[open] i shall wear no crown [any]

[Deathwish]

Deathwish

im a DIY pioneer, they tryna get involved

They could all go fuck themselves.
Deathwish moves through the forest easily, leaving a wake of destruction behind her. Anything green, anything fragrant, she snuffs out with nary a thought. Damn them all. Vegetation, flowers. They wither with her anger. The lavender grey woman is blinded red with her fury, smiling grimly as the trees wither and die, the wood of their trunks cracking and splintering. They would grow again, eventually—maybe—but for the time being, they could all rot. Her great grandfather, that flamboyant windbag, had abandoned them just as they had won, and Grandmere had gone with them. Even her own mother—well, fuck you too, Mum.

Perhaps they imagined her capable of living and dying on her own. But she was not used to being on her own. Going from being surrounded by family, as annoying as they were, to being entirely by herself… Well, it did not sit well with DW. She did not know how to cope without the company of her family. Or.. without anyone, for that matter. She had known her usefulness—her power—when she was within the Coven, and alone, Deathwish was merely an odd-colored girl with a few weird abilities. Time had passed, and she had gone back to the forest, allowing her anger to taint her heart black. Between the trees, she has been able to hone her craft. She loves to kill things.

And anyone who crosses her path, has a Deathwish.

The girl smiles with wicked irony as she turns her curved hip to walk with a black booted step right into Vaughan’s path. Her thick black hair is laying in front of her grey eyes, and she tosses her head as she comes across him, her anger resting in her eyes as she rolls her shoulders back and slides forward. The rabbits that the black man is so fond off—her eyes flash silver and they stop where they stand, their hearts withering and dying in their chest, and the decomposition of their bodies happens within mere minutes.

Let this luscious blue-black man pay attention to something a bit more—his style. “They fuck far too often as it is…call it culling the herd.”

yippee kiyay ahh yea, bout to set it off

HTML by Call

okay that was terrible