#tw mass writing

[babygurl-era]

Weirdcore edit feat, me

TW:||dereality, small amount of blood(it's a exaggerated knee scrape) eye strain(?) Eyes, mushrooms, mass writing, flowers(?)

Let me know if there's any other TW u want added, don't view if u haven't read the TW!!

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.

Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.

Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?

He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??

Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.

The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.

Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??

He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.

Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.

——

“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.

Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.

“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”

Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.

“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”

Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.

Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.

He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.

(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)

“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”

“I kept them in line!”

Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.

“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”

“I-”

“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”

“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.

“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”

“Fine! Fine!”

——

And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.

Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.

In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.

Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…

——

“So, you’re The Phantom.”

“And you’re Sionis.”

Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.

Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.

“How did you get in here?”

Danny shrugged. “Walked.”

Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.

“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“So, you’re a Meta.”

Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”

Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.

“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.

“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”

Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.

“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.

“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”

“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”

Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”

“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”

Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.

“I’ve got her, Phantom.”

Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.

“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”

And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.

But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.

——

Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”

From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?

But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!

Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.

On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.

Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.

Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.

He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.

He sipped his drink as he waited.

“Batman.”

“Phantom.”

“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”

Batman stayed silent.

“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.

“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”

Batman snarled.

“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.

“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”

“You-”

“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”

Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.

“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”

Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.

“… Apologies.”

“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”

Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”

Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.

Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Dan’s effortless psychosis.

Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.

“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”

“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.

Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”

Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.

“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.

Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.

“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”

Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.

“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.

“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.

——

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”

“Hn.”

“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”

Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.

——

The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.

[glo-shroom]

yes & no by Natalie Wee | Trigun Ultimate Overhaul

[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

[teal-fiend]

A pred that blends in with society, but is therefore constantly surrounded by their ideal prey. 

It’s like being offered up a fresh burger, and it happens wherever you go outside. There’s so much delicious food available all of the time. It can be overwhelming. It’s hard not to overeat, and it’s hard not to blow your cover.

It’s also kind of heaven. You’ll never be without food. You feast like a king every night. You have a lifetime supply, a free buffet every day.

Maybe when you first arrived you couldn’t really help yourself. You ate too much, got a tummy ache, and you almost got caught. But now that you’ve settled down, you can dine at your leisure. You have no competition and no enemies. Only a whole lot of cute, friendly, trusting, tasty food.

[kyratittyfish]

After Alchera

Accompanying art for Chapter 2 of my post-Alchera fic, Between The End And The Beginning.

(I apologise for the angst - I've been going through Crappy Stuff lately and fictional angst is my way to cope with that.)

[vultureboi]

So I’m currently writing a MHA fic that I’ve been brewing up. And I’m only on the first chapter and I’ve killed 22 characters and an unknown number of civilians. I think I have the highest body count in fanfic history in just this one chapter? I killed all of class 1-A except Izuku(which he won’t be alive much longer) and I’ve killed Inko, Sato’s mom, iida’s brother.

Those last 3 were just bonuses. I have to kill off Izuku and Bakugou’s parents next.

I cannot say how utterly tragic this fic is. I’ve killed off 22 character in some pretty gruesome ways and am only at 4,926 words. This is the first chapter. It doesn’t end until everyone is dead. ;-;

It’s an afterlife fic, so I have to kill them off to use them later! But damn… like- my god. Poor Izuku is losing everyone he cares about because I’m going to make the last one to die be him.

Why am I doing this? For the cool designs I drew?? Is it really worth killing 25 characters?!

My brain: yes.

My heart: no.

[swan-of-saraswati]

I personally believe that religious horror is one of the creepiest genres/sub-genres there is, because of one simple reason - it takes something that you rely on to answer the greatest questions of life and humanity itself, and makes it your biggest shortcoming. Your faith becomes your greatest sin, and at that point, who can you even trust?

[one-little-nerd-stayed-home]

Good evening, can I interest you in some Shepard & Joker dialogue from my Mass Effect 2 file? ---- Shepard steps on-to the bridge and eyes the heat shielding readouts as Joker glances over his shoulder.

"We're a ways out from the reaper yet commander." "We will arrive at Mnemosyne in approximately 2 hours and 36 minutes." EDI volunteers helpfully.

"Just making my rounds." Shepard says, stepping forward to lean over Joker's shoulder.

“Well in that case, permission to speak freely Commander?” She glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Go ahead.”

“You are batshit crazy.” Shepard feels her mouth twitch. 

“Pot and Kettle Moreau, you're the one that signed on with known terrorists and then volunteered for a suicide mission with a dead woman.” 

“Excuse you I’m normal.” Joker asserts “All of my decisions leading to this point have been completely rational.”  Shepard manages not to laugh in his face out of sheer fucking will.

“Known Terrorists.” She repeats. "Suicide mission."

"You're here too." Joker says making a face.

"And you were just making a point about how I'm crazy." Shepard says, electing not to mention the part about how she doesn't exactly have a choice in the matter. That's an existential crisis for her private quarters only.

Joker groans. "Right. You're no fun to argue with."

Shepard does chuckle at that. "Pretty sure anyone who's been on my fire team could have warned you about that."

"There's another thing!" Joker exclaims, "Commander, what higher power did you made a deal with in order to get away with having this many people who hate each other and Cerberus on a Cerberus vessel with a cerberus crew, which you, a known Alliance soldier and Spectre are leading and no ones been shot yet.” Shepard rolls her eyes.

“That's classified. You should know, what's the encryption on your file about the deal you made to keep getting onto ships where your smart mouth doesn't earn disciplinary action?”  

“Oh that's all you commander." Joker says airily. "I gotta watch what I say around the Cerberus brass, same as anyone else.” 

“You saying discipline is lax under my command Moreau?”

“Wouldn't dare, commander. You’d probably make me fly laps around a volatile failed star, or dock with a reaper or something. Oh wait." Joker releases the controls to tap his chin in mock consideration. "We're literally enroute to go do that. Because you're nuts" Shepard snorts.

"What, is the best pilot in the entire alliance going to back down from a challenge?" Joker half turns in his seat, incredulous.

"You are so goddamn lucky I decided to steal the Normandy two years ago to spite a Turian." Shepard raises both hands in mock surrender.

“And I thank my lucky stars every day that I have such a normal and rational pilot at the helm of my ship."  

“Yeah yeah fuck you too." Joker says without any heat. Something pings in the ship readouts and he turns back to the controls. "Anyway. EDI and I are trying to figure out how to drop you off on a derelict reaper without getting caught in a star's gravity well and burning us all to hell. So if you don't mind-"

"I'm sure you two will manage it." Shepard says turning to leave. "Obviously. I'm the best pilot in the Alliance and possibly in Citadel space."

"And Humble too." Shepard says over her shoulder. "That may be a stretch." EDI says. "Oh she's got jokes." Joker remarks, "Great." Shepard lets the door hiss shut behind her and heads back to the CIC chuckling quietly. The whole galaxy feels tilted slightly, listing to one side. It has ever since she woke up in the lab with Miranda leaning over her. But at least out here Joker's still a contrary shit who jokes around instead of dealing with anything. Not that Shepard is any better. Thoughts for later. When she has her breakdown. In her cabin. After they investigate the reaper corpse and hopefully escape whatever fate met the original science team.

Easy.

Shepard sighs.

[dorklyelectric]

Day 1 of reposting stuff from Tw*tter... and getting used to tumblr again.

[the-tragic-heroine]

死鬼祭 | Shiki Matsuri

fandom: tokyo revengers

characters: kurokawa izana, kakucho, haitani ran, haitani rindou, madarame shion, kokonoi hajime

pairings: tenjiku x female reader

cw: blood, violence, major character death, supernatural elements, mass murder, angst with happy ending, kinda, she/her pronouns used for reader

tags: @akemiixx01​

—✧ SUMMARY ✧—

The villagers say that you cursed them all. You believe that they were the ones who cursed you. (Or, in which the circumstances of your unfortunate birth woke a forgotten, slumbering god.)

Very vague depictions of the supernatural here, and a few cameos of specific yokai if you can spot them! Title is based off of a song by KODOKULOVE! More characters may be added as the story progresses.

Read on AO3 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

CHAPTER 柒 SEVEN (FINAL)

“Welcome back,” Izana said as you settled back into your own body again. “Are you with me?”

You nodded, staring straight ahead.

“Good. How do you feel?”

“Awful,” you replied bluntly. Then, “Was that really me?”

Izana hummed. “Who knows… but I like to think that it was. Some way or another, you came back—and I believe that somehow, I was given the chance to make things right.” When he looked at you, you were transported centuries back to those same amethyst eyes: divine and ethereal in its majesty, but shedding tears like a heartbroken human man.

“It hurt,” you told him honestly. “It hurt more than the day I was bashed over the head and burned with a torch. I should hate you for making me go through that. Yet…” You trailed off. “Yet, I can’t. I can’t hate you because now, I understand.”

The you who grew up with nothing would have never been able to comprehend the pain of losing absolutely everything.

“The Sano household still stands, even to this day,” you said. “But my family’s old home has long since been built over. They erased both you and us from history and replaced it with the legend of a cunning fox, who tried to disguise itself as a human woman so it could kill the village lord. Not even my mother knew the truth, as it died along with me that night.” You met his piercing gaze. “But you knew, didn’t you? You knew the second you saw me and the blood that came out from between my legs. And the guilt of it followed you forever.”

Izana said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m sorry for deceiving you. I’m sorry for leaving you all alone.” You smiled at him, eyes dry and free from tears. “But I’m here now, so let me help you.”

This time, when Izana smiled back, you found that he had never looked more lovely.

—✧—

The remaining walk to the village did not take very long, and when you both arrived, you could not even be shocked anymore at the sight that awaited you.

It was as if the entire village, from the rooftops to the streets, had been doused with foul, oozing tar. The malevolent spirits clung onto the sides of buildings, adhered themselves to the weary, zombie-like villagers who appeared to have lost all will to live. None even seemed to notice me as I peered out from behind the trees near the village entrance. Farther into the distance, I recognised the looming presence of the painfully familiar Sano household and its demons, sitting at the very top of the sloping hill.

“How unfair,” you said, “that one man’s sin would be enough to doom an entire civilization.”

“Such is the nature of man,” Izana replied, voice carried by the breeze.

Perhaps the long dream had broken something deep inside of you, because when your gaze came to rest on a crumpled heap along the side of an alley, surrounded by bloodied sticks and stones and with a cloud of both flies and demons hovering overhead, you did not even blink. Probably because the body reminded you a bit of yours, all those centuries ago… and you could no longer find within yourself any remaining ounce of sympathy left for the villagers who had shunned you and your bloodline, tortured you throughout your entire life, for a crime you had never even committed.

You did not feel human when you turned to Izana and said with a smile, “Burn them all.”

—✧—

It was the night of a full moon when you and Izana led an army of a hundred yokai to descend upon the village—but the only person the villagers saw was you. As if in a trance, they watched silently as you walked through the center of all the buildings, eyes set straight ahead, ignoring the chattering monsters that began to crawl close behind. When you reached the foot of the hill leading up to the Sano household, you finally turned around.

Behind you, Izana was already waiting, invisible to the eyes of the mortal men. All he had to do was raise one hand—and then, the massacre began.

Screams blended together with the laughter of Izana’s contracted spirits as one-by-one, the houses burst into flame. Wooden rafters creaked and groaned, snapping and smoldering while people desperately scrambled for safety—only to run headfirst into the jaws of the eagerly awaiting yokai, who devoured their souls and left only empty husks behind. The demonic entities that clung to the village were swept up into the chaos, latching onto and attacking both humans and yokai alike—but they were nothing more than fodder for Izana’s army, who quickly consumed them as well.

You caught glimpses of your shrine’s men in the crowd; Ran and Rindou were all too happy to stomp the demons flat, not caring if any humans were in the way. Shion killed any creature who crossed his path, human or demon, occasionally having to be yanked aside before he could attack an ally by accident. Kokonoi mostly stayed on the sidelines, away from the violence, but did not hesitate to crush any victims who strayed too far from the center of the battle. And you watched as Kakucho, whose eyes once swam with guilt and remorse, guarded the village border—catching whoever made it far enough in their attempt to escape and ripping their hearts from their chests. When he raised his head and briefly caught your gaze, you saw that he wore an expression of nothing but cold dedication to his duty.

As buildings and villagers collapsed and burned alike, you stood at the center of it all. Dying people cried out and begged for their lives like you were a god. How ironic, you thought to yourself as they perished like ants beneath a merciless heel; you had once died here, too, like nothing but a wounded animal, without even the chance to plead to your own beloved god for salvation. You wondered, if you could have chosen how you died, which you would pick: burning together with your people, or bleeding out alone in front of an entire village’s scrutiny.

The sudden touch against the back of your hand dragged you from your thoughts and you found yourself blinking up at Izana, who slipped your hand into his. As he interlaced your fingers together, he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours—mirroring the night of your death. You closed your eyes, letting the sounds of destruction fade into the back of your mind as he spoke.

“This is not the end,” he said, his voice a gentle caress. “This is only the beginning. Let this be the day of our rebirth.”

“Our rebirth,” you echoed, and closed the gap between your lips. In that moment, encircled by death and fire, you had never felt happier.

—✧—

The Sano manor was the only building still standing after the rest of the village was reduced to piles of smoldering ash. You stood before it, matchstick in hand, facing the same doors you had once been thrown out of.

“You tried to erase our bloodline,” you told the house, lifting the match into the air. “How funny that instead, mine will be the only one that remains.”

The match sailed through the air, flame dancing to a familiar melody. When the manor began to burn, instead of the crackling of flames, you heard the humming of your mother while she brushed your hair, woven together with the whimsical laughter of your little brother and sister.

You sat and watched until the house was no more, until all that was left of the fire was the curling of smoke into the air. Until you could no longer hear your family’s song.

“Goodbye,” you said, and cried.

—✧—

“Go sit down,” Rindou snapped at you as you tried to help sweep up some of the debris. “You shouldn’t be here anyway! You should be resting back at home.”

“She’s not a doll, Rin Let her do what she wants,” Ran piped up, standing so that he could stretch from where he had been moving rubble off to the side. “Ugh, some of this stuff is getting into my hair…”

You rolled your eyes at the two of them and huffed. “You guys are absolutely useless at cleaning. Especially Ran. That’s why I’m here, because the mess should have been cleared by now so we can actually start rebuilding everything!”

“Oh, come now,” Kokonoi laughed, sticking out his tongue at your bickering. “Why not pay for some more help? Not that I’m offering to spare some of my own money, though.”

“You’re useless too,” you grumbled right back. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to ask us to pay you to help! Why does Izana still keep you around? Also, where the hell did Shion go?”

As if on cue, a bloodcurdling screech erupted from a rubble pile a short distance away, before Shion popped into view with a disgruntled tanuki dangling by the tail from his clenched fist.

“Ever since we destroyed everything, this place has been crawlin’,” Shion said, eyeing the wriggling creature. “Might as well eat some of ‘em, right?”

You dropped your broom. “Shion! Let it go!”

“It’s lively here, but somehow, it seems that even less work is being done,” came Kakucho’s smooth, deep voice from behind you, right as Shion begrudgingly dropped the poor tanuki. It scampered back into the forest.

You sighed. “It’s like wrangling with children. I don’t know how you and Izana manage it.”

Kakucho laughed, and you were once again struck by the raw beauty of his happy face. “Well, when you’ve been together with these guys for hundreds of years, what’s just a few minutes more in comparison?” He patted your shoulder. “Take a break. I know you’re excited to get things finished, but there’s no real rush. There are no people left aside from you now, after all. And, well, except for…”

A loud yell and crash interrupted him mid-sentence, the two of you looking up just in time to see Izana cheerfully kicking Shion into a mountain of splintered wood. Ran and Rindou guffawed while Kokonoi snickered into one of his fluffy tails. Kakucho rolled his eyes and set off to help Shion up, who was now loudly complaining about splinters, leaving you to watch the scene with a little shake of your head—but unable to wipe the affectionate smile from your face. You were still smiling when Izana made his way over to your side.

“You look happy,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before wrapping his arms around you with a sigh of contentment.

“That’s because I am,” you replied, laughing softly. “I never thought someone like me could ever be happy in this lifetime… but thanks to all of you, I’ve been proven wrong. Even though it took a lot of pain and heartache to get here.” And human sacrifices, your mind added helpfully, though you chose to ignore it.

Izana rested his chin on your shoulder with a pleased hum. “If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you.”

You closed your eyes and smiled. “If you say so. And what about you? Are you happy?”

You felt the curve of his lips against your neck as he responded without hesitation. “Of course I am. And so are the others. We’ve waited centuries to find our happiness again—and now that we found it, we don’t plan on letting you go.”

“I’m… your happiness?” Your words came out in a shaky whisper.

“…Always have been, from the very start.”

The tears of joy rolling down your cheeks became glistening sparkles underneath the warmth of the noontime sun. “Then, don’t. Don’t let me go. Let me stay by your side for the rest of my life—and for the rest of yours.”

“You’ve gotten better with your words since becoming one with me,” Izana said. “Do you feel any different, now that you’ve joined me in becoming a god?”

“Not really,” you said, after some thought. “I feel exactly the same. Who knows, maybe I was actually god all this time! After all, gods are formed from the power of belief, right?”

Izana hummed. “Indeed. This world works in mysterious ways—but that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?”

“At the very least, I do feel like I’ve been reborn, like you said.” One of your hands found its way atop of Izana’s, where it rested over the slight swell of your stomach. “So I hope that it’s a sign of this village’s eventual rebirth, as well.”

“I’m sure it is,” he replied, closing his eyes. His long eyelashes brushed against your skin in a fluttering kiss. “We’ll rebuild it together, piece by piece.”

—✧—

a/n: Sorry if the ending was rather abrupt kdasjlsl I ACTUALLY HAVE ANOTHER FIC I PLAN ON DROPPING SOON SO I JUST WANTED TO FINISH THIS UP QUICKLY SO I CAN GET TO IT!! also, what do you guys think of an epilogue?and btw, before anyone asks about the logistics of how they're gonna rebuild an entire village with just y/n and the boyz, there are neighbouring villages and travelers who will eventually move in and settle permanently! as for how repopulating the village with humans as a god is gonna work, idk just go with it LMAO THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING THIS WAS A WILD RIDE AND BY FAR THE LONGEST FIC I HAVE EVER WRITTEN I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT!!! NOW ONTO MY NEXT ONE!!!

[ofdinosanddais1]

A bit of a controversial idea I have for a musical is one that takes place during a school shooting where each of the anonymous victims have their own song relating to their interests and individuality as a person and how kind they are to everyone they meet and they're all killed by a masked shooter. Each of their songs allude to someone who could be the killer but it's never made clear.

Then, at the end of the musical, the masked shooter looks like they're about to do a mask reveal but they don't and they go on to lecture the audience for wondering who the killer was and how notoriety fuels the violence and how they'll probably blame it on bullying or a bad home life but that it shouldn't have been the focus of their thoughts because they just killed several people and the audience doesn't even know their names.

The reason I call it controversial is obviously because it's a musical about a school shooting but music has the ability to provide catharsis and remembers the individuality of the students and that's why the shooter will never get a song because that's just notoriety for a horrible person the world shouldn't reward with recognition.

And yes there are people that do recognize the victims but the point isn't that nobody remembers them. It's that the audience will resemble the media. The ending song will be from the family and friends of the victims who will give names to each of their loved ones who were lost in the massacre. The shooter will never be revealed because notoriety is what they want.

And, yes, overall mass shootings are little more than just notoriety, it's a complex situation with many factors but violence and attention are the main ones. Bullying can have a hand, abuse can have a hand, but all these issues stem from violence the world feeds.

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"You know that shooting last week? / I will admit the number dead / was too low to startle me" 

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Only One Alive

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |

CW: Buried alive, digging out of grave, referenced mass murder, werewolves, nonhuman whumpee, captivity, escape, dehumanizing language, my boy is a survivor

-

Earlier

Misae hadn't known what was happening, at first. 

He’d been locked up alone in a cage in the barn for a week straight after accidentally nipping at Ada’s hand the last time the humans had cut him to take blood. He’d been able to hear the noise of the packs in the kennels, at least, and had sometimes howled just to hear their answering howls in return - until Bill or somebody else came out and yelled and they all went silent again. 

All day, there had been the grumbling roar of machinery somewhere off in the big clearing behind Bill’s house, where the humans lived. All day, things had driven close and then far, close and then far. When Bill’s younger son Aaron had brought Misae his midday meal, he’d dropped the bowl through the bars in a hurry so he could rush back outside, to help or to watch. He’d ignored Misae’s hesitant questions - until the moon rose, he’d been human in shape, curled up in the cage with a blanket over his lap. 

The real humans always ignored them, or hurt them, when they tried to speak. Misae mostly didn’t talk anymore. He had been whipped too many times to keep trying.

It was only after the moon rose, and the shift had taken hold and the voices of Misae’s family had switched from soft human speech to rumbling growls and howling, that the machinery stopped its cacophony.

Shortly after that, the dying began.

At first, the sounds he could hear didn't make any sense. Misae had flattened his own ears against his head to muffle the shouting of the real humans, but it still hurt. Even here, forgotten inside the barn, all the yelling and ordering and threats had been deafeningly loud to his canine ears. 

He’d ended up trying to press his paws up and over them, but even that wasn’t enough.

The sounds the packs made were even more confusing. He could hear the cries of them all, young and old. One of those howls might be his mother, or a deeper pleading for mercy could have been from his father, but the children born in the kennels were never told who had borne them. 

The humans didn’t think werewolves should remember their children, who Bill called ‘puppies’, so they took them after 12 weeks and washed their parents’ smells off them and then handed them off to be raised in the kennels by all the shifters together. 

Misae had never know which voice singing a lullaby might have been the first. Everyone was his mother or father, and no one was. 

For a while, lying in that cage in the barn, he’d heard the pleading and the shouting, fear and rage, uncertainty and maybe even occasional hope that this might be freedom.

Then the first shots rang out.

The loud, horrible sounds of the special gun with its huge silver bullets had gone on and on and on. There had been high-pitched squeals and canine screams. Maybe they were being moved, and needed to be herded onto trailers. They’d moved once, a long time ago when Misae was still carried on someone’s hip. They’d been pushed into trailers in sweltering summer heat and driven from Bill’s last house to this new one, built far away from everyone and everything. 

A few from the packs had protested and tried to fight back. The guns had come out, then - the first time Misae had ever heard them. A couple of the wolves had been shot to show all the others how serious Bill was, and they’d all been good then.

So, for a while, Misae thought they were just herding the wolves, and shooting stragglers or fighters.

But… the shots didn’t stop.

They went on and on and on, with the humans only pausing long enough to reload before firing again. 

The howls of pain built, voices layering over each other. Something was happening that had never happened before, in Misae’s memory. They weren’t culling, killing the rebels and fighters to leave behind the softer, sadder, obedient wolves to be studied. 

Misae was listening to them die.

All of them.

It was Austin who eventually remembered Misae, alone in the barn. Austin came in with a white face and white-rimmed walleyes to unlock Misae’s cage. He tossed a loop of heavy rope over his head, jerking it tight enough to choke him as he slowly dragged him out. Misae [pressed himself against the back of the cage and dug his paws into the dirt, but he wasn’t strong enough. His nails left marks in the dirt. 

Tail tucked under his body, he was forced inch by inch towards the barn door and the squeals and whines and whimpers. They were begging not to die, asking why. The packs had been so good when studied. They had been obedient animals and they cried in confusion and terror when it wasn’t enough, asking the humans over and over why this was happening, what they had done wrong.

The humans couldn’t hear any of it. They didn’t have the right kind of ears.

But Misae did.

Later, he would see that Bill’s family shot the werewolves with silver under the light of the full moon because it was easier to kill them as wolves rather than face murdering them as men. At the time, though, he understood nothing but his own fear. His only awareness was of the pounding beat of his heart being maybe the last thing he would ever feel other than pain, the darkness that would follow it, and finally the promised, inevitable fires of Hell.

Monsters only had one afterlife, after all. Bill always said so. 

“Come on, Rusty, you stupid fucker,” Austin snarled, but his heart wasn’t in the anger he put into his voice. Misae dimly realized Austin was scared, too. “Dad will blow a gasket if he realizes I forgot you were in here-... come on!”

Misae whined. Austin jerked the noose tight again to cut the sounds off, but he wouldn’t look right at Misae as he pulled him along. Austin looked like he’d seen a ghost. No, he looked like what he was - someone not much older than Misae was, forced to make ghosts. He’d probably made three dozen of them by now as Misae listened-

Misae tossed his head back and howled.

No one answered the call.

No one was left with enough breath to do it.

There was a big hole dug in the clearing.

That’s what the machinery had been doing all day, dragging huge piles of earth up and out, depositing it into a big pile off to one side. A hole like a wound in the grass had been left, nearly filled now by blood and fur and open, unseeing eyes. The sight loomed so large in Misae’s mind that he didn’t really see it at all.

His mind instead simply let horror wash over him even as it refused to accept the images his eyes tried to share. He would never be able to clearly recall the sight. He owed it to them, his pack, his family, to remember their deaths but his eyes and his brain would never allow it. Instead, he heard the sounds.

Some of them were still whimpering, when Misae was pushed up to the edge of the hole. Some of them were still whining. Some of them were only breathing, loud, heavy gasps that held too much blood in struggling lungs. He heard them all.

He would hear them all in his sleep, when he slept, for the rest of his life.

When Misae turned his head away from the horror of the pit, his eyes met the depthless black of the barrel of Austin’s gun instead. Austin’s hands were shaking, and the barrel kept dancing too far to the right or the left, unable to settle on its aim. 

Misae dropped his head slightly. He let out a soft, plaintive whine.

“Shut the fuck up,” Austin hissed. He looked like he was going to be sick any second, throw up all over the dead wolves behind Misae or all over himself. “Don’t do that. I have to-... I have to.”

Misae looked away again. He made himself take one step, and then another, hovering just at the edge of the pit, looking down into a dozen open eyes, some wide with fear, and some seeing nothing at all any longer.

“Look… I’m sorry, Rusty,” Austin said, voice low. “I really am sorry. But I have to.”

BOOM.

Misae’s heart stopped.

His body toppled forward and he fell gracelessly into the pit.

Misae landed heavily on top of warm bodies, smeared in blood. It smelled like his family, and like metal and fire, and death. He knew what silver felt like in his body, how badly the agony would overtake everything else. It confused him when he realized he didn’t feel that pain. How could he be dead without hurting first? Had it been instantaneous, a shot to the head? Was he going to drift here in a corpse-body until Hell came for him? 

He stretched one paw and then another. He took the deepest breath he could. His heart was still beating. He was alive.

Austin had missed.

The relief was overwhelming. One of the others was trying to move, Nina he thought, and her huge paw pushed against Misae’s snout, forcing his head to turn painfully to one side. He nearly bit his own tongue to keep from making any noise. Her huge body settled over his, jerking reflexively as she kept trying to move. Nina whined, low in her throat, again and again.

Someone else rolled, and pressed against him on another side.  

He heard Austin above him, sounding farther away than he really was. There was another shot. Nina jolted and went still. “Okay… okay, got him that time. I’m sure I did… I’m sure.” Austin didn’t sound sure. His voice trembled. He retched, and Misae listened to him and wondered why he was losing his supper over the murders he had been the one to commit.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Someone else soothed. Sandra, Misae thought, maybe. Bill’s wife. “Remember, not ‘him’... ‘It’. Don’t act like they’re people. Doesn’t matter if you hit it, it’ll suffocate once we get the dirt back in, anyway.” Her voice softened. Misae could imagine she hugged Austin, her precious son. What was having a mother like? “You did a good job, Aussie. It was a cleansing. The versipellis is washed clean and clear, and we can begin again. Your dad will figure out a cure one day, I know he will. He’d been led… this is his calling.”

“I hope not,” Austin replied. “I hope we’re… I hope we’re done, Mom.”

Nina, on top of him, was going limp, turning to dead weight. Misae could barely breathe.

“Dad will stop trying to figure out werewolves now, right?” Austin sounded… young. And softer, maybe further away. They were leaving. “We won’t have to do this again?” There wasn’t a reply, not one that traveled to Misae at least. After a pause, Austin made a noise of despair that made Misae want to laugh, with hysterical loathing and panic. “Please, Mom, tell me he’s going to stop now. Tell me he won’t just go find another group to run his tests on. Please tell me he’s done!”

The roar of the big machinery began again, and Misae didn’t know what Sandra might have said next. 

Would there be other wolves in the kennels, soon enough? Other puppies born in the shed and then taken away to be blood-tested for the sickness? Would the new wolves smell the deaths of the last ones, and know that they would probably end up here, too, once all these bodies had turned to bones?

The first heap of earth fell.

All of those still alive began a new and frantic struggle. Their howls were more like screams, now, so loud that Misae’s whole head throbbed with them. He knew he was making sounds, too, but he couldn’t really hear them over his own heartbeat and the sound of static inside his head. He couldn’t even begin to stop himself. He could feel the vibration in his throat.

Another of his pack - Den, lying beside him and who was probably a littermate, even though nobody was supposed to know who their litter-siblings were - had gone still, too. Misae tried to wriggle out from under Nina, but her weight felt impossible, and with every passing minute more and more dirt fell. Covering the wolves, cutting them off from the moonlight. Misae went blind, except for a little sliver he could see when he dared open his eyes, before he had to clench them shut against the dirt that kept trying to work its way in.

For a while, he was surrounded by the whines, the whimpers, the pain and fear. His pack still begging for mercy, even now, even as they were buried. Wriggling, hot fur and the smell of blood overran every other scent in the world. Blood and silver, burning them from the inside out.  

Each of their voices went silent, one by one.

Eventually, finally, he could hear his own whimpering.

Misae was the only one left making any sound. 

Still, he could see a hint of the moonlight against the back of his closed eyes. The dirt was heavier on one side of the hole than the other, it hadn’t been evenly filled in. They might come back and push it over, though, make it solid and impenetrable, rob Misae of the air he still had to breathe. Hide the grave, cover it in new grass or clover or flowers. 

He couldn’t hear the machine any longer.

He couldn’t hear people, either.

How long Misae laid there, he didn’t know. The bodies around him were becoming more solid with every passing minute, weighing on him more heavily. His own heart kept pounding, but he thought he was the only one. He would die here, under the dirt, surrounded by the corpses of his family. It was the longest he had ever been allowed to be here with all of them, and it would be forever. There was something… nice about that.

Misae was so scared of being alone.

But he was more afraid to die.

He began to wriggle his smaller body, as carefully as he could. He shifted, moved inch by slow inch out from under Nina’s body until even his tail finally pulled free of her, smeared in bloody mud. Dirt was ground into his fur, stuffed up his ears, found its way into his mouth and down his throat. He had to keep his eyes closed, and sometimes snorted out air to try and clear out his snout only to breathe more in.

He could taste their deaths on his tongue.

Alone.

He shifted his paw, slowly, carefully. Dug it into the dirt and then crooked a joint, pulled himself forwards using the catch of his nails to help him balance. He could smell a little bit of fresh air, and sense a little moonlight. He knew which way to go, if he focused on the moon. The moon always led the wolves, it meant for them to shift to run, not to be locked up in kennels pacing with endless restlessness until they were whipped by the humans for misbehaving.

He moved his other paw, echoing the motions of the first. 

He had to dig his slow way up through the bodies of his family, shoving them aside when he could, when there was room. He climbed on top of them, moved his ears in apologies when he had to dig nails into their bellies or press paws against their heads, when he knew he was being watched by sightless eyes. Every member of his pack he moved past, he named their smells - Nina, Den, Hanwi, Nayi, Koya, Ka, Bliss. He repeated their names to himself, because no one else would ever say them. The humans had given them all other names, dog-names that sat like insults on human tongues. The wolves had had their own names for each other, and he thought them now, every single one.

Sometimes he felt the rough press of a tongue against him and hope would rise, small and soft, only to drop back to despair when Misae realized what he felt was a dead tongue lolling out of an unmoving mouth.

His stomach clenched, and heaved, but he fought it back down.

Eventually, though, one paw found the edge of the pit, and then the other. He felt the breeze against the softer fur there and whimpered, desperate to have that air on every part of his body, desperate for the knowledge that he’d made it out.

He pushed down on both front paws as hard as he could, his wasted muscles protesting as he pulled himself up and out, back paws scrabbling in the loose dirt, shoving himself up using Tate’s shoulder for balance. He panted, tongue out, opening his eyes finally to see the bright shine of moonlight as his head popped up over the pit, his ears up and swiveling immediately, checking for sounds, for any humans nearby.

He heard nothing.

Nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

But… there was a smell other than blood, finally, a smell that wasn’t death. The wind blew cool against his face. He smelled pine trees and birds hidden behind leaves. He felt the moon on his fur the way he imagined it might feel to have a mother hold you, and finally with one last push he stood on all four legs in the grass once again. 

He shook himself, dirt falling from his fur in what felt like waves. Spread his toes, let his paws really sink into the soft earth. Took in a huge breath and then let it out in something like a sigh. 

He was alive.

He was the only one alive.

Then, from close to the big house, he heard Aaron’s soft high child’s voice ask, edged with exhaustion, “Hey, Austin? Is that one of the werewolves over by the, um, the hole?”

Austin cursed. Misae turned to look just as Austin, with a red face and teary eyes, aimed and fired. He was too far away to even hope to hit, but a tree close by Misae suddenly burst apart in an explosion of pine needles and bark.

Misae let himself take one last look at the sight of someone’s paw sticking up above the loose dirt.

Kola's, he thought. There was a white spot on Kola's black paw.

Austin took aim again, and Misae ran.

-

Tag list: @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings @deluxewhump @yassifiedinformation @whatwhump @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @tundra-tiger

[timptoe]

Ticking Like A

For @hatboyexchange 2023, I got to write for the amazing @vesperfloyd about Vega, Joker, and PTSD. Trigger warnings for PTSD, flashbacks, and sucky childhoods, but it’s okay in the end, thanks to our favorite hatboy. Read the whole thing on Ao3.

——

The silence chafes.

The Presidium itself isn’t silent. Their table overlooks the Relay Monument, a popular spot for tourists, diplomats, traders, refugees. He can hear the edges of hushed conversations and shouts of laughter and thundering footsteps. Even with his back to the mezzanine, he can feel the volume of the crowds that pass by on their way to some distraction or other. The constant thrum of noise behind them makes the silence at the table even more stark.

James shifts uncomfortably in his chair, arms folded.

The artificial sunlight glitters off of the reflecting pool in a way that almost reminds him of home. It’s been years since he’s been on a real beach, at least not without a hardsuit and an ammo block. He thought about going home once while he was stationed in Vancouver, but he never made the time. Too late now.

Instead, he tries to calm himself using the refracted light of the pool, imagining sand under his toes, surf filling his ears, water as far as he can see. He could almost believe he’s there, if not for the cacophony around him. Or the sideways-queasy feeling that builds in his stomach the longer he looks at the water. He wants to lose himself in the shapes made by the gentle lapping of the waves around the base of the monument. But he can’t.

He just can’t.

Joker, meanwhile, takes a sip of his drink, looking out over the view, cool as a goddamn cucumber.

James shifts again, his own drink untouched. “Do you, uh, want me to talk about it?” he says, voice low.

Joker shrugs, taking another sip of his drink, not looking his way. “Up to you, Vega. Don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

James scowls into the middle distance. By all rights, Joker should be furious. Yelling. Confining him to the Normandy. Bare minimum, he should be lecturing James the way his abuela used to when he’d disappointed her. But he’s not. He’s just…sitting there.

So James just sits there, too.

Uncomfortably.

The breeze from the recirculated air feels cool on his skin. Not like home, but there’s no tinge of the smoke he smelled in the days after the Cerberus attack, either. Just pure, clean air, stinging the exposed cuts on his knuckles like antiseptic.

He looks down to see his hands curled into tight fists on the tabletop. He makes a conscious, concerted effort to relax them.

He looks up at Joker again, who hasn’t moved since the last time he looked at him. Thirty seconds ago.

James sighs roughly, rubbing his closely-shaved scalp with one hand, wincing a bit in pain. “Look, man, I don’t know what to say.”

Joker sips his drink calmly. “I didn’t ask you to say anything.”

“Come on, comodín, you can’t—“

“Vega.” Joker cuts him off, finally looking over at him for the first time since they sat down. “You don’t have to talk to me.” He takes a sip of his drink, cocking his head slightly, thinking. “But—“

“No, man, don’t—“

“—but you should talk to someone. Probably.”

James blows his breath out in frustration. “I know.”

“Want me to call Cortez?”

“No,” James says quickly, firmly. “Esteban would just, you know…” He gestures inarticulately. “He’d blow it out of proportion.”

Joker raises an eyebrow over his half-empty glass. “You trashed a club.”

“Well, I mean…you know what I mean,” James says lamely.

Joker just cocks his head slightly to the side and goes back to looking out over the Presidium.

They sit like that for another moment, James shifting uncomfortably every few seconds, Joker lounging with preternatural serenity.

“You don’t have to sit with me,” James says when he finally can’t take it anymore. “I’m fine. I’ll…be fine.”

“I do, actually,” Joker responds calmly. “Terms of your release per Bailey. Someone in an ‘official role’ has to watch you for the rest of our leave. And with Shepard off doing who the hell knows what with Aria T’Loak, you’re stuck with me.”

James looks back down at his hands, tips of his ears burning with shame. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Joker says lightly. “You got me out of doing paperwork.”

James ducks his head further down, hunching in on himself.

“Vega.” James looks back up to see Joker frowning at him. “It was a joke.”

James tries to smile. Really, he does. But whatever happens on his face only makes Joker frown harder. Which makes James feel even worse.

“We should, uh…we should probably just go back the the ship, huh,” James says, defeat thick in his voice.

“Is that what you want to do?”

James wipes his hands on his pants, trying to dry off the sweat. He avoids Joker’s calm gaze. Truth is, he doesn’t want to go back. He’ll have to talk to Steve if he goes back, and that’s…he’s not ready to talk. About what happened. Not yet. But it doesn’t seem right to take up Joker’s time just to avoid—

“How ‘bout a walk?”

James blinks, jerking his head back over to Joker at the interruption. The pilot just looks at him, head slightly cocked again.

“C’mon, let’s go for a walk,” Joker says easily, finishing his drink and standing up.

James looks up at the pilot. “Uh, sure, if you want.”

Joker grabs his crutches from where they rest on the railing and nods over the side. “Down along the reflecting pool?”

James looks over the mezzanine railing, the queasy feeling returning as he looks over the water.

Joker continues, “Or down through the wards?”

“The wards,” James says quickly.

Joker just nods and starts crutching off, James following closely behind.

Read the rest on Ao3.

[elementclangen]

Moon 275-Leaf-bare

After serving the Clan as deputy since she was only 23 moons old, Primcrest (117) has decided to retire from the position and move to the elder’s den.  She and Creekstar (129) have been through a lot together, but Primcrest doesn’t like how her leader and former friend has changed.  She doesn’t feel like she is the best fit for deputy anymore.  Creekstar respects her decision and the Clan is excited to dote on their hard working former deputy.  But that means that Creekstar must choose a new deputy, for the first time in almost 100 moons.  None of the cats alive (other than her) have ever had a deputy that was not Primcrest.  It will be a hard adjustment.  Stonetuft (14) is too young to take on the role, so she’s left to choose between Dawnfreckle (58), Archdapple (50), and Skipneedle (50). Bluestripe (50), isn’t an option as she’s not proven yet. Creekstar lands on Skipneedle.  Despite her reservations about having a lot of dark-cursed cats in the Clan, it feels right to have two dark-cursed cats at ElementClan’s head.  And Skipneedle, despite being younger, is a bit more mature than Dawnfreckle.  It’s a proud and celebratory moment for the Clan.  However, the mood is dampened when, a quarter moon later, a gang of rogues attacks the camp.  Rubbleheart (71) and Tumbleswoop (64) are on guard duty together.  They’re the first casualties.  The rogues seemed to know what they were doing and headed straight for the Healer’s den.  Hopedawn (64) and Archdapple, who were both too ill to fight, were killed before Hollypaw (14) formed a wall of thorns around the other cats in the den.  But the rogues killed him too.  Stonetuft saw his brother fall and lunged into battle, but even the might of a star-blessed cat wasn’t enough to save him and he, too, died.  Rootwing (42), despite being a mediator, did his best to fight off the rogues.  But he couldn’t do enough and he was killed, alongside Lilacdrizzle (42).  The rogues went for Brightmouse (50) next, seeing that she was the most powerful cat in the Clan, but a grieving Bluestripe leaped in front of her sister and drained the life from her attackers, earning her the proven status.  By the end of the battle, ElementClan won, but not without also losing Hyacinthstripe (20) and Blizzardback (38).  Creekstar wonders what she is doing wrong.  The Clan has known so much loss under her.  How can she fix it?  Should she just give up, and retire like Primcrest did?  Why must her Clan suffer?  Skipneedle, Brightmouse, and Bluestripe are back down to being the terrible triad instead of the fearsome foursome.  They managed without Archdapple when she was captured by twolegs, but there was the hope that she would return.  Now, she’s gone for good.  Skipneedle helps Primcrest bury Archdapple, carrying her sister’s body even as her weak leg threatens to give out.  Kestrelcreek (64) mourns the loss of the rest of her siblings and hopes that Tumbleswoop and Hopedawn are safe and happy in StarClan, reunited with their mother and sisters.  Hatchswipe (20) and Whorlstorm (20) mourn their father and brother, staying up all night at their vigils.  Primcrest curls around Dawnfreckle, glad that at least one of her sons is still alive.  She tells a story about how she and Rubbleheart bonded at his vigil, laughing through her tears.  She’ll miss him, but is glad that he gets to be with Cypressbadger.

Healer’s den: Lakepelt (greencough), Cavecatcher (whitecough), Whorlstorm (broken bone), Hatchswipe (mangled leg), Dawnfreckle (shock)