LETTING ME INTO THIS HOSPITAL WAS THE BEST DECISION YOU EVER MADE. —- NURSE RATCHED ROLEPLAY BLOG.
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@shedevvil
LETTING ME INTO THIS HOSPITAL WAS THE BEST DECISION YOU EVER MADE. —- NURSE RATCHED ROLEPLAY BLOG.
specify a muse for multimuses. send me an im if you’d like to plot it out x
@spellcasted // AMBROSE SPELLMAN
“ can i help you ? ” her stay in the spellman house had been marred by unwanted interaction. she held tea, delivered to her - not for the first time - by the kitchen witch, hilda spellman. there were tomes stacked on the sitting room table, some bookmarked and most full of overlong gibberish. zelda’s own way of grounding herself, of preparing a new church. she had arrived to the house for this little rendezvous in the dead of night to avoid the greed of eyes. lilith rounds her head, lowers the tea from her lips, and fixes the boy with a glinting stare.
@nickolhs // NICHOLAS SCRATCH
“ my , don’t you look different. ” they had ---- the boy and the dark lord both ---- at one point sought to cage her, to bind her, to string her up like a cat with its neck caught in wire fence. the image of nicholas scratch, his nasty little mouth carved apart and body bound by damascus steel and a jester’s garb. it wasn’t his fault he was the vessel to the dark lord, but she felt an apathetic pit in the center of her chest. it brought her amusement. it brought her security.
WHAT’S WRONG ---- CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE ?
“ where’s sabrina ? ” she didn’t feel like hanging about to make small talk with the boy who once played coffin to the dark lord. lilith adjusted her dark glasses, took them into her hands and made a haughty surveillance of the room. better that than make eye contact with this unfortunate reminder of a throne, lost.
@witcherinq // ZELDA SPELLMAN
“ is something the matter ? you seem . . . ” -- grumpy. -- stubborn. -- too proud and too prejudiced against lilith’s gentle weaving of a gossamer web around sabrina’s eyes. the dark lord’s plans were always done, inevitably done, but seldom very convenient for her. lilith licked her teeth within her lipsticked mouth, before selecting a word that mixed the buzzing annoyance she felt like an itch at the bridge of her nose and that tiresome, helpless little schoolmarm facade. “ confused . ”
@tartareus / HILDA SPELLMAN.
“ missus spellman. what a surprise. ” lilith forms the words clearly and sharply, like raw meat being diced by a stony blade. other parents pass them by in the school corridors, mulling about with their pathetic, damp, unspectacular little lives. her face is plastered into neutral concern, dark eyes inert and cold, but eyebrows raised. there is a ... peculiarity in seeing this little kitchen witch attend a PARENT - TEACHER MEETING in a mortal school for a girl who they both know is as riddled with magic as a deer carcass in the woods is with maggots. the stench of humans, though, can curl up ones nose and make one sick in the head. it’s not long before the disguise one dons to wear among them is almost indistinguishable from the real thing - and in that sense, neither of the women here are REAL . no matter : she’ll just extricate herself quickly. “ if you’ll excuse me a moment, i’ve got very important business to attend - ” yes, she must - urgently - go to her office and avoid an evening of small talk. it’s important.
specify a muse for multimuses. send me an im if you’d like to plot it out x
praiisesatan
Lilith is closer, now. She has drifted from the pillar in barbed flight, her job of guarding the Cathedral abandoned ( was it ever a purpose at all ? ). Approached Zelda in that ghostly manner she so often travels by; a manner that makes Lilith a creature both lost and lethal.
ONCE SHE SETTLES IN
TO HER NEWFOUND POWER.
Settles in. Power. Beautiful. Powerful. It’s a statement raw and blunt and ominous to anyone else, but Zelda fears no such thing. She wants all for Sabrina that she could not achieve. Zelda, thus, does not answer this. The weight of her response lies more familiar within the throat and it will rest there. Power or NOT. Martyr, messiah, child of the one they once called Lucifer. She is still my niece. Instead, her lips tighten; her exhale is louder. She doesn’t have a smoke; she wishes it were so, and that it might veil her eyes, suddenly. Instead, she glances, as if for the first time, at the stained glass window. Her eyes fall upon the serpent, the tree, the dark, cherrywood bark. From her peripheral she notices the hand of God, but only there.
You like it ?
There is something so small, yet so deep, in Lilith’s question. It surprises Zelda; she finds herself momentarily lost in the depth of its implication. Does she know? Does Lilith know what I know? Eyes soft, brow hardened, Zelda folds her arms in front of her chest, fingers gripping each opposing elbow gently. Such a vulnerable moment they have shared, and she is shaken by how much and how suddenly – does Lilith know – the vulnerability that runs here, let so violently, like blood from an old, forgotten wound ? Zelda is overcome with a desire to spare her; and thus she does not look her in the eye as she wishes to do. Instead, she tilts her own head, looking more thoroughly at the scene BELLOWING to be HEARD, SEEN, BELIEVED, before the both of them. She is trying to anchor herself, suddenly impregnated with the inescapable epiphany that this Mother of Demons beside her was once, simply, a being of the cosmos. A celestial creation of God, a woman, of no one’s rib but the dust, who lived in the Garden of Eden.
❛ What I’ve always found to be particularly … troubling … is the depiction of the snake, ❜ Zelda says at last, referring to the obviously sinister nature of the creature stained on the panel. ❛ It simply could not have been so obvious. Not nearly as impeding as you see here … as one might have imagined. Lucifer was clever – surely he wouldn’t have appeared to Eve like that ? As dark and deadly, smothering that forbidden tree, fangs protruding in wait ? ❜ How could the girl have been so foolish, so as to fall prey to that ?
Zelda suddenly is overcome with sorrow; she swallows, instead, and composes herself.
She finally meets Lilith’s eyes, and strangely, she is not afraid, for she finds nothing but lingering sadness there. Her question seems accusatory but the contact they share sings a different song; what were you like – what have you lost?
❛ The Catholics have such … ghastly imaginations. ❜
This is her final, offered judgment. She hopes it will suffice.
There’s a quiet chasm that echoes between them. Lilith’s words fall down them. Her clacking, precise heels sound, to her pricked ears, like the echoes of the words crumbling on the rocks at the bottom. She’s not very good with silence, for all her experience of it. Probably because of her experience with it.
Zelda stands there, cutting a figures shadow in the room’s light, dust glittering as it slowly drifted in the air about them. She stands there, in her porcelain exhaustion, in her delicate steadfastness. She turns wordlessly, that chasm roaring between them. Lilith exhales a small breath, tension and facade and quietness mingling. The events of the night feel aeons away; as far away as the laughable parade of sound and fury splayed all over the stained glass. Not for the first time, Lilith’s pale eyes wolfishly devour the woman before her. There is a sort of dense gravity around her; the din of power and a dignity that will constrict her own neck and correct her posture. How funny, in its own sick little way, that this Nexus point has them both collared to it. How much funnier still it is that her neck gets hot and tight around Zelda, how it feels like she has been pulled back to this woman and to this place for no threat, for no obligation. It is not in the nature of herself to comprehend what it is to be drawn to another without it being a clever performance, to serve with her mouth and to plot behind her eyes. THE CATHOLICS HAVE SUCH GHASTLY IMAGINATIONS. She deigns to give Zelda’s condescension to the False God’s sheep a stoic, croaking little laugh. Zelda is a curiously clever creature. Arrogant and proud and submissive and frightened all at once. Rather than point this out, Lilith instead engages. She’ll bite. ❛ Ghastly imagination is all it is, I assure you. ❜ And - do you like it when I assure you? No one has ever seemed to pay it much mind before. Flashes of mentoring Sabrina when she was younger, less scorched internally by the sunlight and gold of GLORY. Back then she had dispensed wisdom and suggestions like precious contraband. She had adored it. It is something she can never admit, and it adds to a million other soft inklings in her labyrinth heart, but she had relished the opportunity to have IMPACT. Lilith loved it with a viciousness. ❛ The Woman was already unhappy. ❜ She doesn’t talk about this usually. It is overplayed and hits a part of her heart that once hurt until she tore the muscle apart with vengeance so it would grow back stony. She only ever calls Eve ‘the woman’. The name sounds in her mouth like admission of vulnerability. Every part of her has been used against her at least once, so she, like a bruised dog, has learned to hide in plain sight. Pack herself away in a box in her own mind, and wear her basest functions like claws. ❛ Her sin and her salvation - her undoing and her creation - was her pessimism. She was created to be docile, to be the perfect upstanding woman of her Garden. And she did better than some at that purpose, I’ll grant her that. ❜ Her sardonic little joke is for Zelda’s benefit, a courtesy because she knows that her eyes keep drifting upward to the snake in the tree, to the wincing face of Eve and the disgusted face of Adam. There are copious reasons she does not dwell, but after today old habits call out to her. The same rage that forged her, made her a hardy survivalist with a bitter longing to live and belong has rendered her quiet and pensive now.
❛ Through it all she couldn’t shake the notion that something was not right. Adam, the Angels, and God gave her an answer as to what life and creation was. To what she ought be. ❜ Lilith’s eyes drag down from that worn out fairytale, and settle on the nape of Zelda’s back, where her pale gold hair ends in swirling strands and her breathing is soft and slow. ❛ The snake offered her an alternative; the opportunity to take that answer and, in her ready maw, bite it in half. ❜ For good measure, Lilith sighs and rolls her eyes. ❛ Yes, the Dark Lord usually appeared very charming at first. A serpent isn’t his style - nor is liberation. ❜ And Eve, that day, had been set free of someone else’s perfection. Was that not a kindness, in its own way?
Blue and black always make a strange, sinister case for life.
The light that shines through these hues is always murky; always of some underground significance. THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON. The emotions forbidden. But it’s quiet here, Zelda thinks, as she walks into the centrum, stops before the window. The moon shines through the enormous stained glass before her, the chamber of stone echoing with the faint, harrowing, twinkling reminiscence of total despair & abandonment. There is a scene within the glass – the naked pale man & woman stand, below a blue sky, in the Garden of Eden. A serpent wrapped around the tree to their left; its words absent but its presence foreboding and climactic. I will show you the truth. And the hand of the false God above, where Zelda’s focus is pulled, granting a faint, yellowed light before them all. Funnily enough, immediately below the all powerful hand is a crack in the glass; small but black, visible only in the contrast of dark blue and black lighting. Quiet, desolate, dark SILENCE – even if it is in a Catholic cathedral – is the best Zelda can hope for. She needs it. Desperately.
Sabrina is alive.
Thank the stars and the elements and the balance of the universe, Sabrina is alive.
P R A I S E L I L I T H, Sabrina is alive.
I’m not surprised you’ve come, is Zelda’s immediate thought, even though she is. The cold rush of air slithering over her neck, her arms, her legs is unmistakable; a silent, ethereal, yet feral indication: you are no longer alone. She knows how Lilith’s presence in a room feels. Zelda stiffens at the realization, but relents. She is tired.
Turning around slowly, she meets the eyes of the one who escaped the serpent. The night monster. Zelda softens, her fight has ebbed. And truly, she is nothing at this point but grateful for Lilith; she has no space for anything other than this.
For a long moment, Zelda does nothing but stare. Finally, she speaks, her head low, tilted toward the other.
❛ Thank you. For saving her. ❜ For not abandoning us. Zelda’s breath catches; she would throw everything to the earth for Sabrina and fight her very last fight, even against an entity like this. And yet, Lilith is still someone Zelda knows she should fear. Lilith is still one that makes Zelda inhale. Should you fear the one you respect – should you fear the one who has saved you? It is all she’s ever known … Lilith makes tradition tremble.
It's a cold church. An old, crumbling Catholic church. It reminds her of a whale carcass, high vaulted ceilings with blackened timbres holding out the moonlight. Nothing breathes here. Maybe that's what Zelda likes about this place - it offers comfort, structure, silence. Lilith never cared what churches offered before. Not truly. If apparitions are miraculous celebrations in Catholic lore, she thinks on what her apparition might be. Melancholic, perhaps. It’s not got the hot, boiling poison of blood and devil spawn that she can usually feel clawing at the inside of her mind. Something about her feels quietened, raw, humble. Something in her feels true. She’s of course dressed for melancholy, the black leather coat swallowing her, offering a minimal heat against this frozen earthly world. Her hair is perfect, her skin is pale, her eyes are sharp. She doesn’t look like the same terrifying deity that reached into the heart of a small girl - one truly so young that it boggled her mind - and set it alight with life and hellfire and power. Zelda is standing at the heart of the church, the blue light streaming down over her hair, dying it Prussian. She looks like she could drown in the stillness of her own mind, the yellow hands of the False God jutting over the dusty marbled floor. When Zelda turns, her high cheekbones create dark pockets underneath, her tired eyes weighted with that shadow and trauma. T H A N K Y O U . F O R S A V I N G H E R . Lilith doesn’t move. She does not so much as blink. It had happened before that she had appeared, and Zelda had snapped - asked where had she been, and why appear now? They are beyond all that, now. Zelda almost lost what she loves most, and she’s here to mourn something, to find a vessel to steady herself inside of, while the world rocks and roils beneath their feet. No one seeks out a Church unless they feel alone. Even Jonah, in the body of a blue whale, was not alone. Still. This church, this glass, all of this. It wasn’t good enough. Her alternative would be better, if she hadn’t skewered that faith with her harsh wars and cold, turned away gaze. What does absolution mean? What does it feel like to be clean? Because she knows what it feels like to be aberrant, she understands the dual sworded nature of being feared, but more recently she has had a lump in her throat that fills with a bulge as real as if it was grave dirt: I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I? Disappointing the Dark Lord could be titillating when he was unable to hurt her for it. Disappointing her church, the girl - it had felt unpleasant even devoid of consequences. Consequences for her anyway. Learning to nurture was heavy work for honest hands, and hers were slick with birthing blood and gore. Vocalising her worries would mean the words died their death in the coffin of her mouth. Enough of this.
❛ You’re welcome. ❜ Her syllables are sharp and slow, like a knife cutting through meat. It is a good start. She takes a step forward, her heels making the only sound in this empty chapel. Zelda is welcome. Welcome to her power and her Church and consideration. ❛ You may not be so quick to thank me once she settles into her newfound power. ❜ A joke, but a probing statement also; tell me indirectly - am I a scourge or a deity to you now? Tell me in half measures so I can preempt you if it hurts. It surprises that stony filter she wears like armour how deep-felt the care goes.
She stops at the very arched tip of the long-cast image of that perverse scene, etched in pretty glass. It reflected none of the flesh, none of the sand, none of the scales of the truth. A quiet and bloodless retelling. ❛ You like it ? ❜ Lilith asked, pale eyes leading to the pallid Eden. A small diversion, but she had a genuine curiosity too. This night felt deeper than any other, starry and long, like the entire sky was made of black glass with the images of Sabrina - her last creation - etched across it. If anyone spoke too loudly, the night itself would shatter. After the screaming, after the shock, after the death - there came shy, whispering life.
Abbas Kiarostami, from “A Wolf Lying in Wait; Poems,” published c. 2015
LIKE THIS POST FOR A STARTER FROM THIS CRANKY DEMONESS. LENGTH & PLOTTING MAY VARY.
klaus
THERE’S little else to think about in this moment, head between his thighs as he relaxes from his last release, body heaving as he does his best to listen to her. He can’t remember how long he had been living with her, months at this point, and his family still had no care. Of course his siblings worried and checked on him once in a while, daring to enter Ms. Wardwell’s residence when she wasn’t around - though he would be careful to keep interactions in her home quick - it stung knowing the rest would easily remain in a place of torment for him.
‘ What good is being different if I can’t even tell what I’m supposed to do with — WHATEVER this is. ’
her deep scarlet-painted talons tap - tap - tap at the base of his skull, just where the bone joins his spine. he is hers to the bones of him, and there’s a vicious want in her that isn’t done justice by the quietness that wells in a hideous glob in her maw. ❝ you’re not listening to me. ❞ she coldly intones. DON’T BE SAD . YOU’RE MINE AND I WANT NO PART OF ANY RUINATION OF YOU . she would see to his endurance : to his victory, bloody or bloodless, over that which hurt him. when it was that she stumbled, alone and dirty, in an endless stretch of desert she became a survivalist. there is an ache in her jaw from wanting to give that unkillable cruelty to soft little klaus. but that line of thinking is impossible. unachievable. her tongue lines the white edge of her teeth in a moment of thought-gathering.
❝ when all others leave, all that will ever stand to you is power. build it wisely, and the fall from the affection of others won’t hurt so badly. ❞ lilith narrows her eyes, lifting the boy’s head with a single pointed finger. she wants his gaze, his attention now. ❝ my dear boy - do you know the story of how the dark lord fell ? ❞
@scapegxate xoxo
zelda.
Zelda is a pious Witch. She has always been, and she always will be; she will be certain of THAT. She has survived and only just ( perhaps not THRIVED – but it is no one’s business but her own to observe as such ) as pious and devoted and up to the standards of only the Elite. For how else can someone such as she receive power, receive praise, receive love? Through piousness, through appreciation, through a cold and powerful devotion. And now that she is here, she will CERTAINLY be nothing less than devoted … nothing less than closest to the ONE AND CENTER of all power … nothing less than pious and powerful through.
As the daughter, as the most pious, as the devoted Witch, Zelda has always known not to disobey. She is not to try her deity’s patience, nor toy with the command of any god. And as Lilith’s chosen, familiar, fleshy form hovers closer, like a cobra made of smoke despite it all, teases her lips just inches from Zelda’s own . . . Zelda is inclined immediately to take her turn and nothing more. The chill coursing through her does poke and coerce, however, a curious hissy whisper: play with her, tease her in return – return with a clever twist of rules – this one wants it.
Zelda, unblinking, never letting her eyes stray from Lilith’s own, never LEAVING the command of their deep and MURDEROUS hunt, leans forward. She encases the end of what HAD been her cigarette, now her queen’s, with painted red lips. They do not touch Lilith’s, as this had not commanded of her. Instead, she lets her eyes fall, toward the floor in a quiet respect … she DRINKS the smoke . . . takes a long drag of the wispy cigarette … and brings them back, slowly, staring, unthreateningly albeit hungrily, within Lilith’s own gaze. I am less satiated than before my inhale, Zelda is screaming. Please, my Lady – give me what I need, whatever it may be.
Zelda has, so far, not gone astray from the rules; certain that piousness and command are the way to earning Lilith’s own devotion. But IS SHE CERTAIN? Yet … she lets go of her exhale, before commanded . . . lips parting, a phantom of smoke escaping from between them, and flowing toward the others’ mouth in a fast razor wind. She holds herself there. She has taken her turn, and now it is Lilith’s to command.
❛ I should certainly hope not. ❜ See me, for I am not a waste of your time, I AM your time, I am WORTHY of it all, dear Lilith – I am Zelda Spellman – see me for who I can offer you – please, please, please, show me I have earned this.
❛ I rarely make mistakes. ❜ Now that is a feral lie with an ugly blood all of its own, coursing through her. But it doesn’t matter : when one has lived as long as she has, mistakes are merely a sordid course at a never-ending banquet. She’d not waste her time now - not make that mistake. Her smoldering gaze hones as Zelda lowers her pale face and burgundy lips to the cream card lining of the cigarette. Her head perks sidelong as she examines the gilt cigarette - holder. How pretty a picture. Shale-coloured smoke, almost purple in hue, plumes into the night air, and Lilith can see the hammering pulse in Zelda’s soft neck. The air of the place has shifted - where before there was something wry, now there lies a hunger, cruel as a starved dog. How, she marveled, could one irate and grumpy little witch be so delightfully amusing? Oh, such a serious thing - if she is playing, she does so with wonderful duty. Their hips are rested against each other, and a lust as dark as red wine rolls through her. The little witch yearns so desperately to be good, to have a nasty clawed creature say : that is enough, well done, what a precious thing you are. She doesn’t know if she wants to. Or, rather - she acknowledges that she dearly wants to nip the skin on Zelda’s neck, just where she can see the pulse, and suck until a nasty purple bruise rises. That is true enough. Whether she wants to reveal she wants that is another issue. Perhaps a little test of endurance, then. Something crueler than a reward, and rewarding in its cruelty. She settles her hip bones more squarely against Zelda, puts her other hand to the soft small of her back, holding her in place, to the spot. ❛ How devout you are, Zelda. I hear whispers in the prayers of the church about what a good job you do. How pious you are. Is that right? ❜ The last sentence is high, clear, and softer than the rest of her language. Her theory, as compounded earlier, is that the High Priestess - gruff as she can be - longs dearly after affirmation. Lilith twists the cigarette and inhales sharply, a small sizzle burning between them. Her gaze is endless and unwavering, the difference between them being that Zelda had to lower herself to smoke. Lilith does it archly and upright. She raises her chin. ❛ Or are you going to say that I’m drunk again? ❜ The smirk on her face defrosts, if only for a moment, and she exhales as she speaks, her words tumbling out misty and burnt. It is not her intent to offer the cigarette to Zelda again, her eyes still boring into the view of the other. In truth, her hesitation is simply that : it is not a trial, nor is it a test, though that is how she would like to dress it as. It is hesitation. She is unsure of what she would like, what Zelda would like. Pale eyes narrow, and she brings her scarlet lips, screwed tight and contemplatively close to Zelda’s face. Her hand at the small of Zelda’s back ushers her closer in a jolt, designed to unsettle, to intimidate - to the point of pleasure, at least. It’s perhaps unfair to draw this out, to ponder while moving closer to a conlusion. But, in her defense, Zelda’s elongated suffering is a handsome thing in itself.
@kerflooey summoned a starter.
❝ now, now, aziraphale. let’s not make a big deal of this. ❞ here lilith is, mother of demons, falls of woman, etc, etc, and here he is. book-keeper. shop-mouse. angel-peon. its the HEIGHT of indignity to be here, and her crisp icy smile betrays merely an ounce of the terseness she feels : it is diluted in her growling urge to hunt. she keeps that urge leashed for now. for now.
❝ i’m here for a book. ❞ there’s a book already open, parted like a fair child’s haircut at sunday mass, and her long, scarlet nail drags down the center of it. it’s old enough - if not what she’s looking for - and she drops it. a small, fake gasp is wrenched from her sordid lungs. ❝ oops. ❞
@ciaosucker summoned a starter.
❝ what have you done to your hair ? ❞ her nose crinkles in disapproval, a tendon of her neck popping as she swivels her head. the sharp needle-pricks of her eyes are all that betray her identity : LILITH , MOTHER OF DEMONS , DISAPPROVER OF HAIRCUTS .
@crawlytm summoned a starter.
❝ crowley . ❞ she is waiting for him in his apartment. many would consider this violation enough. in her hand she holds a small, quivering plant. interestingly, it only begins to shake ( to shake like a leaf one might say ) when he enters. while he stands before her as she lounges in his chair, she picks a budding green crest of plant and prunes it sharply with her red-painted claw-like nails. IF HE WEREN’T RIGHT THERE, SHE’D HAVE EATEN IT.
❝ i’m . . . checking in on you. ❞ it is meant to sound "caring". it sounds only like a threat.