#the full description for the wolves is apparently

[ikuzeminna]

What's up with the wolves?

This post made me want to talk about Duo and how he was initially conceived as Gundam Wing's protagonist, but instead of derailing OP’s post with my ramblings, I thought it better to make them a separate post.

We all know this shot of Duo in the first opening, and like many others I, too, have wondered why on Earth the American street urchin character would be sporting heraldic wolves on his jacket as though he’s European nobility.

They never show up in the series proper, just the opening. And there is absolutely nothing about Duo that could remotely relate him to nobility. He's pretty much the furthest thing from it.

...unless we count Deathscythe H's design, which does sport a strong romantic death theme. But that's about as European as Duo gets.

So what if this is the creators being cheeky and including it as a nod to his initial protagonist status before it was given to Heero? Because if Duo was the protagonist, that would mean he would have been Relena's foil, who is of royal blood. And then we would have had the same juxtaposition as this:

Oh, look, another orphan wearing fancy clothing.

But back to Duo. The precise term for what Duo has emblazoned on his jacket is a wolf rampant. Well, two actually. Would that make them combatant..?

When they're mirrored like that, you expect them to hold a shield. Like these two unicorns here:

Do you recognize it? It's Romefeller's crest. Romefeller has two white unicorns rampant on a red background while the guy who fights them gets two golden wolves rampant on a black background.

Wait a minute. White, red, gold, black?

Really?

Someone must have had a field trip with the designs.

Back to the wolves. According to Wikiwand, wolves in heraldry "typically symbolised the rewards of perseverance in long sieges or hard industry." A long siege is definitely what the colonists were going through. Doubly so regarding Duo's crappy childhood.

So is Duo really connected to wolves?

Well, here's a fun fact.

The wolf (French: loup) is often used for canting (meaning heraldic bearings that represent the bearer's name in a visual pun or rebus) by families whose names feature some variant of the word 'lou/wolf'. Examples include Videlou, de Lou, Lupus, Wolferston, Wolseley, Lovett, Lowe, Lovell, Lupton or Wolfe.

Lowe. As in, Odin Lowe. This dude:

Heero got cheated out of fancy wolf crests.

And here you have it. Before Heero stole Deathscythe's parts for Wing, Duo had gotten Heero's wolf crest. Then again, they would have been wasted on Heero's green tank top anyway, so good for Duo.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 11 thoughts

feeling a distinct craving for scully n mulder time…

‼️HATER ALERT‼️this episode pissed me off. you can read how hopeful i was below, expecting a wolfy beast. and then keep all that hope in mind as you watch it get torn to shreds. ready? go.

reading the episode description. as a kid, i thought the chupacabra sounded cool as hell. i thought he was out there, and he was gonna be some cool new wolf thingy, and as a kid who was into wolves, this was truly exciting. in recent years, i have learned that it is not as old of a legend as i had thought as a child. also that one lady says she has a taxidermied one, but i think it’s just a wolf with mange? idk.

okay, so apparently it was first sighted in 1995? that was like. yesterday when this aired. and apparently in some areas it’s more lizardy in reports, and then in the southwest US (which must be what i grew up hearing about) it is a dog

now i hope they go the dog route because i think that’s more interesting. i’m still annoyed they made the jersey devil a bigfoot instead of the goat creature we all know it TRULY IS and that scared me so horrifically as a child. this is a grudge i shall likely hold forever. so i would like to see a wolf creature, because that is what i thought they were as kids, and childhood me has been previously wronged by this show. 

(author's note: WHYYYYYYYY.)

okay. let us begin.

why is the screen so dark. can we use some lighting around these parts???

we begin in a migrant camp in california. this dude (eladio) is lurking behind a post, watching a woman (maria) get a smooch from a different guy (soledad). the lurker calls the lady “my love” and she says that she is NOT his love. good! tell him!

oh! the guy who did the smooching (soledad) is the guy who did the lurking’s (eladio's) brother. he’s watching this go down… kinda juicy

maria accidentally let the goats escape… girl get your head in the game.

and then a bunch of explosions are going on??? and raining. nasty yellow green rain. like nickelodeon slime. 

actually it’s yellow. do not drink it!!!

the goats are back, but where is maria??

oh. she is dead and also her eyes and mouth have been eaten away by the yellow stuff.

that was a very gross shot of her conspicuously missing eyeballs 

they did the full intro this time!! feel like it hasn't been the full one in a while

scully is there :D and mulder too! he is exercising very basic spanish. haha he took french and scully took german... they are going to be lost. 

i am recalling in 02x01 when he knew no spanish at all…. he was putting the hours into whatever people used in the 90's instead of duolingo!!!

"can you tell me why we're standing out here in the middle of a field looking at a dead goat?" <- many are asking this 

there was rain, which can come in many colors! "purple rain?" "yeah, great album. deeply flawed movie though" <- YES! A HINT AT FOX MULDER'S MUSIC TASTE HAS FINALLY BEEN REVEALED!!!!!!!

he points out that no one has investigated maria's death because of her and the entire camp's status as migrant workers, which is pretty sad. also, the big coats are big coating.

when they do that thing they are so famous for- sticking their heads into places uninvited- someone yells that the migrant poilce are here, and they all scatter. mulder is trying to say no, no, that's not it at all.

scully flashes the fbi badge hoping that this will explain things, but mulder grabs her hand and closes it.... girl now why did you think that would help!!! it felt out of character and annoyed me even if it WAS funny. she is smart and capable; she does not need mulder to teach her how to do these things.

the woman we saw before says that it was the chupacabra that killed maria, and mulder is explaining what this beast is to scully in great detail, because that is the sort of stuff he has read up on. also, apparently in this version a visitation of one is preceded by light and rain. noted. never heard that before in my life, but noted.

ooooh tea…. the brother who was leaving earlier, soledad, says that his brother, eladio buente, did the killing!!

“uh, how do you explain the yellow rain then?” LMAOOOO chemicals. obviously.

is scully quoting west side story??? 😭😭😭 now where in her navy brat childhood did musicals come into play!!! i love that for her <3

she’s insisting it was a murder, and that it should be left for local cops. but mulder says the local authorities don’t care. scully says she cares :( so they must find what killed maria 

noooo they’re gonna separate… mulder's gonna try and find eladio and she is going autopsy mode. i hate when they separate!!

eladio hasn’t been seen in three days, so mulder goes to visit a guy named agent lozano at the INS. the agent says that the migrant workers make up these stories to feel alive, which seems a deeply reductionist take

(i was wondering why i had never heard the term INS before... turns out it was dissolved in 2003. here i was thinking i was a fool! but no!)

the person working in the morgue is being rude asf to scully and also to the people she is inspecting…. noted. scully, clock that nonsense!

WHAT DA HELL. why is maria covered in…. grassy fluffy stuff???? and looks mummified. a day or two in the fridge did not do that…

they find eladio, who is separated from the others at the INS because they are being mean to him…. they think he’s the chupacabra. oh, so this is like a werewolf transformation thing? see, i was under the impression that the chupacabra was just a little creature. so this is new.

(he gave his name as a famous actor, lmao, i had look that reference up when mulder smiled)

eladio is vehemently claiming that he did not kill maria, and that he held her in his arms as he died. hmm, agent lozano doesn’t believe him. but he seems rude as hell.

they put eladio on a bus, but the other people on it are screaming that he is the chupacabra. and this other guy says that he will be sent back south.

scully rolling up!!! honking at mulder :D

mulder is passionately recounting eladio’s story, and scully looks at him very weirdly for a second, as if to say, this guy is deeply strange. and then she drops the bombshell that maria seems to have died of a FUNGAL INFECTION. she was exposed to so many pesticides that hurt her immune system, she might have died from a totally normal fungus. huh. that would be very sad.

mulder points out yet again that it does not explain the light nor rain.

“mulder, i know you don’t want to hear this, but i think the aliens in this story are not the villains, they’re the victims” <- that shuts him up :(

but they come across the INS bus…. it seems to have crashed??? and that the people in the back are running away??

(at this point, i notice the flute my mutual phoebe hates so much in the soundtrack. it shall haunt us forever)

OH GOD!!! the driver is also now a desiccated corpse.

she flakes a piece of his skin off (GAG!!!!!) oh, it’s very gross. but something about scully ripping her mask off and explaining what went down in medical terms is appealing to me.

it seems to be another fungal case. but a DIFFERENT fungal case!

is this dude using the pokémon move spore? and is it very effective? only time will tell…

eugh, that sounds horrific. spore attack… no thank you ma’am

agent lozano comes back and says they couldn’t find eladio after the whole escape from the bus thing. well look harder idk what else to say.

she says we need to identify this fungus NOW but mulder wants to find eladio. they are splitting up AGAIN???? ugh!!! no fun!!! no fun for me!!!

eladio sneaks off to a barber shop, saying he needs to go back to mexico. apparently this barber was the one who brought him here, and now he needs to return.

OH! he called eladio a slur. and said that without money, he will not take him back. jeez. he has one day to get the money in order to get back. i am uncomfy.

it seems that people are coming to the migrant workers and picking them up for various jobs. eladio sneaks into a truck, and when the other workers refuse to accompany him due to his chupacabra allegations, he must work by himself.

fungus time!!! they’re looking at…. athlete’s foot? now how did it do all that? scully wants to know how they multiplied.

it looks the yellow rain accelerates the fungi and puts them into overdrive!!! the mycologist demonstrates how the stuff makes it expand!!! not good for ecological purposes.

mulder is gazing upon some graffiti of the chupacabra, who, to my disappointment, is more alien than dog. what do i have to do to get a dog beast?? why is it so out of reach for me…???? :(

agent lozano says that mulder ought to leave the brotherly fighting between those two, but mulder says that god will curse the man who doesn’t intervene. and he’s had a rough go of this whole being alive thing so far, so he really can’t use another curse. he’s off to find eladio.

eladio does not look well, as he is tossing some wood about. OH! his sweat is yellow???? no…

NO!! his brother is approaching him!!!! with a pipe… 

AND THE SPOUT ELADIO TOUCHED IS NOW COVERED IN FUNGUS

NO! when soledad opens the door to the restroom some guy is FUNGUS’D!!!! it is very very very gross, especially the stuff in his mouth….. nasty 

but to be clear: the guy who was fungus’d was NOT eladio!!! eladio is in a truck and flooring it!!

eladio runs to someone named gabrielle. and he looks even more sick than before. he is begging for help and money and for her to run away with him. well. i would advise that she does not do that.

scully’s new theory: eladio is the typhoid mary of this new fungus accelerating enzyme. and mulder BETTER NOT COME INTO CONTACT WITH IT. no INHALING, no TOUCHING.

mulder is trying to say it might be aliens!!! but scully says, dude, it doesn’t matter right now where it came from, what matters is making sure less people die. he looks sad to be told this. but she was right.

the barber snitches to mulder and agent lozano where eladio is…. or is he tricking them??? no, he isn’t!! he has visuals on eladio!!! and if it’s an honest race, you know damn well who is going to win between some sick guy and mulder

eladio plays dirty though, and dives under a truck, into another truck filled with goats. all of which later have the fungus. very gross. 

(they keep making a point that the migrants are invisible and no one pays attention to them or cares about their well-being. i feel like there should be a lesson here, but if there is, i’m not seeing it. it just kinda feels like “damn, look how much it sucks that these people are treated terribly” more than a purposeful statement on the inherent equality of all human beings. so it falls very flat)

all the goats have lost their eyes.

the INS go to gabrielle’s house. agent lozano immediately grabs her and it’s straight up awful. scully tells him to check the back to get him away from her. 

mulder says they should wait….

and eladio is looking very very terrible now. he is covered in sores or fungus or something. NO don’t touch the bulk candy and nuts you’re gonna get everyone infected!!!!!!!!

he limps out, but the nuts he knocked over are being fungus’d in real time!!!

they stuck around gabrielle’s place and see soledad show up. we are gearing up for a major brother vs brother showdown. 

but it is interrupted by our agents plus agent lozano whom i do not like!!! soledad says he must avenge maria’s death….. but scully is busy observing that a good third of the supermarkets has been fungus’d from eladio’s presence.

eladio comes to gabrielle’s door and he is very very green. she thinks he killed maria, and he really is the chupacabra. 

this is an interesting concept… that the chupacabra is a guy who gradually turns green and also melts people with fungus enhancing enzymes. i will have to turn this one over and over again in my head.

so we’re going to have a brother vs brother showdown for real now? okay. sure. agent lozano is telling eladio to face his brother. and then we hear a gunshot. lozano has been fungus’d! 

WHAT???? a whole bunch of aliens are sliding out of the light?????? huh. 

so they took soledad??? i guess?? the bonus chupacabra?? chupacabras?? what is the plural for their species?? 

okay so. what the hell is going on. why is he an alien now as we see the flashback of him being confronted. eladio is now full megamind mode. blue and with a protruding skull. screaming that he is not a man and instead the chupacabra. okay.

ah, i see. everyone is telling different stories. gabrielle says soledad didn’t kill eladio. and soledad accidentally shot lozano. and soledad was turned into a chupacabra too?? and now the brothers run away to mexico together.

reporting this to skinner time. the hazmat team could contain the accelerating enzymes.

scully says to skinner that "they" have a way of being almost invisible, like we heard lozano say before, but then we cut to the brothers and their giant megamind skulls and i’m thinking hmmmmm. hmmmmmm. i am not so sure they are particularly inconspicuous.

mulder says nobody cares about them and that is the end of the episode.

well. uh. okay.

i feel like an attempt was made here to call attention to the terrible conditions in which migrant workers live and provide crucial services to the largely ignorant american public but like. i don’t think they did that in the best way. or in any good way at all.

i’m sorry i’m feeling like a hater…… the enzymes speed up the fungus that kills you and that is how the chupacabra gets ya 😭😭😭 what about the actual blood sucking….

this is why i wanted a DAMN WOLF CREATURE!!! not some FUNGUS NONSENSE!!!! who gave a damn about the whole love triangle thingy that drove the whole episode!!! fuck agent lozano!!!

and i'm really pissed off that they made chupacabras FUNGI ALIENS. is this a sick joke......... when it could have been a delightful beasty creature? you made it a guy? a guy who sweats yellow? THAT is a chupacabra? and somehow you can be turned into this kind of alien?

i am annoyed. this episode made me annoyed, and sometimes it feels good to really tear into something. fungi aliens..... do NOT piss me off. ugh. absolutely sullying the good name of this TV program. chupacabra is a fungus alien... you're sick for that. you're SICK for that, chris. who came up with this?

i think they were trying to craft a sympathetic narrative towards the migrant workers, but it just came off like a sideshow of their trauma. and as if agent lozano was justifying their dehumanization, with his whole "they need to tell stories to distract from their simple lives" thing and also how he grabbed gabrielle and mocked eladio's story. i can see there was an effort, and i can see that it failed. i'd be interested to know what people thought in that regard when this episode first aired. i feel like it could have gotten some justified backlash.

i think i typed it somewhere else at some point- and maybe it had gotten lost in the tags or drafts or something- but TXF has 3 kinds of bad episodes, imo.

category a is: this is blatantly offensive. who approved this? (gender bender, excelsis dei)

category b is: this writing is so out of character i feel disgraced (3, the parts in oubliette where scully is just mean af to mulder and tells him to stop trying cpr??? and rift-era episodes)

category c is: just kinda boring af, monster isn't even camp it's just weird, also tends to be overly dark in theme to the point where no one is having fun (calusari, the walk)

and here we got a unique combo of boring and offensive!

actually, the more i think about this, the angrier i am getting. i feel it best to try and keep my hating levels recreational, but i can tell they are getting out of hand. fungus alien........ those blue spiky heads......

but, to end on a positive note: mulder likes prince!!! this is an excellent discovery!! AND scully watches musicals <3 i choose to take these facts with me and disregard all the rest

[mediaevalmusereads]

Dracula. By Bram Stoker. Dover Thrift Edition, 2000 (originally 1897).

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: Gorhic, horror

Series: N/A

Summary: When Jonathan Harker visits Transylvania to help Count Dracula with the purchase of a London house, he makes a series of horrific discoveries about his client. Soon afterwards, various bizarre incidents unfold in England: an apparently unmanned ship is wrecked off the coast of Whitby; a young woman discovers strange puncture marks on her neck; and the inmate of a lunatic asylum raves about the 'Master' and his imminent arrival.

***Full review below.***

CONTENT WARNINGS: disturbing imagery, blood, animal cruelty, racism

OVERVIEW: This was my book club's pick for June 2024. I've read Dracula before, but it was a while ago, so I loved having the opportunity to revisit an old favorite. It reminded me not only why Dracula was so influential, but why I fell in love with Gothic storytelling in the first place. It gets 4.5 stars from me for no other reason than it being a classic that I adore.

WRITING: Stoker's writing is interesting in that it makes use of a lot of scientific language, blending it with the supernatural to create an atmosphere that is sometimes dark and ancient, sometimes modern and philosophical. I love the way Stoker blends these modes and champions characters who are smart and have an open mind (though that openness is lacking when it comes to things like gender and racial dynamics).

I also appreciated the way Stoker tries to differentiate between character voices. Though not every character sounds unique, there is a difference in how Mina writes versus how Dr. Seward writes versus how Van Helsing speaks. It makes the book as a whole feel more polyvocal, which in turn enhances the sense that the story is made from pieces of diaries and newspaper excerpts.

PLOT: The plot of this book follows a number of English characters as they try to defeat a powerful vampire known as Count Dracula. The story is told from a number of perspectives in the form of diary entries and occasional newspaper clippings and memoranda, all of which detail the strange occurrences surrounding the Count.

This book is less of a spooky horror and more of a classic Gothic novel. That isn't to say that there aren't some disturbing images, but if you go in expecting a lot of blood, gore, and jumpscares, you might be disappointed. Instead what we have is the gradual realization that there is a vampire in England, and after some bizarre occurrences and a tragic death, our protagonists team up to defeat the monstrous Count once and for all.

I love the Gothic flavor of this plot and the way Stoker plays with folk belief and superstition in the age of science and advancing medical knowledge. I also just generally love Stoker's descriptions and some of the absolute weirdness that pervades the novel, from fly-eating lunatics to bats and wolves acting unlike themselves.

If I had any criticism, I would say that there are places where the pace seems a bit slow, but I don't know if it's slow because Stoker actually wrote it that way or my perception is off because I'm familiar with the story.

TL;DR: Dracula is a classic and influential novel for a reason. With evocative supernatural imagery, a clever multivovalic narration style, and a Gothic flavor that is sure to delight lovers of the genre, this book stands out and is worthy of its place in vampire lore.

CHARACTERS: There are a lot of characters in this book, so I'll try to keep things brief.

Jonathan Harker, our first narrator, is relatable as an average working class man who gets caught up in the world of the supernatural. He seems rather brave and sweet, as evidenced by his devotion to his wife, Mina, and his heart always seems to be in the right place.

Dr. Seward, the head of a psychiatric institution, is sympathetic in that he has to watch the girl he loves suffer. I really did feel bad for him and admired the way he stepped up to lend his expertise, even though the situation has little to do with him personally.

Mina, Jonathan's wife, is just so great. Everyone seems to adore her and I love that her intelligence is constantly praised. Stoker isn't without bias, however; there are numerous instances when Mina is said to have the "brain of a man" or is described as a woman in opposition to a man. The gender essentialism is sure to make some readers uncomfortable, but it's not particularly surprising given the date of this novel.

Characters who do not get POV sections are still charming in their own ways. I liked that Van Helsing was eager to assist people he didn't know and constantly championed having an open mind. Renfield was interesting and his fly-eating helped create some nice parallels with vampirism itself. Lucy, who has a couple of POV sections, sounded sweet and it's a shame that so many adaptations portray her as overly sexual when in reality, she's a victim who just wants to make people happy.

Most of my criticisms regarding character lay with weird gender politics and racial prejudice. I've already described the gender stuff in my discussion of Mina above. The racial dynamics, while not overwhelming, are present enough to be noticeable. Stoker describes a number of Romani and Romaniam peoples as superstitious, which in itself might not sound horrible, but does play into some negative stereotypes. Again, these dynamics are not so present that they distract from the main storyline, but they are on the fringes and shape the way we understand Stoker's world.

[mostly-megan]

Spring Fever

Werewolf Frankie x F!Reader

Rating: PG Fluff

Description: Frankie believes that it’s time for him to start giving your little partially werewolf son his first hunting lessons

Word Count: 3,450 (no beta; we live and die by the sword)

Warnings: Mentions of “hunting” with no explicit descriptions, mild mentions of werewolf transforming, wolves (idk you guys, this one is pretty mild all over)

(A/N): So I mentioned to @pettyprocrastination in a dm once the idea of werewolf Frankie being a dad with the sweetest little boy and I promised to make a fic with it. THAT WAS 2 YEARS AGO!!! But anyway, this fic is dedicated to Tj’s lovely friendship and extreme patience, I hope you like it💚

Tagging some others who maybe interested: @princessbatears @maybege @frannyzooey @themarcusmoreno @absurdthirst

Even from the car port outside, you can hear giggles and loud little footsteps in the cabin. You and Frankie share exasperated eye rolls and sighs hidden behind soft smiles as you pass each other. You had just opened up the doors and windows to air out your monthly retreat and Lucas was running wild with excitement.

You walk up the deck steps, carrying one of the coolers of food you had bought on the way up, and see a small, fuzzy blur circling the living room. On the way to the kitchen, you can see your son chasing his tail so fast it was even making you dizzy. Eventually you hear a soft “oof” and look back to see him back in human form bonking against the couch cushion and landing on the floor with dizzy giggles. “Lucas, you’d better be wearing pants when I look back up. We’ve talked about keeping our clothes on.”

You softly chuckle at the small gasp and frantic shifting of fabric. He stumbles into his shorts and t-shirt and toddles over to tug lightly on your pant leg, “Mama, mama, I almost got it that time! Didja see Mama?!” He giggles again as he wraps his little arms around your legs to steady himself. Pulling more cold food out of the ice chest, you play with his soft curls with your other hand, “I did, sweetheart. You’re such a silly pup today, that looked like so much fun!”

Frankie groans as he places another box of food on the table, “Alright, mijo, you got your sillies out, but now we need to get some work done. Okay?” His little face mimics his father’s seriousness as he sits for his shoes to be tied. Once your husband stands, Lucas dutifully marches passed him to the yard. Frankie’s now slightly amber eyes flash up to you with a playful smirk just as he turns through the back door.

When you all get to the cabin, you all assume your usual jobs once the bags are brought in: you get the food put away, Frankie splits the firewood, and Lucas skips all around the yard picking up every piece of kindling. It started because it keeps him busy and tires him out, but honestly, he does a wonderful job. Frankie always says his ass was saved a few times thanks to the hoard of dry twigs you now had on hand.

As you finish stocking the fridge, you can hear your 5 year-old’s happy chatter to his father, who could only really respond in affirmative grunts as he lets the hatchet fall to split the wood. You smile as you start preparing dinner. As excited as they all were, there certainly was a nervous sort of anticipation.

As long as you’ve known your Frankie, he’s always taken 3 days off a month for an extra long weekend. A medical exemption was the official reasoning. Very few really knew that he retreated up to the woods so he could run and hunt as an apex predator during full moons, Santi being one of them. He, in fact, had come with you two the first weekend Frankie decided to tell you about his monthly curse.

Apparently they had planned for a good case/bad case scenario. Good case, Santi would be a helpful resource for most of your questions and help you acclimate to what Frankie deals with in secret. Bad case, you start panicking and Santi could carefully knock you out and they lay you down, setting up that you had slipped on the loose stair and gotten a good bonk on the head. Luckily for everyone, you were more amazed and curious than terrified.

Slowly, the newness and strangeness bleed away until it became nothing more than another occurrence in life. You pay the bills, you do the laundry, and you go up to the cabin to let him get his urges cleared.

You’re pulled from your thoughts back to heating up the stew with an unceremonious cry of “MAMA!” You turn to the little voice and can’t help mirroring the huge grin spread out across his face, “Is it time yet, Mama?!” Your eyes shift to the clock over the stove, “Not yet, sweetheart. Papa said he’ll take you out around 6 so there’s still light. See, the clock has a 4 right now.” He huffed and climbed into one of the kitchen chairs.

You’d think his pouty face would be over being told not to go Trick’r’Treating yet. “I know you’re excited, we just need to eat dinner. Why don’t you help me get it ready so we can eat sooner?”

This seems to appease his impatience for now, slipping out of the chair and coming to his step stool in the kitchen to help you get dinner ready. You hand him a spoon and show him how to butter the bread while chattering about how much he helped his father with the firewood. You tell him how proud you are of how helpful he’s been this trip, but your focus is starting to slip again.

You knew who Frankie was when you were committing to this relationship. You knew that when you talked about having kids and again when you discovered you were pregnant with Lucas (well, technically Frankie accidentally told you, but you were still the one to confirm it). Now though, you couldn’t help but worry about your sweet little boy going hunting at night.

Ever since he could have solid foods, Frankie would go out to hunt while you stayed with Lucas. His grandfather’s old property was safe and large enough that human hunters wouldn’t be anywhere near him. He’d go into the bathroom and slowly change into his other form, groaning and grunting at the uncomfortable tug he described in his muscles. Coming out, he’d almost look like an incredibly huge dog, soft brown fur curling like he needed a good trim at the groomers. But his eyes had the same lovely depth and warmth, even if now more amber than dark brown.

After checking one last time on you and the baby, he’d go out for hours and bring back elk or deer. You would wait in the living room, where you could see the pouch from the window until your husband, the man, once again stood there, soft tummy wrapped with a towel from the bin out front around his waist. Quickly cleaning the meat, he’d bring it inside and throw it to cook in the kitchen while he showered.

He’d come out warm and all smiles and kisses as he made himself a plate full of meat and some potatoes or rice and sat with you at the table, helping to cut Lucas’ portion of meat into small enough pieces. But now, you wouldn’t have baby Lucas to cuddle and kiss while Frankie happily brought back the meat they’d need to feed themselves and their wolves.

Frankie had gently brought it up to you that maybe Lucas would benefit from coming on a hunt once in a while. Only for small game, of course, but it would still teach him valuable skills he would need to care for himself when he was older. You were originally horrified at the thought that Frankie wanted to bring your son who couldn’t even tie his shoes to hunt wild animals. But Frankie had given you time and talked it over with you for long enough until you realized that it would be what he needed.

As you ladle the stew into bowls for the three of you, Lucas cheers at his father coming inside and clammers down the step stool to run up to him. Frankie groans and lifts him high up before blowing on his tummy and dropping him onto the couch, squealing with laughter. You feel his warm palms slide around your stomach to pull you back to him as you sit the warm bowls on the table.

“Mmm, I’m not sure if you or dinner smells better,” his whiskers tickle along your neck as he leaves a series of small pecks up to your ear. “Well, you just said that it was a toss up between me or beef smelling better, so you should go with dinner right now and blame it on your stomach, hot shot,” you giggle as Frankie lowly growls in your ear and swats your bottom before moving to fill the glasses with water and a little cup of milk.

Eating during a full moon with a wolf man and a wolf toddler was a practice in spinning plates. As soon as you chastise Lucas for shoveling beef stew into his mouth, you turn to see Frankie’s cheeks puffed out with food. You give him a glare as he slowly swallows, straightening himself a bit and murmuring a reminder to his son to eat patiently. Frankly, at this point, you don’t know why you even bother to try.

“I’m finished, Papa!” Lucas is off like a shot as soon as his bowl was clean, but Frankie is off right after him, scooping him up, and plopping him on the couch. “Not so fast, mister, we need to talk first.” The little boy let out a long “Aaawww…” as his father drops him on the cushion in front of the coffee table. He groans as he sits and pulls out a map from his back pocket.

You join them after loading the dishwasher and look over the crinkled paper landscape. Frankie had been painstakingly planning out the trail he would take Lucas on as the hunted, coming up on weekends to make the entire path.

“Okay, buddy, what path are we going to take?” Frankie looks at your son with pride, certain he knows the answer. “Purple! ‘Cuz it’s my favorite color,” Lucas bounces on the couch with excitement, “Papa made it all purple just for me!”

Your husband has never looked so proud. “Exactly! And where are you going to stay while we’re out?” Lucas’ face goes stone serious, “Right next to Papa because the woods is dangerous! And, if I gets lost, I stand still and blow my new whistle!”

Frankie cut a paracord to hang an emergency whistle around Lucas’ neck, loud enough to be heard in a half-mile radius. With his heightened hearing, Frankie would be able to hear it and find him before any hunter would register it. Your son’s answer at least calms you knowing he’s prepared in case anything happens. You squeeze Frankie’s shoulder before walking back to the master bedroom, changing into comfy clothes before washing your face.

A knock at the door just as you finish draws your attention back, the space now filled with Frankie’s broad frame. “How are you doing?” his voice betrays his apprehension, he’s told you from the moment he brought this idea up that you have final say. You fold the towel you were using and sigh, “Fine, I guess. Sort of like when he started preschool, I’m so excited for him, but I’m terrified.” Your husband rubs the back of his neck, giving away just how nervous he is too. “But I know you’ll never let anything happen to him, even when changed.”

He looks back at you with a soft half-chuckle, pushing away from the wall he leaned on to pull you into a hug, warm and reassuring. You nuzzle against his neck, inhaling his woodsy scent. When you leave the embrace, he cups your cheek to bring you close for a slow, deep kiss before the inevitable strikes.

“Papa, PAPA LOOK IT SAYS 6!!!!” You both chuckle before your little boy bolts into the room, pointing at the bedside clock. Frankie scoops him up with a playful growl, making the boy giggle. “Ah, it my pup ready for his first hunt?” Lucas’ head nods so fast you watch him almost tip out of his father’s arms.

You laugh at his enthusiasm before leaning in to kiss his little cheek, “My sweet baby, are you sure you wanna go out? You could stay here with me and have cocoa!” He looks at you like you asked him to never watch TV again, “Mama, I gonna be scary wolf like papa!” Frankie chuckles, kissing his cheek and setting him down, “Okay, then let’s fold our clothes and get changed.”

With that, you slip out of the bathroom to lay on the bed. As you had been trying to teach your toddler privacy, you’d included any time he was a wolf. Frankie taught him to neatly fold his clothes and change in the bathroom to minimize any notice. As you try to distract yourself with a magazine you brought, you hear Frankie’s strangled grunts as he transforms and a little “hmph” from Lucas. Your husband teases that his old bones make changing unpleasant, but not gut-wrenching like movies always showed.

Upon hearing the door open, you look up to watch your hulking wolf husband emerge with a small pup zipping in front of him and up onto the bed. “Oh, look at this! Too bad Lucas isn’t here, he always wants a puppy!” You scritch under the soft, rounded snout as he giggles at your feigned forgetfulness, “Mama, it's me!” You smile at him and stand as Frank joins you, scooping up the boy.

You all walk to the front door, Luke nearly vibrating with excited energy as Frankie slips on a bright orange safety vest. You both hope that maybe it would keep any hunters from shooting on site, mistaking him as someone’s hunting dog. His whistle is placed around his neck and he’s off pawing at the door like an over-eager puppy. “Luke, come say good-bye to your mother before we leave!” Frankie puts on his own vest, carefully tucking the map in the pocket.

Lucas whips around to sit at your feet with uppy hands. You whirl him up and blanket his cheeks with kisses, “You be a very, very good boy for daddy, okay? Have a wonderful time and learn so, so much for your big boy brain!” Lucas looks upset suddenly and wiping at the tear slipping down your cheek, “Mama, you crying!!!” You chuckle wetly and take his fuzzy hand to give a kiss, “I’m just so excited for you, honey! Now, you go be the very best hunter and bring me back all your stories!” And he’s off to the door again.

Frankie steps up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he wipes away yet another tear. “You had better take good care of my baby, Francisco Morales, or else hunters won’t be the only thing you’d have to worry about,” he rubs a thumb over your cheek before pressing a scratchy kiss there. “I’d never let anyone touch a single hair of fuzz on his body.”

With that, they’re out the door hand in hand, Lucas chattering his father’s ear off as they start along the path marked with purple spots every few feet. You stood on the deck to watch as they leave, trying desperately to keep your tears away as you lay out two towels on the deck for them. “One hour,” you say to yourself, “you only need to distract yourself for one hour.” Now faced with an empty cabin, you halfheartedly turn on some movie.

It’s campy and a little low-budget, but the main bad guy makes you think of your husband somehow. Only if he was more vampire bat than wolf. But your distraction doesn’t last more than 20 minutes before you hear loud footsteps and Frankie half-soothingly, half-panicked murmurs of “it’s okay, honey, we’re back, you’ll be okay”. You bolt over to the door to see Frankie still in wolf form carrying your little boy wrapped in one of the towels, eyes all red and tired with mucus dripping from his tiny nose.

“Mama, I don’t feel good,” he whines tiredly, reaching for you with gooey hands you ignore to scoop him up as he starts furiously sneezing. “Sweetheart, what happened?” you examine him against your chest for any wounds or marks. “H-he won’t stop sneezing, he was right next to me in the brush and all of a sudden he couldn’t breathe without sniffles.” Feeling his forehead and side of his neck, you don’t feel any possible fever or infection.

“I-I think he has allergies, he’s not sick, just sniffly. C’mon, baby, let’s get you all steamed up in the bath,” you quickly walk to the bathroom down the hall and set our poor little guy in the bath. Taking the showerhead, you gently rinse any pollen off before plugging the tub and filling it with warm water. You hear the master bathroom’s shower turning on as soon as you turn off the water. Now that the steam curls around the room, Lucas takes more filling breaths. But after a few moments, the sniffles start again and tears fall down his nose instead.

“I-I s-so sorry, mama! I-I wanna be a good wolf like daddy!” He’s almost wailing now as he rubs his eyes. “Honey, it’s okay! You just had a yucky day! Next time, we’ll take your allergy pill before going out so you aren’t getting all stuffy from that junk.” He looks up with wide eyes, “B-but isn’t papa mad at me?” Your heart breaks a little as you wipe his eyes, “No, Luke, nothing would ever make him mad at you. Did you know daddy has allergies, too?”

He wipes his face with his whole arm, gasping a big relieved breath, “Really?” You take a clean washcloth to wipe off his face, swiping away any lingering junk, “Oh yeah, he got real sick when he first left for the army and they had to give special pills every day to keep him moving.”

Lucas looks over your shoulder and his eyes grow wider, prompting you to turn and see Frankie slowly walking in now in his loose sleep shirt and sweats. “How you feeling, bud? Is your nose still stuffy?” Lucas nods silently as his father sits with a groan on the ground with you. You pull the drain and wrap your son up in his fuzzy hooded towel. “We were talking about your stuffy nose from boot camp,” you catch Frankie’s eye to silently communicate the need for a story. And your amazing husband catches on.

He ruffles his son’s hair with the towel and groans, “Oh my goodness, it was awful. It’s 98 degrees, burning hot, and I’m standing their with the worst stuffy nose as we tried to run drills,” Frankie loosely pinches your son’s nose and makes a little honk sound. “Why do you think tío Santi calls me Catfish? I was always gulping down air in my mouth because my nose was too stuffed.” Frankie mimes opening his mouth and closing it like a fish, making Luke quietly giggle.

He throws his little arms around his father’s neck, “I sorry I not a good hunter, papa.” Frankie hums sadly, kissing the chubby cheek and holding the back on his head in his large hand, “It’s okay, mijo, you weren’t feeling well. I wanted to get you better! We can just try again next month, okay?” Luke sniffs and nods, all excited again.

You stand up with a soft groan, putting your hands on your hips, “Well, since papa didn’t get any snacks for you two, how about I warm up the leftover stew while daddy gets you into some comfy pjs?” Lucas’ excited gasp has you smiling again, “Yay, my tummy needs food, mama!” Frankie scoops him up, tickling his sides to make him giggle, “If you get some food ready, babe, I’ll get this spring fever monster all cozy.”

You walk into the kitchen and take the food out of the fridge, laughing as you hear more toddler squeals as your boys play. He might be part wolf from his father, but at least for a little bit longer, he could just be your baby boy still.

[tarithenurse]

I see fire - VII

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 2760. Contents: Puppers again, duergar, combat and injuries and killing, probably something I forgot. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag. Divider by @firefly-graphics

VII

During breakfast the next morning (the trio has gotten an early start) McBribe informs them that not only Willem but also Daremot Jones will be joining them in clearing the mine and just as he has announced that, Willem appears in full gear, carrying a backpack with a bedroll.

“Let’s get this done!” He seems surprisingly excited for a moment. “Uhm, what’s the plan?”

“We’ll meet with Jones and then head off to Dolos and the pack,” Morella explains brightly – she’s chipper – Zilvra’s beginning to suspect that her mood is influenced by the season she represents.

“Dolos?” the human wants to know.

The eladrin nods, reaching for the butter to slather on the still warm bread. “Yeah, the alpha wolf. He and the pack have promised to help us.”

Some of the excess joy seems to leak out of the deputy but he doesn’t complain, merely swallows hard and then shakes it off. It’s not enough to break the mood at the table, though, and breakfast is a lighthearted affair that actually manages to distract Zilvra from some of the lingering guilt after her kill yesterday.

When they do set out, it’s lovely to see that it’s not raining anymore though the clouds still drift heavily by, soothing the eyes of the drow who wonders if she’ll ever get used to the brightness of the sun.

“Morning!” Daremot Jones calls out as the group reaches the village centre.

He too is geared up although far from as heavily as Willem – after all, Daremot is a hunter, a tracker that moves quietly and depends on one good shot rather than charge into a fight.

And so they set out: Zilvra and Willem in the front, Morella in the middle, and at the back the two ranged people, Anvindr and Daremot.

Although it’s not raining now, the ground is still muddy and water still drips off the shrubs that anyone touches. But they make good time, the trio having come this way before and the hunter knowing the woods like the back of his hand.

However, what the two humans are less keen on is the sight of a large wolf trotting up along the group halfway through the day. They don’t complain, just keep eyeing it nervously and then making a double take when a second arrives.

And then one more.

And more.

And more.

Soon half the pack is travelling with the group, ensuring that they arrive safely at the old orchard where Dolos is waiting. The giant wolf growls and yaps and Morella responds in kind. It’s a good thing the humans had been warned of this ability of hers or they might have panicked completely...even so they’re still sweating buckets out of nervousness especially now that they are standing before the enormous alpha.

“He says there’s something else than the duergar,” the druid relays, “something about our size but burning hot and shiny like a torch.”

The others exchange puzzled glances but can’t think of anything fitting the description and after a while of speculation, they have to admit that they will have to wait and see what it is when they get there.

That night, the group rests among the wolves, the only noteworthy thing happening is the return of the heavy rains.

---

It’s a dreary morning to set out into but on the group goes, wolves and humanoids alongside each other for a while before the beasts splinter off. Visibility is horrible and the progress is slower than anyone wants but there is just one way to go after all so they trudge on.

It’s evening by the time the humanoids get the first outpost in sight, not surprisingly finding it occupied by a duergar.

Presuming a sneak attack will be enough, catching the dwarven kin off guard so that they won’t have a chance to defend themselves, turns to be a fatal mistake as the duergar hears them coming and apparently is of the belief that the best defence is an offence.

Coming at them in a spitting rage, they watch as the figure grows in size, the small dark eyes turning into gleaming embers of bloodshot frenzy. The combat turns messy but also informative.

“So they grow?” Willem scratches his neck, studying the corpse that Zilvra has set to work on.

It’s gross what she’s going and it only maybe might work: she’s mutilating the remains in the hopes that it might look like a beast has gotten to the duergar but when she steps back it doesn’t look convincing. Still, it’s worth a shot and perhaps the enemy isn’t well-versed in the fauna of the Topside and they dump the corpse further into the woods before setting off perpendicular to the direction of the mine, looking for a campsite while still keeping the outpost in sight.

The first shift, hailed by Zilvra, goes by quietly.

It’s during Morella’s shift that she wakes the party and points out a single duergar that’s approaching the stone structure only to find it empty.

Watching it, they see the being investigate the area and eventually find the dead kin. That’s when the band of self-proclaimed heroes strike.

This time they are more efficient but the Underdark cousins of the dwarves are not to be taken lightly.

“Ow,” Zilvra whimpers.

Willem seems to agree. Not only do the duergar grow when enraged – they hit harder too and this one had gotten a few good hits in before going down.

“Let’s put it with the other and then rest up,” Anvindr suggests.

---

Dolos and a few of his pack members have returned to the humanoids in the morning and he speaks with Morella to solidify the plan before they all set out again.

Today at least it’s dry, improving the visibility greatly, meaning that everyone has a good view of the entrance to the mine when they arrive.

While the humanoids settle for a moment, waiting for their time to move in, the wolves sneak up. Bodies low to the ground, the beasts sneak up to the very edge of the make shift wall before leaping over and pouncing upon the few duergar that have remained outside on guard duty.

It’s efficient and gruesome but no one had made any rosy red assumptions on the outcome.

Once the wolves are in position to form a defensive line it’s the humanoids’ turn to venture into the mine proper with Zilvra in the lead.

“This really is old,” Willem comments softly, running a hand along a dry support beam but then he frowns: “Or...this isn’t.”

And he’s right, the duergar have made certain alterations probably in an attempt to further stabilize the structure.

There’s a constant thin layer of smoke drifting outwards up under the roof but no visible source for it yet: no fires or torches which makes sense as the duergar are able to see in the dark just like the drow. The humans however cannot and rather than risk lights, alerting any enemies of their approach, the group decides to guide Willem and Daremot along with a rope. If anything were to happen, Zilvra would be able to magically light up the place for everyone to see.

Moving further in, the group only finds a few corpses that the wolves have left but eventually there’s no sign of recent activity any longer.

Reaching a divergence in the path, the group takes the left side and they don’t have to walk long before hearing a sound. Rolling, like distant thunder though more...snorty. It takes a second before they realize that they are listening to a duergar snoring. Having seen them work at night, it makes sense that they would rest during the day.

A bit longer, then they enter a small room that looks more like storage than sleeping quarters but there he is: the sleeping duergar whom they surround and make off with. He never realizes what is happening.

Only then does the trio allows themselves to study the place further, finding tools as expected which are primarily dusty and of human make. There is one thing, a hammer, that seems different in the sense that it’s more ornate and Anvindr decides to take that along because he senses there’s something about it.

Then they all retrace their steps, returning to the split and taking the other path which slopes gently downwards. Rounding a bend, Zilvra, who still is in front, sees a dim light from a little torch and in its glow the lonely figure of a duergar on patrol.

Preparing an ambush by backing up a bit around the bend, it takes little time before they fall upon him but the bastard is nimble and has his wits about him, screaming out for backup even as the final blow kills him.

Knowing that the duergar has alerted someone, it makes no sense to count on stealth anymore and the fallen torch (which isn’t a torch in the classical sense but a glowing crystal wedged in a wooden handle) is placed in a sconce to illuminate the immediate vicinity while Zilvra sends out globules of light towards the other end of the of the hallway, creating a daisy chain of floating lights.

They can hear the approaching enemy and get in position as best as they can. Just in time too as around the corner six more duergar appear – three carrying shields and axes and behind them the other three with javelins at the ready. All of them appear enraged, large in comparison to their normal size and the group knows this means they’ll pack a punch.

Anvindr and Daremot turn out to be wonderfully good shots now that they can see clearly with the lights and so they fell three of the duergar before they reach the odd allies and the melee battle can commence.

Zilvra is vaguely aware of the poof of a sound by her side before an odd looking wolf launches itself into the fray: this is Morella who has morphed into a beast and is fighting tooth and claw to help the rogue gain the upper hand in combat which thankfully is brief.

There’s little said among the adventurers as they take a moment after the battle to gather themselves. A quiet mumble from Willem as Morella sees to his wounds, healing at least some of the damage with her magic.

Snuffing the magical lights, only the glow of the torch remains and some of the party are mesmerized by the nature of the item: the glowing crystal is foreign to them all apart from the drow.

“They’re pretty common in the Underdark,” Zilvra explains in a whisper. “We don’t have wood to burn for fires and we use the dried lichen, coals and such for either heating or cooking rather than just light.”

“So you have crystals for that,” Anvindr seems to understand the logic.

Zilvra nods. “That or mushroom, mainly.”

Morella’s face lights up at the idea of plants glowing but the group doesn’t have time to talk more about the intricacies of Underdark household traditions and they push on.

The next part of the tunnel is empty, presumably the duergar might have believed that the six that were sent out were enough to deal with any intruders but even so the odd allies move quietly ahead.

Eventually, they reach a T-intersection and again they choose the left branch which in turn after a while leads to a larger cave. Peeking from the entrance, the group can see mining carts on rails, and some random equipment here and there but there’s no sign of anybody except for the faint sound of flickering flames.

Moving inside, they spread out with Zilvra and Willem to the left, Morella in the middle, and Anvindr and Daremot to the right side.

Halfway through the cave, the males on the right notice a crack in the wall where a dim light can be seen as if passing through from a room on the other side but nothing else is visible through it.

“I see something,” Morella whispers, pointing to the far side of the cave.

The humans just have to take it on faith, unable to see anything in the dark, but the other three can see a new passage that leads out of the cave and they all head towards it.

The tunnel leads down and as it’s the only obvious way on, they decide to follow it at least for a while.

The further they go, they more they begin to suspect that it was not part of the original layout of the mine and that theory is confirmed when they see copper veins in the wall.

“The mine was dead,” Willem explains upon hearing of the discovery, “it had no more copper.”

This tunnel must be how the duergar came up into the mine and after a while longer with nothing but the sound of each others’ footsteps, the group decides to turn back. It’s too dangerous to sleep in enemy territory and likely this path continues all the way down into the Underdark.

On the way back, as they reach the cave once more with the tracks and the abandoned mine carts, they notice that the sound of fire has grown louder as if the fire is either closer or spreading but the only source they can find is the flickering light emanating from the crack in the wall – a light that seems brighter than before? Uncomfortable with the change, they try to investigate but wind up no cleverer than before.

“I don’t like it,” Zilvra declares in a whisper.

“Then lets get out,” Willem huffs.

Back at the intersection, they all agree to “just” check out what’s along the other way – if it ends or continues.

It’s not long before the chiselled stone floor is replaced by wooden planks and the path opens into a large room ending with a sort of platform overlooking the rest of the area. The walls are pockmarked with holes where embers nestle, there are furnaces and anvils, and from the platform’s edge and on there are weapon racks fully equipped with crude axes and hammers and everything duergar style.

Rather than continue on through the tunnel at the other side, the group leaves.

The outside is cast in the soft glow of twilight as they emerge to the greeting of the wolves. While Daremot in particular is helpful with finding a spot to settle down for the night, Morella explains to Dolos and his pack what has happened inside the mine: though some duergar have been killed, there’s bound to be more still and tomorrow will bring another day of hunting them down and dealing with them. The wolves, although bummed that their exile hasn’t ended yet, are content with the progress and wander off to find their own rest.

So the humanoids settle down, making a camp but refraining from building a fire just in case – Anvindr does create simple shelters for them all, though, finishing just as night has fallen.

It’s Morella and Daremot who notice it first: great, dark plumes of smoke waft from the mine entrance similar to the way the trio had seen it last time they’d been there. What is different is the stench – not unlike bacon but quickly turning acrid, the smell of burnt flesh spreads further than the smoke. And the light is brighter, wilder somehow and matching the intensity of the screams that start to be heard, causing everyone to be on high alert.

“Look,” Daremot mumbles, “it’s burning.”

And it really is. The old beams that have stood for generations are on fire and duergar begin to flee. One is dragging a friend along but the friend is pulled back in by something that the band of allies can’t make out. Then, as the remaining duergar runs towards the exit, a flaming whip latches around his neck and pulls him back, snapping his neck in the process.

The hidden group can hear the mine begin to collapse.

“Well,” Willem says, “I think that deals with the rest of the problem.”

Silently agreeing, they begin to settle down again but keep an eye on the mine and by midnight, during Zilvra’s watch, the flames begin to dwindle before a deep rumble can be heard and the entrance finally collapses, the supporting beams no longer able to carry the weight of the stone, and the ensuing dust douses the fire almost completely.

Not long after, Morella takes over the remainder of the night’s watch.

[overthinkingtaleblr]

My Taleblr Werewolf Headcanon Masterlist

While not the most present aspect throughout the entirety of Taleblr, the small and infrequent appearances made by lycanthropy has found its way into the hearts of the fandom. Of course, this may be largely because PIE is so beloved and just about every werewolf was involved in a PIE video. Not a bad thing, but it does also call into question How werewolves work, who has been one, and why we don't see them more often. Werewolves are a popular movie monster even outside of Taleblr, but every series has it's own rules. I think that defining what makes the werewolves that are encountered during the videos similar or different to other popular werewolves to be important in its own rights.

Whether it be Ghost being cured preemptively by eating fresh berries, or the Wyomingwolf getting her own unique title, I'm going to explore what it breadly means to be a werewolf in the Taleblr Universe.

While I would love to start by deconstructing the mod that was used for Toast's transformation and continue with a fandom exploration of the idea, I do want to open with determining what is meant by Werewolf here.

What are Lycanthropes?

General Mythology

The idea of people turning into wolves exists back to the Epic of Gilgamesh, the first written story in the world.

From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: "The word lycanthropy comes from the Greek words lykos, meaning “wolf,” and anthrōpos, meaning “human being.”"

From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: "Though some doubts about the word's etymology still remain, werewolf probably comes from a prehistoric West Germanic compound whose constituent parts gave Old English wer ("man") and wulf ("wolf")."

Werewolves as we know them likely comes from European Folklore. However, the first werewolf story is said to be the Greek Myth of Lycaon, who was turned into a wolf with his sons.

Additionally from the previous source, a lot of British serial killers were thought to be werewolves devouring their prey. Kind of messed up.

Okay, no more links.

The general consensus is that Werewolves are people who are, in some way, also wolves, likely done through a transformation of some kind. In history, we see the transformation to be permanent, but when the legend came home it became something one could turn back from.

Scientifically, the full moon doesn't do anything to creatures, whether it be wolves or humans (no hate to people who's spiritual beliefs include the moon <3). However, the idea of humans turning into wolves on the full moon likely came from previous ideas that wolves howl Only at full moons... and then from there the idea that humans act weird on full moons followed.

While I'm not sure where it came from, most interpretations of werewolves has them as humanoid wolves, others as basically humans as rabies, and others still as sentient wolves. It seems like it doesn't matter where on the scale between human and wolf a werewolf falls, so long as it is a human who is turned into a wolf, whether temporary or permanent.

Apparently a full moon in January is called a wolf moon.

In Taleblr

There were about two to three videos about werewolves and the werewolf arc, which is about curing lycanthrope. Unfortunately, I'm struggling to find out how many videos are counted for that arc, and apparently Toast was cured off-screen and we never got proper closure until a livestream years later.

The werewolves most known for Taleblr are the ones from Toast's time as a werewolf. These werewolves use this player model and this mod on Gmod, for anyone wanting to experiment with it themselves ^^

Just about every example of a werewolf in Taleblr is a human-shaped creature with wolf claws and a wolfish face covered in fur. They can infect others through bites-- though whether this is only in wolf form or also in human form I'm not sure.

Based on the transformation mod's description, they are stronger than people, they are faster than people, they regenerate themselves when hurt, the infection can be spread incredibly quickly and begin affects on the same full moon they were bit.

Johnny Ghost says that Lycanthropes can be cured with a specific berry, because he was able to prevent his own transformation by eating them in advance... I think he may be partially wrong, though.

If Johnny was right about the berries, the arc wouldn't exist. They already had leftover berries and knew where several bushes are. No, I think the distinction is that Ghost was infected by Toast, who was not fully infected and was still switching between wolf and human.

Either that, or the cure only worked because Ghost ate so many BEFORE the infection settled, and Toast was too late.

Fun Fact; the June full moon is apparently named after strawberries... I think we found the berries? (I was totally going to say it was blueberries before this)

Werewolves sneak when hunting and may be color blind like dogs.

According to Toast, they love jelly and can be cured by berries, though I do think that may be him craving berries mid-transformation. Funnily enough, a British version of the word Jelly is Jell-o, cuz british people only call jelly jam.

According to Ghost, they can be killed with silver bullets, but according to other videos, they can be killed with normal weapons too.

The Werewolves

Johnny Toast

We don't know who infected Johnny Toast, so there isn't much to say about how the infection spreads aside from what we see between Toast and Ghost. What wee see between them is Toast lashing out and attacking Ghost and Ghost being only infected temporarily while Toast oscillated between forms. Unlike what Ghost thinks, there are a variety of reasons as to why the infection may not have taken to Ghost while solidifying on Toast. This includes:

Ghost just has a better immune system at fighting supernatural threats.

Toast was infected longer before he started taking measures to cure it.

Ghost's berry theory is real and Ghost just ate all of them in the area like a dick.

Whether or not the infection takes depends on entirely chance and Ghost got lucky

Because Toast killed someone while in the form of a wolf, it solidified the transformation.

Because Ghost died soon after being infected, it purged the infection before it could take root.

Since serial killers used to be considered werewolves, the infection vanished because Ghost is technically Already Infected.

However there's no confirmation as to what the real case is. I am not taking Ghost at face value because. The man just for infected and uninflected with lycanthropy in an hour, an infection process that caused actual delirium in Toast.

While Toast can't remember anything while a wolf, he has reacted to things that Ghost told him to do while infected, implying that the wolf either recognizes Ghost or has some basic dog training. People taking quirks of Toast and applying it to the wolf? Amazing. People making stories about Toast trying to hide his infection only for people to end up hurt? Chef’s kiss. People who depict the werewolf as a lumbering shadow intimidating others? love it. People who depict the werewolf as a little guy a little boyyy? Cute as fuck. Whatever the case, the fandom is incredibly creative and I love everything y’all do with him.

I think that the fandom choosing to not acknowledge Toast's cure is for the best. Toast being a werewolf allows for sooo much character and is another threat to consider from inside the house. What isn't to love about a consistent problem that can't be solved with banishment or stabbing? I'm a fan of the posts that ask if Toast is worried about being a danger to his friends and associates, and I'm a fan of the fluffier posts that allow for Toast to just be a massive dog. I’d draw stuff for it if i could draw dogs.

For Toast I'm going to say that he was a British Columbian wolf because they were apparently notably Large. They also notably have the darker colors of brown and black that Johnny Toast was while infected. Also, they can be found in America despite being British.

The Wolfman of Wyoming

The Wolfman, also known as Alberto Guppy's sister (who I'm gonna call Amelia Wulf) was apparently an anomaly in Wyoming based on how she got her own title by existing freely. We don't know if she can turn back, or if her transformation is permanent. Both she and Alberto are genetic experiments done by who Alberto thought were their parents, and she especially got the short end of the stick. When they escaped the lab, we know that Alberto got his memory erased, and with no memories or experiences in the world, he began living on the streets around the same time that people would've started to notice his sister in the area.

Unlike Johnny Toast, the Wolfman definitely wasn't infected the same way. Because she was created by what I can only assume was gene-splicing in an attempt to recreate certain animal-based monsters from mythology. While Alberto seems to have either been an attempt at sirens or mermaids, it's obvious that Amelia was a at least partially-successful attempt at making a werewolf. While she is terrorizing a state now that she’s free, my guess is that she’s looking for her brother, since we don’t know when they got separated, and is fucking shit up in the meantime. I think that Amelia’s “parents” were working to re-capture her before the authorities, or in this case PIE, could find her and find out what they were doing.

Since gray wolves are native to the area, it's likely that's what type of wolf Amelia was genetically fused with. More specifically, the northern Rocky Mountain subspecies of gray wolf.

Unwolf Werewolves

And now, a list of character who apply for the label of werewolf if they only turned into specifically a wolf.

- Officer Maloney, turns into a bird at will

- Gregory Gregory. Gregory, turns into a bird at will

- Sally Acachalla, turns into a “demon” when frustrated

- All Gingarians have two forms that they somewhat alternate between.

- Johnny Ghost/Jimmy Casket, turns into a serial killer at random

- Princeton Quagmire/Jimmy Casket, ditto

- Light Zeron, ditto

- Billy Acachalla, kinda turns into a bird.

- Papa Acachalla, TURNS INTO ANOTHER PERSON (JOSE JOSE JOSE JOSE) ON MONDAY MIDNIGHTS BECAUSE OF A CURSE.

Some of these are more werewolf-y than others. If any of these were wolves, it would qualify. Except maybe billy.

[soft-stxrlight]

the calling of wolves and vipers, chapter 1

excellent news and confusing reactions

ao3 link: the calling of wolves and vipers

tumblr masterlist: the calling of wolves and vipers

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Theodore Nott x Hermione Granger

description: draco, theo, and hermione navigate growing affections as they fight for werewolf rights. there are forces, however, which will stop at nothing to ensure their efforts are for naught.

word count: 3635

Theo slid yet another bloody, red graffitied draft across the table to her. 

“Your edits better be legible this time,” Hermione drawled, voice muffled around the highlighter clenched in her mouth. Theo eyed the neon marker with suspicion but Hermione insisted he was an ‘obstinate neanderthal’ for not seeing how muggle inventions could complement wizarding creations.

Theodore Nott’s upbringing taught him to be particular about many things: manners, eloquence, how to carry himself across a ballroom—much to Hermione’s delight when his cheeks had bloomed red upon her finding an old moving photograph of him confidently twirling a partner—but apparently, he had never quite mastered fine penmanship.

“My handwriting is downright delightful and wholly legible, I will have you know.” He emphatically enunciated, with a soft pop. Hermione’s eyes may have tried to pop out of her head for how hard they rolled in amusement. Theo muttered as much under his breath, to her delighted soft chuckles.

The cluttered office was jammed full, with nowhere near enough room for two desks. Theo made his own space on top of a squat filing cabinet, while Hermione’s tiny desk was shoved into a far corner, her crocheted projects laid askew: scarves, hats, and one unfinished blanket. She was a worried crocheter, she’d say. Hermione had been warned it was once a supply closet, at that time it was probably regarded as spacious. Now, the office was merely a reflection of the Ministry’s hesitation to allocate funds to expanding departments they deemed non-priority. 

And worry they certainly had. 

Stacks of paper and books were everywhere, making the already cramped space more constrictive, not enough room for a werewolf and herself to coexist, but work side by side they had, day after grueling day.

Theo Nott, among 49 others, was bitten around the time of the final battle at Hogwarts. This was a record-breaking change in registered werewolves and the Ministry felt the strain. Wolfsbane was consistently sold out in the few stores that carried it, shifting incidents were up 200%, and werewolf discrimination and stigma made daily life for those affected extremely difficult and uncomfortable.

The high incident rate was a point of contention between Hermione and Theo as they worked together on new laws regarding werewolves; The Werewolf Prosperity Act. Hermione felt the argument used by the Ministry of the elevated incident rate being reason enough to tighten werewolf rights instead of protecting them was barbaric and dismissive of the myriad of facts. Many people had been changed at once with no time to adjust and no accommodations for where to shift. Of course there would be injuries! What else was to be expected, it was proportional growth for Merlin’s sake.

Theo had never mauled anyone, but he firmly believed Hermione couldn’t understand the gravity of the pull to shift and the—sometimes overwhelming—primal bloodlust that came with it. However, with practice, immense self-control, and proper precautions, it was possible to control murderous urges. It was a skill learned, not unlike occlumency.

While he didn’t fully agree with the Ministry, he insisted wolves who injured people should be held wholly responsible, not under the charge of manslaughter or neglect like Hermione suggested. 

Mostly, though, they worked harmoniously.

Hermione was hired at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—a name that was steadily wearing down the enamel on her teeth, her parents would scold her thoroughly for grinding them—upon graduation from her eighth year at Hogwarts. She graduated spectacularly, garnering the highest NEWTs possible and finishing at the top of her class. Draco Malfoy finished second; she grinned at him cheekily through the entire commencement. 

Theo Nott joined the Ministry three years into Hermione’s tenure. He began in the Auror program, but hated how little power he had to change things. He knew the struggles of werewolves intimately and ultimately decided to transfer to Hermione’s department. When he heard about the act she was championing, they inevitably grew closer. They had to, working in such cramped quarters. In the infancy of the Act, it was nothing more than a whisper Hermione would float out once in a while within the Ministry to garner slow support, but Theo was interested in helping with the change. They’d been preparing for years now, but the work had only begun in earnest about seven months ago.

Hermione looked over Theo’s edits. “These are fine, I suppose. Though, I don’t know how you plan to propose building Ministry-sanctioned shifting houses to the Wizengamot?” Her voice was thoughtful. They’d learned early on that any change was going to be a knockout brawl with the Wizengamot. 

“Those stuffy old wizards whine about everything other than the money coming into their already stuffed pockets. Luckily the Nott family is interested in making a sizable donation to make those houses come to fruition.” 

“How benevolent of the honorable Notts.” Hermione’s tone may have been teasing, but the statement was a fact nonetheless. He had apologized for his father’s involvement and his own inaction in the war. She’d long ago decided it wasn’t worth the energy to hold onto resentments like those, told him as much and forgave him swiftly. 

Theo shrugged nonchalantly, but his cheeks bloomed a dashing rose at the praise, and he straightened in his chair, smiling at the woman in his periphery. Turning around to his filing cabinet desk, they fell into a companionable working silence.

This was generally how their workdays went. Minor comments or requests for input here and there, but mostly the quiet dedicated scratching of their pens or quills on the parchments before them. They had found this rhythm quickly, both having been extremely studious in their time at Hogwarts. Their habits turned out to be similar, though Hermione thought Theo’s personality was like a mixture of Harry and Blaise: Harry’s penchant for constant mischief and Blaise’s outgoing charisma.

If Hermione was honest with herself, she was quite attracted to Theo. His overall generally pleasant and warm disposition, along with his unending fight for the cause, were deeply intriguing to her methodical mind. He’d consistently treated Hermione with respect and deference. 

And, she could admit to herself, he was well and truly fit. Don’t get her started on his long fingers constantly drawing her attention as they deftly stroked along his parchment, quill clenched in his teeth, brow wrinkled in concentration. One could probably bounce a sickle off his abs. She pondered how he’d almost certainly allow her to test her hypothesis. 

Theo groaned and set his quill aside, scrubbing a palm over his furrowed brow. 

“Lunch time?” Hermione guessed, twisting her wrist to confirm her suspicion on her watch. 

“I suppose. I’m fairly certain even if we worked through lunch all week we’d still be behind,” Theo sighed, leaning back, stretching out his long legs. The top of the too-short chair digging into his spine pushed his chest forward, causing his shirt to pull tight and accentuate his taut pectorals. 

Hermione had to force herself not to ogle him out of the corner of her eye. Theo must’ve noticed this, because he brought his arms up behind his neck, stretching some more, allowing his shirt to slightly ride up and expose the dark trail of hair leading from his navel down to… 

Nope. She brought her runaway train of thought screeching to a halt, hard in its tracks. He smirked at her knowingly.

“Eh, er, I have to meet up with Ginny,” Hermione quickly rambled, scrambling her papers together as she blindly felt for her beaded tote bag. 

“Yes,” Theo’s voice was mirthful, “wouldn’t want to keep Mrs. Potter waiting, would we?” 

She was up and shooting for the door before he had even finished speaking. She didn’t turn around to bid her goodbye, just brusquely shoved the door open with one hand while the other waved goodbye over her head. 

The Ministry was bustling this time of day. Everyone trying to cram into the lift to run off to find their lunch. Hermione had to wait for three separate lifts until one finally had barely passable room to squeeze in. As she maneuvered around the others in the lift and felt her shoulders press against a broad man’s chest, a familiar unpleasant musk burning her nose, her heart started pounding wildly in her chest. She attempted to leave, but as the lift doors swung shut, Cormac’s arm snaked around Hermione’s waist to hold her firmly in place as she lurched forward.

“Don’t fall, darling,” his husky voice was much too close to her ear, his scalding breath burning the shell uncomfortably. She felt him shift to rub his cheek against the crown of her head. A hurried inhale had her shivering uncomfortably at the thought of him… was he sniffing her? Bile rose in her throat at the intimate display.

“I wasn’t,” Hermione snipped quietly, peeling his arm from her abdomen and flicking it away. She didn’t much care how her nails bit into his skin, surely leaving vicious little crescents behind. Cormac chuckled behind her, undeterred, and put his hand up as if to say I surrender. 

Cormac had been bugging Hermione since she started working at the ministry. Asking her out, making innuendos, and cornering her at events while she talked with other people, so when he asked her to dance she had to do the polite thing and oblige. He never received the message, no matter how loudly Hermione delivered it, that she was completely uninterested in him.

“Heading to lunch?” He asked. She leaned away, dodging the crawling sensation of his breath on her skin. “Want to go together? I know a great little shop just down the way. They’ve got a steamy section in the back, privacy curtains and all.” His eyes gleamed predatorily. Her skin stung where his body heat met hers. 

Any attempt at civil rejection extinguished by his too-thick skull, Hermione opted for a more direct approach. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

“Honestly, I’d rather starve,” she hissed. Hermione lifted her heel and slid back her foot until she felt his toe beneath it and stomped down. Hard. 

He folded in on himself and grunted roughly, “You know your fire only makes this hotter right?” He reached up and snatched one of her curls, twirling it around his finger. Hermione made a mental note to cut it off the moment the doors opened. She slapped his hand away, the loud pap drawing several sets of eyes. 

Hermione didn’t understand why he chose to continue to pursue her. She’d never shown even a moment of interest other than once, way back in school. Even then, it wasn’t an earnest crush, as she hadn’t truly known him at all. Though his advances were slimy and disgusting, she didn’t think he’d ever actually harm her or do anything against her will. 

Hopefully. 

Truthfully, she tried not to find out by avoiding him as much as humanly possible. 

Just because he hadn’t done anything outright illegal didn’t make her feel better. The roiling survival instinct in her gut told her to get OUT. She didn’t disagree with the tingles along her spine urging her to go. 

The lift shuddered to a halt and Hermione practically ran out the moment the doors slid open. 

“Until next time,” Cormac called out to her rapidly retreating form. 

I hope you choke on a sugar quill, Hermione thought snidely. 

⭑⭑⭑

“I fucking hate that prick,” Ginny groaned between mouthfuls of roasted potatoes, as Hermione finished recapping her run-in with Cormac.

“He won’t leave me be. I wish he’d get the message.” Hermione groused as she speared one of Ginny’s potatoes and popped it into her mouth. Ginny shot her a glare, but ignored it nonetheless. 

“How’s the team?” Hermione asked to distract her. 

Ginny’s eyes twinkled, “You know how I was cautious about the new Beater? Well, she absolutely butchered the other team during scrimmage this week. Harpies might even make it to the Cup this year!” Ginny had said it every year since starting, and Hermione believed her every year. 

It was part of the nature of their friendship to explicitly trust and support one another. After all they’d been through in the war, Hermione had realized she was lacking in close female friends and Ginny was constantly trying to show her love and support. She accepted it and they became like sisters, their bond almost psychic. 

Hermione had found deep kinship with Harry and Ron, but she needed female companionship too. The bond between her and Ginny was different than the boys. Lighter, but also more honest. Loving and challenging. Boisterous and steady. Harry had become her family, he’d forever be her dearest friend, and she, his. But Ginny was an oasis of warm company and unconditional love. Ginny didn’t let Hermione off the hook when she did something she disagreed with, but she also didn’t let any success go uncelebrated. 

“I have something to tell you,” Ginny’s voice grew quiet, serious, “I haven’t told anyone yet. I need you to know first.” Hermione would have been nervous at the change, but Ginny didn’t seem upset, she seemed excited. 

“Of course, Gin,” she encouraged. 

Ginny sucked in a breath and then flashed Hermione the most beautiful smile. Her teeth shone white, freckled cheeks straining toward her crinkled eyes. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Hermione choked on a near sob, “If this is a prank I will kill you myself, are you serious?!” 

“I’m not joking,” tears shone in her eyes, “I’ve just found out and I need your help. I want to tell Harry in a special but…careful way.” Ginny reached for Hermione’s hand and squeezed it anxiously, “You and Harry are like those twins from that Muggle horror movie, if anyone would know how to break it to him it would be the gorgeous, incomparable, Hermione Granger.” Hermione squinted at Ginny’s hyperbolic compliments. 

“Of course, you don’t need to stroke my ego for me to help you, batty witch.” Hermione sighed happily, she knew this would be so joyous for Harry. His chosen family was beginning, but it could remind him of all the family he had ultimately lost. “I’m so happy for you Gin. You and Harry will be the best parents.” She wiped at a renegade tear and returned Ginny’s brilliant grin. 

Ginny continued, this time more demurely, “I’m thinking of asking Harry if we should name the baby James or Lily. Maybe it would help keep their memory alive through our kids? What do you think about how I should tell him?” Ginny looked down anxiously and shrugged, fiddling with her fork between her fingers.

“That’s beautiful. And I would suggest you tell him in private, without much fanfare. Maybe ask Molly to help you make his favorite dish and tell him over dinner? It’ll give him an excuse not to talk right away if there’s food in his mouth.” Hermione knew Harry’s ticks, what would leave him speechless, and what would bring him to tears. The sap was sure to cry at the news and she knew he’d want it to be alone with his wife. 

“Good idea, I like that,” Ginny agreed, then tucked into her potatoes once more. This was the nature of their friendship, moments of intense honesty and vulnerability and then the mundane. It worked for them. 

“Speaking of life changes, how’s Theo the heartthrob?” Ginny waggled her brows at Hermione. She rolled her eyes, but felt her cheeks warm. 

“Handsome as ever, and equally philanthropic.” Hermione sighed. The image of Theo’s shirt creeping up over his toned abdomen flooded her mind.

“Ugh, make a move already, he’s going to be plucked up sooner or later!” Ginny had been championing what they called the Nott Cause since they began working together. She’d seen the two of them together once and said they were meant to be. Hermione insisted she was pulling her leg but Ginny turned serious,  she insisted she saw something. 

“I’ll consider it,” Hermione hummed.

⭑⭑⭑

Hermione burst through the office door in a flurry of disheveled curls and haste, running slightly late after celebrating Ginny’s outstanding news. Practically toppling through the door frame, she found two large men sitting on the floor calmly eating sandwiches. 

Theo’s nose wrinkled in disgust. She shrunk under his venomous expression. His eyes widened alarmingly as he scanned over her body, she could only watch him grow furious. 

Draco Malfoy and Theo both shot to their feet. Draco simply walked up to her and tipped her chin up and to the side, examining her face and neck, causing her loose curls to trickle down her back. Barely contained rage simmered in his eyes. She watched his eyes tracking further down her body. His touch was soft, but his gaze was scorching. Her body flushed in answer.

Hermione searched her brain for what glaring faux pas she could’ve committed to warrant such an immediately inflammatory response in the usually reserved men, but she came up frustratingly empty. She’d just entered the office after all. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?!” Hermione squeaked, the stern tone she presented wobbling slightly in the face of one furious Draco Malfoy. Theo had never looked quite so angry in her presence before, and having another werewolf on the brink of insanity, or so it seemed, was more than slightly alarming. Draco had been turned as well. Human instinct had her backing up until she hit the now-ajar door. Though, she was somehow oddly certain Draco and Theo wouldn’t, perhaps couldn’t, hurt her.

“Drake, back off.” Theo’s voice was so strained and low it almost came out as a growl. “Draco.” He had to repeat himself before Draco took a half-step away from her. His gaze remained intense and locked on her. 

Theo’s heart constricted painfully, the urge to gag wrestling in his throat. Something had happened to his witch. Her normally addictive scent of french vanilla and freshly dried ink was overlaid in some sour, rotten version of another wolf. 

Someone had ventured too close, marked her with their scent, and frightened her. Theo’s mind raced as he sucked down gulps of her scent, as though if he consumed it all, she’d smell only of herself again. His hands itched to steal her away, to tuck her into his arms and retreat to some small corner of the world where he could worship and protect her for as long as she would have him.

Theo reminded himself he had no right. Had no claim to her. She’s not yours. 

“Who touched you?” Draco rasped. Hermione was confused. What was he talking about, and why were they both so on edge? 

Theo roused himself, “What dear Draco means to say, love, is we can smell the residual fear on you, as well as another wolf. We know something happened, so out with it.” Theo’s posture hadn’t relaxed, but his face had thawed into concern and care. 

“I didn’t know Cormac was a wolf?” Hermione muttered, dots finally connected. Upon receiving his answer, Draco barreled for the door like a rabid animal toward prey, she almost didn’t catch his arm. The moment her fingertips made contact with Draco’s skin, he froze, muscles bunched waiting to burst forward again. Theo looked like he was straining to stay in place, a vein bulged in his neck as his jaw clenched so roughly Hermione ached for his molars. 

“Malfoy, wait, it’s okay,” Hermione didn’t know Draco well. He’d changed drastically from when they were children and she’d mostly regarded him as a polite stranger now. So this behavior was bizarre, even to her. But she knew enough about werewolves and figured since he and Theo were so close, and Hermione was close to Theo, he might view this as an attack on his pack. Draco was an Alpha, Theo a Beta. Both had stronger protective urges than the average wolf. 

“What did he do to you, Hermione?” Theo’s voice was strained and pleading, like every moment he didn’t know was agony. It dawned on her they were thinking the worst. 

“No, no, he just… grabbed me is all.” She winced at how it sounded. “Sniffed and rubbed my hair as well. But I can handle a miscreant of his underwhelming caliber.” Hermione shrugged in a move she prayed came across as casually unbothered.

“Just?” Draco scoffed. “You reek of his scent and lingering fear.” Shit. His silver eyes flashed to a void of black. Hermione stumbled at the intensity, finally dropping his arm.

“He held me against him. I stomped on his foot. He let me go. Is that what you want to know?” She tried to placate him, but the rage burned brighter in his now obsidian irises. 

“What else?” Theo prompted. His eyes told her he knew she was withholding.

“He came on to me again. Tried to ask me out. It’s annoying but mostly harmless. It’s okay guys, Cormac is not the first disgruntled fan I’ve dealt with.” Hermione waved her hands, trying to get them to simmer down. She was a grown witch, and far more competent than most at dueling, thanks to her involvement in the war. 

“Please, if he does it again, tell us?” Theo bargained softly, finally coming between Draco and her. His movements were measured. Hermione couldn’t tell if she was the skittish animal he worried about jarring, or if it was Draco’s fragile restraint.  

Crossing her arms and looking at her toes, Hermione mused, “I really didn’t know he was a werewolf. What if he thinks I’m his mate and that's why he’s so persistent?” She felt utterly foolish the moment it came out. Mates are soul-crafted for one another and quite rare. Even Cormac wouldn’t be so disillusioned as to believe she’d be his mate, could he? 

“Hah,” Theo scoffed in disgust. Hermione’s heart panged in hurt, brows drawing together as she blinked away the sting widening her eyes. 

Theo recoiled as her sadness hit his nostrils, “Oh, love, no. I mean, never in any world would Cormac McLaggen ever be worthy of you as a mate.” 

She felt like she was soaring then. The praise tingled up her fingers making her want to move toward him, a hopeless moth to a blazing flame.

“Hermione, no one would be deserving of you as a mate. Do you know what they mean to our kind?” Draco said quietly and reverently, turning the word mate over in his mouth as though savoring it. 

She nodded, dumbfounded by the sudden softness rounding his eyes as he gazed at her, which had returned to their silver hue instead of glowing obsidian. He startled and seemed to realize the intensity of his reaction to her and promptly schooled his expression into familiar, cool indifference.

“Then, you know how a wolf would treat a mate. It would be akin to poison to treat your mate without utter devotion,” Theo explained softly. 

Hermione stood there, confused as to why the two wolves were so serious now. Did they both seem to view her as part of their pack? As she stood there, turning it all over in her mind, she vaguely registered Draco bidding a tense goodbye. She missed the internal struggle flashing across his face and the way his hand subconsciously drifted in her direction then clenched, as he passed. 

Theo approached her slowly and laid a hand gently on her forearm where it was crossed over her chest. “I would never let anything happen to you. Please tell me in the future?” His forest green eyes drilled into her amber ones. “Promise me?”

“I-I promise,” she stuttered. No magic flowed through the vow, but it held a notable seriousness. 

“Alright, back to work, yeah?” Theo’s voice was soft like usual, but his eyes still held a ghost of the concern that had ravaged his face moments ago.

⭑⭑⭑

Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about the bizarre way both Theo and Draco had reacted that afternoon. As she fed Crookshanks, she recounted her day to him. 

Ron thought her chats with Crookshanks were an odd quirk, but he was part-kneazle and she was certain he could understand. Sometimes, Hermione swore he nodded or shook his head. He would tilt his head to the side and give her an expression one could only describe as quizzical, earning him a smirk and an affectionate pat.

Hermione leaned down to place his bowl on the floor and sat in one of her kitchen chairs while he noshed. She moved forward, resting her elbows on the table and dropping her chin into her palms. 

The chair was worn, found as part of a pair at a house sale. They were the most lovely shade of sage green and Hermione was always looking for pieces to brighten her flat. The kitchen looked like one a witch would have: herbs and flowers in glass jars and plants hanging wherever they’d fit, she sighed contently. Her inspiration was gained from Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Practical Magic. Hermione didn’t care that she was a witch in the flesh, she still endlessly indulged in Muggle inventions of the magical and mystical.

Hermione drummed her fingers on her cheeks anxiously, “Crooks, it was so peculiar. When I grabbed Draco, he froze, utterly still under my touch. I’m not certain he breathed. Ugh, and the way he looked at me!” she groaned. Crookshanks paused his meal to cock his head at her. 

“I know! And Theo, ugh, he was so angry on my behalf and concerned. I wish I could’ve explained it better to them. Worried them less. I don’t know, Crooks,” Hermione sighed. Crookshanks was finishing his meal now, so she meandered to the living room and flopped down on the mustard-colored cotton couch in defeat. She would’ve thrown her legs up on the wooden cocktail table, but her most recent purchases from the Muggle bookstore had not yet been organized among her tomes, instead her toes absentmindedly tugged and rubbed the velvety-soft throw rug beneath her.

Crookshanks leaped up beside her and nuzzled her palm until she started petting him, paying special attention to the velvety patch behind his ears, a favorite spot. She took his face in her hands and touched their noses together, grinning conspiratorially. Soon enough, he was curled in a ball in her lap with his eyes fluttering closed. In the silence of her flat, broken by Crooks’ quiet rumbling purrs, she thought for a moment longer. 

“I think I’m falling for Theo,” Hermione whispered into the dimness of her living room. The kitchen light didn’t quite illuminate Crookshanks’ eye as he cracked it open and looked at her knowingly.

_______________________________________________

hope you enjoyed! please leave feedback, questions, gentle criticism etc!

[eye-of-enigmatic-thought]

[Note: Image description is in the alt text of the images due to its length. Let me know if writing them down on the post's description is more preferred!]

Another the magnus archives oc! Though like Babak she may become her own thing, though unlike Babak I'm not sure what then I'd use her for! But I'll think of something!!

More about her under the cut! I was gonna write a full description for her but I'm tired and I'd say not much has changed really! READ IT AGAIN!

Emily is based on stray dogs and extinct British wolves. Whenever she’s around dogs, they slowly begin to mutate into becoming more adaptable hunters. She leads a pack of various stray dogs that have been mutated by her and she treats them like they're her family and protects them. She is a opportunistic hunter and usually hunts other animals near her, but it's not out of question for her to occasionally prey on humans, though usually she finds them too much of a hassle. She mostly lives in more rural or woodland areas, but she occasionally travels into cities with her pack for a variety of reasons, mostly to find 'pretty' things or even visit the few friends she has. Other little facts about her! -Emily has a very awkward and strained way of speaking and she has the habit of always speaking in the third person. She barely ever uses 'I' or 'Me'. Emily is also a name she chose for herself because she thought it sounded pretty. When she does use 'I' or 'Me' though, she may panic..   -Since she was young she's always been a bit 'dog-like' and had habits of growling and barking at others and walking on all fours. She would hang around dogs more than other kids (mostly because other kids used to bully her for her dog traits), and as she's aged (now in her early 20s) her various dog-like traits have become more apparent and is much more quick to turn batshit feral, but she does still retain some humanity.  -One aspect of her humanity that remains is how she likes being 'pretty', and often visits city areas to get various 'pretty' things like dresses and accessories she likes. She also loves some human foods and peanutbutter is a guilty pleasure.  -Even though she is very dog-like and may not know a lot of social customs, Emily does not like being patronised for it. When it comes to hunting and figuring out which routes to take and cornering her prey she is really intelligent. If you think you can distract her with some toy bone she'll still hunt you and just take the toy bone sdjsdkjskjd.  -Surprisingly enough, she's kind of a cuddlebug and is very physically affectionate, if she has taken a liking to you she will hug and cuddle you a lot. 

[dalamusrex]

Shor's Stone

(Content warnings for: abuse mention; descriptions of blood, gore, and corpses)

“‘Hop over to Shor’s Stone,' they said. ‘It will only take a couple hours,’ they said,” Dalamus grumbled to himself atop his horse. The palomino mare below him ambled along the cobblestone path, tired from a short skirmish with a small pack of wolves. The Rift’s woods were full of them, and Opal was not a warhorse. Thankfully, the wolves had been easily dissuaded with a well-aimed horse kick. The rest immediately fled in a panic. Hopefully they would tell the rest of their brethren not to bother with this adventurer.

“I am sorry, girl. I will be sure to get you a treat once we are back home, hm?” He reached forward and petted the side of her neck in an attempt to calm her. Just a bit longer and he would be able to get out of this blasted sun…

During a routine visit to buy alchemy ingredients, Elgrim had asked Dalamus a favor. The miners of Shor’s Stone had fallen ill, and they needed medicine. Elgrim is too old to be traveling, and hardly trusted a soul. But he has known Dalamus long enough to know that the mer could handle himself should trouble arise. Not that trouble will arise, of course, Elgrim assured. The mer was given a box full of elixirs to deliver, which he balanced before him while seated in the saddle.

Shor’s Stone--a mining village just North of Riften, between the Velothi Mountains and the mountains which contain Redbelly Mine. The mine from which the village makes its income. Unfortunately, mining is a dangerous job in many ways. If one did not get crushed by collapsing tunnels, they risked being choked by fumes of unearthed gas, or accidentally set aflame by torches lit in gas-heavy chambers. The constant chipping of stone and ore fills the lungs with dust, often causing breathing issues. Such is the issue this time, as well. Without the miners, their income has slowed to a crawl.

It will only take a few hours, Elgrim said. Just drop off the medicine and come back. Simple as that!

But when was anything as simple as that…

Another half hour passed and Dalamus finally saw the peaks of houses appear before him. Filnjar, the blacksmith and unofficial leader of the community, stood at his forge staring distantly into the embers. It was not until he apparently heard Opal’s hoofbeats that the Nord looked up. Filnjar did not smile, but some tension leaked from his shoulders in relief when he noticed the box of medicine.

“I presume you are the delivery man for Elgrim.” Filnjar spoke as Dalamus carefully dismounted his horse, attempting to keep the box level as he did so. Once on his feet and the box secure, he could face Filnjar.

As much as Dalamus hated being thought of as a ‘delivery man,’ he could hardly argue. He handed the wooden medicine box to the Nord. “For today, I am. Here are the elixirs. Give each miner one elixir to drink over the course of a week. Hafjorg sends her well wishes.”

Filnjar took the box from the Dunmer’s hands and placed it on his workbench. Grabbing a nearby tool, he pried the box open to inspect its contents. Sure enough, at least eight peach-colored potions sat inside, compartmentalized with thin wooden slats and wrapped in parchment to prevent breakage during transit. Filnjar smiled, shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you for coming all the way out here, lad, even though I suspect it’s not your day job. Before I set you off with your coin, may I ask.. Are you a mercenary? A blade for hire?”

Dalamus’ hands hesitated on Opal’s reins, anticipating a new request if he were to answer affirmatively, and inwardly groaned. He just wanted to get home. The heat of the sun was thinning his patience. And yet… “I can be, for the right price. Why?” He turned his piercing glance back to the blacksmith, and could have sworn the Nord shrunk a little.

“Well…” Filnjar began. “We haven’t seen the guards from the nearby watchtower in quite a while. They’re probably just in a drunken stupor and sleeping it off, but if something has gone wrong, no one here is equipped to deal with it. Since you’re already here, would you mind checking on them? I will give you what money I have left to spare, plus what I owe you for the delivery.”

Dalamus mulled it over for what seemed like an eternity. Even Opal nudged him impatiently, as if asking him to make a decision already. He did not want to do more. He had already done the job he promised. He wanted to go home. But.. if the guards were just being lazy, it would only take a moment. And he had not yet been paid. “...Fine. I will check on the guard tower.”

“Thank you, lad.”

Dalamus scoffed. This was supposed to be a quick delivery job. Deliver the medicine, Elgrim said. Now he was trudging off to a watchtower to investigate. Hopefully, the guards would be completely fine, and he could leave.

But as he approached the tower, he quickly realized that the worst had happened. The smell of old blood and active rot filled his senses and immediately placed him on alert. He approached with caution, hoping that perhaps the guards were not the source. Perhaps they had gone hunting and this was the smell of their kill. Judging from the pit near the entrance which had not seen fire in at least a week, this seemed unlikely. The mer scrubbed his face with frustration.

“Hello?” he called out towards the tower. This was stupid. Why did he have to do this? Anyone else at the town could have called up to the tower just as easily. But the lack of response was concerning…

...No, it was not! Dalamus did not care about these people. He was not invested in their safety. He was delivering the medicine for money. He could assume the guards were dead, and return. There were many ways he could lie.

...But what if townspeople come looking for bodies to bury?

Why did it matter?! It was not his problem! He did not owe anyone this investigation. Except, he had agreed to it. And his payment might get withheld if it was discovered that he lied one way or the other. And he was already here.

...Fine.

“Hilye,” he said, ordering Opal in Dunmeris to stay put while he approached the tower. The smell of rot hit him like a wave once he reached the abandoned fire pit. It had not been lit in many days–no smolders, no fresh ash, no trace of food or utensils nearby.

As he turned towards the tower, he spotted a guard. Or… what used to be one. Leaning against the side of the tower’s entrance was the corpse of a guard, pale and rotting. A sword wound split the man’s chest nearly from shoulder to hip, and various insects clung to the putrefying form.

One guard found… Two to go.

He made his way to the tower’s entrance and onto the stairs. With each step, the stench of decay grew greater, straining even Dalamus’ sensory tolerance. He could not hear any heartbeats, nor sounds of movement, and could only conclude that the worst had happened.

Two Riften guards lay slaughtered on the top floor, one with an arrow through the skull, the other stabbed in the back multiple times with a bladed weapon. Their armor appeared ill-fitting, their corpses filled with putrid gasses causing bloat. Judging by the lack of a struggle, the guards were likely attacked at night. Perhaps the guard meant to keep watch had fallen asleep, himself, allowing their quick demise.

A letter sat on the table next to their last meals, now molding.

Akar,

We’ve word of a band of Legion soldiers advancing on your position. Reinforcements are on their way. Talos guard you.

A black brow rose on the vampire’s face. So they had had a warning, yet still fell? Filnjar had implied that the guards partook in revelry if not frequently then consistently. Perhaps they really had imbibed too much on the night of the attack. Fools.

The sound of rustling in nearby trees froze him. He kept low to the floorboards and crept over to the ledge to peer down. Were the soldiers back? Had a brigand come to loot the bodies? No… It was much worse.

A large troll had followed the scent of the blood and rot--and possibly Dalamus’ yelling--straight to the tower. It grabbed the corpse at the side of the tower, picking it up with the ease of a child lifting a doll. In a gruesome display of strength, the troll ripped a limb off the body with a sickening crack and squelch. It put the arm in its mouth and peeled the metal armor off with its teeth before spitting the inedible material aside. The wet sounds of chewing were occasionally punctuated by the loud crack of a bone.

“You must be fetching kidding me.” He cursed under his breath in disbelief at his rotten luck. Dalamus dragged a hand down his face again. What now? He could wait and hope the troll leaves once it had its fill. What if the body out front was not enough to satisfy its hunger? It might ascend the stairs to consume the two corpses here. He could drop down the other side of the tower, but would still need to cross the troll’s line of sight to get to Opal and return to town.

The sound of Opal’s nervous whinnies pulled him from his thoughts and into action. The troll had noticed her and was advancing towards her, hoping for a large, fresh meal. Opal, Divines bless her, was dutifully waiting for Dalamus to return despite her terror.

“Miraga!” he yelled from the top of the tower, commanding Opal to flee and find somewhere to hide, giving her permission to escape by whatever means necessary and get to safety. “Miraga!”

The mare turned and ran, and the troll attempted to follow but was stopped by Dalamus landing upon its shoulders after leaping from the tower, and sending them both tumbling. Dalamus immediately rolled to his feet in time to dodge the swipe of a massive clawed hand. The troll roared, sending spittle and loose food flying, enraged that its meal had been interrupted.

Another swipe from the creature aimed to take Dalamus’ head clean off his shoulders, but he ducked and thrust a dagger upwards into the troll’s arm. Its skin was thick and leathery, extremely difficult to cut or pierce. Even his ebony-steel could not find purchase in the troll’s arm. Dalamus leaped backwards to avoid the second hand, but misjudged the length of the creature’s arm and was snagged by sharp claws and sent off-balance.

A backwards roll brought Dalamus to his feet again, adrenaline coursing through him and allowing him to temporarily ignore his wound in favor of strategizing a way to either win or escape. Trolls were generally slow but persistent. There was no guarantee it would not follow him back to town should he turn and run. The miners were in no condition to defend themselves, and he did not want the guilt of a town massacre on his hands. He was not heartless.

One slip up and Dalamus knew he would end up in two pieces on the ground. And, of course, this battle just had to take place in the middle of a beautiful sunny day–his wounds would heal slowly, if at all. Bumps and scrapes were the least of his worries though.

For once, Dalamus wished daggers were not his weapons of choice. Normally he enjoyed getting up close and personal with his enemies in combat, but not when it involved getting within grabbing distance of a troll with rancid corpse breath.

He kept the troll at a distance, circling the small space behind the tower. Dalamus could feel the troll’s eyes sizing him up, possibly mulling over which limb to separate from his body first. Vampire flesh tasted terrible, but trolls were not picky.

The troll lunged, and Dalamus ducked, bringing a dagger straight down into one of the beast’s feet. It roared, but before Dalamus could pull away, he was lifted from the ground by his middle and forced to leave his dagger embedded in the troll’s flesh. The giant hand surrounding him threatened to crush his rib cage. He felt a bone crack in his side, then the troll’s other hand grabbed his left arm and began to pull. A scream tore from his throat as another rib cracked and his left arm dislocated from the socket. Through tears and searing pain, Dalamus reached for his second dagger still in its sheath at his hip, and with as much force as he could muster, he thrust the ebony steel dagger straight into one of the troll’s eyes.

It dropped him immediately, clutching at its face and roaring, stumbling backwards in agony. Dalamus had only fallen a few feet, but he felt as though he had been tossed from the top of the watchtower to crumple to the ground. Everything hurt, but he could not afford to stay still. He was now entirely unarmed, and his left arm mostly useless, not to mention the sharp pain which bloomed in his side with every movement. Though he needed no breath, mild panic brought the habit back, and to his detriment. Every gasp invited stabs of pain.

The troll, now finished with its anguished bellows, pulled the dagger from its eye and tossed it aside far too distantly for Dalamus to ever dream of reaching. If he got caught one more time, he would be killed.

So, Dalamus kept his distance once again, he and the troll circling the small clearing. Even the brutish creature was hesitant to step within fighting distance, the dark blood spilling from its eye a grim reminder that this Dunmer was no simple prey. Drips of crimson began forming a circle as they strafed their small battlefield. Normally, a troll might leave this battle. Wounds severely diminished its ability to hunt. Certainly losing an eye did. But there were three corpses here, and it was not about to let so much food go to waste. It drooled with anticipation and frothed with anger.

After the dripping blood had created three quarters of a full circle on the ground, the troll lunged. Dalamus dove to the left, landing on his shoulder and the pain forcing a cry from him. Red eyes searched for his destination, one of the fallen guards’ corpses. Another hasty leap had the vampire practically landing in the stinking corpse’s lap. Putrid flesh and offal smashed under his weight and stained his clothing with rot.

He could hear the thuds of the troll’s feet stomping in a rush towards him while his back was turned.

In a decisive movement, Dalamus grabbed the fallen Nord’s sword, pivoted, and stood, bringing the blade straight up, right through the troll’s lower jaw and into the skull. Its rage ceased instantly, but momentum brought it forward to collapse on top of Dalamus, and the corpse. Pain exploded everywhere at once as he was pinned to the ground between two stinking masses. He did not know which was worse, the rank troll drool and dark blood now dripping to stain his front, or the faint sensation of slimy rot and wriggling creatures against his back coming from the corpse below him.

After what felt like an eternity, Dalamus managed to wiggle his right arm free to lift the shoulder of the beast off him. Then he continued to wiggle until he could get his knees up and kick the troll body away from him. He crawled to a clear area of ground and laid back down to process what had happened and assess the damage. Two, maybe three ribs broken, left shoulder dislocated, an open wound on one side of his abdomen. Blood stained every inch of his shirt, and he was pretty sure some degloved corpseflesh clung to his back and maggots were crawling into his hair. Somehow, it was the best case scenario after a fight with a troll in the middle of the day. He would not heal if he continued to lay in the sunlight though, and after all this, he deserved his damned payment. Oh, and the villagers would probably like to know what had happened to their guards. But first he had to at least take care of his shoulder.

“Opal?” Dalamus called, hoping she might be within earshot. After a painful moment of waiting, he heard the crunch of leaves under hooves, much to his relief. She had taken refuge in the nearby trees, waiting for the battle to subside.

With more than a few winces and grunts, Dalamus got to his feet and all but hobbled over to his horse, taking her reins and leading her to a tree with a fork at his chest level. He put the tree between himself and the horse, and the reins over the fork in the tree, wrapped around the wrist of his dislocated arm. The goal was to have Opal help him relocate it.

“Bivi. Re’aldis.” He told her to back up, and slowly. Opal obeyed, moving backwards step by step, slowly lifting Dalamus’ arm up and over the fork in the tree. He clenched his jaw to tolerate the pain and braced himself against the trunk. Opal continued until he was pressed up entirely against the tree, but once there was resistance in the reins, she stopped.

“Bivi,” the mer ordered again, too tired to remain patient. Opal was reluctant.

“Bivi!” he shouted, and the horse, startled, pulled backwards as commanded. All his frustration evaporated as pain rushed to fill its place. A shout was forced from his chest, and Opal rushed towards him in concern.

Reins no longer taut to hold him up against the tree, Dalamus fell backwards onto the ground, white hot pain ricocheting up his side and shoulder as he caught himself with his now relocated arm. The reins were relinquished and his horse snuffled at him from above, disheveling his hair in a supposed attempt to soothe or perhaps apologize. Dalamus was too exhausted and in too much pain to care about his hair, or his ripped clothes, or the corpse jelly that clung to him, or the maggots on his shirt, or how he reeked, or how much blood was oozing from his side.

Although he would not die of blood loss, at least not any time soon, the more blood he lost, the sooner he would need to feed in order to replenish it. And with the sun still high in the sky, his wounds would not close. The longer he sat here, the more of a danger he was to the people of Shor’s Stone and Riften when he returned. Perhaps it would be best to feed from an animal between here and there. With a groan that eased into a whine, the mer slowly pushed himself to his knees, and then his feet, placing a hand on Opal to steady himself.

“Juli, Opal,” he rasped out in praise, giving her neck a stroke. His hand left a smear of dark blood on her coat. Whoops.

Dalamus trudged slowly over to the troll’s corpse, a sneer lifting his lip to reveal a threatening fang at no one in particular. Despite thirst scratching at his throat, the dark, stinking blood pooling around the dead creature was anything but appetizing. He was here for something else…

The sword he had used to impale the troll was still seated firmly in its skull, blood seeping out of either end of the wound it had created. With a few shoves of his foot, Dalamus managed to roll the hulking creature onto its back, then braced the foot against its chest in preparation to remove the sword. His muscles protested and burned, broken bones sending electric jolts through him with every strain. Through gritted teeth and a whimper of pain, Dalamus pulled the sword out, the flesh squelching as it released the steel.

He grips the sword hilt in both hands, brings the blade up over his head, and swings the sharp edge down hard into the throat of the troll. Again. And again. And again. Blood and odd slivers of corpseflesh flung into the air and onto Dalamus himself. Swords made for terrible chopping tools, especially once it reached bone–but perhaps he would get an extra reward if the townspeople knew the trouble he had been through for their ‘simple’ errand. With every swing of the weapon, his body screamed at him. Even more so when his arms absorbed the shock each time the blade bit into the ground.

Once the majority of the flesh had been hacked away from the spine, Dalamus changed to a more delicate approach. He used the point of the blade to try and slip between the segments of neck bone, stabbing the rubbery disk until finally it gave. Then, with a final chop, the troll’s head rolled free of its body.

Dalamus grabbed the troll’s head by a fistful of fur—hair?—and lifted it to peer into the dead eyes of his enemy. The jaw fell slack, still oozing foul saliva and stinking blood. If he did not get compensated for this… He sighed in exasperation, triggering a jolt of pain in his side.

Dalamus glanced at his horse and his shoulder throbbed in response. The mere thought of pulling himself up into the saddle caused discomfort in his shoulder, and the slowest of gaits would still jostle his broken ribs as he kept balance and time with the horse's movements. Walking, it is.

The only consolation—if one could call it that—was the sun still hanging in the sky. It meant he still had time before the vampirism began knitting his body back together. If it were to heal back wrong, such as during physical activity with the body in motion, it would have to be re-broken. Such was a fate he wanted to avoid if at all possible.

After gathering his daggers from the area and placing them back in their sheathes, blood and all, they began the trek back to Shor's Stone. Opal walked diligently beside him, allowing him to lean against her flank when pain halted their progress. If paused for too long, she would reach back and snuffle him with her big soft nose and remind him they still had a ways to go. Walking the path uphill was surprisingly laborious, but he knew it meant they were close.

As they crested the small hill, Dalamus could see the miners of Shor's Stone lining up to get their medicine from Filnjar. They looked and sounded terrible, a step away from draugr. Constant coughing had left them completely exhausted, their entire bodies sore, evident in how they shuffled forward. Darkened eyes and unkempt hair spoke to their lack of sleep. One face in the line stood out to him, and he felt the hairs on his neck bristle and his posture stiffen.

A scarred older Dunmer with greasy black hair falling to his shoulders stood halfway down the line of miners. His eyes were tired, barely open, and trained on the ground in front of him. He did not see Dalamus approaching, and this gave the vampire confidence.

Leaving Opal's side, Dalamus strode past Filnjar towards the line of sick miners. The Dunmer in line glanced up at the commotion, locked eyes with Dalamus, and all exhaustion in his body was replaced with terror. Drevain was flung to the ground before he could get a single word out—not that Dalamus would have listened to anything he had to say.

The vampire's previously dislocated arm threatened to fall out of its socket once again, the joint screaming at him, but the pleasure of landing a perfect punch across Drevain's face was too good an opportunity to pass up. The world around him ceased to exist and all decorum dissolved once he saw Drevain on the ground, frightened of him. The sick older mer was weak, thinner, exhausted, and Dalamus drank it in like ambrosia.

The vampire grinned, a flood of victorious adrenaline surging through him and pushing his own pain to the back of his mind. It could be dealt with later. But right now? He had Drevain at his mercy, and his head swam with the possibilities.

He knelt over Drevain like a sabre cat over a felled elk. His fangs caught in the light, and at this angle only his father could see. Dalamus' arm came down again, this time gripping Drevain's throat tight, pinning him against the ground. With every movement, every attempt to escape, Dalamus squeezed tighter. His fingers bit into Drevain's flesh like a blacksmith's vise; he could feel a pulse under his fingertips, struggling against the pressure. The vampire's lip quivered with barely restrained rage, his father's gasps and whimpers music to his ears.

Then, betrayal! He was being pulled off of Drevain! He struggled against the weak hands and arms, but it reminded him of his own pain and exhaustion. It took at least four people, but he was thrust back into Shor's Stone, where his revenge could not take place. Where he was surrounded by witnesses who did not know of Drevain's atrocities. Who only knew him as a miner now being assaulted.

He resisted the urge to spit and hiss and bite, to fight back, to throttle the closest person for daring to come between him and the revenge he had dreamed of for years. Instead, while being restrained and questioned, he explained himself, his words dripping with venom. “That mer, that fetcher, is my father! He is filth. Rot. Liar. Abuser.”

Stunned speechless by the accusations, all the restraining hands left Dalamus, although they remained close just in case intervention was necessary again. Dalamus moved to stand over the fallen Drevain, the rest of the townspeople hovering around him like a cage ready to close.

Dalamus' face twisted into a contemptuous smirk, and his voice lowered to a growl. “Look at you. Feeble old mer. I could kill you right here, right now. It would be so easy.” The townspeople tensed, ready to leap into action, but such was not Dalamus' plan.

“But I will not. Because I am not you. I am better than what you made me. I even brought medicine.” His voice darkened and his red eyes seemed to glow with malice. “I hope you choke on it. I hope it burns. I hope it sits heavy in your stomach and nauseates you, knowing that I saved your life. I hope it eats at you for the rest of time knowing that. You. Owe. Me. That you live because I will it. Because I am better than you.”

Dalamus turned his red eyes to Filnjar, who visibly startled. Only after recovering was he able to hand the injured Dunmer the money he was owed--and he seemed more than eager to get rid of it, all but flinging it into Dalamus' hand. Dalamus weighed the heft of the coin pouch and, satisfied, nodded. “Unfortunately, your watchtower guards were killed by passing Imperials. I killed the troll that had begun feasting on their bodies. It should be safe to reach them for burial, if you wish, but I warn you the sight is.. not pretty. Oh. And, Father~” he called, locking eyes with the other mer for a final time, his sing-song tone not enough to disguise the venom on his tongue.

“If I see you anywhere near my family, I will tear you into so many pieces that every animal in the Rift will get a bite.” It was Drevain's turn to live in fear. He tossed the troll's head towards the downed mer as proof of his prowess in battle, proof of his strength.

Dalamus then pushed himself up into Opal's saddle and they began their trek towards home. Every broken bone in his body screamed in time with hoof beats, but it was important to Dalamus that Drevain see him leave strongly. He had to make an impression, even if it meant searing pain. He had to appear strong. Triumphant.

It was only after he was certain they were out of eyesight that Dalamus curled in on himself in the saddle, gripping at his side, sucking in air through his teeth in a vain attempt to somehow stabilize himself. The adrenaline was wearing off and the pain came rushing back. He felt as though he had been run over by an entire herd of horses. Twice. And the sun was getting low. He needed to get back to Riften quickly. The sooner he could lay in a bed and get everything stabilized, the sooner he could heal correctly.

But it was not just the physical pain that engulfed him. The confrontation with his abuser left him trembling despite his own clear upper hand. He had felt so powerful in the moment, but now he was wracked with fear. Were there going to be consequences to this? What if Drevain did not believe his threats? Had he just endangered his family rather than protecting them? He slumped in the saddle and fought the urge to sob, clenching his teeth to prevent any sounds from escaping. Nothing could prevent the sting in his eyes. He had come so close to killing Drevain. So why did it feel like Drevain had still won?

When he got back to Riften, he would warn his loved ones of Drevain’s presence in Shor’s Stone.

“Ruhn,” he told Opal. The word for “home”. He just wanted to get home. Everything hurt.

Everything hurt.

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Outlet- Benjamin x OC

Benjamin x Ramona

Description: The beach has always been an outlet for Ramona, but after a fight with Amun she finds another, better one.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I decided to put out a few fics before I start on yet another full length fic so enjoy!

If there was one thing Ramona could count on to take her mind off of things, it was the beach. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she just always allowed whatever was bothering her to be swept up by the ever flowing waves of the ocean. She didn’t know if it translated from her old life as she didn’t actually remember much about her life as a human. Either way, it was something she loved to do. It was outlet to her.

Part of her treaty with the wolves of La Push allowed her to surf (something else that she absolutely loved) at night as long as no one was there and she stayed away from the wolves in general. She agreed readily because it meant she had easy access to a beach. She didn’t prefer to wear a wetsuit as she never felt a real temperature difference, so she instead chose to wear a secure bathing suit that wouldn’t come undone when she got wiped out by the roaring waves. That, mixed with the fact that her skin would sparkle in the sun in a way that she couldn’t cover up (even if most of Forks’ residents were rather oblivious), is why she chose to go night surfing. 

And that’s exactly what she was doing tonight. Things had been tense for the Cullens after Alice received a vision of the Volturi and Irina coming to kill the Cullens. Apparently Irina had seen Renesmee and mistook her for an immortal child, something that her old coven member Sasha had been killed for. Alice instructed the others to gather as many witnesses as possible to testify that Renesmee was not an immortal child. Then, the next morning she and Jasper were gone to gather evidence. 

So they went about summoning witnesses. And they actually managed to find quite a few who would witness for them. One of them was an Egyptian coven, Amun, Kebi, Tia, and Benjamin. It was obvious to anyone that Amun did not want to be there - the fact that he had accused Carlisle of trying to “steal” members of his coven several times over the duration of their stay thus far only solidified that. 

But then something happened that no one had expected. Benjamin and Ramona were mates. Amun was even less pleased to learn that as he was worried that Carlisle would use that to his advantage to take Benjamin away from him. Ramona, despite not liking how he was talking to Carlisle, did her best to remain patient. She had been told by Carlisle about how prior to turning Benjamin, he had turned Demetri, who eventually was stolen away by the Volturi. While she didn’t believe that justified the way he talked to Carlisle or the fact that he referred to Benjamin similar to that of an object, she kept her mouth shut. 

Unfortunately, it had all come to a head that very night when Amun finally blew up on the Cullens. His rants were normal by this point, so everyone was sort of taking his words with a grain of salt. But this time he said something that upset Ramona. 

“You are trying to take Benjamin away from me and you are using this scarlet woman to tempt him away from me!” He exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger directly at her. 

Ramona was incensed by the accusation. Not only had he spoken and behaved rudely to her dear friend, but he had finally turned his anger towards her and insulted her beyond belief. She was normally a patient person, but Amun had finally pushed her buttons to the point of self destruction. She shot up from her seat, ready to lay into him with all the pent up rage she’d felt during his stay, but was held back by Emmett. 

“Ramona,” Carlisle called in a warning tone. 

The girl’s glare didn’t waver from Amun, who was merely staring at her with mixed emotions on his face. They had a small glare-filled stare down for a few tense seconds before the girl ultimately decided that he wasn’t worth the wrath she would feel from his coven if she killed him where he stood - despite how much she wanted to. 

Without another word she broke away from Emmett and stormed out of the house, pushing past Amun in the process as she made a beeline for her jeep. The Cullens (save for Bella and Renesmee) had learned long ago not to question her as they always knew where she was going. So, when she left without saying anything none of them questioned her. 

She could hear her tiles squeal in protest as she peeled out of the driveway, heading for La Push. Normally she didn’t drive as it was just quicker to run, but she hadn’t been thinking and it was too late to turn back now. She was surprised she hadn’t gotten pulled over at all with how fast she was going, but she supposed the fates knew that she wasn’t in a good mood. 

Upon pulling up to the beach she quickly hopped out, untying her board from the top of her car. The beach was thankfully deserted, though it made sense considering it was nearing midnight and probably too cold for a human to withstand the water without getting sick. 

All the better for Ramona. She wasted no time in grabbing her base wax and taking a seat in the sand, beginning to run the bar over and over her longboard. 

Even doing that was enough to calm her (even if only a little). Listening to the waves crash against each other and the land had always been a soothing sound for her. Depending on how long it took her to wax her board she may already have calmed down from the serenity of the environment alone. Unfortunately her tranquility was cut short when she became aware of another vampire’s presence behind her. 

At first she assumed it was one of the Cullens, but then the distinct and intoxicating mix of musk, frankincense and cinnamon entered her nose and subsequently washed over her like a warm hug or blanket. She knew who was behind her, but she was more surprised that he was here than anything. Benjamin had sort of frozen in shock when Amun made his accusation against Carlisle and Ramona, not doing much other than staring at his creator with his mouth agape as he couldn’t even think of something to say. 

She hadn’t even realized he followed her here. But, to be fair, she didn’t exactly pay attention to her surroundings on the drive there. Either way she knew he was there, and he knew that she knew he was there. Yet neither of them spoke as Benjamin made his way over to her, taking a seat beside her. For a moment Ramona had a fleeting thought about how it would take forever to get the sand out of his nice black clothes, but she kept her eyes down. She set her board and wax to the side however, silently telling him that he had her attention if he wished to talk. And he did after a few minutes of staring at the water in front of them. 

“Alistair has fled from us,” he informed her softly. “Said he cared too much for Carlisle to switch allegiances for self preservation so he fled instead.” Ramona shouldn’t have been surprised, but she still found herself sighing in disappointment. She thought he was making progress with gaining a glimmer of hope for their cause after seeing Bella training her vampiric powers, but apparently she was wrong. 

“I can’t exactly blame him,” she muttered, almost too quiet to hear if she hadn’t been talking to another vampire. Benjamin hesitated before continuing. 

“He wishes for us to leave too.” Ramona took note that Benjamin avoided saying Amun’s name in case she got upset again, which she appreciated. 

“I wouldn’t blame any of you either,” she responded simply, her eyes refusing to leave her lap. “It’s no small favor that we are asking of you. Maybe Alistair is doing the smart thing, and Amun knows and understands that.” Truth be told, she didn’t want them to leave - she didn’t want him to leave. 

“What the rest of my coven decides to do is up to them, but I am not leaving,” he said after a moment of thoughtful silence. That was enough to get Ramona to finally look at him. He was already looking at her, a small smile on his face. 

“You…You’re not?” She asked confusedly. 

“No,” Benjamin shook his head. “I know that Renesmee is not an immortal child, and I wish to help the people that my mate cares about. Not to mention that I know that you are in the right, and I want to do anything I can to allow that sweet child a nice life.” Ramona just stared at him after he finished speaking then hummed in response. 

“You seem surprised,” he noted, almost amusedly.

“I just did not think you would be so willing to part from Amun or the rest of your coven,” she shrugged. “You are his greatest prize.”

“But that is the thing, I am no prize because it is dehumanizing. Granted, we are not human in the first place, but it's still not a good feeling to know that he keeps me around so I may be useful to him as a weapon. You, however, see me for who and what I am. To you, I am not limited to just my powers in the same way that I do not limit you to yours. I know that Amun cares for me like a son in the same way that I view him as a father, but that does not mean he gets to talk to you in such a disrespectful way, and I do not appreciate him treating you poorly. We are mates, bonded for eternity.”

Ramona couldn’t deny that his words brought a fuzzy feeling to her heart. She became overwhelmed with emotions, and without realizing it at first she leaned over and pulled him into a hug. Though initially surprised by the act, Benjamin was quick to return it wholeheartedly as the girl’s nose pressed against the crook of his neck. 

“Thank you, Benjamin,” she whispered, knowing he could hear her either way. She couldn’t tell exactly what she was thanking him for, perhaps for staying in their hour of need, or perhaps defending her against his creator. Both were selfless acts done out of love for her and her family, so she supposed it didn’t ultimately matter. 

A small smile formed on her lips as her mate began running his fingers through her hair, and she found herself settling into his arms. He leaned back a bit so they were more comfortable, and they just sat there in silence for a while. As she looked out at the ocean in front of her, Ramona found herself relaxing in a way she never had before. Even the beach or surfing couldn’t quite compare to what she felt at that moment. Surprisingly, she didn’t mind it. In fact she was happy that she found a much easier (and convenient) solution. She’d found another outlet. After a while (a.k.a. Almost five hours) they finally decided it was time to head home before the others grew worried - especially Amun. Speaking of which, Ramona wasn’t surprised to see that he, Kebi and Tia were still there. She was surprised when Amun begrudgingly informed her that they would be staying to testify against the Volturi. It seemed that he and Carlisle had also made up so things were okay once again.

[localvoidcat]

8 for fmr for the ask game!!!

8. what inspired your world building, if anything?

old werewolf movies + the general wolfman depiction of werewolves! at the time of creating it i'd been seeing a lot of werewolf content that was people turning into actual wolves (nothing wrong with that, but i was getting tired of it) and wanted to create something that had the american werewolf in london style monsters. really lean into the scarier aspect of things. full moon rising in itself is a name very similar to old werewolf movies (apparently there's a movie by the name, but i haven't seen it and can't find any descriptions of it online)

[percontaion-points]

Fearless (HMA 4) chapters 25 & 26

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 25

“I’m all for mixing bloodlines, but you’ll find the other pack leaders aren’t as civilized. Trust me, the safest place for you is in my collection.”

A man whose goal is to mix all of the shifters and refers to these women as “his collection” is in fact the opposite of “civilised” and “safe”. 

I didn’t try to hide my smile; the helicopter was bumping and whining as it clawed through the sky and we were clearly in the hands of the wild night now.

It’s all well and good until that thing fucking crashes because the pilot lost control somehow. 

“Vail, it’s Trey. There’s too many…” He pointed to the sky, where Theo circled in his half-shift, his pale face staring down into the trees. “Sweet Pea, I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Full offence, but I don’t think too many people are going to shed a single tear over that prick’s death. 

But before Jasper could answer him, his eyes softened to a golden glow, and with a heart-wrenching snap, the Devil of the Horn was gone.

Chapter 25 summary: Things go from bad to worse when two of Chrysler’s men start to fight… inside the goddamned helicopter. And then straight from a Hitchcock movie, a bunch of were-birds descend and also begin to attack. This reminds Vail of the message her father keeps sending her way: look to the sky. He then appears, being carried by one of the birds, and lands on the copter. This is enough for Vail to fight her way free from Chrysler’s grasp, and she jumps from the helicopter (which is now fairly close to the ground, because it’s being attacked so much). 

Michael tells her that the only thing Jasper would want would be for her to be safe. But her cat is having none of this, and quickly jumps in and kills several of the wolves who are intent on attacking Jasper. The others hurry up to join her side.

After a moment, Michael tells her that Trey is dying, and he’s not going to make it. Despite how Vail feels, her cat apparently has a different opinion, and rushes to his side. She tells him to keep fighting, but it’s obviously too late. Trey tells Jasper to protect Vail. Then Trey dies.

Chapter 26

Turning her away was almost as bad as remembering the look on my brothers’ faces when I told them about our mom. If they were human, they would have been too young to know what it meant, but the most basic fact in the shifter world was that everything that’s born must die. 

I think the stupidest part about Gwen’s actions is that she did have those young children to think about. And she INTENTIONALLY dragged them into this shitstorm. And even after Pearl stole them away, Gwen continued to stay there… Which obviously resulted in her death. 

Maybe the boys would be better off without her as their mother. But holy cow, she was still their MOTHER. 

“Look after my little girl, Jasper. She’s strong, but she’s seen more sorrow than she deserves.”

Chapter 26 summary: Jasper deals with the aftermath of that war. Mostly, he can feel the pain that Vail is in. Regardless of her shit-ass relationship with Trey, the two of them were still mated. And he knows that some wounds can’t be healed with a band-aid. She basically mopes around in their shared room in the caves for three days. 

Ada keeps showing up to try and talk to Vail, but Vail refuses anybody and anything. So Jasper has to keep sending her away. 

Jasper is also dealing with the fact that his baby brothers are now orphans. But not a whole lot of time is spent on that for now. 

Eventually, Michael shows up, and is basically like “You need to get her away from the caves. Not to the places where she has bad memories, TF is wrong with you? Here’s my actual address, so you should take her there.” He’s also going to go speak with a werewolf council in London about finally reuniting all of the families once again. 

Chrysler is still out there, but won’t be for long if Michael has anything to say about it. 

So is Jonathan, but his enforcer, Cyril, is chasing after him. So again, it’s only a matter of time. Iris Marrow broke the bond between her and her husband. And while he somehow survived it, she didn’t. 

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Heyo I love your blog.

I was wondering if you could recommend your fave AU fics. You always know the best ones. Any Stiles Ships if possible, bonus points if it's Sterek/Steter/Stargent or Stetopher.

Thanks x

Yeah! I worked really hard re-reading my fav fics just for you. Enjoy.

Sideways and Slantways and Longways and Backways by hologramophone 

(1/1 I 7,799 I Teen I Sterek)

“I called you a slave-driver!” Stiles cried hysterically. “I called you an ogre! I stole all the blue paperclips!” Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s company property!” he shouted, waving his arms madly in distress. Derek ran a hand over his face. “It’s not theft if the vice president of the company gives you permission.”   (Otherwise known as the Elevator AU)

cool story, bro by drunktuesdays

(1/1 I 13,087 I Explicit I Sterek)

“FUUUUUUCK, is it a sweet valley high situation where Stiles is very aware that his twin is way more attractive and confident than he is, EVEN THOUGH THEY'RE IDENTICAL, and he always ends up with the hotter significant others and more friends and Stiles guesses that's why he's attracted to the pack at first, because it's something that's just his, not his twin's too. But of course, Stiles's twin gets bit and now he's part of Derek's pack, and Derek doesn't snap at him like he snaps at Stiles, never slams him into things, fucking FIGURES, STILES'S TWIN GETS EVERYTHIIIIIIIING.”

Darling It Is No Joke by thehoyden

(1/1 I 13,250 I Explicit I Sterek)

The first thing Stiles thinks when he opens the door is that it’s not his birthday, but someone has sent him some kind of cop stripper.

Bones Straining Under the Weight by weathervaanes

(1/1 I 15,645 I Explicit I Sterek)

One of Stiles' favorite things about life is Derek Hale's food blog. He never expects to meet the man in person.

~

“Derek,” he says again, and the name feels very strange on his tongue. “You don’t mean Derek Hale.”

His professor’s eyebrows reach up, eyes widening. “You read his blog?”

"Uh. Worship. Would be a better more descriptive word. That is Derek Hale?"

Jimmy chuckles. "Good-looking guy, huh?"

"You mean to tell me the Food Network hasn't snatched him up to dethrone everyone else from daytime TV."

Jimmy smiles a small private smile. "I don't think TV is his medium."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Shy?"

The man laughs heartily at that. "No, I wouldn't say that. He just has particular forms of expression, like eyebrows and chili powder."

Fireman Derek's Crazy Pie [Cheeseburger Baby] by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 17,698 I Teen I Sterek)

“He can't blame me for the fact that I live in a building full of people united in the singular effort to ogle Hot Fireman as often as humanly possible."

Laura laughs, loud and echoing in the empty restaurant.

"Hot firemen can make a girl do crazy things," she agrees, nodding towards her brother's name on the menu. "Derek won't let me date anyone from his company, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the eye candy."

"Send them my way," Stiles suggests, finally loading up a forkful of pie. "Apparently I'm incompetent enough that I need to be babysat at all times, because it would be cheaper than dispatching a truck every time I try to use a kitchen appliance."

Binomial Coefficients by DevilDoll

(1/1 I 20,783 I Teen I Sterek)

In which brainy freshman Stiles Stilinski wants star quarterback Derek Hale to join the math team, AKA math nerds in love.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 



“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 



Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 



DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Cornerstone by Vendelin

(6/6 I 83,738 I Explicit I Sterek)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Gravity's Got Nothing on You by zosofi

(11/11 I 83,979 I Explicit I Sterek)

“Three weeks,” Derek says.

“Still don’t want to,” Stiles says.

“I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so…

“How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“

“My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”

“A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

[foundationsofdickay]

MCR Detroit 2022

(Also known as "No, I was not there, but I already make these recaps for my friends so why not post them here too". Warning that these are just the parts that I found most interesting, not necessarily a full summary of the shows)

Setlist:

[Image Description: the setlist for the MCR Detroit show over an image of a broken angel statue, titled Detroit Setlist. There is a drawing book with The MCR Archive written on it in the corner, next to the hashtags #MCRchive and#MCRTour. The setlist reads Foundations, Not Okay, Give Em Hell, Bury Me In Black, Summertime, Our Lady of Sorrows, House of Wolves, Boy Division, Destroya, Black Parade, Teenagers, Mama, Nanana, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, The World is Ugly, Famous Last Words, and Sleep. There is then a line followed by the songs from the encore: Vampires Will Never Hurt You and Helena.]

• Gerard dressed like an old timey nurse, said something like “I’m gonna keep this hat on as long as I can”

• Drum said “sick”

• Frank: the usual, wearing his merch. go check out his ass on Instagram tho that’s the most important Frank news of the day

• ESPECIALLY since one of his new ass tattoos is an mcr tattoo (swarm w bug)

• Worm also got a swarm tattoo

• Mikey: some shirt with a fairly deep v neck???

• Ray: tshirt and jeans

• Gerard repeated “take your meds” instead of moaning during destroya

• No vamp money

• Gerard jokingly made fun of frank for his hat?

• “Lemme check the menu” (the setlist) - Gerard

• “You made it, we made it. So long, and goodnight” (intro to Helena)

• Gerard talked about burping apparently

[novasdarling]

Vampire Lover

Kinktober 2021

Summary: The woods were dangerous at night. Missing local girls had proven that. The woods were unsafe and laying in this creature's bed had only cemented that.

TW: Vampire, noncon, mentions and descriptions of blood, Blood drinking, Female Reader, Unbalanced power dynamic.

Nightfall had finally arrived. Far quicker than you had wanted it to. There was still at least still a 30-minute walk back to your town. That was if you were going the right way. Perhaps you should have listened to the words of the town folks. The warnings to stay away from the woods, to not go in unless accompanied by a guide or your father. But your mother made it clear that you needed to deliver the package to your sister’s. It was a care package full of food and medicine. She had just given birth and unfortunately, her wounds were healing slower than they should have. Not that you minded delivering the package. After all, she had done so much for you growing up. Keeping you safe from the town kids who saw you as an easy target. Not to mentioned she had delivered an adorable chubby little boy. Even her husband was kind to you, one of the few kids who didn’t bother you and attempted to stop the others. You always assumed it was to win brownie points with your sister, but over the years he had proved to be a good guy.

Maybe you should have left earlier, but it was hard to leave your sister who was in pain and also caring for a new baby. She had been alone all day, and you wanted so badly to catch up with her. Choosing to leave when her husband arrived so you wouldn't have to leave her alone. Though he didn’t come home till late from work, due to taking some work in the next town over. Adding to your tardy departure.

Every tree looked the same. Paying more attention to those walks with your mother when you were younger would have come in handy now. Arriving at her house had been no issue, so why was getting home so difficult? It was as if the woods had changed while you were inside. Fear had begun to creep in. It wasn’t just the idea of being in the woods at night. No, it was what lived within them. That was the real threat. Wild animals. Poisonous plants. Snakes. Then there was the thing. Something worse than the other dangers. Of course, there was no absolute proof that whatever the thing was even existed. At least that’s what your parents told you, and you wanted to believe them. But the gossip of the men who had seen a human-like thing lurking in the woods. A tall man, pale, with long dark hair, but something seemed off about him. The sobbing from the families of the missing girls didn’t help quell your worry now. The town believed that it was wolves or bears that caused those missing cases. It would be best if you did too. Quiet the fear rising in you now. Just further your mind from the question of the missing girls and keep a lookout for wolves or bears. Not whatever those men think they saw.

It had probably been over 30-minutes since you had departed your sister's house. You should have been home by now. The sky was dark now, leaving the woods close to pitch black. The stars were your only light source, you cursed yourself for not taking the lantern your sister offered. You were just so sure of yourself, sure you'd be home before it got too dark. Yet, here you were, stumbling through the darkness. Scared and worried about making it home. Even if you were scared, you couldn't help, but admire the star's beauty. A beautiful distraction to ease your mind. And apparently to distract your whole self causing you to trip over some roots that were lifted off the ground enough. Your body came tumbling down to the dirt floor. Cutting your arms and legs on some branches on the way down. A sharp pain rippled through your body. It was your ankle. Trying to get back up, failing when you put pressure on that foot. Causing it to collapse under you again. It hurt, it hurt more than anything you had gone through before. You had never had broken any bones before, but you guessed that everyone eventually breaks a bone and this seemed to be your turn. Getting home had just become harder. Looking around, trying to find something that would support your weight. Hopefully, there was a long and strong enough stick you could use to lean on close by. Crawling and searching around for a stick was when you heard it. Something moved behind you. You froze. What was it? The woods had been so silent besides the occasional rustle of the wind or owls. Yet, now, there was something more there. You were foolish to think someone was there to help you, that someone was making the noise because they were looking for you.

Snap.

There it was again, but now the noise was in front of you. Still out of sight. It was moving around as if it was circling you. It wasn't a person, it couldn't be. A person wouldn't circle you like it was checking you out. A wild animal would, checking out their meal.

Snap.

It was right behind you now. Wiping your head around you were finally faced with something, no someone. Your fear subsided for a moment. Until you looked up, realizing that this wasn’t the saviour you wished for. It was a man, tall, well built, no not well built he was muscular in an odd way. The body of a man you had a gruelling job. Not to mention he was unbelievably pale. You looked closer, trying to get a better sight of the man in the dark. You couldn't make out much of his face, his hair seemed to hide the majority of it. It was a mess, he had a feral look to him.

You froze as he looked you over. Unable to move. Still unsure if he was there to help or do worse. Though your instincts told you he was not going to help. The way he looked at you, looked you over. It was as if he was ready to jump you.

“Now. What is a little thing like you doing out here so late?”

His voice was rough. Like he didn’t use it often or hadn’t at all that day. You gave no answer, instead moved your dress to the side to show your mangled ankle. Along with all the cuts on your legs. He moved closer and began to crouch down, giving you a smirk. Moving away wasn’t an option. Your ankle burned every time you slightly moved it, your back was already basically pressed against a tree.

“Now that explains the smell of blood.”

The fear was back and stronger than before. His words didn't make any sense. The comment on the smell of your blood scared you. His finger brushed against your ankle. Flinching only caused you to scream in pain.

“Shh, shh sweetie. Now, how about I heal this.”

All you could do was nod. You knew something was wrong with him. The words of the men from the village lingered in your head. Repeating themselves about an unnatural looking man. You hoped you were just being foolish as right now, he was your only hope of assistance.

The man helped your ankle. You couldn't see exactly what he had done, or how he was able to do it so fast. It was rather quick and sudden. His hands wrapped around your ankle and the next thing you knew your ankle looked semi-normal when he removed his hands. How was this possible? Your initial thought was right. He wasn’t human. He began to move you, lifting you in his arms. The shock of his actions wore off once he started walking. Would fighting back do anything? Would he even care?

“I-I have t-to get home.” You tried to squirm out of his grasp. His response was to hush you, soothing you in his arms. There was no fight left in you anymore. You were so tired from walking around. All you wanted to do was get home. There was nothing left to do, but hope he lived close to town.

You weren’t so fortunate. It seemed like he lived further in the woods than where you had been originally. Too terrified to say anything, you allowed it. Permitted him to take you to his home. He had to sleep eventually, or even maybe you could leave in the morning before he woke.

Fighting sleep was getting difficult. By the time you had arrived at his house, you were dozing off. It was so late and you had been running around all day. Not to mention the pain of your ankle was still there, though now instead of a broken ankle all that was left was pain and bruises. He had introduced himself on the walk over as Shouta Aizawa, but to just call him Shouta. You had given your name to him, unsure if it was the right thing to do since your mother always warned you about giving your name out, but he had healed you. It was the least you could do.

Shouta’s place was nice, it was a small cabin that was clean inside. He had placed you on his sofa before disappearing to the kitchen. Only to reappear with a glass of water for you. Taking it and finishing it quickly. You were so thirsty. Shouta sat beside you, watching how you drank. His hands found their way to your hair, stroking your head gently. It would have been nice if he didn’t have this inhumanly feeling to him. If he wasn’t a stranger who had made an odd comment to you. But he was a stranger, a stranger who took you to his home and who was touching you. You asked him if he lived close to your town, but unfortunately, he had informed you his cabin was a longs way from there, just as you suspected. Shouta offered to let you stay the night, and like a fool, you had accepted. There was no other choice, you could walk on your ankle, but the pain was still there.

The bed was yours, he insisted that you were a guest and therefore you had a right to the bed. After trying to negotiate a few times you had taken the bed. Shouta even offered you his bathroom to tidy yourself up, offering his shower and a change of clothes. Even stated he could wash your clothes and hang them to dry overnight so they would be ready for the morning. Your mother would be terrified if she saw how torn and bloody your dress was. Maybe you’d be able to fix up some larger holes in the morning before you left if he had any spare needles and thread.

Shouta lead you to the bathroom. Helping you fill the tub then leaving. Luckily he had been warming up water before he left and found you. The bathroom was small, but it had everything you needed. Getting undressed, placing your clothes outside of the bathroom door so they could be taken and washed. The water felt nice, clearing all the dirt and dried blood off of your body. Examing your body, you saw that you had been cut more than you thought. Once you scrubbed your body, you decided to enjoy the warm water. It was relaxing and refreshing to have your mind on something other than the pain. Though you didn’t feel alone in the bathroom, as if Shouta was here with you. It was bothering you, you wanted to blame it on the fact it was a small cabin. But it seemed to be more than that. Deciding to focus on the water more instead of whatever was happening. Cleaning yourself off and getting out to put on the shirt and bottoms Shouta had given you. Trying to fit the articles of clothing the best you could.

When you entered from the bathroom, Shouta had placed a plate of food on a side table, near the couch. He was there sitting, waiting for you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t hungry and the food smelled amazing. It felt great to have something in you again after what felt like hours. Shouta hadn’t taken his eyes off of you, something you desperately tried to ignore. Watching you chew, drink, he just seemed so interested in every movement you had made.

Once finished, you attempted to make your way to bed. Exhaustion had taken over, your body felt weak and drained. More than before. It was like everything had suddenly come at you all at once. Shouta’s hand had stopped you from leaving the couch. His hand yanked you back, only to land on him.

“Why don’t you stay here for a bit.” Shouta’s face was less than an inch from yours.

“I’m tired. I should go.”

It was as if your words were useless, meant nothing to him. Only hummed in response. Instead, he opted to sit you on his lap facing him. Brushing the hair away from your neck. This was wrong. You shouldn't be sitting like this on a strange man. To be in his house alone. It was all wrong. What felt even more inappropriate was how Shouta touched you, so gentle and caring. Moving your hair away from your neck. Leaning in, resting his face against your pulse. But as your tried to squirm out of his grasp, he held on to you tighter. A hand on your waist, while the other one had moved up to hold your head, keeping it still.

“Please, I just want to go to bed.” His humming against your skin didn’t ease the anxiety building.

“You will darling. Just, I think I’m owed a bit of payment for helping you out there.”

His words confused you as you didn't have anything to offer. No money or goods at the moment, but before you could ask, you felt a sharp piercing pain in your neck. Something had dug its way under your flesh. No not something, it was Shouta. He had bitten you. There was a pain that followed, the pain of the bite and something else you couldn't describe. Hands were quickly placed on his chest to push, but there was no strength to force the movement. Soon your arms gave up, falling to your side. Unable to move them again. Everything became sluggish about you, your thoughts, your movements. All you could really sense was Shouta was biting you, causing blood to run down the front on you and him.

It felt like forever when he finally unlatched his mouth from your neck. Shouta was now licking at you. Cleaning the blood off your skin with his tongue. He was moaning at your taste. Grabbing at you as if he wanted more and more, but he knew he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep you alive. So for now, he would just carry you off to bed, clean you up, and have some fun with your tired and weak body.

It was hard to focus on anything, sleep was fighting you even before Shouta had decided to drink from you. Now though, you were basically limp in his arms. Something that he loved and planned to use to his advantage. Placing you on the bed as gently as he could, he made way to begin to undress you. Starting with your pants. Laughing at how you tried to move away from his touch.

“Shh, beautiful. It’s okay I’ll make this good for you too.” Mumbles were all that were offered from your mouth. “That’s a good sweet girl. Just relax.” The pants were soon off, next was the top. “I knew you we were meant to be when I smelled you. So sweet and savoury."

He wasn’t sure if the words were getting to you. He had taken quite a bit of blood from you. More than he had planned, but you were so delicious. The best he had ever had. It was painful to stop, but it would have been worse if he had killed you.

“All those other girls were nothing compared to you.”

Shouta had managed to get your top off. Admiring your skin, the way it was so soft under his touch. You were beautiful. A walking and living piece of art was in his bed. A piece of art that was his now, his to have, his to told and do what he pleases with. You were to be his wife. Well to Shouta, you already were and soon he would confirm that with your body.

Though you were unable to stay conscious 100% of the time after Shouta had fed. It was clear from the bits you heard. Making the connections of where all those missing girls had gone. It was him. He had killed and fed on them. Who knows what else he had done, probably took them to his bed too. The fear of you ending up just like them made your eyes water. The way he had his hands all over your body was worrying. For such a cruel beast, he was being so soft as if he was worried he would hurt you. The way he had undressed your body, how he had made sure you were comfortable on the bed. Even now, how he was placed between your legs, devouring your cunt like he hadn’t just fed on your neck. As if he was starving.

The moans that escaped your lips were low, but Shouta heard them. He heard and noticed everything. His heightened eyesight and hearing had been useful after all, for more than just hunting his prey. Smirking against your thigh, imagining what you’d be like when you’re fully awake. Fully aware of what he’s doing. Truly able to enjoy it all. But this will just have to do for now.

Shouta had wanted to take his time with you, he truly did, but after tasting your sweet cunt for a few minutes he just couldn’t hold off anymore. You were warmed up enough. Plus as selfish as it was, he just couldn’t wait. He needed you now. He was desperate. Getting up he began to undress.

“I’m going to take such good care of you. Better than those humans could. They just left you alone, let you wander the woods alone. Unprotected after what has been happening with those girls.” He crawled back on the bed positioning himself between your thighs. “It was almost like they wanted me to get you. As if the whole town just gave you to me.”

Your eyes widened, trying to look at him. He wouldn't let you get away. You were either going to die at his hands or be held hostage and used by him. Hearing those words felt like a death sentence. Shouta must have seen this.

“Oh, sweetie. It's okay, you’re not like the others. No, you’re so much more special.”

The words did nothing to ease you. Instead, now your attention was turned to the stretch you felt as he entered you. It hurt so much. You hadn't had much experience with men and the way he thrusted was making it even more difficult. His hips were hitting yours rather fast. Giving no time for you to get used to him. Shouta was using this time to enjoy himself.

You wanted to stay awake, but it was getting more and more difficult with every minute he played with your body. With every orgasm, he was determined to pull out of you. Eventually, you couldn’t fight it anymore, sleep had finally arrived. The last thing you heard was Shouta praising you and how well your body was doing.

Whether it was wrong or not to continue after he realized sleep had finally taken you. Self-control was never his strong suit. Plus he had already done enough with restraining himself with your blood. This was something he needed, he was sure you’d forgive him eventually. After all, in a few weeks, he would have you changed into something like him. Once you had calmed down a bit. Then he would have eternity to make it up to you.

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[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

So a while back I did a full three story mock-up of the Cullen House, based on the description in the books, since apparently NO ONE else that I can find has done that.

And because I have entirely too much free time on my hands I have expanded the project to include Bella and Edward's cottage from Breaking Dawn.

The absurdly long rooms stuck onto the back are of course the closets. I decided that Alice must have made some renovations to add closet space for Renaissance, so I just cut Bella and Edward's closet in half to make room.

Let's start in the Master Bedroom

Bella and Edward's room is loosely supposed to be based on the Villa at Isle Esme with white-blue walls (like a brilliant sunny day) a huge White bed (I did the best I could), and French Doors opening into a hidden garden at the back of the house with a small pond. The closet doors are described as "ornately Carved"

The rest of the room was essentially up to my own invention, so I added a cozy looking round seat and side table beside a built in bookcase, because even though the living area is said to have a fully stocked bookshelf, I figured there was no way there wouldn't also be one in the bedroom because nothing is sexier than the classics.

The palm tree in the corner is a Phoenix Palm which I thought might make a cute reference to Bella's old home town. The painting over the seat is a landscape of Prince Edward Island, which Bella names as the place outside of the US she would most like to visit and is a reference to her love of Anne of Green Gables.

Next we'll look at Remuneration's room, which according to Edward was an add-on by Esme and not part of the original building.

First things first, the app did not have a wrought iron crib but it does have wrought iron beds, so I quickly compensated by furnishing the room for a slightly older Resentment. I added a reading corner. I would likely have put Bella's rocking chair here but they didn't even have a fucking classic rocking chair (ugh), so I again just tried to make it as cozy as possible. We also have an alcove with window seats for gazing into the middle distance, and a desk. Art in this room includes "Psyche Entering Cupid's Garden" by John William Waterhouse, "Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose" by John Singer Sargent, which is located over the Bed as a Guardian Angel picture, and "Apple Trees in Bloom" by Claude Monet. There's also a picture of Artemis with her wolves which I could not find a reference for. But you absolutely know that tiny B is gonna have Artemis/Diana imagery all over the fucking place as she gets older.