#hello m

1. Literally, a ride in a car done for the sole purpose of pleasure or excitement, especially when the car has been stolen or borrowed without permission.

2. (slang) A drug-induced state of intense euphoria; a powerful high.

Hi, it’s M!

Okay you listen here dude what the heck.

I trusted you.

Don’t know why

But  I did.

And you go and do this.

You gave me bad ass Alma Dray, sweeter-than-cotton-candy Jack and Lula, the almighty Bu Bu and Li, and crying Dylan Rhodes.

CRYING. DYLAN. RHODES.

“Lose his family again.

Dylan suddenly realized he was crying.”

You monster! Don’t you know a Mark Ruffalo crying scene in a NYSM movie is my #1 wish for the series? And you gAVE IT TO ME? I can’t handle it! I can’t handle any of it!

I hope you are satisfied with this hell you are putting us through.

“I didn’t ask you to stop it.”

H has come, where’s T? I want to know *her* opinions xD

She felt the stabs on her chest next, the way a slashing sound was carried out by the wind; transformed from the gentle one that had been jumping from tree to tree until then and now felt like an angry hand that hit her repeatedly, robbing the air of her lungs, raising her from the ground before dropping her once again; keeping her down as her knees gave out. Jericho’s voice turning fainter with each second that it passed, she parted her lips as she tried to open her now closed hand, her wrist burning, as if the bone was open to the world to see. Her voice didn’t escape her throat though, a whine barely making past the barrier of her teeth as she heard the crack of her jaw, the way her gums seemed to be bleeding while she fell completely still, blinded.

There was a second scream, feminine, a voice she hadn’t heard in so long, a cry for her that she couldn’t answer despite the sudden need for her to get up and run towards it. To protect it. Her brain overwhelmed, the orders were given but nothing but a twitch from her upper thighs was the answer to the necessity of it all.

With a snap, the ring seared the runes against her skin, her shoulder blades hurting as she arched her back, her nose clogged with the scent of iron and magic. Death.

She could feel the wind now, not around but inside, her lips unmoving, her lungs halted as her veins burned, venom-like acid coursing through them. She wasn’t resting against the gravel now but against hard cold stone, ungraspable due to the blood that she felt coating it, traveling from her broken, sliced-up, flesh. She tried to cry but her eyes were dead to the world around her, her diaphragm expanding out of its own record, a final call for a brain that felt like dying.

There was very little she could do as she felt the clatter of a sword that wasn’t hers next to her, the sound a recognition even if there wasn’t anything in which a real sword would have clattered against.

She felt the spasm of her back next as it broke in two, as it broke in three, as it twisted and rested still, so still, while more iron poured out of her: ozone enveloping her, burning her very skin. Tongue swollen against her velum, she could feel bile raising from her stomach, the pool of spit and tears that she felt building up on the back of her mouth only getting warmer as she tried to swallow it down. It had nothing to go to, however, no place to go.

She felt the anxiousness as she clawed herself out of pile after pile of body, the protest of shorter legs that weren’t used to run, the pain of a dislocated arm. She felt the burn and the loss while nothing, but endless black enveloped her very form, her muscle memory reacting to a set of attacks she didn’t even remember that weren’t there. Next, there was cold, cold air and water, freezing need of rage and revenge, the sound of yet another voice reaching like a hand about to slip through her very own, drifting ashore. Time was sand, dry and rough against the back of her forearms.

And nothing again, a silent respite that lasted seconds before there was yet another spot of pain, the moving hand a claw now that broke through her distended diaphragm, pierced and punctured her lungs, and broke the walls of muscles that rounded her heart.

It exploded within her, her eyes rolling, dead to the world, her mouth opening, burning, teeth hurting. She felt a last stab then, a final scream, right on her back: deep and long as if an arrow had reached her very depths.

And there, among the pain, she felt her vocal chords bend, useless, as there was nothing but the humid scent of seawater and smoke.

And silence.