#sonofrusalka

(Would have just copy pasted to the ask, but mobile sucks.)

It stings, doesn't it? The salt within the wind grates your narrowed eyes, shrapnels your skin, and burdens your thin, paper-like gown. It rubs your throat raw when you breathe it in, and, still, you desperately gulp it down like the nearly drowned. The essence must be so unlike the regurgitated warmth they feed you down below - that artificial embryonic fluid they pump through your nose, mouth and artificial veins.

Where are your tubes now, I wonder? You must have torn them out during your flight. There is a sheen across your skin both blood red and mechanical, mucous white. Don't worry. The streaks are hard to see in this limited light. Everything is. Except for that longing in your hollowed eyes.

You must know that you cannot leave tonight. That cold, lapping darkness just beyond the rail is deep. It will swallow you whole. And by now I suspect you would rather fly.

I take a step closer and now you turn. The panicked look upon your haggard face is almost precious in its lethargicness. It's the drugs that warp your mind. The drugs, the cold, the heat, the memories...too many to name.

No. Quiet. I won't hurt you. I won't touch you. There is no need.

They are hunting for for you. I hear them within the static at my ear. When they find you you'll have something to fear.

They will drag you down flights of stairs, chain you within a cell, peel your skin, take your blood, remove your limbs...

But for now you are safe here with me.

With battered sighs and a heavy heart you ask why I am here like I am the one running away - the one with something to hide, to fear.

WELL THEN. Long time no see, won't you have a bowl of cereal with me???

Piers wasn’t one to drink too often, but there were mostly two occasions in which he would indulge himself into the drinks. One of them was his birthday, while the other would be New-Years, AKA, today.

He was with his colleagues from work, a group of a few people he knew well, as well as his Captain. Usually, he was the one to remain sober, since he didn’t like getting drunk, as well as he was everyone's driver but this time Chris was the one who insisted on taking the driving duty. Piers didn’t wish to poke and question his Captain, especially not on a night in which they’re supposed to loosen up, therefore he took this year for himself to enjoy.

[ Flower Series ] Adam Jensen ;; Water Lily

Write something on my muse ;;

Another night, another whiskey at her usual haunt. Well, her and Adam’s haunt now. A brief smile warmed her face and she tilted her face back to ekk out the last few drops at the bottom of her glass. The vessel went onto the counter with a dull thud, and the bartender wordlessly refilled the glass.

The whiskey served to dull those echoes of the past she felt whenever she looked at Adam and especially when she was working with him. He was a damn fine cop with a damn fine body and just... damn.... damn......?

Fuck you Adam she thought with a slow smirk-smile inching across her lips. With a look across from her glass, she caught the twisted reflection of her own white hand and saw Adam’s holding a whiskey glass as well. If she squinted hard enough, she could pretend they were holding those hands together. Her cheeks grew more rosy.

Look at you, turning into a huge fucking sap. I wonder if MI6 knows? ‘Hey guys, look, a goddamned huge target over here! Let’s kill him and get Layla emotionally compromised!’ The taunt from the cynical part of herself, the part she could never keep quiet but had kept her alive all these years had finally bit too deep, and her brow furrowed.

Fuck off. She couldn’t afford to be a cynical piece of shit all the time. Even people like her deserved happiness once in a while. Right?

Yeah. Right.

Still, he deserved more than some romp in the office (And lord, did she think about that way too often). Even she wasn’t blind to how much of a good person he was. But could they work? Should they work?

Her ivory hands cradled the glass between them, fingers interwoven and synthetic eyes staring at the liquid within.

A lot of it is deviation because there’s just not enough there. But the main branching point I’ve developed from is the idea that Megan’s as much of a pawn as Adam is. I honestly don’t believe that she entered a four year relationship with him just for his DNA. If that was it, she would have been a one-night stand. So I came up with the idea that she was pointed in that direction by someone within the Illuminati. The push would have been enough to spark her curiosity, and the rest is history.

The man crawled over the Aug on all four, his motions are slow, yet fluid. Icy blue eyes kept locked on the ones looking back at him as he reaches clower and leaps over to the man’s feet, staring up at him before rearing backwards, balancing his heavy body on his toes. The hands, meanwhile, began climbing up the man’s metalic shins, up to his lap.