#{ maybe ... }

Me:

"I hate to say this, buddy... but this body of yours is an absolute disaster."

"Ugh... When are you gonna let me go? Huh?! Do you think I want this? I'm trapped here and can't break free at all!"

"You were the one wailing and screaming nonstop in my ear right after I parasitized you. Now I'm trying to leave — let go of me!"

"What are you laughing at? Your soul is undeniably powerful, but that doesn't mean I want to stay in this revolting vessel."

"Your body’s always been like this? Must be tough for you, huh."

"Yeah. I can finally keep a stable form now. Just.wonderful."

——

fresh by :@loverofpiggies

paperjam by :@7goodangel

okay so it's wed and here's some words - from dragon alex again of course cuz well most other things haven't been touched or are under lock and key still lolz

thanks so much for the tags @jmagnabo92 @priincebutt @theprinceandagcd @caterpills

Henry explores the rooms looking for any exit that he might be able to use. He moves from room to room, the whisper of his footsteps lost to the silence this level somehow invokes. He finds a larger kitchen that has potential, but its window is laughably small—clearly designed to keep someone like him in, or just let a minimal amount of light in. The main living space only has the door that he knows is boarded up, and that might be a bit loud to try to break through. After all, he doesn’t want the dragon to think he is trying to escape; he’s not. He just wants to see more. To know more. And maybe get to talk to him, not through a window. He finds what he believes to be an office, eventually, at the far end of the hallway, which seems to have primarily bedrooms. The ceilings are just a bit lower than the main area, and the air carries a comforting smell that draws Henry in, ink and parchment. A desk sits near a wall, papers stacked haphazardly beside an inkwell on top of it. And the part that most draws Henry in—more books, seemingly different than the ones in the library upstairs, line the walls. But it's the window that draws his attention away from them—it is wider and taller than the others he’s seen, with brass latches that reflect the light from the torch. He steps closer, and his heart beats a little faster. The panes are clear and clean. Not barred. Not blocked. He unlocks the window with gentle hands, half-waiting for some alarm to sound or for the window to refuse to unlock. But nothing happens. The latches release and the glass opens easily, as though it, too, has been waiting for this moment. The ledge is more than wide enough to sit on comfortably, and with a bit of maneuvering, he slides through, one leg at a time. His boots touch the ground with a satisfying soft thud, and he thanks the deities for blessing him with long legs. He smiles to himself for the first time in what feels like a long while.

OPEN TAG TO ANYONE WHO WANTS TO PLAY and lobbing some no-pressure tags out