#is irredeemably corrupt and/or will stab him in the back without blinking | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kassandras-one-braincell · 2 years

Note

After having a shitty day at work my one remaining brain cell decided to start continuing on w your villain hcs for our favorite murder ladies. Maybe Kassandra would be Deimos in this situation or an extremely bloodthirsty and law breaking mercenary, Eivor either an Order member or a brutal warlord? and I can't think of anything for Soma rn

Love me some evil murder ladies and thinking about all of the bad things they could and would do for me bc they love me 🥺

That and a mechanic au bc I have to take my car to an auto shop to get it fixed and like women fixing cars? Attractive and I would gladly listen to them explain literally anything about a car

Murder ladies best ladies 🥺

Yeah personally I can never picture Kassandra as Deimos, because that would imply Alexios is the Eagle-Bearer and he gives me the biggest ick conceivable. He doesn't deserve that title. Stinky.

So let's talk irredeemably evil women who care about one person and that's you 🥰 Minors don't even think about touching the cut

(it should be said that there is a lot of violence under the cut - torture, disembowelment, scalping in slight detail - and of course it isn’t healthy knowingly taking an evil woman for a lover, not that it would stop us lmaooo. but please read at your own discretion)

Kassandra:

The most feared mercenary in Greece. She excels at what she does, but she enjoys the bloodier contracts a lot more than what’s healthy. The sounds of snapping bones and the squelch of a blade cutting through flesh bring a smile to her face. Her crew aboard the Adrestia fears her, and the shadier figures around the country struggle to sleep with the looming possibility of waking to her spear.

The only exemption from her depravity is you: you’re the brightest ray of light in Kassandra’s life. Her blood-money ensures you can live safely and comfortably without ever having to lift a finger. A part of her wants to stow you away in a cosy palace on an island so you would never have to witness the atrocities she commits, but you’d both miss each other terribly. Instead, she has a small house on every island for when you aren’t sailing.

But with her notoriety comes enemies. People want her dead, but are too afraid to instigate a hit on her. Anyone who tried didn’t live long enough to tell the tale. So one day, a corrupt man with far too much money and influence thought it wise to lure Kassandra into a trap. He hired a group to kidnap her one weakness, tying you up in a dingy cave, instructing messengers to leave subtle clues on your whereabouts. With a harsh grip on your hair, he promised that if she didn’t show up soon, he’d start hurting you. The array of tools atop a nearby boulder told you all you needed to know about his candour.

Oh, she showed up alright.

Kassandra is a smart woman. Any soul guarding the entrance to the cave was snuffed out before they could blink. They died far too swiftly for her liking, but your safety was her priority. When she found you in the cave, tears streaming down your cheeks with the conspirer’s knife grazing your skin, the final tether of her patience snapped. She shot his hand with her bow, then his knee, before slicing the heels of every other guard and binding their wrists. With them incapacitated, she turned her full attention back to the man about to hurt you, stabbing him over and over and over and over until his blood drenched her face.

When the - now rather literal - red mist dissipated, she didn’t waste a second before enveloping you in her arms, stroking your hair and kissing your temple firmly, whispering how worried she was and urgently asking if they hurt you in any way, tears pricking the corners of her eyes because she was scared. After checking you over, kissing you one or two or a dozen more times, she scooped you up and carried you back to her ship, lying you down and staying with you while you got some food in your belly, not quite ready to leave you alone. She orders her crew to lug the immobile guards back to her ship.

That night, Tartarus is unleashed upon the deck of the Adrestia. She took her time torturing the men who tried to harm you in a plethora of ways for her own amusement until they were crying in puddles of their own blood and piss.

Their wails of agony woke you from your light slumber. It was a cold night and Kassandra didn’t come to bed with you, so you woke up uneasy, still shaken from the incident and unable to feel safe without your misthios’ protective embrace. You knew she didn’t like to be disturbed when “working”, but you needed her.

The moment you asked in your sweet, slightly frightened voice for her to come to bed with you, she dropped her weapon. You never had to explain yourself to her; you shared a soul, you being the good and her being the bad. Her current subject had his neck snapped - the most mercy she had shown anyone all year, really. And as she held you in the captain’s quarters, listening to your soft breathing, she swore she would double the pain she inflicted on those men for disturbing your peace with their incessant crying.

Eivor:

Oh, cruel warlord Eivor. The chieftain who raids with the drengir of her clan not for supplies for her settlement, but to hurt, to burn, to ravage people of their possessions and to hurt again. Her rule was that people had the chance to flee, and she and her men would respect their choice, but if anybody crossed her, they died.

Her title of the “Scourge of Mercia” wasn’t earned through the eradication of false kings. No, no, she purged the kingdom of anybody who dared stake a claim to a crown or sizeable plot of land, and thrived in the aftermath: a chaos-ridden, kingless land. She did debate taking the title of King for herself, but thought better of it; with kingship came taxes and politics, which left less time for raiding. Eivor liked to have fun, after all.

But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have a queen. You were a princess, the stepdaughter of one of the “kings” she loathed particularly, about to be married off to some undeserving man. Eivor was smitten the second she laid eyes on you, when she was scouting your stepfather’s keep for infiltration points - your castle was well-fortified, and she wasn’t a fool, she would seize the land with as few casualties on her side as possible - and pledged to save you from your miserable fate. She courted you properly, not incapable of nobility herself, and swore to whisk you away before you were married. You fell for her alarmingly fast, even though she was a terrifying Pagan who you were raised in fear of. But nobody had made you feel loved before.

She stormed the castle on your wedding day. It was nothing short of a bloodbath, the decorative petals on the ground stained crimson with entrails scattered between them. You were crying at the altar, not out of fear, but because you thought Eivor had broken her promise and was about to desert you, leaving you to be married off. Gods, her heart shattered then and there. She dislodged her axe from somebody’s skull and ran to kiss you, ripping off your veil, reassuring you that she would never abandon you, that if you’d still have her she would make you so, so happy. Her men had never seen her so soft. They knew then and there that you were special and not to be trifled with.

As she carried you away from the carnage, she ordered her men to gather the blood of the castle army. She had Gunnar forge a necklace from the iron in the blood and weld a pendant to the centre: a hollow crystal that she filled with her own blood, so that she would always be close to your heart. When she asked you to marry her, she gave you the necklace. Your heart swelled, of course, but then your stomach dropped, thinking that you’d be expected to make yourself bleed for her in return. Eivor immediately put your nerves to rest, saying, “My sweet dove, for you to feel the slightest pain would pierce me like a knife. All I ask for is your love.”

But while she was sweet and tender with you, her foes outside of her clan (and the traitors within, moreover) were met with a sadist who tortured ruthlessly for her own entertainment. She preferred live targets to training dummies. She would read of a particularly creative method of torture or execution and be itching to try it. Her poems sung of the blood she spilled and the queen who knew nothing of her deplorable joys.

Well, sort of. You knew Eivor was well acquainted with torture, and assumed that the men she brutalised were holding incredibly important information. Not caring for details, you never asked what they did to be sobbing with dozens of carefully opened wounds. Raised a princess your whole life, you were terribly squeamish; upon witnessing your first Vikingr execution, you fainted at the sight. Eivor’s men caught you before you could hit the ground - they were like brothers to her, and wouldn’t risk you hitting your head. She paused the execution as soon as you were brought to her attention, leaving the traitor on the stand half-disembowelled, and carried you to bed, ensuring you were in the safe hands of the servants before resuming.

You mattered most. If there was an object your heart desired, you would get it. Growing up as royalty meant you rather fancied material possessions, which gave Eivor an excuse to raid, just to bring you beautiful jewellery and dresses and decorate your darling body with the spoils of war. She would take the pretty things by force if it came to it. Nobody, nothing, came in the way of seeing her wife smile.

Soma:

Conquest was never as important as kingdom to Soma. She cared deeply for Grantebridge...and that was it. The remainder of England lived as a collection of pawns for her to dispose of as she saw fit, and if a lord of some pathetic little shire thought to challenge her, she would send his people his head as a harsh reminder.

Her port thrived under her rule, and with a port comes trade. You were the handmaiden of an ostentatious merchant’s wife, abused and living in fear of her next command. Soma first saw you with a split lip, covered in bruises, trembling under the weight of her gaze, flinching the moment the woman opened her painted mouth. Her steel heart softened; she may have been nefarious, but the notion of forcing people into servitude made her blood boil.

The evening of your arrival, she managed to ease you out of the wretch’s grasp. She wrapped your quivering form in the bear’s fur draped across her shoulders as she cleaned your busted lip, asking how such a sweet little thing as yourself wound up in that old bitch’s hands. And you broke down, telling this stranger, who you knew hurt people, everything: how she beat you and broke your spirit with her words, and threatened to let her husband’s men do unspeakable things to you every time you misplaced so much as a strand of the hair she obsessed over.

Soma held you as you wept, infuriated by the words falling upon her ears. She offered you a new, free life, asking what your passions were, promising you the freedom to explore them without inhibition. She wanted to see the tender soul within you flourish, for a reason inexplicable to her.

That night, she told you to keep far away from the guest quarters where the merchant and your mistress slept. She gave you clean clothes and allowed you to sleep in her bed, where nobody would dare disturb your slumber - the first real bed you had slept on in a long time. Entering the guest bedchamber with a plan, she first took the eyes of the merchant - befitting of his apparent see-no-evil attitude - as to spare him from witnessing the wrath she was about to inflict upon his wife. She ripped the hair your mistress cared for so deeply from her skull, scalp and all, a feral glint in her eye as she sobbed in anguish. The couple, one blind and the other in blinding pain, were escorted to their ship during the night so the eyes of the town’s children would be spared.

You were kept awake by the sounds, and thought yourself diseased in the head for not being disturbed by her agonised screams. The Jarlskona would not want somebody so sick in her town, you thought, tears streaming down your cheeks. But Soma found you, apologising to you for her inconsideration. She embraced you as you were honest in your emotions, and she convinced you that you were the purest, loveliest soul to set foot in her town.

When Soma saw you sat bathed in the sun amidst a field of flowers, delicately weaving some into a crown, finally free from suffering, she was convinced you were a nymph who had wandered too far from the forest whence you came. You were the epitome of beauty, glowing in the sunlight. The gods had brought you to Grantebridge. She pledged to herself to take you as her bride. But you deserved to be treated with amity, so she courted you formally, never wanting to bring you discomfort. Birna and Lif joked that she had gone soft, to which she always grinned, but Galinn dared to speak against you, saying you were peasant blood and good for nothing but servitude. Her dagger shore open his throat faster than he could blink.

She now had one more reason to keep the port safe from plotters and bandits. Seeing you play with the town’s children, telling them Saxon tales of dragons and warlocks, lounging about the flowers and lending a hand whenever to help the port thrive filled her with more joy than bloodshed ever had. So she would annihilate those who threatened her town, torturing them for information on fellow conspirers, for your safety. But she would always wash her hands before caressing her darling, for you did not deserve to be tainted with the blood of filth.

( I could be persuaded to write smut snippets for each of the ladies with these depraved personas so do let me know if you would be interested <3 )

#tis unhinged hours my good bitches #so unhinged that i didn't proofread shit #murder murder ladies #❀ sugar and spice ❀#tw: blood #tw: gore #eivor x reader #soma x reader #kassandra x reader #eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #kassandra #kassandra of sparta #soma jarlskona #ac soma

162 notes · View notes