#wolves and dog packs are light blue

[liliallowed]

hunter au sketches I made during class

[a-twistedheartslonging]

Nonhuman AU Jack.

Wolf beastmen are naturally bigger than their cousin, the dog beastmen.

Has black claws.

His fur is so freaking fluffy and he has so much of it. Arms, legs chest, underarms, floof happy trail, above his tail. It's perfect for shoving your face in. Be careful not to get it in your mouth.

Said fur is something he has a lot of and it’s thick. As a result, he has some problems with overheating, more so in the summer. Till his winter coat shades and… it's a lot and gets everywhere. It's around that time he’ll need to be taken outside a few times and given a good brushing. That floof will go everywhere and the local bird will wait nearby to take that floof going around for their nests. It's good quality nesting stuff and the birds want it. 

A wolf pup’s eyes are blue at birth. Their eyes turn yellow by the time they are eight months old. This was also the case for Jack when he was a baby.

Is fully capable of crunching bones with his jaw and there's a local butcher back home that he and his family like to get those along with meat.

Like a regular wolf, Jack has a light-reflecting layer on his eyes, also known as tapetum lucidum and it makes his eyes glow in the dark and he also has good night vision.

I found out ravens often follow wolves to grab leftovers from the hunt—and to tease the wolves. They play with the wolves by diving at them and then speeding away or pecking their tails to try to get the wolves to chase them. Imagine Crowley liking to bother Jack...until Owl Rook shows up cuz owls also have some beef with corvids.

“Wolves howl to contact separated members of their group, to rally the group before hunting, or to warn rival wolf packs to keep away. Lone wolves will howl to attract mates or just because they are alone.” Kinda funny if certain beasties like him howl when they want to hang with their homies. You end up hearing random howling during a normal school day. Also, him howling because he's trying to attract his mate (you) and just looking at you expectedly after.

He tries to seem cold and distant at first but that doesn't last too long, still a tsundere about things though. The others keep pointing out how he helps you out more than he does his other friends. Well, obviously it's because the human needs more help things being weak and all…totally no other reasons.

You know those lines about how he messed up making that flower crown his sister wanted and how she ended up crying? And then he smooshed all those macaroons during the cooking thing? Yeah, he’s cononly bad with delicate things and even more so with those claws in the nonhuman au, he asks for your help with delicate things and offers to help you with other things in return. Lifting heavy things, reaching, scaring off other guys. Though he already does all that without even being asked. He also likes comparing your hands but gets annoyed at you calling his paw pads toe beans. He has mostly human hands, he just has the patting on his fingertips along with the pad on his palm...and he has claws....and fur on the top part of his hand....yeah mostly human hands.....

One time he got a tail sprang because being around you makes his tail go nuts. The others teased the hell out of him for it.

Wants you two to do things together and convinced you to try going for runs with him, unfortunately, you couldn't keep up with his big wolfie self. But when you were about to mention it he suddenly picked you up and carried you for the rest of the run saying something about adding this to his routine to make him stronger. It does become a part of his morning running routine.

A wolf pack may contain just two or three animals, or it may be 10 times as large. Once you guys become friends he decides the two of you are your own little pack and expects you to know that.

The two of you are around each other…a lot and not just because you guys share classes. However, he does insist on sitting next to you for each class. Wolves are pack animals after all. Always staying close. Walking you back to your dorm, making sure you have lunch together, and even taking food from his plate to add onto yours, kinda hovers around you, and wants you to either join his club or hang out where it's happening.

I hope you're prepared for wolf kisses once you're together. Now regular wolves do it for a few reasons. To show affection, say hello, to show respect, to see if you are sick, to see if you've eaten anything good. Wolfs with human handlers will even do it to them and they have to keep their lips shut really tied or else they’ll get sloppily frenched. Jack is gonna have some deep wet kisses, and straight up lick your teeth. And your face…and your neck…and…

He’s totally going to try grooming you the wolf way and get growly if you push his face away.

You will be scented often. When he sees you in the morning, before you leave, after a shower, after he smells someone else on you.

Keep a lint roller handy cuz of this guy.

When you are alone he’s a lot more affectionate and especially loves getting scritches on his ears, chest, and above his tail. You're the only person he will let rub his tummy in his full wolf form. You might even catch him making wolfie noises when you find a good spot to scratch. 

He really likes it when you help him with his grooming, and with his kind of fur, he needs it often.

With wolf courting he will do with you what males do with females regardless if you're a guy, gal, or nonbinary pal. 

 With regular wolfs it usually involves the male following the female around and the female allowing him to approach her. They may vocalize, scent mark, and chase each other around. They may also touch noses, lick muzzles, mouth each other, bump bodies, groom, and nibble coats, the male may bow to the female, toss and tilt his head, and walk and sleep close together.

So, you not pushing him away is something he’ll take as you be cool with it. Tests things out with some nuzzles and a gentle nip or two. Some (cute) wolf noises, help you with your grooming, be it straightening out your clothes or even giving a lick. Will bump noses with you and gently bump your body with his. Will walk with you any chance you get and will want to have sleepovers more often.

Talk of wolf mating habits and Jack's junk below.

For wolfs mating season can be anywhere from January to April with the female having only five to seven days of estrus. During this time, the pair may move out of the pack temporarily to prevent interruption from other pack members. Since your human “mating season” is pretty much any time you ovulate if you can but really the whole thing that gets male animals when it comes to seasons is that they smell that their mate is excited/fertile, so anytime he smells you being aroused it's going to have him react. So, if he knows you're cool, with it he’s to want to get you away from everyone and take care of you. 

However, with Jack, he will likely want to hold off on sex and want to date for a long while, build trust, and make sure you are right for each other. He takes dating and relationships very seriously. He only wants to have one mate for his whole life after all. Anyways, once he does deem himself ready and knows that you are too he’ll want to work his way up to full-on sex starting with oral, using hands, and whatnot.

He really likes giving oral, especially because of the taste and scent. Male wolves will smell the genital region to determine readiness to mate, tongue flicking in and out, and testing the air for traces of sex hormones and only stop if their mate growls and snaps their jaws at them.

A kind of funny/cute thing wolves do right before mating is act happy by nuzzling and whipping tails in each other's faces. Just all happy about mating I guess. I mean, Jack probably has his tail going already when you're making out or having actual sex. Ask him if he wants a blowjob then his face is all serious but flushed and his tail is going back and forth. Pretty darn cute I must say.

Yes, his dick is big, and yes, he has a knot. You'll be stuck together for about half an hour before it deflates, and he can pull out.

Kinda gross but he likes to clean your hole out with his tongue after mating.

[taxidermycanine]

5 WAYS TO HELP WITH SPECIES DYSPHORIA AS A THERIAN (with and without gear)

- please note that most of these are focused mainly on being a wolf therian, but i'll try my best to make it more inclusive to others.

1 •

my personal favorite, wolf quest! this one does cost money, so this isn't for those who don't have the money/don't already have the game. it really helps me feel more connected to who i am. you find a mate, raise pups, hunt prey, defend your den and pack from predators, and there's even a multiplayer option for you to play with your friends. :o)

(and yes, you can customize what your wolf looks like. all NPC wolves in the game have different personalities for immersion, including you, your pups, and your mate)

please note that the game is still in development! they plan to add a saga where you can live constantly with your pack and continue with new generations each year (and no, you don't HAVE to pass away). you can toggle whether your mate dies or not, if you play on easy you can avoid your pups getting sick by reloading saves if you're sensitive to that, there are constantly new updates being brought out that make the game feel more realistic each time and the development team are incredibly sweet. if you have the money i highly recommend this game, wolf therian or otherwise.

2 •

documentaries. a wonderful way to not only feel more connected to your theriotype(s), but to also learn more information about them! my favorite thing to do when i'm stressed is to wrap myself in warm blankets, turn off my lights and put on a documentary to calm myself down. bonus points if you DO have gear to wear during this, if not that's okay too.

i also like to have my plush friends join me so i can act like they're my pack :o) it's a nice way to feel less lonely as i watch. this also works if you're a domestic cat therian, have your plushies be your clouder! no matter what animal you are though, never feel less valid for wanting your stuffies with you during this. it doesn't matter if your theriotype isn't a social animal in the wild.

if you're an aquatic therian of some kind, i think a good idea would be taking your phone in the bathroom with you and setting it up outside of the tub to watch whilst you're in the water! (or shower if you don't have one, you can also use a kiddie pool outside in the warmer months). PLEASE remember to be safe during this though, if you worry about getting your phone wet then instead find some blue blankets and pretend it's the ocean!

3 •

going outside to where your theriotype resides in naturally. of course this won't be for everyone, since a lot of the time trips can end up being quite costly. something that i like to do is go to my local forest whenever i have the time to do so! i find it refreshing to sit by the stream and play in the water with my mate.

if you're a domestic dog therian, ask to go on a walk around the neighborhood with your friend! (or hell, go by yourself if it's safe enough, you're a free dog, you can do what you want). even as a wild animal i still enjoy this, so don't feel ashamed if you're ALSO a wild animal who wants to do things that domestic dogs do. it doesn't make you any less undomesticated.

if you're an animal that's used to deserts, i recommend going to where you can access sand (e.g. a sandbox at a playground, asking for a small sand tray to play in as a gift, a day out to the beach if you live near one). i also find that dried dirt that's very damaged can feel sort of similar to sand!

if you can't go outside for whatever reason, then there's always ways to make your bedroom feel similar to where you would be more comfortable. if your theriotype lives in dens like caves and underneath trees, make a blanket fort and pretend it's your home! if your theriotype rests in a burrow, make a tunnel with some blankets from the top of your bed all the way down to under it (if that doesn't work, pretend that anything below your bed is underground, and anything above your bed is the surface).

4 •

dressing in clothes that are the same color as your theriotype. i have this fluffy hat with ears that feels very affirming for my species dysphoria, paired with my favorite dark sweaters, warm pants and my tail. if you don't have any gear, don't worry! you don't need to have any to complete an outfit. sometimes clothing textures can also be affirming. for example if you have smooth skin like a whale, a bathing suit can feel similar to blubber. (if you have gender dysphoria, i recommend either full body bathing suits, or wearing pants on top of it and a jacket to help yourself feel more affirmed). i wear fluffy clothes because my fur is fluffy :o) it helps me, personally, but this might not be the same for everyone!

5 •

studying the behavior of your theriotype and trying your best to imitate it to the best of your abilities with the body you have. this can be as simple as copying how they act around each other as a family (for example wolves who are mates will rest their chins on each other to display affection), and as difficult as trying to vocalize what sounds your theriotype makes.

if you wanted to try the latter, i recommend looking at vocal exercises online before as a lot of creature sounds can and will strain your voice, i promise you that warming up your chords will not only help you sound clearer, it'll ensure that it won't take as much effort to do!

[fyeahnix]

While the Enforcers who patrol Zaun are paid off and have been told to not bother the locals, the few of them who are brave enough venture into the Lanes to lounge around, sometimes while on duty. The most foolhardy of them will mosey into Babette's brothel for a session.

The workers hate them. But money is money.

Every blue moon some too-green Enforcer will try to press their luck on getting away with mistreating the workers or attempting (sometimes succeeding) to leave without paying. The workers will, of course, complain to Babette about it. The girls, especially, will complain to Sevika.

Most Enforcers know to never get complaints brought up to Sevika, lest they jeopardize the deal Silco has in place with the sheriff.

"So, you're the pig I've been hearing about."

The enforcer whipped his head around to catch Sevika's pointed glare. He was young, dark-haired, and attempting in vain to grow facial hair. Not too unattractive for anyone else seemingly under the age of 23. He reeked of alcohol and sweaty sex and Sevika scrunched her nose at that. The cigarette in his mouth clung on for dear life as he sputtered a response.

"Fuck did you say?"

He missed matching Sevika's height by two inches, but even with his chest puffed out, he severely lacked the muscle mass to back up the bass in his voice. A nonthreat. Probably a kid on his fourth patrol in the Undercity. Sevika had stumbled into enforcers like him before. All annoying little shitheels who thought they ran the place because of a shiny badge.

Sevika kept her composure and her arms—her weapons–hidden under her poncho. "I think you heard me loud and clear. Or did you forget where you were?"

He looked around at the glowing neon and smoke-filled air of Zaun's red-light district. Then sized Sevika up. A haughty smirk painted his chapped lips next.

"The backwoods, clearly. Don't know why anyone bothers coming here. Just a bunch of cheap whores and booze."

"And yet... You're a repeat customer."

The enforcer narrows his eyes. "Where'd you get that from?"

Sevika leaned in. "Got eyes and ears everywhere. Also heard you didn't bother paying for a service."

His lip twitched, only somewhat regaining his composure as he flicked his cigarette to the pavement. "Well. Service wasn't satisfactory."

Sevika chuckled. "That so?"

The enforcer reached for his weapon when she moved. "You touch me, and I'll have an entire squad on your ass. Back. Up."

The chuckle morphed into a full laugh. "I don't see any 'backup' around. Do you?"

Sure enough, he scanned his surroundings. No one around except the supposed "cheap whores" and peddlers at the end of the block, curious but keeping their noses out of their business.

"Your superiors must be hazin' you. What were they thinking, sending a little man like you around to do their patrolling for them?" He steeled his jaw as Sevika continued. "Let me tell you something.

"Ever seen a wolf? They're apex predators. Strong alone, sure, but even more deadly in a pack. There's power in numbers and that pack allows them to take down prey many times their own size. But what happens when a lone wolf encounters a farmer and his flock of sheep?

"It gets bold, brazen. Stupid. The sheep disappear one by one. And the wolf keeps showing up. That is... until the farmer gets a deterrent, a guard dog. But that wolf? It wants those sheep, because they should be easy prey, right? So, it brings more wolves, hoping the size of the pack will scare the dog away."

Sevika leaned in again.

"But no matter how many fuckin' wolves show up, that dog isn't backing down."

The enforcer's grip on his weapon intensified so much, his veins popped. He swallowed.

"If I see you down here again, I'll make sure you never make it back topside for your 'pack.' Now. Get the fuck outta here."

The junior enforcer gritted his teeth before he snarled and stomped away.

taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @lesbeaniegreenie @sexysapphicshopowner

[ryndicate]

The Light of No Moon ⨳ Michael Kaiser

This man has too much favor from the gods, you realize with terror. You should never have come here.

notes: this took me way too long but i do not have to tell you how perfect it is that Michael Kaiser is playing the role of Narcissus??

event: for @dark-mnjiro ‘s Taste of Divine Rush collab. My absolute bad for posting it so late, but aha! Now I get to have a post that says ~happy birthday to you~ now forever on my blog to last through the ages. 

warnings: starts soft and whimsical ends kinda dark and spooky ish. At least for me. Implied noncon, might add to this another time! I never say his name but i describe him! its definitely him~

Blog Rules/DNI

You’d stumbled across the man on accident, really. Some of the elder women had asked you to climb the mountain path to dig up some roots for a meal they were planning for the village. Not one to make those older than you do unnecessary work, you’d found your way to the footpaths, but after straying away in search of the roots you’d gotten lost. 

The sun was beginning to set, and you had been growing more worried; you’d never been out of the village past dark without your brothers or uncle before. The summer was just beginning, and the pack animals were flourishing this year. You were easy prey for young wolves or bears. You had almost lost hope when you saw him, breaking through the trees—and there you see him.

Maybe it’s because you’re already so frightened, but to you, you’ve never seen a man whose presence is more calming than his. Your heart settles immediately. He sits serenely, in pure quiet, gazing into the water. No part of him moves as you approach, nothing to show that he knows you’re there.

“Hello?” you call to him softly, but he gives no sign of hearing you, and with a fresh trickle of worry you wonder if he might be deaf. If you are not safe out here, then neither is he. You consider calling into the woods, because surely a man like him wasn’t left to his own? But after a long clear cry of a wolf in the distance, you decide it unwise.

You circle the man, calling to him once more, but again he doesn’t answer and so you sit by his side, and peer closely at his face as the full moon begins to shine down on you both. Suddenly your breath feels stuck in your throat.

His face is more beautiful than any woman’s in your village, more handsome than any of the hunter’s. His skin is sunkissed and smooth, looking as soft as a flower petal. You lean closer to see thick lashes framing eyes just as blue as the cool water at your feet, brighter than the starlight beginning to spread across the sky. You resist a deep urge to thread your finger through his hair, an odd yet entrancing honey color with berry blue streaks. You’ve seen reds, even herbal green dyes on your spiritual elders, but never a color as this. It’s as if Aphrodite herself had created the lover of her dreams from the sun and the sky, and somehow here he sits in wait for her, in blissful ease of his sole purpose to be admired.

With nothing else to do, and no desire to be once again lost in the woods, you sit with him. But despite his obvious contentment for quietude, you feel unrest, and so you speak to him. All through the night, it’s as if you do not exist. You tell him things you never thought you’d get to say to anyone; you tell him all the things of him you find lovely in the words that you know, knowing full well he’s probably heard more eloquent phrase in both song and epic—but you tell him nonetheless, and he does naught but sit, because you cannot claim to know if he listens.

The stars glitter in full, brighter, expanding, until they begin to dim and then fade and only then do you hear the howls of creatures you don’t fear: the hunting dogs of home. You scramble to your feet and give the handsome stranger one last glance before running through the trees towards the clamoring cries that lead you towards home. 

It’s a long time before you manage to sneak out of the village again. Uncle didn’t mind so much, but your brothers barely let you out of their sight. It wasn’t until the half moon, the night all the men in village retired to their beds early in preparation for a competitive hunt, that you managed to to evade their protective gazes. You were tearing through the woods at once, eager and apprehensive, half-convinced the beautiful man was something you imagined that night lost in the woods. Surely a man like him is couldn’t possibly exist? But as you break through the trees to the familiar little pond, all your musings are left to dust.

It seems as if he hasn’t moved even a breath, just as you left him. You return to his side as if you belong there and regale his wall of silence with every tale of your past fortnight that you can think of. How the women brought you berries and cream the morning you made your way home, ridden with guilt for sending you into the mountains alone. You tell him of the shell bracelet your uncle bought you at the gypsy market, and stories of the ocean that the travelers had told him. You even tell him of the night Meguru put a spider's nest into Yoichi’s bed and the fight that followed—you don’t think you’ve ever seen your brothers so angry with each other. Your favorite dinners, the constellations you were learning, how frustrating the textile patterns are that you’re trying to perfect for the end summer markets; you tell him of every little mundane thing in your small village life, things he’s probably never had to deal with. You talk until there’s nothing left to talk about, and then you stare. You stare until you start to feel cold and realize the sun in beginning to set once more and scramble to your feet. If you don’t make it home before your brothers then who knows when you’ll be able to come back?

You sprint through the trees, the path towards home becoming more familiar as your wistfulness to go back grows. Each day that passes is filled with apprehension that one day he’ll be gone before you can look at him one last time. But each day you manage to go see him assauges that fear, now drifting further and further from your mind as the village settles and everyone and your brothers seem to forget the night you went missing. It gets easier slipping from your home both day and night to disappear into the woods.

Tonight you bring a lantern with you, no moon to light your way and the stars covered by cloud. The forest seems colder and every cracked twig makes you want to jump, in fear that an animal is tracking your step. But the festering, obsessive desire to see his face again consumes you and drives you forward, until you break through the trees—and you stop dead.

There’s no one sitting by the pool of water.

You nearly drop the lantern in upset and dash forward, looking back and forth frantically as a thick bubble of panic swells up in your chest. He’s gone? Will you ever get to see that beautiful face again? Something akin to grief breaks through you like a flood that you can’t even begin to scold yourself for. It truly feels as if you’ve lost something precious. Your beautiful little secret in the woods. For the past moon, your every thought has revolved around him and now he’s suddenly torn from your grasp. How are you supposed to just…go back to the way things were.

“Is that you?”

Your whole body lurches away from the sound as a voice trills up behind you. You can’t explain why you drop the lantern and run, you can’t explain why you hide among the trees any more than you could explain why you don’t just go home. Your pulse thunders in your ears, scratchy bark against your arms as you try you settle your heart and listen. Maybe you imagined the voice? Even now the memory of it is already fading, you can’t recall if it had come from a man or a woman, you simply had fled. 

It rings out again, and you inhale sharply. Man, it’s definitely man.

“I can hear you, I know you’ve been watching me. I understand, little one—now won’t you come out? I must repay you for your company.”

You would think for a man who spends his existence staring silently into a pool of water would have a voice as terrifying as he is lovely, and in many ways you’re right, but it’s not quite as you thought. He shouldn’t sound so beautiful. His voice should be ragged and hoarse, not kitten soft; it should be rasping and choked, not warm and syrupy. But for all its sweetness, something unsavory makes you want to run and run and never stop.

But he’s so very close. He’s right behind the tree you hidden yourself behind. He’s already found you and yet he waits. Calm. Sure of himself.

This man has too much favor from the gods, you realize with terror. You should never have come here. 

Swallowing back a whimper, you peek around the tree to see his darkened silhouette. You’ve spent so long watching him that you don’t need light to recognize him. You can barely see the glint in his eyes, but it feels as if you’re a bunny caught in the eyes of a fox. 

“Oh, so this is the little thing who comes to see me?” He smiles, eyeing you up and down and you don’t know what to make of the critical gaze he sets on you.

But you manage to find your voice. “I didn’t know you’d heard me. I thought you didn’t… you never—”

“There is nothing more interesting than myself, I’m sure you would agree,” he says, his voice softer than silk. “But on a night like this, the one thing I care about is taken from me. I usually spend the night wandering in darkness but you’re here. My little admirer. How fortunate am I? I was just thinking how unfair it is to be left here like this, that I deserved something in return for what was taken from me.”

“I don’t- I should be getting home,” you whisper, rooted to the spot as he takes another step forward.

“But what if you stayed with me awhile, don’t you usually?” He coos invitingly, sending a shiver up your spine.

You nod, helpless as he draws a finger under your chin, raising it. You jump as his other hand splays across your covered breast, too dark to have expected his touch. You see a hint of blue in the darkness this time, his eyes so close to yours; a muted flash of white as he grins, apparently pleased with the way you wilt at his touch, now pressing you harshly into the very tree that had been your haven just a few moments ago.

Despite the way he closes around you the way thorns choke a rose, your thoughts still rise to the heavens in apology and pray that nothing you do upsets him, for fear that any of his patrons would take their anger out for displeasing one of their favored creations.

reblogs & comments appreciated!~

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi!! First of all thanks for doing god's work! This blog really helped me find some of my favorite fics <3

I was looking for fics where stiles is new to the town. I read Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain and What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm and I'm kinda obsessed with it?

Thanks!

Hey @attentionzero! @kevaaronday found these for you.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 



“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 



Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 



DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

(4/4 I 118,749 I Explicit I Sterek)

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

***

A Teenage Love Story by HaleHathNoFury (26/26 | 155,834 | Explicit | Sterek)

Stiles is sick and tired of how much he fucks up. His dad is disappointed, his step-mom judges and his step-brother can do no wrong. It's not that he doesn't love them, he just gets so tired of being different. Now he's being moved lock, stock and barrel to Beacon Hills aka the town his mom grew up in so they can go live in his grandma's house and his father can get him back on the straight and narrow. 

It's going to suck.

487 by Finduilas (14/14 | 52,840 | Explicit | Sterek) Two years after graduating from the Police Academy, Stiles decides to transfer to the Beacon Hills Police Department, where his father is Chief. But when he gets assigned his new partner, Stiles isn't so sure if the transfer was a good idea. Derek 'Officer Grumpy Cat' Hale isn't exactly his first choice of partner. Then again, Stiles really isn't Derek's first choice either.

Northern Blues by kaistrex (12/12 | 40,682 | Explicit | Sterek) When Stiles steps into the room that the Hale house has conjured for him to stay in, the first thing he sees is a window already open, letting in a pleasant breeze. The second is a door in the right-hand wall.

Laura clears her throat, scratching at her nose. “That leads to Derek’s room.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up and a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. Now he understands how the pack knew this room probably wouldn’t belong to his dad (which, gross).

He looks over his shoulder at Derek who’s glaring pointedly at everything except for Stiles with pink-tipped ears.

“Presumptuous. I like it,” he says to the house, patting one of the walls and throwing a wink at Derek hovering in the doorway.

_

When the Hale pack transitions to a new Alpha, Stiles is thrilled to be assigned to Beacon Hills to try out as their new Emissary. He and his dad are immediately enamoured with the idyllic little town, fitting right in with the rest of the Hales – except for Derek. The new Alpha shows no signs of welcome, but it will be hard for him to stay stubborn in the face of his family’s encouragement and a sentient house that has plans for the two of them whether Derek likes it or not.

The Wonderful Mess We Made by haleonwheels (12/12 | 34,619 | Explicit | Sterek) Derek is Scott's rude older brother. Scott is Stiles' new best friend. Stiles is in a really hard situation (in more ways than one).

Or the one where Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills from New York City and immediately befriends Scott McHale. Scott tells Stiles he's an only child--except he really, really isn't. So how was Stiles supposed to know Derek From The Jungle is actually Derek McHale, Scott's older brother that he kept secret for a reason?

Not Who You Think I Am by GrimReaperlover11 (17/? | 28,611 | Mature | Sterek) Stiles Stilinski is the new kid at Beacon HIlls HIgh. Derek Hale finds himself wanting to be friends with the new student. however, will these feelings change when Stiles reveals himself to not be exactly who he says he is?

Maidens, Mothers, and Crones, Oh My! By Panicitsamelon (14/? | 22,760 | Teen | Sterek) (aka)

Hunters, Wolves, and Sparks, Oh My!

(aka)

Psychos, Brooders, and Not-Quite-Damsels In Distress, Oh My!

(I could keep going, but I'm gonna stop before it gets worse.)

Stiles Argent lost his mother at a young age. He continued to live with his stepfather, Chris, and eventually stepmother, Victoria, and stepsister, Allison, as they traveled across the country for his stepparent's work. 

Everything is normal... until it isn't. 

When they move to Beacon Hills, Stiles discovers there are a lot of secrets his family has kept from him, especially about his mother. 

Or

Magic? Like more than herbs and manifestation... that shit's real, apparently and Stiles isn't exactly sure why, but his is leading him to people and places all over town. He's just a high school student trying to make friends (and maybe get laid) at his new school. He didn't plan for comatose uncles, scary-hot siblings, and people trying to kill him.

True Love’s Kiss Isn't Always The Cure by nicole135 (19/19 | 22,037 | Explicit | Sterek) Stiles isn't normal, well at least on the inside. He's a Spark, a trait he inherited from his late mother; it's something that has run in her family since before her Polish ancestors first inhabited America's soil when America was being colonized. Now when Stiles' father moved to Beacon Hills for the job opening of Sheriff, Stiles follows six months later after spending time learning from his Gran, only to dive head first into the towns deadly secret, one that has affected the town since it was first founded. It's a curse that affects the whole town, and when Stiles finds out, it's the same one his mother told him about in bedtime stories, one that has haunted every generation of his mother's family ever since the curse was cast.

Just A Moment Too Late by gremlins-came-and-got-me (7/7 | 13,164  | Mature | Sterek) Derek Hale is fourteen when he is murdered. Instead of that being the end of his story, he watches life go on for the people of Beacon Hills, until one day he sees a new family move in. Stiles Stilinski doesn't mind Beacon Hills. His dad is the new sheriff, so everyone treats him well. However, Stiles is a detective at heart, and Beacon Hills has a secret: Derek Hale's murder.

Of course, Stiles can't leave well enough alone. He's going to solve Derek's murder if it's the last thing he does.

It just might be.

How are you so bad at this? By thornconnelly (11/ | 6,242 | Gen | Sterek) Stiles moves to Beacon Hills at the start of senior year of high school. Before class even starts, he bumps into a very cute and flirty werewolf who happens to be in almost all of his classes, and who is seemingly TERRIBLE at hiding his werewolfy traits.

Moving to beacon Hills by hufflepuffbaby (1/1 | 1,453 | Gen) Stiles moves to Beacon Hills after his dad is offered the Sheriff's job. He's only been there three days, but he's pretty sure he's already found his best friend.

[cy-cyborg-draws]

Pets in Sauvias: Velociraptors

When you don't have animals like wolves to domesticate into dogs, who becomes man's best friend? Well Velociraptors of course!

In my pathfinder 2e setting, Sauvias, Velociraptors (or "velos" for short) were domesticated a few thousand years ago to serve as both companions and working animals. They have been bread to aid their people with a number of tasks, from hunting in packs and helping farmers direct their hadrosaurus herds, to pulling devices known as basket-sleds, a type of carrage-like device used by the smaller people of Sauvias to navigate through the dense jungles in the centre of the continent.

Wild velos are typically between 30-40cm tall with sandy brown coats, but through domestication, dozens of different breeds have been created that range in both colour and size, with the biggest reaching a little over 60cm tall.

And of course, the people of sauvias have found a number of ways to show that their feathery friends are a part of the family. Some choose a classic leather collar or ankle band. Others choose decorative fabrics adorned with their family crests and patterns to tie around their necks like a bandana or waists.

Others use intricately designed harnesses with the family crest engraved into the clip and decorative beads, and those who live in regions with dangerous aerial threats often put capes with eye-like markings and armour on their pet velos in a hope to deter predators.

Mechanics

Of course, Velociraptors already exsist in the base Pathfinder 2e game, and the velos of Sauvias use the same stat-blocks as them, with smaller breads of velo using the weak variant stats and larger breeds typically using the elite stat variant. Players can also have a Velo as an animal companion using the existing Dromaeosaur stats.

Image Descriptions:

[ID 1: An image of a feathered velociraptor with a sandy-brown coat, pale brown underbelly and a darker brown stripe running down it's back. Above it is the Sauvias Logo and in the background is a height chart, showing this velociraptor is about 35cm tall. /End ID 1] [ID 2: 6 images of Velociraptors in the same pose as the original on a brown background. The top left dinosaur is the one from the first image, labelled "wyld", to it's left is a raptor with light brown fur and dark white and brown spots, labelled "Spotted". Below those two are more brightly coloured velociraptors. The one on the left is a rusty red with a yellow stripe starting at it's eyes and running down it's body, all the way to it's tail, labelled "Drakari Red". The one on the right is mossy green in colour with yellow-ish green speckles on it's back labelled "Herali Green". The final row shows two black velociraptors, the one on the left is entirely black, labelled "Night-feather", while the one on the right has white spots on it's snout, around it's eyes and down it's back, labelled "dotted". /end ID 2] [ID 3: An image of two more velociraptors facing one another. The one one the left is black with a leather collar around it's neck and on it's right back leg. On the left is the pale velociraptor with spots, wearing a light-blue bandanna and a large piece of fabric held to the raptor's waist with a leather belt. /end ID 3] [ID 4: two more Velociraptors facing eachother, wearing accessories. The one on the left is the green velociraptor and is wearing a leather harness adorned with gold and turquoise beads. The one on the right is the original brown velociraptor wearing grey, stone-like plated armour over it's neck and a turquoise cape shaped like moth wings with false-eyes on them. /end ID 4]

[rotworld]

3: Outnumbered

you can't outrun a pack of wolves.

->explicit. contains noncon, gangbang, gore, murder, semi-public sex, feral behavior, predator/prey, implied captivity, conditioning, mindbreak

.

.

.

Fifteen seconds per house. That’s all you can spare. Stagger up to the porch on your bleeding, blistered feet, bang on the door, and try not to hope too much. “I need help,” you tell whoever might be listening. Fifteen seconds. If nobody answers, you have to move on. 

You try cars when you see them, wave down anybody who passes. Hobbling down the side of the highway, you look like a ghost or a bad Halloween prank. The sores and scrapes on the soles of your feet heal up, scab over, then start bleeding all over again. It’s a spotty, uneven trail, splatters and dragging footprints in crime scene red, but it’s a trail all the same. They could track you with less. A young couple sees you, slows and thinks about it. They pull over and you hurry to the passenger side window. “Please help me,” you beg them. A heavy full moon pushes through the clouds.

They leave you there. Speed off without a word. Too much time wasted. You keep moving, follow the lights.

WELCOME TO SUMMITVILLE says a weather beaten metal sign. It’s midnight and there’s nobody around, just long, empty streets and shuttered storefronts. Not good, you think. Too small. Not safe. There’s a gas station on the corner and you limp through the doors. Harsh, fluorescent light stings your eyes. Cold. Smooth, hard floor. Not dirt and twigs, at least. You grab a bag of chips, a cold drink. Eat here? Keep walking? Fifteen seconds. Shouldn’t linger any more than that. You’re so tired, hurt so much. You lean your forehead against the refrigerator doors. Deep breaths.

“Holy shit!” 

You drop everything. No. Not him. Not any of them. Just some guy. Works here, probably. Wears a blue shirt and khakis, headphones around his neck. He’s staring. His eyes move down to your torn t-shirt, the sweat and grass stains, nothing but underwear underneath, then flick back up again. Doesn’t quite meet your eyes because he’s looking at that ragged neckline hanging off one shoulder, at the marks underneath. 

Like spots. Like clumsy basting stitch. Crescents of teeth, the flesh sunken and scarred. All over your throat and shoulders and forearms.

The rumble of a motorcycle pulling up outside makes your heart skip a beat. Been here too long. You shove past him, pulse racing. Enclosed. Trapped. The door opens, bells chime. “‘Scuse me,” you hear, a casual, bored drawl, and you go completely still. Don’t blink. Don’t breathe. Crouch between a line of beers and a row of cheap candy and listen. The guy in front of you hesitates. Looks at you, then glances towards the front of the store. “Anybody home?” The next words are sharper, more impatient. He leaves, and so do you. EMPLOYEES ONLY says the door, but it’s unlocked. A back exit down a short corridor. Voices from the front of the gas station drift by.

“What can I get you, sir?” 

“Lost my dog somewhere around here.” You can hear the cruel smirk in those words. “Seen any strays lately?” 

Back outside. Chilly wind. Cold pavement. It hurts, everything hurts, but the pain will come and go. They won’t ever stop. Fifteen seconds. You follow the railroad tracks downtown. Hardware. Auto shop. Antique store. Everything’s closed and dark and dead. The night is cold and your fingers are numb. There’s an old place, worn brick and empty windows, ancient FOR RENT signs slathered in graffiti—an open door in an alley. Could stop, catch your breath. Fifteen seconds. It lures you in but you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door. Voices. Growling. You wedge yourself behind a dumpster as footsteps pass by. 

“...can’t fucking believe this. I told him to get one of those GPS collars, y’know, with a tracker on it? Now we’re gonna be out here all fucking night—” 

“Quit your bitching. You got a nose, don’t you? Don’t need a fucking GPS.”

“Who was on duty, anyway?” 

“I dunno. Forest, I think.”

“Gonna fucking kill him when we get back.”

“Alpha beat you to it, I think. You see him tonight, don’t make eye contact. Haven’t seen him this pissed since the territory dispute.” 

They pass without stopping. Footsteps fade. Forty seconds, way too long. You slide out from behind the dumpster. 

You hear a growl. 

You look back only for a second. You need to check. Have to know your chances. The wolf comes prowling out of the abandoned building, half in shadow. Too dark to make out details, but a varied coat, you think, a light muzzle, a dark stripe along the spine. Teeth bared, he sinks low to the ground and snarls. Your final warning. No time to think. Doesn’t matter who it is, anyway. A wolf is a wolf and you’re delirious with exhaustion.

The blisters on your feet split open and every pounding step across concrete feels wet and sharp. You hear the wolf right behind you and then a pause, a growing gap, and you know he’s about to lunge. You throw yourself towards the curb just as a huge, powerful body slams into the pavement where you were just standing. You both lose time, scrambling, pushing yourself to your feet. He recovers faster. Can’t last like this. The world bobs and trembles all around you, dark and hazy at the edges. Have to hide. Break line of sight. You weave into another alley. Climb a fence clumsily, scream when jaws snap like a bear trap around your ankle, but you hold on. You slam your heel against the wolf’s face again and again until the jaw loosens, teeth slipping out of new, fresh marks. You land hard on the other side with a grunt. Not good. Everything hurts, more than before. The wolf paces on the other side, panting, irritated. Yellow eyes watch you scrape yourself off the pavement and limp away. 

Your legs protest, knees buckling. You suck in a ragged breath. Not now. Not like this. Have to hide. You drag yourself down another quiet street. There’s a howl behind you. Another answers up ahead and you veer off in another direction. Where? you think, looking around wildly. Where, where, where? Lights. Follow the lights. Streetlamp. Traffic stop. Headlights. A car trundles out of a small, crowded parking lot. Light. Noise. People, there are people here!

You shove through the doors and you’re engulfed in it. People! Neon and the stench of alcohol and talking, laughing, bodies shoulder to shoulder at a bar counter. It’s packed, it’s busy, it’s safe. “Help,” you say, but it’s too loud. They can’t hear you. Music, blaring guitar, a sports game on the TV in the back. “Help me. Please help me!” 

You go to the bar, slam your hands down on the counter. So much dirt and grime, blood under your nails. The bartender takes one look at you and fumbles, drops the glass in his hand. You hear it shatter under the counter. “Christ,” he says. “Is, uh…is that—?” 

“That’s them, yeah.” 

You choke on a gasp. Fuck. You didn’t look close enough. Weren’t paying attention. People, you thought, and charged in without a second thought. Right next to you, seated on a barstool, elbow on the counter and chin resting against his hand—

“Sit,” he commands. A shiver runs down your spine. You fight the impulse to obey. Your body revolts, breaking out in a cold sweat. Those animal eyes are even more frightening in a human face. “Gone for a day and forgot how to behave already?” You’re acutely, painfully aware of everything, from his casual posture to the lazy smile on his face, the neon shine reflecting off of his leather jacket. “You’d better close for the night,” he says. The bartender doesn’t even stop to grab anything, doesn’t say a word, just walks straight out the doors and never looks back. A few other patrons follow, but a few stubborn stragglers refuse to move. One of them gets between the two of you, drunk, slurring his words. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he says, just before his face is slammed into the bar counter. 

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You stand there, your gaze trained on the floor and your bare, mangled feet, as shouting turns to squealing and dies to pained groans. You hear his nose crunch. You hear his face turn to tenderized meat. You hear stools scraping the floor and clattering, overturned, as everyone else makes a dash for the doors. The only one left squirms helplessly in the grasp of your alpha, hair caught between clawed fingers. There’s no anger on your alpha’s face, no strong attachment to the violence he’s inflicting. He reaches across the counter and grabs an empty beer bottle, smashing it into a pronged, jagged weapon. It goes into the man’s throat with swift, brutal precision, a hard squelch and splatter. The body slumps over the counter, clawing at a bleeding, gaping wound, and then falls still. 

Your alpha wipes the blood on his jeans. He leaves the corpse there, ignores it as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He texts someone, lets out an amused exhale. You take a step back and he pins you in place with nothing but a sharp glance. “You wanna make this worse?” he asks. 

You can’t breathe. You’d thought about this—had nightmares, woke up screaming—thought about what you’d say to him. Now, nothing comes to mind. Instinct tells you to lower yourself. Sit or kneel. Show your throat and apologize. “Please,” you say, a sob building in your throat. “Please, I want…I don’t—” 

“Don’t wanna get punished?” His eyes are amber, burning gold. “Shouldn’t have run, then. Easy as that.” 

“I wanna go home.” 

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks. “You should be grateful. You’re not gonna freeze to death tonight.” 

“That’s not my—” 

The bar counter cracks and splinters as he slams his fist down. His whole body lurches forward as he just narrowly holds himself back from lunging at you. Your alpha exhales, runs a hand over his face. His ears have grown pointed, lightly furred at the tips. You listen to his harsh, uneven breaths, a curved fang retracting back behind his lips. “You’re lucky,” he mutters. “So fucking lucky I give a shit about you. You remember the territory dispute? Remember all those bones we found in that basement? The chains on the walls? You want that to be you?” You shake your head and he growls. “I asked you a fucking question. Is that what you want? Do you want me to treat you like shit? Wanna get forgotten in some musty fucking dungeon, never see the sun again?” 

“No,” you sob. The dam breaks. Everything you’ve been holding in, all the pain and fear and helplessness comes surging out at once. You collapse, your knees bruising on the wooden floor. You can’t run anymore. This is as far as you go. Your alpha appraises you with cold eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t mean it,” he murmurs. 

“I do! I’m sorry! I’m…I don’t want…” 

The doors open behind you, cold air rushing in. There’s a commotion, a few shouts and jeers and clapping as people—not people, not really—start to file in, surrounding you. You see familiar work boots, lace-up, steel-toed. A few pairs of slips on and tennis shoes. You cry out when somebody’s hand closes around the nape of your neck, squeezing, forcing your head down against the floor. A warm body folds against your back and you hear snickering. 

“I almost had you!” you hear, a boyish singsong that devolves into laughter. Sully rocks his hips and he’s naked, you realize, just shifted back. His cock is hard and throbbing against your ass, rubbing a damp spot of precum into your underwear. “Aww, are you tired? Poor little human all tuckered out? That’s okay. We caught you now, so you can relax.” 

“Wasn’t you, jackass. They’ve been running all fucking night,” Basil mutters. He’s standing to your right, dirt caked to his sneakers. 

“But I’m the one who herded them here,” Sully insists. You whimper when he starts humping you, his hips pumping in quick, animal motions. It’s reflex more than conscious thought, the familiarity of your warmth and softness under him. 

“We all herded. You just got the last stretch. Y’know, the easy part.” 

“You’re just mad ‘cuz you’re not ranked high enough to have a taste till we get home.” 

“Stop fucking fighting,” the alpha says. There’s no real bite to the words, just bemused affection. “Let Blake through.”

The crowd parts. Sully’s grip on your neck eases and someone kneels in front of you. Gentle fingers caress your chin and urge you to look up. Faded jeans. Aviator jacket. Dark hair streaked with gray and silver and stern, worried eyes. Your beta says nothing. You feel small under his scrutiny, embarrassed and ashamed. He examines the swelling on your bruised cheek, the scrapes on your forehead. 

Finally, he says, “We were worried about you.” His palms are warm and soothing against your skin and you fight the urge to lean into him. “You could’ve gotten hurt out here, you know. You could’ve gotten into serious trouble. Not all humans understand or respect pack laws. Are you listening to me?” He keeps his voice gentle and steady, never raising it, never growling. His thumb strokes your cheek. “I think you are. I think you’re just being difficult. That’s okay. You were difficult when we found you. Do you remember that? We trained it out of you. I’m surprised you got this far. You’re not going to run again, though, are you?” 

You swallow hard. The others are quiet. You hear a barstool creak as your alpha stands and approaches. It’s hard not to whimper or flinch. He doesn’t intervene. He just stands there at the edge of the circle. You feel his gaze burning into your skin. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” your beta says. “You’re not going to run again, are you?” 

You tremble. It’s hard. You want to speak. You want to promise him you won’t run, you won’t disobey, you’ll do everything they tell you. You want it all to stop. But you know how this is going to end. You don’t want this to be for nothing. Your only freedom is this small act of defiance, resisting everything they drilled into you. It’s all you have left.

Your beta pets you like a dog. His touch is gentle. He strokes your hair and the smallest whimper escapes you. “Max,” he says. Someone behind you steps forward. “Basil.” You hear spluttering, a shocked, “Wait, I…really? Holy fuck. For real? I can?” that your beta ignores completely. “Sully.”

“One step ahead of you. Hold still, cutie.” Sully rips your clothes off in shredded fistfuls, uncaring of how his claws carelessly slice into your skin. “Oh—fuck, sorry, alpha. I think that was your shirt.” 

“It’s fine,” your alpha says. “Reeked of outsiders anyway.” 

A panicked, “Wait!” slips out before you can stop it, a scared noise that draws their attention like bloodhounds to a deer. “I can’t…hurts…” 

“It would hurt less if you hadn’t made us chase you this far,” your beta says calmly. He holds you still as the others close in, his grip on your chin tightening. “It wouldn’t hurt at all if you didn’t run away.” 

Sully fucks you open with hard, punishing thrusts, spurred on by your shrieks and crying. “Fuck!” he groans, hips pumping until you’re completely, painfully full. He grabs your ass with both hands, squeezing and kneading, sinking his claws in. You yelp when he slaps you, the shape of his palm seared into your skin. “Ngh, you feel so good!”

You’re in such agony that you don’t realize someone else is touching you, not until you feel a large, calloused hand fold your fingers around a hard cock. “There we go,” Max’s low, quiet voice murmurs. “Just like that. Now do it on your own.” Max is so big he fills your palm. It’s humiliating, how easily you give in. They trained you so well that you don’t have to think about it, squeezing just above the engorged flesh of his knot and making him moan. 

“Do I just—?” Basil shifts nervously on your other side. “Should I—? I mean, I don’t wanna overstep…”

“Come here, Basil,” your beta says. He almost trips over his own feet in his rush to obey. Every set of eyes in this room is looking right at you, watching you quiver and moan. Sully slams into you from behind and keeps a firm grip on your hips, keeping you from moving away. He’s already close, too pent up and excited from the chase. He starts rutting mindlessly, nipping at your shoulders and the side of your neck. 

“Gonna cum,” Sully mutters. 

“No knotting,” your beta says. 

“Aw, but—but!” 

“Sully,” your alpha growls. 

All the air in your lungs leaves in a rush when Sully tears out of you. You hear him snarl, sounding just like he did as a wolf, and then his teeth are in your neck. He latches onto an old scar, tearing the bumpy flesh open again. He doesn’t let go until his harsh panting evens out, until the obscene, slick sounds of him jerking off slow from their frenzied pace and you feel his cum splatter across your back. “Just you wait,” he mutters, kissing the bloody bite he leaves behind. “Gonna fuck you stupid when we get home. Gonna stuff you with my knot all night.” His weight leaves your body and you’re cold, your back arched and your entrance spasming, clamping down on nothing. You wanted him to cum inside, and the realization makes you feel sick. 

Your beta shows Basil how to hold your jaw. How to stroke your hair, how to pull when you misbehave. Just enough force to make your scalp burn and tears prick your eyes. Someone else takes Sully’s place and fills you in one brutal thrust and your eyes roll back in your head. 

“Holy fuck,” Basil gasps. You take him easily. You barely gag. His length fills your mouth and his tip bumps the back of your throat, and your instincts are pleased, purring. You don’t feel human anymore. “Shit, they’re—so fucking good!” 

“...long drive back. Shouldn’t stay too long,” you think your beta says, but you aren’t listening. Can’t, not with all the growling, the slap of flesh against flesh, the ringing in your ears as your toes curl and you feel the smothering rightness of your place here on your knees. Max cums on your hand and then he thrusts his softening cock against it, smearing his scent between your fingers and over your wrist. Marking you. Making you theirs again. Basil starts to move his hips, a slow, shaky pace as he praises you breathlessly, calls you good and sweet and perfect. The praise makes you giddy and you relax your throat, drooling around his length as his balls slap your chin. 

“...few more times, just to be sure,” your alpha says, his voice sounding so far away. His eyes find yours and you try to bare your neck to him even now with Basil fucking your throat, arching your back and meeting the thrusts of the person behind you, presenting yourself just the way he likes. 

Your alpha smiles for the first time that night and everything hurts so much less.

[spicymotte]

New Babylon Hellhound // Teaser 02

more from my first draft for Anton's debut story :')

(content warning for murder.. because this is a crime story)

The Museum of History and Science. It's an expensive building, looks a bit like the ancient buildings of the Romans - that's what Anton thinks to himself every time he's here - not that that happens very often.

"Hey, whoa-" A policeman steps forward as the private detective approaches the tape. "Not for civilians."

"Seriously, Benson?" Anton snorts. "You know damn well who I am, asshole." But the policeman doesn't move. He looks at the private investigator in front of him with silent disgust and licks his muzzle.

"Commissioner Viva's orders," he finally says, his lips curling into a smug grin. "No civilians." He stresses the words carefully, hoping to hit a sore spot. He doesn't.

"And what do you call this, hm?" Anton reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out his wallet, holding up his detective's licence. "If you can read, pooch, I'm not a civilian."

At the word 'pooch', the policeman's neck muscles tense, his fur bristles under his uniform and the top button of his shirt quivers with tension.

"Which one of us is the pooch, huh, hellhound?" he growls, baring his front fangs. "Some detective you are if they don't even want you in the lower circles of hell."

"At least I'm not a crossbreed," Anton replies, leaning forward so that only a few inches separate him from the deer wolf's trembling muzzle. The policeman's growl becomes deeper and throatier, a clear warning; the other wolves begin to watch the two men more closely. Anyone who messes with one of them will have the whole pack on his back.

"That's enough." A sharp voice disperses the crackling tension before it can explode. The wolves' ears twitch back to where Commissioner Viva stands at the top of the stone steps. Her mere presence is enough to bring the pack to its senses and bring a reluctant but obedient calm to her team. "Pinej, to me. You're not going to let us work in peace anway."

Reluctantly, Benson takes a step back and lets Anton slip under the tape. He quickly reaches the top of the stairs, under the stern gaze of Team Wolf.

"Why are you dragging these dogs with you?" Anton asks the Commissioner as she leads him into the museum. "We both know they're not the brightest lights. And with all that stench of blood, their noses are worthless, too." The reception hall is swarming with police officers; the rest of Team Wolf, as well as forensic experts from Police Headquarters, are present and going about their business. Securing evidence, keeping civilians out and looking important in their blue uniforms. Viva doesn't answer right away, but she sighs, knowing he's right.

The large whale skeleton hanging from the ceiling hovers over them like a bad omen - then it hits Anton's nose: The foul stench of rotting flesh and blood. The stench is still faint here, but it hints at how bad it will be in the main exhibition. He won't be allowed to smoke here, not with a commissioner as strict as Viva - so Anton doesn't even have to try. Though as he follows the woman, he fumbles in his coat for the dirty handkerchief that has been stuck in one of his pockets for weeks.

"The mayor insists on having the best noses at the crime scene - you know, for the press," Viva replies, leading him past the colourful souvenir shop and down the central corridor. Her tone is tired and tense, as if she's had a hell of an early morning. "No matter how stupid it is to send a pack of wolves to such a bloody crime scene, damn it. They can barely hold it together as it is…" The snakes in the Medusa-born's hair begin to hiss angrily and Anton takes half a step to the side, out of biting range. The heads snap at him, trying to make room for their frustration; they weren't poisonous, but a bite hurts.

"The director was killed?" he asks. "My source tells me it's not a pretty sight."

"Your source is right," Viva replies as they arrive at the large double doors outside the main exhibition. "Eleanor Marv was tortured, killed and finally hanged post mortem." Before they go in, Viva turns to Anton. Her gaze is firm, but also tinged with concern. "This is going to get ugly," she says. "She was the first pixie to work in such a high position. The press will be on this like flies."

Anton grumbles in agreement. "I read about it in the paper. The first pixie as director of the museum - there were some people who didn't like it. Lots of suspects."

"Hundreds," Viva confirms. "From all walks of life. I reckon somebody paid some poor soul from the Bottle District to make this mess. It wasn't done professionally, more sloppiness than anything else."

The investigator nods in understanding. If someone wanted to remove Mrs Marv from her position, it makes sense to get some poor sod with nothing to lose. That waters down the trail and does the dirty work for you. No wonder Viva brought him right in. This case will end up in the really dirty ditches, Anton can feel it.

"Let's go then." A policeman opens the door for the two investigators and the first breeze from the room hits them with a bitter stench. Anton immediately presses the dirty handkerchief to his face to ward off the worst. But the smell quickly passes through the fibres and settles at the back of his throat, where it remains like a disgusting fuzz.

"How long has she been there?" he asks in a hushed voice.

The room is large; it is an exhibition of the treasures found in an ancient royal tomb in South America. Golden artefacts are displayed in glass cases, with information about their origin written on small cards. The treasure is estimated to be at least 1900 years old, making it one of the oldest artefacts in the museum. It consists of hand-forged plates and cups, hair ornaments and bracelets. They are made of gold and decorated with precious stones; quite pompous and valuable. Then, the main attraction of the exhibition: a set of two daggers, with intricately carved obsidian blades, obviously intended to be wielded by the king. This naturally attracts the crowds, all wanting to see this great treasure. Bathing in the golden glow of the exhibition, which would only be on show for a limited time. But in the middle of this exciting exhibition, hanging by a heavy wire rope around her wrists and neck, was the now former director, Eleanor Marv.

[inexplicifics]

I don't know if you're still taking requests, but I am lowkey obsessed with your I Shall Not Live in Vain from the wolves' perspective. Do you have a snippet of the first night with Jasker? Like, right after he is bought and Geralt brings him back to the campground and Eskel explains everything and the sense of relief of having an Omega around again, even though it's kind of terrible too? If not, no pressure. Thank you!

It takes Geralt a lot longer to get back from town than it ought to. And when they finally hear Roach’s hooves on the little deer-track leading to their campsite, she’s walking slowly and more heavily than is her usual wont. But she doesn’t sound injured at all.

Eskel and Lambert exchange a glance. Four auctions in, has Geralt actually found someone? They’ve both started wondering if this is a fool’s errand - if they should just ask Gardis if he and Aubry would be willing to travel with them for a month or so at a time, and pray that the scent of an omega will be enough even if it’s not one that meshes with their pack-scent at all.

But sure enough, Roach comes pacing into the clearing with two people on her back: Geralt, looking grim and unhappy, and behind him, too-thin arms looped around Geralt’s waist, a man they don’t recognize.

An omega they don’t recognize.

Eskel gets his wits about him first, and moves forward to greet Geralt and his…companion. The man is tall and surprisingly broad-shouldered, with long brown hair pulled back in a messy tail and brilliant blue eyes, and he’s much, much too thin. There are also far too many bruises on his…everything Eskel can see, actually, which, given that all he’s wearing is a ragged tunic, a threadbare pair of trousers, and a pair of soft shoes hardly worthy of the name, is quite a lot of skin.

Eskel would like to gut everyone who’s ever dared lay hands on the omega, and also feed the omega and put bruise balm all over him and cuddle him until he stops reeking of fear. But cuddling him would probably just scare him worse, so Eskel speaks to Geralt, instead.

“Well, Wolf, what did you find?” he asks, offering the omega a hand down - he doesn’t look like he can dismount without help.

The omega flinches. Eskel barely keeps from wincing. Geralt, of course, doesn’t say anything - fuck, he’s gone nonverbal from stress again, gods damn it - and Eskel realizes that if he leaves it up to Geralt and the omega, they’ll all stand here all night. So he reaches up and lifts the omega down.

He is much, much too light, and he goes stiff and still like a frightened rabbit in Eskel’s hands. Eskel is as gentle as he can be as he puts the omega down. Lambert comes crowding in, eager and worried, and they both breathe in hard.

The omega stinks of days without washing and years of misery, but under that…under that, he smells of cinnamon and citrus, warm and sweet and tangy. It’s the most perfect scent Eskel could have imagined - as good as Remus’s was.

“Well, alright, pretty boy,” Lambert drawls. “I guess he’ll do.”

The omega flinches again. Geralt hums and nudges Roach away to tack her down, and the omega cringes a little but doesn’t move. Like a beaten dog, not sure what might get him kicked again. He looks and smells half-catatonic with terror.

“Wolf,” Eskel says slowly, “did you actually explain anything to him?”

“No,” Geralt replies, which Eskel really should have expected. He can’t suppress the sigh of exasperation, though. But - well, maybe showing the omega that they aren’t bad-tempered will help with his fear? So Eskel makes a joke, just a little one, and banters with Lambert, and the omega looks back and forth between them with enormous eyes and doesn’t visibly relax at all. Shit. Alright, maybe that’s the wrong approach. Eskel decides to try just being straightforward.

“I’m Eskel,” he tells the omega. “What’s your name?”

Evidently the omega was not expecting that question, from the flinch that earns. Well, hell, what did Eskel say wrong now?

But despite the obvious terror in every line of his body, the omega licks his lips and says, clear enough despite his shaking voice, “I’m called Jaskier, alpha, if it pleases you.”

If it pleases him? What, does the omega expect Eskel to say it doesn’t please him and give him an entirely different name -

Oh, what is Eskel thinking. That’s just the sort of jackassery human alphas would get up to, isn’t it. Eskel really does hate everything right now, himself most thoroughly included, for having hurt this omega so very badly. Jaskier. It’s a beautiful name. Eskel keeps his tone as light as he can while he introduces Lambert and Geralt, hoping Jaskier won’t think he’s angry with him - of all the people in the world, Jaskier is most definitely not the one Eskel is angry at - and then ushers Jaskier towards the fire.

Lambert tosses Jaskier one of Geralt’s tunics - Geralt is closest to Jaskier’s size, of the three of them - and after a moment’s obvious hesitation, Jaskier takes his shirt off.

Eskel can count his fucking ribs. And the bruises layered over them, too. Gods fucking damn it, he wants to go right back to that fucking town and start killing slavers, and he can tell by Lambert’s sharp intake of breath that his pack-brother is having the exact same thought -

And then Jaskier pulls on Geralt’s tunic, and makes a soft sound, so quiet no human ears could have caught it, of pleased surprise. Geralt, like all of them, prefers soft fabrics, gentle on his skin, and Lambert has sensibly chosen a nice thick wool tunic, warm and comfortingly heavy, and Jaskier - their omega, theirs to take care of - is happy with it.

Eskel fights down a purr of approval, but he’s sure he’s wearing a fairly dopey smile all the same; certainly his pack-brothers are. Unfortunately, when Jaskier looks up and sees their expressions, he flinches. Eskel loses the desire to purr. What the fuck has Jaskier been through that seeing pleased alphas scares him?

Fuck, Eskel can’t think about that. Getting angry would probably be even worse than being visibly pleased.

He leans forward to fill a bowl with stew, eyeing Jaskier’s too-thin wrists and remembering those prominent ribs. Better not give him too much; humans, Eskel knows, have to be careful about eating after long periods of malnourishment, and Eskel doesn’t want their new omega to spend his evening vomiting.

“Eat,” he urges Jaskier, who takes the bowl like he thinks it’s going to bite him. What sort of asshole makes food a trick?

Eskel cannot think about that. He focuses instead on the pleasure in Jaskier’s expression as he eats, the soft moan of delight at the taste. Eskel did that - Eskel gave their omega this moment of happiness. He’s…well, he’s doing his job. Doing as an alpha ought. They all are.

Geralt rescued him and Lambert clothed him and Eskel fed him. That’s a damn good start.

And oh, Jaskier has a spine of steel, because once he’s eaten he looks at them, trying so hard to hide his fear, and listens carefully as Eskel does his best to explain how being in a pack works. It’s harder than he expected. He’s never had to explain it to anyone before; the other Wolves already know, and humans don’t generally care.

To his immense relief, Jaskier doesn’t seem horrified by learning that he now has three alphas - or, at least, not more horrified than he already was. And he even contributes to the conversation.

A warm hearth on a cold day. Eskel’s never heard a better description of his pack’s scent. It’s a beautiful way to phrase it.

And Jaskier even dares to ask questions once he starts to relax a little, instead of bowing his head and just accepting whatever the alphas decree. Now that’s a damn good sign, and Eskel is immensely glad of it. And he doesn’t run like a startled rabbit when they lay out, as plainly as they can, what they want of an omega. Even relaxes a little, as though their blunt inelegant words have comforted him somehow.

He’s still clearly deeply apprehensive, which is more than fair, but there’s a sort of desperate willingness about him that breaks Eskel’s heart and gives him hope, all at the same time. He lies down in their nest of bedrolls without flinching, and lets them curl around him and breathe in his scent, and even, after a moment, starts to relax, just a little.

And having an omega so near - having that sweet, glorious scent of cinnamon and citrus filling his senses - holding an omega safely in his arms, knowing they have fed him and clothed him and will protect him -

Gods, Eskel can feel all the tension draining out of himself. Can see how Lambert’s near-perpetual scowl has already vanished, how the line between Geralt’s eyebrows has smoothed away. Just this, just this is enough to start repairing the damage that Remus’s absence has left in their pack.

Gods willing, Jaskier will be just what he seems: bright, and brave, and willing to try. Will be the missing piece that makes their pack work again. Maybe this will not be a complete disaster in the making.

Maybe, Jaskier will fit among them as perfectly as his scent suggests he should.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cat of the Canals (Arya III) [Chapter 34]

She woke before the sun came up, in the little room beneath the eaves that she shared with Brusco's daughters.

Cat was always the first to awaken.

New name, who dis?

Some of the title changes make sense to me (Sansa, Arya, Theon, Arys, JonCon), while others do not (the Greyjoys, Barristan). Like, is Areo Hotah having an identity crisis or something?

+.+.+

As she was slipping her tunic over her head, Talea opened her eyes and called out, "Cat, be a sweet and bring my clothes for me." She was a gawky girl, all skin and bones and elbows, always complaining she was cold.

So she's you?

Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows - Jon VI, ADWD

+.+.+

The day looked to be a rare one, crisp and clear and bright. Braavos only had three kinds of weather; fog was bad, rain was worse, and freezing rain was worst. But every so often would come a morning when the dawn broke pink and blue and the air was sharp and salty. 

But the lemon tree!

Please don't make me look stupid.

+.+.+

Cat sat with her legs crossed, fighting a yawn and trying to recall the details of her dream. I dreamed I was a wolf again. She could remember the smells best of all: trees and earth, her pack brothers, the scents of horse and deer and man, each different from the others, and the sharp acrid tang of fear, always the same. Some nights the wolf dreams were so vivid that she could hear her brothers howling even as she woke, and once Brea had claimed that she was growling in her sleep as she thrashed beneath the covers. She thought that was some stupid lie till Talea said it too.

I should not be dreaming wolf dreams, the girl told herself. I am a cat now, not a wolf. I am Cat of the Canals. The wolf dreams belonged to Arya of House Stark. Try as she might, though, she could not rid herself of Arya.

:)

+.+.+

The wolf dreams were the good ones. In the wolf dreams she was swift and strong, running down her prey with her pack at her heels. It was the other dream she hated, the one where she had two feet instead of four. In that one she was always looking for her mother, stumbling through a wasted land of mud and blood and fire. It was always raining in that dream, and she could hear her mother screaming, but a monster with a dog's head would not let her go save her. In that dream she was always weeping, like a frightened little girl. Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves do. It's just a stupid dream.

Imagine thinking Arya never returns to the riverlands or comes face-to-face with her mother. Can't relate.

+.+.+

"Learn three new things before you come back to us," the kindly man had commanded Cat, when he sent her forth into the city. She always did. Sometimes it was no more than three new words of the Braavosi tongue. Sometimes she brought back sailor's tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching.

Pardon?

+.+.+

"Him of Many Faces."

"And many names," the kindly man had said. "In Qohor he is the Black Goat, in Yi Ti the Lion of Night, in Westeros the Stranger. All men must bow to him in the end, no matter if they worship the Seven or the Lord of Light, the Moon Mother or the Drowned God or the Great Shepherd. All mankind belongs to him . . . else somewhere in the world would be a folk who lived forever. Do you know of any folk who live forever?"

"No," she would answer. "All men must die."

Kind of wild there isn't a Daenerys fan on earth who is worried about this constantly appearing in Arya's chapters.

+.+.+

"You lie. You are Cat of the canals, I know you well. Go and sleep, child. On the morrow you must serve."

"All men must serve." And so she did, three days of every thirty. When the moon was black she was no one, a servant of the Many-Faced God in a robe of black and white.

I'm slow, I'm only now noticing she's no one when the moon disappears. Heh.

+.+.+

"Learn three new things before you come back to us," the kindly man had commanded Cat, when he sent her forth into the city. She always did.

[...]

"What do you know that you did not know when you left us?" the kindly man would ask as soon as he saw her. I know that Brusco's daughter Brea meets a boy on the roof when her father is asleep, she thought. Brea lets him touch her, Talea says, even though he's just a roof rat and all the roof rats are supposed to be thieves. 

What about harbor rats? Are they thieves?

I can't tell if all this Brea, Talea, roof rat business is important, so I'm being safe.

+.+.+

Only Braavosi were permitted use of the Purple Harbor, from the Drowned Town and the Sealord's Palace; ships from her sister cities and the rest of the wide world had to use the Ragman's Harbor, a poorer, rougher, dirtier port than the Purple. It was noisier as well, as sailors and traders from half a hundred lands crowded its wharves and alleys, mingling with those who served and preyed on them. Cat liked it best of any place in Braavos. She liked the noise and the strange smells, and seeing what ships had come in on the evening tide and what ships had departed. She liked the sailors too; the boisterous Tyroshi with their booming voices and dyed whiskers; the fair-haired Lyseni, always trying to niggle down her prices; the squat, hairy sailors from the Port of Ibben, growling curses in low, raspy voices. Her favorites were the Summer Islanders, with their skins as smooth and dark as teak. They wore feathered cloaks of red and green and yellow, and the tall masts and white sails of their swan ships were magnificent.

+.+.+

Once in a great while that would make somebody angry, but when it did she had her finger knife. She kept it very sharp, and knew how to use it too. Red Roggo showed her one afternoon at the Happy Port, while he was waiting for Lanna to come free. He taught her how to hide it up her sleeve and slip it out when she had need of it, and how to slice a purse so smooth and quick the coins would all be spent before their owner ever missed them. That was good to know, even the kindly man agreed; especially at night, when the bravos and roof rats were abroad.

Excellent. Please continue your small knife training.

+.+.+

Some days she rolled her barrow past the towers of the mighty to offer baked clams to the guardsmen at their gates. Once she cried her catch on the steps of the Palace of Truth

[...]

Customs officers from the Chequy Port would buy from her, and paddlers from the Drowned Town

[...]

One time, when Brea took to her bed with her moon blood, Cat had pushed her barrow to the Purple Harbor

[...]

Other days she followed the sweetwater river to the Moon Pool.

[...]

But she always returned to the Ragman's Harbor.

Because. . . it's your home?

+.+.+

A dirty orange cat came padding after her, drawn by the sound of her call. Farther on, a second cat appeared, a sad, bedraggled grey thing with a stub tail. Cats liked the smell of Cat. 

Is the dirty orange cat the sad grey cat's mother?

+.+.+

Her favorite was a scrawny old tom with a chewed ear who reminded her of a cat that she'd once chased all around the Red Keep. No, that was some other girl, not me.

:)

+.+.+

A mate on the green galley wolfed half a dozen oysters and told her how his captain had been killed by the Lysene pirates who had tried to board them near the Stepstones. "That bastard Saan it was, with Old Mother's Son and his big Valyrian. We got away, but just."

Whaaatt? What just happened to the timeline? Salladhor Saan spends the majority of ADWD in the north.

Arya is a mile ahead of everyone.

+.+.+

The little Brazen Monkey proved to be from Gulltown, with a Westerosi crew who were glad to talk to someone in the Common Tongue. 

I instantly become obsessed with any ship from Gulltown. Guaranteed you'll see one of them again.

+.+.+

The courtesans of Braavos were famed across the world. Singers sang of them, goldsmiths and jewelers showered them with gifts, craftsmen begged for the honor of their custom, merchant princes paid royal ransoms to have them on their arms at balls and feasts and mummer shows, and bravos slew each other in their names.

[...]

Each courtesan was more beautiful than the last. Even the Veiled Lady was beautiful, though only those she took as lovers ever saw her face.

Congratulations, you just found out why they're so desperate for her to be a courtesan.

+.+.+

Merry claimed the Black Pearl was the most famous courtesan of all. "She's descended from the dragons, that one," the woman had told Cat. "The first Black Pearl was a pirate queen. A Westerosi prince took her for a lover and got a daughter on her, who grew up to be a courtesan. Her own daughter followed her, and her daughter after her, until you get to this one. What did she say to you, Cat?"

"She said 'I'll take three cockles,' and 'Do you have some hot sauce, little one?'" the girl had answered.

"And what did you say?"

"I said, 'No, my lady,' and, 'Don't call me little one. My name is Cat.'

M'lady, Arya.

The first Black Pearl was a pirate queen? I stand corrected, this is totally Arya's endgame.

Anyway, I'm too lazy to look into any of this dragon descendent stuff. I'm going to assume I don't need to know it. Tell me if I do.

One thing I've noticed in this book, is that unlike her older sister who is fast-tracking physical development, Arya is still considered a child in the eyes of other characters.

"He is not a lord," a child's voice put in. "He's in the Night's Watch, stupid. From Westeros." A girl edged into the light, pushing a barrow full of seaweed; a scruffy, skinny creature in big boots, with ragged unwashed hair. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

"War?" laughed one of them. "What war? There is no war."

"Not in Gulltown," said another. "Not in the Vale. The little lord's kept us out of it, same as his mother did."

Same as his mother did. The lady of the Vale was her own mother's sister. "Lady Lysa," she said, "is she . . . ?"

". . . dead?" finished the freckled boy whose head was full of courtesans. "Aye. Murdered by her own singer."

"Oh." It's nought to me. Cat of the Canals never had an aunt. She never did. 

:)

+.+.+

"You come work with me, Cat," urged Tagganaro as he was sucking mussels from their shells. He had been looking for a new partner ever since the Drunken Daughter put her knife through Little Narbo's hand. "I give you more than Brusco, and you would not smell like fish."

"Casso likes the way I smell," she said. The King of Seals barked, as if to agree. "Is Narbo's hand no better?"

"Three fingers do not bend," complained Tagganaro, between mussels. "What good is a cutpurse who cannot use his fingers? Narbo was good at picking pockets, not so good at picking whores."

"Merry says the same." Cat was sad. She liked Little Narbo, even if he was a thief. "What will he do?"

"Pull an oar, he says. Two fingers are enough for that, he thinks, and the Sealord's always looking for more oarsmen. I tell him, 'Narbo, no. That sea is colder than a maiden and crueler than a whore. Better you should cut off the hand, and beg.' Casso knows I am right. Don't you, Casso?"

The seal barked, and Cat had to smile.

What an amusing exchange.

I'll say no more. If you know, you know.

+.+.+

When Cat slipped inside the brothel, though, she found Merry sitting in the common room with her eyes shut, listening to Dareon play his woodharp. Yna was there too, braiding Lanna's fine long golden hair. Another stupid love song. Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. She was the youngest of the whores, only ten-and-four. Merry asked three times as much for her as for any of the other girls, Cat knew.

[...]

Dareon had once wed the Sailor's Wife, who would only bed with men who married her. 

[...]

The weddings were loud and jolly, with a lot of drinking. Whenever Cat happened by with her barrow, the Sailor's Wife would insist that her new husband buy some oysters, to stiffen him for the consummation. She was good that way, and quick to laugh as well, but Cat thought there was something sad about her too.

The other whores said that the Sailor's Wife visited the Isle of the Gods on the days when her flower was in bloom, and knew all the gods who lived there, even the ones that Braavos had forgotten. They said she went to pray for her first husband, her true husband, who had been lost at sea when she was a girl no older than Lanna. "She thinks that if she finds the right god, maybe he will send the winds and blow her old love back to her," said one-eyed Yna, who had known her longest, "but I pray it never happens. Her love is dead, I could taste that in her blood. If he ever should come back to her, it will be a corpse."

It's tinfoil time, but it's not my tinfoil. Consider me the messenger.

Tyrion was born in 273. He married when he was 13. If he had a child with Tysha, the child would be 14.

Lanna is the 14-year-old daughter of the Sailor's Wife.

Lanna has fine long golden hair.

Similar to the name Barra (Robert Baratheon's bastard), you might consider the name Lanna an acknowledgement of House Lannister.

In fact, that very idea will appear in this same book.

Lady Graceford, who was large with child, asked the queen's leave to name it Tywin if it were a boy, or Lanna if it were a girl. - Cersei II, AFFC

Between Samwell and Arya, we never get a physical description of the Sailor's Wife. Many consider that suspicious, and unlike George R. R. Martin.

The Sailor's Wife speaks the Common Tongue of Westeros, and loves Dareon's voice. Tysha was born in the westerlands, and loved to sing.

Remembered notes filled his head, and for a moment he could almost hear Tysha as she'd sung to him half a lifetime ago. - Tyrion VII, ACOK

x

the Sailor's Wife appeared beside her. "He sings a pretty song," she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "The gods must have loved him to give him such a voice, and that fair face as well." - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

When the Sailor's Wife was a girl no older than Lanna (14 years old), she lost her husband.

My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was - Tyrion VI, AGOT

x

I was only thirteen, and the wine went to my head, I fear. The next thing I knew, I was sharing her bed. If she was shy, I was shyer. I'll never know where I found the courage. When I broke her maidenhead, she wept, but afterward she kissed me and sang her little song, and by morning I was in love. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife only beds those who marry her.

There's lots of drinking when the Sailor's Wife marries. A wine-soaked red priest often performs the ceremony.

Tyrion and Tysha were married by a drunken septon.

The Happy Port sometimes had three or four weddings a night. Often the cheerful wine-soaked red priest Ezzelyno performed the rites. Elsewise it was Eustace, who had once been a septon at the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

Oh, you'd be astonished at what a boy can make of a few lies, fifty pieces of silver, and a drunken septon. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

Arya thinks there's something sad about the Sailor's Wife. She doesn't feel this way about any other sex worker she encounters.

She was good that way, and quick to laugh as well, but Cat thought there was something sad about her too. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

x

She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife's husband was lost to the sea. Tyrion almost drown in ACOK. He'll almost drown again in ADWD.

Despite losing her true husband, the Sailor's Wife continues to pray for his return.

Yna, a sex worker who is also a maegi, tells Arya that the Sailor's Wife's husband is dead, and would only return as a corpse. She prays it never happens. You often have to read between the lines when it comes to a maegi.

Finally,

And the whores were out. River or sea, a port was a port, and wherever you found sailors, you'd find whores. Is that what my father meant? Is that where whores go, to the sea? - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Do whatever you want with this.

+.+.+

It made her angry to see Dareon sitting there so brazen, making eyes at Lanna as his fingers danced across the harp strings. The whores called him the black singer, but there was hardly any black about him now. 

[...]

The only black about him was his boots. Cat had heard him tell Lanna that he'd thrown all the rest in a canal. "I am done with darkness," he had announced.

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince. And the singer should be on the Wall. 

Tsk, tsk.

Arya, you're not the Justice League. Settle down.

+.+.+

"There's oysters, if anyone is wanting some," and Merry's eyes popped open. "Good," the woman said. "Bring them in, child. Yna, fetch some bread and vinegar."

Another one.

And it will continue into TWOW.

"Might be, but this one is a child."

"I am not," lied Mercy. "I'm a maiden now." - Mercy, TWOW

Maybe courtesan lessons will have to wait.

+.+.+

Cat took her leave of the Happy Port, with a plump purse of coins and a barrow empty but for salt and seaweed. Dareon was leaving too. 

[...]

"What happened to your brother?" Cat asked. "The fat one. Did he ever find a ship to Oldtown? He said he was supposed to sail on the Lady Ushanora."

"We all were. Lord Snow's command. I told Sam, leave the old man, but the fat fool would not listen." The last light of the setting sun shone in his hair. "Well, it's too late now."

No reaction. Add this to the list of things that fly right over her head, lol.

He liked to boast how he was the son of the Lord of the Crossing, not a nephew or a bastard or a grandson but a trueborn son, and on account of that he was going to marry a princess. - Arya X, ACOK

x

Who is Queen Jeyne? Arya wondered briefly. The only queen she knew was Cersei. - Arya X, ASOS

x

"They found her too," said Polliver. "The sister. She's for Bolton's bastard, I hear."

Arya sipped her wine so they could not see her mouth. She didn't understand what Polliver was talking about. Sansa has no other sister. Sandor Clegane laughed aloud. - Arya XIII, ASOS

Less time seeing, more time listening, eh?

+.+.+

"Just so," said Cat as they stepped into the gloom of a twisty little alley.

Arya. Arya.

He probably shouldn't even be in the Night's Watch!

+.+.+

By the time Cat returned to Brusco's house, an evening fog was gathering above the small canal. She put away her barrow, found Brusco in his counting room, and thumped her purse down on the table in front of him. She thumped the boots down too.

Brusco gave the purse a pat. "Good. But what's this?"

"Boots."

"Good boots are hard to find," said Brusco, "but these are too small for my feet."

Bad, bad Arya!

I don't care how hard you try, you can't defend this.

+.+.+

The priests and acolytes had already eaten, but the cook had saved a piece of nice fried cod for her, and some mashed yellow turnips. She wolfed it down, washed the dish, then went to help the waif prepare her potions.

Her part was mostly fetching, scrambling up ladders to find the herbs and leaves the waif required. "Sweetsleep is the gentlest of poisons," the waif told her, as she was grinding some with a mortar and pestle. "A few grains will slow a pounding heart and stop a hand from shaking, and make a man feel calm and strong. A pinch will grant a night of deep and dreamless sleep. Three pinches will produce that sleep that does not end. The taste is very sweet, so it is best used in cakes and pies and honeyed wines. Here, you can smell the sweetness." She let her have a whiff, then sent her up the ladders to find a red glass bottle. "This is a crueler poison, but tasteless and odorless, hence easier to hide. The tears of Lys, men call it. Dissolved in wine or water, it eats at a man's bowels and belly, and kills as a sickness of those parts. Smell." Arya sniffed, and smelled nothing. The waif put the tears to one side and opened a fat stone jar. "This paste is spiced with basilisk blood. It will give cooked flesh a savory smell, but if eaten it produces violent madness, in beasts as well as men. A mouse will attack a lion after a taste of basilisk blood."

Arya chewed her lip. "Would it work on dogs?"

"On any animal with warm blood." The waif slapped her.

Did the waif say that all in the Common Tongue? Wow, Arya's getting her ass kicked by a Millennial in the language learning race.

Jon Arryn died from Tears of Lys, and Weese was killed by his dog who was fed basilisk blood. Let's hope Robert Arryn doesn't make it three for three.

+.+.+

"It is Arya of House Stark who chews on her lip whenever she is thinking. Are you Arya of House Stark?"

"I am no one." She was angry. "Who are you?"

She did not expect the waif to answer, but she did. "I was born the only child of an ancient House, my noble father's heir," the waif replied. "My mother died when I was little, I have no memory of her. When I was six my father wed again. His new wife treated me kindly until she gave birth to a daughter of her own. Then it was her wish that I should die, so her own blood might inherit my father's wealth. She should have sought the favor of the Many-Faced God, but she could not bear the sacrifice he would ask of her. Instead, she thought to poison me herself. It left me as you see me now, but I did not die. When the healers in the House of the Red Hands told my father what she had done, he came here and made sacrifice, offering up all his wealth and me. Him of Many Faces heard his prayer. I was brought to the temple to serve, and my father's wife received the gift."

Arya considered her warily. "Is that true?"

"There is truth in it."

"And lies as well?"

"There is an untruth, and an exaggeration."

She had been watching the waif's face the whole time she told her story, but the other girl had shown her no signs. "The Many-Faced God took two-thirds of your father's wealth, not all."

"Just so. That was my exaggeration."

Arya grinned, realized she was grinning, and gave her cheek a pinch. Rule your face, she told herself. My smile is my servant, he should come at my command. "What part was the lie?"

"No part. I lied about the lie."

"Did you? Or are you lying now?"

But before the waif could answer, the kindly man stepped into the chamber, smiling. "You have returned to us."

I apologize, I considered skipping this, but paranoia got the best of me.

Any thoughts? My gut tells me she's the one who killed her step-mother.

+.+.+

"Just so," said the kindly man. "And the third thing?"

This time she did not hesitate. "Dareon is dead. The black singer who was sleeping at the Happy Port. He was really a deserter from the Night's Watch. Someone slit his throat and pushed him into a canal, but they kept his boots."

"Good boots are hard to find."

"Just so." She tried to keep her face still.

He says the same thing as Brusco, the fishmonger.

"Good boots are hard to find," said Brusco

Is Brusco the kindly man?

+.+.+

"Who could have done this thing, I wonder?"

"Arya of House Stark." She watched his eyes, his mouth, the muscles of his jaw.

"That girl? I thought she had left Braavos. Who are you?"

"No one."

"You lie." He turned to the waif. "My throat is dry. Do me a kindness and bring a cup of wine for me and warm milk for our friend Arya, who has returned to us so unexpectedly."

Don't drink it!

+.+.+

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog.

When she woke the next morning, she was blind.

Not a wolf dream. That's a cat dream, Arya.

And I told you not to drink it.

Final thoughts:

No more ship girl until ADWD.

-> return to menu <-

[yoongiblunt]

If you haven't been keeping up with where the bts lore has gone, don't worry, I have. 

So about 7hours ago a japenese unit named &team debuted an extended MV for their song, ‘under the skin’.  This track and short film basically explain that they are werewolves and are sent to kill vampires. 

Lets backtrack to one year ago when Enhypen debuted and posted Drunk-Dazed. The intro to Drunk-Dazed is a girl finding an invitation to a party at a bus stop and the enhypen boys are standing there, smirking with that seems to be a looming shadow of a wolf behind them. At the time, we just assumed that all of the boys were different kinds of supernatural creatures. 

As it turns out, hence the &team mv, their outro is literally them standing at the bus stop as an entire pack of wolves. Its the same scenes, the same sets, just new boys. 

SO. Enhypen and &team are enemies. How does this tie into BTS? 

When TXT debuted Cat&dog we saw our first glimpse of the cat with Green and Blue eyes-- a colour combo we see throughout all of HYBE’s mv’s, usually symbolizing poison or death. Another colour is purple. The cats eyes can either be green/blue or yellow/purple, depending on the lighting in the mv. as far back as prewings content we see these glimpses-- but we see this in the meowing back track and the small pawprint on the beach. 

This exact beach and pawprint exist in the bts SAVE ME webcomic on webtoon. 

This cat is a nonstop entity in the TXT verse. 

So, the running theory at the moment on how its all connected. 

BTS is stuck in limbo between parallel realities due to magic island’s influence. As we’ve seen in the txt lore, the boys accidentally set that shit on fire-- or they pissed off the dragon that we see in the make it right, bts, mv. Whatever the reason, magic island is fucked and txt are mega cursed for breaking the promise to the witch, who we can assume is not looking out for their best interest and is evil. Enhypen are LIKELY from magic island. We see them speaking to a woman in all white in the dd mv, which references back to the witch in txt lore, along with the potential practice room ghost. However, there’s reason to believe a member of enhypen may also be this ghost. This is to be decided. Regardless, this witch is trifling. 

how do we know? 

because she points and sends the enhypen boys to the world of the living where, way back in the gap, they started having carnivals to lure people. We see this carnival in ruins in bts lore, but we also see this carnival in active use in txt lore, which argues that txt and enhypen predate bts. 

Kai from TXT literally DIES at a carnival, which breaks the promise the boys made to the witch. Naturally we can assume she did this on purpose. Like making a deal with the devil, she has to collect her debts. So each of the boys are cursed, and much like Taehyung (bts), Kai (txt) is an angel, unable to move on and trapped to make the same mistakes over and over until something changes. 

so the tldr? 

BTS is fucked because of TXT but thats because of Enhypen and &team are tryna merk enhypen. Thanks for coming to my autistic tedtalk. 

[yeetmetotheforbiddenwildwest]

Part 1: here

AU concept Part 2

After mission city or even Egypt (not sure it matters without the whole thing being put together) Sam discovers something absolutely insane. More insane than alien robots.

He's a werewolf. Not the Harry Potter 'get bitten by a werewolf, you become one'. No he's the shape-shifting kind (similar to the twilight ones but we throw in and mix a little Wolfwalker and warrior cats).

His family(I'm still not entirely sure if Sam is adopted and Sally is his aunt or if she is his bio mom; I'll make it work, just bear with me) is camping when it happens, he turns into a wolf and panics, running off (Sorry it's very cliche, I'll think of something better but for whatever reason he ends up in the woods). Anyways he is attacked by a bear or cougar or a pack of actual animal wolves (already in his wolf form; he doesn't become a werewolf because he is attacked, but was one genetically. His father was human but his mom, Sally Watson is a werewolf too).

The thing with the type of werewolf Sam is- is that similar to Twilight quilietes, boys don't usually get their wolves until they're 16 or older but purebloods (Both parents are werewolves; halfbloods would be one werewolf parent and the other parent being human) can get theirs much earlier even if both their parents are half-human. Girls won't always get their wolf forms even when being pure-bloooded.

(Can you tell this is a very weird wild fan-fiction yet? It's based on a lot of other people's AUs of many different fandoms, if it looks similar to yours, I apologize)

Sam is very injured as a result of the animal attack. His back right leg is super chewed up from the fight and covered in scars. He has a scar over and is half-blind in his left eye, and also has a torn floppy left ear and is missing some of his left teeth. (I totally fell in love with Birdsong Warriors Swiftpaw AU. It inspired my fic lol and Swiftpaw's design is basically Sam's wolf)

He wakes up in the woods and freaks out because he can't clearly remember what happened also he's a very injured wolf but his back right leg and back are bandaged and so is his left eye.

A brown, black, and white wolf with one green eye and one light brown/tawny yellow eye (werewolf oc of mine (he's 25 and his character is based off one of my favorite youtubers) asks him to calm down.

The wolf tells him his name is Thorn (I can't think of a freaking suffix for him!) and refers to Sam as Swiftpaw (it's very warrior cat inspired) because these wolves don't know his real name yet and Sam doesn't think it's a good idea to tell them his real name and he just met them.

Sam asks why he called him Swift and Thorn explains the clan/pack thing and that he gave Sam his wolf name himself after watching him fight the animals with how quickly he moved. Thorn also explains how he is the deputy/second in charge(whatever you want to call it) and how he and his patrol rescued Sam.

Sam asks if he's gonna make it or if he'll ever be able to turn back again and Thorn is surprised to discover "Oh... This kid never phased before last night!". Thorn explains yes, he's a shape-shifter and will be able to transform back into a human and back into his wolf whenever he wants but that Sam can't leave-

Sam takes this entirely the wrong way, thinking he's being held hostage and Thorn hastily tries to calm him, explaining he shouldn't try to transform until he is healed, implying that Sam probably isn't able to walk yet what with his injuries on his back and right leg- Oh and also he has a bobtail now because it got so chewed up by the bear/wolf/dogs whatever they had to amputate it and asks if Sam can bend his leg to prove his point. Sam tries to do so and fails, screams, has a coughing fit, a bit of trouble catching his breath, and a new black and grey she-wolf with blue eyes runs over, yelling his wolf-name (Swift) and asks him if he's okay (plot twist, the newly introduced werewolf is Mikaela; haven't thought of a wolf name for her yet, hold on guys).

"(Mikaela)?! You're one of them?" Sam asks, recognizing her by her voice.

Mikaela takes a bit of offense to this and explains, Yes, she is 'one of them.' and Sam is also 'one of them' so Sam asks her why she didn't tell him she was a werewolf and if she knew about him. She explains it isn't something to be broadcasted and no, she didn't know he had wolf-shifter blood.

After the talking is done and an awkward silence, Mikaela asks 'how are your teeth?'

And Sam is like, 'My teeth?' and Mikaela glares at Thorn who chuckles awkwardly, realizing he had forgotten to tell Sam he lost a couple canines and some molars.

Mikaela uses her claws to remove the bandages from Sam's back and right leg, and then from his head.

'Can you see? Your left eye and ear were injured in the battle.' Mikaela asks, bandages swept under her paw.

'Uh... a little but not really...' Sam answers.

'Well... I'm sorry we couldn't save your tail...' Mikaela says, 'You wouldn't have been able to move or bend it with how badly chewed/sliced up it was... how about your leg?'

'He already tried.' Thorn tells Mikaela, "That's why he screamed,"

Mikaela frowns, 'can you stand, Swift?'

'I can try,' Sam says but utterly fails to push himself onto his paws.

'Hmm... You should get some rest...' Mikaela says, 'I'll be back to check on you later.'

--That's it for now, folks. Congrats if you made it this far--

[smolsleepyfox]

that one wolf photo's eyes aren't Photoshopped-- I found the original Flickr post and it's Ruedi, a wolf from Wolf Park in Indiana USA. he's been gone for a few years now, but his eyes were actually a pale gray. most photos of him make his eyes look pale yellow or green, but some do make his eyes look pale blue. it just depends on what the lighting and angle was when the photo was taken.

oddly enough, he's no longer on Wolf Park's website's memorial page, though he's mentioned in his sister Ayla's memorial. he was the only one of his relatives to have those gray eyes (everyone else had amber), and it was most likely a result of a genetic issue or defect since he also had slightly shorter legs compared to the rest of the pack

here's a photo of him in brighter/better lighting, where his eyes look pale green instead! somewhere there's also a photo of him standing next to Wolfgang, another wolf in the pack, where his eyes look pale yellow. https://www.flickr.com/photos/evesnature/8072149193/

[I mentioned on a photo of a blue-eyed wolf that wolves don't normally have blue eyes since that's a dog trait.]

Thanks for the source! I knew grey eyes can be possible but in the photo it looked like husky-blue so that threw me off. Maybe a trick of the light and/or a result of the editing process. Good to know anyway :3

[strelles-universe]

The Packs of Strelles: The Five Howls

The Five Howls are the Great Wolves who Howled the World into existence long ago.

The first and most honored wolf is Iren, the Howler of the Moon. Seeing the land and the creature roaming it, she howled into existence the moon. The light of the moon drew the attention of all living creatures. When the first dogs chose to howl under the moonlight and call themselves a “pack,” she showed her approval by letting the moon shine even brighter. It’s said that Iren leads dogs in their dreams during times of great trouble. When she’s painted, it’s as a completely black wolf with white eye sockets. Her official title is “Irusudallun” which means, “one who howls the moon.”

The second most honored wolf is Atella, Howler of the Sun. She looked upon the moon and created it’s counterpart, the sun. She encouraged prey to group together in herds making it easier for the dogs to maintain their food stores and keep their pups well fed. Her official title is Etllasudallun (one who howls the sun) and she’s portrayed as a golden wolf with white eyes sockets. It’s said that while Iren sleeps during the day, Atella watches over the dogs of the world.

The Howler of the Waters and the Howler of the Lands worked in tandem. Realizing the prey had little to eat, the wolf of the lands Canta (Nantasudallun) Howled into existence the flowers, trees and caves. Mywel (Yunesudallun) the wolf of the waters Howled into existence the rivers, lakes and sea to provide the creatures of the world something to drink.

Canta is often depicted as brown wolf with either yellow eye sockets or one yellow eye socket and the other with flowers and vines growing from it. Mywel is shows as a blue wolf with blue eye socket and have a pool of water surrounding her.The final of the Five Howls is Iseca, the god of the dead and howler of death.

Respectfully referred to as Sulasudallun. As dogs died, they loitered upon the earth some becoming twisted and horrid creatures that began to attack their former packmates. Iseca took matters into their own paws, howling a hole into the world. Iseca then guided the lost souls into the realm of the dead, having their fellow Howls create a place for deceased spirits to rest. And so by guarding over those who died, Iseca protects the world from the continuing expansion of dog-spirit based Abominations.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

hello, do you have any recommendation on alive hale with oblivious stiles (either about supernatural stuff or derek's feelings idk)

I sure do!

Almost, But Not Quite by hazelNuts

(1/1 I 2,205 I Teen)

anonymous asked, "hi i want to say that i really love your stories because you don't have cheating in them. which right now is something am so thankful for because when it happens to you right out of the blue you really hate even the mention of the word. i really need some happy sterek fluff maybe containing my favorite sterek situation high school derek jock and stiles nerd. as wired as this request sounds at the time my fanfiction pairings are the only people i feel i can trust as they can't hurt me."

Stiles and Derek are dating, but they are also awkward dorks who need to learn to use their words. Sometimes, happy accidents can help with that.

Say uncle by MsCee

(1/1 I 5,714 I Teen)

Derek Hale does not babysit. He just doesn't. That is, until he finds out that his cute new neighbor wants them to bond as single fathers while their daughters play. Not that Ellie is his daughter, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that, right?

*

Or, wherein Derek does not bother correcting an assumption and probably even encourages it in the name of lurve, but it all works out because Stiles is not exactly being the poster boy of honesty either.

You and Your Stupid, Perfect Smile by Omni 

(1/1 I 8,881 I Mature)

The last thing Stiles expected to see that morning was the guy he'd been crushing hard on for months standing there dripping wet and practically naked.

The last thing he wanted was to have to buddy up to the guy for the sake of his roommate, Erica, who had evidently started dating him.

The last thing he'd ever intended was to come between them.

Wildflower by thirtyfourthirtyfive

(2/3 I 15,225 I Explicit)

In order to keep their parents from dating, Stiles and Derek get together.

Dream a Little Dream by nakatas_cat

(10/11 I 27,1483 I Explicit)

For months, Stiles has been dreaming of a mysterious, hot guy sexing him up only to wake up to his dog beside him rather than his lover the next morning. Tonight's no different. Or is it?

Wolves with a Spark by AMatchInWater

(13/13 I 58,089 I Explicit)

Talia lets out a shocked gasp, "your eyes. They're purple." The Alpha is practically oozing with excitement. Stiles hisses, as the fingers touching the Nemeton start to sting as markings etch themselves into his knuckles and a small one on his wrist that looks like a Y but the stem goes up between the v part. "What the-?" Stiles yells out in pain, yanking his hand off the bark, the back of his left forearm feeling like it's been set on fire. A white fox with vibrant blue eyes burns into his flesh. "Mom?" He asks again, she died when he was young, but the Omega remembers what she looked like fully shifted. The spitting image of the tattoo forming on his skin. "What's happening?" Frantic eyes meet Talia's and Derek's. "You're a spark." Talia whispers in wonder. "You have magic, Stiles."

OR

Stiles moves in with the Hales after his father passes away. Presenting as an Omega and then a spark years later. He's hopelessly head over heels for Derek and wants to be his mate, but it almost certain the Alpha doesn't feel the same way about him so he says nothing and pines from a distance. Talia asks if Stiles would like to train to be an emissary to the Hale pack and Stiles agrees.

Stay by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

(24/24 I 71,634 I Explicit)

Derek is working for his uncle as one of the studios premiere models. Then, Peter makes a suggestion. One that comes with a damn good price tag. It also comes with Stiles. That...That's where things start to go downhill. Oh well, at least the sex was good.

run and hide by whiry

(36/36 I 174,966 I Teen)

"Unlike Derek, Stiles still remembers the first time they met. He remembers the confusion at the pull in his chest, tugging him to the boy with big ears and light eyes. He’d been in the grocery store with his mother and Derek with his, and they had all been minding their business, but Stiles had a niggling in the back of his head directing him toward Derek. And when their eyes met for the first time? Stiles’ heart about exploded. He remembers grabbing his chest and gasping and his mother running over and Derek’s mother running over. The boys didn’t even say anything, and poor Derek looked so confused, and Talia and Claudia simply looked at their boys, looked at each other, and immediately set up a time to meet. And that was how it started."

or, stiles and derek suck at being mates, a new threat comes to town, and stiles has to desperately try to save everything he's ever loved from total destruction all while trying to get through his sophomore year unscathed.