#snarling werewolf meme

[rjalker]

Interacting with The Murderbot Diaries fandom moodboard

[Plain text: "Interacting with The Murderbot Diaries fandom moodboard". End plain text.]

[ID: Sixteen memes, described in order from left to right and top to bottom:

First: The Bugs Bunny in a tuxedo meme, now edited to say, " I wish people who misgender Murderbot a very shut the fuck up forever.

Second: A screenshot from the show Mako Mermaids, showing David grinning adoringly towards Nixie with his face propped up on his hands. David is labeled, "The Murderbot Diaries fandom", and Nixie is labeled "Exorsexism, transmisia, athiktomisia, ableism, racism, whitewashing, aroacemisia, abuse apologism,"

Third: A stick figure drawing of a werewolf with red eyes and sharp bloody teeth, sanding over a pool of blood labeled, "people who misgender Murderbot".

Fourth: A screenshot from the show iCarly, showing Gibby, labeled "Me", about to hit Spencer, labeled, "people who misgender Murderbot" over the head with a stop sigh.

Fifth: The "is this a pigeon?" meme, edited so the person is labeled, "The Murderbot Diaries fandom", saying, "Are we a safe and welcoming space for nonbinary people, touch averse people, nonpartnering aroace people, and people of color?" While pointing at, "The most oppressively exorsexist, ableist, amisic, and racist fandom I've ever had the misfortune of being in".

Sixth: The meme of an anime character saying, "oh so it was a joke", now edited so they are saying, "Oh, so you're purposefully and knowingly misgendering Murderbot because you think people who use it/its pronouns don't deserve to respect", followed by a closeup of their hand holding a rock, captioned, "Saying this, it aggressively picked up a large rock with killing intent written in its every movement."

Seventh: A Screenshot from the Beauty and the Beast show from 1987, showing someone holding a newspaper whose headline now reads, "Local nonbinary werewolf loses its shit, mauls five exorsexists", with smaller text beneath continuing, "Strange Mauling in the Park Puzzle Police".

Eighth: A digital drawing of Murderbot, edited so it is holding a gun pointed at the camera, now with glowing red eyes from under its helmet, and a filter of red noise and static, reading in all caps, "use it/its pronouns for me or stop pretending you care about me".

Ninth: Two screnshots from The Good Place, showing Shawn now saying, "I have heard no statements nor seen any evidence to suggets…oh misgenders Murderbot? Yeah, they all definitely belong in the Bad Place.".

Tenth: Three screenshots from The Good Place, showing Eleanor and Chidi talking. Eleanor says, "I'm proud to misgender Murderbot because I refuse to respect people's pronouns if they use it/its." Chidi responds, "Okay, but that's blatant exorsexism. Tell me you understand how exorsexist you are being."

Eleventh: A screenshot from the 1974 short film, "A Political Cartoon", showing Peter President standing at the podium, now edited so he is holding a baseball bat, captioned, "[violence against exorsexists commences]".

Twelfth: A screenshot from the show Farscape, showing John Crichton sitting on the floor, holding a blue mask in one hand, staring towards the camera, looking distressed. Text above and below reads, "When The Murderbot Diaries fandom promises they respect and love nonbinary people…while they're right in the middle of misgendering Murderbot and demanding that no one is allowed to be upset with them for this.".

Thirteenth: The meme of an uno card, then someone holding a massive handful of cards. The card now reads "Don't misgender Murderbor or draw 25". The person who has drawn 25 cards is labeled, "The Murderbot Diaries fandom".

Fourteenth: A screenshot from the Muppets, showing one of the characters speaking, edited to now say, "Insult of your choice, we all know that Murderbot is not a human. Your pathetic attempts to justify your transmisia and exorsexism in misgendering it by claiming it/its pronouns are 'dehumanizing' shows you do not actually give a single shit about Murderbot, or real people who use it/its pronouns, and furthermore that you have literally zero understanding of this character or the themes of this series even though it's not fucking subtle. Shut the fuck up or just admit you hate nonbinary people. Literally everyone can already tell.".

Fifteenth: A photo of a prop for a movie of a quadrupedal werewolf snarling with its mouth wide open, labeled, "Me @ people who misgender Murderbot".

Sixteenth: A digital drawing of Murderbot against a pale blue background, that reads, "Murderbot would hate every single one of you fucking bigots".

End ID.]

No, there is literally zero excuse for you to call Murderbot anything other than it/its pronouns. There are no excuses. There is no justification.

Any fucking argument you try to use to justify misgendering Murderbot is an argument that has been used to justify misgendering me.

If you think you're literally incapable of calling someone by it/its pronouns even when those are literally the person's pronouns, leave this fucking fandom and don't come back until you can treat nonbinary people with the bare minimum of respect.

If you are so distressed by people going by it/its pronouns, you have no fucking buisness being in a fandom for books where the protagonist and many other character use it/its pronouns.

There is no fucking excuse for misgender Murderbot or any other person who uses it/its pronouns. Murderbot is a fictional character, but you are perpetuating real bigotry when you misgender it.

[Plain text: "There is no fucking excuse for misgender Murderbot or any other person who uses it/its pronouns. Murderbot is a fictional character, but you are perpetuating real bigotry when you misgender it." End plain text.]

[direwombat]

WIP MOODBOARD & EXCERPT MEME

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton, @rhettsabbott, and @inafieldofdaisies to create a moodboard and share an important phrase/line of dialogue/excerpt from my wip(s)! thank you all so much! katc is kind of hard to capture in just a single line, so let's go with the horror and the wild, aka the werewolf au :)

[Jacob’s] hand doesn’t even reach the handle before his arm is wrenched behind his back and that sweet cinnamon-smoke scent fills his nose. The twist of his shoulder makes him hiss and his lips curl into a snarl as he’s pushed against the side of his truck with the Deputy’s warm body pressed against his back, pinning him in place.

“The fuck did you do to me?” she growls, low and guttural into his ear. Her breath is hot and wet against his skin, and on it he can smell the sharp bloody tang of raw meat, freshly consumed. 

He bares his teeth in a wicked grin. “Nothing." He grunts when she applies more pressure to his arm. “Just gave nature a little push, that’s all.”

taglist:

@kuja-kujaku, @confidentandgood, @tommyarashikage, @cassietrn, @trench-rot

@harmonyowl, @fourlittleseedlings, @carlosoliveiraa, @purplehairsecretlair, @aceghosts

@adelaidedrubman, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @voidika, @locustandwildhoney, @testyfestyenthusiast

@strangefable, @alexxmason, @deputyash, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else who wants to do this! (taglist opt in/out)

[tathrin]

gigolas for the "send me a ship" meme?

...I don't think I've posted anything like that? Certainly not recently enough that I have any idea what you're talking about anon, I'm so sorry. This is the most recent thing that anyone I follow has posted that fits that criteria, so that's what I'm going to respond using because idk where else to go looking for something to use. If you're looking for a response to something else please send me a link or a more specific tag so I can find it?

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter

Legolas seems the obvious choice for the hunter motif with the archery and forest stuff, but tbh I think I'd rather go the other way on this one because Mirkwood = great place for cryptids and monsters. So we'll have Gimli be the monster hunter, and he can still use his axes (silver-tipped of course) only of course he's always been more thoughtful and poetic than just any old hunter, so it doesn't take him long to realize that there's more going on than it seems when he walks into that little village in Dale. Seems like the werewolf that's been "terrorizing" them only started doing so when they went after him first, and this weird skittish feral creature doesn't seem like he actually enjoys hurting people — although oh boy will he if he gets pushed to it, as Gimli discovers when he accidentally stumbles on the real source of the problems in Dale that the shy werewolf was being scapegoated for. All of a sudden there's a wolf between him and the biggest fucking spider he's ever seen and it's snarling and oh shit. Oh shit, he has feelings now. Gimli's uncles are never going to let him live this down.

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman

Yeah I feel like if there's a "weird creature" involved, then the weird creature is going to have to be Legolas, sorry to be repetitive. But. Gimli is just trying to mind his own business and have a simple, ordinary life on the shore, and this fucking fish-man keeps popping-up to pester him and sing and oh my gods does he ever stop singing? And when did Gimli start liking the damn songs? Capsizing during the storm is entirely Legolas's fault, because if Gimli hadn't been so damn distracted by all the fucking songs and flirting he wouldn't have been so behind on his catch that he'd have gone out in that weather, so getting saved by the damn fish is just what Legolas owes him for creating this situation in the first place, really. (Anyway surely there's a better way to keep someone from drowning then giving them air via kisses, right!?) Dammit. His uncles are never going to let him live this down.

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar

Okay and this time we're going to reverse things, and Legolas isn't the weird creature...he's the weirder witch. The witch in the woods, people call him, but they say it in a very different tone than the one they use when they talk about the witch in the other woods, the pretty light-dappled one with the golden leaves. People are so judgemental about things like growth so thick no light gets through, and fungus growing up the sides of your cottage, and spiderwebs thick enough to spin cloth from, and rivers that put you to sleep for three days...and, well, the spiders can be a problem, yes, but only because their natural predators have been hunted nearly to extinction. So they're running rampant, and it's not good for the balance of the forest, so they have to be culled now and then or it's going to throw the whole ecosystem completely out of balance. It's not Legolas's fault that the old book he found for Spider's Bane was damaged in a fire sometime during the previous witch's tenure, and that part of the instructions were unreadable. He thought he was just going to summon a few magical stone-bears who would eat some of the spiders. He didn't realize he was binding himself to a familiar...or that said familiar would start looking less and less like a bear and more and more like a person the longer he was there. He certainly didn't realize that the stone-bear was doing it on purpose, because it had taken a fancy to Legolas. It was supposed to be a semi-sentient magical construct, not a...not a person! With feelings, and thoughts, and the ability to tailor its own shape to suit its whims (it wasn't even supposed to have whims!), and the most fantastic beard that Legolas has ever seen...

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict

Gimli is quite happy working at the coffee shop, thank you very much everyone who thinks it's funny to make jokes about his English Degree In Coffee ha ha. The owner is nicely chill (all the weed probably contributes) even when Gimli has to get curt with problem customers. He gets to work on his novel in between busy periods, and most of the really annoying would-be-customers go to the corporate shop down the street instead of this hole-in-the-wall that serves real coffee, thank you. Of course, the owner also seems to know veritable tons of the weirdest people, including Gimli's own uncles (how old is he, anyway?) which he didn't discover until after he'd been working there for six months and Fili came in shouting "Yo, Gandalf, how's the rugrat doing?" and embarrassing him half to death, thanks. Honestly it would be a perfect job if it wasn't for that weird-ass perky blonde who drinks way more caffeine than can possibly be healthy even before he covers it in twenty ounces of whipped cream and sprinkles, ugh. He's in there all the time, so much so that Gimli forgot he was there when he started muttering plot-points out loud, which blondie apparently decided to treat as story-time, and now he comes in every day asking for the next section and sure, it's helping Gimli actually get the damn thing written if only to stop blondie from pestering him, but he's pretty sure he's going to strangle him in a month and even Gandalf isn't a chill enough boss to be chill with that, Gimli is pretty sure, and...and then he gets just the worst rejection letter from that poetry zine, and he can't stop crying at the counter, and suddenly blondie is hugging him and offering to "show the editors the error of their ways, no really it's gotta be fixed if they rejected you because your stuff is so good, Gimli! And that's not okay. I'll get some of my pals, we'll ride over and explain things to them and—" and the kiss didn't mean anything, Gimli was just sad and confused and tired, and now blondie's bringing him flowers when he comes in, what the fuck—?

who’s the professor and who’s the TA

I think I'm skipping this one because I'm not a fan of the power-dynamics here, sorry. I'm sure lots of people have written lovely fics with this sort of premise that manage to find a way to balance them (or to lean-in on the power-imbalance taboo) but I'm gonna. skip it. sorry.

I think having them be professors of rival departments would be lovely, though. So substitute that, there we go.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)

Maybe I'm getting lazy at this point, but I'm just going to go with Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gimli son of Glóin, noble knight of Erebor. There have always been monsters in those woods, but they were little things that could be dealt with relatively easily as long as one knew the proper techniques and took the proper precautions. (Gimli had never seen a castle with anti-spider fire-netting before. It was...unsettling, to say the least.) But then bigger, nastier things started being sighted. Then rumors spread of some sort of witch, some sort of Necromancer, lurking in the forest, likely in the ruined tower in the south. The queen took a company of soldiers to investigate, and never came home. Distraught, King Thranduil forbid any of his people from going near it—but the monsters kept coming, kept getting worse. So he put out a call for knights and battle-wizards, and knowing the riches of the Woodland Kingdom, many came.

Not many Dwarven Knights were interested, there being too many years of bad-blood between their people and the elves, but Gimli was young and eager to prove himself. He figured that he would be able to easily dispatch whatever monster had the flighty, feckless elves in a tither, and take his renown and his treasure home in a fortnight or so. The sight of so many warriors returning bloody and reeling, or not returning at all, was disquieting...but Gimli was young, and bold, and once the elvish prince accidentally insulted his honor and his courage there was no way he was going to turn tail and go home now, no sir! Of course, the prince was just frustrated because his father wouldn't allow him to risk his life going after the Necromancer himself, and lashing-out at Gimli because Gimli was unlucky enough to say the wrong thing at the wrong time—but it still happened, and it happened in front of the entire damn court as well as all the experienced warriors who'd come for their chance at the treasure and the glory too, and there's no way the story isn't going to get back to Gimli's uncles and they'll never let him hear the end of the time he got into a shouting-match like a child with a fucking elf-prince. Ugh. At this point, it would almost be a mercy if the Necromancer did kill him—but at least if Gimli's the one who does the job, he'll be able to reclaim at least some of his dignity. So he leaves early, hoping to beat the next round of knights to the tower by himself.

The last thing Gimli expected—or wanted—was for the fucking prince to follow him...!

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent

Tough, because I'm honestly struggling to see either of them as a parent, but I'm going to go with Gimli as the dad here. Probably for something between kindergarten and third grade; I feel like Legolas would be best suited as a teacher for little kids. He's got the optimism and the energy and the complete willingness to go sit in the mud puddle beside them and listen very seriously to their long and incoherent stories and act like he's understanding every word (and honestly he somehow probably is, he's like the Kid Whisperer). Gimli is still struggling to get little Moli to open-up to him two years after the kid's parents died and left their single nephew juggling sudden parenthood and shared grief. When Moli comes home from school not just smiling but chattering, Gimli thinks it's a miracle. The miracle turns out to have a name, and that's Legolas. Unfortunately, Gimli doesn't realize that until they've already ended up as PTA Enemies For Life over an argument so stupid that frankly Gimli can't even remember what it was. Something about jewelry and the dress code, he thinks? Ugh, Legolas might be great with kids but that's clearly his only skill. Whatever, Gimli can deal with him for one school year. Unfortunately, he has to deal with him all the time because Moli adores the asshole. Well, fine. Gimli can do this, for the kid. He can do this. It would be a lot easier if Legolas wasn't every bit as pretty as he is annoying, dammit...

who’s the writer and who’s the editor

Whoops I probably should have read through all these before I started writing them, huh? Already used the Gimli Is A Writer on the coffee shop one, oh well. Anyway: Gimli Silvertongue is obviously the writer, because his skill with word-smithing is literally canonical. So Legolas is the keen-eyed editor working for Mirkwood Publishing, and he falls in love with the author behind the novels long before ever meeting him in person, and he certainly didn't expect a short, hairy slab of muscle who looks like he does caber-tossing as a daily warm-up when he pictured the guy who wrote all these sweet, soaring, poetry-riddled stories, but. well, everyone says not to judge a book by its cover (although Legolas knows how important good cover design is, thank you, and always sulks a little over that saying because hello are you paying attention?) so maybe he shouldn't have been so caught off-guard when he failed to accurately judge the author by the interior...now he just needs to figure out to get un-tongue-tied enough that he can go talk to the guy whose over-use of semi-colons he's spent literally hours arguing over, shit.

*********

Anyway, I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted, anon. But thank you for sending it in (or...sending something in, at least, oops) because it actually ended up being a lot of fun to answer. Hopefully you enjoyed it too, whether it was what you were actually looking for or not! And if it wasn't, feel free to clarify what you were really after and I'll try again. Sorry!

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

For the height meme! My werewolf muse Alessandra is exactly 5’0 feet as a human but in her wolf form she’s 6’2! You can compare with all of your peeps or one! I don’t mind! @dbd-muses

@dbd-muses

OOOO! I love her name so much! Alessandra just rolls off the tongue! Thank you so much for the ask!

I decided to do Ales, both in her Werewolf and Human form, while posed against one human character (Chromeskull) and one of my monstrous characters! Haha

ALSO HIGHKEY the height difference between Werewolf Ales and Fiadh reminds me so much of that photo series of the mama Moose and the wolf over in Alaska duking it out!

The height difference is just one side of the story and these two could definitely intimidate each other into backing off with a snarl and showing their teeth!

[waywardfreewill]

( accuse my muse of cheating meme for cas)

“I see the way you look at Meg I’m not blind Cas I saw you two go Into that Room together “ the werewolf snarled at him between tears .

Confusion flitted across Castiel's features as he tilted his head, feeling the hurt and betrayal rolling off his mate in waves.

"Peter...." he breathed quietly, his own voice cracking.

"I would never, ever do anything to hurt you. I was looking at her in such a way to get what I needed. She had information, and I needed to talk her into giving it to me. I swear to you....there's nothing between me and Meg." Honestly, he didn't see how he could think that he would want anything legitimate from an abomination like Meg.

@untamedlobo

[dearimasu]

all these stupid fucking azumanga daioh memes are gonna get me to watch it. grrrrrrrrrr *snarls teeth and becomes part werewolf, part machine. i can do anything. i'll some beautifu*

[aurumacadicus]

Can i ask for another AU meme ask ? ...

Little Red Riding hood

Omega Tony/Alpha Bucky

With a dash of protective Howard (really like how you write him)

:D

💝

I'm so glad everyone likes my good-dad-Howard!!!!! <3

--

"Now, you be careful," Howard repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

Tony sighed, loud and long, and waved his red cloak at him. "Dad, I'm just going to Aunt Peggy's."

"Just because you're wearing your aunt's cloak doesn't mean there isn't danger in the forest," Howard muttered mulishly. "Besides, it's more than just dangerous people in the forest. You could get gored by a bull elk."

"I'm not going to get gored by a bull elk," Tony said, voice flat. "Mom, tell Dad I'm not going to get gored by a bull elk."

Maria looked up from the baby blanket she was pointedly knitting 'because I suppose I'll only ever have babies to dote on from your friends, how sad I will never have grandchildren of my own, oh woe, has Pepper figured out if it's a boy or a girl yet?' "Your father got gored by a bull elk when he was a young man, Tony."

"Jesus Christ," Tony muttered, clasping the cloak around his shoulders.

Howard opened the basket that Tony was taking to Peggy while she convalesced from a broken ankle. "I'm putting a gun in here."

"For the bull elk?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Howard shrugged. "Eh."

"Dad, nothing is going to happen to me. Aunt Peggy simply wouldn't allow it," Tony sighed, rolling his eyes so hard that his entire body got into the motion.

Howard considered this, then shrugged again, conceding. Even Maria nodded in agreement as she counted her little lace stitches. "If you won't be home by dark, stay with your auntie until tomorrow morning. The creatures that roam at night--"

"Are still pants-shittingly terrified of Aunt Peggy," Tony cut in.

Maria looked up again, gaze sharp, and snarled, "Just stay at Peggy's for the night, Tony. The werewolves that protect the city have sent out a rut warning."

Tony sighed, tipping his head back in frustration, but as much as he argued with his father, he would never pull the same attitude with his mother. "Fine. But all the werewolves I've met have been complete gentlewolves, just so you know."

"Because your father was standing behind you with a gun," Maria muttered to herself. Tony didn't hear her, instead checking the gun Howard had put in the basket was loaded and the safety on before he closed it again and waved at them to begin his walk into the forest to the cottage Peggy hid out in when she was injured.

He was halfway to the cottage when he saw the werewolf off to the side of the path. It was wearing the shiny red collar that all of the werewolves protecting the city did. It had a basket with it. Clearly it was on its way somewhere, too.

"Hello," he said, even though he knew the werewolf had probably heard him coming long before Tony had seen it.

The werewolf gave him an unimpressed stare and asked, "Didn't you hear about the rut warning?"

"I don't think that just because werewolves are werewolves that they have less control of themselves than the average alpha," Tony retorted, scowling. Then he shrugged. "'sides. My dad packed me a gun in case anyone got fresh with me."

"Smart man," the werewolf said, sounding impressed.

"Worry-wort, more like," Tony muttered, scowling a little. "Anyway. I'm just on my way to my aunt's house. If anything happened to me, the attacker would be sorry anyway."

The werewolf picked up its basket in its teeth and fell into step beside him. "Who's your aunt?" he asked around the basket handle.

"Peggy Carter. She always stays out here when she's injured," Tony answered with a shrug. He held out his hand. "Do you want me to take that?"

The werewolf loped forward a few more steps before it finally stood up on its back legs, shifting into its more bipedal form. "I've got it," he said, taking the basket from his mouth. He tilted his head to give Tony some side-eye. "Why are you going to your aunt's?"

"To bring her food," Tony said. He pointed at the cottage as it came into view. "She's not able to get around well right now, so Mom and Dad told me I could pull my weight while I'm home from college and bring her her meals."

The werewolf stopped in his tracks. "...You're taking food to Peggy," he repeated.

Tony blinked up at him, confused. "Yes?"

"But I'm taking food to Peggy," the werewolf said, holding up his own basket.

Tony stared up at him, then dropped his gaze back to the basket. "Huh. That's weird. I wonder why--"

"Tony, your mother keeps haranguing me about finding suitable alphas for you," Peggy shouted out the window, because of course she was waiting for him. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Peggy I'm about to go into rut," the werewolf barked. "Why would you drag me out here in front of an omega when I'm dangerous."

"I figured he'd only be attracted to you that way," Peggy said.

The werewolf clutched a paw to his chest, offended. "I'm a catch. Just because I'm not mated doesn't mean I'm not a catch."

Tony was angry that he found that endearing. "You don't want this meat pie then," he said, hefting his basket.

"You bring me that basket or I'm telling your father he was right to worry about the bull elk," Peggy snapped.

"Bull elk," the werewolf asked, bewildered, as Tony started hustling up to the door.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Tony muttered, scowling, knowing that the werewolf would hear him.

[professor-rye]

The boys are cursed for the ask meme

Ho boy... So you know how sometimes a fic idea comes to you, and you're like, I rather enjoy thinking about this plot bunny, but I am not going to invest my time and energy into this fic for reasons, but then the idea just refuses to leave you alone? Yeah, that's this fic. It's incredibly self indulgent and I dont know if I will ever post it, but the concept is Vampire!Essek helps the Mighty Nein navigate Werewolf!Caleb's curse, because the Dynasty is a lot more open about people with such afflictions, and so he has a wealth of knowledge that they just didn't have access to in the Empire or on the Coast It is my guilty pleasure that I sneak off to write snippets of when the idea has pestered me for long enough. I have thoughts for a very extensive series, but the plan is to just play them like a movie in my head when I can't sleep at night, so who knows if I'll ever post it. But! Have a snip! ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~ ~(‾▿‾)~

He teleported right into the middle of the Xhorhaus foyer, startling Fjord and Beau. Sword and fists were raised until they realized it was him, causing them to immediately sag in relief. The smell of adrenaline filled the air, along with a familiar metallic aroma that Essek knew well. Someone was bleeding.

He turned to Fjord to ask what had happened, but he didn’t have time to get an answer before a strangled snarl and crash sounded from the kitchen. He wasted no time rushing in.

He kept expecting to see flashing ginger fur, but there was none. Caduceus and Veth hovered in the door, and he had to push past them to get in and see what was happening. Beyond them, motion skittered in the far corner of the kitchen, past the pantry edge.

Jester and Yasha were crowded over the trap door to the basement. As Essek finally was able to approach, the snarl returned with a vengeance, loud and vicious, and suddenly both women were bucked up as the trap door bowed. They pushed it back down with all of their might right as the sound of something heavy falling met Essek’s ears. It was quickly followed by more violent crashing as wooden crates were decimated by heavy claws somewhere below.

“Is that— Caleb’s not in there is he?!” Essek gasped, eyes wide as the situation solidified in his mind.

“Ruidus flares always surprise him,” Caduceus said, his voice strained as if he was concentrating hard on something. “Being surprised upsets him and then it just tumbles from there.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt anyone!” Veth insisted shrilly, her eyes wide. “He didn’t mean to!”

“I know, Veth,” Yasha snapped as she doubled down on the trap door, trying to brace her legs on the wall of the pantry. Her foot slipped, a smear of red left behind on the wood paneling. The blood Essek had smelt but not seen.

It wouldn’t work. It was too awkward of an angle. There was no latch. None of this would work the way they were hoping, and what’s worse, it was the worst possible idea they could have come up with.

“He can’t stay there,” Essek said quickly as he began to unbuckle and lift off his mantle. “I’m going to bring him to my tower. If you keep him in that small of a space, he’s going to hurt himself more than he already has.”

“But Essek!” Jester began, clearly about to argue. But before she could, there was another loud crash as the trap door bowed underneath them again. It was followed by a pained yelp and whimper that quickly turned into a growl.

[norcumii]

for the ask meme: Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Werewolf/vampire AU / Sick/injured / Stranded Due to Inclement Weather / Huddling for warmth

For this trope mashup meme.

This was CLEARLY influenced by seananmcguire's Newsflesh series, which was the last zombie related media I interacted with, and I regret NOTHING.

(Meanwhile, much worldbuilding was done by Dogmatix, who I was foolish enough to let near the plunnies again ^_^)

*****

The problem with zombies, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but muse, was that they stopped thinking. Oh, there was some low-level intelligence left in there, but it was mostly focused on consuming the living. Not tactics, for the most part, not unless the bastards were very fresh or in large enough groups, but that also meant that when some brilliant asshole declared “oh, the zombies wouldn’t/couldn’t ever do that,” no one consulted the zombies.

Thus, an early morning patrol in an area that “never saw more than one or two zombies” turned into a clusterfuck retreat. Though ‘patrol’ was rather a gross overstatement for just the two of them taking an idle walk because some days, Rex was too jittery for sleep and too damn self-sacrificing to admit that he missed early morning runs.

There was always enough fog coming in from the river that they should have been fine.

There also shouldn’t have been an entire pack of at least a dozen, dozen and a half zombies in the area. Where the fuckers had even come from was an unpleasant mystery.

“Rex?” Obi-Wan murmured into the man’s ear. “Are you with me?” he asked as if he couldn’t make out the glacially slow beat of his heart.

Rex groaned, head lolling to nestle further in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. He mumbled something that was probably a curse, which left Obi-Wan in the unenviable position of having to close his eyes and take his own steadying breath. Yes, on the one hand he did have an unfairly attractive boyfriend draped across his lap, straddling his hips and feeling like he was several seconds away from some serious necking.

On the other, they were also treed a good thirty feet above a pack of damned zombies, which had already tried seriously munching on Rex, and ‘necking’ could have serious consequences when one of them was an actual vampire.

Speaking of. Obi-Wan shifted in the cautious little jig in an attempt to nudge Rex more to the left. If he could just free up his arm enough, then he could move around while not tossing them off the tree stand or dislodging the thick emergency poncho that was the only thing keeping Rex from turning into a charred crisp. It was not sized for two, but there hadn’t been time to be more careful and drape it over just Rex instead of just plonking it down over the two of them.

“If you refuse to leave base again without your entire damned armor because of this, I’m going to be very put out,” Obi-Wan informed him, getting another incoherent unhappy noise. The armor was good at keeping the soldiers bite free – not that they needed to worry about the zombification business, but it still hurt them and fed the damn undead. It was also effective at keeping the soldiers touch starved and isolated in ways Obi-Wan had difficulty standing.

Another careful shift, and he could just barely dig out one of the small, squishy packs he kept in his jacket for emergencies.

Since his luck was shit, as soon as he pulled it free, the bastard caught on a loose thread, and with his claws he didn’t dare grab too hard for it, and down it tumbled. One of the zombies lunged, snapping at it, and blood exploded all across the remains of the bastard’s face.

Not being too intelligent, the rest of the pack turned on it immediately. Obi-Wan tried to tune out the disgusting carnage, being much more careful on his second attempt. He didn’t have many packets to spare. This one, he managed to juggle up in front of Rex’s face, jostling it a little. “Here. Drink,” he ordered, hoping that would be sufficient. He hated trying to insert the little sippy straws – Anakin had loved juice pouches back as a child, and they’d had similar fiendish straws. Anakin had learned how to insert the little bastards without a problem, but he always asked Obi-Wan to do it for him – because Obi-Wan had never quite managed to master the process, and Anakin was a damned brat.

Bad enough when it was juice.

One way or another, Rex was conscious enough to shift and bite down on the plastic packet. It was always a wonder to watch the soldiers’ regenerative powers at work. As the level of mostly artificial plasma lowered, color drained back into Rex’s face, the nasty burns along truly unfair cheekbones fading as muscle and skin reknit. He could smell the distressing blood-and-raw-meat stench fading, and only then did he start to relax.

When things had started to go to hell around the globe, the powers that be had huddled together around their failing infrastructure and went looking for fantastical solutions to unnatural problems. Obi-Wan could only imagine the levels of exhaustion and terror that had led someone to the conclusion that vampires might be immune to the infections that spread the zombie virus. The sheer potential of that going horribly wrong was at least one movie franchise long, if not several, yet somehow they’d dedicated enough science to make artificial vampires. Oh, technically it wasn’t vampirism, but ‘drank blood, super fast and strong, sunburn to death within minutes, resting vitals dropping down far enough to pass as dead’ was close enough for everyone but petty bureaucrats and pedantic assholes.

Even at the time, Obi-Wan had cynically noted how that meant both a short leash, and a strong vested interest in keeping as many people from going zombie as possible. He’d also noted the infuriating demographics of those who were selected for and survived the process of becoming vampires.

He tried not to think on that much nowadays, because the heightened blood pressure and carnage bothered Rex.

The packet slurped dry in a way that always raised Obi-Wan’s hackles, then Rex blinked up at him a few times in confusion. “You’re fuzzy,” Rex accused.

“That’s called a beard, dear,” Obi-Wan drawled in his most obnoxious tone, pretending he didn’t also have fur sprouting most places, nor the partial muzzle of a transformation enough to give him speed and jumping ability enough to get to one of the safe perches they’d set up weeks ago.

The Powers That Be might have created vampires, but they had also somehow missed the small but stubborn population of entirely naturally occurring werewolves (and affiliated were-creatures) around the world. Some, like Obi-Wan and his pack, were doing their damndest to both keep a low profile and help the poor bastards trying to protect the last of humanity.

Some, like Obi-Wan, might have become unwisely open to certain non-lycanthropes due to unfortunate feelings – not that Obi-Wan was ever about to complain about that.

Either his sarcastic tone or the guttural noises of thwarted zombies sank in, because Rex stiffened and glared down. “Fuck!” he hissed, thighs clenching in a way that Obi-Wan both very much did and very much did not appreciate. His eyes damn well crossed at the wiggle that followed – he could only guess that Rex was going for a weapon that he didn’t have.

“Stop that!” he snarled, letting the wolf out a little more. He needed the muscle and mass to keep Rex in place, longer paws digging into the tree trunk for a slightly more secure hold that was notgroping his idiot boyfriend.

His idiot boyfriend leveled a flat, unimpressed look at him. “Really?” Rex grumped. His eyes flicked down, then back up. “Right now?”

“So sorry, but some of us don’t need to ingest extra blood to get it up, and under less fraught circumstances this might be my idea of a good time.” He tried for a drawl, but it was much more strained than he meant. Oh well, it wasn’t like Rex didn’t know he could be ridiculous. And it really wasn’t intentional.

“Less fraught meaning less zombies?”

“And less daylight.” Obi-Wan didn’t mean for his tone to turn sharp, either, but it did even as he very carefully wrapped his arms tighter around Rex. He made certain not to disturb the poncho, but he, at least, wanted the reassurance. He still wasn’t over the terror of having to go mostly wolf to grab Rex from the pack he was trying to slow down, nor the horror of slinging him over a shoulder to go pelting through the trees. Madcap desperation to find a tree stand before a foggy dawn was not his idea of fun. “Your life is worth a hell of a lot more than an inconvenient hard on.”

Rex huffed a laugh, leaning in to rest his cheek against Obi-Wan’s. “Stop being charming.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to happen approximately never. So sorry.”

For a moment, it was just them – two idiots cuddled together, healthy and alive on a genuinely beautiful, bright Spring morning.

Then a terrible gurgling noise broke the moment, and Rex glanced down at the pack still mingling around the tree, groaning their displeasure at not remembering how to climb. “Was that a zombie?” he asked, as if he damn well didn’t know the truth.

“Shapeshifting burns calories,” Obi-Wan reminded him primly. “As does marathon sprints lugging around idiots like potato sacks.”

“That explains the bruises on my stomach,” he muttered, shifting about to rummage in one of Obi-Wan’s pockets. “Jerky?”

“Please.” All in all, now that matters were calmer, Obi-Wan almost hoped that a rescue would take its sweet time. This was almost nice – all things considered.

~end

[rjalker]

[ID: The meme of a werewolf prop snarling at the camera while a dog sits next to it with its tongue hanging out.

The werewolf is labeled, "When Republicans put kids in cages and criminalize and dehumanize asylum seekers"

The dog is labeled, "When Democrats put kids in cages and criminialize and dehumanize asylum seekers".

End ID.]

They really meant it when they said they'd be out at brunch if Trump hadn't gotten elected didn't they.

why did everyone stop talking about the human rights violations at the borders as soon as it was a Democrat in charge.

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Werewolf: The Apocalypse "Kinfolk: Unsung Heroes" Introduction & Ch.1

"I have normal human fears and frailties, despite my faith."

"I’m terrified I won’t be there when they need me, that I won’t be able to give fully of myself to save them when the time comes. And the price of my failure, for them, would be too high."

"It was like nothing else mattered, nothing else could fill my eyes like the sight of him."

"Now, of course, I realize I was in shock at the time clammy skin, disorientation, that sort of thing."

"That night misted over my senses; even now, it seems more like a vivid dream than anything else."

"I had to watch. I couldn’t turn away."

"That night, I saw I had to protect him. He needed me, and it’s just as simple as that."

"Let’s just say what I know has come in handy."

"The best folks give the most of whatever they can."

"Think about it — would you like to go through childbirth every nine months from age 14 to 50?"

"We’re human beings, dammit!"

"I’ll always do anything I can to help, even if I’m royally pissed; I don’t expect thanks or money, either. But it would be nice to get some respect."

"I'm not alone in saying that I hate being patronized."

"Give an inch, they’ll take a mile" is what some of them think about us."

"The rhetoric a lot of them use sounds like the same crap bigots give when trying to “justify” why women and minorities shouldn’t have equal rights."

"Just once, I’d like to feel like an equal, a partner in all this."

"Ever think about how hard things would be without us?"

"I see by your scowl that doesn’t satisfy you."

"Think of it as normal family responsibilities, magnified a thousand times."

"It’s practically medieval!"

"I mean, it looks like such fun to turn into a wolf."

"There are connections like you wouldn’t believe. Completely outside the law, these people can get dirt on the opposition, perform b&e without leaving a trace and provide muscle no other boss can beat. All they ask is some capital, some boltholes and a little legal cover. Sweetest deal in the world!"

"What do I think about it? Imagine what it’d be like for someone to call you and say you’d missed out on a million dollars because you got one wrong number on the lottery ticket."

"Some are too caught up in the things of humans —chasing after money to have what advertisers insist they can’t do without, living their soap-opera lives and not seeing what the world is really all about. I pity them."

"There is sweeter revenge than death."

"I laugh with joy thinking how your heart will burst should you ever have to face him in battle."

"It’s a great honor to be who I am, who we are. But it’s scary, too."

"Families can quarrel, snarl and cut one another to the quick, but in times of trouble, they’ll stick together."

"God, Allah, Gaia, the Great Spirit or whoever gave us this job, so we have to do the best we can with it."

"Blood also fetters our lives in hatred as well as love, I’m afraid to say."

"I’m not saying this is a fact, but if she was abused, it might explain some things."

"I’m sorry, I can’t quite imagine a moment of sensual passion with someone I don’t love, much less hardly know!"

"In other words, it’s the connections that’re vital, not the money or the mileage."

"Many have wealth, but not all; lineage, not money, is most important."

"That’s a heavy price to pay in a harsh world."

"Self-sacrifice is also important."

"Sacrifice comes in terms of emotional costs, too."

"It’d be pretty stupid for me to become a gun-toting mercenary, for example."

"To put a positive spin on all this, I guess I’d say it’s nice to be needed."

"I admit I don’t really understand what it is or when it’ll be, but many’s the Irish tale where a small oversight wreaked terrible disaster."

"So I got online and made a few phone calls and tried to get the “truth” in as many forms as I could."

"The word “family” has come to mean a lot more things than the 1950s concept of mommy, daddy and two perfect children."

"Raising children is no bed of roses, either."

"Kids love to test their parents and see just how far they can push and still get away with it."

"There’s no way this could be easy."

"Some days, I have to bite my tongue, and that does get old."

"I was just too stupid and blind to see it."

"I always felt like I was split, alone, part of something I couldn’t name."

"Listen, you have no idea what it’s like to watch someone you love slowly lose her mind."

"There are some, well, bimbos."

"You know, the ones that like to control CEOs and topple careers."

"Here, try a piece of this chicken gizzard. I get ’em real cheap down at the butcher shop. No one else seems to want these extra parts. I grill ’em with a little barbecue sauce and honey mustard. Delicious! Thanksgiving’s always the best time, though. Then there’s turkey necks for the takin’!"

"Our families are pretty big, and we figure even the most distant cousin or friend of a friend’s part of the group."

"I’m sure you know, working with people all the time, how far thanks and a friendly smile go when you’re dead on your feet. It’s like the sun’s come out on a cloudy day."

"I mean, some of that stuff is long outdated!"

"It’s more a matter of belief and pureness of spirit, if you ask me."

"The Network also has a lot of splinter groups that organize among youth, educators, environmentalists and so on."

"The Network also has a lot of splinter groups that organize among youth, educators, environmentalists and so on."

"We’re steadfast and steady, yet vibrant and alive, warriors, artists, writers, musicians beyond compare."

"I don’t know if we can save them, but we won’t give up."

"To be tested and accepted by the greatest warriors in the world — no greater honor can we ask for."

"Think of us as the tiny little parts that hold a machine together. Maybe it could function without us, but not without a lot of wear and tear on the system. You get my drift."

"If leader seems weak, I test him. He shows strength, I stop."

"They’re the ones who are causing all the problems by rebelling against the people in charge. They need to settle down and just be content with what they’ve got, if you want my opinion."

"Why should I worry? It’s a clear day. Traffic’s light, but walking’s fine. You get to see where you’re going. I’ll hit a little town ’fore dark and trade a song or story for some food and a piece of floor."

"Revolutions are intolerable and inexcusable."

"The aristocracy attained their positions for a reason, for only the most worthy were chosen to lead, after all. If the

lower classes overthrow the aristocrats, anarchy is the sure result. One need only look at history; Can the Russians truly say their lot improved after they murdered the Romanovs?"

"History has always been a beloved subject to me."

"I pity those souls, displaced by fortune, who are ignorant of their heritage. How can one know who he is without knowing where he comes from? A man — or woman — is the sum of all who came before."

"Money is not the issue; many great families lost their fortunes, yet retain their nobility."

"It’s a poor teacher who doesn’t learn from her student; in this way, the knowledge of both increases."

"Dreams, of course, are the pathways of our souls; here rest our secret desires, fears and hopes."

"You doubt me. You don’t speak against me, but I can see your heart is dubious."

"There’s no greater glory than to serve the destiny of the universe."

"The lacerations looked exactly like the work of sharp teeth, deep into his flesh."

"I won’t go s’far as to say there’s undying loyalty, but we do have a lot of respect for each other."

"Were I as capable as my ancestors, I’d kill you now and never spare a second thought."

"No atonement can replace those lost children."

"Thus far, we have been lucky, but it’s just a matter of time before someone we don’t want sneaks in. It’s not that I want to close ranks by any means; I just wish we paid a little closer attention to who came in from the cold."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you think we’re a dime a dozen. I’d like to believe we’re a little more special than most."

"We’ve built too much for a rotten apple to spoil it all."

"I don’t believe this guy; it seems almost too perfect to be true!"

[darkangel0410]

Turcotte/Zegras, werewolf au

Sorry it took a little bit, anon! Enjoy!

*

Trevor meets Alex for the first time at one of the evaluation camps for the national team's development program.

He feels it when Alex steps onto the ice: his wolf presses against his skin, eager in a way he doesn't ever remember being before, and when he looks over his shoulder his eyes meet Alex's and almost before he realizes what he's doing, Trevor's baring his teeth and growling at him.

Alex growls back, vicious in a way that makes desire pool in Trevor's stomach, and it's not even a minute later that they're fighting: clawing and biting each other until there's blood all over both of them and the ice.

The coaches eventually pull them apart and drag them off to separate rooms to calm down; once Trevor's not growling any more, the coach tells him to keep any courting shit off the ice and away from practice and games.

It's said with some amusement but also enough of a snarl to the words that Trevor knows he means it.

Trevor goes to the showers and tries to pretend when he jerks off that he's not thinking about Alex.

*

Thanks for asking! (WIP meme)

[skrltwtch]

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

[arcxnumvitae]

Modern monsters.

Vampire: Black leather jackets and sunglasses, night owl, blood-red lipstick and black eye shadow, deep kisses, mysterious,  is a picky eater, intelligent and witty, buys old stuff for “the aesthetic”, wants to see the world, is a wine-person, can do a perfect snarl, eye-rolls at stupid people.

Werewolf: Long and colourfull nails, loves puppies, eat a lot of meat, playful, is athletic, protec and attac, can’t do math, is sweet and lovable, hoodies and running shoes,  loves to cuttle, always knows when the next full moon is.

Siren: Coloured hair, wears skirts and dresses, swims at night, shiny highlighter, doesn’t wear shoes, seduces people with her songs, eyes as deep as the ocean, shallow kisses, laughs at her own jokes, sings in the shower, likes the stars, collect crystals and seashells.

Zombie: Wears statement t-shirts, mixes food together, can’t do sports to save her life, knows all the memes, a fangirl TM, would lose her head if it weren’t attached to her body, pillow-forts and blankets, is very lazy.

Witch: Wears all black, magical symbols as tattoos, carries her potions in water-bottles, her house is full of plants, has a pet bird, loves the outdoors, grows her own greens, vegetarian, wears hats, scientific, cat-person.

Ghost: Is shy, cold colours, clothes that flow in the wind, sensitive, cries a lot, mostly stays at home, owns an ouija-board, want everyone to get along, pale, soft lipgloss, is always freezing, walks lightly, doodles on everything, stares through people, remember embarrassing things too often.

[joeys-piano]

geralt/jaskier for the who's who ship meme!

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter

I want Geralt to be the werewolf simply because the thought of Jasker as a hunter is sick and badass. Imagine Jaskier walking through the woods with his lute, strumming a little song and whistling to the moon. Accompanying him is a fierce gray wolf and Jaskier is talking to it while it snarls and grunts back in reply. When the two encounter some insidious fiend in the heart of those woods, Jaskier pulls out a sword from the neck of his lute and and screams. To him, he sounds like a warrior. To Geralt and his sensitive ears, Jaskier sounds like surrender.

The two dance and go with those monster. With Geralt pinning the monster’s legs with his powerful jaws, summoning magic from beneath his paws and binding the creature so that Jaskier can whoosh in and slay the head off.

Or something like that.

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman

When Geralt was fishing for a Jinn in that river and he snagged something heavy in his fishing net, he drew it up and flopping on the river bank was a merman. A merman with blue, airy eyes and a voice that sounds like a pie stuffed with filling. Until the merman flounders about and tries to persuade Geralt that he isn’t tasty at all. Jaskier believes that he was fished to be eaten! He’s pulling every trick in the book to convince Geralt that eating him is the last thing you want to do.

He spins stories of how great warriors and mages have fallen to their deaths after eating the meat of a mer. How his meat is very toxic and that Geralt would die if he so much as tastes it. Very dramatic. Geralt doesn’t buy the bullshit and tosses Jaskier back into the river. Well now, he has a very pissed-off mer that couldn’t believed it worked and is annoyed that there wasn’t a grandiose foray for struggle. Now he’s pestering Geralt if he isn’t appetizing enough.

Geralt takes one look at him, takes one good look at Jaskier, and says that his flesh probably tastes like the forgotten fish at the end of a barrel. That riles Jaskier’s flippers. Like how dare this witcher come and fish him out of a river, throw him back into the water, insult him like this, and just walk away.

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar

Since Geralt is a witcher, I see nothing wrong with him being a witch. He knows some magic, enough to get by and to use in combat. He appears knowledgeable about plants and potions. I can imagine Jaskier as an eccentric canary that nuzzles against Geralt’s cheek and screeches wonderful music like an alarm clock.

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict

I feel like baristas have a charm to them. They’re some of the funnest people to talk to and they have good people-energy and vibes. I think that’s perfect for Geralt. He works the graveyard shift. The only people he encounters at that time are those needing caffeine for more than just a wake-up call and usually, people aren’t too chatty and keep to themselves. It’s how he keeps meeting this theatre student at God knows when and Jaskier can barely make-out the menu through his shaggy hair. He just grunts and Geralt understands what he needs.

Geralt doesn’t ask too many questions. He doesn’t ask why Jaskier would want a vanilla latte with 10 shots of expresso. I mean, he’s not here to judge. But seriously, that could kill a man. And somehow, Jaskier is able to drink this and survive somehow. Such is the mystery of theatre students.

who’s the professor and who’s the TA

Geralt is the black-smithing professor at an engineering school and Jaskier is the whimsical TA that busts out the weaponry Geralt has made throughout the years. He tells stories to the students about how Geralt slayed the vending machine because it short-changed him and Geralt tells him to be quiet and sit down because if another rumor starts up again….it’s not going to look good.

Jaskier whispers for Geralt to play along. He’s cultivating a story of badassery for Geralt, but the man has no desires for more adventures in this lifetime.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)

Geralt is the knight and Jaskier is the prince. I don’t have a whimsical story for this.

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent

During Parent-Teacher Night at school, Jaskier is on his way back from getting a cup of coffee when he sees Ciri…..and nearly spits out his cup of coffee. Towering behind the sweet girl is a chisel of a man and Jaskier stares into his mug as he approaches. Voice light, airy, and cracking as he greets Ciri and asks if the man standing behind her is her guardian. It is and the name’s Geralt. The name rolls like an A+ across Jaskier’s tongue when he lifts his eyes from his mug of coffee and shakes Geralt’s hand. Despite the hardened and warrior-esque vibe exuding from him, Geralt’s handshake is surprisingly gentle. His hands are soft, warm, and inviting.

Jaskier lingers for a little bit before letting go. He gestures with his head that his classroom is open and that he’ll love to talk about how Ciri’s doing with Geralt. And when Geralt speaks, it’s as if no other noise exists in the hallway. All Jaskier hears is the roll of the ocean and of stars when Geralt says he’d love that. Holding Ciri’s hand, Geralt and her walk into the classroom. Jaskier realizes he’s still thirsty, despite drinking all of his coffee. No, he isn’t thirsty. His throat is parched and the only way he can satisfy that is by talking to Geralt instead of staring at him.

who’s the writer and who’s the editor

Geralt is the editor and Jaskier is the writer. No, Geralt is hounding deadlines and Jaskier is writing by the seat of his pants.

[cxrsedsouls]

Modern monsters.

Vampire: Black leather jackets and sunglasses, night owl, blood-red lipstick and black eye shadow, deep kisses, mysterious,  is a picky eater, intelligent and witty, buys old stuff for “the aesthetic”, wants to see the world, is a wine-person, can do a perfect snarl, eye-rolls at stupid people.

Werewolf: Long and colourfull nails, loves puppies, eat a lot of meat, playful, is athletic, protec and attac, can’t do math, is sweet and lovable, hoodies and running shoes,  loves to cuttle, always knows when the next full moon is.

Siren: Coloured hair, wears skirts and dresses, swims at night, shiny highlighter, doesn’t wear shoes, seduces people with her songs, eyes as deep as the ocean, shallow kisses, laughs at her own jokes, sings in the shower, likes the stars, collect crystals and seashells.

Zombie: Wears statement t-shirts, mixes food together, can’t do sports to save her life, knows all the memes, a fangirl TM, would lose her head if it weren’t attached to her body, pillow-forts and blankets, is very lazy.

Witch: Wears all black, magical symbols as tattoos, carries her potions in water-bottles, her house is full of plants, has a pet bird, loves the outdoors, grows her own greens, vegetarian, wears hats, scientific, cat-person.

Ghost: Is shy, cold colours, clothes that flow in the wind, sensitive, cries a lot, mostly stays at home, owns an ouija-board, want everyone to get along, pale, soft lipgloss, is always freezing, walks lightly, doodles on everything, stares through people, remember embarrassing things too often.