#moonstalke

[moonstalkerwerewolf]

Memory (Moon)

I drew Moon's 2009 classic human design with her most current 2024 human design. I'm finally at a point in skill 16yo me would be absolutely jazzed...also, this is both nostalgic and satisfying for me now, although 2009 Moon's design really does date me with my teen cringe. This is kind of a follow-up to separate drawings I drew of Moon's 2009 werewolf form and demon form in 2023, but this is more of a proper tribute given the 15 year difference between this character's designs.

Artwork and character © @moonstalkerwerewolf. Please DO NOT repost or remove the source and comments!

[aesdragons]

obsessed actually

[moonopulent]

Guys I think I might've introduce the voice of Max(Jason Marsden) to maxley y'all during one of his Instagram Livestreams last night-

I should get a raise for my confidence

[telndas]

jason’s steps were heavy, each one sinking deep into the damp forest floor as he made his way through the woods. the weight of the bodies slung over his shoulders barely registered anymore, their blood slicking his skin and dripping in a slow, rhythmic pattern. the trees were familiar and forever silent to the violence that unfolded beneath them. he had been out since dawn, hunting intruders who dared to step foot on his land. now, as the sky darkened, tinged with the dying light of day, jason’s focus shifted to one thing—returning to suhani.

the blood was thick and sticky as it pooled down his arms, soaking him. he could feel its tacky pull with every movement, the smell of iron clinging to him like a second skin. the bodies, broken and limp, swayed with his strides, their faces unrecognisable. he paid them no mind now.

the abandoned buildings came into view as he cleared the last line of trees, their crumbling facades a familiar sight. they marked the border of his world and hers, a meeting place where he would always find her waiting. his pace quickened slightly, the tension of the day still clinging to him, not fully shed despite the slaughter.

as jason neared the edge of the clearing, he paused. his eyes scanned the perimeter, searching through the fading light for the familiar figure he always expected to see.

A lithe hand reaches forth, pinching a bright red strawberry between fingertips, before giving a slight tug. The stem rips gently and the strawberry breaks free to be brought up towards the glint of the dying evening sun. Suhani smiles then, before she bites down upon the red flesh and feels the ripened juice fill her mouth. It is sweet with only a little bit of tang to it—something perfect, delectably so. She flicks the empty stem away, over her shoulder, before she begins to pluck more, filling up her hands with the rest.

The air has grown still all the while, carrying no hint of screams upon the wind as it does every so often on bleak days like these. Suhani takes her treasured bundle as she stands to move out from behind the house, away from where the garden sits. It is only then that she spies Jason in the clearing. Hardly a thought is given to what he carries. Often they are all the same to her: those who hardly respect the nature that give them life in the first place. But she sees him, and only him, her smile is a permanent fixture even now.

❛ They have ripened quite beautifully, see? ❜ Suhani says, holding up a strawberry once close enough for him to look for himself. ❛ Here, have a taste. ❜ Held by the stem, she lifts the strawberry up higher, towards his mouth and awaiting the mask to be lifted.

@moonstalk !

[stcrforged]

" who knows what's right? the LIES keep getting thinner. my age has never made me wise but i keep pushing on and on and on and on. "

@moonstalk liked THIS for a short lyric starter (nothing left to say / rocks- imagine dragons)

[sunflowersmoon]

he looks so weird without the tattoo...

[thshpe]

Within the struggle, his grip only tightens. Pressing into the flesh, digging into the windpipe ( the choking gasps of the survivor becomes more laborious in turn ), and feeling the blood pulse deep. It rushes and spills warm over the hand that twists the gleaming knife in. Further and further, he can feel even the struggle upon it. He does not need to move the blade, for it turns almost on its own with the survivors own writhing. But he pulls it out anyway, yearning to make another hole, another gash, to keep the blood flowing red out over the dead grass below his feet.

But it comes to an end, as it often does. Sometimes too soon—the more the survivor tries to pull away, the worse it becomes for them. ( Palpable desperation, he can smell it in the air, his heartbeat matches theirs. ) Faster the blood escapes, pouring forth as thin as water; they lose the color in their face, the light in their eyes, until all of it dulls. A rattle escapes when the mouth slackens. The look flattens in tandem, rolling up towards the night sky, and everything that had once fought for life, slumps within his grip in death.

All of it, just meat now.

He retracts the knife, tossing the body down upon the hard ground where it flops, as if the bones inside melted into the dying flesh. There it will remain. There it will rot … ( No. It will be dragged below like all the others, forcing them out again to resume another. But for now, they can rot. ) The blood upon the knife sticks, dulling even the blade's shine, all while the excess drips off, down to join the small pool below him. But there is a shift in the grass; a lazy step that did not seem to care that they made a noise at all. He turns towards it, the knife lowering some, as he stares upon the next survivor.

His grip tightens, feeling the blood squeeze out between his fingers.

@moonstalk, plotted!

[collabwithmyself]

love coming up with completely batshit aus of aus that lead me to come up with designs i will literally never use again

so. funny little au of the fnv au where hito got bit by a nightstalker and now turns into one under the full moon... but his nature is just so docile that his components are domesticated animals that may very well have gone extinct in this post-apocalyptic setting.

thank you to @atatfortatzelwurm and @wizardmolars for helping me with this beast's biology!!! i want to pet him so bad

[first-trial]

“You monster!” ( ireena )

Frank's head turns slightly from where his attention had wholly been on the prey within a mangled hand, fingers curled into the coarse fabric of their shirt, and within his grasp the lower half of the survivor's jaw. In his violence he had pulled free their ability to speak and though it is far from a savory scene, Frank Stone had indeed done worse and will continue to perpetrate every ounce of his wrath as was necessary.

Though, what was necessary? Is his extremely malicious action entirely justified? The Champion drops the piece of gore and lifts his crude blade out of their gentle flesh, a sharp motion up to unhook it, and a yank back to slide it out of the corpse. All too deserved, he thinks, for a moment. The idea is a fleeting one. Were he so much a monster in that his only desire is to please his God? These scurrying forms of people were here, in Her realms, for a reason. Who is to say that reason is not to suffer?

Not a monster, he thinks, rising from the mess and beginning to walk towards her. There is purpose in each step he takes. Frank Stone has no reason to exist if not to serve the Entity and Her wishes, the elaborate purpose of each Trial fed Her and She was growing ever stronger. Her Champion supposes himself to be nothing more than a devout servant, these soft things yelling at him little else than another sacrifice, serving their own purpose in the fog.

He's reaching out to her, the seam up from his sternum splitting to reveal a maw that she might fit so snug into, lined with teeth and red from the countless lives claimed.

[nghtshroud]

[ bite ]   your muse biting mine. ( elena! she doesn't want to get hooked :( )

It's another one of those days where he is glad that he hadn't skimped out on the fabric of his uniform. Hearty leathers from long dead things kept him warm (sometimes too much so) and safe from most infractions. So the attempt to bite at him through them is met with a bit of a laugh out of the killer. He recognizes the pressure of the action but it would certainly take quite a bit more to have him upset, or willing to retaliate.

Keeping his hand firm over her mouth and his knife snug beneath her chin, the killer keeps his weight situated over her abdomen without any hint of relenting. "Like what you taste?"

His voice is a thin hiss, not at all betraying the grin that nestles itself neatly into his features beneath the mask. "The musk of a thousand deaths seeped into these gloves, can't imagine it's pleasant, but I won't mock your interests."

[moonstalkerwerewolf]

Memory: Moon (Lycanthropy)

Companion piece to Moon's human artwork counterpart done in August, this time with her 2009 "feral" werewolf form and her current Maurognatidaemonia (wolf-demon) form as of 2024. A fun piece to do given it's also October.

Artwork and character © @moonstalkerwerewolf. Please DO NOT repost or remove the source and comments!

[evilstalks]

cont. from x, @moonstalk

Usually, the Shape is not interested in what other killers do or what they think about anything. Whenever the Entity forces him to pair up with another killer, he keeps to himself entirely and does not attempt to work together as a team at all. Yes, it's led to multiple killings going wrong when him and the other killer run into each other or anger and frustration builds, but that's not enough to make Michael want to cooperate. This is something different, though. Voorhees is so similar to him-- in composure, in the way he butchers the survivors. However, Michael can tell Jason is weaker mentally. He is influenced by the Entity's games on his mind, most likely sees the survivors as whatever the Entity wants him to see. She has tried to do the same to Michael, but it didn't work. Most of the time it doesn't, at least. There are rare moments where his mind slips, but he is always quick to gather himself, unlike some of the other killers.

He does not know why he felt the need to defend Jason's honor like this, why he felt so irritated and frustrated with the survivors' treatment of him, the mockery they put the other masked killer through. Doesn't matter-- he doesn't try to rationalize it, he only watches with the same curious, cat-like head tilt as Jason kills them with his machete, some of the survivor's blood even splaying onto his own jumpsuit. He seems satisfied with the outcome, even if part of him wishes Jason would have dragged it out a bit more. He stands there, the lighting of the fake moon bringing visibility to his eyes as he stares right at the other killer. This is usually the part where he would be leaving or attempting to murder his current company, but he makes no indications of that, even with the knife glinting his hand.

[telndas]

a war - torn battlefield ( Mastani & Suhani ) @moonstalk !

The explosion rocked the tower once it was sent forth from the head of the Archdemon. Suhani tried to hold her own, to brace against the impact of the wave of energy that nearly toppled her. But her staff held firm, dug into the ground and straining as she closed her eyes tight. Still, she could see the light. The way it shot a beacon into the air, as if sending the soul back into the Veil itself. Others struggled around her, but having been this close to the blast radius, Suhani felt it shake her to the very core. What was mere seconds, made it all seem like it was minutes long. Minutes of pulling upon her skin, blinding her eyes, of wearing down already exhausted muscles, until finally it subsided. Until the quiet of the dead came upon them all, settling over like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

Suhani struggled to stand. To unbend her shaking knees, to open her weary eyes, but she did so. Beyond all else, she did just that to say that she could. A small victory among the others that she dared not think of just yet. However, reorientating herself back to her surroundings had only brought back the horror of what she was doing atop the roof of Fort Drakon. The dead outnumbered the living, man and darkspawn alike, scattered around her in messy arrays. Some moaned in their sustained pain, on the very threshold of death. There would be less and less comfort for them now, where no potion or spell would aid in their recovery. All this while the rotted corpse of the Archdemon lay flat and still for another moment in its unnaturally long undead life. It was unsettling, making for hands to grip tight the staff once more. With it, Suhani's heart began to race as each look in each direction of the roof around her, did not come up with who had been at the very center of the blast: Mastani.

❛ Mastani? ❜ Suhani said her sister's name as she moved on shaking feet towards the corpse. Others shuffled around. Some raced away, down into the fort again to rejoin the fighting on the ground. A select few celebrated, Suhani could hear their cheers like a discordant noise against the sounds of the dying. She would not celebrate. Not yet. Not ever if the one who she had followed into this was no longer of this world. Thus, she continued upwards. Towards the stairs, towards the highest part of the roof.

The Archdemon was massive in its own right, covering a good portion of the area. It already smelt of rot and decay, having been on its own deathbed when the darkspawn found it deep below the earth. An old god with a massive maw, knife sharp and deadly. It leaked its own pestilence and dripped with gore. Suhani tried to hold her breath as she walked around it, skirting the side where its mouth lulled open, its tongue laying limp against the stained concrete. There is a small wonder on how they would remove this thing, how they would even clean up the dead. Would it leave a mark, forever telling of what had happened, who had been sacrificed to the fight?

❛ Mastani? ❜ She called, voice more on edge now when no one appeared. If her sister had been one to be sacrificed for all these shems to be rewarded for what they all could not do, there would be no man, no woman, not even a damn Archdemon to hold her back from what she may do to them all! ❛ Mastani! ❜ Thoughts gave way to panic, panic gave way to a rush. She dropped her staff, roughly shoving away hands that tried to hold her back. She wanted nothing to do with them. She wanted them gone—but before that thought could be formed into something akin to anger, Mastani's head popped up from the other side of the corpse. Suhani felt lighter at once. Instead of rage, she found tears pooling and stinging her eyes as she stumbled into a run.

Mastani was alive. Her baby sister survived. Suhani laughed into her sobs as she collided into Mastani. Her arms were quick to wrap around her sister, pulling her into a tight hug that she was not certain she would ever let go of. To feel her breathing, unharmed, it was enough for her to allow the exhaustion of the day to finally take its toll upon her. But she hugged Mastani still. Her strength was solely reserved for that, and nothing more.

[curseternal]

⧼moonstalk asked: do you know where dreams come from? ( ireena )⧽

⸻  “if  i  once  knew,  i  do  not  anymore.”

he  had  forgotten  what  a  dream  even  felt  like,  nor  proper  rest.  such  places  he  had  been  locked  out  from  ever  since  leaving  his  humanity  behind.  all  was  left  were  reminiscences  from  centuries  of  (  un  )  life. 

the  count  pats  his  goatee,  attempting  to  recall  the  forlorn.  there’s  a  few  memories  that  bear  semblance  to  dreaming.  still,  even  when  dreams  were  still  fresh,  they  were  soon  after  forgotten,  all  fleeting.  he  recalls  some  being  closer  to  visions.  they  could  offer  guidance  when  one  managed  to  decipher  them.  others  a  patchwork  of  memories  cobbled  together.

⸻  “another  force  could  be  at  play  here.  be  it  god  or  something  else  entirely.  some  even  believe  sleep  is  the  gateway  to  another  plane.  but  to  some  of  us,  it  matters  not.  not  anymore.” 

it  did,  once.  now,  he  remembers.  before  becoming  a  creature  of  the  night,  he’d  see  his  love  whenever  his  eyes  closed  for  long  enough.  their  last  moments  shared.  the  pain  she  must  have  felt.

he’d  never  see  her  again.

dracula’s  brows  furrow  in  a  light  scowl  as  he  peers  into  the  fire. 

this  would  not  be  in  vain.  humanity  would  pay  for  what  it  had  done. 

after  a  short,  but  felt,  moment  of  silence,  he  spoke  again.

⸻  “do you  still  dream?”

[lncarnon]

Magic is far from uncommon, but even those gifted enough to employ its power were generally less than keen on starting a fight with something that could swallow them whole. Siveth finds the idea appalling, but no one needs to know that, the potential alone is more than enough for plenty. Lips pull back to reveal her many sharp teeth and a soft white glowing hue filters out from between them, nothing more than an aid to the warning that had already been spoken aloud.

Then comes an apology- one that seems sincere enough in its nature that Siveth harumps as if the altercation had been something entirely inconvenient. It hadn't, really, she was not busy as there was really little for her to entertain herself with anyways. She almost pities these smaller beings for having to do things like work to survive.

"Do I have a name," she chuckles quietly at the absurdity of the question. "Yes, but whether or not I will tell you is another question entirely."

Settling her wings snug against her back once more when it is clear that this one does not intend to fight, Siveth takes a few slow pacing steps around @moonstalk. A curious sight to behold she cannot recall another so entirely unique, but many things were in the world that she was unfamiliar with, her greatest downfall of having been holed up beneath the soil for so long.

"Tell me yours, and I will tell you mine."