𝕴𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖆𝖑...
Belated birthday present for my fiancée @doomface of our Sabbat PCs!
Brujah rockstar Samson Ward, hopelessly, satanically down bad for his Tzimisce girlfriend Kalina donning her Zulo War(????)form.
jeremiah would be sooo distraught seeing the snakelings but also so relieved they are safe. samson would remeber him. i also think he would see the westermarck kids and also worry so hard. too many kids around him hes gonna break down
I used my resident representative as my new icon. He's my original character that I use as my avatar in literally videogame that I play for coming up on 18 years now.
picture one
breanna: we finally made it! no bears neither!
lucien: that's good. glad y'all are having fun.
picture two
lucien: sorry we couldn't make it.
breanna: it's okay, i understand! poor bonnie probably don't wanna waddle around the woods.
picture three
breanna: y'know, when i was pregnant with y'all, i don't think i left the house, not even once.
vladislaus: [ chuckles ] mostly, you slept.
breanna: no shit, huh? that sounds right.
picture four
breanna: the kids are having fun though! ilya said he's disappointed he ain't seen no bears—he's so rascally!
lucien: they're hibernating, this time of the year.
picture five
breanna: really? you're just like your papa, lu, you know all kinds of things. maybe when the baby's here we can go to the beach! does bonnie like the beach?
picture six
breanna: where's bonnie?! is she around? i wanna talk to her!
bonnie: hi, mrs. brie.
breanna: hi bonnie! i miss you! we all miss you!
bonnie: t-thank you.
picture seven
breanna: next time we go on vacation, i'm taking you with us! we can hang out, and i'll make vlad watch the baby, so don't even worry about that!
vladislaus: volunteering my time again, are you, my dear?
breanna: yes, but it's a good cause this time, promise!
vladislaus: hmm.
picture eight
breanna: so whatcha doing?
bonnie: playing with the cats.
breanna: aww, i'm jealous!
lucien: don't be, they stink. y'all got any plans for tonight?
breanna: i'm gonna drink so much beer!
lucien: nice, ma.
picture nine
bonnie: [ sighs ] now i'm jealous.
breanna: don't be! it tastes like shit! you want a beer, vladdy?
vladislaus: i am okay.
breanna: aww, you sure?
vladislaus: indeed. try not to become too inebriated, my love.
picture ten
breanna: ha! me? no way! never! hey, bonnie, after you give birth, i'm gonna give you the biggest bottle of wine i got, promise!
bonnie: thank you. that would be nice.
picture eleven
breanna: hey, bonnie, do you smoke? after the baby's here, you wanna blow down?
bonnie: no, ma'am, i don't smoke.
lucien: could you please try not to drug my wife, ma?
picture twelve
breanna: aww, don't say it like that! you make it sound so bad.
lucien: uhuh. so, did gen, carlile, and nikolai come with y'all?
picture thirteen
breanna: oh, nope, just the twins and ilya. annie and klaus brought some of their friends too! i like them, they're nice, especially that tall boy.
vladislaus: the loud one needs to mind himself.
breanna: who, vaughn? i think he's nice!
vladislaus: he is a nuisance.
breanna: all teenage boys are!
picture fourteen
lucien: sounds like fun. y'all gonna cook tonight?
vladislaus: I am cooking, yes.
breanna: yeah! we got a buncha food for the weekend! y'all are all so pciky. dunno where you get it from! [ laughs ]
vladislaus: indeed, i cannot imagine where our children have acquired such a trait, my love.
picture fifteen
breanna: [ laughs harder ] i know! crazy, huh! i'm gonna go help your dad cook—actually, i might call nikolai. have you talked to him any?
lucien: nope.
breanna: he don't never pick up his phone!
lucien: text him, he'll get back to you in three to five business days.
breanna: ha! good one!
picture sixteen
breanna: oh, you know what! i gotta text carlile back! i ain't never replied!
lucien: sounds good, ma.
breanna: okay, bye for real this time! love y'all!
lucien: love you too. bye. [ hangs up ] god, she talks forever.
picture seventeen
bonnie: i like your mom. she's nice.
lucien: yeah, makes it impossible to hang up though. did you do anything fun today?
bonnie: no. not really.
picture eighteen
lucien: did you talk to your internet friends?
bonnie: i don't talk to them anymore.
lucien: why not?
bonnie: [ shrugs ]
lucien: there's a writing circle at the community college, you should go.
picture nineteen
bonnie: ...i don't know.
lucien: you'd have a lot of fun, i'm sure, and you could make some friends too.
alright, i talked about posting this piece, so here i am! i decided to go ahead and post the whole thing ( around 860 words ) because i couldn't decide which snippet i liked most. so, have this, tumblr dot com. for any kind of context, samson is a cult leader aaaand just killed this guy named donald. whoops! why'd he kill him? well, donald outed another cult member, alexander, as actually being an undercover cop! woo boy! why didn't samson kill alexander then, you may ask? they're just that gay idk what else to tell you.
anyway, i'm still very much finding my footing with this character, so expect this to be a little rough. it's one of the first things i've written about samson! so, i hope you enjoy!! it's all below the cut!
cw : some gore, aftermath of murder, yk fun & unhinged times
Gasping, heaving breaths ripped out of unhinged jaws, chest rising and falling with each tattered inhale. Stifled oxygen and blood rushing to the head, ears roaring with the force of what he'd done. Murky hazel eyes swept the floor, Samson's legs twitching and shaking to keep himself upright. His hands were drawn to his chest, palms pressed upward, head tilting down to swallow up the grisly picture facing him. Skin slick with streaks of blood, red spattered into fine grooves. Beyond his hands laid a body strewn, limbs awkwardly askew and clothes rumpled, head a mass of festering, sputtering gore that didn't even begin to resemble a human being anymore. Donald's face was gone, razed by blunt force, the lamp dropped haphazardly at Samson's feet. Edges covered in blood. He tasted soft daubs of iron in his mouth, scarlet speckles coating his lips and face; white clothes streaked in rich, red rivulets, swashed over soft cotton. Each sharp inhale was stricken by hot air, lodged in his throat, thick and swarming. What did you do? What did you do? What did you do? Words failed him, rose up and swallowed back down, trickling down and expanding in his chest until he felt like he couldn't even breathe around everything he wanted to say - and yet, nothing faltered past pale lips, teeth dragging against each other as his gaped mouth closed tight. A sickening feeling slopped in his stomach, running over until he felt as though he might start hacking up vomit. Nausea swept over him, bile and blood, shaking with adrenaline and nerves and -
Satisfaction. Gratification. A disturbing sort of indulgence, wrapped through him and spat out in a trembled whisper, sludged accent scratching against his throat. “I killed him.” Glass stuck in slickened, red skin, heads limply lolling, Samson's broken and aching body crawling out of the shattered passenger window. All he'd tasted then was blood, too, spilling down from the nose he'd hardly heard crunch over the last, dying scream of his mother. His father's pale eyes, slackened by death. Donald didn't leave behind eyes, though, just the smudged remainder of whatever was left. Face beaten in so deeply he lacked a nose, lacked a mouth, lacked anything even remotely identifiable. It probably should've disturbed Samson that the grotesque image on the floor hadn't clamped into his mind yet, hadn't even sickened him. Rather, this unspeakable act dredged thickets of excitement out of his belly, shaken by the mere wonder of taking a life. Perhaps, there was the idea of horror, the acknowledgement of such an idea, but the full force of it never hit him. Never sunk sharp teeth in, pulling and tearing. Rather, Samson found himself warring with the modern concept of humanity, because to kill someone was the ultimate act of rebirth. “I killed him,” he repeated. This time it didn't sound like there was horror stuck in his throat, because there never really had been. Shock, maybe. But horror was so little a word that Samson could truly fathom.
Either way, he faltered, legs crumpling up beneath him, collapsing to his knees. Blood soaked through white pants as he leaned forward, absorbing the malformed body bent under his hands. He searched out the body's wet clothes for cold skin, feeling the chill bustling under his fingertips. It was invigorating. Donald, or what was left of him, became even more blurred and misshapen beyond the emotion clogging Samson's eyes. A spiritual re-awakening of sorts, striking him more intensely than any dose of acid ever had. Tasteless tabs eclipsed by the shock of iron in his mouth. His jaw unwound, tongue tightening against his next words. “So this is what it means to truly live.” A breathed reminder, awe and transcended hope in his voice.
The bloated memory of still-alive Donald's revelation hardly flourished, words and reminders slipping away into the recesses of Samson's mind. ( “He's a spy! A pig! We should have him hanged!” ) He was so preoccupied with exploring the cold bite of Donald's body that Alexander's presence faded into the background, melding into the cacophony of white noise that surrounded Samson. Tendrils of the argument faded, obscured beyond the fragments of his evolving mind. He cared little for whether Alexander was an officer and more for the fact that he felt like he'd achieved the unachievable. The natural human state of predation. Swallowed whole by his desire to replay the event in full. If Samson could revive Donald and do it all over again, just to feel the lamp bashing into exposed facets of face, he would. By God, he'd do it again. Kept his hands all over Donald to mop up whatever feeling was left, mouth watering from the sheer brutality this act had demanded, and yet, he felt like he'd passed the final test. Samson would abandon his goods, abandon his family, abandon anything and everything if it meant living up to God's image in this way. He would do whatever it took to be his soldier, an archangel of death. Azrael embodied, humanity formed. He had finally completed his mission.
