[molotovmary]

★★★: MOLOTOV MARY . . . drummer for hit band OVERBITE. an original character by ripley. lore intertwined with wayne & riko. more info. pins.  

[maiitre]

❛ I'm sure you hold plenty enough opinions in that wicked little brain of yours for the both of us. ❜

It is far too easy to look at Mary with boredom - practiced over and over to deal with her verbal prodding and poking. The truth is, there truly never is any element of boredom around Mary. She breaks the interminable peace Armand had produced with Louis. She adds the bite he silently desires. Never will he admit that to her face.

His eyes linger on her, watching the very minute details in her actions. The hold at his wrist. The curl of the escaping smoke. He could easily remove himself from the situation, release his wrist from her shackling hand. But he doesn't. Rather, he reaches out his fingers to tuck the stray, red curls of her hair out the way of the burning cigarette.

❛ Off on his profitable ventures. Where else? - Why, are you interested in leaving me be for once and turning your claws to him? ❜

[molotovmary]

mary grins. her claws dig into the thin skin of his wrist, where there was once a mortal pulse, pushing her nails as deep as she can without spilling any blood. green eyes dart to his motion, anticipating violence, aggression, and that would have suited her fine. animal responses to animal questions. instead, armand is gentle, considerate, protects the hair she can be so vain about. the back of her neck prickles. "would you prefer i come all this way to visit him? he and i turn a profit and leave you on your lonesome?"

she so often tires of trying to break him before he ever budges an inch. mary releases his wrist, hastily, and throws herself back into the ornate sofa. she blinks up at the ceiling, the blank slab of stone. it's like looking up into nothing, nothing, nothing. the lid to a luxurious sarcophagus. "tell me, my darling armand, are you so composed when no one is watching? if i turn you my back, will you finally use your fangs?"

[molotovmary]

the special magic of mary is that she is always stuck in that feral first night of being a vampire. gluttonous and ambivalent towards consequences. forever greedy and mean and snarling

[disgustinggf]

[molomarymoved]

wayne's hand wraps around her wrist, the friendliest cuff she's ever felt. he plays mean too, some nights, but he never bites down as hard as she wants. she knows he wants an apology. he wants her to duck her head, bend into the person that doesn't want to rip his throat out. he's got no luck, seems he never has, 'cause she isn't even a person.

mary's lips split into a mean smile, thin, mean, her fangs cutting into her bottom lip. there it is: he's sparking mad, she's looking for a full blown flame. "you need it nice tonight, baby? that it?" mary sits further back on her hips, imposes herself further onto his lap. he's close enough for them to share breath, if that was a thing either of them truly needed. she takes an unnecessary breath in, then pushes it out through her nose, fanning the air from her lungs over his cupid bow. "alright. i can do nice." she shakes the hair out of her face, all animal instinct, and then she brings her other hand up, feels up wayne's chest. she's laying claim over every part of him she can reach. it's not enough of him-- never is, for an eternally open maw like mary-- but she'll take it. the line draws closer and closer. she can get him to snap, she knows they're well on the way, but she's savoring their twin descent. "nothing bad ever happens to good people like us. no one's gonna hurt us but each other."

mary's whole posture changes. she slumps down, presses her face ever closer to his, and she juts her battered bottom lip out. her fingers spread right over where that un-beating heart of his lies. "please, mr. cross, won't you give me a light?" slowly, mary folds herself further down, nipping gently at the fingers wrapped around her wrist. "gimme me something to put my lips around."

[waynecross]

@sordidery

he should be used to it by now. her circling him is just like cables by the water, sparks. the type that make wayne feel alive. just everything seems to catch fire, everything seems to want to burn down with them. and it's her fault, it's always her damn fucking fault. it's the shirt sticking on your back on sweat, uncomfortable but so familiar. and that is mary, less than human more monster than anything else he's ever seen. but fucking familiar, and it makes him nauseous, her breath on him so indistinguishably her. wayne has no clue what she tastes like, recognizes everything else. even when he goes out there looking for something to compare. if he could cry, if he could kick and scream he would. but he doesn't.

her hand trails up, her touch hot, stove hot any other one person would flinch away. his jaw sets, matches the thin smile on her face with a scowl, brow furrowed and something in him is always breaking. "man, fuck you." it's honest and candid and uncontrolled because that's how mary gets him. that little bit in him that remains awfully human. it's being stuck, vinyl with a cut in it and the needle seems to bump over it, over and over and over.

"shouldn't give you shit." shouldn't different from won't or can't. his hand let's go of her wrist only to hold her face, her cheek, fingers sneaking into her hair. and lifts up with some strength unsticking her from him. he's looking at her now, cheek smushed slightly by the hold. bright eyes look at her with something indescribable stuck between them both, between his ribs. she's not him. it's not her fault. he isn't her fault. placing blame where it shouldn't go. everything else though? "you never play nice." and it's not entirely fair or true, free hand sneaks a cigarette free. puts it in his mouth, keeps a hold of her while he sneaks a hand to the back of her jeans, he always keeps a lighter there and simply lights up the cigarette. one puff, two. curls into her face. he takes it then, decisive, putting it between her lips. imagining it's something else.

"there... fucking happy now?"

[molotovmary]

there, she’s got him.

wayne cross, always charismatic, always smiling, pushed past his limit. prodded into a vicious mood, complete with bright eyes and a look not too far off from hate. he pulls her up and she goes, the scald of his touch familiar, always ready to fall in step with what he offers. her lip curls, her hands go rigid and fall limply into her lap. with his palm to her cheek, tugging at her hair, mary glares. her eyes are dark, cold and glittering, and she would fucking kill him if it were anyone else on earth. it’s not, though, and wayne could do anything to mary like this and she’d take it, whatever it was, and enjoy it because it’s from him.

mary blinks rapidly as he blows the smoke, simultaneously offended and worked up, gaze lingering on his lips. he’s really never this reactionary. she doesn’t know what to expect beyond what she’s lived before, so she anticipates cruelty. it makes sense to her. she finally pulled at the right thread, the one that makes even the best of men turn callous. mary stays limp in his grip; blows hurt all the more when you tense for them.

instead, wayne gives her what she asked for in the first place. a cigarette placed between her lips. he’s still just fucking wayne, soft and trying not to show it, hiding away tenderness beneath his pretty exterior. mary clamps her lips shut around the thing, breathes in. she’d bite it in half just to spite him, if she wasn’t already friending for more solid ground, the calm of a nicotine buzz. mary shakes her head, rolls her shoulder to shrug him off. "’m goddamn peachy."

she pauses. the only place they’re touching now is their thighs, and even then, she’s started to lean back and away. it’s like the magnetization between them reversed. she’d been veering closer and closer to wayne, now mary’s repelled, as far away as she can get without outright climbing off his lap. her throat bobs with a thick swallow of spit, the paper of the cigarette clinging to her wet bottom lip. with anyone else, she would’ve already left the room, the whole building. mary stares at him, at eye level, gaze dragging from his wild hair to his burning eyes to the mirror scowl on his lips. fuck him. she plays plenty nice. "fuckin’ crybaby."

[molotovmary]

i don’t know what the fuck is going on from second to second.

mary waves a ring laden hand, scrunches up her face. "who gives a fuck what’s going on?" she’s already in her outfit for tonight’s performance, body scantily lined in black mesh and leather. her hair is teased to the goddamn heavens, huge and heavy with the weight of sprays and powders and dustings of chunky glitter. her eyes, too, are weighed down under a mountain of eyeliner and lashes. even her nails are decorated, painted into a set of dark looking claws. "c’mon. mush."

she grabs at both of his shoulders and immediately starts pushing him ahead of her, not waiting for any confirmation on his part, bullying them through a throng of people. billy probably has things he’s supposed to be doing. unlike her, he is not only here to thrash around on stage. still, mary considers herself quite important around here, and if a certain someone were to have an issue with a roadie disappearing before they go on… well, riko can take it up with mary.

the bustle of backstage and the screech of music is loud enough that mary has to stretch up close to his ear and shout to be heard. "everyone forgets what the fuck we’re here for." again, mary uses her hands to pull billy to a stop, a few feet away from the opening to the stage. they’ve got a great view of the full stage, a glimpse of bopping heads in the audience. overbite’s openers are on, just started their first song, and mary isn’t about to miss their performance just because everyone wants to micromanage how she’s going to look and act tonight. "this is all we need. the music."

[maiitre]

Cont. (x) — @molotovmary

It is a side eyed look that Armand gives Mary, eyes lingering for a second or two before moving away. A silent warning of waning irritation. He takes in the contrast between them. So different but altogether the same at once. A reminder of his younger years - before his illness, before his dark gift. Defiance, attitude. Knowing exactly what needs to be said to warrant a reaction.

His jaw tenses just slightly, a minuscule reaction for most - a telling one for Armand. Boring. Such a simple yet cutting word. He works hard to not give Mary too much to bite into - not too much blood to sniff out.

❛ I do not ache for the capacity, Lisichka. ❜ Armand comments, matching Mary's mother tongue. Words laced with the very shackles of security and rigidness that Mary accuses him of possessing. It is only then he looks to her again, taking the cigarette back and drawing in a drag. He hovers it between them as he breathes out the smoke, not an offer for Mary to take it back but an invite if she wishes. ❛ Perhaps you should take note. It might be a collar that you need. - Or a muzzle even. ❜

[molotovmary]

a jump of muscle above armand’s jaw. irritation from someone so impervious to mary’s constant badgering. now, that is interesting.

"adventurous. do you have other opinions on what i should do with my mouth?" she sends him a heavy look from beneath her lashes, feigning something coy and flirtatious. the seduction ends as quickly as it started. sex is nice— a great time-killer— but nothing is as good as getting something defiant between her teeth and shaking till it goes limp.

"a muzzle." mary trails a finger from the bridge of her nose to her jaw, spends a moment really considering what it would feel like to hold her tongue. the thought does little to impress. "maybe i’ll go get mine from the same person who did yours."

she reaches out, slow and obvious, to wraps a hand around armand’s wrist. he’s got a nice hand there, delicate and slim, if a little frail looking, as though he had been teetering on the brink of oblivion long before he got turned. mary dips down, takes a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers. the smoke falls from her lips in crooked tendrils, long grasping things that curl into each other before they dissipate into nothing. "where is your husband, anyways?"

[molotovmary]

consumed with mary thoughts this morning… antagonistic little pervert… constantly testing boundaries like she’s been in her terrible twos for 2 centuries… probably nonbinary but she has a job so idrc about that rn… somehow has a boomer mentality about trauma… no one is doing it like her

[claudevil]

EVEN BETWEEN THE DARK THINGS, THERE'S SOMETHING BROKEN IN ME. [ the vampire claudia, written by dru. ] A COLLISION IN ME, LIKE I WANNA GO BANG.

[trashmemes]

BARRY STARTERS   —  quotes pulled from the hbo series. contains nsfw content. feel free to make alterations.

i don’t know what the fuck is going on from second to second.

when i get angry, i don’t like who i become.

you’re wrong. i am not weak.

don’t fuck with me, [name]. it’s not polite.

am i evil?

this is why i didn’t wanna tell you, ‘cause you’re gonna look at me differently.

i’m pretty sure that people can change.

don’t pull that gun on me.

well, i guess everyone’s a hero of their own story, right?

i’m a good person.

god, i am so sick of people telling me what i am.

as of today, we are fucking done, you son of a bitch!

okay, so here’s my advice: you never tell that story again as long as you live.

you know, you’re a fuckin’ prick, man.

you know what i thought the first time i met you?

i didn’t feel like i deserved a good life.

if there is one thing i learned in my life, you can’t control what other people are going to do.

you wanna know what i’m good at? i’m good at killing people.

i’m not sleeping and, uh, that depressed feeling’s back, you know.

i feel like it’s somehow related to your relationship with your mom.

i did one of those online quizzes to see if i was livin in a bubble or not, and it turns out i am.

well, you know what sonny and cher would say: that’s on you, babe.

you think this is some fucking game?

now is not the time to grow a heart, dipshit.

people meet and sometimes they lock into each other like two long-sought-after pieces of a puzzle.

we all lose track of what’s important sometimes.

is that the way you see your life? as a human doormat?

you really heard me. you really let that wall come down a little.

i was very touched that i was able to gain your trust.

i am your fuckin’ business, idiot!

she was like a feral mongoose.

you should be able to be the person that you say you are.

if we ran away from this because we were scared, wouldn’t that be oh so very sad?

i think you’re deeply human.

you are so creepy, man.

whose cock did you have to suck in a former life?

i need you out of my house.

in an ideal world, we’d just burn down the house.

do you think i’m a bad person?

[trashmemes]

TRAGIC AESTHETIC I SENTENCE STARTERS —  a bunch of quotes pulled from pinterest boards. feel free to make alterations.

i’m having a hard time describing how i feel.

did we really go through all this for nothing?

people do bad things when they are trying to survive.

i don’t know who i am anymore. i am no one if i’m not self-destructing.

no matter what i do, i can’t get better.

and now i have nothing.

when are you going to stop punishing yourself for things you cannot control?

i replay that moment every night in my head.

they’re dead because of you.

maybe i lied when i said i was okay.

i am tired of being brave.

loneliness really fucks you up.

this isn’t normal. this isn’t the way normal people live.

my mother is ashamed of me.

it’s been a long time since i’ve felt right.

he’s not coming back.

we’ll never be those kids again.

everything i love turns to shit.

i’m terrified that if i try my hardest, i still won’t be good enough.

what a terrible mess i’ve made of my life.

acting like you don’t care is not letting it go.

i wish i could have saved you. please forgive me.

ghosts? sure. i know all about ghosts. 

there will be no miracles here.

i wish i could let all this anger go.

why can’t things that are good just stay?

too many people leave without saying goodbye.

i don’t know who i want to be anymore.

what doesn’t kill you makes you wish you were dead.

the trouble is that you think you have time.

sometimes i still can feel his hands.

i’ve wasted so much time becoming nothing.

where is all the time that heals?

oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

i am the monster you created.

[soulprompts]

prompts about getting undressed.

hello my brilliant babies, babes, besties, bros, beloveds and beams of brilliance! it is i! i have returned and i bring to you this prompt list based on the concept of getting undressed and helping others to do the same! "but blue! where's the spice!" fantabulistic question, i left that option off the list bc there are MANY spice-focused lists with that option. however i will still tag this as being nsfw. bc it lowkey is. anyway, love you! DO NOT ADD TO, COPY OR EDIT THIS LIST!

[ HELP ]: the injured sender, unable to comfortably take off their clothes, asks the receiver to help them get undressed.

[ GUIDE ]: sender notices that the injured receiver isn't able to get undressed without help and offers to do so.

[ SOAKED ]: after a sudden downpour/being in water, the sender hastens to help the wet receiver out of their clothes to prevent hypothermia.

[ CRIMSON ]: the sender, noticing the receiver has blood on their clothes (either from an injury or another person) takes them to a private room to help remove the clothes and find clean ones.

[ CONCEAL ]: in an effort to hide evidence of wrong-doing, the sender quickly takes the receiver's clothes from them to be destroyed and finds them less incriminating clothing.

[ RETRIEVE ]: in an effort to protect potential evidence, the sender carefully helps the receiver to remove their clothes, bagging them in the process and helping them dress in clean clothes.

[ SCENT ]: in order to protect them from sniffer dogs or scent-sensitive animals/monsters/etc., the sender helps the receiver remove their clothes and replaces them with less sensitive garments.

[ DIVE ]: the sender and receiver help one another to strip down so they can go swimming in comfort.

[ CLEANSE ]: sender, after running the receiver a nice relaxing bath, brings them to the bathroom and carefully helps them get undressed so they can enjoy the bath properly.

[ FEVER ]: sender, having noticed the receiver spiking a fever, quickly helps them remove their clothes so they can go into a cool shower in an effort to break it.

[ WIPE ]: sender hastily brings the receiver to a quiet room and helps them get undressed so the sender can wipe them down with wipes to remove dirt/blood/tears/etc. from their skin.

[ HEAT ]: to prevent the receiver from overheating, the sender quickly helps them to get undressed so they can cool down quicker in the shade.

[ SHOPPING ]: while trying on new clothes, the sender offers to help the receiver change out of a more complicated outfit to avoid damaging it.

[ TRANSFORM ]: suddenly in need of disguise, the sender and receiver help one another to take off any identifying clothing and disguise their appearances to escape unseen.

[ WOUND ]: following a particularly rough battle, the sender goes to the receiver to suggest that they help one another to remove their clothing and check one another for injuries

[ HEAL ]: while treating the receiver's injuries, the sender has to remove some of their clothing to reach a wound hidden by their clothes.

[ MALFUNCTION ]: noticing that the receiver is having something of a wardrobe malfunction (i.e. ripped dress, a stain etc.) the sender quickly takes them to a quiet room to help them get undressed and repair the damage.

[ INK ]: in order to show off a tattoo, the sender removes an article of clothing so that the receiver can see it properly.

[ WEAK ]: realizing the receiver is in a weakened state, the sender gently starts to help them get undressed, then redressed in more comfortable clothing.

[ STUNNED ]: noticing the receiver to be in shock, the sender begins to help them loosen their clothing and finds them looser more comfortable clothes to change into.

[ ADJUST ]: the sender moves closer to adjust some items of clothing on the receiver (i.e. the straps of their dress, the hem of their pants, the buttons of a shirt).

[ MEASURE ]: in order to accurately measure the receiver for an outfit of tailored clothes, the sender helps them to get undressed down to their undergarments.

[ ARMOUR ]: the sender offers to help the receiver in removing armour or a protective suit from them.

[ COMPLEX ]: sender notices that the receiver is struggling to remove some complicated clothing, and offers to help.

[ RITUAL ]: sender helps to undress receiver as part of a ritual or ceremony.

[ UPSET ]: sender, realizing the receiver is too distraught, offers to help them get undressed and redressed in more comfortable clothing.

[ ROYAL ]: part of the sender's responsibilities to the crown involve helping the crowned receiver get undressed and restyled each day.

[maiitre]

"Nothing ever changes." /+ from molotov mary

It would be much easier to deny Mary an answer. It would spare him from an impossible headache. Better yet, it would save hearing any rhetoric she threw his way. But, the evening was mellowing. And Armand's patience hasn't been worn thin thus far.

He extends his hand towards her, without even a glance in her direction. Between his middle and forefinger rests a lit cigarette - burnt a quarter of the way. A measured offering, in hopes her responses remain minimal.

❛ We do not hold the capacity needed for change. ❜

[molotovmary]

"bullshit," the word carries extra venom in her mother tongue. comes out sounding mean like nothing can in english. she takes his offering, though, and holds it between two fingers. mary watches the smoldering burn at the end of the cigarette. her lungs fill another breath in that she doesn't need, greedy and solely for the bite of nicotine. where armand is prim, finely put together in his luxurious chair, mary is sprawled, relaxed and unperturbed. she nudges his arm with her opposite hand.

"it's not impossible. everyone has the capacity. it's in us." a jab at her chest, ash flying with the movement. "but they don't. i don't." she gestures to armand now. mary's attention zeroes into him, her head cocked to the side. sometimes, it's like she can smell blood in the water before its even been spilled. "you don't. you like shackles. collars. law of your own making." she holds the cigarette back out. "it's boring. all so boring."