#deifrm

“mmm,” you hum, disbelieving. it’s a questionable sound that’s coupled with a quizzical quirk of your eyebrow. you don’t necessarily believe her because she has known animal tenderness to prefer to humanity, so the bias? is a little strong. and yet you still nervously hold out a gloved hand. and yet you still keep your eyes on the sweet creature. you still let them wander to margot’s own to gauge her— even a little.

she’s hard to read. her expressions are silent and incommunicable sometimes. you see their idiosyncrasies and you read them. you see these minute details and you understand them. “hell—o.” you say, unsure. a heavy nose drops dead center into your palm and you push back to the whinnying delight of the horse. you laugh, and it edges on anxious.

“if you— rode. could i... sit behind you? i’m afraid i wouldn’t be able to keep pace if i tried to walk. and i’d be a little too apprehensive up there all alone.”

(an excuse to smell the scent of her hair and get close to someone in a way that will not kill you. how to cozy up for even half a minute and let your mind take you to a safe place. how to wrap your arms around her waist, admit you’re tired for the day, let the horse clop clop clop on back to the stable while you doze in and out, anchored by margot alone.)

it’s a fanciful thought. and unrealistic. you brush it away. but you just... can’t help but wonder.

Sometimes the tower got to be too much with short tempered teammates who could never stop arguing with each other, and while Bryce never left for long (she had projects and experiments to get back to after all), there were other things that began to frequently call her away from her new home. With Diana she was more at ease than she had been in ages, most likely because the air around her never carried the distinctive tang of fear. Much as she liked her teammates, she couldn’t always say that about them. Natasha, she couldn’t help but think, might never get over the disaster from early in their acquaintance, which especially stung as she’d been the only other woman on the team before Wanda and well... Bryce still hadn’t forgiven her to be quite frank. So really, it was just easier to be somewhere else most of the time.

❝ HEY! Ain’t’chu that maneater? Gotta say, I’m a real big fan of your work! ❞

Footsteps break through her reverie and the lackey gets a stern scolding for sleeping on the job. Adora opens her eyes, lifts her head and suddenly Scorpia is standing in front of her instead. Someone she recognizes, someone awake and therefore capable of listening to her. 

And, yeah, Scorpia is undyingly loyal to Catra. But Adora will grasp at any chance she can get, like a lifeline. 

❝Scorpia. Scorpia, please--❞ Adora is already campaigning, her voice hoarse, like someone had stomped down on her throat. Must be the dry, desert air. She hasn’t been given anything to drink since she and her friends were ambushed... and this non-stop talking isn’t doing her any favors. That doesn’t mean she’s going to stop. ❝You have to let me go. People are going to get hurt.❞ 

‘You’ll have to excuse me’, she said, her voice quiet so as not to startle the woman, ‘for undressing you. Your injuries were quite extensive’. 

she’s-- something wasn’t right. she knew it when she walked in. (bad afternoon. bad afternoon. the migraine the sun had left her with was suffocating, and the pain behind her eyes, her brow, her forehead was burning, burning, burning. she had to come home. she absolutely had to.)

bag had been dropped by the door, barely left her fingers when she’d-- felt it. it was that sense, tingling up her spine, but she wasn’t sure what it was, how it had been there. looking around, around--

until suddenly....! suddenly.

GAME OVER. her body freezes, frozen, froze, and then she’d blacked. vision had all went away the migraine slipping through her hands, and when she woke, finally, it was with an exhausted blink, stuck in the chair she’s been trapped in. she tries to move but recognizes it’s best to stay still-- what’s around her neck raises her panic and her fingers, hands, whole body clenches. she breathes in, out, in, but doesn’t do anything but shake for just a second.

her eyes peer up-- pig mask. and she sees amanda, knows that scent, that person. she doesn’t move. she stays so still she’s frozen in place. her heart-rate? it’s picking up, quicker, thud, thud, thud.

“amanda?” her voice sounds slow-- sluggish. she blinks a few more times, and her tone comes out thicker, “amanda, what’s -- going on?”

she doesn’t know yet. why should she....? but there’s a hellcat in there that wakes up quick. she fights off the heavy dredges of sleep still clinging to her, trying to push back to full consciousness.

“wheyuh ah am from—“ you begin to speak, and your voice is slow and deliberating as it goes because you are not one for the spoken word at all, but she asks you of where you hail from and you must answer, gloved hands anxious and still at once. they practically hum. “—we be-lieve gods’r spirits.”

when you walk it is a gait you accustom when accompanying one of stature. your back straightens up. your chest puffs out. you move with a closed fist at your back, as tall as one can get at your meager height, and your other arm gestures as you speak.

“e’rywhyuh. all ‘round. believe’n other gods too. one’at con-truls what ‘appens t’ya in yuh life.” you know. you are the progeny of one, after all. the rite of blood was bestowed to you at birth. it was the promise that you would grow to be god, too. it leaves you drowning in an air of solemnity when you think about it.

you did not ask to be as you are. but you are, and so one must make do with it.

Send 🌞 for our muses to see the sunrise together