fearooren:

          There is so very much one with such youth is yet to encounter upon endlessness of their own troubles. There is so very much one would want to surely know, upon meeting a force unrecognizable like the creation’s very own, that speaks so gently, offers itself up so kindly. He doesn’t bother, nor does it matter for him how that young man behaves in front of his own vision, for a vision it truly is and will always stay to be, and yet never find itself disturbed by outside energies of any kind and shape and form. He’s compliant for a while, the very picturesque statue of the Chief’s whims. Compliant as one would only expect him to be - with an age much grander. And a personality much more apathetic—

          “It would be a mistake for them to crawl out of the shadows they are hiding in. For you should know it well enough, that the unison between mankind and those far beyond is one to be eradicated. Ground to dust and destroyed in iron palm.” How threatening it surely could have sounded, if a different sort of dusky timbre had underlined the gravity of a knowledge like this. “There are many a kind not even meant to be.” And slowly just, he begins to drawl away - saunters along a pathway leading towards nowhere specific. “I know any and all wandering around this world. Devil or Angel, specifically, are near the same for me in how they strive and grow. Their reasons, in particular, are just so starkly different, yet align perfectly to be the same.” How quaint to think that one could so easily turn into the other - and yet never find the light again. “A Reaper of sorts.” He echoes faintly, subconsciously. “You might say that if it is something you surely comprehend.”

             “Men and monsters and angels alike. Yes. They are not meant to unite and much less to beget children. They are gone, those sorts of offspring...usually the very day they are born to begin with. Those lucky few that aren’t, they live in the shadows with any other strange things like or unlike them. We are all secrets, essentially. You’re not wrong in saying that they would be mistaken to betray their true selves.” For what a kindness it is they have lived even long enough to bear that secret for themselves. Aramis remembers to count what few blessings he has to be alive, untouched and in debt to the feeling heart of a somewhat-father and a mother left behind him. 

               “I may have met nothing else yet with a devil for a father, though you remind me of something I might have met instead.” Something he has longed to see again for many a year, and yet still hasn’t, not once in his drifting months moving from place to place. He blinks at that, brow furrowed, pondering whether the reality of his old memories may well have been a dream, some fanciful vision--not unlike the image of this silver being looming ahead that Aramis determinedly saunters closer toward.

               “So you collect the souls of the dead, do you?” The description is apt, the title a fitting one for something such as this. There is a quietness to their person that is only too suiting for something that cavorts with death and all its connotations. “I see. So that is how it is. That would be a fearsome title to some. Though you echo with more divinity than what such creatures are often spoken of with. Tales have not truly done you justice.”

bellatorumrex:

          And how that skittish little twitch would have a wolfish grin twitch upon his face, edging itself just higher [ like a sword’s sharpened steel ]. Such a harsh contrast to the softness of pure white that now twines itself around his fingers, gently tugged upon to just see what happens [ to have hairs stay on the back of his neck? to have the child come a small step closer? ]. He’s tasting and testing what a being of unknown level would hold before him - albeit - awareness present so: this one was no match for the King. Sin that lingered inside, one that tingles softly in his open palm and enlightens fingertips, was not the one the youth truly possessed [ but was meant to drown him whole, meant to show him that his whole existence was not meant to be ]. But was it not like this with everybody else? With all their kin alike, rising above the worthlessness of humanity? As one would like to forget every once in a while - the monarch had been human years in the past, as well.

          “Nothing more than a memory to behold.” But he was not displeased, was not any else but mildly amused at the youth’s antics that had him finally release the subtle structure in his grasp. “What now, do I still desire with the likes of you?” What now, indeed, would he do with something that was quite so innocent before the warrior being all else? He wonders just, what power this one houses, all but chuckles to the symphony of mindful caution. “Entertainment may perhaps be one of the things I desire from you, but alas—” And so the name Aramis had chosen, was not even a truth. A given one, a shackling one. Anchor to hold upon close, coating tongue in deceiving poison. “—perhaps I just ‘desire’ you.” So be it. And it sounded [ was meant to sound ] so surely different than need be. Laughing at the very notion, the depth of a hum ebbing it out.

          A jest. “No, it would mean you are strong enough to hold my interest. By now, all that does, are your looks. But I call my husband one of more power, of more allure.” Why play games? “So tell me just, are you alone in your wander?”

             Closer the child does not come. Their nearness already is suffocating, off-putting to an eerie degree. Aramis of course has always known power as it has dwelt in his blood and as it has dwelt in others he has killed or kept. The concept was never so drastically unfamiliar as it has suddenly become on this cold, moonlit night. But he is only young, and he has only ever had so much blood on his hands to have understood. From a glance, from a ripple cast over their momentary and minute connection to one another, the sense of being well out of one’s depth is palpable. The creature jests about nuances of desire and amusement and other things like it that Aramis answers with blue, unblinking eyes, the even slide of one foot taking him out and away from that crushing proximity. Like a lifted spell or some waking dream vanished into thin air--his reverie of assessing eyes and silent breaths has slowly ebbed and faded out of his reality while now, instead, he stands and adjusts the various holsters upon his person.

               “Your husband.” He echoes, almost with a note of curiosity hiding somewhere therein. The word is not the sort he was expecting to hear, though the question of ‘what’ is greater than the question of ‘why’. “Is he like you, too? A vampire?” Or something like one, he reaffirms to himself. A part of him almost wants to laugh at the peculiarity of an evening that was meant to have ended moments ago, with the ashes scattered to the wind and the blood having dried on his coat tails long before another warrior had set foot into his finished battlefield. The night only grows older, and Aramis ponders just how far it is still from ending. Something close to a smirk tugs at either corner of his lips, inexplicable and sudden across that pale mouth. His eyes flicker back to the other man’s face, watching the breeze lift dust to dance and twirl in the moonlight beyond that larger silhouette.

                “Generally speaking? I am not. I travel with two...three others besides myself. Though they are elsewhere, for the time being. This was a task simple enough for me to complete unaccompanied by my associates.” Wherever they are and whatever they are doing, if not warbling over the good doctor’s various fairy-tales again. The Cambion huffs, pale head set at a tilt toward the stars as one hand pockets itself in the shroud of his coat. “The town will be rid of us again by daybreak. I mightn’t be here to amuse you much longer than that.”

bellatorumrex:

          And how truly utterly dreading might an approach like his own appear to be? If that calm and kindness he exudes could be called a farce beyond belief, solely for the fact that the monarch is all but the very feelings of calm and kind. He’s power and destruction, but the waning impression of something far more enjoyable [ something - someone - so truly unknown to his person ] would gentle him down to a near kinder simmer of that ever-burning hellfire inside of him. It’s amusing past commonplace, and the youth is swiftly interwoven in a game not played for quite so long.

          “Of course. I do not wait myself when it comes to a prey I have to devour. Alas, I might let it slide for a margin of moments more~” So he drawls on and comes to a halt not even an arm-reach away, and reaching out is exactly what he does. To the child’s long fall of hair, he goes to idly curl around the back of his hand.

          “Are you expecting a name uttered in return?” That grin that etches itself upon his face, that all-telling curl of lips, higher and higher. “Ah, so I see - a being that screams of sin, and yet you scream yourself of the wariness that laces around you because of the sin in my person. How entertaining, indeed.” A precious little prey. A beautiful little being caught in his grasp [ permit, it’s hilarious to be seen ]. “The name I go by is Alucard. Albeit I go by a hundred else, please have your pick~”

               “It would be foolish to trust more blindly than that,” chimes pointedly into the dark, “I am wary in spite of myself because there will always be sinners far greater than me. I haven’t known even as many as I could. But they are, and will always be.” Any sin of his own has never been anything more than merely being alive and hated and hunted for what he was born to be. To measure up to any other, greater evil was never a thing his heart understood, yet intimately he knows the mere scent of death and far more tremendous sin--as such that clings like a shroud to this one’s impressive and encroaching enormity. It seeps into him like smoke, no less heavy in his lungs, no kinder in its engulfing hold as the man draws steadily, impossibly close. It is not fear that makes taut his young body when that hand touches him; though he flinches all over, the tiniest charge of electric and animal wariness that still does not trouble his stern, scrutinising visage. Not yet, not quite fear. No more than the knowing that they both came here to kill, no more than a learned and rightful distrust of the kindly hand that sweeps up a tide of sea-white hair to take for itself.

               Yet for better or for worse, he permits the game to go on being played a suspicious moment more. “The moment is past. Our prey is dead and gone; nothing more than dust scattered to the wind.” A still moment of unworldly, blinking eyes, a determined furrow of that slender brow as Aramis lifts his pale face again to the man’s greater height--even against that reminding, dangerous grasp coiled loose in tresses that flow softly down over his shoulder. That newly given name lays heavy as lead on his questioning tongue now he boldly dares further into their conversation. “What now, Alucard, do you still desire with me? Is one such as myself truly so strange--so very entertaining?”

bellatorumrex:

          “It ‘pays’ to just be a little bit more swift as well. I usually do not enjoy my prey being taken away from me, alas—~” How dangerous words could be uttered in the most smooth of sounds dancing in the wind. As much as the youth does still, his own form sways to a movement - gradually drawing closer and closer. “—I may have found something more interesting as compensation.” And how many had not realised and found out, that taking what the monarch had truly wanted, could become undone in the wake of everlasting greed [ like a demon, perhaps, for the King was coated with all the sins ].

          “Your name, dear child?”

          Spoken in a droning whisper, cutting deep like icy winds. “The 'in between’ - so you are demon and human alike? For I smell nothing of holy graces on you.”

                    “So it does. And so it will just have to be an unfortunate coincidence we had our eyes on the same thing. Yet you understand why I couldn’t simply wait for someone else to finish the task I set out to do.” And with it, the wind carries that warbling power from the man’s heady voice that Aramis answers in kind. His eyes pierce, keen to meet that hellish blaze with a cool readiness plucking at his veins. His fingers flex and gentle, and newly flex again once they curl and lift and dry the red spattered to his cheek in slow, calculated twists of movement. He does not move to anticipate the man’s idling approach, neither to retreat or to encroach. He stays perfectly, proudly still. The stranger drawls with interest. The cambion only blinks in wary reply.

                   “...Aramis.” Though he indulges the whisper that sunders through the quiet, a single note of sound from the youth’s throat that rings out his answer. He thinks to ask for a name in kind, and yet instead he waits to see if one will come if he doesn’t as that pale head lifts high to greet the closing distance between them both.

                  “Of course not,” he agrees drily, that curled hand suspended before his chest, “Between humans and demons, I am one and the same, because I was born from both. They call us Cambions.”

bloodxpurity:

The Hunter didn’t need to be told. When it was the silence that filled the woods, he stepped forward. “Shut up, then.”

His arm lifted in front of Aramis almost protectively, as though he cared. It was a common courtesy to ensure the safety of your partner, anyway. Dark eyes darted from one empty space to another, fingers brushing against the coolness of his revolver. His muscles were tensed, coiled. Upon Aramis’ word, he would strike like a viper. “Aramis.”

             The gesture is kinder than his comrade’s demeanour would suggest he were capable of--unneeded, perhaps, when the both of them are versed well with monsters and things that move in the dark, and this one is such that Aramis knows well (keeping a cousin of it close by has served him entirely well.) The arm swung protectively in front of his person is paid only one more blinking moment of mindfulness. The quiet around them crawls and grows heavy till his ears ring.

            “Shoot!” The command is quick, hissing--but no quicker than the sudden, violent thunder of his firearm poised and pelting down something from the canopy on high. Things scatter and the dark bends in on itself around a thing that screeches and grumbles and flashes away from each raining pound of bullet after bullet sent searing after. Feathery blackness spills out this way and that in thin shards of needle-like moonlight that finally peak their way in, a testament to torn holes in the creatures yet unseen body as the youth breaks to a spring after that now slow fleeing dark.

A quick list of abilities Aramis inherited from his father because quite frankly I keep forgetting one or two of them myself lmao

The ability to inflict and amplify disease in other people, the natures of which can be different each time and can be almost random in execution

On the flipside, the ability to cure disease and to heal bodily wounds in both himself and others

The ability to cause rot or decay in what he touches, which swiftly erodes whatever said power is inflicted upon

The ability to change his own shape and the shape of others into things of his choosing, though not to the scale and grandeur as his father can, and not for vast amounts of time

The ability to drain energy from others in a fashion not unlike an incubus, though on a smaller, weaker scale

I am disappearing / into the uncertain light…

Jackie Kay, from Fiere: Poems; “Woman at the Window,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

bellatorumrex:

          “Entertaining in a way. You are quite the rambunctious one, aren’t you~?” Oh, but surely, he had watched that youth go on his way and kill and clean what surely was the monarch’s own to hold and crush. Not much to say about this right here and now [ he could admit being simply too late ] but that would not stop him soon from simply directing words to what so surely caught his attention without delay. “You smell like a demon—” Like a bloodhound, himself truly was. “-–but then not at all.”          || @devilesque | cont.

                 “It pays to be enthusiastic about the things we must do.” Battle still shakes his bones. Rot and its power still swirls with the surf of his veins from whence it came and where it goes again now its killing blow has been long decided. The air stills and Aramis too has grown still, strangely still--unmoved, intently blinking back into eyes that burn instead of shine ice-like in the light. He approaches not. Neither of them yet do. “I am just the in between,” he offers slowly to that utterance shattering on the wind, “you smell demon in me because that is just part of what made me.”

I have lived forgotten years.

Georg Trakl, from Poems & Prose: A Bilingual Edition; “Dream and Derangement,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

e-t-h-o-s:

             Patient, until patients is no longer requisite for this stranger’s collective comfort. Still patients trebles on, low and resounding in the storm of mind and muse, in each somber curl of warmed delight cradled between dainty hands. Fowl arrays in reserved curiosity, playing on the silence’s thread with natural ambiance as the octaves of he, offering explanation where it most certainly was desired. “It is always with simplicity that, even such creatures as Fortunis - must be explained away in manner most would find conceivable; pity, since they’ve yet to comprehend a truer, more aptly expressive language.” And no earthly tongue can, at this time. 

                The tea, not nearly so adored, is forgotten the moment Count laid it off to rest - favoring instead to palm over his caged, fluttering heart - an absolute sense of joy arresting him swiftly. “It would be a pleasure; I cannot resist, though I did not wish to intrude or upset - such beauty rarely graces my shop.” 

                The magic of this place is unquestionable, and so endlessly foreign in its strange beauty. It feels quaintly natural to him to sit and share something of a secret here (though he has the very particular suspicion Fortunis would be no such secret to this man, even if Aramis insisted on keeping it.) The creature and its wide, blank, sunlit eyes flutters down to the cambion’s outstretched arm, with a coo and a trill and another trembling beat of those brilliant wings. “It is better that they stay a secret. Not every pair of eyes are meant to see what’s there. Some are just too ignorant to understand. It might be better that they are.” The less questions asked, the less piercing eyes--all the better, now and always. The man bends forward as Fortunis shuffles and flutters, readying a leap toward the keeper of this curious place.

                “Not at all,” he answers that gracious set of words, offering the creature to his delighted host with that waiting arm, “If he did not wish to meet you, he certainly wouldn’t let me suggest it. It’s as much his decision as mine. You know what he is, do you, I imagine? An idea, at least?”

bloodxpurity:

“Eh, I’m just bein’ honest. Won’t get anywhere if you try to justify everything.” A breath of a laugh would leave him upon the agreement, a roll of his shoulders easing out the stiffness of his muscles. “Least we agree on some things.”

It would be faulty of him to be unimpressed by the young man’s sense of tact. He wasn’t a good actor, nor was he good at comforting others. Having Aramis handle that business was less of a burden on his back. “The woods, huh. We might be at a disadvantage goin’ into his territory,” Nonetheless, he walked forward and allowed himself to be submerged in the shadows of the woods as he followed his companion, “Slippery things hidin’ behind trees an’ all.”

                 “How unexpected, coming from you all of a sudden.” A little whisper of mirth crosses the youth’s face; there one moment, gone the next, vanished with the moonlight that slips by as the dark eclipses the both of them into the forest, “I can appreciate a man who knows his own shortcomings, if he insists on acting upon them.”

                The world becomes wild around them all at once, almost deafening in its silence that shifts and warps with the wilderness spreading almost endless in front. Things that move and mutter in the night--there are strangely no such thing. The quiet is almost too much, too much. Aramis pauses his careful stride, blinking back the dark from his blue eyes, letting his companion’s voice drift past. Not far. Not at all. His hand ducks slowly beneath the veil of his coat in search of something holstered at one thigh. “Then mind that you pay very close attention.”

bloodxpurity:

“Nah, I know I’m a shit,” he answers as he closed the book and stuffed it back into his coat. Weary eyes had a glimmer of confidence as they gazed into those cold, blue ones, “But I’m a shit who knows how to kill things, so that counts for somethin’, aye?”

A rough sigh of relief left him. Far too many were quick to bury the body, which made evidence less compelling. “I’m surprised you were able to get anythin’ from these people. They seem like a skittish lot.” When the dark plume was presented, he leaned in and squinted at the material. “Just lead the way, investigator. I’ll be your gun.”

               “Hm. There now. A spot of humility serves you far better than anything else, I think. If nothing more, that is a part of you I could grow used to.” His smile cools to a smirk, and then to something refined into a thoughtful little line as he mumbles the last of his own fading mockery. “Yes, seems you’re good for something after all.”

                He lifts his chin just so. The feathers in hand catch on the wind that cuts evenly by, yearning to follow its pull as his fingers forbid it instead, close tight and pocket them away once again. “They had no choice if they wanted any help in putting a stop to many a sleepless night. And a little tact goes a long way.” The tenderness of a makeshift father had, at least; Aramis never quite could claim his kindness even to this day. A hum now burgeons in the cambion’s throat, pleased with the answer’s succinct obedience as he paces the two of them nearer to the mouth of the woods up ahead. “It won’t be far now, in any case--they are never far from where they hunt.”

character flaws & strengths. ♡

↳   bold what applies to your muse ! repost !  don’t reblog !

╳   FLAWS.

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable |  whiny | controlling |  conceited  |  possessive  | paranoid | lies | impatient  | cowardly  |  bitter  |  selfish  |  power - hungry greedy  |  lazy  |  judgmental |  forgetful   | impulsive spiteful | stubborn  |  sadistic  |  petty  | unlucky

♔   STRENGTHS.

honest  | trustworthy | thoughtful |  caring  | brave patient | selfless |  ambitious |  tolerant |  lucky | intelligent  | confident  | focused  |  humble  | generous merciful | observant | wise  |  clever  | charming cheerful  |  optimistic  | decisive  |  adaptive  | calm

tagged by: @e-t-h-o-s -kisses u more tho-  ♥

bloodxpurity:

“Oh, I know. But I’m gonna do it anyway,” he smirked, the curve of his lips crinkling the corners of his eyes as he stared down at the smaller, “You’re pretty, I’ll give ya that much, but it ain’t enough to make me miss my target. You make a livin’ trackin’ down these monsters, don'cha? Then, you should know the basic interest of monsters are pretty things.”

It was true, for the most part. A perfect bait. He opened his coat to pull out a book with a leather binding and aged pages. Carefully, he skimmed through several illustrations and documents. “S'that right. Luckily, there ain’t much that can imitate a leech… Do we have any witnesses on the matter and bodies to check? I’d rather not dig anyone up, mind you.”

              “And you truly wonder why your merit is ever in question, do you?” Not quite disbelief, and not even near exasperated. Only some wry, cunning flicker that crosses those electric eyes of his in the dark, the quirk at the corner of his mouth that curls his smile to the very picture of knowing.

               “No. No body-snatching on our part, tonight,” croons his reply somewhere between the swiping of pages the elder busies himself beside him, “among all the babblings of our bothered clients, there’s a few particular grains of usefulness they managed to provide. Enough to wind up at a sterling conclusion, if one has any idea what they are looking for.” A hand outstretches again from the fabric of his coat, pale, palm full with a sleek, feathery darkness he offers up into plain sight. “We found these at one of the affected homes. I fancy that I know exactly what we’re looking for, actually.”

bloodxpurity:

“Eh, you’re a pretty boy, aren'cha? I’m sure y'got plenty of boys an’ girls who see you as the ‘bad boy’ type. Ain’t that what youngsters are into these days?” Now, it wasn’t quite clear if he was continuing to mock the other or making an honest observation. It was rather possible that it was both. “Offering a Sultan’s bounty might do the trick.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. After all, I’m sort of usin’ you as well.” The cigarette butt was tossed carelessly to the dirt ground as the last embers burned out. A breath of amusement left him upon that dreaded word. Vampires. It brought a bittersweet taste to his tongue. “Or so you’re told, huh. So, what I’m gettin’ is that no one is sure what these things are. For all y'know, it could be somethin’ else posin’ as a leech.”

             “I might remind you that the cusp of a battlefield is hardly the time or place to be cooing to me like that,” he answers with a lift of those thin shoulders, a dismissive flick of the younger’s wrist, “here’s very much to the hope that a pretty face isn’t all it takes to distract the old men of this generation.  You’d be dreadfully useless, if that were so. Though I wonder what my looks have to do with this conversation to even begin with...”

             Not terribly much, as far as he’s concerned. He pays no heed to the certain undertone of some small mockery shadowing the other man’s words as his hand pockets itself out of the cold and into the fabric of his coat. “While the events were typical to what a vampire would incite, the stories spreading around preferred to differ. There’s no absence of things besides a vampire that prey on living pulses, at least. I think it almost far more likely by now that we’ve only something similar on our hands.”

bloodxpurity:

“Well, don'cha make for a fine date. Hope you’re at least better at talkin’ with women.” The harshness was met with a weary stare. A grey cloud seeped past thin lips to wash across the fair face of his companion. “You’re payin’ me for a job, that’s enough of a reason. Won’t stop me from complainin’, though.”

The words came with a shrug as his gaze was directed ahead of the, taking note of the empty streets and the silence that hung in the air. “That’s a funny way of sayin’ how you can milk me for my use, but I guess it all benefits me, too. So, what’s the situation in this town?”

             “You’re hardly the gent of anyone’s dreams yourself, I’d not mind to add. Though, you can’t expect much from people that deal in violence for a living quite like ours. We might almost call it even.” Petty to a degree, perhaps, honest to another. His quaint civility thaws into a daring sort of tone that matches every grumble of his older companion, a sigh bled thinly from Aramis’ throat as they saunter through the indigo night together. “Mm. I’d given up hope that any degree of wealth would quieten you down long ago.”

              Well. For as long as they’ve actually known each other, that is. Not terribly long (yet just long enough.) “Usefulness is paramount. Every drop of it. What else might you expect but to hope we make every drop count?” A hum, the turn of that pale head out of the smoke to carry his eyes elsewhere. “Your favourite. Vampires of a fashion, or so I’m told.”

[After like 20 rewrites in the background, the about page can finally be less vague lmao]