#//SHE DOES IT BCOZ SHE CARES (girl pls go seek professional help Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[thatonesakudere]

"Did you need to be so cruel?" // mansk for mayu

@badtrigger

"Cruel?" A light flickers, somewhere above her — frosty, and frigid, and fake, artificial like everything else around. It's a synthetic world they live in, surrounded by the towering walls of Bridgehead, a marriage of plastic and metal with little to no organic materials despite their abundance in the wilds. Too expensive, too time-consuming, too damn high-maintenance.

For most, at least; because with high position, there comes power, and with power, privileges. A stairfoot desk is one of hers. Not as good as mahogany, mind you, but Mayu is not as unreasonable as to demand a mahogany desk be imported all the way from Earth for her. Local flora shall do.

And Mac... Mac is a lot like that stairfoot desk. If she doesn't take care of him, he may just crack, sending splinters all over the floor, or rot away, crumbling into a pile of punkwood. She has to varnish it-- Him. Built up the protection, so that he shall not suffer any damage. Coat by coat, layer by layer. None shall peel off.

"I'm jealous of the world you live in, Mansk, if you think that's anywhere near cruel," she scoffs, turning away from Mac's shrinking figure, his shoulders slumped, ears low, tail hanging down — a sorrowful sight come reborn. Guilt has no place is her busy life yet Mayu feels it all the fucking same, its claws digging into her heart.

He's making her soft.

"There are worse things out there than being a recipient of a few harsh words. If anything, I'm doing him a favour! Mac needs to grow a thicker skin... He's a sweet guy deep down, you know that as well as I do. Tell me, what happens when I'm not here for him, hm? The sharp to his soft. Nothing good, I say," she looks up at the Recom, neck craning — damn their ridiculous height — spine straight, balancing on the red stilettos like a ballerina in a wind-up box. Tiny and delicate. Stern and unyielding. And though her face is a slab of stone, of hard, sharp edges, there's something soft and incredibly raw amidst the grey ashes of eyes.

"I'm cruel because one of us has to be. I wish I didn't, but-- Wishes are for babies and fools. One cannot sustain themselves with dreams only, not in the long run. And words-- Words are wind. I've learned that a long time ago; it's about time he did too."

"Sticks and stones, Mansk. Sticks and stones."