# ᶜᵒᶜᵏᵗᵃⁱˡ 𝒎𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒗!

#𝙵𝟷𝚂𝚃𝚂.   AN INDEPENDENT, CANON-DIVERGENT[*] PORTRAYAL OF 𝑽𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑬𝑻 FROM THE FORTICHE ANIMATED LEAGE OF LEGENDS SERIES: ᴬᴿᑦᴬᴺᴱ. CONTEXTUALLY MATURE THEMES ﹠ TRIGGERING CONTENT WILL BE PRESENT. MINORS AND PERSONALS DNI. MEDIUM ACTIVITY, SLOW TO REPLY. REMADE IN OCTOBER OF 2025. 𝙱𝙴𝚃 𝙾𝙽 𝙱𝚈 𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲.

🥊💥 ᴮᴿᴬᵂᴸᴵᴺᴳ ᵂᴵᵀᴴ [ ... ] FRANKIE! JAYNE! IRIS! ˎˊ˗

A  BRUISED  EXPLORATION  OF... THE DOOMED GUARDIAN, BIBLICAL WRATH, ELDEST DAUGHTER SYNDROME, UNRESOLVED CHILDHOOD TRAUMA, CERBERUS, POVERTY, CLASSISM, THE DIRT UNDER YOUR NAILS, USING YOUR FISTS UNTIL THEY'RE SPLIT DOWN TO THE BONE, FERAL DOG TEETH, SURVIVOR'S GUILT, THE COMPLICATIONS OF SISTERHOOD, EATING THE RICH, AND THE COLOR RED.

#.SIDE BLOG.    #.PROMPTS.   #.PINTEREST.    #.PLAYLIST.     #.INFORMATION.

────   rules  listed  below,

𖥻 │▌ 𝙰 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝚈, 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙰 : 🚬

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘'𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐍; all the evidence of eager participation was still streaked and spattered on your skin ──── staining your clothes with shades of red. a spectrum of blue and violet blossoming from the root: a fresh cut torn through your eyebrow. one moment you had been inside the eye of the storm, then you were the storm, and after that? it was all over. ( alive to fight another day, as they say. ) you think no one else took that quite so literally as you. not that you had a choice.

you breathed shallow against the ache of bruised cartilage between your ribs; grey eyes steeled and half-lidded. both aware and completely unfazed by a burst capillary that painted you in the portrait of something wretched and untamed to wandering eyes. ( finding yourself longing for a moment's respite, ) all the while knowing rest was well outside of your reach for the time being.

avoiding looking down at your hands was critical to keep them from trembling [ ... ] the memories it would unlock were far too daunting, and you weren't safe enough to be compromised. not by a longshot.

once outside, the smoker's ritual begins immediately. you flick your bic and hold the flame to one end of a cigarette until it smolders. first pull makes your lungs ache. with a fleeting glance toward @assetgray, sweeping from her head to her feet, you cock an eyebrow and extend the fag toward her. a gesture of good faith which alternatively makes for a pitiful attempt at masking the skepticism buried beneath it.

so, to reinforce the point, vi forces a listless smirk into one corner of her mouth. gesturing her sin impatiently as she exhaled a cloud of smoke, ❛ ────here's to living to fight another day, huh? ❜

𖥻 │▌ 𝙰 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙼𝚂, 𝙻𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 : ❝ 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚆. ❞

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒; as though @scyftan's voice had slipped past her lips in a foreign tongue. in the span of the moment that followed, you found yourself dazed and considering whether there had ever been another time in your life when you didn't need to be anything. didn't need to be the eldest daughter. didn't need to be a leader. a criminal. a drunk. a fighter. mother, father, sister, brother ──── didn't matter. you'd been all of them at one point or another.

in the end, the only sensible thing you could come up with is this: without duty, what was there? who even were you when you were stripped of an occupation? you'd never had the chance to be anything other than what other people needed you to be. .. or violence. when there was nothing else, at least you always had the violence to fall back on. but this..?

so your eyes plummeted to the floor beneath old boots. your useless hands balled into tight fists inside your pockets, curling around lint. it felt less like freedom, and more like being picked up and dropped onto an unfamiliar path with no end in sight. all you had to do was walk [ ... ] so why was it so hard to pick up your feet? ( what the fuck is a dog supposed to do without a command to follow? )

vi relents to rolling her tongue over her teeth. standing stark still before the path, neither choosing to advance nor to retreat. she does as larissa commanded and just .... is. for as long as she can stand it, which in hindsight is a little over twenty-four seconds.

❛ ────can i be honest with you for a sec? .. it's just. i don't know what to do with that, y'know? and i get what you mean, before you try to explain. i just - uh. .. i can't. you gotta give me something to run with, here. ❜

𖥻 │▌ 𝙰 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙿𝙾𝙾𝙻 : ❝ 𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝙸𝚃 𝚄𝙿, 𝙸 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶. ❞

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄-𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐘 and a lopsided smirk that toyed ( almost mischievous, ) into one corner of your mouth. like a good soldier, you reacted instinctually upon command ──── reaching a hand forward. cranking the volume dial up, up, up; chuckling your pride when in return the subaru's brand new aftermarket sound system blossomed before you both like a flower.

rich vocals filled the sedan, and waves of bass vibrated the marrow of your bones [ ... ] shuddering grease while you peeled out of the lot, leaving nothing but the imprint of tires behind on the pavement and a cloud of rubber-stinking smoke.

if you'd learned anything from hanging around blind al, it was never needing to be told something twice.

when vi spoke, she had to bark over the music: ❛ ────feel free to let me know where th'hell we're going anytime! ❜

MAKING YOU THE PATRON SAINT OF SOMETHING.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙰𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚃𝙷. patron saint of leaving it by the roadside. patron saint of it slipping out of your fingers. patron saint of searching and searching. patron saint of yearning for it back. patron saint of scraping your fingers down to the bone trying to hold onto it. patron saint of losing it anyway. saint of lost faith [ ... ] not the saint of getting it back.

𖥻 │▌ 𝙰 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙱𝚄𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁, 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙼 : ❝ 𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙸 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚅𝙴 𝙶𝙾𝚃 𝙰 𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚆 𝙻𝙾𝙾𝚂𝙴. ❞

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑, snapping their wicked teeth at the slip-lead that danced in and out of view. TAUNTING. GOADING. the handler's faces were obscured by shadow, but something so trivial as identity never seemed to matter much to strays. everyone knew what awaited them the end of the line, one way or another. didn't matter who drove the truck; only who pushed the needle ──── could've been vought, could've been [ ... ] whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

vi had retaliated her own capture the only way she knew how: with violence. her and the boys had communicated through thrown fists and skinned teeth .. through blood and bruised faces. she bit down hard on her own teeth and snarled when at last she'd been overcome and held down, ground into the muck.

( she'd been down there her whole life, ) ... ( so at the moment it didn't seem much different from any other day. )

❛ ────yeah, well some of us don't have a damn choice .. and no offense, but judging by that fucked up look in your eyes, i'd bet you know exactly what i'm talking about. ❜ muscle flexed and quivered to no apparent avail. she rolled the taste of blood around in her mouth, and then spat out the glob ( barely missing the tip of @f0cksupes' boots. ) mixed with her own saliva and mucus, it splatted onto the pavement; red and raw, just like the creature it came from.

𖥻 │▌ 𝙰 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚅𝙰𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴, 𝚃𝙸𝙵𝙵𝙰𝙽𝚈 : ❝ 𝙷𝙸, 𝙱𝙰𝙱𝚈. ❞

𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅-𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑, blinking once. twice. considering first that maybe she was an illusion of half-drunken stupor; even going so far as peering incredulously down into what remains of the now room-temperature piss this joint calls beer, despite that you distinctly recall popping the cap yourself! ──── hearing the sound of trapped hair hissing it's great escape, watching the silver of frost rise and then disappear. tossing the cap to the bartender.

couldn't be drugs, but it could still just be a trick of your imagination... right?

with a soft sigh through your nose, the very notion of a pickled mirage with a mess of blonde locks is laid to rest as @dollsbride opens her seraphic mouth and speaks in a tone like antler velvet. it's purely habitual that you succumb indulgently to the overwhelm of your senses: the saccharine sweet bouquet of her perfume, ( tooth-rotting, ) ( but addictive ) [ ... ] the feeling of her voice as it slips through your ears.

HI, BABY. she says, like not a day has passed between now and .. well, back then.

vi reclines into her lonely booth and spreads her knees beneath the table, allowing hungry eyes to sweep tiffany's form from head-to-heels. then she smirks, and brings the bottle of swill back to her mouth like a damn lifeline. intuition tells her she's gonna fuckin' need it.

❛ ────hey, t. been a long time since i saw that face .. to what do i owe the pleasure? ❜