ecclesiastiisms

[ecclesiastiisms]

tamsin.

there is blood spatter covering her white coat. a mark here or there would cause no pause to tamsin on a normal day, but she can feel warm wet specks on her face as well, a macabre facepaint of freckles, and she is unnerved. if this were any other situation, she would have been jumping into action, one hand’s fingers on the man’s neck to check for a pulse, the other pressing onto the wound. but she cannot move. she can’t bring herself to walk over to the body, or even to the woman. she just stares.

her mother had told her to be careful and, when tamsin left london, she had assured her that all would be fine, that the most danger she would be in would be from the cold and harsh winters or cars speeding when the shouldn’t be. yet now she stood, blood pooling on the floor, the puddle finally just breaching the toe of her shoe, and all she could think of doing was calling her mum to say how right she had been. this is bizarre and insane. things like this don’t happen, not to her, at least. not to good people.

the day had started out fine, too, at least as fine as treating children with tuberculosis could be. she had given care to the few patients who had come in, humming quiet songs to ease the childrens’ fears about the strange doctor with too-cool hands who spoke in broken russian. by the end, most had soft smiles on their faces and a lolly in their hands. as long as by the time they left, the expression of fear in their eyes had dissolved into something of relief, she could be happy. it’s all she could do. it’s all that she wanted to do.

and tamsin had never wanted for herself. from when she was a little girl with pigtails, her allowance went into the donation coffers at the grocery stores. she’d offer half her lunch to someone who had even a morsel less than her. her becoming a doctor was no surprise, if anything it was most fitting. she’d give up the last of her being if it was only to help someone else.

but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine this. a man had walked in and, before she could ask how she could help him, his friends had trailed inside behind him. they said they wanted money, they wanted anything she had that they could sell for money. tamsin had told them no. they laughed at her and they repeated themselves, starting to close the gap between them by taking a few steps foward. again, she said no, a wobble in her voice and her shoulders beginning to shake. they grew angry and aggressive, and her eyes had been burning with unspilt tears as she tried to stand her ground. it wasn’t her money to give, she explained, or tried to, but then a woman walked in and tension reached a point.

the sound of someone’s heavy breathing has taken over, louder than the woman’s voice – a voice in the back of her mind is saying it’s yours – and everything is just wrong. the room around her is vibrating or maybe she is shaking and she doesn’t know what to do now. it’s an unfamiliar feeling but this entire situation is new. there’s blood on the floor – her floor – and it will surely leave a stain on the carpet. rationally, she knows that’s not what she should be focusing on but –

all she knows that there’s a dead man on her clinic’s floor and the woman who shot him is still standing just a few feet away.

❝ it’s all fine – i’m fine. ❞ her voice is high-pitched and it is wavering. she’s not doing well to convince herself, and she can hardly think that the woman will believe her. her eyes dart over from the woman to the clock on the wall. ❝ the clinic is open for a few more hours. i need to – i need to get him out of here. if someone comes in, they can’t see this. they can’t see him. ❞ 

leave it to tamsin to be singularly focused. she doesn’t care about herself. she cares only about whoever else might come in. what does it matter that she is shaking like a leaf ?? what does it matter that she doesn’t think she’ll be able to close her eyes tonight without seeing that man drop like lead at her feet ?? the fact is – it doesn’t.

sometimes iona forgets the way that violence is supposed to ache, the way death is supposed to make her feel guilty. she knows that she’s no sociopath, not with the rules she enforces upon her subordinates, but she knows that she’s become detached. maybe it’s a way of survival or maybe it’s simply the choice that she’s made in order to bear the weight of her inherited crown, but either way, she’s sure it’s not going away anytime soon.

there’s a dead man and her hands aren’t red, but the blame is on her.

no, she reminds herself. she is not the reason she pulled the trigger. the doctor in front of her is not the reason she pulled the trigger. the reason for the bullet was the man’s actions; it was suicide, not murder. if that’s the justification iona needs, then it’s the justification she’ll use. better than spending her life lamenting over what could have been, over the lives she could have spared, over the mercy she could have shown. after all, showing mercy in front of men like him is good enough as handing him the gun.

kindness is an open wound and some days she grows tired of stitching herself up.

but, rather than dwelling on the guilt she doesn’t feel, the blonde turns her attention to the trembling doctor in front of her. her russian is decent but broken and she figures trauma isn’t going to help when it comes to translation, so she slips easily back into what she’ll never admit is her first language. ❝ you should work on being a better liar, daisy. they’re gonna eat you alive if that’s the best you’ve got. ❞ there’s a distant new york accent in her words, more audible in her english than her russian and she hates the betrayal of the sound. she’ll never be a native; she’ll never be more than a foreigner in her home land. ❝ if it’s any consolation, he had that coming. if it didn’t happen here, it was gonna happen eventually. ❞

at the woman’s insistence of getting rid of the body, iona can’t help the somewhat surprised laugh that escapes her as she tucks her gun back against her leg.  ❝ that’s your worry right now? you were, optimistically, nearly murdered and you’re worried someone leave a bad yelp review on your dinky little clinic? ❞ it’s not nice, but she’s used to dealing with people a lot more rough than the tiny woman in front of her. tact is less valuable than bluntness in her line of work, though she figures the opposite is true for the stranger.

there’s a pause for a moment and she purses her lips, eyes flicking between the body, the woman and the door before she lets out a sigh. there it is again, that open wound right across the center of her throat, red and raw and waiting for someone to exploit it. ❝ i’ll call my guys. better guys, not like them, ❞ she says with a nod to the door, pulling her phone out and dialing a familiar number. ❝ he’s my garbage to pick up anyway. should have tossed him out weeks ago. ❞ 

after a brief and intense conversation in russian, she hangs up and turns her attention back to the woman. ❝ there. they’ll be here in a bit to get rid of him. in the meantime, let’s get you looking a little less like a jackson pollock painting. ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

despite a rather innocuous upbringing, iona finds that she's settled easily into the lion’s den of the mafia — that is to say easy enough that she tends to blame genetics as nature vs nurture seems to crumble in the face of her comfortable confidence, the welcoming weight of a gun against her thigh and the familiarity of words that bring men to their knees. they underestimate her, of course, trying to tear her down with comments about her body and the weakness of it, whispered jests about the american girl with a russian name and temper as if that will bother her — as if she has not heard worse in the comment section of her articles when she had done nothing but state facts. 

as if she doesn’t know that men will take any opportunity to degrade the women that frighten them.

most of the time iona controls her gang well enough, even if she doubts she’s bloody enough yet to truly inspire dread. they do what she tells them, only presses the well off and wicked for protection money; she’s twisted them into criminals with a conscience, or at least she’s trying to. sometimes, however, they make their own choices and that’s when the trouble starts. words trickle up her information chain, twisting and worrying their way into the faces of those who are afraid of being the shot messenger until she finally pries it out of someone. her glass of champagne hits the table hard enough to make the legs shake and she’s on her feet before anyone in the room can do anything but scatter out of her way, scrambling away from the sound of heels on the marble floor like the tip of knives against bone.

❝ where? ❞ her second in command flinches away from the words, but she gets her answer regardless. the fucking cheap kids clinic, the lowest of the low hanging fruit. there’s no honor in stealing from the sick and the good hearted, no point in power without effort. it’s just bullying and she has no time for it. she’s the heir to a centuries long criminal empire, not a fucking school yard idiot and she’s not about to have her name tarnished because some idiots with more muscles than brains get their rocks off to picking on weak people.

gravel grinds and flies as she pulls up to the clinic and the slam of the car door echoes on the half rotted alleyway walls as she gets out, every inch of her body taut as she follows the sound of the men’s cacophonous taunts and threats. shoving hard on the door that led to the inside of the clinic, she revels in the dead silence that follows the snap of the door handle against the wall behind it. that moment of fear is what she expects when she enters a room and she suspects by the end of the day, she might not have to make a loud noise to command that respect.

actually, at the sight in front of her, she suspects none of the men in front of her will be far enough this side of hell to have any sort of opinion on her. threatening the clinic is one thing but the shaking woman with her fragile shoulders squared at the crowd of leering men is too reminiscent of a rabbit in a pack of wolves with blood on their muzzles to let any kind of mercy form. ❝ what the fuck do you think you’re doing? ❞ the man closest to the doctor turns towards iona, scarred face twisting into a sneer as he regards the blonde. ❝ not taking orders from dumb little bitches that think they can ruin our fun. ❞ her mouth opens and her hand slides towards her thigh, but he still speaks. ❝ you’re not in daddy’s castle anymore, princess. we’re gonna take the money, we’re gonna take the bitch and then we’re—❞

the sound of a gun shot hits the air hard and the man crumples, the red splattered across the clinic walls painting a clear picture of iona’s opinion. smoking gun still gripped in manicured fingers, her gaze slides across the remaining lackeys. ❝ fun’s over. ❞ without much hesitation, they scramble out and she’s left alone with a dead body and a blood splattered doctor that looks like she’d be far more at home in a fairy tale than mafia controlled russia. ❝ you alright, daisy? they didn’t touch you did they? ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

xx

@cataclysmiiics

[ecclesiastiisms]

— Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Fury

[ecclesiastiisms]

Y’all I looked super cute today

[ecclesiastiisms]

red.

closed starter for @ecclesiastiisms

she’s lying upon her back, the autumn leaves crunching beneath her figure. it was odd how life continued living around her but she’d never age, she’d never eat and she’d never sleep. she turns to him, her features drowned in a type of nostalgia that she was sure he’d understand. she pushes the hair from out of his face and smiles sweetly, the dew from the rain the night before glistening upon the surrounding nature, making things somehow sad and romantic all at once.

she smiles kind, a sweet thing of a smile and then leans in for him to kiss her, inviting him into her all, encompassing.

there’s a bittersweet blessing that comes from their untimely demises, he supposes. if they’d both lived, there’s little to no chance that they’d have ever met, let alone be in any kind of situation to fall in love. they’d have lived separate lives, growing old with other people before moving on to whatever comes next. but now? now they’re together, here and now for as long as the universe lets them linger.

his lips press up against hers as she invites him in, sweet in a way that would be saccharine if she didn’t know the depth of his gentle nature. he moves against her, slow and sweet, and a soft kind of need grows. with shaking hands ─ are they ever not shaking? ─ he pulls his shirt off, letting it fall to the ground beside them.

the sight beneath it is not so beautiful as the world around them, not gentle nor kind. there are white lines across every inch of his bare skin, some fully healed and some fresh at the time of his death. there’s two thick, short lines beneath the right side of rib cage, edges jagged and raised. across his back are thinner lines, but their number is impossible to guess with the way they cross each other. on his shoulders, the inside of his upper arms and the small of his back, there’s round scars, just the size of the end of a cigarette. mixing with them all, there’s a wide, dragging scar across most of his chest down past his hipbones; the skin burned, twisted and hid whatever scars existed there before.

[ecclesiastiisms]

– Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse

[ecclesiastiisms]

ryker.

ryker sits up, his brows knitting in mild confusion. that was until he heard the voices. he is fast to move to callie’s side, knowing very well that his next move is going to upset her. he places his hand upon her mouth. “ shh, princess. these people aren’t here to be kind. “ he announced in hushed voice. that’s when the door flings open and the men with guns stand looking perched and befuddled until the pieces come together like a puzzle.

ryker flings callie upon his shoulder, moving out of the way of gunshots that started zooming their way. they had an order to shoot any who helped the “fugitive” that was his girlfriend.. with rushed movements, he flings both of them to the bathroom and slams the door behind them. he hadn’t thought of what to do next, but he just needed to get out of there. he’d die if she ever got hurt and maybe by her hand if didn’t cut to the chase himself first.

he peers up at the ceiling, looking for vent but none appear out of the thin air like he’d hoped. however cheap this motel was, it did, on the other hand, have a tiny window just across the doorway. he looked down at his beioved, “ callie, baby, i want you to climb through that window. now. “

there’s a brief temptation to bite his hand, but callie manages to resist as he speaks irritation making way for confusion and worry as she hear the genuine worry in his voice. it’s not often that he sounds like that, even when they’re facing down hardened criminals. even when they are someone dangerous enough to worry him, it’s not like this. something is really wrong and even with as stubborn and tempestuous as she tends to be, she knows when things are serious enough for her to shut up and follow along.

then again, if she hadn’t figured that out by then, the bullets fired with clear intent to do more than wound were enough to clue her in. by the time she even registers what’s going on, they’re locked in the bathroom and her hands are buried in his shirt as the sound of gunfire echoes around the shitty motel room. callie always knew their lifestyle had an expiration date, but she has to admit she was hoping to reach her twenties at least. pushing that thought down, she tries to trust in ryker’s ability to protect her.

❝ i’m not even wearing panties, i can’t climb out a window, ❞ she finally gasps out as he tells her to climb out the window. with all the chaos, she’s not sure why that’s the first thing that comes out, but she quickly shakes it off. ❝ who are they? why are they shooting at us? ❞ there’s more shouting, more threats that have her trembling. ❝ i’m not leaving you, baby. i’m not going. let me... ❞ she pauses for a second, stomach twisting. ❝ let me use my powers. i can kill them, you know i can. ❞ theoretically, at least. he’s been very insistent on stopping her from killing and they both know how quickly her gifts exhaust her, especially in high stress situations.

[ecclesiastiisms]

ryker.

he decides her begging isn’t good enough. he pushes his middle finger into her, curving his digit up to her g-spot as he begins to flick it up and down onto just his one finger. “ more, baby. you can do better than that if you want my mouth on you. “ he says, lowering himself down but keeping eye contact with her. 

there’s a sensation that grows uncomfortably in his nether regions but he ignores it the best of his ability as he focuses on the way her hand pushes over her breast. sliding a hand up, he tucks it beneath the cloth of the black shirt and grips her breast hard, tugging at it and then going to play with her nipple. that’s when he hears her say how she’s his, all his. and he decides he’ll give into her lovingly. 

his lips brush across the flesh of her hooded clit before blowing hot air onto her heat, causing a sensation he knows will fling her back up in an arch. then he, with fast motion, places his mouth onto her and sucks down hard upon her sweetest spot. ryker adds in another finger, thrusting in and out of her as his fingers curl up to hit her every time. 

callie is getting into, soft moans escaping her as her fingers curl around the wrist of the hand that slides across her breast. her back arches, hips grinding up against his fingers and mouth as he hits every sweet spot. he knows her so well, knows how to make her squirm and moan with ease, and she’s not sure if she should blame that on his age or his devotion to her. she decides to blame it on both ─ or, at least, she decides that now isn’t the moment to focus on it.

as another moan escapes her, she’s cut short by the sound of insistent knocking at the door. ❝ are you fucking kidding me? ❞ she snaps, though the vitriol is somewhat tampered by the heat settled low in her. thinking it to be room service, she calls out. ❝ not right now. come back later. ❞ or never, she thinks to herself, annoyed by the intrusion. but there’s no quiet response, no sound of footfalls leading away from the door that she expects. instead, there’s more knocking followed by the voice of a displeased man.

❝ mr. asimov, we know you’re in there. open up and we’ll allow your...friend to leave before we enter. ❞

with a scowl on her face, callie sits up with a minor tantrum, an unhappy but expectant gaze falling on her boyfriend. ❝ who the fuck is that? ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

ryker.

he pulls away slightly, countenance looking ever so displeased. “ no one fucks you like i do. and you know that. “ he said. to further his point, his hand finds it way down, dangling close to her heat. he’s looking her dead straight in the eyes and he leans into the side of her neck, burying deep into her collarbone as he nips the skin that lay there. his other hand occupies her right hip and he pushes her down onto his growing length. at the same time, he thrusts up to her inner thigh and grinds slow so she can feel what exactly she does to him. 

ryker loves her. sex wasn’t just sex with her like it was with the MANY women he’s slept with but, instead, it was heated, passionate and she sent him for a whirlwind. she knew just exactly what to do to turn him into a horny teenager again, despite being a middled age motherfucker. he wants her, but not in a greedy lackluster way, but in a possessive, strong and passionate hold that takes over his body and rocks his world. 

ryker’s finger brushes her clit ever so slightly, flicking his index finger up as he hit her sweet spot just at the angle he knows she’d kill for. she was already so wet and it made him twitch in his pants. “ you’re so good to daddy…. but you’ve been bad and i think you need to be punished. “ he flips her over onto the mattress, his shirt she’s fitted in flinging up close to her breasts. ryker is slow to kiss down her torso and to her pussy. he hikes up both her legs onto his shoulder. “ beg for me, princess. “

it’s the reaction she wants and she smirks at the displeasure on his expression, knowing that it means pleasure for her in the long run. she loves his anger, though when it comes to her, they both know that it’s not really anger. frustration, jealousy and possessiveness, of course, but he’s whipped and callie knows he’d never hurt her if she didn’t want it. ❝ do i ?? i think i need a reminder, ❞ she purrs as her breath turns breathy, nails dragging across his upper back as she feels him grind up against her.

she craves him, needy and desperate when it come to the rough and loving way he touches her. it’s somewhere between fucking and making love, both of them ending up covered in hickies and scratches but with no doubt that there’s adoration in every passion filled bruise. the touch of his finger pulls a small groan out of her and she rolls her hips, wanting more of the feeling. there’s no questioning whether she wants it or not, not with how wet she already is.

❝ please, daddy, ❞ she pleads, one needy hand sliding across her breast as she looks down at him. he’s so handsome and there’s a brief moment where she considers just how lucky she is to have him in her life, but her gratitude is quickly outweighed by neediness and she rolls her hips up towards him. ❝ i’m all yours, daddy. take me. ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

aesthetics ☆ ｡ ﾟ✧ calliope hartwell && ryker asimov

and i'm off to the races, cases of bacardi chasers chasin' me all over town 'cause he knows i'm wasted, facin' time again on rikers island and i won't get out because i'm crazy baby, i need you to come here and save me

@luminaryism

[ecclesiastiisms]

ryker.

he perks a brow up on his facial amenities. he’s actually said they, not him but he doesn’t go to directly correct her. instead, he makes it to his feet and approaches her from behind, hand slapping down hard on her bare ass. he almost wants to hike up her shirt and take her right here and now, but he doesn’t and instead goes to making himself a drink a step away from her beautiful, curved figure. while the hotel may of been cheap as all get out, they at least offered a bar and that was one of the things that sold him. they both were so wrapped up in a life of luxury that they’d spent over forty-five minutes looking for a nicer but inexpensive hotel, as per ryker’s idea. but, alas, they settled on the one with an indoor bar and cheap liquor. 

he sits down on the edge of their bed, drinking down an amber hued liquid. it burns his throat slightly and he clears it to remove the slight pang. “ princess, you failed to hear me correctly. “ he says, in a tired voice. “ i didn’t stab anyone since three hours ago. and yes, i did break off the knife. “ he sips his drink and sets it down on the bottom, where the carpet laid out stained and hideous. she turns to him then, and straddles his lap, and kisses him in that sweet way that she does but it sent ryker’s jealousy swirling in the forefront of his chest. she liked to tease him about it, just as she’s doing now but it makes him wonder if she’s doing such because she actually doesn’t want to be with him at all. then he glances down at the tattoo on his forearm and remembers that she’d been the one to want to marry him. 

ryker holds her by her bare butt, pulling her closer to him and he could feel his heart racing in anticipation of taking control of her sexually. he slaps her ass with his palm hard, knowing it’ll leave a red mark but possibly even a bruise. “ princess, are you trying to make me jealous ? “

callie lets out a little laugh at his correction, knowing full well what the sentence had been. ❝ i know what you said, baby. i’m just not scared of what they do. they are boring and i don’t want you thinking about going soft on me. bent knives are for pussies. broken knives are for real badasses. ❞ while she’s never been particularly prone to fear, his presence in her life has ruined what little worry she has; even if she wasn’t perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she knows there’s not a soul on earth that can touch her with him around. on the other hand, the sharp slap on her ass is a stark and welcome reminder that, not only is he allowed to touch her, but she encourages a little extra roughness.

it’s part of why she teases him the way she does, quiet little purrs about other men and the things they want with her. she loves how protective he gets, jealous and possessive when he thinks that anyone else has a chance with her. not that anyone does, of course. callie is his ride-or-die girl and she’s not going anywhere, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to drive him crazy. maybe she’ll call it her revenge for refusing to meet her at the chapel or maybe it’s just her way of reassuring herself that he really does want her.

a gasp and another giggle escapes her at the hand on her backside, a sound that’s only ever present when she’s with him, and she steals another kiss, a little more needy this time. ❝ i would never, daddy. i’m just saying i think he wants to fuck me like you do, ❞ she murmurs, tone teasing as ever. ❝ don’t you think so ?? think he’d fuck me right there in the office ?? think he’d let you watch ?? ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

callie & ryker ' they stabbed him so hard that the knife bent. '

buzzfeed sentence starters accepting !! { @luminaryism​ }

❝babe, like, it’s not that hard to bend a knife. i guess you’ve stabbed more people than me, but i can bend a knife on an over-cooked steak.  ❞

she’s rummaging around in the motel room’s mini fridge, bent over with nothing but his shirt on as she looks for something to eat. they’re only going to be there for one night tops, but it’s a nice change from sleeping in the car as they travel across the country. sure, callie is small and flexible, but ryker definitely isn’t small and it’s nice to have a whole room to themselves instead of just a backseat. though she never thought she’d think it, she almost misses the comfort that visiting the CIA provides. even if they were staffed entirely by horrible people─ her and ryker not entirely excluded─ they at least knew the definition of luxury. then again, maybe they were just trying to bribe ryker into handing her over for experimentation. it makes sense in retrospect, even if it failed spectacularly in the face of their true love. that’s what she likes to call it, if only to see the way it makes her lover squirm nearly as bad as the mention of marriage. 

what kind of man will kill for his girl but won’t wear a stupid ring? it’s an argument they’ve had more than once and one that was only settled by the compromise of matching tattoos.

❝ i mean, if you really wanna impress me,❞ she hums as she gives up on her search, turning her attention fully back to her lover.❝ then i wanna see the knife broken, stick it in their rib cage and break it off. that way, if they live, it’s still stuck in there, and if they don’t, then people are really scared.❞ with anyone else, the conversation might have been idle hypotheticals, but they lived a violent life and a stabbing is nothing in the grand scheme of the things they’ve seen and done. he can kill anyone he wants if he puts his mind to it and she can kill people with her mind; without their tenuous loyalty to his employers, they’d be a modern day bonnie and clyde. more than once, callie has suggested they go rogue, rob a bank and live like royalty down in mexico, but there’s always one more thing to be done. 

after a moment of thought,a familiar mischievous grin settles onto her lips as she moves closer. ❝ and you gotta do it to someone who deserves it, not just some random sucker. find someone who wronged you or cheated you...or tried to get your girl.❞ one arm wraps around his neck, the other hand sliding up his chest.❝ you know, that receptionist was giving me a look i didn’t like, daddy,❞ she purrs, giving him a manipulative but saccharine sweet kiss.❝ i bet if i went down there without you, he’d try to make a move on me. i bet he wouldn’t even listen if i told him i had a man. can you imagine that, daddy ?? ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

not to be dramatic but ❛ 𝒊 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔. ❜ ─ ♡。max⇝clem.

buzzfeed sentence starters accepting !! { @suspirious​ }

clem and max have settled into an uneasy sort of truce, two former mean girls trying to pretend that crowns made of sea glass and bottle caps are just as good as silver and gold. it’d be short sighted to call them friends, but that’s the word they use when nothing else fits the antagonism unique to high school girls and PTA moms. they’ll sit on the bleachers, kombucha in one hand and cell phones in the other as they titter and gossip about boys and girls and teachers and drama that doesn’t matter outside of the world they’ve created out of lip gloss and cheerleading uniforms. it’s vapid and superficial, but it’s more comfortable than admitting anything has changed.

money and attitude dictates that clementine is the captain of the squad, both on the court and off, but she’s embraced maxine as her second-in-command, whether the brunette wants the role or not. norie settles into third place by rights of being max’s ‘ best friend ’ and the rest come tumbling after, scraping and scrambling for a better spot in the hierarchy. it’s a bloody battle waged in release day make up and seasonally trendy shoes, but it’s more pleasant by far than the other wars they have to fight. at least this one has winners─at least not all of the participants are damned from the start.

but, like any good gladiator battle, there are rules to the fight, rules that no one is supposed to break.

1. never break decorum, even when you’re broken and beaten2. never let them see your weakness, no matter how much you trust your waterproof mascara3. only play dirty when no one can see the blood under your fingernails4. don’t let anyone else see the fight; this is a battle for the fighters, not the spectators5. be as cruel as you can manage, but know where the line between cruelty and abuse is drawn.6. most importantly─no matter what, never acknowledge the life behind the glamour shots and bullying

right in that moment, maxine bronte has broken the final and most crucial rule of them all and the silence between the her and the red-headed queen bee is so deafening it would put a jet engine to shame. it’s not that the statement is false; if anything, it’s the reality of just how true it is that makes the words bury themselves in her like daggers. all one has to do is do a quick google search to see how fake her demeanor is, the reasons behind her bangles and how much of her hair is nothing more than an illusion. clementine sterling is a psycho mess, anyone can tell you, but it’s bad manners to actually acknowledge that in this kingdom of hers. 

fake nails tap unhappily against the solid surface of the gym floor and there’s a sharp wave of relief at the fact that they’re sitting alone instead of with her usual entourage of giggling sycophants.❝ a mask ??❞ her tone is terse, perfectly white teeth grinding together behind red lipstick.❝ what ?? like a fucking hockey mask like one of those dumbass horror movies ??❞ distract, disarm and fight back─ she knows this game well and she’s played it in much more dangerous environments than cheer practice. she needs the pressure off of her and onto max, no matter what that takes.❝ i know you’re nuts and like to see killers in perfectly innocent people so you can play the damsel in distress, but don’t drag me into your little game of play pretend. stick to accusing weird horror freaks, alright ?? i don’t wanna be stuck in a courtroom watching you fake cry for months like that poor weirdo. ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

✰   —  —  —  BUZZFEED UNSOLVED SENTENCE STARTERS

‘  strap in ‘cause this one is rough.  ’ ‘  it’s– it’s yucky.  ’ ‘  i’m aware of some details of this and it’s– it’s yucky.  ’ ‘  i’m not a gambling man, but i don’t really like those odds.  ’ ‘  we could conceivably run into this guy taking a dump in the woods or something.  ’ ‘  are you fucking out of your mind?  ’ ‘  i’m starting to think you want to die.  ’ ‘  you turned a corner on that one pretty quick.  ’ ‘  oh my god, it’s fucking horrifying.  ’ ‘  there’s an elk, though. there’s a deer over there.  ’ ‘  here’s the remains and rubble of one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of all time and you’re looking at the fucking deer in the forrest.  ’ ‘  maybe they were in there telling ghost stories.  ’ ‘  that’s not what pillow talk is, i don’t think.  ’ ‘  pillow talk could either mean something you do after sex or it could mean what’s like sleepover talk.  ’ ‘  do you tell ghost stories after sex?  ’ ‘  all very effective for– for murder.  ’ ‘  they stabbed him so hard that the knife bent.  ’ ‘  you would think that there’d be at least one witness.  ’ ‘  you see someone running through the forrest covered in blood, you’re probably not gonna bat an eye.  ’ ‘  that’s not how the forrest works.  ’ ‘  excuse me, sir. why are you covered in blood?  ’ ‘  i’m glad to know that you would be the worst crime scene witness of all time.  ’ ‘  oh, you were phrasing it in a dramatic way.  ’ ‘  what is it about killers– that they want to be caught so badly… or like they want to get as close to being caught without being caught?  ’ ‘  i can’t put my mind into the mind of a criminal.  ’ ‘  i can put my mind into the mind of a criminal.  ’ ‘  some of them must be friends, others would like to plunge knives into each other.  ’ ‘  i can imagine one friend of yours murdering you.  ’ ‘  i’m pretty sure there was a coverup by the police department.  ’ ‘  70′s and 80′s police were always just like, ‘oh, you murdered someone? you got forty bucks?’  ’ ‘  great! what else do you want?! i murdered people for you! and now… what?  ’ ‘  oh, so i’m the psycho cause i murdered for you!?  ’ ‘  what, the police were just writing fan fiction?  ’ ‘  this is just baffling to me.  ’ ‘  i guess that’s their job, but can you imagine how much goddamn paperwork is involved in that? so much!  ’ ‘  i’m pretty sure we’re being watched, so i kind of wanna leave, to be honest.  ’ ‘  i’ve had enough of this place and i haven’t even been here that long. i hate this place.  ’ ‘  this boogeyman is very thorough.  ’ ‘  i guess we’re lucky he got lazy.  ’ ‘  the greatest safety precautions of our time are written in blood.  ’ ‘  i think they’re tired of this ongoing saga that never ends.  ’ ‘  you know, i actually disagree with that last sentiment.  ’ ‘  this is like straight-up end of days shit going on.  ’ ‘  this could’ve been the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, in my mind.  ’ ‘  i’ve daydreamed about having an amazing bunker that has satellite tv.   ’ ‘  ‘bad advil’ sounds like a shitty indie band.  ’ ‘  the wild west was the 80′s.  ’ ‘  in the 80′s you could walk in a store, pocket a soda, punch a guy in the face, and then be like ‘see ya later. fuck you!’ cops wouldn’t get to your door for weeks.  ’ ‘  he had books that were just titled ‘how to crime’? if he had a book called ‘how to crime’ then there’s your guy.  ’ ‘  oh, yeah… nah, i’m good. eh, bit of a reach.  ’ ‘  some old lady in florida bought the unabomber’s typewriter?  ’ ‘  maybe this guy was really in the dog house and was just desperate for any kind of turn of affection from her so he thought, ‘i know that i’ll do! i’ll write the fbi!’  ’ ‘  no, i didn’t– what, is there anything to suggest that i would chase my mom with an axe?  ’ ‘  i think you wear a mask sometimes.  ’ ‘  maybe you should keep digging and see what happens.  ’ ‘  these are two messed up weirdos who have found each other and it’s almost a shockingly beautiful love story.  ’ ‘  i don’t get it. i just wanna talk about my work and everyone just keeps seeming to bring up all my past of all the shitty stuff i’ve done.  ’ ‘  ugh, this guy’s gross.  ’ ‘  it must’ve been fun to be a criminal in the 80′s.  ’ ‘  everything before the 80′s – just lawless.  ’ ‘  get your sunglasses ready because this one is packed full of bright stars.  ’ ‘  i’m good to go. i’m always ready, baby!  ’ ‘  it came true so she was actually warranted in all these fears.  ’ ‘  this would be like if you were eaten by a shark.  ’ ‘  i thought for a second we were talking about things that are actually scary.  ’ ‘  i’m gonna let this slide because i know you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.  ’ ‘  does that man have a magical penis or something?  ’ ‘  you think the only reason someone would go back to someone is because they have a magical penis?  ’ ‘  i feel like divorce is probably a lot of work.  ’ ‘  do you not know how love works?  ’ ‘  maybe i don’t know how love works.  ’ ‘  i have a hard time imagining someone going gaga over christopher walken.  ’ ‘  i bet when you get in a room with christopher walken, he commands the space.  ’ ‘  i brought some cocktail weenies.  ’ ‘  one of my greatest fears is that someone will trick me into doing heroin.  ’ ‘  that’s the dumbest fear i’ve ever heard in my life.  ’ ‘  how many situations can you be in that would put you up to that potential danger?  ’ ‘  how many parties are you going to where heroin’s involved? it seems like a lot.  ’ ‘  it’s the fear that someone would come up to me on the street and put heroin in me and then i’m hooked forever.  ’ ‘  here’s what must’ve happened… these forty things, in succession.  ’ ‘  what are you trying to do, fuck my wife?  ’ ‘  why would he make this up?  ’ ‘  he– he was just trying to fuck someones wife.  ’ ‘  i can’t imagine murdering someone even when drunk.  ’ ‘  when you drink you can imagine murdering someone?!  ’ ‘  i ate a pumpkin once when i was drunk… i just took a bite out of a pumpkin.  ’ ‘  that’s a rational fear!  ’ ‘  that is not a rational fear!  ’ ‘  these are the musings of a paranoid man.  ’

[ecclesiastiisms]

ryker.

he sees her from afar, watching like a hawk from above. binoculars and all. he knows her by now far too well; can calculate what she’s about to do before she even does it herself. ryker experienced these girls before, they are a dime a dozen but certainly out there and he knew how to handle them. he watches as the air flicks her blonde hair in waves of locks and he’s entranced by her every being. but not for the sake of her beauty but because she was simply edged out and rough on the sides. he likes a woman like that. 

ryker adjusts his posture when she goes to move and tosses the binoculars to the side as if they aren’t an expensive piece of useful equipment and jumps down from his perch in which he were viewing her at. he walks down the alleyway and intentionally collides with her as to make her accidentally drop his belongings “ oh i’m so sorry, miss ! ” he plays into it like prince charming, “ i didn’t se— hey, wait a minute. i have this flask. and this is my cell phone.” he said, picking through the rubble.  

❝ are you fucking serious? ❞ 

the curse comes out of her mouth in a sharp edged snap as the guy runs into her and her survival for the next week spills out across the ground. if she had the tact for it, she’d try to play innocent, but she’s always been more thorns than rose. then again, maybe she’s justified in being pissed that her typically simple crime has been interrupted by none other than the exact man that she’s stolen from. despite the fact that he seems to have a nice attitude, he’s taller, stronger and older by far and she won’t stand a chance in a fair fight.

trying to grab what he hasn’t already picked up, she shoots him an icy glare. ❝ lots of people have the same phone, dumbass, and who says i don’t have a flask of my own? maybe i got one ‘cause i knew i’d have to deal with you. ❞ if she’s actually caught, it won’t sound good in court, but she’s pissed that he’s ruined everything. ❝ give it back. that’s my stuff, not yours. ❞

[ecclesiastiisms]

mikaila.

Eyes narrowing, they cross their arms, waiting with utmost PATIENCE while the other takes something from his wallet.  Their eyes move to the dollar bills in surprise, and a HEARTY laugh escapes Kai’s lips.  If he thinks he could BRIBE me with cash, well… He thought fucking right.  They fight off a GRIN, licking the inside of their cheek; they try to not look at the bills too much as they pretend to think about it. “Make it three,” they bargain, clearing their throat, adjusting the TRASHY uniform cap on their head and pulling their pants up as if getting ready to go back in.  “And pay me half now, or else I’ll DRAG her out here and tell her what you told me.”

Truthfully, he'll give the money to them regardless of if they actually do what he asks, but the GRIN on their face tells him that maybe he’s actually found someone that’s a little FUN. That only happens once or twice a century and it’s a nice change, even if he doesn’t stick around long enough to really APPRECIATE it. ❝ Deal, ❞ he says as he pulls the cash out of his wallet, making it an even three hundred. ❝ Can’t split it even, but here. ❞ Duke hands two hundred to the stranger. They get the BETTER end of the bargain, but he doesn’t care much if he gets ripped off.