i am the man we both couldn't stand, i can't wash the dirt from my hands
what was it like to feel in love?
She’s shaking him, or is she shaking herself? All he knows is that he trembles too, from the blight, from the weight of her eyes, from the shot to his gut. He can see the panic and the fear that linger in her eyes and he hates it. He hates himself for it. A brand new world, a different version of himself, and she’s still the same – waltzing into the world mere seconds after he had last held her, when he had spent years drifting from place to place, fighting back and taking, and leaving far too many beds to count.
He certainly doesn’t tell her that bit.
But the blight courses through him, causing him to laugh before he professes his love for her, once again. But does it even mean anything anymore? He could tell it to her over and over again, through the rooftops of their ransack home, but would it ever mean what it did before? When his loyalties and eyes were only for her, when he had proven it over and over again. He is turning into his father, with the mistakes he’s making here, and he can’t fight it as those thoughts take over.
His flame pushes him back, avoiding his trembling hands, and as imbalanced as he is, his spine meets the blanket atop the snow – steel eyes looking up to her as she hovers above him. ’Good’, he thinks to himself. He wants her to act out the aggression, he wants to feel something else other than the pain of what he’s done. She curses him, an arm raised for a fist, and for a split second he doesn’t think she’ll do it. But her eyes show the intensity beneath, how terrified he is, and he’s distracted by it when her fist connects.
He’s forgotten how hard she can hit, having watched her do it a million times before to everyone else but him, and it rattles him – enough to split his lip that he has managed to bite briefly before impact. Blood bubbles up to the surface, crimson laced and edged with black, trickling to the side of his mouth as her voice shakes and he grits his teeth. But the blight within him has activated further, with the punch, and the mood swings shift and take over as he uses his strength – far more than she has, to flip them so she’s underneath him.
“I went to her to see if it would be gone soon. People have said that they’re getting better, and I’m getting worse.” He hisses, his own teeth bared. The unblighted version of himself would’ve never done this, but he can’t help himself as he drifts closer to her. “The midwife has the blight, I went to see if she was getting better, if there was hope for me – for us.” His hands pin her on either side. “Those wounds you stitched up? She gave them to me. She said things I didn’t know she meant or not. She used my mother against me, against us. I went to also see if that was true.” He spits back, the odd colored blood drifting down his chin.
He certainly doesn’t tell her that bit.
But the blight courses through him, causing him to laugh before he professes his love for her, once again. But does it even mean anything anymore? He could tell it to her over and over again, through the rooftops of their ransack home, but would it ever mean what it did before? When his loyalties and eyes were only for her, when he had proven it over and over again. He is turning into his father, with the mistakes he’s making here, and he can’t fight it as those thoughts take over.
His flame pushes him back, avoiding his trembling hands, and as imbalanced as he is, his spine meets the blanket atop the snow – steel eyes looking up to her as she hovers above him. ’Good’, he thinks to himself. He wants her to act out the aggression, he wants to feel something else other than the pain of what he’s done. She curses him, an arm raised for a fist, and for a split second he doesn’t think she’ll do it. But her eyes show the intensity beneath, how terrified he is, and he’s distracted by it when her fist connects.
He’s forgotten how hard she can hit, having watched her do it a million times before to everyone else but him, and it rattles him – enough to split his lip that he has managed to bite briefly before impact. Blood bubbles up to the surface, crimson laced and edged with black, trickling to the side of his mouth as her voice shakes and he grits his teeth. But the blight within him has activated further, with the punch, and the mood swings shift and take over as he uses his strength – far more than she has, to flip them so she’s underneath him.
“I went to her to see if it would be gone soon. People have said that they’re getting better, and I’m getting worse.” He hisses, his own teeth bared. The unblighted version of himself would’ve never done this, but he can’t help himself as he drifts closer to her. “The midwife has the blight, I went to see if she was getting better, if there was hope for me – for us.” His hands pin her on either side. “Those wounds you stitched up? She gave them to me. She said things I didn’t know she meant or not. She used my mother against me, against us. I went to also see if that was true.” He spits back, the odd colored blood drifting down his chin.
i can't scrub the black from my lungs
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.
