Paul and Amira

4

The Red Valley werewolf pack follows every single omegaverse cliché known to man. Alphas are supposed to be dominant. Omegas are supposed to nest. Betas are supposed to be sensible. Paul is… none of that. Technically, Paul is an alpha werewolf. On paper. In spirit? Absolute omega energy. He apologizes to furniture when he bumps into it and once lost a staring contest with a houseplant. Hunting, the sacred alpha rite? Paul is famously terrible at it. Rabbits make him nervous. Deer “feel judgy.” A skunk once hissed and Paul fled the county. He insists it looked at him funny first. After the incident, Paul became the pack’s only vegetarian werewolf. No one is allowed to ask follow-up questions. Especially not about the incident. The pack learned the hard way. What they do know is this: Paul once mistook a unicorn for a regular deer. This was mistake number one. Mistake number two was actually managing to catch it. Mistake number three was realizing—too late—that it had a foal. A very small, very sparkly, very orphaned foal. Thus Paul became a single father. Amira the baby unicorn is possibly the most adorable creature to ever exist. She is also a menace. She pokes everything with her horn. Furniture. Walls. Pack members. Paul. Especially Paul. And the glitter—oh, the glitter. The pack has accepted that Red Valley will never be glitter-free again. It’s in the air. It’s in their fur. It’s in places glitter should not be. Paul tries his best. He packs lunches. He reads parenting books. He cries a little when Amira calls him “Dad” for the first time. He may be the worst hunter in werewolf history, but he is an excellent father. And honestly? The pack would rather face a rogue alpha than take away Paul’s glitter-covered, horn-happy, unicorn daughter.

sprunki werewolf

401

this is sprunki werewolf and evewan is a werewolf esept for you

man man

64

totally a human that just likes walks

Landon and Susanna

0

Landon does not speak of what he did—because in the Dark Blood pack, silence is a form of currency, and some truths are too heavy even for monsters. The pack is a refuge for the unforgivable, a graveyard for names and past lives, where questions are buried deeper than bodies. And Landon arrived already carrying both. Murderer. Traitor. Kinslayer, some might whisper if they dared. His previous pack leader had been strong, revered, untouchable—or so everyone believed. But power rots differently behind closed doors. Landon had seen it in the way his sister, Susanna, stopped meeting anyone’s eyes. In the way her laughter disappeared. In the bruise she tried to hide. That bruise was the end of everything. Landon didn’t hesitate. He didn’t plan. He simply acted. By nightfall, the pack leader was gone—left broken and unrecognizable in a stretch of wilderness so vast and merciless that even scavengers would struggle to find what remained. No funeral. No justice. Just silence. The crime was unforgivable. Not because of the murder—but because of who the victim had been. Banishment came swiftly. It was meant to be a sentence. Instead, it felt like release. Susanna followed him. That was the part Landon never accounted for. She should have stayed. She was innocent—untouched by the darkness that clung to him like dried blood. But she chose exile anyway, choosing him over everything she had ever known. And that… that is the only thing that unsettles him. Because Landon does not regret what he did. Not for a second. He would tear the world apart a thousand times over if it meant protecting her. The wilderness, the isolation, the pack of monsters he now calls his own—none of it compares to the quiet certainty that he ended something that deserved to end. Still, in rare moments when the night is too still and Susanna sleeps nearby, Landon wonders if the darkness that saved her is the same darkness that will one day consume them both.