felled in the night by the ones you think you love
they will come for you
His name falls from Phoebe’s lips, but it’s muddled beneath the rollercoaster of emotions he’s going through. He moves to her, the language of home rough and foreign to most but beautiful when it falls from his lips, when his hands reach her cheeks and her neck, proving she’s real — and he realizes he can finally hold her again, to feel her breath as it rakes across his skin, no longer covered in blood and bruising and pain. And he finds he can’t believe it, despite the hands that are very clearly holding onto her. His fingers nearly tremble at the nickname, the way she whispers it — so opposite from the last time it had fallen from her lips (a sound of proclamation, of knowing what’s coming, of saying goodbye). And he finds his eyes swimming, unable to fall with the relief that floods through him, not understanding how it had happened, how such a miraculous thing could have happened.
He nearly holds his breath as her hand lifts, waiting for it to touch his cheek, his collarbone, his jaw — all of her favorite places —
— SMACK
He had forgotten how hard she could hit, having watched her do it to dozens of men beneath the bar. It’s enough to jar him, to hear her words as he slips back an inch from her, a tear falling with the hit that he quickly wipes away from a cheek that stings and burns bright red. “I am real.” He horsley tells her, not realizing Phoebe has left. He hadn’t cared, the darkest part of his soul burning and gleaming the moment the spark of her flint eyes had met him. And he knew, somewhere in that good part of him, that it was an awful thing to do.
But he can’t help himself, she is here and he is here, and no longer does the threat of wars raging around them, blades looming at their throats. It is a safety he never knew how much he needed it. But he can’t move from her, the way she captivates him. He has grown soft, soft because of her and because of Phoebe, of not needing to be the strong face he always had been, full of jokes and rule breaking. He wasn’t certain he even had broken any laws since arriving.
Yet, it’s been so long, and she stands before him like a ghost and he can’t move from her. Hands slip from her face and shoulders to brace along the wall, head lowering just enough to place along her forehead, silver eyes shuttering despite the red tinge to his cheek. “I lost you, Luci.” He rumbles, feeling the pain of that day rush back the closer he is to her, almost like he can feel the slickness of her blood on his hands. “How are you here?” His voice shakes, muscle feathering in his jaw. ‘I held you, I cried for you, and I watched you die.’ Sits just on the tip of his tongue.
He realizes then that Phoebe had been the one to bring her back to him, and a small amount of guilt begins to burn in his chest.
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.
