[ Angel Devil. ] [ chatcube, or action. ] [ if you're visiting the rose barn, look for the door with the creepy bat-and-angel-wing sigil on it. Knock first! Or get zapped. ]
[She nestles into his arms, ear against his chest so she can hear his heart.]
[He's so warm.]
[Her own body is ... not cold, exactly, but not 110 degrees, either. His body heat is comforting, even on a day as warm as this one.]
Vengefully.
Even now... even when it hurts, even when I want it to be over... I can't bring myself to let go. I've been flirting with the end of a knife for days, but I can't get myself to do it.
So... I think if it were going to happen, I'd provoke it. Intentionally make myself vulnerable. Bare my throat, so to speak, or curl up in their arms, begging to be taken.
And with my last breath, I'd hook my claws in their throat and take them with me.
[Without lifting her face from where it's tucked against his chest, she gives her sleeve a gentle shake, dislodging the switchblade she's been keeping up there for the last few days while she musters up the courage to use it.]
[It's the one from the betrayal ritual, all those months back, all folded up into a little dark rectangle.]
[It falls into her hand, and she offers it up where he can easily take it.]
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cw suicide I'M SORRY HE'S??? LIKE THIS?????
his voice is a tactile thing, this close; a soothing thrum as he asks, ]
And how would you do it, my Wild Rose? If you were to take someone with you down into that long night?
THEY BOTH ARE, THOUGH
[He's so warm.]
[Her own body is ... not cold, exactly, but not 110 degrees, either. His body heat is comforting, even on a day as warm as this one.]
Vengefully.
Even now... even when it hurts, even when I want it to be over... I can't bring myself to let go. I've been flirting with the end of a knife for days, but I can't get myself to do it.
So... I think if it were going to happen, I'd provoke it. Intentionally make myself vulnerable. Bare my throat, so to speak, or curl up in their arms, begging to be taken.
And with my last breath, I'd hook my claws in their throat and take them with me.
1/2
...That's from a play. Not Lord Avon. It's far too modern in its sensibility, in case you couldn't tell.
2/2
Is a good day for a death, don't you think?
The weather has troubled us so fearsomely. We find here a rare respite...
[ that said, he lifts his head to blow a puff of at a white feath, fffh!, before it can touch the two of them. ]
no subject
[Without lifting her face from where it's tucked against his chest, she gives her sleeve a gentle shake, dislodging the switchblade she's been keeping up there for the last few days while she musters up the courage to use it.]
[It's the one from the betrayal ritual, all those months back, all folded up into a little dark rectangle.]
[It falls into her hand, and she offers it up where he can easily take it.]
I'm tired, Reverence.
Tired of dreading this.
1/?. ha ha ha.
he holds it aloft of them both, and moves his thumb down upon it slowly, until the glimmering blade springs out from its sheath with a merry sound.
with the same good humor he'd used to suggest this as a good day to die, ]
I despise handling weaponry... the cold, dense sense of metal in the hand...
Ah, but what's one more sweet little favor for me to do you?