Mole

the alphabet game. lol

Enough

Ban the User Above You

Banned because they shouldn’t have been.

Post a random fact about yourself.

Freshly Cut Cucumber + (Yamasa) Soy Sauce + Rice Vinegar + Sesame Seed Oil + Seasame Seeds = 👌🏻

Lowkey: This is your sign to go indulge in Yamasa soy sauce.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

____________

	𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔶𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔶𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢 _____________________________ 𝔏𝔬𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: Gutter’s End 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢: Dusk ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰: Dreda/@enmuni 𝔐𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰: -

The impact sent the dark-haired woman falling sideways as she looked up from her watch. Metal echoed against pavement. She rolled against the grasp with uncanny strength, reeling and jerking away. Her left hand went for the neck. Her right, for something in her pocket.

Lily hit something hard. Not soft. Not breaking. Staggering with the impact, her hands were like claws scraping at fabric, catching nothing but air and the hiss of motion. Metal clanged, skin didn’t give way like it was supposed to.

The woman had moved too fast. Too strong. Too wrong.

A bitter laugh left Lily as she refocused her energies.

The woman pushed up, forcing against Lily’s neck. She pulled something from her pocket. A tube pressed to Lily’s stomach. There was a click. The woman met Lily’s eyes.

“Don’t make me waste silver,” she stated.

The word didn’t register at first—just the sound of it, soft and metallic, like a lullaby held between teeth.
Her body stilled, trembling in the pause. The cool press of the tube against her stomach sent something skittering up her spine. Not fear. Not quite.

She knew what would happen.

But not why.

She blinked.

The woman’s voice was flat, unbothered. Like she was reading a bedtime story backwards.

Through fangs.

Lily’s eyes widened. A flicker of something like joy.

Then hunger folded back in.

Her body twitched—wanting to move, to snap, to drink.

But the silver.

It pulsed in her awareness now, ghost-sharp and real. She knew that smell. That memory. That pain. Even the threat of it made her breath catch in her throat.

She looked down at the hand on the barrel, then up again—locking eyes with the woman.

Something inside her fractured softly.

“You’re not scared,” Lily said. Her voice was low now. Not mocking. Not sweet. Wounded. “You’re not scared of me.”
Her lips trembled, fangs still bared. She tried to smile, but her lips didn’t work.

The moment dragged.

Then, she leaned in anyway. Just a breath. Just close enough for her whisper to settle on the woman’s cheek like mist.

“I’m hungry,” she said. No. She whimpered.

And her eyes burned like something holy gone wrong.
From blankness emerged a face. The woman’s eyes settled into an expression almost alive. Almost warm. Almost gentle. Another click.

The woman’s hand drifted from Lily’s neck to her clavicle. To the neckline of her torn dress.

She sat up, forcing Lily along with her. She sprung up, dragging Lily up. She kept the gun pressed to Lily’s stomach, facing slightly upwards—angled to her heart.

She let go. Into her other pocket, she plunged her hand, and produced a metal canteen.

“I can help with that,” she said. Her voice was more human, yet somehow equally strange. It pitched upwards, twisting into a slow, harmless meander. Like a lobotomized Disney princess.

She lifted the canteen into Lily’s line of sight. Her lips curled into a sympathetic smile, and her eyes delivered a heartfelt apology. “I’m very sorry it isn’t fresh. But it should still be warm.”

The gun stayed against her ribs, humming quiet threats into her bones. But it wasn’t the weapon that made Lily freeze.

It was the gentleness.

The fingers at her dress. The soft touch. The upward lift like she was a broken doll being guided back to life. The smile—that smile—twisted something sharp in her chest.
Lily’s hands hung limp at her sides. Her fangs pulsed. She could feel her breath against her teeth—shallow, animal. Her throat burned.

Then the canteen appeared.

Her eyes locked onto it. Metal. Slightly dented. Blood, maybe. Warm. Her hunger snarled. But something deeper, quieter, flinched.

Her lips parted, a noise catching in her throat. Not quite a growl. Not quite a sob. The apology hit her harder than any blow.

“I didn’t ask you to be kind,” she said, voice thin and strange in her mouth. “You’re not supposed to be kind.”
She wanted to slap the canteen away. Tear it open. Drink it. Gulp it down. She didn’t know which part of her would win.
Her hands twitched.

“I don’t want it like that,” she added. “I want it screaming.”

She blinked too hard, and something wet streaked down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. Instead, she leaned forward again. Not attacking. Just close. Nose almost brushing the canteen.

She inhaled. And whispered, without looking up, “Will it lie to me if I drink it?”

The woman’s face remained constant. Her lips remained frozen; her eyes followed Lily’s every move. The gun retreated, then disappeared into its pocket. The hand that held it crept to the canteen and opened it.

“I understand,” she affirmed, “I completely understand.”

She took the canteen to her lips, sipped, and then offered it once more to Lily.

“We can find you something better,” she assured. Her easy smile tensed, if only for a moment. Her eyes brightened temporarily, and softened just as fast. The canteen inched towards Lily’s face, and the woman held it as an offering. “But first, have something to tide yourself over. Trust me, having a bit in your stomach will help you hunt well. It won’t lie to you. It’s just food.”

The woman looked expectantly, even as all but her eyes still sat frozen in the easy smile she wore. She spoke with assured authority as she brought the canteen within inches of Lily’s mouth, reminding her how easy it was to drink.

Lily’s lips quivered, as if unsure they wanted to smile or split open again.

With the gesture, she reached too fast. Like a frightened animal or child — snatching sweets when no one’s looking. Her fingers trembled against the metal, and when it touched her lips, she drank like she had forgotten how to do anything else.

It wasn’t fresh or warm, as the woman had indicated, but it tasted necessary. It didn’t taste like guilt. And screams. And torn throats. It didn’t whisper back at her or flare from the floor. It just existed… forgettable and safe.

Something It didn’t want her to have.

As she messily gulped down the last bit, she broke into a small cry. “Who are you?” Her head lowered, already missing the taste. Missing the stillness. Waiting so badly for whatever this woman was offering.

She had to have more. More of that steady smile.

The woman kept her eyes locked on Lily’s. The corner of her mouth twitched, preparing to make a statement that wasn’t ready yet.

“You can call me Dreda.”

She broke from eye contact as she spoke. Her eyes darted in a scan of Lily’s body. She cocked her head slightly, and reached for the canteen.

“And what about your name?” she asked.

Dre-da. The name glossed through her. Threaded a new memory, like a needle through her chest. She wanted to hold it. Keep it. Touch it.

The name has a shape. It didn’t shake when it was spoken.

Lily’s lips quivered. A smile tried to make itself known.

Dre-da. It was threading something whole.

As for her own name?

She searched.

It was —

Gone.

Tears began to swell. Lily couldn’t remember. It was right there. It-it was hiding. It was always hiding.

“She forgot,” her head tilted. Eyes dazed. Staring into an imaginary void, waiting for the shadow to remind her.

And it was.

But it never did.

Avalia

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : Lodge, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S : N/A
T A G S : @JJ Doe , @Conscripts
E Q U I P M E N T :}

[+]

_N/A

Her scream barely made a sound. It was gutted by some strong force to her side. Tears welled in her eyes. She felt hopeless and lost. Before her was simply a void filled with a constant pain. Over-and-over.

Her hands were curled around her face. Her nails dug into her hair, afraid to let go of the sweat stricken strands. Or was it sweat? Her mind was screaming for her move, to do something — anything. But, all she could do was coil in the same position.

There had never been a time when she had been struck like this. She had never been in a fight. Inside her realm, she had been sheltered and catered to, as if a cloud of feathers had resided around her at all times.

Crashing sounds erupted around her. For a moment, not too long, the painful pounding paused. She could hear screams or maybe she was wrong. Her head was pounding, and her ears rung with a sound she had never heard. It made things so hard to decipher.

A hand grabbed her and as fast as it held her up, it let go of her. She fell… not, flopped to the ground. Collapsing like a rag doll. Her head hit the hard floor. Her hands went limp, forgetting what they had been doing. She wanted to sleep, now. Her mind was telling her to sleep. To enter the void and not look back.

But something in her chest, a sharp needing pain wouldn’t let her rest. Instead, she cried out involuntarily as if to give the pain a voice.

“Aurora,” the voice sounded tender but alert. She knew the voice, even if she couldn’t quite make it out. It was a good voice. A safe voice.

A hand gently touched her head. It was warm and healing. But, she still cried out, again, remembering the pain that wanted everyone to know about it.

Rowan’s eyebrows knit together. His silvery eyes pierced through the scene. Vasco, the damn human, was sprawled on the ground helplessly. Barrock was taking on creature after creature. He wasn’t unleashed, but he was giving ‘em hell. Almost too much hell.

Now where were his belongings?

There was no time for that. He’d buy something later. He still had his strength. Quickly, he scooped up Aurora, pushing one of her arms and legs over his shoulder. His body low, he swiftly covered ground to Vasco. He lifts the human under his armpits and begins dragging him to an exit.

There was a thought to leave Vasco behind. The fool had caused all of this. He heard the Syndicate talking. Zara was a piece of cake compared to Vasco. Aurora would never forgive him if he left Vasco. But, Rowan would never forgive Vasco if Aurora got hurt or worse — killed because of him.

What Are You Listening To?

& now I follow Melanie Wills on LinkedIn.

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

43

this or that

Reese’s Cups

Reese’s Cups or Peanut M&Ms?

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

37

Book Quotes

Just as a mother's good disposition, good actions, and good words represent the cornerstone of her child's subsequent good disposition, actions, and words, so her bad disposition, actions, and words sow the destructive seeds of her child's subsequent bad disposition, actions, and words. As a mother is, so the child will be. If the mother's soul is ugly, unkempt, black, corrupted, hardened, and rough; if her inclinations are evil, her ways scandalous and irreverent; if she descends into impiety, rage, or dizzying passions and hatred, then the shoots of these unseemly vices will quickly spring up in her child. Conversely, if the mother's soul is godly, pure, radiant, innocent, full of the fear of God; if her inclinations are kind and holy, her disposition peaceful, pious and philanthropic, then the child's soul, reflecting this as in a mirror and faithfully imitating it, will be like unto it, and, with the passage of time, will show forth the sprouts of good seed. This is why, when Napoleon the Great asked an eminent pedagogue, Henriette Campan', what was needed in order for France to produce noble and good men, that famous woman answered the monarch, saying simply, "Mothers." "Then," said the great man, "raise up such women that this great national aim might be fulfilled."

— Saint Nektarios of Pentapolis, For Mind and Heart: Saint Nektarios as Teacher