// i came from a broken home, so look at all my broken bones
count me in, but count me out, i know what this is about //
count me in, but count me out, i know what this is about //
”No.” She says, and he gets it. He also selfishly appreciates her honesty in this moment, in not placating him with the very obvious masks of I’m fine. Because he knows that whether she tried to or not, the undercurrent of the bond they share would tell him otherwise.
But gods, she’s a tempest, beautiful in her storm as he approaches, even if she’s upset and angry. They are two sides of the same coin. The same god, the same brilliance to their souls.
The same damage.
There’s the shock, too, one he’s incapable of hiding despite how much he wants to with the flicker of mirrored lightning in his scars that strike through him, the shock to the core of the attuned bond that she probably would feel. He doesn’t mean to take it personally, but he can’t help it with how she denounces herself so quickly.
Like she hadn’t saved him from himself over and over again. “You’re everything to me, Ru.” He tries to keep it from coming out so shocked and broken, a whisper in the roaring storm she exudes, like his voice carries any weight here in the face of her fury.
But he doesn’t push her away, either. When she blots out her vision with the palms of her sore hands, he steps in, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her in against his chest. “You know that I’d rather you be here than out there.” After he’d let Nate go off to war and he remained blissfully unaware, only to shatter weeks after he’d passed. “And if you weren’t here, you wouldn’t have been able to help Flora when she needed you.” He murmurs into her muted sunlit crown. “It took three of us, and Dahlia still did that damage. But you were there to help her when Remi and I brought her in.” It’s small reassurances, trying to let his mental shields produce all of the love and adoration for her that he harbors and none of the sheer overwhelming panic at the thought of her diving into danger.
“I can’t do this without you.” Comes his more honest admission. Because they both know he’s only held together by toothpicks and aluminum foil, so fragile despite the masks and faces he puts on.
But gods, she’s a tempest, beautiful in her storm as he approaches, even if she’s upset and angry. They are two sides of the same coin. The same god, the same brilliance to their souls.
The same damage.
There’s the shock, too, one he’s incapable of hiding despite how much he wants to with the flicker of mirrored lightning in his scars that strike through him, the shock to the core of the attuned bond that she probably would feel. He doesn’t mean to take it personally, but he can’t help it with how she denounces herself so quickly.
Like she hadn’t saved him from himself over and over again. “You’re everything to me, Ru.” He tries to keep it from coming out so shocked and broken, a whisper in the roaring storm she exudes, like his voice carries any weight here in the face of her fury.
But he doesn’t push her away, either. When she blots out her vision with the palms of her sore hands, he steps in, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her in against his chest. “You know that I’d rather you be here than out there.” After he’d let Nate go off to war and he remained blissfully unaware, only to shatter weeks after he’d passed. “And if you weren’t here, you wouldn’t have been able to help Flora when she needed you.” He murmurs into her muted sunlit crown. “It took three of us, and Dahlia still did that damage. But you were there to help her when Remi and I brought her in.” It’s small reassurances, trying to let his mental shields produce all of the love and adoration for her that he harbors and none of the sheer overwhelming panic at the thought of her diving into danger.
“I can’t do this without you.” Comes his more honest admission. Because they both know he’s only held together by toothpicks and aluminum foil, so fragile despite the masks and faces he puts on.
the flood
// i'm the next, so get in line
just let me have my fucking time //
just let me have my fucking time //
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.
