#Diableries

[possible-streetwear]

COOP

[philoursmars]

Nouveau retour à mon projet de présenter la plupart de mes 55500 photos (et des brouettes).  Plus trop loin du présent….  

2016. Marseille à Noël, Au MuCEM, l’expo “Après Babel, Traduire”

- les 3 premières : “Speculum Humanae Salvationis" - 1480

- Vladimir Tatline

- comment dit-on “homosexualité masculine” en langue des signes ? Voilà la réponse.

[luwha]

ｓｅｌｆ ｓａｂｏｔａｇｅ

Ian, my vampire Oc

[monowska]

tw: blood, angst, snakes, death, substance use

diablerie makes great stories

[extantformoflife]

[47crows]

Returned Embrace

[neonjess]

Bats and Poppy are my new vampire obsession atm… my tremere former Sabbat almost had a relapse and diablerized the cute malkavian Poppy. Now of course it was love at first sight!

“I wonder if you bleed in pink too, cupcake.” - Bats.

[tag-the-vtm-oc-who]

tag the oc who is a diablerist!

[sleepknoot]

Vampires in other media: "Vampires killing other vampires is wrong!" VTM vampires towards each other over perceived slights:

[high-humanity-reminders]

I know it's a taboo subject, but even if you did diabolical things that stained you and your aura, there is still a way out. You can't turn back time and no one owes you forgiveness. You can, however, forgive yourself, learn, and not do that again. Small steps. You can get better.

[possible-streetwear]

COOP

[chemical-bunz]

Wait, that was your boyfriend? Yeah, sorry we diablerized him. all the way. Yeah, like a Capri sun. We wanted to gain his power and rank. Sorry.

[luwha]

Ian my boy vampire is normal

Derivative drawing i did to test a new tablet. Getting used to it.

[lydia-too-late]

(Another) Desert Vignette

Tula is looking up at the sky, squinting at the stars through tissue-paper clouds, the atmosphere gone faint hellfire above the distant city lights, a rolling-Earth harbinger of terrible orange-red. One may think the wildfires won. One may think of calamity. One may think: Three hours until certain death.

The suburbs dissolve beneath their feet as they venture farther from San Narciso. Out here, the scrubby hills and city repose together on the landscape. Slums somewhere, too, sloughing off the edges of everything.

"We could just run." Silk scuffs their boots. They inhale just to snort. "Hay unos veinte kilómetros, algo así. Maybe we even make it back." A leathersounding shrug. "That's a joke."​

In the moonlight, Silk's lashes cast heavy shadows over their eyes. She follows the darkness to the hollow beneath their cheekbones, between their parted lips, behind their tongue. She touches the bite marks on her wrists. Red, raw and open, glistening, but they don't bleed. They don't hurt.

The desert is always half dream. In the distance, a coyote screams into the night's silence and rouses a chorus, offering their unearthly din to the moon's slow descent. She's seen Luna there before: the tall, whip-thin silhouette on a distant hill, surrounded by her pack. But not tonight. We could just run. One of Tula's fingertips presses into her wound, splitting it obscenely open. It does not bleed, but it hurts.

(She shrugs, not-quite-smiling. "I'm sure there's a car trunk somewhere along the way…")

Her throat feels tight. She lifts her wrist to her lips, tonguing the puncture like a child, an animal. The warm, saltmetal taste sits on the tip of her tongue.

Silk is looking at her, all sleepy eyes and strange, hard beauty. Tula is looking at them too, eyes wide and rich-girl hungry above her wrist. Their jacket has fallen open, framing a starved waist and soft hips. The bones of their sternum between the halter's illusion of breasts. The excruciating shadow of hair trailing several inches below their navel. The profanity of their shorts, the way they pull tight around their hips and thighs. She wants to push them down to the ground. Make them say her name. Make them moan her name. Make them say it, say it…

Tula jerks herself back; her wrist falls away guiltily. "Just hungry," she dismisses the moment, shrugging like Silk shrugged, her shame hidden with a scowl. They could never outrun it, neither one of them.

[the-art-block]

WODTOBER

Days 4 - 5 - 6 | Taste of the Moon - In the Shadows - Underground

Everyone's favorite bean pole is back to carry the weight of three prompts at once!

Sleeves Diablerized a Malkavian some time ago and became the stressed-out inheritor of many unwanted and troubling premonitions!

None too happy about it.

[47crows]

In like, a non-diablerie way, right?