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 finds himself almost laughing at her frustration, her irritation, so clearly written on her face. Well, she had wanted the information, right? And he had told her before that he didn’t think he was a good enough person for her. Does she realize that now? Now that he’s standing before her, blighted, still slightly drunk, with loose lips and secrets that only four people knew – only two in this world if you include her.
And he wonders if she’ll tell his secrets – wonders if the moment they shared would be punishment for him enough, or if she’d take it a step further and let it all slip.
Instead, she continues on her rampage, while he remains with silence extending from his side, steel eyes remaining on her as the smoke drifts around him, clinging to his hair, to his clothes as he pulls another drag off of it and exhales through his nose in a heavy sigh. “Yes, Phoebe. Because being vulnerable got you killed.” He pauses, trying to unpack everything else she says with his sluggish mind, slow to figure out what the fuck she’s exactly saying.
He reaches for a moment, then, to rub at the tattoo along his neck, the compass, with enough pressure to warp it slightly with the movement as he exhales again. “The point is that I don’t want them linked. I don’t want that reminder. I don’t want to deal with the child within me that would run at the first sign of danger.” He manages to grit out, focusing on her as his hand drops from his neck. “That is not who I want to be.”
There’s another pause as he shakes his head, a smile crossing his face in surprise and exasperation. “I am human, yes. But I can certainly hate the parts of me that that are unneeded, unhelpful, dangerous.” Of course, not dangerous in the sense she’d likely think. Dangerous in the sense that in his vulnerability, his first instinct is to disappear rather than fight. And he much prefers to fight, if he had the gut instinct to do so.
With Lusea, he did, because she could hold her own – and he didn’t need to worry about keeping someone else safe. She could do it herself, and he could either run and hide, or fight alongside her. If she died, he’d die too. That was the plan, until his father destroyed that one too. It was also that vulnerable instinct within him that had him grabbing the fiery woman’s hand, the two of them prepared to jump from the building rather than be captured. Which, obviously didn’t work out.
He supposes both have their perks, but gods it pisses him off. And he grits his teeth, the muscle feathering in his jaw as he sighs once more and reaches for his temple to rub at it. “The blame is on myself, for the hundredth time, by the way. But I do give you the blame for making me that way, because it feels like I have to protect you. Because I want to protect you. That’s what brings it out, to run and focus on the things that should matter to someone like that. Running to protect life, a family, children, everything. But I never wanted that. I never thought I’d make it past twenty-three with the way I lived. I had no plans for any of it. And when I did, for the first fleeting moment, it was taken from me.” Another admission, shadowed eyes sharp and piercing as they look back to Phoebe. “Taken as quickly as a knife to a throat and a girl bleeding out.”
“And I found myself here, with so much that’s different, that there are things I wish I could change. And for a moment, as much as I denied it, I thought about it. A family with you.” Perhaps it’s a bit snarky, but the look he pines her with is referencing to their earlier conversations through this argument. “But I can’t change it.” There’s a pause. “And I fucked up, I admit that. But you didn’t have to help me with it. Lusea is here, alive, and I'm still this broken mess that can't get over it, over the possibilities we had. But it was easy with you, it was always easy with you.”
And he wonders if she’ll tell his secrets – wonders if the moment they shared would be punishment for him enough, or if she’d take it a step further and let it all slip.
Instead, she continues on her rampage, while he remains with silence extending from his side, steel eyes remaining on her as the smoke drifts around him, clinging to his hair, to his clothes as he pulls another drag off of it and exhales through his nose in a heavy sigh. “Yes, Phoebe. Because being vulnerable got you killed.” He pauses, trying to unpack everything else she says with his sluggish mind, slow to figure out what the fuck she’s exactly saying.
He reaches for a moment, then, to rub at the tattoo along his neck, the compass, with enough pressure to warp it slightly with the movement as he exhales again. “The point is that I don’t want them linked. I don’t want that reminder. I don’t want to deal with the child within me that would run at the first sign of danger.” He manages to grit out, focusing on her as his hand drops from his neck. “That is not who I want to be.”
There’s another pause as he shakes his head, a smile crossing his face in surprise and exasperation. “I am human, yes. But I can certainly hate the parts of me that that are unneeded, unhelpful, dangerous.” Of course, not dangerous in the sense she’d likely think. Dangerous in the sense that in his vulnerability, his first instinct is to disappear rather than fight. And he much prefers to fight, if he had the gut instinct to do so.
With Lusea, he did, because she could hold her own – and he didn’t need to worry about keeping someone else safe. She could do it herself, and he could either run and hide, or fight alongside her. If she died, he’d die too. That was the plan, until his father destroyed that one too. It was also that vulnerable instinct within him that had him grabbing the fiery woman’s hand, the two of them prepared to jump from the building rather than be captured. Which, obviously didn’t work out.
He supposes both have their perks, but gods it pisses him off. And he grits his teeth, the muscle feathering in his jaw as he sighs once more and reaches for his temple to rub at it. “The blame is on myself, for the hundredth time, by the way. But I do give you the blame for making me that way, because it feels like I have to protect you. Because I want to protect you. That’s what brings it out, to run and focus on the things that should matter to someone like that. Running to protect life, a family, children, everything. But I never wanted that. I never thought I’d make it past twenty-three with the way I lived. I had no plans for any of it. And when I did, for the first fleeting moment, it was taken from me.” Another admission, shadowed eyes sharp and piercing as they look back to Phoebe. “Taken as quickly as a knife to a throat and a girl bleeding out.”
“And I found myself here, with so much that’s different, that there are things I wish I could change. And for a moment, as much as I denied it, I thought about it. A family with you.” Perhaps it’s a bit snarky, but the look he pines her with is referencing to their earlier conversations through this argument. “But I can’t change it.” There’s a pause. “And I fucked up, I admit that. But you didn’t have to help me with it. Lusea is here, alive, and I'm still this broken mess that can't get over it, over the possibilities we had. But it was easy with you, it was always easy with you.”
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.
