[ϟ] “Wasn’t my intention“.

It truly wasn’t,  if he could be honest for a moment.Leaving without notice wasn’t something he liked or enjoyed, but something he needed to do. His life was supposed to have ended a long time ago. Being alive justified everything others like him had fought for --Delsin, almost risking his life to stop the DUP, the others trying to be accepted.But still. He had no face to show her. He couldn’t even look at her.

Then, Seattle. Seattle isn’t helping. The noises of the city are not enough. Walking with another name, hiding from the cameras, growing hair on head and face, deny he even knows who Cole MacGrath is...The sound of the lie isn’t helping. Nights were the hardest when he was alone, when he had her in his arms. Sleep would bring nightmares of events he had decided to forget, a surge of power he could not control sometimes. Pain. Lots of pain. The kind that settles in the chest and radiates to every corner, even the soul. The kind of pain that booze soothes when it banishes sobriety but clings onto what happened and helps you accept that nothing was your fault.

He could deal with mornings. He was used to not sleeping before Empire City -and his life- went to shit. He could run around, pretend to be another person. He would get a morning kiss, a speech on how to be careful and to come back to her. He could handle mornings.

want me throw this beanie at your face so you can check for yourself, old man?  Because I will

@electricterrorist || starter call

Her brow is furrowed, knitting together in the middle as she dips the cloth back into the bowl. The water is easing into a rose pink, blood trickling from her fingers and blooming into crimson plumes as it strikes the surface. Raising the cloth, rinsing it tight between her fingers, she carefully dried her hands against her shirt before she returned to carefully wiping away the blood that clung to his skin and matted the hair. Sarah has no heart to be angry, to give him an earful. Instead, as she finishes cleaning the grazes, she simply pulled him closer to rest her lips to the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, scruffy, your handsome face is all cleaned up! Who did this?”

[ϟ] “I did this“.

That was no lie. He did the damage to himself. He earned the stings her efforts to clean his wounds gave him, the shocks he forced his body to contain only within himself to avoid harming her. She didn’t deserve to be hurt by him, and yet he couldn’t stop hurting himself. A sigh escaped his lips as he realized what he was doing --dragging her away so he could hurt himself in peace, denying himself of letting everything go for once and letting her in as badly as he needs her, as there were wounds her cloth and medicine wouldn’t be able to heal.

He could give countless lessons on how to do it. It is all he had done since that day he destroyed the district and the rest of his life with it. 

 What good would it come from dwelling on all he had lost, if he would lose anything he received in a matter of seconds? Even his life had been robbed from him momentarily, the breath of life returning to his lungs with the same power lightning slipped from his fingers at will.

[ϟ] “I’d say there’s no use to keep pulling my thousand mistakes and cry about it“.

He’s stretching. Or releasing the power he had bottled up for weeks. Or he’s got some nightmare from the days in Empire City  and instead of yelling he pulls lightning down. Or he simply lost temporary control of his power because the rfi and what happened in New Marais fucked him over in more ways than you can imagine.

my og boi

the first rp blog i ever had in this hellsite

She was always soft. To him, at him, to the touch. Soft all around.Granted, he was aware she was not just soft. There was thunder in her veins she could not drag down, there was fire in her soul he could taste in her lips after that soft kiss.She was everything he had no right to, and nothing he had ever deserved.

[ϟ] “V-day? Already?“

A joke, of course he was aware of the day. He was ready.

Trish didn’t help the feeling. Of course he would schedule the biggest bouquet of roses he could pay for and have it delivered to the hospital to have everybody and their mothers wishing they were her. Of course he would get her more presents, take her out for dinner, walk around the historic district to watch whatever band or orchestra decided to play near the fountains. He would do all of that without thinking, without questioning. Not just on February 14th, but on the April 6′s and the November 15′s.

At the end of the day he would simply sit on his bed, naked, with her sleeping soundly next to him. It would be just another day. Another one of those empty days that were meant to not be void of anything and simply full of...well, everything. He loved her, more than he loved himself. More than he loved anything and everything in the whole planet. There was a time he believed Empire would be nothing if she was not a part of it, and then she turned her back on him when he needed Trish the most.

That I love you tasted like poison. Had no meaning. Held no meaning. And blinded by the temporary haze of having her again he could not see she was lying--          --and then she died. 

At the end of the day he would simply sit on her couch, half naked, his arm around her shoulders calmly sipping a beer. It would just be another day. Another one of those empty days that were meant to mean something and yet it felt like yesterday, like the next day, like the rest of his life.