Foreigners of Rageanity

【≪ⅱ≫】I Dont Know Why I Bite

Y'all! You guys are making me feel like a father that went out for milk and then came back way later during his kid's teenage years with how you guys are celebrating my return! 😭💀

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The bunker is familiar, the bunker is comforting, the bunker is safe. The bunker has never failed him, it has never abandoned him-

Branched rubbed his eyes to keep the exhaustion at bay. He can't sleep, he has nightmares if he falls asleep. He has to plan. He has to plan more escape routes, in case his other ones become compromised. He has to plan for more non-perishable storage, in case he's down here for longer than five years. He has to plan more defenses, in case his bunker is invaded by smaller creatures like himself. He can thank Creek for that paranoia, now knowing Trolls can and will team up with Bergens who still want to eat Trolls to save their own skin, because what if that happens again? Every Troll knows where he lives now, any one of them could attempt to get in!

He needs to plan plan plan plan plan-

He needs to find (Y/n), he needs to track her down and bring her home. She said she'd come back when Bergen Town stopped looking for her.

They stopped looking three months ago, and she's still gone.

She's been gone for five months now.

She abandoned him. She's gone. She abandoned him just like his brothers-

No, no. Maybe she just got distracted, or is on her way back right now, or maybe she's wreaking havoc in some unsuspecting town and is breaking out of prison right now.

Yeah, that sounds more like something she'd do.

He's been rehearsing this story to himself over and over for months, because he needed to cling to it like a safety blanket.

But the thought still lingered, and along with it, a bitter anger. Bitter and angry about the fact that everything went horribly wrong after she left, and he could have prevented it all if he hadn't dropped his guard.

If he hadn't become reliant on her.

He spends all his time pacing and scribbling plans all over his parchment papers, and when he ran out of that, he begins scribbling on the walls... which is a habit he hasn't done in years. That's another thing he needs to plan for, he needs to stock up on as much parchment paper as he can possibly get his hands on, in case he's stuck down here for a long time, there's only so much space on his walls. If he can't write, he might literally go insane.

Sleep is something he fears now, with fresh new memories and paranoia seared into his mind, and old ones resurfacing once again, he dreads sleep with his whole being. Sleep means nightmares, and nightmares mean panic attacks, which leave him exhausted and the process repeats as he falls asleep again.

Memories of the Trolls, who he started to see as friends, blood splattered and smeared across the ground. Of his grandma being taken from him on Trollstice because he was too young and stupid to realize what day it was. Of the Great Escape, when he was only five, and the crowd was trampling each other to get out of the collapsing tunnels, screaming as they were crushed by cave-ins caused by the shovels and pickaxes breaking so easily through the ceiling, the wailing of Trolls as their friends and families were separated in the stampede, of Trolls being left behind because they were buried too far beneath the rubble, of only being five years old and being left behind in the panic and being forced to find his own way out of the tunnels and survive on his own, the glittery blood that seemed to permanently coat the ground, which he tried to treat like a game of hopscotch as he jumped over pools of sparkling pink and ignore the limbs and weak cries of those unfortunate enough to survive being crushed-