[private] i'm not the devil, but i won't be your hero. || reagan

[Offspring]

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

  Before him, the seafoam lunges forth onto the shoreline, drawing delicate particles of sand into the darkness where he so often yearns to be lost within. The hefty scarring the lay across the surface of his skin had been caused by the very same rough and raucous current, churning angrily as the distant horizon is darkened with the looming force of a roiling storm. The sky is becoming dim – not with dusk, but with thick and heavy clouds, cloaking the once vibrant, cerulean sky with its dull, vibrating gray. Somewhere beyond the horizon, the sunlight lay, but hidden away by the dreariness of a wild and unwieldy tempest. It is not unlike her presence – a powerful, thundering hurricane – coming upon his shoreline with tempestuous force, sweeping his hardened resolve out to sea. 

   His gaze his heavy upon her, tracing the rounded curve of her hip and the broadness of her barrel – she is not expecting, but he hardly expected her to be. She had leaned into him when he had last seen her, seeking him to covet her as he had once done before, but he felt too guilty to let such carnal desire stir him again – she deserved so much more, and he was a bitter and broken thing, incapable of anything more than a physical connection beneath the pale but blinding moonlight. 

   He could not love; Isle had told him as much. He was selfish, hungry, and intangible – there were pieces of him that he had never let her see; self-preservation that had saved his weary heart when she had inevitably decided he could not fit into her picturesque fantasy. He had been the unfaithful one – but she had been the one to cast judgment; to steel herself away from him when the agony of his own torment had become too much for her.

   She had pushed him away, and he let her. 
   He had pushed her away, and she let him.

   And slowly, the two were left – adrift at sea.

   He was too weary and worn to brave the same heartache again.

   Quietly, his voice rises above the force of the roiling ocean, his darkened gaze heavy upon her own, vibrant and bright.

   ”You are welcome here – surely you know that,” he pauses, his dark mouth twisting into a grave frown. ”what has happened to Taiga? And who is it you have brought to Tephra?”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world