BLOODLESS GIFT!

I  WANT  HER  TO   LIVE.

[vampiliar-blog]

timewarn.

             𝐇𝐄   𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒   𝐀   𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖   𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌   𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌    from   the   armchair   he’s   occupied .       philosophies   of   life   and   death   and   all   things   in   between .     philosophies   that  ,     despite   the   cautiously   intellectual   places   they   are   drawn   from  ,     remain   surprisingly   close - minded .     𝐓𝐎   𝐃𝐈𝐄  ,     𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐓𝐎   𝐁𝐄   𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍  ,   but   with   a   very   true   kind   of   mortality   that   humanity   might   not   view   as   mortal .      A   DIFFERENT   KIND   OF   MORTAL .

               his   hands   fold   across   his   stomach   as   he   lifts   his   feet   to   rest   upon   a   nearby   wooden   desk .     philosophising   is   all   well   and   good  ,     until   reality   rips   those   thoughts   away   from   you .       ❝     i    would   suggest   life   and   death   and   the   journey   between   the   two   is   far   more   complicated   than   paint   or    discs .     you   know  ,      i’ve   been   on   one   of   those   discs  ,     although   there   was   no   time   there   at   all .       ❞

ah,  he could not pretend to know  of what the doctor spoke.    to understand the exact measurements of reality that he claims to have taken between his own hands and MOLDED LIKE CLAY !    still,  a burst of laughter bubbles from between his pale lips,  fresh and lighthearted;   a gesture toward the taller man beckons him to continue with his enlightening explanation.     why start the lecture if one could not deign to finish it ?

the doctor alone was an anomaly to his heightened senses.     an amalgamation of particles and rays of fractured light that stained an image far too complex to see.     it baffled the vampire,  truthfully,   even if he was quite young in the blood of immortality.   he was all at once shattered and whole,   splintering outward into bursting shards of color that were too far forward or too far back to outshine one another.    “  believe me,   i understand.    the life i lead now is plentiful.    but it is a wrench in time’s clock.       fit so perfectly between the spinning cogs that i can neither go forward or backward.    backward or foward.     and i will never change.                     i wonder,   doctor,   how fast do the hands of your clock tick ? ”

[vampiliar-blog]

fantomeux.

WHEN THE DARK SPEAKS, IT SPEAKS IN DROVES,   like  a  voice  upon  hundreds  of  voices   —   beautiful  in  a  way  his  own  was.   and  it  calls  them  familiar,  where  he  sees  the  tendrils  of  shadow  gather  around  their  feet  like  hundreds  of  dogs  with  wagging  eyes  and  tails  and  tongues,  running  excitedly  to  greet  their  returning  master.   he  does  not  know  this  face,  or  this  creature,  for  it  did  not  carry  itself  the  way  the  gullible  type  of  the  opera  house  did  upon  entering  its  gloomier  thresholds.

yet  the  flowers  bloom  across  their  arm,  dripping  rivulettes  of  crimson  into  the  bleak  atmosphere,  which  blinds  as  well  as  kills.       ❛  your  lord ?  ❜       he  steps  forward,  unknown,  but  there  is  no  sound  ;  he  knows  it  will  not  matter.   he  is  already  aware  of  the  name  that  goes  unspoken  between  them  both  :  a  name  like  a  dagger,  like  fangs,  like  them.       ❛  pray  tell,  which  lord  may  be  kind  enough  to  gift  me  roses  of  the  most  exquisite  kind  of  red.  ❜

petals rustle against the a pattern of embroidered blue satin,   and oskar shifts their hold on the wondrous crimson-flowered bouquet so that the crisp,   thorned stems are cradled in an elbow.    “  that would be my lord: dracula.  ”     oskar says with a breath of delight,   tipping a head of dark hair forward so that they could better peer through the swath of black hanging ahead of dark eyes.    not lost,   however,   would be the glint of their teeth, which were white and sharp            though not as sharp or long as the aforementioned count’s !

again, oskar straightens his posture and takes one long step into the waiting dark, gaze fleeting from one dark threshold to the next in search of the infamous opera ghost.     “  he praises your artistic vision,  and likens you to Verdi and Wagner. and            yes,   i believe,   Rossini...  yes, that does sound quite right.    that you are           and i am struggling without his command of language           like the baying wolves,  a child of the night.    and that with its unique majesty,   you have created the music of his kind.  ”

[vampiliar-blog]

finally got around to making my banners,   and you know what that means!!     hit the heart for a starter call from Oskar.     Probably short,   maybe not short.     It depends on how much he wants to talk. :) 

[vampiliar-blog]

So take me now or take me never !  Choose your fate, how else can we survive? A quick taste of the poison; a quick twist of the knife. When the obsession with death becomes a way of life?  Dead is the new alive.   /   indie gothic horror oc.  private/selective.  written by bela.  medium activity expected. 

[vampiliar-blog]

playlist ft. songs that go in order from human to vampiric transformation. 

[vampiliar-blog]

“   there are spaces that have come to exist,   like discs of frozen time,   between the absolution of what is life and what is death.  ”   the professor explained with diligence,  sketching a curving path along the edge of the torn and thrice-folded page.  it appeared as a growing snake between the philosophies that he had listed,   LIFE and DEATH.    

                   “  if not as discs,  then think of it as mixing paint.     not just red or blue or yellow,  but of all the shades we get when we blend.  ”     /   @timewarn​

[vampiliar-blog]

he thought at first that he must have been mistaken,  standing alone in the mist between the trees.     arms were full of the paper-wrapped parcel he’d been asked to retrieve from the archivist,  heavy like a lead block that threatened to split his forearms in two.   

“  sorry.   i’m sorry              is someone there ?   is someone crying ?   laughing ?  ”    /    @bloomdecay​

[vampiliar-blog]

                   “  my lord wished that he could congratulate   you in person,  sir.   but found need to retreat back to his lodgings before the onslaught of the morning.   he was certain that you would understand the nature of his limitation and his age,   and sends from me his utmost praise for the opera he’d seen tonight,  as well as this small gift.  ”    

they hesitated for only a moment before crossing the stretch between archway and corridor,  a heavy bouquet of deep-red roses slung across their elbow.      “  you are there,  are you not,   sir  ?   i would hate to have come all this way.    and my lord will doubtless be offended should you choose not to accept his generosity and affection...  ”       /    @fantomeux​

[vampiliar-blog]

deythprince.

simpering smile stretches to a pleasant smirk - oh how delightful the sound of his heart racing against his chest. his form glides around the table to the red bundle of books oskar brought to him. herbert’s smooth gaze falls upon his pretty features and talons rise to take hold of his chin, guiding it to his towering figure. “you’ve done well, oskar, even if it had taken long than expected,” a please hum indicates that the familiar will be spared his ire. nails rake against his cheekbone and down the hollow of his cheek. deathly green light up when he begins to mention the books that had caught his eye.

his hand falls from his cheek and onto a book about the politics of french courts. absentmindly, he flipped open the cover to finger the title in a single swipe. his amusement rings gleefully yet it’s chill could extinguish the hottest flame. “i suppose you’ve earned a treat, have you not?” he inquires but does not raise his fixed gaze on the page he is meandering on. “you may chose any book you may want the next time you travel to targoviste on my behalf.” he feels the sun’s effect on him, his arms and legs growing stiffer and stiffer, but still he yearns to read from his newest collection. “your interest in my homeland is endearing,” he picks up the volume and places it in his familiar’s hands, “why does it draw you attention so intensely?” he begins to stack them over top of one another, “put these away.”

he stood looking up at the monolithic corpse   in shock and awe,   bent backward like a stalk of grain left murdered by the wind.     the touch of cold jolted him of any comfort they’d retained from the populous taverns and comfortable inns along the busy roads,   prying his eyes from the tower of pretty books to a pair of sickly,   green jewels. 

the held breath,   the dry mouth,   the gibbering mind that had run off without it’s idiot owner to begin imagining only the most unpleasant outcomes !      they all fell away with the dark prince’s claws,   and oskar’s shoulders sank with a plunge of chilling relief.    “  the roads         the roads to and from this place have not been tended in a long time,  my lord.     else i would have come and gone more quickly,  if i could.  ”     the young one swallowed down their inhibitions and gathered them up to his breast.     they marched right over to one of the barren bookcases in the corner of the room and began to unload them,   taking care to list them by alphabet and author. 

                “  i have read and studied much of this land before my arrival.     i am sure that is of no -- no,  ah,  surprise  ?      yes.     certainly not.     and i am afraid that it is one of my more fatal impulses;   that i must find myself learned in all manner of courtly principles,   as not to offend my host.      wherever i may go...   ”      joy lit his face,   but his voice trailed off into a cold and distant place.     he wanted to continue.     he wanted to speak of the rich histories the country had to offer him and of the culture he’d encountered.     of the foods he’d tasted.     but instead he stood there,   very cold and rigid,   his face like icy stone.     “  ...granted,   of course,   my knowledge cannot compare to that of your own,   or of your father’s,   ser.  but i hope that one day it may come to be of a similar sort.  ”

[vampiliar-blog]

my edits:  clothing preferences.    oskar loves form-fitting coats with heavy accents, whether they are ribbons, silk ties, fur collars or ornate brocade designs. 

[watchmasnatch]

Aesthetics » vampires

[vampiliar-blog]

“  oh,  i think it’s quite universal,   actually.   everyone loves flowers.   they present such a passionate attachment for us to claim since we are but children.    whether we admired their colors and shapes or rubbed them on our chins.   do you have a favorite ?    a flower,   i mean.    one that you prefer most out of all.  ”   /   @rosewiltd​

[vampiliar-blog]

finally got around to making my banners,   and you know what that means!!     hit the heart for a starter call from Oskar.     Probably short,   maybe not short.     It depends on how much he wants to talk. :) 

[vampiliar-blog]

excited admiration churned in oskar’s stomach alongside agitated fear,   the young man’s fingers wrapped dutifully around the silk-wrapped parcel he’d purchased in the city.     it was a full day’s right to targoviste,   thrilling him with the scent of foreign flora and the delightful view of the carpathian range. 

                   “  i’ve brought what you asked for.  ”     stepping across the room with a quick burst of self-assurence,  he set the bundle on the empty side table and began to unwrap the crimson fabric with diligent haste.    his heart was pounding,   throbbing in his ears like a drum to his temples.    the prince held within his breast the tempestuous attitude of a starving wolf,   and the excitable professor was not wont to incite his pernicious ire.      “  they had the most wonderful selection of books.  all pertaining to courtly histories and local civil disputes.   but some were written so long ago,   astonishingly so !     and i,  try as i might,  i          i could not understand them all.  ”    /   @deythprince​​

[vampiliar-blog]

So take me now or take me never !  Choose your fate, how else can we survive? A quick taste of the poison; a quick twist of the knife. When the obsession with death becomes a way of life?  Dead is the new alive.   /   indie gothic horror oc.  private/selective.  written by bela.  medium activity expected. 

[vampiliar-blog]

tag dump 2. 

[vampiliar-blog]

tag dump 1.