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@noctiium

He gave me a taste, Nothing more than a sip, And I came back for a mouthful: Suckling on him so gently, Until the sweet nectar, Suddenly turned sour.

Part 3/8 - 'The Past: Still Present' Vol. II - Antigonie M. | @anti-the-poet

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Everyone is all Hamilton this and Hamilton that.

And I'm here like..

Aaron Burr. Please and thank you.

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Rhaenyra & Daemon in House Of The Dragon 1.01 ♦ The Heirs Of The Dragon

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propaganda for the Moon Knight fans to read/reread the MacKay run: Zodiac funnee

what the fuck is this man. Why is he like this. I need him

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ZODIAC THE MOST MEOW MEOW VILLAIN OF ALL TIME

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𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇 as 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

House of the Dragon. Season 1, Episode 2.

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I'm relistening to Blackwood Farm and Blood Canticle after finishing up the mayfair books and this little detail took me out today

Lasher

Taltos

Blackwood Farm

Three years, a missing child, and her illness has sent her back to being a little girl. The horror of it all for Mona.

[voicestm]

“We must sacrifice the weak.” Sam whispers in Reese's ear conspiratorially. They have been dubbed Terrible Women and so now they must be. It feels important to live up to the name that could double as their band's moniker or maybe first album title, if they ever have so little to do that they pick up some instruments. Terrible Women, featuring their hit singles, You're Not My Real Dad and Croissant Cure. Right now, they're just banded together teammates in a round of Among Us, and Mr. Knight has got to go. They airlock him first chance they get— and then Sam has to wonder if girl power will continue to win out or if she's next on the list in the name of love. (sam, resse, echoestm)

Folk Horror - Accepting - @echoestm & @silverjetsystm

They shouldn't have been allowed to be paired up. They were pure chaos, sweet smiles and batting lashes, out for their men's blood. Poor boys. They shouldn't be surprised. But she could tell, even through the mask, that Mr. K was perplexed how this had happened. An echo of Terrible Women whispered into the room. At least she's able to keep he amusement schooled into a pretty picture of indifference. She's not sure how Sam was fairing and she refused to look at her. One shared look and they'd break.

Her next victim in her sights, she turns on Soldier. He's soon tricked with honey words and a mouth that purses into a pout. He's helpless to deny her. And bye bye, sir.

There was no love in war.

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@noctiium

I don't wanna fix you, little pet. i want to indulge you. i want to make your obsession & devotion worse and let you do the same to me. i want to be toxic for one another and no one else. to cut off our lives and need nothing, no one but one another.

let's be worse together.

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Would he be surprised she has her own wounds when it comes to Marc Spector? That she often feels like an unloved or unwanted child in this game he plays? A game she isn't even sure she explains on the best of days? It isn't her own misguided feelings for him she considers now, she had buried those in a grave dug with her own claws and she hadn't let them fester because she knew.. Everything she needed to know. No. He's hurt her in other ways. More like a child disappointed and disgusted to learn their father wasn't the hero they always thought he was. But the hurt is there all the same.

And she knows the moment she's caught the crumpled tickets in her hand what he's done this time. She takes a deep breath before she shoves them into her pocket and moves to grip his shoulder before he could just stalk off. Was it a mistake? Would he defend himself against the rush of her unwelcomed touch?

"Yeah.. No rules. Just kick his ass." She hears herself mutter quietly, words hissed between her teeth in a betrayal she doesn't feel. There's been too many broken promises.

And how funny she'd find it if she ever knew he had just compared her to Sam and found her lacking. Ironic as she had once been jealous over the pretty girl with her deep eyes and killer smile. She'd pick her every time too. Hell. If she asked. She still might.

"Tch!" Derisive reaction is IMMEDIATE. No fighting is bad enough on it's own— what else was he here for? Adding the additional clause though is what feels like bamboo slivers under his nails. Might as well deny him entry altogether; it'd take less words and accomplish the same thing. He steadfastly REFUSES to hold Marc's hand and walk him like sleepy child through the simplest of steps. Randall doesn't care what Marc or anyone else says; his brother is not a stupid man. He has concrete-solid memories of a big brother who was wise and deep and always knew the right thing to do— whether he acted on it or not was a different matter. He wasn't UNAWARE, is what Randall circles.

She wants him to surrender his weapons? Fine. A great idea, actually. "Here, take them." Balled up and ruined paper is tossed at her center-chest, for her to catch or drop or whatever. As if he'd had reason to be armed. Maybe he should have bee. He never learns either. The secret hope is that ruined tickets will be a knife in big brother's guilty conscience. In perfect world he'd see them and regret and hurt like he hurts others. Randall doubts it.

"You tell him I'll see him before he sees me." There's only one person who gets to quiet him down with food and drink and it makes his cheeks burn to think that it's become public knowledge. Reese isn't Samantha. He won't take her offerings and pour his heart out to strange child adopted by brother still doing things in wholly the wrong order. She's just lucky her circumstances aligned themselves in his head in a certain way that spared her from being on his hatchet list— even if she WAS guilty of getting from Marc what he couldn't. She's only a kid. One Marc had gotten caught in crossfire. Even Randall can spare that.

This is where he turns his back, carves another tally into his heart and looks to march on.

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It seems ridiculous for him to be telling her any of this. She knew who his father was, she knew his entire life story, from both his brother and from him. Randall would tell anyone who'd listen to the sins Marc had committed. She knew the ins and outs of their relationship probably better than they did. And she could read the hidden truths neither of one them whispered out loud.

And she saw the pain in the younger Spector and the mental illness that clung to him like a second skin. It's.. He acts like a child who hasn't gotten his way or a child that's been wronged and doesn't yet know how to explain themselves and so he lashes out in misguided ways. His anger was valid but his actions weren't. And she wouldn't have him painting the walls of Mission red with his inability to word his feelings.

"Rule one. No fighting before you attempt to tell him what's wrong. What he's done this time. Rule two. No weapons. You leave them all at the door now. I'll tell him the same. Rule three. No one else is to be dragged into this. Rule four. You'll stay here today and let me feed you and tend to your wounds."

@voicestm

"I'm Jewish, and the son of a Rabbi. Rules have been my entire life, so name them. A clean cut across his trachea and esophagus both? I'll even say the blessing before I BLEED HIM." Nevermind that it's embarrassment and anger speaking. He couldn't make good on his word if he wanted to, not without going somewhere to borrow the perfect blade and even then, it didn't make him a shochet— or Marc a cow. Just an inconsiderate brother who had left him standing there, looking and feeling stupid after endless excited minutes of peering into New York's crowds for him, giddy to get the day started at the transit museum; it's pamphlet and tickets crumpled in trembling fist. A whole day, he'd planned a whole day and taken the time from work and people who actually gave half of a damn about him for a guy who was still humiliating him like this. He should have swung by a pawn shop and picked up an axe. Instead, he waits as patiently as he can for vampire teen to declare rules of engagement, like Randall was ever constrained by those even when he was in uniform. Oh, but he'll agree to whatever will get him in the door so he can plunge bare hand, if he has to, into brother's chest and rip his heart out through muscle, bone and sinew with nothing but sheer determination to pay hurt for hurt.

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“Let me in.” Randall is not the vampire between them, and yet? The Midnight Mission is... whatever it is. Sentient. Living. Will-having. And so without explicit invitation, or an assist from one of the residents within, Randall can not cross it's threshold. So he asks. It's as polite as he can manage, grit teeth and hard eyes peering through glass at blood red gaze on other side. Dominant hand may be clenched into a fist, but he has yet to slam it into door to make it rattle. Polite. Asking nicely. Within parameters, at least. The best he can do when he is incensed with brother within and means to make it known to him. This man who is eternally unaware of his sins, his crimes, who blunders about hurting without a care or remorse. Randall will MAKE him sorry. As soon as he can get into his sanctuary. (randall, reese, echoestm)

Folk Horror - Accepting - @echoestm & @silverjetsystm

She stands behind the door, the last remaining night guard between the world beyond and The Mission, she's the silent watcher when all else fails them. Zodiac had done her a favor she finds herself thinking more and more often lately. He's given her a gift and it makes protecting The Mission and those she loves easier. No longer a human but still a girl, young and naive in her short years, she faces all with too positive of an outlook. Thinking there were Solutions to all things. That conversations and the trading of words could make right past mistakes. But that it took.. Work. Work that neither one of the Spector siblings were likely going to put into their relationship.

She doubts Marc even knows what the root cause of their problems are and Randell.. Well, he's a hot head who was insane. A single coin, the brothers were, each a reflection the other couldn't face.

Perhaps if she just..

A delicate hand reaches out, grasps the handle and yanks. With a haunting creak she opens the door for him. She greets him with a grim expression, all white clinging to her like a second skin. The very vision of angelic avenger. "Randell.. There will be rules if I allow you to enter."

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FOLK HORROR sentence and action prompts.

( Send a dialogue tag and/or a # for reverse aka for receiver perform a chosen action on sender. )

Sentence Prompts.

“I cannot be judged by you!”

“I have done nothing but preach.”

“Confess to me.”

"You are not worthy."

“You cannot disobey the shepherd.”

“Show me the light.”

"The devil carved you from his flesh."

"It's not too late to turn to God."

"My soles are burnt from the fire."

“You have sinned and now you must be punished.”

“You are an apostate of hell.”

“When have you strayed from the path?”

“You are no longer worthy of salvation.”

"The sinnermen sent you!"

“Were you born a sinner?��

"You have the devil's eyes."

"No one shall tempt me into darkness."

“Evil has corrupted your thoughts.”

“What wickedness have you done?”

“He won’t hear your prayers!”

“The devil has taken refuge in you.”

“Let me in.”

"You're the devil."

“Salvation is not possible.”

“I am the chosen one.”

“Satan shines his light in the darkest, deepest parts of your mind.”

“She is an innocent child.”

“You will find yourself wandering in the dark.”

“Satan uses sin to reach you.”

“You don’t have to hide from him anymore.”

“The devil knows what you did.”

“We must sacrifice the weak.”

“That is, if they survive the baptism.”

“Fear not, death is not the end, it’s the beginning.”

“Instead, they sent you.”

“Fire will absolve you from your sins.”

“You are an apostle of Satan.”

“He has risen from the sea of flames.”

“I am the one you should worship.”

“They are going to cleanse you.”

“Do you know what worship feels like?”

“You will learn and when you do you won’t turn back.”

“I want you to worship me.”

“I was sent to guide you.”

“Do you see it? The darkness in me?”

Action Prompts.

Send [exorcise] for your muse to try to exorcise mine.

Send [chain] for your muse to chain my muse down a cross.

Send [field] for your muse to chase mine through a field.

Send [pitchfork] for your muse to stab mine with a pitchfork.

Send [kneel] for your muse to force mine to pray.

Send [cross] for your muse to strike my muse down with a cross.

Send [rosary] for your muse to wrap a rosary around my muses’ throat tenderly.

Send [rosary spike] for your muse to threaten to stab mine with their rosary.

Send [drag] for your muse to drag my muse into church.

Send [pray] for your muse to pray with my muse.

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We are always been meant to burn together. Antill death or the end of our story.

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@echoestm

'Oh my precocious one,' she said. 'You never fail to charm me. Bisexual is it, how Byronic and charming. Doesn't that double one's chances for love? I'm so delighted.’

Aunt Queen's reaction to Quinn coming out, Blackwood Farm by Anne Rice