#narrativecontinuation

[audaciiaearch]

@narrativecontinuation said: [ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 + reverse ] :[LOUIS] drapes a coat / cape / etc. around [ELIAS'S] shoulders.

Louis doesn't know what he's doing, nor why he feels so compelled to stick around Elias. He has resigned himself to loneliness for so long that even a small amount of company feels akin to being punched in the gut. They have spoken very little, but it seems as if their stories are somewhat similar. Louis understands it, understands how hard it is to feed from those who are so unwilling.

"You know...there are better ways to feed," he says slowly as he drapes his coat over his shoulders, fending off the chill of the night (not that it matters, not really). Over the years, he has cultivated with people who work in blood banks, getting what he needs in exchange for money or favors. He gently squeezes Elias' shoulder before lighting a cigarette, holding one out to take, if he wants it. "I know people who work at the blood banks. I also have some stashed at home. It's not as good as from the source, but it's better than nothing."

[drwlf]

FIRST MEETING SENTENCE STARTERS

@narrativecontinuation: "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

I'm so often the one who mistakes people for someone else that I forget it can happen to others, but I'm don't mind: it's saved me from the embarrassment of admitting that I have no idea who this guy is.

"Uh--don't worry about it?"

[wastheheart-arc]

semi-plotted starter for @narrativeobsession / @narrativecontinuation (Elias)

When the forests become a refuge, one becomes familiar with the sounds the forests make. The way the leaves rustle as the wind moves through the trees, the gently babbling of a stream. The bird song is usually Esme's only company, although now and then she hears the bellow of a deer and the scrambling of squirrels.

What she isn't used to is the sound of someone crying.

Immediately she can't help but think that perhaps someone has been attacked. In her earliest days, Esme had drained the blood of unfortunately timed, lone hikers. The crying causes her to worry that perhaps—if it is the work of a nomad—that they haven't finished the job. Perhaps they were disturbed while feeding or, more disturbingly, perhaps they had endeavoured to turn them.

Unsure either way, Esme can't help but go against her better judgement and follow the cries.

And there's the source. She can't help the way she's relieved to not smell human blood... at all. And then, despite the boy's obvious upset, Esme can't help but wonder if she's run into a nomad after all. He doesn't seem much of a threat as he lies against foliage.

"... Excuse me..." She cringes. In all honesty, it seems better to let him cry it out. No-one enjoys being found like this. "Are you alright?" Obviously not, but what else is Esme supposed to say? "You're not exactly what I expected to find out here."

[fangsforhire]

| ℒ | ~ @narrativecontinuation

The night carried it before anything else — that raw, hollow edge of hunger, enough to cut through the damp and the pine. Not blood, not death. Worse. The absence of it. The kind of gnawing emptiness that carved into marrow and set every nerve screaming. Lucien knew it instantly. ( Aeons hadn’t dulled that memory. The first nights, the fire in his veins, the way the world tilted under the weight of a craving he couldn’t name. ) He remembered clawing at earth with shaking hands, fangs aching, mind unravelling until all that was left was need. The echo of it sat heavy in his chest as he walked, steady and deliberate, deeper into the dark.

His feet pressed softly against the ground, each step unhurried. Patience wasn’t kindness. It was control, the one weapon he had mastered when hunger tried to strip it away. And now, as the trees closed in, as the silence grew taut and breathless, he let that same control roll off him in waves. ( The forest stilled. Even the night seemed to lean back. ) The air thickened the closer he drew, every pace narrowing the distance between calm inevitability and chaos trembling just ahead. He didn’t speed up. He didn’t call out. He didn’t need to. Some things were better felt than announced.

At last, he broke the treeline, his blue eyes fixing forward, steady and unflinching. They darkened as he stopped, the hunger in the air echoing back in him like a mirror, though his stance remained loose, every line of him composed. ( He filled the clearing not with frenzy, but with the steady weight of inevitability. ) He let the silence stretch until it ached, and then his voice cut through — low, final, carrying centuries of truth like a blade.

‘Come. You need to feed. It’s only going to get worse.’

[safetypinned]

@narrativecontinuation || a meme from here || accepting!

i didn't know who else to turn to. - elias

sam watches a flood of water spilling over the top of a clogged gutter at the end of a long porch in front of yet another shady motel they've holed up in for the better part of two days. tomorrow it'll be three. a heavy storm exploded out of nowhere. the kind that made driving impossible. much to the swearing chagrin of his older brother who's in a bar across the street drinking his woes away. unaware that his younger brother snagged one of the joints he hides inside a crumpled up pack of smokes in his bag.

the road out out of this place? mudslide waiting to happen. sam refused to let dean risk both their lives gunning the impala to the next town. the next hunt. they could wait til the storm rolled by..

gray white drifts towards the rotted, leaking wood overhead. sam's secured a dry spot just past the door. the gold in his eyes shines like honey when he takes a drag (this time he doesn't cough), holds it in and exhales slow. brain already light and floating higher by the minute, the noises inside it become quieter. easier to take. imagine his surprise when a voice catches him by surprise. he recognizes him from the townies. can't remember his name, though. the hunter doesn't know what to do with the joint so he lets it fall between the floorboards into thick mud underneath.

"sorry! sorry..," he looks down between his feet (smirks--shit!!!) then glances back, "i---can i help you?"

[bstrdson]

 NARRATIVECONTINUATION┊   ❤︎︎

❝    hey,   listen.   i've   been   thinkin'.    ❞

stebbins   had   never   been   much   of   a   social   boy   ;   he   preferred   to   observe   than   to   interact,   especially   within   such   a   large   group   setting.   besides   —   it   seemed   especially   pointless   now.   why   bother   making   bonds   he   knew   wouldn't   last   ?? 

admittedly,   garraty   had   piqued   his   interest   ;   never   in   his   life   had   he   heard   someone   so   confidently   disrespect   the   long   walk   and   face   absolutely   no   repercussions   for   it.   nor   had   he   ever   heard   it   challenged   in   a   way   that   made   such   a   troubling   amount   of   sense. 

❝    that   stuff   you   said   earlier   …   about   the   long   walk   …    ❞    his   eyes   instinctively   flick   up   to   the   major,   still   stood   on   the   back   of   the   truck.   ❝    …   where'd   you   hear   it   ??    ❞

[bledhard]

Jasper leaned against a big tree about 10 feet from the waters, silently admiring the beauty of the natural world when he spots motion out the corner of his eye. He turns his head to evaluate and sees a man walking near the river.

"Best be careful now, the bank ain't firm." He called out.

The rain and the flooding had made soft mud of out the earth, too close and you were liable to get thrown down into the foaming waters with all the other flotsam and jetsam.

054. by the side of a dangerously quick river for @narrativecontinuation ( elias )

[lcstrega]

starter for @narrativecontinuation's elias !

❛ You've the saddest eyes in the room, don't you? ❜ The woman couldn't help but smile, the smallest flash of teeth gleaming through lips stained with deep, red wine. A part of her, perhaps, was sizing him up in some way.

Her stomach was positively in knots.

❛ Such a waste of a beautiful night, a waste of the romance of a no name, dirty little bar. What has you so down, amico mio? ❜