#werecreaturesverse

∞ - For an altered state of mind text. (Drunk, drugged.)

[text] save me i think uyor fathers hitt ing on my help

# - For an angry text.

[text] Éponine Thénardier what the hell do you think you were doing going that close to enemy territory by yourself?  Are you trying to get yourself killed?  Is that it?  Don’t you ever scare me like that again, do you understand? 

♦ - For a rushed text.

[text] I’m going to see my son please make up an excuse if your father asks where I’ve gone thanks 

x - For a secret text.

[text] I’m going to get us out of here, ‘Ponine.  I promise. 

♥ - For a regular text.

[text] Have to get away from the pack for a while or I might go postal. Care to join me for dinner? 

* - For an early morning text.

[He refuses to say anything. He won't...can't won't. But he's trying so hard not to start shaking like a leaf. It's raining heavily, and the thunder is getting louder, and it's only a matter of time before he's completely useless. It's childish, a silly fear he's carried with him since his boyhood. But when he hears thunder, and sees the crack of lightening, he cowers in fear.]

//So, it's kind of been brought to my attention that I should probably write down some of the specifics about the treatment and attitude toward Werehumans in the verse. So, prepare for a lot of my worldbuilding bs and headcanon. 

The general atmosphere between humans and their Were counterparts is in a word- best described as tense and wary. This is the general feeling on both sides of the fence though. Many Werehumans are just as mistrusting of humans as humans are of them. It's a bit of a sticky situation, when sometimes neither side wants to give the other a chance.

There are the extremists on both sides of the spectrum when it come to Werehumans. Most of the human population falls somewhere in the middle, neither extremely prejudiced nor extremely supportive. But as always, those with extreme opinions are far louder than those falling in the middle. 

When it comes to the government, their prejudice is mostly something kept subtle. Though there are a few openly anti-Werehuman legislators in D.C. Most of what the government does against Weres is to keep them down, and limit the opportunities for them to advance themselves. They let companies get away with not hiring many Werehumans, they look over them in advancement in government sectors of job opportunities. They charge a hefty tax on Werehumans to supposedly make up for the amount of damage and danger they may do in a given area. 

There is talk of making a registry of all Werehumans, but it's tied up in legislation, thanks to the strain on the federal budget it would cost. 

(GROUPS AND DESCRIPTIONS UNDER THE READ MORE CUT!)

[ It's the wee hours of the night when Georges finally slinks back to the wretched little building they call their "pack den," muscles aching after being pushed to the very limits of their endurance, though that's nothing compared to the pain in his chest.  It's far past when he was supposed to return from his patrol, but after his encounter with Marius he'd run far out of their territory, only just now making it back after stopping by one of their hidden stashes and picking up some new clothes, his previous set ripped to shreds during his sudden shifting. ] 

[ Without acknowledging any of the present members--with the exception of a brief nod to Thénardier, and he dreads the questioning that will come later--he moves to the little spot in the corner he's claimed as his own, picking up one of his books and immediately burying his nose in it to ward off questions.  Not that he's ever really disturbed--he exists on the fringes of the pack, barely considered a member but unable to leave. ]