[ the happy misfortune of all of their lives: that nothing simply comes to an end, or returns to equilibrium. some ship of Theseus shit. sure, you've put the pieces of your own fucked-up puzzle together so many times that you can do it blindfolded and handcuffed and with your teeth, but it's still not going to align the way it did before violent hands scattered it apart.
now, what sam's contemplating: are the hands in this scenario his, or felix's? the searchlight of those pretty eyes distract from his knowledge of what's under the neat cuts and creases of felix's outerwear. an ugly wound that must still be hot to the touch, made in the pattern of sam's beloved Murasama.
did sam fuck felix up, or is it collateral damage? this universe, a perpetual comedy of errors. with felix's footsteps and question echoing in the narrow space leading them into the belly of the proverbial beast, their debauched Monstro, sam hums from the back of his throat. ]
You want to talk ideals with me, now?
[ in the future, he'll say: "war is the payoff." here, with his booted heels soft on concrete, he takes a longer breath to consider. ]
I do what I do because I choose to. [ even now, even still. cradling all his bad decisions and wearing them on his face, in his teeth, in his affability. no one can fucking tell him that everything on him isn't his. ] I fight because it's what I want. I'm bothering you because it's what I want. Simple.
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yoooo no sweat!!!
now, what sam's contemplating: are the hands in this scenario his, or felix's? the searchlight of those pretty eyes distract from his knowledge of what's under the neat cuts and creases of felix's outerwear. an ugly wound that must still be hot to the touch, made in the pattern of sam's beloved Murasama.
did sam fuck felix up, or is it collateral damage? this universe, a perpetual comedy of errors. with felix's footsteps and question echoing in the narrow space leading them into the belly of the proverbial beast, their debauched Monstro, sam hums from the back of his throat. ]
You want to talk ideals with me, now?
[ in the future, he'll say: "war is the payoff." here, with his booted heels soft on concrete, he takes a longer breath to consider. ]
I do what I do because I choose to. [ even now, even still. cradling all his bad decisions and wearing them on his face, in his teeth, in his affability. no one can fucking tell him that everything on him isn't his. ] I fight because it's what I want. I'm bothering you because it's what I want. Simple.