dayarmor

[dayarmor]

\* BELAYADYAVOL. ❝ what makes you so sure i have a self to lose? ❞ indie. private. selective interpretation. ' FORGED BY CARCASS.

[dayarmor]

since i know i have a couple german followers / people living in germany, it would be amazing if you could support this motion by a variety of refugees' rights organisations to urge the schönefeld municipality not to approve the construction of a deportation centre in berlin airport. german and english instructions for how to take action provided in the google doc. today, may 20, is the last day that it is open to public submission. as germany has been massively deporting again, including trying to deport pro-palestinian activists against court orders, this centre getting approved would cause unimaginable harm to many.

[dayarmor]

thinking about the convo in s2 or 3 with carmilla where she says something to hector (could be someone else tbqh) about how she can't not act because the only other women in dracula's palace are frozen by their rage or fear and therefore they can't act in the way she can act. and it isn't really dwelled upon or touched again until lenore's convo with carmilla where she asks carmilla what she wants and carmilla claims she wants to kill men and take their power but under that you can feel how she really does just want as much power as possible regardless it seems of who she takes it from. something something even immortal death cannot save you from the eternal trials of being a woman etc. super interesting commentary wish they would've gone into it a little more

[dayarmor]

@prophetishak / @kmtrpg: i will not be hunted.

with a voice like gravel, rough from days of disuse: “ you're a king. you're always going to be hunted. ”

her motives for returning to styria were, she knows, entirely selfish. but years are nothing to a vampire, just time whittled away at the root, and so after a half-decade of sitting and waiting and wondering, she leaves morana asleep in her coffin and takes the several-weeks' journey to styria by horseback. she's never been... curious by nature, in the traditional sense, just tactful. lenore was curious. morana more a collector of knowledge. but this... striga told herself that going to see the place carmilla brought them together one last time would be a sort of closure.

if she just saw—then perhaps she could assuage some of the guilt she's hesitant to admit exists.

it does not. the palace swarms with night creatures and servants. isaac welcomes her into his halls with a cunning, calculating look, and makes it clear that she, alone, is at a disadvantage. the room they stand in now used to be carmilla's. isaac, clearly, has a different taste in decor. less dripping in luxury and more practical, peaceful. she admits, privately, that she likes the gem-toned, cool blues more than she ever did the wealth of red on red and red.

the forgemaster isaac speaks softly. he does not raise his voice with her. he is surprisingly patient, but justifiably holding himself like he might reach for his knife at any second. from the tall, vaunting windows behind him, striga can see out into the mountain range: their mountains, once, their whole world. she fixes her eyes on him again, frowning. “ i just wanted to see what it was like now. there were days i was convinced she made this world. do the people of styria fear you as much as they did us? ”

that's not the question she really wants to ask. she's beating around the matter for no reason beyond sparing her own feelings. it takes a while to dredge the words up. a beat. “ was it an ugly death? i felt it. it was... ”

[dayarmor]

oh, i don’t have to lie to you. i have no interest in faith. faith makes for terrible diplomacy. ——— hector again bcs i’m insane

@avichor has clearly had her fill, playing pet with him. striga demanded she put him on a leash at the very least, all while lenore insisted that even if he did bite she could handle it. striga's not convinced. she has little love for humanity. they're good for feeding on. a nip at the fingers, every once in a while, to remind her that there was a time she was hunted by them as much as she hunted by them. they're not... stupid. cleverer than they appear. she should know. she used to be one.

she thinks they forget, sometimes, that they used to just be flesh and blood. carmilla, because of her own egotism. morana more because of her age — but she'd never outright say that to her, because striga loves her dearly and also values her life. lenore... might be the most aware of any of them given her role. hector, as much as he is flesh and blood, sheep for the slaughter just like his kith and kin, is also smart. a forgemaster. he stinks to high hell of magic, of ambition. in another world she thinks he may have made a very good vampire, if he could only keep himself from being so soft.

there is the inevitable but. he's managed to play well enough right into lenore's hands, hasn't he? tucked himself up against her feet to warm them during the day? utterly subservient. deeply pathetic. he speaks — and it sings to her, painfully familiar.

rumbling, brontidic, right from the chest, blatantly insulted: “ did you take that from her? don't throw her words back in my face. ” the lack of a threat hangs heavy in the air. she could do something. she likely won't. “ it isn't so different from dracula, is it? the room he kept you in and the one you're in now aren't so different, i'm told. ” a wicked smile curves at the corner of her mouth, too sharp, all teeth. “ do you think he had any faith in you, hector? ”

@imitor

[dayarmor]

i can't make a deal with a snake and cut off its head. we both have our shitty parts to play.

she's met hunters in her time, of all walks of life, learned in their ways and unlearned. some of them are stalwart in their oaths, driven through desire for the taste of their own blood in their mouths whether they know it or not. others, striga finds, snap like twigs with just a little pressure.

sometimes they're driven mad, just like vampires who spend too long walking on the earth with little to live for and nothing to do with the time they have left.

she is eyeing the cane, its sleek and silver body, the iron-capped ferrule. she knows the press of silver to the skin, the burning that follows. the lick of pain that follows from a lash against the skin or a slit of sun just before dawn is the closest she'll ever get to seeing daylight ever again.

very rarely has she found herself in a position like this. flagrant disadvantage would be putting it kindly. but she's a soldier. she knows how to strategize. striga drags her eyes up from the cane towards oriana's face, heavy brow drawn, considering. “ i know your type. few of you want to make any deal at all. what makes you different? ”

@kavanschosen

[dayarmor]

she's gotta be. at least half a foot taller than lenore right. like.

[dayarmor]

castlevania, season 3 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from the netflix original, castlevania.

oh, my god. i am losing my mind.

it’s only been a month. i think.

i think it might actually be a nice night, for once.

do you think we’ll make the next town before we lose the last of the light?

do we need to make more noise?

they need to hurry up. i’m hungry.

let them get in close and get confident.

oh, god, not this again.

i am certainly doomed. doomed, i say! i am defenseless and frozen to my seat with fear!

laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, (name)?

this will all be over in a minute.

what if i said i was sorry?

i’ve been promoted from “brain - damaged servant”, then.

it’s absolutely bloody chaos out there!

i want to get in a bath, for at least a day.

the plan couldn’t have gone more wrong.

you’ll be wanting a drink, then.

you do still love me!

it’s us against the world, (name).

has there been some apocalyptic development that i somehow slept through in the meantime?

time absolutely does move on, and, sadly, none of us is master or mistress of it.

they are somewhat, uh, broken.

did you kill it?

how do you know this?

they said they felt his death.

does that offend you?

it’s time for you and yours to move along now, (name).

what the hell was that?

oh, dear. what a shame.

not until i feel a little safer here.

you killed that bastard thing. you get one free.

that is better than sex.

i do hope you sleep well tonight, with my tiny, icy foot shoved all the way up your —

and you know the smell of hell?

are you breathing, betrayer?

i was spoiled by a single act of kindness in this city. and so i attempted to be reasonable, honest, and peaceful. this was against my better nature.

it was stupid to expect anything other than hate from you.

i keep making the same mistake. i should know better.

then why are still talking to me?

do you know what annoys me about it the most? it’s a really good idea.

maybe we could just torture him until he does what he’s told.

i suppose i’m awake now.

good boy.

what a formidable beast you are.

uh … who the hell are you?

you are practically the jesus of murder.

i have no idea what’s happening right now.

and … what do you want in return?

what interests you so much about hell?

i will not be hunted.

if i wanted him dead, i would have aimed higher.

i am not “the” anything.

you’re better than i thought.

you will have to unlearn much of what you know about the world and take on more than you ever imagined.

i think my mother would approve.

now we are not alone.

i suppose we could take a break.

ah, you’ve gone insane.

you could have told me that yesterday.

well, now i want to know how you’re even alive.

the place is apparently full of lunatics.

what do you need to know?

they just looked … well. broken.

i’m not looking at you, (name).

you like looking at me.

do you partake of alcohol?

it’s not pain as you understand it.

i’m too angry. i cannot find myself.

i cannot pray. i cannot see god.

he was confused. he was grieving.

it is a skill, learned over many years.

through my hand, god lifts the damned from hell in his mercy to enact their penance on the earth as my soldiers.

well after you’ve had your blood, what will you do then?

i’ve been cruel. it’s a cruel world. maybe we do all deserve to die — but maybe we could be better, too.

revenge is good. bastards need punishing.

vampires. you like to play with your food.

sorry. it must look like blood, mustn’t it?

i seem to have some roasted chicken in here. i’m afraid there are no maggots on it — i can call the guard and ask him to get you some sprinkles.

we enjoy all the good things of life. it’d be silly not to, wouldn’t it? otherwise, well, why live forever, if you’re not going to live well?

why live forever, if you’re not going to live well?

it’s alright. i’m not here to cause you any more harm.

let’s just have something to eat, and talk.

well! wasn’t that fun!

i’m a diplomat, (name). i make peace. and because of that, people think i’m soft. people think i’m weak. you won’t make that mistake again, will you?

fetch!

don’t look at those.

how long have you been here on your own?

tell me i’m wrong.

i admit it, alright? it’s been amazing. but i also remember how hard it was to get here.

i wish you’d stop talking to me like i’m insane, (name).

we wear the mark of hell?

i confess i had doubts about you.

enough. move away.

quietly confident people are competent and careful. nervous people make mistakes.

i’d rather they were nervous than happy in their work.

stop pretending that this is anything other than what it is.

it’s not poisoned.

let’s talk about what you would like.

i — i don’t understand the question.

i wasn’t necessarily looking for a reward.

so, you would have died with your boots on.

but what if you’re lying to me?

oh, i don’t have to lie to you. i have no interest in faith. faith makes for terrible diplomacy.

i like the sound of your voice.

i mean, look at you. beaten down a dozen different ways, and you don’t give up on yourself.

what a monster i have become.

i cannot believe this is happening again.

why do i keep doing the same thing and expecting a different result?

am i mad?

what the hell are you doing with your life?

what the actual hell are you thinking?

you weren’t following me, were you?

somebody always needs something.

places have a strange way of catching back up with you.

and you know it wasn’t there yesterday?

oh. that’s worrying,

i want to see how good you are when it comes down to a blade.

i’m developing a taste for the rougher things in life.

i do not trust people, generally.

who did you lose?

a bird might think your penis was a twig and fly off with it.

good boy.

the thing is, (name), humans forget things. vampires don’t.

you have a lot to learn.

so dramatic. relax and enjoy the night.

alright, i admit it. that’s fantastic.

is this a trick? am i dreaming?

i had a feeling you might find it interesting.

can i see you tomorrow night?

that’s a depressing thought.

i hope i love long enough to find out how it ends.

we — we shouldn’t be … here.

take my hand! please!

i’m sure there must have been a time when i had nice dreams.

do you remember who you were?

i think it was a long time ago.

i gave up others so that i may live.

thank you for my second life.

it will take a very long time, and there are more important things to do.

i’m not going anywhere, (name).

it’s a little more complicated than that.

not an obvious thing to find in a church.

i don’t see why this would excite you so.

i fail to see why this should interest me.

you’re alone here?

i smell you.

i see you.

i’m just not as strong as i was.

there are worse things than betrayal.

i’m a simple man with simple pleasures.

oh, i do like meeting a professional killer.

keep a civil fucking tongue in your head when you’re addressing me, (name).

you can’t keep me here.

i can’t believe i tried to be nice to you.

why are you still awake?

can you not keep it down?

well, now i definitely need a drink.

he’s holding things back from us.

can it be after i’ve had a nap?

i’m not lazy. i conserve my resources for important

efforts.

i feel as if i’ve been led here.

we’re doomed.

i don’t have enough information yet.

i seem to have missed that epic part of your plan.

you’re being … kind.

alright, alright. no need to make a production out of it.

i’m simply not used to people being kind to me for no reason.

there’s not something you’re not telling me?

has night fallen already?

you didn’t hear me enter.

i’m presuming there’s some disturbing reason for that and i will regret asking.

so now we’re not all monsters?

diplomacy is compromise.

i get something, you get something.

i have all the power, and you’re a pretty man in a box.

i’m — i’m pretty?

i’ve been awake all day thinking about it.

i want to be let out.

that would be a direct betrayal.

you’d survive less than a day on your own.

i would die almost immediately.

uh, that wasn’t what i was expecting to hear.

i think we’ve made a terrible mistake.

god is no longer in that house.

sleep, you idiot.

maybe i should get a coffin to sleep in.

tell me you’re mine.

i’m yours.

tell me you belong to me.

i belong to you.

what the fuck is that?

i may have been on my own for too long.

another hopeful idea that died in its sleep.

(name), do you have my back?

you’re already dead.

why? why would you tell me this?

all this death and horror for that leech?

show me what i want to see, you fucking bastard!

i gave you everything.

the world is not against you.

i am not against you.

i never lied to you.

i just want to know what’s behind that door.

this could not have gone more wrong.

[dayarmor]

ooooh you want your muses to interact with a big vampire woman soooo bad

[dayarmor]

lenore turns sweet, spotted-fawn eyes upon her, wide and wet. if she were a lesser woman striga might be compelled to reach out and pluck them from her eyes like the gem from the band of a ring, wrapped up in its own metal. to lenore's credit: she doesn't flinch when striga speaks to her directly. she can be steely, for all those bright eyes give up. carmilla, striga thinks, coddles her—with the intention of getting what she wants, of course—but coddles, nevertheless. she allows for these idiotic little fantasies of gentling to work their way through lenore until she cannot help but froth at the mouth with them in all her earnestness, her desire to be better. striga has no desire to be better. she desires to eat.

whether that desire impedes her ability to consider the reality of carmilla's plan is not something she's willing to confront. not yet. for now she will live in the optimism: a world where they do not have to starve. a world where it is easy, in a way, to be as they are. lenore's proposition has her raising a heavy brow, almost incredulous. "when were you last like them?" she remembers her last moments brutally: the claymore biting through bone, driven directly through her sternum, the blood bursting from her mouth like a fountain from which to drink, waiting to die.

her creator drank her fill, certainly. it was not an honorable first death. it was an ugly one, in the mud, choking on her own fucking spittle. not the end of any apex predator. her tapping has turned to dragging—a talon along marks its path along the glossy and embossed wood of the table right in front of her. it's enough pressure to scratch but not to mar. carmilla, she thinks with a sick pleasure, will either never notice in her delusions of grandeur at her own scheming (she always gets like this, like a madman, caught up in her own conceptual fervor), or she'll be so angry she'll really lose her fucking mind. striga's always loved getting right between carmilla's ribs.

lenore, meanwhile, would rather placate. it doesn't take long for the truth to out: this is about hector. of course it is. she's quietly glad that carmilla and morana are gone. “ if you're sick at the thought of your own survival, lenore, i cannot save you. none of us can. ” it's all their existence is, from one night to the next. survival after survival after survival. drily: “ don't tell me a few hours with the whelp has gotten to you that fast. ” this must, she wants to say, be coming from somewhere else.

delusion was best served in silken venom and honeyed syllabics. something only the polished concoction of an artist's final masterpiece would demonstrate, shiny and pretty, easily digested. that was the condition in which lenore carried herself in the name of survival. very unlike her sisters, the council in which they bathed in the bloods of the defeated, those who dared to question their power. histories had gone buried in the crevices of herself, nestled with the decay of hidden skeletons. it was in nights where she couldn't follow the darkness of slumber, stuck in purgatory, that she would feel its presence shaking from within, a paralyzing nightmare waiting to seize her. her past, a curse that would love her in whole, a rotten mark. in the wake of all violence that followed them, she sought to be different. not entirely by self - serving means, but what then ? the world saw her a beastly thing, mindless and corrupt, she couldn't be that. a flower plucked and placed amidst the wilds, thorns forgotten, bait with nectar. they saw past her, she knew this. or so she felt this, under the weight of striga's scrutiny.

perhaps it was only hypervigilance that she felt her own curtains rising, seeking to shield herself further. there was desire, this ache to be fully embedded within them, the foundation that would cause ruin if she were removed. in every move of hers, she sought leverage. it may have been unnatural in essence to do so, but it would be foolish to think otherwise. bound together by oaths of loyalty, but promises only ran so deep in the game of survival. she thought of him, faring better under her visits, and how the apprehension they'd showed at her suggestion only furthered her purpose. violence was not always the answer, and humans were fragile little things at their core, needing kindness, yearning to be nurtured. she could remember herself calling for it so vividly, only to be met with the promise of death.

“ we are apex predators, yes. but we were like them once before. were we not taught to hunt before we are hunted ? ” spine straightened, gaze initially focused over the stone tabletop before drifting in striga's direction, eyes a near - perfect rendition of a sweet, harmless fawn. “ it is nothing but a survival instinct of theirs. ” resting on the tip of her tongue : carmilla beat that man to within an inch of his life, fed off of whatever will to survive he'd protected, stripped bare of any dignity. their rule would never fare well if they led with pure fear and force. but striga eludes her, by a small amount. she wondered if she questioned any of what they had done, and what they will do. lenore had learned better than to categorize anyone into boxes. “ i just think there has to be more to it than just ... this. if we have not seen anything new, perhaps old habits truly need to die. ” under the table, slender digits play with the ring that'd kept them all tethered. “ it feels sickening to do it. like we are as bad as they assume us to be. ” like we are as bad as these humans have shown to be.

[dayarmor]

cheeky lil rewatch and i forget what an insane dynamic hector and lenore have wow

[dayarmor]

i don’t mean to–i don’t want to hurt people. / lenore

carmilla has left the room, morana not long after her. striga turns her head to peer at lenore from across the table, still in her seat, a severe frown working at her mouth. she's not shy about her own displeasure; what good does a creature like her have for niceties? in silence, she considers lenore.

lenore, of all her blood-kin, is the most puzzling of the bunch. striga had written her off, at one time—no better than the runt of the litter. time with lenore has proven that theory wrong, of course. but they stand here on the precipice of something much bigger, in the wake of carmilla's grand and imperial plans, wrapped up in her need to take the world in her fist. striga can't ever say she went to bed wanting to bend humanity over at the waist, but she won't pretend there isn't a part of her that froths at the mouth when presented with the prospect.

not lenore. lenore is soft. she plays with her food and gets teary-eyed when it weeps and begs for its life. she is delicate in ways that do not suit her—don't suit any of their kind. this alone is what makes lenore so useful. striga often wonders if the last dregs of humanity have been scraped out of her with a sharp-edged spoon. she drums her fingers across the tabletop, all while lenore sits there, the two of them looking at each other. what advice can she offer that lenore would ever take?

bluntly: "you will. you already have. why stop now?" it's not that lenore plays at complete innocence. she could never afford to, to live and work alongside the rest of them—carmilla especially. she pushes herself back from the table, and is ready to leave it at that... but the string of curiosity has been plucked, somewhere, at the back of her head. lenore so rarely speaks of herself. for as soft-petaled as she comes across, she's surprisingly guarded. "why, lenore? they'll all hurt you without a thought." she doesn't say it to be callous. it's just the truth.

i. PROMPT. ii. @avichor

[dayarmor]

SHUT THE FUCK UUISOAPPPPPPPPPOOOP SHUTBUPPPPPPPPPPP

new blog baptism feels good feels correct

[dayarmor]

Marguerite Duras, from The Lover

Text ID: to devour and be devoured,

[dayarmor]

But there's no honor in that

[dayarmor]

Agamemnon, Steven Berkoff