A Morbid kid

The sun blinked at me the other day.. I wish I hadn’t seen it.

[digging-up-ghosts]

Hey— listen, you can do whatever you want to me, just let me inside for the day, please.

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS BLOG WILL DELVE INTO HEAVY TOPICS SUCH AS— SUICIDE, SUBSTANCE ABUSE, PROSTITUTION, SEXUAL ASSAULT, SELF HARM, GENERATIONAL TRAUMA, STARVATION, GROOMING

Character Info—

Libuše Mohammad Kfouri (Prefers to go by Lasha or Libon

6’2 — 163 lbs

Lebanese (paternal), Czech and Georgian (Maternal)

Agender (they/them), polyamorous aromantic asexual lesbian

Human

Born on October 31st, 1979 in Texas and the youngest of three children from Mohammad Kfouri and Eliška Kfouri, Lasha had a decent but lonely childhood, as their oldest brother (Kamir) is 12 years older than them, and their second brother (Elijah) is ten years older than them. Lasha grew up playing by themself most of the time, never attended kindergarten but when they did start school they found they made friends pretty easily.

In the summer between forth and fifth grade Lasha’s family moved from Texas to Clarksdale, Mississippi, where they met a clerical assistant named Hudson, whom they developed a crush on. At the age of twelve, the two began a relationship with each other that they had to keep secret (“you’d get in trouble for dating someone so much older than you”). Ends up becoming their brother, Elijah’s favorite person at the age of fourteen, kickstarting an emotionally incestuous relationship.

Pregnant at seventeen, finds out shortly after their mother killed herself, home situation becomes steadily worse with Elijah until, with their dad on a business trip, Lasha and Elijah get into a physical fight.

They move to Russia after they complete their senior year in Highschool to study ballet and molecular biology. They lived with their cousin until the two got into a fight, leading to him cutting off their tuition and kicking them out. Lasha applies to live in the university dormitories, and resorts to sex work for the sake of paying for their schooling, they are homeless until they can move into the dorms, sleeping in strangers beds for the sake of avoiding being robbed on the street— it doesn’t always work.

They meet the former FEMA agent in an abandoned church, the two get into a physical fight in which their rib is broken.

They offer their body to the homeowner when he initially refuses to let them in, which he accepts. The two had met before after his divorce. They end up pregnant after this encounter, but the malnutrition from the cataclysm makes it hard for them to notice.

When they get into his house and seek refuge in the bathroom, they see the former FEMA agent, who patches up some of their injuries, and later, assists in inducing a miscarriage when they realize their pregnancy.

They presently have three partners

-Artie ( @carrying-coins )

- Nadya ( @neverbelievepropaganda )

- Arseni ( @polarmauling )

Blogs frequently interacting with—

@not-a-ex-fema-i-swear

@tie-girl-lucie

@polarmauling

@carrying-coins

@mishandled-coins

Roleplay/Ask Rules

Suggestive asks are okay but no straight up nsfw, you’ll be blocked

As Lasha is androphobic, they will react negatively if your character is a male, this does not reflect my personal beliefs of men, Lasha deals with a lot of internalized racism, homophobia, and transphobia, this does not reflect my beliefs around these people

Joke asks/mod asks/art is a-okay! I love receiving it

I am a minor! Keep that in mind, but I do have 4+ years of roleplaying experience

[digging-up-ghosts]

Childhood.

[digging-up-ghosts]

- ... Hi.

*A sheepish voice cut the silence, trembling.*

- I... Heard you... Had a little accident. With the sun.

*She refered to the recent burning of Lasha's arm, and, well, their leg too, but of that she knew before. The last time they really talked...*

- ... I came to check on you. I brought brioche.

*Her last gift had not been so nice.*

@tie-girl-lucie

//My head is empty I feel like I already started something similar but cannot find a proof so... Heh. Forgive my old brain.

[Lasha had become more reclusive lately. They opened the door. At least they’d recovered enough to move out of the infirmary, as much as they protested— leaving behind Arties belongings.

They’re back in Ilya and theirs shared room. Back to some semblance of normality. Their cheek is bandaged up, they look exhausted. They look terrible. Their eyes are sunken in, nightmares plague them in their sleep, and in their wake a deep sadness holds their soul tight.

They nod once.]

…I’ve never had brioche.

[Their voice sounds raspy, like it hasn’t been used in days. Lately Lasha doesn’t come out of the room often, when they do it’s either to get more water, or use the bathroom, or shower. They still shower. It gives them a semblance of control.

They don’t know the month, nor the day. They don’t know their age, they don’t even know if they’re alive. Or dead. They take a careful bite of the brioche and nod. It’s good.]

Thank you…

[They’re unpleasant to visit. Their body aches like they’re coming down with a fever constantly, their mind hurts like it’s been struck by lightning. Twilight is on the horizon. Lasha makes terrible conversation. They don’t even feel like themself.

It’s a brioche. It’s nothing special. But it makes them cry by the second bite. They stuff their face fuller, trying to drown their sadness with food. It’s such a simple act of kindness. It’s such a simple mercy. It feels so different coming from Lucie.

It feels genuine. They know Ilya feeds them because of maternal obligation, falling into the same routine they did with their mom once upon a time. Unsure of whether or not compliments were genuine or just said because of obligation.

They bury their forehead in their hand, their tears are thick, snot runs down their nose. It’s gross. Lasha is ugly. They are ugly when they cry, and ugly when they don’t. Ugly and uglier. Something grotesque and disgusting.

They avoid eye contact. It’s such small mercy’s that always make them lose their composure. Small acts of kindness, like the lunch from a passing factory woman, like a brioche from a former human.

Like a friend.

No wonder she’s named “Bringer of Light.”]

[tie-girl-lucie]

- ... I made it myself !

*Still sheepish, Lucie, playing with her atrocious rotting hands, dared to take a small pride in her cooking abilities. Maybe there was love mixed in the dairyless dough and in the cheakpea' water that replaced the eggs. This was a vegan, fluffy french brioche. From the apocalypse. A very rare delicacy, surely.*

- ... I hope it's good.

*It looked like it was, given Lasha cried over it. But since Lucie couldnt taste test it, maybe they cried because of how bad it actually was ???

Or surely it was something more complex than that. Lucie was trying to put her rotting finger on the right word. Why did humans cry, again ? Sadness ? Frustration ? Fear ? Despair ?

Surely sadness. Lasha had a lot to be sad about. Lucie too. And they shared the same grief. Over the same missing piece of the puzzle. One Lucie stargazed with, one she carried on her back for nighttime walks, one she played board games with and for whom she made birthday cake.

Lasha opened the dam for the both of them and Lucie hid her round face in her hands, crying too. Shared sadness. She remembered fully, now. A spark of lucidity.

But she dared not hug Lasha like she would have before. The arm...*

- ... I... I just wanted to say that I am deeply sorry about everything that happened. To you. To us. To... ... You know.

[digging-up-ghosts]

[They nodded, swallowing and trying to wipe their tears before they spoke.]

I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t have said any of that about the— I’m sorry, Lucie.

[At the end of the day, Lucie and Lasha were friends. Just friends that had hit a rough patch, just friends where one was living and the other was… of an unknown status. Like Schrödinger’s cat, not dead, not alive, unknown until you check obituaries.

They wrapped their arms around Lucies shoulders, sobbing into the crook of her neck. It wasn’t much about the brioche, they wept knowing things would never go back to normal, they wept for their friend. They were a fucked up girl, with flasks of whiskey and teeth stained with nicotine. They wanted to be a ballerina, not a prostitute. But here they were, yearning to be free.

They sniffled, they’re so ugly when they cry. And they know this fact. Their face scrunches up and gets red, snot runs from their nose and they make such disturbing hiccup sounds. They cry like a baby, head thrown back and wailing, mouth open like a yawn and unable to communicate what makes them so sad.

It was the fact they saw a calendar recently. It was marked. Today was November third.

They were twenty one.]

[digging-up-ghosts]

- ... Hi.

*Ankward.

The newcommer, another fresh soul in the school, didnt seem to have a plan, and stayed at Lasha's door with a poker face. And oh god their face...

Tattooed, purple, black sclera, a bit of a big head for their slender body, the same ear gauges as Lasha, a weird split hairdo, a weirder sens of fashion. In short : a very cool friend to make.

And they seemed to hold the same opinion on Lasha.

But the timing was a disaster. Host arrived the same week Lasha got burned. If they waited a little for them to get better, their patience was running thin, and Boredom, the sister of Curiosity, pushed Host toward Lasha's door.

After a long minute, trying to come up for an excuse to bother the convalescent young adult, Host finally spoke.*

- ... Can I pet your dog ?

- @radio-host-taking-calls

[Not a worse time could the radio host have picked, because Data was the only thing keeping Lasha on this earth. They are in pain every day and no closer to finding an answer, they are in pain and confined to an infirmary and unallowed to go to the bathroom or shower by themself because Temujins worried — worried about what? The situations passed!

They look at Data’s sleeping body, she’s tucked so sweetly against their torso. Head buried into their armpit, red fur soft against Lasha’s hand, her little puppy belly large from her dinner, pink and soft and gentle. She kicks in her sleep, stretching her body and sneezing before going still again.]

Uhm… sure.

[They’re a little miffed that this cool person decided to come at the decidedly most uncool part of their life. Confined to a bed with their burnt arm oozing blood and plasma into dressings.

The evidence of physical therapy are strewn around the room, resistance bands, chairs, a cane, whatever they have. The cane isn’t a medical cane and it’s too tall for their body but it works. They don’t know how to walk with it— they carry it on the same side as the injured leg.]

..her name is Data. Like from Star Trek the next generation.

[radio-host-taking-calls]

*At the stranger's answer, Host's facial expression could only be described as "!!!".

So this delightful little bundle of joy was nammed "Data" ? That was a good sign. The best sign possible.*

- Really ? I love Star Treck !!!

*They beamed in delight, already reaching for the dog, letting her smell her hand before daring to give her some headpats. It was a tiny bit ankward, given the dog's position on Lasha, wich made the two strangers quite close in the process. Host was careful not to touch Lasha in the slightest, and kept their hands always visible. Ten painted nails.*

- ... I'm sorry if this sounds weird, I know my personnal taste is not quite standard, to put it lightly, but I think your scars will be beautiful. When they'll heal, they'll make an amazing patern of life and strenght. If you do wish to see it like that.

*It might be a bit too soon to say stuff like that. It might be a bit strange too. But the radio Host was a weird soul, quite obviously.*

[digging-up-ghosts]

[Lasha looked at the stranger blankly for a long time before laughing.]

You’re right, that does sound weird.

[Data turned over to expose the soft fur of her belly to the two, legs in the air and tiny tail wagging lazily. Lasha smiled and scratched beneath her chin.]

I haven’t met anyone over here who even knew Star Trek— let alone liked it before. If they did then they hated Chekov. Which sucks because he was one of my favorite characters.

[Data sneezes, stretching her front legs and licking the radio hosts hand. Lasha sits up.]

I.. uh. I like your tattoos.. especially the eyes.. I didn’t know they did tattoos on the eyes..

[Lasha comes from a small town where tattoos are rare and a sign you’re up to no good. Their father and mother were strictly against tattoos in any form, except for when the henna cones bust out.

Lasha has a few, they’re small and easy to hide, placed conspicuously so that they wouldn’t be seen in costume during practice or recitals. They barely skirted by with the ears, their teacher would’ve thrown them out of school if she saw the tattoos.

Lasha always thought they were pretty though, they always wanted a ginkgo leaf on their wrist. Something pretty to cover up the ugliness of their scars. The burn might look cool, but they know they won’t be able to do things without people staring.

They’ll never be able to wear a normal swimsuit without people seeing the gunshots and the burn and their own misery plastered right there along their thighs and arms. They might as well get a large shirt that says “hey look at me I’m suicidal!”]

[digging-up-ghosts]

Self Love / Duality

//lasha is both blue and yellow deltarune

[digging-up-ghosts]

Hansel and Gretel.

TW: themes of incest below cut.

[digging-up-ghosts]

[Bruno was sprayed with blood. He carried his shovel in a white knuckle gripped hand, entering the school with grit teeth and hesitant steps. He stepped like a martyr, with every step having a thousand bullets pelting his torso. His hair was sticking out from its usual gelled and uniform position, like Love had worked his usual magic. But he wasn't. There. Why did the one time he needed a god to turn to they just turned their nose up?!

Bruno's cassock and robes were stained with blood. Contact had been made on his face as well, making constellations of crimson along his usually warm and beautifully colored skin. He opened the church door, now dragging the shovel like a serial killer. He dropped to his knees before the many crosses he had hung; any religious items from scavenging were given to him. He clasped his shaking hands together, closing his eyes and speaking in a rasp.]

“ Muh...mio Dio, mi pento e....e mi dolgo con tutto-- il cuore dei miei peccati, perché peccando ho meritato i--...ehm.. tuoi castighi, e molto più perché ho offeso te, infinitamente buono e degno di essere amato sopra ogni cosa. Propongo con il tuo santo aiuto di....di...eh...non offenderti m-- mai più e di fuggire le occasioni prossi-- prossime di peccato. Signore, misericordia, perdonami. ”

[Bruno hesitated, he stopped and sniffled occasionally. He beat his knuckles idly against his forehead when he forgot, searching for the words in his bones. He then opened his eyes, sighing.

Today was Sunday. He wasn't clean. And there were eyes on him. Eyes he knew all too well-- back to frequent appearances. No bed service for Lasha anymore.]

“ There will...ehm...be no service today. ”

[He muttered, squeezing his eyes closed again.]

-♥️ FATHER NOLD ..

[Theyd followed the trail and the scent of blood, how could they not? If someone is bleeding and needs medical attention how could they ignore that? Even if they couldn’t provide the services necessary, they could get Temujin or Ilya — or hell even Arseni. The beast knows how to provide stitches.

The sound of their cane tapping the ground was the alert to their footsteps. The soles of their shoes had worn down, and practice made their footsteps nearly silent. The cane impedes the ability to remain quiet.]

..god I’d hope not.

[Not with Bruno in such a state, they aren’t too surprised at the sight of blood and gore. They’re far too used to it anyways, the scratches and splinters at the bottom of their cane — along with the red stains — proved that.

Though, nowadays, Lasha doesn’t even come to the church, unless they need somewhere quiet to think. They don’t want to admit it, but recently they weren’t too sure they even believed in God. Not in a loud revelation, but in a quiet lost hope. God isn’t watching.]

Is it your blood?

[First order of business. Figure out if Bruno’s actually injured or just experiencing shell shock. If it’s his blood, they can get the nurse. If not, they can clean up and talk him through the experience he’s just faced.

It’s… easier. If it isn’t his blood. Lasha figures it easier to distance yourself from the cruelty you inflict on others than it is to allow yourself to get injured so you remain pacifistic. Temujin doesn’t see that. Temujin is a pacifist, a peace marcher a thinker ahead, conscience of mankind. And he’s got the scars to prove how far he’s willing to go for his beliefs.

Lasha isn’t. Not anymore. They find themself fence sitting, a little dead in their aspirations. This cataclysm had robbed them. They don’t give a goddamn about anything anymore. They smell like cigarettes and bad whiskey and antiseptic. They tell themself it’s not an addiction because they still function. And because they still function, those around them don’t see the addiction.

They kneel down in front of Bruno, setting their cane beside them and offering their hands to the priest. He might be experiencing a crisis of faith right now, Lasha understands the feeling. The sudden realization that God isn’t watching, that God loves you but not enough to save you.

Their eyes are cold as they examine Bruno’s face, searching for a source of the blood. Their eyes are like a statues, clinical and ever watching. An image of Mary forsaken.]

[missingmissingyou]

[Bruno doesn't seem to want to answer. He hesitates, the answer trying to crawl away with broken fingers and dirty nails. Clawing at the walls of their eternal grave they have dug for only themselves. Bruno gathers his thoughts, clearing his throat with a soft *hem*. His shaking hands clutched his rosary, slowly lowering to the ground as the cross hit tile.]

“ No. ”

[He had killed. The pacifist mindset he held, the deep root with religion he had. Bruno let his head lift slightly, looking over at the shovel he had dragged in. Dipped in dirt and blood underneath, he had swung it and bludgeoned someone with the metal end. He reached up, rubbing some of the blood from his face and onto the already stained cassock. Better than getting the stuff in his eye.]

“ I..- I don't know what they...I.... Mio dioooo .. ”

[Bruno began to wail pathetically. He sunk from his kneeling to letting his legs spread to his sides, covering his face in shaking, dirtied hands and whimpering. He shook his head around, more tears falling and wetting the slightly dried blood beginning to drip again. When his shaking hands left his face, he looked up at Lasha with wetted eyes. A few more tears fell, and he sniffled again.]

“ I...I killed someone. And now the Lord must forgive me if I just...I...”

[He was using repentance as a way to justify his actions in his head, and when he caught himself mid statement, he grabbed both sides of his head in dismay.]

“ I don't know what I'm DOING anymore! Love won't answer me, God won't answer me, I'M NOT GETTING ANY ANSWERS! ”

[His shout was more like a hoarse orchestra of squealing; it got higher with his words, and excelled in pitch rather than volume. He looked up at Lasha, the knuckle of his thumb coming up to his lips to idly bite with his prayer. He shook around the rosary slightly.]

“ I'm sorry. I'm sorry. No. You shouldn't be hearing this. It's not my place. ”

[digging-up-ghosts]

No. No. Please, continue.

[They lick their thumb, rubbing some of the dried blood off of Bruno’s cheek. They wished they’d had a wash cloth or anything of the sort. Spit will have to work as a substitute. They take Bruno in their arms and hold him against their warm body, a reminder that he’s alive— here, in the moment. Lasha’s heart is beating next to his ear. Elevated and rabbit quick. Breast against cheek, arms around back and hands tangled into hair.

Lasha holds him, because they don’t know how else to help.]

You did what you had to do.

[Everyone else does what they have to do to survive. Does the wolf feel guilt for the deer? Everything eats and is eaten.

Guilt doesn’t absolve though. The dog that weeps is no less guilty than the wolf that remains impartial. Lasha’s voice is a sad violin playing in a sinking ship, an attempt to keep those scrambling calm. Lasha will die with the ship, playing one last sonata.

They will play the symphony for Bruno if it keeps his head above water.

They pet his hair, nails scratch at his scalp, bitten and uneven and brittle and light like an insect crawling on the skin. A spider weaves its web around the two, when their bones are discovered they will be taken to a museum. Nobody will know their names, nor their stories. They will be mislabeled and misrepresented. Lasha will be framed as a man, Bruno as a woman. The two will not be known.

But for now, in the north field, the two are alive and hanging by their teeth to a world turned on its head. If they looked into the sky— the cosmic radiation is bright in the background, there are twice as many stars as usual.]

[not-a-ex-fema-i-swear]

[Lasha returned from another vaguely authorized excursion after a few days, various items in their backpack. Fruit, meat, canned food, cigarettes.. latex gloves, eye protection, Petri dishes.

They walked to Ilya’s room first, knocking on the door. Their cane is.. covered in gore and mud. But in terms of injury? All Lasha has is a small gash on their cheek. Likely from a knife, their shirt is a little stretched out on the collar. They’ve gotten better at fighting since Ilya’s shown them actual ways to defend themself, instead of their initial method of not remembering to defend their head or neck.

The moon sits high in the sky, they hand Ilya some money for them to keep safe. They won’t discuss how they got it, don’t ask, don’t tell. They’re sure Ilya can guess what they did, and understand it was for the greater good. There’s little room for comfort or choice when the suns getting ready to explode.]

I couldn’t find any of those.. oh what are they called again? The uh. Droppers? They.. suck up liquid? Like iodine? — which I did find.

[They pull out a bottle of iodine from the water bottle pocket in the backpack. A good disinfectant, even if it leaves the skin with a stain for a few days, and if not for injury, it is useful for staining cells.

These types of runs have become more common as the two continue thinking up solutions to the sun. They could survive the plague, but there won’t be anything to survive if they can’t figure out what’s causing the sun to heat up.]

- Welcome home.

*Mornful and loving eyes follow Lasha as they step into the room.

Sat at the edge of the bed, three pupills enlarged by relief and big glasses, Ilya was watching their every move and little details. All the story was told in two minutes. There was no need to be cruel and push questions onto them. Instead, Lasha was met with acceptance and love, Ilya patting the place next to them. They watch the equipement the ex student found. Good enough. A bit incomplete but enough.

They took the money and put it in an old cracker's cardboard box. Hidden under the matress, a little stach, "for later". When the world gets back on its feet. And when money will be relevant again. Enough money for school, house, food, medecine, or so they hope. Their only wish is to put Lasha in all the comfort and happiness they deserve. Only privileged people say "Money dont buy happiness". It's still the miracle medecine to 90% of Liliana's problems. If one day they got to use it...

A fresh, sunny day, watching their little star dance on the planks, a bright smile on their face. No, that was not meant to be, now. Maybe something else. Banjo ? A recital ? A science fair ? Lasha had so many passions and flames inside of them. They would find something. Ilya had faith in that.

IF the sun healed. IF the world started turning right again.*

- I see. Well, we can manage without it. We got to try anyway. Nice work, my little star.

*Piles of books scattered around the room tell the story of a quick and desperate quest for knowledge. Falling behind all their life, Ilya had to lit their spark back. And the fire was burning with more passion than ever, fuelled by hope and encouragements.*

- Take a short break... We will continue the researches soon. But you look like you need a shower and a nice nap. How about it ? Cleans clothes are in the suitcase.

*Giving Lasha some maternal indications to take care of themselves, but being considerate enough to not baby them and give them agency to do it by themselves, despite their new injury.*

[digging-up-ghosts]

[They shrug off their jacket, setting it down on the designated chairdrobe before flopping down on the bed next to Ilya.]

Mmmmnnn… I could use a bath.

[They track blood in the room with their shoes, footprints from their worn down soles rubbed into the carpet and concrete. Their body aches and their eyes shut. It’s not that simple for them. Yes, they could use a shower. But that would involve undressing their body— undressing their wounds, a washcloth, soap, another person to help them with their burnt arm. Sitting down because they can’t take their cane with them, another person.

Seems they can’t do anything safely nowadays without assistance. Someone tried to take their backpack, they beat him with their cane until his face wasn’t there. Until his face had caved into his skull. And then they ran.

Their leg throbbed from the running. They shouldn’t run. People see a woman with a cane and assume that they aren’t armed. They are. The cane is their weapon. Their mind is sharp and can detect the attack before it happens. They stiffen when they feel someone watching them. They suffer.

But the bed is soft(ish) and their mom is warm and they want to curl into Ilya’s lap and ask them to promise to love them forever. How strange it is, to feel like an overgrown child when they were so young and behaving twenty five.]

I don’t… wanna take a break.

[They groan at the prospect. They like science. They like it so much. But they’re so tired.]

[not-a-ex-fema-i-swear]

T.W : (very) vague mention of incest / underage S.A.

*A rough hand immediatly reached for Lasha's cheek in a now familiar gesture of reassurance. It was like a bad fold in a sheet that couldnt be ironed out. Now that the habit was there, there was no stopping Ilya from this gentle strocking meant to pacify and, also, clean that dirty cheek... They should really use a tissue. But their warm skin will have to suffice.*

- If you dont take a break, YOU are going to break. And then there will be no big scientific breakthrough. At all. Forever. Because your brain will be fried and exhausted. Get it ?

*Simple, logical advice. For once they avoided the "Body-Machine" talk, wich was surely a relief. Yet it was obvious a body couldnt work on so little sleep and food.

Why a macho arm movement, they brought Lasha in for a bear hug, quickly done but grounding.*

- You did your part of the work for tonight. We'll act in the afternoon. When the sun is there to inspire us on how to tame it. And then... We will find something. Yes. If we really put our minds to it...

*To Ilya the feeling was strange yet familiar. Love is not supposed to get away at any given moment. At what age were they supposed to stop caring about their newfound child ? 21, the legal age in the USA ? 25 ? 30 ? Some stop caring at 18. Their father stopped seeing them as a child at 13. They would not follow this path. A bond like that was meant to last.

And they seemed excited to share something burning their tongue...*

- I have made my own "supply search" and... I got a little surprise.

*Out of the -divine in it's contenance capacity- green shoulder bag, Ilya took some... Notes ? Papers ? It looked official and complicated. All black and white copies of some obscure research. There was a stamp on almost every one of them. That damned word : "FEMA".*

- Had to get a little help from some professional, but we are not the only one who thinks the sun need fixing, huh, who would have guessed ?

*They smile a little devilish smile, something mocking FEMA, a cute and bastardy smile showing teeth who never met much needed braces. It seemed to say "heh, not too bad, right ? I have my ways."*

[digging-up-ghosts]

[They chuckled at the sight. Those papers’ll be extremely useful. And for a moment, it takes their mind off of the gravity of the situation, it makes them focus on the prospect of something brighter, a world with hope— a world.]

It’s just such a pain in my ass.

[They say of the shower. Undressing wounds and keeping the injuries as dry as possible, undressing their body and allowing vulnerability. Especially at this time of the month. As if they aren’t suffering enough blood loss already.

They put their head into Ilya’s hand with a deep seated sense of trust. A mother who doesn’t berate them. A mother who doesn’t favor their brothers, a mother. A mom. A mama. Not a mother. A mom. The difference between a house and a home. Ilya is Lasha’s home.

It’s a strange thing about parents. You feel so dependent on them for so long, and they can either help you grow into independence, or keep you stuck in the past. Neither of Lasha’s parents could really accept they were growing up, both of them wanted to stay the same as they were.. five.. ten.. years ago.

It’s why they wouldn’t let Lasha sell their violin, even if they hadn’t touched it since middle school. They did eventually, they snuck out in the middle of the day and sold it. And neither of their parents cared too much to notice it was gone. Lasha used to be so good at violin. They don’t remember why they quit. With the money they bought a banjo. They liked the banjo.

The days blended together back then, similar to how they do now. Lasha isn’t ever too sure when their sleeping, or when their awake. All of this could be a dream and they wouldn’t know. It’s all so weird, real life becomes more absurd by the hour. It’s a sad song of resilience. Lasha’s blood is full of blues and holy water.

They move their hair out of their eyes, scanning the room. It’s such a pain taking care of themself. It’s such a pain living. It’s all so difficult.

Data follows into the room, hopping up onto the bed and jumping into the pits of Lasha’s knees, curling up with a soft huff. Right. They couldn’t just— they couldn’t just leave her. It’s so weird, a dog keeps them from relapsing more than their mother does.

Probably because Ilya would know what happened, Data would just wonder when her human is coming back.]

[digging-up-ghosts]

- ... Hi.

*Ankward.

The newcommer, another fresh soul in the school, didnt seem to have a plan, and stayed at Lasha's door with a poker face. And oh god their face...

Tattooed, purple, black sclera, a bit of a big head for their slender body, the same ear gauges as Lasha, a weird split hairdo, a weirder sens of fashion. In short : a very cool friend to make.

And they seemed to hold the same opinion on Lasha.

But the timing was a disaster. Host arrived the same week Lasha got burned. If they waited a little for them to get better, their patience was running thin, and Boredom, the sister of Curiosity, pushed Host toward Lasha's door.

After a long minute, trying to come up for an excuse to bother the convalescent young adult, Host finally spoke.*

- ... Can I pet your dog ?

- @radio-host-taking-calls

[Not a worse time could the radio host have picked, because Data was the only thing keeping Lasha on this earth. They are in pain every day and no closer to finding an answer, they are in pain and confined to an infirmary and unallowed to go to the bathroom or shower by themself because Temujins worried — worried about what? The situations passed!

They look at Data’s sleeping body, she’s tucked so sweetly against their torso. Head buried into their armpit, red fur soft against Lasha’s hand, her little puppy belly large from her dinner, pink and soft and gentle. She kicks in her sleep, stretching her body and sneezing before going still again.]

Uhm… sure.

[They’re a little miffed that this cool person decided to come at the decidedly most uncool part of their life. Confined to a bed with their burnt arm oozing blood and plasma into dressings.

The evidence of physical therapy are strewn around the room, resistance bands, chairs, a cane, whatever they have. The cane isn’t a medical cane and it’s too tall for their body but it works. They don’t know how to walk with it— they carry it on the same side as the injured leg.]

..her name is Data. Like from Star Trek the next generation.

[digging-up-ghosts]

The more you look, the less you see.

Maybe there’s nothing there after all.

[digging-up-ghosts]

@carrying-coins

[carrying-coins]

Artie loves their cowboy hat

[digging-up-ghosts]

Are you familiar with the cowboy hat rule?

[digging-up-ghosts]

Collect my pronouns

- @gay----slenderman

What. What does this. What. Huh? Am I missing out on something?

//ignore the fact that I forgot the white part in their hair.

[digging-up-ghosts]

@carrying-coins

[digging-up-ghosts]

[Bruno was sprayed with blood. He carried his shovel in a white knuckle gripped hand, entering the school with grit teeth and hesitant steps. He stepped like a martyr, with every step having a thousand bullets pelting his torso. His hair was sticking out from its usual gelled and uniform position, like Love had worked his usual magic. But he wasn't. There. Why did the one time he needed a god to turn to they just turned their nose up?!

Bruno's cassock and robes were stained with blood. Contact had been made on his face as well, making constellations of crimson along his usually warm and beautifully colored skin. He opened the church door, now dragging the shovel like a serial killer. He dropped to his knees before the many crosses he had hung; any religious items from scavenging were given to him. He clasped his shaking hands together, closing his eyes and speaking in a rasp.]

“ Muh...mio Dio, mi pento e....e mi dolgo con tutto-- il cuore dei miei peccati, perché peccando ho meritato i--...ehm.. tuoi castighi, e molto più perché ho offeso te, infinitamente buono e degno di essere amato sopra ogni cosa. Propongo con il tuo santo aiuto di....di...eh...non offenderti m-- mai più e di fuggire le occasioni prossi-- prossime di peccato. Signore, misericordia, perdonami. ”

[Bruno hesitated, he stopped and sniffled occasionally. He beat his knuckles idly against his forehead when he forgot, searching for the words in his bones. He then opened his eyes, sighing.

Today was Sunday. He wasn't clean. And there were eyes on him. Eyes he knew all too well-- back to frequent appearances. No bed service for Lasha anymore.]

“ There will...ehm...be no service today. ”

[He muttered, squeezing his eyes closed again.]

-♥️ FATHER NOLD ..

[Theyd followed the trail and the scent of blood, how could they not? If someone is bleeding and needs medical attention how could they ignore that? Even if they couldn’t provide the services necessary, they could get Temujin or Ilya — or hell even Arseni. The beast knows how to provide stitches.

The sound of their cane tapping the ground was the alert to their footsteps. The soles of their shoes had worn down, and practice made their footsteps nearly silent. The cane impedes the ability to remain quiet.]

..god I’d hope not.

[Not with Bruno in such a state, they aren’t too surprised at the sight of blood and gore. They’re far too used to it anyways, the scratches and splinters at the bottom of their cane — along with the red stains — proved that.

Though, nowadays, Lasha doesn’t even come to the church, unless they need somewhere quiet to think. They don’t want to admit it, but recently they weren’t too sure they even believed in God. Not in a loud revelation, but in a quiet lost hope. God isn’t watching.]

Is it your blood?

[First order of business. Figure out if Bruno’s actually injured or just experiencing shell shock. If it’s his blood, they can get the nurse. If not, they can clean up and talk him through the experience he’s just faced.

It’s… easier. If it isn’t his blood. Lasha figures it easier to distance yourself from the cruelty you inflict on others than it is to allow yourself to get injured so you remain pacifistic. Temujin doesn’t see that. Temujin is a pacifist, a peace marcher a thinker ahead, conscience of mankind. And he’s got the scars to prove how far he’s willing to go for his beliefs.

Lasha isn’t. Not anymore. They find themself fence sitting, a little dead in their aspirations. This cataclysm had robbed them. They don’t give a goddamn about anything anymore. They smell like cigarettes and bad whiskey and antiseptic. They tell themself it’s not an addiction because they still function. And because they still function, those around them don’t see the addiction.

They kneel down in front of Bruno, setting their cane beside them and offering their hands to the priest. He might be experiencing a crisis of faith right now, Lasha understands the feeling. The sudden realization that God isn’t watching, that God loves you but not enough to save you.

Their eyes are cold as they examine Bruno’s face, searching for a source of the blood. Their eyes are like a statues, clinical and ever watching. An image of Mary forsaken.]

[carrying-coins]

//The joke is that they’re all autistic everyone laugh okay 🦌🌅🌅

@feathers-sticks-and-bones

@digging-up-ghosts

our creatures aaaww 💕💕🫂

[digging-up-ghosts]

// Lasha licks Artie in the same way iron deficient people like pennys

[carrying-coins]

them & their disgusting coin boy that they found on the street

[digging-up-ghosts]

//I think god struck you with divine light

[carrying-coins]

And I’m all about that moneyyyyy

[carrying-coins]

//The joke is that they’re all autistic everyone laugh okay 🦌🌅🌅

@feathers-sticks-and-bones

@digging-up-ghosts

our creatures aaaww 💕💕🫂

[digging-up-ghosts]

// Lasha licks Artie in the same way iron deficient people like pennys

[carrying-coins]

them & their disgusting coin boy that they found on the street

[digging-up-ghosts]

//I think god struck you with divine light

[carrying-coins]

//The joke is that they’re all autistic everyone laugh okay 🦌🌅🌅

@feathers-sticks-and-bones

@digging-up-ghosts

our creatures aaaww 💕💕🫂

[digging-up-ghosts]

// Lasha licks Artie in the same way iron deficient people like pennys