#ethel's writing

[texaschainsawmascara]

Wrestling In Dirt Pits - Ethel Cain / The Unified Theory of Ophelia: On Women, Writing, and Mental Illness” - B.N. Harrison x / Twin Peaks / Lake Mungo

[mournfulroses]

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Ethel Smyth, featured in The Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf

[sicknessinmotion]

KILL ME IF IT'S WORTH IT; ON FLESH.

silas denver melvin // ethel cain // george bataille // blythe baird // margaret atwood // nicole homer // emily palermo.

[asoftepiloguemylove]

"I BELIEVE THERE IS A GOD. BUT I'M NOT SURE HE STILL BELIEVES IN US." // MUSINGS ABOUT GOD

Vi Khi Nao Fish in Exile // pinterest // Ada Limón The Echo Sounder, from "Lucky Wreck" // Mitski Bug Like an Angel // Margaret Atwood Half Hanged Mary // Ethel Cain American Teenager // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Elle Emerson Regarding the Röttgen Pietà // Yves Olade Belovéd // Kim Addonizio Wild Nights from "Tell Me" // Jensen McRae Machines // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Anna Kamienska A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook (tr. Clare Cavanagh) // Tom Waits Day After Tomorrow // pinterest // Lauren Camp Upon Taking the Universe One Thing at a Time

[lettielux]

the old barn that sits in front of the graveyard

sometimes i wonder how many grieving faces it has seen- and if it also longs to go back to before it was rotting.

[saint-arya]

so cute when stupid — gojo satoru

★⺌◞. mean satoru x f! purposefully dumb best friend reader

drabble. toru loves this dynamic. him so smug and teasing. her so sweet and dumb

cw. mean nonchalant satoru. teasing. purposefully dumb user. mdni

a/n. look away please. this IS not me

masterlist //

“you don’t get it?” gojo’s voice is full of mock pity, big hands squeezing your thighs where you sit, warm and squirming, in his lap.

his controller is long forgotten. he doesn’t even care about the game anymore—not when you’re like this.

“poor baby,” he purrs, his other hand trailing higher, teasing the edge of your too-short skirt. “you’re just not very good at this, huh?”

you pout, playing into it. “it’s hard.”

“mm, yeah? what’s hard?” his grin is wicked.

you whimper when his fingers slip under your skirt, not even pretending to focus anymore. his touch is too slow, too deliberate, and you know he’s just dragging it out.

“you,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “want—”

he hums, acting like he’s still explaining the game, like his fingers aren’t teasing you exactly where you need them.

“shh, baby, let me help you,” he coos, mock-sweet. “y’know, i think i should just fuck the thoughts right outta your pretty little head. that way, you don’t have to think at all.”

and then, he does.

ᝬ ˙.໑ ╱ © saint-arya 2025 — all rights reserved. property of ethel

[melancholicstation]

HUSBAND JACK SCHLOSSBERG HEADCANONS 𓍼 𓇢𓆸

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

might make this into a couple of one-shots??

imagining WIFE!READER as an orion carloto type, who balances modelling and writing, and makes tiktoks in the same vain of alanabananaxox on tiktok (she's been my no.1 tiktoker since 2021) and sotce.

met wife!reader at a runway after party of an up and coming new york indie brand ( sandy liang, khaite, bode etc. )

proposes to you with the blythe doll you had been obsessing over, dressed in a wedding dress and hand-customised by a popular etsy dealer with quite a high rate like this girl on tt

encouraged by jack to do a ‘what’s in my ( miu miu joie leather ) bag’ video on tiktok to help campaign for kamala akin to this video of anne hathaway but with a different vibe.

jack is ultimate embarrassing hard launcher bofy, leaving in all his girlfriends giggles that come from his chaotic antics when filming his videos.

wife!reader loves to slather jack’s face in biologique recherche’s “masque vivant”, he complains that it smells like rotting meat😹😹😹😹😹.

jack would be always on that damn phone during your runway shows, recording each time you pass him by in the catwalk.

would be the absolute opposite of marriage-shy.

unpopular opinion this man would be asking about marriage, a solid 3 months in ( jfk and jackie married in a YEAR )

fucks UP a rotisserie chicken.

forwards you his tweets before and asks if they’re good enough to post.

smells like aesop musk and of herbal deodorant.

wife!reader buys rick owen’s black and white t-shirts and slacks for jack, and jack’s absolutely baffled when he learns the price tag.

love language is buying wife!reader drinks whenever and wherever they are: hot chocolate in central park, home-delivers you a sab benedetto sparkling water because he had a meeting at cipriani downtown, and always orders a polo bar punch for you prior to your arrival to your shared weekly dinner date at the polo bar on 55th st.

instigates a24 marathons on friday nights, much to the dismay of your prior night plans ( you are more of a criterion collection girl and have held a subscription since you were a freshman in college )

( clumsily ) slips lana del rey lyrics into sexting and dirty talk.

husband!jack and wife!reader texts go like this:

jack is horrific at low impact pilates, he needs to be near a body of water.

he wears your prized doublesoul x orion caroloto ‘lamb’ socks around your woodfloored high-rise despite your varied attempts at hiding them from him.

constantly frets over you during society galas, which is quite convenient due to your tempered social anxiety and your forgetful memory of high society etiquette.

immediately brings you to meet the family, for which you were completely unprepared for ( i’m imagining something reminder of that one story of meghan markle meeting princess kate middleton in ripped jeans and bare feet )

jack loves to wear your 100% cotton brandy melville pointelle tanks despite them being comically tiny for his frame.

would have an innocence kink.

he gets intensely flushed when called his proper full name: john bouvier kennedy schlossberg, wife!reader abuses this to the HIGHEST degree!!!

the first time he entered you apartment he was constantly paranoid of breaking anything because your house was littered with ceramics from brooklyn under-ground designers and clay lamb figurines.

he NEEDS his beauty Zzzzzzz or else.

plays with your very expensive westman atelier blushes like a toddler.

sickly devoted to you.

you both want to adopt a lamb despite living in a HIGH-RISE apartment.

sends pics captioned with anaïs nin lewd quotes.

he would think whole foods was stupidly over priced but would purchase his groceries there in spite of his opinions.

has hyperfixations on old-hollywood women which causes you to be snippy at him for exactly 2-3 hours ex. jack’s current hyper fixation on audrey hepburn being his doppelgänger.

wife!reader definitely participated in that egg cracking trend where girls would crack an egg on their boyfriends head.

would love caring for your hair and doing your curly girl hair routine if you had one.

wife!reader does small yet viral shoots for brands like mirror palais, the row, and loewe.

manhandles you ( lovingly ) without even trying.

mans is a chronic diptyque candle lighter.

loves to be coddled and cradled as a grown man…

plays with your van cleef stack before stage when he’s nervous about his speech landing correctly

uses his family connections to get his girl courted by the high-ticket fashion brands: schiaparelli, chanel, dior, yves saint laurent etc.

[homemadesterekpie]

im forever obsessed with the idea of Stiles and Derek being together in secret. not because they’re actively hiding it but more because their respective lives can’t seem to merge together.

Stiles is still in school trying to keep his grades up and keep up appearances of the imperfect/perfect son with his dad while Derek is living in the burnt out shell of his childhood home like some kind of depressing episode of bushcraft camping.

they’re both damaged and somehow they’re the only ones who can see that about eachother.

they save eachother’s lives one too many times and it ends up with Stiles giving Derek his virginity and his entire heart in the process while Derek’s entire fucking soul howls for Stiles. he wants to mark him and to claim him and to keep and hide him forever so they’ll both be safe.

but Stiles only stays the night in Derek’s burnt out den when his dad works the graveyard shift and reluctantly leaves in the early hours of the morning to go home to get ready for school.

it gets harder and harder for Stiles to leave every time he spends time with Derek. he’s not sure what it means about him that he’d rather stay with Derek in this broken haunted place.

he just knows that at least here he feels alive and he doesn’t have to pretend, he can just be who he is or at least who he’s become. this needy wanton thing that seem to never be satisfied with what Derek is willing to give him. Derek gives him an inch and Stiles wants a mile but somehow Derek indulges him every single time. and when they’re both close so close they both whisper promises to eachother they aren’t even sure they’ll be able to keep but it doesn’t matter. what matters is that after when Derek’s head is pillowed on Stiles’ chest, the both of them breathing hard with Stiles’ fingers playing with Derek’s dark hair, they both know the truth.

they’ll never be able to stop whatever this is.

Stiles can’t sleep alone anymore, his own bed feeling foreign. he can barely keep up with conversations that aren’t Derek’s words, his mind always drifting to the wolf and wondering where he is, what he’s doing, should he go see him on his lunch break?

Derek roams the woods at all hours whenever Stiles isn’t with him. he starts following him to school, to his house, to the god damn grocery store just to watch him.

somehow no one truly notices how reclusive they both become until it’s too late. they’re in way too deep and there’s no going back.

when people finally realize/find out about them they’re too codependent and entwined with eachother to even care about the reactions.

Stiles’ dad kind of blows a gasket because how the fuck did he not see it? does he even know his son at all? meanwhile, Scott has a one sided screaming match while Stiles looks at nothing.

the sheriff visits Derek at the shell of his home and confronts him. Derek’s face is hard and closed off the entire time but he acknowledges that him and Stiles have something. but he also knows how hollow Stiles truly feels from the neglect the sheriff imposed upon Stiles when his mom died and that’s not something Derek is inclined to forgive and he also knows this isn’t his place to tell. Stiles will tell his father what and when he wants to share. so he tells the sheriff to go talk to his son.

the sheriff looks absolutely distraught at that because he realizes he doesn’t even know how. Stiles have slipped through his fingers and become this unreachable being. he isn’t the person Stiles trusts anymore. the strange man living in the woods standing in front of him has more claim to his son than his own father does at this point.

a few hours later, Stiles drives up the long dirt path to Derek but this time he has a packed duffel bag with him and his eyes are red and puffy. Derek just takes the bag from him and takes his hand and pulls him to the mattress they use as a bed. they lie down and Derek holds him as he cries.

he’s not going back home. he doesn’t want to go back home anymore. he’s graduating in a couple weeks he doesn’t have to go home. can he stay here? please Derek can i stay here with you please please? Derek just kisses him softly in response because even if he wanted to he could never say no to Stiles, not when he’s like this, so fragile and on the verge of breaking completely.

Stiles sleeps better that night than he has in months. he graduates. he doesn’t apply to college but he’ll think about it next year. for now, him and Derek are busy building themselves a cabin with a huge garden. they work during the day at their own pace and at night they make love.

all in all it’s good, it’s peaceful and it’s more than enough.

[mad-girlslove-song]

when ethel cain said “i tried to be good am i no good am i no good am i no good” which started with her self-loathing after being abused by her father and neil perry said “i was good. i was really good” and then he killed himself because he knew that he would never be good enough for his father

[gladoswantscake]

Need You, Crave You, Love You - Dracula x Reader (DBD)

Summary: In need of help comes with a price

Warnings: Captivity/kidnapping, horror, blood, mild swearing

A/N: This take place right before you are taken by the Entity

Available on AO3

"I am no good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine." (Ptolemaea, Ethel Cain)

It happened so fast. One second, you struggled to see through the storm and found yourself in submerging water. You managed to escape your car after hitting the front glass multiple times before the cold water sunk you further underwater.

You swam until you felt dirt beneath your cold hands and slowly regained your balance. You took a moment to look around you. A large dark cloud illuminated by lightning with large spikelike legs emerged from the cloud close to you. Maybe you were seeing things? You turn away from the water and look for any light source within your view.

As the rain slightly lightens up, the harsh wind picks up. Strange deep whispers call out from behind you. You then turn to see fog emerge from the water and towards you. Your eyes widen, and you make haste through the wooded area.

Everything began to look the same the further you ran deep into the forest. You started to lose hope until a small light shined through the trees. A house not far from where you stood. Just a bit up the mountains.

As you ran closer to the house, your legs burned, and you lost all feeling throughout your body from the prolonged exposure to the frigid weather. Luckily, by the time you arrived, no fog nor sound was made; pure silence.

You gave the large wooden door a few sharp knocks. "Hello?!" You knock again. This time, the door slowly opens. You hesitantly poked your head inside, seeing the large and empty place only accompanied by several lit candles to light the inside. The storm isn't letting up anytime soon, and the longer you stay outside, the more you risk dying from frostbite weather.

The large door shuts behind you. It's much quieter now since you were out of the storm.

"Hello?" Your voice rang out.

The room you stood in consisted of old architect of carved dark wood and large antique paintings. It was a rather beautiful room, and whoever lived here took great care and pride in their home.

Only taking a few steps deeper into the room, a voice startles you.

"Good evening. I bid you welcome." The deep voice says.

You whip your head towards the voice. A tall man stood just a few feet away from you. "I'm sorry for walking in here. Your door was unlocked." You apologize. "I got into a bad accident from the storm. And my car is gone. It was the closest place I could find help."

His eyes never leave you as the tall man walks towards you. "An accident?" He questions.

"Y-Yes, sir." You stutter from the cold.

The man's skin was pale, just not as pale as yours. His long white hair slightly swayed with each step he took. His white facial hair was sharp-looking and neatly groomed. There was not a single flaw on his face, and his attire was odd. It wasn't something you'd see today. It looked as if his evening attire was from centuries ago but better tailored. The colors he wore were deep red, crimson, and black, which perfectly suited his figure.

"My condolences." He places his hand on his chest.

"I'd hate to disturb your evening, but do you have a phone I could borrow to call a friend? I can be on my way."

He smiles and lets out a short chuckle. "My dear, I'm afraid a phone does not exist within the walls of my home." His eyes travel down to your drenched clothing in a stalking manner.

"Rest assured, you have not disturbed my evening." He begins slowly walking around your shivering self. "Although you are an interesting guest." His voice lowers as he makes his way behind you. A hint of an accent can be heard in his voice.

"I'm sure I have been an interesting individual: Showing up drenched and injured." You made a weak laugh to bury the anxiety.

He finally circles back, facing you. "Injured?" He raises a brow.

"I honestly don't know where exactly. It might've been my shoulder when I crawled out of my car window. I'm too numb to know, but I can manage it if it's just a scratch. Do you have any bandages I can patch myself up?"

The man's lips slightly grow upwards upon hearing your injury. "Of course. Please follow." He turns his heel, and you follow him into another room. The halls were dark and slightly warm. It was much better than the outside.

"Your home is beautiful." You say. I see you put in a lot of work."

He turns his head and smiles. "I take great contentment into making my sanctuary a place of comfort."

He leads you into a brighter, lit room. The fireplace gives the room a better view of your surroundings. He guides you to a large couch to sit on.

"I am surprised you have not dwelled into fear. Mortals who've stumbled upon me would have cowered."

You watch him light a few large candles. "I don't think you're intimidating." You glance around the neatly organized room: A couple of large bookshelves and a few pieces of sitting furniture.

"Intimidating? He finishes. He strides towards you. "I am pleased to hear that." He sits down next to you, just close enough for his clothed knee to brush against yours. The rich and smokey fragrances coming from his attire made your heart flutter. "Tell me, is it my presence that's intriguing you? Making your heart thump so loud?"

You stared, not knowing what to say. It felt like your words became twisted whenever you tried to speak. The longer the man's eyes never left you, the worse your heart beats. You could feel your cheeks flare up the closer he closed the space between the two of you on the couch. His aroma was entrancing you.

He takes his hand into yours. "Tell me," His thumb traces over your veiny hand. "Is my presence causing you to feel so strained? Or perhaps you've never met a man like me?"

He could read your mind, expressions, and thoughts so well. You couldn't think of anything to reply to him.

The warm heat from the fireplace thawed your freezing body, and you now feel warm liquid travel down your forearm. You slowly look down, seeing a dark crimson liquid paint your pale arm. It looks like you did cut yourself really well.

He looks down at your arm. A good amount of blood was running down from your shoulder, where you complained earlier. A smile creeps upon his face. "My you are hurt..."

His pale, slender fingers gently wrap around your forearm, causing you to tense up due to his cold hand. His other hand collects a sample of your blood with his fingers, bringing it to his lips to taste the warm metallic flavor.

He takes a minute to savor the fresh, lukewarm blood that was exposed to his tongue. He then hums to himself, "Your blood is so pleasing to taste." He slightly leans in towards you. His cold hand remains on your forearm. You could finally see something even more off: His eyes, a bright amber color. His other hand finds its way to your face, and his fingers cup your chin.

"Such lusciousness and magnificence you have presented to me. You remind me of my previous lover." His fangs finally appear with a large grin. "I need you."

"You get the fuck away from me." You finally speak.

Without giving him a second to respond, you shove him with all you might with your free hand. The feeling of his sharp fingernails digging into your forearm caused you to yelp. Ignoring the pain, you quickly bolt out of the room.

You ran to the front door to open it, but it wouldn't budge. You cursed to yourself. You didn't have a second to think as you heard him call out for you. With no other choice, you ran as far as you could within the dark manor.

He's never had a human captivate him so much. With the isolation swallowing him whole for many years, his craving for another being became intense. Perhaps it was why the isolation made him behave the way he did. He wasn't going to kill you. No. He was determined to make you his and part of him. It'll take time for you to surrender, but he has plenty of patience.

You hid in a spare bedroom. The room was cold and dark. Thankfully, a full moon shone through the window, allowing you to see the room. You locked the bedroom door and walked up to the window. You could see the strange cloud from earlier, only closer to you now. You quietly attempt to open the stubborn old window.

You tried to lift the window a few times, but it wouldn't budge.

"No, no, no." You whine. "Open, damn it!" Anger formed into tears as you soon discovered there was no way out.

Then his voice came from the other side of the locked bedroom. The stinging pain from your forearm caused you to look down. You didn't realize how much you bled. That was why he was able to find you so quickly.

"Go away!" You cried out. You pulled your bleeding arm to your clothed chest to try to prevent yourself from accidentally making a bigger mess.

He could hear you break down into pathetic sobs from the other side. "Please don't fret, love. My intentions aren't to hurt you." He reassures.

"I just want to go home."

"I'm afraid your loud pleading cries fall on deaf ears." His hand wraps around the doorknob to twist, only to find out you locked the door. He chuckles to himself. "This will only make things difficult if you keep this door locked. All that I ask is to see you."

Momentarily, no noise came from the other side. Then, soft footsteps grew louder towards him. The lock on the door slowly clicked, followed by the door opening. You stood before him, sniveling, knowing your fate. Your puffy eyes look up at him. You frown through tears.

His brows lowered as he raised his thumb to brush a tear down your cheek. A small smile forms on his lips, big enough to display his fangs, knowing he has you in his grasp. Your soft, fragile skin and eyes remind him so much of 'her.' He's waited so long to have someone that showed any resemblance to her. Maybe God grew bored of punishing him for centuries.

He takes pity for scaring you. "I apologize for my behavior. It's just been so long since I've seen something so exquisite before me." His thumb traces your warm cheek. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you." His accent thickens.

"Please…" Your voice let out a pathetic plea to him.

"What is it that you yearn for, my dearly beloved?"

You wince as you feel his warm breath hit your ear. You could feel his lips travel to your neck, leaving feathered kisses.

His fangs teasingly gently graze your puncturable neck. He could feel your veins pulsating beneath his sharp teeth. He was greatly aroused by it. He knew better than to turn you. It would be selfish of him. But he couldn't risk the chance of losing you. He'll convince you to join him. He'll make sure of it.

"H-Home." You whisper.

"You do not feel at home? With me?"

You wanted to say no but couldn't. You feared that anything you say that didn't align with what he wanted to hear would upset him even more. "What...are you?"

He pulls away from your neck. "A vampire."

"You...you're real..."

"I'm sure you know my name from the stories you've heard about me."

His hand lowers to lift up your uninjured hand. His cold lips kiss your knuckles. He takes his time feeling his lips against your skin and taking in your faded aroma. It's been a long time since he felt the touch of another person who he craved for. He couldn't let you go.

He lowers your hand and cups your jaw. "Let me take care of you." His free hand slithers around your waist.

It felt like you were in a trance. You couldn't move or speak. Only watch him tenderly touch you as if you were an injured animal.

"Stay with me, and I will give you anything you desire." Your body is pulled closer to his. "Let me make it right."

[debutantinchaos]

[falsegirlprophet]

𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍, 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖻

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 (2𝙆) (𝙏𝙒; 𝙎𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙁𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣)

‼️18+ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈‼️

-

The story of how the priest fell in love was a single thread that, for better or for worse, tied Eve to her fate.

The Singh family had immigrated from Kolkata to Omaha in search of America’s land of opportunity.

As Eve joined her family in their pew, a handsome young man with brunette hair took to the pulpit; a heavy black cassock hung from his broad shoulders, a crucifix laid over his chest. “Good morning.”

It was a different sight than usual this Sunday morning.

Father Mayhew gave the masses on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation but was priming his son to take his place on the altar and be the humble shepherd to the sheep of the town.

Charlie Mayhew.

The town’s golden boy, opening doors for the elderly, volunteering at the transient shelter, and babysitting the children of the parishioners.

The perfect picture of what a priest’s son should be.

Charlie didn’t hold any prejudice toward his congregation’s newest additions; he and his father welcomed them with open arms and introduced them to the community as if they were already one of their own.

Even when the townspeople were hesitant or unwilling to accept their newest residents.

“Miss Singh.”

Eve turned at the sound of her last name, looking over her shoulder with wide brown eyes as Father Mayhew’s son approached her with an easygoing grin, smiling and greeting other parishioners as he made his way to her.

“Good Morning,” Eve’s accent was heavy, and her English was still being learned.

The townspeople gave her family odd looks when they did not take the time to understand Eve’s family and friends properly. “The sermon you gave was lovely.”

“Thank you.” Ever humble, Charlie bowed his head meekly. “I have to admit, it’s distracting up there when you’re beneath me.”

Eve blinked in surprise, and Charlie quickly reassured her with a charming grin. “I couldn’t help noticing you’re...missing something.”

“What am I missing?” Eve looked down at herself, holding her missal and rosary in her hands.

Charlie only laughed softly and shook his head dismissively.

“Come back at golden hour. Seven P.M.”

Charlie gestured to the interior of the church. “The light comes through the stained glass just right, and this place becomes...” His dark eyes lingered on Eve for a moment too long, and both young adults could somehow see their lives playing out before them. “Transcendent.”

-

The gold light reminded Eve of her tree swing in the woods of her childhood home as she entered the chapel at seven p.m. on the dot. “Hello?” Her voice echoed in the chapel as she searched for Charlie, who made his presence known from the choir loft behind her.

“Oh!” Eve felt small with Charlie looking down on her from on high; she had felt that way since her family had arrived in Omaha with only the clothes on their backs and their hearts in their hands. “I’m sorry, I did not know you were there.”

Charlie only grinned as if he knew something she didn’t. “Come up here; it’s a better view.”

Eve joined Charlie in the choir loft, and he was right.

The view from up above was better.

“I hope this isn’t too forward.” Eve followed Charlie to the sacristy, gasping in surprise when he began to unbutton his black dress shirt and remove his belt. “I’m going to clean up before I give you what you came for.”

“Wait here.” The gentle demand in Charlie’s voice stirred something inside Eve; she just wasn’t sure what that alien feeling was yet.

Eve turned her head away to stare at the crosses hanging from the wall as Charlie stripped in front of her to his underwear as if he were putting on a show.

Dark eyes stole glances at the size of Charlie straining through the nearly see-through delicate material. “Okay.” She exhaled shakily when Charlie’s half-naked figure disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of shower water hitting the floor and steam filled the tiny room. It got humid quickly. Eve undid the first few buttons of her dress, sighing and fanning herself as she waited for Charlie to finish.

‘If you’re listening, God. Don’t let Mummy and Daddy catch me.’ Eve silently prayed to the various crosses and religious imagery decorating the church back room.

An unmarried woman still at home with her parents, alone in the handsome, young priest’s chambers?

Eve second-guessed the consequences of this visit as she redid the buttons of her dress, shooting to her feet when Charlie exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

Droplets of water dripped down Charlie’s bare and glistening chest; his brunette hair was shiny copper in the low light of the room. “Is something wrong, Eve?” He looked down at himself, laughing as if he now realized he was naked.

Save the white towel hanging from his hips.

Eve followed the trail of hair on Charlie’s abdomen that disappeared underneath the towel. “I... do not want to get us in trouble.” She nervously twisted a lock of hair around her index finger, turning it purple. “What would people say?”

Charlie’s expression changed to one of mock hurt. ‘Me?’ He mouthed, putting a hand over his heart. “Miss Singh. I’m wounded.” He boldly walked up to Eve, caging her against the dresser she backed up against and retrieving a velvety, black box that sat inside.

“I cannot accept-” Charlie gently shushed Eve when she began protesting, putting his smooth, cool hands over Eve’s to guide her fingers to open the box.

Gasping softly, Eve was in silent awe as she lifted a golden crucifix, hanging from a delicate gold chain that dangled from Eve’s long, brown fingers. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered, her dark brows knit together in confusion. “What is it?”

“This shows who you belong to.” Charlie watched the gold light reflect on Eve’s features as she admired the necklace.

Eve allowed Charlie to take the necklace from her fingers, his words running through her head. ‘Who I belong to?’ She wondered. ‘Who do I belong to?’

“Turn around.”

Eve obeyed as if Charlie’s commands were almost second nature, closing her eyes when Charlie gathered her long, black locks in his hands and combed his fingers through it once, twice, before pulling her hair back to fall between her shoulder blades.

The necklace chain was cold as it graced Eve’s throat, shuddering when she felt Charlie ever-so-slightly run his index finger along her collarbone. “Blessed be you.”

Eve nodded and bid Charlie goodbye, confused of the events that had transpired as she walked home.

The tutoring lessons Eve began with Charlie to learn English, and church study became frequent. Charlie would stop short of giving Eve her release, cleaning, redressing, and sending Eve home before someone grew suspicious of the young adults’ mutual absence.

-

“I am hiding from something I cannot stop.”

Eve stood in the church sacristy with Charlie, her dress bunched in her fists from how tight she clenched her hands at her sides. “It feels like a fever in me.”

The dreams of Charlie’s body on Eve’s, learning to touch herself the way Charlie had instructed her, secret glances and touches in the chapel—it was all becoming too much for Eve to bear.

“Please,” Eve begged, getting on her knees and clasping her hands, looking up at Charlie with desperate brown eyes. “Help me.”

“Oh, Lamb…” Charlie sighed long and low. He guided Eve onto all fours on his mattress, pushing her dark hair off her shoulders and pressing his nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply until Eve filled his senses. “You'd do well to say yes to me.”

Feeling Charlie’s cold, smooth hands slide up her waist, undoing every button before sliding the dress up over her head. “Do as I say.” His tone was low and dark; it reverberated through Eve’s body as he dragged his mouth down her spine.

Neatly folding Eve’s dress, Charlie placed it on the bedside table.

“I’m on fire,” Eve exhaled shakily, bunching the fabric of the comforter in her hands when she clenched them into fists underneath her, feeling Charlie’s heavy, dark presence behind her.

“I’m on fire, I’m on fire, I’m on fire...” Eve chanted like a prayer as Charlie teased her with featherlight touches that transformed into a hungry seizing of Eve’s flesh, digging his strong fingers into her soft, brown skin and marking her as his for the taking.

“You poor thing...” Charlie rolled his neck, muscles flexing as he pulled the towel from around his waist, freeing his erection as he approached the end of the bed. “Sweet, mourning lamb.”

Eve closed her eyes when Charlie ran his index finger down her spine, gripping her hip in his hand as he teased the throbbing head of his erection against her soft cunt. “There's nothing you can do.” His jawline flexed, muscles straining, and his face flushed as he bent over Eve’s trembling frame. “It's already been done.”

‘What fear a woman like you brings upon a man like me.’ Charlie thought darkly as he wrapped Eve’s ebony locks around his fingers and closed his hand into a fist. “Show me your face.” He demanded, giving Eve’s hair a sharp tug to force her back to arch, making her look up at him with desperate brown eyes.

“Heard you,” Charlie was a man possessed, massaging Eve’s breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples until they hardened under the pads of his fingers.

Eve turned her face into the pillow and screamed when Charlie stretched and rubbed her most intimate part, “Saw you.” His dark eyes never strayed from Eve as she writhed like a snake underneath the weight of him.

“Felt you,” Each prayer was punctuated by a thrust from the priest; his headboard scratched the sacristy wall. “Gave you.” Charlie dropped his head to his chest when Eve clenched around him, grunting in time with their movements.

“Need you,” Eve continued the prayer when Charlie went non-verbal, his dark eyes blown out as he frantically began to fuck her into the mattress. “Love you.” She felt Charlie’s hands slide underneath her legs and pushed her knees to her chest.

Glancing at his reflection in his dresser mirror, Charlie grinned at his flushed and sweaty face, his chest and neck marked with love bites and scratches from Eve.

Flexing a toned arm, Charlie admired how Eve’s long legs shook atop his broad shoulders, bending over to give Eve a sweet kiss on her sweaty lips.

“Charlie-!” Tears streamed down Eve’s face; it hurt how big Charlie was inside her, stretching her open and thrusting relentlessly.

“Am I hurting you, Lamb?” Bending over Eve, Charlie took the gold chain of her crucifix necklace between his teeth; he was slower now but still grunting loudly with every thrust.

“Here…” Charlie’s hand traveled down Eve’s heaving chest to her abdomen, swollen with the fill of him. Finding the hard nub at the top of her cunt, Charlie began to massage Eve’s clit.

Eve’s lips began to tremble, more and more tears streaming down her sweet face as she felt herself clamp down on Charlie.

Eyes wide and lips parted in a silent scream, Eve stiffened, her palms flat against Charlie’s biceps as he finished alongside her.

Charlie pulled out and frantically pumped his arm, locking desperate eyes with Eve as he moaned long and low. A white, warm, and sticky fluid coated Eve’s tummy when Charlie came with stuttering breath and blown-out eyes.

Panting softly on her side, Eve felt Charlie retreat from the bed, listening to the sound of a drawer opening and closing and water being poured.

Kneeling bedside, Charlie placed a wooden handle with multiple ropes hanging from it on the bed, splaying the ropes out wide as he gripped the base of the handle and braced himself.

The sound of wind whistling through the air and the crack of rope on skin made Eve sit straight up, drawing her knees to her chest and covering her face with her arms in horror as she watched bloody stripes bloom onto Charlie’s back.

A single tear slipped down Charlie’s flushed face as he began to line up the blood-stained rope once more.

“Stop-!” Eve threw herself over Charlie, crying out when the rope scarred her wrist. “Why-?” She felt hot tears begin to slip down her cheeks, dripping into Charlie’s wounds. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“It’s repenting for our sin.” Charlie moved robotically, trying to line up the rope once more, but Eve stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “I have to do it.” He insisted as Eve took his face in her hands, burying her nose in his brunette locks.

“Please,” Eve hugged Charlie’s neck, kissing his temple and gently rubbing his bruised and bloody back. “If someone has to be punished,” She sniffled and pushed her black curtain of hair out of her eyes, her face slick with tears. “This is my fault. I…..tempted you.”

Charlie looked at Eve with tear-filled eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment, making him look boyish and innocent. “I came to you today.” Eve insisted, taking Charlie’s hands and kissing his wrists and fingers. “Punish me.” She begged, clinging to him in desperation.

Slowly nodding, Charlie guided Eve to kneel beside him, exposing her naked back. “Oh, Lamb…” He sighed, gently dragging the ropes down Eve’s spine. “Sweet, mourning, lamb.”

Eve screamed and buried her face in her arms when she felt the sting of the rope against her flesh.

Charlie was quick to envelop Eve in his arms, shushing and comforting her before someone outside was alerted to the illicit goings on in the sacristy.

“Do you think you can take two more?” Charlie opened his bedside drawer and retrieved a salve for Eve’s aftercare. “Three will be enough to please the Holy Trinity.”

Drained of tears, Eve nodded and assumed her previous position, feeling Charlie rubbing the front of his clothed erection into her back as he raised the handle once more.

Two.

Three.

Eve combed her fingers through Charlie’s hair as he cleaned her with a warm washcloth. “Let me.” Charlie took Eve’s delicates when her hands trembled; he slid to his knees and wrapped a hand around Eve’s ankle, lifting it to slide her underwear up her still shaking legs. “It’ll be better if I do these things for you from now on.”

Redoing the buttons of her dress and putting Eve’s black hair over her shoulders, Charlie hooked a finger underneath the gold chain of her necklace, tugging the crucifix upright and forcing Eve to strain her neck to look up at him. “Who do you belong to?” He asked in an even and measured tone.

“You. I belong to you.” Eve sighed in reply, the priest gently laid the necklace across her collarbone, guiding her on his arm out of the sacristy and into the chapel, standing at the church doors as Charlie bid Eve goodbye.

“After Sunday Mass. I want you waiting on all fours in my bed.” Charlie sweetly kissed Eve’s swollen lips goodbye, but she could see in his eyes it was a demand, not a request, from her priest.

“Yes, Father.”

[mournfulroses]

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Ethel Smyth, featured in The Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf

[chapelh1ll]

Here's my Sam Winchester x Preachers Daughter analysis for those who care!!

@mothercain

[becomingvecna]

normalize using cannibalism as a metaphor for love and intimacy

[lettielux]

poloroid’s of places my heart calls home, even though not much is left of it. my childhood best friend lived across the street, in front of the cemetery. she died before she could finish high school, and i wish i could’ve told her i loved her before we grew apart. it will never be the same, no matter how desperate i am for it.