#you should always be skeptical about wild animals in captivity. even those kept by people who claim they've done their research

[gaydogmarriage]

tighnari fans stop posting pictures of neglected/irresponsibly kept exotic pets because they remind you of your blorbo challenge

[cheese-knife]

A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing

Chapter One: The End.

Hello everyone! I know I’m not exactly know for writing fanfiction, but this is the newest project im working on. Its a bit strange, as it is a crossover between BNHA and The Wolf Among Us/ Fables Universe. But this AU is starting to dig a precious place in my heart, and I’d love it if you checked it out.

Rating: Teens and Up

Pairings: (Eventual) Bigby Wolf/Snow White

Read it on Ao3

The room was nothing special, a plain grey room built like a brick shithouse, meant to house and contain some of the most dangerous criminals in New York for questioning. The only things furnishing the room were two chairs, a table, and a single light without a cover. One of the walls had a rectangle of dark glass inlaid into the brick.

Bigby Wolf sat unnaturally still in the uncomfortable metal chair, greasy, unkempt hair hanging in a curtain around his head as he stared a hole into the table in front of him. His hands were latched to the table by heavy cuffs, kept well apart so there was no way he could rip the hand cuffs off without doing significant damage to himself. Even then, the small red lights blinking on the cuffs showed that they were actively suppressing his quirk so its not like he would get very far.

The door to the room opened with a slam as two stern looking officers entered the room, one carrying a significantly thick file folder under his arm. One stood at the door, and the one with the folder sat down across from Bigby at the table.

“Fifty-Six confirmed counts of murder.”

The folder was slammed down onto the table,

“Sixty-One counts of property destruction.”

Dozens of photos of the were laid out before the wolf, each a snapshot moment from his rampage.

“An an association with an unknown number of missing persons. Their bodies were never recovered.”

He didn’t move as the officer spoke. He didn’t even acknowledge that he was there.

“The list goes on and on. You know what this means, don’t you Mr. Wolf?”

Nothing. The three in the room sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes.

“Damnit-”

Bigby didn’t even flinch as the hand cracked across his face, hard enough to break the skin over his cheekbone. Definitely a strength quirk behind that.

“-You know what this means right?” The officer was in his face now. “We have enough shit on you to put you away for a *thousand* lifetimes, and to kill you a hundred times more. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Bigby finally looked up, furious, wild yellow eyes digging into the frustrated lawman. In this moment, it was clear that he was more animal than man. He had the physicality of a caged feral animal.

In the years after his mother passed away, Bigby let himself slip into the pitfalls of his powerful quirk; in fact, he welcomed it. He welcomed the separation from the world and his humanity, fully embodying the once silly nickname his brothers used to tease him with. The Big Bad Wolf.

The trial went unsurprisingly smoothly. There was no question of what his verdict would be as he stood in front of the judge, still an overwhelming presence in the courtroom despite his restraints.

”Members of the Jury, in the case of Wolf vs. New York, what do you say?”

A small, timid woman stood and cleared her throat.

“Your honor, the members of this Jury finds the defendant wholly GUILTY of his crimes.”

The jury filed out of the courtroom as the judge dismissed them, all more than ready to leave the presence of the newly convicted felon. Bigby could smell the fear-tinged pride on each and every one of them.

The judge looked down on him.

“Bigby Wolf, it is the judgement and sentence of this court that the charged information is true, and the jury having found that the penalty shall be death. It is the order of this court that you shall suffer death, said penalty to be inflicted in Southport Correctional Facility in the manner prescribed by the law, the date later to be fixed by the Court in warrant of execution. You are remanded to the custody of the warden of Southport, it is so ordered. In witness whereof, I have hereon set my hand as Judge of this Superior Court, and I have caused the seal of this Court to be affixed thereto.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

He could see the pure joy in the Judge’s eyes as he delivered the sentencing.

It was five years he spent in prison. Each one hammering in the point that the law was making a mockery of him. Everyday, the guards got a little worse, a little more teasing and pushed the limits of what they could do to him without him fighting back. The bastards got comfortable around him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

They treated him like a sad dog doing tricks just for the pleasure of a shitty treat, only to be denied even after groveling at their feet.

Five. Fucking. Years.

At this point he was just craving some sort of relief. He even welcomed death, and despite the judge’s promise all those five years ago, the court seemed determined to draw out his torment for as long as possible before sending him to the slaughterhouse.

Bigby blearily opened his eyes, never getting enough sleep these days, involuntarily flinching at the sharp sound of metal banging against metal. Though the cuff permanently clamped to his wrist prevented him from transforming, its not like they could cancel out his quirk entirely. Enhanced hearing had its downfalls, and every morning he woke up to the same three scents. Sweat, shit, and corruption.

But anyway, apparently he had a visitor. Which was strange, considering Bigby’s family was either gone, or dead, and he never made any friends. So who the fuck could possibly want to see him?

Only after having shackles firmly attached to his wrists and ankles, he was led into the surprisingly private- well, as private as you could get in a supermax prison- and was forced into a rusting metal chair in front of a booth comprised of two phones and bullet proof glass. And on the other side, politely escorted by guards to the seat in front of him, was a woman with skin like porcelain and hair blacker than coal; none other than the Princess Hero herself: Miss Snow Fucking White.

Real cute fucking name there, right?

She picked up the phone on her end, staring down Bigby with her calm, cold stare until he did the same.

“Mr. Wolf-“

“Listen, Miss White, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood to be berated by one of the top heroes in New York, so cut the shit and get outta here. Whatever you have to say, I’m not interested.” Bigby nothing but growled into his phone, nearly hanging up then and there and dragging is own ass back to his cell.

Miss White simply let him calm down, cleared her throat and continued.

“Mr. Wolf, I am here to inform you, in association with the Fables Hero Agency, that the state of New York is willing to grant you amnesty for your past crimes:”

That got Bigby’s attention. It wasn’t obvious, but there was a certain way his eyes widened just a touch, his body tensed and leaned just a hair in towards Snow that let her know that he was interested, very interested.

“Why should I trust you?” And. Twice as skeptical.

“Because, put plainly, I am your last chance at you living past 35. My agency has been interested in your case for a long time, and your time is running short. The court has scheduled a date for your execution, the end of this month. In 2 weeks exactly.”

Sounded good enough- except it didn’t. Bigby couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of him mouth, regretting them as soon as they hit the air. Why would he be actively trying to fuck up what’s already secured for him.

“Why the hell would you be interested in a serial killer with a knack for tearing people limb from limb?”

Snow leaned in towards the glass, hovering just a few inches from the glass.

“Because, you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

“Seven years ago, you broke into and killed six men in the basement of the Geppetto Casino, all wealthy and well know celebrities, CEOs and millionaires. These men were preparing to rape, torment, and humiliate the three women they were holding captive, including myself and my sister, before auctioning us off to the next highest biding sick perverted fuck.

But you showed up before any of that could happen. You gave those men what they deserved and you let us go without so much as a scratch before you nearly destroyed the whole building. The world mourned the death of those truly evil men, never acknowledging their heinous crimes, while insisting that you were the true monster. But I know the truth. At least in that moment, you were a hero.”

“...I’m not always like that, you know. I’ve killed innocent people.”

“We have one of the best investigative teams at the agency, I think we both know that isn’t entirely true. At points, yes. You were a villain through and through, but you’re not a bad person, Mr. Wolf.”

“Right... so where the hell do I sign up for this pardon thing?”

Snow produced a large envelope from a bag sitting at her feet and removed a few legal documents from it and handed them to a guard to present to Bigby.

“You should know that this doesn’t come without heavy restrictions. You’ll be under twenty-four observation, as well as required therapy, and extremely strict parol. You will also be required to study and work at the hero agency, and acquire a hero license at some point in the next 2 years. If you breech any terms of the contract, you’ll be arrested and sent back here to await execution again. But, if you manage to survive all of this, you’ll be relatively free within ten years. Reduced to five on good behavior.”

Bigby nodded, soaking up the information Snow was giving him while he looked over the several contracts placed in front of him. It was a lot of legal jargon, but it was easier to understand than he thought it would be. Well that, and he also spent the little free time he did have studying up on legal practices, curiosity pushing him to figure out just how fucked the system was right now.

“One problem, I can’t sign this. They don’t really let me use pens.”

Snow almost looked like she smiled at that. And it seems like she thought ahead, producing a pad of ink from the bag and passed it along to Bigby’s side of the glass.

“Don’t worry, your fingerprint makes a good replacement.”

There were ten pages in total, and each page was stamped with Bigby Wolf’s fingerprint black swirling ink. The pages were handed back to Miss White as she now truly smiled and looked at Bigby.

“I’ll need to send the paperwork in to be finalized, but you should be released within forty-eight hours, we’ll send a car to bring you to the agency do that you can see where you’ll be staying for the next few years. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Wolf.”

She returned her phone to its place and turned to leave, but he reached out and tapped loudly on the glass. Snow looked back and picked up her phone again.

“Bigby.”

“Mr. Wolf I-“

“Just call me Bigby.”

Next>

[kiwisfics]

P. T. Barnum (TGS) x Reader - Feline Fatale

A/N - Don’t mind my inability to title things well. Also, yeah this exists because I’m garbage for Hugh Jackman, can you blame me? The man is fine. Reader is written as tomboyish/dresses in men’s clothes, sorry if that doesn’t apply to you!

X

You scaled the walls with ease, hopping between the two smooth, thin metal slabs until reaching the top. You gave yourself no time to adjust, launching yourself off into a freefall as what small security you had dropped from below you as those holding them steady releshed them.

For a instant, the cheering crowd grew even quieter than your ear plugs had kept them before, time slowing to a crawl as you fell, two feet, four feet…

And then Anne’s hands wrapped around your ankles, again, only a moment of security before you were free again. Before you could fall, you had hold of a rope and you drifted slowly down, smiling wide as you neared the floor and large feline bodies surrounded you.

×

Your hands smoothed down a cowlick in Rags’ mane through the bars of his large enclosure you’d insisted the circus invest in for each the lions. Your pointed nails easily ran through all of the knots in his mane, and he clearly enjoyed the loving attention. Rags, Prince, Taylor, Leo, and Scarlet - the show’s ferocious beasts - were given an opportunity just like the rest of the show’s preformers. Saved from the mistreatment of a traveling showman and their much too small cages when they were weeks old, you had been elected their primary caregiver as soon as your bond with them became clear.

You always had bonded better with animals than humans. Animals seemed to sense the empathy and understanding seeded deep in your person, while humans tended to use it to their advantage if they noticed at all.

If it wasn’t for you breaking the nose of the man who held the lions captive, he never would have sold the sickly creatures to Barnum. You knew you couldn’t leave the cubs with a man who had no concern for their wellbeing and, as such, that was how you’d become a member of the circus. At that point, you had no way of knowing if Barnum had better intentions than the man he’d gotten them from, you knew better now.

“How’re my favorite kittens doing?”

A wide grin spread on your face as a hand rested on your shoulder, “Why, Mr. Barnum, that nickname might lead people to believe something scandalous is going on, don’t you think?”

His grin faded, if only slightly, “I’m curious about this dinner your family is hosting. You’re sure everyone’s invited?”

You could understand the hesitation, but, even if your family hadn’t insisted they were all welcome, you would have. After all, they were as much your family as those of your blood and, to your parents delight, they were the first people you’d bonded with in years.

“Of course, Phineas, I wouldn’t have it any other way. My family is ecstatic to meet everyone, it is a shame I won’t be able to bring my cats though!” Rags cocked his head as you scratched behind his ear, offering a quiet grumble that shifted to a growl as scarlet approached from her enclosure. “Oh, don’t be selfish, big guy, you get plenty of attention.”

“I’ll leave you to them. I look forward to meeting those who raised such a lovely woman.” Your cheeks burned red in response to the comment as he made his way toward Lettie.

“You two are disgusting.”

With a roll of your eyes and a laugh, you turned to face some of your fellow performers, “Anne, Charles,” you grinned at the sight of Phillip with his arm wrapped around Anne’s waist, “Phillip, don’t you have anything better to do than meddle with my interactions?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than dance around Barnum?”

You hesitated, but couldn’t offer much in the way of an argument, “Fair enough, Charles.”

“You’re not getting anywhere by keeping quiet.”

“Well,” you sighed, “men that look like him don’t go after girls like me.” You gestured to your clothes, men’s as was always the case out of the spotlight. Not that your clothing within was much compared to the others; skin-colored and skintight, the very minimum to play up the wild-girl aesthetic you were known for. “He goes after women like-like that Charity girl.”

“Charity is his friend,” the words gained Phillip a skeptical glance, “he hardly ever shuts up about you!”

You sighed, giving another roll of your eyes, well aware that they wouldn’t stop until you gave them an answer they liked, “Fine, fine, I’ll speak with him after dinner tonight. My parents are looking forward to meeting him, so I’ll wait to chase him off until after they get their wish.”

×

The suit you wore accented your curves, after all, it had been tailored specifically for you. While all members of the show knew of your unconventional style of dress, they couldn’t help but be surprised by the higher class than usual style when you opened the door to invite them in.

“Mother, father,” you introduced them to each of your friends as they entered, Phineas and Phillip being the last, “and of course the ringmasters, Phineas Taylor Barnum and Phillip Carlyle.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, [Name] speaks highly of all of you, you in particular Mr. Barnum.”

“Mother, please,” you gave her a light nudge, cheeks blossoming into a dark pink following the words. You’d asked that they keep your attraction quiet, but clearly she couldn’t resist. The grin she gave you was nothing short of devious.

“Please, call me Phineas. I’m glad to hear I’m on her good side, she does watch over the most dangerous animals we have in the show.”

“Clearly, you’ve never seen my daughter angry, Phineas, the lions should be the least of your concerns.”

×

Dinner was enjoyable, spent with all members of the circus playfully teasing each other and your parents watching your interactions fondly. You ended up between Lettie and Phineas, resulting in light nudges whenever they’d try to talk around you.

You couldn’t help letting your own fondness for the people around you shine through. You never would have thought you’d find yourself surrounded by so many people you were privileged to know as friends, but far be it from you to complain.

This was where you felt most at home.

×

As the hours wore on, you found your way to one of the balconies in your parents home, the time among loud chatting leaving you drained, and balanced haphazardly on the railing as you thought over how to approach Phineas.

You knew they’d never let it go if you claimed it slipped your mind.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Despite yourself, a smile immediately grew on your lips at the sound of his voice. And it grew even wider when he placed his coat over your shoulders.

“Thank you, though I believe the red suits you more than it does me.”

He situated himself aside you, “So, would you do me the honor of a night at the theatre?” While his first words came smooth, they were followed by a stuttering mess of syllables, “Whenever you’re free, only if you want of course, I just thought-”

“I’d love to, Phin,” you glanced down, “I just don’t want to embarrass you with, well- I’m not much of a match for you. Even though the people give you a hard time, I’m sure there’s someone much better for you than me. My entire act is being wild.”

“I assure you, there’s nothing I want more in the world than for you to accompany me. If not the theatre than anywhere. I’ve put off asking from the moment you laid out that man and refused to let me take those cubs without proof they’d be cared for. Believe me, your being wild is part of the attraction.” If Barnum didn’t have the very definition of puppy eyes, than you had no other words to describe the expression he gave you.

You couldn’t resist. You leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss against his lips.

He almost slipped off the railing, and almost certainly would have if you hadn’t pushed him back.

“Why not after our first show this Tuesday?” You grinned, “and only if you don’t sit on balcony railings anymore.”

“Sounds perfect.”

×

“[Name] have you seen my- oh.” He cut himself off as he saw his coat, the item he was searching for, hanging on your frame, reaching below your knees.

“What can I say? Red might not be my color, but your coat is comfortable, and it smells like you!”

“It’s almost showtime.”

You hummed, “You can have it back on one condition, I get a kiss.”

“Well, I can’t have my favorite kitten upset, can I?”

“I am the most dangerous animal in the show.”

One of the lions growled, as if arguing that statement, but proceeded to butt his head against your leg.

“Yes, yes, you’ll get a kiss too, Prince,” you rolled your eyes, leaning towards Phineas and whispering, “don’t tell them, but you’re my favorite male.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

[brothersapart]

A Circular Argument

We got a few requests for the cut argument between Bowman and Dean (who would have expected those two to go in more circles than the earth around the sun?), and after a journey into the depths of google past (good thing they have old versions of docs!) we present the unedited argument between the hunter and the sprite, and what the world missed out on.

Read the full story here.

After a time, Dean decided that Bowman had had enough time to stew in the vase. He pushed aside the remains of their meal, focusing down on the small sprite. "So. Small fry. Up for round two?"

Instead of waiting for a reply, Dean wrapped his hand around the vase and, giving Bowman just enough time to stand, pulled it closer to where he was sitting. Sam backed away from Dean, giving his sweeping arms plenty of space to move. He ended up going over to where Jacob was sitting, since the second human had a tendency to move far slower than Dean.

Bowman stumbled a little, trying to move along with the vase quickly enough without the glass walls knocking into him. He scowled at the giant, though his wings twitched a little with nerves. The hand around the glass looked like it could close on him completely at any second. Bowman remembered well enough what that felt like. He remained standing towards the far side of the vase from Dean, a wary glare fixed on the face above.

Dean cocked an eyebrow down at Bowman. "Well?" he asked gamely. "How about it. What exactly are you, if you aren't a fairy?"

Off to the side, Sam saw the hand Jacob had stretched out on the table. He sent a smile up over his shoulder to catch the human's eye. "Mind if I sit with you?" he asked with a slightly red expression. His shirt and cushioning was on the other side of Dean and Bowman, and Sam was in no hurry to interrupt his brother for something so small.

Jacob sent Sam an encouraging smile. He nodded and shifted his hand slightly to make it easier to sit down. He didn't want to interrupt Dean any more than Sam, however, so he didn't say anything either.

Bowman crossed his arms. Why did that matter so much to them? He didn't know what they were and no one was volunteering that. "I'm not a fairy, but I am getting tired of the questioning already. Must be an off day for you."

Sam grinned as the hand slid a little closer. It still awed him that he had two humans that didn't mind having him around, to the extent of him being welcome to hang out on a shoulder or a hand whenever he wanted. He climbed onto the huge hand, sitting cross-legged on top. His injured wrist he kept cradled in his lap, watching Dean work.

Dean shrugged. "Well, if you don't tell me what you are, I'll just call you a fairy. Might as well, right? Got the wings, got the attitude of Tinkerbell, you'll fit right in."

Bowman looked exasperated. "Fairies don't even have wings, you sunhated idiot," he shot back. Why were they stuck on that?! Fairy lights didn't even really have a look!

Jacob tilted his head a little at that. If Bowman was serious, then there were fairies out there in addition to whatever he was. He found himself asking once again, as he often did around the Winchesters, what didn't exist.

That made Dean's eyebrow go right up. "Yeah? All the fairies I've ever heard of have wings. Butterfly, dragonfly, that kind of thing. I'll admit, they don't look like your wings... those are closer to bats or dragons from what I've seen. So if you're not a fairy, what are you?"

Bowman sighed in frustration and tucked his wings even closer, the equivalent of clenching his fists. He wished they weren't so easy for the giant to observe. He wished he wasn't so easy to observe. "How much of a difference will knowing make for you?" he evaded.

"It helps in the future, especially if you've got nothin' to do with this wolf thing goin' on. That way we don't go hunting the wrong people again." He nodded at Sam. "I mean, there's still people who try and hunt down people like my brother, just because they're different."

Bowman frowned and took a chance taking his eyes off Dean to look over at Sam. So the 'brother' really wasn't the same species as the giants? He must be some kind of well trained captive after all.

Bowman looked skeptically back to Dean, wondering what exactly he was implying about hunting 'the wrong people'. Well, they'd caught Bowman, so clearly sprites were perfectly valid targets. "The only thing I know about right now is there were some giants in the woods today. And I'm regretting that fact a little more every second."

Dean frowned at that. "Were we the only humans you saw, or were there more before we got there?" he asked, equating 'giants' to him and Jacob.

Bowman sighed and rolled his eyes. But at least now he had a name for the giants. Humans. Something to be avoided if he ever got home again. He shook his head. "You had to go and ruin a perfectly good day and a perfectly good record, Spirit scorn you."

Dean folded his arms, resting his head so he was a little closer to Bowman's level. It usually made Sam more comfortable, so there was a small chance it would work on Bowman.

"What record did I ruin?" he asked, curious despite himself.

Bowman inched back as the human leaned closer. He was still surprised that he was glad for the glass walls separating them. He narrowed his eyes at the gigantic face. "Until you came along giants were just a myth."

Bowman frowned again. He didn't want to continue this line of conversation. Doing so would undoubtedly reveal more about 'his people'. As it was it sounded like he'd already let them guess anyway. Best to quit while he was ahead. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, then leaned his back against the side of the glass that let him keep both humans in his sight.

"Hey," Dean tapped the glass next to where Bowman was sitting. "We're not done yet." He cocked his head at Bowman. "How 'bout this. One answer, and I'll leave you alone for a bit. All you gotta do is tell me what you are."

At this point it almost felt like a personal challenge, withholding the information. Bowman glared at Dean, leaning away from the glass again. He doubted the giant even realized how much the impact translated in to Bowman. His wings flicked with annoyance. It was intimidating to try to have a staredown with someone whose eyes were the size of his head.

But Bowman managed. "Does the fact that I don't want to tell you mean anything to you?"

Dean shrugged, belatedly realizing he shook the table when he did it, making Sam shift his position further back on Jacob's hand. Dean sent a grimace of apology his way before answering. "Sure. You don't have to tell me anything. That just means you'll have to put up with me a bit longer though."

Bowman glanced at the table beneath him as it shook, and his wings flexed open briefly. But he rolled his eyes and leaned against the glass again, his arms crossed. He wasn't at all convinced they'd let him go after taking him so far already. So "a bit longer" had no meaning. "I'm not telling you anything, so you can Pray to a rock for all I care."

Dean frowned, thinking things over. "Do you want these wolves to stay in your forest?" he asked. "Because if you want to give us a hand getting rid of them, this'll all be over sooner. No more wolves, no more us. We're only interested in getting rid of an unnatural threat to everyone." From what he'd seen from Bowman, the guy shouldn't have any reason to want these nasty skulkers lurking around, especially not if he lived in the forest.

"The wolves are always there!" Bowman answered, frustrated and no less confused than before. Wolves were predators. They killed and ate things. It was sad but it was just life. Why these giants should care so much when they were clearly better equipped to deal with the beasts was baffling to Bowman. Wolves were far more threatening to the sprites than to the giants who could conceal Bowman completely in one hand.

"The wolves and the owls and foxes and snakes are always around. I Pray to the Spirit that your kind isn't moving into the woods too."

Sam decided it might be a good time to step in and see if he could help. He hopped down from Jacob's hand, patting it to show his thanks before he came over, stepping up right in front of Dean by a few inches.

"These aren't regular wolves, Bowman," he explained patiently. "Regular wolves wouldn't do something like this." He started to pace, right in front of Dean's crossed arms. "There's been too many attacks, and they don't eat the bodies like wild animals do. There are missing organs, but they look like they've been sucked dry. All the police have to go on is the makings on the bodies, and those look like wolf bites."

Bowman listened to Sam, tracking his pacing back and forth. A look of increasing discomfort and disgust came to his face. He didn't much like hearing about such gruesome deaths. It was bad enough considering what would become of a sprite if they got caught in such horrid jaws. Only one sprite in the village was brave enough to even get close to a wolf.

Scar would have stuck his sword in Dean's hand without hesitation and flown off. He probably would have managed to taunt the giants before escaping. Bowman's shoulders fell as he thought about how unequipped and underwhelming he was to these people.

"And you think I had something to do with it?" He asked bitterly, glaring past Sam at Dean. "You really think I'd want anything to do with something that'd eat me no matter if it's a regular wolf or a weird wolf? I'm not stupid! "

Sam crossed his arms, frowning. "No, I don't think you had anything to do with it. Honestly, if you were the cause, I don't you'd have been caught so easy. Plus, you haven't exactly made any great escape attempts." He walked closer to the vase, putting a hand on the thick glass he'd never be able to budge on his own. "We have to be sure, though. That's why they took you. We couldn't risk missing our chance if you were the cause."

Oddly enough, Sam was trying to excuse events he'd had nothing to do with. He'd been knocked out during Bowman's kidnapping. He wondered if things would be the same if he'd been up.

Bowman's hands tightened into fists for a second, his frustration still very much there. The cause of what? Wolves doing something weird? If anything, it was probably these giants moving onto their territory too much. And even if they managed to stop them from acting weird, the regular wolves would remain. They'd be stalking around the woods perfectly happy to hunt a sprite.

Bowman sighed sullenly and cast his gaze away from the normal sized hand on the other side of the glass. Much larger hands were still near and could still go back on their assurances anytime. "Well, good work. You caught me so easy," he snipped. He shifted his wings so they weren't folded so tightly as he leaned against the glass wall. He pretended to settle in his spot, as if simply dropping out of the conversation. He didn't want to talk any more than before.

Dean sat up, deciding to call it a night for the questioning. It had turned into a waste of energy. "Maybe you should try some regular research," he suggested to Sam, nodding at the laptop. "We might find something on what Bowman is on there," he finished, thinking how much he hated that defeated look on Sam's face.

Sam glanced up, mulling it over. "Yeah, you're right," he admitted. At least the laptop didn't talk back.

[markmceachran]

Angel

This was probably the middle of his journy. It contrasted Jim’s, which was likely ending soon. Even thought he was physically able, he couldn’t defeat the years forever. Angel figured Jim had a few more years left before some critical part of his body gave out, whether it be his heart, liver or, god forbid, his mind. Jim already had some crazy, wild-assed ideas, Angel couldn’t imagine what kind of shit a legitimately crazy Jim would throw out.

He’d grown to trust Jim, and to make the building, and the bar, part of what he considered home. This place wasn’t an outpost where he traded goods for other goods, this was where he set down to relax when he wasn’t flying, this was a place worth flying for.

It was tricky for Angel to trade in water with other outposts. Keeping his source a secret was paramount so he never routed his runs the same. He wanted people to think he was just picking up water for other goods along the way. At the same time, per Jim’s intentions, he wanted to get the water out there to people that needed it. Jim envisioned that someday one of the nearby wells would fill up again and that would signal to everyone that the world was recovering a little bit. The idea would be that the masses, or what was left of them, wouldn’t experience the sense of desperation. They’d be less likely to ransack any one source of available water because other nearby sources would be easier, safer to attain. Once water was at least regionally everywhere the people would grow powerful again, eventually becoming strong enough to take on The Dragon, and certainly strong enough to dissuade their recruits.

Of course, defeating The Dragon was not paramount. There have always been, and will always be those who yearn for the end times, for civilation to fall completely and for humanity to become extinct. They think the world would be better off without the silly, little species with the big brains. To them, humans were not doing their job of tending the garden that was mother earth. Instead they raped it, and spread across the planet like a scourge, a tenacious animal that kills and eats and destroys everything it touches. Humans knew they were doing this and were powerless to stop themselves. Like an addict they made up games to justify their destructive habit, making money being the best of them. With money the humans amplified their devouring by enrolling more humans in the process. They either paid humans to devour, or collected money from humans to make the devouring more efficient. If there was one thing that humans loved to praise themselves for, it was devouring at scale. They even had competitions to see which group of them could devour more, faster.

The Dragon was born of the antithesis of the devouring. They survived, thrived in scarcity, and destroyed the wasted humans too blind to see the ill of their ways. On Tynon had put enough thought into their purpose to fully understand it, but he conveyed enough to his subordinates to enroll them in the mission. Even Tynon’s predecessors didn’t quite see it. They came close. With Tynon at the healm there was the definitive purpose of the beast that devoured men for the sake of the planet.

Angel never quite bought into Tynon’s bullshit completely, and Tynon knew it. He saw the skeptic in the pilot and stopped trying to sway him over. Why he never killed him was simply a practical matter – no one else had a helicopter and those things can come in handy from time to time. Tynon saw a future opporutnity where the flying machine could further his agenda in some large, magnificient way. Unfortunately for him, he never got to follow through on that vision. Exiling the women was as much service as he saw from Angel, and even that ended poorly in part. Even in its failing, however, Tynon managed to figure out a way to have it serve him. It brought his men together around a common enemy, one who had killed fellow members. In a way, it actaully ended perfectly for Tynon because all the doubters, the critics, the ones who liked the old way of The Dragon were now silent. They couldn’t speak against Tynon or the mission for fear of being called a traitor to their fallen comrades.

For the Dragon a living Angel was probably more useful than a dead one. He was always out there, driving the hunt, pushing them to go further, kill more, take down more of humanity. If anyone doubted the mission to end humanity, they could lean on the secondary mission to find Angel instead. It was more straight forward and would, given the nature of the way The Dragon do business, accomplish the primary mission anyway.

Of course, they would try to catch him, and they would definitely kill him when they did. It’s quite a miracle that he didn’t die that night after the crash. Had Hope and Cindy been with them, altogehter they would have died at once. If Tynon needed a living Angel, he could just suppress the information until he found a new enemy to keep himself in power and keep The Dragon on task. Angel, Hope and Cindy were just filling that role for him and there was nothing they could do about it save for destroying The Dragon completely, or perhaps just killing Tynon.

* * *

Hope and Angel finally realized that they were very likeminded. Both had dealt with The Dragon, rather than trying to confront them head on. Hope maneuvered herself to become a concubine with the leader at the time. It was the path of least discomfort in the state of captivity shared by every other woman who had been taken by them. In a similar way, Angel had cut a deal with The Dragon to be left alone in exchange for providing occassional courier services. They didn’t kill him, or break his stuff. He knew what they did, but had not the power to stop it. The best he could do was to cut a deal that kept him flying and alive.

Together they were survivors and with Jacko’s attack they watched each other survive in dramatic fashion. Their bitterness toward each other turned into a mutual respect and trust, and something more. With their simple, basic desires well understood they began to anticipate each others’ thoughts and actions. They didn’t even need to exchange winks and nods. It was truly unspoken.

So when the day came to exile the four prisoners, their orders were to take them as far west as possible, to the edge of the cauldron if they could find an outpost that far out. The plains between Chicago and the cauldren were barren and, by all accounts impossible to cross — unless you have a helicopter. Angel was to have loaded up with extra fuel to make the journey. With the bird fully loaded with the four prisoners and Hope in the copilot seat he set an initial course to the west. Once they lost sight of all but the sliver of light carving into the sky, the laser light’s plasma shield, he rerouted eastward, toward Buffalo. Hope said nothing, she knew the plan already, even without talking about it in advance.

The extra bodies would flesh out parts of the message that, on some level, were a little blurry being spelled out with only 17 dead Dragon. The E in particular benefited greatly from another human figure. That’s where they landed, just off the E. They discussed the details breifly, but then went to work on the first man.

Angel’s soldier’s discipline kicked in the moment he grabbed Zeb’s arm. There was no talking, just doing. He was off the helicopter and into the sand. Angel paused to shut the door. They dragged him away from the bird so as not to have a pile of bodies to drag subsequent men over. Angel removed the gag before the hood, it’s easier to remove the gag when the victim is not tempted to look around. Also, once the hood came off the victim generally would get the sense that they were about to die and start to panic. He only let Zeb look for a few seconds, just long enough to let his eyes adjust and for the terror to set in at the sight of 17 dead Dragon strewn out across the sand. Angel knew Hope wanted to see their faces when she killed them, she wanted it to be intimate. This didn’t bother Angel, in fact by the second man, Badger, he started to get a little charge out of her pleasure.

She was corrupting him, if taking joy out of killing an enemy could be considered a corrupt attribute. He wasn’t doing the stabbing, and the pleasure he got from it was not a direct result of the killing, but rather of her pleasure. No attempts were made to reconcile his feelings on the matter, he didn’t care to analyze it, to see if it was right or wrong. It was bringing some joy and satisfaction and that was something he hadn’t experienced with a woman in many years. There was no romance to accompany the sensation, it was more like — lust, and not necessarily for her, just for her pleasure. Where he became complicite was when he wanted more.

With the next man, Weed, he let him look around a bit longer. His horror intensified Hope’s expression and amplified everything. Angel’s breaths grew heavy and his muscles tensed with each hole she put into Weed’s body. He held him up as long as he could, and she stabbed until he passed out, falling to the sand in a heap.

Clip was to be the perfected execution. He was their new leader and should have felt the greatest terror and horror at what had happened to his men and was about to happen to him. Like Weed, Angel forced him to look around. He did not respond like the other men, though. Instead he seemed to accept his fate. So Angel pointed his head toward his own belly so that he would have to watch Hope let the blood out one hole at a time. He just nodded at her. She hated it, there was no joy in killing this man. He practically wanted to die. Enraged, she gutted him and the sight of his innards exploding out of his belly brought her back to where she wanted to be. She sighed and smiled with satisfaction, and Angel followed suit.

* * *

They were both fully charged when they got the view of their work from the sky. The cockpit was thick with their electricity. With time to kill, figuratively this time, Angel flew them back to his new hanger. Once again without words, they acted on their mutual instincts and were fucking in the back of the bird before the blades had stopped spinning. There was no kissing, there was no romance. They didn’t feel romantic toward each other, in fact they felt as close as siblings, perhaps twins even. The connection was nearly psychic and with every grind and thrust they relived kill after kill. Hope with her stabbing, gutting, pounding of deadening meat, and Angel taking exquisit pleasure in her passion for it.

Her body quivered over and over again as he fulfilled the contract of each of her kills. After she reached her capacity for him, she grabbed him by the throat, pressing his head against the metal floor of his machine, and ground on top of him until she had finished him.

Breathing grew easy with her laying on top of him, their bodies still coupled. They would lay for hours together, holding each other until their limbs grew sore from the stillness. The pleasure fulfilled her bloodlust for the time, and his satisfaction and being a part of her climax squelched any feeling of guilt that might have tried to emerge. They were, in that moment, utterly satisfied and complete.

The post Angel appeared first on Mark McEachran.

https://j.mp/3f7JkSU December 07, 2017 at 08:30AM

[markmceachran]

Angel

This was probably the middle of his journy. It contrasted Jim’s, which was likely ending soon. Even thought he was physically able, he couldn’t defeat the years forever. Angel figured Jim had a few more years left before some critical part of his body gave out, whether it be his heart, liver or, god forbid, his mind. Jim already had some crazy, wild-assed ideas, Angel couldn’t imagine what kind of shit a legitimately crazy Jim would throw out.

He’d grown to trust Jim, and to make the building, and the bar, part of what he considered home. This place wasn’t an outpost where he traded goods for other goods, this was where he set down to relax when he wasn’t flying, this was a place worth flying for.

It was tricky for Angel to trade in water with other outposts. Keeping his source a secret was paramount so he never routed his runs the same. He wanted people to think he was just picking up water for other goods along the way. At the same time, per Jim’s intentions, he wanted to get the water out there to people that needed it. Jim envisioned that someday one of the nearby wells would fill up again and that would signal to everyone that the world was recovering a little bit. The idea would be that the masses, or what was left of them, wouldn’t experience the sense of desperation. They’d be less likely to ransack any one source of available water because other nearby sources would be easier, safer to attain. Once water was at least regionally everywhere the people would grow powerful again, eventually becoming strong enough to take on The Dragon, and certainly strong enough to dissuade their recruits.

Of course, defeating The Dragon was not paramount. There have always been, and will always be those who yearn for the end times, for civilation to fall completely and for humanity to become extinct. They think the world would be better off without the silly, little species with the big brains. To them, humans were not doing their job of tending the garden that was mother earth. Instead they raped it, and spread across the planet like a scourge, a tenacious animal that kills and eats and destroys everything it touches. Humans knew they were doing this and were powerless to stop themselves. Like an addict they made up games to justify their destructive habit, making money being the best of them. With money the humans amplified their devouring by enrolling more humans in the process. They either paid humans to devour, or collected money from humans to make the devouring more efficient. If there was one thing that humans loved to praise themselves for, it was devouring at scale. They even had competitions to see which group of them could devour more, faster.

The Dragon was born of the antithesis of the devouring. They survived, thrived in scarcity, and destroyed the wasted humans too blind to see the ill of their ways. On Tynon had put enough thought into their purpose to fully understand it, but he conveyed enough to his subordinates to enroll them in the mission. Even Tynon’s predecessors didn’t quite see it. They came close. With Tynon at the healm there was the definitive purpose of the beast that devoured men for the sake of the planet.

Angel never quite bought into Tynon’s bullshit completely, and Tynon knew it. He saw the skeptic in the pilot and stopped trying to sway him over. Why he never killed him was simply a practical matter – no one else had a helicopter and those things can come in handy from time to time. Tynon saw a future opporutnity where the flying machine could further his agenda in some large, magnificient way. Unfortunately for him, he never got to follow through on that vision. Exiling the women was as much service as he saw from Angel, and even that ended poorly in part. Even in its failing, however, Tynon managed to figure out a way to have it serve him. It brought his men together around a common enemy, one who had killed fellow members. In a way, it actaully ended perfectly for Tynon because all the doubters, the critics, the ones who liked the old way of The Dragon were now silent. They couldn’t speak against Tynon or the mission for fear of being called a traitor to their fallen comrades.

For the Dragon a living Angel was probably more useful than a dead one. He was always out there, driving the hunt, pushing them to go further, kill more, take down more of humanity. If anyone doubted the mission to end humanity, they could lean on the secondary mission to find Angel instead. It was more straight forward and would, given the nature of the way The Dragon do business, accomplish the primary mission anyway.

Of course, they would try to catch him, and they would definitely kill him when they did. It’s quite a miracle that he didn’t die that night after the crash. Had Hope and Cindy been with them, altogehter they would have died at once. If Tynon needed a living Angel, he could just suppress the information until he found a new enemy to keep himself in power and keep The Dragon on task. Angel, Hope and Cindy were just filling that role for him and there was nothing they could do about it save for destroying The Dragon completely, or perhaps just killing Tynon.

* * *

Hope and Angel finally realized that they were very likeminded. Both had dealt with The Dragon, rather than trying to confront them head on. Hope maneuvered herself to become a concubine with the leader at the time. It was the path of least discomfort in the state of captivity shared by every other woman who had been taken by them. In a similar way, Angel had cut a deal with The Dragon to be left alone in exchange for providing occassional courier services. They didn’t kill him, or break his stuff. He knew what they did, but had not the power to stop it. The best he could do was to cut a deal that kept him flying and alive.

Together they were survivors and with Jacko’s attack they watched each other survive in dramatic fashion. Their bitterness toward each other turned into a mutual respect and trust, and something more. With their simple, basic desires well understood they began to anticipate each others’ thoughts and actions. They didn’t even need to exchange winks and nods. It was truly unspoken.

So when the day came to exile the four prisoners, their orders were to take them as far west as possible, to the edge of the cauldron if they could find an outpost that far out. The plains between Chicago and the cauldren were barren and, by all accounts impossible to cross — unless you have a helicopter. Angel was to have loaded up with extra fuel to make the journey. With the bird fully loaded with the four prisoners and Hope in the copilot seat he set an initial course to the west. Once they lost sight of all but the sliver of light carving into the sky, the laser light’s plasma shield, he rerouted eastward, toward Buffalo. Hope said nothing, she knew the plan already, even without talking about it in advance.

The extra bodies would flesh out parts of the message that, on some level, were a little blurry being spelled out with only 17 dead Dragon. The E in particular benefited greatly from another human figure. That’s where they landed, just off the E. They discussed the details breifly, but then went to work on the first man.

Angel’s soldier’s discipline kicked in the moment he grabbed Zeb’s arm. There was no talking, just doing. He was off the helicopter and into the sand. Angel paused to shut the door. They dragged him away from the bird so as not to have a pile of bodies to drag subsequent men over. Angel removed the gag before the hood, it’s easier to remove the gag when the victim is not tempted to look around. Also, once the hood came off the victim generally would get the sense that they were about to die and start to panic. He only let Zeb look for a few seconds, just long enough to let his eyes adjust and for the terror to set in at the sight of 17 dead Dragon strewn out across the sand. Angel knew Hope wanted to see their faces when she killed them, she wanted it to be intimate. This didn’t bother Angel, in fact by the second man, Badger, he started to get a little charge out of her pleasure.

She was corrupting him, if taking joy out of killing an enemy could be considered a corrupt attribute. He wasn’t doing the stabbing, and the pleasure he got from it was not a direct result of the killing, but rather of her pleasure. No attempts were made to reconcile his feelings on the matter, he didn’t care to analyze it, to see if it was right or wrong. It was bringing some joy and satisfaction and that was something he hadn’t experienced with a woman in many years. There was no romance to accompany the sensation, it was more like — lust, and not necessarily for her, just for her pleasure. Where he became complicite was when he wanted more.

With the next man, Weed, he let him look around a bit longer. His horror intensified Hope’s expression and amplified everything. Angel’s breaths grew heavy and his muscles tensed with each hole she put into Weed’s body. He held him up as long as he could, and she stabbed until he passed out, falling to the sand in a heap.

Clip was to be the perfected execution. He was their new leader and should have felt the greatest terror and horror at what had happened to his men and was about to happen to him. Like Weed, Angel forced him to look around. He did not respond like the other men, though. Instead he seemed to accept his fate. So Angel pointed his head toward his own belly so that he would have to watch Hope let the blood out one hole at a time. He just nodded at her. She hated it, there was no joy in killing this man. He practically wanted to die. Enraged, she gutted him and the sight of his innards exploding out of his belly brought her back to where she wanted to be. She sighed and smiled with satisfaction, and Angel followed suit.

* * *

They were both fully charged when they got the view of their work from the sky. The cockpit was thick with their electricity. With time to kill, figuratively this time, Angel flew them back to his new hanger. Once again without words, they acted on their mutual instincts and were fucking in the back of the bird before the blades had stopped spinning. There was no kissing, there was no romance. They didn’t feel romantic toward each other, in fact they felt as close as siblings, perhaps twins even. The connection was nearly psychic and with every grind and thrust they relived kill after kill. Hope with her stabbing, gutting, pounding of deadening meat, and Angel taking exquisit pleasure in her passion for it.

Her body quivered over and over again as he fulfilled the contract of each of her kills. After she reached her capacity for him, she grabbed him by the throat, pressing his head against the metal floor of his machine, and ground on top of him until she had finished him.

Breathing grew easy with her laying on top of him, their bodies still coupled. They would lay for hours together, holding each other until their limbs grew sore from the stillness. The pleasure fulfilled her bloodlust for the time, and his satisfaction and being a part of her climax squelched any feeling of guilt that might have tried to emerge. They were, in that moment, utterly satisfied and complete.

The post Angel appeared first on Mark McEachran.

http://j.mp/2ABZdgL December 07, 2017 at 08:30AM