#mvltifaceted

Rain. Pouring down, it drenched every inch of him, trying but failing to rinse away the grime. The blood. The dirt. It soaked into his skin, reminding him of how far he’d fallen. The shame of his failure forcing him to hide. But his curse had made his survival difficult - without his careful vetting process, feeding had more often than not led to more hunger as his blood forced him to expel it. Dear god, was he hungry. The beast clawed at his throat and screamed through his mind. He was desperate. Even as he slipped through the back entrance and headed down the stairs, he had to resist the urge to feast on the patients upstairs. But there it was, his salvation: the blood bank. And behind the window was the one person who could free him from this torture. “Blue blood. Now.”

“yeah, well, i never asked you to get dragged down with me.” you’re used to people seeing you as something less than desirable, used to your lifestyle being met with protests and disappointments; this is no different. you’re defensive, as always, but the situation itself is nothing new. “if you let yourself get dragged down then that’s your own stupid fault.”

          ‘ i’m taking it to a dark place? i’m trying to help. ’ whatever, she wouldn’t push that any further since she knew it wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. letting out a sigh, she peeked around the corner to the alley where the hunter still stood, cigarette in hand. what could they possibly do that wouldn’t end in one or both of them getting staked? her eyes flickered up to the building above, seeing the fire escape just out of reach. ‘ can you climb? i can give you a boost. ‘

hi! i’m so sorry i didn’t see this til just now but yes. i’ll add it to my to do list.  poke me next week to remind me if you don’t see it by thursday/friday in case i’ve forgotten!

           ❛  Now I’m going to be stuck with serious thoughts all day.  ❜

vampires don’t feel. not heat, not cold, none of it. so it doesn’t bother her to be wearing a shag faux fur coat in the middle of spring — she got it from a thrift store in the sixties, and it had traveled with her all these years. sitting on a low wall, idly swinging her legs, she was people watching — young couples, parents with strollers, people enjoying the nice night air. this is what toreadors do; live vicariously through the living, longing for that which they lost.

@mvltifaceted​ / starter call.