#duck tales moon theme

[zimithrus1]

Ope, there he goes 😂

[chickenpeep77]

It would be funny if the Rapture happened just before the series finale of some show

[magic-in-onyx]

Fakiru Week 2023 Day 6: Chains

Upon the Oak an epitaph hidden,  And beneath its roots  A prisoner chained. 

The truest and purest of Despairs,  Is one which never ends. 

Ties are many  In this tale;  Chains are few,  But cruel, and as firm as any. 

One pair ensnares the limbs  Of a noble soul,  Hiding him from view,  And the world from himself. 

The second peels the skins  Off dolls which true skin have not;  Enslaves daughters to fathers implacable.  These invisible to the eye are,  And entrap one’s will and self, hang them  On strings  Held by a Puppeteer’s unrelenting hand. 

The final pair of chains  Half broken is already –  A blade of silver steel, held in a palm firm and steady,  Torn them had by granting freedom and pluck  To a tender yellow little duck. 

She now only chained remains  By her past connection,  By her lingering affection,  And by her reluctance to abandon  A former friend, a love that was better off not to be,  In affliction  Dire. 

Fire  Calms in many hours’ time.  The Sentry and his Lady venture forth  Through the embers meekly,  Which in turn gradually simmer down  To ashes warm and feeble.  A guiding moonlit glare  Shows the way  To the forest’s crown –  The largest of the oaken trees. 

A maze the forest is –  A maze of memories and visions,  A materialisation of tricks,  From the bag of the Puppeteer. 

The Sentry – the Creator,  Remains poised and centred  Amid the swirling dreams;  Many horrid futures before his eyes  Dance, playing obscure themes and schemes  Written by the old man’s pen,  The pen of an elder who should have long died. 

But the Creator  His own Fate had long summoned, challenged,  To stand against the old Spinner’s Clotho.  And stand it does, just as enduring, just as willful!  Its quill draws the Stars’ paths, connecting,  Breathing life into routeways previously unimagined.  The Stars sparkle with the Moon’s glow,  Steady and slow – They mandate the rhythm, the flow  To follow. 

“The Stars will be our guides,  “The Moon will light the way,  “Death will be our ally,  “So that we may heal and live another day.”  So mutters the Creator,  So quotes his Fate! 

The little duck’s jewel-half cruor  Shivers and gleams  Upon their final ascent.  Darkness meets them once more, on a plane void  Of moon or starlight –  The ancient canopy does not permit its descent. 

The Blutenglühen is responded to  By the Oaken Tree’s tender gilded hue,  A shimmer shy, from within the bog of Truth. 

Upon the Oak an epitaph;  A Fate most imminent, a Spectacle for many, a rendezvous for two.  Engraved in gold and etched in roots of ancient wisdom.  Inscribed into the Oaken Tree  A tale of One, Two, Three.  To seek it out you must inquire not after ancient wisdom  Enshrined,  But instead look without pursuing.  Upon the old bark  An inscription;  To choose a Fate toward doom which leads,  Would it truly be Happiness?

From beyond the Oaken bark,  From beyond the gilded glimmer of its script,  A lonesome, hollow moan echoes.  It’s the sound of  The Prince’s fate of Sorrow,  Brought forth by the bellows  Of his regret,  The shouts and shrieks and cries tearful  Of the weight of his heart. 

Upon the Oak an epitaph hidden,  And beneath its roots  A prisoner chained. 

The truest and purest of Despairs,  Is one which never ends.

**

&lt;Prev> <Next>

AO3

[ggworldnews]

DuckTales: Reliving the Adventure! 🦆✨

Hey there! I just had to share this incredible news with all of you because it's a total game-changer (pun intended)! Get ready to dive into a tale of nostalgia and gaming awesomeness because I'm about to spill the beans on the creation of the DuckTales game. Buckle up! Okay, picture this: a team of dedicated developers, fueled by their love for the iconic DuckTales animated series, set out on a mission to bring our favorite feathered friends to life in the gaming world. They poured their heart and soul into every pixel, every line of code, and every catchy tune to create an experience that would transport us back to our childhoods. From the very beginning, they knew they had something special on their hands. They wanted to capture the essence of the show, its adventurous spirit, and the lovable characters that made us laugh and cheer. And boy, did they succeed! The game is a true labor of love, a testament to the power of passion and dedication. They meticulously crafted the gameplay, blending platforming, exploration, and puzzle-solving in a way that keeps us hooked for hours on end. The levels are beautifully designed, taking us to iconic locations like the Amazon, Transylvania, and even the Moon! And let's not forget the epic boss battles that make us feel like true heroes alongside Scrooge McDuck. But it's not just the gameplay that shines here. The visuals are a stunning homage to the original hand-drawn animation, with vibrant colors and attention to detail that make us feel like we're part of an actual DuckTales episode. And the cherry on top? The soundtrack! They brought back the iconic DuckTales theme song and composed new tracks that perfectly capture the spirit of each level. Talk about a nostalgia overload! So, my fellow DuckTales enthusiasts, if you haven't already, I highly recommend you grab your controllers and embark on this epic adventure. It's a game that not only pays tribute to a beloved TV show but also stands on its own as a masterpiece. Kudos to the talented team behind it for bringing our childhood dreams to life. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some treasure to hunt and some ducks to save!

[plethoraworldatlas]

Duck Börg- The post-apocalyptic Duck Tales TTRPG

DUKK BÖRG is a grindhouse fantasy tabletop game about ducks banding together in pursuit of death or treasure before the world ends. Inspired by the beloved Saturday morning cartoon DuckTales and the apocalyptic doom metal ttrpg MÖRK BORG, DUKK BÖRG introduces characters, places, and treasures found long after the McDuck clan’s adventures have finished, the moon has exploded, and the sun has turned red in its dying days.

In DUKK BÖRG you are the treasure hunters and gizmo speakers that seek to be the richest ducks of a dying world. You will form your own clan of found family, hoping that together you’re smarter than the smarties and tougher than the toughies. You will face off against witches and crime syndicates, seek out ancient treasures, explore the doomed city of DUKK BÖRG and the surrounding Calikotan environs, and watch helplessly as apocalyptic psalms based on the classic theme song tick down to doom.

On Kickstarter.

[comradedevmon]

Why is this so beautiful

[violetganache42]

Can we please get a full-length version of the Moon Theme used in this episode on YouTube, iTunes, or something? Dominic Lewis absolutely killed it!

[whatisupdogg]

cue lawnmower flying into the air. also, this is SUCH a good tune and people need to know it’s more than a meme

-

My jazz quartet, the Dumpster Cats, played a show on Friday the 13th, consisting of a bunch of game tunes! All arrangements were done by me, aside from the jazz standards. Check out this tune from our concert: World One!

[capneatdrawsleeprepeat]

((Turn the sound on))

The quality sucks but that's what makes it better lmao, I fucking hate and love them at the same time god

[minalunarys]

Della's Moon Lullaby | DuckTales | Disney Channel

So Della duck is now my favorite cartoon character. She sing wonderfully and is full of determination. i can’t wait to see more of her story, and to see her reunited with her family.

[ddarker-dreams]

Wither. Yan Kaeya x F Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Underlying yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, depictions of trauma and anxiety.  Word count: 3k. 

Third installment of Transfixed and Equinox. 

If there’s anyone who understands the nuance of loss, it’s Kaeya Alberich.

Not many had the privilege of knowing this about him, but those who did might find themselves subjected to some wry humor when enough alcohol flowed through his system. To most, his remarks might come off as cryptic, more befitting of a bard’s tale than their idea of the whimsical Cavalry Captain. A sobered up Kaeya the following morning could barely blame them for not taking him seriously. Lost and condemned homelands, being abandoned by one patriarch for another, duels fought over soil where blood had recently flowed alongside secrets better kept behind closed lips.

It adds and adds and adds.

One needn’t be an architect to understand this basic principle: continue stacking weight atop an unsteady foundation, and you run the risk of it toppling over altogether.

This is the point Kaeya finds himself at.

The precipice of total collapse.

Jean, the Acting Grand Master, had gone so far as to personally beseech Kaeya to take time off. In her own words, it wasn’t an order from a superior, but concern from a friend. Kaeya had been all but shut up in his office for the rise and fall of multiple moons, his sole lifeline to the outside world Noelle scuttering meals in timely intervals. Jean entered without knocking, since those who tried that method were promptly sent off.

“This isn’t healthy,” she told him. There were maps of Mondstadt strewn about the floor, his curtains pulled taut to refuse the entry of sunlight, and the wax of candles burning for far too long at their lowest point. “I know I might not have the right to speak on this, but taking the time to rest is an important part of working too. We can’t operate without it.”

“For ages, you dealt with complaints that I wasn't working hard enough. It isn’t until the pendulum swings in the other direction that you bother getting involved.”

Jean took the criticism like water off a duck’s back. “Because, unlike some, I see how diligent you work even when the lesser trained eye cannot. This new extreme won’t get you anywhere worth being. You trust me, don’t you? Then you must know I’m taking this seriously. What I commit myself to, I get done.”

He smiled at that. “The same could be said for me.”

“For better or for worse,” she agreed with a sigh. “The lead we’re following is solid. Oh, don’t look at me like that — I’m sure your sources already informed you what I planned to announce in tomorrow morning’s debriefing. We have multiple confirmed sightings from reputable witnesses that the Abyss is making encampments near Wolvendom. Why not rest up for the night so you’re at your best?”

“I thought it was awfully convenient how the door to your office was left open when one of my favorite guards just so happened to be stationed,” he still had yet to look up from the map on his desk. When Jean tracked the movements of Kaeya’s eye, she saw his attention was nowhere else but the aforementioned Wolvendom. He didn’t mind that she all but called him out for taking advantage and orchestrating an information leak, if anything, he’d been counting on it. Her compassion would be what let him get away with it.

A certain brother of his was in a similarly difficult position, he turned a blind eye to some of Kaeya’s more questionable behavior. He’d gladly use this short window to operate in the ways that’d serve him best. 

“We’re worried about you, Kaeya.”

He found it wise that she chose not to press the negative issue in favor of redirecting his attention. Clever, clever. Was that what it was like to be on the receiving end of his own ploys? He can’t say it’s very enjoyable. Nonetheless, he played the game set before him.

“And who exactly is ‘we’, might I ask?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t already know, far from it. He just wanted it spoken aloud; given form so tangible he could almost reach out and touch it. There is satisfaction to be found in sublime suffering. For if he was robbed of that, he mused, he’d be left unable to feel anything at all. Now that wouldn’t do.

Jean contemplated the merits of giving Kaeya what he wanted or what he needed. In the end, he reigned victorious, as she went with the former.

“[First]. You can act strong around her all you like, but she knows better. She sees past it and chooses not to say anything… in your presence, at least. Barbara tells me she’s more concerned with your condition than her own. That should be telling enough.”

At long last, Kaeya looked up from his map and pushed aside his seemingly endless schemes. The Dandelion Knight did not see a man who had lost his ambition, but one that clung to its thorns, no matter how much it made him bleed. He took pride in the pinpricks for it proved he would never let go.

A mutual, knowing glance was exchanged while words were withheld. It was understood then that no combination of clever lexicon or perfect intonation would move him. Perhaps Jean already knew she’d be unsuccessful in her endeavors, yet felt moved to try anyway, as it was better to try and fail than to recognize doing nothing would net the same results. Kaeya respected and adhered to that very notion himself.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jean announced, her lips pulled into a firm line. He knew that expression well — unsatisfied, with a hint of regret. It’s the countenance that greeted him whenever he happened upon his reflection.

She paused just before her hand could twist the doorknob. “That glaze lily on your desk… if you tend to it too much, as you have been, it’ll be smothered by your efforts and wilt.”

Whether or not Jean spoke with the glaze lily in mind was debatable. But right at that point, Kaeya was in no mood to engage in discourse and preferred to leave it at that. There wasn’t anything she could tell him that he didn’t know himself.

“I’ll take note of your apparent botany expertise, Acting Grand Master.”

She hesitated, but in the end, left without another word.

-

Come morning, neither Jean nor Kaeya acknowledge the chasm formed by last night’s dialogue. They keep matters professional. Jean, for the sake of maintaining appearances, and Kaeya, because his attention could not be divided up any further. He’s certain that Crepus Ragnvindr himself could resurrect in front of his very eyes and he’d pay the miracle no mind.

As he fights, cutting through otherworldly forces that sought to do his beloved irreversible harm, it is your image and voice that guides his blade.

Kaeya, what would I do without you?

He remembers thinking it was a silly question at the time. For in his mind, he decided he’d always have you; and you, him. There was no other option. He’d entertain nothing else.

It’s like you always know what to say to make me feel better.

He had to. For if he didn’t, what use would you have for a depraved man such as himself?

This is a Windblume I give to you — a testament of my budding love.

What rotten soil he provided it with to grow. Whether it be arrogance or willful ignorance, he thought you could flourish, so long as he preemptively pulled out any weeds that might disturb you. Letters from your home that might encourage you to move back. Well-meaning friends who wondered why your schedule could never work to accommodate them, but always him. Job offers with enticing benefits yet hours too long for his liking. He dirtied his hands in every way imaginable and still, reality saw fit to remain a far cry from his fantasies.

Crimson drips from his silver blade, the tears from the weeping sky above washing it away.

The inclement weather had almost been enough for Jean to delay the attack. It was by his insistence that they carried through with their original plan, save for a few adjustments. Kaeya had prepared multiple strategies in anticipation of anything going wrong. This proved to be useful, for the Knights were successful in their endeavors. Some newer recruits were hurt but far from knocking on death’s door.

However, if it had served his designs, he wouldn’t have hesitated to send them all to an early grave. How fortunate they were that he found the sacrifice to be unnecessary today.

The few Abyss Mages that they rid the world of hardly quenched his thirst for revenge. How could it, when he’s personally had to witness the repercussions of what they did to you? The tears, the spurts of all-consuming anxiety, the nightmares he’d spend hours each night soothing you from? Recovery from a near-death experience was far from linear. For every good day, there seemed to be two bad ones lurking around the corner, waiting to grab you with their impish hands and drag you into the shadows.

Kaeya barely comprehends the fervent calls of his title in the distance. He’s diligent in scrutinizing the various details of the camp, everything from how long the firewood was burning to footprints entrenching themselves in his memory. Stooping over, he examines the mixture of soil where the Abyss Mages once stood, certain that it’ll clue him into discovering more.

“Captain… Kaeya,” a voice he recognizes as belonging to Swan huffs.

The Knight receives a hum in acknowledgment for his troubles.

This soil’s coloration and density is common in Cape Oath, he thinks. I’ll have patrols in the area increased. Perhaps twist it to sound more urgent than it actually is to ensure the higher-ups treat it with immediate attention…

“Um, sir,” Swan tries again to secure his attention. “I know you’re busy, but, [First] had an accident and I was sent to retrieve you—”

Kaeya is towering over him immediately. “What happened?”

His tone is sharp enough to rival the sword he so expertly wielded minutes earlier.

“Well, from what I can understand, [First]’s suffered loss of coordination following the attack on Mondstadt. She apparently fell at an awkward angle and injured her head. Barbara is treating her now, and while it isn’t fatal, she still thought it’d be best to have you alongside her due to how disoriented she is.”

Kaeya taps his foot repeatedly on the muddy ground. “When exactly did this occur?”

“T-Thirty or so minutes after you left, sir.”

“Then why am I hearing about this now, when that was six hours ago?”

“I was advised against interrupting such an important operation, a-and, well, with the weather—”

“The weather. You’re going to blame the weather,” Kaeya deadpans. There were some choice words and actions permeating the back of his mind, but this wasn’t the time or place to act on them. Not with so many witnesses. Swan’s complexion is pallid enough that any passerby might think he had seen a ghost. Such a specter might have been preferable to Kaeya’s chilled wrath.

Kaeya moves past the shuddering man without wasting another breath.

Nothing else matters to him as the scenery blends into an indiscernible blur. He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, ignoring the ache of his muscles and dull throbs of his head. The stormy clouds overhead make it difficult for him to navigate the winding paths and rocky roads, but he journeys onward, branches snapping beneath his feet. His thoughts are dominated by you, owned by you heart and soul. He would ensure that you’d never be without him. This solemn promise that he made to himself could never be broken.

Eventually, he stands before the familiar cobble bridge and gates of Mondstadt. Some people greet him, yet he barely registers their existence, finding them akin to a speck of dust. It wasn’t long ago that he ran this exact route with a similar sense of urgency — when the news came that you had woken up following your attack. At that time, he didn’t know what to expect and desperately wished that he did. He cannot say the same this go-round. He almost doesn’t want to know what awaits him past the doors of the Favonius Cathedral.

“[First]’s just in there,” Barbara tells him, having anticipated his arrival long in advance. Her voice is soft and steeped with sickeningly sweet empathy. “Be sure to keep your voice low, she’s fighting a nasty migraine. I’m sure she wants to see you regardless, though.”

Kaeya wonders if he’ll be able to form any words whatsoever from how out of breath he is. Regardless, he knows how seriously Barbara takes your health; he nods so that she’ll let him in.

You lay inside the small, infirmary-style room, resting on a white cot. He tries — and fails — not to wake you, the telltale squeaking from his wet boots giving him away in an instant. Your eyelashes flutter open, hazy eyes filling with mirth at the sight of your beloved. The smile you give him is nowhere near as forced as his own. There’s no suffering more visceral than seeing the only person you care for in pain. You may try and hide it, but he knows you too well. Your shallow breaths and occasional wince tell him everything your lips won’t.

“You’re absolutely drenched,” you point out, half-joking. Then, your compassion peaks through, like sunshine parting clouds on an overcast day. “I know they have some spare clothes here. It might not be as flashy as your normal garb, but it should do the trick.”

Kaeya kneels by your bedside. He helps himself to your hand, raising it and pressing his lips against the skin in silent reverence. “That desperate to see me get changed, huh? How risqué.”

Banter has always come naturally between you two. After you initially woke from the Abyss’ attack, you told him that while you understand his reasoning, he shouldn’t treat you any differently than how he used to. An impossible task — nonetheless, he agreed so you wouldn’t give him a hard time about it.

Your nose crinkles and you laugh. “You wish. This is—”

A paroxysm overcomes you. You cough and sputter, while Kaeya is helpless to do nothing but watch and look for a remedy to your ailment that doesn’t exist. Fortunately, the attack doesn’t last long, but it serves to further exacerbate your headache. He feels you squeeze down on his hand while you try and regain control over your rebellious body. A few minutes pass in silence until you’re well enough to speak again.

“I’m sorry I made you come all this way,” you mutter. He frowns, quickly deciding that he doesn’t like how you sound when dejected. “It sounds like whatever you were doing today was important. I didn’t… I didn’t ruin anything, did I?”

“What? Of course not,” he dispels the falsehood with a hammering heart. His voice lacks the usual bravado he’s known for. “The last thing I want is for you to feel bad. If I didn’t want to be here, trust me, we wouldn’t be talking right now. You know I’m great at weaseling out of stuff I don’t want to do, don’t you?”

He’s unsure who he’s truly introducing this levity for you, or himself.

Your lips quirk up but you lack the energy to give him a full smile. “Well, that isn’t wrong per se…”

“See? You know me so well,” the parts he wants you to know, at least. He places another kiss on top of your hand. “Now, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to remember that you put up with a person like me. Ah, there’s a good expression, I can tell you’re giving it plenty of thought. Good, good. Okay, back to our little mental exercise. How many people do you think could do that, hm? Not many, I can tell you that much.”

Kaeya squeezes your hand softly. “And then there’s you…”

“Beautiful.”

He kisses your inner wrist.

“Resilient.”

Then your shoulder.

“Precious.”

Finally, your forehead. “Utterly lovable, you. So look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think this arrangement is fair. Because maybe it isn’t — just not for the reason you believe. I’m the one making out like a bandit here, not the other way around. I get the honor of saying you’re mine. Got it?”

When you stare at him the way you are now, he remembers just why he adores you so, to the point he’d let himself go mad.

“You still want me to be yours then, despite all the trouble I cause?”

“Trouble,” he repeats the word, almost incredulous. “You’re the furthest thing from it. Perish the thought.”

If you’re trouble, then he can’t fathom what label could be applied to him.

This ardent promise of his appears to settle down your concerns for now. He knows fog as thick as the kind plaguing you can’t be remedied with a few, sweet words, but he hopes he can stave it off for the time being. You settle down back into the bed upon his prompting. He’ll need a towel to dry off where he got you damp in his fit of passion. If you’re bothered by it, you don’t complain, not that he’d ever expect you to.

There are few sounds, save for your soft breathing and occasional footsteps outside the room.

“Kaeya?” You speak up, tentative.

“Hm?”

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” he promises. “Rest up. And try to dream about me a lot too while you’re at it.”

Another laugh. Kaeya swears that a divine-led chorus could scarcely compare to the delight birthed in his chest upon hearing the sound.

His current life with you might not be exactly what he envisioned — but there’s nothing he’s better at than improvising. What matters the most is that he can call you his without you disagreeing. If you knew everything he’d done to earn the right to say that, he’d doubt you’d accept it with the same ease that you do now.

[duckprintspress]

Now Live: Duck Prints Press's Third Crowd-funding Campaign!

Duck Prints Press LLC is over the moon to share our next to anthologies with you: She Wears the Midnight Crown and He Bears the Cape of Stars!

These two anthologies share a common theme – masquerades – and each features different kinds of relationships. She Wears the Midnight Crown contains 18 wlw stories; He Bears the Cape of Stars contains 18 mlm stories. Both collections tell myriad stories exploring how these characters’ relationships develop, grow, and change while they attend or participate in masquerades!

Our 36 contributors have stretched their imaginations to present innovative stories exploring what a masquerade can be…and, of course, tell rich, engaging tales of wonderful queer folk finding love, companionship, acceptance, the queer platonic relationship of their dreams, or the found family they deserve. The collected works feature characters in all the colors of the Pride rainbow, queer and genderqueer, and these diverse individuals inhabit worlds ranging from science fiction settings where everyone must be masked to breathe, to fantasies where no one wears a literal mask but everyone shows the world a false guise, to iterations of the real world where some people lean into deception.

In addition to the stories by our authors - including new works by @alocalband, @fpwoper, @erajakira, @jhoomwrites, @tryslora, @p1013, @dragonmuse, @unforth, @faerytaleonfire, and @owlishintergalactic (and many others, who don't have Tumblr accounts ) - our books and merchandise also include gorgeous art by @thefriendlypigeon (cover art), @aceriee-art (enamel pins), @migglangelus (bookmarks), @alessariel (our dux mascots!), and @reshipkmn (patch). You're definitely not going to want to miss it - you can buy one book or both books, some merch, or all merch - we've got 8 backer levels to help you get exactly what you want!

We’d love for you to attend the masquerade! Don your mask and read on…

Back our crowdfunding campaign!

Visit our website to read author biographies, learn about our rewards and backer levels, and more!

Back our Patreon or ko-fi monthly to get exclusive extras!

Follow our social media accounts to keep up with all the latest!

The Seed&Spark Campaign for She Wears the Midnight Crown and He Bears the Cape of Stars runs from now through July 14th, 2022.

Go Forth, and Back It Now!

[mrs-gucci]

There seems to be a darker, more violent take on Clyde floating around right now and I LOVE it!! I’m working on one for him too!

Since you say open for darker requests, I’d love to hear your take on a more violent Clyde! He could be saving you from a stalker. Clyde can show him what a real bad ass can do and then show you how well he can treat you too lol! He could be protecting you from someone at the bar. He could be showing you his special forces skills after some gets aggressive. You name it lol!

Secrets of the Blood Moon {werewolf!Clyde x Reader darkfic}

author's notes: helloooo! my friend shannon, thank you for this request!! I am also a fan of the darker take on Clyde and I hope I did it some justice!! I worked really, really hard on this one, and I’m super pleased with how it turned out.

**PLEASE HEED THE DARKFIC WARNING!! THIS FIC INVOLVES SEVERAL VERY HEAVY AND VERY DARK THEMES, SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!**

warnings: angst. smut. hurt/comfort. a minor car crash. mentions of alcohol consumption. rut. knotting. breeding kink. werewolf stuff. attempted mating bite. murder coverup. clyde feels guilty.

tw's: noncon touching (not by clyde). involuntary attempted sexual assault (werewolf clyde pins her down & dry humps w/o consent, but human clyde doesn’t know he did it nor would ever intend to do it). blood & gore. graphic depictions of murder and violence. human-hunting. depictions of human body consumption (is it cannibalism if he’s technically a wolf when it happens?). werewolf sex.

**this is a work of FICTION. the author does not attempt to condone the actions/behaviors of the characters written.**

word count: 5.9k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

Last Night

Stepping out of your car, you’re instantly suffocated by the thick humidity of the West Virginia evening. The sun paints cotton candy across the sky as it sets behind the trees on the mountainous horizon, the almost full moon hot on its tail, slowly rising on the other side of the sky.

The blood moon comes tomorrow, and from the old folk tales your mom used to tell about the deep West Virginia countryside, some weird shit goes down under the crimson moon. You never really believed her. What all could happen in lil ol’ Boone County, anyway?

The moment you step into the refreshing, air-conditioned Duck Tape, you’re immediately greeted by a loud call of your name.

“Y/N!” You smile and wave at Jimmy. 

Clyde looks up and smiles at you as you come and sit down at the bar next to Jimmy. He serves the customer before coming over to talk with you and the eldest Logan.

You lean over the bar to give him a kiss, earning a couple hoots and hollers from the bar crowd, which made you both laugh as you pull away.

“How was work, buttercup?” He asks, wiping off some glasses. “Weren’t ya doin’ that one presentation today? How’d that go?”

You’re always so flattered that Clyde actually pays attention when you talk about work stuff. Most guys just smile and nod, but Clyde actually listens and remembers. He even remembered your one year anniversary at the company you currently work for, sending you takeout from your favorite place along with some flowers.

“Yeah, it was alright. Boring as hell, but the partners seemed pleased, so that’s all I can really ask for at this point.”

Both he a Jimmy give a small chuckle, nodding before Clyde mixes your favorite drink, setting it down in front of you a few minutes later. You thank him, and the three-way conversation continues before the bar door swings open. 

Something about the man’s entrance makes you look over, already smelling trouble as he steps over the threshold. His eyes are glued on you, a smug smirk etched on his expression. 

A hush falls over the patrons for a few seconds, all eyes on the leather-clad man. Clyde’s hackles are immediately up, body tense as the mystery man saunters over, plopping himself down onto the vacant stool next to yours. 

Things on the floor continue as normal, the chatter picking back up, and you subtly scoot a little closer to Jimmy. 

“Bartender?” A thick New York accent calls.

Clyde walks over, plastering a fake smile on his face, seemingly the epitome of southern hospitality.

“What can I getcha, sir?”

The man gives Clyde a once-over and snickers. “No, seriously, where’s the bartender? I’d like a drink.”

Your grip clenches around your glass. You absolutely hated it when people were dicks about Clyde’s hand.

“Seriously, I am the bartender.” He states firmly. “So, what can I get ya?”

His tone sends a chill down your spine. Normally, Clyde just shuts down whenever someone starts poking fun at his missing hand, but tonight, there was a certain air of frustration, of dominance.

You just thought he’d finally cracked, after years of dealing with this bullshit. But as you would learn, there was an alternate explanation for his sudden outwardly alpha-like behavior.

The guy seems to back off a little bit, just asking for a cold Coors straight from the bottle. You startle a bit when Clyde slams the bottle down on the counter in front of him, and you could swear his eyes turn a light grey for a second before returning to the dark brown pools you’re familiar with.

Everything’s quiet for a little while, the man sipping his beer in silence, before he turns to you. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply allowing his eyes to drink in your seated figure.

“What’s your name, baby girl?” The beer smell of his breath is strong as he leans in. “You lookin’ for someone to keep you company tonight?”

You roll your eyes. Douchebag. “Nope. I’m perfectly content just sitting here, thanks.”

Clyde’s watching the interaction like a hawk as he makes someone’s drink. It’s a wonder he can concentrate on the drink when his thoughts and eyes are glued to you.

His slimy hand touches down on your bare thigh, just above your knee, and you jump in your seat. He grins, trailing it up as he leans in even closer.

“Are you sure? I could show you a real good time...”

Glass shatters from behind the bar and then, Clyde’s grabbing the man by his biker jacket, tossing him onto the floor with an almost superhuman strength. You stand up, appalled, as the man on the hardwood scrambles to get up.

An icy grey begins to frost over his sweet chocolate irises as Clyde clenches his fists by his side. 

“Don’t ya dare touch ma girl, ye pervert.” He growls, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Someone ought to show ya what respect looks like.”

The bar has fallen pin-drop silent, all sets of eyes focused in on the developing scene. He cocks his fist above his head, snarling as he readies to pounce on the helpless man. 

It’s then that Jimmy hops up and puts himself between the two men, holding his hands up in front of Clyde. “Don’t do this t’ yerself. Ye know what’ll happen if ya do.”

This seems to bring him back, the warmness flooding back to his irises. His shoulders slump as he huffs softly, pushing past his older brother angrily, storming into his office and slamming the door behind him.

Shakily, the man stands and puts a twenty down on the table before running out of the bar, bell jingling against the wooden door as it eases shut after him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rare blood moon hangs in its place against the pitch black sky as you pull up to the Logan’s trailer home. There aren’t any stars in the clear night’s sky, despite it being the dead of summer, but you don’t think much of it as you approach the shadowed porch.

Moths flutter around the dimly flickering porch light while you peek through the windows, which were as black as the night. Not a single light was on.

Odd. The Pontiac’s parked in its normal spot outside.

You flip the threadbare ‘welcome’ mat up, revealing the rusting gold key beneath. Sticking it in the lock, you turn until the door pops open, an eerie creak accompanying it.

"Clyde?” You say, looking around the trailer’s living room as you flip the living room lights on.

You call for him again. Maybe he’s just taking a nap. “Clyde?”

Still no response. 

Now, you’re getting worried. There’s no note, nothing noticeably out of place; in fact, it’s almost all too still. It gives you the creeps, how still and quiet it is in here.

The scent of suspicion thickens the air around you, and you just get the most awful feeling in your gut that something bad is happening or is about to happen.

Adrenaline begins to pump through your veins as you quickly walk around, peeking in the kitchen, and in the spare room. The air seems to thicken again the closer to draw to Clyde’s room, and you push the door open with bated breath.

You’re absolutely mortified at the sight before you. 

Shreds of carpet, fabric, and mattress stuffing is scattered the floor, and giant claw marks have torn straight through the drywall. The blankets and comforter, at least the remains of them, are disheveled where they lay across the clawed-up mattress. 

His vanity mirror is almost fully shattered, and the products that once sat atop are now tossed across the floor. The chilly summer’s night air flutters the curtains on the opened window above the bed.

The first thought that comes to mind is a bear attack of some kind. Now fully freaking out, you’re wondering how in the world a bear got into the trailer, and why it only seemed to attack Clyde’s room. You scramble to grab your phone from your purse with shaky hands, dialing Jimmy’s number in haste.

Was this one of the blood moon enigmas mom warned about? No, no, bear attacks are pretty common around here.

 It takes a few rings before he picks up.

“Y/N?” He sounds out of breath, exhausted.

“Jimmy, hey. Do you know where Clyde is? I’m at the trailer, and--”

Something that sounds like a growl rips through the speaker, followed by a woman’s voice. 

“Is everything oka--”

“Mellie, I can’t help ya right now! I’ll be there in a second!” He yells in the background. “Sorry Y/N, you were sayin’ somethin’?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just at the trailer, and I peeked into Clyde’s room...”

“Ya didn’t touch anything, did ya?” His voice is rushed.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, no, but--”

The growl comes again, louder this time, and it almost sounds like it’s...a voice. A very deep and very animalistic one, but a voice nonetheless. And it was saying something, although you couldn’t really hear clearly enough.

“Jimmy, do you know where Clyde is?” You’re getting a little impatient.

“Don’t worry ‘bout Clyde, he’s okay, he’s, uhh, here with us.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay.”

But tonight was supposed to be your special night together.

“Y/N? Listen real close, now. I need ya to get outta the trailer and go home, right now. Don’t linger, and refrain from touchin’ anything in the trailer. Lock all yer doors n’ close all the windows when ya get back home, okay? ‘N don’t go outside for the rest’a the night.”

Okay, now you’re starting to get fearful. “What--”

“Jimmy!” Mellie’s panicked voice comes through the phone speaker again, this time a bit clearer. He curses under his breath.

Her cries clearly rattled the eldest Logan, and he quickly tells you to just do what he said and then hangs up in a frantic state. 

You’re frozen for a moment, but then you quickly scurry outside to your car, frantically looking around as you scramble to fit the key in the driver’s side door.  By some miracle, you hold your hand steady enough to unlock it, quickly shutting the door and turning on the engine, peeling out of there like a madwoman.

Suddenly, as you go to pull out of the driveway, a strange apparition appears at the edge of the wood across the street. You squint, trying to figure out what the hell it is. Whatever it is, though, it’s panting heavily and looks...inhuman.

It’s standing on two legs, but its large, probably almost seven feet tall if you had to guess, and must’ve had some type of black fur or skin since it almost blends in with the darkened forest.

The reddish light of the moon is the only light that reflects upon this mystery creature, before it seems to notice your car idling in the driveway. The crisp light grey pupils seemingly glimpse into your soul as the creature looks upon you.

Clearly, now, you can decipher what exactly it is, although you’re in utter shock and skeptical to think it real: A werewolf.

You quickly put the car in reverse, slamming down on the gas, flying backwards for a few seconds before colliding with the trailer’s tin wall. Your head slams forward onto the steering wheel, trickles of blood dribble down your forehead and nose as your consciousness is lost.

When you come to, only a few minutes later, you groan as the welt forms on your forehead. You look around, groggily, seeing that your car is in drive but isn’t moving. Surely when you’d passed out, your foot would’ve come off the brake and you would’ve rolled away...

Stepping out carefully, you find that some bricks have been placed in front of all four tires, effectively keeping the car at a dead standstill. 

Who in the world did this?

Then, you turn your head and walk slowly around to the front of your car, seeing the remnants of sharp teeth marks on your bumper. You’re frozen, a lump slowly crawling up your throat as the realization hits. 

A low growl comes from behind you, and your worst fears have suddenly been realized. You slowly, carefully spin around on your heels, afraid that one wrong move may make you tonight’s surprise entree.

Your eyes meet the soul-piercing grey’s of the werewolf, the one you’d seen at the edge of the forest minutes earlier. The one that seemingly saved your life, but...how did a werewolf know what to do?

As you continue to gaze at the large being before you, you’re struck with a sense of familiarity, almost as if you’d met them before. Strange, because you can’t recall ever encountering a werewolf. Hell, you’ve never even seen a wolf before, other than in pictures. Surely you’d remember coming into contact with a seemingly impossible biological phenomenon such as this one.

His presence is scarily comforting, and you find yourself briefly wondering what it’d feel like to be enveloped in his woolen arms. Well, arm, technically speaking. This particular werewolf seems to be missing the lower half of his left paw.

Then, your mind connects the dots, and you’re shocked to your very core. It wasn’t a bear that attacked Clyde’s room, it was Clyde. This werewolf that’s standing before you is Clyde. That’s why Jimmy and Mellie sounded so frantic and breathless on the phone; they must’ve been trying to keep him contained.

But why? Werewolves usually recognize the important people in their human lives...right? That’s why he’d saved you from rolling off...

Your headlights’ reflection was speared by your figure, creating a shadow that covered most of Clyde’s form, except for the very tips of his paws, which had enormous claws emerging from beneath the thick layer of fur.

“Clyde?” You whisper, and he seems to soften for a moment, falling down on all threes.

Just as you swallow the lump in your throat and begin to cautiously approach the creature, hand outstretched to allow him to smell you, his eyes suddenly darken, the once snowy grey now more like the color of storm clouds. 

He snarls, white teeth shining in the moon’s moody crimson-tinted reflection, and you immediately backtrack. Oh god, I’m fucked.

Your bottom collides with the front of your car, the engine thrumming lowly as it idles happily, grille warm from the machine inside. The headlights are now fully shining on the creature, fur shining under the bright lights as he approaches, lines of drool strung between his sharp fangs. 

“C-Clyde, please,” You plead with the creature. “It’s m-me, Y/N, your g-girlfriend. You know m-me, you don’t w-wanna do t-this...”

It doesn’t seem to do much to dissuade him, the animal within now overshadowing the kind, gentle man you know and love. No, this creature is something else. This isn’t your Clyde.

The wolf stops short of the hood, where you’ve crawled up onto and are laying back, raising his nose up in the air, sniffing. You’re perplexed by this action, but it becomes evident when his ear prick and he says, in that same deep, animalistic voice that was in the background of your call with Jimmy, 

“Mate.”

And then, he’s pouncing, trapping your hands above your head with his one arm while his legs scramble to find a good grip on the metallic surface of the car, hips rutting frantically. 

His muzzle dips down, wet nose running along your jawline and neck, teeth scraping dangerously against your thin skin. He quickly settles on a spot behind your ear, growling as his pink tongue darts out to begin lapping at the spot. 

You’re completely still, both physically restrained and unable to bring yourself to even try to move as the creature drags his fangs across the skin behind your ear. Your car is rocking back and forth with his hips’ violent movements, dragging his enormous cock against your lower stomach. 

He pants into your ear, breath hot as he prepares to sink his sharp fangs into your tender skin, marking you as his forever...

“CLYDE!”

Jimmy’s voice pierces through the still of the night. Crickets stop chirping for a moment, and Clyde’s body stills. His head whips around, snarling at his brother.

Mellie’s right behind him, and she peers around him, trying to look at you. “Y/N, are ya alright?”

“YYYeah,” You manage, somehow. “I-I’m o-okay.”

Clyde hops down, all three feet planted on the ground, hackles up as Jimmy takes a step forward. “Mate.”

“She ain’t yer mate.” Jimmy says, calmly. He points to you. “Look at whatcha done to ‘er, Clyde. Would a mate look like that, huh? Look at ‘er, Clyde, she’s all beat up and scared outta her damn mind.”

The wolf visibly stands down, slowly turning his head to look back at you, seeing the scratches on your wrists and the marks on your neck. He sees the bit of wetness on your shirt and shorts, from his slick.

He hangs his head and begins to cry, whimpering and whining as he sprints off, surprisingly agile and quick for a wolf with three paws, across the road and back into the woods.

His blood’s boiling, he’s angry that he couldn’t defend you against Jimmy, mad that his alpha instincts had failed him. Even as a werewolf, one of the most powerful beings in the forest, he was still weaker than and overshadowed by his showboat older brother. 

Loud barks of anger rip through him as he masterfully maneuvers through the forest, weaving through the trees, dodging thorns, leaping over the fallen tree trunks. 

The sky suddenly begins to empty down onto Earth, the cool summer night’s rain a welcomed refreshment on Clyde’s fur. He looks up at the blood moon, huffing softly as he silently curses the orb for bringing this condition to him each full moon, as he did every single moon before this, and will continue to do with every one after.

He reaches his cave a few minutes later, stopping dead in his tracks when he smells smoke coming from inside. He’s on high alert, now, as he moves to peek into the cavern.

There, he finds a lone man sitting by a very small fire, rubbing his hands together over the heat. He’s clad in head-to-toe tree camo with a shotgun laying just out of arms reach.

This man’s scent feels awfully familiar, Clyde thinks, but it takes him a minute to figure out why. And, when he does remember, Clyde is suddenly not so sympathetic for the unwanted visitor in his cave.

The wolf’s mind falls to a certain memory from last night at Duck Tape. This is the jackass that thought he could get away with feelin’ you up. The one that poked plenty ‘a fun at his missing hand. 

Clyde’s still-hard cock presses up against his furry stomach in excitement, tongue licking over his razor-sharp fangs. He couldn’t protect or avenge you last night, again due to Jimmy, but maybe he can now. 

Jimmy ain’t gonna get in my way this time ‘round.

He can’t just come running into the entrance, no, that allows him too much time to grab the gun. He thinks, and thinks, until he remembers the connecting cave that he’d recently found on the last full moon. He bets he can get in there and creep up behind the man, do a sneak attack. 

He’s salivating in anticipation as he bounds down to the opposite side of the cave, paws padding lightly against the soft gravelly dirt floor, trotting along carefully.

The man is none the wiser to the wolf’s presence, and the hum of the loud rain certainly wasn’t hurting. A loud crack of thunder suddenly rips through the forest, vibrating the ground. Clyde freezes briefly as the young man curls up further, chin resting in the gap between his knees. 

Predatory instincts pumping through his veins at an all-time high, he crouches down as he stalks closer and closer to the unsuspecting body by the small fire. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, now right behind the man, moving in slow motion so as to not alert his victim.

When the time is right, just as the next clap of thunder rumbles the rocks, Clyde pounces. He grabs the man’s shirt, dragging him out of the cave with an unprecedented swiftness. The fire is extinguished with the tussle, leaving the cave shrouded in darkness, the shotgun laid abandoned on the ground where he’d put it.

He struggles against the wolf’s grip, fabric ripping violently the further his body’s dragged along. Clyde throws him out onto the forest floor, pawing at the ground like a wild stallion as the disheveled man scrambles to his feet.

His hands are shaky as he holds them up in front of him, as if trying to calm the creature like a domesticated dog.  “E-Easy, easy.”

If he could, Clyde would’ve rolled his eyes at the man’s pathetic attempt to talk down at him. He snarls, watching in amusement at the way he startles and stumbles back. 

Clyde’s got the man backed against the trunk of an old oak within seconds, and he stands up on two legs, glaring at the much smaller figure. He bares his teeth, a wolf’s version of a devilish grin.

“Run.”

It seems like the man is caught in between being shocked that this wolf just spoke English and being chilled to the core by his word. He sputters for a moment, brain smoking as it churns on overdrive, before his legs carry him as quickly as they can down the mountainside. 

The wolf casually trots along after him, in very little rush to catch him. He’s throbbing hard now, the excitement translating into pure arousal. Clyde knows these woods like the back of his hand; there’s no where for this man to hide from his inevitable fate as the wolf-man’s next meal.

His head continuously whips around, meeting the grayish-white orbs tucked behind a thick coat of jet black fur. In a frenzy, he tucks himself behind a large tree, catching his breath.

Twigs snap in seemingly all directions, his breath heavy as his eyes flicker all around the dark, damp wood, the only light coming from the crimson-tinted orb above. He reaches back and wraps his arms around the tree’s trunk, panicked.

A low growl rattles his eardrums and he looks to the side, seeing the black creature right at his side. Clyde’s head snaps to the side, looking directly at his victim.

Crying out in fear, the man leaps forward to make a run for it, but is quickly taken to the dirt by the wolfish creature. The man squirms and screams out for mercy, for God, and Clyde knows what he has to do now.

He quickly sinks his teeth into the back of the mans neck repeatedly, effectively severing the spinal cord, leaving the man completely limp and defenseless. A quick and effective manner of disabling a victim, he’s learned through hunting animals, but keeps him just alive enough to see what’s being done to him. 

Clyde flips the limp form over, now on his back, and his eyes are wide as he watches the wolf above him, black fur now stained red around the mouth, stare down at him with a hungry gaze.

His mouth opens, probably to beg for his life, but it’s too late. Fangs sink through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest, just above where his rapidly beating heart lay.

The thump-thump rhythm slows, then stops, the life leaving his body. Sweet copper tang coats the wolf’s tongue as the body is drained of its remaining energy. 

There is little feeling better than watching the life slowly and steadily drain from the eyes of a victim, and suddenly, Clyde’s throbbing arousal has reached an almost unmanageable point.

But, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to devour his freshly-caught prey, especially while it’s still warm. So he digs in immediately, carving further into the hole over the heart he’d already created, ripping out the vital organ.

He holds it triumphantly between his teeth for a moment before setting it aside. His craving is more for the meat, he’s never been much of a fan of organs, so he gets to work separating the good meat from the corpse.

Once he’s done, he lifts his nose in the air, howling loudly. He’s never been this hard before, he swears it, and there’s only one person that can satisfy this urge:

You.

For a wolf on three legs, he reaches your house in record time. He can already feel the wolf-ness fading steadily, the human beginning to peek through the cracks. But, his rut doesn’t give at all, and he bounds up the steps and scratches at your door.

You’re startled by the noise, already a gut feeling you know who it is. When you open the door, Clyde’s wolf figure is sitting politely on your doormat.  Should you let him in?

He pushes past, whimpering as he does so, before you can make a decision. You shut the door slowly before turning around to face the creature. He seems a bit different than when you saw him earlier, seeming a bit more human.

You stand against the door, back pressed up against it, looking down at the wolf in your living room. 

“Y/N.” He breathes, huskily, attempting to ignore the hardness pressing up against his wooly stomach. “N-Need you. Please.”

He’s ashamed as he stands up on his hind legs, wrapping a clawed hand around his oozing cock, jutting his hips out as if to show off for you. The alpha in him needs to show you how suitable of a mate he is, what strong pups he can give you.

“It hhhhurts, b-buttercup.”

The battle going on inside him, animal versus human, is painfully evident on his expression. Your hearts been ripped in half as you watch him struggle with himself, the human trying to overpower the animal, and the animal trying to fight off the human.  He doesn’t even know what he did to you earlier. 

“What do you need from me, Clyde? I’m here to help you, honey, I’ll do whatever you need.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but its quickly replaced by a look of what can only be described as pure, primal hunger.

“Floor. A-All fours.” The wolf-man manages, desperately humping his hand to offer some relief. “G-Get the lube, ffffuuuck, I mmuhhmight hurt ya without it.”

You rush to get the lube, placing the tube next to you as you pull your leggings down, exposing your bare cunt. Clyde watches with an eager anticipation as you spread yourself for him. 

As soon as you’re into position, he practically falls over on top of you, hips rutting uncontrollably as he smoothes lube over his drooling cock and lines up with your entrance. 

“B-Buttercup, I...I’m sssorry ‘bout what’s ggon’ happen. This ain’t me, ppuhpplease remember that, mmkay?”

You nod, tearing up at the pure agony in his voice. “I w-will, Clyde.”

His hips shove forward, a choked howl escaping his lips, balls tightening. You cry out, the burn of your walls stretching to accommodate his girthy length more prominent than usual.

Veins bulge out of his neck, jaw clenched as he begins moving, mercilessly plowing into you from behind. He plants his clawed hand next to yours, loud and desperate scratching noises accompanying the wet squelch of your joined torsos. 

The carpet is shredded, hardwood floor scratched permanently by his feet as he humps you with a desperation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. This really wasn’t Clyde, but you soon realized that you exactly mind this side of Clyde, this primal instinct, this roughness. It was arousing, bittersweetly so.

When you look over your shoulder at the wooly mass moving behind you, your eyes widen. You didn’t notice the shiny substance from a distance, but now that he’s up close, you see that it coats his snout and has even dripped down onto his breast.

A gripping fear bubbles in your stomach. But then, you rationalize immediately, before you find yourself too deep down in this rabbit hole of worry. He probably just hunted a deer or a rabbit or something. He’s a fucking wolf, remember?

You almost sigh out loud in relief, but you keep it in, instead moaning along with each of his thrusts.

“D-Did ya like muhmmahhmm--ma w-wolf cock?” He asks. 

You nod. “Y-Yeah, ohhh god, I liked it.”

“Gonna gguh-give ya real nice p-pups.” His muzzle rubs over the spot behind your ear, the same one that he’d been after earlier, smearing some of the crimson across your skin. He licks it with as much consistency as possible, considering the speed and intensity of his hips. “F-Fill ya u-up, knot ya gggood ‘n deep.”

You’re almost positive he’s talking pretty much nonsense at this point, his rut brain having completely taken over. You know you’re not gonna cum, but it doesn’t really matter; you’re doing this for him, after all.

“Oh g-god, I’m cummin’, I’m gonna--”

He pauses his hips, howling softly as he cums. But this time, something else begins to swell, and you cry out as it does so. 

“M-Ma k-knot,” Clyde breathes in explanation. “Keeps it a-all inside y-ya.”

You nod, not really knowing what all he’s talking about but not really caring for an explanation right now. 

“‘m gonna h-havta stay inside y-ya fer a lil while. S-Should be ‘b-bout 30 minutes or so.”

His tongue begins moving over your cheeks and neck, something that makes you smile, that helps you remember that your beloved boyfriend’s in there somewhere.

The half hour waiting period passes, and as much as you’ve loved snuggling with your boyfriend (who’s wolf counterpart is relatively cuddly, despite previous reservations), you’re happy to have him off you.

After wishing you a final goodbye, citing the need to ‘clean up his cave a bit’, he trotted back out the door and galloped like a madman (wolf?) back out into the shadowed wood, leaving you alone once more.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s all over the news when you flip on the TV a couple days later.  Hunter Found Slain in Boone County Woods, Bear Attack Suspected.

You have this awful, sick-to-your-stomach feeling that what happened the other night, when Clyde came to your house still in wolf form with a snout and chest covered in blood, had something to do with this. 

When the picture of the victim came up on the screen, you audibly gasp, recognizing the face. It’s the guy that was feeling you up at a few nights ago at Duck Tape. 

Oh god, no. 

Suddenly, the door flies open, and Clyde’s panting as he rushes in and shuts it behind him. He looks pained, bottom lip trembling. “Have ya s-seen the ne--”

“...Police are still investigating the scene...foul play has not yet been ruled out...”

His entire demeanor falls, and the tears fill his eyes. He’s visibly shaking. You stand up and rush over to him just as he collapses on the floor. 

You’re freaking out, trying to confirm what it is you’re pretty sure you already know.

“C-Clyde, did you...?”

He looks up at you from where his head now rests in your lap. “I c-can’t quite remember, b-but I think...I think I m-might’ve.”

Sobs wrack through his body as he cries hoarsely. You’re in shock, somehow hearing the words makes the reality suddenly hit like a damn semi-truck. You run your hands through Clyde’s slightly matted mane, soothing him as best you can. 

“Clyde, it’s okay, baby. It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah it i-is, though. I k-killed ‘im.”

You try to stay strong, for Clyde’s sake, but the tears are swelling in your eyes at an uncontrollably fast rate.  “But you d-didn’t do it o-on purpose, h-honey.”

His face seems to drop even more when he sees that you’re about to cry. He sits up shakily, pulling you into a big ol’ bear hug.

“Oh, buttercup, oh god, ‘m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to drag y-ya into all ‘a t-this.”

You sob into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. It’s hard to believe that this man, this kind, gentle man, could’ve done something like this on purpose. Clyde would never hurt a fly.

From what he’s told you, which granted is very little, the line between werewolf and human for him is quite a blurry one. He seems to only be able to remember parts of what happened, and his subconscious is only there for part of the time.

Which means that he’s technically innocent, since he can’t remember nor could he control his canine impulses or instinct. As far as you’re concerned, werewolf Clyde and human Clyde are two different beings.

“I-If anyone ever f-found out ‘bout ma c-condition...”

You pull away and look up at him, holding his face in your hands. “Clyde, I-I’m not gonna turn y-you in.”

“What?” He looks at you with a furrowed brow, like he’s surprised to hear your words. “Y-Yer not g-gon’...?”

Shaking your head, you swing your leg over his lap, hugging him once more while your face settles into the crook of his neck.

“No, of course not. I know you’re a good p-person, and like I said before, it’s n-not you. Your w-wolf side is not really you, Clyde, at least not entirely.”

Clyde looks down at you with an incredibly grateful expression, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He tilts your head up with one of his meaty fingers, immediately pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is relatively short, just a showing of his gratitude, of his love for you. When he pulls away, you maintain eye contact.

“Okay, so most of the solid DNA evidence will have been washed away by the rain and tampered with by the elements over the past few days that the body’s been outside. Plus, they aren’t looking for wolf DNA, and even if they somehow knew, your wolf DNA wouldn’t lead to your human identity, at least I don’t think so...”

Hours and hours of watching countless true crime shows, movies, and documentaries are finally paying off.

“But, do you remember leaving anything, anything that could indicate foul play? Really search your memory.”

He puts his metaphorical thinking cap on, closing his eyes as he tries to recall anything of use from that night, but nothing comes to mind. His eyes swell with tears as they blink open and he shakes his head. “I can’t ‘member anythin’.”

“That’s okay, Clyde. They won’t find out, I promise, they won’t.” You kiss his neck. “For now, let’s just try to relax and we’ll keep an eye on the news. Will you come snuggle on the couch with me?”

Clyde smiles softly, nodding as you pull away and stand up, extending a hand to him. He takes it, standing up seconds later.  As you walk into the living room, he says your name, causing you to turn around with a slightly perplexed expression.

“Thank ya.”

You smile brightly. “I love you, Clyde.”

“I love ya, too, darlin’.”

[monty-glasses-roxy]

chica drabble with some mythology thrown in? idk dude the griffin drawing looked cool 😎

Thanks! Griffin Chica is my favourite version to draw of her I love her and griffins are cool.

As for the drabble, I have a recent interest in UK mythology and folklore stuff so now Chica does too. She's putting on a show for her special themed event. It's 571 words of her interacting with some of the others while they prepare for it.

“A ship was sailin’ from the East, and goin’ to the West, loaded with silks and satins, and… uhh what were the rest o’ that, duck?” Chica rolled her eyes as Foxy turned back to her with an awkward head tilt.

“Loaded with silks and satins, and velvets of the best, but meeting there was Captain Ward…” She trailed, smiling as Foxy quickly picked up from where she’d left off.

“It proved a bad meetin’, he robbed ‘em of all their wealth and bid them tell their king!” He grinned before repeating the first two versus of his new song again. Chica had been looking forward to getting the preparation for her new event underway but it was proving to be a bit more difficult than she’d anticipated.

Namely that she’d had to get everyone to memorise their stories.

The theme for her new event was mythology, folklore and fairytales. She’d assigned everyone something to learn and or sing and today was the day she was given to start everyone on the learning process.

“Hey, Chi? I don’t think this is going to work…” Roxy’s hesitant voice came from behind her. She had a pair of stag antlers attached to her head and her fur casing was now covered in splotches of red paint. Monty was a little behind her looking sheepish, probably having put her up to talking to her about whatever was the problem here.

“What’s wrong?” Chica hummed as Roxy turned her copy of the script to her.

“We uh… have no idea how we’re supposed to do this.” Her green claw tapped against the paragraph about how the knight from a different legend – Monty – was supposed to tame the Stratford Lyon – Roxanne.

“Oh… I thought you could lift Monty easy?” The two gave each other a look.

“I’m almost twice her size, Chi. I can’t jump on her for a piggyback ride ‘round the stage.” Monty broke the news to her. They knew how much this event meant to her so she understood now why they both looked like they’d rather be anywhere else than here telling her the plan wasn’t going to work.

“Really?” Chica’s head tilted. She’d seen these two fight on a weekly basis and had just assumed this was possible based on that, but the fact neither of them seemed convinced made her rethink that a little. How was she supposed to solve this…?

“Hey, why don’t you be the knight, Chi?” Monty suggested after a few thoughtful moments. “It’s your show, right? You gotta lead it!” Roxy’s ears perked with a hum. She nodded and offered her a smile.

“Yeah, I could totally do this with you!” Chica hummed, eyes falling to the unfinished fairy costume she was going to wear to narrate the shows. Roxy seemed to follow her gaze before barking a laugh. “If you’re worried about Monty, he would rock that dress and you know it!” Monty nodded enthusiastically with a toothy grin.

“Hm… oh what the heck? I’ll be the knight and you can be the fairy narrator!” Monty cheered as she relented. They swapped scripts and Chica made one final check on Bonnie the Sockburn Worm, Peg Powler Freddy, Sunny the Lyonesse Survivor, and Billy Blynde Moon before returning to rehearse her new role with Roxy.

With her as the knight travelling through the others’ tales, she could bring this story of hers to life with ease!

[game-boy-pocket]

Today, I beat Ducktales.

For the most part, video games aren't a source of nostalgia for me, as I came into most retro games far later in my life, i'm still playing new ones all the time, not to mention the ones I actually did play as a kid, I re-play quite frequently, if possible... TV and Movies though? That's the nostalgia mine for me, and Duck Tales hits me really heavy in that regard, heck, hearing the theme song makes me emotional at times because it takes me back to less painful times. The Ducktales Movie in particular was a childhood favorite of mine.

Now, I actually did play a little bit of Duck Tales as a kid but I couldn't really get the hang of the pogo stick controls, or even figure out wat the objective was. So I didn't really return to it much. I played it years later, and I still didn't really "get" it. I said "hmmm. Could be fun to play this more seriously some time" but every time I attempted it, I either started at the Amazon or the Moon, and never made it very far, and gave up.. though the music stuck with me. Especially the Moon theme, which delighted me when it showed up in the 2017 Ducktales cartoons.

This Nintendo Power project is really making me stick to things this time though and as it turns out, this game isn't very hard at all... I mean it's not easy, but it's very manageable if you learn to manipulate enemy spawn points in a few areas. I definitely see myself coming back to this one in the future now that I understand the game better, and you better believe i'll look into the sequel when the time comes.

The cover game in issue of Nintendo Power #9 is Tetris... not really a game I can "beat", but other featured games are Willow ( A Zelda-like based on movie of the same name, not a very good one but I hear the game is alright ), and Ironsword: Wizard's and Warriors II, but I am still chipping away at games from previous issues, as well as playing Final Fantasy premptively ahead of issue 12 so I can squeeze more RPGs in between shorter games. So I won't be moving on just yet.