#ow*

(send in your ship requests and I will make a graphic)

(send in your ship requests and i will make a graphic)

They were not prepared to be a werewolf, let’s make that clear. Not that they’d really had any other plans, but if they had made other plans those plans wouldn’t have included finding out a biological parent was a werewolf by surprise (the surprise being: getting rushed to the ER at St. Asclepius Hospital only for the nurse on duty to take one look at the chart, one look at them and declare “Werewolf. NEXT!”). But, since it had happened and there was nothing they could do about it, they decided to make it their plan. Finally, a direction to go in. They could move from the miniscule studio in neutral territory to something cheaper and farther from the city in Carynthia, near the woods. They could make friends, make a pack, lead a pack. Get money, get power… and they hadn’t really thought about it yet beyond that, but it would come to them eventually. They just had to begin.

Fear. It’s what has raised them ever since they were a child, and it’s what nibbles at their ankles any moment they’re not moving. Some werewolves have found comfort in domesticity. In pretending like they aren’t powerful, and capable of true destruction. They, on the other hand, have only ever cared about seeing the flicker of recognition in someone’s eyes when they understand that one wrong move, and it can be over. Not every moment of their life can be attributed to scaring unsuspecting victims, not as they spend at least half of their week acting as muscle for a high profile human associate. The ones who think they own Obsidian City. That enough money can tame the creatures that have long called it home.