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internalsealpanic · 3 years

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Love Through the Ages (Tim Drake)

Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part two of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist.

You watch the rusty green of the warehouse wall disappear behind a spray of orange paint. There is nothing more satisfying than watching paint make old things new.

A whistle interrupts your reverie, making the can slip from your hand. You swear, the harsh syllables echoing in the empty air. The can bounces down the scaffold and lands in someone’s hands. Tim’s face gets sprayed with a mist of orange. He makes a noise and rubs at his face. You bark out a laugh and he grimaces at you. The begrudging fondness obvious on his face.

He waves at you, eyes still stinging from the paint. Giddiness flourishes in your chest. “I knew I’d find you here!” He shouts in a dialect of Mandarin that you hadn’t heard in ages.

It takes you a moment to understand him. You’re honestly extremely rusty. It takes you another moment to realize that it made no sense for him to find you. “How?” You shout back in Romanian.

Tim shakes his head, throwing his hand over his shoulder. “Open canvas.”

You snort, looking down at him. Tim’s breath catches as he stares up at you, your smile. You’re haloed by sunlight. You look like an angel descending from heaven.

Tim’s forced to pick up his jaw when he hears your voice again. You’re tapping your watch. The words are lost to him.

“What?!”

You shake your head, strands of hair coming loose from behind your ear. “I asked...” You shout in a coarse frawl. “... Isn’t it a bit early for you to be here?”

It was.

He was only 30 minutes early. No big deal.

He shrugs. “I just wanted to watch you paint.” He says, trailing off. Oh God, Tim thinks. Does he sound lovesick? Is Cassie right? He pushes the thoughts down, opting to look at the building instead. On the side of the building was an immaculate portrait of the Red Hood rendered like a saint, haloed in golden light and surrounded by your orange marigolds. It would look at home in any grand cathedral. Your talents never ceased to amaze him.

“Should I ask why you’re defacing a building?”

You turn back to the building picking up a can of yellow paint. You tilt your head. “It’s a massive improvement, yes?”

Tim looks around. The pavement is littered with wet trash mixed. The buildings were rusted. Everything else is covered in grime. “You’re rude… but not wrong.”

You preen, electing to ignore the first half. You turn back to your canvas before Tim can get another word in. He knows he’s lost you.

“So, why *the* Red Hood?”

You look away from the portrait, setting the can of yellow spray paint. It sprays your sweatshirt and Tim laughs. You stick your tongue out at his face flushing. You liked this sweatshirt. He gave it to you the last time you had meandered into Gotham. “Why not? We’re in the Bowery. He’s like a saint here.” You snip, switching to Russian. Ok, that made sense. You toss your sweatshirt into Tim’s face. The fabric is lousy with the smell of paint and of 5-hour energy drinks. It was an improvement over the pungent odor of garbage.

He tries to rub the orange paint on his face away before he tucks your sweatshirt beneath his arm. You’re still looking down at him, wry amusement on your face. “I’ll paint your beloved Red Robin when I get to China Town. Heard he was quite popular in those parts.”

Tim’s heart flutters. He stutters out his next question. “Why are you using spray paint for this type of illustration?”

“Kon said I couldn’t do it.”

Tim snickers, “As if Kon could tell the difference.”

You frown only realizing your mistake. You curse under your breath. Tim doesn’t stop laughing at you. “Shut up!” You snarl.

Tim dodges the next paint can you throw but the next one hits him square in the face. You grin triumphantly. Tim raises a middle finger at you and you giggle in response. You feel bad, seeing him wince in pain. You’d buy him apology tea later but for now, you clasp your hands and call out to him sweetly. “Sorry, Timmers!”

Tim, equally as mature and well aware that you’re only half sorry, blows out a breath, muttering something colorful before shouting back: “we should get going if we wanna eat out after looting the museum.”

At that, you launch yourself off the scaffolding, your body feeling weightless as it falls. Tim drops your sweatshirt as he holds his arms out to catch you. He catches you easily. You two spin as you wrap your arms around him.

“You are certifiably insane.” He laughs. His nose smooshed against yours.

“And so are you.” You snort, hugging him.

He hugs you back. You hum so softly into his hair that Tim wouldn’t be able to tell it from a breath if he were human. Tim holds you close, hugging your waist tightly. He doesn’t really want to let you go. You don’t either. You and Tim stand there for a bit when you hear his cell beep.

“Why does your phone sound like a pager?”

“Because Babs told me how to.”

“That literally explains nothing.”

“I’m not taking crap from the gremlin who had ‘Baby Shark’ as their ringtone for 12 months. WILLINGLY.”

You pout at him, your face so close to his. Tim’s only half paying attention to your defense. To be fair, it basically boiled down to ‘it isn’t that bad’ and ‘Bart’s ringtone is worse’.

After a short shopping trip and a cab ride later, you arrive at the museum in fresh clothes and less paint on his face for Tim.

“All the World’s a Stage. They botched it! The nerve! The barbarity of it all. It's just like when they botched ‘Words with Friends’ or ‘In Ice We Trust’ or even ‘Tomcat’. That last one was pretty much gift wrapped for them!” You say throwing up your hands nearly hitting Tim and whatever poor bastard was unlucky enough to be behind you.

“For someone who isn't invested in modern media, you're getting fired up.” Tim chuckles, eyes flickering behind you. You had managed to miss the people behind you but you do have a rather conspicuous space behind you.

“They had such good material to work with” you say, gesticulating wildly. “And- and they butchered it.”

“You need a 5 minute breather?” Tim asks, resting a hand on your back.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

Tim grins at you as if he had no idea what this ultimate betrayal feels like.

Determined to prove him wrong, you say : “C'mon, Timothy, you ranted like this when they botched the star thingy.”

“It’s Star Wars, you heathen.”

“Star. Thingy.” You repeat, crossing your arms.

Tim squints at you. You know he’s not gonna blow up at you but somehow that’s scarier.

“You can pay for your own cab later.” He grumbles.

“Star. Thing-Y.”

Tim turns to leave. This always worked. Always without fail, you grab at his hand, lacing your fingers with his. Tim tries not to smile.

“Fine.”

“Was that so hard?”

“It was excruciating actually.”

“You're being dramatic.” He says, showing the woman behind the ticket counter your passes.

“Excuse me, I left all my drama in the Renaissance.”

“Oh really?”

“Ok not really but admit that both Andromeda and Stars, Forgive Me have better writing.“ You bite out.

“I- That’s unfair,” he says. You raise your brow in response.

“...”

“Fine,” he sighs. “But admit that Andromeda should have been named ‘Space Whores’.”

You squint at him then smile. “Oh abso-posi-tute-ly.”

“Have you seen this dirty old hockey mask?” You ask, tapping the glass as if the hockey mask would react if you just agitate it enough.

“What is that?” Tim asks, looking over your shoulder. His brows crinkles when he sees the mask. “How is that romantic?”

You hum. “Ask the curator?” You suggest, looking around. He was usually out and about. He could never sit still even if he tried. You lean down narrowing your eyes at the plaque. “Says here some dude called Jason terrorized 3 kids over summer.”

“That’s very romantic for our Jay to do.” Tim says, crossing his arms and switching to Cantonese. It was a weird habit but you knew why. Apparently for all Jason’s skill in languages he somehow could not get a handle on Cantonese.

“Not that Jason.” You say, smirking.

“You sure?” Tim asks, leaning closer to you.

You snicker, “As in character as that would be...”

“True,” he says, edging closer and closer to you. You rock on your heels nervously at the proximity. “It’s a shame, I thought there would be a machete to match too…” You can feel Tim’s breath on your cheek.

“OH LOOK AT THIS.” You say twisting away and pointing to a black and white photo. Tim’s hands leave his sides to grab for you, to pin you to his chest, but he has enough self control not to. Instead, he follows you.

“It’s just a man and a woman in business suits. Yanno something you can see in any metropolitan city.”

“Yes but,” you say, tracing a nonsensical pattern into the air, “I’ve heard a story about this, they were both extremely rich and heads of their companies, went from enemies to lovers - my all time favourite.”

Tim looks closer at the photo of the man and woman with their backs to the camera just holding hands along the NYC sidewalk. It’s cute. “I thought your favorite was lovers to enemies.”

“Well of course, it is! The drama, the absolute tragedy. It’s better than any trope in existence. But I love that this is just black and white. You don’t need anything else to indicate they’re in love with each other.”

Tim is all too tempted to point out that that likely wasn’t intentional, that it was a limitation of the time, but the look in your eyes robbed him of his breath, so he swallowed his thoughts.

Your eyes rove over the room frantically in search of something.

“So is there any reason you wanted to go to this exhibit instead of watching lavalantula 10 in theaters?” Tim says, tapping another case.

You turn to look at him, shock etched into your features.“10? We've seen lavalantula 1 through 9 in theaters? Why did I agree to that?”

“Cus you love me?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Probably not.”

Tim gives you a hurt look.

You scowl at him. You have no idea why everyone thinks he’s the nice Wayne sibling. He is a manipulative little shit who plays you like a fiddle. And yet here you are falling for it. An absolute buffoon.

You grumble an apology under your breath before continuing. “This is more cultural Timmers and lord knows we need more culture.” You wave sarcastically.

“I think we've lived enough culture.”

“it cannot hurt to experience more Tim,” you snort. He rolls his eyes. You grab onto his arm and look up at him bright eyed. Two can play it at that game. “Please Tim....”

He scowls at you. “Fine-”

“Yes!”

“-but you owe me a movie marathon.”

“Fine. Fine,” you nod, “just don’t pick something dumb.”

“I just got the new star trek box collection.” He beams.

“You could just shove me into a grave.” You sigh dramatically.

Tim grins. “The Renaissance called-”

“Oh fuck you, Grackle.”

He snorts and you hate that you fall in love with him more every time he laughs.

You cross your arms giving him a hard look. “Fine but we have to have an intermission of my choice.” You say, offering a hand.

“Deal.” He says, shaking your outstretched hand.

“Great, you've just agreed to watch the Great British Baking Show with me.” You say smug.

Tim curses himself.

"Are you still looking for that one painting?"

You tip your body back to look at him, your eyes wide and startled. It takes no time at all for them to shift to their usual angry shape. "Yes," you say quietly. It's Tim’s turn to be startled. Your hands curl into a fist. "It wasn't done and those bastards took it."

Tim reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.

You cast your hands up to the sky dramatically. "The barbarity of it all!"

Tim smiles, letting his hand fall to his side. You would be ok.

You two walk on as Tim rants about StarGate could have had a bigger fanbase if it hadn’t excluded so many people. You add StarGate to the list of things to not remember.

You stop.

Your heart presses a bruise in your throat.

Framed in wood laden in ivy and marigolds is a painting that was painfully familiar. Even unwashed, you can still see the bright reds of rose petals, the wild greens of the women’s skirts, the brilliant oranges of marigolds, and the blinding whites of cobble stones. The image was a practice in entropy made into perfection. The chaos of Valentine's day in a small town square reduced and captured in an infinitesimal moment.

Damian told you that people had started calling them Warsaw’s Faceless Sweethearts. You hated that. A part of you wants to scream. You want to tell them that this wasn’t for them. This painting was made for one person and one person only.

You’ve been staring at it too long. Tim looks at you. You’ve known him too long to not know that he’s worried. That he’s feeling that stupid surge of protectiveness he always does when you go quiet. It’s in the cautious way he reaches out to you, slow and steady the way you approach a spooked animal. You want to lash out at him but he’s your Tim. Besides, too much of your mind is trapped in the painting, in the white gazebo, in between the couple who’s stuck in the moment before a kiss.

Tim stands closer to you, his fingers lacing into yours with centuries worth or practice. He looks at the painting. “This painting looks familiar.” Tim says for the lack of anything better to say. It was yours. He knew that with only a few seconds of looking.

“I… I don’t think so,” you say clumsily, “that’s definitely not the painting I’ve been looking for. Yup that one looks completely finished. Yup definitely.” You tug at Tim’s arm.

He gives you a look, staying perfectly in place, before turning back to the painting. His gaze draws low. In a glass case sits scraps of paper lined with charcoal. It takes an embarrassingly long time for Tim to realize that they’re sketches the artist did. Tim recognized the baker, the blacksmith, the seamstress, and even the constable. Most glaring of all he recognizes your marigolds. His eyes drift to the sketches of the couple in the gazebo. They were numerous, haphazard and unsatisfied. You were clearly frustrated with the groom’s face. Tim wonders who the poor guy could be.

In the corner of the page in the center, he sees it. “Wait… is that me?”

“NO!”

“Is that you?” He asks, pointing to the figure next to his. In the sketch, your lips are brushing against his. Tim’s lip tingles trying to replicate the sensation.

You’re frozen stiff. You try to pull your hand away. You want to bury your face in them. Scratch that, you wanna be buried six feet under. Tim doesn’t let go of your hand.

“That’s the umbrella you lost back in London.”

“I lost a lot in London, Timmy.”

“Well...” Ok. Yeah, you did. Hence why he can’t get you to London even with the promise of letting you ‘improve’ Buckingham palace. But that isn’t the point. “(Y/n), this is gorgeous.” He says, turning to you. You look at him stunned and scared. He squeezes your hand.

You shake yourself out of his grip. Tim lets you. He knows when to back down.

You step forward leaning on the rope separating you from your work. “I told you it wasn't finished.” You say, glaring at the painting as if willing the colors to move.

“What happened?” He asks, bumping his shoulder against yours.

You bump your shoulder against his. “Warsaw.”

“I don’t follow.”

“That little town in Warsaw. It was kind of hard to finish the painting when soldiers were setting fires to houses. Ok, they didn’t do it directly but there was smoke.”

“Yeah kind of.” Tim agrees, smiling sadly. He looks back at the painting. “I want to keep it.”

“What?” You blink not quite following the shift in conversation.

“Darling, I think we should have it. It’s ours after all.” Tim says holding your hand in his. Your mind is bouncing between too many things. He called you darling. He’s holding your hand. He’s smiling so sweetly at you. You’re addicted to that look in his eyes, pure unadulterated adoration.

You cover your face with your free hand, feeling the smile on your face go uncomfortable wide. You feel something on your forehead, a kiss like a raindrop. It comes again and you feel like you’re going to collapse.

“It’s yours..” He trails off hesitantly. “..if..” You look up at Tim, waiting with bated breath. Tim squeezes your hands. “...if you’ll be mine. ”

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz, @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#Tim Drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagines #vampire au

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sanguisfulgur · 5 years

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Profile: Salem

Full Name: Salem Hikari

Nickname(s):·Sale, Lemmy (only by his twin sister), adopts the alias Aiden Woodgrove frequently to match his sister’s most used alias.

Title: The Hunter

Age: Mid to late 20s (appearance), 31 (actual age)

Birthday: October 25th (1987)

Species: Vampire (better life verse)

Ethnicity: White, with historic Japanese routes on father’s side of the family.

Nationality: British by birth, holder of American Citizenship.

Gender: Male (cis)

Pronoun(s): He/Him/Himself

Romantic Orientation: Panromantic

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Birth Order: Twin, younger by a few minutes.

Home Town: Bowness-On-Windermere, England, UK.

Current Residence: Portland, Maine, USA (main)/London, UK (better life)

Religion: Baptised Catholic, but given he knows other gods exist he’s not outwardly religious.

Allegiance: Himself/his sister

Occupation: Hunter

Financial Status: Relatively poor unless a job paid well.

Martial Status: Verse dependant

Status: Active

Fandom: Fandomless OC.

Face Claim: Matthew Daddario

Physical Traits

Face Shape: Somewhere between oval and heart-shaped.

Forehead: Rounded, average in broadness.

Eyes: Grey in colour with the smallest flecks of blue within them, they are upturned with surprisingly long eye lashes.

Nose: Straight, well-proportioned for face.

Lips: Full, soft.

Teeth: All present, and like all vampires will re-grow if knocked out. They’re in good condition. Fangs are retractable.

Cheeks: Narrow, a touch prominent.

Chin: Small.

Ears: None-protruding, very sensitive to sound due to enhanced hearing..

Facial Hair: Usually clean shaven but occasionally will grow out stubble.

Height: 6′3″

Neck: Average length/broadness.

Torso: Broad, defined abs.

Arms: Well muscled from years of archery training, bears scars on his upper right arm from being clawed by a Cu Sith

Hands:·Long fingers, large hands in accordance with his height.

Legs: Long (All leg much like his twin), well-toned.

Feet: Size 12 (American sizes), nothing otherwise noteworthy.

Texture: Skin is smooth barring the occasionally marring of a scar.

Color: Unnaturally pale/white.

Freckles: None.

Scars: Claw marks from a Cu Sith on his upper right arm, bullet scar on his right calf, miscellaneous scars can be found over his body that have been gathered in his human years.

Stretch Marks:None.

Tattoos: An Anti-possession tattoo on his lower back.

Piercings: None.

Skin Conditions: None.

Texture: Hair is thick and wavy naturally.

Color: Black, dark as his mother’s namesake.

Style and Length: Salem’s hair is uneven and choppy, making it seem messy. The length varies, depending on how long he goes without cutting it but it’s usually kept somewhat short in the back with longer bang/side strands.

Mental and Physical

Overall Health: Excellent

Frequency of Mental Exercise: Often to occasional, Salem likes word puzzles and similar brainteasers.

Frequency of Physical Exercise: Daily training.

Life Philosophy: Protect the innocent above all else.

Life Goal(s): Honestly Salem is rather aimless here. He’s never thought much about what he wants having always imagined himself hunting until the day he died.

Describe Voice: Smooth and friendly, Salem is a flirt and tends to drop to more husky undertones.

Speech Patterns: informal at most times, Salem is casual and direct - blunt, even - in his speech, though not intentionally crass he doesn’t mince his words.

Habits: Tapping his foot (not out of impatience, it’s just a consistent habit whenever he’s idle), clicking his tongue, tilting his head (much like his twin),

Daily Routines: Showering and dressing, taking care of breakfast and some morning exercises or a run, from their it varies as a hunter given he has no set work routine.

Likes: animals (especially dogs), spicy food, cold autumn mornings, rainstorms, bookstores, listening to music to fall asleep, lie-ins, scented candles, long showers, libraries.

Dislikes: being woken up, cream cheese, math, clutter, loud music/noises, nightclubs, hot/humid nights, ignorance, golf, people who stop to talk right in the middle of the path/in doors.

Dreams: A good life for him and his sister.

Motivations: Protecting himself/his twin, eradicating monsters that pose a threat and keeping safe those that don’t.

Interests: literature, animal husbandry, unsolved murders and disappearances

Hobbies: Hiking, reading, spelunking, running, archery, urban exploration.

Skills: Marksmanship, tracking, observing and noting details about a person, exceptionally convincing liar, extensive knowledge of the supernatural and occult, multilingual. As a ‘hunter’ strain vampire he possesses their incredible hunting/tracking abilities, heightened senses an enhanced physical strength/speed ect. Salem can also transform into a colony of bats (or an individual one) and a red fox.

Shortcomings: Aggressive with an easily-provoked temper, has a tendency to disregard his physical well-being when it comes to others, co-dependency issues with his twin, struggles to memorise numbers (such as dates, phone numbers ect.)

Weakness(es): His twin sister, his strain of vampire (different from his twin’s) are vulnerable to silver in their first year of transformation as well as to sunlight in that first year. Congealed blood can cause nausea. Beyond that killing them is a difficult process: They must stabbed through the heart with a Bowie knife/white oak stake then the head must be cut off and the heart removed; after this the limbs must be cut off and all burned separately, the ashes from each part must also be buried separately and NOT scattered.

Regret(s): Leaving to go hunt without his twin and thus her being alone and then being turned by Theo. It’s not his fault by any means, but he blames himself for not being there.

Fear(s): Losing his twin, otherwise failing to keep people safe.

Phobia(s):·Arachnophobia (that he will not freely admit to) & Taphophobia (fear of being buried alive)

Mental Illness(es): PTSD

When and how was this diagnosed?:· Has not been properly diagnosed, but all the symptoms are there and obvious to anyone who knows how the condition manifests.

Other Illness(es): N/A

When and how was this diagnosed?: N/A

Physical Disability(ies): N/A

When was this diagnosed and/or how did it happen?:

Other:·

Personality

Usual Mood/Expression:· Salem on the outside tends to appear calm, mouth pulled upwards into a half-smile. He’s less paranoid than his sister an so more outwardly approachable in appearance to strangers. He is however easily provoked.

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good/Neutral

Jung: ESFP

Enneagram: Type 8 (The Challenger)

Four Temperaments:·Sanguine

Soul Type: Caregiver/Hunter

Common Archetypes: The Caregiver

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Top Five Tropes:·Grey Eyes, Anti-Hero, Twin Telepathy, Friendly Neighborhood Vampire, Hunter of Monsters

Five Prominent Traits:·Loyal, Aggressive, Protective, Distrustful, Reckless

Misc

Food:·.Salem is not a fussy eater by any means but he does have a love for spicy food, French pastries and curry udon.

Drinks:·Coffee, fresh orange juice, Dr. Pepper and negroni cocktails

Books: Great Expectations, Harry Potter, Mortal Engines, Tolkien’s legendarium, The Book Thief & ASOIAF.

Movies/TV Shows: Salem is a sucker for high fantasy and steampunk aesthetics s he tens to gravitate to those kinds of shows/movies. Like his sister however, he likes to watch horrors in order to rip them apart.

Music: Rock (particularly indie/alt style), indie pop and general ‘alternative’ labelled music.

Video Games: Horror Survivors and First Person Shooters are where he shines.

Weapons:· Possesses multiple handguns, crossbows and compound bows, a shotgun, machete, rapier, numerous other blade types, throwing knives a recursive bow, poisons, unconventional weaponry needed against the supernatural (dead blood, crosses ect.); he also has knowledge of curse/hex breaking. .

Drugs: N/A

Elements: Lightning/Water.

Animals:·Dogs, wolves, bats, corvids. The animal he is like in spirit is a·fox.

Plants: Lily-of-the-valley and red roses but he’s not much of plant person in terms of knowing what most are called ect.

Stats

Self-Love: 5/10

Courage: 8/10

Confidence: 8/10

Pride: 6/10

Greed: 3/10

Patience: 4/10

Tolerance: 8/10

Mental Flexibility: 8/10

Passion/Motivation: 8/10

Creativity: 6/10

Education: 5/10 (Formal-education-wise, Salem is more self-educated, educated by others outside of schooling.)

Compassion:·7/10 (Depends on person.) 0/10 for targets or those he despises. 10/10 for those he’s close to and children.

Empathy:·7/10 (Again decreases and rises depending on the being.) 10/10 for those he trusts/cares for, and children. 0/10 for targets.

Loyalty: 10/10·

Forgiveness: 3/10

Sociability: 7/10

Emotional Attachment: 6/10

Physical Attachment: 7/10

Stamina: 10/10

Mental Strength: 5/10

Physical Strength: 10/10

Battle Skill: 7/10

Initiative: 8/10

Restraint: 2/10

Defense: 7/10

Agility: 6/10

Flexibility: 6/10

Strategy: 6/10

Leadership: 5/10

Teamwork: 5/10

Wrath: 9/10

Musical-Rhythmic Intelligence: 7/10

Visual-Spatial Intelligence: 6/10

Verbal-Linguistic Intelligence: 10/10

Logical-Mathematical Intelligence: 4/10

Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence: 10/10

Interpersonal Intelligence: 9/10

Intrapersonal Intelligence: 3/10

Existential Intelligence: 5/10

Naturalistic Intelligence: 7/10

Relationships

Parent(s): Shiro Hikari & Ebony Knight ( Both deceased.), Norio Hikari (Godfather, alive.), Vlad III/Dracula (Adoptive father, alive)

Siblings: Sharna Adrienne Hikari (twin sister, alive)

Significant Other(s):·Verse dependant, Laini (better life verse)

Children: Verse dependant

Family:·Ryou Hikari and Alexandria Hikari (nee Woodgrove.) [Grandparents] & Conrad Knight and Irene Knight (nee Beckett.) [Grandparents,Deceased], Adrienne Knight (Auntie, deceased.), other extended family members he does not know.

Closest Friends:· His twin sister. Though Salem is a friendly and personable man, his co-dependency and distrust of others means he keeps most at an arm’s length.

Rivals: none, really.

Enemies:·Theo, Thanatos (enemy of his entire family), hunting targets.

Pets: Nova, his sister’s Tamaskan.

Other:·To be added over time.

#( salem )#venator;#profile;#(November 2018)

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