creepy fucker.

I’m still alive but I have next to no time or energy for tumblr at all anymore. I’m a month through my internship and it’s going well. Chances are I’m getting hired. If I do, I won’t have time for tumblr rp for a long time, because I also have to finish the comic sometime in the start of next year. 

He feels SELFISH. Roman will have to live with the knowledge of what happened but Peter won’t. It’s not Roman that had gone through that sort of torture, though. He didn’t have to live with that sort of MEMORY. If Roman was in his position, maybe he would have wanted the same thing. Or maybe he wouldn’t because Roman’s not cowardly like HE IS.

You need it. I’ll do it.

He releases a breath of relief he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. Roman will do it and he’s GRATEFUL to Roman for that. He NEEDS this. To go on, to FUNCTION, he needs this. “Okay.” He gives a nod of his head and moves with Roman as he steers him to the bed.

Sitting down on the bed, Peter’s eyes find Roman’s. It’s not hard to tell he’s nervous, he can practically SMELL IT. It means A LOT to him that Roman is willing to push past his doubts and nerves and do this for him.

“Yeah. Make sure I don’t remember asking.” Because if HE DOES, he’s going to feel GUILTY. He’s going to want that memory back so Roman doesn’t have to carry it alone.

With a slight tremble, Roman reaches his hands over to take Peter’s. It’s not that he needs to that, and Peter knows that, too. It’s just that he NEEDS to do that, for himself, to do it. He needs to feel the warmth of his boyfriend to somehow anchor himself, to feel grounded enough to try something this... violating on someone he never wishes to violate. It’ll hurt, mostly on him. 

More than he even realizes, before he starts.

“Let’s... give it a go, then,” he smiles, uncertain but still there enough to seem sincere. With a soft tug of Peter’s hands, Roman demands his full attention, and their eyes lock. Slowly, like snow thawing on the first morning of spring, Roman’s green eyes bleed yellow, a pale, bubbling yellow, fluorescent like acid glowing in a beaker. There’s a rumble in the back of his mind, like a rolling thunder or the heavy thuds of horse-hooves stampeding far away in the distance. He’s not sure if Peter can hear it, too... but it’s always there for him.

Even before he speaks, he can feel a pop in his nose, and the heady, heavy scent of his own blood rushes through his body. It’s a frightening smell, though, because something feels off about it. He doesn’t realize it now. But he will, soon enough.

“Forget the torture. Forget all the hurt they put you through,” he tries, and the rumbling gets louder. The blood starts rolling down his top lip already. His eye starts to hurt like someone was pressing a finger right by his temple, pushing sharp nails against his skin. 

“F...Replace the... all those memories with... wh-.. fuck,” and the rumbling gets so loud it feels as though those horses were trembling on the top of his head, and he can feel the heat of the blood now rushing violently down his sharp chin. Something was wrong. Something was WRONG. He has to break the connection and holds under his chin, digs his fingers into his hair to pull to try and somehow negate the intense pain he was suddenly feeling --- maybe he was getting those emotions and feelings reflected right back to him, all the pain that Peter had felt... or maybe trying to burn them away was squeezing his brain into mush and all he could do was yell and shake where he was sitting, dropping off of the bed onto his knees with a heavy thud.