the gorgon

nadia anastos 33 / head of security "at first she acts ancient, broken, hysterical. then something changes. she is jubilant, she is vicious, she is a shocking thing to see." — anne carson

[bloodstyled]

knxwsbest‌:

she is a thing of erupting volcanoes, supernovas with no rebirth. it is the fury of gods, all poison on lips and mountains crushed in fists; made of legend and lore of things to cower before, offerings in trembling hands and prayers wet on lips. rage made beautiful when it is red-mouthed and seething like that and sol can almost appreciate it, corners of lips quirked as she watches the other bleed hate right before her.

(so gods are great, almighty things - titans and things wrapped in laurel leafs and the blood of kings - but i ask to be the snake in eden, ask to be the thing causing a damning. keep your paradise for your own, have it crumble under the wrath of your own fury - to be your own destruction and find me here, find me laughing)

“so he is in your way.” she takes the cigarette from nadia’s fingers when she’s finished, brings it to her own red-stained lips and takes a slow drag herself, eyes still trained on the woman, still smiling in a way that is all venom not too different from hers. “so remove him.”

as plain, as simple as that.

“you would think metzger would know how to make better allies, but alas.” a wave of clawed nails, a turn of jawlines that is all too strategic in how smoke leaves her lips. “poor michael. i almost pity him - to side with ilya and his deadbeat things? toys, no more than that. he has always been a boy with his foolish stupidity.”

eyes flicker to the blood under nails and smiles only grow wider now, wicked-sharp. knows the woman knows no bound, no subtly - and if that isn’t a beauty in its own right.

“it’s hard to find good help nowadays, don’t you think?” an idle comment, cigarette put out on the arms of chaises, leaving embroidery burnt void-black. “perhaps we will need to recruit someone more - devout - for the job. have you any pretty things to spare?”

at her question, the woman merely leans closer, enough to see herself reflected back in eyes of black - ruby lipped ebony and they are matching, starless things in this light. eyes wander to lips, drags back to meet gazes again, still wearing that knife-grin.

“one week, maybe less. what i can give you - depends. how will you make it worth my time, my love?”

Frustration turns to amusement—transmutes in a the sheer simplicity of her suggestion. The way it splits the sky like lightening, immaterial and yet god-like, yet fire-born. You can see it in her teeth—the way her eyes crease and she brings her head back, the dark column of her neck bringing her forward to lean her chin against her palms. What a smile, curved like the moon carved into slivers.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? For me to to get rid of him like that.” (She would love it too, something satisfying in the snapping of vertebrae, in the way she would lay his head out on a platter, hold it up rooted by the hair.)  “But I’d just be doing all the dirty work then, wouldn’t I?”

How easily they talk of this. How easily do they hold the world in their palm, are able to crush it to dust.

But she is weight, while Sol is shadow—something more subtle and tenuous. Something that curves and curls in the smoke of the borrowed cigarette.

And so when she talks of Metzger’s missteps, his choice of partners, his mistakes, Nadia can only nod, slowly. “We just pick up his slack, didn’t you know?” They’ve worked together for years, so they must know, a wry smile emerging. “You make the books sparkle and I crack skulls, clear away the trash.” A wave of her hand, nonchalant, unaffected.

“So if I knew someone who could do a halfway decent job I would already have them doing it.  Don’t you think?” Steals back her cigarette with languid motion, steady fingers brushed against the other woman’s—mouth closing around red-ringed smudges, shared blood, mixed motives—“Omari may prove helpful, but if you want a job done, you have to do it yourself, you know that.”

Nadia looks at Sol—a full inhale, smooth smoke from parted lips, teeth a trap, and eyes deep and endless—laughter full and bursting at the thought, “A week? For all we know we’ll still be stuck here in this frozen fucking wasteland in a week.” Leaning back on a single hand, looking away from the woman before her, bringing the cigarette to her lips again, pausing, “What could I give to someone like you?”

(What could you offer a prideful jealous god? In the olden days, it was flesh and blood and bone.)

There is something sharp and glistening and unknown about the way her mouth coils around the words, eyes sly and lashes dark and heavy cast against her cheek. The woman before her was  but an abyss that pulls and pulls and pulls, unending, gravity heavy and unavoidable. “I know as well as you do, whatever you want, you get. You just tell me what that is and I’m sure we can work something out.” Long looks, smoke-filled eyes.

[bloodstyled]

oogs‌:

February 16th. Post-fire. @bloodstyled

Omari picks up what looks like a burnt photograph (though he can’t exactly make out what it had been a photograph of) between his fingers and turns it towards his companion for a moment, before letting it fall back down, watching it sway side to side, carried by the wind until it reaches the ground again. Two steps forward and he pushes aside what used to be a door into a backroom, looking back only once to make sure that Nadia is still following him. 

He doesn’t need the company - in fact, he never wanted one in the first place. But she is, at least for the time being, more of a potential asset than an enemy and he’s willing to share any secrets they find tonight with her. Even if he doesn’t find what he wants about Volkov here, he supposes, there’s always a chance he’ll get something out of her tonight and that’s more than he can ask for out of this haunted carnival. 

“He seems…nice, doesn’t he? Volkov.” He begins, reaching down to pick up a metal chain, now singed and black, with both of his hands. The chains clink as he tries to pull it apart to no avail, and he cocks his head, wondering which of the cryptids would have had this around their neck. He’s not so naive as to think that the ringmaster of Starlight - or what used to be Starlight - is someone would good intentions, but he wants to hear what she thinks, first. After all, he knows she’s someone with one foot in Metzger’s door at their own carnival. 

“Interesting how it’s the same everywhere around the world, isn’t it? There’s always someone who thinks us better in cages. Can’t imagine this was the first time you’d heard of this carnival, or were you clueless all along, just like the rest of us?” 

It is always smarter to stand behind a man, especially a man with as many bodies littering his path as Omari—note, there are many weak spots in the body: through the body and to the kidneys, a strong palm to the solar plexus (a wall of muscle before you hit the heart, vibrate the lungs), the delicate junction of neck and shoulder, this she is intimately aware of, the both dealing in venom and the smooth glide of fangs into skin.

So she walks behind him, boots kicking haphazardly at metal sheets and testing doors, chains. The site before them—ruins, charred remains—straddles the possible and the impossible. Somehow below her, somehow a look beyond the curtain, a future that looms and she threatens to rear back. But she is not naive—not about how her own kingdom, her own borders begin to bulge and tear; not about the reality of a mutually beneficial partnership with the man before her.

(At least he was capable—at least some small semblance of respect: that is, for ruthlessness, for efficiency.)

“Nice?” Her laughter cracks like thunder across the empty and quiet spaces. “Tell me how you really feel.” She only stands back as he pulls at the chains, which are heavy and rusted and worn. “I wouldn’t buy into his softie bullshit or crocodile tears if I were you. Just a helpful hint, but I thought you’d like being on top.”

Nadia lounges against the twisted remains of a metal cage, leg kicked back. She scoffs at the idea of herself being like the rest of them—and she shrugs her shoulders at him when he asks if she’d somehow known all along, hair a tangle around her face.

“Known that they’d probably’d fucked? I had a hunch but with Ilya joining us now?” Teeth like daggers, smile sharp and fingers reaching for a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, “Mentor and protégé, my ass.” Cigarette hanging limp and unlit from her mouth as she searches for a lighter, “Or that places like this are a hell hole when you’re on the wrong end of it?” (Is it obvious, her writhing disdain?) 

She had seen too much to return to the losing side—to let it slip between her fingers. “Let me ask you: what do you think? Because I won’t play if you can’t keep up.”

[bloodstyled]

codecerberus‌:

DATE & TIME: FEB 14, 9:00PM LOCATION: OUTSIDE THE CARNIVAL STATUS: CLOSED FOR @bloodstyled

Blood soils the snow, but not from the blaze. Not from what you expect.

See, the hellhound is bound to lose his temper with the gorgon, but he doesn’t know it yet as he’s chased out into the storm with her. Cries of anger lingering just behind them, both having made the mistake of pointing fingers ( it’s funny, they have that much in common. and yet… ). Alone. Cold. Confused. With none other than the head guard who scarred him, not just for names from the rebellion, but for pure, sick, fun. 

Upon meeting her gaze, he freezes in place, as if turned to stone ( funny, he literally almost did several nights ago ). And then the anger sinks in later, a poison that feels like home in the veins now. Slinking through. Lingering, because he can’t forget that this is the woman who’s made him so paranoid about being close to Li Hua. This is the woman who – if no eyes were on him – he’d abandon to rot in the storm.

So he can’t help the almost knowing curve to his mouth, a brow arched as he challenges, a calmness to it, “I guess even all this is out of your control, isn’t it?” Where’s her power now? 

Since she had arrived, the Starlight Carnival had struck her as unsettling—an eerie dreamscape of some grandiose scale, that is, in some long lost time. Shadows everywhere, eyes that follow, broken machines, twisted metal, dead eyes—a reflection she’d crack with the force of her fist if need be.

But confusion comes in the flames that erupt out, lick at what remains of canvas tents and wooden frames. Death cannot come for a queen in such a way—no, fire is for the heretic and ice for the exiled. The exit wounds that dot her shoulder like stars fate her to a death greater than the height of heaven or the depth of hell—and so, the charred skeleton of the carnival recedes behind her, the crunch of her boots carrying her across the snow.

Far enough away, pine trees in the dark like elongated, cracked ribs—the fire-light glow of the flames in the distance—she stands face-to-face with Carter, slick smooth grin and arched brow that he wears like a crown. Self-satisfied amidst the chaos—as if he were the only one who would thrive in such a place.

“Fuck off before I drag your ass back there and give those hungry carnies a treat while I slow-roast you over the fire.” Her eyes are sharp and glinting in the dark, fingers curling up into a fist that wants to reach out and break those white little teeth in his mouth, make him choke on them.

(But he isn’t wrong—it is out of her control and so she tightens her grip, pulls the reigns, the image before her something unthinkable, impossible—the collapse is dangerous, destabilizing, the way the earth vibrates before an earthquake rips through.)

Nadia closes the distance between them—bringing them eye-to-eye, shoulder-to-shoulder—“Trying to egg me on? I already told you what I’d do to you and your little girlfriend. But if you want to tango, I’ll tango.” She pushes him, hands to his chest, it didn’t matter to her—the flames behind them, the cold around them, the eyes of others who escaped cutting their way. “Let’s go, lover boy. I’ll break your fucking jaw.”

Spits on the ground, snow melts under the heat of her. What was Carter but a plaything—easy to rip into, to leave with stuffing hanging out and tossed away when too broke, energy release?

[bloodstyled]

llenore:

Nadia moves closer. Lenore wants not to struggle, not to try in vain to keep still, to stand her ground. But she is only just beginning to bloom, to spread her wings; she still knows that Nadia’s temper is like a wildfire, she knows when she should be careful. Even if Lenore isn’t afraid of Nadia—she’s known the woman too long, even remembers Arturo trying to invite Nadia in, give her people to call allies—she can know when something awful is about to happen.

She doesn’t break the woman’s gaze. Can’t. Her jaw, stubbornly set, ticks. Her lower lip trembles. Heartbreak: clear on her face.

“Why would you say that?” Her voice is a whisper when she doesn’t mean for it to be. Slowly, she shakes her head, blinking back tears, “That was different. Paris was—different.” 

Leave it to Nadia to wield that memory like a knife, to drive it between her ribs. It’s only been a year since the last time she saw her father. She can’t remember what the last conversation they had was about—someone who’s accustomed to remembering everything. 

“Las Vegas was my idea. I wanted to give people the chance to have fun—and everyone made it back, didn’t they? I was stupid. I was naive. Is that what you want me to say?” That’s all anyone wants her to say. Her jaw ticks and she asks her, “Wasn’t there ever a time when you wanted to be free, Nadia?”

Honey sweet—the way Lenore’s lip quivers, eyes glassy and wet. Nadia can almost taste the way her heart heaves itself up into her mouth—a real delicacy, to pull away the feather’s of a newborn bird, to break its little, hollow bones, to cripple future flight.

(Even sweeter, morning dew, the mead of the gods, was the satisfaction she feels. If she were fatherless, why not Lenore too? The empty hollow of absence. The way family is erased from one’s life until they are simply shadows, faces receding, voices going first.)  

“I’m only telling it how it is,” her tongue curls around the words, a serpent in her mouth, forming the curve of her mouth, teeth catching on her lip. “Every time you run, someone’s bound to have to pay. You’re a liability, didn’t you know?”

Too softly, Nadia touches a strand of Lenore’s hair—always a little girl, always something she can push and pull and toss. Condescension. Softness. Tenderness which could only truly be scorn, pity too far off, pity something she could feel for no one and nothing.

“Paris, Las Vegas—it’s all the same thing, you just admitted it. It was your idea. It was then and it is now.” With a harsh laugh, she walks away from Lenore, nail grazing her cheek, “Glad you know you are stupid and naive. Even more so for asking such a fucking idiotic question—if I’ve ever wanted to be free.”

Her gaze is heavy, dark, sharp. The remains of volcanic eruptions which formed and shifted the earth below, shards of rock and glass that slice open skin. “Let me tell you something which maybe your Daddy told you otherwise—news flash: he lied—because you’ll never be free. Not in here, not out there, period.”

[bloodstyled]

knxwsbest:

DATE&TIME: february 15th, 2:00am LOCATION: sol’s sleeper STATUS: closed for @bloodstyled​

“easy, my sweet. burning ourselves down will help no one in this moment - come, sit. we must be careful in this.”

smoke curls from red lips easily, matches the other woman’s set in a straight line, body tensed and ready to attack in comparison to her own languid lounging on chaises of sleepers, legs crossed easily.

she expected no less from a thing made of rage. no matter, she has enough patience for them both, eyes flickering to the clock above the door before returning back to the pad of paper in her lap, pen poised, still waiting.

“and none of your men saw anything leading up to the fire? were they situated more on our cryptids or ilya’s - certainly, you must have had one on ilya himself. my sources confirmed michael’s presence in russia, but even he wouldn’t be so much of a fool as to set up a scheme like this - his precious show monkeys injured and thousands in damage costs.” words are clipped, more report than emotion in how she speaks of the devastation that wrecked their home mere hours ago.

(as expected of a woman who bled black and gold - while her dear cryptids were weeping in the fire or for those trapped in it, woman was letting flower petals graze skin, soft lullabies echoing in the bath matching their screams)

“i looked at ilya’s books before the starlight carnival was shut down - absolutely dreadful. and michael’s will soon match after this.”  

Do we talk about how anger rises like plumes? Dark, inky smoke against the sky? Oil-smoke, born of the bones of thousands of eons crushed under the weight of the earth above. It burns quickly, eating like a hungry animal, eats until it bursts its own stomach, a disgusting, flesh-colored bloom, petals thick and warm and slick.

And so Nadia is this. She is seething anger, an anger with eyes, an anger with teeth. The open palm of her hand coming in contact with the wall in a thunderous crack, the pressure of her bones come to bear. A frustrated yell cut short as she collects herself, hand rubbing at her temples.

“You know, I said I’d kill him the first time I met him and every day Michael gives me another reason to want to rip his fucking throat out. Disappearing like this? Fine. But he’s an incompetent shit that’s getting in my way, Sol—and now this shit with Ilya-mother-fucking-Volkov.”

Nadia pulls her hair back from its place, wheeling wildly out and framing her face—her uniform unbuttoned at the top and half-untucked. Going to sit beside Sol, she pulls out a box of smokes and shakes out a cigarette, letting the smoke fill her lungs before letting out a long, drawn out sigh—like fog settling into a deep valley. “There were more on our side—I couldn’t give less shits about those leftovers here, plus my intel was that Volkov and his Cryptids were allies even if they were burnt out husks.”

Ash falls like crumbling stars, like temples crushed, “Even so, I had a man on Ilya—” Her teeth are gritted together and it looks as if she can bring down empires, as if she had been the voice in Brutus’s ear, “but he fell asleep on the clock, so I had take care of him before this.” From her fingernails, she flicks off a small bit of dried blood—it flakes off when dried, coming off like paint.

(Perhaps it’s not best practice to remove your own assets. Perhaps best to keep spare parts lying around—but she is quick to cut off the fat, blade sharp and stroke firm.)

Another drag to calm the nerves, her eyes connecting with Sol’s through the smoke—dark eyes, one sharp, another solid—the bare hint of a smile on her mouth, “Two things,” she starts, “How long do we have and how much longer can you give me?”

[sphinxmemesmusings]

Send some hearts to tell my muse how yours feels about them.

❤️: Wants or is in a romantic relationship with them.

💛: Loves them platonically.

💚: Is a little jealous of them.

💙: Feels pretty indifferent towards them.

💜: Finds them sexually attractive.

💖: Finds them aesthetically attractive.

💗: Finds them romantically attractive.

💞: Feels attracted to them, but can’t work out if it’s platonic, sexual, or romantic attraction they’re feeling.

💝: Looks up to them as a role model.

💓: Is intimidated by them, but wants to be friends with them.

💔: Hates their guts.

💘: Doesn’t really like them, but doesn’t flat-out hate them either.

[bloodstyled]

theimpxssible:

Where there was once tease, it is all bite in the other woman’s words. But even still, Jessica’s shoulders slowly fall as she forces herself to remove tension. She shouldn’t be nervous — that much Nadia said is correct. And so Jessica breathes out, tightening the clasp of her hands one more time before parting them.

( she is not parting waves to reach nadia, not any longer. the path has drowned in an ocean, creating a distance that she will not attempt to cross. no, she has tried, because she is not someone to give up, but some battles cannot be won, and she had to save herself at some point. )

“It doesn’t matter if I miss you or not,” she replies, her tone neutral. She cannot give an inch to Nadia; she has learned from that mistake and it does not bear repeating. “What does matter is the checking of rooms.”

She follows, because to stay behind is to defy, and the petty action is not worth the risk. Still, she stands near the entrance, unmoving, watching Nadia rifle through her belongings as if she is already branded. Because she is, isn’t she? In one way or another, Nadia’s eyes will draw to her again, and it won’t be in kindness like long ago. 

“The answer, as I’ve said before time and time again with past iterations of rebellion, is no. I’m not helping the rebellion outside of unknowingly feeding them, like I feed everyone every day. Though if you don’t take my word for it, continue searching.”

Jess’s words echo her actions—cursory glances over the space, the half-tucked bed, the recipes scrawled on scraps of paper, sun-faded posters depicting night skies and summer constellations. The TV placed close to the bed, a light coat of dust across its surface—all very Jess, nostalgic and practical all at once, the perks of being on top forgone for the most part—so very dutiful, so very responsible, resolve and dedication sharp as an arrow.

“Lighten up, Jess!” A bark of a laugh, doesn’t miss a beat, “I won’t rip your head off. Call it a favor from an old friend.” Jess only stands at the entrance, watching, a voyeur as her own space is invaded, laid bare. “Though, I’d consider it if I could replace that brain of yours with something a little smarter. You really never were good at taking advantage of your situation.”

As she continues to search, clippings are scattered to the floor and window curtains are flung open, skittering against the wall as Nadia turns to Jess, eyes cast across the room, connecting with a smirk like the earth’s raw, broken edges, “I see how it is, you do your job and I do mine.” She shrugs her shoulders, haphazardly pulling her gaze away from Jess’s—can we call this normalcy? Or is it settling?

Perhaps it is fate when Nadia’s hand pulls open the desk drawer—horribly concealed, memories too close to the surface, easy to simply run into this way—and for a long second she looks before she pulls out the photo almost delicately by its corner between her thumb and forefinger—as if touching a relic.

Perhaps it is that.

“What’s this?” (Though she knows exactly what this is, her own eyes reflecting out of the worn photo, smiling, hair in a tangle—the wind blowing behind them. Younger, brighter, Jess is half looking at the camera—the ocean rolls out behind them in the photo, seagulls in the distance.)

Nadia turns around letting the picture dangle before Jess—“You kept this? How cute—what a bleeding heart. You don’t have to say it, but you do miss me.” Her smile a coiled snake, discovering the warm center of an animal, something soft to bite into.

[bloodstyled]

🌟👑

PEOPLE IN MY MUSE’S LIFE

🌟 …someone my muse trusts. (already answered) 

👑 …someone my muse is jealous of.

literally she would never vocalize this, i don’t even think she’s fully subconscious of it, maybe she is, but she’s jealous of everyone girl in mg who has any semblance of like sweetness, naivety, innocence, purity, goodness, etc. etc. in them - read: emme, lenny, xue, aura (big question marks around that one folks???) - or good family relationships - read: lenny and her dad, li hua and her dad, etc. etc.

because seeing them still soft despite all their hardship really negates the fact that she had to become super hard and jaded and tough to protect herself, even though she’s forgotten i think that’s why she’s like that in the first place. that it wasn’t necessity. it was just her own cruelty from the start. 

[bloodstyled]

😒👀💩

PEOPLE IN MY MUSE’S LIFE

😒 …someone my muse hates.

easy answer, most people. special mentions to: emme, lenny, carter, shazi, kanta, xue, anyone good and pure and in any sense against her. soren also ranks here, but more as a total pain in her ass that she puts up with because he likes to get beat up and she likes to beat him up and he’ll rat people out and that’s beneficial to her

👀 …someone my muse likes, but doesn’t trust.

mal, jess, ceydran, soren (???????), omari (?), sol, laurel, marci (but she don’t know yET), aka all of the 30+ who are a lot more rebellion-neutral or more jaded and less in her face - i’m just imagining nadia as this grumpy cat like being mobbed by overhyped puppies trying to play with the sub-30s in mg tbh 

💩 …someone my muse dislikes, but admires. 

carter can really take a punch  

i’m not sure there is someone she dislikes but admires? i would say, dislike but is secretly jealous of?? (aka, everyone she hates, but mostly the Pure Angel Squad)

[bloodstyled]

🌟💀🔪

PEOPLE IN MY MUSE’S LIFE

🌟 …someone my muse trusts.

she trusts everyone to be completely fucking stupid, but like trust trusts??? is it sad to say literally no one? maybe jess in the past - a lot of her relationships are very transactional. i don’t see her trusting anyone because of them, but trusting that her actions have a desired response on someone instead??

💀 …someone my muse would kill for.

as i realized in the last round of memes, she would probably kill for everyone but mostly this is because it is simply in her job description??? not to say she needs to kill anyone who harms the other cryptids, but she’s heavy handed. she mostly kills for herself and for her own ends tbh i imagine she would literally kill someone if they tried to rip theo away from her that lil bumbling stutter-y mess of hers maybe - oh and she literally just killed a man for aura that happened not for her but yknow right in front of her

🔪 …someone my muse hurt in the past.

oR IN THE PRESENT??? who hasn’t she hurt or who won’t she hurt i ask you i would have to say she’s hurt jess in the past, emme, lenny, anyone who’s been around long enough and had goodness in them for her to crush pretty much 

[ofhotheads-blog]

Get to know the people in my muse’s life.

Send me a symbol and I’ll tell you about…

🌟 …someone my muse trusts. 💔 …someone who broke my muse’s heart. 💕 …someone my muse loves.  😒 …someone my muse hates. 🔥…someone my muse would die for. 💀 …someone my muse would kill for. 👻 …someone my muse considers a best friend. 💘 …someone my muse has a crush on. 🔪 …someone my muse hurt in the past. 👀 …someone my muse likes, but doesn’t trust. 💩 …someone my muse dislikes, but admires. 👿 …someone my muse used to like, but doesn’t anymore. 😉 …someone my muse has had sex with. 💋 …someone my muse used to date. 😜 …someone who makes my muse laugh. 👪 …someone in my muse’s family. 👑 …someone my muse is jealous of. 👊 …someone who hates my muse. 👫 …someone who has a crush on my muse. 👌 …someone my muse has only met once, but will never forget. 🍓…someone my muse has never met, but wants to meet. 👰 …someone my muse would consider marrying.

[bloodstyled]

fcxxes:

DATE & TIME: february 5th, 1:00am LOCATION: outside of the blackbird bar TRIGGERS: blood STATUS: closed for @bloodstyled

boy may be more blood than skin at this point, sticky with it clinging onto shirt, clinging onto skin. it trails down arm and neck, spatters on face and there is more of the colour on him than much else - more blood than moonlight, more blood than boy.

smoke curls from lips, a heavy exhale through surely-bruised ribs as lighters flicker then disappear, ash added to the rest of the carnage of boy sitting on the curb, sitting by the gutter as dirtied things like him should belong.

“want one?” he offers the box to the woman before him, hardly sparing her a glance as he breathes out smoke. “‘s the only thing you’ll get for free from me, so i’d savour it if i were you.”

he leans back languidly, lets bones crack through the night before resting back on his forearms to look up at the woman before him, lazy smirk curled onto his lips. “you sure do know how to pick ‘em, don’t you, nadia? some of your guards in there were terribly tasty, if i do say so myself. put up more of a fight than i thought they would.”

“all a touch bitter, but i would expect no less from people working under you. i sure hope you won’t miss ‘em.”

There is the blood-drenched boy. And then there is the woman beside him—made of crushed velvet anger and bruise-kissed knuckles. It is dark and the bar doors are flung wide open—its interior empty and wrecked, like a chest ripped open.

Soren is his own brand of infuriating—too cocky, all teeth. There are instances in which she dreams of tearing his mouth straight from his face, a bloody gash of a wound, before knocking each tooth out—string them together, a necklace of makeshift pearls. Then there are instances in which she can think of better uses for someone to whom carnage rang out like a church bell, a proud prince, a selfish boy.

(But she will have her hands around that pretty thin throat, likes the color that blooms across cheeks when oxygen-starved, first a sweet pink blush turned blue. Eyes brighter than anything you’ve ever seen.)

“Color me impressed,” she says in exchange for the cigarette, instead of thanks—praise. “Ripping a man’s arm off—what a show.” She claps gently and it echoes out into the street. “A bit messy, but we’ll have someone clean it up.”

(She is genuinely impressed, though she knows that this is mere child’s play and that she had many more notches on her belt than something like this.)

Taking a lighter from her bag, she shields the flame from the wind as the smoke rises from her mouth—a wave of her hand directed at the boy who sits below her, accompanied by a quick clip of laughter with a painted smile. “Don’t be coy. We both know one man or another, there’s no difference. Especially to me, so long as the uniform is the same.”

“But don’t make it a habit snacking on my property. I’ll only turn a blind eye so often.” She taps the ash from her cigarette, looking him square in the eye as she says this. A queen from on high, an errant prince with a hungry mouth and bitten lips.

[bloodstyled]

❤ B))))

send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse

noah

I would kill for you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you (aka, time for a quickie). • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.

kanta

I would kill for you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.

[bloodstyled]

❤ - whichever muse !

send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse

soren

I would kill for you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.

sol

I would kill for you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family. •You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you.• I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.

theo

I would kill for you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you.• I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.

[bloodstyled]

❤ !!

send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse

I would kill for you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you.• I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.

[sphinxmemesmusings]

send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse

[memeagerie]

sphinxmemesmusings:

I would kill for you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me. 

[bloodstyled]

ohauras:

DATE : 5 february 2018 LOCATION : blackbird bar TIME : 12:36 am STATUS : closed to @bloodstyled​

trigger warnings: violence

Destiny, that composition of stars, the backbone of a young girl’s fairytale, it would never favor her. Though, she had once thought that it did — crafted her limbs from porcelain, made her beloved by sweaty palms, poured all that cruelty into her heart as if to prove the formidability of its make. She realizes now that these were not blessings, that they had not in the least made her capable of strength — merely surviving, half-alive. 

Half-alive, amidst chaos. Shaking hands coloured crimson, and it is not her own — flecked across cheeks, splattered over satin dress. Had it not been just hours ago that she held those most precious to her in these hands? She looks down at them with desolation replacing the constellations in her eyes, with rot replacing her ambrosia-coated tongue — mouth is full of decay, and so is the room. The thick air chokes her, and that is not all. 

She can feel fingers around her throat, puts her own against them to test the reality of this black touch over ivory neck ( and it’s real, it’s real — this is not a memory anymore ). “怪物,” he says to her as her fingernails tunnel beneath his palms, cut against her own skin haphazardly, fervently — poured out against the shell of her ear, and it lays heavy against her. Aurora knows this is not a memory, but his voice reminds her of one, as do the knives against her skull when she’s knocked to her knees, slammed down onto palms as though in reverence. 

If he wanted her to cry out, she thinks he should’ve thrown her down harder. Can feel bruises bloom like sordid roses, but she’s known pain worse than this, more than blood between teeth and rattling bones — more than this heel against her spine, marble crushing up into bones. It took a monster to destroy a monster, and he did not have the teeth for it now did he? But she cannot help the gasp suctioned in, so sharp it cuts when that foot crashes down against her back — punches out every breath reserved, leaves her choked ( and she can taste crimson in her mouth, swallows hard on it ). 

The last time she had pleaded for mercy, it had meant sacrifice — and she has nothing left to bargain with anymore, nothing beloved which she would bloody for her own sake. But then, what to do about this hand wrapped at the root of her dark hair — ripping at her scalp, demanding her eyes? Trembling, she’s made to look up towards stars ( as she had earlier tonight, though she can see no constellations past the glimmering chandeliers hung low ), can feel something sharp against her neck — silvered, like she was made beneath the moonlight.

“你会杀了我吗,” she says it carefully, yet unflinching — almost expectant.

She had told them.

She had warned them.

“Pfft. Would rather be out there my ass.” She sneers over a drink at the end of the bar, resigned to let the chips fall wherever they may with the news of the Cryptid Attacks going on around the city—it is all bitterness, all spite, as the strangers trickle in. Her eyes pass over their faces, one by one as they arrive, a few at first until they slowly outnumber original attendees list.

(But she won’t lift a finger—her guards are stationed nearby and have been given orders, though whose orders remains to be seen.)

So when the first punches are thrown and drinks spilled, Nadia only looks on through the mirror behind the bar, a small smirk playing onto her lips. Perhaps this was the only way she could see the world—distorted and completely backwards. But it was beautiful from the distance—a lesson framed in broken glass, one she hoped would slice them open and leave them bloody and scarred, bodies etched and broken by the world which they longed to be loved by, to be welcomed to until they knew that safety could only even be found beneath her. (That is at the price of respect, fealty, and perhaps love.)

(She kills a single man who tries to approach her from behind, she has no idea if he had tried to warn her or wound her—in a way, it didn’t very much matter, his body transformed from flesh to stone, a rather painless process—though the faces of these statues tell a different story.)

Turning to face the scene before her—a glorious painting, a messy fight—Nadia catches a glimpse of a thin, dark figure, sprawled out against the ground like a rotten, trampled leaf, the man above her holding a knife to her throat, hand in her hair, making her look like a martyr before the sacrifice, a saint before the assumption.

For a moment, Nadia contemplates letting the man do what he so desires to do. But for as much as the bacchanal continues, the delight of chaotic reveling of wine or sharpened blades rising ever higher, ever more precariously, as much as she should be heralding the night, she crosses the room to the man—grabbing his arm and twisting it back so harshly it looks as if it no longer belongs to his body, as if something else would grow from the protrusion of his bone that sticks up from under his skin.

She shifts and in a moment, thick wings erupt from behind her, the tangle of snakes finding their home in the man’s neck, his cheeks, the thin flesh of his jowls. This is before she slits his throat with his own knife, having taken it from his hands, blood like an offering to the earth, his very life leaking from him and onto the floor where Aura lies below, pooling around her.

She does not reach her hand out for the woman beneath her, letting instead the knife clatter to the ground along with the man’s limp blue body, metal joining flesh and viscous red beneath. What must she look like, dark wings folding behind her, haloed in light, blood at her feet?

“You’re lucky I hate you only a little less than them.” There is no outstretched hand, no help at all. For a moment, Nadia rests her heel on the delicate juncture of Aura’s wrist, standing above her.

“No one will save you next time. Especially if I’m not around.” She eases her heel up and to mistake it as mercy could only ever be fatal.