[volchyas]

can someone pls be my marya morevna. my beautiful russian tsaritsa in the snow carrying a rifle.

[volchyas]

stlucy asked: ❛ i died that day. ❜

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇  𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍  𝐉𝐀𝐖,   full   tone;  shear   chin   𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐍   in   the   𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐍.   stout   sonorous   lips   protrude   round   and   full,   the   comrades   aura   is   pedant;   sheer   will   to   not   be   denied.   𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧   𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭   𝐡𝐢𝐦.   night   sheaths   him   as   its   weapon   in   hilt.  the   dames   words   attain   his   awry   gaze,   eyen   perforate   her   𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘   but   whole   as   if   to   consume   her   as  most   ravenous   creatures   would.   ❝   was   it   by   my   hand   or   your   own   ?   𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫   𝐟𝐚𝐰𝐧,   beautiful   olen,   out   in   the   woods   around   vespertine.   many   filth   ridden   hands   wish   to   defile   such   tsvetok.  many   teeth   that   wound   languid   necks   to   taste   your   𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲   𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐨𝐫.   did   you   design   such   fate   for   yourself   lusya   ?   did   you   drink   poison   before   your   maker   plucked   you   ?   you,   would   only   die   if   it   meant   all   menaces   went   with   you.                and  i,  i  live.     ❞                                                        

@stlucy​

[volchyas]

gothamcartel asked: ❛ i don’t feel safe with you. ❜

𝐀   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓   𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆,   ensnared   in   most   rapt   pressure   cooker,   vice   duress   welling   𝐑𝐄𝐃   𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖.   arm   -   twisting,   sternum   -   twisting.   screw   talons   bore   as   its   held.   the   dame   notched   up   her   noose;   far   enough   past   his   rib   cage   and   tore   his   heart   out   in   tatters   with   the   mere   marble   of   her   words.   blood-oiled   organs   robbed,   infiltrated;   feast   upon   𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋   𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓.   in   his   clutch   is   her   snake-hips.   he   clings   to   her   curves   with   the   same   sinners   𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎   of   rosary   beads   at   the   gates   of   hell.   a   knot   jams   itself   in   his   hoarse   gullet,   agony   prospers   radial   roots.  ❝   𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒   𝐂𝐀𝐍   𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘   𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑   the   odorous   whelming   drafts   of   rot   for   so   long.   full   belly   full   of   vodka,   lavish   fine   dining;   that   might   as   well   be   fed   your   own   blood.   you   ғᴇᴀsᴛ   on   me,   prey   on   my   weaknesses.   bestow   hope   in   the   hungry   wolf   so   he   is   yours   to   keep.   in   binds,   loyal;   sʜᴜᴅᴅᴇʀ   at   his   touch   when   the   𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓   draws   near.   i   only   wished   for   you   to   𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄   me   in,   be   the   air   to   your   lungs.   creeping   in,   as   that   essential   and   that   unnoticed. 

❞                 @gothamcartel​

                                   ❝  ᴡʜʏ   ᴅᴏ   ʏᴏᴜ   ғᴇᴀʀ   ᴍᴇ,   ᴅᴇᴛᴋᴀ   ?  ❞

[bitebxck-a]

angst memes | part 1.

 ( send me a line and my muse will react to your muse’s painful words. )

❛ I just want you to need me. ❜

❛ What were they like? ❜

❛ Just think of me and pull yourself back to creation. ❜

❛ They were right about you… ❜

❛ I let myself be vulnerable to you. ❜

❛ I didn’t want to go home tonight. ❜

❛ Who’s the first face that comes to mind when you get sad? ❜

❛ God never came. ❜

❛ You make me feel so scared… ❜

❛ With you, I withered… ❜

❛ You couldn’t even keep your promise. ❜

❛ It’s funny how the smallest lie might live a million times. ❜

❛ For many moons I tried to forget about what you did, but my body won’t let me forgive you. ❜

❛ I never saw you the same way. ❜

❛ We could’ve been a lot of things. ❜

❛ You were good. ❜

❛ It’s hard for me to feel something for you. ❜

❛ I don’t want to remember you. ❜

❛ You were the first person to ever break my heart. I just want you to remember that. ❜

❛ I don’t feel safe with you. ❜

❛ Loving you is just too fucking much… ❜

❛ I can’t do this anymore. ❜

❛ You’ve awoken all of my demons. ❜

❛ I wouldn’t wish this ache on anyone. ❜

❛ I know they don’t love me… ❜

❛ I know you don’t love me… ❜

❛ I just wanted to say goodbye. ❜

❛ You might not see me again. ❜

❛ I hope that if we meet in the next life, our fate won’t be as cruel. ❜

❛ After all of that, why would I want to stay here? ❜

❛ I feel misplaced. ❜

❛ I made the mistake of thinking we could fix each other. ❜

❛ You lied. ❜

❛ I want you out of my fucking head! ❜

❛ You put the fear of God in me… ❜

❛ The blood won’t go away, no matter how hard I scrub. ❜

❛ I blamed myself often for the terrible things you did. ❜

❛ It’s hard to look you in the eyes… ❜

❛ We’re disgusting; we’re absolutely fucked. ❜

❛ I see the death of many men when I look at you. ❜

❛ You died that day. ❜

❛ I died that day. ❜

❛ Your wounds opened up again… ❜

❛ Your insecurity is showing. ❜

❛ Why do you flinch every time I raise my hand…? ❜

❛ I made this mistake of thinking you were home. ❜

❛ Lovers don’t do that to each other… Why the fuck did you do that to me?! ❜

❛ You are the source of my scars. ❜

[questdesign]

[nineteenfiftysix]

Visit Original Link

[volchyas]

@clownin asked: "𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞."

❝   you    don't    know    your    own   ｉｎｓｉｇｎｉｆｉｃａｎｃｅ.    a    person,    a    body,    all    an    empty    vessel;    a    forge    that    weeps    soot    whenever    mired    in    rain.    ｗａｒｍ-ｂｌｏｏｄ    endlessly    hounds    for    the    tongues    of    a    mere    flame,    sought    after    what    it    is    to    survive    and    not    crone    with    the    noble   tire;    not    adhere    to    morals    that    split    and    cede   fruitless   ｓｕｒｍｉｓｅ.   we   rather   hunt   the   staggering   peril   to    ｑｕａｒｒｙ   with   danger.    what    would    proceed    if    we    were    but    children    that    did    not    burn,    strive    for    our    purest    form;    all    ash,    all    smoke    and    no    substance.    we    would    only    become    what    our    fates    already    linger    in    the    wake    of    any    fire,    any    veins    of    vitality.    ❞

❝    we    must    find    what    ｐｅｒｉｓｈｅｓ    us    to    ash    to    masticate    on    its    feast.    you    and    i,    adam    and    eve,    the    dance    of    devilry.    dare    to    not    pact    with    what    binds    us    to    a    meaningless    existence    but    we    tempt    to    infiltrate    its    cause    to    defy    it.    this    relentless    pursuit    is    like    a    beacon    of    ＷＡＲＭＴＨ    borne   into    marrow    that    bleeds    out    onto    the    marshes,    our    touch    ;    you    and    i,    devitsa    arklekin,    lips    of    painted    ｒｅｄ    ＭＩＲＴＨ.    is    it    wildfire    ?    let's   not   be   people.    ❞

[volchyas]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐀.

𝐒𝐇𝐄   𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒   𝐈𝐍   𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃   𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒   𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒   𝐎𝐔𝐓   𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐃,   eyes   flutter   to   a   heavy   close   and   deeply,   she   respires   a   breath   -   one   that   could   spark   a   flame   underneath   her   nethermost   crave.   this   scent   :   one   of   winter   nights   and   frigid   cold,   made   home   in   her   tepid   throat   as   the   tasteless   pleasure   of   ice   and   biting   frost   came   with   every   breath   he   breathed;   a   pain   sent   up   the   length   of   her   spine   more   chilling   than   the   raging   fires   of   hell.   If   she   were   to   die,   it   would   gladly   be   by   his   welcomed   winter   hands   or   deathlike   embrace.   for   hellfire   could   never   make   her   suffer   as   the   rawness   of   life’s   grip.        𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖   𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋    ,         where   as   fire   would   run   its   course   and   turn   her   to   ash.   No,   no.   he   had   the   ability   to   freeze   her   in   time.   turn   her   into   that   crystalline   stone   and   fossilize   her   bones   into   the   palm   of   his   hand.   to   kiss   parts   of   her   no   one   else   would   ever   dare   to   reach.   to   see   her   beneath   the   flesh   just   as   she   ached   to   see   him.   In   all   his   cruelties   and   monstrous   ways   ——        𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈   𝚁𝙴𝙶𝚁𝙴𝚃   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙾𝚄𝚃   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚆         that   day.   maybe   then   it   would   be   him   begging   and   not   her.   she   would   surely   be   his   forever,   forever,   forever.

perhaps   he   would   writhe   before   her   and   become   weak   kneed.   perhaps   he   would   suffice   and   decline   the   fires   of   hell   to   be   consumed   by   the   cold   of   her   breath.   to   welcome   death   by   her   frozen   touch   and   consider   a   lifelong   devotion   of   unrequited   love   ——   TO   KNOW   WHAT   IT’S   LIKE   TO   GIVE   YOURSELF   UP   TO   SOMEONE   AND   CRAVE   THEIR   HANDS   ON   YOUR   THROAT   more   than   vodka   in   your   lungs   or   meat   in   your   stomach.   poor ,   poor   koschei.   if   only   the   volchitsa   could   have   looked   outside   her   window.

but   it   was   poor ,   poor ,   maroushka   -   oh   masha;   what   have   you   become ?   now   she   was   cursed   and   love   consumed   what   was   left   of   her   humanity.   𝚜𝚑𝚎   𝚠𝚊𝚜   𝚑𝚒𝚜   𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎   -          (                𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝   𝚏𝚘𝚛   𝚑𝚒𝚖.  𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍   𝚏𝚘𝚛   𝚑𝚒𝚖.                 )

“   death   is   not   my   weakness.   LOVE   IS.   my   heart   is   the   direct   path   to   my   death   and   so   freely   i   am   wearing   it   on   my   arm;   pulsating   and   bleeding   -   ONLY   FOR   YOU.   it’s   fragile   gore   and   triumph.   it’s   morbid   beauty   laid   out   FOR   YOUR   EYES   ALONE   to   feast   upon.   if   you   look   closely;   your   name   is   carved,   muzh ,   my   tsar.   deathless   or   not   -   𝐹𝑂𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅   𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑇𝐻   and   guised   delicacy.   there   is   nothing   the   zhatka   could   take   from   me   that   you   haven’t   already   claimed.   tscha!   I’d   love   to   see   him   try.   “   

suspire   depths   sip   on   ache   and   rivet   torturous   binds,   insufferable   stun,   spinning   in   lacework   webs   curveting  vile   ＭＡＬＩＳＯＮ  of  eluded  lovers.   she   is   the   bloom   upon   any   forbidden   fruit,   declare   of   wane   to   maws   that   ＳＬＡＶＥＲ.   the   murderess   who   collects   vials   of   metallic   molten-black   cherry   dulce,  meticulously    dwelling   in   her   stygian   crypt  bosom;   thick   confiture   ejected   as   crimson   from   her   consorts   veins.  a   locked  up  blood-diamond.   the   souse   of   deathly   slain   rightfully   splattered   on   her   argent-pearl   sword.

ＬＹＵＢＯＶＮＩＫＩ   Ｖ   ＮＯＣＨＩ,   (   lovers   born   to   the   night   )   relish   on   the   perish   of   their   citadels   as   they   lurk   in   the   ruins   of   rome.   their   woven    hands   together    spawn    the   act   of   gods  stocked  rivalry.    he    draws    in   ＧＲＥＡＴ   ＨＯＲＮＥＤ    owls   calling   amid   marish   awning,    their   dawn   weary   glare    unsettling    to    the   nerves.    the   vulture    within    him   sweeping    above    her,    pecking    at    her    rot    beneath    his    touch   warming    death    up    for    feat.   his   gaze    is   a   feral    dog    aroused   from    sudden    slumber    growling   at   a    front   door.    greedy,   starved,   always    wanting    more.   ❝   ＮＯＴ   ＹＯＵＲ   ＡＲＭ,   ＢＵＴ   ＹＯＵＲ   ＲＥＤ   ＳＣＡＲＦ,   so   easily   slapped,   yanked,   pulled   and   snatched.   the  one   thing   you   refuse   to   share   and   you   were   left   scarfless.   your   red   that   gobbled   attention   up   in   a   grey   begrudging   house   of   lament,  the   red   that   made   you   belong.   your   solemn   belief   in   the   gobbling  birds   that   left   you   on   your   knees   to   weep   as   vicious   hearts   of   girls   that   belonged   to   the   people   mock   you.  ❞

   ❝   there   is   so   much   to   take.  ❞    a   mirthless   scythe   to   his   lips   curves   the   sins   of   a   thousand   flaying   demons.   foreboding,  drear  a   vehement   sullen   storm,   the   volchya   does   not   show   his   ＡＮＩＭＡＬＩＳＴＩＣ   coat  of   long-eared   whet   with   great   grey   spots,   instead   it   is   enveloped   in   the   mantle   of   a   cloak   and   other    gentleman   attire   beneath.   ＪＩＴＴＥＲ   to   his   tone   undercuts   her,   claws   branding   the   skin   beneath   his   throat.   torso   careens,   leaning   into   her   ear   to   whisper,   swarthy   warmth   of   hands   moving   around   her   hip   bones.     ❝   Ｉ    ＨＯＰＥ   ＷＩＴＨ   ＲＥＬＵＣＴＡＮＣＥ,   a   cold-feet   shiver,   as   in   the   beginning   when   eve   discovered   modesty   and   slipped   in   and   out   of   comfort  as  she  gave  her  silk  dress  to  the  floor.   for   there   are   many   ways   to   skin   a   cat,   but   ours   is   shedding  human   nature.   have   every   preacher   dwell.  awake   the   volchitsa   that   howls   and   brands   your   skin   with   claw   marks   from   beneath.   let   me   ransack   your   rib-cage,   Ｌ'ＶＩＴＳＡ.  swarm   into   your   core   where   it  is   warm   like   the   hawk   that   dives   in   lenin.  ❞         

[volchyas]

dread    and    insipid    drear    weeps    in    red;    mortifies    the    living    palate    with    bitter    metallic    taste.    tears    soak    into    parched    dirt    burrowing    an    ＵＮＳＥＴＴＬＩＮＧ    cruor    amongst    mire.    the    art    of    war,    the    art    of    destruction.    death    swarms,    swelling    weals    of    louring    grey    clouds    and    watches    the    agony    glide    over    the    dead    alike    soaring    birds    overhead.    ＷＩＮＥ-ＲＥＤ    ichor    soaks    in    the    fields    until    greenery    is    no    longer    burgeoun    but    a    wasteland    of    wading    marshes,    sinking    living    officers    combat    boots    as    they    ＬＵＭＢＥＲ    until    tall    nettles    cover    up    as    they    have    done    during    many    springs    before.    as    any    bloom    upon    a    flower;    the    dust    on    the    nettles    is    never    lost    except    to    prove    the    sweetness    of    a    warm    shower.    the    gift    of    ＲＥＢＩＲＴＨ    bestow    to    the    churchyards,    paper    hands    call    from    the    earth    below.    its    mouth    stomped    on    with    bramble,    thorn,    and    briar.    its    a    long    tensile    hour    to    await    death    and    her    black    mantle,    scouring    floors    with    her    ＲＥＡＰＩＮＧ    mark    to    recite    and    let    the    agony    pass    through    her    once    more    to    the    other    side.    ration    weighing    over    her    shoulder    she    could    only    guffaw    for    the    ＳＴＩＬＬ-ＰＵＬＳＩＮＧ,    crimson-oiled    organs    in    the    two    tsars    of    discord    slavering    for    dominance    like    wild    ＶＵＬＴＵＲＥＳ.    vicious    yet    beautiful    quarry    as    they    circle    one    another    with    taunt    aiming    for    fruition.    ＭＩＮＤＬＥＳＳ    and    foolish    to    not    know    their    own    end,    their    own    downfall    of    fruitless    tumble. the    tsar    is    ＳＨＩＥＬＤＥＤ    in    the    blood    of    combat,    spots    staining    his    porcelain    skin;    he    looks    as    most    feral    wolves    do    during    hunt,    splatters    all-consuming    enough    to    not    have    complexion    in    sight.    eyen    glimmer    of    life    beneath    the    sweat,    grime    and          ＣＡＲＮＡＧＥ    only    he    looks    as    if    devilry    still    dances    in    his    light.    branches    crack    behind    him    as    the    zhnets    dush    presence    is    announced    and    he    turns    to    face    her.     ❝    privet,    zhatka.   i    thought    you    would    never    come    and    these    souls    would    rest    for    eternity    in    mud.    i    am    curious,    amuse    my   immortal   attention   span.    what    is    it    like    to    have    such    power    to    devour    life    by    your    hand    ?    bozhe    ty    moy,    what    power.    i    could    only    dream    of    such    endless    expertise    of    not    needing    armed    forces    and    putting    war    to    rest.    do    you    care    for    such    dominance    ?    it    makes    me    wonder.    a    woman    who    reaps,    as    beautiful    as    you    are.    you    could    make    a    million    men    fall    at    your    feet.    our    maddness    is    yours    to    drink    up.    ❞             @lamorts​

[volchyas]

recce    rifle    for    eyen    hunts    seeking    exquisite    beauty    in    keen    desirous    crosshair.    aims,    engorges    at    the    enchantress,    hungrily    and    whole.    her    lips    the    shade    of    cleanly    sheared    roses    ＳＣＯＲＮＩＮＧ    her    wilt    at    the    edges;    endlessly    bleeding    red.    she    does    not    allow    her    fate    to    deny    her;    her    death    to    encompass    her    striking    youth.    heeding    her    is    cast,    cloaked    in    flanking    willows,    ＴＨＵＭＰＩＮＧ    the    most    dire    darkest    of    spells.    enshround    in    the    most    sunless    vicinity.    a    universe    littered    with    stars    and    yet    present    with    the    black;    the    void    that    presides    it.    webbing    her    in    his    gaze    derives    a    sense    of    likeness    at    marrow    core.    he    is    deathless    as    she    wishes    to    be,    only    she    can    see    her    untimely    demise    no    matter    how    much    blood    of    others    she    spills    and    conjures    from    dark    arts.    the    secrets    whisper    to    her,    seeping    in    temporal    lobes    as    they    are    the    walls    that    encase    her.    ＷＥ    ＡＬＬ    ＨＡＶＥ    ＡＮ    ＥＮＤ. all    flesh    to    the    murderess    is    made    for    a    slow,    ongoing    and    eventual    ＲＯＴ.    few    could    claim    immunity,    but    such    a    recital    was    in    his    clutch    exempt    from    death’s    mark    and    touch.    for    this,    adam’s    death,    incorporeal,    flowerbed    consumption    by    the    dirt,    was    something    ＰＲＥＣＩＯＵＳ,    and    as    with    all    uncommon,    precious   entities,    zenya    yearns    for    it.    to    pinch,    to    rob    it    like    a    limping    heart,    a    locked    up    crimson-ruby.    steal    the    death    she    fears    even    in    the    most    unlikely    adversary. slight,    petty    robbery    was    not    in    her    character,    she    swore    long    ago    to    take    a    man’s    last    dying    gasping    respire    or    nothing    at    all.    adam    would    be    no    different,    as    would    koschei    be    no    different    and    she    would    find    his    death.    her    enigmatic    pull    felt    no    different    from    being    chained    to    her,    their    meeting    merely    a    few    steps    off    of    being      ＥＴＥＲＮＡＬ;    an    endless    quarry    of    them    circling    one    another    until    the    other              ＷＩＴＨＥＲＳ.    ❝    privet,    zenya,    ❞    slender    form    that    looms    bows    before    her,    stretches    to    scaling    height    as    he    hands    her    a    glass    of    the    finest    wine.     ❝    ＰＡＲＣＨＥＤ    ?    i    must    say,    i    could    not    keep    my    eyes    off    you    at    the    feast    gathering.    i    am    koschei    bessmertniy.    the    tsar    of    life.    i    have    heard    only    the    most    marvellous    prate.    tell    me,    what    does    such    a    ＦＡＢＬＥＤ    ＶＥＤＭＡ    with    a    mortal    fate    as    such    as    yourself    do    with    such    recital    ?    does    it    make    you    swell    to    know    your    legend    soars    while    you    turn    in    your    grave    ?    ❞      @bloodattar​

[volchyas]

❝    is    it    rapture,    that    you    set    your    heart    on    fire    for    ?    is    it    capture    that    you    sought    ?    argo's    hellsih    drug    den,    pins    and    pricks,    lock    on    the    trailer,    bones    looking    to    slide    between    your    captors    teeth    ?    fooling    with    arson,    little    ＶＥＤＭＡ.    little    witch;    daughter    of    gods    ＭＩＳＧＵＩＤＥＤ,    gasoline    is   in    your    tank    and    you're    tipping    over.    displaying    your    powers    for    mirth    at    parties    and    reducing    people    to    ash    like    buildings.    you're    not    yet    dead,    can't    starve    you;    you're    unfed.    little    girl,    cry    wolf,    how    long    until    you're    choking    on    your    victims    blood    ?    you    should    leave    the    hunger    for    vultures.    even    so    you    look    pretty    when    you    ＮＥＥＤ    there   will    be    monsters    that    look    nicer    when    they    ＦＥＥＤ.    ❞                     @pistollips​

[volchyas]

starter    call   !   it'll   be   something   horror-esque   and   based   on   my  edgy   music   playlist   for   writing.

[volchyas]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐀.

𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐘     𝐈𝐒     𝐇𝐄𝐑     𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓     𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃     𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖     and     innocent     tampered     mind     is     not     aware     of     the     sacred     deal     signed,     it’s     entrails     being     more     of     a     macabre     doom     between     two     unbeknownst     fools     catering     to     the     dreadful     lust     and     selfish     desires     of     lovers     not     yet     tasted,     the     calm     before     the     storm;          two,     both     death     and     life     of     one     another     -     fated     or     naught,     were     here     in     this     moment     and     now     bound     as     one.     evidently,     such     as     the     way     her     figure     contorted     to     melt     into     his     own.     how     she     so     easily     felt     the     deceitful     warmth     of     his     lingering     touch     intoxicate     her     beyond     fathomable     depth.     everything     in     her     screamed     to     flee     but     morbid     hearts     love     to     torture     and     self     mutilation     was     a     newfound     indulgence,     keeping     her     feet     grounded     and     stuck     to     him     with     wild     abandon.     this     was     now     her     home,     NO     MORE     A     LONG     THIN     HOUSE     GOROKHOVAYA     STREET     but     instead     enveloped     by     the     firm,     death     grip     that     koschei     the     deathless     held     upon     she     -     wolf     marya     morevna.     the     abyss     of     his     eyes     and     hunger     of     his     touch.     endless     space     for     her     to     freely     walk     ,     run     and     live.

hands     tremble     as     she     lifts     a     heavy     pair     from     their     wandering     exploration,     a     chill     encasing     the     length     of     her     spine     and     foolishly     places     them     upon     the     curve     of     her     throat,     a     pulse     thumping     with     thrill     and     terror     and     rush     all     the     same     could     be     seen     through     pale,     olive     toned     skin     —–     blue     veins     webbing     from     every     direction     to     show     just     how     much     alive     she     truly     had     been.

“         strangle     me.     take     my     breath     and     inhale     it     as     your     own     ,     kiss     life     into     me     again     and     again.         OH  ,     KOSTYA         wouldn’t     it     be     so     easy     to     steal     not     only     my     love     but     my     life     as     well?     𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭     𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭     𝐛𝐞     𝐭𝐡𝐞     𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭     𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐲     𝐨𝐟     𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦     𝐚𝐥𝐥 ?     take     my     death.     make     me     deathless     :     like     you,     and     in     turn,     give     me     yours.     tell     me     koschei,     tell     me     where     your     death     is.     give     me     your     thousand     year     suffering …       ”

two    ticks    on    a    pocket   watch    fobbed    to    waistcoat,    litheness    of   feminine    nape    supple    within    his    warm    clutch;    talons    twice    as    keen    as    nails    screwing    into    her    ＭＡＲＲＯＷ.    this    sensation    pours    into    him    like    a    river    during    a    ＳＴＯＲＭ    and    she    is    the    only    one    to    herd    him    home.    he    now    wishes    the    hand    of    god    relieved    him    of    this    bewail    that    could    hoarse    from    his    red    lane    for    he    would    suffer    worse    fate    if    he    were    to    suffocate    the    woman    that    he    may    lose    to    ＧＬＯＲＹ,    turn    up    at    the    stars    and    perish    before    his    very    eyes.    this    ache    did    not    sing    violins;    touch       and    the    like    for    he    is    a    desperate    love;    always    needing    and    born    to    nights    endless    mark    for    a    conscious    end.    this    ache    soars    into    him,    flaws    the    deathless    as    this    dove    with    an    ephemeral    pinion    of    pluming    feathers    would    crash    into    him    respiring    or    gasping. 

   ❝    the    colour    of    my    dreams,    if    i    had    dreams,    they    would    be    you,    masha.    bathing    in    crimson    rubies,    coruscate    rivulets    of    your   ＳＡＣＣＨＡＲＩＮＥ    blood    until    we    are    mired    in    the    crud    and    dross,    our    feet    sinking    in    the    paint    of    our    vile    ruin;    all    grume    and    all    gore    in    the    aftermath    of    our    ransacked    rib    cages.    hearts    in    hands,    our    scars    mark.    our    love    lay    waste.   ❞    he    leans    ever    closer,    arches    a    bow    into    her;    his    scent    wafts    in    swamping    drafts.    drops    of    his    ＰＵＴＲＥＦＹＩＮＧ    ego    fall    over    her    and    his    head    lowers    in    defeat.   ❝    cruelty    you    seek,    you    cry    for.    it    will    track    your    scent       as    well    as    volk    might    at    supper.    sweet    and    bitter;    sound    and    taste.    a    trophy,    just    like    a    muscle   that    atrophies    from    the    lack    of    use;    the    greatest    pleasure    you    could    assuage    me    would    be    your    life    in    my    grasp    as    i    cause    you    to    stop    foreseeing    your    death.    the    cure    to    this    sickness,    rising    like    bile,    Ｉ    ＷＩＬＬ    ＰＬＡＣＥ    ＹＯＵ    ＩＮ    ＦＡＬＳＥ    ＨＯＰＥ.    ❞

   ❝   if    i    could,    i    would    cover    the    traces    and    the    faces    of    lovers    lost.    of    wives    tales    that    left    me    with    a heart    that    ＤＥＣＡＹＥＤ    foul,    rotten    and    black    over    time;    like    a    child    without    nurture    that    turns    sour    as    their    toothless    appetite    for    sweetness    aches    within    them.    finding    my    death    means    you    will    be    just    as    touched    by    it.    for    if    i    ＤＥＶＯＵＲ    your    death    to    be    like    mine,    i    ＤＥＶＯＵＲ    your    weakness    too.    is    that    what    you    wish    ?    the    man    who    knows    where    your    death    is    to    find    you    with    your    prince.    i    can    tell    him    our    secret,    or    i    can    make    him    keep    it.    you    know    i    will    not    part    the    dark    i    was    born    in,    and    i    will    not    part    from    you.   my   wife.   ❞

[volchyas]

❝  oh,   i   will   be   cruel   to   you,   marya   morevna.   it   will   stop   your   breath,   how   cruel   i   can   be.   but   you   understand,   don’t   you?   you   are   clever   enough.   i   am   a   demanding   creature.   i   am   selfish   and   cruel   and   extremely   unreasonable.   but   i   am   your   servant.   when   you   starve   i   will   feed   you;   when   you   are   sick   i   will   tend   you.   i   crawl   at   your   feet;   for   before   your   love,   your   kisses,   i   am   debased.   for   you   alone   i   will   be   weak.  ❞

[emmaruthrundle-marriages]

[volchyas]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐀.

𝐓𝐇𝐄     𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇     𝐎𝐅     𝐇𝐄𝐑     𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐒     𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃     𝐓𝐎     𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓     𝐈𝐍     𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒     and     suddenly,     she     did     not     mind     being     solely     his     prey     of     choice     —–     breathing     in     saccharine     laced     words     and     letting     them     seep     down     her     throat     and     into     her     lungs     like     congealed     honey,     coating     her     mouth     into     a     rapid     enslavement.     a     fresh     addiction     swelled     within     the     womb     of     her     life     as     beating     heart     thumped     against     boned     cage     ribs.     that     is     where     HER     DEATH     was.     nestled     inside     the     depth     of     her     chest     and     eager     to     be     ripped     clean     from        curious     flesh     and     into     the     frozen     palm     of     he.     more     she     wanted     and     more     she     would     get.     𝑆𝐻𝐸     𝑊𝑂𝑈𝐿𝐷     𝑁𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅     𝐵𝐸     𝐷𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐸𝐷,     for     it     was    𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞     𝐭𝐨     𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞     𝐚     𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲     𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟.    

needle     tipped     bumps     are     formed    upon    ＲＡＶＥＮＯＵＳ     ＳＫＩＮ     ,     each     tiny     hair     risen     and     she     falls     prisoner     to     him,     then     and     there     -     𝑻𝑯𝑬     𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑵     ,     the     𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳     —-     she     should     hate     him     and     run     away,     never     turn     around     to     face     the     man     who     robbed     her     heart,     her     death     ….     so     easily.     yet     marya     morevna     did     just     as     she     shouldn’t     and     turned.     turned     until     her     body     adhered     against     his     entirety     and     felt     how     perfectly     this     𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗    was     molded     specifically     for     she     and     her,     him.

“     𝐃𝐎     𝐍𝐎𝐓     𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄     𝐌𝐄     ,     koschei     -     and     I     will     not     stray.     everywhere     and     anywhere     I     will     run.     until     my     legs     turn     to     bone     and     even     then,     I     will     push     on     more     fierce     than     ever.     Ｉ     ＷＩＬＬ     ＢＥ     ＹＯＵＲＳ .     consume     me     and     my     death.     BUT     I     WARN     YOU     AGAIN     ,     𝐦𝐨𝐲𝐚     𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐤     ,     𝐦𝐨𝐲𝐚     𝐳𝐡𝐢𝐳𝐧     -     do     not     starve     me     for     I     am     a     hungry     woman.     hungry     for     love.     hungry     for      freedom     “

ice    tongue    of    iridescent    shards,    fog    wells    and    swells    midst    their    bodies    ＷＨＥＬＭＩＮＧ     in    welts    to    bruise    lungs    with    frost    revering    his    breath    until    bent,    until    tire.    this    winter    burn,    this    cold    peak    aches    between    the    oscillating    spine    of    serpents,    winding    the    frame    of    grass    that    bore     ＵＮＦＥＥＬＩＮＧ    scales    of    stone. only    she    has    the    impact    of    braying    stallions;   a   raging   flicka    galloping    amid    mist    during    the    morning   when   he   might   miss   her;    winter    encases    within    her    very    veins.    ＨＥＲ    ＬＩＰＳ    ＯＳＳＩＦＹＩＮＧ    from    its    ruddy    roseate    flesh    reduced    to    𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖    snow;    with    the    milk    bones    of    any    russian    woman    that    comes    with   a    rile    over    shoulder,    cunning    and    virose.   a    museum    white    crystal,    at    once    clear    and    another    moment    clouded.

her    arched    womb    bent    into    him    like    an    arrow,    he    held    her    body    as    if    he    was    running    his    fingers    along    the    wires    of    a    harp.    his    grip    is    a    hilt,    the    lashing    of    an    unbuckled    belt    ＴＨＲＡＳＨＩＮＧ    red    pool    marks    on    flesh;    greedy    and    forceful.    hooks    and    guts    her    like    a    fish    as    his    hand    slinks    upon    the    small    of    her    back.

   sense    of    breath    reprises    in    muffled    screams    beneath    trap    doors    to    instil    herself    in    his    citadel    for    worship.    feign    warmth,    attract    her    to    him    like    a    moth    to    light    ＳＣＡＴＴＥＲＩＮＧ    about    the    expanse    flustered;    body    corseted    to    his    own    as    a    wave    of    dread    and    drear    overcomes    him.    a    𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐋𝐘    demise    of    all    deaths,    hidden    in    the    crook    of    all    crannies.    death    isn’t    rest,    nor    is    it    rot,    neither    is    it    finding    its    placement.    it    is    just    a    sword    in    the    chest;    one    that    belongs    to    a    paramour    prince.    

❝    ＮＯＳＴＲＯＶＩＡ.    let’s    toast,    shall    we    ?    ＴＯ     ＤＥＶＯＵＲ,     masha.    whole,    hearty,    ravenous,    avid.    the    quarry    will    be    graceful    and    full    of    beauty    to    hunt;    watching    our    meat    crone    and    perish.    only    the    finest    lavish.    you    are    bold,    marya    and    i    cannot    be    less    as    hungry    dogs    never    stay    loyal.    you    are    beautiful,    because    your    shot    gun    fills    men    up    like    me    and    ivan's    before    me    and    you    are    the    knife    twist    that    lets    our    blood.    ❞     still    yet    unsteady    rictus    missing    its    ＭＩＲＴＨ;    eyne    weighs   heavy    on    her    as    his    thumb    brushes    in    traces    the    side    of    her    lithe    neck.    how    easy    it    would    be    to    end    her    life    with    one    mere    grasp,    how    he    would    let    the    one    force    live    that    could    chip    away    at    him;    wither    and    wilt    𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐘    as    if    he    were    already    buried    six    feet    by    the    hand    of   god    and    eating    dirt.

[godfreysteel]