if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
i know you wanna go to heaven
Who did she think she was?
Did she honestly think that she stood a chance?
His arrogance returns and he recovers from the trap he’s fallen into, eyes narrowed and sharp, predatory as they linger on her tear stained face. More so, when she has the audacity to laugh in his face. “You. You’re just bad with words.” He doesn’t even have time to bite a retort back until her hands are pressing in on his throat.
He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he doesn’t know if he has a choice.
But gods how confusing it makes all of this.
He hisses, grabbing onto her arms and prying them off of him to pin them down in the snow with one hand, the other pressed across her chest as he leans in close, nose brushing against her blackened cheekbone. “You shouldn’t love me Phoebe.” He tells her, regaining control over his hoarse voice, from a bruised throat and the blood that drips from it. And he grins through it all.
“You might have to die for me.” He taunts, all arrogance over her sharp words and barbs that he’s certain he’ll have to fix later. But first, he needs to plant that flower, and he has no idea how to go about it other than distracting her. And with the surprise that came with his recalling of the snowman, however brief it was, gives him an idea he knows deep down he’ll regret later in the face of the darkness that sweeps over the midwife. His head tilts toward her and he damns all the darkness and blight, the tar and the earth, fighting mixed signals within him, as he leans in to kiss her – to distract, to confuse, to pause so he can finish the fucking job.
Did she honestly think that she stood a chance?
His arrogance returns and he recovers from the trap he’s fallen into, eyes narrowed and sharp, predatory as they linger on her tear stained face. More so, when she has the audacity to laugh in his face. “You. You’re just bad with words.” He doesn’t even have time to bite a retort back until her hands are pressing in on his throat.
He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he doesn’t know if he has a choice.
But gods how confusing it makes all of this.
He hisses, grabbing onto her arms and prying them off of him to pin them down in the snow with one hand, the other pressed across her chest as he leans in close, nose brushing against her blackened cheekbone. “You shouldn’t love me Phoebe.” He tells her, regaining control over his hoarse voice, from a bruised throat and the blood that drips from it. And he grins through it all.
“You might have to die for me.” He taunts, all arrogance over her sharp words and barbs that he’s certain he’ll have to fix later. But first, he needs to plant that flower, and he has no idea how to go about it other than distracting her. And with the surprise that came with his recalling of the snowman, however brief it was, gives him an idea he knows deep down he’ll regret later in the face of the darkness that sweeps over the midwife. His head tilts toward her and he damns all the darkness and blight, the tar and the earth, fighting mixed signals within him, as he leans in to kiss her – to distract, to confuse, to pause so he can finish the fucking job.
but you're human tonight
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.
