you should know, that i'm a ticking time bomb
and you're getting close
She laughs, and then she cries — hot tears running down her cheeks like rivers, and he wonders if maybe it was better this way — better to stop pretending that he could get over it so quickly when he couldn’t. When he knew things were wrong within him, broken jagged pieces that she was bound to cut herself on. But she tells him that she’s just as broken, just as fucked up, and he can’t see that in her. And perhaps that’s part of the problem.
But she turns and looks at him, and he’s covered in feathers along those shoulders, filling out tattoos from another life. There’s shadows in his eyes that are so dark, so deserted and haunted that it’s almost like it’s not him. He’s never wanted to make her cry, never wanted to break hearts, and yet here he was. Again.
She tells him she loves him too — that she wants to stay through the shadows, and he knows she can’t handle them. Deep down, he knows that she'll hate it, turn into everyone else and hate him for it too. Was it better to make her stay for the journey until she learns to resent him? Or was it better to take time for space for him to figure it out? He doesn’t know.
That’s where the problem lies though, isn’t it? That he never knows? As indecisive, impulsive as it comes. And it has gotten people killed, people hurt.
She sinks down now, fully breaking, and it hurts. But he’s moving now, reaching for her to pull her in, to let her cry and do whatever she wants to do to him because he probably deserves it. “I’m sorry.” He says, hushed and swelling with emotions that swim behind that stone exterior. “I just… I think I need time. To realize she’s not coming back.” It had taken him three years the first time. And then she’d come back, all that progress thrown out the window.
Perhaps part of him hopes she’ll come back again, though gods knew she would probably kill him for the things he’s done, the decisions he’s made, the people he’s hurt. “I… Want you to stay, I do, but I think…” He trails off clenching his jaw, muscles feathering therein with tension. “It’s better if I figure it out… I’m sorry Maea. I really am.”
Perhaps he’s already broken what Lusea last said to him. To never grow soft. And here he was, that shell shocked, broken boy of seventeen, piercing through the exterior of a man who wore a mask so well — so well — he’d hoped he had suffocated him.
But she turns and looks at him, and he’s covered in feathers along those shoulders, filling out tattoos from another life. There’s shadows in his eyes that are so dark, so deserted and haunted that it’s almost like it’s not him. He’s never wanted to make her cry, never wanted to break hearts, and yet here he was. Again.
She tells him she loves him too — that she wants to stay through the shadows, and he knows she can’t handle them. Deep down, he knows that she'll hate it, turn into everyone else and hate him for it too. Was it better to make her stay for the journey until she learns to resent him? Or was it better to take time for space for him to figure it out? He doesn’t know.
That’s where the problem lies though, isn’t it? That he never knows? As indecisive, impulsive as it comes. And it has gotten people killed, people hurt.
She sinks down now, fully breaking, and it hurts. But he’s moving now, reaching for her to pull her in, to let her cry and do whatever she wants to do to him because he probably deserves it. “I’m sorry.” He says, hushed and swelling with emotions that swim behind that stone exterior. “I just… I think I need time. To realize she’s not coming back.” It had taken him three years the first time. And then she’d come back, all that progress thrown out the window.
Perhaps part of him hopes she’ll come back again, though gods knew she would probably kill him for the things he’s done, the decisions he’s made, the people he’s hurt. “I… Want you to stay, I do, but I think…” He trails off clenching his jaw, muscles feathering therein with tension. “It’s better if I figure it out… I’m sorry Maea. I really am.”
Perhaps he’s already broken what Lusea last said to him. To never grow soft. And here he was, that shell shocked, broken boy of seventeen, piercing through the exterior of a man who wore a mask so well — so well — he’d hoped he had suffocated him.
so better watch your step, because i'm about to blow
and where the pieces land i guess we'll never know
SuNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
