Werewolves, man

my name is Fox, ironically. I like werewolves. I write about them sometimes. Main: @smolsleepyfox

[wolves-against-the-world]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Okay so nobody told me original work is welcome on AO3? But it is?

So here’s the story if you don’t want to read on tumblr.

[wolves-against-the-world]

The first person a werewolf turns forge sa special connection. It can range from a vague feeling of sympathy and draw to aid the new wolf to a full-blown sexual and romantic relationship. There seems to be a certain level of trust inherent to both sides, although the supernatural influence is not strong enough to override personality vectors.

[wolves-against-the-world]

The boys went to Las Vegas (Their alpha is gonna be pissed)

[aliceinwhumperland]

Your whump word(s) of the day

"Know what would actually help? Taking your meds."

[wolves-against-the-world]

Attila surveyed the crowd with a feeling of pride. The council meeting in the castle had been a splendid idea, but he’d been a bit apprehensive nonetheless. As he’d said, a Latin mass in the style of the 14th century was something he had not done in a while, for obvious reasons. Finding a fitting robe had been the least of his worries. Not being able to use his cane however…

He didn’t much like standing still the entire time, it made his preaching static, nearly dead, when all he wanted to do was go around and connect to his community. But he couldn’t, so standing still was the only sensible option.

He had prepared as he always did, with a little more detail due to the language, but he shouldn’t have been worried. The moment he had found his position and begun the first song he’d felt himself slip into the role as he had into the clothes, familiar and comfortable. He’d lost track of time, going from song to song and speech to speech without having to look at his notes. He’d tuned down the hellfire these types of sermons usually included, choosing passages from the new testament instead. He doubted many of the assembled spoke Latin, but it was the intent that mattered.

He wasn’t too concerned with converting anyone. He hadn’t even managed to keep his own pack in the faith, and these days it did seem a bit anachronistic to try. He just hoped his work could do some good. As Attila spoke the last words of his sermon, he felt like coming out of a dream. He placed his hands on the edge of the pulpit to survey his flock.

The first person stirred. It was Stian, resolutely signaling the end of the event. Despite his resolutely heathen convictions, Stain had never been one to talk down to other faiths, something Attila appreciated… with a certain apprehension. Stian began to clap, the other people joining in after a moment of hesitation. Their appreciation echoed in the chapel, the baroque fixtures throwing the sound back at them like a thunderstorm. Attila smiled down at his community - regardless of faith, they still were a community, bonded by their shared experiences - while the more worldly sensations crept back into his body.

The applause died and was replaced by the low murmur of a crowd. People began to filter out of the chapel, packs slowly regrouping to attend whatever next event they had picked. It was a busy weekend.

Sasha appeared in his peripheral vision like a ghost in gray. He’d forgone most of his armor, replacing it with his fur-studded cloak against the cold emanating from the brick walls. He observed the last stragglers leaving the chapel in silence, his face unreadable. Attila bumped into him as he turned to go. He muttered an apology, but the haze in his brain didn’t allow for much thought. He’d forgotten how draining mass could be.

“You know the entire thing should have been about thirty minutes,” Sasha commented.

Attila didn’t reply immediately, focused on the steps to the adjoining room they’d designated sacristy. It was filled with garish imitation Rokoko constructs that could hardly be called furniture, but at least held his weight.

Sasha trailed in behind him, slowly, as if he didn’t care too much before he let the door fall shut. He observed Attila for a moment with that completely opaque gaze that was more intimidating than neutral before taking off his gloves and stashing them in his belt.

“I’m sure the five people who speak latin appreciated the full two hours though,” he said. “You didn’t even talk about going to hell.”

Attila leaned back, trying to wrap his head around Sasha’s point. Right, they’d agreed to make the mass short. He must have gotten carried away.

“Definitely gave the entire self-torture thing a good basis.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Zacharias.”

Sasha gave him a smile that was just barely not a sneer. “I don’t appreciate watching my pack leader slowly kill himself. Do you enjoy making yourself miserable? If being in pain gets you off I’m sure we can find safer ways to achieve that.”

“Zacharias!”

Sasha rolled his eyes. “Stop clutching those pearls before you strangle yourself. I thought we’d made progress with the cane.”

Attila looked up at Sasha, who returned the gaze unflinchingly, his sharp face set in a frown that was all too familiar. It had been there when they first met, a hard young man with little sympathy and even littler trust in others.

Sasha let out a sigh and knelt down in front of the bench, tossing aside the front of the cassock and rolling up the loose pants. He retrieved a round container and screwed it open. The smell of the ointment made both their eyes water as Sasha slowly massaged it into Attila’s knee. Attila watched him, his body as heavy as his thoughts even as the fresh pain assaulted his mind. This man, this warrior, once the most feared and despised general of the Christian world, had followed him all the way here, to see him this weak. He’d never taken the countless chances to replace him, and if he had ever thought of treason he had never shown it.

“You haven’t answered,” Sasha said without looking up. “Why put yourself in pain for no reason?”

Attila reached out a hand, suddenly yearning to touch him, but in the end retreating in cowardice. He took some deliberate breaths, trying to cut through the haze, to give the answers that were due. A laugh bubbled from his chest, somehow breaking through the exhaustion.

“I’m in pain regardless of what I do. I need to use the time I have.”

“You wouldn’t have to be if you just took the medication Anneke gave you.”

“I’m not myself when I’m taking it.”

Sasha’s head snapped up and the rage in his eyes made Attila recoil. His voice was perfectly controlled, every word uttered with the precision of a blade. “This is what you are then? A husk, drifting from day to day, too dazed by pain to hold a conversation? Constantly too tired to even get out of bed? I chose to follow you because you were one of the brightest, most capable men of our time. I followed you through more wars than I care to remember and I never doubted that you were who I wanted to pledge my life to. Because you were brilliant, because I could trust you. And now look at what you’ve become. Your suffering means nothing and whatever reason you tell yourself is just a pathetic excuse for your own guilt complex.”

Attila opened his mouth, then closed it again. How dare he, something in his chest screamed. How dare this pathetic wretch, this lost soul he’d pulled from the mud, insult him like this?

I'm sorry, another voice whispered. I'm sorry I'm not who you need me to be.

But Attila was tired, and the pain in his joints was overwhelming, so he said nothing at all.

Sasha screwed the container shut again and wiped his hands on the ugly pillow cover.

“I’m not watching you destroy yourself. Take your pick.”

He turned and left the room without another word, leaving Attila staring after him in a numb kind of shock.

What did that mean? Pick what?

The door didn’t stay closed for very long. Anneke had categorically rejected women’s clothing and instead wore the garb of a male courtier. She put down her bag, and looked at Attila for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“So, you’re not taking your medicine, and you’re not using your cane nor the braces I went out of my way to get you.”

“I couldn’t find them in time for the service,” Attila muttered, suddenly embarrassed. Here he sat, half-naked and barely conscious like the warning tale of a disgraced bishop fallen to sin. Which he was, in a way.

“I honestly didn’t expect Zacharias to go quite this far in his threats. He’s not exactly open to treatment himself after all.”

“Zacharias is injured?” Attila pushed himself into an upright position, quickly trying to find his balance before putting weight on his legs again. Anneke didn’t give him that time, tossing him a pack of paper towels that made him drop back into the seat.

“I can’t really blame him,” she went on. “Seeing someone you care so deeply for in pain must be traumatic, especially if they refuse any help.”

Attila tossed the paper towels on the bench beside him, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. “As I’ve told him, and I’m sure he relayed faithfully,” he snapped, every word as crisp as he was physically capable of, “I’m not myself when I’m taking the medication you prescribed. I can’t just sleep all day.”

Anneke returned his gaze with an expression Attila refused to interpret as pity. “You’re sleeping all day because your body needs to repair. Pain like that doesn’t let you recover even if you sleep, and looking at you that isn’t something you do a lot anyway.”

“Anneke, I appreciate your efforts but there is no repairing a life as long as mine.”

Anneke pinched the bridge of her nose, for a moment revealing an old scar as her skin reddened slightly. “You’re right, your arthritis is probably not going away, but you know who else has arthritis? Zacharias. And Stian. And more patients than I can and want to list. They’re not in constant pain. Because it can be managed. What you’re feeling is damage that could be healed if you just let it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Right, because you got yourself a second opinion from which physician? I’ve been researching our species for a century, don’t belittle me.”

They looked at each other in silence for a long time.

“Do you think he will truly leave?”

Anneke’s features softened a little. “I don’t know. But I do know that nobody follows someone this long without a good reason.”

She knelt down and gently placed her fingertips on both sides of Attila’s knee. Her eyes closed, cutting out the ominous glow that seemed to emanate from them. Attila chose to look away from whatever she was doing. He’d witnessed many gifts received by new recruits, but the way Anneke’s fingers blurred, like something too fast to be perceived, was too eerie to dwell on right now.

“The creme was a good start but I don't think that's enough after your little stunt.” She removed her hands and began rummaging in her bag. “As I told you last time, there’s some overgrowth due to damage but it should fix itself if you just rest. Do you still have the suppressant?”

Attila considered lying, but it really didn't seem productive at this point. “Is that necessary?”

Anneke looked up for a moment, her gaze piercing. “Your call,” she said eventually, “the moon might help temporarily but it's not fixing the root issue.” She seemed to find what she was looking for, a small glass vial with a hermetic seal.

“I’ll give you something against the pain - don’t even try to argue - and to fight the inflammation. I know you need to be at the meeting tomorrow but for the love of God wear your braces and use a cane if you need to walk. Hold still, this will hurt.”

“Do I need to hold him down?”

Attila flinched. In focusing on his own discomfort - physical and mental - he’d completely missed the opening of the door. Fleur, Anneke’s wife, was a tall woman, towering over them against the backdrop of the low ceiling. She had exchanged her armor from the morning matches against a dress that did nothing to hide her strength. Fleur gave him a quick once-over before stepping aside for the next person. For Sasha.

His brows were still furrowed, the anger in his eyes not quenched, but he rounded the bench without a word and laid his arms around Attila’s shoulders. Attila felt their cheeks touch. Their fingers locked.

“You’re here.”

“Against my better judgment, yes.”

Anneke knelt down in front of the bench and locked his leg between her knees with the ease of routine. Fleur retrieved an alarmingly large needle and handed it to her wife, who filled it with some clear concoction from the vial. Attila turned his head, feeling the arms around him, the hair tickling his face, and the fur trimming of the cloak.

He ground his teeth as Anneke slowly inserted the needle into the joint. His heart was beating in his ears, sweat slowly dripping over the back of his neck despite the cold air. He focused on his breathing, letting it out in controlled bursts. If he did that he wouldn't start screaming at least. Sasha held him as his body begged to fight back, to stop this torture even if it would do more damage. The pain hadn't allowed him breakfast this morning, but his stomach still bubbled angrily.

Sasha was right: He was weak. Pathetic.

He'd known for a long time, but it still stung to remember.

Anneke pulled the needle out and pressed clean gauze onto the incision. The pain lessened, though the pressure created an uncomfortable feeling of water moving inside the joint.

“It’s not a good thing your pain tolerance is this high but it sure makes my job easier,” Anneke commented.

Only now did Attila realize Fleur had stepped closer, observing them in her calm, attentive manner, ready to act at any moment. Sasha’s apprehension was nearly physical as she rounded the bench. There was no bad blood between them, but Sasha had never learned to trust easily, and Fleur was a young wolf, arguably stronger and swifter than him.

Anneke repeated her preparations, but this time she must have given some signal, because Fleur sat down on the bench and locked his leg in place with an unnecessarily complex grip. Attila looked at Sasha. Sasha inclined his head, eyes still set on Anneke’s hands.

Attila buried his face in his hair as Anneke inserted the needle. His body shook, held in place by strong hands and what remained of his rational mind, even as something deep inside him screamed for forgiveness in the dungeon of his past.

“This will fight the inflammation more thoroughly and dull the pain.”

Attila’s prepared and gathered answer came out as a groan.

“Don’t complain to me, this didn’t have to happen. Please don't twitch like that.”

Attila didn't reply. She was doing this on purpose, he thought suddenly. She was making this more painful because- because what?

“I'm not torturing you for fun,” Anneke said casually, as if she'd read his thoughts. She paused. “Actually, would you take your medicine if I did? Zacharias, get him to take his medicine.”

Sasha huffed. “Easy for you to say.”

“Right, you lost the siege of Edessa because nobody listened to you, you told us yesterday. My mistake.”

Sasha drew a sharp breath for a biting answer, but thought better of it. “Thanks Anneke.”

Anneke packed up her bag and rubbed her own knees after getting up. “Follow up appointment in a month. Don’t make me yell at you.”

Fleur got up as well, joining Anneke as she gave them another once over and walked out.

The door slammed shut.

Silence.

Sasha dropped his chin onto Attila’s shoulder. “You’re a stubborn old bastard.”

Attila nodded slowly. He was. He was also shaking miserably and only now realized he must have been crying, on top of swimming in sweat. “You stayed regardless.”

Sasha took a deep breath, but once again his self-control won out. “At this point leaving is equally insane as staying,” he growled. “But I am making you take that medication.”

Attila nodded. The pain slowly gave way to numbness, bleeding into the exhaustion lurking in every corner of his body. He would lay down, and they’d figure out how not to look too vulnerable at the meeting tomorrow. Perhaps Eike was ready for some more responsibility.

“Was my sermon any good at least?”

[wolves-against-the-world]

While Eldritch type werewolves don't really have innate magical abilities, the transformation does amplify previously dormant or weak abilities. Additionally, it seems like some minor traits are transferred from the werewolf turning the new members, so some packs end up having similar traits or sharing abilities from one vector.

Which is how almost any larger meeting ends with the discussion "What do you mean that's not what everyone does?"

[wolves-against-the-world]

Attila: I love you.

Sasha , not paying attention: What was that?

Attila: I said I’m selling you to the zOo-

[wolves-against-the-world]

You know what here's more random world building idfc

Because European werewolves skewed so overwhelmingly male for most of history, the possible differences of female wolves are only now being investigated.

Due to the already high mortality rate of the conversion, it was thought that women just wouldn't survive. Modern data suggests this was a sampling bias, but the mortality rate is still fairly high across the board.

Most werewolves have some sort of addiction, most often to painkillers. There is a flourishing internal supply network for prescription drugs.

The very few medical doctors in the lycanthropic community have a protected status enforced by the council. Nobody touches the medics if they want to live.

When a werewolf in the Army of the Night was sentenced to death, that could entail The Hunt. The werewolf would be left in a wooded area and had to make his way out of the area and/or to a specific point while a number of other wolves hunted him. If he made it, he was pardoned. Not many did.

[wolves-against-the-world]

If Milo doesn't get enrichment regularly he will start the wildest projects, so the pack always makes sure to keep him busy in a way that doesn't endanger anyone.

Which also means Milo has tried out for every job under the sun just for funsies. He even worked on an oil rig for half a year after becoming obsessed with the topic. He was hired based on forged papers of course but his knowledge was real. The company even wanted to rehire him after the contract expired, but Attila pulled the plug on that.

Why?

As part of their 'welcome' for the new colleague, one of the foremen got Milo plastered and shaved his head. Milo did not find that very funny and during his very last moon on the rig, after becoming that foreman's favorite and endearing himself to the crew, he ate him and threw the bones overboard. The man was presumed lost at sea since a storm hit the morning after and Milo left the oil industry for good but at least no longer hungry.

[wolves-against-the-world]

I really need to redraw Stian some time I am having ThoughtsTM

Mostly because I've been listening to Wintersun a lot and that's his voice now

[wolves-against-the-world]

Had a dream about the guys going to some museum. There was a megalodon skeleton and some random person started going off about that "megalodon is still alive" conspiracy

Except Sasha just went "It better not fucking come to the surface then if it knows what's good for it" and I woke up laughing

[wolves-against-the-world]

Milo: My toxic European trait is I think I can get anywhere by foot

Stian: You guys besieged the holy land, I don't think the way you got there was the worst part

[wolves-against-the-world]

Name Anon here, thanks for the long answer! So how often do they actually change their names, with moving around I assume it's necessary a lot?

Not as much as you'd expect really. Up until fairly recently, detailed record keeping has really not been a thing. During the days of the Army of the Night, they were known by the full names I gave, though on travels and campaigns last names and monikers are so variable it's hard to keep track. They just used their first names for everything and further identification was used as required. If people noticed, they probably assumed they were hereditary or chosen names. It's really only in the last 100 or so years that they had to get more creative. They've been using the names Sasha and Milo for ages in private and used translated or otherwise similar variations (e.g. Silas, Zachary) on documents.

Their "original" names, Zacharias, Matthis, and Pawel (Attila) are a very private matter that they're ambiguous to. They're connected to a lot of horrible experiences and actions they took while in the army but also to achievements and a part of their identity. In the prologue, Sasha uses Attila's old name as a nod to their shared history and Attila uses that framework to reinforce his own authority. They're both using the names to say "I Know You", just with slightly different goals. Generally they're not too happy having someone outside the pack use the old names though since it brings up do much baggage.

[wolves-against-the-world]

I'm confused, if Sasha and Milo are brothers then why did they use different last names? Or did I not read that right?

That's a good catch, I wanted to talk about that anyway. So I assume you're referring to the names I tag them with sometimes, Zacharias von Wolfenstedt and Matthis von Halberg. Matthis and Zacharias are probably as close to birth names as you'll get considering phonetic shifts. They're the names they used the longest, primarily during the time in the Army, and still use in more serious or intimate settings. (Sasha still calls Milo "Matti" sometimes, which nobody else is allowed to do, even Attila.)

If you know how last names worked back then, you also know they weren't really fixed, just an easy identifier and could change if the community thought it necessary.

Both their last names are place monikers, pointing to a place of origin and on the surface it does not make sense why that would be different if they're brothers. The thing is, they're not blood-related and even if they were they look so different people wouldn't have believed it.

Both of them used the moniker von Halberg when they joined their first crusade and after they'd been turned. Halberg is a peak in the Saar region of Germany, which is the place Milo usually claimed he comes from (he really doesn't know for sure). Sasha was actually given the name von Wolfenstedt by others. Wolfenstedt translates to "wolf's place" or "lair". After being turned, Sasha very quickly made a name for himself by being a ruthless and effective strategist as well as being a skilled fighter.

People said he was so good at being a werewolf because he was in fact raised by wolves. Which was absolutely a racist jab, but Sasha's approach was always that no tool is too low as long as it was effective. And also that people leave you alone if they're sufficiently scared of you. By the time the army splintered, Zacharias von Wolfenstedt was more of a bogeyman than a real person. In modern day, Sasha and Milo mostly use the same last name, because it makes paperwork easier.

Thank you for the question!

[wolves-against-the-world]

I've been editing quite a bit and the latest thing was actually turning up the traits the characters have up to 11. Sasha is a bit of a dick because he doesn't trust people easily. Milo gives too much info even when he's on guard (not about what you'd expect). Attila is old and in pain but too proud to ask for support.

I've also fleshed out the human support cast (other wolves coming up when the chapters will come up). Reworked Katariina's interactions with Sasha specifically because these two do NOT get along. Added a symbolic conversation with Antonelli because he doesn't get enough attention for how important he is. And, well, Sabrina.

There's a reason I took down most of the chapters for major remodeling. The second part of the story was originally a road trip leading up to the finale but it completely threw off the chamber drama vibe I wanted to evoke. The wolves are trapped, physically and metaphorically, and their enemies are playing mind games. Only when they start acting instead of reacting can they change their trajectory.

I've been working on this story for nearly six years now and the characters have developed with my own understanding of the world. I love them, they're my boys.

[wolves-against-the-world]

*Fleur comes home absolutely drunk, undresses, and stands in Anneke’s bedroom.*

Anneke: Babe, are you.. coming to bed?

Fleur: No thank you, I’m sure you’re lovely but I have a girlfriend.

Fleur: *Lies on the ground and falls asleep*

Anneke: ...

[wolveswolves]

European wolf (Canis lupus lupus) fails to jump in tree

Video by wolveswolves

[lady-troll]

@wolves-against-the-world average day night in the pack?

[wolves-against-the-world]

Oh absolutely

[wolves-against-the-world]

Since I found a post about it just now what's everyone's go-to layout for rooms? Like what are the real life places your mind goes to if you're not actively developing a layout for a setting? I've noticed it's usually places I haven't been to in a long time but that are still familiar or impactful.

I'll start:

Attila's home is a mix of the houses I lived in until I was six (ground floor) and when I was in elementary school (upper floor). Same for Sasha's place minus the upper floor.

Eike's kitchen is also from that elementary school period but the entrance/living room I have no idea where it's from. It's definitely a real place but I don't know where it is.

Helen's house is my great aunt's.

The Blom's house is our neighbor's where I used to babysit back in high school.

The church is our town's Lutheran and Catholic Church mixed and possibly influenced by the cathedral in Turku, Finland 🤔

The village in general is just any German village with single family homes, especially here on the Dutch border. I doubt if I drew it it would look Swedish 😬😂

For a RE4 fic I'm pretty sure I reused my experience waiting for a bus at Helsinki Airport in driving snow for the airfield and the TerraSave field camp is definitely the former vinyl factory on Suomenlinna scaled up lmao.

Interestingly, my grandparent's flat, where I spent a lot of time and that I really miss, doesn't usually turn up. Neither do all the places I've lived in/visited since I was a teen.