[M] Please be soft and sweet to me
#1
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WARNING This thread contains: graphic sexual content, graphic violence, or extremely offensive material starting with the 7th post. Reader discretion is advised.
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Private



He was walking blindly without verified sources to steer him in the right direction, but he knew where Anathema’s borders stretched and he knew that the outcast had sought sanctuary within the pack’s ranks. Conor was a creature that worshipped life above anything else, but he was no longer the same. Knowing he was sick made a difference in his life. He had been such a fool, and the consequences for his blindness lived and breathed through his cursed offspring.

The orange hued man had thought this over hundreds of times, but deep within he knew that there was only one thing to do. He could not afford to be afraid any longer. He did not wish to either. He was a mad man with self insight, and though he was flawed beyond salvation, there was still right he could do in the world. Nayru would take good care of Dahlia de Mai, and the pack’s members would remain safe from a sadist’s cruel claws.

It was not the first time he had sought the pack’s borders in pursuit of a soul he had never met. The thought was extraordinary, but he knew that the coyote clan’s leader had not lied. Scenes had been released into his awakened mind and he knew he had done gruesome things. There was a child here created by him.


Table by Requiem
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#2
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He had walked out of the darkness and into the dimming light of a world that was about to turn darker than the unnaturally lit tunnels behind the youth’s blonde form. But the air was fresh and lovely in Itachi’s lungs and he moved forwards, finding his way to the pack’s borders and scanning the rocky territory. The blushing sky would forever attempt to match the unique glow of the flawed Lykoi’s orbs, but it would always fail. What Itachi longed for was the shades of blue, but the day was too ripe to offer him that satisfaction. Another day would arise on the morrow, so perhaps then could he hope for a cloudless sky of spring blue.

Another presence was detected, but Anathema bulged with new individuals these days. The fallen prince slowly approached the other figure, finding rich hues of cinnamon and caramel. He knew that he had never before laid eyes on this canine, but given Itachi’s nature, the same went for half the pack. He was not one fond of interacting with fellow members without an actual reason. Eventually he reached a standstill, merely watching the other adult as he moved closer. Even the young Lykoi had to admire the unique hues of lilac dancing in the man’s eyes.


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Table by Hilli
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#3
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This time he was quickly spotted, but no cry in alarm rose. Conor realized that he was growing paranoid. He was not a known monster like his father, and no one were coming to end his life. That was a choice that he would have to consider later. So much had been lost, and the deep unhappiness was gnawing away his sanity. Where was his family now? Were they safe? Caramel coated ears were pinned flat against his cinnamon shaded skull. He had held the perfect life in his hands and it was all destroyed. He would never be able to look them into the eyes and express the immerse sadness he carried around with them. Did they see him as a traitor?

The other was younger than he; barely an adult by common standards. His heart’s rate increased eagerly, wallowing in adrenaline brought forth by anticipation. There was both fear and a strange form for excitement. Their coloration was not similar, but it was the scent he was after. Smell could be altered and added to, but it rarely lied. Stepping towards the other, Conor fetched a smile. It felt strange; almost alien. Once he had been a creature that smiled at every opportunity given, but not anymore. He was a pathetic creature now, and the knowledge burned.

Heart pounded through his veins now, powerful and brooding. ”Hey there, I’m Conor Soul,” Whether the young canine knew of him or not did not matter that much.
”What is your name?”
It was hard to fake innocence. The man inhaled, sought for familiarity hidden by the heavy scents of earth and rock, and found it.

Table by Requiem
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#4
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”Itachi,” the boy replied, finding no reason why he should add more than that. He knew nothing of this male, and now when the older canine had stepped closer; he found no trace of Anathema’s characteristic scent. This was a wolf from one of the nearby packs. What a strange way to greet another on another pack’s grounds. Sunset eyes narrowed into suspicious slits of scarlet and traces of flawed indigo. Was it common for outsiders to wander into another pack’s lands to create conversation? He did not like the look of the lavender eyed wolf’s smile. It felt dishonest and wrong, and Itachi always listened to the silent warnings whenever they appeared in his head, blinking red.

”What do you want?” the boy asked, quietly fighting the urge to turn and let his eyes search for another Anathema wolf. He knew that he was alone, and he could deal with it. He was not a child anymore, and the other had no reason to cause trouble for him. Itachi was a wild card, but it was only Inferni he had to fear. But they would not come here to Anathema. Had they really wished to kill the traitorous boy, they would have come for him months ago.


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Table by Hilli
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#5
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A sad smile shone through, and it was a genuine one. The Soul male had wondered what would become of Eclipse. Surely she was tainted just as this boy. At one point, the fresh loner had wondered about taking their lives, but he was not that far gone yet. A life was a life, even if it was tainted. But this boy, he had already committed crimes to reveal the ugliness inside. But it was not the boy’s fault that he was incomplete within, just as it was not Conor’s fault that Haku’s blood polluted his own. It was a sad mess, but there was nothing they could do to change their situations. ”I've been looking for you, Itachi..” This young male was his firstborn. When would Eclipse go wrong? As a parent he knew his little girl better than anyone. When would that change? When would the darkness corrupt that sweet, innocent soul?

”This may sound strange,” the loner breathed, feeling emotion push against his vocal cords. This boy was flawed like he, but he could not hate him and could not punish him for the crimes he had committed against his family. Gabriel had not gone into details, and so Conor could quickly make his own version of the truth. He remained hopelessly naïve, it seemed. But that was his mistake to make, and he had made many before. ”I’m your father.” He was certain of this. And the clothing the youth wore revealed the crimson star that was connected to the Lykoi family. Everything made sense. There were really no other ways to break the news either.

Table by Requiem
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#6
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Word Count → 626 :: derp

The hybrid woman was not so oblivious that she did not recongize the faint scent of familiarity in Anathema. She had known one of her Anathema packmates had also come from Inferni and those coyotes there, but Eris had no interest for her former pack-mates. The presence of a coyote and former Infernian was inconsequential to the coal-shaded hybrid, so long as she was left alone and not forced to confront her former heritage. Thus far, she and the mysterious other had completely ignored one another -- she did not have a name to attach to the face, which was not terribly surprising, considering the Tuyul's general indifference to the coyotes and everyone who swore allegiance to them. Still, the presence of that male scent here in Anathema was telling -- he had left, too, or he had been cast out of their midst. One or the other, his loyalty to Inferni had faded. Despite all her supposed indifference, the hybrid found herself curious on this matter. If he had left, why had he taken leave from them? If he had been exiled, what had he done?


The cool sharpness of winter was beginning to fade, and some of the bite had gone out of the wind. Still, it was cold on this mountain face, trees and cover or not -- a result of their higher elevation, perhaps. The pack was lucky to call the caves their own; they provided ample shelter from the wind and snow and elements, and the fires burning underground would keep them warm and in the light. The half-breed was not disturbed by the temperature of the world. Her coat was thick and wolfish, bearing no resemblance in color or composition to a coyote's fur. Eterne had been stifling and hot in the summer, and even in winter the temperatures did not dip so much toward cold; it simply became less hot.


The nameless scent trailed out of the caves, meandering and without purpose. She trailed after it absently, though the presence of a winter-thin rabbit distracted the coal-shaded woman from her scent trail after not too long. This new quest caught her attention, but after following after the bunny for a few moments, Eris's lack of finesse and skill caused her to make noise, scaring the rabbit into running. Left alone, the hybrid peered about, her yellow-green gaze looking around the still patchy-white world. There was a faint sound of voices, too far away to have any canorous sound to them, too distant to even make out a single word.


Curiosity caught the hybrid, and she followed after this noise, still in the mindset of the huntress. Her movement was as quiet as she could manage, her Optime feet lifting from the ground and falling carefully, body slung low to the ground and yellow-green eyes widened in curiosity at the pair. One was tawny and streaked with fire, the other the dead yellow-gold of desert sand. Her wolflike ears were pricked forward to catch their noise, the last word uttered by the orange-yellow canine something about fatherhood. Standing, the coyote hybrid made her way forward, now catching that this wolf was a stranger. The sand-shaded canine was the stranger, the former Infernian she had not taken the time to recognize.


Whether or not they knew each other in a past life was irrelevant; all that mattered now was his presence in Anathema and their current status as packmates and the fact that this second wolf was an outsider. She did not speak, but she was no longer quiet -- her movements were pronounced, noise announcing her presence to the pair. The stranger's back was turned to her, but the other canine could certainly see her, perhaps saw her as she first approached.


hold us at the center while the spiral unwinds
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#7
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Brows rose incredulously at the sound of the strangest news he had ever been given. Inhale seemed sharper then, drawing in the foreign male’s scent and analysing it to his best ability. It was a strange way to break the facts as well, but the younger male supposed he could understand that there was no way to go about this in a non-dramatic way. Still, it was very strange, and it made him feel uncertain to know that the other had been looking for him. Itachi knew that he had been a most unwanted child and how he had come to exist. He had been a tumour in his biological mother’s life. Perhaps this was someone he could blame for everything that had happened up until now. It was wrong, but no one was fair, least of all Itachi.

He found that he couldn’t doubt the wolf’s words. The Lykoi knew for a fact that he had never inhaled the scent of the other before, but there was a faint trace of familiarity. Such a shame, but the young boy felt quiet relief loosen up his insides. One story would end here. Perhaps the abandoned son should rage and throw around his hurt, but Itachi was not the ordinary child. He never had been. Perhaps his flawed nature came from the man before him. A peculiar thought indeed. Conor Soul did not seem like a monster at all, but the stories he had snatched up from his time in Inferni begged to differ.

Both males’ eyes turned to catch the approaching canine, and for a moment the autumn hued man’s back was turned to his son. Blonde ears lay flat now, but there was no other direction the flawed male wanted to see this scene head. His biological sire had made one giant mistake, and Itachi was that mistake. A sharp sound cut through the air.


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Table by Hilli
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#8
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Conor didn’t know what he had expected. Perhaps denial. But they would both need time to devour this fact. The boy’s dark red eyes seemed unchanging; indifferent as they never strayed despite the news Conor thought would be mind numbing. But he did not know this boy at all. His firstborn was not even a child anymore. It was with great sadness that Conor had to accept that he had missed out on everything. He had not even known of the boy’s existence until recently. Everything was wricked and wrong about this, but the male couldn’t help wanting to know this individual. While he did not believe any of them could be saved from the madness that ran in their veins, he had to believe that there existed a remedy. He would try to save this forsaken child. Even if this young canine was a stranger to his eyes and mind, Conor already felt paternal affection approach, quiet and real.

Cinnamon ears caught the sound of approach, and though he was reluctant to pull his attention from his son, his instantaneous curiosity would not be ignored. Face turned to let eyes search for the intruder and the rest of his body followed; turning around to watch a dark shaded lady approach. She said nothing, and most important of all she did not seem threatening in her stride. Conor had not come here to cause trouble for anyone. He had been looking for a lost child and had found it. Nothing would be all right again, but all hope was not lost—not as long as he lived and did what he could to make a difference despite the devil living in his flesh.

But then, a sharp, metallic sound cut through his calm and changed everything. It was a sound he was vaguely familiar with; a sound of metal. It was nothing like the heavy clang of metal being bent and formed in Saluce’s workshop. This was sleek and almost elegant in its song. A sharp inhale was taken at a most unexpected stab of pain. Confused, the loner glanced down to see glistening crimson clinging to the sharp edge of metal that had burst out of his own chest. A deep feeling of melancholy sang inside him, for this was the least he had expected. He wanted to turn and face the child he had failed to save, but suddenly there was no more time left to do anything. Knees hit the hard ground, but he did not even notice this. The air had been seasoned with the freshness of rain, but now it was disturbed by red copper.

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to his daughter and her mother. It was with great sadness that he realized that his journey ended here.


Table by Requiem
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#9
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Word Count » 565

There's rest for the righteous but us wicked can't sleep

The idea that she was interrupting had not occurred to the coal-shaded woman, or it had and she simply did not care. Her chartreuse-shaded eyes burned between the two canines, one a copper-cream swirl and the other that color of deadened wood, split and felled and curved to the will of the one who felled it. There was no obedience in those burning red eyes, however -- something else flared there, impossibly deep and beyond dark, a fleeting shadow passing over the boy's eyes as the older one turned to face her, his eyes sweet and shaded with some lovely unearthly hue, purple like the early-blooming flowers.


There was some faint and tingling familiarity in the shape of his face, the way he looked -- she could not place it, and instead her eyes shifted to the tawny-colored canine behind this orange-hued outsider as it became apparent the younger of the pair was moving, drawing his sword. Though her face remained set as stone, her chartreuse-shaded eyes could not tear away from the arc of the blade and the flash of silvery metal glinting even in the cloudy day. It swung, the youthful face behind the swinging blade startling in its complete, utter indifference.


There was a blankness there that caught the sable-shaded hybrid's attention and shook her very soul, even as the blood sprayed from the red hole suddenly ripped into the cream-shaded chest of the outsider. It was blank and withdrawn as if there were no more magic or wonder here than any other mundane occurrence of the day; it was as if death was this desert-sand wolf's métier, holding no more allure to him than any other imposed chore or pack duty. She did not comprehend this, and in a moment, as the heavy feeling of death settled over her, she no longer cared, either -- her attention was focused elsewhere, drawn to the source of the brilliantly red blood, sputtering more pathetically now.


A rich and faintly rusted scent filled the air, and the hybrid drew her tongue over her lips, tasting droplets of it clinging to her fur, tinier droplets still floating through the mostly still air. The dark wolf did not yet realize it had splattered against her, too -- a brilliant arc of blood had poured from him with the explosion of the sword from his chest, spraying across her torso and upper stomach. Her eyes had shifted away from the tawny wolf and to the dying, impaled canine before her, her fingers reaching impulsively for the hair along his belly as so much red poured from the open wound, staining all of that lovely pale fur crimson and wet. She slid her hand through the fur, brushing it the opposite direction that it came, and laid her hand over his heart, stepping closer still to him until only a few inches separated her from the jutting edge of the dripping red sword, bits of flesh torn from the outsider's insides clinging to its length.


She felt it there, beating and pulsing just beneath the surface, steadily slowing and becoming erratic beneath her fingers, twitching and thumping uselessly beneath the man's ribs as the life drained from him steadily, pouring from his front in so much lovely red carnage. Her chartreuse gaze again shifted to those purple eyes, knowing they would be milky and dead soon enough.

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#10
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There was no uproar, no rage swivelling within the boy’s organic shell. Yet the sword had spoken for him clear as day, and no room was left to ponder the young Lykoi male’s intention. The freshness of the air tasted of the red pouring out of his father’s warm body. Blonde ears drew back slightly, but the spray of maroon only spoiled the already dark appearance of the woman that had drawn up close. How strange; the eager rush of blood in a scene would normally encourage creatures to shy away. It was with minor difficulty the boy’s sunset gaze released his sire and rose to investigate present pack member. He was not nervous of her attendance, but he stood on uncertain grounds here. But the look in her honey-gold eyes did not speak of one that feared the monster.

Would Halo ever learn that he had avenged her? The hand on the sword’s handle wished to offer a twist, but he knew that it would be unnecessary to force more suffering on this man. Death was the ultimate end, and therefore the ultimate punishment. Or perhaps it was the only way to grant another being salvation and unlimited freedom. Itachi knew not what his father was, but the man deserved no less. He knew what he was, and knew that the world would likely have remained a better place if he had not been brought into this world. He was unwanted, but that was all right. Things were as they were, and while Itachi could not undo what had been done, he could seek his own flawed path of existence. Conor was not the first to taste injustice, and he would not be the last.

There were no words he wished to speak as the man’s soul started to escape its mortal body. The son had nothing to say to his father.


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Table by Hilli
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#11
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Dawn’s swift approach teased his senses, for while the world around him kept their hues of fresh spring, he could only perceive the darkness, approaching with hurried and final steps. Eyelids trembled slightly as he resisted the urge to close his eyes; feeling the tight pull of a wicked sleep. But the pain was great and he was no more ready than any other mortal creature to let go of his presence in this world. But he knew what was coming for him. Would he soon turn to meet a pair of burning blue embers in the face of the underground king? Would he forever be unable to reach salvation? Conor had tried to make this world a better place, but his voice had not been heard; he had not received absolution. Perhaps there was only one ending to foul creatures like him. But it wasn’t fair, for there was so much left for him of life.

Pitch black moved before him, but it was not the darkness of his ending world, but a creature of flesh and blood with yellow eyes. He recognized a different taint in the soul peering out from those hues, and could feel an impulsive response settle in the pale lines of his warm painted face when she touched him. Darkspawns would always crawl out from the rifts of the earth. The man’s heart ached for the lost son that had doomed him, but the organ within his chest was running low on maroon. With a face consorted with plain disgust, the dying man spat at the wicked demon before him, and barely registered the taste of his own blood on his tongue before the world was destroyed by soft currents of black. Finally, he could rest.

Table by Requiem
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#12
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Word Count › 571 Powerplayed a bit. Yemme know if no good.

a dog among kings with no self control

That eratic beat continued beneath her fingertips. Once, it must have been steady and strong, pumping life through the man's body and sustaining him. Now, it seemed to flutter like a trapped bug, its wings frantically tapping at the glass to escape; it seemed to stagger, a desperately sick thing still struggling to maintain life. The faint vibration beneath her fingers seemed to swell into an incoherent and all-encompassing din, that steadily slowing sound drawing her slowly into him. Her yellow-golden eyes had become as blank and flat as the flaxen canine to deliver the killing blow, though her face was contorted, some maniacal look of near-ecstasy displayed in something very close to a grin.


The surrounding world seemed to drain away quickly, fading into that same deathless black that had certainly begun to work its way across the orange canine's vision. There were no words within Eris or any other language to convey the sights there, fantastical and horrific things of the underworld and overworld and every single one in between. She had stared into this face of death before, and there was no fear within the spiral-scarred woman -- she was protected, she was alive, and she would return to the land of the living. The endless, jagged mountains and charred skies stretched around and over her forever, and she could make sense of nothing she saw -- it was as if the physics governing her usual realm had completely abandoned this one. Directions inverted upon one another infinitely, and staring at even herself she could see the pulsing red and green and gold and orange, and other colors, colors without names or analogues in reality.


The coal-hued canine in reality had begun trembling ever so slightly, her fingers still resting on the warmth of the wolf's chest. Now the heart was beating so faintly and so slowly beneath her fingers, it had nearly seemed to stop. Every moment one might have determined he had died, however, there was one more meek beat from the dying organ, some fading instinct to continue onward even in the certain, grinning-skull face of death itself. There was movement from the cream-shaded wolf, swaying and his own trembling shakes as his body began to fail him, and that timeless, empty place where Eris had gone began to shake with it, the ground beneath her and the sky above seeming to tear open as it collapsed in and upon itself, shattering to pieces as the dying wolf faded away beneath her fingertips.


There was a noise, and a warmth on her cheek, and the hybrid was dimly aware that she was alive again and in this world. The feeling of vertigo was very nearly overwhelming, and for a moment it seemed she would collapse before the dying man. Awareness steadily returned to her, however, her mind far more accustomed to the law and sense of this world than that other one. She realized he'd spat on her, the frothy mix of his own blood and spit trickling slowly down her cheek, streaking it with pink. The sable-shaded woman laughed then, a startlingly loud sound that seemed to resonate from somewhere within her, and her pink tongue snaked out of her mouth, wiping over that same area where he'd spat. She shoved forward with her hand against that dead, fast-cooling flesh. It would be as cold as the dirt itself in just a short while.

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#13
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Perhaps it disappointed him to feel nothing as the life leaked out of the dark golden canine before him. Blonde ears sharply swivelled at the last sound created by the dying man, and eyes narrowed to consider the glossy, pinkish moisture running down the dark woman’s cheek. Did they know of each other then? He was not curious enough to ask, for this was a closing chapter. His father was dead and he would go on in life with his hands maroon, so freshly red. The boy’s took one step back as he withdrew the blade with a soft thud. It seemed to require more muscle to remove it than it had been when he stabbed. Strange.

The sword’s now scarlet appearance was beautiful to him, but his focus decided to linger on the strange woman. He watched her tongue swipe across the area where the male wolf had spat, and felt an edgy amount of ice settle in the pits of his stomach. He would have turned to leave the pathetic scene immediately had he not been so intrigued by the wolfess’ act. He had seen repulsion and he had seen glee, but he had never seen the strange currents moving in the surface of her coal tainted face. Who was this woman? Taking another step away from the dead and the living, he moved into the role of a spectator without anticipation.


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Table by Hilli
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#14
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Word Count › 525 CARP POST

a dog among kings with no self control

There was a sharp, coppery bite on her tongue, that same scent that lingered so heavily on the air. The sword drew back steadily from the man's flesh, sucking and tearing sounds as the tawny-shaded man drew the bloodstained metal from the other canine's chest. Her brilliant green eyes watched this with that same fascination across her face, watching as the sword withdrew and left a gaping hole in the man's chest. He seemed to crumble then, his lovely purple eyes already long cold and emptied of whatever vitality they might have once held in them.


She seemed to follow his body as it fell, her own inclining slowly to match his descent, leaning slowly forward as he fell to the ground. She crept over him, standing above him and slowly kneeling until she straddled him. Her hands lifted again, pressing against that stained cream chest. It was as if she'd forgotten the flaxen canine's presence in the face of those shining intestines, the ripped flesh where there had once been breathing lungs, functioning stomach, beating heart -- and truly, she had forgotten all about the red-eyed canine and his sword. Something else had drawn her attention, seeming to call to her from his dead chest. It whispered darkness into her ears, pulling her fingers down and toward the fatal wound, the tips of them brushing almost lovingly against the torn muscle and skin there. They came away bloody and stained brilliant crimson.


Her yellow-golden eyes were opened wide, her jaw hanging just slightly ajar as her tongue ran out over her lips, licking them hungrily. There was no hunger in her, however -- cannibalism had never held much attraction for the sable-shaded woman, and she did not want to eat the bloodied corpse. Her hands plunged into his chest cavity suddenly, burying fingers between ribs and separating them with a forceful tug. It sent a crack reverberating through the still air, and then her hands were in him further, nearly halfway to her forearm, digging and tearing and shoving past all the useless parts to the center of him.


Eris drew it from the man slowly, the deep crimson-brown color barely differentiated from the bloodied black of her hands and arms. She held it in both hands before herself, staring down at it with that same deep fascination ingrained on her face. It did not matter how many times she saw one of these; it did not matter how many fell before her, how many times she pulled one of these, soaking and still quite warm to the touch, from the fresh dead. It would always hold that same magic, and she would find this magic no less fascinating if she did this a hundred thousand times.


The coyote's face was contorted into something like a smile, though it was twisted and tinged with something akin to cruelty. Perhaps it was her indifference at the death required to have this precious magic in her palms that colored her smile so -- Eris simply did not care that this cream-shaded wolf or anyone else had to die in order for her to have their liver.


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#15
Hor dare you calling your posts carp when you're threading with ME! :| it's the same as openly insulting all my posts!
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This organic chunk of flesh before him was no one. The man was dead and whatever remained of him had the task of returning to earth. But this. Itachi’s sense of morale did not match the usual standards set in more intelligent beings, but he felt his body react to the things he saw now. Scarlets watched black fingers dig deep into the man’s cooling body. The Lykoi’s eyes slowly widened in a response he was soon to distinguish as shock. The blonde could tell that she had travelled far away elsewhere. Perhaps it should be reassuring to know that she was not aware of his presence, but instead he felt horror.

When her fingers resurfaced, something slick and shivering was held in her grasp. Itachi had butchered enough animals to recognize the organ, but he could not understand why she was acting in this manner. Young as he was, the flawed Prince knew very little of the religious aspects of life and the beliefs some of those in his pack held. Eris’ actions were only barbaric in his eyes and it was reason he needed before he could accept what his eyes saw. The blonde boy had opened up several living animals to investigate their design, but this woman currently possessed the face of a maniac.

Another step was taken back; away from the warm and the cold, but his curiosity was a roaring, invisible wall that he could not escape through. He could feel sickness following the pulse of his heart, but he couldn’t turn away.


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Table by Hilli
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#16
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Word Count » 311 You know what I AM SO FRICKING SICK OF YOUR PUNKBITCHASS, I AM DONE, THIS IS MY LAST POST TO YOU EVER, YOU SUCK, THREADING WITH YOU IS HORRIBLE STUPID VIKINGS ONLY GOOD FOR SCREWING AND CONQUERING

my road to hell is surely paved

There was a quivering in the warm chunk of meat in her hands -- it came from her rather than the liver. Her fingers seemed to be on fire, spreading down her arms and into her shoulders and chest, tingling electric flame burning through her body. The yellow-green gaze hadn't focused on the killer since the dead had fallen; she was hardly aware of his presence anymore. She was utterly alone with the once-live center of the cream-colored wolf; though sacrifices had been something of a jamboree in Eterne, there was nothing of the sort here for Eris. It was not as if she required an audience, anyway.


It was not the sound of the tawny wolf's movement that drew her attention, but something else -- some otherworldly whisper, that faint scent-not-scent wafting from him. It was not the sharp, fast-souring scent of murder that drifted toward her from the boy, but something else entirely. Her chartreuse gaze drew toward him slowly, following the splatter of blood to his feet, trailing up his legs and torso slowly, finally settling on his face. Red burned there still, but now there was something else in his eyes -- she did not recognize it as disgust; she would not have recognized it as anything else. Emotion and body language were irrelevant.


“He was yours,” she said, sharply and louder than she had expected, surprising even herself. Her voice, although not particularly deep or loud, seemed to bellow and resonate through the empty trees. “Come here?” she said, raising her voice rather like a question, though there was outright demand in her eyes. Her intense gaze hadn't shifted from his face since it had settled there, and now her smile returned, empty and cold as it had been before. It was the smile of a serpent, the grin of a lizard -- slithering and cold-blooded.

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#17
How nice.
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His father had just refreshed a lesson that he ought to honour. One should not let one’s guard down easily, and trust was something Itachi had yet to give to any other living creature. His own mind could be a minefield as well, but at least he knew himself a little better than the rest of them. The black woman’s words were correct; the dead corpse had once been his, but now it belonged to the cool earth, to worms and insects. The woman saw him now, and sunset eyes narrowed just slightly as she wanted to draw him into her web. Her smile would match his general emptiness, but the young male could not see this. But it bode him to retreat, for this creature before him was wicked and wrong, just like the corpse on the ground and just like him.

Wet red clung to the blade with its sticky shine still as the blade’s point turned and pointed at the woman dressed in black and dark maroon. Itachi’s concentration lingered with the hurried beat of his heart as he attempted to soothe the adrenaline rush with oxygen retrieved by relaxed, controlled breaths. Monsters lurked in the darkness, but they were not to be feared unless their eyes were on you. This woman saw him now, but she was but a mere wolf with the absence of visual reason on her face. Some souls fell deeper than others, and perhaps he could relate to her. But he knew nothing, and kept the stained sword between the two.


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Table by Hilli
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#18
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Word Count » 384 Shut the hell up I love you. We can wrap if you want, either post again or archive, your choice beotch.

my road to hell is surely paved

She had seen the desert in his fur, and she had seen the sea in his eyes, the mountains of a hundred distant lands, a thousand different souls fallen before that shadow. She was familiar with him, and she had known him before -- this feeling ached in her bones as she saw the boy, still clutching his sword. In this moment she did not care whether she lived or died; thoughts of her children, Larkspur, anyone other than that thing whispering to her from the depths of the boy's belly, the deepest reaches of his soul was irrelevant.


She saw it then, sliding slowly forth from him in even in the brightness of day, some polymorphous and shifting thing that had no true shape. There was no boundary to him, and all else was dim in an instant, the chartreuse eyes of the woman widening in fear. It had recognized her before; perhaps it would not now, denied the memories of its previous existences. All through this, the quiet remained; nothing in their surroundings seemed to change; no one but the sable-hued woman herself saw this thing as it slid from him and seemed to reach out for her, but she shrank back physically all the same, sliding against the ground as he hackles raised, her lips drawing back in a snarl. Her breath came in gasps, drawing quickly from the still copper-scented air


Yellow-green eyes flared wide again and she seemed to snap from a trance, though none of the panic was gone. She shrank back more, wanting nothing more than to get away from him and that corpse, the thing she had seen and not seen. It was gone now, even from the vision of the only one to have seen it. Awkwardly, she put her back to a tree and drew her knees up against her chest, wrapping her hands around her legs. It was only then she realized she had never dropped the liver, the thing that had showed her these things -- it had been smashed and crushed to paste in her hands, and she wiped them awkwardly on the ground, choking a whimper away, not wishing for the boy to hear it. Eris shivered nonetheless, trembling as if the air was frigid even in the springtime warmth.

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