𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏

will bennett. oak. 35.

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐄.

TIME: March 16th, 7:34 PM LOCATION: Buckshot Bar & Grill STATUS: Open, @shiverstarters​

Every time the temperature got warmer and Maite went from being on four legs to being on two, there was this underlying frustration that that was her reality; the moment Maite began sporting her human from, each passing second, she missed her dark furred being. That meant that, for a little while, her patience would be less prone to actually survive through a day without being recharged by means of a punch to anyone’s face. It didn’t help that she had a shift at Buckshot so close to being back to being the worst version of herself.

More often than not, Maite can’t help but wonder why on earth she got herself a job as a server. Basic (and pleasant) human interaction was sort of the bare minimum, along with an uncanny ability to be treated as less than. So, after a long day, the moment someone tried to flirt with her as she cleaned a table was enough to set her off (not that much was needed).

“If you don’t shut up and walk away,” her voice was more like a growl, loud enough for the person and those around her to hear, “I will bite your ear off and feed it to you.” Maite looked at the person, her voice was venomous. 

“Got it?”

Trying to readjust to her life, her other life, was a tiresome task. Being on two legs in itself was exhausting, let alone trying to remember habits and routines. After she shifted back, there were always a few moments where she was two beings in one. A human and wolf, the fingers of a girl, and the hunger of an Alpha. It was brief, but it was her favorite part of the shift.

It lingers still, the rage and bite of the wolf, so it’s something she recognizes easily in others. Sometimes it’s the wolf, but sometime’s not even the wolf can be blamed. With Maite, Will can hardly tell. With Peyton it’s easy, she is more wolf than woman. It’s simple and straightforward. Maite is wrapped in mystery. Will cannot decipher between the two, never has been able to. It sets her on edge.

She’s helping clean the tables, even though her responsibility is the kitchen and that has been clean for an hour, because she doesn’t want to go home yet. She’s wiping a table down near Maite when she hears her spitting venom. Will watches silently as the man slinks away in shame. “He was gross,” she acknowledges, refocusing on her task. “But dial it back at work.”

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐌𝐀𝐑.

Mar slowly picked the scone apart with her fingers, digging into the crumbs as Will spoke; passing a piece of it to her mouth and dimly registering that A) she was hungry, and B) it was good. It cut through the ash in her mouth, but made the tears press harder against the back of her eyes.

But she held on. Steeled herself against it. A lifetime of practice made it easier than it should have been, but a grim part of her was grateful that she could keep herself from crying.

He was running.

But Will couldn’t answer her why.

“… I see.” God, it felt so fucking hollow. She didn’t know more now than she had a minute ago, and she should have known, should have seen the inevitable fact of it, but still it cut her down to the bone.

“I, uh.” Fuck. She wiped an errant tear with the back of her hand, the crumbling scone clutched between her fingers as she sniffed; lips tasting of salt. Mar cleared her throat. “–– ‘m sorry,” she said, willing her voice to not quiver, “this must be a lot to take in.” Maybe Will had been waiting all this time for him to show up, even if he’d been running from something, all those years ago. Maybe she’d seen the lights on, that first night, and hoped it was him. Before the gossip mill told her otherwise, and let her know she’d be bringing scones for a widow, and not her old friend.

She put the scone back down on the plate; pressed her bruised knuckles down against the kitchen table. “Could you… this is an abrupt change of topics, but.” Mar pursed her lips. Studied Will. Tried for a smile, and half-succeeded. “Tell me about yourself? I don’t know much more than the snippets he told me.”

There was nothing good about this conversation. Nothing coming out of it that was going to make either of them feel better, nothing that would make their grief easier to swallow. Will’s mouth was dry, and she licked her lips in an attempt to abate it. 

She was rarely at a loss for words. Maybe it was an inherent part of her personality, or maybe it was a trait that went hand in hand with being Alpha, but she always knew what to say. Knew what to add to a conversation. But she didn’t know what to say to Mar, especially not when she was apologizing to her. The widow apologizing to the mysterious townie friend for her loss. 

Will saw it then. All at once. Saw what Dante saw in her, could imagine the swell of his heart. She could picture them standing at the altar, could practically trace the smile on his face. She could imagine what their life together, as short as it was, would have been like. And it broke her heart, caused tears to sting the back of her eyes and a traitorous one to fall. She angrily swiped it away, unable to mask the small, anxious smile on her lips.

She nodded, sadly. “I work at Buckshot,” she began, feeling uncharacteristically bashful. “In the kitchen, I’m one of the cooks.” She fiddled with the scone on her plate, “I mostly bake when I’m nervous, to be honest,” she admitted with a short laugh. “What...” She hesitated, trying to carefully feel out just how much she knew, how much Dante shared. “What did he tell you about me? About Blackrock?”

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐏𝐄𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐍.

PACK HOUSE W/ @willofoak​

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she was back once more. Every attempt to get back to her wolf form had failed so far, what was one more? After stealing an oversized shirt from someone’s clothesline, she dragged her feet back to the pack house and was greeted by the smell of fresh pancakes. At least her day wasn’t completely ruined yet. She snuck up on Will, busy at work in the kitchen, and grabbed a cooked pancake with her dirty hands from the stack she was working on. “Those are for me, right? To make me feel a bit better about being back in this shit hole with all you terrible people?” 

Will feels bad for Peyton. There is a special place in her heart for the girl, and for the wolf. She knows what it is to be all claws. She has felt the confusion the comes from being thrust unceremoniously back into her body, and the equal rage when it feels too soon. There is part of being a wolf that is akin to freedom. When Will says that she understands how Peyton feels, that is what she means. The brief, intolerability of being forced onto two legs. But that is all it is for Will: brief. She sympathizes with what Peyton clearly feels as an injustice done unto her constantly, but she does not understand. She can’t. That betrayal is a feeling that must be experienced to understand. Will smelled Peyton as soon as she came in, so it was her own fault that she didn’t hide the pancakes. She tried not to cringe at the dirt caked underneath the other girls fingernails, masking it by sliding the butter towards her. She thought better of it instantly, instead opting to butter a pancake and sliding towards Peyton herself. There were a lot of things that Will could handle, but imagining Peyton digging into her fresh tub of butter with her fingers was enough to push even her over the edge. “They’re for Grey, actually,” she admits. “To make them feel better about being back in this shit hole with all of us terrible people.” She cast Peyton a sideways smirk. “But they can be for you too.” Will skillfully flipped a pancake. “I didn’t expect to see you back, to be honest.”

[vhsmeme]

* drabble checklist

send a word for a drabble! feel free to specify which muse does what.

catch: your muse discovers mine doing something they shouldn’t

note: my muse leaves a note for yours

bed: your muse tucks mine in

console: my muse comforts yours

embrace: my muse hugs yours

rocky: your muse finds mine bruised and bloody

jacket: your muse bundles mine up before they go outside

dial: my muse calls yours

heart: my muse says i love you

why: my muse shows how much they care, without words!

hush: your muse calms mine down (from lashing out, crying, etc.)

pain: your muse looks after mine when they have a headache

clock: my muse is late (home, work, etc.)

soup: your muse cares for my ill muse  

shield: my muse shields yours with their body

laugh: my muse laughs at a joke, funny story, etc.

cape: my muse saves yours

scar: your muse touches one of mine’s scars

guilt: my muse apologizes

fright night: my muse has a nightmare

diner: our muses eat at a 24 hour diner

half: our muses share something (snack, blanket, etc.)

book: our muses read a story 

twinkle: our muses go stargazing

fight club: our muses argue

popcorn: our muses watch a movie

song: our muses listen to music

roam: our muses get lost

classy: our muses go to a formal event 

candy: a fluffy moment 

thunder: an angry moment

boo: a spooky moment

whoopee: a celebratory moment

onion: a sad moment

[willofoak]

*  /  𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐍.

“I see,” he says, and it’s agreeable enough: sounds reasonable, his voice seems to say, makes sense. It’s just that her choice of words sends something ricocheting down the hallways of his brain, eliciting a pin-prick of interest at the back of his neck. Family might be pack, might be this stranger letting him know something without saying it outright–– or it’s just small talk. Just conversation.

“–– ’s nice,” he says, still polite. Still friendly. “You been here for long? Blackrock, I mean. Feel like I keep meeting other out-of-towners.”

She’s made a mistake, she knows. She sees it somewhere in his eyes: suspicion. But it’s a flash, and then it’s gone and she wonders if she ever really saw it at all.  Still, she can’t bring herself to regret it. Her pack, her family, makes fun of the ways that she’s overprotective, but she knows better. The world is out to get them all, so she will get the world first. 

“Pretty much my whole life,” she tells him, and that’s the truth. She’s been a permanent resident since 14, which is a lifetime when you spend half of it on all fours. She wanders down the aisle, not too far. Just enough to feign causality. “What brings you to Blackrock?”

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍.

@willofoak​ said: Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me. 

“Never,” he swears, the word jumping to his tongue easily, too easily. He’d be embarrassed, if he had a single ounce of self respect left inside of him, but he can’t find it now. He’s on one knee, for god’s sake, staring up plaintively at Will like she is some divine figure, a queen knighting her loyal and faithful soldier. Is that what he is? Her soldier? He’s certainly loyal, certainly faithful. If she asked him to swear that he would cut his arm off, would he do it? He hates that he doesn’t know. The answer should be no. It is no…isn’t it? This kind of devotion can’t be healthy. But she gave him purpose. She put faith in him. And that is worth everything he is. Everything he will ever be. “I would never leave you, will never leave you,” Leon promises, one hand over his heart, the other draped at the elbow over his knee. These were the conditions. Get your shit together. Don’t lie to me, don’t ever lie to me. And do not leave me. Swear that you will never leave me. She doesn’t even have to dangle a reward in front of him, a promise, an end result. He wonders if she knows. She could demand these things of him and offer him nothing in return, and he would still swear. His eyes are soft, almost sad, as he watches her accept his fealty. He will never leave her. He knows this. No matter what she asks of him, what she requires, what she wants and what she does not, he will always be here. 

It is both beautiful and sad, the way that he follows her. If she took her shoes off and walked over a bed of hot coals barefoot, she is sure that he would follow. Without question, without reason. It is why she chose him. It is why she loves him. He is on his knee swearing fealty to her like she is a queen, and he a soldier. She feels the heavy weight of the invisible sword in her hand. She has nothing to offer him. No title, no land. Her own commitment to both him and the pack is all she has, it is what has kept her alive this long, what has kept her coming back to two legs instead of staying on four. She would lay her life down for her pack, and Leon would lay his life down for her. The realization of that, this moment between them, thick with the sort of devotion that does not yet have a name, that can only be shared between an Alpha and her Second, brings Will to her own knees. She does not rule over this land; they are partners. Her fingers weave into his curls, and her forehead falls against his. She stays there a moment, silent, her eyes closed. They could kiss. She could lean forward and press her lips against his. He is right there. But she doesn’t. She opens her eyes and pulls away, taking his hand instead. She holds it with both of hers, meeting his eyes earnestly. Her own are shining, on the precipice of tears. “It’s heavy, Leon. It’s so heavy,” she admits despite herself, her voice breaking underneath the weight of it all. She has to warn him. He needs to know what he is taking on. She cannot carry the pack on her worn shoulders by herself any longer, but she cannot subject someone to the same fate without explaining that it is impossible to hold. That she is broken and bruised. It is why she chose Leon; because his loyalty to her first, and pack second, is what will keep her alive.

[grey-everette]

Grey Everette ✉️ 🙋🏻 🥞🐺✨💟

👀💓

[willofoak]

💞👩🏻🧑🏻🤳🏻

[willofoak]

*  /  𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐍.

She doesn’t back down. Rises, instead, to the apparent challenge he poses, and that he takes note of. “–– New in town,” he answers, easy as breathing. It’s the truth. He’s 6'5", and well-aware of it, and so he takes care not to loom – it’s a magic trick, really, being able to pull his own presence in like this. (A lifetime of practice has made him good at it.)

He keeps his friendly, polite tone as he shoots a question back: “You work here, or… ?”

It takes her off guard when she realizes that her gaze naturally lands somewhere at his chest - he’s tall, and it took her too long to notice. Sizing an enemy up was always the first thing she did. But he wasn’t an enemy, was he?

She wasn’t sure of that yet.

She’s fakes a smile now, a upturn of her lips as she tips her chin towards Grey. She’s going to give herself away, doing this. But she has to let him know, veiled or not, that she sees him even if she doesn’t know what that means. “Visiting family,” she lies easily.

[willofoak]

*  /  𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐀.

closed to @willofoak​ // november //  kitchen at buckshot

Allegra was perched on a counter in the kitchen, disregarding food safety practices without a care. They liked this spot, their back to the wall, a handful of knives in easy reach and the exists in the line of sight. It made them feel at ease as they watched Will move around the kitchen, putting together something that Allegra would inevitably consume. “So what exactly are you making this time?” they asked, nose scrunched up at the smell. 

If there was a spot that brought Will comfort, it was the kitchen. She was at ease in this second home of hers, and the fact that she was surrounded by sharp objects and flammable gas was not lost on her. She thought that maybe Allegra liked it too, that maybe they were alike in this way. “Chicken florentine,” Will responded, spearing a roasted tomato with the tip of her knife. She held it up to Allegra’s waiting lips. “Do they need more salt?”

[tenderhowls]

@willofoak said:▼ five times my muse has caught yours getting off, and the one time they help out.

imagine being loved by me.

Keep reading

[ruinmemes]

CARING SENTENCE STARTERS 

for muses that need a little love. 

❝  i’m here for you.  ❞

❝  let me help with that.  ❞

❝  i’m here.  ❞

❝  nothing’s gonna hurt you.  ❞

❝  if they do it again, you tell me.  ❞

❝  i’ll protect you. ❞

❝  i’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.  ❞

❝  let me take a look…  ❞

❝  i’m a phone call away.  ❞

❝  you should have called me.  ❞

❝  here, sleep.  ❞

❝  if you wanna talk, i’m here.  ❞

❝  hey, shh, it’s okay.  ❞

❝  i’ll never let you go.  ❞

❝  you’re with me now.  ❞

❝  nothing’s gonna take you from my side.  ❞

❝  i’ll do what i have to.  ❞

❝  i need you to stay here, okay? i got this.  ❞

❝  it’s safe here.  ❞

❝  i’m fine, let me see your face.  ❞

❝  we’re gonna have to keep ice on that.  ❞

[stutterisms]

send me a symbol for...

✿  five times my muse almost texted yours, and the one time they did.

▲  five time my muse thought about kissing yours, and the one time they did.

☠  five times my muse thought about hitting yours, and the one time they did.

★  five times my muse though yours looked breath-taking, and the one time they voice it.

❤  five times my muse says they don’t love yours, and the one time they admit it.

▼  five times my muse has caught yours getting off, and the one time they help out.

♫  five times my muse swears it’s not a date, and the one time it maybe is.

☪  five times our muses almost hold hands, and the one time they do.

☁  five times my muse has thought about yours, and the one time they do something about it.

☢  five times my muse almost sends a nude, and the one time they do.

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐌𝐀𝐑.

She could only nod as Will confirmed it – the words wouldn’t come, her mind awash with static. This was how it was, before. This is what his house looked like. 

Simple walls painted white, wooden floors that creaked – she’d already started the slow process of learning where to step – pictures and mementos gathering dust before she got there. Scratches and scuffs by the kitchen door, marks carved into the doorway of his bedroom. Family things. His mother’s good tableware meticulously stacked in the living room cabinet.

Mar busied herself with finding two plates in the cupboard over the counter, listening to Will. Ran in the same crowd. That had been it, hadn’t it? Yeah.

She licked her lips. Set the plates down on the table, white ceramic lined with blue and yellow flowers around the rim; one for her and one for Will.

“… I met him in 2008,” she said, knuckles resting against the surface of the kitchen table. It took effort, not digging her nails into the skin of her palm. “We, uh. We only got married last year.” Mar cleared her throat. Goddammit. She’s a stranger. Don’t make her feel weirder than she already does about sittin’ here at your table.

“He never really told me why he left,” she said, hoping to change the subject and finding herself hopelessly caught in the conversation. He would linger in every conversation, wouldn’t he? For a while yet. (It hurt, but she couldn’t do without it, she realized. Wouldn’t.)

“I always figured we’d go back here together. He always sounded.. happy, talking about it. Like he wanted to come home.” It was a question that she found herself hoping Will might be able to answer. Hell, there were a lot of answers she wanted; and maybe… Maybe Will would know them.

“Did you… Did he ever tell you? Do you know?”

She knew this wouldn’t be easy. Knew that sitting across from Dante’s wife, widow, would feel as awful as it did when she found that note. Worse, even. He’s actually dead now. Before it was a concept, something she knew of but was never actively faced with. Now she is sitting in his old kitchen with Mar, greeting death like an old friend. Like she isn’t scared to death of it.

She has to tread carefully, she knows. She has no idea how much Mar knows of the truth. Snippets, everything, or only what she has cobbled together on her own over the years. Will’s fingers are knotted together in her lap, pulling nervously at each other. 

When Mar set the plates down, Will sighed in utter relief to have something else to occupy her nervous twitching. She picked up the pair of tongs that hung off of the side of the basket of scones, eyeing them passively for the two largest ones. She slipped one onto Mar’s plate, and the other onto hers. She didn’t know if she could eat; her stomach was rolling. She wondered, idly, if she was the only one who felt like they’d just stepped off of a rollercoaster. 

She took a small bite of her own scone, nodding at the right times, listening intently to Mar’s words. She knew some of this already, of course, but she pretended like she was hearing it all for the first time. 

She shouldn’t have come here. She knew Mar would ask. Will cleared her throat, returning her hands to her lap and looking up at Mar sadly. The best lie came from truth, right? It was borne of it, sifted through, the best parts picked out. “He never told me.” She answered honestly, then hesitated. She wanted to give Mar more than that. “He did....” She sighed again, resigning to her half-truth. “He was running, I think. But I don’t know what he was running from. I was never able to find out.” 

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘.

If I can’t be there for the party, his mom had said, the least I can do is help set up. Kenny hadn’t disagreed – he’d planned on getting there early to help out anyway – but if they’d known just how early they’d be getting here, they definitely would have rethought things. The two of them had been there since 8 AM sharp, and Kenny was tired of carrying tables and chairs and putting up decorations and just generally doing what their mom and Mrs Whitegrass asked of them.

They’d only ducked out for five minutes, just to sit down and catch their breath, but before they could even do that someone called out to them for help. And so Kenny forced a smile despite wanting to cry a little and turned to face Will. “Sure,” he managed, “I’d be happy to help. What d’you want moved first?”

She sighed, glancing down at the ridiculous amount of food that she managed to squish into the back of her truck. She leaned against the back of it, dreading carrying it all up the hill and into the tent. Kenny was sweet, the kind of sweet that made her feel guilty for no apparent reason. 

“Maybe we should eat some of this down,” she suggested with a laugh, popping open one of lids to showcase a fresh batch of cookies. She side-eyed them, a mischievous sort of smile on her lips. “You like chocolate, Kenny?”

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐀.

Sara stands next to Will, the two of them staring into the bed of Will’s truck, and Sara has to remind herself that this doesn’t mean anything. It’s so easy for her to spiral, to go down a long and winding path that ends with her making a mountain of a mole hill, especially with Will. It’s been years, but Sara hasn’t let go. Every time they see one another– which admittedly isn’t often– she’s right back in it. Will asked for help; that’s all.

Will asked for her help.

“Fair enough,” Sara shrugs, feigning an air of nonchalance that she’s never possessed. She makes a move to begin unloading the truck, but Will speaks again. A flash of guilt passes through her at the question.

“No,” Sara says with a definitive shake of the head, and this time the response is genuine. She means it. This is who Will is: a truckload of food and all the accessories to boot. Giving more than what was asked of her, with no expectations in return. It’s one of the many reasons why she loves her. Note the present tense.

“It’s nice,” she continues on earnestly, taking a step closer to the truck. “And it’ll be miles better than what Hutch and I scraped together last month, so you know they’ll all be grateful.”

Will feels stupid. She feels stupid and ignorant and like she is never going to be able to look at Sara without feeling this way. She feels the guilt of that night, the way she lied to her, the way she dismissed and assured Sara that what she saw wasn’t real. She still feels the twist of her stomach, and the nausea. 

Maybe that’s just how looking at her feels now.

Will shakes her head, taking Sara’s stab at herself as offensively as if it was said to her. “You were great, Sara,” she assures her. “This,” she laughs, gesturing to the truck of food. “This is what I do for a living. I made all of this on the clock,” she admits, attempting to downplay her efforts. She made half of it on the clock, the other half was made at 5 o’clock this morning.

“Besides,” she laughs, tugging a basket towards herself, “This is pretty much all I do for this town. My famous chili is as spirited as I get, you know?”

[enebrolobo]

Wait until the end...

[willofoak]

*  /   𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍.

She tucked the bill in her pocket, and he slipped her laugh into his own, right along with the pack of cigarettes nestled over his heart. He took a long drag of his cigarette, fingers of his free hand flexing against the cold, despite the gloves he had on. His fingertips were chilled to the bone, and he cast another squinting, accusatory glance at the sky again. Wondering when it would happen. When the wolf would take him again. He wondered if Will knew, if she could sense it better than he could. He’d been trying to learn the signs, trying to understand it, but the howls were a language he was not yet fluent in. It was Will’s voice that snapped him back down to earth, and the waver in it. He snapped his head towards her, brows furrowed, and then inhaled so hard he choked on the smoke, lungs burning. “Shawn?” He asked, voice tight, coughs still escaping him. Leon swore under his breath, beat a fist against his chest and coughed a final time before leaning down and scooping up fresh snow to wash the ash from his mouth. “So there’s…still hope,” he started warily, eyes trained on Addison’s grave. “She might….Jesus, Shawn…” Leon trailed off, shaking his head. “What…what fingers were they?” He asked, suddenly, and then regretted it just as fast. “Not that it makes a difference, I mean, a finger’s a finger, it-” he stopped himself, took another drag of the cigarette. “What kinda sick fuck…”

Will loved Leon in a way that could not be put into words. Likely because it wasn't a thought that she ever gave time to, but also because of the way it snuck up on her, the way it caused her muscles to tense and her heart to swell. With Sara it was easy - she knew what it was when it happened. The butterflies were obvious signs of affection, but there were no butterflies with Leon. There was just her, and him. She shook her head, panicking at the thought of him getting his hopes up. This didn't change what they already knew, no matter how much she wished it did; Addison was the wolf found in the square. "No, Leon. Addison is gone. Gone, gone. And so is Shawn. I failed them both." She brought her fingers to her cheek, angrily flicking away a tear that she didn't give permission to escape. She laughed humorlessly, despite herself as she turned her gaze back to the looming forest. "I forgot to get the specifics," she admitted. "All I know is that they were Shawn's. They were human. All this time, I thought...." She stopped herself. Leon would know what she thought; he thought it too. They all did.