ONHIATUS

　 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 - 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃. 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐒. 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇. her heart ached, thundering within the tightness of her ribcage with enough violence to wound her frail bones ; it was threatening to break free, to escape from this poignant husk of muscles and tendons and marrow, so that it may become a shield against all this suffering⸻ against these all - devouring flames, against the sharp steel wielded by merciless hands. her heart lamented its flaws and her vision, blurred at the furthest edges by tears, was soon painted over by the brazen reds of blood.

the earth - bride ran. she slithered across birches and brambles and oaks, past the little lake in which she would bath 'neath the moonlight, further and further into the belly of the forest that had long since become her home. her little home, the only place where she was accepted / where she was loved. her lungs burnt with each hastened intake of oxygen that she took and her jaw, smeared in crimson, tightened painfully 'neath the almost uncontrollable urge to turn around and pounce on him ( ... ) tear him asunder, limb from limb, until his chest was carved open by the resentment of her claws and she could bathe in his ichor. devour his heart. desecrate his remains.

but ahri knew better than to fall victim to her carnivorous desires. with a swift food and an even swifter mind, she lured him where he could no longer cause harm to the ones she loved most. only then, did she allow herself a momentary placidity. only then, did she allow herself to settle her golden eyes 'pon the intruder. gone was the sweet deceit of the ethereal nymph: her fangs were bared, her pale flesh bloomed in blues and reds and purples, her starving body yearned for retribution⸻ her body yearned for him, for his death, for his undoing. still, there appeared a smile 'pon heart - shaped tiers. mischievous, bloodied, hungry.

a flutter of wispy lashes, the belligerent sway of fur - coated appendages behind her petite silhouette. ❝ oh pretty boy, our game has yet to start. ❞ she could not save those who had already perished, but she could enjoy this. she could transform this intrusion into a hunt and, afterwards, into a feast to satisfy her gluttonous and ravenous appetites. ❝ tell me, how do you wish to die ? with a kiss, mayhap ? or, shall we discover just how beautiful your screams can be ? ❞

Eyebrows  knitted  together,  he  huffed.  His  desire  for  violence  measured  against  hers  had  the  same  weight,  but  a  very  different  shape.  Eligos  wasn't  interested  in  the  act  itselt  but  the  result.  Brought  into  being  by  a  tyrant  god  had  taught  him  that  any  act  was  worthless  until  victory  was  achieved.  And  pain  only  a  tool  toward  domination.  He  wouldn't  be  joining  the  nymph  in  whatever  games  she  wanted  to  play,  his  only  goal  to  break  her  and  take  her  soul  for  his  master. 

Not  gracing  her  with  any  response,  he  rushed  at  her  wordlessly.  His  attack  didn't  turn  out  as  a  surprise  for  her.  Which  didn't  surprise  him.  He  had  never  pretended  that  this  would  end  with  anything  but  bloodshed.  Graceful  as  his  swings  were  Eligos  seemed  like  a  brute  compared  to  her.  While  he  tried  to  match  her  quickness  his  breath  got  heavier.  And  faced  with  potential  failure  he  got  angrier.  He  struck  and  she  evaded  him,  over  and  over  and  over.  Any  blow  he  did  land  barely  drew  blood. 

Sore  loser  as  he  was,  he  was  also  a  strategist.  He  disengaged  for  a  moment  and  as  the  two  of  them  were  circling  each  other  he  decided  that  he  needed  to  make  himself  a  bigger  target.  His  chest  trembled  under  provocating  laughter.  ❝  It's  no  wonder..  ❞  Eligos  bared  his  teeth  for  a  diabolical  smile.  ❝  all  your  friends  are  burning  because  you  are  playing  games.  ❞

He  raised  his  arms,  sword  still  gripped,  and  challenged  her  to  prove  him  wrong.  She  outmatched  him  with  her  speed  and  forced  him  to  get  creative.  Eligos  would  stay  in  this  forest  and  find  a  way  to  defeat  her,  however  long  it  took. 

“I think you have the vampires to thank for that. They've pissed this town off a little too much for the humans to take it lying down.” There was a small flicker of amusement in his voice, he was one of those vampires too, though not nearly what the people were hunting.

Elijah's  words  lightened  his  mood  and  coaxed  a  soft  chuckle  out  of  him.  The  memories  of  first  encountering  vampires  flickered  in  the  back  of  his  mind.  Key  had  no  strong  bias  for  or  against  them.  They  had  been  allies  and  enemies  to  him,  almost  in  equal  measure.  The  two  of  them  sitting  here  was  testament  to  that,  even  if  both  of  them  knew  that  one  wrong  decision  could  break  the  ice  they  were  treading  on,  both  of  them  fiercly  protective  over  their  own.

❝ I'm  smarter  than  to  look  for  a  lover  in  Mystic  Falls. ❞  his  words  not  patronizing,  but  humorous.  He  spoke  to  the  power  this  place  and  its  people  held.  ❝ No,  I'm  looking  for  the  hilt  of  a  sword. ❞ 

Key  slipped  his  hand  into  the  inside  of  his  jacket.  He  was  oddly  covered  up  for  a  hot  summer's  day,  but  as  this  wasn't  their  first  encounter  and  Elijah  himself  didn't  show  much  skin  himself,  that  might  have  not  been  worth  noticing  to  the  vampire.  He  produced  several  images,  one  standing  out.  The  copy  of  an  original  he  obviously  didn't  bring,  the  decadent  hilt  of   a  sword.  The  other  images  were  actual  photos.  Pieces  of  a  blade.  One  picture  showed  them  layed  together,  but  not  fixed. 

❝ I  have  the  blade. ❞  he  explained.  ❝ It's  all  worthless  like  this,  but  together.. ❞  He  didn't  elaborate,  thinking  that  the  insinuation  was  enough.  Often  he  chased  items  that  he  had  only  ever  heard  of.  But  this  sword  he  had  witnessed  in  its  full  glory  and  he  knew  what  it  could  do.  A  thousand  years  ago  and  the  memory  was  still  so  vivid  as  if  yesterday.  ❝ Have  you  ever  seen  it?  I  know  it's  here.  I  just  don't  know  which  family  has  it. ❞

Key  gestured  toward  the  pictures  again  with  an  open  hand,  imploring  the  vampire  to  take  a  second  look.  Like  anything  else  he  tried  to  procure,  this  was  important  to  him.  And  even  more  so  because  he  knew  what  danger  it  posed. 

requested by my bestie 

WORDS: 

“  is that your blood?  ”

“  woah—  hold up you’re bleeding.  ”

“  your bandages— you’re bleeding through them.  ”

“  shit,  i think i pulled my stitches.  ”

“  i’ll make them bleed for this.  ”

“  a little blood never never hurt anyone.  ”

“  why the fuck is there blood on the carpet?  ”

“  your nose is bleeding.  ”

“  you can make me bleed all you want,  i’ll never scream for you.  ”

“  you don’t understand,  i had to do it.  i had to kill them.  ”

“  stop fussing— this isn’t my blood.  ”

“  i did what was necessary.  ”

“  why are you bleeding?  what happened?  ”

“  who hurt you?  why is there blood all over you?  ”

“  i think you’ll look quite pretty when you bleed.  ”

“  who did you kill?  whose blood is that?  ”

“  i’m not usually a sadistic sort of person,  but i will take pleasure in spilling your blood.  ”

“  i don’t actually enjoy killing.  it’s messy.  the blood gets everywhere.  it’s just necessary sometimes.  ”

“  it looked kind of beautiful in a fucked up sort of way.  blood on snow.  the kind of thing you usually only see in stories.  ” 

“  i can’t get it off—  i can still feel it on me!  ”

“  just calm down.  breathe.  i’ll take care of this.  ”

“  hold still— you’ve got blood on your face.  ”

“  why is there blood on your knife?  ”

“  oh,  it’s just a little bit of blood.  don’t nutsack out.  ”

“  i’m going to drain every ounce of your blood.  nice and slow.  like you deserve.  ”  

“  i’ll kill anyone who ever makes you bleed again.  ”

“  your/their blood is just too pretty to keep inside.  ”

“  there’s something fascinating about blood.  it’s captivating. ”

“  blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb.  ”

“  you made me bleed on my shirt—  i fucking loved this shirt!  ”

“  leave me alone,  it’s shark week and i got blood on my sheets.  ”

“  should i be concerned about why there’s blood in the sink?  ”

“  do i ask questions or do i just help you clean up all this blood?  ”

ACTIONS: 

[ ALONE ]  for sender to show up on receiver’s doorstep covered in blood. 

[ ARRIVE ] for receiver to show up on sender’s doorstep covered in blood. 

[ CLEANSE ] for sender to find receiver trying to clean blood off themselves. 

[ DISCOVER ] for receiver to find sender trying to clean blood off themselves. 

[ AID ] for sender to help receiver clean blood off themselves. 

[ ERASE ] for receiver to help sender clean blood off themselves. 

[ ESCAPE ] for sender to find receiver after they’ve killed someone. 

[ SEEN ] for receiver to find sender after they’ve killed someone. 

[ HELP ] for sender to clean up the aftermath of receiver’s crime. 

[ ACCEPT ] for receiver to clean up the aftermath of sender’s crime. 

[ FOUND ] for sender to discover receiver covered in blood. 

[ EXPOSE ] for receiver to discover sender covered in blood. 

[ ATTACK ] for sender to stab or shoot receiver. 

[ WOUNDED ] for receiver to stab or shoot sender. 

[ BROKE ] for sender to punch receiver hard enough their nose bleeds. 

[ INJURE ] for receiver to punch sender hard enough their nose bleeds. 

[ WITNESS ] for sender to see receiver get hurt enough to bleed.  

[ WATCH ] for receiver to see sender get hurt enough to bleed. 

[ RETALIATE ] for sender to make receiver’s attacker bleed. 

[ DEFEND ] for receiver to make sender’s attacker bleed. 

[ SURVIVE ] for sender to realize receiver is bleeding after getting through a fight. 

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis/headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.

a collection of unfinished endings, of knives passed down instead of names. a study in monsters made by love, betrayal dressed like family, fever-dream roads and lives lived out of spite.  a love letter to the ones who ran, the ones who stayed, the ones who burned it all down  ⅋  to everything that came back wrong.

❪  21+ and mutuals only,  please  read  the  rules  BEFORE  interacting.  ❫  | ©

༘⋆ @ofbaator leaves a note beneath the cider jug for kai . . . (from here)              ↪      ‘ a [ restaurant / diner ] interior lights flickering under a fierce storm.’

THE  STORM  HADN’T  REALLY  STARTED  AS  A  STORM. It  had  crept  in,  slow  and  sulking,  pressing  its  humid  fingers  against  the  glass  long  before  the  sky  even  cracked.  By  the  time  the  power  hiccupped  and  the  lights  began  their  erratic  little  strobe  routine,  the  only  thing  louder  than  the  rain  was  the  dull  clatter  of  a  spoon  spinning  in  a  coffee  mug  he  hadn’t  ordered.

Malachai  had  been  sitting  in  one  of  the  corner  booths  for  a  while  now.  Legs  stretched  out  like  he  owned  the  damn  linoleum,  one  arm  draped  along  the  backrest,  fingers  lazily  tapping  to  the  rhythm  of  a  song  that  wasn’t  playing  anymore.  The  jukebox  had  died  three  power  flickers  ago.  Probably  for  the  best,  since  it’d  been  stuck  on  the  same  Johnny  Cash  track  since  he  walked  in.

Careful  not  to  slip  across  the  pebbles  of  the  parking  space,  his  Yamaha  came  to  a  slow  stop.  He  had  braved  the  storm  as  long  as  he  had  been  able  to,  but  at  this  point  carrying  on  would  have  been  foolish.  Both  bike  and  Key  were  soaked  already,  but  a  rolled  close  to  the  exterior  of  the  locale  to  find  what  little  cover  he  could  get.  Might  as  well  go  in.

He  removed  his  helmet  as  he  stepped  in,  revealing  another  cover  underneath.  As  usual  as  it  was  for  bikers  to  wear  a  mask  underneath  their  helmet,  the  one  he  wore  bore  no  eye  slits.  Scanning  the  interior  on  his  way  to  the  counter,  he  made  note  of  the  man  in  the  booth,  but  had  no  plans  to  make  smalltalk.

Waiting  for  a  waitress  to  take  his  order,  he  heard  the  stranger  call  out.  His  eyes  narrowed  and,  before  even  turning  back  to  face  him,  he  considered  if  he  wanted  to  ignore  the  guy  or  not.  Did  he  want  to  play  games  or  not?  Key  didn't  need  to  hear  another  word  to  know  what  he  was  in  for.

❝  Someone  like  me?  ❞  he  turned,  a  soft  chuckle  escaping  his  lips.  Instead  of  loading  the  question  with  what  usually  would  be  offense,  he  sounded  curios,  matching  the  stranger's  energy.  As  asked,  he  slid  into  the  both  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  resting  his  dripping  helmet  next  to  him.

Key  rested  his  ellbows  on  the  table,  arms  crossed.  He  had  his  full  attention.  ❝  I'm  sorry  to  admit  that  it  was  just  to  get  out  of  the  storm.  ❞  Catching  a  waitress  sticking  their  head  out  of  the  kitchen  in  the  corner  of  his  eye,  he  turned  his  head  as  quickly  as  a  predatory  bird  would.  ❝  A  coffee,  please?  ❞

❝  You're  quite  dry,  though.  ❞  he  commented  and  turned  back to  look  at  him.  His  head  shifted  as  he  eyed  him  up  and  down.  Key  removed  jacket  and  gloves.  ❝  The  fries  must  really  be  good.  What's  your  name?  ❞