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 tearing through the pages and the ink, closed; alaric
Anika Rozman
 Posted: Jan 21 2018, 03:49 PM
Quote
Harp23CSTmature? Ask •
Media Personnel
26
Female
Unknown
Pansexual
It's Complicated
@[Alaric Greymark]
The Daily Prophet Investigative Political Correspondent
��


They probably had to stop doing this dance. It was becoming too familiar of a cycle, where the pair of them would have a good thing going for a little while, before something cataclysmic would fall between them that sparked a feud like the one they had going now. This time, it was France. And Annie supposed it was also her career, considering she sure as hell wasn’t going to give that up, especially based off the conversation she’d had with her editor.

It was logical, truth be told, that she should just drop her trysts with Alaric altogether, because there was a part of her that knew that another argument, another fight, was inevitable. He was an angry, fighting werewolf. She was a… well, she was a reporter, who liked to get her nose into things. Maybe that was the problem. Or maybe she had just been giving this too much thought, and quite frankly, Anika Rozman refused to think about changing her lifestyle to suit a man’s, no matter how much she liked being under the sheets with him, or how much she liked spending time with him. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to stop fighting if she asked. They’d already been down that road.

They’d already been down this road, too. As Annie stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of muscles and properly pliable after her and Alaric’s latest bout, she realized that none of this was smart. It was stupid to keep inviting him over, or going over to his place, just for a good romp. She ran a hand through rumpled red hair, and sat up with a satisfied grump and shifted her legs to get up and actually get some clothes back on. Not that she necessarily needed them, since it was her own apartment and all that, but she at least had some sense of decency.

There were probably people who thought rather differently.

Regardless, as Annie was buttoning up her shirt, avoiding Alaric’s gaze if he ever looked her way, she blurted out, “I’m probably going to be harder to find, these days. I’m going to be following a lead in France, so I might not be around as often. It’s… there’s something going on there, and I’m going to find out what it is.” She didn’t really know why she felt the need to say it, especially when it was a relatively sore spot between the pair of them and really not a subject they tended to touch on when they… met up, for lack of a better term. It was like his fighting. They didn’t talk about it, they didn’t argue about it.

But at this point, it was beginning to feel dishonest. Annie probably shouldn’t want to fight for anything with Alaric, but somehow, they always ended up back in this same situation. Maybe they were too weak to stay away from each other, or maybe there was just something more going on that neither of them were willing or really emotionally mature enough to acknowledge. But she liked him. A lot. And she didn’t want him to hate what she was doing, what she thought was important. She was sure he felt the same way about the fighting, and she knew that, like sex, it was something that helped him feel in control. She didn’t hate that. She just hated seeing him hurt.

Briefly, she wondered if the whole thing about Paris, and France, was the same for him. It didn’t feel that way. “So, don’t have too many other floozies while I’m out and about. I’d like to stay clean, thanks.” It was a joke, of course, and the mischievous smile that she flashed in his direction was proof enough of that. She just hoped that she wasn’t about to piss him off. “Or maybe you could come with me sometime, if you wanted. Have you ever been to France?”
a starter for chu! Alaric Greymark |
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Alaric Greymark
 Posted: Jan 27 2018, 07:31 PM
Quote
Lacey28Centralmature? Yes •
Criminal
26
Male
Half Blood
Bisexual
Single
boxing instructor
underground fighter
werewolf
��


i don't want to wake it up the
devil in me

Alaric wasn’t generally one for over thinking his sexual relationships. Or really even think about them at all to begin with. As far as he was concerned, if things got to the point that they were too complicated, that was when it was time to call it quits. Honestly, that was what he liked so much about one night stands; he never had to give another thought to the person after they said goodbye.

Annie was definitely not a one night stand. He’d lost track of the number of times they’d hooked up. Of course, he’d also lost track of the number of times they’d fought and stopped seeing each other. Eventually they always ended up deciding they could distance themselves enough to jump back between the sheets, but it usually ended up not being the case. Something else came up eventually. Alaric wasn’t entirely sure what the whole list of “things they didn’t talk about” was anymore. His job. Her job. Their lives outside the bedroom together. It was safer to not talk and just fuck, honestly.

There was a pretty big part of him who thought things were too complicated with Annie, and that urged him to not continue on down the very familiar path of fucking, caring, fighting, leaving that they had established. Another pretty big part - the part that was cocky and full of himself - told him that he could stay detached this time. Yes, he always said that, but this time he really could. Besides, the part of him that needed control in his life added, Annie provided him a much more comfortable, safer outlet for that pent up energy. He could find an outlet in fighting or in any warm body, but Annie knew him. Knew his secrets, knew his baggage, knew what he needed when he came to her angry, or overwhelmed with chaos, or full of self loathing.

And that, a tiny, quiet part of himself that he squashed immediately whenever it piped up, was a very nice thing to have.

He was laying on his back in Annie’s bed, one arm tucked up under his head, as his heart rate slowly settled back into a normal range. Everything else aside, the two of them had pretty great sexual chemistry, and he felt sated in a way not even the best fight of his life could make him feel. Alaric debated privately whether he should head home now, or stick around for a potential second round. The chance of staying the night was higher if he stayed a while. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Alaric had just been trying to do it less since they’d started sleeping together again. Kept things nice and separate.

Watching Annie sit up and pull on a shirt, Alaric admired the slopes of her shoulders and hips. It was rather disappointing that she was getting dressed, of course, but he appreciated the last good look at her bare form before she covered it. When she started talking about spending more time in France, he grunted noncommittally, shifting his position. He didn’t approve of that shit, and she knew it. She was a reporter, not a cop, and she was going in some dangerous places asking dangerous questions. She was lucky she hadn’t gotten her fool self hurt yet.

“Guess I won’t come looking then,” he said evenly, sitting up on the opposite side of the bed. “You know how to find me when you’re around.” Getting the sense that the fun portion of the evening was more or less over since she was bringing this shit up, Alaric snagged his pants from where he’d tossed them on the floor and started putting them on.

He snorted when she made the shot at his private life. “Funny, that’s what the floozies say about you,” he returned, cracking a small smile as he teased her back. Which slowly faded as she asked him about France. Standing to adjust his jeans on his hips and do up his fly, Alaric shook his head.

“No, I haven’t. Couldn’t travel much growing up,” he answered shortly, looking around for where his shirt had ended up instead of at Annie. “So I’ve only been out of the country the once.” He was glad he wasn’t facing Annie as the thought of that place was brought to mind, so she couldn’t see the darkness there. Azkaban still affected him, even a few years later. When his anger was at its worst, when his mood was absolutely dismal, when he couldn’t sleep for the nightmares of that place - that was when he picked a particularly stupid fight (and probably lose), or when he tried to lose himself in another person. Most of his… behavior stemmed from werewolf issues, but Azkaban definitely amplified it. Annie probably had no clue how many times she’d kept him from being arrested or hospitalized by simply being home and letting him in to find release and something that felt akin to salvation in her body when he was deep in that black mood.

“It didn’t agree with me.”



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Anika Rozman
 Posted: Feb 22 2018, 11:07 PM
Quote
Harp23CSTmature? Ask •
Media Personnel
26
Female
Unknown
Pansexual
It's Complicated
@[Alaric Greymark]
The Daily Prophet Investigative Political Correspondent
��


“Is it, now? How come-” Annie’s smile faded when she saw it drop from Alaric’s face. The second she heard the teasing, and any hints of happiness slip from his voice, Annie knew she’d hit a sore spot. Or at least, broached a topic he didn’t want to deal with. To be fair, it wasn’t exactly something she wanted to extensively discuss or fight over, because despite everything, she absolutely hated fighting with Alaric. Some might have guessed that it was because Alaric’s anger could be explosive, like dynamite in a frail mineshaft. But Annie knew better.

It was true that Alaric had an angry heart. All it took was one look in those stupidly piercing blue eyes of his to see it. But the anger was born of things unjustly done unto him; part of that was Annie’s stellar intuition, and the other part of it was simply because there had been one or two times when Alaric and her had imbibed in alcohol. Too much of it, actually. And one of the odd things about a drunk Alaric was that he liked to talk. A lot, surprisingly. And even more shocking, he tended to talk about his feelings.

In short, Alaric was a man who was angry six days out of the week and most of the seventh. But that anger never led him to harm people he cared about. He channeled it. Even if, sometimes, it wasn’t in a healthy or a safe environment. But he’d never hit her; and Annie was genuinely willing to bet her life that he never would.

And as he continued, and turned away from her, Annie let out a sigh. Without even prompting, she spotted his shirt by her own feet (clothes tended to just fly in every direction when they got into the bedroom), and bent down to pick it up. “No,” she said quietly, as she clambered over her own bed to hand it to him. “I can’t imagine it did.”

Because she knew exactly what he was referring to. Azkaban had been one of those topics that had come up while Alaric had been intoxicated out of his mind, stumbling onto her doorstep already in a drunken stupor. They hadn’t really been able to engage in their normal late-night activities with him in such a state, so Annie had simply given him water, food that her parents had given her, and had sat with him on her couch while he’d talked. He’d said a lot that night, about Azkaban, how it still haunted his nightmares, and honestly, Annie wished that she could undo the injustice that had been done to him. But she couldn’t.

“I… didn’t travel too much growing up either,” she said with a small shrug. That in particular was because her first fourteen years of life were mostly spent between an orphanage and failed foster homes. “But, just in case you have a few days between classes and your… you know, your fights…” and it was, notably, the first time she’d mentioned them without disgust or annoyance, “Here.” Grabbing an errant piece of paper from her nightstand and a pen that was there (she was a journalist and a writer, after all, Annie was always prepared), she scribbled down an address and the name of an establishment. “You can… you can throw this away, if you want, but this is where I’ll be staying. Paris is… pretty nice. It’s not at all like where you’ve been.”

At this, Annie couldn’t help but give the smallest of mischievous grins. “That, and I should say, I’m pretty sure French men don’t even have a quarter of your stamina.”

It was a long shot, and she knew it. The fact of the matter was, she was halfway sure Alaric was just going to leave the scrap of paper in the garbage, or in a gutter, and just wait for her to come back. But… there was a significant part of her that still wanted to try. And maybe, if he came to France, she’d be able to give him something nice. Good memories, at the very least, of a world outside of England.
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Alaric Greymark
 Posted: Jun 11 2018, 08:01 PM
Quote
Lacey28Centralmature? Yes •
Criminal
26
Male
Half Blood
Bisexual
Single
boxing instructor
underground fighter
werewolf
��


((Heeeey, trigger warning in this post for brief referencing past suicidal thoughts.))


i don't want to wake it up the
devil in me
Adjusting the fit of his jeans, Alaric very pointedly didn’t look at Annie as he briefly touched on his history. She knew some of it, he was certain. Less certain about other things. But enough to not press, and he was relieved when she didn’t.

Alaric didn’t talk about that time. His parents had wanted him to, when he’d first gotten out of the prison. And then, when it became clear he wasn’t going to talk to them about it, they’d encouraged him to talk to someone else about it. Offered to pay for a therapist. He’d never taken them up on it. Instead he’d worked up a good front of normality and unhealthy coping mechanisms and never showed up to family dinners with a black eye, and they had eventually stopped asking and came to accept the darker version of the son they’d had before.

He didn’t remember the night things had gotten really bad; worse than they’d ever gotten before. He didn’t remember that he’d come to Annie, too drunk to even stand really. He didn’t remember finding his way to her door in that state because he’d known, even as fucked up as he was, that if he went home to his empty apartment he probably would have silenced all the fucked up shit in his brain with a whole bottle of pills or the barrel of a gun. He didn’t remember laying on her couch with his head in her lap, her fingers gently combing through his hair as he told her about Azkaban. What it had been like, how he still had nightmares.

It had been hard at first, his attempts at describing it clumsy and fumbled with inexperience. Annie had coaxed it out of him by the time he fell asleep, however. Not with anything she said or did; she hadn’t pushed or asked questions. But Annie knew him. She knew what he was, the monster that was inside him. She knew how little regard he had for his own safety, and how he craved violence. That he balanced maintaining a tight control with losing control completely, and how he sometimes found pain and pleasure interchangeable. She knew all these things, and she didn’t judge him, didn’t hate him. She came to his bed enthusiastically, and invited him into hers. In his alcohol sodden haze, Annie was the most downright fucking definition of safety he could imagine, and so he’d told her pretty much everything, only really holding back what he’d been thinking about doing to himself earlier that night.

Alaric didn’t remember that. But he did remember the black mood that had caused him to go get soused in the first place, and he remembered waking up in her flat with a faint sense of shame or regret. Annie hadn’t let on that anything had happened the night before, bringing him coffee and aspirin and inviting him into the shower with her. He didn’t remember, but he suspected. He assumed he’d said something, though not to the degree he actually did. But enough that his comments now would make perfect sense to her.

And they did, which confirmed that theory. As she crawled over the bed to hand him the shirt, he was loathed to look her in the eye, afraid of what he’d find there. He did, however, after a beat look up at her, and didn’t find her looking at him pity. He took his shirt, catching her hand in his larger one before she could withdraw it. He didn’t say anything, just squeezed it gently, his thumb running over her knuckles before letting go to resume getting dressed.

The fighter was surprised that she was writing down the address for him, and took the piece of paper tentatively. “Thanks,” he said awkwardly. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.” Alaric folded the paper and stuck it in his back pocket, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably. Ah, hell. She probably deserved more than that; she was earnestly inviting him, not just doing so to be nice.

“I, uh… I don’t like to be in unfamiliar places during… well, you know. It tends to agitate it.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, trying to be nonchalant. “Plus, you know, the planning of finding a safe place, somewhere to get the potion if I couldn’t get it before traveling. It’s just… easier to stay close to home for that time. But, um, I’ll see how my schedule lines up. See if i can work out some time not during those days. I’ll let you know, yeah?” There was probably no way that Alaric would end up actually going. But he would have felt like such an asshole saying so, when she was being sweet and genuine.

He snorted when she grinned at him, making a comment about stamina. “Definitely not,” he agreed. Leaning toward her, he pulled her in for what was intended to be a quick kiss that ended up lingering. Against his better judgement considering his earlier thoughts about leaving before it got too late, Alaric grinned suggestively at her.

“You know, if you don’t have an early morning tomorrow, I could stay and show you some more of that stamina,” he offered. It hadn’t been that long since their last romp on the sheets, and he probably needed a little longer before being totally ready for another round. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t spend that time between her thighs, using other means to take her apart.

Anika Rozman


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