Work Text:
▶︎ "forwards beckon rebound" by Adrianne Lenker
◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯
The constant cycle of the world consisted of society flip-flopping between acceptance and hatred like skimming the pages of a moral guideline index that changed daily, pages that not everyone held copies of or was worthy of inputting their opinions into; accept, reject, like, dislike, right, wrong, good, bad.
What was socially acceptable changed with the fall of the sun and rise of the moon, with the atmospheric pressure of the day, with the opinion of the outspoken majority and the silence of the timid minority, and how bright or dim the stars appeared each night.
That is, to say, there is no rhyme or reason to it at all.
Caleb always wondered about this, a touch bitter in his thoughts—who decides what's beautiful or horrific, good or bad, admirable or disgusting?
And why should this unknown, supposedly morally superior figure, make the final decision that I'm less than?
It's why he had always hated the word monster.
Caleb had met hundreds of people by the time he was in grade-school, from various backgrounds and species—and he'd never met one person that he would consider to be monstrous.
That didn't mean the self-proclaimed average and normal population didn't define them with it anyway. The word became synonymous with things that had nothing to do with reprehensible actions or people; it now defined things that Caleb enjoyed, loved, and adored.
That word touched things it should've never breathed in the direction of.
And when Caleb growled about it, lashed out at people directing the word at him or his little sister, it only validated their supposed claims about what he was: a monster.
An endless cycle of proving himself right, wrong, and frightening.
⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚
Surprisingly, Caleb found that the people who seemed to look down upon him most were his own kind. The same people who claimed he was loved, their blood, to be accepted by them, were the first to cast him out when he didn't fit their mold.
She shouldn't be your family, shouldn't even be your friend. You shouldn't associate with her. She's not like us, not like you—why don't you hate her?
But at the end of it all, Caleb didn't care about their sharp words.
He only held one person's opinion in high regard: his little sister.
It was almost funny, how that was exactly what caused his own species to look down on him. But Caleb was never going to cast you aside, his baby sister—even if society's traditional values claimed that werewolves and vampires weren't meant to be so close, that they were meant to hate, and hurt, and fear each other.
He didn't believe in those words. Still, sometimes he worried that you might be afraid of him.
Do my claws scare you? Do my late-night howls at the moon leave you shivering awake in bed? Do you cower when I hunt, anticipating yourself to be the next stalked prey?
These are things he doesn't ask.
Though, when he hesitates and pulls back, he thinks: but I am not afraid of you.
He was never afraid of you, either.
Not when you were a toddler, with your baby fangs coming in, and he'd offer his thicker, wolf-strengthened skin for you to gnaw on as a teether. Nor when you whined about hunger and he offered his own veins for you to suck from. And neither when you got the instinct to hunt, and Caleb let you chase him as if he were your personal blood bank on the run, playfully pulling at your cheeks to poke your fangs after you tackled him.
Despite your opposing species, he knows, then, that you really aren't afraid of him either.
Not when you lash out at him, comfortably—tackling, jumping, nipping at, without a single worry that he might strike back.
Nor when you crawl into his nested bed at night and curl up close, not bothering to ask permission, because you know he would never deny your cold, bled-dry body of his feverish bodily warmth.
Neither when you let Caleb brush his wrist across your neck, or nip at the skin of your nape, just to keep you smelling of him and family and protection—despite the neck region being the most sensitive, vulnerable spot on a vampiric body.
You couldn't be afraid of each other if you tried. Naturally frightening behavior between wolves and vampires had long ago been deemed familiar, loving actions between you two.
There was no boundary for either of you to cross, because a line had never been drawn.
⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚
"Wind that howls like a hound,"
Your Girls' School for Fledging Fangs operated during nocturnal hours and ended at three in the morning. The price to pay for being born a vampire: late nights, no sun-bathing, and frequent snacking on Caleb's packed blood bags that he drains from his own veins into packs for you nightly—even when you hover and fret about his blood sugar or fatigue.
You stand on the school steps with the other vampires your age. The endless night sky watched over you above, distant little stars blinking like a sneak-peek to the sunny warmth you would never feel on your skin.
The other girls waiting for their guardians and rides home were chatting to one another, in your vicinity, but not necessarily to you. Even here, among your peers, you were an Other.
You rocked on your heels, glancing at your watch; it was hunting hour, but Caleb always delayed it so he could pick you up first. A warm breeze ran through the air, pleasant and gentle, carrying with it the scents of the surrounding nature.
A girl nearby visibly scrunched up her face in disgust, complaining loudly, "It smells like dog,"
It was a phrase you heard a lot, even used to feel offended by—often directed at you, "why do you smell like wolf?" and "your brother seriously smells like that all the time?"—but now immediately excited you.
The other schoolgirls tensed, glancing around, awaiting a predator.
One girl nearby screeched and clung to another, pointing down the street. Your head snapped in her pointed direction, and your smile bloomed, wide with pokey fangs and all.
Bright and happy, you skipped down the school stairs and ran to the large, dark brown wolf on the sidewalk. Hugging him around the neck, you exclaimed, "Caleb! Were you hunting without me?"
He normally didn't show up fully shifted in his wolf form, stating he didn't want to cause chaos or scare others. You always whined and begged him to anyway; you loved petting his fluffy, thick fur, and the way he'd lick your face and nuzzle you, and how he sometimes let you climb on his back and sit on him while he rode you around.
His cool, wet nose brushed your jaw as his muzzle pressed close to your face. His purple eyes blink up at you and he nods.
You whine, "That's not fair! I thought we agreed you would wait,"
He tilts his head back, peering up at the sky. You follow his gaze to the full moon, and understand.
"Oh, okay, I get it—you just couldn't hold it. Well, can we still hunt together?"
Caleb's muzzle brushes your jaw again, this time licking with his long, wet tongue. You laugh and turn your head into it, kissing his furry face just beside his nose.
When he tilts his head back again and lets out a low, short howl, you can't help it; you pucker your lips and let out your own imitation howl, quieter and shorter. It comforts Caleb, to howl with his pack before hunting—and you are his pack.
You pay no mind to the whispers of the girls behind you, that no doubt Caleb's sensitive wolf ears pick up as well.
She's seriously deranged, so uncivilized, it's disgusting, how can they even stand do that together?
Whereas Caleb might normally growl at any opposition to your behavior or closeness, he simply turns his back this time, sitting down in front of you like an offering. You climb onto his back without a word, and he waits until your arms lock around his neck before running off into the night.
With Caleb, nothing else matters. There's only you and him, sister and brother, one pack, species aside.
You feed each other, protect each other, love each other—and no one can change that, whether through denial, disgust, or violence.
⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚
"Stabbing stars through my back,"
The first time Caleb really fought another wolf, you were helpless to only stand by and watch. It was a part of the culture, their rules: if one wolf challenges another, it's between them and the moon alone. No one interfered.
You knew all the rules to werewolf behavior and customs. Being Caleb's pack, it was important that you knew how wolf packs functioned.
(In turn, Caleb had learned about rules of the coven, and took vampiric customs equally as serious—it's why each window had blackout curtains at home, why you both wear gold jewelry on Sunday, and why graveyard soil lined your sleeping coffin.)
It started so peacefully: a warm summer night, an older brother holding his little sister's hand as they walked through the woods, and soft instructions on how to track animal patterns in dark dirt and foliage.
Caleb was crouched, pointing out little circular prints in the mud, easily overlooked in the nighttime lighting. "See here? Can you guess what passed through the area?"
You bit your lip, fang poking out. Squinting, you considered it. "Deer?"
He grinned, practically lighting the area with his happiness, and stood to ruffle your hair. He fondly brushed his wrist over your neck and shoulder. "That's my smart baby bat,"
You smiled with your sharp and pristine teeth, and Caleb only looked down at you with adoration as his hand settled on your back.
The peace was disturbed by two separate pairs of boots shuffling nearby. Two men, both wolves with thick scents of petrichor, musk, and grease. They glanced at Caleb and nodded, neutral and accepting of their fellow wolf, which he returned.
Until the one man—taller, dirty-blond hair, brown eyes darker than the mud and night sky—spotted you. He raised a brow and cracked what could've been a joke: "Looking for a stake, man? There's a lot of good branches around,"
It was as if his words had sucked all the air from the forest. It felt hard to breathe, suddenly, with your typically cool, dry skin feeling clammy with fear and discomfort.
Your panic spiked as the distinct scent of a threat wafted through the air, clear anger and hatred wrapped up with the signature smell of a murderous werewolf.
Until you realized that scent was coming from Caleb. A low growl rumbled from deep in his throat, and seconds later, he had pushed you behind him and shifted fully.
You watched as the other man stepped forward and shifted, too; responding to Caleb's challenge. Your breath hitched, undead heart skipping beats, with the wolf's blood you drank from Caleb earlier practically begging you to whine in submission.
No words were exchanged. The other stranger stepped back, letting his wolf companion and Caleb lunge at each other with a ferocity that seemed even more vicious in the dead of night. You could smell their metallic lifeblood in the air with each swipe of claws and their snapping maws.
Despite Caleb's smaller, teenage wolf build, it was clear that he won after battling the older wolf to the ground and snapping at his raised belly.
The other wolf flinched and flipped back over, pawing back to his companion with scrambling legs.
The only audible noises were the heavy, gasping breaths from both wolves, and the liquid you heard pounding in their veins, fresh and hot. Caleb crawled back to you and shifted, shaking out his adrenaline-ridden limbs and snuffling against your cheek. His scent rubbed across your jaw, along with a swipe of foreign blood from the other wolf as Caleb licked at your skin with his human tongue.
You exhaled, harsh with relief, and wrapped your arms around his waist. He held you back just as tight.
His voice was rough from all the growling as he bit out, "Leave,"
The other wolf ducked his head submissively and hurried away with his friend on his heels. They took the tension with them, and you heard Caleb's heart settle finally.
You peered up at Caleb's face in the dark, and found his shining, glowing eyes mirroring your gaze. You whispered, "Caleb?"
He must have heard your fear from the slight quiver of your voice. He knelt in front of you and tugged you into his lap. He shushed you and kissed your jaw and neck, rubbing his nose against you like he could wipe away the layered scent of anxiety you both shared. "Shh, it's alright. No one's gonna hurt my baby sister while I'm around,"
Like a puppet with cut strings, you slump into his embrace. You rubbed your own nose along his collarbone, trying to scent him back, even if all you could smell was the iron blood pumping beneath his skin.
You were fully calm by the time Caleb weakly chuckled and whispered, "Yeah, you're a good puppy, huh? I've got you."
⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚
"Both arms cradle you now."
At home later that night, Caleb kept you cuddled in his arms. He laid you both in his nest of blankets in bed—technically his den—and stripped off his clothes scented with anger and blood-lust. He held you tight, his body temperature hot and toasty against your cooler skin. You'd both relaxed significantly after coming home and curling up in Caleb's familiar, wolf-musk scented room.
The way he held you now was sweet, like cradling a tired baby in his arms, a complete contrast to his earlier anger. He rocked you on his lap as he pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in deep.
Caleb murmurs, "You smell good,"
"Like what?" You mumble back, resting your ear on his chest to hear his loud, healthy heart and the flow of warm blood in his thick veins. His few wounds from the earlier fight—only two swipes from a set of claws, leaving his skin torn and jagged, weeping metallic red—had thankfully closed already with his accelerated healing.
Caleb smiled as he kissed your temple, "Like my puppy. My baby,"
If you had much blood in your body, you would've blushed. As is, you're just glad Caleb can't tease you about red cheeks, as you lean up and kiss his chin.
There was no violence here, no monster or villain; only a wolf, and his innocent little puppy, whom he would never let get hurt.
You snuggle closer, as if there's any space between you to begin with, and open your mouth to lightly chomp your fangs into his bare shoulder. It's just enough to leave an imprint.
Caleb grins, amused at your innocent glance up at him. "Marking me, little fang?"
You nibble the skin, soft enough to feel how it would give without much resistance, though you don't bite any harder.
You can't smell what Caleb does, can't smell the emotion in his claim or your own scent on him—but this, a physical mark? You can see that, see where you bit him and he allowed it.
When you pull back, there's a perfect set of teeth indenting his shoulder, fit with two sharper points where your fangs sunk deeper than the others.
You tilt your head back for Caleb and ask, with all your affection, "Please, big brother?"
He doesn't hesitate or question it, already knowing exactly what you need. He leans in and opens his jaw, locking his teeth around the front of your neck. It's a slow pressure, when he starts biting down just as you did, enough to leave a mark but not break skin.
He pulls back and glances over the imprint. He nods, pleased, licking over it once. Then he kisses your nose and smiles, "Got you back, little one."
When you fall asleep together, it's with both of your scents combined, sleepy and loving and thick in the air; it's with warm blankets, hot skin wrapped around a smaller cold body; it's the sound of a healthy heart, and a slow-beating hollow one.
And with unspoken I love you's, because the marks say it loud enough.