#wellfell

@wellfell liked for a starter from Mingji! (for her Yokai verse)

With each horror that he learned, the deep hatred for his family grew. The latest was the discovery of a cavern filled with women his brother had used for breeding purposes only. Disposing of the male offspring with the intention of breeding the perfect woman with enough power that his future heir would be unrivaled by any of their sibilings. Yet what had fully broken the small hope that there might be one spark of good in his family had been how the woman had begged for death rather than freedom.

Even now, his hands shook slightly as he stood by the side of a lake in the mortal realm. Traveling here rather than to the safety of his teacher's secluded home deep in the demon realm so as to throw off any trail he might leave in his wake. The lower half of his face still concealed by the butterfly mask he wore whenever he left the one place that had become a beacon of safety in his life.

Eyes closed his jaw flexed as the sight of countless women chained to the wall flashed before his eyes and then began to merge with his own memories. Body shivering as his breathing began to hitch, a full blown panic attack about to set in before he froze in place. Senses finally alerting him to the presence of another on the lakeshore.

Dark eyes snapping open, his gaze easily found her in the darkness of the night. Locking onto her pale form even as he remained utterly still, waiting to see what kind of demon she was. His teacher's words echoing through his mind. Not all in the world wish you harm. Wait to see what their true intentions are before you act.

“You tried to run,” he said softly, almost amused. “Which is rather foolish, considering you already know there isn’t a corner of this earth where I wouldn’t find you.” From anyone else, it might have sounded like devotion, a promise whispered between lovers. From him, it was a threat.

“You know I care far too much to just let you wander off,” he murmured, stepping closer. Maybe he should put a lovely little collar around her throat, something to remind her where she belongs, by his side. His voice dropped lower, almost tender. “Now tell me… where exactly did you think you were going?”

@wellfell said ❝   you seem to know more than you're saying.   ❞

a   faintly   amused   smile   was   not   something   marisa   even   attempted   to   hide.   for   all   the   attention   she   had   once   been   capable   of   drawing,   in   what   she   could   now   only   call   another   life,   such   visibility   here   could   do   far   more   harm   than   good.   it   was   far   wiser   to   remain   crouched   &   watch,   awaiting   the   right   moment   to   speak   —   or   to   act.   &   to   do   so   with   unwavering   composure.   too   many   had   already   buckled   beneath   the   weight   of   trying   to   solve   an   unsolvable   puzzle.   but   was   it   truly   unsolvable,   though?   certainly,   if   you   were   to   get   ripped   apart   before   even   coming   across   the   first   tangible   clue.

&   people   simply   failed   to   listen.   to   see   the   broader   picture.   to   gather   seemingly   unrelated   threads   &   weave   them   into   something   coherent.

akina,   despite   her   youth,   seemed   incapable   of   failing   at   either.   perhaps   that   was   why   marisa   had   never   found   so   much   as   an   ounce   of   impatience   within   herself   whenever   the   girl   shared   her   theories   &   reflections   about   this   place.   she   was   quite   remarkably   clever...   &   a   single   word   at   the   right   moment   could   be   enough   to   drag   something   beyond   the   realm   of   theory.   ❝   i   never   doubted   you   were   exceptionally   perceptive,   ❞   marisa   remarked   over   the   steady   crackle   of   twigs   beneath   their   feet   —   the   only   sound   accompanying   them,   save   for   the   occasional   wolf   howl   echoing   in   the   distance.   never   the   lively   chorus   of   birds... 

❝   witches   never   reveal   all   their   secrets,   ❞   she   teased   lightly.   ❝   you've   surely   come   to   that   conclusion   yourself.   what's   the   point   in   sharing   when   so   many   seem   to   lack   even   the   faintest   sense   of   perspective?   ❞   the   brunette   turned   to   regard   the   girl,   one   eyebrow   lifting   ever   so   slightly.   hadn't   she   been   starved   of   conversation   with   someone   capable   of   grasping   even   half   her   wilder   theories?   ❝   i'd   much   rather   wait   &   verify   my   conclusions   before   sharing   them.   i'm   a   scientist   at   heart,   after   all...   &   this   place...   at   times,   looks   like   nothing   so   much   as   a   laboratory.   ❞   she   eased   a   low   branch   aside,   allowing   akina   to   pass   between   the   trees   ahead   of   them   first.   from   the   way   she'd   spoken   of   making   boys   dance   to   her   tune,   marisa   had   little   doubt   that   akina,   too,   understood   how   to   place   the   pieces   upon   the   board   before   quietly   watching   the   game   unfold.

frank watches the switchblade glint between his fingers. he spins it around his middle and index finger, digits dancing over the handle of the knife, and then the blade, and then the handle again. it feels familiar. muscle memory. too easy to be just a hobby. he knows knives. he knows the ones that are meant to slice, the ones that are meant to eviscerate, the ones that are meant to penetrate. curved, or straight, or shaped like the cuspid of a tiger.

he pretends he does not notice her tears. the weight of her body on top of him. he pretends it doesn't incense him; frank hates when his favorite things are broken; hates seeing her upset, an extension of his own displeasure.

"been there, done that,"  he grins, like a wolf, like there was blood on his white, white teeth. his free hand tugs at the hem of akina's skirt. slides under the soft underside of her thigh.

@wellfell / salty (but ferre isn't rn) af munday meme.

Niragi had left the 'Beach' to get away from all the noise and the people that were getting on his nerves that night. He walked through the empty streets aimlessly, his rifle leaning against his shoulder like always. After walking for a while, he found a large building, and he slipped inside and made his way to its inner yard. Once he was there, he decided to get some shooting practice. Yes, the militant had a natural talent for it, but he also wanted to get better at it. It could help in certain games to be good with a rifle, and it was simply good to know that he could get rid of people that tried to get rid of him.

He doesn't know if saying she's smarter than she let's on is doing her a disservice. Of course she's smarter. But he doesn't know if she's to blame if too many look away too quick, either incapable or unwilling to really see it.

In this particular context, he doesn't really know if it's her wits he should point out in the first place. He doesn't remember ever being surrounded by people he doesn't trust to figure things out quicker and more efficiently than he ever will. He's always been flanked or surpassed by people who simply get it better.

Of course she's smarter. And of course she's smarter than him.

But it's not as much a guarantee that she'd see.

She's the only one that points it out - you look like a ghost these days - any of it. Any aspect of it. Of him. He can only ignore it. Because if he acknowledged it, he'd have to come up with a response. And if he has to come up with a response, he has to lie.

He doesn't want to lie to her. He doesn't want any of this. If he did, he wouldn't be here. If he did, it wouldn't happen. And if he did, it'd happen quicker.

And yet here he is. A different kind of disservice. Asking her to run away with him when a dozen other things had coiled and died on the tip of his tongue, better things, suitable things. Was he supposed to do this? Or does something as small, and infinitely large as this, no longer matter enough to be calculated into anything at all?

He feels so small, the bigger he grows. And she's right there. She's next to him when it's best not to be. When others find it easier, guided by instincts perhaps, self-preservation, to slowly fade out of his perimeter as he is out of their lives entirely.

And he misses her already. With the knife stuck in his chest, in the middle of trying to carve her out, he misses her.

What could he offer her, if she'd said yes? What is there out there for someone stuck with him? She's already left everything easy and preordained behind to bleed on foreign soil.

But he would have begged her, anyway, yearned in the silence, in the spaces between the words of her answer, dragged her hand to his mouth to whisper it into her skin without ever touching her, please, please, please, please...

So he leans back without really sighing out. He leans into her space with his weight on his arm. There's no need to move the strand of hair she'd just moved herself, but he does it anyway with his other hand, breaches and trespasses and takes for himself for one last time.

"Aren't you tired?" he asks. He asks because if she answers he can come up with something else to say to stretch time further. To not leave quite let. To not leave alone? To leave without her.