#― you are beautiful like fear | you are mad like a dead woman | a belladonna seeking

[mundmutter]

@galeleads / sc

   ―   “ I  am.  .  .  Feeling  better  now. ”      aside  from  the  aching  pound  of  force  currently  gnawing  at  the  cerebellum ― ‘better’  was  the  only  word  that  could  describe  how  she  felt  in  comparison  to  the  day  before,  when  each  breath  came  alongside  the  unmistakable  pain  of  being  stabbed  repeatedly  in  her  lower  back.  Ok.  Not  that  great.  She  so  hated  this  feeling.  The  feeling  of  weakness,  that  blight  upon  her  most  important  daylight  of  study  and  productivity.  More  so,  even  with  her  knowledge  of  the  human  body,  even  she  could  not  understand  what  it  was  that  was  happening  to  her.

      “  My  god,  Aurora.  I  don't  think  I've  ever  felt  this  horrid  before.  I  feel  like.  Like  death.  Ohh.  .  .  don't  let  them  take  my  research  when  I  pass,  alright?  Fight  to  the  death  for  it.  Yeah?  God.  .  . ” 

[mundmutter]

She sits prettily on his desk, leaning forwards, tapping at the top of his hand with a single finger. " You will explain. "

"I'm tempted to explain what No Nut November is, but this is more entertaining."

[saint-ajax]

༒ OCT. 09 | El Sin Nombre

༒ KINKTOBER

TW: 18+ | TEASING | EDGING | THIGH HUMPING | DRY HUMPING | ORAL SEX | VAGINAL FINGERING | PHONE CALL | MOMMY KINK |

   El Sin Nombre is the faceless man who rules Las Almas. Respected out of fear. People may respect the name, but true and loyal souls of the city despise it. One thing you love about the respected, dreaded, image is that the man who built the name is a woman.

   “Sin Nombre 's personal sicaria?” you say.

   “ Si, mi amor? ” the woman's voice called out behind you. There she was. Your Valeria Garza. The hottest, most beautiful woman in your eyes.

   “ Ola, mami .” you smile giddily, excited to embrace your woman after a long morning without her. You walk closer to her, arms open and ready to wrap around her neck. 

   You did as you planned, wrapping her neck with your arms, tiptoeing to reach for her lips. She grips the back of your hips, where her fingers lie on top of your ass. She leans down to meet your soft lips. “You miss me, baby?” 

   She asks in her husky voice. “Of course,” you say as you lean back to look at her face, and rise again to kiss her. Then you do it again.

   “I still have—” you tiptoe to kiss her, “—work to do,” and again, “—I'm sorry, mami. ”

   She says as she kisses back every time you rise up to meet her lips while she caresses your ass. “Okay..” you say with a slight pout as you look up at her through your lashes, “but, can I stay here?”

   She furrows her brows, thinking. “Will you behave?” a grin appears on your lips before you nod eagerly.

   “Promise.” You say before leaving another peck on her lips.

   “Alright, you can stay.”

   She holds your hand as she brings you to the long table of her office. The people in the mansion know who you are, and what you are to Sin Nombre. They respect and protect you, lusting over your beautiful body isn't allowed or else they're dead. 

   She sits down and spreads her legs as she makes you stand up in front of her. “Twirl for me.” She commands you.

   You smile as you show off your red skimpy sundress flowing with the wind. A brow rose as she noticed something. “Lift your skirt.” She demands. You stopped and blushed. You were caught already.

   Your fingers grip on the edge of your skirt, hesitant to lift it. There weren't any other people around in the room, which was good. You slowly lift it, exposing your creamy skin. 

   “Faster.” Valeria demands impatiently. You lift it up to your waist, revealing your pussy. “I knew it, you putita.”

   You blush and look away, folding your lips together in embarrassment. “I- I did it for you.” You mutter. 

   “I know. Come here.” She says gently, encouraging you to approach her. You did as you were told.

   Her hands press down your waist while the other creeps up your legs, traveling the sweet spot between your legs. “A- ah…” you moan in surprise when she forcefully spread your legs and straight up inserted a finger in your cunt.

   “So fucking wet already.” She comments while she slides her finger up and down your wet folds. You bite your lip as your brows meet. She stood up and tug aside the cloth on your tits to lick on it. She sucks on your nipples while playing with your pussy.

   She fastens the pace on your cunt and when you start trembling she stops. “I’ll see you later, mami .”

   She smiles before leaving a kiss on your lips and sucking her finger drenched in your juice. You watch her dumbfounded.

   You spent the day watching your woman answer calls, yell at men around the house, and work like a dog. She's never been hotter when she speaks and curses in Spanish.

   “¡Qué puta madre, pendejo! ”

   You watch from afar how she gets mad at the stupidity of men around the place.

   Yet when she sees you, her furrowed brows and piercing eyes soften. You are the prettiest thing. The one who calms her down.

   “ Mi princesa,” she whispers in your ear, purposely tickling you to hear your adorable giggles. 

   It's her habit to push you into a tight room and eat you out. “O- oh..” you moan as your lifted leg exposes the cunt she's devouring. “A- ah.. I'm- I’m cum–” 

   Just when you're about to reach your high, she stops and kisses you on the lips, leaving you high and wet. Such a fucking tease.

    She laughs at your grumpy face. Frustrated from all the teasing. “Come on, cara bonita, smile for me.” You roll your eyes at her which makes her laugh louder.

   But when she touches you and you reject her, that's when you get too cocky. All of a sudden, you find yourself bending over her lap while she spanks each cheek exposed from your lack of undergarments. 

   “Estás probando tu suerte, mi putita.”

   Her degrading nicknames for you only wets your pussy more. You wince at every smack hitting your skin. Your ass eventually came red and thoroughly spank. You apologize for testing your luck. 

   “I- I'm sorry, mami. ” You mewl in softly and she lets you go. She massages your soft skin until she can't help but dip her fingers in your wet cunt. Then eventually leaving you longing for more.

   Night time drops and the endless calls kept coming, it was boring you. You can't wait to feel her touch on your greedy pussy anymore. You whine and sigh on the side while she talks business on the phone.

   You decide not to wait anymore. You walk closer to her and put her lap under your bare cunt. “Hi..” you whisper gently with a sweet smile as you hang your arms on her shoulders.

   “ Si- si– Mami, what is this? – porque? si, ahuevo– What are you doing? That's what I said, exactly the plan– ”

   “Ignore me.” You say as you kiss her jaw, her neck, exposed arms covered in hot tattoos. You even lick it, and suck her skin, leaving a mark of territory. A low rumble on her chest causes to slip out because of your stunts. You smirk and start to thrust your hips. You fix your sitting, trapping only her right thigh then continued to rub your bare pussy on her cargo pants. You start to undress yourself as the friction on your clit feels so good and dry at the same time. 

    You look her in the eye while she speaks to the phone, you suck three of your fingers wet before putting it on your clit to drench it with saliva. Then you continue to hump on her thigh, your clit and pussy hole pleasured yet aching for more as you arch your back. Your bare chest presents your tits closer to the woman busy with a call. 

    You moan at your own cause. You grind faster as she catches a grip on your hip, but you don't stop. You play with your nipples, pinching the hardened buttons and squeezing your mound as you throw your head back from the self-inflicted pleasure.

   The knot on your abdomen was threatening to explode. You keep your pace on her thigh, you squirm from the friction against the cotton and your sensitive clit. Valeria watches you as you play with yourself. She was impressed when you made yourself cum with just her thighs. 

   Your pace slowed down, gently rubbing your core on her thighs. Your mouth hangs open as you ease the climax down. Your eyes are forced to widen when you feel her grip pull you to face the other way, to lie your back on her chest, she creeps her in your legs. The pad of her fingers encircles your glossy clit from your orgasm. 

   You writhe under her touch as she awakens the flame of pleasure on your cunt. “ Yes, it will be delivered in time .” She tells the other person on the phone. If her Spanish is fucking sexy, her English accent is even hotter. You moan in her ear as you throw your head back and fall on her torso.

   “Si, mami.” you whimper as she inserts her finger, sliding them in and out of your sopping cunt. Your hips move in circles, you can't help it. You were meeting the rhythm of her digits.

   She uses her free knee to spread your legs wider and cup your pussy, massage its sensitive nub, scoop delicious juices as she inserts fingers rapidly in a pace that feels good for you.

   “Si, it'll be coming shortly.” She cleverly replied to the phone before dropping the call and focused on her beautiful needy slut.

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: An unlikely encounter brings you and Cassian together, resulting in a decade - long obsession born out of lust and hatred. tw: female reader, hinted non-con, abuse/violence, obsession, jealousy, misogyny, degradation, slut-shaming, bullying, threats, choking, religious trauma, religious imagery, religious inaccuracy My ko - fi <3

Cassian still remembered the day you first met, the one he dreaded the most - the early spring warmth mixing with the smell of frost-hidden snowdrops. The earth being cleansed and reborn after a long, sluggish winter filled with challenges for the sinners' burning souls. Back then he was still working at the altar, freshly out of high school - barely nineteen, somewhere between a confused boy and a man of Christ.

He was called to fetch water from the well - it was nothing out of the ordinary, this was the sole reason he was part of the church, to help the elders with baptising and burying the dead. He was coming back with a rushed step when he saw you - bumped into you, to be exact. You were wearing a light white dress that covered just above the middle of your thighs, your ankles and feet fully exposed with just a pair of brown flowery sandals to go along with. You looked a bit older than the boy - maybe two or three years, he decided, as there was something mature in your beauty, an air of influence most girls his age didn't possess yet.

It all happened so fast - Cassian gasped in surprise as the water spilt all over you, sticking to each and every little crack and hem of your thin cotton dress. The wet fabric hugged all your curves, as if damp just to tempt him. He immediately looked down, covering his face with one hand as he tried to collect the fallen jug with the other, cheeks beet red. You, in turn, smiled playfully, reaching for the small pot before the man could grab it. You wiggled it in the air, laughing with your teeth out - glowing in the soft sunlight. He mumbled something incoherent, perhaps begging you to return it - but you were quick on your feet, running towards the river with the tool in hand, your soft giggles bursting like bubbles.

The boy hesitated for a second before eventually following after you, innocent brown eyes widening with a mix of fear and surprise, heart beating violently against his chest - this was the first time he was so close to a woman. After chasing you around the forest for a while, he stopped to catch his breath just to realise he had lost you somewhere along the way. He looked around, already panicking - too frightened to even begin imagining how the elders would react once they knew he had lost the ceremonial canna. 

“Looking for this?” You suddenly called out to him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your pink lips. He quickly turned to face you, blushing once again as he spotted you sitting among the rocks surrounding the stream with the sun caught in your loosened locks - and his jug in your soft palms. You looked just like the nymphs his mentor had warned him about - cruel, whimsical creatures, yet painfully, breathtakingly beautiful. They liked to trick lost travellers and lonely shepherds, taking their soul for all eternity. 

Cassian took a deep breath and mouthed a quick prayer to his patron, bringing his hands together. He could do this. He wouldn’t be swayed by you no matter how cunning you may be - for his soul belonged to Christ and Christ alone.

“Stealing is a g-grave sin, Miss.” The boy exclaimed, voice shaky yet unrelenting as he took a step towards you. “So please return the can to me at once!” This time he sounded almost breathless, whiny like a mere child. You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your parted lips. “Aww, no need to get mad. I am simply borrowing it.” You cooed at the disciple with slight mockery, pretending to eye the item in your hands with great interest. 

“I am n-not mad!” Cassian swiftly contested, crossing his arms to appear more intimidating, if that was even possible. “I am just frustrated - righteously so, since y-you took something that belongs to me, and refuse to give it back.” He continued, puffing his chest out towards you in annoyance. You found his attempts to convince you utterly adorable - but the only thing they accomplished was making you want to pick on him even more. “If you want it so bad, come and get it!” You egged him on, dingling it just above his head once again.

Then suddenly, just for a split second, something in his eyes changed. The brown turned dark and muddy, almost glowing with fury, his teeth grazing his cheek until he could taste the blood on his tongue - and next thing you knew, he had pushed you into the stream, soaked up to your chin. You started coughing, desperate to keep the water out of your lungs, but his hand pressed heavy against your chest, shoving you towards the very bottom of the river.

It was your turn to panic, cheeks heating up with uncertainty. You looked up at Cassian with soft, pleading eyes - begging him to let go. It was all too much for the sheltered boy - your prior teasing, your pitiful gaze, your warm skin shivering against the drenched, transparent clothing, leaving little to the imagination… He subconsciously began tugging at his tight golden collar, feeling the cold sweat creep upon his neck - then he slowly released you, letting your body rise up to the top without any added weight on it.

The disciple stared at your trembling form for what felt like eternity, unable to look away. Soon enough you came to your senses, scurrying to cover your breasts - but despite your best attempts at hiding, his fervent gaze kept threatening to burn a hole into your flesh. You opened your mouth to say something, perhaps an apology of sorts, or even an accusation - yet no sound came out. 

And just like that the boy was gone.

***

Cassian cried the whole night, he cried his little heart out, hugging the Mary Magdalen icon close to his chest - hoping, praying that he could be redeemed. He was sick, utterly sick. The way he had felt, the way his body had reacted to you - it was sinister, devilish, unholy. Something completely unbecoming of the sacred figure he aspired to become once his altar duties were finished. He was supposed to be different, a beam of light in a crowd of darkness and misery, and now he was filthy, reeking of sin - of you.

His racing thoughts left him restless, unable to close his eyes. He had no other option left - he had to confide in his mentor, it was the right thing to do. It was going to be alright, he tried to rationalise. Repent, and you will be saved. A sin admitted is a sin resolved and punished from within, from your very core. That’s what the elders always said - sin was human, but deceit was intentional, it meant that your soul was purposely straying away from God’s love and protection. The ones who were truthful and eager to accept their faults could still ascend to Heaven.

And Cassian was lucky - so, so lucky, because his mentor proved understanding to the troubles of his soul. He reassured him, taking him into his arms, the smell of incense and wax and home enough to soothe any heartache. The old man smiled gently, petting his hair - telling him that beauty was a Godly virtue, and there was nothing wrong with admiring it for his body itself was a fruit of desire and love. Then once the boy had stopped sobbing, his breathing finally even, the priest pulled him to the side and reminded him that he was one of his best students, and as such he simply could not be tempted and swayed by the weakness of the flesh. The deacon had seen him - had felt the cleaness in his eyes, and that’s precisely why he had chosen him; for his unyielding chastity and goodness. And he was never wrong about his pupils - so it was obviously the woman’s fault. 

Cassian could understand it now, clear as day. You had tempted him. You had stolen his sleep and his tears like a siren, like a Jezebel. But that was fine, completely fine. It was all part of the big plan. Temptation was good - faith always had its challenges, and he’d be damned if he let someone as wretched as you lure him into severing his ties to God. This was his future. This church was his home, and so it would remain. He would become the next deacon of Holy Agnes, and you would be no obstacle. Just an underwater stone - a bug he had to crush so he could be free and whole again.

***

Several years passed by with a snap of a finger. Cassian slowly matured, soft cheeks and bright eyes turning sharp and mundane with his newfound restraint. He had adapted some level of unconscious stoicism, set on raising above the lowly human needs. And yet he kept seeing you everywhere he went, like a ghost of the past.

Sometimes you were in the garden by his church, laughing and smiling with avid colours covering your body. Countless dingley pearly bracelets stacked one on top of the other heaving on your little wrists like a fire circle. You were loud, never one to suppress your silvery ringing voice. Other times you were sitting by the nearby lake, sewing or knitting, writing in a worn out notebook with fleeting papers all over your lap. You were in the bakery he walked by after Mass, on the opposite side of the farmer alley he frequented on the Sabbath. Always just a breath away, but never quite close enough. 

He wanted to touch you. He wanted to drag you in by your hair and yell in your ear until it bled - you, who so innocently strolled left and right with your pretty twirly dresses and skirts that never covered your knees, you with your naked hands parading around the park with nothing on your mind, but rainbows and sunshine. As if you didn’t know you had ruined his youth with aching sickness over you - as if you didn’t care he had spent countless hours agonising, wondering whether he’d see you again. Wondering whether he’ll be able to hold back from reaching out and completely devouring you. 

Were you looking for attention, looking so bubbly and careless, bright shouting colours on display? Were you hoping to tempt him again by showing all this vulnerable, ripe skin? Had you completely forgotten about that unlikely encounter that was permanently engraved into his memory with the burning mark of hellfire itself? 

Because it certainly seemed so when the whole village was whispering about you and your countless misdeeds. People were saying that you were pursuing a crafting clerkship in the nearby town - that you were travelling alone, or in the company of strange men, sleeping in unknown taverns on the road for days. Drinking and drowning in debauchery. Rumours had it that you would give yourself away to the highest bidder, thus being able to fund all those adventurous trips across the land. 

Cassian didn’t want to believe them, and he refused to partake in the tired, painfully repetitive conversations of the common folk who flocked to the church for warmth and food like a herd of sheep to a master. To him tattle was a sin of itself, a needless effort to drop the Lord’s name in vain just to curse a harlot or to mock an innocent, unsuspecting widow - but from day to day their words became harsher, crueller, ungodly. You were made to look like Lilith herself, and he couldn’t help believing what he could feel with his own heart.

It was a simple fact, really. You were just a whore, and nothing more - because he could clearly see you clinging to another man’s shoulder through the small glazed window of his, pushing your chest towards the dark stranger - laughing unabashedly at his jokes, gazing into his eyes, prompting him to claim your sweet lips. You were a whore, because you let them all have you, yet you belonged to neither. Not even to him - not even when you appeared in his dreams, tormenting him even in the comfort of his own psyche. 

You would share your warmth with him then, caressing him - letting him rest against your soft breasts, letting him inhale your tantalising aroma. Teasing him endlessly, just to disappear at dawn, just before he had his final fill of you. And just like that the cycle repeated, driving him crazy.

***

It was another warm spring day when you two met again face to face. When he saw you, hair dishevelled and clothes torn apart, he thought he was still dreaming - but you were even more beautiful, even more radiant now. That’s how he knew you were real. He could finally touch you, he could smell the salt and morning dew on your skin, could lick the tears off your puffy, swollen eyes.

You had been dragged to the church early in the morning by the wife of the mayor, kicking and screaming. The older woman had been furiously gripping your wrist, forcing you to trip after her in a desperate attempt to keep up. Once inside the ceremonial hall, she had pushed you down at the deacon’s feet like a sacrificial lamb before a pagan god’s altar.

“Martha, dear, what’s wrong?” Cassian was quick to intervene before the woman could mess you up even more. “You know it’s unbecoming of a lady of such wise age to engage in this ungodly behaviour.” He explained calmly - it was obvious that he held no wrath for her, and this was all just a performance. The mayoress was very influential in the village, so he had to be careful with his words, lest you’d both be in trouble.

“Oh, Cassian, Cassian!” The wife all but crumbled against the man, heavy, accusatory sobs strangling her speech. “This harlot has done it again! She tried to destroy another family.” Martha kept wailing in a theatrical way, hanging off the deacon’s white collar. “My family, Reverend! I saw her talking to my husband, oh, it was utterly despicable! I might faint just thinking about it.” She rambled on and on, cheeks turning comically red. “She must be possessed by the Devil - I see no other explanation behind her constant sinful endeavours.” She fluttered her lashes as if attempting to persuade the deacon, going as far as to use the title only given to priests. “I beg you, Father, do something. Teach her the right way, make her repent. Our village can’t keep tolerating these… these outrageous conducts!”

You looked up at him just as he lowered his head to you, your eyes meeting. Your orbs were wide and filled with fright just like that day in the forest when he had pushed you into the river. You were gripping the end of his robes pitifully, tearfully shaking your head as if trying to deny all those ugly lies, mouthing off little sounds he couldn’t quite understand - and just like that he was nineteen again, sweating and mad all over you, lost in your sweet pleas for help. And help you’d receive.

“Calm your senses, Martha. I will deal with this.” Cassian patted the wife’s shoulder reassuringly, nodding at the big gate leading to the garden. “You must not worry anymore, you know you have a weak heart. Just - just go home for the day.” He looked at you one last time, and the sheer black burning intensity of his gaze made you shiver. “I know what to do from here.” He made an airy gesture at the older woman, smiling benevolently. “You’re right. Enough is enough.” 

With that she finally left, satisfied that some order would be restored ultimately. The hall remained silent for a while; massive, dim-lit, over-decorated with various gorgons, demons and monsters - designed specifically to scare those who wouldn’t give in to salvation. “Leave us alone.” The man mumbled at last, snapping his fingers at the altar servants and nuns, who in turn hurriedly flocked to the back rooms, nowhere to be seen. You could feel the tears drying on your skin from the freezing cold air, leaving trails all over your scorching hot cheeks. He was observing you carefully, scared to miss even the slightest of reactions - your pain was so expressive he wanted to seal the memory forever in his brain. After all, he had dreamt of this for years. The day when he finally has you at his mercy with nowhere to go. 

“I see that you’ve decided to succumb to a life of sin.” Cassian started off haughtily, moving just a bit closer - you were still kneeling on the floor as if you had assumed an eternal repenting pose. His fingertips grazed against your chin, his touch radiating pure ice - cold frost as his head tilted down in rehearsed condescension. “It’s quite unfortunate to see someone so beautiful give up on Christ.” He continued, eyes practically glued to your quivering form from above. It was intoxicating to have you in this position, quivering below him. He wanted to see you like this all the time, he decided. It suited you to be underneath him - you were a filthy, wicked adulterer and he was your saviour. He deserved your worship. He deserved your pain, and everything that would come with it. 

“But then again, you’ve always been a temptress.” The man crouched next to you, quick as a snake - gripping your chin between his two fingers. “It must be oh-so difficult for you to act like an honest woman.” His grip got tighter. “Especially when you possess such a dirty, sinful bod–

“S-shut up!” You cried out, pushing yourself to stand on your knees. “Shut up, you know nothing of me, Reverend. You look at me with those eyes… Don’t think I don’t remember.” You hissed, suddenly gaining back the courage the woman had knocked out of you earlier, adrenaline pumping through your veins. “I’ve seen you follow me, I’ve seen you in my nightmares… You want me! You want me, and it’s driving you insane.” You gave him the cruellest look you could muster.

“The dirty one, the sinful one is you - you, and every single bastard in this goddamn village that seems to think they own me.” You spat it out, everything that had been building up over the past few months. The hurtful rumours, the nasty remarks on the streets, the way everyone was measuring you up, touching you without permission… This was your breaking point. “You don’t own me. You never will.”

Cassian was seeing red. Before he could even begin to summon any reason, his hands had tangled into your hair, pulling on it with malice he had never experienced before in his life. He was a being of love and kindness - yet any time he faced you, he turned to this gruesome, unholy beast of a man. It was all your fault. You had ruined him, since the moment you first met him you had been ruining him. You made him like this and there was no going back now. No amount of tears or pretty pleads could save you from the horrors that inevitably awaited you in Hell - the one on Earth. The one he was going to create just for you. Anything for you.

“Do not sully me with this blasphemous tongue of yours, wench. Don’t you dare utter a single word to me, lest you want to lose it.” The man hissed, venom dripping off every over pronounced syllable. His whole body was shaking with fury, skin red and painful as if on fire. One wrong movement could set him off into a flame that would kill you both. “I don’t want to hear a sound from those tainted lips of yours. Who knows how many have kissed them, hmm?” His face got dangerously close to yours - so close you could feel his warm breath across your cheek. Your heart was pounding violently against your chest in a fruitless attempt to escape the rib cage. You tried to push the deacon off you, but he didn’t bulge an inch. 

“Aww, you’re going to hurt me with the same hands you caress your lovers with?” He grinned manically - you had never seen a man so unhinged. You had always known he was dangerously unstable as the forest incident had proven - which was the reason you kept your distance over the years, but you could never imagine he’d be so… bloodthirsty. “Have you got no shame?” Cassian was spiralling, going in mental circles. 

He finally had you in his arms again, your skin warm and malleable against his - yet the only thing he could think of was all those men you had allowed by your side over the years. It was like he could see their fingerprints all over you, red and scorching on your body as if to mock him. As if to laugh at him for ever trying to fight the temptation in the first place. Your lips were wet and pink, so perfect and vulnerable trembling before him, just begging to be bitten. He reached in to kiss you - just like he had done so many times in his dreams, but he was met with your equally wet, cold cheek instead. You had turned your head away.

“Anyone, but me, huh?” The man screamed at the top of his lungs, beyond wild as he shoved you to the ground, crawling over your body in quick succession. You felt the blood drain from your face - could this be your final moment? “You are willing to give yourself to anyone, but the one who actually deserves you…” His hands travelled to your neck as if they had a mind of their own, voice suddenly dropping to a desperate, shaky whisper. “The one who craves you more than anything.” His fingers danced over your throat, holding your life in one tight grasp.

“What do you mea–”

“All my life I’ve been a good man.” Cassian interrupted you once again, tone back to its initial biting spite. “An honest man, goddammit! And I am not going to lose everything because of… because of some fucking whore!” His words aimed at your heart just like daggers, and your eyes watered. You squirmed like an injured animal, praying to whoever was up in the sky that he would release you, but God wasn’t so merciful to sinners, apparently. “So you’re going to kiss me, right here, right now.” He was holding your wrists over your chest as he positioned himself between your legs. This couldn’t be happening right now, but it was. You were doomed, you had been doomed from the start. 

“You’re going to kiss me like you kiss your lovers.” The deacon paused to lick the tear running down your chin, groaning at the heavenly taste. You wanted to drop dead. “Like you love me.” He pressed down on your neck, squeezing tighter just so your eyes would fill up with hundreds of tiny little tears - it made you look so glossy and cute. “Did you hear me? You are going to kiss me like you fucking love me, you damned slut.” Your face was turning blue from the lack of oxygen. 

“And then I am going to fuck the Devil out of you.”

[mundmutter]

" We can sneak a few in, can't we? I think it only applies to men for some reason. "

"Aw, but I like almonds."

[fangirl-dot-com]

Lewis Hamilton and George Russel - I'm with a Knight and Slenderman, No One Can Touch Me

It’s part 4 time! This was so fun to write and I laughed so hard at some parts. I feel like George is a really underrated driver. He’s funny and a good person (even though he looks like Woody from Toy Story). And the girlfriend effect has hit him hard. His hair is so beautiful and I need to know what he does with his bangs. 

And then Sir Lewis – good Lord, he needs to go back to that one hairstyle from that one interview that made everyone fall for him 

Specially dedicated to @treehouse-mouse <3

[TAG LIST IS CLOSED] 

Like always, comments, questions, concerns, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love you all &lt;;3 

“Shit,” you muttered as you looked around the now empty paddock. You knew that taking a nap after your media duties had been done was a bad idea. You had played nap roulette with yourself and were now paying the consequences. You shouldn’t have said “oh, I won’t set an alarm. Someone will come get me. I might nap for ten minutes or it might be 3 hours. Who knows!” 

Well, now you knew. It was three hours. 

You looked around for your backpack that you had come with. But as your eyes danced around the garage, it was nowhere to be found. You sighed as you at least remembered your phone. But alas, the world hated you for being a woman: your phone was dead. 

“Ok, there’s no reason to panic. Let’s head to the parking lot and see if someone is still here,” you whispered to yourself. Walking carefully, you exited the dark paddock. The parking lot was no different. 

Dark, cold, and empty. 

“Great. Just great.” You decided to sit on a curb and wait. Maybe by now, Christian or Max would know that you are missing, and will come back to get you. 

Or maybe they were mad at you. Yes, you were on the podium. As a rookie. At your first race. 

But you made a mistake that costed the team a 1-2 finish. Maybe you didn’t deserve to be looked for. 

Before your thoughts could spiral more, two bright headlights blinded you. You raised a hand to try to cover at least some of your face. The two front doors of the car swung open. Your heart started to race. 

It was just you out here and they might be kidnappers. 

“Please I have no money on me. Don’t beat me up or kidnap me. Trust, you do not want to sell me or anything like that,” you spoke out, trying to hinder their unknown wants for you. Your fear slowly melted away at a familiar grandpa laugh and bean-pole build of the two figures. 

“Lewis! George!” You stood up quickly. 

“What are you doing out here?” George peered down. Your neck was bent to even look up at him. 

“Um. I might have been left behind because I was taking a nap. And my phone is also dead.” You sheepishly grinned at the two. 

Lewis sighed before bringing out his phone. “I don’t have Christian’s number, but Toto does. Let me give him a call.” 

Your head cocked. “Do you not have Max’s number?” George let out a laugh. 

“Kid. Think of Abu Dhabi 2021.” Your eyes widened. 

“Sorry.” 

Lewis waved you off and walked a bit aways to hear Toto. George just kind of stared at you as you stared at him. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Of course I’m ok. I’m with a knight,” you pointed at Lewis, “and Slenderman. No one can touch me.” You crossed your arms before giggling. George just gawked at your boldness. You took this time to look at the nice Mercedes in front of you. “Is this the new model?” 

George nodded. “Yeah, Lewis just got it. He won’t let me drive it though.” A pout formed on his lips. 

“I get what you mean. Max won’t let me drive his Ferrari.” 

“Why would you want to drive that junk?” 

Your head tilted. “I don’t know. I like my Porsches better though.” It was George’s time to raise an eye brow. “I haven’t gotten them yet. But they’ll be ready soon. I had to ship one to London and the other to Monaco.” 

“Ah.” 

You looked at Lewis, who was still on the phone. You had an idea. 

A very bad one, but an idea none-the-less. 

“You wanna go somewhere?” You pointed at the still running car. Lewis should have taken the keys. 

“Where would we go?” George was already grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

“There’s a burger king a couple of miles away.” 

George was already climbing into the driver’s side. “Let’s get going!”

Back with Lewis, he was still on the phone. For some reason, Toto would still not give him Christian’s number. 

“Please Toto, I am with two children,” he pinched his brow, “and I’m tired and I’d like to get back to the hotel. So please send me Max’s or Christian’s number.” He wasn’t aware of his car that was now filled with said two children making their getaway. He hung up once he got Max’s number. 

His phone rang for a few seconds before Max’s voice sounded over the background noise of a party. 

“Who is this?” 

“It’s Lewis. You left your kid here.” He heard Max curse on the other side. 

“I thought Vito was getting her, but Vito is right at the bar. Can you send me your location so I can pick her up?” 

Lewis waved a hand, even though Max couldn’t see it. “No worries, I can just drop her off. I’m with George and we’ll driver her over. I have my-” Lewis stopped.

“Lewis? Are you there?” 

Lewis’ eyes scanned the now empty parking lot. He groaned. “They took my car!” 

Max laughed for a bit before he realized that Lewis wasn’t playing. “Send my your location, I’m already out the door. We’ll find them.” 

By the time Max got to Lewis, you and George were already having the time of your lives. 

You pointed out the window. “Look Georgie. Traffic cones. Have you ever put one on your head?” 

When George denied that he had, you gasped and told him to pull over. You and him climbed out of the low car and walked over to the traffic cones. By now, your phone was a bit charged, courtesy of the charger in the vehicle. And it was blowing up. 

But you didn’t see it or care. 

You picked up one of the cones and put it on your head. Your giggle resonated through it. 

“Y/n, smile!” You heard George say. You smiled, even though it wouldn’t be seen under the orange hat. 

George told you that he was going to set up the camera to take a picture of the two of you. 

“Let’s put our heads together.” The two cones whacked against the other. George had to bend over so that they would be close.

You laughed as your hair was staticky due to the cone. George’s hair was the same, which made you laugh even harder. “Send that to me, I’m going to post in on the gram.” 

The only notification you looked at was the one from George with the picture. Quicky uploading it, you knew you were about to create even more chaos. 

The two of you decided to sit on the curb for a bit. Your thoughts from earlier quickly sprang into your head, due to the silence between you two. 

“George?” you questioned, looking ahead. He was currently scrolling through his phone, but he made a noise to let you know that he was listening. 

“What was it like having a teammate that you know you’ll never amount to? Not saying that you won’t amount to Lewis at some point, but,” you trailed off, not knowing how to continue. 

The click of his phone let you know that George was now focused on the conversation. 

“I get what you mean. It’s very overwhelming. You get put up with world champions, and people are already expecting you to beat records and perform as well as they do.” George sighed as he reflected on his first year with Mercedes. How the people would taunt that he wasn’t good enough to be Lewis’s teammate and that he should just be second fiddle to him. Suddenly, he noticed a hand had been placed on his shoulder. Tears also wetted his face. 

When had he started crying? 

You continued to rub his shoulder until his tears stopped. 

You tried to console him. “Well, we can be second-fiddle buddies together?” you offered, hoping he would laugh. And he did. 

The two of you decided to sit on the curb for a few more minutes. But at this point, you knew that Lewis along with Max were probably on their way to get you. You pulled yourself up, then held out a hand to George, who took it without second thought.  

Before you knew it, the two of you were back in the car, just chilling. 

“Look what Max and Lewis are saying.” You showed him the screen and laughed. It really was fun to mess with old men. 

“Are we still going to burger king?” 

You nodded your head. “If Lewis can be a knight, I need a crown to be the king.” 

“Don’t you mean queen?” he asked as he started the car back up again. 

“Nope.” You popped the P and that was a good enough answer. George pulled away from the side of the street and made his way to the Burger King. The two of you were thankful that it was mostly empty, except for the employees. The two of you ordered more than enough food for two people. You justified it as giving the workers more money. 

Your companion went along with it. 

“Order number 69,” the tired lady called out. George and you shared a look before the two of you collapsing on the ground, dying with laughter and probably exhaustion. You were still giggling as you took the food from the lady. You muttered a thank you before you and George took a table near the back. 

“Did you get your slushie?” you questioned, holding your cup. 

“I didn’t know they had slushies!” 

You took George’s hand and let him over to the machine. The amount of slushies that you slurped down would never be recorded. As you drank one of your last ones, you suddenly remembered an important detail. 

You looked over at the tired lady who took your order. “Do you have the crowns?”  

Max was still constantly trying to reach you, with one hand on the steering wheel and his phone in the other. 

“Come on kid. Pick up,” he pleaded and cursed when the call went to voicemail for the umpteenth time that night. 

Lewis was texting all the drivers in the group chat, asking if they’d seen the two of you. They came up short. 

“This is ridiculous,” Max seethed. “How could you have let them do this?” 

Lewis shot him a glare. “How could you leave her at the paddock after dark?” he bit back. 

“Like I said, Vito was supposed to take her back to the hotel. She’s not allowed in the clubs.” 

“Then Christian should find some way for everyone to party. The kid got a podium her first race as a rookie, and she was left behind.” 

Max banged his head on the steering wheel as they stopped at a red light. Lewis was correct. He wondered if you felt forgotten. Knowing you, you probably did. And it was mostly his fault. He’d talk to Christian about alternatives until you turned legal age.

“I’ll talk to Christian about that. What were you and George doing back at the paddock anyway?” 

Lewis grimaced. “I forgot a file back at our garage. George seemed antsy and restless so I invited him. Never doing that again.” 

Max smirked, “Kids. Am I right?”  

“Look!” Lewis pointed at a familiar car in the parking lot of an empty Burger King. Max pulled in on two wheels. As they walked up, their eyes landed on two people, crowns on their heads, hands flailing. 

Max pushed the door open and stopped towards the figures. His hands landed aggressively on the table. “Do you two know how much trouble you’re in.” 

He heard laughing from behind him. 

“Max. That’s not them,” Lewis whispered. 

Max’s head jerked and saw the scared faces of two employees. He heard more laughing and whipped his head around, eyes finally falling on you and George, whose phone was out recording. You looked as if you were about to explode with laughter. 

“I’m sorry about that.” He turned around and stomped towards your table. “Let’s try this again.” 

His palms hit the correct table this time. “Do the two of you know how much trouble you are in?” He looked into your eyes before glancing at George. 

You stared up at the seething Dutchman. You pulled out a french fry.  

“Fry?” 

“Lewis, I got you an impossible whopper.” George held out the wrapped food. 

Max sighed, anger waning by the minute. There was no fighting with the two of you. The two adult-figures sat down and started to eat. Max munched on a fry as Lewis started to eat the burger. 

You and George continued to talk about your so-called adventures. 

“And then George ran a red light.” 

Lewis choked as George winced. Lewis’s head jerked toward George, eyes squinting. 

“You’re paying for that.” George only shrugged, he had enough money anyway. 

Max just stared in silence, mulling over the exhausting night. You could sense that he was still cooling off, and you were scared of what he might say in the car. 

The food was quickly finished and the four of you were headed out the door. It seemed as though yours and George’s energy levels were quickly tanking as the two of you barely said a goodbye. The hug and faux tears though were enough for Lewis and Max to roll their eyes. 

You watched as George and Lewis left in the Mercedes. You gulped as you got into the passenger side of Max’s rental vehicle. You winced at the proximity. 

You mind quickly went back to your dad. How he’d hit the side of your face if you did anything that was “out of line.” Or he’d pinch your thigh until it bruised. Those were the easiest to hide. When your face was a little too red and purple, your helmet stayed on for the entire race day. 

Your eyes welled with tears at the thought of Max turning out to be like him. You didn’t think he would, but you were out of line tonight. 

No fun. No sneaking out. No stealing (borrowing) cars. 

You were sinking into yourself, and Max could sense that. 

He turned to look at you. What he said next was shocking. 

“I’m sorry kid.” 

Your eyes bulged. “Why are you sorry? If anything, I should be on my knees begging for your forgiveness.” 

Max just stared at you before slowly putting his hand near your head. 

This was it. He was going to hit you and you’d have to live through everything again. You couldn’t tell Christian that his golden-child would do such a thing. And no one would ever believe you. 

You jerked back as your eyes closed tight. Your body tensed, waiting for the repercussion to your actions. Your breaths got a little bit faster and shorter.   

But it never came. 

All that was, was a gentle placed hand on the top of your head. 

Comforting. Loving. Cherishing. 

Max wanted to cry as he saw how your body prepared for something horrible. Something nasty. 

“Kleintje,” Max breathed out. 

Your tears began to make their escape down the hills of your cheeks. You could only repeat and whisper I’m sorry, over and over again. Max couldn’t do anything but wait for you to calm down and maybe tell him what was racing through your head. 

Your breathing evened out as you felt there was nothing coming. Soon you were embarrassed for thinking that Max, one of the only people to seem to care about you, would do such a thing. Yet, your mind always went back to your patterns.

People who should care, didn’t. Hands that were made for comforting, didn’t. Encouragements didn’t exist…for you. 

Maybe you were the problem. 

But, maybe you weren’t. You’d allow some comfort, just this once. 

Max cooed as you leaned into his hand. He knew you were tired. A long day of racing and a long night of adventures would really do that to you.  

He didn’t expect you to explain to so quickly. But you knew how to surprise someone. 

“My dad and mom, weren’t the nicest. They wanted a boy, got me instead.” You harshly exhaled. “They put me in karting because if they had had a boy, they would have done the same. I was just a placeholder.”

Max listened, wanting to hear what you said. 

“It started off small. A push here, a hit to the helmet there. I really didn’t think anything of it. Until I was about 7 and I crashed my kart on the last lap. I was going to win too, but I over compensated and hit the wall. All I remember after that race was my dad grabbing my wrist and yanking me to the car. I hit my head on the dash, I think. Or he was the one to push my head in.” You shrugged at the nasty memory, as if it didn’t matter. 

Max on the other hand, was getting angrier. Yes, his dad did similar things, but he was a boy. He could stand up for himself. And he had his mom and sister. 

You had no one. 

“The next morning, I woke up and there was this giant bruise on my face and smaller ones littered my arms. I thought that was the end of it, except it continued. I was able to hide it pretty well. My race suit pretty much covered everything. I also didn’t have many friends, or, I just didn’t have friends. So there, wasn’t a need to worry. They stopped after I made it to the end of F4, because I was winning and there were more cameras. The moment I made it to F3 in 2019, they disowned me.” 

He did the math. You would have been 16 at the time. Still a kid, but smaller. His heart broke for you. 

“Kid, look at me.” 

You turned your head and made eye contact. Your brows furrowed when you saw tears in his eyes. 

He wasn’t supposed to cry. Why was he crying? 

“I’m crying because no one should ever have to go through something like that.” Oh, you must have said that out loud.

You shrugged once again, “I probably deserved it.” 

“No, geitje, no one deserves that. Ever. You didn’t.” You could only nod along. Your eyes were getting tired by the minute. Max could tell so he started the car. He only had one more thing to say. (translation : kid) 

“My dad did similar things. But I had people to help me. And I know your dad isn’t around, but Y/n,” he said your name, trying to emphasize that he was serious. “I am here for you. Christian is here for you. Mitch is here and so is Vito. We love you. I’m not a good teammate, and you can see that I’ve gone through more teammates than anyone else has in the amount of time I’ve been here. I’m the only constant. But I think that we will actually work out. Best duo right?” 

For the first time since Burger King, where you and him were still parked, he saw your eyes light up. 

You nodded, “Best duo.” 

Max finally took that as a sign that you’d be ok for the night. He carefully back the car out and started on the road toward the hotel. 

“Do you think Christian will let me come to the club next race.” 

Max let out a sarcastic laugh. “Definitely not.” 

Your giggles filled the small space. Max’s heart swelled at making you laugh. 

You’d be all right. He’d make sure of it. 

AN: oh my gosh that got REAL depressing – I apologize. But, Max needed to know a bit more about your lore if he’s going to be able to fend off any unwanted visitors (FORESHADOWING). Anyway, I will see you all at the next chapter! Muah! Much love <3 – author :D 

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @ashy-kit @agent-curt-mega @julesbabey @lydialawrence @stopeatread @claudia5912 @nichmeddar @blueberry64857959 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @leptitlu @alessioayla @badassturtle13 @kaaale @wcnorris @cool-ultra-nerd @hockeyboysarehot @agent-curt-mega @myxticmoon @cmleitora @sam-is-lost @misartymis @boiohboii @alexander-hamilhoe @jayda12 @indesicivelyconfuzzled @fangirl125reader @itscrzy @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fionaschicken @torchbearerkyle @ineedafictionalman @loaksmuntxa @classiclitfreak @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @luisie @jayda12 @comfortzonequeen @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @inejghafawifesblog

[see-arcane]

It's a special day in Dracula!

Jonathan experiences a flashback to the Horrors, Mina experiences bisexuality in the wild, and the poor nameless Pretty Girl in Piccadilly rides out of the story, parcel in hand and chic cartwheel hat on, oblivious to the Count stalking after her. In honor of the anonymous young lady who proves for a third time that Dracula and Mina have literally the exact same taste—Jonathan, Lucy, random beauties on the street—I wanted to take a crack at giving her an identity.

But I am also indecisive as hell, so she can be one of a number of pretty persons of note. For example…

Miss Piccadilly #1: Clarimonde

My original favorite choice, if only because I love the idea of Clarimonde still cruising around after the heartbreak she left behind in her own story, “La Morte Amoureuse” (The Dead Woman in Love), aka “Clarimonde.” She is now and always the undead Parisian party queen of my heart, but I could see her traveling around to dabble in hedonism in other corners of the world. Naturally she has to go and catch the attention of the local aristos. Human or otherwise.

But, of course, she is psychic and can read Dracula like a bloodstained book. Keep walking, bat bastard. Her vampiric voluptuousness is reserved for VIPs. (Maybe that fetching mourning couple she saw gawking in the park…)

Miss Piccadilly #2: Helen Vaughan

Oh, Helen Vaughan, elegant hostess and demigoddess horror supreme. I don’t care what Arthur Machen says, your story did not end with the conclusion of The Great God Pan. You were life and death and human and beast and all the hideous realities in-between and a mortal end could never keep you down. Especially not when you have so many paramours left to entertain! So many secrets profane and maddening to share! One of these days you’ll catch one who won’t dissolve into madness and self-destruction after a little innocent eldritch chit-chat.

Like this charming Count here! Count? Count, where are you going? Count, she just wants you to meet her dad—why are you running? Why are you running?

Miss Piccadilly #3: Luna Blue

What’s this? An OC?

Well, of course. No one’s actually naming their child Luna Blue in the late 1800s; that’s just her professional pseudonym. It’s amazing how well the spiritualist movement can work out for a girl with a knack for shuffling painted cards or chatting with the night sky and the occasional planchette. She can even boast something more than showmanship behind her skill. The sort of ‘something’ that worried Transylvanians might whisper about in fear on a certain haunted date while a likewise worried solicitor breaks out the polyglot dictionary.

She recognizes Dracula for what he is as surely as he recognizes her. No, she is not interested, voivode. Even if she was, she’d be out a benefactor within—a hard look at him here; cold and far—oh dear. Scarcely more than a month. At least by her guess. But oh, there is good news in his future too! He shall cross paths with an old friend soon! How lovely. She’s certain these things are not connected. Don’t even worry about it.

Miss Piccadilly #4: Cosette Marchand

The fourth and final young lady in the roster is one more original character and she deserves absolutely none of the horror coming her way. This is Miss Cosette Marchand, an artist by hobby and profession. The parcel received from the jeweler’s was a commissioned necklace and earrings she designed herself. A glittering birthday gift for her mother who will chide her for such an extravagance, Cosy, she has no place to wear such things! But they are lovely…

She’s so lost in her daydreaming that she doesn’t realize the hansom behind her has been following the victoria since leaving Piccadilly Square. All the way home. Home, where there are no bloodletting suitors, no wise professors, no divine or diabolic powers to forestall the natural progression of things between predator and prey. There is only a nightmare waiting for her, unobstructed.

…By anything other than my own bleeding heart. I’m too attached. She has to make it.

So.

How does Miss Marchand’s story go?

Turns out, her mother has some experience in these matters. Her mother being one Laura Marchand, who left a thirsty terror of her own behind twenty years ago. One she has mourned as much as feared in the time between the love of a husband eaten by war and the sharper kisses of a girl far more than a friend or living being. She recognizes the sour reflection of Carmilla’s eagerness in the Thing pretending to be a nobleman at the door. She still has General Spielsdorf’s axe. She has kept the steel sharp. Tonight she will whet it sharper still, from dusk until dawn.

You see all that yellow in her dress. It’s recently become one of her favorite colors, owing to a most diverting play she happened to read. Such lush storytelling! What decadent inspiration! She simply had to design something fine in honor of it. She does hope her mother will appreciate the artful way the gold was wrought, twisting in echo of the Sign. A mother who has gone so strangely still since she happened to glance at the second act of the play. Still and cold. Perhaps she will be cheered by her gift and their guests. There is a nobleman at the door, Mother! And there, see, leaking from the yellow damask wall is His Tattered Majesty—oh. Where has their visitor gone? He shall miss the masquerade! Ah, well. His loss.

Scheherazade…2! In which Miss Marchand pulls a Jonathan by stalling via playing to charm and utility. She wears many hats beside the cartwheel when it comes to the arts. Portraiture, fashion in fabric and ornaments. Surely the Count can savor the spider-and-fly game a little longer for that and some pretty panicked smiles. Look how much patience and frustration he burned on Lucy! Yes, yes, a little while longer to draw things out, play at flirtation between artist and patron, isn’t this nice? Ha ha. (Please don’t drink me please don’t drink me please don’t drink me.)

Well. She got drinked. And maybe succumbed to death before the Count could get slain. But the bat bastard does get put down eventually and she still gets to pop back up! Good news: She’s not under the Count’s thrall! She can think and act for herself! Nice! Bad news: Vampire. At least she can drink her problems* away. (*Problems with names like Atherton, Wotton, Gray…)

Her neighbors are the other three Piccadilly girls. Dracula makes his way downtown, walking fast, walking faster— 

Werewolf free space.

[mundmutter]

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST

FULL NAME: ‘Qistina’ / Christina Quina Leota NICKNAME: Qissy, Belladonna VOICE: Sayako Ohara ( Beatrice of Umineko or Milly Ashford of Code Geass ) / Susan Egan AGE: 30 BIRTH DATE: October 31st, 1887 ETHNICITY: Amestrian, Ishvalan GENDER: Cisfemale ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual MBTI:  INTJ-A

SPOKEN LANGUAGE: Amestrian, Ishvalan CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Pleasant. She has her own home provided for her by the state. OCCUPATION: Brigadier General, State Alchemist ( Belladonna )  / Philosopher

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Brigadier General Harrison Leota / Mary Ellen SIBLINGS: Edward James ( 36 -deceased- ), Agatha Ann ( 25 ), Thomas John ( 23 ) SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Atlas Hawthorne ( Eventual Husband/ Main Verse Love Interest ) verse dependant CHILDREN: NINA - Adoptive PETS: Sol and Luna, canaries. Poe, Raven. Chaffee, chimera.

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: dark red HAIR COLOUR: Silver white HEIGHT: 5'8 BODY BUILD: Curvy NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Her red eyes and long, silver hair. transmutation arrays on her palms. Scarring that wrap around her wrists like a bracelet. 

INTERESTS

-  Aside from Alchemy, she enjoys listening to the Opera. - She is an avid fan of birds. - Along with being a philosopher, she dabbles in poetry. - She has three absolute favorite books: Frankenstein, Hunchback of Notre Dame, and The Book of Lies.

INFO INTELLIGENCE: Extremely High. LIKES: The opera, Performing alchemy, birds, singing, poetry. DISLIKES: laziness, hypocrisy DISPOSITION: She stays quiet, but opinionated. Determined. Unwavering, highly stubborn.vice: lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / PRIDE / envy / wrath virtue: chastity / TEMPERANCE / charity / diligence / forgiveness / humility / kindness alignment: lawful / NEUTRAL / chaotic || good / neutral / EVIL

 BIOGRAPHY..  

   Miss Qistina Quiana Leota was born in early winter, in the year 1887, and worked in the coal mines as a child. She worked hard for her family, and endured many physical hardships - Moved from her parents home to a large home in the city. She works under the State as the Alchemist Belladonna, more often from the large basement where no one can peek in.

      Qistina had always expressed a passion for alchemy, and thus joined the military. She went on to join the side of the Homunculi, though she has no interest in the promise of immortality, but is rather doing it because she was given such a large amount of material for her own research - to recreate and reconstruct working organs through organic materials. 

Her history is simple, and straightforward. She began to work in the coal mines at the age of four, along with her father and several others ( including a few women, mostly men, and other people ranging from the ages of 45 to 4 ). Qistina longed to sing and learn the Opera, and would often attempt to sing with birds while on lunch breaks and playing outside with the other children. She begins a fondness for birds, especially the yellow canaries brought in by miners. Though, once she spots her brother with alchemy books, her passion switches up on her and she is very often consumed by it.

SHE HAD THREE SIBLINGS. EDWARD, AGATHA, AND THOMAS. BOTH AGATHA AND THOMAS REMAIN IN YOUSWELL, WHILE EDWARD JOINS THE MILITARY ONLY TO RETIRE AS ORDER 3066 IS INTRODUCED AND MURDERED A FEW YEARS LATER.

The age of 16 rolls to the top of the hill, and she leaves home. Not apologizing, but expressing the regret that she could not leave sooner. She and her father still keep in contact, but her mother seems to want nothing to do with her. As of right now, for the past ten years, she has been living a happy life in Central City.

Her goals revolve around Alchemy. The life she was forced into before had consequences. She developed a lung disease known as Black Lung, similar to the long term effects of tobacco smoking, and is similar to both silicosis from inhaling silica dust. Medically, it would be called a Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (CWP). It is caused by long exposure to coal dust. It is a common disease in coal miners and others who work with coal.

Qistina has dedicated her life to alchemy, studying to one day replace the parts of her body that have been slowing her down, killing her. Because of her skills, she has since been working under Father. She has become quite obsessed with alchemy and very often views others under the view of a microscope.         

Qistina was emotionally, mentally, and physically abused by her mother for her love in Alchemy. Not only this, but she was ostracized by fellow Ishvalans, so she grew far far away from their religion, even began to hate her ancestry and never held any sort of care or love for them.

LEOTA MILITARY HISTORY

Throughout her family history, the Leota's have spawned generations of soldiers. From privates to top ranking generals. The majority have fought in wars, and the majority have thus far died while serving both on and off the field. Currently, there are a total of 23 members of her family who are living and in service, while 4 are veterans and living peacefully in the countryside. She personally knows 4 out of her 23 relatives who are in service.

SECOND LIEUTENANT WILLIAM LEOTA,  SECOND COUSIN SERGEANT WARREN LEOTA GREAT AUNT MAJOR MARGARET LEOTA MASTER SERGEANT THOMAS LEOTA GENERAL WILHELM LEOTA, lost his leg. MAJOR GENERAL BLANCHE ACKERMAN, went into retirement at 55 after Ishval and is currently enjoying life with her grandchildren.

Her father, HARRISON, retired at 47 after serving before Ishval. suffers with ptsd.

And finally her grandfather GENERAL FORD LEOTA, has been wheelchair bound since Harrison was a private in the army. He never served in Ishval, and is Ishvalan himself - with stark white hair and dark eyes.

Note the majority of her family does not live in Youswell.

[mundmutter]

― “  That.  .  .  ”    she  sat  in  stunned  silence,  completely  taken  off-guard,  for  such  information  was  not  available  to  the  general  public,  much  less  for  Wraths'  child.  It  had  garnered  another  question  now  :  why  had  such  information  been  written  down  and  placed  within  the  library?   “ Hm.  Perhaps  you  will  make  an  excellent  alchemist  some  day. ”

“  Alchemists  must  remain  cunning  and  clever,  else  they  may  die  of  boredom.  As  for  what  I  specialize  in,  well.  .  .  since  you  have  an  interest  in  alchemy,  shall  I  explain  it  to  you  as  an  alchemist?  I  specialize  in  much  beyond  many  of  the  other  alchemists  that  live  in  Amestris.  Medicinal  properties  of  poisonous  fauna,  the  deep  inner  workings  of  the  human  body,  and  of  course  the  radiation  that  resides  within  us  all  ;  of  human  and  animal  and  plant  and  object.  The  study  is  quite  fascinating,  if,  a  headache  at  times.  I  could  live  a  thousand,  thousand  lifetimes  and  still  never  fully  know  what  alchemy  has  to  offer. It is as maddening as it is rewarding. Do you think you could handle this?  ”

"I don't know much, but I know a few things I shouldn't do thanks to a handy dandy book I borrowed from the military library." He showed her the book in his hand. " 'Forbidden Alchemy'. It's quite interesting. I know alchemy can be a dangerous thing in the hands of the wrong people. Like Mr. Tucker. His poor daughter became a chimera."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?! What do you specialize in?"

[moonlightazriel]

The truth about you /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Azriel knew everything about her and her family filled with criminals, or that's what he thought, what if the truth was different from what he have heard?

Warnings: Angst, fluff and a bit of smut.

Word Count: 2,9K

Notes: I think I'm slowly finding my way back into writing and it feels so good, this has been sitting on my drafts for a while but still needed to finish it, but here we are. I'm feeling better and thank you for all the patience and support.

Main Masterlist

“I have a mission for you.” These were the words that led him there, the task was simple, receive a package, and take back to the House of Wind. The problem? The package came in the form of a beautiful woman, with dark hair reaching her waistline, cunning brown eyes, and too much attitude.

She kept looking around Velaris all the way until he should fly her to the House, stating that she never saw such a beautiful place before, and would be a nice place to stay for a while. Azriel admired her figure as they walked, she was just a few inches shorter than him and her clothes were a bit too tight on her curvy body.

The stranger also smelled really nice as he pulled her closer, bringing her up and flying towards the balcony of the House of Wind, where Rhys was waiting for them. She clung to him but took the flying adrenaline incredibly well for someone wingless. He smirked at that, liking how she wasn’t afraid of falling to the city below.

Whowever, his hopes of even becoming her friend vanished as Rhysand opened his mouth, greeting her with a rather cheerful “Y/N Caidan, what a pleasure to meet you.” The only daughter of Eldar Caidan, a very wanted man on the Illyrian Steppes for numerous crimes. He felt disgusted, wanting to get as far as he could from her. That was the beginning of his torment.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

She moved her hips as she walked, knowing that this drove him mad and his eyes were glued to her back as they made their way to Rhysand’s office, she could hear the annoyed huffs he let out, so used to them in the two years they’d been working together. Azriel wasn’t easy to deal with, especially with the unpleasant side he reserved especially for her.

Three knocks and Rhys shouted that they could come in, dropping the papers containing sensitive information on the dark wooden desk, she sat, legs crossed as she stretched her back, feeling her sore muscles ache from all the effort.

“As you asked Rhys, everything about those secret Illyrian reunions.” He looked at her, his eyes stopping at the fading purple marks around her eyes, behind her Azriel stood, silent as the dead.

“You two are a great duo, despite everything, thank you. You two can go and rest.” She nodded, walking out of the office and heading to her house in the town, all she could think was about the warm bath that she would take later. 

“I don’t want to question your judgment, but why do you trust her, Rhys? Especially with this kind of mission.” He spoke, his throat dry as he barely used his voice in the week they’d been together on a mission.

“Because she’s good at what she does and she’s a good person.” Rhys spoke dryly, tired of this same conversation, this have been happening for the past two years without a break. Azriel had to stop the urge to roll his eyes at the answer.

“A good person that came from a family of criminals.” He knew he sounded like a whining kid but it wasn’t possible that he was the only one in his right mind that didn’t trust her, her family invaded Illyrian camps for years, murdering the females. Azriel had come to the camps a couple of times, blood everywhere, clothes sliced, and the smell of fear mixed with panic, and a scent so familiar the one lingering on her every damned time. If he closed his eyes, he could still see and smell the fresh blood. What made his blood run even colder was that they never left bodies behind, Mother knows what those monsters did with them.

“We cannot judge a child for the mistakes of their parents, can we?” It stung, cuz he knew that Rhysand was right, but he still couldn’t let his guard down around her, he knew that she was planning something, he just needed to figure it out.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“How was the mission?” Morrigan asked, sipping on her glass of wine, while Y/N finished with the charcuterie board she was making for the two.

“Good, got everything that I needed, Azriel just made my life extremely difficult but I’m used to it by now.” She took a bite from a piece of cheese, took the board, and headed for the tiny balcony adorned with little lights and a great view of the Sidra, the soft summer breeze made her shiver a little but she sat down, with Mor following her closely.

“Maybe you should just tell him, I know he will understand.” She scoffed.

“Mor, are we talking about the same person? Azriel won’t understand, he won’t even listen to me. And I don’t want to share my story with him, if he doesn’t trust me, I don’t have any reasons to tell him. He can discover on his own if he wants to find the truth so bad.” Mor lifted her hands in surrender while Y/N took a long sip from her wine. “But at least I don’t mind looking at his pretty face.” Morrigan laughed. 

“Don’t even tell me, the Mother took her time making that one, and I don’t even like men.” The two laughed. 

“Morrigan, things got dirty and he headed to a lake to clean himself, I almost drowned in my drool as I watched the water run down those abs, he’s truly beautiful, such a shame he’s an asshole.” She gave Y/N a severe look.

“Even if I don’t agree, Azriel has been through a lot, he just doesn’t trust people easily, and with the outlaw fame your family has, he’s just waiting for the betrayal, once he sees that things aren’t always as they seem, you will see that he’s such a gentle and kind male, he has a good heart.” 

“I know Mor, it’s just…. I’m tired of being judged and treated like a monster, he treats me so badly, he always questions my abilities and makes me feel like I’m less worth it, that I’m inferior to everyone.” Mor placed a warm hand on her knee.

“I’ll have another talk with him, he can hate you all he wants, but he won’t treat you like this.” Y/N smiled at her,  feeling her heart warm at the thoughtful words of her best friend. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“You hit like a girl.” Nesta teased and Y/N rolled her eyes, she aimed for Nesta’s right side, where she quickly went to defend but she turned the other way, hitting her left side, making the oldest Archeron gasp for air.

“Thanks!” She offered a hand to Nesta, which she gladly took, and the two headed to the water station on the other side of the ring, the sun was at its highest in the sky, making the temperature almost unbearable, only the girls were training today, so there was a lot of skin showing around that balcony.

She saw the shadows from the corner of her eyes before she saw the Shadowsinger, when she turned, he looked slightly paler, eyes wide and looking like he had seen a ghost, her skin felt uncomfortable under his gaze, still fixed on her, she quickly removed the tie from her hair, letting it fall behind her, hiding her exposed back as she darted out of the room. 

“Cassian’s looking for you.” He managed to say, her smell still fresh in the air, and the image of her exposed back still replaying in his mind, two big scars marking each side of her shoulder blades, in the same place Illyrian wings should be. He turned on his heels, ready to follow after her, but Nesta stopped him.

“Azriel, don’t.” She warned him, her fingertips were cold against his skin, and he knew that he should let that go, for now.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The image of her scarred back didn’t leave his mind for days, and ever since he saw her, she’s been avoiding him, every time she sees him entering a room, her expression changes and she leaves immediately, this pissed him off a bit. But as much as he wanted to ask about it, he knew that he shouldn’t push her into answering, he would have to find it on his own.

Then, he was reminded why he didn’t trust her in the first place, as she poked her head outside Rhysand’s office, looking both sides and only stepping out when she was sure no one was around, a pile of papers clutched to her chest. A chill in his spine told him he needed to follow her and get to the bottom of his suspicions. 

It was nightfall when she emerged out of her room, her leathers and weapons in place, her hair in a bun, she moved quietly, and as she passed by him, he could see that she had the reports on the northern camp that was supposed to receive new females in a few days, the papers tucked on the bag strapped around her torso. His blood ran cold as he understood what was happening.

She would take the information to her family and they would execute the females, he knew he had to stop her, but would be better if he stopped all of them at once. So he quietly followed her, for days, only stopping in an inn, she had taken a room and he was currently drinking some wine and eating the food offered there, regaining the energy to do what he had to.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Y/N watched from the top of the stairs as her brother and cousin dragged the spymaster’s body with them, a lazy smirk on her lips as she thanked the innkeeper for helping her, a bag of gold coins dropped on the counter and she was on her way, to her family’s secret war camp. 

“I’ll take care of him now.” She said as they all reached Miramaris, her family war camp. Azriel was still asleep as the males placed him in the chair, chaining him so he wouldn’t try to escape before she could explain.

Y/n watched him throughout the night, not even once looking away from him, she ran a hand through his soft hair, sighing as she stretched her part of the bond until it hit the emptiness on the other side as it hadn’t snapped for him yet. She had known he was her mate for about two months now.

A late night travel to the library, where he was also reading, it only took one look in her direction, him scoffing and getting up to leave for the bond to snap, leaving her astonished and stuck in the same place for a couple of minutes, wondering what teh hell would she do.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

His head hurt and everything felt dizzy, he didn’t recognize the room he was in, but he could tell the walls were made of stone, people walked outside and he could hear the sound of metal against metal like someone was training. His hands were restrained by chains and the was a soft light on top of his head.

The steps grew closer to his cell, the heavy door swung open and three males walked in, and behind them Y/N was smiling, approaching him.

“See that you met my family, quite nice people, don’t you think?” He scoffed.

“If you think murdering people is a nice thing, then sure, amazing people.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. He eyed Eldar and the other males with pure hatred, fighting against the chains, he tried to call for Rhysand but his mind was still too foggy to reach so far.

“He still thinks that’s what we do?” The older male asked and smiled. “Rhys will be quite disappointed that you think he would let us walk freely if we were really murdering these females.”

“Dad, let me do the talking, I’m used to the pretty frown by now.” His heart fluttered as the word pretty left her lips. “Maybe bring some food, chicken with mashed potatoes is his favorite.” Again, his heart beat faster as she spoke, does she really pay attention to him like that? Eldar nodded, patting his daughter on the head, he could see the love in the gaze he directed to her, at least he loved his daughter, he wasn’t a complete monster.

“I don’t want anything from you.” He spat, and she walked closer, lowering her body until they were facing eye to eye.

“And here I was, ready to give the only thing you’ve been wanting from me ever since we met.” He cursed as his traitorous mind wandered to where his darkest thoughts hid in his mind, the images that would come late at night when he was alone, of her, splayed open to him, soaking cunt as he readied himself to take her how he wanted, the number of times he touched himself thinking about her, he didn’t trust her in the slightest, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find her attractive.

Truth be told, he still thought about her, and her body drove him mad, usually after training he would rush to his room to take a cold shower to stop his furious hormones from making him walk to her room and do all the dirty things he wanted to do to her. The fact that he was head over heels for her only angered him more.

“I grew up in a very traditional Illyrian family, but you see, my grandfather used to think that clipping wasn’t enough, removing a female’s wings was the way to go for him.” Her hands grabbed the hem of her shirt, lifting above her head, the laced black bra was hard not to look at, but his throat went dry as she turned her back to him, the scars were even uglier up close and he felt his heart clenched on his chest. “ My father only had enough courage to leave when he came home one day, he found my grandfather placing a new piece of decoration in the living room.” He knew what it was, but it didn’t hurt less as the words left her mouth. “My wings, so tiny, I was just a child. From that day, he swore no female would ever go through something like that again.” 

She turned to him again, shirt going back to place, as their eyes met, hers were filled with tears. 

“Do you wish to see our work?” He nodded and she motioned for him to follow but he shook his hands and she remembered about the chains. “Right, you’re cuffed. Would love to see you chained somewhere else but we don’t have time for that now.” The words sent a rush of blood straight to his cock.

He followed her, the mountain was warm, and as they walked around, he spotted hundreds of females, some training, some doing chores, but all of them were undeniably happy as they walked around with their wings held proudly behind them. 

“Welcome to Miramaris.” She gestured to the open space. “We raid the camps, and we forge the scene, they don’t bother looking for them anyway. Started with small cabins and barely any resources, but as Rhys’s father learned about this place, he helped us, he was a disgusting man but even he knew this was wrong, Rhys kept helping us after, and he invited me to work with him closely after I've been targeted by a rival camp, he saved my life, and he knows what we’re doing. We’re not the monsters here Az.”

He felt bad for all this time he judged her without even bothering to learn the truth about her. They were looking to an open field, some females were bathing in a lake that crossed the mountain. There were hundreds of them, even children were running around, this place was everything he dreamed for the camps to be. 

“I don’t even know how to apologize to you.” He said honestly.

“Help us save them, the females need me, they need us. You can come with me as my partner… “Nothing would’ve prepared him for the words that left her mouth next. “As my mate!”

“Your what?” He looked at her incredulously. 

“That night in the library? Where I found you in your cute pajamas?” The memory came back to him and he nodded. “ It was when it snapped for me, decided to tell you cuz you know the truth now and I would like to be told if it was the other way around.” He nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the information he received in a short amount of time. “You don’t have to say anything, but if you’re willing to give this a try, meet me tomorrow night right here, we have more females to save.” She said, turning her back to him and walking away.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

He saw her before she saw him, and as he watched her frame lean against the wall, dressed all in black and looking around expectantly, he felt, the bond making itself known for him, he could feel her on the other side, waiting for him with a warm heart filled with love, love for him.

“You came.” She smiled. Her eyes glowing with emotion as she felt a wave of feeling flooding her chest and as she reached for the other side of the bond, Azriel was there, waiting for her with open arms. 

“I would never let my mate go alone, never again.” He pulled her close, hand wrapped around her waist as he kissed her, her soft lips made him feel at home as she kissed him back. “Let’s go and rescue them.” He said, grabbing her in his arms, she let out an excited squeal as he leaped to the sky, taking her with him. 

[mothiir]

all is fair in love and war, part i

In which our favourite diplomat faces an assassination attempt, and Sicarius and Roboute must address some feelings.

Cw: gore. No sex. That’s in the next part.

—

—

An Inquisitor is aboard the ship. An Inquisitor is aboard your ship, in your space, they are here. Fear pulses through you; the instinctive dread of a prey animal learning that the wolf is just around the corner. You have no firsthand experience of the Inquisition, but by the Emperor you have heard stories — colleagues who were threatened into taking part in the cruellest of traps, luring rebellious worlds into an accord, only for the Inquisition to burn the planet to cinders. Worse than this: you have heard stories of those who refused — lobotomised, servitorised, and not just them but their families, their friends, punishment that runs along the most tenuous of connections until everyone who heard the name of the would-be hero was dead, or wished they were. It cannot be chance that the Inquisitor has arrived now, when the Primarch has taken all of the battle-ready ships and most of the men to deal with a section of the webway benighted by daemons, coming to the assistance of their Eldar allies, a comradeship that you were instrumental in brokering. Aboard the diplomatic vessel the Hestia, with nothing more than a barebones crew, sheltered deep in Ultramar’s space you thought yourself safe. And you are — but only from external threats. 

The rot within the Imperium still finds you here, apparently. 

As the most senior civilian official here, you join the welcoming party, standing beside Captain Icarus, a now-retired guardsman who — having served decades on the frontline of the Imperium’s battles — knows the ways of the Inquisition all too well. There are no Astartes aboard the ship, only baseline humans — formidable foes, practiced veterans all — and yet as the Inquisitor and her retinue board your ship (the continent-sized bulk of her ship dwarfing your own, blotting out the stars) you find yourself possessed by the mad urge to gather the men beneath your non-existent wingspan, to shelter them. 

“My lady Inquisitor,” you say, with a deep and respectful bow. “It is an honour —“

”Are you really the most senior diplomat here? Hm. I suppose you will do, until the senior officials arrive,” says the Inquisitor. Oh, what a promising start. What a truly excellent start. You straighten up immediately. “I am Kagha, of the Ordo Xenos. I was under the impression that the Lord Primarch was resident here and came to offer my services.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, trying your utmost to keep your eyes fixed on Kagha — and not her Deathwatch bodyguards, looming like obsidian-wrought gargoyles; nor the cherubim hovering behind her, fleshy abominations with blank, unsettling faces. The other woman is a little shorter than you, hard-featured and haughty, but possessed of an ageless, sharp beauty that speaks of those rejuve treatments the upper-classes so love. Her copper hair is swept up in an elaborate braided style, ornamented with gold skulls with glowing red eyes. You would wager your life’s savings on those hairpins being secret, deadly weapons. Her outfit is equally impressive: a long black leather coat, embroidered with a motif of heretics burning in a flaming pit while an impassive angelic figure watches; skin-tight trousers; an elaborate lacy blouse that closes at her throat with a ruby the size of your fist.

She’s wealthy. Well-connected. Experienced. And yet there is something not right; an itch under your skin. 

You look to the Deathwatch marines, as briefly as possible. There are five of them — more than enough to annihilate the paltry crew here, should they wish — and all are helmeted. Two carry shields slung over their shoulders; huge oblongs of metal longer than you are tall, ornamented with strange milky stones, like opals, and yet somehow familiar —

Your blood turns to ice. Spirit Stones. The funerary custom of Craftworld Eldar is to keep the souls of their dead in these psychic tombs, thus preserving their fallen comrades, and keeping them safe from the endless maw of She Who Thirsts. To break a Spirit Stone is to send the soul contained within to eternal damnation; it is one of the cruellest fates you can imagine. And to decorate your weapons with them — and to bring these weapons to the ship of a diplomat you know brokers peace with the Eldar —

You know then what is happening, and you would laugh at the flagrant arrogance of the Inquisition, if you were not so fearful. They are so used to having nothing stand in their way — why would they be subtle about an assassination? You make a quick gesture with your right hand, keeping it pressed tight to your side. In battle-cant it means call the Primarch. Bring him back. We are in danger. 

To Kagha, you beam, trying to appear every inch the young idiot she appears to think you are. “Would you care to join me in my quarters for tea? I can send a vox to my senior — he is currently aboard a ship in the Ultramarine’s fleet, and will answer as soon as he can.”

A bluff, of course. You have no senior. And yet Kagha — arrogant, stupid Kagha — nods tersely. “This is acceptable.”

—

You do not think it arrogant to claim that you are more that a little adept at the finer points of conversation — it is, after all, much of your job to be personable and engaging. Indeed, this talent is in such short supply across the Imperium that you sometimes wonder if you count as a prodigy, just because you can engage in small talk without threatening anyone, or going on a half hour diatribe about the Emperor’s endless benevolence. You once even made a Harlequin laugh! Yes, it was because you fell over — but it still counts. 

And yet Kagha is a brick wall — no, that is an insult to masonry. She either does not answer your questions, or does so in a way that suggests she considers you the stupidest woman alive for even raising the point. Still, she is kind enough to pour the second round of tea, so you sip, and resign yourself to silence. 

After around twenty minutes, the ring on your index finger — a nondescript circlet of silver, set with a tiny little sapphire — tightens minutely. Thank goodness for that. You offer Kagha a bright smile. 

“If I were you,” you say. “I would have a word with your sources.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

”Well — they’re clearly quite out of date. I did have a superior diplomat overseeing my work here — her name was Sara Buchanan, and she was wonderful — but she returned six months ago to be with her grandchildren. I’ve been running the show here ever since.”

Kagha’s brow furrows. “If you are suggesting —“

“I am not suggesting. I am telling. Do you really think you are the first member of your Order to come calling to the Primarch’s fleet, thinking that they can disrupt our mission here? Granted, you are the first one to approach myself directly — but we know your sort. The arrogance of you! You’d see the Imperium remain steeped in shadow and ignorance if it kept your position safe.”

Genuine anger bleeds into your voice, and your throat tightens. You cough into your hand, cursing the sudden flare-up of — what? Allergies? Gunshots echo outside; lasgun facing lasgun. The Primarch has returned home, and is not best pleased with what he finds. 

Kagha’s lips skin back, showing her teeth. “You stupid xenos loving bitch — you have no idea what you are doing here.”

”I know exactly what I am doing here. Following my Lord Primarch’s orders. You are the heretic who claims to know better than the son of the God-Emperor —“ you break off into another bout of coughing, this time more strenuous. It feels like something is clawing up your throat. The door to your chambers crashes open, Cato Sicarius storming in, wreathed in smoke, spattered with blood. 

“Careful!” you yell out at the gunfight outside. “Don’t break the stones on the shields!”

”We know that,” Sicarius snaps at you. “We are well-aware of the Deathwatch’s tactics —“

Whatever he was about to say is amputated as you double over and vomit. A dark grainy substance puddles at your feet, like recaf-grounds. Behind you, Kagha sniggers. 

“So, so clever — but didn’t think to check the tea, did you?”

Oh for the love of the Emperor’s left bollock — you curse your oversight. She’d poured the tea. Ample time to slip poison into it, even though you had been watching her the whole time, because Inquisitors are nothing if not swift with their petty, lethal blows. You choke on another upsurge of bile, pain now radiating from your stomach, and collapse onto the floor. 

The next two things happen so swiftly as to be synchronous. Kagha reaches for her hairpin, presumably to activate some kind of suicide device, and Sicarius leaps towards her. Before she can complete whatever last-ditch resort she was planning, Sicarius has flipped her upside down, holding one scrawny ankle in each of his gauntleted hands. Kagha shrieks in astonishment — a shriek that soon turns to a wordless, senseless wail of agony as the Astartes moves his forearms, just a little, and rips her in half. Gore showers him, and you avert your eyes, but you can still hear the wet slop of organs falling to the ground in a bloody puddle; the popping and breaking of bones, rent apart like matchsticks. 

“That is my woman,” growls Sicarius — or, at least, you think he does. The world is starting to blur at the edges; the pain is receding — or perhaps you are receding, falling away into the dark. Your last image is of Sicarius bending down to you, reaching out. And then it is all black, as black as the void between stars. 

—

You blink awake to cool white light, and soft white linen. For an absurd moment you think you’ve perished, and this is the Emperor’s rest — an endless bed, where you can sleep as much as you wish (sleep being the one resource you were always so scarce of). 

Then —

“Ah, the wench awakes. Good. I was getting sick of looking at your sleeping face.”

Cato Sicarius sits by your bed, a paperback book open on his knee. The title reads Duty and Love: The Steamy Romance of a Kriegsman and a Sister of Battle — but before you can comment on it, he’s whisked it away, hiding it in one of his armour’s many compartments.

”How long — how long has it been?”

Your voice is rough; your throat aches. Sicarius tosses you a canteen of water. 

It’s metal. It’s Space Marine sized. You can’t catch it; it hits you in the chest and bounces off, leaving another bruise to deal with. 

“Next time, catch better.”

You have no idea how to respond to that. With shaking hands, you unscrew the lid and gulp at the icy water. 

“The poison ate through your oesophagus,” says Sicarius, conversationally. “Just as well it spared your tongue — a mute diplomat is no use to anyone, and we would have had to get someone new aboard. Can’t be doing with that.”

Perhaps it is your drug-induced delirium, but you smile at him. “Are you saying you’d miss me?”

”Absolutely not. Give me that.”

He snatches the canteen back, spilling water over you both. It’s his canteen. There’s a jug of water on your bedside table, and he gave you his canteen — but before you can dwell on that , Sicarius is back to grumbling. 

“We had to divert our entire mission because of you. Lord Gulliman was not best pleased that the Ordo Xenos was causing trouble for him and his, so we had to go halfway across the galaxy to Kagha’s home base. He’s spent the last five days putting every Inquisitor he can find to the sword. Burned a couple of planets that were still perfectly useful just because they wouldn’t tell us what we needed to know.”

There is far too much there for your sluggish brain to process. You manage: “Five days?”

”Yes. You’ve been out for six. That poison almost killed you. It didn’t. Fortunately.”

You stare down at your hands. They are almost as pale as the sheets: sunless, drained. “And the Primarch —?”

As if in answer to your question, the door opens, and Roboute himself enters. You immediately try to greet him properly — stand, curtesy, even salute — but your body won’t obey, and you just manage to tangle yourself up in your sheets, tumbling from the bed. The Primarch catches you before you hit the ground, swaddling you up in your linen like a newborn babe, settling you back onto the bed. His armour is tarnished, swathes of it stained rusty with old blood, and he reeks of smoke. Deep shadows hang under his eyes. He looks like he has come fresh from the battlefield. 

“There,” he says. “Better? Glad to see you with us.”

Your arms are pinned to your sides, which is just as well, since you suddenly want to stroke his tired brow, comb your fingers through his hair. 

Roboute looks over at Sicarius. “Thank you for your watch, brother.” To you, he adds: “Sicarius stayed —“

”Here because I was ordered to, and now I must leave to attend to proper business,” says Sicarius, all in a rush. 

Gulliman stares at him. And stares at him. Then looks at you. Then back at Sicarius. 

“…is that really what you want to say,” he says, in a tone of infinite, weary patience. “Really. After all this. That’s your parting riposte.”

Sicarius stands up straight, throwing up a parade-ground salute. 

“I fulfilled your orders, my lord. Watched her for the five days and nights. But now I have to return to my battle brothers for my actual purpose.”

Gulliman stares at him for another long, long moment. You twitch in the cocoon that Gulliman has forced you into, feeling deeply awkward but not entirely sure why. 

“Last chance,” says Gulliman. Sicarius frowns. 

“Not sure what else I should say, Lord Father.”

”Right,” says Gulliman, and sighs, turning back to you. He tucks you in more firmly — clearly intending it to be a comforting gesture, but managing to strait-jacket you to the point where you think your fingers are going numb. “Theoretical: the potential of losing you drove me to depths of fury that I had not felt in quite some time. This was in part due to the Inquisitor’s meddling, but largely to do with the prospect of not having you by my side.”

He strokes your hair gently.

”Practical: when you are well enough to stand, you will come to my quarters and we will have nice non-poisoned tea. And we can talk. And enjoy one another’s company.”

You squeak. “S-sounds like an excellent strategy, my lord. Yes. Please. Would like to play my part for you and the Legion and —“

”Perhaps not the entire Legion,” says Gulliman. “Not yet, anyway. Oh, and Sicarius? Why are you still here?”

Sicarius’ face is frozen in a rictus of pure, delirious rage. “No — no reason at all Lord Primarch. I will…I will take my leave.”

No one can say Gulliman did not give his idiot son a chance. He leans forward and kisses you gently on the forehead, pausing to inhale the scent of air. It smells of home. 

[hongjoongscafe]

Bloody Love...

Chapter: I -Eyes-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 2.1k+

♠︎Warning: physical abuse, dead animal, non-consensual touching, murder, stalking, nudity.

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist

Far away from the mellow kingdoms, was the realm of Jeon. From far away, the gloomy, blue-grey sky was evident. No one from other kingdoms even dared to look towards that domain.

It reeked of sins. From far away, one could hear the screams of the commoners. No one dared to even think about following the path after the sun dimmed down. But the thing was that the kingdom was miles and miles away. It took almost three days to travel from the nearest kingdom to Jeon’s realm by horse. That single fact sent chills down others’ spines. Even from that far away, they could hear the wrong happenings.

The skies above his realm looked dull, blue-grey. The clouds of madness always covered the sky. It was all hunted. The King haunted the realm. His bureaucrats danced with the movements of his fingers. They were his puppets and he was the puppet master.

No one has ever seen his face other than those who worked in his castle. The commoners always heard that sometimes, the King himself would come patrolling but all of his warriors wore heavy masks. Dressed in black cloaks hiding half of their face. The lower half would be covered with black cloth. Metal chains dangling from the big wide metal ferronnière.

They rode their dark horses. Whenever they passed by, the zone would become quiet, eerily quiet. No one in their right mind would raise their head to look at them and go against them. The fear among those peasants was his majesty's pride. He loved the look of fear, the way their eyes trembled, and mouths mumbled for forgiveness even though they did nothing wrong.

This was just one per cent of his wickedness. The dirty secrets remained in his realm but his dirty secrets remained in his castle.

The castle.

It was far away from the region where commoners lived. Everything that came in the way of the castle was creepy. The mist always covered the path. They say that this mist was the souls of those who died there. And there were many… mounds of them. And most of them didn’t die naturally.

It was as if dark mist spiralled over the realm.

“Coronis! Bring back the calf! Draco has to go to get meat from the Henrys,” Coronis’ mother asked from the kitchenette.

“In a moment!” Coronis looked at her reflection through the water in a wooden bucket. Her hair was black, her pretty eyes were painted with Kohl. Her lips were chapped but the tint from the beetroot she patted a while ago was making her lips look luscious. And the natural tint on her cheeks.

She was known to be beautiful in the village. Men felt honoured even if she breathed in their path. Though she didn’t come out of her shack as much. She lived there with her parents, Draco and Martha, an older brother named Onyx, and a younger sister of eight years, Circe. She herself was eighteen soon to turn nineteen.

After being satisfied with her looks, she hummed and went inside and picked up the rope and took a sharp knife with her. Letting her mother know, she stepped out to get her calf back.

Knife.

She wasn't going to kill anyone. Unless.

The chilly air threaded through her hair and her white gown fluttered along the wind.

On her way to the meadows, she saw a man beating a woman, most likely his wife, with a whip. Her face was red and blue from the punches she had received. But no one paid any attention to them.

A little further, she saw a dead pig on the side of the path, and an old man was slicing it open. Coronis scrunched her eyebrows and looked away. It was common to see these heartless humans doing bloody shit.

This realm moved with the saying ‘You live until you survive.’

Near the meadows, she saw a girl being touched by much older men, probably without her wish. Her cheeks were soaking from tears. Her delicate hands were trying to push away the men but her hands were delicate and those men were dedicated.

Reaching the meadows, she made it quick to find the calf. Seeing her stamp on the calf, she tied the rope around its neck and pulled it to follow her back to their shack.

There were stamps embroidered on every cattle. It was to mark them as their property. The one's without the stamp were usually killed for food, leather, and jewellery. The animals that were bred to be killed were reserved only for the castle. The men would come on their horses and would fill up their carriers with goods and take them to the castle.

As Coronis was returning, the sound of horses’ clops started coming closer along with their neigh. She knew better and pulled her calf to the corner of the path and kept walking. The horses started passing her. The village quieted down. Only the horses and their riders could be heard.

The path was broken and uneven, and small and big rocks were peeking out of the ground. A man stumbled and fell in front of a horse that was coming from the opposite direction, making it stop. The man got off the horse and picked up that old man with one hand and made him stand again.

“How dare you stumble our way!” He yelled. “Do you not see who is crossing?!”

The old man fell on his knees and held the feet of the patrolman. “I-I-I st-stumbled a-and fell, master! P-please, for-forgive me!”

The patrol man’s chuckle could be heard. He pulled out his sword and made a quick job and sliced his head off.

To Coronis’ bad luck, the head fell just in front of her feet. His bony face was ugly. His teeth were rotting and his beard was dirty. The blood was pouring from where his neck was supposed to be. She looked up at the man who was now getting back on his horse.

But her eyes fell on the man behind him. His eyes were boring holes into her skull. They all wore black cloth from the nose and down, and their foreheads had metal ferronnière but his was heavier and had sharp, long spikes pointing out. The chains were dangling down and were attached to his mask, decorating his face. He wore heavy chains around his neck. His horse was different from others.

She knew he was not any other guard man. He was different. He held power. To what strength, she wasn't aware of that. The higher-ups kept themselves hidden away from the eyes of the commoners.

Coronis didn’t look away from his eyes. They looked into each other’s eyes. Her eyebrows were frowned up. Her face was covered in disgust.

Slowly, they passed by. But that one man remained behind and passed even slowly all while looking into her eyes without blinking. Just like her, he too had kohl painted around his eyes.

She looked at him up and down, his fingers had heavy jewellery and metal nails attached to them. His cloak covered his head. (Lower left picture in the mood board).

His eyes held darkness. The darkness in his eyes was darker than the whole realm and the night itself. He screamed menace. After what felt like a long moment, he passed by and kept moving while she looked at his back.

It all happened slowly. The picture was stuck in her head. It sent chills through her spine. She wished to never cross her path with him. Ever again.

Turning back around, she inhaled sharply seeing that head still laying there. She kicked it away and kept walking.

The moment she opened the door to her shack, her mother's voice rang, “Those men passed by! Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I'm alright,” she said and went inside the slot that she shared with her sister. “Where is Circe?!” she asked.

“She was in the slot!” her mother said.

“Circe!” Coronis called and went outside. “Circe!” the younger girl turned around and looked at her older sister. “Go back inside! How many times do I need to tell you not to go outside without any of us by your side?” She held her arm and dragged her inside. “And the escorts are marching outside! Do you know how dangerous it is?”

“I'm sorry! I wanted to wander around for a moment. It has been days since I last saw the outside world!” Circe huffed.

“Outside world?! Do you know how bad it is?!” she held her head out of frustration. “Ugh, you will realize one day.”

Coronis was about to turn around when she saw someone outside the window but with a blink of her eye, it was gone. She shook her head and exhaled.

Maybe she was tired.

…

“Here is your liquor, majesty,” one of the guards bowed as he presented the drink to the king.

The King took the glass. He removed his mask from below and drank it all in one inhale and threw the glass away. “Lord, that is Danny's workshop. He still hasn't paid us the tariff. He is behind by one day and owes ten stones.”

The King smirked under his mask and nodded. He turned his horse and proceeded towards his castle. “You know what to do.”

His eyes moved towards a house where that lady with calf went. He smirked and moved ahead. “You too will realize…”

…

The whispers woke Coronis up. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. She looked around and saw her sister still sleeping.

It was typical to hear people crying, screaming, or talking outside. But these whispers were eerily low and were coming for one side. She knew exactly what was wrong.

She stood up and walked outside. The people were surrounded by the tall wooden bar that had an arrow above it, there lay a man who was known as Denny. His wife was tied to the pole, naked, and abused. Dead.

Coronis looked at their shack… Burnt.

“Go inside,” Draco asked his older daughter.

“Two hundred and sixty-seventh,” she looked at her father. “This year. On this pole. In only five months,” she remained and counted them too.

“Try to not be the next one,” he said and took her back inside.

“What is going on?” Circe asked.

“Nothing,” Onyx said. “Stay inside.”

“They are doing this more often. They were only a day late in paying the tariff. Just yesterday, when I went to Denny's Housewife for a new knife, she said they would pay the tariff today. Poor them,” Martha sighed and placed the salad on the table with a teapot filled with brewed tea. “Have it.”

Everyone sat around the table and ate their meal. “I'm going to the east,” Onyx said. “They asked me to bring a new supply of opium.”

“When will you be back?” Draco asked.

“Soon.”

…

After an early meal, Coronis helped Onyx with packing. Later she went to her slot and took out clothes for her to wear and stepped outside to take a bath. The wooden buckets were already filled with water that they brought from the well every day.

After getting rid of her clothes, she used soap and washed herself up. All the while she felt someone staring at her. She looked around but saw nothing. But then her eyes fell on the tree in front of her. It was dense. One could easily hide inside it. There she saw a pair of eyes looking right into hers. She gasped and stumbled back. She quickly picked up the drying cloth to cover herself and ran back inside.

Her breath was huffing. She slid down the door and tried to control her breath. Her eyes fell on the fresh clothes that she took and wore quickly and waddled into the kitchenette. “Do not bathe outside,” she gritted. “There is someone up in the tree.”

Martha looked at Coronis with wide eyes. And then at Cirice who was already looking haunted. Then nodded her head. “Are you alright?”

Coronis shut her eyes tightly and let out a sigh. “No,” she whispered. “Just don't go outside.”

She was afraid. This never happened with her. There were times when she needed to attack people just to come back home with her dignity still intact but this was so much worse. She was even afraid to look outside.

But being protective over her family, she looked outside through the window to see if the man went away or not. There was no one on the tree. She looked around and checked everywhere in her sight but no one.

She turned around but stopped. Turning back she looked at the place where she had left her dirty clothes… all were gone. Even the underclothing.

“Don’t look out. Put that cloth on the window and come back,” her mother said. “Betty's mother has some vegetables left after the sale, I'll get them and come back as soon as possible. Please, look after yourself and Circe,” she opened a drawer and took out a butcher's knife. “Keep this with you,” she whispered and took the smaller knife with her.

.....

Sanaa’s note:

The chapters will get bigger I think? There are so many details I wanna include. Hope you liked this part! Lemme know your thoughts on this one. Feedback really helps me and motivates me to write more. Take care!

The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes; @darkuni63 @mageprincess7

Have a nice day/night💓

[mundmutter]

" You'll be falling and breaking your neck if you keep doing that ― what, do you need me to find some work for you? "

he's spacing out.

[marichive]

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Daenerys Targaryen in A Storm of Swords , the third book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ He was a fool about that, and so much else. ❞

❝ Another year, or perhaps two, and he may be large enough to ride. ❞

❝ Is he lost again? ❞

❝ We are the ones who are lost. ❞

❝ How big will he grow? Do you know? ❞

❝ There are tales of dragons who grew so huge that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas. ❞

❝ That would be a wondrous sight to see. ❞

❝ They were bred for war, and in war they died. ❞

❝ It is no easy thing to slay a dragon, but it can be done. ❞

❝ Men are men. Dragons are dragons. ❞

❝ Did you ever meet my father? ❞

❝ Did you find him good and gentle? ❞

❝ He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies. ❞

❝ A wise man never makes an enemy of a king. ❞

❝ Did you know my brother as well? ❞

❝ It was said that no man ever knew him, truly. ❞

❝ Go on. You may speak freely to me. ❞

❝ A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory. Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm. ❞

❝ Be gentle, my knight. ❞

❝ I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior. ❞

❝ You would be wise to take his words well salted. ❞

❝ A queen must listen to all. ❞

❝ One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found. ❞

❝ I am still half a world away from home, but every hour brings me closer. ❞

❝ Even upon the sea queens take precedence over captains. ❞

❝ I am sorry to disturb your sleep. ❞

❝ I wonder if I might have a few private words? ❞

❝ A dutiful son pays his father’s debts. Even blood debts. ❞

❝ He might want me dead . . . if he recalls that I’m alive. ❞

❝ It might all have been a ploy to win your trust. ❞

❝ I need clever men about me if I am to win the throne. ❞

❝ Clever men hatch ambitious schemes. ❞

❝ He means well. He does all he does for love. ❞

❝ It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. ❞

❝ Your path is dangerous, I will not deny that. ❞

❝ He is not what he pretends to be. ❞

❝ I am his queen, not his woman. ❞

❝ You . . . you should not have . . . ❞

❝ I should not have waited so long. ❞

❝ I should have kissed you every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well. ❞

❝ That was not fitting. I am your queen. ❞

❝ My queen, and the bravest, sweetest, most beautiful woman I have ever seen. ❞

❝ There is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me. ❞

❝ They might be adequate to my needs. ❞

❝ He has larger breasts than I do. ❞

❝ I call that madness, not courage. ❞

❝ Even the bravest men fear death and maiming. ❞

❝ There are other ways to tempt men besides flesh. ❞

❝ What a soft mewling fool this one is. ❞

❝ Such wonders do not come cheaply. ❞

❝ Even those who bent their knees may yearn in their hearts for the return of the dragons. ❞

❝ I will gladly serve her . . . and service her as well, if she is more woman than she looks. ❞

❝ Leave this place before your heart turns to brick as well. ❞

❝ The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. ❞

❝ Better to come a beggar than a slaver. ❞

❝ There speaks one who has been neither. ❞

❝ Do you know what it’s like to be sold? I do. ❞

❝ He made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. ❞

❝ Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid? ❞

❝ Only lies offend me, never honest counsel. ❞

❝ I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you. ❞

❝ He has a good face, and great strength to him. ❞

❝ Could he be jealous that I have found another man to talk to? ❞

❝ No true knight would ever kiss a queen without her leave. ❞

❝ He wants to kiss me again, I see it in his eyes. ❞

❝ You’re no bedslave. ❞

❝ The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. ❞

❝ There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. ❞

❝ I wanted an answer, not a compliment. ❞

❝ He fought valiantly, he fought nobly, he fought honorably. And he died. ❞

❝ I mean to prove a few things of my own. ❞

❝ I can give you freedom, but not safety. ❞

❝ All men must die, but not for a long while, we may pray. ❞

❝ He knows my moods too well. ❞

❝ You ought to be asleep. ❞

❝ You’ll need your strength. ❞

❝ I was alone for a long time. ❞

❝ I was such a small scared thing. ❞

❝ He should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. ❞

❝ Why do the gods make kings and queens if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves? ❞

❝ Some kings make themselves. ❞

❝ He was no true king. He did no justice. Justice . . . that’s what kings are for. ❞

❝ I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. ❞

❝ A dragon is no slave. ❞

❝ The clever ones will see it for a chance to gauge my strength. ❞

❝ I am only a young girl and do not understand the ways of war, yet these odds seem poor to me. ❞

❝ I have heard that sellswords are notoriously unfaithful. ❞

❝ You bray like an ass, and make no more sense. ❞

❝ Woman? Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man. ❞

❝ I would remember a man of such magnificence, I have no doubt. ❞

❝ You are worth fighting for, it is true. ❞

❝ I would gladly let you kiss my sword, if I were free. ❞

❝ And perhaps a kiss besides, eh? Or more than a kiss? For a man as magnificent as me? ❞

❝ I will like the taste of your tongue, I think. ❞

❝ You have a big thirst. ❞

❝ If blood is what you wish, let it flow. ❞

❝ You shall rue this arrogance. ❞

❝ Why? Because you are so beautiful. ❞

❝ I count no day as lived unless I have loves a woman, slain a foeman, and eaten a fine meal. ❞

❝ My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command. ❞

❝ Then live, and fight for me. ❞

❝ Is that what you’re telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust? ❞

❝ Do you think I’m still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words? ❞

❝ You have been a better friend to me than any I have known. ❞

❝ I honor and respect and cherish you. ❞

❝ I do not desire you, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me. ❞

❝ It will not make me love you any better. ❞

❝ I cannot sleep when men are dying for me. ❞

❝ Your place is here by me. ❞

❝ A man who fears battle wins no victories. ❞

❝ I will see them. I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their  faces. And I will remember. ❞

❝ It’s his city I want, not his meager manhood. ❞

❝ I will not march my people off to die. ❞

❝ Can I send men to die in the dark on such a slender hope? ❞

❝ Take me back to my tent. Please. ❞

❝ I have told you no lies. Yet there are truths I have withheld, and for that and all my other sins I can only beg your forgiveness. ❞

❝ What truths have you withheld? ❞

❝ The crow calls the raven black, and you speak of betrayal. ❞

❝ If he sent you to kill me, why did you save my life? ❞

❝ I am yours, if you will have me. ❞

❝ There has been an informer by your side selling your secrets. ❞

❝ Do all gods feel so lonely? ❞

❝ She is brave as well. She had to be, to survive the life she’s lived. ❞

❝ I am going to take you home one day. I swear it. ❞

❝ I am content to stay with you. ❞

❝ Is this the face of a conqueror? ❞

❝ Harsh justice is still justice. ❞

❝ The widows will curse me all the same. ❞

❝ To prove his faith, he offers to seal your alliance with a marriage. ❞

❝ He means to put them all aside if you consent to wed him. ❞

❝ Whatever I do, all I make is death and horror. ❞

❝ I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. ❞

❝ Some truths are hard to hear. ❞

❝ Why ask for truth if you close your ears to it? ❞

❝ He once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. ❞

❝ So I am a coin in the hands of some god, is that what you are saying? ❞

❝ You warned me against everyone except yourself. ❞

❝ I am no man’s creature. ❞

❝ I must not weep. I must not. If I weep I will forgive him. ❞

❝ You are trembling. ❞

❝ I wish I could have known him. ❞

❝ If I want him, I need only say so. ❞

❝ Never lie to me. Never betray me. ❞

[my-blind-album]

Lady Leonora Lesso x Female Reader - Killer Dean

{it is recommended that you listen to the song while reading it helps for a better understanding}

Requests; OPEN

Pairing; Lady Leonora Lesso x Female Never Teacher Reader

Category; I don't know

Warning(s); Mentions of blood, and possible killing, cursing

POV; Professor Clarissa Dovey finally asks Y/n about her secret girlfriend that no one knows about but the things Y/n says of her girlfriend are cruel-some and Dovey is left in shock and fear.

Friendships between Evers and Nevers weren't that possible or normal to be seen but since the unison of the schools of both good and evil, things have changed...for the good of course and everyone's more social and enthusiastic which hasn't been seen for over 200 years by both schools.

So there they laid on the ground in the Ever garden looking at clouds. Two close friends who never thought to have close in the first place. "Y/n?" A hum was sent to the golden dean or the previous dean of good. "You never told me about your secret girlfriend, yet" the dean looks over to the female beside her who just continued to look at the clouds with a wide smile forming on her mouth. "Yet" "Excuse me?" the dean asked looking back to the clouds. "You said I haven't told you them, yet, meaning I will someday not now" it was now the previous never teacher's turn to look at the woman beside with a cheeky grin knowing how her friend would react.

"Oh come on Y/n! You've been saying that for the past weeks!" "And I'm sure they're still more weeks to go by till you'll see her" "And why's that?" "She went away for a lil-trip and won't be coming back until supposedly next week or the week after" "Oh, when did she leave?" "Last night" the golden fairy squinted her eyebrows. "That's the same time Lesso left for a lil-trip as well, although I don't know where really" "Mhm" "Do I know your mysterious girlfriend?" "Quite so, yes you do" "Please Y/n just tell me who it is, or at-least describe them for me!" "Describe?" "Yeah what is she like? do? enjoy? her backstory? anything really!" "Anything?" Y/n says looking over to her best friend who was already looking at her with the biggest grin on her face. "Mhm!" "Alright then!" Y/n gets up and sits down, using her finger glow to magically appear a book filled with all the fairy-tales of heroes and villains. Flipping through the pages she stops once she reaches the one she has been looking for and smirk forms on her face and she glances at her golden friend who looked more than amused.

There is this girl, the most beautiful in the world

She has all the boys in town wrapped 'round her finger, oh

She would walk the halls and everyone would whisper and talk

'Cause all the girls in town wanna be her

Dovey looks eagerly at Y/n, her eyes filled with curiosity and excitement and Y/n smirked at this. Phase one of the plan was already in place and from looks of it, soon phase 7 shall be complete.

But behind those emerald eyes, she's a devil in disguise

The prom has blood on her hands

Every boy and girl she dates disappears without a trance

So be careful if she asks you to dance

She's a motherfucking killer queen, a psychopath at 17

A beauty in a blood stained dress

The look of curiosity in Dovey's eyes faded to be erupted by something else, fear.

She'll fill your heart with kerosene

And light you up till you can't breath

If you cross her path you just might end up dead

Y/n switches up the lyrics to not only show that her girlfriend is a victim but to also disclaim that her life was torture and killing people who wronged her and others was only her way of getting revenge.

There is this girl who was broken by the world

'Cause every day at school they'd push and shove her, oh

Getting up from the ground, Dovey and Y/n's surroundings change into darkness till a flashback imagery appears, showing a young and naïve redheaded girl getting mocked and abused by her agemates and her witnessing other people like her getting made of as joke as well and clear rage is seen in her eyes as her hands clench into a stone cold fist.

But she had a plan, one day she would get her revenge

And those cheerleaders and jocks would be six feet under

But behind those angel eyes, lies a devil in surprise

The prom queen has killed for her crown

Every boy and girl she seeks never comes back in one piece

So be careful when she tries to ask you out

The girl had given herself an entire makeover to turn what others saw as plain to stunning. Everyone boy in town loved her, for her looks of course and the girls all envied her. She would ask out all the boys who mocked her for being unattractive and murder them the next day without living any traces towards her.

She's a motherfucking killer queen, a psychopath at 17

A beauty in a blood stained dress

She'll fill you up with kerosene

And light you up till you can't breath

If you break her heart you just might lose your head.

She'd invited all the girls who bullied her to a sleepover and end their lives within their sleeps, one by one.

She's dancing by herself

She's crowned the queen of hell

Tears will sink into her skin

She's gonna get revenge

You're all gonna know her name

She's the one and only killer queen

The imagery changes to show an older looking version of the girl. Her red hair is no longer straight but instead a curly mess. A black cane within the palms of her hands and her rosy pink lips form a sinister smile. Her eyes, however, are merely covered by a shadow but with a blink of an eye you could see a sort of emerald spark shine through one of them.

She's a motherfucking killer dean, a psychopath at 17

A beautiful and broken mess

She'll fill your heart with kerosene

And light you up till you can't breath

If you break her heart you just might meet your end.

"So you're telling me that you're girlfriend is actually a serial killer on the loose?" Dovey asks with a bit of panic. "Yes but she would never kill me." "Really?" "I don't know, to be honest, it all depends on whether or not she'll love me till the end because I know I would never leave her." "But why? she's basically a Jeffery Dahmer with no control, expect the part of cannibalism!" "I love her because I know that under all of flaws and beauty, there's a broken girl who never got the chance to experience love cause everyone as always against her." Y/n finishes changing back their surroundings back to the garden. The book she held disappeared into thin air and she laid down on the ground once again, going back to watch the clouds.

"Okay but could I ask you something?" "Sure, go ahead." "What did you mean by 'killer dean'?" "Seriously? even after that whole song you still couldn't guess who I was talking about?" "No! Like- I have a hunch but I don't know if it's right" "Just say it." "Is it Lesso?" Y/n just merely sighs, turning her head to her friend and nodding her head. "Are you mad?" "What? No! Why would I be mad?" "I mean, I don't know whether or not you're cool with homosexuals or not so I assumed that-" "Well don't assume, I have no problem with you and your preferences, it's who you are, you have to embrace it, is that why you've been so secretive about her?" "Yeah, I mean if you hadn't found out that day, there's a high chance that I would have never told you, so I'm glad you found out." "I'm glad too."

---

I was bored and this has been in my drafts since last year so I was like...sure why not?

[melit0n]

In no particular order, (or in order, if you can rank them) what are your top 5 Ethel Cain songs? 🎤

Oh Tonee, this is like opening up one of five music based Pandora boxes for me 😭 please forgive the rambling.

Family Tree from Preacher's Daughter

This song drives me MAD. I could talk about her vocals in every song, but her voice in this makes me buzz. The bass throughout is ominous and incredible: same can be said for the SFX. I'm a sucker for when artists add in extra things like that. The flies put me on edge (which links it to Ptolemaea and eventually Sun Bleached Flies) and the bell ringing out during the first chorus makes me feel like I'm attending a funeral. Literally 'for whom the bell tolls', which kind of foreshadows her death later on in the album.

I genuinely think the lyrics are the closets I've come to a religious experience. "They say 'Heaven hath no fury like a woman's scorn', and baby Hell don't scare me, I've been times before." Insane. Ate and left not a single crumb. Her dead tone on "I've killed before and I'll kill again", being a callback to Two-Headed Mother's "I've loved before, I'll kill again" is just. Ugh. I can't even describe it.

+ Special mention to Family Tree (intro). I haven't, and will probably never, get over "Jesus can always reject his father, but he cannot escape his mother's blood."

Televangelism from Preacher's Daughter

There's very few songs, to me, that encapsulate a painful yet quiet death well, and this is certainly one of them. It's a solemnly comforting tune. Considering lore wise, it's meant to represent Ethel's soul coming out of the basement after she's been killed, it makes sense.

The first half genuinely sounds like something the pianist in my Catholic School used to play before prayer started. The fact that it was entirely improvised is absolutely insane, too.

Plus, the incredibly smooth switch from August Underground to this is brilliant.

Ptolemaea from Preacher's Daughter

Literally every part of this song is amazing (pretty much all of Preacher's Daughter is a work of art to be honest). It's definitely one of the few songs that genuinely unnerves me; still has the same creeping, fearful effect after the hundreds of time that I've listened to it.

First, off: The title is a reference to the ninth and final layer of Dante's Inferno: betrayal. Ptolemy commits treachery (a betrayal of trust), which lands him in the ninth circle, hence its name. This is what Isaiah does to Ethel. It's a somewhat niche reference that I love.

Secondly, Death's monologue (some people also interpret this voice as Isaiah, the man who kills and cannablises Ethel by the end of PD, but I'm just generalising it as The Grim Reaper) is so, so eerie. The repetition switching between "Heard you, saw you, felt you, gave you" to "Need you, love you, love you, love you" with Ethel screaming and asking for him to stop in the background always gives me chills.

Thirdly, all the lyrics go hard in this one. "Calling me the one, I'm the white light: beautiful, finite", "Even the iron still fears the rot" and "I am the face of love's rage" are some of my favourites.

Honestly? The entire song puts me on edge. Listening to it, I feel like I'm millimetres away from the sharp point of a knife. The build up to her screaming "stop" is full of panic, but cathartic.

Two-Headed Mother from Inbred

The distorted guitar at the start mixed with her vocals itches my brain so well. Her tone and dictation in this is really 'soft' too, and more spoken than sang, which I adore. It sounds less like a song and more like being hummed an eerie tune as you drift in and out of sleep.

Overall, despite the topic (of both the song and album in general: it's called Inbred for a reason) the beat is an absolute groove. Never in my life would I have expected a song about trauma passed on from a mother so a daughter to have such a blend to it.

On the note of the topic, just, hello?? It mixes a mother's hatred and love and passes it down to a child who sees it in every man she sees. Let alone paints her lover in a horrible image in order to remove guilt from how badly she's treating him. Just how her dead mother still has dictation over her, she exerts the same amount of control on her lover. She knows very well that her two headed mother brought her here and can send her right back.

Head in the Wall from Golden Age

This one just encapsulates so, so much religious based anger and debilitating depression. Every single lyric oozes with pain and I always have to like, sit down when this comes on.

Growing up a Catholic kid, in a not so nice religious environment, yeah. Just yeah. Misogyny was rife and "It's always my fault: girls will be bitches, and boys will be boys" resonates with me a lot. I could say a prayer wrong and be told to sit outside in Winter to do my work for the rest of the day, and a boy could chase me around the playground, pull my hair and try to punch me and it's still be my fault because boys will be boys.

The whole song just illustrates a very depressive mindset, being more angry towards yourself, and then moving on to environmental factors to try and shift blame in an attempt to stop feeling shitty. For those reasons, I don't listen to Golden Age or Carpet Bed all too much because they sucker punch me right in the chest a little bit too painfully, but HITW is still a favourite.