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 watches his words land, watches while she shifts and changes, and there’s some small form of surprise that cascades over him at the results of it all. Sure, he had been harsh, but life was harsh, and things just simply were and weren’t. He wonders, silently to himself, what a future with only her would have been like, if this was any indication of an argument. At least she’s grown a backbone, he can take some pride in himself for that. And when she shrieks to him, he manages to crack a small smile at that, stepping away enough to take another drag off the cigarette, regarding her and her words as he breaths it out through his nose.
“It’s not all on you.” He interjects, deep, rumbling, cracked. But he does raise a brow when she says he was right, not having expected to hear that from all the blame she’s placed on him. But it slides back into the same thing, of him not caring for her reaction, for her response to it. But what else can he say? The blame is on him, and he knows it. But for this? For what’s happened tonight? After he’s admitted to having feelings for her still and her going through with it in his weakest moment?
But ah, unfortunately for Phoebe, where once it had been a perk for him to remain during arguments, he wonders if she still appreciates him not just walking out. No, he finishes the fights, the arguments, regardless of who wins. He lets the moment settle, silence despite the resounding reverb of her scream while he drags from the cigarette, surprisingly calm despite the tremble to his hands and the flush to his face. “The thing is, Phoebe, I didn’t have much of a choice. Did I?” His voice remains that eerie calm. “You were, are, always have been enough.” Steel eyes skate back toward her. “That’s exactly why you’re my weakness.” He shrugs, stepping away from her to turn away for a moment, reaching for another cigarette because gods this wasn’t enough.
“You’re not weak yourself, no. You’ve learned a lot, become a lot. Done a lot.” He finally manages to light that one before it hangs from his lips as he looks back over to her. “You’re my weakness. I’m not the same around you, everything is different and it scares me.” He pulls the cigarette from his lips as he turns more fully toward her. “And I can’t pick you because of that. I know what the word means. But choosing you scares me Phoebe, and I haven’t been this scared since I was seventeen.” An admittance, a softness, the smaller part of him rising up to take control again despite his trembling attempts to swallow him whole.
“It’s not all on you.” He interjects, deep, rumbling, cracked. But he does raise a brow when she says he was right, not having expected to hear that from all the blame she’s placed on him. But it slides back into the same thing, of him not caring for her reaction, for her response to it. But what else can he say? The blame is on him, and he knows it. But for this? For what’s happened tonight? After he’s admitted to having feelings for her still and her going through with it in his weakest moment?
But ah, unfortunately for Phoebe, where once it had been a perk for him to remain during arguments, he wonders if she still appreciates him not just walking out. No, he finishes the fights, the arguments, regardless of who wins. He lets the moment settle, silence despite the resounding reverb of her scream while he drags from the cigarette, surprisingly calm despite the tremble to his hands and the flush to his face. “The thing is, Phoebe, I didn’t have much of a choice. Did I?” His voice remains that eerie calm. “You were, are, always have been enough.” Steel eyes skate back toward her. “That’s exactly why you’re my weakness.” He shrugs, stepping away from her to turn away for a moment, reaching for another cigarette because gods this wasn’t enough.
“You’re not weak yourself, no. You’ve learned a lot, become a lot. Done a lot.” He finally manages to light that one before it hangs from his lips as he looks back over to her. “You’re my weakness. I’m not the same around you, everything is different and it scares me.” He pulls the cigarette from his lips as he turns more fully toward her. “And I can’t pick you because of that. I know what the word means. But choosing you scares me Phoebe, and I haven’t been this scared since I was seventeen.” An admittance, a softness, the smaller part of him rising up to take control again despite his trembling attempts to swallow him whole.
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.
