#something about the wild curls and the shirt all ripped around the neck line and those neck chains just 🥵

[galvanizedfriend]

Klaroline Fic: The Wolf IV [01/13]

Summary: Five years after the downfall of the Mikaelson family, Caroline returns to New Orleans to fulfill the promise she made to Marcel: one day, she would be back for the man he has been keeping prisoner in the bowels of the old compound, and she would not be leaving without him. But the plans to abandon the city's eternal loop of tragedy behind once and for all are thwarted when a new enemy with unexpected old ties resurfaces, threatening not just Eve's life, but Caroline's as well.

--

S04E01 Gather Up the Killers ✨

The thing about finally getting something you longed for what feels like an eternity is the accompanying dread that it might be taken away.

Even after five years, Marcel is still not used to having it. Peace.

Nobody tells you how unsettling peace is. How it manifests as a constant nagging in the back of your mind, like you're forgetting something, getting soft, letting your guard down. It's quiet and harmonious, yes, but it's also a kind of fear. A cold shudder at the pit of your stomach, as though at any second it can all be snatched away from you.

If he doesn't watch himself, it can easily descend into paranoia.

He doesn't think there has been a single day where he hasn't been on full alert mode, looking over his shoulder, watching over the city from his not-so-new penthouse like a vigilante, waiting for the monsters to come out. And then he remembers that there are no monsters anymore. None greater than him, anyway. He is the thing that everybody fears.

He's always tiptoeing around that delicate line separating caution from madness, one sudden move around a corner away from overreaction that could send all the hard-earned balance they've achieved blown into the air.

One wrong move from turning into him.

Read the full chapter here

-- Took forever and a day, but ta-da! Starting part 4 was so much harder than I thought, but well. Here is something! Like I said, I'm not starting a new AO3 story for this, it'll be [22/34] there, but for the sake of being clearer here, I'm using the S4 numbers and a new summary.

I don't have any art or edit or anything to go with this story, so I just searched my old edits folder and found something that more or less applies, so there you go. :D As always, your comments/kudos/reblogs mean the world to me and I really hope you guys enjoy it! Cheers!

[marypsue]

Meet Ben

Girls, Ghosts, and Meathooks // Meet Riley

There was no ki ki ki, ma ma ma. That was the second thing Ben realised. No tempo-twisting piano line. No children’s voices raised in a creepy nursery rhyme. No violin strings shrieking, no synth echoing. No distinctive music at all.

It felt kind of like a rip-off.

He didn’t hurt anymore. That had been the first thing he’d realised. His face, his gut – the blinding, burning pain was gone. Ben couldn’t feel the injuries he’d been so sure would kill him, anymore.

He couldn’t feel much of anything, anymore.

The rain sheeting down through the trees all around didn’t chill him. He was barely aware of the drops battering his shoulders, soaking through his cutoff jean vest and favourite tee shirt – the one with the skull with a dagger through its eye sockets and a snake twisting around both lovingly hand-painted on the front – and plastering his carefully-teased tangle of bleached curls to his face and neck. The moaning wind seemed to blow right through him, without leaving any trace of its passing.

What he did feel, more strongly than anything physical, was almost a compulsion to start walking.

His feet didn’t start to hurt, as he trodded steadily and seemingly endlessly through the pitch-black woods, the lashing rain. His legs didn’t get tired. Every step felt as inevitable, as mechanical as the last. The woods and the rain didn’t grow any lighter, but he never had any doubts about where he was going. And the farther he went, the more he recognised the patch of forest he was trudging through. The more certain he was of his destination.

When the leak of light around the ill-fitted old wooden garage door gleamed yellowly between the trees, it only confirmed what he already knew.

The girl spooked when he stepped through the side door of the old garage, whirling to look directly at him. But there was something about the way she stared at the open door, banging in the wind, that told Ben she wasn’t seeing him even before she let out a nervous laugh. “Shit. Must’ve blown open.”

The boy left her side, hurrying past Ben to pull the side door shut on the wild night outside. He gave the handle two good tugs, the swollen wood shrieking against the frame as it jerked into place. Then he turned back toward the girl, a leering smile crossing his clean-cut, handsome face. “There. Now we won’t have any more interruptions.”

The girl returned his smile with a knowing one of her own, leaning back against the big rectangular shape standing under the canvas tarp in the middle of the garage, fingers brushing long, sleek brown hair back from the revealing neckline of the pretty sundress she wore. “Promise?”

The boy chuckled, a little, like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Not unless you want them to.”

The girl screwed up her face at him in a teasing frown, and then turned to pull the tarp down and reveal –

In the low yellow light of the single bulb dangling by its chain from the ceiling, Ben’s beloved 1966 VW van-turned-camper gleamed dustily. The skirls of airbrushed flame pouring from the open maw of the red dragon curled along its side door seemed to actually glow.

“Oh, my god,” the girl laughed, and the boy smacked the flat of one hand against her shoulder.

There was a too-familiar mocking note in his voice as he told her, “You just don’t appreciate fine art.”

“Hey,” Ben said, or tried to say. There was something strange about the word, a strange way it stuck in his throat, a thickness, a blurriness, in the way the sound fell on the air.

Both the girl and the boy ignored him like he wasn’t there.

“I appreciate a warm, dry place where neither of our parents are going to walk in,” the girl said, tugging on the handle of the sliding side door.

“How much you wanna bet this baby comes fully equipped with a mattress in the back?”

“I am not lying down naked on a mattress that mice have been colonising for the last thirty years.”

“Hey,” Ben tried again, even though it was strangely more difficult this time. “That’s mine.”

“Don’t try smoking anything you find back there, either,” the girl scolded, even as one of the boy’s hands found her waist, the other tugging up the hem of her skirt to reveal a smooth, tan expanse of thigh. “It’ll have lost its potency. If you’re lucky.”

“Like whatever loser drove this even smoked decent weed,” the boy said, dismissively, leaning down to kiss the girl’s neck.

A flash of the old familiar anger flared in Ben’s chest at the old familiar insult. The long gash that had slashed his stomach, the broken hinges of his jaw, pulsed with a sudden, blinding agony, swift enough to nearly knock him to his knees.

“ ‘Whatever loser’? You seriously don’t know the story?”

“The story? What is this, the first five minutes of a horror movie?”

The girl spun to face the boy, letting him pin her up against the side of Ben’s van. “This garage is on what used to be old Grover Adams’ land. They say this was Ben Adams’ van.”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “It is.”

Something was wrong. Beyond the way his words were coming out like he was trying to scream through Jell-o. Beyond the way the girl and the boy were still ignoring him like he wasn’t there. Beyond the way what he’d sworn were killing injuries, shattering his body, seemed to have vanished, leaving no trace of themselves or the blood that had ruined his favourite shirt, soaked the acid-wash of his jeans, splattered the dirty white of his beat-up Chuck Taylors. Beyond the way he could have sworn he’d been soaked to the skin from the rain still hammering the garage’s uninsulated wooden walls a minute ago, but now, looking down at himself, he was dry. Beyond the way that everything seemed to be on the other side of a thick sheet of plastic, keeping him from touching anything, feeling anything.

Why was his van so dusty? What had the girl been talking about, mice have been colonising for the last thirty years?

Where were his grandfather’s tools?

Whose things were these, the lawn forks and rakes and mower and snow shovels and sledgehammer and axe leaning up against the walls? What was that thing, with its bulky head of orange plastic and long arm ending in a black semicircle like a sheath? Who were these kids, who he’d never seen walking Holmwood High’s hallowed halls? Why were they here?

What did that girl mean, the story?

But it all suddenly seemed vague and unimportant when the boy looked uneasily up at the dark window of Ben’s van and asked, “Ben Adams? The Silent Killer?”

And when the girl nodded yes.

The wall of rage, the answering stabs of pain, rose through Ben like a tidal wave, washing him away. A part of him was dizzily amazed at how quickly, how thoroughly, it took him over, burned through the curious mechanical numbness that had driven him here, steadily through the woods, without feeling the cold or fatigue or what must remain of his injuries. Amazed, and a little afraid.

But mostly. Mostly, he was just furious.

It had been going on for as long as he could remember. As long as he and his family had lived in Holmwood. It had started before he’d been old enough to understand why, the other kids on the playground shunning him with hostile looks or taunting him with their parents’ judgments. Disgraceful trailer trash Cora Adams and her loser boyfriend’s bastard son had never been popular in Holmwood’s more rarefied circles, even before she’d run off with that vacuum cleaner salesman and the loser boyfriend had skipped town not ten days later, dumping the kid on Cora’s father.

Not that it was Ben’s parents’ fault alone that nobody liked him. Oh, no, the other kids had always made that abundantly clear. It was just their parents who hated him for who and what his mother and father were. Their wretched offspring hated him for much more important reasons, like how he dressed weird and out of date, or read too many comic books, or the wrong kind of comic books, or too many books, or the wrong kind of books, or looked at girls, or didn’t look at girls, or didn’t kill worms on the sidewalk after a rain, or did kill ants with a magnifying glass, or did, or said, or didn’t say, or didn’t do…

Oh, Ben had eventually found his own friends, outcasts and rejects just like himself, but it had been a hard-won victory. And nobody – especially not the well-dressed, well-heeled country club set like these two currently necking up against his van – had ever deigned to give him the chance to forget it.

And all of them – the kids and their parents both – all of them had just loved having him around to blame for all of their problems. They’d decided he was a delinquent, a bad seed, a loser before he’d ever had a chance to prove otherwise. They’d made up their minds about him, in the total absence of any evidence, and nothing he’d said or done had ever, ever convinced anyone of the truth. Sex, violence, drugs, rock and roll music in their good, Christian, God-fearing, Reagan-voting community? Must be that Adams brat. God knew he’d been behind every corrupt and corrupting thing that’d come into their community since before he was even born. God knew that he was the source of every evil, the font from which all bad things flow. Ben was pretty sure that some of the old bitches who ran the Sunday school were genuinely convinced he was the actual, literal Antichrist.

So maybe he’d played into it, a little. Maybe he’d taken whatever he could get, and delighted in pissing them all off with spooky clothes and loud music and – gasp – tabletop games. Maybe he’d flaunted his corrupting influence on their precious, not-really-so-innocent youth.

But. That they’d really gone so far – that they really thought he could – that they’d actually decided he could have done all of those awful, awful things to poor Leigh? To Grant, to one of his own best friends –

Even after Ben had died trying to protect people from the actual killer –

They’d decided it was him.

The spring he’d been thirteen, Ben had snuck into the theatre with a couple of other boys to watch Friday the 13th. Afterward, the others hadn’t been able to shut up about the split-second glimpse of Jeannine Taylor’s bare breasts. But for Ben, the movie had been a revelation in more ways than just the hormonal.

He felt, now, strangely like he had when the camera had put him behind Mrs. Voorhees’ eyes. Watching the camp counselors she planned to slaughter going innocently about their lives, kissing and laughing and joking around with each other without the faintest idea of the doom that dogged their every step, growing ever closer. In the theatre, part of him had wanted to call out to those kids, to warn them. But they weren’t real. They were there on the screen, a world away from him, unable to hear even if he screamed at the top of his lungs. And he was here, trapped behind the killer’s eyes, grateful it was impossible to warn the kids because he was half-sick with anticipation to see what horrible thing might happen to them next. Unable to change a thing that happened, to choose what ‘he’ did, to stop the hand that he saw as if it was his own from raising the hunting knife –

It wasn’t a hunting knife, this time, though.

And, unlike in the theatre, unlike out in the woods, Ben could feel the satiny varnish under his fingers as his hand closed over the contoured handle of the axe.

They’d all decided for him that he was a Satan-worshipping, drug-dealing, delinquent sex fiend destined for an early grave. And now they’d decided he was a killer.

Well. Fine.

He’d be the best damned killer Holmwood, Indiana had ever seen.

The girl gave a little shriek, pushing the boy off of her so she could leap away from the van when its engine suddenly roared to life. Its headlights blared on, casting Ben’s shadow, sharp and black and looming, across the garage door behind him. He couldn’t see it, standing facing the girl and the boy she was now clinging to in frozen terror, but he knew it was there.

Just like he knew the axe’s silhouette was rising in the shadow behind him as he hoisted it in both hands.

The stereo in the van burst to life, a screech of static resolving into the heavy, plodding, ominous guitar of Sabbath’s ‘Iron Man’. The only thought that managed to make it through the red fog filling Ben’s thoughts, as the boy pulled the girl back away from Ben and the girl opened her mouth to scream, was that there, at last, finally, was the music.

There was a shriek.

It took the sudden lash of rain against his back and the howl of wind tearing at his hair for Ben to realise it hadn’t come from the girl, but from the rusty sliding mechanism of the big garage door behind him.

He turned, slowly, the axe still raised.

And stopped, the rage draining out of him and swirling away into the puddle of rainwater now growing on the cracked concrete at his feet.

The girl standing framed in the movie-screen rectangle of the garage door, finely haloed by the way the headlights’ glow caught the splash of raindrops striking off her cornrowed hair and sweatshirt-clad shoulders, couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Her dark eyes flicked up to the axe Ben was still holding up, now starting to feel a little foolish, but she didn’t shrink back the way the other girl had. Instead, her eyes darted past Ben’s shoulder toward where the other girl and the boy must still be standing, and she jabbed her chin in a direction that Ben thought was toward the side door. A second later, he could hear the slap of shoes against concrete and the squeal of swollen wood against wood. They were forcing the side door open.

His hands squeezed, reflexively, against the handle of the axe.

That strange almost-compulsion, the sense that he should be following the kids even now bursting out through the side door and into the wild night, lodged restlessly between his lungs. But this time, Ben stood his ground. The feeling faded as he lowered the axe, staring at the thing the girl framed in the garage door was holding.

She took a step forward, into the shelter of the garage’s roof, as he let the axe slip between his fingers and clatter to the floor. As he reached out, instead, for his axe.

The van’s stereo hissed into static silence as the girl handed the guitar over to Ben, who took it almost reverently. Unlike his tee shirt, unlike his own body, it still showed all the scars of the battle they’d been through together. The neck was cracked almost to the headstock and snapped right in two near the body, hanging limply and pathetically by the two unbroken strings. The sleek black varnish of the body, as solid and satin-smooth under his fingers as the axe handle had been, was gouged right down to the pale wood beneath where it had briefly stopped the knife that had ended Grant’s life – and ultimately Ben’s, too. Holding it, as the girl stepped back and left it in his hands, Ben felt a tremor pass through him, like he’d always imagined an earthquake must feel.

The van’s headlights died, behind him, its engine sputtering out into silence.

“It is yours, right?” the girl in front of him said, her big, almost almond-shaped eyes fixed on his face. Studying him. Seeing him. “Ben?”

Ben turned his eyes back down to the pathetic corpse of his beloved Stratocaster.

The nod came slow and heavy. But it felt, for the first time since he’d realised he was awake in the woods and didn’t hurt anymore, like something he’d chosen to do.

“Hi, Ben,” the girl said, softly. Ben could still feel her eyes on his face. “I’m Riley.”

[legacyshenanigans]

Rowan x MC

Based on THIS post. NSFW. Rowan can't control his seasonal urges and needs her, NOW.

His Claim 🐺

Rowan couldn't stop thinking about her during his season. Since taking in her scent, she was even more so on his mind. Her smell had consumed him to no end. He tried not to think about it, but the primal NEED to take her was too much for him to bare. He lay in his bed trying to relax when a quiet knock on his bedroom door pulled him out of it, making him suddenly alert.

MC entered his room, Rowan sat up on his bed, staring at her, he felt his heart racing once more, his mind clouded.

MC: Are you alright? You left so quickly earlier, I thought I'd done something to piss you off.

She tilted her head giving him a slight concerned look.

Rowan: You ain't pissed me off..

Rowan stood slowly, his instincts taking over him, though he tried to control himself.

MC: Then why did you suddenly leave?

Rowan approached her, his steps slow and precise, almost like he would when stalking his prey, MC looked up at him as he got closer to her, he looked back down at her, she could see his chest heaving as he breathed, his eyes burning into hers. She could feel his heat.

Rowan: I'm..In my season..And you have NO idea how good you fuckin smell.

MC's widened slightly before she relaxed again, understanding how Rowan must have been feeling, but also definitely felt like his prey in that moment. She didn't know what to say. Rowan brought his hand up and curled a piece of her hair around her ear, letting his finger trail down her jaw line, MC could feel his hand shaking slightly.

Rowan: I wanna take you so bad..But..

His finger then trailed to her neck, before being accompanied by his other digits, as he took a gentle yet still firm grip of her neck.

Rowan: I don't wanna hurt ya..

MC gulped, Rowan felt it against his hand. She'd be lying if she said the idea of letting Rowan have his way with her didn't arouse her curiosity. Rowan's hand then shifted to one of the arm straps of her dress moving it down, before he did the same with the other, MC instinctively removed her arms out of the straps, letting her dress fall to the floor, leaving her in her underwear. Rowan let out a shakey breath as his large hands suddenly gripped her hips and pushed her against the wall behind her, his body pressing up onto hers, his mouth coming down to her shoulder. He ran his tongue and fangs on her skin, tasting her, his eyes rolled as his closed his eye's, a shiver running down his spine, this was all too much for him, the urge to bite down on her was so strong, he let out a deep growl in his throat. MC bit her lip, leaning her head back to give him better access, knowing she was playing a dangerous game, her hands came up to wrap around him, his skin was like fire, the contact of her hands on his body made him finally bite down, she could tell he was trying to hold back, but it was still quite a sting, she let out a moan which only pushed him further, he pulled back and quickly took off his shirt before his arms scooped her up, he took her over to his bed, dumping her down onto it before messing with the buttons on his trousers, pushing them down along with his underwear, MC blushed looking at his thick hardening cock, leaking with pre-cum. His face looked wild, his breathing heavy as he pawed at her underwear, ripping them off before doing the same with her bra. He stared up and down at her naked body on his bed, letting out yet another shakey breath.

Rowan: So fucking perfect..

With that he crawled ontop of her, kissing and licking at her skin, his hands all over her body as he worked his way down, kissing her chest and stomach, before giving her another little bite on her hip making her hiss and wince. He couldn't help but chuckle a little at her reaction, his chuckle deep and growly. He moved back up to meet her face with his, planting an intense kiss on her lips, his tongue dominating her mouth. He teeth pulling at her bottom lip as he pulled away, his hands coming down once more to lift her legs so they rested on his shoulders, he held onto them tightly, his grip strong, his eyes never leaving hers.

He positioned his hips, the tip of his cock teasing her wet slit, Rowan growled feeling the heat and contact, he knew he had to control himself to some degree, as he'd said, he didn't want to hurt her, but he needed her, he needed to fill her, he needed to give her all of him, he needed to claim her. With a swift buck of his hip, he slid inside her, her walls clamping down around him in shock, taking his length. She let out a loud cry.

Rowan: *growls* Ohhh fuck...Ngh!

Rowan rolled his hips slowly into her watching her reactions for a moment until he was sure she'd adjusted fully to his size. MC was already a mess beneath him, moaning in bliss, taking him. Rowan could feel himself burning up even more, feeling the extreme urge to pound her hard and make her know who she belonged to.

Rowan: Mmph..MC..I...I...

He spoke between heavy breaths. She looked up at him before she whispered.

MC: F-Fuck me...

Hearing those words sent Rowan into a frenzy of emotions, another deep growl escaping him as he quickly and without hesitation pushed her legs back even further getting her into the mating press position, MC gasped feeling his cock push even deeper into her, before Rowan began slamming himself against her over and over again, his strong arms holding her in position, his thick length sliding in and out of her with such harsh force. MCs eyes rolled back as her hands clung onto the bars of his headboard over her head for dear life, letting out loud cries and moans. He was beasty, his grip tightening the more he fucked her, rough grunts and deep throaty snarls falling from his mouth. He was finally claiming what was his, what he'd been wanting. He buried his head into the side of her neck, biting down on her skin, making her cry out once again, feeling that sharp burn of his teeth. She felt herself coming undone, she let out strangled moan as she hit her peak, her walls contracting around him feeling herself release. This pushed Rowan over the edge as he moved even harder and more rough, feeling his own release brewing up within him, his brain becoming a frazzled mess knowing he was about to cum deep inside her. Rowan pulled his head back, throwing it back towards the ceiling as he let out a final roaring groan, baring his teeth and closing his eye's tightly, his cock pulsating wildly as he gave her every last drop of his hot potent load, MC let out another moan feeling his release. Rowans' hips spasmed violently a few more times, his breathing heavy, panting deep, making sure he'd given her all he had. He pulled back, letting go of her legs, as he sat back on the other side of his bed, looking over at her, MC sat up and looked back at him, panting herself. Rowan patted his lap with a small smirk on his face.

Rowan: Come 'ere..

She crawled over to him, sitting on his lap, wrapping her arms around him with a giggle as she tried to calm her breathing. Rowans arm tightly wrapped around her waist as he held her close to him before he whispered in her ear.

Rowan: You're mine now, and nobody is ever going to take you from me..

~