Had To Reread This Thrice It Was So Good - Blog Posts

"AU CONTRAIRE, my spandex wearing friend," the words are as tight and as mockery filled as he could make them. because julius believed not a word of what had been said to him just then. "it's entirely of my concern." he had made that choice. deliberately. which is to say nothing of why he had, wouldn't divulge that.

at the threatened quieter words, julius scoffs. "what you want and what you need are entirely separate things. you need air to breathe, so you take in air. why strangle yourself from what you need by tamping it down. to whose benefit."

@drrobctnik asked; "There's nothing wrong with what you are. It's in your bones. Don't you want to make them suffer?"

embracing the monster prompts

Experience concludes that the other's words were deliberately incendiary, were intended to breach the unreadable armour he habitually wore as naturally as his own skin. A carefully placed strike, calculated to find the fractures beneath his restraint, that should be--

Dismissed. As was his go-to response, reached for whenever he heard rehashes of the same arguments, broached by those who believed taking aim at his very nature, and what he stood for, to be a good idea. Fully expectant that he was steps removed from sliding towards darker notions, that better aligned with the monster that some of his enemies perceived him to be.

What a farce.

Thoroughly unamused by this ploy, Miguel's jaw locked beneath the navy-blue cover of his mask in response. With patience tested, he made an effort to keep his tall posture carefully composed, disallowing so much as a flick of emotion to assert itself. Or betray the thoughts curling at the edges of his mind, following such an opening shot aimed at his very character. What exactly resided in his mutated bones?

Something not previously known to science, for a start, but that was only the tip of a very long list of findings that he had spent years compiling about himself, experiencing compulsions, emotions, even wants, in ways that the stranger before him could only theorise about. The strength, the hunger, the violent instinct, buried under careful control; Miguel knew exactly what he was capable of, was all too aware of how easy it would be to tear through the ones deserving of his wrath.

But easy wasn't the same as right.

Irked by the notions proposed, his fingers twitched once by his side, before stilling. "What I am," comes his announcement, delivered in an even tone, devoid of any material that could be hijacked and twisted into a sign of agreement, "is none of your concern." There's a need to add more, adamant to make clear his stance before more attempts are made to demonise himself. It takes a beat, as well as a slow inhale, before he allows the tension perpetuated a chance to settle, voice shifting gears to acquire a quieter level, wreathed with threat; "And neither is what I want."