untitled; chansoo
untitled
rating: g
pairing: chanyeol/kyungsoo
word count: 629w
warnings: chanyeol is a wolf (?!), this is second person pov (???!)
Half moon. Layers of sky drifting in thin, cloudy films over it. Purple behind everything, the lady Night.
You hunker down and howl, of course you do. This is what you were born for: the song of the generations and the song of the soil and the sea; the song of salt and the song of wounds; the pack, the music of the hunt, teeth first, fresh blood curling over your tongue in glee, in an almost-perfect mimicry of the songs of life and sorrow. You know both well enough to catch the flaws in the copy, why it’s forgery and not masterpiece: the blood dries and hardens in the hunt, rests heavy down your throat instead of light the whole way through, like air, like water.
Turn. Once, twice, thrice. Call to your mother of mothers, bereft since the first mother. This is your masterpiece and your complaint. Yearn. Estranged we are, mother, estranged and feared and hated. This is natural. These are the words, and you sing with feeling only when you sing. Of course.
But now you smell. You smell meat and the pack smells meat but you are well-fed, as are they. Meat shall pass unharmed. Skies drift, moon descending fully. Mother of mothers, bereft. The smell is closer, and it excites you for reasons you can’t decipher. Your sister eyes with you with carelessness, rises and pads to her mate. The smell is so, so much closer. Yearn, yearn.
Human.
You know humans. You know this human. From before, maybe. Much before. You hunker down and howl, of course you do. He reaches out his hand, fingers through your fur, on your head. Your eyes close. Ecstasy. The perfect mimicry of the song of life. There is no sorrow. You open your eyes, search his face. Mother of mothers, bereft, shines down on him. A smile. The howl starts, dies in your throat. The pack is still, frozen almost. You smell their unease. And you smell him. He is made of comfort. Your head bows, tail lowers. The sound that uncurls from your throat is the opposite of blood. A different story, different song. Not new. No song, no tale is new to you, no music, tone, voice, bell unheard. But rare. A different song. No yearning, for once.
When he goes, it begins again. Song. Dance, among the pack. Your brother makes sure to tumble you over, remove the scent. Yearn, yearn, yearn. Dusk after dusk, until the mother retreats, betraying the lady Night. But of course she does. Your masterpiece is broken and shattered, so many sounds jumbled onto the rushing wind, howls turned to sobs. She betrayed, she betrayed, she is dead for a time.
And in the dark, he comes again.
He sings, now. His voice is different and his song is different. His hand on your head is the music of pups, asleep. You want him to take you. You want to follow wherever he goes. Yearn. So much yearning.
The pack distances.
Yearn, want. When he comes again, you run at him, bite his hand. He holds your head, his voice is the music. The only music, now. Mother of mothers, bereft!
He takes you. You follow where he goes.
Half moon. Layers of sky drifting in thin, cloudy films over it. Lilac nest behind, Dawn princess. He stares at you like you are the world, takes your muzzle in his hands, pressing over your cheeks. “Chanyeol,” he says, and something grows in your throat, a sound liquid and warm.
“Know who I am?” he asks, and you nod, kiss his chin with your tongue. He is Kyungsoo.
“I’m Kyungsoo,” he says. You know. He is Kyungsoo. Love. Master. King.
“Chanyeol,” he whispers, forehead against yours.
Only his music.
fin.
a/n: shit boy i die! i thought i'd keep this lj free of mindless drabbles and dump them on tumblr but it turns out i was wrong. WELP. i distinctly remember writing this at two in the morning... and it's been sitting in my docs since ~last year. i have some outlines for other chanyeol pairings under this on the doc, so i guess i was aiming for a chanyeol-centric drabble post. clearly it never happened, rip in pieces, former self. then i thought i could make this work for the otp card but it isn't 1000 words T_T rip in pieces AGAIN
p.s. d-dont judge me guys,, ;;;;;;
rating: g
pairing: chanyeol/kyungsoo
word count: 629w
warnings: chanyeol is a wolf (?!), this is second person pov (???!)
Half moon. Layers of sky drifting in thin, cloudy films over it. Purple behind everything, the lady Night.
You hunker down and howl, of course you do. This is what you were born for: the song of the generations and the song of the soil and the sea; the song of salt and the song of wounds; the pack, the music of the hunt, teeth first, fresh blood curling over your tongue in glee, in an almost-perfect mimicry of the songs of life and sorrow. You know both well enough to catch the flaws in the copy, why it’s forgery and not masterpiece: the blood dries and hardens in the hunt, rests heavy down your throat instead of light the whole way through, like air, like water.
Turn. Once, twice, thrice. Call to your mother of mothers, bereft since the first mother. This is your masterpiece and your complaint. Yearn. Estranged we are, mother, estranged and feared and hated. This is natural. These are the words, and you sing with feeling only when you sing. Of course.
But now you smell. You smell meat and the pack smells meat but you are well-fed, as are they. Meat shall pass unharmed. Skies drift, moon descending fully. Mother of mothers, bereft. The smell is closer, and it excites you for reasons you can’t decipher. Your sister eyes with you with carelessness, rises and pads to her mate. The smell is so, so much closer. Yearn, yearn.
Human.
You know humans. You know this human. From before, maybe. Much before. You hunker down and howl, of course you do. He reaches out his hand, fingers through your fur, on your head. Your eyes close. Ecstasy. The perfect mimicry of the song of life. There is no sorrow. You open your eyes, search his face. Mother of mothers, bereft, shines down on him. A smile. The howl starts, dies in your throat. The pack is still, frozen almost. You smell their unease. And you smell him. He is made of comfort. Your head bows, tail lowers. The sound that uncurls from your throat is the opposite of blood. A different story, different song. Not new. No song, no tale is new to you, no music, tone, voice, bell unheard. But rare. A different song. No yearning, for once.
When he goes, it begins again. Song. Dance, among the pack. Your brother makes sure to tumble you over, remove the scent. Yearn, yearn, yearn. Dusk after dusk, until the mother retreats, betraying the lady Night. But of course she does. Your masterpiece is broken and shattered, so many sounds jumbled onto the rushing wind, howls turned to sobs. She betrayed, she betrayed, she is dead for a time.
And in the dark, he comes again.
He sings, now. His voice is different and his song is different. His hand on your head is the music of pups, asleep. You want him to take you. You want to follow wherever he goes. Yearn. So much yearning.
The pack distances.
Yearn, want. When he comes again, you run at him, bite his hand. He holds your head, his voice is the music. The only music, now. Mother of mothers, bereft!
He takes you. You follow where he goes.
Half moon. Layers of sky drifting in thin, cloudy films over it. Lilac nest behind, Dawn princess. He stares at you like you are the world, takes your muzzle in his hands, pressing over your cheeks. “Chanyeol,” he says, and something grows in your throat, a sound liquid and warm.
“Know who I am?” he asks, and you nod, kiss his chin with your tongue. He is Kyungsoo.
“I’m Kyungsoo,” he says. You know. He is Kyungsoo. Love. Master. King.
“Chanyeol,” he whispers, forehead against yours.
Only his music.
fin.
a/n: shit boy i die! i thought i'd keep this lj free of mindless drabbles and dump them on tumblr but it turns out i was wrong. WELP. i distinctly remember writing this at two in the morning... and it's been sitting in my docs since ~last year. i have some outlines for other chanyeol pairings under this on the doc, so i guess i was aiming for a chanyeol-centric drabble post. clearly it never happened, rip in pieces, former self. then i thought i could make this work for the otp card but it isn't 1000 words T_T rip in pieces AGAIN
p.s. d-dont judge me guys,, ;;;;;;