#cain (nightwalker)

[theboywithburninghands]

When the sun hasn't risen yet, that means it's time for Funnybunny. Okay, so this is a story inspired by @rottentricks' excellent Murder Mystery AU, and it's very different from anything else I've published so far. It's a murder mystery/horror/romance... thing, so things will get dark. I'll include trigger warnings as always (and there are a lot this time eesh), but otherwise, enjoy! Go follow @rottentricks! T/W: Murder, gore, mentions of suicide, fantasy racism, tobacco use Animals Chapter 1: Pigs

You house-proud town mouse

Ha, ha, charade you are…

—

Autumnvale, population 956 at the last census. Diverse population of humans and animalfolk. A large agricultural community. Several murders for a town its size. 

In a bigger city, the murder rate of Autumnvale would be about average, perhaps slightly higher. In a small town? It was abnormally large. And the baffling thing was, no one could put their finger on the exact reasons why. There was no organized crime in the area, and the poverty rate hovered around a meager 3.5%. It seemed that things simply had a tendency to spiral out of control around the town, and fast.

Most of it could be attributed to the Nightwalkers, vicious apex predators that stalked the outskirts of town after dark in the winter months. A few foolish out-of-towers or staggering drunks ended up wandering the village after curfew over the years. These same people were found the next morning, or rather, shredded scraps of their clothes and the occasional picked clean bone were found in patches of crimson-soaked snow the next morning. 

But even with this avoidable danger, there were… “incidents.” Autumnvale’s mayor, Caine Mason, insisted that any casualties were referred to as “incidents” until proven otherwise. In fairness, he was occasionally correct. A young man who fell off a roof he was trying to fix and broke his neck was an incident, or a woman that stepped on a rusty nail and died from lockjaw two weeks later was an incident. But, there were times when even their silver-tongued mayor had no choice but to declare something much more suspicious than an “incident.”

Gangle, the owner of the local black box theater, was out for her morning walk in early January. When the sun rose to a safe enough height that the Nightwalkers slunk back to the woods, the ribbon-woman would go for a walk around town, practicing her lines aloud. It helped her remember them better if she actually got a chance to say them. That was the funny thing about plays. Just reading them lost almost 80% of their essence, you needed to perform them, or at the very least, watch a performance.

“‘There is none worthy, respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods will have fulfill'd their secret purposes-’” she spoke angrily. She then paused, looked at her lines again, and tried them again in a more heartbroken tone. She hummed and read the rest of her monologue. 

They were doing Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale to celebrate the cold season’s onset. Gangle was playing Paulina, who was always her favorite character in that play. A lady who had the guts to stand up to a paranoid king… pretty inspiring stuff. 

A crow flapped its way over to the nearby signpost, where the town map was held, grappling with something in its beak, a large berry with the stem still attached. Gangle smiled at the large black bird. 

“How now, why comes ye here, envoy of the night?” she said, giggling at her imitation of Elizabethean writing. “You find something good to eat, buddy? Whatcha got?” 

She looked a little closer at what the crow was holding. It was shiny and mostly white, the stem a pinkish-red. What sort of berry was white this time of year?

The crow flipped the object around in its beak to get a better grip. Gangle put a ribbon to her mouth. A black spot rimmed with a circle of blue sat on the other side of the object. 

An eyeball. The crow had someone’s pretty blue eye clutched in its beak. 

“Oh my god…” Gangle whispered. The crow blinked a beady eye at her before flying off to the treeline at the end of the path. There, an entire murder of crows had gathered, croaking and squawking irritably at one another and clambering over an object up in the branches. They pecked bits of red offal from the central mass and swallowed them in a few toothless gulps. 

Gangle hugged her libretto close to her body, turned and ran for the center of town. 

—

Pomni woke up hungry. That was pretty common for most people, but it was becoming annoyingly common for her to open her eyes, regain some semblance of consciousness, and for her stomach to immediately let out a ghastly, soupy rumble. Pomni growled right back it, throwing her quilt off of her body. 

“Ugh, I know, shut uuuuuup.” 

She rolled out of bed, wincing at how cold the wooden floor was on her bare feet. Her studio apartment had a radiator by her bed at the very least, but that did nothing to warm up the rest of it. Her pajamas, a pair of charcoal gray sleep shorts and a pastel yellow university t-shirt weren’t exactly warm either. She dreaded how cold the toilet seat was going to be…

She performed her necessaries (the seat was unsurprisingly freezing), brushed her teeth and hair, took her medication, then went back to her bed, taking her quilt and wrapping herself up. She checked her watch. 9:17.

Her studio apartment was Spartan, but clean and free of bugs. The main room consisted of her bed by the radiator at the far side. On the right wall, the door to her closet of a bathroom and a tiny kitchenette with a gas stove and sink. On the left, her desk and easel, the slotted doors to her pantry, and her clothes closet. 

When she took this graduate assistantship, she hadn’t expected the ritz, but it really sucked to experience the January chill. Autumnvale was a great little town, but it was stupidly cold and dark in the winter. Full dark fell around the 7 PM curfew, and if she wasn’t back in her room with the door shut and barred by then, she was apparently at risk of running into Nightwalkers, whatever the hell those were. With a name like that, they definitely were to be avoided… 

She opened the slotted doors of her pantry, where she also had her built-in ironing board that she never used and trash can. She reached on her tiptoes to grab her tote of dry food and snacks from the top shelf. Maybe some trail mix or some crackers would tide her over for a bit so she could stay in and draw-

Nothing. She was out of dry food. The only thing that remained were a few packets of ketchup and mayo leftover from the last time she got a sandwich at the café. She made a sort of warble of defeat and rested her forehead on the tote. Nothing to eat. Nothing to tide her over so she could draw. Drawing. You know, the thing her school was fucking paying her for-

“Screw it.”

She grabbed all the packets of sauce and squirted them into her mouth, white and red mixing together into a pink mess that she swallowed in one go. She licked her lips.

“…Not terrible. Not filling though…”

She sighed. She would have to go get something from the café. She liked the café, especially the waitress Ragatha, but she was behind on her drawings. She had a chiaroscuro drawing to do in pencil by the end of the week, and she was running behind on the acrylic painting due in February. It may be January, but those took time! 

Ugh. Fine, whatever. She’d go to the café quickly and order the cheapest thing on the menu. What was that, toast? She could eat toast. …Maybe she could eat more than toast. Nothing too pricey, waffles or French toast and a coffee at most. She needed to have enough in her piggy bank to purchase more supplies if she ran out. She was getting a little bit low on green paint, since landscapes, wouldn’t you know it, needed a lot of green. 

She sighed and stretched, her stomach gurgling again.

“I just gave you eggs, vinegar and tomato paste, pipe down!” Pomni groused. You really became aware of how demanding your stomach was when you didn’t have someone around making sure you ate three square meals every day.

Pomni opened her closet, taking off her pajamas. She put her undergarments in the hamper but set her shirt and sleep shorts aside. If they smelled clean, there wasn’t much point in only wearing them for one night, that just filled the laundry basket faster. She put on some fresh underwear and tugged on a long sleeve black shirt and some insulated black snow pants. She covered her shirt with a white zip-up wool fleece, and for the third layer, her off-white puffer jacket. She pulled on some thermal socks and her black snow boots, and finally put on her gray university beanie. Getting dressed just to go outside in the winter was exhausting, but this would hopefully be the only time she’d have to. She slung her purse over her shoulder and pulled the board blocking her door loose, setting it down carefully, then she turned the deadbolt and slid the door chain out of its track, opening the door to the outside. 

Pomni’s breath rose in puffs of vapor as she locked the door to her apartment. It had snowed a few inches that weekend and hadn’t quite warmed up enough to melt anything, so the ground and the rooftops were still blanketed with white. She carefully took the steps down from the second floor, gripping the cold wood railing. Her landlord was good about salting the steps, but she was convinced one of these days she might slip on a hidden patch of ice and smash her tailbone, so she always clung to the railing. Once she reached the ground she breathed a steaming sigh of relief and crunched down the road. 

She heard the commotion coming from town about halfway up the road. Was there an open-air market today? It seemed too cold for that… she walked a little bit faster. She hurried past the farms, where piebald cows grazed and flicked their tails in the snowy pastures. Pomni sometimes liked to stop and pet them if they were close enough, but not today. She turned the corner onto Autumnvale’s main road, and saw the telltale blue and red lights emanating from the main square. 

She gulped, wiping her cold, damp nose on her pocket handkerchief, and walked a little closer to the hullabaloo. Townsfolk were gathered on the main road’s sidewalks, some talking worriedly to each other in small groups, others staring at the commotion up ahead. The forest edge at the far side of the road was cordoned off by yellow tape tied to orange and silver plastic pylons. A few men and women in blue jackets and silver badges stood around the perimeter, a few of them talking with civilians. Behind the tape, three men were talking to the ribbon-woman that ran the theater, Pomni couldn’t quite remember her name. She looked very shaken up and might have been crying, but it was too far away to tell.

“Pomni? Is that you, hun?”

A familiar voice made the art student spin about. Ragatha hurried across the road towards her, carefully to avoid slipping on the icy snow. Pomni almost didn’t recognize Ragatha out of her usual waitress uniform, but the patch over her right eye tipped her off. She had on an elegant purple peacoat with black buttons and a Pompom hat dappled with white and pink. Her rich red curls bounced as she approached Pomni. 

“Hey hun… You okay?” she said, her warm and pleasant voice tinged with worry. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s all this..? I just got here.” Pomni asked.

Ragatha let out a sigh with a pained expression. “Oh, Pomni, it’s horrible. Did you ever meet Kaufmo?” 

“No?” 

“He’s… He was a comedian, he would do shows at Gangle’s playhouse sometimes. But he struggled a ton with all different sorts of things, you know, mental issues and… and he…”

Ragatha’s eye welled up with tears and she stifled a sob with a pink-gloved hand.

“Oh no…” Pomni had never heard of Kaufmo, but seeing Ragatha like this immediately motivated her to throw her arms around her friend. The taller woman hugged Pomni back, squeezing her tight against her shaking chest. Pomni hated hugging people, or letting anyone into her personal space if she could help it. Her shrink told her it had something to do with unwanted stimulation, whatever that meant. 

Wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Ragatha was nice and warm, and smelled good. She might ask for a hug again sometime. 

Ragatha eventually let go and wiped her eye on the back of her glove. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to just fall apart like that… I guess you never expect something like this to actually happen until it does. Poor Gangle was the one that found him… I closed the café as soon as I heard…”

“No, I completely understand.” Pomni said, but swore to the heavens internally. It was a rotten, selfish thought, but she was really banking on grabbing a quick breakfast and going back home to work. 

“Do you need anything, Pomni? Have you eaten?” Ragatha asked, wiping her eyes again. 

“Uh… No, I’m-I’m fine.” Pomni replied, despite her stomach lurching in despair. Ragatha was in no state to be working right now, no matter how painfully stupid hungry she was. Oh god, she was hungry…

Ragatha nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna head home and lay down. I’ll call you and let you know if I’m feeling well enough to open the café tomorrow. Bye for now, honey.”

“Bye, Ragatha. Sorry about all this.” Pomni replied. 

The redhead gave a fragile smile before sniffing loudly, either from the cold or her tears, clearing her throat and heading down the sidewalk with her hands in her coat pockets.

Pomni watched her friend go for a moment before looking back at the crime scene. A suicide… How horrible. She couldn’t even fathom how awful it must be for the people who were close to Kaufmo. Or for Kaufmo himself. Everything being so empty and black for him that the only option was… She trembled a little just imagining sinking to a place like that.

“You know what the cops are saying, right?” 

Pomni jumped a bit when a wolfman appeared at her side. He was a good six feet tall, black fur with a notch in his ear. Curiously, he also had an eyepatch, although it wasn’t nearly as elegant as Ragatha’s, being plain brown leather. He put a cigarette in his teeth, sparking a match with a single flick of his thumb-claw.

“Uh… no, I don’t. What are they, um… saying?” 

The wolf lit his cigarette and shook out his match, flicking the burnt out remnants into the snow. He took a long drag, the end lighting up orange, and expelled the two jets of smoke out of his nostrils. Pomni waved her hand in front of her face. Cigarettes smelled goddamn nasty.

“Short drop and a sudden stop,” the wolf said, making a tugging motion above his neck and making a mock choking noise from his throat. “They said the crows were going at him by the time they found his body up a tree.”

Pomni frowned. She didn’t want to be near this bozo anymore. “Thank you for telling me that.” she said dryly, before walking further into the crowd. The wolf with the eyepatch watched her leave a moment before spitting onto the road and taking another pull on his cigarette.

Pomni slipped in between people, looking for somewhere, anywhere, where she could find some food. She had gone whole days without food in the past, but she regretted it every time. She never got any good artwork done when her mind was flashing her favorite foods in delicious technicolor through her brain, and her stomach hurt so badly she would sometimes just lay down and hold herself. By the end, she would feel like she was floating a couple inches off the ground, and would scarf down one of those Hungry Man specials at the café, meant for workers pulling a 14 hour shift at a sawmill. The kind with three fluffy pancakes with butter and hot syrup and two golden over easy eggs on toast, and hot, juicy sausage and crispy bacon and crunchy hashbrowns that went perfectly with ketchup… UGH, she was so hungry! 

She looked at any of the shops on the street for something to eat, until her eyes fell onto the sign on one building

Kingston Charcuterie 

Beef, Pork, Poultry, Lamb 

Made fresh daily

Bingo. 

Pomni entered the butcher shop, the bell above her tinkling. She stomped the snow off her boots on the welcome mat. She wasn’t much of a meat eater, but options were slim and she was hungry. She wanted a big sandwich, maybe roast beef or chicken with the works, lettuce, tomatoes, Mayo or mustard, maybe some horseradish if it was a roast beef sandwich, all served on a big fat Kaiser roll… ugh, that would hit the spot. 

The shop appeared to be empty at the moment. A few prime cuts of meat sat in a display cabinet. A brisket, a London broil, a big T-bone steak she could never afford, a long chain of sausage links… She touched the plastic case longingly. Her stomach made a hideous noise. 

She stood up and looked over the counter. There were a few white paper bags in a neat stack, presumably for putting customer orders in. A knife set hung on some hooks beside a stack of cutting boards, sitting washed and damp in a deep-basin sink. One of the cleavers had a blade that looked like it was bigger than Pomni’s head. For cutting up elephants, should the need arise. 

Her eyes fell upon a bell with a sign next to it. “Ring for service.” Pomni stood on her toes and pressed the bell. It made a satisfying tingggggg sound. She would have pressed it multiple times if her superego had allowed it. 

“Um, hello? Anyone there?” Pomni peeked around the counter as best she could. There appeared to be a door leading out back, but it was shut. Maybe the owner was out there? 

She rang the bell again. “Excuse me? I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re the only open shop right now. Could I please get something to eat?” 

She thought she heard a voice from outside.

“Uh… w-what?”

“I said ‘I’m outside!’” came a voice so deep it was almost subterranean. “Come on back, I don’t like yelling across my shop.”

Pomni gulped. Aw, crap… If she wasn’t so famished, she’d probably have said “That’s okay, I’ll come back later!” and left, never to return. She hated having to jump through hurdles at stores. It always made her really uncomfortable when some poor employee had to do extra work just for her. Pay, say thank you, get out, that was her motto.

But her stomach overpowered her nerves, and she opened the counter hatch and headed towards the closed back door.

The person behind the door barked out another order. “You need gloves and a hairnet! They’re by the door.”

Pomni looked around, and saw a pair of boxes, one full of disposable clear plastic gloves and the other nylon hairnets. Pomni removed her beanie and put it in her coat pocket, sliding on the hairnet and putting on the gloves. It took a second since two fingers kept slipping into one finger hole, but she got it after a few tries. She then swallowed and opened the door to the outside. She promptly gasped.

Outside appeared to be a small courtyard behind the back of a barn. The double doors hung open, and inside, the barn appeared to have been converted into a meat cutting room. A frozen pig carcass hung from a chain on the ceiling, upside down and neatly split open down the middle. Its insides had been carefully removed and placed into bloody buckets, one for the heart, kidneys and other small organs, one for the liver and two for the intestines. The butcher himself was busily working on removing one of the dead pig’s back legs, carefully yet firmly cutting off the choicest bits of meat to place in another bucket.

The butcher appeared to be a purple rabbitman, wide and tall. He stood a little over six feet, burly chested and with thick forearms. He had on a brown butcher’s smock and thick black rubber gloves, both garments sticky with blood, over a white collared shirt and white pants with heavy, steel toed boots. He had his long ears tied off in a hairnet. He finished carving off the pig’s flank, blood dribbling out of the fresh wound and into a drainage grate on the floor. He placed the frozen flank, the leg still attached, into a waiting bucket, then turned to look at Pomni. 

His eyes were a penetrating lunar yellow with black pupils. His nose appeared to be hidden under purple fur. He smiled, revealing a set of huge, fanglike teeth that seemed to be almost endless in number.

“How can I help you this morning, dear customer?~” he rumbled. His voice was like a growling alligator. 

“Uh-” Pomni began. “Uh- a-are you- uh- are you open?” Smooth. 

“Sign says open, right?” the butcher rumbled. He rinsed the knife he had been using to cut off the pig’s flank in a nearby hot tap and put it back in the knife block. He traded it for a massive cleaver, twirling it in his paw. 

“Uh… well yeah, you just weren’t at your… uh… counter.” 

“Most people don’t come ‘til noon. Lunch rush. You must be craving it bloody.” 

He said this with another razortooth grin. His lupine eyes reminded Pomni of Little Red Riding Hood. “My, grandmother, what big eyes you have.” …Did that make her Little Red? At least this guy didn’t want to eat her. Hopefully. He must have been a crossbreed, since she’d never seen a rabbit person with teeth like that.

“I’m… really hungry. Uh, and you’re open. And the café is closed- did you hear about what happened?”

The butcher reared back and chopped into the pig’s other leg with the cleaver, making a loud and meaty THWOCK sound. 

“Yup. It was the comedian, right? Sucks to hear.” 

“Yeah… uh, do you-“

The butcher took another mighty swing with his cleaver, and there was a clean snap sound. He must have cut right through a bone, how strong did you have to be to slice through a damn bone in one go…?

“Do I what?” The butcher grunted. 

“Do you recommend anything?” Pomni finished. 

This earned her another shark-like smile from the butcher. 

“You gotta be a little more specific than that. You talking about my preferred meat? My preferred cut? My favorite method of cooking?” 

Another huge swing and snap, and the butcher exhaled, rinsing off his cleaver at the hot tap before getting the swapping it for the smaller knife. He examined the blade, tutted and removed a sharpening rod from the block as well, scraping the knife on it. 

Pomni swallowed. “Erm… I guess… Damn, I don’t know. I didn’t think there’d be a ton of options. I was kinda just hoping to get a sandwich…” 

“That’s the best part of butchery. So many options, no waste. Take a look at Wilbur here.” The butcher nudged the pig carcass with the handle of his sharpening rod, which swung lazily. “I’m not throwing any of him away. His shoulder? I can make steak and mince out of it. His loin? Spare ribs, rib racks and pork chops. His legs? Diced pork, stir-fry, leg steak, and more. When I clean off all his pork and ham, I’m gonna sell his bones to be ground into fertilizer, and I’m gonna see if they can make his trotters into gelatin. I can even make honeycomb tripe out of his stomach and sell his other vitals to make dog food. He’s feeding dozens of people and animals, and helping farmers too.”

Pomni’s stomach ached at the descriptions of meat the butcher described. What she wouldn’t give to sink her teeth into a hot, juicy pork chop with applesauce right about now… But she was also pleasantly surprised at how resourceful this fellow was. As he got back to work cutting off the flank, she observed how nimble and delicate his knife work was. It reminded her of how she used a pencil or a brush or a palette knife to create her sketches and paintings. 

He was an artist. Just in a different and decidedly more morbid way. 

“Uh, to tell you the truth Mister, uh… Mister Kingston, I-”

The butcher let out a dark chortle. It would have been spine-chilling to hear a laugh like that in the dark.

“Nah. Mr. Kingston is my dad. I’m Jax. What’s your name?”

“Uh… Pomni. I’m a grad student. I’m here on an art scholarship, I’m renting that apartment past the farms.”

The butcher, evidently named Jax, tilted his head back.

“Ahhhh.~ Art, huh? Interesting. Who’s your favorite artist?” 

Pomni blinked. She expected the reaction she always got when people learned her major. “What kind of work can you get with an art degree?” You know, the one thing you DON’T ask a student? But she was completely disarmed by this question. 

“Uh… Oh, gosh, um… I uh…” she stammered. 

“I’m a fan of darker stuff, personally. Big surprise. You know Francis Bacon? He’s a favorite of mine. Not just ‘cause of his name.” Jax let out that same dark chuckle. 

Pomni giggled, both from surprise and from the bad pun. She really hadn’t expected to be so charmed by this guy, especially since he had on an apron damp with pig’s blood. Plus, how many people had she met that could just casually mention Francis Bacon..? Okay, several, but most of them were artists like her. 

“Um… since we’re talking about bacon, do you think I could order that sandwich..? I think I know what I want now.” Pomni said.

“Sure. Lemme just wrap things up here and-”

Inside the shop, the bell above the door jangled and several pairs of feet clomped on the wood floor. 

“Mr. Kingston? This is Chief Detective Sutler, Autumnvale Police Department. Are you in?”

Pomni felt her heart skip a beat. Oh god, the police? She couldn’t handle the cops right now. She had work she needed to do, if they pulled her in for questioning, she could be stuck in some dingy interrogation room for hours… She thought about running, but there was only one way in or out of the butcher shop. She gulped and looked at Jax. He rolled his eyes and put a gloved hand on his hip, his left hand still holding the French knife he was using to remove the choicest bits of meat from the pig. 

“Yeah, I’m in the back. Gloves and a hairnet, please.” he shouted.

Pomni had to stop herself from crying out “NO DON’T!” The footsteps were moving towards the back door, oh no, where could she-?

There were three wooden barrels on the left wall of the courtyard, about four feet tall each. They were stamped in green ink across the front. 

Sinclair Fertilizer Plant 

Attn: Jurgis Žukauskas

1370 Ellabell Pkwy

Dock 3

Autumnvale, 204863.

She could easily hide behind those if she crouched. So Pomni hastily backstepped and then ducked behind the barrels. Jax watched her out of the corner of one of his moonlike eyes before he walked forward a bit, past the barrels, so the detectives wouldn’t walk past them and catch a glimpse of her.

She prayed her growling stomach wouldn’t give her away.

“And how can I help you gentlemen today?” she heard Jax say. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kingston. These are my colleagues, Detective Sergeants Beauregard and Wexley.” the first detective, Pomni remembered his name was Sutler, said.

“Morning to you both. I’m assuming you're here about what happened to Kaufmo.” Jax rumbled.

“Yes we are, unfortunately. We found him deceased at the edge of the woods this morning. He was hung by his neck from a pine tree.” 

Pomni heard Jax sigh. 

“Yeah. It’s a damn shame. He made a lot of people happy over the years. Me included. You ever hear his routine about the diner?”

“I’m afraid not,” Sutler continued. “But I agree that his death was a tragedy.”

“Death. You mean suicide?” Jax inquired.

“Well you see, Mr. Kingston-” Sutler began.

“Jax.”

“Mr. Kingston,” Sutler continued. “There’s a detail we’ve been trying to keep hidden from the public. Mr. Kaufmo wasn’t just hung. His arms were slit open, elbow to palm.”

“Fuck,” Jax replied. “That’s grim. Why keep it a secret though? I’ve heard of people taking multiple different options to end their lives if the first fails. Sad but true.”

“Because the coroner informed us that, from the angle of the wounds, it looks like those cuts weren’t self-inflicted.” 

There was a pause. Pomni shivered.

“So, you think someone sliced open his arms, bled him out and hung him from a tree to make it look like a suicide?” Jax said after a moment. “Okay. So why come to me?”

One of the other detectives spoke up. He had an accent from the big city. “Because we found this, about a hundred feet away, hidden under a rock.”

Pomni peered through a tiny gap in the barrels. The detectives, two men and one goat, stood in a semicircle. Sutler, the leader, was a man with silvery hair, steely brown eyes and a handlebar mustache over his upper lip. He had on a long, tan duster. The other two, Beauregard and Wexley, she wasn’t sure which was which, were in blue cop parkas. The human was a slightly heavyset man with a wide mouth and a beanie displaying his badge, and the goat was in a brown ushanka with the ear flaps down, rainbow-tinted aviators over his eyes and a toothpick in his teeth. None of them had put on gloves or hairnets.

The heavyset cop held a large plastic evidence baggie containing a carving knife and some flecks of dirt. 

“That’s one of your knives, right?” The goat officer said, flicking his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

“I’m not sure, maybe.” Jax replied evenly. “I’ll have to check the make. But you do know I sell knives in my shop, right? Doesn’t mean it belongs to me.” 

“No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Kingston.” Sutler said, raising his hands. “But if it did come from your shop, we need to know. Do you want to take a look?”

“Yeah, lemme see.” Jax took a step towards the officers, but they tensed, the goat officer even hovering a hand over his sidearm. 

“After you put that knife down, Mr. Kingston.” Sutler said, nodding towards the French knife Jax held in his left paw, still stained with blood. 

“Ahhh, I’m sorry, officers. Didn’t mean to frighten you.” Jax said, his tone poisonously sweet. “Here.” 

The rabbitman turned and threw the knife through the open barn door, where it landed with a noisy clang into the sink beneath the hot tap. 

“Bullseye. That better?” Jax replied, smiling wide enough to show each and every one of his fangs. 

The heavyset cop shook his head and handed the butcher the evidence bag. Jax took it and examined it carefully, holding it up to the light, turning it this way and that. 

“Hmmm… yup, this does seem like one of mine. I get these special from the ironworks. You can tell ‘cause the blade will shimmer like the surface of a bubble in the light.” 

Jax handed the wide-mouthed cop back the evidence bag. “You can have a look at my sales log if you want, that’ll tell you everyone that’s bought a knife within the past year at least.”

“What time was sunrise this morning, Beauregard?” the goat officer asked. 

“Safe sunlight started around 7:23 AM.” the officer with the evidence bag replied. 

“Where were you starting around that time, Mr. Kingston?” the goat officer, Wexley by process of elimination, asked. 

Jax looked up at the sky, muttering to himself. “Well, let’s see. I get up around six, have my coffee and breakfast, feed the animals in the barn… get here around 7:45… 7:23 AM…that would put me around my house, on the main highway, near the Snapfinger Creek bridge. Roughly.”

Pomni was, again, impressed. She never kept track of the time that closely unless she had an assignment due. Knowing your whole routine down to the minute without a watch, that took brainpower.

“Can anyone place you there?” Sutler asked. 

“Doubt it. Didn’t see many people out yet and I live by myself.” Jax replied. 

“Convenient, but unsurprising.” Wexley said.

Pomni felt a hot wash of anger. They were already accusing Jax. Probably because they thought they were alone with him. Maybe it was her already being irritable from not eating, but she felt the words bubbling up her throat before she could swallow them back down.

“Hey!”

The officers and Jax all turned towards the barrels, Wexley’s smirk disappearing.

“The hell..?” Beauregard muttered. 

Pomni got up and walked out into the courtyard. She was acutely aware of her stature, but she was too upset to care.

“Did you dust that for prints?” she demanded. 

“Miss?” Sutler inquired.

“I said, did you dust for prints? Fingerprints! On the knife. You’re supposed to do that, aren’t you? You’re cops!” 

The detectives looked at each other, then back to Pomni. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Beauregard asked.

“A customer. Jax was supposed to be making me something to eat until you three showed up.”

“Why were you behind those barrels?” Wexley inquired, seeming mildly amused.

“Because I’m afraid of you. I don’t trust cops, especially not racist cops.” she glowered at Wexley, her fists balled up.

“Woah-ho-ho.” Wexley held his hands up, smirking again. 

“Miss, are you the grad student living by the farms?” Sutler asked.

“Ah, college kid. That makes sense.” Wexley added.

“I’m 25.” Pomni snapped.

“Be that as it may, Miss, we can’t have civilians at a police interview. Would you mind stepping outside?”

“I am outside.”

“Don’t get smart with the Captain, Miss.” Beauregard ordered. 

“Why? What are you gonna do? Arrest me?! For what? Hiding from you? Talking back? Calling out your- EEP!” 

A paw that could cover her entire face came down firmly on her shoulder. Jax had removed his butcher’s glove and set his right paw on her shoulder. 

“Your order is ready inside, ma’am. It’s on the house. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Pomni looked up (holy SHIT he was huge) at Jax. His frightening eyes were… soft. Grateful, even. Was she blushing? Her face was really warm. 

“Take whatever. Thank you.” he mouthed, winking. 

Okay now she was certainly blushing- 

She shot one more withering look at the cops before rushing into the butcher shop. 

She had to be quick before the cops tried dragging her off for “obstruction” or “hurting their feelings, boo-hoo.” She removed her gloves and shoved them in her pocket, then looked inside the counter from behind, deciding on a flank steak that was big, but not as enormous as that T-bone steak. She picked up some sandwich paper from a box on the counter and grabbed it. It was cold against her fingers, and quite heavy. She dropped it into a paper bag with a heavy thump. It made her mouth water thinking about cooking it medium-rare at home…

She didn’t want to leave Jax behind, but there was unfortunately nothing she could do. If she got herself arrested, even without a conviction, the university might cancel her scholarship. Still, what business did those stupid thugs with badges have to be such assholes to Jax?! Sure, she didn’t know him very well, but he was polite to her, and was giving her free food! And… he wasn’t terrible to look at either. Maybe it was the height… or the voice. Or the muscles- Ack, no, she was supposed to be mad! Hangry! Very hangry! 

It must have been because he was a crossbreed. No, it was definitely because he was a crossbreed. 

Crossbreeds, sometimes called nasty things like “half-breeds,” “troglodytes” or, most simple and horrible of all, “mutts,” were a mix of different species. It was perfectly possible to interbreed, but they had been treated like third-class citizens for years. Crossbreed children were dumped into foster care or “forgotten” on street corners. Crossbreed adults were shunned by the general public and forbidden from moving into certain neighborhoods. Why? Prejudice, plain and simple. Racist people liked to think that being part animal made you more prone to animalistic behavior, or that if you were two different kinds of animal, it somehow corrupted the “purity” of one another’s DNA. Ugh, it made her want to puke. Just because someone was part wolf, or part sheep, or part human, didn’t mean they didn’t deserve a loving family, and friends, and enough to eat just like everyone else. 

She stepped out of the butcher shop, looking back at the door sorrowfully. She took her hairnet off and replaced it with her university beanie. Maybe she could call someone? Who did she know? They did find his knife, but that could have been anyone that planted it there. She was a little biased, admittedly, but- 

“Hey short stuff.” 

Pomni jumped and spun around. That wolf from before was back. He had smoked most of his cigarette down to the filter. 

“Hello,” Pomni replied coolly. 

“So, you went to see the cannibal, huh?” the wolf asked.

Pomni’s brow furrowed. “Cute nickname. Can you get outta my way?”

“It’s not a nickname. Jax eats little bunnies. First he hits them with a metal rod, then he peels the-”

“Sir!” Pomni snapped.

“Trevor,” The wolf replied, offering a paw to shake. Pomni only stared at it. Trevor sniffed and put the fingers back onto his cigarette.

“Is there anything else you wanted to say? Or are we done here?” Pomni said with a glare. 

“Yeah. I wanted to warn you. Jax there has a penchant for violence. Did you know he gave me this when we were just nine years old?” Trevor tapped his eyepatch. 

“But why did he give you that?” Pomni asked, narrowing her eyes. 

“Beats the hell outta me. We were just playing and-” Trevor held up his claws and crinkled his muzzle in a mock snarl. 

“Uh huh. You know, seeing as how your sense of humor revolves around making fun of suicidal people, I find it a little hard to believe your story.”

Pomni walked around Trevor. “Now if you’ll excuse me- I’m going home to make brunch.” 

She crunched through the snow, not bothering to look behind her. Trevor dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out, smearing a bit of ash on the road. A few cops still milled about the crime scene, keeping civilians away. A crow watched them from a nearby rooftop.

[studyblr210]

Sauron

Aph America (almost all blonde males in aph tbh)

Lestat

Luke castellan

Cain the vampire from anime nightwalkers

Apollo from greek mythology

you cannot fix that blond man please step away and let the professionals take over

[hotwaterandmilk]

Heyy, do u like the anime nightwalkers? It's about vampires. I remember watching it only for cain and shido stuff lol

HI, thanks for the question. I do like Nightwalker, it's a good little anime that I feel took the OG ergoe's setup and enhanced the characters/scenario enough to produce a solid 1-cour show. I'm a fan of Shimogasa Miho's designs so the anime artwork is something I appreciate in addition to some great music for the time period. I don't think it's anything groundbreaking but it does what it does well enough and I appreciate that.

I've got a few scans here but it isn't a series I actively collect anything from. It's nice to know there are still Nightwalker fans out there though!

[batarangsoundsdumb]

just thinking about the love of my life batman: nightwalker bruce wayne. goodnight to him and only him 💕💗💖

[moonliel-writes]

A Holy Night by Moonliel

[frozenoverblackballoon]

I didn't know until reading this Buck Tick song the opening to Nightwalker (another great opening to an anime about vampires with a main villain named Cain) I was binging that a few weeks ago and binge Trinity Blood last Sunday. This is so sad and unexpected. Rest In Peace!

Today we woke up with sad news. 💔

On October 19th, 2023, after a concert, the vocalist of Buck Tick, Atsushi Sakurai died.

They didn't publish anything until today (actually, last night).

You can check out the news in the official web of Buck Tick

Anyway I am posting the screenshots in English:

This is one big loss for music.

Maybe we all listened Buck Tick because of the opening of Trinity Blood, Nightwalker or XXXHolic. It have been 35 years of great music, so many good songs and most of it, many good memories.

I don't really have words for this, I have been crying since I heard the news but it was necessary to do a tribute to Mr Sakurai for all the beauty he left in this world.

I'm crying while hearing that mesmerizing voice, in our hearts will keep his beauty for the rest of our lives.

May his soul rest in peace. 🕊️

[seaglassraining]

[shidoburrito]

Villages of dead people. Bloody threesomes. Deception. Death. I'm starting to think that no-goodnick boyfriend of yours is maybe not such a nice boy, Shido.

[the-broken-truth]

Can I request yandere Batman vampire x reborn wife reader x batfamily

Where the reader died a long time ago cuz of some vampire hunter's and she was pregnant at the time and the boy have final found her and want to take her back to where she belongs but this Time she a vampire hunter and The boys have to fight her and trun her into what she hates.

Broken: A Reincarnated Vampire's Lover that's a Vampire Hunter? This is gonna be interesting. Now, let's find out what happens by letting the words weave together!

During the times of old, Vampire roamed the night and ruled over the citizens as if they were shepherds to the sheep that feared the power of the immortals. The most powerful of all the nightwalkers but also the most peaceful was the Family of Wayne - Sired by Count Bruce Wayne.

Lord Bruce was a rather different vampiric lord - he was all-knowing and powerful but he refused to feed off the blood of mortals and managed to make an elixir that substituted for human blood with the same effects. The same went for his sons: Young Lords Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Tim Drake. As well as his daughters: Cassandra Cain & Barbara Gordon.

What made him stand out the most was that he took on a Human Lover - A Village Woman by the name of [Reader] [Surname]. She came to his castle looking for work and found it as a cook in his castle but unlike all the other workers, she did not show fear to the Vampire Lord or his spawn. In fact, she loved them as if they were her own children and they began seeing her for something they never had before - A Mother.

Lord Bruce began falling for the woman and they began to court one another before Bruce placed a ring on her finger and seed in her belly. All was going well until a Vampire Hunter Group burst down the doors of Castle Wayne and attempted to kill the Vampire Head & his spawn but the maiden of Bruce got in the way and took a stake to the heart - it killed her instantly...as well as her child.

Heartbroken and Angry, Bruce and his children killed the hunters before sending his lover to rest in the Wayne Family Catacombs - besides his mother and father. His child was nameless but never forgotten - that was the only time they ever killed but they swore to never let it happen again.

Centuries would tick along and the Wayne Family would still be in power before the rumors began - The Tales of a Female Hunter going around and killing the Vampiric Heads of Families and she was skilled to not waste a single stake. It was told that this woman came from a village that was turned into ashes and rubble by a vampire lord's coven and she was going to avenge them.

When the rumor that the woman was around the Village of Gotham, Bruce sent his sons to scout around the castle to make sure this woman did not get in but she did - however, it did not go unnoticed. Damian was hiding in the shadows before he saw the woman break into the castle through a window - silently breaking it to where they wouldn't have noticed she was in but Damian saw and attacked the woman.

Once he had her pinned, the familiar scent of his mother's blood hit his nose; he roared to his brothers and father as he ripped the woman's hood from her head and mask from her face. His eyes widened as he locked eyes with familiar [Eye Color] eyes that met his in a glare. His mother was under him.

He was suddenly kicked off and the woman pulled a stake out of her belt and charged after Damian but she was tackled to the wall by Dick and Tim while the Count of Castle Wayne walked down the hall, looking wide-eyed at the face of the woman he once loved.

The woman yelled at him - promising his death and the death of his spawn, of all Vampire until she found the one who burned down her village. Bruce just looked at her and tried to make her remember who she was before he was spat upon as the woman struggled against the two men she once called her sons.

Bruce's blue eyes turned crimson as he grabbed the woman's chin, turned her head to get a clear view of her neck, before sinking his fangs into her flesh to steal away her mortal life. Bruce lost [Reader] before - he was not going to lose her again. He will have back what he lost and no one was going to take her away from him again. He will make sure she remained in this castle with the family she once had.

[End]

[icecry]

Icecry have you ever heard of the role-playing game series called The World Of Darkness (Vampire: The Masquerade, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, Mage: The Ascension, Demon: The Fallen, Changeling: The Dreaming, Wraith: The Oblivion, Hunter: The Reckoning, etc, etc) If not I highly (and I mean HIGHLY) recommend you look it up and research the lore cause it is so damn interesting, I honestly think Hellsing would fit right in with The World Of Darkness.

One thing I would love to see Is for Alucard take on the Progenitor of all Vampires, The Dark Father… Caine

The firstborn son of Adam & Eve who slew his brother Abel and was cursed by God for it.

Yeah I think a fight between him and Alucard would definitely be one for the ages

The Dark Father & The Bird Of Hermes

The Wanderer & The Nightwalker

The Great King Of Blood and Darkness & The No-Life King

Woah! I actually really dig Caine's design. I have NOT heard of this but I really find the art style interesting. It sounds like there are a lot of interesting and exciting battle opportunities for Alucard to take on from different fandoms. It would be cool to see if there are any crossover stories / comics out there for those who love to genuinely see how these battles would play based on their powers.

[carabas]

Chocolate Box multifandom gift exchange roundup post: I wrote some fics, all T- or G-rated, SFW-ish:

Give and Take, Malevolent, King in Yellow/Arthur/John, in which the King temporarily reclaims John and attempts to figure out just what made Arthur so fascinating to him;

Trusting the Clues, Malevolent, Arthur/John featuring “Blinky” the flying salamander and Arthur’s Greek myth geekery;

In a Heartbeat, Nightwalker: The Midnight Detective, Cain/Shido precanon ficlet featuring angsty conflicted vampires;

Roles to Play, Dragon Age: Inquisition gen ficlet in which Dorian and Solas hang out during the Winter Palace mission and some wrong conclusions are drawn.

But I have to rec the gift fics I received because wow. Two stunning Disco Elysium Harry/Kim/Revachol fics in which Harry and Revachol try to show Kim how much the city loves him: What the city said at sunset by @laughingpinecone, in which the city summons Harry and Kim to a mysterious appointment on the roof that I don’t want to give away the ending about but I’m completely charmed, and Look For Me Where You Love (NSFW) by AstroGirl, featuring Revachol taking enthusiastically consensual possession of Harry’s body. And Malevolent, The Cave, Arthur/John forced-to-confront-feelings-through-telepathy fic by Andian who also wrote five more Malevolent fics in the collection, I am stunned.

[jessekellywould]

For people who enjoy the Racetrack as Robin AU,( @jitterbug-mai and @happyotpplease I’m looking at you.) :)

The following is a file compiled by Batman about the individual Racetrack Higgins, somethings have been left out for the sake of length or are in editing. Possible trigger warning for just being a vigilante in general:

-------------

Batcomputer file #07429: Born of fire and water

Vital statistics:

Subject:

Racetrack Higgins

Real Name: [REDACTED] Higgins

Other Aliases: Tyler Wayne, Robin (past), Orphan (past), Nightwalker (current).

Zeta-tub Designation: A47

Species: Human. Caucasian with Italian and Irish ancestry.

Physical Description:

Gender: Male

Hair color: Blond. Black as Tyler.  

Eye color: Blue

Description:

Racetrack is just under average height and has a lean, well-toned build from years of training. His eyes are an electric blue and his hair is light blond curls though when he goes out as Tyler Wayne he dyes it black. When I originally met Racetrack, he was underweight and skinny due to not having enough food to eat while living on the streets; he had limited muscle strength and looked like he had been in his fair share of fights. Nowadays he’s gained weight and muscles and might be just as tall as me one day, but for now, every time I look at him I’ll still see that young boy with a black eye and a toothy smile. 

Personality: [Race is a very gummy-like person - Stephanie. No -Bruce] Usually when other heroes, villains too, meet Racetrack he gives off an air of being childish, snarky, and annoying, most likely to get on their nerves. While I admit he acts like this from time to time, it is hardly the only thing to his personality. The reason I think most people see Racetrack this way is because compared to the rest of the family he is rather jovial and silly usually cracking jokes and keeping the mood light. This doesn’t prevent Racetrack from taking on a more serious and focused attitude towards the circumstances at hand though he still has a long way to go to be completely mature. What’s more is that while you wouldn’t think from his cheery mood that he could become angry or pull off intimidating, but that would be the wrong assumption as I have personally had to pull him off of a man that had insulted Stephanie. <p> Racetrack is also a very determined individual with the right types of know-how to back him up and paired with his never-ending loyalty he is a force to be reckoned with. Another thing that aids him is his friendliness and ability to listen, often being the one many of my kids turn to for comfort. The last side of him I would like to mention is his tactical side that he perfected over hours of playing board and card games that require the tactical eye. He would make a good, even great leader if he ever decided to get out of the house and start his own team. For now, he is content with simple team-ups.                  

Relationships:

Biological Relatives:

Father: Carlo Higgins (deceased)

Mother: Bella Franklin (nee Rossi)

Siblings: (full) Bo, (half) Gretel, Selene, Elisabeth

Others:

Step-father: Warren Franklin  

Uncle: Ricardo Rossi

Aunt: Emma Rossi  

Cousin: Andrew Rossi

Grandfather: James Rossi (deceased)  

Grandmother: Marie Rossi

Grandmother: Jenna Higgins

“Brother”: Thomas Humphrey

+

Legal Guardian: Bruce Wayne

Adopted Relatives:

Siblings:

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Tim Drake

Cassandra Cain

Damian Wayne

Duke Thomas

Surrogate Brother:

Jack Kelly  

Others:

Grandfather: Thomas Wayne (deceased)  

Grandmother: Martha Wayne (deceased)  

“Grandfather”: Alfred Pennyworth

Aunts: Kathy Webb-Kane, Gabi Kane (deceased), Kate Kane, Beth Kane (deceased), Diana Prince, Lois Lane.

Uncles: Nathan Kane, Jacob Kane, Clark Kent.

Cousin: Bette Kane.  

Affiliations:

The Batfamily  

Speedy

Fey

Lagoon Boy

Martian Manhunter

Jakeem Williams

Thunderbolt

Jack Kelly’s gang

Spot Conlon’s gang

Smalls Larkin’s gang

The Kent Family

Mentor: Batman

[Further Depth Into Some Of These Relationships Will Come At A Later Date]

Equipment/Abilities/Powers:

Powers:

N/A. Racetrack possesses no known superhuman powers or meta-human gene.

Equipment:

Believe it or not Racetrack designed his own main weapon. Based on a Balisword and the collapsible feature of Tim’s bo staff Racetrack’s weapon is what he likes to call enknives or foldables. These knives possess the ability to slide in and out of their hilt with ease and lock into place acting either as escrima sticks or knives. Their length is 13 inches sheathed and 22 inches unsheathed, they sit inside holsters on Racetrack’s thighs. The inventory of Racetrack’s utility belt includes batarangs, smoke bombs, a grappling hook, earplugs, gas capsules, gas mask, rebreather, small First-Aid Kit, ultrasonic bat-beacon/batcall, hand-cuffs, a  slotted screwdriver, bat-tracers, bat bombs, bat-bolas, bat-blow darts, evidence bags, EMP device, mini drones, and bat listening device. Other devices Racetrack has but are not kept in his utility belt include matches, a comm-link, lock picks, and a flashlight.  

Abilities:

While training to become Robin or another hero under my guidance, my mentees enhance their abilities in speed, endurance, agility, strength, stealth, and reflexes to the point of almost peak human capability, Racetrack is no exception having trained to the point of being at or just over average in all five categories other than strength. Nevertheless, I have to add a note here about his speed: Racetrack may only have a slightly above average speed but he has spent years perfecting the art of running so while you think you might be able to beat him in a sprint you can not, so for the sake of your ego do not challenge him to a foot race. Moving on, Racetrack is strong enough to easily carry one other human his own weight and punch a full-grown man out in one take, so it is easy to say Racetrack is stronger than your average adult which helps to put his martial arts training to good use. Racetrack’s fighting style is very much based around being close up, as his weapon requires this, though through the years Dick has taught him many acrobatic skills, and alongside Damian teaching him sword fighting they have made Racetrack all the more deadly.

[He has also developed a habit of kicking his opponent, so in combat training protect the nuts -Jason. …Yes.]

As with most of my family, he has developed the skill of Multilingualism, being able to speak a total of nine languages, fully he knows English, Italian, Irish and Arabic. Next down the line, or the ones he knows just not as well are Spanish, and Mandarin. Lastly, are the ones he only knows limited conversational which are German, Russian and French. He says he’s planning on learning Polish next. In our family, it is also very common to pick up ASL which he did while taking dance classes with Cassandra. This takes me to my next point, and while Racetrack stopped learning dance a long time ago, he is still skilled in the art. Other abilities Racetrack had to learn and pick up from his years training under me are a genius-level intellect that makes him a master tactician, strategic planner, and able detective and hacker, so while he might not be on Tim or Barbara’s level he can still keep up with most of the family. Having a job at Wayne Tech also means he is a computer technician and mathematician, now I know most kids at Racetracks’ age hate math with a seething passion but much to Thea’s disbelief he actually enjoys math being fairly good at the subject. As per requirement with both me and Gotham Academy Racetrack is also skilled in the subject of literature being familiar with works of literature and many myths such as Sun Tzu's The Art of War, William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and the Greek myth of Orpheus, to name a few. I do have a feeling that this is mostly Jason’s fault as Racetrack was not that into literature when we first met, but slowly he grew to enjoy it. As required to properly use a Batarang one must develop marksman abilities which Racetrack has done being able to cleanly throw Batarangs and use a firearm. The remaining training Racetrack had to go through as Robin was espionage, and escapology which he is adequate at though being so busy learning other skills these are his weakest. <p> After hours of spending time in the game room with the others, Racetrack has taught himself how to be an expert card, and board game player being able to shuffle cards rapidly and beat me in a simple game of Slapjack. While growing up on the streets Racetrack picked up the ability to play the Harmonica with ease, and the skill of sleight of hand. With the help of Alfred, Racetrack is also an average cook knowing a few recipes and not being banned from the kitchen. After much begging from most of my kids, I am being forced to add this but Racetrack’s imitation of my Batman voice sounds strangely like Alex Brightman’s Beetlejuice voice.

Vehicles:

Motorbike, and Batglider. The motorbike is called the Night Bike and is equipped with tracking, GPS, camouflage, bulletproof window, Auto-pilot, and has wheels built for all types of terrain. The Batglider is a black-colored glider used to stay in the air for long periods of time allowing the user to patrol in the air.  

Robin Suit: Racetrack’s Robin suit has a red torso with green leggings: the pelvis area has heating tech for the winter, and he has black boots. A bright yellow cape accompanies this along with green gauntlet gloves that cover his hands and forearms, a black utility belt, and a black domino mask. On his left pectoral is a Robin symbol identical to the one on Stephanie’s Robin suit. This suit was built to be flexible yet durable. It can withstand a direct bullet shot at the chest but will still provide Racetrack with much mobility. I added elbow and knee pads after Racetrack’s second patrol. <p> The gauntlets contain a Holographic computer including TRS connector cables and a USB port. Racetrack’s domino mask has similar functions as the nano-tech contact lenses, meaning the domino mask can detect heartbeats, show infrared, and provide the wearer with X-ray. It has a sample analyzer, subject identifier, visual recorder, and speech recognition software. When captured on camera it will distort the user's face and provide the wearer with an optical User Interface.

Nightwalker Suit:

Racetrack’s Nightwalker suit has a darker aesthetic ditching the bright yellow cape for a hooded black one that is detachable. His torso is now black with red stripes down the sides and his sleeves are full arm length with black on top and red underneath. His symbol is now a yellow bat made of a semi-metallic material. His leggings are black but his boots are now green and equipped with toe spikes to combat ice. His utility belt is now yellow and equipped with Mini drones, and (as per Racetrack’s request) neon paint packets. Things that were almost taken directly from the Robin suit design include: the knee pads, the heater in the pelvis area, the gloves, and the domino mask yet the latter two have both been upgraded. The gloves now include a taser technique in the fingertips and the following have been added to Racetrack’s domino mask: Telescopic view, Keypad decoder, Vital reader, Language translator, Mini Drone's video feed, and the infrared has been updated to night vision infrared.        

Education:

High School Education. Planning on taking college-level courses in Criminology, Culture Studies, and classes needed to earn a degree in Automotive Engineering.      

History: [For the sake of length History has been left out, and it is still under editing. I might post it later]

Relationships →Advanced: [For the sake of length Relationships/Advanced has been left out, and it is still under editing. I will probably post about this later]

Weakness: Racetrack is only human. He is vulnerable to sickness, age, cold, heat, chemicals, regular weapons, magical attacks, mental attacks, poisons, trauma, injuries, he needs air to breathe, and all other human weaknesses so to defeat him all you’d need to do is overpower him, distract him or put him in a situation he wouldn’t be able to get out of.

Contingency Plan: [As Added And Later Deleted By Tim] The only reason Racetrack is on this list is because 1) I don’t trust him, 2) he’s bonding with Damian, and 3) he doesn’t need us he never did. Taking on Racetrack face-to-face would be dumb, I have more brains and training on him but he has more streets smarts and would stoup to levels I wouldn’t. Racetrack isn’t immune to Scarecrow toxin so my plan to take him out would be to douse him with a blast of Fear Toxin made to cause fear breakdowns, basically being doused with this would cause you to be so overcome with fear that you would essentially freeze in fear. After that, I would dispose of him. If no fear toxin was available my plan would become a whole lot more complicated. First off I would have to lure him into a building rigged with EMPs stopping the use of electronics, and then I’d have to fight him one-on-one with earplugs in so he couldn’t use his words to fight back. Using my knowledge of the layout of the building I’d be able to lead Racetrack into a trap and because he isn’t all that great at escapology he’d be stuck, meaning I’d beat him. Basically a death-trap. There are other ways to defeat him but these are how I would go about it.

---

This took way too long and it’s not even perfected but I just had to put this out there. I hope you enjoyed it and if you have questions about this by all means ask them.

If you’ve reached this point congrats! Also you can breathe okay? You can go get a drink of water, or go outside for some sun. You are valued and people care about you. :)

[indragonsaur]

Villainous OC: LycanStrike

“I’m the fastest apex Predator in this town”

Name: luke Anderson

Age: 48

Species: human (Formely) Werewolf

Gender: male

Sexual Orientation: Stright

Good, bad or neither: Anti-Hero

Powers: Super strength, speed, wolf call, Sharp claws

Hobbies: Hunting,Request for BlackHat,napping

Likes: Hunting, meat, Flesh, walking on the town, Howling at the Moon

Dislikes: Treated as a dog, muzzle, dentist appointment

Voice Actor: Keith David (Goliath from Gargoyles)

Work: Black hat organization

Appearance: appear as some kind of the Caine beast with some big Teeth and horns and ring on his left nipple

Friends: Black Hat,Dr.Flug,Dementia (Best friend), 5.0.5 (Stress toy), Penumbra, Mauser, metauro, Dr. Mastermind

Enemies: Sunblast, Miss Heed, Captain Liberator,Vanity, Wolf Hunters

Backstory: Luke Anderson was a strong and handsome man that some women fell in love with him. In that Time at night Luke was having nightwalk alone and heard a howling noise from out of nowhere and then the wolf approach him and bite him in the Arm and run away as possible. At home he was cursed and turn into a werewolf and the day he’s was still a werewolf and no way you can change him back so all the people and the fans was scared of him due how scary the wolf is so they called the Werewolf Hunters to hunt him Down. Luke was hiding the Hunter and heard the ad from the Black Hat organization so He joined in and sign the contract for the part of the black hat Organization.

Trivia

- LycanStrike name is come from the name lycanthrope or the werewolf of the people has cursed

- LycanStrike horns on his head look resemble Nosfreastu Zodd from Berserk

[hellyeahheroes]

@keeper-of-the-lore has found this link. We have a ton of new info and new titles from DC Ink and DC Zoom, including books about some fan-favorites, including Cassandra Cain and Jackson Hyde.

The newly announced books from Ink include Oracle: Rising by Marieke Nijkamp (This Is Where It Ends), Shadow of the Batgirl starring Cassandra Cain by Sarah Kuhn (Heroine Complex), Dick Grayson: Lost Carnival by Michael Moreci (Roche Limit), an Alex Sanchez (Rainbow Boys) book about Aqualad under working title Truth and Consequences: A Jackson Hyde Story and an adaptation of Louise Simonson's Wonder Woman: Warbringer novel by Leigh Bardugo. DC Zoom will add to its offer Diana, Princess of the Amazons by Shanna and Dean Hale (Rapunzel's Revenge), 

We also get to learn some of the artists of already announced projects. Gene Yang’s Superman Smashes the Klan will be illustrated by Gurihiru, best known for their work on Gwenpool, Minh Lê’s Green Lantern: Legacy by Andie Tong, Michael Northtrop’s Dear Justice League by Gustavo Duarte, Melissa de la Cruz’s Gotham High by Thomas Pitilli and Stuart Moore’s adaptation of Marie Lu’s Batman: Nightwalker by Chris Wildgoose.

Also, there will be a panel on the books on Friday. Meanwhile here is the list of all titles

The complete list of DC Ink and DC Zoom titles and creative teams announced to date include: DC Ink: MERA: TIDEBREAKER (April 2019)—written by Danielle Paige and illustrated by Stephen Byrne UNDER THE MOON: A CATWOMAN TALE (May 2019)—written by Lauren Myracle and illustrated by Isaac Goodhart HARLEY QUINN: BREAKING GLASS (June 2019)—written by Mariko Tamaki and illustrated by Steve Pugh TEEN TITANS: RAVEN (July 2019)—written by Kami Garcia and illustrated by Gabriel Picolo BATMAN: NIGHTWALKER (August 2019)—adapted by Stuart Moore from Marie Lu’s prose novel for the DC Icon series and illustrated by Chris Wildgoose DICK GRAYSON: LOST CARNIVAL—written by Michael Moreci GOTHAM HIGH—written by Melissa de la Cruz and illustrated by Thomas Pitilli ORACLE RISING—written by Marieke Nijkamp SHADOW OF THE BATGIRL—written by Sarah Kuhn TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES: A JACK HYDE STORY—written by Alex Sanchez (working title) WONDER WOMAN: TEMPEST TOSSED—written by Laurie Halse Anderson WONDER WOMAN: WARBRINGER—adapted by Louise Simonson from Leigh Bardugo’s prose novel for the DC Icon series DC Zoom: SUPER SONS: THE POLARSHIELD PROJECT (April 2019)—written by Ridley Pearson and illustrated by Ile Gonzalez DC SUPER HERO GIRLS: SPACED OUT (May 2019)—written by Shea Fontana and illustrated by Agnes Garbowska SUPERMAN OF SMALLVILLE (June 2019)—written and illustrated by Art Baltazar & Franco DEAR JUSTICE LEAGUE (July 2019)—written by Michael Northrop and illustrated by Gustavo Duarte BATMAN: OVERDRIVE (August 2019)—written by Shea Fontana and illustrated by Marcelo Di Chiara BLACK CANARY: IGNITE (October 2019)—written by Meg Cabot and illustrated by Cara McGee BATMAN TALES: ONCE UPON A CRIME (November 2019)—written by Derek Fridolfs and illustrated by Dustin Nguyen GREEN LANTERN: LEGACY (December 2019)—written by Minh Lê and illustrated by Andie Tong DIANA, PRINCESS OF THE AMAZONS—written by Shannon and Dean Hale SUPERMAN SMASHES THE KLAN—written by Gene Luen Yang and illustrated by Gurihiru Studios

- Admin

[dicedumpling]

"Are we still suggesting costumes Otogi-kun? I could see you more as maybe Tatsuhiko Shidou from Nightwalker or something to that degree."

Needless to say, Otogi was starry-eyed at this concept. 

“Will you be my Cain?”

He would have asked Ryou to be his Riho, but somehow that seemed like too hard of a gender-bend to pull off while still being recognizable.

[deusautem]

@luxinexitium​

twilight finds them beneath a shower of stars and silvery drapes. between the overlapping tones of grey which flood the city, the red of their knuckles stands out like the pocket of silence that befalls them now. seoul should be loud, rife with a burgeoning urgency to get from point a to b to c to d and right back to the beginning like it never started in the first place. but here they are, caught in some sort of stalemate that makes his ears ring. the smattering of burgundy along his palms probably has something to do with that, along with the violet blossoming across his cheek, but neither of those hurts as much as they should. a decade and some years ago, he would have cried until the first rays of morning, but he’s learned since then that tears don’t heal bruises.

and apparently, fighting side-by-side with a stranger and managing to get out with only a handful of bruises means some topics are still off the table. he wouldn’t share his life story with anyone willing to listen, but he’d at least give some sort of answer to every question. trust is a two-way bridge, but for some people a treat to a can of melon soda can’t buy confidence. maybe he should have gone with a different flavour, something more adult–like grape or coconut. or maybe the boy should’ve picked a different tactic altogether, because this didn’t work even when he was a kid, picking locks on handcuffs because he sure as hell wasn’t going to be picked up by another pair of foster parents. he can’t really blame the other guy, though; there are some secrets of his own that he’d take to the grave. if he’s being honest, it just kind of sucks. he’s had a long day, a longer night, and the soreness in his joints won’t be leaving any time soon. his own drink, still cold from the vending machine, sits pressed against his jaw, nursing a soon-to-be bruise.

steeping in the silence for another handful of beats, the boy inhales carefully, tugs at the cheap face mask he’s wearing, and turns to face the stranger. as soon as their gazes meet, he taps the tip of the scar that splits his face, from the corner of his chin to just below his cheekbone. it’s just a shade paler than the rest of his skin, made all the more apparent with the flush that rises to his cheeks from the cold. “i got this ‘cause someone hated my dad,” he shares softly, speaking so as not to disturb the silence that’s settled around them. higher still is a smaller scar on the edge of his brow bone, a belated extension of the one running through his lip, and his gaze darts towards the stranger’s own. it lingers for just a moment before dropping to the other man’s arm, where he’d caught sight of the skin beneath his sleeve even during the scuffle earlier. he doesn’t look for too long, though, and averts his gaze to the soda can in his hands, fiddling with the tab before popping it open. the drink hisses and fizzles, crackling like static between them. “you don’t have to tell if you don’t wanna. but y’didn’t have to be so mean about it.”

Sunlight pours through Seoul’s skyline as a final attempt at salvaging the city from itself. It lights aflame every washed out blues, it casts shades of rose over a faded night mantle, believing the promise of a brighter ‘tomorrow’ could be enough for the masses to carry on. Surprisingly, it is. In a few hours, the streets will be plagued in suits and ties emulating scenes of normalcy, every trace of last night lost under a slumber induced amnesia. Except for theirs, theirs are bound to remain imprinted on flesh, bleed over the pavement and flourish from carnations to alliums to nothing but memoirs in the span of a week or so. In solitude, the process would have been of interest. In company, only the last stages seem to hold significance.

In company, only those trascending past time and flesh are of any relevance.

They almost blend with the 4AM scenery, specters perched outside an empty convenience store, each holding a cold drink to one of the numerous markings they now wear as a second skin. They don’t converse, they don’t complain, they only loom in a tense silence only paused by a few curt words. Truth be told, he hoped for it to be a short lived encounter, only lasting long enough for him to express gratitude before leaving to forget the entire ordeal and excuse any trace as a mere accident. At least until leaving ceased to be an option. The first time he sees the stranger as more than just another nightwalker is when allowed a glimpse under the flimsy fabric of his mask. To the marred tissue intersecting from the latter’s chin to his cheekbone, forming a trail his eyes follow to the pale fissure etched on his brow bone.

Suddenly the night unfolds in his thoughts as the Genesis. Cain, stripped of his humanity by an outer force. Cain, guided through restless streets by star clustered heavens to his own retribution. Cain, purging through dozens of foreign knuckles, cracking his ribs as he doesn’t fight back, never has, never will. Cain hoping for torn flesh or a soon death to prove he is more of a human than a bearer of the mark. Hoping they could force the filth off his system, mask it all with the roar of joint ache, broken ribcage, rotting skin. Cain, saved only to find in the eyes of another they might not be as alone. They might not be as awful. They are only attempting to survive.

“They always take it out on the kids don’t they?” Poignant, bleeding with a sense of irony yet this might be the first time his voice sounds even remotely amiable tonight. The throbbing pain over his ribs has instead nestled between these, the scars now starting to burn more than the gash perched over his eye’s outer corner as he feels the asphyxiating stench of liquor and smoke. They always prey on the frail. They always tear their flesh with teeth, blades, embers, all under the knowledge not a soul would spare a glance to the unfortunate (Is he any better? Is this what he tried to prove by picking in a fight he couldn’t win?). Their words lingers over the same silence, consumed by the street’s white noise or the fizzling drink now pouring down his throat followed by a hiss. He offers a glance, two perhaps in hesitance before rolling his sleeve up to his elbow. “I got these ‘cause my dad hated me.” Up to this day he still avoids the sight of scaled skin, marred in patterns of numerous shades he would often deem as repulsive yet now displays to a stranger.

“What you did back there…thank you, I owe you one. Didn’t mean to come off that way, it’s just been a rough night.” Or a day, or a week, or a month. Fingertips pad along his can before speaking again. “I’m Park by the way, why did they hate your dad that much? If you don’t mind me asking.”