bastard son of the house of lambert, proprietor of the lionâs mane, continuous recipient of contempt and ridicule, keeper of your worst secrets. written by cas. 23, she/they pronouns, gmt+1.
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Age: 27. Jokes about being 63, because he was a wolf for 6 years, which is 42 dog years + those 21 normal human years. Either way, age is a really weird concept now.
PERSONALITY
Traits: Pretends to be flippant to put the world at a distance. Vulgar as a means of distancing himself from genuine vulnerability. Perceptive, but wonât let you know that. More self-aware than he lets on. Self-absorbed. Self-destructive. Loves being seen, hates being known.
Moral alignment / MBTI / enneagram: Chaotic neutral. INTP-A. 5w6.
Values: In other people, he likes independence, open-mindedness, the ability to dress well, a lack of tolerance for bullshit, genuine altruism, and resilience.
Flaws: Judgmental. Narcissistic as a defense mechanism. Occasionally rude, but mostly just cheeky. Not a team player. Reckless. Hedonistic. The brokest bitch in Blackrock.
HISTORYÂ
( shorter version is in the app. i just like details. trigger warnings for child abuse and sex as self harm.)
1) CHILDHOOD
You had a family, once. Your motherâs a piano teacher and your father is â you donât know, really, but heâs got enough old money to buy nice things even if heâs stingy on principle. Heâs polite, and sheâs funny, and your fellow patrons at Sunday Mass love all three of you because youâre down-to-earth, surface-level beautiful â a perfect American family.
But they donât know what happens inside the too-big house at the foot of the mountain. Your motherâs a pessimist, and your fatherâs a sniveling piece of shit who copes with his worthlessness by making everybody feel small. Heâs kinda good at it. Theyâre both as loud as they are erratic and itâs all a matter of bracing yourself for when the floor inevitably falls through. You make do, mostly. You hide in your room. You lock the door. You put your ears behind headphones. You drown out their screaming matches and your too-loud mind.Â
It all falls apart when Mommy decides she hates Daddy more than she loves you. No goodbye. No explanation. She just leaves.Â
Her departure plants a lesson you will later find impossible to uproot: love is earned, Evan, youâre not working hard enough. At least your father stayed. At least he sometimes loved you. At least, you think so. He might have loved you when he took you fishing, or gave you that book you really liked, or when he buys you clothes that look really nice. You flip through your motherâs old sheet music and fumble through the piano keys, and you think he might love you when he watches you fill this house with her memory without saying anything.
But mostly, heâs not very kind. You donât want to think about it anymore.
2) ADOLESCENCE
You inherit your motherâs cynicism and your fatherâs stingy heart. The skill you develop is as much a sense of humor as it is a safety net. If lifeâs a joke, beat it to the punchline. By the time youâre fifteen, you can no longer pretend that your world is worth saving. You keep it at armâs length. Your mind makes a mockery of the darkness to keep its jaws at a distance, because if you couldnât do that, your pitch-black pessimism would swallow you whole.
Growing up feels less like maturing and more like mutating. By the time youâre sixteen, you stop feigning perfection to earn the affection of a father whoâs heart is colder than your Blackrock winter. Popular misconception claims control is a word you never learned, but thatâs just what you let everyone think. The truth is: control is a lesson you pried out of your body when the need for acceptance evolved into a need to rebel. Youâre an embarrassment, Evan. Adolescence meant insurrection. Youâre a failure of a son. Pills and booze and boys and girls biting the hand that hit him. Your heart is a bullet and your mouth is a shotgun and you will make yourself repulsive if the alternative is admitting that â Evan, I wish you knew how difficult it is to love you.
You only apply yourself when it matters. You get into Stanford. You take a loan. You donât let your father pay for tuition, because youâre not letting him control your life anymore. You leave your tar pit town the way your mother did, and itâs only a matter of time before your goodbye is permanent.Â
It gets better as much as it gets worse. You leave home, but home doesnât really leave you, and you donât recognize your body when itâs not in pain. Youâre beautiful, though. People see you and want to make you theirs. You let it happen. Too-rough hands salve the ghosts of bruises your father left you. This is the ugliest way of putting it: you feel damaged. Every person you kiss has too-sharp teeth, and maybe thatâs exactly how you want it, because if this body doesnât feel like it belongs to you, then offer it up in a way that feels good.
You always leave first. You love much how it tears them apart. This is your inheritance: your Mommaâs love of leaving, and your Daddyâs stingy, stingy heart.
3) THE BITE
Unlike your mother, you tried to come back. Your father called one night, asking if you wanted to return for Christmas, and the small, stupid flicker of hope that your pessimism couldnât kill begged that you give him a chance.
He didnât change. He argues about the degree youâre taking with the money you donât have and insists on carving a future for you, his way. He doesnât like your independence. He doesnât like your protests. Your fights are explosive until they arenât, until a raised fist reminds you exactly what violence heâs capable of.
At least he sometimes loves you. Maybe he loved you when he picked your wounded body up, carried you out of the woods, and bandaged up bite on your side. Maybe he loved you when he brought medicine to your room, and maybe he loved you when made you chicken soup just the way you liked it, even when you didnât ask. Maybe he loved you when he sat by the side of your bed, and talked about his father, and his fatherâs father, and how none of them really knew how to grow up without making their sons feel small.
But the fever is strange. A new kind of anger tears out whatever capacity for forgiveness you might have had. Your bones are changing. Something wretched twists and grows inside you, and with a hot flash of pain, youâre something new entirely.
You have one last coherent thought before the wild takes your mind completely.
I have to kill him. So you do.Â
3.5) THE THINGS YOU DONâT KNOW
The news of your fatherâs death spreads like wildfire in Blackrock. Itâs not your fatherâs mangled body that causes intrigue, itâs your disappearance. Wolf attacks, while uncommon, arenât exactly rare, and everyoneâs heard the folktales. Neighbors assure that you were there during the evidence, but the police find no evidence of carnage, not a pound of flesh nor drop of blood to support the fearful need to conclude that thereâs nothing supernatural about this. You canât prove the Czarnecki kid isnât a werewolf, the gossipers say. Nobody can even prove that heâs dead.
4) WOLF-HOOD
You donât know what strange circumstance landed you in your new body, but maybe you donât care. Maybe the bite and the fever killed you, and the Buddhists were right. You donât really know if you earned enough good karma to deserve this reincarnated form, but either way, youâre never letting it go. You hunt deer. You roll around in the snow. You snarl at any predator that dares to get near, and bite the ones that move into your space without permission. Sometimes you walk into the backyards of strangers and wait for children who arenât afraid to try and approach you. You donât eat them, because just because youâre a monster now doesnât mean you donât have principles.
You lie down. You let them rub your belly.
Itâs a really nice life.
5) NOW
Six years after you thought you died, a woman drags you out of the woods you back into your body. Even a lifetime of pain couldnât prepare you for the shift back. New bones tear your animal flesh apart, piercing your skin open to make room for your wretched old body. It aches in too many ways. The people â the wolves â the ones who did this to you, they tell you this is your home now.
So it wasnât Buddhism. Maybe itâs the Catholics whoâre right; eternal damnation does await the unrepentant sinner, and it looks like this: youâre here, trapped in a frat house for furries, without a cellphone, a car, or clothes of your own, or money to pay a doctor to confirm whether or not youâd acquired a tapeworm.
You realize you owe Stanford 213,000 dollars.
You are a very tired wolf.
TLDR:
Evan has a bad childhood. He becomes a wolf. He kills his father. He mistakes lycanthropy for reincarnation and lives in wolf-nirvana for six whole years. You drag him out of nirvana. The realization that he didnât actually die puts him in a terrible mood.Â
CONNECTIONSÂ
( So uhhh I wrote up possible prompts for the existing werewolf skeletons before I knew what anyone was like and I think they can be good jumping points! If you donât feel this fits your character, or if you want a different sort of dynamic, just message me! )
1) WOLVES (AND BITTEN HUMAN)
ALDER: Youâve seen him at his ugliest â a small, scared creature writhing on the floor, that horrific cross between a howl and a screech leaving his shifting throat. Now thereâs a flare of red-hot resentment in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it makes you wonder if heâs more monstrous as a human than he is a beast. You saved him from death. You realize you cannot save him from life. Heâll never forgive you for that.
HEMLOCK: You are a bootlicker and he does not like you.
HICKORY: Itâs not your job to keep the feral wolf in line, but your brother seems to resent whatever circumstance it was that landed him the role of mongrel babysitter. Consider picking up the slack. The guyâs only half-terrible â sullen and strange but mostly manageable, and maybe earning his trust is only a matter of affording him the patience that nobody else wants to offer. If itâs an opportunity to prove this pack your worth, try taking it.
MAPLE: Youâve worked too hard to protect this pack, to earn your position. Now your lot has dragged some feral creature out of the woods, offered him their home, their humanity, and still, he has the nerve to be ungrateful. He makes it clear that he doesnât trust you. He makes it even clearer that you cannot trust him. Maybe the demons in your head are concussed, but the new demon in your home now insists on giving you a migraine.Â
PINE: You are a mirror of lost days. You are the young flighty creature he once was and can never become again. Home is a word you might have both forgotten, but circumstance has offered you both a new roof over your heads, and a family to go with it. Maybe these similarities should draw you closer, but thereâs a glimmer of resentment in his eyes whenever he looks at you. You donât know why itâs there. It could be pity. It might be envy. It must be grief.Â
OAK: He had a father, once, and that shit didnât end well. For some reason, he sees it fit to pass some unearned blame on you, and now years of buried resentment are yours to bear. Familyâs a broken word, he seems to think, but you cannot let him break yours. Still, itâs evident that he lacks the capacity to be as self-sufficient as heâd like, and as long as thatâs true, itâs your thumb heâll be under. You know he needs you. Offer an open hand, or pull the leash tighter. The choice is yours.
REDCEDAR: He shows up at the bookstore to read a new title of Animorphs every other day and you donât know how that makes you feel.
WILLOW: He might take more kindly to you than he does the others. Youâre both new to a home youâre not sure will ever welcome you, and more importantly, you both wanted this. The bite. This beastliness. The difference is that heâs certain. Your condition is a new part of yourself that you have yet to fully love, but he seems to think he can teach you. Man and beast are equally monstrous, he tries to convince you. So letâs be the kind with bigger teeth.
2) OPEN CONNECTIONS
( Open to humans ) has taken an interest in the Czarnecki Werewolf Conspiracy. Theyâre familiar with the incident â a dead father, a missing son, and the wolf that allegedly kill them both. All the facts line up too neatly, and when somebody who looks to be the ghost of one Evan Czarnecki returns to haunt the streets of Blackrock, they think itâs finally time they get some answers.
( Open to humans ) once knew Evan. Yeah, the kid who always got straight Aâs and played piano for Catholic mass? What the actual shit happened to him? Theyâre watched Evan go from familiar face to murder case overnight, but now, the town recluses have found a new adoptee â and heâs the splitting image of the boy they once knew. Maybe itâs time to reconnect.
3) VAGUE CONCEPTS
he uhhhh (spins wheel) flirted with ( open ) at last drop for free drinks and then realized that spending six years as a wolf made him de-acquire the taste of liquor and now heâs having a crisis
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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