#he pretty much 'died' a human then 'lived again' as a lycan

[kyojin-daelko]

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

Life/Death/Life

A person who represents the mysteries and inner workings of the world's forces; a person who has destiny at their back, a person wielding their understanding like a weapon. A person who cycles through rebirths and deaths, growing ever more clever.

tagged by: yoinked tagging: whoever wants to!

[jacksonthelizardking]

The larger bio with more details.

he short bio:

Jackson Whittemore is a student at odds with everything. He was adopted at birth by parents who wanted a child and couldn’t have one. They spoil him with things, but never their attention. He is an overachiever who is always striving to make someone notice his efforts but is never satisfied in that. In high school, he found out that werewolves were real and had enhanced abilities. He practically begged to be one so he could stand out. When he got his chance, his emotional issues created a block and he turned into a kanima creature. While in this form, Jackson was controlled by a master and took several lives. It wasn’t until multiple people tried several times to kill him, including his alpha that Jackson finally died and the wolf inside of him healed him and came forward. Beyond this, he became an omega, going off on his own to college in the UK.

Disclaimer:

The werewolf side of Jackson can be included or not, depending on our story. Also, I can play him in high school days, college life, or just beyond college. Let me know which would suit us best. Incidentally, I am NOT Colton Haynes. This is for writing purposes only.

The more complete bio:

Jackson was adopted by a wealthy couple who could not have children but wanted to carry on a legacy. As parents, they are absentee to say the least. My adopted father is an ambassador in Europe and as a couple, they move in the highest of European social circles. They are rarely, if ever home here in Beacon Hills. But that's cool now that I'm older. I get to live in a mansion, drive a Porsche and live in a way I have grown accustomed to.

At the age of 19, my adoptive father returned if for nothing else than to blackmail me into doing something with my life. He forced my hand in going to college but he did make it rather easy on me too, so I guess I shouldn't bitch too hard. My last year of college, I went abroad, studying at Oxford University. That was where my 'tastes' changed.

I met a fellow student who I started to have feelings towards. They went beyond attachment and became physical. For the first time admitting it to myself, I wanted to be with a man, both physically and emotionally. A short time after that, I graduated and returned to Beacon Hills, perhaps a hint more humble than before. But then, it is me so, not that humble. That is pretty current. I travel a lot for fun, still don't have a lock down job I have to be at all the time, and explore life. I do some modeling at times and have done some film work. Come share an adventure.

Now, for the other side of me: (Note: This is usually a side of my stories but can be left out for the purely human stories)

The werewolf:

Jackson had figured out the secret of why Scott McCall was besting him at his own sport. He had been changed and now Jackson needed that change to get his standing back. At first, he did not realize what that meant. Well, without getting into too much detail, suffice it to say that Derek Hale tried to change Jackson and make him one of his pups. The problem was, Jackson's body was rejecting the bite and he became something he had not planned for: Kanima.

The Kanima creature was a curse to Jackson in a sense, being controlled by another and having to kill at random bidding. Everyone attempted to kill Jackson and he did cocoon himself at one point. Finally, thinking Jackson dead, they left his body there. His eyes flew open, brilliant luminescent blue and now the wolf side had brought him back from the brink of passing, healing his wounds until he rose up and howled into the night.

Even as a wolf now though, Jackson was once again rejected and hunted. He had to escape Beacon Hills and find his own path. His werewolf side seemed very different than the ones he had seen though. First off, his werewolf form was more Lycan in nature, making him far taller and beefier. This seemed at odds with the others. Secondly, he had inherited something from Derek's DNA. Derek's mother also had these gifts. Jackson found he could change at will to either a normal looking wolf, go up a few sizes to a much larger type of werwolf or Lycan type of creature, or if enraged in a full on frenzy, he could take on the form of a dire wolf that was tremendously large. It uses a vast amount of his strength though and after, he often needs to hide and recover alone, sometimes for days.

When he first ran, he had no one and no alpha to teach him anything. It was while hiding in a secluded forest that someone found him. Vincent Burke. At least that was how he met him. This long haired beauty had a soft spot for wolves apparently and helped Jackson in ways he did not even know he needed. Normally, Jackson was snarky and kept a large chip on his shoulder, but he needed Vincent and never snapped at him with snide comments. Between them would grow a bond of friendship and brotherhood, combined with a deep fondness for their mutual coffee adoration. In Jackson's eyes, Vincent does no wrong. He is the brother he never had.

When Vincent could not be there, he had sent someone to watch over and help him if need be while Jackson found his way. This man was Maddox O’Neill. For a good while, Jackson did not meet him but he sensed he was there. Maddox was a far more wise, and certainly more experienced of a wolf with his multiple hundreds of years under his belt. It wasn’t until one night that Jackson got hurt that Maddox had rescued him. This man took him somewhere to heal and while he did, the two became like brothers. Jackson was soon finding himself a new family and one that was far more loyal than the humans he had known.

In time, Vincent and Jackson found a shared love of coffee and now it is impossible for him to get one anymore without bringing some to Vincent at his home. On one of those meetings, which were becoming more frequent, he finally met the husband of Vincent that he had heard about. Joel Kettleburn is a tall man with an intense gaze but Jackson was never one to back down or show weakness to anyone. He stood and extended a hand. The rapport between them was instant, and he felt something he hadn’t in awhile. The kanima.

Jackson's reptilian side was always going to be a part of him, though it’s initial powers were subsided by the dominant wolf nature. The touch brought a vision. Joel was… a dragon? This was cool to Jackson. He never even knew dragons existed but he did now. It seemed Vincent’s husband got along with wolves anyway so their bond grew in leaps and bounds. However, a sudden need to be alone with his husband had Jackson leaving quietly that night and he understood. He was so glad Vincent had this man. When you have a best friend like Vincent, you want him to be blissfully happy.

Jump ahead another year after he learned to control his inner wolf. Derek tried to return to his life and Jackson hated him with a fierce intensity. At the same time, he was bonded to his maker. Enter Garth Griffin. He found Jackson, mortally wounded and knew the reasons. He told Jackson that night that he was going to free him of Derek once and for all. This man bit him on the brink of his death and sucked Derek's hold over Jackson right out. Then, his own DNA entered Jackson and made him strong rapidly. Jackson had a new Alpha... a new maker. Finally, he understood what he meant to have a real alpha, and he sensed a kind of feeling he had never felt before.

Along with Garth entering his life, he found he had a pack of other misfit wolves, for lack of a better way to put it. They were from all walks of life and for the first time, he had other wolves to learn from and grow stronger with. He also learned in Garth’s house that an alpha was not the one who kills the others to become an alpha. An alpha was the one who would protect and guard the pack at all costs and even he too could be an alpha over others. Jackson hoped one day to have a few pups of his own, and would show them that his own upbringing did not curse him, but would make him an even better father for it.

Now, life as a wolf was not as bad as it started. He had fought to become what he was with the help of people like Vincent, Maddox and Garth and learned to stand strong once more. While he still has some side that feels like a lone wolf at times, he has others to remind him that he is loved and wanted and he loves his fellow wolf brothers, no matter what pack they are a part of. Harm against any wolf meant harm against all, and Jackson would give his life to protect others. He uses his wolf side more often for the good of others and for protection.

Upon his return to Beacon Hills, he almost instantly ran into an old flame of his. This man and him had kissed accidentally way back in high school days and Jackson knew at once he loved him far more than he originally thought. The man had fought in the military and came back changed. They had drifted apart with a myriad of circumstances but the moment they were back together, they both felt something between them and finally they acted on their nature. They made love through the rest of the day and into the night. The hardest thing Jackson did was to finally leave him the next day but he had to help someone. When he returned to the house, E was gone again and Jackson felt his first true heartbreak.

Another side further on was when Jackson jumped after someone and into a portal where he landed in the forests of Asgard but was attacked viciously and left for dead. Were it not for Storm God, he may have perished right there but the God nursed him back to health and in return, Jackson pledged his loyalty to the God to stand at his side should he ever need help from a dire wolf. There is a deep bond between them and he finds himself often going to visit him to make sure he is well.

Enter Jayden Whittemore. Whom? That’s what I said when I first heard. Jayden is my son from the future and his husband Kaden tore a hold in the fabric of time. Well, not him really, but his parents, Max and Damon. Outside forces made the child grow up too fast, fearing a hunting of the child. This caused a ripple effect and at great risk, one of them went to be with the other. The only problem was… I have not had Jayden yet in this life. I still don’t even know who his other parent is or if I will be his mother or father. During this crazy time, Damon and I became close. Maybe too close because it scared me to think that Damon and I could make Jayden and the two boys, married to one another could actually be brothers if we were not careful. It killed our passion but never our friendship. Damon is an important part of who I am.

Extra:

There are several other people whom I have not mentioned but I promise you that none are slighted. I adore the stories we have together. Most of these stories are individual but several have crossovers. Many I keep individual because they would simply not fit or make sense with some of the others. Some for other reasons. I hasten to say that I am multi-LI because I do not seek to make most stories sexual in nature. I do however call myself multi-story because no one should be affected by what I write with others. It does not change what we have. Those who do not understand that, or are offended should probably not write with me. I would never assume to ask you what you do in private. Also, I will not indulge a quarrel about what I say in a status. Status play is rarely role play, and something I do mostly ooc. If I flirt or have fun, it does not affect you and is probably because I know that person ooc. I am here to write, so do not ask if I want to. Of course I want to. Let’s come up with a story or just start one. I am not a stickler for rules and will not make it hard on you to want to write with me. Use common sense and decent grammar and we’ll get along just fine.

Further Bio on UK life:

Carrying a family name like Whittemore did open doors that were otherwise sealed to the majority, even if Jackson knew he was only a by-product of a well orchestrated adoption now. The world knew no better though, so why not just bask in what luxuries were afforded him? The twists and turns of this particular emotional roller coaster for him had undergone a detested relaxation long ago.

Yes, it was true that he hated being forced to go to college when he was, lest he be financially discharged and stricken of the family name and all connection. While half of him longed to stand on his own and salute his adoptive parents with both middle fingers extended proudly, he was also desperately aware that he knew no other way of life since birth. It was best to at least try to suck it up, as they say and play their little game at least till he was twenty five and would receive his full trust fund. After that, he would never have to work a day in his life if he so chose.

After only two years at New York University, he was awarded an academic scholarship to attend Harvard to pursue his parents aspirations of making their model son into a diplomat. Two years following that, a former president stepped in to award Jackson with the prestigious Rhodes scholarship to attend Oxford University for his post graduate understudy. Never one to back down from a challenge, he chose not one, but two majors. The first was in political science, which would garner him far more credentials for his role as a diplomat and the second was art history; a subject that had become more near and dear to his heart.

It was the beginning of spring when he packed his life into suitcases and returned to England, having been a handful of times in his youth. This time was with a new outlook and to a place he had yet to see. His parents had seen to him having the family flat in Trafalgar Square but it was an impractical distance to the university and so another closer location was rented for him.

At first, the pomp and circumstance of things at Oxford seemed extreme but as time went on, it became old hat and Jackson was often well dressed and in Matriculation robes, blending in rather well and even receiving unusual favor from the other students. He worked hard and learned to work in teams, even rowing double sculls at Christ Church. His schooling left little time for other things, including spending down time at the flat afforded him, yet on a rare occasion, he would dress to the nines and attend elegant events, musical recitals and arthouse showings, making a name for himself about town as the Whittemore heir.

When not attending such things, or studying his arse off, he sat in the back of a local pub, reading up on Oscar Wilde and other graduates of Oxford who had made an impact upon the world. He fashioned himself as more than just a foreign dignitary or diplomat and more as a blend of that and art connoisseur. He spent free time in antique stores and researching what the value was of various things in the world. He could spot a forgery or reproduction a mile away.

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Are You Single - 2

Tag List: @becomeunsolved @ambiguous-g @favorite-slytherin-weirdo @a-weirdperson @artist-bby

The reader makes their way through Castle Dimitrescu, encountering the Lady and her daughters. Heisenberg might just have to re-evaluate his opinion of you when you're the unexpected victor of the battles with them.

You had ran through the glorified saw trap, avoiding Lycans and giants alike as you listened to Heisenberg’s taunting. Evidently he was an asshole, but that didn’t seem to be stopping the butterflies in your stomach going mad at the way he spoke to you. Fear had briefly crawled up your spine when he had dropped the spinning log of spikes, blocking your exit and apparently sealing your fate. Thankfully there had been a crevice in the wall, big enough to drop your backpack down by your side and protect yourself. The only thing that took damage was the handcuffs. It had briefly occurred to you that it seemed a very convenient hiding space in an otherwise foolproof killing room.

You ended up back at the gate that you had been captured at, looking over your shoulder this time as you pulled the lever up. Not that you could do anything if Heisenberg or his overgrown sister decided to double check. It seemed unlikely that either of them would treat you to a meal, but you could hope. If you were being honest with yourself though, Heisenberg hardly screamed refined dining.

No, he seemed more like a man who would order a McDonalds or a Burgerking after he’d been working tirelessly all day on a machine in a tank top. All sweaty. . . you smacked yourself in the face, snapping yourself out of your fantasy. You needed to get a grip. Preferably around his throat or his-

You slapped yourself again.

You left through the gate, coming out to an unpleasant looking vineyard. Of course, Dimitrescu was far too high and mighty to get her hands dirty doing manual labour, and any staff that she may of had to maintain the vineyard were probably dead. You shuddered at the thought of so many deaths. You didn’t know any of those people, didn’t know anyone in this godforsaken village that had been put in the middle of nowhere except for the few that had just survived long enough to be brutally killed in front of you. No one would remember any of the dead. It was as if they never existed. And if you died here - which you likely would - you would likely not be remembered. Not with fondness anyway.

You were brought out of your dark thoughts by the sound of a man groaning and wood creaking. You looked up, and to your surprise found an old-fashioned wagon settled in front of the entrance to Castle Dimitrescu. The doors swung open, and someone all but rolled out. The man was massive, both in height and weight.

“I’ve been waiting for you, my friend,” he said with the attitude of someone who was excited to get down to business.

You stopped a couple of metres away, taking it all in. How was this man even alive? Then again, Dimitrescu was nine feet tall and she seemed like she was functioning better than most people. Especially given that the tallest man in history was nearly nine foot and died super young. You could come to terms with this mans existence in no time.

“Who are you? How do you know me?” You let the uncertainty show in your voice.

“Me? I am but a humble merchant,” he said as he rubbed his hands together. “And you’ve been the talk of the town recently! An unknown human outsider making their way through hordes of creatures with nothing but an axe and some second hand guns? Remarkable.”

You hated yourself for the light blush that crept up your neck at the compliment. You never blushed.

“What can I call you?”

“Ah, forgive my manners. You can call me the Duke. Your name please?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I already know it, but some people prefer to tell others their name rather than have the introduction stolen from them.”

You chuckled, deciding to bridge the few metres of distance. “(Y/n).”

“Pleasure. Now, would you like to purchase anything for the journey ahead? Medicine? Ammunition?”

“Can you tell me what’s happened here?”

“Ah, information. All I can tell you now is that Mother Miranda has seemingly abandoned the village she has spent a century ruling. Slaughtered the villagers.” He took a long drag of a cigar he had lit before releasing the smoke into the air. “It seems she’s done it for her daughter.”

“Her daughter? Dimitrescu? Or the woman in the veil?”

“Ah, Lady Donna. But no, neither of those are her real daughters. It’s doubtful she even considers them such. The same for her sons.”

Your thoughts drifted back to Heisenberg. Did he hate her for that? For not considering him her child? Questions for later.

“Then who?”

The Duke regarded you for a second. “Sell me those crystal skulls you’ve collected, make a purchase and find me in the castle, and perhaps I’ll know more.”

You blinked in surprise, briefly wondering how he knew that you had been collecting the crystallised remains of those Lycans. Truthfully you just thought they were pretty.

After selling the remains and buying yourself some extra ammo, as well as some of the strange medicine the Duke advertised that was supposed to encourage cell division, you nodded to him in thanks and turned to face the castle.

“Although I must say,” The Duke called out before you could make much progress, “why do you wish to go into that castle? You are a stranger. There is no stake in this for you.”

You took a deep breath. Why were you doing this? That beast under your skin wanted to answer. To find and tear them apart. For revenge for all the dead. To satisfy my own need for blood and pain.

Instead you said, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

You walked towards the doors.

***

The inside of the castle was. . . beautiful. Definitely a place a lady would live. Perhaps a place you would live in another life. It seemed as though everything was trimmed with gold, including the beautiful waist high vases decorated with beautiful women. The furniture was of the highest quality, the rugs and carpets plush enough to sleep comfortably on. They looked expensive enough to cost more money than you’d ever had in your entire life. You wiped your muddy boot on the rug you were standing on, leaving a dark smear.

The thing that drew your attention most of all was the portrait that dominated the opposite wall. Three women, admittedly indistinguishable from one another, sat in big dresses. The plaque identified them as the three daughters. Three daughters that loved entertaining foreigners.

A bad feeling overcame you, and you decided to tuck your handgun into your boot, regardless of the discomfort. You covered it with your jeans.

You pressed on until you came to a main chamber that had another set of double doors decorating the walls. A scream rang out, clear as day and stopping you in your tracks. The scream of a woman in terrible pain. Part of you thought that maybe you should try to find her, but something in you knew that it had been a death scream. The agonised scream of someone who wanted to live and was denied.

You swallowed, instead making your way to the double doors, wondering where they lead.

“Well, who’s this then?” an upbeat female voice asked.

You turned to look, and only found three swarms of flies buzzing closer. And right before your eyes, they materialised into three beautiful young women. The daughters. The first thought in your head was how the painting didn’t do any of them justice.

You didn’t even have time to take your gun out of your backpack before the woman on the left - a tall blonde with blood on her mouth - grabbed you by the throat and lifted you clean off the floor, slamming you against the door. She pressed her face closer to your shoulder and took a deep sniff. You shuddered against the feeling of her nose tickling your neck.

“Fresh blood,” she said, voice dripping with a desire that put you on edge.

“Mother says you have to share, sister,” said the redhead with a childish delight, the brunette nodding in agreement with a sadistic grin on her face.

That scream echoed through your head again. The blonde stared into your face, looking for the traces of fear that likely coated their usual victims. She was going to come up empty. You cleared your throat, looking down into beautiful but evil eyes that had probably been the last thing that so many had seen, and spit right in her face.

The grin on her face froze as the glob made contact with her cheek, and then dropped off altogether when her sisters roared in laughter, one of them doubling at the waist and clutching her stomach.

She threw you to the floor, tossing your backpack aside and growling at her sisters to silence them. You leaped towards it with the intention of pulling your shotgun out, deciding to keep the handgun a secret. But she grabbed a fistful of your hair, most of her materialising back into that swarm as she did so. She dragged you through the halls, her sisters flanking you. You clawed at her hand, but to no avail.

Another swarm got too close, a face materialising. The brunette. She ripped one of your arms off of where it was clawing at the hand that felt as if it was going to rip your scalp off. She held it up to her mouth and grinned. You didn’t even have the chance to scream as she sank her teeth into the side of your forearm, digging in deep. Then she pulled back, laughing. She hadn’t done it to feed, only to hurt you. The other sister came forward, her face materialising as well to lick up the blood that was leaking down your arm. She left little bites of her own up your arm. But these were more like love bites.

Suddenly they stopped, and the oldest released the grip on your hair, using her momentum to throw you into a wall.

“Mother,” she started, “I bring you fresh prey.”

Oh no.

You turned, out of breath from the hurt your body had suffered.

“You are so kind to me, daughters.” She took a deep drink of wine and rose from her chair. “Now, let's take a look at them.”

You didn’t get up from the floor, not having the energy or the stupidity to make a scene right now. Not as she fully turned and looked down at you.

“Well, well. A nobody with no name worth knowing or manners to speak of makes their way to my castle do they? Well, you escaped my little brother's idiot games did you? Let’s see how special you are.”

She beckoned to the blonde and the redhead. They each grabbed an arm, forcefully hoisting you to your feet. You squirmed a little, but their grip was like iron as they held up the arm with the bleeding bite mark. Lady Dimitrescu raised a brow and looked back at the remaining daughter.

“Cassandra? What did I say about waiting?”

Cassandra looked down at her feet, almost seeming to be ashamed. “Apologies Mother.”

Dimitrescu gripped you by the wrist and lifted you off the ground. You gritted your teeth. She closed her mouth over the wound and sucked. If you were being honest with yourself most of your blood at this point had either transferred to your face or. . .

It wasn’t important. But apparently you needed therapy.

She dropped you suddenly, and you couldn’t help the shout that escaped your lips when your knees made impact with the floor.

“Just as I thought, nothing special.”

“May we devour their flesh now Mother-”

“But I am the one who captured them-”

“Now, now girls. First I must inform Mother Miranda of Heisenberg’s failure. But soon there will be enough for everyone.” She turned to the blonde daughter. “Bela, take them to the dungeons and shove them in a cell.”

Bela grinned at you, seizing your hair again as she dragged you along, leaving the laughter of her mother and her sisters behind.

***

Heisenberg was fuming. Not that you had escaped his trap. To be perfectly honest there were several design flaws that he wasn’t going to admit to and he really couldn’t have cared less if you had exploited them to get away. If you were running through the village, then something was bound to get you eventually. That was what he had figured anyway.

No, Heisenberg was angry because that overgrown, egocentric, glorified vampire bitch had ratted him out to Mother Miranda. He could just imagine the smug way she had said it over the phone. That grin she would have. He wished he could have buried his hammer into her face.

Miranda had expressed her disappointment in him, not that he gave a shit. But it would likely mean that she would watch him for a while, at least while she had time to spare. Preparing that stupid ceremony would take her a few days at the very least. And in that time she could do anything.

He slammed his fist down on the table. With you in Castle Dimitrescu he couldn’t even entertain himself watching you scramble around the village. Couldn’t taunt you. And he didn’t want to risk working on his army, just on the off chance that Miranda caught wind.

He hadn’t even seen you before that confrontation in front of the castle gate, and he just assumed it was blind luck you’d made it that far.

He’d probably never know how you got on in the Castle, because there was no way you were leaving that place alive.

He looked at the yellow jar on his desk, tempted to just throw it and it’s contents into a pit of molten metal. It would be kinder to the kid than whatever Miranda had planned.

***

You had been shoved in the most stereotypical dungeon in the world. It was something straight out of some Frankenstein-ish novel. Bela had left, promising that she would come back soon to retrieve you for dinner. You had given her your most hate filled look, your eyes promising nothing but violence.

That must have been ten minutes ago, and you were furiously searching the cell. You had found a gap in the wall, and in it a crumpled sheet of paper. You straightened it out, beginning to read.

To whomever is trying to escape this place,

I hope this note will be of some assistance. You don’t know me but you will have to trust me if you want to survive.

First, you need to get out of this cell. Look around for the way, get on your hands and knees if you must.

Then, search for the thing you’ll need to

escape. It will be hidden where they’ll

least suspect, soaked in blood.

The rest of the note was illegible, at some point being soaked with dry blood. You hoped that whoever had written it had gotten out.

You took the notes' advice, getting on your hands and knees. There! Under the wooden board attached to the wall there was a hole that you could crawl through. You got on your belly and went through, ending up in the next cell. You tried the door, and to your relief it opened.

You took your gun out of your boot, preparing to go into the dungeon deeper for your way out.

***

Monsters had patrolled the dungeon. Horrible emaciated monsters that held swords. The first one you had encountered held a sword, and you shot it with glee, picking the sword up. A perfect chance to conserve ammo. It was in good condition too. You sliced and hacked your way through, making it to the second part of the dungeon. You could see the stairwell at the end. Your heart soared. At least until you had to wave a fly out of your face.

“I can’t believe Cassandra caused all this mess.”

Bela. Part of you wanted to turn around and fight her, but you were sadistic not stupid. Bullets against a swarm would be pointless. Instead you ran for the stairs, shooting up them until you came to an entrance that was boarded up. Because of course it was. You attempted to hack at the boards with the sword, but it was already too late.

“Where are you going little one?”

“Oh for fucks-”

You turned to be confronted by Bela, her white teeth stark against the drying blood coating the lower half of her face. She picked you up by the neck again, throwing you through the wooden boards. You lost the sword to the far wall, instead bringing out your handgun as she mounted you, desperately trying to inflict some damage on her even when you knew the bullets would be useless. She just laughed at you.

“Bullets cannot harm-”

CRACK.

You both looked off to the side, just in time to see a window shatter and let in all the cold air. She jumped off and you skittered back, getting to your feet. She was. . . solidifying, only a few lone flies breaking away from her before the cold killed them.

And she was angry.

“You stupid-”

You shot her.

She reeled back in pain, screeching. You smiled, and shot her again.

She charged at you, raising her sickle over her head to slice at you. You ducked away from her and grabbed your sword, swinging it to block her next swing. You kicked her in the stomach, putting some distance between the two of you. Then you shot her again. And again. You could tell that she was almost done. One more bullet or swing of the sword and she’d probably shatter.

You put your gun down on a table, the sword following it.

She was doubled over in agony for the moment, but she still managed to look at you with eyes filled with hatred. The perfect mirror of the look you had given her when she had tossed you in a cell. You laughed at her again, the sound ringing right through the room. You didn’t care if it could even be heard throughout the castle. The daughters had a weakness, and if they wanted to fuck around and find out how you could exploit it then that was their problem.

“It’s funny how things just switch around isn’t it?” You asked her between manic bursts of laughter.

You charged at her suddenly, tackling her to the ground. She wasn’t nearly as strong as she had been. She clawed desperately at your thighs, screaming again as the force she was using caused them to begin to crumble. It was childish, but you got a grip on her hair and pulled as hard as you could, laughing at the screams she made as cracks spiderwebbed down from her hairline down to her eyes. Then you reeled your fist back, gave her one final smirk, and punched her in the face. Her head practically exploded into pieces. You felt yourself drop to the floor as most of her crumbled. Except for one thing. The upper half of her torso had crystallized into something beautiful. You picked it up, wondering if the Duke would buy it.

***

As it turned out, the Duke had his own special room in the castle, and he did buy the torso and the sword. You also managed to retrieve your backpack. It turned out that that medicine was bordering on magical, as the only thing left of the horrible bite Cassandra had left was a scar. Even Daniela’s hickeys were gone.

To your chagrin, if you wanted to open those double doors in the hall you were going to need four masks. The Duke provided the first one, The Mask of Sorrow. He had winked at you, telling you that this would avoid another encounter with the Lady. But when you had asked for his explanation about the events in the village, he simply told you he didn’t have it all yet, but he would at your next encounter. You thought that was bullshit. But you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

And now here you were, reaching for the animal's skull off the wall, hoping that maybe it would have the solution to opening that grate without having to replace the mask.

“I was worried my sisters had gotten to you first.”

Fuck. You froze. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was by the door. You looked around the room, desperate to find a solution. You had only narrowly escaped her getting into the room. Trying to get past her while stuck in here would be impossible. Then you felt it. A draft. There was a gap in the wall being concealed by a bookshelf. You moved it, looking around for Cassandra. She was still by the door, taking her sweet time getting to you. You examined the gap. There was no way this was going to be enough to petrify Cassandra. Then you remembered the weight in your pocket. You had picked it up in the dungeon. A pipe bomb.

You felt the air shift, and had just enough time to duck as Cassandra swung at you. Taking cover on the other side of the room, you threw the bomb and covered your ears. Cassandra screamed at the bite of the cold air, somehow being louder than the initial boom the bomb had made.

“You’ve ruined the hunt!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said happily. “I’m having tons of fun.”

You pointed the shotgun at her as she charged, unloading it into her face. She stumbled back. And you did it again, not giving her time to recover. The shotgun was much more powerful than the pistol had been taking care of Bela, so it wasn’t long before Cassandra was at the same stage Bela had been before you had killed her.

“I take it back. That was kind of disappointing. I thought you’d have more in ya.”

And you don’t know if she just realised she was dying, or if she just wanted to kill you so bad that she threw common sense out of the window, but she charged at you with her weapon raised. You didn’t even move out of the way, just caught he raised wrist and squeezed. It crumbled beneath your hands. She tried to hit you with her other wrist only for you to do the same thing.

“Mother!” She cried out with all the emotion of a scared little girl. “Mother!”

You grabbed her by the front of her dress, letting her see into your eyes. Letting her see the toothy grin you were giving her that was more like a snarl. The irony of the situation struck you. Whereas it would have been her eyes brimming with cruelty and madness before, now it was yours. But you had never been afraid. Not for one second. But she was. And it made you grin even wider.

She called out for her mother again as you dragged her to the wall. You kissed her on the nose, giving her a smile that someone might give a lover, and used all your innate anger and cruelty to shove the bitch against the wall.

She shattered, leaving behind only that crystallised torso.

***

His sister had said she would call Miranda when the outsider had been killed. Well, her words were dealt with properly. Emphasis on the properly apparently. Miranda was supposed to let the rest of them know when the outsider had decided to stop being a nuisance and finally bit the dust.

But no call came. From either of them. Hell, Heisenberg hadn’t heard a goddamn thing from anyone. So. . . was the outsider still alive?

He had to admit, he didn’t expect that.

Maybe he needed to change up his expectations.

***

“So you finally came to see me?”

The final daughter. Daniela. You would have preferred not to deal with her right now, given that her mother had just surprised you and evading her through her music hall had been no small task. She had been angry and seething with bloodlust. You supposed she had learned about the deaths of her older daughters. The fact that she had sent Daniela up against you after you had proved that they were practically useless against you wasn’t scoring Dimitrescu any good mother points.

You shot at the window above. But it refused to break, and the swarms had blocked the doors. You looked around, noting that on the other side, on one of the pillars was a handle.

“Everyone always falls for me.”

You ran around her, gripping the handle and swinging it down with all your might. She screamed in agony, running to get out of the direct frozen wind. To your dismay the handle slowly turned up. Who designed this?

She was running through the bookshelves, trying to hide from you. So deranged, but slightly smarter than her sisters it seemed.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I- Why are you doing this?!” you retorted.

You pumped the handle down again before chasing her, shooting her in the back. She darted around a bookcase, circling around you and trying to get the jump on you. But you were ready, giving her another one. You were beginning to get bored of these sisters.

“You three don’t really put up much of a fight do you?”

“I thought you loved me,” she snarled.

“What the fuck has that got to do with anything I just said?”

You shot her again. Then once more for good measure. You got up close and used the butt of your shotgun wo hit her in the stomach, forcing her back.

“I don’t wanna die,” she cried out, almost begging you not to go any further with the tone she was using.

“Well you know, neither did anyone in this village or this castle but shit happens I guess.”

You threw the gun down and got a grip on her throat, dragging her to the handle where you pumped it down again. Her attempts to get away from you and out of the cold were desperate, but you maintained that grip on her neck. Slowly, your grip tightened, and you thought you could see the beginning of tears in her eyes as cracks started to multiply on her throat. You did it slowly, savouring the way her throat gave under your hand. The window was nearly shut now. You blew her a kiss, then you balled your fist, crushing her throat completely.

The window shut.

***

“The entire bloodline of House Dimitrescu is done in by the likes of you?”

You smiled at her, even as she stalked you with her claws out. She had caught you while you were figuring out which mask went where. Luckily, being so big meant she was slow.

“Damn right it is.”

“Have much blood and sweat do you think it took to raise those daughter?” She swiped. “You have incurred an impossible debt!”

The genuine sadness and pain in her voice was something that might have swayed someone else, but not you. Not after the Duke had explained what those monsters in the dungeon had really been. Not when you knew the secret ingredient of that wine. Not when that scream rattled around inside your skull.

“What? You want me to feel sorry for you? Want me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness while you slice me apart? How many daughters have you murdered and turned to slaves?” You slotted the third mask in before darting just out of her reach. “You didn’t consider how many fathers and husbands you bled dry in your dungeons. Your daughters deserved to die! You deserve to die! None of you get a free pass just because I’d have sex with you!”

She made a noise of disgust and sliced downwards, narrowly missing you. You darted to the last statue, putting the mask in. The door opened and you bolted.

***

You pushed open the coffin, finding an old corpse clutching a beautiful knife. You picked it up, testing the weight. That is, before you were spun around and lifted by the neck again. Evidently this family had a choking kink.

“You ruined everything!” She screamed.

She got ready to plunge her claws deep into your stomach, but you were faster, instead driving the knife into her chest. She screamed, throwing you through the window behind you. You accidentally let go of the knife, and it tumbled off the side of the building.

You looked back at Dimitrescu. She was in pain, and obviously weakening. But large, fleshy wings sprouted out from her back, a tail soon following.

And then she was crashing through the wall, nothing but a female torso and head on the back of what looked like a dragon straight out of one of your nightmares.

“Flesh! Bones! I will devour all of you!”

“Bring it on, bitch!”

***

“Curse you.”

And those were her last words. It hadn’t been easy, but you had done it. And you smiled at her as you did so. Given that same demented smile you’d given her daughters. You still wore it.

You looked around, still half mad from the bloodlust. The only thing of note was a yellow flask, so you snatched it up, grinning even wider as the wall opened into the outside.

***

Dimitrescu was dead. Heisenberg grinned. Well, he certainly didn’t expect to watch you walk out of the castle through the camera he’d placed in the area. He hadn’t even expected you to have lasted five minutes, but evidently you were made of sterner stuff. He was impressed.

You were covered in the dust of her dead daughters, as well as Dimitrescu's own blood. It made your damaged clothes cling to your form, and as you got closer he could see the grin you were wearing, could see that deranged look in your eye. And then you looked up at him. Not just at his camera, but at him. As if you knew he was watching. Your grin turned into something else, and you brought your palm to your mouth, kissed it, and then blew the kiss at him.

He didn’t expect that to get his blood pumping. Didn’t expect watching you walk away coated in blood get it pumping even harder. What was this feeling? It wasn’t fear. It was almost like adrenaline. Almost like-

He looked down at his lap. “Fuck.”

He needed to talk to you. He would talk to you.

Hopefully he could lick the blood off of you after.

[nancydfan]

About that thing regarding Ethan's fingers not regenerating!

I LOVE the idea that he's driven by his beliefs. And that he can reattach limbs simply because he believes he can. It would explain a lot.

When I found out about the twist though, I thought of it in a more technical way. We know that it gives him superhuman healing, but in my personal theory there's still limits to how much he can regenerate.

I thought that, while his healing factor is super fast and pretty enhanced, he can't really grow back entire missing body parts. Like, limb replantation surgery is a thing doctors can do, Ethan's powers just allow him to do it without assistance and have it heal perfectly. The first aid meds just help him speed up the process to mere seconds (and leaves little to no scaring). But since humans can't grow back limbs no matter how fast it heals, Ethan can't do it either.

So unless they dig out half his left hand from the stomach of a zombie werewolf in the ruins of a remote village, I don't think he's gonna get his fingers back.  (Or "lycan" or whatever. Zombie werewolf sounds cooler.) Because his mold abilities are limited to what humans can do, just super duper quick.

Or maybe Ethan just can't generate extra mass like other bioweapons? Maybe he's a very special type of mold that doesn't exist anywhere else, only him. He still has connection to the mold consciousness but maybe he's like a unique strain of mold, the Ethan Mold, a type of mold that has specifically assimilated Ethan Winters. He can reattached himself to any mass or limbs that is HIM but can't do it with other mold. So he can recover from anything as long as the pieces are still there, but if they're gone then they're gone. Does this make sense? Idk i just thought of it.

Again this is my take on the missing fingers thing, and I like the discussions around it. I really like your theory about Ethan learning how to regenerate entire limbs! That would've been cool to see. He'd be like Deadpool. And the more I think about his beliefs subconsciously controlling the mold the more it makes sense.

Kinda wish his mold powers were explored more but the dude died right after so yeah. Honestly Capcom really gave us a twist that made zero sense so we're here like "okay guess we'll fill in the holes ourselves" 😆

Capcom really be like this with Ethans mold reveal

I really like your idea too! That he can only reattach and not grow back. So that’s also why I guess if that’s really him in the end why he still is missing fingers. Or maybe once he’s forced to live beyond the form he’s in in re7 & re8 he can learn then to grow back or manipulate more?

I am so many questions because really exactly what can ethan do. Specially as he grows and learns about himself. If they ever give him the time. Which even if he does come back it’ll probably be super plot needed devices and well still be over here like hi yes a few questions!

Because he’s not Evie or Rose but he’s still sentient. So he has control over it but what it is we may never know. Are their abilities he can learn? Does he need to break free from the form to so certain things? What body is crumbling? Just his og form? Can he project himself like evie??

[teamhawkeye]

unfiltered and massively spoiler filled thoughts on RE8 below the cut [MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD]:

The Good

The first half of the game

The initial village segment and the castle portion and even “the house in the mist” sections were all pretty taut and well put together. i loved exploring the castle - was more than a little disappointed that you get locked out after Alcina’s boss fight, i didn’t explore it fully D: - and the unexpected terror of Donna’s section really pulled me out of the sense of comfort i had started to fall into, right as i was saying to myself “this hasn’t been scary at all”

The return of some series high notes

Revisiting things in previous Resident Evil games is not always a bad thing. I really enjoyed the return of weapon customization and treasures, those were aspects i enjoyed in RE4 and RE5. The return of the Merchant, in the form of the Duke, was welcome as well. The Duke is a G - he’s a good guy and i respected him most

Graphics, scenery, etc.

It’s a pretty game to look at, there’s no getting around that. I liked the set pieces, especially the Castle portion

Ammo crafting

Now this was something i greatly enjoyed. There are often times you get too much ammo for the gun you use least or you run out of ammo in harder difficulty levels. Being able to collect scrap material and make your own ammo was a very nice addition that i greatly appreciated

The Bad

(some of these are going to be personal opinions about the storytelling and narrative choices, so be prepared for that)

Pacing and direction

RE7 was a return to the series’ “roots”: so back to the footnotes of RE1 and RE2. If that was the case with 7, then RE8 did a speed run of RE3, Code Veronica, RE4, RE5, and RE6 all at once.

I know i said earlier revisiting hallmarks from previous games isn’t a bad thing, and it’s not - but while RE7 did it masterfully with sticking to mainly RE1 and RE2 and pulling in just a few old hallmarks, RE8 went absolutely buck wild in trying to cram in as many past enemy types and encounters as possible. A callback to one standout enemy is one thing, ala the Stalker type that is Mr. X, Nemesis, and Ustanak that Lady Dimitrescu also serves as...but then also the giant water monster from RE4, the Executioner of RE5, the “chainsaw” enemies (here, drills instead) of RE4, RE5, and RE6. hell, even the Lycans after a time started to feel very Las Plagas-esque in their ability to use weapons and track and coordinate. And you can’t tell me you didn’t see very similar designs/similarities between Miranda’s boss battle that you did with Alexia’s in Code Veronica...

The pacing started off solid with the initial few segments, but quickly seemed to lose its footing once it oscillated violently between wildly different styles of play and storytelling and didn’t regain its stride the rest of the game. One moment, it’s classic RE. The next, it’s P.T. + Outlast. The next, back to “a mash up of action and horror, leaning more on action” styles of RE4 + RE5. Then the finale straight up started to feel like an entirely different game before you reached that final boss fight - it felt like i was jerked in one direction one minute, and a completely different one the next

There is a lot of exposition and explaining that doesn’t happen until legit the last 45 or so minutes. Not new for the series to withhold information until the back half of the game, but there was legit almost no build up to the very sudden plot bombs that got dropped successively in the last throes of the story. Previous games rewarded you with fragments at a fairly even pace - i felt like all of RE8′s story gets dropped on you in a single monologue and a handful of notes just before the endgame

I’m not even gonna go that deep into how hard it was to keep up with all the different infection methods the mold managed to have - it was just A Lot and i’ve played a lot of Resident Evil in the past, so i know just how many different ways a single pathogen can have on humans and animals...and it still felt excessive

I honestly felt like the third segment with Moreau wasn’t even necessary. they really played up these “four lords” to not have them do a whole lot of anything. and i know there’s always been mini bosses before you actually reach the final Big Bad, but seriously, Moreau’s segment can be blitzed through in a span of 20 minutes or so first playthrough. the castle segment with Dimitrescu was solid, the house segment with Donna was nightmare fuel, lmfao, but still engaging and challenging. by the time you get to the third and sprint right through, you’re left wondering what the point of it even was. you can tell that was the least cared about narrative arc in the whole story

A giant point of note is that a huge chunk of RE8′s story could have been avoided or altered had Chris just actually fucking spoken to Ethan at the start about what the fuck was going on. And for him not to is completely unlike Chris past RE5 and RE6, that made no narrative sense whatsoever. Just another opportunity to pile on some more trauma and guilt onto Chris’ shoulders by making him “responsible” for Ethan being pushed to far and dying as a result

“Ethan actually ‘died’ when first meeting Jack Baker and was completely taken over by mold, it’s a big secret to everyone but Mia. also, he’s gone too far, there’s no saving him, he had to die”

You’re going to tell me that Ethan still being infected or impacted by the mold from RE7 is some big secret??? did the BSAA not run tests on him and Mia to make sure they were back to normal levels??? how do they not know?!? the government was able to figure out that Sherry’s exposure to the G Virus altered her permanently and study her healing capabilities, how the fuck was that not the same with Ethan???

Also, how is it that the mold’s impact on him is so much higher? he was at the Baker estate for like, 2 days max and while, yes, he did sustain some serious damage, he never fell prey to Eveline’s control and showed absolutely no signs of infection outside of being able to heal/use his hand after it was chopped off. and depending on how you played RE7, the only major injury he sustains aside from probable bruising or broken bones is that hand being cut off as mentioned before

You’re also going to tell me of the number of Resident Evil characters who have been infected with viruses and parasites and what have you and have been cured or had the negative effects negated, Ethan was the only one “too far gone” to be saved??? Jill got infected with T Virus, Claire has been infected by two separate viruses, Leon has survived a parasite infection, both Zoe and Mia were exposed to mold for years and seem to be okay...why is it that Ethan was the only one who couldn’t be saved? because he “died”? how in the world did he get infected so fast - he’d been there an hour, max! - that he was able to be revived in the first place and it wasn’t even noticeable that he had changed at all???

“the BSAA can’t be trusted anymore, they’re involved in shady shit, like deploying bioweapons into battle”

we already went through this a bit back in Revelations 1 with the blackmailed director and double agents. but to full on go “well, the entire organization is now dirty” after it was legit founded by Chris, Jill, and Barry to combat bioterrorism really sits wrong with me. all i can think is that they are running out of villains at this point and now are poising the BSAA to be a Big Bad in the future. which, again, doesn’t sit right with me

Retconning

Tying Ozwell E. Spencer back to Miranda wasn’t such a huge dealbreaker for me, but it is a bit obnoxious to now have to go back and amend “he came up with the idea for Umbrella and its pursuits with Marcus and Ashford, its other founding members” to “well, he didn’t actually come up with the idea for Umbrella and its research with Marcus and Ashford, he already had the idea from his time spent with Miranda uwu”

More so, the retconning around Eveline is a bit of a pain in the ass. So she only came about as a result of Miranda crossing paths with the Connections and giving them some of her mold to work with? And Eveline was only a failed experiment to Miranda in her attempt to be able to transfer her daughter’s essence/subconscious/whatever into a living child? And there are pictures of ‘10 year old” Eveline in Miranda’s possession - how come Evie didn’t have any memory of her at all (speaking of Evie, why the fuck did she appear in 8 briefly as a hallucination [?] to explain to Ethan his condition???)

How are you going to try and tell me that some village from prior to the 19th century was using the “Umbrella” symbol and Spencer just snatched it for himself? that was just stupid, honestly - even more stupid how Ethan didn’t recognize the symbol, despite flying off in a Blue UMBRELLA helicopter at the end of RE7

Mocap and cutscenes

Was it just me or did parts of this game look severely unpolished compared to RE7??? some parts looked good - like the Dimitresus all seemed to be rendered very well. It became very noticeable to me in the back half of the game, mainly with Chris and Mia, but a little with Heisenberg too, where their mouths didn’t match up with the dialogue a lot and they looked a lot less put together than previous scenes and characters. Mia in particular, i was struck by how much better her mocap seemed in RE7 compared to RE8. Maybe because there was a bigger ensemble cast in 8 that they spread themselves a little too thin in that regard?

[perpetuitys]

AAAA hello everyone i’m peep and this is my independent n impulsive vampire bb michel !! also sorry for being Mad late i’ve been moving/flying for the past couple days but i’m finally settled in and super super excited to rp with you all :~) but Yes this is michel he has an attachment to the sea ...... he’s curious abt everything ..... can be very sarcastic at times .... and more found below !! also def hit me up to plot on discord <3 @uwfmintro​

STATISTICS  

FULL NAME:  michel de la rue NICKNAME(S): michel’s fine AGE:  twenty-five GENDER + PRONOUNS:  cis male + he/him ORIENTATION:  bisexual ZODIAC:  sagittarius sun, libra moon BIRTHDAY: december 3rd, 1802 PLACE OF BIRTH: paris, france OCCUPATION(S):  bartender, helps with the liberation TRAITS: (+) open-minded, honest, adventurous, curious, independent  / (-) turbulent, careless, irresponsible, impulsive, dogmatic

BIOGRAPHY

the following biography page contains the following: death, grief, suicidal ideation.

read at your own risk.  

HUMAN

it was eleven years later and new york was just starting to feel like his home. michel still hated speaking english and the permanent odor was sort of annoying, but he felt like he had a purpose that wasn’t dependent on war. fatigued by the aftermath of the french revolution and disappointed in the end of napoleon’s reign, the de la rue’s left their mother country when michel was fourteen in hopes of creating something new and fresh, devoid of any monarchial rule. his family lived a fairly simple life that was dedicated to running their bakery in brooklyn.

this simple life began to feel quite exhilarating as he found himself falling more and more in love with a newly-immigrated family friend at twenty. ever since meeting colette lyon (which of course was at the bakery — where else) he couldn’t think of anything else. the two remained inseparable into their marriage, too, where the two decided to momentarily elope to the beach despite his parents’ wishes. both colette and michel had a fascination with the sea, perhaps symbolizing the voyage that connected their childhood with their newfound adulthood. this fixation grew as he decided to leave his  family in favor of becoming a fisherman running his own shop at the local fish market (also against his parents’ wishes). and as their family grew to include two children, he believes it truly was the best financial decision he’s ever made (which he was well-aware there weren’t many).

but honestly, michel’s favorite thing about new york had to be the selection of taverns. the routine of waking up early, going out to fish, spending his entire day trying to sell his catches at the market, and coming home to two rowdy toddlers proved to exhaust the brunette both physically and emotionally by the time he was twenty-four. so, it wasn’t a surprise to often see him spending most of his evenings during the week at the local bar, making several short-term friends who also wanted to make the most of their night. however one night felt different as michel became what was most likely the most intoxicated he has ever been with a room with equally intoxicated men who decided that receiving fists hurt good and fighting felt fun. he was too drunk to process the chilled air (perhaps that hurt good, too), but something felt wrong as the men continued beating on him. leaving him bleeding out in the early winter air, it very quickly dawned on him that there would be no more life for him to live. no more colette. or his family and their quaint bakery. never see his children get married. as he made peace with this reality, in his last moments he thought about the sea.

VAMPIRE

everything felt bright and intense as he gasped his first breath of immortality. focusing his attention on how fast his senses were heightening and the excruciating bloodlust, it took a moment for him to realize his bougie surroundings. confused, capricious, and super fucking hungry, aleksander was there to guide him into this new underground world.

which honestly terrified the fuck out of michel. as his senses began to settle, his heart sank to his feet thinking about his death — the stupidity, carelessness and impulsivity causing an eternal separation to the life he worked hard to achieve. he grew depressed and the intense bloodlust that he wasn’t able to get a grasp on wasn’t doing much to uplift him. he depended on the older vampire emotionally as transitioning into a life completely vacant of his family was very challenging as he witnessed the rest of their lives at a distance. this often resulted in michel coming to him, very depressed as he questioned his vampirism, with aleksander always finding a way to lift his spirits and remind him of his purpose. because he saw it in michel that night before he died at the tavern. he saw the charm and how he could make anyone in the room feel like his best friend. he knew that once this cloudiness of despair and self-loathing blows over that a magnetic charisma would lie underneath. something he can use.

so, aleksander stayed beside him. reassured him. and ultimately invited him into his home to live as he would adopt him as a son, passing down his millennia of knowledge on to him and sowing seeds that he hoped to one day reap. luckily, the stages of grief passed away quickly throughout the coming months as michel realized the potential in this unfortunate situation. firstly, he has never seen so much opulence in his life. he heard stories of it, though mostly negative ones as they were all passed down from the french revolution, but now this was able to be his reality. and he was pretty fond of his newfound speed and strength. now at least it was guaranteed he wouldn’t die from another drunken bar fight.

but as he was increasingly noticing the positives of living in the mansion, the negatives began to bother him. or as others call them: helena. you see, with his human siblings, he didn’t have the problem of trust as they all grew up together and shared blood. but it wasn’t long after moving in that michel realized just how necessary the blood relation would be and how significant the corvinus name is in their world. and perhaps another large part of the problem was they didn’t truly see him as a sibling at all. truthfully, the condescension stung at the beginning and resulted in michel spending most days keeping to himself and reading the literature that occupied the walls.

as decades passed and michel was sure colette and the kids had most likely passed too, he found himself integrating back into human society by the end of the nineteenth century. which he surprisingly felt more relieved than disheartened by, as he’d finally be able to get more separation from his older sibling, but perhaps it could also be one of the signs of vampire cynicism creeping in. because, oh boy, did it creep in. the first couple decades of the twentieth century were probably most notably some of the sloppiest years michel had. he began transitioning from blood bags (the mansion always had them on deck) to feeding directly from humans and while he knew never to bite the neck, he felt it hard to resist biting elsewhere. and found it hard to resist in general, often accidentally killing a few people in the process.

however, once magdelena was born, he found himself becoming interested in the family again and decided to clean up his careless feeding act. as she grew older, he became quite fond of her presence and protective, because she sort of reminded him of his own son and daughter who he had left behind. in a way, it felt very cathartic to (practically) raise her; like he was writing a wrong and filling the void that the act of no longer being a father created. being there for her and caring for her gave him a purpose that he lacked up until that point (which probably explains his tendency to overfeed). he came around the house more, helping her as she developed into her vampirism and taught her all the things aleksander had taught him. minus the shitty values. when he would pop back into society, he spent it educating himself on new ideas and theories that inhabited both human and supernatural spheres, mostly out of curiosity and his love for learning if anything. during this time, he also eventually met others of his vampire kind as well as lycans, though more clandestine. many of which soon became his closest friends.

and that’s why he was fairly devastated to know about aleksander’s plans. his stomach twisted knowing that someone who once raised him could be capable of such cruelty. it sickened him — and he let him know it. which, in turn, earned him expulsion from his home of two centuries. maybe some saw it coming — how michel was often distanced from the start — but it still hurt the vampire nonetheless. he lost connection to his first family and it hurt like a bitch to lose it to another, regardless how he felt about them individually. especially to leave behind magdelena, who he felt attached to since her childhood. but he hoped that this would send a statement throughout their underground world. that they should not turn their eyes away from injustices no matter who it’s coming from. he needed to get the vampires to care about this issue and needed to do something to bring awareness and a call to action. so, in comparison, present-day michel is much less gloomy and blindly naive than early-day michel, luckily. although he still feels guilty and a tinge of regret for his association to aleksander, he finds that offering any resources he can in the fight for the liberation is his best way of coping with it.

[glitchrpgmain]

congratulations SARAH! you have been accepted into underworldfm. the role of SAPPHIRE will be portrayed by CHRISTOPHER LE CHEVALIER. SEBASTIAN STAN is now taken. please submit your blog within the next 24 hours & be sure to follow the guidelines outlined in our checklist.

ic.

character. Sapphire

occupation. Head Leecher

species. Lycan

faction. Liberation

name. Christopher Le Chevalier

age. 898 (Looks 38)

gender & pronouns. cis man, He/Him

faceclaim. Sebastian Stan

BIO.

but can’t you see the sanity in my epiphany

Christopher has been a peasant, a lord, a knight, a warrior, and a prisoner. He’s seen unlikely empires rise and fall. He’d outlived great men and monsters. He’d fought beside the winners and the losers. He’d seen Notre Dame built and burned–more than once. He’d seen and lived through too much. The only thing he learned after all those years was that there was one constant: death. Everyone was supposed and everything was supposed to end, and Alexander’s time was coming. It was a matter of time, and what was a few hundred years for someone like Christopher.

It’s strange what the mind chooses to remember after years of life. To Christopher, his memories are fragments tied together with fragile silk thread. A line leading from when he was human to Lycan and then dissolved and distorted in the centuries that followed. A thread soaked in fresh blood; human, vampire and Lycan.

12th Century

– oh power, power. a hero calls. from the bottom of a bottle. watch him fall.

Christopher was born a peasant–that was more fact than memory–destined to work the land until it ate him alive. But destiny had other plans for Christopher. He was young when armored men raised his village to the ground. He must have been no older than ten when his mother carried him out of their home, lungs filled with black smoke. Ten when he watched a knight drive his sword through her heart. Ten when he watched the same fate befall his father and siblings. Ten when that same knight assumed Christopher was dead. He’d been a sickly child, frail and unassuming. Even though life did not want Christopher, he would survive. He crawled his way back to life away from where he lay on the banks of the river Styx.

He lived to adulthood by wanting it more than others, by evading sickness and death. Christopher became what he feared. With puberty came a strength reserved for those who made surviving their vengeance for an unjust world. He stole, he fought and he killed.

But death came for Christopher. He’d died. He was sure he had. He’d finally pissed off the wrong people and his life caught up to him. It had been so cold and wet. He’d felt his soul escape his body and yet, he’d woken up. Christopher found himself in a bed far too luxurious it had to be divine. In a way it was. A Lycan bishop had saved Christopher’s life, turned him.

The bishop had needed warriors, a special unit to protect Richard the First. The church educated Christopher, both in letters and in sword. He understood his role now. And when Queen Eleanor rallied her sons against their father, King Henry II, Christopher took up arms and marched with Richard. Soon, he became the personal guard of the young duke. Despite being blind to the existence of Lycans, they helped Richard earn the reputation as a great fighter and military leader. Christopher was happy to remain in the shadows.

Richard was not a good man and an even worse king. Having a front-row seat to all the debauchery of Richard I did not endear him to Christopher. He was a monster, surrounded by worse monsters. Christopher was assigned to escort Richard’s fiancee, Berengaria, and his sister, Joan, home from Messina, but a shipwreck provided an opportunity to escape for Christopher. He faked his death and disappeared into Cyprus. Years of being a peasant made it so that Christopher knew how to fade into obscurity, to become unassuming. Faking death proved to be a lot easier than surviving it. Christopher’s desertion did not save him from participating in The Crusades. He found himself among the Christian forces. His story with war continued. Christopher was once again fighting not for honor but for survival.

15th Century

– I’ll never forget that you showed me to make art. and I know the love you showed me. came from a pure and noble heart

It’s the Renaissance and Christopher experiences yet another rebirth of his own. His hands dripping with the blood of others, Christopher discovers art and love. Italy was the place to be and Florence bloomed with life. Years of war and conquering left Christopher rich in gold if nothing else, while the rest of Western Europe lay in recession. But in Florence, bankers ruled and gold meant power. Christopher no longer had to hide.

He founded a bank and bought space for himself amongst the Medici family. But Christopher had been alive for far too long to follow the advice of Machiavelli. Christopher learned to be kind, learned to be human for the first time. He became a patron of art and hosted lavish parties. He wanted to capture something that he’d been denied. He understood that the only way to live multiple lives is to reinvent yourself.

17th Century

– whispered words start revolutions. weary souls break constitutions

As the reality of immortality stood, Christopher could not remain in one location for too long. He never married or bore children, knowing that he would never again want to outlive his kin. In 1660, Christopher sailed to the new land, as though land did not exist prior to being colonized. But the world was full of atrocities and Christopher was learning to navigate despite them, learning how to find hope in the fragility of circumstances. He distanced himself from humans, knowing that there lay only heartache. He became more involved in Lycan factions, rising in leadership. He fought when they needed him to fight, protecting his people. Christopher will not bow down to a vampire.

21st Century

– all the children are insane. waiting for the summer rain. there’s danger on the edge of town

A new millennium and Christopher’s age creeps towards the 4 digit mark, yet nothing has changed. War rages between humans, between vampires, and between Lycan. Countless of Lycan are butchered in the name of what? Vampire power. They bathe in Lycan blood, enforcing oppressive law in the name of prejudice, a punishment for actions taken thousands of years ago. Christopher holds the remains of his own faction together. But this is not an end. As long as he is still breathing as long as the moon calls his name and blood runs in his veins, Christopher will not abandon the Lycan cause. It might be what finally ends him, but he will happily lie down his life for a cause he truly believes in.

This is the end, beautiful friend This is the end, my only friend The end

Personality:

Pretty face and a mean bite.

People want to see a kindness in Christopher. He has soft eyes and a sweet smile. But those characteristics are more a wish than a reality. Christopher believes in reason and in humanity. Believes that people, human and Lycan– maybe even vampire, deserve a fair shot at existence. But he does not live in a world that allows space for kindness. It’s a fallacy albeit one that Christopher continues to strive toward.

Being alive for so long hasn’t made Christopher any more aware of who he is. The frictions and abrasions of time, war, and death have not shaped him into a beautiful piece of sea-glass, but rather have left him jagged, weary, and cynical. Christopher holds strongly to what remains of his sanity and focuses it on making the world a better place, if not for everyone then for the North American Lycans. Christopher is tired, a tiredness so deep he doesn’t remember a time he has not felt it. He hides it under a gruff exterior and determination. He shows himself as the leader they need him to.

please detail any potential plots you have in mind for your character or, conversely, expand on the connections we provided in the skeleton. What do these connections mean to your character? what can you see coming out of it? use this section as a way of showing us where you are going to take this character and showcase their interactions.

[kaychawrites]

By The Light Of The Moon

Fairy Tail Fanfic AU

Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Lucy Heartfilia, Gray Fullbuster, Fuyumi Dragneel (OC), Jellal Fernandez, Erza Scarlet, etc

Genre: Supernatural, Romance

Rating: Mature

Tag List: @cobblepottantrum

Chapter 1

The forest is quiet as the moon filters through the trees. He can feel his blood pumping through his veins as he runs quietly along the forest floor, the moonlight turning his coat silver. Behind him he can hear her keeping up with his pace. The night air is fresh and he inhales, giving his body the oxygen it needs to run faster. Soon, the trees break along a ridge and he slows to take in the sight.  Magnolia… its beauty cast in the light of the moon.

She comes and sits next to him looking out at the town. “Natsu, we should head down now. I don’t smell any patrols in the area. We need to make use of this chance while we can.”

He looks down the path, breathing deep through his nose. She is right; he doesn’t smell any patrols either. He stands, shaking himself before taking off down the mountain with her hot on his heels.

%%%%%

In town, a young woman stands on the porch of a grand house, her blonde hair glowing in the moonlight. The house behind her is bustling with her father’s guests. She would much rather sit out on the porch and enjoy the full moon then be at her father’s side, being seen but not heard. Just a pretty little prize for him to show off.  

She hears the door open behind her. “Princess?” Her maid calls out into the night.

“I’m here Virgo,” she replies. The pink haired woman walks up beside her charge. “Your father wants you to come meet the heirs to the Shepherd clans.”

The young woman sighs. “I will be right there.” She turns toward the house, taking one last look at the large forest with longing. She heads inside, her face becoming a mask with a fake sweet smile for all the Shifters inside.

Shifters; beings or creatures with the ability to change their physical form or shape. Little did the humans know but there were many different kinds of shifters living all across Fiore. Magnolia just happened to be the base for the Retriever clan, a branch of the canine Shifters. All the clan heads had come for a meeting of leaders to discuss issues among them.

As she walks back into the dining hall, she spots her father talking with a couple of the other clan leaders.

“Come here Lucy,” he orders, beckoning her over. Her father is a tall man with graying sandy hair and a well-groomed mustache. He became clan leader after her mother died when she was young.

Her mother had been the true leader of the clan and her death was a huge loss for them all. Lucy was expected to step into the role when she finally found a mate worthy of ruling by her side, and thus why her father was introducing her to all the available, potential alphas.

She noticed the four men standing next to her father. “Hello, Lucy, my name is Siegrain,” said a tall man with dark blue hair as he held his hand out for her to shake. He then introduced his son, Jellal, who was a young replica of his father except for the flashy red tattoo that adorned his face around his right eye.

Next, was she was introduced to a man with dark hair and intimidating scar running down his forehead from his hairline. Silver was his name and he introduced his son, Gray, who looked board out of his mind.

Within the canine shifters there were different clans Retriever, Shepherd, Collie, Terrier and so forth and in those clans were different branches of families.

“Siegrain is the head of the German Shepherd family,” Lucy’s father Jude said. “And Silver heads the Australian Shepherd family.” Lucy nodded respectfully to each man.

“Well, we should let these youngsters get to know one another,” Silver said as he clapped his son on the back. “You don’t need a bunch of old dogs like us getting in your way.”

“Indeed, I need to speak with a few people I haven’t seen in a while before the meeting starts,” Siegrain told them while looking around the room.

“Lucy, show these young men to the refreshment table,” Jude told his daughter.

“Yes, Sir,” Lucy replied, as he turned back to the other leaders. “This way please,” she said and the two heirs followed after her.

It was obvious to her that their fathers were hoping that the youths would hit it off in more ways than one. As future clan leaders, they would be working together to insure the peace of the canine Shifters in their clans. Having leaders from different clans marry only helped solidify bonds and expand territories. It wasn’t unheard of for marriage to be arranged just for that purpose.

When they reached the drink table Lucy offered to pour them a drink. “Thank you, Lucy, but I think we can manage,” Jellal told her.

“Yeah, those old farts aren’t here breathing down our necks right now, so you don’t have to be so formal with us,” Gray said as he reached for a glass.

Lucy smiled, glad that the boys seemed to realize what their fathers were up to and felt the same as she did about it. She looked at her new companions, relieved that her dad at least had her interests in mind enough to not stick her with the runts of the litter.

Gray was a head taller than herself with a medium build. His hair was dark and Lucy suspected that in the sunlight it might even have a blue tint to it. His dark blue eyes shown with intelligence that betrayed his uninterested attitude and she could tell he was sizing her up just as she was him. Over all he was stunningly handsome and Lucy could see girls falling at his feet, if he would only smile. She would bet that his canine form would be some kind of blue merle but it was impolite to ask.

Jellal was taller but maybe more slight in his build. His dark blue hair contrasted well with his dark green eyes. He had a kind smile and was very polite. Lucy would bet that he was one that if you backed him into a corner, you would have your hands full. He was very handsome as well but easier to approach than expected being a German Shephard, his canine form was probably less friendly looking and more intimidating.

Lucy sat and talked to her guests as they waited for the meeting to start. As it turned out they both had a good sense of humor and were pretty smart too. Their clans both bordered the Retriever territory so they didn’t have far to travel. Gray was 21 years old, just a year older than Lucy herself, and Jellal was 23.

Jude walked into the dining hall announcing that the meeting would be starting and all should take their seats. All of the leaders, and their heirs that were old enough, filed into the conference room. Lucy took her seat next to her father and was pleased to find both Jellal and Gray not far to her right.

Jude cleared his throat starting the meeting. The leaders took turns informing the others of how things were going in their territory. After all the leaders had their say, Lucy’s dad stood up and addressed the room. “Now, it is time to discuss the biggest problem our clans are facing. Yes, I’m talking about the Lycans.”

%%%%%

Natsu slowed as they neared the edge of town. It was late, but many of the businesses were still open. It was risky but the pack needed medicine, and Magnolia was the closest town that had it. Magnolia was on the edge of their territory but the majority of it was within the Shifter territory and they weren’t what you would call Lycan friendly.

Checking to see if the coast was clear, he nodded to the female Lycan a few feet to his left. Seeing his signal they both started to phase. Natsu felt his skin tingle and his bones twist and reform as he took his human form, and stepped out of the trees. He turned again and nodded to his companion as they set off in different directions. Divide and conquer was their plan, to get in and get out as fast as they could before a patrol could pick up on their scent.

The feud between the Shifters and Lycans had been going on for centuries. Arguments over borders and territory were most of the problem, that and the fact that the two races seemed to hate one another. Shifters were originally humans that gained the power to change into animals and Lycans were wolves that transformed into humans. Lycans tended to rely more on instinct and their behavior was more like the wolves they phased into. Unfortunately, the real cause of the feud was lost in history.

Natsu walked into the corner store, finding the items on his list as quick as he could. They only had a half an hour before the regular patrols made their rounds. He paid for his purchases and stowed them in his bag.  

Heading into shifter territory was even worse for Natsu because he was a half breed, half Lycan and half Shifter, an outcast in both worlds. Shifters had killed both of his parents and almost killed him and his sister. Only sheer luck had spared them. However, one of the Alpha leaders of the Lycans found them and decided to adopt them into the pack. Most Lycans still look down on them but as long as they could contribute to the pack they were allowed to stay. That’s why he found himself on a mission into Shifter territory. Not that he minded it too much. It was exciting and he was always up for a challenge.

As he headed to the meeting spot he checked his watch, it was five minutes till next patrol. The one on this mission with him was in fact his sister and she was always early. Natsu couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Quietly, he melted into the shadows and headed to the store where his sister went to pick up the medicine.

As the store came in sight, the scent hit him. Shifters, three of them, and it smelled like they were in the very store his sister had to get the medicine from. Creeping up to the window, he peeked in. Sure enough, there were three Retrievers in the store and from the look of it they were off duty. Natsu could see his sister at the back of the store looking over the shelves. Shifters didn’t have a sharp sense of smell like the Lycans did. Natsu figured that that coupled with the smells in the shop and his sister’s mixed blood was what kept them from noticing her.

The three retrievers stood at the checkout desk, talking to the clerk. This kept his sister from being able to pay for the medicine and leave. After another five minutes, the three left. He watched her make her way over to check out. Unfortunately, one of the shifters came back, having left his wallet lying on the counter. As soon as he stepped through the door, he froze. At that distance, there was no way he would miss the scent of a Lycan.

His sister grabbed the medicine and threw the money down on the counter before bolting past the Shifter. Once outside, Natsu called out to her. “Fuyumi! Over here!” Seeing him, she quickly took off in his direction sprinting for the meeting place at the edge of the trees. As they turned around the next block, they ran straight into the patrol they had been trying to avoid.

“Shit, this way,” Fuyumi said to Natsu as they turned away from the Shifters. Even though it was late, the streets were still busy, and they couldn’t phase into their wolf forms without causing a panic. Not to mention they would have to ditch the supplies they just worked so hard to procure. Even with the extra weight the two half breeds were fast and kept ahead of the Shifters.

To the humans, it looked like the cops were chasing two young robbers. So naturally some of the bystanders tried to slow the pair down. The siblings dodged and jumped over people and obstacles trying to get to the forest but finding it just out of reach. They ran out of the shopping district and into the residential areas with the shifters still hot on their heels.

%%%%%

“These Lycans are a menace!” one of the leaders shouted. “We should just end them once and for all!”

“Their land would be a big increase for our own territory,” another added to the discussion.

“Now, all of you please listen,” Siegrain interjected. “War with the Lycans would be catastrophic to our numbers. I don’t believe it is worth the risk of losing more Shifters.”

Arguments broke out among the table both for and against war with the Lycans. Lucy sat quietly at her father’s side wondering why they have to be at war at all. If there was only someway they could live in peace with the Lycans that would be beneficial to all. She then noticed Virgo slipping into the room and hurrying to her father’s side. The maid whispered something about Lycans and Jude stood up. “Well here is our chance to do something now! Two Lycans have been spotted in town and are headed into the residential districts. Everyone is to fan out and search for the two intruders!” After that all the leaders started to organize, dividing up the blocks between the Shifters present.

Jude turned to his daughter. “Lucy, I want you to stay here in the house and don’t come out,” he ordered.

“Why, I want to help search too?” Lucy argued back.

“No, I won’t have you putting yourself in danger out there. You will stay in this house and not come out until the issue is resolved,” Jude ended the argument.

Lucy huffed as Jude and the other leaders walked out of the room. Gray stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lucy. Jellal and I are headed out to help with the search.”

“We have plenty of shifters. We will catch them,” Jellal nodded in agreement.

Lucy followed the boys outside to see them off. She then headed up to her room to change out of the stuffy dress her dad made her wear for the meeting. Not pleased at all about having to stay home.

%%%%%

Natsu ducked behind a hedge when he smelled another patrol of shifters headed his way. He and Fuyumi had gotten separated from each other a few blocks back and now he was completely lost. He took off running through yards and leaping over fences hoping to throw off his pursuers. He couldn’t help but notice that the houses were getting bigger and the yards more extravagant as he ran. Turning a corner, he was assaulted with the smell of many shifters headed down both sides of the street towards him.

Standing in front of a tall privacy fence, he did the only thing he could think of and jumped it. He wasn’t prepared for the rose bushes on the other side and yelped as the thorns tore at his skin on the way down. Holding his breath, he listened to see if he had attracted any unwanted attention. He could hear the Shifters coming down the street towards his hiding place until a shout drew the shifters away from him.

Natsu let out a sigh of relief and looked around him. The yard was huge and the house that it belonged to looked like someone important lived there. It also reeked of shifters. “Great,” he mumbled. “I had to go jump into a shifters yard.” As he continued to look around, he could see the forest on the other side of the back fence. “I have to find Fuyumi,” he said out loud. He definitely couldn’t risk going out to find her while carrying around his heavy bag. Looking around the yard once more he noticed a small garden shed along the back fence with its door already open. He decided to hide his bag in there so he could go find his sister.

He opened the door and stowed his bag in a corner where no one would notice it. With that done he decided to phase. He dropped to all fours, as his hands and feet turned into paws. Fur blossomed over his skin and his bones stretched as he took his wolf form. Shaking himself, he padded out of the shed.

When he emerged from the small building he breathed deep, scenting for anyone near. The smell of honey and vanilla came to him and he couldn’t help but breath even deeper. It was a comforting smell and he felt himself relax despite his situation. Until, he heard someone gasp.

Ch 1| Ch 2| Ch 3 | Ch 4| Ch 5|

[enniewritesathing]

the lore~

aka all the juicy bits about this version of lycanthropy. although, bc it’s long, I’ll split it into this and then specifically to John.

Lycanthrophy is split into 4 “grades”. Grade 1 are carriers (aka genes are not activated/dormant/latent) but have no chance to turn, but they can pass them on. In this case, John’s mom is a Grade 1. It’s unknown what grade his father was, but most likely Grade 1 as well. Grade 1 lycans typically don’t know about it until their children have gone through their first transformation. 

There are two main ways of lycanthrophy -- cursed by a witch or warlock that knows the spell or inheriting the gene from their parents. A lesser known way is through biting, but this is exclusive to Grade 4 lycans and they are rare.

John is a Grade 2 -- mostly human appearance aside from his eyes, hands, body hair, and teeth. In this case, he’d probably be refered to as “wolf-man or man-wolf”, and can still blend in with the human population in this state. Grades 3/4 are closer to the classical werewolf image.

He cannot shapeshift as a Grade 2, so he is still the same height. There’s some muscle increase but seeing that John is already this, it’s hard to tell.

However, when there’s the rare super moon eclipse, he is a Grade 3 with partial transformation for the duration of the eclipse. It’s... not good.

Lycan and werewolf are used interchangably -- werewolf being the most common term and easier to remember. Lycan is the more formal term.

Lycans have a common trigger for transformation, and that is the moon. It’s been reported that they can avoid it by not being touched by the moon’s light, not looking at it, locking themselves away for their duration or simply staying inside of their place of residence.

In John’s case, he is turned by a supermoon and not a regular full moon; a supermoon is typically 3 or 4 times a year and this makes him stay in his lycan state longer. Grade 3/4 only turn the night on the full moon. Regular full moons for John, he has a marked agitation and is sensitive to everything.

There’s also triggers unique to the lycan and far easy to stop the process. John is prone to turning from extreme emotion (anger and anxiety), so he meditates from time to time in to keep himself in check. 

Lycans are naturally carnivores, but it depends on the lycan themself. John has a marked increase in eating meat when he’s turned, but will still eat fruits and veggies. 

Other than the deer he ate, he doesn’t have a preference for ‘wild’ food. He does get those urges to ‘hunt’... he has caught a rabbit and a couple of birds.

Lycans have the ability to communicate with other animals, or at least, be very in tune with them. 

Yes, John has talked to Spaghetti. It’s not any different from what he does, but the only difference is that they can understand each other. She’s not afraid of him due to the fact she considers him as her dad (one of them anyway) and has looked after her since she was a kitten.

John loves cats as it is, and he really does when he’s turned. Most cats are confused about this until he explains the situation... but still, he respects their space. (Cats? They gossip.)

Dogs are wary of him at first until he states his friendliness (sitting on the floor and being eye level with them). 

They have a fondness for dogs and/or cats. Most likely to adopt a bunch.

A lycan’s body tempurature is higher than a human’s, so they have a penchant of wearing less clothes. For John, it’s shirtlessness, having an open shirt, or a tank top. (But really prefers not wearing a shirt).

Because lycans have heighten senses, they can also be extremely empathic to the point of being “psychic”. They can sense emotions as if they’re experiencing it. They can read “surface” thoughts and can tell if a person is lying or otherwise. 

As John said, lycans chooses their mate carefully because once they give the sacred mark, they are bonded to each other until death. If the lycan is the surviving mate, they will not seek out another one. He mentions that he skipped the courtship part of it, but that’s honestly the dating part. This can take as little as a couple of weeks to years and maybe decades. 

Lycans don’t really have a concept of sexuality, or at least the very least, they are really relaxed about it.

The relationship/bondship may not be necessarily be sexual either.

With the sacred mark on their neck, it grants the lycan’s mate life longevity and age deceleration. So, John and Brian are gonna live for a long time because of this.

Lycans of all grades can live past 120 years. If they don’t do anything stupid. Which is way easier said than done.

They are extremely protective of their mates. I mean... John killed a bear. A big grizzly bear. But they are not possessive.

Lycans are also naturally fiercesome fighters. It’s not farfetched that they participate in combat sports of all types. It’s also an excellent way to keep their aggression in check. John does Muay Thai, but he does not tap in to his lycan side.

Lycans in their human form have near-exotic eye colors, or a ultra bright version of human eye colors. John’s eyes are a striking amber. In low light, they appear to glow.

The first few times transforming is harsh on the body, but the more times a lycan turns, the better they are off, and the faster the process is. Grade 3/4 lycans can transform as fast as 30 seconds. John, after this, learns to transform within 5 minutes.

The point, the start of transformation is the heart, and then it spreads to the rest of the body. Because of that, it causes immense pain and of course, spikes the lycan’s heart rate to an dangerous rate. 

John tells Brian that his heart was stopped six times last in order for him to not transform and have his human side to take back control. This is a way, but it’s a very extreme way and it only works in a specialized controlled environment. He almost dies because of this. 

To compensate for this, lycan hearts are strong (in order to handle the transformation.)

In the notes, it describes transformation as “succumbing to the ocean’s waves.” John interprets this as a sort of meditation.

The reason there are so few lycans is a combination of calculated purges that have dwindled their population to near non-existance over the course of 500 years. 

It is not known how many remain because they’re scattered across the world and extremely elusive. Because of this, there’s no lycan social hierarchy or dynamics; and if they did exist, it wouldn’t be that rigid/strict. (Meaning, John would theorectically be an alpha... not that he’d really adhere to that. He’s not the posturing, aggressive sort.)

Personality wise, lycans do tend to be introverted as to not draw suspiscion, however, they are known to be very social.

Lycans are pretty durable, even if in their human state. 

The stories and myths about lycans stem from Grade 3/4s losing control of themselves and going feral/berserk.

Lycans are allergic to a certain amount of silver; they can still use utensils to eat with. If wounded with silver, depending on how much, the wound takes longer to heal. If shot with silver bullets, it takes two to kill them -- one to the brain and one to the heart (not necessarily in that order). Otherwise, it will severely wound them and even force the lycan to revert back to their human state.

Lycans can heal themselves if the wound isn’t mortal. The bigger it is, the more time it takes, so it can vary between a few seconds to hours, and will leave behind very faint scars. For broken bones, it takes about a day to mend.

Wolfsbane -- of all types -- smell foul to a lycan.

A lycan’s mate smells very sweet to them. (When John turns again and they’re home, he just... sniffs everything.)

They are more likely to remember a person by their scent than by their name. This is especially important when a Grade 3/4 lycan turns.

Lycans do try to be discrete about that, but curiousity tends to take over when met with new situations.

Some don’t have a sense of space. This true for John when he wants something or attention. 

The first transformation usually takes place around the age of 13. Any earlier, a lycan child may be at high risk of dying. This was true for John’s twin brother, Jacob, who turned at the age of 9. John was 11 when he first turned and nearly died. 

The week preceding turning, lycans grades 2-4 experience a fever that is initially low grade (~100.4F) then turns to high grade (103F+).

Depending on the grade (or themself), a lycan does not wear clothing during turning, or at least something that can stretch with their body in order to not rip their clothing (usually spandex for modesty). Clothing feels very abrasive on their skin as well (which is why John tore his off).

Lycans... do howl, but this is more of a Grade 3/4 thing. John has howled before but it’s very soft and low. It’s like a “woooooo”sound. Certain noises do set them off though.

They do share a lot of their behaviors with dogs. Grade 2 lycans can disguise it as quirks, but it is noticable. (for example, when Brian asks a question that starts with “Do you wanna...?” and John immediately perks up.)

Of course, they are naturally hairy and not exclusive to a lycan’s gender. Some prefer to groom and some prefer to rock it. 

Lycans make excellent cuddlers. Especially during the winter time.

Lycans do get along with other occults... but they don’t like the smell of vampires.

And here’s the spicy portion because I’m sure some of ya’ll were looking for it 👀

Lycans do go through heat from 1 to 5 times a year, and lasts about a week. It’s preceded by being extremely horny on main. John goes through it 3 times a year and can happen in either lycan or human form.

There’s little to no refractory period -- aka cooldown.

John is pretty mindful of Brian’s rules but boy is he annoying until he says it’s okay to go. He is also mindful of teeth and claws but Brian doesn’t mind that. (Or his tongue.)

Sex can last hours and can happen multiple times a day during heat.

This is when most bond marks are made, and typically made on the neck. Other locations include inner thigh, hand (around the thumb area), upper arm, shoulder, collarbone, or if the lycan is really cheeky... the ass cheek.

Some lycans have sex in their human form because of convenience. Some. This doesn’t exactly apply to Grade 2 lycans because they’re still human-shaped. 

Sex can also be a little rough and tends to leave marks behind.

There are... some enhancements. 

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Ooooooh Levi!

Waking up, Eren felt more refreshed than he could remember having felt for a long time. There was a small amount of pain in his feet and hands, but that might have been from the fact he'd had to walk home the previous night... yawning widely, the teen stretched as he opened his eyes, before promptly having a miniature heart attack. This wasn't his room. This wasn't his bed... and oh fuck... his eyes widened in guilt as they landed on Erwin and Levi "Good morning, Eren" Erwin's stare was scary, and Eren knew he was about to be yelled at "Good morning, sirs" Opening his mouth, Eren flinched in preparation for the harsh words "Well done" It took him a few moments to realise what Erwin had said, cautiously he opened his eyes again "You're not going to yell at me?" "Do you want me to yell at you?" "I... what? No... but... I shifted" "You did. You were also unaccounted for, for 15 hours, before walking through the front gates and collapsing" "I..." "What Shitty Eyebrows is trying to say is, you're not in trouble for your actions" "I'm not in trouble? I don't understand" "Your actions prevented the deaths of multiple Survey Corps members. We underestimated the danger as werewolves hadn't been seen in such great numbers around these parts for the past few years. We lost 17 good soldiers, but by all accounts, the numbers would have been much higher if not for your actions. From us, you will not be facing disciplinary action" "But... why? I broke the rules. I shifted under Eld's instructions" "With Levi injured, Eld made the correct call" His heart was racing. He'd... he'd saved people? Even if he couldn't remember it? "Eren?" "I'm... in shock" Levi snorted "You're also stinking up my bed. You slept through the entirety of yesterday" "Oh shit! Sorry, sir... wait. Olou! How is he? Did they get him back here in time? How's Petra? And Mike's team..." "Olou is still in a serious condition. Hanji doesn't know which way it will go. The rest of the squad Levi and squad Mike are all present and accounted for" "Oh thank god" Drawing his knees up, Eren pushed the heels of his palms against his eyes, fighting back his tears of relief "I just wanted to protect them all so badly" "You did. News of your... adventure has already reached the Capital. Too many people saw you to suppress it. I honestly can't say what their ruling will be, given how many werewolves you took out, they shouldn't be too harsh" "I... how many?" "Roughly 35 of small to medium build" 35... that... it would have been an accomplish if he'd actually been in his human form "And another 3, 7 meter plus with assistance" He wasn't even that tall... how the... right, assistance "Hanji has requested she be made known when you awake" "Ok... I... still don't know what to say" "That's obvious. Erwin, I think you've scared him enough. Brat, you stink. Get in the shower while I air the room" "Right. Sorry, sir" Holy shit... he'd slept in Levi's bed and Levi hadn't killed him in his sleep... no wonder he felt so well rested... no. No. No. Not going there. Levi made his feelings very clear before, just because he'd been praised, he shouldn't let it make him so ridiculously happy! On pained feet, Eren walked through to Levi's bathroom, feeling every bit as filthy as he was. His body was smeared in blood and mud... and other stuff he didn't even want to think about. Climbing into the shower, Eren melted under the warmth of the water. Communal showers never got this warm. The communal showers were also never this quite, not since meeting Isabel. Scrubbing down with Levi's soap, Eren struggled to keep his thoughts "pure", his body was smothered in Levi's scent, slick beginning to run down his thighs. Fuck... nope. He wasn't going to jerk off in Levi's shower. He'd never live it down! Wrenching the taps off, he stumbled back out the shower, snagging the first towel he saw, before storming from the bathroom, and ignoring Levi as he marched through Levi's bedroom, Levi calling out something about leaving shitty water across his floor. It didn't matter. Between Levi seeing him half hard, and Levi yelling at him over a wet floor. He definitely knew what he preferred. Diving into his bed Eren gathered his blankets over his shameless crotch, before snatching his pillow up and burying his face in it. Out of everyone in the world, why did have to have a thing for Levi?! Right... his wolf side. This was nothing... nothing at all... "Oi, shitty brat! What the fuck was that?! Are you seriously trying to smother yourself?" Shrieking, Eren ripped his face away from his pillow, mortified by the sound from his lips "Brat?" "Sorry, sir... could you please leave" Levi looked ready to laugh, Eren's voice ridiculously shrill. Covering his mouth, Levi half turned "Sure. Hanji's on her way up. You might want to take care of that before she gets here" Pointing straight at his crotch, Eren's hands moved on their own, trying to recover some shred of... of something... "Oh, hey Hanji. You might want to give the kid a minute. He's got his hands full" Darting into the room, Levi finally let out that small laugh as Hanji plopped herself down on his bed "Have fun" Never had ever wanted to punch Levi as much as he did right now "Uh, is now alright? You look a little flushed" Why had he walked home? He should have just let the werewolves eat him "H-hormones" "Oh, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You're a perfectly teenage boy" "Haaaaanji" "Alright. I know how embarrassing it must be. Buuuut, was it because of Levi?" Eren spluttered, Hanji cackling "I'm sorry. I'm teasing. Anyway, Erwin said your hands and feet still haven't healed" "It's just splinters" "You have no idea how worried I was when you didn't come back with the others" "I'm sorry, Hanji. I don't really remember what happened" "You saved a lot of people, that's all that matters. Now, give me your hands" Having Hanji pull splinters from his feet and hands while slicking was not his idea of fun, but as Hanji babbled on about how many soldiers wanted to thank him. It was awkward and super weird, but now he was accepted? Who knew going crazy would actually be for his benefit? "Eren, are you alright?" "I'm fine. Are you nearly done?" "I've been done for the past few minutes. Want to tell me what you're thinking?" "I... it's just weird. You're telling me people want to thank me. Even Erwin didn't yell at me for shifting" "I know Erwin seems harsh, but that's only because of his position. He has to act like he doesn't care, but each and every member of the Survey Corps means a lot to him. You prevented a lot more people being hurt or dying, and you even got Olou to help" "How is he?" "He lost a lot of blood, but he's hanging on. Petra has been by his side since she returned" "And I guess there's no need to ask about Levi" "He twisted his knee, but he was healed within a few hours of returning" "So that's what happened" A twisted knee wasn't so bad... not as bad as all the mental images he'd conjured "Hanji, I think something happened when I shifted" "What kind of something?" "Well... I... I wanted to protect everyone, and when I saw Levi was hurt... I don't remember what happened next" "You don't remember?" "No... I don't. What's wrong with me?" "Nothing's wrong with you. Wanting to protect everyone is admirable" "But I couldn't remember. I wanted too hurt whatever hurt... my squad" "Hmmm... for now, I'll have a little think about it all and get back to you. Given your hands and feet are healed, go ahead and get dressed. You need to eat, and funnily enough, so do I" Hanji sat there, staring at him expectantly "Hanji, I'm not getting dressed in front of you" "Oh! Right! Silly me. I'll just pop my head in and check on Levi. Feel free to rush" "Aren't I supposed to take my time?" "I'm super hungry, so no" Being suddenly popular was confusing. Way too many people wanted to talk to him, including people he didn't even know, and people who'd treated him like he didn't even exist... and it was exhausting. By lunch time he'd been forced to talk too so many people that he was now hiding... in his wolf form... and under Hanji's desk, which Hanji had found it hilarious. It was nice not be to hated, but his hormones couldn't handle all the scents of everyone talking to him, and there was only so many times he could take being told he smelt like a wet dog, even when the words were softened with a slight giggle. Being hated was easier. * Squatting down by Hanji's desk, Levi sighed at Eren. The boy looked pathetic with his ears flat and tail tucked up between his legs "Hanji said you were hiding in here. I think you and I need to talk" Eren huffed, crawling across the floor on his stomach until he could sit up properly "I want to talk about Isabel" Shifting back, Eren nodded, a frown on the boys pouty lips "I didn't mean to upset you. Hanji explained she was special" "She... I didn't have a lot of friends, but her and Falran were more like family" "I know how that feels" "I'd already been alone for a long time before they came along, but it was surprising how close we got. Because of me, Isabel and Farlan died, and now you tell me you've been talking to Isabel. How am I supposed accept that?" "I didn't realise she wasn't human... she just always seemed so happy when she talked about you, and I was confused over why she was never around" "You didn't realise she wasn't human?" "It's not my fault. I didn't know ghosts were even a thing. How are they a thing?!" "You're a Lycan, wondering why ghosts are real?" "Werewolves are a common thing" He had him there. It was on the tip of Levi's tongue to assure Eren there were a great many things out there they didn't understand, instead he shook his head "Do you think you can show me?" "Show you?" "I've been here a lot longer than you have, but I've never seen her" "Hanji said it was 'cause of my wolf side" "In other words, she really has no idea?" "Pretty much. I'm still really sorry. I never meant to pry. Ok, I meant to pry, but we all have memories we'd all keep in the past" "No. I overreacted. I'll give you a moment to get ready, then we'll go see Isabel" Not that actually believed Isabel was a ghost, but if she was, he needed to see it for himself. Evicting the few soldiers in the showers, Levi leant against the doorway, waiting for Eren to do whatever he did. The kid was standing there, looking like he was about to faint "So, is she there?" "Yeah... she's laughing because you don't believe in ghosts" "What the hell's she doing here?" "She couldn't leave you alone" "Tch. Seriously?" "She said you'd always been alone and you save her, so she wanted to be there for you. But you never noticed her" "How am I supposed to see a ghost?" "Don't asks me. I don't know how this work. Isabel says the same" "Well can't she like move on? Or whatever ghosts do?" Eren blushed bright red "What did she say?" "Uh... I wonder if there's some way she can actually talk to you" "Just spit it out" "She... enjoys perving on everyone. And says you should probably stop messing around in the shower" "Isabel. Seriously!" So much for not having an audience... Wait. Did Isabel actually... oh fuck... there was a pause before Eren started laughing, nodding to whatever Isabel was saying "Isabel! Pass on already!" "She's just laughing now. This really isn't working. She reckons she's got gossip on everyone" "It's her fault for spying on things she didn't need to be" "Isabel, shhh. Seriously. I don't need to know this!" "What's she saying now?" He still had absolutely no evidence she existed... Eren was at the age where he randomly blurted out things and popped random boners, like he did that morning, stinking out bathroom with the scent of honey... and blood "Eren?" Turning on the spot Eren's eyes were wide, the smile on his face huge as tears welled in his eyes "Big Brother!" Launching himself on him, Eren nuzzled against his neck. The kid still smelt like himself, confusing his senses. He'd held Eren before, but never had the kid throwing himself at him so happily and willingly... no. This wasn't Eren... "Big Brother! How could you not notice me?" "I-Isabel?" "The one and only! Oh, I've missed you. How are you?! I mean, I know how you are! I've seen everything... but wow! I'm so hungry!" Levi clamped his hand over Er-Isabel's mouth before she could start ruining his hearing with that insult she called singing "Isabel, did Eren say you could do this?" Biting his hand, Isabel's smile didn't falter in the slightest as she darted from his hold "Yep! He's such a sweetie... I can see why you like him" "You mean "You can see why you like him"" "He's a good kid. He's so much like you. Does he know about your little drinking problem?" "No. Why would I tell him?" "Because he likes you! And it would make him feel better. It would make you both feel better. I worry about you big brother" "You have nothing to worry about" "Because you didn't sleep with Erwin? Erwin really likes you" Did everything she said have to be in the same teasing tone? Especially from Eren's lips... it was more than a little weird... if she stayed in one place for long enough, he could see her features overlaying Eren's, but Isabel had always had a problem with staying still "I didn't sleep with Erwin" "Eren thinks you did" "I... he... what?" "Well you did go all blood crazy. I'm not surprised if you don't remember. And Erwin doesn't like Eren all that much, though he does want to confine Eren" "Isabel. What are you even saying? "Oh. Right. Well. Eren really likes you. He looks up to you, and Erwin doesn't like that. You probably don't remember, but when you went all..." She paused to claw his hands and bare her teeth as she growled "You fully tried to attack him" "Isabel, I have no idea what you've been imagining, but no. Things aren't like that between Erwin and I" "I've see him. Even when you haven't. Did you know he's just as bad as Underground filth? He thinks about you, when he..." "I do not need to be hearing this from you..." "I'm just saying" "No, you're letting your imagination get the better of you. Seriously. How are you even here?" "I have no idea... I remember what happened, then I was waking up here. I mean, not exactly here. I was in my quarters, but no one could see me" "And you didn't think of trying to find a way to tell us you were here?" "I did! You have no idea what it's been like. You know, the only good thing about the showers is all the bad singing" "Seriously? Couldn't you have travelled? You could have seen the whole world" "Nope. I can't go further than the castle walls. But it's not all bad... I got to meet Eren" "He's a Lycan" "So? You're a vampire and I'm ghost" "He's also my subordinate" "You like him. I know you like him. You're allowed to be happy" "I have too much blood on my hands for that" "You're not the only one. Eren spent hours trying to get over killing that woman, and you didn't even tell him she was a vampire. You might as well admit it, he loves you and you love him" "Isabel, I swear to god. I'll kill you all over again" "No you won't. Hey, can we go eat? I mean... it's been a while" "It's still the same shitty rations" "I don't care. Do you remember how good everything taste when we first got here? We didn't have to fight or kill, and Hanji gave me cookies" "Hanji is a giant pain in my arse" "Eren could take that spot" "Isabel!" Er-Isabel snickered "Let me have my fun" "Not at Eren's expense. You're currently in his body" "I always wondered what it would be like to be a guy..." "No. Don't go touching Eren's body. One meal, then you're out" "And you could be in" Gripping Eren's arm, he pulled the brat towards the door "Hey! You're going to bruise him. I know you like it rough..." "Being a ghost has perverted you. No more talking like that" "Aww, why not? It's coming from Eren's lips. Should I say "Oh Levi?", I could pout" "Do it and I'll murder you a hundred times over" "Oh Levi. My big strong partner... Levi, yes, Levi!" He was praying Eren wouldn't remember a word of this, and that he'd wake up and find this was all a dream. "Hanji!" Running from his side, Eren threw his arms around Hanji. Squeezing her hard enough for the woman to squeak before Er-Isabel released her "Nice to see you too... Eren?" "Isabel" "You're what? Isabel?! How? How is this possible?" "I don't know, but don't encourage her. She's agreed to leave his body after she has something to eat" "This is so weird. Is it really you, Isabel?" "Yep! I'm sorry big brother is such a pain" "It's Eren's lips moving and his voice... but I never thought I'd hear him say something like that" "Because it's Isabel" "You should have seen his face when I started moaning his name" Hanji doubled over laughing "I wish I'd seen that" "I told you not to encourage her" "But Levi, she could say anything!" "That's the problem" "Isabel, we should talk. Levi, can you go get Isabel something to eat?" "Cookies please!" "Isabel, I don't think we have any" "Fine. Something sweet then?" "I'll see what I can do" Why was he readily agreeing to feed a ghost?! Eating was disgusting, yet it was the only thing she wanted? Erwin definitely couldn't find out about this... ghosts... it sounded like a shitty book. Having not found anything sweet other fruit, Levi had peeled and cored a few apples and oranges, not bothering to arrange them nicely on the plate. Letting himself into Hanji's office, he found Isabel and Hanji howling with laughter, and had no doubt it was at his expense "Big Brother... oh my gosh... Hanji is so much fun" "I brought you fruit. We didn't have anything sweet" "I don't really care... I just wanted to have one more meal with you" An uncontrollable lump formed in Levi's throat at Isabel's earnest words. Sliding off their desk, Hanji gave Isabel a quick hug "It was nice to see you again, Isabel" "Thank you, Hanji. And thank you being such a good friend to Levi" "He's in good hands Isabel" "Between you and Eren, I have nothing to worry about" "You have plenty to worry about. They're two biggest air heads I know" "I love you too, Levi" Isabel giggled. Which actually sounded beautiful from Eren's lips. Taking the spot Hanji had vacated Levi placed the plate of fruit down in front of Isabel "Do you really not know how you got here?" "No. Hanji asked the same thing, and wanted to take some blood samples..." "Of course she did..." "I know Eren doesn't like needles that much, so I said no" "He doesn't? He gets hurt enough that he should be used to them by now" "You didn't see what they put him through. Big Brother, it was horrible. They cut him open just because they could" "I know" "You don't. You think you do, but you don't. He was so lonely when he first got here. And all he wanted to do was help everyone..." "Isabel, these are things Eren probably doesn't want me knowing" "So? He told me about them. He really respects you, that's why he worked so hard at everything he did" "You're saying it like I didn't notice" "Did you?" "Of course I noticed. He's not exactly hard to miss" Popping a slice of apple in her mouth, Isabel moaned "I've missed food, soooo much" "You should have tried harder to talk to me" "I did! I played with your taps. I wrote on your windows. I rearranged all your paper work, I even tried hanging off you, but you never noticed" "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry you ended up like this. It was my fault. I never should have left you" "It wasn't your fault. None of us knew how the day was going to play out, and I've seen how much you've suffered over it. Big Brother, you have no idea how happy you made me, and made Farlan. We weren't related by blood, but you were family. We were a family" "Izzy..." "I love you big brother. And I know this is really weird, but I'm happy I got to talk to you like this" "Yeah. You're not too annoying when you're not talking about Eren" "We would have been awesome friends. He's so funny" "I don't think I've seen him... funny" "That's because you don't listen to him. You're too busy trying to put space between you and him" "He's a brat" "Who's been through more than most of the soldiers here. You are allowed to be happy. You deserve to be happy. No matter, Eren is going to accept you. He cries for you. Not like that, but in his sleep sometimes, or in his heat. Did you even know he had his birthday? He's already 16 and no one did anything. His friends were all out with Mike, so he lied and said your team did something so they wouldn't feel bad" "Why didn't he tell us?" "He didn't want to be a burden... anyway. The next heat he has, don't make him go through it alone. He hurts so much" "I... I'll think about it" "Thank you, Big Bro. I'm proud to be your sister" "And I'm proud of you, Isabel. I never told you enough, and then you were just... gone" Finishing another slice of apple, Isabel wrapped her arms around him "Thank you" Pushing a not so sibling like kiss to his lips, Eren slumped against him. It was a strange sensation, but he swore he felt the moment Isabel left Eren. Holding the boy tightly, after moving his lips from his, Levi found himself breaking down, crying softly again Eren. There were a million and one things he wished he'd thought to ask her, but hopefully now she could have moved on, and finally found the peace she deserved.

[dexwxx-blog]

what you give up to cross the VEIL will make you wish for death instead

They told you death was a person, a reaper to collect the souls of humans who’d outrun their fate for too long. A ghostly figure deciding whether to allow you an eternity of sorrow or an eternity of dreams. You were no longer human— long ago you thought God had judged you for eternal damnation. Then you thought death was a feeling, empty and hollow as the years ticked on, violent delights the only way to send your message to the sky. For if you had been damned you would fight like a devil, with bloody knuckles and stained fur. Bottle up the desires too human for a demon to daydream about. Then you met him and for the first time in forever you believed that God loved all his children.

Death was a strange place indeed, the sting of silver no longer coursing its way through your bloodstream, the flame of pain instead felt light. It was a hazy darkness, a promise of something coming, yet still out of the grasp of your fingers. You could continue on, march into the fog and accept wherever the winds take you— heaven or hell, doesn’t matter much anymore. Either way, damnation will follow, for you’ll never be able to gaze upon eyes clearer than spring water or be touched by the tender fingers that saved you from yourself.

It’s true what you said— without him you die inside.

Somebody asks you if you loved him, and God you do. He is your everything, a home inside a person, the boy you’d throw yourself in front of silver because you want him to live more than yourself. He picked up the broken pieces of your soul and put them back together with soft fingers and softer kisses. You will forever be his, no matter how far you are separated.

Even if you are separated by life and death? Yes, even if he was an angel and you were a demon. Yes, even if he was a god and you were a mortal. Yes, in all the ways you could of been born, in all the ways you could of died. You cannot stop loving him, even if time won’t allow. You will be miserable and lonely every moment he’s no longer with you.

You’re told you can go back, but you must give something up. You’ll do it, you’ll take it— anything is worth a glimpse of his smile again, anything is worth the feeling of his arms around your waist, his hot breath in your ear. They say you won’t last long, it’s futile to make the journey back. What you give up to cross the veil will make you wish for death instead. You can’t bring yourself to care. You’ve always been a fighter, you’ll give up anything for the things you want.

And they can never take that from you.

You cross through the veil, anyway.

Light glazed through the tips of Dex’s fluttering eyelids, the dream he had still lingering in the corners of his eyes. And then it hit him, the searing pain bubbling underneath his flesh, the agony of it all pushing at his now clamped lips. It’s a kind of pain he’d never before felt— memories of the silver ripping through his flesh fresh in his memory. He wanted to scream, verbalize the torment burning in his chest. Memories flooded back like a tidal wave, images of Sebastian covered in his own blood, tears prickling against his eyes as he tried to say a lifetime’s worth of words in a few brief moments. Jerking himself upright, the sudden movement causing his head to go fuzzy, he realized he was no longer in the crumbling ballroom. It was clean and white and smelled so strongly of antiseptic Dex thought he was going to puke.

“Jesus Christ, if you sit up that fast you’re going to hurt yourself.” It came from behind him, so Dex quickly swiveled around to face the voice, only for his vision to blur out the moment long strands of hair entered his field of vision. The other woman, clearly a lycan at this point, chuckled at his misery, obviously taking delight in his inability to listen. “Tell me your name and date of birth.”

“Dexter Minsoo Woo. October 23rd, 1956.” It came out hoarse, his throat burned with the same vigor his chest did. His vision settled along with his stomach, allowing him to look at the woman sitting opposite him. Between the bright colors she wore and the deep hue of her lipstick, Dex thought he was going to get a headache all over again. The lycan, Dex vaguely remembered her from years and years ago— sent to give him a warning from the Glasgow pack he’d promptly decided to ignore. She seemed amused with him then, almost as amused as she was now. “Where am I?”

Sighing, she got up from her seated position, from the way her legs wobbled Dex could tell she’d been seated for a long time. “The Paris Estate Infirmary, darling. You were, let’s say pretty severely injured,” she replied, her tone not matching the seriousness of the conversation whatsoever.

“I’d say taking a silver bullet to the chest is a pretty severe injury,” Dex sighed, already deciding he was over and done dealing with the Glasgow pack enforcer.

The woman put her hand squarely across his chest, pushing him back down on his back. “Good, good. You remember that at least. Can you tell me anything that happened after?” Raking her fingers over his chest, Dex vaguely realised she was trying to do a physical exam. The whole process was seared into his memory, the only doctor he ever saw so horrified by tissue that stretched over his torso Dex saw no reason in returning.

“I got shot, so I shifted back from my lycan form. Then I told Seb that I—”

“That you love him?” She smirked again and boy did Dex really wanna punch it off her face. “Yeah— we all know. It was pretty obvious from the scene we all walked in on. Let me tell you, I didn’t expect it, Dexter Woo, the little fighter who’d never show loyalty to anything or anyone falling madly in love with the lycan heir? I almost didn’t think you had feelings.”

She was trying to get a rise out of him, get him to lash out towards her because his tolerance for bullshit and patience was low. Instead he just felt drained, tired enough to want to sleep forever. “I told him I loved him— and then I blacked out. I think. Time was sort of fuzzy after I got shot.” Remembering how he had confessed what he’d done to Edmund right before he passed out, he could physically feel the change in his heartbeat. Though it wasn’t like all the other times his heart had practically beaten out of his chest. It felt slower than ever, like he was in slow motion. His eyes widened and it seemed the other lycan could only find amusement in his misery. “What— what’s happened to me,” Dex stuttered, fear bubbling to the surface. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Now she finally got serious, taking the kind of inhale that struck fear into the hearts of most men. “Medics tried, but we got to you much later than we’d like. We couldn’t remove the silver bullet from your chest. And because of that—” It was the first time he’d ever seen her hesitate in the conversation, clearly torn about how to break the horrible news to him. “—There’s some nasty side effects.”

“Tell me them,” he choked out, clipped and short. There was a burning in his chest, a fear that Dex hadn’t felt even in the moments he was bleeding out all over Sebastian. His mind wandered to the dream he’d had before waking up, perhaps it hadn’t been a dream at all.

“Well, for one thing, shifting is off the table completely. Silver is more potent that way and with the bones and muscles all re-arranging themselves, it would probably kill you. And to follow that up, you’re advanced healing has been severely dampened. Faster than a human’s, but not by much. A few other important things of note—” Her words seemed to float away, vanishing under his hammering heartbeat. The world was spinning, his world crumbling beneath his fingertips.

He was weak. Everything that had protected him for so long, the second skin he’d learned to enjoy and sometimes even love had been unceremoniously ripped away from him. He couldn’t fight it either, hell, what could he fight anymore? For the first time since his childhood, Dex felt the corners of his eyes tingle with a warm burning. When did he become so attached to being a lycan, claws and all? For so long, he’d wanted to be human again, turn back time to the night he snuck out with Allen so he stayed at home. Dex hadn’t become human, but it was as close as any immortal could probably get. It was true, a part of him died the moment silver struck skin.

Maybe if it was Sebastian, he’d let the tears fall and let the younger lycan hold him as he weeped. Let his warm embrace sooth all the hurt and sadness, let someone else protect him from the dark edges of his thoughts. But to Devon, a stranger, he couldn’t show that sort of humanity. He couldn’t let her see him any weaker than he already was. “Seb,” he suddenly gasped, throwing his body upright once more, much to Devon’s obvious annoyance. “Is he okay? Where is he now? Did he—?”

It was then a strange gesture occurred, the lycan woman grasped his hand with a motherly tenderness, looked at him with eyes soft as silk. “He’s fine, darling. Don’t worry about him right now, I’ll make sure you two can spend time together later. We need to worry about you first.” Dex thought it unnatural that something so calming could come from the lycan boogeyman, but it was a welcome surprise in the end. He just needed someone to tell him everything would be okay.

Devon let go of his hand, getting up to obtain more supplies to continue her exam. Paranoia set in, shifting his vision all around the room with stark white walls. Glancing down towards a few objects left near, brown eyes caught the shine of metal— sharp and tempting. In one swift motion, Dex grabbed the scalpel, slashing it hard and fast across the inside of his inner wrist. A metallic noise echoed through the room as he dropped it, blood pooling faster than he’d ever remembered. His free hand pressed down on the wound as he bit down on his lip to suppress a cry of agony. It was true, it was true and there was no escaping it anymore. He’d seen it with his own eyes, felt it on his skin. Bloody fingers reached down to grab the blade, his mind compelling him to test once more. Barely touching sharp to soft, Devon finally snatched it away from him, hurt clear as sky on her face. “What the fuck did you do that for?” She was dragging him now, pulling the lycan across the room to drench his bloodied wrist in water.

“I dunno,” Dex lied, the flush of water cool over the cut, deep enough it’d probably leave a scar at this point. “I dunno.” He thought he knew the reason, but it seemed silly to say out loud. He just wanted that hollow feeling to go away, that void he used to drink away until he was so pissed the whole world faded away. God, he was fucked.

It was silent, only the hiss of the tap keeping it from becoming unbearable. Finally, Devon cleared her throat, deep brown orbs met his with a sort of sadness that seemed foreign. “I don’t tell many people this, but you should hear it. I’ve seen this before, many hundreds of years ago. He was a Mughal warrior and a bit of a silver sword broke off inside him. That’s why I know what to do here. His survival was a miracle, but shifting almost killed him again. So he had to stop, retire himself from being a wolf and a warrior.” With that she turned the tap off, turning his wound slowly to inspect the damage he did to himself. “He was a born one, so it was a little different but— erratic behavior was common.”

“Did he live long?”

“No,” Devon started, her voice dripping with something depressing, something Dex was afraid to hear. “He killed himself within six months of the accident. Look—” She began to wrap the cut, slow and careful like he was a child about to shatter at any moment. He hated that, he loathed it. He wasn’t some broken bird. Was he? “You should leave Paris. Maybe within the next few days.”

Anger seethed out through his teeth, rage clouding his vision. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t weak. If everyone was going to treat him like a fragile flower, like he couldn’t take care of himself— maybe Dex would off himself. “No, I can’t,” he argued, visions of Sebastian and the promises they made together taunting him like the demons of his past. “I promised Seb, I promised I would stay with him. I can’t—” Whatever anger he’d felt had burned away with each snapshot of blonde, each warm moment he dwelled upon. It just made him sad. “I can’t leave him.”

Now the tears came, pouring out of the floodgates, a genesis of what was to come. Covering his face with his free hand, Dex wept for all he’d lost. He’d made a deal with the devil to come back to life, he was certain now. And giving up his lycan abilities wasn’t enough for him, he had to give up Sebastian too. If this was how he was doomed to live, maybe he didn’t deserve life at all. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t catch anybody’s eyes in this sorry state. He felt thin arms wrap around him, vaguely reminding him of his mother. She’d hugged him once, after finding him bruised and cut up— some from his father, some of his own doing. It felt nice.

“Shhh— it’ll be okay,” the woman cooed, rocking him slightly as whimpers kept coming. “I didn’t mean to hurt you but, it’s for your own good. You're a liability here, someone we’d need to worry about protecting. You can’t be with Seb if you just die again.” She pulled away his hand, tipped up his head so she was staring at his red splotchy face. “Go back to Cardiff, live your life away from the war. Sebastian is strong, he’ll surely make his way back to you.”

Sniffling, Dex could only murmur, “Okay— I’ll think about it.” And he was crying all over again, it felt almost like he was crying over everything and nothing. So he buried his head in Devon’s shoulder, let her stroke his hair as his tears soaked through her shirt. He was fragile, he’d always been fragile since he was a boy. He’d spent his entire life— human and lycan— building a tower around himself so he could be strong enough to protect himself from the harsh reality of the world.

A storm blew away his tower, taking the bricks he’d collected over the years with it. Now he was left with rain, drowning him in everything he’d been sheltered from for so long. But rain, even in Cardiff, didn’t last forever.

It was time to be a different kind of fighter.

[crazyw3irdo]

here’s my ocs (1/?) Izzy

Backstory (pre-war)- Izzy was cursed by her mother to always be nine years old as her previous child (Izzy’s sister, also named Isabelle) died at that age. (Hence why Izzy goes by Izzy instead of Isabelle) She finally ran away when she was around twenty, and met up with a man called John. They stayed together for about 3-4 months before John eventually revealed himself to be a serial killer and stabbed Izzy, soon fleeing. Unfortunately for John, Izzy was a witch, a young witch, but a witch nonetheless. A dagger to the ribs wouldn’t kill her, just cause her a lot of pain. Fortunately for John she was too crumpled in pain to get revenge just yet, so John lived, and this was the true first wake-up call to Izzy that as she was immortal, she would likely endure this pain time and again. Eventually she and met up with Brandon and Jemima and formed a bond in the solace that they were all immortal and also they were all from France. A few years later Lycan joined their group. Izzy, ever unoriginal, was the one to dub him ‘Lycan’ as he couldn’t remember his name. Skip forward a few thousand years and the gang is still together, plus Jemima’s girlfriend Rachel, who would later be Brandon’s girlfriend.

Backstory (during war)- Izzy served immediately. She was one of the most fierce fighters but retired soon as she became more and more nihilistic. The war is perhaps what shaped her personality so much despite it only lasting for around 20 years and her being around for a much longer time.

Personality- Izzy is apathetic and prefers silence, hoping to get their mission over with as soon as they can so that they can go back to solve “real issues” and relax. She is, however, incredibly loyal and protective and if her “siblings” (Brandon and Jemima) want to do something she’ll probably do whatever it takes to make sure they enjoy it to the fullest. Despite her apathy, she tends to make her emotions clear, instead of suffering in silence, but she still tends not to show her emotions physically.

Appearance*- Izzy has long brown hair tied up in a ponytail with a lime green hair tie. Her bangs are long and are parted to the left almost, but not quite, covering her eye. She has jade eyes, thin eyebrows, and a scar that crosses the bridge of her nose. She has a desaturated red handkerchief tied around her neck. She wears a dark green hoodie with pockets that store her wand and dagger. She also has slightly baggy blue jeans that she tucks into her brown knee-high work boots. She’s pretty skinny, weighing about 60 pounds and being about 4′ tall (48 cm)

Abilities: Her wand can extend into a broom that she can ride on, however she can’t use magic while it’s in this form. She can use magic, but not when she is in serious pain or in a small area. She can brew potions, but since they “take too long” and require such specifications, she doesn’t tend to make them often. She can mend broken objects, fire beams that can hurt, kill, burn, knock out, remove memories from, immobilize, heal, and teleport. Her powers grow stronger when she uses her emotions with them, but they become much harder to control.

Relationships with other OCs in the story;

Brandon**: She sees him as an older brother. She thinks of him as a dork and if you hurt him, she will definitely try to kill you. Also she prefers him and Rachel together more so than when Jemima and Rachel were together.

Jemima: She sees her as an older sister. She also typically disagrees with her commonly as Izzy is a ‘nothing matters so why bother’ kind of person whereas Jemima is a ‘nothing matters so lets party’ kind of person.

Lycan: Izzy likes (like like) him and acts like a tsundere around him. The main reason she isn’t as open about it is the fact that their physical bodies are vastly different ages despite the fact she is actually older than him and at this point it’s be hard to actually find someone close to her age.

Ash***: She finds him aesthetically pleasing and secretly was the person to give him his flower crown. (She uses her magic to keep the flowers constantly alive) Sometimes she uses her magic to see his wings but never tells anyone. She doesn’t really talk to Ash much.

Whisp: She doesn’t like Whisp at all, and sometimes she wonders why he survived instead of someone else, but she reminds herself to be grateful another person survived, no matter how sleazy she thinks he is. She also wonders what Ash sees in Whisp, but since Ash likes him, she doesn’t insult him. Often.

Rachel: She finds Rachel just a little too girly but doesn’t judge her too harshly for that. She sees her almost like a mother figure and likes her values of kindness and loyalty, except when she tries to make her more kind.

Snow: Izzy sees her as a little naive girl who is too emotional, but still respects her for not being turned cynical by the war that she was born into. She feels a bond with her as they were both attacked by the same serial killer. (Sometimes she calls her her ‘Blood Sister’ har har)

John: She is obsessed with killing him as he has hurt both her and Snow. She wants to avenge everyone he’s ever killed or tried to kill, calling his acts “weak” and “too easy” as he primarily targets young children.

Bolt: Izzy almost forgets her hatred for John when Bolt shows up. She calls him “a human form of Zeus.” Her reasoning is, “What other xxxholes can control lighting and have the prize for biggest egos?”****

Fun Facts: Her favorite Pokemon is Espurr. Before the war she had a collection of knives, swords, and daggers that had stabbed her were left near her. The dagger she has now is the one mentioned in her backstory. Her favorite animals are black ragamuffin cats. She identifies as a lawful neutral. Her sexuality is demiheteroromantic monogamous asexual. She is actually the oldest person in the story despite being constantly nine. She, on Jemima’s request, became a magician for a few years, preforming stunts that no one could figure out because she decided to use real magic. However, to avoid being exposed as immortal she had to fake going missing. She constantly criticizes how witches are portrayed in various media, but still loves movies that aren’t entirely accurate about witches.

*Izzy was originally made when I was nine, so I wasn’t very original. The most constant part of her character is her appearance, which at the time was just me wearing a green hoodie that I don’t own, so if you compare the two of us we look pretty alike.

**If the characters are ones she knows before the story, these are her opinions of them when the series begins. If she didn’t know them before, they’re from when she knows them pretty well. There’s not really a distinction between the two but I feel like I should mention this fact.

*** There’s characters mentioned here not mentioned in the backstory segments because either 1) she doesn’t have a significant interaction with them before the series starts or 2) she doesn’t meet them until the story begins.

****Bolt may be like Zeus in some regards, but he is very monogamous. And very gay.

[enniewritesathing]

summary/discussion

so, Part 7. Lotta things happened. 

this is the aftermath of what happened at the end of Part 6. John saved Brian from this huge brown bear. He fought and killed this bear, going as far as beheading it, but he is gravely injured. When Brian sees him, he’s a bloody mess. He’s not moving.

Brian fears the worst until John wakes up. He’s... happy that Brian is safe. Of course Brian is worried about all the blood that’s on John and that nasty claw wound on his arm. After getting over his initial shock and John telling him that he can heal (but it will take a while), he goes into Nurse Mode. He is calming, which has an effect on John.

This part shows the immediate trust between were!John and Brian; Brian never asks him if he trusts him, but he shows that he can. Not once that he patronizes him or anything like that. This comes to a head when he’s applying the antiseptic to John’s arm. He backs off immediately when John snaps at him and gives him a bit of time to calm down without saying it, respecting his space. He waits until John offers his arm on his own. 

Even after all of that, John is worried about Brian for some reason. He can’t quite tell what’s wrong until he notices later on that Brian isn’t eating with him. Turns out, he hasn’t exactly eaten or slept since he’s turned. This is remedied, but John can’t help but to think that despite what happened, Brian still put his needs first before his. In a way, they sacrificed themselves for the (relatively) betterment and safety of one another.

There’s... a lot of feelings from John in the 4th scene; Brian asks and then listens. Communication and transparency is very key between them to begin with, and this is no exception. When it’s revealed that the marks on Brian’s neck means that he is bonded, aka “married” to John, he expresses ...sort of a brief shock to this. Maybe because John alluded to this in the last part when Brian asked him when he was trying to persuade him to come back. 

John frames himself into two halves, but as far as addressing himself... he switches between “I”, “we”, “our”, “him”, “us”. He doesn’t seem to struggle with this though, and clarifies it with Brian, saying that “we’re never on the same side”, but implies that there’s some commonality -- aka Brian. 

John explains a fair bit about him being a werewolf, a lycan (I forgot to mention, they’re pretty much used interchangably, but for whatever reason were!John addresses himself as lycan), namely two types -- cursed and hereditary. He inherited from his mother’s side (who is also hereditary), and says that it’s latent. Basically, a random chance or trigger of the lycan gene to be activated, but they’ll always be carriers. He doesn’t say what his trigger(s) was other than him being born under a full moon, but implied to simply be just one of them.

He does go into detail on how transformation, or rather, resisting transformation puts an immense strain on his body. They fight each other for control every supermoon and it comes in a form of an astonishing high fever. It gets to the point where he had to be placed in a coma. John also points out that the point of transformation, the ‘spark’ is the heart. Only problem with that is... well, need that to live; it was stopped a total of six times. He doesn’t say how long the stoppage was, but he might as well died six times. (His mother mentions in a previous coma, he almost slipped away).

What’s worse is that because the existing lycans were old and every elusive, and he’s the youngest known... well, it made sense for him to be researched and experimented on -- that’s how he knew he could heal. (But also, I like to think that he didn’t know the extent of it and just said ‘fuck it’.) But at a high cost -- he felt it despite being in the coma and would get pretty bad nightmares.

His feelings come out after. He admits to Brian that he’s the best thing to happen to him. All because he treated him with kindness and dignity. And it wasn’t fake at all. 

In his own little way, John, were!John, is pleading his case to Brian. And Brian’s listened this whole time. He’s very sympathetic. John doesn’t want to be isolated, to be locked away again. Even if he can handle the strains, at what point will it get too dangerous for that? All because of what happened in the past.

Brian tells him that even despite all of this, he wasn’t going to leave him for this. He loves John, and were!John finally realizes this. Brian’s a goddamn treasure. 

After ~getting to know each other~, they talk a little more. John has a realization, and asks Brian to convince his human side to not lock him away again. Brian agrees and promises that they’ll meet again on the next (super)moon, better prepared. Again, trust is a factor here. Once John realizes this, he goes to sleep, but not before thanking Brian again.

(There was an attempt at sex. John’s arm irritated him too much and while he was almost healed, his body was still achey, so they settled for some naked cuddling which honestly, was the better choice.)

There wasn’t much said when Brian sees John back to his human self, other than sheer relief and a bit of crying. It’s done. John’s back to normal.

...but there’s a sense of time ticking towards the next supermoon.

---

this part was really... I guess I can label it as h/c. Aside from the physical healing, there’s mentally healing too. The takeaway from this part is that the lycan side of John doesn’t want to be locked away again after coming out, or at least not be met with heavy resistance. He’s shown to Brian that he’s not dangerous, and pretty mindful of everything. 

He just wants to be free. 

Like I said before, communication and transparency is very central to their relationship. Even as they talked in P6, there were bits and pieces of it, which is why Brian wasn’t that shocked when John revealed that they are “married”. Honestly, he takes it at face value.

Lore wise... I’m gonna have to make a seperate post because this post is already long as it is, but it is a lot. As said before, John is the youngest surviving lycan at 24. I know the news said 100 years, but as he said in the story, when the lead researcher died, his records were sealed away and most likely scrubbed out. The remaining lycans are near or over 100 years old, and they are extremely elusive, so he’s pretty much on his own. His questions and answers are all in his files -- but Brian has his ways~ to get information without being suspicious. That’ll be addressed in the next part.

This part took so long to make. I got stuck multiple times with the outline and the poses themselves. I don’t know the exact total of poses but I think I said it was definitely 200+. 

Uh... that’s about it? It’s really a ‘healing’ part, but it also raises a few questions...

[glitchrpgmain]

congratulations ADDY! you have been accepted into underworldfm. please welcome JULIA LAURY. HUNTER SCHAFER is now taken. please submit your blog within the next 24 hours & be sure to follow the guidelines outlined in our checklist.

IC

occupation. dance student at nyu tisch & barista @ coffee grinds, a small coffee shop located close to washington square park species. lycan

faction. neutral

name. julia felicity laury

age. 22 years old

gender & pronouns. trans woman | she/her 

faceclaim. hunter schafer

BIO.

delicate satin threads braided through platinum locks & glossed pink lips glittering with sparkles – you have always been the picture of angelic charm. as the youngest of three, your life had begun with the promise of being doted upon, adored & revered by two loving parents who wanted nothing more than to nurture their youngest. your oldest brother had nearly emerged into young adulthood by the time your birth had blessed the unit & your sister – the unfortunate recipient of the much-loathed title of ‘middle child’ – had petulantly declared she wanted you returned to the hospital post-haste. you had cried & cried & cried – much like an infant should upon being brought into the world kicking & screaming – and though she looked down at your squishy , pink face with disdain, your mother and father chuckled in earnest. they’ll learn to get along – your father would say this with a shake of his head & a quiet sigh. after all, how could anyone feel anything but adoration when they gazed into your wide, watery blue eyes?

you slowly grew from pampered infant into a toddler who became the object of her sister’s irritation. your small hands searched for the dolls & princess toys that your sister claimed to be hers, not yours – but oh, how young and innocent you were. you cried & cried again & your parents would return with a look of stern reproach. ‘you know better than to not share. be nice, you can share your dollies, can’t you amber?’ your father reprimanded gently while you wiped your tears & sniffled petulantly. you could feel her gaze, pointed & unappeased as a child could manage. when she relented, it was reluctant at best. she didn’t understand why you wanted her dolls in the first place–but that didn’t matter to you. or to your parents. you smiled & you cooed happily.

you two continued bicker; when words became easier to form & your parents began to relax their watchful protection upon you, you found yourself skittering through your sister’s belongings. you took her pretty plastic heels, her frilly dresses, her nail polish or her lip gloss – and though terrifying tantrums ensued with both of you crying and screeching… something shifted. you’re six years old when amber finds you fiddling with the pretty pink polish nestled atop her desk – and you freeze, like a baby doe caught in the harsh glare of headlights. but rather than picking a fight, your sister pauses–and more than that, she smiles. ‘want me to paint your nails?’ you didn’t know how to respond at first. you looked shy, sheepish. you mumbled a sound as close to ‘yes’ as you could manage–and before you could finish the syllable, amber’s hand was in yours and she was tugging you to sit on her bed. she held your hand carefully , keeping your fingers spread as she paid earnest attention to your nails. she began speaking idly–about what, you’re not quite sure–and you listened with rapt attention.

you began to look to your elder sister, the one who had spent so long wanting you out of her hair, as a source of comfort rather than fear. she was only four years your senior, after all, and by the time you blossomed into your highschool years, you turned to amber for advice at every turn, every corner. your freshman year was a daunting experience–after all, numerous nights spent on end analyzing the holy grail of coming-of-age movies, mean girls, had done nothing but instill a palpating fear within you. your vanity had manifested young–and though your mother, your father, your brother, and your sister had spent so long holding you beneath their wings, you knew that the dog-eat-dog world of highschool girls would be a beast you’d have to face on your own. the unfortunate matter of your sister, your best friend, graduating the year you began your tumultuous journey into young adulthood had left you shaking in your pair of suede boots. (they were a gift from your mother; you had been eyeing them all summer, calculating your highschool debut in the fall with a careful eye.)

and it was then that you realized that being coddled by your loved ones had left you ill-equipped for the monstrosity of teenagehood. you never really fit in; you tried too hard, smiled too widely, laughed too loudly–and when you tried to befriend the it girls, they pursed their lips & wondered how the best way to put you down gently would be. you felt like an outsider–and though you found a few friends here & there, the lurking sensation of inadequacy continued to linger deep in your bones. you tried to smooth out your skirt & hold your head high, tried not to make it too obvious you ate your lunch in the bathroom stall or that you had spent third period trying to keep your eyes from puffing because you cried like a baby for the third time that day. how you had aimed to be the regina george but hardly even qualified as the janis ian was beyond you.

oh, but you had a passion. one that kept you hanging on with ambition–dance. your history with ballet is a long-winded one, a graceful sport that had left you with bloodied & bruised feet since you were still a little girl. your parents had been kind enough to indulge the hobby in your youth–and as your dedication grew, their marked interest pressed on. your sister’s support only pushed you forward–and though you cried on the phone and over videochats often to tell her how horrendous the girls at school made you feel, she continued to soothe you and remind you that you had bigger, better things to do. your sister was away for college and soon, you would be, too. you knew that your passion for the arts would take you places, after all–and with amber wiping your tears over the phone, you held your resolved and persevered.

how you managed to luck out with a scholarship & position with nyu tisch’s dance program is lost on you–but anyone who had watched over your life would tell you with swift approval that your passion, your drive, and your love for ballet had brought you here. you came to manhattan with starry eyes & pink lips lifted in a wide grin. and oh–how you found a home. you made friends quickly with a boy named miguel and together, you networked with other pretty things just like the two of you. getting black out drunk at frat parties & kissing cute boys that spared you with even the slightest bit of attention–it became your newest form of self-validation. suddenly, you were no longer the weird girl who tried too hard to be fashionable, or the one who laughed too loud to impress the populars. you were julia, that cute quirky ballerina, the one who looks really fucking cute in pink. you were julia, the girl from nyu with the trendy insta feed & a neat insta-highlight reel with the best vegan lattes in the city. you were julia, julia, julia–and oh, how you began to feed into the sensation. you bat your lashes & giggle & buy the hottest fashions. you throw yourself into the arms of any boy who makes you feel alive, makes you feel seen.

it is as if you have finally grown into yourself–and with your best friend at your side, you feel untouchable. you and miguel move in together & it’s the most fun you’ve ever had in your short life. you decorate, you giggle, you spend nights drinking wine and talking about boys and over-analyzing instagram feeds of people neither of you like. then one day, after a bottle of pink moscato has been downed, miguel tells you something; he slurs a bit, a mishmash of incoherency coloring his voice. you don’t believe it, not entirely–but he says he’s not human. says he is half wolf, half man–and you’re stunned into silence. you say nothing–and then you laugh & laugh & laugh. you poke his shoulder. ‘what, like jacob black form twilight?’ but he doesn’t giggle with you. he nods, far more earnest than you had anticipated.

and it changes your life forever.

you insist to see, insist to learn–and he tells you that he was born as one of the pups of a pack serving a cause far greater than she can begin to fathom. that he had a brother–that he had been a leecher. that he had died on the frontlines, sacrificed as a casualty in a war they didn’t have any stake in. he cries & you weep with him. you hold him close & though he says his family keeps a distance from the war waged by the liberation, you promise to be there for him, no matter what. and oh, what a silly girl you are–but your loyalty to those who love you is infallible. it always has been. you ask miguel to turn you–and he does upon the next moon. the change hurts you, but it is a welcome one. you become one of his own–and together, you are your own two-person pack. the liberation doesn’t know of your inception, not yet at the very least. miguel doesn’t want them, so why should you? you have no intentions of instigating a war against the undead. you simply want to live your life–an eternity with your best friend. you want to surround yourself with the kindness, the happiness that has kept you going for so long.

you are not a fighter; you are an angel bathed in delicate threads of gossamer with a halo balanced atop your head. you are a lover, a friend–and above all, you’re just a girl. you’re just julia.

always have been.

always will be.