#notnaivc

[matrmvdita-blog]

❛ Do you think it’ll ever go away? ❜

Posted here!

[phlegmctic-blog]

☞

muse’s reaction ;; { ☞} accidentally slamming your muses hand in the door.

HE DOES NOT REACH TO MUCH ; in fact, if he can avoid demonstrating much of anything, that’s exactly what he does. Stoic and blank – this is his nature. The security in nothingness is the only thing that makes him feel at home, comfortable in his skin. Any lack of control, then, causes Nicholas to become unstable.

The ground he stands on is usually still: cement upon even ground, carefully constructed by his own two hands. While there is no home on top of this hard foundation, it still feels right – Nick’s figure has never been a complete building, so it would only make sense that his internal household would be built up much the same. 

That’s what he is: just a ground, just a stable ground. Hollow and empty. He’s a stock character; a bland thing made up by fiction novels written by careless, silly authors whose popularity will pass in the blink of an eye. Even the breeze slips past him without noticing. That’s how blank he is. How nothing. 

Ah – but Nicholas Wayland is so much more than what he seems to be, what he shows as his true colors ( that black and white he demonstrates daily ). There are shades below the surface; small flashes of joy and anger and jealousy. Bits of discomfort and pleasure. There is more there, no matter how much he wishes to hide it. And that more is willing to come to the surface if coaxed out correctly. 

– This is not how correctly works. Doors slamming recklessly; hands being squeezed and turned red under the impact. This was not how to coax him into anything. 

This…this was forcing; and stubborn stones never appreciated being forced into anything. 

The pain makes him hiss – wounded cat ready to claw at his aggressor – and he retracts his hand as swiftly as reflexes and human nature allow. Nicholas does not cuss. Does not argue. Does not provoke. He is a silent man – the narrowed gaze on his features says more than any words could in such a short span of time. A threat lingers there; dark aura painting his skin. 

He is quiet, not stupid, and while he is willing to forgive this mild transgression, the next time he will not be so kind.