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Title: Wedding Night Fandom: The Magician's Ward, by Patricia C. Wrede Rating: S for Schmoop, Soulbaring, and Sex (in that order), and P for Purple Prose. AKA NC-17. Warnings: Well, sex. And taking a long time to get to the sex. And first-time smutwriter. :: +Memory :: Tell a Friend :: 1 reply :: Reply THIS ONE IS KAREN'S FAULT. ( EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT BEHIND THIS CUT. ) 1) How he and the other person/people in the thread are positioned and moving. Body language is very, very important. 2) That Russ is a very good liar when he puts his mind to it, and is totally unscrupulous about it. 3) That the good of the Pack comes over everything, including him. 4) "What's in this for me?" *Nowadays, the good of *He himself is second. ETA: Actually, Gwen may tie with him here. I'm not entirely sure. *Most of those things come down to the fact that Russ has no compunctions about being a 'wolf. That's why he's dangerous: he has a lot of instincts from a very smart animal, augmented by the ability to reason. *I really have no idea what Russ' family was like, or much of what his life was like Before. He had a bike, he had a girlfriend; that's all I know. I suspect he made it through high school, and even paid attention more than half the time. He probably took some community college courses, too. But I really don't know anything about his family, except that they're all dead. With Sarah gone, Russ really has no connection the past. *Russ is, indeed, perfectly willing to give head, thank you so much, Claire. If the girl's not enjoying herself, you're not going to be enjoying yourself for much longer, either. . . . See what I mean? It all comes down to what's in it for him. I think, however, even if he weren't a calculating Alpha, he would still be a generous partner. *Russ, in general, likes women, even when we're not talking about sex. Men are competition. Note that Claire, though she is a woman, is also competition. *Russ laughs a lot -- usually derisively -- but there are very few times when he's actually happy. He'll tell you he's happy when he's killing zombies, but he's lying. He'll tell you he's happy when he's fucking, but that's only partly true (when he's in bed with someone he loves, it's true). He'll tell you he's happy when he's on his bike, or running on all fours, wind in his hair and smells in his nose, and then he's telling the absolute truth. *I like Russ 'cause he lets me swear a lot. *admits* *One thing I would like to play with more in-game is the fact that although Russ loves being a wolf, the change is very painful for him, and it takes him a long time -- two or three minutes. There's no real reason for this; it's just that someone has to be on the narrower end of the bell curve. That means that every time Russ goes from human to wolf, or vice versa, he's extremely vulnerable, and he hates it. Thus, he controls wolf-outs very carefully, and won't do them around other people or without preparation if he can at all help it. *The most important thing about Russ: Russ is not nice. Do not ever think he is nice. He's charming, and he can be kind, loyal, but he's not nice. Take it from someone who lives with him, he will fuck it up. I love the guy and I think he's a fucking asshole. Roy Cohn in Angels in America nailed Russ' character: Do you want to be NICE or do you want to be EFFECTIVE? Heather's the first to greet him, looking him over silently. They talk quietly for a moment, and then Journey helps Russ towards the cot that Armand's resting in. At the edge of the Pack's territory, Russ is working on his bike. It had been making a couple odd noises when he pulled in from patrol, and it's a quiet day in any case, so he figures there's no harm in tuning up the engine while he's out here. His jacket lies on the sidewalk nearby. Sarah was supposed to meet him an hour ago, and when she didn't show up he got worried and went to her apartment to see if maybe she'd gotten sick, and there was her scent on the front door handle and outside the apartment and then it started to fucking snow and her scent is getting buried and Russ hates scenting in the air in this shape especially when everything's getting confused with that sharp smell of snow and -- She can't have gone far. The bike can't handle the accumulated snow, so he's left it behind next to Sarah's building. The chances of anyone stealing it are slim to none, with his scent all over it. At the moment, he doesn't care, anyway. He slogs through the snow, calling her name, having trouble seeing through the gusts of wind blowing the snow around. When he finally smells her, it hits him like a sledgehammer, she's so close. She really didn't get far. He shivers, relieved. "Sarah? Sarah! What are you doing in--" The wind cuts off as he steps into the alley. The man standing in the alley drops Sarah's body and stares at Russ, wild-eyed, as he wipes blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. The roaring in Russ' ears might be the wind; the pounding must be his own heartbeat, because it isn't Sarah's. It isn't Sarah's. Sarah doesn't have one. "YOU FUCKER--" Russ launches himself at the vampire, who ducks; vamps get a bonus in the speed department when they've fed, and this one just fed exceptionally well. Russ stumbles past him and falls with a grunt as the vamp lands a punch in his kidneys. He hears the vamp moving, running towards him, and he knows he can't aim anything at him, so he rolls and shoots up one foot and lets the vamp's momentum do the rest. The vamp reels back with an oof, and then Russ is on him, knocking him to the ground, pinning him with his hands around the sonofabitch's neck slamming his head into the ground and roaring -- just screaming bloody murder, screaming exactly that. He's out of words. There aren't any words. But the vampire is stronger and better focused, and he manages to knee Russ in the gut, scramble to his feet, and run as Russ gasps for breath. He manages to scramble to his feet and tries to give chase, but the wind and the snow have swallowed the vamp up, robbing Russ of the kill he wants. There's a familiar needles-and-pins feeling making its way up his spine, and his joints are creaking. He stumbles over to Sarah -- Sarah's body, Sarah's corpse, Sarah -- and picks her up and cradles her as best he can with hands that don't quite feel like they belong to him any longer. He can't hold the change off any longer; he has to drop Sarah, and it's three minutes of pain as his body rearranges itself. The howl echoes up through the alleyway and drowns out the wind. Eventually -- a day or two later -- a couple of his buds find him, still wolf-shaped, curled up around Sarah's body, shivering. He snarls when they try to touch her. It takes them close to an hour to talk him back into a human shape; he seems determined to stay in his wolf shape and freeze to death next to the body. And when they get him back to their squat and warmed up, they find him with a gun in his hands, looking speculative. It's the first time since he found his family dead and eaten that he's seriously considered putting a bullet through his head. It's also the last. After that, the bullet's going to be for a vampire who disappeared into the snow. "No, it's not, Russell." "It is." "Just ignore it, then." "Hey. Bird. Yeah. What kind of a color is pink for a bird? Huh? A stupid o-- OW!" "Russell? Russ, are you okay?" "It bit me, Mom, it bit me--" "Oh, Russ . . ." "I hate stupid flamingoons." "Flamingos, Russell." "Whatever." Just two 'wolves out for a stroll. It's not such an uncommon sight. This part of town, west of the waterfront and the Field Museum, is clearly rougher than the areas further south -- darker, dirtier, though the streets are neat. Mostly neat. Except for the motor oil spilled here and there. ooh, they're red, white and blue. And when the band plays "Hail To The Chief", oh, they point the cannon at you, Lord, It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son, It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no, Some folks are born silver spoon in hand, Lord, don't they help themselves? oh. But when the taxman come to the door, Lord, the house look a like a rummage sale, yes, It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no millionaire's son, no, no. It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no. Yeh, some folks inherit star spangled eyes, ooh, they send you down to war, Lord, And when you ask them, how much should we give, oh, they only answer, more, more, more, yoh, It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no military son, SON, NO It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, NO NO It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no no no, It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate son, son son son --Creedence Clearwater Revival Aaaooooooooooo Aaaooooooooooooo -- werewolves of London Aaaooooooooooo Saw a werewolf drinkin' a pina colada at Trader Vicks His hair was perfect Aaaooooooooooooo -- werewolves of London Aaaooooooooooo |