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SOLO !
TO BE PRETTY && DIVINE.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / tw: gore, blood,
self-mutilation and (n)sfw.
mature content all around.
𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.
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✧・゚: *✧・゚
୨⎯ A SOLO ! ⎯୧
𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. ࿐ྂ
Five times where Jote thought of death; one time she didn’t.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: for gore, cults, Jote x Joshua and mature themes. inspired by one thread.
✧・゚: *✧・゚
𝐉 𝐎 𝐓 𝐄.
·̩̩̥͙**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚
of the undying: steel curled in her grasp and a spine, she’ll weave violence for the phoenix—and for a greater world.
headcanon heavy jote. banter and storylines welcome. minors do not interact. #ffxvirp, #mvrp, #ffrp.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Solo:
Devotion.*ೃ༄
﹌﹌﹌
a study in:
being a puppet,
the waltz of bodies.
content warning: nsfw.
. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .
Is she loyal?
In wars, in battle, she 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 of him; all cloaked in »
// update: I still can’t be around. I am in love and it has been hectic trying to deal with those feelings on top on external stressors. It’s been the case for a long, long time. I am Confused
She comes closer, lips brushing against the shell of Luche’s ear. She swallows the spite: she recognises what he is. A sad little boy with no love weaved in the blanket of his life.
❝If you lay a hand on me… It will be the last time you will have hands, kind sir.❞
He stiffens at the touch, distrust dancing in his gaze. How valiant of her! It only twists his heart: it’s a grave to everything and nothing. Violence itches at his fingers, his hands upon her words.
❝If only they loved YOU, Princess. This world hates you.❞ he spits.
Puppet strings pulling, a hand seeks to touch his cheek: gentle and almost kind. And it would have been, if he did not coat her heart with silent grief, silent horror. He terrifies her.
❝If only the Astrals loves you, at all, Sir Lazarus,❞ she murmurs, bringing herself close.
He stares and stares in his horror. But then he smiles, a false smile tearing free upon pale lips. The jab will not go unnoticed.
❝It was quite hot. Nothing I can’t handle, Princess.❞
❝Good morning,❞ The words trickle free, forlornly from sweet lips. She is exhausted: a handkerchief with blackened ichor hidden within silken pockets. ❝I hope all is well. The sun has arrived again. How did you slumber?❞
Sometimes, she thinks the scourge will tear her apart. It stays within her, resting on her bones like a babe in a mother’s arms. She rests on the side of the road, black ichor dripping from her mouth. It comes up with the sickening bile, and she hides from the world.
〖 AN AU SOLO. 〗
☽ DEATH’s PRIESTESS. ☾
〖 CW/TW: gore and mature themes. 〗
This is how it feels to be Lunafreya Nox Fleuret: death rests in her lungs. She breathes in the smoke of the dying, starvation rests at the bottom of her +