#wolf divided

[lothli]

An Unmaking: Masterlist

World is heavily based on the world of Weather Factory's games, Cultist Simulator and Book of Hours, and does not necessarily strive for 100% accuracy.

An Unmaking is an independent work and is not affiliated with Weather Factory Ltd, Secret Histories, or any related official content. It is published under Weather Factory’s Sixth History Community Licence.

Available on AO3 and Spacebattles. Rough drafts are available on my subreddit. Read at your own risk.

There used to be links here, but to be honest, posting serialized works on Tumblr is exhausting. I recommend Ao3 if you want to read.

[engravedlives]

random misc dog wolf werewolf graphics pixels stamps blinkies

[animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

requested by anon - find more here

[apheliia]

FAMILY, OF SORTS. — in which kafka, blade, and silver wolf are an odd but quite special found family to be a part of.

— trigger & content warnings. mentions of unspecified injury.

— pairings & notes. fluff, found family. kafka & teen!reader, blade & teen!reader, silver wolf & teen!reader. 1.3k words. reader is a stellaron hunter. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used).

— author's notes. the sillies <3 APHE POSTING???? APHELION POSTING REAL AND TRUE????????? i had a request for this on my old blog (from my dear beloved moot @starryshinyskies <3) so i decided to finish it 💪 nd tagging @www-brontide since i know you were excited for this post HEHE anyways how are we feeling about this formatting? if you guys don't like it i'm very open to changing it back. i'm just experimenting with my post format is all 🫶

kafka seems strangely motherly to me. caring and doting in her own unique ways, but also quite strange and odd in those same ways. an enigma of sorts.

she is the kind of person to always send the stellaron hunters' youngest member texts throughout the day; these texts range anywhere from silly and inconsequential to sweet messages letting [name] know that she was thinking about them.

(her doting nature is not dissimilar to how she thinks of and regards the trailblazer... hm.)

KAFKA

My coat got stained again :(

Won't you help me clean it when you get home, little one?

[ 1:22 PM ]

KAFKA

I saw a new movie today.

It made me think of you. It was quite to your tastes.

Perhaps we should go see it together sometime, hm?

Ah, but you're probably asleep by now...

That's fine. You do need it more than the rest of us.

Sleep well, darling.

[ 11:34 PM ]

she thinks of her little one quite frequently and has been known to pick up little trinkets from different planets that reminded her of them. a phone charm, a set of rings, something more practical like a new weapon... she once returned with a nice coat that matches one of hers. her gifts are always unpredictable but nonetheless very thoughtful.

and when or if they get injured, she is the one who treats their wound(s) with a tender hand.

she does chide them, however.

"you are a stellaron hunter, little one," she reminds, pulling the bandages wrapped around their wound a little tighter, making them wince. it is akin to a slap on the wrist—not enough pain to seriously harm them, but enough to force them to take her words to heart. "if it is not a part of the plan, try your best not to get caught or injured, hm? silver wolf doesn't like to see you this way, and it causes a unique stir in bladie. your getting injured causes quite the unrest among us all! do be more careful next time."

if there is ever a night during which they are struggling to sleep, they are more than welcome to seek out kafka's company.

she would be willing to read them to sleep, if that is what they desired.

however... a far easier method that would ensure they would stay asleep? her spirit whisper ability, of course.

they know kafka would not use it to harm them.

kafka finds their earnest trust beyond endearing. the trust of a little one like them is quite an important gift! the least she can do, she thinks, is assist them when her assistance is needed.

and sometimes, that just means lulling them to sleep.

blade is quite a difficult person to read, regardless of whether he intends to be so or not.

some days, he is distant and prefers to keep to himself. others, less so.

this, though, should not be mistaken for a lack of care. in fact, he cares quite deeply. his care is simply very quiet and he desperately, earnestly, truly does not wish to cause [name] harm.

he is also most likely the one who spars with them and trains them in the ways of combat, which... he isn't exactly the gentlest at doing. training sessions can be quite frustrating in that they often emerge sore and with new cuts and bruises (but really, these injuries are small and insignificant; they are confident in saying that blade would never truly hurt them, nobody in their family would). he does mean well in his tough methods, though.

the universe is not kind or gentle. it will never treat them that way. therefore, he does his best to prepare them so that they can effectively handle the universe's cruelty and defend themselves from it.

one of the ways in which his quiet care manifests is through his treatment of the small wounds he gives them during training. kafka has said many times that she can treat them, but blade always insists on doing it himself.

out of all of their coworkers, blade becomes the most restless when they're away. he gets particularly antsy when they've been gone for a long period or when they're out there alone. kafka always giggles and points out to him how utterly restless he becomes when such circumstances occur.

(he should be assured that they can handle themselves, given that he is their mentor—there is surely nobody else who would know their skills as well as he would—but somehow he simply isn't.)

blade is also, generally speaking, the most protective.

should they come back injured... if it is anything other than a shallow scratch on the cheek, a rage hotter than the brightest star burns under his skin. in those moments, he almost does not dare to touch them, for fear that he might harm them unwittingly... but he does. his hands are somewhat rough when he snatches their face and tilts their chin around to get a better look at the blood (is it theirs? he hopes not) and grime dirtying their face. there is a terrifying threat present in his voice when he demands, not asks, "who did this to you?"

(if kafka was not present in these moments, he might worry that his mara would get the best of him. thankfully, kafka is intentional and present in such situations.)

unless the ones responsible for the wound have already been adequately... taken care of, he will do so himself. there is nowhere in the universe that the perpetrators could hide from him.

it's about protecting them, but it is also about sending a message.

something along the lines of "anyone who lays hands on them will suffer a fate worse than death," perhaps.

death is anything but a terrible fate to blade, but he knows that it is the worst imaginable to some. he will be certain to deliver something infinitely worse, something beyond imagination, to those daring to hurt his younger teammate.

silver wolf is perhaps the least enigmatic of their little family. she isn't an open book, per se, but she's easier to read than kafka or blade... at least, for someone like [name], anyway.

she never fails to harrass them to play a few rounds (which tends to spiral into many, many rounds...) of a game or two with her. why them, specifically? she insists that blade isn't good at them and kafka is kafka. really, it may very well just be that she enjoys spending time with them, but she—of course—will not simply say that.

however... she bullies them terribly about how bad they are. it comes from a place of affection!

she is also the type to win them every single prize at carnivals, just because she likes the joy it seems to bring them. when she encounters rigged games, however, she becomes all the more motivated by her unadulterated annoyance to beat them.

what do you mean she of all people can't beat this awful and horrible rigged game? her???? the silver wolf????? seriously????????

unfortunately, it does not always end in her victory, even when she is infinitely motivated by her anger.

...and she really isn't above just taking one of the prizes when the stall's owner isn't looking. she has done so multiple times for [name].

she would definitely try to teach them hacking (keyword: try) if they aren't already familiar with it. since it has come in handy for her, she figures that they might also find use in it. it's her quiet way of looking out for them.

(her more obvious way of looking out for them is often seen when she is on missions with them. most commonly, it manifests as her snatching their arm and pulling them out of the way of an enemy before obliterating said threat.)

silver wolf is totally the sort of person to pinch their cheeks (to different degrees, kafka and blade also do this!). they are very cute to her.

overall they are a weird but very special little family to be a part of <3

please consider supporting your writers by reblogging and leaving a kind tag or comment. it really helps me out!

[sweetmelodygraphics]

[mournfulroses]

Yes, I like being able to hold on to something forever, no matter how small it is.

Christa Wolf, from "They Divided The Sky: A Novel," publ. in 1963

[sister-lucifer]

Could you do more Minecraft wolf dividers, please? Your dividers are so cool!

🐺Minecraft Wolf Dividers🐺

you can find more minecraft dividers under my #minecraft tag

please like, reblog, & credit if you use!

[DIVIDER REQUESTS ARE OPEN!]

DNI: TERFS, endo, proship, pro ana, nazi, MAPs, zoophiles

tag list: @odysseuscore @ghostboneswrites2

[dedehfazarte]

[t4timberwolf]

took a lot of photos outside with my man caspian and a new guest eve 👀 where i found her is crazy but that’s for a future video mayhaps

[lothli]

VII: Cicatrices Reliquimus

I trudged back home, my body operating more on instinct than with any conscious thought. My heart ached and burned, the blood in my veins seemed to move just a bit slower than before. I sat in my chair, my hands still coated in gore, my head empty. The knife, my knife, sat, cold and keen and pristine, radiating its awful aura, buried deep within my table.

The blood had stopped flowing long ago, coagulating a deep red against my skin. It was not mine. None of it was mine. I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, the numbness within me only deepening.

The shower was scalding, but I felt nothing. My flesh turned red and raw, and I stared. The warmth should have reminded me of something, yet I remained cold, distant. Unfeeling. My tears fell silently, and my hair and skin were clean. Yet the blood remained, staining not my body, but my soul.

The blade was still there when I emerged. It still had that sharp, disquieting smell, neither blood nor ozone. Something wrathful, something that cursed all of existence.

I passed it by, walking out to my kitchen, only to be stopped by a voice. A familiar voice, if it could even be called that, growling in my ear. It called for division, for anger. It had shown me visions of a dissevered sun and told me that it would bring the same to me, to this city. To the cults. And I would be its fangs, to be wielded against all of existence. It whispered its name: The Wolf Divided.

I turned on my heel. "Why? Why have you chosen me?"

The Wolf did not answer, at least not with words. But it flooded me with its anguish, only satiated with the destruction of the very things it despised most: the Hours and all of their kin, and last, and above all else, itself. It wished to end it all so, finally, it could end its own wretched existence. It saw its hatred within me, my yearning for revenge, my loathing of the cults. It wished for me to be strong. Strong enough to end the Hours and then itself.

The blade called, its edge sharper than I ever thought possible, its keen song the most beautiful music to my ears. It called me. And so, I must answer.

My fate was sealed. The Wolf would not let me go. I would be its fangs. Its instrument, to end its existence. But that did not mean I would not struggle.

"You do not own me. I will not let you take over my body, my soul." My voice shook, my fists clenched tight.

The Wolf did not reply, its anger palpable in the air. I stood, unmoving. I hated to admit it, but our aims aligned. If I complied, I would have the power to end the cults and perhaps even the Hours they worshipped. But at what cost? How many more innocents would I bleed? I would be no better than the very people I despised, an indiscriminate killer under the service of an Hour.

"No," I spat. I would not submit to it. I would carve my own path without the help of the Wolf.

It growled in response, spitting its vile hatred. But within that hatred, I felt a smug certainty. Almost as if it was sure I would return to it. It could wait.

I sat back down in the chair, my knife, its knife, still buried within the table. I picked it up, the metal still as cold as death, the stench of sharpness still in the air. It was no ordinary knife anymore, that was for certain. Steeped in Winter, Edge, and the blood of a Long, it had been remade anew. Now, it was the fang of a wolf. And I would have to carry it, for I had no other weapon. No other choice.

I left it there, staring at it. It shuddered, its anger like a tangible force, but it would wait. It was my tool, and it would be wielded by my will alone. The Wolf was wrong to think that I would ever bend to its whims.

I would use it as a weapon against the cults. Nothing more.

---

The Children were dead. They were gone, and the city had no more to fear from them. But the others were still active, and their cultists walked the streets, scrambling to fill the power vacuum.

I bought myself a second knife, one untouched by Winter, Edge, or blood. Its steel was dull, and its Edge was lacking, but I made do. I was more than enough to make up for my weapon's deficiencies. The Wolf's Fang, as I began to call it, was kept strapped to my leg, where it had always resided. But it would not see any more action. I needed none of the Wolf's vitriolic blessings. Not if I could avoid it.

And so I tracked the cults down. Their members, their cultists, I would cut them down. Even with my dulled knife, it was far too easy. When I wasn't looking, I had become far, far stronger than I'd realized.

They were too weak for me, too slow, and too few to do anything about me. Scrabbling vermin, fleeing before their inescapable end. And with each kill, each life snuffed, I felt the Wolf's approval, its nihilistic delight in death and pain, its desire for an ending to everything it loathed. And so I continued to cut. But each flash of my blade would not be done in the Wolf's name, nor its hate. It would be my hate, my duty, and mine alone.

---

The cultists were dead; their cults were excised. None amongst them had a Long, so they fell with nothing of note. I thought of the Moth Long, who used to dwell in this city, but I could not find him, no matter where I looked. Perhaps he fled upon seeing my power, or perhaps his capriciousness had led him away through no fault of my own. But the cultists were dead, and their plots unraveled.

I was at a loss for what to do next. I had lived for my revenge against the cults, against the people who took everything from me. But the cults had fallen. They were gone, their remnants shattered, and their leaders slaughtered. All that remained was... me.

The Wolf Divided still called. It growled, reminding me that my city was only one of many. It showed me other cults in other cities, snippets of their condemnable actions and their prayers to their Hours.

The Wolf asked me if my hatred was truly satiated.

I knew the answer was 'no', but I still resisted. This was what it wanted, to wield me against all it despised.

But what was left for me if I rejected the Wolf? To grow complacent within my city, satisfied with my meager victory? The other cults remained, far away in their own festering cloisters, and they would need to be cleansed as well. The Divided One's goals and mine were aligned, no matter how much I would wish otherwise. But I was still not the Wolf, and I would never be the Wolf. Never again would my hatred, the edge of my blade, be turned against the innocent. Never again.

I owned few possessions. The clothes on my back, a worn notebook of occult knowledge scavenged from the cults I demolished, and my knives. And now, I was ready to leave. The cults within my city were destroyed. They would not recover for many years. My presence was needed no longer.

A more sentimental person might have lingered, dwelling on some past memory or some fond remembrance. But I had no need for such things as I left without turning back.

[sunnimals]

The Coastal Sea Wolf - for Anon

[sisterlucifergraphics]

Is it possible for you to make some some dividers themed after wendigos? The deer-wolf like monsters

🦌Spooky Deer + Wolf Dividers🐺

A/N: I didn’t feel comfortable making Wendigo dividers as a non native (especially since the bastardization of native culture is so rampant, + I’m pretty sure the animal like features of the Wendigo aren’t in the original folklore, that’s a pop culture addition:( ) so I went for a general spooky animal vibe instead. I hope these still work for your purpose!

please like, reblog, & credit if you use!

(PT: Please like, reblog, & credit if you use!)

[DIVIDER REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!]

(PT: Divider requests are closed!)

DNI: TERFS, endo, proship, pro ana, nazi, MAPs, zoophiles

tag list: @ghostboneswrites2 @savanaclaw1996 @bloodythornsandskulls @humancorps3 @imachaoticghost

@und3ad-mutt @ribbed-scythe @idkwhatto-namethis @nothers @yourlocaltrasheater

@ang3l-d1nn3r @faggotron-3000 @orisaspirin @bunnyb0yy @blindweb

@wardenofbanland @weirdest-worlds @king-of-dumbasses @webmush

[if you’d like added or removed from the tag list for dividers, please leave a message in my inbox]

(PT: if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list for dividers, please leave a message in my inbox)

[lunaridae]

— Minecraft Woods Wolf

[voxofthevoid]

Tis Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #13.

Sukuna is back and traumatizing Yuuji with hole (...many holes this time) as usual, but as per yesterday's poll, this week's offering is also goyuu—specifically, Gojou taking a big dick and almost regretting it. The almost is load-bearing.

Eat up 🍨

Satoru bottoms out with a grunt that shudders in his throat like it’s caught on something bigger and meatier than the wet muscles there. When he swallows, he can almost taste it.

Under him, Yuuji’s all tightly shut eyes and clenching fists, and with the way he’s clenching his jaw and panting through his nose, you’d think he’s hurting. But the cock lodged inside Satoru tells a different story, throbbing its heat with a ferocity that seeps into his muscles, into his bones. Satoru can feel it in his goddamn spine, a gnawing ache that’s left him in cold sweat.

He shifts, telling himself it’s to find a better, kinder angle, and his body proves the futility of it by clenching tight inside and out.

Satoru doesn’t make a fucking sound, but Yuuji groans like a gutted thing.

“That’s my line,” Satoru says dazedly.

Yuuji’s eyes flutter open, satisfyingly glassy. “W-what?”

Satoru considers it. It’s rather hard. His thoughts keep scattering, his mind trying to slip down his spine to writhe in his asshole. It should really stop. There’s no space down there. Satoru’s not sure there’s enough space for what he has crammed up in there. It feels like Yuuji’s shaved off some flesh and maybe some bone to make that thing fit, and maybe it’s a good thing that Yuuji’s only other lover is a demon because Satoru can’t imagine your average teenager surviving this dick. Cute little Megumi would get torn in half.

That’s unfair. Satoru’s the one who pinned this boy down and sat on his cock. But at the end of the day, he’s the one with his ass split open; he’s allowed an uncharitable thought or ten. What Yuuji doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

Satoru, meanwhile, is being hurt by something he knows quite well. He knew what he was getting into: He’s seen and held this cock. It’s pulsed against his own length and slid maddeningly over his clenching asshole. He’s had it in his mouth just yesterday, down so deep that his lungs ached with it, and his throat didn’t stop hurting until Satoru healed it when the hot ache of it became more irritating than sweetly filthy.

But it always feels more like this—the heat, the length, the girth.

“—you—Satoru, please—”

Satoru blinks, his vision shifting from a hazy mix of energy lines and solid colors to resolve into the pretty curves of a violently flushed face. Yuuji’s staring up at him almost pleadingly, his eyes gone all big and dark.

“You say something?” Satoru asks.

“Move,” Yuuji chokes out, his fingers fisting the sheets tighter till the knuckles turn white, “please.”

Satoru almost laughs. “You want me cryin’, kid?”

Yuuji’s eyes widen almost comically. “N-no, no, what—”

“Gimme a moment here.” Satoru experimentally shifts his arms without moving an inch elsewhere. It’s a good thing he keeps his nails blunt; he’d have sunk them right into Yuuji’s chest otherwise. “I did just take your monster cock.”

A high-pitched noise rends the air. Yuuji looks like he’d sink right through the mattress and also the floor underneath if Satoru wasn’t keeping him safe and snug inside him.

“I didn’t mean…” Yuuji finally pries a hand off the mattress—and promptly covers his face. “Didn’t mean it like that. Take—take your time?”

“Look at that, you’re a gentleman after all.”

Yuuji whimpers.

A part of Satoru wants to keep teasing him, but every word he says still feels like it’s fighting past the tip of Yuuji’s cock, like it’s stabbed in so deep that it’s cut him open all the way to the throat, and Satoru’s whole spine aches like it’s feeding that dirty illusion. And it’s hot—hotter than the entire rest of Yuuji, even the inside of his mouth, as if this boy runs cold just so his cock can hoard all his heat. Now it’s all pouring into Satoru, scorching him from the inside.

There are worse ways to burn.

Satoru settles his palms over the indents his nails made in Yuuji’s flesh, shifting his weight forward. Sharp pain bolts up his back, and again, Yuuji’s the one who makes a noise, but the tone’s all wrong—delight bordering on delirium. Satoru’s not quite there yet.

But god, sat on a cock like this, he fucking will be.

He breathes out slowly, forcing himself to relax. It mostly works. The tension seeps out of his shoulders, and his thighs feel less like they’re trying to shatter his own bones. His ass is a lost cause, stretched to its limit and then some. All Satoru can feel there is the shape and heat of Yuuji’s cock, but even that’s a nebulous mass of sheer sensation, its edges and ends melting into the clench of his gut and the curve of his spine and the hollow of his throat.

Yuuji’s still covering his face, fingers flexed like they’re poised to tear off whole chunks of flesh.

“Look at me, Yuuji,” Satoru orders softly. “I want you to watch this part.”

Yuuji makes a noise like Satoru’s hurting him, but his hand moves up, gripping his hair instead of his whole face, and with his forehead bared like this, Yuuji looks older and sharper—or maybe that’s the expression on his face, that hot-eyed hunger.

Satoru very slightly shifts his hips. His insides ripple in a molten rush.

“Satoru,” Yuuji gasps like a plea.

And Satoru’s body answers of its own volition, repeating that minute movement, and it’s no less vicious, the way his muscles flinch and flex around that claiming cock, but it’s not all pain, if it ever was. It’s fullness, first and foremost, his flesh sleeved on a burning bit of this boy’s body, but there’s pleasure too, throbbing with the ceaseless pressure against his prostate and even the more piercing sensations further in, where Yuuji’s reached so deep that the touch alone feels violating.

There’s just something about it—a perverse thrill in being touched where he shouldn’t be, like there are blistering fingers prying open his flesh to grope him gut-deep.

It’s also what’s keeping him here, breathless and trembling. He can move through pain, but pleasure’s a different beast.

But Satoru will mount that too.

He slides his hand from Yuuji’s chest to his shoulders, gripping tight. The muscles there tense under his palms, but their solid heat is pleasant to cling to, like the reluctant give of flesh is a sign that this body can take him well.

Satoru promptly tests it out, rocking his hips with real intent.

Excruciating pleasure bolts up his spine, and Satoru does it again before his body can grow shy, gasping sharply as the sensation doubles and triples in intensity, every lash of pain-pleasure chasing after the one before it, colliding into a scorching mass somewhere at the base of his spine, and it spreads and spreads, heating his guts and his lungs and his bones, and the source of the heat throbs inside his ass, no less devastating despite Satoru’s insides trying so hard to accommodate its size.

Below, Yuuji’s stiff all over, muscles pulled taut. He could be a marble statue if not for the warm flush gleaming under a fine sheen of sweat.

“It feels very good, doesn’t it,” Satoru says, not quite a question.

Yuuji just lets out a thin, whistling breath, a word trapped somewhere in it.

“Nothing you don’t know,” Satoru infers, admittedly unconnected to anything Yuuji’s said or done—he just remembers those claw marks, bloody and vicious. “That means I should make this memorable, hm? I do hate coming in second.”

Yuuji shakes his head, just a single frantic motion.

“Oh?” Satoru breathes, bearing down with his whole body, and there’s nothing left for him to take, his ass flush with Yuuji’s groin, but the cock impaling him still digs into whole new swathes of flesh.

Yuuji moans softly, and his lips quiver around words that make no sound. Then—

“Y-you’re not. Already, it’s—you’re always—shit, Satoru—”

Satoru smiles, unclutching one of Yuuji’s shoulders to pat his cute face. “You’re such a sweet boy.”

Yuuji’s hips buck, bouncing Satoru on his cock, and it’s a weak motion, between Yuuji’s legs being flat on the mattress and Satoru’s weight pinning him at the pelvis, but weak from someone like Yuuji is still enough to make Satoru shudder and clench, caught in a motion that’s less about movement than shifting, searing pressure, his rim screaming around the girth spreading it and his sore insides rippling around a cock that manages to find new ways to abuse what it’s already claimed.

His own cock throbs in answer, jutting out in front of him the way it has this whole time, forcing Satoru into honesty even as he writhed and grunted his way down Yuuji’s cock.

“Don’t make me take it back,” Satoru warns breathlessly, putting more weight on Yuuji’s shoulder like that’ll still the rest of him. “Stay.”

“Trying,” Yuuji gasps. “You’re just so—”

Yuuji doesn’t finish that, but Satoru’s willing to forgive him as long as he keeps looking at Satoru with those dark, burning eyes, and he’s only too willing to give Yuuji more and more reasons to keep looking, clutching him close and pinning him down and moving until they’re both plunged into an exquisite hell.

[mmadeinheavenn]

I'm not sure if this technically counts as a request but for your duo fang divider, could you make that a single divider? Thank you.

here you go!!! I hope these are good :D

[le3fmtgy]

﹒﹒★﹒In a wolf's moonlight

︶ ⊹ You're so red ⋆ ₊