#HAH I’VE TRICKED YOU INTO READING A (VERY SMALL) FIC OF NEXUS (MR.LAVEAU) ‼️

[dizzy-n-busy]

I have no idea what’s going on but I was tagged for something !! I believe it’s like a lil wip fic thing and considering I haven’t posted in a while, you may have this !!

And considering I’ve been, well (metaphorically) dead, you may have three snip fics from three different fandoms bc I feel bad <33 (warning they’re all very short !!)

Forcing my NeXus agenda on you again since it’s been a while 🫶 /lh

[Thank you for giving the people content @agentplutonium]

DON’T YOU HEAR ME HOWLING? [Redacted Audio - Milo Greer]

[1920’s ficlet of Milo whooping a shades ass <33]

My hand whips the gun out faster than I could even process. the metal from my 38 revolver shone brightly from the small sliver of lamp light that slipped past my figure.

My pointer was already tugging at the trigger when the shade had pounced; its form was indistinguishable from the blur of a shadow, the heavy material of its coat kept it grounded, the scuttle of its shoes to the grimy floor made it apparent.

It’s hands latched onto my arms with so much force that I was physically pushed back. The severe absence of a gunshot - and furthermore ringing in my ears - had directed my attention to the clank of metal dropping and sudden lightness in my hand.

That thing was expensive for crying out loud!

The shade’s face fell further into uncanny with its endlessly opening jaw trying to leech itself on me; teeth sharpened and cheeks tearing, barely managing to string the skin together with stolen magic.

A guttural sound reverberates out my throat as I draw my hands to its shoulders; pushing the grotesque face as far away as possible - it’s ever-blue eyes piercing and glowering at me - followed by a high-pitched ticking noise, almost sounding like a broken conveyor belt.

The rag-a-muffin towered over me, practically pushing me down. I pushed back harder, taking instant notice of how quickly the shade’s resolve crumbled - no amount of empowered energy it tried using would match my own - I shift my foot back and force my body to tackle.

I’d been in enough fights with Tank to know how to get a tall fucker on the ground.

I manage to shove the shade to one of the decrepit walls, the texture peeling and flaking off on impact; the Shade lets out a hiss, throwing spittle at me. I can’t help but make a face, grossed out by it and move back a little to get out the firing zone off instinct.

“I was tryna be civil you—“ I grit when the thing struggles against my hold, relentlessly tossing around, shrieking as it tries to get at me again; gnashing its teeth and practically foaming out the mouth.

It managed to propel itself off the wall a little with its violent thrashing and I attempt to push it back however, due to my footing, the shade overpowered me; driving me into the opposite wall and further into the dark alley. My groan develops into a growl, feeling the shade pushing and prying at me - digging its sharpened nails into my coat - still managing to graze my skin despite the thick cladding.

This damn thing really doesn’t know what expensive means, does it?

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PANIC! PANIC! PANIC! [NeXus - Cherlock]

[Sherlock helping Cher fight with their one arm havin’ ass /lh <33]

Sherlock had finally gotten Cher on the mat, back splayed on the cushioned floor with their body running taut under the vampire’s lithe form. Sherlock huffed, trying to keep the others — admittedly bulkier — frame to the ground.

Their constant struggling and wiggling around proved difficult, it was one of their best techniques given how big they were; a bit weak on the flexibility but good on strength. Sherlock’s current position held them at advantage with their elbow and forearm pining their chest to the floor and keeping their other hand on the shifters wrist, body held at an angle so they could roll the opposite way if needed.

For only having one arm, Cher didn’t act like it, which makes sense; their legs were stronger than both of Sherlock’s arms combined.

“You’re doing good, damn good — lemme catch my breath…” Sherlock looked down at them; mouth open in a pant for added theatrics, a little light humor to uplift the heavy room, yet they paused at the sudden hollowness of their chest. The vampire immediately lessens their hold on their chest, seeing the shifter’s face pale and pupils pining, their worry overriding the alarms ringing, “hey, you oka—“

Sherlock couldn’t even finish their sentence before Cher’s legs wrapped around them, tightening around their waist and tossing them to the side; Sherlock slams onto their side with a gasp. Cher’s arm moved to wrap over their neck and, thank fuck, for the quick reflexes or else Sherlock wouldn’t have been able to wedge a hand under their flexing forearm in time before they broke their windpipes.

“Fuck — Cher!”

Despite their yell, the other didn’t relent.

Body coiling and tightening around their own like a snake to prey. It reminded the vampire — in their haze — of their maker, or maybe seeing the shopkeep flashing before their eyes was death dangling their life in their face; that would explain their prodigy and boyfriend also being there.

Cher was muttering feverishly under their breath, a language far too quickly spoken to be discernible in Sherlock’s predicament — especially with all the blood rushing to their ears, weakening their body from lack of sustenance — vaguely sounding like a prayer of some sort.

Cher’s body burned hot with fresh blood pumping; almost to a boil, it made Sherlock flinch.

When was the last time they even fed? They choke, feeling their own knuckles pressing against their throat. They don’t even think the shifter will get the chance to off them before they wind up and do it themself.

Focus, Sherlock!

Pushing the warm skin away was proving difficult, the rush of the shifters pulse ran rampant under their very fingertips; tempting and pliant. Sherlock’s senses were overwhelmed by them, their jaw fell slack and they could almost feel their fangs begging to pierce Cher’s vitals. They can’t, they shouldn’t — they wouldn’t.

…

Right?

=========

CIRCUS ACT [YuuriVoice - Seth]

[Seth being idk a clown?? /j/lh it’s just inspired off a drawin’ I did <33]

Seth was always a passionate kid, he’d fixate on the little things - hone in on them til they rotted him from the inside out, but in a good way. A bit obsessive, but good nonetheless.

The brunet was also very susceptible to…influences, both good and bad ones. So when he saw his mama constantly working on her motorcycle, he grew a fascination with the oversized scooters — heavily influenced by how proud his mama was of the beautiful hunk of metal — wanting to be just like her.

That all took a detour when said woman decided to get up and stroll out his life, like he meant nothing. There was a period of confusion for him, where he purchased a motorcycle in memory of her; helplessly clinging onto any sort of semblance to a happier time when everything fell to shit, to then hating looking at the bike. It was a reminder how she left — they were the same brand so when Seth would bypass shop windows, he’d see his mama riding away from him.

Everything he felt towards the motorcycle was convoluted and trauma taken at surface value, it stayed like that for a few years; till he got locked up, that is.

Stuck in the penitentiary, encased by concrete walls which had the darkest of secrets imbedded into them — rowdy inmates screaming couldn’t compare to how loud the white structure rang his ears with trouble and horrible thoughts — eventually he stopped crying, stopping acknowledging the droning of his sins playing bumper cars in that sweet little fucked up head of his; a redeeming quality of his being adaptability.

Seth was docile for the remainder of his stay, getting more leeway for his good behavior — probation being added after his evaluation when he was doing time — the brunet thought about what he should do when he got out.

His first thought leeched onto his motorcycle, he missed it — missed how human it made him feel despite everything — it was the closest thing to his mama’s solidarity as he could get. It was funny how the most humanizing thing to him was an inanimate object; not a parent, not a peer, not a friend and especially not a lover.

Seth’s jaw tensed, his body suddenly boiling with uncontrollable emotion; unresolved issue, he was frankly far too scared to confront, clawed at him — begging for release, no matter what kind or how it was done — and that’s how Seth wound up in a circus gig.

Now, the big brown eyed guy wasn’t standing precariously on a wire with a painted face for viewing pleasure, he felt more drawn towards a very specific act; The Globe of Death.

Also known as, the ball of death, it was a relatively dangerous act which consisted of a giant metal-mesh ball housing three to four motorcyclists inside, all them revving engines and narrowing skimming each other when circling around the ball.

Only two - or was it three? - fatalities have actually been confirmed but it added a nice edge for Seth; he adapted a little too well to the thrill of the crime business, now he kinda…craves it? It was only a tiny preference, totally not a necessity that gives him worse withdrawals than a cigarette itch.

Totally not.

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#HAH I’VE TRICKED YOU INTO READING A (VERY SMALL) FIC OF NEXUS (MR.LAVEAU) ‼️ #GET BENT FUCKERS/J/LH #NeXus (Mr.Laveau) #redacted audio #yuurivoice