#but werewolf nonetheless!!!

[heylookitsghost]

to fill all the aros with joy i want you to know that i have a new gender and it is in fact a werewolf. ty for your time.

[d-llahanspade]

[ghostradiodylan]

Thinking about how they never explicitly confirm whether werewolves track specific people or just follow any people because they like biting people, but Silas bites Dylan at the radio hut and then follows him and Kaitlyn all the way to the scrapyard later (though if he’s dead I guess Silas follows just Kaitlyn, but that doesn’t happen in most playthroughs I would say).

So I feel like Dylan is right here. I mean, he is like 90% of the time. (The other 10% is when he says not to check out the silver shells or that you should shoot Emma lol) Like he comes off as kind of an asshole with this option because it sounds like he wants to abandon Abi and Nick (not great) but I suspect he’s factually correct.

Tangentially, I’m also always thinking about how the werewolves eat so little of their kills and trying to figure out their strategy there. 🤔 It’s almost like they see people as a threat they have to neutralize except that they seek out the supposed threat like it’s prey. Idk I’m having werewolf thoughts on this full moon evening.

[hauntedhowling]

Howling and nature howling back >>

[fauvester]

FAUVEMELS CHRONODABI CHISHIG KIDDO HALLOWEEN ! GAZE UPON OUR BOYS!!!

[the-teddy-bear-butch]

can you write 5, 6, and 21 from the angsty prompts for ronance pls?

Went with monster hunter Nancy and werewolf Robin for this, so I hope that’s okay!! <33

Angst and minorly graphic descriptions of injuries ahead:

__________

The quiet scratch of pen against paper was the only sound that filled Nancy’s mind. She saw sitting in her bedroom, working on her latest article as an attempt to distract herself from the gaping hole in her chest.

The gaping, Robin Buckley shaped hole in her chest.

She hadn’t meant to get close to the girl. It was dangerous to know her prey. She rarely remembered the name of the monsters she killed, but her mind held a lovingly worn box of bits of information that together made Robin. She could picture so easily the girl’s boyish style, hear the throaty rasp of her voice, smell her sandalwood and honey shampoo. She had stared for so long into those stormy gray blue eyes that they were etched permanently into the folds of her brain. Last on her mind was Robin’s lycanthropy. It was dangerous to see the humanity in a beast, but Robin was so utterly fucking human that it hurt.

Nancy knew her feelings were more than platonic. Robin knew it too. Their shared night at the club was proof enough of the bond they shared. Accepting that Robin was not the same as other werewolves was one thing—loving her was another. Forbidden.

So Nancy had distanced herself for the past two weeks. She was aware that tonight was the full moon. God was she fucking aware. She knew that Robin was out there somewhere—probably napping on the floor in the tattoo parlor with Chrissy, under one of Cunningham’s sleeping charms. At least there she’d be safe.

Focus. Nancy needed to focus.

___

A scratching sound outside drew Nancy’s attention. Her head shot up, hand going to the dagger so always kept at her side. She stepped toward the window, watching a clawed hand scrape against the roof below the window.

The knife was out before the beast had even finished climbing up, but no attack was made. Not yet.

A snap and a cry of pain echoed from just below the lip of the window and Nancy peeked out to see the werewolf frozen, shaking like a leaf. It looked up at her, and Nancy stared back in shock. One eye gleamed that bright gold that every werewolf shared, but the other was soft and stormy gray, welling with tears as claws receded.

“H-help me,” the beast whined, the words barely distinguishable in her animalistic growl.

Robin.

Before she had time to think anything over, Nancy opened the window and reached out, allowing Robin to grab her hand. She managed to pull the girl through just as the transformation really took hold. The sound of her breaking and remolding body was terrible, but it was nothing compared to Robin’s cries of pain. Nancy held her shaking form through it, pressing soft kisses to her forehead.

Robin collapsed, sweating profusely and shaking like a leaf in Nancy’s arms. It was then that the shorter girl felt a wetness against her chest. Robin was panting, her face incredibly pale as she fought for breath.

“Robin?” Nancy asked softly, pulling a blanket from the bed to wrap around the naked girl.

Robin didn’t respond, only groaned. Nancy pulled away, then gasped in shock. Not one, not two, but three ugly holes tore through Robin’s torso, the skin slick with crimson blood. The blackened veins spreading from each wound was a telltale indicator of silver bullets.

“What happened?” Nancy rasped, gently touching the angry around surrounding the worst of the wounds. Robin shuddered, eyes fluttering open and staring bloodshot at Nancy.

“Hunter,” she gasped, grabbing Nancy’s hand in her own. It was covered in blood and her grip was weak, but Nancy held Robin’s hand anyway. She kissed it gently, fighting back the angry tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I’m going to go get a first aid kit, okay? Stay right here,” Nancy stammered, cursing the waver in her voice. She was supposed to be good in a crisis. She was the stoic one, the one that always stayed calm—but something about it being Robin splayed across her bedroom floor, ugly red blossoming across the carpet as Robin bled, it tore into Nancy and left her in shambles.

She knew a hospital would be better, but there was no way they’d be able to explain Robin’s injuries. A first aid kit and Nancy’s knowledge of wound tending would have to be enough.

Nancy was quick to return with the kit, opening it across the bed. She scooped Robin up, concern deepening when the girl barely protested. “Just a little bit longer. Just hold on a little bit longer,” Nancy begged, her voice trembling. “I’m going to move you so you’re more comfortable.” Robin grabbed her hand and squeezed it, but the gesture did little to comfort her.

She laid Robin on the bed and kissed her sweat slicked forehead, heart dropping when she realized how cold the girl was. Nancy was quick to start wiping the wounds, tears flowing freely at each pitiful noise Robin made in protest.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

She had thought that by distancing herself, she could protect Robin, that she wouldn’t hurt her—but of course some other hunter took her place. Someone without an emotional connection that would finish the job.

Nancy had just grabbed the gauze when Robin let out a warbling cry and spat blood, her chest heaving like she couldn’t breathe. Nancy was at her side in a second, frantic.

“Robin? Robin, stay with me, come on birdie,” she stammered, brushing back Robin’s sweaty hair. “You’re doing so good,” she choked. The words felt like sand in her mouth. “Stay with me, please.” The girl moaned, eyes fluttering open and rolling back into her skull. She laid terrifyingly still.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Nancy cried, voice strangled as she leapt into action, frantically pumping Robin’s chest. She closed her eyes, counting the rhythm silently and praying to the god she had long since given up on—praying that her Robin would return to her. And if she didn’t, well, Nancy was beyond willing to scour every version of the afterlife for the freckled girl.

It felt like hours went by, but it must have only been moments. Robin gasped and spluttered, eyes flashing open with a cry. Nancy collapsed against the girl’s chest, wrapping in a tight embrace as sobs wracked her small frame. Robin weakly returned the hug, her breathing still uneven, but there.

“Don’t you fucking dare die on me,” Nancy rasped. Robin let out a broken, hoarse chuckle. “Or I’ll hunt you down in hell.”

“But Nance,” Robin muttered, the words barely audible as her strength returned. A crooked smile played at her bloodied lips. “Didn’t you know, all dogs go to heaven?”

Nancy only scoffed, before manic laughter overtook her and she was wheezing by Robin’s bedside. She had missed her jokes. She had missed Robin.

Thankfully, Robin seemed to stabilize after that—due in part to her lycanthropic healing abilities—but Nancy stayed by her side long after finishing treating her wounds and wrapping them.

They curled into each other, Nancy rubbing Robin’s back as the girl slipped into uneasy sleep. Nancy shifted slightly, resting her head on Robin’s chest—a comfortable, familiar position. It allowed her to listen to the gentle ba-dum ba-dum of Robin’s heart, to make sure the girl stayed with her.

“Who did this to you?” she murmured softly, tracing circles against Robin’s sternum. The girl didn’t answer—she was asleep of course—but Nancy didn’t mind. She would find out, one way or another. She needed a name to carve into a silver bullet before she blasted the fucker’s head off.

Nobody would hurt Nancy’s Robin and get away with it.

[kenzan-kiwami]

i've cracked it. i'm a genius. werewolf wednesday AND wagi wednesday in one

[seasprays]

it’s real werewolf hours lads

[thevalleyisjolly]

Mighty Nein crack fic concept: Fjord and Jester have decided to get married on the beautiful island of Rumblecusp, and as a surprise wedding gift, Jester secretly Sends out invites to the reclusive former adventurer Lord Eshteross (he can be alive here, as a treat), the notorious Meat Man of Ank'Harel, and the enigmatic founder of the world-renowned C-Pop Industries, to find out which one of them is Fjord's biological dad.

+bonus: At least one of them ends up hooking up with Vandran at the wedding

[kxllerblond]

ok last ooc and ill lurk but love clark for being a stealth monster because he's just like a normal snobby looking guy until someone who can See(tm) points at him and is like 'What kind of lil' freak are you?'

[themanwhomadeamonster]

wolfman design vs werewolf design beef in werewolf by night, we should be standing together over the fact that we finally got a werewolf movie where the character isn’t self-loathing about and identifies with both their humanity and monstrosity

[pepprs]

spent the last several hours on art fight and like. the sheer VOLUME of characters people have. it’s scary and also awesome.

[sonknuxadow]

oh my godddd the theme this year is my top choice that ive wanted as a theme for so long AND they used my favorite color for the team i was gonna pick ????? the people who run artfight are literally in love with me

[melpcmene-arch]

darryl just going to henry: i want to eat you and henry just misinterpreting that for something else and calling mercedes 'cos the threesome might happen.

[1327-1]

getting high and listening to my oc's playlist going insane like god intended

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.