How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams." —Bram Stoker
“Now this sounds like a plan!” She grinned proudly to herself as she rubbed her hands together and smiled happily. “I like this idea! We may need to go to the shop before anything though as we need to get some bits and bobs to eat! I don’t wanna run out half way through a movie!”
“Then I say we better get going, would you not say?” he said, letting a hand sweep out in an arc, exaggerated to make for that beautiful smile of hers, but graceful as most things he did. “We can take my car, if you do not mind a fast ride,” he added, teeth briefly bared in a rough grin.
Anonymous:
"Hello, I'm your secret valentine (from the gxssip event)," a small voice mumbles, a sheepish smile on their lips, "I wasn't able to come yesterday so let me make it up to you." With a nod, they continue to hand you a small box filled with cookies. "Please have them as a snack whenever you can and be sure to share them with anyone you like."
☥ “But I…” he started, yet trailed off as his hands took the box extended, and though for a moment he paused, he raised his eyes to the shadows from whence the voice had come from. He thought himself to have been able to make out a smile, so his full lips pursed as he raised the box, and opened it. The scent of the sweet treats invaded his senses, and though he could not eat them, the thought that he could use them as bait to garner new acquaintances to explore the minds of, well that… was a welcomed gift in itself. So closing the box with delicate fingers, he bowed his head to the stranger, whoever it may be. “Thank you,” he told them, before they would leave again. “I will make use of them, my Valentine.”
( ✿ — she plays with her hair, a little embarrassed ) A-ah, I’m so sorry, perhaps I’ll remember one day! ( ✿ — she tilts her head to the side with an amused look on her face ) You’re asking me? Really? You want to paint the town red with me?
“Paint the town red, you say…?” he repeated quietly, the corners of his lips threatening to curve into another smile—of sorts. As in his mind the colour of red had a fierce association with something not quite so pleasant, to most mankind. Then again, there were fascinating exceptions, curious alterations. “How might you propose we do that?”
“For me.” He replies, not finding that sentence alone the least bit different and then it was as if it had hit him. Oblivious, he was, and it was one of his downfalls. Often a trait someone might call ‘stupid’, but he preferred not to think too much over things. Or think at all. “Wait, what’s that supposed to mean? I can’t believe I’m only a year older.” He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disbelief, but continues on, “Yes, I’ve seen it. Mainly at schools. I may enjoy pictures, but not every single type admittedly.”
“You are twenty-one, then,” he said, completely and utterly ignoring the question of what his earlier words could have possibly meant. And naturally, it was an entirely conscious decision. “You are my… hyung,” he added, although there was an undercurrent of amusement clear as daylight in the tones of his quiet voice; after all, the truth of the matter could not have been farther away from his statement. Yet it was something he was used to, and who was he to complain. It was a befitting role to play, with a face such as his. “Then you have, seen it though…”
“As most people are.” He states, lips pursing together for a moment before he, too, let his gaze wander. But he wasn’t lost, he had simply stared off into the direction that Taemin’s eyes had wandered. Nothing there, as he suspected. “Well— Not shit, no offence. You’re what..” He trails off a moment to eye the male, then adds, “Eighteen? He died long ago. To say he’s jolly, I’m not sure. Haven’t uh, seen him.” He replies, an eyebrow raising for a moment. A strange individual, but something he also adored.
“Quite,” he agreed, the word quiet from his lips as a hint of a frown touched his brows but, it was not long after that he straightened, his gaze veering suddenly back to the other man. No shit, he says, he thought, an impish hint of a smile dancing at the corners of his lips as his eyes were alight with mirth. “For you, I will be twenty,” he told him, that faint smile turning into a rough grin, before he said, “Pictures… you who likes pictures have surely seen his, though. The one where he sticks his tongue out.”
There was a long pause as he listened, blinking once and then twice. “Well,” He starts, a hand coming up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. “I know now, yes. What— Can I ask what- Never mind.” There was too many questions he wanted to ask that came with that reply.
“I am quite fond of Einstein,” he ventured further, gaze vaguely distant, making him seem almost quite lost for a moment. “Although I have never had the pleasure of meeting him,” obviously, some would claim, “I understand he was not quite a people person. He looks so jolly, though, does he not?”
“Home-made?! Yah—who do you think I am; Gordon Ramsey?!” She puffed out her cheeks before laughing a little and gesturing for him to follow her back to his house. “We can go and stuff our faces while we find something on the goggle box to watch. We can have a singles date!” She smirked as she shook her head realising how stupid that sounded but he was her best friend so it didn’t really matter.
He chuckled at her outburst, a crooked smile playing on his lips, before he reached out, ruffling up her fringe with cold, pale fingers. “Do not worry, little chickadee”, he told her. “I will take care of the jell-o, you take care of the other snacks… sound fair enough?”
“Aish—you’re gonna make me share with you, aren’t ya?” She grumbled as she pinched the bridge of her nose before looking back at him and giggled playfully. “Just kidding, of course we can share! But… this has to be a fun single’s awareness day date!”
He watched her curiously for a second or two, wondering if she had forgotten his true nature, or if she were playing him around. “Just as long as there is some home made, red jell-o cubes thrown into a bowl for me, I think I can live with that arrangement,” he told her with a measure of amusement. “What should you like to do?”
@britishseoul said: A laugh escaped her as she wrapped her arms around his torso. “You get the popcorn, I’ll get the sweets!”
“That is not very fair, though,” he sighed as he draped his own arms around her petite figure. “You will have popcorn and sweets and what do I get, hmh?” he queried, shaking his head slowly, as though devastating news had reached him.
britishseoul-blog:
"Can't I just be your valentine?" She teased, nudging his side.
☥ “Who’s there knocking on my door, come and be my dream girl,” he sang out with a flourish of dramatic flair, though it were not long before it were followed by a sharp laughter. “Should we sit and watch everybody else be lovey-dovey-be-my-honey?”
If it hadn’t been for that traumatizing experience as a child, than perhaps he wouldn’t have grown up as someone whom harbors such an immense amount of hatred not only towards anyone who happens to be a vampire, but as well as himself. Though that wouldn’t have been the only reason, but maybe he’d be able to live his life alongside the people he holds dearest to his heart — his father and mother whom no longer serve a purpose in this world as they once used too; as well as his little brother whom he too, believes that the poor child was brutally murdered when that wretched women had attacked his household and turned him into the monstrous being he is today. But alas, that was not the only thing that came about, he had also lost that quiet and caring nature he once used to wield. Misfortune, it was.
And so, he claimed the titled of the Vampire Hunter in his deceased family, and has been spending the last four years exterminating the foul beast who have fallen under the rouge or Level-E category where the needed to be assassinated before an upper would emerge in the human world, and it was his duty to protect humans regardless of his newly opted species. In fact, he would still fend off vampires it not for the position he upholds. Nevertheless, he hadn’t assumed that one of his hunts would end in such a predicament whereas he found himself captured rather than the other way around. How could he have been so foolish to drop his guard around someone such as the male whom was dragging his ‘trophy’ to where ever it may be that he’s concluded to take the hunter. And although most would plea for mercy and struggle to free themselves from their enemies clutches, not Baekhyun. It’d only show a sense of fear, which he never obtained in the first place. For fear was nothing more than a weakness, and weakness was something that should never be displayed in public.
The room he now found himself in had been confined by three consecutive walls, and all in which he could infer were made of a hardy, yet stolid material — definitely ensuring that his captives would not be able to flee from such a room, almost as if it were a prison itself. Nevertheless, his train of thought was broken the minute he ice-cold fingers had slipped themselves into his hair, harshly tugging onto the colored locks to throw the hunter against the pavement, groaning from the pain that lingered for a short moment. Baekhyun would have fought back, but what more could he do when his hands were constrained behind his back?
“I’m not obligated to reveal such a thing, for it has nothing to concern you, vampire.” he simply retorted in response to the others question, monochrome hues never once tearing themselves away from the pale creature who was hovering over his visage. Disgusting. He told himself, leaning himself back, hating the close distance shared between the two. “As for backup interfering with our little..quarrel, you needn’t worry about that. They’d be nothing more than a burden to bear, and that is something I do not have time for. Now do me a favor and get the hell out of my face.”
He ought to have been insane, or all too humane. He was never meant to be both, never meant to have become the tug of war between two Vampyres who could not bear to lose to one another. Yet the fact remained, he had been, and his existence was a testimony to his predicament, so very long ago. For the man Taemin had dragged into the room, though, perhaps he would have been better off if the side of his mind which prevailed in that moment was that of Arikel’s sanity, and not Malkav’s lack thereof. Perhaps then he would have left him somewhere to be found, or gave him a quick death. But the voices whispered, they haunted in his mind, they told him of the things he could do, of the insult the other man made to existence, and how he could not let him slip from his fingers, without at least a little game. Or two.
Noticing the very way in which the man shied back from him. his lips stretched into a mockery of a smile, sharp fangs underlining how yes, indeed. He was a Vampyre, and no less than such. Let the man see what he so seemed to loathe, let him stare darkness in the eye—he cared not whether it disgusted him. If anything, the disgust so clearly written over his pallid features amused him. “Out of my face, he says,” he said, voice low but oh, with the two of them alone in that room of echoing walls, how could he not be heard clear as shout? “Out of my face… I wonder what you do when you look yourself in the mirror,” he went on, voice almost soft, almost gentle, if not for the undercurrent of spite and malice, rolling off his tongue as sweet sin. “Would it shy back?” he let out, features shaping into a comical show of horror as he took a step back. “Or smash the mirror—”, he charged forth with his teeth bared, voice whispering, ticking honey, “—and then attempt to kill himself with the broken shards, oh martyr, oh martyr, sweet pain you are…”
He threw him away from himself, the sweet mockery replaced with cold, distant eyes as he drew himself to his full height. “I will give you a name,” he told him, as he left him lying. There were a chest, fitted into one of the three pointed corners of the room, and this he threw open, the old hinged screaming before falling quiet as the thick lid hit the wall and thud to a halt. “A most befitting name,” he continued, as he took a pair of gloves, pulling them on slowly. He had his back to the other as he did, his composure relaxed, even lazy to some extent, as he protected his hands. What kind of Vampire had he on his hands, tonight? It were not one of the Camarilla, nor of the Sabbath… nor was he a Giovanni. No, far from it. He was a Vampyre, but a different kind entirely.
“… Tell me,” he said as he drew a silver crucifix out, “does your kind shy away from silver?” He glanced over his shoulder, towards the other man. “You see,” he went on, half turning, as he slapped the silver cross lightly against his palm, one time after another; slap, slap, slap. “I am rather keen to find out, little hypocritical traitor. Are you so much different from us? Is that how you dare to wage war against us? Pass judgement as though you are fit to do so.”
To the young photographer, one reason that he had found passion within such a hobby, or job in his case, was for the sole reason that photos held more memories within them than anything. When he would forget, the photographs helped him remember. Throughout the many years he had even taken to writing names, dates and even times on the back of the pictures. A habit of his, honestly. But no, even he would agree that the industry of art and photography would perhaps never die out but rather grow more advanced in the future, as it had done already. “No, it doesn’t. Good equipment does help, I think, for beginners maybe. But if you don’t practice well, you don’t make perfect.” He added, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile, the dimple evident in the soft contour of his cheek. Ah, it honestly hadn’t taken much to make the young male flush, especially when it came to comments about his photographing skills or his looks, but even so it was quick to fade back to his normal pale complexion. “Hn, thank you. I’ve been photographing since I was a little boy. Guess you could say I’ve had plenty years of practice.” He comments, voice soft as he speaks of his younger days.
But all introductions aside, he was quick to warm up to a stranger. It was his job to be social, not socially awkward. However, it could very well be different for the male before him. Not that it had bothered Myungsoo, he was quick to adjust to whatever was preferred. As he had pulled his bag around to stuff his camera safely back into those confines, his brown hues had flickered up in surprise at his question. “Buy a print?” He repeats, blinking almost stupidly at first but— “No, not at all.” A breathy laugh leaves him then, those brown eyes crinkling up the slightest as he had placed his camera neatly away. “I’m offering to make a copy in my dark room then give it to you free, if you wanted. Since you seemed to like it.” He offers once more, finally able to focus his undivided attention to Taemin. A freelance wasn’t his forte, he didn’t need to push his artwork or photographs upon someone. It wasn’t the joy of his job and quite frankly, he made as much as he needed.
“We are agreed, then…” he spoke slowly, a pensive edge to his words as he observed the tug of a smile upon the other man’s lips. “Although,” he went on, as thoughts brought him back more years to count, “a great man once told me there were no shortcuts, and to truly master a trade I must learn to make beauty with the most meagre of tools. I suppose,” he amended, “that perhaps in this age it depends very oft on the trade, and where you wish to go with it, however. There are so many directions one can take, whilst, say… a couple of hundred years ago, an artist was quite limited.” He paused. “… In that way, you could say that today, learning the basics and learning to work with the more advanced tools are both of equal importance—especially if one seeks to work with any digital medium.” He wet his lips slowly, watching as Myungsoo put the camera away with such care.
“… Although I am quite fine without a print from you,” he told him slowly, head lilting to the side as eyes narrowed faintly in thought, “perhaps I would be inclined to say yes if it would enable me the possibility to see your dark room.” He cocked an eyebrow, and although the man before him seemed rather agreeable, his curiosity for artistry made him push at his mind, like a child eager to see, despite the age of his soul. Wetting full lips again, he went on, “I am not to a photographer… I will admit I know little of it, but the interest remains, perhaps because I was trained as a classical painter… art is, like feeding… the need never does cease to exist.” His gaze flickered, dancing briefly over the other male’s neck, and his mind tugged the sound of heartbeats closer, let the scent of his blood rushing through his veins momentarily wash over him as waves on a shore. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. It was unmistakable, and held a tantalizing power to tempt him, and perhaps in his younger years indeed it would have been difficult to chain himself to control. In this day and age, he merely tore his eyes away from the fragile skin, focusing upon his acquaintance’s eyes, and pushed away the notion of feeding. For later.
