’s everywhere and even if I was a hundred miles away, I think I’d still be able to smell you. I’d still be drawn back to you.”

“Why is that?” Jon murmured, as he continued to absentmindedly trail featherlight touches along her jaw to the sensitive area behind her ear. Each second made her heart thud rapidly and her chest heave with anticipation. “Why do I feel like I know you?”

“Jon,” she half-gasped when he pressed a kiss to the edge of her lips. “Please…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, but she couldn’t let him pull back. Not now. Not when it all became so abruptly clear.

“Don’t be.”

She leaned forward that extra inch and kissed him as fully and as passionately as she could, and in that split second when their lips touched for the first time, Sansa saw it. All of their lives, every single reincarnation; all of the different ways they found each other again. She saw it and she knew. He was her purpose; her calling. They were always meant to be together.

“Sansa,” he breathed, forehead pressed against hers. “You found me.”

She kissed him again briefly, chastely – just to remind herself that he was here now. “You found me last time. It was my turn.”

Jon laughed and wrapped his arms tighter around her waist. “It’s not a competition, love. And even if it were, you’ll always win. You found me the first time. That’s the most important one.”

“I hated that one,” Sansa said, remembering a time so long ago now where the winter spanned years and blood was spilled for a throne made of iron. “But I fell in love with you at Castle Black and we made a life even in the ashes. I’d go back for you.”

“I’d never ask you to,” Jon reminded her. His eyes brightened, hope shining in them. “Your family?”

“Alive.” She pressed a kiss to his nose. “You’ll see them soon.” Another kiss to his cheek. “But tonight, you’re mine.” And the first of many more kisses to his lips, needy and desperate and driven by hundreds of lifetimes of unconditional love.

He was her purpose now, and she knew they’d be okay.

They always have been.

[msdoctorwho]

Only One, Ch. 3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461090/chapters/33023580

To bring Brienne was to bring Pod, and so it was that four horses and their cloaked riders stole away from Winterfell after midnight, a light snowfall conspiring to fill their tracks. In Sansa’s chambers a letter to Jon waited to be found by her maids in the morning. She and her shield were to be on a short retreat, praying for the fate of Winterfell in the oncoming war, and back in two days’ time.

Their actual travel would be a brief stop in the godswood, and then off to a mostly-forgotten family hunting lodge, in the opposite direction of the woodsy sept mentioned in the letter.

Sandor wasn’t quite looking at her, riding as rear guard as Brienne took the lead with Pod at her heels. Sansa had tried to catch his eye and smile once or twice, but he barely met her gaze, his expression grim.

It was hard to blame him, as just the act of riding out with her thus could land him in hot water with Jon and his queen, should they be caught. As a former Lannister liegeman he had few friends in the North as it stood. Even having approved the plan Brienne was still a bit frosty to him. Pod was wisely silent for most of the ride.

Closer to their destination, the younger man looked back at Sansa with a shy smile. He paused to let Sansa’s mount draw alongside his and whispered, “I’ve a present for you, m’lady, when we stop.”

Of her three companions, Pod was surprisingly her most fervent ally in romance, and his gift was lovely: a bridal wreath of hothouse flowers somehow ferreted away from Winterfell’s last surviving blooms.

He blushed furiously when she asked how he’d managed it. “It’s, er, not the first time I’ve asked for flowers for a lady. I mean, a girl , not a lady , of course, my lady--”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Pod.”

“Brienne made it though, I couldnt’ve done that,” he added.

“It’s lovely,” Sansa told her, pleased at the gesture of acceptance and its implied wish for their future happiness. While she didn’t need approval from those sworn to her service, it was nice to have it from people she might in other circumstances have called friends.

Brienne looked up from securing her horse, uncomfortable but pleased. “It’s not like I was completely hopeless at all of the skills a highborn lady is supposed to learn,” she grumbled.

In fact, Brienne had been quite good at them: a graceful dancer, a passable singer, a steady hand at the sewing arts. Right up until she realized how ridiculous everyone thought she looked, playacting at a role she could never properly fill -- that of a delicate, desirable, and potentially marriageable lady.

After that she had been much more interested in following her own interests and pursuits, turning dance into swordplay, sewing into strategy. Armoring herself in steel instead of exposing her vulnerability in dresses.

Brienne tucked the woven circlet of blue roses into her lady’s hair, with an honest smile at the bride’s glow. Sansa deserved this bit of happiness. While Brienne had long since accepted the consequences of her own appearance, it was a recent revelation to her that beauty did a woman no favors in this world, either.

Sandor stood apart from the group, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He felt lost, as though caught in the mental vertigo of wild dreaming, where events take place so quickly the mind struggles to catch up, to understand.

Then she turned to him, and he was certain it was all a dream, this creature of fire and flowers in the middle of Winter night, a fey thing come to steal his life while he thanked her for it. But there was no evil in the smile she gave him, no guile or malice. Only joy. He’d never seen such a smile, not for a man like him.

Pod dug candles out of a saddlebag and stuck them in jars, creating a circle of softly glowing snow at their feet.

“Careful Pod, let’s not light anyone’s cloak on fire,” Brienne warned, immune to romance.

Sansa took his hands before the largest tree, and Sandor heard himself speak as from far away. They must have said the vows, but he couldn’t remember a word of it.

Sansa waited expectantly for something.

He faltered. “I’ve got no bridal cloak for you, lady wife,” he said. “Not that you were t’be a Clegane, anyway.”

Sansa looked a bit uncertain. “I hope it’s all right, but I have a cloak for you , my lord husband,” she said.

It was a gorgeous thing, fit for Winter, lined with fur and embroidered more finely than any garment he’d ever owned. Somehow it was the perfect size. And strangely familiar. “Wait--”

“It’s yours,” she confirmed. “Your old cloak, that you left.” That Blackwater night.

“You kept it?” he asked, stunned. “Gods, why?”

“Do you still need to ask, even now?”

He said nothing further, staring at the cloth bunched in his hands. The white fabric had been cleaned and dyed Stark colors, stitched with the direwolf sigil, but yellow and black dogs ran along the border, side by side with slate grey wolves.

“My name is yours, too, if you want it. Or you can keep Clegane. It matters not to me; I only want you.”

He bent to give her a chaste touch of lips before the witnesses, but she flung her arms around him and would have none of it, kissing him for real.

“By the old gods and the new,” she repeated as she drew away, a refrain of words only moments old.

Pod surreptitiously wiped his eyes. Even Brienne looked moved. Sansa was a sunrise.

The lodge was tucked away in a secluded corner of forest, surrounded by rocky crags and sheltered from the worst of the biting wind. It smelled like pine and winter, the lingering echo of old woodsmoke and crushed dry leaves.

The main building held enough rooms for a large hunting party, with three smaller one-room cabins for accompanying household staff. Brienne and Pod took the cabin closest to the house, with the squire offering to take the first watch.

“See you at breakfast,” Pod called.

“Maybe,” Sansa smiled.

Sansa drug Sandor inside to the grandest room. One of the other cabins might have been a warmer prospect, but none of them had a bed larger than a cot, and Sansa wanted privacy .

He dropped their bags unceremoniously in the middle of the floor, and turned around, aimlessly, wondering whether to sit or speak, finding himself unable to do either. Sansa pulled out a flagon of Dornish red, which he accepted with only slightly shaking hands.

“Let’s warm up the room,” she said, kneeling before the hearth to start a fire.

“You’re getting your skirts dirty.” He put the wine down. “Let me do it.”

“Fuck my skirts,” she said. “I’ve got it.” She knew he hated to be near open flame.

Striding over, he groused, “You don’t need to coddle me. I can start a fucking fire.”

She stopped him with a look. “Will it kill you , to let me do this one thing? There’s little enough else I can do to keep you safe. We’re all like to die any day now, anyway.”

She stood up, facing the fledgling fire, mad at him for being difficult, mad at herself for bringing up their inevitable doom on a night she wished only to think of happiness.

“Sansa.” He touched her shoulder, gently. ”I’m...sorry.” The words sounded rusty, unused.

Putting her hand over his, she turned to face him. “I know. Me too.” She took a sip of the wine herself, wishing it were Arbor gold. It felt fortifying, though, and she was glad of it.

The worst of the chill had fled the chamber, and she felt brave enough to speak her fears.

“I want us to be married, in truth, that no one can doubt us, but I don’t know if I...can. Yet.”

“No one’s expecting a bloody sheet from a widow, little bird. There’s naught to prove otherwise if we say it’s done,” he said.

“I also don’t,” she paused. “I don’t want to be... difficult , but--”

“We’ll do whatever you want and no more,” he said. “No man’s ever died of having to take himself in hand.”

She smiled again. “Help me with my dress?”

He fumbled with her stays, helping slip the heavy outer dress over her head and then stepping back to let her remove the rest.

Left in her stockings and chemise, she started at his buckles and buttons. “It’s too cold to stand here. Let’s at least get under the blankets until we’re warm.”

She stopped at his smallclothes, hesitating, then gave him a gentle push toward the bed. He crawled in and held the covers back for her.

At the edge of the bed, she took a deep breath and then paused to remove each stocking, and then her shift.

He almost daren’t breathe as she let the last of the fabric slip away, afraid to spook her.

He’d resolved not to ask about any of her scars, but his voice shattered the reverent silence before he could stop himself.

“Seven hells, Sansa, what did he do ?”

She froze, stiffening, following his gaze to the raised mark on her right buttock. It was a burn mark, a brand , still pink and healing.

He winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. You don’t have to--”

She smiled at his awkwardness, unbothered. “It’s okay. This one is mine .”

After a pause, she said, “He carved his initials into me. Like a tree . “ She swallowed. ”Marking his property,” she laughed, “as though even the maid who helped me dress wasn’t afraid to touch me and offend him.”

He wanted to swear and smash things, but this was her pain and horror, not his. He stayed silent, listening, but clenched his teeth until they hurt.

“I reclaimed myself, after I killed him.” She turned, so that he could see the entirety of the scar. It was a dire wolf, in profile.

“How?” He couldn’t imagine the Maid of Tarth agreeing to this.

“Arya.” Of course.

“And the pretty-boy smith, no doubt,” His voice darkened. The mark was clear; the tool had been well-crafted.

She frowned. “Don’t blame Gendry. He didn’t want to, but I told Arya I’d do it with a poker.”

He nodded, once, and patted the mattress. “Come here, bird. You're like to freeze.”

She slid between the sheets, lying next to him but not touching, not yet. Shivering from nerves or cold or both.

Sandor rolled over to face her, all of his bulk in shadow, only the flickering fire shining back at her from his eyes.

“Put my hands where you want. I want to touch you -- but you’ll be in control.” His voice was rough, the sound a spark that caught deep in her belly, smoldering. It sounded like a very good idea.