#sister crimson

[birgittesilverbae]

You need a lesson in Camaraderie.

SISTERS CRIMSON & CAMILA & BEATRICE

WARRIOR NUN (2020-2022) || 1x07

[onceuponaweirdo]

They watched as Crimson’s smile fell and an invective scowl was left in its place. She took a step back and ran a hand through her perfectly kept hair, they witnessed as the mask slipped back in place, her eyes softened, colour slipped into her previously pale cheeks and her wickedly sweet smile presented. She turned around and simply walked away.

@baez-atwitsend :)

[brenshor]

Crimson: *twirling her nunchucks* Ava: So I guess this makes you a nunja Ava: Ava: Ow

[femmeetart]

Warrior Nun shipping chart!!

[comingupforblair]

Camila: You’re a jerk!

Crimson: Wow! Nice insult, Hannah Montana. Got any more harsh digs?

[mightymizora]

It feels like such an unpopular opinion these days but I'd much rather a story take a big swing and miss than just be a tepid, lightly-tread path. I'd much rather writers take big risks, play with expectations, subvert tropes and ultimately maybe fail a little bit than have this constant stream of content that can be summed up in trite soundbites or carved up into 30 second clips.

[yanagiineko]

shattered pieces

[389]

Sisters of the Crimson Door Josh Courlas

[marzipanandminutiae]

"Thomas only loves Edith! He doesn't love Lucille!"

shut up shut up shut up

he couldn't leave her even when she was killing another woman he'd fallen for. he found freedom from the hell their lives had been since birth, and wouldn't escape into it without trying to bring her out of the darkness with him. she struck him a killing blow and he died reaching out for her with her name on his lips

oh god the Gothic tragedy of it. I'm chewing drywall

[last-flight-of-fancy]

mermaid arc cast! sea fairy was among the first batches of cookies i drew, and having her next to my latest ones really feels wild seeing how much i've improved since then ^^

[birgittesilverbae]

THE OCS v SISTER CRIMSON('s left)

WARRIOR NUN (2020-2022) // 1x07 & 1x09

[sculptorofcrimson]

Aphrodite’s Cell

Synopsis: The residents of the Dark Cells, and their golden keepers.

Relations: Custodes x unnamed f!character, Sister of Silence x unnamed m! character, Valdor x Ushotan

Mildly dubious consent

“Aphrodite, hear my prayer

Sunset rays in my golden hair

Palm tree dreams in my words and songs

How can my pleas be so wrong?”

How could creatures clad in such glorious gold be monsters? How could angels clad in the raiments of gods be anything but worshipped, even as they raised their blades?

“We will protect you, forever and always.” They had promised, so patient, so promising, so monstrous, so cowardly in their lies. They had promised. They had given their word. The Custodes had given their word. 

Ergo, they had not kept their word.

(The lies. The lies. The discovery. The treachery. The girl with her paintbrush. The girl with her words, her voice. The arrest. The chains.)

(The mountain. The blood. The betrayal. The High Lord. The storm. The snow. And the sinking of the knife. The chains.)

(The historian, young and naive. The vids in his hand. The horror. The betrayal. The gold. The stance of incense. And the chains.) 

The prisoner exhales, and shuts storm-grey eyes, sinking down into the frost of dreams until sleep, cold, cruel and relentless, takes over once more, beneath the cold trampling of heartless beasts’ boots. 

(All of them had the same story. All of them would never be free.)

Terra would never welcome them back. In cells of gilded gold, let them dream. 

~~~~~~

“Aphrodite, hear my pain

I want to fall in love again

Not in love with a man of this world

Fall in love with life itself”

~~~

The Shadowkeeper had taken a liking to the painter. He brings the painter flowers, he braids her hair at regular intervals, he even brings her favorite drinks to her regularly. He tries to speak to her, of color and of light, of areas he would’ve thought the painter would have cared for. She did not. The Shadowkeeper offers to take her outside of her cell, to the Imperial gardens, even, to paint the flowers. Like a sunflower without water, she only refuses her jailer, and goes back to her sullen, frosty brooding. Sometimes, she tries to paint the Shadowkeeper. He was always thrilled to sit for these portraits while the painter idly flicked ink from her brush, carving the form of a dragon, a jailer, a warden in the brume, a groom wearing a wedding dress made from bones and holding golden chains. 

Her jailer. Her warden. 

These portraits line the edges of her cell. 

~~~

What reason was there to live, when he had failed even his brothers? What reason was there to live, when his very order had been marked obsolete, when he had already been replaced by the usurpers? 

What reason was there to live at all, when even your death has been drained of all honor?

It’s better not to resist when the Captain-General leans in, close enough to smell the incense and the parchment clinging onto his robes.

(After all, what can a failed Thunder Warrior Primarch do against the Captain-General himself? Valdor was a god. No mortal could bring down a god. It was foolish for him to have ever tried.)

Storm-grey eyes slip shut as Valdor takes his hand, raising it up to press a kiss against the underside, Ushotan not even voicing a single grumble of protest. Cold hands, effortless, immaculate, cup the Thunder Warrior’s jawline, pressing in until even the edge of his vision was blurred by those cold, immaculate features. Valdor smiles as the Thunder Warrior makes no move to fight him, no longer pushing him away as he closes in to steal a kiss from unresisting lips. 

(By Terra. He was tired, so unspeakably tired, so tired of fighting. What he would give to simply sleep, and never awaken before carefully doting and petting hands...)

~~~

The Sister without a voice tries to bring him gifts. She likes his archival mind, she “says”. She cannot speak, and her very presence was like the pressing of some heavy stone upon his chest when she leaned in to press short kisses against his temple. She brings him gifts, silent and unresisting, bringing flowers wrapped in paper and intricate golden carvings and shy, carefully decorated books and asking him to speak what she cannot. She tries to ask for kisses, in her own quiet, skittish way, and sooner or later he caves to her. There was no shortage of joy in that curved smile, forming from ecstatic silent lips as he kissed her, the Sister’s hands moving in their jumble of joyous, intelligible signs the Remembrancer had never learnt. 

Her lips were cold. Her hands, crushing in their grips, were joyous. 

(It pains the poor Remembrancer, to be near her. But she loved him, and was it such a sin to love her back, when no else would set him free?)

~~~~~

“Aphrodite, set me free

Find a way to let me leave

As the future, it unfolds

I leave the past and turn to gold”

~~~

She no longer paints him. Why the matter, when he was at every second of her vision, every moment of her life? She feared him, loathed him in fact, she loathed every inch of the grey cell they had tossed her into, where no amount of drawings, of pretty illusions she wove, could disguise the barrenness. 

When he offers to take her out for the gardens, for a split second of tasting the wind and spring on her tongue, she jumps at the chance.

It was the only time the painter had ever seen Hades smile.

“A pomegranate too, my floret?” he had offered, the Shadowkeeper’s grin as charming and as utterly without heart as a skeleton’s. 

She had accepted that walk in the gardens. And the flowers. And the pomegranate too. His later bargains would not be as favorable. 

~~~

Valdor’s heartbeat is slow. It presses against him, as slow as the exhalation of some titanic beast, barely humming along as if even life had been bred out of his genecraft. Ushotan can feel it just through his thin robes, Valdor pressing him carefully against him with just enough force he couldn’t squirm free.

(That bastard.)

Ushotan mutters a half-hearted growl, and tries to pull away from Valdor’s warmth. The Custodian’s only response was to tighten his grip, dragging the Thunder Warrior closer and curling up against his side, wrapping himself firmly in the closest limb he could grab. His next escape attempt is foiled when Valdor rests his entire weight upon him, his breaths rattling like the purr of some titanic and viciously amused cat. 

(That bastard.)

Eventually, when exhaustion sets in, the Thunder Warrior utters a short, defeated sigh, and leans himself into Valdor’s touch. 

Ah, victory. Of course it would be victory, no Custodian engagement was ever lost, especially not for the Captain-General.

~~~

She only wants to be loved. To be touched. To be warmed by another. It hurts him to comfort her. Does she still even care? He was learning thoughtmark, even when his head burned with every second of her presence. Even when his eyes blurred over her very frame. She brings him a thick tome one day, uncensored from Imperial scripts, and the glint in her smile when he stammers out a thank you and eagerly delves into its depths was not lost. She only rises in a slow, elegant fashion, and kisses him on the lips. The Sister was not adept with kisses, a lifetime of half-paralyzed lips had made her clumsy and forceful, but it did not matter, he had wrapped his arms around her, he had embraced her as she had so desperately wanted, and now she will let no daemon, no beast, touch him.  

(It hurts him. But he loved her, didn’t he? He loved her enough to endure the pain, surely? She certainly believed so.)

[mintesprig]

Something about the way Liam said ‘three little pigs’ immediately made me think of Circe

[crimescrimson]

Kasumi Yoshizawa' Dance in Persona 5 Royal (2019)

[gaysuperheroes]

Natasha bursting into the room: it's missing!

Wanda, sat on the couch and facing the other way: what's missing now?

Natasha: THE THING!

Wanda turning to face her with Yelena clinging onto her: Nat what are you tal-

Natasha: oh there it is

Wanda:

Wanda: you meant your baby sister?

Natasha: yes, i meant our child Maximoff

Wanda: yeah Nat our child but she's not a thing

Yelena, resting her head on Wanda's shoulder: I'm cool with it as long as I remain your child

[bellasbookclub]

your votes are in: we're watching Crimson Peak!

You cast your votes and we're abiding by majority rule, baby—our December movie night is all about those gothic aesthetic vibes. Join us on our Discord this Sunday night at 9 PM EST (12 PM AEST Monday morning for Aussies) for icky ghosts, wacky gowns, and very beautiful murder!

lurkers and new folks always welcome! 🎥 🍿

Bella's Book Club is an interactive virtual book club created by the Three Books One Plot podcast. Our monthly discord discussions are open to all! More info here.