❛❛ You can miss me with the bullshit, I can see right through your tears. ❜❜

                                                         

                                                         

Teaser

That Night? - Sara Keys

Ω

The day after you said "Goodbye"

All I did was lay in bed and Cry

But after one month, I started to move on

And after two, I felt alright

Then three months in, you were off my mind

And month four and five, I was living my life

I was better and didn't have to try

Not to think of you, 'til you reached out

And said, " that night?"

We went for a drive, 2:30 in the morning

I kissed you, it was pouring

We held each other tight before the night was over

You looked over your shoulder

Oh, I was doing fine

You said, " that night?

that night?"

Oh, I was doing fine

You said, " that night?

that night?"

The day after you had reached out

I was broken for the second time around

I prayed on the third day that I would be okay

That I'd forget you were ever mine

Oh, I don't think you realize

How long I had to fight to be living my life

To get better and never have to try

Not to think of you until you reached out

And said, " that night?"

We went for a drive, 2:30 in the morning

I kissed you, it was pouring

We held each other tight before the night was over

You looked over your shoulder

Oh, I was doing fine

You said, " that night?

that night?"

Oh, I was doing fine

You said, " that night?

that night?"

We went for a drive, 2:30 in the morning

I kissed you, it was pouring

We held each other tight before the night was over

You looked over your shoulder

Oh, I was doing fine

You said, " that night?

that night?"

Oh, I was doing fine

You said, " that night?

that night?"

Ω

                                                         

                                                         

Exposé

Mortala Dreadnoughtus

/More - ta - la\ /Dred - naw - tuhs\ The name Mortala is an adjective meaning "Unrelenting and deadly ; involving loss of divine grace or spiritual death" while Dreadnoughtus is a word meaning "Fear nothing" and is the name of a massive dinosaur. Mortala goes my "Mo" or simply Dreadnoughtus because rarely anyone knows her real name. Mo obtained the alias of Mo by herself because she was simply sick of constantly hearing her name being butchered. It's unclear what Mortala's true last name is but her government name is Mortala, which is true, as for middle and last names she doesn't confirm whether she takes her father or mothers last name. She doesn't talk about her family at all because they're dead. She doesn't care if others call her Mo or simply Dreadnoughtus, as long as they don't bother her about her past then she's fine.

                                                         

Birth Certificate

Born female on May 25, 5 years old, Mortala identifies as "that bitch" because she takes zero shit from even the biggest dogs in the world. The bigger they are the harder they fall. She's Demisexual, meaning she will not find anyone, even romantically, attractive unless she forms a bond, usually emotional, with the other. Mortala never had nor has a gender preference, male or female or anything in between doesn't phase her. Her sign is Gemini and this means she can be two faced at times but it's not as extreme and expressive as June Geminis. Her month's flower is Hawthorne and Lavender. Her birth stone is emerald. Whether or not she liked these flowers and stones is up for speculation, she rarely likes anything and doesn't voice her opinions as she should. Mortala, if it isn't obvious, is a Bull Herder Dog and like the breed name sake, they were bred for bull herding. This meant breeding dogs built for strength and the ability to hold their own against Bulls without getting hurt. The breed is but not so in the way of expensive trivialities, but this means her breed was bred to be a working line. Her physical description is a tan-rust and blank brindle coat with black mask and black paws. She's got short, small cut looking ears for her benefits to not get caught up in a bull's hooves or horns if charged and trampled. Her body is covered in scars along her legs, chest, upper forelegs, and hind legs near her flank. She's built for muscle, don't let her size fool you, she can sprint pretty fast and launch her body far enough and hard enough to topple bulls. She's, ironically, fluent in Italian and has a heavy accent.

                                                         

Introspective

Mortala has always been like a locked box. Unable to get the keys to open it and see what's inside. Don't bother shaking it because it won't make noise. Being a selective mute, she prefers to be quiet and will rarely speak up. Her voice is soft like and barely ed when hearing it. Positively speaking? Mo is thoughtful. That's it. She won't do things out of pure vengeance but overall she's very elusive, an enigma, who is apathetic. Feelings don't truly interest her and she's a morally grey character who doesn't fall on a specific spectrum anywhere. She does have a coping mechanism when it comes to rabies and those who are sick. She has the urge to put them down. Why let them suffer? Especially if it's lethal. It's such a bad habit, she tends to switch off her humanity in the blink of an eye. She tends to black out during these moments and when she does become responsive, she doesn't feel anything about what happened. Death becomes her. Mortala also doesn't like or love anything nor does she hate things, it's more of a how much she will tolerate it and if she will tolerate it at all. Skewed in her ways of morals, she's best when it comes to the logical, cynical, side of life as emotions evade her. Her mental state isn't healthy like it should be, she can't comprehend fear so all she feels is rage and anger, the need to hurt and lash out as a result. Despite these volatile reactions, she is oddly in tune with the calm and quiet. That's how she usually is, eerily calm or viscerally violent.

                                                         

                                                         

Kinship

Mother :: Cordata Reepr

Father :: Orient Kourse

Cordata has always been a staple in Mortala's year of life. At the prime age of 4, she and Orient had one litter together. Both were full, purebred Bull Herder Dogs. Orient wasn't sure if he'd be a good father. He ended up doing well enough to instill morals on her. None stuck. Unfortunately, Mortala never got to know them outside of parental figures as they caught rabies and went mad.

Siblings :: Dena, Yuka, Renola, Aiden, Kevo, and Liam

Dena was the small runt, Yuka the skinny one, Renola was Mortala's twin, Aiden the independent child, Kevo the biggest and always threw his weight around, and Liam, the oddity. She always was more comfortable with Liam, despite his sickly appearance and her mother's blatant attempt to keep him solitary. He was the first to die. Then Dena. Yuka. Aiden and Kevin fought it the longest and Renola? She dug her own grave and died in it. Mortala can barely what they all look like, but Liam and Renola's faces were so vivid she still can see them in her nightmares.

Mate/love interest :: Pending ... / open

Mortala had one. But he's dead now.

                                                         

                                                         

Backstory

Mentions death and murder. Minor cursing.

They swear up and down legends make a legacy. That I'm from greatness, molded, shaped, branded to be something predetermined. My mind? Nothing but an obedient subject, forever a slave to the greater design that drags me forward.

Innocent. That's how we all start? One of seven. It's peculiar how a mother has a favorite even when she shouldn't. It's like an injured dog, they favor a leg, a paw, an eye, a side of the mouth they chew on, an ear, hell even an itchy pad. Tiny were our little bodies as they stared down at us with clandestine words laced with milk and honey that was the warmth of a mother and the firm protection of a father. I won't lie and say I had it rough, I didn't. I had what most pups out there never get. A mother. A father. Siblings to play with and love forever. But everything becomes memorable. Memoirs written by the dead to be told by the living, biographies scratched into the earth in the form of paws, beliefs and motifs left behind by greatness. And they expect children to do better?

My existence has always been to prove whether or not the dead were worth it. I miss the simple life of getting fat and sleeping in the comfort of grunts of sisters and brothers and a mother's gentle nose and warm kiss of her cleaning tongue. Oh to play with my father and his gentle voice scolds me haphazardly when I accidentally bite too hard on the runt. Or whenever I wandered too far from his sight, always saying if anything happens to me, he'd get the tail end of it from mom. Now?

Now, that's revolting. It's all a bitter tinged of sour milk in the back of my throat. Like rotten meat you swallow whole to avoid tasting and end up getting the aftertaste in your throat regardless. It hangs there in my lungs, burning and choking me up in my sleep. Keeping me awake at night, keeping on edge for hours until sleep claims me, only to plunge me into a deep, freezing pit of water that is the truth. Truth. Mother never liked to hear that. The truth of what happened to dad. To my siblings. To her. It's why she told me to never hesitate.

Hesitation leads to second chances and doubt. You never sow the seed of doubt unless you want to lose. And losing means death in our game.

Especially in the game of love. After insanity took my father, the frothing and staggering, the void, dead look in his eyes as he chewed on the bodies of my brothers and sisters. Those who lived? Turned just like him. Devoid of love. Momma always said what took dad was him letting the devil inside. Then she started saying the devil was getting into her. Then the devil was me. Ain't that bout a bitch? I guess she was right. Something was never right with me. Maybe that's why she thought the devil was in me, became me, and I it.

I can still taste my mother's blood in my mouth. The look of peace that settled in her eyes, the relaxation of her body as she went limp in my jaws. They slacked up sooner than I expected. I half thought I'd go insane next.

A part of me did that day when I burned the image of my dead family in my mind. No yearling should have gone through that shit. Ever. But I wish that on all my enemies so that they too may know pain, to wallow in it, be born from it. Like ××××××. He knows not his influence on me. Touch. I hate it so much I can't stand the sight of it. ×××××× wasn't a bad guy either. He was so patient, so kind, so sweet... It still makes bile want to rupture from my stomach at the thought. We were never going to make it.

I knew it when he started to change. He stopped trying. In my eyes, he got weak. Sickly even.

Well I couldn't help it when he started bleeding from his nose. Poor ××××××, he had something terminal. When his fur was slowly coming out, his hearing slacked, eyes became cloudy, and then he started eating himself. I could only watch for so long.

So I did what any good friend would do. What he asked me to do. What my mom asked me to do. What they all asked me to.

To not be afraid. To kill them.

                                                         

                                                         

Credentials

oc temp maker :: :anger:

oc owner :: :anger:

oc creator :: :anger:

face claim :: Rook @the.bullherder

tags :: #myhaocs

notes :: Playlist: The Bridge - d4vd, Romantic Homicide - d4vd, Don't Forget About Mr - d4vd, Start a Riot - Duckwrth, Shaboozey, Escapism - RAYE, Hurts so good - Astrid S

                                                         

                                                         

❛❛ And after his Oscar winning performance, I left the room and never saw him again. ❜❜