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Slaying the Dreamer
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I wrote you a book... 
Morning sunlight filtered through the foggy window, filling the dusty bedroom with an ambient glow. The old mattress protested creakily as its heavy occupant grunted, rising to his paws. He had lost all track of time in here... Hours blurred together, his sleeping fits melting day after day without him realizing it. His wounds were gone; the superficial lacerations that the cruel Corvus Vendetta had inflicted had slowly knitted themselves together, disappearing beneath his thick ebony and white fur. Something inside him had broken, though - he had lost the will to do anything. He was useless. He could not defend, therefore he could not provide, and had stopped hunting altogether after a while. His sense of duty, of pride, had taken a fatal wound. It was only now, weeks later, that he was starting to snap out of his daze.
The big arctic male had left the church one or twice in the past few moons; there was Ril'o's last rites, and he had met Flayra's brother, and Firefly's brother, and... that was it, he supposed, other than the occasional whim to snag easy prey. He had not seen any packmates in quite a while. Were they all okay? Cercelee had wearily supported his mental breakdown, leaving him meals and trying to engage him in conversation, but he had basically become a shut-in. How pathetic. He was a grown man, some five years old now, and he was supposed to be looking after the family of puppies they had adopted... they must be getting big now. Had Catharsis ever come home? His pale blue eyes drifted morosely about the small bedchamber, thoughts dulling the sheen of his gaze. The longer he stayed in this room, the more useless he had become. Dead weight. Did he still have a mate...?
Suddenly his claustrophobia flared - the big wolf in the small room was not happy, no longer in his self-loathing stupor. He needed to get out of here. Needed to see how far summer had progressed, needed to exercise his sluggish legs, needed... change. For once. Change didn't have to be bad. Right? He had changed, since he left his home so long ago, and it had given him a good life - one that he clearly did not cherish enough because he might have thrown it all away - he needed one more change, to show that he was ready. The arctic wolf bit his lip, closing his eyes, anxiety clawing in his broad chest. This is okay, he reassured himself. He was not committing a taboo. It was not a sin. He had to do this.
Adrenaline jolted through his veins, claws suddenly flexing and scraping against the stone floor as they lengthened. Shift shift shift. His black-dipped tail thrashed as he toppled onto his side, back arching violently as his luperci genes were allowed to surface fully for the first time in his life. His teeth gnashed and snapped, appearing to take a seizure on the church floor as his shaggy fur grew longer and longer, his spine twisting and straightening upright, his shoulders broadening and hunching as his forelimbs became arms, his haunches became thighs and shins and legs, his wolf's mane flared like a lion's mane. When at last the shuddering and growing halted - how long had it taken? An hour? A day? - Slay panted hoarsely, curled into a ball. His heart pounded in his chest, the effort leaving him breathless. This was a queer experience, he mused detachedly, peeking at his faded reflection in the foggy window.
He looked completely and utterly different now. Feral. He had more than doubled in size, height, weight... he did not know how to measure his new Optime bulk, but he was fairly certain he would not fit through the bedroom doorframe. The thought made panic rise in his throat, and he choked it down, focusing on his new werewolf appearance. His eyes glittered like ice now, the pale blue having faded to almost white. His white tipped ears barely peeked through the wild mess of black and white hair that comprised his mane. Most of the two-leggers he had seen looked coiffed, sophisticated, stylized... fairly human. He was nothing of the sort. An old-world werewolf, the huge hulking kind that had not mastered the art of walking with stiff knees or straightened back. Was this bad? Had he done it wrong, that he still looked so wolfish and wild? Slay delicately touched his face with a hand - he had hands now, his pawpads were wide like palms, he could flex each finger individually! - marveling at the softness of his cheek. He was an Optime now. He had finally made the final shift. He was still afraid of standing up, for fear of hitting his head on the ceiling, but... he had overcome his last obstacle... Would it be enough to get his life back on track?
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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Cercelee returned to her home without much optimism, knowing what awaited her. For the past month and a half she had watched the male she swore her life to fade further and further into a darkness she couldn’t understand. At first the male had kept up the guise of providing for his family, when he left for a quick hunt it had been a relief for the Rosea, even if he returned with nothing. As the days wore on his rare excursions became less and less until one day they disappeared completely and Slay had set up a permanent camp in their bed. Day and night he would be there, sleeping fitfully or awake with a blank expression on his face. In the beginning Cer had been supportive, talking to him, laying beside him, but now she left him his meals, licked his cheek and went about her business. There even came a time when she begun to avoid her own bedchambers, nothing worth going there for happen in the room anymore.
Yet at there were times she couldn’t avoid it, and now was one of them. Unless she swore off Slay completely he was still her partner, for better or worse, and she had to attempt to keep him tied into the family. They did have a family after all, but recently, during the night, it had shrunk once again, and Cercelee moved with a heavy heart as she nudged the door open with her snout. The white lady couldn’t imagine Slay taking the news with anything other than a dissatisfied sigh, turning over and further shutting her out from him. Yet he still had a right to know, and in her lupus form (for still she walked on four legs anywhere near Slay) she entered into the church.
The sight that greeted her caused her to pull back, had the door not closed shut behind her she would have backed right back out of the kitchen door. Through the doorframe, inside her bedroom she saw the creature and it took more than a moment to register. Cercelee had seen him in his halfling form, but fully shifted he was nearly unrecognizable, perhaps only because she never would have expected it. Yet the colors, except for his eyes, matched and it smelled like him. Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, Cercelee gingerly peered inside, her voice gentle and questioning. "Slay?"
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Slaying the Dreamer
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He heard her voice from the doorway behind him, timid and questioning, and though he knew she would see him sooner or later, he was startled and unprepared. "Cer!" he exclaimed hoarsely, talons scraping against the stone floor as he turned around.
White-tipped ears fell back beneath the sea of tangled mane, guilt and shame etched into his morose expression. The bulky Optime was still seated on the floor, but he was already taller than his unshifted mate, whose beautiful eyes seemed vividly upset and confused. He misinterpreted her curiosity for disgust, and flinched. Had he done it wrong after all, a hideous malformed mess of a werewolf? Would this be the final nail in the proverbial coffin, sealing their relationship for good?
"Cer, I... I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking partway through. He had a lot to be sorry for, and it was a wonder that she had steadfastly remained at his side - or at least chosen not to kick him out of her den. He had always been a lazy layabout, really, with the basic excuse of his narcolepsy to fall back on. But these past weeks were a shoddy example of his true colours, his ability to separate himself from reality once the real world got too hard to handle.
It might not be fair to beg her to take him back... but he might not be able to resist, once she inevitably began to say the words he dreaded. He didn't want to lose her. She was still the best friend he'd ever had... and he loved her.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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Cer's a little weird, we need a picture of her on his lap like a puppy dog XD.
It was his voice that came to her, though it was not the warm, happy tones she was accustomed to. Although she hadn’t heard them in months, it was always mirth she expected to come from him mouth and she couldn’t help but feel disappointed whenever it was the sad, soft vocals he used so often now. Hesitantly she took a step forward, eyes still scanning the male. His eyes had changed and she stared into them for a long while, her face just a blank mask, the curiosity and interest erased. Why had he shifted? She didn’t feel it appropriate to ask him out right, not now, but certainly he knew as well as he what an odd sight this must be. So large, he had always been a big wolf, but it was strange to see him. Cercelee doubted that any other male in the pack would measure up in their shifted forms, she had never given it any thought before. Never thought she would see him like this.
Her paws brought her close, and her ears flicked at the apology. Was he sorry for his body, for she knew his own misgivings about the Luperci genes, or was he sorry for the past month and a half? Again, although the question swam before her, she felt it foolish to ask. What are you sorry for? Like a mother scolding her young. Instead she reached out, her nose very gently making contact with his. The difference in size was obvious then, more than ever, she very nearly had to climb into the male’s lap just to reach him. Pulling back she studied him then, her voice smooth and even "Don’t be sorry." And then she did climb into his lap, despite whatever he thought. He was still hers, and whatever bitterness or resentment lingered it was erased for the moment as she buried her small head into his chest, his thick fur hiding her face as she breathed in his scent. Her words were muffled, but her voice was warm, happy. "You’re out of bed."
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Slaying the Dreamer
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-giggles- I'm on it!
The werewolf waited anxiously for something, anything. His faded blue eyes, more ice than water now, searched her carefully blank expression. He felt his heart sink, knowing that Cercelee often masked her feelings when trying to be diplomatic, or to avoid hurt. Was she going to sever their ties? He had waited too long, far too long. Idiot. No one else would be so patient. And no one would take him now.
He clenched his teeth, feeling the unfamiliar prickle of sweat on his palms, glaring at his oversized footpaws. He should have known that she would lose any attraction she still held for him, once he attempted to mimic her two-legger form with his own misshapen results. But she drew nearer, as though curiosity pulled her to probe his form, to see if it was real. Her wet nose pressed against his own, and his ears flicked in surprise, hope creeping into his gaze. His mate's cool voice spoke...
...And then he felt her small paws pressed against the warmth of his thighs, her silky white fur tickling his abdomen as she fearlessly lay herself across his lap. Her delicate muzzle pressed against his chest, and without thinking, his hands moved to hold her, claws cradling her close in a gentle embrace. "You're too good for me, love," he rumbled, echoes of his flirtatious ways audible as a slow smile softened his expression. He had forgotten how good she felt, how much he liked her warmth, her scent. In his daze, he had pushed aside the memory of that night... In the church, after their dip in the sea, still cold and trembling from their wet pelts...
It was conflict that pushed them closer, he realized. Jealousy, usually, or some other catalyst to make it dawn on him how amazing this woman was. "I've still got one thing to apologize for, on a list of many... Sorry I don't ever appreciate you enough. You're the only one who can get me out of bed," he added cheekily, content spreading through his unsteady soul, Cercelee's affection filling all the holes that had eaten away at him. He wondered why he'd ever shut her out, when she held the power to fix him all along. She always had, he supposed. From the beginning.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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Cer's a little weird, we need a picture of her on his lap like a puppy dog XD.
The feeling of being held was one unfamiliar to her. Slay had never shifted and only he was allowed to be so near to her for extended periods of time. They would sleep side by side, cuddling close, limbs hanging over one another at times, but this was entirely different. Only once had she felt hands before on her body, at least in such an intimate way and quickly the feeling of guilt for it having not been Slay pushed away any memories of the drunken episode with Red Sol. And it wasn’t the same, the way Slay held her now, it was foreign but not unwelcome. There was strength behind the touch, and Cercelee knew how vulnerable she was then, had Slay been anyone else it would have been a terrifying feeling to be so helpless in the grasp of another but it wasn’t anyone else. It was Slay and she only pressed herself closer.
His voice, his words, apologetic and grateful to her, Cercelee only murmured into his chest, so muffled now the words not audible in any sense but she said something akin to "I should hope I’m the only one, you’re the only one I’d do this for." The meaning behind the words were expressed more in the way she stayed against him, rather than the actual sounds and syllables that came from her mouth. For a long time she allowed them to just stay like that, her purpose behind coming home completely forgotten. It could be hours and Cer would have been happy to just sit there, it seemed too long had she gone without this type of affection though in truth it had only been one month.
Yet the memory quickly surfaced, for always on her mind were the children if not Slay and her silent happiness was interrupted as the white fae stifled a cry into the chest of her mate. When she pulled away her face was distraught, but an explanation quickly came to explain the so sudden change in emotion. So startled by the change in Slay she had forgotten why she had sought him out, but now the words tumbled out over one another. "Their gone. Avarice and Roulette. Anka came and took them away, Catalyst and Palindrome wanted to stay… but Pal…" The words broke through, strained and unhappy, "I can’t find him either now." The last words got caught on the sob that emerged from her throat.
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Slaying the Dreamer
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They shared a moment of peace, feeling each others' heartbeats gently in their odd embrace. It amused him that he could now carry his mate under one arm if, for some strange reason, he should want to. As the morning sunlight streamed in through the small window, painting them in ambient gold and orange, he sighed contentedly and rested his chin atop the crown of her small skull. It felt like they hadn't touched each other in a lifetime. She had wearily slept beside him every night, unable to leave the church where he had made his catatonic nest, but he had barely noticed when she was there and when she slipped off to take care of business. This was the first time he had really paid attention to her in weeks. How sad. He truly didn't deserve her. (He wouldn't even blame her if she'd been having an affair this whole time, but of course she was too loyal for that!)
She pulled back to utter the bad news, unhappiness welling in her midnight-eyes. That stung. They had lost their little family, despite all of the efforts they had undergone. He had a few choice words for Anka, the werewolf who callously abandoned her litter and then capriciously decided to uproot them again and take them back, but decided to curb his tongue out of courtesy to his mate... after all, they were cousins of a sort. "So, Catalyst... Cat decided to stay? She always did love you best," he murmured, his large hands gently stroking her thick alabaster fur. Most of the little German pups hadn't tried very hard to bond with their new guardians, and in the end, it might be better that this was only temporary for them. Catharsis had left on her own, after all; he could only hope she was the reason Anyanka returned for her offspring. Pal might have chased after them. With the puppy-eater dead and gone, there was less reason to worry for their precious lives and more to simply question where they went wrong.
"Hush, shh, don't cry," he rumbled sadly, gathering her back close to his warm chest. He was hurting too, but he knew it would be much harsher for Cercelee. She always immersed herself completely into her responsibilities, and all it felt like now was failure. "It's better this way. They don't have to worry about learning a new language, or trying to fit in with our pack. You gave them more than they could ever ask for. You were a good mother..." It felt strange on his tongue, but they had been parents of a sort for quite some time now. Or at least she had; he should have played more of a role. That same biological stirring deep within him pushed a small notion to his mind - if she was this broken-hearted over losing the litter she'd fallen in love with... would it cheer her up to have pups again? Ones that couldn't be taken away by anyone else...?
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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Catalyst. Yes Catalyst had stayed. For now. Cercelee and the little white child had grown close, just like mother and daughter, but always closer than mother and daughter were sisters and brothers and Cercelee did not think that the ivory pup would choose her over her siblings. Once she got lonely enough for them, perhaps wondering what their biological mother was like when the others knew, since they were now with her, she might leave too. Cercelee was preparing for it. In fact, when the time came she wouldn’t mourn because as it was she included Catalyst in the list of the lost.
The caressing of the male was almost hypnotic, and she left her soft sobs die away as he rubbed her back, up and down, like a parent comforting a child. They were about that size in difference now, he a forty year old man and she a five year old child. Yet it was only in size, for mentally they were equals, emotionally as well, if not Cercelee a little more mature and Slay, as most men, a little stunted in that area. Yet he was doing fine now, comforting her, showing compassion, though he had for so long been absent. He apologized and Cercelee forgave him, but she had to wonder, would a emotionally mature male have let that happen in the first place?
Cercelee allowed herself to be gathered back up against him, and she listened to his words, not quite sure if they were the truth. Sure, they perhaps were living in ease speaking their native tongue, with their true mother… but that was the same mother who had abandoned them, and how was Cercelee to know something like that would not happen again? At least they were alive, she knew that much, but if something were to happen… she wouldn’t know for months, maybe never at all. A mother should know those things. A mother would have known those things. "I wasn’t their mother… not really." Her cried had stopped, but the sadness persisted. "I’m not fit to be a mother, that’s better left to Cwmfen… or Firefly even." The first name was spoken with sincerity, for Cercelee never had a doubt Cwmfen would be a fine mother. The last was dripping with cynicism and self-loathing, for even though she was perhaps the most unfit parent, Firefly was more of a mother than she was. Even if neither of them had their children any longer.
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Slaying the Dreamer
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It was strange how small and fragile Cercelee seemed now. She was always so much larger-than-life, with her alpha authority, or her brassy mischief. She was always in charge. Moments of weakness made her seem... real.
Slay exhaled in a huff, her biting cynicism harsh to his ears. He should have expected such bitterness, and indeed felt the same disappointment and frustration himself, but he so often put her on a pedestal in his mind... the severity of her self-loathing was unexpected. He couldn't redirect his resentment towards Firefly, though, not after going through the same thing she did. "Well, all three of you women weren't expecting to have pups. And you all stepped up to the challenge. And personally, I think you did the best out of everyone, Cer... and you know, you can have a second chance," he added in a murmur, ears falling back nervously. Would she catch his drift? Not likely, with the way he was rambling. Or maybe she'd get angry at him, because she wouldn't want "replacements". Or because he might make a nice friend, but he was far from a genetic gold mine, and she had never considered having his ugly sleepy pups. He couldn't blame her. He was basically a freak of nature, thanks to incestuous roots. What would happen to their poor offspring?
He shook his wide head, trying to clear the unpleasant negativity that so often haunted his internal monologue. Things were supposed to get better now. "All I'm saying is... you're definitely fit to be a mother. And... if that's what you want in life... maybe it's time to have kids of your own...." He could feel his cheeks burning, embarrassed to speak so bluntly of such things. It was easier to mask things with humor, but this was a serious proposal, and he shouldn't make light of it. They had been faithfully together for some moons now, through thick and thin, and he knew very well that he was the weak link, not her... so if he could just find a way to help her achieve happiness, so that she wouldn't be so run-down and sad... then he could be a real mate, and not just a lazy house-guest. He could make things right for her, instead of dragging her down with him.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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The suggestion was surprising, coming from him. Cercelee thought back, the night they had committed themselves to one another. It seemed so long ago and yet in reality not even a year had gone by. The dull drain of living every day the same in and out hadn’t set in, aside from Slay’s recent set back life with the large brute had been pure bliss. So happy just the two of them, children had never seriously been thought of. Had the suggestion come up in those early months her partner had balked, though Cercelee only jested with the male. It wasn’t until the five de Sadira pups had shown up on their doorstep the joke ever became a real possibility. Even then, when Cercelee had taken on the burden of five new souls in the house, Slay had been reluctant, hesitant. He had been unsure if their relationship so new could withstand the onslaught of having no privacy, no free time, and the responsibility of other living beings.
Yet they had survived that. It hadn’t been the puppies that had nearly torn them apart, it was a dark wedge left by Corvus that had driven Cercelee away and Slay into his own personal darkness. Yet here was a promise of return to happiness from Slay, and furthermore he seemed eager to fill the void left by the disappearance of their makeshift family. "Really?" Her voice was incredulous, but her eyes twinkled. Never before had she seen Slay so serious, aside from when her bodily self had paraded before him bleeding and bruised. Not even when he had asked her to be his mate had he been able to keep the jokes from coming for this long.
Yet despite his seeming sincerity, one could not blame Cer for a slight disbelief. The male who had been so afraid of commitment, now asking her to commit her body into an act they couldn’t undo. Once the children were born, a meshing of their own personal genes, it couldn’t be undone. They’d be alive, proof of Slay’s decision. And there was always the fear that this, his return from depression, would not last. He could knock her up tonight and go bad to bed tomorrow, unwilling to wake up for another month or ten. It was risky business, reproducing. "You want to be a father?" It didn’t matter how much she realized she had liked being a mother, it had suited her despite the time constraints and emotional turmoil. This delicate act was one that took two partners, preferably both willingly partners who didn’t lose interest the morning after.
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Slaying the Dreamer
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He felt at peace, holding her again. Would a pregnancy destroy that peace? Their relationship seemed different from those of other wolves. They liked to play together more than be serious, to be carefree when the rest of the world demanded respect and duty. Bringing duty into their private life might leach away any happiness they could still have. Or, it would bring them closer than ever... Was it commitment that worried him, once again? And there was always the fear of her health, since physically he was much larger than she was. Carrying his pups could kill her if something went wrong.
Rather than brood on the serious, he quickly adopted his old defense, chuckling as he ruffled her ears. "Well, we could always find some guy who's a little better looking than me," Slay drawled, his muzzle crinkling into a teasing grin. "I'm sure you've had your eyes on Sankor - as long as you're not considering Master Haku, I think you're too good for the likes of him." He licked her nose affectionately, pleased by the excited light in her eyes. It wasn't like they were rushing into anything, really - and she had more than proven herself capable of caring for pups, albeit older ones. Did the younger ones need more attention? They basically ate and slept, right? Piece of cake.
She gently probed his resolve, doubt putting a damper on her enthusiasm. Slay frowned for a moment - had he said something wrong? - but he knew in his heart that she had more than enough reason to question him. He had never been the most reliable mate. And if she agreed to this, to starting their own family, they would be forever linked together, even if their mateship fell apart. She would always be reminded of him and his failings. He'd just have to make an effort, to ensure that he wouldn't be Cercelee's biggest mistake. "I'll be anything you want me to be," he replied simply, a serious answer. He had joined a pack, taken rank, hunted for her, always following her wishes in his own quirky way. If she wanted permanent parenthood, then he'd have to be on board, wouldn't he?
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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Cercelee laughed lightly as his jest, always poking fun at himself, always on edge about other males, even if he was only joking. The male was always playing around and Cercelee had begun to think that perhaps it was his humor that he used to defend himself. Paint his flaws in an amusing light and they wouldn’t seem so bad, express his jealousy and doubts in jokes rather than clambering after reassurance from Cercelee. Yet he was so much better than he had been, when they met, the tension between them whenever another male or female entered the picture. And now, and now… at least he was out of bed even if he was still indulging in self deprecating jokes.
Sankor had been nothing, not really. Haku was… Haku. Her cousin, her father, her worst enemy and best ally. Never her lover. She was not Firefly, and though she didn’t say so out loud, knowing Slay’s bloodline contained much inbreeding, she looked down on it. Her mother had taught her that, her father too, though he was not as adamant about it. In fact she could hardly remember him saying anything the one time it came up, but her mother had been in such a frenzy at the idea the value had stuck. Perhaps, after knowing of Haku and Firefly and hearing about others in the past, the Sadira bloodline was not above that and as such Adrastos had kept his own mouth shut.
I’ll be anything you want me to be. A surge of love over came her and she drew close, licking the male tenderly on his large nose. It was flattering to have someone so devoted, she felt so comfortable, secure, loved… but how long could that last? Cercelee believed forever, at least in the case of her and Slay, but she had witnessed others who had sworn themselves to each other and it had ended poorly. Love was not so one sided, she was not the queen and he her servant. Softly she spoke, her eyes nervous. "I want you to want it too."
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Slaying the Dreamer
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ooc: You can close this once you've read it. Kinda short. :<
Cercelee's laughter was music to his ears, setting his anxieties aside as she found amusement from his weak jokes. If he could still bring a smile to her face, then he was not a complete failure... He had not ruined their mateship beyond repair. He might never figure out why she had so much faith in him, the lazy layabout she let mooch around in her church, but he was grateful that she hadn't dumped him yet.
She spoke softly, one last reassurance to make sure his heart was in the right place. And this time, there was real uncertainty in her anxious gaze. What was she afraid of finding? Nervously, Slay swallowed the lump in his throat. Would he ever feel ready for fatherhood? He had tried and failed to connect to the de Sadira littermates, and that was one of the only real experiences he'd had at raising children. He liked being around little ones, but that was as a playmate, not some disciplinary figure. It was already clear that Cercelee would be the one to teach them right from wrong, and Slay would get walked all over... Could he ever pull his weight as an equal?
"I..." his voice cracked, and he licked his lips, trying to answer her as honestly as he could without contradicting his promise. "I do want this. It scares me, but... you're the one I'm spending my life with. My best friend. And I want you to be happy." He smiled helplessly as she licked his nose, warmth washing over him. That was the best answer he could give her - he would make mistakes, but he was willing to learn from them. Willing to try, which was more than could be said of his previous attempts at change. If he lost his Cercelee for any reason, that would be the end of everything. He was going to try this time. He had to.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
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