#werewolf and werewolf hunter!
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quuuueto · 24 days ago
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🔪"Hunter Is Wolf's Catch!"🐺
process below!
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sketches:
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coloring and lil details (I didn't take many photos when painting):
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grendel-menz · 5 months ago
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The fairy dog Hunter Walsh
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babanasaur · 4 months ago
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Monster hunter bone set, stray
Gift art for enemypup! Their big werewoo in the bone set from Monster Hunter world
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werecreature-addicted · 11 months ago
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A werewolf boyfriend giving you a quick kiss while he steals a couple fries off your plate is the same as a dog doing tricks for table scraps you cannot change my mind.
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erabu-san · 24 days ago
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Happy Halloween !
Grand-mother was kidnapped by a silver were-wolf ! For the sake of saving her, Red Riding Hood will become a monster hunter with the help of a mysterious fungus witch... will they be able to find Grand-Mother in time ?
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valnotso3xplicit · 2 months ago
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I think there’s something wrong with my copy of twilight
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plus flat vers
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pov: you killed a robber with your world of darkness books, now you need to hide the body.
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barkyshark · 2 months ago
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The snowdrift butcher
*jinglebells menacingly at u*
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bailiesartblog · 8 months ago
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Dark Paladin Eliska
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bwabys-scenarios · 6 months ago
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Subby Bunny!Kurapika headcanons...?👀
Subby!Bunny Kurapika HCs NSFW
!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!
warning: breeding, pegging, creampies
NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter
‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️
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-he HATES people touching his bunny ears and cotton tail… but when you do it’s the most soothing thing ever. He can fall asleep from you gently petting his ears alone
-always wants to breed, but he’s insatiable during mating season. he’s always hard, whining and rubbing his red cock against your ass until you let him breed you!
-such a baby… gets mad and fussy if you tease him, and cries if he doesn’t get his way when he’s all needy.
-so snuggly… when he’s not out on a mission, he’s curled up with you, getting pouty and grumpy if you try to get up.
-pegging him… he whines and whimpers, his cock leaking as you fuck his cute hole… and he says he just wants to breed you, but he’s begging for you to keep going…
-holding him in your lap and making him bounce on your strap while you stroke his cock… he feels all embarrassed but he looks so damn cute!!!
-tug on his bunny ears while you’re fucking into him from behind and he’ll let out a breathy moan…
-he likes when you keep his cockwarm. he’ll melt, kneading you and purring as he buries his face in your neck. feeling your pussy squeeze around him will make him whimper…
-so needy, for all of your attention and affection. he gets jealous easily, stomping his foot and puffing out his chest, ready to defend his mate
-he seems so cold and uncaring to most, but behind closed doors he’s your sweet, needy bunny!
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hayweerc · 8 months ago
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Werewolf head scratches🫳🐺💙
I imagine Shadow has a high-pitch preteen shriek
#sonicau #sonadow
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grendel-menz · 1 year ago
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werewolves and country mice
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browsethestacks · 9 months ago
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Tigra
Art by Bruce Timm
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nemo-writes · 1 month ago
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⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆
↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader
↣ chapter summary; torn by their obsession, the pack crumbles—now feral shadows of themselves. ghost, spiraling into hunger and rage, unleashes his fury.
★ warnings; obsessive behaviour, unhealthy coping mechanisms, violence (sybil gets hurt!), blood and gore
☆ story masterlist
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The Rose District was a place of shadows—where the dimly lit streets bled into the underworld, where the stench of decay lingered in the air, and whispers of trouble hid behind every corner. Ghost had never liked coming here, but tonight, he had a purpose.
You had been raving about some rare herb for the past few days, an ingredient you couldn’t find anywhere else. Ghost, seemingly indifferent to your ramblings, had made a mental note to find it for you.
He moved with silent efficiency, his half-wraith nature allowing him to blend easily into the darkness. His eyes scanned the corners for any signs of the itinerant vendor he knew to hang around the area. The herb was supposed to be rare—dangerously so—but he couldn’t bring himself to care beyond getting it and making you happy.
That was, until he heard a soft voice, muffled and frightened, cutting through the usual hum of the Rose District. It wasn’t the sound itself that drew him—plenty of people got into trouble here—but there was something in the air, a pull.
He stepped out of the shadows, his eyes narrowing as he saw the scene unfold a few feet away. A young woman—her honey-brown hair gleaming faintly in the dim light—stood cornered by a group of rough-looking men. They smirked, closing in, their intentions clear and unkind.
Ghost could have turned away. He didn’t know her, and getting involved in these kinds of situations wasn’t exactly his style. But something in him shifted, a tug in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. He sighed, his usual apathy mixing with a sense of obligation he couldn’t place, and stepped forward.
“Leave her,” he said, his voice low, barely a whisper, but it carried an unmistakable weight. The men froze, eyes flicking up toward him. They were the type to recognize danger when it appeared, and Ghost—his towering frame half-hidden by his hood—was clearly not a figure to be trifled with.
One of the men sneered but backed off, motioning for the others to follow suit. “Not worth it,” he muttered under his breath, casting one last leer at the girl before disappearing into the shadows.
Ghost watched them retreat, then turned to the girl. She was trembling slightly, her brown eyes wide with fear and gratitude. This was routine for him, helping folk when he had to, stepping in only when necessary. He was about to turn and leave, to forget this ever happened, when she spoke.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft, vulnerable.
Something about it made him pause, just for a moment.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rough, more out of habit than genuine concern.
She shook her head, a slight smile forming on her lips, but before she could respond, her hand brushed his arm.
It was nothing—just a fleeting touch, accidental. But in that instant, something shifted. Ghost pulled back slightly, confused by the sudden wave of emotion crashing over him. It was subtle, at first, just a faint whisper in the back of his mind, but the longer he looked at her, the louder it became.
He tried to shake it off, tried to remember why he had come to the Rose District in the first place—there was something he needed to find, something important.
A strange sensation crawled up his spine, sinking deep into his mind. He felt… tethered, as if something in him latched onto her presence, a root slowly winding its way into his thoughts, making her impossible to ignore. His apathy slipped away, replaced by a growing need to stay close, to keep her safe, to protect.
He found himself stepping closer instead of retreating, his usual detached composure slipping as he studied her. She didn’t seem aware of the effect she was having, of the slow, insidious way she was beginning to unravel everything inside him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little softer than before. The words felt automatic, like he was trying to regain control, but his mind was already clouded.
“I got lost,” she said, her eyes darting nervously toward the dark streets surrounding them. “I didn’t mean to—thank you, again. I’m Leah by the way.”
Ghost’s thoughts were hazy now, unfocused, as he repeated her name over and over again in his mind.
“We should go,” he muttered, gesturing for her to follow him. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t understand why he felt this way, but he couldn’t leave her alone now. Not when the pull was so strong.
By the time they reached the edge of the district, the thought of the herb he was supposed to find for you had completely faded from his mind. All that mattered was Leah—and keeping her near.
. . .
Plates sat piled in the sink, crusted and acrid with the remnants of old meals. Dust had settled over every surface, thick and undisturbed. The smell of neglect filled every corner, the windows streaked with grime, letting in only the barest slivers of weak, muted light.
The pack's home lay in shambles, reflecting the twisted obsession that had taken root in their minds. Every room told the same story—untouched and uncared and ignored like everything else that wasn’t Leah.
John’s instincts as a hunter—the sharpness, the clarity of purpose—had dulled, eroded by worry and exhaustion. He barely left the house, even though he should’ve been out there, doing what he did best, leading them. His guns, his gear, lay untouched, gathering dust in the corner. The man who had always been their steady hand, their anchor in the storm, was unravelling, his focus split between trying to hold the pack together and his concern for the woman who had somehow become the centre of all their lives.
Gaz rarely touched his books now, his once-meticulous study routine had been discarded, left to gather dust along with the shelves sagging under the weight of broken trinkets and forgotten potions. The thought of casting a spell, of focusing on anything outside of Leah, seemed almost impossible now.
Soap, once the energetic heart of their pack, had become consumed by his inner beast. His werewolf side, once held in check by a fierce loyalty and steady self-control, had slipped its leash. The wildness in him had grown more pronounced, his pacing erratic, his growls more frequent. He snapped at the others, a low, rumbling threat in his throat whenever they got too close. His restlessness filled the air, his anxious energy like static that crackled between them all.
And then there was Ghost. Of them all, he was the worst.
He had stopped taking the tonics you prepared especially for him—those essential mixtures that kept his half-wraith nature in check. Without them, the feral part of him had completely taken over, spiralling out of control. His skin had taken on a pale, deathly hue, his eyes burning red with the hunger that gnawed at him from within.
Things eventually did break apart.
The air in the house was thick with tension as the four of them gathered around in the dim light of the living room, a fire crackling in the hearth but offering no warmth.
Leah, despite having her own space above Laswell’s bar, had made herself at home in their place. It seemed so natural at first, like she belonged there among them. For a while, she stood out in the chaos, pristine and pretty amid the disarray.
But then, a sudden illness settled over her.
She had stopped eating days ago, and with every shallow breath she took, each spiralled deeper into their own madness.
The tension was unbearable, each day blending into the next, an endless cycle of sleepless nights and anxious pacing. They had stopped caring for themselves and each other. Fights broke out over nothing, their frustrations boiling over with every glance, every word.
The house that had once been a home was no longer a sanctuary. It was a reflection of the decay in their hearts, a hollow shell of what it had once been, crumbling under the strain of their obsession love.
“She needs more than we can give her,” Gaz said quietly, his voice laced with frustration. He rubbed his temples, as if trying to ward off the pounding headache that had settled on his temple for days. “I’ve tried every spell I know. None of it’s working.”
“Spells?” Johnny scoffed, his pacing agitated. “Spells aren’t what’s gonna fix her. We need to get her out of here, take her to someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“And who, exactly, is that, Soap?” Price shot back, his voice rising. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his face shadowed with exhaustion. “You think there’s someone out there who can handle this? Someone we can trust with Leah?”
Soap growled low in his throat, his enlarged nails flexing at his sides. “Better than sitting here, watching her waste away while you all argue over nothing.”
“We don’t know even what’s wrong with her!” Gaz snapped, losing his temper.
“And sitting here debating it is helping how?” Soap shot back, his eyes flashing in the low light. “We’ve been going around in circles for days. She’s getting worse, and all we do is talk, talk, talk!”
Price stepped forward, his face dark with anger. “We can’t just run off blindly. You think you’ll make it two blocks without something worse happening? The moment we leave this house—”
“This house is a tomb!” Soap snarled, his voice cracking. “She’s dying in there, and you want to sit here, playing it safe? You’re the one losing it, Price. You’ve lost your edge. You’re not thinking straight.”
Price moved so quickly that Johnny barely had time to react. They were face to face in an instant, both of them bristling with raw anger, their tempers flaring. “You want to say that again?” Price growled, the hunter in him itching to lash out.
Gaz stood up abruptly, pushing them apart with a frustrated grunt. “Enough! This isn’t helping anyone, least of all Leah.” He turned to Ghost, who had been eerily silent throughout the argument. “Ghost, you’ve barely said a word. What do you think?”
Ghost, standing in the corner, his form barely visible in the shadows, seemed almost detached from the scene. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, flicked to Gaz, but there was no recognition there, only a raw, feral hunger. He hadn’t taken his tonic in days, and it showed—the half-wraith within him was clawing its way to the surface, gnawing at the last vestiges of control he had left.
“We’re wasting time,” Ghost finally muttered, his voice guttural, barely human. His muscles twitched with unspent energy, his body wound tight as if ready to explode. “She’s dying. And we’re doing nothing.”
“We know that,” Gaz said softly, trying to reach him. “But we can’t just—”
Ghost’s eyes flickered, a dark intensity flashing across his face. “Then stop talking. Do something. Or get out of my way.”
Before anyone could react, Ghost was gone. He moved with inhuman speed, disappearing through the door in a blur of shadow and cold air. They barely had time to process it before the chill of his absence settled into the room.
Price cursed under his breath, turning back to the others. “Damn it, he’s gone feral.”
Soap’s pacing resumed, even more agitated now. “We can’t keep him locked up forever. He was bound to snap.”
“And now what?” Gaz asked, his voice hoarse with worry.
But despite the renewed sense of urgency, the argument had changed nothing. Leah still lay feverish in the other room, her condition worsening by the hour. And with Ghost gone, it felt as if the last thread holding them together had finally snapped.
And outside, in the night, Ghost stalked the streets, driven by an insatiable thirst, slipping deeper into the feral haze that consumed him. The city, bathed in the cool autumn moonlight, was ripe for hunting.
. . .
That cool evening you strolled through the dim streets with Sybil at your side. It was a rare moment of quiet, a stolen breath of normalcy after weeks of carefully orchestrating your life away from the pack.
No contact, no messages, no nothing. You were trying to move on, and of course failing miserably.
You tugged your cloak tighter around your shoulders when something suddenly felt… wrong. An icy chill washed over you, setting your nerves on edge, like a storm creeping in from the horizon.
Then you saw him.
Ghost.
His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were bloodshot, wide with hunger, glowing faintly in the dark like a feral animal.
Then you noticed the blood. Fresh streaks ran down his arms and neck, his clothes stained and torn, his skin smeared with it. Clearly not his own. He had already hurt someone. Maybe worse.
Your heart dropped into your stomach.
“Simon?” you called his name softly.
He didn’t answer. He just stared. Unblinking. And then, with terrifying speed, he lunged.
Panic surged through you, and without thinking, you ran—your only thought was to get back to the shop. Trusting wholly that Sybil was by your side, you sprinted through the streets, your breath coming in frantic bursts, the pounding of his feet behind you growing louder, faster.
You barely made it through the door, slamming it shut and locking it just in time. But there was no time to catch your breath. Ghost was right behind you, slamming into the door with such force that it cracked. Your heart was racing in your chest as the door gave way under the weight of his attack, splintering open.
He barged in, and the destruction began.
He tore through the shop like a whirlwind, knocking over everything in his path in his blind attempt to catch you. Shelves collapsed under his weight, glass bottles shattered, herbs spilled across the floor, the once-familiar scents mixing with the pungent stench of blood and sweat.
“Stop!” you screamed, but it was useless. He couldn’t hear you. Couldn’t stop.
He pounced at you again, and Sybil, ever fearless and faithful, intercepted him. She sank her teeth into his leg, snarling fiercely, and for a moment, it slowed him down. He roared in pain, staggering, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in fury. But with one hard swipe of his hand, he sent her flying across the room. She hit the wall with a pained whine, her body crumpling to the floor.
“Sybil!” you wailed, heart splintering at the sight of her.
He stumbled on his injured leg, collapsing like a rag doll. But he wasn’t done.
Before you could react, his hand shot out and latched onto your ankle, dragging you down with terrifying strength. You hit the floor hard, pain shooting up your leg as he pulled you toward him, his grip crushing, his nails digging into your skin, drawing blood.
You cried in pain, instinctively twisting your body and kicking him—hard and square in the jaw. The impact was brutal, and his head snapped back with a sickening crack. For a moment, his grip slackened, and you scrambled to your feet, gasping for breath.
But it still wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
You limped towards the cauldron over the hearth, the brew still bubbling inside, before latching fiercely into it and toppling it towards him. The boiling liquid splashed all across the floor and against Ghost. His howl of pain ripped through the air as steam rose as his skin sizzled and burned, blistering down to the bone where the unfinished position had hit him.
You were barely holding on as you manoeuvre yourself around him and the torrid concoction, your body trembling as you picked up Sybil and darted towards the stair, desperate to get away. Every step was agony, your ankle throbbing from where he’d grabbed you.
You managed to slam the door to your apartment shut, locking it with shaking hands, but it felt so fragile. Too fragile. The sounds of Ghost’s growls echoed below, followed by the scraping of claws on wood.
He was coming.
You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking uncontrollably as you dialled Laswell’s number. The line rang and rang, but there was no answer. Your heart sank, panic rising again. You tried over and over, but no response came.
The door shuddered as he reached it, his nails scratching and clawing at the wood, a relentless assault that made your heart pound painfully in your chest. You clutched Sybil tightly in your arms, her body trembling against yours. She was hurt, but alive. You pressed your face into her fur, tears streaming down your cheeks as the scratching continued, a reminder that he wasn’t going to stop. Not until he had you.
The weight of it all—Ghost’s betrayal, the destruction of your shop, Sybil—threatened to suffocate you.
All you could do was wait. Wait for the sun to rise, for the light to finally push back the nightmare.
But deep down, you feared that by then, it might be too late.
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madonnamadeofasphalt · 1 year ago
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Vampires are horny like queer fuckboys on Grindr. Werewolves are horny like anarchists in a squat. Changelings are horny like starving artists in a drug-drenched commune. Mages are horny like overworked university students. Hunters are horny like soldiers crowded in a trench. Demons are horny like repressed feudal courtiers. The Hungry Dead are horny like creepy cult members. Wraiths are horny like a depressed motherfucker who just wants to feel anything again. Mummies are utterly and completely devoid of horny, as unhorny as a job application, they are antihorny. This is why nobody ever plays Mummy: The Resurrection.
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gewska · 7 months ago
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my werewolf boys, Dog and Hunter for Moon Vataha artbook
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