#lesziye

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.    |           𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒚,     busies herself with removing the gore from her hands with a crisp white handkerchief,      watches him from the corner of her eye:     the way they handle the body makes her lip curl:    she watches red spill from the corpse as a waterfall and mourns the loss,    the body placed carefully on the ground,    the wound tended to as if They,    too are worried of precious ichor spilled   (   or the carpet being any more stained with red   ).     she had already tasted the deceased,    always - present hunger lurking against her ribcage and spine,     the monstrous agony momentarily set aside,    satiated.        the handkerchief passes over the corner of her mouth where lipstick turned to blood,    a dab at her chin,     white gone pink.       ❝   keep up this work,    you might even get paid for your help.   ❞     she is snide in her comment.    the handkerchief is folded neatly into a square,   placed neat in her pocket;     he is moving the body again,   replying to her with something covered in bile.      tonight she gives a smile of teeth,    canines sharpened and glistening.

he moves the body with ease,     proves himself to be something of a match to her strength;     the corpse is folded gently,     limbs broken for neat compactness.      it is moved to a trunk colored black,    its innards stained with dried red,    and he (  @lesziye  )  looks back at her as he finishes,    packing the body in the confined space and closing the lid.     “ let’s swear we will never be like them. “     she hears under their breath,    glances over long enough to catch the smirk on his face.      Under hers:    Oh,  gopher....

❝   dead ?   i’m afraid that if anyone is going to be them,    it would be you.   ❞     it is not a threat,    but rather something of a wish:     all the same,    she knows that They would bring her to the edge of death   (  stuffed low,    her hunger awakens,    a gnawing against her lung.    she waits,   waits.   )     a step is taken forwards and she knocks against the wood of the trunk.       ❝   but:    let’s keep the flirting to my prey,   hm ?     it’s not like you to be so sweet...   ❞

[snowreign]

body of sheer ice moves forward to be faced with the thin figure,   her eyes meeting his.   hand delicately placed onto hip   (as to not damage -- to not scratch.),   the blonde eyebrows furrowing in concern,   yet she herself remains somewhat unnerved,   for who is she to allow worry to seep through her now,   when it had been doing so her whole life?   stiles fulfills the place of an acolyte in her book,   the utmost respect she resides for him,   in her gracious consideration,   after a few seconds had passed;   “would you like something to drink?”   gesturing toward the kitchen,   “help yourself,   there’s cranberry and apple,   maybe some mango & orange left.   and tap water,   of course.   i could get the kettle going,   if you would like?”   a ramble,   she watches him examine.   almost too attentively,   she pauses herself,   speaking reproachfully,   a sense of regret in her tone.   “sorry to bother you so late.   do you know what to do?”      @lesziye.

[exilae-arc]

erica, comes the whisper, in stereo, dolby digital, surround sound. it crawls up the spine, inching its way up vertebrae until it reaches the hairline, until it reaches the jaw, until it is within the ear. perhaps it comes from behind, or from the side, or beneath floor boards. wherever it comes from, it is distorted. the voices of many. the voices of the past. ericaericaerica. and then, suddenly, with clarity, ❝ erica? ❞ stiles is in front of her. picture of confusion. she doesn't see the blood in his palms, nail-crescent-shape punctures to funnel the control. she only sees the slow spread of their smile. the dark circles under the eyes. the familiarity that lights an otherwise gone expression. erica.

the voice is   familiar enough   to make your stomach turn  ,      the only thing making it worse is the sound of your name      [      ...      ]      it hasn’t felt like   yours   in a while  ,      but the creeping up your spine makes it worse  .      brown eyes train over your shoulder      -      looking for something  ,      anything   to give you clarity      (      though for all you know it could be a   voice of your   own creation scratching the inside of your ear      )  .      before you can even finish turning your head back  ,      you see a figure out of the corner of your gaze  ,      &*   jump back as quickly as you can  .      “   jesus christ  .   ”      you bite at the air  ,      mouth agape  ,      shock   &*   fear  .      “   what the hell  ,      stiles  ?   ”      fingers grab tightly onto the hem of jacket covering your shoulders  ,      allowing you to pull it tighter  ,      closed   around your body  :      as if hiding yourself  ,      as if cutting yourself into bits   &*   pieces to   not be perceived  .      “   what are you doing here  ?      is      [      ...      ]      is something   wrong  ?   ”

[versusmaim]

. . .       starring    -----    @lesziye  as  mieczyslaw  stillinski   !        𝚂𝙲.

the  mud  beneath  me  feels  familiar    —    it  always  does,     attuned  to  the  sound  of  it  squelching  each  step  i  take.     i  wait  until  he’s  a  meter  or  two  away  from  me,     i  pause  and  my  eyes  trail  upward.     not  an  ally,     not  an  enemy:     yet  someone     .  .  .     𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚝𝚘  𝚋𝚎  𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍.     i’ve  dealt  with  people  like  this  before,     and  yet  i  am  uncertain  just  how  big  of  a  pinch  of  salt  i  should  take  his  words  with.     regardless,     my  hands  choose  to  be  casual  now,     placing  themselves  inside  my  pockets,     calmly  and  coolly.     he’s  nothing  to  worry  about,     i  think.     nothing  at  all.                ❛❛    what  exactly  did  you  need  me  for?      𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘  𝗜𝗦  𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚  𝗢𝗨𝗧.    ❜❜

[lunaccult]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘. beta editor in use. prioritizes plots & worldbuilding. info below the cut, to be expanded upon. 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐎 𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍 𝐈'𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃.

INFORMATION. // SIDEBLOG.

MOBILE MUSE LIST:

abigail arcane. avatar of the rot. written in second & third person concurrently. from dc. mixed media influence, primarily headcanon based.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

allison argent. goddess of the moon & wilderness. written in third person. previously @queenwolf. not compliant with mtv's teen wolf, strictly anti-canon with original lore.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*anakin skywalker / darth vader. the chosen one. written in second & third person concurrently. voice testing (specify whether you want anakin or vader). canon compliant, influenced by film, tcw, & the film novelizations.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

anya morovoza. lone vampire elder. written in third person. previously @morovozanya. original character influenced by several sources of vampire media including original lore.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*azriel. shadowsinger & spymaster. written in third person. previously @singerblade. from the acotar series. strictly anti-canon & anti-sjm.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

bai fengxi. queen of qingzhou. written in third person. voice testing. from who rules the world. canon compliant.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

chad meeks-martin. survivor. written in third person. voice testing. from the scream franchise. canon compliant with divergences peri-sVI.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

chani kynes. desert spring. written in third person. previously @sihayni. from the dune universe. book-based with some influence from the web series.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

don diego de la vega, aka zorro. vigilante. written in third person. voice testing. written with influence from several media sources, including the original urban legend.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*elizabeth "libby" galdur. fae witch. written in third person. previously @witchwretch. original character influenced by faerie and folklore with an original story dealing in resurrection.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

hades. the unseen one. written in third person. previously @cthoniac. from mythos with inspiration from several media sources. based in the modern world of dc's gotham.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*hiccup horrendous haddock iii. the chief. written in third person. voice testing. multi media influence.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

isabella "bella" swan. painfully human. written in first person. previously @delightedends. from the twilight series with divergences post new moon. non-twilight vampire lore compliant.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

jude duarte. high queen of elfhame. written in first person. voice testing. from the folk of the air. post canon compliance.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

kaz brekker. dirtyhands. written in third person. voice testing. from the grishaverse. book-based. MOVED TO @BARRELBORNE.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*kenji kishimoto. resistance. written in third person. voice testing. from the shatter me series. post canon.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

margaret galdur. evil matriarch. written in third person. original character influenced by faerie and folklore with an original story dealing in resurrection.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

mieczysław "stiles" stilinski. trickster forest demon. written in second & third person concurrently. previously @lesziye. not compliant with mtv's teen wolf, strictly anti-canon with original lore.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

milo mckiernan. reality jumper. written in second & third person concurrently. original character influenced by the concept of liminal spaces with an emphasis on religious and parental trauma.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

milo thatch. explorer. written in third person. voice testing. based on atlantis: the lost empire. focused on exploration, anthropology, & preservation.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*mitch rapp. retired hitman for hire. written in third person. previously @noretribution. from the american assassin series. based in the world of john wick with inspiration drawn from his original book & film canon.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

nesta archeron. lady death & dread trove wielder. written in third person. previously @silvreflames. from the acotar series. strictly anti-canon & anti-sjm.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*percy jackson. son of the sea. written in first person. voice testing. book based with mythos influence.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

persephone. receiver of many. written in third person. voice testing. from mythos with inspiration from several media sources. based in the modern world of dc's gotham.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

peter kavinsky. lover boy. written in third person. previously @dearkvnsky. from to all the boys i've loved before. post-canon with influence from both the film & book series.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

peter parker. spider-man. written in third person. tasm & headcanon based.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

r. poetic heart. written in first person. previously @wrmbody. from warm bodies. post-canon with influence from both the film & books.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*raven roth. the teen titan. written in third person. voice testing. from dc. inspiration from several media sources.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*satoru gojo. sorcerer. written in third person. voice testing. from jujutsu kaisen. not yet compliant with the latest leaks. possible spoilers present.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*scott mccall. true alpha werewolf. written in third person. previously @wolpha. not compliant with mtv's teen wolf, strictly anti-canon with original lore.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

*vivienne duarte. half fae, half ache. written in third person. voice testing. from the folk of the air. post canon compliance.

VISUALS. // MUSICAL SCORE.

* = indicates by request only muse

[allmuddy-a]

if she has pain, if she has suffered, if she aches, it explains why he closes in. rogue draws in, too, flamelike, and it takes everything in them not to ward her off ( warning signs are wrought across the necrosis of his demeanor, red flags less obvious than his blatant gloom ). and so instead of shooing her away, he elects to lead her astray. “ saw it go this way. you comin'? ” his sneer is not quick enough resolved by a playful smirk, the bleed-through of their true self.

“ shit! damn thing’s quicker than a jackrabbit. ” her breath catches on the stale atmosphere, on the bitter taste of mold – rancid as it hits the back of her throat. rogue knows the forest. she knows how to hide in it, she knows how to disappear in it. but she knows her forest; the gentle one in mississippi, with low-hanging trees and tall grass. she knows of the rope swing, of cool lakes, of cody. this forest is not her forest. these woods sneer at her, laugh, and scold her very presence.

“ got a flashlight? ” @lesziye questions, turning back to face her.

“ doesn’t go with the get up sugah.” rogue's attempt at levity is carried off by the wind, swallowed up by the encroaching tree branches. “ ‘sides, can’t have gone that far. ”

[saintvampe]

 —   from:   @lesziye​ ...   the leshy brings with them the scent of rot. it sticks to the back of his neck, attracting flies and crows too. the latter linger on the roof, awaiting promise and awaiting food. the leshy waits for the same. and when they drudge into sera’s shop with the gloom which keeps them shivering and the hunger which keeps them sick, it is with these companions that she finds her guest. stiles sinks into a chair at her kitchen table without waiting for invitation and slumps so sharply, it is difficult to not imagine the snap of their spine with the motion. they do not speak, but rather hold out a palm even in their prone position. and in it, a handful of teeth still bloody with spit. his fingernails are stained in similar fashion. a gift for the host.

IT IS ALMOST SOMETHING SHE CANNOT STAND:     THE EXISTENCE OF THEM.          his rot and its familiarity,     the way it infects the corners of this little back room quicker than her meat can even think about molding before it’s time.     she hears the murder outside before she smells them,    the rustling of wings a few stories up,    perching themselves on telephone wire and concrete.    She is working in - shop today:    a second kitchen in the very back of her store,    slabs of meat fresh and hanging by hooks,    blood fresh on the floor.     her nostrils fill with copper,     the tongue flickers towards cheek,    towards a droplet of red red and red.        when the rustling began,    she had changed her task and begun to prepare Them   (   rotten and filthy and enough to feed Her for a decent while,   )   something to eat   ––––    he would be hungry,    she is sure.

when he arrives,    all puppet - bones and hollow skin,    skin that refuses to sit right on a body that is more corpse   –––   she lifts her gaze.

❝   TELL YOUR CROWS TO STOP SHITTING ON MY AWNING.   ❞      she says,    tongue in cheek.      she hears the slump of a body against furniture,    the small scraping of chair against wood floor,    the violence of bone  [  tense and worn as a coat  ]  confined in poor flesh.     at the counter,    Her counter,    she chops at the dismembered shoulder of a hearty lamb,    makes cubes of the red flesh,    leaves the bones and the blood.      for a moment:   she imagines they are across her cutting board.      ❝   i do not enjoy having to clean up the messes of pests.    if you’re going to drop by without notice,    the least you could do is be polite.   ❞     chop,  ᶜᴴᴼᴾ,  chop.

SHE TURNS AROUND FROM HER COUNTER,   WALKS TOWARDS HER GUEST WITH A PLATE OF FLESH.       the gaze flickers downwards to their open hand,       and the stench of saliva   (  strong and distant,   both at once  )  rises and intermixes with metal - red.       her stomach threatens to turn.     her hunger threatens to consume her whole.      ❝   what is that ?    what the hell am i supposed t’do with some teeth,    huh ?   (   ...  )   here,   give them to me  ––  i’ll embed them into your skin,    give your puppet costume a new accessory to show off.  ❞

[vohvk]

DUSK TASTES LIKE HONEYED WATER  ,     LIKE FODDER FOR BEES  .     dusk falls and the mosquitoes buzz       loud and violent       in his ear  ,     hungry  .     hungry  ,     hungry  .     this hunger is cataclysmal    —         and not theirs alone  .     to the look of him  ,     stiles is wild  -  eyed and dark  ,           teeth saliva  -  coated  ,           meal  -  prepared  .     he is angry and lonely and lydia is off alone at a bar and scott thinks he understands  ,     thinks he gets it  .           he thinks he can feel the way it hurts to feel forgotten  .

(         HAVEN’T YOU ALWAYS BEEN NOBODY    ,         SCOTT        ?        ISN’T THAT WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU    ?          ALL THIS  ,    ALL THIS  .           ALL THIS AND YOU STILL AREN’T ANYTHING SPECIAL  .    )

he knows what it is like to be forgotten  ,     left behind  .     he knows what it is like to bleed  .       you are not the only one who hurts  ,    stiles  .     you’re not the only one who    —    stop acting like no one else is breaking  ,     because i haven’t seen her in two years  ,     and    —

‘ you are not burdened with a sensitive heart. yours just beats. ‘

the wolf wonders if the fox notices when his words hurt  .        the wolf wonders if it matters to the fox at all  .     scott would like to think it does  . 

he is not looking for a fight    :    he is not looking for grief  .          scott shrugs  ,       and lets this hurt him  .        ‘    guess i’m just lucky  ,     then  .    ’       he doesn’t sound lucky  .     he sounds a little bit sword  -  gutted  .        ‘    think we’re done patrolling    ?    ’

˚  ₊  ‘  @lesziye​ .

[aldereign]

❝  i  need  an ally    —   not   an  enemy    . . .   which   are  you?   ❞

@lesziye​

[saintvampe]

THEY BEGIN THEIR TRUDGING ONCE MORE, THOUGH THEIR BURDENS ARE DRASTICALLY DIFFERENT: between her fingers weaves the white lace of her skirt, hitched up just enough against her black - clad ankles so that it does not tread in the mud from last night's rain. her gopher, on the other hand, carries a heavier task ––– but that is to be expected. it is the way things are supposed to be done: the ease in which they sit into their respective roles, the easiness of anger that sits between them. she can feel the tension that grows as a weed does, that plants itself in both of their mouths and sprouts something wicked, dastardly. in truth: she enjoys it, the way they react to her. in truth, it makes her all the more greedy for their flesh. ❝   be careful with it, gopher.  ❞  she says under her tongue, more to the trees than anything else, though their title ( harsh, angry, direct and stern ) is spoken to turn their head. she does not make an effort to look at him, though she already knows the trunk and the body within it is in decent hands.

SECRETLY, SHE WISHES FOR THEM TO DIP FURTHER INTO HER ANGER. SHE WAITS PATIENTLY FOR IT, A SMALL HOPE FOR MORE VIOLENCE. their path goes uphill and then stops at the edge of the wilderness, opening up to a clearing where she, too, can hear the distant grumbling of a vehicle. You are not to say a word to her, says the Saint with a quick and glancing eye as she moves forwards to the end of the path. the warning is unneeded because she expects for it to be ignored, expects for her runner to do less of the talking than the parasite at her hip. the car lights blink once up ahead, and the vampiristic woman nods. ❝   come quicker. we're on a tight schedule, as we always are. you'll load that into the back, you'll sit in the back. you understand ?  ❞  and she does not wait for an answer.

THE WOMAN WHO GREETS THEM AT THE OPENING OF WILDERNESS IS PRISTINE IN APPEARANCE. the car is black and massive, its back door sliding open as soon as its driver steps out, bows her head towards the Saint, gives stiles a glance of their own. the conversation is minimal and orderly: the woman is told to assist with the body, a decent hand - full of bills slipped from one grasp to another. Seraphina looks towards her parasite, her gopher, and cocks her head towards the back of the car. ❝   sal will help you if you need it. i told her how efficient you are when you work alone, but perhaps ( ... ) anyways, when we are on our way, i will give you another task, alright ?   ❞ 

and  like  a  dog  does  he  cower,    does  he  duck  away  tail  tucked  and  trembling.    the  quake  of  a  fragile  -  looking  body  is  borne  of  starvation,    and  yet  here  tiny  earth  -  rumblings  just  beneath  the  skinsuit  made  possible  by  the  thrash  of  a  monster’s  tone  as  equal  in  measure  as  his  own  rage.    fear  shallows  their  breath  though  their  anger  quells  the  lick  of  a  dawning  brawl.    sera  contains  herself,    only  just  so,    but  stiles  looks  now  on  the  brink  of  something  awful.    something  damning.    he  knows  better  than  to  dip  into  that  temptation  of  fury  lest  he  incur  her  wrath  furthermore  and  so  he  is  silent  instead,    trudging  up  a  burning  wall  of  vibrating  energy  she  will  feel  no  matter  the  distance  they  keep.    not  for  the  first  time  they  resent  her  so  deeply,    it  is  fuel  enough  for  the  moment.    his  hunger  sates.

there  is  still  blood  on  his  mouth.    they  do  not  test  how  far  he  might  stretch  her  stay  of  execution  by  lapping  at  it  in  defiance.    stiles  will  let  it  dry  there  for  later  consumption.    it  is  hardly  much  else  but  a  scarce  smattering  of  body  matter,    but  they  cannot  stop  thinking  of  it.    because  though  he’s  fed  himself,    the  threat  of  depletion  is  always  present.    within  the  hour,    they  will  be  hungry  again.    and  moving  bodies  certainly  spares  no  respite  from  the  curse.

❝    fuckin’  trunk,    ❞  mutters  the  fox.    grunting,    they  drive  the  thing  an  inch  forward  with  a  lazy  press  of  their  knees.    terminally  irritating,    stiles  finally  looks  to  sera  with  a  smirk.    ❝    you  enjoy  this  too  much.    ❞  he  means,    threatening  him.    he  means,    specifically,    threatening  him  after  he’s  been  a  fucking  tool.    amusement  makes  them  that  much  stronger  it  seems  as  he  hefts  the  trunk  against  his  hips.    it  strains  their  arms,    but  still  he  grins.    ❝    i’ve  never  had  a  sweeter  love  confession.  .  .    ❞  something  is  rumbling  in  the  distance,    perking  their  attention,    and  he  looks  in  its  direction.    ever  curious,    ever  at  their  own  detriment.    ❝    this  it?    ❞

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.    |      𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔: 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒔.       she wants to stuff his mouth with the leftovers from her garden,    turn them into some rotten trussed thing,   legs strung behind a lolled head...     no profit to come of it,   no reward save for forever - silence,    an enthusiastic  Compliments to the chef!  come from guests hungry for grief and starved of flesh.     sometimes she looks at him,    sees nothing but a dinner for three,    bones clean of tendon and muscle.        here they are now:   she busies herself against the night,     her fingers delicate against the knives she pulls from their places.     here,  a curved blade;  there,  a straight and still - bloody edge.     from behind her does her guest murmur against the wind,   though whatever it is she would not know  --  she ignores him the best she can for the moment,    engrossed into her preparation.      

You’re ignoring me,     they  [  @lesziye  ]  say behind her,    closer than where her eyes had placed him.     she continues her work,    twists her mouth into a slight grin:      caught in her act.     the kitchen groans deep as they enter its space,    back leaning against a cabinet and counter.      a deep spell of quiet returns,  accented only by the vampire’s sharpening of her knives,    shh!  shh! shh!! shh!!      finally,   he smacks his lips.      “ if you don’t talk, i’ll fill silence with: an excruciating story by me. “

𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕,   𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕,    comes a sigh in the shape of a chuckle.     the knife she wields is set down besides the other silver pair and she throws a glance over her shoulder,    eyes flashing dangerous with a spark of red.        ❛❛    there must be some patience in you,    my dear.   ❞     vile in the mouth,    lips made of red and red.       ❛❛    sit down.   i will give you something to do in due time.    unless you would like to be my carving turkey of the evening ?   ❞

[saintvampe]

@lesziye   |  𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑶 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑪𝑲 𝑩𝑬𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑺 𝑰𝑻𝑺 𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑲:      she can feel the wind in her apartment change,    its flow interrupted at its base...     in,   out  --  in,  out --  in,  --   ᵒʰ .      the butcher’s knife comes down hard and quick;      blood splatters in an indelicate fashion,    paints the wooden cutting board,    a bit of the sink,    a deep saffron.       she tuts under her breath.        ❛❛    next time you think about blowing a gust through my kitchen,    about ruining my existence,   bring cleaning supplies with you.    ❞          another hard chop of the knife and the limb becomes severed:      two parts now,    a hand split in half,     thumb almost twitching still as if becoming familiar with its end.     her mouth begins to water,   and she puts her hunger to a stop.       

a breath inhaled;     she turns around,   clean hands against the stained apron she wears   [   sunflower - dotted thing,    white under - color now stained with red,    red,    red.  ]    and her mouth  --  already crimson,    crimson at the corner,     a droplet of ichor?   --   curls into a grin.          ❛❛    i’m just about to set up for dinner with an old friend.   i’d say you’re welcome to stay,    but  i don’t know how you take to other ghouls.    ❞       as if he were a troublesome pet.

[saintvampe]

—   @lesziye from here    |        SHE HAS NO TIME FOR THEIR SHAME, WHATEVER ROTTEN DISGUST THAT LURKS, SITS. she walks ahead of them, fingers interlocked at an angle as they brush against the corner of her chin. the staunch wetness of limb sits in the back of her mind, the burning of fresh red against their jaw... she tells herself: these are the little sins she must learn to forgive; a bit of stolen blood now and again, the slightest flesh gnawed against. parasitism with a willing parasite –– that's how she sees this, that is how she is comfortable with him. still, the wet limb ( a hand missing, forgotten somewhere an hour back ) presses against her. makes her angry, unprepared for unfamiliar greed. ❝   and me letting you into my home isn't payment enough ?  ❞  a scoff, interlocked fingers lowering to the waist. ❝   you are quite the ––   ❞ 

AT HIS WILDNESS, SHE RETALIATES QUICKER THAN LIGHTNING: TREATS HIM LIKE A DOG THAT BITES, acts like a dog in charge: the harsh lift of her neck and form, dark brown gaze catching theirs with an intensity that seems out of place yet belonging. the mouth deepens into something ugly, a scowling frown. the figure goes rigid underneath the fabric of night. ❝   YOU WILL NOT SNAP AT ME.  ❞ spoken firm and soft and fast, voice kept level. it is as if she reprimands her parasite, teaches it how to latch according to her standards; she carries a firm boundary within her host - body, does not trust them to understand their parameters. before she turns back around from her prey, she holds their gaze just a bit longer, hardens her heart.

❝   YOU MOVE THE TRUNK. OUR RIDE'S A MOMENT AWAY.  ❞ she says, words bitter against her tongue –– more bitter than she would like. the Saint ( ! ) turns away, fingers interlocking once again. I'd hate to get my skirt all caught in it, she sighs, poor me. ❝   once we get through this path, there'll be a road –– one of my runners is going to help us transport the produce to my place. you'll be allowed in the living room ( ... ) and if you taste even a droplet of blood, i'll take a third more of what's missing from you.  ❞

[vohvk]

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˚  ₊  ‘ @lesziye​ .