#blood moon: *eats three dozen bone in wings whole instead*

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

I had an idea for the Stoner Moon AU

what do you think would happen if like. one of the Bloodmoon twins is accidentally hotboxed and gets a contact buzz, but the other one is completely sober

Imagine it’s the calm twin who gets hotboxed and the chaotic one who isn’t. Poor Blood Moon is just freaking out because his twin is fronting and zoned out on the ceiling and has no clue what to do. Alternatively, Blood Moon is high and going absolutely batshit insane trying to eat all the food he can because he’s got a down bad case of the munchies and Harvest is trying and trying to coax him to calm down and just go visit Monty for them to get fixed (because he thinks it’s an issue with their stomach).

[the-elf-mahat]

A Broken World

(( Prompted by @firebiter‘s post here! CW below the cut for blood and implied torture. Also a small caveat about Mahat’s backstory, which we’re touching on here: it’s lorebendy. However, you’re welcome to consider her delusional if you don’t want to push canon; I tend to leave it an open question just how sane she actually is. ))

Something was wrong. Mahat awoke from deep sleep with her ears twitching, a strange pressure building in the air. The hour was so early it was nearly very late, and the distressed howls of dogs and other creatures could be heard echoing even through the thick stone walls of their Ironforge home. She slipped out of bed to dress quickly and soundlessly in the dark, before making her way outside. There were others about, dwarves in dressing gowns looking haggard and complaining to their neighbors about the noise. A few were heading to the city gates. Mahat joined them, eager curiosity mingling with a dull sense of dread in her stomach.

Outside, the air was crisp and frigid, the sky black with scattered stars beginning to fade before the dawn. But instead of gentle moonlight illuminating the mountainside all around them, the white snow was tinged a sickly green, reflected from the monstrous body looming above.

It was a broken planet. Its shattered silhouette and swirling storms of felfire seemed to take up half the sky, like a doom-laden promise.

Mahat and the others gaped upwards, stunned and awed into silence, until someone began to scream. Another followed suit, and in short order chaos had broken out, as some panicked and others tried to comfort the panicking, some tried to rush back inside only to collide with those who were pushing outside to see the terror for themselves. Mahat barely noticed the impending riot, darting away from the clamor and crowd, feeling her way along the mountain until she reached a secluded crevasse and curled up inside. She moved by instinct and memory, every other sense useless to her as reality seemed to warp and twist in her mind. Her breath grew faster and her eye was locked wide open, fixed on the sick wrongness above. From the shadowed places in her head, she heard their voices call out.

D'ye remember?

Do you remember, little one…?

Where have we seen that before…?

Three worlds, three moments layered on top of each other, Mahat's body and senses experiencing wild vertigo as she saw through three sets of eyes, heard through three sets of ears, felt three different hearts racing. And there was so much pain…

In one world (the real world, she told herself, and hoped desperately it was true) she was whole, frightened but safe for the moment, shivering on a mountainside. Alone. Not alone.

In another she was dying, slick blood flowing from the ritual symbols and web-like patterns carved deep into every part of her skin. Green flames blazed from the shackles at her wrists and ankles, holding her down to the stone altar, melting and searing her flesh. Rough, strange voices chanted in an unholy tongue somewhere in the shadows beyond her sight, but above her she could see cold stars.

In another world she wished for death. A man with cruel eyes and a kind smile, a sorcerer, promised her oblivion soon, soon, he had finally found a use for her outside the close, dark room where he kept her and played with her brain and broke her body (it was justice, he said, they all said, she had done such terrible things).

“I want you to introduce me to someone,” he teased, close and warm as a lover, “They've been whispering to me in my dreams, speaking of power, a way to burn the filth and weakness and disgusting hypocrisy out of our world.” She heard the words now, she had heard the words then, but she hadn't understood them—she'd been out of her wits with fear and pain by then, barely more than an animal. Now she comprehended fully. Now her stomach clenched as he murmured, “You'll help me, little thief. You'll call them here. How could any god or demon resist a soul as fascinatingly twisted as yours?” His fingers rested on her collarbone above her heart, and he smiled. “You are the perfect--”

SACRIFICE.

The coarse chanting grew louder and faster, and she writhed against the felfire restraints. A gnarled green hand hovered over her flesh, sealing her gaping wounds into twisted ropes of hardened gray scar tissue. The pain did not lessen. In fact it sunk deeper, past skin into muscle and sinew, past these into bone, somehow, and then further still, until her nervous system blazed like a star and she thought she might only be pain that had imagined it was once a woman. The chanting was practically a howl now, one mad sound from dozens of throats, and she could no longer see the stars, only green flames rising higher. A void opened before her mind and began to draw her in, eating her memories piece by piece, gnawing on her fears and hopes, slavering as it devoured every drop of her self.

WHO AM I?

He ripped her from her body and reshaped her, made a coalescing orb of dark magic from her essence. But she could still feel the raw edges of her sanity bleeding, still watch as he burned the husk of her body, until it was a charred ruin that a simple brush of his foot crumbled into gray ash. She screamed without a voice, wept without eyes, for the release of a death she had begged for and been denied. The soul was immortal, she had been taught. No rest for the wicked. Not even in their tombs.

There was a ritual, incantations, surges of crackling power and a night wind tearing at the sorcerer’s robes as he used her torment to craft a gateway. She saw a tall, pale man in armor, winged and horned, step through. She saw the sorcerer bow before him. Then she was elsewhere, her mind torn across galaxies or realities, images fragmenting and scattering before her like light from a prism. A vast, broken planet, tendrils of verdant green fire reaching out to corrupt and consume everything they touched. A dry tawny planet, a place called home, shattering apart and beginning to burn. A little world, mostly blue, lit by two moons, where something was calling her.

All around her was seething void, seeking to tear her apart and swallow her into nothing. But somehow, she was caught by that small blue world, anchored and drawn in by a force beyond her understanding. It was like an unnatural absence, a place where something once was and now was not but must be. A vacuum pulling her inexorably, a taut string connecting two moments across time and space that when plucked, sounded a chord of multiversal harmony.

Mahat opened her eye, vision now singular and clear. She unclenched her jaw and forced her hands open from the tight fists they'd been curled into. She took a deep breath, and looked up.

The broken planet was still there. And there were still screams in the distance. They saw it too.

“Aye, I… remember,” she murmured to herself in hoarse disbelief. “I saw it… in th' dark places b'tween. I saw it—we was there. I en't crazy.”

A bleak chuckle sounded from the corner of her mind. “Congratubloodylations, enjoy tha' feelin' while y'kin. Cuz th' whole world's abou' ta go fuckin' mad.”