#in my head these two are ages-old vampires just being petty

[cockatrice-writers-guild]

Blood and Roses

jax and mia’s inevitable vampire au

warnings: blood, gore, violence, panic, death, swearing, alcohol, mentions of dead bodies in graphic detail

It’s not easy you, know. Living the kinda life I live. You see things on this job, things that would’ve driven some to the brink and others to the nearest church. But for me? It’s just another Tuesday.

There’s been a murder. A man who had a decent job and a crystal clean record. Not so much as a petty theft under his belt. Just your old, everyday average Joe. A man who by all accounts should have lived an average, fairly comfortable life before fading into obscurity within the next 50 years.

Instead, the poor sap was found dead in the middle of the woods.

The police received a distress call late that night and when they arrived on the scene, they found a middle aged woman standing over the corpse and shaking something awful. A few of the officers and even I tried to get any information from her that we could but after it was clear that she wasn’t in any condition to talk, she was sent back to her home for the time being.

But when I finally lifted the covers to examine the body, I could understand what had her shaking so bad. The ragged gaping hole in the man’s neck that just about severed his head from his body, only a flap of skin to still connect the two while somehow not leaving enough blood for the poor guy to even so much as paddle in. The way he looked more like a years old, dried out carcass than the middle aged man who was killed at most a day ago. I could tell that this man had to have done something wrong along the way because this wasn’t just any old lovers dispute.

They didn’t call me to take care of just any old case, either.

And that’s why I now find myself here, standing in front of the brightly lit gates to Nirvana, an old nightclub known as the Parmi Nous, where the drinks are good enough to give you alcohol poisoning if you’re not careful and the music is something else. Or so I’ve heard.

I take the time to make sure I look presentable enough, no tears in the fabric or bloodstains to ruin the overall neatness I tried to achieve, before adjusting my hat, squeezing past the bouncers that overlooked the joint and making my way into the chaos within.

The first thing that hits me about the place is the noise. The rise and fall of idle chitchat mingling with the swell of the many instruments on stage. The click of a glass being prepared for the next wayward drunk with pockets that ran just a little too deep for their own good. The awkward bumping and shuffling from the writhing mass on the dance floor, making new memories that I’m sure many would live to regret come the next day. And over all that?

Him.

Past all the dancers and the drinkers and the gossip and the mixers is a single man, up on the stage. And anyone whose eyes or lips aren’t already occupied are fixated on him. Even me. I’ve seen everything and even I have a hard time trying to pull my eyes away. He almost demands attention. Under the dimmer lighting of the club, his bright red dress almost seems to glow in the spotlight currently trained on him as he struts about the stage, his expressions intense and his gestures mesmerizing and his voice? Deep and melodic and pulling in anyone foolish enough to lend him an ear, deadly as a siren’s song.

I watch for a while as the man stoops down in a graceful motion and caresses the cheek of the nearest audience member, tilting their head up so they meet his eyes over a held note. The half lidded smile he shoots them is enough to make them faint on the spot and with a playful shrug and the approving hoots of the people still conscious enough to know what’s happening, the man rises and continues to weave his spell.

He’s good, I’ll give him that.

Still, I’m not just here to spend all my money on overpriced, over complicated mixes and waste the night away with the others on the dance floor. As a matter of fact, the reason I came here today is simple. That man on the stage, one Jaxon Baxter, may be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, his charm nothing but a ruse, the songs he sings more deadly than others could possibly ever imagine.

I’ve seen some things on the job.

And as I push and weave my way through the mess of people, I can already feel like I’m just about to walk into the start of another.

I make my way forward, pausing only when the stage itself moves to stop me and staring up at the man with all the eagerness I can muster. After a moment, he notices my presence and complies with a lighthearted roll of his eyes, couching down just like before and leaning forward so his face is inches from mine. His hand comes forward and as discreetly as I can, I push a folded piece of paper into his palm and stare at him meaningfully.

His expression becomes quizzical and his notes go awry for just a second before he recovers. The notes fall back into place and his half lidded mask returns so quickly one would think they were just seeing things. He shoots me a wink before rising gracefully and working the crowd once more.

The deed done, I stop by the bar for a drink or two while I wait for the performance to be over. One drink wouldn’t hurt and I feel like I could use it after all that.

-

Once the serenade finally comes to a close and the man takes a bow, he makes his way off the stage and over to where I’m sitting. The place is quieter now, only the low mumbles of those nursing the dregs of a pricey cocktail and the whispered sweet talk from the nearby tables to drown out the hum of the lights overhead.

The man joins me on the next stool, ordering a monstrous concoction of syrups and alcohol and swirling the sickly sweet mixture before taking a long swing and turning to me.

“…so what is it you wanted to say to me, darling?” The drawl in his voice nearly makes me laugh but I maintain a straight face as I turn to him.

“Mr. Baxter, I’ve already taken you for an exceptional actor but there’s no need for that right now. I’m just here to ask you a few questions and then I’ll be on my way if that’s alright with you?”

The man freezes for a second before doing his best to recover once more. “Hmm,” he takes another sip, “It’d depend on what you’re asking.”

The bartender side-eyes me and the woman resting her head on the table shifts just slightly. “Would it be alright if we could do this somewhere a little more…private?”

The man looks like he wants to say something but, noticing our audience, decides better of it for now. Instead, he simply downs the contents of his drink before standing up. “My place. I’ll give you an hour but that’s all.”

“Fine by me.”

-

‘His place’ turns out to be a large, very secluded mansion in the middle of nowhere. The architecture is stunning, intimidating and just a bit too much. And the massive thing casts a shadow on the land while itself being almost haloed in the pale moonlight. An old, revered thing if I ever saw one. Though the effect is more or less ruined by the multitudes of colourful flowers and fruit trees surrounding the building.

The man seems to notice my staring.

“It, uh…it’s been passed down to me,” he says over his shoulder.

His heels click against the old cobblestone path that leads to stairs lined with rusted iron railings and the heavy set front door. He opens it with a key and ducks inside with me trailing close behind.

The interior of the mansion is just as dolled up as the outside, everything in shades of beige, gold and deep red. There’s a genuine chandelier hanging over a long, empty dining table made of dark wood and the place looks like it’s been around for centuries, maybe more.

The man leads me into the living area, where he nods to an expensive looking set of couches and sits down on the one opposite to it. I take a seat as well and pull out a notebook, looking over a few things before turning to the man.

“So, Mr. Baxter, I take it-”

“Actually, just Jax is fine.”

“Alright. Jax then. My name is Emelia Markov and I’ll try to make this as quick as possible but I’ll need your cooperation.”

The ma- Jax nods and I scan my notes again as I try to collect my thoughts.

“There’s been a murder around 2 days ago. You may have heard of it. A Mr. Henrick Dawson? He was found with-”

“So you’re not a reporter,” Jax asks suddenly and I look up to meet his eyes. There’s uncertainty shining in those grey pupils now.

I shake my head. “I’m a private detective.” Half truths never hurt anyone. “And I’m just looking into any potential leads we have at the moment.”

“But…why me? I’ve never even met that man before he showed up in the papers. And I’m certainly no murderer.”

“It was the state of the victims body that tipped me off. The wound in his neck, the claw marks and the fact that he looked more mummy than man led me to the only logical conclusion: for whatever reason, Mr. Dawson was attacked and killed by a vampire.”

Silence.

I see something flash across Jax’s face before all at once, the sound of his laughter shatters the silence between us. “…is this some kind of elaborate joke you’re playing? Because I assure you it’ll take far more than that to fool me. And really, vampires? You couldn’t have picked anything just a bit less ludicrous?”

I frown at him. “I’m afraid I’m being completely serious.”

Jax leans back in his seat. “Right, right. So from what I’m gathering here, you’re here tonight because you suspect me of being a vampire? A vampire murderer. I take it you’ve read one too many fantasy books before you took this job?”

“You’re fairly well known around these parts, Jax. Your performances garner thousands of admires but not a single soul has seen you out during the day. Care to tell me why? Your shows don’t go on past midnight so it can’t be sleep that keeps you within your estate during the day.”

“I…well, you see, I sing at other joints too. Keeping this place in repair isn’t cheap, you know. Not when you’re the only one left to make ends meet.”

“You live by yourself here?”

He nods.

“…but you never do two performances on the same night. At least not any that I’ve heard of. So what are you doing with all that free time?”

“…gardening.”

“At night?”

“Yes.”

“So you sleep during the day?”

The man nods and I sigh. This isn’t getting anywhere.

Fine by me.

“So what I’m hearing from you, Jax, is that you are in fact, a completely normal man? Absolutely no ties to the murder or vampirism in any way?”

“Yes.”

“So, of course, you wouldn’t mind if I did this?”

Before Jax can ask what I mean by that, I whip a long knife out of my coat and make a single cut on the tip of one of my fingers, just deep enough to draw the tiniest bead of blood before holding it out to the man.

And just like that he loses it.

He’s up on his feet in an instant, eyes wide. His hand is over his mouth and his breaths become laboured, his eyes now a vibrant red.

“Are you-” he says between breaths, “-crazy?”

I shrug and stand as well, reaching into my coat once more for the other thing I brought for this encounter: a wooden stake. I ready myself to intercept any attack he could throw at me but instead-

“You’re,” another breath, “a hunter?”

I nod and stand my ground.

“Look, I didn’t,” another breath, “I’m not,” he clamps a hand tighter over his mouth, “SHIT.”

The man turns and runs.

I watch him for a few seconds, surprised he didn’t attack before I chase after him, following him into what looks like a massive kitchen, where I find him struggling to open a bottle full of a cloudy liquid before he hears me. I get a flash of his fangs as he turns to face me and starts to back away.

There’s no immediate way out of this room and we both know it. He’s looking around wildly as I approach him, knife raised. Still, I’m cautious. There’s no telling what he could try to do when he’s cornered and, almost as if to prove my point, once I take one more step forward, the man lunges.

Right out the open window over the sink.

There’s the sound of grass crunching under his heels as he retreats into the forest behind the house and I just stand there in the empty room for a moment, stunned. I shake it off quickly, taking care to listen for his general direction before looking around the place. He left the fridge open in his panic, the contents of which seem to be composed almost entirely of glass bottles filled with a cloudy liquid, just like the one he was trying to get open earlier.

I wash the blood off both my finger and the knife before prying open one of the bottles with the blade and taking a whiff of the contents before immediately recoiling.

It’s sugar. What smells like the most horrible concoction of concentrated sugar I can imagine and just a taste is all it takes to confirm this; sugar water with a damn near sludge-like consistency. There’s a few old fruits on the bottom shelf too which I find strange. Vampires aren’t supposed to be consuming anything other than blood yet this one drinks sugar water, syrup filled cocktails and apparently eats fruit? He didn’t even attack me when I presented him with the opportunity. Even though he was clearly overcome with bloodlust at the time.

Without a doubt, Jaxon Baxter is a vampire. But…

I shake off my doubt for now and, after closing the fridge, climb up onto the counter and out the window after him.

-

I’m walking though the woods aimlessly for a while, cursing myself for wasting so much time in the kitchen when I just set a hungry vampire on the loose but still, I press forward. The trees crowd around me, looming down to watch as I walk and I’m starting to think that maybe he got away before I pick up on something else.

Breathing.

Loud and heavy and clear as the rustling of the leaves so far above me. But there’s something wrong. While the sound is loud, I don’t see the vampire anywhere. I keep going, making my way through the woods as the breathing, almost impossibly, grows louder.

I freeze when I hear the sound of splintering wood just up ahead and continue onward. The breathing is almost deafening now and I’m starting to regret coming out this far when right in front of me, the forest just stops. Passed the tree I’m currently behind, there’s what appears to be a massive clearing.

And in that clearing is something big.

I’m about to take a closer look but with a rush of wind that almost knocks me to the ground, something appears in front of the tree I’m hiding behind, damn near inches from my face before, with the all encompassing sound of wood splintering, I’m showered with dirt and then the tree is just gone.

And in its place lies the simple view of the clearing.

And the fucking gigantic man that sits crossed legged in the middle of it.

My heartrate starts to pick up as I take in the impossible sight. The man, it’s Jax. It’s the vampire I was tracking though the woods. He has an entire tree pinched between 2 of his fingers. A tree, I realize as I take a step back, then another, that he uprooted with his bare hands. With his fingers.

Another step back.

My vision swims as I take him in. As he brings the comparatively miniscule tree to his lips and bites a single fang through the trunk of it. He closes his eyes and the tree shrivels up in seconds and he sets it down before taking a few deep breaths and

This isn’t right.

I don’t know anything about vampires.

I don’t…I can’t…I

CRACK

look down and see the stray branch I accidently stepped on while trying to pull off my tactical retreat. I look up and up and up to meet the full weight of the slow fading red irises many times the size of my body staring back and I…

the stake I brought out in reflex drops to the floor. My hands are shaking bad as I stare up at the vampire. I’m frozen. I’ve killed vampires before. I feel light-headed. I thought I could handle them. The world starts to sway. I thought they told me everything I needed to know about monsters. I can see the vampire mouthing words but can’t comprehend them. I didn’t know. The words shake the ground. I didn’t know. There’s already a pile of drained trees next to him. I didn’t know. His eyes are grey again. I didn’t know. I try to take another step back but I think I missed the ground because I’m falling. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t-

-

“No!”

A noise startles me awake and it takes a few seconds of searching the room desperately to realize it was my own voice.

It’s quiet and the room is bathed in the orange rays of what I can only assume is the afternoon sun filtered though a half open curtain nearby.

I don’t recognize my surroundings at all which unfortunately writes off the theory that I dreamed about giant, somehow vegetarian vampire singers and makes my current situation all the more urgent.

Because while I don’t recognize the surroundings, the colour scheme is more than familiar. Dark red sheets and red pillows and a red bed sheet. The bed frame is a dark brown. The walls beige. The furniture adorned with tacky gold highlights.

I’m in vampire territory once again.

I quietly get out of bed and reach into my coat, surprised to find the knife still there before I realize the stake is missing. Not good.

I creep over to the door and open it slowly before I begin cautiously making my way around the house, blade at the ready to defend me at a moments notice. But though the mansion is huge, the place seems devoid of any life.

Still, I’m on edge as I search through one empty room after another.

Where is he? Is he waiting to ambush me somewhere? Every corner is an enemy and by the time I clear the floor and backtrack to the stairs, the tension hurts my shoulders and the grip on my blade turns my knuckles pale. I look back after every descending step, expecting the vampire to be behind me every time, ready to lunge and attack me the moment I’m not looking but each glance brings nothing.

It's only once I reach the bottom of the flight and venture into the dark living area that I finally see him. The vampire, the one I thought was hiding under a fucking bed ready to jump me the moment my back was turned is instead curled up on the couch, sound asleep.

Because it’s daytime.

And he sleeps during the day.

I almost laugh at the sight, already at my wits ends. He’s wearing the same dress I saw him in last night and…did he bring me here? Tuck me into bed and then fall asleep on the couch? After everything I put him through? Is he insane? Or just too trusting? I could kill him right now. Carve a stake out of the abundance of expensive looking wooden furniture and pin his heart to the soft material he’s lying on. Or I could pull open the curtains of the numerous windows that line the room and let the sun take care of him.

Instead I go back upstairs and grab the heavy comforter off of what I can only assume is his bed before returning and throwing it on top of him. He could use a pillow too but I don’t want to wake him.

I find the front door, surprisingly, unlocked and am about to leave the same way I came but then think better of it.

There was paper in some of the other rooms, after all.

-

Wrong.

It’s all wrong.

I’m in my office late at night. No use staying up in the morning when the monsters rarely showed themselves when the sun was up.

I’m looking through the manual I was given all those years ago. The one about werewolves and ghosts and vampires. Flipping though information on the infamous blood suckers, the information that I had taken as truth for all the years I’d been on the job, information that had gotten me out of so many near death experiences, that I’d staked my life on time and time again.

But it’s all wrong.

Vampires drink blood. Except for Jax. Vampires attack anything in sight when they are overcome with bloodlust. Except for Jax. Vampires remain within reasonable human height when they fed. Except for fucking Jax.

What the hell is going on? The book is right in some ways but so so wrong in others. Vampires are monsters through and through. Except Jax sings at nightclubs to keep his house in repair. He keeps a garden for food. He didn’t want to hurt me. He took me back to his place when I fainted and let me sleep in his bed.

He’s a vampire.

But I don’t think he’s a monster.

…what else wasn’t I told?

A knock on the door startles me and I quickly stash the book in my desk drawer before calling them in.

And so, through the door walks Jax. I can see his now grey irises scanning my office carefully as he makes his way to the desk. Probably checking if this is a trap. At least he’s not a complete idiot. I nod to the seat opposite and after a bit of hesitation, he takes it.

He looks tired, probably just finished a show before coming here, but there’s something else in his eyes too. He’s curious.

“Uh,” he begins awkwardly, a far cry from the man at the club. Instead of continuing, he sets the note I left him down on the table, the contents of which read:

You’re not the murderer and so I’ll be moving on.

If you have any further questions, information or just anything, you can find me at this address.

And then, tucked away at the corner:

Thank you Jax,

Mia

The man just shrugs and I prop up an arm on the table to lean my head against it. …and I know I probably shouldn’t but in the moment, I can’t help it.

“So, what is it you wanted to say to me, darling?” I try to purr like he did and the cringe his face automatically pulls into is enough to bring me to tears.

-

An undercover hunter and an undercover vampire walk into a bar.

The hunter orders a Bloody Mary and the vampire, shocked by this request, nervously orders a Regular Mary instead.

I’m phrasing this as a joke but Jax’s face when the bartender handed him a glass of straight whiskey was hilarious so…

Knock knock.

Jax has been coming by the office every now and then to just…talk. He says he likes the company and I can’t really bring myself to disagree. It’s nice having him around, nice having someone I can talk to and I think he feels the same. It’s almost strange in a way. Jax showed me around his garden a few times and took the time to point out each individual plant. I dropped by to see some of his shows when I could. Stay over at his place sometimes. And he occasionally stays over at mine.

There’s this almost…familiarity to us now.

Jax is currently asleep in my bed. I was bouncing some ideas off of him as he paced around the small room, offering what information he could but we weren’t really getting anywhere. When I noticed how close the sun was to rising, I insisted he stay for the day. The curtains are closed so he doesn’t fry to a crisp while he’s out and I have to use the table lamp on my desk to see by but I don’t really mind.

I’m looking over the case again. It’s strange how little evidence there is on this guy, whoever they are. No trace besides the state of the body. The man never had a wife or secret lover or anything like that. At least not anything that other people would notice. Average through and through.

So why would a vampire kill this man? And in such a brutal fashion? It just doesn’t make any sense. The nearly severed head is what stumps me the most. Clearly whoever did this wanted some sort of revenge or something, right?

What other explanation was there?

“Mia?”

I whip around to find Jax propping himself up on the bed. “Jax?”

His voice slurs with drowsiness. “Can I see those photos again?”

“The body?”

He nods.

I gather up the pictures before bringing them over and sitting down next to him. He slips an arm around me and pulls himself up to see the photos better. I spread them out on the bed in front of him and watch as he slowly goes over each one, his head dipping a few times as he tries to stay awake before he fixates on the particularly gory view of the man’s neck. He squints at the photo a few times before holding it out to me.

“You said that this whole…thing was due to…vengeance, right? Because of this?”

I nod.

“Well, maybe it’s not.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of responding to this, he instead traces the length of the cut with his nail a few times. “See that?”

I look closer but can’t make out what he’s trying to show me. “What?”

“That’s a curved cut right there.”

I watch his finger a few more times before I see it. The sever curves just slightly, leaving awkward pieces of loose skin and clumps of shriveled flesh around each end of the stump.

“What does that mean?”

“Mia, you’ve seen me feed. I grow. Vampires grow when they feed.”

The implication begins to dawn on me before he can say it. “So that sever…”

He nods slowly from behind a yawn. “…might not have been,” he waves a free hand around as he tries to find the word, “…intentional.”

It takes me a moment to fully process this new piece of information as I stare down at the neck once more. Horror begins to creep in as I can only imagine how much pain that man must have had to endure before he died. “So that wasn’t from claws, then. They…they’re teeth?”

Jax doesn’t respond to this and turning to look at him, I see that he’s fallen asleep once more. With his arm around me. I sigh and move the photos to the table nearby before poking the man.

“…hmm?”

“We’re going to the morgue later so you can get a better look at the body. You might be able to pick up on something I couldn’t.”

“…mmm.”

“…and at least move, man. There’s no room for me like this.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jax shuffles back a bit and I lie down next to him, giving me about half a second to enjoy my personal space before he wraps his arms around me, buries his face into my neck and starts to drift off once more.

The irony of letting a vampire get this close to my neck is not lost on me but I wrap my arms around him all the same and with a small sigh, he leans into the touch. “Night, Mia.”

“Night, Jax.”

-

We leave for the morgue the moment the sun goes down.

Once I quietly invite Jax into the building, we’re led to the freezer where they’re keeping the victim’s body and once the man takes his leave, I nod to Jax and he moves to examine the corpse.

Of course, I didn’t really expect him to start sniffing at it but what do I know? He seems to pick up on…something important because after a few seconds, he raises his head to look at me.

“Whatcha got for us, Fido?”

“Haha. Do you want to hear what I found or not?”

I nod.

“The vampire’s scent is still on this. Leftover saliva in the wound. It’s faint but-” he sniffs at the air and slowly turns his head to the far wall, “-they definitely went that way.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Well, no. I mean when vampires drink blood, saliva helps to prevent the blood from clotting and-”

“YOU COULD HAVE DONE THIS THE WHOLE TIME! AND YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING?”

Jax just blanks for a second and looks down at the corpse before his expression slowly turns sheepish. “…it uh,” he clicks his tongue, “didn’t really occur to me before now.”

I need a minute. And once that minute is up, I walk forward, grab Jax’s hand and pull him out of the room.

This is going to end tonight.

-

Jax is running. The 2 of us are bathed in moonlight as he travels at speeds much faster than any human is capable of. He’s holding me to his chest bridal-style as he moves through a relatively empty field, following the scent that was left behind.

There’s an almost calmness to the scene, despite the constant lurching in time with Jax’s movements. I’m ready for this case to draw to a close.

Jax had told me that the murder might have just been a common feeding from a particularly desperate vampire, no other motivation needed but still, I came prepared just in case. My knife hangs from a loop in my jacket and a new stake is stashed in my beltloop in case things turn sour.

We’re going to try talking to the vampire first. See if they can be reasoned with. If this was all just a misunderstanding. We could help them if they were in trouble.

Unfortunately we’re stopped dead in our tracks when Jax’s forward motion halts so suddenly, I just about go flying from his arms.

“Why’d we stop?”

Jax just nods to something in front of him and turning, I see what looks like a completely normal bridge. It takes me a moment to realize what’s wrong.

“Ah. Running water?”

“Yup.”

“How’d the other vampire get through then?”

Jax just shrugs and I take some time to think about our options.

We don’t have forever to confront this vampire. Who knows how long it will be till sunrise.

“How about…I confront the vampire while you try to find another way across the river?”

Jax sets me down before taking a step back and eyeing me. “Another way?”

“River has to end somewhere right?”

Jax nods, though he looks a little unsure.

“Hey, I’ll be fine okay? If things go sour then, well…I am a hunter, after all.”

“Just…take care of yourself, Mia. And…,” he pauses, “the vampire should be close by. Not far past the bridge. Just keep going forward and…stay safe.”

We exchange a look before I turn and make my way across the bridge, turning to see Jax waving before he takes off as well, leaving me in the relative quiet of the night.

-

He was right. It didn’t take long to find a little cottage tucked away between two hills. The lights are on and smoke rises from the chimney, giving the place a more homely feel. As I draw nearer to the house, I can only hope that it’s the right place.

I take some time to adjust my coat and hat, trying to look a bit more presentable while making sure my weapons are well out of sight before reaching up and knocking on the door. I take a step back, clasp my hands together and once the door is pulled open, I am greeted with the sight of a woman, bathed in the gentle light coming from what appears to be a fireplace.

She’s a little older than me by the looks of it. There’s a kind smile on her face as she looks me up and down and I take a second to properly access the situation before I say anything I can’t take back. This may or may not be our murderer but…do I know this woman? There’s something about her face that rings a faint bell and as I take in the pleasant looking cottage, the simple dress she’s wearing and her expression, I realize where I’ve seen her before.

It's the woman who found the corpse in the woods.

But that couldn’t be right, could it? It makes no sense. Did this woman just live near a vampire by pure coincidence? Is that how she found the corpse so soon? …but if she is a vampire, the vampire, then why did she make a distress call? To cover her tracks? Wouldn’t that just complicate things? I try to withhold judgement for now but stay on guard.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I begin, “I was wondering if now would be a good time…?”

“Why, whatever is the matter?” She looks almost worried and I realize the phrasing may have thrown her off.

“Oh no, ma’am. It’s nothing like that. I swear I’ll only need a moment of your time and then I’ll be on my way.”

The woman is silent for a second before she steps back and moves off to the side, beckoning me forward. “Then by all means, come in. You might catch a cold if you stand out there for too long, you know.”

I nod and oblige, stepping into the wooden cottage and looking it over. It’s simply furnished, with a bare kitchen table and counter on one end and a small living area and bed on the other. The fire crackles softly and casts the place in a warm glow.

The woman closes the door with a soft click and turns to face me, the smile still there. “So, you said something about questions.”

Something about her stance rubs me the wrong way but I try to remain civil.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s well…it’s pretty heavy news. Do you want to maybe have a seat or…?”

“Nono, dear. Here is fine.”

Something is…off.

“Alright then. Do you remember what happened about 3 weeks ago? When you were walking through the woods and you saw…Mr. Dawson.”

The woman frowns for a moment. “Yes, I…oh and it was such a horrible thing to happen to him too.”

Why. What’s wrong?

“Yeah, well…I’m sorry to have to say this but…ma’m, I’m here today because, well,” never an easy way to say this, “Based on our intel, there’s a chance that you may be a suspect.”

What’s wrong, it turns out is in fact the way the woman is standing. She’s tense, still leaning slightly to her right. Because, and I realize this far too late, her hand has been resting on the doorknob the whole time we were speaking.

And in that moment, a simple flex is all that it takes to warp the metal beyond recognition.

With a quick tug, the woman yanks the handle off the door completely and tosses it into the fire.

The two of us stand almost motionless for a while, sizing each other up, my thoughts racing. It’s her. It was her who did it.

…I need to stall for time.

“…why’d you do it, then? Why Mr. Dawson of all people?”

The woman just tilts her head to the side nonchalantly. “I was hungry, dear. And he was there. That’s all there is to it.”

“But why call the police after?”

“Oh, that wasn’t me. He must have sent one out while I was chasing him. But can you imagine my surprise when the cops showed up afterwards? I had to think quickly. And I’d say I played the part pretty well.” She smiles then. “I even fooled you.”

I take a step back as she approaches. “But he was a person. There has to be other alternative to drinking human blood, right? …or at least innocent blood?”

The woman shrugs at this. “Maybe. But that man’s blood tasted sweet.” She takes another casual step forward. “And I doubt yours tastes all that different.”

I have about half a second to realize what this means before she lunges and I just barely manage to dodge the blur before spinning around. She’s on me in a second and it’s all I can do to block her incoming claws with my knife, though the sheer force of the blow sends me flying into the dining table and effectively knocking the wind out of me. My vision blurs as my brain struggles to keep me awake and I roll out of the way as the blurry mess of fangs and claws lunges again.

She’s under the table now and as I try to crawl away to get some breathing room, something snags the back of my coat and starts dragging me backwards. I dig the knife into the floor and kick wildly between a few slurred out curses and after a few misses and kicks to the underside of the table, my shoes hit something soft and give me just enough time to shrug the coat off before it gets yanked backwards and I pull myself up.

Spinning around once more rewards me with the sight of the vampire currently writhing from under my coat. I hear her muffled hiss from beneath the fabric as she struggles, slashing blindly as she tries to find a way past the obstacle. The table is already more than fucked up thanks to our combined efforts and one sharp yank of a fractured table leg on my end is all that it takes to fell the damn thing like a tree. I hear a sharp crack as the already splintered wood breaks something but don’t dare waste a second.

My eyes frantically scan the interior of the cottage for some other way to escape. The door is a lost cause but…maybe I can take a lesson from Jax on this one. I hear shuffling behind me and run for the window, swinging at it with the newly acquired table leg and shielding my face from the resulting explosion of glass it causes before launching myself out the window and into the field. The grass cushions my fall but the broken glass cuts into my hands as I roll to cushion the fall, drawing blood.

Cursing, I rub the blood off as best as I can in the grass and run.

The pain and the cold slap some awareness back into me but I don’t get very far before a loud crash fills the night and the rushing wind is the only warning I get before something lands just a few inches from where I was just a few seconds prior. It’s the table. That bitch threw the whole ass fucking tab-

I’m knocked down before I even know what’s happening, the full weight of the woman now pressed against my back, effectively pinning me down. I can hear her breathing behind me, growing more and more frantic as she pulls back my collar and the cold chill of the night blows against the sweat on my skin and makes me shiver.

So, she noticed the blood then.

Shit.

For a moment, my brain decides the best course of action is to struggle helplessly against her but I know that won’t work here.

I need to wait.

Wait as the breathing draws closer.

Closer.

Closer.

As her breath washes over my neck and the air grows humid and she leans forward and-

With all the strength I can manage, I snap my head upwards and manage to successfully connect the blow. She’s stunned and it doesn’t take much to get her off of me. She’s holding her nose now, angry, drops of thick dark blood already starting to stain her pastel dress. She hisses and I grab her by the ears, pulling her to her feet before driving her head down in the same moment I bring a knee up. Her head snaps upwards and she’s out like a light before her body hits the ground.

But I’m not done yet.

I pull out the table leg and shove it into her chest.

And…it doesn’t do anything.

The wood is splintered, yes, but it’s not enough to pierce her flesh like I desperately need it to. Cursing to myself, I grab my knife with a shaky hand and start hacking away at the wood but it’s no use. The damn thing is curved on one end and too brittle on the other. And in the time I take to force the thing into a pathetic looking flat pyramid, the vampire already starts to stir.

I try to carve faster but it’s no use, my hands are far too shaky from the adrenaline and starting to sting too much for me to keep a good enough grip on either object to continue before the vampire opens her bright red eyes. She smiles to me as she slowly picks herself and calmly brushes herself off. She takes a moment to watch me try to whittle down the wood before slowly raising her hand to her ear. The action confuses me for a second but then I see her brush a finger against her earlobe and bring it over to her face, the digit now covered in blood.

My blood.

My hands are still bleeding and the stake is covered in it. The knife is covered in it.

The vampire presses the finger to her lips and almost delicately licks the blood off.

I’m running.

The knife is useless. The half formed stake is gone. My fucking coat is gone. I lost my hat at some point and I’m running as fast as I can. The cuts must have been deeper than I anticipated because my head is starting to feel funny. The world feels wrong and my hands hurt and hurt and bleed and hurt and

My feet lose their place from under me and the ground rises to meet me, giving me a gentle kiss and damn near breaking my nose. Head feels wrong. Vision feels wrong. Hands hurt and finally lifting one into my field of vision, I see something that just catches the pale light of the moon sticking out of it.

…it’s glass. There’s glass still in my hand.

How deep? I don’t know.

I try to drag myself forward with my other hand but I wasted too much time. The grass pressed to my face becomes air and then a pastel pink as something sharp pierces into my neck and I feel faint then fainter. My strength is leaving me as the pain in my neck grows, as the hand around my neck grows, as the fabric I’m pressed against becomes a wall and…

SHIT.

I kick out with my legs to get her off of me before immediately starting to backpedal away from her but once again, too little too late.

The vampire is growing. Blood is still flowing freely from my neck and I vaguely remember Jax saying something about vampire saliva. Something about…clots? Either way, I don’t think the wound will be closing for a while and as I continue to put as much distance as I can between the inflating parade balloon of a blood cover woman and myself, I just manage to undo my tie and clumsily try to wind it tightly around my neck, to at least attempt to stop the bleeding for now. I can get it looked at later.

Assuming I survive this.

The bigger that bitch gets, the smaller my chances of getting out of this become. I need a diversion. And soon.

I get to my feet and start running again, the woods thankfully closer now and though I trip a few times on the way, it becomes increasingly obvious as more time passes that this vampire wants to play. Fuck with me until every last drop of blood in my body waters the grass below.

Still, with no other option than to comply for the time being, I duck into the trees and keep running.

Branches hit my face as I run and occasionally the ground shakes below me as the vampire moves around, knocking me over again and again but still I push forward. She calls for me sometimes, her voice loud enough to carry over the treelines and send flocks of birds flying away in a panic.

I duck into a nearby cave and stay there. The steps are drawing closer but I take the time I need to collect my thoughts…and then I start taking my shirt off. The vampire is probably tracking me by scent like Jax did for her. So, by that logic, no blood equals no smell.

I carefully tend to my wounds as best as I can in the narrow window I have left, the ground already starting to tremble as I use the already soaked tie and some of the plants growing in the cave to wipe as much blood off of myself as I can. My shirt is bundled around my neck to slow down the blood flow while I work. I pull glass shards out of my hands and use some material I cut from my pants to wrap around them. Once I’m sure the makeshift bandages will hold, I undo the shirt brace and use more material from the pants to tightly wind around my neck.

That done, I pile up the blood stained clothes and set them up at the far end of the cave in a vague humanoid shape before leaving the same way I came and moving to hide behind the trees a fair distance away.

And a few minutes later she arrives, the cave tiny next to her overgrown shoes. I can’t see her head from here but then, I don’t need to to know that she’s smiling.

And from my new position, I can see her in all her glory, her dress now coved in blood, her neat hair now a mess and not to mention her size. She’s big, huge and yet…still smaller than Jax? Where trees were only slightly taller than Jax’s fingernails, they’re up to this vampire’s hips and…

It’s just…man, what the fuck are these vampires on?

She taps a foot next to the cave and I can feel the resulting tremors travel through me.

“I don’t have all day, dear. Why don’t you come out nice and quiet and I’ll make your death as quick as possible, hmm?”

When there’s no response, she just laughs. “Suit yourself then. I can wait.”

So she’s distracted now. I need a plan. I have…well I barely even have the clothes off my back anymore but I have a knife. And as I stare at the giant’s shoes, a half baked idea starts to form in my head. It won’t be long before the blood seeping through my neck becomes noticeable again and when it does, I doubt I can pull off another stunt like this.

So flight’s not an option.

And what does that leave?

I slowly get up and start creeping around the giant. The tops of the trees will cover me and I scan the forest floor below to make sure I don’t make a single sound as I move.

“How long do you think it takes for a human to bleed out, mouse? You might be surprised by the answer.”

I’m close now. To her leg. To her foot. To her heel.

“I’d give you about an hour or two tops.”

I creep forward, approaching the giant from behind now, knife clutched to my chest like a lifeline.

“Honestly, it will be less agonizing for both of us if you just show yourself now. Bleeding out is not a fun way to go. …or so I’ve heard.”

Close now, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her.

“Look, why don’t we make a deal? You walk out here right now and I’ll bite your head off. Clean and simple.”

I position the blade lengthwise over her heel, millimetres from her skin

“You won’t even feel it.”

And with a cry, I plunge the blade into her flesh, twisting and pulling and pushing again and again, the deep wound becoming deeper and deeper and deeper as the vampire screams and starts to kick and

Snap

I freeze, we both do. There’s more snapping as the now exposed tendon in her heel starts to pull apart from all the cuts I made until all at once it starts to tear and

…what was that saying again? The bigger they are, the harder they fall?

The tendon severs.

And this vampire falls.

And the force of her body plummeting towards the earth is more than enough for the tops of the trees below her to drive into her skin.

And straight through her heart.

The vampire hits the ground with enough force to blow me backwards and she thrashes around, screaming curses and obscenities until finally, finally, she goes still.

And in the silence that fills the once deafening space, I just stare at the blood soaked, cracked trees that now stick out of the vampire’s body as I breath in and out and in and out and try to will myself to calm down.

My bandages are soaked through with blood again, probably from the strain and increased blood circulation and the world swims in and out of focus as the adrenaline starts to fade and I finally let myself take a seat in the dirt.

…or I guess lie down? The view of trees is replaced by what little I can see of the night sky through the branches above. It’s cold out tonight and I can feel the chill in my bones, what little protection I had to ward it off long gone.

But…I did it.

The murderer is dead. And I, at least for the time being, am alive.

There’s not much I can do with an hour or 2 hours or whatever amount of time I actually have left but for now, I just stare up at the stars through the dancing leaves.

…

It’s peaceful here.

-

I don’t know how much time has passed or what day it is or even where I am but the ground shakes something awful and my head hurts and I can’t see much in front of me and I don’t want this and then all at once, it stops and what looks like something familiar covers whatever I was looking at before. Red warns me and what feels like gale force winds wash over and over and over me but I stay where I am. I can’t move anyway and there’s this…pressure now. A gentle force pressing into me and lifting me higher than the treelines and the ground is air is something soft and

“…somewhere…safe…” I just manage to catch the world telling me and in that moment, I can’t help but agree.

-

It’s night and Jax is right next to me, his fingers laced in mine as we walk from one shop to the next, the silence comfortable.

I was released from the hospital about a week ago with strict orders to rest for at least the next two months before doing anything too strenuous again, though some light exercise every now and then wouldn’t hurt.

Apparently, though frantic as he was to bring me to the hospital before I dropped dead, Jax still had to stand outside and wait for the receptionist to notice him and invite him into the building before he could even admit me in. The image still makes me smile.

The vampire I killed was ash in the sun by the time a cleanup crew arrived and the investigation is now considered to be closed. Just another murderous vampire dead by the hands of a hunter. Open and shut.

Though there’s one thing I still don’t understand.

Jax.

I’ve asked him a few times how he managed to find his way across the river to reach me in time but he usually just changes the subject the moment I bring it up, almost like the incident embarrasses him.

Still, our walk is peaceful as we round a corner and pass a still open café.

Peaceful, that is, until I look into the shop window and almost stop dead in my tracks when the headlines of the paper a man at the window is reading draws my attention.

MASS OF LAND REPORTED MISSING SEEMINGLY RETURNS THE NEXT DAY

I open and close my mouth a few times before turning to the man in question. “Jax?”

He’s distracted by something off in the distance but turns to me after a moment. “Yeah, M?”

Instead of saying anything more, I just point at the newspaper through the window and once he sees what I’m pointing at, he goes pale, coughs awkwardly into his free hand and then starts pulling me along to the next shop as quickly as he can.

#writeblr #original writing #original story #vampire #vampire au #Jax and Mia #ocs #the rooster crows

[sassyshoulderangel319]

Character A: Come on, babydoll…

Character B: Call me babydoll again and I’ll slit your throat.

Character A: I’ll like it. 😉

Character B: Not how I’m going to do it.

Character A: And how are you going to do it?

Character B: If I told you it would take all the fun out of when it happens later.

Character A: You mean “if” it happens.

Character B: Well your luck hasn’t been too stellar of late.

#writing #writing prompt #in my head these two are ages-old vampires just being petty #writing prompts #writer #writeblr #excerpt from a book i'll never write #so I’m giving it to the void #Parker posts

[gisellelx]

First of all: I love your blog so much!! What I wanted to ask is what your thoughts on jealously in the Cullen family are. We all know about Edward, Rose, Emmet... but what about Esme and Carlisle for example. They always seem to be so "in control", well, at least around others, but they are vampires too after all, soooo.... what do think about jealousy or possessiveness when it comes to these two? (Sorry if you answered this kind of question before)

Aww thanks. I confess I remain confused about what exists to love about my blog specifically especially since there are definitely people with more interesting hot takes and certainly much bigger Twilight tumblrs out there. I made this tumblr ages ago because it was a way that fic authors were spending more time with their fellow writers and their readers at that time (circa 2009) and that's still kind of how I view it. I'm glad you enjoy hanging out in my little corner; you're welcome anytime. Ah jealousy at the head of the Cullen household. This is one of the ways in which I think there's a good likelihood that they have grown the most. As I read things, Carlisle and Esme have the largest emotional capacity of anyone in that household. Some of that is just straight up physical--a 23-year-old is much further along in the development of his frontal lobe than is a 20-year-old and certainly than is a 17-year-old. And a 26-year-old is a woman, full stop. Their relationship has its frailties--I absolutely think there are some trigger points which, if detonated, can bring their marriage to its knees--but they don't get jealous about petty things. They have the greatest ability to fight with each other which means that they can get over things faster than the other couples. If Carlisle takes Esme to a hospital gala and she is accidentally charming his colleagues a bit too much, he'll whisk her away. She'll accuse him laughingly of being jealous; he'll insist he absolutely is not; she'll poke a little harder and more earnestly; he'll admit that he feels insecure about being perceived as young and new. They get to the root of things very quickly and nothing manages to fester very long except in unusual circumstances.

What I think they are often jealous of are not other people so much as each other's time. By this time, Esme has full on accepted that Carlisle is so much more than a mere workaholic; even in the scant handful of windows we get in canon, we see him repeatedly endanger his family in order to work. Working is not a passion for him; it is the thing which sustains his existence. I suspect he regularly works so intently that he loses track of time and fails to come home for several days. But when she needs his company, it hurts that he's not there. Conversely, Carlisle has come to expect that Esme will always be there when he needs her, because he's usually the absent one. I have a loosely held headcanon which comes up on the ol' sideblog from time to time that she once took on a very prestigious architectural job which kept her onsite for a few weeks, and he was despondent. The "shoe on the other foot" was good for their relationship. When Esme is busy, Carlisle's pretty upset and he's not good at dealing with it because he's unpracticed at it. Those are the times that Edward steps in when he's able. And of course both of them are jealous of the other‘s relationship with Edward. Carlisle is envious that Esme and Edward share the bond of having been turned by him, however negatively that manifests at times and he resents how easily Edward accepts Esme's affection. Esme, though she'd never admit it, is resentful of the fact that Carlisle turned Edward first and is always comparing their close friendship to her marriage. So jealousy in the sense of, "Oh she was flirtatious with another man and now I'm going to be butthurt about it" nah, that's not their modus operandi. But "harboring deep-seated anxieties we're projecting onto each other and not taking the other at their word that those fears are unfounded?"

That is absolutely the Carlesme style.

#carlisle cullen #esme cullen #cullen family dynamics #asks #my meta #meta

[buckysgoldenheart]

Watching You

Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: Walter did not like to waste time on stupid things, and being asked by some young troublemaker to start following an ex-girlfriend around fell under that category. At least, it did, until he found out just who the ex-girlfriend was.

Words:  2334

Warnings: Cursing. Slight smut. Not Edited or anything of the sort, so expect little!

Note: This is just something I had saved that I thought I’d post while I finish up the Vampire Henry Series (Unexpectedly Bitten). I plan to post the rest of that fic all at once, most likely this weekend. As always, comments are appreciated :)

What a no-good loser. That’s what Walter thought the second Jimmy Masters walked through the front door of his office on a Saturday evening. He was a good six inches shorter than Walter, much scrawnier, ten years younger at least, and in desperate need of a haircut. He was the kind of kid Walter hated, the kind of kid that had probably seen the inside of a jailcell for a night or two for some stupid, petty crime, yet refused to learn his lesson.

Walter’s eyebrow arched in disinterest and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed as a coworker led the kid inside.

“We think this falls in your area, Marshall.”

Walter had only nodded and told the boy to sit to explain his reason for interrupting the first moment of peace in the day.

“I got a friend who says detectives know how to follow people real well,” Jimmy said, his voice an aggravating tone that Walter already couldn’t stand.

Walter cleared his throat. “Your friend is rather astute.”

“What?”

The detective blew out a breath, exhausted after speaking with the kid for less than a minute. “Just tell me what you want.” And when Jimmy was done with his pitch, Walter said with a sigh, “You want me to follow a girl that clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

“No, man. She loves me. She does. She’s just confused right now, and I gotta make sure there’s no other guy, ya know? I don’t want her messing around. It’s disrespectful.”

Walter heaved out another long sigh, rubbing at his temples. “But she’s your ex-girlfriend.”

Jimmy shook his head, his shaggy, dusty-blond hair swaying vigorously with the motion. “That’s temporary.”

Snorting, Walter sat up in his chair. “Sure it is. Look, you think maybe she just isn’t interested anymore?”

“Hey, I’m not here for additional commentary. Can you help me or not?”

“From what you’ve said, she’s not breaking any laws, she’s not a danger to herself or others, so I have no reason to—”

“Please, man. Please,” Jimmy said, putting his palms together in lame prayer. Walter was sure this boy hadn’t prayed to anything in his entire life. “I’ll never step foot in here again if you help me out just this once.”

Walter eyed the kid, trying to weight the pros and cons of wasting his time on something so inane, but if it got the little, blond twit to go away, then he figured there were worse things. It had been a slow week as it was. He groaned and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. “Fine. What’s her name?”

------------------------------------------------------

“Walter,” You said, trying to hold back any emotion in your voice as you moved aside to let him pass the threshold into your small apartment. As habit had it, you were much happier to see him than you wished. Walter always had a way of lighting your every nerve on fire from just your bodies being in the same room. You couldn’t help wanting him, missing him, but you hid it well.

As he walked in, his body trailed the outside chill behind, sending a shiver down your spine. Then he pulled the beanie you’d bought him off his head and turned to face you. Though the irritated look on his face was not an uncommon one, you didn’t appreciate it directed at you.

You crossed your arms. “Well?” Walter hung around quite often until you had asked him to quit it, and though he didn’t usually listen to you--putting his own concerns above your wishes--you knew he held a respect for you that made him at least try to keep his distance. If he was stopping by now…well, it could only bring you trouble, but not seeing his face in so long had you more lenient.

“Why is some punk walking into my precinct and asking me to follow you?”

Your eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. How many punks could you possibly have hanging around?”

Being a decade older, Walter often made you laugh at his distaste for younger adults. You were the one exception, he’d always said, but all others were ‘punks.’ He feared the day Faye had to deal with boys your age, if she were ever so unlucky. “You met Jimmy?”

His fists kept clenching and unclenching, his shoulders somehow broadened, and the frown on his face made his eyebrows pinch and dip deep. “This idiot is really attached to you, Y/N.”

The more he spoke, the more you realized that ‘irritated’ may have been too sweet a word for what Walter really was. “He just doesn’t like his ego being bruised.”

Walter shrugged off his winter coat and tossed it on the couch as if it was still normal for him to do so, then ran a hand through the dark, messy curls you always loved. “Why the hell are you messing around with a--?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not messing around with him anymore.”

“Well, he seems to think it’s temporary.”

“It’s not.”

Crossing his arms, Walter shook his head like a disappointed parent would at their bratty, misbehaving child; the way you’d seen him look at Faye every time he found out she was spending too much time on social media. “Stay away from this guy, alright?”

“You would tell me to stay away from any guy,” You mumbled to yourself with a snort.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not give me attitude,” He snapped back. “You’re not being safe! If you were, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation!"

Instantly, your shoulders stooped and the same old headache began to form. “Not this again, Walt. According to you I’m never safe unless I’m in your line of sight.”

“Yes!” He yelled, stomping your way, stopping just short of ramming his body through yours. “Now if only you could stay in it!”

“You can’t have eyes on me all day every day.”

“The hell I can’t!”

“You promised, Walter.” You let out a small whine. “I told you it was too hard for me to keep seeing you around wherever I went, and you promised you would stop watching me.” You wished it didn’t have to be that way. You wished seeing his face didn’t bring on such a potent punch of pain, but it did. Every single day when you left your apartment, you saw him standing by his car, a coffee cup in hand, unashamedly watching you like some creep. Eventually, you stopped looking in the direction you knew he would be, hoping you may forget he was there at all, but you always felt his eyes on you; such a strong stare, he might as well have been touching you. But you couldn’t take it. Months of your every move being tracked by the man you loved but couldn’t have was taking its toll, and so you begged him to leave you alone, to give you some relief.

“I did stop, and what happened? Barely a month after I made that stupid promise, some dumb, obsessed kid comes asking me to stalk you.”

You leaned back against the wall, growing more exhausted by the minute. “Well, with all the past practice you’ve had watching my every move, I’d say he was rather smart to pick you of all people. Shitty coincidence that he would though, since now I’m getting lectured.”

“I am not lecturing you.”

“Fine, but whatever this is you’re doing here, you’re out of line. My business is not your business anymore. It hasn’t been your business for the last five months.”

“Your little boyfriend came to me,” He said, pointing a finger at his chest, “so yes, it is my bus--”

“It is not!” You bit back. “You could’ve turned him away. You could’ve told him not to follow me around unless he was itching to get a restraining order, but you didn’t, did you? You took this opportunity to check up on me. Again!”

He stepped back, looking as if you had slapped him. His aggressive, guarded barrier of emotions cracked, and you could see the vulnerability he hadn’t shown since your relationship ended.

“Walter” You sighed, “You’re the one who stepped back. You’re the one who said it would be best if we weren’t in a relationship. You said I was a distraction and—”

“I said you’d be at risk, not that you’re a distraction.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Damn it, Y/N, it does! I only did it because I love you!” He said without hesitation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know that!”

You blinked. “No, I did not know that! You seriously broke up with me because you love me? That’s ridiculous.”

“I broke up with you to keep you safe, but I clearly suffered for nothing seeing as you put yourself in unsafe situations even without my association.”

You wanted to believe him, so bad, but people don’t leave behind the ones they love. After all, you loved him and the thought of leaving him made you nauseous, even now. When you were together, he may have appeared in love, but after a year he still hadn’t told you and you knew you’d let yourself get a little too hopeful. If you were honest with yourself, him breaking up with you was not as much of a shock as it should’ve been. But as you looked at him now, you could see that he truly believed you already knew.

“It doesn’t make sense that you would do that,” You said. “People don’t just break up with someone they love.”

“Fuck, Y/N, did I ever seem unhappy with you? Did I ever come across like I didn’t want you every second of every day? My every other thought was of you,” He said loudly, like a rant, and you were having a hard time figuring out who he was mad at. “So don’t try to tell me how I felt, and feel now. I still love you and that’s not going to change, but I can’t have criminals, murderers even, coming after you because they are pissed at me for hunting them down or having a case against them. It would take nothing for the average officer or detective to figure out that you and I were together even if we were hiding it. How hard do you think it would be for some psychopath?”

You hadn’t realized a tear slipped down your cheek until you tasted it at the corner of your lips. It was salty but somehow bitter and left a thick burning path along your skin. You quickly wiped it away. “Why didn’t you tell me this months ago?”

“Because, stubborn as you are, you wouldn’t have listened. You would have told me it didn’t matter.” He fell backwards onto the couch, closing his eyes and letting out a groan. “I try to do the right thing. I try to protect you, thinking everything will be fine as long as no one can link you to me, but I can’t…stay away.” His eyes met yours. “And then you beg me to, and it’s excruciating to obey. When I was able to watch over you, it reminded me that I did the right thing. You were safe and I could constantly be reassured of that.”

You walked over to him, your heart thumping with every step, then sat on your knees in front of him, placing your hand atop his own resting on his thigh. His other hand reached for your face and his fingers softly grazed your cheek before they tucked some hair behind your ear. “Walt—”

“That kid…Jimmy,” Walter interrupted as he began tracing the back of your hand with his thumb. “He thinks you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not.”

“You swear?”

“Of course, Walt. I told you--”

“I know,” He said with a single nod of his head. “I know. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep now.”

You rested your cheek on the inner side of his knee and said, “You could sleep here.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bit your lip nervously. You couldn’t even dare to count how many times you’d had sex during the course of your relationship, but now, asking him not to leave made your pulse thrum in your ears.

He leaned forward and looked down at you. “Because I don’t think I can say no to you.”

“Then why would you bother trying,” You whispered without a second thought and slowly inched up on your knees so you could connect your lips with his.

It lasted only a second or two before he broke the kiss, grabbed you by the arm, and yanked you onto his lap. His grip at the back of your neck pulled your mouth to his as your hand slipped between your bodies and quickly started to undo his belt buckle.

“God, baby,” Walter groaned against your lips when you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock and released it from his jeans. He pulled the ratty, old t-shirt of his over your shoulders and softly settled his hands on your hips. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…missed these,” He said, placing a kiss on one bare breast, then the other. “I missed you, so much.” He placed his lips to the curve of your neck, then met your eyes. “I miss you every fucking day.”

You kissed his forehead, and his arms tightened around you as you lifted your hips and sank down onto him. “I missed you too, Walter,” You said, but the words melted somewhere within the mix of your moans and his groans.

------------------

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[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (4/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | AO3 | 5.8k words

A/N: Happy Labor Day, friends! (If you’re in a place that celebrates it) (if not, then Happy Monday!) It took me a bit to figure out where this chapter would end and the next one would start but I finally got it, so here we are! This chapter is a bit more lore/world-building than CS, but it features Zelena and Belle, who are a lot of fun to write. Hope you enjoy it! Eternal thanks, as always, to @optomisticgirl​​​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​​​ for her amazing art (THIS ONE IS SO COOL OMG); and to @kmomof4​​​ and @cssns​​​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

have some OBC—and check out that sweet late ‘50s choreography!

part four: you got some high times ahead

Perhaps if Killian was less of a romantic, less dramatically inclined, he would have remembered the best way to get to Granny’s without being noticed by David would have been to stay on the rooftops. As it was, he had to sprint several blocks in the other direction after bidding Emma adieu to ensure her father didn’t catch him in the neighborhood when he hardly had a reason to be there.

Who knew that, at 270, he’d be sneaking out of his girlfriend’s place to avoid her parents? He hadn’t even done that at 27. (Also, who thought that, at 270, he’d actually be using the term ‘girlfriend’? Was it too soon for that? Was it immature? Did he care? No.)

But, thanks to his superior age and therefore speed, it was no challenge to detour all the way to Hudson Yard and take in a bit of sea air before heading back into the city, eventually hopping across apartment buildings to better avoid being seen, and landing gracefully in Granny’s back alley. He was late, but he didn’t have it in him to care much.

He didn’t want to let his friends down, though, so he didn’t hesitate to slip in through the rear door of the diner. Frankly, that entrance got just as much use as the one on the street did; not only was Granny’s a neutral site as far as vampire gang warfare went, it was something of a liminal space in the middle of the rush of the city: how many 24-hour diners catered to the tastes of all manner of nonhumans? Fae conducted business here on the regular, Bigfoot was known to make the occasional appearance when he was down from the Adirondacks, and the owner herself was a werewolf.

The woman in question gave him an appropriately feral grin as he entered the dining room; normally, he’d take the time to flirt, but the meeting had clearly started without him. Robin and David were seated on opposite sides of a small table, with their teammates around them—Henry and Will, another younger vampire (well, comparatively) were with Robin, and David was backed by that Graham guy, Jefferson the weird milliner, and Zelena, who he knew was close with Cora (and had been plain annoying as far back as he could remember).

“Switchblades?” Robin said; they’d clearly made some decisions without him. That might make it a bit harder for Killian to quash this.

“No; swords?” David countered.

“Daggers?”

“Stakes?”

“Icicles of holy water,” Killian interjected into their back and forth, somehow making them jump. “Sharpened stems of garlic. How many cliches can we hit on here?”

Robin looked appropriately chastised, but David just glared.

“What did I miss?” he asked Robin, but David answered for him.

“Rumble, tomorrow, same time as now. Under the highway. Winner gets control of territory between 42nd and 43rd. We were just deciding weapons.”

“Are you all mad?” he blurted out. “That’s a fine way to draw the attention of half the NYPD and blow the entire supernatural world’s cover. You may as well take out a billboard in Times Square.”

The ensuing silence told him they knew he was right. But he could tell tensions were too high for him to convince them to call it off entirely; he could at the very least minimize the potential damage. 

“Back in my day,” he started, immediately ignoring the huff of frustration from Will, who had been subjected to any number of such stories in the past 30 years, “we settled these disputes one-on-one. A duel, if you would. I see no reason why such a tradition has to die.”

Again, he was met with silence; he took the lack of protest as agreement.

“One on one,” he continued. “The most evenly matched from both sides fight it out until blood is drawn. No weapons, no teeth.”

Jefferson looked incensed at the idea, and he could tell Will was angrily shifting behind him. If they wanted to duke it out, they could do that on their own; Killian’s days of fighting were well behind him and the sooner this was over, the better.

“I can agree to that,” David eventually said.

“Aye,” Robin replied, and they shook on it.

Graham stepped from behind David and pointed at Killian. “I’m going to enjoy drawing your blood, mate,” he threatened.

Emma hadn’t mentioned it, but he’d gotten the impression that Graham was the preferred suitor. But frankly, he found him irritating. “Oh? Are you 250 years old?”

“No; 160,” he answered, slightly deflated (which gave Killian a tiny, immature thrill).

“Then I believe you’re perfectly matched with Robin here; he’s 168.” He slapped Robin on the shoulder for emphasis.

Robin stood and inserted his hand between Killian and Graham. “Looking forward to it,” he bit out.

Slightly bewildered, Graham accepted Robin’s hand, but was still glaring at Killian. 

They verified the details, gave it one last shake, and then Coroza was quick to leave. Which was just as well; Killian didn’t need any daggers, real or metaphorical, shooting in his back while he was drinking.

The four of them congregated at the counter and were promptly greeted by Granny. “That smelled like trouble,” the old wolf stated plainly, but leveled a too-sharp eye on all of them. “Should I be worried?”

“Your establishment is perfectly safe, milady,” Robin assured her. “You know we’d never dare risk the loss of your hospitality.” Though the mortals were somehow unaware of the fact, she’d been running some sort of eating establishment in the same spot as far back as Killian could remember, though back then it was a public house and she was merely the Young Mrs. Lucas (the title of ‘Granny’ didn’t come for another century). Not only was it neutral ground, but it was too beloved for any one group to let it fall into any crosshairs.

“Damn straight,” she grumbled back, then got their drink orders ready.

Henry and Will quickly fell into conversation, so Killian turned to Robin. “Why wasn’t Regina here?” He’d fully expected it, given that she’d been part of this for...well, ever.

“She decided to sit this one out. Figured it didn’t make for good negotiation if Nolan was involved.”

“Good call.” But then a pang went through his unbeating heart at the recollection of what Emma had been telling him—about why she grew up an orphan, and who was to blame. He’d known Regina quite well by that point in time, and had no idea why she’d attack a couple like that—especially all the way in Maine. It didn’t add up.

But then, how much of this petty rivalry did?

Robin went on, not noticing Killian’s discomfort. “Aye, especially with Zelena there. You know how they are.” The rivalry seemed especially bitter between those two for reasons that Killian had yet to glean. 

Granny gracefully distributed their drinks in a feat of dexterity that was obviously superhuman, and they clinked a toast—though if Killian’s was less than enthusiastic, the others didn’t notice.

They continued to chat about whatever—the Yankees, the Mets, Liverpool FC (three of the four of them were Brits, after all, even if two of them predated the club), construction at Hudson Yard—until Killian noticed that Henry had given up trying to down the god-awful blood-spiked beer Will had foisted on him (the man had been a punk in the ‘80s when he was turned and never quite grew out of some tastes), and was instead staring longingly at another patron’s burger. Killian hadn’t had a chance to assess just how recently Henry had been turned, but that confirmed it was a very new thing; it took surprisingly little time to forget a taste for mortal delicacy.

He leaned over and whispered to Henry, “If you ask nice, Granny will make one extra rare for you.” Henry jumped again, clearly still getting used to his new senses, but perked up at the idea. 

“So fresh, you can still hear it moo,” the old wolf commented from behind the counter. The hungry grin that accompanied it would probably be unsettling to most, but Killian had known her far too long to see anything but good humor (and more than a smidge of flirtation) in it. 

“Ah, a quiet meal,” he quipped back. “Most of mine tend to be rather...talkative.” The group shared a chuckle; perhaps that joke was a bit dark, but when you could only go out at night, that tended to happen.

Unfortunately for Henry, he didn’t get a chance to try the meal before Will was dragging him out (something about videogames, apparently; that was one trend Killian had never much caught onto). Robin followed shortly, heading for for Regina’s, leaving Killian alone at the counter with Granny.

“You know that battle’s not gonna be the end of it, right?” she said as she placed another shot of bloodrum in front of him and poured one of her own.

“Aye, but it can’t hurt to try.”

“No, I suppose it can’t.” She held her glass up to him; he clinked his against it and they downed the shots together. But she continued after they swallowed. “You do know about the prophecy, though, right?”

He looked up in surprise. “The what?”

“I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard it’s the only way to settle things once and for all. If you really want to end this rivalry, you’re gonna have to go to the top.”

He wanted to ask more, but she wouldn’t go into further detail, instead going to serve a pixie at the other end of the bar. He racked his brain; he couldn’t recall ever hearing anything about a prophecy, and few had been around as long as he had. Hmm; perhaps he had a visit to make later. 

But first: Granny had left the bottle of rum on the counter, and he needed a few more shots before he could truly unwind from what had been a tumultuous night. 

Before he did that, however, he did dig out his phone to call Gold and appraise him of the situation. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t mean much to the man—given that neither he nor Cora were involved, it might not even be official—but still, he should know.

To Killian’s surprise, he took the news in stride. “Fair’s fair; if that’s what everyone agrees on, I’m fine with that, and I’m sure Cora will hold up her end of it, too.” Killian was less convinced of that but if Gold was, he wouldn’t argue. “Extend my best wishes to Mr. Locksley, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Actually…” It was probably stupid, but Killian needed to know. “Sir, are you aware of a prophecy?”

The other end of the line was so silent, he feared they’d been disconnected, until Gold’s voice returned with a hard edge in it. “Where did you hear that?”

“Just a rumor,” Killian lied; it was easy to over phone. “I’ve only heard of its existence, but not what it’s about. Do you—”

Gold cut him off. “Whether or not a prophecy exists is of no concern of yours. Just make sure Locksley wins that fight.” And then the line truly went dead.

Killian stared at his phone in confusion for a moment; just what had that been? Gold didn’t just sound angry; he almost sounded scared.

Which meant that whatever was in that prophecy, it was important—and if Killian wanted to put an end to all this, and ensure he and Emma had a chance at a life together, he needed to find out what.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Emma had just gotten out of a (rather long) shower when her dad and the crew arrived back at their place. Not that their townhouse was any sort of official Coroza hangout; the Nolans were just the most hospitable—something to do with David growing up on a Midwestern farm—and always keen to invite people over.

Either the meeting hadn’t been that long, or she’d been bathing for a while—both were likely, because she’d taken her time in making sure Killian’s scent was washed off of her. It’d be noticeable, especially if they’d just been in his presence. 

Right after she’d gotten out, before she’d even gotten dressed, she had gone to text him to ask how things went—until she realized she still didn’t have his phone number. Dammit. But the voices she could easily hear in the lower level of the house would tell her everything.

She was a little surprised to see that Jefferson had joined them; he was something of a loner, even though he’d been around for a couple hundred years and was reasonably close to Cora. 

Closer still to Cora, though, was Zelena, who was sipping a glass of bloodwine off to the side of where the guys were gathered on the sofa in the living room. She always seemed to pop up out of nowhere; honestly, it would creep Emma out if she didn’t know that she was one of the oldest vampires in town.

“Emma! There you are.” Emma jumped at the frantic way Snow blurted the greeting, and had to rely on her superhuman reflexes to grab the wine glass that was shoved at her (honestly, if she’d been able to react at even a fraction of this speed when she was alive, maybe she’d have lived up to her last name). “It’s drinking time.”

“Did the meeting go that bad?” she asked, watching as her mom took a long drag from her own glass.

“Actually, it was rather refreshing,” Zelena said drily. “Historically, at least one person ends up dead in these sorts of things. And I really didn’t feel like washing blood from this blouse tonight.”

Snow just took another long, panicked drink. Zelena was never known for her tact (although Emma did have to agree that her green v-neck was gorgeous).

“So what did happen?” Emma had never been that great an actor, so hopefully her feigned indifference was convincing.

Zelena caught her up on the plan—a one-on-one fight rather than an all-out brawl. It was still more than Emma would have liked but certainly not as bad as it could have been. 

“It was headed that way,” Zelena responded to her comment, “except for Jones apparently being the only one with any brain cells still alive in Aurum.”

“Jones?” she blurted, unable to hold back at mention of Killian. Shit.

But thankfully, they read it as confusion; being one of the youngest vampires in the coven had its perks. “He’s the one you were dancing with,” Snow murmured.

“Oh,” she said, pretending to be ignorant (and that she didn’t know what his kiss tasted like).

“It was his idea for single combat. Makes me wish we had a soldier on our side—or just, you know, anyone with any sort of battle strategy. Humbert here was ready to tear his head off at the suggestion, even though it was a good one.”

“Are they the ones fighting?” Emma had to ask; it was the one time she’d let her mom think she was showing concern for Graham.

“Humbert is, but he’s facing...oh, what’s his name—Robert? Robbie? Something like that.”

It took effort not to look too relieved, so she hid her reaction in her drink. 

“I’m just glad it’s not David,” Snow said, having emptied her glass. 

“Then why are you drinking so much?” Zelena sneered.

“Because this was my night to get drunk! Aurum can’t take that from me.” And without another word, Snow disappeared back to the kitchen; Emma was pretty sure she heard the liquor cabinet open, where she was pretty sure a bottle of sanguiria was hiding.

Which left a slightly awkward silence over Emma and Zelena while the boys continued to lecture Graham on fighting (what good would that even do at this point? How had he not made it a century and half without knowing these things?) She rolled her eyes at them. “At least this’ll be the end of it, right?”

“We’ll see,” Zelena answered and took another sip. “I don’t see how something dating back 400 years will be settled by two assholes in a parking lot, but they can certainly try.”

“This rivalry seriously goes back that far?” She’d been told vague stories of the bad blood between the covens, but they all started with cliches like “many moons ago” and “once upon a time.”

“Ugh, I swear—we need to make this part of new vampire orientation or something,” Zelena complained. “Cora and Gold used to be lovers; he’s the one who turned her.”

“Holy shit.” Emma had not seen that coming. She’d have believed it if one of them had killed the other’s family or something—and Killian’s story wasn’t far from her mind—but actually lovers? “They must have had the worst breakup ever, then.”

“Something like that,” Zelena confirmed. “Gold—or Rumplestiltskin, as he was known back then—” (which was a revelation all on its own—) “meddled with Cora’s family in a way that was unforgivable. He took one of her daughters.” 

“Cora had daughters?” God, how many bomb revelations were going to be dropped on her tonight? (And was separating kids from their parents just an Aurum thing or what?)

“Two. And you’re talking to one of them.”

Emma’s dropped jaw had to suffice as a reply to that. Hopefully, her mom had saved her some sanguiria. “Wait—so he...did he...you…?”

“Did he turn me? No; I practically begged Mum to once I got of age. But Gold stole my sister and that caused the rift, among other things. So I really don’t see this little kerfuffle solving anything.”

There wasn’t much to say to that other than hum in agreement; no wonder things got so heated. Emma still thought it was silly, but having a frame of reference helped. She didn’t know if that made her predicament easier to deal with or harder, though.

“And it’s too bad, really,” Zelena continued. “I’d love to see my sister again, and then you could be with Killian.”

For the first time in 15 years, Emma choked on blood. “Um, what?”

“Darling, I’m 383 years old; you’re probably safe from anyone else here noticing, but I can still smell him all over you; he positively reeked earlier. And I hardly blame you. Frankly, you two might be our only hope.” Emma really wanted to ask what that meant, but was too busy mentally panicking and praying no one else heard this exchange. “Don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me,” Zelena promised, handing Emma her now-empty glass. “Just don’t be an idiot about it, alright?”

“All—alright,” Emma stammered.

“Good. Well, I’m off,” she said casually—and much louder; Emma hadn’t even realized they’d been whispering. “Good luck tomorrow, everyone,” she called as she headed for the door, but her eyes were locked with Emma’s before she made her exit.

Quickly, Emma finished her wine—just in time for Snow to refill it (with some claret; honestly, she didn’t care what it was as long as it had blood and alcohol. She would have settled for finding a drunk frat boy outside a party if that was what it took). That was...a lot to unpack in one night, and she had never been very good at that—side effect of being a foster kid. 

She wondered how much of it Killian knew; he had to know at least some of it, right? And what had Zelena been talking about—how were they the “only hope”? (What was this, Star Wars?) She didn’t want to be any sort of savior; she just wanted to jump her vampire boyfriend’s bones without causing a gang war. And, you know, the happily ever after stuff her mom was always talking about.

The two of them wordlessly continued to share the bottle of booze and stare out the window as the sun’s early rays started to brighten the buildings across the street. At some point, Jefferson and Graham had left, which helped Emma relax but didn’t remove the tension.

Outside, the moon was starting its morning fade; she’d be counting the hours until it made its evening appearance—‘til she could see Killian again.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian only just made it into the library before the full sun was shining on the entrance. He’d have to steal an umbrella or something when he left, but with any luck, it would rain like it was supposed to this afternoon and he’d be fine. 

He loved the library—the scent of ink on paper, the quiet hush of knowledge being shared, the occasional squeal of joy—but all was quiet and still at this early hour, especially since they weren’t technically open. (But he knew which door was usually unlocked, and if he didn’t show up on any security camera, then what was the harm?)

He would have loved to linger in the stacks, and might yet later, but he was on a mission, and instead made a beeline for the rare book collection and archives—the one place without windows, where a vampire could actually work in peace.

He made little noise as he pressed the heavy door open and stepped inside the musty room. It was pristine—not even a dust mote swirling in the lights.

“Unless you’ve somehow managed to make an everything bagel with blood, we’re not open,” the petite librarian called out from somewhere in the recesses of the space. Of course she heard him.

“I was never much of a baker, love,” he replied. “But how about some bloody earl grey?”

He’d only just moved his arm to the side, ensuring the safety of said tea, when a small but solid form was wrapped around him tightly. A few seconds later, it was slapping his chest.

“Killian Jones, you fils de pute! You didn’t tell me you were coming back!” Belle chastised, even though she was grinning.

“What, and ruin the surprise?”

She rolled her eyes, but chuckled. “Merde, but it’s good to see you,” she said, pressing up the few inches her heels didn’t cover to press a kiss to his cheek. “And you, too,” she added, but this time directed towards the tea. There was exactly one Starbucks in the city that catered specifically to vampires, just a couple blocks from here; hopefully, corporate never investigated the contents of the extra “red syrup” the undead staff kept stocked, though considering neither the location nor staff had changed in at least 15 years, they were likely in the clear.

“Why do I get the impression this is more than just a social call?” 

She knew him too well; he supposed that was to be expected after 150 years. “Perhaps I just came here to help one of my best friends; had you considered that, eh? What are you up to today?”

“Digitizing, as always, and I think there’s an appointment later to see some old Broadway posters. And whatever it is that’s brought you here, obviously.”

“You wound me.”

She glared at him as she took a sip from her cup—surprisingly menacing for one so seemingly docile, but it was also hard to believe that the dainty woman before him was a 200-some-year-old creature of the night. (Though it certainly took that amount of practice to run around a library in platform heels the way she did.) “Just what are you up to, Captain?”

He took his own drag of tea as he studied the aging leather spines in a glass-locked cabinet on the closest shelf, noting that the two of them were both likely older than the tomes, and yet showed no such signs of wear and tear. “It’s not anything hugely important, just a bit of gossip I heard, but figured you would be the one to confirm or deny it.”

“And what’s that?”

“With this whole ageless coven war, have you ever heard of any sort of...prophecy?”

He turned his head to look at her; were it not for the way she licked the tea off her lips, he’d think she was a statue. “Where did you hear that?” she finally murmured.

“Granny.” He couldn’t lie, and Belle wouldn’t judge.

“Yeah, she’d pick up something like that,” Belle had to admit. “Sharp old wolf.”

“So it’s real?”

Belle nodded. “It is, but no one’s said anything about it in...gosh, at least a hundred years. It goes back ages, though; I believe to the start of all this.”

“Does it say anything about how to end it?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it does. But let me finish my tea first.”

He truly had come to see her—not just for information; they’d first crossed paths sometime during the 1860s in Australia and been fast friends ever since. Killian couldn’t even remember what Gold had sent him there for, but Belle had come back to New York with him on one of his trips and stayed in the city ever since. She was originally from France, but after being turned (and losing her family) during the Reign of Terror, she fled the continent for England and hopped on the first ship out of Europe—to a penal colony on the other side of the world. Thus her odd combination of French curses and Australian accent. (Though after long enough, most vampires developed hard-to-place accents on account of their nomadicity; his likely only identified him as British due to his recent time spent there. And it hardly mattered in New York.)

She caught him up on anything he’d missed in the last decade that Robin hadn’t already, but didn’t betray the one thing he’d been hoping she’d mention: whether or not she was currently with Gold. He kind of hated how well they’d hit it off when he introduced them, but in the intervening decades, he’d lost count of how many times they’d broken up, made up, married, divorced, or just been “on a break” (it wasn’t a stretch to say they were a real-life Ross and Rachel; her apartment even had a purple door). They were freshly divorced when he’d left, but that didn’t mean much.

While she was taking a last, long dreg of tea, he had to ask. “And how are things with Gold?”

Suddenly, the cup was flattened and thrown with some precision to the trash bin near the door.

“Excellent, I take it?”

“More like completely done. Forever.”

He’d heard that before, but wasn’t about to contradict her. “What now?”

“Believe it or not, that’s one thing you haven’t missed—we haven’t gotten back together since you left.”

That had to be a record. However, he sensed that wasn’t all. “But?”

“But he’s tried on numerous occasions,” she sighed. “I’ve had enough, though; the shady dealings, his weird hangup over Cora, acting like king of his own empire. I’m not just another one of his playthings for him to control—oh, sorry.”

It wasn’t unusual for Belle to forget who she was talking to while ranting; however, “I’m not going to refute any of that, you know.”

“I know, just—I know you don’t have a choice.”

“Few have one.”

“Well, someone might—which brings us to the prophecy.” 

She started off for the back of the room, where the oldest books were kept; he had to jump to keep up with her (not like it was hard, though).

“Have you ever heard the legend of the Dark One?” she asked as she grabbed an ancient-looking set of keys and knelt in front of an even older-looking case.

“It sounds familiar,” he replied, though he couldn’t pinpoint anything solid about it—just a name, almost a fairy tale, that had popped up over the years. 

She pulled from the case what looked like a journal in a very fragile state and quickly moved it to an exam table (or whatever it was called—he didn’t spend that much time back here). “According to all the tales I’ve heard, the Dark One is the most powerful dark sorcerer in the world. Not only are they immortal, they lay claim to their power by murdering their predecessor. The story goes back centuries, and continues today.” As she told this, she carefully flipped through the pages of the book, which was written in an old language Killian only vaguely recognized. 

“So you mean to tell me the Dark One is alive and kicking, even now?”

“Well, alive is a loose term. Also, he’s here in the city—and he’s your boss.” She stopped on a page near the center, and despite the aged parchment, the drawing on it bore more than a passing resemblance to Gold. “Not only has he held the title the longest, he was also the first vampire to lay claim to it. His existence is...I hate to say unprecedented, given how long he’s been around, but it’s definitely unique.”

How had he been unaware of this? True, there had always been something sinister about Gold that Killian hadn’t been able to put a finger on, but he just assumed it was because the man was an utter conniving bastard and had centuries to perfect being so. Not that he was also in possession of the darkest magic known to man. Few had any extra sort of magic—Cora was the only other one he knew of, and she wasn’t shy about it. Gold, apparently, was, though.

“How on earth did you find that out?”

“Well, he told me.”

Yeah, something like that would probably come up in pillow talk over the course of 150 years. “And he, what, gave you his notebook of devious schemes?” Killian asked, nodding at the book.

Belle snorted. “Not quite. I tracked this down myself about a hundred years ago.”

“So he doesn’t know about it?”

“Nope,” she confirmed, rather satisfied. “At least, he doesn’t know I have it. It was after our first divorce. See, he’s also spent plenty of time trying to hold onto that power and I, in my ire, decided to see if there was a way for him to lose it. Turns out, there is.”

She carefully flipped another few pages to one with just a few lines of text, in an older English, but easy enough for Killian to read:

Only one without creator live Can destroy the dark and survive. At truest love’s closing hour Will they eliminate the power

“And what exactly does that mean?” he wondered; he’d never encountered prophecies in the real world, but Harry Potter certainly seemed to have nailed their ambiguity.

“In simple terms, that only an orphan—someone without living parents—can kill him and end the line of Dark Ones. He did some awful things to orphanages years ago.” Belle shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cool temperature. “But ‘creator’ is a bit nebulous, especially with our kind,” she went on. “For us, it could also mean someone without a living sire. He’s also been known to target those.”

“Aye,” and it was Killian’s turn to shudder; he certainly had that kind of blood on his hands, although he’d usually been given a reason when taking out a hit on Gold’s orders. It was generally hard for anyone to get away from their sire—you couldn’t exactly kill someone when they had the ability to simply tell you to stop. The Nolans were an exception (one he still wanted to talk to Regina about); in fact, the only one he really knew of was… “Emma,” he breathed.

“Emma? Is that the girl whose scent is all over you?” Belle teased.

“Yeah, it is,” he told her, a bit sheepishly, but he had no time to stammer. “She doesn’t have a sire; she killed hers right after he turned her.”

“Impressive. I already approve of her.” Not that he needed Belle’s approval, but other than Robin, she was the closest thing he had to family—and that felt good.

“Even if she’s with Corona?”

“You know I don’t bloody care. Hell, I might like her more, then.”

That made him chuckle, but he needed to know more about the subject at hand. “What’s the rest of it mean, then?”

“Honestly, anything. ‘Closing hour’ is up for even more interpretation—could mean marriage, could mean death.”

“But we’re already dead.”

“I know. So I’ve no real clue. But I can spend some time on it, if you think she’s part of this.”

“It’s worth a shot; whatever it takes to end this feud.” Which gave him another, almost terrifying thought: “Does Cora know this?”

“That I don’t know. But I got the distinct impression it was part of why he turned her.”

“So she couldn’t kill him?”

“I think so. She was after power, whatever she could get; I think that’s why they got together in the first place. She was still mortal, then, and something of a witch, which...you’re already aware of. Turning her was always part of the plan, I gathered, but I think he moved up the timeline on it when he found out about the prophecy.”

“If she did find out, I can see why that might cause a legendary rift.” It would explain a lot of things, really.

“Precisely. And given my own dealings with the man, it’s easy to see why that went south.”

“At least you were already immortal,” he said knowingly.

“True,” she agreed, patting his hand. 

“What about you? Where’s your sire nowadays?”

“No clue. I saw her my last time in Paris but that was 50 years ago. And trust me—if I could kill him, I would have by now.”

They shared a laugh, but Killian was more laughing at the idea that she’d be willing to off him; despite her rage, he knew she still loved him, deep down, even if she didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore.

She put the book away as methodically as she’d taken it out, locked the case, and glanced at the clock. “Well, I’d love to hear more about this Emma, but I suppose it’ll have to wait for another day; my appointment is in 20 minutes and I haven’t pulled anything yet. But maybe we can get some tea again in a couple days?”

“Sounds perfect, my dear—and thank you for your assistance.”

“My pleasure; hope it helps.”

“Anything does at this point.” He gave her a parting peck on the cheek and began to walk away, hoping it was still early enough he could stick to the shadows of the skyscrapers just fine, but then she called out again.

“Oh, and tell Will to call me, would you?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her; surely she was joking. “Will? That wanker? Why?”

She shrugged. “I guess that’s one of the things I didn’t tell you from the last 15 years.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609​​​ @xpumpkindumplingx​​​ @shipsxahoy​​​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​​​ @mryddinwilt​​​ @cocohook38​​​ @annytecture​​​ @shireness-says​​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​ @wingedlioness​​​ @word-bug​​​ @distant-rose​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @pirateherokillian​​​ @bleebug​​​ @its-imperator-furiosa​​​ @fergus80​​​ @killianmesmalls​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​ @ineffablecolors​​​ @laschatzi​​​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​​​ @nfbagelperson​​​ @stubblesandwich​​​​ @lenfaz​​​ @phiralovesloki​​​ @athenascarlet​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @snowbellewells​​​ @idristardis​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @searchingwardrobes​​​ @donteattheappleshook​​​ @lfh1226-linda​

#cs ff #cssns20 #cssns 2020 #cs vampire au #even death won't part us now #my ff

[monstersandmaw]

Yup. Part One. This absolute monstrosity quite literally grew wings and took on a life of its own, so yes, there will be a part two shortly, and it will be NSFW.

I shared the mood board/aesthetic for this over on Discord and a couple of people said they were excited, so I hope you enjoy it! It's set in Old Trollbridge, and you may pick up a passing reference to another character whose story was set here... Let me know in the comments if you remember them... Thanks also for your wonderful and enthusiastic feedback on Winter Solstice Chapter Five!

Contents: former school bullies, reader with a very slight potty-mouthed internal monologue, being physically attracted to someone(s!) that you didn't like intellectually/emotionally, watching said people kiss/be physically affectionate, the old 'oh no we've been paired on a project and will have to work together now or we'll get bad marks' trope, and some general growing up :) Wordcount: 5766

Chunky preview:

Winding up at the same university as the two biggest dicks from high school would have been - trying - enough, but to end up not only in the same department but also in the same damned classes was just downright cruel of fate. And yes, that was absolutely the right word for them.

The University of Old Trollbridge was known for its academic excellence in all areas, from cutting edge medicine to more traditional approaches, and the centuries-old institution was a bastion of learning, with places hotly contested. You’d nearly run herself into the ground in school to pass the right exams to get here - to leave all the pettiness of high school behind and finally start over - and here they were. It was going to be exactly the same. You could feel it. They’d worm their way to the top of the hierarchy again, and everyone would worship the ground they touched, and it would all just be awful.

“Fucking hell. This isn’t happening,” you cursed, watching the familiar and very particular hue of the naga’s dark green scales as he slithered across the entrance hall of the history faculty building, his muscular tail rippling with a million iridescent, deep emerald green colours. The atrium wasn’t exactly flooded with light, so somehow he looked like a living shadow.

People watched him; everywhere he went, people noticed him. He was probably one of the more famous undergraduates the university had had in recent years, what with his family’s ancient bloodline and apparently endless bank vaults, and his brief but extremely successful stint in modelling. The fact that the naga and his best friend (and almost literal sex god), Iltho, had gained a place was not all that much of a surprise to anyone, but you’d hoped they wouldn’t have chosen the same flipping department as you for their undergraduate studies. Not that they could be accused of paying their way in; for starters, the university had not accepted that kind of thing for generations.

No, they were both beautiful and unbearably smart too.

It was indecently unfair.

Your lip curled. Just as you’d been about to turn away, your roommate caught up with you. You’d put down that you didn’t mind who you were put with - gender or species - and for once, you’d actually lucked out. Rachel was an extremely talented spell caster, and, from what you’d seen of her in the first two days of your acquaintance, extremely tidy. “What’s up?” she asked, smiling up at you from beneath a thick curtain of vibrant, pastel pink hair. She was also about a foot shorter than you.

You jutted your chin at the naga.

“Oh my god, that’s… wow. I didn’t know we had a celebrity in our department!” she giggled, elbowing you playfully in the side. “Gods above… he’s gorgeous. It’s sinful. It shouldn’t be allowed. How am I supposed to concentrate in Old High Runic if he’s sitting there looking like that?”

“He’s also a massive cock,” you snorted. Fucking ‘Drake Shimmerscale’. Even his name was a giant cliche. Fancy noble lines with their fancy stupid names.

She tilted her head curiously. “You… know him?”

“Went to school with the bastard. Him and his best friend -” you cut off, eyes widening, as a second figure strode out of a doorway and exclaimed loudly. “Fucking… speak of the devil.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” she said, her eyes also locked on the newest arrival. It was easy to see why she’d thought you’d been referring to his appearance; his skin was a deep, ruby red, he had enormous, black, curved horns, a blunt-ended tail, and the bat-like wings that hung down his back looked like they’d been dipped in dark ink at the tips. He was also built like a bull and turned heads wherever he went, and here was no exception. Of course, the incubus would have to keep his ‘influence’ under control while at the university, but that didn't mean he didn't just naturally exude sex appeal anyway. Six-foot-something tall, with long, black hair that he usually wore pulled back into a thick braid studded with golden beads, he had flashing golden eyes and a mouth made for kissing.

Everyone had fantasised about being with him (and/or Drake) at school. Iltho had looked twenty-five since the age of fourteen, and acted like it too. Confident, cocky, quietly arrogant, also filthy rich, and stupendously intelligent, there was nothing that Iltho didn’t have. Really, the duo had made a striking pair, with the milk-white of Drake’s skin and the heated crimson of Iltho’s, their gemstone eyes of yellow and green, and their aloof personalities. The pair had ruled the school without having to do so much as lift a finger. They’d also done nothing to stop the lesser bullies posturing and vying for their attention. ‘Popular’ they may have been, but they’d also been about as liked as a Nightmare at a slumber party.

“No,” you said. “It’s not harsh. They’re both awful and they made life hell for the rest of us.” And with that you turned away, heading for the library.

You fumed as you stalked along the corridor and up the stairs towards the department’s ancient library. Yours was, appropriately enough for the History Faculty, one of the oldest buildings in the university, and it was absolutely everything you’d ever hoped for or dreamed from Old Trollbridge. The sheer aesthetic of it was mesmerising. Taking a huge, deep breath of the slightly musty air as you stepped into the library, you tried to put the pair of bullies out of your mind. This could still be your fresh start, surrounded by fragile parchment and vellum, leather spines, ancient oak tables, and the vague tingle of magic in the air.

There were wards in the ceilings to syphon off excess ambient magic in places like this, and as you let your eyes roam up and follow the conductive brass rods embedded in the ceiling, you nearly crashed into one of the long trestle tables that had been placed in a remote alcove, lit on one side by a huge, leaded, arched window and framed on the other three by bookshelves. As if fate had chosen you a place to settle down, you stared at the empty space for a moment before deciding that this would probably be your study spot for the rest of the year. It was right at the back of the library, and seemed out of the way enough that it wouldn’t be on the regular stamping ground of first years looking for the standard texts. It was also open enough that it probably wouldn’t be sought out for… other activities. The stacks, with their dark corners and endless shadows, seemed much more appropriate for that.

Yes. This would be perfect.

And you wouldn’t have to think about them here either.

Gods, even trying to get the thought of them out of your head prompted a flare of hot ire. Iltho and Drake had been inseparable at school. Class A bullies who just stood there and let everyone else spar and jockey for the dubious honour of being their latest minions and underlings, letting their wealth and, in Iltho’s case, ‘charisma’ carry them through. Half the school had been in love with them at one point, influence or not. And yes, even you had admired them from a distance. Rachel was right - they really were absolutely fucking gorgeous. Both of them. And it fucking sucked.

An hour later, a shadow passed in front of that beautiful window and you glanced up as someone halted beside your table. “That’s a familiar sight,” a deep voice chuckled.

Your stomach dropped and you felt your face fall with horror before you schooled it into something a little more acerbic than you’d ever managed in school. Funny how a few months’ internship abroad over the summer at one of the world’s most prestigious historical institutions could change everything. You hardened your eyes and noticed the way he watched you.

“Iltho,” you said flatly as you cricked your neck to look up at him. “You're blocking the light, but I can’t tell if it’s your wings or your ego that’s obliterating the sun. Would you care to move?”

Read the whole thing right now, as well as all the Mermay 2020 posts (five in total, including extra artwork), a surprise, nsfw ‘ghost lover’ story, all of Winter Solstice up to the current chapter, a new multi-chapter vampire story, the mlm werewolf story, plus everything that’s been posted already on Patreon!

#exophilia #incubus #male incubus #naga #male naga #incubus x naga #incubus x naga x reader #naga x reader #incubus x reader #part one #patreon only #monthly story #patreon monthly story #poly #poly exophilia

[ghostsray]

You are my brother (boogie woogie)

(my first @phicphight 2020 fic! based on @dp-marvel94‘s prompt: “Vlad successfully clones Danny again. When Danny meets this new clone, the boy is nothing like he expects.”)

(word count: 2625) (AO3)

Danny sunk onto his bed, the soft matress feeling like heaven after a long day of school and ghost-fighting. He was so exhausted that he wished nothing would interrupt his brief moment of respite. Thus he released a deep groan when he heard his bedroom door creak open.

"Oh, don't groan at me," his sister said. She entered the room and sat next to him on the bed.

"What do you want, Jazz?" Danny's voice came muffled from where it was buried face down on his bedsheet.

He lifted his head high enough from the bed to see Jazz staring at him with crossed arms. "You could have told me you went to Vlad's," Jazz said.

Danny scowled. "What are you talking about?"

Jazz faltered. "You mean...you didn't?"

"No, of course not. Why the hell would I go to that froot loop's place?" He sat up beside Jazz, who was busy fidgeting.

"I thought he looked like--nevermind. It was probably someone else."

"Who looked like me?"

Jazz pulled out her phone and opened it to a photograph. There was Vlad Masters standing in front of his mansion. By his side was a teenage boy who looked an awful lot like Danny.

"Someone took a photo of the mayor in front of his house with a child," she explained, then hesitated and added, "When someone asked him who it was, he said it was his son."

Danny's face darkened. He took the phone from Jazz and observed the boy in the picture. Although he was dressed more smartly than Danny normally would, there was no denying that they were related. On first glance, he looked identical to Danny: everything from his pale skin and short stature to the way his mouth sloped when he smiled. But after looking at him more closely, he could make out a few minor differences: his black hair was streaked with messy white stripes, his eyes were a shade darker blue than Danny's, and his face was just slightly slimmer. None of that fooled Danny, though. Danielle also looked somewhat different from him, and she was still his genetic clone.

Danny stood up, the day's exhaustion from a minute ago completely forgotten. "I think I need to pay our Uncle Vlad a little visit," he said grimly.

"Wait, now?" Jazz asked just as Danny transformed before her in a flash of light. She shielded her eyes as he changed into ghost form, and when she looked up again, he was already gone.

.

The way to the mayor's mansion was quick. As he flew in Phantom form, Danny kept thinking up insults he would throw at Vlad once he saw him. He slipped intangibly into the building and began to search for the man.

He didn't find Vlad, but he did run into his son.

He was sitting in the library, reading a copy of Dracula. On a regular occasion, Danny would have found it hilarious that the vampire-looking ghost would own the book in his library, but he wasn't feeling very festive at that moment. As he stared invisibly at the boy, Danny couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach from looking at him. He had spent lots of time with his other clone, Danielle, but she was younger than him, so it didn't bother him that much. This clone in the library was much closer to Danny's age, and therefore, much more similar in appearance. Even with the darker eyes and streaked hair, Danny felt like he was looking in a mirror.

As similar as the clone was in physical appearance, though, Danny would never be caught dead(er) in his clothes. The dude reeked of Vlad's ill-gotten wealth. He wore the kind of polo shirt that only snobby rich kids wore, and his feet were in loafers that Danny could never afford. It was clear that the clone had tried to comb his hair into an orderly position, but just like Danny's hair, it was impossible to tame and was sticking out in various places. Danny thought he even saw him wearing some of Vlad's mascara, but that might have been his imagination.

Once he got over the shock of seeing a wealthier copy of him in person, Danny toughened his expression, floated in front of the clone, and dropped his invisibility. The clone jumped in his chair and nearly dropped his book in surprise.

"Let me guess," Danny drawled. "Daniel Masters?"

There were many different outcomes that Danny could have expected. The clone could have been like Danielle, held under Vlad's control against his will, and begged Danny to help him. Or he could have been the opposite, completely under his evil influence, and released an evil laugh and said something like Yes, it is I, now prepare to die and let me replace you. Or maybe Vlad could have decided not to risk another Danielle incident and hid the fact that he was a clone from him, thus making him deeply confused by the similar-looking ghost in front of him.

What happened was none of the above.

The teenager's eyes lit up, and he exclaimed in a voice full of excitement, "You're Danny! The original!"

Danny faltered for a moment, put off by the sudden admiration in the clone's voice and the smile that had plastered itself onto his face. "Um, yeah," he replied. "And you--"

The clone extended a hand and said, "I'm Daniel--but you already knew that. I also go by the name Niel!"

Danny was so flabbergasted that he shook the hand without thought. "Niel?" he asked.

"N-I-E-L. Daniel, Niel. It's a different pronunciation, but close enough to my written name. Plus, it's not like I want to go around using your name. Well, even though Dad still insists on calling me Daniel because he's boring like that."

"Dad," Danny echoed. "You mean Vlad."

That stupid grin was still on Niel's face as he said, "Yep. He created me, didn't he? By combining your DNA with some of his. Mostly yours, but he said he couldn't get your mid-morph DNA and had to use his own, which was hard because you two are really different and it took him a while to make me, but now I'm here. It makes sense for me to call him Dad. Or Father, but that's boring. I mean, who even uses that word anymore? Fa-ther."

He giggled, and Danny stared. The Fenton struggled to make sense of this clone. He was so...childish. Unlike neither Vlad nor Danny, except maybe for when Danny was six years old and still filled with childish glee. Now that he thought about it, he supposed Niel was technically even younger than that.

As soon as Danny remembered how to speak again, he said, "You're awfully calm about being a clone."

Niel shrugged. "Sure, I was cloned from you, but I like to think I'm still my own person. I mean, I know Dad probably made me to replace you, but that's dumb." His eyes sparkled, and he concluded, "I think we should be brothers."

"Brothers?" Danny asked, then a gear clicked in his brain and he responded, "Hold up, I am not going to live with you and Vlad. We're not brothers."

Niel seemed a little disappointed, but he pressed on. "Why not? We are brothers; our DNA is close enough. Unless you want to call me your son, but that's too weird." (Danny had to agree.) "Anyway, I know you're okay with calling your clones family because you call Danielle your cousin, even though she should be our sister. We should all live together--me, you, Dad, and Danielle, even though I don't know why she ran away exactly, but I'm sure she and Dad can make up."

He seemed so passionate about the idea of living as a family that Danny almost felt bad for bursting his bubble. "Sorry, but my answer is still no," he stated. "I don't know how nice Vlad is to you, but from my experience, he's a terrible dad. You were right about me calling Danielle my cousin, but that's because she didn't have a family after Vlad refused to accept her."

Niel's face scrunched up in confusion. "But...Dad said she left by herself because she was confused about being your clone."

"You must have mixed up confused with abused," Danny replied dryly. "Vlad tried to kill her. He wanted to melt her down to make you."

Niel looked like he was either constipated or in pain. "But--That's not--I mean, he wouldn't--" he stammered. "He's a good father to me!" He finally exclaimed, forgetting his previous statement that no one used the word father. "I'm sure he's changed!"

"Yeah, right," Danny said with a roll of his eyes. "That's about as likely as Mr. Lancer saying a real swear word."

"Who's Mr. Lancer?"

"Unimportant. What I'm saying is, your "Dad" majorly sucks. I'd say no offense, but I mean full offense to Vlad."

Niel gripped the copy of Dracula in his hands until his knuckles turned white. Danny half expected him to either start attacking Danny or to break down crying. However, after a few seconds passed, Niel took a deep breath until he calmed down, then he said, "He'd still be a better parent to you than those Fentons."

Danny snorted. "No doubt. Did Vlad tell you that? I bet he had a lot of words to say about my dad."

"He did," Niel confirmed, "but I don't really care about his petty grudge with Jack. I could tell the portal thing was an accident. It's silly to still hate him for something that happened twenty years ago."

Danny faltered. That wasn't what he expected Niel to say. "Then why..."

"Why?" Niel's dark blue eyes bore into Danny's light blue ones, and he said simply, "They hunt you."

Danny felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut. He swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. "Ah. That..."

"I watch the news," Niel pressed on, digging the metaphorical dagger deeper into Danny's hide. "They go after you every day. They want to kill you. They say they're going to tear Phantom apart molecule by molecule."

"That's because they don't know it's me," Danny argued weakly.

"Then why don't you tell them?" Before Danny could respond, Niel held up a hand and interrupted, "That was rhetorical. I know why you keep your ghost half a secret. You're scared of them."

Danny balled his hands into fists. "I'm not scared," he growled.

"Really? You seem pretty scared to me."

It was true. Sweat was pouring from his forehead. Danny wiped it away and pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'm not scared," he continued to lie, "and I know they're better parents than Vlad. They may hate Phantom now, but I'll get them to change their minds."

Niel laughed--a villainous laugh that reminded Danny heavily of Vlad. "Yeah, right. The Fentons becoming buddies with Danny Phantom?" He grinned at Danny and added, "What was it you said? That's about as likely as Mr. Lance saying fuck."

"Lancer," Danny corrected.

"Whatever."

Danny glared at Niel, who smiled pleasantly in return. "Join Vlad," Niel told him. "Be my brother. We can keep you away from them, and then you won't have to be scared anymore." Niel frowned slightly and amended, "Well...we'll keep you away from Jack, at least. Dad still has this dumb infatuation with Maddie...but I think he can be content with letting her go if he got you."

Danny's glare melted into something sadder. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes," Niel answered with conviction. "I'll get Dad to take you away from them. We'll be brothers, and maybe Jazz and Danielle can be our sisters. We'll be a happy family."

Danny's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, then it wandered down to the book he still held with an iron grip. "Niel," Danny called the clone's name hesitantly, then he sighed. "You're too young."

Niel was puzzled by the sudden change in subject, but he told him, "Dad said I'm fourteen. The same age he got the DNA sample from you, even though you're sixteen now."

"Yes, but your literal age is, what, one?" Danny lifted his eyes again to look at Niel as he spoke. "You don't have a lot of experience."

"I have knowledge. I read."

"It's not enough. You haven't spent a lot of time with Vlad; you don't know him like I do. He'll never let go of my mom. Danielle and him will never make up. And I--and Jazz--will never join him because he's a horrible person."

Niel looked like he was one tick away from bursting. "Why not?" he challenged, but he sounded more desperate than mad. "What's so bad about him?"

"Let's see...he's a cheater, a liar, super creepy, and a huge jerk," Danny listed on his fingers. "He kidnapped me, like, twenty times, and he always sends deadly ghosts after me to either kidnap me again, or kill my dad. That's not someone I would ever want to be family with."

Niel's jaw was taut. "So you won't change your mind."

Danny shook his head.

Niel's hands shook as he breathed, but he was eerily calm as he placed his book on a table by his chair and stood up. "Dad told me you wouldn't listen, that you're too stubborn. I guess I should have believed him."

"Niel..."

Niel's face was relaxed as he looked at him, but his eyes burned with dark fire. Suddenly, twin rings of light flashed across his body, transforming him into a ghost.

Though Danny knew that Niel had some of Vlad's genes, that fact was made more obvious in his ghost form. He still looked like Danny and even wore the same black-and-white jumpsuit, but he had blue skin and red eyes like Plasmius. Streaks of black ran across his white hair where the opposite color had been in his human form. He must have inherited his dad's dramatic sense of fashion, because a high-collared, Dracula-esque cape draped over his jumpsuit, similar to the one Vlad wore.

As Danny stared at the ghost before him, he felt a cold spread through his body, and it wasn't his ice core. Niel's form reminded him too much of another ghost who was mostly Danny and a little Vlad. Suddenly, Danny felt less like he was looking in a mirror, and more like he was looking at a younger version of the alternate future self of his that killed his friends.

No, Danny sternly told himself, forcing the panic back down. Niel wasn't Dan. He wasn't a genocidal adult ghost with fiery hair and an icy heart. Niel was just a snobby little rich kid who thought Vlad was the balls and didn't know much about the world. He felt himself relax a bit as he successfully kept himself together, but his hands were still in fists by his sides in case Niel attacked.

"Calm down, brother. I'm not going to fight you," Niel assured him calmly. "At least, not today. Knowing Dad, he'll inevitably make us fight each other someday, unless you change your mind about joining him."

"In his dreams," Danny spat. "Tell him to shove a froot loop up his ass."

Niel sighed, like he was disappointed but not surprised. "Goodbye, Danny," Niel said, and he floated off the floor as he said it. "I'll see you soon."

He abruptly dropped through the floor below and out of sight. Danny turned intangible and followed him, but when he emerged in the mansion's lower floor, Niel was nowhere to be seen.

#Danny Phantom #Phic Phight #phic phight 20 #phic phight 2020 #danny fenton #daniel masters #fic #fanfiction #mine #clones #danny phantom clone #vlad masters #jazz fenton #writing

[jiminscalicokitten]

What do you hope for? (Two shot)

Pairing: Hoseok X Reader

Genre: Vampire!au, mom!reader, Vampire!Hoseok, fluff, angst.

Summary: Having met the love of your life under such abnormal circumstances and having him push you out of his under such sorrowful circumstances, he realized after years that he gave you apart of him that allowed you to live with the pain. 

Rating: 15+ (If the warnings trigger you please don’t read.)

Warnings: mentions of abortion, pregnancy.

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: As many of you like the first shot, I don’t honestly feel that it matches the level of greatness... As it’s missing the smut factor, if you’d like it, send me asks, I can write a drabble or two of vampire!Hoseok. I do hope that it is to your liking babes. 

Part 2: A Wish Granted in a Miracle

Nights passed since you went into that house. You were asked to stay in the hospital as your body was weak, it wasn’t anything that he did. Hoseok actually took care of you that night. He made sure that you were okay, it was you that caused this to yourself. 

You had exhausted yourself trying to get into that mansion. Crying and banging against the door until you collapsed. The reason that you were hospitalized is because of the recurrence of that situation. 

Going to that mansion everyday to just be able to see him again. It was futile. He would never allow the door open. After enough times, you began wrecking your body, leading you to the situation you’re in now. 

Your mother forced you to take a break from college and you were hospitalized in an attempt to stop you from damaging your mental and physical state. The doctor would allow you to walk around the hospital’s premises and nothing more, it felt as if you were a caged bird. 

Your freedom lies with Hoseok. You wanted to see him and that was the only thing that kept you from losing your sanity. It was the fact that you’d eventually get to see him if you got better. You even thought of bulldozing your way into the mansion. 

As for your mother at the time, she had asked her high school classmate that had become a chief in the town police to check the building that is Hoseok’s home. 

For some reason, he thoroughly checked the house and came out with nothing. Hoseok had let him in, you were sure. He just wanted them to let the whole situation go, he probably flipped the basement entrance into the wall so he wouldn’t see what you saw. 

He didn’t even take him as sustenance. You wondered what was to happen to him if he didn’t feed for a long time. 

You didn’t really know much about him, at least he didn’t give you the time to learn anything about him or his kind. That didn’t stop you though, you had asked your sister to bring in your laptop from your apartment as you weren’t allowed to retrieve it. 

-

A few weeks passed and you are currently sitting by the window of your shared hospital room. Your roommates were an old lady that has at least a member of her family visit her daily. The other roommate’s in a coma and had one visitor that would come only twice a week at the specific time of four o’clock afternoons every Tuesday and Friday. 

As for your third roommate… he passed away days ago without any visitors. You rarely laid on your bed other than the times you slept. Sitting by the window seal is what you do usually as you can gaze at his house from there. 

The nurse walks in with her tray at hand. She smiles at the old lady as she heads towards. “Y/N. You need to stop sitting that close to the window.” She scolds her voice as gentle as ever. “Sorry. I don’t have a reason to stay here but you guys are keeping me here for no reason.” You complain about jumping to your feet. 

Her eyes soften as she sighs. “I understand you, that’s why we’re doing the last tests so you can leave.” She smiles. “Really?!” You jump twice before enveloping her in a hug. 

“Yes! So let’s do well on this test.” She giggles having you sit on the bed. After taking a few blood samples she asks you about how you feel and all is well. “Y/N, when was the last time you had your period?” Your blood runs cold. You haven’t had your period in more than a month at this point. 

Your gaze falls to the ground, your heart begins to race. “What…?” Her worries fall into the right place. “Y/N? When was the last time you had intercourse?” She’s almost as panicked as you are. 

“That night… the night I got locked away.” You sigh shaking your head, you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that your wish to see him again was granted to you in a miracle. 

Most people your age would be devastated, they’d think their lives are ending or at the very least halting for a long while. You were happy, he left a part of himself with you. You knew that you loved him the moment he touched you. 

Tears run against your cheeks. “Can we make sure of this? I want- to make sure it’s real.” You wrap your arms around her in an excited hug. “We’re happy about this?” She looks a bit confused. 

“Delighted. I want to make sure that I’m pregnant.” You grin. “That sounds exciting.” The old lady coughs. “It is.” You jump. “Don’t do that. You might hurt the…” The nurse stops herself to smile.

You have so much to do. There is all the normal baby stuff that you have to look into and there is also the vampire side of the whole thing. Is it safe for you to carry the baby? Is it safe for the baby to grow in your body? 

Your mother comes into the room a while after the nurse leaves. She held a bag of what you assumed were lunch. She was never the greatest cook but she tried her best, especially the last few days.

She takes a seat by your bed, she notices your excited exterior. “Do we have good news?” She peels an apple for you. “I do. At least for me.” You smile. You honestly have no idea how she’d react. 

Your mom never finished college because she ended up having your sister around her last year of college. She always seemed regretful about missing out on finishing up her education. 

The nurse walks in with a clipboard in hand. Giddy as she is you know what’s stated in those papers. She smiles once more. “Mom, I’m pregnant.” You close your eyes waiting for her to berate you. 

“What?” Her voice being that low scared you even more than it would when she yells. “I’m pregnant.” You repeat. “Are you considering your options?” Her face’s rigid. She wants you to get rid of it. 

“No. I’m having it.” You say making it sound final. “Do you know the father?” She looks down. “What? Of course I do. It’s not like I sleep around with whoever comes by.” She was insinuating something from her past inferiority complex. 

“I need you to think about your future. You have to consider abortion.” She says quietly as if she’s almost ashamed. “No! Mom, I am not aborting my baby! Not for your inferiority complex or the fact that you’re living your dreams through me finishing college!” Everyone’s attention is on you. 

“Y/N, if you do this I won’t pay for your college tuition or living expenses.” Her threats are petty, but you can’t believe that she thinks that low of your confidence to say no. “Fine by me. I’ll move elsewhere and get a full-time job.” You feel tears cascade against your cheeks. 

“Y/N you don’t understand how difficult it is to be a single mother, at least I had your father…” Her voice breaks. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be telling me that you’d disown me if I have a baby but I guess it’d be your way or the door. And I’ll gladly choose the door. Nurse Min! Give her the discharge papers.” You stop your voice from breaking. 

“Y/N please! You have to listen to me. I don’t want this to be how it becomes between us.” Tears ran down your mother’s face. “I can’t do that. I can’t let anything happen to my baby.” You covered your stomach protectively.

“We can discharge you in a couple of hours, we just need to have all the results of the tests to come out.” The nurse says as she tries to cut the tension in the room. “Please leave.” You tell your mother. 

-

Your mother left after creating such a mess. Honestly you were embarrassed, as the other patients and some of the old lady’s family members were there to witness all that happened. You had closed the curtain around your bed to be able to cry without anyone seeing. 

You pick up the phone to check the time and it’s three-fifty-nine. You place the phone on the table and sigh. The moment your back touches the pillow the curtain is hauled quite roughly.

He stands tall, maybe as tall as Hoseok. His hair’s raven black long enough to be tousled around his face covering a bit of his eyes. Skin so pale that it almost resembles Hoseok’s.

He’s wearing a black button up with black slacks. His long, pretty fingers encased with gleaming silver rings. A small silver chain lays just above his collarbone. As graceful as he seems there is a deadly aura about him. 

He’s the only one that visits the patients that’s in a coma. His eyes narrow at you as he suddenly grabs your wrist roughly and hauls you out of your bed. He then begins to drag your struggling figure behind him out of the room. 

You wanted to scream but it’s if there was a force in the air that’s stopping your mouth from opening. The old lady watches with terror, but just like you she isn’t able to open her mouth let alone move her body. 

You keep struggling, though you stop the moment he glances at you with eyes that are deadly that you felt your spine tingle. “Please.” You manage to whisper. “I’m not going to hurt you… I just want to talk.” He then leads you into the rooftop of the hospital building. 

He gently lifts you up because you aren’t wearing shoes. He places you on the bench by the roof garden that’s empty for some reason. “I’ve seen you at least five times since I came into this hospital. Why do you suddenly want to talk to me?” You say, voice so small. 

“I can smell what’s in your womb. It’s kinda like me.” He mutters looking into the sky. “What? You’re a vampire?” You’re truly as startled as you can be. You never really thought about it but there are probably more than just him and Hoseok. 

“So, whomever you slept with told you. It would be troublesome if you weren’t bearing his child.” He states. “He didn’t tell me I just figured it out. He bit me. And why would it be troublesome if I wasn’t pregnant?” You glance at your feet. 

“Anyone that discovers our kind either gets killed or has their memories altered. But since no one wants to raise a half-breed, you live raising it the way you want. As a vampire if you want him to out live normal humans or as a human if you want him to live like you.” His hand lays on your stomach surprising you. 

“What’s your name?” You ask. “Taehyung.” He mutters. “Why do you visit a human? Is she your lover?” You smiled. “No, she got herself in that situation stupidly trying to protect me.” His smile is so sad. 

“Sorry, I won’t ask any further.” You mumble swinging your feet back and forth. “I can help you with this rascal. But, if you don’t mind me asking, where is his father?” He takes a glimpse at your suddenly saddened eyes.

“He’s hiding. We’re playing a really hard game of hide and seek. I know where he is but I can’t seem to open the door. Does that make any sense?” You chuckle awkwardly at your riddled answer.

His hand still laying on your stomach, “Yes, actually. Our kind had a rough time when yours knew about us. We loved your kind so much, you were precious to us. We’d rather be killed than hurt you. You didn’t feel the same. You haunted us in fear of our superior instincts. So we just made you forget that we exist and lived a lonely life.” He sighs.

“You are different though, you seem to care for this fella. How lucky he was to come across you.” He smiles. “Listen, I’ll help you navigate your way with this baby. And you do me the favor of telling me the name of this vampire. I might know him.” He holds your hand gently in encouragement. 

“His name is Hoseok. He lives in that mansion.” You can point to it from where you are. “That’s unfortunate.” His voice becomes somber as pain is clearly apparent on his features. 

“You know him. Then you can tell me how to open that door. Tell me how I can enter? I want to see him so bad.” Sobs begin escaping you all the sudden, your heart begins beating really fast. 

“I can’t. No vampire can enter there. And humans can enter only if he allows it.” His voice lowers. “Then what am I supposed to do?” You covered your face. 

“You can try lifting the curse. Hoseok was cursed into living in that mansion by himself for an eternity.” He wraps his arms around your shoulder to give you some shield from the sun. 

“He fell in love with the wrong person and when she found out she cursed him out of disgust. She told him that he betrayed her feelings. The only way that he can escape the curse is if he kisses someone that truly loves him with all their heart.” He says. 

“But I did that. I swear to you that I love him with all my heart!” You stand up. “I don’t doubt that for a second. But it’s not exactly on his lips more like where the curse symbol is on his body.” He explains. 

“He won’t let me see him.” You pout, more tears run against your cheeks. “We’ll figure out a way. So just take care of yourself and him.” He places a hand on your stomach. “You’ve been calling it him for a while now.” You glare sniffing. 

His laugh is so delightful. “Because it is a him.” You pout, “Way to ruin the surprise.” You giggle as you allow him to lift you once more. 

-

You eventually ended up moving away from where you lived after quitting college. You’ve had a hard time but with the help of Taehyung you managed to survive pretty well actually. In your small apartment you live with your baby boy, Hyun. 

Yes, six years passed since the day your mother disowned you. Hyun was worth it. He’s truly a blessing. He’s such a good boy. He enjoys taking care of  you and Taehyung once he visits with his girl. He gives you cute massages when you need it. He tries to make you sandwiches but he fails miserably most of the time. 

He reminds you greatly of Hoseok, even though you’ve known him for like a day. He cared for you just like that though.

Today’s the day that you’re going to see your family for the first time in six years. Your father had asked you to visit for Christmas as he missed you greatly, you did hesitate to agree but you missed them too, no matter what your mother might’ve done. You knew it was her way of care. 

Sitting on Hyun’s bed you watch him pack his clothes into his tiny suitcase, eyes sparkling in excitement. “You seem happy?” You ask. “Yes, Hyunnie is going to meet Grandma and Grandpa.” He places the toothpaste with a giggle. 

You’ve never badmouthed your family in front of him for disowning you. Actually you’d praise them. How good your father was at cooking because of your mom’s bad cooking, your mother’s tough love for you that helped shape you to be the best you could be, and your sister being your protector all throughout your life. 

When he would ask why you couldn’t meet, you’d tell him that you got separated because Santa saw you were a bad kid many Christmas(s) ago. So he punished you. 

You pull him into your lap. “Will the house you met daddy in, be there?” He asks as he plays with your thumb. “Yes, but daddy might not be there anymore.” You smile as you kiss the top of his head. 

After putting him to sleep you head to your room to organize your suitcase. You sit on the floor as you feel your eyes stinging you with tears. “Fuck. I miss you, dickhead.” You wipe you tears with the back of your hand. 

-

You’re standing in front of your parents’ house on the day before Christmas. Anxiety fills as you imagine how your mother might react to seeing Hyun. You take a deep breath then you ring the doorbell. 

After a moment of shuffling the door opens. Your mother stands in front of you. She looks a little different. She has a few wrinkles and maybe a few gray hairs. Her eyes are wide. Hyun runs from behind you and jumps into her arms. “Grandma! Hi!” He giggles in her arms. “Hyunnie!” You hurry to take him off of her, she stops you. 

“How glad am I to meet you baby.” She kisses his forehead. You feel a few tears escape your eyes. 

She lets him in to meet the rest of the family. “I’m nervous to ask, why does he not hate us?” She asks, a glint of guilt comes into her eyes. “As far as he knows, we couldn’t be together because I was on Santa’s naughty list many years ago.” You smile as you rub her arm gently. 

You sat with your family as Christmas eve passed quickly. Your family made sure that the both of you got gifts on Christmas. Which was very nice of them. As for Hyun, he made all of them cards and chose best-grandparents slash aunt shirts for them. 

After the night ended you both fell asleep in your old room, that your mother made sure was cleaned to an extreme. She has apologized to you well over twenty times that night. She felt extremely bad after she met Hyun, as a good boy he was. 

You open your eyes as your alarm rings to wake you up. You move your hand up and down in search of your baby boy. The moment you notice that he wasn’t there you jump up in panic. You call your mother asking if she hasn’t seen him and then you see that his shoes weren’t at the door. 

-

Hoseok had a few visitors in his mansion in the past six years. As usual a bunch of kids sneaking in as their friends would challenge them to face their fears. 

He’d only feed to sustain himself. After he’d knock the visitors out of conciseness and withdraw blood from their passed out figures.

The only person that he was never able to forget is you. He wondered for so long how you were doing as you stopped visiting him years ago. 

They weren’t really visits, more like excruciating begging from your side and guilt from his. He knew that he couldn’t see you. You didn’t have the ability to help him. No human was. He tried to get the curse to stop but it never works. No human ever truly loved him like the said they did. 

He sits on his bed as he feels a person enter the mansion. A short person? A kid. His face scrunches up in confusion as he closes his to sense his presence more accurately. The kid smelled familiar yet he couldn’t put his fingers on it. 

Hyun wanders around the hallway in hopes to find the door you’d describe to him every night before bed. Most kids would ask their parents to tell them a bedtime story, Hyun wanted to hear the story of how you met Hoseok.

You would tell him that you entered this old mansion when you were younger because you had to face your fears. You ended up meeting his daddy. He hugged the fear out of you as you talked all night. Then like magic with love Hyun was in your belly. 

He would hear the details of the scary door that was at the bottom of the stairs and how it held something so precious all though it might’ve pushed people away.

Hoseok doesn’t really know what to do. He had never seen kids at least not as young as Hyun come into the house. He contemplates just letting him back outside, but then again he was curious. What would a kid this young be doing here? Why would he not be scared?

The hallway flipped and Hyun could see the staircase that you described to him. The door at end of it wasn’t as scary as you told him, or just maybe because the person that you love, his daddy is behind that door, it didn’t seem as terrifying to him.

His small feet lead him down the stairs slowly as he didn’t want to trip. As he reaches by the door, Hoseok doesn’t expect what he hears, “Daddy? Are you in there?” A tiny voice mumbles. “Please open the door.” He continues. 

Hoseok’s hand clasps around the doorknob when he hauls the door towards him he sees this cute short figure standing in front of him. His eyes are shining with excitement, lips curved in a smile that seems so familiar to him. 

Hyun wraps his arms around his calf as his head reaches a few centimeters above his knees, “Daddy!” He giggles as tears ran against his cheeks. “I missed you.” He laughs as he cries. 

“I’m not your dad kid, Hyun.” He smiles as he sits on his knees to meet his gaze. “You are too. Mommy always told me how she met you here.” He hugs his neck. “Mommy?” He questions wrapping his arms around his shoulders. 

-

You had looked for Hyun for hours, not being able to find him you thought to head into the mansion. You always told him about it, he might as well be extremely curious. 

You are on your feet in front of his mansion once more after six years. Gripping the doorknob you miraculously open it. The moment you are inside you begin running through the familiar hallways. As you search for the staircase you realize that Hoseok might be distracted. The house wasn’t shifting. 

You see the staircase that you weren’t able to forget for even a second. You skip as you jog down the stairs. Slamming the door open you see Hyun sitting on the bed and Hoseok standing about to hand him an apple. 

As Hoseok turns around to see the source of the loud sound as can’t believe that he didn’t notice a presence for being occupied, you jump slamming your body against his. His hands hold your waist as he takes in the scent he could never forget.

You slam your lips against his as you wrap your arms around his neck, earning an ‘ew’ from your son. “How’d you get in?” He pulls you away. “You left the door open, idiot.” You kiss him again. 

“You need to leave.” He mutters as his hand pulls you away. “Hell no, I won’t. I can’t live without you, you need to understand that.” You attempt to hold your tears in front of Hyun.

Hyun jumps off of his bed and he hugs your leg. “What’s wrong mommy? Are you sad?” His hand caresses your calf. “Mommy?” Hoseok questions. 

“Yes. Hyunnie is my son.” You place your hand on his head. “What have you told him about me?” His voice is trembling. “Why does he call me dad?” He holds your chin. 

“Because he is your son.” You grip the hand that holds your chin gently. “Do you know how impossible that is? A hybrid child?” He breathes. “I know. I heard from Taehyung. But I haven’t slept with anyone but you in my whole life.” You lay a gentle kiss on the inside of his palm.

A moment of silence passes, a gentle light illuminates on his hand for the briefest of moments. You aren’t really sure what’s happening but his eyes fill up with tears. “What’s wrong?” your voice breaks in worry and Hyunnie’s eyes are wide at his tears. 

Hoseok wordlessly envelopes you in the tightest hug you probably have felt. “You do love me…?” He kisses all over your face earning another ‘Ew’ from Hyun. 

“Of course I do. You made my wish come true with a miracle. Then I get to see because of this miracle.” You pull up Hyunnie into your arms. 

Hoseok takes Hyunnie from you with the happiest smile he could ever give. “I love you so much. I just didn’t expect you to feel the same, it hasn’t happened before.” He says as he heads towards the door of the room.

Watching his back as he exits the room makes you realize that you broke the curse, you truly did love him. As your wish came true with the miracle he gave you, he wanted you to know that you were his hope, his miracle, and what he wished to be with. 

He turns around to clasp your hand in yours as his feet move up the stairs of the old mansion. Leaving his past to be with his future. 

Part 1 - Be Careful What You Wish For

(© 2020 jiminscalicokitten, All Rights Reserved)

#bts series #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fanfics #BTS request #bts hoseok #bts hobi #bts jhope #jhope fanfic #jhope angst #bts fluff #bts angst #jhope fluff #jhope fanfiction #hoseok fanfiction #hoseok fanfic #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff

[mageicalwishes]

A Smashing Summer - Chapter 1

Read on AO3: here

Summary: "I'm egging your house for a dare, but you're parent is a cop and now they're yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you're coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don't want to go to jail" AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho's house, he never thought he'd find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 1/?

Words: 3,811

Based off of this post! 

Simon

“Okay ... Dare,” I huff, my voice flat with boredom. “But I swear to God, if you guys make me eat any more vile shit, I’m leaving.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t have a hissy fit,” Josh mocks, holding his hands up in a false surrender. “We won’t make you eat anything else. Just lemme think.”

I wait, glancing between the two of them - Both of their faces knotted with concentration. If I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure why I agreed to play. I’ve always hated Truth or Dare. It’s juvenile, and boring, and it only ever leads to me embarrassing myself. But, with Penny and Agatha both on holiday, I don’t exactly have many other options. Unless I want to go downstairs and play Mario Kart with the younger kids - Which I definitely don’t (I always win. It gets pretty boring).

“Okay then,” Nathan says, a wicked grin breaking across his face. God. I’m going to regret picking dare, aren’t I? “I dare you to egg one of those posho houses on Church Lane.”

“Nathan. No,” I groan. “What if I get caught? I could be in serious trouble. Come on! The worst I made you do was steal a bloody biscuit. Egging somebody’s house is hardly the same!”

“Come on, Simon,” Josh drawls. “It’ll be a laugh. Don’t be a chicken.”

I roll my eyes, throwing my head back in frustration.

“Christ. Fine. But you two are coming with me. There is no way I’m going alone.”

“Sure thing. We’ll be right with you - Don’t you worry,” Josh assures, his voice dripping with mischief.

————————————————————————————

I regret every single decision that has led me here - Trudging down some posh twat’s drive, egg carton in hand, with my idiot friends hidden behind a tree a few metres back. I mean, what kind of imbecile agrees to egging a strangers house, just because of a stupid dare. Well, apparently me. But I am definitely regretting it now. This was an undoubtedly terrible idea.

My eyes scan the area nervously, checking for signs of life. There are no cars parked out front, and none of the windows are open (Even though it’s a stupidly hot day) - So, I figure I’m in the clear.

I come to a stop a few metres in front of the house’s porch. Although, thinking about it, it’s not really a house at all - It’s a bloody ginormous, gothic mansion. It’s incredibly intimidating. I mean, it’s got gargoyles and everything, for Christ’s sake! Looking at it up close, I can hardly believe that somebody actually lives here - It's probably some musty, old vampire or something. I swallow anxiously, trying to push that thought to the back of my mind. Not the vampire thing, obviously. I know vampires aren’t real - I’m not scared of that. But, I am scared of whoever does own the property. What are they gonna do when they realise that their precious mansion (Which probably cost them, like, a billion pounds) has been egged. I’d be livid.

Do houses like these have CCTV? Probably. Fuck. Is it illegal to egg someone’s house? Also probably. But it’s definitely illegal to trespass. Although, I don’t know if standing in somebody’s driveway really counts. But if it does, and they do have CCTV, then they’ve already caught me doing that. I really should’ve worn some sort of mask (Even if Josh and Nathan laughed at me) - But, it’s a little late for that now. So, Screw it. I’m already here. And, I’m probably already on tape. So, I may as well do what I came here to do. At least it’ll get Josh and Nathan off of my back.

Hesitantly, I open the carton and pick up an egg. Pulling my hand behind my head, I steal a quick glance backwards to ensure that I haven’t been ditched, and launch it straight into the heavy oak of the front door. A laugh bubbles up inside me, adrenaline surging within my chest. I’m probably a terrible person for finding something that is most-likely an actual, legitimate crime fun - But, the scandal of it all is providing me with an intoxicating rush.

Grinning, I load the final egg into my hand, hurling it towards the front door carelessly. A mere millisecond later, the door swings open, revealing a red-faced, white-haired man, all dressed up in a posh suit. Oh fuck. Powerless to stop the imminent disaster, I watch, horrified, as the egg smashes against his brow bone, splattering yolk across his face. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” He yells, his voice booming.

Petrified, I let out a high-pitched, girlish squeal - Dropping the empty carton on to the floor. I’m completely frozen - My muscles seizing up uselessly, as I stand gawping at him. I whip my head around, watching as Josh and Nathan dash away, leaving me trapped, all alone. Desperately, I turn to run, be he claps a hand around my wrist - Pulling me back into place. Mega fuck. Panicked, I shake my arm wildly, desperately trying to loosen his vice-like grip. 

“Do you know who I am?” he shouts, the veins in his neck bulging. Unable to find my voice, I shake my head. “I’m the Chief Constable!” Mega, mega fuck. Of course, I'd be stupid enough to pick a cop's house. I've really fucked it up this time. “And this,” he continues, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Is vandalism!”

I gulp, trying to shake myself free again, to no avail. He scowls, grabbing onto my shoulder, and tightening his grip further (My wrist will probably be bruised tomorrow, although that’s the least of my worries right now).

“I’m really, really sorry, Mister,” I whimper, my voice wavering pathetically. “This is a huge misunderstanding. I’ll fix it - I swear. Please just - Please don’t arrest me.” 

His jawline tenses as he grits his teeth. “Pray tell me, how this is a 'misunderstanding',” he spits. 

“Uhhh,” I stall, completely stumped. I definitely shouldn’t have said that. How the hell can egging somebody’s house be a misunderstanding? I dart my eyes around, desperately hoping to spot something that can help me out. And that's when I see him.  A tall boy, roughly my own age, leaning against the door-frame nonchalantly, his arms crossed against his chest, and an amused smirk plastered on his face. “My ex lives here,” I sputter out. Stupid moron. Why the fuck would I say that? The boy raises an eyebrow, flashing me a quick toothy grin. “Really shitty breakup, yeah,” I ramble on. “Sent me loads of rude notes, wouldn’t give me back my stuff, kept threatening to spill my secrets. You know how it is.”

The man shakes his head, clearly taken aback. “What on earth are you blathering on about, boy? There is no girl your age living here.”

I chuckle sheepishly, looking down at my trainers, my face flushing with heat. Right, Yeah - I didn't really think that one through. 

“It’s alright, Father,” A deep, velvety voice interjects. “He’s one of mine.” 

I risk glancing upwards. The boy from the doorway is standing beside us now - His grey eyes assessing me coldly. I meet his gaze, furrowing my brow in question. What is he on about? His lips quirk upwards into a knowing smirk, as he runs a hand through his hair (It’s fairly long for a bloke, just brushing the tops of his shoulders. But, unlike mine, it looks really silky - So, I understand why he wouldn’t want to cut it). 

“Basilton,” the man whispers, his tone warning. “I’m not in the mood for your games. Just look at what he did!” 

“It’s no game, Father,” the boy (Basilton) replies, airily. “I left him a particularly scathing voicemail the other day. You know how I can be. I believe ... I likened him to a Neanderthal, actually - Which, as you can see, was clearly an astute judgement. It must've got him all riled up.”

“Either way - That does not excuse the vandalism of our home, Basilton.”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m not saying that it does. Just … Let me handle it. I shattered the poor little lout’s heart - He just wanted a little bit of revenge, that’s all. It's a harmless prank. There is really no need for all this drama. You’re being excessive, Father. Getting so riled up over a petty, little crime is unbecoming of a man of your status, you know.”

I can practically see the tension vibrating between them - The man’s face flushing a violent shade of red. I don’t think it’s embarrassment, though - I think it’s rage. And, to be fair to him, I think that’s understandable. Basilton is awfully cheeky - Adopting a daringly condescending tone. He sounded like he was chastising a toddler, not speaking to his Father.

For a moment, I think there is going to be a scrap, but, to my shock, it actually bloody works! Reluctantly, the man pulls his hands back, finally freeing me from his grasp. I puff out a relieved breath. Thank God for Basilton! 

“I will deal with you later,” he hisses, jabbing a finger into the centre of the boy’s chest. “But if you insist on bringing people like that into our lives, then it’s only fair that you be the one to clean up their messes.” 

“Perfectly fine with me, Father,” he deadpans. 

And wiith that, he turns - Storming over to the door, and slamming it closed behind himself. Leaving me and my merciful stranger alone.

“Thank you so, so, so much,” I gasp out, turning to face him properly. “I am so sorry. My mates dared me to do it, and I’m a complete idiot, so I agreed. I don’t really know why. And I’m just - I’m just so sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin things between you and your Dad. And, I’ll clean it up, I swear! And … I’ll make it up to you. I mean - I don’t know how. But, I will.” 

“Stop bumbling,” he says, gazing down at his nails, bored. “We can agree on the fact that you’re clearly a moron. But, don’t fret about ruining 'things' me and my Father - That was done long before you arrived. Just … Clean up the mess and we can forget that this ever happened.” 

“Right. Okay,” I say, wearily. “But I mean, seriously thank you. For going along with my lie, I mean. Sorry if it - I mean like, sorry if it made you uncomfortable. Or you - You know, felt like you had to. Cause I mean … You didn’t have to”

“Don’t mention it - It’s perfectly fine. It didn’t make me uncomfortable, and I’m well aware that I didn’t have to do anything. I actually rather enjoyed the opportunity to rile my Father up - So, no need to apologise.”

“Right, well … Brilliant,” I say, smiling up at him. “You’re the best, Basilton.”

His face twists into a grimace. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh shit, Sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed. “I thought that’s what your Dad said.” 

“It is. I just … Don’t really like being called that,” he murmurs. 

“Oh. Well. Um. What should I call you then?”

“Well you shouldn’t really call me anything. You’re the guy that just egged my house - Not my friend.”

“Yeah. I know that. But, I mean - Can’t you just say, anyway?”

“Fine,” he sighs, exasperated. “If you insist. Just call me Baz.”

“Baz,” I echo, the smile audible in my voice. “I like it. It suits you.” 

“Hmmm,” he hums, noncommittally. “I’ll be sure to tell my Father you said so. I’m sure he will appreciate your approval.” 

“I’m Simon Snow,” I say, ignoring his remark, and sticking my hand out towards him. “And, I promise, I don’t normally vandalise people’s houses. I’m good. I’ve never even got a detention, Honest. Well no, I mean, I got one in Year Seven - But it wasn’t my fault.”

Unimpressed, he glances down at my hand as if it were a personal affront. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to leave me hanging (Which would be totally mortifying. I’ve already made enough of a tit of myself, I don't need him to reject me as well), but then he reaches out, gingerly taking my hand in his, and giving it a curt shake. 

“Charmed,” he deadpans. “Now that all the pleasantries are over, I really think you should get a move on with the whole cleaning thing. I won’t be able to hold Father off forever, you know.”

“Oh right, yeah. Course. I’ll get right on it. Uh … I don’t really have any … Cleaning stuff, though. Sorry. Do you have, like, a bucket or something?”

He glares down at me. “You’re a disaster,” he sighs, rubbing his hands against his temple exaggeratedly. “Vera probably has what you need. Let me go and ask.”

“Okay sure. Brilliant. Thanks,” I chirp. I have no idea who Vera is, but I don’t think Baz would like me asking, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Wait here,” he says, his voice threatening. “If you run away, I will be very angry. I know your name now, Simon Snow. If it comes to it, I can and will hunt you down. So stay put.”

“Aye Aye, Captain,” I tease. He tries to suppress it, but a small, half-smile breaks across his face. It only lasts a second, Baz quickly schooling his face back into a scowl, but it’s enough to calm the anxiety flurrying within my chest slightly. “I won’t move a muscle, promise.” 

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow looks nervous. He’s bouncing his leg anxiously, his face curled into an adorable little pout, and a hand tugging at his unkempt curls roughly. 

“What’s wrong with you?” I tease, placing the bucket down besides his scuffed trainers. 

“Baz!” He breathes. “I have to go. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“What? No!” I protest, outraged. “You said you’d clean it up. That was the whole agreement. I go along with your little hair-brained scheme, and lower myself to fulfilling the role of your ex-boyfriend, and you clean up the mess you made!”

“I know, I know. And I will, I swear! Cross my heart,” he says, tracing an 'X' against his breast. “But, I have to be home by eight.”

“Eight? Really, Snow? How old are you?” 

“Uh ... Seventeen. Why?” 

“You’re seventeen years old, and your parents still won’t let you out after eight?” I ask, disbelieving. 

“Uh yeah. Well, sort of.”

“Why? What happens if you miss your curfew? Do mummy and daddy not read you your bedtime story?” I goad, puffing my lips out into a faux, sympathetic pout. “I’m sorry, but you have to clean this mess up.” 

“I know. But I just … I’m already late. And I seriously can’t be late. Look,” he says, digging around in his back pockets, and pulling out a crumpled receipt. “Uh … Do you have a pen?” 

I roll my eyes, pulling out a fountain pen, and thrusting it towards him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, flashing me a quick smile, and scribbling onto the paper. “Here. This is my number,” he says, holding the receipt out to me. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to clean it. I promise. If I don’t show up, you can just keep calling me till I do. Or … You’ve got my name, too - I’m sure that’s more than enough information to take a hit out on me.” 

“Hmmm,” I hum, unimpressed, snatching the paper from his hand. “Be here eight A.M  sharp. Capishe?” 

“Uh yeah … Capishe?” He drones, clearly confused. 

“Very well then. Run on back home. I’d hate for you to get into any trouble.”

“Okay. Yeah. Uh ... Cheers” he huffs. “You’re the best, Baz. I’ll make this up to you, I swear!”

“Whatever,” I chide, keeping my tone flat. 

“Later then, Lover,” he calls. 

“Don’t call me that,” I spit, aggressively. 

“Okay. Okay,” He chuckles, warm laughter transforming his face - His eyes crinkling up slightly, as a small dimple pops besides his lips. “Later, Ex-Lover, then. That better?” 

“I think you know that it’s not,” I groan, shaking my head. “Just get out of here. Before I change my mind!” 

With a beaming grin, he turns, jogging down the driveway and back out onto the street - Leaving me alone. I glance down at the receipt - His number scratched onto the paper in barely intelligible handwriting, and a small, crude smiley face drawn next to it. Bloody nightmare. Despite myself, I chuckle lightly at the absurdity of it all. Simon Snow … What the hell have I gotten myself into? 

————————————————————————————

This Summer has ticked by unbearably slowly. At first it was fun -  A welcome change from the monotony of term time. But the novelty quickly wore off. Every day is the same - I wake up, I read, I play FIFA with Dev, I study, I eat, and I play with Mordelia. That’s it. Same old, same old. But today - Today was far from usual. As pathetic as it may be, it was probably the most fun I’ve had in weeks.

Which is why, I find myself here - Sat on the end of my bed, phone in hand, deliberating with myself over whether or not to text him. My calamitous little criminal.

I mean, he did give me his number. I doubt he'd be surprised to hear from me. I could message him under the guise of confirming that he hadn't given me a fake one. That would be believable … Surely? I inhale deeply, regaining my composure. It’s just a silly, inconsequential text - Nothing to get worked up about. If he doesn’t answer - So what? It’ll make no difference to my life. 

With my mind made up, I hammer out my message quickly - Hitting send before I have the opportunity to change my mind. 

ME (21:42): Committed any crimes since we last spoke?

I stare down at the screen, anxious. This is definitely weird. Why did I think this was a good idea? What sort of person decides to have a friendly chat with the guy that egged their house, for Christ’s sake? Father would be bitterly disappointed, if he knew. 

Just as I’m starting to spiral, my phone screen flashes up with a reply. And then another. And then another. And then another. It’s him - It has to be him. Nobody I else know texts like such a lunatic (I'd have blocked their number ages ago if they did). 

SS (21:43): Nah. Not yet. 

SS (21:43):  Maybe l8r. 

SS (21:43):  And again … Sorry bout that. 

SS (21:43):  And thnx for covering for me. That was really nice of you :) 

I grin, relieved. 

ME (21:45):  Yes, well. While I appreciate your gratitude, if you don’t show up tomorrow there will be hell to pay. 

ME (21:45):  And do you really have to type like that? 

SS (21:46):  Aha yep :D That’s how everyone texts. Not my fault. 

SS (21:46):  And I know. I know. 

SS (21:46):  Trust me. I’ll be there. 

SS (21:46):  You can count on me :) 

ME (21:47):  Whatever you say, Snow. 

SS (21:47):  Yeh :) 

ME (21:51):  I have a question for you.

SS (21:52):  Oh yeh, really? Shoot. 

ME (21:53):  I was having a little look at the receipt you gave me, and I was just wondering why on earth ONE PERSON would need to purchase SEVEN packets of scones, all in one go? Is one of your friends getting out of juvie, or something? Having a little party?

SS (21:54):  Oh nah lol. 

SS (21:54):  Those are for me. 

SS (21:54):  Whenever I get given my pocket money I always go and get a few packs. 

SS (21:54):  They’re delicious. Trust. 

SS (21:54):  I’ll bring you one tomorrow :) 

ME (21:55):  Right, I see. Fair enough, I suppose. 

SS (21:55):  Aha yeh :) 

I pause, unsure of how to reply. I guess, I could ask him what he’s doing - Although, that would probably be a little strange. It’s almost certainly best to just leave it. I’ll see him tomorrow, anyway - I’d rather not embarrass myself before then. 

But, just as I’m about to put my phone down, it buzzes again. 

SS (22:01):  What’s ur full name? 

I furrow my brow in confusion.

ME (22:03):  Why?

SS (22:03):  Cause I wanna add you as a contact. 

SS (22:03):  And my phone wants a surname. 

SS (22:04):  And also I’m just curious. 

SS (22:04):  Based on “Basilton” it’s probs well posh! 

SS (22:04):  I bet your name is double-barreled. You seem like a double-barreled kinda guy. 

SS (22:05):  Come onnnnnnnn Baz. Spill.

SS (22:05):    I wanna knowwwww. Plz. 

SS (22:06): You know mine. It's only fair!

SS (22:07):    Don’t ignore meeeeeeeeee. Plzzzzz. 

ME (22:09):  You’re an imbecile. 

SS (22:09):  Ahaha. Whatever you say. 

SS (22:09):  Seriously, tho. What’s your name?

ME (22:10):  Will telling you shut you up? 

SS (22:10):  Oh yeh. For sure. 

SS (22:11):  For a bit anyways ;) 

ME (22:12):  Fine. 

ME (22:12):  My full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Happy now? 

SS (22:13):  HOLY SHIT!

SS (22:13):  Yep! I’m very happy now! 

SS (22:13):  I knew it would be posh. 

SS (22:13):  Haha that’s wicked. 

SS (22:14):  Tyrannus. Really? Like the dinosaur? 

SS (22:14):    I’ve never even HEARD of that!

ME (22:14):    No, Snow. Not like the dinosaur. My parents aren’t morons. 

SS (22:15):  Oh lol. Fairs. 

SS (22:15):  Speaking of your parents, your dad is well scary! I thought I was gonna have a heart attack earlier.

ME (22:17):  I’m aware. I grew up with him. 

ME (22:17):  Anyway, I thought you said if I told you, you’d shut up for a bit. You don’t appear to have shut up at all. 

SS (22:18):    Oh yeh lol. Sorry. 

SS (22:18):  I just got excited. 

SS (22:18):  Your name is wicked tho! Seriously.  

ME (22:18):  Whatever you say. 

SS (22:19):    Aha yeh. 

SS (22:19):  Anyways … Imma head off to bed now. No more talking from me! 

SS (22:19):  Lucky you!

SS (22:19):  Early start tomorrow! 

SS (22:19):  Cleaning some posho’s house. 

SS (22:19):  Lol.

SS (22:20):    G’night Baz.

SS (22:20):  See you tomorrow :) 

ME (22:20):  Good night, Snow. See you then. Don’t be late! 

SS (22:21):  Wouldn’t dream of it ;) 

With that, I shift -  Putting my phone on to charge, and laying myself down onto the bed. Helplessly charmed, I find myself smiling up towards the velvet canopy of my bed goofily (Despite my best efforts to suppress it). 

Tomorrow is going to be a good day. 

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

[entomancy]

(Fic) Daywalkin’ in Vegas

...let’s be honest, this ‘short backstory fics’ thing has done what my writing tends to do, and Escalted.  So let’s escalate.

Title: Daywalkin’ in Vegas (Wattpad) Setting: Increasingly not even serial-numbers-off-VTM. VTM infact exists in-world as a gaming system, which really annoys Fancy Vampires. Warnings: Gore; depictions of violence/ death against a child. Words: 6537 Summary: A failed siring gets the attention of two very different parts of Vegas Below; and a young blooded nosferatu puts herself in the centre of a dangerous balance.

-

Beep.

Twenty-eight forty.

Beep.

Thirty-one seventy.

Beep.

Nox watched the till display tick up, comparing the total to her mental tally.   She had enough; she knew she did.  It might have been in tattered bills, tarnished coin rolls and bits of change so old they were chipped like gears around the edges, but she was always real careful to plan these trips down to the grubby dime.  In and out, as unobtrusive as possible.

Beep.

A final bag passed, the green-yellow numbers flickering one final time.  The cashier smiled in customer service plastic as she read out the total, then followed it with a look of awkward concern.

“That’s all for you?  We - er – we have some good specials,” she said hesitantly, nodding towards the little stack of brightly-labelled packages beside the register. It was mostly sweets and tampons, and Nox bit back on a grin at the sight. Nice thought, but that hadn’t been her ‘bloody’ problem for a while now.

“That’s it,” she replied, adding: “Thanks, though.”   Sure, it was an upsell, but a kind one. The girl even managed to keep back any disgust at the state of some of the cash; it had been cleaned up, but people didn’t tend to drop crisp ones into a cup on the sidewalk.

Nox carried everything out to the repurposed shopping cart that she’d left just inside the little bodega’s doors. The thing was unbalanced and took corners like a drunk, but it was better than playing pack mule herself. The new bags settled down on top of the day’s earlier buys: bulk discount batches of toilet roll, bleach and superglue, along with cheap fabric for bandages. Plus, now, thirty-eight dollars and eighty-six cents’ worth of the cheapest mince and frozen shrimp available within a four-mile radius.

There had been a time when she’d had to worry about dietary fibre. Or vitamins.

The cart’s wheels creaked and rasped on sidewalk dirt as she headed it away, hunching down over the handle as she pushed; partly for more control, mostly to keep her face in shade. Her battered baseball cap and hoodie did a pretty good job – accompanied by garish plastic sunglasses and a stained bike mask – but every little helped. It also added to the overall ‘bag lady out on an afternoon shuffle’ aesthetic she was going for. The trick was to inspire just enough awkward pity to be invisible, but not enough to be a target.

Apparently, her act was off today. She’d just turned a laborious corner, distracted by trying to keep the bags all stacked, when she felt a hand clamp down onto the top of her head and yank hard. She didn’t move, but the hood pulled away and she heard a yelp of disgust even before she swivelled around. Two young men stood behind her, gawking in revulsion at the revealed state of Nox’s scalp, in all its piebald, peeling, erratically-thickened glory. A thin braid slithered down her face, torn too-easily free along with the hood.

She gave the scene one more heartbeat to really settle in, before grinning widely. Faced with a mouthful of teeth like broken ivory, the youths managed to look even more horrified.

“Aye, that’s how I caught it too!” Nox cackled theatrically, before snatching the hat back from now-unresisting fingers and jamming it back into place. “Don’t go scratching yerself anywhere pretty fer a bit, eh?”

The lad – and his already-retreating backup – hesitated, then let out a string of bravado-born obscenities. Freak – gross – blah blah blah I-have-a-tiny-dick blah. He kicked at the cart as he started follow his friend, and Nox let just enough spill out to sate the petty spite.

Once they had gone, she picked up the packets again and began to fix her hood. The exposed skin was stinging and smarting already, a poison-ivy prickle that calamine wouldn’t touch. At least it was late enough in the afternoon that she probably wouldn’t blister from the exposure. More annoying was the missing chunk of hair, and she probed at it gingerly. No deep wound, thankfully; which probably meant that the straggly braid had been almost ready to fall out anyway. She tended to keep about half a head of hair going, on average; so it’d grow back.

The lads were long gone by the time she was ready to set off again. With any luck she’d be nothing more than an awkward moment in a day of shoving their weight around; quickly forgotten. Being gross in the eyes of idiots wasn’t a Breech, after all.

The rest of the trip back was uneventful. Streets gave way to alleys, sidewalks to cracked paving, to rotting asphalt, and even the graffiti began to wane as she got closer to home. The main occupants of this ass-end of nowhere – a ghetto’s dumpster of a place – didn’t exactly make it their business to advertise where they were. Those that needed to know; knew. Those that knew, generally didn’t care – which was honestly a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Nox had heard the stories of what it had been like only twenty years ago. It was strange to feel that there was any sort of luck to her history, but six years wasn’t twenty.

Reaching a gap in an otherwise unremarkable wall, she glanced around quickly, making sure that no one was watching. Then she straightened up, gripped either side of the overloaded cart, and hefted it up through the broken brickwork in one smooth movement. She vaulted in after it, dropping down into cool shade, and let out a sigh of relief as the accepting touch of Karloff’s Invitation washed across her. The sense was like a door opening in welcome; like taking the first familiar turn towards home after a long day’s drive. It also meant no more unwanted attention – without that explicit permission, you’d never be able to recognise the entrance, or even keep your attention on what you were looking for. She was as invisible now to all other turned-aside eyes as everything else within the Invitation’s borders.

A few more rattling corners later, Nox finally turned into the Homestead grounds. The whole area had once been a crammed-in mess of squat apartment blocks, copy-paste civic solutions built without charm to fill the need for cheap rooms. The Homestead was the only one of its kin still standing, now surrounded by an opened-out area of recent amateur demolition and scrap-built fencing. Bright splashes of street art cut across sagging concrete and the blacked-out eyes of the windows, although the tags and themes chosen indicated the difference between these creators and the more standard ones of the world outside. Most of this had been painted at night, for example, with rather more variety on the theme of ‘hands’ grasping the tins.

There was a lot more inside, and below, but she felt a particular warmth at these murals. Out here, on the surface. Bright in sunshine that most of them could never see. The Nosferatu might be Vegas Below’s crusty little secret, but they were damn well there.

Bits of cracked paving clicked and skittered beneath the cart’s wheels as Nox made her way through the fences and to the big, bolted main doors. There was a rough porch built around the frame, mostly to give extra shadows, and she looked up at the tiny glints of watchful glass sunk into the surrounding wall. She waved.

“Dimestore-Blade’s grocery delivery,” she announced, and listened to the familiar rattle of bolts start on the other side of the door. A few moments later it swung open and a hunched figure peered out, wincing back from even the thick porch shade. This was Max; an older woman than Nox in both kinds of age, who managed her marks via a combination of extensive bandaging and even more extensive needlepoint. Watery black eyes looked past her, squinting through a gap in the heavily-embroidered scarf wrapped around her head.

“All okay?”

Nox nodded and lifted the trolley over the threshold.

“Fine.” She didn’t mention the youths. Didn’t seem a lot of point. “Let’s get this lot into the freezer before it can walk on its own, yeah?”

Safely inside the slightly-fetid gloom of the entrance, Nox took the opportunity shed her bag-lady layers. True, she couldn’t actually overheat, even on a Nevada afternoon, but being swathed in that many layers was still claustrophobic. Beneath the mismatched fabric strata was an increasingly-threadbare pair of yoga pants and a dark vest, and Nox gave a small sigh of relief as she folded up the rest of her daylight-drag, shoving it onto a shelf nearby.

“Right,” she muttered, as much to fill the air as anything else, and turned back to the trolley. Max had already transferred much of it into precarious piles in her own arms. Her scarf had slipped down, revealing a hairless head webbed with splitting skin; much of it made whole again with patterned patches of colourful thread. The fabric discoloured over time, of course, but it reduced the leaking.

Balancing their burdens, the pair made their way further into the Homestead. Closest to the entrance was the most decrepit part, occupied mostly by shelves and old furniture crammed full of clothes and patched umbrellas for venturing out, and with years of dumped debris building up in corners. Rooms with windows – even those as thoroughly blacked out or bricked up as these were – mostly housed the rat runs or storage, because no one wanted to spend a lot of time somewhere where crap mortar could result in dayburns. Similarly, the roof and most of the top floor was given over to pigeon roosts and No avoided them whenever possible. She’d never much liked pigeons before this, and she still held that even their vitae tasted of garbage, somehow. Still, they were much dumber than rats, and they did lay eggs, so that helped.

The really lived-in part of the Homestead was underground. Everybody knew Nosferatu lived in the sewers, right?  Okay, so Nox would admit she hadn’t much understood the difference between ‘sewer’ and ‘storm drain’ before her life had taken its scabby turn, but she sure did now. Vegas had extensive storm drains – large concrete tunnels that lay under much of the city, designed to quickly shift heavy rain away from the tarmacked surface above – and they were ideal: underground, dark, not monitored.

And not actually full of shit.

The arrangement used to be… messier, Karloff had told her. When they hadn’t been so organised; when they’d lived closer together with others who had slipped through the cracks Above. Some of the Family had started off as those same ‘unfortunates’ after all; those who were aftermath-sired in a broken frenzy, or from the bloody jaunt of some fuckfang cutting through the ranks of those who wouldn’t be missed. Splitting their claimed tunnels off from the main circuit and establishing the Homestead proper had happened later, after the Vegas Accord had given the Nosferatu a Clan-status, and hunting them for sport stopped being an acceptable weekend activity.

Six years sure ain’t twenty.

Max chatted away as they walked; an idle litany of gossip, social media tidbits and reports from watchers all over the city, woven together into what Nox tended to think of as ‘Radio Max’. Spying on people was apparently another nos stereotype; but honestly when you didn’t really sleep, were functionally invisible to large portions of society, and had worked out how to divert half-decent broadband from badly-secured leisure networks overhead, it wasn’t difficult to get ahead on current events.

Plus the rats, of course. 

Information was power, and they had precious little of any other. Although Nox sometimes wondered how much of those scant threads of power that Karloff put such value on would diminish if Clanpires in general figured out how to just Google things.

They had reached what she thought of as ‘mainstreet’ of the Homestead tunnels – a long space with concrete pillars linking floor to ceiling every thirty feet or so, quite cheerfully lit by a mishmash web of light fittings rigged up overhead – when yelling broke out further down. Nox and Max shared a look of alarm at the commotion, but it was when her name became suddenly clear in the shouts that Nox’s stomach dropped.

“Get this stuff away, will you?” she muttered, carefully setting her packages down beside Max, and turned to meet the oncoming figures. Even wrapped in a heavy coat and thick gloves, she knew the loping form of Skaad instantly.

With features which sagged so violently that his bruise-yellow skin frequently tore at the edges, and a mouth like a lipless sharps bucket, Skaad was nonetheless gifted with some of the keenest senses in the clan, plus a damn-near eidetic memory. Which meant he spent most of his time skulking in hidden places, listening to things he shouldn’t, and following people who thought they were alone in their secret business. Having him sprinting towards you, so fast his eyelids were visibly flapping, wasn’t a great sign.

Back in the world Above – before her life had gone to hell in a weirdly specific way – Nox had been a paramedic. It was useful in the day-to-day, being the closest thing this bunch of ragged immortals had to a resident doctor, but there was only really one sort of actual emergency left down here.

Skaad skidded to a halt, and grabbed her arm with a worrying urgency.

“Got a phresh one. Get yer kit!”

Fuck. A fresh one meant one thing: someone had found a dumped fledgeling, one who’d been showing signs of the Change going wrong and been tossed aside by their disgusted sire. Intervening quickly could help, particularly getting a pigeon smoothie down them fast, but the panic on Skaad’s drooping face didn’t line up with -

“What’s so – ?” she started, but he shook his head, steering her towards the plastic-covered tunnel they used as a makeshift clinic. He leaned in to shove her again, but lowered his voice and muttered just before he did – and the words sent ice down her spine.

“It’sh a kid.”

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

-

You didn’t turn kids.

When your working knowledge of vampires had been a general pop-culture miasma and some blurry memories of teenage Buffy marathons, finding yourself on the other side of the supernatural coin came as a shock in various ways. One of which was the weird sensation that you should have studied it all harder, somehow. Nox had certainly felt stupid, in her early days, as a man with a face like a charred wasps’ nest listened to her stutter her way through half-remembered fiction and worse-remembered reality. But she’d apparently got a few things right, and somewhere in that muddle had been the idea that you shouldn’t turn kids.

There were all kinds of theories as to why – from the debauched to the practical – but she found that in many ways it didn’t matter. Whatever fucked-up intention you had, it wouldn’t work. Too young just… didn’t take. And when a siring didn’t work, there was every chance the result would end up on her table.

She scrabbled through the assortment of old drawers and boxes that stored her gear, pulling out anything she thought might work. Bandages, thread, craft superglue, repurposed bottles of hard spirits that would do in a pinch for sterilising. The best-case scenario things. And the rest. Old herb pots of fine powders; thrift-store silver cutlery hammered and polished and changed into a very different set of tools. Sharpie-labelled bottles of liquids that moved weirdly in the light, and a range of refillable lighters that definitely didn’t contain hydrocarbons anymore. All the things she’d picked up in the last six years that fitted in with other sort of medicine.

The plastic curtain behind her was yanked back and a sound she had been trying not to hear finally demanded her attention. It wasn’t even a scream, and Nox hated, hated hated hated that she recognised the cadence there perfectly: raw, animal agony of sound torn from a throat that was violently reforming around it. She turned to see Skaad forcing flailing limbs down, looping thick restraints around rippling flesh, and finally allowed her full attention to turn down to the spasming form.

Gore looked different through vampire eyes. It was hard to describe exactly how – partly because wordsmithery had never been one of her strong points, but more because trying to compare feelings from now and then was always going to have a huge fucking hurdle of shifted species in the way. She’d still probably seen more human blood in nine years on the ambulances than during the half-dozen in and out of Vegas’ shadows, and but everything afterwards had been… different. Displaced. Detached. Just didn’t seem as visceral as it used to do.

But this did.

Acid tightened in Nox’s throat as she stared down at the shuddering mess in front of her. Blanched skin bubbled and writhed, tearing as it pulled away from the muscles beneath; themselves little more than contorting ropes of livid tissue that pulsed under dying heartbeats and spilled black fluid from ever-widening rents. The throat was gone, now a bubbling pit of desperate breaths, sucked past exposed tendons that wriggled like furious worms. Half-clotted ichor was pooling from gashes along the arms, down the stomach and further: the marks of peri-sire wounds, those that had been still fresh as the invading blood forced itself into collapsing veins. The eyes were side-to-side a sickly crimson-yellow, bloating out from a face that was collapsing in on itself, and throughout it all, the kid screamed.

It was revolting. Nox had to bite down on the vicious spikes of fight-flight that were going off in her mind, so violently she could feel her hands trembling from the horror and her disgust at her own reaction. It was an instinct, an unbidden response to a failing siring – she knew that – but understanding it didn’t make it easier. Everyone down here had ‘gone nozz’ during their own Turn. Hell, a few of those brought to her were walking around now, not seeming any weirder than any of them, but she’d still felt that awful surge of fundamental wrongness about them before they stabilised.

Nox gritted – all of – her teeth, and slammed her kit down on the table.

Instincts can fucking blow me.

“Let’s see what we can do.”

-

It turned out what they could do, wasn’t much. Cleaning, sewing, cutting, sealing – nothing held. Stitches fell from uncertain skin, or tore great new holes as fresh spasms pulled at the edges. Wet rags soon littered the floor, sodden with black and yellow fluids that turned the rough concrete into a slippery, stinking mess. The bleeding wasn’t slowing, even as the body seemed to be crumpling in on itself, gradually liquefying around the bones.

The sound had gone quieter, if not softer, and Nox didn’t have much hope it would stop soon. It might be days yet, before the final sparks of vitae or life or cruel continuation finally went out.

Too young. The kid – the girl, most likely, going by anatomy – had been just… too young.

They had to have known that.

“I’m outa tricks,” she said, although the words felt thick and sharp in her mouth. She wanted to keep going. She wanted to, so fucking much. But somebody had done this. Somebody who knew this would happen.

“I’m gonna make her comfy,” she continued, then hesitated even as she pulled out the frankly-horrific cocktail of morphine and street drugs that might make a dent in a system caught somewhere between undead and alive. Skaad looked at her, and held out a clawed hand.

“Want me…?”

“Nah.” Nox shook her head, and swallowed. “You can get the others outta upstairs, though. I need to – to make a call.”

Skaad stiffened, his jaundiced eyes flicking between her and the table for a moment, before he let out a low hiss and ducked away through the curtain. Nox administered the mix and tried to convince herself it would have any sort of palliative effect. Then she went back to the drawers and rummaged again, right at the back, until her fingers closed on the ridged plastic of an old nokia.

There weren’t many numbers in the phone, but it was the first one she selected, under B.

- SUMFCK SIRED KID. ITS BAD -

She threw the phone back into the drawer and hurried out, past the plastic sheet and into the tunnels, leaving sticky footprints in her wake. Not a great look, but everyone would already know what was happening. Nosferatu gossiped like – well, like a society of insomniac, semi-immortal shut-ins.

Overhead, an erratic cluster of repurposed pipes trailed down through the domed roof, emanating from the rat runs above. Drainpipes, corrugated plastic, bits of plumbing, and all of them shaking slightly with the constant pass of tiny feet within. They opened out onto tiny highways of shelving that lined the walls, all heading in the same direction as she was. Pairs of black-beady eyes glanced at her as they passed, and with so many concentrated here, she could feel the faintest flick of Attention in each one. They were all headed to a squat metal door at the end of an offshoot passageway. The rats passed freely back and forth narrow holes punched in either side of the door; but Nox knocked. She knew she was already expected and entered after a respectful moment.

Karloff’s chamber was bigger than it looked like it would be from the doorway. Nox wasn’t sure what the space had originally been – some kind of maintenance room? – but it was now dark, and warm, and smelled less of rats than might be expected given the constant rodent tide. Shelves lined the walls, full of books and occasional pieces of recycled pet furniture. One floor-ceiling tower was filled entirely with old radios, police scanners, walkie talkies and the like.

The old man himself lay where he usually did, propped up in a nest of pillows and blankets in a box-like bed in the centre of the room. He presented an impossibly gaunt figure: papery-brown skin layered like peeling paint across sharp bones, with eyes so thickly clouded they sat like grey-milk marbles in unclosing sockets. His face looked scorched, blackened at the edges of the old dry wounds that had taken his nose, torn away most of his lips, and presumably shattered the broken fangs that jutted from his mouth. There was – as usual – a huge white rat lazing across his chest, nearly the size of a terrier and wearing a dark silken ribbon, and its sharp crimson eyes fixed on Nox as she entered.

She bowed her head, and tried not to leave bloody footprints on the rug.

“I need a temporary Invitation,” she said. It was blunt, but there was no point in dancing around it. He’d already know anyway. As she spoke, the huge rat sat up. It’s pale paws were clasped in front of it, folded in a strangely human-like gesture, but Karloff himself turned his head only slightly.

“’Belton,” he said softly, in the throat-based hush of his voice, and Nox nodded. Her fingers twitched into fists, and she felt the sticky remnants of gore slide between them.

“I… I’m running out of options, and she – ” the words were sticker than her fingers, getting caught on her lips “ – she’s real bad.”

The rat cocked its head and Karloff drew a slow breath.

“You will not do it?” he asked. Nox’ throat tightened.

“If I gotta. But I want him to see her, cos I – I could do this, but I ain’t got a snowball’s chance of doing anything about it.”

Karloff’s head turned further, and the clouded eyes passed over her with an intensity that Nox could feel, as if they skipped sight entirely and went right into her heart instead. There was another stretched moment of silence, then the pressure dropped and the rat turned away, curling itself neatly under its master’s chin.

“It is done,” Karloff said. The long fingers on one hand twitched slightly, and the faintest hint of a frown dug into his face. “...take care with the old death. You have seen little of him.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you,” Nox added before she headed out again; first to check that the cocktail of drugs had at least calmed the kid’s screams, then back into the upper house. A few rats followed her as she slid into the squeaking, busy dimness of the runs to use the sink that still stood in one corner, using brownish water to at least scrub some of the stains from her hands. Then she set to wait, pacing with nervous energy.

No one joined her. By now, everybody would know what was happening, and no one wanted to be around when he came calling.

The problem – okay, so one of the problems, in a dreadful, tangled ball of ever-more layered problems – was that it was very, very difficult to kill a fledgeling in any way that could be considered humane. A body already in the process of tearing itself apart was resistant to most damage for the same reasons that you couldn’t punch a fog. Getting any kind of drug to land in an even-partly vampiric system was difficult enough at the best of times, and this…

Well, there was sunlight, but everything about Nox’s very being baulked at the idea of using that method. She knew with personal, hellish intimacy that the agony from that would get through even a Change. Torturing someone to death with one of the few things worse than what they were going through was really not the point.

Plus, there was a tiny, tiny part of her mind that hoped she was wrong. She’d only been dealing with this stuff for a handful of years, and while rumours varied widely about how old Belton actually was, he’d seen a lot of shit. Maybe she’d missed something. Just maybe…

It seemed to take an eternity before the roar of an engine outside broke through Nox’ whirling thoughts. She hurried to the door, took a careful breath, and peered out through the little viewing slot. Not that anyone else would have been able to ride a motorcycle up to the Homestead without the permission of Karloff’s Invitation, but it never hurt to keep caution.

A huge bike was settled just beside the front steps. It was black, but in the way a magpie’s wings were black, with oil-slick iridescence hinting around the edges. The rider – dressed to match, in that seamless continuity of clothing that Nox had started to think of as ‘vampire sunscreen’ – had already dismounted and was stood beside his bike, the raven-sheen of his helmet turned towards the door. There was no visible gaze to meet, but the weight of his attention was like ice down her spine, and she opened the door as deliberately as she could.

“She’s downstairs,” she said, as the figure came up the steps. The sun was already going down, barely spilling dying light over the surrounding wall of buildings, and the porch shadow was very deep there. It only got deeper as the big man stepped into it – and then paused, right on the edge of the frame.

“May I enter?” His voice was never as heavy as she expected, with a melodic edge that absolutely did not match what she knew lay under that helmet. Nox rolled her eyes.

“I texted you, and you’re here, right?”

He was always so… old fashioned about this. It wasn’t like it was a general requirement. Nox stepped back, gesturing inwards.

“Come in already,” she added. The man might have been big – although ‘fucking enormous’ would be a better description, needing to visibly turn and duck to get through the doorframe – but he moved deceptively fast, and was well inside the hallway, starting to remove his helmet before she had had time to shut the door. She turned to look, not even pretending not to stare as he unclipped all the security bits and lifted it smoothly free. The dramatic effect was only slightly spoiled by the oddly-bulging balaclava he had on underneath – but Nox supposed that if her ears could meet at the back, she’d want to keep them restrained inside a helmet too.

Belton looked… well, he looked like Belton. There just plain wasn’t anyone else like that. The best description she had ever been able to come up with was that he looked like someone had tried very hard to make a bat in the character creation screen of a pro-wrestling computer game. It was as if the underlying architecture that should have made a human skull had been stretched and tweaked and twisted into something approaching Chiroptera from the other side.

It probably said something worrying about her own psyche that – somewhere in the mess of emotions that Belton inspired – a part of her really, really wanted to see an xray of his head.

No time for this.

“C’mon,” she nodded him to follow her back down the Homestead’s passageways. The rats watched them from every surface; their skittering highways unusually still as the majority of glinting little eyes were fixed on the visitor. They were the only visible watchers, and Nox tried not to notice how empty every space they passed through was. It added another level of eeriness, with the just-abandoned debris of life seeming like some extremely localised Rapture. Even Nox’ rapid explanation of the situation fell muted around them; for his part, Belton just listened and nodded every now and then. He didn’t look around.

How familiar was he, with this place?  He’d come a few times since she’d been here – and of course, that first time meant he’d sure known where it was. Nox’ gaze slid sideways. Belton had removed his gloves by now, and the hands revealed couldn’t even remotely be thought of as human; the fingers were too long, bone and tendons standing stark beneath mottled grey skin; capped by black claws that curled from the nailbeds, polished to an obsidian gleam.

How many times had those hands run across the outer walls of the Homestead; at Karloff’s limits; searching for a way in?  How many times had those claws torn into sagging flesh, or crushed furry watchers into broken blindness?

How many times had he come before he had brought her here; a crispy mess of fledgeling coated in sand and gravel and gore, spat out by the desert and into hands that immortals feared…?

The plastic curtain seemed to rise up like an exclamation, a cold shot of right now breaking her thoughts, and Nox came to a sharp halt. There was still sound from inside: a bubbling, slurred collage of moans that had made it past the drugs, and her hand froze halfway to the curtain. The swell of renewed, visceral revulsion felt like she’d choke on her own fucking hypocrisy, and she couldn’t suppress a slight hiss.

“It’s – ” she started, through gritted teeth, but cut out as Belton gently touched her shoulder.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Nox’ fingers twitched, then she turned away, moving until she could lean heavily against the nearest concrete pillar and rested her forehead against the pitted surface. The groan might as well have been coming out of the air. It pressed down around her and her skin crawled.

She hated this, and she hated that she hated it like this. Some depraved motherfucker had dragged a fucking child into very literal hell and she’d tried, she’d tried with every stupid, macguivered bullshit tool she’d put together out of garbage; she’d tried everything and it was never going to have meant a damn thing and all she could focus on, really really focus on right now was how fundamentally disgusting that fucking sound was –

And then it stopped.

Nox physically sagged against the pillar, relief and nausea chasing each other through a stomach that was dropping into her boots. There was only one reason for the sudden silence, and she let her eyes slide closed, muttering the same half-wordless prayer she’d always used when a case went bad, or a patient flatlined in the ambulance. Whatever that meant now, she’d never been sure, but it still sort of fit.

She’d known. She’d known when she picked up that damn phone.

But fuck me if hope isn’t a bitch.

It wasn’t long before there was the faint brush of plastic again and Nox opened her eyes to see Belton smoothing the curtain back behind him, covering the sudden stillness. There was a long moment of silence before he turned to her. His eyes were the most human-looking part of his face, and the grey gaze sought hers.

“I’ll be on my way, then.”

Nox nodded numbly. They went out the way they came; still alone, still watched at every step by a hundred rodent stares. Back up, back to the door and out into the thickening dusk of the evening – and it wasn’t until the porch steps were creaking under his boots that Nox’s nerve rose again.

“Hey – Belton?” she managed, and the big figure paused. He looked back at her and one curled brow raised, moving an ear with it. Nox pulled the Homestead door shut behind her as she sought the right words. “This… ain’t your job, right?”

“I don’t have a real tight specification,” he replied, then shrugged. “But broadly?  No. To be honest with you, my boss couldn’t give a rat’s twat what happens with the Nosferatu.”

“So why’d you come?” Those words came fast, but Nox didn’t try to stop them. Belton paused again, then hung his helmet and balaclava over the big bike’s handlebars. He sat down on the steps, hunching a little in that strange shape his back took when he wasn’t standing, and Nox slid down beside him at the unspoken invitation.

Belton shook his head, what might have been a wry smile tugging at the edges of his too-wide lips. Glints of needle teeth flashed in the dusk.

“It’s a question of perspective, see,” he said quietly. “For someone like you?  This’ll ruin your whole year. Getting all Lady Macbeth with the inevitable. But for me?” He held up a hand and slowly flexed the clawed fingers. Once; twice; and Nox couldn’t draw her gaze away from the mottled skin as it shifted over his bones. Belton sighed. It was an old sound, so old that any hint of what it might contain had worn away like stone under rain.

“What’s one drop in an ocean?  Don’t get me wrong – ” he added, with the edge of smile falling away again “ – I’ll feel bad about it; but I’m not losing myself any sleep.”

She should have been angry. She wanted to be angry, at the casual way this bat-faced bastard just said it; as the so-recent feel of the kid’s crumbling flesh slammed against her thoughts and ghosted under her fingers, and bile she wasn’t even sure she had anymore swirled at the back of her throat. She should be angry.

“...thank you.”

“No need for that,” he replied – but Nox shook her head.

“Nah; there is. Things need saying.” She fidgeted with the hem of her pants for a silent moment, before continuing. “Don’t believe you actually sleep, though.”

This time there was no mistaking that Belton grinned; and the resulting expression was exactly as unpleasant as it sounded.

“No?  Not even if I say I’ve got little bats on my pyjamas?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Now that there’s uncalled for.”

Nox grinned, and even as she did she could almost hear Karloff’s voice in her head. Be wary of the old death. 

And yet…

There was another long silence, although this one felt less tense.

…fuck it. When am I gonna get this chance again?

“They found her in the desert,” she said carefully, scuffing dust across the steps with one toe as she spoke; an idle motion to distract herself from the nerves inside. Belton nodded.

“Aye. Letting lady sun do the dirty work. It’s an almost foolproof method, really.”

Nox looked down at her own hands; where the patchwork of thickened tissue traced patterns like dry riverbeds over her pallid brown skin. The sun burned bits went blistered red, then dark and crackly, then sickly pale when that peeled; slowly edging back to her default. It sure as hell wasn’t pleasant; but it wasn’t the chemical-melting collapse of flesh that she’d seen on others.

“So, that make me a fool or an outlier?”

“I said almost.” Belton leaned back a little, looking up into the dark expanse of sky. “Always going to take a risk when you don’t stay to watch. Although I’ll admit it takes some big balls to stick around for that sort of disposal. What with the deeply ingrained phytophobia of your classic vampire, and everything.”

Nox raised her most intact eyebrow.

“This is more about your junk than I want to know.”

Belton laughed. Really laughed; the kind of melodic tone that bordered on a snatch of song and that was so very out of place coming from within that face.

“Oh, I’m not claiming that kind of testicular fortitude. Sunlight scares the piss out of me as much as it ever did. Don’t think it’s the kind of thing you can get over. Built-in, you know?”

“You ride about in the day,” Nox pointed out, and Belton waved a hand back towards his helmet.

“I’ve got some really bespoke protective gear, see. Amazing what’s been done with polymers in the last thirty years.”

Nox blinked.

“…you’ve got bike pleathers?”

“Technically I’ve got an integrated neo-polymer baselayer,” Belton stopped and his nose crinkled – which was quite an extensive expression. “…ah fuck, that sounds like I’ve got plastic pants, doesn’t it?  Keep that one to yourself, will you?”

“Sure.” Nox’s shoulders sagged again as reality dropped back suddenly. She decided to just go for blunt. “With… the kid. Someone did that, and before that they – ” her words choked again, at the thought of where some of those peri-sire wounds had been.

“I know.” The amusement had gone from Belton’s voice as he stood up, heading back to his bike rather abruptly. The engine roared into life as he swung himself astride it, folding his ears into their cover, and Nox had to shout to be heard above the rumble.

“Do they… just get away with this?”

“There’s plenty that think they should,” he replied calmly; oddly easy to hear over the din, as he slid the helmet into place. “It was like that for a long time.”

Nox’s lips drew back, almost of their own accord, working to some defiant instinct she only had partial control over.

“And you?”

“Me?  I’m a monster on a chain that I put there.” Belton looked up, and just before the visor snapped closed, there was a flicker of crimson in his eyes.

“But I’ll see what I can do.”

-

#Entofic #Vampire Nonsense #urban fantasy #The Vegas Masqerade #Nosferatu grocery shopping #terrible daywalkers #this WWE-manbat-looking mofo #I'm not warning for 'blood' on a vampire setting #help the plot keeps happening

[unsure-writer]

could you write a yandere Laito and Yui scenario where Yui tries to leave Laito because she gets pregnant and knows he won’t be a perfect father? if you wouldn’t mind, could you write it with Yui as the main character? thank you so much!

WARNING: Yandere, some violence 

______________________

Despite the fact that Yui sometimes was completely oblivious to her surroundings, even she had noticed the change that had occurred in Laito over the last month or so. Laito being his usual self included constant touching, sexual innuendos and occasionally petty behaviour if he was trying to make her jealous. 

However, in the recent weeks, he had rarely left her side and when he did it was for no more than 10 minutes. Yes, Yui knew she was considered fragile in a vampire’s mind, but this was something else entirely. Any sense of independence that had remained throughout her time at the Sakamaki mansion had now been diminished. 

It had taken a while, but she’d made a kind of mental list, trying to think of anything that may be the cause for this sudden attentiveness. Maybe a new enemy that she didn’t know about? Or maybe Ayato or Kanato had said something rude about her and Laito didn’t feel safe leaving her alone.

Yui’s list remained short until one afternoon when she’d been in the kitchen with Reiji and Laito, preparing for the monthly family dinner. Laito wasn’t being helpful, he seemed to just be monitoring her and Reiji and even snarling whenever there was any kind of contact between the two. It was off putting to say in the least. 

They’d been prepping for about half an hour before Laito suddenly moved from his spot on the counter, winking at Yui and mentioning something about an early birthday gift. Of course, this left Yui and Reiji alone in the kitchen, and there was a thick silence for a few minutes before Reiji said something.

“You’ll be coming to my lab after we have finished preparing in here. I have some vitamins for you to take that I have manufactured specifically for your needs.”

“My...needs?” Yui asked, pausing in her chopping. “Uh, does Laito know? I’m not sure if he’d be pleased with this.”

Reiji scoffed, “ As if I would do something so careless as to ask you to test some random drugs. Laito asked me for this, and I have taken great care in putting these together specifically to aid your pregnancy.”

Pregnancy. Yui felt the whole world stop around her as Reiji stood there waiting for her reply. How could she be so stupid? So careless? Her and Laito had never once used protection, and he’d once mentioned something about humans and vampires being unable to reproduce together. Then again, she was no regular human, was she?

There was a tinkling laughed as Laito returned to the kitchen, pushing a buggy in front of himself. “I see Reiji has let the secret slip. Congratulations, Little Bitch, you’re pregnant. With my baby.”

“I didn’t kn- how is this possible?” Yui cried, dropping her knife and pressing both hands to her cheeks. She felt as if she was floating away and she needed to ground herself.

Laito’s eyes flashed cold for a second before reverting back to their usual light green. “You don’t sound happy about this. Why? We’ve been trying for weeks and you’ve made it past your first month so-”

“We?” Yui exclaimed, “No, you’ve been trying. I -we cannot have a child. I can’t have a child with you!”

Yui swiftly exited the kitchen and headed for their shared bedroom. The feeling of betrayal shook her down to her core and she placed a tentative hand on her belly. How much longer before she would show? Would it be dangerous for someone like her to carry a vampire’s child?

She covered her mouth as a sob rose from deep inside her. Laito’s child. Laito, who even after they’d been together for almost a year, still made jokes about sharing her with his brothers. Who still flirted with any and every girl they came across. Who had killed young girls like Yui before. Would their child even be safe?

She tore into their room, pulling a suitcase off of the top of the wardrobe and began stuffing it with clothes as fast as she could.

Laito’s cold voice stopped her in her tracks. “Little Bitch, what exactly are you doing?”

Yui whirled around, clutching a skirt to her chest as her heart thundered in her chest. “I can’t stay here, Laito. I can’t have your child.”

“But you would happily have someone else’s. Right? Right?!” 

“I-I’m too young.” Yui stammered, taking a cautious step back. She had never seen him act like this. His eyes glowed a luminous green and his entire being seemed to shake as he stalked towards her.

Cold hands landed on her shoulders, pulling her close before she could push away. Laito murmured into her hair, “Ah, you’re worried about your age? Don’t worry, I’m old enough for the both of us. I watched Christa raise Subaru, I know what to do.”

Yui wanted to argue further but she knew it was pointless. Laito was now muttering sweet nothings into her hair as he swayed on the spot, his grip on her waist not letting up at all.

“We won’t raise them here, either.” he suddenly said, “I’ve been looking at houses but haven’t decided yet; next time I go, you should come and we can chose together.”

“W-why not here?” Yui didn’t exactly want to raise a child around the tempestuous and unpredictable Sakamaki brothers but she had to admit that with Laito’s recent behaviour, there was perhaps safety in numbers.

Laito pulled back sharply to took down at her and growled, “I don’t like the way they look at you. I put up with it before, played along, but I won’t allow my child to grow up like this. Though, perhaps we could stay a few months, just so they can see you grow round with my child and see how you are completely mine.”

Yui gasped as Laito suddenly wrapped her hair round his hand and pulled her head back, exposing her neck for his hungry fangs. His eyes rolled over the pale skin, scars from past rough feedings catching his eye and filling him with a deep sense of satisfaction.

 “Yes. Mine.”

#yandere #diabolic lovers #laito sakamaki #vampire #pregnancy #reiji sakamaki #possessive #anime

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

A Room Full of Vampires

A Drawfee Fanfiction

John’s sister was the lamest best friend he ever had. 

They had planned to go to the movies for a week now, after months of John begging her to go with him. She only caved because this double feature landed on his birthday, and he promised she’d get out of buying him a gift if she went. 

Cheapskate she was, Ava readily agreed. 

For the past few days, he’d been so excited about it. He planned on going all out at the snack bar, he’d bring a blanket, the works. It would be like when they were kids and they used to watch movies in blanket forts when their parents went on dates. 

Considering John’s birthday last year was the worst thing that happened to him, he deserved to have some serious nostalgic fun on this one. 

But that morning, when he woke up to only one text, all it said was a weak apology that she couldn’t make it because her boyfriend had a work event. Then about twenty minutes later she added a proper, “Happy Birthday”. 

Cool. First birthday single in ten years and not even his sister wanted to spend the day with him. It was fine. 

Totally fine. 

However, when it was 7 pm and John hadn’t left his house and had totally demolished a pint of red velvet ice cream, he concluded that maybe it wasn’t fine. 

By the time the first movie of his fantasized double feature was almost over, John was pretty damn sick of staring down the liter of Mountain Dew and feeling sorry for himself. He looked in the mirror. Sure his hair was a mess and he still was wearing yesterday’s clothes, but he was a perfectly capable 26-year-old man. If he wanted to go to the movies on his birthday, he could go all by himself, dammit. 

Feeling a surge of self-confidence (possibly fueled by his energy drink overdose) he vibed with the electricity running under his skin. That’s right. He was an averagely attractive, somewhat active, not dead human. He could go out and do anything!

Granted, he couldn’t fly. He caught himself a taxi the second he got outside. He wasn’t an animal. 

When he reached the theater, the box office was derelict, save an arguing couple buying tickets. In the dark night, the platinum blonde, with arguably fabulous long hair, glistened under the bright lights. The duo looked a lot fancier than him, but sometimes people cosplayed to the theaters, so that’s what he figured was going on. Since the second feature was Cats, maybe they just really liked musicals and wanted to get their Phantom of the Opera on. He just sorta shrugged it off and waited for them to be done. 

But their bickering was pretty interesting. “Bertrand, we were supposed to go to an elaborate dinner tonight. But instead, you stayed at work late, missed our reservations, and you’re trying to make it up to me by taking me to a half-finished theater event? I’m not a dog, your scraps aren’t enough for me.”

“Bastian, I am trying to make it up to you. You love Cats. You’ve always loved Cats. You loved Cats before it even was on Broadway. This should be a fun substitute.”

“Well, maybe I wanted to see Sonic the Hedgedog, too.”

“It’s hedgehog, love.”

“Whatever.” The blonde, named Bastian, crossed his arms and stared at the movie posters, waiting for Bertrand to finish paying. 

While John loved himself a good drama, the awkwardness of hearing a couple argue also made him want to shrivel up inside and die. On a normal day, that would’ve been enough to make him go home. 

But not today.

Today was his birthday and he was going to see a movie, dammit. 

After the way-too-fashionable men walked away, John walked up to the dead-eyed teenager. “One for the double feature.”

“What is up with you people, coming half-way through the show?”

He didn’t mean to, but John bristled from the inside out. Caffeine rage was no joke. “I am an adult and I live my life in a way that makes me happy. I look like a happy man, don’t I?”

“I don’t think I wanna answer that.” Handing over his tickets, the teen grimaced. “Enjoy the show, dude.”

John didn’t mean to get so rattled, so he gave the guy an awkward wave and hoped that he never met him again. 

Okay, all the chaos had to be over now. He was going to walk into that theater, enjoy this damned movie, and prove that he was perfectly fine on his own. He didn’t need Ava or Stacy or anyone to make his birthday a good one. He was a 26-year-old man and--

Just as John pushed the doors to the theater open, he saw the couple from before standing in front of all the aisles, accompanied by two other oddly dressed men, four children, a bat, and a dog with...Wings?

Though John had been pumping his arms pretty intently, a man on a mission, he stopped dead. 

All the way down the aisles, Bertrand said, “So that’s why I knew this double feature was happening.”

Behind the kids, the guy with a big cloak threw open his arms and yelled, “Boo!” They all jumped and squealed, but then threw themselves into his arms. 

By all accounts, that should’ve been more than enough for John to leave. There was also a fair shot that, unless he was absolutely losing his mind, he might’ve just walked into a roomful of vampires. Or vampire cosplayers, at the very least, which wouldn’t be the strangest thing he walked in on. After all, nothing would ever beat Stacy getting bent over by a guy in a Teletubby costume. 

He still had no clue what the guy’s face even looked like. 

Cringing, John instead focused on watching the bizarre, but obviously happy family banter, hug, and bicker. Even the angry couple still obviously was very much in love with each other. Though he could hear Bastian’s petty comments all the way up the stairs, the guy kept making sure Bertrand never stepped on his own cloak. It was horribly sweet, even if it made him feel so much more alone. 

Sitting down, he accepted that his night couldn’t get any weirder, so he might as well accept it. 

The parents of the kids walked over to Bertrand and Bastian. The one who looked like he got hair tips from Doc Brown was patting Bertrand on the head. “So happy to have my older brother show up to our family outing!”

“It wasn’t on purpose, Victor.” 

The shorter, more cartoonish guy shrugged. “Either way, Valentino and I are happy to see you. And so are the kids! Desdemona has been dying to see her “shiny-headed uncle”.” 

“Balding is a completely natural part of the male aging process. I just unfortunately got stuck in the middle of it.” 

Just as Victor opened his mouth, the lights dimmed. “Ooh! Time for the movie to start. Sit with us!” 

Bastian patted Bertrand’s shoulder and he did this deep sigh, but he did it with such ease that it must be muscle memory from years of annoyance. John remembered when he and Ava used to have tics like that. They texted every other day, but the last time he saw her in person had to be months ago. 

He didn’t even know what color her hair was right now. Knowing her, it probably changed a few times since the purple he saw last. 

Even though Cats started up, and the CGI was a disturbing kind of mesmerizing, John couldn’t keep his eyes off the family in the first few rows. The way Bastian and Bertrand held each other’s sleeves was endearing. The little girl next to Bertrand kept leaning over and asking him questions, but no matter how tense he looked, it seemed like he always answered them. And while he didn’t quite understand what was happening, the one named Valentino held the tiny bat like it was a sweet, sleepy toddler. 

His chest started to hurt, looking at them, but he also couldn’t look away. Vampire cosplayers or whatever, they were family. It made his own fingers feel so cold, so empty and killed his Mountain Dew buzz completely. 

John looked to his own left and right and wondered how long it’d been since he got used to being alone. Those last few months with Stacy weren’t the best, and Ava drifted when--

Looking down at Victor and Valentino giggling and covering their kids’ eyes when the Cats were a little too sensual, he knew what the answer was: Ava had been distant since they lost their own version of those two. 

When Ava and John’s parents died, it had been so sudden. Before that, they spent so much time together. Ava was his best friend, over at his apartment every few days for ramen or advice or to make him try out some new recipe she had. Mom and Dad would take them to farmer’s markets and book drives, supporting their dreams in their own, weird ways. And they all used to really love mini golf, no matter how dumb that was. 

He couldn't remember the last time Ava stopped by his book store, even just to say hi.

Maybe he had a lot more going on than just being lonely; maybe Ava did, too. 

Before John could really register what was going on, the lights were coming up and it felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest. His cheeks got wet and his lungs got so full of loneliness that they didn’t know they were a pair. He didn’t want it to end. He wanted to stay in this dark theater, living vicariously through this vampire family a little longer. 

But crying in a near-empty movie theater doesn’t go unnoticed for long. “Um, sir? Are you okay?” The one named Victor was suddenly in front of him, touching his shoulder, with these kind, however dark and kinda creepy, eyes. 

If this was a normal day, John would smile and play it off.

But today was his birthday, dammit. 

Shaking his head, John said, ‘No.” 

Behind him, the entire vampire family had pooled, all looking at him with their own dark, kinda creepy eyes. John wasn’t really in a place to judge, though, considering his were probably all puffy. 

Victor asked, “Mind if I ask what it’s about?”

“You all are just a really beautiful family.” John sniffled and tried to rub away as many tears as he could. While the honesty felt nice, there was only so much shamelessness his very embarrassing soul could handle. “I think I got a little jealous.”

“Well, if you want, you can come join us for midnight mini-golf. The night has just started for us, and it’s our little girl’s birthday. The more the merrier.”

John couldn’t help but laugh. “Mine, too.”

“Even better!” Victor stood up and offered John a hand. He took it. 

As they passed the rest of the group, Valentino was rounding up the kids, Bastian was knuckling away a tear, and Bertrand was frowning. But it was the kind of way someone frowned when they knew they were about to be forced to enjoy something that they totally would enjoy, but hated to admit it. 

With a knowing smirk, Victor asked, “Coming to mini-golf, Bertrand? It’s Desi and this young man’s birthday, after all.”

Bastian added, “I won’t be so completely annoyed with you anymore if we do.” 

Bertrand scoffed in defeat. “Fine.”

And then John followed the roomful of vampires to mini-golf, and chose to actively ignore the fact none of their reflections showed up in any of the water features and the liquid in their water bottles was red. It was easier to focus on the way they all smiled together under the moonlight. 

Tonight was his birthday, and he was going to enjoy it with a real, live family (sort of). 

He’d call Ava in the morning. They had a lot to talk about.

#Drawfee #Drawfee fanfiction #A Room Full of Vampires #fanfiction #I'm sorry #family angst

[miraclejune]

HERO’S SOUP: CHAPTER 17

District 9

Minho and Felix popped inside through the window. A hint of snow wafted around as Felix transformed back into human form. Minho quietly emerged from the dark corner.

Woojin helped Woong from getting some extra chairs from one of the rooms. They settled down and paid attention to the heavy conversation that was bound to happen.

"Jisung got kidnapped. Jeongin met another one of Merlin's apprentices. Changbin almost got killed. And Chan has real friends outside the mansion."

"Really? That's one of the big issues?" Chan rolled his eyes after receiving no response from Hyunjin. "I've heard about all of that except for the last part." Woong chuckled as he spoke.

"How?”

“Rumors spread faster than the plague here. And the Sofia's aren't good at keeping secrets." the vampire couldn't agree more. He heard a lot of chatter before at the clan, mostly some petty quarrels and scandals. Rare cases would be fights and disagreements within their 'businesses'. They spread petty rumors about other people but not even the slightest information from them was leaked.

"So, basically every supernatural being knows?" Woojin slumped down as he saw Woong's soft nod.

"Is it all connected though?" Jeongin asked.

"I hope so. It'll be much easier to deal with." Minho responded. He was right. If the following scenes came from different sources, it would be very difficult to handle. They didn't have the resources nor the time to do so. When it comes to manpower, they do have Jisung and Chan.

"Do you guys think they're tracking us?"

"Jeongin, you watch too many detective movies." Felix chuckled, moving to sit in between the boy's legs. "Well," Jeongin leaned forward and placed his hands on Felix's shoulders. "I do watch a lot of those films but maybe it's possible? No harm in finding out.”

"Let's hear him out." Minho suggested. He nodded at the boy signaling him to continue. "So, Jisung had been kidnapped before, right? Thankfully we all got out alive. Which is weird?"

"How is that weird?" Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows. Woojin put out a hand to calm him down, he noticed his tone was rising for a bit. "Go on." he said.

"O-okay." Taking a big breath, Jeongin calmed his racing heart.

"They let us go so easily. No backup. No follow up attacks. No nothing. It was too peaceful for my liking. A couple of weeks passed by peacefully, except for that one encounter with Ms. Yoo. Do you guys think she was somehow warning us? That something bad would happen soon."

"Kazuo has been giving us hints as well." Seungmin added.

Hyunjin rested his chin on his hand. "Ms. Yoo didn't hurt you. But she did scare the shit out of you." Jeongin nodded. To be honest, he did almost piss his pants.

"I tried to find her. But I couldn't get a grip of her. I couldn't ask around because people might question why I, an alpha wolf, is looking for one of Merlin's Descendants with no valid reason to state." Hyunjin turned to the alpha. He was also part of that search team.

"What we know for sure is that she's not our enemy nor our ally. I haven't seen her around the university ever since." Seungmin added. It somehow made sense. After not seeing her at the campus, weird things started to happen.

"We keep on encountering Kazuo though." Seungmin pointed out. Everyone in the room went still. "He's helping us." Chan replied. "We're not so sure about that." Minho retaliated. Chan didn't respond back.

"Two days ago. I received a letter from my former master." Seungmin's confession drew everyone's attention. "It was mostly monthly updates on how the academy is and some special events. But she did disclose a hidden message."

Hyunjin tilted his head. "Huh, as far as I know. No secret code nor language can't be deciphered by your former academy. Everything that comes in and out is to be sorted and searched very thoroughly." It was common knowledge for everyone.

Not only Seungmin's former witch academy but most of the facilities regarding students and workers. "That's the problem. They scrutinize every detail of it except for the very simple ones. They tend to overlook it."

He snapped his fingers and a sealed amazon box fell onto his lap. He reached out for Woojin's hand, who was beside the sofa sitting on a different chair.

On cue, the alpha's nails grew longer. "You just used our alpha as a cutter to open up the box.." Changbin shook his head in disbelief.

"Anyway, it said something about another package that was sent to me via mail." Seungmin ignored the wolf's remarks.

He stopped halfway through opening it.

"Like, normal mailing." what he meant was, normal human mailing.

"Yeah, the FedEx box is a dead giveaway." Felix commented.

"I planned on opening it the day I received it, but I forgot." the rest weren't paying attention to his words. They were excited to see what was in the package.

Seungmin pulled out a bunch of old letters, books, and smaller boxes. "Oh, these are just stuff I left there." He flipped through some of the books, handing one or two to Woong, the rest wondered why Seungmin had Woong's belongings.

"She scares me." Woong thanked him, sighing in agreement with what he said. "Seriously, she knows the exact time and place we would meet. Even when you're gonna open the package."

"You guys went to the same academy?" Jeongin asked.

"Yup!" Woong snapped his fingers, a big book appearing from thin dust. The book floats in front of everyone. It was sort of like a yearbook. Something straight out of Harry Potter. It flipped through the page where Woong's class was featured. "I was in my last year when Seungmin came in. So, we didn't see each other often." Seungmin waves his hand in the air, flipping through the pages once more until it stops at his class photo. "I hated taking these class photos," he confessed.

"Why'd you get the book?" Seungmin asked. "I also got the tablet. But I don't know where I placed it." Basically, their academy offers two options for the 'yearbook' either print or digital. Hey, it's a new age.

Woong threw the books he received at the shelf. They slowed down and squeezed neatly on a few vacant spaces. "Why didn't you just search for her there?" he pointed at the book. "Ms. Yoo is older than both of you.. so, it won't make sense."

"The book shows every class from the beginning of the academy to the last." Woong proclaimed proudly. "Damn, why wasn't I cursed as a witch." Changbin completely forgot about his words earlier. He was impressed.

Seungmin thinned his lips before answering. 

"I did."

The book closed. The cover slowly changed into a different color, as well as a year printed on the front. It opened and flipped through a couple of pages stopping abruptly on the last page. "This was Ms. Yoo's class. There were only 10 of them and I heard that all of them were expelled."

They all leaned in to see an empty sheet with only the year printed on top of it, the ink was runny. It looked creepy as hell...

"Why haven't we heard of this?" Chan looked at Seungmin and Woong exchanging glances with each other. "An expelled student is normal but a whole class was definitely sketchy. We have no idea how and why. We were just given a warning not to bring it up if necessary."

The room sat in silence.

Jeongin observed the book, shifting his gaze to the two witches. Woong snapped his fingers and the book disappeared.

As they were settling on their seats, Jeongin spoke up. "You guys are cursed."

Woojin walked across the room, kneeling in front of the boy. "How did you know?" softly caressing his cheek, he asked. "I just know." Jeongin wasn't quite sure as to why he knew. He just blurted out the first thing that came to mind and based on Woojin's actions, he knew also.

"We are." Woong gave a sad smile.

"Cursed not to talk about it." Seungmin murmured.

"But how? You guys just mentioned it." Minho tilted his head after asking. He was boggled by what was happening at that moment. "We can talk about the whole class being expelled, but not the reason why."

"So, you are cursed not to talk about it?" Felix asked again.

"No. We can say what happened but not the details."

"Why not?" Chan asked this time.

As soon as he did, they all shut their mouths. They got it. The witches were cursed. They're just repeating themselves, not really getting anything out of it. It was an endless cycle. It sent shivers down their spine.

Chan recalled Seungmin saying something about a curse he wanted to be removed as he entered the neutral zone. So this was it.

A curse that had a purpose won't be able to break in neutral zones. He glanced at Changbin who searched for every neutral zone in South Korea just to find a way to undo his curse. But it didn't.

"Let's move on." Woojin broke the silence, smiling amongst the agitated faces of his friends. He stood up and went back to his seat. "So, there was nothing special about the package? Why would your master send it through normal mail?"

"Oh, there is something there." Woong implied.

Seungmin emptied the remaining contents of the package.

"Woong, if you mind." he neatly removed the contents of the coffee table, asking the others to hold on to their cups for the meantime.

Seungmin placed the box on top of the table, holding out his hands in the air. Woong walked to the opposite side and mimicked Seungmin's actions.

After a few seconds, the curtains closed and the lights dimmed, engulfing the room in darkness. The box levitated in midair, glowing as bright as the witches' hair.

The rest of them expected some cool outcome or important information. However as they felt the climax reaching its point, the box fell, and the witches fell on their knees as well.

"This sealing is so complicated." Jeongin looked at the box as he helped Woong get on his feet. "She really sent something so cryptic even though she knows we can't remove the seal easily." Seungmin thanked Woong who supported him when he was about to fall.

"Jeongin, don't touch it." Chan was too late. The boy had already picked up the box.

He momentarily stopped to realize what he had done and proceeded to turn it over to its original position. "Chan, it's fine. It's not harmful." Woong reassured.

"So, you can't open it?" Hyunjin mumbled.

Seungmin snorted. "I didn't say we can't." Both went back to their original positions. "It'll be much easier now." Woong continued.

And so, they did. It only took a few seconds before the box was engulfed in flames; no trace of ash nor residue was left.

"District 9." the witches said in unison.

"That place?" Minho probed.

"That's where Origin is." he continued. "Rank 1?" Felix nodded softly at Jeongin answering his question.

The strongest of the 11 families. No one has a clue about them. What they are capable of, who their leader is or where they’re from. Rumor has it they attacked the lower ranked families that’s why they vanished, but no one has proven anything yet. No one even knows how many members they have, or if its just one person.

"Was." Woojin corrected Minho. "They're gone."

"We don't know that." Hyunjin argued. "It's been a couple thousand years." Woojin replied. "They probably perished after getting rid of the other families.” he continued.

“That’s not possible. They can’t just disappear like that!”

“Hyunjin, don’t you fucking dare raise your voice at me.” Woojin's growl left the room in a terrifying silence. Every natural body movement was on hold.

Jeongin could hear his pulse banging in his ears and there was sweat dripping down his back. Even Woong was frozen in fear. He had seen Woojin in a bad mood before. He was not frightened nor was he afraid. What he felt was beyond such mere nouns. And he knew everyone else in the room except Hyunjin was feeling it.

Hyunjin hastily stood up, balling his fists as he stared down on Woojin. Out of all the members, he was the only one who wasn’t scared of Hyunjin. He is the beta. Second in command. And he’s not gonna let his alpha push him around just because he’s second.

“Hyunjin, stop.” Chan demanded. But the beta was not hearing anything else. He only heard the anger in his body slowly rising, wanting to be let out. He hated how Woojin was staring back at him intensely, obviously asking him to cut the crap and just quietly sit in the corner.

Seungmin felt the nauseating atmosphere, he couldn’t bear it. He noticed Hyunjin slowly inching towards Woojin, who was beside him.

He abruptly stood up, creating a temporary wall between the two. “Hyunjin, you need to calm down.”

Changbin walked behind Hyunjin, placing a soothing hand on his back. “It’s not time for us to go against each other.”

“Look, I have zero fucking idea what’s happening, why we’re all getting mad and stuff but it’s not right for us to gang up on each other. We only have each other. I don’t want to be alone again.” all eyes fell onto Felix. His baritone voice had a hint of anger and sadness in it.

Hyunjin's intense stare on the alpha faltered. His eyes fell on the floor. Changbin felt him calming down, so he pulled him into a small hug before going back to his seat.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured. Woojin stood up and kneeled in front of his beta. He lifted up Hyunjin's chin and as their eyes met, he smiled softly. “It’s okay. I know what you’re feeling. I’m sorry.” as they settled back down, the air slowly went back to its normal state.

Chan cleared his throat.

"For now, let's try to find out if they really are tracking us." The next 30 minutes consisted of Jisung refusing to go to the basement with the two witches, Hyunjin detaching himself from Jisung who was clinging to him like crazy, and Felix laughing at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes.

The three disappeared downstairs, leaving the rest in the living room. "We have to lay low for a while. It's almost midnight outside, so the mansion is guarded. However, we cannot go back home just yet." Chan suggested.

It was dangerous for them to continue with their daily lives for now. Jeongin was worried about school. He hoped that this mess would be finished soon.

“I’m leaving.”

“Ok-Huh? WAIT, CHRIS!!” Before Jeongin could process what happened, the vampire disappeared in the middle of the living room.

“Now, what!” Changbin threw his hands in the air as a sign of defeat. "He never changed! Fucking selfish prick." he exclaimed.

Felix and Minho shook their heads.

"Where's the vamp?" Hyunjin pops out from what seems to be the kitchen because of the piece of bread on his mouth. Woojin followed up from behind.

"Lemme help you with that." Felix took some contents out of Woojin's hands. After placing everything on the coffee table, he straightened up and looked around the room. He broke into a small smile. “He left, didn’t he?” Changbin nodded, rolling his eyes afterwards.

The remaining people settled back down the living room. “Is it okay for us to eat Woong's food?”

“You shouldn’t be asking that as you stuff your face with his bread.” Hyunjin coughed and almost choked to death before Minho would give him a glass of water. “Assholes.” Hyunjin muttered, water dripping down his chin.

“It’s fine. He said to help ourselves since we’re probably gonna be staying here for a while.” Woojin answered. “Anyway, let Chan be. He’s not used to fighting in groups.”

Jeongin smiled. “We can tell.”

“I just hope he reaches out for us every now and then. I’m jealous of all the action he’s getting.” Felix proclaimed.

“Chan doesn’t really fall in line with ‘Character Development’. Well, some aspects of him change but not drastically. He’s still the same old vampire we knew." Felix paused and smiled.

"But that didn’t stop us from loving him, right?” he continued.

The silence around him meant ‘yes’.

They talked lightly for quite a while. Some of them grew impatient and tried poking into the witches’ business. 

So, now Jeongin's been playing with 2 wolf cubs, 1 baby fox, and a black kitten.

‘Some of them’ included everyone in the room except him and Woojin.

“I told you guys to just wait.” Woojin giggled loudly, he sat beside Jeongin, taking the 2 wolf cubs onto his lap.

“This isn’t really any different from what you guys originally are.” That statement earned him a bite on his thumb, it was pretty deep but healed quickly. “Changbin, how dare you bite your alpha!” Woojin exclaimed in a joking manner as he tickled both of them.

“We’re done.” The basement door opened in a hurry, they looked back just in time to see a disheveled Jisung limp his way to the nearest chair.

“What the hell did they do to you?” Jeongin stood up, grasping the baby fox and kitten firmly on his arms so they wouldn't fall.

Honestly, he would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Dude, you looked like you’ve been molested!” Woojin was like 'fuck it' and laughed after what he said. Jisung would’ve glared at him but he was too disoriented.

“These evil fucking sorcerers have defiled me. MY DIGNITY. MY PURENESS. MY LIFE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.”

Talk about being over dramatic.

“Oh, shut up. We thought it was just a hoot and a half.” Woong shook Seungmin's hand, making Jisung more and more annoyed.

“We’ll file a lawsuit later, Jisung. For now, did you find any traces?” Jeongin escorted Jisung to the room upstairs to rest, when he got back. They continued.

“We found a few traces of silver inside his body.” Woojin smiled sadly. “Yeah, that’s been there for a long time.”

Seungmin realized it was a sensitive topic. “O-okay. Other than that, we couldn’t find anything. He’s clean.” He tried disregarding his words earlier. Woojin fell into thought.

“Where’s Chan by the way?”

“He left.” Jeongin said.

“Fucking selfish prick.” The boy almost laughed at Seungmin's familiar insult.

“Well, we’ll figure it out once you guys get enough rest. I prepared all your rooms, sorry but you guys have to room with each other for a while.” Woojin bowed his head in apology. “No! Sorry for coming in unannounced. Thank you for helping us, Woong.” Woojin replied.

Woong ushered them upstairs, clearly forgetting about the little ones.

Changbin pleaded, their little feet couldn’t climb up the steep stairs.

“Relax! You’ll transform back in 50 years.”

Hyunjin cried for a while so they were forced to transform them back.

"Crybaby." Seungmin muttered as he closed the door behind him before Hyunjin could claw his guts out.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids au #hero's soup #fantasy au #kpop au #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #bangchan #woojin #leeknow #changbin #hyunjin #jeongin #seungmin #jisung #han jisung #felix #witch au #wolf au #vampire au

[zombriekid]

Attention [Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]

Series: Hellsing

Summary: while infiltrating a banquet, maintaining the illusion quickly becomes a herculean task when your partner doesn’t want to play by the rules 

General 98: “Not sure if you could tell, but I’m not exactly a people person.”

 “You didn’t have to be such an ass, ya know...”

 “The fact that he even bothered to approach warranted my reaction.”

  The man in question is a young twenty-something who obviously comes from a background of wealth, what with his form-fitting refinery being cut from a crushed velvet, the shade a soft yet rich black, and the lapels and other trimmings as glossy as his oxfords. He’s handsome enough in your opinion. There’s a roundness to his jaw left over from adolescence yet there’s a sort of college age maturity around his brown eyes; he’s cradling a coupe of bubbling, golden champagne so he’s gotta at least be of legal drinking age- though you’re willing to bet that laws and other legalities are often bent to accommodate this crowd of greed and privilege. 

  “He only wanted a dance, though.” You mumble around a sigh.

  Your companion’s red eyes slide your way before She merely scoffs in response.

  Your vision follows the retreating silhouette of the young man, his head hanging low while his feet drag along the polished tile. The way his eyes tended to wander, or rather appraise as if he were inspecting trade goods and not talking to a person, isn’t lost on you but even still a fraction of your conscience goes out to him. He’s not predatory per say, just... very privileged. 

  “It’s not like he was being a creep about it.”

  The vampire draws in a lungful of breath. “In case you couldn’t tell, revenant, I’m not exactly a people person, and there is no way that that boy ‘only wanted a dance’.”

  Now that you can’t necessarily disagree with, however you can’t blame the young man either. See no matter the occasion or situation Alucard always tends to stick out from the crowd, whether it’s the imposing profile He cuts due to His monumental height or the sheer miasmic capacity of His ancient power, either way He never fails to snatch everybody’s eye. Even now, in a form that maintains a traditionally feminine shape, He- or rather She, gotta keep up the illusion after all- is an attention gatherer.

  The cashmere of Her dress is such a luxurious burgundy that not only does it look incredibly soft to the touch (not to mention expensive) it also makes the pallor of Her skin milk white; the plunging neckline draws the eye to Her modest bust, and it elongates the length of Her throat, while the skirt smooths out the roundness of Her hips. With long black curls tumbling down the small of Her back and Her lips painted a deep, dark rouge, it’s no wonder if that young man’s intentions were a tad more... intimate than one mere dance.

  Heaven knows that your thoughts aren’t exactly chaste right now either.

  “Regardless, we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves,” you glance at Alucard through your peripheral, “and no doubt some of these boujee idiots heard the verbal abuse you just gave to that kid.”

  The corner of Her lips curl a fraction, a subtle gesture that you would’ve otherwise missed were it not for the fact that you’ve begun to notice Her body’s involuntary reactions.

  “Save your worrying for someone else, revenant. I have no need nor any desire for it.” She growls lowly.

  You roll your eyes and hiss under your breath: “I’m not worried about you, asshole! I’m worried about blowing our cover!”

  It occurs to you a second too late that maybe your statement wasn’t as quiet as you think when you notice some banquet attenders are staring at the two of you, and not even remotely trying to be discreet about it. The wind is immediately sucked out of your sails, clearing the dryness from your throat with a cough into your fist, and you hope that perhaps it’s the odd, mismatched paring you and Alucard make that’s catching their attention.

  It’s just as likely an excuse, after all.

  Probably.

  A single exhale of air rushes through Her nose and in that moment your passive aggressive ass decides to put all of the blame of the staring entirely on Her and Her way too tight dress.

  Then, in the ballroom where a crowd has gathered into a mass of lustrous silk and glittering jewels, the orchestra begins plucking their nylon strings and you become possessed in a moment of brave insanity.

  You take a step towards the glistering cacophony and offer Her the crook of your elbow with a polite smirk. She in turn regards you with the slightest of sneers curling Her upper lip, yet another instinctual reaction that you’ve noticed as your partnership marches (more like shambles) on. “May I have this dance, Countess De Ville?”

  ...yeah, Alucard really should’ve chosen a better alias. It’s a little too on the nose for your comfort.

  “We gotta blend in anyways,” you continue with a one-shoulder shrug, “and I promise I won’t try to get fresh.”

  She scoffs under Her breath. “Do you know how to dance? Are you even classically trained?”

  Nope. 

  “Mr. Holmward taught me a thing or two.”

  Not even a little- well, unless you can include watching the old man waltz with his sweetheart, Mr. Morris, after a glass or two of amber whiskey and imported cigars. Which, to be frank, you actually don’t think that that counts but your pettiness knows no bounds, and you’re more than willing to potentially embarrass yourself just to prove to Alucard that She’s the attention whore here!

  In the background you hear the brass section gradually slide in to the crescendo and you level your companion with an arched brow.

  “I swear on my granddaddy’s grave that I won’t try anything.”

  Perhaps you’ve just uttered the magic word(s) for the shape-shifting vampire straightens Her spine until She towers over you with Her impressive height, thus causing Her shoulders to lay back and Her bust to arch forward, and the grin that slips across Her lips stretches a little too far beyond human limitations.

  It’s as She loops Her arm around yours that you realize something, a little factor that you didn’t take into consideration when formulating this revenge-fueled cockamamie plan. Alucard might know how to dance, even classically.

  “Very well then.” The “countess” purrs, “your lead, revenant.”

  Your mouth suddenly feels dry.

a/u: so i’m not quite ready to jump back into the series just yet i don’t think, but i’m gonna try to fill out other requests until i am. also this ain’t gonna be the last time we see lady alucard cause my useless queer ass will take whatever form he comes in- except for girlycard or any other minor passing form. i picture lady alucard as something of a cross between anjelica huston’s morticia addams and vampira- sultry, dark, alluring, and likes to wear tight dresses; and yer goddamn right she’s a 6′4″ gorgeous forty something year old! like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed this and i’ll catch you cool cats next time! 

#hellsing #hellsing alucard #hellsing alucard x reader #hellsing alucard x you #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard #hellsing ultimate #hellsing fanfic #hellsing fanfiction #writing #hunter murray

[marquisoforder]

Hey y’all so for my 400 follower celebration @theredscrolls asked for Banecourt angst and it took me forever to finish this but here’s some uncalled for angst to celebrate! A little heads up: Its set during City of Lost Souls and it’s about what led to the page that shall not be named.

.

“Love of my life, you have hurt me.

Broken my heart and now you leave me.

Love of my life, can’t you see?

Oh bring it back, bring it back,

Don’t take it away from me

Because you don’t know,

What it means to me.”

-          Love of my life by Queen

 Camille hadn’t changed at all.

Magnus knew it was physically impossible for a vampire to change with age but he had hoped that somehow time would have run its course and made Camille a little bit softer, a little less cynical or at least, a little less bitchy.

But even the unrelenting ravaging of time had not been able to chip away at any of those things about Camille and Magnus blamed himself for holding out hope even after everything she had done to him.

“Cozy little place you have here.”  Camille was eyeing his apartment with the idle curiosity of a visitor at a museum who was only mildly interested in what was around them. She was seated on one of Magnus’s sofa with all the ease and grace of a highborn baroness and cut a striking figure in her little red dress, all lithe limbs and alabaster skin. He noticed her eyes stop at the coffee machine on the island a little longer and a knowing smile stretched across her otherwise cold features and somehow managed to make her look even colder.

“Yes small talk this, small talk that. Now can you please tell me why you are here so we can get this over with?”

He felt bone tired as he stood near the kitchen counter, his third coffee for the evening in his hand. He had spent consecutive nights this week trying to discover a way to find Jace and consecutive days trying to convince Alexander that he had fair reasons behind everything he did. There had been an invisible barrier building up between him and the shadowhunter for a while now and he was too afraid to consider what it might result in. All in all, Camille could not have come at a worse time.

“Why Magnus it almost sounds like you are not happy to see me.”

Camille’s eyes flashed mischievously and for a moment Magnus was reminded of an evening long ago in the Sanctuary of the London Institute where the vampire and the warlock have had their share of fun tormenting stuck up shadowhunters with idle flirting. But that warlock had been young and naïve and easily distracted by shiny packages. This one right here, right now, thought he knew better.

“Just get to it Camille.” He sighed, leaning back against the counter and absentmindedly swirling what little coffee was left in his mug.

“Very well then,” The vampire smiled with a demented sort of glee like that of a cat about o knock a glass off a table. “Your shadowhunter boy, the blue eyed one, I have an inkling that he wants to murder you.”

It caught him like a fucking blow to the chest.

But he was four hundred years old and knew better. Knew better than to trust Camille. Knew better than to show her vulnerability.

“Okay. Thank you for your concern,” He spared a bright smile that conveyed nothing. “If that’s all, the door’s that way.”

Camille stared at him blankly for a moment and shook her head. “I’m serious, Magnus.” She said, standing up and moving closer to him, the expression on her face alarmingly honest.

But Magnus was not going to be fooled. Not again.

“So am I.” He said, “I’m not going to trust someone who’s petty and jealous and wants to see my relationship ruined.”

Camille sighed and shrugged but did not move away from him; Instead she leaned back against the counter next to him with a look of mild annoyance etched onto her features.

“Fine! Call me anything you want, call me all the names in the world but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m telling the truth.”

“I’m not calling you names, I’m describing you.” Magnus offered with another amicable but bland smile. “You have no proof; it’s just the word of a woman who had lied to me before against the word of a man who had never once lied to me ever.”

“A man who has had trouble dealing with the fact that one day his hair will turn gray and his skin would wrinkle and he’d wither away but you’d remain as young as ever.”

She added nonchalantly, without even sparing him a glance. And Magnus felt his heart freeze for one long, unending second.

“Look, I agree, I’m jealous and petty but I have never wished you ill Magnus.” Her voice was softer this time; the usual edge of disdain having disappeared into thin air. “And see, I did have proof.”

Magnus remained silent, his eyes focused on the mug in his hand but not seeing it at all. It felt as if someone was twisting a knife into his lungs. It was the worst news and Camille being the one to bring it to him was just the Universe kicking him when he was already down.

“How do you know?”

“He came to me.” She didn’t sound like she was lying. “Your pretty blue eyed boy, he wanted me to tell him a way to steal your immortality, he couldn’t bear to see himself aging when you remained young forever.”

“But there is no such way.”

“I told him that much.” There’s a hint of sympathy in her voice and Magnus recoiled inwardly at being subjected to pity by Camille of all people. “He was desperate, honestly. Offered to make a deal with me for the secret.”

“And?”

Camille shrugged. “Well you know me, I’m not above the occasional lie. I offered to help him find a way if he took care of something for me.”

He’s almost too scared to ask, but he wants to know all the same. “What?”

“I wanted him to kill Raphael for me.” Her voice didn’t waver or tremble. “And he agreed.”

The knife in his lungs felt as if it had caught on fire. He desperately tried to spot the lie in her story, but every aspect of it seemed to be perfectly true. If this was indeed a lie, it was so finely crafted that even Magnus could not detect a hint of fraud in it. Alec might be a soft and sincere boyfriend, but before that he was a headstrong shadowhunter and a desperate human. There was no limit to the lengths he might go to get what he wanted. It was a combination deadlier than the Serpent and the Forbidden Fruit.

“I’m sorry.” She offered without much feeling but there’s that softness to her voice again. He had known that from ages long gone, when they were still lovers and they had lain on smooth satin, in dark chambers whispering to each other of things he can no longer care to remember.  “I know how it feels to lose someone who means much.”

“Do you now?” He asked in a sudden moment of uncontrollable spite. She had come storming into his life again and ruined something perfect yet again. Some might call his anger and bitterness misplaced but Magnus had all the reasons in the world to say it.

“Yes.” She had the nerve to sound offended. “Yes I do, Magnus. You are not the only person who has loved and lost. Don’t look down on me from that pedestal you have put yourself on.”

“Oh if anyone in this room deserves a fucking pedestal it’s me alright.” He scoffed with a bitterness that seeped from his words like venom. “I have never broken a heart, I have never hurt anyone I have loved, even after everything you did, I’m still here listening to you. So don’t talk to me about looking down on you ‘cause I have every right to!”

“You are soft.” Camille sighs but there’s no insult in her tone. “Even after all these centuries your heart is still fresh and bloody and raw. I don’t think it will ever freeze over completely, maybe it should but I don’t think it ever will.” She turned to him, immersed in thought. “You are soft; Your Alexander is a shadowhunter. You and I both know they don’t know how to deal with fragility. They will ruin it even if they don’t mean to.”

Magnus swallowed against the uneasy knot forming in his throats and turned his eyes to the floor. She was right. He had seen this before countless times but he had hoped they could be different.

“You deserve better,” Camille smiled and stood on her tip toes to place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Remember that, Magnus. Remember your immortality is a part of you as much as mine is a part of me.” He understood what she didn’t say and she knew that he did. But neither of them found the need to confirm anything out loud. The silence ruled between them for one eternal moment before Magnus nodded, his eyes glued to the stained glass window in front of him.

Camille left. The sun sank over the city line.

.

.

Is this Banecourt angst? Or is it Malec angst? Who knows?

(Also sorry it took approximately two millennia for me to get this done.)

#dany celebrates 400 #magnus bane #Camille Belcourt #BaneCourt #Alec Lightwood #Malec #tmi #cols #tsc #Dee's drabbles #queen #love of my life

[moviegroovies]

okay so one of my points in the original incoherent longpost ramble i wrote while fending off the the post-lost boys haze that overtook me after watching it for, i believe, the fifth time, was that i thought the reason it was such a good movie was how quickly it checked the “oh, i like these characters and want to think about them now that the movie is over” box. in that post, i then proceeded to not talk about the thoughts i’ve actually been having about these characters at all, so let’s get down to work and try to fix that, shall we?

okay i was going to just write another impossible to read multiple paragraph long post, but y’know, how about i make things easier on all of us and do this in bullet points. so, in no particular order..... headcanons!

despite her later desire to get out of the gang, star wasn’t tricked or pressured into becoming a vampire like michael was. rather, she had been hanging around them for long enough that she pieced together what they were and asked to join, only coming to realize that it would mean killing other people for her own continued survival and wanting out later on.

in the 6-issue lost boys comic, it’s implied that star has cystic fibrosis, informing her decision to become a vampire. i’m definitely not taking all of that comic into my own personal canon, but i stand by that part--esp. bc it fits with vampirism being her decision, even if it was one she later regretted. 

marko is the smallest of the lost boys, but also the most dangerous, even exceeding david. have you seen that part where he’s peeling a man’s head like a fruit? that bitch is BLOODTHIRSTY.

not that he’s exactly an upstanding citizen on his own, but a good deal of the reason that david abuses exercises his control over the other boys is that he knows that they (but marko in particular) are always just about ten minutes and one show of weakness on his end away from staging a coup, and he knows that with anyone else in charge (save maybe dwayne, but dwayne isn’t interested in the leadership role) the group would become too violent and draw too much attention, getting them all killed.

okay now i feel like i’m vilifying marko which. i definitely stand by what i’ve said, but i also don’t think he’s like, pure evil or anything by any means. i like marko! 

i feel like i owe marko some nice headcanons now so like: i agree with the general consensus that marko cares for the pigeons in the vampire hotel, to the point where he feeds them and maybe talks to them. he DEFINITELY has named them all, although honestly he can’t tell them apart that well so usually when he sees one and calls it a specific name, he’s fucking with everyone else. loves to make fun of the other guys for not knowing which one is which, though.

one day he looks at a bird flying into the cave and casually announces “hey, vlad’s back,” and after hardly a glance, michael deadpans “vlad? that’s lestat.” 

marko goes into existential crisis mode for a week. this is the first time he starts to respect david’s decision to make michael one of them. 

he never figures out if michael was just fucking with him the way everyone else or if he could really tell the difference between the pigeons and it haunts him to this day.

ok wow that was a LOT of marko

back to star: she’s trans. you know that part on the boardwalk where she and michael are introducing themselves to one another for the first time, and michael goes “oh, your parents too, huh,” when she says her name is star? i always felt like she didn’t really get what he was saying, even after michael elaborated and told her he meant that her parents were ex-hippies. now i’m totally choosing to read that as her being like, a little offended that he thought someone would only be named star because they were burdened with it by uncool ex-hippie parents, because honestly when she picked it she thought she had the coolest name of all time. 

i will not take constructive criticism on that last part because it is already perfect.

on the subject of star, the general consensus i’ve seen in fic and stuff is that she had been a vampire for a few months or maybe a year before the events of the movie, but honestly i’d disagree.

personally, i feel like she’s been there for a lot longer than that--like, have you seen how she dresses? that immediately pinged “free spirit hippie girl” to me, which was kind of out of place, especially considering that everyone else dressed so 80′s. imo, star might have been turned as early as the start of the 70′s--making her the ex-hippie, and not her parents, like michael assumed. this fic here (which is SO good, by the way) explains the way that she was able to last a year with the hunger while michael was already struggling after about a week by having star steal sips from david’s bottle to tide her hunger when she could. that’s basically the way i see it, too, tbh, except over a longer time scale--rather than one year, something around 15. 

which means star is nearly as old as michael’s mother. oops.

alright, it’s weird, but i don’t actually think it’s that weird. the way i’m choosing to see vampirism in this universe is that it permanently halts the emotional maturity of the vampire at whatever age they get turned; david and the guys are nearly grown, at ages like, 18-22 or so, but not quite, and they’re never going to grow up and out of their immature mindset. the worst is for laddie, who’s permanently stunted around 8 years old. the others respond to this with a certain degree of pity, but since he doesn’t actually know what he’s missing, it mostly translates to a really rabid older brother/sister instinct. heaven help anyone who tries to pick on that kid--they’re immediately going to face 5 angry vampire dudes and one absolutely enraged vampire chick. 

(not to mention that his emotional immaturity means he’s got no real self control over the hunger he feels... if he ever snaps and becomes a full vampire, he’ll be the most dangerous of the group for a plethora of reasons)

on that note, if i were to list the lost boys by most control over their urges to least (or, y’know, least to most actively bloodthirsty), i think it’d be something like this: michael -> david -> star -> dwayne -> marko -> paul -> laddie, with the caveat that while marko is technically better at controlling himself than paul, paul has more moral reservations about the actual act of violent murder, while marko is more inclined to kill for fun. 

david being so high on that list may be a point of contention for some but tbh i feel pretty strongly about it

a majority of that call for me comes from the unmade screenplay for the lost boys: the beginning, a prequel to the film set in 1906. before reading that, i honestly had different headcanons entirely, and a lot less sympathy for david, but if you take the script as canon, i think a lot of things change about his characterization.

in the script, the four main lost boys are together (plus one other member named jasper, which is the only crossover name between the lost boys and twilight) as a petty gang before they became vampires. the start of the movie sees them pickpocketing to try and pay for a place to sleep that night, and david seems to luck out early, lifting a wallet with a $100 bill inside. 

however, when he realizes the guy has a family, including two babies, and he just took everything the guy has, he gives the wallet back, to marko’s intense dismay. 

basically, david starts out a criminal, and he definitely does care about self preservation above most other things, but he still has morals. later, when the movie’s big bad is pressuring him and the others to drink blood and live eternally, he’s the only one who refuses, spitting out the wine when he’s forced to drink it and showing the others that it’s blood. notably, even before that he’s warning his friends that they don’t have to drink it if they didn’t want to (mirroring the way that star told michael he didn’t have to drink of the bottle), protecting not just himself, but also them. he resists becoming a vampire the longest, too; david refuses to join the movie’s villain, even after the other lost boys have been turned, right up until he’s shot by some military men in a scuffle and it’s a matter of life and death. then, his self preservation wins out, but even once he’s been turned, david doesn’t lose who he used to be. 

tl; dr: i feel like david is a better person than the events of the movie alone would have you think.

in my opinion, he’s been looking out for his friends from the very beginning, and he’s never stopped doing that. yeah, even before he turned, he was a crook and kind of a burnout, but he had morals. i’m not going to deny that david enjoys being a vampire--enjoys drinking blood, the physical rush, the power over people who pushed him around--not by any means. i just think that comes from an understandable place, given that he was a streetrat who got pushed around a lot in the events of that script; he likes that he’ll never be a victim to assholes with knives who are bigger than he is again. 

plus, if you look at the people the lost boys kill over the course of the movie, they’re not exactly innocent victims. there’s the asshole cop who restrained david with a baton to his throat for pretty much just the act of putting his hand on a dude’s face, a jerkass who starts fights on boardwalks, steals comic books, and ignores his girlfriend’s protestations in the car when he’s trying to make out with her, the girlfriend, who stuck by him while all that shit was going down (and was reading one of the stolen comics, if i interpreted that scene correctly--not that this means she necessarily deserved to die, but she wasn’t innocent), and a bunch of assholes calling themselves surf nazis. david and his gang only go after people who have started the fight themselves in some way or another, and i think that david is a big part in keeping it that way--he’s the one who deescalates the tension on the carousel to keep things from an all out bloodbath, after all, and was the one keeping the gang in check since the turn of the century from doing anything too unforgivable for their own gain. that to me says he’s got a pretty good grasp of self control, and he keeps the gang to a level of violence that sustains their bloodlust without being totally gratuitous as much as possible.

re: his placement on the sliding scale of vampiric self control, you might be wondering why i put michael at the absolute top. honestly, it’s not that i think he’s a saint or anything. i just think he was the one member of the gang (jury’s out on laddie, but he’s automatically at the bottom because of his age and inability to control himself) who didn’t make a conscious choice, one way or another, to become a vampire. marko, dwayne, and paul gave into the temptation of the prequel’s big bad. david and star were given the choice between vampirism and death, and chose to live. michael, though--michael gave into peer pressure, but the worst crime he committed was drinking some wine. watching the others kill absolutely fucked him up, but he was able to resist any kind of bloodlust that might have had him joining in the slaughter on the beach that night. when pushed to the absolute wall by david in the ending of the movie (an ending you might have noticed i’m completely ignoring in favor of a full gang inc. laddie, star, and michael for my headcanons lol), his strength was tested against david’s and he won. michael isn’t perfect or superhuman, but he’s making the choices an essentially good, normal human being would make, and when everyone around him for one reason or another chose what they have, he’s got that tiny bit of a head’s up on them that makes all the difference. 

tbh tho, i think david was right when he said there was something of a killer in michael. i think on some gruesome level he’s kind of fascinated with the vampirism he’s fallen in with, which makes him more susceptible than, say, sam, or really any of the other emersons, who would rank above him on that scale, were they vampires too.

paul to me is just a fun happy dude. i was endeared to him when he clapped michael on the back after he drank and announced, totally earnestly, “you’re one of us!” i just, you know, liked his eagerness to welcome in a new friend. tbh i think he’s a bit of a ditzy airhead (or, dare i say it, a himbo), but he’s ultimately got his heart in the right place.

i really like dwayne. i like that he’s the quietest of the group (i saw a headcanon that said he didn’t speak that much because he’s got a stutter he’s embarrassed of, which i have absorbed into my canon), but i especially like that he does speak--to laddie, telling him what’s going on when he’s riding on the back of his bike. other than star, i think dwayne’s the most protective of him, and probably the most “maternal” of the guys. he’s under star in the sliding scale thing because to me he doesn’t really have qualms with killing assholes to survive, but at the same time, he’s never really tempted to take more than he needs, like marko is. 

i like the idea that dwayne’s really into music, like, ‘can name the artist, album, and song title of any song made since 1890 from the first line’ into music. immortality is a hell of a thing for music buffery. 

ok i have sooooooooo much more i want to say, i didn’t even realize i’d put together this many thoughts about this movie but Apparently I Have, holy god, but i need to cut off this post at some point sgfdshgh

one more fun marko one: totally love the hc that he paints, especially that he paints murals on the cave wall. artist boy.....

<3

#the lost boys #text post #david #star #marko #michael emerson #paul #dwayne #this post got the FUCK away from me can you tell sgfdhgfnh #it was just going to be fun little headcanons that i'd thought of and then it turned into a david character study halfway through #no ragrets #peace OUT!!!!