like actually let’s have a conversation about this because what??
even in 2017, when i was 12/13, it rubbed me the WRONG way. idk, let me provide more context with more tweets for you guys
now, i don’t know who was being mean to jess. and by the sounds of it, it was really harmful and she deserved none of the issues it caused her.
my issues with this post has nothing to do with jess and her personal well being, it has everything to do with jason here.
first off, why is HE making the call? it’s jess’s twitter, they’re her followers, it just doesn’t make any sense to me why he’s making the calls on HER account.
and i understand he’s concerned for his wife and her mental well being. that’s what he should be concerned about. but why is he taking that to social media?? like they could have made the *mutual* decision to unfollow people together and leave it at that, but he had to post it on social media and boast about how he’s basically making business decisions FOR her
Goofy Skott can sleep standing up; I love this guy so much. At home on the farm, he's the oldest kid left in the house and it's pretty crowded with both parents and grandparents, and his 4 little siblings. When the weather's nice, he'll go outside and sleep standing up for part of the night. Inside really isn't any more comfortable; his only mattress is a few potato sacks sewn together and full of straw and shed fur.
When he's on the gameshow, he'll leave the boys' cabin and sleep outside against a tree or wall like this where it's quieter. At least until Bitey starts giving him trouble.
Hey tumblr, how are we feeling about this dragon design? It’s semi-aquatic, can’t fly, and has a strong shark like tail. Inspired by prehistoric creature Diplocaulus and the hammerhead shark.
I call the species Tidewraiths and they’re fully aquatic from egg until full adult, when their legs become strong enough to support them out of water. This one is the pod’s matriarch, so she is larger than the average.
She’s about 1 meter tall at the shoulder and about 8 meters long from mouth to tail fin.
the pinkish mark on her head is a scar from being kicked by a hoofed animal. Her tail is longer than that, the canvas just squashed it.
Today's prompt: Frostbite (I did more of a hypothermia thing because you can't tell me what to do)
I'm only really doing prompts that I vibe with and they probably won't be done on time because I have classes and I'm busy.
Cold.
All Dagur knew was cold.
Under the dreary grey sky, clouds hanging low threatening the archipelago with impending winter, was a floating plank of wood. It had drifted in the icy sea for a couple days now, a forgotten remnant of a failed invasion on Berk.
Clinging to the plank with cold, pale hands was a berserker. He was all alone, nothing but more sea stretching out to the horizon.
And it was cold.
The invasion of Berk had been one of his best ideas yet. The smoky dragons he'd planted on the trader had stolen every piece of metal from the Hooligans. Without weapons or even their trusty helmets they should have been defenseless against invasion from the entire Berserker armada. Those kids on their dragons would be too outnumbered to stand a chance. And then Hiccup and his Nightfury would have belonged to Dagur. It should have been perfect.
But if things had been perfect he wouldn't be adrift out at sea, slowly freezing to death in the frigid water.
Dagur was half in the water, arms clinging to the plank of wood. His legs dangled uselessly underwater. His helmet was missing, as was most of the metal of his armor. Those damned smokebreaths had stolen it when they'd torn his fleet apart.
All his Berserkers on the ships had plunged into the water. About half of them drowned in the first hour, either not being strong swimmers or going into shock from the cold and slipping silently under the dark waves to join whatever was left of their ships. Many had clung to floating wreckage, Dagur and Savage among them. Pretty quickly the survivors had lashed their makeshift rafts together and climbed atop whatever they could to stay out of the water.
Why weren't they together now? Dagur wondered. Since when had he been alone?
It was hard to remember in detail. He was so, so cold. The icy water felt like a tight grip around his midsection where he was half in the water. He'd tried to get his whole body back onto the plank after he'd been knocked off. That had been after he'd been separated from the others, right? Had to be, they would have helped him. He tried to convince himself of that; desertions had been getting high especially with winter growing near and Dagur's crusade showing no sign of ending. The fleet he'd brought against Berk had been less than a third of the armada he'd once commanded.
The wind blew harshly across the surface of the water, sending another shiver through him. He hadn't shivered in a while; he'd simply lost the energy to.
A storm, he remembered. It blew in the first night they'd been adrift. Thor's wrath tore apart their floating wreckage, large swells crashing over them and sending some to their watery graves. Dagur had been thrown into the water and swept away from the others. The cold of the sea at night had stunned him when he'd gone under and if he hadn't trained himself for cold water immersion he'd have died then and there. Somehow he'd clawed his way to the surface and grabbed onto a plank of wood. He'd yelled for anyone but the wind and rain had drowned out any returning calls.
It was day now, though the sun still hid behind dense grey clouds. What Dagur would have given for a bit of sun on his skin. His skin was stark white and his hands were somewhere between blue and purple where he was clinging for dear life onto the wood. He could feel a current carrying him to some unknown corner of the archipelago. He hadn't seen any ships or land he could identify and all the charts had been ruined when the ships fell apart. It didn't matter.
Dagur didn't want to admit it to himself, didn't even want to think about it, but he was scared. He knew that unless the gods decided to spare him, he'd be dead very soon. He was going to die, not in glorious battle but alone, adrift at sea. Would a Valkyrie even come for him? He would have liked to pull his body up onto the plank but his legs wouldn't respond to him anymore. The last couple times he'd tried, he'd just flipped the plank and dunked himself back underwater.
His eyelids were so heavy, his arms ached from the cold and being forced to hold tightly to the wood, his whole body burned like dragon fire and he yearned to be able to rip his wet clothes off, cold be damned. He thought he might have heard something nearby, a quick swish of wings through the air. He might've just been delirious. It was hard to hear anything with how much his body hurt. The cold and wet had seeped into his mind, taking up any space he could have used to process his surroundings.
The cold was all there was, stabbing down to his bones like it was trying to tell him that it was the only thing that had ever existed in the world. How easy would it be to just let go of the plank, let his head slip under the water and never resurface.
He wanted to hang on as long as he could, wanted to fight with every breath he had left.
Also CS paint hated me yesterday so I drew this in chickensmoothie because Idk I'm fuckin insane i guess. It kinda has a charming deep fried look to it's so eat your mattress core (If you get that reference we are best friends now)
This chapter takes place when Day is eight; the other boys are around the same age.
This chapter contains: graphic depictions of violence, murder of children, animal cruelty/ death, cannibalism, gore, and implied/referenced child abuse. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
I've tried to depict the feelings of the character in detail as well as the gore and cannibalism so readers (you!) can get as vivid a picture as possible without having experienced this.
It was another quiet day in the forest, sun dappling through the trees as the wind gently ruffled the leaves creating a soft hiss that floated among the tree trunks. Daystar spent more and more time out here; the other kids in the village were unbearable to be around and the adults even more so. A few years ago, he'd been too young to understand the things they whispered behind his back but now it was harder and harder not to hear the insults and jeers every time he looked at a person.
His ears pricked up. The breeze seemed to be carrying those voices from the village into his woodland sanctuary.
"That kid's nothing but trouble".... "His father ought to've thrown him off a cliff as a toddler".... "A punishment from the Gods" The trees whispered.
Go away, Day thought, clamping his hands over his big ears. It shut out the sound of the forest breeze but not the scathing remarks of the townsfolk.
"Insane".... "A dangerous lunatic".... "Maimed someone when you were three".... "Not fit to be a chief, not fit to be a viking".... "Lock you up and throw away the key".... "Too dangerous to live among civil folk"
Daystar dug his claws into his forehead, trying to snap back to reality with the prick of his claws digging into his skull.
"Stop it", he whispered. He wanted to scream, he wanted to stab something, he wanted to march down into the village and cut out the tongue of everyone who was mean to him. He shuddered at the thought, not out of revulsion but with the happy tingle in his stomach. A toothy smile spread across his face involuntarily.
"You're a freak, Daystar".... "A horrible person".... "You don't even know what you're doing wrong".... "How could you be so stupid, how do you not get it by now?".... "Daystar the disturbed, Daystar the disappointment, Daystar the deranged".... "Nightshade's cursed to have a brother like you"
Daystar's hands fell from his ears down to his sides. It's all in your head, he told himself. All in your stupid head. He hadn't noticed the tears rolling down his cheeks until one dripped off his chin. The pitiful reaction instantly boiled his sadness into rage. I am NOT upset! Why should I even care what they think! He gritted his teeth, hand reaching for the dagger ever present on his person. He hurled it blindly at a tree's branch.
He expected to hear the dull CRACK of the blade imbedding into wood. That is not the sound he heard. What he did hear was a high-pitched, shrill twittering like the sound a bird makes when being chased by the little Anklebiter dragons. He wiped the tears away with his other hand to clear his vision. A bird was pinned to the branch by a knife sticking through it. His knife had impaled through where the bird's wing joined to its body. It may have been some sort of dove but it was hard to tell now with the blood painting its feathers red, dripping onto the ground. The bird was still screeching, flapping its wings wildly, flinging droplets of blood.
Day stood transfixed by the creature's dying struggle. His feet moved him closer without thinking about it. He reached up for the knife. The bloody bird pecked at him, flailing wildly. He pulled the knife from the dove's wing and it fell to the ground at his feet. Immediately some primal instinct urged the bird to fly away; the crippled creature just flapped around in frantic circles like a puppet with half the strings cut.
Daystar lifted his boot and placed it on the bird, gently pinning it in place. He slowly increased the pressure. The bird screamed. It screamed and thrashed as he felt brittle snaps under his foot. When its lungs were too crushed to make another noise, it just stared at him with those beady black eyes. He stopped adding pressure and stared back. It was almost as if.... No, it was pleading with its eyes, begging him. To let it go or end its suffering, he wasn't sure. He was in control now. Everything else in his life was out of control. He couldn't do anything about his parents, or the insults of his future subjects, or the mean kids that tormented him. I can't kill them, he mused, the creepy smile etched across his face. The bird stared at him with the dull, pained, fearful expression of a dying creature.
"But I can kill you." He stated to the bird, drinking in the fear and pain before sharply putting all his weight down onto the foot pinning the bird. He felt the last of the bones crunch. He didn't feel anything else. Not guilt, not joy, not grief, not disgust, not sadness. Maybe frustration, but that was it. Frustration that it hadn't been something that deserved it. Someone who deserved it.
Lost in his own disturbing, too loud thoughts, Day failed to notice footsteps until they were a few feet behind him.
"So this is where little psychos come to play", A voice jeered.
The familiarity of the tone was lost on him until he turned around. "Well if it isn't Assur and Asgrim", Daystar snarled back in his typical melodic yet bored tone. "I could say it's nice to see you, but it's not." These boys made a hobby out of tormenting him.
Asgrim looked down to the red stain on Day's boot and the blood still dripping from the blade in his hand and subtly nudged Assur, who was the more assertive of the brothers.
"Should've known a monster like you would be out in the woods torturing animals to death." Assur smirked like he was just proven right or had won a bet.
Asgrim huffed, "Yeah we all saw what you did with that Anklebiter a few years back!" He pointed aggressively at Daystar. "You ripped that dragon's guts out and were playing with the damn thing. Our parents say you're more of a monster than the dragons are."
Daystar narrowed his eyes, tail swishing angrily.
"And we all know what a good viking does to monsters". Assur unsheathed his sword. "And no one even knows that we're out here. Who would even care anyway? We all know your parents despise you just as much as we all do!" Both brothers laughed, a cacophonous racket that only small children could make.
Good, Daystar thought. I've been itching for a good fight. Spilling their blood will be oh so sweet. Usually the village kids just beat him bloody or put him in peril some other way. Sometimes people saw, sometimes they didn't. They never helped. He'd learned that if he fought back, if he hurt someone or lost it someone would tell his father about it and he'd be punished at home too. But out here, in his wooded sanctuary, the only witnesses were the two pairs of eyes staring angrily at him.
But Assur had a very good point.
"You're right!" Daystar sang, cocking his head to one side, eyes open wide and mouth grinning wider. "No one knows we're out here". He threw his head back and chuckled in that stilting, choking way he did. It sounded the way a drowning hyena might. No one will see you die; I could even take my sweet time, he fantasized.
He was interrupted by a slash from Assur's sword, leaving a small gash on Day's arm. Day dropped his gaze to the boys sharply. Assur had closed the distance between them and Asgrim stood behind and to the right of his brother, wielding a small mace; bodyguard position, Day remembered. Assur looked smug and determined for what he was about to do, but his hands were shaking.
The sting of the cut on his arm drowned beneath the sensation of pounding in his head and chest. A shiver ran up and down Day's spine as energy flooded through every inch of him; it tingled, it burned, it made his fur stand on end. His teeth chattered, eyes fluttered, claws extended into his palms. In an instant what little humanity he had was gone, replaced by a cold, frenzied fury and the animal desire to kill.
Day threw his knife between the two, forcing them to dodge to opposite sides, breaking their formation. Drive the pack apart. Single out the biggest threat. He threw another blade at Assur, purposely off a bit. The older boy predictably dodged, right into the second dagger Daystar had thrown. It embedded into his shoulder. Stunned by pain, Assur looked down and screamed.
Daystar was knocked off his footing by a mace slamming into his side. Asgrim was younger, but stockier and heavier than Day and he held his weapon with a fiery determination Daystar had seen on himself when someone threatened Nightshade. Asgrim swung for him again; Day used his small stature and agility to dodge and weave between each arcing swing of the mace. Eventually Asgrim got a lucky hit; the hard blow flung Day back slightly and knocked his other knives out of his grip. He was dazed for a split second but that was enough for Asgrim to make a dumb mistake, a fatal mistake. He took his focus off of Day to look at Assur, making sure his brother was okay.
Assur's face paled with horror. Behind his little brother, Daystar pounced and tore into Asgrim's back with his small claw-blades. Asgrim yowled horribly and tried to shake the feline off of him. Assur ran to help, body slamming Day with his uninjured shoulder. He tackled him to the ground, again making the smaller boy lose his grip on his blades. They slid out of his reach as Assur pounded at the boy's chest and face. He tried to cover his head with his hands, pinned as he was by a much larger Assur.
In a moment of sadistic inspiration, Day grabbed the knife still lodged in Assur's shoulder and twisted it. Assur screamed bloody murder and loosened his grip just enough for Daystar to wiggle slightly. Day's green eyes glanced around for a weapon but found none within his short arm's reach. In another second Assur was back on him, fueled by adrenaline and wrapped his hands tightly around Day's neck. Frantic green eyes locked onto the only salvation in arm's reach, a stone the size of a man's fist with a sharp pointed peak and jagged edges. Day grabbed it and swung the makeshift weapon into Assur's skull.
This turned the tide against the older boy and he tumbled off Daystar to the side. Day lunged upon him and kept bashing his head and face with the rock, nearly losing his grip on it with how much blood was slicking the surface. He was locked on his target and kept bashing his skull in despite being slashed at and stabbed several times. Day kept going until Assur was still and there was hardly enough above the neck to tell it had been Assur in the first place.
"That's my brother!! I'll kill you!!" Day heard a shout and felt a crushing pain in his back. He whirled around to see Asgrim had regained his composure and tried to stop his brother's killer, not quite old enough or experienced enough to register there wasn't anything left to save. Now with a fresh target, Day turned on Asgrim, ignoring the pain in his back and the blood sprayed all over him. Asgrim tried to hit Day once more with the mace but he had closed the gap enough for it not to work; Asgrim simply did not have enough space between him and the raging Daystar to swing the weapon effectively.
Day mostly finished his work with Asgrim using his claws and teeth. He'd lost himself in the rush of endorphins and glee of senseless violence. Every frustration he had came pouring out with the fury he destroyed Asgrim's body with. Asgrim had not given up quite yet and kicked Day in the chest; the blow to already damaged ribs forced him to stagger back a few paces, gasping with breath knocked out of him.
Seeming to realize these were his dying moments Asgrim dragged himself over to Assur. It was slow going with his bloody arms and one clawed out eye, a wide smear of blood left in his path. Asgrim started crying, tears pouring from one eye and blood from the other empty socket. Neither he nor his brother would live to be teenagers. For a moment Asgrim wished Daystar had clawed out both eyes; then he wouldn't have to see his brother like this. What was left of Assur's face and head was a mess of red blood with little pieces of white bone poking through, jagged edges where they shouldn't be, flesh hanging on between bloody craters left by the rock that destroyed his skull. Little white pebbles dotted the lower half of the bloody mincemeat. Teeth, Asgrim realized; those were all that were left of his brother's smile.
Daystar watched Asgrim cry in shock and gasp in pain with the same fascination he'd had with that little bird. Only this time it felt so much better. He picked up the blood-slick rock that had been the instrument of Assur's demise and stalked silently behind the remaining brother. Leaping onto Asgrim's shredded back again, Day crushed the back of his skull with the rock too, pounding him until he finally spasmed and went still under the smaller boy.
Quiet at last. The forest was silent, not even the breeze carried any breath through the trees. Day sat back on his knees and took a deep shuddering breath. Day looked down at his hands, fur soaked in blood with small cuts from where bits of skull had sliced him as they shattered. Assur and Asgrim had come here looking for him, had made it clear they'd come to kill him. Instead, they'd both died by his hands. Outnumbered and outmatched, he'd lived while they died. They'd made his life miserable for years! And now they'd gotten what was coming to them. He smiled and laughed. It was a joyous, elated feeling to kill, to rip the lives away from those who made his miserable. The power was like crushing that innocent dove to death under his boot. It was thrilling!
He sat against a tree stump, eyes resting on the bloody mangled bodies of the two bullies. It'd be a pity to let good meat go to waste. And he was hungry, so, so hungry. His mother would be horrified. She had been horrified the first time he did it, just three years old when he bit the finger off another boy and chewed the savory digit like a piece of jerky. It was delicious then, it'd be delicious now. He started where he'd already bit Asgrim, tearing away chunks of flesh with sharp, twisting tugs, cutting free sinew with his knife. He slid the soft, wet meat into his mouth. Bloody, rich and vibrant in flavor, a nice marbling that made the meat chewier and almost buttery. The skin was more fibrous, sliding around in his mouth as his teeth poked holes in it. The small hairs tickled the roof of his mouth. He chewed the gummy skin, savoring the metallic and slightly salty tang before going back for more. The taboo only excited him more, making every bite sparkle with more flavor. It tasted somewhere in-between pork and veal, a subtle smoothness he just knew would be excellent stewed. It was a feast fit for a chief; Day savored every bite.
Day tried to wipe the blood spray from his face, but with the lifeblood of two boys on his hands there was little he could do except smear it all over himself. He stared transfixed at the blood. It smelled so strongly of iron and warmth. He couldn't stop himself from licking some of it off his fingers. It was tangy and metallic and oh so tasty. He licked his fur with vigor, trying to clean the evidence with only his tongue. He paused for a second at a piece of what he assumed to be brain before licking that up too. It was soft in texture and seemed to melt its savory, mellow flavor into his mouth. Not bad at all, but there was no way he could clean all the mess off himself with just a tongue bath. No matter, there should be a small bay nearby.
He gathered up his weapons and trekked through the forest until he reached the rocky inlet of the bay. He immersed himself, relishing in the feeling of cool water and the harsh sting of salt water in his wounds. Still high off the pleasure of taking two lives, he washed up and cleaned his weapons and still had enough energy to walk back to the clearing, taking a branch with him to wipe his footprints away behind him.
What am I going to do now? If anyone finds out... Day shook his head, trying to clear the awful thoughts away. He didn't want to die. That's why he did what he did, right? Or was it for some perverse satisfaction, the need to feel in control? He closed his eyes and sighed, remembering how it had started. It seemed years ago Assur and Asgrim had interrupted his nice afternoon. In reality it had been less than an hour.
I need to do something, Day mused. If someone stumbles upon them... What if no one ever finds them? That may be more suspicious than no bodies. Two young boys wouldn't survive long in the wilderness alone; there were wolves and bears and... boars. A plan began to come together in his mind. There's a den of boars around here somewhere. I remember dad didn't want to risk warriors to go exterminate them. Thank Thor for his cowardice, Day thought. Boars would eat anything, even each other. Reorienting himself, he remembered the boar den's direction and slowly dragged both bodies towards it. He left the older brother right next to a series of dens he assumed belonged to boars. He would have deposited the younger in the same spot except he was proven right about the boars, He couldn't risk interrupting their feeding frenzy as they chowed down on the fresh meat. He envied them for getting to devour the rest of the sweet meat. He rolled the other body down near the boars, inadvertently drawing their attention to him.
Instead of seeing two meals and the person that just fed them, the wild boar saw three tasty children one of whom still happened to be moving. Daystar ran away as fast as he could. The boars were faster and just when he thought he'd gotten away, one cut him off as they circled. Injured and still bleeding, Day swung around with his dagger, knowing that it wouldn't do shit against a boar's thick hide. A boar came at him and he feinted to the side, sliding past the boar and being grazed by its large tusks. He held his bleeding side and ran until another rammed him, knocking him down across the ground until his body skidded into the base of a large tree. Day picked himself up as quickly as he was able. He was completely surrounded, with a large gash in his side and scrapes all over.
For a moment his short life flashed before his eyes as he pressed himself against the tree to keep away from the boars. Then his eyes lit up. A tree! Cats like him were always good climbers and he better than most. He judged the jump to the lowest thick branch. He thought he might be able to make it despite his injuries, then reminded himself he had to make it. For a brief moment he stared down the boars, wondering if this was how his victims had felt moments before their deaths. To these boars, he probably looked just like that wounded bird had looked to him. But he'd killed that bird and he'd killed those boys. He was tough and strong and he would make it! He jumped and hauled himself up onto the branch, hearing the pigs squeal around the base of the tree. He couldn't stay here; the boars would circle the tree for hours and he didn't feel like waiting that long. He climbed higher into the tree until he saw what he wanted.
A thick branch of a nearby tree provided a good landing point for his second favorite activity, something he called tree surfing. He hopped from one strong branch to another, crossing over large swathes of the forest without touching the ground. The boars were none the wiser and kept circling the original tree after Daystar was long gone.
After a long tree surfing session and quite a few splinters, Day ended up back at his little strand of trees. Using a branch, he quickly wiped away as much mess and footprints as he could, trying to mask the signs of a struggle there. If he had more time, he'd try to stage something more elaborate but it was already late in the day and the stench of blood and death would attract predators if it hadn't already. His eyes glanced across the mess he was trying to hide until he saw the blood-slick rock he'd murdered the two boys with. It was a trophy, an integral part of his story now. He'd be taking it home. After he was satisfied enough with covering his tracks, he limped his way back to the village.
He rehearsed his story countless times before he got into the village proper. In a way, it was good that he'd been attacked by the boars. He stunk of pig and it made the rest of his injuries more believable. He was shaken out of his thoughts by someone grabbing his shoulders and questioning him. He sputtered out his rehearsed story in response to each question.
"Where were you?" In the forest.
"What happened?" Attacked by wild boar.
"Are you hurt?" Yeah, I think so.
"Was anyone else with you?" I heard screaming, but found the boars before the person.
"Why are you all wet?" Dunked in the bay to hide my scent from the boars.
And the question he dreaded, "Did you see my sons? I think they went into the woods?" No. I did hear screaming. I think someone else ran into the boars before I did.
"Could you tell who it was?" Maybe a woman, maybe a kid. Too high pitched to be a man.
Lying was easy and the adults assumed he was just in shock when he hesitated to think. Daystar was beginning to feel light-headed and sick to his stomach. He wondered if it was shock or if he might be feeling guilt for the first time. His arm stung, his side hurt, it hurt to breathe. Someone picked him up and took him to the village healer, but he couldn't remember who. He sat in the healer's hut for a few hours until his dad came to pick him up and take him home. Day didn't speak; it was better to look shell-shocked and let people think he was still in shock. Less questions that way.
He listened with glee that night as his father told his mom that Assur and Asgrim had been found, torn apart by boars. His father wept for not having had the boars killed sooner. He smiled and wiggled happily in his blankets. He'd gotten away with it, for now at least. He thought about the thrill of their deaths. No one except him and the stone hidden under his bed would ever know the truth.
When he woke up in the morning and drank the medicine the healer gave him, he didn't feel sick anymore. Must have just been the shock, he thought. Still, I wonder if that's what guilt would feel like.
A few days passed before Day was deemed well enough to hear the "full story" of how the boars had killed the two other boys in the forest that day. People continued to ask him questions; he answered along with his story, which had begun to feel so much like his truth he didn't even feel like he was lying anymore. The few times he felt like someone might be onto him or trying to pry too much, he'd just rub his head, go quiet and stare off into space blankly and tell them he couldn't remember very clearly. He sold his version of events well, and everyone bought it. The few details that didn't line up were swept away by grief for the two dead boys and lack of evidence against the one 8-year old survivor, eventually ending up forgotten in a matter of months.
People died all the time in viking villages, but Daystar would always perfectly and fondly remember the first two he killed. Sometimes he'd lie in bed awake thinking about the taste of their blood and fear and the power of killing them. Other times he'd daydream about who would be next and how he'd plan on getting away with it. He'd pull the small wooden chest out from under his bed and pull out the only member of his rock collection, whispering his secrets and intrusive thoughts to the instrument of his very first kills. Tracing his claws over the rough surface, he imagined he could still see brown flecks of dried blood on it's surface. He was still just a child, with favorite toys and a cute little sister and loose teeth and a deep dark secret he enjoyed keeping.
She’s genderqueer/ unlabeled and uses any pronouns. They will NOT tell you their AGAB.
He’s 6 feet/ 183 cm tall with a slim androgynous build.
They live in Tucker County, West Virginia. (I live in the same mountains in a small town myself)
He’s the great-grandkid of a survivor of the McColt family, from the Hooffield-McColt feud.
Great grandpappy Alistair Abernathy changed his name, gender, and location to get away from the feud. It didn’t work. He was framed as a serial killing cannibal for killing police and militia in the strikes and publicly executed.
Waylon’s facial difference is because the sheriff’s son and nephew shot him in the face, then cut her ear off and left her for dead.
Waylon works as a guide along the Allegheny Trail.
Oh and there’s some Creature out in the forest killing people. Surely that’s not going to cause problems.
