#i wanna pet his soft deer belly

[dragon-with-a-sweet-tooth]

My first time drawing preg art! Keep in mind I'm new to drawing preg... or cervitaurs... I'm new to drawing a lot of things

This sweet boy's name is Hawthorn. He was originally gonna be married off to the leader of another whitetail herd, but he wound up falling for the mysterious felitaur wandering through his herd's territory. Now he may or may not have a baby or two in there... oops.

Might draw the dad at some point, he hasn't left the picture lol

[twdbegins]

Spooked

__

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language. 

A/N: A lot of pet names in this...haha SHOCKER. Here’s a little early Halloween addition fic! I’ll have more holiday fics coming soon.

Requested by: @birdieofloxley

Word Count: 1,835

“Why would you make up something like that? You really scared me.” 

__

The legs of the chair you were sitting in squeaked as you leaned forward, tuned in to what Negan was saying. It was late October (or at least, you had estimated that it was October) meaning Halloween was soon approaching. Halloween was one of your favorite holidays as a kid. The candy, the trick or treating, the costumes were all part of the spooky experience. As you got older, you cared less about the costumes and more about the scary movies. Almost every Halloween (pre-apocalypse of course) consisted of you curling up on the sofa with a bowl of wrapped chocolate with some sort of scary movie on. 

The only downside to this was that you were a bit jumpy. It didn’t take much to get you feeling paranoid and have you checking under your bed for monsters. Which was ironic considering you literally lived in a world where there were horror movie like creatures roaming at every turn. 

So you weren’t really sure how you ended up here. Sitting with Negan and Simon outside of The Sanctuary after hours on a particularly cold night, listening to the two of them tell scary stories. Negan was recalling the time he almost became walker food when he was out on a run alone once. His voice was low and deep, his eyes fixed on yours as he spoke;

“Its hand barely had any skin left on it...it was basically all bone at that point,” He described; “For a half rotted roamer, it had a nasty grip on me though.” 

Your heart was beating crazy fast in your chest. You couldn’t even imagine how scared you’d be if that had happened to you. The fact that he was able to laugh about it now was astonishing. 

“I was able to reach my knife and just as it went to sink its teeth into my calf, I drilled the blade into its head,” He told; “I stabbed it an extra time for good measure. It took me at least a good five minutes to get it completely off of me because I was shaking so bad.” 

You were wide eyed now as you processed everything he was saying. Simon sucked in a breath before sighing it out;

“Shit. I don’t even think I’ve ever come that close to being roamer chow,” He admitted. He noticed the chill that went up your spine, prompting him to one up Negan’s story by telling his own; “You think that’s bad? Let me tell you about the time I was chased by my neighbor who was an escaped convict for murder.”

Your head snapped in his direction;

“You’re not serious.” You gaped.

Simon put his hands up in defense;

“It’s true. I swear.” He said with a hint of smirk appearing.

It wasn’t true. As excitedly terrifying as it may sound, Simon had never known any murderers or real criminals in his day. He was just making this up off the top of his head.

“You’re fucking with us. No damn way that happened.” Negan bantered.

Simon chuckled;

“You wanna hear the story or not?” He asked sassily.

You and Negan shot each other glances, before turning your attention back to Simon.

“I was about 18. Just about to go off to college,” He began; “This guy lived about three doors down and had always been a little odd. He very rarely came out of his house, but it was always dark. He had weird vibes all around. All the parents in the neighborhood wouldn’t dare let their kids go play around his house.”

You were nervously chewing on your thumb nail as you listened intently. You didn’t like the fuzzy feeling that was bubbling in your belly. 

“It wasn’t a surprise that none of us knew that he had been arrested and thrown in prison. His house was exactly the same when he wasn’t around. I felt bad for the guy. For all I knew, he was just a lonely guy with no one to talk to,” He continued; “So one day I thought it would be nice to hand deliver his morning newspaper to him. I went to the front door, knocked, but didn’t get an answer.” 

You didn’t like where this was going. You were quite literally on the edge of your seat as you took it all in. Negan himself even refrained from interrupting, curious to see how this would end.

“I heard some sort of racket in his backyard, so I walked around and through the fence. And what I saw about made me damn near sick,” He explained; “He was in his prison jumpsuit and all. And he was burying a body in his backyard.”

Your heart hit your shoes and bounced back up to your throat. Negan’s jaw dropped and his face went pale. This was the most insane story you had ever heard. 

“I was going to just make a run for it and pray to God I could forget about it. But then he saw me standing there like a deer in headlights,” He said rubbing his slightly chilled hands together; “I shit you not, the fucker dropped the shovel and started running at me.”

You were speechless. How had he never told you this story before? More importantly, how did this not traumatize him? Now Negan was just as wide eyed as you, stunned at what he was hearing. 

“I swear my feet left the ground before I could even think. I sprinted in the other direction and started screaming bloody murder...no pun intended,” He snorted; “Anyways, to make a long story short, I managed to run out of my neighborhood and found a policeman down the street. Turns out he had escaped his cell that morning and they had been on the hunt for him all day because they were afraid of what he might do. That body was some random guy that he encountered after his escape.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The hairs on your arms and legs were sticking straight up. You suddenly had the eery feeling that someone was looking at you. 

“My mom had to come pick me up from the police station. I was convinced she wasn’t going to let me go off to school after that,” He joked; “But once it was all cleared up, things turned back to normal...but I still would get a sense of fight or flight every time I visited home. But, hey, shit happens.”

Simon finished his story nonchalantly. As if he hadn’t just confessed that he had almost been chopped to bits by a psycho killer. You felt like your heart was going to make a leap of faith out of your chest. You had never heard anything like that in your entire life. Negan shook his head to shake the thought;

“You were had a life or death encounter with a serial killer and all you can say is ‘shit happens’? Simon, I may have pegged you wrong,” Negan stated; “You are one badass motherfucker.”

Simon grinned and shrugged. He had been lying, of course, but if it earned him brownie points with the boss, then he didn’t mind dragging it out. You were shocked silent. What do you even say to that? Negan smiled, shaking his story off effortlessly;

“I don’t know if I can top that, but have I ever told you two about the time I fought off a rabid raccoon?” Negan asked with a raised brow. 

Simon caught your ghostly and tired look and stood from his chair;

“No and I’d love to hear it, but I think she’s had enough storytelling for one night.” Simon said guiding you up from your chair. 

Negan shrugged with a scoff;

“Suit yourself. It’s one hell of a story though.” He said standing from his own seat.

Simon assured him of another time to tell it and finally walked you back inside from the courtyard. Simon had already completely discarded the story he had just burned into your head. He didn’t even catch the slight shiver in your limbs. You were rattled and even a little terrified. You felt like a little kid who swears they had heard a monster under their bed. Simon slipped his hand into yours as you walked back to your floor;

“So, I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” He asked softly in your ear, careful not to wake anybody else up. 

He wasn’t going to leave you alone tonight, was he? Surely not after all that. You stopped his trek and looked at him with pleading eyes;

“Can I stay with you tonight? Please?” You asked gently; “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” You confessed.

Now, he realized something was up. He instantly agreed, leading you to his room. He watched as you quietly got ready for bed and crawled under the sheets and covers. He followed suit, pulling you to him. You latched onto him like he’d float away if you didn’t. Simon looked down at you with worried eyes;

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asked sweetly.

You buried your face into his soft shirt and shook your head. You didn’t want to admit you were scared, but you also couldn’t get the thought of being chased by a crazed killer out of your head either. He rubbed your back comfortingly and encouraged you;

“Darlin’, you can talk to me. Always.” He cooed.

You mumbled against him. He rested his chin on your head, taking in the scent of your favorite soap. His brain racked up any ideas of what was making you so fidgety. He finally thought back to the story that he had just told about a half hour prior. He suddenly felt guilty. He didn’t think it would’ve scared you this bad...especially since it wasn’t even true.

“Is it the story I told just a little while ago?” He asked.

When you nodded, he whimpered out an airy sympathetic sound. He held you tighter and admitted his lie;

“Oh, sweetheart, that didn’t actually happen. I just made it up.” 

You paused and looked up at him. The way your glossy eyes shimmered and lower lip quivered broke his heart;

“Really? You’re not just saying that?” You asked desperately.

“I promise. The whole thing was just a story.” 

Your brows furrowed, suddenly a little annoyed;

“Why would you make up something like that? You really scared me.” You said truthfully.

He kissed your forehead and hummed deeply;

“I didn’t think you’d actually believe it. You always see through my bullshit.” He grinned brightly.

You growled faintly;

“Not always. I literally thought you were serious.” 

“I’m sorry, [Y/N], I didn’t mean to.” He apologized. 

You nuzzled back into his frame, accepting his apology. You were mostly relieved that didn’t actually happen to him though. You would’ve been scarred for life. 

“That’s okay. You really could’ve been an actor, might I add.” You joked.

He scoffed, kissing your skin;

“I’ll stick to storytelling in the courtyard.” 

[kittymsmithwritesstuff]

Ficlet: Bam and Boozle

Inspired by this text post: post from @juliepop

My ao3: kittymsmith

I do commissions

Man the textposts in this fandom are gonna be the end of me lmao. Fun to write. Yeah a bit of miragehound...because I’m a mess.

---

Elliott announced his arrival via running too fast to stop and incidentally flipping over the back of the couch and landing on his ass on the cushion. He seemed as shocked as everyone else was, then shook himself and looked around. “Is anybody allergic to dogs?”

“Nah amigo, otherwise Bloodhound would be leashed up outside,” Octavio said.

Bloodhound huffed indignantly. “Oh, please think of something original.”

“It is original, compadre, I started it!” He grinned and then ducked behind a bean bag when Bloodhound started aiming their book at him.

“No, seriously?” Elliott said. He was breathing heavily, face flushed, hair just a bit mussed up. Bloodhound was intrigued, but didn’t press, simply allowing Gibraltar to answer for the whole room when he said no, not far as he knew. “Great, thanks!” Elliot then, instead of walking around the couch, stood on the cushion and jumped over the back, running out.

“What bit him in the ass?” Anita said.

“I don’t know, but he got dirt all over the cushion,” Renee muttered, picking it up and shaking it off. It did nothing to get rid of the boot print so she eventually just flipped the cushion over. Bloodhound went back to their book without really reading it, wondering what he was up to. He could be excitable, but he was so unbearably anal about cleanliness that they were shocked to see him step on the couch in shoes. He didn’t look distressed, so it must not have been serious, but other than his mother’s health, they could think of nothing that would rile Elliott up so much he’d disregard his clean freak tendencies.

They would come to find out three days later when they came in with a kill and were promptly tackled to the ground by a half-grown golden retriever. They laid there in shock while the puppy, in the gangly lead-footed stage of puppydom, licked the lenses of their mask and put all of its weight on their stomach, prompting a grunt.

“Bam! Bam no, bad puppy! We don’t tackle people,” there he was, Elliott, lifting the bundle of fur and leg off of them, keeping a tight grip as it tried to wiggle. “Bam! No!”

Bam didn’t seem to care much, having noticed the deer they’d brought in. They sat up slowly. “What?”

“H-hi Hound-ow, Bam stop squirming-sorry!”

“Who?” They picked up the kill again after standing, at which point Elliott released the hound, the literal hound, but ended up keeping a hold on his collar till Bloodhound could get the carcass to the kitchens. Elliott let the pup go, which immediately went for Bloodhound again, jumping up on their legs and barking. “Who?” They said again, working through the shock. They hadn’t seen a domesticated dog in almost a year.

“Ah, well, uh,” he was grinning, “y’know how I asked if anybody was allergic to dogs?”

Bloodhound had gotten Bam to calm down with pets, but suddenly found their hand grasping at empty air. They began to follow Elliot, who was heading towards the common area. “I recall.”

“Well, uh, I asked it for a reason! Cause, y’know, I have dogs now.”

They paused. “Plural?”

“Yeah! Lemme show you,” he grabbed their hand, and they wished they were wearing the finger-less ones, and pulled them into the common room. Bam was getting the absolute best two handed scratch from Gibraltar, his eyes closed in bliss, and then there was a small, brown wiener dog puppy in Bangalore’s lap-a puppy of which she seemed too fascinated with to touch. Bloodhound stopped in the doorway, staring as Elliott retrieved the pudgy little thing-they took off their gloves in the meantime-and brought it over. “Bloth, meet Boozle! Ain’t she cute?”

They reached out, letting her sniff their palm and then feeling their heart melt a little when she licked it. She took to pets well. “She’s so soft.”

“Isn’t she? Her and Bam were found together on the street and-well they didn’t wanna separate them, and they’re so cute and I love goldens and wiener dogs and, well, uh, uh,”

“You extended that sweet heart of yours to those who need it,” they said quietly, reveling in the way his face burned red while scratching under Boozle’s ear.

“He’s just really good at picking up strays,” Octavio said nonchalantly, instinctively ducking the arm Bloodhound swept out to clothesline him. Elliott was trying to bite down his grin, but he couldn’t, he never could.

---

They were at his dorm, laying back in bed with the TV on, only paying it half attention. Boozle was sleeping on their stomach, rising and falling with their breathing. Bam was slobbering all over a bone at the foot of the bed. “You know, I wouldn’t call you a stray,” Elliott said suddenly, leaning on their shoulder. “But you did sort of wander into my heart.”

They slowly angled their head his way. “That is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. It almost makes up for naming them Bam and Boozle.”

“I’m just astonished you didn’t realize earlier.”

“I was too focused on the, the,” they wiggled their hand, staring at Boozle. “Toebeans! Little toebeans.” That was one Elliott had taught them.

He shot finger guns at them, beaming. “So what you’re saying is you-”

“No-”

“Got ba-ba-baaaaaaa-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Bamboozled!”

They huffed, whacking his arm. “If it were not for the puppy on my belly, I would slatra.”

He snuggled up smugly, knowing they wouldn’t try to deny him with the aforementioned puppy. “Love you too, babe.”

[chaospenelope]

The Wild

Domestication UnDone

Some Characters and world belong to @supergrumpybear

At the edge of the thickest wood. In the peak of it owners wealth and joy sat a large house surrounded by a tall wall. It was sparsely occupied by servants, their employer, and his beloved pet. This would soon change. The sun was setting on the day and that signaled the winds of change. The so called pet laid on in the dwindling light, soaking the rays into his black coat. His dark grey snout rested on the windowsill as he looked out. "Phineas." His ears perked up. His master stood in the door way with a brush in his hand. "Time to get ready for our guest tonight."

"Such a good boy." The Shon said in their sweetest voice. He gently pulled a brush through the thick fur. He examined the beast's snout and if it needed a trim. "You're growing up to be a fine stud." Phineas wagged his tail, his paws padding the floor as he restrained himself. "So I'll get to go out soon?" "Perhaps." He said teasingly. In reality he planned to have the females come to him or even get a female of his own. He didn't want to chance letting him go out for one moment. He worked a long time raising, teaching, and grooming him but all it took was one scent or sound and it would all be for nothing. "Mr. BleakHouse," He turned to the servant that had called to him. He stood straight with one arm straight and the other holding a lint roller. "Miss. Donald is here." "Ah, She's here early." He smiled. "She's here." The Cheaccoc stood up. "You're not going anywhere." He turned to the servant. "Get Seth, he's ready to be trimmed." Phineas sat back down in a huff as they both left the room. He laid down as he waited he was nearly drifting off to sleep once the doors opened again. The shon had a case with scissors and combs. He set it down felt the beast's fur. Threading his fingers through the fur he smiled. He took the largest comb and the medium scissors. He went to work snipping the excess around his neck. Bits of black fur fell to the ground. Phineas rested his head on the ground. He tried to think about something else, about what he'd do when he finally went outside. He wondered how soft the grass really was. He thought about the stiff, tall trees and how even they bend to the winds. There were often times he'd spot things running in the grass, just once he'd like to catch it. There was a hand lifting his snout. He had switched to a smaller pair of scissors. Small snips here and there, releasing more fur. His lips twitched when the cold silver touched it. He stood up. "Easy there." They said as they put the tool away. He pulled out a brush and dusted off the loose fur. "Alright, you're free to go." He said as he pat him on the back. He grabbed the broom and started to sweep. Phineas ran out the bathroom. He couldn't wait to see the new addition to the house but he was also hungry so his first destination would be the kitchen. His claws tapped onto the tile floor as he sniffed around. He followed a new, heavily sweet scent to the woman at the counter. He didn't recognize her so it must have been the guest. His tail began to wag and he panted happily. She wore a long red dress with the back revealed. The clicking alerted her to his presence. She turned around, sighing when she saw him. His tail dropped just a bit. It wagged a bit more gently. He tilted his head, the half eaten piece of cake was trying to hide. "Can I have some?" She didn't answer him. He came closer making her stumble back. He whined in concern as she nearly tripped. He wanted to bounce ever to help but would continue to rushing away. She scrambled over to the back door and opened it. "Get!" She instructed with her manicured finger pointed out the door. He tilted his head up at her. He stopped panting. She remained stern, not moving as she spoke again. "Out!" She took an apple from the fruit bowl and threw it outside. He darted to investigate. She hid behind the door as he passed the threshold. There was a loud slam. He turned around to see the door was closed. He walked back and scratched at it. He gave a low whine. He sat down and waited but nothing happened. He started pacing. He whined a little more. He noticed the window and got got on his hind legs to look in. The guest was eating the cake again but her back was facing him. "Please, I wanna come in! I'm hungry!" He howled, losing hope as she glared at him and left the room. He huffed and laid down. His hunger getting harder to ignore. That's when saw it, the grey bunny at the edge of the wall. He watched the rabbit hop about, his stomach growling more and more. He slunk a little closer. The animal still didn't see him. He watched it nibble on some grass. He licked his lips as he got closer. His legs were low to the ground, ready to push him off. The rabbit darted off as soon as it detected him. He leapt forward, charging on all fours. He lunged fangs first at the critter snapping down on air. He shook his head, looking all around. The prey was flipped on it's back as it kicked about. He stepped on it's belly, the claws dug into it's skin. It squirmed harder. He bit down on it's head until he tasted the fresh blood. It didn't struggle anymore. He tore the flesh off the small bones. They splintered from the force of his jaws after they were licked clean. His hunger was not yet satisfied. He glanced around, then stood up and walked over to the wall. He trotted along the wall and smelled the base of it. He picked up the smell of the rabbit and another, similar scent. He circled around the building until he came to a small crack. He stuck his snout in, smelling the delicious prey, but his snout was all that could fit in. He pulled out of it and whined as he scratched at it. Stomping about as he inspected it. He pounced on it, slamming his front paws against the wall. It didn't budge. He looked up and attempted to jump over. He rose more that half the height. His claws scraped up the stone wall as he desperately tried to hold on to anything, but gravity was the stronger one. He huffed. The scent was so tantalizingly close. He backed up, all the way to the house. He looked back up and wiggled his butt as he readied himself. He charged full force. Once he was close enough he leapt off the ground. He gone higher that before, but it was still not high enough. He couldn't adjust in time and landed on his side. He let out a loud yelp. He laid there for a moment, letting out a low whine. He heard small stones fall. He lifted his head to see the hole in the barrier grew taller. He stood up and shook himself off. He could fit most of his shoulders. He scratched a little more but only the dirt below seemed to move. He started digging, kicking up dirt until he found it wide enough to squeeze through. The sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling seemed much more crisp on the other side. He shook his body and smelled the air. The rabbit scent seemed weaker now, but now there was bigger prey looking back at him. A deer would make a nice meal. It tried to run but he already saw it. He dashed after it, kicking up leaves and scratched at trees as he kicked off for quick turns. The prey would turn at the most random places so effortlessly. He had to get leverage, he was so close he could catch it's tail, but that wouldn't take it down. The legs seemed like a good spot if he was careful. He ran to the side of it so the hooves wouldn't kick up at him. He tried to swipe at the legs but that caused him to loose ground. Once he managed to catch up to it again he was at the end of his patience. He rammed his whole body against it. It made a hoarse cry as it crashed into a tree. It was panting but it didn't move. He pounced on it anyway, digging his claws on it's side as his teeth tore the flesh from it's throat. He stripped every delicious bit from the carcass. Sucking marrow from bone until he was finally satisfied. He got up and looked around. He wanted to go home and sleep in his bed but he didn't see it anywhere. He trotted around but still saw nothing he recognized. "Dad? Seth?...Hudson!?" He called out but there was no answer. The crescent moon cast hardly any light. He knew this was his fault. His hunger got the better of him. He didn't want to wait for them to find him. It was her fault too, that woman who thought leaving him out there without food wouldn't have negative consequences. Maybe it was because she didn't care, it didn't matter now. The end was the same. He could'nt go home. With a low whine he laid down and started to lick the blood from his fur. Once he was clean he got up and walked around. It was a couple cycles of day and night and sleeping up in an uncomfortable tree until he found a large hollowed out tree next to a lake. It was a snug fit but it would do for now. In the morning he woke up to sound of lapping up water. He got out of his spot with a bit of a tumble. He stretched and yawned. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw what was drinking. A Cheaccoc like him with long fluffy fur of black and gold. Eyes were dark green. They looked peaceful and the gold splotches looked lovely in the sun. "Hello!" He greeted cheerfully. He stopped as they rose up to look at him with wide eyes. Before he could say anything else they ran into the brush, leaving him to wonder what he did wrong.

[1989dreamer]

Cover and Chapter 1 of: Looking for a Place to Call Home

Links at bottom of page.

                                                                                                                          -----

The raccoon has been dead for the better part of a week, but it’s food. Derek crunches through the body quickly, forcing it down to settle in his belly. When he’s done eating as much as he can, he pads off the road and into the underbrush.

It is worrisome to him that he didn’t even drag his find away from danger before making himself vulnerable while he ate. It’s even more worrisome that he barely makes it ten feet before he starts vomiting. Okay, apparently week-old raccoon is too much even for a wolf’s digestive system.

Derek manages another ten feet before he collapses, burrowing under a pile of leaves and twigs. He knows if there are hunters in the area, tracking things like him, they will find him. He doesn’t have the energy to haul himself upright, to lay a false trail, or to find a more defensible resting area.

He takes comfort in the fact that he’s nearly home, that he is more likely to be sniffed out by a member of his own pack than to be found by a hunter. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply despite the lingering odor of his sick,

He doesn’t feel safe, hasn’t for three years, but his overtaxed body doesn’t care, and he slips off to sleep quickly. He dreams of raccoons that taste like chicken, each of them taunting him with her voice, telling him just how good of a boy he really is.

Derek wakes up on his back, limbs splayed, his cover disturbed. He pants heavily, still trying to shake his half-dream. Fingers and toes curl as he takes stock of his body. It’s been days since he last shifted, his human form too dangerous to travel as. He’s already seen a few posters with his thirteen-year-old face plastered all over them.

He spends a couple more minutes calming his breathing and making sure his cramping, roiling guts aren’t going to kill him yet. Eventually, he’s sure. There has to be something wrong when he can eat three whole deer off the side of I-5 and not be comatose from too much food.

Once he’s satisfied he’s in full control of his body, and thankfully still alone, he shifts back into his wolf form. Rolling over and standing up is another problem, one he didn’t think he could handle in human form.

He makes it up, shaky and stumbling, tripping over his too-large paws and almost falling every other step. Derek finds a rhythm soon enough—plod three steps, stop to rest for a breath, plod three more steps, rest, rinse, and repeat until his whole body feels numb.

It’s worrisome—“Again, worry, you’ll get gray hairs, Derek, sweetie,” she taunts—that he can’t smell any other wolves. He’s in California—he knows he is, his bones ache with homesickness and the air is soothing it a bit, easing back the tension tight in his muscles. But, he hasn’t come across even another pack. He’d grown up with stories of the trouble-making Teller pack that lived northeast of Hale territory.

Derek has been angling more west than south, but a few spots in the underbrush, yellowed from repeated urination, are too old for him to get a clear scent.

Or, he thinks, heart pounding painfully in his chest, his nose is whacked out, done sniffing mundane trivialities. After all, the only reason he ate the raccoon earlier was because he could smell it.

Derek keeps moving, chewing the fact that he can’t trust his nose at all quickly, like he did the raccoon, praying it doesn’t come back to hurt him more. He is aware that he’s at his limit. He is too tired to protect himself beyond basic measures; hell, he hasn’t even been laying a false trail since he passed through Michigan.

Picking his way through foliage is tougher than he can handle, and after sprawling one too many times from a branch he tried climbing over, he rolls out of the brush and onto the road. The gravel digs into his paws, but he ignores it in favor of pressing on, his path unhindered now. His sense of smell might be diminished but his hearing and sight are just fine…when he can manage to lift his head. Derek knows he’s dying. In either form, his stomach is swollen even when he doesn’t eat. He can barely support himself on four legs, much less two,

He hasn’t started hallucinating yet, but her voice is a constant murmur in his ear and it’s getting harder to ignore it.

Just keep moving, he thinks to himself. His walk isn’t a straight line anymore, his body listing side to side as he weaves all over the road. He barely hears the approaching vehicle over his rough pants, tongue dry and swelled too fat for his mouth. It takes precious seconds for him to realize that the vehicle is coming from behind him, and it takes everything, all of his energy and concentration, to move to the side of the road.

The vehicle passes slowly. Derek stares unseeing, not realizing that it has stopped and is just sitting there. He wavers on his feet, tipping too far forward as he strains to listen for any more motors, but he’s gone deaf now too, ears ringing. He isn’t aware of the ground smashing into his face when he falls: he’s already unconscious.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Deputy Stiles Stilinski has seen a lot of weird and dangerous things in his ten years on the force—many of them related to drunk people; Marie’s Apple Pie Fiasco still ranks a top five—but he’s never seen an emaciated wolf sitting in the middle of a little-used access road. It gets weirder when the wolf stumbles out of his cruiser’s path only to immediately collapse on its face.

Well, he can’t in good conscience leave an endangered animal, especially one that hasn’t been in this state since at least the 1960s, out here to die alone. A wolf deserves more dignity than that.

Stiles sighs. His father is going to really love this story at their weekly lunch. His father always sighs, rubs his face like it physically hurts him, and mutters, “Aw crap, kid.”

It never deters Stiles, his father’s words, because John Stilinski always says, “I’m proud of you, son,” before Stiles goes back to work. Stiles can count on one hand the number of times he didn’t say it, and that is because those are the times Stiles says it first. What? Just because his dad is retired now and raises award-winning roses doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to have love and pride too.

Stiles sighs, rubs his face (though it doesn’t hurt…yet), and mutters, “Aw crap,” before grabbing his CB radio’s mic.

“Dispatch, this is Unit 5, do you copy?”

“Copy, Unit 5, this is Dispatch. Go ahead.”

“Dispatch, I’m out on Access Road 17, and I’m gonna need Animal Control. I’ve got a severely underweight canine-type. I’ve got a muzzle with me but I don’t wanna hurt her any more than she’s already been.”

“10-4, Unit 5. Animal Control has been contacted, ETA is 15 minutes. Just sit tight, Stiles.”

“God bless, Marie,” he says before cradling his mic.

He tries to stay in the car the whole time. Really, he does. But the poor wolf, conked out by the road where anyone could attack while she’s vulnerable, hurts his heart so much that before he knows it, he’s kneeling next to her head, muzzle dangling from his fingers while he strokes the soft fur around her ears.

The wolf huffs a breath but doesn’t wake. Unusual, Stiles thinks. His great-aunt Sarah used to breed dogs, and when he was a child visiting her, he would sneak up on many of the sleeping pooches. None of them slept through a petting like this wolf is doing. It makes Stiles more concerned for her health.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs, carding through her fur again. “We’ll take care of you, make sure nothing else bad happens to you.”

At his words, the wolf’s eyes spring open, blazing electric blue. Stiles inhales sharply, and the wolf snaps her gaze to him. They stare silently for a long moment before the wolf bows her head and bares her neck.

Submission, Stiles thinks. Angered, he wonders if someone tried (and maybe succeeded) to tame this wild creature. He notices her eyes aren’t blue anymore. Curious.

Of course, when he’s got his hand on the wolf’s neck, leaning down for a better look at her now-hazel eyes, fingers splayed wide to convey no harm meant, Animal Control finally shows up, five minutes late.

Isaac Lahey and V. Boyd, two former classmates of Stiles, saunter up to him, Boyd holding a giant dog crate while Lahey wields a noose on a stick. Under Stiles’ hand, the wolf tenses.

“What the hell, Stilinski?” Lahey demands as both he and Boyd stop a few yards away. Stiles is pretty sure he can hit them with a wad of spit if he tries.

Instead, he does the more mature thing and flips them off. Lahey flips him off in return.

“First,” Boyd says, calmly Stiles thinks until he sees the tic in his eyelid, a sure sign that he’s pissed and someone’s about to get it. Since Stiles is the one he’s looking at, Stiles feels optimistic about being the target of V. Boyd’s wrath. “That is not a dog; that is a wolf. Second, you were told to stay in your vehicle until we arrived.”

“First,” Stiles counters, “I said canine-type. Last I checked, wolves were part of the canine family. And second, I was told to sit tight, not where to sit.” He grins, smug, at Boyd’s annoyed frown.

“You gonna let us do our job or what?” Lahey snaps, and the wolf growls lowly. Stiles pets her until she calms enough to stop.

“Just don’t come at her with the lyncher,” he says.

“Lyncher?” Lahey repeats, looking at his weapon with a hurt expression. “It’s called a catcher-pole.”

“Just put the dog carrier down and I’ll get her in it.” Stiles rolls his eyes when Lahey and Boyd refuse. “Look, you can come at her with the lyncher and maybe get bitten, or you can let someone she obviously trusts get her into the carrier without any injuries.”

Boyd glares and drops the carrier. “Come on, Isaac,” he says. “Let’s go check on that coyote den we found the other day.”

“Should we at least make sure the wolf doesn’t eat him?” Lahey asks. “I really don’t want to miss Stilinski getting a bite taken out of him.” Stiles does not like the thoughtful look Boyd gives Lahey.

“I’m not going to be bitten,” he says. He pets the wolf again, running his hand down her spine, cooing softly when she rumbles under his palm. He doesn’t count the knobs of her spine. “Okay,” he says, one last pat to the wolf’s head, “come on, girl. Let’s get you in the carrier so we can take you somewhere safe.”

The wolf growls at him before huffing, almost sighing, and struggling upright to pad, unsteadily, to the carrier. Stiles opens the door, latching it shut behind her. She drops down almost immediately.

“Hey, Stilinski,” Lahey says, and Stiles doesn’t jump at the suddenness of him popping up by his elbow.

“What?” he grinds out, taking in Lahey’s smug face.

“You, uh, you sure this canine-type’s a little lady?” Lahey sounds like he’s about to burst out laughing. From the carrier, the wolf growls again.

“Sure,” Stiles says, shrugging. “She’s small, more like a female than a male. Even emaciated as she is, a male would be bigger.”

“So, how do you explain her balls?” Lahey doubles over, chortling wildly. Stiles scowls at him, then he looks to Boyd to tell him to control his partner only to find Boyd’s got his hands on his knees laughing silently.

“Fine,” Stiles huffs. :The wolf has balls. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. You gonna help me get him to the vet’s office for a check-up?”

Boyd straightens and nods, serious again. Scary how he can reign in his emotions like that.

“Isaac,” Boyd says, kicking at his partner as he passes him. He double-checks the latch of the carrier. “We’ll have McCall tranq him when we get there. He’ll better know what dose to use.”

Together, Lahey and Boyd get the carrier secured into the back of Animal Control’s van. Before they can drive off, Stiles reaches through the bars of the door, ignoring Boyd’s worried, Stilinski,” and pets the wolf’s muzzle. She—he—whines, nudging at and licking his fingers.

“You’re a good boy,” he says. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re going to love where you’re going—water, food, a warm bed.” The wolf licks his palm and then shuffles away to curl in a ball at the back of the carrier. Stiles wants to cry: there’s a chance the wolf will be deemed too far gone for rehabilitation and will be put down.

“Hey, Stilinski,” Lahey says, clapping his shoulder in comfort, like he knows what Stiles is thinking about, “we’ll take care of him. I promise.”

“Well, let’s go then.” Stiles wipes his eyes (even though they’re dry) and heads to his cruiser. He waits for Boyd to crank the ignition while Lahey closes the back doors of the van from the inside. At least the wolf will have company on the short ride.

He follows the van as it heads for Beacon Hills Vet Clinic near the edge of town.

                                                                                                                       ~ * ~

Cover created using Microsoft Word® and Paintbox®

Images Used in Cover:

Black Wolf

Animal Control Van

Cora Hale (Adelaide Kane)

Laura Hale (Haley Roe Murphy)

Lydia Martin (Holland Roden)

Derek Hale (Tyler Hoechlin)

Allison Argent (Crystal Reed)

Beacon Hills County Sheriff’s Car

Beacon Hills Animal Clinic

Roscoe

Dr. Alan Deaton (Seth Gilliam)

Scott McCall (Tyler Posey)

Stiles Stilinski (Dylan O’Brien)

Erica Reyes (Gage Golightly)

John Stilinski (Linden Ashby)

Triskelion

Vernon Boyd (Sinqua Walls)

Isaac Lahey (Daniel Sharman)

Kate Argent (Jill Wagner)

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14