#traitor?

[malin5520]

What if Lana...

Was a traitor? And an monster?...

Also in the background are the telltown OCS from @terroristis3638 @honeymochibubbletea @cabasasa and maybe even @salmonlover955 's persona

[thelargek]

Finished Fallen Dark Angel. I really need to get a better camera lol

[elizabeth-halime]

Radu Cel Frumos (1437?1439-1475?)

[fedzkun]

Who did you theorize to be the traitor?

…?

In…Among Us?

[ghostbumps]

◜ Uraraka Ochako/Ochaco icons  ─ Version 4 ◞

⇢ Reblog or like if u save / Reblogue ou dê like se salvar

⇢ Don't repost as your own / Não reposte como se fosse seu

[alani-akemi]

Ray Is Such A Whore~

[asneakyrogue]

Why?

It was my pleasure.

The words were still rattling around in his head. They had started in that room, with that man. They had followed him out, haunting him, taunting him. They refused to leave. They had chased him still, guilting him even as he was rescued, weighting him down, sapping his strength, his will to continue.  

I didn’t deserve to get out.

Llywellen hadn’t stuck around, hadn’t chosen to speak to anyone, to see anyone after Afina’s actions. The most he had managed was a feeble thank you to the human who proved to be far better, far braver than him. His injuries as they were, the remnants of his fight from earlier in the week, went mostly untreated. He couldn’t bear the idea of being helped, taking the time from those who had little to spare in the first place. He’d left that night. He’d fled that night.

I’m a traitor.

The title was sharp. It bit into him far harder than any insult, more deeply than any weapon. It also felt right, justified, perfect, and painfully so. He knew he was a traitor. He knew how he was a traitor. He just didn’t know why.

The first fight…He’d been injured. Being kicked, being trampled, neither set one up for success. He’d woken up far later, surrounded by not allies but enemies. Llywellen had been dragged off…and that was where things had taken a wrong turn.

He wished he’d been tortured. That would have been justifiable. But he hadn’t. Alone in that room with his Alliance “interrogator,” he’d simply answered whatever was asked. No prodding had been needed. The man spoke, he replied, some mutual understanding reached. It had been civil. It had been…wrong. And he had went along with it.

It makes no sense.

It didn’t make sense. Llywellen wouldn’t have sold them all out like that. He couldn’t have. He shouldn’t have. The memory, so easily visited and frequently cropping up when he least wanted it, showed the opposite. Rather than fighting, rather than keeping quiet, rather than doing anything else, Llywellen had betrayed those who trusted him.

Why?!

No matter how much he thought back, he couldn’t answer that question. Some parts were fuzzy and vague, others sharp and clear. The human, or worgen, it was so hard to actually tell between the two sometimes, had asked him questions mostly about the Dominion. Llywellen had answered all of them, meeting each with a perfect reply. He’d spoken of numbers, divisions, troops, higher-ups, political tensions. There had been no hesitation, no pausing beyond collecting his thoughts.

He didn’t know how the information had been used. It could have had some hand in the Alliance’s eventual victory, but then again, it might not have. How it could be used was beyond him. It would be used, though. He had little doubt about that.

He couldn’t remember what had been going through his head. He could remember what was said, but not what was felt, what was thought. He supposed it didn’t really matter. There was no changing it now, no resets, no fixing it. He’d done it, he’d said those things. Not anyone else, just him. But it also hadn’t been him.

It was my pleasure.

Why had he said that?! Llywellen was far from pleased now. As if hiding could somehow make the truth disappear, the rogue was backed into a literal and metaphorical corner. His knees were at his chest, his head covered by his arms, his back wedged into the awkward space.

Making himself smaller wasn’t helping. The dull ache in his knees, in his neck weren’t distracting. Instead, he found himself using the painful twinge to mark the passage of the hours. Time was moving too slow.

Furniture was in disarray. He’d moved things around. Blocking the windows felt good. Crowding his space right. He was hidden in the mess.

The door had been left unblocked, unburdened. He had no intentions of covering it. If someone came for him, he wasn’t about to fight that. They could have him.

Treasonous.

He was. Betraying the Dominion, betraying the Horde. That counted as treason to the best of his knowledge. The consequences would be severe but deserved. He couldn’t defend his actions. He’d willingly shared information with the Alliance. He wouldn’t beg for any kind of mercy or deals. He wasn’t going to run from them.

It was my pleasure.

He’d circled around again. His mind was stressed from repeating, repeating, repeating. He hadn’t slept recently. How long could a person go without sleep? The last part of the conversation was the clearest, the part he could recall with absolute clarity.

It was my pleasure. Glory to the Alliance for all time. I can't wait to see those traitorous bastards meet the King's justice.

It was my pleasure. He didn’t see how it could have been. He…didn’t feel like someone who should have been pleased with his actions. But he had said it. He knew he had. He recalled each word, the pattern of tongue and mouth forming sounds, letters, words. He’d smiled when all was said and done. That almost made it worse. 

Did he really want to see them dead? He knew he didn’t. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.  It had been him who spoke, him who remembered, but it also hadn’t been him. That person had seemed too cold, too calculated, too wrong. 

Traitor.

There were too many words he could use to describe himself now. None of them were comforting.

Disloyal.

Oath-breaker.

Lier.

Turncoat.

He couldn’t keep quiet about this. He couldn’t not say something. He wouldn’t deny what he had done, he was willing to accept whatever came as a result.

Llywellen’s fingers dug painfully into his scalp.

But why?

The situation reminded him of another time. He’d thought that his issues were over, thought he was finally fine. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it had started up again. 

It could be worse, but he couldn’t let it be worse.

While easier said than done, he would turn himself in. Just…not at that moment.