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ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ - ɴᴇᴄʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇʀ ɢᴏᴛʜɪᴄ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇᴅ - ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ʟᴏʀᴇ ɪɴᴅ - ꜱᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ - 21+

𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘

ᴘᴇɴɴᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ zol

So, how is that crush on Antoine treating you?

"....."

".... who said I have a crush on him? The dude's taken? You know. We're mate. I mean that doesn't mean much to some folk but, c'mon."

#trxstesse #// thank you #// ahaha #// speculate all you like

What's your "hear me out"?

Vincent took a moment. Giving a baffled look as he processed the question.

"You mean like the thing people were doing on tik-tok for cartoons and stuff?" His brows drew in, wrinkling. Alright. Possibly one of the weirder questions by he'd give it a go.

"Uh... Sir Orrin from The Flight of Dragons? Rum Tum Tugger from the original Cats The Musical... not the movie....I think?"

#// ; ;#// this is gold #// but both of us are so confused #// thank you anon !

where the shadows dance // @immortal-gentleman

“Well, by all accounts, it just doesn’t make sense….” A voice in passing.“...the records match.”

It would never make sense? Idiots.

“.. you see, we’re all a little confused.”

The dead don’t come back to life. The dead aren’t meant to, and Vincent Lawrence Montgomery, pronounced dead March 28, 1980, was here. The boy who died, disappeared and returned. The boy who stood over the disgusting man and held his arm as his limbs became weak and his flesh began to rot under the boy's grasp, as the life he could have seen rapidly left him and all this caught. The power, the corpse, Vincent on that damn sodding camera, and he had not even expected it. Why should he have? But that’s how they had caught him. This little, terribly thin and dishevelled young teen with the long black curls and piercing silver eyes against pallid olive tones. And he thought he could scare them. He’d put up a good fight, too. A good run. Did a pretty good number on that windscreen when they finally caught him and made him scream. It wasn’t enough, though, and nor were they at the time. He had been so fierce, desperate, and when he rammed the door, when he bit and roared like an animal at the officer and made his skin fester, they knew their custody suite alone would not be enough. So they sent him on to here. This place of death, horror and misery. And he could feel it all. He could feel so many of them dying. Hurting. Even when they couldn’t. He hated it. It frightened him. Even with the sedatives, he’d still tried to escape. With all his will, he’d tried to fight.

That had been days ago now. He didn’t know how long. He’d calmed. He had learnt to. He had been cooperatively uncooperative with barely a word spoken. How they’d all claimed that they’d only wanted to help. Let me go. Just leave me. That’s how they could help.

‘...the little psycho’ A voice unspoken.

His head turned toward the wall. Weak through his limbs. A shadow passing through the space. A flash of a smile from a lady in a white aproned dress. Was she young or old? He couldn’t tell. He liked this one better than the others, but she wasn’t really there. Not this one. She wasn’t alive. Her hand reached out. He recoiled. She couldn’t help. “Sod off.” He covered his face.

How many days now?

Bide your time, Vincent. He told himself. Be a good boy and bide your time. Play the role they want and when the time was right, run. Vanish. Never turn back, and the world forgets again. They needed to. If they didn’t, then he’d never be free? Would he? They would never understand. They would make him an animal.

His gaze slid to the rustling of the curtain opening. He could make out three figures: a doctor, an officer… he wasn’t sure of the third.

“Morning, Vincent.” The doctor chimed. “How are we doing today?”

He said nothing.

“You have a visitor here to see you.”

Tell them to go away

#immortalgentleman #// hopefully this is okay #th: where the shadows dance

everarddelanden

There it was. That quiver of fear mortals got when they caught The Vampyr's attention, looked it in the eye and knew a predator stared right back at them. Too late. A target now. Everard could taste its ever alluring sweetness on the heat radiating off of the man's body. Fear, as much as the blood, was the ever powerful pull. The hook that latched its barb on the inside of the cheek and stayed, until it was dead.

Though in a nonchalant stance, hands in his pockets, he stood completely still, his breaths almost too slow to be convincing to be necessary. Oh, but the man before him tried to 'play it cool'. He even averted his eyes when he realised his mistake. Bad survival instinc is what we call that.

"Oh, by all means, do go on." he said, taunting, his voice automatically more aluring, almost like a pur.

magusmortuum

Of all the people Vincent could have approached. A sneer caught his lip halfway to a cracked smile. He knew he was afraid. Vincent knew he knew, and after all, he’d meant so well. That was life, though. Now, like a deer in the headlights. His eyes closed to his voice, listening closely. A street lamp flickered. Could the voice of your death ever be so beautiful? So enticing to make a man forget the poisoned dagger poised at his breast. In its own ways, yes.

A heaviness rose in Vincent’s breath with some forming bitterness. Run. Vincent. Run. His mind implored him to get as far as way as he could, but it also told him between all its screams that it was already too late now there was no escape, was there? The stranger would not grant him one, would he? Sometimes these feelings were incorrect, though. His hand moved from his pocket, the touch of discolouration of age fading in streaks over the denim. “How shall I begin?” He raised his head, looking out along the street, to the lights over the old shop fronts, before once more his gaze came back to the stranger and grazing over this dark-haired and dark-eyed predator. He straightened again with a colder anger, though the rhythm of his heart had quickened with it. Terrified but defiant, as Vincent always was, even if it amounted to nothing. At least– He brushed back a handful of his hair. At least he could say he fought… he’d always fought.

And if he got to play, then so did Vincent.

“How the light touches your skin? How radiant it is as it falls over your cheek, how soft it falls? Even with the shadows? How handsome it makes you look. How beautifully masculine. Sharp. It’s fucking horrible. Actually. Not human.” Fuck. Fuck. It hit him like a train and yet his voice remained low and even throughout a snarl, but with a touch of a quiver hidden between the tones which so desperately bit back at their fear and malice. Not tonight. He took another breath. Not tonight. Vincent – He would not die. His eyes flickered over the man then again. “And what if without the lights? What if with only the shadows?”

#everalddelanden #// hehehe

inversedlines

I guess I’m a over-person

#musings;tbt #the black fawn;

Any tropes you hate for no discernable reason? Could be writing, art, etc. etc. something you absolutely do not have a justified reason for disliking it, but you do.

// I don't think it's a trope per se but can I say coffee or cafe au ? I don't hate it. I've just never found the appeal?

#out of tomes; ooc #// thank you bby #meme; answered

nocturnal-stims

🦌 ym.nara_mislin on IG

#the black fawn;#aesthetics;tbt

Have you ever used writing to process something personal?

𝐎𝐝𝐝 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

#meme; answered #out of tomes; ooc #// thank you #// cutting now because I get embarrassed publicly talking about my past

spookiesmausoleum

𝐎𝐝𝐝 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Just a few munday questions that are kind of odd, kind of not, but I enjoy regardless—

Is there anything you refuse to write on Tumblr, but write on your own or on other platforms?

What's the strangest thing that's ever happened to you ic or ooc?

What's something you can't stand, but still watch/write/read anyway?

If you were a bagel, what flavor would you be?

What's something you could ramble / rant about for hours?

If you were to have a fursona, what would it be?

Have you ever used writing to process something personal?

How long do you think you could stand being in a room with a person constantly correcting everything you say?

Do you believe dreams have meaning?

What would you do if you got isekai'd into your favorite game / book / show? Do you think you'd survive or would you get obliterated in seconds?

Do you think you'd survive a hallmark movie?

Any tropes you hate for no discernable reason? Could be writing, art, etc. etc. something you absolutely do not have a justified reason for disliking it, but you do.

What's the most spiteful animal you've ever met?

What do you collect? If you collect nothing, what do you wish you could collect?

What's your "hear me out"?

What was your favorite childhood toy?

If your muse(s) were a dog / cat / horse breed, what would they be?

If you could take any fictional character and spend a day with them, who would it be?

If you could steal anything, what would it be?

Who do you think you could beat in a fist fight in the Denny's parking lot at 3 am?

#meme;

yokaimemes

send 🎬 ( or scene! if you can't see the emoji ) + a prompt from the list below for me to write a scene between my character and the character type(s) listed; this could be another muse i write or an npc from their story - please make sure to specify the main muse if sending to a multimuse!

🎬 + parent / guardian

🎬 + family (blood or chosen)

🎬 + friend

🎬 + partner (platonic or romantic)

🎬 + rival

🎬 + teacher / mentor

🎬 + associate / coworker / teammate

🎬 + boss / reporting officer

🎬 + enemy

🎬 + sender's choice (specify a second character for the scene to involve!)

if you're sending a meme and want to see a scene regarding a specific event, time, or place, feel free to include additional details in your ask!

#meme;

darknessmolten

"Walk up to someone? Not to this effect, mate, no." Nicolas saw no reason to hide his amusement. He hadn't intended to frighten Vincent with his arrival, had actually tried for the opposite. That did not mean that the unintended effect wasn't delightful. He was smirking to himself while he reached up to remove his headphones, putting them into their case and closing it with a quiet snap.

"If I ask you to walk with me, is that going to set you off too? Because I am loving it but I don't really need to hear your heartbeat accelerate nonstop. It's distracting." And talking like that was unsettling, which Nicolas was well aware of. He half-turned and gestured with a move of his head. "Walk with me."

That said, he started walking, one hand on a strap of his violin case, waiting to see if Vincent would follow.

magusmortuum

“Walk? You–” A wave of embarrassment caught Vincent's words in a complete fluster, bringing him to straighten his posture and huff. He didn’t just walk. If Nicolas had just ‘walked up’, he would have been fine. The witch was adamant about that. Then again, there would be no point arguing with him, and it wasn’t as if he was given the time to either.

“Well then, if I have a heart attack, you’ll be the first to know, won’t you?” His gaze hardened on the vampire as he made his gesture, making Vincent take in another long and slow breath in a futile attempt to settle the quickened beat of his heart, which he might have happily noted he was very aware of and absolutely did not need a vampire to comment on it. Yes. Well. There was no shift that came in the comment. Vincent felt no danger from him. It wasn’t like it was the vampire’s fault, was it? That was some little fucked up adaptation of them, wasn’t it? Like what he’d once seen documentaries on with the viper and its heat-sensing pits. Although perhaps he had to ask himself how useful that trait exactly was for vampires? And how exactly did they even hear such things? Was it a sense, like how he heard the different pulses of life? Or was his hearing that superior? — He never thought to ask! He’d never had any of the vampires he knew comment on his pulse.

He sighed. Feeling his embarrassment faded to that typical, slightly overwhelmed feeling he often got from spending too long in his own head. Vincent shifted his jacket forward, moving quickly to keep pace. His eyes turning focus to the violin case strapped across the other's back.

“So – then, you and Miller, hey?” He began, although there was a hesitation in his voice as he wasn’t particularly sure if this was the right way to start their nightly get together, even if it had been the topic to have brought them together. “You know I’d never have picked Miller for going after a vamp? Not that I ever thought much of it anyway.”

#darknessmolten

wearehorses

#aesthetics;tbt

magusmortuum

He falls into the raised arms and gives a big squish to lift him just a bit. Awkward headbonk. "There."

The gesture comes easy to Vincent as he accepts the hug from Antoine. He's too good. Vincent thinks to himself as he settles in the squish, huffing as his feet are lifted off the ground briefly in the embrace. It is nice. Even if it was for a moment.

"Twat" He scoffed, breaking off into a chuckle as their foreheads collide.

trxstesse

"Ass." Antoine continues to hold the man for a few more seconds. Happily rubbing his face into the dark hair too close to his own. Setting him down and settling down he grins cheesily. Hopefully the man wouldn't take any offense. They both needed the hug in his opinion., "A bit better? I gave you the deluxe hug package."

magusmortuum

"Oh, you did?" The witch teased, playfully giving Antoine a light push once he was finally settled on the ground. "Think I got a bit ripped off then." In an instant Vincent latched onto Antoine and pulled him into another hug. No. Vincent did not mind this, and nor did he shy away from Antoine's affection whenever he gave it. What came from the two of them was pure between the men.

#trxstesse #// ;-;

// i truly do appreciate that people have been enjoying vincent. i am usually reserved in conveying it but to the few whether through the inbox or who have messaged me privately. thank you. it does mean a great deal to be an I do write this on the verge of tears.

#out of tomes; ooc

/ Vincent is so interesting and clearly fleshed out entirely and how ready you are to get him involved with others makes interaction refreshingly easy. The accent gives him even more personality, I can hear his voice in your writing. I love seeing and witnessing his development across so many interactions and with so many ghosts. His powers make him even more interesting but they are so much more than a gimmick. The way you roleplay is reflected in how varied and engaging Vincent's relationships are, getting to see them grow and be shaped by many interactions is addictive and makes me read every post you make. Thanks for being around!

// thank you so very much anon!

I do truly appreciate knowing that you are able to hear an accent in my writing because I have been trying to put effort into this. Vincent was brought up , shaped by entirely different time, place and society to my own all of which shape his voice. I am limited in my understand because I can only understand this from looking as an outsider looking back at history, even if we might consider it recent, but I do try. Often times I spend way to long procrastinating before writing because I will be watching clips from British (I particularly do try to stick to London) news reports or interviews of the public from the 1970/80s so I can hear the voices, nuances in the vocabulary and simply how the everyday person spoke because I don't want Vincent to come across sounding like a caricature, I want him to sound realistic to the point I do pick apart his dialogue even when I sit down to write, and I often find myself cross referencing the country of origin for idioms or slang words. because "silly duffer" is apparently regionally only used in Australia.

And even deeper the amount of consideration I do for trying to portray Vincent's own comprehension of some things, especially, going into his power because while I the mun understand cell degradation, stasis and maybe time dilation, but Vincent's not going to understand that. Vincent never had an education past the seventh grade, so I try to reflect that.

Then you get into the research for the history and environment of past decades, which hell has sometimes had been scrolling through reading Facebook posts, reddit etc. of individuals describing snapshots of those times which help me slowly piece together this loose understanding of what the areas, boroughs, the lifestyle, when I write my drabbles or even in my posts where Vincent reflects.

Look I can go on with this. I can go on with so much, but really what I want to say is thank you for noticing and sticking around with me. I am truly grateful that people here have been enjoying Vincent and my writing! ;-;

#out of tomes; ooc #// look if you ever wonder why I'm slow as replying #// I literally have that many tabs open on my browser #// and an unfocused and anxiety riddled brain #// and somewhere somehow a post might come out from it

I'm not doing the anon thing because I wanna give you some unmasked praise. We have written a lot over the course of, a long time. I absolutely adore you and your characters. They're so unique to themselves and have their expressions as individuals even with their stories connected as they are. I love the complexity of Q that is so confusing but intriguing, it has its own seduction to it. Vincent is newer to us but he has this mystery that draws me in while reminding me that he's still a person doing his best. Ocs aren't easy, at all. But somehow you make it look easier than breathing. I really missed seeing you around and am glad we have contact again and to know you. 🖤

bby!!! (Late response because I’m at work)

But seriously to write with you is a joy! I’m so glad you’re back and stuck around with me and my ocs after these years! I will always be grateful for your support. I started writing Q back in either late ‘09 or early 2010 and Vincent followed shortly after. They have been my ride and die’s throughout the years of development so I’m glad to show them in all their complexity. I have always tried to portray a depth of realism to my characters even if their world may skirt the supernatural. I am just glad I am able to give you a taste of this story I’ve built. ❤️

#out of tomes; ooc #// 🥺#// I’ll send in my message after work #// thank you bby

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