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thatboomerkid · 1 year

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Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy

fomor boar (see M20 Gods & Monsters pg. 105) for use with Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th Anniversary Edition, W20 Book of the Wyrm, and Book of the Wyrm Companion

ATTRIBUTES: Strength 5, Dexterity 2, Stamina 6, Perception 2, Intelligence 2, Wits 2

ABILITIES: Alertness 2, Athletics 2, Brawl 2, Intimidation 2

Willpower: 3

Health Levels: OK, OK, -1, -1, -2, -5, Incapacitated

Armor Rating: 1 (seven soak dice, total)

Attacks: Bite (Strength +1 lethal); Gore (Strength +2 lethal); Body Horror Cannon (8 dice lethal; 25 yard range at Difficulty 6; may fire as a single-shot or Three-Round Burst [W20, pg. 295] weapon; see below)

Fomori Powers: Berserker, Body-Horror Cannon (x2), Eat Corruption

Brought to you absolutely free to use, to enjoy, to share, to dick-around with, and to argue about – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Hugest of special thanks to Josh Heath and to all of my First Team: Last Chancers & Exalted Vs. World of Darkness players.

Nothing here is official World of Darkness material.

art by the incredible Joey Wallace

Berserker: A Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy has a Rage Trait of 5; it may spend & regain Rage exactly as if it were an Ahroun (W20, pg. 144-145) and is allowed a standard Rage-roll to remain active after falling to (or below) Incapacitated. In addition, a Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Gun-Piggy regains points of temporary Rage by consuming corpses, radioactive material, bio-hazardous toxic waste, and other absolutely horrible things (such as, just for example, radioactive corpses soaked in bio-hazardous toxic waste; see the Eat Corruption Power, below, for details). Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Gun-Piggies are vulnerable to frenzy (W20, pg. 261-262).

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Body-Horror Cannon: As a standard action, a Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may choose to spend a point of Willpower or Rage, suffer an unsoakable Health Level of aggravated damage, and roll Willpower, difficulty 7. On a success, the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy draws-forth its cannon instantly; on a failure, it begins pulling the cannon free but must wait three full turns before the weapon is fully ready.

NOTE: The Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy is free to act normally during this time: it does not need to spend further actions “drawing the weapon” as the object slowly emerges from the creature’s body. The Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may – should it fail on this activation-roll – choose to pull the weapon free early, but doing so prevents the beast from regaining its lost Health Level of aggravated damage when the effect of this Power ends (see below).

On a botch, the point of Willpower is spent and the Health Level of aggravated damage is dealt, but the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy can’t force its weapon to emerge from its body for the rest of the scene.

If the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy achieves three or more successes on the Willpower roll to activate this Power, the beast reduces all Difficulties to use the weapon in combat by -1.

When this Power is fully activated, the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy gains use of a Semi-Automatic Shotgun (W20, pg. 303) with unlimited ammunition (detailed above).

This hideous biomechanical firearm is pulled from the monster’s body, still dripping viscera and roaring like a chainsaw, and is often studded with weeping human eyes, crafted of compressed car-engines & rotten meat, continually spraying blood – and less-identifiable fluids – as it screams affronts to Gaia; such cannons are usually crawling with maggots & the obsidian-jade balefire of deepest Malfeas: in all instances, the mere sight of such a weapon incites the Delirium.

This grotesque weapon merges once again with the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy’s body at the end of the scene or after one hour, whichever comes first; the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may choose, at that time, to expend an additional point of Willpower (or Rage) to instead maintain its weapon’s existence for one additional hour or for one additional scene, as appropriate.

The Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may always choose to reabsorb its weapon at any time as a free reflexive action.

If this weapon is removed from the grasp of the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy early, the weapon decays to bits of cartilage, rot, and infected, bubbling ooze at the end of the round … then erupts once more from the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy’s body – appearing in the monster’s hands, ready to use – immediately before the beast’s next action.

When the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy absorbs its weapon back into its body and ends the use of this Power, the monster instantly regenerates its lost Health Level of aggravated damage … unless the weapon was drawn-froth early after a failure on the creature’s activation roll, as noted above.

Each unique, individual Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may choose three (3) of the following Special Ammunition Types when it crawls forth to defile & devour Gaia’s children:

Acid-Drenched Thunderwyrm-Teeth: The piggy’s cannon deals -4 dice of damage as compared to a normal Semi-Automatic Shotgun, but the weapon deals aggravated damage rather than lethal; any creature struck by a blast from the weapon also suffers an additional 2 dice of aggravated damage, soaked separately, the following round (difficulty 6 to soak).

Jagged-Razor Bone-Slivers: The piggy’s cannon deals -1 die of damage as compared to a normal Semi-Automatic Shotgun, but the weapon automatically ignores up to three points of armor. This specific Special Ammunition Type may be selected multiple times, and its effects stack: a cannon with Jagged-Razor Bone-Slivers [x3], for example, deals -3 dice of base damage and ignores up to nine points of armor. The Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may always choose to apply a smaller number of “doses” of this Special Ammunition Type to a shot it makes, if it desires.

Nasty, Sharp, and Pointy: The piggy’s cannon deals +1 die of damage. This specific Special Ammunition Type may be selected multiple times, and its effects stack: a weapon with Acid-Drenched-Thunderwyrm-Teeth plus Nasty, Sharp, and Pointy [x2], for example, would deal -2 dice of base shotgun damage, aggravated (rather than -4 dice); the target would then suffer 2 dice of aggravated damage (as normal) the following round.

‘Splodin’ Tumor-Loogie: The piggy’s cannon deals -2 dice of damage to its primary target; when its projectile detonates, however, the shot then deals [-1 die/2 yards out] of lethal damage to everything else in the area: this means 6 dice of lethal to the first target, 5 dice to everything within two yards, 4 die to everything within four yards, and so-on all the way down to one die of lethal damage to anyone 10 yards away from the target (this is, of course, assuming that the blast doesn’t also have the Nasty, Sharp, and Pointy Special Ammunition Type, above, applied to it -- increasing the base damage of the shot -- or any Special Ammunition Type that LOWERS the base damage of the weapon).

Tumor Full of Infected Waste: This unique Special Ammunition Type may only be added to a ‘Splodin’ Tumor-Loogie shot (see above); when the projectile detonates, it also coats everything within ten yards of the detonation-point with a thick layer of bubbling biohazardous sludge, which very rapidly begins filling the same area with toxic gas. Direct expose to the sizzling liquid deals 2 dice of lethal damage each turn, on the target’s action, until it’s washed-off, while exposure to the fumes deals 2 more dice of lethal damage each turn (also on the target’s action). Creatures with any level of poison resistance or immunity to poison (such as leeches and those with the Gift: Resist Toxin) are immune to the gas, but not to the sludge; a creature outfitted in a full biohazard suit is effectively immune to both. The sludge and gas dissipate after about ten minutes unless cleared-away early: use of the Gift: Call the Breeze (W20, pg. 199) can push away the fumes, but not the sludge itself. This specific Special Ammunition Type may be selected multiple times, and its effects stack: each time it’s selected, the sludge and the fumes each increase the damage they deal by two dice of lethal damage.

Tumor of Gore-Slick Calcification: This unique Special Ammunition Type may only be added to a ‘Splodin’ Tumor-Loogie shot that is also a Tumor Full of Infected Waste shot; when the projectile detonates, the sizzling bile sprayed over everything in the area rapidly hardens into a dense, solid mass of semi-organic, contagion-ridden resin: something like pustulent basalt – formed by the rapid cooling of liquid iron – bubbling with hot plastics & liquefied death. Each round on her action, immediately after a creature suffers additional damage from the toxic sludge of a Tumor Full of Infected Waste, the creature also gains one of the following (her choice):

she suffers a one-die penalty on all Dexterity-related dice pools

she suffers a two-dice penalty on all Perception-related dice pools

her movement-speed is halved, rounded down: because a normal human jogs at a rate of 13 yards per turn and runs at a rate of 20 yards per turn, a human who selects this effect twice (for example) may jog at a rate of only 3 yards per turn or flat-out run at a rate of 5 yards per turn

A creature reduced to a Dexterity score of zero or lower by this effect is effectively frozen – immobilized, able to take only purely mental and social actions (such as screaming for help, activating Gifts that require no external movement, or having a panic attack, for example) – while a creature reduced to a Perception score of zero or lower is effectively blind, deaf, and utterly numb, able to smell and taste only the thick, clotted, tar-like poison coating her, with all sensory-organs otherwise filled-in & glued-shut.

The congealing sludge eventually becomes glass-like – still oozing, ever so slightly, like 120-degree asphalt warping under a gout of balefire – and subsequently shatters into shards of irritating organic-metal dust after about ten minutes (as normal for a Tumor Full of Infected Waste shot).

This specific Special Ammunition Type may be selected multiple times, and its effects stack; each time it’s selected, a creature affected by the sludge suffers an additional “debuff” of her choice (an extra die of Dexterity-penalty, two extra dice of Perception-penalty, or an extra halving of her movement-speed) each round, immediately after suffering damage from the sludge of a Tumor Full of Infected Waste effect: a creature hit by a Tumor of Gore-Slick Calcification [x3] shot, for example, might choose to gain a two-dice Dexterity-penalty and a two-dice Perception-penalty on her first found after suffering damage, then choose to suffer a four-dice Perception-penalty and halve her movement-speed again on the following round.

The Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may always mix-&-match its Special Ammunition Types as it desires, switching between them or combining them on the fly.

NOTE: if a Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy would ever gain a new Fomori Power for any reason, the beast may instead choose to gain two (2) new Special Ammunition Types.

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Eat Corruption: A Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may draw strength & sustenance from unnatural sources, gaining up to ten points of Willpower or Rage (piggy’s choice!) each day from consuming objects thick with corruption and nightmare resonance.

No single object consumed in this way can provide more than three points of Rage (or Willpower), and most such objects provide only a single point. Objects to be consumed must be things associated with depravity, monstrosity, decay, or excess: the Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy gains no benefit from consuming gravel, unless it’s from a spot where a mortal died.

A Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy can even gain Rage (or Willpower) from eating normal human food, so long as the food is eaten in full view of a starving person; alternatively, the piggy might smear the food with blood or other bodily fluids first.

A Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggy may also -- at the Storyteller’s discretion -- gain Rage (or Willpower) from consuming murder weapons, stolen wedding rings, rare art, illegal drugs, human flesh, maggots, vomit, feces, insects, bones, and suicide notes.

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enjoying this? get more here!

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Word on the street these days has it that Chicago-based “private conceptual bio-research design-&-consulting firm” (read as: illegal black-ops military-grade flesh-engineering studio) Jetpacks & Sugar-Bombs LTD. — an off-the-books division of Nik-Nak Computing & high-profile, top-end contractor for Project Echidna — is, as of this most recent financial quarter, under new management.

VERY new management.

This is, just to be clear, more than somewhat to be expected: the catastrophic failure of the Particularly Diseased Pigeon (Book of the Wyrm Companion, pg. 46-47) to hit its numbers in terms of “being able to fucking MURDER a whole shit-ton of Bone Gnawers & their kin” could NOT have come at a worse time for the company, already reeling from the tragically underwhelming debut of the Lookie-Loo Hooty-Hooter (Book of the Wyrm Companion, pg. 38-39).

Long story short? Inflation is up, real wages are down, the stock market is a shit-show, the economy is a shambles, another recession is right around the corner, and the Lookie-Loo Hooty-Hooter is — while certainly a, uhhhh … a “technical marvel,” I guess? — it simply lacks the ... eh, how you say?

The uh ...

THE MOTHERFUCKING WOW!!1! FACTOR, DAWG

... I suppose, that’s required to truly electrify the Board of Directors.

Look, man: Peter Culliford, Benjamin Rushing, and Chase Lamont may not agree on much — other than a shared love of serial-murder & some hardcore mutual disdain for one another — but I think we can all agree that they (and their colleagues) expect something slightly more impressive than “an owl that can see werewolves” when Harold Zettler unveils his newest project.

Like, you know!

A penguin made out of napalm!

An orangutan that shits ninja-stars!

A rattlesnake with a rocket-launcher, and then when it bites you it turns your blood into even more rocket-launcher-snakes that shoot their way out! Pew pew pew!

And let’s be clear: while Jetpacks & Sugar-Bombs LTD. may have a few big wins under their belt, they are — sad to say — sorely lacking the proven track-record of a group like Danmakuden Dynamic (an affiliate of Ichibashi, a subsidiary of Hallahan Fishing Company), or the First United Blargarian Church of Squaid the Redeemer (a splinter-faction of Incognito), or even those asshole bastards over at the Dick Meatsweats Collective (very proudly sponsored by O’Tolley’s, the Family Place!).

Speaking of which?

Yeah, those conniving shit-heals rushed their piss-poor, brick-stupid, utterly-unnecessarily-flashy Pure Goddamn ‘Murikan Patriotism Elemental (Book of the Wyrm Companion, pg. 53-54) out of beta-testing just to get the jump on the hot new King Vulture-fomor currently being built by the evil genius ornithologist team at Jetpacks & Sugar-Bombs, Codename: The King of Vrock.

THERE IS NONE HIGHER.

Hey, dickheads! “Avian-based fomori” are, like, their THING over here, man!

... or, I guess, at least, they were?

A guy who knows a guy who works at Jetpacks & Sugar-Bombs told me that Harold Zettler flew-in from Beaumont on the night the new quarterly figures dropped to personally eviscerate the CEO & feed him to his top brass.

It was a goddamn horror-show, man.

Anyway: Jetpacks & Sugar-Bombs is officially out of the bird-business.

They’re now in the PIG business.

‘Cause the new big-man over at Jetpacks & Sugar-Bombs -- a fellow by the name of Beauregard T. Waterhouse, former head honcho of Southeastern Waterhouse-Mangrove Suburban Development, responsible for fifteen out of the twenty largest hog-rendering facilities in the United States -- has a vision.

And that vision may be briefly summarized as The Age of Swine.

... the longer & less-summarized version, which Beauregard is currently writing-up -- one chapter at a time! -- as a sort of tell-all, self-help, personal-growth & lifestyle-fitness guide / business-Bible for all those cutthroat businessmen who aren’t (yet) greedy enough to literally devour the bones of the enemies, gets a LOT more into Mr. Waterhouse’s deeply held personal belief that “humans,” as a species, will very soon be replaced by a race of genetically-engineered super pig-human hybrids who have been designed to be as delicious as possible.

Once he’s finished, he’s REALLY hoping to get on Oprah with it.

Maybe on Joe Rogan.

Fingers crossed!

(Please note that the “T.” in Mr. Waterhouse’s name stands for “The Boss”).

A figure otherwise shrouded in mystery, Mr. Waterhouse is an intensely private man: they say that no one has ever met him personally, dealing with him only through phone calls, emails, and his loyal assistant: Scoot Turgsen.

Scoot Turgson, ladies & gentlemen: proud, card-carrying member of Tau Upsilon Phi (W20 Book of the Wyrm, pg. 137)

The reason for this privacy is two-fold:

Such anonymity affords Mr. Waterhouse the rare & valuable opportunity to sow mistrust, discord, paranoia, and suspicion among his employees.

Mr. Waterhouse is not human, per se, and in point of fact is technically a Skullpig (W20 Book of the Wyrm, pg. 154-155) who has eaten so many goddamn fomori that he’s now rocking an Intelligence of 5 (or possibly higher, if you decide to give him the Mega-Intelligence Fomori Power [W20 Book of the Wyrm, pg. 133-134 & Book of the Wyrm Companion, pg. 59], because ... eh. Why the fuck not, at this point?)

... and oh yeah, it ALSO lets Mr. Waterhouse do a wide variety of goofy voices for his own amusement (one of his favorite hobbies): while in-character as a CEO, for example, he 100% sounds like Foghorn Leghorn fucked Boss Hog.

He just finds it very funny to hear people shit themselves with terror while he rants & raves about killing them into a speaker-phone with a silly accent.

But that’s not important right now.

What’s important is that Mr. Waterhouse now has the money & connections to make his dream of replacing humans with swine-monsters an actual reality; his hot new Rage-Fueled Fully-Automatic Disposable Gun-Piggies, already in the ramp-up to full-on industrial-scale production, are just his first step.

He has so many more horrible ideas.

And pigs are SO CHEAP to work with!

... and unless someone from the Garou Nation and/or the Beast Courts of the Emerald Mother* can get their shit together and stop him, Mr. Waterhouse is gonna kill a whole goddamn lot of people as he attempts to stomp the world into mud beneath an infinite tide of squealing, Bane-infested murder-pigs.

*NOTE: that would be your PCs.

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As noted above: portions of these materials are the copyrights and trademarks of Paradox Interactive AB, and are used with permission. All rights reserved. For more information please visit worldofdarkness.com.

Nothing here is official World of Darkness material.

all hail the Dark Pack.

(for more information, see here)

#Not pathfinder #World Of Darkness #Werewolf the Apocalypse #pentex #old world of darkness #fomor #fomori #book of the wyrm #book of the wyrm companion #Monster #dark pack

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yizaicons · 2 years

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❝ HEART headers 📸¸¸ yı™, psd por @colour-source

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smileygoth · 7 months

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1. The Monster In Me (WODtober 2023)

Vamptober 2023 begins - or as it's called this year, WODtober! (I prefer Vamptober, but oh well) Using the prompts I'm going to attempt to 'tell a vampire story', as Jason Carl so eloquently puts it on LA by Night! As with last year, I don't really know how it's going to turn out as I'm taking it prompt by prompt, so comments, suggestions and ideas for the final title are welcome! Entries will be collected on my Contents page as the month progresses.

Word Count: 483 words.

CW: Blood. Lots of blood.

Image from @worldofdarkness on Twitter.

Blood.

The taste was heavy in her mouth, coating her tongue, teeth, lips. The scent was all around her, overpowering, intoxicating. Her veins hummed with it, vitality flooding through her in a slow, comforting wave. Her fangs slid out slowly, instinct momentarily overcoming her sated appetite, then retracted to nestle comfortably in her gums. She stirred, stretching luxuriously, and opened her eyes.

Where am I?

Above her was a high ceiling of dull grey tiles. The floor she lay on felt like marble but wasn’t - some cheap imitation. Around her, walls of concrete painted in corporate grey. Floor to ceiling windows letting in the light from the streetlamps outside. A desk, behind which a glowing sign declared it to be ‘Harrogate Enterprises’. All of it, smeared and splattered with crimson.

She looked around her and saw the bodies. Security guards, a few people in business suits. She counted eleven in total. All dead. Some torn apart, others drained of blood, their skin shrivelling and turning grey under the bright fluorescent lights.

Did I do this?

The question seemed foolish even as she thought it. Their blood was in her mouth, in her veins .. and all over her hands and clothes, she realised as she looked down. In her shirt, directly over her heart, was a neat round hole, the skin beneath it puckered in a scar that was fading away as she watched, healed by the blood.

Did somebody stake me?

She looked up and again found her answer. A wooden crate, just big enough for a body to rest in, lay open near the doors, and next to it a long pointed piece of wood, the sharp end bloody.

But the next question that occurred to her was not so easily answered.

Who am I?

She searched for the answer, groping around in her mind, but it was like rummaging around in an empty box. Nails grating over the insides, irritating, coming up with nothing. She grimaced and dug in deeper.

The slowly swelling wail of sirens didn’t distract her from her thoughts, but the bright strobes of blue spilling through the windows did. She turned her head to look and saw multiple eyes staring in at her. Wide, horrified. Phones raised, camera flashes twinkling. Rough voices shouting at them to stand aside, get out of the way, police coming through.

Her name - of lack of it - forgotten, she let instinct take over. She scrambled to her feet, boots slipping on blood and the slick marble floor, and bolted to the back of the building. Office buildings seemed to all be built the same these days, and she found a fire exit with no trouble, shoving it open and racing out into cold winter rain, ignoring the blare of the alarm she’d triggered. It was way too late to be stealthy - she just needed to get away. As far away as possible.

#vamily #vampire the masquerade #vampire #vampirism #dark pack #world of darkness #vtm #vamptober #wodtober #wod

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loganwritesprobably · 1 year

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Stiles Stilinski, Force of Nature

Stiles Stilinski x Peter Hale (Steter)

Summary: Stiles had caught Peter’s eye because he was a force of nature. The entire world seemed to be able to shift on its axis under the command of the young Stilinski.Peter had caught Stiles’ eye because he was intelligent. Peter Hale could convince just about anyone that the sky was pink just because he’d said it in the right way, of course that is manipulation, but it all comes back to intelligence. Stiles admired him. He also knew that if there was anyone that would refuse to cower from what he’d become, it was Peter, so he showed him.

OR: Stiles and Peter are slightly in love and accidentally build a pack for themselves

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42985038

Stiles had caught Peter’s eye because he was a force of nature. The entire world seemed to be able to shift on its axis under the command of the young Stilinski. He’d always had an element of otherness that Peter couldn’t quite place and nobody else seemed to identity it in him, so he remained quiet until he was more sure. After the Nogitsune, that only developed further and Peter could identify the exact moment he realised it. They’d been fighting the newest big bad in Beacon Hills and as usual Peter was reluctant to help, he was sure they’d tackle it just fine without him, but then he met Stiles’ eye and he almost shivered at what he found there. It intrigued him as the boy always had, but in an entirely new way. Stiles was dangerous now, in a way he’d deliberately avoided showing the others, he had to know more.

Peter had caught Stiles’ eye because he was intelligent. Peter Hale could convince just about anyone that the sky was pink just because he’d said it in the right way, of course that is manipulation, but it all comes back to intelligence. He speaks in a way that is so sure, he knows what he says and chooses his words carefully so that you always know exactly what he means. Peter was also the least righteous of everyone that Stiles knew. Peter wasn’t afraid of the grey area between right and wrong, and would choose that grey area every time if it meant that he could accomplish his goals, which were rarely misplaced. Stiles admired him. He also knew that if there was anyone that would refuse to cower from what he’d become, it was Peter, so he showed him.

They didn’t address it, it was just a silent understanding between them both. The danger passed with the combination of Stiles’ quick mind and Peter’s information, though the pack failed to notice either. Stiles was sitting in his room one night when he heard a Werewolf struggling at his window. He looked up with a smirk and wasn’t surprised when it was Peter he found there. He released the spell that kept his window closed and Peter climbed inside with awe in his eyes.

“You have magic.” He observed, never one to beat around the bush.

“Hello to you too, Peter. What lovely weather we’re having.” Stiles replied with a snicker, looking back to his computer where he was working on his own copy of the bestiary.

“You haven’t told the pack.” Peter then added, not rising to Stiles’ teasing even if it was tempting to do so.

“Could you imagine their reactions?” Stiles asked, the words likely meant to be humorous but they fell flat in the face of the truth of what Stiles had said. They wouldn’t take it well.

“You told me.” Peter said as he sat on the corner of Stiles’ desk, about as close as he could get before he would be so close he could touch the boy in front of him.

“I showed you, you chose to see it.” Stiles replied, a smile playing at his lips as he inserted a cartoon image of a Werewolf that was nothing like what they truly looked like, but it brought him some amusement in the face of the dark information the book contained.

“Why do I feel like there’s something of note in that reply?” He asked as he shook his head at the sight on Stiles' screen, though he chose not to comment on it.

“You wouldn’t have seen it if my magic hadn’t known that you would react positively. Or, at least not negatively. And it was right.” Stiles finally stopped what he was doing and pushed back his chair so that he could look at Peter fully.

“You speak of your magic as if it is a separate entity to you.”

“In a way it is. I had magic before the Nogitsune but when it left, my own magic took some of what it had to make itself stronger. It acts without me thinking, the bonus of being a Spark.”

“You don’t need to learn runes or incantations, even if they help, your magic simply does what you want it to or what it needs to for you to survive.” Peter had heard of Sparks before, but they were rare and so the information about them was sparse and questionable at best.

“If I hadn’t been a Spark, the Nogitsune would’ve killed me. It was taking some of its magic that kept me alive after it left my body.” Stiles explained with a casual shrug, as if he wasn’t talking about how close he’d come to death. Peter was surprised by his general lack of reaction and chose that moment to scent the air, only to find the sour scent of anxiety and stress. He was quite the actor, but nothing could cover that scent.

“You needed someone else to share your secret.” Peter observed, taking that moment to really take in the man in front of him. Stiles was eighteen, the year older than his friends, he’d been kept back a year after his mother’s death. During his time being possessed, Stiles had lost a lot of weight and the bags under his eyes had bordered on being impressive. Post-possession Stiles still wasn’t quite back to where he’d been before in terms of weight but it was clear he had become focused on muscle building so he was a more serious threat.

“I needed someone who would understand the space between the light and the dark.” Stiles stood then, raising his hand as a small trail of light danced around his fingertips and for just a moment Peter allowed himself to be mesmerised. Then, Stiles literally flicked the light at Peter and it burned when it made contact.

“Your magic is better for causing damage, rather than preventing it, because of what you took from the Nogitsune.” Peter guessed, but as usual he said it as if he could speak the truth into existence purely by saying it with enough confidence.

“Protective spells are boring, they’re easy. Things like this? They’re exciting. The power almost dances around my skin when it realises what I’m doing to do. Another gift of the Nogitsune, I guess. I’m still looking for pain and strife,” Stiles shrugged once again, summoning a larger ball of light to sit in his palm and the light above their heads went out as if he’d taken the light from there, “you understand that. Wanting to cause harm because you’ve got something to protect.”

“I do. I’d say better than anyone else that you know.” The only light illuminating them both was the ball in Stiles’ palms as he tossed it between his hands, playing with it as if it was a tennis ball or something similar.

“That’s why it let you see. You aren’t going to hurt me, or turn me in. In fact, if I was a betting man I’d say you would rather keep it to yourself. You like a good secret, especially from Scott.” Peter could only laugh at that. It was true, he liked to have information that other people didn’t, liked having the upper hand.

“You see me for what I am. Raw power. Deaton looks at me like I’m a battery. He sees because he saw my Spark before the Nogitsune, so he saw it change after.” Stiles then said, taking amusement in the way Peter’s face shifted at the mention of the questionable druid that took the role of emissary for the pack.

“A battery for what?”

“Wrong question. I think you know exactly what for. Ask again.” Another trait of the Nogitsune that had been left behind, Stiles had a newfound appreciation for games.

“What are you going to do about it?” Peter asked, brow raising as he appreciated the changed man for what he was, realising that this Stiles was entirely different from the one he’d offered the Bite to in the parking garage.

“Well, a battery can both give and receive energy. Deaton can’t take what I have, if he has nothing of his own. Only issue is that it might kill him, same as him taking my magic could kill me.”

“That’s where I come in, I suppose?”

“Well, it would save me a lot of hassle if he just disappeared. And don’t worry I know you don’t work for free, so how does proof of him being involved in the Hale fire sound?” Stiles offered, returning the light in his palm to the ceiling light as he sat down on his bed.

“You found proof?” Peter asked, shocked. Deaton was the one person he hadn’t been able to find concrete proof of involvement for, and so he hadn’t allowed himself to kill the druid.

“Tricky things, memory spells. I hate them, myself, but they are useful.” Stiles crossed his legs at the ankles, looking expectantly at Peter. “You’re missing some memories too, but you knew that one didn’t you?”

“Talia took them from me, I don’t remember why. I suppose that’s the point of taking them in the first place.”

“I can give them back to you, once Deaton is disposed of, obviously. I get rid of Deaton, for the both of us, you hide his body and then I share with you the memories I took from him and give you back yours. How does that sound?” Stiles asked, holding his hand out for Peter to shake an agreement.

“I benefit more than you do.”

“I’d be in your debt if you didn’t. You’re keeping my secret.”

“You don’t like debts.”

“Do you?”

Deaton was gone by the end of the week.

Peter had a daughter, she’d gone missing a few years ago after a car accident, body never recovered. Stiles had offered to visit the site with him, to tend to his own curiosity if nothing else. They stood in front of the wreck, Peter investigating by scenting and looking, while Stiles used his magic to send feelers out into the leylines.

“You know something.” Peter said, and Stiles wore an amused smile. Peter spent a lot of time now following behind Stiles, figuring out what the younger man already knew just a moment after Stiles had found it himself.

“The Earth talks.” He replied cryptically and Peter once again found himself struck by the fact that if Stiles so pleased, he truly could make the Earth bend to his will. He’d connected with the Nemeton after Deaton had died, becoming the tree’s new protector, by any means necessary.

“What does it say about my daughter?” Peter asked, standing from where he’d been kneeling beside the wreck, about to brush the dirt from his trousers when a particularly magical feeling wind blew it all away perfectly, not a speck left behind.

“Your lover, the desert wolf, a werecoyote. Your daughter, a werecoyote like her mother. There’s a coyote that regularly visits this spot. What does that tell you?” Stiles asked, moving to stand beside Peter, realising he was looking at a partly destroyed and very dirty child’s toy. It gave him an idea.

“Malia is wandering around in full shift and has been since the accident.” Peter summarised, and Stiles found himself once again being glad for Peter’s intelligence. He thought quickly, followed Stiles’ train of thought in a way that others couldn’t.

“And I think I know how to catch her.” Stiles replied with a smirk, reaching out to grab the toy in front of him. “She’s in full shift, but she’s still a human girl beneath it. One who killed her own mother and sister, adopted or not. How much would you be willing to bet that she comes back here regularly?”

“I thought you weren’t a gambling man?” Peter replied, holding his hand out to take the doll, and Stiles handed it to him.

Stiles’ plan had, of course, been a success. They’d lured Malia in with the toy they’d taken from her sister’s grave and with a flick of his hand, Stiles had returned Malia to her human form. Peter had dressed her quickly, helping brush some of the dirt from her wild hair, while Stiles finally returned the doll to her. Peter had explained to her what had happened and Stiles aided her transition into normal life with magic. Peter and Malia were Pack, but only to Stiles, not the others. Scott would never accept Peter, not fully, he’d always just barely be pack, just enough to not be an Omega and therefore not be a threat, and Malia was his daughter, so she was much the same. Stiles didn’t care, he’d connected with Malia through his use of his magic to help her through everyday life. Peter helped as much as he could, but the magic worked quicker. Malia got no shortage of strange looks, plenty of people whispered about her, but they all ended up in convenient minor accidents afterwards and Malia took great joy in telling Peter about them all, never shy about the fact that it was Stiles causing them to happen. Three of them, content to exist in the grey, to take pleasure in other’s pain when it was deserved.

When Scott turned Liam, Stiles was about ready to rip his hair out. He’d given supernatural strength to a kid who already struggled with keeping his composure, and felt guilty about it. He’d created a small and surprisingly jacked guilt machine. That wasn’t something Stiles could accept. When Liam finally came around to what had happened to him, Stiles took him to Peter.

“Well, he’s going to have trouble.” Peter said simply, looking at Liam where he was sitting at Peter’s dining table.

“I know that, that’s why I brought him to you.” Stiles replied with a shrug. Peter was a born Wolf, he’d watched his nieces and nephews age and gain control of their shifts, just like his siblings. If anyone would be able to help, it’d be Peter.

“You’re the one helping Malia.” Peter pointed out, folding his arms over his chest. Stiles had used a spell to make sure Liam wouldn’t be able to hear them, he didn’t need to hear whatever they said about him.

“That’s different. We saved Malia, she sees me everyday, I’m the reason she can live a normal life.” He gestured with his hand, not concerned about the fact that Liam would now be aware of his magic. If Liam said anything, he’d find a way out of it, he always did.

“And Liam?” Peter then asked, turning to Stiles with a sigh. In truth, this is not what he’d been expecting when Stiles said that he was coming over. The two of them had been getting closer, both aware of the mutual attraction between them, but they enjoyed the chase too much to give it up yet.

“Figured you’d seen plenty of wolves learn to control their shift, probably helped Derek. You two were close, right? Plus, Liam is a kid and he’s scared. You’re an adult, unashamed, willing to hurt. I think you’re just what he needs.” Stiles explained, letting go of the privacy spell to approach Liam. This had better work.

To control his shift, Liam needed an anchor. Peter had always used his knowledge for that. He was his own anchor. Used the idea that if he lost control, he’d lose what he valued most and for him that was his freedom to pursue knowledge. It wasn’t the same for Liam, but they quickly found that pain helped ground him. They used it sparingly, Stiles always starting the healing process for him so that he was never bleeding for long. Eventually, they found that like Derek, Liam could use his anger to ground himself, but also his guilt. He knew what his anger did, and holding onto what he could do now he was a Werewolf helped him keep himself in check. Stiles wasn’t sure he approved, but Peter said his anchor could change with time, so for now at least it would work. When the full moon came, Stiles, Peter, Malia and Liam enjoyed a movie night together at Peter’s apartment. Scott had wanted to go on a date with Kira and Liam’s friends still didn’t know so when Stiles offered to take Liam and explained he’d already helped Malia, Scott was happy to let him do so. They had a nice night together, as if it wasn’t the full moon at all. Though, there was a large amount of popcorn thrown at the TV that Stiles had to clean up at the end of the night.

Occupied by Stiles and the magic he has, Peter had temporarily abandoned his quest for power. When the pack headed to Mexico, Peter followed valiantly behind, wanting to keep a close eye on the three people that now trusted him. It was a small list that grew steadily, people who understood him. The temple was a hot spot for power and Stiles could feel it, he knew that Peter knew the same. Maybe they’d come back here alone, take some of its power for the Nemeton. Who knew what that would do, but who cared? Power for the Nemeton is power for the Nemeton.

When Theo arrived, Stiles knew that he was trouble, so he did what he does best. He got involved. Peter backed him, said the boy was clearly trouble, so with Peter at his side they approached Theo alone. Theo saw in Stiles the boy he’d come for, he saw Void, saw his magic from the moment he saw him. That fact caught Stiles by surprise - he hadn’t expected his magic to reveal itself. That meant he could be redeemed.

“You see my magic.” Stiles said, feeling the way Peter bristled just slightly beside him. A reaction Theo wouldn’t notice, but by now Peter and Stiles had spent plenty of time together, and Stiles noticed those types of things.

“I do. It’s part of the reason I came home.” Theo admitted, caught off guard by Stiles’ spell of truth.

“Knows my magic, can’t feel me using it. You’re not a Werewolf.” Stiles said, glancing at Peter from the corner of his eye. Peter stepped closer, taking Theo’s face in his hand, inspecting him with narrowed eyes.

“How did you know about Stiles’ magic before coming here?” Peter asked him, flashing blue eyes at the younger man. A threat. Stiles wanted to laugh, Peter hadn’t been intimidating to him in a long time, but he knew that the effect still very much applied to others.

“Everyone knows about Void.” Theo answered simply, catching both of them off guard. Neither had realised how far the tales of what Void had done had spread, and it made Stiles feel almost sick. He didn’t want to be known that way.

“What are you?” Stiles then asked, strengthening his spell to make sure Theo couldn’t escape telling the truth. He could see the way Theo was struggling to remain silent, the pain it caused to try to hide the truth. He took some small pleasure in it.

“A Chimera. A genetic experiment. Half Werewolf, half Werecoyote.” He finally answered, when the pain had become too much for him. Peter let go of him then, moving back to Stiles’ side, though he didn’t turn back to face Theo. He studied Stiles for a moment, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder, then moved to stand directly behind him. Peter Hale liked to have power, but there was one man he was willing to defer to. Stiles.

“Why are you here?” Stiles then asked, staring directly into the eyes of the boy who had once been his friend. Theo wasn’t that boy anymore, no, he was something else now. Someone else. He wondered what he’d been through while he was gone. A genetic experiment.

“I want a pack. I’ve heard the stories about Beacon Hills. The Werecoyote, with kill first instincts; the Kitsune, on the brink of losing control; the Banshee, surrounded by death; the Beta with anger issues like no other; Void Stiles, host to a Nogitsune, who searches for pain and strife. The perfect pack.” Theo answered, and for a moment Stiles pitied him. He truly believed what he was saying. Stiles released him from the truth spell and took a step closer to the Chimera. He reached up and cupped Theo’s face, looking at him intently.

“Welcome home, Theo.” He said, smiling at him. Theo had been through something, Stiles could feel his agony. He’d done terrible things as Void, Peter had murdered people for justice, Malia had killed her own mother. He’d find a home with them. Maybe not the pack he wanted, but the pack he needed.

Later, Stiles was laying in Peter’s bed. They’d sent Theo back to wherever he was staying, Stiles said he’d be in touch, and then they’d gone to Peter’s place. Stiles’ dad was working that night so he didn’t see the point in going home. Him and Peter hadn’t so much as kissed yet, nevermind had sex, but they did this sometimes. Just lay in bed together.

“Why?” Peter asked after a moment, turning to look at Stiles.

“Why what?” Stiles asked, half amused and half confused. He turned to be laying fully on his side, just looking at Peter.

“He didn’t include Scott in that list. You can’t have a pack without an Alpha.” Peter pointed out, and Stiles just nodded. He’d seen that exact thing in what Theo had said, clearly what Peter was missing is why that wasn’t an issue for Stiles.

“He’s like us.” Stiles replied, shuffling in closer to Peter, who instinctively reached out to take Stiles’ hand. They weren’t romantically involved, not really, what they had now was beyond that. Stiles didn’t doubt that was where they were headed, but their connection was different. It was other. Like them.

“How?” Peter then asked. Sometimes he knew exactly what Stiles meant, then asked anyway because he just liked listening to him, hearing how his mind worked. Sometimes Stiles still surprised him.

“Something happened to him. He’s a genetic experiment. His sister died when he was nine. There’s no way he signed up for those experiments. That makes him like us. Doing things he doesn’t quite want to, for a purpose he thinks he believes in. He’s done bad things, but he can do better.” Stiles answered. The more he used his magic, the more fox-like traits emerged in him. As he became stronger, he was able to use more of the power left behind by the Nogitsune, like he was earning it. One side effect of that? He now purred like a fox. Peter reached up and cupped Stiles’ face, moving his hand then to his hair to almost pet him.

“You want to give him what he’s looking for.” Peter said, smiling as Stiles did begin to softly purr. He didn’t think that anyone else knew he could do that, even those that knew about his magic.

“I want to give him what he needs. The dark pack he wants? That’s not it. Us? We’re halfway there, more like what he really needs.” Stiles corrected, leaning into Peter’s touch. He wasn’t sure he’d ever tire of the feeling of Peter’s hands on him, touching entirely innocently.

“You say that as if we’re our own pack.”

“Aren’t we?”

With Theo on Stiles’ side, willing to share unlimited truths with him, thinking he was going to give Theo what he wanted, it was relatively easy to deal with the dread doctors, with minimal damage. However, there was one small hiccup. The pack found out about Stiles’ magic.

Stiles had been ready to take them on, had been looking the elderly bastards in the eye when Scott came charging in, ready to ‘save’ him. The doctors of course would’ve easily put Scott on his backside and that wasn’t something Stiles could allow. He threw out his hand and knocked the three of them down, and in another swift motion he’d beheaded them all. His breathing was laboured, and he could feel Scott’s eyes on him. He’d taken them out, the threat was eliminated, but now Scott was looking at him as if he was the threat. Peter ran into the room, he’d said he’d follow Stiles the moment he knew he could, and the scene he found was not what he’d expected.

“You said you wanted to talk to them first.” Peter said, stuck between going to inspect the bodies and checking Stiles was okay.

“Had to protect Scott.” Stiles replied, and it was only then that Peter spotted the Alpha on the other side of the room. Peter knew then that he needed to go to Stiles. Once he was close enough, Stiles fell into Peter’s arms, letting the Werewolf hold him, rubbing a hand over his back. This was not how he’d wanted the pack to find out. Because Scott knowing did mean the pack knowing. The three stood in silence for a long while, until Theo joined them.

“You did it.” He said excitedly, looking between the doctors and Stiles. Of course he knew who it was, no Werewolf could decapitate someone so cleanly.

“He knew?” Scott asked, betrayal written all over his face.

“Oh shit.” Theo mumbled, pausing as he studied Scott and then Stiles. He took out his phone to tell the others what had happened, and it was only moments later that Liam and Malia burst into the room, heading straight for Stiles.

“How many people knew?” Scott asked when his first question wasn’t answered, his upset turning to anger.

“These guys.” Stiles answered, voice thick with unshed tears. He was going to start panicking if he didn’t handle himself correctly and that would mean his magic would go haywire, it’d lash out.

“But you didn’t tell me?” Scott then prodded, eyes flashing red when Liam growled at him. Scott may be his Alpha but he certainly hadn’t acted like it. It was Stiles that had been there for him. Peter wrapped his arms tighter around Stiles, knowing the pressure would give him comfort. Malia rested her hand on Liam’s shoulder to help keep him calm, while Theo hesitated just between the two. If this went right, Liam may try to attack Scott, and that was what he wanted. Stiles reached a hand up in Theo’s direction.

“Forget it or I put you to sleep.” He said simply, eyes fixed on Theo’s. He didn’t say more than that because he didn’t need to - Theo knew what he meant. At those words, Theo made his choice. He approached Stiles who smiled and nodded to him. “I think you might be right, dear.” Peter mumbled into Stiles’ hair, and they both knew what he meant. When they’d first spoken to Theo, Stiles had implied that they had a pack of their own, separate to Scott’s, and now Peter could see it too. He hadn't doubted Stiles, he'd learnt quickly that doubting him just wasted time, but this was the first time he'd truly felt it. Theo joining them snapped something inside him, he could feel their bonds.

It was Lydia who joined them next, and Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to feel any more guilty. She looked over the scene and Stiles could count the number of realisations she had just looking at them.

“The Nogitsune?” She asked with a tilted head, wondering how she’d never noticed that there was something different about Stiles.

“Partly.” He replied with a smile. Lydia was the only person other than Peter that had ever been able to keep up with him, and he had a suspicion that Theo would join that list of people.

“Peter?” She then asked, more disappointed than before, but he could hear the smile in her voice. She wasn’t mad at him.

“Yeah.. apparently.” He replied with a soft laugh, feeling Peter smile against his head. This really wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell everyone what had been happening with him over the last year, but it was the chance he’d been given.

“You need an Alpha.” Lydia then said, making Scott cough and splutter. She turned to him with a smile and shook her head fondly, then approached to stand beside him and rubbed a hand over his back. “I’ll explain later, Liam looks ready to kill.” She said, making Stiles and Peter laugh.

“That’s just what he looks like.” Peter said, laughing when Liam turned that same expression on him. Stiles managed to break from Peter’s arms just before Liam launched at him, them both growling at each other with grins on their faces. Scott and Lydia watched in awe. They thought their pack was family, but they’d missed what was right under their noses. “This is why you don’t need your dark pack.” Stiles told Theo, startling the Chimera. He hadn’t heard the Spark’s footsteps.

“What do you mean?” Theo asked, looking between Peter and Liam ‘fighting’ each other and Stiles.

“I mean, this is what you need. Family. Healing. And if you’ll have us, we can offer you that.” Stiles told him, wrapping an arm around Theo’s shoulders. The three of them had been brothers as kids, Theo had just left, but now he could have that again.

“Lydia is right. There’s no Alpha.” Theo replied. He wanted the pack he saw. The family. But he also knew that without an Alpha they would all struggle. By establishing themselves as a pack officially, they’d lose Scott.

“We have one.” Peter said after a moment, lifting Liam by the back of his shirt with a grin. Liam was struggling to be let down while Malia just laughed. Scott baulked again, making Stiles look his way.

“Nobody here.” Stiles told him with a laugh, glancing to Lydia to watch as she tried to figure it out. Then, as if he’d been waiting to make a dramatic entrance (probably because he had been) Deucalion entered the room.

“Alpha.” Stiles greeted with a smirk, him and Peter falling into laughter as Lydia, Scott and Theo watched with open mouths. He’d been the one to get into contact with Deucalion, to ask him to come and keep an eye on Theo for him. In return, he offered the man a fresh start that was safe. Stiles could stop him from hurting any one of them with his magic if Deucalion ever felt the pull to kill his own again.

“What a warm welcome.” Deucalion drawled, heading straight for Stiles, who reached out to shake his hand.

When Deucalion had first arrived in Beacon Hills, before he had to watch over Theo, he’d gone for coffee with Peter and Stiles. The three of them had discussed the power dynamics that their pack would have. Peter and Stiles had a dynamic, Peter was the brawn, he was the one who did the dirty work if there was some to be done, but in reality Stiles held the power between the two of them and if he needed to, Peter was willing to defer to Stiles. But now, they were introducing a new authority to the mix. They’d agreed that Peter was best in the role of pack enforcer, doing as he already had been, just with a shiny new title. Between Stiles and Deucalion it was less clear. Deucalion was the Alpha, the leader, the one with real influence over the Betas, but Stiles was the reason they’d chosen the pack and they trusted him. Stiles was content to fall in line and follow Deucalion’s orders, but the Alpha hadn’t been content with that. He’d said that Stiles deserved more than to fall into line, had offered the chance to be equals. Stiles had agreed. It would be unconventional, but everything about their pack was already unconventional. It suited them just fine.

“Alpha.” Peter greeted with a smirk, laughing as Deucalion shook his head and greeted Peter with a bump of their shoulders. Stiles stepped away from Theo to return to Peter, nodding for him to return Liam to the floor, and then took Peter’s arms for himself, wrapping them around his body.

“You haven’t actually answered anything.” Scott pointed out, now more confused than anything else. Stiles looked long and hard at Scott, letting Peter’s arms around him keep him focused on the moment, keep his anxiety at bay.

“And I won’t. Not tonight. I’m tired and we have things to talk about at home.” Stiles finally replied, glad when Deucalion stepped to stand beside him. He was new, he wasn’t fully in the know about what was happening, but he was willing to assist. Stiles had made the right choice in calling him.

"So.. what? You kill three people, you've been keeping magic and a relationship with Peter secret and you've been making your own pack behind my back and I'm supposed to be okay with that?" Scott asked, pushing Lydia's hand away when she tried to rest it on his shoulder to calm him. Stiles could feel the pack around him growing tense, none more than Peter, so he squeezed his hand then stepped away. He stepped to stand in front of Scott, looking straight into his eyes. He wasn't scared. Not if being scared put his pack at risk.

"I killed three people that would've killed you if I hadn't. People who were torturing and killing children, one of those kids was Theo, in case you missed that," Stiles started, watching the way Scott's expression softened slightly when his eyes fell on Theo, "I kept my magic a secret to protect myself. I'm practically half fox. Would you have really been okay with that? Honestly? And Peter has never been a secret, you just didn't ask." He then added, holding a hand up for Liam to keep his distance before he could so much as take a step closer.

"The pack?" Scott prodded, pushing away the awe he felt at how in touch Stiles was with the pack that he'd built for himself.

"I wasn't building a pack behind your back. It was just me and Peter at first. He noticed my magic, so I was honest with him. It was a weight off my shoulders. I helped him remember Malia, so we went to save her together and helped her adjust. You turned Liam and I took him to Peter to get help finding his anchor. Peter and I knew Theo was a threat, so we dealt with it. Only then did I go looking for Deucalion, because no matter what my intentions were, I had built a pack." Scott and Stiles maintained eye contact, the air abuzz with the power both of them had. Everyone could feel the tension.

"And you're not a threat?" Scott finally asked, the question he'd had since the moment he'd known what Stiles could do. Stiles knew his pack took offence to that, all of them ready to rush to their defence, but what Stiles said next caught them all off guard.

"Unless you hurt them." He said simply, taking a breath and releasing his power. Stiles every day made sure to cloak his magic, hiding his power like Werewolves could hide their chemosignals, but to make his point now he'd show it all. Scott took a step back, eyes flashing red, overwhelmed by it.

"If I do?" He asked, just because he had to know. Scott needed to understand the threat that had just been posed to him and his own pack.

"I can take your Alpha spark." Stiles said with a shrug, not bothering to reign in his magic. It buzzed around him, rich with excitement at the idea of it. Scott wasn't worthy of the power he'd been given. He had so much potential but little ability to act on that potential. His magic wanted to take the spark from him.

"My Alpha spark can only be taken by one of my own Betas." Scott retorted, but he didn't look so sure. Stiles laughed and shook his head but said nothing more. He pulled his magic back to himself, hiding it all over again, then turned from Scott.

In a moment of panic, Scott reached out and slashed Stiles' back with his claws, who hissed. Lydia gasped and grabbed Scott, pulling him to her body to stop him from doing anything more. Both she and Stiles knew she couldn't really stop him, but he appreciated the sentiment.

"Are you threatened by me, Scott?" He asked with a raised brow and a small smirk. He caught Peter's eye, and the older man looked ready to devour him. "You should be." Stiles said when Scott didn't reply, and returned to his pack. With a click of his fingers, the wounds were gone, he was healed. Liam was the first to go to Stiles, letting the Spark rub a hand over the back of his neck to soothe him, he then reached out for a hug from Malia. He held the two of them letting them confirm that he was okay. When they stepped back, Stiles turned to Theo.

“You’re one of us now. That good with you?” He asked with a lopsided smile, reaching his arm out to Theo for a welcoming hug. He let the power swirl behind his eyes, watching as Theo’s own eyes lit up, able to see it.

“Yeah, that’s good with me.” Theo confirmed, accepting the hug with a smile. Stiles held him for a long moment, feeling Theo relax in his arms. Clearly the dread doctors hadn’t been the most affectionate parents. Over Theo’s shoulder, he saw both Peter and Deucalion looking at him and he stuck out his tongue in their direction, knowing full well that they both could see it. Deucalion’s ‘Alpha vision’ was a blessing. He waited for Theo to pull away before he let go, ruffling his hair with a laugh before he moved on to Peter. Peter took his hand and gently squeezed it.

“You are nothing short of incredible.” Peter said softly, looking at Stiles with nothing but admiration. Stiles just beamed up at him. Neither said another word, communicating silently the feelings that they shared, and then Stiles stepped away to go back to the others, following them back out. Let the bodies be Scott’s problem.

“So you want to join the FBI?” Peter asked one night as he lay in bed, Stiles beside him. Stiles’ head rested on his chest, their fingers intertwined. They’d been laying in silence, Peter listening to the other sounds in his new place, a house big enough for all the pack members, telling Stiles what everyone was doing.

“I think so. I mean, I always wanted to be like my dad, you know?” Stiles replied, his eyes closed to focus on Peter’s heartbeat. It was a comforting sound, a steady beat for him to focus on.

“You’re a very different man to your father, Stiles.” Peter pointed out, tilting just slightly to be able to look down at the man in his arms. Stiles was nineteen now, in the middle of his senior year, and that meant that he had things to think about. He wanted to take a gap year, help the rest of his packmates with school. Theo had decided to return to school full time in Liam’s year and Malia, despite her efforts, had failed and needed to repeat a year. He wanted to support them all, so he would wait, then they could make their choices together.

“I know. I just never considered anything else so now I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t take up McCall’s offer.” He admitted, smiling at the feeling of Peter’s eyes on him. He often caught the Were staring but he didn’t mind anymore, it was more sweet than creepy nowadays.

“You could go to college.” Peter pointed out, and they both knew that for Stiles that was the only other real option, he wasn’t suggesting anything groundbreaking, but it opened a conversation between them.

“I could just.. Stay in your bed and never leave.” He replied with a laugh, turning to lay on his stomach, looking up at Peter with a dopey smile. They still hadn’t kissed. It was something that Stiles spent a lot of time thinking about, kissing Peter. But by this point it had built up and it felt important that would be an emotional moment, perfectly timed.

“I have enough money for two.” He easily replied, brushing his fingers through Stiles’ hair with a fond smile. But they both knew Stiles couldn’t be tied down that easily. He would need something to do, whether it was FBI training, college, or even something else, though he knew just how unlikely that was.

“I’ve got time. I’ll figure it out.” Stiles said with a shrug, shuffling to lay fully on top of Peter, who wrapped his arms around Stiles’ body and before long they fell asleep like that.

“Peter!” Stiles screamed, thrusting out both of his arms and sending everyone to the ground, enemies and allies alike. Nobody touches his Wolf. He sprinted toward Peter, killing anyone who got in his way without so much as a second thought. Most knew better than to try. He dropped to his knees, resting a hand on Peter’s chest to begin to heal him.

“When did you get so strong?” Peter asked with a small smile, grunting softly from the pain. He’d been shot a few times, two different types of wolfsbane bullets.

“One them shattered inside you. Bastard hunters.” He muttered, not daring to close his eyes to focus, he didn’t want to risk something happening while he couldn’t see. He needed to heal Peter. Theo came running over, skidding to a halt on his knees.

“I’ll cover you.” He said, squeezing Stiles shoulder to assure him. His pack would protect him. Theo roared, eyes flashing golden and teeth on display, unafraid of going for the kill if anyone got too close.

“You’re going to be okay.” Stiles assured Peter softly. He raised his hand and began to draw the bullets from Peter’s body, making sure that they never went far after leaving his body, collecting them all safely so they couldn’t hurt anyone else. Peter laughed softly and reached up to cup Stiles’ cheek, making the spark meet his eyes.

“Of course I am. I’ve got you.” He said, and Stiles was hit by the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“That was gross.” Malia commented as she came to stand on the other side of the two of them, watching Theo’s back and making sure that there was even less chance of anyone managing to hurt Peter again. Stiles laughed, sniffing softly, focusing back on drawing the bullets from Peter’s body. He’d need to burn the wolfsbane from him, but at least he could use his magic for that.

Before long, Deucalion and Liam had also joined them. Everyone that needed to be dealt with had been, and now their focus was entirely on Peter. Liam and Theo lifted him once Stiles had removed all of the bullet shards and they carried him to the parking lot where Theo had parked his truck. The two Betas lifted him into the back and Stiles climbed in after, kneeling down beside Peter to focus on getting the wolfsbane out of his system. The others returned to where the fight had taken place, wanting to destroy any weapons left behind.

“You look good on your knees.” Peter said with a smirk, reaching out to rest his hand on Stiles’ thigh. It was his attempt to lighten the mood, to help Stiles at least feel a little less stressed. If he was making jokes, he wasn’t dead. Stiles didn’t bother to reply. He lit a flame in his palm, ignoring how tired all the magic and stress was making him, and took to burning away the wolfsbane. When he was done, Stiles was about ready to collapse and Peter knew it. He sat up slowly and pulled Stiles into his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You’ve exhausted yourself.” Peter said softly, letting Stiles slump forward to rest his head on Peter’s shoulder.

“I needed you to be okay.” He replied simply. It wasn’t complicated, not to him. Peter needs to be okay. Peter sighed, but accepted his reasoning. He’d near burn the whole town to ashes if something happened to Stiles, so he couldn’t criticise him for it. Stiles sat up slowly, moving to instead rest his forehead against Peter’s so he could look at him and reassure himself that he was actually okay.

“I want to kiss you.” Stiles whispered, absently tracing his hand over Peter’s back. Peter’s eyes widened at his words. They both knew where they stood, what they wanted, they knew that they were waiting, but they never really talked about it.

“What’s stopping you?” Peter asked, not the reaction that Stiles was expecting. He sat up fully, just looking at the older man for a moment.

“Nothing.” Stiles answered finally and leaned in to kiss Peter softly.

His lips were soft, and kissing him felt so right, he found himself unsure as to why he’d waited this long to do it. Why would he deny himself this for so long? Peter gripped Stiles’ hip with one hand while the other rested on the back of his head, combing through his hair. Stiles wrapped both his arms around Peter’s neck, kissing him deeply, getting lost in the feeling of it. When they separated, Stiles couldn’t help laughing.

“It’s been a while since I’ve kissed someone, but I don’t think it was that bad.” Peter joked, leaning back against the cab, letting Stiles lean against his chest.

“No I just.. Can’t believe we’ve been leading up to that for so long. I should’ve done it sooner.” He replied, tucking his head against Peter’s neck to bask in the comfort that he provided. They both laughed then, content to be curled up in the back of Theo’s truck. They were asleep before everyone else had returned.

#steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #fanfiction #malia tate #liam dunbar #theo raeken #dark pack #spark stiles #dark stiles stilinski #fanfic #deucalion #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic

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vtm-nightcity · 1 year

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youtube

Season 2 is now Live

On Spotify...Apple Podcasts, your favorite app or the web (portsaga.podbean.com)

#Port Saga #Vampire the Masquerade #vtm #World of Darkness #Dark Pack #audio drama #podcast series #podcast #vamily

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hankwizard · 2 years

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Doing concept art for more a Mosquito Highway USA remake (Char goes by he/they pronouns) (Demo here)

#vampire the masquerade #vtm #mosquito highway usa #unbound #dark pack #ventrue #vampire #nonbinary #lgbt #pixel art #transmasc #oc #original character #anastasios

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enhalpy · 27 days

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sleep like a winter bear.

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urviolence · 5 months

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🦟⃞░ㅤ ࣺ ㅤ﹟ ㅤㅤ𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 ㅤ 𝕣𝗽ㅤ 𝕓𝗶𝗼𝘀. ꒱ ⛧

ㅤㅤ♱⃑ㅤ▐ㅤㅤ𝑏𝑦ㅤㅤ﹫𝘂𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖾 ㅤㅤ-ㅤㅤig

01.

#𝑪𝖮𝖵𝖤𝖭ㅤㅤ؛ㅤㅤoктябрь. ͏ ͏ ᷣㅤㅤ🦇⃝▁ ͏ ͏ ࣮ㅤㅤ

𝟑𝟏𝟏𝟎𝟐𝟑 ͏ ͏ ᷓㅤㅤ𝒔𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇ㅤࣺ ͏ ͏ 𝓸𝓯 ͏ ͏ ࣪ ͏ ͏ ͏ 𝒘𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. ꒱

02.

⃝🪦ㅤㅤ⠆ㅤ𝑴𝖤𝖳𝖠𝖫.ㅤㅤ᳒ ͏ ͏ ͏отмена. ͏ ͏ ༴ ͏ ͏ ♱

𝒄𝗈𝗋𝗽𝘀𝗲 ͏ ͏ ༢ ͏ ͏ 𝟬𝟩𝟨𝟨 ͏ ͏ ᷏ ͏ ͏ 🤘🏿⃟ﳟ ͏ ͏ ͏ ໍ 𝚅𝙷𝚂 ͏ ͏ ࣭ ༻

03.

꒰ ິ ͏ ͏ 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃 ͏ ͏ ࣮ ͏ ͏ 🫵🏿⃝ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ۟ ͏ ͏ ܔ ͏ ͏ ֑ ͏ ͏ ⛧

беспорядок ͏ ͏ ⏜ ͏ ͏ ་ ͏ ͏ 𝑘𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 ͏ ͏ ׇࣺ ͏ ͏ ͏ 🪦⃞ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏

04.

♱⃬ ͏ ͏ ⠆ ͏ ͏ 𝑮𝖮𝖱𝗘 ͏ ͏ ܵ ͏ ͏ ؄⃝ ͏ ͏ ͏ ࣭ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ີܓ ͏ ͏ ͏ ▐

#𝒑𝗎𝗇𝗄 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ᷓ ͏ ͏ победа. ͏ ͏ ۟ ͏ ͏ ﳟ⃬ ͏ ͏ 🪦 ͏ ͏ ᯳ ͏ ͏ 𝟫𝟱҈ ͏ ͏

#͏ ͏ ೀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ࣮ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 𝒌𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ᯳ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙸𝚅𝙴. ͏ ͏ ͏ 𖹭 #soft icons #soft moodboard #soft packs #messy bios #ig bios #dark bios #soft locs #rp bios #dark moodboard #dark icons

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baenuit · 1 month

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coquette symbols collection

✿ ֹ ∗ ִ ★ 𓈒 ◌ ❀ ㅤ۫ㅤ♡ . ✶⠀𓈒⠀⠀𓏸⠀ 𓇼 ׅ ܔ ֺ 㞫 ࣭ ︵͡ ⁺ 人 𝅄 ׁ ˳ 🎹 ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𖣠 ⠀ֵ⠀⠀෧ ⠀ ?̸⠀⠀ ೀ⠀ 〹 ׅ ۟ . 술

𝟐𝟐ㅤ﹏ㅤ ꐦ ֹ ᮫ ֹ 🤲🏻 ꪆ୧ ✴︎ ㅤ︒ㅤ۪ㅤㅤ⬭ㅤ* ✵ㅤ ִ ⩇⩇⠀ ݁ ⠀ ⁀✧ ֗ ๑ ✦ ㅤ҉ ⠀ ᳙ ꜜ 我　 🥄　⏎ ˚ㅤִ ‌ ୨୧ ᘒ ˖˙ ᰋㅤㅤ �� ۫ ˖ 🥛 ݂ ʾʾ ੭ꠥ ⪩ ⪨ㅤ . 𓂋⠀ ׅ ⠀♡𝅼 ⠀ ⏜͡︵ㅤׅㅤׄㅤ ☆゙ ۫ 𝆹₍ 𔘓 ₎ㅤ𝆬 ට 💭 ㅤׅㅤ ✩︶︶‌ ก ࣪ ۪ ✣ ⠀۪⠀ ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁⠀ ㅊ♡⠀ׅ ⠀ ⟡ ⌢ ꒰੭ . 𓈒 𔘓 𔓘 掁 💕 ╰ ヰ ׂ 𖣯 ࣪ ꗃ ִ ⩇⩇:⩇⩇ ᘞ ㅤ◌ ㅤ𝆬ㅤㅤ˓˓ㅤ ꕤㅤ۪ ㅤ៸៸ㅤ☆ ⃞‌𝆬 യㅤ𓈒ㅤ𑁯 ◌⃝ ⏜⃞ ♡ ˙ ㅤ𓈒 ᜊㅤ👻 ᭸‌꛱ ׁ 𝆹 ͜͡✿͜͡ ｡ ˚ ︶︶✩ㅤ𖠗. ꒰୨ ୧꒱ㅤ☁️ ◞ ♡̶ 𓂃 𝆯 ᨒ ‹3 💤 ৫ ⌗ ☘︎ ׁׁ 𓏹 ﹙﹠﹚ ִ 🍣 ノ⠀ ㅋ ⠀֥ ⠀ ᯙ̷⠀៰ ˚⠀𐂯 . 𐚱⠀⁕ `⠀ 𝁼 ⁰ ⠀៹ ㅤׄㅤ ✿ . 𓆱 𖦹 ۪ ࣪ 𐑥 ୨୧ 🥛 ࣪ ׅ 言ㅤׄㅤ﹨ㅤ ⠀ᘞ⠀ ⠀۪ㅤ ♡ㅤ . .ㅤ🥨⃝⠀⠀

⏜⃞♡⠀ ᕱᕱㅤ۫⠀◦⠀✂️ ⠀៰ ˚ㅤꔫㅤ🍈 ࣪ 𖣂 𓈒 ៰៰

≠̲͞ ⠀⠀🥘⠀⠀Ꮺ ⠀𝅄⠀ֹ⠀ 𒄬 % ִ ㅤׄ͜✧ׅ͡ㅤ ࣪ 🏵️ 𓆪 ㅤεїз 𑇗ㅤ 삶 ੭୧ ۫ 𝅄 𑁍 ۪ ☆̲ ㅤׅㅤ 🪐 ㅤ˚ㅤ ♡ᰍ ૮꒱

★ ࣪˖ ⌕ ♪⠀ꕆ⠀𝇄 𝇃 ⠀𝅄⠀ֹ⠀ᄎ ♡ ⃞ છ۪ ㅤ۫ ⾆ㅤ𓈒 𓄹♡ ㅤᕬ ᕬ 𝅄 𑄻𑄾ㅤ۫ㅤㅤིྀㅤ𝅄 🗑️ ㅤ** ㅤ۫ㅤ𝟺𝟺𝟺ㅤㅋㅋ ׁ 〃

✯ ⠀⠀⃞✦ ⠀ׅ⠀ׅ⠀ׅ⠀ ＼⠀ 𑁤 . 🧠 ᰨ ㅤ🍎♡︎ㅤㅤ% ೀㅤㅤ۫ㅤ⠀꒰੭ ﾟ ࿙⃛͜࿚⃛ ͡๑ ㅤⳊⳊ ㅤ🎹 . ᨦ ㅤ❀⃝ㅤ ͡✦ !?

‎ レ ꒱꒱ㅤ🥛 ㅤ۪ㅤֺㅤ :¨·.·¨: ㅤ🌸̶̫ㅤ࣭୨ৎㅤ:𝙳ㅤ🍣⃞﹗ ຊ ㉶

☏̸̷ ఎ⠀𓈒 ⠀𝇈⃝🛁⠀𝆬⠀ ᜊ゙ 🧺 ⭒ ۪ ﹪ ׅ╰╮ ׅ ✩̸ ׄ ﹝🍜 ﹞ 𓈒 ☾ㅤֺ𝆬ㅤ◠ ੭ 𔓕 🌊 ‧₊˚ ✩ . ̊͟͞ ᳤ ✩᳣ ۪ ᯤ

ᨳ᭬ ✨ ˚ 𝆹 ᭝♡ 코코넛 𔓗 🌙 ｡ㅤ𝆬ㅤ ִ ◎ ᜨ 🌱 𔘓

🦢̼ ☆ ࣪ ִ ◌⃘ 🩹̼ ▭ֹ▭ׅ▭ֹ▭ׅ ✰ 。 ✿𝆬 キ 𝓟 !

💥̸⃞ 𓇬 🫂̲ਓ ִ 𖠁 私の ‧₊˚ 𔒛⠀𓈒⠀⠀𓏸⠀🐚 𑇢 ㅤ۫ㅤ𑰁

♥︎ ꒪ㅤ𝅄ㅤ🝱 ﹠. 〷 ࣭ ౾ ✧ 𝅄 ׁ 〾⻉ �� ᬛ 𐔌 ۪ ֹ 𐓯 ᩙ . ᰔ Քlѳwer ⠀ઈઉ ⠀ֵ⠀ ᭞᭞᭞ 𐓡 ׄ ά. ꔛ ֍ ٜ ℳ ְ 𝟢𝟢 𑇛 🪸 仓 ▞ 𝚈 ’ જ 🏻 ©

#̲#̲ㅤׂㅤ🌍ㅤ:ㅤ𝟭𝟭𝟭ㅤׅㅤ🖖🏻ㅤ˚ㅤ⌒ 𔘓 형.⠀ᨒ 🛏️⃞ **

★⃝͜͡ ֹ 🎮 ׅ 𝐋𝐎̸⃞̷𝐕͡𝐄 ⌯ ׅ ᯥ̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸ 𓂅̸ « 𔒅 ׅ ♡̶ 🧇 𓄦 𝙲.

🍽️̶ . Ꮺ ࣭ 📮̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̸̷̷̷̷̷ 𔔢̷̷̷̷̷̷̷̷̷̷ ✿ 𓈒 # ׅ ⊦ 🧭 ࣪ ▩ 🌷것

ꐑꐑ. 高 ↱ ֺ ♟️̷̷̷ 𐀔 ׅ 𖦹 ࣪ 🏮 𓈃 🧂 % : ꀯ ♡ 🏯

交 ๋࣭ 🏐 🜲 ♡𝆬 ★ 🧻 𖥉 ⿻ ⏲ ⩉⩉ ⎯⎯꯭ׁ⎯꯭⎯꯭ׁ⎯ 𒀭

☆̲̅ ⠀ׅ⠀🤞🏻 ᘞ̸ ⠀ׁ⠀ 🍡⃞ ֹ ָ֢ 🦢⃝ ˙ ּ 🍮 ׂ ★̷ׁ͟͞⎯ ࣭ ⃘𓏸

𔘓'𝗌ㅤׂㅤ♡⠀৲⠀ 🥽 ﹫ 📞⠀＼⠀ ۪ ᪤ ♡͡. ꒱꒱ " ♡ "

⩨ ೕ ִ ᘏ 🜸 ฺ ა ໋ ҂ 𝄪 ▢ ⟀ 𔔀 ː ⑅ ཐིཋྀ

ಟ ִ ✽ 𓃉  ࣪ ⪨ ᵯ ִ © . ᘠ ✸ ֹ ✛ ִ 

𝟑𝟑̸ ֹ ɘ ִ 🏔️ ☆ 🛝ﾞ ࿚ 𓇼 ⁾⁾ 🪑 ¿ 🝱 ֹ 𔓐

˚ 📦 𖧧 ִ ✱ ࣪ ୨୧ ⸼ ࣪ 💤 ˖ ✿ 𓂂𓏸 യ 🧁 ᯓ 🐮 !!

৶ ׅ 𖥦 𓂃 ‰ 𖥔 𓆸 𖦆 ࣪ ˖ ⩩ ʚ ɞ 𖤐ㅤ𝅄ㅤ۫ 旗🍒ㅤ˚ㅤִㅤ○ㅤ달콤한 ︖﹖ ˒˓ ꩜ㅤ𔓕ㅤ🗯̼ ☘️ 𓊍ㅤׂㅤ͡⊹

>< ៸៸ 🍏ㅤ৴ 𓈒ㅤ୨ৎㅤׂㅤchᧉrrⴗ ᓚᘏᗢㅤ۫ ★ ʚĭɞ

⨳ !! ⊹ ♡⃝ ㅤ۫ ㅤ+ ۫ ᕱᕱ 𝅄 ୧୧⠀ 𝟎꯭𝟎꯭𝟑 |꛱ ꛱͜ | u.

⬙ ۪ ☄︎ 🖖🏻 ｡ ˖ ❊ 🍢 (e) ∬ ﹒ ‿ ⌆

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swiftis · 2 months

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the tortured poets department.

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sirartwork · 4 months

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guys will see this and just think "hell yeah"

#Q Hayashida #Dorohedoro #Dai Dark #Manga #Starter Pack

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thatboomerkid · 1 year

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Weird Lookin’ Deer

fomor stag (see M20 Gods & Monsters pg. 105) for use with Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th Anniversary Edition, W20 Book of the Wyrm, and Book of the Wyrm Companion

ATTRIBUTES: Strength 9, Dexterity 3, Stamina 8, Perception 3, Intelligence 1, Wits 3

ABILITIES: Alertness 3, Athletics 2, Brawl 2, Empathy 2, Stealth 3

Willpower: 3

Health Levels: OK, OK, -1, -1, -5, -5, Incapacitated

Armor Rating: 0 (eight soak dice, total)

Attacks: Trample/Kick (Strength +1 bashing); Gore (Strength +1 lethal)

Fomori Powers: Exoskeleton, Ghost in the Electrical Twilight*, Postmodern Digital-Nightmare Ambush Predator*, Regeneration (*see below)

Brought to you absolutely free to use, to enjoy, to share, to dick-around with, and to argue about – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Hugest of special thanks to Josh Heath and to all of my First Team: Last Chancers & Exalted Vs. World of Darkness players.

Nothing here is official World of Darkness material.

art by the incredible Joey Wallace

Ghost in the Electrical Twilight: at will, as a reflexive action, a Weird Lookin’ Deer may freely alter or adjust how it is registered by any piece of mundane, human-manufactured electronic recording equipment: the Weird Lookin’ Deer may always choose to be invisible to cameras & motion-detectors ... or it may choose to appear only as a blur, to appear as an utterly mundane deer, or even to appear as a specific animal or human (such as a family dog or a dude it just ate) known to it.

This applies to any and all equipment that might capture direct evidence of the Weird Lookin’ Deer -- fooling both audio-recordings & thermal-imagining systems, for example -- but it will not fool a direct eyewitness, nor will it fool an enchanted or magical camera.

Note that the Weird Lookin’ Deer (a particularly dumb, purely spite-driven monster with a rock-bottom Intelligence-score even by animal-level-intellect standards) is quite frankly fucking terrible at mimicking anything other than “a hideous, 400-pound, ten-foot-tall, bone-plate-covered psychopathic carnivore deer-man” and -- as such -- very rarely tries to do so and even more rarely does so successfully.

Exoskeleton: a Weird Lookin’ Deer has a hard, gnarled, ossified carapace sporting bizarre ivory growths, which grant it +3 Strength & +3 Stamina (included above). The sight of a Weird Lookin’ Deer registers in the human brain as so nightmarishly impossible that merely seeing it incites the Delirium; most of those who behold a Weird Lookin’ Deer simply remember it as exactly that: “a really fucked-up, weird lookin’ deer (that just so happens to incite panic attacks & severe nausea if you think about it too hard)”.

Postmodern Digital-Nightmare Ambush Predator: a Weird Lookin’ Deer may always choose to send and/or receive text messages, phone calls, IMs, emails, voice mails, and other digital communication as if it were physically holding the unlocked device of any creature it has killed or eaten within the last 24 hours.

Furthermore, a Weird Lookin’ Deer possesses an instinctual, marrow-deep understanding of how best to wield or utilize any such electronic device: it is as comfortable hunting the realms of rapid-fire texts & multi-app email-tag as a lordly stag striding the deep night woods; a Weird Lookin’ Deer always rolls Wits + Stealth (rather than rolling Intelligence + Computers or Intelligence + Technology, for example) to “do something clever” with a digital device it is manipulating.

By means of this Power, the Weird Looking’ Deer may -- for example -- choose to send a message to a favorite contact of a person it just killed (telling the friend to come outside because “omg moon is so pretty rite nao tonight”) or respond to a panicked text from a family member with a gentle and reassuring “don’t i worry just went a for walk the trees i am fine”.

In addition, a Weird Lookin’ Deer may choose -- at will -- to reflexively spend a point of temporary Willpower (or Gnosis, if it has access to such a resource) to perform any one of the following tricks as a normal action:

take control (until the end of the round) of any one mundane electronic device it can see

become aware (for the next minute) of the exact location of all electronic devices within seven miles

take control (until the end of the round) of any one mundane electronic device it is aware of, even if it cannot see the device

re-use (until the end of the round) any device it has already used, at any point in the past

By means of this extremely douche-bag use of its Power, the Weird Lookin’ Deer may send a text-message from a guy it killed & ate five years ago, cause the phone of a guy it can see to shut off & restart, send a text from the phone of a guy asleep in his tent a half-dozen miles away, or otherwise pretty much fuck with people with near impunity.

Note again, however, that the Weird Lookin’ Deer is very specifically stupid as balls & not real good at making up clever lies: anything it chooses to do in terms of “using a cellphone” is probably near-perfect, possibly traceable only by a world-class expert in forensic data analysis ... but that doesn’t mean that the Weird Lookin’ Deer doesn’t pretty much always sound odd and horrible and deeply unnerving when sending texts.

“I know that this was sent from his phone; like, the cops confirmed it and everything, but ... seriously?

‘come see me in the woods, son the stars r so dim the woods the woods the woods come son come now come here come see i want you. here. here with me. here in the woods’?

“That’s so fucked-up, though, right? My dad never would have texted me some shit like this, no matter how drunk he was; I think that whoever ... I don’t know, whoever ‘took him’ & his hunting-buddies must have sent it.

“My stepmom thinks I’m making it up for attention; my counselor said to just drop it ... b-but fucking look, man! I got three more texts from him last week, too: same message. They’re right goddamn here!

“Cops say they’re from his phone, same as before, although I don’t know how that’s ... possible, I guess? They said it’s a prank, or maybe a glitch or something in the phone system.

“But last night?

“Last night, man ... I got a new one.

“And this time, it just said ‘help’.

“The useless fucking park rangers or whoever still haven’t found my dad’s body or his phone ... but I think? I think he might still be alive.

“Or, at least, that somebody is. Somebody who knows what happened.

“I’m driving up there this weekend, man.

“Yeah. No bullshit: right to his cabin, bro. I know how to find it. I’m taking my stepmom’s van & some of my dad’s spare hunting-shit with me; Chad, Ricky, and Jenny are already coming with.

“What? Yeah, of course there’ll be beers, dude.

“You in?”

A fomor must already possess the Ghost in the Electrical Twilight Fomori Power (above) before she may select this Power.

Regeneration: a Weird Lookin’ Deer automatically heals one level of bashing or lethal damage each turn. Healing a level of aggravated damage requires a full day and the expenditure of a Willpower point.

---

enjoying this? get more here!

---

Well hey there, friend!

Do you have a profoundly lonely, gaping, unutterable emptiness deep within you — a hole of just sick, awful sadness you’ve carried your whole life — that ONLY a hulking, blood-drenched, forest-themed hardcore slasher horror-show named “Stagg-Orr O’MacStag-Man-Murder” could begin to help fill?

Uh, wait. Some of you are nodding “yes”?

Shit. Huh. I guess, uh … if so?

Wow, that’s just super random!

... but also HEY GOOD NEWS, ‘cuz GUESS FUCKIN’ WHAT!?

It looks like one or two of those sick fuckers over at the Dick Meatsweats Collective -- the only illegal black-ops military-grade bioweapon design-firm operating under the auspices of Project Echidna very proudly sponsored by O’Tolley’s, the Family Place! -- finally put down the greasy bong & N64 controller long enough to get up off their foul, pasty, unwashed, Mountain-Dew-&-Cheeto-dust-stained-sweatpants-wearin’ asses & take the very first baby-steps toward making YOUR dream a reality!

That’s right, baby!

Weird Lookin’ Deer: made of 100% stag-monster parts!

Weird Lookin’ Deer: not just a direct affront to Gaia, but ALSO a grotesque & violent insult to the Fianna and all that they keep holy!

Weird Lookin’ Deer: it just fucking LOVES to eat campers! Honestly, we can’t get it to stop! We’ve tried shooting it! Several times! OH SHIT IT DIDN’T EVEN SLOW DOWN!

Originally developed as part of Harold Zettler’s bizarre late-90s / early-2000s anti-environmental push-back program (codename Operation Wild-Hunt 2: 2 Wild 2 Hunt!) as a means by which to rapidly generate panicked, grassroots, word-of-mouth, pro-industrial-development suburban public outcry -- “The woods aren’t safe! Your kids are IN DANGER! Call YOUR senator to demand that Good House International be given PHAT STACKS OF CASH to clear-cut & strip-mine a National Park! Do it NOW!” -- the Weird-Lookin’Deer is designed from the ground up to do exactly one thing, and to do it extremely well:

To evoke, amplify, and embody humanity’s PRIMAL FEAR OF THE WOODS.

The very first live-fire trial-runs of the Weird Lookin’ Deer -- staged in & around a number of secluded, heavily-forested rural communities scattered across North America (especially targeting impoverished backwoods trailer parks in the Rust Belt, the Deep South, and Midwest) -- succeeded beyond the wildest dreams of Project Iliad’s sociopathic operational managers: their brand new monster, they discovered, wasn’t just a hulking, deadly, stag-shaped thing that could casually scramble cellphones, eviscerate hikers, erase video evidence, survive a head-on collision with a SUV, and/or occasionally go toe-to-toe with an inexperienced Garou pack & limp away still technically breathing.

It could also -- sometimes, and I mean just sometimes -- reproduce outside of a laboratory environment, the exact same way that Flesh Packs & Freakfeet (W20 Book of the Wyrm, pg. 132) can go viral in the wild.

This has both advantages and disadvantages:

On the plus-side, all those so-called “2nd-gen. / 3rd-gen. / Xth-gen.” Weird Lookin’ Deer tend toward more & more badass Powers in increasingly bizarre and outlandish permutations; in short, the things may be mutated & ugly as fuck, but they show-off everything from Animal Control -- becoming grotesque swarm-lords over infected deer, raccoons, squirrels, foxes, owls, crows, bears, and other seemingly-random forest critters -- to Adaptive Regeneration (see Book of the Wyrm Companion, pg. 72) ... and that’s without even leaving the A-section of the alphabet.

Just wait until we get to Unleash the Infinite Balefire-Enema Apparatus!

Shit, we even found one that was basically a moose-sized Hollow Man (W20 Book of the Wyrm, pg. 134-134; Book of the Wyrm Companion, pg. 43-44) filled with deer ticks.

On a LESS positive note, these fucking things -- like ANY animal-based fomor not specifically bred in a Project Echidna lab -- don’t come with cranial bombs helpfully preinstalled, which makes them exactly as dangerous to Pentex forces as they are to everyone else (which is to say: FUCKING VERY).

At the moment, therefore, Project Echidna has a temporary “work-hold” order in-place on the engineering of any more Weird Lookin’ Deer -- at least until we can puzzle-out how to control (or even track!) Xth-gen instances of the vicious, evil goddamn things -- despite how excited a lot of the guys in the lab are to start dumping some hot & spicy Formula Z into the mix.

So unless somebody from the Garou Nation can get their shit together, uh ... yeah, any day now some idiot junior lab-tech with more security clearance than sense is going to convince himself that “mixing in a shitload of Formula Z” is the correct answer to the riddles “how do we make sure that Xth-gen Weird Lookin’ Deer are born as Pentex-assets?” and “how do I get a goddamn promotion around here?” -- HINT: THIS IS NOT THE CORRECT ANSWER -- and then all hell is gonna break loose.

... oopsie-doodle, as they say!

---

Nothing here is official World of Darkness material.

all hail the Dark Pack.

(for more information, see here)

#Not pathfinder #Werewolf the Apocalypse #old world of darkness #World Of Darkness #pentex #fomor #fomori #book of the wyrm #book of the wyrm companion #Monster #dark pack

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yizaicons · 2 years

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❝ JENNIE 📸¸¸ yı™, psd por @colour-source

#yi #yizaicons #icons 120x120 #kpop icons #messy icons #jennie icons #jennie packs #jennie layouts #jennie moodboards #blackpink icons #blackpink layouts #blackpink packs #blackpink moodboards #headers #dark pack #simple header #girls

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smileygoth · 1 year

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22. Fashion Never Dies (Vamptober 2022)

Find the full list of chapters here.

Jazz and Lucas are taken to a Sabbat gathering and get a first-hand view of exactly what they've signed up to.

CW: Extreme graphic mutilation and torture - Ya know, Tzimicse shit. Not for the weak stomached - though I tried not to get too graphic.

Word count: 3,221 words.

Image is by Space on Twitter, please check her out! She does lots of great VTM-inspired artwork.

They left the bar when the flames started to travel from the chairs to the walls, Carl and Magnus pushing the tables in to catch for good measure, including the one with the bodies on. They went out through the fire exit, leaving the front door bolted shut, and left through a miserable little patch of tarmac that held a couple of large bins and a tired looking car that presumably belonged to the bartender.

"What happens when they find the bodies?" Jazz whispered to Cat as they left.

"In this part of town? Not a lot," Cat replied with a laugh. "Besides, there won't be much left for them to find. Those boys will have to be identified by their teeth."

She said it in such a careless way that Jazz shuddered. She moved closer to Lucas, away from the other vampires.

The sky was starting to lighten. The group headed back the way they had come, taking Jazz and Lucas with them. Quinn separated from them as they passed the scrapyard, sliding in through the gate with a nod of farewell. The gang hailed her with raised hands and catcalls before moving on, deeper into the neglected industrial area on the edge of which the scrapyard lay. They stopped outside a boarded-up old warehouse that was surrounded by a chain link fence, topped with barbed wire and covered with faded signs reading 'Danger: Keep Out' and 'This building is scheduled for DEMOLITION'. Carl pulled out a key, unlocked the heavy padlock on the gate and pulled it open with a loud rattle. He gestured for them to go inside, and they did, sweeping Jazz and Lucas in after them without comment.

Inside, the warehouse was sparse on furniture, but there was plenty of 'artwork' on the walls: band posters, stolen street signs, graffiti, swathes of grubby and faded fabric, and strings of multicoloured lights. Other than a sad-looking kitchen and filthy bathroom, the place was all one large room. Massive cobwebs hung from crisscrossing metal beams up by the high corrugated iron ceiling. Jazz wondered how loud it was under that roof when it rained. In the centre of the room was a cluster of three blackened metal braziers and a small pile of broken furniture and cardboard to serve as fuel. Any windows the building had were boarded up on both sides and covered in posters and signs, so the place was entirely lit by the sad, dull yellow fluorescent lights above their heads and the string lights trailing around the edges of the room. In the corners Jazz saw several old mattresses laid down, heavy lengths of fabric hung up around them to serve as curtains and keep out the light. It reminded her of the hotel scene in The Lost Boys, and even more than she originally had, she couldn't help thinking of the gang in the same way. She wondered if they were going to have to jump off a bridge with them at some point.

The other vampires all started to bed down, jumping onto mattresses and pulling curtains closed. Cat and Cal took one mattress together; Donna took one with Magnus; Grease picked one on his own. As Carl came in from locking up behind them, he crossed over to Jazz and Lucas where they stood near the centre of the room, looking uncertain.

"Well?" he asked. "You going to bed down or you planning to sleep in the middle of the floor all day? If bare concrete's a kink for you two, go right ahead, but I prefer to sleep in comfort. Personally."

Lucas squirmed, embarrassed. "We didn't know we were, uh ..." he began, then trailed off as Carl gave him an incredulous look.

"Mate. You're pack now," he replied. "You sleep with us, eat with us, ride and die with us. So hurry up and take the last mattress before I make you share with Grease."

Carl's voice wasn't quiet. Grease poked his head out from behind his curtain in response and grinned. An unusually long tongue wormed out from between his jagged teeth and slowly licked across his pitted and cracked lips. "I don't mind some company," he croaked. The others all laughed.

Carl gave Jazz's butt a playful slap. "Go on. I'll crowd in with Cat and Cal. They're like brother and sister, so I won't have to deal with any necrophilia when the sun sets!" He raised his voice, directing it toward the corner Donna and Magnus had vanished into. Magnus's pale, silver-ringed hand poked out, flipping the bird. Carl chuckled and drifted over to where Cat was grinning at him from the shadows. "Get in, big man," she called.

Lucas glanced over at the last empty mattress and shrugged. "Shall we?" he said to Jazz.

Jazz followed his gaze and sighed. Even the first flat - after Lucas had smashed it up - had been better than this. The mattress was filthy and the curtains around it were ragged and torn. Privacy, if they wanted it, would be non-existent. "Fine," she grumbled. "Though I'm pretty sure there are hobos on the street who live better than this."

Lucas shushed her. "Give it a chance."

Filthy or not, the mattress was comfortable, and they slept soundly and without interruption. When they rose the next night, Carl ushered them all around him. "Quinn messaged," he said, looking at his phone. "There's going to be a big gathering in a couple of nights. They're getting the packs together to organise a big push against the Cammies. And Quinn says it's going to be a big deal, so we need to be on our best behaviour."

The other vampires snickered a little at that. "So what do we do til then?" Grease asked.

"Quinn says to chill, lay low, feed well," Carl replied. "She wants us on our best game at the gathering. That means there's gonna be some important players there."

"Cool," Donna remarked. "Maybe I can get out of this armpit of a pack."

The others turned on her playfully, slapping and pulling at her as she grinned. Carl raised his voice to be heard above them. "Rest up, kiddies - we've got real work ahead of us!"

Two nights later, Jazz and Lucas were escorted by the pack to a large hotel in a much more affluent area of the city. Though their pack had hardly even changed their clothes, Quinn was wearing an elegant black evening gown and her blonde hair was left to tumble over her white shoulders in soft curls. She met them outside the hotel, a large clutch purse in one hand, and looked them over in mock disappointment. "You made an effort, I see," she quipped. "Come on. You're the last to arrive, and you know the Bishop doesn't like anyone to be late."

Bishop? Jazz thought. Priest? What's with all the church stuff?

They went inside, Quinn leading them into a large function hall. The hotel was of modern design, so other than the ostentatious chandeliers above their heads and the drapes of sheer fabric lining the ceiling and walls, the room wasn't particularly grand. But the floor was polished wood and the furniture was all gold gilt and carved wood - what Jazz thought of as wedding furniture. Tablecloths covered the round tables and each one had a small tealight in a glass holder at the centre. It looked like it had been set up for a corporate function.

But the people inside quickly dispelled that impression. There were many others dressed similarly to their pack, in denim and leathers, biker boots and chains. There was a small group who were dressed smartly, but all in black, as if they had come from a funeral. They all sat together near the front of the room, where a large stage was set up. There were more than a few who were dressed like Quinn, in smart suits and pretty gowns, as if going to a ball. And then there were a few - mostly those on the stage - dressed in robes and uniforms that looked like they belonged in cathedrals, or even the Vatican.

Quinn ushered them all to an empty table about halfway down the hall. They all sat, Quinn folding her legs neatly beneath her chair, the others lounging with feet on the table, sitting backwards in their chairs, or just slumping comfortably. Grease leaned across the table and pulled the tealight closer to him. Jazz watched as he started poking the flame with one long, gnarled fingernail. Before long she looked away. It was making her stomach twist nervously. Her hand went to her forehead, where the mark of the brand had only just healed over. The more serious burn on the side of her face was taking longer, but already it wasn't much more than a stripe of tight red skin.

Once they'd sat down, a figure on the stage dressed in the long white robes of a Catholic bishop stepped forward. He had forgone the headdress, and his long black hair flowed across his shoulders in stark contrast to the white vestments. He reminded Jazz of Antonio Banderas in Interview With a Vampire - but only because his hair was so long and straight. He was white, and his eyes were very pale - in fact his hair was the only thing about him that was dark. He lifted his arms, and the room fell silent.

Cat leaned over to Jazz. "That's Bishop Christopher," she whispered. "He unites all the packs in the city."

Jazz nodded her thanks and turned her attention to him as he began to speak.

"Cainites," he said in a surprisingly deep voice. "Welcome. We are here tonight to enact our ancient traditions together, united as Sabbat."

Lucas leaned over and whispered to Jazz. "This isn't so different from the Camarilla. Lots of pomp and ceremony. It's just dressed up differently. We'll be okay."

Quinn's head turned slightly toward them. Jazz waved Lucas to silence, hoping that Quinn hadn't overheard them.

Bishop Christopher continued. "As your priests should have all informed you, we will soon be looking to make one great push against our Camarilla neighbours. Tonight we will lay down the plans for how this will be done, and when." A few vampires let out cheers and clapped. He smiled patiently and waited for them to stop before he went on. "But before business comes pleasure." A few more cheers, more raucous this time. "Before we concern ourselves with the war to come, I am happy to present to you a special guest in the city. A performer and artist of great renown among our kind, I trust she will rouse your desires and make you even more eager to fight our righteous battle." He half-turned, gesturing offstage to his left. "I give you ... Carina Zantosi of Clan Tzimicse."

Lucas leaned into Jazz again. "Just like the Camarilla," he whispered. "Performances and artwork."

A spattering of polite applause rippled across the hall. Onto the stage walked a woman - at least Jazz assumed it was a woman - wearing a red skintight catsuit and stiletto heels. Her face was beautiful in an alien, uncanny way, with high, slanting cheekbones and slanting, catlike eyes. Her small, heart-shaped lips were painted as red as her catsuit, and her blonde hair fell in a long stripe down the centre of an otherwise hairless head. The catsuit accentuated her figure strangely; her waist seemed impossibly tiny below a wide ribcage and small, pointed breasts and above flaring hips and incredibly long legs. In her long-fingered hands she held a silver chain. The other end was attached to a leather collar being worn by a man who she led onto the stage behind her. He was naked, trembling and quite clearly mortal.

Another vampire came on behind her, pulling an X-frame on wheels. He set it up in the centre of the stage, applied the brakes so that it would stay still, and left. Magnus gave a dark chuckle. "This is about to get interesting," he remarked. Cat shushed him.

Someone somewhere pressed a button, and soft classical music began to play on hidden speakers. Carina paraded the man around the stage, letting everyone get a good look at him. He was covered in bruises and small cuts. Then she pushed him with one hand on his chest, backing him up onto the X-frame. Slowly, theatrically, she bound his wrists and ankles, then removed the collar and chain. Lifting one hand, she gave his cheek a tender caress. The man looked at her with wide eyes leaking tears, and began to sob in terror.

Jazz shifted uncomfortably. She didn't want to watch whatever was about to happen. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

Oh no you don't, the Voice piped up, and Jazz felt her gaze force its way up, back to the two figures on the stage. You signed up for this, now you can watch.

Angling herself so that she didn't block her audience's view, Carina began to push and stroke the man's chest with her fingers, from the centre of his breastbone outward. As she did this, his flesh seemed to ripple beneath her touch. The man flinched, then whimpered, and finally began to scream in pain as his skin and muscle parted beneath her seemingly gentle touch, revealing his ribcage and the organs beneath. Surprisingly little blood fell into the stage, but what did was enough to send its intoxicating scent out across the hall. The audience stirred as many of the vampires leaned forward, fidgeted and bared their fangs.

Carina kept moving her fingers across the man's ribcage. She pulled and prodded at his exposed insides, and the ribcage abruptly split down the middle in a neat line. Carina teased and coaxed the ribs, somehow changing the shape of them, until they splayed out like bats' wings. She pressed and massaged his lungs, heart and other organs until they too were splayed out, hanging from the ribs like ornaments. Through all of this, the man remained awake and screaming.

Jazz watched, transfixed in horror, as the Tzimicse turned her attention to his abdomen, opening it up and spreading it out in much the same way as she had his chest. His legs were next, pulled open and spread out, the skin and flesh melded together down the centre, the bones reshaped to frame the edges. The shackles around his ankles simply fell away as the flesh and muscle was rearranged. Then his arms were similarly laid open, but these she left separate. Finally, she turned to his face.

Even from her seat, Jazz could see the agony and terror in the man's eyes as he looked at the Tzimicse, begging her without words to stop. She paid no attention. Instead she ran her fingers over his lips, and his mouth sealed shut. She pulled at the sides of his neck and massaged the skin down to meet his shoulders. She ran her fingers over his work in a manner similar to a harpist plucking the strings of their instrument, and a thin layer of skin was coaxed over his bones and organs, sealing them in but leaving them on display.

The room was in rapt silence as she finally undid the straps at the man's wrists. Though he was hardly a 'man' any more. Quietly, through the skin that covered his mouth, he could be heard whimpering and moaning. She pulled him down by his wrists, turning him and displaying him for all to see. She had made him almost as thin as fabric, his organs flattened and restrained but somehow still able to function. His entire lower body had disappeared into a sheet of flesh that flared slightly at the bottom. She twisted it around her and draped it over her back, using his still-whole hands like a clasp at her throat, pressing and contorting the fingers to hold onto each other. She lifted her hands behind her head and massaged the flesh and bone of the man's skull, putting her back to the audience so they got an unimpeded view of the agony in his eyes - still streaming with tears - as his skull was moulded into a high, stiff collar. Then - finally - she stretched her arms out, indicating that she was done.

With her back to the audience, they could all see the full extent of her 'art'. The man had been moulded into a living cape, his organs on display beneath the thin layer of flesh that protected them. His heart could be seen, beating rapidly; his lungs heaved in and out in their confined space. Between the organs and around the bones that held the cloak's shape, his blood swirled through veins and arteries that had been flattened and widened in a grotesque tapestry. The music faded out, and for a few long seconds all that could be heard in the room was the man's muffled cries of pain and horror.

Then someone began to clap, and like wildfire the entire audience was on their feet, cheering and howling, clapping and stamping. Carina turned to face them and bowed, her heart-shaped lips curving up in a small smile. Bishop Christopher came onstage to shake her hand and congratulate her before getting a close-up look at what she had done.

Jazz and Lucas remained seated as the pack rose up around them. Jazz had one hand pressed over her mouth, and Lucas was staring with wide, horrified eyes at the stage, which mercifully was now blocked by all the standing people in front of them. Jazz saw Quinn look round at them, a sly smile twisting her lips before she looked back to the stage.

When Jazz felt she could speak again without throwing up, she looked at Lucas. "Do the Camarilla do that?" she asked.

Lucas shook his head, too shocked to look embarrassed or ashamed. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and shook his head again.

This is what you signed up for, honey. What's the matter? Not to your taste?

"Holy shit," Jazz muttered. "Oh God ... holy shit."

The rest of the night passed in an indistinct blur for Jazz. There was a lot of talking, shouting, cheering, howling and stamping. At some point she heard a few names mentioned that she recognised from the few times Lucas had spoken about the Camarilla court. Toward the end of the night a dozen people were led in, all with their wrists tied. One by one, their ankles were bound with long ropes which were thrown up over the chandeliers, and they were hoisted up into the air to hang upside down. Vampires would wander up to them and bite them wherever they wished, and slowly they were each drained dry. Quinn was called up to the stage along with the other pack priests, and each of them pledged loyalty to the Bishop, the Sabbat, and they 'Cause'.

Finally, the night was over. Bishop Christopher sent them all back to their havens. Jazz let herself be led back to the warehouse, her ears ringing with the shouts and laughter of the pack as they discussed the evening and relived their favourite parts. She felt distant and ethereal ... like she wasn't really there.

Oh, you're here alright, the Voice reminded her. You're here and you're in it up to your neck. Just wait and see what tomorrow brings.

#vamily #vampire the masquerade #vampire #vampirism #dark pack #world of darkness #vtm #vamptober #malkavian #sabbat vtm #sabbat #tzimicse #read responsibly #triggering themes

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