The bite of a blade against him was enough to halt most of the mutants movement - the sting was a stark reminder. He wasn’t in control, he wasn’t the one holding the weapon. Or at least he wasn’t yet and teeth chattered together as his eyes finally snapped into focus, bringing a slightly less glazed-over-and-hungry look to his expression.
His stomach was twisting with hunger and Stacey gave a low growl in response to her words. Fingers twitched by his sides, claws now scrambling against his belt in attempt to get a hold of the concealed balisong underneath.
Those nasty eyes were staring at her, a unpleasant kind of desire filling the strange blue nuance and dripped from his bared teeth.
She pressed the blade ever closer to his neck, to tempted to end it then and there.
But something held her back, kept her from pressing the tip of the knife into his airpipe and watch him choke on his own blood.
"What the hell are you?"
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I want them to argue. I want them to be sad. I want them to worry. I want there to be tension. Because that’s what a relationship is. They can love each other, but that doesn’t mean they get along or are happy all the time. It’s perfectly normal for people to be sad and worried or fight. Them being happy and loving all the time just doesn’t feel right to me.
submitted by anonymous.
You’re much stronger than you think you are
I prefer Michael Straczynski take on a similar scene
…Wow, that’s interesting, because I just found it a really long way to walk for a weaker version of the exact same payoff. It’s called “condensed storytelling for a visual medium”, Straczynski, Jesus Christ. Morrison told a story in six panels, and you made it seven fucking pages.
To be honest my muse is a prude and I really want to find the right partner to loosen them up for sex. Problem is when I talk to someone about it I freeze up.
requested by anonymous.