#cage splitting into two forms of herself

[ambrellaexists]

Waowao my favorite princesses got even better

[yourlocaltreesimp]

All Chained Up

All chained up masterlist

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Chapter 5: Stunted in sentience

The foolish nature of humanity lies within itself. Only once one has gained sentience can they fully gauge the factor at which they are alive. With such developments is the ability to feel beyond what has been coded into you. A creator's hand can mould a picture out of pigment and canvas— can mould you a form from nothing more than the earth, but it is sentience which gives the form meaning. It is sentience that attaches value to nothingness, that makes you mourn when it’s ripped away. It is sentience that betrays primiality. It is sentience —the very thing we have come to define ourselves with— that breaks you.

Days passed by with the similar mundane of your original life. You consider that it is fate echoing to you, the cage begging for something to trap. The Veteran still stands firm that everything is fine and like the world is normal. Like you’re not even there. The group has gotten more lax the longer you linger— ceasing the pass of distrustful stares in exchange for an uneasy silence. But still, you find your footing. You learned when to push yourself forward and pull back. You leaned when and who to bargain with and when you were better set focusing on that pull towards stagnation. With your progress you’d only been given easy tasks, safe tasks, with which you were usually monitored. You could find and forage food for dinner with Hyrule and Wild, gather kindling or logs for a fire (not that you were allowed to split them, that was down to Warriors or Twilight) or your personal favourite task of keeping the sailor entertained. While the world you hailed from was by no means intriguing to you, it proved to be incredibly so to the others. You’d forgotten how foreign your surroundings were to you also meant how foreign you were to them. It was there in that odd sense off middle ground, no man’s land… or perhaps every man’s land, you found a bit of adoration within the wonder-filled eyes of the young hero as you spun your tall tales. And with it came some small sense of acceptance into the group, as they find themselves getting caught tangled while you strung together story after story. You saw why it united them after they all began to open up, slowly at first. Wind exchanged stories of Outset, his home and his family. With every anecdote from your life was one from him. Surprisingly to you, it was Rulie who came next. He picked his words haphazardly as he spoke of his own home in a daze. His eyes were glassy and he spoke with a half smile, regret biting at his words. Clearly in your mind’s eye could you see his life of running through fields and meadows, living his life before fate came crashing in on him. Many of the others then followed suit, the Champion and his fight to tame the divine beasts, the Captain and his unfortunate situation pertaining to his love life, the Smith and why you presume he’s so short and Sky, who told a tale of a land among the skies and Hylia herself. All who you’ve heard from speak of her. Her gifts— her blessings. Her existence. Her existence in such surety, a word you’ve never known to associate the divine with. Through what you can only trust is true, you learn of gods and their battles. Their war zone among the mortals, fought by iterations of the same. Two gods and one mortal man set to stand between them… In the end, while you get no story out of Time, Twilight or Legend, you’re willing to lay that to rest. For now the knowledge you hold —while carefully curated and heavily gilt— is enough to fill mundane day after day of walking and chore.

After gathering food for dinner and split logs for a fire, you finally let yourself settle. You let yourself sink into your joints and let the world go quiet once more. There was still idle chatter and the quiet call of nature through the shaking of leaves and cawing of birds, but you found yourself within absence. No thoughts your brain sought to process, no motion you sought to make. Instead, you let yourself simply exist for one given moment. A capture in time before-

“Oh c’mon you could at least eat before you nod off.” Wind snickered, plopping himself right down next to you. “You’re Worse than Sky”

“Hey!” He sat up from the stump he was leaning on as he ‘rested his eyes’

“What, he’s not wrong,” Legend added before he could forget to hold his tongue. He’s been getting worse at ignoring you, occasionally passing snide comments in jest before realising who he was sharing his company with. He dropped the blades of grass he was braiding, flinching back from the cold earth as if it burned him.

Dinner would’ve been painfully quiet if it weren’t for Wind's rambles about some massive lava crab he fought during his journey. He might not have been able to pick up tone in nearly any capacity, but who were you to rain on his parade? When was the last time he had adults or mentors he looked up to take him seriously? You’re not sure the longer you think. And think is exactly what you do, all the way until the sun had led the sky and night was beset across the land. The small hero had already curled up with his head resting on your thigh by the time you snapped out of your thoughts. He’d seemed to be well out, not responding as you moved him so you too could lay down. The fire had started to dwindle without it being fed, and yet its characteristic warm glow was still cast upon the camp. It was then you noticed it. The moon. Crimson blood cast over the surface of the moon, eerily reminiscent of the same night you arrived. You lay awake for a long while after, never casting your eyes upon the carmine glow as much as you can help it to. You repeat a mantra of stories within your mind to push its influence out. You hear small voices begging for your attention clawing at your mind and no longer do you have the energy within you to shove them out. Your mind is not your own, cradled by tiny hands that sift through you. The coddle and coo as you’re split at the seams of your mind.

The nothingness fills you.

The sentience swells and crashes like an uneasy tide.

It draws back.

You are whole.

[dreamersbcll]

You were there, two worlds collided

and they could never tear us apart

inspired by this post , by my love @krikeymate

——————————————————————————

There was something to be said about the dance.

Soft and slow, intricate and careful. Missing a beat was a fatal mistake, as the rhythm was a crucial part of it all.

Sam would always softly chastise Tara whenever she wobbled or misstepped. Though Tara made mistakes, Sam never raised a hand against the skin of her own or sharpened her teeth with the cruel words they learned from their mother. She would gently correct Tara, and they would start again.

The dance was important. It signified the end of the moment, the drawn curtain of a performance. It was about setting the caged bird they trapped within their ribs free, letting it soar. Sam always said that the bird sang sweeter songs when it was free.

And in order for the sisters to be free, they had to let it go.

Tara waited by the speaker, watching her sister finish cleaning up, wiping her hands free of the sins that lay at their feet. She loved watching her sister. There was nothing more fascinating than watching how Sam Carpenter worked.

Her big sister was such a pillar of strength, a martyr of her blood. Sam could raise the heavens with her own bare hands and not break a sweat. The world could end around them, and all Tara would see is her big sister. Sam was everything and more, the only thing that would ever matter. She wished that Sam could see herself the way that Tara saw her.

Tara swore that her ribs cracked open on their own every time Sam looked at her. It’s as if they knew they had to make room for all the love Tara had for her big sister, as it was overflowing from her heart.

Looking up from polishing her knife, Sam’s eyes wandered, searching. Finally, they locked in on Tara, dark eyes melting, the sun after a storm. Sam’s stoic face practically split in two at the sight of her baby sister, and Tara’s heart fluttered in response.

She would do anything for her big sister. She would make wine from their tears, walk across a thousand nails, and cool down hell with her bare hands—anything to make that smile shine for the rest of time.

Sam nodded at her little sister, grinning at the rosy cheeks that met her smile. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Turn it on,” she said, motioning to the speaker.

Tara swore the dimples on her face would pop from joy. Following the gentle command but never breaking eye contact with her big sister, she pressed the play button.

The familiar crescendo of what seemed to be a thousand violins filled the room, drowning out the anticipatory silence of dread. Tara could feel her body grow light, her head dizzy, and her mouth forming a lackadaisical smile.

Finally, The dance.

Sam held her hand out, smiling at her little sister, beckoning Tara to take it.

Who was Tara to ever deny her big sister of anything?

She fell into the grasp of her big sister, letting Sam pull her in and hold her close. Her chin pressed against Sam’s shoulder; her cheek squished against the leather jacket that her big sister donned. Sam held her close, her free hand finding its way to Tara's scalp, caressing the tangled hair.

Sighing contently, Tara pressed a kiss against Sam’s shoulder, her eyes closing. Sam would hold her up. She always did.

“…Don’t ask me what you know is true,” Sam murmured, pressing firm kisses onto Tara’s hair.

The two swayed around the room, Tara’s wandering hands finding their way under Sam’s shirt, her fingernails brushing against skin. Sam shivered in response, squeezing Tara tighter. Humming in response, Tara let her fingertips gently trace the ribs that lie beneath the fabric, feeling how her sister’s heart beat faster at the touch.

“…I love your precious heart,” Tara softly sang back, her fingernails slightly digging into Sam’s skin.

Her big sister wasn’t afraid of pain. Sam wasn’t scared of inflicting it or taking it. There was nothing that threatened Sam Carpenter and nothing that could ever make her stop completing her work.

Tara knew that. But she also knew that Sam was afraid of Tara’s pain. Sam may be invincible in her sense, but she went weak at the knees at the mere thought of Tara getting a paper cut.

A lesser sister would exploit that weakness.

Tara Carpenter wasn’t a lesser sister.

Sam hummed against Tara’s scalp, fingernails gently digging into the skin that lay there. Tara gasped softly but only felt the exhilaration of the pain. It didn’t hurt when it was Sam’s hands on her skin.

Pressing a hasty kiss into the leather, Tara softly sang back, swaying with her sister, the two tangling in and around each other.

“…I was standing,” she hummed.

Sam wiped a smear of blood off Tara’s ear, playfully tugging at the skin. “…You were there.”

One of Tara’s hands held onto Sam’s ribs; her fingernails dug into the skin. The other made its way to Sam’s hip, finding the hilt of the knife stealthily tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Her sister stiffened at the action but slowly relaxed, knowing that Tara was worthy of the weapon that made the sisters better people.

She hummed as she held onto the hilt, tracing the engraved letters Sam had personally written.

Three words Tara knew very well.

“…Two worlds collided.”

The two held their breath in mutual anticipation, feeling the drums pick up, a choral outburst of emotion.

The release. The letting go of the crimes they committed. Forgive each other, forgive their sins, but never forget their mission to cleanse themselves. The bloodstains they washed out lived within them, coating their ribs.

There was blood that pulsed within their veins, keeping them alive. It was also the thing that set them free.

Sam cupped Tara’s face with her hands, staring deep into the eyes that only had their sight set on her. Tara kissed the palm that held her close, grinning at the sweetest devotion within her sister’s eyes. Sam’s hands held her face still, but Tara would never pull away. She would do anything for Sam, just like her sister would do anything for her.

“…And they could never tear us apart,” Sam softly whispered, kissing Tara’s forehead, pressing her love into the skin that was her own.

The two danced in the abandoned warehouse, their feet moving silently across cracked concrete. They stepped over the body they had laid to rest together, letting the music take them home.

[miniscule-meow]

Isabell and the Lads CH 2: The Healing Process (2.4)

Writing Masterpost First Part | Last Part | Next Part Word Count: ~2.1k Warnings: Angst, blood mention, injury mention, nightmares, talk of dehumanization

---

Isabell lays down on the tiny couch, letting herself sink into the cushions. Just for a moment, she thinks,, resting her head on the plush pillow and hugging her arms around herself. I can be cozy for a little while. She watches the movie play with bleary eyes, and her blinks begin to grow longer and longer.

She’s not going to fall asleep here.

She couldn’t possibly let herself fall asleep here.

Not in the middle of a gigantic room, displayed in the center of a coffee table with two humans lingering nearby. That’s not going to happen. No chance.

She’s just going to rest her eyes for one second.

---

She floats in an endless expanse of nothing. Well, no, she’s not floating. She’s still solidly grounded, her leg anchors her to this table, taking away all her autonomy, her ability to move, to run, to escape. From her grounded position, the ‘endless expanse of nothing’ extends out all around her. The dark open space seems to stretch on forever. This only punctuates the fact that she is entirely other. Ever since she was caught- rescued? – Ever since she’s been out here in the open, with the humans, fully aware of her, she has been painfully, unavoidably aware that she does not belong in this world. Even with the best intentions at the heart of the humans around her, this world was simply not made for her. At best all she could ever hope to be is insignificant. A mild nuisance for anyone kind enough to pity her, perhaps. Of course, she is already well acquainted with what ‘at worst’ looks like for someone of her kind. It’s cages, it’s dehumanization, it’s the act of endlessly being observed. Placed in a plastic box, on a shelf, to be a curiosity for all those who pass by.

She briefly registers Zeke’s form kneeling over her. She manages to blink up at him with hazy eyes, not entirely convinced that she’s not just dreaming this. He seems to move in slow motion as he reaches forward to drape a blanket over her.

Shards of thoughts float to the forefront of her mind as she shifts to pull the blanket close around her.

Warm.

Soft.

Smells nice.

Her mind dances on the blade’s edge of consciousness. Dipping into the void of sleep, and yet remaining vaguely aware of the waking world around her, that horrible, never-ending openness. The vulnerability of her position never leaves the back of her mind. Somewhere inside her there should be instincts, alarms going off. There should be some semblance of self-preservation to pump her with more adrenaline, to keep her going, to push her just a little further. There should be. But it would seem as though her supply has run dry, and then some. Her body aches, her emotions are sapped, she has to face it, she’s already grasping at straws here. She’s already pushed her body well beyond the point of exhaustion. The consequence of that is that now, her body has relinquished the reigns from the part of her brain that holds her rational thought, the part of her that is responsible for keeping her safe, out of the hands of humans. Instead, the control is finally given over to sleep. Once sleep claims her, it digs its claws in deep.

And it is not kind when it lets her go.

Isabell wakes with a start, some unknowable amount of time later. In that split second before her mind catches up to her, a heavy fear pounces on her.

Where am I?

The room is dark. It’s massive. It’s a space for humans, and she’s in the open.

No, no, no.

As soon as she attempts to move, her whole body is wracked with pain. Her leg throbs, her ribs ache. There’s something tangled around her, ensnaring her.

Stuck. Trapped. Captured.

Despite great protest from every inch of her, she sits up. If she had just one second to breathe and take in her surroundings with a clear mind, she maybe could calm herself down. She could assure herself that she is safe.

But she doesn’t get that luxury. Out of the corner of her eye an impossibly large shadow rises over her. A human. Its eyes glint in the darkness and she knows that it is focused right on her.

She’s hurt, she’s vulnerable, out in the open, and she’s been spotted.  She does the only thing that sounds rational to her, she panics.

Isabell shoots to her feet, whirling around to face her captor. That’s her intention at least, unfortunately, she’s still tangled in the blanket. When she goes to correct herself, she places too much weight on her wounded leg. Her leg is of course tired of being pushed beyond its capabilities. Her leg is of course tired of her increasingly stubborn refusal of rest. So, her leg makes its own executive decision in that moment. It buckles underneath her weight, making her cry out with the shock of pain it delivers. Her leg demands rest and rest it will get. Even now, even one arm’s length away from the giant looming above her.

She crumples to the ground in a tangled heap, betrayed by her own body. The shadowy monstrosity leans forward, closing the distance between them. Leg or no leg, she’s not getting swept up into a massive hand today. She scrambles, kicking herself free from the blanket, and shoving herself backwards. She foolishly attempts to secure her footing once more. The effort is fruitless, and painful. Her leg simply refuses to cooperate.

“Hey,” the giant’s voice rumbling through her does little to calm her nerves.

She continues attempting to abscond. Her mind is focused on creating any kind of distance between herself and the looming creature. So focused in fact that she doesn’t see that she’s running out of table, until she’s already falling. She lets out a sharp yelp as she’s pulled over the edge. The human curses and instantly there’s a cacophony of sound and movement. The human lurches forward, much faster than a being that large should reasonably be able to move. One massive hand slaps down against the face of the table, the other swoops in beneath her. She lands flat against the center of his palm, knocking the wind out of her, but leaving her otherwise unharmed. Suddenly, she feels as if she’s falling in the opposite direction as she’s yanked through the air, entirely out of her control. His warm, leathery fingers curl around her securely. She can’t possibly just sit here and wait for him to squeeze the life out of her, she needs to act, now.

She has no weapon, she can’t escape. She twists in his grasp and sinks her teeth into the nearest digit until a hot metallic taste filters into her mouth.

The giant swears again, jerking his hand away sending her tumbling into his other hand. Before she can even think about defending herself, the human is ready for her. He clamps his massive thumb down across her middle, pinning her back against his fingers. The side of his thumb digs firmly into her bruised ribs. She sucks in a sharp, pained breath. He stands to his full height and strides across the room.

Isabell’s breathing staggers, her mind flooding with all of the gruesome possibilities of what’s yet to come.

“N-no!” She cries out, her voice breaking with panic, “I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I swear!” She doesn’t want to go in a jar, she doesn’t want to be stuffed in the back of a dark closet without food or water or light for days on end. She doesn’t want to be-

A light clicks on, jerking her fully into the reality of the waking world.

“Stop,” Zeke’s voice is firm. He gazes down at her with wild eyes, his hair tousled, one hand clutched close to his chest.

All at once she realizes where she is, and against all odds, part of her stills at this revelation.

Then all at once she realizes what trouble she caused, and she can feel panic and dread welling up inside her chest all over again.

“I- Zeke, I’m –” she begins stammering out an apology.

“No,” his tone is clipped, “stop.”

Oh, he’s mad. He’s got to be. What is he going to do to her? He’s going to retaliate, humans always do. They only have so much patience, and she bit him. She’s displeased him so many times in the last two days or however long it’s Been. He’s got to be at the end of his rope with her.

He sets his hand down on the coffee table. Releasing his thumb from across her midsection, he tilts his hand so she gently slides off.

“Just… breathe,” he says rising and extending a hand to give her a gesture that very clearly says ‘stay there.’ With that, he walks off down the hall.

She blinks, piecing together the whirlwind she just went on, separating fact from fiction.

Isabell pulls herself onto the couch, gathering her discarded blanket. This doesn’t look like it belongs with the sets of doll clothes and furniture. Zeke must have made this, she realizes. He made me a blanket, and I bit him. A weird sense of guilt burns at the edge of her consciousness. She’s felt a lot of things concerning humans, but guilt was never one of those feelings.

Zeke comes back into the room after clattering around in the kitchen for a moment. When he returns he’s carrying a few things, but she can’t get a good look at what he has. He kneels down beside the coffee table.

“Drink this,” he says, setting a tiny cup down. The bright pink vessel is only slightly oversized for her. They must have gotten that today with all of the doll stuff.

She hesitates for a moment, looking at the cup placed in front of her with a dull suspicion.

“It’s just water,” his tone is flat, impatient. Right, of course, nothing gets past him. Great, now she’s bitten him, and she’s subtly accused him of trying to poison her.

“Sorry,” she obediently drinks the water, not wanting to upset him any more than she already has.

“Do you want to splash some water on your face?” He asks, setting down a small dish. As he reaches forward, she catches that his finger has a small Band-Aid on it now. She tears her eyes away from his hand, feeling that weird sensation of guilt again. She nods numbly and scrubs her face with the cool water placed before her.

“Better?” He asks after she’s dried her face off with a scrap of washcloth. She doesn’t trust her voice, so she just nods. “Here. Try to eat something.” The snack Marcus said he was going to make was resting on a plate close by, she didn’t even notice it before. Zeke slides it over to her. There’s a variety of things on the plate, some peanut butter, a cracker broken up into manageable pieces for her, some cheese, and some small bits of fruit. With a trembling hand, she assembles herself a small snack and nibbles on it cautiously.

Seemingly satisfied, Zeke heaves a long sigh, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He leans his elbow against the table, resting his head on his hand. Her eyes are drawn back to the scattered pictures decorating his arms, his tattoos he called them. Humans are so strange, but she thinks she likes his tattoos. In a strange way, they make him easier to look at. Like, she can focus on this one small part of him, without having to confront the entirety of him.

“I, um, I didn’t know where I was,” she explains sheepishly to the picture of a broken wishbone placed near the middle of his forearm. “I’m, um, I’m fine now,” she adds, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. This isn’t exactly true, she’s jittery, and she hurts everywhere, but the human doesn’t exactly need to know all that. It’s unclear whether or not he buys it or not, but he nods anyway.

“I’m sorry for startling you so badly,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. Um, thank you for not letting me fall… I’m… sorry that I bit you.” Silence hangs between them. “A-are you… are you going to put me back, um, back in the box?” She stammers the question out, wincing at how small she sounds.

“No. Isabell, of course not,” he says, his voice softening.

[elliember]

August 12th - "Yours."

(Kaistrae x Elliott. Art by @/Minko_Draws on Twitter.)

"Perfectly imperfect." 

Two creatures made of strife, sin and vice. Years of tenuous back and forth and tenebrous passing. Words unspoken. Feelings unrequited. A game of cat and mouse that was so laden with insecurity and a narrative that neither knew how to navigate that it almost seemed to knock the very wind out of her lungs when he had uttered those words in Orgrimmar. 

A heavy sentiment and a fanciful admission that she’d ached to hear for years and had never felt that she would ever earn. She had desperately wanted to be -that- person to him but she had never wanted to cage him. It had always been made clear that he was not the one to settle in one place and she very boldly proclaimed the same.

Hearts are a funny thing, though. They beat fiercely for the right people and he had always set her heart racing in her chest with every fleeting reunion. Stole her breath away with the collar of a strong hand wrapped around her throat. Sins of the flesh and marks worn for weeks after they would separate again. And the hollow emptiness that followed as she sat alone in her home and found ways to pass her time.

It always hurt. But it was a familiar kind of feeling and she had to tell herself that she would need to accept the scraps of indulgence and attention when it was permitted. She had to pretend to care about others when she loved -him- so deeply, never truly giving her time or attention to anyone that tried. Not in any way that was ever fair to the ones that did. 

They weren’t him.

Elliott laid quietly with her partner. The soft ambience of a fall morning breeze drifted in where the heavy, dark curtains were split open ever so slightly. It was early enough that the sun didn’t shine through and it was late enough that the two had yet to find sleep. It was the quiet times that she savored the most. His intimacy. His tenderness.

It was hers. She was his.

Her body draped over his, laid idly between his legs with her head rested against his chest with the warmth of his skin as a comfort. Pressed together and tangled in the sheets, the vibrant fel-tinged gaze peered down at the girl. A half-lidded glance as possessive hands roamed over the skin that he could touch. She was silent and still, her eyes closed as calloused fingers traced over her shoulders, one hand moving gently up to favor her scalp with gentle attention.

Elliott stirred slightly, a soft but still audible sound that denoted her satisfaction when he doted upon her. Pointed ears wiggled as she turned her face down to press her lips against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against them as she followed with her forehead rested there. The man’s touch traipsed along the nape of her neck and squeezed reassuringly and her arms tightened around him in bed.

There were a few more moments of quiet before she shifted and pushed herself up. Careful as she climbed up the expanse of his body in a sinuous way and the tiny elf wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders to bury her face against the side of his neck. The sheet slipped free of her form as she did so, pale skin on display in the waning light of the solitary lamp whose flame flickered low. Elliott mounted Kaistrae and the girl tugged roughly, offsetting her weight to shift their position and pull him over and on top of her with a weary and affectionate smile.

Her fingertips pressed into his back where scars formed the map of his physique, taut muscle and a powerful frame. She peered up into his eyes with an impish expression, lying beneath the man and toying with the strands of blonde hair that fell forward, loose and wild. She pulled him down and breathed in deep, holding him tightly as though she might wake up from a dream. 

It was a raspy growl. A possessive murmuring of a single word with his lips against her skin and his teeth following to mark the spot. 

“Mine.”

And Elliott grinned with the sting of his bite, eyes fluttering closed with the welcome weight of her partner atop her. 

“Yours.” She whispered confidently in response.

@daily-writing-challenge

[drchenquill]

Alpha-Write Tag~

Your geinus strikes again @agirlandherquill! Let's see if I can do this~

rules: for every letter of the alphabet, compose a sentence/short paragraph beginning with that letter

A: Air filled her lungs as she finally allowed herself to breath, to taste the beauty of life once more.

B: Beneath her feet, the gravel shook. It shook until it split in two with a loud rumble. Frozen, she could only stare as whatever it was that broke free of its cemented cage and rose to its inhuman seize, ready to take revenge on those who had taken its freedom.

C: "Care to explain to me why the box clearly marked 'Do Not Open' is open?" "Is curiosity a valid explanation, or does it sentence me to a week of cold-shoulder-treatment?"

D: Distress was something he was used to, a feeling as familiar as the birds chirping outside his window every morning.

E: Evening came, but they did not return. The promise they once held, broken in one cold winter night.

F: " 'Find the dragon' they said, 'slay it and you'll be King forever' they said. Forgot to mention the dragon is a child!" "See it positvely, My Liege, you won't need to look for an heir."

G: God knows how many time she had tried to convince him otherwise, to tell him what a bad idea that was. She had given up, given him up, but as she stared at his name ingraved into the stone before her feet, she wished, for once, that his stubbornes would bring him back, back to her.

H: Heaven and Hell won't hold me back once I will be freed from my restrains. My rage will feel no bounds as I unleash it onto the world.

I: "I know, my love, I know, but believe me that this is the only way for us to live, the only way for us to know what's out there. So... will you jump with me?"

J: "Justice is just a word, a word that people use to justify an act of personal revenge against others who have wronged them. By this logic, cutting your throat is also an act of justice, or am I wrong, dear?"

K: Kindness was always so straining for her, for it was merely an act she had to put up. But not for others, oh no, but for herself. She kept herself in check, because if she wasn't kind, she would start to kill... again.

L: Long after the sun had set and the stars filled the sky, two lovers met underneath their shine, basking in the glory of the night, where nobody could hurt them.

M: "Motherfu-" "Don't use such vulgar words in front of the child!" "The child is eighteen and has screamed worse!"

N: Noting the disgusted look on her face, he realized that his approach was anything but welcomed.

O: Others might know the taste of love, the taste of happiness, but she realized quickly that nothing compared to the taste of blood.

P: Pushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, he couldn't help but admire the soft blush coloring her round cheeks, inviting him to press a soft kiss on her tender skin.

Q: Questioning things was something she often did, but this will be the first time she was terrified of the answer.

R: "Rest, my child, for your adventure is yet to begin."

S: Sleep was something he did on the regular, slumping into his pillow, succumbing to the sweet darkness that helped him escape the reality that was darker than any of his dreamless nights.

T: "Take your gremlin and leave me be." "You've handed me our child." "... I'm not having a good day, okay?"

U: Under the tender gaze of her former lover, she took her last breath, on it bitter words of love, hoping to crumble to walls that he had build around his withering heart.

V: "Very funny, guys. Who melted my candles and formed them into... Whatever this is?"

W: Wailing could be heard through the normally silent castle walls.

X: "Xbox? You bought him an Xbox?" "I know, I know. I shouldn't support his criminal activities, but he did it for the poor, honey." "Exactly, you could've bought him a Play Station."

Y: "You knew what he did to me! You knew how I had to suffer because of him! How could you?"

Z: I don't have anything. Or better, I don't know English good enough to know that many, or any, words with Z.

~~~~

Tagging for this fun game, with no pressure, @paeliae-occasionally , @theink-stainedfolk , @the-golden-comet , @willtheweaver , @finickyfelix and open tag~

[velvetwarfare]

“ GET OUT — GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!! “

THE BEAST AND HER NEVER FOUGHT THIS BADLY. Whenever they did have a SPAT, it usually was pretty GRUESOME — but this time around, it seems as though the two were AT EACH OTHER’S THROATS, WRESTLING FOR DOMINANCE OVER THEIR HOST OF A BODY.

BETTY WAS BARELY COHERENT — ONE SLIP AWAY FROM LOSING CONTROL, ONE INCH AWAY FROM THE BEAST GRABBING THE REIGNS AND CAUSING ANOTHER WAR TO OCCUR IN HELL THIS TIME AS OPPOSED TO ON THE SURFACE YEARS AGO. IT WAS PISSED WITH HER FOR NOT BEING FED IN A LONG WHILE — AS BETTY FIRMLY BELIEVED HER BUSINESS AS A WARLORD WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN BABYSITTING HER SPLIT PERSONALITY OF A BAT BEAST. NEGLECTING IT ONLY MADE IT RAGE HARDER INSIDE OF THE AMULET IT WAS TRAPPED IN, RATTLING THE BARS TO IT’S CAGE UNTIL IT COULD NO LONGER BE IGNORED, STARVING AND RABID BECAUSE OF IT’S NEGLIGENT CARETAKER.

All she ever wanted was to lead a life SOMEWHAT NORMAL. Betty was so TIRED of being nothing but BLOODTHIRSTY AND VIOLENT. She desired AUTHENTIC CONNECTIONS, LOVE, COMPANIONSHIP THAT DIDN’T INVOLVE BLOODSHED. But the beast disagreed, REFUSING TO LIVE A LIFE WITHOUT BEING SHOWERED IN THE VISCERA OF THEIR ENEMIES — WITHOUT CLAIMING THEIR TITLE AS ‘THE ELDRITCH BEAST’ AND STRIKING TERROR INTO THE HEARTS OF ALL WHO DEFIED THEIR LEGACY.

Being a warlord was meant to BALANCE the two. She could still INFLUENCE OTHERS WITH THE FEAR FACTOR AND FEED THE BEAST SOULS TO SATIATE IT — and simultaneously so, Betty was free to do as she pleased without the INCESSANT ITCH TO LOSE CONTROL.

But lately, she attempted to SILENCE IT COMPLETELY, TIRED OF CATERING TO IT WHEN IT YOWLED LIKE A DYING CAT IN IT’S CAGE. THE BEAST THEN FOUGHT BACK — THE AMULET CRACKED AND EXPELLING HORRIBLE NOISES AKIN TO AN AZTEC DEATH WHISTLE, TRYING TO CLAW IT’S WAY OUT.

—

THE BODIES OF SINNERS LAY IN RUINS. VISCERA PAINTED THE WALLS, BLOOD CAKED UPON TORN FURNITURE, WINDOWS SMASHED, LIMBS ASTRAY, THE STARK SCENT OF DECAY AND DEATH. HER BODY WAS MID-TRANSFORMATION, FUR BRISTLING UPON HER ARCHED BACK LIKE SPIKES, EARS ELONGATED LIKE BAT WINGS, FANGS LIKE TUSKS, CLAWS LIKE GIANT PAWS, HER MAW EXTENDED LIKE A CANINE’S, BETTY RESEMBLED A HYENA DAYS WITHOUT FOOD. A SPLIT BETWEEN THE BEAST AND HER HUMANOID FORM.

In a flurry of MANIC DISTRESS, the hybrid SLAMMED herself into the wall, AN ANGELIC AXE CLATTERING TO THE FLOOR.

“ GET OUT — OF MY FUCKING — BODY!! “

Claws GRASPED onto the weapon, SHAKILY PRESSING IT TO HER THROAT,

“ I WILL FUCKING CARVE YOU STRAIGHT FROM MY BODY SO I DON’T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH YOU ANYMORE! I’M TIRED OF LIVING LIKE THIS! I’M TIRED OF YOU!

DIE!! “

In her DELIRIOUS mind, SAWING HER THROAT MEANT EXTERMINATING THE BEAST — in reality, THEY WOULD BOTH PERMANENTLY PERISH.

@mothvalentino

[devious-master-wolf]

The Ravaging of Little Red

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. There’s always a little girl, isn’t there? But this little girl is not the one you are thinking of. Not an innocent wide-eyed thing ignorant of the ways of the world, though she may look it at first glance. No, she is not a fragile thing so easily breakable. This is a fierce creature boiling over with secret dark wants and desires. Unfortunately, this little girl was also a caged animal, voiceless and muted and screaming on the inside. This is Little Red.

Little Red had a downright evil mother and not even a step- one at that! A straight-up evil mother who kept her locked away and would torment her regularly with nonsensical demands and beratement. Little Red had escaped once and thought herself free, but alas, she found herself trapped once again, only this time in the cave of a troll, those most selfish and brutish of creatures. After much torment and terror, she had escaped this vicious trap too, but alas, the only way to escape was to return once again to her evil mother, confined and condemned to a dreary life of chores and inscrutable reprimand at the edge of the deep dark wood.

Little Red, her life seemingly over before it had begun, had lost all hope. The only solace she had was her evenings out on the porch in her right red cloak sweeping the steps and listening to the chirping of crickets and rustling leaves. She would never dare to venture forth, though. She knew all too well how Mother might snap. The evil witch would ensorcell her right back. So instead, Red would stare out into the dark and foreboding wood and wistfully dream of someday running away, dangers be damned.

And that Little Red… is you.

Little did you know that each night as you stared longingly out into that dark wood, two hungry eyes stared right back. For there was a Big Bad Wolf in that dark forest who prowled each night for little girls dumb enough to wander from their safe homes. He had smelled this delicious young thing, your ripe scent of unmet desire sharp in the crisp night air. He had come at your enticing aroma to watch and wait, fangs salivating at the site of you, dripping with primal cravings at the sight and scent of you.

And that Big Bad Wolf… is me.

I waited for you, Red. I watched as you fight with your captor. I watched as you yearned for release. I watched each night as you walked back into that prison, its hold fast upon you, those invisible parental chains wrapped around you. I watched until I could handle it no more. As your home went dark and the night’s chill set in, I prowled out from my hiding place, quietly stalking up to your window. Peeking in, my hot breath fogging the glass, I saw you there, sleeping in despair and barely covered be your thin red slip. Your curled form twitched with some nightmare of endless monotony and bleak despondency.

Knowing your evil mother would never let you go as long as you lived, I first crept around to her room, quietly sliding the window up and slinking in. To fight a witch, one must be quick. One must be crafty. Before she could even yelp, I pounced and gobbled her up, lickety-split!

With the evil witch of the forest gone for good, I salivated for my true prize, the little girl in red whose life had never known a day of peace. Unfortunately, that peace would not be today for I had come to snatch you away yet again and drag you down into my own special hell filled with primal unspeakable hungers. Silently I prowl into your room, towering above your bed, long shadows of the moon throwing my vicious predator’s silhouette across your walls. Looming over your helpless form, I pull up muscular fur-covered arms and large hands tipped with savage long claws. My tongue lulls out from between dripping fangs. My claw lowers, lifting that thin red nighty over your thighs and revealing... an entirely exposed pussy? No panties. No modesty at all. And glistening. What dreams have you fallen in, so twitching and wet? What a twisted little girl I've found indeed.

Unconsciously, my excitement gets the better of me. Mesmerized by this delicious unveiling, I extend a claw, slipping it into that slick slit. Under my breath I release a deep rumbling growl, “Little red, little red, let me in.”

Your little brow furrows for a moment before your eyes snap open, going wide as you see the beast before you, nearly upon you.

Whatever do you do, @thelittlelostprincess333?

[mask131]

Magic the Gathering: Innistrad (Innistrad block)

My favorite Green cards

Werewolves are divided between Red and Green. Both are human beings afflicted with the curse of lycanthropy. What are the nuances for each color? It is... complicated. If you go on Wikipedia, they'll simply say "Green werewolves are hermits and outcasts ; Red werewolves are bandits and renegades". Seems a bit vague - we need to go to the Guide to Innistrad on Magic's official website to understand that the Red/Green divide rather operates on two deep fractures within the "werewolf species".

One fracture opposes the werewolf who, after their transformations, are filled with guilt and shame, falling into depression - a werewolf never fully remembers their time as a werewolf (because they were not in control or conscious at the time), but they have fragmentary, blurry memories that sometimes come to them in a flash, and they see the aftermath of the destruction they caused. These werewolves that revile their lives are the "repentants", who see themselves as the victims of an unjust curse. However, others are the "wantons", the savage werewolves who embrace the wild to abandon their humanity. They actively seek to turn into werewolves, and see themselves as, I quote, "glorious scions of nature trapped inside a cage of civilized lies".

The second fracture is between the werewolves who leave human communities to live in the wilds and the forests, either as lone wolves or entire packs ; and the werewolves who are too attached to their family or roots to leave their ancient lives, and thus exist hidden among regular folks. An existence which forms them into a state of constant paranoia, as they have to constantly hide their transformations, invent alibis and make sure to not attract attention upon themselves.

What causes lycanthropy? Nobody really knows. The Church of Avacyn claims that lycantrhopy is a kind of demonic possession - but exorcisms have very... debatable results. Most of the werewolves seem to have been born regular humans, and to have turned werewolf at some point - there are however tales of "child werewolves" born in remote areas. Are they real tales or just campfire stories? Similarly, the alchemists and wolfhunters believe that werewolves are sterile, and can only "reproduce" by passing the lycanthropy curse upon others ; but peasants and woodsmen have the folk-belief that werewolf can mate with their own kind... or with human beings.

One thing however everybody agrees on, is that the werewolf transformation is caused by the full moon. Which does not surprise anybody since in Innistrad, the moon is EVERYTHING. Literaly everything. Humanity's harvest patterns as well as the monsters' hunting patterns are based on the moon. The cycles of the moon push forward the wheel of the seasons. The moon is believed to be a blessed protectress: the silver that harms monsters when blessed is believed to come from the moon, and thus it became a strong motif of the Church of Avacyn, and a symbol of the Archangel herself (the head of the Church is called the Lunarch). But it is also believed to be a curse upon the land, as vampires flee the sun to shield themselves under the moon, and the moonlight reveals the werewolves' true nature. Good and bad, blessed and cursed, worshiped by monsters and humans alike, the moon is truly everything in Innistrad.

I said before that nobody knows the true source of lycantrhopy in Innistrad... But Magic the Gathering designers revealed to us the actual real story behind werewolves. In their Guide to Innistrad, they reveal that the true nature of the lycanthropy is a "supernatural curse". It causes the spiritual essence of the victim to become "mingled with the wild essence of nature", which in Innistrad is symbolized by the wolf - the wildest animal of the land. A lycantrhope can be seen as either having two souls merged within each other, or one sould split into to. All in all, the two essences constantly battle against each other, and the werewolf transformation occurs when the "wild wolf-essence triumphs". In fact, the reson werewolves hunt humans so often, is because the "wolf-essence" tries to symbolically destroy its human side, by brutally slaying all humans it comes across.

The curse is tansmitted when a person finds themselves, one night, called out by the howls of werewolves. If the person follows the howls, gives in to the temptation of the "silvery moon" and the "eyes glowing in the night", they will allow the wild essence to enter their body. And if they follow the werewolves during their hunt, if they share their feasts of raw meat, if they kill with them, the more they'll grow wolf characteristics - a bit more fur with each howl, sharper teeth with each piece of meat swallowed... When the transformation is completely, the "First Hunt" is done, and the human ended up cursed with lycanthropy. They will return to their human form, and they will have to deal with both the maddedning guilt of what they did/what they became, and the new battle within their soul against the wild wolf... A battle which, if they are not strong enough, will fail by next full moon...

There is no known cure to lycanthropy. The closest anyone ever came to such a discovery was Theodora Glick, an alchemist. Her tale is told in Magic's official "Guide to Innistrad": she was brought a werewolf by the name of Guthril that had been captured. For three moon cycles she kept Guthril in his human form, by a "complex ceremony involving mystic circles inlaid with the wolfsbane plant, a blanket woven with blessed silver thread, and a lightning storm". But after said three cycles the ritual failed - Guthril returned to being a werewolf, destroyed Theodora's laboratory and fled into the night.

If you are interested, the web pages of Magic's official Planeswalker's Guide to Innistrad" gives even more details about werewolves and how they function, but I will leave under the cut one particularly delightful passage, the description of a werewolf transformation:

The transformation process is harrowing for the lycanthrope and incredibly disturbing to any witnesses. The eyes change first, the whites darkening and the iris filling with color. The claws go next; the hands elongate, knifelike claws extend from the fingertips, and the thumb forms a claw back near the wrist. The muzzle thrusts forward out of the human's skull, and the teeth jut through the gums in sharp points. Bones crack as they rearrange. Marrow spills into the bloodstream as ribs and skull fracture and telescope. Thick, wiry fur pushes through the skin, often pushing out normal human hair. The tailbone elongates and becomes a shaggy wolf's tail. Metabolism speeds up, increasing blood flow, oxygen flow, and glandular production, creating cravings for protein and fat. Any clothing that was worn at the time of the change is generally torn to shreds and falls away. If a werewolf dies in beast form, it changes back to human form, a process called death reversion.

[patrocolus3]

Chapter 2: Ninor

Sooooo wanted to clear up the other end of this for my own sake, andddd i wrote. some nerd shit. If you get lost, sorry, I likea da worldbuilding (ask me what i mean if you want), if you like it, you're insane and I love you. probably won't be necessary to read for the plot but thinking about writing it from two sides, at least at first.

If you wanna be on the taglist, lemme know! so if you wanna be off it! I'm so new and not sure how to do this but let me know what to do and I promise I'll be nice! <3

Taglist (aka people who seemed interested):

@hollewdz @awkwardgtace @clumsiestgiantess <3

--------------------------------------------------------------

Ninor knew she couldn't perform with an audience. That went for anyone, from curious servants to Tidbit and Titus, whose cage she often had to cover with a workcloth or put in the cupboard. And this was much worse than a few servants or mice. behind her on a gilded throne, carried by robed thralls, the King of Blood sat, flanked by his advisors and nobles, with a phalanx of Blood Shields, the kingsguard, forming a shield wall between her and the king. Hard to work a concentration spell with the most powerful group of people in the known world watching.

She was getting to the trickiest part of the spell now. Her eyes glowed purple and lightning crackled through the witch-salt runes on the floor in front of her. She wondered if the king approved of this display. He'd always been against wizardry and magic in general unless he could control it, and the magic she was doing here didn't appear very easily controllable.

Stay focused, she reprimanded herself. Just finish this stanza, open the gate, summon a spirit, that's it. Not too hard to summon the spirit of a Great One, but to flag down just the spirit was harder.

Runes arched through the air out of her hands, nimble and practiced, splitting space and reality, cutting a whole in the dimensional fabric of the universe. She continued, brow shining with sweat, chanting words only she knew in the language of the spirits, calling on the mind and soul, chanting faster and faster. Now for the hard part. Choosing a spirit and rejecting its body. Wish I knew how strong the body was before I choose an entity.

She finished the last line of the stanza, guttural vowels cut by sharp consonants. Now was the time.

She closed her eyes as the runes around her shook with vibrant electricity, slowly fading as the clock started ticking. Ninor knew her time was limited. Time to choose a spirit. She reached forward, eyes closed to avoid going mad before she allowed her astral form to be sucked into the spirit realm.

A warm void, movement, lack of gravity, and many whispers beyond comprehension. A familiar feeling in her stomach, she'd been here many times before. Searching, she reached out, parsing out a carefully planned request in her mind, a servant spirit for the king, one not rebellious yet incredibly powerful. One to know their place, to be dominated, to subjugate for yet another subjugator.

The spirits murmured, responding to the request with each their own response. Disgust, eagerness, confusion, laughter, and a push and pull of emotions rocked her to her core. With ifinite spirits weighing a request, such an ask must be believed with incredible willpower and concentration to succeed. And as she cast her spell into the great beyond, she felt a sliver of doubt, conscience, whatever you'd call a hesitation enter her mind. This isn't right.

She felt her spell begin to fail. The spirits became agitated, infinite whispers became infinite noise, yelling, howling to be chosen, to be released. She threw up an abjurative shielding spell, it shattered instantly, ripping holes in the spirit realm itself. She felt the energy of undefined quantities of power spill into countless dimensions as spirits and wraiths spun out of control around her. I have to choose one and get put of here! She summoned a rune-rope, a lasso of purple-blue energy, sending it past the hurricane of spirits for any reasonably tame spirit. As she did so, she watched in horror as the loop of light sailed straight through one of the dimensional rifts that her failed shield had created, and felt it attach to something on the other end. She screamed in panic and, at a loss for cognitive function, ejected herself from the spirit realm entirely, dragging whatever she'd caught with her. Please let it be a scary yet good-natured great one, she thought, I know It probably isn't but it'd be real nice if it was! She slammed back into her own body, skidding out of the spell circle, rune-rope in hand, watching as a portal of glowing yellow light opened and a shadow quickly appeared, bearing down on the opening.

Last chance to try and close the portal, she thought, glancing at the King of Blood, sat bolt upright in his throne, eyes hungry for the coming servant he had ordered. In the watching of the king, Ninor realized one thing. If I cancel the summoning, I would've been better off letting the spirits tear my mind apart. All she could do now is hope for he best.

"M-my liege, may I present to you, your spirit, vengeful and f-furious as the dawn, to be chained at your feet, to b-be your hand and sword, your-" A throbbing pulsing sound distracted her from her unglamorous showboating as the assembled crowds eyes grew as large as dinner plates. Oh shi-

In seconds, the portal grew to the entire height of the great hall, slamming into the roof with a mighty crack, becoming enormous just in time for a towering figure to shoot past her at staggering speeds missing her by inches, flying into the opposite wall with a sickening crunch.legs were the last to leave the portal, and with the head having hit a wall with near enough force to break right through it, the knees had nowhere to go but along the bend of the hips' fulcrums, straight up.

The ceiling shattered in a cascade of gold shards and mosaic tiles, covering the room in dust and shrapnel. Shards of ceramics rained down upon the group, the guards moving their shields to protect the king and his retinue, leaving Ninor to fend for herself. She grasped at her belt, whipping up a figure of the protection goddess and channeling as much mana as she could, barely getting the shield up in time. To protect her from the barrage of projectiles that cracked the flood and dented the guard's shields.

The dust hung thick in the air, though the tension of the room was held thicker. She couldn't see the king through the many rectangular shields held aloft between them, but she saw the looks the guards and nobles gave her. The chief advisor approached the golden throne, and whispering could be heard over the echoes of still-falling debris.

She hung her head waiting for the verdict, preparing for the worst. I've really done it now. Well, here we go. the nobles and the king were escorted out of the room, leaving only the kings advisor and four blood guards flanking both his sides.

"In the summoning of this... thing, you've made a fool and a lair of yourself. The king is furious, and you are in the most peril you could be in at this very moment. The future of that achieved status is dependent on your answer, so be very careful how you respond."

His eyes burned through hers, and she felt her heart might give out from its efforts.

"When the king asked you for a spirit, he meant something controllable, that he could subjugate, that would stand imposingly beside him when he gave a speech or christened a ship. You've brought him a monster the size of this building. do you understand the adverse effect brought on by the size of this... thing, in comparison to the king? Less intimidating, more a dwarfing of our nations leader. You are smart, so you understand that this is unfortunate for all of us, most of all you, correct?"

His voice, though ice cold, picked up more and more of a deathly venom as he spat admonishing warnings at her.

"So my question to you is this, think carefully on your answer. you may be in the most peril in the kingdom right now, but that doesn't mean it cannot get worse. Can you, or can you not, twist this and make it work with the kingdom, instead of directly against it?"

His words echoed around the hall, a drop of spittle clinging to his ruffled white collar as he yelled, bright red, eyes boiling.

"Y-yes." She whimpered, barely a squeak.

His rage subsided considerably, back to its old venom, dangerous but appeased for now, and the guards turned to open the doors at his gesture as he called out once more.

"Good. We don't care how you do it, just make it viable!"

The door slammed behind him, sounding for all the world as a coffin lid closing in a tomb.

[razzle-zazzle]

can you tell us more about branch villainous parent idea you have?

Had to put this one under a cut bc it got long sorry.

tl;dr ancient troll sorceress who kinda made herself immortal but then spent centuries trapped underground adopts one (1) small gray trolling when she escapes in the hopes of using him as an agent in her big revenge plan

Okay okay so. I was listening to "The Monster Under Your Bed" by Madame Macabre (among some other songs) and somehow ended up creating a silly little AU where Branch is adopted and raised by something a little bit eldritch and a lot bit unsuited to taking care of a child. So meet Lola (<- placeholder name)!

Lola's a Pop Troll... or at the very least, she used to be. Her backstory starts a good few centuries before the Bergens even show up, but just long enough after the splitting of the genres that most Pop Trolls at the time only had a vague idea about the existence of other genres. Lola was just like any other Pop Troll, really—in fact, she was even quite a catch! A love of singing and dancing, a clear voice and pretty face; she had quite a few admirers.

But, well, her story's not as well known, in the days of Trollstice, but for those who do know it, it's a cautionary tale. Because Lola, like any Troll, was able to use her song to affect the world around her. And she pushed the limits of this power, often in... well, it was more carelessness, at first. A descent into destruction that started slow and snowballed, until she was pretty much a step away from Evil Sorceress. At the end of her tale, in an effort to put a stop to her, a small band of heroes used the Pop String to defeat her, sealing her body underground in the roots of one of the many Troll Trees of the time. Thought dead, Lola became a cautionary tale about the dangers of using one's song to destructive and selfish ends.

Except she didn't die. She was already beyond death, at that point. So for centuries, she remained trapped, unable to pierce the barrier sealing her in her tomb. And in those centuries, the Bergens came, discovered the Trolls, and Bergentown formed. In those centuries, the number of Troll Trees diminished down to one, caged in the center of a dreary town.

Enter Branch. From stage top, falling from the tree after being pushed out of the way by Rosiepuff. Branch, who's small and scared and curls up in the crook of two roots, where a small patch of either-lobelia-or-rhododendrons-I-haven't-quite-decided-which-flower-works-best-yet are growing. The barrier containing Lola has eroded slightly, over the centuries, and the slow genocide of the Pop Trolls by the Bergens has only sped up the process. She's still trapped, but now there's a small hole that light can sometimes get through.

When Branch first falls into Lola's tomb, he almost doesn't make it out alive. Why does she stay her hand, though? Is it because she could see a kindred spirit in the Trolling that had lost all hope? Because she saw in him an opportunity to escape her tomb and finally enact revenge? Because centuries buried underground can tire a person out immensely, and the thought of expending energy to kill one little Trolling was too much for her that day? Whatever the reason, Branch manages to climb back out. But he comes back, again and again, just to... talk. The scary lady trapped underground understands grief, after all, and Branch feels safe underground where the Bergens can't reach. No matter how much the shadows move and hiss and cry. But going in and out stretches the already weak barrier to its limits...

There's only a week or so between Rosiepuff's death and the Great Escape, in my headcanons (something something Chef randomly going in and eating Trolls outside of Trollstice in flagrant violation of rules or tradition purely because she can), so only a week or so after their first meeting a Bergen's shovel both clears a path and snaps what little remains of the barrier, loosing Lola upon the world.

When she "adopts" Branch, it's with a clear goal in her mind: raise this little gray Trolling to be an instrument of destruction, groom him for the eventual role he'll play in her revenge scheme. There's just one problem:

She gets attached.

[softquietsteadylove]

Ohh you have to continue the zombie au!! Them finally meeting sersi and co will be amazing :D

"Welcome, Gilgamesh."

He frowned at those around him. He hadn't given them his name. Usually it was Thena who was deeply distrustful of anyone they came across, but he was happy to take up that mantle in her absence.

That was the worst part about this place, that he had yet to see Thena.

He had woken up in a fit over it, but they had told him - promised him - that he would see her if he kept himself calm. They returned his clothes to him, washed and everything.

"We take in all those who need help," the short doctor, Ajak he had learned, said beside him. The cafeteria was surprisingly bustling with people. "That was how you came to us."

They had told him that Thena had arrived with him on her back, which he couldn't help but doubt. Not that she would do it, but Thena was half his weight at most, and they didn't exactly have food or water to spare, last he remembered.

The last solid memory he did have was of feeling feverish, dragging his feet as they continued towards the next city. He must have been really lagging, because Thena did something they never did, which was commandeer a car.

He could remember being in the backseat, and he could remember Thena's voice whispering sweet things, his head in her lap, her tipping water up to his lips.

All the more reason for him to be wary of these people until he could see Thena for himself. He looked around the place, "I don't see her."

They sighed. He had been a broken record since getting on his feet, but he felt he had good reason to be. The other doctor patted his shoulder, although he flinched away from her. "Thena is just getting back."

"Back?" he frowned and turned. Sersi, the younger, taller doctor, and a third guy in a white coat named Phastos all stepped back from him. They were the only ones he'd met so far. "Where was she?"

"She joined some of our scouts on a run," Phastos attempted to be a voice of reason. "Some of the supplies we needed were for you, so she volunteered to go with them."

He wasn't exactly placated by the news. "So you sent her out there with people she doesn't even know? Are they really gonna watch her back out there? What if they can't protect her?!"

"Gil, please," Sersi joined in the effort to soothe him. "It's a simple run to the closest facility outside the hospital. We've been here a long time--since the beginning, really. We've already sectioned off half the city as safe territory."

Gil huffed. With Phastos behind him and the docs in front, he felt a bit like a caged animal. He looked around the bustling cafeteria again, "fine. When will they be back?"

"It should be any time now," Sersi promised before turning and trotting off.

"Sersi's husband is part of the field team," Ajak supplied in her absence, leading them closer to the rest of the populace. The people already there eyed them and kept their distance, but they didn't exactly pull out pitch forks and torches at the sight of him. "We have some very good people here with us."

Gil watched as Doctor Sersi trotted over to the door, her wavy black ponytail bouncing behind her. She must have seen they were coming, because she ran at the door and launched herself into someone's arms before they were even in the room.

A man walked in with her attached to him, tall and broad shouldered. Gil couldn't hear them, but he had an inkling that he was one of the men who had dragged him inside when Thena no longer could. The other one walked in past the married couple, not even glancing at them.

Finally, far behind the other two, a ghost of a figure hurried into the room and immediately split off and away from everyone. Despite the promise of food, she steered clear of the line for it, pushing a blonde ponytail off her shoulder and pulling off her backpack.

Her clothes had also been washed, and the jacket she was wearing seemed to be new, maybe as a form of protection. But that was definitely his Thena prowling away from the thick of the crowd.

"Thena!"

Heads turned and people jumped out of the way of the huge stranger sprinting across the room. Some of them yelped, as if he were a train barrelling forward on its tracks. But he could only see Thena.

"Gil!" she barely got out before he swallowed her up, his arms snaking around her and his massive form folding over her. Her knees bent in response but he held her close, swinging her around in his arms.

"Thena! You're okay!" he sobbed, openly at that. For all his reluctance to cooperate with their hosts thus far he let himself weep with joy as he finally felt Thena's light frame in his embrace again. She still smelled like fresh air, and she was warm, and she was kind of bony, but soft in the places it mattered. "I-I thought-!"

"Sh, Gil, I'm here," she cooed, running her fingers through his hair as he blubbered over her like a baby. She let him lean his weight on her, his face buried between her neck and her shoulder, their legs stumbling, "it's okay, just breathe."

"I told you--they're too committed to each other, they won't-"

"Ikaris, hush."

"Are we just gonna watch them make out, or...?"

"Give them some space," Ajak urged the rest of her team. Gil pulled his head up to see her waving them back, her back turned to them. She didn't have the distrust in him and Thena that he had with her. "can you blame them?"

"Gil," Thena called to him, pulling his attention back to her. She put her hand to his cheek, her eyes scrubbing over him, "are you okay?"

He nodded, leaning into her touch, "I'm okay. Wh-What about you? I woke up and a-and you-"

"Sorry," Sersi leaned over to offer her apologies, "I voted to move you into the same room, but I got outnumbered."

"We weren't sure what to make of you," the other man who came in alongside Sersi's husband shrugged. "And then you freaked out when she wasn't there, so-"

"So," Gil made a face, "you decided that keeping us apart longer would fix that?"

Ajak laughed, although the guy clearly didn't appreciate it. He huffed, putting his hands on his hips, "hey, big guy, I'm the funny one here, got it?"

"Okay," Ajak spoke to those crowded around them en masse again, "let's let the lovebirds have a bite to eat and settle themselves. We can discuss what happens from here on afterward."

What did she mean by that? But Gil looked down as Thena slipped her hand into his. He was going to have to ignore that 'lovebirds' comment for now too, huh?

"Come on," Thena pulled him by the hand, keeping their fingers intertwined, "you must be starving."

"Well, yeah, but-" he looked around, still feeling on edge in the completely new environment. It was being around people - living people - that had him so on edge.

"I'll tell you everything that's happened," Thena promised him, "after you eat."

He just sighed, looking at her like she was the sun and he'd been underground for years. He would do anything if it meant he didn't have to let go of her hand yet, "fine."

[ebbing-terror]

All dolled up in blood and gore, the curse's hand that had once been full of knives then reverted back into normal digits. He turned, uncaring about the crimson that stained his face - his sole focus upon the weakling he called his own.

It would seem some humans decided to venture into the sewers. That just wouldn't do. Regardless if they were harmless or not, he struck them down with brutal efficiency. There had been no time to waste, not when he had more important things to do.

Mahito leaned down to be closer to her level; mismatched eyes staring upon with unblinking, a reminder he didn't really need to and only did it as a benefit to the humanoid form he was born with. The quiet expression was one that simultaneously simmered with an unspoken feral-ness to it. It likely didn't help when he mimicked a smile a moment later.

The curse leaned closer, his lips brushing over her cheek as he exhaled softly near her ear, "Go back home." It was a simple command. He had bodies to deal with, things to consider - like if this base was a proper cage still. Hands reached down to grip her by the hips and turn her around, a silent ushering. Surely she knew better than to make him state something twice.

Lynn stared upon the scene she found herself in. It happened so fast- it always did.

The sound of obnoxious, drunken laughter and breaking glass had lead the monster right to those bumbling fools and once found they were cut through.

Blood, guts- the stuff was everywhere. The poor bastards barely even had time to scream, the echoes hadn't finished running through the tunnels before their bodies hit the pavement in chunks. Red blotted the one light in the passageway, thick and slow as it dripped down and coated the bulb, diming the environment even more. Heavy shadows cast over everything, intensifying the carnage and the presence of the one who caused it.

Black and scarlet painted a grotesque mural before Lynn's very eyes, one she watched Mahito create with awe. Her expression was rather blank, simply observing, admiring, absorbing as much as she could while she could. It always happened so fast. Those gentle eyes lingered on the knives Mahito made of himself, watching as blades changed into a more dangerous weapon- his hand.

She was unsteady as the monster turned his sights upon her, hunching down to look her straight in the face. The air was suffocating, each breath pulling the putrid odor of blood, spoiling meat and city filth into her lungs. Lynn's brain was always buzzing afterwards, unwell only in the mind- in the sense she had some wires crossed in her brain.

All she could think about, was how amazing Mahito was, how horribly beautiful he looked splattered with blood and glowing after a slaughter. She was helplessly enamored, that freakish smile making her heart jump in the opposite fashion of how it was supposed to. A hand reached out, softly grabbing hold of the creature's garb, wanting him closer when he drew near.

Lynn had been expecting something, holding her breath as she waited for it, for a kiss. The placement didn't matter. Her skin tingled where his lips lingered, so agonizongly close as she peered over Mahito's shoulder to the mess he made- waiting.

All she got was an order- a tease. Suspense had been yanked out from under Lynn and she fell into disappointment. Hope launched again with hands grasping her hips but that too broke apart and plummeted as she was turned around before she could embrace Mahito.

But she did know better, knowing not to interfere with what he had to do. Did she really have to go? Couldn't she just sit quietly and watch him? Lynn didn't pester Mahito with such questions, settling for one more look back at him before she ventured away into the darkness.

Once the gunk and gore was smeared off her mind enough to think Lynn found herself pausing as her path split in two.

Plip...

Plip....

Wait....

Home...Did Mahito mean Home home? Her apartment? Or was he telling her to go back to their residence in the heart of the sewer? The fact Lynn even debated the thought in the first place said alot.

Well, she didn't want to walk home by herself, there were creeps and killers out there...She didn't want to be alone either... So Lynn went right- deeper into the labyrinth.

Once she reached the 'room' she and Mahito shared Lynn removed her shoes and shuffled over to the hammock strung so high above her. She had no chance of getting up there without help so instead she curled up on the hard, dirty ground, pulling her hood up and using her arm as a pillow and buffer from the germs.

It was frigid all the way down here and Lynn brought her knees into her chest, pulling them under her hoodie. She could've been home right now, snug and warm and clean in her bed yet she chose to wait for Mahito with bloody clothes, cold and all alone in the dark dinge of the sewer.

Home is where the heart is.

- And Lynn's was here in the elaborate innards of the city, hiding out with a monster.

[amarantine-amirite]

The Treachery of Images

This happened when the COO of a bank we shall keep nameless married the swimsuit model. They had an open bar at their reception. Because of that, nobody under the age of 21 could be in the main building. Usually, this doesn’t cause problems because people don’t bring their kids to wedding receptions that are effectively work things. Since none of us were kids you could leave alone in the house, the people planning the event had to come up with things for the kids to do while their parents listened to coworkers give wedding toasts. 

They split the kids into groups. Each group had two interns to chaperone the kids. Our group went ice skating. Our chaperones included Alex, an accounting major with the investment banking group and Verity, a computer science major working as a database developer. 

We got a nasty surprise when we arrived at the ice rink. The boys didn't even have to wear helmets while skating, most didn't wear shirts. The girls had to be wrapped up in just about every form of hockey padding under the sun along with a hi-collar life jacket. 

As you would expect, none of us saw that coming. They provided gear, but they didn't have enough gear for all the girls to be on the ice at the same time. We could only skate for five minutes at a time before we had to come back and transfer our gear to the next person. The time it took to do the transfer cut into our ice time.

Transferring our protective equipment felt like prepping to put out a wildfire. Abigail jumped off the ice, took off her gloves and helmet, and passed it to Cindy. She then removed her neckguard and life jacket and helped Cindy put it on so she could step on the ice.

Now that Cindy was on the ice, Abigail took off her chest plate and gauntlets and gave them to Cindy. Cindy took the chest plate under their life jacket and fastened the waistband on the life jacket once the chest plate was on.

Next, Abigail took off the shorts and the goalie pads. The tops of the goalie pads went up past Cindy's mid-thigh, and she nearly scratched a hole in the shorts with her skates. It took two of us to fasten the crotch strap on the life jacket once she got the shorts and the goalie pads in place.

Finally, Abigail passed Cindy the gloves. technically, we were not supposed to remove your gloves until the end, but it’s easier to transfer if you take your gloves off.

This whole process took four minutes and 15 seconds. Cindy took one look at herself and said, “Jesus Christ, I feel like a tick about to pop!”

“OK, you’re done,” Abigail said.

Cindy looked at Abigail from behind the face cage of the helmet. “Yeah, but I can’t put my arms down!” she whined.

Abigail pushed Cindy’s arms down and they sprang right back up. She looked around and said, “Well, put your arms down when you get on the ice.”

Cindy nodded and waddled away. 

“Nice change-up, Abigail,” I said as I slowly clapped

Abigail rolled her eyes and sulked, “Louise, do not get me started on that life jacket, it will not go around that breastplate.” She sat down on the bench in a way that looked like somebody threw her there. “No kidding, this is not what I had in mind.”

I nodded and chuckled. “By my calculations, Cindy’s going to have 45 seconds of ice time,” I commented, pointing to my watch, “She should make the most of it.”

Ellie overheard our chatter, turned around, and said, “You’ve been in a mood all day, Louise.”

“Well, not all the time,” I said, “this only started when we got out here.”

When I said that, I referred to getting caught off guard by a rule that the girls had to have hockey gear in a life jacket to skate. Ellie thought I meant I was afraid of skating because I had never been before. “So, have you been skating before?” she asked in a sickly sweet tone that tried to be sympathetic but just failed.

“Yes, but never with this much gear,” I said. I shook my head and grimaced, “It’s putting me off, to be honest.”

“OK,” Ellie asked, “what do you wear for skating?”

“You mean other than my skates and my clothes?” I shrugged my shoulders, “Just some gloves.”

Ellie looked at me like I had horseshoe crabs coming out of my nose. “That’s it?” she gasped, “No helmet?”

“No, don’t really need one,” I answered. My background is in figure skating and the first thing they teach you is how to fall so that you don’t hit your head. I fully respect that helmets can prevent catastrophic skull fractures, but learning how to fall safely prevents you from hitting your head in the first place. I tried to put this into words that Ellie would understand, but all I could get out was, “I already know how to fall”

Ellie didn’t appreciate this, but I didn’t expect her to get so upset. “You’re kidding me, right?” she said with one of those laughs it’s not a genuine laugh but you’re just using it to mask your discomfort, “Your ego is so inflated that you can barely fit through the door."

"I know,” I responded. I meant this as I know you're upset, but Ellie took it to mean I know, it's hard being this great.

My ego had nothing to do with it. Everyone else seemed oblivious to what we were promised not matching what was delivered except me. 

Our conversation attracted the attention of one of the chaperones. Alex wandered over to us and said, “Is there a problem here, ladies?”

“Well, it's not really a problem per se,” I began. “I was just talking about how this does not meet my expectations, and…”

Ellie stood up abruptly. “Louise ice skates with no helmet because she thinks she's better than us!” she interrupted in a panicky tone. I now knew exactly what Grace and Jacinda were talking about when they said she looked like Veruca Salt.

Alex walked over to me and sat down. “OK, Listen to me,” she began, “I know you might think all that and a slice of pie, but until you have witnessed the horror that goes on in a trauma ward in a hospital ER, don't speak.” She closed her eyes and looked away towards the end of the sentence. she started to panic just as much as Ellie did and smacked the back of her right hand against her left hand if she spoke. “You aren't just hurting yourself here, you are making others who love you fear for your life!” 

“We have pie?” I asked. 

Alex got very stern and corporate with me. “We are not talking about pie, Louise,” she said.

“Then why did you bring it up?”

Alex got mad, left, and went to the viewing gallery to say something to Verity. “what do you think they’re talking about?” I mused out loud. 

Jacinda heard what I said and responded, “It's probably a bluff. I don’t think they’re saying much of anything.” 

I watched Alex and Verity gesticulate as they talked. “They’re moving their hands a lot.”

“I can see that,” Jacinda replied. She shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I’m like you. I don’t skate with a helmet, either.” 

“Because you’re vain?” Ellie snipped. 

Jacinda rolled her eyes at Ellie. She turned to me and said, “Honestly, what’s more important is knowing how to fall safely. I’m surprised they don’t teach kids that.” 

“That’s how I learned, but I learned from someone who had trained as a figure skater,” I said excitedly. Out of everyone there, I finally met someone who actually understood. 

Alex came back with Verity. “Hey, Louise,” she asked. 

I slammed my hands down on my thighs. “Is this about what I think it is?” I said. 

“Yes,” Verity said, “Alex told me everything.” 

I stood up and got ready to explain myself. “They should’ve told us ahead of time,” I said. 

Verity shook her head. “Well, you should know better,” she said. She brought her hands together gently and looked down at me, even though I’m about four inches taller than her. “A helmet is the bare minimum,” she said, “ and what do you think of somebody who does the bare minimum?”

“Well,” I began, “none of the girls expected to have to wear full hockey gear and a life jacket on the ice.” I did my best to be diplomatic, something that got harder as the dialogue became progressively stupider. “Quite frankly, that rule should apply to everybody and, as I’ve said before, you should’ve told us this ahead of time.”

Verity gestured for me to sit down. “I want you to slow down and think about how you sound,” she said, “Does it come off as, well, a bit Karen-ish?” 

“No,” I shook my head. 

Now, the smart thing to say next would be that you aren’t frustrated by the protective gear in and of itself, just the double standards, lack of communication, and unexpected reactions to expressing your frustration with the previous items surrounding it. Had I been able to put this in words, it would’ve been a lot smarter than what I did say, which was, “Why do you have to wear a life jacket while skating because it’s a flooded ice surface and not a frozen pond?”

Verity rolled her eyes. She probably thought I was stupid. “because ice is frozen water,” she said in total disbelief that someone could make it to age 16 and not know that, “if you fall through the ice, you hit the water and drown.” She condescendingly nodded her head. “People can fall through ice and drown, and life jackets stop you from drowning.” 

I blinked. “I get that, but this is not the same”

“how can it not be the same?” Verity said incredulously, “Drowning is drowning!” 

“Unlike an ice layer on a natural body of water, there’s nowhere for you to go if the ice cracks except for maybe the padding that’s underneath the ice sheet. It’s pretty much a frozen puddle.” I couldn’t believe I had to say this to an adult. 

“But you can drown in a puddle!” she said defensively, “Or are you too stupid to understand that, too?”

“Not if it’s frozen,” I said without missing a beat. I burst out laughing. How could somebody think you could fall through a flooded ice sheet when there was no body of water underneath it. “the fact that you can’t seem to grasp but there is no risk of drowning on a man-made rink makes you closer to stupid than me”

Verity’s patience wore thin. She walked me to the door. “Go,” she scolded, “Now.”

I took off my skates, packed them up, put my shoes back on, and walked away. As I left, I heard Jacinda say, “She’s right, you know. 

Verity pointed at the door. “You need to leave, too, Jacinda,” she barked, “Don’t encourage Louise, here.” 

I don’t believe for a minute that I missed anything spectacular. As I left, I noticed that the boys decided to play some game where they knocked over the girls. The girls couldn’t get up when the boys knocked them over. Anyone who fell over had to wait for somebody to help them up, but they seemed to take their sweet time. Somehow, I can see this game making the top of the list of reasons that somebody's relationship ended.

Jacinda caught up to me as I left. “Louise, I’m going to ask you something and I don’t want you to freak out”

“Normally, I’d say please don’t, but have at. I’m kind of curious now”

Jacinda took a deep breath and asked, “Was everything that happened back there related to your autism?”

It looks an awful lot like my autism caused this fiasco, but it didn’t. This isn’t me struggling to cope with intricate social rules, nor is it about not foreseeing how things they do upset people. It’s not related to difficulty executing tasks due to poor motor coordination. It’s not even an issue of taking things too literally. 

“Jacinda, let me answer that question with another question,” I began, “Did they tell the girls we need to bring a life jacket and hockey padding to skate ahead of time?”

“No,” Jacinda scoffed, “and it should really be the other way around.”

I laughed because I knew exactly what Jacinda meant. if you put those boys in a padded cell they’ll still find a way to hurt themselves. “Yeah,” I chortled, “they’re stupid.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that this is not related to autism?” Jacinda asked

“Hell no!” I exclaimed, “The problem is that we were lied to!”

Jacinda tipped her head to one side, “Of course, if they told us the truth, we would say that they were insane and we wouldn’t show up, because none of it makes any sense.” 

Grace came power-walking in out of nowhere. “hey guys, we’ve got a problem,”

Jacinda’s eyebrows did their best impressions of Volkswagens trying to park. “And that is?”

Grace gestured to the clamp on the wheel on the bug-green luxury car parked at a 60-degree angle. “They’ve impounded my Mercedes.” 

@unboundprompts

[laura-de-milf]

(@palace-of-jemenfous)

I have vicious thoughts about this!!!! and it warrants a whole separate post I guess

One thing that really stood out to me when first watching this scene is the way she physically recomposes herself and entirely changes her voice and body language before she delivers this line. She goes from the same shocked, tearful expression of genuine heartbreak that we saw during the raid scene-

-and morphs into this stone-cold, dutiful resolution:

She does an intriguingly similar thing with her head and face as she does when shapeshifting into other people; not that I think she's physically shapeshifting here, but it sure feels like she's at least mentally shapeshifting into someone who isn't herself. We've seen her do this "internal" shapeshifting several times, from the "straight-laced" Bureau agent into "wild cat" Laura de Mille, so at this point we know how capable she is of splitting her Bureau and Sisterhood personas. She's physically returning to Bureau-form in this moment to deliver this line, which feels scripted and performed in a sort of perfunctory "sorry ma'am, that's just Company Policy" kind of way. We know that Laura's been forced to hide her abilities (and huge aspects of her character) while working at the Bureau, so we can probably reasonably conclude that that side isn't her true self. The person speaking this line is not the true Laura de Mille.

Here's where I start ruminating on why she did this and get into some crackpot/speculative theory, but-

I honestly do think she was trying to rescue and protect metahumans wherever she could at the Bureau, certainly in the beginning. To what extent she did this at her own risk and at what point she needed to start protecting herself (in order to continue protecting others), I'm not 100% sure, but I do think at some point during WWII she determined that a visible close connection between her and the Sisterhood would put them all at risk: Laura of being found out as a Meta, and subsequently the Sisterhood's subversive activities being exposed with no one in a position of authority left to protect them. Laura's effort to stop associating with the Sisterhood would have been an attempt to obscure any personal affiliation so they couldn't be used as collateral against each other under extreme circumstances: after two world wars spent working up close with government intelligence, she's probably all too familiar with the dangers of letting the enemy know who and what you care about. What safer way to ensure that Laura's quiet, ongoing efforts to keep the metas protected couldn't be accidentally discovered (or forcibly extracted) than to genuinely make the Sisterhood believe she was distancing herself from them by choice? Which further leads me to scream about how much she must have known that they loved her for her to trust that they wouldn't turn against her.

The plan ultimately went horribly wrong in the end, for reasons we're not clearly shown but which I can only speculate were not entirely in her control. The least she could do at that point was to allow the Sisterhood a means to use her as an outlet for their anger; to use her as the face of the system they'd all once schemed to take down, and perhaps to fuel their motivation to continue pursuing that work. In the case of this scene, she's giving them direct incentive to go through with the eternal flagellation. And it works: Rita rips open that cage door so fast after that line.

But if that's a bit lofty- I think more simply Laura feels that she deserves to be hated by the people she's harmed. She holds herself solely responsible for what happened to them, and probably feels that the only way to repent is to suffer with them--ideally worse than them. She actively fuels and validates Rita's hatred towards her on several occasions: provoking her in the woods, teasing her sadistically by taking Malcolm's image in the salon--we've seen how good-natured she is in her purest form and this seems by comparison so uncharacteristic of the Laura we know underneath the trauma. But like so many deeply traumatically unwell people, she lashes out cruelly in a deliberate effort to drive away the people she loves so that it's less hurtful to them when she proceeds to abuse and harm herself. She wants the Sisterhood to think of her as the villain and to feel satisfaction instead of grief when harm inevitably comes to her. She feels this is what she deserves. She doesn't see a path of forgiveness for herself, only pain and evil and loathing and self-flagellation. And she doesn't want the people she loves, who are already dealing with so much of their own pain because of her, anywhere near that.

[rxin3akamallory]

(So I wrote this as soon as I thought about Rocket and Lylla reuniting in Vol. 3 again. I thought, what if Magril had a similar experience? This takes place before the films, only a couple years after Magril escapes Halfworld and becomes a ravager.

Read this post for more context.

And PLEASE keep the TWs in mind before reading, ty ♡)

TW: Implied Attempted

Su!c!d3/S3lf H@rm

Hotline Numbers:

USA: 988

Canada: (833) 456-4566

Other regins

White took over Magril’s vision when she woke up. She couldn’t quite pinpoint where exactly she was, but the surrounding cages made the place feel.. familiar? But Magril’s environment wasn’t the only thing that made this situation strangely nostalgic to her. In the distance she could hear two voices laughing. One was high pitched and one was deep and gentle.

Magril: Those voices..

Before Magril could process who the voices belonged to, she could hear someone approaching from behind. She turns around, a brown female otter who was slightly taller than her and sporting two mechanical arms slowly walked her way.

Lylla: Friend… What are you doing here?

Magril: *gasp* Ly.. Lylla..?

Lylla gave Magril the same kind and warm smile she’d always have. Although, it fades when she notices the wounds that harshly ran across Magril’s arms.

Lylla: My dear friend, what’s happened?

Magril: *sniffle* I’m.. still a friend to you?

Lylla: Of course you’re my friend, Magril.

Magril: B-But, that night! I-I.. *choke* I said horrible things to you. I was so selfish! *sniffle* Why would you possibly want a friend like me?

Lylla: Selfish doesn’t always mean bad. Selfless and selfish are balanced. You were scared, that isn’t selfish. We all experience fear.

Magril: Yeah, and look where mine’s gotten you.

Lylla: Magril… Why are we here? What drove you to do this to yourself?

Magril: I couldn’t bring myself to tell you what was going on. If I had just said something… I’d be here right now instead of you.

Lylla: Magril, that’s already done. You can’t do anything to change what happened to us. But you can change what happens to you.

Magril: Why should I? There’s no reason a coward like me should stay. Why spare me? What did I do other than lead you to your graves!? You, *choke* and Floor, and Teefs, *sniffle* and Rocket…

As she named each of her friends, she realized one was missing. Rocket. The raccoon who shared a cage with Floor.

Magril: Wait.. Where’s Rocket?

Lylla’s smile returns once Magril puts two and two together.

Magril: Wait.. did he..?

Lylla’s nod was the only answer Magril needed. Relief washed over her features. Rocket survived, he’s alive and still out there.

Lylla: I know you see no reason to keep going, but you still have a purpose here. Don’t give up yet.

Lylla gently embraced Magril, who started to cry again.

Magril: *sniffle* I’m sorry, Lylla..

Lylla only shook her head in response.

Lylla: You can do it. You’re so strong, much stronger than you realize. I know you’ll make it through this. And then one day, you and Rocket can come flying with us.

Tears form in Magril’s eyes.

Magril: Into the forever and beautiful sky…

Magril suddenly feels herself falling then a split second later she finds herself in the med bay onboard the ravager ship. Kraglin and Quill were over her, tears staining their faces.

Quill: Magril? Magril!

Kraglin: Magril! Thank god!

Magril: Nrgh.. Guys..?

The two pull Magril into a hug as she was still trying to process what just happened.

Kraglin: Are you okay!? We found you bleeding!

Quill: There was a knife next to you and we thought someone attacked you!

Kraglin: And you didn’t have a pulse for around ten minutes, we were worried sick!

Magril’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. The amount of pain she put her own brothers through broke her heart. She tightly embraced them as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Magril: *sobs* I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. *choke* I’m so sorry. *sniffle* I love you so much, I’m so sorry.

Quill: It’s okay. We love you too, Magril.

Kraglin: We’re just glad you’re okay.

♡

Here are the numbers again if you wish to seek help.

USA: 988

Canada: (833) 456-4566

Other regions

If no one has reminded you, then I will. You are loved, you are wanted, NEEDED. And most importantly, you matter. ♡

☆彡 @raccoonfallsharder | @twigglestblog | @bakaotakulife