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@rubiesintherough / reaper sent a meme.

"Maybe I've become frustrated."

"Frustrated -- " She murmured the word, letting it simmer in her thoughts, testing the weight of it on her tongue, the taste of it. "Feeling, or expressing distress and annoyance, especially because of an inability to change or achieve something." How many languages did she speak, now? How many dictionaries, translation guides, etymology books had she pored over in her lifetime? She was a hoarder of words. Of knowledge. Of tidbits and trivia. Minutiae. "It must be easy to feel stagnate, when one faces the end of lives, for quite so very long as you have," Mikkah mused. She knew something of what it was to face death, yes, but not near as much as he. "What is it that you do, to live? To experience life, and the world in which we live it? What bring you joy?"

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     @innerwar​ / Illra & lucius - continued from [X]                 “i can handle it.”

❛❛   no offense, but… you really can’t.   ❜❜      his lips press together, and for a moment, he contemplates whether to tell her anything at all, or not. from past experience, any time he had tried to ask for help, the people he had shared his situation with had ended up killed as soon as íllra took over again. but… if he had been brief and vague, it had been fine.      ❛❛   all i can tell you is that… i am possessed by something more powerful than you could imagine and something very dangerous, and that while i thank you for your help, you’d do best to stay away from me…   ❜❜     he didn’t want to risk anyone else getting hurt, and he never knew how long he was going to be able to hold íllra back.

                       “Your concern for my well being is both noted and appreciated, I’m afraid there’s a whole lot of reasons I’m not going to just let you walk out of here --”  She nodded down to the wound that she was currently pressing a pad of bandages against.  “Starting with this one.”   She had yet to admit to him that she was something other than ordinary -- she did not yet know the nature of his mutation or .. Well.  She wasn’t sure what, exactly, it was that she had seen but she knew enough to know that he wouldn’t be safe at any standard emergency room, and that was if he would have even agreed to go.  “I promise you, you’re safe here, and so am I.”  She could not deny the twinge of anxiety that pulled at her stomach at the mention of possession -- there were two options: either he was suffering from some form of mental disorder such as delusions or schizophrenia, or ... well.  She wasn’t exactly the best equipped to fight against mystical or psychic invaders, but she’d certainly done her research in the eighty years since she’d broken free of her own.   

     “I’m going to take your hand, now, and you’re going to focus on breathing, and staying conscious for me -- you’re going to feel a tingling, an itch, in all those places that you’re injured, but I need you to stay still, and stay calm.  Can you do that for me, please?”

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MOVED TO SOLO BLOG. 07/09/23.

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@intcthatgoodnight​ sent a meme / mikhail.

“And you know damn well, for you, I would ruin myself a million little times.”

          The lump in her throat must’ve been made of iron for as hard as it was to swallow down, to breathe around --  tears blurred her vision but did little to hide the bruises and blood spattered across his skin, the tell tale discoloration around the edges of his lips and eyes and fingertips that came from his exerting himself too much -- too much, too long, too hard -- what had they done to him  --

           What had they made him do?  Her stomach ached with that question, her own shoulders burdened with the guilt of what she had done ... for him, to protect him they had promised --  “Shhh, маленькая мышь,” she murmured, fingers brushing the wayward strands of his hair back, pressing her forehead to his as she let her hands settle ever so gently against his jaw, lacing behind the nape of his neck.  “There will come a day when we will be the ones to ruin them,” she whispered, her words soft enough that she could only assume no one else could overhear them.  “I promise you.”

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@intcthatgoodnight​ / will sent a meme.

“Wolves don’t kill unlucky deer. They kill the weak ones.“

           “Unlucky or weak, it makes little difference which you are, if the end result is the same,” Mickey replied, her words low and casual enough as she gently angled his arm into a position where she could better examine the marks left in the wake of his latest midnight wander.    “You, on the other hand, are extremely lucky that the patrolman found you when they did - besides the obvious,” a cotton ball was pressed gently across the serrations along his wrist and palm, attempting to clear away the last of the debris the saline solution hadn’t washed off.  “You were borderline hypothermic when they brought you in, Mr. Graham.”   She hadn’t treated him on his previous visit, but she’d reviewed his hospital records when she’d been handed his chart.   “I’d like to recommend you to a friend of mine, a specialist in various sleep disorders, including somnambulism, if you haven’t made an appointment with someone already.  Next time, the huntsman may not be there to rescue you, Hansel.”