*𝑩𝑬 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑫, 𝑹𝑬𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑫 !

 ❛ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐎𝐘❜𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌, 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. ❜

# 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑫    ——  ;    ᵃ ᵐᵘᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵉˣᶜˡᵘˢᶦᵛᵉ, ᶦⁿᵈᵉᵖᵉⁿᵈᵉⁿᵗ, ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉˡᵉᶜᵗ ᵒʳᶦᵍᶦⁿᵃˡ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ,  𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖  𝐁𝐀𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐑  , ᵇᵃˢᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵃⁿ ᵒʳᶦᵍᶦⁿᵃˡ ᵘⁿᶦᵛᵉʳˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. ᶦⁿˢᵖᶦʳᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ʳᵉᵗʳᵒ, ᵉˡᵈʳᶦᵗᶜʰ ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜˡᵃˢˢᶦᶜ ᶜᵘˡᵗ ᶠᶦˡᵐˢ. ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶦˢ ᵃ ˢᵗᵘᵈʸ ᶦⁿ : ᵖᵒᵖ ᶜᵘˡᵗᵘʳᵉ , ᵖᵉʳᶠᵉᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿᶦˢᵐ , ʳᵉᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ , ᵃⁿᵈ ᵒᵇˢᵉˢˢᶦᵒⁿ. ᶠᶦˡᵐᵉᵈ ᵇʸ 𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑑𝑦. ²¹⁺⁽ ᴿ ⁾

╳ -   drew refers to kendra as “ken ken”, not “ken” not “k”, only  “ken ken”.

╳ -   they have gotten to a point in their relationship that they can communicate with just their eyebrows in a room full of people.

╳ -  drew constantly asks kendra invasive questions about current human interaction. “how is sexting as interesting as seeing real life boobs ?”

╳ -   kendra knows about drew’s secret adoration of cats and how giddy she gets to be graced by a cat showing her their toe beans

╳ -  drew regularly does eddie’s eyeliner and paints his nails black to mimic rockstars.

╳ -  eddie knows that even tho drew calls him a dnd dork, she’s sketched a few of the landscapes and characters he’s talked about. 

╳ -  drew has given eddie a spare key to her trailer because she asked him to do a favor once and has never cared to ask for it back. now it’s basically an open door policy. bonus:  all of 5 of her trailer park neighbors basically know who he is and like him. except frankie. frankie is a fucking wanna be mafioso weirdo anyway.

╳ -  eddie has lied for drew to authority because she’s absolutely lost her shit when one of the old jocks go to bother eddie while they were working and used a hot oil fry basket to beat him with.

art couldn’t have hoped to imitate life.    OR DEATH?     crude sketches older than time depicted her as any other vampire.    desiccated remnants of the living.    the being in front of kendra was far from dead.    a kind of timelessness about her :     maybe perfected over centuries.    a shiver traveled down her spine and cold,  hidden silver in her boot reminded her to breathe.    

❛  you’re different,  aren’t you?  ❜     no kind of useful information aside from the obvious mystery about her   &  a record-breaking lack of sires.   yet she could feel the weight of ancient energy.    kendra folded her arms close to her chest.      ❛  all the vampires i’ve seen are pretty ugly.   ❜      @cultrewind​

              ❛    𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲.   ❜   a dark wound smile pulls on the plush of pale red lips, stained this way in the wake of centuries of 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔, the low baritone in her voice echoes in a collection of laughs that run off the walls. their meet is nothing more than tradition rearing its historic head and nothing quite new falls from the line of the slayer’s mouth but nonetheless drew can appreciate the acknowledgement.

      the sires were becoming grotesque replications of their predecessors, with each blood share becoming a  w e a k e r  version of their original, a stain on the face of all the elders long lived legends. twisting and contorting to better acclimate to their newly improved and completely flawed existence [ . . . ] to be so weak and brittle it wasn’t until recent she had heard of such a development that 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑 ⁽ ᵒᶠ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ⁾ has become an increasing source of mortality. 

             music vibrated in and against apartment walls that echoed out onto the fire escape, a backdrop into the day rush of traffic that clogged the streets. head nodding in timing to the lyrics as pen scrawls ceased over the beaten and abused composition note book that brims with ideas, cliff notes, and references ⁽ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶜᶜᵃˢᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵈᵒᵒᵈˡᵉ ʷʰᶦˡᵉ ᵒⁿ ˢʰᶦᶠᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᶦᵈᵉᵒ ˢᵗᵒʳᵉ ⁾ ; reaching for her pack of half empy cigarettes with not a singular. fuckin. lighter. to be found [ . . . ]  in her peripheral drew can see a mop of brown hair that peaks out from the window and promptly rounds about to find her sitting crisscrossed among a mess or torn pages. the weight of carmen’s body sat as a soundless flick of an open flame is offered causes a grin to split the line of dark colored lips though attempts to hide it behind her hand feigning as if the flame may extinguish.

       she appreciated reading between the lines, it was her favorite thing about cinematography. ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚. that every choice was made in a sequence that said more about the person and their intent that the scene itself. that words were not a necessity but sometimes a reassurance.   brown eyes meet blue   ——

                     ❛   𝐢  𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬  𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐭𝐨  𝐲𝐨𝐮.   ❜      ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᵇˡᶦⁿᵏˢ.

          the hand hiding the flame is still her own. but its night now. and carmen stood across from her, he’s wearing years on him that she hadn’t seen before. the only sound between them was a fire truck wailing in the distance that  somehow was not smothered by the cold silence that grew between them. she leans back from the lighter in hand and the cigarette quickly burns half its length on an inhale and gradually becomes cinder as she holds it.  her disposition is stoic, a measure of precaution, and an armor. did her muscles twitch from holding her breath ? or seeing him ?    𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ?