[private] i'll waste a lifetime's worth, just to cling to one more day || reagan

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

  He had not seen her since that fateful evening, beneath the blinding, unyielding moonlight as it had danced across the darkness of their skin. He could still feel her mouth pressed against the ridge of bone along his shoulder, and he could still taste the sweat tangled in the tangled mess of her tresses, haphazard across the thick muscle of her neck. She had drawn the depth of his darkness from him, tempting him to give into it as he so deeply craved - he had been wary of his own prowess, of the power roiling with discontent beneath the surface of his skin and within the tightness of his chest, but she had known so much more about him than he had known about himself.

   With the fire bristling on the surface of his skin, he is more at ease with himself than he had ever been. He no longer resisted the dark potential of his power; it had become a part of him - a delicate merging of two beings within one, and he had not been lost to its control as he had once feared. He felt invigorated - rejuvenated, set alight by the fiery inferno flickering beneath, and as such, he felt moved to seek her out - to see the darkness flicker once more in her sordid, tempting gaze, to the raw energy surging from her veins.

   Though the intimacy of their carnal desire had been enacted alongside the restless, ravenous river, he knew she would not be lingering along its shoreline. She was tethered to the dark, unpredictability of the quiet forest and its quiet solitude, but he sought to undo the binding that kept her away. As the girth of his heavily muscled body presses through the boundary line of the dense thicket, the fire dancing across his marred, imperfect flesh is suppressed, while old and brittle bark scrapes along the width of his shoulders. 

   The precision of his vision is not to be discounted - he can see even the most subtle of movements in the thick, opaque vegetation, but she is infused with unwavering, impenetrable magic, and he cannot rely on his enhanced sense alone to find her. At last, he is upon a clearing, with a single, bleary ray of sunlight breaking through the thickness of the canopy overhead - its light caresses the slope of his spine, highlighting the scarring across the shadow of his skin.

   He cannot see her, but he can feel her.
   And so he calls to her; an echo of his deep baritone rumbling through the tranquil woodland.

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.