Speaking with sharp teeth

Disclaimer, the stuff written here is my UPG about the Norse God Fenrir, and his whispers in my ear. Fascists, TERFs, and MAPs can fuck off from here, this person does not tolerate you.

[fromthewolvesjaws]

Break the oath, owe me the hand. You'll break no more promises, for you've none to give.

[fromthewolvesjaws]

Wolf your teeth are sharp, and your frame towering. But it is your words that burn and ignite that make me quake in my shoes.

[fromthewolvesjaws]

You have been fighting for years, within a body no longer fit for yourself. Fighting and struggling as best you can, doing what you felt you must to catch another heaving breath, to hear your blood sing through your ears. Against binds, snarling the whole way, your tongue pinned to the roof of your mouth, held back by clenched teeth. And here you lay, tired and weary. The fire has died down, under quivering skin, but by no means out. A murmur, a glance, and you heave yourself forward. A wonder what you would be like should your binds be cut, your tongue let loose.

[fromthewolvesjaws]

Howls of anger cut short

Still reverberate despite no sound

They build in the chest

A cavern of screams and yells

They shake the ground

And the mountain falls before the silence

[fromthewolvesjaws]

The wolf sons chase hope

Biting and snapping the fleeting thing

But the wolf Himself

He throws Himself to hope

All might and muscles heaving at unbreaking binds

Biting of tongue

Snapping of sinew

Unwilling to break before His bonds

[fromthewolvesjaws]

Fenrir, the deity every norse heathen warned me about despite never having worked with Him. Ignored warnings because I'm like that™.

Now happily over 2 years into working with the giant anger boy. Still finding myself, still fighting the binds of my chronic pain, still pulling up the old memories long buried. From a stumbling new devotee to whatever I am now, letting the boy know I love Him.

It's been a wild ride so far, not what I expected but better I'd say.

[fromthewolvesjaws]

The only hand that would feed you was also the first to beat you.

[fromthewolvesjaws]

There is terror in reaching into a monster's mouth. A fear in "what could's" that circle your head. Teeth so sharp and precise, a single slice taken.

And calm as the beast takes your hand in promise. Fear no longer inhabits you, what could you fear after willingly wedging your arm between the wolf's teeth?

A promise between two bound. A secret in madness and entrapment.