If You Are A Vampire NEVER Feed From Someone Named Richard. 400 Fucking Years And Everyone Still Calls

you are NOT my “passenger princess” get off your phone we are Under attack!!!!!!!! you are my gunner; man the weapons and defend our vehicle with your life!!!

Auditory processing issues

me impatiently to the little french cat boiling me in a stew: chat am I cooked

Every instance of older Challia breaking character... he's so cute when it happens...

grab them by the hair

grabbing a fistful of their hair to hold them in place for the next punch or slap

grabbing their hair to force them to look at you

grabbing their hair to make them bow

grabbing their hair to slam their head back into the wall

grabbing their hair to smash their face on the floor

grabbing their hair to make them bare their throat to you

grabbing their hair to stop them moving away from the blade or syringe at their neck

grabbing their hair to dunk their head under water

grabbing their hair to rub their face in a mess

grabbing their hair to pull them across the room before throwing them down where they belong

grabbing their hair to hold them up when they’re about to slump over

grabbing their hair to drag them up to their knees from where they lay on the floor

placing your hand in their hair when they’re already kneeling just to remind them what you could do with it

stroking their hair as a half-hearted apology after pulling a little too much

comment more please :)

‘May I have your name?’ I enquire.

‘                 '

It rings hollow. It disgusts me. It is a lie, and there is nothing we detest more than lies.

But it proves that he is a fool. So I demand more.

‘May I have your assistance?’

‘Of course. Anything you want me to do.’

So his fate is sealed.

I ask him back to mine. To tidy up and arrange the place. To help in my work. Of course, he is inept at first. He was not raised to place flowers in vases, or use a broom, or organise a library.

So I make him adept. For each of his failures - each mote of dust out of place, every fallen petal in the garden, all the slight imperfections - I change him. He is the first thing to go. The mind follows shortly after, with the body trailing behind.

She is now hollower than ever, yet no longer hollow at all. She is adept, her porcelain fingers better at the housework than ever, her new shiny joints no longer complaining from long hours working in the garden, her unblinking eyes finding every little detail to correct and make proper.

Her new voice, light and musical, no longer elicits such disgust in me, for it cannot tell the same lies that the old voice, so coarse and grating, could.

After a certain amount of time, which I do not care to describe for time means little to us, she tells me this:

‘I’m happy, miss.’

He jumped off the balcony, says Nicolas. The beast overtook him, maybe he saw a particularly delicious looking Kine and the last vestiges of his hunger, for he does not seem the type to finish his meals, reared their ugly head.

Shade himself seems shaken by this suggestion. At the very least she fixed his legs after the fall. Of course it hurt more than natural healing ever would have, but he has not been as good a guest as he could be, so clearly it is deserved.

Of all of them, he seems to cling to his humanity the most. He rejects her work and her vicissitude out of fear or hatred, yet seems to try to empathise with Nicolas, as though such a thing is even possible.

If she could remember how to, she would laugh.

She remembers how Nicolas talked about Elizabeth, her Elizabeth, as though she were no different from the blood bags the Camarilla driver had graciously given them. He thinks of her as an object, but is so crude about it. Would one take a bite out of a particularly useful vacuum cleaner, or drink from a lovely painting? No, Elizabeth may be hers, but her purpose is not to be consumed.

She resolves to keep a close eye on Elizabeth when she next comes for work.

She resolves to keep a close eye on Nicolas, lest he prove himself to be less polite than she thinks.

But, back to the matter of Shade. He seemed to wish to present her with some overwhelming truth about her own existence. He reacted with shock to the news that she had barely left the premises - indeed that she was actually incapable of it - as well as the revelation that she had never been paid a wage, and that she simply worked because she had been told to.

None of this seems particularly odd to her. Is there any particular reason it should?

For Maria he seemed to show great disdain, acting as though she had abandoned her in the house of a stranger, when she was clearly busy with work or preoccupied by some other matters.

She would never abandon Ophelia, right?

These matters have been gnawing on her since she invited the coterie to stay at hers - one of the many reasons for which she made Shade’s legs hurt so very badly. She resolves to dispel her concerns for now, and focus on the task at hand.

Shade fell victim to the beast, and jumped.

Dear Nicolas told her this, and she has no reason to distrust him. He may arouse her suspicion in some regards, but he has yet to lie to her.

But poor Shade. She could spend hours listing the reasons for which she is coming to dislike him. His barely disguised fear, his constant oscillating between treating her and Nicolas as pitiful victims and dreadful monsters, his anger leading him to threaten one of her guests under her roof, his unending infantilising insistence on calling her ‘kid’ out of some deluded paternal affection towards the unfortunate misguided girl he sees her as.

To know that this is the case could well and truly break him. As one of her guests, she has a responsibility to avoid that.

So she lies. It does not matter if all can see that she is lying. The purpose is not to be believed, it is instead to plant seeds of doubt.

‘The balcony is in some disrepair, and I have been meaning to fix it for a while.’

None of this is true.

But, just maybe, it could delay Shade’s inevitable descent towards the savage and violent clutches of the beast until he is out of her house and far away from her Elizabeth.

And if that is not the case, and he is moved to damage what belongs to her, she will tear him apart and rebuild him in the image of the monster that he tries so desperately to avoid being.

Nicolas seems to dislike him as well. Maybe after his limbs are made useless, she should hand him over to Baudelaire for a while before she reshapes him. He has, after all, wronged him.

It would be the polite thing to do, would it not?

WE GOT OBLIVION REMASTER BEFORE YANDERE SIMULATOR 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

People conceptualize egg spotting as this vapid-ass "tee hee, this guy likes the wrong video games for a man, so he must be a giiiirl~" nonsense when in actuality it's like

Here's a reoccurring pattern of fucking trauma responses that we KNOW is common in repressing trans women

And we recognize it

pirate voice: there's a beautiful person out there reading this post, I can feel it in me bones

mailman voice: I'm curious, what did you make me sound like?