kindred or vampire?

alternatively: suckhead

[sabbatied]

indeath​:

     ‘ i did. should we go for fun ? ’ what a joke that is. nour, who’s dedicated his unlife to a freedom from the political leash of his peers, baring some teeth on camarilla order. ‘ maybe you should go and send would if you’ve kept your head or not. i’ve just remembered i’m no use as a tracker. ’

“They don’t need two old fucks like us running around.” They, also, don’t need to risk the last few remaining of their clan to play stupid games and win stupid prizes. “Make you should go, play them a ballad or two, and the petulant infants will finally calm down.” Lighting the cigarette, he looked over at Nour before letting out a sigh and looking up at the night sky. “And they wonder why there’s an increase in thinblood population when they’re running around and killing each other and making new kindred to bolster their ranks.”

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Blood by Emilyena

This artist on Instagram // Twitter

[sabbatied]

@indeath

There was a cigarette in his mouth, pinched by an incisor as Corpser came up to the roof of the funeral home. Shacking the pack of cigarettes off to the side of Nour’s head, Corpser took the long way around before dropping down into his folding chair, carton tossed onto the cheap wooden table. 

“Did you hear about some bloodhunt in Prague?”

[sabbatied]

[sabbatied]

indeath​:

     a hand covers his screen before he can find his words. nour looks up, meets enea’s dark gaze and opens his mouth in protest. but — but ! there’s something in the corner of his eye. loose curls, familiar and doll-like and snow-white. oh. he steps closer to the painting, keeping enea on his arm. he’s never seen it before, of course, purposefully hidden away from him for a moment like this. this lovely man, tenderhearted with hands made for beautiful things. a beat of a silent breath. ‘ you, ’ he starts, taking his time with his words. ‘ i can’t believe you. when did you do this ? ’

‘Awhile ago.” Centuries ago really, one of the few times he had woken up from a decades long nap to find Nour laying besides him. It was difficult to pull away then, but with the way they were tangled together, it was easy to forget they were immortal creatures. Only one thought permeated in that moment, Nour could leave him, through death or otherwise, and Nour wasn’t someone he could dare to forget. So between portraits and sketches of his family, there was Nour, treated with same diligence and kindness the humans in his life were. “They upload all the pieces online now, so it won’t disintegrate.” It’s immortal now, like you.  

[za-ra-h]

Vampire queen.

[feralove-deactivated20230128]

@sabbatied. — “ what year is it ? ”

     look who’s awake ! his lover there, all sleep-rucked and dreamy-eyed. nour’s hand settles against the hollow of his cheek, thumb rubbing along in the height of his cheekbone. sweet thing, half-dozy from an impossibly long torpor and into a world he’d barely recognize. and nour, too, doll-curls tossed with a couple of years of shut-eye, legs tangled with his lover’s. just this once he’s fortunate, able to be enea’s delicate greeting. good evening ! nour shuffles closer and noses along the cut of his jaw, peppering kisses to rouse him for their bright night. he can already guess. you want to stay in right ? watch something and curl up close ? fingers tip enea to meet his lips, he’s being modest, promising a gentle evening. 

    he pulls back to watch that handsome face. blinks in his swimming golds, eyes fond and doting and — he’s forgotten something, hasn’t he ? oh, yeah ! ‘ 1986, by the way, ’ words are small between them. ‘ if i’ve counted correctly, anyways. ’

[sabbatied]

Blinking into the waking world, years gone, and still dreadful, but not entirely horrid. Gentle gestures and closing his eyes he would lean into his touch; seemingly about to drift off at a moment’s notice, and he just might. Fleeting, feathering, lips against his skin before meeting his own, muddled motions and he would wring a hand in Nour’s hair. Soft, combing his fingers through his hair. Regarding him in the lowlight, and he was charmed as if he hadn’t seen him before, charmed and perhaps he could keep his eyes open for Nour. At least until 1987. 

Torpid as he propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes meandered around their room before he laid back down. He brought his hand free from Nour’s hair and went for his hand, bringing it to his chest. “Do you have something for me... to eat..?”

[mournfulroses]

Edgar Allan Poe, from The Complete Works of E. A. P; “Politian,”

[sabbatied]

indeath​:

     nour is as simple as he is complicated. he enjoys being doted on in golds and pearls. and what’s not to like about silks and lace, too ? he drinks deeply of all those little pleasures. a night too long. and iron-sweet overindulged on his tongue. and all the music he could hope got scattered around that skull of his. it’s easy for nour to fill his hours, enjoy his endless, bleeding nights. but — but sometimes blood runs cold. and sometimes melodies get muddled. sometimes i feel like you leave me alone too long. nour hugs closer, pauses in front of each era wide-eyed like he hasn’t seen them himself. tip-tip-tip with his free hand on a dimmed screen. ‘ it’s all new to them, they can’t know. i like to think its new, too. keeps it exciting. i wonder if we’ll ever run out of things to unearth. ’

“It’s new to you.” Nudging him along, he was a bit impatient for something that was relatively unplanned until recently; the piece itself was old, sure, but this idea was recent. Linked together and he would slowly pull Nour along, and while they had spent the passed two hours wandering aimlessly, he was blatant about his purpose now, stopping in front of the piece and placing his hand over Nour’s phone. “We will, eventually, run out of things and even the ones we already found will disintegrate.”

[klassizismus]

Detail: A Young Artist (Ditlev Blunck) Examining a Sketch in a Mirror, Wilhelm Bendz, 1826

[bats100]

Bats Fact #27

Whole Apple

[sabbatied]

@phantombs continued from here.

“Well, I should consider it a blessing then that I can’t hear them.” At least here he couldn’t. In the underworld, that wasn’t quite the case, but he did his best to steer clear of the shadowlands, keeping far from the wraiths and specters.

“—They’ll go away soon enough.” There was a procedure for his actions, and while he may have become dulled to the second taking of a soul, he was respectful enough with a handful of chrysanthemums held out for Cường to join the collection of flowers already on the grave.

Soon was now. Casting hunger of the void, the spirit was sucked in the portal created by the sorcery. And it was closed, hopefully granting Cường some silence, until he inevitably gathered another, or a dozen.

“They’d scream more if you’d a necromancer.”

[lifeinpoetry]

. Tell me / What is it like to want / To be a monster / ?

— Rosamond S. King, from All the Rage (via lifeinpoetry)

[sabbatied]

indeath​:

     picky … obviously ! he wouldn’t have survived all his years on something low quality, leaving him weak-willed to his beast. there’s an irony in that, of course, in his never-ending years the hole in his stomach is deeper and deeper. and he wonders, sometimes, if it’s so bad on enea, too. so he gorges himself on blood, high-caliber in his opinion. and companions. and midnights full of stars. oh — and that grin ! pearly-points and sweet nothings. he wraps an arm around enea’s, dreamy-eyed about laces and silks and soft things. right, he forgets. this is enea’s way of doting, too. the way he dotes in paintings and journals, little things he leaves in museums to remind nour during his sleep. he tugs them along, passes through towering doors and watchful security. i’ve got it ! i’ve figured you out, he grins. you left something here for me, right ?

Was it that easy to catch him in a surprise? That little grin, the little laugh he occasionally had when he thought about the gifts he had gotten friends and the joy it would bring to their faces. Those were often monetary, this was different. Not only was it a labor of love, it was an act of giving up the things he so dearly horded. Difficult for him before his undeath, even more difficult for a tzimisce. He filled that emptiness with new sketches and spending what little wealth he had on books now deemed collector’s editions, it was worth it to have it immortalized and to see Nour happy. 

Though he wouldn’t take Nour there first, instead taking him through exhibits filled with bronze statues, wooden ceiling carvings, and an engraved map of old florence. And finally to the early renaissance hall. “They’ve some new pieces, though I don’t know how you find new renaissance pieces.”

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Vanitas by Elena Ardenskaya

[sabbatied]

phantombs​:

So what if he brings rain? Shouldn’t she enjoy the cool, a chance to burn hotly over drink, not summer? Cường wagers so. He tears his gaze away, eyes set on the jiving masses, temperature smoldering beneath writhing bodies.

“You’re right. I’m after a drink. Many, actually. Like him,” his answer rasps, a lone finger pointing off his tumbler. The whiskey glints with slosh, and the drunken human doesn’t look, but them, their kine, glare piercing and fangs bore into their neck– “Or the others like you.” 

“And that seems right to me. I’m drink, too, after all, if someone likes. Too much to handle, I’ve heard, but where else would you find a drink?” The werewolf wavers little, savoring another sip as the bass-roar throbs. I can be here. “Have I been understanding it wrong?”

Was it really as simple as a drink? When she thought through the politics of kindred and lycan, wouldn’t he rather be far away from kindred? As if they were any threat, there weren’t enough to take him down in this club. Could kill droves of them before they even began cooperating.

Yet she wasn’t to be here either. Camarilla and anarchs weren’t too fond of members of the sabbat. No matter how civilized the tzimisce appeared she was sabbat. And even if she tried to convince them she was independent, what tzimisce was?

Powerful to have a werewolf on your side, over-potent blood and all.

“I wasn’t saying anything against you, simply pointing out the obvious.” Perhaps he was just less introverted than his kind at Griffith Park. 

“There is a club downtown that isn’t run by any kindred, thught that may be more your type.”

[weltenwellen]

“I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark— What shall I do with all this heartache?”

— Joy Harjo, from “Speaking Tree”, Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings