#wil screams into the void

[tedfagoffski]

if i kms who wants to see it on video

[moon-wolfie]

his eyes man, his eyes... the way he can look at me..

[scarasun]

soup can either be incredibly good or horrendously bad.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Rage

Have you ever looked up at the night sky and realised just how insignificant we all are? Trillions of stars, infinite planets, yet here we are, convinced we are the centre of the universe.

It makes me scared. Scared that my actions are futile, that I will never make a difference. That, in the end, I am utterly insignificant. Nothing I do will change anything in a meaningful way. It fills me with dread, despair and heartbreak.

But it makes me angry too. I want this stupidly beautiful universe, living in ignorance of my hatred, to _burn_. I want it dead, all of it. I want to cast a dark shadow upon this land and leave it shaking in awe and fear. I want them all to remember my name, for eternity and beyond.

Most of all, I want to matter. I want to be important, to not be forgotten, to not be a wisp of dust in the wind. I want to leave a lasting impact, to affect this apathetic universe and shake it to the core.

You see, I once stared out into the Void. It was endless, unfathomable, just like this cursed land. I stood on the precipice overlooking it, and I could feel it watching me. It had no eyes, no nose, no mouth, no heart, yet it lived. It thrummed and throbbed and never ebbed, oblivion shrouded in true darkness. It beckoned to me, a siren's call.

So I leaped in. I fell into its depths, and there I found wisdom. The knowledge of every hope, every dream and every whim of every being on every planet. It washed over me, drowning me in its endless knowledge, incomprehensible in size and far beyond my understanding, miniscule creature that I was. 

It was cold, searing, burning cold. Agony coursing through my veins. I was a grain of sand in a thunderstorm, tossed about with not a care for my safety. After all, a being as omniscient as the Void would not care for my screams. I was but an ant, nay, a single cell. What did I matter?

I screamed as it subsumed me, an animal noise of raw terror and pain. And deep within me, I found rage. Pure, utter fury. Hatred, a razor sharp blade honed to perfection by hurt. Oh, how I raged against it. I fought with every inch of me, and my screams turned into a battle cry, a screech of defiance. 

Wilful ignorance battled the enormity of wisdom, a fool fighting a scholar. I did not wish to learn the secrets of existence, to join the Void in its absolute erudition. No, I wanted to keep on living my selfish, simple life as an individual being.

I do not know how I escaped, but I awoke from the torment on the shores of the End of The World, mere fingertips from the Void. I scrambled away, limping home. But the fury had not faded.

And neither did the scars. I had veins of ink running down my arms, wrapping themselves around my chest and throat like tentacles. Scrub and scrub as I might, I could not be rid of them. My flesh was bloody and red, but the markings still remained. 

I tried to go back to my quiet life, but the rage simmered beneath the surface. Every step I took, I was filled with hatred, a sinuous serpent snaking around my throat, throttling me. My temper grew short, my outbursts large. Try as I might, my mind kept replaying the moment of weakness, when I was on the verge of accepting my insignificance.

It dominated everything I did. When ol' farmer Jackson bumped into me and refused to apologise, I broke his arm in three places. When the blacksmith's boy startled my horse, I beat him till he fainted from blood loss. My sudden violence, and the peculiar markings on my body, led the village to come to the obvious conclusion.

I was practising black magic.

So they assaulted my house in the dead of night, whilst I slept fitfully. It took fifteen men to restrain me, small though I was, and I killed 5 of them in the process.

It was beautiful. Raw, berserk fury, utterly unrestrained. I fought with the same defiance that saved me from the Void, and I loved it.

To this day, I still wonder if it was the Void's influence or if the battle awoke something in me, but I found an insatiable bloodlust within me. And I indulged it to the fullest.

Screams of rage and pain filled the air. Blood, delicious and savory, splattered all over me. I was drenched in destruction, a living weapon honed to perfection by hatred.

They say I came out broken, crippled with broken arms and twisted legs. They say I was grinning from ear to ear, and I laughed as they burned me at stake. They say my marks glowed silver under the firelight, brighter than the blaze.

What would I know? I was too busy enjoying myself. You see, I had found a way to keep myself alive. A way to become a myth, carried on for all eternity. I will kill them all, drench the universe in blood-

And when I am done, they will call me Maizen, Shatterer of Worlds.

[anne-the-witch-ish]

IMMA SO EXCITED THAT I NEED TO SCREAM TO THE VOID I FOUND INFO ABOUT HELENISM IN MY NATIVE LANGUAGE I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY.

i want to dance in my room out of joy, like i have so much happy energy that it's bursting throught the seams of my being.

i wil explore some more, and then i will make a post about it here. SO EXCITED!

[keirawantstocry]

🐦‍⬛ *gets a megaphone*

TNTDUO

T.N.T. DUOOOOOOO

SCREAMS INTO THE VOID

Wilbur wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up in this specific position. This specific position meaning Las Nevadas. This specific position meaning in Quackity’s office. This specific position meaning leaning over said man with a hand curled around his throat being stared at with dark slitted eyes. He tightened his hand every so slightly around the man’s throat as blood thrummed in his veins, his heart beating nearly out of his chest. Those dark eyes widened, eyebrows shifting down as a gasp escaped his lips. 

“Wil,” he said in a choked voice. 

Don’t let go, his mind whispered to him. 

He wanted to keep this moment encased in glass. A lovely burnt pink flush sat on the height of Quackity's cheekbones and Wilbur wanted to commit its exact shade to memory. He could feel the blood currently coursing through Quackity's body from where his fingertips lay over his strong beating pulse. So alive. Quackity was the most alive person he had ever met. It was a wonderful fucking reminder of how good it felt to have his beating heart back inside of his chest after those damned thirteen years in his personal hell. 

“You're in your head,” Quackity said in a whisper. “Get out of there.” 

Wilbur managed to make eye contact with him but he couldn't do much more. Thoughts swirled around in every single crevice of his brain. His mouth refused to open and his thoughts refused to formulate into sentences. Everything felt fuzzy and strange. Part of him wondered if he had been dreaming and he hadn’t been revived. Was he dead? Wilbur's hand sagged against Quackity's neck, he couldn't keep that tight grip any longer. 

Battering away the loose hand, Quackity grabbed Wilbur's face. “Out of your head, man. Get out.” 

Even the physical contact didn’t help to snap him out of it. All he could do was stare at Quackity with desperate eyes and sink back into thinking about how the man in front of him was the most perfect, lively, angelic man he had ever known in his time on this godforsaken server. He was so so alive. 

Quackity sunk his teeth into Wilbur's neck. 

It was like a rush of cold water straight to his brain bringing himself completely back to a present mental state. It stung like hell as he felt his sharp teeth sink into him. His eyes widened in surprise and instead of a yelp a moan fell from his chapped lips. 

Laughter was stifled by Wilbur's neck as Quackity licked the bite he had just left, lapping up the bits of blood pricking up. Fuck he bit hard. And fuck was Wilbur into it. “You fucking freak,” Quackity said eyes bright as he pulled back. 

“You’ve let me drink some of your blood before, I think you're the freak darling.” 

“Says the man who begged for it.” 

Wilbur scoffed, regaining himself and lunged fast to get his hand around Quackity’s throat again. The man smiled at him with eyes that were alight with fire. “What are you here for, Wil? More of my blood? Or something else this time?” 

Those words lit something up in Wilbur’s brain that hadn’t been alive in years and years. Nearly embarrassing but he couldn’t quite care. “What are you suggesting?” 

“You know damn well,” Quackity said, his face settling into something more annoyed, more him. “Don’t play coy.” 

Wilbur kissed him and the world was on fire. Everything burned. Every point of contact that their bodies made together sparked flames in him. Quackity pushed their bodies together and he had no idea what he was doing to Wilbur. Remembering suddenly the position of his hand, Wilbur squeezed. Quackity gasped and Wilbur swallowed the noise. It was delicious. He licked into the other man’s mouth as he tried to truly clear his mind. Another gasp fell from his lips as they pressed harder together. They were being senseless but that was who they were. 

Pulling back, Wilbur took another moment to tighten the grip his hand had, addicted to the way Quackity’s eyes rolled back into his skull. 

“You’re gonna bruise my throat,” Quackity said in a slightly strangled voice. 

‘“Would you be so opposed to that?” Wilbur teased. 

“Hell no,” Quackity hissed before pulling him into another rough kiss, with clacking teeth and sharp tugs on each other’s lips. 

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

The rain soaked Tommy, and it felt as if it had gone past his skin and the cold wetness eked it’s way into his very bones and nervous system as he shivered.

The sky was dark and empty, no stars and a sliver of moon. It wasn’t a pretty sight, as dull and static as Tommy felt. Merely a black, endless void.

He chuckled quietly to himself, the sound lacking in humour. Fitting that sky would be the last thing he’d ever see. Well, that and the neon lights in gaudy colours, burning at his eyes, and the faint playing of muffled music from the casino, but he’d wanted his last sight to be of the stars.

Fitting that he couldn’t even be allowed that luxury.

With shaking hands, he nudged himself closer to the edge of the observation deck, legs hanging off the edge with just the pull of gravity ready to send him tumbling. Instinctively, he closed his eyes and let go.

And with a sudden tug, he was dragged back onto the tower by his hood.

He screamed, images forming in his mind of white masks and axes. He knew he wasn’t allowed to die, he wasn’t, he was going to be in so much trouble, it was stupid of him to even try and take that agency, so stupid, he'd broken out already and Tommy needed to accept that he was just a fucking plaything, and-

“Tommy?” Oh. Quackity. Her voice, unsteady and exhausted sounding, brought him back to reality as she let out a string of Spanish profanities under her breath.

Tommy mumbled some incomprehensible mess of syllables under his breath, only to be distracted when he was pulled into a tight hug. He could feel half-soaked lace, and realised Big Q was probably still in her pyjamas. His face flushed red in shame. That was all he could do, fucking ruin everything.

“Why are you up here all alone, especially in the rain?” Quackity's voice was weirdly soft, and Tommy got the vague sickness in his chest being treated like a child gave him. “I'd- I'd thought-“

“I was going to kill myself.” The words came out emotionlessly, numbly. “The fuck did you think I’d be doing?”

“I don’t know! I thought he'd got you!”

“Well, maybe I wish he would!” Tommy shouted, before covering his mouth in shock. “I- I mean-“

Instintively, Quackity shrunk away from him, curling up. The confident facade of maturity vanished, replaced with a familiar, primal fear, for just a second. “I… is it that bad? Staying here? I just wanted to keep you safe, after that- after he-“

“I just. I don’t like being treated like I’m made of glass. I guess.” Tommy looked at the concrete. “I mean, Dream would treat me like a fuckin' little kid, but he at least didn’t treat me like I was some fucking precious china that'd break if you looked at it wrong. ‘Course, that was because he preferred to beat the shit out of me, but… honestly? I just- I really just wanna be treated like a person. And- Big Q, you’re almost like a sister, right? I mean, you've got that thing goin' on with Wil-“

“What thing? The only “things” Wilbur has ever done are invent new methods of abandoning people without a second thought.” Quackity seethed.

“I mean, y’know, but like- it’s like, I mean, you basically are like an older sister, right? And you’ve always been, ‘cept for when you weren’t a girl yet.” Tommy furrowed his brow. “Though, I mean you were a girl, we just didn’t know it I guess? Anyway, I mean. I just. When I left that bunker, when Tubbo- well, he’s busy now, but- fuck, I just thought, you knew what he was like. And you wouldn’t- you’d understand, and you’d treat me like a human being if I hid here.”

Quackity looked at her hands for a long, long time. “I'm… I'm using the people I love again, aren’t I? I'd thought…”

“You’re not using me, you’re just being a prick. You haven’t made me do anything.”

“I don’t mean, like, fucking making you work the casino or whatever, God no. I’ve got employees to underpay.” The crooked grin she gave after that made Tommy unsure whether she was joking or not. “But… fuck. I’ve been using you to make myself feel like a better person. Like I’d- I'd-“

“It’s fine, big woman.”

“It's not! Like, Tommy, man, you tried to kill yourself! You shouldn’t be the one consoling me, that’s fucked up. That’s- I- I-“

“It’s fine. It’s not like I’m gonna ever get to die properly anyway.” The words came out much more bitter than he meant it to.

They sat there in silence, neither managing to soothe the other after all.

[birbmonster]

Part 1 of screaming msm headcanons into the endless void of chaos and fandoms that is tumblr

Gonna have to explain this best as I can

Anyways, this one is about the basics of modern monster society

Firstly, all monsters are species, expect for Legendaries and Celestials. Wil touch more on those guys in a different one prob.

However, the epic variants of some species, like Kaynas, are so rare that there’s often only one existing at a time. Each species has anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand individuals, with the amounts of rares varying between species.

Like the monster handlers said that one time, the islands are waaaay bigger than they appear in-game. Most monsters on each island live in the castle, and inside it’s like a luxurious hotel/apartment building, with rooms of various sizes for everyone and various public spaces. However, a few might live outside the castle in other buildings, usually when there’s no room left for them.

They don’t sing all the time. They actually only do the song once or twice a day depending on the island, and also depending on the island is the time they do it. For example, Cold Island prefers to do it the moment the sun sets, Plant Island in the middle of the day when it’s warm and sunny, ect, just whatever time fits the vibe of the song.

Monsterlings do go to school. They learn the usual stuff, math, writing, history, but there’s also a lot of emphasis put on learning about as many species as possible.

There’s no defined ‘ruler’ of any of the islands as of right now (expect tribal, wait a second). Desciscions are made as a community and when an island-specific tradition, social norm, or law pops up or can end up staying for hundreds of years completely unchanged, until everyone just forgets why it’s even there in the first place.

The only expection to this is Tribal Island, which always has a chief that’s usually voted on.

There were, however, relatively short periods on history where islands did have leaders. For example, Fire Haven was ruled by a Kayna named Dawn when it was first founded after the cataclysm, and Magical Sanctum might’ve had some sort of Enchantling ruler at one point.

The monster world is generally super peaceful, with far fewer historical records of things like wars happening.

There is an economy in existence. Round, gold coins are used as the main currency, while the Pocket Dimension Islands (Magical Sanctum and Ethereal Island) use Shards.

All monsters are able to speak to each other and are fully sentient. They age at about the same rate as humans, though actual lifespan may be anywhere from 60-100 years depending on the species.

There’s no such thing as having a biological sex. Monsterlings are simply referred to with they/them pronouns until they’re old enough to figure it out. But there’s sometimes… questionable… parents who try to decide for their kids. Not cool 😤

As for breeding, it works quite similar to how it does in-game, with inter species cross-breeding creating children of a new species with the right elements.

However, though it’s not shown in-game, sometimes the breeding structure may malfunction and create direct hybrids, which look like an actual blend of their parents species. But these are a VERY, and I mean VERY rare happening, so there’s no way a hybrid could go under the radar anywhere.

And lastly, a bit about etiquette: when your talking to someone, and you need to say their name, but don’t know it yet because you just met them, it’s best to just replace it with species name, and they’ll usually just tell you. It’s considered a bit rude to ask “what are you?” and similar enquiries about someone’s species.

That’s all for now, I need sleep

[fgfluidity]

lupine

Summary: Dark gets himself in trouble, and the PA is the only one who can help. (werewolf!Dark au)

Pairing: Damien/Dark x DA/PA

Warnings: None really, just awkwardness, fluff, and angst

i have a ko-fi for commissions and tips! check it out!

@volbeast​ @opprose​ @otterlyinluv​ @flerpdederp​ @statictay​ @mirrorslament​

 It started with, of all things, a handkerchief.

One wouldn't think it, given the absolute state of devastation the studio is in. Lights and cameras alike toppled, glass littering the ground, holes in fake walls and shredded fabric draped over the skeletons of sets; a haze of smoke even hangs over the studio like an irritable cloud, the crackle of flames in some distant corner the clear culprit.

Above it all, the screaming.

“You mopped up all your blood with my hanky! I think that’s a problem, Host!”

“The Host scoffs. He never stole Bim Trimmer’s handkerchief; he would at the very least ask permission.”

Dark groans. Even from the void, the screeching and the arguing worms into his skull, pounding against the walls until it aches. That shouldn’t even be possible, given the circumstances, and yet.

Bim marches up, tossing the blood-dotted cotton cloth at Host’s chest. It connects with the softest thump and tumbles to the floor. “Who else is bleeding all the time? You’re paying for my dry cleaning!”

“The Host-“

“Oh, I was wondering where that went.” Wilford pops in from nowhere in particular to scoop up the crumpled hanky, wrapping it around one finger. “Say, thanks for finding it.”

Dark groans again, his impossible headache multiplying at both Wilford’s obnoxious aura and the extra noise. Cursing under his breath, he crosses through the void to appear before the three men. “That’s enough,” he grumbles, extending just a bit of power to darken the room. A bit of presence never hurt. “Wil, give it back.”

“But I have butterfly knife cuts,” Wilford protests, just as Bim squawks a scandalized, “Not with his blood on it!”

“The Host would like to remind Bim Trimmer that he does, in fact, eat raw humanoid meat.”

“It’s not raw,” Bim snaps, then turns to Dark. “He should at least clean it first. I demand—“

“But yours are the softest and most absorbent—“

“The air flickers as the Host describes it, flashing red and cyan—“

Gritting his teeth, because his borrowed heart pounding so hard can only be a precursor to even worse havoc, Dark takes a void portal out of the studio.

It’s only gotten worse over time. Everyone arguing over this, that, and the other, living in each other’s pockets— it was all bound to end in some kind of fight, given everyones volatility.

Starting with squabbles over dinner, over driving, escalating to room assignments and scheduling conflicts… now, apparently, over personal property.

He used to get headaches, being the mayor of such a large city. The stress of his job practically guaranteed it, a dependency on caffeine and workaholism resulting in little sleep only compounding the issue. Hell, before that night he was finally wearing down enough to see someone about it.

Now, the doctor’s out of the question, and they’re closer to a bomb going off inside his head.

Run it off, hunt, fight.

Dark sighs. The wolf doesn’t help matters.

Ever since he took this body— he regrets it, regrets it every day— he took in the wolf, as well; it’s the District Attorney’s long-held secret, finally come to light.

For the most part, it’s just another aspect of his new life. He’s a bit more irritable, his senses more powerful, but the wolf is content to take a back seat to more pressing matters it doesn’t have the cognitive wherewithal to care about.

When he gets frazzled, however…

He opens his eyes to find himself outside the manor, not in the void as he’d intended. Likely, the result of his wolf sensing conflict and wanting out, which explains—

Run it off!

It itches under his skin, tugging like— well, like an overexcited dog on a leash.

He isn’t fond of his friend’s final gift to him. Rolling his eyes, he shrugs off his suit jacket. No need to shell out for a second suit in a year.

He tries not to indulge the beast too often; God only know what may happen if he loses any more of his humanity to some creature he didn’t ask for. That said… it’s theirs, a last connection to who they once were.

In a strange way, taking care of their wolf feels like the least he could do, after…

Besides, the feeling of fully stretching into his paws, shaking out his thick black mane of fur just can’t be beat.

With surprising speed given his enormous size, he lopes off from his stash of clothes, paws pounding the grass and leaf litter. His markers aren’t fresh enough to the wolf’s liking, and it takes great care to sniff out the proper places to refresh: near the front gate, carefully skirt King’s grove so as not to interrupt, into the deep woods.

It’s where the wolf feels most at home, a great canopy overhead and underbrush hiding the most delicious and interesting scents. Thankfully, his body has no need for food, and so the wolf isn’t going to chase if he allows his mind to wander a little.

At least it’s a nice evening: a lovely sunset off to the west, visible in gaps through the trunks; a gentle breeze slowly cooling off the heat of the day. It’s enough that, with the exercise, he can start to cool his own ire and frustrations.

It’s simple enough to fix, really. A small portion of Bim’s costuming budget can cover new handkerchiefs, another restock of the first aid cabinet if Wil insists on practicing his butterfly knife.

Host can be left to his own devices, mostly, and the good doctor patches his eyes regularly.

No harm done. If only he’d kept his cool head after that night— goodness knows that’s what he really needs. Then again, what is the PA for?

Breaking his heart all over again, it seems. Their reactions, their looks, their mannerisms… it’s all his old friend, every last inch of them.

Just without the parts that remember.

Not for lack of trying, and not that they don’t remember, it’s only… faint. Patchy. A sense of deja vu or odd familiarity as opposed to smiling so big and bright when they see him, like they used to.

A whine bubbles up from the wolf’s throat involuntarily, and Dark quickly tries to shake it off. He can’t cry, and there’s no point in it, anyway. No matter how badly he’d like to.

It whines again, despite his control. Before he can begin to wrest away even more and properly manage his emotions, the wolf yelps and leaps back, scrabbling over the ground.

The sharp pain hits Dark just a moment later.

It’s like a wasp sting, sharp in his foreleg, and a burn spreading through the limb soon after. His attention now caught, Dark brings himself back to the front, scanning the ground for whatever may have caused it.

No snakes, no actual wasps. Just a patch of flowers, mixed in with the brambles.

Softly draped petals, a soft purple occasionally lightening to a lilac in the middle of the petals. The scent stings his nose powerfully, forcing him to draw back.

Aconite. Wolfsbane. Shit.

He bends his great head down to sniff out the damage. The brambles are easy enough to pick out, and the burn fades as quickly as they leave his skin, but it still smells of the stuff.

Unpleasant, but not deadly, not with such a small wound and concentration. Probably.

He doesn’t think he can die, anyway.

Regardless, this plant needs dealt with before he can run into worse trouble with it. He can’t touch it, but that’s the one positive side to his unholy powers: he doesn’t have to touch things to move them. He closes his eyes and thinks his way back to humanoid.

…

He peeks one eye open. He’s at the same height, a long furred muzzle right there when he crosses his eyes to look down it.

He shuts his eyes and tries to refocus. Humanoid. Skin. Two feet.

He feels no shift in perspective, no cool air against bared skin, nothing. Just a massive black wolf in a lot of trouble.

Shit.

—

Dark waits at the edge of the woods, debating himself.

On one hand, telling everyone about this will just make it more complicated for him. Only the good doctor really knows of his condition, medically necessary for the sake of keeping others at bay during full moons and other… unfortunate occurrences. Everyone else will either panic, try to use his new form for ill, or make fun, and none of those sound like a mess he wants to deal with.

On the other…

He feels a begrudging fondness for his collection of Mark’s cast-offs, and he knows that it’s returned, if only as an equally-begrudging respect of his position. If he were to go missing, the entire manor would worry.

The entire manor would mount a search party for their wayward leader, and likely get into even worse trouble along the way. Not even to mention the disasters that would occur without him running around and putting out fires.

They’d even rope in the PA, and that…

That would happen either way, wouldn’t it? They’ve never been able to leave him to his own devices.

He at least tries to make himself smaller as he pads up to the back door, finding only a touch of difficulty with the handle. His forepaws are hand-like enough that they retain some dexterity; it’s the fitting through the door with his bulk that’s the problem.

Mid-wedging himself through the door, his sensitive ears catch a ping, the rush of electricity that signals a Google is on the way. In less than a second, their home defense officer— Red, as the most outwardly aggressive— stands before him.

“Stand back. Unidentified Intruder, you have approximately five seconds before—“ He pauses, brow furrowing. “Hold for a scan.”

If this is how he would treat any intruder, Dark thinks, it’s a good thing he can feel anyone getting too close, himself. He grumbles at the ticklish beam of light sweeping over his front.

Red reads the scans, but his abnormal confused expression doesn’t change. “What? You can’t possibly be—“

Dark gives him an icy stare, the deepest rumble in his chest he can manage.

Red simply blinks before his chest light blinks on. “… Paging Dr. Iplier.”

--

"Well... are you sure you aren't dying?"

Dark curls his lip, showing one fang lethal white.

"Right," Edward Iplier sighs, pushing back even further from Dark's hulking form on his wheeled stool. He can't get much further than a few inches before bumping into the wall of the clinic. "Well, you aren't. Your scratch is healing up, you aren't sick. You're just stuck."

Dark snorts. He had figured out as much on his own, and it didn't take a doctorate-- or a fake doctorate-- to do it.

"Unfortunately, I'm not exactly an expert on lycanthropy. Hell, you gave me the basics of the condition when I wasn't even sure if it was real." Edward spins a bit towards the counter, flipping through Dark's file. "Though I don't think any of the mythology mentions a werewolf getting stuck as a result of wolfsbane. Lost clothes or true love seeing them, perhaps, but not wolfsbane."

He looks back over his shoulder with a small grin. "Unless you happened to see the PA out on your adventure."

Immediately, Dark bares his full array of teeth in a snarl. As he does, however, the room flashes in red and cyan, the first expression of his power since his unfortunate brush with wolfsbane.

Edward looks up to it just as he does, mystified. "Fascinating," he murmurs, and then-- "Hold on... actually,  that just might explain it. We have no idea how varying sources of magic interact. Perhaps the sources that give you control of the void and this wolf form are at odds; the wolfsbane is only the catalyst."

It would sound stupid, and he might scoff if he weren't in this particular predicament, but...

Well, it's a better explanation than any other they've had thus far.

"The only issue there is, well... when it wears off." Edward frowns, drumming his fingers on his knee in thought. "I can do some research. Look into people more well-versed in magic than myself. If not a ready solution, they may be able to whip something up."

Dark stares him down.

"... it might be a while," Edward says sheepishly. "I can't guarantee finding someone fast, or how long any cure might take. You'll have to be a wolf for... a while. I'm sorry."

He'd say he isn't proud of snarling in the terrible doctor's face and storming out, but... he is.

--

He can’t do his job like this.

He has no powers like this— at least, not without extreme emotion— and his canine muzzle and throat make speech impossible. Even his forepaws, human-like as they are, are too unwieldy and large to write little notes on time sheets properly.

Besides, the gentler egos like Eric are terrified of him.

… More than usual. He just catches whiffs of clean laundry and pants-shitting Terror. Figuratively.

God, is he thankful it’s figurative.

Eventually, he just storms off the set, wedging his way out of the door and padding up the stairs. He’s no use being present for the filming, not until they need a massive wolf-creature for some project.

… Which might be an idea, really. He’ll… try to write it down. Perhaps writing big is the answer.

Thankfully, there’s scratch paper and pens on his desk, neatly placed as he prefers it to be. Granted, it’s quickly undone by a sweep of his huge paw, but a little mess is better than a broken drawer or cabinet door off its hinges.

The pens are newly tiny, and he needs to hold them as gently as he can in order to not squeeze them and get ink all over his pads. One in paw, he slides over a fresh sheet and touches the pen to paper.

He meant to make a big and legible list for the PA to work with when they eventually arrive, but—

The handwriting looks even worse than his very first attempt. As a child.

Dark grumbles, shoving the paper away to replace with a second fresh sheet. Breathe, slower, bigger letters. Don’t think too much about it.

Better, actually legible, but he’s going to run out of paper; the title ‘PA’ takes up an entire sheet, itself.

The wolf hates the tiny, focused movements anyway, grumbling to him about the growing cramp in his forepaw. There’s no point in making strange marks. To the wolf, it’s worthless— and anything without a point is not worth its attention.

Dark casts the pen aside, giving a frustrated huff. Being unable to communicate is worthless, and if he can’t speak or write—

His eyes catch the keyboard. It’s dusty, just as the monitor and tower of his computer. It’s well past his time, not to his tastes, but the more tech savvy egos insisted he have one in his office, just in case.

There are letter keys. Probably some way to speak the words aloud. It shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out, right?

He lifts one big paw to hover over the keys.

Nope. His ‘fingers’ are big enough to hit several keys at once, and if he were to use a claw to hunt and peck, he might just pierce the damn thing.

With a groan, he lowers his massive head to the desk with a soft thump, closing his eyes.

In too short a time, his ears perk at the softest knock— a familiar one, with an equally familiar scent. Fuck.

“Hey, Dark? It’d be really helpful if you actually came down. That was a little— we’re missing you down here. Things are a bit chaotic and I can really only handle so much of…” The PA sighs wearily. “All of that.”

Dark doesn’t answer. He can’t, and barks and growls and grumbles won’t really give them the excuse they’re looking for.

“Dark? I understand that this might be your own work hours, you might be busy, but— I really need your help here.”

The doorknob rattles, then turns, his office door slowly pushing inward to let in a thin stream of golden light.

He can’t let them see him. Dark scrabbles back a bit, claws catching on the fine rug, but it’s little use; he might have midnight-black fur, but he’s eight feet on his hind paws and hundreds of pounds of muscle. His head might just duck under the desk, but his shoulders are a no-go.

“PA. What are you doing up here?”

“Huh? Oh, hi, Google. I need to speak to the boss really quick.”

Oh, bless Google. He can’t say which of the four they are from sound alone, but if it gets the PA out of here, they’ll all get a reward.

“Oh, perhaps you haven’t been notified. Dark is indisposed at the moment, he won’t be able to meet you.”

“Really?” He can hear the raised eyebrow. “I don’t buy it. He leaves his static everywhere he goes, I can feel it.”

… does he? Dark sneaks a peek at his furred arm, but his fur lies flat.

“That may be, but you really shouldn’t—“

“It’s an emergency, it can’t wait,” the PA interrupts, and then, “Okay, Google, could you go check on the brawl downstairs? Thank you very much.”

Their saccharine sweet request is quickly followed by Google’s chime, and the door pushes open the rest of the way, filling the space with light.

Despite his best efforts, he can’t make himself any smaller.

“I’m sorry for bursting in, Dark, but this is really— huh?” Their steps slow, still coming for his desk. “Are you hiding behind..? What is that?”

He can’t freeze and hope they’ll forget or get distracted; they’re too clever and stubborn for that, and he knows it well. With a groan, he scoots back and allows himself to peek over the polished top of his desk.

Framed by the hall light, the PA indeed looks just the same, but more ruffled, hair and clothes mussed and the bloody scent of blooming bruises and cuts on their skin.

Beyond that, their jaw hangs open, eyes wide; they remain this way, simply staring, for what seems like hours. Then, very quietly, they manage to say, “Dark?”

Begrudgingly, he nods.

After a second, they mirror his nod. “Okay,” they reply, a touch faint. “Well- first things first, do you think you can scare them straight? Ah… out of trouble?”

Adaptable and unflappable, that’s his— that’s… admirable.

A little scare would do them all some good if they’re forgetting human fragility.

He passes them on all fours, hoping to be a bit less intimidating and perhaps fit through the door better. By their muttered curse— “What the fuck?”— and his stilted push through the frame, one shoulder at a time, he fails on both accounts.

There’s a brawl, alright— he can hear the shouting before he even reaches the studio door. God only knows what it could be about.

Or, perhaps, the PA. He glances back over one shoulder.

They’re following him, at least, and they hesitate only a step before sending him a shrug. “I don’t even know with them, sometimes. They won’t listen to me. Or the time out alarm. Or klaxon. Or siren.”

Then it’s definitely an emergency— the siren usually does the trick, if not the klaxon. Good thing they came up to find him, if only to keep everyone from finally managing to kill each other.

Permanently, that is.

He only takes a moment to survey the scene once the PA opens the door. Much like last time, lights and chairs have toppled, shouting matches in each corner.

Dark sends one more pointed look back before taking a deep breath and letting out a piercing howl, cutting through the din and echoing off each wall.

When the sound finally stops resonating, both in his chest and off the walls, he takes a look around with his best glare. One could hear a pin drop, the squabbling egos looking over with wide eyes and thundering hearts.

Unfortunately, he can’t smile in this form.

“Alright,” the PA calls, coming from behind him with their hands still firmly over their ears. “You heard him, that’s enough. Now, clean up so we can get back to work? We’re behind enough as it is.”

Any almost-rebuttals quickly fall silent as Dark turns the full focus of his stare, and before long the multitudes are cleaning up in dutiful silence.

Really, he ought to do this more often.

Beside him, the PA sighs and lowers their hands. “Thank you, Dark. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d known… how did this whole thing happen?”

Dark huffs, ears twisting back.

“You can’t talk— I’m guessing it’s also a long story?” They wince sympathetically when he manages a nod. “Well… I know you’re pretty self-sufficient, but… if there’s anything I can do for you?”

Not unless they know magic, and… he wouldn’t ask it of them, anyway. After everything that happened…

Once more, without his permission, the wolf whines. He really needs to get himself—

“Oh, no, hey…”

The gentleness in their voice forces him to look, and they’re so soft. Their eyes to their soft frown to the gentle and careful hand reaching out for him; they’re soft and caring and them.

Trying so hard when his father died, even though he was a bastard no one should shed their tears over. When he didn’t make councilman his first attempt, arms tight around his shoulders.

When Mark—

He growls and backs up a step, only showing a hint of teeth. He’s not about to bite, or even snap, but he can’t.

Their hand pulls back instantly. “I’m sorry,” they murmur softly. “I won’t touch. I’ll see what I can do to help you out, okay? I’m sure you miss being… you.”

They have no earthly idea, and it kills him.

—

He opts to stay in the studio for the next while. Perhaps he may be unable to write time codes or give verbal direction, but no further outbursts occur with him sitting behind the cameras.

It isn’t to say that no one gets close, but as hearts race and scents turn acrid, the involved parties give him a quick, nervous glance before dropping the matter. If he’d known it’d be this easy, he’d have been in wolf form quite a bit more.

Perhaps not, though, as now that the issue is dealt with, the wolf gets… distracted.

It’s not an unusual thing, the wolf going off on some tangent or rabbit trail, following what piques its interest rather than what Dark would like it to do; fair enough, considering he’d rather it rest very quiet and patient in the back of his mind. This, however…

Sunscent blood. Who? What? We have to take care.

Firstly, sunscent. Undoubtedly its name for the PA, a scent and presence as close to a sunny meadow as he’s been able to feel in ages, and now marred by the metallic twang of blood.

Not that he likes it much, either. Even were he humanoid, he’d rush them off to Edward’s office before returning with an even firmer hand. It’s a poorly-kept secret how deep his fondness really lies.

The wolf, though, is a different story.

It wants… things. Things he’d be mortified to express, and the simple thought of it embarrasses him enough, already.

Herd them off to be treated, then somewhere safe and quiet. Tuck them in and curl around them so that they’ll be well-protected and warm, nuzzled into his fur.

At the very deepest part of him, how different is it than what he wanted as Damien, really? Wanting to keep them, however he could, to the point of flying in the face of his entire political career. He always wanted that.

The freshest deer is a bit of a change, but the principal is the same as their favorite meal.

And that’s not even getting into how much it wants to—

He groans to himself, ears hot, putting his head on his paws. Of course the wolf would also be… less proper.

The PA peers back at him, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright? It won’t be too much longer, but if you need to go, that’s okay.”

He gives a single thump of his tail, remaining immobile otherwise. He’s not going anywhere.

Not that the wolf would let him if he even wanted to.

That’s why, when he opens his eyes from a slight doze, the fact that they’re gone sends him into a bit of a panic.

He can’t get control of the thing before the wolf scrambles to its paws, shoving out past the chairs and cameras to the door, sniffing. The scent trails down the hallway, up the flight of stairs, and he follows it like a homing beacon.

All the while, Dark scolds and threatens. Damn it, you cur, calm down! They’re somewhere here, you don’t need to follow their every move!

Find them. Hurt, have to look after.

They aren’t that hurt. They probably went to the doctor, if anything, so can you calm down?

The wolf doesn’t calm down, but ceases to sniff in order to make a beeline directly for Edward’s office. As he approaches, his ears perk up, catching soft voices on the other side of the door.

“… you don’t know what to do.”

Edward sighs. “I’m no magician. I can patch up a cut, but something like this—“

“Well, you need to try harder,” the PA snaps, their hissing at the end coming from a place of pain rather than anger. “There has to be something to bring him back.”

“I am trying.” Though he sounds like a wellspring of patience, there’s a twinge to his stinging antiseptic scent that belies his frustration. “It’s not easy to find a magical expert, you know.”

“Shows what you know. I know—“Then, hesitantly… “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know where that came from. I don’t know. I’ll get to looking, too, see what I can find.”

They know… what do they know? As far as Dark’s aware, the only mage they’ve met in any capacity is…

They couldn’t remember Celine, could they?

“I accept the apology. I understand you’re worried, too. Anything to help would be much appreciated.” A drawer closes, and fingers drum on a solid surface briefly. “… you know, while we search, I think there’s something else you could do.”

“What is it?”

Dark also leans forward, intrigued.

“He seems more settled around you, always has. I think it’ll do him some good if you stick around until we find a solution; it might help him stay himself, and less upset, besides.”

What would be better for him and his meddling: a ripped up lab coat, or a new set of equipment? Both, perhaps, given the double-edged sword either option presents. Either stay himself at the cost of being reminded of the old them every moment, or be able to avoid the memory at the cost of losing himself to the wolf; either way, it’s a rotten deal.

“… I think I can make that work,” they murmur. “As long as I can, anyway. Mark can get… you know.”

… He can handle the memories.

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, he makes himself slink back to the studio. Once back to his spot, he curls up and pretends to doze once more.

They’ll come looking for him soon enough, and when they do…

Their babysitting won’t be hell on Earth. Mostly.

—

He escorts them to their room the next day when they arrive with a larger suitcase than usual.

Sure, anyone else could, and they’ve been here often enough to find it on their own, but it’s only polite.

That, and the wolf wants to stay right by their side and moon.

He did it enough already as a human, he doesn’t need to do it more.

“I know it’s probably weird and you don’t like it,” the PA explains as they lug their suitcase into the room, “but… well, I’ll be honest with you. They think someone keeping you company will help you out while they look for an answer.”

It’s certainly weird, he can agree, but as for disliking it? He’s thankful he can’t speak. Rather, he wags his tail once.

“Yeah, okay. It won’t be so bad. I even have an idea for your communication problem, I think!” The PA unzips their bag, digging through various bits and bobs in search of… something.

Finally, when what he hopes is almost everything they carry in that damned thing lies on the bed, they pull out a notebook. “See? You can tell everyone what you think!”

He blinks at them, then slowly shakes his head. With one paw, he mimes writing with a pen before crushing it into an almost-fist.

“No, I figured as much. That’s why I filled part of it out.” With a smile, they flip open the notebook, turning pages for him to see.

He’ll admit, it’s clever; in their neatest and clearest large print, they’ve labeled pages with simple responses: yes, no, perhaps. There are even a few delineating needs like office work, down time, fresh air.

“And,” they continue, flipping to blank pages, “there’s space to add more. Like if you want to yell at someone or give some order. Or tell someone to fuck off if you want.”

Dark snorts, amused. What he would not have given to have that ability as the mayor.

The PA smirks. “I figured you’d like something like that. I think you’re allowed to say it, considering— you deal with enough.

“Also,” they continue, whipping out their pen to add to the collection, “it has thicker pages so it’s easier with your claws, and I put a long string through the rings so you can carry it around. How does that sound?”

They think of everything, don’t they? He thumps his tail in approval, bowing his great head when they reach out to loop it around his neck. It rests comfortably, little weight or texture to bother him.

“Is that good? Any changes, Dark?”

He lifts the book to scan through his responses. Finally, he settles on Not yet.

“Good! That’s what the other pages are for.” They smile at him, the sort of smile that makes the wolf want to jump up on the bed beside them and curl up. “I’m gonna settle in a little. Meet you down there in twenty.”

He forces himself down with the promise of being able to use his fuck off one time. It’s hard to choose, really, and a close race, but Bim gets it.

If Blue wasn’t going to be so stoic about everything, he’d have the honor. Alas.

—

First things first, now that he has a follower with hands, that wolfsbane patch has to go.

The trouble is in getting them to understand what he wants them to do.

“I know you want me to follow you outside,” the PA says with thinly-veiled frustration, “but why? You can do whatever it is you do out there on your own, can’t you?”

Dark grumbles and nudges at them, gently as he can. It still nearly knocks them off their feet.

“Hey! Don’t manhandle me,” they spit, glaring up at his full height. “Listen, if you want it so bad, I can go out in a minute. What do you even want me for, anyway?”

Frustrated, he flips through his pages and shrugs, lifting to them emphatically. How the hell is he supposed to do that?

Thankfully, the PA is smart enough to put the pieces together. “I didn’t cover every base. Hmm… oh, okay, just give me a few minutes— may I see your book?”

Gingerly, he hands over the notebook, watching as the PA scribbles on various fresh pages. It only takes a few minutes before they hand it back, and he curiously flips through the new entries.

“An alphabet for you,” they explain, and it is: three or four letters to a page, big enough to be visible and point to without muddying the word. “It’ll be slow, but it’s better than getting upset with each other. Now, literally, spell it out for me.”

He huffs a laugh, raising one claw. Wolfsbane patch. Remove it.

The PA mutters along, writing on their own notes to keep track. “Wolfsbane— oh! You mean that part is really..?”

He nods, shivering at the memory of burning scent and pain. Unfortunately.

“Well, if you’re going to be running around out there, yeah.” They close their notes and scoot back from the desk. “I’ll go see if I can scrape up some tools, I’ll meet you outside.”

It’s endearing, seeing them with big shears and a bucket and gardening gloves. All they’d really need is a sun hat to be the picture of a gardener. At the very least, it’s sweet enough that he doesn’t mind taking his time in walking through the woods while they pick through at their own pace.

“I knew wolves had big territories,” they comment, only a little out of breath as they slide down a small hill behind him, “but I didn’t really think you’d take the time to build one up. It… doesn’t seem high on your priority list.”

He huffs an agreement, too busy walking ahead to pull out his notebook. They’re right, a territory wouldn’t be very pressing— except the wolf needs a space to call its own. More than just the confines of a big house, anyway.

He can smell the aconite before he can see it, his lip curling in distaste as he forces the wolf to get closer to the scent of bad danger. He had to have been really lost in thought to miss it before.

“Is this..? Oh, jeez.” The PA stope beside him, eyeing the patch of flowers mixed into the brambles. “That’s… a lot of trouble.”

Dark eyes them curiously. The PA leans back away from the flowers, an uncomfortable expression on their face as they take it all in, which strikes him as supremely odd; humans can’t smell it like he can, won’t be repulsed by the mere brush of the petals against there skin. To them, it should just be a flower.

It isn’t, though. It isn’t upset at the size of the job, but the nature of the job. The flowers, not the brambles, but the PA smells of nothing but human.

… could it be a memory?

“You weren’t kidding.” The PA sighs, the tension falling out of their shoulders. “Okay, this might take a little while. Make sure nothing comes to eat me while I’m toiling away, alright?”

And it’s gone. It never lasts forever, does it? He gives them an agreeing rumble and settles down to wait, alternating watching them dig and scanning the trees.

For both of them, it’s boring work. The PA cuts, scoops, dumps, tugs and mutters at the brambles, over and over; the only sound of progress being the rustling of plant matter falling into their bucket.

As for him, there’s little to do. No creature in their right mind would tangle with the combined scent of wolf and human coming from this area. The repetitive rustling grows stale fast, and he can’t even really enjoy the PA’s subtle scent, tinged with wolfsbane as it is.

If it wasn’t necessary, he wouldn’t have insisted, that’s for sure.

When the PA is nearly done, their bucket brimming with flowers, something snaps out in the woods. They don’t seem to hear it, but Dark dials in, ears and nose turning to the sound.

Danger. Keep away from them.

He bares his teeth, a subsonic growl in his chest as his hackles raise.

“Dark?” The PA pushes back their hair, giving him a look. “What is it? What’s out there?”

He can’t see anything through the underbrush, the trees obscuring anything closer to his own height, but the wolf has other senses. Softer snapping, rustling— the sounds of eyestalking, an ambush predator waiting for the right moment.

Besides that, it smells… smells of earth and smoke and rot.

And oranges.

His growl rises to a snarl as he backs up towards the PA, keeping himself fully in between them and the being in the woods.

“Dark?” They rustle behind him, the soft thump of their shears to the ground. “Alright, we should go, then. We can— we can come back and get rid of the rest of it.”

A smart idea. As much as he hates turning his back on a threat, Dark turns around to herd the PA ahead of him, out of the woods. It’d be faster to carry them out, really, the lingering wolfsbane of their gloves be damned.

Anything to get them away from that scent.

A glass of orange juice, a veritable grove on his estate— Mark always loved his oranges.

—

No.

“You’re gross. You’re getting in the tub.”

Dark curls his lip to bare fang. No. I’m a grown man.

“You’re an overgrown baby,” the PA snaps. “A grown man would accept help when it’s being offered— I’m embarrassed, too, but you’ve been running around for a week getting into who knows what. Even if you weren’t, you still get greasy and smelly.”

He grumbles. The gall— he smells like a wolf, thank you. Just as a wolf should—

Should…

He’s not a wolf.

He may not eat but damn it if he doesn’t keep himself clean and neat. His suits are always pressed, his hair always clean.

Besides… he has been a little itchy of late.

With a second, more begrudging rumble, he lowers his head. Yes. I can do it.

The PA grimaces. “As much as I’d love to leave you to your own devices… you don’t really bend or grab well enough, anymore. Besides, you have more fur than just on your head, now.

“I don’t want to do it,” they add at his pointed look. “It’s extremely odd to be washing my boss. But you need the help and… it’s not like you’re in a human body right now. I’ve washed a dog before, it can’t be that different.”

A little hurtful, really. He’s not a wolf but he certainly isn't a dog.

“Here, I’ll cut you a deal, okay? Anything on your front and below the waist is yours to deal with. I’ll get the stuff you can’t reach.” They hold out a hand. “Deal? And I won’t use the strong scent stuff. I’ll find something mild.”

He’s still displeased, but… they aren’t giving up on this, and he’d like to not it h and shed anymore. With a sigh, he gives them his massive paw. It’s easily twice the size of their hand, but they shake it firmly anyway.

They keep their promise with the shampoo, at least. It’s in a massive container, but it has a subtle clean scent and promises to be good for dog fur. Which is close enough, if insulting.

Few bathtubs would be large enough, but Wil likes to luxuriate now and then, and he’s off doing who knows what— probably in his disco with his beau— so it’s free and clear. Small, still, but free.

The PA handles any water dealing, turning taps and testing until they’re satisfied with the temperature. “I can’t fill it up a lot,” they say apologetically, “just because of your mass, but it should cover you pretty well once you get in.”

True to their word, the warm— really, bordering on hot, how do they stand it?— water covers him a decent amount, enough to feel like he’s actually bathing and not just sitting in a puddle.

“So, um…” The PA busies themself in handing over the soap. “You can… do your half. Just woof or growl or… whatever when you’re done, okay?”

They smell of spice, embarrassment. He can’t blame them— this is the most awkward situation he’s been part of since…

Well, at least since university.

Once his cleaning regiment is finished, which is about as easy as the PA initially said it would be, given his limited mobility, he gives them the promised woof through the door.

“Good?” They peek around the corner, then smile. “Good! Okay, now just get comfortable. As much as you can, anyway— I’m probably going to have to pour the water on you. Sorry.”

He grumbles. Whatever gets it over with faster.

It’s unpleasant at first, his fur sodden and too warm, the cooler soap a shock against his skin, but…

He has to admit it. The PA has incredible fingers.

They don’t scratch him with fingernails, don’t scrub too hard, but the pressure they use is just right, soaping up his mane in repeated circles. It soothes his itchy skin, a gentle and caring touch that just makes sense from them.

He slumps further and further into the tub as they work, sleeves rolled up to their elbows as they work in pleasant silence. His eyelids grow heavy, and he rests his chin on the side of the tub, grumbling quietly.

“See? Not so bad.” Their voice is quiet, too, a hint of a smile in their tone, and their hands move to get his neck, his chin.

The wolf adores that, loving attention and deference from his—

It doesn’t matter what the wolf thinks of them, but it does feel good, and it isn’t fully the wolf that whines when they move to take their hands away.

The PA laughs quietly. “If you didn’t have fur I’d say you’ll get prunes. I’m rinsing you, just be forewarned.”

It’s not half as nice as their gentle fingers in his fur, but he must admit he feels better, clean and relieved of his burden of twigs and dirt and loose fur.

Fuck the comb, though. God, he hates combs.

—

It’s late at night, and they’re still working.

Granted the PA is in bed, but the lamp remains on and a book remains in their hands, their face determined as they scan the pages.

He knows that look. Study focus— they could be at this for hours more if left unchecked.

He grumbles from the doorway, only poking his head in.

“I’m a little busy,” they say, absently. “Just give me a minute.”

Sounds about the same, too. He pushes his way through the door and pads to the bed, placing his forepaws on the covers and grumbling again. Bed. Sleep.

“I said it’ll be a minute.” They flip a page.

They may be stubborn, but he remembers his tricks from long before their memory begins. He hefts himself up on the bed, grabs the book in one forepaw, and sweeps it under their extra pillow.

“Hey! I was reading that!” The PA glares at him, trying to reach past his bulk to grab the book. It’s to little avail, given his size; they simply end up pressing into his mane. “Move!”

Rather than follow orders, he flops on top of the pillow. No, he says with his notebook. Sleep.

“You’re such an ass,” they mutter. “I can push you off this bed, you know.”

He snorts. No, they couldn’t, not without some serious backup from someone a lot stronger. He’ll be staying right here until they go to sleep, one way or another.

Finally, the PA sighs. “Fine, I’ll go to sleep. Are you really going to hog my bed like this?”

In reply, he simply gets comfortable, curling in his hind legs and tail.

He doesn’t expect them to curl into him, burrowing into his mane, and he lifts his head curiously.

“I hold that pillow when I sleep,” they murmur. “So if you’re taking it, I’m holding onto you. If you don’t like it, you can go.”

The thing is, he does. His wolf is content with keeping them close and safe, and he’s always wanted to hold them near and dear since he was truly himself, all those years ago.

Hell, they used to do this very thing in university, after long nights of either studying or partying. It was easier and more comfortable than drawing straws over the floor, and it was never that awkward waking up in the morning sprawled across each other.

The only difference is their hand stroking his mane, rather than his their hair.

“You’re really soft. Bath was a good idea.” They shuffle a little to breathe while still remaining curled up into his side. “You really don’t mind? This isn’t just a weird power play?”

He huffs a laugh.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

They’re quiet for a long time, stroking his fur and breathing deeply. Dark is almost certain they’ve finally fallen asleep when they speak up again.

“… Your name can’t really be Dark, can it? That’s just what people call you.”

He looks down at them curiously. That’s a line of questioning they’ve never gone down before, and one he ached for them to attempt. If they knew his name in tandem with his face, with their bits of memory…

Maybe it would all come back.

“What is it actually, if you don’t mind me asking? Like— you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but… I’d like to know.”

They scoot back some so he can fumble with his notebook, flipping to the alphabet pages. Slowly, he spells it out: Damien.

The PA reads it as carefully as they do everything he says, mouthing the letters as he points them out. “Damien,” they murmur, brow furrowing. “Damien… that sounds familiar.”

His heart skips a beat.

“I’ll think of it later, I’m sure. Right now, I’m actually pretty sleepy— guess you caught me before I passed out,” they laugh. With a sigh, they tuck back into his mane. “Good night, Damien. It was nice meeting you again.”

The again catches in his mind, rolling over and over, but he can’t take a moment to really consider the possibilities; just as they snuggle back in, he feels… odd.

Not quite so big, not quite so wild. Beyond that— cold.

He looks down at himself just as a confused PA does, brow furrowed. “What—“

“Damien?” The PA’s eyes widen and the scramble back. “You— you’re back to normal!”

It’s true. No more thick black fur, no claws or muzzle or fangs. Rather, it’s his cool grayed skin, a humanoid figure with a scar in the gut, an old silvery mark on one forearm. “I… how?”

He winces at his own voice, rough from disuse, but the PA doesn’t seem to care. “I don’t know… there are a lot of legends and things, and— hell, maybe it finally wore off! How do you feel?”

Damien flexes his fingers, works his jaw. “Strange,” he replies, slowly. “I suppose I grew used to the wolf form. I— ought to leave.”

The PA opens their mouth— to protest?— before glancing down, then quickly back up to his face. “Yes, sure,” they say, staring very intently at his nose and not anywhere else. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow, we’ll— we’ll tell everyone.”

“Yes.” He may be embarrassed at the nudity, but… “If you ever require a pillow to hold again… I’m not often busy this time of night.”

They pause, finally looking him in the eye. They search for some time, really searching for his sincerity “… really?”

He gives them a faint smile, just a corner of his mouth turning up. “What can I say? You’re awfully good at cuddling.”

Very slowly, bashfully, they smile back. “So are you. Good night, Damien. I’ll see you tomorrow— and I might take you up on that offer.”

The wolf can’t wait, and truthfully, neither can he.

[tedfagoffski]

would anyone care if i killed myself

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2023 Day 26: Howling Mad

Summary: Silver’s doing a patrol and answers the wrong call.

Prompt: Werewolf

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

It was a weekend and Silver’s turn for a late night patrol. He was around Barnum park when he heard something. A low, deep howl that made Silver’s skin crawl.

In one moment he was outside the park, and then he saw something. Not physically in front of him but a flash of blue that happened the moment he blinked his eyes. When he opened his eyes he was in the park and there was a pair of glowing pink eyes in the darkness of the trees.

“Uh,” Silver said as he began to float off the ground but the thing in the shadows lunged at him.

At first Silver thought it was a bear, it was certainly big enough. But after dodging it, Silver realized it was more like a large wolf. It looked strong and big enough to rip a car apart.

And its fur was pink.

On either side of the werewolf were two smaller dogs. Silver could only call it a “werewolf” because it definitely wasn’t a wolf and what else was it supposed to be? The smaller dogs looked like golden labs taken over by shadow, red eyes and hackles raised.

Dark’s hellhounds.

“What do we have here?”

Silver turned to see Dark standing behind him. Effectively trapping Silver between himself and the pink werewolf.

Dark’s head tilted as he looked past Silver and at the werewolf. The pink werewolf’s tail began wagging in excitement.

A gleaming, moonlight-colored aura came over Dark. He looked a little alarmed before he disappeared suddenly standing in front of the wolf and Dark was different.

The demon had turned to look more feminine. A trailing smoky purple dress with what looked like fur along the v-neck of the dress. Her hair was short and jet black, with more red in her aura.

Dark looked down at her herself and rolled her eyes.

Her hand slowly moved up to the large canine-like face.

“Oh, Wil, if you wanted attention you knew where I was,” Dark smiled as she scratched under the werewolf’s chin.

Wilford made a deep chuffing-like noise as he leaned into her hand.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous sometimes,” Dark said but she had a half smile on her face and continued scratching his chin.

Silver slowly slowly tried to back up but Wilford growled and bared his teeth at Silver.

“Woah, woah,” Silver said as he held his hands up. “Obviously you two are in the middle of something, I can go.”

Dark whispered something to Wilford and the werewolf shot out after Silver. The pink werewolf was roaring and the two hellhounds followed after him.

The demon smiled as she waited for Wilford to either drag the hero back kicking and screaming, or come back on his own.

Silver would get away, being able to fly but not before Wilford snagged his cape with his teeth.

Silver’s cape quick-released and Silver shot off into the sky. Whatever was going on, the hero wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with it. It seemed less illegal and more like a date night thing to him.

The hellhounds disappeared back into the Void and Wilford headed back to Dark, black and white cape in his teeth.

Dark scratched behind his ears. “Completely ridiculous.”

Wilford leaned into the touch.

Then Dark leaned up and kissed Wilford on the side of his head. Immediately turning him back into a human person.

”You’ve saved me, Darkling,” Wilford walked over to her and wrapped his arms around the demon.

“Where’d your clothes go?” Dark asked.

“The transformation took them,” Wilford smiled. “You’ve saved me.”

Dark opened up a portal. “Yes, let’s go dear. And stay out of my cursed books, you might not actually like the next one you come across.

Wilford chuckled as he followed her back into the Manor, staying close behind her.

[ranburgular]

Into the Lion’s Den

Written with @vampyr-starr

Read on ao3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

----

Tommy was in the middle of a forest.

Odd, considering he’d never seen more than five natural trees in the same general area before. 

He looked around, hearing the wind whisper through the leaves, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He swallowed, searching for any signs of life.

“Oi! Anyone out there?” He shouted, walking through the endless grove. No answer was given to him, though Tommy was now suddenly aware that he was now being watched. 

What?

Hair still standing on end, Tommy whirled around, looking through the trees. “Can anyone hear me?!” 

Silence.

Silence.

…

A hushed gasp.

“Tommy…” It called, a vague sense of desperation in its voice. Tommy jumped away, feeling his heartbeat suddenly shoot up to levels that were definitely unhealthy. Thistles grew in a rough circle around him in response to the shock of fear, but Tommy absolutely could not bring himself to care.

“Who’s there?!” He demanded, nails digging lines into his palm. He could feel the light feeling of blood trickling down his fingers, but it didn’t seem like it mattered right now.

“Tommy… Tommy…” The voice murmured, sounding more and more anguished. 

“What the hell do you want?!” Tommy’s voice cracked as he screamed at the watching void around him.

“Tommy… Save us.” 

Tommy stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“Save us… save us…” The trees were beginning to pick up speed with the wind, groaning as they bent. 

“Save you from what?” Tommy asked, the trees around him growing vines in response to his panic. 

“Tommy… save us…” The voice cut off suddenly, the wind picking up to near hurricane-level speeds. If anything other than Tommy was alive in that forest, it wasn't anymore, almost certainly being swept away by the wind. Shielding his eyes, Tommy grit his teeth, dropping to his knees to steady himself. Suddenly, every tree in the forest crashed down.

With a scream, Tommy woke up.

“Hey- hey, you good, man?” Tommy gasped, sitting up and looking around the room, seeing walls and wood floors in place of forestry, and hearing Wilbur’s voice instead of some creepy forest ghost. He met Wilbur’s eyes, his brother looking legitimately worried. 

Tommy swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Just a bad dream, y’know.” 

As his eyes adjusted to the real world, he noticed a suitcase on the floor, half filled with t-shirts, pants, and packs of extra batteries. Tommy furrowed his eyebrows, pointing to it. “What’s that?”

Wilbur cast a glance over to the bag, shrugging. “Phil said we’re going on a week-long trip. Apparently it was some kind of summer vacation surprise.”

“Pretty terrible surprise, if you ask me.” Tommy scoffed. “And what’s with all the batteries?” 

“Phil says we’re not allowed to bring phones or anything, so I need batteries for my Walkman.”

“He’s forcing you to dig up that old-ass piece of technology?” Tommy asked with an eye roll. “It’s practically a fossil.”

Wilbur elbowed Tommy in the shoulder as he stood up, causing his brother to yelp and toss a pillow at him. 

“You better get packed too, Phil says we’re leaving at noon.” Wilbur advised, going back to packing his bag. Tommy looked over at the clock hanging on the wall and saw that it was already 9:30. With a dramatic sigh, he rolled out of bed, grabbing a duffel bag from their closet. 

“Where could Phil even want to take us? He’s not the type for camps or anything actually fun.” Tommy muttered as he began to pack.

“Don’t know. Maybe he’ll surprise us.” Wilbur offered. “Maybe it’s actually a ruse and he’s taking us out to the middle of the forest to kill us and make it look like we ran away.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “You listen to too much true crime stuff. If it were me on those shows, I would just simply not be killed.”

“It helps you be prepared, dumbass.”

“Oh, look at me, I'm Wil-bah and I listen to stories about people getting offed because I'm a paranoid old ma- HEY!” Tommy coughed as Wilbur playfully whacked him in the side with his bag, laughing.

“I am not a paranoid old man. I’ll meet you downstairs, we should eat before we go.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tommy said, sticking his tongue out at Wilbur as he left the room. He got to thinking about his dream again, the haunting cries of “Save us” stuck in his brain, still chilling him to the bone. Who needed him? Was it someone real, or just weird dream stuff? Tommy was not one for discussions like that, and shoved off those thoughts to the best of his ability while packing his bag. 

Getting his things together didn’t take as long as he’d first thought, as it turned out, and he was done before an hour had passed. Before he knew it, his things were in the trunk of the car, and he was in the backseat behind Phil. Never one for silence, Tommy began what ended up being a very lengthy monologue about how he would ask out a woman. No one else really listened, Tommy could see Wilbur had headphones in for half of it, but he really didn't care very much. He was probably annoying Phil, and that thought made him grin. After about five hours, Phil turned onto a gravel road surrounded by thick birch trees.

"We're not far now." He said. 

“You never really told us where we were off to.” Wilbur pointed out.

Phil paused, then sighed. “I was sort of putting off telling you guys. I knew you wouldn’t be happy.”

Warning bells immediately sounded in Tommy’s mind. “Where are we going?”

“Well-... it’s like a doctor.” Phil admitted.

“What?!” Wilbur nearly hit the car roof with how high he jumped in his seat. 

“It’s not just a doctor!” Phil quickly added. “It’s like a camp, a school, and a hospital all in one.”

“We’re not sick though!” Wilbur yelled, anger flooding into his voice. “Phil- what is this?” 

“Wilbur- I know you think that. But you are.” Phil sounded downtrodden, like he was resigned to this conclusion no matter what. “You can’t control your powers, and Tommy can’t either. You’re going to hurt someone if you can’t get this under control.” 

“So you send us off to jail without telling us?!” Tommy jumped in, just as enraged as Wilbur was. “Are you insane?!”

“I’m trying to be a good father here.” Phil snapped. “I don’t know what to do with you two anymore.”

“Oh, so you just ship us off to God knows where! Fantastic!” Wilbur growled. Tommy noticed that the dense trees on the side of the road were leaning in closer to them, and sparks were starting to fly from Wilbur’s fingertips. Phil apparently noticed these things too, speeding up the car.

“This wasn't a snap decision, you know. I’ve already paid for three months of care. You’re going, end of discussion.”

“But Phil-” Tommy interjected.

“END OF DISCUSSION.” Phil shouted, gritting his teeth. Wilbur fell back in his seat, looking more irritated than Tommy had ever seen in his life. Not that he blamed him at all, thoughts ran through Tommy’s head about what this place could possibly be. A prison or an asylum? Or maybe it was like the comics, and they were going to an actual school for superheroes. Tommy doubted it though. What kind of school didn’t have any advertising anywhere at all and was located in the middle of nowhere? If he couldn’t scream, Tommy opted to seethe in silence, trying to focus and grow a pussywillow bush inside of Phil’s car engine. He could probably do it. Maybe. If he tried hard enough.

After ten hellishly long minutes, the trees began to clear, and several concrete buildings came into view. They looked like guard stations, which made Tommy’s blood run cold. Guards were either there to keep others out or people in, and by the location, it didn’t look like a lot of people were stumbling upon this place. The buildings got larger, storage trailers, then what looked like dormitories, then finally the centerpiece of it all: a huge stone building, at least five stories tall. The sign in front was painted a faded green, and read

The Exdee Foundation for Powered Adolescents

Training up youth since 1973

Tommy felt sick.

“Here we are.” Phil muttered, parking the car on the side of the road. There wasn’t a parking lot here, which immediately struck Tommy as strange. Where did the employees park? Where were the other cars? He looked around, trying to make sense of this place as Wilbur continued to give Phil a death stare. Phil shot him one right back as he unlocked the trunk to get out the boys' bags. 

“Hello there!” Tommy jumped, turning around to see a man wearing a lab coat over a dress shirt with a green tie. He was grinning much wider than was normal for the average person, it sent a chill down Tommy’s spine. Phil, however, seemed to be more apathetic than unnerved as he shook the man’s hand. 

“Hey there. You’re the doctor they said we’d meet, yeah?”

Wilbur and Tommy shot each other a look of astonishment, how long had Phil been planning this? 

The man in the lab coat nodded. “Yeah, I'm the head of the center.” He turned to the boys with the same strange grin. “You can call me Dream.”

“Stupid name if you ask me.” Tommy muttered, earning him a muffled laugh from Wilbur and an elbow in the arm from Phil. The man–Dream’s–smile didn’t let up.

“It’s alright, I know how the new arrivals can be. I’ve seen worse.” He gave Phil what could be classified as a knowing look, and Phil smiled weakly in return. “And I assume you’ve all gotten your chances to say goodbye?”

Tommy paused, looking back to Phil. "Aren't you supposed to come in with us?" 

Phil nodded, much to Tommy's surprise. "I thought I'd be seeing more of the place."

"Well- we try to keep interaction with parents to a minimum in there." Dream explained. "It can be upsetting to other patients." 

Phil nodded, Tommy glanced at Wilbur and saw that his brows were furrowed in concern and near shock, he met Tommy's eyes and shook his head. 

"I'm not going in there." He announced, crossing his arms. 

Phil sighed. "Wilbur, I'm not taking you home."

"I will walk home if I have to!" Wilbur shouted, backing away. "I'm not going in there!" 

"Wilbur, you won't make it past the treeline." Dream interjected calmly. "The guards will catch you, and your welcome here won't be as pleasant as it should be." 

"Are you threatening me?!" Wilbur hissed, suddenly stepping closer to Dream and pushing him back.

"Wilbur!" Phil grabbed him, pulling him back and down to his level. "You're going to this school. You will do whatever this man asks of you. You're going to get better here, Wilbur."  

"Like hell I will!" Tommy watched in horror as Wilbur pushed away from his father, taking off running for the trees. Phil nearly started to run after him, but Dream stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

"Don't bother. He'll be back soon." 

Phil nodded, trying to hide how much he was seething. "I'm so sorry about him. I hope he doesn't keep giving you trouble."

"In my experience, they both will. But that's alright." Dream laughed. "They always learn." 

Tommy quickly looked back to where Wilbur had run, and he was nowhere to be seen. Truth be told, even though every muscle in his body was screaming at him to run, to get away from whatever the hell this place was, he couldn't move. It was like a nightmare, one he couldn't wake up from. His throat was too dry to talk, and he bet that the slightest gust of wind could knock him over. Phil and Dream shook hands with a smile, and the next thing Tommy knew, he was watching his father get back in his car and drive away. 

Tommy swallowed hard. He hadn't even said goodbye.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to jump. He looked up to see Dream's steady smile, still too wide to be real. All his teeth perfectly straight white chiclets, a grin from a nightmare. 

"While we wait for your brother, I'll show you around. How does that sound, Tommy?" Dream asked. 

Still too scared to talk, Tommy nodded, picking up his and Wilbur's duffel bags. Dream led him towards the front doors, keeping his hand on his shoulder.

"We'll take your bags to be checked first, then they'll be taken to your rooms." Dream explained. "You'll have a roommate, by the way." 

Tommy's heart jumped and he swallowed, finally somewhat ready to ask a question. 

"Can it be Wilbur?" 

Dream laughed, shaking his head. "You'll be in different sections of the facility. His power is pyrokinesis, correct?"

Tommy wrinkled his nose. "His power is what?" 

"Pyrokinesis." Dream repeated with another small laugh, it made Tommy feel a little stupid, like he should know it already. "It means that he can control fire."

"Oh. Then yeah." Tommy nodded.

"He'll be staying with the other psychokinetics, and you'll be in the NK group." 

"NK?" Tommy asked, feeling so lost. 

"Not kinetic. So many patients here can move something with their minds, so we divided the facility between them and those whose power is something different." Dream explained. 

"Do we still get to see each other?" Tommy asked.

"If you're well behaved and earn privileges, you'll get more unstructured free time outside and be able to see him." 

Something clicked in Tommy's brain, and he rolled his eyes. "You're gonna use him as a reward for me, aren't you?" 

Dream raised an eyebrow, his face darkening for just a moment, his glittering teeth seeming more sinister than before. "Well, would that work on you?" 

Tommy thought for a moment but kept his mouth shut, deciding that not answering was the best course of action. Dream seemed satisfied with the silence, leading him into a door labeled "Staff only". 

"What are we doing in here?" Tommy asked, looking back as the door swung shut. 

"Just a bag check and shower, standard procedure here so no one hurts anyone else or causes a lice infestation." Dream stated. It sounded simple enough to Tommy, though the shower part made him nervous. He was not keen on taking off his clothes in some weird school in the middle of nowhere, even if it was just to shower. Dream led him to a table with two attendants behind it, taking Wilbur's bag with Tommy's and setting both on the table. 

"They'll take your bags to your room after this, and the shower is just through this door." Dream explained, still as calm as ever. Before Tommy could go inside however, Dream snapped his fingers, as if he'd just remembered something. He grabbed a folded set of clothes and a towel from beside the bag inspection table, handing them to Tommy.

"Change into these after your shower, we'll have your clothes washed for later." He instructed. Even more confused now, Tommy nodded, taking the clothes. Dream smiled, opening the door to the showers for Tommy. 

"Try not to take too long!" Dream said in a lighthearted tone, closing the door. 

"...Weirdo." Tommy muttered after a pause. He took a look around, there was a row of ten showers lined up against the wall, a porcelain wall a few inches thick divided each shower for privacy. A thin curtain, looking like it was covered in mildew, could be pulled in front if someone else was in the room. Lice shampoo and old bars of soap sat on the stands in the shower, Tommy grimaced in mild disgust, but it was nothing he hadn't seen before at a summer camp or a school locker room. At least there wasn't anyone in here. 

Tommy waited to take his clothes off until he was in the shower stall, safe from any creeps who might be watching somehow. He hadn't seen any cameras in here, but he didn't trust anyone or anything in this place farther than he could throw them. Pulling the curtain shut, Tommy pushed his clothes out of the shower, and pressed a button to turn on the water. 

It was practically antarctic levels of cold.

Tommy yelped as he jumped back, a sharp pain going through his shoulder as he accidentally slammed into the wall. Hissing in pain, he moved as far away from the freezing water as he could, looking for any way to change the temperature. It was then he realized that unlike most showers, this one didn't have a dial to make the water hotter, just a small metal button. 

"Damnit." Tommy cursed, wondering why anyone in their right mind would make a shower like this. The way he was positioned, pressed against the back wall, he’d have to go through the water again to get out anyway. With a groan, Tommy quickly dipped his hair into the harsh stream of water, hopefully getting it wet enough to fool Dream into thinking he’d taken an actual shower. He decided to forgo the shampoo, he knew there was no way he had lice, and he did not want to stay in the icy shower from hell any longer than he had to. Gritting his teeth, Tommy darted through the water, trying to ignore the freezing pinpricks. Sliding to a stop outside the shower, he quickly grabbed his towel, drying off as best he could. He looked at his old clothes he’d left on the ground, only now realizing that the water had trickled out of the shower, soaking them. 

“The universe hates me personally and I hope it stubs its toe on lava.” Tommy muttered harshly, grabbing the clothes Dream had given him and pulling the white t-shirt over his head. The fabric felt cheap, like they hadn’t even had the budget to buy good boring shirts in bulk. The sweatpants and jacket felt much the same, and Tommy rolled his eyes. Scratching at the tag that rubbed at the back of his neck, he dried his hair off as best he could, grabbed the damp baseball shirt and jeans from the floor, and walked out. 

Tommy was greeted by Dream, still standing outside the door and still smiling that creepy as hell smile. 

"Glad to see you're cooperating! Just one more thing, then we'll be on our way."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "What thing?"

"It's nothing to worry about. Just put your clothes in the bin and follow me." 

Suspicious, Tommy did so, keeping an eye out for anyone with a needle. If this thing involved shots, Tommy was 100% out. 

Dream led him to a plastic chair in front of a mirror, and gestured for Tommy to sit. Tommy did not. 

"What's going on here?" He asked, backing away.

Dream sighed. "Just standard procedure here, a safety precaution to stop the spread of lice."

"I don't have lice!" Tommy shouted, hands flinging to his hair in defense, quickly walking back to where he came from, when he was stopped by another doctor. 

“Even if you don’t, we can never be too careful.” Dream said. "Now, sit down before anything bad has to happen."

Tommy sized the doctor up, and noticed the taser and what looked like a baton strapped to his side, as well as a pouch marked with a red cross. Tommy swallowed, slowly inching toward the chair, Dream encouraging him with a strange smile. He managed to sit down, his foot tapping the floor, were they just going to inspect him? He’d had that happen a few times at school. He’d be fine with that, he actually enjoyed the lice inspections at school. The second doctor walked up behind him and Tommy felt physical repulsion once he brandished a pair of hair clippers. He stared at Dream, begging for him to advocate that he was lice free. 

“Don’t! I don’t have lice!” Tommy shouted, trying to guard his head. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want this. 

Dream’s smile turned into a frown, which was somehow more disturbing than his constant smiling. His features twisted strangely because of it, like a very terrible waxy painting. “Tommy, there’s no need to be difficult. We only want everyone to be safe, specifically, we want you to be safe and comfortable, and trust me, lice is not comfortable.” 

Tommy swallowed hard, he glanced in the mirror. Maybe he wouldn’t look too bad without hair. He stilled himself and nodded. “Sorry.” 

Dream’s face returned to a grin. “Fantastic! We can go quick, our friendly doctor is an expert.” 

It was over quickly, but it was painful. Dream was an ugly liar, this doctor seemed like he'd never cut hair before in his life. Phil used to cut Tommy and Wilbur’s hair, and this was nothing like it. The clippers were dull, but cut when the doctor pressed down too hard on Tommy’s head, they didn’t even clip all of his hair the shortest it could go first, they just tried to shave it all away. Tommy tried to look away from the mirror, trying to focus on anything else other than his hair slowly falling to the floor and blood trickling from his scalp. Dream, however, had other plans. He shook his head and walked up to Tommy, took his head in his hands, standing behind him, and forcing him to look forward into the glass. 

“If you close your eyes, we’ll have to force them open.” Dream hissed, the first hint of darkness Tommy had heard truly come from him.

Tommy nodded, but the pain from several cuts all over his head hurt like nothing else. Soon though, it was over, as if it had never happened, the hair on the ground didn’t even look like Tommy’s. Dream cleaned up any blood and ruffled his hand over the peach fuzz blonde over Tommy’s head. 

“Lice free indeed.” Dream smiled brightly, his white teeth glimmering like diamonds in the artificial lighting. “How do you feel, Tommy?” 

Tommy felt the weight in that question. “I feel… better than before.” 

"Perfect." Dream smiled. "Now, let's go meet your roommate!" 

He walked out of a door to their right, and Tommy followed hesitantly. They were in a hallway, one that didn't go very far before it led to two doors on opposite walls. Dream led him through the left one, scanning a key card to open it, and Tommy blinked as pure white walls all but blinded him. Evenly spaced doors lined each wall, no color or personality anywhere to be found. Tommy could hear the faint sounds of talking from inside some of the rooms, at least there weren't any sounds of torture or screaming, yet. Dream stopped at the seventh door on the right, knocking. 

"Come in!" The voice inside chirped, sounding rather cheerful. Tommy couldn't hide a scowl, the last thing he needed was some sunshine-and-rainbows roommate telling him that everything would be fine. Because it wouldn't. Nothing would be fine as long as he was in this place.

Dream opened the door to show Tommy a white room with a bed and a desk on each wall, a door leading to a bathroom, and a boy with closely cut brown hair sitting on a bed, playing with what appeared to be a snap circuit toy for kids. 

"Tubbo, meet your new roommate. This is Tommy." Dream gestured to Tommy. The boy on the bed smiled, getting up. 

"Nice to meet you!"

Tommy shot him a glare. "Hi."

"Your bag will be here shortly." Dream explained. "Until then, I'll let you two get to know each other." 

Tubbo nodded, Tommy just moved into the room with one last glare shot towards Dream for good measure. The farther away he was from this creep, the better. With one last smile, Dream shut the door.

"So, what's your power?" Tubbo asked, sitting back down on his bed.

"What's it to you?" Tommy responded in a harsh tone, crossing his arms.

"Just wanted to know. Mine is that anything I dream, it becomes real." 

That snapped Tommy out of his bad mood, blinking in shock.

"You can what?"

"Yeah!" Tubbo exclaimed. "I've dreamed up a lot of stuff, it scares the doctors sometimes." 

"...And I gotta share a room with you?" Tommy asked, suddenly a little nervous. 

"Oh, I don't sleep in here. Once a week, I go and sleep in my own spot in the doctor's area so it's safe." Tubbo explained.

"What about the rest of the time?" 

Tubbo laughed, it sounded slightly forced. “I don’t sleep the rest of the time.”

“What?!” Tommy wrinkled his nose in a strange sort of surprise. Tubbo laughed again, nodding.

“Yeah, they give me some pills every night, and I’m good for a week or two. Pretty cool, huh?”

Tommy stared at him blankly, confused and shocked. 

“...What the hell?”

“What?”

“You have to realize there’s something fucked up about what you just said, right?” 

Tubbo paused, then just shrugged. "Sure. I think it's almost time for dinner, I'll show you where it is."

"I'm staying here. I want my bag." Tommy said, crossing his arms and sitting down on his bed.

"They'll just leave it in here, and you're going to want food. Come on!" Tubbo got up, motioning for Tommy to follow, and left the room. After a few moments of debating whether or not to follow him, Tommy grumbled to himself, getting up and following Tubbo out. 

Tubbo led them down a long hallway lined with more doors that eventually spat them out into a huge room, painted white like everything else in this place. Couches and chairs sat along the walls, a couple dozen kids who looked anywhere from six to close to adulthood sat around, talking to each other. Some of the younger ones lay on the floor, reading picture books or coloring, while others played a game of what appeared to be tag. Everyone wore the same outfit of a white shirt, gray sweatpants, and had their head shaved. 

Tubbo elbowed Tommy, breaking him out of his trance. "I've got someone I want you to meet."

"They a weirdo too?" Tommy asked, a small laugh in his voice. Tubbo nodded.

"Everyone here is."

Tubbo walked over to a couch in the farthest corner of the room, where one boy sat. He was tall, even when seated, he looked like he was well over six feet. His shaved hair was dark, he looked at the floor like he was having a staring contest with it, and he gripped a notebook, not looking at or attempting to interact with anyone else. Tubbo sat next to him, and the boy didn't react. Tubbo didn't seem to care.

"This is Ranboo. He's not much of a talker, but he's nice when he's in the mood." 

The dark haired boy glanced up at Tommy and promptly looked back down, looking like a scared rabbit. Tommy wrinkled his nose.

"Why doesn't he talk?" 

"One of his treatments in TC. He doesn't like to talk about it." Tubbo explained. 

"Huh. What's TC?" Tommy asked.

To his surprise, Ranboo opened his notebook to the first page, showed it to Tommy, and tapped a sentence written in shaky cursive that Tommy had to squint to read.

"TC: the treatment center. Some of us call it trauma central."

Tommy laughed, slapping his knee. There was no way a place nicknamed 'trauma central' could exist in here, even if it did look terrible.

"Oh yeah, hilarious, let's show this to the new guy, freak him out more. Real fuckin' funny." 

Tubbo laughed a little. "That's not a joke." 

Ranboo nodded, and slowly, Tommy stopped laughing. 

"You're, uh- you're serious?" 

Ranboo nodded again, Tubbo leaned back against the couch.

"Everyone in here has some experience in TC, and it's not nice. We don't bring it up, and no one talks about their experience if they can help it." 

Tommy took in the statement, a deep sense of dread settling in his stomach. Something inside him twisted, like his insides had been replaced with snakes, wriggling around and moving against each other over and over again. 

"Does everyone go to the TC?" 

"Everyone does at some point. You might not for another few days, they have to do some tests, make sure no one was lying about your power, and that you don't have any huge medical issues or anything. Easy enough." Tubbo explained this like he was talking about applying for a job and not being tested at a government facility that definitely wasn't legal. The snakes that had been winding around each other in Tommy's stomach began tying knots, and before he could stop himself, vines crept up from the floor, tying themselves to his feet. A growling noise of frustration escaped from the back of his throat, and he tried to think of ways to hide it before someone noticed.

Unfortunately, someone did.

Tubbo gasped, pointing at it as Tommy hastily tried to break the vines and just sit down. "That's cool! I've always wanted to see plants like that." He commented happily. 

Ranboo opened his book, quickly writing something down and turning the book to Tommy.

"They're beautiful. I like the flowers."

"There aren't flowers on the vines, you- uh…" Tommy's voice trailed off as he looked at his feet, only to see bright pink flowers blooming from the vines. This was a rare occurrence. 

Ranboo wrote something else down in his book. "Can you grow alliums?" 

"Of course I can, I could grow anything I wanted to." Tommy said defensively, though unsure. His ability to summon plants was shaky during stressful situations, and he didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the people he'd just met. 

"Can I have one? They're my favorite." Ranboo wrote, actually looking a little hopeful. He'd stopped staring at the floor, and a small smile threatened to come to his lips.

Tommy paused, then nodded. "Fine, yeah, if it makes you happy." He closed his eyes, focusing on the palm of his hand, and thought hard about alliums. Their shape, their size, their color, every detail he could think of. Soon enough, he felt a familiar pressure on his hand, and heard a gasp from Tubbo. 

When he opened his eyes, three gigantic, gorgeous alliums had sprouted from his palm. Ranboo looked overjoyed, more alive than ever, and Tubbo looked like Tommy had just done a neat party trick.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm the best." Tommy grinned, digging the roots from his hand as painlessly as he could manage, and handing each of them one. "Enjoy the gifts of Big T!"

“Hey!” Tommy saw Ranboo drop his eyes and Tubbo turn quickly to look behind Tommy as they heard a new voice. Tommy glanced back, seeing an orderly approaching them, looking less than pleased.

“What?” He asked, scowling at the interruption.

“Doing things like… that in the rec room is prohibited.” The orderly said, scowling right back at Tommy.

“Tough luck, what are you going t-”

A harsh slap hit Tommy’s face before he even knew what happened, and despite the fact he wasn’t some stick thin kid who the wind could knock over, he went tumbling to the ground, his vision swimming with tears. Breathing raggedly, he blinked them back, trying to get his bearings. He’d been in schoolyard fights before, but nothing had ever rendered him speechless and motionless with just one hit. He waited for people to shout, to scream, maybe attack the man with one of their powers- but nothing. No one seemed to care. Not even Tubbo and Ranboo, Tommy noticed, who had already handed the orderly their flowers. Making sure any remaining tears wouldn’t spill from his eyes, Tommy sat up, getting to his feet and cupping his face.

“Give me the flower.” The orderly demanded, malice in his voice.

“Or what?” Tommy asked, hating the slight wobble in his voice. The orderly just raised an eyebrow, extending a hand to accept the flower. After about a ten second standoff, Tommy finally looked away, handing the flower to the man. He simply walked out of the room, taking the flowers with him. Tommy whirled around, facing his new friends, rage filling his chest.

“Why didn’t you do anything?!” He shouted, flinging his arm out for emphasis. Ranboo flinched (Absolute pussy, Tommy thought), but Tubbo stood his ground, looking apologetic but calm.

“Fighting back doesn’t do anything but get you hurt.” He explained in a sensible tone that Tommy hated.

“You can’t just let them do that to us!”

Tubbo shrugged. “It’s how I’m still alive.”

Before Tommy could reply, a buzzer rang out from the wall, and the kids who’d been talking or playing got up and formed a line by a set of large double doors. Ranboo got up, walking over and doing the same, as Tubbo led Tommy over.

“Look, the thing about this place is that if you fight back, you will pay for it.” 

“Obviously.” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Not just that. I had this one roommate who wouldn’t stop fighting, and the doctors zapped him to death in the rec room.” Tubbo explained, his calm tone never changing as he and everyone else entered yet another white room, this time one with rows of lunch tables. Everyone took a seat as Tommy tried to take Tubbo’s words in.

“They-they just killed him? In front of everyone?”

Tubbo nodded. “That’s what I heard. I used to have another friend who read minds, and she said they burned his body that afternoon.” 

“What the hell- what is wrong with this place?!” Tommy exclaimed, attempting to get up. Tubbo pulled him right back down, shushing him.

“We’re not even supposed to be talking right now. You’re lucky the food’s not here.”

Tommy snorted. “What, do I get slapped again?”

“You get solitary.”

Tommy’s face dropped. “As in, like-”

“Yeah.” Tubbo said quickly, then promptly shut up as plates of penne noodles with ground beef haphazardly thrown on top were set in front of each of them. When Tommy got his plate, he inspected it, making sure no pills or anything were hidden inside, before eating. He noticed how behind he seemed, even with his thirty second pause, everyone else seemed to be almost done by the time he got started. By the time he was halfway finished with his plate, it was grabbed out from under him by someone behind his chair. He whipped around, ready to tell them off, consequences be damned, but when he looked into their eyes… something made the words die in his throat. He slowly turned back around, looking at Tubbo, who shrugged and mouthed what looked like “Powers”.

Everyone got up, walking back out to the rec room and out into the long bedroom hallway. Tubbo was the exception, turning to walk out another door. 

“Where are you going?” Tommy called out, pausing in the rec room.

“I get to sleep tonight!” Tubbo responded cheerfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Oh… bye.” Tommy smiled slightly, walking back out to his room. It seemed so lonely now, devoid of any laughter or speech or personality. He closed the door, seeing that his bag had indeed been dropped off. He ran to it excitedly, digging through it, but his heart sank as he only found white shirts, gray sweatpants, underwear, and another jacket. He pushed it off the bed, flopping onto it with a huff, closing his eyes.

He missed his brother. He really, really missed his brother. 

His dad too, as shocked as that made him. He missed Wilbur’s stupid songs, the shitty mac and cheese he always managed to burn, how he’d lock him out of their room as a joke… he’d give anything for this to be a nightmare and to wake up with Wilbur blaring some kind of folk punk music in his ear. He’d shout, Wilbur would laugh, and they’d go about their day in somewhere that wasn’t a goddamn prison. Before Tommy even realized it, tears were flowing down his cheeks, and he buried his face in the covers to hide it, even if no one was there. The tears turned to sobs, and he curled up into the pillow, muffling his broken cries. 

No one was coming.

No one was with him.

Tommy was really, truly alone.

As his sobs started to wear out his body, he tried to remember his brother’s voice. He remembered the time he’d been afraid to do a flip off the high dive in their neighborhood pool, and he remembered what Wilbur said.

“Aw, chin up king, I’ll be right here when you’re done! You can do it!”

“I hope so, Wilbur…” Tommy muttered as he slowly fell asleep. “I really, really hope so.”

[bonesandthebees]

dude now that i was thinking about stars again i decided to reread ch28 (feel free to not reply to this btw hahaha i just appreciate having a void to scream into :))) ) and oooohhhh my godddd

i thought i'd be okay since yknow it was rereading, but nope, i freaked out just the same KFJDSKJD

i even took out the pillow to scream into o77

ur writing is just SO good ughhh and the way you describe dream monologuing >>> that was the perfect villain speech

and don't even get me started on phil ohhhh my godddd, you capture the perfect balance of him being a fricken Terrifying Emperor, but also just him caring about Wilbur so so much :(( AND TECHNOOO techno in stars always makes me laugh i love him so much

i love the amount of reassuring tommy does for wilbur :(( reminding him that it's okay, he's okay, they're okay. it's okay if wilbur indulges himself, tommy has techno he doesn't need wilbur in that moment, wilbur's allowed to let himself be supported. i just-- ughhh i love them so much

i also love how phil gets to call wilbur wilbur and he Instantly just calls him "Wil" like ooohhhhfjwekf my heart i cannot handle this

i don't think i'll ever get over phil calling wilbur "little bird" they are just s o

scratch that, i dont think i'll ever get over *the whole fic*, duuuude this was just soooawjeoaiawef <333

anyways ty for indulging me, im gonna go sleep now and then go back to thinking about glass!crimeboys, glass crimeboys mean so much to me ooohhmygod, just that unexplainable trust they both have-- God. I'll go on a rant about those two later tho hehe

i've been digging back through my inbox tonight and this was so nice to read. so glad you enjoyed dream's evil villain speech, I actually had a lot of fun writing his dialogue for that one chapter lol

stars!crimeboys make me so mentally ill they are my BOYS

and stars!sandduo too ofc. god my heart. i love thinking back on that chapter because it was just the culmination of everything i'd been building up to the entire time. so so satisfying to write.

stars <33 ty for this :D

[baradesign]

Hi, I just binged As a Zora Would (Been wanting to do that for a while but life is a mess) and I just wanted to tell you I loved it so much, and I hope you will continue it someday... maybe? Please? No rush, of course. I just really, really liked all the dynamics and the way you portray the zoran culture. One of my favorite fics, no doubt. I've also seen you mention that you get inspiration from other media when you write, and one thing I've always struggle with is "stealing as an artist". If it's not too much trouble, could you tell us abou some scenes and what was the media you took inspiration from? Only if it's not a bother! 🤗

dsadsadsadsadsadsadsadssdssadsdasdadasdasdaadasd *screams into the void* You are so sweet ;w; I'm so happy that you've been liking it so much! Big praise, I swear... AND YOU ARE NOT A BOTHER AT ALL!!! Of course I can talk about that! SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THOSE WHO CARE!! I've already talked before about how this specific scene was inspired by Bluey's episode "onesies", but I don't think people realize just HOW MUCH. From the first time I saw that episode and the scene that ended up inspiring link's talk, I just knew that was exactly the tone I wanted to use on this specific tidbit of the story. It's actually very easy to see once you have both materials side to side!

Other two examples of me referencing existing movies are when Link and Rivan fight for real. Most of that fight I wrote while watching Hector and Achilles' fight in Troy!

And the scene where Link and Mipha emprace and sway in each other's arms while saying their farewells is based on Dumbo's scene where the little elefant goes see his mom and she cradled him.

Of course, none of these scenes are perfect 1:1 matches, which I think is the final goal when you "steal like an artist". The final scenes ended up being their own thing, but getting inspired and referencing something that aready exists is a great way giving yourself that little push you might need to find your own path! Anyway thanks for comming to my TedTalk xD I hope I was able to shine some light for you! And don't wrry, because I am 10000% continuing the fic!... I've just been kind of busy .w.U BUT IT WIL HAPPEN SOON...ISH!

[rambels-blog]

It’s been awhile since I last wrote a post, even tho I have been thinking about writing a lot which is unusual for me because I I’m not really a writer. The funny thing is tho that tumbler is the only place where I feel comfortable writing, it feels like screaming in the void nobody wil see this and if they do they won’t really interact with it.

[wrenchwenches]

diversity win! the pirate-larp atheist cleric with a bad temper, abandonment issues, and a sick eyepatch is aroace