#glorykill

fingertips stroke over maul's sensitivity with a deftness that's difficult to imagine someone like simon being capable of. he rubs gentle circles, ensuring to take his sweet time as his tongue roams tattooed red torso. it ventures up to maul's neck, where he licks and sucks at the flesh there, before shifting his attention down to his left nipple piercing. with maul pressed up against the nearby wall, he maintains full control. but he's picked up on the fact that the other isn't so keen to feel trapped and thus encourages him to wrap his legs around his waist.

once seated, simon carries his partner across the room to the bed, where he lays maul on his back comfortably. calloused, gloveless hands run down the crime lord's thighs, stopping just short of his heat. simon is patient. he's a sniper, it's been engrained into him. he can maintain his composure for as long as it's required while he teases maul to a whimpering mess. a free hand begins exploring his chest, gliding over mounds and coming to rest between them, though no pressure is applied, as his other hand travels downwards dangerously.

digits come back to maul's peak, before they firmly push through folds and confidently slip inside. he eagerly listens to the sounds maul makes, breathing heavily above him and because of his rolled up mask, his partner will be able to see the satisfied smirk on his stubble-lined features. two fingers slowly rotate and part inside of maul, testing the boundaries and he can't help the deep groan that leaves him. they're both animalistic in their own rights, with maul better resembling a tiger in comparison to simon's grizzly traits. thus, it's no surprise that simon towers over him, broad and thick.

@glorykill said: " pledge yourself to me and i shall grant you fortune and power. you can kill as many criminals as you like, as a show of good faith. " from maul. [ prompt. ]

there are few types of criminal. stupid, greedy, power mad, smart. and then there's pure evil. an evil so foul, it rots your bone barrow just being close to it. shreds your flesh with its long, filthy claws and gnaws on your organs like a ravenous dog. maul is explosive. a flair for the dramatic. ghost can sense his trauma from where he stands. but there's no whiff of evil intent. he doesn't see his father in him. he doesn't have that hyena-like grin or those cold, callous eyes. the ones that had the power to turn you to stone.

that doesn't make him any less of an enemy, however. but, perhaps, a flexible one. adaptable. " not everybody wants fortune 'n' pow'a, " he responds, holding maul's stare. " be pretty borin' if they did. " skeleton-clad fingers flex, arms at his sides. he makes no effort to reach for his blaster. ghost understands that this enemy's greatest weapon is his tongue. sharp, viper-like, death by a thousand cuts seems more his speed than a simple and effortless slice to the jugular. drawn out. it's why he's not dead already. " i can kill as many criminals as i like already, " he notes gruffly. " don't need no leash t' do it, eith'a. "

fingers clasp the bag in his grasp. the one he intends to put maul's head in. he's no fool. he recognises the other's power. knows who he is. has heard the stories and knows they're far from just that. but he's also prideful. egotistical. arrogant, perhaps? and ghost owns that about himself. it's what makes him who he is. it's why he's survived all this time. all this suffering. death is not something he fears. and maul? he's just another criminal in limbo. in his comfortable purgatory, waiting for justice to be served. well, here he is.

it's been a month since she moved from mon cala. since she left her family and friends behind. a part of her had felt some responsibility, to remain and support them through the trauma they'd suffered. she was supposed to be the strong one, after all. but what about her? a hand rises and fingertips brush against the scars on her right arm. still tender to touch. and perhaps there's a likeness to herself, there. grant... brows furrow and she shakes her head, willing the memory of his smile to leave her thoughts. not now, she pleads with herself.

life alone is more of a struggle than she'd initially anticipated. she has no friends here. and although she currently prefers it that way, it doesn't mean it's easy. a cold chill snakes up her back and she pauses. it's that feeling she knows all too well. she's not alone. her pulse picks up and she can hear her blood suddenly thundering in her ears. something's wrong, her body tells her. someone's here with you.

her teeth grit as daisy wills herself to turn around. to face the reality that she's alone, nobody is here, and that her nerves are merely alight once again with the ever consistent fear... that someone's come for her. that she didn't finish the job. the woman sucks in a deep breath and turns, eyes wide as she's met with nothing. air hisses from her lips. relief? would it be wrong of her to say she somewhat wished someone had been standing there? for them to bring her out of this... purgatory.

kezia isn't even a quarter of the witch she could be. she does possess powers, but many of them have never been used or harnessed. the powers she knows of and can use include:

energy manipulation - where she's able to cast bursts of energy that burn and injure others. she's also able to control how intense and big the energy burst is. this power has the capacity to heal, also, but she never uses it for such, even on herself.

necromancy - this one was accidentally discovered by her. the dead are able to communicate with her, leading her to their secrets and truths. through this, she's able to anticipate future events they warn her about.

clairvoyance - not to the extreme that many others experience it, kezia is capable of seeing details and room plans with her eyes closed. if you blindfolded her, she'd perfectly navigate a cramped space without touching a thing.

pyrokinesis - kezia can control fire to some extent. she's only ever used it in the past to make things worse, but absolutely has the capacity to calm a blaze too, or redirect it to save someone.

telekinesis - the power that revealed she was a witch. she once threw a cupboard at another girl in a rage. prior to that, she knew she could levitate small objects and manoeuvre them. after this incident, fox encouraged her to harness this skill and it's become her strongest ability. it's still not as strong as it could be, but she's always working on it.

it's highly likely that kezia has other abilities alongside these, but they are either dampened or undiscovered due to a combination of lack of education as well as trauma. she's never had a fellow witch to guide or tutor her, and of course the government she's forced to work under keep her tame enough to handle, thus not teaching her anything new. due to her trauma, her relationship with her powers is strained.

she doesn't exactly wish she wasn't a witch, but certainly yearns, from time to time, for a simpler and less complicated life. her powers are largely what created the favouritism that fox possessed for her, and the competitiveness between her and the other girls. it's extremely isolating and causes her to experience loneliness. equally, she finds comfort in her powers as a distraction and they help aid her in her delusion that she is stronger and more superior than others.

her abilities are important to her, and while she never indulged in witch culture due to her background, she feels a part of her is missing without that connection. fox always prevented her from reading too deeply into it to maintain control over her. and thus, she feels other witches will see her as too different to them. through her powers, she's developed an intense respect for natural energies and hates to see them disrespected or abused.

maul's words are clear and cutting. a tense rage in his tone as evident as the mercenary's veil. they do not have a dynamic. iglu is here because he's relying on simon's help to take down damocles. maul happens to be an extension of that to iglu, nothing more. so why does he approach with hostility bleeding from his crimson flesh? like sweat, it metaphorically drips and pools around the crime lord's ankles. beading at his forehead and drenching him in a wave of fury.

iglu stands, his arms by his sides and his gaze forward. there is no reaction from him. perhaps not what maul is searching for, but then iglu has never been a reactive individual. his actions speak louder than his words, typically. stone cold and exacting. the very same actions that got him put in prison all those years ago. you have no idea, do you... maul confronts the mercenary and he is uncertain how to respond. is this going to turn into something more dangerous? should he prepare for a fight? remaining unmoving, he considers maul.

he's lying! he's trying to make you vulnerable! you are a machine, and machines do not weep! the eleventh brother's grip tightens on his lightsaber as he swings it to meet maul's. a crash of currents, crimson glowing and illuminating them both within the darkness of the cavern. i can see it on you. another harsh swing. do not listen to him, listen to me! within his mind, he sees himself... a child, alone and afraid as the thunder snarls and tears the sky asunder. he feels the memory muscle shock of torture rip into him. reminding him to think of only the future and never the past.

Happy Belated birthday to the platonic love of my life ans Bestie over @glorykill

                             ❝    𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.    𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.    ❞      she stokes the hearth.    turning over the eviscerate bloodbeat of embers erratically paling      &.      deepening like the frantic respiration of a wounded beast trembling in its den      &.      the profound desperation of its shallowing breath.      the chord once taut cut red.      eyes pulsing in dull glass bells.      outside fields lie black where companies of lesser auxiliaries trudged in snow circled      &.      wheeled a myriad phantoms in the cold moonlight      &.      the pale smoke of their breath clove through the implacable dark with wintry blades of white as she traipses the room in the warm sawing light of the fire,    strides across the sprawling urne tapestry with such haste that would leave the hanging plants swaying from their hewn beams in her passing.      ❝    i take the sentiment is not unfamiliar to you.      the gods of these realms are no kinder.      ❞