#lunaccult

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  IT COMES EASY, EASIER THAN BREATHING, WANTING THIS WOMAN. as if the woman were a part of her... a kidney, a liver, an artery of her beating heart. for the first time in a month, they are separate from each other, " –– A whole ocean between us," whispered against the phone's receiver. the Saint ( ! ) finds herself reclined in her lounge chair, legs propped against one arm; she shapes her nails with a black glass file and the phone sits between her shoulder, her ear; she listens to the woman on the other line and pretends... Anya is talking of her day, of the research she had completed, all those words Seraphina admires her for loving. her response comes quick as a bell –– "I've still got those papers you sent me.. I'm working through, I promise." –– and her eyes drift closed when the woman laughs, her voice a melody this woman [ this damn lovestruck woman ] commits to memory.

the static between them turns away from voices. it gives way to silence, to scratchy noise. she [ @lunaccult ] speaks again, the way she holds her words different than what the Saint is used to. her mouth goes slant as she hears: I miss you. Seraphina laughs, I miss you too, –– and the woman on the phone interrupts, speaks again: ❛ i miss you. it feels like a piece of me has been torn out. it hurts. it’s physical. ❜ and her mouth goes slack.

❝ oh, darling... ❞ like melted snow, words soft against the static air. grief swings as a strung bell, hollow and heavy in the center of her chest. loss is a swallowing tar pit, she thinks. she has been being pulled under its black for too long now. there is no need to accelerate its tug. a short breath is taken before she tries her hand: ❝ i miss you, too, i ( ... a pause, a jumbled tongue ... ) when can i see you again ? ... i think of you every day. every hour. my bed's boring without you in it. ❞

[argetlam]

for some godforsaken reason, i’m still here, like i’ve always been before. from nesta to murtagh hehehehe

𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞,  as though a wrong movement might crack and splinter the air between them.  𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘞𝘖𝘖𝘋𝘚 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 𝘘𝘜𝘐𝘌𝘛𝘌𝘋 𝘛𝘖 𝘈 𝘞𝘏𝘐𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘙,  blacked–out safe for where treetops part to 𝖆𝖉𝖒𝖎𝖙 jagged slices of night sky.  nesta’s anger 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝   ‒‒‒‒‒   she looks painted red beside him, LIKE A BEACON SHINING.  murtagh narrows his eyes at her,  withholding reply.  he cannot seem to make sense of this woman.  after rummaging through his saddlebag for a wineskin,  then uncorking and offering it,  𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 :    ❛❛  so you wish to leave.  ❜❜

[loetise]

inbox prompts, accepting.  ˎˊ˗

                she’s  getting  bad  again,  she  can  feel  it,  that  swirling  bout  of  confusion  whenever  she  can  feel  the  pinpricks  of  darkness  and  seeping  anxieties  that  tangle  together.  it  prickles  on  her  skin,  pools  in  her  stomach,  creates  knots  upon  knots  that  circle  the  pain  in  her  side.  a  wound,  she  had  almost  forgotten,  slipping  in  and  out  of  the  world  outside  of  her.  it’s  not  like  it  doesn’t  hurt,  of  course  it  does,  and  so  much  more  as  she  thinks  of  it.  maybe  even  more  than  it  should.  she’s  so  delicate,  fragile,  and  usually  it’s  a  fluttering  fact  that  finds  its  way  into  conversation,  an  observation  by  others.  never  has  she  felt  so  pathetic  about  it.

                “  what?  ”    she  whimpers  out,  her  eyes  doe-like  as  she  watches  them,  so  far  away  and  she  can’t  stop  trying  to  reach  him  for  connection.  it’s  strange,  the  way  her  despair  for  them  moving  away  makes  more  sense  to  her-  the  desperation  at  rejection  -than  the  pain,  raw  and  real  and  jagged.    “  i  don’t  understand  …  i  don’t-  i  don’t  understand  …  i  can’t-  i  can’t-  like  …  i  don’t  know  what  to  do,  i  don’t  wanna’  leave  you.  ”  

@lunaccult​​​​,   they  would  stain  her  if  she  came  any  closer.  if  she  dared.  and  so,  if  she  beckons,  the  leshy  retreats.  perhaps  he  appears  a  coward,  but  it  is  not  kindness  which  draws  the  distance  greater  between  them.  they  watch  her  warily,  but  hungrily.  a  horrific  churn  of  the  gut.  their  mouth  sneers  to  stop  the  drool  at  the  smell  of  her  distant  pain.  ❝  you  should  leave.  ❞

[iteats]

⤳​ @lunaccult​​​   asked:     ‹  am i making you feel sick? ›

“ to my stomach... you are disgusting. ” teeth graze at her bottom lip, expression all-too-inviting of putrid horror: she wants more. she wants to skin him until he's bones and ligament, see the darkness laying beneath, get a taste of their rotten organs and spill the blood across the floor between them –– all with the utmost respect, an admiration for the thing that he is. AN UNWANTED CREATURE; she beams, smile wide and eerily laced with a comforting air. she lifts her arms as if to indicate herself no threat (though in a physical sense, isn't that exactly what she is?) and almost to invite embrace ... her chin lowers, brow furrowed, sympathetic gaze distorting to pity. nearing disappointment, though much more compassionate. “ you're holding back ... i am not your mother, mieczysław. i want to see you. ”

[ezsme]

" i left once too. " the words slip past, absently. gentle, without judgement. we all run from things. people, our past, the very nature of who we are. esme has done all of that and more. she could never judge someone else for doing the same. " lost myself in the shadow of everything else. but you'll come back, in time. "

‘  when  i  imagine  myself ,  i  am  always  leaving .  i  couldn’t  draw  my  own  face  if  god  asked .  ’ @lunaccult , libby.

[crssfre]

* , MILO MCKIERNAN ( @lunaccult ): [ GUIDE ]

hood over your head, and glasses covering your eyes: you move through the crowd like you are the only who thinks... the only one who feels. the rest are fish threatening to suffocate you in the waters of the city. you, usually great in the crowds, feel the moment of derealization coming upon you... interrupted by the gentle brush of his hand on the small curve of your back ( and you remember now you are not alone ). gaze turns to look up to him and it's as if the rest of the fish disappear: leaving only you two. it hits you that you're smiling, and it's warm, it's natural, it's real. " we're almost there. " voice sounds quieter than you intend, drowned out by the murmurs of the street, but attentiveness is given to him, so without a doubt you know you're heard. isn't it refreshing? it is... it should be. brown eyes turn back forward and you feel your shoulders roll backwards, you feel yourself relax and still, as it was, as it had became: there was only you two.

[vipier]

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂?

ANGER. jaw clenching, hands balling into fists, teeth grinding, yelling, going non-verbal, stuttering speech, rushed speech, slow concise speech, rambling, quiet, arms crossing, shaking head, tearing up, animated, expressionless, projects, internalises, vents, withdraws, passive aggressive, direct, physical outbursts, verbal outbursts.

JOY. easy smiles, fighting back grins, suppressed laughter, loud laughter, giggles, chuckling, smirks, whole body laughs, covers mouth when laughing / giggling, throws head back when laughing, slaps leg, touches people around them when laughing, looks down when laughing, looks for eye contact when laughing, sparkling eyes, bubbly happiness, quiet subtle happiness, obnoxious happiness, wants to spread joy, quietly savours joy.

SADNESS. crying, bottling it up, seeks distractions, wallows, meditates, trains and processes, avoidance, seeks out comfort, withdraws, talks it out, internalises it, sad smiles, depression naps, uses alcohol, uses drugs, seeks out sources of joy, fidgets with sentimental item, sits in silence, broods, gets moody, wants someone to share the misery, tries to hide negative emotions, nurtures others to make themselves feel better.

EMBARRASSMENT / SHAME. blushing, looking away, rubbing at back of head, covering face, laughing nervously, laughs it off, overthinks, lets it go, self-deprecating humor, deflects, gets irritated, smiles, withdraws, crossing arms over stomach, crossing arms over chest, hands in pockets, shoulders sinking, shrugs, falling into silence until comfortable again, talking a lot to compensate.

GUILT. avoiding eye contact, shoulders sinking low, head hanging down, crying, chest aches, lashes out, internalises, apologises, deflects, communicates, withdraws, grand gestures for forgiveness, accepts fault easily, punishes themselves, martyrdom, victim complex, guilt complex, healthy conscience, internalises even after forgiveness, seeking redemption, moves on easily, denial, lack of guilt / conscience, sorry they got caught more than caused harm, can’t handle knowing they hurt others.

FEAR / ANXIETY. trembling, crying, sarcasm / sass to cope, rambles, goes silent, gets angry, fidgeting, clenching jaw, picking at nails, chewing at lip, pulling at clothes, adjusting jewellery / clothing, swallowing thickly, eyes widening, over-reacts, under-reacts, calm, logical, panic, irrational, overthinks, carefully analyses, talks to themselves, breathing exercises, flight, fight, withdraw, fawn.

tagged by : the incomparable @daylighter! tagging : @reporther, @zmeydeva, @rosenvale ( spike, august, impa, anyone you want! ), @sheikage, @vicioushope, @w4ntd, @debelltio, @barrelborne, @lunaccult ( nesta and/or jude! ), @beartsar, and anyone else who wants to!

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  IF SHE WERE A BETTING WOMAN, THIS IS WHERE HER CHIPS WOULD FIND THEMSELVES CASHED. it is where the content she feels overfills, her body overflowed with... for the moment, the atmosphere is full of nothing but the muffled rainfall outdoors, warmth trapped inside this bedroom of Hers, of theirs: the Saint's body is flush against the other, skin against skin, a red mouth creating a trail of pecks off a cream shoulder. We should stay here forever... she mutters to the Vampire, the ending of her desire muffled by lips landing to flesh. again, the words load themselves into her mouth. they take the form of a plea; a promise of something long - lasting. the woman shifts to face her, dark hair falling like water around her features, and Seraphina leans forwards to catch her mouth in a kiss. Think about it. We could stay here forever....

they have loved each other for four months now. they have fallen into the ease of it, of existing within affection. Anya's [ @lunaccult ] gaze ( black as night, an endless pool the Saint could drown in ) catches the opposite pair and her mouth curls soft, the ends of her lips upwards. when she speaks, the pauses are punctuated by a kiss here, a peck there: ❛ i love you, stone in my shoe. i love only you. only you. only ever you. ❜ and this time, the Saint does not shrink away.

HER RESPONSE IS SWEETER THAN HONEY, and perhaps that is the only answer she knows how to give. that red mouth slides into a wide grin, all teeth and sharpened fangs, domesticity found in this exposed state. her body overflows with excitement. her body overflows with eager joy, displaced and unfamiliar. in the back of her mind and unspoken: i have not felt this way since.... since...

❝ ... would you stay with me ? ❞ she says at the edge of her mouth, neither meek nor bold. the Saint brings her hands to the woman's face, wraps a hand against the slender of her neck, a thumb against the jaw. the eyes wander, the eyes relish. ❝ i love you. i love you, my thread. will you stay here ? or stay a little longer... i love you. ❞

[morovozanya]

TEMP REHOMING @lunaccult.

FORGIVE THESE BONES I'VE BEEN HIDING. an original character based on original lore deeply inspired by selective vampire rhetoric, slavic fairytales, and more. plot-oriented, mutuals only, minors blocked on sight. crafted with love by rionach, she/they, 27.

CARRD. / SIDEBLOG. / SOUNDTRACK.

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  THE SAINT IS A PILLAR OF DIVINITY, COVETED AND WORSHIPPED ALL AT ONCE. she is made of the scraps of shedded skin, this body of hers metamorphosed twicefold... there is nothing / no one on this earth like her and individuality settles behind her flesh, seeps underneath her bones. she prides herself on her special holiness; the Saint makes an idol out of herself, an effigy of self - reverence. her figurehead - of - self is monotheistic to its core and she has no room for other beings, any other admissions of sanctity promptly squashed at its root wherever she can find them. this life is her garden, you see, and she must exterminate those weeds. this existence is a never - ending session of pruning, of careful removal around her flower beds. it shows when she speaks to her Right - hand, that greedy form who is just as hungry as she: the tongue slithers from her mouth in the form of a lashing whip, and she tells them to bare their skin in stinging anticipation. of course... the Leshy listens. of course... she cannot stand him.

TONIGHT: THEY BOTH SIT IN HER OFFICE - SPACE. the maggot is still as stone, the way she prefers them, and the Saint ( ! ) presses numbers into a calculator from where she sits. the air of silence is interrupted solely by the sound of nails pressing into plastic, the click - clack of key ruining the stagnation of atmosphere. the vampiristic woman speaks first, after a long stretch. ❝ i am deducting form your monetary compensation, just so you are aware. i like to think that i pay fairly, especially for what i have my workers do, but sometimes... ❞ the woman glances up at her gopher, a moment of consideration taken. ❝ oh, it does feel as if my instruction does not go through the thickness of your head... for instance, that last week –– ❞

the stone figure [ @lunaccult ] stirs from their position; the head moves slow to face the vampiristic being, eyes rapid to blink as if a defense were beginning to form. I knew you were speaking to me, they begin with a hoarse forcefulness. ❛ i knew it was you, but it was like looking in a mirror, too; i could never quite be sure which one of us was speaking. ❜ and the Saint ( ! ) feels her eyes go wide, her greedy hunger resisting an angry violence.

the air goes cold and stale and silent. the woman's mouth goes slantwise, then downwards.

❝ Oh... ❞ says she, a single syllable dropped into a bucket of vast quiet. now it is her turn to blink once, then twice. she looks towards the figure, inhales deep, familiarizes herself again with his scent, with the closeness of rotting flesh and marrow. she imagines a hollower gaze, eyes lifeless. their head torn from their body, a quick severance. her right hand balls into a fist, nails imprinting on flesh ––– the mouth waters..... her next movements are precise and slow: the Saint ( ! ), holy and singular in herself, lifts herself from her chair and glides across the floor, fingers light and swift as they lift from her side. her right hand cups their throat, nails sharpened to a point already making quick work of his flesh. she squeezes gentle, as if giving a warning, and then begins to tighten. ❝ .... do you think we are similar, gopher ? ❞

[saintvampe]

but yeah in my main verse seraphina is madly in love with @lunaccult’s anya morovoza….