bi, 24, trans, she/her, definitely not a vampire. occasional strange poetry and art aside, mostly reblogs
74 posts
Is-a-vampire - Vampire On Main - Tumblr Blog
My account is verified by @nabulsi ,el shab hussien , and it’s listed as No. 99
Hello, I'd like you to publish my story. I'm from Gaza, Palestine, I live with my parent's , wife & three brothers.
Suffering from the scourge of war in GAZA 10/2023 to Now that's 315 Days.
Therefore, Please help us by sharing or donating to travel from Gaza & build a new life.
Your presence by our side means alot & makes our life better.
Thank you for your time & kindness❤️
https://gofund.me/cb8c05a3
Of course. I'm sorry I don't have much to give right now, but I'm sharing and will give what I can.
at least there’s vampires
@domeniudulce came up with the idea. unfortunately had to shorten it for the audio to fit on tumblr... i have a fifteen minute version (ps4 video clip maximum length is so small) that i'm gonna put on google drive later
Stop the Sept. 24 Execution of Marcellus Williams, an Innocent Man
DNA evidence proves Marcellus Williams is innocent.
Marcellus Williams is scheduled to be executed on Sept. 24 for a crime DNA proves he did not commit. The St. Louis County prosecuting attorney reviewed these DNA results and filed a motion to vacate Mr. Williams’ conviction because he believed the DNA results proved by clear and convincing evidence that Mr. Williams did not commit this crime. Although the circuit court has not yet scheduled a hearing to address this motion — and no court has ever considered the new exculpatory evidence — the Missouri Supreme Court set an execution date for Mr. Williams.
We have less than 60 days to stop the execution of an innocent person. Add your name to stop this injustice before it’s too late.
Who Is Marcellus Williams: Man Facing Execution in Missouri Despite DNA Evidence Supporting Innocence
Text “Marcellus” to 97016 to join the team.
Share his story on social media.
[you can sign this petition from anywhere in the world]
my friend's writing is so good
Durotar's quiet was like no other, Orizhki thought. Neither night nor morning, but the starry, early moment when the sky opened wide and the wind swept the heat from the ground. When you could dig your toes into the dirt and hear the land north of Sen'jin awaken, begin to sing: the snuffling of boars, the breeze through the silverleaf, and, far away, the slow wash of ocean water across the beach.
When she had been small, her sister had taken her up onto these hills and turned her chin up to the sky. Long years and distance lay between them now, but out here now Orizhki thought she could all but feel her sister's calloused fingers on her cheek, smell her furs and leathers and peacebloom tea.
It was sobering, really. As a child, her sister had stood so tall in Orizhki's eyes that she had served as her north star. Nowadays Orizhki had to wonder what it was that made grown-ups shine like giants in children's eyes, if there was perhaps some magic that the rest had forgot to teach her. She felt lost and unequal to each task that passed between her hands, and she lay awake at night wondering if she was still a child herself underneath it all, understanding nothing.
"Mom?"
Orizhki stirred from her thoughts and looked down. Garrlok had come over to her knee, his one eye turned up to her.
He, too, slept little. A year ago he had come to Orizhki as a foundling from Brackenwall, and none from the Stonemaul clan knew who had left him in the marsh. Matron Battlewail had sent a missive to her about the boy, knowing then — as did most of the tribe, the busybodies — that Orizhki was childless.
"He cannot sleep at night and sneaks out to read, much like someone I used to know," she had written, underlining someone in a long, dark slant that ticked up towards the end. "It has been some time since you took a wife. Krog and Draz'Zilb remember your brave deeds and have asked for you by name. Come and meet the boy."
They had sent the Brackenwall flightmaster, Shardi, up with the child by wind rider, and she had lingered in Orgrimmar to speak with Orizhki and the matron. It was Shardi who had sewn Garrlok his little book, a colorful replica of a mage's tome with a quilted cover and a handful of embroidered linen pages. Garrlok had been using it as a pillow when Orizhki had first arrived at the orphanage.
"I would take him in myself, if I had the means," Shardi had said regretfully over a steaming cup of tea; she and Orizhki had walked to Miwana's Longhouse that day to talk out of earshot of the little ones. "He likes magic, Orizhki. He keeps insisting that poor Tosamina read him the same story about the ogre magi and the magic wolf night after night."
"I know that one," Orizhki had told her. "My sister told me it many a time herself."
Shardi had given her a knowing look. "Maybe it's faaaaate."
"You just want a lok'amon to sing."
"Faaaaaate, Orizhki!"
"But maybe it's not fate," Orizhki had said. "Surely Ekinka and I are too young to be mothers — too young, too stupid. Are there no ready women in the Marsh?"
"You know the plight of the Stonemaul," Shardi had said, and her earlier playfulness had faded with a shake of her head. "And with all those spiders near, well, you've seen them."
"Mm."
"Zanara swears she's seen them make a meal out of a grown orc. Garrlok would be just a snack."
Orizhki had still not forgotten those marsh spiders. She had faced demons, the dead, and dragons all in battle, yet it was those stupid darkmist spiders that woke her in the night. She wondered from time to time if Garrlok had seen them, too; if they crept into his dreams, too. It had been a year since she and Ekinka had taken the boy in, and he still struggled to sleep.
It was why she had thought to take him up on the hills just outside Razor Hill at this hour to see the stars. The two had flown out on her magic carpet, Garrlok still with his plush book, oft-mended and faded by use, but Orizhki had to hold him by the hand until they had touched down safely to the ground. Once he had clung to her leg everywhere they had gone, his face buried in the fur of her boots. Now he had already scampered up the rocks.
"I can get all the way up this rock!" he called back to her now, waving. "And this one, Hand-Mom! And this one!"
"Be careful, kiddo," Orizhki said. She sent her staff up ahead and closed the distance between Garrlok and her with a few moments of careful climbing.
"And this one!"
He was bouncing in place when she gained the topmost rock and drew level with him, more slowly now. For all the knowledge and wisdom of age, her knees had nothing on his.
"Everyone's asleep!" he told her excitedly, pointing at the roofs visible below them. "They're all beddy-bye. Like Song-Mom."
They had first taught Garrlok to tell them apart when he needed to by their clans; Ekinka with the Warsong and Orizhki herself with the Shattered Hand.
"They are indeed all in bed, Song-Mom included." Orizhki said. She knelt to rub a smudge from his cheek with her thumb. "She's been very sleepy lately. You've been very good to not wake her up to play with you while she's resting."
"She's sad sometimes," Garrlok said. He looked down at his feet, raised a chubby little hand to touch Orizhki's own. "It makes me sad too."
"I know, peanut. Sometimes grown-ups are sad," Orizhki said quietly. She moved her hand from his cheek to his chin, and gently turned his face back up again. "But it's okay to be sad. Look, all of the stars are out tonight."
"Wow ..."
She let him slip out of her hands and look up, up, up to the violet stretch of stars.-
"You know," she said, settling a bit more on the hill, "I once fell down one of these hills when I was small myself. Tore up my leggings and both my knees. Gave my sister a right scare."
"Your sister Takta?"
"Mhm."
He was still looking around. "Was she mad?"
"No. No, she was proud. Takta said that I could only fall down that far because I made it up the rock further than I had ever done before."
"Like me!"
"Yes. Like you." Orizhki smiled, though it still brought her a measure of pain. "Okay, well, maybe she was a bit mad about the leggings. But you can't let leggings stand between you and adventure, Garrlok."
"Was Song-Mom mad?"
"No, I didn't know your other mom then."
She watched him walk a few steps with his head bent back, gazing at the peaks and clouds about them.
"We're up so high, Mom," he said in wonder.
"You bet we are," she said. "This is the best place in the world."
He beamed at her, all sorrows quite forgotten. "We can see everything from up here!"
"Oh, kiddo," she said. "Yeah. You bet we can."
Mother Mother's It's Alright always reminds me of early vampirism (very early, like before the theater incident early) Lestat. I have it on a playlist of my own, actually.
all right vampire chronicles & adaptations enthusiasts I would like to get to know more of you. I’m SAY and I’ll tell you what, instead of just asking you to reblog this so I can follow you, let’s make a playlist:
it’s a playlist about the Vampire Chronicles and its adaptations: the 1990s movie, the new 2020s show, the graphic novels, the musical, your own private retelling that you’ve keep in your head for 15 years, and so on. reblog and give me a song for the playlist and tell me what inspired it, who it’s about. help me find you so I can follow you!
bloody
Your Tumblr username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
what? no, i'm not a vampire. watch i can literally go in the sun (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp) (-1 hp)
@subsequent-interviews 's vtmb ventrue oc Audrey and one of her pet rats.
in what way. with what evidence.
Malkavians are right there!
your toxic opinion is that Briar from League of Legends is actually pretty cute. my toxic opinion is that the Ventrue are the most interesting Clan. we are not the same.
Everyone give it up for Varneigh the Vampire, laid to rest with her glasses and absolutely no shoes.
or, the Feast of Blood (but no shoes).
you know those posts that are like
INCORRECT way to draw a fat body ❌
CORRECT way to draw a fat body ✅
I saw someone use an example of a body that had a round potbelly and slimmer limbs for the INCORRECT version, saying it looked bloated or pregnant… when it literally looked exactly like my body.
yes it’s important to know the dynamics of body fat on characters, how it hangs, how it folds, etc. because a lot of people draw fat characters as Skinny Lite™️ and that’s a representation issue.
but as long as a character is big and round?? that’s a fat person! fat people look like that too!
I'm taking away the word empathy from the NTs until they discover it isn't a synonym for "giving a shit about people"
Improved military billboard spotted in Rochester, New York
NO WAY
WHEEL OF SAW TRAPS
Spin the wheel here
A cute guy likes me on a dating app. After chatting with them for weeks, we decide to go on a date. They are very flirtatious and forward over the app, but not when we meet in person. He admits he thought I was transmasc like him, we laugh about it because his mistake is funny and means I'm not passing but in a silly backwards way. I think his sudden awkwardness in person may be nervousness and flirt with him in ways less forward and aggressive than he'd been flirting with me earlier, and they become cold and distant for the rest of the date. By the time I get home they've blocked me on the app we met on. This case of being mistaken as a transmasc on a dating app will happen 3 more times, and in 2/3 times it results in a similar sudden lack of interest where once they were coming on to me. None of these people will be cis.
I am in a self defense class for queer people, learning hand to hand combat as a community. I have been here months. I notice I'm the only transfem in the classes but there are other trans people there so I don't think much of it. Today I have some stubble as I did not have time to shave before the early morning class. When discussing unrealistic action movie and anime fight scenes I describe on of my favorites, quoting the lines as I pantomime the goofy moves. They smile and laugh along until the word bitch leaves my lips in one quote, then the bisexual woman who only ever they/thems me glares at me like I've committed a grevious crime, and the rest of the class looks at me like a freak in awkward silence for a moment before moving on. I learn bitch is not a word a clocky bitch can "reclaim". I am quiet in classes now, and when I go I focus primarily on the training, when I see other trans women try it out they often give me a sad look and do not return for a second class. I get a sinking feeling that if I ever use this training to save my life one day I'd be branded a violent man instead of a strong woman.
I am texting with a good friend of years who was one of the people who helped me realize I was trans like them and even the one who helped pick out my name loves talking about our shared interests and sharing their favorite smut with me. We bond over favorite stories, artists, characters, and kinks as well as our trans experience. Yet they constantly tell me they could never date someone who's AMAB because of the trauma of being "female socialized" and their genital preferences for vulvas. Every compliment they have ever given me on my appearance or outfit is followed up by "but in a non-sexual way, I could never date you". Today I finally have the courage tell them they don't need to say that every time. They ignore this response. We keep talking for awhile, but they start taking months to respond to my messages and respond with a short sentence at most. They no longer share details about their life and shut me out when I ask or share details about mine, even the most mundane and chaste details. I stop talking to them. A birthday gift I bought them months before this falling out happened looms at me in my closet. I cannot use it as it doesn't fit me but can't bring myself to throw it away, just in case we reconcile one day. I feel pathetic for craving friendship with someone who sees me as "abuser-bodied", that so much of my early stages would've been impossible without their help. I feel a little more lost without them.
I am at a queer/trans/enby kink dance party with some friends. I am scantily clad and wearing a skirt and high heeled boots. I do not pass well so this space is one of the few places I feel safe and free dressing like this. It is packed with queer and trans people just like me engaged in delightful debauchery and wearing very little. The music hurts my ears but I'm happy to be here, I feel overstimulated but alive and authentic. I am approached by a beautiful stranger from across the dance floor, she is graceful and stylish, like some modern Galadriel clad in leather, white lace, and industrial piercings with impeccable voice training. She compliments my outfit, I compliment hers. She tells me I need to shave my armpits if I want to look like a real woman. My two friends stand up for me and yell at her. They assure me she was just being an asshole, that women were supposed to be hairy, but I can't help but notice how both of them have hairy armpits and yet the "advice" targeted me. The wide range of bodies that people here tonight find desirable on cis women don't seem to apply to the women like me. I am the only one of us that doesn't go home with a hookup at the end of the night. I realize now she likely spoke from experience. I am still hurt by her words, but realizing the kinds of experiences she must have had herself to feel her words were kind advice hurts far worse.
A local queer photographer who's work I follow is looking for women & non-binary models for a photoshoot. I have become comfortable with getting photos taken of me for the first time in my life since my egg cracked, and had a few small time modeling gigs under my belt. With something like this I could actually have the beginnings of a portfolio. I reach and am told that they are not looking for trans women models, "only women and AFABs". Getting the same line I get from agencies from an independent queer photographer repackaged in "woke" terminology stings. I see many queer and nonbinary models I looked up to take part in the shoot. I have to wonder if they knew that the photographer's definition of woman didn't include trans women, or if like me in my martial arts class they noticed no transfems were there but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there.
It is years ago and I am still an egg. I am with my partner of 4 years. I am exhausted after a long day. She asks me for sex in the voice that I know means saying no will hurt her. I learned from her long ago men have high and insatiable sex drives, therefore saying no meant I wanted to have sex, just not with her. So I say yes. The sex is painful and unsatisfying, and I simply do my best to thrust through the discomfort until she cums. I feel numb and hurt. She enjoys herself but seems sad I did not cum. I assure her I love her. When we hold eachother after my obligation has been met and I finally feel comfortable and safe. We begin talking. She talks about the trashy women she saw on the street today, describing their cringe outfits and ugly styles and bad hair. All the styles and clothes and hair I yearn to try myself in my deepest and most repressed desires. I change the subject and ask her about work and family. She asks if I'd still love her if she were a man and I say yes. She says she would still love me if I were a woman. Something in that statement feels like a lie. It is months later when we break up and I move out. Now that I am a woman I look back and know from our years together that if I were a woman then she'd hate the kind of woman I'd become. That if I were a woman she'd still have the same expectations of me as a man, that her refusal of sex equated an impersonal not being in the mood but my refusal of sex equated a cruel refusal of love.
A lesbian group begins organizing a queer woman's strip night event. A safe place for amateur performers to shine and women to perform and enjoy sexuality away from the male gaze. I see no transfems in the promotional material or leadership team, and I've learned not to think nothing of it just because there are other trans people there. I do not go.
I am talking with my therapist. They are trans too and an amazing therapist, often providing insights and advice only someone else with the lived experience of being trans can. I express distress and suicidal ideation at the fact I feel like I need to pass before I can dress the way I want. That until I get expensive hair removal procedures and FFS I can never feel safe and welcome presenting authentically. I lament how these things are expensive and may never be accessible to me. They tell me I need to deal with my "internalized transphobia", as if these feelings aren't a result of constant rejection and othering by external forces even within queer spaces. As if the scrap of womanhood others sometimes acknowledge in me does not rely on their perceptions of me.
There is a publication accepting works from trans people of all stripes to document trans experiences. It gets flamed for not having a single transfem as a contributor. The people behind it apologize profusely, they say didn't notice no transfems had sent work in and would do a sequel publication that was transfem-centric. I wonder if anyone had noticed there were no transfems but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there. I think about the kinds of spaces I've seen like that, and the implications it has about how they treat transfems, and I am unsurprised no transfems submitted.
One of my closest friends for years is very supportive of me when I first begin crossdressing and experimenting with they/them pronouns. She gives me suggestions on cute clothes to wear and takes me shopping as well as asks for pictures. We had helped eachother discover we were both queer as young teens, come to terms with it, and navigate it in a hostile environment, so I have complete trust. We are close enough we are frequently asking eachother advice on serious life choices & relationships, sending nudes for critique + tips before sending them to our partners, and sharing our most secret and vulnerable moments. She often asks me for tips on getting her straight boyfriends into pegging and crossdressing that make me slightly uncomfortable but I don't mind, she is a loyal friend I would endure a great many discomforts for. I host a lunch for us one day, and come out to her as a trans woman. I tell her my new name, say I no longer use he/him pronouns, and thank her for her support on my journey thus far. She launches into a monologue about how by changing my name I am throwing away all our memories together and spitting in the face of my family. Taken aback by her sudden heel turn after being so supportive of me being nonbinary and GNC, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to get a break and give her some time to process. When I am in the bathroom trying not to cry, she is on the phone. I overhear her misgendering me as she is talking about me being bisexual in a frightened voice. She sounds truly afraid that I intend to be sexually violent towards her. When I leave the bathroom and sit back down I pretend not to have heard. She gets off the phone, saying she was just chatting with her boyfriend. We talk a bit longer, she explains how "the surgery" is dangerous and experimental and she hopes I won't get it. I assure her I won't and do my best to change the subject and hope she comes around after some time to process things, hurt and shocked that what I saw as a natural shift in the path I was already on marked me as frightening in her eyes after knowing eachother for over a decade. That a fellow bisexual suddenly saw my bisexuality as dangerous now that I was asserting myself as a trans woman. I say goodbye to her, and she says goodbye to me using my deadname, I do not risk an argument to correct her. It is months after the meeting we have not seen eachother since and she has not responded to any messages I sent. After reflecting on her reaction further I decide that I don't really want to spend time with someone who thinks these things about me for my own safety and mental health, regardless of our history. A friend of 14 years who supported my queerness and transness gone the instant I crossed an intangible woman-shaped line that marked me as a predator and invader in her eyes.
I log online and day after day see trans women getting banned and harassed. Seeing baseless callout posts calling them groomers and abusers getting taken seriously by other queer and trans people. Seeing proof that deep down so many people I consider kindred spirits see me and people like me as worthy of intense scrutiny and policing to keep "the queer community" safe and united. The blocklist grows but everything stays the same. I treasure the people in my life who don't take part in this and would do anything for them, but it seems they get fewer each time.
I'm not making this post to seek sympathy, I am used to this kind of shit and far worse has happened to myself and others. I just make this to illustrate transmisogyny is not some "online-only" issue like people claim. Even if online issues weren't "real" (as healed is fond of saying, "online is real") this has tangible effects in the way trans women are treated offline as well. By communities, friends, partners, colleagues, systems, etc. That's why we talk about it.
So much of the discussions people have paint transmisogyny as some online oppression olympics maliciously trying to divide the community, smear transmascs, and "reinvent bioessentialism". That is not what it is about. Discussions about transmisogyny is about how we are treated for being what we are, and while related to transphobia and misogyny it is seperate because it often represents doors other trans people and women can walk through that transfems cannot. It has affected me in my most intimate moments when I was with other trans and queer people I felt safe around, and taught me that I need to carefully manage my persona and presentation at all times lest my authenticity be branded "male socialization". I am even terrified to express attraction to people who express attraction towards me because I'm so used to being treated like a predator upon reciprocating or being used and abandoned by people I trusted. I am terrified to be too excited about shared interests with friends lest I be too loud or talkative about it and branded with aggressive male socialization. So I make myself quiet and small, and shrink from the community and people I care about, and become more and more isolated.
Anyways, stop platforming anons who spread lies about trans women, stop hopping on TERF harassment campaigns because the trans gal they're smearing "gave you bad vibes", and maybe consider carefully if in your own life where you draw the line for a transfem's behavior is any different from where you'd draw the line for anyone who's not one.
his boss fight isn't the only way he's destroying me SORRY
Hasdatean's rockstar world tour, featuring his vampire rock band, In Cold Blood
I'm the only person in the world who loves this man but i love him enough to make up for it
lyrics credit to @yves-and-scessernee (i asked for specifically silly ones)
"I can't condone rap music because it has a problematic culture", says the heavy metal fan.
support ALL fat women, not just the ones with hourglass figures and smooth skin. support fat women with apron bellies, with small boobs, with flat butts, with visible rolls, with arm flaps, with thick necks, with no jawline, with “multiple” chins. support fat women with big shoulders, fat women who’s waists don’t go in, who have stretch marks on their armpits and arms and stomach, not just on their chest and thighs or butts or “attractive” places.
support disabled fat women. support fat women of color. support fat trans women. support fat women when they wear crop tops and low rise jeans and bikinis and support fat women when they wear hijab and abayas. support fat women who are advocates and support fat women who are just trying to live their lives in peace
not just the women you’re attracted to. not just the ones you find “palatable”, not just the ones who are “thick”. all of us.
hey. to the fat person reading this who wants to transition or is transitioning. make your transition goals fat like you. please. the things you aim to gain from transition can be gained while fat. you can be/express your gender and be fat. there is nothing wrong with that, no matter what anyone says. i promise.
let yourself exist. let yourself be happy. you have just as much of a right as every other person in this world to do that, especially as you transition. it's okay. you're going to be alright, and you're also going to look fucking awesome. you already look fucking awesome. it's your body. own it.