#werewolves in love lol

[nonsensetwo]

<3 Too adorable!

[bluwingz-artz]

10.26.23

Werewolf | meow

[kinerxy]

monster oc artdump

[connortheconceded]

I'm very normal rn

[fizzigigsimmer]

The King Unbroken: Part II

I continue to be in a moody place. So sorry to all, you get more of this. For @adelacreations and @dragonflylady77

Steve left his heat den just after sunset, two days earlier than he should. His body feels as if it has been over stretched, the muscle achy and sore as if he’d been through battle even though the only fight he’d had recently is with himself. His jaw hurt the most he thinks, from all the clenching. The broken off section of tree bark that he used to stifle his cries during the worst of it, is riddled with teeth marks but unbroken, so it goes back into a pocket of his tactical pants. Fighting men and scavengers alike know a muffler often comes in handy. 

Before the grey-dogs there were drugs and toys to replace alphas and help ease omega’s heats. Mild heats with minimal side effects had liberated omegas, and Steve’s youth as a twentieth century omega had been defined by independence. Of a degree. It was still expected that he should want to settle down with a nice alpha someday and have pups, but not even his alpha could legally forbid him from having a life and a job outside of that if he wanted it. 

But that was before. Now without heat aids, the days of omegas being chained up and owned like animals are back. They depend more on the pack than anyone for balance, and on alphas in particular to keep from becoming a danger to themselves during their heat. 

Steve’s loath to admit it, but when the need takes hold and his world narrows to pain and fear he actually is little better than an animal. He’s not silly or superstitious enough to believe all the folklore about people turning into wolves – because if they ever did, it’s been hundreds of years since anyone witnessed a true transformation. But the arrival of the grey-dogs has brought out the animal in all of them, changed Steve so much, that he can understand where all those old legends came from.   

He doesn’t go belly down and back arched anymore, because there’s no more soft bed and no one he can trust not to take advantage in order to find relief, even if they offered it. Steve doesn’t purr for anyone who scratches his scalp, like he did for high school friends and girlfriends once upon a time. When the heat takes his mind, it leaves nothing but his ferocious need to keep safe, to survive, until he’s like a werewolf on the full moon, howling and scratching at the walls. He’d attack anyone who was stupid enough to try and offer him comfort at such a time.  Outside of the compound they all make a habit of sleeping in their tactical gear, but Steve’s ruined too many good clothes during heat not to know better by now. 

He’s claggy with sweat and unsteady on his feet like a newborn colt but he pushes through it, assessing the shredded state of his tank and cotton drawers before accepting the underwear is a lost cause. He thinks he can salvage half of the tank top.   

He finished dressing quickly, not wanting to prolong his time bare and vulnerable for a second longer than necessity demands, fetching the big knife from his pack to make strips out of the drawers. It would be better if he could wash them first, but he wasn’t going to waste precious time or water out in the open on something trivial. Slipping the knife into the ready pocket on his combat trousers, Steve check that the velcro straps fastening his nail-bat to his pack weren’t coming undone before hoisting the pack carefully upon his shoulders and setting off.  

He walked a few paces into the woods, away from the opening in the tree and left an old roadside flare glowing on the ground for the others to find, before turning and heading south west as planned. His team is patrolling the perimeter as close as Steve’s heat allowed them to comfortably get, laying low because this is foreign territory. Hargrove’s territory technically, although Steve doubted the alpha had very many people watching this area.  

It’s too far north of his lair for one thing, and it’s too wooded for another which provides ample cover for grey-dogs. If their intel is correct, Hargroves's camp lies north of San Diego somewhere around Kelso, or what used to be. There’s a few hundred miles still between there and here and no good reason for Steve to be so on edge. Nothing besides the paranoia that smelling the sea on the air seems to cause him now.   

The west had fared better than most during the first wave of the grey-dogs. Terrifyingly quick, with rows of curved teeth, tough skin and thick claws, their sole weakness seemed to be their aversion to extreme heat. The casualties in warmer climates had been fewer, and when people had realized that the grey-dogs wouldn’t follow them far into the desert, major colonies had formed there. The usual bullshit had divided them, people fighting over crucial water reserves and other resources, until eventually only a few major populations controlled everything. 

There had been five colonies spread between southern California and the states formerly known as Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico and Colorado of note. Just like everywhere else there were smaller scavenger populations of people scattered throughout the west, but it was those five who drew the territory lines and with whom Steve’s colony had traded essential medicines for citrus, stone, and the crucial mechanical parts that Hawkins needed to keep their facilities running.  

No one had expected that things would change, and that the SoCal colony could fall to a band of raiders – the enemy finding their way somehow around the colony walls and wreaking havoc before the colony could pull itself together to mount a proper defense. The alpha and the pack’s strongest fighters had all been slaughtered before morning, and those people who had not already been killed or fled into the desert had knelt before a new king. Hargrove had declared himself alpha and no one who’d lived to tell about it had argued.  

Taking over such a large compound had provided Hargrove with ample resources to control, but it required a firm hand to keep the conquered in line and prevent a mutiny. It was not surprising that Hargrove spent the majority of his time at SoCal Colony but their spies had reported rumors that not all of Hargrove’s pack had moved into the new compound, that some of them had stayed behind at their old camp in Kelso. Most likely it was to maintain it as an option for retreat if it ever became necessary, but there was talk that Hargrove was keeping something important there. 

Whatever the truth, Kelso was Steve’s destination. Robin, Jonathan and the others had been brave enough to follow him on this suicide mission so he wasn’t about to lead them to certain death by trying to kill Hargrove when he had dozens of fighters at his disposal. They had to draw Billy out, and the obvious answer to that was whatever was so important in Kelso that Billy couldn’t leave behind unguarded. 

He tried to stay alert as he walked, having gotten good at keeping a constant awareness of his surroundings running somewhere in the background of his mind. The last time he’d been caught in a moment of inattention it had nearly cost him an ear, and had ended with dozens of stitches and weeks of painful recovery. The hair on that side of his head no longer grew as thick on account of the scars so he kept the sides around his ears shaved now. Robin said he let the rest of it grow twice as long because he was overcompensating. She was probably right, so sue him, the floof-hawk was one of the few joys Steve had left. 

He wasn’t far from the road when he heard it – the familiar sound of low growls and feet rushing over the dry forest floor. He reached behind himself for the handle of his bat, pulling it free and swinging at the first grey blur that lunged at him from the shadows. Steve had a brief glimpse of tiny rows of glistening teeth as its face began to open up before the blow connected with a wet crunch, batting the squealing creature off to the side. There was no time to check if it was down for good before the next one was coming at him. Steve barely had time to get his bat up, this time only just catching the side of the grey-dog as he danced out of reach, backing up toward the road as his gaze frantically swept around the trees to try and count them all.  

He counted three, including the one he’d already hit. Not so bad. Especially since one had gone straight to cannibalizing the injured. No honor amongst monsters. But that left one still standing, ghoulish grey skin oozing blood from where the nails had torn holes in its side. It reared back on its hind legs and let out an other worldly shriek of rage, enough to chill the blood – but Steve was unphased.  

He tightened his grip on the bat and took a purposeful step forward, boot thudding down hard into the earth as he drew the air into his lungs – and roared. 

“Arrrrrrrrrhhhh!” 

The grey-dog lunged, but he was ready ducking low – they had a tendency to go for the chest and throat – and twisting his torso as he brought the bat up hard. He had only a split second to enjoy the thrill of victory before something struck his side, the last grey-dog colliding so hard against his side that it sent him toppling to the ground. The bat fell from his hand as he fell, and if Steve would have tried to reach for it the fight would have been over. Heart pounding in his chest as the grey face above him opened up into four sections of razor-sharp teeth, Steve reached for the knife in his pocket instead and brought it up into the creatures' throat as its mouth descended.   

When Steve reached the edge of the road splitting the wood, he was grateful to hear the rare sound of a running engine. A dangerous sound, unless you happened to be expecting it.  

The jeep was crawling down the middle of the road ahead of him when Steve stumbled out onto it, Jonathan at the wheel, front beams slicing through the semi-dark that had fallen.  

“A-hoy!” Steve cupped hands over his mouth and called, grimacing as some of the sticky blood coating them smeared on his face. Gross. The jeep came to a stop and Robin’s slender white arm (he could tell by the striped sleeves) jutted out of one of the back windows and waved him forward with an urgency that spoke for itself. Noise and blood were all good ways to attract grey-dogs, and even with an armored jeep there was only so much they could do if a swarm was nearby.  

Steve jogged to catch up, on high alert for more grey-dogs. He didn’t let down his guard even when Jonathan had reached across the seat to open the passenger side door. It wasn’t until he’d closed the heavy door and he heard it lock behind him that Steve finally let himself slump back into the seat with a shuddered breath, closing his eyes in relief. 

“Steve! What happened?” Robin bellowed in his good ear, leaning forward to squeeze her torso between the two front seats.  

“You look like shit, Dude!” Dustin chimed in from where he was squeezed in next to Robin in the prized middle seat. If something got through the window, he wouldn’t die first.  

“Smell like it too.” Lucas grumbled from the window, pinching his nose. From the very back row Gabe, Eleven and Jonathan’s younger brother Will stared ahead with uncertain gazes. 

“Got ambushed by a pack of grey-dogs,” Steve explained nudging Robin’s concerned face out of his with his elbow. “But I handled it. Relax, would you.” She rolled her eyes but sat back with a sigh as Jonathan started up the jeep again.  

“Excuse me for worrying Your Highness, when you left the den two days earlier than scheduled. What gives?” 

“We don’t know how much longer Hargrove will be in SoCal, that’s what gives.” Jonathan guessed, his eyes straying from the road just long enough to meet Steve’s.  

Steve nodded in affirmation and Jonathan’s lips tightened in something close to disapproval but he said nothing. Regardless of what he thought of Steve’s choices – he got it. But after what had happened to his mom Steve had no doubt he would. 

“We can’t afford to lose any more time than we already have.” he said, ignoring the worry clinging to all of their scents. The air was thick with it. 

“And you’re sure the heat’s broken?” Robin pressed, “You’re not going to have a flare up an hour from now an get yourself killed?” 

“You know what my heats are like. I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you if it hadn’t.” he reassured her, but even still she continued to glare at him for what felt like forever, until she finally relented with a small nod.  

“Fine. But can we at least crack open a window? You really do reek.” 

“Not till we’re out of the woods.” She groaned when Jonathan shot her down. The jeep was military grade and the windows bullet resistant, but that didn’t mean they were impenetrable and trees could hide more than just grey-dogs.   

“This is the perfect spot for a raid.” Will mused from the back and Jonathan raised his head to catch his eye in the rearview. 

“Says the raider.” 

Steve’s mouth twitched into a smile, thinking that it took one to know one. 

[Link to Part One]

[blyszczopies]

the sparkledog of the pack

[z0mbie2b0y]

Uhhh so like I really really love the idea of full shift wolves, so here's how I imagine the Hale pack den would look like when they are in full shift!!

OK, first off, it would definitely be in like a cool groove(?) That has little hole tunnels that lead to the main house!! I can imagine little secret doors in the house that lead to the den so that the pack has access to it anytime, I can also imagine that it looks wild on the outside but very comfy and has blankets, pillows and maybe some mattresses inside! I can also definitely see Jackson just cuddling up with Lydia (or Ethan for my Jethan shippers!!) On one of the mattresses after a long run lol, I can also see Stiles play fighting with Scott (that ends up with a pillow being ripped), I can also imagine a hidden room in the den where it's for Stiles and Derek like just for them but I can imagine them not really using it because puppy piles :3

(Did this while listening to wolves of the revolution, and here's photos that inspired me!!)

[vehemourn]

DUDE WHO DOLLED UP THE CAT?!

live gabe reaction

[aelijoh]

Run to Gumroad to get my comic!! 🥵😳💦

[piratespencilart]

Werewolf in a hoodie. :)

[ID: Digital art of Chetney from Critical Role. He is a large white anthropomorphic wolf with red eyes and many scars. He is wearing a dark blue hoodie and has his hands in the front pocket. End ID.]

[mbat]

its not really a new thing for me to say that i kinda hate the whole 'werewolf pack' kinda thing for a few reasons, but i dont like, entirely hate it yknow

like my main thing is i like characters having a sortve isolated angsty ass time(i wonder why /s), and werewolves are great for angst! so putting the two together is like. oh hell yes. but thats just a me thing

but also for some reason almost every depiction ive seen of werewolves and werewolf packs has been like... 'their nature/instincts/whatever makes this happen' like, they cant resist it because its something theyre basically forced to do by their biology. ive seen it be blood families, ive seen it be random people who just met and theyre basically bound by the universe i guess, blah blah blah

and idk, i hate that. of course, almost everyone and almost every species has it in their nature to be social and need connection, but its not portrayed like that in these cases. its portrayed more like theyll basically die if they for whatever reason reject it or something, and that their loyalty is their entire life or whatever. idk, its hard to describe.

i think its kinda obvious that im leading this up to found family. who doesnt love found family? who doesnt love when people and characters choose the people that they want to spend their lives with, whether blood is involved or not.

and theres no instinct part of it for me, its just people who want/need support from others, and they find people they love, and you could call it a pack but i just personally wouldnt. its just like any other relationship tbh, but its obv cuter as a group :p

and if it happens to be other werewolves, or other monsters, or even just humans... thats their people that they chose.

[non-un-topo]

Comparing my transition to lycanthropy is my new favourite thing

[chickenbyday]

trick or treat!!! (i am dressed up like a cute lil gay werewolf :3)(@stabbyfoxandrew)

treat!!! Happy Halloween :3

I have a fwb andreil morsel to offer:

Neil let the cigarette in his hand burn out like he always did after, and Andrew let out an annoyed huff the same as he always did, too, completing their ritualistic dance. 

Andrew took a drag of his, and exhaled in an uncharacteristic display of obedience when Neil leaned over and pressed his mouth to his. It wasn't the nicotine, Necessarily, that Neil was trying to pilfer, but the warmth that Andrew always seemed to be able to provide, even when they were unfortunately sticky and damp when the ac kicked on. 

Andrew tolerated his mild clinginess for a moment longer before pushing him away with a hand to his chest. Neil goes, and he wonders when it became difficult to pull away. 

[fizzyphan]

azure, heliotrope?

hi lovely! ooh okay lets see~

azure

id say all of my dreams are pretty wacky tbh lol, but one that includes dnp is: i was like an orphan and at this school that looked like @willowfey 's old highschool and i was like running around looking for something i think it was a rabbit lmao, but anyway then phil like caught me as i was running and had this booming but calming voice like "ur fine! its all fine! the rabbit is fine! come with me!" and i was like *sobs* OKAY- and then we went back to this like cozy house up on the side of the mountain and Dan wad there making tea and i think they kind of, adopted? me? but uh yeah weve all had "adopted by phan" dreams so lol, oh also phil and i were? uhhh trying to remember, someee part mythical creature? like uhhh werewolf?? but not? IDK THIS WAS AWHILE AGO, but uh yeah thats mine sjdbjdbdjsbd- (i have many more lol)

heliotrope

a phan moment that really makes me believe love is real.....hmmm, like...all of them? sjbsusvdyd uh to name one ig it would beee, i mean, dans whole speech in big tbh, ALSO dan just showing up at phils place with his laundry and phil immediately asking "are you moving in?" i just i *sobs* anyways yeH!

yeahh!!! ty for the asskkk!! luv u luv u ! <3

[potekosblog]

In The Addams family musical (which not a fan of) had this one line from Fester and Grandma singing

"You smile a bit the moment you smell blood" then wolf howled

lowkey werewolves behavior

[witchygfsgf]

remus lupin headcanons

🌕☕🍂

birthday: 10th March 1960 - pisces

gender: transman

sexuality: bisexual - male preference

ethnicity: white british

home: clydach, wales

blood status: half-blood

height: 5'9

house: gryffindor

family:

Lyall Lupin - 1938.

Hope Lupin - 1941

early life: Remus was born into a family of two loving parents, and for his first four years, knew nothing but an uncomplicated and comfortable life. They lived in a quaint cottage in Gwynedd, Wales, near to where Hope's family had grown up, and though most of her siblings had passed, she remained as close to them as she was in childhood, inviting little Remus over to play with his cousins before he started school. Lyall, a Ministry worker at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, was away for long hours, floo-ing back exhausted, but his passion for protecting the world from dark beasts only grew as he was promoted in 1965. Remus and Hope became closer while Lyall was away on Ministry business, but both longed for him to come home. They would garden together, taking care of the meagre farm that stretched out from the cottage, learning all about the muggle world outside of their village and what simple facts about magic Hope could recall from her husband, and sharing the couple's extensive record collection.

In mid February of that year, Lyall came home. On his last day on his trip to London, a meeting occurred that left him rattled. A man was being questioned on suspicion of killing two muggles, and though all members of the committee believed the man's insistence that he was simply homeless, Lyall did not. He knew he was a werewolf. Upon returning home, temper shot and humiliated, he sent his son to bed early to talk to Hope. She knew nothing of werewolves, only what Muggles had gathered over the years as ghost stories. That they were dangerous. Listening to his advice, she kissed Remus goodnight, shaken by the thought that such evil things could exist unrestricted, but falling asleep assured that her husband knew best. Remus slept soundly. He didn't worry about the anger his father had trailed into the house. He didn't worry about his open window. When he woke in agony, leg torn apart by a bite, he saw his father's face break, his worldview shifting. The thing was gone now. But it was still in him, infecting him. Dittany and silver was applied to his injury at home - they couldn't risk going to St Mungo's, not when Lyall knew just how prejudiced they were. He was glad for that once. Called it safety. Now, he was consumed by guilt at how wrong he was. From that night, Remus was raised in fear of himself. He knew he was a burden on his parents, their finances, their mental state, everything. Just by being bitten, he had ruined the peace that they had brought him into.

Less than a month later, they moved from their village to another, even more remote, when Remus tried to play with a girl his age. Hope's family was cut off, and Lyall left his job at the Ministry. Six months later, they've moved again. They both researched cures while Remus played by himself, reading and listening to records. Every full moon, he was locked in the basement, reinforced with spells to keep him contained, and silent. After a year, Lyall came home with a potion to try, and the next moon he watched his parents' eyes dull and drain of all hope. The next cure gave him constant headaches all month, a promising sign of at least some sort of change, but all it did was enrage the wolf. He woke up in more pain. Hope learned first aid, and familiarised herself with more potent magical painkillers. They moved only three times more, to Clydach finally, in a tiny cottage, run-down, almost undetectable with the addition of Lyall's charms. Loneliness marked his childhood. By ten years old, Remus had taught himself the basics for First Year. He loved Defence Against the Dark Arts, moving onto Second and even Third Year editions of his father's old textbooks. He didn't understand why Lyall confiscated it when he was recalling the unit on nocturnal beasts. Still, no matter how far ahead he got, he knew he was different. His eleventh birthday arrived. When he woke up, he could only hear the strained muttering from his parents downstairs. His letter was here. Though he was excited, he couldn't help but think something was wrong. That was right. Of course. He couldn't go. Remus hid in his room, ashamed of what he was, tired of being outcast, being alone. Suddenly the voices grew louder. A man he didn't recognise was standing in their living room. He spoke kindly, kinder than Remus believed he deserved or ever hoped to hear, of precautions and protections, and friends. With his parents' timid acceptance, he was going to be like other people.

physical appearance: soft tawny hair that falls in gentle curls down to his neck; thin, awkward body slightly hunched over itself in hiding, with pale skin covered in scars and freckles; hazel eyes with fair lashes, leading into deep eye bags; crooked nose from a breakage too stubborn to heal; bitten fingernails; stretch marks from constant transformations; gapped front tooth; gnarly bite on his outer thigh.

past partners: none

past crushes: Frank Longbottom, Gideon Prewett, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Emmeline Vance

current partners: Sirius Black

hobbies: knitting, journalling, playing guitar, baking

favourite food: homemade sourdough

favourite drink: tea

favourite subject: DADA

misc:

hates quidditch but won't miss a match

has attended a revision club since first year

has severe anxiety

loves chocolate, but considers nutella + chocolate with other flavours added a sin

needs ten hours of sleep to function

very rarely gets angry (being intimidating and aggressive is a stereotype of werewolves) but when he does will isolate himself trying to make it better

knit the marauders all jumpers for christmas seconds year (peter was the only one who wore his regularly)

completely oblivious when people (rarely) have a crush on him

wears boots everyday - not docs

has high pain tolerance

fear of needles (his parents tried a lot of methods for a cure when he was first bitten)

runs away from his problems

has a strong welsh accent, but pronounces certain words more posh (from being around sirius) or brummie (from being around lily)

very easy to make blush

animals hate him

has a collection of books he'll never read

very dry humour

loves autumn and spring, but autumn more because he can cover himself up more

fan of rainy days inside

learned how to darn his own clothes quite young