#internal dehumanization

[wintergrofyuri]

guys please please please can we talk about this i need someone to see the vision i need someoneto listen to me i feel insane. please god. do you see it. do you hear me. please tell me you understand.

kabru could never forget his mother, izutsumi doesnt even know what her's looked like.

[weretoad-art]

Cyrus' base ("base") in the Tunnels

(aka. damn bitch you live like this?)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Silver

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two |

CW: Some brief moments of dehumanization, referenced captivity and torture, referenced death/murder

-

“I have no idea where we’re even going.” 

Eden flexed his fingers, stretching them out and then closing them back around the steering wheel. His head felt like it was full of wet cotton, heavy and soft and soaking into every wrinkle of his brain. 

Apparently driving on two hours of sleep wasn’t the best way to handle these things. Not that they had a choice. Well, they did have a choice, but Anaya wasn’t about to let him make it. She was determined to keep going as long as they could.

“Just drive east,” She said, as if she could hear him thinking. “We have a full tank of gas, we can go for hours.”

“Hours?” He couldn’t quite suppress the way his voice sounded pouting, a toddler throwing a tantrum in the middle of a store. He took a deep breath and tried to straighten his spine.

Still, every pothole, bump in the road, or swerving too-tight turn brought an answering whimper or soft whine from the back and Eden’s nerves were fraying more every single time. 

His heart twisted at the simple sounds of pain, sure - he knew it had to hurt like hell, lying there with a stitched-up leg and only some expired hydrocodone from an old surgery Eden had had years ago for the pain, but Eden’s own head was throbbing with a lack of sleep, his eyes felt hot and dry, and a muscle in his jaw had begun to twitch as he kept grinding his teeth.

He had to push down the urge to snap at the boy to quiet down. It wasn’t his fault, Eden knew it wasn’t, but the anger still rose with every pulse of his heartbeat he could feel behind his eyes.

Added to all the other bullshit about today, they were in the middle of nowhere, a good hour from the next place Eden could think of to even grab half-decent coffee. They needed to find somewhere where they could park, somewhere nobody would look in the back and then ask about a thousand increasingly uncomfortable but honestly really understandable questions about the naked teenage boy back there.

The naked teenage boy covered in scars and wrapped in blankets, who badly needed a haircut and a hamburger and who hadn't spoken a fucking word since they started driving.

“Not too many. Four more hours of driving would get us to Missoula,” Anaya said, a little distracted, looking down at her phone. “I have a friend we could crash with there. Vanessa… she has an extra room, she says. Yeah. Four hours and twenty minutes to Missoula and then we can spend a couple days figuring this out-”

“Anaya.”

She blinked and looked over at him. “What?”

“We absolutely cannot take him to Missoula.” Eden had the urge to drop his head into his hands even as he made his careful way on the winding road, the darkly forested mountains they had been camping in rising high and dagger-edged behind them. Like they were angry at them taking the boy out of the woods and towards civilization.

Well, that was a weird thing to think.

“Of course we can,” Anaya said, frowning, puzzled. 

“No. We can’t. Missoula is in Montana."

"Yeah, I'm aware. But it's also only four hours away."

"Going to Missoula... that is a full on crazy idea, Naya, and you know it.”

“I don’t know it. Why exactly is that crazy?” Anaya, bristling, set her phone down and twisted around in her seat to look back at the blanket lump behind them that was Misae, whose eyes were closed even as his expression was pinched with pain. “We all need sleep, right? All three of us do. Vanessa won’t ask too many questions.”

“If we show up with him, she probably should!”

“Why?”

“Anaya, for God’s sake… Taking a minor across state lines is fucking kidnapping!”

“Sure, if we had kidnapped him, but we didn’t! Somebody else did!”

“Okay, first of all, that isn’t how kidnapping works. We’re not playing fucking flag football with a human being. Also, we don’t know that he was kidnapped at all!”

“He said his family is dead! That means he was kidnapped by whoever killed them!”

“We. Don’t. Know. That. It just means they’re dead, it doesn’t say anything about how they died or how he ended up where he is. You’re… you’re just guessing at things we can’t prove, that might not even be true!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Her voice sharpened.

His own voice rose in response, louder than he intended. “He might have lied to us or something!” 

The boy in the back flinched, hands moving to cover his head, visible as a sudden shift in the rearview mirror. Misae groaned, muttering something to himself. Eden’s chest twisted in dismay as he realized there was a tiny spot of red starting to show through the blanket, which meant the poor kid had started bleeding through his bandages at some point. He needed them changed. Eden must not have done a good enough job putting pressure on the wound. The stitches were doing their best, but Eden’s first aid kit wasn’t great, and stitching someone up in the woods in a hurry was never going to work well anyway. He needed to redo the stitches, hopefully after a few hours of sleep and with steadier hands. Guilt prickled. “Sorry... I'm sorry, man. I don’t really think that you’re lying, exactly, it’s just… Maybe you told us what you thought we needed to hear so we’d help you. I’d honestly understand if you did.”

“Eden!” Anaya smacked at his shoulder. “You can’t just accuse him of lying!”

“I’m not trying to be accusing! I’m just trying to keep us from getting thrown in prison. Taking a minor over state lines isn’t just illegal, it’s a felony. We do not have enough knowledge about this situation right now to commit felonies for total strangers, even if they are bleeding all over my backseat!”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You took out the backseat.”

“... please don’t do that thing where you nitpick everything I say because you’re mad at me even though you know I’m right.”

Anaya opened her mouth, then closed it and looked away. "Yeah, okay." For Anaya, that was a white flag raised high. 

He took the truce she offered gladly. “Okay, so, we don’t know him well enough to commit a felony on his behalf, even though he’s bleeding all over my trunk.”

She relaxed a little - his acknowledgement of the nitpick was his way of flying a white flag, too. Then she sighed. “Well…” Anaya trailed off, then turned back around and looked at the road ahead as if it were personally offensive to her. “Okay, I can see your point. Maybe… maybe you’re right about this. Still, we don’t even know he’s from Idaho at all, he might have already been taken over state lines? We’re… there’s no way we’re the bad guys for helping him, is there?”

“No, I didn’t say that. I don’t think we are, and I absolutely agree that he needs help. I’m just… I’m just too tired to think straight about this, or maybe I’d have a better idea of what we should do. We need to stop so I can nap, so we can all nap. Yeah?”

“Fair enough.” Anaya tipped her head back against her seat, her black hair spilling in messy waves all around her shoulders and down to her ribcage. The clear light of morning turned her skin  Eden fell in love all over again.

He usually did, every time he looked at her. 

“Naptime for everybody,” She said, a little dreamily. “Sounds good. Does that sound good to you, too, Misae?”

The boy had to hear them, they weren’t keeping their voices particularly low, but he didn’t answer. He was lying down in the back of the car, everything but his injured leg curled up as tightly as he could get, existing in a kind of numb silence. 

Shock, Eden had thought at first. Now his mind skipped back to the sight of the scars the kid was covered in, and he wondered if he just was too used to being hurt and simply didn't think this kind of thing was worth even remarking on. Or... maybe he was used to getting hurt worse if he spoke up about the pain. Maybe it had been safer to be silent.

Still... at least the kid seemed to be getting some sleep. He'd clearly dozed on and off for most of the drive. He didn’t even seem to be listening to them now, when they were specifically talking about him. 

When Eden checked the mirror, all he saw was that reddish-brown hair with gray scattered throughout, sticking out like a puffball above the blankets he’d curled himself up beneath, which Eden did not allow himself to think was cute. The red stain on the blanket - was it a little bigger than the last time he’d looked?

Shit.

“Right." He hummed, changing lanes. "Also, not to like harp on this or anything, but… what if somebody’s still looking for him?”

Anaya’s thoughtful frown deepened. “He said that his family-”

“Is dead, no, I know he said that. I’m not talking about family, not exactly. But that guy with the gun, he said something about finding bodies on their land before, remember? Like this isn’t the first time. And he was clearly hunting that wolf. So… would they just give up looking?”

Anaya’s worry had her thumb shifting upwards, until she was absently nipping at her thumbnail, catching it between top and bottom teeth and worrying at a torn spot of skin along her cuticle. “I don’t know. I guess I figured they would, if he wasn’t on their land anymore, but…” 

Eden sighed, half-smiling as he reached out and put a hand over hers, pulling it back down and holding tight. “Stop that, baby.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Stop eating your hand,” Eden said, with long-suffering affection. Her fingers twined into his and he gave a short squeeze. She squeezed back.

“Eden, seriously, I’m not eating my-” Naya glanced down at her thumb, the nail already torn at one corner. She smiled a little. “Oh. I guess I was. Well, anyway, we should still help him, right? We can’t just leave some kid to bleed to death alone. If we don’t go to Missoula, what do we do next?”

“I honestly… I don’t know.” He had to pull his hand back - this road was way too full of curves to be safe to drive one-handed - but the simple gestures, old habits long built between them, settled his racing heart a little. He and Anaya had been together since before he’d dropped out of his residency, even, as friends at first and then they had realized more or less at the same time that 'just friends' had started being more without either of them noticing it. The memory of their simultaneous attempts to officially ask each other out, awkward and sweet, made everything about the day seem suddenly a little easier to handle. He took a deep breath. “I’m just saying that we don’t know anything about this kid, except that he got shot and he’s running from somebody named Bill.”

“We also know that he’s a werewolf,” Anaya pointed out. When Eden didn’t respond, she frowned, narrowing her eyes at him. Eden chanced a glance sidelong so he could see it - her squinty eyes always made her adorable, even if she’d get really, really mad if he told her that.

She saw him thinking it anyway.

Her eyes narrowed even more, but the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. “Eden Yarrow, you quit that.” Anaya hissed, badly hiding the smile that kept trying to creep over her, “This is not me joking. He’s a werewolf! You saw him being a wolf! We both saw that he’s a werewolf!”

“No, we didn’t. We definitely saw a wolf. We’re agreed on that. Then, later, we saw a kid hiding under my car. Two totally different events that happened literally hours apart.” He paused, letting the silence draw out. The radio droned in and out of whatever stations it could pick up this far away from anything at all. He winced when he heard a scrap of a sermon. The sound was too familiar not to feel like ghosts haunting him down to the bone, the echo of his father’s own thundering disappointment. “We don’t, technically speaking, actually know that they’re even related events.”

Anaya didn’t respond, but the sheer weight of her answering stare burned hot against his right cheek. He could have seen it with his eyes closed. He was vaguely afraid he’d end up with some kind of burn as a result.

Eden tried to wait her out. The silence drew out. The radio played part of a hip-hop song and then went back to static. 

Naya had always been better at the quiet game, though, and after only a couple of minutes he gave up trying and just sighed. “Okay, I admit it would be a really big coincidence-”

“Yeah, I’d say it would be one hell of a coincidence!” She drew the word out, gave it syllables it didn’t even have. “I mean, sure, it’s a coincidence, in the same way that Batman and Bruce Wayne are coincidentally never seen in the same room at the same time-”

“Don’t you bring Batman into this.”

“Fine. Clark Kent and Superman, then.”

“Now you’re just listing every superhero.”

“Look, if you want to play this game, I could do this for days. We’ll die of dehydration before I run out of superheroes and their secret identities.”

He didn’t know if she looked as smug as she sounded, but he knew if he looked he’d start laughing and this whole conversation would be a wash.

“... Fine. Yeah, okay, you win. I’ll accept it. Werewolves are real. Men who turn into fucking wolves on the full moon, totally real. Oh, and cherry on top of the sundae, there’s one in the back of my car right now. Pure insanity, but sure.”

“Insanity. Right. But wouldn't you-... wouldn't-" The corner of her mouth twitched upwards again. She muttered under her breath, and had to put her hands up over her face. Her shoulders shook a little.

Eden sighed. His headache was getting worse. Even his arms felt weirdly heavy. They passed a road sign advertising a rest stop coming up, and he shifted into the right lane, not bothering with a turn signal. There was nobody but them and a handful of tractor trailers and like two other cars on the road right now anyway. “What?”

Anaya shook her head. She still had her hands over her mouth. “You won’t like it.”

“Why not? Just tell me. What’s so damn funny?”

“Would you say it's insanity... or..." She said, her voice slightly cracked with suppressed laughter. “Eden. Listen. Wouldn't it more accurately be... lunacy? Get it? Like the moon? Lunacy? Werewolves and the m-”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Eden muttered. “Isn’t the guy in the relationship supposed to do the stupid dad jokes? Anaya, I am not laughing.”

“Hi, Not Laughing, I’m Anaya.” She threw her head back, the sound of her laughter bouncing around the inside of the car. A little delirious with her own exhaustion. It made Eden feel warm to hear it, even as he heard the boy in the back shift around for the first time. In the mirror, he caught sight of those unsettling light brown eyes, glinting gold with reflected sun, as the kid lifted his head enough to stare at Anaya like she’d grown four new arms. 

Wolf eyes.

He had to admit it.

The kid did not have human eyes at all. 

He took the exit for the rest stop, relieved to break eye contact. It had felt almost like a physical weight, demanding to be recognized even though the kid remained quiet. 

He was unsurprised to see a few semi trucks already parked alongside three regular cars. A small family sat eating what was clearly a kind of picnic breakfast at a small table in the morning sunlight. Another man had a dog on a leash sniffing around the edges of a trash can.

The boy must have seen the man with the dog, too. He made a sound, low in his throat, shifting over to get a better look through the backseat window. The sound he made was like a rumble, eyes laser focused on the man and his dog, and suddenly the mess of his hair seemed almost to stick out more than it had before. He shifted as Eden’s car passed by the two, his injured leg dragging a little as he tried to kneel, hands against the glass. 

Eden pulled into a parking spot at the very end of the row, as far away from anyone else as he could get, and just sat there, blinking. Then the nature of the sound seemed to suddenly make itself clear to him all at once. “What the hell? Dude, are you trying to growl? Anaya, he’s growling. Like a-”

“Wolf?” Anaya asked the question in a tone of pure and perfect innocence. When Eden glanced at her, her eyebrows were raised nearly to her hairline. “Would you say it was a wolflike sound, there, Eden? Canine, perhaps?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” He snapped, but his heart wasn’t in it. Anaya reached out to take his hand, pulling his knuckles to her lips to kiss them, one by one. He found himself relaxing until his head dropped back against the headrest. The world swam in front of him, the trees that lined the rest stop shifting in and out of focus.

God, he needed some sleep. 

Anaya yawned, Eden yawned - and then, in the back, he heard the unmistakable sound of Misae yawning, too. Anaya rolled her shoulders, then shifted to open the door and step out. “I’m going to go check and see if this place has one of those coffee vending machines. You want anything?”

“Granola bar or protein bar, if they got one. Also coffee. Not that it'll do much good. Anything for you?” He looked back at the mirror again when there wasn’t an answer. “Hey. Wolfboy.”

Misae looked away from him. Eden could read his expression well enough, though. He looked… hurt. His shoulders slumped, inching up towards his chin, and he sat back down. 

Anaya frowned. “I think we just insulted him.”

“Oh.” Eden cleared his throat. “Uh… Misae. Is ‘wolfboy’ bad? Not a good nickname?”

The boy’s eyes dropped down as he licked at his lips, taking in a deep breath and then slowly letting it out. His eyes cut off to one side, refusing to look back. An uncomfortable, heavy silence weighed all of them down. 

Just as Eden was about to give up waiting for him to speak and tell Anaya to go on and get the food, Misae cleared his throat. His words came out halting and hesitant, speaking slowly. “It’s fine. Just water, please.”

Anaya nodded. “You got it. Any food for you? You’ve got to be hungry by now, right?”

Misae didn’t respond this time, no matter how long they waited. He just blinked. 

Anaya sighed and then shrugged at Eden. “I’ll get him something,” She said, voice low, and then walked away, the car closing gently behind her. Misae watched her go, eyebrows furrowing a little in something like worry. The two men watched Anaya disappear into the rest stop building.

After a couple of minutes had passed, Misae whined. The tone was a little different than it had been before - not pain, but… concern. It was a deeply familiar sound, one Eden had heard a hundred times in his life or more. 

“Oh, stop it, she’s coming right back.” 

Silence from the back. 

Eden caught himself, and then made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Even he wasn’t sure which he meant to do. “Sorry. I know you’re not a dog.”

"Was... shifted, for too long. Can't remember which I am sometimes."

"Oh. Uh... Sorry?"

Silence.

Eden sighed. “Boy, you are not a talker, huh.”

The quiet drew out for a while longer. Eden’s mind wandered, and he found himself picking up the silver bullet, turning it in circles so he could run his fingers over the markings carved into it. They looked almost like… runes. Only not like them at all. But the idea was the same - symbols drawn in straight lines and dots, the occasional half-circle curve. Some of them had been partly obliterated by being fired into a human being - or not a human being, maybe, at least not all the way - but he could still get a sense for them by running his fingers over the curves of the thing. 

It felt oddly heavy in his hands. When he tipped it to one side and then the other, something seemed to shift inside it. Was it full of buckshot? It was a miracle it hadn’t filled the kid’s body with shrapnel. If it had broken apart the way Eden had thought it would…

Well, sewing up the wound wouldn't have been enough to save him.

His lips pressed together into a line. Then, he turned to look back at Misae, who was watching Eden and the bullet, his eyes locked with unconcealed dread on the way the silver glinted in the sunlight. Eden’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Hey.”

Brown-gold eyes flicked to his, then back to the silver. 

“Will you hold this for me?” Eden held the bullet out, only to watch with wide eyed as Misae flinched violently backwards, crying out in pain as his injured leg was forced into motion. He stopped only when his back was pressed against the back windshield. He had to clutch at the blankets and pull them back up to cover himself, but briefly all his scarred-up nakedness, the parade of bruises in various stages of healing all over his body, the mix of uneven welts and sharp, perfect straight lines of damaged skin were all on terrible display.

Eden looked nervously out the windows, but nobody seemed to have noticed them. Good. The idea of having to explain what Misae doing in his car was... not even scary, just something so exhausting he couldn't even stand to think about it. He dropped the bullet back into the cupholder. “Silver really freaks you out, huh?”

Misae slowly nodded, but he didn’t relax or move back close. “Bad,” He said, hoarsely. “It’s bad.”

“Silver is bad? Like, it hurts you? Like mythology?"

“It hurts.” Misae’s chin jerked down in the nod, and he crossed his arms in front of himself. His face was pale, white under the darkened freckles. “It… burns me, cuts me, doesn’t heal.”

“It doesn’t heal?” Eden thought of the wound that was still, somehow, bleeding even though he’d stitched it up and bandaged it heavily. “Like, ever?”

“If it comes out, it will. Different then.” Misae’s shoulders hunched near his ears and he looked down, hair falling forward to shadow his eyes. “Heals too slowly. Always scars. I don’t… like to see silver.”

“Oh. Uh… sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think… that it would scare you like that, but that makes sense. Hey, about earlier… do they call you that? The, uh, the people… where you’ve been living? Do they call you ‘wolfboy’? Is that why it bugged you when I said it?”

Another long pause. Speaking with Misae felt like dropping a coin into a well and having to wait way too long before you hear it splash. Eventually, those narrow shoulders shrugged. “Sometimes they call me that. Sometimes other things.”

“Other things?”

“Worse things.”

“Like what?”

Misae looked at him through shaggy bangs, lips thinning.

“Yeah… okay. You probably don’t want to just tell me the nasty bits, you barely know me.” Eden sighed, leaning over until his forehead touched the steering wheel, closing his eyes. He wondered if he’d just… doze off, if he kept them shut for too long. He started talking just to try and keep himself awake. “This has been… the weirdest day, man. I have a werewolf in my car. An injured werewolf. An injured teenage werewolf.” With his level of exhaustion, it suddenly seemed like a reasonable possibility. Sure, why wouldn’t there be werewolves? Why not? Why wouldn’t there be a werewolf with knobby elbows and long legs in the back of his stupid old car? 

Maybe Bigfoot was out there, too, and they’d catch him hitchhiking. Or fucking little green aliens in flying saucers. Why the hell not? Or even vampires, maybe. 

Maybe they’d find a vampire staked through the wrong part of their chest next with a thumb out for a ride and have to take them on a road trip, too. Like a fucked-up road trip movie. Maybe he’d walk into a fairy circle of mushrooms one morning and vanish, never to be seen again. Or wake up in three hundred years the same age he was when he went to sleep, or…

Maybe all of it was real, legends and myth. Maybe he didn’t notice because he’d never tried to read between the lines of reality before. 

If he was having thoughts like that, he desperately needed sleep. He had to force down a half-hysterical giggle and make himself focus on his next train of thought. It was getting more difficult to think at all. “The guy who shot you. The one we saw in the woods. Who is that?”

Pause. “Austin.”

“... Is Austin one of the people… you live with?”

“Sort of.”

“What… what does ‘sort of’ mean?” God, it was like pulling teeth that just kept growing deeper roots every time he asked a question, fighting harder to give him nothing. Kid didn’t exactly make himself easy to rescue, now did he?

No. That wasn’t fair. He’d gotten right into the car, he’d let Eden and Anaya drive him away without protest. He just… didn’t seem to find it easy to speak. 

“Austin lives in the house.”  

“Where do you live?”

Silence again, other than the soft sound of Misae breathing. 

Did he not want to answer? Or did he not know what Eden was asking, not pick up on it? Maybe he thought Eden was making fun of him somehow. Eden frowned, trying to think, to reword the question. “I’m asking seriously. Did you not live in the house? Where did you sleep? Come on. Talk to me, I’m trying to understand.”

Misae shrugged again. “Outside.”

That seemed to be all Misae was willing to give him. 

Eden listened as the boy behind him just laid back down against the back of the car, hissing through his teeth at the pain in his stitched-up leg. Eden glanced back in time to see him cover himself until even his hair vanished beneath the layers of quilted cotton blankets. Just an unmoving lump with a red splotch near the bottom. 

The boy was literally hiding from having to continue the conversation.

“Okay, guess we’re done with that, then,” Eden muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. His stubble was scratchy under his palms along his jaw, and the sensation sent a warmth through him. Felt pretty damn good, even though he knew it would drive him crazy if he didn’t get a chance to shave in the next couple of days.  

He decided, glutton for punishment that he was, to try one more time. “Are these people going to keep looking for you, even though we got you off their land?” After a long pause, he let his frustration bleed into his tone, and stopped trying to gentle it. “Just fucking answer me, okay, man? Are the people who shot you going to keep looking for you now?”

Misae’s muffled voice came, barely audible from under the blankets. “Yes.”

“What happens if they find you?”

Silence.

“God damn it, kid-”

“Containment!” Misae’s voice trembled, now, enough for Eden to hear it. The word seemed forced from him against his will, spat out like poison. He wondered suddenly if he wasn’t hiding from the conversation itself, but trying to hide his tears from view. Ashamed or even afraid of his own emotions. “Quarantine.”

A pit opened somewhere between Eden’s chest and his stomach. He shivered, despite the warmth of the sun shining on him through the window. Goosebumps raised on his arms until he rubbed at them with one hand. “What?” 

He glanced over at the rest stop building and saw Anaya through the glass doors. She stood off to one side at the vending machines, choosing something, looking down at her phone while she waited.

“Been in quarantine so he could fix us. But… but I left.” Misae hitched in an uneven breath, a whine at the edge of his exhale. Twisting canine noise into human speech. “Left.”

“Why did you leave?”

Misae looked to the side, his hopelessness a heavy weight in the car, pressing the both of them down. “Bill decided no one would ever get better. Can’t be fixed.”

“What does that mean? ‘Getting better?’” 

“Not… becoming. We might still hurt people. Make them sick, too."

“... You hurt people?”

“I… I didn’t mean to…” Misae licked at his lips again, looking away and then back, and Eden had trouble with the combination of a very human body echoing very canine traits over and over again. 

“So you were… kept in quarantine to keep you from hurting people?”

"From making them sick."

"... oh."

Eden felt like the next pause between sentences like a hammer bashing at his brain. His heart beat too hard. He looked up and saw Anaya heading back their way, a coffee in each hand, somehow balancing a water bottle between her arm and her side and with protein bars stuffed in her pockets. He swallowed, feeling a surreal and completely pointless urge to tell her to stay away. Get out, run, get help.

To what? Save him from the exhausted, frightened, injured boy in the back who clearly couldn’t have hurt a fly in his current state? The thought was ridiculous. Misae was the epitome of fucking harmless. 

Bill, whoever he was, was clearly a liar.

Then again… Eden thought of the wolf racing in the moonlight, stumbling through their campsite. 

In the end, Misae was the first one to speak again. He just said, voice flat, “Silver was supposed to fix us. Make us safe. But Bill said it wasn’t enough. It’s… it’s like rabies.”

“What’s like rabies?”

"The bite."

Eden cleared his throat. “Okay, so… that’s why you’re on your own? Because of what this Bill guy said about it not being treatable? So you ran away?"

Misae’s throat moved, adam’s apple shifting up and down. His lips twisted into something like a snarl before he closed his eyes tightly. He pulled one knee to his chest, the injured leg still stuck out straight, and closed his arms around it, hiding most of his face. His shoulders shook, and the tears in his voice couldn’t be hidden no matter how soft and hoarse he kept his words.

“I thought I did a good enough job pretending."

A pause.

“I didn’t know Austin would see me when I climbed out of it.”

“Out of what?”

“... The hole.”

Eden stared sightlessly ahead, feeling somehow like it would be easier for Misae if he wasn't looking. His heart beat hard and ice pushed through his veins. "The hole?"

"We were all buried together. I had to wait. I was... I was the only one who climbed out of the... it was a g-grave..." Misae began to cry, sobs shaking thin shoulders, hoarse rasping sobs that filled the whole space inside the little car.

Anaya returned, balancing coffee and water and granola bars stuffed into her pockets. She opened the car door and then froze, staring. Her eyes went from Misae to Eden. "What-... what happened while I was gone?"

Eden felt like his own eyes were too wide, ringed in white, when he met her gaze.

"We, uh." He cleared his throat. "Get in. You were right. Let's stop to sleep in Missoula."

-

@finder-of-rings @burtlederp @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial II

hiiii. i have such a headache omg. help meeeee

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past child abuse, conditioning, dehumanization, electrocution, physical abuse, verbal abuse, bruises, broken bones, institutionalized child abuse, institutionalized slavery, (internalized) victim blaming, self hatred, retraumatization, whump aftermath)

He had still felt the chill of the ocean when they had first brought him back to base. They’d had to recast his arm for the final time. They’d spotted the broken ribs that had barely had time to heal, not helped at all with the impact he’d made into the water. The fever dreams crept all around the corners of his eyes. 

After Levon had left, the nurses had made a request of him.

He did not have to stand for it, luckily. He sat up on the bed and let them undo the jacket, folding it back against his waist to reveal his bare torso.

He was so covered in bruises then that it almost looked natural on him.

The marks themselves were not the shape of anything in nature, though. Not unless you counted the handprints. Instead, they showed the imprints of rulers and rings. Whip marks. Chains.

They really tried to be respectful as they aimed the camera at him.

~

Two and a half months later, in the new and sterile room, all the bruises had faded. It was the longest he’d ever gone without them. There was still a tenderness in his ribs, but it felt more like a phantom pain than anything real. The cast had finally come off of his wrist — and he appreciated the new dexterity it afforded him. 

He sat on the white floor and watched Kitty hesitate for a long while with her rook.

He was not allowed outside of his room, but he could have her inside of it. He’d had Apollo there too, but from what he understood, the medic had immediately been thrown back into clinical rotations. Kitty’s role in IT afforded her much more free time. She’d spent most of her absence working too, so there was no real change in their schedule.

She put the rook down indecisively, but seemed to tire of the game. She glanced back at the door, furrowing her eyebrows at the lock placed upon it. She folded her fingers up beneath her chin.

“This whole thing is a waste of time.”

The anger in her voice caught him off guard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, drawing his hand closer into his lap. 

She looked up in surprise, a bit of guilt seeping into her expression. 

“I’m not mad at you,” she clarified, “You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the thing. Levon knows you’re innocent. You shouldn’t have to go through all this.”

He didn’t really feel like he had been through anything, but he didn’t argue with her. He processed the words slowly, trying to work around the irritation in them. It still made him antsy.

“Hey,” she spoke gently, trying to draw his attention back, “I’m not mad at you. You’re not in trouble.”

“Okay,” he conceded, “Sorry.”

He moved his bishop to put her in check. She sacrificed the knight in the king’s stead. Before he could capture it, a voice sounded through the buzzer, directly on the other side of the door.

“Maryam Pike. Can I come in?” It crackled through the static.

Kitty gave Delta a concerned look. He blinked, unsure what she was waiting for. 

“Do you want her to? You don’t have to let her into your space,” Kitty said.

He shrugged. She was just doing her job. There was nothing he could really do to avoid questioning, anyway.

Kitty stood up from her spot on the floor, stalking over to the entryway. She opened it up.

“Does it have to be here?” She asked Maryam, “It’s his room.”

The older woman shrugged just the same.

“His choice. I have the office too, if you want to take the hike.” She glanced over Kitty’s shoulder, addressing Delta. “You want to get out for a little bit?”

He did, actually.

~

They were back around the table. Apollo was absent this time, but everyone from the council was still in attendance. Levon leaned against the back wall casually, sorting through the folder he’d been given. His expression was unreadable.

They knew how impossible it was to get Delta to speak in front of people. He had his gaze all the way down even as he sat at the table. It was too difficult to try and have him give testimony. They’d had to resort to other ways.

Maryam slid the cassette player into the center of the table. She looked at Delta, giving him a final chance to amend it. He had nothing to add.

He still cringed to hear his own voice play over the tape.

[

Q: What is your earliest memory?

A: …I was playing with a baby pool, filled up with all these little fish. The staff were asking me if I could move them around, but without using my hands. It took hours, but eventually I could focus enough to push them around just by thinking about it. I made them swim upside down. 

Q: Where did this take place?

A: One of the lower levels of the Institute. It was one of their wet labs.

Q: What were your parents like?

A: I never knew my parents, ma’am.

Q: How did you feel about other children your age?

A: …Indifferent.

Q: What is the primary emotion you associate with your childhood?

A: …I don’t know, ma’am.

Q: What were the rules at the institute you grew up in?

A: No running. No fighting. No talking back. Be respectful when addressing a superior. Wait for explicit permission before using your powers. Take your medicine as prescribed.

Q: When you were a child, did you ever make any attempt to escape or to disobey your handlers?

A: Never to escape. And I never, um. Never intentionally disobeyed. But by accident sometimes, yeah.

Q: By accident? What did you do?

A: …I was getting fussy one day after drills. There are these kind of growing pains you get if you move up a new level — and I was getting them really badly that day, and I guess I was lashing out too much. I wasn’t really listening.

Q: And what happened?

A: Got some warning shocks. When that didn’t work, they. Um. Increased the voltage until I was ready to listen. 

Q: To clarify, are you saying they electrocuted you?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: Did this happen with any frequency?

A: Not to me.

Q: Not to you? What does that mean?

A: Not to me, ma’am. It happened to the other students a lot more. I didn’t need as much correction, ma’am.

Q: And you witnessed this “correction” personally?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: How frequently did this happen?

A: In the first years, it was multiple times a day. It didn’t happen as often later on. A lot of the problem students had already been eliminated from the program at that point.

Q: I see. And you never once attempted escape?

A: No, ma’am.

Q: Why not?

A: 

Q: What was that?

A: I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

]

The tape clicked off. Delta folded his hands in his lap.

“We also have testimony from other alumni of the Beldam Institute,” Maryam declared, though Delta disagreed. You couldn’t be an alumnus if you didn’t actually graduate. She’d gotten testimony from the drop-outs. It’d been edited into a neat and digestible format, though to him it seemed a bit hokey.

Levon pulled it up onto the projector, his expression still unreadable.

The woman in the video was in her mid-20s, which meant she hadn’t been there from inception, and that she hadn’t stayed long. She said as much in the video. She was a kind of lightworker - lasers, burns, flash bombs. She’d been transferred to the Institute out of foster care.

“-would’ve been unethical to have adults working those hours. 16 hour days — and there were younger kids there than I was, ones that needed like ten hours of sleep, and they never got it. I don’t think I had a single moment of free time while I was there. The amount of-“

“-and of course they hit the kids. Where I went, at every house I’d been to, they hit the kids. That was nothing new to me. But they had the kids hurting each other. And these were untrained psychics who were still learning to use their powers, they didn’t know their own strength. And they were learning to use it on whoever was lower in the hierarchy than they were. Some of them would get messed up bad. One time-“

“-said pack your shit, get out. I didn’t have any more value to them anymore. I had been fucking gifted. And they just burnt me out like I was nothing. Glad they did, though. The only way kids ever left that school was burnt out or in a body bag. I still haven’t-“

There was no footage of the Institute. No cameras had been allowed inside except by licensed professionals. What they did have were the scans of the old photo books. Delta recognized the backgrounds so clearly, even though it’d been years since he had stepped inside. He felt only some dull recognition for the children in the photos — there’d been too many to keep track of. He’d never cared for them much anyway.

He felt the air in the room stiffen as the pictures got progressively gorier. Training accidents. Wrong dosages. The stripes they’d whipped into the backs of the worst kids. He wondered how much of his survival had been pure luck. He hadn’t known just how mismanaged it’d been at the time. Though he did have inklings.

“It’s clear the defendant was raised in an environment in which his every move was controlled under threat of severe physical punishment or death. His surroundings instilled a sense of learned helplessness within him. From an earlier age, he has been made to feel he has no option but to obey. Due to that conditioning, we can reasonably say that any exhibit of his powers has been under duress. It’s absurd that he should be held legally or morally responsible for his actions.” Maryam had a practiced cadence, especially on such short notice. She looked at nobody and nothing in particular when she did it. Levon watched her like a hawk.

She took a deep breath.

“There’s evidence this coercion continued beyond Beldam Institute.”

She switched between files on the computer. A new screen filled the projector.

“Hold,” Levon held a hand up, “Delta, you don’t have to be here for this. You can take recess.”

She couldn’t get him to talk about Paris. It’d been a no-go. His chest tightened up whenever he tried. The questions made him dizzy.

She had other ways, though. She was surprised she’d managed to dig them up. There’d been so few photos or videos of Paris anywhere. By now, the videos of his time on-the-run far outnumbered any from his reign. He couldn’t imagine how much effort it must have taken her to find this one.

He shook his head. He didn’t see any reason to, did not want any reputation for sensitivity. Keyglades didn’t even stand out as one of the bad ones, anyway. 

“I’m okay, sir,” he said softly.

The video began to play.

It had sound.

Paris’s voice cut through the white noise. It was distant, grainy with analog. Still, Delta felt his ears perk up, immediately rapt. Unable to pry his attention away even if he had tried.

He could pick up on the irritation from the first syllable. The tape showed surveillance footage  a hallway within Keyglades’ city hall. It led away from the main conference area and twisted up into the further reaches of the government building. Delta had been pretty sure at the time it was restricted territory, that they shouldn’t have even went that far.

Paris’s speech had risen to the rapid-fire pace it always took when he was pissed. Delta swore he worked himself up just for sport sometimes. Paris didn’t want a solution, he just wanted to be mad. He should’ve known better than to interrupt.

On the tape, Delta’s voice was low enough that the exact words were indistinct. But the sound of the ringed hand coming down hard against his face had been picked up in crisp resolution.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?!”

It had caught him off-guard. It seemed to catch the others in the room off-guard now, some of them visibly flinching at the abruptness. In the tape, he had reeled, though he did not have long to do so. Paris’s hand caught on the loose fabric of his shirt collar and slammed him into the wall. His grip moved upwards, onto his neck. Tight and uncomfortable, but not actually choking. Just meant to hold him there. Make sure he couldn’t avoid it.

“It’s not about the fucking tax, it’s about the principle. That’s all it ever is with these people. Can you stop acting like you know better than me? There’s a reason nobody fucking asks you. Who the fuck even gave you permission to speak?”

Delta frowned, looking down as if he was getting scolded in that same instant. It had the same effect. He tucked his legs further beneath the chair, shielding them. In the tape, Paris pushed him to the floor — not a hard thing to do — and stomped down on his wrist. It was too mild for him to really consider a beating, but some blood had dripped from his mouth while he was on the floor, which is probably why she’d chosen it.

Maryam cleared her throat.

“Would you say there was anything exceptional about this event?” 

It took him too long to realize the question was directed at him. He knew they were all looking at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up from the floor.

“No, ma’am.” His hands balled up in his lap.

“And was this an atypical occurrence?”

“No, ma’am.”

“How often would you say you experienced this level of violence?”

That level, specifically? That much was hard to quantify. It depended on how quickly operations were moving, how much the plan was working, how badly he’d fucked up. He’d like to say he had a good track record when it came to his powers. He aimed to please. The worst of it came when he didn’t. He would have answered monthly if he’d been asked how frequently he was actually beaten. Those were the standout ones, the ones that left him sore for days afterward, the ones he most thought of as deserved. Well, justified. He deserved all of it.

But the tape hadn’t shown a severe beating. That kind of pettiness came much more frequently. Weekly, he guessed. Biweekly if things were going well. The other kind of biweekly if things were going poorly. If he counted the smaller things — the shoving, the hair-pulling, the grabbing — he would have said almost daily. But he didn’t count those.

“Weekly, ma’am.” He didn’t let his uncertainty show in his voice. He couldn’t pose it as a question; it wasn’t something they could answer. Weekly was a good enough approximation.

He saw Kitty’s eyes narrow dangerously. Her claws carved lines into the woods of the chair from gripping it so hard.

“This caused significant injury, as evidenced by the condition he was in when he first came to Galatea.”

The screen clicked abruptly to the photographs the nurse has taken just before she’d cast his arm. There were several of them, taken from different perspectives. The broken angle his wrist was held at. The thick, dark bruise against his ribs where they’d been kicked in. There was a whole litany of other bruises along his arms and neck. Handprints, implements. Nobody could argue they were obtained in combat. None of the photographs showed his face.

It was his first time seeing the full mosaic. He’d avoided the mirror whenever he could while it was happening. He remembered how badly he did not want Simon to see them, to have the proof of his failures be written out so clearly on his body. It felt a million times worse for Levon to see him like that. He wanted to apologize. He’d promise to do better, if he was allowed to. His lip bled from how hard he was biting into it.

The bruises were bad. Each of his separate ideologies burned in his brain, building and fighting each other. He’d failed. He’d earned it. Paris was fucking crazy. He’d never be able to please him. He’d deserved it. He was supposed to be better than this. He deserved worse.

Kitty’s hand brushed against his. He flinched, but forced himself not to withdraw it. Too well trained to pull away. She seemed to pick up on this as she drew her own hand back.

“Where are you?” she whispered. He couldn’t answer.

When he looked up again, Levon was staring straight at him, not at the bruises on the screen. As soon as they made eye contact, Levon looked inconspicuously to his watch.

“Think we’re gonna call it for today,” he announced. 

~

He’d expected to return straight back to his room afterwards, but nobody escorted him. Kitty led him through the airy hallways instead. This section of the building was made mostly of glass and white tile. 

“I swear this is their best kept secret,” she said as she pushed open the outer doors.

They entered into the bio-pond. The algae green ambiance contrasted sharply with the tidiness of Galatea’s interior. Despite her claim, a few other people drifted around the edges, absorbed in their own work. They didn’t pay the pair of them any mind.

It was the first time he had stepped outside all week. The damp air was suddenly much easier for him to breathe. She sat him down by the edge of the pond. A row of turtles sat on a log in the center of the water. The grass was soft, slightly damp. It felt cool against his palms.

Kitty leaned forward over the water, pointing out the fish that lived inside of it. He saw her claws poke out like she wanted to snatch them straight from the water, but she held herself back. 

He didn’t speak. Subconsciously, he tried to shield his arms, covering up the bruises from her sight. Of course, they weren’t there anymore. And when they had been, she’d seen them already. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, but he saw the sky slowly fading to purple by the end of it. The mosquitos were starting to bite. 

“Why don’t you hit me?” He’d asked when he finally had to return to his room. She went in with him, just for a little while, until she had to go back to her own. His head had drooped a little when he asked in, in its exhausted state.

“Whyyy would I hit you?” She asked instead, hooking one finger around his. This time, he didn’t flinch, felt no urge to withdraw it.

Because he was difficult, more needy than he’d been in years. Because he was evil, because he deserved it. Because she could. Because everyone else always had.

He shrugged.

“Never,” she promised. She brought his hand up to her lips, kissing it gently. 

His chest ached.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

[astraystayyh]

it kills me to think that a child was beheaded by israel in rafah, and the father’s first response was to lift him up for the cameras and for the world to see, in a desperate bid for the world leaders to do something. palestinians cannot mourn in peace, they can’t grieve their loved ones, they cannot offer them a proper burial, they cannot process their emotions and their losses. they turn the cameras to dismembered and beheaded bodies, torn and blown-up limbs. and yet nothing changes. nothing is done to stop this. where is our humanity? what good are laws and international institutions for if they dont stop this

[astro-nautics]

reading Sword of Destiny & i have feelings about that one confrontation between istredd and geralt. so i ended up doodling a little gerlion comic to give the witcher some comfort after that whole ordeal

bonus doodle under the cut!

[suzukiblu]

From Andromeda?

“Shit,” Superboy mutters, dropping to his knees in front of it, and that’s how the clone gets embraced for the first time in its four days of existence. He shouldn’t. He should know better. The Agenda made it. 

He should know better, but it can’t bring itself to tell him that. 

So instead it sobs into his shoulder, and he holds it tight.

[frenchfrywrites]

You know once I start I cannot stop myself

MINORS DNI

Warnings: switch male amab reader, switch Leona Kingscholar, drug usage (weed), sex while high, ruined orgasm, premature orgasm, (implied/very light) internalized homophobia, scent kink, slight dehumanization, blowjob, not very canon compliant

very loosely inspired by this, continuation of this fic, thank you to @pulpbeing for giving me the littlest nudge to write this :)

"I think I saw somewhere,” Leona begins as he blows smoke in your direction like the asshole he is, before he passes the blunt back to you, “someone said that the bible says it’s okay to be gay, if you’re high or some shit.”

You’re both on Leona’s bed, tangled in the mess of blankets, and buried in the mountain of pillows that smells like the beastman before you in a way that's intoxicating. The two of you started smoking a bit ago, and it’s just starting to hit right now, which makes it all the more difficult to figure out what the fuck he’s saying to you. You squint at him, like seeing him more clearly will make what he said any more understandable, before giving up and taking another deep hit. 

As you exhale, you notice he’s closer to you than he was before. “Are you even listening to me?” he growls, irritated with you, but not by much. His tail curls into a question-mark like shape. Cute.

“Yeah,” you pause to laugh at nothing in particular. Leona frowns, getting more irritated with you.

“Don’t laugh, I was saying something important,” he huffs. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize, but you can’t stop grinning at him, “I just don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” you end the sentence with another long drag. This time, as you exhale, you reach over and snag a hand around Leona’s waist, tugging him into your lap. He falls into you easily crossing his arms on your chest and laying his head on them as he gazes up at you. 

“Didn’t you stop looking for excuses a while ago?” you ask, passing him the blunt back so you can let your hands wander to Leona’s ass. Instead of addressing you, he takes a hit, then cups your face with his free hand. You get the message and part your lips so he can shotgun it to you. 

“Can I tell you something,” he sighs softly, licking into your mouth just as soon as you exhale the smoke. “I don’t even remember what it is I said to you,” he mumbles against your lips. He sighs out a weak laugh that dies quickly once you press your lips against his. 

Leona moans softly, clutching at your face as he sloppily deepens the kiss, then moans again as you grope at his ass. You can feel his cock harden against your stomach, and your own dick is similarly twitching and filling within your pants. 

He lets you lick into his mouth, lets you suck on his tongue and lips, and whines when he feels your teeth scrape against him. Cottonmouth is no longer an issue with Leona’s drool and spit pooling into your mouth. Yes, of course he’s normally lazy, but when he’s high he’s borderline dead weight, letting you touch him all over while his hands stay grasping onto you for support. It’s like he puts all his energy into not falling asleep, falling over, or drooling on you (things that happen a lot when he’s really stoned), and forgets that he can touch you too. 

“Wait, wait,” he gasps, pulling away from your mouth. Instinctively, you chase after him with a whine, but he stops you by pressing his hand hard against your face. “I said fucking wait, let me put this,” he leans over, delicately putting out the blunt in the ashtray on his bedside table. You’d honestly forgotten entirely about it with Leona in your lap. “Don’t want my bed to fucking catch on fire,” he mutters, then laughs as he readjusts himself on your body. 

He settles so that his cock is pressed nicely against yours, and shoves his nose into your neck. Your hands fly from his ass to his head, scratching behind his ears. He inhales deeply, before letting his tongue lick the skin there, moaning at the taste (smell?) of you.

Leona stays there for a while, or maybe only a few seconds; you’re sinking further and further into your high, losing track of time and space around you. The only thing you’re focused on is the man in your lap. He licks and sucks at your neck, his tail swishing back and forth, purring so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts. In fact, your brain feels foggy and sticky with thoughts, except, you think that the inside of your pants must be far more sticky than your brain is. You laugh at that thought, and Leona unlatches from your skin, glaring at you. 

“Sorry kitty,” you coo. He whines loudly at the pet name, jerking his hips against you. You figure that means he forgives you.

Quickly, his hands are under your shirt tugging it up so he has access to your chest. He pushes your pecs together, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples slowly, like he’s mapping every inch of your skin in his mind.

“They’re not tits,” you remind him, holding your shirt up so he can continue to play with your chest all the same. 

“Yeah,” he grins while squeezing and tugging at them, “they are.” You nearly roll your eyes, but he’s leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth before you get to it. 

“Oh,” you hum softly, more than pleased at the feeling of his tongue and teeth sucking and grazing along your nipples. You try not to think about how many girls' chests he’s littered with bite marks and hickey’s in the past. He’s yours now. 

Leona nuzzles his face against your chest, letting his fingers comb through the hair there. “Did I ever tell you how good you smell?” he asks, looking up at you. 

“Nuh,” you mumble, moaning when he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your pec. He hasn’t told you, but he doesn’t really need to. He doesn’t really do a good job of hiding how aroused he is by your scent.

“You smell,” and now it's his turn to moan, licking his way down from your chest to the waistband of your pants– your pants which are now uncomfortably tight with how hard you are. 

“Let me suck you off?” he asks, voice raw and thick with need. 

“Please,” and with permission granted, Leona pulls your pants down and takes your cock into his hand. You’re too far gone to think about grabbing a condom. Leona doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not like either of you are fucking anyone else these days. 

He kisses the tip sweetly, before descending along your length. Leona’s gotten much better at sucking cock since the first time he gave you head in the locker room. He takes you down his throat with ease, especially in the state he’s in now.

“You’re like a fleshlight,” and you didn’t really mean to say that out loud, but it’s true. When he’s high his throat is perfect for fucking. He’s so relaxed he’ll take anything you give him. Leona moans like a whore, swallowing and sucking around you. He pulls off after a moment, but it seems like it takes every ounce of energy within him to do so. 

“Fuck off, that was so hot,” he groans, stroking your length, “tell me more, keep talking,” he tries to command it, but it's him begging though and through. He's quick to suck you back into his mouth, missing the weight of you on his tongue.

“You’ve gotten so much better at this,” you grind your hips gently against his face as Leona deep throats you. “Learning what makes me feel good, ah, letting me use your mouth. Letting me fuck your ass and your mouth all the same, shit, just like that sweetheart, taking it like the bottom bitch you are.” He gurgles around your length, drooling and moaning as you slowly and shallowly fuck his throat.

“Can’t even imagine you topping, can’t imagine you were doing anything but getting your pretty ass railed,” Leona pulls off for a second time, in a rush, getting drool and pre all along his chin. 

“No, I can,” he protests, “I can fuck you, I can top.” You laugh, loud and hard.

“Yeah right,” Leona bristles, bearing his teeth at you. You hum, a spurt of pre leaking from your tip at the sight of him. “Okay, go get the lube then.” 

It takes longer than usual, both of you moving like you’re stuck in molasses, getting distracted with kissing and touching one another, but finally Leona is seated between your legs, naked and fingers coated with lube. He presses two against your rim and shoves them in roughly, making you gasp. 

“Fuck, start with one, asshole,” you hiss. Leona furrows his brows giving you a confused look. “It’s not a pussy, babe, you gotta be slow with me,” you remind him. He bites his bottom lip, looking apologetic, “just–” you shift slowly but surely adjusting to the intrusion that his fingers make. “Think about how I do it,” he nods at that, slowly moving and working his fingers into your ass. It’s majorly uncomfortable for the first few seconds– or minutes?– but then he wiggles his fingers against your prostate and you sigh, sinking into the bed beneath you. “There we go,” you moan. Leona purrs at the subtle praise, leaning in to press his lips against yours as he slowly works you open. 

“Can you take me soon?” he asks against your lips, doing his best to scissor you open.

“Add another finger, and more lube,” you instruct. He does as he’s told, easing out of you, and lathering his fingers before stuffing you full again. Your cock is leaking and twitching against your stomach, begging to be touched, but you hold off because you want him inside you before you cum. 

He might’ve fingered you for a whole hour, and you wouldn’t have realized. Every moment feels stretched, you feel like you’re drifting, and only the curl of his fingers and the press of his lips against your skin brings you back to what you’re doing. 

“Fuck me,” you finally gasp, squeezing around his fingers. It catches up to you quickly, the wave of your pleasure nearly crescendoing, crashing into an orgasm.  

Leona kisses you slow and deep as he gently pulls his fingers out of your hole once again. You take deep, shuddering breaths, trying to ground yourself, to keep yourself from cumming as he drenches his cock with lube. He presses himself against your entrance, and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close as he pushes into your ass. 

“Oh fuck,” he practically growls, feeling your tight heat squeeze and twitch around him. “Oh my god, hah, you’re so tight,” he whines. You beam at the praise, grinning from ear to ear, and then you’re giggling. Leona ignores your laughter, pressing his face into your neck and inhaling deeply as he sinks inch by blessed inch deeper into you. 

He doesn’t wait much for you to adjust, which is fine because yeah, he probably did finger you for an hour (it felt that way at least).

Leona snaps his hips into you, fucking you hard and deep, it feels like he’s in your stomach, hitting all the right spots, it’s so good you can’t focus too hard on any one sensation, simply bathing in the overwhelming pleasure that you’re feeling. And then it’s over.

Even though you don’t have the best concept of time, you know that was fast. His cum paints your insides, and he rides out his orgasm without care. 

“Sorry,” he moans once his hips still. 

“That was quick,” is what you say instead of “what the fuck” because, what the fuck. He whines, 

“I’m sorry alright?” he huffs, “you just felt too good.” 

You suppose you’ll take the compliment, but you’re a little pissed because you’re hard and denied what you know what would’ve been a killer orgasm. Leona pulls out his flaccid cock, and falls beside you on his stomach, shoving his face into a pillow.

“I’m gonna use you to get off,” you tell him before he can doze off. Leona moans, lifting his ass and wiggling it enticingly. It takes some time to convince your body to follow your brain’s demands, but then you’re pressed up behind him, rubbing your cock against his hole. You squirt lube directly onto his entrance, and show him how to properly prep someone. 

Leona’s back to purring now that you’ve got your fingers deep in his ass. His cock is only half hard, swaying between his legs as he grinds himself against your hand. 

“Fuckin’ needy,” you groan, draping yourself over his body– being careful of his tail– to kiss his neck lovingly. 

“Don’t you wanna cum?” he asks, which definitely translates to “fuck me please,” in whatever tsundere language Leona communicates in. 

“I wanted to cum with you balls deep inside of me,” you complain, pressing your fingers in roughly to punctuate your point. 

“Said I’m sorry,” he growls. You kiss his skin again,

“S’okay baby, I’ll give you another chance when you’re sober,” he mewls at that, clenching around your fingers. “But right now I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you’re fat and full with my cum,” it’s a threat and a promise. Leona arches his back further as your fingers leave him, his hole twitching and clenching around nothing while he waits for you to slather yourself with lube. 

Your name falls from his mouth in a long drawn out moan as you slide inside of him. He purrs loudly, reaching a hand behind himself, blindly reaching for you. You cage him in, sliding an arm around his front so he can cling to you as you start to fuck him deep and slow. 

It’s an honest to god relief to be fucking him. His insides are hot, sticky, and tight around your cock, sending waves of pleasure from your loins to your gut. Being denied an orgasm worked you up more than you’d admitted to yourself, and you can’t stop yourself from increasing the tempo of your thrusts, chasing your pleasure. Leona doesn’t seem to mind.

His moans are punched out of him, all high pitched and wanton, with each time that your cock fucks into him and brushes his prostate. His purring is loud, nearly covering up the wet sounds the lube makes and the sticky skin slapping against skin that comes from each thrust. 

You’re not going to last long, but you will last longer than Leona did inside of you. Reaching your arm lower, you take hold of his fully hard and leaking cock. He keens, jerking himself into your fist.

“Fuh-uck, please, make me cum,” he begs, his voice wrecked and weak. You wonder if you’re starting to come down as you stroke his cock with newfound control over your body. The sloppy, desperate movement of your hips sharpens, and you hit Leona’s prostate dead on with each thrust. His moans border on screams now, and you’re just as close. 

“Cum with me,” you mumble, quiet but you know he’s clinging on to every sound you’re making. He hears you, nodding and fluttering around you. 

A couple more thrusts and you’re thrown over the edge, finally finding the climax that you’d been chasing. Leona follows a millisecond later, dirtying his stomach and the sheets beneath him. You follow through on your promise, pumping his insides with your cum, filling him up. Leona babbles something incoherently, his nails digging into where he’d been holding onto your arm. 

“Shit,” he gasps once you’re both soft and tired to the bone now that the adrenaline has worn off. “Shit,” he drags out the word when you ease out of him slowly, and flop onto the bed next to him. 

“I might fall asleep before you, for once,” you admit, feeling like you’ve run a marathon. Leona snorts, 

“Doubt that,” he says as he rolls over to cuddle into your body. “If you fall asleep, then who’ll clean us up?” he bats his lashes at you, like that’ll work. 

“We’re both just gonna have to be filthy, until one of us can carry the other to the bathroom.” Leona shrugs at your words, 

“S’not gonna be me,” he whispers, closing his eyes as his breathing slows and evens out. 

You know you’ll be the one to care for him, and that doesn’t bother you one bit. And you know he doesn’t mind the drying cum and lube that’s smeared along your bodies as you regain your energy.

[stardustdiiving]

How evil is arlecchino and what is she cooking

As of 4.2, I’m really curious what they’re planning with Arlecchino as a character, especially as a villain/antagonist/morally dubious character, and how far/which direction they may go with that

Intuitively my impression is we’ll see her do something way more “villainous” than she presents herself as being for majority of Fontaine’s AQ in front of us right—(which isn’t a surprise given that, you know, Arlecchino nor the House of Hearth have never been presented as 110% ethical LOL) but I find myself not being in complete agreement with most analysis or speculation threads I see about Arlecchino’s morality and the like, level of sinister people seem to ascribe to her.

Idk how to put it, especially in regards to her children I do agree they are not a wholesome found family, that Arlecchino is not above pulling strings or using them for her own ulterior motives, but I kind of hesitate on the idea she only cares about the Hearth children as a means to the end/things she can control and there’s nothing else going on with her characterization wise there. I’m not saying that impression seems remotely unreasonable or unfounded, but just that it feels there’s something intentionally missing in how we are supposed to conceptualize her as a person

My main reasoning for this hunch is the fact they have not elaborated on Arlecchino and the previous Knave—who Arlecchino is stated to have taken over the position from by force. The extra tidbits I think about are that 1) Arlecchino was previously an orphan in the Hearth 2) the previous Knave is described as way, way crueler to the children of than Heart than Arlecchino was from when she took control of the House

Often, people’s major indicators that the House of the Hearth is kind of super fucked up are the NPCs we meet in world quests who are part of it and clearly suffering. But one thing I haven’t ever seen people mention w this that i think is a very interesting detail is, in The Very Special Fortune Slip Inazuma worldquest, where we stop this House of Hearth guy (Efim Snezhevich) from manufacturing tension between Watasumi/the Shogunate to restart the war with his other Hearth subordinates, at the end of the quest we get this dialogue that reveals he had been acting under the previous Knave’s directives:

It’s also mentioned he’s employing this plan in an attempt to “rebuild the prestige of the Knave” following Signora’s death, iirc? Now, see, the dialogue itself says that this is “assuming our captive is telling the truth” so who knows what’s really going on, but I find this a really odd/interesting thing to highlight. I’m a bit fuzzy on other world quests with Hearth members, and am not saying none of them were acting and subsequently being treated poorly by our Arlecchino, but like, this gives me a lot of questions especially when paired with implications this previous Knave seemed to be way worse

Like, what drove Arlecchino to take over? How unexpected and controversial was this within the House? Assuming the above information is all true it definitely says something this guy went rogue and acted on what the previous Knave would want and didn’t think our Arlecchino would greenlight it, which does feel consistent with the previous Knave being described as basically worse & crueler than our Arlecchino. It also makes me question how much house of hearth things we’ve seen outside the main story are the work of our Arlecchino or if there’s a bigger divide of loyalty. Heck, I could be wrong but it doesn’t even seem like we know if the previous Knave is dead or not

This isn’t me saying Arlecchino couldn’t possibly be treating hearth children worse than she wants us to know, especially ones who aren’t her “favorites” the way the fontaine trio seem to be, but I really don’t feel sure about making a solid conclusion of her exact level of malice the way ppl r generally understanding it rn when it feels there’s going to be more about her. Just the idea of she, as a Hearth child, clashed with the previous leader who was known for being cruel, overtook their position and took on less harsh methods of leading that made at least some members with more power/possible closer proximity to the previous Knave go rogue and try to commit atrocities in the previous Knave’s name…I feel this leaves a lot of room to suggest there’s more going on with how Arlecchino is as a person

I don’t mind if she’s just very evil and deceptive bc if she totally had me fall for thinking she was less evil than she actually was that’s fun tbh. But I feel people suggest that’s all her character could be with no degree of like, “sympatheticness” or deep grey morality and that if her character did go there it would be automatically poor writing and genshin walking back on making a truly evil woman when IDK. I feel you can claim at this point they have left it open ended and it’s never been completely confirmed she’s pure evil. Also sometimes I just get a hunch and feel cautiously confident in Genshin executing certain characters well. Not all characters, just certain ones. Especially given Fontaine’s character writing being very good and a character like Lyney feeling very solid to me when any development with Arlecchino would likely involve him and his siblings as well, I honestly feel open to the idea of Arlecchino being satisfyingly written to be both villainous/morally dubious but “sympathetic/likable as a person” in ways outside of just her ruthlessness if that makes sense

If I’m wrong/they drop the ball with it more than I anticipate I’ll eat my hat but I am pretty excited about her character and which way they decide to go with it. I will say the only potential impression I have of where they’ll go with her has been wondering if it will go in a “cycles of abuse” direction—I’d be surprised if they ever elaborated on Arlecchino’s character especially in how she feels about things and her also growing up as an exploited child of the hearth wasn’t relevant

[juney-blues]

why do i keep seeing posts about hypothetical allies who "don't know the correct terms but are enthusiastically supportive"

why are we making up this specific guy so much. why are you so obsessed with the idea of a straight person who would call you faggot but mean it in a nice way, because they just don't know any better.

this is an incredibly weird rhetorical advice, why am i seeing posts about it again

[wolfeyedwitch]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Sorry for the wait!

- - -

When Charles went in to check on the vampire, he instantly realized his mistake.

They were kneeling and looking up at him, blood bag entirely untouched.

He was so stupid! Of course they wouldn't take food just like that. The poor thing probably thought he was taunting them or testing them. Or maybe they came up with something even worse, who knows what horrors they have been forced to accept as normal.

"Ah. You're up." He tried to make his voice seem calm and content to limit any possible misunderstandings of intentions.

Who knows how effectively that will be, but at least he's trying.

Watching them carefully, he stooped down and picked up the bag. He held in front of him, handing it to the vampire.

"Here you are, dear. Please eat, you have my permission."

He didn't know what he'd do if they refused a second time.

Masterlist

CW: internalized dehumanization, it as a pronoun, disordered eating, past starvation

---

The vampire did its best not to appear tense as its new owner entered the room.

"Ah. You're up." He sounded.... not quite casual. Like he was trying for it, but missed.

Well, too late for it now. It just hoped that he would explain why he was upset when he inevitably punished it.

Its owner walked over and picked up the bloodbag, watching the vampire like a bug under a magnifying glass the whole time. He...

He held the bag in front of himself.

Out towards the vampire.

Offering it.

This was a new level of cruelty. It was one thing to avoid temptation when left alone; it was another thing entirely to maintain control when the blood was being held out in front of it like Tantalus and his punishment.

"Here you are, dear." His voice was more genuine now, a mix of pity and some other emotion it couldn't quite place. It wasn't any of the usual emotions it heard from owners: anger, disgust, or malicious glee.

"Please eat."

What?

"You have my permission."

What?

It hadn't done anything for him yet! It had only just arrived; why was he feeding it now, before it did anything to earn such privileges?

It hesitantly extended one crooked hand to the outstretched bag, expecting it to be taken out of reach at any moment. When it grasped the bag, it snuck a glance at the man's face once more, trying to see if this was truly allowed.

He gave a small nod.

With that encouragement, its control snapped. It snatched the bag out of the man's hands before he could change his mind. It raised the bag to its mouth and bit, savagely tearing it open and greedily gulping the contents.

The first taste was beyond description. It didn't matter that the blood was room-chilled rather than body-warmed, or that the taste of plastic and chemicals pervaded it. To the vampire, it was ambrosia, the finest thing it had ever tasted.

It wasn't just any blood— it was human blood. The best sustenance for a vampire, and the only kind that could fuel a vampire's preternatural healing. It had been denied the substance for longer than it cared to recall, subsisting off the animal blood it was given only rarely.

In moments, the contents of the bag were gone. All that was left was the gore it could feel coating its mouth and chin in messy smears.

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, it had made such a mistake.

How could it have been so careless, so disgusting as to make such a mess of itself? It could hear its trainer's voice echoing in the back of its mind, reminding it that if its owner was gracious enough to feed it, the very least it could do was be neat while eating.

Do you really want to remind your owner of what a disgusting parasite you are? If you act like a wild beast, you'll be treated like one.

As it tried in vain to wipe away the remnants of its meal (it could lick its hands clean later, but for now it needed to not anger its owner further), it made the mistake of glancing up to see the look the man wore. He was looking at it like a butcher looks at a lamb going to slaughter: dispassionate and assessing.

Like he was imagining where to make the first cut.

With that thought, it finally connected the pieces. The artist, his macabre art, giving it blood.

This was in preparation for a painting. It had to be. Its owner had decided after looking at it that it needed sustenance before he could start any project. It couldn't stop the shiver that ran down its spine at the thought.

To hide the mess it had made of itself, and to show proper gratitude and submission, it bent down. It was already kneeling, so it folded itself over its legs until its forehead touched the floor.

[soullessjack]

this is kind of a spitball but does anyone remember learning about the Japanese internment camps in WW2 and how all American-born Japanese citizens, including children and infants, were kept there on suspicion of being spies in the war? how “anyone with a drop of Japanese blood” qualified for incarceration? and everyone naturally responded to this with “how can a child or baby be a spy?” “how does being slightly Japanese make you a spy?” and everyone could so easily see the unfairness of that, but now with the case of Palestinian children and infants and American-Palestinian citizens, I have seen grown adults claim that the carpet bombings and air strikes and shootings and stabbings are all somehow fair, justified, deserved, etc. because they “grow up to be terrorists,” and it’s “Allah’s punishment for their sins.” that tiny little children “brought it on themselves” because god forbid a resistance group resists genocide.

we could see the unfairness then, enough for a fucking formal apology to be issued for it, but why can’t we see it now? is it because now it’s brown people facing unfair treatment and hatred and you can’t put them into your homogenous circle of whiteness like the Japanese? the words may be different, but dehumanizing language never changes. propaganda never changes, and neither does the American capacity for cognitive dissonance apparently.

[moonshynecybin]

oh i mean marcs crazy about his sport, more crazy than the others by a bit maybe but i actually meant he’s not not crazy outside his sport…? “off track im normal” chris hemsworth voice are you tho

i do wonder. how self aware of how crazy he is off track. like obviously on-track theres this feedback from fans media the other riders et cetera where theyre all kinda like. youre crazy and in fact a lil weird. and marc accepts that because hes a child prodigy who's won a buncha championships. its alienating but it lets him WIN ! but in terms of that off track stuff youre right i think he really wants people to think hes a hashtag regular guy (also maybe part of why he stuck to his hometown for a while among MANY other factors ofc) and thats fine. he wants people to get hes a person. but he ISNT normal and i always wonder. how aware of that he actually is. interpersonally. maybeeee theres also this thread where. okay because so much of his life IS dominated by racing/being in the paddock it gets subsumed into his "i have no friends that are competitors" post-valentino philosophy (that is. not entrirelyyyy true but not a lie either) and as a result he has no actual barometer for his ability to actually and for real be a normie....

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Why Not Us?

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six |

CW: Memories of mass murder, some internalized dehumanization, survivor’s guilt

-

Misae made it to the little bedroom before the moon rose, thankfully. He nearly tripped over the strange mattress on the floor, the one they’d blown up with air and then thrown blankets and pillows on. It was meant to be his bed, he thought, which made sense.

Anaya might let him on the real bed, but not to sleep. Wolves, like dogs, slept on the floor. It would be lonely, but it would make sense. Almost nothing did, now. Sitting in chairs, eating pizza instead of having to shift to eat the raw meat thrown into the kennels, wearing clothes and being asked if he would like something to drink… they didn’t seem to know what he was, to understand. 

He could hear them now, Eden, Anaya, and Vanessa, from down the hall. They talked and laughed, and Misae felt hollowed out at the sound, wishing he could be there with them.

Maybe there would be more pizza.

He laid one hand on his stomach. It felt… almost rounded. He’d never eaten so much or so well, not in all the life he had lived. He hadn’t had to fight over any of it, either. There hadn’t been the need to snarl and posture, or crawl on his belly and lick at an older wolf’s mouth, hoping they’d give him a few scraps out of pity or some dim affection.

The moon’s slow rise made him restless, bouncing on his toes as he tried to decide where he could safely change. The room was small, but he could fit under the big bed if he was smart about it. 

But then the humans would get into the bed, and if the mattress dipped low it might force him back out.

The call to shift prickled under his skin, and Misae stripped his shirt and pants off before it could take hold and leave him confused and trapped in the cloth. He tossed the sweatpants and shirt onto the bed just as he felt his spine begin to bend.

It always felt so good, when the shift started. Like waking up after a good sleep, coming back to where you belonged. He had always been meant to walk on four legs, and the human side was only what he was allowed for good behavior.

He leaned over, a sensation like goosebumps running up and down his arms and legs, setting his hair on end. The healing wound in his leg throbbed but some of the pain felt more distant as he changed.

It wasn’t that the wound disappeared, it was only that his wolf body knew how it felt to be injured with silver far better than his human body did. It knew how to ignore the pain, how to keep moving, because to let the pain take you was to be singled out to die. Wolves who were too hurt to keep going were wolves that starved, his instincts knew it. Wolves who starved died.

Everyone died anyway. It hadn't mattered how good they were when Bill didn't want them any longer.

He shuddered and shoved that thought aside. He couldn’t think about his family, not now. It would overtake him and he’d just be trapped in the grave in his mind, even if his body was here still breathing.

He couldn’t think about dozens of flat blank eyes, frozen in mute horror. He couldn’t think about the warmth still lingering in the stiffening bodies pressed all around him, about how Nina had tried to cover him and hide him from the shots even as she had been bleeding to death herself. 

Had Nina been his real mother?

It was possible. Their fur was the same, their eyes were the same. But some of the other wolves had fur and eyes like his, too. But... maybe Nina had been his mother.

Maybe she had known it, if only at the end, and tried to save the one pup she could.

The humans had tried to ruin them to each other, make them hurtful and hateful, but the wolves had found a way to love, anyway. In secret, when it was safe, and at the end when nothing was safe and it didn’t matter any longer there was one more way to love that Bill couldn't take from them.

It made no difference if you loved when you would lose each other anyway. In the end, the werewolves had loved each other, and it hadn’t saved any of them.

Except him.

Misae closed his eyes, stretching his shifting muscles and forcing himself to leave the dead behind, for now anyway. For as long as he could. 

Bones cracked and broke beneath his skin, painlessly reforming. Misae dropped to a crouch and leaned his weight forward on his hands, feeling bare, vulnerable fingers change to rougher paw pads and clicking nails. He stretched his front legs until the muscles stretched and burned and sighed, contented by the feeling.

Canine teeth lengthened and his ears grew. He twitched one just to feel it, exhaling a rough sigh as his tongue briefly lolled out. Fur spread over skin like a blanket, a little patchy but still warming his chilly body, and the bed on the floor called to him. He was tired, and the killing back at Bill’s house kept trying to worm its way past his moments of comfort and warmth in this new place, with these new people.

If he laid still, it would catch up with him, and he didn’t want Anaya or Eden to hear how wolves mourned, how they cried. He didn’t know if they would still comfort him then, or if they would turn angry at the sounds, or learn to hate him. Bill’s family hated the sound of the mourning wolves, beat them for their weeping in human form or for their howls as wolves. 

Who knew what regular humans would do? 

Misae only knew that Anaya and Eden had been kind, so far. But so had Aaron, sometimes - Bill’s youngest son had been known to scratch behind a wolf’s ears when none of the other humans were looking. Even Austin had once bandaged Misae’s leg after he’d gotten it caught in a fence and bled.

That didn’t make them any kinder when the werewolves broke the rules, rules no one ever said out loud but simply expected the wolves to learn by being beaten when they were broken until they figured them out. It had never stopped Austin from calling them all names, or laughing when they fought.

Human kindness always had limits. 

Always.

Even as he became the first form he ever knew, the stalking werewolf that Bill had never been able to separate from the boy whose body the wolf shared, Misae knew he had to hide. Not from Anaya or Eden, who had already seen him as a wolf. Not because he feared them.

He had to hide because they didn’t know to fear him.

Misae’s nose turned black and scents exploded into the world around him. What had before been just the light smell of cleaning products and maybe a pumpkin-scented candle was now a collection of stories he could read in the air and along the ground. Vanessa had walked in here to set up the mattress, having forgotten to take her shoes off after getting the mail. Misae could smell the grass she had stepped on, scent the slight shift in her smell of frustration when it took a long time to get the air pump working to set up the mattress. He could smell, on the mattress, long months spent idle with no need to be used. The faintest smell of a camping trip, some time in the past - the last time the air mattress had been needed.

The way his sense of smell changed was always what gave away when it was time to find somewhere to hide, before the silver light could touch his fur and call to him. It would make him want to run, to howl and see if any other wolves were nearby to answer.

What would he do if they were?

He had known only his own family. He’d never seen any werewolves that didn’t huddle together in the kennels, fighting over the barest hints of kindness shown to them by Bill and his family. If he met a free wolf, he might simply lay down, show his belly, and wait for them to tear out his throat when they smelled the kennels on him. 

Misae paced restlessly around the small room, limping and trying to keep weight off his injured leg, snuffling against the ground, tracing the hints of Eden and Anaya in here and then following the softer smell of Vanessa until he found the closet door was cracked open.

Perfect. Like a den.

He had to paw at it, whining softly with his ears flat against his head, looking nervously at the patch of moonlight that seemed to head inexorably in his direction. His heart raced beneath his fur at the sight. 

Bill had always said, over and over again, never let the moonlight touch you. It was the only rule the humans told the werewolves, and taught to the pups before they were put into the main kennels. During the full moon, for three nights, they would huddle together inside big wooden boxes that formed a kind of den. Anyone caught outside the den, by Bill or by the cameras, would be punished.

It was the first thing Misae remembered learning, while still toddling around on four short legs, a few weeks after birth. Never let the moonlight touch you. He'd broken the rule running from the guns, from the grave of his family. He'd broken the rule running from Austin. But… that had been different, hadn’t it?

Hadn’t it?

Misae clambered clumsily over a pile of cardboard boxes, blowing harshly through his nose as things packed inside clattered around. He pushed at them with his snout until he had made for himself a sort of barrier, protecting him from the world outside this tiny space. He turned in a circle and then laid down, ears flat, shimmering amber-brown eyes watching the silvery light that cut across the bed through the open doorway.

Beneath his nose, soaked into the floorboards years ago, he could smell a hint of a rose perfume. Left by some other person, long before any of the familiar smells of Vanessa's life had entered this place.  

The scent made him shudder, heart going cold.

Bill's wife Ada wore rose perfume. 

The smell of roses, for the children in the puppy kennels, meant one of you might vanish that day. Ada sometimes took them, luring them out with treats and soft words until she could get the loop around their necks to pull tight, leading them on the leash inside.

She mostly brought them back, after sticking needles to take blood or give what she called 'medicine' that put the puppies to deep sleep and left them groggy and confused upon waking. She mostly brought them back.

But not always.

Rose perfume drifting on the air was sometimes all the warning they got before a pup disappeared. 

The memories made him tremble and he whined softly, but quieted the sound as fast as he could. It was something all of them learned, not just how to hide from the moonlight but also how to be so quiet that none of the men and women inside the house could hear and think of them.

They all learned how to be, if only temporarily, forgotten.

Now Misae was the only left for Bill and his family to remember. He wondered if Bill would come for him, still. Try to find him. Or if, now that he'd outrun Austin, he'd let Misae go into a world where nobody was left to even love him in secret any longer.

It was Eden and Anaya he needed to hide from now. Not because they might hurt him, but because he might hurt them. Wolves were most dangerous when the moon was full, calling on their nonhuman blood. 

It made them monsters - hungry, mindless killers. 

Everyone knew that.

Bill made sure everyone knew that. 

He watched the moonlight’s slow crawl along the small room until his eyes drifted shut and he dozed off, his tail flicking occasionally. Once the moon began to set in the morning, just as the sun rose, he’d be able to be a boy again. Until then, he could relax into the form he was far more comfortable in even if he had been painstakingly taught to fear what it was capable of.

He slept deeply enough to have fuzzy, formless dreams. He was beneath all of his family, trying to crawl out from under them. They called for him, cried for help, whined and whimpered and shouted and cursed. 

The air was being slowly crushed out of him, and he desperately tried to get out from beneath the weight of their deaths, their memories.

He looked up to see straight down the barrel of Austin’s shotgun, the black within the metal circle, holding his death.

Found you, Austin said, softly. Time to go, Rusty.

Fingers touched the top of his head.

Misae?

He jolted awake and snapped out of sheer instinct, ears flat in a flash and teeth clicking together. He didn’t quite catch anything, but as his eyes opened, he saw Anaya looking down at him, eyes wide, her hand jerked back against her chest. 

“Misae?” She repeated, voice a little shakier this time. She was wearing sleeping clothes, and Eden was just behind her, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that had Misae looking in jealousy at skin only scarred along the underside of his chest, two odd half-circle shapes that didn’t mean anything to Misae’s mind. “Holy shit.”

“DId he bite you?” Eden asked, an edge to his voice. “Anaya, if he bit you-... isn’t that how it-... it spreads?”

Misae curled up tighter, whimpering, his heart picking back up into a pounding race that made him dizzy. He tucked his tail as tightly as he could and looked up with his chin pressed against the floor, licking at his chops nervously.

 “Naya? Did he-”

“No, he didn’t,” Anaya replied, frowning back at Eden, before dropping into a crouch. “And we don’t know that that's how it spreads, or whatever. Or even if it does spread. Who even knows what’s real and what isn’t about werewolves?”

“Before yesterday, I would have told you nothing is real about werewolves,” Eden said, hovering behind her. 

“And you would have been wrong, wouldn't you. Besides, he was asleep. I woke him up, that’s on me, not him. Hey, Misae. Hey there, honey.” Her voice softened, and she shoved some of Misae’s barrier of boxes aside, until she could hold out her hand and lay it down with knuckles on floor and palm facing up, between them. “It’s okay, honey. It’s just me. Are you good? We were worried when we didn’t see where you’d gone. You were making some noise in here, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

Misae’s nose twitched. He eased forward, belly to the ground, until he could slowly lay his chin in her palm. She let one finger gently scratch at the soft fur there and he whined. 

“He’s okay,” Anaya whispered. “I scared you, huh? You were having bad dreams, I bet. Don't blame you, this has been a really weird day. Just... the weirdest. Can I ask why you're here in the closet?”

“There’s a joke about being a closeted werewolf in there somewhere, but I’m honestly not awake enough to make it,” Eden said, but he moved back until he could sit on the bed. He didn’t quite relax, not yet, but the space helped Misae to feel a little safer. Eden didn’t look - or smell - angry. 

“Oh, shut up,” Anaya said, rolling her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. She wasn’t angry, either. “And don’t spend all night coming up with it, either. I don’t want to hear it when we wake up.”

“Well, now I have to come up with something. I have to come up with something and have it be the literal first thing I say to you when we wake up,” Eden teased, flopping himself backwards onto the bed and wriggling under the blankets, sighing happily when he was covered up. “Oh, this comforter weighs a ton. Perfect.”

“For someone who likes to sleep in the absolute wilderness like a caveman, you sure love a weighted blanket.” Anaya snorted.

"If I'm a caveman, that means you like a caveman." Eden grinned. "Ha ha, you're in love with a Neanderthal," He sing-songed. Anaya threw up a middle finger over her shoulder in his general direction, and Eden's smile only widened.

Misae wondered what a Nee-ander-tal was as his eyes flicked to the side, taking in the window, looking for the moonlight. To his relief, the curtains were closed.

The room was dark, now, except for a small lamp they’d turned on by the bed. There was no chance of the moon catching at his fur, calling him to hunt, to rip and tear and rend. 

Misae pushed himself slowly onto his feet, ignoring his throbbing back leg. Anaya smiled at him, and it felt like a reward. His heart beat faster for new reasons, and he followed her as she eased back and away from the closet, pushing past the boxes. 

When Anaya sat on the air mattress on the floor, Misae moved slowly onto it as well until he could lick at the corners of her mouth with his tail tucked underneath him. She laughed and pushed lightly at him, and he moved to lay on his side, paws curled to show her his stomach, baring his vulnerable throat.

“He likes you,” Eden commented idly from up on the bed. “Pretty sure that’s wolf for ‘you’re cool, let’s be buds.’ Also I think it means he thinks you're in charge."

"I am in charge," Anaya said, voice haughty, but there was laughter lining every word. "It's good that both you boys know it."

Misae shifted back onto his stomach and curled back up until his tail covered his nose. Anaya smiled at the sight, reaching out to scratch the top of his head. Misae sighed, eyes drifting closed again. He relaxed under the gentle affection. “There you go. All right, what matters is that you're okay. Let’s try to get some sleep, yeah? All three of us.”

He watched her stand up, ears drooping as she climbed into the real bed, next to Eden. He watched her get under the blanket, laying next to Eden. He laid on the floor where wolves belonged, missing the warmth of his family. Missing the den. Alone, here, on the ground. Werewolves weren't meant to be alone - he knew that, not from Bill or Austin but from how perfect it had felt in the den, in the kennels, when they were all together.

Anaya turned off the lamp, and darkness overtook the room.

The humans, he thought, would be blind in the dark. Misae could see everything, though. He could see the silvery moonlight held back by the curtains, could see Eden’s chest rise and fall, slowing as he slipped into sleep. He could see that Anaya stayed awake a while longer.

He listened to her breathing, holding back his whimpers until it slowed and deepened and he knew he wouldn't wake her. He could lay here, alone.

Well.

Not entirely alone. 

His family was here, even if they weren’t. They would never leave him, not fully, not all the way. Even now he could feel them nosing around him trying to find a comfortable spot. He knew the pressure of their bodies around him like he knew his own paws. He could feel their chill breath on his neck, the soft nuzzle of affection that he would never really feel again. He could sense snuffles and whines, jostles for position that sometimes ended with playful snarling and rumbling growls. He could feel Nina’s weight on top of him. Feel her body jerk with the shots she had taken that he hadn’t. He could hear them, in his heart, howling just outside the little house.

He could hear their cries, begging him to join them. He should have slept for the last time in the big grave with the rest of them. He had been meant to die with his family. He wasn't the fastest in his family, the smartest, the best hunter. He wasn't anything better than anyone else.

There was no reason for him to survive, no special ability or way of being he had that made him deserve this bed with its soft blankets when everyone he loved was quiet and cold in the ground, covered in dirt and decomposing now.

He hadn’t deserved to meet kind humans. He didn’t deserve to eat pizza until his stomach ached and sit in chairs. He didn't deserve hot water to clean the dirt and blood from his skin. Others in his pack had deserved it so much more, and they had been given silver bullets instead, and now...

Now Misae was the only one left who remembered them.

He closed his eyes against the way the darkness wanted to change shape, to make him see his dead family with all the blood and bullets. He listened to their wistful, spectral howls, just outside the window. Calling and calling and calling, crying to him and to each other.

Why you? Why not us, instead? Why not the little pups, why not the mothers, why not the older wolves who had been good for so long? You were never all that good. What about you deserved to live? Why not us?

Why was it you?

Anaya and Eden slept together.

Misae slept with ghosts.

-

@finder-of-rings  @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings 

@yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger

@dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood @fangedcinnamonroll @pigeonwhumps @yassifiedinformation

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Sea Changes

(Masterlist)

(Content: dissociation, fear, manhandling, conditioning, begging, threats of violence, objectification)

======================

Paris did come to deal with him, eventually. It couldn’t be avoided. But Delta found it strangely bearable. Fair. He knew Paris wasn’t hitting as hard as he could have, not as hard as he had a right to. He wasn’t yelling, either.

“Why the fuck would you put me in that situation?” He asked Delta, like he really wanted to know.

“I’m sorry,” Delta repeated, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s-“

“Stop!” Paris grabbed his shirt, “Cool it.”

Delta was like a ragdoll. He offered no resistance at all. He shut up when Paris told him to. There was a strange, foggy look in his eyes. It was scary. In that moment, Paris didn’t even have to try.

The spell didn’t break. Not for a while, anyway. Delta eventually calmed down enough to stop seeing the experiments whenever he closed his eyes. Their creaky voices stopped ringing in his ears. But even after the comedown, he was different. He was needy. For someone like him, this could not manifest itself in ordinary ways. What he experienced was an inescapable desire to be forgiven. 

==============

“C’mere,” Paris beckoned. He did so, immediately. Delta supposed not much had changed outwardly. He would’ve done it before too, but that was just following orders. Now, he felt differently. He did it because Paris wanted him to, because he wanted to be obedient, because he wanted Paris to approve.

Delta kneeled down beside him, closing one eye as Paris raked the side of his face, taking a handful of his hair. Not quite flinching away. Paris tightened his grip.

“Don’t be cute. Don’t think you’re safe just because I saved your ass this time. You’re not off the hook. I should make you wear chains the rest of your life for that little stunt. Tell me what you were doing,” He shook him a little.

“I’m sorry,” Delta repeated, “Thank you, Your Highness. I’m sorry-”

“God, you’re like a broken record,” Paris pushed him back, spinning in his desk chair.

“Sorry.” Delta winced, “I was just curious. I won’t do it again.”

“No fucking shit you won’t do it again!” Paris laughed, “Are you serious?”

“I’m really sorry. I just wanted to see it. I wasn’t doing anything.”

Paris grabbed his face again, studying him. Delta was telling the truth. They both knew it. He was too smart to attempt escape, all too aware of what would follow. Super-weapons don’t just walk off into the night without consequence. He’d never make it far.

“Okay then,” Paris released him. His voice was a little softer, “You know damn well you don’t have permission to access that, regardless. Stop taking advantage of my kindness. It’s not right.”

“I’m sorry. I know. Thank you. I’m sorry.” “Just shut up. If you think you can-” Paris froze. Delta had put his forehead to Paris’s knee, in an unmistakable gesture of supplication. 

With a sigh, Paris placed a hand on top of Delta’s head, gently tousling his hair.

==============

If Paris had enjoyed what it was like when Delta was subservient to him, he was totally unprepared for the calamity that was Delta feeling indebted to him. The little fire in his eyes had gone out. He didn’t argue anymore. The change came on so suddenly that the prince didn’t know how to react. He couldn’t berate Delta for his defiance anymore, as had become habit. He realized mid-sentence that it wasn’t true. Delta was trying. Paris had gotten what he wanted, really. The lessons ceased. Delta didn’t look at him with resentment anymore, but what had replaced it was a kind of sick longing. What was Paris ever supposed to do with that?

Delta forgot what it was he needed to be forgiven for. It changed everyday. It didn’t matter. He wanted Paris to like him, to earn the mercy he was continuously being shown. Because Paris had stopped beating him, for the most part. He saw the long stretches without violence as a kind of benevolence. It made him want to do better. The cycle went on. 

“It’s a good thing you’re behaving now,” Paris said. He was laying on his own bed, playing on his phone. Delta was kneeling on the floor. “Everyone found out about the breach. If they think I’m not dealing with it properly, they’re going to try and take matters into their own hands. You scare the fuck out of them. Can you look more penitent the next time we go out?”

Paris put the phone down, turning his head. He looked Delta over, then said flatly, “I should probably give you more visible marks.” 

Delta didn’t react to this. Paris hadn’t expected him to. He’d been so quiet lately. Paris guessed he was happy about this? Another victory for Paris? Yay?

He still wouldn’t let Delta out of his sight, even with the sea change. Paris only ever dismissed him for training or for sleep. Despite or maybe because of Nezu’s advice, Paris brought Delta out on business much more frequently, showing off the psychic’s intact limbs and unquestioning obedience. 

Delta knew he was being flaunted, but he didn’t mind it so much. It was only in public that Delta truly felt Paris was on his side. As if Paris’s anger at the world, for a moment, did not extend to him. He began to think of himself as an extension of the true Empire, the one that would prove itself indomitable. He needed to believe this. It was the only answer that made sense anymore.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @defire @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump

[st5lker]

it might seem a bit contradictory to be getting into political posting right after i talked about disliking the way tumblr makes me think but honestly most of what im talking about here applies to people on tumblr and non voters as well. tumblr makes me go knee deep into the “us vs them” mentality and generally makes me less likely to feel compassion and empathy for others, and more likely to dehumanize them, and thats exactly the type of thing im trying to step away from