#ruff transition

[ashleybenlove]

I've always adore the shot of their hands as they both let go

The little lingering with their fingers.

Plus, it's nice to see Hiccup holding/touching the hands of someone who's not Astrid. (Though, he does hold Snotlout's hand in another episode).

There's a little intimacy to their handhold here. Hiccup and one of his best friends.

They love each other.

[eemoo1o-tfrmoo]

Can’t believe they didn’t let Tuffnut be an honorary Wing Maiden. Shambolic.

[ashleybenlove]

Actually, I try not to remember this.

hey does anyone else remember when tuffnut THREW UP INTO RUFFNUTS MOUTH AND THEN SHE THREW UP INTO A BABY RAZORWHIPS MOUTH TO FEED IT?

???

[octy-in-boots]

[slushiebonez]

Dexter is such a Silly Little Thang bc all music ever is him actually. That agonizingly sorrowful song that makes you feel bad if you listen too much? Indeed. That high-energy loud song that hurts to listen to after a certain volume level? Surely. That silly upbeat song that's literally just there for a good time? Hell yeah. I think if I tried hard enough I could somehow associate Dexter with every song to ever exist. Dexter miracle.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Simon loves being Price's demonstration dummy. He loves the aftermath even more.

cw: sexual content, a horny lieutenant, body worship, oral sex, anal sex.

"Start by securin' a grip on yer opponent's arm with one hand, and use the other hand t' grab their collar or shoulder. Carrier vest works well too."

Simon stood at his captain's side, his body relaxed as he prepared to go airborne in the name of practical demonstration. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't his favourite part of the week... well, that and what always followed.

He watched Price from beneath low lashes, drawing deep, slow breaths through the fabric of his mask, if only to keep his bloody heart from thumping through the wall of his chest in excitement. Price's hands warm and firm against his body even through the cotton of his shirt, and his skin tingled in their wake.

"Step t' the side and lower yer hips while bringin' yer opponent close to ya," Price said, his attention on the new recruits gathered around the mat. Simon didn't resist as his captain drew him close, but he did breathe him in; sweat, deodorant and cologne, a deep musk that gathered at the back of Simon's throat, made his mouth water. Simon wanted to shove his nose into his ruffled hair, underneath his arm, across the ruff of his chest, for that scent to soak through to his bones.

"Yer shoulder should be positioned under their armpit. As ya pull yer opponent forward an' down, rotate yer hips and shoulders into them. Use yer legs t' lift an' drive yer shoulder into their body. Big fuckers like this? You gotta use their weight," Price moved and Simon's feet left the floor, "against 'em."

Simon's back hit the mat, punching a grunt from his chest, and he felt the familiar thrill unfurl down his spine as Price's body crowded over him. He studied the dark v-shape of sweat in the front of his shirt, the glisten of wet up his throat that disappeared into the scruffy stubble of his beard. Fuck, Simon wanted to lick it off him.

"As yer man's thrown, maintain yer grip t' control his fall and prepare for a transition into a dominant position or submission. Grapple, choke. Don't pause t' catch yer breath," he explained, half sprawled over Simon's body, his thick chest pressed to Simon's, so close that Simon felt the vibrations of his voice against him. "Any questions?" There weren't any. "Good. Pair up. Technique over strength."

The squaddies grabbed a buddy and headed to the other mats, and Price looked down at his junior officer's face. "You bulkin'?"

"Yeah."

"Thought so. Had to put some welly behind that one," Price said, lopsided grin making Simon want to shove his tongue down his throat. Those blue eyes framed in scruff and laughter lines, the curves beneath his sloped collarbones, the effortless way he had thrown Simon's sizable bulk to the floor, his form perfect, the explosive power in his body exercised with trained precision; everything about him made Simon feral.

The captain rolled to his feet and Simon grabbed the arm he offered down. "Take the four over there. Positioning like that's gonna lead to somethin' tearin'."

"Rog."

Simon wandered over to correct the indicated trainees and Price observed another set. This latest batch were promising, but they were almost skittish in their desperation for approval. More likely to make mistakes and second guess themselves. They needed to relax into it, listen to their instinct over the noise in their head. Simon decided to break the ice with the next demonstration.

It was a simple manoeuvre that tended to be a whole lot of fun to finish the session; the ranger roll. Quick and snappy way to pluck someone from the field and leg it under fire. Price was a pro at it. Simon upped the difficulty by latching onto a nearby bench, locking his legs so that Price flailed on his back halfway through the roll, splayed over Simon's belly with an arm hooked under his knee.

"What the fu--?" Price glanced up, saw Simon's ploy and elbowed him in the gut in retaliation, smirking. "Ya bloody muppet." The recruits laughed, their stances noticeably relaxing as Simon shrugged apologetically. Ice broken. Price rolled to his feet and performed the move again. This time, he lifted Simon from the floor, and Simon draped over his shoulders with a soft, satisfied hum. Fuckin hell, he needed Price on his back, needed those strong thighs around his hips, needed to hear that gruff voice sex-rough, fucked raw.

Simon suffered through another twenty minutes of watching others perform pale imitations of Price, before the captain finally dismissed them to the showers, heading out of the gym to his room.

Simon stayed long enough to ensure no one lingered by the dumb bell rack before swapping out of his boxers and shorts to a pair of grey joggers; he wanted as little between him and his prize as possible. Hands shaking, he knocked at Price's door after pursuing him down the corridors, shouldering his way inside only when Price greeted him from behind it. "Feelin' impatient, Simon?"

Simon watched as Price stripped off, revealing damp curls of chest hair, the sweat-slick curves and slopes of his body, still pumped from exercise, thick and flushed. His mane of brown scruff was ruffled out of place, sticking up in all directions, begging for fingers to grab it, to tug until he was forced to show his throat.

Simon's cock thickened in his joggers, pressing out against the soft grey material, and he folded his mask up above his nose in anticipation. Price chucked his t-shirt onto the floor, standing there in his shorts and nothing else, built like a fuckin greek hero and begging to be defiled, blue eyes dark. "C'mon then, boy. Come get it."

Simon didn't need telling twice. He growled low in his chest and surged forward, barreling Price into his bed, his mouth pressing to his throat as he ground his hip forward between Price's thighs. "Mmf, fuck, yeah," Price moaned, fingernails snagging in Simon's t-shirt as he bucked eagerly.

Price arched, his body begging for worship even if his voice stayed stoic, understated. For now. Simon buried a hand in his hair and pulled his head back, sucking and laving biting kisses down the arch of his throat to his chest, mouthing thick muscle with desperate, wet licks, before sucking a nipple into his mouth with a grateful moan. Price tasted like heaven, raw masculinity and power, and Simon wanted to overwhelm him, overcome the strength roiling beneath his skin, possess it and feel it wrapped around his prick until it yielded to him.

Mine, mine, his mind chanted, his nose burying in Price's armpit as he forced one of Price's arms above his head. Simon ran the flat of his tongue into the groove of it, tip flicking over the veins in his bicep before he sucked kisses into that flesh too. Price gasped, a low, raspy sound deep in his throat, his erection pressing up into Simon's belly, and Simon sank off the edge of the bed as he worked lower.

There was a layer of plush on Price's abdomen and Simon nipped at it, tonguing the trail of hair that disappeared below the waistband of his shorts, before wrenching those down too. Price's full cock bounced free, the slit wet with precum, but Simon ignored it to bury his face in the dark curls around his sac, inhaling the deep musk of him with a feral, half-wild growl.

"Filthy git," Price said through a throaty laugh, only to dissolve in a low moan as Simon sucked, wet and open mouthed, at his balls, teeth threatening tender skin in a way that made Price's cock twitch and throb with arousal. Simon didn't leave him waiting too long, swallowing the thick bulb of his glans to the back of his throat, tongue writhing and wriggling beneath his shaft. Price arched, strong fingers scrunching at Simon's mask and then dropping to grip the blonde tufts that escaped the back of it.

Simon let him fuck up into his mouth, his arms curling around his thighs to pull them apart, Price's heels nudging the backs of his shoulders. It was erotic, the way Price's body moved in search of pleasure, even splayed and vulnerable. His command didn't falter. "Nnh, Simon, fuck, fuck... Yer mouth's a bloody treat, sweet'eart."

Simon growled and pulled off, leaving strings of saliva and cum to trail down his chin to the tip of Price's cock as he stared up the naked length of him to the mischievous blue eyes watching him. Price knew what he was doing. Knew how he was baiting Simon to fuck him until his legs didn't work and his throat was raw from the moaning. Simon's cock ached, the brush of soft fleece enough to make him rut forward against the mattress in search of pleasure. "C'mon, Simon. Fuck me," Price snarled, strong thighs testing Simon's grip on them.

Simon surged up his body to smash their mouths together, teeth catching chapped lips, the taste of copper between them as he snatched the bottle of lube from where Price had chucked it in full anticipation of the railing he was about to receive. Simon squirmed out of his joggers, thick cock rutting into the sweat and spit slick skin of Price's hip, fisting the bed sheets with one hand as he gathered enough self control to tilt to the side and soak his cock in lube. A messy fist smoothed the gel down to the base before gathering Price's legs up his torso, his tip pushing into the snug grip of Price's hole.

"Mmf, fuck, slow, slow... Fuckin hells," Price snarled, nails biting into the side of Simon's neck as Simon quivered under the strain of self control. He rolled his hips in short, measured thrusts, easing in slowly, hunching down to kiss the grimace of concentration off of Price's face.

Simon was a decent length, nothing to sniff at, but it was the girth that truly satisfied, left people wrecked. It had taken previous lovers time to work up to and even Price, practiced and experienced, huffed deep breaths as his body yielded to it. "God bloody fuck, mm..." Price cussed, pushing his head back as he rocked up to meet Simon's hips, sliding himself up and down the full length of him. "Yeah, tha's it, right... Ah, right there, Simon, fuckin... Ah."

He was fucking beautiful like this. Beautiful. There weren't a word that fitted better. Blue eyes misty, his head thrown back, the flush of pleasure down his neck, splashed across his furred chest. His legs spread wide and wanton as Simon's fat cock sank into his greedy hole. Simon wanted to look, but he also wanted to taste, his teeth scraping through the scruff of Price's beard on their way to his neck. The pace was sweet torture, the pleasure curling up his spine, his balls pulled tight, sinking in all the way to the hilt, hoping Price'd be able to feel him in his guts if he thrust deep enough.

"G'wan, fuck me proper, boy," Price rasped, rewarded almost immediately with a firm thrust that startled a yelp out of him. It was all the encouragement Simon needed, gathering Price's legs to his shoulders as he began to piston his hips at a relentless pace, fucking hard and fast into the warm, wet clutch of Price's body.

Simon loved making Price loud, his bitten off cusses peppered with lower moans, gasps that almost bled into whines when Simon found the right angle. It was a complete and utter fracture of his iron control, and Simon revelled in it. His own noises ran away with him; snarls, growls, Price's name, his title, sir. The dizzying pleasure unspooled through him from head to toe, the day's tension burning out of his muscles with every pant of exertion, Price's body milking his cock with the most delicious friction.

Price didn't touch himself. He never did at first. He liked being fucked; liked the way a thick cock felt as it spread him open and pounded his prostate, his hands fisting the bed sheets as he met each thrust, demanding. When Simon shifted onto his feet, curving Price's hips up until he was fucking down into him like an animal mounting a mate, deeper, harder, than before, Price finally fisted his cock in search of his building release.

Simon lost track of anything but the heat of Price's hole, the pulsing clutch of it around his prick, the increasingly desperate noises each of his thrusts punched out of Price's chest. His orgasm curled up his spine, pulling taut in his muscles, his balls high and tight as he held off until the end he desired.

Price's hand stuttered and then he was spilling, thick ropes of cum splashed over his chest and neck, his impressive cock throbbing and flicking in the circle of his fingers as he teased himself through the aftershocks. Simon went to pull out, but Price snarled, "Don't you... fuckin dare. "

It flicked a switch in Simon's head, cut the final thread of a chord that had kept him tethered, and he began to rut like the animal he was. The wet slap of his hips grew louder as he chased his high, Price's groans broken around the pain-pleasure of overstimulation, his hole more lax post orgasm, relaxed, sloppy with lube and precum, the noise of Simon's cock fucking into it as obscene as his command to be bred full that punched out in the next breath. "Fuckin... breed me, Simon."

Simon came with a bitten off shout, grinding down into Price 's body as his balls emptied in hot, heavy pulses. Price moaned, pressing up into Simon's hips, rocking slowly as Simon's stuttering thrusts ended with him staying as deep as he could until his cock had stopped twitching, brimming Price with a week's worth of frustrated build up.

"Fuckin hell," Simon rasped, slumping down onto his elbow as he drew out, satisfied by the wetness that covered Price's thighs in the aftermath, and the puffy redness of his fucked out hole.

"Hope they do," Price murmured, shaking legs dropping off the edge of the bed. Simon slumped onto his back, and Price rolled onto his side, following him. "You broken?"

"Nah. Fuckin knackered."

Price barked a laugh. "Simon 'One Nut Wonder' Riley."

"Fuck off," Simon blustered through a laugh of his own. "Aren't you meant to be gettin' a limp dick at your age anyway?"

"Watch it," Price shot back, but without heat. He patted around blindly for his cigarettes and lighter, striking one up between his lips. He took a toke before passing it across to Simon, who puffed smoke at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Surprised maintenance haven't beasted you for that smoke alarm yet."

"They'd have to catch me first."

"Wiley bastard."

Price smirked as Simon passed the cigarette back, smoke curling from his nose as they both gazed thoughtfully into the dark above them, comfortable and quiet in the afterglow.

They fucked again a few more times that night; slower, closer to lovers than the raw fuck of earlier, and Simon spooned up behind his captain, thrusting into him as he tenderly kissed his neck, drawing out softer moans and praise. "Yeah, Simon... Mm, fuck, that's, ah, ah, please..." The way Price arched into him, muscular body spreading itself eagerly to be pleasured, gravelly voice demanding and pleading in equal measure, made Simon heady with lust and adoration.

Simon wasn't sure what the fuck they had, what it was called; he knew it was wrong by the standards of the service, but they'd have to pry it out of his cold dead hands.

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

Tagging for: Too Big Insertion, Blood (from claws), Dubiously Consensual Turning, Knotting

I want to be pinned down by a werewolf while they force their dick in me, it's already a little too big, even before the knot starts inflating.

Maybe I try and reach down to grab the knot in my hands to help them get off without getting the knot in me, or at least get the knot big enough they won't be able to get it in.

But that just gets them more worked up as they grab my legs and forcing them over my head, claws cutting little lines into my thighs, blood running trickling from them.

Maybe I try and tell them it won't fit, but they're already too lost to lust and moon madness, and I haven't given a stop signal yet, so they just keep grinding their knot against me, desperate to fit, putting more and more weight into their thrusts.

I can feel my lips straining under the assault, the knot stretching me bit by bit, and gods it hurts good, but I know that it's gonna do real damage if they really tie me, so I try and push them off, slapping their shoulder twice as I do.

It takes a moment for them to notice, stopping with the widest part of their knot stuck between my lips, golden eyes boring into mine as they slowly ease back, pulling inch after inch free until I'm completely empty.

I take a moment to recover, legs shaking as I try to stretch them out, until they take notice of the blood on my thighs, gently taking them in hand as their tongue cleans me with long, steady strokes, pulling a quiet moan from my lips.

By the time they finish with my wounds, I'm bucking my hips in their grip, desperate for more, then moaning as their tongue laps at my tender lips, my hands darting to grab at their ruff for some sort of control as I cum, legs wrapping around their neck and burying their face in my slit.

It doesn't take too long for them to pull free after my orgasm stops, gently rolling me over and lifting my hips before climbing on top, slowly grinding their cock against me. Their jaws tenderly wrap around my shoulder as they line themselves up, tip just barely lodged between my lips, before slowly sinking their cock to the knot with three long, slow strokes.

I feel the tension in their jaws, the urge to bite down, so strong with my blood and cum in their jaws. It was risky earlier, licking my wounds clean, but a proper bite... we'd talked about it before.

They didn't want to.

Hadn't, I guess.

Fangs sink into the meat of my shoulder, gently chewing, then not so gently, as their hips start to move, their knot slamming into my entrance as the full moon reaches into my soul.

The knot slips in, some combination of having shrunk in it's time out of me, the addition work stretching me out with their tongue, and my slowly unfolding transition finally allowing it inside, when it quickly grows larger, locking it inside as it swells past the size of a cantaloupe, a shriek leaving my lungs as it's growth forces the air from them.

I feel my pelvis creak, and for a moment, I'm afraid I really will break, but one more soft thrust slips the knot fully past it, and then their hands are on me, one rubbing at the hard ridge just visible in my otherwise soft belly, the other groping my breast.

Their heartbeat echoes harder in my ears than my own as my transformation continues, fur spreading down my back as my bones shift shape and position, extra teeth overfilling my jaws before my face stretches outwards to give them room.

As I grow larger, they start to get more aggressive, forced to adjust their grip, and thrusting as much as the knot will allow.

Uh, sorry, kind of running out of steam here, but like, I'm sure you get the picture.

.

[hockeylovee12]

Crossing Enemy Lines

Chapter Three

Luke Hughes x Original Character

Warnings: Cussing, some toxic family dynamics, mentions of being used

A/N: I got really lazy writing this chapter so it may be a bit bumpy, but I hope you guys enjoy it. Chapter 4 will probably be out within the next week

November 12th, 2023

The sounds of blades slicing through a frozen surface fill the small practice rink in Newark, as the New Jersey Devils take the ice for their 9 AM practice. 

Head Coach Lindy Ruff, gathers his players on center ice, his stern expression a clear indication of his displeasure with the personnel occupying the sea of red and white jerseys in front of him.

"Listen up boys," Ruff barks, his voice echoing off the boards, "We let in seven goals on Thursday! That's unacceptable" 

Luke flinches at the reminder of Thursday's game, His mind recalling the feeling of disappointment he felt, followed by the memory of meeting Jordan. 

"We can't be giving up chances like that, especially not to the Rangers" Ruff continues, his tone growing more frustrated "Jacob Trouba and his boys had a field day out there" 

A surge of anger courses through Luke's veins at the mention of Jacob Trouba, prompting more unwelcome memories of Jordan to run through his mind. 

Lindy continues his speech-which Luke has lost all interest in- as he feels himself getting more and more aggravated with each passing second, as the image of Jordan storming out of the cafe, plays on a loop in his head.

Then the loud sound of Ruff's whistle pierces through the air, signaling the beginning of practice. "Alright, let's start with some one-on-one battle drills," Ruff announces. "Luke, Mercer, you're up first. Let's see who comes out on top."

Luke takes a breath and skates towards the blue line, lining up in front of Dawson. As the whistle blows, they engage in a battle for the puck, sticks clashing and skates cutting through the ice. Luke tries to channel his frustration into the drill, using his body positioning to shield the puck while Dawson tries to exploit any openings in his defense.

"Good work, boys!" Ruff shouts. "Keep battling! Don't be lazy!" 

The drill continues with each pairing taking a turn, and for a moment Luke's mind drifts back to Jordan. 

He's mad, no he's pissed, he's pissed with the way things happened. He's pissed, that Jordan's last name is Trouba, he's pissed that out of all the fucking people he could've met, the one person, the one fucking person he works up the courage to talk to, to form a genuine fucking connection with, is the one fucking person he can't have. 

A sigh escapes Luke's lips as he regains focus, and Ruff transitions the team into backchecking drills. "Forwards, I want to see you hustling back to help out your defensemen," he instructs. "Backcheck like your life depends on it!"

Luke throws himself into the drill, chasing down opposing forwards with a burning intensity. He disrupts passes and applies pressure, determined to shut down any offensive attempts.

But even as he pushes himself physically, he can't escape the nagging thoughts in his mind. He wants answers, he wants answers, to questions he doesn't even know how to ask.

He's mad, he's confused, and he's sad.

He’s sad that he met a girl he really likes and he can’t date her, he can’t hang out with her, he probably shouldn’t even talk her, and he’s sad that even if he could talk to her she probably wouldn’t wanna talk to him, because he's an idiot who fucked things up. 

"Hughes, good hustle! That's what I wanna see in a game" Ruff praises. "Keep it up!"

Another sigh escapes his lips, as he continues pushing himself. 

Halfway through practice, Ruff calls a five-minute water break. As the players gather around the bench, Dawson skates over to Luke with a mischievous grin. "Hey, Casanova! How'd it go with the girl you met the other night?"

Luke's jaw clenches. "Shut it, Dawson," he warns, his tone sharp.

John raises an eyebrow. "Ooh, touchy subject. Looks like our boy struck out."

"I said, shut it," Luke snaps, his patience wearing thin. The guys exchange glances, sensing the tension radiating from him.

Ruff blows his whistle, and moves the team to the net for some net-front presence drills. "Defensemen, your job is to clear the crease and make life difficult for the opposing forwards," he explains. "Forwards, battle for position and look for those dirty goals."

Luke positions himself in front of the net, engaging in physical battles with his teammates, and his mind wanders slightly, he wonders what they would say, if they knew, knew that the girl he met in the bar is Jacob Trouba’s sister. He knows they would tell him he can’t see her again, even though that bridge has already been burned. 

But it’s like a part of him doesn’t know why, no actually that’s a lie, he knows why, he knows the rules, even if they’re unwritten,  you don’t date an opponent's sister, doesn’t matter the sport, the league, or the team, and if there was a rulebook for the NHL, the message No Devils player should date a Rangers sister would probably be bolded in red at the top of every page.  

"Box out, Hughes! What are you doing?!" Ruff yells. "Don't let them establish position!" 

Luke hesitates, trying to regain his composure, when one more thought comes, a small, tiny thought racing through his mind, a thought that causes goosebumps on his skin, a thought he's trying desperately to ignore, whispering maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it. Maybe?

The practice continues with passing drills, the players focusing on crisp, tape-to-tape passes. Luke tries to lose himself in the familiar rhythms of the game, but his mind keeps wandering back to Jordan. 

A few of his teammates shoot him concerned glances, almost every time they notice a change in his focus, but each time he shakes off their glances, and their reassuring words telling him to focus on practice or asking if he's alright because the one thing he knows for certain, is that even though their relationship is over, his teammates never need to know is that he went on a date with the enemies sister, or that she won't leave his mind. 

Then as practice nears its end, Ruff has the team skate lines, something Luke knows he can't fuck up.

The players line up on the goal line, their chests heaving and sweat dripping from their brows.

"Alright, boys, let's finish strong!" Ruff bellows. "On the whistle, skate to the red line and back. Keep pushing until I say stop!"

The shrill sound of the whistle pierces the air, and the players take off, their skates pounding against the ice.

They push themselves to the limit, legs burning and lungs screaming for air, as they continue to skate back and forth. 

Until finally, Ruff raises his hand, motioning for the players to gather around. 

"Alright, boys, that's enough for today," Ruff says, his tone softening slightly. "Good job. Hit the showers. We're leaving for Detroit at 11."

 *****

Jordan's eyes begin fluttering open, her body still wrapped in a cocoon of cozy blankets and sheets, embracing her in what feels like a warm hug. 

She reaches for her phone, squinting as she checks the time: 11:04. 

Memories of yesterday's date with Luke flood her mind, and a wave of disappointment washes over her.

With a sigh, she swipes away the notifications, her mind still groggy, and swings her legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before standing up and making her way to the living room.

As she walks, she can't help but feel upset and angry about how things ended with Luke. She really liked him, and their connection had been undeniable.

But the fact that he couldn't see past the rivalry between his team and her brother's? It's stupid, it's frustrating and it's disappointing.

"Hey, Jordy," Jacob greets her as she enters the living room.

To her surprise, Jacob is sitting on the couch, his attention focused on the TV. He had been away the previous two days, the Rangers having a back-to-back with the second half being an away game in Pittsburg.

"Hey, when did you get home?" Jordan asks, her voice still thick with sleep as she settles onto the couch beside him.

"Not till about one this morning" Jacob explains. Jordan nods, knowing she was still awake at that time, and probably too distracted by her thoughts to hear him come into the apartment. 

"How was Pittsburgh?" She asks 

"Eh, same old, same old. We got the win, so that's what matters." Jacob nudges her gently. "So, Kelly told me you had a date yesterday. How'd it go?"

Jordan shrugs, not particularly wanting to delve into the details. "It was fine," she says noncommittally.

Jacob raises an eyebrow. "Just fine? Do I need to beat someone up?" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Jordan's mouth. "No, no. It just... didn't go well, that's all."

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?" Jacob prods gently, concern evident in his voice.

Jordan shakes her head. "I'm sure. It's not a big deal."

Jacob studies her for a moment before deciding not to push further. "Alright, well, in that case, you and I are going to lunch. Come on, my treat."

Jordan lets out a small laugh, appreciating her brother's attempt to cheer her up, "Alright just let me get dressed and brush my teeth" Jordan says

She heads back to her room to get dressed, choosing a comfortable outfit for their outing.

Then the siblings make their way to a local restaurant, not too far from their apartment, the aroma of freshly cooked food and the buzz of conversation enveloping them as they step inside. They settle into a booth, perusing the menu as they wait for their server.

Once they place their orders-a salad with Salmon for Jacob and a club sandwich with fries for Jordan-Jacob leans back, his eyes fixed on Jordan. "So how's NYU treating you?" he asks, with genuine interest in his voice.

Jordan brightens a little, "It's great," she gushes, launching into a detailed account of her classes and the new friends she's made.

Soon their food arrives, and they begin eating.

Their conversation naturally shifts to hockey, with Jacob recounting the details of the Rangers' recent games. "-But the game against the Devils was great, but intense cus they're all a bunch of softies" he remarks, oblivious to the way Jordan tenses slightly at the mention of Luke's team. "Pretty sure half their players threatened to cut my head off before the third period. But the Devils are all fucking talk, the scored one goal, and kept complaining for hits we made, but the fucking lost anyway, and with the way they were playing, a power play wouldn't have made any difference."

Jordan forces a laugh, trying to push away the thoughts of Luke that inevitably surface. "Yeah, that's crazy. Y'all really hate the Devils?"

Jacob, laughs before responding "Well of course, we're supposed to plus, they're all assholes so who would wanna like them"

"Yeah, right" Jordan says

Jacob continues to talk about the game, but Jordan finds herself only half-listening, her mind drifting back to Luke and their ill-fated date. She can't help but wonder what he's doing now if he's thinking about her too.

Noticing her distraction, Jacob pauses. "Hey, you okay?"

Snapping back to the present, Jordan nods. "Yeah, sorry. Just got lost in thought for a second."

"No worries." Jacob takes a sip of his drink before changing the subject. "So, Thanksgiving is coming up. Kelly and I were thinking of hosting the team at our place this year. You're still cool with that, right?"

Jordan's heart skips a beat at the thought of being in the same room as a bunch of Rangers players, but she knows she can't say no, well actually she could but, she won't. "Yeah, of course. That sounds great."

"Awesome. It'll be fun, having everyone together like that. And who knows, maybe you'll even meet someone new." Jacob winks playfully.

Jordan scoffs playfully, "You'd want me to date a Ranger?"

Jacob shrugs "Nah probably not, but if you did I would be okay with it, as long as it's a Ranger, though, otherwise find a different sport"

Jordan forces a laugh, her thoughts once again turning to Luke.

If only her brother knew the truth, the truth that she's already met a guy who plays hockey, a guy who wears a different crest on his jersey, a guy who keeps running through her mind.

 *****

The Detroit skyline looms in the distance as the New Jersey Devils' plane touches down on the runway. The team disembarks, collecting their luggage and boarding the team bus that will take them to their hotel. 

As a rookie on an entry-level contract, Luke shares a room with his teammate, Alex Holtz. 

Once in their room, Luke puts his stuff down and flops onto the bed.

He begins absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, when a knock at the door interrupts his mindless browsing, and he gets up to answer it.

Jack stands in the hallway, an expectant look on his face.

"You ready to go?" Jack asks.

Luke blinks, confused. "Where?"

Jack gives him a look. "To see Mom and Dad. We're getting lunch. Did you forget?"

Rolling his eyes, Luke tries to play it off, even though he really did forget "No, I just need a few minutes to get dressed."

"Alright, hurry up. I'm gonna call an Uber." Jack turns to leave.

"Okay," Luke replies, closing the door. He quickly changes into a pair of black jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a flannel before grabbing his stuff and saying bye to Alex.

The brothers meet up in the lobby and climb into the waiting Uber.

As they drive through the familiar streets of Detroit, Luke remains quiet, lost in thought as he watches the scenery pass by.

They arrive at the restaurant and spot their parents, Jim and Ellen, already seated at a table. Ellen waves them over, standing up to give each of her sons a warm hug. They sit down and place their orders, falling into easy conversation.

"So, boys, how's the season going so far?" Jim asks, taking a sip of his water.

"It's been good, Dad," Jack replies. "We've had a few tough losses, but overall, the team is really coming together."

Ellen smiles. "That's great to hear. And how about you, Luke? How are you adjusting to life in the NHL?"

Luke shrugs. "It's been a learning curve, but I feel like I'm starting to find my footing."

The conversation turns to family updates and upcoming holiday plans until Jack casually lets it slip that Luke had a date yesterday. 

Ellen's eyes light up. "Ooh, a date? Give me the details!"

Luke shoots Jack a glare before turning to his mother. "It was just a date, Mom. It didn't work out. I don't really want to talk about it."

Jim leans forward, curiosity piqued. "Why not? What happened?"

"It just didn't work out, Dad. Can we please drop it?" Luke pleads, feeling uncomfortable.

"Oh, come on, Luke," Ellen says, her tone gentle. "We're just curious. It's not every day you go on a date." 

Luke sighs, somewhat fighting the sarcastic urge to thank his mother, for bringing that detail to light.

"Seriously, Luke it's been a while since you've had a girlfriend" Jack states 

This time the sarcastic quip isn't fought back as he responds "Thank you, Sherlock" 

"We're just saying Luke, it might be nice for you to have someone" His mom adds

Luke sighs, he thinks it would be nice too, but unfortunately that hasn't happened yet,

"I know can we just drop it" Luke states, his voice raising slightly. 

An awkward silence falls over the table.

After a moment, Jim clears his throat. "So, that game against the Rangers." he says, shifting the topic, which unknowingly causes just as much frustration for Luke, as their previous one, especially considering how Jim chooses to approach the conversation.

Jim leans forward, his expression serious. "Luke, You seemed a bit off"

Luke shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "It was a tough match, Dad. The Rangers are a strong team."

"That's no excuse," Jim counters. "You can't let the other team dictate your play. You need to be more aggressive, take control of the game."

"I'm trying, Dad," Luke sighs, feeling the familiar pressure of his father's expectations weighing on him.

Jim continues, "And what about that turnover in the second period? You can't be making mistakes like that, especially not in your own zone. The other team is just gonna eat that up and score on you"

Luke feels his frustration rising. "I know, Dad. I'm working on it."

Ellen, sensing the tension, tries to intervene. "Jim, honey, I'm sure Luke is doing his best. It's not easy being a rookie in the NHL."

But Jim is undeterred. "The best players find a way to rise above the challenges. If you want to make a name for yourself in this league, Luke, you need to be better."

Jack, noticing Luke's clenched jaw, attempts to diffuse the situation. "Come on, Dad. Luke's been putting in a lot of hard work. His coach has been giving him good feedback. Plus he's producing well"

"Hard work is important," Jim acknowledges, " and he is producing well, but don't forget you're a defenseman, points mean nothing, if you keep giving easy goals away."

Luke's frustration boils over. "I got it," he snaps, his voice louder than intended.

An awkward silence falls over the table again and Jack nudges Luke, silently telling him to calm down. 

"So, Mom, how's the garden coming along?" Jack asks, steering the conversation to safer ground.

Ellen smiles, grateful for the diversion. "Oh, it's going great," she gushes, launching into a detailed description. 

The rest of the lunch passes more pleasantly, as they finish their food, and stick to more neutral topics. 

Then the check arrives, and Jim insists on paying, waving away Luke and Jack's protests. They say their goodbyes, Ellen hugging her sons tightly and making them-specifically Jack-promise to call more often, before they go their separate ways. 

In the Uber back to the hotel, Jack nudges Luke. "You alright, man? You seem a bit more on edge. You usually don't let dad get to you like that?"

Luke sighs, rubbing his face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a lot on my mind."

Jack nods, silently clapping his brother on the back. 

They arrive back at the hotel and Luke makes his way to his room, before lying down on the bed, his mind still reeling from the ups and downs of the day. 

His phone buzzes with a new notification, he picks it up, seeing the contact name, it's one of his best friends Dylan Duke: Hey man, we still on for dinner tonight with Mark and Ethan at 8? 

Luke types out a quick reply: Yeah, see you then.

He sets his phone aside and closes his eyes, trying to calm his swirling thoughts.

 *****

Jordan sits at her desk, a textbook open in front of her and a pen poised in her hand. She's been staring at the same page for the past half hour, the words blurring together as her mind wanders back to Luke. 

She leans back in her chair, a heavy sigh escaping her lips, as she recalls the nervous smile, on his face, when they met on Thursday, it was cute, charming, just like his laugh, and his hazel eyes, or his competitiveness during their game of pool, that was just the right amount of cockiness to keep him from coming off as arrogant. She can't lie, she felt a connection with him, a connection she hasn't felt in a really long time. 

And just like last time, her last name ruined everything, it's ridiculous, that a stupid rivalry caused all this, a stupid rivalry she's not even a part of, ok well yes her last name, but like not her.

Jordan reaches for her phone, her fingers hovering over his contact. She wants to text him, tell him she's not her brother, and her life shouldn't be dictated because of it, she wants to tell him that, she really fucking wants to.

But how would she even say that? "Sorry my brother is your team's biggest rival, but I don't have a problem with the Devils so can we still date?"

She laughs bitterly at the thought. It sounds ridiculous, even to her own ears.

And yet, a part of her doesn't care. A part of her wants to do it anyway, say fuck it.

But she knows it's not that simple. She knows the unwritten rules, the lines that can't be crossed, blah, blah, blah, they're stupid.

Her mind wanders to past relationships, to the boys who only saw her as a stepping stone, a way to get their foot in the door with the Rangers. She remembers the hurt, the betrayal, the feeling of being used.

But with Luke, she thought'd it'd be different outcome, but the outcomes the same, just took a different route, a route still dictated by her fucking last name. 

Luke had been a breath of fresh air, someone who seemed to genuinely care about her, who made her feel seen and heard. And now, she may have lost him forever.

A single tear slips down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away, not wanting to let herself wallow in self-pity.

"Jordan!" Jacob's voice echoes from the kitchen, startling her out of her thoughts. "Dinner's ready!"

She takes a deep breath, composing herself before responding, "Be right there!"

With one last glance at her phone, she sets it down on the desk, the screen still displaying Luke's contact. She knows she can't text him, can't reach out, no matter how much she wants to.

 *****

Around 7:45 Luke leaves the hotel to meet up with Dylan, Ethan and Mark. They decide on a sushi restaurant that's walking distance from Luke's hotel. 

As they settle into their seats, the conversation quickly turns to life at Michigan.

"Man, you should see the new freshmen," Dylan says, a grin on his face. "They're a riot, especially this one kid from Canada. He's always trying to impress the girls with his accent. It's hilarious."

Ethan laughs, shaking his head. "Remember that party last weekend? I swear, I've never seen someone drink that much and still be standing."

Mark chimes in, recounting a particularly memorable moment from their latest hockey practice. "And then Coach just lost it, started yelling at everyone to get their acts together. I thought he was gonna blow a gasket."

As his friends continue to share stories and updates, Luke finds himself only half-listening. His mind keeps drifting back to Jordan and the way things ended between them. He also can't shake the feeling of nostalgia, missing the carefree days of college life.

Dylan notices Luke's distraction and nudges him. "Hey, man, what's up? You're too cool for us now that you're in the NHL?"

Luke snaps out of his thoughts, looking at his friend. "Of course not," he says, a small smile on his face.

Dylan grins, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Just kidding, dude. But seriously, what's going on? You seem a little off."

Luke hesitates for a moment before opening up. "I met this girl on Friday, and I really liked her. We went out yesterday, but things took a turn for the worse." He doesn't mention her last name, keeping that detail to himself.

His friends listen intently as Luke continues. "We got into a disagreement about something, and it kind of ended everything."

Mark leans forward, his eyes sympathetic. "Do you like her? I mean, really like her?"

Luke nods, a wistful expression on his face. "Yeah, a lot."

Ethan places a hand on Luke's shoulder. "Then it shouldn't matter, man. If you care about each other, you can work through whatever the problem is."

Dylan suddenly looks serious, a rare occurrence for him. "Hold up, she doesn't hate hockey, does she?"

Luke can't help but chuckle at the question. "No, she doesn't hate hockey."

"Then Ethan's right," Dylan says, a smile returning to his face. "Whatever the issue is, you guys can figure it out."

Mark and Ethan nod in agreement, encouraging Luke to reach out to Jordan and try to make amends.

"I don't know, man" Luke says, uncertainty creeping into his voice. "What if she doesn't want to hear from me?"

"You won't know unless you try," Mark points out. "Just send her a text, see how she responds. What's the worst that could happen?"

Luke considers their advice, his mind racing with possibilities, before he lets out a chuckle "When the hell did you guys get brains?" He jokes.

"Junior year apparently" Dylan remarks, resulting in a laugh from the table. 

The conversation shifts back to lighter topics, as they finish up their meal, before remaining at the table, for at least another hour, before Luke has to get back to the hotel, for room checks. 

Once back in his room, he notices Alex already asleep, always an early sleeper, unlike himself, so Luke quietly changes into his sweats and a t- shirt, before lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He replays his friends' words in his head, contemplating texting her. 

And in a moment of impulse, he grabs his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen. Before he can second-guess himself, he types out a simple message to Jordan: I'm sorry.

He hits send, his heart pounding in his chest as he waits for a response that may never come.

A/N I hope you enjoyed reading! Feel free to send me any comments about this story, if you like it, I'd love to hear them!

[cloudyswritings]

Vessel biology:small details

Y’all know the drill by now.

Vessels exposed to natural daylight or Light from gods that are compatible with plant growth(Unn, Radiance originally but not once she starts the plague) can actually grow foliage on their horns(cause they’re actually branches) or around their ruff(their little cloaks are probably some hybrid of wings and leaves)the reasons most vessels don’t is because most grew up in darkness and never made it out to the surface or never encountered gods.

Side note but Hollow used to have very delicate white leaves(kinda like some of the foliage in the white palace or the plants growing in queens gardens but stunted), taking after their mothers nature. unfortunately pale lights tend to be cold aligned and thus lack some of the warmth in their spectrum needed to keep up vessel foliage growth long term. The radiance burned away the rest of their more delicate leaves. Interestingly though their actual ruff has a greenish hue to it in the their black egg fight that the pure vessel fight lacks, indicating that the radiances light may have at least started chlorophyll production for them before rapidly becoming scorching.

Vessels have a sort of hoarding instinct, the urge to take things inside of themselves and store it for later, which originates with wyrm. They don’t really have any preferences for what they take though, unlike Wyrms who are neurotic by human standards about what is and isn’t allowed in their hoard(which is why the white palace is color coded).

Vessel kinda have eyes? They have basic photo receptors lining the inside rim of their eye socks/mask holes, but most of their actual vision is magic. They also tend to have different attunements to their vision and thus how they see the world. Little ghost is highly attuned to void and soul and the gradient between them, whereas Hollow is far more like us and in addition to standard wavelength color vision can also see the “qualities” of Light that’s deific in origin, this includes seeing lingering effects, the wills and reasons of gods for how they use their Light, and they will almost always notice the boundaries of territories of higher beings.

Hollow is so stained with light that they may genuinely have more lingering light that void, in theory they could use this to transition towards being a more standard god, which would allow them to heal their wounds. They choose not to of course, mostly cause of the trauma they’ve been through and their feelings on gods in general.

Vessels have small retractable/void based burrowing claws/appendages that they can use for when they want to dig. That’s actually what Pure vessel uses during their fight, it’s the long void tendrils arm thing. These claws also tend to correspond to the shape their teeth/horns would have been in as worms.

Speaking of that, that’s what the horns on their heads are, they’re branches but also at the core of each branch is the tooth “root” and the branches tend to grow into the shapes they would have had the vessels been born Wyrms.

Vessels in general don’t have a lifespan, but if they were given the chance they’d all eventually metamorphose into a different form ala their father. I think that the typical vessel shapes/bodies we see are really just temporary and not particularly stable(hence why I’ve said they’re susceptible to influences in the past and also likened them to evee) and given the chance each vessel has an adult form it would eventually grow into. Those forms tend to by Wyrms, roots, and wyrm root hybrids, but also contain a wide variety of stranger life forms, probably echoes and imprints left behind in the void from gods it’s devoured in the past that made their way into the vessels.

Hollows is actually just how they were as PV though, they were simply too influenced by light and also have too much wyrm blood in them

Ghosts is quite obviously void given focus, the potential for that lay in them(and all other vessels to some extent) but only they made the choice that allowed void given focus to exist.

[the-evil-lovable-simp]

Caine x sand bag clown doll reader

Part 1

Tw: no mouth

Pop! And there you were, you landed flat on the ground after appearing in mid-air, you opened your eyes, lifting your upper half, seeing your hands were now bean-like shape, you were about to open your mouth to gasp until nothing happened and that's when you noticed you didn't have a mouth or a nose, well you could still breath, somehow. Plus you never really used your mouth.....you think? Oh wait eating how could you do that? You had got up and dusted yourself off, just noticing your outfit, a black and white clown outfit with a pointy hat and a ruff, mmmm maybe you were a mime? You started to pull at the part of your face that didn't have a mouth anymore seeing if that would change anything...nothing, oh well. You started walking around all bouncy, being able to hear your bean-shaped feat patting on the hard-tiled floor. You stop as you hear voices, you head in that direction. The voices got louder so you hid behind a colourful box to see. You saw someone throw up and then saw some guy with teeth for a head watch in shock, he put his hands on his hip.

"Woah! Clean up on aisle U!" he exclaimed and if you had a mouth you would've laughed. Then a floating bubble came out of his hat and said,

"I'm on it boss!" and then proceeded to lick the puke up.

Teeth guy watched in disgust.

"Why are you like this?" he asked looking down at the bubble. The little person who looked to be about a few inches shorter than you and also looked like a jester, also the one who threw up, finally regained themself.

"Wait wait," they reached out clutching their head, "Was that an exit door I saw out there?" they asked looking behind their shoulder, then looking back.

"Is that a way to leave?" she asked desperately.

"What exit?" a purple bunny said as he pulled another person's arm off, and used it as a back scratcher.

"If there was a way to leave, I'm pretty sure we'd have all left by now," He then got strangled by the arm, and the person he stole it from, who had a triangle for a head, started speaking.

"Yeah, what are you talking about?" This caught the teeth guy's attention.

"U-uh I" he clears his nonexistent throat and you bob your head up and down to show as laughing.

"I assure you, there is no 'magical exit door'" he does air quotation marks with his fingers. "You're probably experiencing..." he flew up into the air.

"Digital hallucinations!" he announced as the words floated above his head all weird and wiggily. He then floated down.

"From your mind's transition to the digital plane," he said. You then started to get bored and came from behind the block, making more tapping sounds with your feet, with your arms flailing behind you, catching everyone's attention. You then stopped when you heard a certain someone say something rude, turned and looked at the purple rabbit, You stared at him, without blinking and not breaking eye contact, his smile suddenly disappeared and he looked a bit uncomfortable.

"What is that thing?" you heard the triangle person say, how ironic, you rolled your eyes.

"Aww, they're so cute!" You saw a ragdoll say, you acted more kindly towards that and closed your eyes to show a smile and waved. You looked back at teeth guy and saw him with a giant machine with the word, Pomni on it.

"Huh? Uh, s-sure. I think I just-" the jester said being cut off.

"Gadzooks, you're right Ja-" Teeth guy said but then saw you.

"This one's gotta be an npc-" The purple rabbit started to whisper to the doll.

"Oh my! Another human, and so shortly after Pomni!" He floated over to you, looking down at you, at first it made you a bit uncomfortable but you got over it.

"And what is your name?!" he asked waiting for an answer. You stared up at him blankly with wide eyes and unintentionally threatening pupils. He got a bit anxious, looking around awkwardly. Then you suddenly dashed in the opposite direction, tapping your feet along the way.

"Ah-".Teeth man made a noise of surprise as you heard the bunny laughing in the background.

Soon after the rabbit ran after you,

"I wanna see where this is going!" he said. Not long after the rest of them followed behind. Pomni had run somewhere else and Caine was left there, he was miffed, he had a whole adventure planned and everything. He then flew in the direction everyone went.

[glassprism]

Hi! I was wondering if you know the history of the Broadway Star Princess dress and why it’s so different to London’s version? I saw your post saying it was originally from Vegas, but didn’t Sarah Brightman also wear the Broadway version at one point?

So first, I think you might be a bit confused about the wording in my last post. I never said the Star Princess costume itself was from Vegas. I said that the specific photo of the specific Star Princess that I linked was from Vegas. That specific costume was created there and then later sent to Broadway, one of many, many other Star Princess costumes among their stock. The Vegas production opened in 2006, years after the Broadway production opened in 1988, so they certainly did not design and come up with that costume. Rather the Vegas production created their own specific variant of it (albeit one still very close to the Broadway design), and when the Vegas production closed, that costume was sent to the still-running Broadway production to be used there. I hope that clarifies!

On to the history, which might also answer the second part of your question. The first thing to note is that the Star Princess was not the original dress Christine wore in 'Masquerade'. That dress was the fondly nicknamed "Hershey's kiss" dress, which looked like this:

Supposedly the dress was not very popular with the Christine actresses, so when the show went to Broadway, it was redesigned into the Star Princess dress we know today. That's also why you see Sarah Brightman wearing both - she wore the "Hershey's kiss" dress on the West End and the Star Princess on Broadway.

After a few months, the West End production also adopted the Star Princess costume, and has used it to this day. Now, you did ask why the West End and Broadway versions differ. Well, in fact, in the early days the Star Princess did not differ that much at all between the two flagship productions, as you can see below - West End on the left, Broadway on the right. There's differences, sure, but they're nowhere near as striking as it is now - you have the dark blue ruffles along the chest that continue into the sleeves, rows of beading along those ruffs, light shades, nice transition from darker pink to light, very similar shape and styling of the bodice, and so on.

So why did it change? Well, same reason every costume in every production worldwide has slight changes from each other: different costume makers, different materials, different interpretation of the design. Especially when Maria Bjornson died, I feel like the West End production started getting more experimental. Meanwhile, Broadway was more traditional, so their costumes adhered closer to the original style as the West End struck out for new avenues. So it's actually kind of funny that you ask about the history of the Broadway Star Princess, like that's the one that chose to be different, when the reality is the opposite - you should look at the history of the West End Star Princess and see what happened there.

To demonstrate, I made a little transition photoset below. The top row is West End, bottom row is Broadway, and the photos go chronologically from left to right, starting from the early 90s and ending with the West End revival and Broadway re-opening in the 2020s.

Hopefully you can (squint and) see what I mean there. Looking at the bottom row, you can see that the Broadway production certainly makes some changes here and there, but the overall design has remained largely the same from when it began in 1988: dark blue ruffles that continue from chest to arms, silvery beading, soft shades of pink, a bell-like skirt shape.

Meanwhile in the top row, the West End production has undergone a lot of changes, but hopefully you can also see that it's not exactly a jarring shift from one to the next. Rather, it seems like they're taking each previous iteration and just making it more extreme. The previous dress was a little brighter in color? Well now we're going to make them even bolder. Arm ruffles the size of pool floaties? Well now we're going to make them the size of your head. Simplifying the bodice beading? Well now we're going to take away entire rows of them. And so on.

And hopefully what that teaches you is how changes gather and snowball over time, how a little shift can lead to another shift, and another, and another, until you look back and realize that what seemed like a minor change at the time has been magnified over the years to become a much larger one.

(Also thank you to @operafantomet and her wonderful blog of photos, many of which I took for this post.)

[ashleybenlove]

Tuffnut's like "Hey, at least you figured out you'd be a terrible mom BEFORE the horde of kids."

Something something shitty parents.

[antisocialxconstruct]

I kinda want to try to make a version of this pattern with more fur length variation (Mochi had a super thick neck ruff and fluffy haunches I'm trying to capture) but....

a) my fur is much too long unless I trim the hell out of it, but if I size the pattern up the minky will be much too short

b) the easiest way to figure out where to transition to the longer fur would be to draw guides on this little guy and then take him apart to make a new pattern, and... I don't wanna :(

[violet-moonstone]

highlights from "ruff transition"

fishlegs is adorable. we already knew this but here's an example

I LOVE when hiccup scolds snotlout lol

I loe this shot of krogan - he doesn't even look angry (yet) about the fact that the riders and wingmaidens have outsmarted him. he's just in awe

fishlegs and meatlug gleefully melting people

OUCH TUFFNUT

dear gods that was rough

also i am indeed planning to write fics where ruffnut has a horde of kids (3 is enough for a horde, right?) but ruffnut and tuffnut corrupt them...while fishlegs watches, horrified

[gaybae1021]

Talkin mcd werewolves

I always had such a spot spot for the mcd werewolves. Specifically, I really liked how they didn’t go down the Twilight route, keeping traditional anthro and scary designs and not doing Alpha bs (cough cough mystreet).

That being said, the werewolves felt kind of poorly defined to me, the tribes were more like plot devices, appearing and vanishing without any real discussion of the impact. The fact that Bodolf’s tribe was hardly mentioned in season 2 I think shows that they ran out of ideas for the werewolves.

Luckily my brain is absolutely overflowing with ideas about them, so here’s my redesigns and thought process:

To anthro or not to anthro?

While I really liked the choice of anthro werewolf designs, I absolutely suck at drawing anthros. It also felt weird doing that for child characters, I know the series kept kids as normal wolves but does that mean werewolf puberty involves an awkward transition from animal to anthro? It just kind of Icked me out, so I’ve decided to keep all werewolves as full wolf transformations. Unlike twilight though, I’ll be largely referencing Wolfwalkers.

Tribes

I know the series had four tribes, but so far I’ve only needed three for the story. If I ever need more tribes, I’ll add more. I haven’t named them yet either, so I’ll denote them by color for now.

Red Wolves

Og wolf tribe, led by Bodolf and Khira. Wolves in this tribe are smaller than the other tribes, with shorter limbs, tails, and muzzles. They have light patches on their muzzles, above the eyes, and on their paws. Brown and Amber eyes are most common.

Brown Wolves

Yip’s destroyed tribe, and also the type Logan was turned into, hence Yip bonding with him so quickly. They are the largest and stockiest wolf tribe, with wide muzzles and short ears. They have lighter markings under their eyes, on their chests, and the underside of their tails. Green and hazel eyes are most common.

White wolves

Fenrir’s tribe. Medium-sized, but thin and lithe, almost more fox-like than wolf. Large ear tufts, neck ruffs, and tails make them look larger than they are. They have dark markings inspired by huskies. Blue and grey eyes are most common.

All tribes, despite size difference, are significantly larger than actual wolves, and most adults werewolves outweigh the average human.

Werewolf Creation

Werewolves can be born by having one or two werewolf parents. They can also be created by being bitten by a werewolf while in wolf form. The person will become the same tribe as the wolf that bit them. Children’s marking will usually follow basic genetics, but those bitten can develop markings independent of the appearance of the wolf that bit them.

Transformation

Transformations, like in Wolfwalkers, are astral projections. The person does not physically transform, rather their consciousness leaves their body and manifests as a wolf. This most often occurs during sleep, but anything that causes a “disconnect” between mind and body can also cause the transformation. So being knocked unconscious, meditation, or sufficient intense emotion will also do the trick.

Communication

Werewolves in wolf form can still understand spoken language, but they cannot be understood by humans. Werewolves in human form can still understand werewolves in wolf form.

Injury

While transformed, the two forms are still linked. Injuries sustained to either form will transfer to the other. In the same way, so long as one body is being sustained, the other does not have sustain itself. Since the body is technically resting, the wolf does not need sleep, and so long as the wolf hunts, the body does not need food. Hypothetically, werewolves can remain transformed indefinitely. However, there are risks associated with this.

Lost werewolves

In the past, Werewolves were occasionally used in blood sport and hard labor. A massive beast of human intelligence that never needed sleep? It was easy to see why fighting arenas and military generals were eager to capture werewolves and use them for their own gain. Sometimes, they would manage to escape, but they no longer knew where their bodies were. Being separated from their bodies for long periods of time would essentially cause them to go feral. These “lost werewolves” are essentially immortal, the strength and instinct of a wolf combined with a faded but still present human cunning, and no need for sleep. The stigma of werewolves as dangerous is mostly due to the few cases of attacks by lost werewolves. This is what happened to Logan, and also what destroyed Yip’s tribe.

Leaders

No alpha crap in my version, we’re following actual wolf behavior with a leading couple. I don’t necessarily think the tribe is a fully related family unit like wolf packs, bringing new people into the tribes is actually quite common, but most of the tribes definitely follow the idea of “they are our leaders because they take care of us” not for any strength/bloodline reasons.

Now onto the werewolf characters I have so far!

Bodolf and Khira

Leaders of the red wolves. Both have equal authority, though are quite different in their beliefs. Bodolf is more open to working with humans, whereas Khira is less trusting, and unless a human is joining their tribes wants very little to do with humans.

Logan

Turned after an attack by a lost werewolf. Initially struggles with accepting this new part of himself, but becomes more comfortable with support from Donna and Yip. Gains his leader mark after fully accepting his role as Yip’s guardian. His growing family kind of symbolizes the regrowth of a tribe that was almost wiped out.

Yip

Last surviving member of the original brown wolves. Was taken in by Donna and Logan while they searched for his tribe, and more importantly, his body. Eventually Logan and Yip find the ruins of Yip’s tribe, and after an epic showdown with the lost werewolf that turned Logan and attacked Yip’s tribe, are able to bring Yip’s body home.

Leona

Child of Kiki and Zane. Initially human, she was born very weak, and Zoey didn’t have much hope she would survive. Desperate, Kiki took her to the Red Wolves, hoping that turning Leona would give her the strength she needed to make it through. Bodolf was out, so Kiki had to plead to Khira, who has never been fond of her. Khira initially refused, as she had no idea what effects turning a child would have. She also insisted that if she did it, Leona would have to stay with the tribe. Kiki was able to convince her otherwise, and Khira begrudgingly agreed to turn Leona. The turn was successful, and Leona’s health improved, though she has some developmental delays and stunting.

Donna

Le gasp, a significant shift from canon! Not entirely sure if I want her to become a werewolf, but at the same time it would be incredibly cool and give her something else to do in season 2 besides generic mom. If she is turned, it was either an accident by Rollo/Lello, or she intentionally had Logan turn her. She gets her leader mark at this point.

Rollo and Lello

Identical twins, both in human and wolf form. It can be difficult to tell them apart while transformed, though their personality differences make it clear who’s who very quickly. Rollo is energetic and playful, while Lello is more reserved.

Fenrir

Prince of the White Wolves. Unlike the other tribes, during the timeskip his tribe has adopted many human practices. They live in a more traditional kingdom, and have more traditional power structures. For example, Fenrir’s mother has significantly less power than his father, and lacks the leader mark. Fenrir recognizes the problem with his tribe’s new practices, but doesn’t stand up to his father. He is kind, but also cowardly, and when push comes to shove his loyalty stays with his family. Takes the role of leader after his father is killed by Laurance.

[tf2thoughtdump]

TF2 Fic of the Day

OC Included? Yes.

OC Used? Emily Honeybunny, The Mom

Word Count? 427 words.

TWs? None, should be all fine.

You're free to use any fic of mine in any form of media you make.

Meet The… Mom?

“OH COME ON!”

Clatter and the breaking of glass, punches being landed and as well as the sound of shouting filled the room. One silly disagreement led to another which led to… a fight. Of course. Who was in this fight? Scout, for one. As well as the man of the hour: Spy.

Who’d have guessed? The father and the son. Fighting.

However, this fighting caught the attention of a certain woman across the building. The echoes of sneakers rushing down the hallway and the sound of a woman’s heavy breathing were heard as she ran into the room with a burst of the door. The room immediately went quiet when the woman noticed the son and his dad in the middle of a fight. “You better have a good reason for why a pregnant lady ran down that long hallway..” Emily huffed, out of breath as she placed a hand on her back.

[Cue ‘Meet The Mom’ Card Here]

“I was just tryna have fun!” “You were throwing paper balls at me, how is that fun?”

The expecting mother sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose; mostly out of annoyance, but also disappointed at how idiotic this fight was.

Her hand slowly lowered to her side while the other transitioned from her back to her baby bump. “Really? Alright… come on, guys. Let’s say sorry, hug it out and be friends again.” Emily murmured with an exasperated look on her face. “I am not hugging him.” Was the response she earned from Spy as he released the Scout from his chokehold. Of course. What else was she expecting from him? “I ain’t apologizing for nothin’! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Jeremy!” “Alright, alright!”

“I’m…” Scout’s voice hesitated as he awkwardly held out his arms for his father, “..sss-sorry.. for throwing paper balls at ya.” His arms continued to be held open, stepping closer to Spy and waiting for him to repeat his actions as wanted by Emily. The silence was deafening until the Frenchman finally sighed in reluctance. “I am sorry.. too. I suppose.” He grumbled while embracing the boy in front of him for a hug. “For?” “For… hitting you.” As feigned as it was, it pleased Emily. She nodded with a smile and said, “There! I’m happy, you’re happy, we’re all happy friends again!” Soft agreeing, but still grumpy, mutters came from the men in front of her; and as she was just about to leave-

“Ruff! Ruff!”

“LUDWIG! I thought we said ‘no more dogs’?! Wherever you found it, put him back!”