STARTING HORMONES IN NOVEMBER
corpusdxlicti reblogged
Crimson eyes gleamed and smiled first before he spoke up. "Well, damn, is that what you call the wisdom of the old?" Cú teased even though he had been the one to ask for advice. Had to be a bit mean no matter the situation. But the day felt a little brighter now. It was a little bit validating that someone twice (thrice?) his age shared the idea that he just should be who he is. "But you're the first old man that tells me something like that. It's always 'You can't just do that Cú Chulainn', 'Think of what will others think?', 'Why can't you be less loud?' and stuff like that. Thanks." Gratitude that was obviously accompanied by a small kick to the back of their knee.
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MORTUUS— BEING CALLED OLD WAS not something he was particularly unused to, but nonetheless it created a tinge of annoyance in his features, albeit hard to spot. But the gratitude which followed was much more unexpected. It was rare he was treated well by others, and while he wouldn’t usually say he minded very much in any sort of way, he could not deny that this was quite nice. He hums quietly, shrugging slightly. “I’m just telling you what I know I would have wanted to hear if I was still your age.” He cannot help but think back to a time when he was little more than skin-and-bones, and a leather jacket and a knife were the only thing protecting him from the outside world.
corpusdxlicti reblogged
continued from here || @corpusdxlicti
Like a starved dog gobbling its first meal in a week, the youngling jumped at the offer. Barely a dog in this boy's case. He was a young pup with lanky limbs and a hungry stomach like one of those big puppies that began thin and awkward but grew into tall and powerful hounds. It was typical for kids like him to leap head-first into an unfavourable ordeal, especially when neglect oozed out of them like puss from an infected wound.
Slowly, Eve retracted her hand and downed her drink. She slid off the bar stool and motioned Vincent to follow. "You start now. Come with me." She glanced over her shoulder once to ensure Vincent was tagging along, then led them past the bar and through the beady curtain that separated the general lounge area from the rest of the club.
They entered a long hallway, and Eve's heels clapped against the solid concrete floor. A few tipsy or drunken patrons stood by, either chatting up the girls who were queuing for the bathrooms or straight up trying to slide them money and spirit them away into a private booth. At the very end of the hallway, right by the utility room, a bodyguard stalled, visibly bored. Eve approached him and extended a hand: "You got the keys?"
The man narrowed his eyes at Vincent, then at her and huffed: "What for? You got the boss' approval?"
Eve raised a brow and smiled. "Either you give me the keys, or you'll be the one cleaning shit, cum and vomit off the walls in a few hours."
The man stalled, grunted and then handed Eve a bundle of keys, stepping aside so she could enter the room.
"Good boy. I'll deal with Yoming myself, don't you worry." She patted the man's chest and led Vincent inside the room. The automatic light clicked on as soon as they walked in.
"There's the sink, bidet, buckets and mops. The washer and dryer are old but do their job. It'll be your task to make the bathrooms sparkle, or I'll personally serve you dinner on the toilet bowl, understood?" Eve placed a hand on her jutted hip and turned to Vincent. "If you run out of a cleaning product, tell the bartender. He's in charge of most supplies. I expect you to be here every night at nine, sharp; you'll be paid every week based on the work you do. Oh, and I'll make the boss throw in a big dinner for you." Eve smirked and poked Vincent's ribs. "You're skinny like an underpaid whore; you'll need to build up at least some muscle if you want to do the hard jobs."
OCCISOR— Her touch leaving him leaves him cold, emotionally shivering at the lack of it once he had tasted it. There was no way he could forget it now, even if it was only for a short moment. He nods towards her reply, not very much caring what she’ll push him into as long as it means he gets to see her more. Leaping to his feet off the stool, he tags along after her much like the neglected dog she saw him as. Wild eyes darting around the space they traverse, taking in everything and more, registering, a brain that had long been abandoned in favor of sheer survival finally being put to work—even if it was not really necessary or requested. Maybe even actually disliked over him just keeping his head down and not paying attention where he shouldn’t.
Ruffled at the sudden blockade, Vincent cannot help but glare over her shoulder, especially when he was so dismissive towards him, like Vincent wasn’t a threat in his own way. Like he couldn’t take those damn keys and ram them into--- No. No. Stop. He halts his immediate thoughts, instead letting eyes dart to Eve’s smile, smitten even if she was giving him perhaps the grossest job in the joint, aside from having to deal with the cum-depositing old men in the first place. A thought that already makes him think of the men flirting with girls with disgust (Not even considering yet that Eve might share said future). But he knows better than to show it—instead his face goes a little more blank than before, and instead glares more at the man as they pass him, annoyance quietly simmering at her giving away her approval so easily when they do not deserve it.
Eyes dart around the space, and eventually land back on her. “Yes, crystal.” The idea of having to eat out of a toilet bowl being particularly unpleasant, but nonetheless probably better than some meals he had experienced. After all, if one got desperate enough, food was food.
“I’ll make sure it sa’isfies you…. Eve.” Nine sharp was easy, and the idea of a real meal… Well, he could not say no to that. The sheer idea of it alone making his mouth fill with saliva, swallowing thickly—It could be stale bread for all he cared, and it’d still be worth it, but considering the place he might be able to get some scraps from the kitchen which would be particularly enjoyable.
“Thank ya.” He tells her, though he cannot help but show displeasure at being compared to an underpaid whore. “I can 'andle a lo' mawe than a 'hink, even skinny like 'his.” He offers, thinking she was holding back on him because she was looking down on him, which made him particularly riled up. “I can 'andle me Jack Jones in a figh', ya knah.”
corpusdxlicti reblogged
HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYBODY ! let’s take this as a reminder that no matter what you identify as, no matter if you’re out of the closet or not, no matter if you’re still questioning, all of you are incredibly loved and i am so damn proud of you.
MORTUUS— A MOMENTS PAUSE. "...are you... a child?"
That moment you want to send someone some silliness on anon but they don't have anon and you want to preserve the vibe of your character and thus can't send it off anon ;a;
❝ sir would you please step out of the vehicle and demonstrate your white boy lyrical flow. ❞
MORTUUS— THE WORDS THE OTHER WAS saying might as well have been a riddle, because it sure made no sense to him. Unable to really process it, he ends up just kind of freezing, staring at the other with a single eyebrow raising slightly to express whatever confusion he can aside from his evident freezing. A total bluescreen, so to speak.
At some point he's going to have to move, but he really needs a moment.
corpusdxlicti reblogged
Johan does not understand thrill. He kills when he needs to, when a person is no more value to him than the day he’d first assign said value to their life. His life is thoroughly lived, not particularly enjoyed but very interesting and full of new people to play like chess pieces. The man underneath him—Adrian was it? he couldn’t remember—bled from his eyes where there were thick industrial needles placed. That brand of horror didn’t suit him, but was integral to the story he needed the media to pick up, if only to get them off his tale a little while longer. Just enough for the main event to kick off. The man before him gave the same impression of dissociation as he did when performing such despicable acts. His eyes didn’t focus—or rather couldn’t focus—on the body below.
“I can’t say yet, he hasn’t fulfilled his purpose…” Johan says, airily. He reaches in the back of his pants and brandishes his secondary weapon; a brand new revolver freshly retrieve from his recent victim. “Is there something I can help you with?”
MORTUUS— VINCENT SIMPLY STARES, as he tended to do with rather unusual situations much like this one. Quietly, he crouches down besides the scene, inspecting the needles without particularly involving himself in the scene. “His purpose, huh.” He repeats, quietly, as if mulling over the words. With a silent shrug, he waves aside the question. “I am merely observing. Its not often I get to see it in the flesh.”
He never lies his hands on the victims he gets to see while they were alive, after all, and only tapes he receives alongside them show that they were ever part of the living at all. But that does not mean that he is not intruiged by the idea. He likes it, even, if it wasn’t for the continued and everlasting risk of jail that comes along with it. That part, in his eyes, is not quite worth it when he can just pretend for innocence and uninvolvement when the police come sniffing at his door.
Or maybe it was, seeing the scene before him now and feeling a thrill unlike much he had experienced since the days when teenage fingers would curl around the fluffy throats of animals that could do nothing to properly resist him, when he needed it to vent emotions he couldn’t control properly yet. “Are you going to kill him? Or just simply make it so that he couldn’t tell the story even if he wanted to?”
“ thanks for the tea. ” - gabs uwu
MORTUUS— FOR A MOMENT, HE CAN hardly believe she even said that. It had, after all, been basically forced out of him after she fucking rose up from his mortuary table and wouldn't leave him the fuck alone, until eventually he had no choice but to give her tea. Had his face not been naturally very blank, it would have done so right about now. "..... no problem..." He says, although there really is no feeling in the words.
The steps in the corridor. Quick and light. The door opened. A young woman; more like a girl. Pale, her hair perfectly done, an expensive blue dress. She froze; it was obvious she did not expect to see Vincent there. She was sure to find there someone else.
“My Lady…” – a voice of the chaperone who scolded the girl – “I told you should not…”
The girl suddenly remember her manners. A curtsy.
“I apologize for this sudden interruption, My Lord. I hope I have not caused you too much trouble.” – a small smile. Nunnally was a bit intimidated. More than she thought she should be. But probably less than most persons in his company.
Still, there was something in that man that made her internally question herself just who he was. Was she getting scared?
(for the Victorian/Edwardian verse)
MORTUUS— INTENSE EYES TURN upon her at her arrival, the opening of a door expected, but the entrant not very much. He knows he looks out of place, clothes too worn for those of a certain stature, a gruffness about him that most of her level would avoid to keep rumours away. But still, either she had not yet developed the eagle eye of her sort that would immediately judge another with a single look or she simply was too intimidated to apply it, she addressed him so formally he cannot keep the slight smirk off his features.
Ignoring the presence of the chaperone, much as the chaperone would have done to him in any other situation, he steps towards her. "Me lord? No one 'as called me tha' before" He knows he looms over her, but does nothing to stop it as he tilts his head a little. "Who did ya come 'ere expectin', lil' songbird? I am ra'her curious, I admi'."
He almost cannot help himself imagining her calling out some sort of endearment for a fiancé or a family member, a 'daddy!' flits through his mind. "Sadly I must disappoint. I''s merely me, a foul stree' crea'ure dirtyin' your doorstep." He says, in mock sorrow as he bows, hand holding cane held out to the side as he does.
“ an act so vile, but i did it, just like that. ” (johan)
MORTUUS— HE CANNOT HELP BUT STARE INTO the person's eyes, trying to get a read for the stranger, even if his first impression of them was a likeness, if not in expression then in simply what they were. Only once enough time had passed to leave any other uncomfortable (albeit unintentionally doing so), does he open his mouth to speak, "But did you enjoy it?"
corpusdxlicti reblogged
hembralfa
The satisfying crack doesn’t feel as rewarding as it normally does… He doesn’t react; he doesn’t even flinch. It makes her wonder why she even bothered raising a hand ( she knew why, she just didn’t want to say it ).
“You’re fucking gross.” She hisses as one or two people glance their way. “What’s your deal? God. Who would want youse near them? Eat shit and die, pervert.” She steps back some, and much to her horror her legs shake. He’s creepy. His head isn’t right. “Tch. Yer… uh?” What was the word again? She couldn’t recall. “One of those freaks who wants to get hurt. Well, if youse keep pushing me I’ll gladly beat the shit outta youse.”
OCCISOR— HER CURSING AT HIM is more par for the course than she probably knows, as he sighs quietly, trying to shift his body a little to process the pain that was still ringing through his head. "Ya mean a masochist?" He offers, as she seems stuck in her own words.
"No, I'm not." He denies rather quickly after, a slight darkness to his voice as he does. It's clear from his expression, however, that he doesn't fully understand why she freaked out so much. He just wanted to follow her around, why is that so bad? Why did she have to punch him when he hadn't even done anything yet.
"I'm actually much more the opposite," He says, "I fin' you'd butcher's hook good wi'h some 'ears runnin' down 'hose cheeks.."
Anonymous asked:
is your muse more emotionally stable or are they more turbulent?
HEADCANON;; IT HONESTLY depends on in what period of his life Vincent is in. Adult and child Vincent are both very low-expression style with his emotions and while they feel them, in a general case they tend to feel them with a kind of distance. On the other hand, teen Vincent feels emotions on a level much like a volcano--- near impossible to control and having a challenging time holding them back.
Honestly, had his situation not been the way it was, it was likely that the attitude he has during his teens would have levelled out more, but not resulted in going back to the near expressionless-ness of his childhood. If you ever spoke with me about Vincent during his studies, that would be the most likely result. Feeling the emotions strongly, but not outwardly expressing them as much.
Truthfully, they're both faces of the same coin, and some situations can bring either to the surface, as you see with @hhemeraa's character Myles having in many situations caused Adult Vincent to express strong emotions on the level of teen Vincent.
MORTUUS— AS HE FEELS THE SLUGGISH yet familiar drip of blood coming from his nose, down his chin, he cannot help but feel somewhat surprised to see the re-appearance of the creature that had so suddenly appeared before him in a time not too long ago. He cannot help but chuckle darkly in response.
"Well, this is quite a change from last time, huh?" He starts, wincing slightly as he shifts his body to be able to look up at their hulking size. "It appears you weren't the only one to pick up on the 'darkness' of my soul."
Vincent cannot help but remember when one of the loved ones of one of his victims found him, and had decided that the law couldn't be trusted on his punishment, landing him here instead. "So, why are you here? To laugh at me? Or did you have other intentions?"
corpusdxlicti reblogged
hembralfa
“I’d leave youse behind in a heartbeat. I couldn’t care less what happens to youse.” She quickly snaps back. It was rare for her to interact with someone to the level she was with this kid, but then again it was rare for her to interact with someone seemingly closer to her age.
Made sense though. Wasn’t like she went to school, and most nights she went out picking fights with skeezy adults all just to feel something. “Also watch it. I don’t like people getting close to me… I’ll break your nose youse get any closer.” A promise; not a threat.
OCCISOR— STEPPING CLOSER WITHOUT HESITATION, despite her threat that she would probably break his nose, and even if she did punch him, he would do little more than step back because of its force, blood flowing from his nose as the crack resounds through the surroundings, and he takes a few seconds to process it happening before he only seems to become more unhinged. "Tha' jus' makes me wanna be 'round ya even more."
Eyes are wide, not out of shock or anything, but just growing obsession. "I promise I won't get in the bleedin' way, y'kna?"
