❔

Let's see, Let's see...

Write me a starter where Corinthian asks Rashad out on a date, or his idea of a date, anyway.

Write me a starter where Corinthian takes care of or protects a very injured or a gravely ill Rashad.

Write me a starter where Corinthian and Rashad's patron meet.

Write me a starter where Corinthian and Rashad meet again a long time after Corinthian left Rashad's side.

Just to name a few :3

@eyeless-smiles

@eyeless-smiles asked for a thing

"What are you? And what the hell do you want from me?"

@eyeless-smiles​ x

       Daken has no real excuse for throwing that punch at the other than the fact he was bored, that he could admit to himself. It’s hard, when you have the awareness of other’s emotions, not to know your own. Sometimes leaving you with a bitter familiarity. Along with the fact the man smells different, it makes him curious just how different he was as Daken couldn’t figure it out just yet, with all the beings he’s met within his longer lifespan it wasn’t surprising but it does make him just enough focus.

      There’s a sharpness to Daken’s blue hues as a smirk curves over his lips. His body shifts, welcoming the danger of the threat even as one of his hands curls into a fist. Snikt. Two black-bone claws slide free just below his knuckles, his eyes sparking with a predatory glint even as he flashes his sharp canines at the stranger.

      “ Who could decline such a pleasantly worded invitation.” His words come out as a purr, it’s both teasing & mocking rolled together. There’s a hint of a scent of the air as he pushes his pheromones into it, just for a hint of an alteration in case he has to alter things drastically. One to confuse the other if the need arises, it’s so slight the difference may be hard to pick up on.

"I've got you..."

The Nightmare regards the immortal through half lidded teeth. A soft chuckle resonating in his chest as he idly watches Hob wipe away some of the dried blood that stains his golden skin. His head tilted and hair flattened around his visage with the weight of steaming water from the shower overhead. But despite his nonchalant demeanor, it is clear behind the smile that he is uncomfortable with the unusual show of concern.

"Blood doesn't phase me, doll." He promises. Raising a hand to gently place his hand over Hob's to stop him from running the cloth over his chest. He leans in closer to admire those deep brown eyes.

"Does it phase you to be wiping your own blood off of me?"

The water rolling off the two of them that swirled around their feet was cloudy and red. His cloth, which used to be a sea foam green was far closer to a ruddy brown. He stopped when the Corinthian's hand covered his. He raised his eyes to the Nightmare's occular maws and a soft smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Not anymore, darling," he replied, chuckling softly. He gently peeled the Corinthian's hand away from his and laced their fingers together as Hob continued scrubbing the blood from his perfect skin. Skin that was unlike his own. Unblemished, unmarred. Devoid of wrinkles and signs of age. No freckles. It was in times like these that Hob was reminded of how... unnatural the Corinthian was.

He lifted the rag up to the Nightmare's face and swiped away a splatter of blood his cheek. He hesitated slightly before leaning forward and gently pressing his lips to the Corinthian's left occular mouth, kissing him gently there. In a place he'd never kissed the Nightmare before.

@eyeless-smiles continued from ask

@eyeless-smiles x

"I'm open to trying a lot of weird shit, but that is not one of them." He shook his head. "Blegh."

Hell, he's had to eat roadkill before, but it wasn't his favorite. The price of blending in, he supposed. Eating a human eyeball wouldn't exactly constitute blending in.

"You really have no impulse control with what comes out of those mouths of yours." One thing they almost had in common.

@eyeless-smiles is making a point. "I didn't say you could bite, did I? We're going to need to start respecting each other's boundaries, baby."

At the precipice of supplanting the nightmare’s want to feel with his own desire to taste, he is halted by a barrier of metal only a degree or two warmer than his actual flesh. It is not so much the pain of the blade puncturing through his cheeks that enrages him—physical injury a common enough occurrence to be ignored— or even the bile that rises into his throat at its degrading little nickname; rather, it is his fury rising at being prevented from carrying out his want as he so sees fit. Denial sits poorly with the hungry brute, having slain for less, and endangered even those he respected for having gotten in his way. Being stalled, even momentarily, from what he seeks is infuriating.

The Savage One has no problem making his feelings about being resisted known. A muffled howl emerges, Severen grabbing its other wrist, not to control it now, but pry himself away; pulling the knife through his jaws, splitting his mouth open wide; slicing through anything of his own that gets in the way. His maw hangs wide open, gaping, disconnected. The red, wet, muscle of his tongue running over the dangling tendons and shredded skin, teeth made even more jagged where the knife cut through. Red gore spills down in runnels to stain his ratty t-shirt ( THEY ROAM AGAIN! Come to DINO LAND! ) . If there was any doubt of the heinous acts Severen might commit--even upon himself--this surely has proven otherwise. He releases the dream being fully, though makes no move to step away. Crowding it further, dripping his own vitality between, or onto the pair of them, grimacing both purposefully, and inadvertently while his jawbone rehinges itself to the rest of his skull. The immortal stares with flame bright blues into the face of the one who has wounded him. There is still anger, but a flicker of respect too. He can appreciate the blade wielder for its deviousness, as well as proving a formidable foe. As if to transmit the thought, his gaze falls to the crimson streaked knife, partially healed mouth quirking into the best imitation of a smirk as it can muster. “Neat trick” he says slowly, doing his best to enunciate his words through the mangled tangle of repairing flesh, “but now I’m really hungry”. Any hint of joy fades, he is truly starved, and if this thing won’t supply him, he’ll need something real. One side finishes stitching together and reveals the fact he is smiling in earnest. Severen leans into the creature’s face, breathing in the sooty smell of him, a projection of what toils behind mental walls he dare only cross when forced to dream in daytime. “You only inner’ested in stickin’ me? Or do you like to play with others too?” An audience along for the ride always makes the prowl more fun. Maybe this one is amenable, if not as a participant, an eager attendant could be enjoyed. His eyes look down at the bare part of its throat, a glimmer of disappointment to not see the familiar pulse of a jugular under smooth skin. It really wasn’t human, was it? The smile falters, newly repaired teeth grinding in idle thought, what could it possibly taste like…would he ever get to know....

@eyeless-smiles asked “what did you do to them?” ((hello!))

He stands away from the body trying to look like he was completely at ease with the other having caught them reaping a soul "I'm a reaper, I came for his soul and what you just saw was me taking it out of the shell that remains of him." He shrugs at the other tilting his head to the side with a thoughtful look on his face "It's my job and has been since my birth 1000 years ago."

@eyeless-smiles, 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃. ‘ "How long have you been standing there ?" ’

long enough. The scent of blood reighned over the alley’s usual eclectic fragrance ; garbage, sewage, exposed pipes, rust, rotting metal, sweat — their presence was masked by the overpowering sanguinary - stench. Scarecrow thought his own presence was similarly hidden, shrouded in the dark shadow of an alcove as he watched a stranger descend upon prey with an evidently practiced grace. The Victim hadn’t registered the menacing glint of The Stranger’s blade before it freed his life force in a steady flow. This business, was not his own. Scarecrow was accustomed to the almost spectral influence The Narrow’s had on Stranger’s stumbling through the wake of its chaotic umbra. Men transformed, communicating through violence, preying on the weak, taking the essence of their fallen victims and empowering their ego.

When he determined The Victim’s concious had, at last, faded from his eyes, Scarecrow turned to leave The Stranger to his prize — he needed a subject of his own. His departure from the scene was interrupted by a an idiosyncratic curiosity just as chilling as it was intellectually alluring. This stranger proceeded to consume the eyes of his victim. Scarecrow stepped towards the alcove’s penumbra, a distant awe held his gaze to the cannibalistic ritual. What appeared to be an organized killer quickly devolved into the image of a fanatic — or madman.

Perhaps it was the shadows, his curiosity, or his mask, that numbed Scarecrow from the threat of discovery. He made no attempt to approach The Stranger physically, though he engaged with almost genuine interest —

“ what do you gain from eating your victim’s eyes ? ”

"So this is what you dream about."

“You seem disappointed.” Sleipnir caste the lure into the thick fogged blanket of the lake. Had he caught any? Maybe. Was he going to catch any? Another maybe.

He turned back to the man, the stranger he saw so often. “What are you doing here?” Was this man really occupying this much of his mind

continued from here || @eyeless-smiles

"So crude."

There's a hint of a smile on their pale lips as they consider his offer. Openly intrigued - after all, what is the point of pretense? Would it frighten him to know that it is inspiration that fills them, rather than bland desire?

They reach out to lightly trace his bottom lip with a flayed fingertip, smearing a streak of blood across - a gentle mark, considering. Then they turn their hand, palm up, demanding:

"Your glasses then, treasure. Give them to me." Their imperious dual voices conjure the echo of church bells in their wake. "Then we shall begin."

@eyeless-smiles​ x

      Daken does enjoy that growl the second he hears it & almost uses his teeth more just from the sound of it. Course he stops when the Nightmare pulls back. An obvious teasing glint within his blue eyes as the shift down to they other’s mouth, it is so very close.

      The mutant pauses to consider the other’s words, his head turns as if he’s glancing at the crowd, even if he could smell their reactions within the air. It was just to drag things out, to tease just a little more before his head returns to the exact same place it was moments before.

      “ Not into having an audience, Cori?” A devilish smirk curves over his lips, there’s a flash in those blue hues that’s challenging.

      Tipping his head forward he purrs into the Nightmare’s ear. “I could make us go unnoticed.” He tempts, his eyes dancing at him even as he steps back to take a sip of his wine. He’s not even embarrassed as he speaks, he’d have to care a little about the crowd to do that.

Chains

The Nightmare isn't concerned when Hob produces a sleek pair of handcuffs and dangles them in front of him like a present. Why should he be?

What does surprise him a little, is that the cuffs aren't for Hob. A soft grunt of surprise leaving a maw when Hob reaches for one of his wrists. With a light chuckle, the Nightmare lets his immortal click the cool steel closed around his wrist. It's cute, really. That Hob thinks a simple set of handcuffs can hold him back.

With a sultry sigh, Corinthian settles back against the propped pillows and admires Robert sitting pretty in his lap. An amused laugh rising from his throat as Hob begins to wrap the cuffs around his other wrist.

"Do you really think these will hold me, dear?" He drawls, sitting up slowly once the cuffs are on securely. A cruel grin spread across his features while he immediately jerks both wrists away from one another to tear the cuffs apart.

Only, his arms snap roughly back into place. A hiss of discomfort shooting from his lips while two widened sets of teeth drop their attention to the metal strapped around his wrists.

Unbroken.

Hob's heart was racing as he straddled the Nightmare and clicked the cuffs in place. He was grateful for the sleek runes he'd engraved on the inside of them; he'd been terrified the Corinthian would see them before he could get them on.

He flinched when the blonde yanked on the cuffs, horrified they weren't going to work. But they did. Toned, golden arms snap back against the bed frame, kept in place. Hob let out a relieved sigh and swallowed the lump of nerves that had built up in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Corinthian," he murmured as he slowly slinked off of the trapped Nightmare's lap. "I couldn't do it anymore. It was all too much."

He reached forward and gently cradled the Corinthian's strong jaw in his hand. "You understand, right?"

@eyeless-smiles continued from here

"I hear you've been talking shit about me, Matthew."

"It's not shit if it's true, Corinthian. "