#lonelybleds

♡  𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗧𝗬  𝗙𝗢𝗥  𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗟𝗬𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗗𝗦  ♡

"Now that's not nice." The man frowned as he watched the little vampire girl casually give him the middle finger. Not that he really cared. He truthfully didn't care about it one bit. Incubi are considered to be the most hated demon type out there either way so he cranes his neck to the side with a raised brow.

Light of late afternoon filtered through the lace curtains, softening the edges of the drawing room’s grandeur, but not enough to make it feel less IMPOSING. Bertha traced the curve of the teacup in her hand, the porcelain thin enough to betray the heat of its contents, and tilted her head ever so slightly, as if considering not just the question but the weight of its origins. “I don’t remember love as a child,” came the confession, low and hesitant, hanging in the air like a tentative bird unsure of its landing but she betrayed none of it in her features. The silence that followed was not cold but deliberate. She thought of her mother’s hands—red, chapped, and relentless in their labor. Love, if it had existed, had been woven into the endless patching of frayed seams—it had lived in the scraped pennies saved for a child’s shoes, not in warm embraces or whispered assurances.

“I suppose,” she began, her voice steady, measured, “that I cannot claim to remember love in the way some might define it. I recall…effort. SACRIFICE. My mother loved me us, I’m certain of that, though not in ways one could lay bare upon a stage and declare for all to admire.” She set the cup down, the gentle clink of porcelain on wood punctuating her words. “It was love expressed in the marrow of survival. What else could it be when every day was a battle against a meager existence and a semblance of despair?” The room felt still, as though the weight of her memories had pressed the very air into submission. Her hands, now adorned with rings worth more than her childhood home, rested neatly in her lap, betraying Nothing of the girl who once scoured the ground for scraps.

“If I have been…affectionate toward my own children, it is not the affection of whimsy or indulgence. It is deliberate. A garden tended not with soft hands BUT with resolute ones.” Her gaze turned to the window, where the sunlight glittered on the glass like molten gold. “I want for them the BEST of everything. But love? That is a thread tangled with my own childhood. I untangle it where I can, weave it as best I know how. And perhaps they will do the same one day, with less struggle, with clearer eyes.”She paused, her expression softening, as though a rare beam of warmth had pierced her composed exterior. “Love…It was not a question that lingered in my youth. Until George. And then—” she smiled, faint but unmistakable, as if recalling a secret, “then it was as though the world cracked open and offered me lightning in its palm. A potentially dangerous gift, electrifying and consuming. But one I accepted without hesitation.”

ASKS. always accepting

@lonelybleds // meme tag

The thing, for it hasn't taken on an appearance other than a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth, slithers forward. Deep within it, it laughs, a harsh, rumbling noise.

And then it begins to change. Sounds like viscera tearing and bones snapping fill the air as it comes into something slightly more pleasant. It holds the form of a child, one in double digits but just before teens. It is still inhuman, with blue, swirling eyes and long jagged teeth. Its skin is pallid and gray, its ears long and pointed.

oh ... .ᐟ see , she doesn't have to do that . it's sweet , especially when coven could've tripped and made a fool of themselves at this public park . she giggles , hands going over her face . guess she's a little embarrassed , given that she considers herself a more put together person ( which she's not , just making that clear ) ...

⅋. THE INFERNAL REMAINS OF SOME DAMNED SOUL LAY SMOKED IN A LITTLE HEAP, with @lonelybleds's bag, which had been stolen by said smoked perpetrator, now laid amid the mess, so graciously returned to its owner. ANGELS DON'T OFTEN HIGHWAY IT DOWN TO HELL unless it's upon orders, something work-related. but heaven can get dull, and anyway, adam likes to consider his entertainment tied directly to his work. it boosts morale, after all. in fact, when that little sinner-thing had had the misfortune of running into his path, it had certainly been amusing!

the fiendish reek of carcass prompts a grimace upon angelic features, as though the wretched thing being in his mere vicinity were sacrilege. he doesn't make a habit of smiting demons outside the allotted exterminations – at least not on paper, in his official capacity as an archangel – but no one would miss a useless creature like that anyway. ( and hey, theft's a biblical offence! ) he doesn't make a habit of helping sinners either, and yet... he pats her head as he scoffs, ❝ don't bitch at me. i did you a favour, you looked like you were struggling there. ❞ adam laughs, and she has the audacity to protest, to which he only laughs harder.