#sarcolite

[imitor]

▍ ️♯RE: DENJI. FEATURING . . . POWER ⤻ @sarcolite.

his palm pressed against power's cheek, denji had tried relentlessly to forcefully push away her squirming form, which had been fighting back against the pressure with waving arms and high-pitched whines of defiance. it hadn't been working. “ euuuugghh, get offa me! ” another shove, but in their almost evenly-matched strength he scowled when she barely moved, still putting all of her weight against his palm and his elbow began bending, beginning to weaken with every new bit of weight she laid on him. people were looking, and the skin of his arm still felt wet where she'd tried to lick a stripe of dried blood off of him. he'd freaked when she did, instantly trying to put her down and out for the count, which only resulted in the battle of wills that remained unfinished on the street corner. much to the continued misery of the civilians whose homes had been destroyed, the devil hunters that had been sent to save them were no more than mere children. or a child, and something that vaguely resembled one. and acted like one. “ go on'n lick it off the fuckin' thing that died, not me! seriously, getttttofffffff, you're gonna piss me off! ”

[miercabre]

i’m going to electrocute him. @sarcolite

wednesday believed mundane quarrels to be a waste of one’s time. as humans, it was only natural to disagree with one another but too much time was often spent on rectifying what one party perceived as wrong. time was finite and she never did have enough of it so she typically chose to cut her arguments short. whether that meant a curt dismissal or a crossbow to the heart. it all depended on how much energy she had to entertain herself that day. so when ilaria brought up one of her favourite methods of medieval torture, she had wednesday’s undivided attention.

she turned her head to ilaria, slow and smooth, like the swivel of a porcelain doll. her dark eyes pierced into the animated girl, a gleam in them that gave away her excitement despite her otherwise stony expression. “ what’s the occasion ? perhaps his birthday ? ” she rested her intertwined hands on the diner table as their waitress curiously circled past them for the nth time. no amount of surveillance from the employee could convince her to finish the pancakes ilaria had insisted they get. the thought made her gag.

“ i personally prefer electrocution via electric chair. i find the shackles a discomforting addition. would you like to borrow mine ? ”

[ragedagainst]

it's unexpected to see another person down at the docks this late at night, let alone another woman. this isn't the type of place that you'd frequent even in the daylight, a seedier part of an already seedy city. it puts jyn on edge, her hackles raising despite no other outward signs of danger. she hadn't expected a fight tonight -- this is a fact-finding operation for her current bounty, but she's been surprised before. maybe she'll get to cash in early.

" you shouldn't be out here, " jyn says, voice low -- a warning -- as she steps out of the shadows. there's a lone streetlamp that hangs between them ; she skirts around the edge of the light, not quite crossing that boundary. after all, there are worse monsters out here than her. " you wouldn't be . . . unless you're looking for something. " or someone.

@sarcolite liked for a vampire jyn starter !

[stormbrained]

‘  physically, yes, i could fight a bird. but emotionally? imagine the toll  ’ / wrong blog but @poisiyn hehe (evie)

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"you fight?" he hadn't meant for that to come out quite so... surprised. everyone had something of a fight instinct in the — some just had it hidden way down deep. some just didn't look like they swung fists in any circumstance. "beg your pardon, princess, but who have you been fighting?"

just birds, maybe? teddy squinted, for a beat too long, and in trying to assess her he understood less than he did moments ago.

"yeah, sure, fight a bird. i knew a guy who bust his face open trying to get a chicken," he feigned jabbing a thumb in his eye, "he's got no depth perception anymore, if that's any indication you shouldn't be fighting a fucking bird."

[stormbrained]

‘  shout out. just in general. im just shouting  ’ / ilaria

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twice now the shouting made teddy miscount his steps. TWICE. it was his own damn fault for trying to practice under a bridge, but he thought he had the timing right so the usual crowd of crazies would be anywhere else but under his goddamn bridge. like the grizzled bridge troll he truly was inside, teddy craned his neck to look at the girl, really look at her, without breaking form.

"keep shoutin' and the dog that sleeps under that piss bush is gonna bite your leg clean off," oh, shit, he forgot the piss dog. "nah, seriously, stop shouting. it's got rabies, probably. maybe. the fuck are you shouting for anyway? rage room's in town, go do that there."

[miercabre]

aim for a major artery. the jugular. @sarcolite

the burlap dummy had been a personal choice. wednesday had grown tired of aiming at the red and white rings of the target so she had taken matters into her own hands. in minutes she had successfully managed to stab through the straw arms and wrists and secure her newest victim to his spot. it would’ve been much more satisfying if she could have found pugsley instead but her brother had become elusive ever since he had joined nevermore and finding him had become a low priority task. something she left for agnes as of late.

she hadn’t even heard the girl until her breath hit the shell of her ear and by then her arrow had already flown askew. her jaw ticked in irritation as it stabbed the doll’s shoulder instead of anything vital, much less the jugular. “ my preferred artery is the carotid. brain damage first, death to follow. ” dark eyes bored into yoko before she turned to nock another arrow into place. this time it lodged sharply into the side of the dummy’s barely visible neck causing the puppet to slump forward. wednesday addams was a prideful thing. “ like so. ”

when her attention finally found yoko again the blunt question that clouded her thoughts easily rolled off her tongue. she paid little mind to what was considered polite to ask. “ when you feed, what part of the body do you prefer ? ”

[imitor]

▍ ️♯RE: MIZU. FEATURING . . . TOKUNOBU ITO AKEMI ⤻ @sarcolite.

mizu likens bargaining to weakness and very rarely aims to stoop to such lows. buying off guards with coin or a night in one of the yoshiwaras is one thing, but if they cannot get what they want through an exchange of words or of metal clashing, there is very little point in pursuing it. allowing akemi's company aboard this ship is an expensive and dangerous exchange of favours. abetting her escape from japan's ever-closing walls is a death sentence they didn't sign up for, but they're nobody to deny her the freedom she chooses, nobody to make such decisions for her again. she said as much, blunt and all too defiant to reason, the only words spoken without the courtesy of politeness.

the rest of the crew have been advised of the path mizu aims to travel though are not knowledgeable like akemi, of the meaning of the monster in the underbelly of the ship, the slaughter mizu intends to inflict upon foreign soil so as their father did to theirs. foreign soil where everything will be different, stakes raised, unknown waters that much more treacherous. there are details only shared between the pair of them, mizu and akemi. former princess and wife, former son and samurai. akemi, though mizu doesn't know who she is with her plain clothes and the contrasting wife teeth, who hauls rope to their left with hands so delicate that her palms are scratched red, raw and angry at the labour she's never had to endure.

mizu thinks they should do the job themselves. stops from walking forward to take charge with a huff if only that akemi needs to learn to do it herself or give up trying, whine and cry about the unfairness of it all and then go home. go wherever she pleases, so long as it's far away. but there's not a fucking chance, and they know it. watches the deck of the ship to make sure they're alone and then speaks, hushed. they are not friends, and the crew procured are not their allies, just bodies, just a means to an end that cannot be privy to such secrecy that exists between the two of them. “ there's still time for you to decide you don't want to do this. ” still enough time for mizu to throw her back over walls they helped her climb over in escape. “ we don't embark until dawn, that's enough time for you to come to your senses and grovel at your husband's feet for his family to take you back. ” that in their tone speaks that they wouldn't be surprised. “ say it was grief, fear of edo burning again in your sleep. you still have that choice. ”

[imitor]

▍ ️♯RE: MIZU. FEATURING . . . TAIGEN ⤻ @sarcolite.

london is different. mizu's shades of blue mix with the sea that swims in england’s towns and cities, but wit and steel do not get them past gates that they'd have sliced through on home soil. here it is everything else that they cannot hide, clothes and skin, the barrier of language, one hand trained to hover on the hilt of a blade that is not welcomed, more a public spectacle than anything to be cautiously avoided and feared. london exists as it always has, mizu thinks, built on the stones of smells and sights of cultures not its own. it’s me. i am the difference.

the inns are dirtier than they'd care to think about, blankets itchy, fires foul smelling, people more so. food hardly edible. mere weeks have passed since their ship docked, and fowler sits across from them bound to a bedpost with four eyes trained on them, a hired mercenary from the docks of kyōto and mizu, who rarely sleeps when the enemy exists only meters from their feet, cruel and crafty. that blissful, relaxed look in his eyes most likely a product of imagining their death a thousand times over, by his own hands, by the paid hands of another, by a fatal mistake of their own doing.

chance is not a thing they can afford, so when a rattle from the rooftop scrapes and a slate falls to the ground with a crack, mizu makes to strike. the room they chose makes for a perfect escape, gracefully manoeuvring limbs as silent as the breeze to face their enemy, a shadow under the moonlight that for a moment, they barely recognise until their blade is pressed to their neck, pulse jumping in a pattern familiar. “ taigen--- ? ” tone washed with a flat surprise, a droplet of blood makes itself known as they withdraw, sword still trained to his person, tip pressed to his clothed shoulder. “ you're suicidal. and an idiot, your footwork has gotten sloppy. ” good-humour in the raise of their brow, though their lips remain pressed together, idly frustrated. “ you are supposed to be tending crops in the countryside. and a wife. but here you are …. why, how. ”