09-09-2017, 11:09 PM
** warning: sexuality and mention of rape (not by Offspring) ahead
The dark sky had opened up in the wake of her absence, bringing with it gale force wind and a powerful tempest that had left the volcanic isle dreary and damp for many days after. The air was thick with sulfur and ash, while the dense humidity sat still beneath the plume of smoke that had risen from the rumbling mountain – and he had long since grown used to it (in part because of the blistering inferno that burned within him; it made him indifferent to the stifling heat).
Yet, there is an unease of restlessness that seethes beneath the surface of his marred flesh and within the darkest recesses of his mind, stirring him from his own complacency. The pale moonlight and celestial starlight lures him away from the island, with his curiosity left unsated – leaving him yearning to know more.
His powerful legs carry him many miles to the northwest, wading through the salty seawater, trudging through the dark and dreary woodland, and along the raucous and unruly riverside. The sun eventually does rise, and fall again, and at last, he has found himself once again enveloped by the salty ocean breeze – weaving its way through his long and tangled tresses. His dark and heavy scarlet gaze peers out onto the ocean – it is a crystalline cerulean, whereas his own sea was wild and reckless in its darkness. It is a sharp contrast that does not go unnoticed.
An array of auburn and crimson from the vivid sunset lay across the tide as a thick seafoam caresses the shoreline below, luring him closer – but he is still, his senses warning him of the nearby border (he does not dare cross into Nerine; he is not so foolish to do so without invitation – and he has not come for diplomacy; he has come for her).
He does not call for her – he can sense that she is near, perhaps tucked away within the tropical foliage, or maybe even gliding overhead with her broad, finely preened wings outstretched from north to south.
She would find him long before he would find her, of this he is certain.
He has come to see her, with the certainty of his promise to do so still at the forefront of his mind.
You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
Dawn and dusk had come and gone, too many times for him to count –I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
The dark sky had opened up in the wake of her absence, bringing with it gale force wind and a powerful tempest that had left the volcanic isle dreary and damp for many days after. The air was thick with sulfur and ash, while the dense humidity sat still beneath the plume of smoke that had risen from the rumbling mountain – and he had long since grown used to it (in part because of the blistering inferno that burned within him; it made him indifferent to the stifling heat).
Yet, there is an unease of restlessness that seethes beneath the surface of his marred flesh and within the darkest recesses of his mind, stirring him from his own complacency. The pale moonlight and celestial starlight lures him away from the island, with his curiosity left unsated – leaving him yearning to know more.
His powerful legs carry him many miles to the northwest, wading through the salty seawater, trudging through the dark and dreary woodland, and along the raucous and unruly riverside. The sun eventually does rise, and fall again, and at last, he has found himself once again enveloped by the salty ocean breeze – weaving its way through his long and tangled tresses. His dark and heavy scarlet gaze peers out onto the ocean – it is a crystalline cerulean, whereas his own sea was wild and reckless in its darkness. It is a sharp contrast that does not go unnoticed.
An array of auburn and crimson from the vivid sunset lay across the tide as a thick seafoam caresses the shoreline below, luring him closer – but he is still, his senses warning him of the nearby border (he does not dare cross into Nerine; he is not so foolish to do so without invitation – and he has not come for diplomacy; he has come for her).
He does not call for her – he can sense that she is near, perhaps tucked away within the tropical foliage, or maybe even gliding overhead with her broad, finely preened wings outstretched from north to south.
She would find him long before he would find her, of this he is certain.
He has come to see her, with the certainty of his promise to do so still at the forefront of his mind.
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world