Strewn across the earth, out for the count.
He's been on a bloody bender for days now. Don't bother him.
Is someone afraid of a big, bad wolf?
Or does the sight of all the raunchy costumes of varying lengths leave him so embarrassingly wet, it's just too pathetic to face the world?
𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵, witches and bitches.
When the sun descends, find the alpha lurking around the local graveyard scaring everyone 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 for kicks, with a distinct, manic flare to that wolfish grin of his.
If you're brave enough, cross the gate.
Stretching with a low rumble.
The wolf is cast across the damp earth; leaves crowning locks as black as obsidian, bare biceps smeared in moss and clay.
The wind howls, and he rolls onto his bare back with a muted chuff;




























