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#vampire

earlyonion@sysad.org
Early Onion

✨ :: Lanche the Vampire ::

Art trade done for @/throwawaypeaches on dA! Here is Lanche, flying around as always.
Lanche is a vampire from the game 'Little Dragon's Cafe'. I saw that Lanche ate cookie, so I wanted to draw that in my own way; but then when I watched a YT vid of her, she said she prefers muffins more. And I tried to draw the Cafe's in-game background, hehehe.

47-35 [AT] Lanche for throwawaypeaches by EarlyOnion.jpg

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★ If sharing/reposting outside of Diaspora, please credit me and link back to my dA page/post. Please do not use, edit, copy, trace, plagiarise, steal, and/or commercialise my work and/or characters in any way without my permission. Thank you.

#mywork #art #arttrade #lanche #LittleDragonsCafe #vampire #bat #digitalart #krita #drawing #illustration #people #chibi

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ramnath@nerdpol.ch
ramnath

#vampire
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8O1E-2jfpE

#empire - bomb the bass
I’m looking at your soul, your soul, your soul, your soul
I’m looking at your future, your future, future, future
As I look into your eyes, these eyes, these eyes, these eyes
I see another side, side, side, side

Vampire, you feed on the life of a pure heart
Vampire you suck the life of goodness
Vampire, you feed on the life of a pure heart
Vampire you suck the life of goodness

Turn the light on
Let the light shine bright
Turn the light on
Let the light shine bright

You’ve got to feel yourself and let go
You got to know you reap what you sow
You’ve got to feel something at sometime

Check the writings on the wall
And look to the sign
You’re spending all your money on gear that never work
you’re wasting all your energy and everywhere it hurts
God it really hurts
yes it really hurts
you got to know yourself

Vampire, you feed on the life of a pure heart
Vampire, you suck the life of goodness
Yes
Vampire, you feed on the life of a pure heart
Vampire you suck the life of goodness

From now on I’ll call you England
From now on I’ll call you England
From now on I’ll call you England
From now on I’ll call you England

See if you spit in the sky
It will fall in your eye
You see what goes up must come down
You will die looking up, if you’re not looking in
you’ve got to know yourself

I’m looking at your pastures and they were never green
I’m looking for your justice and it can not be seen
I’m checking where you’re coming from and where you’re going to
I’m checking out what you have done to see what you can do
I’m looking at your lawbooks and they were never read
I’m looking at your lovesquire and they can not be dread
I’m looking at your empire slipping on the drears
You’ve got to know yourself

Vampire, you feed on the life of a pure heart
Vampire, you suck the life of goodness
Yes
Vampire, you feed on the life of a pure heart
Vampire you suck the life of goodness

From now on I’ll call you England
Empire fall man, empire go
From now on I’ll call you England
There’s a lesson to be learned, by that, you must know
From now on I’ll call you England
And the rich that you eat is more like food that you fear
From now on I’ll call you England
gotta see no love anyway you appear
From now on I’ll call you England
you’ve got to know yourself
from now on I’ll call you England
you’ve got to know yourself

https://open.spotify.com/track/0FAU5cYiAbjZsnnK7acoIy
Empire - song and lyrics by Bomb The Bass, Benjamin Zephaniah, Sinéad O'Connor

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libramoon@diaspora.glasswings.com
libramoon

night's pages
{patchwork narrative} a flash #fiction serial following the story of a child #vampire, the eternal child #monster working out that existence

Child
https://nightspages.blogspot.com/2013/10/child.html

Back in my mortal days, when they did they would say
I was a sweet-looking child, so very many years ago.
I don’t appear in mirrors now;
I wouldn’t know if that sweetness persists.
If you saw me, a scrawny child of indeterminate gender,
unkempt, ill-clothed, filthy like a refugee,
would you wish me gone, wish me well, feel terror?
You see such children on the streets. I do.
Refugees from domestic wars are a secret no one keeps.
When I take one, I feel a kind of blessing, a kindred irony.
I don’t turn them.
Damnation is not for me a means of making friends.
I feel them, smell them, make an altar of my senses.
A sacred feast of sacrificial lamb’s blood
ought to require deep honor, respect.
I do befriend them, to give them that last memory
of innocent love.
We walk together to some secret place, a shared adventure.
If it is their place, they enjoy the ritual of inviting me in
to their sanctum.
I listen to woes and dreams that I honestly bond with.
I give what I am able, take what little treasure they possess.
There are too many people this world regrets.
Too many extras that won’t be missed, whose destruction
was never in doubt.
My kind can only cull a few.
People, though, you are clever.
You find ways, devise games
to destroy and self-destruct at all gradations of cruelty.
Is the monster in the demon or the man set free
of mortal restraint?
Or, does mortality constrain?
How large a body count can one mortal lifespan support?
Can we include those who are not directly killed,
but slow poisoned by soul-burning hatred?

#halloween

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libramoon@diaspora.glasswings.com
libramoon

night's pages
{patchwork narrative} a flash #fiction serial following the story of a child #vampire, the eternal child monster working out that existence
http://nightspages.blogspot.com/
7.10.13
Beginnings

Memory’s child, forced to hopeless obliviation long before
a chance for clarity, sense of agency,
for a self to determine.
Undermined.
Violation, violent broken boundaries;
a monster fearsome,
because grotesque beyond comfort.
A twisted face to pin on evil tales, to
spit out sobbing poisons, paint in shades
concealing
lies that harden into revelations,
legends, the stuff of nightmares
and deflected shame.
A child wants the safety of hearth and tribe,
of happy fairytales, everybody well fed and
tucked to bed, caressed in love that hugs away
the slavering beast.
A child wants, a busy mother wants,
a charming serpent, cowering servant, honest merchant
wants. Voice of sympathy, soothing harmony,
innocent pleasure.

Sing for your supper; patrons toss coins to amuse,
rapacious, their cultured appetites.
A darkened Church (candles saved for opulent ritual
-- none may steal this God’s fire), blood bond, sacrifice.
Taste of copper and iron.
We are of the Earth, Her mighty Sun, of
tides and moonbeams and molten seas.
Not love --
chemistry, explosions, immortal fire.

I have wandered, blundered forth as a leaf in the wind,
as a pebble scoured by erratic waves, as
a child of Man loosened from mortality.
If there are stories I could tell my mind
to feel safety in dreaming, to feel
a possibility of home,
I have yet to find them.
Still, I listen for a voice to believe, for a song
that might feel like hope,
or finality.

One person like that