what have I done, with my heart on the floor,
I must be out of my mind to come back begging for more --
There is something about Boheme that always feels like coming home. There is something undeniably sweet and easy in the way she can settle in alongside of her after no matter how many years, and still, it is always the same. They had been shaped from the same mold, had endured a similar beginning, and Boheme was more of a sister–a soulmate–than most could ever be to her. No expectations, no games to be won or lost; just the easy rhythm of their hearts falling back into sync with one another.
“Fine then, I suppose you can keep your secret hideout to yourself,” she says teasingly with another pull of her soft lips against her friend’s neck. But she shakes a haloed head when she remarks on her new angelic form, and as always when someone comments on it she can feel a hint of shame begin to thread its way down into the marrow of her bones. She knows, better than anyone, that she has never been worthy of such a thing. She knows how far the shadows of her soul stretch; knows that they reach to every corner, that not even the glow that she now radiates could chase them away. “It feels like false advertising,” her tone is kept light, refusing to let her own self-doubts and self-pity to darken this reunion.
With her nose running the length of Boheme’s neck–always touching, never able to resist the temptation of a warm body so close to her own–she considers her question. There were too many things; Carnage and Atrox, Illum and Ashhal, and all the things in between. “Loving men, and making them angry,” she says with a short, quiet laugh. “The usual, I suppose.” She moves her head and her stark white forelock settles across one of the stones on her face, and there is a strange, small smile when she adds, “There are some lessons I insist on never learning.”
I must be out of my mind to come back begging for more --
There is something about Boheme that always feels like coming home. There is something undeniably sweet and easy in the way she can settle in alongside of her after no matter how many years, and still, it is always the same. They had been shaped from the same mold, had endured a similar beginning, and Boheme was more of a sister–a soulmate–than most could ever be to her. No expectations, no games to be won or lost; just the easy rhythm of their hearts falling back into sync with one another.
“Fine then, I suppose you can keep your secret hideout to yourself,” she says teasingly with another pull of her soft lips against her friend’s neck. But she shakes a haloed head when she remarks on her new angelic form, and as always when someone comments on it she can feel a hint of shame begin to thread its way down into the marrow of her bones. She knows, better than anyone, that she has never been worthy of such a thing. She knows how far the shadows of her soul stretch; knows that they reach to every corner, that not even the glow that she now radiates could chase them away. “It feels like false advertising,” her tone is kept light, refusing to let her own self-doubts and self-pity to darken this reunion.
With her nose running the length of Boheme’s neck–always touching, never able to resist the temptation of a warm body so close to her own–she considers her question. There were too many things; Carnage and Atrox, Illum and Ashhal, and all the things in between. “Loving men, and making them angry,” she says with a short, quiet laugh. “The usual, I suppose.” She moves her head and her stark white forelock settles across one of the stones on her face, and there is a strange, small smile when she adds, “There are some lessons I insist on never learning.”
-- ryatah.
she's not the best at talking about herself but Bo is welcome to just ask her "why do you have rocks in your face" lmfao
@[boheme]