they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes
he's a demon, with a crown of blood
He gives into her, obliging her demands and wants, lost in the confusion of his mind and the intoxication of her, and so he gives her what she wants, unable and unwilling to stop himself. But soon, when the alcohol and the tonic wear off, he’ll realize what he’s done. He’ll realize it, and there’ll be plenty to pay for it. For the moment, however, he’s living in the moment, everything of his past gone from his mind, only her and the sounds she makes, her touch, the marks she leaves. And he hones into them like they’re a beacon, rocking with her until she shatters, trembling and sudden, and he almost gasps in response to it.
But he’s not far behind, and without thinking or caring, he holds her tighter to him while she clings to him. His own end meeting him with a sharp bite and a groan, a small amount of sweat sheen along his tattooed shoulders from the heat of them and the fire in the fireplace. He melts with her, lips finding the bite along her neck and kissing gently, then to her lips, steel eyes seeking out honey brown. And with it, a slow realization, slow and muddy beneath the layers of that affecting him. The blight, the tonic she had given him, the alcohol. It all begins to wear slowly, whether through sweat or the fact he’d given in, he’s unsure. But he’s pretty sure he knows one thing, he’s fucked up.
And with it, he pulls himself away from her – heart still racing and breath still hot and panting.
But he’s not far behind, and without thinking or caring, he holds her tighter to him while she clings to him. His own end meeting him with a sharp bite and a groan, a small amount of sweat sheen along his tattooed shoulders from the heat of them and the fire in the fireplace. He melts with her, lips finding the bite along her neck and kissing gently, then to her lips, steel eyes seeking out honey brown. And with it, a slow realization, slow and muddy beneath the layers of that affecting him. The blight, the tonic she had given him, the alcohol. It all begins to wear slowly, whether through sweat or the fact he’d given in, he’s unsure. But he’s pretty sure he knows one thing, he’s fucked up.
And with it, he pulls himself away from her – heart still racing and breath still hot and panting.
does it look like he's still under your control?
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.
