devour.

@marhcel​ asked :    ∗ 12﹕ sender invites receiver to dance . , don't look @ me !!!! it's marcel !!!   ( x )

they share a strange history ,      the two of them  ,      an unlikely bond formed by the iron of battle :     she saw a hunger in him ,   and he regonized that same monster in the wintry desolation of her eyes .   a fundation not set on mere affection  ,     but rooted in greed ,    in vengance ,     power  .     this tulmutuous climb to the top will make for    strange bedfellows ,   sly conspirators .     and it has .

adelaide has held herself so carefully throughout the night ,     you’d think she remained under the scrunity of some invisible force :     both graceful and stealthy ,     like someone who’d grown accustomed to see herself at the same time she saw everything else .      her spine straight as an arrow ,   her manicured hands folded neatly in her lap .    watching ,   searching for opportunities as the festivities unfold ,      she sees him instead  ---- a lilt to his step ,     a speck of glee lighting up often somber  ,      thoughtful features .       

⸻

It’s not quite here yet, but it’s approaching slowly. The rapture has perfect timing. Can uproot an entire village and destroy all the lakes in the world within a day. He’s seen it through the lenses of war and greed, but certainly more so in the forest at night when all the cicadas have opened their throats. Killing is different from hunting, except both have stained his hands with a much blacker blood than any animal-blood would have. He supposes there were times when his sons had seen him slit a man’s neck, tissue and bone fragments making a snapping sound in the quiet evening. It was a shapeshifter. Or something otherworldly. Something destined to die, he said to them as they drove onto the next town. Destiny as an excuse, but as the lone goal he had subconsciously been driving towards. Even his limbs feel weighed down by something other than age. A sluggish spell cast onto him from grave dirt and corpses he had stumbled upon during late stakeouts. The face always looks peaceful when it’s dead, although he very rarely thinks too much about it - avoids the way the cheeks deflate as he shoves the form into a shallow hole, avoids the way there’s always an owl watching him with big pale eyes similar to that of his demon’s. Fear was never his teacher. He had never been taught. He simply was born into the world with fists and a rage that swelled up inside of him. The womb made him cruel, or perhaps it was the birthing experience. A mother being a mother, a father being a blank painting on the wall. This story is old. Old and doomed to be repeated. So yes, maybe the paranoia has allowed his view on the world to be distorted and tradition. Malicious in his intents on cutting down all inhuman things while being a legendary survivor of his own inhuman heart. Death is not worrisome for him, but the lack of vengeance is. He shifts softly in his seat as head follows her movements, amused in the way she tries to control her temper when he knows how sharp that wound’s teeth are. She’s an alligator, queen of the swamplands and determined to reveal to him that she could be just as sadistic as any haunted beast. She’d be right to. She’d be right to show him her stomach and how quickly it can digest an insect. He’s eager for it, almost bites down on his tongue in preparation for the future bloodletting. ‘That was sweet of you[…]but naive. I couldn’t just let you go on down the road like that. Not with you being what you are and me being what I am.’ The smack of his lips that follows is loud, obnoxiously so, and he does this on purpose. He wants the wallpaper to crawl with the arrogance of his presence. He wants the skies to part and the rivers to drown the town. Fingers pinch at the fabric of the lounge chair, pulling at a loose thread with the dedication of a bored child. Gaze snaps back to her, jaw working in a half-circle before continuing - head briefly nodding towards the mirror. ‘Always hated mirrors[…]stare at your face too long and it gets further away from reality.’

if adelaide were truly bothered by his prescence ,  he’d not be sitting here .   nestled safely within her confinements ,     tucked away from the rest of the world   .       she will turn her nose and show disdain ,     but it is all to appease hid mood  ,        his ego .       could he not tell how     hollow   she truly was ?      how deep this well ran ?        if john winchester crossed this treshhold ,     it is because she    willed it so .     this is her domain ,     and no soul  ,    dead or alive  ,     crosses it without an invitation  .       she has stood still against time ,  ruins of girlhood untamed  .    waiting  .     she has waited for him crawl through these walls like serpentine ,     each step of his own volition ,     into the open maw of her chambers .     he’d accepted this invitation all on his own ,   wheather from an innate desire to flirt with death or pure rightenousness  ,     she did not care which .     he had arrived ,    and she’d be waiting like a princess in a tower.   

@kohlm​ asked :    IT'S ME AGAIN !!!! I FORGOT KOL ?! ∗ 7o﹕ sender  catches  receiver’s  wrist  when  they  turn  to  leave .   ( x )

his grip is strong and unyielding ,      nothing she wouldn’t expect from a wildbeast such as kol   ------     but what keeps her    restrained    is not the promise of brute force  ,      enforced carelessly onto those wishbone limbs that threaten to bend under calloused hands  ,        but rather sheer   disbelief    in the act itself  .      it is that for a    split second  :     she was not godly  ----   she was a tangible thing ,      breakable  ,      malleable .      her goodhood had been ripped from her  ,      for that mere second of unspoken fragility :       she had been     human .

god forbid anyone who stood in her way while driving :    adelaide's distinct silver lamborghini comes cutting through the street  ,      flickering between lanes and rushing through whatever traffic there was in that ghost town ,    until houses and lawns and bikes were dissolved into one big colorful whirlwind of colors .      not that she’d admit to being anything less than exemplary at anything ,     but it was a miracle --- or perhaps ,   an unfortunate  ,      dull coincidence ,    that she had not claimed the life of anything largar than your avarage stray or neighborhood dog .

she parks before crimson peak  ,      the grand  ,     ever so  enigmatic manor :     shroudded in so much mystery and myticism ,   it should be considered a historic landmark by now .    without a shadow of a doubt ,     a most fitting place   for somebody like queen sophie-anne leclerq  ,      whom ,    perhaps begrungingly so ,    adelaide had found not only infinitely opportune but there was a certain ---  affinity for the queen stored in those ruins of hers she was not quite comfortable delving into .

⸻

A human can become a beast overnight. It doesn’t take a ritual or a sacrificial lamb to turn into an animal. Even before the burning house he had been a man built on obsession. Vietnam was a war that hosted the very evil in the world. He bled people dry and still remained on guard for some sort of damnation to come stirring up from the ground. He had trudged through purgatory in the green hills and burned villages to the ground. He drowned four times, he was shot three, stabbed once. There were many times he had seen hell and survived - but hadn’t wanted to. The terror of the world doesn’t solely come from the creatures he hunts, but from humans themselves. The cruelty is a nature meant for mortals, given by the gods as a malediction disguised as a gift. Abel and Cain took it without question, let the fields run red and let the rivers all dry out in the name of biblical insanity. Therefore, god lives in all their throats and speaks only from the mouth of this patriarchy - this general of his small army, this snake that slithers along the soil even after his head’s been chopped off. He remembers all foes, especially wrongly worshiped priestesses with serpents for hair. Long legs lounged out from the chair and spread slightly in a lazy position at first glance, but take a closer look and one could see the muscle ripening with the eagerness to move into a deadly position of attack. She appears in the doorway like a ghost returning home, night-gown translucent only at the right angle of the hall’s light. The humming should leave his skin prickling with disturbance, but he sits and wallows in the adrenaline as it comes to full fruition in his bloodstream. A tilt of his head as he peers at her, mouth slightly open with a rehearsed smile teasing out - the voice holding a flimsy tone of a condescending scold one might give a toddler. ‘Now, now, Adelaide. Ain’t no one talking about you like they used to. Dead gossip don’t sell much nowadays.’

it takes very little to put her in a disagreeable mood ,   and something about that particular rebuttal     strikes a nerve .     though adelaide does her best to conceal it under wave of casual dismissal  ,      a trained eye might easily spot the displeasure tugged at the corner of her mouth ,    in the knot of her brows  ,    in the very way her nails will dig into her own flesh ,     pleading softly for a little restraint :       an early developed mechanism that came with adolenscence  .  some days she’d fantasize about his bones twisting and breaking under moving flesh ;   or maybe his skin would bubble and burst like a blister ,       and she’d be left with his cranium :        john winchester’s bony remains on a pretty frame .    she’d set up as a prop somewhere in these lavish walls  ;   he’s much rarer than a deer ,    and sure make for a far less corny decoration .    

1.  a little wicked .  valerie broussard.   2.  what it means to be a girl .  emeline    3.  ipswich .   georgi kay.  4 .  season of the witch .  lana del rey.  5 .  chemtrails over the country club .  lana del rey.  6 .   paint it ,  black .  ciara.   7 .   i put a spell on you .   iza.    8 .  cruel intentions .   delacey.    9 .  institution .  thunder jackson.   10 .   perigo .   jade baraldo .   11 .  heart-shaped box .   glass animals.   12 .  money power glory .   lana del rey.   13 .  venus fly trap .  marina.  14 .  king .  florence and the machine.  15 .  devil’s playground .   the rigs. 16 .   i did something bad .  taylor swift.   17 .   control .  halsey.   18 .   black magic woman .  vctrys .   19 .  glory box .  portishead.     20 .   bottom of the river .  delta rae.   21 .  start a war . valerie broussard .   22 .  the devil within .  digital daggers.    23 .  same old energy .  kiki rockwell.    24 .  breath of life .  florence + the machine.    25 .   black black heart .  david usher.

@wihnchester​ asked :    * o8﹕ sender shows up at receiver’s home late at night . ( john winchester ?? rip )   ( x )

strange night .       strange because   adelaide is strange .       a strange   compulsion ,     a habit of choice .    her residence stands tall before unwise meddlers ,   an unspoken invitation .  do you dare come venture further?       waltz along these halls like a haunting  ,    across    empty halls and untouched furtiniture  ,      enshroudded in this bone-chilling coldness that’d shame even the dead .  it becomes evident with each bold step into her den ,      no living thing should dwell there for long  .  john winchester is no such animal :        he is a carcass of a man that drags its weary bones around ,     shoulders slounched from the burden of existence  ,     mouth parched for violence  .      he was left unscattered from their brief encounters ,    not because she is merciful --- but because she is not .