𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚂𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙳.

𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐃𝐘!   welcome   to   vicereign   ——   a   private,   selective,   and   iconless   multimuse   roleplay   blog   with   muses   from   a   wide   range   of   mediums.   my   penname   is   lola,   i   am   29   years   old   and   use   she/her   and   they/them   pronouns   interchangeably.   please   expect   moderate   to   heavy   canon   divergence   with   all   muses   with   significant   influence   by   my   own   headcanons.   please   make   sure   to   read   the   linked   google   doc   below   for   rules   and   muse   list.   anti-jkr,   18+   only.  

docs   link   (work   in   progress). promo. prompts.

         The choked words were enough to drive the creature from her task. The lithe, pale nightmare of a woman released the dying man and leapt from her path into a nearby tree. She pulled herself into a branch near enough to observe the mangled lord, but far enough away as to make a quick escape should he turn malicious. Even brought as low as this, Delphine knew the titles of those under Mother Miranda were not given to the weak. She had lived for decades in their shadows, feeding off of their scraps. Hunger was as familiar to her as air or pain. She had intended to feast upon the carcass of the iron lord. But when she had dared leave the shadows, she found a barely living man. Something from her clouded memories stayed her hand… something she pondered as she dragged the almost corpse from the scrap heap.     “Escaping.” She answered, climbing to a new branch. She crouched on the tree limb, clawed feet digging into the bark for stability. “Would you prefer that I let you die? I am hungry.” As she spoke, pointed teeth pushed through the gums of her mouth. Saliva mixed with blood dripped slowly from her lips. “Le village a disparu. Ta Mère est morte. We are… alive.”

           𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇   𝐎𝐅   𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄   𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋   𝐖𝐀𝐒   𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘   𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃,   the   bark   of   pain   echoing   through   the   dense   brush.   Snarls   burst   through   clenched   teeth   as   the   fallen   lord’s   pain   addled   mind   conjured   gristly,     𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭     fantasies   of   what   he   would   do   to   the   little   bat   if   he   had   his   hands   on   her   in   that   moment.   It   would   be   so   easy   if   she   were   closer   so   she   could   be   brought   just   as   low   as   his   broken   body,   ruined   fingers   twitching   and   jagged   claws   cleaving   at   the   snow   and   soil      ——   claret   ichor   feeding   the   winter   starved   earth.

But   it   was   in   that   red-tinted   agony   that   a   moment   of   clarity   bloomed,   the   bottom-feeder’s   words   finally   sinking   through   the   haze.

❝      If   you’re   telling   me   the   truth,   woman,   I   might   leave   you   in     𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙻𝚈   one   piece.      ❞   He   had   never   been   much   of   a   patient   man   and   the   pain   and   frustration   of   his   broken   body   only   served   to   further   fray   what   little   he   had   left.   There   was   a   reason   why   the   youngest   lord   was   considered   the   most   dangerous   of   his   siblings   and   why   Miranda   had   kept   him   on   a   short   leash.   The   hodgepodge   of   metallic   items   kept   on   his   person,   from   the   lowly   paperclips   stuffed   into   the   lining   of   his   coat   to   the   hefty   weight   kept   on   a   cord   around   his   neck,   seemed   to   come   alive   and   vibrate   in   accordance   with   his   temper.   ❝      Start   yappin’,   I   don’t   need   the   flowery   bullshit.      ❞