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Old 12-29-2012, 05:11 PM   #251
Luna_Wolf72
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In the City

The hunt moves fast. A whirlwind of movement. A splash of blood, a whimper of sound, a beat of breath that stutters to a stop and freezes there. JUST there.

She moves in for the kill, dagger dipped in holy water with just the barest gilding in silver along the foremost edge. Two for the price of one, you might say. Her hands are birds of prey, swooping in to make short work of the thing that huddles in the corner~ gray eyed, hollow, shivering from the poisoning a good dose of silver nitrate can give.

Succubus.

Unhallowed thing.

She had been gorgeous. Flame haired, tawny skinned, busty and hippy without being fat. The perfect amount of bounce. A good bit of tail if that was all one wanted. After all, most succu~bitches weren't worth more than a fuck and suck. You fucked. They sucked and eventually?

You died.

But this bitch had went above and beyond the call of...duty. She had decided to introduce a child into the mix. A CHILD. Someone should have warned her, should have told her. Not in this city. Not where this girl thing~ almost as monstrous as the ones she hunted~ laid her head.

There would be NO abuse of children here. Not on her watch. The bitch had to die. Because there was a child involved? She had to die, slow. VERY slow.

The game had been played out all across the city. Bright lights had hidden the garish splashes of ichor. Passing cars and thumping music had swallowed the sounds of screaming, of running, of hiding. Thousands of bodies had helped to conceal the running of two lithe forms racing toward the dawn.

It had been almost~ poetic.

It had been almost~ fun.

But now, the game had ended. Here~ in this dark, dank, pissy smelling alley way~ the hunt had come to an end. The game was over.

"Please. Just...please. I won't do it again. I won't..."

The hunter took one small step forward, silver dipped blade bobbing left to right, capturing the bright lights from the street on it's glistening length.

"I know you won't." The voice is cold, a purr of self satisfaction.

The blade impales itself into the flat expanse of the succu-bitch's belly and is pulled slowly upward. From navel to neck. There is a sound like plop, plop. A hiss as entrails let go and fall to the dirty ground. A scream that goes far beyond the hearing abilities of the average human.

The form fades, leaving only the real shape behind. Snake woman in black with skin that flakes away even as she wails and begs for mercy. But there is no mercy to be found. Not here, not anywhere.

Silver bladed length is removed while strong arms grapple for, find, hold....and then it is the work of a moment to take the bitch's head.

The blade bites deep. The strength of revulsion and pain makes the cut just THAT much deeper. And when it is over...the demon is gone leaving only ashes on the wind.

It was a good hunt. The best hunt. And Micah...is tired.

Time to go home.
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Old 12-30-2012, 08:22 PM   #252
Luna_Wolf72
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Pretty Kitty Twin~ A Secret in beat form

I want~

To lick, taste, drink, swallow, breathe, torment, bathe...
in you, with you, beside you, above you, beneath you.
Because, because, because...
you make me want these things.

When you giggle, when we talk on the phone and
I hear the devious intake of breath right before
you whisper a secret, tell me a tale, share a thing that most
won't, don't deserve to hear.

They are not privy to the things we share,
the things we KNOW,
the things we plan, plot, devise.
They are not in the loop.

Did you know I would~

Crawl, kneel, whimper, bleed, scratch, scream, die
for you, if you but asked, crooked a finger and said~
"I want it, make it so..."
I would.

Luckily, you won't ask it of me.
I don't think.
I could be wrong though, as you are so very...
EVIL.
Perfect foil.
You are the dark to my light.
I am the dark to your light.

Barber shop pole, mixture, counter plot.

These are things. These are words.
These are but thoughts and I am sure you knew
before I could say, before I could tell
Before I could find the words.
No matter.

I like to whisper things in your ear.
I like to imagine you...
a buffet for a hunger I can not contain, control, corral.
I like to hear you in my mind
Rend, scream, plead, cry, beg, say that word.
You know the word.
PLEASE. Just...
Please.

Because...because...because...
It needs to be said sometimes.
You need to say it sometimes.
And I want to hear it, a whisper
A shout.
Sometimes.


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Old 12-30-2012, 08:46 PM   #253
Nina327
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-grabs face-
-Nose tip to nose tip-

-held with narrowed eyes-

-and a smile that creeps-

I fuckin love you.






You... You know that, right?
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Old 12-30-2012, 08:54 PM   #254
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Yes, Kitty. I surely do.

and the feeling, as always...is entirely mutual.

You are...Twin...and awesome...

*kisses mouth and smiles*

*whispers*

and edible.
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Old 01-01-2013, 09:20 AM   #255
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Needs Must When the Devil Drives

My strength wanes when the sun rises.

Like a vampire I hide from the breaking dawn and plot for the return of night fall. I dream of moon rises. I lust for billions of stars sprinkled upon the dark blue velvet sky. I need the cool darkness like a thirsting man needs water. I need the shadows like a drowning man requires air.

That isn't to say that I can not hunt in the bright sunshine.

I can. I do.

Daytime is what keeps me in whiskey and cigarettes. Daytime is what pays the bank note on my condo, buys me the toys I need to complete my assigned tasks. When the sun rises, those who need my special expertise, call. Text. Fax. My daylight hours are filled to overflowing with mundane plotting and everyday "keep quiet" chores.

However, I am NOT alive then. How can I be? Hunting a human, no matter how wretched and depraved he or she may be, is easy. I charge buckets of money for it because a life is NOT bought cheaply. And I thrill to the initial plotting and scoping out, the making lists and getting the information. I love it. Just...well the trash removal takes no more than five minutes. Not even hectic minutes. It would take far less time if I didn't require an up close and personal with certain bits of trash.

But we ALL know of my especial hatred for child abusers and I am sure you know that for those bits of flotsam, five minutes is an eternity they want ended. Trust me on this.

My initial point remains valid, though.

My strength, my will, wanes when the sun rises.

In the heat of the day, I sleep and dream of cool, dark streets and the symphony of night music that cars and people and other things make. I take care of the things that need to be tended to VERY early. Later, when I open my eyes~ the sun is gone, the moon is up, the stars are out and the city...my city...is alive.

And finally, so am I.

I live for the night.
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Old 01-08-2013, 02:15 AM   #256
Luna_Wolf72
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Desire~Music

"I want you to get this one little thing for me. It's a music box. One that hasn't been opened in a very long time. You want me to have it, don't you?"

There are times when the form will only work if it is male. Times when only a certain bit of manliness will do. THIS is one of those time.

Silky, smooth tenor continues~ a bit of command, a bit of demand, a bit of coercion.

"I would never ask you to do something that would get you into trouble, Monica. Not really. You KNOW I wouldn't, don't you?"

The words are spoken in time to the thrusts that plumb the woman's depths and rocket her into yet another orgasm. But this is Desire and who can ever explain the ways of It?

The body that houses the heart of THIS Endless is perfect for THIS bit of trickery. Formed from celestial dust, it is exactly what the human female writhing beneath his ministrations dreams of.

Dark honey skin.
Dark hair, a bit of a curl.
Fit but thick.
The good kind.

Two weeks ago, it had been, when she had met him. Perfection in an Armani suit~beautifully tailored. Soft gray, dark gray. Perfect for honey skin and golden eyes.

But it wasn't the shape, really. It was the eyes, the voice.

Damn. That voice.

Smooth like perfectly aged scotch.
Velvet.
Tenor.
Command.
Demand.
Laughter.

Sweet, low, husky, laughter.

Monica had been hooked before she had ever heard his name, but then again a name had never been offered. Instead he had said~

"I have something for you. Do you want it?"

She had risen from her seat without a moment's hesitation and followed him into the cool evening. Wanting. Needing. DESIRING.

His honey against her pale.
His dark curls against her auburn waves.
His golden eyes gazing into her tip tilted gray.

Two glorious weeks of fucking, of seduction on a grand scale. Having holes plundered she had never dreamed of allowing anyone to enter. She had licked and suckled things she would have died, before, to avoid.

But now the bill was due.
Now the price for passion would be paid.
He desired it...and now so did she.

"No...you would never hurt me. Just...oh fuck, oh god...oh please. tell me what it is. I will harder, oh god, harder get it for you."

"Do you promise, my little hellion?"

Words spoken while hips plunge forward, parting drenched nether lips to pierce the very heart of her.

"yes...yes..."

A flash of white teeth in the gloom, golden eyes twinkling, twinkling. That laugh.

"Good. Then you can wait until you get back to finish."

Monica would kill for him. He was everything she had ever wanted, needed, desired.

Even though she didn't know, still did not know, his name.

But we do, don't we?
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Last edited by Luna_Wolf72 : 01-08-2013 at 02:17 AM.
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Old 01-17-2013, 03:10 PM   #257
Luna_Wolf72
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Delirium~Lock Step

She goes from corner to corner in the vast space that houses her heart home. Moving like an eye blink, surrounded by gaily floating fish and swimming flowers. There are mirrors and broken bottles and bits and pieces of tattered clothing and it all feels just like heaven.

There are scents like the thing you smell that reminds you of forever and words that mean that thing you do when you need to do a thing but have forgotten that you have to do it. There are snatches of music that swell and crescendo before fading away and it always makes her think of that color that is almost purple but reminds you of pink and orange.

Delirium of the Endless~always changing. At war with herself, with the worlds that surround her, the various places, people, things that can not, will not, ever understand. Her siblings think of her as young but she is not. Not really, only in comparison.

She used to be Delight.

She did.

I did.

But they never recalled that when they were telling her that wanting her big brother with the bright red beard and the happy laugh was all wrong. ALL wrong. But she had the dog now. Oh yes. The dog.

Here, puppy...Barney?? That isn't right but it's close.

So she stays in her heart home avoiding all calls, avoiding her sigil, avoiding the mirrors and the broken, shattered, scattered pieces of herself and she sings a song.

La la la...dee dee dee...la dee dah.

And the colors mix and swirl and the sounds skitter, scatter, reform, break apart and the smells carry her away to Germany or is it Switzerland and she thinks of chocolate covered people filled with jam.

And she decides, she decides, she decides. That it is enough...for today.
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Old 01-20-2013, 04:13 PM   #258
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Death~The Trouble with the Living.

I am not he who wraps you in visions that ease your pain, or help you gain new knowledge that you hadn't contemplated. I am not the madness that coddles you, cuddles you, protects you from reality. I am not the want, need, crave or the power of breaking down the old to make way for the new. I am NOT the path you must take, nor the darkling thing that tears at your heart until you feel soul weary, remorseful. Broken.

NO. I am she~ the last physician to the dying. I usher the deceased from past life to next life with a smile and the twinkling of sable eyes. I do not resemble a skeleton. I do not ride a pale horse. More than likely, I am apt to be where you least expect to see me, doing things you'd rather not know about.

I am not racist.
I have no prejudices.
I love humanity, though it fears me.

And that, that right there, is the trouble with the living.

My hair is mussed, a mess, dark and curled with abandon. My ankh is the symbol I wear upon my neck, by the tilt of my right eye. I am tall and feminine and known to love a good joke, though my little brother despairs of me. I do not have the gravitas he thinks I should. But what does he know with his bag filled with sand and his fantasies made reality by a quirk of his pointer finger?

I am the end...and a beginning but most do not understand that.
I do no harm.
I make no pain.
And yet, I terrify all who hear of me.

And that, that right there, is the trouble with the living.

I walk the earth, in mortal form, once a year. I take unto myself the guise of one like you...or you...or even you. I know the pain, the pressure, the heart ache, the agony, the despair, the love, the hope. I understand it deep in the bones you will never, ever see...while I ride on a horse that isn't pale or a motorbike or walk along the river or a mountain top.

I am the ultimate vacation.
I grant peace from pain.
I am the ultimate authority.

And yet, you are frightened of me.

And that, that right there, is the trouble with the living.
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Old 01-20-2013, 05:00 PM   #259
Luna_Wolf72
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Despair~Dark Heart Gray

The hook on her finger touches a lip, inserts it's wicked edge into tender flesh and pulls because that is what it is designed to do. It is made to give the pain a way to bleed out.

The hook finds the bottom of the right eye and grips, spilling tears and blood and other fluids~vitreous humors, anyone?~a seepage, a torrent of pain escaping the physical confines of the flesh. Ragged holes left behind to heal or not.

To leave a scar of battles won.
Of fights lost.

The hook on her finger jiggle-jaggles cheek pouch flesh before gaining a hold and tearing the fat from muscle. It is a low, moist ripping sound, the likes of which can be heard any day, anywhere~ that a deluge of despair has been opened.

All that hurts you will be swept, away.
All that you love will be swept, away.

It is truth in advertising. Pleasure in pain and panic in pleasure, all wrapped in the gray of the void. Gray, you say? Yes, gray. The void is not black. she knows it isn't. The void is her heart home and it is always and forever~heavy and foggy and dismal and gray.

The hook rises. Touches. Inserts. RIPS. It tears. And it is truly a blessing. The scars that remain are no more or no less than the sigil of her name. The signal to noise ratio, if it pleases you.

She doesn't care if it does.
She doesn't care. It's all just another day in the gray.

And this is a story, a telling, a tale. She watches you. You allowed her an entrance and the ripping, the screaming, the pain and panic and despair...are Despair's. That is all there is. For now.

You left an opening and her short, squat, bloated carcass crawled inside of you and took up residence. In your heart. In the void. In the gray. The ripping is her hook. YOUR hook. The pain/pleasure/panic is hers. YOURS.

The tale is told and it in ends in silence. Your silence. Eternal. Blissful. Gray.

I can show you pretty pictures but it won't help any.

And Despair reigns over all broken things. And you belong in her realm, now.
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