#werewolf howls at dusk

[callsignbaphomet]

Lies of P is making me super home sick for Bloodborne so in between I'm replaying Bloodborne but starting a new game on the PS5.

[eupheme]

— you’ve got me wanting you

[part iii of sugar, sugar] | [part ii] [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 7.4k

tags: jealous/posessive!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, wingman!wade, flirting, feelings, (another short) miscommunication, immature humor, light angst, use of alcohol, threat of violence, use of alcohol and smoking, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, PiV, creampie

As the days pass, you think your time spent with Logan is pretty much perfect. Well... almost.

(Or - a dash of insecurity, some badgood advice from Wade, a near-fight at a bar, and the confession of overdue feelings.)

Those two nights spent with Logan turn into more.

The days are bleeding together, blurring. You fit well with him, you think. Together in Wade's apartment - spanning that space between their chatter and silence. Softening edges, though you think he's softened, too.

A stray cat coming around. 

Bristling, with narrowed, untrusting eyes. Slowly learning that he can lean into your touch. 

Your days since have been spent humming as you work. It had been an anchor once, this routine of yours. Getting up early used to give you something to get up for. Enjoying the whirlwind of prepping, measuring, making, decorating. 

Now - you're grateful for how quickly the day passes because it means you can't overanalyze. Because it means by the time you catch your breath at the end of the day, you're already heading home to him. 

Takeout was brought over to their apartment. A crappy movie with a hand curled around you, sending your heartbeat racing. The night ending at yours, hours between dusk and dawn spent learning every inch of each other. 

You think it's pretty much perfect.

Well... almost.

“Do you think Logan likes me?”

It slips out of you. Something that’s been worrying at you, a splinter trapped just beneath your skin. You regret asking almost immediately - the sun glinting off the silver needle as you push it through the lycra suit. 

“You mean the guy that’s been fucking your brains out for the past couple weeks?”

“Wade.”

“Oh, sorry.” He lines his knife up, poking a hole in the top of his styrofoam container - coaxing the waitress from lunch to give him a ‘take-home-margarita’. A cheerful “baby knife!” as he sheathes it again,” I mean the guy that’s been having totally-chaste-and-appropriate adult sleepovers with you?”

You understand what he’s getting at. Stalling, holding up his suit - another gash sewn shut with black thread, “You sure this is okay?” 

“Mhmm,” He hums, “Gives me that bride-of-frankenstein vibe I’ve always wanted. Besides, anything is better than before.”

“You insisted, you helpless little man-baby.” Al adds, from her lounge seat, “Learn to dodge.”

Wade splutters - your lips twitching, as you work.

“See what I live with?” He gripes, “Maybe the two of you outta trade. It’d be cramped, but I bet the three of us could sardine it.”

“You wouldn’t last a week without Althea,” You snort. A beat, before you gather the courage to circle back to the topic at hand, “And besides, that’s just it. I’m not sure he wants to sleep with me." 

The summer breeze feels better up here, on the roof. The whip of the wind cooling you, as you work your way across the once-again battered suit - propped up against the brick parapet. 

“Okay, time out. Missing link here.” Wade gives you a sideways look, before his head pivots, "You cannot hit me with this fake virginal act when I literally heard you two fuck an hour after you met."

A beat, "And like, pretty much every day since then. I think I even heard a howl last night-"

Your eyes roll, "Wade. He’s not a werewolf, he did not howl-"

"Well, not anymore.” Wade smirks, “And funny that you assume I meant the Moan Wolf, but I could have meant you-"

You groan, head cradled in your hands, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, we'll keep it down. It's just-"

It’s just you’ve been here before - this liminal space between an excellent physical connection, and more. You've done the hookup thing - casual, friends-with-benefits, lonely strangers. Thought you had learned how to keep your emotions in check, especially with those past experiences.

But you’ve never met someone like Logan before. 

He makes you feel bare. Soft-hearted and stripped down - wearing your feelings on your sleeve. Opening yourself up - only for your fingers to brush up against a brick wall, in return. 

Wade must catch your tone because he sets down the styrofoam container - the pink umbrella tucked against his ear. 

"Alright Sugarbuns, tell Papa Bear what's bothering you." 

You grimace at the names, another flicker of regret lingering in the corners of your mind. But you find yourself talking. Letting those worries flow from you in a rush.  

But Wade would know, wouldn't he? It's his friend, after all. 

"He leaves after."

His eyebrows raise, and you continue, "I mean, he'll stay for a bit but he always winds up on the couch by morning.  I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and he’s out there. I mean, I thought he'd want a bed, after where he's been staying, no offense-"

Thought he’d want to stay with you. 

You nudged at it once. Getting nothing more than a grumbled excuse about not sleeping well, something about nightmares. Something you accepted, only to find him tucked in your bed a few days later - curled in your sheets when you had rushed back to the apartment after leaving your phone. 

Hadn’t wanted to push, even if it confused you. Wouldn’t he want comfort, after a bad dream? You always did. 

"Offense taken, Blind Al and I are excellent bedmates," Wade interrupts, "But please, continue."

His joke eases you a little. Risking a sideways glance, finding him already looking at you.

“I like him, Wade. I just really want this to work out.”

He hums, sympathetically. Knowing all too well the complexities of like and love. How you feel deeper than you’re letting on - he always was perceptive, after all. 

A beat, before your head turns. 

"Do you think it's me?" 

He does laugh then, his shoulder leaning to bump yours, "Sugar, you have a two-hundred-year-old boyfriend who's gone through a massive amount of trauma and has an alcohol problem, and you want to know if it's you?"

"Fuck." The heels of your palms press into your eyes, "Okay, okay-"

"I literally traveled through the void with him, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles-style. The John Candy to my Steve Martin, and even after saving the world he still wanted to kill me."

"Wait," Your head lifts, "Why would you be Steve Martin in that scenario?"

“He’s the main character, as am I.” He barrels past your question, "The point is, if he didn't like you, you'd know. You just need to be-"

"Patient." You finish, "Yeah, I know." 

And you do know. Even since that first meeting, you've known that he's been eaten up inside. Cracks of the man beneath leaking through his gruff exterior, as you had sat together on that couch. 

But Wade called him your boyfriend, but he's not. Not really - no conversation to indicate that's how he saw himself. 

It just left you confused. Vulnerable. Enough that you did dumb shit like this - going to Wade for romantic advice. The man who proposed with a ring pop and thought that a prostate orgasm was a sign of being soulmates. 

"Maybe you’re giving him too much. Withhold a little," Al interrupts, making you jump, "That's what landed me my second husband. Begged for it like a dog, and was married the next month. God rest his soul."

Wade mouths an exaggerated “what the FUCK" at you, before shooting a dark look in her direction - only just then seeing her smirk.

"Oh, you’re joking? She came to us for help and you’re joking-” A sniff, as Wade turns back, "So anyways, don’t do that. Do something normal. Like internalize it, until it makes you snap."

His face screws up, as he adds, “Or, maybe try it? That bricked me up a bit-”

"Or,” Al adds, “Maybe you should just talk to him, Sugar."

Althea always knew how to cut to the chase and give the hard advice you needed to hear. You just wish you weren’t afraid of the answer.

‘You’re both right,” Your head dips against Wade's shoulder, “I owe you. Again.”

Silence lingering, though it’s not uncomfortable. Leaving you to think about what he said.

The suit passed over to him, when you tie the final knot, “Done.”

“Thanks,” A beat passes, as he gives you a sideways look, “Any chance you want to cash in on that favor tonight?”

You know better than to agree without more info - an eyebrow raising as you wait.

“Vanessa is coming over tonight.” Wade gives you a meaningful look, “It would be great to have the apartment to ourselves for a bit.”

The serious tone does not last, as he smirks, “I fully intend to break my months of celibacy the second the opportunity arises.”

“Months?” You hadn’t realized it had been that long. Thought he would have moved on, in some ways. 

“Years, actually,” He adds, casually, “Turns out my obvious romantic hangups plus this-”

A gesture at his face,” Are a total boner-killer. As well as having an elderly roommate, apparently. Especially one who won’t leave.”

You shoot him a sharp look at the self-deprecation, Al’s voice cutting through.

“I told you, I’m hitting the casino for singles night.”

“Okay. I can drop Al off and pick her up,” Your mind is already racing ahead, “And Logan and I can go out to dinner or something.”

The prospect is exciting. Despite the time spent together, you haven’t really gone on too many dates yet. After your long hours and his rotating work schedule, your meetings have mostly been late-night. Quick meals whipped up in your kitchen. A rotating pile of delivery menus. 

“That would be great.” He smiles, “Thanks, Sugar.”

“Of course.” You smile, before adding, “What are you going to make?” 

A frown, when he hesitates.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to wing it.”

“I wasn’t winging it,” He protests, “I was going to hit up ol’ reliable.”

“For a second-first date? You can’t do takeout from Buns and Roses.”

A sigh, as you turn to face him, tugging out your phone, “You should make something nice. I have this recipe bookmarked for engagement roast chicken. I’ll help you-”

He tugs your phone out of your hand, scrolling through the eight-paragraph opener before the start of the recipe. 

“Make this for her, show her you’re serious-,” You start.

Wade finishes, with a smile. 

“-and there’ll be a cock ring on it before midnight.”

You keep catching yourself looking at him.

It’s almost embarrassing how bad you have it. Still not used to seeing Logan like this - away from your small apartment. 

Seeing him at work was different - a very cognizant realization that you were on the clock. The counter between you like a barrier, even when you slip a coffee and pastry across it. A lightning-quick kiss pressed into his cheek. The relentless teasing from your coworkers, after. 

But here - crammed in a booth, his hand slipping just under the hem of your dress, a palm curved against your thigh - it’s something else, entirely. Even in this dark corner, you have to resist letting your hands wander. Eyes flicking to the deep cut of his button-down flannel - dark hair peeking out from the curve of his white tank. The blue and grey pattern pretty against his skin. 

A curl of smoke pours from his lips, a cigar fit between two fingers. 

Logan had been curious to find you in the apartment when he got home. The aroma of the roast chicken wafting through the space, as you talked Wade through the last steps. The slow sweep of his eyes over the pretty sundress you wore, tugged from the back of your closet. 

It hadn’t taken much convincing, when you asked him to get dinner out with you. Even with Althea in tow, safely dropped off for her night out. 

“This is nice.” You smile, and his eyebrow lifts.

A glance around the room.

Dinner spent at a local pizza joint - stories shared, wound between updates about his new job at the local lumber company. About Laura, who you met two weeks ago. So much like Logan that it still catches you off-guard. Shared expressions, shared tempers. 

You think that it must have been hard for both of them, this reunion. That comparison between the Logan in this world, those memories that stay with her. She views him the same - even you can see that. He’s told you it came as a shock, but it’s easy to see how he’s warmed, with time. Finding joy, within the shared grief.

The conversations spill over into a bar you know well. Unsure what to do with yourselves with the order of “staying away”, the sun still setting when you had stepped inside.

“Not sure nice is the word I’d use, sweetheart.”

“Anywhere is nice if I’m with you. I am sorry, though. I know it’s not-” Your hand waves, shyness creeping in as you lean into his shoulder, “Wasn’t sure where else to kill some time. Dopinder and Buck run a tight ship, it’s really not so bad.”

“Mm. Guess this is nice, then.” He corrects, a hint of a dimple as he smiles, “But you let me take you somewhere safer next time, yeah?”

“I’m safe with you.” 

You miss the way he looks at you, as you take a sip of your drink. The brush of his fingers against your skin. His voice going low, goosebumps rising as he murmurs in your ear. 

“How much longer do we have to stay out?”

A question that’s been on your mind as well. 

“Well, Al’s thing is over at ten,” Your teeth worry at your lip, “But, I guess we could sneak back early. It’s just, Wade-”

“What about Wade?” 

It’s unfair, how he crowds you in the booth. Torso twisting to face you. The warmth of his hand - how you’re aware of each and every movement he makes. It takes you a moment to answer.

“Wade is… Wade,” You manage, “But he doesn’t really ask for much. I owe him, you know?”

“You owe him?” He chuckles, “He’s lucky you stuck around after he tried to give you cocaine-”

“Hey,” You smile, “That was Al.”

That had been your second run-in with your neighbors. Only desperation had sent you over to the apartment, needing a cup of powdered sugar for a personal favor. Under-estimating how much you needed, in your rush to finish some cookies for a friend’s baby shower. 

Meeting Al instead. The powdered substance swapped when her roommate had rearranged the apartment as a prank. Only Wade bursting from the bathroom, a towel slung low from his hips, had saved you from disaster. The nickname had formed when you hadn’t written them both off. 

“And besides, Wade was the one who introduced me to you.”

Logan’s expression softens, “That is something, isn’t it?”

He holds your gaze for a long moment. Eyes drifting lazily down to your lips, with a low hum, then further. It sends a heat blooming in your cheeks, an unconscious press of your thighs together.

“I’m, um, gonna let Dopinder know we’re heading out.” You breathe, “He’ll worry if we irish goodbye.”

“You sure?” He husks, with another exhale of smoke - and you can feel the heat rising from your cheeks to your ears. 

“Yes,” It comes out breathy.

“Um, yeah. You finish that, and I’ll be right back.”

Your elbows pressing into the sticky bartop as you wait - watching Dopinder work his way through pouring pints of beer for a crowd of bikers, all in dark leather.

A glance over your shoulder, finding the booth tucked in the corner. The dark head of hair, the expanse of his shoulders - a thick arm slung across the back - as Logan waits for you. 

It makes you smile, and you almost miss the bump of a shoulder against yours.

“Oh!” You squeak, shifting to the side to make room, “I’m so sorry, I-”

The apology dies on your tongue, as you glance up at the man leaning against the wooden post at the end of the bar. Eyes drifting over the black field jacket, up to dark eyes. 

“Been a while, darlin’.” 

You inhale a breath, in surprise. Close to two years ago, if you remember right. Numerous meetings spread out over months, before he slipped out of your fire escape and into the early morning.

No note, no text. Walking out just as suddenly as he had appeared.

It had never been anything serious - he had made that clear - but you can’t pretend that it hadn’t hurt. 

“It has,” You agree, a low twist in your belly, “How have you been? Didn’t think I’d see you outside Hell’s Kitchen.”

Unable to help that flicker of worry, even after everything. It’s always been ingrained in you - thinking of others more than yourself. 

“Should ask you the same,” His eyebrow arches, “This isn’t your kind of place. Taking up mercenary work, beautiful?”

“I’m here with someone.” It comes out clipped, a glance over your shoulder - the nerves eased when you spot his form.   

“Mountain man?” 

A scoff - lip curling over sharp teeth, “Taking you to a place like this… You can do better than that. You can do-”

“You?” It’s your turn for your brow to raise, “We both know how that goes, Frankie. This-”

A pointed finger, gesturing around the room, “Was my idea. Things are different. I’m different.”

There’s the hint of a smirk - dark eyes that drag slowly down. Flicking back up to yours, as his voice pitches low, “I’m sure some things are the same.”

Your head shakes, “Not like that.”

There are lingering shades of purple that fade to yellow across his cheekbone. Never was good with this. All that time spent glancing out your window, waiting for him to show up, battered and bloody like he used to. All he did was keep you out, keep you at arm’s length.

Maybe that’s why you’re afraid of it happening again. A little shake of your head - a reminder that you need to be patient like Wade said. Logan isn’t him.

“I know what I want, and it’s-” The words die, as you look for him, again. Finding only an empty booth - your stomach tying up into knots. 

A palm touches at your hip, a chest pressing snugly against your back. Startling you, as you breathe, “Logan.”

“This asshole bothering you, sweetheart?” It’s growled out, Logan’s eyes fixed on the other man. 

“Nice guard dog.” There’s an amused appraisal - narrowed eyes, tongue trapped against teeth. “He do tricks as well?

The fingers at your hip curl, the smallest tug backward to bring you closer. The words ground out between bared teeth.

“You watch it.”

Christ. This was bad, you need to find your tongue - and quickly. 

You twist, a hand resting on his chest. Only now does Logan’s eyes drop to yours, the tight pull to his features only just ebbing.

“This is Logan,” You smile, your palm pressing over his heart, “He’s, uh, my-”

And for a brief second, your words fail you. The tension is thick enough to cut, acrid in the air. Would labeling this right now send him running? 

The man cuts through before you can finish.

“Frank Castle.” His eyes flick back to yours, as he adds, “Sure you can guess how we know each other.”

The muscles beneath your palm twitch. A light pressure against your hip, urging you away from the bar - the words low in your ear, “Alright. Let’s go.”

A nod, and you’re giving Frank a tight smile - letting Logan guide you towards the back. No more than a step taken before his voice cuts through.

“You still got my number?”

You shoot him an exasperated look, “Frank-”

“Gonna be back in town for a while, baby girl.” His arms cross, as he leans, “Call me when things don’t work out.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before a fist closes around the collar of his jacket. Logan stepping into his space, a forearm shoving Frank hard as he pins him against the post.

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit, bub.”

Fights are common in Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children, but you can’t say you’ve ever experienced one. Fear licks inside you, meeting Dopinder’s equally worried gaze as he starts to rush over.

Frank’s smile is dark, “You don’t want to start this.”

It’s met with a growl. Silver points peeking between the dips of Logan’s knuckles, the fabric straining in his tight grip.

“Fucking try me, you piece of shit.”

There’s a metallic click - the press of something cold against Logan’s groin. 

“Should shoot your dick off for that.” 

“Okay!” You shove between them, then. A hand on Logan’s arm, tugging - the other at his neck, trying to guide him back to you. 

“Hey. It’s okay,” It’s softer now, soothing, “Baby, let’s go.”

His hazel eyes are wild when they find yours. Face twisted in a snarl, deepened with the shadows cast in the dim room. Blinking, as he comes back to himself. A dark look as his arm eases - stepping away.

This time, it’s you that leads him towards the back exit. Something gritted out as you leave that you miss, but sends Logan bristling. An apologetic look thrown at Dopinder, before you’re stepping together through the swinging door, into the wood-paneled hallway. 

Ducking down one of the hallways, next to matching doors leading to bathrooms, and a storage closet. An exit sign, gleaming red at the end. 

The music and voices are muffled. His face silhouetted in the light of a vintage beer sign, his features outlined in gold as his back presses against the wall. A gritted, inhaled breath.

You haven’t seen him like this before. Seen him mad several times. Grouchy and annoyed with Wade. The sharp temper that hid his hurt when he thought you didn’t want him.

None of those moments match him now. You’re not sure what to make of it - the way your skin prickles. Something in your belly flutters, a warmth that drips from behind your ribs, settling low. You never wanted anyone to get hurt. But that look in his eyes, how quick we was to find you - it makes you inhale a breath.

“We-,” You start - your fingers still curled around his bicep, “We should talk about this. You okay, Logan?”

His eyes flick to yours, jaw working. The fury has bled from them, the sharp etches in his face easing, even as his expression stays guarded. 

“Yeah. ‘m fine.” Logan rasps, “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

A beat, before it slips from him, “Was he one of the ones Wade scared away?”

“What?” It takes you a long moment to remember. Your brow pinching, as you shake your head,” Frank? No. It was-”

The pull of his brow is back, his frown deepening with your explanation. 

“It was just casual.” You finish, lamely, “It wasn’t anything. Never was.”

“Didn’t sound that way.” It’s gritted out. 

His head turns, eye contact dropping. A hand, raking through his hair - pushing the dark strands back, “Listen. If you want to go with him, it’s fine.”

You’re left stunned for a moment. His jaw working, hands jamming into his pockets. It’s defensive - it’s familiar. 

“I don’t want to go with him-” You start, but it only makes him sigh. 

“Then what were you gonna say, Sugar?” The look he finally gives you is searching, “I’m your, what-, your neighbor?”

“No!” You cry, “I was going to say you’re my boyfriend, but you’ve never-”

Logan’s pitches low, “I’ve never what?”

Your shoulders droop. Curling around yourself, as you lean into the wall next to him. He leans, matching your height - trying to catch your eyes. 

“I don’t know, Logan.” It’s almost too quiet to hear. He might have, if he had been anyone else. “I told you I liked you the day after meeting you. But you…”

A little shake of your head, “You keep everything so close to your chest. You leave in the night. It’s okay, I just… sometimes I don’t know what to think.”

When his arms cross this time, there’s something in his eyes. A dark glimmer, the tug of his lips.

“You think that I don’t like you, sweetheart?”

A tilt of his head, a sharp edge slipping into his tone, “You think I wasn’t ready to tear that asshole limb from limb for talking to my girl that way?”

Something low in your belly twists, desire thrumming in an echo that radiates through you. A sharp inhale of breath at his words.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You manage, transfixed.

It’s easier, this time, for him to step into you. Hands ghosting along your neck. Tipping your face to his, so you can’t look away. Can’t miss what he tells you.

“If-, if I open up.” It comes out hushed, his words soft and low, “You won’t like what you see, Sugar.” 

You reach for him - fingers curling around his wrists, “I like what I see just fine.”

He huffs. The barest hint of a smile, before his expression goes solemn. 

“This,” The word is punctuated by the way his thumb sweeps against your cheek, “Never goes well for me. Sleeping on the couch puts me between you and anything coming through that door.”

Your pulse races with the remorse in his words. He’s touched on the barest of details of his past. Those small moments shared in the night you met, riddled confessions in the late nights that have followed. 

“And the things I dream about-,” His eyes go hazy - lost in a memory, “They pull me back. I don’t want to hurt you because I can’t tell them from reality.”

The words slip from you automatically, without thought. Guilt floods through you, an ache from wondering - doubting. 

“You won’t hurt me.” 

“I will.” He breathes, “Sweetheart, I will. It’s not an if, it’s a when.”

Your head shakes - a stubborn set of your jaw, “You won’t. Please don’t shut me out, Logan. Please try…”

He huffs - eyes dropping to your mouth, as he leans. Hands slipping to cup your head, angle you to meet the press of his lips. A soft sigh that you swallow, something tender in the way he draws you to him. A hand curling around your back, splaying between your shoulder blades.

“Give me some time, okay?” Logan murmurs, when the kiss breaks, “Let me draw out the first good thing I’ve had in a long time. Just for a little longer.”

“Don’t have to draw it out.” Your body still curves to his, anchoring yourself to him. A hand touching his jaw so this time, his eyes have to stay on you.

“You deserve good things, Logan.” Your mouth brushes his, “Let me give them to you.”

The sound he makes is almost wounded, as if he wants to protest. 

As if he wants to believe you.

Breath ragged, as his hands trace down to grip at your hips. Leaning into you, your touch. What you offer him. A thigh fitting between yours, nudging against your core - and you think surely he must see how your eyes darken.

The rapid flutter of your heart, how it races for him and only him.

“Yeah?” He husks, as if reading your mind, “You ready to get out of here, Sugar?”

“Bathroom.” You breathe.

“Can’t wait that long.”

He’s on you the second the door swings shut. Fingers twisting at the lock, as his head dips - mouth finding yours again.

There’s a desperation to his kiss this time. One that you match with the way your palms trace up his chest. Fingertips at his neck, tugging him to meet you.

A thrill shoots up your spine. You’ve never done anything quite like this before. The space behind your ribs is soft and tender from his confession - already breathless before he deepens the kiss.

Backing you up against the old, chipped vanity that lines the wall. The stalls hanging open - empty as his hands trail down your spine. Fitting beneath the curve of your ass, tugging you up to fit on the counter. 

Finding your jaw again - guiding your lips to his, meeting the sweep of your tongue as he fits between your thighs. 

“Been wanting to get my hands on you all night.” He breathes, against your lips, “So fucking pretty, you know that?”

It sends a pulse through you, down to where you’re already responding to his touch. Your knees close around his hips, urging him closer. 

“Logan, please,” You hum, fingers tugging at his belt buckle. A palm pressing against the front of his jeans, where his cock strains against the denim. 

His moan is ragged, bucking into your touch. Fingers tracing up your waist. Letting your tits fill his palm, as you work him free.

“This okay?” Logan rasps, eyes half-lidded, “Pretty fuckin’ filthy, sweetheart.”

It’s hard to hold back a moan of assent, when his lips presses against your neck. Open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, the scrape of teeth pressing into your jugular.

“Good,” He growls against your skin, “Would’ve bent you over that fucking bar if you’d let me.”

It’s possessive. It makes you shiver - a sweep of his tongue, the suck of lips as he marks you. The sharp sting of his bite fading into sweet bliss. 

“Need you.” Your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking. The lightest of tugs to bring him closer, your thighs inching further apart.

He groans, “You have me.”

The pretty dress you wear is pushed up to your waist. His palm cupping you, feeling your warmth before he’s tugging the fabric of your panties to the side. 

Need rushes through you. A heave of your chest against his as your mouth meets his, greedy. A tilt of your hips, a leg lifting to hitch around his waist. Your hand curling around the edge of the counter, the other guiding the tip of his cock against your slick folds.

“Hold on, honey.” Logan’s fingers slip against your pussy, nudging inside, “Gonna be sore.”

“I can take it,” You insist, pleading, “I can take you, wanna feel it.”

His eyes darken. A little inhale of breath, watching as your lips part as two fingers press deep. Your teeth already sink into your bottom lip, muffling a whine.

Slipping them free, after crooking inside you. Wrapping his hand around his cock, a rough stroke to smear your slick around him. Lining the tip up with your opening, as his hands fit against your waist. His hips pressed snugly against the chipped counter, as he begins to tug you to meet him. 

You can feel every inch, as he moves you. He splits you open, your shoulders arching against the dirty mirror as your nails bite into the laminate. A hand pressed against his chest, as you urge him to go slow. 

A held breath coming in a rush, as he slips deeper inside you with a grunt. Filling that ache you’ve been carrying - your eyes dropping down to watch the slick shine of his cock. Sinking into you with the slow saw of his hips, a clink of his belt with movement. 

“Just for me, yeah?” He rasps, a hand drifting down. Fingers splitting where he fills you, drawing slick tips up to circle your clit.

“Just you.” You nod, breathless. Rocking into his touch, taking more as you adjust to the weight of him inside you. 

His teeth flash white, in the dim room.

“That’s my girl.”

The moan you’ve been holding back slips from you, as you clench down hard around him.

He hums, “You like that?”

“Yes.” You whine. Reaching for him, as he tugs you closer. The slow plunge of his hips turning into a shallow grind.

Fingers circling and pressing, in rhythm with the heady drag of his cock against your walls. Your fingers grasping onto his arms, his shoulders - the kiss is messy when he meets the tilt of your head. 

Leaning into you as his tongue licks into the cup of your mouth, your tits pressed up against his chest. A broad hand slipping from your waist, curving against the swell of your ass and squeezing.

“That’s it,” He rumbles against your mouth - eyes half-lidded. A groan when you nip his lower lip - grinning at the way you gasp, when his hips surge forward, “Atta girl, taking me so well.”

Each swipe against your clit feels like a countdown - hips angling until he finds that spot inside you that makes your teeth click together. That slickens him up even further, until he’s pounding into your wet, tight heat. 

Your fingers pinch down. Breath going short, until you’re panting. Unable to do more than buck into his touch, as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

“Couldn’t even wait to get home,” Logan growls, “Needed this cock so badly, didn’t you?”

“Needed you,” You whine, hips rocking to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut, as the winding pressure builds, “Fuck, needed you. Gonna make me-”

The words break on a bitten-back whimper. Your muscles go stiff, bracing yourself in his arms. 

“Want you to look at me, sweetheart.” He coos, with that steady roll of his hips. Nudging deep inside you each time, as his fingers circle against your clit, “Eyes on me when you come, alright?”

Your answer is a breathless nod, as you listen. 

You don’t think you could look away if you tried. Not with him right in front of you. So close you can see the pull of his brow in concentration, the pretty shade of his eyes. 

Fixed on you, as his lips part. The soft pant and grunt as desire throbs in your veins, your fingers curling into a fist in his flannel.

“Come for me, baby.” He urges, “Wanna feel you, let me fucking feel you come.”

It’s there, swirling inside you. Liquid heat between your thighs, yanking you to an invisible edge. Leaving you to dangle, breath held -

“Oh my god, Logan-“

You’re falling - clenching down hard around him. His name is a chanted prayer as he fucks you through it - a ragged, pleased sound rumbling in this throat as you pulse around his cock. The slap of his hips growing louder, more wet as your release coats his cock. His base and balls sticky, when they press flush to your cunt.

“That’s it,” He growls. Fingers leaving your clit, so he can grip your waist. Drive into you harder, chasing his own impending release.

“Come on, that’s my girl.”

It’s pulled from you, sweet and smooth.

“Yours.”

Logan’s moan is ragged, coming from low in his chest. His pace stutters - the steady thrust turning sloppy. A messy rut of his hips, grinding himself as deep as he can before he finds himself again. 

You forget the dingy bar. The flickering overhead lights. Filth and phone numbers scrawled on the walls. Everything narrows down to him.

How he holds you. Looks at you -  so much said in the way they soften. You don’t know how you ever could have doubted. 

Blinded with uncertainty. Fears from before, that will no longer have a hold on you. 

“Logan,” You sigh, your heel digging into the curve of his ass. Eyes still on his, as your plea slips from you, “Fuck. Don’t pull out.”

You want to feel him. The throb of his cock when he comes deep inside you. How he lingers, slick and dripping from you - now, and later, and tomorrow. 

A gritted-out groan, as the sharp tempo increases. Fingers pinching hard enough to bruise, and you’ll wear him there, too - fading marks against your hips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks - that look back in his eyes. Pupils blown wide, as his lips part with a groan, “Gonna be my good girl, gonna fucking take it?”

“Mhm,” It pitches high, as you nod. 

“Fuck.”

It comes out choked, as he loses himself in you. One, two, three thrusts, and Logan is growling - hands slipping down to tug you flush against him, as he spills inside you with a muffled shout. 

Hips grinding himself deep into you, his words a rough rasp in your ear, “Take it. Just like that.”

He pulses inside you, filling you with each twitch of his cock. Marking you fully, as he tests his teeth against your shoulder. A moan, as your thighs hitch around his hips - nudging him deep, where you’re wet and warm and wrapped around him.

Leaving him to grind every last drop into you, slumping back when his grip finally loosens. Your limbs feel like liquid lead, head tipped back against the glass. A groan muffled against your neck, as your fingers slip beneath the tugged-open flannel.

Nails scratching along his back, the tight muscles beneath easing.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Logan hums when he finally leans back - and you already miss his hands on you, as they shift to brace against the counter.

It feels cruel that he teases you like this. When you swear you can still feel the throb of his cock inside you. When he’s still sheathed to the hilt.

You groan, “Don’t make fun of me, Logan.”

“‘m not sweetheart,” He huffs, eyes going soft.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

There’s something off about your apartment - he can sense it the moment they make it to the landing. 

This is exactly what he had been trying to tell you. The when, not if, something will go wrong. His senses flickering into overdrive, nostrils flaring. 

Catching the light that creeps from under the door, when he knows you clicked it off. His hand automatically leaves yours, reaching out to tuck you safely behind him.

“Logan?” There’s confusion in your voice, a hand at his shoulder.

He shushes you, his words a low growl.

“Someone’s in your apartment. Stay here, sweetheart.”

There’s the soft snick of his claws, your fingers untwisting from his shirt. A breath, and then his hand is closing around the knob - a sharp jerk of his fist as his shoulder slams into the wood.

Teeth bared, as he bursts into your apartment with a snarl. 

All that fury bleeds to relief, and then disappointment.

“How’d you get in here?” Logan grits, his claws sheathing. 

Your voice joins his, from where you had peeked around the doorframe, “You okay, Wade?”

Hazy, morose eyes peer back at him - a hand lifting to wiggle “baby knife” at him. A newly-opened bottle of your cooking sherry in the other - a plate balanced on his chest, filled with a half-eaten chicken breast and vegetables. Legs stretched out on your sofa, Dogpool curled between his ankles. 

“She didn’t show,” Wade mutters, with a miserable smile, “Didn’t want to be alone.”

Logan can’t help the soft flicker in his chest when you go to him. Sinking to your knees by the couch - moving the plate to the coffee table, lifting Dogpool into your arms. She licks your chin as Wade lets loose a long, drawn-out sigh - flipping to face the back of the couch. 

"What was the point of the first two movies?" The words are muffled into the fabric, "Why would Disney do something like this? We were picking out baby names for fuck’s sake-"

“I’m so sorry,” You soothe - a hand on his back, “What can I do to help? Can I get you anything?”

Wade’s head turns to the side, with a long sigh.

“Thor’s phone number.”

“How about I take this,” You tug at the bottle, until it loosens, “And I text Peter? We can have a movie night, okay?”

He turns further, until he’s facing you again, “Even that one you hate?”

"Don’t hate it." You sigh, “It’s just so sad. I don’t know why it’s your favorite.”

“It’s not my fault they made that tree star look so goddamn delicious.”

You’re beckoning Logan over, a gesture to take his place. You hand on his arm, beseeching - but you don’t have to beg this time. The snarling dog inside him calmed - the fury from the bar and from the hallway ebbing at your touch. He can still feel your lips against his, when his eyes close.

The uncomfortable itch of opening up oneself still lingers, but it’s soothed by the way you smile at him in thanks. By the words that he still clings to.  

Logan has to fold himself into the space, knees folding. Mary Puppins tucked in the crook of his elbow - his other hand patting against a curved-in shoulder. 

Sincerity, as he offers, "Tough luck, bub.”

“It’s her loss.” You call, thumbs tapping away a message. 

“Her loss.” Logan echos, “You’re… you’re a good man, Wade. It’ll work out.”

It comes out clumsy. It always does - he never had a silver tongue like the Professor did. His edges as sharp as his claws, never one to waste words if his fist could do the job. 

Wade flips back over. The hint of a smile, “That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Before his eyes are flicking over to where you pace, voice lowering.

“And I gotta ask, did you maul Sugar? What is with that mark on her neck?”

Logan huffs, lips twitching.  

“We’re all set,” You smile, “Your Emotional Support Peter is on his way. He’s bringing Al and some ice cream.”

A glance his way, the question written so plainly in your eyes - the lift of your brow. “That okay?”

It’s not the way he imagined this night going.

Had thought he’d take you to bed when he got back. Take things slower, this time.

Using his touch and the greedy press of his mouth to make sure you understand that he heard every word you told him. That he meant each one he said back - make sure you never made the mistake of thinking he didn’t care for you again.

But when he looks at you - how you’re ready to sweep into the kitchen to make some popcorn, he thinks-

That he might just prefer this. Even as messy as it is. 

He smiles back. 

The couch is crammed with far too many people. Five squeezing into a space meant for three at best. You’ve been half perched on his lap all night, his arm slung over your shoulder - tempted to pull you the rest of the way.

A couple months ago, his skin would have crawled to be this close to others. Would have peeled himself away with a scathing word and a sharper bite.  

But something softened him, during his time in this world. Days, to weeks, to months. 

Couldn’t go back, he knows that now. All the wishing and TVA TemPads couldn’t undo what was done - he’s known that for a while. It would take a long time, but he could try to come to terms with what happened. Try to do better, moving forward.

Starting with himself. A scrap of paper - snatched from a bottom of a flier with a brightly-printed 12-step program, shoved deep into his leather jacket pocket. Relearning how to be patient with others, and even more so with himself. Trying to listen what you and Wade told him.

He’s done walking away from things. You make him believe that whenever, if ever, he manages to open that tightly-sealed lid… you’ll stay.

The thought is one that he'll cling to.

“Alright. Enough bullshit.”  

It’s announced, as the credits roll - breaking him out of his thoughts. A creak of the couch as Wade shifts - crammed between you and Al, his head twisting on her shoulder to peer over his way. 

“‘m being serious now.” He insists, though the words slur together - the bottle stolen back during the movie and drained, “I’m so happy my two besties are falling in love, even if I am a jealous little bitch.”

A gasp, as he remembers - a reaching over to pat Peter’s shoulder, “Not that I’m forgetting about you, sugar bear. You too, Blind Al. I’d be just as happy if you two were dating. It'd be like a less fucked-up Harold and Maude."

A derisive snort from Al. 

Peter smiles, “Just happy to be here, pal.”

“Anyways, life sucks balls. Big, fat, sloppy, wet, balls, but goddamn if seeing you two happy doesn’t fill me with hope.”

Logan can hear the hitch in your breath. The pressure of your fingers, entwined with his. Embarrassment flickering across your face, when you are unable to help glancing his way. 

Exasperation and something else mixing in when you meet his gaze. Something soft and tender and directed so solely at him, that for a moment - he forgets to breathe.

Falling in love, huh?

Yeah. He might just be. 

a/n: i adore frank castle, haha. i thought he would be a fun person to pull in for a jealous!logan scenario - and thank so from the bottom of my heart for all the love on sugar, sugar - I honestly had no idea so many of you would like it, and I can’t tell you how much it means to read your sweet asks and comments 💖 this is all I have planned for them right now, thank you for letting me share this series with you!!! (though I am definitely not done writing for logan!)

[wolfboy88]

Sunday Monday Snippet

Tagged by @ksbbb @hemlocksandfoxgloves @thiamsxbitch

Before Theo can respond, their intimate moment is interrupted as Josh approaches the table.

“Sorry to interrupt but I believe these might be yours,” Josh says, passing Liam some papers. “Guess they got muddled up at the printer.”

“Thanks Josh,” Liam says as he and Theo reluctantly pull apart, both looking a little flustered. Theo lets out a frustrated grunt as he settles back into his chair. “Appreciate it,” he says, giving Theo's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

"What are you two researching?" Josh asks, peering at the open book on the table. "Local haunts and legends, huh” Josh asks, Planning a ghost hunt?"

"Something like that," Liam replies.

“Cool. You guys you should definitely checkout the Hale House then,” Josh says.

“The Hale House?” Liam asks, his interest piqued.

"Yeah, the Hale House is supposedly haunted by the Hale men," Josh reveals, his eyes gleaming. "Rumour has it they were all werewolves, and their spirits still roam the house, howling on full moons!"

Liam's eyes widen at Josh's words. "Werewolves? The Hale House is haunted by werewolves?" he asks, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Theo leans in closer, his hand finding Liam's under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze. "That certainly sounds intriguing.”

"Oh, it's more than just a rumour," Josh continues, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "The Hales were a powerful werewolf family, and their house is said to be steeped in supernatural energy. People have reported seeing ghostly figures with glowing eyes and fangs prowling the grounds, and there are stories of strange howls echoing through the house on nights of the full moon."

Liam feels a shiver run down his spine. "That's... quite a story," he says, trying to sound casual despite the excitement coursing through him. “Have you ever been there yourself?"

Josh shakes his head. "No, I've always been too scared to go," he admits. "But I've heard enough accounts from others to know there's something seriously spooky going on at that place. It was used for initiations for the local football team back in the day.”

Theo's grip on Liam's hand tightens slightly. "Well, it sounds like the perfect place for a little... investigation," he says, his lips curving into a mischievous smile.

From “The Horny Phantoms of Hale House”

Tagging @thrillhoues @thiamblogger @haven-of-dusk @mmoosen @rhyslahey @de-constructmybones @domesticated-feral @outcastpack @transdunbar @chasing-chimeras @theoceanismyinkwell @pansexual-puppy-pack

[evilfloralfoolery]

Love Bites - Part 2

Like the title says. ;)

**Also, make sure you realize that werewolves and vampires are creatures that feast on blood and flesh. If this type of thing bothers you, this fic is not for you. There's going to be blood. Curate your internet experience accordingly.

Please see the end of the fic for translations and such fuckery.

Enjoy!

____________________________

Like himself, Marrok is a creature of the night, so there is no surprise in Lucian when he awakens at dusk to find the werewolf still sleeping beside him.  Not that Lucian himself truly “slept.”  The slumber of a vampire was more of a deep, meditative void.  He had gone weeks without “sleeping.”  Now, it was a sort of indulgence to lie beside his lover, who did still require rest.  

At least it had been as such, until this vile misfortune had been foisted upon him. Now, resting was a necessity until the wretched foolishness of his body had healed itself.  Exactly when that might be, he did not know.

Marrok grumbles in his sleep and rolls onto his side, one arm flopping across Lucian’s body.  Whether it is the werewolf’s need for “pack behavior” or a true desire to be close does not matter.  Lucian takes the opportunity just the same.  

He curls against Marrok’s bare chest, lulled by the steady, pulsing rhythm of his heart.  That is, until his own body decides upon retribution.  Always at the most insufferable and inconvenient of times.

There is no time to grope for his handkerchief, no time to pull away. Instead, he must contend with the indecency of steepling his hands over his nose and mouth, muffling a poorly constrained “--nnkgSSCHuh!” into their confines. 

The slumbering cadence of Marrok’s breathing stops.

“Je suis désolée, mon cher,” Lucian says from behind the cover of his hands. “I am stihh–still—-hhhuuhIKGSSSCH-U! Ugh, mon dieu.”

Marrok chuckles. “Hmn, I’d ask if you’re dying, but–”

“Ferme ta gueule,” Lucian says, which only earns him a louder, much more pointed laugh.

“Make me.”  Marrok grabs Lucian’s wrists, tugging his hands away from his face.  “And quit it with the hands.” 

Lucian huffs. “Would you rather I show such indecency to your bare chest, then?”

“Yeah,” Marrok says.  “I would.” 

Rough, calloused palms cup his face and Marrok kisses him with such passionate vigor that Lucian moans against his mouth.  Purely involuntary, of course. 

“I’d like to fuck the starlight out of you right now.”  Marrok runs his tongue over Lucian’s bottom lip.  “But I’ve got wolf shit to do.”

“Do you?”  Lucian’s hand wanders between the werewolf’s legs, nails scraping his inner thigh.  “What sorrow for you.” 

“Goddamn it.” Chills march up Marrok’s arm and it is now Lucian’s turn to chuckle. 

“You began this.  The fault is yours.” 

In the distance, a chorus of howls too vocally eerie to be mere wolves escalates and Marrok grumbles.  “They’re doing stupid shit.  I gotta go.” 

Lucian withdraws his hand and sits up with a pointed sniffle. “I will try not to be too unwell in your absence.” 

Marrok rolls his eyes.  “Whatever. I’m going to go kill something.” 

One golden eyebrow arches. “Something or someone?”

“Does it matter?” Marrok crosses the distance back to the balcony and hops onto the ornate rail. 

“It does, if one has taste.” 

Marrok makes a show of extending both middle fingers. “Taste this.” 

He vaults over the side of the balcony and lands somewhere in the courtyard, disappearing into the underbrush before Lucian can track his movements.

_______________________________

By the time Marrok returns, darkness has fallen to the fullest extent, the air heavy with the scent of night blooming jasmine and fresh oleander.  

And the metallic sweetness of fresh blood. 

“I take it your hunt was successful.” Lucian files the edges of one nail into a fastidious point and sits back to admire the shape for a moment. 

“Yes.” 

One side of Marrok's face is coated in slick, glistening crimson, brutal to some, but alluring to the vampire.  How fortunate was he to have such a magnificent creature to indulge and woo. 

Upon noticing Lucian’s amorous stare, the werewolf tilts his head with a smirk. “You like what you see?” 

“Oui. J'adore votre folie.” Lucian sets the file down and rises to his feet. “Now, kiss me while the taste of life is still fresh upon your lips.”

“Mmn, that's hot,”  Marrok says. 

And he complies readily. Eagerly. While there are plenty of deer and other prey in the nearby woods, tonight's feast has been human. Lucian can taste it, can see the flicker of images within his lover's mind. 

A man with intent to do far more than follow a young woman home. Another with an abhorrent collection of photos from those who did not give consent. 

But of course. Beneath the simmering rage and bluster lurked a vigilante dressed in fur and fangs. Not that Marrok would ever admit to such a thing. 

Just as Lucian was loath to admit the stupidity that had caused his current condition.  While Marrok's accusations had been false for the most part, Lucian had placated him the falsehood of ignorance when questioned about how he had managed to become so suddenly ill.

Lucian was more than aware of how it had come to pass.  Despite popular folklore, sunlight would not destroy him. Too much exposure to it would, however, prove to be terrible for his well being. Hunting during the day was not his preference, but at times, nature proved to be stronger than common sense. 

And speaking of such things, his sinuses saw fit to remind him of his idiocy several times an hour. Obviously, he is now somehow overdue. 

He places a hand upon Marrok's bare chest to indicate his need for distance. “Ah, pardon. I am-hhhuuh!” He fights the urge for all of three seconds before managing to tug his handkerchief free of his sleeve, where he had tucked it away for easy access. “IHSSSCHu! Hhhhhiiiih-hhh-uuh. . . ! HhhISSSCCH–UUH!’  The hand switches to light upon his own chest, as if he must do so to catch his breath. “Mon dieu! My apologies.”

“Huh.” Marrok studies him with a furrowed brow. “You really are sick.” 

“Why such surprise? I told you as much myself.” Lucian muffles another wrenching sneeze into the folds of the cloth. “I have abused many handkerchiefs while you were away.”

“Oh yeah?” Darkness swallows the yellow of Marrok's eyes until only a slight ring remains. “How many?”

“More than you have fingers, mon cher.”

“Fuuuck,” Marrok says with such soft, vehement feeling that Lucian chuckles.  

He does not, however, return his lips to their previous plundering. Instead, he buries his face in Lucian's mess of golden waves and inhales the scent of him like he is somehow drawing sustenance from it. 

“You haven't fed.” Marrok’s voice is almost tender for a moment before it is replaced with his signature sass. “You want some of this?” He gestures to himself with a saucy grin. 

“You have spent much time hunting,” Lucian says. “No harm will come to me if I do not. . . “ His words trail into nothingness, for Marrok has dragged his nail over his wrist, slicing the sun-bronzed skin just enough for a thin rivulet of blood to drip from his fingers. 

“Come on.” Marrok runs his tongue up the side of his hand, his lips wet with a vermillion shine. “You know I taste good.” 

Lucian rakes a hand through hair with a huff. “Putain de merde.” 

That gets a raucous laugh from Marrok, who soon finds himself pinned to the wall, an arm across his throat and fingers twisted into that unruly mane that has the audacity to call itself “hair.” 

“You want my neck instead? Do you, Lucian?” He tilts his head to one side in invitation. “Do it.” 

Marrok's heartbeat calls to him, a slow and steady throb without fear or dread. 

All restraint is lost.

Lucian sinks his fangs into the flesh, the hot pulse of life rushing over his tongue, filling his senses and reviving him like no mortal blood can manage.  Marrok tastes of savage magic, of wildness and defiance, as rich as the finest indulgence and bolder than any wine could ever muster.

He takes only enough to bring warmth to his skin and quell the odd chill that seems to have settled deep within his bones somehow. 

But Marrok does not move away. 

“You didn't take much.”

“It was enough.” 

“It wasn’t enough.” 

Already, the small punctures on Marrok's throat have begun to heal, a true testament to his preternatural nature. 

Lucian doesn't bother to wipe the blood from his lips or address the fact that it has left a wet trail down his chest.  Instead, he slips the few remaining buttons away from their holes and allows the shirt to slide from his shoulders and onto the ground. The way Marrok’s gaze follows his every move is more than appreciative, it is predatory.  Hungry for a different manner of satiation. 

“Is there something that you desire to taste?” Lucian glances over his shoulder, strands of his flaxen hair adhered to his cheek by Marrok’s own essence.  “Something you wish to devour?”

Marrok snorts.  “Fuck you.”

But the words are a teasing retort and not the anger that had so fiercely gripped him earlier. 

Marrok stalks him like prey, his stare steady and penetrating, head lowered, breathing deep and controlled. Before he can pin Lucian to the bed, the vampire is suddenly behind him, an arm around his throat in a reverse strangle hold. 

“Since you have such concern for my well being, mon amour, I will satisfy your curiosities.”  He hefts the much larger, snarling werewolf into his arms, as if he is a mere wisp of a being and tosses him onto the bed where he lands with a most ungraceful thud. 

It is Lucian who does the holding now, pinning Marrok's shoulders to the bed sheets.

“Ah, je suis désolée.” Lucian chuckles with dark repose as he runs a finger down Marrok's nose, pausing to tap the tip. “Did you want to be on top?”

To his rather sadistic amusement, Marrok does not struggle, choosing instead to lace his fingers behind his head and stretch beneath Lucian's body. 

“Nah,” Marrok says with a smirk. “I'll just chill here and let you please me.”  

He does, however, fist a handful of Lucian's blood-and-flaxen waves, jerking his head to one side. “Don't bite my dick.” 

Lucian laughs with such improper lunacy that the birds perched on the balcony railing scatter into the night sky. 

_____________________

TBC . . . .

Mon dieu - My god Oui. J'adore votre folie - Yes. I adore your madness Mon cher - My dear/My darling Ferme ta gueule- Shut your mouth Putain de merde - Fucking hell (or what the fuck, in other contexts) Mon amour - My love Je suis désolée - I am sorry

[maverick-werewolf]

Werewolf Fact #71 - Book Review: Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves

While it may not be a "werewolf fact" of the traditional nature, it's very important when studying folklore to know and understand one's sources.

One of the very best sources for werewolf folklore - and indeed other folklore and mythology besides - is Sabine Baring-Gould's The Book of Werewolves (or The Book of Were-Wolves as he called it), written in 1865. However, like any academic/rhetorical source, it shouldn't be taken at face value. Let's dive into why it's such a useful source - and why you shouldn't always take to heart everything Baring-Gould attempts to assert.

Already a scholar, Baring-Gould was a skeptical guy. It all began when, during his travels, Baring-Gould encountered several people terrified of a werewolf. He was baffled they truly believed in such a thing, and that it would stop them from wanting to traverse a road at night...

“If the loup-garou were only a natural wolf, why then, you see”—the mayor cleared his throat—“you see we should think nothing of it; but, M. le Curé, it is a fiend, a worse than fiend, a man-fiend,—a worse than man-fiend, a man-wolf-fiend.”

Baring-Gould, not intimidated, walked the road alone. However, along the way, the words of the others got to him, and he found himself frightened. The manner in which such preposterous superstition (naturally, he wasn't exactly a believer) would actually make him afraid at all made him very curious about such things and why people would believe in them...

This was my first introduction to werewolves, and the circumstance of finding the superstition still so prevalent, first gave me the idea of investigating the history and the habits of these mythical creatures. I must acknowledge that I have been quite unsuccessful in obtaining a specimen of the animal, but I have found its traces in all directions. And just as the palæontologist has constructed the labyrinthodon out of its foot-prints in marl, and one splinter of bone, so may this monograph be complete and accurate, although I have no chained werewolf before me which I may sketch and describe from the life. The traces left are indeed numerous enough, and though perhaps like the dodo or the dinormis, the werewolf may have become extinct in our age, yet he has left his stamp on classic antiquity, he has trodden deep in Northern snows, has ridden rough-shod over the mediævals, and has howled amongst Oriental sepulchres. He belonged to a bad breed, and we are quite content to be freed from him and his kindred, the vampire and the ghoul. Yet who knows! We may be a little too hasty in concluding that he is extinct. He may still prowl in Abyssinian forests, range still over Asiatic steppes, and be found howling dismally in some padded room of a Hanwell or a Bedlam.

Baring-Gould has his biases, but he also has an open mind about some topics, even if he's shut tighter than a bear trap on others, especially where anything scientific is concerned, as he was a big believer in the science of his time (not all of which is applicable to today). He's a complicated bag of tricks, and reading his work is quite an experience.

Whatever his biases and whatever one might think of his occasionally very judgmental and overly authoritarian words (i.e., he can sometimes think he knows better than everyone, including the people who actually lived during the time periods he's discussing), he is nothing short of phenomenal at his work of gathering and examining sources... even if he isn't always right. He contradicts his own research at least once, namely in relation to berserkers, but I won't go into all that (unless you read my edition of his book, of course; I discuss it extensively there).

He even spins some of his sources into thrilling tales. He honestly isn't bad at narration, able to paint an impressive and thrilling picture when retelling various werewolf (and other) legends...

But when dusk settled down over the forest, and one by one the windows of the castle became illumined, peasants would point to one casement high up in an isolated tower, from which a clear light streamed through the gloom of night; they spoke of a fierce red glare which irradiated the chamber at times, and of sharp cries ringing out of it, through the hushed woods, to be answered only by the howl of the wolf as it rose from its lair to begin its nocturnal rambles.

Something to note with Baring-Gould is that some of his sources are actually no longer with us. They did clearly exist, and he could access them during his own time, but they've since been lost, especially in such original formats (or they might be gone altogether). This is just another reason why Baring-Gould's work is irreplaceable as a source for many, many fields, not just werewolf studies. He cites and discusses works about many kinds of folklore, mythology, and even history, and he even provided the first English translation of the trail of Giles de Rais, a famous killer (and basis for the fairy tale Bluebeard). It's a fascinating read, even if you're just there for general folklore and mythology or if you're there specifically for werewolves or, broader spectrum, all manner of shapeshifters - he even talks a little bit about dragons!

However, when reading, bear in mind that Baring-Gould is not without his biases, as I mentioned before. He can be very judgmental of other scholars, especially from the past, but that isn't exactly uncommon even in modern scholarship. It's easy enough to read around, as long as you don't take everything he writes as fact. No scholar is perfect, no matter how impressive their work is, and that certainly includes Baring-Gould. He also approaches his work with werewolves specifically with the determination to relate them to "madmen" and serial killers, which is a consistent theme throughout the book. He will discuss werewolf legends and detail them well, but toward the end of each section, when providing his own assessment, he will generally offer how such things could be rationalized in his own mind. In doing so, of course, he does offer interesting discussion and food for thought, regardless of whether you agree with him (I agree with him at times but can also find him very disagreeable; it's like that with most everything one reads, so no shocker there). And, of course, his work even if only used for informational purposes is still impressive.

Biases is no reason to pass on what might be the best single source on these many topics. Besides, reading around potential biases is a skill everyone should learn.

One of his biggest downsides is that he doesn't provide English translations of all his quoted passages and sources. This was a problem in the original publication from the 1800s, and it continues into today with nearly all editions...

However, if you do want translations of nearly all of his quoted passages from various sources (as well as extensive annotations discussing werewolf studies, mythology, and more, and putting his scholarship into a modern context and even pointing out his errors, such as when he contradicts himself), then you need to see my edition of his work!

I personally translated and annotated The Book of Werewolves this year, and it's now available for purchase both through Amazon.com and my personal website, with a cover that's a different take on the book's original 1865 release...

Be sure to check it out at Amazon.com and my personal website!

If you buy it directly from me, I'll sign it for you, too. You can also download an ebook, if you prefer.

I assure you it's the best edition of this book you'll find. I know because I've bought nearly all of them trying to find one that's at all easy to reference. My edition even includes a bibliography that will assist you with further related reading, among other useful things. I've made sure the formatting is easily readable, so it's good for both casual reading and citation/quotation in research/academic projects. This was a lot of work, and I'm very proud of how it turned out, especially as I myself have worked with this book for years.

Final words: even with all my own personal biases about werewolves, the study of werewolf and other legends, and my opinions on some of Baring-Gould's assertions, I have to give Baring-Gould's work a 10/10 for being a must-read for anyone interested in werewolves. Trust me - if you love werewolves and studying their folklore like I do, you won't be able to put this book down, and you'll walk away with far more knowledge than you had before. Reading this book alone will give you a decent foundational knowledge of werewolf studies, while also touching upon other fields.

However, of course, I do recommend reading mine. Obviously. Especially because Baring-Gould is just so wrong about berserkers (hence, my own assertions)! But anyway.

That's all for now. Until next time, and be sure to check out my newsletter linked below!

( If you like my blog, be sure to follow me here and elsewhere for more folklore and fiction, including books, especially on werewolves! You can also sign up for my free newsletter for monthly werewolf/vampire/folklore facts, as well as free fiction and nonfiction book previews.

Free Newsletter - maverickwerewolf.com (personal site + book shop)  — Patreon — Wulfgard — Werewolf Fact Masterlist — Twitter — Vampire Fact Masterlist — Amazon Author page )

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: What big Teeth (Issue 29)

Moon Knight, Issue #29: Morning Star. 

Enter WEREWOLF BY NIGHT. 

We're going back to the start of it all. 

Also, this cover? Fucking BANGER. 

(This issue has two stories, but I'm going to cover the second shorter story in a separate post.) 

Titles page reads: 

"Jack Russell must reach Moon Knight before the full moon, before the change...And before the hooded figures can use him for their own terrible ends." 

Yesss….. It’s time to fall back to the roots of it all. A horror story. 

We open on a train yard. 

"It has been said that the train, outmoded though it may be, functions as the nations lifeline. 

But here's something else that's been said: 'As a viable mode of transport, the nation's once mighty rail system is dying a painfully slow death'

Take your pick....Then Decide where that leaves the nation. Or consider this: Here, in the twilight of an Omaha Freight yard, long lines of trains merely slumber. 

Reassuring? Nope. 

Because the peace of sleep is easily shattered." 

We see a man running for his life as people fire on him. 

"I could change... I could kill the man... But I don't want to..." He weaves through the train cars and tracks. 

"Full moon rising... Soon I won't be able to control myself... Just a little longer!" 

He jumps on a train that's starting to pull out. 

But the train moves at a crawl. 

The men move in. 

But the moon is risen and full. 

"Dusk dies. Leaving only a circle of silver to light the sky..." 

And the monster is awake. 

"First night: Darkness and the moon conspired with an ancient curse to answer my prayers --and to give me what I needed. From the shadows of the boxcar I reached out, seized the first man--and Squeezed. 

He was surprised. I felt my talons flex under the pressure. Then puncture his flesh. Blood spurted. I bared my fangs and almost howled, but not yet...not yet.

True, I'd become the werewolf again and all awareness of my human identity as Jack Russell had gone the way of my flesh... Still, I was cunning. 

Soon the hated man would be dead...But I knew there were three of them. Plenty of time to howl, so I snarled instead." 

The wolf carries on. He rips into flesh then runs. The wolf knows it needs more time. 

It makes a break into the night on the departing train. 

The remaining men rush to the station and demand to know where that train is going. 

New York City is about to get interesting. 

Back in LA, we find ourselves in a satanic cultist curch where the leader, Schuyler Belial, who also calls himself Morning Star, is giving a midnight mass sermun. 

It's typical satanist cultist stuff. 

As part of his promise to his followers is that he produce the "Beast of the Apocalypse". 

Which he was supposed to produce that night. That obviously is not going to happen. 

"You promised you'd produce the beast tonight! That's what we came for! Where is he?" 

"Ah, no--Not tonight--But soon. Soon the sign shall be manifest! And you shall see--" 

Apparently he's been promising to deliver the beast for the past year. 

It's hard to deliver a pissed off werewolf on a time schedule. 

The congregation is pretty displeased and most of them leave. This leaves Morning Star pretty riled up. 

He needs that beast and he plans to get it. 

Time to head to New york. 

You know who else is in New York? 

This page is just….It’s the heart of this comic. Lockley chilling with his friends. You got Crawley and his flowery language and oddly high insight. Jake asking how Gena and the kids are doing. Flint contacting Moon Knight through Gena’s diner… It’s perfect. 

Moon Knight meets up with flint. Flint passes along a letter marked "Super urgent" for Moon Knight. 

"Moon Knight, for past favors, please meet me tonight before 6-- Jersey countryside, old house on Deer Run Road just off Routes 27 and 63. -Jack Russell" 

Moon Knight has a flashback of him punching a werewolf. 

Yeah...that...that sounds about right. 

He makes haste but it's a half hour trip and it's already Five thirty. 

Yeah that's pretty much how it went last time too. 

"Moon Knight wasn't in time. I jumped all over him for it. When the moon is full, I have no control over myself...None! And then I splashed through glass into the night. " 

Moon Knight has his own thoughts on it. 

"Well, you may have transformed, Russell...But you sure haven't changed much since our last meeting... Still adhering to an altogether too hairy lifestyle." 

"Too late by a matter of minutes--And now instead of merely containing him, I've got to capture him." 

Moon Knight is not looking forward to this night. He's been faced with capturing him before. 

The Wolf runs for freedom, knowing the Moon Knight is after him. 

He's easily distracted at the sight of prey. 

A large stag frozen in fear before him. 

"And there HE was--A wealth of silver moonstuff itself." 

Moon Knight bursts into the clearing and startles off the stag. 

Russell gives chase. And so does Moon Knight. 

There he goes…on the ground again. He has the worst luck. 

And Moon Knight takes a hard blow to the head. 

The attacker flees and calls up Morning Star to tell him the bad news. "Moon Knight the Avenging white angel" is after the beast. 

Morning star elects to wait until Russell has changed back to human form when he is worn out and easier prey. 

Speaking of prey, the wolf has taken his own prey down and feasted well. His rage and need for the hunt quelled, he heads to a stream to wash off. 

And then the dawn broke and the man was left behind. 

"I went to sleep on my feet--standing in water." 

And just a few yards away, Moon Knight also awakens. 

They’re doing great. 

Moon Knight pulls Russell from the water. He and Frenchie take Russell back to Grant Mansion to let him rest. 

He wakes from a nightmare. 

Moon Knight asks him about the men following him. Russell believes them to be phantoms, since he can't seem to shake them. 

"...But no matter how far or fast I go, sooner or later they always show up." 

Moon Knight recalls how the cowl mic was filled with static. 

He calls in a doctor. 

Outside, down the road, the cultists wait for their chance. 

After x rays are taken they discover a chip that has been implanted in Jack's head just under the scalp. 

The doctor says he can remove it, but it will take time and time they don't have. He will have to wait till the next day to remove it. 

Moon Knight explains to Jack how he's being tracked. 

In the mean time, he does what friends do best. 

"Strap you down, lock you up, and keep watch over you throughout your werewolf phase. Right here." 

The moon rises and so does the wolf. He snaps the straps and is now loose in Grant mansion! 

Yeah...Moon Knight didn't think this one through.... 

CONTINUED NEXT TIME! 

I have to say, I love how when the wolf appears, we get the narration from the wolf’s point of view and it’s still in Russel’s voice, but more confused and more driven by the wolf. 

On a different note, I was excited to see Marvel previews for other comics popping up in the back of this issue! It means that Moon Knight has broken into the big leagues at this point and now they are advertising the more mainstream events and comics. 

There was ALSO a letter from the editor, Denny O'Neil stating that Ralph Macchio has been promoted and will be dancing up the Marvel food chain. It also talks about how the publishing schedule for Moon Knight is going to change. They can't give information yet, but the hope is to reach a larger audience. 

It's heartwarming to see how this little obscure comic started to get such a following so early on and started to grow. 

[tabbyrp]

Day 5

@brooklynislandgirl

Dusk was the time when the Midnight Circus truly came alive. Crowds of people wandered about, slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the spectacle. They chewed popcorn by the bucket and endlessly sweated under the heavy blanket of air that never quite left New Orlean. It was a familiar stench to the Garou sweeping between the tents. Until he caught something new amid the throngs of humanity.

He put aside his broom, senses pricking as two women approached the ticket booth. One was slightly taller, with brown hair that brushed her shoulders. She looked ordinary enough, but he caught the faintest hint of wild bacchanalia. Fae blood. Perhaps only a generation removed.

The werewolf inhaled deeper. Her companion, with the dark hair and warmer skin, spoke of distant islands. He could taste salt of the ocean in her scent, within it a sharp tang he couldn’t quite place, and something else, something old that he did know. Witch, or Mage. She carried herself with the quiet reserve of someone who knew to hide their power. As the women handed their tickets to the vampire at the gate, he was idly curious as to what had brought them here. Maybe the draw of magic in the wind, baited by the promise of something strange in the outskirts of New Orleans.

It didn’t matter, in the end.

He tailed them as they wandered through the circus, entering tents that seemed normal enough to human eyes. In the centre ring a man juggled flaming clubs, while a troupe of acrobats twisted through the air. Only those who could see beyond the veil knew the fire burned dragon’s-breath hot, or saw how the acrobats’ muscles were thicker and stronger, their grace not entirely human.

Next, the fae girl tugged on her companion and pointed towards the fortune teller’s tent, deep purple fabric fluttering in the breeze like a beckoning hand inviting them inside. The witch’s gaze however kept flicking back toward the darker spaces, like she could sense something watching.

The Garou waited beside the tent as the women had their false fortunes told. He could hear their voices more clearly now, learned their names. As he then followed them to the drink stand, to the ring toss game, he feared how much more they would explore, until the fae girl, Tabby, finally gestured toward the freak show tent.

“Okay, Beth, if there really is something real inside and not full-on P. T. Barnum hoaxes, I promise I will help you liberate them all,” Tabby said, her voice somewhere between serious and teasing.

Beth shook her head. “Mo'beddah we see a feejee mermaid dan a real one.”

Tabby hooked her arm through Beth’s to lead the way. The witch had a wariness to her as they approached the tent. She could sense it. The trap of the circus waiting to spring.

They wouldn’t leave. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

The Garou had to make sure of that.

They would be enough to earn his freedom.

As the women stepped through the draped entrance of the freak show, he shifted into the shadows behind them. This was where the real circus began, where the masks came off. The people inside weren’t performers. They were prisoners, creatures bound by the magic of this place, just like him. Some were dangerous. Others were just… unlucky.

Beth and Tabby stopped in front of a display, color leaving their skin as they took in the strange, twisted forms. A chulorviah, half-decayed, floated in a tank of murky water. A two-headed wyrm wolf snarled from behind iron bars. The air was thick with the scent of dark power, and Tabby flinched, though she tried to hide it.

It was time to take them to the Ringmaster. The Ringermaster will be so pleased with these new additions.

He had to be, otherwise, this was all for nothing.

Otherwise, he wasn’t Garou.

He was just another monster howling in his cage.  

[aloeverified]

🎸🎤 HEX GIRL HEADCANONS 🎤🎸

Before forming a band together, each member had a miniature career of their own. Luna was a pretty popular online figure for her performances at bars and restaurants, Dusk went viral a few times from her rave shows, and Thorn had a history of starring in plays and talent shows all her life. They eventually found each other online and began talking, and after Thorn and Dusk immigrated to the U.S., they formed a band.

Although they live in America, Luna is the only one who was born there. She's Creole and was raised in New Orleans, Thorn is French-Candian and from Ontario, and Dusk is Japanese and from Kyoto. Due to where they grew up, they all speak different languages as well. Luna is fluent in Spanish and French, Thorn was raised speaking French just as much as English and knows a bit of Italian, and Dusk's first language is Japanese and she's fluent in JSL. They all began learning ASL after forming a band since Dusk is deaf in one ear and hard-of-hearing in her other.

Thorn's real name is Sally McKnight, Luna's is Selene Moon, and Dusk's is Twilight Yami. Thorn picked her name due to her love of roses, whereas Luna and Dusk simply picked names that have the same meaning as their own.

Due to her hearing loss, Dusk doesn't wear shoes when practicing or performing. When coming up with songs, Thorn doesn't wear shoes either since she claims it helps her feel closer to the music. Luna sometimes doesn't and says it's for the same reason but it's actually just because her boots hurt her feet after a while.

They each base their personas after different horror monster icons. Thorn's is Dracula, Luna's is the werewolf, and Dusk is inspired by both Frankenstein monsters. They also have very different gothic styles; Thorn being more of a romantic vampire goth with some witchy accents, whereas Luna is a trad and corp goth with lots of glam, and Dusk being more in the visual kei and metalhead scene with some cyber and bubble goth inspiration.

Thorn is known for being a bit of a bachelorette and dates anyone ranging from a trucker to a theater kid who thinks he's a vampire. Luna and Dusk, however, are in a relationship that they keep private from fans. Luna is a lesbian, Dusk is bisexual, and Thorn doesn't feel the need to label her sexuality.

Their fans often get into heated arguments over the girls' heights since Dusk is typically shoeless and the other wears heels. Thorn typically looks pretty tall since she's in the front and wears high heels, with Luna looking about the same in her boots behind her keyboard, whereas Dusk looks the shortest while barefoot and sitting down to play the drums; but the truth is Thorn is only about 5'4, Dusk is 5'8, and Luna is just over 5'10.

Their fans have nicknames for them based off of different creatures, with Thorn being called a succubus due to her seductive voice and dancing, Dusk being compared to a banshee since most of her back-up vocals are screams and her unhinged drumming, and Luna being recognized for her werewolf persona due to long nails, canine fangs, and loud howl-like laughter.

Rather than visiting a salon, they have nights every few weeks were they touch up their hair. Dusk is albino with naturally platinum hair which makes it so she she has to redye her hair every so often, whereas Luna and Thorn have to actually go through the process of bleaching their hair. Dusk typically dyes her hair a darker blonde or adds different shades of green streaks, Luna switches between dark red and blonde every so often, and Thorn either dyes her naturally brown hair black or bleaches it to make it a bright red — sometimes a combination of both.

They're all university students who avoid actually attending classes by taking online courses. Thorn is majoring in envoirmental science with a business minor, Dusk is a literature major studying philosophy, and Luna is in the process of graduating art school.

Thorn is most inspired by bands like She Wants Revenge and London After Midnight, whereas Dusk takes more after Malice Mizer and Bikini Kill, and Luna is one of the biggest fans of The Cure and the Bauhaus.

They regularly go on adventures together to places that are regarded as haunted or cursed. While on tour in different countries, they make it a habit to try and visit any attractions they haven't seen yet. Thorn particular likes haunted castles and cemeteries, Dusk is interested in asylums and prisons, and Luna is obsessed with any place that has a tragic backstory.

While Thorn is relatively good friends with Daphane due to their shared love of fashion and past romantic interests in Velma, and Dusk enjoys terrifying Shaggy and Scooby, Luna and Fred are actually able to have normal conversations

They love getting together with the Mystery Gang when possible. When she's not flirting with Velma, Thorn spends her time with Daphne talking about fashion and gossiping about their past experiences with stupid boys. Luna is also pretty good friends with Fred and they could have conversations for hours about random niche interests. Dusk and Velma have a shared passion for gothic literature and Velma also enjoys watching Dusk terrify Shaggy and Scooby when she's bored.

[callsignbaphomet]

Mighty desire to infodump about OCs.

Been thinking a lot about the Bloodborne au but I can't actually talk about that specific au because the pearlcluchers would have a field day if they saw the post so I'm gonna stick to the Skyrim au cuz it's what I'm playing at the moment.

So Skyrim au it is.

I did previously and by previously I mean like 3+ years ago say that Angelus is trans (ftm) but I don't remember if I ever mentioned that Jelani is also trans (ftm too). I recently made both poly which the Bloodborne versions of Loke, Jelani and Angelus are as well.

Not too much has changed in this au tbh. If a friend is still okay with pairing their OC with my Loke I'm still 1,000% for it. Loke and Trevor are still very much werewolves.

Ngl it would be neat to interact with other friends' OCs but I'm super introverted when it comes to OC interactions so unless you make the first move I just assume you don't want to plus I don't wanna pressure anyone to do so and I feel like me being overly excited would pressure someone else to say yes and I don't ever wanna do that.

I feel like writing and drawing too but I'll see if I get a chance to this week.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Duck's Halloween Movie Picks!

I love Halloween and spooky season in general. So here's my list of many, many (but not all) horror movies to watch this October!

🧠 Zombies 🧠

Sometimes dead is better.

Night of the Living Dead (1968) & (1990)

Return of the Living Dead (1985)

Diary of the Dead (2007)

Dawn of the Dead (2004)

Overlord (2018)

Pet Semetary (1989)

Dead Snow (2009)

Dead Alive (1992)

#alive (2020)

Train to Busan (2016)

Little Monsters (2019)

Scouts Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse (2015)

Zombie (1979)

Wonderfully Witchy

It isn't Halloween without a witch.

The Witch (2015)

The Craft (1996)

Practical Magic (not a horror movie but I don't care, I love it) (1998)

Hocus Pocus (a true classic) (1993)

The Blair Witch Project (1999)

Don't Knock Twice (2016)

Drag Me To Hell (2009)

Ghastly Ghouls

Ghosts, Demons, and Poltergeists oh my!

Includes but is not limited to: haunted houses and/or people, demons, cursed objects, beings from other dimensions, etc.

The Exorcist (1973)

Insidious (2010)

The Conjuring (2013)

The Nun (2018)

Poltergeist (1982)

Verónica (2017)

Hellraiser (1987) & (2022)

Candyman (1992) & (2021)

Thir13en Ghosts (2001)

The Shining (1980)

Evil Dead (1981)

The Fog (1980)

Paranormal Activity (2007)

House on Haunted Hill (1959) & (1999)

The Frighteners (1996)

House (1985)

Hell House LLC (2015)

Pumpkinhead (1988)

Gonjian: Haunted Asylum (2018)

Possession (1981)

Carnival of Souls (1962)

Ringu (1998)

The Entity (1982)

Vicious Vampires

Because they're bloody sexy.

Nosferatu (1922)

Bram Stoker's Dracula (1999) plus all the other million dracula movies

Interview with a Vampire (1994)

30 Days of Night (2007)

Boys From County Hell (2020)

Underworld (2003)

Bloodsucking Bastards (2015)

Near Dark (1988)

Salems Lot (1979)

From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)

Fright Night (1985) & (2011)

Stakeland (2010)

The Black Water Vampire (2014)

Werewolves

Fluffy and vicious, the perfect combo.

Dog Soldiers (2002)

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

Night of the Wolf: Late Phases (2014)

Ginger Snaps (2001)

The Wolf Man (1941) & (2010)

The Company of Wolves (1984)

Cursed (2005)

The Wolf of Snow Hollow (2020)

Howl (2015)

The Howling (1981)

Silver Bullet (1985)

Wer (2014)

Bad Moon (1996)

The Beast Must Die (1974)

Miscellaneous Monsters

All monsters need love, not just the classics.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)

The Mummy (1999)

Frankenstein

Wishmaster (1997)

Eight Legged Freaks (2002)

Feast (2007)

IT (1990) & (2017)

The Descent (2005)

Jaws (1975)

Jeepers Creepers 1 + 2 (2001) & (2003)

Horror Express (1972)

Cold Ground (2017)

Devil's Pass (2013)

The Ruins (2008)

Cabin in the Woods (2011)

The Monster Squad (1987)

Under Wraps (1997)

The Babadook (2014)

Slashers

Because people are scary too.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974)

Friday the 13th (1980)

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

Halloween (1978)

The Collector (2009)

House of Wax (2005)

The Strangers (2008)

The Crazies (1973) & (2010)

SAW (2004)

Scream (1996)

The Hills Have Eyes (1977) & (2006)

The Burning (1981)

The People Under The Stairs (1991)

Sleepaway Camp (1983)

Slumber Party Massacre (1982)

Terror Train (1980)

Stage Fright (2014)

You Might Be The Killer (2018)

The Toolbox Murders (1978)

Hell Fest (2018)

Revenge (2018)

The Invitation (2016)

Audition (1999)

It Came From Space!

As if space isn't scary enough on it's own.

Includes: anything sci-fi related, not just space stuff.

The Thing (1982)

Alien (1979)

Predator (1987)

AVP: Alien vs. Predator (2004)

Event Horizon (1997)

DOOM (2005)

Monsters (2010)

Re-Animator (1985)

Bride of Re-Animator (1990)

Pandorum (2009)

Chopping Mall (1986)

The McPherson Tape (1989)

Extraterrestrial (2014)

Always Anthology

The more the scarier!

Creepshow (1982)

Creepshow 2 (1987)

Tales from the Hood (1995)

V/H/S (2012)

V/H/S: 2 (2013)

V/H/S: 94 (2021)

V/H/S: 99 (2022)

Body Bags (1993)

Asylum (1972)

Trick 'r Treat (2015)

All Hallows' Eve (2019)

Holiday Specials

We can't leave out these holidays during spooky season!

My Bloody Valentine (1981) & (2009)

Prom Night (1980)

April Fool's Day (1986)

Black Christmas (1974)

[modernenigmasociety]

Movies and Shows for a World of Darkness LARP

I don't actually consume a ton of movies and shows, so I asked one of our other directors to list movies he recommends as good stuff to get you in the mood to play our games and together we came up with this list. What do you think? What are your favorites? Anything you would add or take away?

Vampires:

Near Dark: Great example of a nomadic Sabbat pack. R

From Dusk Till Dawn R

Only Lovers Left Alive R

The Fearless Vampire Killers NR

Fright Night (1985) NR

Vamp R

Waxwork: The film covers multiple genres, but the vampire castle segment is great. R

Werewolves:

Waxwork: The same as above, but the werewolf segment is every bit as fun. R

An American Werewolf in London R

Silver Bullet R

The Howling R

The Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf R

Ginger Snaps PG

Creepshow: Bad Wolf Down (CW: Genocidal Fascists) TVMA

Blood & Chocolate PG-13

Changelings:

Labyrinth PG

Pan’s Labyrinth R

Changeling R

In Dreams R

A Midsummer Night’s Dream PG-13

Willow PG

Donnie Darko R

The Fisher King R

Big Fish PG-13

Hellboy II: The Golden Army PG-13

Stardust PG-13

World of Darkness

8mm R

Eyes Wide Shut R

Crimson Peak R

Tales From the Darkside: The Movie R

The Devil’s Backbone R

[maryannecrimsworth]

Deal

Guide for tormented hearts

Pairing: Enid Sinclair x OC! Hank Hunter(L/N)

Summary: Enid can't wolf out. She managed to hide it from Wednesday and her parents in the last two months, but now she's back at the school and every fur is excited to transform together. For the first time in years, Nevermore hired a tamer to train werewolves — no more lupin cages, they'll learn to be free. Every werewolf want to break free in the woods, but not her. Enid wants to run away, until the tamer goes after her.

Warnings: crying; emotional breakdown; werewolves fighting; Wednesday's threats; stabbing

Backstory for the "You do need a friend", Hank is Y/N's older brother.

Scenes from Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 of The Hunt [Ao3]

X

"Would you help me escape? Just for tonight." Enid whispered to Thing, who gesticulated readily in response. He suggested a way that, in addition to getting her out of school, would keep every student away from her.

"I can't! I don't want to lose my fingers for touching her clothes." The werewolf replied. Disguising herself as Wednesday wasn't a good plan, and even if it was, the werewolves of Nevermore would notice Enid's absence.

She needed to wolf out, she needed to meet her pack, she needed to be normal.

Enid threw herself back on her bed and sighed loudly, her conversation with Thing had ended in weariness and disappointment — but it wasn't even able to disturb the girl on the other side of the room.

Wednesday used the space on the side of her desk to hang a kind of mystical periodic table, with anecdotes about its substances and the potions that could be created. All of her attention was focused on the plants, roots and powders which could've composed Thornhill's potions.

Enid turned her look away from Wednesday and grabbed another stuffed bear of hers. She started to scratch it with her claws while her thoughts flew between countless situations: from her pack transforming without her to her mother discovering that she hadn't wolfed out in two months. The last two nights of full moon, spent at the Addams' house, served to remind Enid that she was called a "late bloomer" for a reason. Three stuffed animals had already gone bald when a knock came from the door.

Enid ran to the door and turned on the bedroom light before opening it. Neither she nor Wednesday had noticed the dusk.

"Hi?" She opened the door only enough to show her face. Hunter was waiting for her in the hallway of Ophelia Hall, hands stuck in his pockets and face turned red as if he wasn't allowed to be there.

"Hey." He replied in the same low tone as her. "All Furs have already gone to the woods. Are you coming?"

"I-I…" She checked the empty corridor and closed the door behind her. "I can't wolf out." She lowered her head before saying: "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." His voice made her look up again. "I can help you. I mean, I still have a few hours until the pack's meeting. Would you come with me?"

Enid followed him right away.

The night was cool and windy, the light spring breeze was lifting the leaves and ruffling the branches of the trees around the school. In the distance, you could hear the high, harmonized howls of werewolves. The Nevermore's packs had met and now they ran and fought through the forest. They were all there, with their claws and ears out, and Enid was here: sitting on a fallen log with their new handler in front of her. She felt bad for taking the time of the tamer.

"You know, this won't work. I'll just hide somewhere else and you can go meet them." Enid opened her eyes one more time and interrupted Hunter's speech. Even him looked annoyed by her behavior now.

"Just do what I tell you. If it doesn't work out, I'll take you shopping. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Close your eyes and breathe." He whispered and she obeyed. "Tell me how you first wolfed out. What happened?"

"Wednesday was in danger." Her fists clenched on her knees. "It was a red moon night. Thing came and told me and I just ran." She heard no more howls now. "She was in danger and I…I"

"You were afraid." His voice sounded like a continuity of her thoughts. "You needed to protect her."

"Yes."

"But you're still afraid. You are afraid and Wednesday's safe now."

"I..I…" Hunter didn't rush her. "I fear her. I fear she will figure out I can't— I can't—" Her breathing trembled. "I can't be her friend to death. I can't be what she wants because I'm too much. I'm too much for her. I'm too much for a pack. I'm too much for everyone." The tamer backed up a few steps as she started crying. " I can't be a werewolf. I can't be normal. I can't be as my mother wishes — I will always be alone!" A dozen branches broke together with her last words. Her speech grew and strained until a loud growl snapped out her lungs — she wasn't speaking, but howling.

"Follow my voice, Enid." The werewolf crawled in her four paws, her fangs and hot breath almost hitting Hunter's face. He lifted his hand to the pink fur on her head.

"You are a werewolf. You have a pack now. You are not alone." She grunted and leaned in towards him. "Open your eyes."

Her reaction was as lively and animalistic as possible: she jumped on the man, hitting him with her paws and licking his entire face. The tamer burst out laughing and stroked the werewolf's fur.

"Now go." And Enid followed the howls of the Nevermore’s pack.

The running and playing of the wolves kept half the school awake: every student who had forgotten his noise damper at home now suffered from the lively nature of the packs. Enid howled, fought and ran as much as the other Furs. They all came together and followed the tamer, enjoying his snacks, orders and games. His clothes were already torn and his feet already ached when three wolves stayed behind. Hunter called them, but they kept still.

He soon saw the wooden shed they surrounded.

"Hey!" he shouted as soon as the three started attacking the small construction. "Stop." But the wolves continued scratching and kicking the hut.

Hunter took a whistle from his pocket and blew it: all the canines in the area heard his command, and yet the three werewolves did not stop. Their attacks became more violent as other werewolves approached. He had brought the whistle to his mouth once more when a blow struck his back. The tamer was thrown meters forward, bursting through the doors of the shed and smashing the trestles and paintings inside it.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted, but the wooden boards continued to fall beside him — and, once all construction had been knocked down, the werewolves advanced on him. The only thing that kept Hunter from being bitten and scratched was the pink wolf's attack.

The werewolves rolled over the wreckage of the shed, the three tallest and strongest united against Enid. They roared and attacked her, their fur and ears raised as if the pink werewolf was a terrible threat.

The she-wolf stopped in front of Hunter, ready to stop any attack from reaching him. The werewolves were ready to fight — but a clap broke the sound of loud roars and splintered wood. Suddenly, all the wolves were quietened by the sound of the tamer's hands clapping.

All the furs froze and sat.

“Enid.” He spoke between heavy breaths. “Find it.”

The werewolf started to sniff the ground under Hunter’s feet, tracking down the scent that made her mates violent. The object dug up by the she-wolf was small, fragile and smelly: it caused the werewolves to howl and grunt again, but still sat due to the tamer's command.

It caused Enid to wince, grunt, and return to her human form in loud cries.

It was a teeth necklace.

X

Enid was laid down on her bed carefully and slowly.

Her previous state – scratched and bloodied – was replaced by a clean, disheveled, and tired appearance. She was fine, but she was wearing clothes that did not belong to her and her face was swollen from crying. The only thing that guaranteed her peaceful sleep were the dirt-soaked hands that guided her back to her room. Hunter took to himself whatever panic and nausea Enid had, and laid her down on the bed in her dark room.

He didn't even remember her roommate until his legs failed.

"What have you done?" Wednesday required in a dark voice once he hit the ground. 

"I could ask you the same." He grumbled from the floor, his slurred tone and speech between clenched teeth announced the kind of content he had delivered to her. It was the necklace Thing hid in Xavier’s shed, Wednesday intended to keep it in there until she figured out what was her stalker intentions. "Shit." Hunter grunted in pain.

"How d—"

"It has your Thing's scent on it." Just the remnants of the necklace's smell left on his fingertips was enough to twist his stomach.

"What's happening to you?" 

"I took her malaise." He whispered. "She needs sleep more than me." 

"Leave."

"I can't." He tried to move, but the creaking of the wooden floor created a minefield to Enid's sleep and well-being. "I can't barely see you, just pretend I'm not here." 

Wednesday grabbed his shoulders in a burst, feeling the dirt, blood, and sweat pooling on his clothes and skin. The rips in his coat caused her to touch his wounds unintentionally — and Hank desperately ran away from her hands.

But it was too late: now Wednesday fell beside him and felt all the pain he was bearing.

"Fuck, Addams. Couldn't you have just stood still?" He dragged himself a few inches closer to her, just close enough to hold her hand. The ache and nausea left her body slowly. 

Wednesday jumped away as soon as she regained her strength. "Are you a healer?"

"Sort of." He barely had a voice now. "Where did you get it? "

"It's none of your business." 

"That thing almost got the werewolves to kill each other. It is my business." 

She didn't need to answer him. In fact, Hank, now completely defenseless and weak at her feet, was the perfect suspect for her interrogation.

"I'll ask the questions now." She knelt beside Hunter, her hands and lips purposefully close to his face.

She could hear him swallowing dryly. 

"Speak." He commanded, his voice firm despite all the weakness in his body.

That only made her hate him even more.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the inuit's cursed child." Hunter admitted. "Born from a Kigatilik, I was left in the woods to die."

"And the Hunters have found you."

"Yes." She didn't understand the reason behind the sudden flaw in his voice, like a sob escaping from his heavy chest.

"Why are you truly here?"

“I’ve already told you, I came to—“ His breathing failed once the cold blade touched his neck. 

“The truth.” Wednesday reminded him. Hunter scoffed quietly and lifted his back, the knife being pressed against his skin because of his movement. He supported all his weight on one arm, leaning in forwards Wednesday. 

A drop of blood ran down his neck.

“I came after Hyde.” The knife was forced with more intensity. “ I came to tame him.”

“It can’t be tamed. It’s a beast without conscience.”

“But Tyler can be.” Hunter suddenly took the blade from her hands and sat in front of her. Their knees touched and the closeness allowed them to finally see each other's faces. Wednesday had a serious, determined look - ready to attack him if he became a threat; and Hunter, wounded, dirty and sweaty, had a steady posture, immune to Addams' intimidation. He could have easily stabbed her. “ Where did you find the necklace?”

He handed the knife back to her. 

“Buried in the woods.”

“You shouldn’t have dug up. It’s a beast trap.” Wednesday watched Hunter speaking. “Lead and an adrenaline trigger. It could kill you…and Enid .” Wednesday looked up at her roommate’s bed: she didn’t know how dangerous that scent was to the she-wolf.

“You can keep it in the greenhouse. It won’t affect no one there.” Hunter lowered his face. “I have to stay here until the smell’s gone.”

“Thing.” Wednesday delivered the necklace to him, who didn’t complain. He too wanted to keep Enid safe. The hand left the room and Hunter and Wednesday were now alone.

“I don’t trust you.” She roared.

“You shouldn’t.” He looked up at her again. “But we have a common goal. Don’t you think it is wiser to work together?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Then do it for your friends.” Hunter replied in a sharp voice. “I want to keep them safe as much as you do.”

Wednesday stood up and walked to her bed. The moonlight invading the room illuminated her back and stiff steps. 

"I see you everywhere." She whispered. " It's disturbing."

"Our leads go the same way. " He tried to stand up, but his body was still too heavy. He remained kneeling in the middle of the room. "Let me show you."

She turned her face slightly in his direction. 

"Okay. "

[lokiina]

Summer Gothic Aesthetics

Tagged by: @pinkydude (I smooch)

🌑RULES: Bold what applies to your character and their aesthetics; italicise those that somewhat apply; and stikethrough whatever doesn't apply (bonus~ added colors to those that fits really well!)

Doing this for my boy Zayn~

▶ Haunted Boardwalk

rickety ferris wheels, carnival lights through fog, saltwater taffy and popcorn, tarot card readings, childhood best-friends, thunderstorms over the sea, tear-streaked face paint, chipping animatronics partially submerged in brackish water, ill-fated games of truth or dare, vintage circus posters boasting mermaids and wolf men, underwater caves marked with a skull and crossbones, darts that are a little too sharp, twinkling lights in the dark, distant and ghostly laughter, blue and pink cotton candy, sunburnt shoulders, cherry flavored sno-cones, switchblades tucked into costumes, a bloody trail into an old tent

▶ Solitary Park Ranger

the yellow eye shine of an unseen animal, circling turkey vultures, unnatural fluctuations in the passage of time, daddy long legs in rotting logs, distorted backwards speech through a walkie-talkie, unexplainable antler shrines, coniferous mountain horizons, star-like bonfire sparks whirling in an indigo night, nests of infant barn owls, claw marks in tent fabric, soft and distant howls, unexplained lights darting through trees, clawed footprints in the dirt, bomber jackets and hiking boots, an old and well-used shotgun, thunderstorms that darken the sky, a rusted and reliable truck, the smell of petrichor, a voice calling your name from the trees

▶ Southern Cemetary

magnolia blossoms, chipping white porch swings, spanish moss, suffocating humidity, faded photographs of lacy weddings, tire tracks in mud, mausoleum angels, family trees, the yellow-green eyes of alligators, repressed childhood memories bubbling to the surface, broken porcelain dolls, legs covered with mosquito bites, blood promises, crucifixes, barbed wire, dark family secrets, stained white button downs, sweat drops down your spine, marshy swamp lands, weeping willow trees, rusted iron gates, cicadas in the summer, moss covered gravestones with fresh dirt, cursed family jewelry, old patina rosaries, fireflies at dusk

▶ Road Trip Burnout

bloodshot eyes, flickering neon motel signs, aviator sunglasses, magic 8 balls, recurrent dreams of grey aliens, beaded curtains, dusty denim and incense smoke, sepia desert vistas, playlists of 1960s rock songs, coded messages in television static, comets in the night sky, fake ids, gas station snacks, jesus bobble heads, split lips, patchouli, paranoia between friends, ice cold diet coke, ripped jeans and converse, cigarette smoke drifting out of a car window, a 1960's white ford mustang, evergreen air fresheners, thousand yard stares, a gas station attendant who knows too many secrets, something dark following alongside your car, abandoned rest stops, rickety road signs that lead nowhere

sdfskjdfh This took me forever to get to cuz I think I misunderstood what it was and was overthinking it.

This makes him sound hella dark but that's partially cuz he's a werewolf so spooky stuff fits. He's actually a sweetheart most of the time, I swear. Just.... don't piss him off. lol

Tagging: uhhh @afterdark-vp, @sammysilverdyne, uhhh anyone else who may want to, consider yourself tagged. lmao I dunno I'm bad at keeping up with who's done these. If you've already done it or don't care to it's all good. No pressure ever~

[transfemmeboy]

A woman has an encounter with a werewolf, and it goes exactly how you'd expect it might.

CW: werewolf, non-consent, bad ending, prey POV, reader POV

In the city Pesh, there is a story about a man cursed to become a wolf. Every sun sets a howl can be heard through the streets, ringing as loud as the church bells. Any who stay out after dark know they do so at the risk of becoming prey of the beast.

You have lived here your entire life, but tonight the shop took a little longer than usual to clean up. Hurrying through the streets, you can feel the tension in the air as the guards patrol the dusk square.

As you round the corner to your house, you see it. A large black shadow looming in the street ahead. Immediately you step back, heading back to the square keeping your eyes on the figure.

It stalks forward after you, a huge hulking beast - it resembles a man, but much larger and its chest wide and arms thick with muscles. It looks at you, and snarls, it's long fangs glistening in the lantern light.

You turn and run, but you barely make it to the corner before it is on you. It grabs you with both hands, clutching over your mouth as you scream. It's too strong to fight, you have no chance of escaping as it drags you out of the city limits and forces you against the ground.

You feel the warmth of its breath on the back of your neck as it mounts you from behind. The weight of its body pins you down, the big, brawny weight of its muscular body. You should be terrified but something about it, you are sweating but not in panic. Warmth rushes through you as it licks you, tastes your neck as if ready to sink its teeth in. Instead you feel its hand lift up your dress and the panic returns.

You can't call out as the dirt and leaf litter cushions your face. You can't see a thing, only hear and feel as a brilliantly hot, wet knot slaps out against you. It is so big you feel like you're going to faint the moment it pushes inside you, but it keeps going. You feel all of it, every massive inch as it stretches you roughly. Pain, but also pleasure, also a desire for more. For the way its claws feel as it grabs you rightly, and the way its hot, wet breath feels against your neck. You keep waiting for the moment its jaws will snap shut but they never do. Instead, you feel that fat knot push in only moments before it cums.

As it swells, you feel yourself swelling, the heat filling you is almost too much - it feels as if you're melting away, your mind overcome with wanton desire for more. A muffled moan escapes your lips through the leaf litter. You feel as if you'll break, and only after the knot stops growing inside you do you realise you've cum all over the inside of your dress.

"You'll be a good little breeding bitch," its words, so forceful, wash through you.

You can barely think as it lets you up onto your hands and knees.

"Won't you?"

And you realise it is not giving you a choice, but an order, one you're all to happy to accept, "Yes, Daddy!"

[goth-desires]

￬ watchlist/watched ￬

#Alive

28 Days Later

3 from Hell

A Cure for Wellness

Another

A Nightmare on Elm Street

Alien

Alive

American Psycho

A Quiet Place

Ajin: Demi-Human

Annihilation

An American Werewolf in London

As Above, So Below

Bad Moon

Bad Moon Rising

Before I Wake

Beetlejuice

Bhediya ✓

Bird Box

Black Death

Black Swan ✓

Blood For Dracula

Blood Quantum

Boarding School

Bram Stoker's Dracula

Brotherhood of the Wolf

Cadaver

Candyman

Carrie

Carnival of Souls

Circle

Cloverfield

Constantine

Corpse Bride ✓

Crimson Peak

Cronos

Cursed

Dachra

Dark Shadows ✓

Dawn of the Dead

Daughters of Darkness

Devil

Devour ✓

Dogma ✓

Dog Soldiers

Don't Grow Up

Dracula

Dracula Untold ✓

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Dylan Dog

Edward Scissorhands

Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

Evil Dead

Evil Feed

Eyes Without A Face

Final Destination

Firestarter

Frankenstein

Freaks of Nature

Freaky

Fright Night ✓

From Dusk Till Dawn

Get Out

Ghost Rider ✓

Ginger Snaps

Godzilla ✓

Good Manners

Goosebumps

Glass ✓

Hagazussa

Halloween ✓

Halloweentown ✓

Handling the Undead

Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters ✓

Hellboy

Here Alone

Hounds of Love

House of 1000 Corpses

House of Wax

Howl

Hubie Halloween

Hellraiser ✓

Hellraiser II

He Never Died ✓

Hereditary

Hocus Pocus

Homunculus

Horns

Hotel Transylvania ✓

Hour of the Wolf

I Am Legend ✓

Insidious ✓

Insidious 2 ✓

Interview With The Vampire

Jennifer's Body ✓

Kill Baby Kill

Killer Legends

Krabat ✓

Krampus

La Loba

Late Phases

Let the Right One In

Love Bite

Mandy

Marrowbone

Metropolis ✓

Midsommar

Monster High Movies ✓

My Babysitter's A Vampire ✓

My Bloody Valentine 3D ✓

Nature of the Beast

Near Dark

Never Cry Werewolf ✓

Night of the Living Deb

Nightsiren

I Had A Bloody Good Time At House Harker

In Fabric

In The Tall Grass

Paranorman

Parasite

Pari

Pet Sematary

Perfect Blue

Perfume

Psycho

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

Rabid

Ravenous

Raw/Grave ✓

Re-Animator

Renfield

Replace

Ringu

Rubber

Sabrina The Teenage Witch

Saw ✓

Saw II ✓

Saw III ✓

Scream

Shaun of the Dead

Sicilian Ghost Story

Silver Bullet

Skinner

Snowpiercer ✓

Split ✓

Stardust ✓

Stoker

Stree

Suspiria

Teddy

The Addams Family ✓

The Autopsy of Jane Doe

The Beast Must Die

The Black Cat

The Boy

The Boy Who Cried Werewolf

The Butterfly Effect ✓

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari ✓

The Changeling

The Conjuring

The Craft

The Crow

The Cured

The Cursed

The Curse of the Werewolf

The Dead Don't Die

The Descent ✓

The Endless

The Faculty

The Fall of the House of Usher

The Fearless Vampire Killers

The Fly

The Haunting

The Haunted Mansion

The Howling

The Last Days On Mars

The Last Exit

The Lesson

The Lighthouse

The Little Vampire ✓

The Lost Boys

The Masque of the Red Death

The Matrix

The Mist

The Monster Squad

The Munsters

The Night of the Virgin

The Night of the Wolf

The Old Guard

The Picture of Dorian Gray ✓

The Pit and the Pendulum

The Purge

The Raven

The Return of the Living Dead

The Ring

The Rocky Horror Picture Show ✓

The Shallows

The Shining

The Skin I Live In

The Substance

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

The Thing

The Turning

The Uninvited

The Vampire's Assistant ✓

The Wailing

The Witch

The Whip and the Body

The Wolfman ✓

The Wolf of Snow Hollow

The Woman in Black

Thirst

Teen Wolf ✓

Titane

Train to Busan ✓

Trick 'r Treat

Tucker and Dale vs Evil

Twillight Saga ✓

Underworld

Us

Valley Of Shadows

Vampire Hunter D

Vampires

Vampire Sisters I-II ✓

Vampyr

Van Helsing ✓

Victor Frankenstein

Warm Bodies ✓

We Are The Flesh

We Are What We Are

Wer

Werewolf

Werewolf: The Beast Among Us

Werewolves Within

West of Hell

Westworld

What Keeps You Alive

When Animals Dream

Wildling

Winchester

Wolf ✓

Wolfen

Wolf Guy

World War Z

Wounds

Zombieland

[octoberboy1031]

#Abeautifulsunset and #moonrise of the #FullHarvestMoon!! 🌅🌾🌕🐺

#sunset #twilight #dusk #lastgleaming #lowlight

#neardark #nightfall #gethomebeforedark #theremainingsunlight #hellomoon #heavymoon #fullmoon #wolfmoon #moon #werewolf #werewolves #howl #heavenholdsasenseofwonder #september #summer #latesummer #night #dandelionwine