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fandoms-in-law · 1 month ago

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Wolves of Hawkins

Summary: Steve was turned into a werewolf when he was young after his parents were rude to one passing through Hawkins. When the Upside Down happens it's the start of the rest of the Party learning about Werewolves after a passing alpha helps the kids in the school. Here's some snippets of how Steve copes with trying to keep the young wolves working together and becomes an alpha along the way.

Author's Note: The werewolf pack dynamics and eye thing is inspired by Teen Wolf. I've been reading those fics recently, so not sure how accurate they would be beyond that. This is only Stranger Things characters and storyline though.

If anyone asked the Harrington’s, Hawkins was a small quiet town with nobody important in it so they could relax the few times they visited it.

It anyone asked Steve Harrington, and if he trusted them a lot, he could explain that Hawkins is a werewolf neutral zone, left unclaimed so packs could move across the states without constant territory meetings.

Nobody would ask either, and werewolves don’t exist anyway. They definitely don’t bite nine-year-olds because their parents were insulting.

At least the packs moving through after he was turned helped Steve keep control and learn about the powers that came with the shift. Also, at least he had the strength when El escaped and there were suddenly much worse things around Hawkins than werewolves travelling through.

“Steve? Are you-” Nancy’s words broke off, but Steve watched the ceiling a little longer, looking around for signs whatever had come through the ceiling was coming back. Only after ten minutes did he feel save enough to drop the shift and the bat his claws had dug into when he realised how stupid fighting without shifting was becoming.

“The hell was that? What’s going on?” He demanded then, looking between Nancy and Jonathan harshly.

Nancy stepped back from him, “It killed Barb. El found out.”

“It took Will.” Jonathan added, seeming to think that answered the questions Steve had asked.

He rolled his eyes at them. “Yes, I’m a werewolf. No, neither of you answered my questions, so who do I need to find to get them answered?”

“Mike and his friends called it a demogorgan. It’s a monster we’ve no other name for.” Nancy explained, following him out to his car, Jonathan too, a few steps behind. “They say it came from the lab in town, or from this girl they found, El, escaping it.”

“Great, let’s hope nobody in the pack passing through got caught up in it. They would react badly.” Steve grumbled, opening the passenger door before throwing himself into the drivers seat. “Come on, tell me where to find whoever else is after that thing since you two better not be working alone.”

“Alpha Poole, I apologise for how Hawkins has disturbed your travels. Was someone in your pack taken?” Steve called, recognising the man standing in front of the kids when they got to the school.

“It hasn’t.” He said bluntly. “But still might. I caught this child with my teeth when trying to help them against the men approaching them with guns.”

It took a moment to remember the kid gestured to was Dustin Henderson, a name Steve only vaguely knew from Nancy mentioning it one time when they were on the phone. “I can teach him control. Was anyone else harmed or turned?”

“Just the men in lab coats.” Alpha Poole gestured around them where some men were seemingly dead from nose bleeds and others had clearly been savaged by the wolf pack.

Steve thought for a moment, assessing the situation since most packs nowadays treated him as the areas warden. “Please move through the town as fast as you can, Alpha Poole. I thank you for protecting the children here, but believe that you might be at risk of arrest if you remain for too long, even if we avoid mentioning your presence tonight.”

“And the girl who went into the wall?” The other asked, looking at the blank wall in curiousity.

“Unfortunately I was not informed of what was occurring before trying to apologise to a class mate and my girlfriend and encountering an unknown creature attacking them, but I’ll learn what I can.” Steve explained, avoiding the questioning if not challenging looks everyone from Hawkins was regarding him with.

Alpha Poole nodded then, turning to leave the school as Steve went to check on the boy now turning into a werewolf.

Time in Hawkins moves fast for Steve after the monsters first appeared. He gets caught up in trying to keep a healthy relationship with Nancy alongside training Henderson in controlling the heightened emotions a werewolf was prone to go through as well as keeping track of those passing through as much as he could.

Before more monsters showed up again, all the kids had started asking passing alphas if they’d bite them, only avoiding the anger that impolitely requesting the change often caused because of their age and Steve’s quick explanations over how the three boys knew.

Eventually Steve had expected them to be turned, and to struggle to keep everyone as friends and a makeshift pack given no alpha wanted to claim Hawkins and risk disturbing the travel routes for other packs. He hadn’t expected it to happen because Dustin decided a lizard from his trash bin made a great pet.

“We can force our way out.” Dustin decided.

They been stuck in the lift for an hour now, and Steve groaned when Dustin shifted and moved to try punching through the wall, hurrying to restrain him. “No. There is an unknown number of Russian soldiers out there. Do you want to get us caught, tortured or killed? Do you want that for Erica? Robin?”

“Then what are we meant to do?” Dustin exclaimed.

“Wait for them to open, stay hidden, and learn what we can before getting out if we can’t see a way to get rid of them without risking the hundreds of people in the mall above us.” He insisted.

Robin and Erica were looking between them in some shock before Erica laughed, “Is this why Lucas keeps sneaking out one night a month? He’s a werewolf?”

“Yes, all their friends are annoyingly. They weren’t meant to go out looking for trouble, and no alpha actually wanted any of the shit heads in their packs while so young.” Steve grumbled.

“Get Out!” Steve ordered, wincing only slightly as his eyes burned and he continued pushing Dustin towards the vents. Robin was only just holding the door closed and he wanted to be doing that so only he’d be left behind.

Dustin stopped fighting him after his eyes stopped burning, gaping for a moment.

“Get yourselves to safety and if there’s someone who you can trust, tell them we’re here.” Steve ordered again, going to the door as soon as Dustin had himself in the vent.

“Yes Alpha” was called back to him, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. There were Russians getting through the door and taking him and Robin as prisoners and focusing on when to fight and try to escape needed to be his priority now.

Robin had pulled Steve out of the cinema and he wasn’t too inclined to stay just because Dustin had said so. He could feel the kid and Erica regardless.

Once they were shut in the bathroom, with a bin pushed in front of the door, she watched him seriously, asking, “What changed down there? Your eyes were glowing amber but then turned red.”

“I think I became an alpha but that’s-” Steve broke of, trying to comprehend what he now knew had happened. Hearing about the eye colour change confirmed it. “None of the wolves I’ve learnt from mentioned that being possible.”

She nodded, “Is that why I feel connected to you?”

“You’re pack now. It’s a pack bond I’m pretty sure, between you, me, Dustin and Erica.” He’d never experienced a proper pack bond. There was a vestige of one after he was turned but that alpha had essentially rejected him before ever biting him since the turn was done as revenge.

Robin fidgeted for a moment, tugging on her fingers and looking at him hesitantly, “So does that mean I have to like tell you my secrets?”

“Only if you want to.” Steve automatically replied, long since past trying to demand information from his friends, “I’d prefer to know any important ones since you’re basically going to be my second in command now.”

“Second in- you’re not making Dustin that?”

He gave her a flat look, shaking his head. “We are not dealing with Dustin having power over the other kids if they join the pack! Besides, you’re cool and I like you.”

“First secret is, I don’t like you. I had a crush on someone who had a crush on you and she never looked at me.” The words burst from her at speed and she looked at him defiantly.

He glared back, “That is not going to stop you being second in command! You get to cut egos down to side for all the brats and me when I need it.”

“Steve?” Robin asked, now a dubious turn coming into her expression though she was still mostly defiant.

Repeating her secret in his head he nodded, getting what she’d actually been ready to fight over and half chuckled as he added, “And yeah, who did you have a crush on? Tell me you have good taste in women.”

“Tammy Thomson.”

Steve smirked at her, laughing properly now, “So that’s a no for taste.”

“Hey!”

It took three weeks for the rest of the party to challenge the Scoops Troop feeling separate from them. Steve had tried bring up being a pack with them a few times but never known what to say.

Max however knew exactly what to say the first time she reached out to him by demanding a lift to the arcade. “What changed with you? You’ve been weird since Starcourt. Separate or something.”

“And you’ve been isolating yourself due to grief. I have tried reaching out.” Steve pointed out, only realising as he did so what she meant. The pack wasn’t everyone he knew or even the other kids that had become wolves.

She jabbed his arm harshly, “Steve, you’re still doing the separate thing. What happened while you were with Dustin and the others? Why are you distant?”

He sighed, knowing he should have told everyone already but never having expected to become alpha. Even now Dustin was wondering when Will would become an alpha since it had naturally come to Steve.

It was the only thing that could explain to Max why he, and probably Dustin too, felt more separate from the rest of the party. “I became an alpha. Dustin, Erica and Robin were straight in my pack as the people I was protecting at the time.”

“So let me be pack too.” Max made the solution sound so simple.

He shrugged, wishing he could agree and just have it be so, but certain there had to be something more for it. “I don’t know how.”

“Do it. You already protect me. You already try to tell me what to do and look after me however much I let you so be my alpha.” Max listed why he had already been acting as her alpha, meeting his gaze insistently before slightly baring her throat though he didn’t think she realised she had.

“Okay.” Steve agreed, expecting to have to focus on her to form the connection but in agreeing to her demand the pack bond snapped into place.

El hadn’t told Steve that she knew he was an alpha now, but he’d been relatively sure she’d figured it out soon after saving them from the Russians in the mall. He assumed that was why Will had asked for his help in packing his room up and said an hour into working together, “I’m glad you’re the alpha now.”

“Yeah, Will?” He replied, showing he was listening but uncertain what else there was to say.

Will nodded, smiling a little, and folding a few tops into a suitcase before he carried on, “Yeah, it’s nice to have someone who’ll try to take charge but still listens to us all when we’re around. Will you be my alpha? Is that possible with Mum moving us away.”

“Sure. Plenty of packs are scattered, but I’ll let the pack local to wherever you move know that you’re there and part of my pack. You should be fine travelling without announcing yourself but I can give you a letter explaining if you’d prefer that.” He’d heard enough about how travel for werewolves worked to know those actions were reasonable and generally done for wolves needing to separate from their pack for a while.

“I would. Thank you Steve.” As the pack bond settled into place, Will hugged Steve, relaxing from a tension he hadn’t noticed in the younger boy.

Lucas and Mike found their time to talk with Steve during one of his first shifts at Family Video and came in looking like the pair of surly teenagers they were.

“Max says we’re not dating because I’m not pack.” Lucas began, looking at him expectantly.

Mike hunched his shoulders in, folding his arms grumpily, adding, “El says I have to join the pack, but she’s happy figuring out being powerless without straining a pack-bond with distance.”

“Woah, breathe, both of you.” He held a hand up to both of them, looking at them assessingly before he admitted, “You’re in the pack easily. I just needed you to ask. I’m not splitting the party because I became alpha, but this is not your way to fix any relationships. Those take work that you should be putting in, or accepting when your girlfriend needs to work through her emotions on her own.”

Lucas still protested, clearly worrying about how withdrawn Max had been from most of them since the death of Billy. “But I could support her.”

“How am I meant to do that if she’s moving away?” Mike complained too and Steve very much wished the two boys could make it one conversation between all of them instead of acting as if he was talking to each of them separately.

He also wondered if other alpha’s also doubled as relationship counsellors or if this was what happened from too many people being bitten when too young.

“Help us find Eddie.” Dustin demanded as he and Max barged into Family Video.

Steve rolled his eyes, glancing over at them. “Use your nose. Stop bothering us at work.”

He knew why Dustin and Max were there already. He’d seen the news and had mostly expected their arrival at some point but that didn’t stop him from thinking the two younger wolves could accomplish the goal of finding Eddie a lot quicker if they didn’t tie themselves to his work times.

“Then help us help Eddie.” Max repeated their request, going on to explain why he needed too with, “You’re our alpha, Steve. You’re meant to protect us and Eddie needs that now.”

“Fine.” He nodded, but still carried on working. With Robin there the four of them would manage to locate at least a general location to start looking at.

“Why are you here?” Eddie had Steve pressed against the wall of the boathouse and was lucky that Steve had had so many years of controlling his instincts that no claws had come out and no fight was being given despite the broken bottle being held to his neck.

Robin had never needed that control and reacted by grabbing Eddie away from him and pushing him back. “Get off him!”

“Robin, breathe.” Steve put a hand on her shoulder where she now stood between them. Part of him wanted to swap the positions since as one of the humans of the pack she was more vulnerable in this situation. It wouldn’t calm everyone down though so he kept on speaking soothingly. “He wasn’t going to hurt me and we’re here to help him.”

She frowned at him over her shoulder, “But-”

“Breathe.” He repeated, letting his eyes glow without shifting beyond that, “Both of you breathe and calm down.”

Eddie took a deep breathe alongside Robin then looked between them confused, “Why am I listening? Why are your eyes red? What the fuck is happening this week?”

“My eyes are red because I’m an alpha werewolf and I’m trying to calm my pack down. You’re listening because even if you aren’t currently pack, most people have an instinctual response to werewolf alpha’s generally limited by your own perception to them. Guess we don’t hate each other as much as Dustin believes.” Steve answered the two questions he could before sitting on the floor of the boathouse, “As for what’s happening this week, we don’t know. The four of us know what we expect to be causing it but not how it’s working this time. Can you tell us what you know?”

Eddie stared at him, then looked at Max, Robin and Dustin, “You’re all werewolves?”

“Human here.” Robin waved.

“Wolf here.” Max rolled her eyes even as she spoke at the same time as Dustin.

“Okay, okay, that-” Eddie carried on trying to breathe slowly and Steve was pretty sure it wasn’t because he’d said to now, “I think that makes more sense than-”

He leant forward slightly, trying to offer reassurance, “Just take your time, Munson. You don’t need to rush.”

“Thanks Harrington. Well-” Eddie recounted the story and Steve had to bite back a growl when he realised there currently wasn’t a physical monster they could fight.

When the fight was done, and werewolf strength had played a bigger role in getting Creel dead than Steve had hoped would be necessary, he could only be thankful that he’d become an alpha wolf the year before. Even if he hated having the taste of Eddie’s blood in his mouth, being able to take a living werewolf home instead of the dying man was a blessing Steve so easily could have missed.

It also meant that they were ready to let another adult know about werewolves again, and thankfully this time it wouldn’t be because they’d fought to survive something with the pack.

“Why am I being brought here?” Wayne asked from the front seat of Steve’s car, looking around Loch Nora sceptically. “You said you have Eddie, just bring him home.”

“Your trailer sank into the earth Mr Munson.” Steve replied, keeping his words gentle since that was probably a tragedy Wayne hadn’t learnt of quite yet. He’d already been staying in a hotel since discovering Chrissy’s body. “We’re moving you into my home as it mostly avoided getting damaged in the earthquakes and Eddie needs to stay with me for a while.”

Wayne wasn’t impressed with the explanation and his expression showed it, but he just asked, “Why?”

“Because he had to become pack to survive what happened.” Steve took a risk and let himself shift partially while driving. It was a risk, especially since the shift changed some of how he perceived the world, but would explain at least why Eddie had to stay with him while he learnt control.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #platonic stobin #max mayfield #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #wayne munson #werewolf au #werewolf Steve Harrington #werewolf stranger things part

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greyvear · 3 days ago

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Various Shu/Spryzen songs

Because half the songs I listen to have their own special AU/meaning attached to them specifically about Beyblade, so I'm gonna talk about them. Most of these are about Shu and Spryzen's relationship because, like, I can do things.

The main challenge? Not using any songs named "Monster" or "Human"

"Artistry" by Jacob Lee - Explains Shu and Spryzen's relationship after the Red Eye fiasco. (In a universe where they aren't whole the same person at least) Talks about how the both of them have their souls stuck together in a way that they regret, knowing that they're hurting the other but cannot let the other's soul go, stuck in a sort of possession feedback loop. Alternate singing the chorus. Notable line? "If I hange your scars in a gallery/As a work of artistry" sung by Spryzen

"The Girl Who Drove Away" from the musical The Mad Ones - In a world where Shu and Spryzen are one in the same AKA canon, this song is Shu's monologue to Valt about how he wishes he could embrace the less human side of himself, how he didn't want to hide anymore, but is very scared of being seen as the monster he once was/becoming that monster again. Some great lines: "The line between the dream and you starts to blur" (the dream being Spryzen obviously). The song ends with Shu feeling as though he can never be honest as he blades, and being quite hopeless and sad.

"New Design" by Thousand Foot Krutch - Shu immediately before the Requiem Project in an off canon and slightly out of character scene where he actually feels some amount of hesitation. Sums up his anger and sense of loneliness and being lost pretty well. Great line? "I left myself behind/when I made up my mind/No turning back this time/This is my new design" you get it. 'Cause he's leaving Shu behind to make a new design for himself/becoming Spryzen because there's no turning back because he's getting possessed and all. Also, halfway through the song when it starts singing about "I see, what you're doing to me?" that whole stanza is about Valt.

"Best Part" by The Score - yeah. yeah this is a shalt song. Or Eternal Rivals because I've decided I'm going to make that their ship name by force. I'd say this song is set somewhere during Surge when Shu's at his lowest after Evolution. Captures the bit of self-hatred he feels, as well as how he's greatful for Valt for everyone being there for him. Dw, after he sends this song to Valt being like "wow this is so how I feel" he gets hit over the head with a therapy stick.

"Wolves Without Teeth" by Of Monsters and Men - Damn. Damn I love this song. It's also yet another Shu and Spryzen relationship song because, like, "I'm giving you all/I'll be the blood" and "We are the same/It's perfectly strange/You run in my veins"? What was I supposed to do with that expect point out their toxic (and hopefully eventually not toxic) parasite/host relationship!

"Crystals" also by Of Monsters and Men - This one is actually another character's perception of Shu during a bey battle. Specifically, a character who is also kind of possessed and about to lose via survivor finish. I'd say if Delta ever battled Shu, this would be their song. The imagery of the place they are just kind of feels like a bey battle backdrop. Especially the "pitch black sand" and "Feel the salt dance on my hand". The "crystal eyes" obviously refer to Shu's glowing red eyes, and it's just a good song, okay! It does a good job of capturing how intimidating facing this legend must be. The final stanza is Shu's own perception of himself, finally making peace with everything.

Alice by PEGGY - Shu's journey in a song. The first bit is about before he first meets Spryzen, as I imagine his life was pretty hopeless. "Then Alice took a fall into the rabbit hole" for the first time is him bonding with Spryzen and kind of dooming himself. "Wonderland was all a hoax" talks about how much is is probably bad for him, the final bit about Alice breaking being Lui shattering Spryzen at the end of season 1. The chesire cat bit is about the his time as Red Eye, the second chorus being the Requiem Project, and all the "Madder than (ha-ah) a hatter, Alice (ha-ah)" is him destroying the beys at the International Blader's cup. Ends with him facing Phi in Turbo, and Spryzen breaking again.

FINAL SONG

"Zen" by Jacob Lee - Wow another Shu and Spryzen song who would have guessed. And yet again another angsty bad-ending version of Shu's view of himself. In this case, being just a vessel for Spryzen as well as making his piece with that. In this world, Valt doesn't bring Shu back from being Spryzen so much as stop Spryzen Requiem from its destruction rampage. Never gets to be himself again, oops.

#beyblade burst #beyblade #fanfiction #character playlists #shu kurenai #spryzen #beyburst #songs #music #gotta love torturing Shu in the song recs #I love beyblade themed songs #honorable mention to Nightmare which kind of covers all of the possessed blorbos

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changingplumbob · 9 months ago

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🎶✨When you get this, you have to put 5 songs you actually listen to, publish, then tag others 🎶✨

Tagged by @eljeebee. Hmm, I'll see what songs/albums I've listened to recently. I'll try not put any TSwift because I'm sure you all know I listen to that...

So I've been looking at listening to newer albums by artists I listened to when they had original hits. I love the sound of Of Monsters And Men. They just have incredibly clever lyrics and good sound. Wolves Without Teeth is my favourite from its album.

Okay so I originally heard Set It Off from the album Punk Goes Christmas, where they got punk or similar themed bands to sing christmas carols, I love it. Anyway I investigated their albums and while I like many of the fast paced songs I have a soft spot for when they slow it down and strip it back like they do on Miss Mysterious.

Okay so spotify recommended that I listen to an album by First Aid Kit after I listened to I Found A Way, I think it's on my Life is Strange songs playlist? Can't remember. Anyway I like a lot on that album and I do love when King Of The World comes on.

This one was recommended to me from spotify years ago and I just love it. 6'2 is basically a song saying, hey god if you're taking requests I'd like my man to be x y z, but you know I'm good to wait if you're not bringing him to me just this second. As a romantic who is normally single (because who can focus on dating when you don't even have the energy to have a job) it keeps me hopeful and optimistic.

Originally heard this one on the Fall Out Boy mixtape Welcome To The New Administration, it was snippets of there music and others music and basically I loved Lake Effect Kid but it didn't end up on Folie a Deux. Fast forward a decade and they gave it it's own EP and I could finally listen to the full version and I am still obsessed.

So yeah that is five songs I do listen to. I'm feeling tag shy today (sorry) but like always I tag anyone that follows me who wants to give it a go because I am the tag octopus, just a shy tag octopus today.

#tag tag or dag dag #thank you Lana #Spotify

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an-excellent-choice · 1 month ago

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SIX Song Soundtrack Game- OC

thanks for tagging me @moonraevn!!! I really thought about the music that represented Aoide

Rules: Make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following about your OC... (I was tagged in a BG3 OC post but you can do it about any OC you want)

This is very long so, I'll be putting it under the cut!

No pressure tag @doe-eyes-dekarios @gale-force-storm @ignistigator @dreamingofthewild and everyone who wants to do it!

Event that defines characters past:

This is the closest I can find to Aoide's feelings of lost and grief after the tragedy of her family's death. The song is kinda Aoide mourning with the whole commune and trying keep everyone together.

How your character sees themselves:

Aoide always loved life and nature. It's why she became a druid and even when she was deep in her grief, she never forgot her appreciation in life.

How others view them:

Even though all the companions saw Aoide abit standoffish or cold, they could also see the potential in friendship/relationships in her moments of kindness (her true self showing). Later they could see that Aoide is just anxious about getting close and having a connection with them.

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic):

Specifically Gale romance. Aoide and Gale could see their connection and love with each grow fast but they are not so naive to see that they have their own issues that could bring conflict in their relationship. In the end they both took a risk for one another as with each other all the risk is worth it.

A major fight scene:

kind of a cop out to choose a boss music for this but I loved the staring notes so much because it sounds like tears dripping. Then the start of the rhythm is like a reveal of how Aoide really fights (continuous and filled with anger) as she used to protecting the messages she was delivering for her commune. While the bridge reminds me how Aoide would probably think of her mortality and all the people she has lost.

End Credits Song:

I love this for Aoide because the song is about remembering the past(her family,loss and commune) but also move on from your grief. It's sad but also filled with hope for the future.

I specifically love the line "The wind is calling your name" As I could see this as Aoide seeing Gale a new beginning.

#Spotify #my name is aoide #my tav #bg3 tav #tav time #oc lore

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thenomadclan · 3 months ago

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God of War AU Story (Pt.1)

Recap:

After the events in God of War 3, a Mortal Olympian worshipper, Andreas, survived the events that the Greek world would know as the day that their Gods died. After witnessing the horrors of that day, and losing everyone he cared about, Andreas vowed vengeance. To which the New Gods of Olympus heard, and saw an opportunity for their vengeance or form of justice to be met. With their help, they trained and gave Andreas their blessing to Demi-Godhood, all to hunt down that of who is responsible…the Ghost of Sparta…Kratos. After 800 years, they sent Andreas to Norway after hearing the tales of the war known as “Rangnarök”. With a lead, Andreas sailed by boat, and landed in Midguard…ready to avenge the souls lost that day, forever marked on his skin.

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A Trail of Death

The wind howled through the jagged snow covered cliffs of so called Midguard as the Andreas approached the flickering campfire, its warmth contrasting sharply with the frozen landscape. His skin, once danish bronze becoming pale white, almost as pale as the snow, glowed eerily in the moonlight, a blood crimson marking like veins of fire pulsing beneath the surface of his skin. His eyes, as cold as the northern winds, scanned the chaotic human camp from the mountain peak—spying on the rough cluster of tents and fires where Ravagers, vicious Midgard raiders, bellowed in their drunken revelry.

The Demigod knew the stories. They were ruthless, like wolves with no pack to call their own, but they were also nothing compared to the monster he sought. Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, the former God of War. The trail had led him here, to the ravager camp in search of information. Perhaps someone here knew where the former God of War had gone after the cataclysmic end of Ragnarök.

Without a sound, he stepped forward. The snow beneath his boots crunched, announcing his presence, but he didn’t care. The Ravagers, too consumed in their chaos, didn’t even glance his way until his shadow fell upon their fire.“Who’s this?” a burly raider sneered, rising from a furr covered bench, his face smeared with snot and blood. “I’m looking for someone, one of great importance,” Andreas said with his voice was low, almost like a growl. “A god by the name of Kratos. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

A tense silence followed his question. The men around the fire exchanged glances, sneering and whispering among themselves. One of them, a leader by the looks of his furs and lava glowed armor, stepped forward, brandishing a jagged axe. “Kratos, eh? These lands NEW God of War ain’t someone you’ll be findin’ here, stranger. But if yer lookin’ for trouble…” He grinned, revealing broken teeth, “We can help with that.” The Demigod’s gaze hardened, unfazed by the threat. Despite being outnumbered, Andreas could take this small militia with ease, but he needed answers not bloodshed. “I am not looking for trouble, only answers…I would hate to spoil your celebration.”

The leader laughed, raising his axe higher, his men following suit. “Then you’ll get your answer in the cold ground, boy.” Without warning, the raiders charged, tackling and dipping on the Demigod. With a electrifying BOOM, Andreas freed himself from the flesh pile prison, moving with the precision and deadly grace of a hunter, sidestepping the first swing of an axe and knocking the raider’s arm aside with the strength of a god. His foot collided with the leader’s chest, sending him sprawling into the air and smacked through a tree. The others lunged, but they were mere mortals, their attacks slow and predictable.

With a twist of his wrist, Andreas drew his blades of the hunt, forged from the very hands of Artemus—a gleaming weapon of dark steel. He sliced through the air in a deadly arc, cutting down two men in an instant. His movements were fluid, a dance of death as he carved through the Ravagers with ease. Spinning the giant swords from their chains in a bloody tornado. One raider attempted to escape, but the Demigod caught him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with a single hand.

“Where is Kratos?” he demanded, his voice like thunder, shaking the very earth beneath them. The man gasped for breath, eyes wide with fear. “I-I don’t know! He’s gone… he left—“ Before the raider could finish his sentence, the Demigod snapped his neck with a sickening crunch, tossing the body aside. It was by accident, despite having this newly obtained godly strength for 800+ years, he was still not used to treating everything like egg shells. The remaining raiders, now few in number, hesitated. Their courage had melted away, the fire from their liquor replaced by fear. They knew they were no match for a creature like this, yet pride kept some from fleeing.

“I’ll ask once more,” Andreas said, his voice colder than the winds that whipped through the camp. “Where is Kratos?” Moments passed and the Demigod walked out of the camp, covered in blood but now obtained the Kings armor and warm furr pelts to keep warm. Andreas continued his search walking in the snow dripping blood (not his) till he is stopped by laughter. this laughter was of completely maniacal and uncontrolled. As Andreas would walk more curious of the laughter he’d see the disembodied heads of Ravens lying on the ground.

Andreas seeing this heard of these lands “Bad Omens” but nothing to this degree. He looked around trying to pinpoint the laughter in the dense forest, but would be interrupted by the souls within his mark ushering him to keep moving, find the Ghost of Sparta so they could finally rest. To which Andreas began walking through the crunchy snow, leaving a trail of his victims crimson red blood on the white snowy canvas.

As Andreas would walk further into the forest the trees would change, they would look like black claws growing out from the face of the earth itself, and as Andreas would keep making his way through this forest, he’d come to a cave with laughter admitting from it. Andreas groaned in annoyance, now feeling as though someone is indeed following him. But what could it be, a spirit, a hallucination sent by the gods. Whatever it was he could feel the laughter growing louder, but just as he was about to enter he unsheathed his Blades of the Hunt and flung them behind him. All the trees that slowly were reaching out to him were cut down with black mist admitting from them, showing they had dark magic behind them. Growling he entered the cave as his armor was the light in the death of darkness.

Immediately the laughter went silent, and then there was screaming, horrible, blood curdling screaming..screaming of Andreas’s wife. “Amara….AMARA!” The calm and collected warrior of Olympus changed from a stone cold shell of a man, to that of a desperate lover in the drop of a hat. Running towards the blood curtailing screams of his wife, he had so many questions, so much he had to say. Running through the cave, growing insane trying to find the source of the screams through the maze of rock. He eventually found a wall that he felt was where the source was behind, so he began punching the solid rock over and over till his own knuckles began to bleed. Only then the wall of solid stone fall to an empty area with only one light source, the shining moon of the night sky indicating he had ran through this cave all day.

Once Andreas made it to this center of the cave, the screaming ended and the only thing within it was a black throne, made from weapons of fallen soldiers, and on the throne sat the new God of Death: Aínigma, who was smiling ear to ear at Andreas “Hello Wrath of Olympus” Aínigma voice echoed through the room of the cave, sounding like metal being dragged across stone. Andreas immediately unsheathed his weapons and growled like a wild beast hyped up on adrenaline “Where is Amara! I heard here!” He barked in anger.

Aínigma laughed, the same laugh that was clawing at Andreas earlier “You think she’s still alive? Oh you’re such a fool” he laughs maniacally. Andreas growled but then the memories haunted him, remembering flashbacks…his whole reason of being here. “Why are you here…the New Gods of Olympus instructed only I to take down Kratos.” He said as his stance while still ready to attack was more relaxed, slowly returning to his stone cold composure. The Olympian remembering this God, for Aínigma was a one of very few of Thanatos’s children promoted to take the position after Kratos murdered his father & his sister.

Aínigma stood up from his thrown,shaking his head, immersing from his cloak of dark mist to flex his black raven like wings. “I am Aínigma, God of Death, and you have brought a lot of death upon stepping foot on these lands. To which I must say, I congratulate you.” Aínigma said with a little bow his wings unfolding a little. Andreas just stood, not bowing back as he as Andreas slowly began to remember how oddly this New Gods watched over him during training with the other Gods. Then again he barely payed attention, otherwise Andreas still held his blades preparing to do what must be done if the situation escalated. “Hmm I sense you don’t believe me?” Aínigma says rising from his bow.

“I do not care for who or what you are, I am here to do a job the Gods have no time for.” Andreas said plainly, growing uncomfortable as the smell of death infected his senses, growing more defensive as the slightest touch of this God of Death caused Andreas to recoil, growling at the new embodiment of Death. “Oh they finally let you off their leash huh? A little Abomination” Aínigma says bopping Andreas’s nose. “As happy as I would to obtain the soul of Kratos, the one that killed my family, it is not his time…but yours….I’ve come to collect, I’ve come to bring your soul to the underworld where it belongs, now you have two options, either the easy way or the hard way” Aínigma says gaining an insane grin on his face.

Andreas simply sheathed his weapons and began to walk away, seeing as his soul can’t depart his body nor be brought to the underworld til his task is done, he didn’t view this God as a threat. Leaving this poor interpretation of Thanatos with this line. “My soul can’t be claimed nor shall it be brought to the underworld til the Ghost of Sparta is dead, until then your only but another voice in my head meant to torment me. However just like the rest you shall be ignored.” Shocked by the sheer disrespect, Aínigma summoned a wall of bones in the Olympians way. “HEY! This is not up for discussion, get back here and face Death you fucking coward!” Aínigma snaps at Andreas, the God of Death throes out his nemesis whip, the chain wrapping around Andreas’s neck. Angered by this, Andreas growled and tightly grabbed the chain around his neck, using his newly obtained strength to yank the frail body of the God of Death close. This is where he would be met by a stone shattering headbutt followed by a flurry of punches that sent the Aínigma flying into the shadows. Andreas now readied himself, but only with his bare hands.

Aínigma let out a gurgling roar and disappeared into the darkness, only erupting back out from the ground and grabbing Andreas by his neck, using his wings to enter the realm of muspelhiem and slams Andreas onto the ground. Before Andreas could react, Aínigma grabbed him by the neck again dragging him over to a lava pool, holding his head only inches away from it. The Olympian was surprised by this level of power from such a frail being, now while Andreas couldn’t die he could still feel pain with half of his face slowly melting off. The Olympians strength began to slowly overpowering the God of Deaths, eventually snapped up to his feet to grab the dark figure into a suplex. Just when the dark figure was about to get up he was met with a horrid uppercut sending him a good couple yards away to create distance. Aínigma stretched his wings to catch himself, chuckling as he spat his black blood and tooth into his hand. “Such strength I can’t wait to see it fade from your corpse!” Aínigma said unleashing a bright green light from his hand that strikes Andreas to slowly begin sucking his souls from his body. Andreas tried to run towards the figure til his soul was quite literally being snatched from his body, feeling his soul slowly leaving his body was a traumatic experience till yellow electricity began admitting from Andrea’s body, traveling up the God of Deaths green beam to electrify and stopped his advances. Andreas soul stayed intact and returned to his body, showing that it was magic bound to never leave his body. “As….I said….My Soul is not yours to take…” Aínigma lets out a monstrous screech “FUCKING MOROS! I’m so glad I killed him for giving such a disaster of an ability”.

It was then that Aínigma realizes something, “You may not be able to die but l will make this life of yours a living Tartarus, so for now I bid you adieu”. Aínigma says flying into the sky and disappearing into a cloud of darkness leaving Andreas in Muspelhiem. The Olympian breathed with steam coming out of his nostrils, anger fueled him to the point of punching the ground and causing many volcanos to erupt. Wincing as his face was still half melted, giving enough time for it to painfully heal in the span of seconds. That was till he was found by a dirt covered Dwarf, spewing just as much anger to him for almost having one of the volcano shards hit him. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING YOU STUPID FUCKING…oh….another God….great. What? Get lost or something?”

The dwarf said with venom and sarcasm, Andreas only fell silent, examining the Relm he fell into. “Oh great, another one with no form of manners, did HE send you for me or something? BECAUSE I TOLD HIM-” Andreas snapped his head towards the Dwarf, getting an idea who this creature was speaking of. “HE?!” The Olympian said walking towards the Dwarf, which slightly had the small man alittle off put and walking backwards. “Yeah Kratos? Hello? Did you get smacked around by that shadow demon to the point of losing your concept of your duties or-“Where is the Ghost of Sparta!” Said cutting the Dwarf off again. The look of realization by Sindri that he had stepped into a whole new mess was nerve racking, another God from another place from Midguard was truly strange…but one hunting another like Kratos was interesting. Could this be his way of revenge for the Death of Brok that HE could never deliver. Only time would tell as the Dwarf known as Sindri offered his hand in friendship and trail leading to Kratos IF this stranger from a land known as Greece will help him with some favors.

…To Be Continued

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Character List

•Andreas (drawn by Kuran on my Discord)

•Aínigma (owned by Hermes on Discord)

•Ravangers Raiders

•Sindri (a post Ragnarök)

#god of war #god of war 2018 #god of war oc #god of war ragnarok #gow ragnarok #god of war kratos #god of war au #storytelling

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wolfpawzjakey · 1 year ago

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[child abuse, torture, infanticide, murder, implied by ptsd].

Another beauty of the relationship with Jason - one of many is that they are similar in their dirt and darkness.

As a child, Percy would squeeze his small wrists and say that he accidentally burned himself, and the fact that the burn was perfectly round, like from a cigarette, was also accidental. As a child, Jason clenched his teeth and remained silent when he was mercilessly bitten by wolves of Lupa or senior legionnaires whipped him as punishment. In the battle for Manhattan, Percy knew no pity and he sincerely did not care from the bottom of his heart that these were children.

Jason carried out executions from the age of 10 as soon as he was finally accepted into the legion, they both did not count the number of people killed with their own hands.

Kronos, Saturn, it doesn't matter, was raising an army not only from the Greeks, Jason prefers to call it an execution on the spot, although it was a simple massacre, a bloodbath that he staged. the youngests was 10 years old, Cassius Adrian Brown and Lucius Maximus most likely they were the sons of Neptune, - this is the only and most terrible thing that Jason clearly remembers.

Percy tortured the goddess using her blood and tears. Jason almost killed Medea by simply taking her breath and stopping the electrical impulses of her brain.

They are both terrible, they can both not lie to each other by pretending, and both can find real understanding and comfort in each other. They accept and do not restrain each other. They don't judge each other and they won't call each other monsters. Or they're both monsters?

Percy and Jason don’t have to pretend to be okay with each other. There are few other campers who would understand the two and their share of horrors. Not even the ones they’d considered closest could understand, not would they try that hard. It’s hard to grasp the awfulness of a person you love, it’s hard to love two murderers who had no choice but to play the roles they’ve been dealt. People will either discard them with disgusted looks or ignore it all together. Nico had the most clue of it all, the kid was fucked up too. But Nico didn’t understand it all.

Jason and Percy understood too well, the grit and gore they’d dealt. Not the same, but similar enough. Jason could sympathize the best when Percy’d wake to a churning stomach, guilt causing him to lose his stomach contents once again. Not ceasing until it was all gone, not ceasing till the images and visceral feelings tingled out of his body.

And Percy was there when Jason woke up, locked up in fright with his blade pressed sharply against Percy’s neck, he was the only one who could talk him down, especially when the tears kicked in after. Especially when Jason would spiral into self blame and hatred after.

It was just them, two recent adults, two men made into monsters by their life circumstances.

Dark Jason and Percy, not necessarily evil but just showing a lot of their more fucked up sides, are so fucking interested to me. This is more believable to me than the happiness, sometimes false happiness, the book shows. Traumatized people can be so happy they appear normal, I know that 100% but they do show so much of that trauma externally if they think they do or not. I think they’re so interesting to write when they really fall into the dark grey morals they kind of actually have more of than anything else. Sure, these two are hero’s, sure Percy is like the leading face of changing the wrongs the gods have done to their children, he’s change so many things for the better, but this should lead to neglect his past actions as a whole. He’s so well rounded and without the grit and grime he has, he’s not so well rounded anymore.

And Jason…. You were never given a chance to be well rounded because Rick wrong you and us for not giving your character a chance to flourish with returned memories and personality. Sorry king, but your trauma deserves to be shared too. We will imagine on our own accords.

Thank you again for the food anon.

#jason grace #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #toa #tw trauma #tw ptsd #tw death #tw murder #tw child death #tw torture #tw infanticide

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herenortherenearnorfar · 1 year ago

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I've been swishing around a set of little stories for over a year now. I hoped to get them out for February, but failed. Instead maybe I'll manage to put a few out for June? This first one goes out to @outofangband my fellow in Aerinism.

Flayed, Thuringwethil walks through woods that she once flittered above.

She is still a nightmare, her great teeth beneath her lipless mouth. But a bat cannot fly without leather stretched between its bones. A vampire caught between human and leech is just another monster; bereft of all mutability, all prismatic sheen.

No one has use for a messenger without disguise or flight. Reduced to a common haint, she feasts upon the elves of Nargothrond, then wanders north up the river to Dór-Lomin. Men are plentiful there, so easy to catch and kill and rend—she regains her vitality, which Lúthien plundered, feasting on Beleriand’s new blood.

She doesn’t bother to stop when the quisling men, who call themselves her master’s servants, come to power. They ought to be frightened of what dwells in the dark. They tell stories of a witch woman cursing them—she hears it when she lingers under their eaves—but attribute the ill fortune to elves. As if elves could hang entrails from a tree!

Thuringwethil hunts other creatures too, in the shadow and the dark. Wolves, orcs, bears. She tries them on for size like cloaks, but finds none fit her so well as her bat fell.

Years pass. Her stolen skins slough off her, she does not love any of them enough to bind them. Her bare flesh prickles in the cold. The sky is ash dark, sunless. Crops struggle to survive, trees go dormant. The world has been on fire for a very long time.

One day the fire blazes closer.

A great house, the greatest one these mortals have built, burns. There are no screams. No one comes to douse it. Thatch fires are not unheard of, even after rain, but these men have many thralls to stomp them out. The plume of smoke is growing to the point of no return, and still the air is silent—no cries of men, no baying of hounds, no horses screams.

Intrigued, Thuringwethil comes nearer.

Through the trees she peers, and sees no onlookers. The hill is empty.

She wears a mountain lion’s coat this month—frozen gore around the curling edges. Cats are always curious. Creeping from shadow to shadow, Morgoth’s dead messenger slips through the abandoned homestead, over the stone wall, past the empty stable. There are fresh tracks in the mud of many people fleeing.

Blood clamors from inside, an olfactory overture beckoning her closer. Though she fears the flames—she burns like everything does in this shackled realm of substances and static song—she can’t deny her hunger. The fire is mostly absorbed with the damp straw of the roof, the turf-covered walls of the longhouse have yet to catch.

Thuringwethil ducks into the shadowed door, letting her stalker’s eyes take in the scene. Smoke coils around her and slithers into her lungs. There are bodies scattered about the hall, lying sprawled over tables, draped like drunkards over benches. A few have swords in their hands. Some are already aflame, for though the ceiling has yet to cave in there are pools of flickering oil drizzled across the floor and seasoned wood piled at the corners of the hall. All the fragrant scents men burn to fend off their stench blend together, pine, cedar, cherry.

Someone started this fire, she realizes, leaping over hazards. What fool would deny the ruler of the world this measly corner? Who would court death to kill a dozen mortal servants?

Only someone already doomed to die. Interest bubbles in her gut. The timbers above her are creaking. She wastes no time on the dead men, their roast meat and thin blood. Further back, that’s where her instincts (and the smell of burning hair) tell her the prize lies. Past the high table and the dead men clustered around it—burly men with broad shoulders now seared, rich bellies being rendered down to dripping fat, beards fizzling to ashes—is a woven curtain dividing the public life from the private.

Thuringwethil pushes through it, ignoring the cinders now falling on her pilfered pelt. Amid the looms and low chairs there are no dead mortals, just a few slaughtered sheep. On the great bed to the left one torch is blazing; a person, laid down as if to sleep, burning alive in a pile of fabric and furs. It looks as if they gathered all the bedding in the house and made a cocoon.

Perhaps they meant it to smother but the layers of slow catching wool and sturdy hide have had the opposite effect. Nestled up in their deathbed, this daring murderer has yet to die. Oh, the smoke is starting to finish the job; they're too far gone to even cough. Yet a hidden fire, the first fire, still flickers in their chest.

Such a little body, even shrouded. Such a tenacious spirit. She has hunted elves and orcs and men, but she's never seen any of them build their own funeral pyre.

Darting fast, Thuringwethil pulls them out of the firetrap they made. Her paws scorch, fur incinerating instantly and stolen skin blistering. There's oil on the blankets and it fries her at a touch. Beneath, her raw flesh shudders--its been decades since she's tasted such heat. But she wants to save this mortal thing, if only so she can shake answers out of them.

It is the nature of this world they built that the creatures that kill, live. Flesh-giver, fruit-bringer; cousin Ivann would disagree. She likes to coddle her own creations. But Thuringwethil is the beasts that tear each other in madness, the rage-sickness that hides secretly in bat blood and runs amok in drooling dogs. She is the predator and the infection that sets in after the bite. Both animal and disease know nothing but survival. To self-destruct like this is insulting, especially from something capable of such slaughter.

These are the justifications she feeds herself as she drags the human, still burning in places, back, through the doorway and the long hall of dead men, through the choking smoke and falling embers. Ambient heat has finally started to dry the thatch and burn down through the turf. Soon the entire hall will be ablaze, and after that the outlying buildings. Other men from nearby settlements will swarm in, vultures to a fresh kill. They will find the cracked bones and red-hot blades and start to piece together a narrative.

The hounds and hunters will come soon after.

Quick though she is, she is much diminished in later days. She worries the man will be dead by the time she drags them outside. The fire in her arms never diminishes though, and so she keeps carrying them; down the hill, into the woods. Only when they're safe beneath the darkness of the pines, where meddling mortals do not dare wander, does she stop to put out the smoldering flames in her coat.

The high-king's eye will wander here in time, if it hasn't already. Thuringwethil does not intend to be caught interfering. There have been no orders since she was skinned--to the iron fortress the useless are as good as dead. In her convalescence she's enjoyed a degree of freedom not known since her earliest days, when this spinning globe was blue with new air and the only hunters were minute, flanged, ocean-things--brainless beautiful new predators working on a scale that now seems infinitesimal. She's not eager to return to duty; she gave up on revenge years ago.

Harboring a little mortal fugitive, if only for a moment, could ruin things. She needs a disguise, and she needs some way to stabilize the half-burnt, gasping thing at her feet.

(The woman's eyes have opened, lashless lids peeling apart to stare feverishly up at her. They're a blue that borders on black, like the water-pourer's northernmost seas. For a moment she thinks of that girl, the nightingale's daughter, snarling and grey on the riverbank, a wolfhound lunging for a wolf.)

Thuringwethil kneels and caresses the human's--her human's--crackling, blistered cheek. Her pulse is thundering under dead skin and despite everything she's still breathing, rasping, desperate breaths. How unfair of her to go and kill herself when she so clearly wants to live.

"You are brave," she hums. "Be brave a little longer for me. I do not have enough water to drown this sickness in."

Blood makes a much better tonic. Fortunately, Thuringwethil has been staking out a she-bear, a fighter who tore apart those orcs and more recent monstrosities audacious enough to come after her. This charred lion's hide will have to do for a little longer--the bearskin is needed more urgently elsewhere.

She strips the last of the woman's clothing, sensible long wools that shielded her chest and stomach from the worst of the fire, with her claws. Her arsonist's temperature is too high and the fiber will only encourage infection from here. Underneath is a soft-skinned body, hardly made for violence. Only a killer's eye can see the death kneaded into every spare ounce of fat. This is a time of starving, having calories to spare is a triumph that speaks for itself.

The bare body pressed up against her chest as she runs through the forest is giving and heavy, warmer than a fresh corpse. Did little Lúthien find her this tender, when she laid her down and stripped her cloak by force? Such thoughts can make even ancient ones go mad.

Instead she focuses on the path through the forest, following the scent of prey.

Her sow is out hunting. Hibernation is a thing of the past now; no one has enough spare food to sleep away a winter. Instead they struggle, eat, survive.There have been no cubs for years now. This aging matriarch rules over a forest without children, the last born generation now starvling adolescents ekeing out survival and lashing out at anything else with a pulse. What a world the Elder King has wrought! The snake that eats its own tail draws closer and closer to glorious self-obliteration; this is death unchecked. It makes Thuringwethil’s heart race, for she is the last feeding frenzy before collapse. Some part of her, the bit made with foresight, wonders if a single cumulative orgy of violence ending in the destruction of all thinking life is actually as interesting as a prolonged experiment in existence. The other lordly ones were killjoys, yes, but they never actually stopped her or her kin from carving out their little niches of the Music.

Maybe that’s why she finds herself cradling a mortal martyr and slinking into a burnt forest glade where a grizzled bear is tearing into a wasted cervid corpse. The deer is an obscenity of sloughed flesh and grey gore. It died while it was still alive; this too is of Thuringwethil’s singing. She slings her gasping mortal over one shoulder and charges before the bear can turn. The first rule of fighting a predator is to attack first and attack hard. Stolen claws and teeth rake into scraggly fur and depleted fat—but that’s not the true attack. As her mouth latches over an open wound she sucks, draining blood and vitality from the beleaguered creature. It keeps fighting for several minutes, batting over its shoulders with massive knife-tipped paws, roaring plaintively. At one point it staggers towards a fir tree and Thuringwethil worries it will try to bash her off like a parasite. Being crushed between a bear and a hunk of half-dead wood would hardly hurt her… but it would spell the death of the woman still clutched against her side.

Finally, blessedly, the old mother begins to topple. Missing her wings, Thuringwethil leaps back. Her cheeks are swollen with blood; she’s been trying not to swallow. If she’s to save her arsonist she’ll need all the flesh she can get.

The woman is a breathing corpse, fur and dirt embedded in her sticky burnt flesh, her lungs rasping with smoke. That she still lives means she is unwilling to die. Of course, chutzpah can only drag these flesh-tethered children so far past the limits of their shells. Speed is key.

Straddling the bear’s ribs, Thuringwethil cores it open, making a cavity, evicting unnecessary organs until there’s a human sized hole in its great mass. It’s gory work but no messier than little Lúthien was in her field dressing. If she could wear a stolen skin, why can’t another aftercomer?

When she lifts up the charred mortal there’s a moment of fear. What pulse there was has vanished; the woman’s tired heart is still. But her blood is still warm, that much a vampire can tell. And even Thuringwethil, who is no expert on shades, knows the faint shuddering of a spirit not-yet fled. The hum of lingering is easy to detect when it’s pressed against her own heart.

She buries the dead woman in bear meat, bear skin, tilts her chin up and fills her dry mouth with blood.

Pinning a skin to someone else is different. What is instinct when dressing herself becomes fumbling when confronted with a stranger’s self. What these infants call magic is simply skillful working; but even the oldest craftsman can fumble in a new medium. Thuringwethil knits half-dead flesh to half-dead flesh, blood to blood, making a new thing out of two old ones. Like a cuckoo virule, inserting its own song and rewriting the music of its host, she undoes what this body was, turning it into a copy of herself instead.

This is the secret to death–just like life it yearns for propagation. Thuringwethil, who is both at once, a permanent superstate, cannot be blamed for loneliness. Like every other predator she wants to make more of herself. Like all of her kin, she was conceived to reshape a corner of this faltering world in her image. When she smelled the oil and blood thick on her arsonist, she felt a pang of jealousy like nothing she’d ever known before. Next came a jolt of protective rage.

How stupid to die for someone else’s story, even if the alternative is surviving in shadows! Don’t these mortals know how terrible it is to go scorched and skinless?

The spell catches. She breathes out from lungs that aren’t really hers (matter is always a costume for creatures of her ilk) and sits back on the mouldering forest floor, amid the blood and gathering flies. She holds the edges of the chest wound closed and waits for the deathseeker to stumble back to life. It’s like watching mold grow across a piece of fruit. Coarse fur creeps over open injuries, the bubbling texture of a blister overtakes the raw red of exposed viscera. What was once a distinctly ursine skull distorts, muzzle shortening, skull rounding.

Days pass in the woods. She wanders short distances, hunting the wild-eyed tree squirrels and a few ferrets the size of hunting dogs then returning quickly to her vigil. Thuringwethil hears some human ruckus far back where they came from but makes no particular note of it. The search parties that are sent out are brutish and oblivious, scraping past their little glen without incident. Why would they pause? To all mortal eyes this is a lion feasting on a dead bear; better to move along quickly and hope no other predators linger nearby.

On the third night after the fire a bear wakes up and takes a swing at her without rising from the ground. Having anticipated this outcome, if not the immediacy of the violence, Thuringwethil counters quickly. Were this fresh made creature at full strength she would not have been able to overpower her, for she has put her charge in the coat of a killer. Famine drained and newly returned from the precipice of death the bear bucks beneath her but cannot summon up the strength to throw her off.

“Calm yourself,” Thuringwethil caws. It has been years since she’s had cause to speak with voice and tongue. They feel brittle like bad tin. “You still exist inside of there. Find the focus to return.”

Bloodshot brown eyes bore into her. They lay there on the rot covered duff for a long time, next to the maggot-ridden slime that has become of the deer carcass. It’s nearly dawn (not Thuringwethil’s favorite time of day, though she doesn’t shrink from it as she did in the years first following her skinning) when the first change comes.

It starts with the paws pinned beneath hers. Fleshy pads melt into firm, calloused fingertips as her hands lengthen, dextrous thumbs stretching out, dactile. The bargelike body Thuringwethil is perched upon shudders into a still sturdy but decidedly human shape. Tall, as many noblewomen are, fuller figured than any mortal she’s feasted on in years. The worst of the burns have faded, leaving only a rippling pattern of blisters, like the sea at a distance. Down her bare torso is a fresh, gnarled pink scab. The edges where Thuringwethil held her skin together for hours, batting away every insect that came to lay eggs in her fragile flesh, are just barely holding together.

“If this is what comes after death then I have been lied to all my life,” says the gasping, squirming, alive woman. She is just as marred as Thuringwethil was in the aftermath of heer despoilation. Yet she breathes in borrowed skin.

“This is not that place which waits for your kind beyond the walls of the world,” Thuringwethil promises her. Idly, she laces her fingers through the human’s, marvelling at how similar the phalanges are to wing bones. When little Lúthien had her pinned and screaming she did much the same, held her hand as she stripped the flesh from her bones with a song. “Tell me, lady, what is your name and why do you seek your end so dearly?”

A small pink tongue, still wet, somehow, with blood, smears across the woman’s lips. There’s a predator’s stillness to her, a stony look in her eyes. “I am called Aerin. As for death–well.” She laughs. “What else is left to me?”

This is what Thuringwethil has been waiting for. “Oh, plenty. Come, let me show you.”

#silm fic #thuringwethil #aerin #my goal is to find the most out there f/f pairings and do Something with them #i have some real ideas up in my head #fanfic

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wellokaythentryme · 3 months ago

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The Dark Artifices Playlist.

I was wondering if I should share my various TSC playlists I’ve made and I’ve chosen love and to share with the community. It’s not on Spotify (imma contrarian) but here is the track list:

California Girls by Katy Perry

Drive by by train

We are young by fun.

I will wait by Mumford and sons

Ship to wreak by Florence and the machine

Wolves without teeth by of monsters and men

West coast by Lana del Rey

Pompeii by Bastille

Mountain sound by of monsters and men

Myth by beach house

Little talks by of monsters and men

Feels like we only go backwards by tame impala

Summertime sadness by Lana del Rey

R U mine? By arctic monkeys

Blow me (one last kiss) by p!nk

Stronger (what doesn’t kill you) by Kelly clarkson

Titanium by sia

Everybody talks by neon trees

Live while we’re young by one direction

Wild ones by Flo rida

Good time by owl city and Carly Jae Jepson

One more night by maroon 5

Want u back by Cher Lloyd

As long as you love me by Justin Bieber

The one that got away by Katy Perry

A thousand years by Christina Perri

50 ways to say goodbye by train (VERY KITTY THEMED TO ME!)

Life in the fast lane by eagles

Lust for life by Lana del Rey (VERY EMMA AND JULIAN TO ME!!)

Safe and sound by capital cities

Adore you by Miley Cyrus

Sweater weather by the neighborhood

Venice bitch by Lana del Rey

I’m not in love by Kelsey Lu

Just friends by Amy wine house

Only in my dreams by the Maria’s

I know it’s long but I swear… it’s a VIBE based curation. All the songs are from the era like 2012 and make me think of LA and various characters and situations. Been working and adding to this for years at this point

#the dark artifices #TDA #TSC #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #julian blackthorn #emma carstairs #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #playlist

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roselinbooks · 3 months ago

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OOO gimme songs for Dirty Paws? UwU

AND I'M GONNA DO IT /WITHOUT/ PUTTING "DIRTY PAWS" ON THE PLAYLIST BECAUSE THAT GOES WITHOUT SAYING.

No, the Of Monsters and Men song that goes on this playlist is "Wolves Without Teeth" which might ALSO be obvious but "I'll be the blood/if you'll be the bones/I'm giving you all, I'm giving you all" goes SO hard. "And I run from wolves/tearing into me without teeth" RUNNING FROM YOUR PERSONAL DEMONS?? YES??? HELLO?? Honestly the alternate title of all time tbh but Dirty Paws is also so good.

"I Wanna Get Better" by Bleachers. The idea of no longer fitting in with your friends, and not for the better. The ambiguous ending. Is this about Jace or Alex? Yes.

Last one was a little tough but I'm going with "Claw Machine" by Sloppy Jane ft. Phoebe Bridgers and yes this IS the song that gave I Saw the TV Glow it's title and YES that is relevant to why I chose it because the VIBES? The late 80's/early 90's troubled teen who is neurodivergent and/or queer but doesn't have the language to express their need for community?? The expectation and judgment of "you know it's a mistake when it's me who's making it"??? Hello Alex pick up the phone it's for you.

#dirty paws #dirtypawscomic #ask game #aerielart

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keepthemacramesecret · 5 months ago

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tagged by @r2y9s-notartblog ty i always lov a little tag game!!

rules: shuffle your 'on repeat' playlist and post the 10 first tracks, then tag 10 friends to do the same.

lmao my actual one is not very accurate rn bc i havent been listening to much music rly, so these r from the annual list i make for myself instead since i Do have 10 songs already hehehe

The Mall & Misery - Broken Bells

Tongues & Teeth - The Crane Wives

White Shadow - Beatenberg

Scorpionfish - Beatenberg

Easier - The Crane Wives

Hammerhead - Cathy Davey

Salt and the Sea - Lumineers

You Lucky One - Villagers

Wolves Without Teeth - Of Monsters and Men

Hail to Whatever You Found in the Sunlight - Rilo Kiley

tags: @eruthiawenluin @smallbirdhop @cursemewithyourkiss @whycellothurr @sorenserotonin @butcharyastark

#10 tags is too manie urls to remember tho im just doin the first few mutuals i see on my dash rn sksdkf #the actual onrepeat list is. ironically. super repetitive rn. its still just a bunch of the shins and the feeling #which i havent actually been listening to for Weeks so idk what theyre doing there

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redwolfstabs · 2 years ago

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SONGS FOR STUILLY. AGAIN. ‼️ [saying this now, a lot of these lyrics are toxic as all hell, but so is stuilly, so it checks out-]

• Let’s kill tonight [panic at the disco] [this songs repeats a lot so-]

“You’re the galantine. Cold and alone, it suits you well.”

Stu as he talks about/to Billy.

“Let’s kill tonight, kill tonight. Show them all you’re not the ordinary type.”

This could go either way with these two.

• Stockholm Syndrome [Muse]

“I won’t stand in your way, let your hatred grow.”

Stu talking to Billy after what Maureen did.

“And she’ll scream, and she’ll shout, and she’ll pray. And she had a name- yeah she had a name.”

Also about Maureen, could either be Stu or Billy tbh

“This is the last time I’ll abandon you. And this is, the last time I’ll forget you.”

Billy as he speaks to Stu [I think of the kitchen scene..]

“And we’ll love, and we’ll hate, and we’ll die. All to no avail.”

Either one of them, after the kitchen scene

• This is Love [Air traffic Controller]

“You’re no good you’re no good, you could kill me and you should.”

Stu speaking to Billy.

“You must like being the victim, you’ve done nothing to get out.”

Billy at Stu.

“You’ll forgive me if I promise, and do nothing but the same.”

Also Billy at Stu

“Yeah I know wrong I know right, but I just love to pick a fight. I can sleep with one eye open, if there’s any sleep at night.”

Billy coded again

“I got my knife, got my gun. Let’s see how fast you can run.”

Billy speaking to Stu, because he would absolutely mess with Stu in the Ghostface costume

“I was good but then I quit. Everyone that tried to fix me, knows that I can’t change a bit.”

Billy coded

“I’ve got no shame, got no pride. Only skeletons to hide.”

Hmm either one of em tbf-

“Yeah once you think you’re in control, you’ll believe that we are partners and you’ll feel comfortable. Oh then the darkness rolls in and you’ll forget who I have been.”

Billy to Stu, kitchen scene.

• Psycho [Muse]

“Love, it will get you nowhere.”

Stu coded.

“Come to me now, I could use someone like you. Someone who’ll kill on my command, and asks no questions.”

Billy getting Stu to help him commit to the murders

“I’m gonna make you, I’m gonna break you, I’m gonna make you- a fucking psycho.”

Billy coded

“Your mind is just a program and I’m the virus.”

Billy coded again

“And you will kill on my command and I won’t be responsible.”

Billy when he has Stu commit a good portion of the murders

“I’m gonna make you, a fucking psycho- your ass belongs to me now.”

Billy coded

“You fucking psycho, your ass belongs to me now.”

Also Billy coded

• The Handler [Muse]

“You are my handler, I will execute your demands”

Stu following Billy

“Leave me alone, I must disassociate from you”

Billy in return to Stu

• Wolves without Teeth [Of Monsters and Men]

"Open my chest and colour my spine. I'm giving you all"

Stu showing his devotion to Billy.

"Swallow my breath, And take what is mine. I'm giving you all"

devotion

"I'll be the blood, If you'll be the bones."

could be seen as compromise- still devotion though

"Haunt me in my sleep. You'll sailing from another world, Sinking in my sea."

"You're feeding on my energy, I'm letting go of it"

"I can see through you, We are the same. It's perfectly strange. You run in my veins. How can I keep you, Inside my lungs. I breathe what is yours, You breathe what is mine"

Stu as he knows who/what billy is, and he's not off putted because he loves it.

• Partners in Crime [Set it Off] [self explanatory.]

"You'll never takes us alive, We swore that death will do us part. They'll call our crimes a work of art"

"This, the tale of, reckless love. Living a life of crime on the run"

"And if the heat comes close enough to burn, Then we'll play with fire."

"This is the night the young love died, Buried at each others side. You never took us alive, We swore that death would do us part"

[reblogs appreciated but not at all forced! <3]

#billy loomis #scream #scream 1996 #stu macher #billy #loomis #stu #macher #songs for them #stuilly #stuilly coded songs #I love coding them to things #they live in my head #all day #everyday #may they be gay in peace

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