#( are we the hunters? or are we the prey? this is a wild game of survival; pov. )
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Delaney Owens tag drop
#&.* d.o. | interactions#&.* d.o. | reflection#&.* d.o. | headcanons#&.* d.o. | musings#&.* d.o. | ch. study#&.* d.o. | aesthetic#&.* d.o. | playlist#&.* d.o. | skills#&.* d.o. | v. are we the hunters? or are we the prey?#&.* d.o. | v. this is a wild game of survival
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Werewolf Appetite
A commission for an anonymous user over on Discord, a long read (~15,000 words) so grab some snacks.
Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Digestion, Multiple Prey, Unwilling Prey, Cruel Pred, Sentient Fat, Permanent Fat, Teen Wolf, Incest, Forced Body Worship
The thick canopy of the forest cast dappled shadows on the forest floor as Tyler, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for ruthlessness, stalked through the undergrowth. His movements were calculated and deliberate, each step cautious yet purposeful. He wore dark camouflage cargo pants that were stained with dirt and grime from countless hours spent in the wilderness. His boots, heavy and sturdy, crunched softly on the fallen leaves beneath him as he moved. A black tactical vest adorned with an array of pockets and pouches hugged his muscular frame, the weight of his arsenal distributed evenly across his torso.
Tyler's face was set in a grim mask of resolution, sweat beading on his brow despite the coolness of the forest. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the surrounding foliage for any sign of movement. A thick layer of stubble lined his jaw, evidence of days spent in pursuit of his elusive quarry. Strapped across his back was a sleek crossbow, its polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees, a common weapon of choice for werewolf hunters.
Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush caught Tyler's attention, and he whipped around, his finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle. "I know you're out there, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the silent forest. "Show yourself, or I'm fucking shooting you where you stand!"
His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, every muscle in his body tensed and ready for action. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent testament to the deadly game of cat and mouse that was about to unfold. And then, without warning, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a speed and grace that belied its size.
It was Peter Hale, his lithe form darting between the trees with the agility of a wild animal. His clothes were simple yet elegant, a fitted henley shirt clinging to his muscular frame and a pair of well-worn jeans hugging his powerful thighs. His hair was tousled and unkempt, the sunlight catching the subtle highlights in its dark strands. And in his eyes burned a fierce intensity, a primal hunger that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.
But before Tyler could react, Peter was upon him, his movements a blur of motion as he deftly dodged the bullets Tyler fired in rapid succession. Each shot rang out like thunder in the stillness of the forest, but Peter moved with a preternatural speed and agility that seemed almost impossible to comprehend. He hoofed between the trees with the grace of a predator on the hunt, his movements fluid and effortless as he closed the distance between them.
Despite his best efforts, Tyler's shots went wide, each bullet finding nothing but empty air as Peter continued to evade his every move. Panic surged through Tyler's veins as he realized that he was no match for the supernatural creature before him. He was just a man, armed with nothing but a gun and his wits, while Peter was something else entirely—a being of raw power and primal instinct, driven by a hunger that Tyler could scarcely comprehend. And as Peter closed in for the kill, Tyler knew that he was truly and utterly fucked.
“We hunt those who hunt us,” Tyler huffed, out of breath as he grabbed his crossbow now that his gun was out of ammo. “We hunt those who hunt us,” He repeated, almost as if he was reassuring himself and reminding himself of all the hunter training he’s successfully gotten through.
As Tyler fumbled with his crossbow, his hands shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, he felt a sudden weight slam into him from behind. With a cry of surprise, he stumbled forward, the crossbow slipping from his grasp and clattering to the forest floor. Before he could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Gasping for breath, Tyler struggled against his unseen assailant, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He could feel the hot breath of his attacker on the back of his neck, the scent of earth and pine filling his nostrils as he fought to break free. But whoever—or whatever—it was, they were strong, far stronger than Tyler had ever imagined possible.
"Get off me, you bastard!" Tyler spat, his voice laced with fear and defiance. But Peter only laughed, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.
"You think you can stop me, little hunter?" Peter growled, his grip tightening around Tyler's throat. "Not so tough without your neat little weapons, eh?"
Tyler struggled to speak, his words choked off by Peter's vice-like grip. He clawed at the ground beneath him, desperately searching for something—anything—that he could use to defend himself. But it was no use. Peter was too strong, too fast, too...inhuman.
As Tyler's vision began to swim with black spots, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He could feel the strength draining from his limbs, his body growing weak and sluggish as Peter's hold tightened around him.
As Tyler's struggles began to weaken, Peter's grip on him shifted. Instead of tightening further, it loosened slightly, and Tyler felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was like a wave of hunger, raw and primal, crashing over him with such intensity that it stole his breath away.
For a brief, fleeting moment, Peter considered ending Tyler's life then and there, the thought of his blood staining the forest floor sending a thrill of excitement coursing through him. But as he looked down at the helpless hunter beneath him, something else stirred within him; Although his primary goal was to end the lives of anyone involved in the Hale House fire, his predatory werewolf instincts have taken over, irresistibly so.
With a low, guttural growl, Peter leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of Tyler's neck as he inhaled the heady scent of his fear. The hunger clawed at him from the inside, demanding to be sated, and Peter found himself unable to resist its call. Without another thought, he pressed his lips to Tyler's skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty tang of sweat and adrenaline.
Tyler gasped at the sensation, his body tensing beneath Peter's touch as a shiver of adrenaline-filled pleasure through him. He could feel the heat of Peter's mouth against his skin, the rough scrape of his teeth as they grazed his flesh, and a shudder of fear.
As Peter continued to lick and bite at Tyler's neck, his hunger grew more intense, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. His eyes burned with an otherworldly light, their color shifting from deep brown to a piercing shade of blue as his werewolf instincts took hold. His sideburns lengthened, his muscles rippling with newfound strength as he hovered over his prey, his breath hot and heavy against Tyler's skin.
With a low, feral growl, Peter leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Tyler's ear as he whispered words that sent a shiver of dread down Tyler's spine.
"You taste...delicious," Peter murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I think I'll have you for dinner."
Tyler's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Peter was about to do, but before he could utter a single word of protest, Peter's mouth descended upon him.
As Peter's mouth closed over Tyler's head, he could feel the hunter's hair brushing against his tongue, the salty tang of his sweat mingling with the metallic taste of blood as Peter's teeth grazed against his skin. With a low, guttural growl, Peter swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat contracting as Tyler's head disappeared down his gullet in a single, ravenous gulp.
"What the fuck!" Tyler's muffled voice echoed from deep within Peter's throat, his protests cut off as Peter's esophagus closed around him, sealing him inside the darkness. But despite his frantic struggles, there was no escape for Tyler now, no hope of salvation as he felt himself being pulled inexorably downward into the depths of Peter's belly.
Next came Tyler's shoulders, his clothes tearing and ripping as Peter's jaws stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his prey. With each swallow, Tyler could feel himself being compressed, the pressure mounting as he was forced further and further down into the pit of Peter's stomach. He thrashed and struggled, his fists pounding futilely against the walls of flesh that surrounded him, but it was no use—Peter's grip was too strong, his hunger too overwhelming to be denied.
As Tyler's abdomen disappeared into the darkness, he could feel the acidic burn of Peter's stomach acids beginning to seep into his wounds, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. He screamed and cursed, his words becoming increasingly muffled as he was swallowed deeper into the abyss, his body contorting and twisting as it was crushed and compressed by the sheer force of Peter's appetite.
As Tyler's thighs disappeared into the darkness of Peter's throat, he let out one final, desperate cry for help, his voice barely a whisper as it was drowned out by the roar of Peter's digestive system. And then, with one final gulp, Tyler's legs vanished from sight, consumed by the darkness within.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of Peter's satisfied burp as he settled back on his haunches, his belly swollen and distended from his recent meal. And as he rubbed his hand over his full stomach, feeling the faint movements of Tyler's struggling form within, a satisfied smile curled his lips.
"Delicious," Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and contented. "Absolutely delicious."
Under the cover of darkness, Peter sat beneath the sheltering branches of a tall oak tree, the hunter's crossbow clutched in one hand as he idly played with it. With his other hand, he rubbed his distended belly, feeling the weight of his recent meal pressing against his palm.
As he leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, Peter let out a satisfied burp, the taste of the hunter's flesh still lingering on his tongue. He smirked to himself, realizing just how delicious humans truly were, their succulent flesh providing a tantalizing feast for his insatiable hunger.
Turning his gaze towards the night sky, Peter chuckled softly to himself, his voice carrying on the cool breeze. "Looks like you failed your mission," he taunted, his tone mocking. "Guess that means lots of people are going to end up just like you—swallowed up and digested alive."
As the nights passed in Beacon Hills, California, a sense of unease settled over the small town. Men, one after another, began to disappear without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and fearful whispers among the remaining residents.
Families fretted as their loved ones failed to return home, their absence a glaring absence in the close-knit community. Rumors swirled through the streets, whispered conversations speculating about the mysterious disappearances and the dark shadows lurking in the shadows.
Some claimed it was the work of a deranged serial killer, while others whispered of supernatural forces at play. But no matter the speculation, one thing remained certain: people were vanishing into thin air, leaving no clue as to their whereabouts; Only leaving behind a tangible reminder on Peter’s growing belly as he digested more and more.
"Come on, come on... Shit!" Stiles muttered under his breath as he crouched in front of the door to Peter Hale's penthouse, the thin metal of the hex wrench feeling awkward and unfamiliar in his hand. He glanced around nervously, making sure no one was watching him attempt to pick the lock. It wasn't exactly the most legal activity, but Stiles was desperate for answers.
Lately, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Peter Hale. It wasn't just the way the man had been putting on a bit of weight around his midsection, though that certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by Stiles. It was also the sudden string of disappearances in Beacon Hills, particularly among young men. Stiles had a knack for piecing together clues, and something about Peter's behavior just didn't sit right with him.
Focusing his attention back on the lock, Stiles cursed softly as the hex wrench slipped again. He knew he was taking a risk by breaking into Peter's penthouse, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was onto something. If he could just find some evidence to connect Peter to the disappearances, maybe he could stop whatever was happening before it was too late.
“Fuck, how difficult is it to get into one old man’s house?” With a determined sigh, Stiles refocused his efforts, his fingers working deftly to maneuver the wrench into the lock. It was slow going, each movement careful and deliberate as he tried to coax the tumblers into place. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, the tension in his muscles making his movements slightly shaky.
After what felt like an eternity, Stiles felt a satisfying click beneath his fingers. With a triumphant grin, he twisted the wrench, and to his surprise, the lock gave way with a soft snick. Stiles froze for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened for any signs that he had been caught.
When no alarms sounded and no footsteps approached, Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, he pushed open the door and slipped inside Peter's penthouse, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He was finally going to get some answers.
As Stiles cautiously made his way into Peter Hale's penthouse, he was immediately struck by the decor. The space was adorned with sleek mid-century furniture, each piece carefully selected to create an atmosphere of sophistication and elegance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that swirled in Stiles' mind as he took in his surroundings.
Navigating through the living room, Stiles couldn't help but notice the meticulous layout of the space. The clean lines of the furniture and the strategically placed accent pieces gave the impression of a well-organized and thoughtfully curated home. But as he moved further into the penthouse, Stiles began to notice something unsettling.
Scattered throughout the rooms were mementos, seemingly random items that appeared out of place among the carefully curated decor. A baseball cap hung on a coat rack in the foyer, a pair of sunglasses sat abandoned on a side table in the living room, and a leather wallet lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. Each item seemed innocuous enough on its own, but as Stiles pieced together the puzzle, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
These were the belongings of Peter's victims, the men who had disappeared without a trace from Beacon Hills. Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized the significance of what he was seeing. These were not just random items left behind by careless guests; they were mementos, trophies collected by a predator.
As he moved from room to room, Stiles couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a heavy cloak. Each item he encountered served as a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills. And as he paused to take in the scene before him, a sense of dread washed over him like a tidal wave.
"What the hell..." Stiles murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he surveyed the room. The realization of what he was seeing hit him like a ton of bricks, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. How could Peter be capable of something so monstrous? It was a question that lingered in the air, unanswered and ominous.
With a heavy heart, Stiles tore his gaze away from the scene before him and pressed on, his mind racing with questions and fears. He knew he had to find answers, no matter the cost. But as he ventured further into Peter's penthouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking straight into the jaws of the beast.
As Stiles hurriedly made his way toward the exit, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him like a vice. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind racing with questions and fears. How could he have been so blind to the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills?
Just as he reached for the doorknob, a voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Stiles?" The voice was smooth and taunting, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine.
Stiles turned slowly, his eyes widening in horror as Peter Hale emerged from the shadows, his presence looming like a dark cloud. "Peter," Stiles stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "I-I was just..."
Peter's lips curled into a predatory smirk as he closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Before Stiles could react, he found himself pinned against the wall, Peter's bulging belly pressing against him with a force that left him gasping for air.
"Mind your business, Stiles," Peter purred, his voice dripping with malice. "You've done an impressive job of deducing who's behind the disappearances. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say."
Stiles swallowed hard, his anxiety reaching a fever pitch as Peter's words sent a chill down his spine. "Well, I take after my pops," Stiles retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm despite his fear. "He's in law enforcement."
Peter raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Sarcastic, even at a time like this?" he mused, his tone mocking.
Stiles shrugged anxiously, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "It's all I got, man," he replied, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "Pale skin and a little bit of sarcasm."
As the weight of Peter's gaze bore down on him, Stiles couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settle over him like a heavy cloak. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain: he was in way over his head.
Peter's smirk widened into a sinister grin as he leaned in close, his eyes sufficed with malice. "You know, Stiles," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement, "I think I'll make an exception for you. I'll take my sweet time digesting you, longer than any of the others. After all, you've been such an entertaining little detective, and it’ll be rude not to give pack members special treatment."
“Y… You what?” Stiles' eyes widened in horror at the realization of what Peter was suggesting. He struggled against the grip of Peter's belly, his heart pounding in his chest. Stiles' mind raced as he frantically searched for a way out of his predicament. How could he have been so foolish to think he could outsmart Peter? The truth was staring him right in the face, and now he was paying the price for his curiosity.
Peter's smirk only widened as he saw the realization dawn in Stiles' eyes. "Ah, I see it now," he taunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You didn't figure out as much as you thought, did you, Stiles? But don't worry, you'll get to experience it firsthand."
"No, no, you can't!" he protested, his voice trembling with fear. "You-you can't just...swallow me whole like that!"
Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down Stiles' spine. "Oh, but I can, Stiles," he replied, his tone laced with malice. "And I will. Consider it a...reward for your persistence."
Stiles felt a cold chill run down his spine as the full weight of Peter's words settled over him. He was trapped, at the mercy of a ruthless predator who had no qualms about devouring him whole.
Peter chuckled darkly as he observed Stiles' futile struggles, his enhanced werewolf strength making it effortless to overpower the younger man. With a swift motion, he grabbed Stiles' legs and forced them upward, beginning the process of swallowing him feet-first.
Stiles thrashed and kicked, his fists flailing wildly as he shouted defiantly, "You won't fucking eat me, you hear me? I won't let you!" His voice echoed off the walls of the room, filled with a raw mixture of fear and anger.
But Peter paid little heed to Stiles' protests, his focus solely on the task at hand. With each gulp, he felt Stiles' body slide further down his throat, the sensation both exhilarating and satisfying. He ripped open Stiles' pants, revealing his underwear, and pulled them down to expose his manhood, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
Stiles continued to fight, his struggles growing weaker as he realized the futility of his efforts. "You fucking bastard!" he spat, his voice choked with emotion. "I won't let you do this to me!"
But his words fell on deaf ears as Peter continued to swallow him down, relishing in the feeling of power and control. Stiles' protests grew more muffled with each passing moment, until finally, with one last gulp, he disappeared entirely into Peter's gullet.
Peter smirked triumphantly as he rubbed his distended belly, feeling Stiles' struggles growing weaker with each passing moment. He had claimed another victim, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.
Peter paused, relishing in the sensation of Stiles squirming helplessly within his belly. He could feel the young man's struggles growing weaker with each passing moment, his movements becoming more frantic as he realized the inevitability of his fate.
But instead of continuing to swallow him whole, Peter decided to have a bit of fun. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he focused his attention on Stiles' exposed manhood, stroking and teasing it with a wicked grin as his mouth navigated around his balls and hard shaft.
Stiles gasped in surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief as he felt Peter's touch. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.
Peter merely chuckled darkly in response, his fingers dancing lightly over Stiles' sensitive flesh. "Just enjoying the view, Stiles," he replied casually, his tone dripping with amusement. "After all, it's not every day I get to play with a meal as tasty as you."
Stiles gritted his teeth in frustration, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he struggled against the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through his body. "Stop it," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me go."
But Peter paid no heed to Stiles' protests, his touch paired with the licking of his tongue becoming more insistent as he continued to tease and stroke. Stiles' resistance began to crumble under the onslaught of sensation, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt himself growing more and more aroused.
And then, with one final, desperate cry, Stiles succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his body trembling as he released his load under Peter's skilled touch. He collapsed against the wall, his muscles trembling with exhaustion as he tried to catch his breath.
Peter smirked triumphantly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Stiles' reaction. "Fucking bitch, enjoyed that didn’t you?" he remarked casually, his tone filled with amusement.
Peter's laughter echoed through the room as he continued to swallow Stiles down, his belly expanding with each gulp until it protruded out like a rounded bulge. With a satisfied smirk, he reached out and cupped Stiles' face in his hand, holding him in place as he leaned in closer, his mouth gaping wide open.
Stiles squirmed and protested, his muffled cries falling on deaf ears as Peter positioned him directly in front of the mirror. With a wicked grin, Peter met Stiles' gaze in the reflection, his eyes glinting with amusement as he slowly lowered his head into his waiting mouth.
Stiles watched in horror as his head disappeared past Peter's lips, the sensation of being swallowed whole overwhelming his senses. He struggled against the tight confines of Peter's throat, his frantic movements only serving to hasten his descent into the depths of the werewolf's belly.
With a final, satisfied gulp, Peter swallowed the last of Stiles down, his throat convulsing around the struggling figure as he disappeared from sight. He leaned back against the wall, his hand resting lightly on his distended belly as he let out a contented burp.
"Fucking delicious," Peter remarked with a smirk, his gaze lingering on his reflection in the mirror. "You're the best I've had yet, Stiles. Shame you won't be around to enjoy it."
Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.
"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."
As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.
"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"
With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.
"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."
Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.
"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."
Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.
As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.
With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.
Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.
A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"
Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"
The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.
Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.
As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart. "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.
Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.
As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.
As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.
On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.
"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."
Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"
Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."
Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.
As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.
"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"
Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.
Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.
But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.
"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"
But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted.
Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.
"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."
As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.
"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"
With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.
"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."
Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.
"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."
Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.
As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.
With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.
Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.
A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"
Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"
The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.
Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.
As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart. "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.
Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.
As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.
As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.
On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.
"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."
Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"
Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."
Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.
As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.
"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"
Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.
Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.
But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.
"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"
But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted. He stood in front of the mirror in his penthouse, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a satisfied smirk. He glanced over at the corner of the room where Stiles’ underwear memento lay, torn and cum-soaked from his prior release.
"Looks like they've called a meeting to find you," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Funny how you'll most likely be dead by the end of it."
Stiles groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open as he struggled against his restraints. "You're sick, Peter," he muttered hoarsely, his words barely audible.
Peter chuckled darkly, turning back to the mirror to straighten his tie. "Perhaps. But at least I'll be entertained while I wait for your demise."
With a final smirk at Stiles, Peter left the penthouse, and headed towards the designated meeting spot– Derek Hale & Noah Stillinski had called for an emergency meeting, as one of their members had suddenly disappeared without a trace.
As Peter sat in on the pack meeting with Derek and Noah, the tension in the room was palpable. Noah's usually calm demeanor was replaced by an air of frantic worry, his brow furrowed and hands clenched into tight fists. Derek, ever protective of his pack members, especially Stiles, was visibly agitated, his posture rigid as he leaned forward in his seat.
"So, any leads on where Stiles could be?" Noah's voice was strained, betraying his desperation as he addressed the group.
Derek shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "Nothing yet. I've been trying to pick up his scent, but it's like he's vanished without a trace."
Noah let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Stiles wouldn't just disappear like this. He's not the type to run away."
Peter, leaning back in his seat with a smug grin, interjected, "Perhaps he's just off on one of his little adventures. You know how Stiles can be, always getting himself into trouble."
Derek shot Peter a glare, his eyes flashing with irritation. "This is serious, Peter. Stiles wouldn't just up and leave without telling anyone. Something's not right."
Noah nodded in agreement, his gaze hardening. "Exactly. Which is why we need to figure out what happened to him, and fast."
“What if he fell victim to the same disappearances that have been happening around Beacon Hills?” Peter said, “Maybe what got them, got him.” He added, feigning concern and intending it to be an indirect tease to the almost-fully-digested Stiles in his gut, having to hear them mutter about his fate when he’s only a few feet away from them.
“Don’t say that.” Noah said, not wanting to comprehend the possibility that he will never find his son again.
The group fell into a tense silence as they pondered their next move. Noah's mind was racing with worry for his son, while Derek's thoughts were consumed with concern and determination to find Stiles and bring him home safely.
Finally, Noah stood up from his seat, his expression grim. "I need to attend to my duties as Sheriff. Derek, I'm trusting you to lead the search for Stiles. Find my son, Derek. Bring him back to me. Please."
Derek nodded solemnly, his resolve hardening. "I will, Sheriff. I promise."
With that, Noah left the meeting, leaving Derek and Peter to plan their next steps in the search for Stiles. But as they began to discuss their strategy, Derek couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at him, a sinking suspicion that whatever had happened to Stiles was far more sinister than any of them could have imagined.
“You might be right, Peter.”
Peter watched as Derek's expression hardened, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through his stoic facade. He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued by Derek's sudden intensity.
"You think my suggestion is true, don't you?" Peter asked, his voice carefully neutral, though a glint of amusement danced in his eyes.
Derek hesitated, his gaze fixed on the table before him. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Noah, but... yes, I think you might be right," he admitted, his voice low and serious.
Peter raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And why is that?"
Derek sighed heavily, his frustration evident. "Stiles... he told me he had a hunch about who was behind all this. He wanted to investigate further, but before he could..."
His voice trailed off, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Peter leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities.
"And he disappeared," Peter finished for him, a note of understanding in his voice. "Without ever knowing if his hunch was right."
Derek nodded grimly, his jaw clenched with determination. "I'm almost certain his hunch was right," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "And now... now he's gone."
Peter studied Derek's expression carefully, sensing the guilt and remorse that lingered beneath his steely exterior. He knew Derek blamed himself for Stiles' disappearance, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.
"Well, we'll just have to find him, won't we?" Peter said, injecting a note of false optimism into his voice. "And when we do, we'll make sure whoever's responsible pays for what they've done."
Peter's confident facade faltered as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him, his stomach churning violently. He clutched at his abdomen, grimacing as a series of guttural gags and deep burps erupted from his throat, each one more forceful than the last. Saliva dribbled down his chin, mingling with the bile rising in his throat.
Derek watched in concern as Peter doubled over, his face contorted in discomfort. "Peter, are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.
Peter waved him off, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of his rebellious stomach. "Fine," he managed to choke out between gags. "Just... a momentary... hiccup."
But the spasms only intensified, each one wracking his body with increasing ferocity. His vision blurred with tears as he struggled to contain the rising tide of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.
And then, with one final heave, Peter expelled a thick wad of saliva and bile, followed by a sudden burst of pressure from his throat. His eyes widened in shock as he felt something solid lodged in his esophagus, blocking his airway.
With a desperate groan, Peter reached up to his mouth, his fingers probing frantically at the obstruction. And then, with a sickening squelch, he felt it give way beneath his touch, sliding up his throat and into the open air.
Derek's eyes widened in horror as Peter withdrew a half-digested jacket from his mouth, its fabric stained and sodden with digestive juices. The sight of it made his stomach churn, bile rising in his own throat at the realization of what had just transpired.
Peter's face paled as he stared down at the jacket in his hands, a cold shiver coursing through his veins. He had never experienced anything like this before, never lost control of his own body in such a humiliating manner. But Derek didn't need an explanation. The truth was plain to see, written in the horrified expression on Peter's face and the undeniable evidence clutched in his trembling hands.
Stiles was gone, and he wasn't coming back.
"I..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to explain what had just happened. But he didn’t need to;
Before Peter could utter a word, Derek was upon him, his fist connecting with brutal force against Peter's abdomen. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through Peter's body, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling backward with a pained grunt. The force of the punch was enough to warrant another, abrupt burp that erupted from Peter’s mouth–
BuuUuurRrP!
–surprisingly just as loud as his previous one. Peter hadn’t anticipated how fast it happened: Derek's transformation was swift and violent, his fangs elongating into razor-sharp points and his eyes blazing a furious shade of crimson. The air crackled with the raw power of his Alpha aura as he surged forward, his movements fluid and predatory.
The force of Derek's blow was enough to drive the breath from Peter's lungs, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled to regain his footing. He looked up at Derek with wide eyes.
"Derek, I—" he began, but Derek cut him off with a fierce growl, his lips drawn back in a snarl of rage.
"Don't you dare try to deny it," Derek spat, his voice low and menacing. "You fucking ate him, didn't you? You swallowed him whole like some goddamn monster!"
Peter's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Derek advance, his gaze filled with a primal intensity that sent a chill down his spine– But it wasn’t out of fear, it was pounding out of the intense excitement that he gets to swallow Derek, too. He could feel the weight of Derek's accusation bearing down on him, the truth of it echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat.
But even as Derek loomed over him, his fists clenched in fury, Peter had to tease. “Didn’t think Stiles had it in him to be so loud,” He said, “Guess he wanted his final words to be heard.” He had consumed Stiles, yes, and he had burped up Stiles’ last effort at wanting to be seen.
"Save it," Derek snapped, his voice dripping with scorn. "I trusted you, Peter. We all did. And this is how you repay us? By eating one of our own?"
“You should be thankful” Peter replied, lifting up his top to show Derek his churning gut. Loud, fattier, squishable, and the most prominent change: A tattoo of Stiles's face around his naval, a permanent reminder of what he had done and a power symbol to brag about. “I’m one-for-two now, Stiles is still here. Just, different.”
“You fucking…” Derek growled, “…You fucking got his face tattooed?!”
“On the contrary,” He spoke, giving the place where Stiles’ face was imprinted a squish. “He got it tattooed, must’ve liked what happened enough in there to want to stay on it.” Subtly implying that this was simply a byproduct of the digestion.
“W-Wha–?!” Derek stuttered before being cut off by the predator.
“That punch you gave me earlier? Stiles felt it as much as I did. Can still faintly hear him in there.” He taunted, rubbing in the fact that beating Peter is indirectly beating his friend-turned-fat.
With a guttural roar, Derek lashed out again, his fist striking Peter's face with bone-crushing force. Peter was in agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from keeling over.
“Stop fucking with me!” The alpha shouted, jumping in for another punch– He wasn’t buying Peter’s shit, thinking what he said was either intended to rub it in or discourage him from beating the shit out of him.
Derek's fist sailed through the air with deadly intent, but Peter was already moving, his reflexes honed by years of survival instinct. He dodged Derek's punch with a swift sidestep, then retaliated with a powerful kick to Derek's abdomen.
The force of Peter's blow sent Derek staggering backward, his knees buckling beneath him as he struggled to remain upright. With a growl of frustration, Derek dropped to his knees, his hands clenching into fists as he glared up at Peter.
"Now now, you really want to hurt your boy this much?" Peter taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Derek's anger flared, his instincts urging him to launch himself at Peter in a blind fury. But just as he was about to strike, a sudden wave of hesitation washed over him. Even if he didn’t believe Peter, what if he hurt Stiles in the process? What if it was real? The thought paralyzed him for a split second, just long enough for Peter to seize the opportunity.
With lightning speed, Peter swung his fist forward, his knuckles connecting with Derek's jaw with a sickening thud. Derek's head snapped back, pain exploding behind his eyes as he crumpled to the ground.
Before Derek could react, Peter was upon him, his weight bearing down on Derek's chest as he pinned him to the ground. Derek struggled beneath him, his muscles straining against the crushing pressure of Peter's bulk, his belly.
"You think you can stop me?" Peter taunted, his voice low and menacing. "You're nothing, Derek. Just a weak little Alpha who couldn't protect his own pack."
Derek's chest heaved with exertion as he strained against Peter's hold, but the weight pressing down on him was relentless. He could feel his strength waning, his limbs growing heavy with fatigue.
But just as he was about to succumb to the suffocating pressure, a surge of determination flooded through him. With a fierce roar, Derek summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and pushed against Peter with all his might.
For a moment, it seemed as though Peter might be overpowered, his grip faltering ever so slightly. But then, with a final burst of effort, he tightened his hold, his belly pressing down even harder on Derek's chest.
"You're going to– Uunngh… Pay for what you've done, Peter," Derek growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I swear it."
Peter's taunts cut through the air like a knife, each word dripping with malice as he leaned in closer to Derek, his smirk widening into a cruel grin.
"You know, Stiles was still alive when you came in for that meeting," Peter sneered, relishing the anguish that flickered across Derek's face. "Who knows if he died from digestion mid-meeting as we obliviously discussed where he went during his final moments, unable to help as he died... Or if your punch was the one to finish him off?"
Derek's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw set in a tight line as he fought to hold back the wave of despair threatening to consume him. "Fuck you, Peter," he spat, his voice thick with emotion.
But Peter merely chuckled, the sound grating on Derek's nerves like sandpaper. "Oh, don't worry, Derek. You'll be joining your pack member soon enough," he taunted, his tone dripping with sinister promise. "The pack’ll reunite, as fat on my fucking belly."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, sending a shiver down Derek's spine. He knew he had to find a way out, to break free from Peter's suffocating hold before it was too late. But as he struggled against the crushing weight pinning him down, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he might never escape from this nightmare.
With a cruel smirk, Peter leaned in closer to Derek, his eyes glinting with malicious intent as he spat on Derek's face, the spittle landing in a disgusting splatter. "You're going to make such a nice, fat addition to my belly," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.
He continued to rub his distended belly against Derek's chest, the pressure making it difficult for Derek to breathe as he forced him to hear the sickening gurgles emanating from within. "Just imagine how much fatter you'll make me once I've digested you and Stiles together," Peter teased, his tone mocking.
Derek gritted his teeth, his fists clenched in impotent rage as he struggled against Peter's overwhelming strength. He knew he was no match for the werewolf in his current state, but he refused to give up without a fight.
Peter pushed his belly further against Derek’s chest and up on his face, forcing him to listen to the gurgles of digestion and feel the remaining weight of Stiles in his beer belly.
But before he could muster a response, Peter's tone shifted, his smirk widening into a predatory grin. "But not now," he mused, almost casually. "I think I'll save the best for last. Noah Stilinski seems like he'd be a delicious appetizer, don't you think?“ He said, ”Family first, right? Poor dad must be missing his son.“
And with that, Peter delivered a swift, powerful punch to Derek's jaw, the force of it knocking him unconscious in an instant. As darkness closed in around him, Derek couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see the light of day again.
Peter's muscles rippled beneath his taut skin as he effortlessly lifted Derek's unconscious form from the ground, his strength belying his lean frame. With a grunt of exertion, he hoisted Derek's limp body over his broad shoulder, his arms securely wrapped around his waist to prevent him from slipping.
With Derek's weight settled against him, Peter began the journey back to his penthouse, his steps purposeful and steady as he navigated the dimly lit streets of Beacon Hills. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him.
As he approached the entrance to his building, Peter's pace quickened, a surge of anticipation coursing through him at the thought of what awaited them inside. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door and stepped into the opulent foyer, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting eerie shadows across the marble floors.
Carefully, Peter carried Derek through the spacious penthouse, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he made his way to the makeshift holding area he had prepared in the basement. With a grunt of effort, he lowered Derek onto the sturdy metal cot, his muscles straining with the effort as he secured the restraints around Derek's wrists and ankles, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to escape.
Once Derek was securely bound, Peter stepped back, a satisfied smile curling his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. With Derek safely restrained, he could finally focus on his next target: Noah Stilinski.
"Now, off to Noah's workplace..." Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and menacing as he turned on his heel and made his way back upstairs.
The Beacon County Sheriff Station stood as a sturdy fortress against the encroaching darkness of the night. Its exterior was composed of weathered bricks, their surfaces marred by the passage of time and the elements. At the lower few meters of the building, the bricks transitioned into a different type of tile, arranged in a neat pattern that offered a subtle contrast to the rough texture of the bricks above.
A dusty, old sign adorned the top of the double-sided glass doors, its letters slightly faded from years of exposure to the elements. The white frames of the doors gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the street lamps that flanked the entrance. Two additional lamps, one on each side of the doorway, cast pools of light onto the cracked pavement below, their buzzing hum adding to the eerie ambiance of the night.
Peter approached the entrance with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on the illuminated interior beyond the glass doors. Despite the late hour, the station was still abuzz with activity, the sound of ringing phones and hurried footsteps echoing through the empty streets. Most of the deputies had already ended their shifts and gone home for the night, leaving only a skeleton crew behind to maintain order in the quiet hours of the evening.
As Peter pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped into the station, he noted the tired expressions of the few deputies who remained already packing their things to leave, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion as they went about their duties, while most had already gone home far earlier, after their shift ended. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows on the linoleum floor, illuminating the worn desks and filing cabinets that lined the walls.
At the far end of the room, Peter spotted Sheriff Noah Stilinski, in his office, hunched over a stack of paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the late hour, Noah seemed to be working overtime, his dedication to his duties evident in the way he tirelessly poured over the files spread out before him.
Peter's lips curled into a smirk as he made his way toward Noah's desk, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty station. Tonight, he would pay a visit to the sheriff, and nothing would stand in his way.
As Peter approached Noah's desk, the sheriff looked up from his paperwork, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at the sight of the unexpected visitor. "Peter," Noah greeted, a note of relief in his voice. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Peter offered a sheepish smile as he leaned against the edge of Noah's desk. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not here with any groundbreaking leads," he admitted, his tone apologetic. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how things were going."
Noah nodded, understanding. "Well, it's always good to see a friendly face," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "Especially on a night like tonight."
Peter raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over Noah's fatigued expression. "You look tired, Sheriff," he observed, his tone laced with genuine concern.
Noah chuckled softly, a weary smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's been a long day. But sometimes, being here helps take my mind off things, if only for a little while."
Peter nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get that," he replied, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's nice to have a distraction, even if it's just for a moment."
Noah offered a grateful smile in return, appreciating the sentiment. "Exactly," he agreed, his eyes meeting Peter's with a hint of camaraderie. "Besides, it's all part of the job, right? Gotta keep pushing forward, even when things get tough."
Peter nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on Noah's weary form. Despite the sheriff's outward strength, Peter couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the man who carried the weight of the town's safety on his shoulders.
The sheriff chuckled, “…It’s funny, because as much as I used to bicker with him, I miss him like crazy.” He looked thoughtful, “I say I try to get my mind off things, but truth be told, I couldn’t focus on shit today.” Performance suffered, and working overtime was not just a way to distract but a way to make up.
Peter glanced around the now-deserted sheriff's station, ensuring that they were alone before turning back to Noah with a solemn expression. "You know, I think I might have a lead that could help ease your mind for a bit," he began, his voice low and serious.
Noah's eyes widened with hope, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him at the prospect of finally getting some answers about his missing son. "You do?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward in his chair. "Where did he go? Did you find him?"
Peter hesitated for a moment before responding, his gaze flickering with a mixture of guilt and determination. "He's right here," he said quietly, reaching down and lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the tattoo of Stiles' face etched into his skin.
Noah's brow furrowed in confusion, his initial excitement fading into frustration. "Peter, I appreciate the sentiment, but now is not the time for jokes," he replied sternly, his voice tinged with annoyance, thinking that getting a tattoo of stiles’ face now was bad timing.
But Peter's expression remained deadly serious as he lowered his shirt, his eyes locking onto Noah's with an intensity that sent a shiver down the sheriff's spine. "I'm not joking, Noah," he said quietly, his tone devoid of humor. "I swallowed him whole."
Noah's heart skipped a beat as the full weight of Peter's words sank in, his mind struggling to process the horrifying truth of what he was hearing. "What do you mean, you swallowed him whole?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and horror.
Peter's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he recounted the gruesome details of Stiles' fate, his words dripping with malice as he described the agony of his son's final moments. Noah's stomach churned with revulsion as he listened, unable to comprehend the sheer brutality of Peter's actions.
"You monster," Noah spat, his voice trembling with rage as he glared at Peter with loathing. "How could you do something like that? How could you take my son away from me?"
But Peter remained unfazed by Noah's outburst, his expression cold and impassive as he shrugged indifferently. "It's nothing personal, Sheriff," he replied casually, his tone devoid of remorse. "Your son just tasted fucking delicious." He said, licking his lips and clutching his fat belly.
Noah's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to contain his anger, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from lashing out at Peter. But deep down, he knew that there was nothing he could do to bring his son back, nothing he could do to make things right, and with his most effective werewolf weaponry far away, nothing he could to avenge.
Peter forcibly rushed, rapidly transforming to his werewolf form as his predatory instincts took over, pinning Noah against his desk with a strength that was impossible for the sheriff to resist. Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the weight of Peter's massive body pressing down on him, his muscles straining against the powerful hold, and his belly pushing against his body– The same belly that relentlessly digested his son.
Despite Noah's tough exterior and years of training as a police officer, he felt utterly powerless in the face of Peter's relentless assault. His mind reeled with shock and disbelief as he realized the true extent of the danger he was in, and he was weak; Mourning his son’s death, his squirms and struggles were instinctual, but he had long given up.
With a savage growl, Peter tore away Noah's clothes, leaving him exposed and vulnerable beneath his predatory gaze. Noah's skin burned with shame as he lay helpless beneath the werewolf's relentless onslaught, his muscles tensing with every agonizing second that passed.
But as Peter's tongue traced a path of fiery heat across his exposed flesh, Noah's resistance began to crumble, his senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the sensations coursing through his body. Despite his best efforts to fight it, he found himself succumbing to the overpowering force of Peter's touch, his defenses crumbling beneath the weight of his own despair.
Peter licked down to Noah’s exposed member, licking it all the way down to his balls. Tears streamed down Noah's cheeks as he felt Peter's lips close around his dick, his body wracked with a mixture of pleasure and pain as the werewolf forced him to submit to his desires. He continued to suck on it, Noah’s dick growing hard in the werewolf’s mouth, his veins rubbing against the fangs.
Before Noah could find any reprieve from the unwanted pleasure, Peter abruptly withdrew his attention from his groin, leaving Noah gasping for air and shuddering with a mix of relief and lingering arousal. But his moment of respite was short-lived, as Peter's tongue trailed up Noah's body with a ferocity that sent shivers down his spine, leaving a slick trail of saliva in its wake.
With a low growl, Peter leaned in close, his hot breath washing over Noah's face as he licked and nipped at his skin with reckless abandon. Noah could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed up at the werewolf towering over him, his mind reeling with a dizzying mix of fear and desire.
As Peter's lips brushed against his own, Noah could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. "Reuniting son and father," Peter teased, his voice dripping with malicious intent. "Isn't that what you wanted, Sheriff?"
Noah's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to find the words to respond, his mind spinning with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to lash out in anger and defiance, to fight tooth and nail against the fate that awaited him, but he had no leverage; Peter caught him at a most unfortunate time.
"Please," Noah begged, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper. "Don't–"
But before he could finish his plea, Peter's hand clamped down over his mouth, silencing him with a forceful gesture. With a savage grin, Peter shoved Noah's face into his gaping maw, his lips stretching wide to accommodate the sheriff's head as he forced him down into the darkness of his throat.
Noah's world erupted into chaos as he felt himself being swallowed whole, his body writhing and convulsing with a mix of terror and revulsion. He could feel the walls of Peter's esophagus closing in around him, squeezing him tight as he was dragged down into the depths of the werewolf's belly.
As Peter's jaws clamped shut around him, Noah felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over him. He could feel himself being drawn inexorably downward, his body slipping and sliding against the slick, saliva-coated walls of Peter's throat as he was swallowed whole.
First, it was his head, squeezed tightly between the muscular walls of Peter's esophagus, the darkness closing in around him like a suffocating blanket. Then came his shoulders, his arms pinned tightly to his sides as he was pulled further and further into the depths of the werewolf's belly.
Noah's chest was next, compressed and constricted as he was forced deeper into Peter's gullet, the pressure mounting with each passing moment. He could feel the heat of Peter's stomach looming ever closer, the acidic tang of digestive juices burning at the back of his throat.
Finally, it was his legs, his feet kicking and flailing uselessly as they disappeared into the gaping maw of the beast that had consumed him. With one final, desperate gasp, Noah felt himself vanish entirely into the darkness, his entire body enveloped by the relentless grip of Peter's insatiable hunger.
A deep, rumbling burp echoed through the chamber as Peter swallowed Noah down, the sound reverberating off the walls with a sickening finality. With a satisfied grin, Peter patted his distended belly, the outline of Noah's form visible beneath his stretched skin.
"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter chuckled, his voice muffled by the layers of flesh that separated him from the outside world. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Sheriff. Hope you enjoy your stay." He said, before correcting himself teasingly. “–Er, and what little consciousness left of your son.”
Peter positioned himself on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly protruding obscenely as he straddled the wooden surface. His legs dangled over the edge, his feet grazing the floor below as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on either side of Noah's abandoned chair.
With a low, guttural growl, Peter began to grind his hips against his swollen belly, the pressure sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust punctuated by a low moan of satisfaction as he reveled in the sensation of his distended stomach pressing against his groin.
"Mmm, you like that, Sheriff?" Peter purred, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Feels good, doesn't it? Knowing that you're just another meal for my appetite."
He continued to hump his belly with increasing fervor, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins. His moans grew louder, more urgent, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the moment.
"God, I love the feeling of a full belly," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "And you, Sheriff, you're going to make the perfect addition to my collection. Your son and now you, all snug and cozy in my gut."
With each thrust, Peter could feel himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, his arousal building to a fever pitch. He could practically taste the sweet release that awaited him, the culmination of his twisted desires.
And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, he came, his orgasm washing over him in a tidal wave of pleasure. He collapsed onto the desk, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he basked in the afterglow of his release.
"That was... fucking hot," he panted, his chest heaving with exertion. "Seems like you’re good at three jobs, Sheriff."
Peter sprawled out on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly rising and falling with each labored breath. His skin glistened with sweat and his clothes were rumpled and disheveled, evidence of the intense pleasure he had just experienced.
With a contented sigh, Peter shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable on the hard surface beneath him. He stretched out his limbs, his muscles relaxing as he allowed himself to sink into the desk's worn surface.
"Don't mind if I nap here a little, do you?" he murmured, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, the darkness behind his eyelids offering a welcome respite from the harsh fluorescent lights of the station.
As he drifted off to sleep, Peter could feel the gentle rocking of his belly as it churned and gurgled around him. It was a soothing sensation, like the ebb and flow of the tide, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.
Peter's eyes fluttered open as the early morning light streamed through the windows of the sheriff's station. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and yawning as he glanced around the dimly lit room.
Checking the clock on the sheriff's desk, Peter muttered to himself, "Shit, almost got caught by your underdogs. I'm one lucky wolf." He chuckled softly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he thought about how close he had come to being discovered.
With a satisfied sigh, Peter climbed to his feet and adjusted his clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening his collar. He took a moment to admire the sight of Noah's empty office, the memories of their encounter still fresh in his mind.
As he made his way out of the station, Peter's belly churned and gurgled loudly, a constant reminder of the meal he had consumed the night before. He could hear Noah's faint groans of pain echoing from within his gut, the sound sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through his veins.
"Looks like your old age is catching up with you, Sheriff," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Barely lasting in there, aren't you?" He chuckled to himself, relishing in the thought of Noah's suffering as he continued on his way, eager to start his day, as his belly’s occupant barely had any air to breathe in.
Peter lazily strolled down the quiet streets of Beacon Hills, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he whistled a tuneless melody. The early morning sunlight cast long shadows across the pavement, warming his skin as he ambled along.
With a leisurely pace, Peter made his way to a nearby café, where he ordered himself a large coffee and a pastry, not bothering to hide the bulge of his distended belly as he leaned against the counter. The barista shot him a curious glance, but Peter paid it no mind, too preoccupied with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Sipping his coffee slowly, Peter found a comfortable spot by the window and settled in, idly watching the world go by as he enjoyed his breakfast. He could feel Stiles' face tattoo stretching further across his bloated belly, the ink distorting slightly as his gut churned and gurgled in protest.
After finishing his meal, Peter decided to take a leisurely stroll through the park, enjoying the peaceful solitude as he wandered beneath the canopy of trees. He paused to admire the vibrant colors of the flowers in bloom, the sweet scent of spring filling the air.
As the morning wore on, Peter eventually made his way back to his penthouse, feeling pleasantly relaxed and content. He let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into his favorite armchair, his belly now even more swollen and round than before.
Meanwhile, deep within Peter's gut, Noah continued to be slowly digested, his body breaking down bit by bit until only a few hours later, he was nothing more than a distant memory. Peter's waistline expanded, getting much fatter, and another tattoo of Noah’s face appeared on his gut, next to Stiles. Peter gave it a big, nice squeeze.
“Did say I was going to reunite you, didn’t I?” He said, squeezing even tighter. He knew that both Stiles and Noah could feel what he felt, and he could barely hear their incomprehensible thoughts in the back of his mind, the fat on his belly sentient and permanent. “One more, and the pack’s complete.”
Peter descended the stairs to his basement, the cool air enveloping him as he reached the dimly lit chamber. There, tied-up and bruised, was Derek, his gaze fixed on Peter with a mixture of defiance and resignation.
"Ah, Derek, my dear nephew," Peter said with a smirk, stepping closer to where Derek was restrained. "It seems you've been busy trying to escape. But you know what they say – it takes a werewolf to know how to tie one."
Derek's jaw clenched, his muscles tensing as he struggled against his bonds. But Peter merely chuckled, circling around him like a predator sizing up its prey.
"You're not going anywhere, Derek," Peter continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Not until we've had a little chat. Not until I decide that it’s time for you to join the others."
Derek's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering down to Peter's distended belly. And then he saw it – the tattoo of Noah's face stretched across Peter's skin, a grim reminder of the fate that had befallen his father.
"Why, Peter?" Derek demanded, his voice thick with emotion. "Why are you doing this?"
Peter chuckled darkly as he pressed his distended belly against Derek's face, feeling the werewolf's struggling breath against his skin.
"You know, Derek," Peter said casually, "I've discovered that eating others whole has some... benefits. It's made me stronger, more powerful than ever before."
Derek groaned, his muscles straining against his bonds as he struggled to break free. But Peter merely tightened his grip, relishing in the sensation of Derek's helplessness.
"Now, here's the deal," Peter continued, his voice low and menacing. "You can either give up your alpha status and be a beta in my pack, or..."
He paused, letting the implication hang in the air as he leaned in closer to Derek's ear.
"...you can become my next meal."
Derek's eyes widened in horror as he realized the full extent of Peter's intentions. He growled, his werewolf fangs showing as he sweared, “Fuck you, I’m doing neither.”
With a sinister grin, Peter leaned down to Derek's face, his tongue snaking out to lick a slow trail across Derek's cheek. The werewolf recoiled at the sensation, disgust etched across his features, but Peter paid no mind.
As Derek's nostrils filled with the scent of blood and decay, his stomach churned with dread. He knew that smell all too well—it was the unmistakable scent of death.
Before he could react, Peter let out a loud, guttural belch directly in Derek's face, the noxious odor overwhelming his senses. Derek gagged, his eyes watering as he struggled to keep from retching.
As the smell of decay lingered in the air, Peter began to remove the shackles that bound Derek's wrists and ankles, the metal clinking loudly in the silence of the basement. Derek tensed, his muscles straining against the bonds that held him in place, but it was no use—Peter's strength was far greater than his own.
With a predatory gleam in his eye, Peter leaned in close to Derek, his breath hot against the werewolf's ear. "Don't worry, Derek," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "You'll be reunited with Stiles soon enough. And all the others I've consumed."
Derek's eyes widened in horror at Peter's words, his mind reeling at the realization of just how many lives Peter had claimed. "How many, you sick fuck?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage and fear.
Peter merely shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I lost count after twenty," he admitted casually, as if discussing the weather. "But who's counting, anyway?"
Peter's belly rumbled loudly, the sound echoing through the dimly lit basement. "Looks like it's dinner time," Peter chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. With a predatory grin, he advanced toward Derek, who struggled against his bonds with renewed desperation.
As Peter loomed over him, Derek's eyes burned with fury. "You won't get away with this, Peter," he snarled, his voice laced with venom. "I'll find a way to stop you, no matter what it takes."
Peter merely chuckled in response, his amusement evident. "Oh, Derek, always so defiant," he taunted, his tone mocking. "But resistance is futile. You're mine now."
With that, Peter lunged forward, his jaws snapping shut around Derek's neck. The werewolf let out a muffled shout as he was dragged into Peter's gaping maw, his struggles growing more frantic with each passing moment.
Peter relished in the sensation of dominance as he swallowed Derek down, inch by inch. He could feel the werewolf squirming and writhing inside him, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered was establishing his superiority, both as the stronger werewolf and as the one who held Derek's fate in his hands.
As Derek's protests grew louder, Peter's grin widened. "That's it, Derek," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Just relax and accept your fate. You're going to make a delicious addition to my collection."
With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek down to the halfway point, his belly bulging obscenely with his captive's form. He let out a contented sigh, reveling in the feeling of power coursing through him.
With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek's legs and feet, the last parts of his struggling form disappearing into the depths of his churning belly. As Derek's muffled protests faded into silence, Peter let out a satisfied belch, the sound reverberating through the basement.
"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter remarked, rubbing his distended belly with contentment. "Another one down, another step closer to domination."
Leaving the basement behind, Peter ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house. He decided to stay awake for Derek's digestion, eager to witness the full extent of his power as the werewolf's struggles slowly subsided.
Grabbing a bag of popcorn from the kitchen, Peter settled onto the couch and flicked on the TV. He scrolled through the movie options, selecting a thriller that seemed fitting for the occasion.
As the opening credits rolled, Peter leaned back and munched on his popcorn, his gaze fixed on the screen but his mind elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the thought of Derek's inevitable demise, another victory in his quest for dominance.
With a satisfied smirk, Peter settled in for the show, eager to savor every moment of Derek's agonizing digestion.
As the movie played on, Peter reclined comfortably on the couch, munching on popcorn and occasionally letting out a satisfied belch. Bits of chewed-up popcorn and saliva mixed together as they fell into his churning stomach, joining Derek in his acidic prison.
With each passing minute, the acids in Peter's stomach began to build up, creating an increasingly hostile environment for Derek. He could feel the burning sensation as the stomach acids lapped at his skin, searing his flesh with each movement.
Derek's struggles grew more frantic as the stomach filled with acidic fluid, his attempts to escape becoming more desperate by the second. But Peter merely chuckled at his predicament, taunting him as he watched the movie.
"Quiet down, I can't hear the movie over your ass," Peter remarked, his tone mocking as he shifted on the couch to get a better view of the screen. He took another handful of popcorn and tossed it into his mouth, relishing the taste as he savored Derek's futile attempts to break free.
Derek, contrary to Peter’s remark, squirmed more in protest; Partially because of the pain he was in, but mostly because he refused to lose to him as the alpha. He felt a weight rising up to his chest, and after thumping it, let out a tremendous burp that squeezed his stomach tightly with how much air it purged.
BuUuuuUuuurRrrrrrRrprppppPp!
After letting out a massive belch, Peter noticed that Derek had stopped moving altogether, his struggles coming to an abrupt halt as he became dead weight. With a satisfied grin, Peter began to massage and rub his distended belly, helping it along in the digestion process.
As he kneaded his bloated stomach, Peter could feel the remnants of his latest meal churning and squirming within him, slowly breaking down under the relentless assault of his stomach acids. With each passing moment, Derek's form grew softer and more pliable, his body gradually dissolving into the sludgy mess that would eventually become nothing more than nutrients for Peter, joining the other pack members as permanent fat.
Content with his meal, Peter settled back onto the couch, the weight of his distended belly pressing heavily against him. The warmth and comfort of his food-induced stupor washed over him, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.
Before long, Peter succumbed to the inevitable pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off into a deep slumber. The movie continued to play on in the background, the sound of gunfire and explosions fading into the background as Peter's consciousness slipped away.
Wrapped in the warmth of his food coma, Peter slept soundly, his belly still churning and digesting its latest meal as he dreamed of the countless feasts that lay ahead.
As Peter awoke from his food-induced slumber, he felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins, a newfound strength that pulsed within him like a beacon of power. Rising from the couch, he made his way to the nearest mirror, eager to see the physical manifestations of his newfound status as alpha.
As he gazed into his reflection, Peter's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his irises glowing a fiery shade of red, a telltale sign of his ascension to alpha status. A grin spread across his face as he took in the changes that had occurred to his body overnight.
His once lean physique had been transformed into something more robust and muscular, his frame filled out with the remnants of his recent feasts. His belly, in particular, had grown rounder and more prominent, the tattoo of Stiles' & Noah’s faces stretched even further as it adorned the bulging expanse of his abdomen. Moreover, a third tattoo had appeared as he slept; The face of his nephew, Derek.
Feeling a surge of arousal at the sight of his altered appearance, Peter couldn't help but indulge in the newfound power that coursed through him. Stepping closer to the mirror, he positioned himself in front of it, his hands roaming over his bloated belly as he savored the sensation of his own touch.
With a low groan of pleasure, Peter leaned back against the wall, arching his back slightly as he allowed his hands to roam lower, tracing the curve of his distended abdomen with a mix of fascination and desire. His fingers danced lightly over the stretched skin, relishing in the softness and warmth that radiated from his newfound source of power.
As he continued to explore his own body, Peter's mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead as the new alpha of Beacon Hills. With Derek's power now coursing through his veins, he knew that he was destined for greatness, destined to rule over the town and its inhabitants with an iron fist.
His hands traced down to his erect member, fingers curling around the shaft as he began to stroke himself with increasing fervor. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.
As he pleasured himself, Peter couldn't help but feel the presence of the individuals he had consumed swirling within his belly. The fat that enveloped his abdomen seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and he could sense the consciousness of Derek, Noah, and Stiles stirring within him.
“Little fuckers, how does it feel to be part of my body?” He said, speaking them to directly as he continued to pleasure himself, pushing his dick up against the sentient fat on his belly. “You like that I’m getting off to you, don’t you?”
Their thoughts whispered through his mind, mingling with his own desires and fantasies as he surrendered himself to the euphoria of the moment. He could hear their voices, faint but distinct, as they cried out in protest, their fear and confusion adding to the heady mix of sensations that flooded his senses.
But instead of recoiling from their presence, Peter found himself drawn to it, his arousal spiking as he reveled in the power he now held over them. With each stroke of his hand, he felt their fear and desperation fueling his own pleasure, driving him ever closer to the brink of release.
His hands continued their relentless motion, fingers sliding up and down his throbbing member with practiced skill. With each stroke, he couldn't help but revel in the sensation of his own touch, the pleasure building with every pass. As he pleasured himself, his thoughts turned to the recent events—the meals he had consumed, the power he had gained, and the control he now wielded.
As he pleasured himself, Peter moaned softly, the sound mixing with his thoughts as he teased them about their fate. "You're all mine now," he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You'll be with me forever, trapped in this fat," he continued, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "No matter how hard I work out, I'll never lose you."
The thought sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, intensifying the sensation as he continued to stroke himself with increasing fervor. His mind was consumed with images of their struggles, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in his ears as he relished in his newfound power over them.
And then, with a guttural groan, Peter reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, his body convulsing with the force of his release. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as he ejaculated load after load, his seed spilling forth in a torrent.
As he lay there, spent and sated, Peter couldn't help but smile to himself, his mind still buzzing with the euphoria of his conquest. “Fuck…” He moaned, his gut coated with his cum, particularly around the faces’ tattoos. “That felt fucking good.”
Peter grabbed his belly and squeezed it tight, “Can’t wait to eat more people, and have all of you feel every bit of it as you help digest them.”
#male pred#male vore#digestion#male prey#m/m#gay vore#sentient fat#multiple prey#unwilling prey#cruel pred#werewolf pred#body worship#teen wolf
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i can’t help that feel like 350 calories per cat per day across 5 clans (150 some odd cats!!!) is more prey than there is! even with really generous cooking estimates you’d need to catch a rabbit or two or a large fish or something per clan every single day of the year. i feel like that would really mess up prey populations, wouldn’t it? i know animals have a lot of babies, but 3,650 rabbits’ worth of calories every year (not to mention what other predators like foxes, snakes, and hawks are eating) feels like too much for one territory. are we assuming that there’s more prey than there is or do i just not know how much offspring animals produce?
WELL, there's a lot of factors here, but you are actually organically figuring out something true and horrifying. BB!Cats are sapient, able to understand their impact on the environment and ergo manage it, but feral domestic cats are devastating to local ecosystems.
Not even because of caloric need btw just because of how much they hunt, and their odd behaviors.
The Bad
There is a reason why predator populations are so massively outnumbered by prey species. One rabbit would feed a single cat for days, but one colony is typically 3 - 15 cats. Most predators are solitary, or have "loose" social structures spread out over many partially overlapping territories covering miles (like alligators)! but something changed when cats were domesticated, and they now seek out dense social units unlike their wild ancestors.
That's why the only social wild cats are lions. Lion prides are extremely flexible, ranging from 3 to upwards of 30 members, and their populations are going to depend completely on how much prey they have access to. Even the shocking "infanticide" thing that male lions are notorious for serves an ecological purpose; less lions means more meat, so every cub that isn't yours is a future rival.
(tangent: the largest lion prides actually set up in major migration "hubs," where there is a constant influx of traveling animals. Not really an "ecosystem" where the pride can damage the population.)
But now domestic cats are doing this, in ecosystems that can't support them and never had predators that behave like them. They compete with the local mesopredators ("middle" hunters that hunt small game but are killed by larger predators. Ex: raptors, snakes, caniforms like foxes or raccoons, etc) and put extra pressure on prey populations.
But that's not the worst part.
In nature, there are Predator-Prey cycles. When there's too many predators, they decrease the prey population. When there's not enough prey, the predators starve and their population lowers. Here is a graph of this phenomenon;
In this way, starvation is required for an ecosystem to stay healthy. It's how nature regulates.
But human beings feed cat colonies.
So colonies end up hitting DOZENS of cats. Upwards of 30 in a tiny area. The sizes you see in canon WC and in BB are TWICE the size of what a feral cat colony typically reaches. In the real world, this is because humans feed them. They HAVE to starve to lower the population, and make no mistake, these are slow, painful deaths.
"But, if we feed the colony, then they're not hunting the local prey, right? Because they're not hungry?" INCORRECT. THEY ARE ANIMALS. Cats are not humans with our sense of morality and long-term consequences. Hunting is only partially driven by hunger, it's also driven by prey drive. Even an outdoor cat, who gets all their meals at home, is killing an average of 90 animals a year.
(note: you may hear the number "they kill 3.5 animals a day." That is a misreading of this study which says 3.5 animals a month based on owner reports; but better study shows they only bring about 18% of their kills home.)
I could get into why I'm actually not a big fan of TNR as a conservation strategy because of this, but in a nutshell, the best solution to feral cat population management overall is (expensive) high-intensity TNR (70% or more) PAIRED with (inexpensive) removal/euthanasia and other methods (like banning colony feeding). PURE high-intensity TNR takes up to 30 years to remove a cat colony in computer simulations. And they keep killing wild animals that whole time.
(tangent: you may come across articles that say that killing feral cats doesn't work. This is often based on this Tasmanian case study by Lazenby et all, where they trapped and removed cats, only to find an influx of subordinate "satellite" individuals that filled the vacuum that the previously established individuals left and increased the overall population. This is a well-documented phenomenon of predator control. They don't tell you that this is short-term and also happens with TNR, just over a longer timeline, as discussed in the above studies, and the solution is to mix methods and make sure that these programs are carried out systemically, NOT ONLY in one limited range.)
So... feral cat colonies with totally realistic needs are very harmful to local ecosystems. They are animals, and they are an invasive species. Keep your cats indoors please
The Good
But BB!Cats and Canon!Cats aren't just animals. These are cats with governments and religion. They do understand long-term consequences.
Even on the page in-canon, they show an understanding that prey comes from breeding (unlike, say, a medieval human who believed in spontaneous generation), WindClan doesn't disturb lapwings during their nesting season showing a basic understanding of ecology, and they even have a law against food waste. Like it or not, these aren't realistic cats. They are small humans with a fuzzy little kitty coat tossed over them.
So we can actually reasonably assume that Clan cats are modifying their behavior so they aren't the ecosystem-shredders that their real-world counterparts are, like;
Hunting over a wider area and having a large territory
(so to address you directly anon, their territories are not as small as you might think they are)
Taking the pressure off specific areas by sending their hunting patrols to various parts of their territory
Avoiding hunting animals during their breeding and nesting seasons.
Not killing animals that are pregnant or nursing
Leaving baby animals alone so they grow into bigger food items
Not killing what they don't plan to eat
Intentionally varying their diet so they take a little from many populations.
Hunting animals that real cats don't usually target, like fawns, seagulls, and young boars.
Breeding their own prey, if you're willing to do a little domestication innovation
If you're VERY cool, give them fire. go on. do it. 20% to 50% caloric increase is prettyyy cooool~
But also, you may be underestimating just how many babies prey species produce. Let's use rabbits because these things are insane. They weren't lying, rabbits can breed like rabbits.
European rabbits (and all the domestic breeds they are descended from) have a double womb. That means that when they've given birth to their litter of 4 - 12 babies (usually 6), they can already be pregnant with the next. Gestation is a month. These babies are able to leave their mothers at 2 months and can breed by 4 months. They can have 10 litters a year.
So a SINGLE rabbit COULD have well over 100 bunnies a year... but rabbit warrens are usually 10 - 50, mostly females, plus a bunch of bucks who are more solitary and more likely to travel around. And you're gonna have multiple warrens on a territory.
Low litter estimate, small warren; 10 x 4 x 10 = 400 bunnies. Big litter estimate, big warren; 50 x 12 x 10 = 6,000 bunnies.
That said, most estimates say they functionally end up with 20 adult children a year, which then go on to breed at four months. That's still 200 rabbits a year coming out of that small warren ALONE, and isn't counting the fact that those children are also going to have children of their own.
(though, rabbits in particular are facing a massive crisis in england and even across europe because of two diseases that hit them one after another OTL but it's not related to predation.)
Don't forget that a territory also has more than just rabbits. This is also happening with mice, rats, ducks, sparrows, voles, etc. Like I said, if your cats just diversify the prey they hunt in response to population changes, they'll be golden. In BB I even have a role dedicated to this now; the Head of Hunting, who is tasked with assessing this sort of thing.
SO, to answer you directly;
Feral Cats Bad
WC characters have more in common with a small human than a cat
Pure carnivores are pretty demanding on their ecosystems
There is plenty an intelligent creature can do to reduce their impact on the ecosystem
Their territories could still support them along with the other predators
You did underestimate just how many babies prey animals have, though
Overall, they would be fine. You COULD overhunt a territory, but not with basic prey management practices.
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Distant cousins of the jungle's stingbat, the aptly named stunbat (Tsealìm in Na'vi) is a native of the Txepìva volcanic plains that hunts by diving from great heights and colliding with their prey head-first, stunning them.
Their head is blunt, with a threefold crest reminiscent of the great leonopterix's dual one, but significantly more ossified. Their neck is thick and muscular, to help support the structure, but also to weather the high velocity impacts.
The hands, small and with fused fingers in jungle stingbats, are much larger here, and used to catch stunned prey falling from the sky, or pick them off the ground as they swoop down. It also allows stunbats to eat on the fly, as it were, as the plains' chaotic environment doesn't always provide them with safe perching opportunities.
Stunbats have short, prehensile neural queues that retract under thick, keratinous neck frills. The extra mobility of this limb allows them to make quick connections while in mid-air, front to back, back to back, or belly to belly, the latter being the more commonly seen one, accompanied by a stabilising "handshake".
The stunbat's vision is excellent. Early research by Eyris Makri with the Tuin clan of the Txepìva showed that their domesticated stunbats were able to spot prey up to 4 miles away, seeing clearly at ten times the distance of their Na'vi handlers. Their primary eyes show a high concentration of foveas, giving them enough focus to clearly distinguish prey moving against the complex backdrop of the plains and lava fields.
Although the stunbat's barbed tail has lost most of its poisonous sting, it is still used in defence against larger predators. Their best defence, however, remains a Na'vi bow.
It is hard to tell exactly when domestication started, though the olo'eyktan of the Tau'un clan claims one of his ancestors was the first to tame a stunbat. We're told this happened during the "Time of Long Nights", but dating that event is equally complicated. Current estimations are a minimum of two millenia.
During that time, the stunbat's range remained tied to the volcanic plains of the Txepìva clans, although the species has been observed by Serafiina Hukkala as far out as Mons St. Helen. One must note that the stunbat is unlike our previous study case of the Viperhound, which are bred for various purposes. Interviews with Txepìva hunters (Makri et al.) suggest that their relationship to the Na'vi is similar to that of cats and humans, with multiple domestication events, beneficial to both species. Na'vi led breeding appears to be very incidental, as stunbats tend to fly off to find mates in the wild, rather than mating among their clan's flock.
This species is significantly larger than their forest cousins.
The most common uses of stunbats are for scouting and hunting. While hunting of small game is extremely similar to what humans once achieved with eagles, stunbats also take part in hunting expeditions for large prey.
They are used to follow the movements of herds, but also to help separate young calves from their mothers, or the weak and wounded, by dive bombing them (Hukkala et al.) They understand complex orders, communicate with clicks and shrieks, and will come to hang on the queue or harness of their paired Txepìva to share more detailed visuals through Tsaheylu.
This is also how they are used for scouting. Serafiina Hukkala postulated that the stunbats' mated pair lifestyle influenced Txepìva culture by making the act of scouting a couple's task. Scouting, we must remind the reader, is a lot more crucial to the Txepìva, who have no qualms waging war against each other for the domination of water sources and fertile land. Raiding parties, while not frequent, are a banal part of life on the plains. Even small children learning to work with stunbats will be sent on sentry duties, often on the back of a Lenonin Hound.
The reason mated pairs of stunbats are favoured is because of their long flight range and their ability to connect together in mid-air. This means one side of the couple can move far ahead, and report back to their partner, already extended to the edge of their range. A couple of scouting stunbats effectively covers double the range a single hunter would.
Stunbats are occasionally used to communicate with similar techniques. While one half of a pair can be sent to deliver a message to another tribe, the other remains with their clan (often brooding). The homing individual (whichever has best endurance, as both sexes feed and brood chicks at will) can find its way back to them even if the clan is on the move. More research is needed on their communication capabilities.
When travelling or staying in temporary camps, stunbats are housed in loose baskets designed to let them hang onto the side. These carriers are custom made by every clan and come in many forms and sizes. Brooding stunbats are carried, either by a Na'vi who will fashion straps to turn the basket into a backpack, or tied to the back of Leonin Hounds.
In more permanent camps, the Texpiva craft treillis to give them places to hang from. Serafiina Hukkala reported a clan that arranged dried branches and material for firewood as perches, while Eyris Makri stayed with a couple who fashioned fake branches at the top of their tents, like rafters. Both heard reports of clans that house their stunbats along with their livestock, but the practice seemed frowned upon.
The bond between Na'vi and Tsealìm needs further study. It isn't as exclusive as with an ikran, but much more complex than with direhorses. Stunbats bond strongly with a small family node, and more weakly with the extended family and friend group. Tsaheylu is typically only done with their main Na'vi hunters, although the stunbat can be introduced and passed down to children.
Emergency tsaheylu was witnessed twice by Makri, when a scout had urgent reports and the stunbat was sent ahead. Connection was made with the clan's tsahìk, who had a habit of bonding with every newborn stunbat. The practice, we were told, can be controversial.
Hunter depicted without ornaments, to highlight the process of Tsaheylu.
Some clans craft harnesses for hunters to better carry and support their stunbats, while others prefer natural body-to-body contact. The folding or tying of the neural queue to allow for better access to the kuru/tendrils seems universal among all interviewed hunters and scouts. Different styles were observed and will be presented in our published notebooks, after our paper on the use of stunbats in skirmishes and outright warfare, as the Txepìva practice it.
Part II of @straydaddy (art and design) and @bluedaddysgirl (lore concept + final art entry) in-world collaborative study, "Introduction to the Txepiva clans, their nomadic pastoralism and niche selective breeding practices in species of stingbats and viperwolves".
On twitter we are Knarme and Bluedaddysgirl
#avatar#atwow#avatar 2#jc avatar#avatar fan lore#fanart#aliens#alien biology#xenobiology#xenozoology#speculative evolution#creature design#concept art#creature art#creature concept#alien concept#fan art#collaboration#alien design#alien creature#spec evo#spec bio#speculative zoology#speculative biology#na'vi#na'vi oc#pandora#stunbat#stingbat#tsealim
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Atalanta #2 "the Way of the Hunter"
Having been successfully rescued and nourished by the she-bear, one day the child, having been left alone, is come upon by a couple of Hunters tracking prey. Seeing the discovery as the will of their hunting patron god, Artemis, the men take the child and dutifully raise her into a skillful hunter, tracker and archer; ever in the service of Artemis.
Because Artemis was the goddess of the hunt, wilderness, and wild animals, she was popular with hunters. And, although the goddess was associated with childbirth and fertility, she herself was celibate, vowing to forever remain a virgin. The hunters, stalking their prey through the forest, wear shawls like cloaks called a Chlamys.
In the background of my illustration we can see one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, the “Temple of Artemis” at the city of Ephesus, (west coast of turkey). Here was a powerful and unique cult, with a more fertility centric Artemis Ephesia, a goddess rooted in Egyptian or Near east great mother goddesses; The site had annual festivals with games and theater performances, where young, single Greeks could seek out marriage partners.
The 2nd century B.C. Greek poet Antipater described it thus; “I have set eyes on the wall of lofty Babylon on which is a road for chariots, and the statue of Zeus by the Alpheus, and the hanging gardens, and the colossus of the Sun, and the huge labour of the high pyramids, and the vast tomb of Mausolus; but when I saw the house of Artemis that mounted to the clouds, those other marvels lost their brilliancy, and I said, "Lo, apart from Olympus, the Sun never looked on aught so grand".
Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in June to kickstarter. to get unseen free hi-hes art subscribe to my email newsletter
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#greekmythology#greekgods#pjo#mythology#classics#classicscommunity#myths#ancientgreece#ovid#archer#artemis
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Kinktober day 9
Day Nine: Hunter/prey (Crosshair x Hunter x reader)
Warnings: smut under the cut, nsfw, 18+, FemBodied, scent kink, outdoor sex, P!inV!, oral sex (f!reciving), fingering, threesome, overstimulation,
Minors DNI
Words: 1324
She had gotten tired of the constant bickering between the two of them lately. Crosshair and Hunter usually got along well but after you joined their little crew as a much needed medic they found themselves competing for your attention. Finally one day she had enough, she was just going to get all their energy out in one go, as they were spending the day on some random forest moon in between missions she sat them down and explained it. No weapons, no help from the others, she gets an hour head start.
“You want us to…Hunt you Mesh’la?” Hunter was intrigued but skeptical…
“And who ever find you first gets to… have our way with you?” Crosshair leans in practically chomping at the bit.
“Yes, and Yes. This whole thing is getting out of hand, and I know you don’t do anything like civilized people around here so I figured, this is as far from civilized as one can get.” She explained. Hunter and Crosshair look at each other, not sure if they should be offended.
“Look just, don’t think about it, let’s just try it and if it doesn’t work we won’t do it again.” She suggests. The two men look at each other, then her and agreed to the game.
~
She had been running for a while, running her hand along the trees leaving a scent trail for Hunter and making sure to leave some kind of marker for Crosshair to spot. The forest was ideal for this. She started to giggle, the thrill of the hunt, being chased by the two clones who so desperately wanted her. Her commlink went off letting her know the hour was up, she smiles and decided to leave something behind for them to find, pulling her shirt over her head to reveal her black sports bra, she leaves the shirt hanging on the branch.
Little did she know that during her hour of leeway, Hunter and Crosshair talked it out and decided to work together…and then they could share her. As they start into the forest, Hunter’s tracking skills and Crosshair’s excellent sight they are quickly gaining on her. it isn’t long until they come across her shirt, Hunter takes it off the branch and holds it to his face, her scent overwhelms him, her scent alone is enough to drive him wild. He feels his bulge pressing against his cod piece, he’s getting hard on the scent alone. He begrudgingly hands the shirt to Crosshair who also takes in her scent, it doesn’t have quite have the same effect for him but he enjoys it none the less.
She had stopped for a moment thinking she still had space and time, as she sat on the flat rock she tried to catch her breath, but that’s when she heard it, standing up quickly she looked to the ledge she had jumped over just recently to see them both looking at her.
“Looks like we found you Kitten…” Crosshair said with a grin on his face.
“Aw, Kark.” She mutters before she tried to run. But she wasn’t fast enough. Hunter holds her arms against his chest, behind her back, his nose nuzzled in her hair as he kisses the nape of her neck.
“You’re not going anywhere Mesh’la.” He mutters in her ear as crosshair joins them taking her breasts in his hands and massaging them, sliding his thumbs over her hardened nipples. A small whine escapes her lips as they start to take their prize. Hunter kissing her neck leaving little purple marks, still holding her close to his body. Crosshair kneels to start to put his mouth on her breasts biting at her nipples through the fabric of her sports bra. She stopped fighting against their advances.
“That’s it Kitten, we’re going to take good care of you.” Crosshair softly hissed as they lay her down, he begins to work down her pants, down to her ankles and pulling her legs apart. He leans in and pulls her underwear aside to lick at her sex. As Crosshair does this Hunter lays her head in his lap and moves his hands under her bra pulling her breasts out as he massages them. She lets out a series of breathy moans as they both work her body up to her release. The two clones look at each other as she shakes in pleasure, silently agreeing to switch places. She hadn’t even fully come down from her first high when Hunters finger slid into her wet folds, moving deep in her pressing on her walls.
“Come on Mesh’la, I want you to cum for me too.” Hunter growls possessively as he moves his fingers, dragging his fingers along her walls. Her moans surround them in this secluded part of the forest. Crosshair’s lips capture hers to silence her. As soon as she stopped he pulls away.
“Do you want us to be found Kitten?” He asks threateningly, she shakes her head. “Didn’t think so.” He takes her lips in his again, swallowing every sound she makes as Hunter works her up into a frenzy again, being this close to her scent was enough to make him loose it. Pulling off his codpiece he pulls his length and pulls her close, lifting her as he slides into her entrance, angling himself over her as he sets a rhythmic pace. She groans into Crosshairs mouth as he enters her. Her hips buck into him as he ruts against her hips, her eyes roll into the back of her head as she feels the waves of a second orgasm roll over her body. Hunter grunts as he feels her walls clench against him, his own climax well on its way. Crosshair pulls away again
“Such a good and pretty kitty…” He croons as he caresses her jaw, looking into her eyes. She whimpers looking back at him as he touches her, every thought in her head is of her two lovers who are taking ever such good care of her. Hunter moves faster as he chases his release, pulling out of her as he releases his spend on her pelvis, panting hard.
“Maker…you’re perfect Mesh’la.” Hunter groans as he leans in to kiss her. Pulling his blacks back over himself. Crosshair and Hunter switch positions, Hunter lifting her and holding her in his lap kissing her forehead, running his fingers through her hair. Crosshair readies himself and lines himself up with her entrance, teasing her slightly with the tip of his hard length. She whimpers as she feels her weeping entrance flutter at the sensation.
“I can’t… no more…” She sobs.
“Shhh… you can do it Mesh’la. We’ve got you” Hunter says reassuringly as he pets her head, Crosshair pushing in with a satisfied sigh. His movements slow and methodical as he savors every second. Hunter kisses her softly, enjoying the feelings of her moans on his lips. His tounge exploring her mouth as he caresses her neck and shoulders, down to her breasts. Crosshair picks up the pace as he watched Hunter kiss her, caressing the marks they had made all over her body, his own breathless moans and muttered curses reach her ears, a soft moan of her own joining his as she tightens around him. Crosshair growls as she does so, moving harder and deeper. He feels himself reaching the edge.
“Ah Kitten…It’s like you were made for us…” Crosshair softly hissed before he felt himself reaching nirvana. He pulls out and pumps his length a couple times before releasing his hot spend on her chest with a satisfied moan.
She wasn’t quite sure what happened after that, completely exhausted from everything she was half asleep as they cleaned her up, helped her dress and brought her back to the Marauder. She woke up some time later Hunter wrapped around her in his bunk, Crosshair’s head lay on her lap, both fast asleep.
~
Kinktober masterlist
#star wars#the bad batch#tbb hunter#tbb crosshair#tbb#hunter x reader#crosshair x reader#star wars smut#kinktober#fawktober2023
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thoughts on vongole, and kristoph as a dog owner
DISCLAIMER: i am not a professional in dog care nor training. i have had and trained a dog for many years now, but he is not a retriever. i've studied up on other breeds out of curiosity (and due diligence tbh). if anything i say here is factually wrong and you know more, feel free to reach out!
Kristoph:
Ah, yes, she's surprisingly delicate, you know. Requires careful tending. But, she is my "best friend", as they say.
Phoenix:
"Best"...? Come on, now I'm starting to feel bad for you.
Kristoph:
Oh? Of course, she's known to bite if handled roughly.
Phoenix:
Y-Your rose bites?
Kristoph:
...... I was speaking of the photo next to the rose. My retriever, Vongole. Cute, but feisty.
this is all we ever learn about vongole. am i going crazy about it? maybe. (also, after this line, phoenix thinks to himself, "every dog has its thorn..." as if that means literally anything. i love him so)
vongole is one of my favorite mysteries about kristoph. she is not at all relevant in aa4, and if she was only ever going to be in this tiny bit of flavor text (so easily missable too!) why put her in at all? was she going to play a bigger role in a later game that shu takumi never got to bless us with? i guess it's possible. that would lift vongole on the same level as those pesky black psyche locks. but either way, we have her here, and that means i get to overanalyze her :)
or more accurately, i get to overanalyze kristoph gavin on the basis that he has a dog who
is a retriever
is "surprisingly delicate"
requires careful tending
is his best friend, as they say
bites if handled roughly
hey. what the fuck does any of that mean, kris?
lets start with the breed. i've mentioned in a post before that many of us seem to have collectively decided that vongole is a golden retriever, which seems fitting, since those are famous blondes, just like the other gavins. however, "retriever" doesn't automatically mean golden retriever! there are a few other retriever breeds. you're probably familiar with labrador retrievers, for instance. i have a curly-coated retriever in my neighborhood who, you guessed it, has a charming curly coat, pitch black, and is a trained service dog!
we often see retrievers as service dogs, because they're pretty fit for the job. the name retriever comes from hunting though. while my own dog is more engaged in actually running ahead and killing prey himself (no i don't let him do that.), retrievers have been bred to go and, well, retrieve prey for the hunters. this of course means that you can also teach them to retrieve other stuff for you fairly easily. like meds, socks, blankets -- stuff a service dog would be helpful for.
apart from that, retrievers are also known to be good family dogs, because they're friendly, affectionate, loyal, and quick to trust. they're also very active, and pretty smart! there are minor differences between the various retriever breeds, but this much goes for all of them to some extent.
why in the world does kristoph have a dog?
i... just..... does he seem like a dog person to you?? i just.... i mean, he doesn't seem like a cat person to me either. or a plant person. maybe he doesn't seem like a person to me. i just really stumble over this sometimes, because it seems wild to me to think that kristoph gavin got himself a retriever just because he.... wanted a retriever?
the guy works what's pretty much an office job. his salary shouldn't be very high, as a defense attorney? but, well, he's implied to like high-profile cases, and he had the money to employ an assistant, so i don't think he's poor. he needs time and space for a retriever, though. vongole isn't a little shih tzu who's happy to just hang out on your lap all day. again, REALLY active. this is a dog who wants AT LEAST an hour of outside time a day. kristoph gavin doesn't even look like he's ever seen the sun. but ok.
one frankly hilarious route i've considered is that he wanted a dog for protection. klavier says he's been "living in fear" ever since zak gramarye disappeared on him, and then he panicked enough to straight up beat him to death the minute he saw him again seven years later. he's paranoid, he's spying on everyone involved. i think kristoph really was very scared. so maybe at some point he figured he'd get himself a dog that would protect him from assailants.
i say this is hilarious because..... a retriever is not the dog you want, man. like, yeah, she'll be loyal to you if she likes you. the problem is she is also really quick to like you, or the intruder in your house, or the guy coming to your office to kill you. if kris got a retriever because he wanted a guard dog, that was a fantastic bit of stupidity, and i personally love it for him.
another angle i like, one that makes him a little less stupid and a little more horrifying, is appearances.
But, she is my "best friend", as they say.
this line really does something to my brain. kristoph gavin talks like a law text book at the best of times, so the somewhat awkward wording of it isn't really what's bothering me. it's the fact that he said it at all. it's that very last part. the "as they say." because, yeah, sure, people say that. yeah yeah, man's best friend, we've all seen it.
and it just... seems so very kristoph to latch onto a truism about human beings, to make himself look like one. look at him! he's got a suit, he's got a job. he's totally on speaking terms with his brother. when the bar association voted to disbar phoenix, he was the only one who voted against that (one more thing i'd love to make a big post about one day lol), he has regular dinner with his good friend phoenix wright, he has an assitant, he has a law office. he probably has a car, because it's LA. he has a savings account. that's not, like, canon, but he does. of course he also has a dog. he's just a regular human guy! he likes poetry and the arts. his best friend is a dog, and more than that, a breed which is known for its gentleness, and for how great they are with..... children :)
let's all sit back and let that chill go down our spine for a sec.
kristoph got a retriever to prove something. kristoph got a retriever for the same reason that he made friends with vera misham before he tried to kill her.
remember what his prison cell looks like? with the books, the arm chair, the violin? he keeps up appearances, even after his arrest. of course he'd put up a framed picture of his beloved dog. like any normal human person would.
but did he treat her well?
well...... well.
here's the thing.
i don't think kristoph gavin is an animal abuser. i don't think he treated her badly. but that's a sliding scale, with dogs, and with most pets, isn't it? if i'm never outright mean or violent to my dog, that's great, but if i never give him enrichment, if i never learn to read his body language, if i never give him what he fundamentally needs as a certain animal of a certain breed, i'm still not treating him well. i'm not treating him right, i'm just not overtly torturing him.
back to kristoph. in this vein, i often think about what we hear of his interactions with young vera. one thing that particularly sticks out to me is how drew misham says that kristoph was one of the very few people who ever made her smile.
kristoph clearly has a way with children, to an extent. he knows to get her that stamp -- he actually understands her childish fascination with magic a little too well and gets her a present that she likes so much it thwarts his whole plan. keep in mind that vera was 12 -- when kristoph's younger brother was 12, kristoph was 19 already, old enough to consciously learn things about the 12-year-old in his household. he knows kids, and he gets through to them.
but never fully, does he? klavier figured out something was off about the way his brother came to his office. and even vera, despite smiling at kristoph so earnestly, despite really loving that stamp, despite being only 12, even vera was so horrified by that little twitch of the devil's hand. there was always something uncanny about kristoph.
why am i bringing that up? i'm not saying everyone who's good with children will be good with dogs, or the other way around. but there is common ground. you're dealing with a living thing that's smaller than you, dependent on you, and you're building a relationship that'll take a lot of calmness, understanding, and reassurance. kids often can't express themselves in ways adults would immediately understand, and neither can dogs.
and i think kristoph got about as far with vongole as he did with vera. i think vongole liked him fine. again, retrievers are quick to like people. he was there, he fed her, he probably gave up trying not to let her up on the couch. sure she liked him. but did she listen to him?
before i ever had a dog, my mom used to tell me that she thought the concept of dog training (the german word is Hundeschule, so literally "dog school") was stupid, that she'd had a dog as a kid, and that dog didn't have to know any tricks, it wasn't a circus animal! well, my mom was also bad with every pet we've ever had, and with all three of her kids. so.
look, it's important that your dog listens to you. i'm just saying. no, it doesn't have to know "circus tricks," although depending on the breed, it might have fun learning them! and it definitely just. it needs the basics. your dog needs to understand what "no" means, and your dog should come when called -- i know we're all tired of alpha terminology and it's constantly used wrong, but, genuinely, your dog needs to know that you're the leader of the pack. your dog needs that, it's good for the dog. turns out i was also using it wrong! this reblog explains what i meant to say better than i could. my point was that you have got to give your dog something, some form of structure. for the dog's own cognitive development, for you to work as a union, and last but not least to make sure you don't bring harm to the outside world!
and, yeah, this is absolutely the part where i think kristoph failed. because no, i don't think he was ever violent with her or anything, but i also don't think he would ever have the patience it takes for solid dog training.
why else does he, unprompted, bring up that she is "surprisingly" delicate, and requires "careful" tending? kris, did you not know? why are you surprised by how delicate a literal living thing is? did you accidentally step on her paw and she acted like it's the end of the world? yeah, they do that. did you come home late from the office one night and there was a pile of poop on your overturned laundry basket? hmm. if only something could be done about that.
the "bite if handled roughly" part is the last one i wanna talk about, because that also gave me a lot of trouble.
i mean... dogs bite. they do! mine bites. especially puppies are happy to play-bite, often into hands, and it's important to get that under control while they're young. this also loops us all the way back around to vongole being a retriever. remember, they're bred to carry stuff in their mouths. it is in this dog's dna to use her mouth for stuff.
this means she might be bite-happy in a very specific way. i've actually read multiple times that retriever bites are "soft", because again, they're just supposed to retrieve game when hunting, not kill it themselves. it's already dead, and a dog actually biting into it would make it yucky for humans to eat. retrievers are good at moderating bite strength for that.
but.... it doesn't sound like that's what kristoph is talking about, is it? she's known to bite if handled roughly. that sounds like she really bites. and of course she does. if handled roughly. hey, what the fuck does that mean, handled roughly? who's handling her roughly?
again, this doesn't necessarily scream animal abuse. as @mlmschemes, out of professional experience, has brought up, there are certain things that need to be done during a vet visit that dogs don't always love, especially if they aren't used to it, like nail trims, to state the easiest one. you might have to hold a dog down for that. and if that dog is trained and socialized like ass, yeah, she'll bite if handled roughly.
but, hey, don't worry. she's just feisty. :) cute but feisty, he says.
just like every fucking dog owner i've ever met in the neighborhood who has a half-rabid untrained menace that would probably tear my face from my skull if not for its stupid retractable leash.
anyway.
kristoph wants to be a dog owner because it's a fun normal human thing to do and makes him look non-threatening, well-adjusted, and generally likeable. but he sucks at dog training. nobody has ever fully believed the guy--fucking, even apollo IMMEDIATELY deserts him in court. kristoph lives a superficial life and vongole probably has zero trouble becoming the best friend of whoever gets her next.
just to bring this already embarrassingly long post to a point and an end, here's some quick tips from me for portraying vongole, and by extension kristoph dealing with her:
retrievers are affectionate, so vongole is probably a cuddler
kristoph probably has fur fucking everywhere. he comes into the office with a briefcase thats just filled with lint rollers
vongole knows exactly zero commands. if you have food in your hand, she will sit down, because sometimes that gets her things, and she will try to use it at every possible opportunity
if sitting down doesn't work, she will become more and more annoying. if my dog felt like i wasn't giving him enough attention, he used to walk up to my desk and nudge my forearm with his nose so strongly that my grip on my computer mouse would slip and i would fuck up whatever i was working on.
kristoph loses patience with her. it'd be interesting to write, because he'd want to save face if it happens in public, too. he can't yell at his dog there, that'd look bad. i imagine a lot of insistent leash tugging, a lot of ill-advised grabbing/holding her (here's where he probably gets bitten too), and a lot of smiling and laughing and being like "ohh, haha, she's just so feisty today, what's going on ooo she's so nice normally haha"
i doubt he played much with her? she probably had toys, but for kristoph to interact with them a lot.... you can play fetch with retrievers pretty well, because, once again, they're retrievers. and that's a pretty classic "look at me i'm a normal dog owner" thing to do, so he probably has some like, tennis balls and stuff that he'd throw for her. but that's probably it.
if you write vongole changing owners to klavier and/or apollo, please please please let her do a full 180. if you're going by what i've theorized here vis à vis kristoph, that dog is DESPERATE to learn. dogs want jobs and she would be SOOO happy to be trained.
forget that thing about old dogs and new tricks. my dog is 8 years old and i'm currently teaching him a new command, for funsies. it's working and he loves it. you can write vongole becoming a model citizen at any age. i implore you to.
#😳#imco#im not copying this into openoffice to check the word count. its so much#i got carried away lol#ace attorney#kristoph gavin#vongole#ash i hope it was ok to @ you!! lmk if not then ill remove the url
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Do you have a song that is your personal Astarion anthem? I have a few for each of the "Astarions." These are mine, but I'm curious to hear yours! Leave a comment with it/them.
Pre-canon Spawn Astarion:
"Dead Arms & Dead Legs" by Eliot Sumner
"I occupy these feet with these dead arms and these dead legs
The brambles catch and tighten and they pull me into bed
This is no retaliation, this is the universe
I imagine myself walking here 5 million years before"
"Maniac" by Phoebe Green
"You play girls like a man, but your eyes are like a child
Your face is cool and calm but your hair is wrecked and wild
You hide behind your metaphors and pray that no one sees
The fare behind your poker face, your dark and twisted needs"
"rises the moon" Liana Flores
"Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end
Sun digs its heels to taunt you
But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same
Rises the moon"
In-game Spawn Astarion:
"Flawless Execution" Pierce the Veil:
"Please stop, don't worry
I can be your freak
I will scar you with my
Flawless execution every time"
"Tongues and Teeth" The Crane Wives:
"And I know that you mean so well
But I am not a vessel for your good intent
I will only break your pretty things
I will only wring you dry of everything
And if you're fine with that
You can be mine like that"
"Body" Grandma's House:
"You do not recognize the bodies in the water
You do not know their face, their face
I do not know the body I was born with
I do not recognize my face, my face, my face"
Ascended Astarion:
"You've Created a Monster" Bohnes:
"Breathe in, now the prey becomes the hunter
Screamin', raise the dead and bring the thunder
You've created a monster
I just keep getting stronger
Nightmare, I'm gonna haunt you
You've created a monster"
"This is Love" Air Traffic Controller:
"I've got no shame, got no pride
Only skeletons to hide
And if you try to talk to someone
Well, then someone has to die
Once you chase me down the hole
Yeah, once you think you're in control
You'll believe that we are partners
And you're feeling comfortable
Oh, then the darkness rolls in
And you'll forget who I have been
But you'll love, love, love it, this is love"
"God Complex" VIOLENT VIRA:
"I wanna be the true savior
The one with a terrible demise
I wanna be the Messiah, pariah
The one who never dies
I wanna be your true love
Yes and the only one
You could cry to all the time
I could just be who you need
Darling won't you just plead
Or should I begin to bleed?"
I have three separate playlists for each Astarion "Variant" that I've put a lot of time and effort into, and continue to refine. I will link them if you are looking for a good Astarion playlist!
Happy listening!! I can’t wait to hear what songs make you think of Astarion!♥️🩸🦇
#astarion posting#astarion#ascended astarion#vampire ascended astarion#astarion bg3#astarion playlist#astarion romance#astarion ancunin#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate#character playlist#spotify playlist#Spotify
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Just reread the books as an adult and I must say as an adult it’s actually really hard to be nice about Gale. As a kid I was trying to be balanced and nice about the love triangle but as a grown adult woman I’m like “I don’t agree with your politics and also if any guy treated any of my friends the way you treat Katniss, I would stage an intervention”. And also Katniss never smiles around him 😞
I'm also doing a reread right now because I finally got hard copies of the books! It's going very slowly though lol
I really don't remember my exact feelings about Gale when I first read the books (I was in 6th-7th grade), but I don't think I ever liked him. I also remember hating how the movies emphasized the love triangle when reading the books it was obviously always Peeta.
I reread the books last March and as an adult I picked up so much about him. I think when I was young I was mostly anti-Gale because I loved Peeta/Everlark so much, but rereading as an adult I'm really able to specify what I dislike about Gale. He's just so... annoying.
On his politics, I'm actually a teeny bit sympathetic towards Gale because I don't think all the responsibility for Prim's death should be wholly on him. The severing of Katniss/Gale's relationship is so much deeper than him killing her sister. It's a plot point and dialogue that's been misinterpreted because of the movies. I think the way they presented it cheapens the story and it cheapens why Katniss ultimately chose Peeta.
Regardless, I can't help but dislike Gale. It is how he approaches his relationship with Katniss for me, and as you said how he treats Katniss. Whenever he speaks I'm annoyed. What bugs me is the entitlement he feels he has to Katniss. And some things he says give me the ick.
Knowing there’s people legitimately ship Everthorne is wild to me like 😭
Thanks for the ask!
(below is a tangent on the anti-Gale rhetoric. It’s a defense of one moment I think his hate is a bit too unreasonable so read with caution i guess)
I saw someone say on Twitter that Gale should be vilified for saying that killing people isn't much different than killing animals, and I think that person missed the point of that part in the book. And as some who likes literary analysis outside of my personal feelings for characters and ships, I kinda love that Suzanne wrote this. The dialogue:
“Katniss, it’s just hunting. You’re the best hunter I know,” says Gale.
“It’s not just hunting. They’re armed. They think,” I say.
“So do you. And you’ve had more practice. Real practice,” he says. “You know how to kill.”
“Not people,” I say.
“How different can it be, really?” says Gale grimly.
The awful thing is that if I can forget they’re people, it will be no different at all.
In the movie, the line sounds brutal and violent and I think part of it could be delivery. In the book, to me, Gale doesn’t say that with confidence or with the belief that humans are dispensable, but “grimly.” And in the movie we don’t get Katniss’s inner thought that even though what Gale said was callous it’s valid because this is the world they're living in - a world that is violent and where Capitol citizens don’t see children as anything other then prey. These characters are extremely desensitized to violence and death. In Catching Fire, Peeta and Katniss curl up on the couch with a mug of warm milk to watch Haymitch's games like it’s a movie.
I think there are a lot of moments to dislike or have distaste for Gale, because I have many. But some of his hate goes overboard and people mostly on twitter and tiktok bc they see the movies as canon solely put the blame on an 18 y/o with immense trauma instead of the adult leaders who have never experienced life like him - Coin is from D13, Plutarch and Snow are from the Capitol.
And to call Gale worse than Snow and to excuse a lot of Snow’s actions, even making shit up about Snow like he cared and gave genuine condolences to Katniss about Prim, or say he didn’t murder Lucy Gray as a defense against Billy Taupe like the murder attempt isn’t just as bad, is seriously gross. I’m kinda glad tbosas and hunger games hype has died down on Twitter because the takes were increasingly getting worse and more illogical.
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Leona Info Compilation part 11: Leona and Rook
Leona refers to Rook as a “weirdo” and “creepy”.
Rook gifts him with a handmade portrait of Leona himself that he says is “pretty decent…but the thought of him watching me all this time creeps me out.”
And Rook watching Leona is very much what is happening: when an unnamed Pomefiore student finds Rook hiding behind a pillar so as to observe “a certain someone”, he says, “If those sharp fangs of his pierced my windpipe, why, I’d be done for in an instant. The very notion makes my heart quiver…how splendid the roi des lions is! He would make for fine hunting quarry indeed.”
Rook continues staring at Leona even during a class that Leona is ditching (possibly to avoid Rook himself), saying, “I could watch Leona all day and never tire of it.” Leona seems to notice his attentions (“Truly, a wild animal’s instincts are nothing to scoff at.”) and Rook concedes that their “game” has ended, saying, “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get my hunter’s blood boiling every time I look at him…I so ache to corner that calm, collected quarry just enough to make him bare his fangs. Oh, to find myself in the position to make him squirm!” (Vil is unamused.)
One of Leona’s issues with Rook is his refusal to listen to what other people say, but he seems to have gotten used to it: in a vignette where Leona points out he is well aware that Rook has been following him around the school, Rook invites himself to sit down next to Leona in the cafeteria.
Ruggie responds with “Why even ask if you’re just gonna sit down anyway?” but Leona tells Ruggie to calm down, explaining that he is wasting his breath with Rook.
Rook reveals that he harassed Ruggie into revealing Leona’s “weakness” of disliking vegetables, and says that he is glad he got to see Leona eating, as “Mid-meal is when creatures are the second-most vulnerable, right after sleeping.”
Rather than rise to Rook’s bait, Leona tells Ruggie he is changing seats, as he cannot eat in peace with Rook staring from next to him. Rook invites Leona to dinner so that they might sit on opposite sides of a table instead (“That way I could see you from the front.”), but Leona ignores the offer.
Rook says, “It’s rather cute the way his tail thrashes about when he’s irate…the stronger the prey, the more I am driven to ensnare it.”
Dealing with Rook by simply refusing to engage seems to be a pattern with Leona: when Epel spills a potion that Rook had helped him make Leona insists upon recreating it from the beginning himself (to the point of carrying Epel and Grim physically back to the lab to do so) as the last thing he wants to do is “get dragged into something involving Rook.”
Despite claims that Rook is a “potionology expert” who told them that the potion “necessitated adjusting quantities based on temperature and humidity…and he said it was so hard that it showed up on graduation tests…Rook said there is no absolute, surefire recipe”, Leona crafts it during the course of the conversation, saying, “All I care about here is not getting on Rook’s bad side…the only reason I helped you was to get outta dealing with that hunter pest.”
There is a vignette that begins with Rook and Leona conversing in a hallway, but Leona looks most displeased about it.
We learn that Rook invited Leona to his birthday party but Leona refused to attend (sending Ruggie instead, possibly for the free food).
There is an interesting balance of Leona preferring Malleus to Rook, and Ruggie preferring Rook to Malleus.
Malleus refuses the invitation as well.
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The Chase - Yandere! Stanley Snyder
Summary :
Waking up in the middle of the woods wasn’t the vacation you thought it would be. Your friend invited you to stay with her at another country for a month only to realize that the plane had bought you in a different destination. In fact, you were chosen and had to play a game of chase for you to make it out alive.
‘’Damn that hurts…’’ You groaned in pain as you woke up in a cold hard ground. You’re literally wearing nothing but your clothes and even your phone and watch is all gone. The forest is filled with gigantic trees and the terrain was quite rocky and mountainous. Not exactly part of your plan.
You couldn’t really ask anyone about where exactly you are in the world right now. As far as your eyes can see, the place you’re in is an island, which make escaping more daring as there’s a chance of you dying out in the open seas. There are no birds or any wild animals in the area, and the plants does seem a lot different.
Taking a vine from the ground, you saw that there are no roots and you could barely break it with your hands. Just as you expected, your friend in nowhere to be found and if you did find them, you will certainly give them the piece of your mind. ‘This definitely feel like a survival game.’ You thought to yourself, concluding that there is no other reason why they would bring you all the way here, spend the time and money, gave the effort for you to be here.
Unless, you are chosen to be here.
A screeching sound caught your attention and looking up, you saw that there’s a small speaker tied to the tree. There was no buildings nearby that could be the source of it, probably a good distance from the place but the faint rustling of the leaves and frantic footsteps all over the place made you realize that you’re not alone.
‘’Welcome players. We do apologize for the discomfort we had caused in the process of bringing you here in the venue.’’ The man side as he began to introduce himself as the game master, ‘’I’m Ishigami Senku, a scientist. There are a few rules that I expect all of you to follow, breaching any of them would immediately lead to elimination.’’
‘Elimination?’ You looked around and noticed the box near the place that you woke up. It wasn’t there before nor did you hear anyone came by near the area. But the timing seems off to you. Finding this while someone is listing the rules of the game is a little suspicious. So you didn’t opened or get close to it.
‘’Rule #1, the game will last for 72 hours. Surrendering or leaving the place is prohibited. Rule #2, find your pair in the forest. All the players had been paired with a hunter and failure of finding them could result to your death. Rule #3, only the hunters are allowed to hunt the prey and the prey can hunt the hunters who are not their own partner. There are seven hunters and prey in total, scattered all over the forest. Time begins now.’’
And it was back to silence again. Well, he didn’t said anything about finding anything near the vicinity you’re in and by the looks of it, the box is a little smaller. You opened it up to find a piece of silk ribbon inside. There was no note left on it, or any indication that it has to be specifically worn. Putting in on the pocket of your jacket, you hear a scream from the other side of the forest and then it was quickly replaced by silence.
That escalated quickly. Once there was seven, and now there are six.
‘’In addition to the pre-existing rules, there is one more. Rule #4, once a prey kills another fellow prey, their partner hunters are prohibited to continue their activities.’’
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From what we see of it in game, would Absol be a feliform carnivore or a caniform carnivore? Or would it be omnivorous? Because I've been writing my Absol OC, Juniper, as being very similar to canids but other places seem to place them as feliforms?
You gave me quite the first question! Absol is a guy who's inspirational origins aren't as obvious as some other quadrupedal mammalian pokemon. More info under the cut so I don't clutter anyone's dash :)
Content Warning: Real life animal bones. Discussion of anatomy in depth. Beware.
LET'S TALK ABOUT ABSOL, HELL YEAH. FULL NERD RAMBLE TIME.
So, this is a bit of a complicated question to sort out. Is Absol a feliform or a caniform? The answer is... Well, neither? Maybe both?
Ultimately pokemon may be inspired by real life animals, but they have an entirely different biological evolutionary tree than ours do- meaning our assumptions about their wild behavior and skeletal systems are all just that: assumptions.
That said we can make observations based off of their anatomy. However, due to these being Pokemon, their skeletons are not available to inspect, neither are their muscles or organs, but I can give it a shot just from eyeballin' em.
So, what's the difference between a Feliform and a Caniform? Well....the answer to that is in the skull, specifically in the anatomy of the bones of the inner ear. On Absol we don't have that information. But there is general traits that can be assigned to both suborders of animals. Let's list a few so we can get it out of the way.
Please remember these are generalizations, so there are some exceptions to these!
(Images credit to Wikimedia Commons)
Caniforms: longer snouts, more teeth, less specialized teeth, non-retractable claws, usually plantigrade, almost always terrestrial.
Feliforms: shorter snouts, less teeth, highly specialized teeth, retractable claws, many are arboreal/semi-arboreal, and they're usually digitigrade.
Soo.... What about about Absol?
Well, oh balls, that's a mixed bag.... No problem! Let's use the anatomy to come to our own conclusions. Well its weight of 103 Lbs (47kg) and its height of 3'11" (1.3m) at the tip of its scythe tells us that it is a "medium" sized animal. Very scientific, I know. Medium.
So a medium sized quadrupedal animal that thrives in temperate and cold climates with thick fur and a prominent mane. Parts of its body, specifically the tail and the snout/face, are completely hairless. It has thick, long claws that are unable to be retracted or hidden. It has a large "scythe" which it can use for both offensively and defensively, as it can be used to defend the vulnerable back of the neck area where otherwise the animal would not be able to reach. Its mouth is small, and it has relatively small teeth. This animal is also lithe and slim and has slender legs that would allow it to run well.
How can this be interpreted? Well, let's try this: Due to its size and having developed a defensive horn, it is likely not at the top of the food chain- most big predators don't exactly develop over-the-top extra weapons for fun.
Second thing, what about its diet? Well, I would suggest it's definitely a carnivore. I mean, all animals are omnivores technically, but I would fit Absol into the hypercarnivore tier, with over 95% of its diet being made up of meat. With the size of its claws, it's likely its adept at digging, so it may sample on roots and tubers in a pinch. As for its behavior, due to its size and fur patterns, as for its process of finding food, I'd suggest an opportunist hunter/scavenger.
It can hunt, but generally will avoid doing so if possible. It's much more to try and sniff out an already deceased meal than grapple down one yourself. When it does hunt, it would go for smaller prey animals, rodent-like pokemon, small bird pokemon, and other small mammals. If it happens upon a larger carcass, due to its small mouth it will more than likely use its claws to shred the meat into smaller more manageable bites it can tear off.
In personality, I suspect Absol leans heavily into the feliform stereotype; it is solitary and generally quite unfriendly and skittish by nature. Due to its size, it is instinctually hyper-aware of being preyed upon by larger animals, and that includes humans. As for the sounds it makes, it probably sounds a bit like a bobcat or cougar. Growls, hisses, and more horrifically, almost human-like screeching when cornered/threatened. Bobcat noises linky.
So..... there's no actually SIMPLE answer to "is it a feliform or a caniform?" oops. But I at least hope this helps ;;
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Blue Lock Manga
Chapter 216 scanlation is out!
Just when I thought I couldn't like Snuffy more... (spoilers under the cut)
Previous chapter analyses
NOT BAROU WITH A KOTOWARU RIGHT OUT THE GAP 😭
I feel like gorilla boy is slept on as a character. My main exposure to the fandom is here and on Reddit, and man suffers a lack of dickriders simps in either place. Anyway, stuff like this endears him to me. You can always count on Barou to be reliably unreliable as a character. He's consistently a pain in the ass, something I really admire about how characters are written in this series.
But he's not my favourite thing about Chapter 216. That crown goes to...
💞Zombie Doggo Don Lorenzo💞
Yet again, we have a character trauma dumping on Barou to try get him to acquiesce, lol. But the way it's handled is more comedic than serious, with a great panel of Snuffy dragging Don by the ankles by the collar to go get his teeth fitted. (picked that up wrong 🤷♀️)
We finally get to see what Don's like (beyond the lil kitty remark), and... dude's high-key an adorable space cadet? He looks like a scummy zombie, but like... he's endearing. And I guess his story about Snuffy did enough to get Barou to come around, because we've now got the full Ubers backstory, not to mention a reveal of how that goal happened.
An ode to Snuffy: guy genuinely seems like an amazing mentor to these players. He's blowing Noa, Prince and Lavinho out of the water as coaches. My tierlist now stands at Snuffy -> Prince -> Noa -> Lavinho in terms of how useful they're proving to their proteges.
That goal was really cool, with the teamwork of Ubers making it possible. We see how Isagi pieces together what's happening (man's COOKING) but not quick enough to prevent Barou scoring. I love how they're leaning into the hunter/prey thing with Barou. He's such a hype player, and I think this match is going to cement him as one of the highest threats among the BL players. His talent's never been in doubt, more so his ability to play with others. In the U-20 arc, he was pivotal, but only as a joker/wild card substitution. Here in NEL, he's got a whole team backing him to score. Having seen the resolution of how that goal took place, I can see how Ubers whupped Barcha. Lavinho definitely doesn't foster teamwork in a way necessary to combat Snuffy's side.
The question is - will BM be able to take them on, with their egoist, teammate-devouring-teammates playstyle?
Logically, I'd say no. But I think there's a reckoning coming for Kaiser, through Ness. They've shown how bestboi Hiori is analysing the plays , and we all know he plays zombie FPS games... Man's about to get subbed in for a deranged Ness, and he's gonna headshot Lorenzo. If Isagi loses Ness to gain another ally in Hiori, I think we're about to see a whole suite of chemical reactions unlocked, including an upgrade to Planet Hotline. Here's hoping!
#bllk chp 216#text post#blue lock spoilers#marc snuffy#don lorenzo#hiori yo#mine#bllk#bllk manga spoilers#bllk manga#baro shoei#bllk analysis#boinin talks bllk#blue lock
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Atalanta #2 "the Way of the Hunter"
Having been successfully rescued and nourished by the she-bear, one day the child, having been left alone, is come upon by a couple of Hunters tracking prey. Seeing the discovery as the will of their hunting patron god, Artemis, the men take the child and dutifully raise her into a skillful hunter, tracker and archer; ever in the service of Artemis.
Because Artemis was the goddess of the hunt, wilderness, and wild animals, she was popular with hunters. And, although the goddess was associated with childbirth and fertility, she herself was celibate, vowing to forever remain a virgin. The hunters, stalking their prey through the forest, wear shawls like cloaks called a Chlamys.
In the background of my illustration we can see one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, the “Temple of Artemis” at the city of Ephesus, (west coast of turkey). Here was a powerful and unique cult, with a more fertility centric Artemis Ephesia, a goddess rooted in Egyptian or Near east great mother goddesses; The site had annual festivals with games and theater performances, where young, single Greeks could seek out marriage partners.
The 2nd century B.C. Greek poet Antipater described it thus; “I have set eyes on the wall of lofty Babylon on which is a road for chariots, and the statue of Zeus by the Alpheus, and the hanging gardens, and the colossus of the Sun, and the huge labour of the high pyramids, and the vast tomb of Mausolus; but when I saw the house of Artemis that mounted to the clouds, those other marvels lost their brilliancy, and I said, "Lo, apart from Olympus, the Sun never looked on aught so grand".
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#greekmythology#greekgods#pjo#mythology#classics#classicscommunity#myths#ancientgreece#ovid#archer#artemis
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When one looks at the mighty beasts of the land, beholding their size and power, they may find this critter laughable in comparison. A little shaggy creature surely would have no place amongst the real monsters of the land, yet those who have encountered them will tell you that the Legion Shrew is no laughing matter. These shrews are fast and voracious, their high metabolisms driving them to constantly seek and devour food. Their claws are razor sharp, and their incredibly strong fangs drip with a paralytic venom. A single bite is enough to freeze the muscles in a matter of minutes, though victims rarely live long enough to feel the full effects. A single shrew is a danger, as they charge down prey with maddened hunger and do everything in their power to score a meal. However, these shrews are rarely alone, and that is when the real nightmare begins.
Legion Shrews travel in groups, using their numbers to better their odds of detecting prey and bringing it down. There can be over a dozen of them running together, sniffing for the faintest trace. When they are on the hunt, they will travel in a loose pack, scattering their numbers slightly to better their chances of finding a trail. Once a trace with high potential is discovered, the shrews will come together and form a "train." The head Legion Shrew will take the lead (typically the one with the most prominent spine spurs) and the others will grab onto each other's tails and follow along. This keeps the shrews in a connected line, perfect for chasing down a lead. The head shrew is responsible for following the scent and being the first to draw blood when the prey is located. Their head position comes from being the largest and strongest, thus it makes sense for them to be the first into the fray. All they need to do is land one bite, and their prey will soon fall. Rarely does the venom have time to take hold, though, for once the head of the train starts the fight, the others will break off from the line and converge on the victim. When faced with a dozen rabid shrews, there are few beasts alive capable of surviving their assault.
Legion Shrews are widely feared due to their ravenous hunger and eagerness to eat anything fleshy. Many towns out in the wilds have fortifications built to keep their trains away from their homes and livestock. Due to the threat they posed, they were actively hunted and slaughtered whenever they came close to any village, and teams of hunters would scour the nearby wilds for traces. But now that war is ravaging the land, making hunters scarce and corpses plentiful, the Legion Shrews are growing. Not only have they gotten closer to settlements, but their groups are growing larger in number. The result are horror stories of entire villages being overrun, the crazed train of shrews devouring every living thing within. Sometimes it feels there will truly be nothing left of this world before this madness comes to an end....
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Every fantasy game and world needs giant rats, and FOI is no different! However, we are taking things in a shocking new direction here! Instead of giant rats, it's giant SHREWS! My goodness, truly my imagination knows no bounds! What will I think of next?!
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🎵Who's in the shadows?
Who's ready to play?
Are we the hunters?
Or are we the prey?
There's no surrender
And there's no escape
Are we the hunters?
Or are we the prey?
This is a wild game of survival🎵
#fnaf roleplay#william afton#dark themes#spring bonnie#purple guy#five nights at freddy's#springtrap#fazbear entertainment#fazbear frights#fnaf 3#tales from the pizzaplex#fnaf vr help wanted
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