new death sensation

damien ashing. vampire. 21. dear hero imprisoned, with all the new crimes you are perfecting... and these are the ways, on which i was raised. these are the ways, on which i was raised.

[valeriusstone]

Wandering the streets wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to Valerius, even with the apparent dangers that lurked the streets of Ashbourne. They didn’t scare her in the least, and she was more than willing to put her life at stake if it meant escaping from her father’s clutches for a moment. He’d been rather suffocating as of late, especially with her training, and Val was becoming increasingly bitter as a result. His teachings didn’t seem to hold her like they used to, and his attempt at parenting her was amusing to say the least. Hopefully, with enough distance and time outs like these, he would get the point that she was no longer that naive little girl he’d met all those years ago.

Getting lost hadn’t been apart of her grand plan to get out of the house, but alas, she’d managed to wind up in a dark and somewhat elusive building. She could vaguely remember passing it here and there, but now that she was intrigued out of boredom, Val actually became bothered enough to explore it. But as she soon came into a close proximity to a dark figure, she slowly began to regret stepping foot through its front door. “Clever, but not exactly original.” Val revealed herself from the shadows, only half of her face apparent in the moonlight that poked through a nearby window. “If you were thinking of pulling that shit with me, think again.”

[damienashing-blog]

Damien didn’t need the light to see, but it was the river of moonlight flowing through the window that helped accentuate the stranger’s features. The young woman that was revealed wasn’t a mirror to this place like its inhabitants were; she was young, attractive. Probably the only living person to walk in for a good solid decade that wasn’t some junkie meth head or heroin addict occupying other rooms of residence. Hooker, however...

Always a possibility.

“Prom isn’t in session yet,” he replied, moving now to lean his right side against the derelict wall to the edge of the doorframe as she was received with cocked eyebrows and a wry smile, “And I wouldn’t start a spectacle without an audience. You also aren’t exuding the right amount of swine-like presence, so that also serves as a potential conflict, unfortunately.”

He took the time to properly receive her for a moment after he finished speaking. ‘Finished’ speaking. Whatever, no. He was a strong believer in cutting to the chase, in pursuing answers to questions even if the answer could be trivial.

He levelled a look on her, waiting for her to slip from the shadows. “So,” he began. “Should I be asking ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this’, or is that just an unwelcome misnomer?”

[issac-king-deactivated20170805]

Halloween was fun for gathering components for his dark uses. When looking up more resources for his darker spells, he found that pieces of people were often required as components. The things that he needed were easy to come by under the right conditions and the black pointed hat that framed his head, made it seem like he was just another kid out searching for candy. His brows knit together as he came into contact with a foreign body and was forced to take a few steps backwards, shifting slightly in order to avoid falling. Once his bearings had been gathered, the young witch glanced up at Damien, a certain glint in his eyes. “Really?” The question doesn’t need any answer. “I didn’t know pig’s blood was so easily obtained.”

Blake pushed his hate up, eyes roaming over Damien with a look that can’t quite be placed. “Didn’t think I’d see you out tonight, never quite sure how much scarier selfish vampires could be.”

[damienashing-blog]

Out of everyone in Ashbourne, Illinois, the entirety of the USA, the world at large, through the planetary systems, whatever, he just had to land the hard eight with the shittiest ever return. Blake Constantine - a pretentious as hell name if he had ever heard one - was like a fucking STD: irritating, prone to retreating out of sight and mind for some thankful periods, but in the end always just making himself known again in ways that were seemingly even more annoying than previous.

And he had to be the one to walk right through the damn door.

As his momentary counterpart regarded Damien with wandering eyes, the vampire retaliated with a glare as icy as his eyes were. Selfish? That was rich; that was real fucking rich. Coming directly from the lips of a ginger prick so quick to threaten to run along home and cry to uncle-dearest over something that was of no concern to him, spoiled brat as he was.

“Whilst the thought of staying home and draining the rest of this pig’s blood from your mother was a tempting way to spend the evening,” Damien responded, voice equal parts boredom and pure, tangible distaste, “Business is ever-calling. Holiday demand.”

There was a small part, a tiny part of him that was inquisitive towards Constantine’s own reasons for being out here, in this begotten part of Ashbourne that both fed on the darkness and the decayed and manifested it - a rotting coffin reborn as an area. Natural curiosity; most would assume that someone such as he would flat out just not give a fuck, but he had been a child raised by academia.

To everything, there was a reason.

Damien half circled the man, expression still fixed to be pointed. “I could say the same for you; ‘expected that a night like this in a place like this one would just be too scary for you. But...,”

He stepped out of the way of the doorway, leaving the space free for entry.”If you were coming here to OD on a shit-stained mattress with a $10 girlfriend by your side, then by all means-” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he motioned his head to the frail rug path inside, providing a path back up the rickety old staircase that he had just been hanging around.

“Be my guest.”

[winstonfaux-deactivated20181204]

Halloween, what did you say about that holiday? Besides it being cold as fuck outside and with the naggy, bored feeling currently nesting inside his head like is so often did when he was out of stuff to do? Not much. His brother had since long run off to that party at the square and Winston was slowly dwelling on whether to join him or not, the town was basically dead either way so what did he have to lose? If not so that he could get a closer look upon this new force of action called the shadow council or whatever, sounded like a trick up his sleeve – at least if that meant he could get a shot at messing with the real council and give them a smaller hell when they weren’t looking. 

He glanced across the street as he heard the laughter of children, wrinkling his nose at the cheap costumes and the rattle of candy in a bag. At least people didn’t try to mimick faeries as much as any other supernatural being, though he had spotted a Tinkerbell two blocks down. It wasn’t as bad as seeing witches with their long, spiderweb shaped dresses and pointy hats. He was somewhat confused over how no mage, or vampire, at all had started to find it offensive and tried to ban it or something, seeing how the town was more or less built on top of these myths. 

Winston’s thoughts were cut off as he saw someone step out in his field of view, putting a break on his feet right in time to hear the young man’s playful words pointed at him. He gave the bag a glare, snorting lightly. “Turning to the cliché tricks, I see. I’m sure you can get a bit more creative than that. That’s barely enough to cover someone’s shoulders”, he replied back in a rather unimpressed tone. They had from the start of April until now to think of fine tricks to play and this was the result? Pathetic.

[damienashing-blog]

History had always been something of an interest to Damien.

Medieval knights and lords. War stories of the 20th century, teeming with the amalgam of horror accounts versus overwrought patriotism. The Renaissance period, the Dark Ages. Hannibal Barca’s campaign of Carthage to Xerxes of Persia. Yet, it was always the Ancient Greeks that captured his attention most as a little bespectacled geek of a child, and to their pantheon of the gods, it had always been ambrosia and nectar that provided sustenance – irresistible even to them.

Here, it would be their ichor that would be much more fitting.

His sense of smell reacted first to the man, even before he was able to look up and get a proper look at him. Something within him - a reflex, an instinct kicked in without immediate consent, vying desperately to override all sense of control, and it was only due to his familiarity with his cash cow Una’s that his fangs didn’t automatically react before anything else did, and even then, she was nothing compared to the foreign scent of this man.

Just as if someone were holding that golden dish of ichor right under his nose.

It very quickly became apparent that he would need to force himself to reply, a defence mechanism against the internal machinations that were pressing down on every nerve end for him to just grab the man, to tear out his jugular and taste…whatever the hell was running in his veins.

“Or,” he began, his voice falling flat as his gaze now that he lifted it to meet the man: vaguely scruffy, vaguely neurotic as he was. His eyes betrayed something different; where his voice was low, his eyes lit themselves with what the keen would identify as pure, animalistic hunger.

“I could just be preparing to baptise a five year old girl with it instead.”

It was a joke, but it was completely without humour. Borderline clinical now, in comparison to before. Quite frankly, with his more logical side at least still in some working order, this all pissed him right the fuck off.

New things, unknown things, were not things to be taken lightly, after all.

[stilinscared-blog]

It was a noisy night, Teresa concluded, as she traveled along the busy streets with roller blades on her feet. A bit haphazard, she knew, but it was alright; no harm done in being a little precarious on such a marketed holiday. A shift of an eye, before her eyebrows curl downwards as her mouth also did. It wasn’t everyday, after all, that you would see such stupidity across Ashbourne – almost offending costumes and clothes that barely covered any skin. Skate, skate, and like that, she almost crashed into somebody, were they not able to jump out of her way easily. Teresa turned and made her way to him with a terrified look in her face, embarrassed and apologetic at the same time. “I am so sorry,” she began, yet a small portion in her mind told her not to apologize, as the word sorry was growing old on her lips, and she was a little tired of repeating it to so many people again and again – but superego wins over id once more, and social etiquette was just not something she could ever ignore. Teresa curses herself for her curious eyes and inquisitive tongue, but simple, unmeant curses could never stop anything. He held a blood bag in his hand, and she found it extremely odd, especially because he  had defended himself even before she could say ‘what is that,’ or ‘what are you doing with it’.  She shook off all doubts and replied cordially instead. “Ah, Halloween, when most moral standards are down to a minimum.” Teresa places a lollipop in her mouth casually. “Have fun pouring pig’s blood on people, then. Just – not on me.”

[damienashing-blog]

“I am so sorry.”

As soon as the words began to tumble out of her mouth, Damien’s brow began to crease. Just for the smallest of moments, and not in confusion, but to tilt his head and scan her features; to size her up like an animal would, quickly passing judgement on the creature in its line of sight. He was doing that a lot lately, and with words and an expression more befitting the breaking of news that she had been involved in the death of his first born child rather than the situation for what it was, she immediately designated herself as a meeker thing. A submissive thing, delicate and skittish, existing on a lower rung than himself. A doe, isolated from others of its kind.

Perfect.

His eyes flashed at her, giving her now a more obvious once-over, trailing up from her skates to her face. Just three years ago, his demeanour would’ve been a completely different thing, existing only in his mind instead of in his presence. Now, he had the freedom to express himself however he pleased and to a girl as hot as hell as Rollers here, and with it being Halloween - evening of lax ‘moral standards’ - he saw no problem in doing so.

“Do I really look like someone who’d go and do a thing like that?” he said to her, stepping onto the pavement proper as he crossed his arms against his chest in mock query. In reality, the mere thought of pouring the contents of the bag over someone was enough to set off some mild irritation over just how much of a fucking waste that would be, but that wasn’t pertinent.

“You only just nearly killed a man.” He took a few lazy steps backward as he spoke, still keeping his eyes on her with sharp grin unfaltering. “Reasonably sure that death through rollerskate accident counts as some sort of vehicular manslaughter, wouldn’t you agree?”

[damienashing-blog]

With the press of a button, synthetic light blared from the screen of his iPhone into the darkness of the apartment complex hall, the space seemingly a timeless purgatory where peeling wallpaper and the question of had this place even seen electricity before? graced the mind. A shithole, in other words, and at 6:15, Damien was done with this. Customers being late was not a game he played, and although the responsibility of blood trades had fallen on his shoulders for a couple of days whilst Zach was out of town, deviations from what was expected in business wasn't his weight to bear.

Lifting his thin frame from where he had been leaning against an old stairwell banister, footfalls on the old rug beneath him threw up dust as he headed for the exit, pulling out the blood bag that had been hidden in an incredibly roomy inside pocket of his jacket with the intention of reading the label. It would denote for whom it had been for, after all, so he could remember to note them as a time wasting, Halloween ignorant bitch for life, and as he pulled at the brass door handle, he paid no attention to the outside until he stepped into it, right into the path of a passerby that he just dodged crashing into, thanks to reflexes that enabled him to quickly sidestep them.

With the offending blood bag still in hand, Damien's gaze immediately flicked to it, and without even missing a beat to look up at the other person's face, he shrugged it off with a toothy grin.

"Pig's blood." His eyes glinted as he gave it a small shake, his other hand opening shifting his jacket so that he could nestle it back in. "Just not Halloween without someone getting doused like Carrie sometime through the night, y'know.”

[ashbourne-rp-deactivated2016061]

FILE:·Damien Ashing · · ↳ 21 / VAMPIRE / DRUG DEALER / DANE DEHAAN / OPEN

"I'm gonna get you to burst just like you were a bubble, frame me up on your wall just to keep me out of trouble." ·

For someone who was bullied viciously in school and spent most of his childhood wearing glasses thick enough that he could potentially start fires with them, Damien Ashing is turning quite a lot of heads with his sudden shift in attractiveness these days. There are many rumors about how he achieved this change, most of them involve him selling his soul to some demon or another, which might upset someone with functioning moral standards, but he’s rather enjoying the noteriety that they’re giving him now that he’s returned from his soujorn on the East Coast. All of those years spent on the bottom rung of the social ladder are behind him now and Damien has plans to knock some of his past torturers off of their pedestals so that he can climb his way closer to the top, all the better to watch them writhe in agony to make up for how badly they treated him in the past. Having finally ditched the unattractive shackles of the past is just icing on the cake for him, but he couldn’t have asked for better timing.·

CHARACTER TRAITS:·DISSOLUTE. AMBITIOUS. VENGEFUL. ENGAGING. HOT-BLOODED.

Born on the 2nd of November to human parents, Damien was a sickly child from the cradle onwards and was wearing glasses before he was potty trained properly. His parents tried not to coddle him too much, lest he feel as if there was anything truly wrong with him, but his peers made sure to remind him of just what a weirdo he was as soon as he started school. There was a point in third grade where he was having his glasses broken by bullies practically every other month, but though he begged his parents to let him be homeschooled, they refused to allow him to withdraw from Ashbourne Elementary on the grounds that it would stunt his social skills.·

With that refusal looming over him, he suffered through the next nine years of school with the same group of students that had harassed him from the start, nursing a growing thirst for revenge of one kind or another. Of course, he knew that he wasn’t capable of taking revenge on much of anyone when he could barely see half a foor in front of his face without his thick glasses perched on his nose and when he fell behind his male peers in practically every way that wasn’t academically inclined. He was painfully short until the end of his junior year in high school and his ‘growth spurt’ fell far short of his expectations, as he was barely taller than most of the girls who taunted him for his thrift store clothing. Being allowed to go off to college in a place where nobody knew him came as a relief, though it was only a short-lived one as he found himself to be way over his head barely three weeks into his first semester. His intelligence had been remarkable in Ashbourne, but that was in a student body of less than seven hundred people. The Ivy League college that he had been accepted into was stuffed to the gills with mediocre talents like himself and he took to slacking off in his classes once that truth set in for good, getting involved with some of the darker elements on campus as a delivery lackey for the drugs that they peddled.··

If he hadn’t been cornered in that dark alley just off campus one night in December, he would have probably foundered his way into utter obscurity, perhaps ended up in a dead-end retail job for the rest of his life once the drug selling gig fell apart, but the vampire who drained him seemed to have other plans for him. Well, at least fate did, and fate didn’t abandon him less than a week later once they had explained in detail how to survive and handle the new abilities that his undead state had given him. He no longer needed the glasses that had blighted his appearance all of his life, he was stronger than he could have ever believed possible, and people actually began to pay attention to him in ways that he couldn’t quite comprehend, though he was hardly unhappy with that change. It only made him more successful as a drug peddler, so much so that he could afford to relocate to Ashbourne again and establish new contacts to take advantage of what he saw as a prime market. It has been three years since he returned home and his influence has grown exponentially since then, though not as much as he would like. The current status quo isn’t to his liking, it’s far too cut and dry, but it’s also lacking a key element that could make it far more powerful than it ever has been: him. Damien has the beginnings of a plan to take his place among the creme de la creme set in motion, but he’ll have to put in quite a bit of work and lure in more with his newly crafted charm before it’s solid enough to break down the walls that have stood for centuries. Not that he minds, it’s a challenge to relish, not to fear.

Truth be told, he’s growing wary of Una McKenna’s loyalties, especially with how tumultuous things are in Ashbourne lately. Sure, they’ve had a deal going for years now and it’s been very profitable for both of them to siphon off her blood once a month or so to sell off to vampire connoisseurs, but she’s been putting him off on their regular meeting dates recently. First a day, then two days, then a week, and Damien is beginning to wonder if she’s forgotten the deal they’ve signed and the money she would owe him if she went back on her word. Maybe he’ll have to remind her soon, or maybe he’ll just have to teach her a permanent lesson instead.

Of all of the people that he’s turned, Zachary Merrick has always been his favorite and he has never bothered to hide that fact from the other members of their little group. Zach is relatively self-sufficient, he has iniative that they don’t, and best of all, he landed a sweet deal selling blood for the Irvings, thereby placing him in a perfect position to learn as much about the way that they function as possible. Admittedly, he’s a rather lazy spy and he seems to enjoy the profit he’s making now that he’s moved on from drugs to blood dealing, but he does dredge up some good information from time to time that he loyally turns over to Damien as soon as possible.

Damien rarely turns down a chance to make a little extra profit from his customers, especially if they seem pliable enough, but there is a line drawn in the metaphorical sand that he will not cross, no matter how much money that Blake Constantine offers him. Blood sales are for vampire customers only, it’s a hassle to beg such favors from Zach in the first place and he could smell the retch-worthy magical scent on the boy as soon as he walked up to him with a request for marijuana. His rudeness when refused didn’t endear him to Damien either, and his threats about being the nephew of a council member just earned him a spot on Damien’s shit list for life. He still tries to push his luck from time to time, but there’s not a chance in hell that he’ll buckle for some upjumped twerp when it could cost him his whole business if things went wrong.

AWARE OF VAMPIRES ONLY.

Alternate FCs: Sean O'Pry, Luke Pasqualino, Michael Trevino, Samuel Larsen