but there's no honor in that. @dayarmor - Tumblr Blog

—nothing else survives. #dayarmor, a private, independent, & selective roleplay blog for castlevania's STRIGA. iconless and minimal formatting. slow activity. 21+. basic rp etiquette applies. dni if under 21. terfs & zionists not welcome.

#PINNED.#written by julia. he/him pronouns. butch tme lesbian. mst tmz.

saovaene-moved

since i know i have a couple german followers / people living in germany, it would be amazing if you could support this motion by a variety of refugees' rights organisations to urge the schönefeld municipality not to approve the construction of a deportation centre in berlin airport. german and english instructions for how to take action provided in the google doc. today, may 20, is the last day that it is open to public submission. as germany has been massively deporting again, including trying to deport pro-palestinian activists against court orders, this centre getting approved would cause unimaginable harm to many.

thinking about the convo in s2 or 3 with carmilla where she says something to hector (could be someone else tbqh) about how she can't not act because the only other women in dracula's palace are frozen by their rage or fear and therefore they can't act in the way she can act. and it isn't really dwelled upon or touched again until lenore's convo with carmilla where she asks carmilla what she wants and carmilla claims she wants to kill men and take their power but under that you can feel how she really does just want as much power as possible regardless it seems of who she takes it from. something something even immortal death cannot save you from the eternal trials of being a woman etc. super interesting commentary wish they would've gone into it a little more

#carmilla to me is a complex character because she 1) refuses to lose 2) seems to still believe in some ways what she says #3) knows when she's about to lose and would rather go out on her own terms #esp w/the way that she holds her sisters together in a power dynamic that is not typical compared to what you usually see #like there's emotional investment there but the fact morana and striga were like oh shit it us just Us against the world and left carmilla #and lenore! ugh.#tbd /

@prophetishak / @kmtrpg: i will not be hunted.

with a voice like gravel, rough from days of disuse: “ you're a king. you're always going to be hunted. ”

her motives for returning to styria were, she knows, entirely selfish. but years are nothing to a vampire, just time whittled away at the root, and so after a half-decade of sitting and waiting and wondering, she leaves morana asleep in her coffin and takes the several-weeks' journey to styria by horseback. she's never been... curious by nature, in the traditional sense, just tactful. lenore was curious. morana more a collector of knowledge. but this... striga told herself that going to see the place carmilla brought them together one last time would be a sort of closure.

if she just saw—then perhaps she could assuage some of the guilt she's hesitant to admit exists.

it does not. the palace swarms with night creatures and servants. isaac welcomes her into his halls with a cunning, calculating look, and makes it clear that she, alone, is at a disadvantage. the room they stand in now used to be carmilla's. isaac, clearly, has a different taste in decor. less dripping in luxury and more practical, peaceful. she admits, privately, that she likes the gem-toned, cool blues more than she ever did the wealth of red on red and red.

the forgemaster isaac speaks softly. he does not raise his voice with her. he is surprisingly patient, but justifiably holding himself like he might reach for his knife at any second. from the tall, vaunting windows behind him, striga can see out into the mountain range: their mountains, once, their whole world. she fixes her eyes on him again, frowning. “ i just wanted to see what it was like now. there were days i was convinced she made this world. do the people of styria fear you as much as they did us? ”

that's not the question she really wants to ask. she's beating around the matter for no reason beyond sparing her own feelings. it takes a while to dredge the words up. a beat. “ was it an ugly death? i felt it. it was... ”

#prophetishak #int.#tagging u on both blogs just in case. yippeee!!! <3 #riffing a little change whatever u want

oh, i don’t have to lie to you. i have no interest in faith. faith makes for terrible diplomacy. ——— hector again bcs i’m insane

@avichor has clearly had her fill, playing pet with him. striga demanded she put him on a leash at the very least, all while lenore insisted that even if he did bite she could handle it. striga's not convinced. she has little love for humanity. they're good for feeding on. a nip at the fingers, every once in a while, to remind her that there was a time she was hunted by them as much as she hunted by them. they're not... stupid. cleverer than they appear. she should know. she used to be one.

she thinks they forget, sometimes, that they used to just be flesh and blood. carmilla, because of her own egotism. morana more because of her age — but she'd never outright say that to her, because striga loves her dearly and also values her life. lenore... might be the most aware of any of them given her role. hector, as much as he is flesh and blood, sheep for the slaughter just like his kith and kin, is also smart. a forgemaster. he stinks to high hell of magic, of ambition. in another world she thinks he may have made a very good vampire, if he could only keep himself from being so soft.

there is the inevitable but. he's managed to play well enough right into lenore's hands, hasn't he? tucked himself up against her feet to warm them during the day? utterly subservient. deeply pathetic. he speaks — and it sings to her, painfully familiar.

rumbling, brontidic, right from the chest, blatantly insulted: “ did you take that from her? don't throw her words back in my face. ” the lack of a threat hangs heavy in the air. she could do something. she likely won't. “ it isn't so different from dracula, is it? the room he kept you in and the one you're in now aren't so different, i'm told. ” a wicked smile curves at the corner of her mouth, too sharp, all teeth. “ do you think he had any faith in you, hector? ”

@imitor

#imitor #int.#crime we never got to see these 2 interact in the show tbqh. crazy shit

i can't make a deal with a snake and cut off its head. we both have our shitty parts to play.

she's met hunters in her time, of all walks of life, learned in their ways and unlearned. some of them are stalwart in their oaths, driven through desire for the taste of their own blood in their mouths whether they know it or not. others, striga finds, snap like twigs with just a little pressure.

sometimes they're driven mad, just like vampires who spend too long walking on the earth with little to live for and nothing to do with the time they have left.

she is eyeing the cane, its sleek and silver body, the iron-capped ferrule. she knows the press of silver to the skin, the burning that follows. the lick of pain that follows from a lash against the skin or a slit of sun just before dawn is the closest she'll ever get to seeing daylight ever again.

very rarely has she found herself in a position like this. flagrant disadvantage would be putting it kindly. but she's a soldier. she knows how to strategize. striga drags her eyes up from the cane towards oriana's face, heavy brow drawn, considering. “ i know your type. few of you want to make any deal at all. what makes you different? ”

@kavanschosen

#kavanschosen #int.#smth in the main verse mayhaps??#i'm just riffin tho if u want to plot smth more in depth pls hmu!!

she's gotta be. at least half a foot taller than lenore right. like.

#big ass woman!!!!! luv her...#tbd /

receival

castlevania, season 3 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from the netflix original, castlevania.

oh, my god. i am losing my mind.

it’s only been a month. i think.

i think it might actually be a nice night, for once.

do you think we’ll make the next town before we lose the last of the light?

do we need to make more noise?

they need to hurry up. i’m hungry.

let them get in close and get confident.

oh, god, not this again.

i am certainly doomed. doomed, i say! i am defenseless and frozen to my seat with fear!

laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, (name)?

this will all be over in a minute.

what if i said i was sorry?

i’ve been promoted from “brain - damaged servant”, then.

it’s absolutely bloody chaos out there!

i want to get in a bath, for at least a day.

the plan couldn’t have gone more wrong.

you’ll be wanting a drink, then.

you do still love me!

it’s us against the world, (name).

has there been some apocalyptic development that i somehow slept through in the meantime?

time absolutely does move on, and, sadly, none of us is master or mistress of it.

they are somewhat, uh, broken.

did you kill it?

how do you know this?

they said they felt his death.

does that offend you?

it’s time for you and yours to move along now, (name).

what the hell was that?

oh, dear. what a shame.

not until i feel a little safer here.

you killed that bastard thing. you get one free.

that is better than sex.

i do hope you sleep well tonight, with my tiny, icy foot shoved all the way up your —

and you know the smell of hell?

are you breathing, betrayer?

i was spoiled by a single act of kindness in this city. and so i attempted to be reasonable, honest, and peaceful. this was against my better nature.

it was stupid to expect anything other than hate from you.

i keep making the same mistake. i should know better.

then why are still talking to me?

do you know what annoys me about it the most? it’s a really good idea.

maybe we could just torture him until he does what he’s told.

i suppose i’m awake now.

good boy.

what a formidable beast you are.

uh … who the hell are you?

you are practically the jesus of murder.

i have no idea what’s happening right now.

and … what do you want in return?

what interests you so much about hell?

i will not be hunted.

#PROMPTS.

ooooh you want your muses to interact with a big vampire woman soooo bad

#weekend time!!!! i will be here >:)#if you want me to write u something please dm me/send me an ask!!!! i have many thots about striga hehehe #tbd /

avichora

delusion was best served in silken venom and honeyed syllabics. something only the polished concoction of an artist's final masterpiece would demonstrate, shiny and pretty, easily digested. that was the condition in which lenore carried herself in the name of survival. very unlike her sisters, the council in which they bathed in the bloods of the defeated, those who dared to question their power. histories had gone buried in the crevices of herself, nestled with the decay of hidden skeletons. it was in nights where she couldn't follow the darkness of slumber, stuck in purgatory, that she would feel its presence shaking from within, a paralyzing nightmare waiting to seize her. her past, a curse that would love her in whole, a rotten mark. in the wake of all violence that followed them, she sought to be different. not entirely by self - serving means, but what then ? the world saw her a beastly thing, mindless and corrupt, she couldn't be that. a flower plucked and placed amidst the wilds, thorns forgotten, bait with nectar. they saw past her, she knew this. or so she felt this, under the weight of striga's scrutiny.

perhaps it was only hypervigilance that she felt her own curtains rising, seeking to shield herself further. there was desire, this ache to be fully embedded within them, the foundation that would cause ruin if she were removed. in every move of hers, she sought leverage. it may have been unnatural in essence to do so, but it would be foolish to think otherwise. bound together by oaths of loyalty, but promises only ran so deep in the game of survival. she thought of him, faring better under her visits, and how the apprehension they'd showed at her suggestion only furthered her purpose. violence was not always the answer, and humans were fragile little things at their core, needing kindness, yearning to be nurtured. she could remember herself calling for it so vividly, only to be met with the promise of death.

“ we are apex predators, yes. but we were like them once before. were we not taught to hunt before we are hunted ? ” spine straightened, gaze initially focused over the stone tabletop before drifting in striga's direction, eyes a near - perfect rendition of a sweet, harmless fawn. “ it is nothing but a survival instinct of theirs. ” resting on the tip of her tongue : carmilla beat that man to within an inch of his life, fed off of whatever will to survive he'd protected, stripped bare of any dignity. their rule would never fare well if they led with pure fear and force. but striga eludes her, by a small amount. she wondered if she questioned any of what they had done, and what they will do. lenore had learned better than to categorize anyone into boxes. “ i just think there has to be more to it than just ... this. if we have not seen anything new, perhaps old habits truly need to die. ” under the table, slender digits play with the ring that'd kept them all tethered. “ it feels sickening to do it. like we are as bad as they assume us to be. ” like we are as bad as these humans have shown to be.

dayarmor

lenore turns sweet, spotted-fawn eyes upon her, wide and wet. if she were a lesser woman striga might be compelled to reach out and pluck them from her eyes like the gem from the band of a ring, wrapped up in its own metal. to lenore's credit: she doesn't flinch when striga speaks to her directly. she can be steely, for all those bright eyes give up. carmilla, striga thinks, coddles her—with the intention of getting what she wants, of course—but coddles, nevertheless. she allows for these idiotic little fantasies of gentling to work their way through lenore until she cannot help but froth at the mouth with them in all her earnestness, her desire to be better. striga has no desire to be better. she desires to eat.

whether that desire impedes her ability to consider the reality of carmilla's plan is not something she's willing to confront. not yet. for now she will live in the optimism: a world where they do not have to starve. a world where it is easy, in a way, to be as they are. lenore's proposition has her raising a heavy brow, almost incredulous. "when were you last like them?" she remembers her last moments brutally: the claymore biting through bone, driven directly through her sternum, the blood bursting from her mouth like a fountain from which to drink, waiting to die.

her creator drank her fill, certainly. it was not an honorable first death. it was an ugly one, in the mud, choking on her own fucking spittle. not the end of any apex predator. her tapping has turned to dragging—a talon along marks its path along the glossy and embossed wood of the table right in front of her. it's enough pressure to scratch but not to mar. carmilla, she thinks with a sick pleasure, will either never notice in her delusions of grandeur at her own scheming (she always gets like this, like a madman, caught up in her own conceptual fervor), or she'll be so angry she'll really lose her fucking mind. striga's always loved getting right between carmilla's ribs.

lenore, meanwhile, would rather placate. it doesn't take long for the truth to out: this is about hector. of course it is. she's quietly glad that carmilla and morana are gone. “ if you're sick at the thought of your own survival, lenore, i cannot save you. none of us can. ” it's all their existence is, from one night to the next. survival after survival after survival. drily: “ don't tell me a few hours with the whelp has gotten to you that fast. ” this must, she wants to say, be coming from somewhere else.

#avichor #fighting for my life to spell it as carmilla and not camilla. lird

cheeky lil rewatch and i forget what an insane dynamic hector and lenore have wow

#crafting a gender thesis about the queens of styria as we speak but ough. whoagh #tbd /

i don’t mean to–i don’t want to hurt people. / lenore

carmilla has left the room, morana not long after her. striga turns her head to peer at lenore from across the table, still in her seat, a severe frown working at her mouth. she's not shy about her own displeasure; what good does a creature like her have for niceties? in silence, she considers lenore.

lenore, of all her blood-kin, is the most puzzling of the bunch. striga had written her off, at one time—no better than the runt of the litter. time with lenore has proven that theory wrong, of course. but they stand here on the precipice of something much bigger, in the wake of carmilla's grand and imperial plans, wrapped up in her need to take the world in her fist. striga can't ever say she went to bed wanting to bend humanity over at the waist, but she won't pretend there isn't a part of her that froths at the mouth when presented with the prospect.

not lenore. lenore is soft. she plays with her food and gets teary-eyed when it weeps and begs for its life. she is delicate in ways that do not suit her—don't suit any of their kind. this alone is what makes lenore so useful. striga often wonders if the last dregs of humanity have been scraped out of her with a sharp-edged spoon. she drums her fingers across the tabletop, all while lenore sits there, the two of them looking at each other. what advice can she offer that lenore would ever take?

bluntly: "you will. you already have. why stop now?" it's not that lenore plays at complete innocence. she could never afford to, to live and work alongside the rest of them—carmilla especially. she pushes herself back from the table, and is ready to leave it at that... but the string of curiosity has been plucked, somewhere, at the back of her head. lenore so rarely speaks of herself. for as soft-petaled as she comes across, she's surprisingly guarded. "why, lenore? they'll all hurt you without a thought." she doesn't say it to be callous. it's just the truth.

i. PROMPT. ii. @avichor

#avichor #hehe. >:)#sisters!!!!!!!!

SHUT THE FUCK UUISOAPPPPPPPPPOOOP SHUTBUPPPPPPPPPPP

new blog baptism feels good feels correct

#hi macy MWAH #SAVE.