The Heartwood I don't feel the rain or the sun
Saints Of The Dying Light

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"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
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Setting: Night — 23:26
Weather: 62F — Clear skies, slightly misty
Tags: @Simmik

Forward dated 2 days to Oct. 17 during the Saints move.

Kynareth, like last time he moved his pack, he is restless despite moving for countless hours on end. His muscles ache and his head is pounding, but why the hell cant he sleep? He’s so tired, but it looks like mercy will not be directed at him tonight, for he doesn’t see himself dozing off anytime soon. Especially while they’re in such an interesting place. Just on the eastern edge of the Heartwood, Don decides that this would be better than resting in a field. Harder to be seen.

So he stands from his stop near the packs current resting area. Though he would be okay with company, he mentally urges no one to follow him. He just wants a few moments alone. To think and shit like that. 

Padding off into the Heartwood, stepping languidly over fallen trees. He can see life slowly trickling into the dead land before him. He doesn’t stop his eyes from wandering. What he doesn’t know, is that he’s probably not alone. Insert Eyes emoji here.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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I've learned to lose you, can't afford to
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Simmik also couldn't sleep, but for more troubling reasons. Sleep wasn't something she got much of anymore. If she did manage to fall asleep, it was only for a few hours and then she would wake again, usually from a nightmare. Tonight had been no different. She had woken from the same nightmare—his face, those creepy woods, the smell of her own blood trickling down her face. She woke with a racing heart and the familiar feeling of bile in the back of her throat and all she could think was how fucking tired she was of this. 

The frustration and anxiety wasn't soothed by a patrol or a run, and eventually she sprinted from the forest. She pushed her muscles to go faster until the burned—she liked the feeling; it was something different from her usual. She ran until her lungs could no longer suck in enough air to keep her going, and she slowed to a stop along the edge of forest she wasn't sure she had explored before. 

She stopped and caught her breath, looking around for anything suspicious. As she began to make her way between the trees, her heart started to race in her chest. This reminded her too much of that night. She swallowed against the nausea, about to turn and run back towards home when a very familiar scent smacked her in the face. Donovan. What the hell was he doing this close to her forest? Spying again, she was sure of it. He was such a liar, and time after time, she had believed him. Anger swelled in her chest more intense than ever before, and instead of leaving, she started to track him down. 

When she saw the striped pattern of his coat in a beam of moonlight, a knot formed in her stomach and all she could think was that she wanted to bite him—and not in a good way. She wanted to hurt him like he had hurt her, and she wanted to feel like she wasn't weak. She sprinted forward, picking up speed as she drew closer. No matter what he did or said, she launched herself at him, sailing through the air, hoping to slam into him and sink her teeth into his stupid neck.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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Fighting the urge to be tired — something he’s not doing so well at — he knows he won’t be able to sleep once he finally rests his head. Though not paying enough attention in the middle of the night in stranger territory is sketchy and straight up idiotic of the Saint. 

Tonight though he would’ve never thought that he’d be meeting Simmik again. Or at least not today. He wanted to meet her again, but when? I couldn’t be sure. 

Slam! A bite — teeth sinking into the thickening barrier of his fur and raking along skin. Obviously, his reaction is instant. He’s spinning to try and meet his attacker head on. His eyes catch stark white fur, a gleam of glowing eyes, and a familiar scent. 

A familiar scent. Who is that? Who is that? Who is that? 

He’s going in for a bite, attempting to rear up on hind legs and shaking himself from the eager grasp of this wolf. Then all at once, his eyes freeze on this strangers face. This is no stranger, but a long lost friend — maybe even more than that. Simmik. He almost freezes up (actually he does) and he’s dropping to the ground. Rolling onto his brindled back, cream belly facing the moon dangerously to the violent onslaught of the females teeth. 

He doesn’t dare speak, but his eyes do. Practically glowing, his coingold orbs flick nervously up to her own (if she has stopped munching on him). He almost feels guilty. So many emotions all at once and most of them being bad. Yet no matter how much he doesn’t like submitting, he’ll allow her this once.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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Her body met his, the force gathered from her momentum making their frames slam together with a thud. It knocked the air out of her for a few moments, but she ignored it thanks to the adrenaline surging through her veins, feeding her anger and giving her energy to continue. Her teeth clamped around fur and skin, and she bit down hard, harder than she would have if she hadn't been intent on hurting him—hard enough that the metallic taste of blood bloomed on her tongue. 

At first, he reared up, and she expected him to fight back. She hoped he fought back. she wanted to take out all of her anger and frustration on him because he was part of the reason for it. He didn't deserve her mercy or her kindness. He turned his head, and she tensed in preparation for his attempt to retaliate, ready to shift away from him and rip deeper into his flesh. But then he froze. Confusion mixed with anger and determination in her fiery gaze. Why did he freeze?

And then he fell to the ground and rolled over on his back, pulling her atop his chest and vulnerable abdomen. It made no sense. She refused to let go, even in this position. She threw her head from side to side a few times before her eyes happened to meet his. He was nervous—and not fighting back. Rage exploded within her. She wanted to scream until her voice was gone. What the fuck was he doing? She released his flesh from her jaws and slammed her front paws against his chest. WHY WON'T YOU FIGHT BACK?! she demanded. She pounded her paws against him again. FIGHT BACK. FIGHT BACK. Tears started to stream down her cheeks. Of all the things she expected, this wasn't one of them. For him to just roll over and submit—it made no sense. It wasn't fair. She wanted him to fight back or do something else to make her hate him. She needed to hate him. She needed to fight him. 

She pushed off of him and slumped to the ground, exhausted and confused and so fucking angry. The tears wouldn't stop; they just poured down her face and she drew in sobbing breaths. She refused to look at him. If he touched her she would recoil and snarl, the sound dying off into another sob.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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It’s sad, truly. The Saint’s odd love life. His casual and ever present hoeing around has him in a state of mind that makes it easy (or somewhat easy) to not catch feelings. Yet, here he is, acting like a bitch and rolling onto his back for a woman. Simmik is no ordinary woman though. He values her, believe it or not. He doesn’t want to, but he’s been trying to keep himself busy — distant. Their last meeting was pleasant. Rocky at first, just like this. It seems like a pattern with them and it’s all Donovan’s fault. Run into each other, she screams at him, tells him how wrong what he’s doing is — something he’s not blind to — he uses his sweet words and convinces her to like him again. Then they part. They try and forget about each other. Just when they both seem to do just that, they run into each other again. Rinse and repeat. 

Rinse and repeat. He could be good for her. Change for her, but there’s something that won’t allow him. He doesn’t know what it is. It drives him to kill, dominate, crush. It drives him into an early death. Something he expects, but it doesn’t have to be like that. Why does he make himself suffer so? Hell Donovan doesn’t even know.

What he does know is that in this moment he is truly shocked. She doesn’t let go when he flops over, belly up. His lip crinkles and he snarls back at the pain, bearing long fangs but never biting. She draws blood then, he gets his skin tearing and crimson dripping hot, soaking his fur. She lets go and he’s instantly meeting her wild, jack-o-lantern like eyes. His own go wide as she slams paws against his chest, yelling wildly at him. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of his pack mates heard and came to investigate. He hopes they don’t. He doesn’t want them to see how he is with Simmik. How he’s beginning to be with Derg.

WHY WONT YOU FIGHT BACK?!

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. He screams like a mantra in his jumbled mess of a mind. He doesn’t stop her. He doesn’t touch her. He allows her to scream and slam him into the ground. Into the dirt like a piece of garbage. Usually he would like this rough treatment from the woman by the almost finds himself speechless and not in a good way. Wetness is sprinkling onto his face and her eyes are glistening. A few more weaker pushes of her (cute) paws and she’s throwing herself off of him.
Tears relentlessly spilling from her eyes and streaming down porcelain cheeks. 

He lies there in shock, motionless, lost in time. His eyes never break off her form, heaving and trembling from what he’s sure is a mixture of anger and whatever else. He dares to roll onto his feet, tantalizingly tip toeing towards her. He knows she’s going to try and kill him again if he touches her. So he closes in enough to feel her heat, but not enough to touch. He swallows heavily, golden eyes puppy like in the I know I’m in trouble kind of way. 

“Simmik.” He whispers near her, bracing himself for her bite. He doesn’t follow it with anything. He is sure she’s heard of some more bad things he’s done. Else she would’ve probably greeted him with a kiss and that sweet smile of hers. But she didn’t. So he doesn’t even know where to start.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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She must have gotten good at giving off very distinct don't touch me vibes at this point because no one ever did anymore, and for that, she was grateful. Again, he could have attacked her, but he didn't. It wasn't like she had a chance in a real fight between them, even if she was fairly skilled at this point. If he wanted to kill her, he certainly could, especially now. She heard him murmur her name, but she only continued crying. He was close enough that she could feel his warmth but he hadn't dared touch her, and so she didn't lash out at him again. 

The tears finally slowed and stopped, and she drew in a few shaky breaths, swallowing hard against her raw, thick throat. She gathered herself up and brought herself up into a sitting position, exhaustion clear in her eyes and a deep, haunting sadness in the curves of her expression that spoke to just how much damage her trauma had done to her soul; right now, it felt like irreparable damage. 

She swallowed again and stared at him for a few more silent moments. Why do you keep lying to me? she asked, shaking her head. I don't understand. She said it more as a statement than to him, her tired expression shifting some to reveal hurt and confusion. It's like you're a different version of Donovan when you're with me than when you're with your pack, and I have no idea which one is the real you. She drew in a soft, still slightly shaky breath. You sent someone to spy on my pack? And one of yours attacked one of mine and almost attacked Mal, she continued. Mal is like my family; if something happened to him, I would be devastated. Was he really that incapable of understanding? She looked away, down at her dirty paws and her ears fell a little. She didn't know what else to say.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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RIP Donovan. :>

He gives her the time she needs to cry, everyone needs that every once in a while. Especially since if he touches her he would most likely die. Still, sitting there just watching tears fall from her eyes has him hurt believe it or not. Now the pain is really setting in. The sting and burn of torn flesh, the cold feeling of the air mingling with his wound. He shakes himself off just slightly before she turns to him. Instantly, Donovan is straightening himself up and staring down to her.

He has lied to her. One of the only times that he’s regretted lying to someone. He’s good at digging himself into holes and noting being able to climb out without risking life and limb. He’s silent during the duration of her speech. Of course she knew about the spying. Nyra got caught anyhow. Though, he might care about Simmik, he doesn’t give a fuck about Mal (doesn’t really even remember what he looks like), but he is visibly surprised by the information she offers the Grandmaster. He momentarily wonders who attacked him though, going through his mental checklist and ultimately deciding that really it could’ve been anyone.

With all that she’s said, where does he even start? Every option is horrible and will result in yelling or hatred. It’s time to rip the band aid off — confession time. “I have lied. I’m sorry.” He hums. “I know it doesn’t mean shit and at this point you have no reason to trust me. I would get why you wouldn’t. Both sides of me are real, I just don’t show this side of me to too many others.” Topic change, a slight pause. “I did send someone to spy. I do not know who attacked Mal though. If you have a description, I would tell you.” He sighs, shaking his head and shifting closer if allowed. Meeting her eyes after a nervous lick of his lips and a quick gaze around them in the forest. “Simmik.” Another pause — preparing himself for another round of screaming. “My name isn’t Donovan. It’s Kynareth Deagon.” He almost winces as he says it, expecting a whole storm to knock him on his ass. “Simmik, I’m sorry.” He says again. He hasn’t apologized this much since he was with his ex. Fucking Sasha.
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There he went again, owning up to every misdeed she threw in his face. And oh, so he was only like this with certain wolves? That sounded like a way for him to worm his way back into her good graces, and honestly, that was bullshit. Also, he was offering up a name for the wolf who had attacked her packmate. But why? He would just give up his own pack member like that? It didn't matter though, none of it did. She was broken and she couldn't put the pieces back together, so how was she supposed to wade through all of his constant lies and sweet talk to figure out what was actually genuine? But just because, she went with it. All I know is that he was darker and had a funny tail, she described quietly, her anger building up again to the point of explosion. 

He leaned closer, and she visibly winced, her muscles tensing. Her stomach churned at the thought of being touched, especially right now. To make her feel even worse, he dropped another bomb on her. Her eyes flicked open and zeroed in on him as she straightened up again. You couldn't even be bothered to give me your real name? she said, her voice too quiet. Do you think I just go around sleeping with anyone who is available? she asked, voice increasing in volume. I trusted you even after I knew that I shouldn't. She stood and a growl rumbled from her chest. One ominous snarl was all the warning she gave before she lunged at him again, teeth aimed for his neck once more. The stupid part of her that still cared about him despite everything didn't want to hurt him—it especially didn't want to kill him, but she was too angry to listen, and most would think that was a good thing. Although, later, she might feel differently. After all, he wasn't the only reason she was so volatile these days.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

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Darker. Funny tail. He. Easily, just by the funny tail part, he knew it was Renard. It had to have been. There’s no way it wasn’t. He’s the only one that was in his pack that meets that description. Of course they did that and never told him. He wonders what else Renard has done behind his back. So yes, he would give her the name later. 

Now isn’t the time. Her quiet whispers are dangerous and the not so subtle way her eyes widened at his admission of a fake name. He knew he had to tell her sometime. He just wished he never lied, at least to her. Too late to turn back now, she’s already on him again. Violent teeth grabbing at him he snarls out his own growl of surprise and pain as she latches onto him once more. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he can’t just let her chew on him. 

He’d braced himself enough to expect the hit but it doesn’t do much, she still succeeds in ripping his throat out. Allowing himself to fall onto his back again, he pulls a family favorite move his father taught him. A takedown he’s done to Simmik before, only now it’s for real. 

Drawing up his back paws, he’s sure she’ll figure out what’s about to happen before it does, he grabs as much scruff and skin as he can. In one fluid motion, he’s kicking out her hind leg from underneath her and pulling her to the side, rolling on top of her. He doesn’t let her speak, this time she doesn’t get an option if she’s going to keep trying to use him as a chew toy. He settles all his weigh on her, caging the wild woman in with thick limbs. 

“Simmik, stop.” He stresses in a breath. Tone stern, but said softer then truly necessary. “Just stop.” Body presses fully against hers he bows his head and forcefully cuddles down onto her, forcing her to stay in place. Though she can’t move, that doesn’t mean she can’t bite. A dangerous spot to be indeed.
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She managed to sink her teeth into him again, but only for a fleeting moment. He turned and grabbed her scruff and when she felt his leg against hers, she knew what he was doing. She knew she wouldn't be able to stop it, though. Her leg slid out from under her, followed by the other three legs, and then she hit the ground hard. He was on top of her immediately, pinning her down so she couldn't get up.

She squirmed violently beneath him, her heart thundering against her ribs as her vision blacked out. She couldn't breath and the words Donovan spoke were muffled and sounded far away. Logically, she knew he wouldn't do anything, but she couldn't make her body understand that. She writhed even more, desperately trying to free herself as tears spilled from her eyes again. 

And then she could see again, and she pushed against him, panicked and desperate. Please, she practically begged. Please let me up, The words were spoken between sharp, fast inhales of breath. She was clearly terrified. Teeth snapped the air a few times, but mostly she was just struggling against him. She should be attacking him to get him off, but she was half paralyzed with fear and the flooding of unwanted memories. Please, Donovan, she used the wrong name, not able to remember what he had just told her. She couldn't take being trapped under him; surely he would register that something was wrong and let her get up.
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He thinks that just maybe he could calm her down, or at least get her to stop biting him if he pins her down. Well it stops her from doing just that, but it opens a whole other can of worms in the process.

He can believe his ears when she starts hyperventilating, unable to gather full lungfuls of breath, he fears she will pass out if she keeps going. Then the horrible feeling that settles in his chest at the words she speaks, not only that, but how she speaks them. She’s begging and begging and he can’t help but oblige. 

Gathering himself, he arches up of off her and steps off. By all means he’s still crowding her, but at least he’s not on top of her. He’s staring down at her with a serious intensity, never before have he seen her act like that and truly it concerns him. Concerns him much more then he expects it to.

Golden eyes akin to the stars filled with sheer and a very much serious amount of concern. “Simmik. Are you okay? I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.” He asks you in her space again. His voice is soft and calm, in an attempt to rub it off into her and soothe her scattered thoughts.
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Mature Content Warning


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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: TW: discussion of sexual assault


Finally, he moved, and she immediately righted herself. She was unable to stand at first or stop the tears. She didn't say anything either, just tried to calm her breathing. She sucked in a few big lung-fulls of air, holding them in for a few seconds before releasing the air slowly. He had apologized again, and she could tell he was worried, and she wasn't surprised; her behavior was strange, especially if you didn't know the reason for it. 

When her breathing had evened out some and the tears had ceased once more, she shifted up into a sitting position, hiding her face against him for a few moments before she said anything. It's not anything that you did, Simmik murmured. He had done plenty to hurt her, but he was not reason she had nightmares or was afraid to explore or winced away from touch. 

She hadn't spoken of what happened to anyone except Mal, so it was difficult to get the words out at first. A little bit after I returned home from seeing my family and running into you, I was exploring another forest near here—it was different, though. Creepy and dark. She kept her face against him but only her face; the rest of her was very purposely not touching any part of him. I ran into a stranger; he was much larger than I am. I greeted him like I would anyone else—cautious but interested. Her heart started racing again as she was brought back to the moments she tried so hard not to think about. Her breathing quickened again as she continued. He attacked me for no reason and I hit my head. Everything was fuzzy and I couldn't get up. Tears again. And then he— she paused and drew in a shuddering breath. He held me down and— She felt nauseous. He raped me, she managed to squeak out. I lost consciousness and when I came to, he was gone. And she had been all alone, terrified and disgusted. She had managed to make her way to the lake and it was days before she felt up to finding her way back home. 

Now he knew. She breathed deep, in and out, pulling her face away but not able to look at him yet.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

The Grandmaster*
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Mature Content Warning


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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Mention of rape

He allows her as much time as she needs. He’s genuinely concerned and he is just mind boggled by it. He didn’t actually give a fuck this much since...Sasha and he knows how that went. Still it doesn’t stop him from continuing what he’s doing now. Simmik needs comfort! Shit, she needs anything he can do to help her right now. He’s willing to try and help however he can.

So when she gathers herself and huddles next to him, resting her head against him. He can’t help himself, he scoots a bit closer, not enough for their bodies to touch. He is arching his neck and bowing his head to settle it beside her, practically nuzzling her, if allowed.

Then she drops a bomb that he truly doesn’t expect to be dropped. She got raped. His heart drops like a thoughts d pound weight, he’ll if skin was visible he’s be going pale as a ghost. He is instantly reminded of what he did to Aphrodite. Her sweet face pulling up in his memory, tears streaming down her cheeks and the constant praying. He truly is a monster. What if Simmik finds out? Does she know? There’s no way she would fuck with him if she did. 

At this point, there’s no way she doesn’t notice him stiffen. His own breathing intensifies but not too noticeably so. Whereas Simmik begins to freak out again. Then he’s pissed. “Who did it? Where did it happen?” He asks quietly, trying his hardest not to chase her touch when she moves away from him. “I’ll kill them for you. I’ll drag them to your doorstep and slaughter him right in front of you, so you have proof that he’s gone. I’m sorry, darling. I wish I had walked you home.” A pause. “Like old times. When shit was simpler.” 
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She did notice him stiffen, but she assumed it was just the anger she heard in the words he spoke next. Not in a million years could she have guessed the real reason for his muscles tensing against her—lucky for him.

It was her turn to stiffen as he promised to kill the monster for her—right in front of her even, like she was some damsel in distress who needed a big strong man to take care of all her problems. Despite the tears and the strange behavior, she was not weak and incapable of seeking her own revenge, and his words were the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear. Why did no one offer to assist her in finding the asshole? It was always that they could kill him for her, and it only made her feel worse about all of it. She didn't want everyone to think she was as broken as she felt. 

And like old times? Like old times? Nothing would ever be like it was before, she was sure of that and bringing it up only made her irrational anger grow. She whipped her gaze back to him, her glare searing into the gold of his own gaze. I'm perfectly capable of getting my own revenge, she spat at him. I don't need you to do that for me. I'm not weak. If she kept telling others that then maybe she would believe it herself some day. And things can't go back to how they were because I'm not the same and you can't seem to ever tell me the fucking truth.
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He knows he’s still in trouble as she whips her fiery orange eyes back to him and he’s almost tempted to look away. She screams at him more and more, yet he will not pull away. He only inches closer, golden orbs bright on her face and his body taught, ready to fend another attack if necessary. 

He sighs. “I know you’re not weak.” He says a bit louder, not necessarily a yell but close to one. “I only wish to help. To please you. My intentions are never to hurt you, it seems they just do and I’m sorry for that.” Then he scoots even closer, their noses could easily touch. “Come stay a few days with me, dear. Maybe we could —“ He struggles to find the right words to say. “I don’t fucking know. We could figure something out. All I know is that I do not want you to hate me and I am willing to prove to you that there will no longer be secrets or lies.” 

Then he stands and walks a few paces away, expression hard and contemplative. “But if you see the bad side of me will you not want me anymore?” He asks almost hesitantly. 

That’s the difference between Simmik and past women he’s been with. Seriously been with he means. Shit, look at Nemisis; the feral beast of a woman wouldn’t hesitate to kill no matter what the consequences. Then Sasha, the bitch got his whole pack killed. They’re very much similar to him. They accepted his sick, bloodthirsty side; the side that wanted gore and power. Simmik though? She’s different. So, so different and he doesn’t quite know how to cope with a sweet woman like her. Hell, even comparing her to Leigh she is much different. Whereas Leigh would talk him out of it and  convince him to do good and still deal with his evil is still completely different than Simmik. Or maybe she’s not and he hasn’t seen all of her yet. He very much so doubts that Simmik would be willing to deal with that side of him. She’d pack her shit and head the fuck on out. 

How does he even deal with that? That’s the problem. He doesn’t know.
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#16
He practically shouted back at her, and it made her jaw tighten, but she let him speak. He wanted to please her—his intentions were not to hurt her. And yet, he had more than once. It seemed like every time she turned around, she was finding out about more things he did behind her back, or more things he had kept from her. Simmik stiffened as he moved so close that their noses almost touched, but she didn't move back. Surprise flickered across her face when he suggested she come stay with him for a few days. How would that even work? And what exactly did he expect to come from that? Did he think she would just magically be okay with things and then they could continue whatever it was they had before everything got complicated? It seemed unlikely to say the least. And he wasn't even promising her any kind of change; what he wanted was to keep doing bad things and for her to just be okay with it—he wanted to have his cake and eat it too, and that's just not how life was. 

She hadn't been sure of her answer, though, and when he got up a walked away from her, she studied him for a few moments before speaking. It's hard to believe your words when your actions say otherwise, she answered quietly. And what do you mean by stay with you? she asked. Like with you and your pack? The ones that spied on my pack and hurt my packmate? The one that tried to hurt Mal? She shook her head, the idea sounding even worse now that she had pointed all that out. What are you hoping will happen? That I'll just be okay with you doing bad things and hurting others that don't deserve it? Her decisions were made under a fairly strict moral code; she didn't go out of her way to hurt anyone that hadn't hurt her or anyone she cared about, and she tried to do what was right in most situations. What was he going to show her that would change how she felt about his darker side?

His question made her chest tighten, and she finally got up and padded over to his side, still careful to keep just enough space between them that none of her touched any part of him. It hasn't changed how I feel about you yet, she said, shaking her head. But that doesn't mean it's okay. Many times, she should have written him off and moved on with her life, but for reasons she couldn't begin to understand, she couldn't change how she felt about him. She shouldn't care this much about him, but what her brain knew seemed vastly different from what her heart felt, no matter how many times he had let her down. Letting things go any further between them was sure to end badly. So why was it so hard for her to walk away?
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Saints Of The Dying Light

The Grandmaster*
"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
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#17
He doesn’t even flinch as she continues, adding point on point. She shouldn’t fuck with him anymore. She almost be stupid to, yet here she is already being much too kind to him — he doesn’t deserve it. Not one bit. 

He almost interrupts her he’s so quick to reply. “What can I do? I can give you the name of who hurt this Mal. There was only one other wolf that fit the description you gave me and that’s me, but I did not attack him. I’m sure even your friend would second that. The guys name is Renard and he mysteriously left my pack along with Praimfaya a bit ago.” He spills the information like his life depends on it. Look in his eyes not sparing any room for lies.

“As for doing bad shit, have you and your little pack allegiance thought of a possible ally with us?” He asks with a tilt of head and a sarcastic smile, almost toxic in appearance. “We are not unreasonable. Our loyalty can be persuaded and truly if you did it’d be a much smarter move.” 

He stands and shakes his head, padding away from her. A heavy sigh on his lips and a temporary closing of golden eyes. His gaze slowly meets her, dull yet soft with affection for her. “It’s a lot easier for me to be a horrible man. It’s what I’ve been taught and I’m addicted to it. It’s not like I think what I’m doing is right, I’m not blinded like that.” His voices raises then, almost violently so. “I KNOW what I’m doing and it makes it THAT much worse!” He stops, eyes wide as the silence of the forest takes over them. In this moment it seems he realizes he has screamed much to loud and his expression slowly softens and he looks away from her. “Just hate me then. It’s the bad guy way. ‘Cause that’s what I am — a bad guy.” A soft pause and his eyes meet hers once more. “And bad guys always die hated. It’s my destiny.” He says it as if he’s cursed, soft with a horrid realization. It is obviously apparent that he knows he is wrong, but it is also too blankly obvious that he can be good.
Saints Of The Dying Light

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#18
It was always him asking what he could do—how could he make up for all the awful things he had done and all the lies he had told her, but it just didn't feel like enough anymore. Why couldn't he just be honest with her and why would he never believe her when she said his life didn't have to be this way. Even with everything that he had done, Simmik still believed he was deserving and capable of obtaining a better life. And if she wasn't so broken herself, she might push harder to make him see what she could see. But it was hard for her to work on others when her own mind was poisoned by what had happened to her. 

It did help to be given a name for this attacker—but how could she be sure he was telling her the truth? His words seemed genuine, but then he always seemed genuine—that was why it hurt so much when she found out more lies. I'm just—confused. She shook her head and sighed. You act like you care about me but then I find out that I never even knew your real name. She stood and took a few steps closer to him. Why send someone to spy on my pack? she asked outright. If you want some kind of allegiance, then why do that? It just didn't make any sense. It was going to be hard to persuade her pack to trust him after everything had happened, and she certainly had no plans to try if she was struggling to trust him herself. 

Her eyes narrowed at his explanation; it didn't help his case any to say it was easier for him to be bad. It made things even worse that he knew they were bad and still did them. She might have told him how cowardly it was to do things just because they were easy, but then he was raising his voice. Simmik stiffened, her ears flattening for a few moments until he seemed to calm once more. When he spoke again, his words were softer, and they stirred that familiar twinge in her chest. She closed the distance he had put between them and positioned herself right in front of him, her gaze searching for his. I don't want to hate you Don—Kynareth, she answered quietly. How I feel about you is— she swallowed nervously—quite the opposite. No matter how angry she was with him, her feelings never seemed to lessen their hold over her. But that doesn't have to be your destiny; you don't have to die hated. You can rule and be powerful without making others fear you. It was as if he refused to even try because it was ingrained in him that he could never be any other way, and that was just bullshit.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

The Grandmaster*
"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
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#19
Didnt know if I needed to tag it again but WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF RAPE.

Kynareth scoffs. “Spying isn’t always bad. It’s not like I can come over, howl at your borders and ask Hey Simmik how are you? What’s happening over here? Oh nothing? Okay, just wondering.” He almost spits sarcastically. 

He sighs and shakes his head, becoming visibly unsettled by something. Something that he’s chanting like a fucking mantra in his mind. 

Tell her. Tell her, tell her, tell her, tell her. Do it. DO IT NOW. Make her hate you. You don’t need anyone. She doesn’t NEED you either. 

His ears press against his neck as he shakes himself off, bits of fur flying through the wind as the light breeze takes them. Then he stares hard at Simmik. “I know you don’t want to hate me, but as you said it seems history keeps repeating itself and I keep giving you reasons to do exactly that. You—“ he looks away, walks further away from her. He can hardly make him look at her. “you are — I don’t fucking know. You’re too good for me. Go be with someone who isn’t a piece of shit. Who doesn’t kill for kicks and laughs in the face of death or whatever.” His words are less than eloquent. He’s bitter, he wants to stay with her but he knows that wheat he’s about to tell her will ruin their relationship anyway. If it doesn’t? He might just convert to being a good boy for the rest of his god damned life, but he knows that won’t be happening.

He walks towards her tentatively, keeping a fair meter between them. He doesn’t dare come any closer. He will expect either tears or her teeth ripping into him. “Simmik.” He begins, visibly dreading the news he’s about to give her. “I raped Aphrodite, that small agouti female from Whitebark Stream. I did that to her when I first came here. Before we were what we were.” He pauses, knowing  there’s nothing to say to make it better. “I regret it now, I’ve cried and apologize to her, but it beats no fruit. It is unforgivable. So go, just go. Fucking hate me, attack me, whatever you want to do, but just don’t —“ he looks away. “Just hate me, it’s easier. It’s all I deserve.”
Saints Of The Dying Light

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#20
Simmik rolled her eyes. His answer was convenient and she didn't believe it for a second. Right. You expect me to believe that you sent one of yours to spy on me to see how I was doing? I'm not an idiot. She was insulted that he would try to play on her feelings for him to forgive him for the betrayal of her trust. And it's your own fault that you can't come near my forest, she pointed out. He made the decisions to behave the way he did, and he had burned his bridges completely on his own, so he had no one to blame but himself. She certainly wouldn't feel bad for him because his actions prevented him from visiting her. It really just spoke to how much she really shouldn't be with him in the first place. A different, less kind leader than Mal would have likely stripped her of her rank for continuing to consort with an enemy of their allies. 

Simmik stared right back at him, and when he walked away again, she refused to follow. He acted as if he had no choice in any of this—like someone had forced his hand in all of the bad things he had done. To some extent, she knew it wasn't all his fault, at least not initially; he was brainwashed by his parents—raised to believe that he could only do evil. But now, he was an adult and she had told him things could be different. He had to know what kind of life he could have with her, and yet he still continued to make bad choices, spy on her, lie to her. When he told her to go be with someone else, her eyes narrowed. Is that what you want? For me to be with someone else? She wished it was what she wanted, honestly, but her heart was stupid. 

He walked back over to her but stopped before he reached her. The way he said her name made her chest tighten nervously. He was going to break things off, she knew it, and it pissed her off how much the thought broke her heart. But what he said was not anything she had been expecting. She was frozen in place while her mind raced and her stomach churned violently. How could he have done such a thing? She knew he was bad, but she didn't think he was capable of raping someone. She felt like a gullible idiot. She felt like she was going to vomit. She felt her heart breaking into a million pieces. Most of all, she felt completely betrayed. She was disgusted with him and it certainly showed on her face. Revulsion and and loathing filled her shattered heart. She couldn't say anything for a long time as her mind tried to process the horror of his actions. How had she been so mislead by a monster? He was a monster. Tears pooled in her eyes no matter how much she tried not to cry. She didn't want to cry in front of this monster, but she was just so destroyed by what he had done. He had done to someone else what had been done to her, and there was just no way she could ever look at him the same way. What the fuck is wrong with you? the same disgust on her face filled every word of her question. How could you do that to someone? There is no fucking excuse for that. She didn't even want to hear him try to rationalize it—there was no way he could to her. 

She stepped closer, venom and hatred in her gaze. Stay away from me. Stay away from my pack. Her jaw tightened in anger for a moment before she continued. If I see you again, I'll kill you. 

She turned her back on him then and began to walk away. Her vision blurred with tears as they started to fall freely down her cheeks. She didn't think it was possible to be anymore broken than she already was, but Kynareth had taken what was left and smashed it into even smaller pieces. The hurt was staggering.
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Saints Of The Dying Light

The Grandmaster*
"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
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#21
He has little to say; truly he does. Yet he screams back at her. “No! I don’t want you to be with someone else! I knew you wouldn’t want me after that anyhow.” He quiets down as the words come out. He doesn’t even dare move as she threatens him. He doesn’t even dare rationalize or make excuses. He knows what he did and now she does. 

For a moment he thinks of Sasha, the foul woman appeared to care about him back then. Accepted him and all of his disgusting, horribleness. Yet it was all a lie. This is what he deserves after all, to never find love. He won’t let himself. Though sadly, Simmik was the closest thing he’s gotten to that since he’s been here. He was genuinely happy when they first prances about each other. Sparing, hunting, spending the night together and making love in the pale moonlight. Is that what being happy is like? Or perhaps he should rephrase that. Is that what having a stable, healthy, relationship is like? Perhaps. Sasha was never that — or she was on the surface, but on the inside, such a fantasy is impossible.

So he watches tears spill from her face and streak down her smooth, pale cheeks. He’s going to miss her. Though he knows she won’t miss him. Even with the thread of death, he would still risk seeing her once more. Guess this means goodbye — for now at least.

So he stands there, ashamed, but accepting. His next words are low, a light crack in his usually unwavering voice. “Goodbye, Simmik.” He hums to her, the glassy orbs that shine bright like the stars stealing one last look to her. He turns his back and begins padding back to his Saints. Already working on shoving the memory to the back of his skull, not to be uncovered until he meets the silvery woman again.

Goodbye Simmik — for now.