The boy ran through the woods—
Confronted by cold and frost—
"Oh bullocks!" The writer flings his papers off the hard desk, making his beloved butterflies flutter about everywhere. He sighs quietly, rubbing at the bridge of his temple. "I need… an idea.”
A thump and a howl of pain, obviously a canine from just outside his warm cabin. A fresh snow had just been laid across the earth before nightfall…
“…Just a dog, no need to worry-“ He begins to coo to his butterflies, or perhaps more to himself. But then he hears a crackling noise, the shifting of bones. Rushing to the window, his eyes widen. “Dear god.” There is-was-an injured wolf but had changed into… into…
This was it. This was the writer’s idea, that God had somehow intended for him to find. And soon he never wanted to let the beautiful creature go again.
"Didn’t you say you wished for me to leave after my injuries healed?"
"I fell in love with you, James."
"I am not a man."
"No. You’re a beast, a wild thing… I love it.”
Thank you so much for offering the fills! I’d love some 00Q please? None of them was ever a Christmas person but now they have each other and their small but own world and for the first time they actually enjoy this time, then togetherness and quiet harmony. Some domestic cuddles and kisses and…
James d’Arcy and Ben Whishaw filming Cloud Atlas in Edinburgh (x)