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My internet is a sadist and wants to see me suffer. And this post is a piece of shit. sorry. D:
cradle me in your crooked heart
Quite the contrary -- Tsunami thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with this. In many ways, this was right. Perfect. Love was about finding someone you could love and respect; sex was about the carnal and deeply instinctive need to control or be controlled. And perhaps while their love life had been dysfunctional, the sex had always been pretty mindblowing. On his part anyway. They had spent that year and a half together trying to control each other, trying to act like they didn't care. They had started out their relationship by drawing each other's blood. They had wallowed in the mud together; they knew more of each other's sins and perhaps understood each other more intrinsically than anyone else ever would. They had seen each other's dark sides and they had still gone back for more. Up until now, everything they had done was forgiveable. Everything, until now. By killing his ex-lover's son, Laruku had moved whatever they had into enemy territory and now it was stranded there. Tsunami wouldn't pretend they had been perfect, or that he had never made any mistakes. He'd made many.
Nothing like this.
Sure, it was an alter-ego. Technically, that was what Mischa was, only difference being she'd never taken control and didn't seem to have any interest in doing so. Just pissing him off seemed enough for her. This was obviously something entirely different, and the gray wolf had no idea how to fully absorb it -- so he would do what made the most sense to him and eliminate the threat. And that threatwas this scrawny scarred-up hybrid who was, somewhere deep in his brain, somewhere in the fucked-up wiring in his mind, capable of eating young children. Essentially, the crimes the hybrid (his body, at least) had shown himself to be capable of negated any other wrongs involved in the scenario. Didn't matter what they'd shared. What he was doing here was for the good of everyone.
Laruku was distracted with the one-eyed ghost's attempt to claw off the side of his face. Good. The blood felt nice on his fingers. Warm, wet, sticky; ha, kind of like some other things he could think of. It was all he could smell, the halls in his brain were flooded with blood, and his Mistress laughed and splashed in it like a child. The wounds on his stomach would hurt, but they weren't fatal. And by turning his head he left his neck open, wide open. In one swift move, the one-eyed loner hoisted himself up on one leg, arching his back away from the hybrid beneath him, and jabbed his other leg in quickly and sharply, aiming for Laruku's stomach. At the same time, he swung his toothy jaw down as hard and fast as he could at the other male's exposed neck. Blood on his hands, blood on the ground: he could practically taste it.
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