.OPEN POST.

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.meme continuations.
.gen & nsfw-friendly.
.nsfw very appreciated, tbh.
.feel free to plot something with me if you want @ creatura.

Comments

@dontdeserve;

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( from here. )

( why you gotta go and be all logical and shit, vash. damn. )

I hate it when you make valid points.

( boohoo, you weeping willow. )

@sanctis;

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( from here. )

Worst. Toast. Ever.
Save yourself the trouble next time.

@plantcifist;

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( from here. )

( he really thought he could trust you more than this.

time for the child leash again. )

You never think you're going to hurt yourself when it ends up happening.
I guess it's just a good thing you didn't faint, hit your head and give yourself a concussion.

@continually;

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( from here. )

( you know what, a warm glass of milk would probably sound really nice to his brother if you were bullying him, but. since you're being a condescending butthead about it. )

I don't eat or drink.
And I know you're being condescending.

@assassinsgreed ( you're just a pup, aren't you? );

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( it isn't all orphans.

it isn't all little lost lives that have been forgotten, left to the dust that follows the wind and brought to him like lambs for slaughter, given over to the blade before they even had a chance to figure out what it was in the first place — but they're the easiest to come by. sacrifices to god, the followers will say, sacrifices for the greater good.

really, it's taking god's weakest soldiers and trying to make something of them. most of the time it fails — monev the gale, livio the doublefang — and the one time, most recently that it hadn't had given them nicholas the punisher and he's sent him on his own task, now, as it is.

bring my brother to me.

he doesn't care how long it takes, what the body count ends up being because at the end of it all they're worms. lower than that, whatever the worms choose to feed on because they're just as mindless, just as quick to follow orders when given the right kind of incentive.

but.

this one.

he'd asked for toji fushihuro to be brought to him under the guise of a proper examination by his own eyes, his own hands, not only because he has never trusted conrad a day in his miserable life but because he'd gotten wind that the carnage sometimes asked of his followers seems to … appeal to him, in some way or another.

they're alone in his piano room; barren as it is save for the mount of a petrified sister looming over them he makes a slow, slow circle around their newest assassin on bare feet, the edge of his hooded cloak trailing behind him and only when he deigns to close some of the distance between them does he pull his hood down, pale blond hair in mussed spikes all over his head and even paler blue eyes bearing down on the human in front of him.

god, but he's curious. )

I hear you like it. ( he practically purrs into the air between them, stepping closer and closer still, head tipping to the side. ) The killing. Is that true?