#Werewolf Patton

[5am-the-foxing-hour]

Saw these poses and brain went "draw for Wolfsbane au" and thus... here we are.

A bookworm who fell asleep while reading.

Roman finally got to tag along to a market as his tiny self. Virgil and Remus getting surprised by some rain.

Original poses by Mellon_soup on Instagram

Pose 1 I Pose 2 I Pose 3

[loserlovercafe]

Crying at how long this is taking me- so sneak peak for motivation lol 💪

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (6)

warnings: PTSD, misunderstandings, panic attack/anxiety spiral, MASSIVE miscommunication moment this chapter, brief mentions of past death, lmk if im missing any!

-

Despite having every intention of plotting escape, Virgil found himself spending the bulk of the next few days sound asleep.

He’d suspected foul play, something slipped into the meals that they kept freely giving him, but there was nothing unnatural or forced about his rest.

His body and mind had been pushed to their limits, and he was simply exhausted.

The humans did their best not to disturb him, but he was restless, his mind always registering the wrongness of his surroundings and trying to drag him back into consciousness. He woke the moment one of them stepped into the room, no matter how brief or silent the intrusion.

He didn’t open his eyes or twitch when this happened, morbidly curious to see how they would behave if they thought he wasn’t aware and watching their every move. He laid there with his heart racing, listening keenly to catch the muffled steps and soft breathing, waiting for the inevitable moment that one of them approached.

They never did.

When he wasn’t sleeping, the humans held meals with him. Unperturbed by his stubborn silence, they would chatter on just as much as they had back when he’d taken refuge under their floorboards, the thread of conversation frequently derailed by quips and rambling anecdotes.

He thought he had figured it out after that first night, between the food he’d assumed was drugged and the sting of the silverware in his grip— not pure silver, but close enough to burn.

But he’d only felt more and more clear-headed as time passed, and the moment one of them had noticed his fingers spasming around a fork, they’d all kicked up a fuss and instantly swapped the silver utensils out for carefully carved wooden ones.

As though that wasn’t enough, Logan continued to check on his wounds with precise regularity, and despite the fear that rose in Virgil whenever the scent of medical supplies filled the air, the human never took so much as a hair from his head.

His care seemed designed to be as painless as possible, from the way he carefully instructed Virgil through each step of administering treatment to the damp, oven-warm cloth he would press against bandages to keep scabs from tearing free when the padding was changed.

It was bizarre, and Virgil didn’t know how to handle it.

He could see why they would want to keep his wounds clean and uninfected. It made sense; they wanted him all healed up by the full moon, not sickly and delirious in the grips of a fever.

That didn’t explain the rest of it. The meals, the sleep, the way they listened.

The way restraints still hadn’t appeared, even as he slowly but surely regained his strength.

They might have called his bluff, somehow realized that he was too weak (too attached) to turn his teeth against them, but any hunter worth their blade knew better than to rely on such an uncertain assumption.

Especially not when he could potentially do so much damage, placed in the soft, unguarded center of their home.

There was nothing to gain. His body would serve its purpose to them whether it had spent the last few weeks on a silk cushion or a stone cell floor. Why would they risk it?

Once he’d successfully spent most of the day awake, and even shuffled through the house without tearing any stitches, they seemed to deem him well enough to hold a coherent conversation.

(He’d actually been trying to count all the potential exits, maybe even see what sort of lodestone Logan was using for the ward. When Patton had caught him slinking around, he hadn’t seemed suspicious or angry at all, only overwhelmingly enthusiastic about his health improving.

He also hadn’t seemed at all wary about stumbling upon the unrestrained captive that had taken him hostage the last time they were alone, because of course he hadn’t. How had these idiots even survived this long?)

“Did you like the meatloaf?” Patton asked him, over halfway through his own meal. The three of them tended to occasionally neglect their dishes in favor of rambling conversation or spirited arguments, so Virgil was almost always done well before them.

They also tended to not ask him such direct questions, and Virgil blinked in silent surprise for a moment, waiting for him to realize his mistake.

Instead, Patton let the silence stretch, unperturbed, for long enough that Virgil finally gave a half-hearted shrug.

“His plate speaks for itself, does it not?” Roman jumped in eagerly, tilting his head towards the empty space where the meatloaf had– very briefly– sat.

Virgil resisted the urge to snort, shifting in mild discomfort at becoming the topic of conversation. They could have put basically anything edible on his plate and gotten the same result. He knew better than to turn down food.

“Dishware can’t speak,” Logan informed him blandly. “Or consume and judge the quality of food, for that matter.”

Virgil felt a flare of amusement at the look on Roman’s face, and the words slipped out without thought. “He’s got you there.”

Three pairs of eyes flicked over at the barely-audible statement, and he only barely resisted the urge to shrink back. Surprisingly, none of them seemed mad, although Roman was visibly torn between surprised delight and dismay.

“Well, I thought it was just loaf-ly,” said Patton, because he was the funniest one there. Virgil’s lips twitched as Roman settled fully into dismay with a groan.

“Must you mock me?” Logan asked with a longsuffering air.

“Your recipe was delicious!” Patton continued. “I’d love to meat the ones who made it!”

Roman groaned louder.

“You’ve already met my family?” Logan replied, confused. “My mother– ah. You were engaging in more juvenile wordplay. More the fool I.”

“I pan do this all day!” Patton paused, and then shrugged. “That one would have worked better if it was still in the baking pan.”

Roman cleared his throat.

“Wow, Specs, I didn’t know this was your family’s recipe,” he said, his words just a little too over-exaggerated. “Are they going to come to visit any time soon?”

Virgil kept his gaze on his cleared plate, trying to force down the sickening lurch in his stomach. More humans. Just what he needed.

Logan hummed. “At this point in the season, I imagine they’re very busy with the farm. If they do decide to visit, they will let me know well in advance. And yours?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a letter.” Roman’s expression soured. “Not that it matters. If he decides to visit, he’ll let me know about five seconds before he kicks the door in. Probably by screaming at the top of his lungs.”

Despite all the irritation in his expression, there was worry hidden there, too. Virgil was also feeling worried, admittedly for entirely different reasons.

(For some people, hunting was the sort of thing that ran in the family.)

“At least his visits are always… exciting!” Patton tried, sounding a little uncertain himself. “What about you, Mister Wolf?”

The words registered a beat late, and Virgil’s head jerked up enough to see that they were all looking at him, again. “What?”

“I know you’ll only be here for a little bit, but I know I always worry when my loved ones are injured, especially if I can’t be by their side,” Patton elaborated. “Should we be on the lookout for any potential visitors?”

Understanding hit Virgil like a fever, his blood running cold for a moment before spiking into an unbearable furious heat.

So that was why. He should have known.

“You won’t find anyone out there,” he forced through grit teeth. A low growl had started vibrating in his chest, and he relished in the way the three of them went taut at the noise. “There’s no one to find. If there was, I would never give them up. No matter what.”

Maybe he should have lied, pretended that there was a reason for them to keep treating him with this targeted kindness. Lead them on with stories about a pack that didn’t actually exist, make them believe he was nothing more than a naive idiot, act as though he didn’t have a single clue as to what they were trying to do. It would probably have made escaping easier.

It didn’t matter. Anger had overtaken fear, sharp and fire-bright, and now all he wanted to do was burn. They could do whatever they wanted to him, use the stick now that the carrot had so miserably failed, and it still wouldn’t ever be enough to make him give up a pack. Not to a fate as cruel as this.

Movement caught his eye, and his head snapped up with teeth bared, a snarl at the tip of his tongue as he braced for an attack–

The humans had retreated.

“We’ll leave you be,” Logan said, and Virgil realized that at some point, he’d corralled the other two out of the room and into the hall; he could see Patton’s arm around Roman’s shoulder, the two of them casting worried looks back as they shuffled away. “We didn’t mean any offense. Please call on me if you need anything.”

When Virgil only stared, his growl still rumbling from deep within him, Logan nodded once and slid the divider door into place, his footsteps retreating shortly after.

The dishes had been left where they were. Virgil’s plate was shattered, the ceramic pieces laying heavy on his lap. It was quiet.

They’d left him alone. By now, they had to know baiting him wouldn’t work. And still, they’d given him space, backed off instead of pushing on with other, more painful tactics. It didn’t make any sense.

Unless they had some other way of getting what they wanted.

Virgil curled in on himself, his growl cutting off as panic doused him. Logan knew enough about spellcraft to make potions, to set wards, to locate leylines. If they knew something Virgil didn’t, if they knew enough about magic to twist it to their own ends, and if they knew a way to find other wolves through him without his participation– if they knew about packbonds, and had a way to reveal his…

So what? He didn’t have a pack, not anymore. He didn’t have a pack. He didn’t, except.

Did any packbond count? Even ones that had only existed for a day?

The thought sent icy nausea through him, and he gripped a shard of the ceramic hard enough to break skin, his breath coming too-quick and catching in his throat.

No, no, no. He couldn’t panic. He couldn’t afford to pass out, not when he didn’t know what they might do to him while he was under. Who they might find.

Unfortunately, knowing he had to stop panicking and actually calming down were two entirely different things.

Black spots dotted his vision, and he passed out between one frantic inhale and the next.

—

He woke to something touching his shoulder, and ingrained reflexes had him snapping a hand out, lips curling up to bare teeth.

“Oh!” a voice exclaimed quietly, and Virgil froze.

It took a few blinks to make out Patton’s form in the dark. He had the human by the wrist, his claws pricking at skin, but he seemed more sheepish than anything.

There was a blanket slipping off his shoulder, one that hadn’t been there before.

The sight of it sent a miserable curl of guilt through him, one that was quickly dampened by the memory of what had happened before he’d passed out.

His hand sprang open as he scanned the room for the other two, desperately straining his senses for any trace of magecraft that had been performed on his person, only to come up empty on both counts.

It was only Patton, standing there in the dark with his hands clasped tightly.

There was a beat of silence, in which all he could think about was that one ephemeral, damning packbond, and everything he’d do to keep it undiscovered.

If he could just convince them to settle for one. For him. He could behave, he would swear it, he would beg–

“I’m sorry,” Patton said, which was so surprising that it practically stole the voice from his throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, asking that sort of thing at dinner.”

‘Didn’t mean to hurt’ him? How stupid did he think Virgil was? Or worse, how cruel?

“How would you feel,” he forced out, “if I’d asked you that. And it was your pack.”

The words were hardly more than a rough whisper, but Patton reeled back as though struck.

“I know,” he replied after a moment, his voice thicker now. “I know. We weren’t– It wasn’t meant to bring back painful memories. I swear. We only wanted to know if there was anyone missing you, and we didn’t think about how you would feel if… if there wasn’t. We– I, of all people, should have known better.”

Virgil’s brow furrowed as he listened, a small spark of hope flaring to life in him. It sounded like… like Patton had taken him at his word.

Was it possible that he had a chance, after all?

“Yeah, well. I should have known you’d ask,” he said, trying to keep his voice under control. “Still, it doesn’t change my answer.”

Patton inhaled, his words coming out slightly wobbly. “You really don’t have anyone? It’s… It’s just you?”

Virgil swallowed, aware that he was walking into the trap of his own volition. Once there was nothing else to drag from him, there was no reason for them to keep treating him like this.

“Yeah. It’s just me.”

Patton exhaled, slow and shaky, and reached out for Virgil’s hands. His face was hardly visible in the low light, but he was moving slow enough for there to be a question in the motion. Trying to see if he would cooperate?

Restraints right away, then.

Well. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fight if it would keep them from tracking down the only good thing left in his past.

He held his hands out and braced himself for the burn of silver.

Instead, he felt two warm points of pressure against his palms. Patton was holding his hands firmly but harmlessly, in a grip that Virgil could break away from with a twitch. He was rubbing small circles on the side of Virgil’s hands with his little dull-edged thumbs.

It was a soothing gesture. A gentle one.

Virgil stared dumbly down at the shapeless mass their hands formed in the dark.

“Why?” he asked, unable as always to keep himself from looking the gift horse in the mouth. “Why are you treating me like this? You have to know this isn’t necessary.”

Patton withdrew slightly, seeming almost startled.

“I’m not doing it because it’s necessary, kiddo. I’m doing it because I want to. Because it seems like maybe you need it.”

“You don’t even know me,” Virgil replied, his hands twitching the slightest amount. They were beginning to tingle with that strange warm sensation that he’d felt when Logan had carried him.

“I know that you protected my partners,” Patton replied steadily. “I know that you probably saved my life, and got hurt something awful in the process. Is it so strange that I’d want to comfort you?”

Virgil paused.

That’s right. He’d saved them.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, it was just that he hadn’t expected it to matter. The moment they’d realized what he was, his fate had been sealed. To humans, shifters were dangerous and valuable, and so they couldn’t be allowed to live.

Even his humans knew it. Why else would he be here, locked behind wards to wait for the full moon?

It was a necessity, but that didn’t change who they were. He’d spent all this time bracing for a blow, waiting for the cruelty and malice that he’d experienced at the hands of humans before. Yet it hadn’t come.

Maybe it wasn’t coming at all.

“You want me… to be comfortable,” he tried, the words strange on his tongue.

“Of course!” Patton replied. “It’s the least we can do to repay you.”

Virgil nodded slowly, finally grasping the shape of the puzzle that had been placed before him.

Back when he was a pup, his pack had run across a solitary wolf, badly wounded. There was nothing they could do to save her, but the pack stopped anyway. They’d curled up around her, shared what meat they had from the morning’s hunt, and invited her to sing when dusk fell. For the handful of hours she’d had left, she’d been one of theirs.

His humans had their own sense of honor. They couldn’t afford to let him live, but it was thanks to him that their small pack hadn’t been torn to shreds. This gentleness, the way they held meals with him and offered him conversation and tended his wounds, it was their way of showing gratitude.

He could trust it would stay.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Until the full moon rose again, he was one of theirs.

[ephiesoul]

Chibi Werewolf Patton 🐺🐾

[loganslowdown4]

I just—

I love this nerd

*throws some random old photos at you and runs away giggling* hehehehehehe

[edupunkn00b]

But the Shopping Cart Wheels Still Squeak

Photo by Markus Winkler via Unsplash

A very short fluffy drabble for today's Werewolf AU for @tsspromptmonth's Rare Gifts Event.

WC: 359 - CW: fluff and werewolves -

Fingertips drumming against the molded plastic cart handle, Logan hummed and listened to his packmate’s playful bickering.

“It’s the front left, definitely,” Patton was nodding, bobbing his head to the tempo of the faulty shopping cart wheel.

Feigning a deep frown, Roman shook his head. “Hm, I think it’s the rear.”

“You always think it’s the rear!” Patton laughed, voice trailing up into a squeal when Roman nipped gently at his shoulder.

“For the record,” Logan murmured, unable to hide his smile as he pushed the cart back and forth, “Both are squeaking.” 

“Told you!” Roman and Patton laughed to each other before falling into a quiet argument over which wheel squeaked louder and Logan continued on his journey down the aisle, tossing in a box of Cheez-its and a small tin of soda crackers.

Just before the cart turned the corner, though, Logan stopped and inhaled sharply. “Pups,” he growled quietly. “Go find us some fresh sweet potatoes, please.”

“Mi amor, really?” “Aw, c’mon, Logie, we’ll be good!” they complained in unison.

“Absolutely not!” Logan’s eyebrow raised so his voice wouldn’t have to. “The last time you promised to be good we had to purchase everything behind the meat counter.”

Patton lowered his head and curled against Logan’s side. Roman whined, almost imperceptibly. Finally Logan reached up to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. “I’m not angry and no-one’s in trouble. This is no different than the days when I need a break from bright lights.” 

Hunched over, Roman shrunk the distance between them, nuzzling against the side of his neck. After a deep breath, he melted into Logan’s offered arm. “I suppose you’re right.” Head still resting on Logan’s shoulder, he peered up at each of them through unfairly long eyelashes. “What do you say, Patty? Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the produce aisle?”

Logan brushed a kiss against his cheek just before he bowed to a giggling Patton. “The honor is mine,” Patton laughed, humming when Logan gave him a matching kiss.

“Oh, and see if they have any—”

“Strawberries,” Patton nodded, linking fingers with Roman’s. “Always, Logie.” 

[typically-untypical]

Protecting Each Other

AU: Human

CW: Violence, none of our boys are injured though, cages

WC: 1,473

Date: 12/4/2023

Roman jerked awake, eyes flying open as he desperately attempted to figure out his surroundings. He couldn't remember anything that happened, or really who he was, until it slowly started coming back in pieces. He had been out hunting for food, looking for something to share with his pack. He had gotten caught. Roman's eyes focused as he looked around the cage he was in, metal bars surrounding his sides with a hard wooden floor and ceiling. The cage was big enough for his wolf form, which he was currently in, and the bars were close enough together that if he shifted to his human form, he still wouldn't be able to escape. Did they know? Were his captors aware of what he was? He had always done his best not to reveal the secrets of his kind, but that didn't mean everyone else was. 

He let out a soft snarl, wondering if it was his dumbass brother who had caused the secret to be leaked. Remus had already told a witch of the existence of werewolves and Roman wouldn't be surprised if he had blabbed to others. It was infuriating, it was aggravating, and worst of all, Roman was scared. Sure he wouldn't admit it to anyone except his pack, but he was terrified these monsters hadn't just captured him, but had tracked down his mates, his loves. If Logan and Patton were also in danger because of his choices, he'd never forgive himself. He was their protector after all. Patton was far too kind to hurt anyone including someone who might have hurt other people. Logan on the other hand, hadn't been blessed with the strength or size of a great wolf. Sure he was still larger than a dog by any stretch of the imagination, but his wolf form was easily dwarfed by any other wolf much less any other werewolf. Roman was the protector. He was the strongest. He wasn't afraid of a fight. What was he going to do if the two of them got hurt?

He fought the whimper that was lingering in his throat, curling up tighter as he looked around. He truly had no escape. At least he wasn't moving. The area surrounding him was dark but he could see well enough. There were other caged animals and creatures, most of them asleep, most of them not looking well, and there were clipboards snapped to their cages. Maybe they didn't know he was a werewolf, maybe they thought he was a regular. Roman could see his clipboard dangling on his cage. Maybe if he turned human, he could look at what it said, if they spoke the same language he did. Was it worth being caught in his human form to chance it? What would it change about his situation? Roman began to pace, trying to figure out what his next move was when he heard a howl ripple through the night. His name was being cried to the moon in Patton's soft melodic tone and Roman wasn't sure if he should respond. Doing so could mean his rescue but it could also mean putting Patton in danger. A second howl echoed through the night, still far off but just as clear, Logan was there too.

Roman couldn't help it, his own howl built in his throat, tearing through his mouth as he matched their cries, calling to them and letting them know where he was.

"Shut it you mangy mutt!" He heard someone yell and although that wasn't proof that his captors thought of him as nothing but a wolf, it seemed to be leaning that way. If that was the case, maybe they could be tricked by him. Roman's breath quickened. Maybe he could get out. Rearing up the best he could, he started digging at the wood ceiling, fighting to weaken the confines of his cage. If Patton or Logan came he wanted to make it easier for them to break him out, easier for them to crash through the wood that was keeping him locked in. 

"I said shut up!" The man yelled again, a torch lighting up the space. Roman watched some of the other creatures flinch and recoil from the light, some of them going still from fear but he wouldn't bow. He snarled at the man in front, teeth bared. This man had dared to take him from his family, from his pack, and he wasn't going to have any of that. He was going to get back to Logan and Patton. He was going to protect them.

The man slammed a metal bar against Roman's cage, the ringing like needles against his ears. Roman pinned them down, shrinking lower, ready to pounce. He didn't want Logan and Patton coming into this, they were together but they could still get hurt, maybe he could just take a bit out of the man, if he could find a way to hurt this person just a little bit....

The other animals began chittering and making noise and Roman heard a growl that was unfamiliar to his ear. He and the man both looked back at the same time, wondering who or what had interrupted enough to cause a commotion. It was Patton. His large silhouette shone against the moonlight but Logan wasn't behind him. No, no, no, Patton could get hurt, Patton wasn't a fighter. 

At least, that's what Roman thought, but he was immediately proven wrong as Patton bound forward and with one paw tossed the man into one of the other cages, his head hitting the bars. He lay limply on the floor and Roman's eyes grew wide. Patton had done that, Patton had just done something that Roman didn't think was possible. In one movement he had knocked out another man, a human, a sentient being.

"Roman, my love," Patton's voice pulled him back, a now naked human form standing at the bars. "Logan is taking out the others," Patton had the key—he had grabbed it from Roman's tormentor but it was all such a blur. "We're going to get you out, we're going to get you home, but I have to rescue the others."

He wasn't ready to also return to a human form, feeling far more secure in his large wolf form, but he tilted his head in question.

Patton gestured to the other cages and of course, Roman should have known that Patton intended to free the other creatures who were being held captive. He had just been so stunned by Patton's sudden violence, not that it was bad, it was just, unlike him. The cage door swung open and Roman walked out, sticking close to Patton's side until another world ran in. Logan's thin lanky form was quick to come up to Roman and the two of them nuzzled against each other. They were together, they would be safe. 

"I should kill him for hurting you," Patton said, anger and disappointment in his voice. "How dare he?" But Patton made no move to hurt anyone else. As soon as the rest of the cages were open, Patton turned to Roman, looking him over and sighing softly. "You're okay? Like really okay?"

The concern and care in Patton's voice helped pull Roman out of his thoughts and into his human form. He nodded vigorously, throwing himself at his other boyfriend. "I'm okay," He whispered, "I'm really okay." 

The hug between the two of them was crushing, a tight embrace as if they might be able to become one person by just keeping the other close enough. Logan clearing his throat was the only thing to separate the two of them. "As much as I would appreciate joining this hug and reunion, we need to get out of here. Remus is pissed that you were taken and he and his betrotheds are planning on exacting their revenge."

Roman's eyes grew wide, "Good Hera, that is not going to go well for anyone."

Patton shook his head no. "So we're going to lead the animals out of here, then Logan and I are going to take care of you and make sure you're alright." Roman was touched, although he was a bit shaken up by being captured, he was physically fine. He didn't need his loves to worry about him so deeply, but their care made him feel loved. 

"Alright," he whispered, “Let’s go." He began to shift into his wolf form, watching as the other two did the same. Once they were all shifted, they started to run, out of the human encampment and back into the forest that was home. Roman let out a shaky sigh. He was okay, he was safe. He was once again with his loves. This time, he hadn't needed to be the hero, they had saved him.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

I have very specific thoughts regarding Logan's backstory in Crescent/Gibbous but I'm unsure if I'll ever write a full thing on it. So have this out of context scene instead. Just a small aside, Patton's mother and Logan's great-great grandmother were sisters, so they are related in that way. Logan knew Patton as "Uncle Pat" who was present at a few large family gatherings when he was a small child (not that he was fully aware his uncle was actually his great-great-great uncle)

Warnings: Sickness, Angst

“Logan?” 

He knew that voice. He raised his head up, trying to focus on the blurry figure in front of him. Why were they blurry? What happened to his glasses?

“Lo, buddy are you okay?”

He swallowed, throat aching. No, as much as he hated to admit it, everything was not okay.

“Logan, please, tell me what happened.” 

He shook his head, whining from the increasing pressure stemming from his temple. He’d experienced migraines before, but nothing like this. He swayed, his body crumpling down on its own accord. 

“Logan!” Hands reached out, cradling his clammy face. Black dots scattered his vision like a thousand tiny blackholes. He fought through it to stare at the blurry face behind the bars.

“Uncle?” He croaked, the familial title unintentionally slipping out. He felt extremely disoriented and confused. Two things Logan hated feeling above all else. It harkened back to a memory of a child hopelessly lost in a snowy forest, so alone and so certain of death.

“Logan, I’m here, pup.” Patton told him, a hand moving to brush Logan’s bangs away from his sweaty brow. 

“I’m not your pup.” Logan said vehemently. He was not a child–far from it. He was an accomplished man with several scientific accolades to his name. Most importantly, he was human, he was not a werewolf.

And if he was successful in his endeavors, he'd be not only human, but the first human ever to cure werewolf disease.

Patton did not respond. He kept silent as he gently pulled Logan’s glasses off his head, placing it on the floor. Logan’s vision sharpened, like a camera pulling into focus. This made complete sense–Logan was nearsighted so of course due to their close proximity he saw Patton much more clearly now that the glasses were removed. Patton must have noticed the lenses were smudged.

He refused to think long on it, not when he still hadn’t properly answered Patton.

“I don’t…” Logan trailed off, his eyebrows pressing together. When did he arrive at the facility? The last thing he recalled was crawling underneath every blanket he owned because he was so cold. Was this a fever dream?

“Patton, I’m afraid I am feeling rather unwell.”

“I know, Lo, I know,” Patton said, his voice cracking with some unidentifiable emotion, “how long have you been feeling this way?”

“Approximately two weeks.”

“Have you been more hungry than usual?”

“Ravenously. Nothing seems to satiate my appetite.”

“Any aches and pains?”

“I have experienced more muscle aches than usual, although it could simply be my body adjusting to a new exercise regimen–likewise that could be the cause of my new appetite. I have taken up an interest in running.”

“Why running?”

“Running is a good form of exercise. It has…also helped reduce my stress levels.”

“Do you feel more agitated lately? Snapping at things more easily? Felt overwhelmed in situations that you wouldn’t normally feel overwhelmed in?”

He didn’t like where this was going. He wiggled his head away from Patton’s hands, pressing his hands against the floor in an attempt to stand up. Nausea hit him instantaneously, forcing him back down again. Patton’s hands hovered over him, hesitating.

“What are you getting at?” Logan demanded, a growl rising in his throat.

Patton’s mouth opened, but no explanation came forth. He closed it, his lips forming a firm line. He stared back at Logan as if he should already know the answer.

Logan gripped the silver cell bars, shaking them with as much force as possible. “Tell me!” 

It would’ve been more intimidating had he been standing up. Much less, if he hadn’t jerked his hands back seconds later with a hiss. The bars had been hot to the touch as if he laid his hands directly onto a stove. His heart beat loudly in his chest as he stared down at the angry red blisters on his hands.

Silver was not harmful to humans. He should not have immediate abrasions from touching silver. There was only one explanation, but it was absurd–Logan would know if it was happening. He studied the phenomenon occurring in other individuals. But many diseases shared similar symptoms–everything that had been occurring to him could easily be explained away.

“Logan, I’m sorry,” Patton began, “I know this must be hard for you to accept, but you must accept it. You are turning.”

“No,” Logan said, nearly choking on air, “No, no, no you’re wrong, there are several other perfectly reasonable explanations–”

His vision spun, reminding him of the time he rode the Mad Tea Party at Disneyland as a kid. Colors danced about him, too indescribable to make out shapes. The contents of his stomach threatened to erupt from his throat like a volcano eruption of vomit. He whined again, digging his face into the cold cement floor.

“Logan,” A far-off voice called his name, “Logan?!”

His muscles spasmed. He clenched his jaws, restraining from screaming out in pain. Only a muffled wounded sound came out instead, something that did not sound entirely human.

“Shh, don't fight it.” The voice called out again, this time distinctly Patton. Of course, it had to be him, there was no one else around. Hands stroked his hair, so soft and soothing.

Everything inside of Logan urged him to remain by Patton’s side. He wanted to melt into the touch. To take the solace it offered him in the midst of the excruciating pain swelling up inside of him. It took every bit of him to pull himself away from Patton, backing up until he hit the cement wall with a thud. 

“Logan,” Patton pleaded, stretching a hand out to him, “I know you’re scared, but please I promise you that I can help you.”

Logan valued rationality. He learned from a young age that emotions should be stifled unless he wanted to let their inherent weakness influence him. But there was no rational explanation for his next action. 

Only that Logan was human and humans have two reactions in the face of something they refused to understand: they either reacted in violence or reacted in terror. In this instance, Logan gave into terror.

He ran.

[soulsoffairlight]

WARNING EXTREMELY LOUD

official scream/howl/voice claims for werelips :3

Overall, bc he's a type 4 lycanthrope in avidras lore (aka the "hollering werewolf") he has a wide vocal range and can probably break glass LMAO

He can speak to some degree in wereform but it's unintelligible like puppet form. Normally speaking he'd probably just sound like korn or some shit (/J)

[darcylovette]

Creatures of the Night

By Darcy Lovette (ao3)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship/s: Logan/Virgil

Genre: Supernatural Romance AU

Tags: Werewolves, Vampires, Omegaverse, Magic, Drama and Romance, Hurt and Comfort, Witches, Mild Dom/Sub, Slowburn, Explicit (full tags on story)

A world where Humans, Werewolves, Vampires, and Witches live together in “harmony”.

It’s not uncommon for a Rogue wolf to try and make a life outside of a Pack, but for Omegas it’s a different story.

To keep their uneasy pact with the distrustful humans, all Omegas must be placed within a Pack, the exact place decided by their Leader. If one is found, they must be handed over at once, with no fair trial or say in the matter.

After ten years living free, Virgil is caught and forced to integrate with a Pack so large it became its own independent city. But unexpected complications see him placed in the custody of Logan du Bris - son of the infamous Lord of Vampires.

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28

[5am-the-foxing-hour]

Fey Remus and Fey Roman: *in a competition to see who can chop up their pile of wood into firewood the fastest* Patton *gathering the thrown about firewood into baskets so Janus can carry them to the woodshed*: Oh! Virgil, where are you going? Vampire Virgil *dressed up in a black cape and more vampire aesthetic look, compared to his more relaxed everyday wear*: Coven meeting. Shouldn't take longer than a week... Ugh I hate when the whole family get together. Too many people. Werewolf Janus: Good luck. Vampire Virgil: Thanks. I'm glad it only happens once every century. Patton: I keep forgetting you're really old, Virgil. Vampire Virgil: I'm younger than those two idiots *gestures towards Remus and Roman who are now hurling insults at each other*. Werewolf Janus: ... how old are they exactly? Witch Logan *basket of mushrooms at his hip*: The two of them are about as old as this forest, so a millennia give or take, but who knows really. They never give me a good answer. I'm starting to suspect they don't know it themselves.

[loserlovercafe]

Augh- I finally finished it! This took forever to do since I don’t usually draw fur or backgrounds lol. But I’m pretty happy with how it turned out

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

(That relatable moment when your boyfriend says he has something important to tell you but instead of proposing he turns into a mythical beast.(/j) (it can also be platonic lol))

[casart]

Yea I post Art. But sometimes I just wanna post Thoughts

Like Sanders Sides Wednesday au where it's Moceit as Wenclair

Because I love the prep x goth dynamic so much

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (4)

warnings: miscommunication/assumptions, unreliable narrator, PTSD, past medical abuse, past torture/abuse in general, non-graphic description of blood and injury, mentions of taking blood/skin/etc. from a person (doesn't happen), might be missing some feel free to let me know

-

By the time they returned to the cabin, Virgil had sunk into a petulant and bitter silence.

He stalwartly refused to respond to Logan’s awkward comments, pointed statements, and outright queries alike. There was nothing they could leverage against him here, not when his own life was the only one on the line, and it was already all but forfeit.

Sure, it might have been in his best interest to cooperate, but that had never convinced him before, and he didn’t intend on breaking his stubborn streak anytime soon.

Instead, he tried to focus on coming up with some sort of ward-breaker method, attempting to drag his thoughts back into some form of coherency. The longer they walked, though, the more difficult it became to pay attention to anything except the warm points of contact where the human was holding him.

The last scraps of lingering adrenaline had long since faded away, but his skin still felt like it was buzzing under the slight pressure of Logan’s grip. The sensation was prickling, and grew more uncomfortable by the moment.

When the front of the cabin came into view, Roman was nowhere in sight, but Patton was waiting, seated on the steps of the porch. The moment he caught sight of their approach, his face split into a relieved smile.

Not the way Virgil would have reacted to the sight of a packmate toting around a hostile monster with seemingly no regard for his own safety, but whatever.

He’d already figured out that whatever rules these humans operated on, they were much different than what he was used to.

Patton pulled something from under his shirt; a small, wooden whistle.

Virgil tensed slightly, hands twitching with a barely-concealed impulse to cover his ears, but managed to refrain. If sound was the worst punishment he’d get for his escape attempt, he was getting off lucky. Better to just endure it.

“A moment, Patton,” Logan called, and when Virgil darted a glance up at him, he found the human was looking right back.

His lips curled back automatically, but Logan didn’t even give him the satisfaction of looking uneasy. He stepped up the porch steps with the same measured steps as always.

“Wait until I’m inside,” Logan told Patton nonsensically, and then, “After, if you could grab the kit from the kitchen, I would appreciate it.”

Patton nodded. “Of course! Are you alright?”

The pause dragged on as Logan didn’t reply, becoming stilted, and Virgil pulled his gaze away from the distant trees at the edge of the clearing to see that those soft brown eyes were locked on him, not Logan.

He scowled to hide his confusion, eyes narrowing into a sharp glare. “What does it matter?”

The human’s face grew impossibly sad, but Logan cut in before he could ask Virgil any more bewildering, meaningless questions, moving towards the cabin’s interior. “Later, Patton.”

Once the door closed behind them, Virgil heard two long, carrying trills, and then three short rapidfire ones. The whistle was much less shrill than he’d expected, enough that he even managed to keep from flinching.

He was carried through the kitchen, where he absently noted that the firewood had been set down in a haphazard pile on the table. Now that he knew about the ward, he kind of wished he’d taken the opportunity to knock all the wood out of Logan’s arms earlier. Petty, yeah, but petty victories were all he was likely to get from now on.

Logan set him down on the couch in the same cozy room from before, as though he’d never left the cabin at all. The moment the human pulled away, that odd burning sensation faded away into an empty chill. Virgil shivered.

The couch was still as soft and restraint-free as it had been when he’d woken up on it, though some of the blankets had been dragged onto the floor during his extremely poor attempt at a hostage situation. He slumped back into it, feeling the slight dizziness of blood loss beginning to set in.

His gaze flickered back up to Logan wearily, but the human didn’t say anything, only watching him with that assessing gaze, seeing far more than Virgil wanted him to.

Uneven footsteps clattered around nearby, and then Patton popped into the room with a white wooden case, setting it down on the table next to Logan and popping it open.

He couldn’t really make out the contents with Patton standing there rifling through them, but the sickening smell of antiseptic was telling enough all on its own.

Virgil tried to shove down his rising panic. He should have expected this. Non-fatal harvesting methods often doubled as effective punishments for the more efficient hunters out there. Logan was the efficient type, so it was probably pure coincidence that he’d chosen this, of all things.

The best thing he could do for himself now was to force himself calm, keep them from learning how badly it rattled him. The more he gave away, the easier it would be to control him. He knew this. He knew this.

Damn, but he was out of practice at pretending.

A few years in the safety of his own company, with only the forest’s soothing presence at his side, and he had softened his defenses. Slowly but surely, he’d let himself believe that he was free of it all, that he wouldn’t ever have to exist like that again. Idiotic.

Fingers wrapping around his wrist jolted him out of his thoughts, and he yanked back sharply, letting out a high-pitched snarl on instinct. The grip vanished, and as the world came back into focus, he saw that it had been Logan, that the human was now holding both hands up, palms facing him, completely empty.

Where was— there. Patton was sitting on the floor next to the table, doing a very poor job of not glancing between them worriedly.

“—don’t want me to touch you, that’s perfectly fine as well,” the human was saying, cadence even and calm. “I can instruct you from here, and you can handle the physical actions yourself, if that’s what you’d prefer?”

Virgil blinked at him blankly for a moment as the words registered, and then nodded slowly. It was a unique sort of torture, to have to do it to himself, but it also meant that he had control over how fast it went, how badly it hurt. He was more than familiar with what could be done to draw harvests out, multiplying the agony of them, and wasn’t keen on renewing that experience anytime soon.

Logan didn’t seem irritated by his choice, meaning that this was a matter of efficiency, that he didn’t care if the punishment wasn’t particularly sadistic as long as it got the message across.

Some of the tension dropped from Virgil’s shoulders despite himself. He shouldn’t feel so relieved about something so small, something that wouldn’t save him, but he couldn’t help it. When faced with the heartbreak of the alternative, the very idea of these humans hurting him just for the sake of hurting him…

He was already going to be hurting physically soon enough, he didn’t need to be hurting emotionally, too.

The easiest and most renewable components to take would be hair and blood, though if they were really insistent on trying to get him into his shift, they might also want teeth or skin– the sort of things that were far more painful after removal, and healed slower while he was human-shaped.

Joke was on them; he knew exactly what was in store for him if he shifted, and he’d take a slow, painful death by exsanguination over that any day.

The first thing Logan handed him was a pair of small medical shears, seeming to prove his assumptions entirely correct, and the only reason Virgil didn’t start getting it over with the moment those metal handles touched his fingertips was because he wasn’t sure yet if it was hair or skin they wanted.

“Cut alongside the bandages on your side, please,” Logan instructed, immediately throwing Virgil for a loop.

That meant… skin, right? He slowly moved the blades of the shears over to where thick white bandages were wrapped around his torso, small blots of bright red visible along his side, where he’d reopened his wounds.

Before he could work out the logistics of using such ill-suited blades on the skin below his bandages, Logan spoke again. “You’ll want to slide the flat of the scissors down beneath the bandages first, and then turn the sharp edge up vertically. That way, the point doesn’t catch on your skin.”

Didn’t that kind of miss the point, pun mostly unintended? Virgil squinted at him, almost opening his mouth to ask, before deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble or potential backlash. Maybe they wanted his whole torso exposed, for a better idea of where to cut the best leather from.

Possibly a smart move, going by how bruised his skin was the more bandages fell away with the slow snip-snip of his shears. The flesh wounds were still covered by the gauze dressing, which was practically glued in place by a mixture of fresh and dried blood.

Curious, Virgil pried the cottony fabric away with one sharp yank, gritting his teeth slightly at the pain of taking a fair bit of scab with it. Simultaneously, Logan and Patton seemed to inhale sharply, and Virgil pretended to be too busy inspecting his wound to look at them.

“I’ll have to be more expedient with the wet cloth next time,” Logan muttered, exasperated and low enough that he probably thought Virgil couldn’t hear. Patton made a low hum of agreement, the kind of noise made through lips pressed tightly together.

“I’m gonna go put something together for replenishment,” he answered softly, using Logan’s knee and then shoulder to help push himself up to a standing position. His crutches were passed over, and he limped from the room with a farewell wave.

Random statements from his captors aside, his wound wasn’t as bad as expected. Heavy bruising and a cracked rib or two were never fun, but in terms of actual mauling? The long gouges curving along his side weren’t great, but they hadn’t pierced any of his organs, and they didn’t seem infected yet.

They were bleeding a fair bit more, though, now that Virgil had effectively torn even more of them open anew. Whoops.

Rather than hand him a collection vial or even just a finer blade, Logan spent the next half-hour walking him through the step-by-step process of wiping the wounds clean, applying some stinging antiseptic paste, and pressing pads of fresh gauze along the still-bleeding bits. Even the bandages were changed out for new, fresh ones. Maybe he wouldn’t get an infection at all.

After that, he was put through an even more bewildering series of questions, mostly about his head, the slight bump from hitting it against the ground, how the more deep set bruises along his torso felt (bad), and how his ribs felt when he inhaled deeply (worse).

A few times, Logan paused to write something down in a little leather-bound book. Virgil had no clue what, since the man hadn’t properly collected a single ingredient from him yet, let alone enough to require keeping written stock.

Finally, he closed the book with a decisive snap and began packing all the tools back into the kit, leaving Virgil sitting there, still all in one piece, the way shifters never were after harvesting sessions.

He didn’t get it. They definitely knew what he was, which meant they also had to know what he was worth.

Some amateur hunters were more ignorant about magical theory and the ingredients it typically entailed, but these three had known enough to locate ley lines and leave satisfactory offerings. Between the sword at Roman’s hip and the books along Logan’s shelves, there was absolutely no way they were unaware of the properties of shifters, of the natural magic that lingered in their flesh and blood and fur.

So they definitely knew. And there was no reason to stall in harvesting from him. It was smarter to start the cycle of removal and regrowth as early as possible, to squeeze the maximum amount of profit out of him before the final harvest.

Except… These humans weren’t a band of nomadic hunters with constant access to bustling markets and customers to barter with, were they? Whatever they harvested would likely be for them, and them alone. There was no point in collecting an excess of mediocre materials when they could simply wait until the full moon, where his innate magic would be at its fullest, and then get everything at once.

The thought made some knot in his stomach loosen slightly. If it was true, if he really wasn’t going to spend the next few weeks enduring a constant, repetitive torture, it would make it a lot easier to try and escape.

And even if he failed, it would only be one night, and then it would be over and done with. He wouldn’t be stuck in the same unending hell as before. That in itself was enough to take some of that unbearable pressure off his shoulders.

Logan was saying something else now, but the last of Virgil’s willpower had burnt out, and any desire to stay awake had fled along with it. Whatever they’d drugged him with was still thick in his system, enough to make his limbs feel dull and slow and his eyelids heavy.

His blinks grew longer and longer, and then he was out again.

[transfemlogan]

Should the other wolf b another side

[stillebesat]

Accidentally a Creature

Patton shoved the window open, his breath coming in heaving gasps as he scrambled out his room into the pouring rain, rushing to escape from Roman’s voice...no his screams. 

He yelped as his back, no not his back, the things sprouting from his back caught on the window frame, briefly yanking him back into the room. The too tight, too claustrophobic space of his bedroom. He had to get out. Get into open air. 

With shaking hands he grabbed onto the thin--the wings. He should call them wings, oh heavens, he could feel the sensation of his fingers over those large things, moving through the feathers like he was covered in a swarm of sp-spi-- 

Patton recoiled, pulling his hands away from the feathers, somehow managing to twist himself out onto the balcony with those giant white wings doing their best to keep him inside. Inside. Where Roman was dying. Where he had killed his friends. Where it was all his faul--He sobbed, shakily scrambling up the slanted roof, heading up, up to the chimney, up to the highest point he could reach to huddle there getting soaked.

Some father figure. 

Some paternal protector.

Some Dad. 

How could the others ever...ever...if they lived...if they Patton curled up in a ball, struggling to breathe as the feathered wings twitched, spreading to cover him like some big fluffy white umbrella, sheltering him from the raging storm. 

He shouldn’t be up here. Shouldn’t be away from the others. He needed to be down there, helping to--

Screw everything up. 

That’s all you do.

Every single time.

Mess things up.

Some Father Figure. Patton thought curling up in the shadow of the chimney, hidden from view. He was supposed to be the support, the one the others went to when things went wrong. And well….things had gone horribly wrong. Because of him. And he...he couldn’t deal with it. 

Patton didn’t usually go up on the roof. He usually preferred to hide out in his room when he’d screwed things up with the others. But this time his bedroom’s walls had been too thin to drown out Roman’s fury. Fury at him. 

Patton buried his face into his knees, breath hitching as he shivering in the pouring rain. He flinched as the unfamiliar limbs...wings...he needed to call them wings, twitched and spread out to cover him, their large white fluffy feathers acting like an umbrella to keep him sheltered from the storm.