#if the wolf sees that a prey animal is injured and/or sick it already knows what it has to do

[alteredphoenix]

Since I've been asked before if I had considered doing art based off my Berseria/Luminaria fics (or some scenes in them), and I would, I've been considering taking a crack at doing a comic - just to see how it would go.

I'd go with a premise that takes place after Celia's ep2, where two children of Lazui (I like to think of them as being actual howlines connected to Lazui, rather than the "angels/somewhat vaguely humanoid/higher beings of existence in animal guise" trope I like to inject my Lumi fics with) observe Michelle and, confused at her reaction, ask themselves "what kind of wolf doesn't want to hunt/what kind of wolf doesn't enjoy the thrill of the hunt", which would lead into an exploration of mercy, death, predator/prey dynamics and their role on the ecosystem (gradually on the downswing as it is in canon), and how growing up in Amr Qhagan (sheep country/Tarulhan's domain) has shaped Michelle's upbringing and morality even as it clashes with her displays of pragmatism.

Just a little something to get experimental with (as the idea itself isn't based off a written fic at this time).

[the-slasher-files]

DIFFERENT PREDATORS - chapter 2 

INCLUDES ANDREI KULOKOVA x XAVIERA LAH-MO

Literally the perfect pair in slasher heaven, or I guess hell. This chapter gives you just more Andrei backstory and a look into his strengths and weaknesses. This little kitten is breaking him down, slowly but surely. If you haven’t already, check out part one.... enjoy 🔪💕

Please go read the chapter from @horrorslashergirl oc: Xaviera’s perspective linked HERE

MASTERLIST

Andrei leaned his head against the wooden headboard, closing his eyes, trying to just still his always active mind. Breathing deeply in and out around his cigarette that hung lazily from his mouth, ashes threatening to fall and burn his naked chest. 

Turning his head to the window he just watched the snow fall hard, whipping around by the careless harsh mountain winds with sharp icy eyes. He could smell something good beyond the tabacco smoke littering the bedroom air; it was warm and hardy, something from home perhaps. 

With that the woman walked into the bedroom again, carrying a tray of food like she said she would bring him and putting it on the nightstand. Two bowls of stew, again one of his favorites. The little lady was tugging at his tough soul through his taste buds. To his surprise she grabbed one of the bowls and sat in the old arm chair near the end of the bed.   

Andrei took the bowl placing it in his lap, continuing to watch her as she spoke “It’s not poisonous if that’s what you’re wondering. If I wanted you dead I would have left you to the wild animals in the snow.” He gave a huff at her fierce personality, it was endearing, cute even.

Looking down at the bowl Andrei took a generous spoonful, closing his eyes savoring the rich flavors of the vegetables and rabbit meat; reminding him of home and his mothers recipes. 

“I’ve been through worse, myshka.” The wolf told her with a smirk. Letting silence fall, and just listening to the cold wind howl, and tree branches brushes along the windows. He didn’t often find having company nice, but there was something about the stranger across from him that he enjoyed.   

“Are you going to tell me now who you are and don’t play that stubborn game of telling me a false name, Andrei Kulokova. It’s not that hard to read your dog tags.” She spoke with confidence, not scared at all by him. Andrei’s icy blue eyes widened a little by having his full name called, he didn’t hear it often for no one really knew him, but it sounded so sweet coming from her lips even if her words were laced with venom.  

“If you know my name is only fair to know yours.” Andrei glared harshly, not wanting her to see a trace of his enjoyment, something he was skilled at.  

“Xaviera Lah-Mo.” She answered. Not an American name but something else, from somewhere that was unfamiliar to the mercenary. Andrei finished the warm stew, enjoying every last drop and placing the empty bowl on the nightstand. 

Huffing he decided to try out his bandaged and twisted ankle. The solider had been through some of Russia’s deadliest undercover missions, he had been shot, stabbed, you name it; a twisted ankle wasn’t going to hold him down. Sitting up letting his feet hit the cold hardwood, he felt a small gentle hand push on his broad scarred chest.

Looking at her he glared a stony cutting gaze but she challenged his perfectly back. “Your ankle is twisted, you need to rest.” her order made Andrei raise his brow.  

“What is it your business if I twist my neck?” Placing a big, rough hand on her arm gently, a silent warning for her not to pull a stupid stunt on him. “I know you care too much for me, but try not fall in love.” the wolf smirked flashing his canines, cockiness coating him like an armor. 

Xaviera just rolled her blue eyes, making him huff a silent laugh “Don’t get all high and mighty. I don’t want to drag your stubborn self upstairs…. again.” his hand tightened slightly on her small arm, eyes growing dark  “And don’t make me kick your ass out. There’s a blizzard outside and there are worse killers that I’m sure will love an injured prey.” 

The wolf laughed a sinister deep laugh, eyes devouring the small woman in front of him, inching his face closer with a deadly grin. The battle persisted between the leopard and the wolf. A dangerous game more so of mental strength, each predator wanting to conquer the other.  

“So much fire in such a little frame, darling…” he mused, lightening up his cigarette, blowing smoke in her face, making her venomous eyes intensify. “I like that” Andrei’s grasp becomes tighter on Xaviera’s arm, loose enough for her to escape but hard enough for her to still struggle. She became quietly flustered under his hand that oozed power, she tried to hide it but the solider was trained to read the smallest of body signals. 

“You know… Some of the deadliest animals are very small.” She whispers almost in a hiss, sounding like a cat ready to lunge. Andrei had experiences with small but deadly predators. He grew up with one, and she gave him his largest scar to prove it.  “Don’t make me scratch your eyes out.” the white-haired woman warned him, tugging her arm from his hold but without success.  

The cigarette from between his lips hangs lazily, while he smirks her way. “Come and try it, little kitten.” and there it was again, the slow blush creeping up her neck and onto her fair cheeks. He was breaking her slowly.

“I’m not little.” She spat back, making him raise his brow again, looking her up and down with a little disbelief.

“Have you looked in mirror?” Andrei huffs and pulls her closer to him, imagining a sick fantasy that plagues him daily. “Your neck will be so small under my hand as I squeeze… your trashing will be like nothing to me, little kitten.” He spoke in a deep growl, watching her face form into a snarl, making the Russian smile sickly, canines peaking through open lips once again.

“If you touch my neck I am gonna castrate you, doggie.” The wolf only mere inches away from her face, one of his large and rough hands moves to gingerly run along her thigh, watching her every movement. She was trying to control her breathing, trying not to show the predator any signs of weakness but it was failing. Andrei saw the kitten breaking and it made him only want her more.

“Oh, you would love to get that close to me, wouldn’t you… that intimate.” he moved his hand from her arm to run the back of it along her blushing hot cheek  “You don’t have to ask, baby girl, you know where to find me.” Andrei removes his hands with a little shove. Grabbing the hot earl grey tea from the nightstand, sipping it and holding eye contact. The wolf liked to play with his prey. Toy with it like throwing a mouse around by the tail.  

Xaviera snorted at his naturally sexual ways. She didn’t know just how much the desire was burned within him from his past. “Keep dreaming, asshole. One more of that and I am gonna kick your butt in the snow.”  

Andrei scoffed “Baby, I’m from Russia, the snow and cold is no bother to me.” he tells her with a cocky smirk. The wolf knew this was a different cold than the Russian tundra, and he would be stupid to be out in these mountains for too long, but it didn’t matter, he was winning this battle with the small woman.

“You’re infuriating.” Andrei smiles fully, a rare sight, as she just marched out of the room and he heard her go down stairs.  

The stew feeling warm in his belly and a win of a social battle under his belt, he decided to take a nap, aware that there was a predatory lurking in the cottage Andrei knew he was safe, even if she did grab one of his knives and decided to stab him he knew that wasn’t her style. She was a long range hunter by the fact she had a sniper rifle and her inability to ever get away from him. He could sleep now. Memories of trauma and delusions fell from his brain as the wolf closed his eyes relaxing fully.

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

Andrei had been awake for about an hour now, just tossing and turning, he was never a good sleeper but especially tonight. He couldn’t seem to get the girl out his mind. The wolf tried to push it off as she was just small, weak and kind of like his sister, so maybe it was his brotherly protection showing it’s head, but laying there longer, his icy cold stare burning in the ceiling above him, Andrei knew this was more. Xaviera seemed to seep into his tough core, a place for only two other women in his life, one that died by his own hands, while the other left him and would occasionally visit him only to almost kill him.  

Grunting and running his hands through his light brown hair and onto his scarred face, Andrei decided to retry his ankle without the small women being there to stop him. He hissed a little putting the full weight of the 200 plus pound predator on it, but he had been through much worse pain. Leaving the bedroom and making it down the stairs carefully, he saw her. She was curled up like a little kitten on a white fluffy blanket in front of the roaring fire. Walking over he quietly towered over her, a wolf watching the prey, watching every little scrunch of her face and every twitch of her hand. Xaviera was beautiful.

The Russian man turned to walk to the maps he had seen displayed on the table but something stopped him, tilting his back to the girl just thinking. The wolf wanted to leave her there, suffering on the hardwood, but Andrei wanted something else. As if her soul knew Andrei was watching with caring ice blue eyes Xaviera let out a small whine. 

“Fuck” He groaned, the soft spot for women threatening to kill him once again. Andrei picked her sleeping frame up in his large arms with ease. She was like a doll to him.

So perfect.... One to take home...

Hobbling a little he made it upstairs, gently placing her in the bed that she let him use. Andrei observed her once more, the wolf nipping at his neck to grab the throat that was displaying her pluse to him, it was just so beautiful, the tendons, the muscles, but Andrei closed his eyes, balling his fists and clenching his jaw. He roughly turned and walked away closing the door behind him. 

Looking over the cottage he found her maps, with little notes written small within the margins, and her arrows pointing to potential hot spots for the poachers. Curiously he looked them over, seeing if she had more information than he did. The solider within him always focused on the hunt. Then he saw the glint of the familiar metal shining in the low light. Grinning Andrei picked up his favorite knives skillfully twirling them around in his hands, but something made him stop. He heard a soft wail coming from the bedroom, and his grasp on the knives turned into a white-knuckle grip instinctively.

The wolf moved quickly across the living room and up the stairs. Wails turned into screams and his heart started to pound against his chest, breathing picked up at the thought of someone else potentially being in the cottage, sneaking past the skilled solider. 

Barging into the bedroom scanning the surroundings, it was just him and the girl. No poachers or other hunters. Just the two predators, alone. 

The wolfs eyes were sharp and cutting, looking at Xaviera who was on the floor, cowering in the corner, just a girl, not a predator any longer. Reminding him of his sister, shaking and hyperventilating, eyes scared and broken. A look he knew all too well. What demons lurked in the night had come for her and it tugged on his cold heart to see anyone go through that. Everyone had a past. Everyone had trauma.

Andrei laid the knives down on the tangled sheets of the bed, walking slowly towards her “sssshh... sssh... myshka” he whispered, bending down in front of her. Eyes still wild he needed to pull her out of this. “hey, hey... sssh... you’re fine” Andrei didn’t reach for her but just waited, allowing her to take as much time as she needed. “Little one, sssh” observing her he settled on the floor and surprisingly Xaviera reached for Andrei, clutching his shirt and resting her forehead against his chest. 

His icy blue eyes widened at the sudden show of affection, but he welcomed it. Carefully placing unsure hands around her shaking frame, feeling her trying to even the breathing that was harshly stuck in her throat. This took him back to Russia, living in a dangerous home, comforting his sister under the moonlight from her night terrors, trying to desperately protect her from the brutal world they grew up in.  Xaviera pulled away suddenly, uncomfortably. Taking a deep breath in and closing her eyes.

“It was nothing.” Xaviera told him in a quiet voice, exiting the bedroom and going downstairs. 

Andrei sat there for a moment, breathing in deeply remembering the harsh reality of the world and how it twisted and fucked over the people within it, beating down even the strongest predators at times. He stood tall, grabbing the knives and sitting on the bed, absent-mindedly playing with them as he watched the snow fall in the night. 

Two predators broken within, made tough with claws and teeth to present and hide the vulnerability under the skin.                                

[realm-sweet-realm]

Esmerelda the Cursed

Hey. Thought I’d drop a little orginal fiction on you guys, see how you like it. This is a little horror short that I wrote to tell around the fire at a Scout camp back in October. Hope you like it.

(And if you’re just here for Bendy, well, you’re getting more fanfiction tomorrow anyhow.)

---

Have you ever heard of werewolves? Of course you have. Humans that turn into horrid beasts under the light of the full moon, turning on their loved ones in a sick bloodlust.

What you don't know is that those represent only a small portion of the werewolves. Most know their condition and take precautions. They drive out to the woods on the night of the full moon, and spend the night running around and hunting far from humankind. Some even find each other on those nights and form packs- it’s one way to meet friends that can be there for you no matter what the phase of the moon. And so, being a werewolf isn't so bad most of the time. But, it can have unforeseen consequences, as with Esmerelda the cursed.

Esmerelda the cursed had been a werewolf since childhood, and it had never bothered her at all. She was twenty-seven, a schoolteacher, and married to a werewolf from her pack when she became pregnant. She was due on the full moon.

There had been born-wolves before. They were horrible: dumb, and brutish, and miserable creatures. Like a child with the mind of a beast, or beast with the mind of a child. Her pack tried to help her. They gathered herbs that were meant to speed up the unborn child's maturation so that she'd birth him sooner. She wasn't sure it would work. No one was.

Whether by luck or intervention, Esmerelda did give birth early- one month early. It was the full moon, and Esmerelda was chasing down a rabbit when the contractions began. She began to yelp with pain. Other wolves came, worried that she might be injured. Upon seeing her lying in the grass, her water broken, their unthinking animal instinct became to kill her before she birthed a monster.

Her husband, currently a colossal white wolf, put himself between her and the rest of the pack, growling low. The pack hesitated, but then they growled back. In spite of the terrible squeezing pain in body, Esmerelda stood up and ran. She ran, and ran, and ran. She could hear the growls becoming more and more distant.

Eventually, she came upon a cave. The contractions made collapsing inside it seem like the best idea in the world, and so she did, first turning around to keep watch for the other werewolves. And that's when she saw it: the moon was near the horizon. The night was coming to an end.

Now, animals give birth far more easily than humans, werewolves especially. They rarely take longer than an hour. But Esmerelda fought the process with all her might so that her child might not be born under the full moon. The contractions grew stronger, and stronger, but she fought. The moon began to dip below the horizon. She was doing it. In the end, though, it was a losing battle. Her pup was born, a son, covered in hair, with horrible wolflike fur and claws and fangs. The moon set, and none of those features went away.

The wolves of her pack finally caught up to her at this point, their faces full of pity and shame. "Whatever you decide to do with him, we'll support you," they said. But Esmerelda knew that wasn't true. They might pretend to support it, but deep down they’d think her a monster if she killed him now. She and her husband would have to raise him alone.

Esmerelda quit her job to stay home with the wolf boy. She wasn't going to subject any daycare to him. They took down the lovely nursery they had prepared for him and set him up a room in the basement. He bit when she tried to feed him. He growled and yelped instead of crying. He looked at her with hate. And, though Esmerelda hated it, she looked back at him with the same hate.

He remained the family's secret for years. Worries about aggression aside, he could not speak a word by preschool age and so Esmerelda resigned herself to homeschooling him. She'd been letting him out in the yard for an hour a day since he could walk, but it was always late night and always on a leash. He would damage his room less if he had a chance to burn off some energy. His room, as the years dragged on, had become more and more destroyed. The boy would punch and claw at the walls when he was angry, or for the simple fun of it, until the walls grew more covered in his claw marks than she was. To clean his room, Esmerelda had to have her husband forcibly remove him from it. At first, they would simply lock him in the bathroom when this happened, but eventually, they realized that it would save them damages to their bathroom if they just tied his hands together. For obvious reasons, Esmerelda didn't clean the boy's room more than necessary, nor for longer than she had to. It was during one of these processes that he spoke his first full sentence: "why do you do this to me?" He was seven years old at the time. Esmerelda didn't respond.

What Esmerelda feared most was the day that the boy became too strong for her to control. Already, she'd bought a strong chain leash in place of the flimsy cloth one for when he'd go outside, and had insisted that her husband be the one to handle his nightly outings. He told her stories about how he was trying to pull away. Trying to break his chain with a rock. How he had twice killed a neighborhood cat that had approached him in curiosity.

At the age of eleven, the boy finally escaped. It was the night of a full moon. His parents were out. He knew they were out, as he had screamed and screamed and screamed and they hadn't come for him. There had been many nights like this, and for nights like this, he had a ritual. He began to bash at the door, claw at it, push furniture against it, do whatever he could. That night he'd tipped his dresser against it, and was pushing and pushing until finally, a loud crunch sounded and the dresser fell. The boy stared. It had finally happened. He was free.

He tore into the streets, running on all fours. The people shouted "look! A werewolf!" and ran away indoors, hoping to call someone who could help. The little boy saw them run, and his animal mind saw prey. Gums pulled back from teeth, he charged into a crowded area, catching the slowest of the pack: an old man, who had been hobbling along with a cane.

When the animal control vehicle drew near, they saw the boy, still tearing into the man: his arms, his legs, even separating his ribcage to get at the organs within. The dog catcher approached him silently, hoping to capture the beast while he was preoccupied. No such luck. The beast lifted his head while they were ten feet apart and took off into the woods. They tried to follow him with their vehicle, but he was lost. Lost and camouflaged.

Come morning, Esmerelda and her husband came home to find the boy missing and the story of his escape on the news. They were devastated.

As years wore on, though, they recovered. Esmerelda went back to work and had two more children, both normal as could be. She and her husband were scarred, but happy. In the news, they heard of a monstrous young man who lived in the woods with a pack of wolves, attacking people and farm animals. They tried to put it out of their minds. No one had been able to capture him, and they would never be able to control him now, anyhow. Another of their pack gave birth in the moonlight, and Esmerelda could only hope that she was able to handle it better than she had.

Finally, there came a day at parent-teacher interviews where she saw her packmate with a little boy. How Esmerelda pitied that little boy- to have a violent wolf for a sibling was not something she would wish upon anyone! She decided to ask her packmate how her wolf child was doing. To Esmerelda's horror, her packmate smiled down at the little boy. "Oh, it took a lot of patience. But we shave him every night and we're taking advantage of the extra programming here at school, and he knows how to control himself when people run now. All things considering, he's doing great."

Looking down at the wolf-child’s fanged but friendly grin, Esmerelda realized that she had not birthed a monster. She had birthed a child, locked him in the basement, seldom spoke to him, and treated him as the only thing he’d ever had a chance to be. She had taken a human being, and created a beast.

[bumblingbrujo]

Blood Brothers

Miguel can only run from Lilo for so long. 

@ianncardero, @lilo-el-lobo

Night was starting to fall again, but Miguel just couldn't bring himself to stay inside. There were plenty of people out there who needed help. And he could help. So he kept wandering, fresh out of potions, feeling all the tumultuous fear and confusion and rage that he tried to ignore or stuff down deep into his stomach. He knew at least a few people were safe at the Savin Estate, though he didn't know where Iann and Lilo were. Both worried him for very different reasons.

Lilo was ashamed and licking his wounds quite literally. The deep shame hanging on his shoulders wasn't over his actions, chasing friends, turning neighbors into enemies and prey; it was that he failed. He let them escape. If it wasn't for his damn leg he'd have the taste of fresh magic blood in his mouth, quench this painful need for destruction. His breath came heaving and strained as he pulled himself up and waited for the bruises to heal. Nose pointed in air, catching a hint of fear and familiarity he stalked out into the streets, keeping to the shadows and corners of alleys. Edging and silent as he looked for his prey.

Miguel didn’t have a course of action so much as restless legs. He walked, healing anyone he saw that needed help. Although there were more bodies than injuries. If this was a normal occurrence in Soapberry Springs then how did they keep the population up?

Lilo finally caught sight of what he wanted. Head lowering for his eyes to fixate on the prize, the man who blinded him. His brother, weak thing that he was, it was insulting the pitiful healing magic did so much to deter the predator. Now he'd get even. That meant ignoring the easy targets... or maybe they could prove to be useful.

It took only a few minutes for Lilo to find what he was looking for, someone injured unable to move but still conscious. They recoiled in horror as he came near. The werewolf held his finger to his lips and drug the wounded weakling into an alley before giving his final instructions. "Call out for help, wail and cry and whine you are injured but if you don't want to die, don't tell the healer I am here." Lilo slid to hide behind a dumpster that would mask his scent, not that Miguel could tell. Instinct was instinct, and the trap was set.

Miguel heard a cry and it sounded desperate. He ran toward the voice and found someone with a broken leg and a stomach fat too open. He knelt immediately and checked their insides for moisture. If they had been laying out there like for for too long... “Easy, easy, I’m a healer I’ll help you.”

The human whimpered, but out of fear kept from mentioning the werewolf that dragged them there. His eyes only widened as a hulking figure stepped out from it's hiding place. Creeping ever closer behind the preoccupied witch. Tears fell from the humans eyes as they continued to stare and try to work up the courage to say anything.

The fear in Miguel’s stomach bubbled up to his throat where he couldn’t fight it and he turned around, just a glance at first but that was enough. There was his monstrous brother, half transformed and angry. “Lilo-!” He skittered away from the injured man, he wished for a moment that he could help but the severed intestines spoke otherwise.

Lilo rumbled deep in his chest, what passed for laughter with the werewolf that was stuck halfway between animal and man. "Hey little brother." Lilo pressed in close, cutting off Miguel's potential exit. His head cocking to the side. "You look well."

Miguel's (metaphorical) hackles rose. "I'm older than you," he snapped. He was done with the warnings, Lilo had been tracking him, had set up a trap for him. Miguel didn't think there was much of sweet protective Lilo in there to reason with. So instead of trying to talk his hands lit up with the radiant fire and he grit his teeth.

Lilo tossed his head back, the rumble returning with little yipping gasps of air. He was having fun with this and it was terrifying. But he snapped to attention, jaw set and teeth bared. His claws dug into Miguel's shoulders, ignoring the fire that singed his fear. "You're still so tiny though. Hermano." He growled, snapping his jaws toward his pinned prey.

Iann couldn't stay up on the roof of Stonefruit with Wendy forever. He was getting antsy even up there, and listening to the groans and threats from the selkie was driving him nuts. He almost killed her, and that was when Iann knew he needed to get away from her. Making sure she was well-shaded and she'd been fed and taken care of between himself and Ruby, Iann then headed out. But this time, he didn't head out bare-handed. Despite Iann hardly if ever using weaponry in his life, Iann did gather a bunch of equipment from his basement, things he kept mostly for rituals and 'just in case' scenarios. For other people to use. For fighters to use, if needed. This time, Iann equipped himself. It didn't even take him long to find company though - in the form of his two apparent brothers. The yipping from Lilo was repulsive, horrifying, and yet Iann just snorted derisively at it. The wolf was going to kill the witch...and somehow Iann couldn't bring himself to care. This was Miguel's fault, after all. Miguel swept into town, some sort of mini-Iann, and proclaiming them all siblings. It made Iann sick to think about sharing blood with them.

Miguel winced and sent a shot of healing magic through his own shoulder, it dulled the pain and closed the wound as Miguel scampered away from Lilo. He couldn't get far. "We're both short. At least we usually are." He was starting to get tired, and the exhaustion pushed back the anger. "Lilo what the fuck are you doing? What would Addie think if she saw this?" He went back to the talking plan, if Lilo hadn't tried to kill him yet, maybe he could be reasoned with. Or maybe he was just playing with Miguel before killing him.

Lilo growled in a rage, his prey slipping from him again. He lumbered toward Miguel, not bothering to all out chase. His heavy muscled shoulders swinging as he lashed out. "Don't you talk. Stop." His claws aimed for his brother's throat. "Get my daughter's name out of your mouth." Reason was gone, as were any familial ties that had been so freshly woven between them. Miguel was enemy, prey, food. Lilo wanted no more twisty words or spells coming from the witch's mouth.

Miguel narrowly avoided getting his throat ripped out, but in the process he fell on his ass with a thud and a twist of pain through his spine. It would have been nothing if there wasn't a werewolf above him. He tried to muster the anger he needed for the fire, but all he had was fear. He felt like shaking apart, not like the divine witch he would need to be to keep doing radiant spells. "You stop! Why are you doing this? The moon? You're better than the moon Lilo!"

Iann came closer, almost eager to see what would happen. He didn't care if Lilo scented him, or if Miguel saw him. Unlike Iann normally, who balked at violence, Iann now looked hungry for it, eager to see it inflicted on others. Not River, she was already dead and there was nothing he could do about that now. But seeing the young selkie covered in blood - seeing that man with his guts hanging out, seeing all the death and destruction around him, Iann was completely desensitized to it. And he just wanted more. Also maybe to have sex in that gore, because that would be kind of hot in the dirtiest possible way.

Lilo growled in triumph. Falling upon Miguel, one hand out to pin him against the ground. "You don't really know me brother." He knelt, prosthetic splayed outward to the side. He lifted the other arm up so his sharp claws were illuminated by the red light of the moon. They were blood soaked and ready to be used again. "I've killed plenty before this moon hermano. I've tasted blood and loved it. Years I have forgot myself and it's only now that I remember what I am. I am a wolf." He breathed, face drawing close to Miguel's. "What are you?"

Miguel was vaguely aware that whatever came out of his mouth next may well be the last thing that came out of his mouth ever. It was a lot of pressure to come up with last words that might mean something. And even if they didn't mean anything now, they might mean something once the blood moon set and things went back to relative normal... when Lilo had enough functioning brain to think about what he'd done. He thought briefly about the obvious, which would be stating his witch-hood. Something that he didn't need to do when he lived the way he did. Instead he closed his eyes and sighed. "Soy tu hermano," he said softly before falling backward into acceptance and gritting his teeth, waiting for a lot of pain or oblivion.

Lilo howled, long and foreboding before it trailed off into a snarl. He bent his head down and down. Maw open and closing around Miguel's throat. It was like a perversion of a lover's kiss; out all the little love nips he peppered Cassie's neck with this felt far more satisfying. Sharp teeth drove into the skin, warm red blood bubbled up around the seal Lilo made with his mouth. He clamped down and tore, sinews and strings of the vocal chords ripped away. A stringy gorey mess as the raw wound filled with deep red blood. In the moonlight it all looked black.

[yutikyis]

The Fox and the Wolf

(This one is a whole lot of darkness, angst and general unhappiness so I am placing it behind a cut for both politeness and protection. There is a lot of dark stuff beneath the cut.) 

How was I ever frightened of nightmares? How could any fantasy, no matter how plausible, compare to reality? I sit here scribbling in my journal because I have nowhere to go. I am ashamed to face anyone. I do not want anyone to see me. How could I stand it? For anyone to see me this way. I am not ashamed I was injured. I am ashamed of the blood on my hands. I can’t go to the Order, I can’t go to Lloire and if I return to my apartment... I suppose I can take a little comfort in the fact that the Blood Rose turned out to not have been as potent as I had expected. Had it truly been able to conjure the worst thing imaginable I would have seen that room, that man, long before tonight. I certainly will forevermore. I’ll hear his voice in my ears. Perhaps every night. He got his wish there. He won’t be forgotten. The Wolf. I may not know his given name but I did not need it. He spoke his true name like a roar. I wonder if Alex and Kyoudo realized what he was doing. I did. I realized it from the moment he began to speak. For I had heard those words before. Seen those actions before. Not, perhaps, to his extreme... but maybe that was merely because she had some empathy for her own kin. I heard the reflection of his words in Father as well. Kindness through cruelty. Through a belief in strength. The world is a terrible place and you need to be a beast to survive it.  Better the fox than the sheepdog. Fox. The word is etched deeply into my soul. I had always loved foxes. My first toy was a stuffed fox. I assumed them cute and playful. Of course I learned as I grew older that a fox was a hunter. Not the strongest or the most deadly but a viscous, cunning, forceful little animal. One who goes for the throat and ends its prey quickly. I did not want to be a fox. Yet maybe I am. I still feel my hands around his throat. I hear him choking it out. “Better the fox than the sheepdog.” Maybe my only comfort is that I wasn’t enough of a fox to end him before I was injured.. and little comfort that is. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head. “Well, Snowflake, means ya got a while yet to go, don’t ya?” Yet she would be proud of me tonight. Not as proud as if I’d take him with dagger or bow but proud none the less. He, after all, used magic as well. We were, if not equals, at least comparable. I’d faced a predator and I’d bested him. Predator to predator. Even writing those words makes me sick to my stomach. It means his philosophy has infected me. I am ‘lucky.’ He inflicted far less injury on me than he did on L’ania. I will bear only a scar. Feel the lingering memory of steel piercing my stomach. Yet, as I am certain is true for her, the worst he did to me wasn’t with blade or spell but with word. I hear his pride and his delight. His encouragement and his soft whispers. I feel the memory of pain in my stomach and know that if he wanted he could have made his final blow worse. He wanted me to survive and bear a brand of my own to mark his legacy. He was being kind. Of all the things I could have anticipated in that room that was the very last. He thought, truly, he was doing the right thing. He died happy. He got the death a wolf would have wanted. He passed along his teachings. He showed he was right. And it scares me that he may have succeeded. His words linger in my brain. L’ania fought to save him to the very end. She knew what he was doing. I did too. There is no miscommunication between us. I promised L’ania I would try to save him. I failed. I can’t use my excuse of being blinded by anger. Of not knowing what I did. I know exactly what I did. I can make excuses. Had I fought an iota beneath my ability he would have taken me. He almost did anyway. Yet that doesn’t change a thing. I didn’t even consider saving him. He was a deadly predator and needed to be stopped. I stopped him. Stopped him from his kindness and his attempt to help. That is the worst thing of all. I was not hot. I was cold. I knew exactly what he did. I knew exactly why he did it. I understood him. I pitied him. I felt for him. In my mind’s eye I saw the long road that lead him down this path. I saw the undeniable pain that must have been in his history for him to see the world the way he did. I saw, in him, in how he spent his dying moments teaching and sparing, what could have in another life been a good man. I knew all of it and I did not stop. What cruel twist of fate was it that put me in that room with Alex of all people? The very man I argued for. A walking, talking, breathing example that one of the worst people imaginable can change. I can hear the argument already. That it was life for life. Had I not killed him he would have killed me. With me dead he very well could have taken Alex too. One life for two. Simple math. It’s true. So I should have died. The battle was not just for flesh. It was for souls. I may have won the battle of the flesh but the wolf died without a mark upon his and yet left his mark upon all who stood against him. It would have been better to die and in death to reject his philosophy than to prove him right. He died with a smile on his face. He died thinking he was right and that I’d proved it and that is a worse crime than taking his life.  How can I be the same person who argued so vehemently with Oni about Leera? Is there an ilm of difference between the men? Of course there is. Yet how much I will never know. Maybe the same kindness, the same pain, the same lingering sense of good existed in him as does in Leera. Maybe he stole aether from people because he was as much a victim as Leera. Maybe he hurt and killed for the same reasons. They are both even Elezen. They are both predators. They both spared me when they had no reason to. L’ania may hate me for breaking my promise but she can’t possibly know that I agree with ever bit of anger she feels. How can I dare to believe I can save Leera when I can do no less for man who could have been him? How can I fight no less fiercely for Oni than I did L’ania?  I looked in the cool simple reflective water of a nearby pool and I saw my hair. White and red. I looked, I realized, like a fox. Maybe it will be possible to fix it again. Maybe I shouldn’t. Lloire bears his as a mark for his failure. Maybe I should do no less. Maybe I am the fox and I should not be able to hide it. Not from others and not from myself. I am scared to go back to the apartment. Scared that either I will find her there... or find nobody there. I am not sure which i am more frightened of.

@laniahena

@hana-xiv

@ishgardiansnow

@lloire14 @onidephor

(probably others I missed tagging, there’s a lot here!)