#grimalkill

injuries starters // accepting // @grimalkill

He’d curled a hand around his arm, but no amount of pressure would staunch the bleeding. Though he was certain it would require stitches, he didn’t dare spare the time to inspect it; not only was he wary of his opponent, but he feared the injury was far worse than it felt. If adrenaline had kicked in, he had no real gauge of the severity, and each shift of muscle felt as though it exposed the bone.

“You’re just lucky.” Leorio had a bad habit of instigating adversaries even as he sought escape. His chances weren’t favorable, but he fought his fear. “This is nothing. I’ve treated worse.”

you’re my mom??

Sometimes they find themselves restless, hungry even, with no way to deal with their cravings; the faces of their companions flash through their mind, reminding them not to even think about what their instincts tell them to.

And yet... it’s difficult. Kite would never admit it to Colt, who seems perfectly content living as humans do, and of course they would never admit it to the rest of his team for fear of scaring them. Sleepless days pass with no end in sight, and Kite often fantasizes in bursts of exhaustion about becoming humanity’s enemy, if only to quench their insurmountable hunger.

So Kite approaches Neferpitou, ironically the only being who can understand their plight -- considering that it is because of that being that Kite is in this plight in the first place.

‘...’ this creature bears enough features to resemble a feline, but there is something cold and dark and playful in the eyes that nearly repels paku.

nearly.

whatever the cat-like creature may be, paku finds something compelling in the twitch of ears and flick of tail, in the wide eyes that do not blink above still whiskers.

she smiles and responds, the only way she knows how.

try a muse // accepting // @grimalkill

there is a somber silence that echoes, crafting ripples like a storm. she senses the heat of torches that line the walls as she travels down the hallway, hand outstretched to follow the molding.

‘m-meruem-sama...?’

trembling, she enters a room without a wall to guide. with shuffling feet, she inches forward. the smell of the space is unfamiliar, smokey and agitating, and she sniffles, mouth agape, in an effort to avoid sneezing.

‘i’m sorry, i think i’m... lost.’ when her toe connects with something solid, she pauses, bending to inspect the structure with splayed fingers. she extends her arms until she is nearly flat on the ground, chin jutted out and grazing. tears bud along her lower lashes as an ingrained reaction; she is used to being alone, but loneliness is new.

she imagines a game board, how she might navigate a new section of play space or utilize a new piece. the possibilities excite and soothe her. when a hand extends to seize her arm, she is comforted too by the firmest of the grasp and the tenderness with which it hoists her.

she manages a curtsy, bowing and crossing her ankles, in gratitude. ‘i must look so pathetic,’ she says, keeping her head low. ‘i apologize for appearing so disgraceful, mereum-sama. please forgive me.’