Men have used her meanly. She will eat them.
Sylvia Plath from Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices (via skywalkerastolat)
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@screaminggoddess
Men have used her meanly. She will eat them.
Sylvia Plath from Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices (via skywalkerastolat)

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My heart used to ( beat ) Now it only weeps
She let him draw closer and closer, as with a cat who toyed with her prey, and upon feeling him get in to the bed next to her, she had to wonder if he had done this every night with her while she slept unaware.
He felt so warm and it was a comfort upon her icy skin whose temperature was akin to that of a CORPSE, her mind getting lost in the sensation of his careful hand gliding up her thigh in a way that was almost snake-like.
For a brief moment she entertained the notion of allowing him to continue in his exploration of her body as though she were a lifeless doll completely at the mercy of his every whim, but her sense of DIGNITY interfered with such a shameless idea.
It was almost impossible to make good on her original plan and stop him, his touch sending a quiver in to the base of her spine; it was as if he KNEW her body and perhaps he did... perhaps he had touched her before on his previous journeys here?
Even though she could open her eyes at any moment she liked, she took a moment to entertain her notion of what he looked like: was he handsome, rugged, and dark like her all-time love had been once? What color were his eyes? Was he clean shaven or stubbly?
He smelt good, his fragrance the only familiar thing about him since it had been the one thing he had so often left of himself here.
Her eyelids slowly fluttered open like butterfly wings and focused on his face in the dim light around them, observing his features with a calm expression written over her face; she didn’t panic or pull away the way she thought she might, rather she was content to simple stare at him in curiosity.
“...at last we meet,” she said in a soft hush to him, wondering if he would stop and pull away from her now that he had been caught.
@calledkisa liked this for a starter
This one felt all aglow like FIRE and Elizabeth wasn’t so arrogant that she would overlook the fact that she was faced with someone STRONGER than she.
“What an exotic beauty... I imagine you have so many wrapped around your little finger,” she purred, admiring the woman’s face and form in the way an ARTIST might survey a fine painting.
She eyed him in the manner of a disapproving MOTHER whose irritation was marred in severity by the playfulness caught in the curling of her cherry lips, a ghost of a smirk that managed to find some brief amusement in him.
Not many were given her actual name and fewer still cared to hear it; in fact she had previously given Tobias her self-made epithet of THE COUNTESS... but since he had proven to be an amusing drunk thus far, she relented in her usual behavior.
“How much did you drink exactly?” she asked before sighing and waving a hand dismissively, the answer of no importance. “It’s Elizabeth.”
She stood now and approached him, her nose wrinkling as she halted.
“You smell like a brewery... it clashes with your cologne, my dear; but since alcohol kills brain cells I expect this is of little matter to you, hmm?”
An impish jab at him that she couldn’t resist as it was all too rare she tasted the minty flush of mischief on her tongue.

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His name is in my spit. I cannot unswallow him. He is on the mouth of all the lovers whose lips I lick. I always thought I would love a man with the name of a god. I always pictured a glorious death— running into a house ablaze, saving babies from the fire, kissing a bullet for someone I loved. Not this simple name. Not the way he is on every woman’s tongue.
Fatimah Asghar, from “He Who Is Good With Swords,” After (via lifeinpoetry)
Elizabeth smirked at Otis in a pleased way, removing her hand from his and surveying the room once more.
“You might think I’m insane or perhaps something from a paranormal realm; but you’re wrong on both counts,” she murmured gently as she quenched her cigarette in the tray between them on the table, her wrist twisting like a dancer as the flame was extinguished.
She’d heard such accusations before in the early days of her life as a supreme hunter, back when MISTAKES were carelessly made - who knew that slitting a throat was such a finicky task, that the carotid could be so easily missed? Well when one was so consumed by lust and hunger, one doesn’t really THINK too clearly.
Dying victims had claimed her to be the devil, a demon, or crazy with whatever breath they had left over their gurgling and jerking, wide eyes so akin to a terrified animal’s never leaving her until the shock set in.
In those days MESS was made from the struggle and if not for her beloved Ruddy, she would never have learned to perfect the kill with finesse. Of course she was still learning, as only the most dedicated hunters do, and in this sparkling day and age she had learned how to be even more covert.
She had taken to calling her ‘trick’ “THE LITTLE DRINK”, having recently read a novel in which such an act was mentioned by the vampiric narrator, and it came in very handy when hunting among the pasty-faced disco-goers who were either far too drunk or stoned to know any better.
She spotted a young woman who was lying down in one of the booths, her friends abandoning her for the call of the dance floor, and while it was impossible to know if she was inebriated or high Elizabeth decided that this girl, her skin flushed and sweaty, was THE ONE.
She gave a final look to Otis, her eyes telling him to remain watching her if he wished to witness just what she had been eluding to, and then casually made her way to the girl with a sway in her hips.
Sitting down beside her chosen victim, some small-talk began while Elizabeth stroked at the girl’s thigh; something changed then as the two stared at each other, no longer talking now, and suddenly the girl looked even more pliable than she had been before: Elizabeth promptly crawled on to the girl with a grin, reaching down to caress her neck and her young breasts before she took hold of the arm that glided up to play with her hair.
With a flick of her hand, a small blade erupted from the index finger on Elizabeth’s sequined glove and it was rapidly pressed to the girl’s exposed wrist where a vein was securely opened just enough that blood spurted, its flow hastened by the alcohol it carried.
The act was so quick that it would be missed if Otis even blinked, and it was promptly followed with Elizabeth’s hips grinding and her open mouth fastening itself to the wound, lapping up THE PRIZE as beneath her the girl’s eyes closed with a groan.
Although the alcohol-spiked blood was delicious and turned Elizabeth on the only way blood could, she reigned in the urge to do more harm and shortly made her way back to Otis, leaving the girl to potentially bleed out in a blissful frenzy.
She sat down with a flourish, her cheeks glowing pink and her tongue licking blood from her lips, her teeth coated in it as she beamed at him in an ecstatic haze.
If you enjoy writing para/novella threads, can you reblog this?
I’m looking for other people who are interested in longer, more in depth threads.
His choice of words made Elizabeth stop short in her quick steps down the hall, turning around to him in a snake-like sway to behold him with a blank visage.
“’My kind’?” she echoed.
CURIOUS...
“Oh my poor sweet thing...” she said icily then with a tilt of her head, her thin hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. “It isn’t anything to do with being dead... we are after all almost similar in that retrospect,” she began, feeling as though she weren’t so different from the ghosts that roamed the Cortez, as they and she both preyed upon the living in a world no longer familiar.
Her wicked finger lingered as there came a semblance of a smile to her lips.
“I haven’t the time to spare for you because, honey, I have better things to do.”
She whipped her finger back from him at that cruel remark but still she decided to entertain his notion.
“Tell me then just why you deserve a chance, I’m truly enthralled by such a silly idea.”
The suggestion was crude and an assault upon Elizabeth’s PATIENCE and though she would have liked nothing better than to SLIT his impetuous throat right here and now, she reigned in all primal urges, finding her hunger was not so great that it would settle for the blood of one whose MANNERS failed him.
Instead she settled with a more Human response and glared at him, refusing to even SMACK him one lest he find that STIMULATING.
“I don’t suppose you’d appreciate it if I offered such a bargain to you, that I’d share something with you in exchange for a peek at your cock?”
And now the REAL Countess was showing - sexually-minded, lewd, and almost like vitriol.
“So tell me, Deadpool... is there any morality left inside your testosterone-soaked brain that you’ll understand my meaning or am I going to be met with a witty quip?”

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;Open
“You’ll forgive my clumsiness I hope; these longer more complicated words can test my literacy at the best of times.”
She was satisfied now and proudly bore over her writing, taking the moment to examine it for any further mistakes she may have overlooked.
“When I was growing up, Italian was the sole language in my household and while it’s been many years since I was back there, you might say English is more of a second language to me,” she smiled as she proof-read, fondly remembering the years of which she spoke.
INEBRIATION never suited anyone yet it was constantly in fashion these days.
“Can I have a clue?”
Elizabeth managed to even REEK of sarcasm with the response, cat-like eyes blinking once as she bowed her head to examine the suddenly fascinating state of her manicure.
“You have a jawline for days”
The Countess
It’s strange, isn’t it? How your heart burns… and burns… and suddenly turns to ice.
pyromant (via wnq-writers)
There are very few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it.
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (via codenamenevermore)

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The quick and unforeseeable touch of his hand on hers made Elizabeth jerk slightly, a subtle frown forming over her features at the whole situation. He was dressed as though he were heading to some ludicrous fancy dress party that he had intentions of BLOWING UP and as for that bag upon his back? It wouldn’t surprise her if it were full of stolen goods.
“That’s... an unusual name...” she slowly commented, not knowing what else would be appropriate to say in response; for perhaps the first time in an awfully long time she felt somewhat bewildered and stunned.
These emotions felt alien to her and it made it so she felt suddenly unsure of herself but it wouldn’t do to reveal this to HIM, whatever the hell he was up to.
Seeing as he had introduced himself, manners dictated she do the same even though this predicament was by far the most outrageous she had witnessed.
“The Countess,” she introduced herself with a nod, using her self-christened title the way she always did with strangers; on occasion some even believed she was of a noble birth based upon the way she conducted herself and the way she enunciated well her words.
Her confused eyes looked to his bag then, a mild curiosity flaring inside her.
“Something tells me that bag isn’t full of party poppers,” she said with a trace of sarcasm.
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“Lay a trap, catch a rat,” Elizabeth said to herself as she sat comfortably upon her lavish bed in a silk designer camisole, patiently awaiting her UNWELCOME VISITOR.
The past while she’d become painfully aware of an intruder within her penthouse suite; whether she had been out for the night or simple sleeping her deep unearthly sleep, she would soon find upon returning or awaking signs of an intrusion.
There would be a scent caught in the air, a cologne mixed with Human smells, and on occasion there would be found little gifts left for her, such as blood red roses and teddy bears.
While Elizabeth welcomed attention, she did not welcome unknown visitors in her room while she was unaware nor did she appreciate the teddy bears as in her opinion, they make for poor sentinels for nightmare-ridden children.
No one could explain to her what all this was about nor could they tell her who this person was - of course Elizabeth put this particular disappointment down to Iris and Liz being LAZY when sitting at reception.
So tonight she had stayed home and remained wakeful, hoping to catch her secret admirer and discover what their intentions were once and for all; she had purposefully left the main room devoid of light and left the door locked as this person didn’t seem to have a problem with picking the lock.
She heard said lock being tinkered with and quietly clambered in to bed as though she were a child hoping to escape punishment; she lay down and curled up, closing her eyes and feigning to be asleep as she waited for the person to make their way through the main room in to her bedroom.