#ofkillings

      ❛  quite the mishap,  ❜      a click of his tongue to indicate distaste -- rancor upon his otherwise imperturbable and acute lineaments. with the saturnine hues oozing of baleful notions merely reflected by his orbs, he ganders along to the svelte silhouette at his side, noting of her plush lips seemingly subordinated upwards into a simper. oh, he abhors that look upon her countenance ; of mirth and effervescence for the mere contemplation of demise. morose, somber… she’s become his dearest and it is manifest. he has never relished the sensation of purloining one’s respiration until he has observed her doing so, without a hunch of ruefulness in her incarnation… absolutely ravishing.      ❛  how unfortunate that i don’t… my sweet, do i look like a cleaning lady to you ?  ❜      acrimony at the vertex of his tongue, adulterated with pungency. he scoffs a feeble smirk at her direction ( decanted with conceit, titivation, superciliousness -- his entire essence ) and fixes the fabric of his shirt to be concealed beneath the dark jacket his torso occupies.

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       abysmal is the revelation in front of them --  of innards croppered of the cadaver alike veiny yolk from a crenated egg, splattered onto the floor with naught but rue. carrion dozed on the floor with the most strenuous, laborious endeavors to regain oxygen to the lungs… to sustain itself ?  he cannot facilitate that now, can he ?  impale to the abdomen, puncture to the arm, to the languid palm endeavoring to shield one from inadvisable quietus. ravishing.

       oh, the savor of iron… so gratifying, satiating… alike a ravenous upir he laps the crimson solvent ichor at the length of his blade, clutched in his ardent palm tightly as a child possesses their most favorable toy. the only minuscule modifications between eunsoo ans a macabre upir is that for once, he isn't written of in novels and fright for the mankind own callous inclinations. he is dreaded from the depth of one's nucleus, the most winsome and trepidation accumulated nightmare. moreover, he guzzles the blood not for he sustains on it and without shall cease to exist -- he quaffs it ever so scrumptiously for he loves it.

       oh, the flavor of iron -- filling his taste buds with utter euphoria and rapture so that his somber orbs glisten with effervescent petulance and iniquity.

      leisurely as ever, the lad then crouches upon and atop the sprawled carcass which barely hangs onto life, relishing the sight of a moribund man already too feeble, soul profoundly decrepit, to beseech for his verve no more. a breathtaking sight, literally -- as his unoccupied palm reaches go throttle the throat with a simper of sheer malice painted on his bordures. he could indulge himself for hours alas, keeping company awaiting is impertinent. he was taught better than that to fit into the decorum, was he not ?

      and so, arising as a final locomotion he prompts his ubeity towards bonnie. oh, his dear bonnie -- juvenile indignation and desideratum for blood which they share is so beguiling, that whenever she is around he feels like home. a home where he can tumble across butchered limbs and feels utterly blissed. scarlet contaminated shirt collides with hers as he pulls her so close, so flushed against him that each of their thorax scarcely has any room to respire soundly. sultry proximity. ever so tenderly ( as if created of cotton and silk ) his lips move along her blanched complexion ; first, pressing feeble kisses across her pharynx, then malar, until they reach her lips -- thence, he engulfs her essence through the kiss. designating her the flavor of his oh so beloved iron, malignant on her tongue. he kisses her ever so turbulently, ardently… that he can hardly breathe. digits slide from the side of her throat downwards to her palm, passing her the most revered possession -- his blade. acute, dripping of crimson dense and feverish.

SUSPICIOUS...

he’s blinking, gaze shifting from the corpse to the girl and back. or, well, he assumed the body beside him was a corpse until he sees the body moving barely. a poor excuse of trying to survive, he supposes, but he has to commend on the human body and how much it can take even if it was so obvious that this individual had no chance in surviving this. a blow to the head should have done it, but the man kept coming right back up. not that he’s actually complaining, he adores the fight the man had. he could have easily just latched his fangs into the side of the man’s neck and ripped the portion off, leaving the blood to spill, but he isn’t like those savage vampires. he loves to toy with his prey.

he hears the girl and laughter soon spills from his lips, a maniacal laugh to be specific. times like this displays the obvious loose screws in sik’s head. he laughs in death’s face or god’s face for he plays the game all too well. he’s bad but he’s so damn good at being so. confidence? narcissism? well, he has reasons for being such right? he’s more than certain he’s got some personality disorder. not sure what kind, but he never bothered to actually go to a professional to diagnose that there is something seriously so fucking wrong with him. he knew from the beginning, the sight of blood and the thought to kill. the ravnos blood in him runs deeper and deeper in situations like this. 

hey, dad? you proud of me? 

no, he doesn’t have daddy issues. he doesn’t seek for any praises from the man. it’s his fault sik is like this, he’s a ravnos and that clan is deeper in his bloodstream than of his sister. he hums in thought as he kicks the corpse and hears the man let out a gurgled groan. yikes, he must be choking on blood right now. he crouches down and the man reaches over as if to grab him and sik plays the cat and mouse chance with such short distance, he’s laughing further more.    “ hang on, doll face! i haven’t forgotten you. just look at this pathetic person. a notorious business man, huh? what a damn lie! ”    and the man attempts his grab again and sik merely press the sole of his boot against the man’s face, shoving him back.

he picks up a pocket knife and twirls it around before he takes a quick lick from the blade and tilts his head as if he’s trying to pinpoint the source of the blood and... oh right, it’s the blood from the man he’s toying with at the moment, hilarious to think that he’d been injured by his own weapon of choice. a poor one of that, the bullets that lay around them shows how poor the man’s aim is. a notorious business man who probably hires hitman to get their mark—that’s why another corpse lays about ten feet away from the man barely hanging onto his string of life. he crouches down with a frown, gloved digits gripping onto the man’s hair and he shoves the barrel of the gun into the man’s mouth in means of a gag. before he’s turning his head with a faint smirk on his lips. 

send me 🎰 and i’ll randomise our muse lists and give the first five ten as possible connections ! @ofkillings( hi bby uwu )

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      oh, woe !  how winsomely it paints across her plush petals now grimaced into an unsightly scowl and her facade – countenance of disillusionment and adversity, rue embellishes this blanch complexion of hers which he’s envisaged of carving with the crest of his acute blade multitudinous nights. no canopies of tempestuous nights could ever compare to the looks of perturbation and ire which paint across her facade. oh, he loves it – the scent of trepidation, luridness, demise. her beseeching and reticent whimpers of treason that has imperiled her sanity and welfare. nefarious – forlorn and acerb ; his own countenance advents and proffers naught but colossal apathy. acedia in mensurations furthermore gargantuan that the two of them merged together in a morbid tumult. as he grabs her chin with his palm ( perfervid orbs of superciliousness and conceit, arising atop of her as she is subordinate and a pawn in his twisted little diversion — he relishes in her impaired amplitude ) eunsoo acquires just how profound his perfidy was.

       ❛   aren’t we filled with disappointment, my sweet ?   ❜      prompted acrimony which discloses the axiom. sheer axiom. both of them are fiendish and iniquitous for their malfeasance, for the innumerable gallons of blood they spill in the name of no god, mere satiation of their own psyche.      ❛   what d’you expect ?  for me to always be there for you and hold your hand when you’re in trouble ?  oh, boo – ‘d’you think i would love you after the fun times ?  no, no, no… my doll.   ❜      hands at her larynx. svelte digits encompassing and wrapping around the cloroxed pigmentation until the warmth conveys towards his own derma and kindles him whilst alive. what could she have forecasted from a man whos heart spurts gelid solvent and frigidness upon a liaison – frosting hibernal all too rapacious and inclement for anyone to subside it, consuming wretched cadavers whole until they succumb into their own pool of quietus. oh, rapture never tastes this scrumptious upon his tongue. should a girl of zealous impishness consider matters of faithlessness and moreover – a knife impaled into her bosom ( he hankers for the metaphor to be literal alas, in vain ) and now she acquires the chutney of sordid dolefulness.      ❛   you’re nothing more but a toy to pleasure myself with, baby girl.   ❜      of lonesomeness. of callousness.

   ▲ - I’m not sure how our muses would meet   //   ◆ - I’m really shy so please don’t hurt me …   //   ♧ - I’m like? So lazy? And haven’t like? Replied in like? Forever?

        firstly  ,,,       hi   i   adore   you   okay  ,   don’t   be   shy  ?       omg   i’m   just   a   potato   lbh  .       but   honestly   i’d   love   to   write   with   you   sometime  ,   who   knows  ,   and   i’m   the   worst   at   plotting   things   between   muses   but   hey   that’s   what   we   have   wishlists   for  ?       i   would   love   for   us   to   write   together   sometime   in   the   future  !   ♡♡♡♡♡