#necrcmance

The Keres completely rule the scene at hand: goddesses of a violent death dancing between blood splattered, moving to the rhythm of pained breaths succumbing, deriving their power from every weakened heartbeat. And she stands amidst it all - this ritualistic freeze frame -, so utterly still, almost content, almost sated that it is difficult to say whether she sacrificed the body at her feet in their name or if the goddesses simply coo around her in appreciation, in awe.

The stench of iron and hellfire is a thick miasma tainting the air and even though she is outside with the wind howling into this forgotten, god-forsaken alleyway, it does not move but further spreads out its hellish reach. But it does not matter, nothing does but the soul she has bitten into mere moments ago, the pleading, the ringing, the dying continously echoing in her head, reducing her to nothing but animalistic instincts lapping at the blood and the tainted black waters of a soul taken to hell that drip off of her chin; something that makes her look absolutely wild.

Her head lifts upwards towards the moon but it hides along with heaven, obscuring their glances with the clouds. It makes her chuckle, enough of a movement to let more strands of dark hair fall right into her face ( her neat bun broken, face swallowed in a mess of curls ) as she sets her jaw back into place with a sickening crunch. And it appears loud enough to alert someone’s attention.

She hears the step, feels the breath, getting off her feet with inhuman speed to approach whoever has the misfortune to stumble upon her in this very state. Hands latch onto a pair of shoulders, spreading crimson and gore upon what seems to be a nice suit, leaning all the way up ( on her tiptoes ) to breathe against his neck, teeth sharp and close. When she speaks, her voice is rough, dipped and burned by amusement and a feed.

ilu for this.

Send  “checklist” and my muse will fill out the list below with their thoughts about yours! For multimuse blogs, please specify sending/receiving muses. (Modified from/inspired by this meme.)

I find you to be:

[x ] interesting [ ] cute [x ] attractive [ ] sexy [ ] reassuring [x ] intimidating [ ] annoying [ ] tedious [ ] terrifying

I think we should:

[ x] talk more [x ] hang out more [ ] date [ ] adopt each other as found family [ ] fight (friendly) [ ] fight (hostile) [ ] avoid each other if at all possible

If we spent an evening together we would:

[x ] just hang out [x ] talk about deep stuff [ ] cuddle [ ] go to bed together (to sleep) [ ] go to bed together (to… not sleep) [x ] go out and party till sunrise [ ] both get arrested [x ] probably wind up killing each other

If we kissed it would be:

[x ] a chaste press of lips [x ] a playful smooch [ ] swift and stolen [ ] deep, sweet, and sincerely meant [ ] all teeth and tongue and hot as heck [ ] not happening

If we had sex it would be:

[x ] romantic and luxurious [x ] fast, rough and hard [x ] against the nearest wall [ ] fantastic [x ] awkward [ ] a really bad idea [ ] an all-around disaster [ ] not happening

If I woke up and found you unexpectedly in my bed I would:

The way with which he speaks certainly is odd: pretty? Snuggable? Never before has she been associated with such compliments and, for a brief second, she wonders if he means her to begin with. “ Well, considering I am the only hound present, I assume you mean me. “ Despite her initial bewilderment, a smile spreads across her lips; he has caught her attention, her interest and, apparently, developed a liking for such words in her. She taps a finger against her lips and laughs. “ Though I wonder how you’d know that I’m snuggable. “

“Then it’s a shame for you to have found me in these years.” An indecisive heaviness fell across on Q’s face. Their hand reached up to a blooming vine on the wall above their head. A wisp of fingers cupping, lingering on the vivid purple foliage that housed the petite flowers. A caterpillar small and vivid, holding the fragile stems in almost deceptive gentleness. The bougainvillaea vine was hardy, thorned and unforgiving if left untamed, but even it was considered very desirable at one time. “There was a time when I could have shown you such wondrous things.” They mused softly as the coaxed the tiny creature from its cradle to crawl onto their finger. Their hand slipped away as Q turned, facing Malcolm in a moment of silence, smiling, fondly at the man. They admired the artistry and class of the warlock’s wardrobe. His style never failed to impress the old sorcerer. It was not so dissimilar to their own.

The sorcerer’s brow creased slightly as they turned their attention back to the creature that rested within their palm. How easy was it for an immortal soul to fill so quickly with pain. With a fluid motion their free hand swept over Malcolm’s shoulder, tugging gently at the garment to straighten the fabric. Although Q could freely admit they could not say they knew truly what those pale eyes had seen.

@necrcmance​ inquired:  “you’re a master of deflection. you’re like some kind of deflection ninja.”

"Aʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ drunk?"

It's not an unreasonable guess. And the fact that he guesses at all must be some sign of respect, of friendship — or perhaps just giving the other excuse for such a crude statement. At this moment, he himself wishes he was. That would make Malcolm more bearable when he was in his — humorous moods. Surely, this must be one of the most unfortunate ways he's ever heard anyone make such a statement.

And perhaps he's immediately proving him right by avoiding what this was aimed at entirely. He doesn't much care for accusations of either sort, even if it was simply in the way of avoiding his very own feelings. (When had he ever acknowledged them, if they were of any deeper kind, if they were to hint at the fact that despite everything, despite what people might think of him or even want to think, he was still a living being with thoughts and feelings, not simply some unphantomable eldritch being.)