ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.
He’s so tired of having to defend himself, of feeling the need to in order to not be walked over by those he was supposed to be in charge of. Perhaps this whole governing ordeal has hit him far more sensitively, far deeper than anything he had ever anticipated. Everyone seems to get under his skin, everything seems to continue happening, and once when a door closes?
It feels like ten more open in its place.
And he’s tired.
She gives a half laugh to his comment of choosing wrong – her admission that she’s never said she was good at making choices only have him fracturing more internally, silent as he wraps his wings around himself, as he closes himself off, as he swallows the blood that continues to stain his tongue.
She steps forward and he watches her not unlike a wild animal, that if she were to get to close he’d bite, and he knows just how volatile he is but he simply can’t stop. So he closes himself off more – for her protection and everyone else’s at this point. It’s easier that way.
He can self destruct as he’s prone to do.
It’s easier that way.
Beneath the wings, one clawed hand grips his arm with a tight iron fist, digging into his skin so that he might feel something else other than the internal rampage that wars on in his head, and the Flood tries so desperately hard to regulate his breathing.
“He was right about me, Maeve.”
It feels like ten more open in its place.
And he’s tired.
She gives a half laugh to his comment of choosing wrong – her admission that she’s never said she was good at making choices only have him fracturing more internally, silent as he wraps his wings around himself, as he closes himself off, as he swallows the blood that continues to stain his tongue.
She steps forward and he watches her not unlike a wild animal, that if she were to get to close he’d bite, and he knows just how volatile he is but he simply can’t stop. So he closes himself off more – for her protection and everyone else’s at this point. It’s easier that way.
He can self destruct as he’s prone to do.
It’s easier that way.
Beneath the wings, one clawed hand grips his arm with a tight iron fist, digging into his skin so that he might feel something else other than the internal rampage that wars on in his head, and the Flood tries so desperately hard to regulate his breathing.
“He was right about me, Maeve.”
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.
