[killerdame]

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✶ ㅤㅤKILLERDAME ㅤㅤ: ㅤshe had the power of inspiring love almost anywhere     [ . . . ]    seven-stone pacifists shouldered their way through street riots to be home in case she called. family men abandoned sick children to wait in the rain outside her flat. semi-literate builders & bankers sent her sonnet sequences.     [ . . . ]    she pauperized gigolos, she spayed studs, she hospitalized heartbreakers.    independent, highly selective, mutually - exclusive writing blog.    starring chanteuse dove moreno, an original character established in 2022     ;     inspired by the (neo-) noir & featuring fandom-compatible alt verses such as the boys, sony marvel, & star wars.    as choreographed by fleur.     [ . . . ]    DANCING WITH     :         0FELIA, CREETUREFEELING, CONVEXING, SOVIETSTRINGS, HEDUNNIT, D-EADEYE ﹠ EMBROSYN, AMERIGASMS ﹠ ELPISKEY ﹠ HOWLINSMOKE.

               i.     carrd.            ii.     prompts.            iii.     aes   blog.               iv.     wanted.            v.     headcanons.            vi.    usfw blog.

[d-eadeye]

"Tha's right," he glumly confirmed, without anything sarcastic to add. All the hellish horrors he'd descried throughout desert wastes and urban slums and somehow, people were always the worst of 'em. He preferred horses.

True to her nature, or what coquettish sliver of it he'd unwittingly become privy to that evening, she flashed him the underside of her pretty sloped nose before casting the lavish, velveteen or French-satin shadow of her elongated feline eyes. She airily mocked him with his own churlish pronunciation and where the seeds of ire ought to have sprouted, amusement emerged instead twisted and pungent, sweet yet sour; titillating like a punch of rum. "Nothin' yer pretty tongue can't clean-up real nice."

THUNDER, RAIN, WANTING. CALLUSED PALMS TOOK TO THE BOTTLE'S SLENDER NECK WITH AN AVARICIOUS CLASP, BASE FEATHERLIGHT IN HIS BIG, BRAWNY HAND. IT FELT AN AWFUL LOT LIKE THE INCIPIENT WEIGHT OF FLEDGLING REGRET.

The vaquero chose to steal his first sip from the bottle's ledge, diamond droplets becoming ensnared by the unruly hairs of his mustache, furred upper-lip wincing therein with neither perceptible pleasure nor ostensible disdain. His tongue momentarily twists in his mouth. "D'unno. Haven't decided yet. Figured I ain't darkened Arizona's doorstep in a minute, see if I couldn't find my happy ass down south. Mexico, maybe. Speakin' in the general, sugar, I do what I feel like."

[ ... ] "Right now..? Well, I ain't worried none 'bout what's outside those doors."

[killerdame]

DOVE CANTS HER HEAD TO THE SIDE, a motion that turns the pillar of her neck into a fluted column. veins straining protrusive and tender beneath the soft of skin. she watches as his palm swallows the bottleneck from this angle, a fingernail trailing down the large arris of her jugular, and finds herself thinking — to a debatable degree of vulgarity — something more or less like pick on someone your own size.

THERE'S NO WAY AROUND THE EXCHANGE OF THEIR MOUTHS NOW. she keeps herself from frowning only because something about the size of him settles her like a paperweight — solid, heavy. dove can still feel her edges stir every time a clap of thunder erupts through the room, but his presence keeps her midsection — core and all the vital things within it; heart; gut — secure. it's a little like the sensation of a palm flattened and pressing below her navel.

a little. enough.

"mm." she hums, noncommittal, the sound sticky and thin. a trickle of honey down the side of their conversation. as slow as that drip: "you don't say." dove takes another sip of whisky, sitting gracefully through the burn in order to feel the warmth. she slips lower into the seat. her whole body moving imperceptibly with the gust of an exhale. "i bet ⸺" one half of her mouth curls, just enough, into a smile. a curve like a little wager, like a single coin. "that's where that daddy of yours lives. am i right?"

rain continues to thud on the exterior of the motel. god's great set of fingers, drumming against the walls. waiting for something to happen.

"neither am i, honey. i always tend to be more concerned with..." dove looks up from underneath her lashes. salome watches from beneath her black veil. "—what's walking through them."

[bebemoon]

christian cowan rtw autumn 2o26, nyfw .

[coffeefroginc]

mememeforrp​:

Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse wash off blood from their body

[killerdame]

things i am begging for:

people dove knew before she was dove!!!!! where are my mfers who still call her ginny when no one’s around. who grew up on the same block. where is the weight of history the submission to the mortifying ordeal of being known of tangled lifelines

a reason to make please mr. jailer the official track to a thread or ship

[whippedcloudsofcream]

“How many times have I told you? No business during business hours!”

Burlesque (2010)

[nat111love]

THE BATMAN (2022) dir. Matt Reeves

[killerdame]

(harrison) morally upright is conditional. holding standards for others and perhaps, maybe, not entirely himself.

the resigned sigh i made actually reading this as if in me writing in Not A Nepo Baby i didn't specifically think if nothing else this will prevent harrison from getting a shut out. like yeah........ wbk about them

[killerdame]

QUEEN MAEVE. WHO DOESN'T LOVE THE COMPANY OF MONSTERS?

HER EYES SLIP FROM THE HARD CURVE OF MAEVE'S SHOULDER TO THE PICTURE BEHIND IT.

it's a shot of the team as they once existed. the first selection of vought supes, back when there were so few of them they couldn't even have worn a name like the seven without it being meaningless. all in costume, but the setting around them belies something off-duty: at the kind of club that dove has come to find doesn't exist anymore; rocks glasses strewn about tables, the liquor that was once in them making their postures confident, languid. dove — or white diamond; her gaze low-lidded in that way she kept her eyes then, as if only ever viewing half the world — is situated between ben and robbie. she most often was. every childish, hostile game of tug-of-war needs a rope to play with.

the picture sits where a cross might, hovering high and small on a wall. though dove grew up roman catholic, there's no religious paraphernalia in the home. her faith tumbled and fell sometime in the last century, unable to withstand the atmospheric pressure of existing in a space so close to god. or crumbling under the weight of his almighty hand on her ass. either one.

but the photograph, at least, occupies the same function: an article that draws her eye every time she crosses the room, calling dove over in times of guilt and penance. euphoria, in the few moments it exists.

"they were all i had."

the lining of her nightgown flashes as she walks, the white-silver underside of wings. she extends a glass to @queensupe, the midline of her body fixing between maeve and the photograph. standing clear-eyed between past and present. move on, maeve.

"surely you're familiar with that."

[killerdame]

FREDERICK CHILTON. THE INTAKE. @hypocratic

THEY'RE CAREFUL ABOUT NEVER LEAVING HER ALONE. a hand always at her back from the time she enters the building,

like a chain of custody. chronological sequence of possession. if you dusted the back of her dress, you'd find the ouroboric fingerprints of a half-dozen men. no partials except for the thumb— the only digit that didn't apply enough pressure to properly impress, stroking rather than laying flat. if you asked dove, she could tell you all their names — along with the similar way they introduced themselves, eyebrows bent together and professional titles creeping forward. officer, detective, captain. to be fair, they all use hers, too:

"just wait here for a moment, sweetheart."

she stands in place, pale jacket doubled over her joint hands like a pair of bent knees.

[killerdame]

i've been noticing i get a lot of blue eyed references in threads, which i get given i use ana de ar.mas's resources from when she plays marilyn (who does have blue eyes!), but i do actually keep to the actual eye colour of her fc ⸺ green. mostly i started this post just to correct and have an excuse to post shots of ana's eyes lmao but i think that's an interesting detail to keep, so i'm going to integrate it into canon! her eyes are a feature that's often misreported; dove viewed as one assumed-package rather than having attention paid to the specificity of her actual parts. the camera more often pulled back to observe her with a wide lens rather than close-up. lovers who misremember or never learned their true colour and in the repetition distort the truth. etc etc. much to be said for this post on kafka's eyes. everyone could agree they were beautiful; no one could concur on the colour. promised gifs/examples of ana below<3

[killerdame]

power / status isn't loud so i left that one blank but i think five bingos is enough ? from pentele !!

externally: "don't feel too bad, honey. why would you know how to insist — clearly things come to you."

internally: [ calculating how little of a chance 5 bingos leaves her with ]

[caitimia]

[killerdame]

this isn't here there or anywhere but peak romance btw is carrying dove's heels after she's taken them off towards the end of the night and then getting on one knee to put them back on. doing the strappies and everything

[killerdame]

bonus points are allotted for: foot placed ON the thigh for the re-shoeing because it's being treated gingerly, their jacket already draped over her shoulders to keep her warm, and most especially a brief but nosing kiss to a spot along her knee. this is an elaborate ritual and should be treated as such

[killerdame]

this isn't here there or anywhere but peak romance btw is carrying dove's heels after she's taken them off towards the end of the night and then getting on one knee to put them back on. doing the strappies and everything

[killerdame]

RUPERT CAMPBELL-BLACK. YOU ALWAYS LISTEN TO ME, DON'T YOU.

IT BRUSHES A LITTLE TOO CLOSE TO THE FACT THAT THEY ARE, AT TIMES, A LITTLE TOO CLOSE.

"of course, rupert." she drawls, reclining to rest against the wall behind her — it adjusts her visual perspective but does little for the angle they're already oriented at. a mathematician would look at this space between their bodies — the slant of her leaned back on the shoulders, hips out; the upright of @vitalphenomena squaring where she ends, the toes of their shoes a half-inch from creating a vertex — and call it acute. an position measuring less than 90 degrees but greater than nothing. "wouldn't want to miss it when you actually say something worth listening to."

the smile comes languidly. everything does when she's tipsy. dove takes another sip of the martini anyway, despite knowing that in continuing to do so will push the envelope of socially acceptable intoxication; despite the fact that what's in her hand has gone warm, the direct result of the way it's been nursed for the past twenty minutes. an empty drink means someone has to leave.

an eyebrow arches.

"are you?" teeth clink down around the very edge of her glass in a smile. there's an urge to bite all the way through. "⸺planning on saying something interesting?"

[killerdame]

new game !! catch the birdie 🕊️ blank under the cut!