#NOT JUST A WEREWOLF THING

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

I am such a big Werewolf Stan advocate I had to jump on this particular train 🙏 (but I didn't really wanna commit to full line art, you guys understand)

Oh, and you guys aren't gonna believe this, but here's part two 🙌

[hemipenal-system]

someone (idk who bc it was anon and i blocked them immediately lol) sent some goofy ass ask re: the transcoded werewolves thing like "ah yes the trans experience of turning into a beast at the slightest provocation" and buddy you're so fucking close

the trans experience of being treated like a monster the minute you get mad about something cis people humans would have been given endless grace for

[classichorrorblog]

10 Movies From The 1980s To Consider For October/Halloween

[newtid]

had the urge to draw the butch werewolf again (mainly in thanks to punkitt's werewolf sona)

started making this a couple days ago and was planning on posting it tomorrow but i just learnt that woah!! it's butch appreciation day

anyway i made this gal nearly a year ago but she's still unnamed, so if you've got any ideas let me know

[gorgynei]

rip and tear and maim etc. etc.

[bluegiragi]

new moon (part 1)

early access + nsfw on patreon

[ranticore]

werewolves (???) for ya

these are communal pack-living humanoids who are arguably the least 'punished' of the monsters in this world. they wear the face of their old master as a mask for 27 days out of 28, and on the night of the full moon they can remove it and finally enjoy the use of their own wolfy faces (for a limited period of time). otherwise they look like this all the time.

they are pretty awkward to look at, lacking opposable thumbs and the ability to make most facial expressions, but they do have a small amount of integration with human settlements, and can often be found trading their own produce for items which require opposable thumbs to make, like thread or bowls. they usually bring unprocessed game to trade, as they are excellent hunters. they don't communicate well with humans and it's very rare for them to allow a human into their own dens in the woods/plains/etc.

Back home they can use their strong sense of smell to differentiate between what is essentially a group of identical members, but among humans they will dye their masks with natural pigments so that people can tell them apart. The best way to gain the trust of anyone is to show that you can hunt and kill the crawling beasts of the earth so it's not uncommon to see werewolves dragging their corpses into town to throw on the bonfire, as a show of solidarity.

werewolves are adaptable and not so insular that they disdain the company of others, so it's not unusual to find them working alongside other monsters, forming hunting partnerships with harpies in particular. this isn't universal and some cultures of wolfmen prefer to raid nests and steal eggs.

[whathehonestfuk]

Steve very clearly showing signs of being a werewolf

Eddie: jocks are fucking weird

[lesoldatmort]

Zack Fair (the literal) puppy.

aka the Woof! AU in which Zack lives and has a new limit break that can be fun. Finally uploading this masterpost after two years!

You can read the story Pushing Limits written with massive help of @squeemu here and see more art by my partner @artofalassa on their page! <3

[lesbianjodie]

You know I've been thinking, like. Since the detco movies aren't canon. They should totally do a silly (actually really serious and interesting) one where the culprit actually IS a real monster a la some scooby doo movies, you know? And then let the franchise go on as normal but now we know how the characters would respond to having ghosts in their soup.

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

Eddie accidentally outing himself to Steve and then immediately panicking that Steve is gonna know he’s into him so he starts rambling like “oh but don’t worry I’m not into you or anything, like you’re not even my type man, yeah I’m actually more into… werewolves? Yeah, yeah I want to get railed by a werewolf so don’t even worry about it”

And internally he’s screaming at himself to shut the fuck up because did he just tell Steve Harrington that he wants to get railed by a werewolf? What the fuck Eddie? It’s not like he’s totally lying about that (though he’s also very much into Steve) but that’s not something to just tell people

Meanwhile Steve is devastated because his crush just confessed to liking boys and then in the same breath said he’d never be into him.

Anyway this is the precursor to a werewolf Steve fic idk

[varilien]

halloween idea: werewolfwood ??? :]c

okay sorry this wasn't going to be vashwood but i put on a couple random werewolf movies while working on it and they were consistently SUFFUSED with romantic themes so. coughs.

werewolfwood as ever has a cranky face but a soft little heart :)

[strawberryscare]

kristen trying to convince fabian to pursue mazey by causing a small earthquake and saying “if there’s one thing i know, when love is in the air, there should be a tiny emergency!” hits a little different when you rmr that her and tracker’s first meeting was at the black pit bar and their first kiss was followed immediately by an undead brawl

[barbaricjester]

Werewolf Stan. In my brain. Werewolf Stan who transforms for the first time and is scared and hurt and angry and confused, until you or me or y/n or Fiddleford or whoever the fuck goes out into the yard, sits, and gently calls to the hulking, fury, snarling and whimpering figure in the trees. Werewolf Stanley, brain addled from his transformation. He still knows. More beast than man, he still recognizes. He knows "safe." He crawls on his belly, whimpering and snuffling as he tries to squeeze as much as his massive form into a lap as possible. Big head in the lap, muscular, furry arms wrapped around a body twice as small as him. Big brown eyes peer up from under shaggy fur. He's a beast but he's Stan. It's him. He's scared. He just needs to be held, until the moonlight fades. Feels guilty that it takes all night, but relieved he's not left alone. Safe from himself in those arms.

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

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My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[coyoteinatree]

Question for nonhumans that get fictional crushes??

does anyone else have fictional crushes that just really appeal to their nonhumanity? Like yeah Wolverine is really hot but also my wolf brain is always like “he would be such a good protector and provider, look he’s feral like me, he wouldn’t think it was weird if I growled and bit him, look!”

Like I always feel like I’m more attracted to characters/people that are more in touch with that place and instincts that border on therianthropy.

Just me? Is this a unique experience??