#doublycursed

[desertfragments]

@doublycursed X

Max freezes in the act of rooting through the fridge, a mouthful of cold noodles dangling from his mouth. He slurps them past his lips and tries to recover from being caught out this way, reaching down to scratch at his belly. Truth be told, he’d been after something to eat, maybe something good to drink if he could find it, and then he’d been prepared to gather his clothes and leave. He’d left out the little detail of his curse of course - he always does, even if there are people out there crazy enough to believe it - and it wouldn’t have mattered; he’d be on four legs with a tail come midnight, and he’d never see this guy again.

“Uh, yeah. Kinda hungry, sorry. You want something?” Never mind that he’d been seen helping himself to a stranger’s leftovers, pawing through a stranger’s kitchen. Not the first time, and definitely won’t be the last. All things considered, this encounter is one of the tamest and friendliest in recent memory. His fling isn’t completely wasted, covered in anything unsavory, or angry at him for something he can’t remember doing.

Now he’s got the opportunity to look at his bed partner in the light of day, he grins, taking a moment to silently congratulate himself. Sometimes he gets desperate, and when that happens, the bar falls so low it’s laying on the ground, ready to be kicked out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. He’d done pretty decently for himself this time.  

Kai's head tilts, examining the man rummaging through his fridge. The man- whoever he is-  is handsome: tall, dark, and, well, very attractive. A smile turned smirk tugs on his face. "Good morning to you too." He's all charm, masking the lurking loneliness under his skin, muffling the little flicker of anger in his chest. That food was his, but wasn't he the host? Hadn't he picked this man last night? Humans- people needed to eat. Obviously. This was what people did, ate food, shared food and called it generosity, hospitality. He wouldn't hold it against the other. Much.

He watches Max for some seconds as if evaluating, examining and thinking. "Do you want something better? I can cook something if you'd like," Kai says. Anything would be better than the half cold noodles that were dripping out of the other's mouth and maybe then Kai would save on some food. He barely has any food in his fridge and shelves combined; really, all he has was the bare ingredients to scrape by. What else could he offer to this accomplice in his one-night stand? "Or we could go out. I know plenty of places that serve a decent breakfast." Kai flashes a smile, "I'll be buying, no strings attached."

[impassibilitas]

starter for @doublycursed (because Andrew needs conversation)

The bar’s packed tonight. Renee’s calling it the full moon, but she believes in that sort of shit. ’Brings them all out,’ she says. Yeah, all the fucking crazies, Andrew thinks from his spot behind the bar. Allison’s fucking sick, and Andrew’s the only other person of employ who knows how to mix. Usually, he’s a bouncer, but tonight he’s stuck back here, earning no tips, because the tips always go to the women. Not that he’s upset. They’re the ones getting catcalled and hit on all fucking night; they’ve earned it.

A man pushes up from the crowd, and Andrew can tell that he’s just arrived - not drunk yet, a little breathless from shoving through all the people. Andrew doesn’t want to, but he steps up.

“Hey. What’re drinking?” He’s not exactly being rude, but if he’s inhospitable to enough customers, then maybe he won’t ever have to step in behind the bar again. 

[oneeyedmerc]

Doublycursed Started Following

@doublycursed

Slade stared at the dog (wolf?) for a few seconds, before just saying, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shoo.”

[aflockofbyrds]

DoublyCursed Started Following

@doublycursed

“So. Please tell me you haven’t been fuckin’ my boyfriend as a wolf.”

[skymma]

@doublycursed | closed starter

She really wasn’t all that used to this. This - quietness of the city, the night breeze in her fur, how silent her paws were on the asphalt. The fact that she had paws and fur at all. How enhanced her senses were and how bright and alive the night seemed. 

She hadn’t noticed that before. Not really, not like this. 

And not being used to those things was exactly what she was trying to correct. She felt strongly that she owed it to those she might hurt if she didn’t learn, if she didn’t understand. So ... whenever she could get away, in good conscience, she fell into the wolf that was always there inside her now and let herself take its shape, and then she walked her city quietly. 

Usually, nothing happened. Most nights were quiet and calm and she went by unnnoticed, even if few things escaped her. 

But this - this was new, too. The scent she’d picked up. It was familiar in a way she didn’t recognise, like something she’d never felt before but knew instantly was ... significant - and so she followed it. Part of her didn’t want to, was telling herself to turn around and go home, but she pressed on because that was the whole point, she had to learn, she wanted to understand - 

but when she came across the other wolf, that only raised more questions. 

He was like her, she could tell, even if she didn’t know how she could. But he was also incredibly, fundamentally different.

She froze, stood stiffly on her four legs and watched him, not sure what to do. 

[theemmataylor]

Lost Dog || Max and Emma

@doublycursed || Because what is focus on school work?

This late in the summer, the weather is hot. Sweltering, really, and Emma is sitting in her favorite spot in her favorite park, trying to get some reading done. But what comes naturally to her on just about every occasion is causing her trouble on this particular evening. The air conditioning in her condo works just fine, but she’s always preferred to be out of door if she can be, and since the sun is close to setting, she finds herself hoping for a little give in the heat.

Her eyes flick over the page of the book she’s been trying to read for an hour now, skimming over words that don’t register in her mind. She’ll have to reread it, she knows, but what difference does it make? As she accidentally reads the same line she has just finished, Emma’s eyes start to drift closed.

Napping would be so easy.

Lazily, she opens them again, then lets them close once more. However, as her mind catches up to what she just saw, they snap open and she sits up on her spot on the blanket. There’s a dog. Well, a rather large dog. Sitting on the sidewalk nearby. She looks around for an owner, seeing none, and wonders if this is one of the many strays of the city. But something tells her that this particular dog is a little more wild, a little more reluctant to be tamed. Or maybe that’s just her mind playing tricks on her.

Emma places her bookmark back in her book and sets it aside, scooting closer to the edge of her blanket, and she holds out a hand. “Come here, sweetheart,” she calls softly, palm up, hoping that she’s offering a welcoming gesture for the canine. Again, she looks around for any sign of an owner. Again, the effort is in vain. Not only are people not looking at the dog, not calling to him, but the few who have ventured out in this heat seem to be giving him a wide berth. Emma adjusts the straps to her tank top, pushing it back on her shoulder, and tries again. “Come here, boy. I have water.”

[spectral-twin]

Max & Rachel | Who Let The Dogs Out? Who?

On Lindt Lane—the irony of the name never failed to amuse the woman—there was a house. If, say, this house were a money-sucking pit, the woman could understand, and perhaps even excuse, its sitting empty for months. If another agent, perhaps one not quite as elegant (read: proficient with such elegance) as herself were trying to sell the house, Rachel would find it amusing. 

But it was her house. It was her commission. There was nothing wrong with the foundation; the walls weren’t peeling; the backyard was a fairly nicely size; and while not big enough for the general Caucasian middle class family that settled in his neighborhood, it was the perfect house for a family starting out with maybe a dog or two and a kid. It was not ugly. It was not obviously smaller than the houses around it, or obviously cheaper. And it was quite kitsch, if nothing else. The thought had crossed her mind before to buy it herself, just so that there was no threat to her impeccable record.

Every house the agency gave her she was able to sell within five months. Period. That’s it. Five months, and usually well before. Yet this house sat empty. She might call it haunted to explain away the buyers’ disinterest, but the house seemed as lifeless as any old slab of concrete. She just didn’t understand. 

Today, she was showing to a young family that didn’t fit the pattern of the suburban neighborhood. Usually adept at predicting outcomes in situations like these, Rachel was at a loss to decide how it would turn out. Most families who bought houses in this neighborhood were in their early thirties. They were the type of family who, despite the scientific impossibility, found a way to have exactly two-point-five kids. The family that greeter her at the end of the sidewalk, she knew, would not be invited over to baking parties before Little League games or asked to grill for the high school football tailgates. Rachel knew that school would be rough for a while. She thought for a moment about not warning them; she could easily rattle on about the wonderful parts of the neighborhood (though she knew they wouldn’t be able to take active part) and probably sell the house today. She wouldn’t have to break her streak, and she’d be able to go out for a damn nice dinner with that commission. 

The thought of smoked salmon and risotto was almost enough. And then the damn four-year old had to hold out his hand and introduce himself. His little hand fit completely in hers and Rachel knew she couldn’t not mention the racism of suburbia. She would find out later, of course, that they were prepared. Always prepared. 

The showing went well. The numbers of rooms was not ideal—Mom was a lawyer and wanted a home office. Dad wanted space for their grand piano. The backyard, however, seemed perfect for Crosby, their Australian Shepherd. Tyler, the four-year old, perched on Rachel’s hip the whole time braiding her hair, really liked the carpet in the den. It seemed to be just right: not one-hundred per cent perfect, otherwise they would question why it seemed too good to be true, but perfect enough that they didn’t want to miss out. Rachel was getting ready to draw out paper; she had set Tyler on the kitchen counter and had clicked open her brief case when Dad gasped. Oh no, Rachel thought. Fucking hell oh no. 

“Puppy!” Tyler pointed toward the window and Rachel rushed to the sliding doors to watch the giant dog destroying the garden outside. The garden, which according to Mom, was a big selling point for their fifteen-year old. The dog himself was huge, but Rachel, briefcase still in her hands, slammed the door open and ran into the yard to shoo him away, heels sinking into the mud as she did so. Not her most dignified moment.

[pantslessoptimism-a]

📂

@doublycursed gets a random headcanon about soph (also ps i miss writing with you)

Sophie prefers dogs to cats. They’re friendlier and are less likely to scratch her.