#g: vampire au

[kflixnet]

Check out our member Jiah's oneshot!

✴︎ FEEL THE BITE.

PREC𝒾S ⠀⟡​⠀​ you make your boyfriend so thirsty.

𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝓲𝐑𝐄！( 엔하이픈 성훈 ) ୨୧ f .. r 1200 vampire au fluff established relationship ── kissing skinship use of profanity ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ recue𝒾l

ˊᗜˋreblogs&feebacks。C𝑙𝑖CK

DED𝑖CATED to ✶ to @atrirose ... she knows what that means !

if there is something that sunghoon loves the most in the world, then it is having his mouth on you everytime he can, for sure.

which is why he corners you right between the kitchen’s counter and his strong body. his hot mouth collapses on yours before you can say anything to him. your hands gripping on his shirt as he licks into your mouth makes his mind spin. and he kisses you as if it is his birthright — as if your lips were made for his to mess with, to bite, to turn red, to kiss.

his heart beats faster when your breath catches, when you sigh while he trails kisses all over you. landing multiple kisses, from your mouth to your cheek, to your jaw until delicately pressing lovingly pecks on your neck.

sunghoon has been obsessed with this lately; your neck.

gaze burning holes through your skin when you wear a top that shows off your collarbones perfectly, when a pendant beautifully hangs around your neck, when you stretch and lean your head back. it makes him feel butterflies in his stomach, his throat becomes dry, his mouth waters.

you make him thirsty and desperately hungry.

god knows he has never felt this way before. sunghoon as always been the best to control his lust for blood among his friends. the packs filled with what he calls his snack used to be enough for him. never in his life he has wanted to sink his teeth into someone’s flesh this bad — and he can tell that it’s just because it’s you.

it doesn’t help when you put your hand in his hair, pushing his nose further in the object of his shameful hunger.

he puts his hand on your waist, his hold on you is tight, trying to control himself desperately. with no much effort, he picks you up and makes you sit on the counter then settles himself between your legs. close, so close he could bite you right now.

it feels as if you are doing it on purpose. wearing a perfume that smells a little bit too good to be true or wearing sunghoon’s shirt knowing the collar is too big for you, showing off your shoulders and sending your boyfriend into a spiral. doing everything in your power to show of your upper body when you are perfectly conscious of what he is.

he opens his mouth, his fangs threatens to get out, “baby,” he calls out your petname, before kissing your skin again. you hum and he continues— the words get out of his mouth before he can think of it. “i want to bite you.”

the man halts in his moves when the realization of his words hits. closing his eyes tightly, he mentally curses himself for not thinking before speaking. the taste of you tends to make him lose his mind. as you put your hands on his shoulders to push him away a bit (just to see his face), he looks up to you to search for any look of fear or disgust— you don’t seem that bothered.

“yeah?” you ask, almost eagerly. the enthusiasm translating through your bright smile makes sunghoon blush.

the latter opens his mouth and quickly shuts it. then licks his lips, “what’s up with that tone?” he questions you instead of answering, “why do you sound so excited?”

his eyes grow wider when you shrug your shoulders as if he just asked you to give him some water, “sounds like a sweet threat to me.”

the thing these few words created in sunghoon’s mind, you have no idea of it.

the way you are sitting on the kitchen’s fourniture makes him tilt his his head up to talk to you. he clenches his jaw, a slight smile appears on his mouth, “yeah?”

your hand comes stroking his dark hair, softly, in lieu of an answer. you cup his face delicately before nodding and kissing him again. his palms come resting on your thigh, smoothly moving it up and up as the kiss gets deeper— when you open your mouth, his hand is already on your lower back, pushing you closer to him.

sunghoon already misses the feeling of your soft lips and the warmth of your mouth when he starts peppering kisses from your cheekbones down to where he wants his teeth in.

his hands pushe the fabric of your shirt, making it go a little bit down your shoulder, revealing your skin. the vampire’s hunger builds itself thicker and thicker in the pit of his stomach. everytime he kisses your neck, his lips linger longer on your dulcet skin, his mouth water— the purity of your neck drives him crazy.

when he finally lets the desire win, planting his fangs into you, he slips his hands under your shirt, rubbing your back with his thumb when you hiss. your fingers slip in his hair, holding onto them and pulling them, it doesn’t hurt that much.

he pulls his fangs back. his tongue licks the freshly made bruise. like honey, he tastes it.

your waist gets embraced by his strong arms as the sweet flavor of your blood fills sunghoon’s mouth. his hold getting tighter and tighter— he can feel his sanity slipping through his fingers as he keeps on sucking your neck.

it hurts so good, his teeth in your skin, your blood getting sucked dry by the love of your life. the pheromones it lets out makes you dizzy and flushed down to your chest.

he bites your skin a little bit more, making blood get out of your body a little more. his teeth brushing over your neck sends tickles and wave of pleasure down your spine

your back arches while he sucks even harder, your grip on his arms and his hair as much as you can— sunghoon’s name leaves the barrier of your lips without you even realizing it. the sound of your voice calling him alone changes the atmosphere.

he gently goes back to kissing your wound. you sigh, his lips on you sending a weird sense of comfort in your whole being, like a medicine, like a bandaid.

his humming vibrates against your neck when you pat his hair. he pulls back, his firm hold on your waist from a moment ago get’s lighter and more gentle.

his face is as flushed as yours whereupon he gaze meets yours, the heavy rise and fall of his chest mirrors yours. lips swallowed, breathless and messy haired. your favorite genre.

sunghoon’s eyes follow your hand as it comes to his cheek, your thumb approaches his lips, wiping a droplet of your own blood off his lower lip. then, his fingers wraps around your wrist before you can pull back. with his eyes staring into your iris, he licks your thumb just a little, enough to make the blood on it disappear.

a wide smile draws itself on his face when he sees your eyes grow wide. you push him slightly before bursting into laughter, but it doesn’t keep him away from hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

you pat his back while your laughter gets quieter, “does my blood taste that good?” you press your cheek against his head, “hm?”

he is obviously smirking when he responds, “you have no idea.”

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open !

(..◜ᴗ◝..) first and last time i will write something like this.

sunghoon: babe, i kinda want to suck your blood with a crazy straw.... reader: seriously???? yay! ^^

[tanukiimo]

wanted criminals have been mysteriously disappearing...

au where suletta is a vampire and miorine is a vampire hunter!

rough designs for them!

i'm revamping it now but here's a fic i wrote back when the brainworms first struck :0

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 38

Jaskier has kept a secret for years. The ring with dandelions carved into it that he wears every second of every day is the only thing keeping him from turning into ash. He sleeps with a lovely woman one night, desperately trying to move on from Geralt (it doesn't work, he is still very much in love with his best friend) only to awake in the morning and find- FUCK She stole his ring! That conniving little-! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What does he do!? He races to the mirror and it confirms his worst fear. The glamour the ring gives him is gone. He can't see his reflection. He reaches a hand up to his mouth and feels his fangs. No- Nonono! Then his worst fucking nightmare ON TOP of his worst nightmare happens. He hears the stomping footsteps of a witcher approaching their room. Godsdamn it all. He hears the doorknob jiggle and.. Alright, he'll be the first to admit it, he panics. "DON'T COME IN, GERALT" The doorknob jiggling pauses. "Jaskier? Are you alright?" "Y- YES! Perfectly peachy! Don't come in!" Jaskier rushes around the room, pacing in panicked circles like a caged beast. He was a caged beast. He reaches to close the curtains of the only window in the room and like an idiot, he fumbles in place and ends up with his hand in the direct sunlight. He shrieks in pain and holds his hand to his chest. Geralt, scenting agony and hearing Jaskier yell, barges in without another moment of thought. Only to see Jaskier scrambling away from him in fear. In all his years of knowing Jaskier, he has NEVER been afraid of him. It physically pains Geralt to see it now. He doesn't understand why he wasn't allowed in. There's no lover of Jaskier's hiding in a corner embarrassed at being caught, Jaskier isn't indecent or anything, so why-? Then he looks at Jaskier, truly looks at him, and sees his blue eyes are glowing, and his mouth - Parted open as he pants - reveals fangs. Geralt's eyes dart to Jaskier's neck and it's confirmed. The worst part of it all, is the way Jaskier's eyes keep glancing between the door out of the room, and Geralt's silver sword. Geralt is infuriated. Not only did the woman Jaskier take to bed last night turn Jaskier into a vampire, but she also made Jaskier fear Geralt because of it. When Geralt says he isn't going to harm (let alone KILL like Jaskier had feared) Jaskier for the twentieth time, Jaskier finally believes him, and begs him to help him track the woman down. Geralt is intent on killing the vampire that ruined poor young human Jaskier's life. Jaskier is intent on getting his human-glamour, sunlight-immunity-enchantment ring back from this human he slept with, so he can go back to pretending he's human, like he has been doing for the past hundred or so years.

[miwachan2]

there was no reason for me to put this much effort into this jhdsgfdshs

R.I.P to the anon

[kflixnet]

[MDNI] Check out our member Mari's smut oneshot!

Sweet Taste ! — Lee Heeseung

pairing: vampire!hee x fem!reader

Genre: drabble, vampire au? smut (18+ MDNI!!)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: monsterfucking (doing something new), degradation, swearing, praising, p in v, unprotected sex, pet names, biting, bleeding, creampie

Synopsis: Stumbling upon an abandoned library curiosity gets the best of you. As you enter you meet someone you never expected to meet. Upon arrival, he seemed a little thirsty.

Masterlist

As you take your steps, the echo of your steps bounces off as you make your way in. It’s late at night and you know you shouldn’t be doing this. So why are you? You asked yourself. The answer: unexplainable.

You feel shivers down your spine, the eerie silence of nothing but your presence. Slowly taking each step, avoiding to not be caught. You remember this being closed off for a reason. Sure nothing wrong with entering an abandoned library in the middle of night. That’s until you feel behind you.. you look at the ground, the moonlight entering from the window you entered from. You turn your head around. Only wind gushing in. Making you even colder than before. Your entire body starts to shiver not only in cold but in fear too.

You face back ahead of you before continuing your journey. You don’t know what you’ll find here. You take a deep breath, the sound of it goes on forever. You stand there unsure.. before you know it.. you feel something cold touch your shoulder. You swiftly turn around and catch a sight of something.. a figure.. standing right behind you. You scream and back away, back bumping into the bookshelf causing some books to be knocked down.

“Hu-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to enter! Just please don’t hurt me!” You begged, arms in front of your face, too scared to look at the person. “Ahh..a petrified human, what are you doing here..” the voice says.. it sounds like a man.. you slowly put your arms down.. “He's tall” you think. “Umm..I-I was..looking around?” You say unsure. “Looking around? Some stupid excuse. Now tell me.. looking around here for what?” He further questions you. “Looking for..” you couldn’t think of anything. “Nothing..” he says.. for some reason.. his eyes seemed to glow.. “and why are you here?” You asked him..fear still with you since you have no idea who this man is. “Me? Oh I’m just simply looking for dinner..which I don’t need to do anymore since you’re here” What dinner? He can’t eat you..?

“What do you mean that I’m here..?” You raised a brow.. he starts to walk to the window. You get a glimpse of his face.. Bambi like eyes.. “You being here.. means I finally have something to feast on. You!” He says smirking. Your eyes widened.. you stood there frozen.. afraid of what he could possibly do to you. “You! Feasting on me.! Absolutely fucking not!” You raised your voice. Completely creeped out by his behavior, was he a cannibal or something? He turns around and faces you again. “Oh..you don’t have a choice..sweetheart.” He starts laughing which increasingly becomes louder each second. You shake in your spot. You should’ve never come here. “I don’t have a choice how?”

“You see..being bloodthirsty for over 2 weeks has me drained..especially as a vampire.. so.. of course I won't let you go..” A vampire!? was he keeping you hostage?.. before you know it.. he’s in front of you again. One hand holds your chin lifting it up to meet his eyes. “On second thought..” he says before going silent again.. “you’re too pretty to be a meal. But I don’t want to keep you either.. that would be such a waste of my time.” You’re now confused. He caressed your face. He begins to lean in.. “if you let me fuck you.. I’ll let you free..deal?” You almost let out a gasp of shock. But you do wanna be set free, away from this place. You have to make up your mind quickly. “Deal” you couldn’t believe yourself letting a stranger fuck you to avoid being eaten and getting you blood sucked out.

You get pressed against the bookshelf even further as he connects your lips together. He moans in your mouth. You couldn’t deny that he was a good kisser. You kiss him back. He wraps his arms around you. pulling you close to him. Hands resting on his shoulder, as you make out. You wouldn't believe what was happening right now. Or either the fact that you were getting turned on by this. Your underwear getting drenched with your slick.. the unknown man drags his hands down your pants and pulls them slightly down, as his finger starts inching closer to your core. Once reaching your core he smirks in the kiss and pulls away.. “already wet?” Seemed like you really do want this” you do. You could helplessly pull him back in the kiss. His fingers dragged up and down your drenched underwear. You start feeling hot. “M-more..” you silently said, embarrassed.

Once again he pulls away from the kiss and pulls his pants down along with his boxers.. “Heeseung.” He says looking directly into your eyes.. “What..?” You said taking your eyes off of him. “Heeseung the name is Heeseung..” you nodded your head. Before turning your gaze towards his cock. He looked above average.. sure might be the biggest one you’ll ever take. He pushes your panties to the side and slides in without a warning, causing you to gasp and moan out loudly. The silence was quickly replaced by the sound of kissing to now the sound of moaning and skin slapping. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you. You could feel yourself going dumb already.

“Take this..fuck..” he says into your ears. Huffing at your tightness. He quickened his pace, as you two became even louder. Lost in pleasure. Heeseung can’t help but get close to your neck.. he can just smell you, and you smell pleasant. “Fuck I don’t think I can last any longer..” You nodded your head, eyes closed as you only began to feel your high getting closer. You try to lift yourself a bit in order to increase the pace and the amount of pleasure you both are receiving.

“Fuck!” Heeseung put his head in your neck. “Please” he said.. you were confused. “Please what?” You say between your moans. Closer and closer. His hands tightly hold you up. “Bite” he only says. “You want it to bite me?” You asked. He only nodded his head, lost in pleasure of your pussy wrapped around him and the smell of your blood. “Go ahead” you knew you were going to regret this later, but couldn’t help but help out the poor guy. His fangs sink deep into you as you finally reach your climax. Not so longer after you can feel him feeling you up.. nice.. and cold??

He sucks your blood out of your neck, the pain not being so pleasure itself. Few seconds after he pulls away from your neck before holding you close to him. You stay like that before he sets you down onto a table.. “Sorry..for” he starts off by apologizing for not keeping his promise. “It’s fine,” you say. The pain still lingers. You fix up your clothes as you turn around to find heeseung gone.. guess you can go home now?

Author's note: I hate this sm NAH! I had this in my drafts and need to get this out. Okay so anyways 3 am me rotting in bed. I swear I can’t write good smut 😒 like Bffr. I hoped you liked if?

© ynsvnte copyright 2024

[entomolog-t]

Alexa, play Hungry Eyes.

----

This is a lil sketch from a fun lil AU idea, where Aedes grows a little bit everytime he feeds 👀 ...Gotta figure out a fun name for this au

[detectiveforfree]

Could you maybe do talon dick with wally reaction? P.S I love your art

i certainly freaking can 👀

have a messy doodle! (gonna work on this one later... i really like how it turned out haha)

(i kind of hobbled designs from DC Legends Cobb's outfit + @allineedisonedream's mask design + @vinnybox's golden talon gloves + cape that might be hiding wings underneath hehe ;p )

[fereldanwench]

halloween has come early this year 🦇 valerie's vampire princess outfit by @veegeealvarez [coming soon]

⚠️ do not reupload or edit my shots without my permission ⚠️

[kflixnet]

Check out our member Bai's fic!!

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸 pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too. 

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him. 

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response. 

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath. 

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt. 

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture. 

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers. 

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home. 

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before. 

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger. 

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries. 

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting. 

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth. 

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story. 

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served. 

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring. 

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in. 

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him. 

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet. 

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore. 

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement. 

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it. 

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

“Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another. 

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin. 

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed. 

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one. 

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought. 

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.” 

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past. 

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within. 

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you. 

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine. 

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own. 

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you. 

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports. 

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

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[andro-dino]

in case you’re curious what’s been the only thing on my mind for the past couple of days. takasakyo vampire au. I am obsessed with them you don’t understand

+ an assortment of small doodles. have some more ideas I’d like to get out but these are what I got for now

[spuffyarchive]

maybe i'm ready to love you by chasingfictions [NC-17]

“Buffy?” He almost never used to call her Buffy. Did he? Always Slayer, or pet, or love. Or like, he’d use her name, but it always sounded odd, in his mouth. All tender, touchy. Like, like he was making eye contact with her, just by saying it. "Spike." She wonders if it feels the same, for him. His name, her tongue. - (Or: Spike’s gone, and Buffy doesn’t care. No, really, she doesn’t. Cross her heart.)

[fighting-these-demons]

Dracula-Compliant Vampire AU - FCShenanigans

So what ships would y'all like to see with this setup?

Master or Natasha would be fun vampire candidates but I'm also looking for stuff we don't fiddle with much!

(We don't need to be mutuals - if you want to join in, hop into the replies! 🎉)

[kflixnet]

Check out our member Aiya's oneshot!

love bites - y. jungwon x reader

vampirism comes with unusual cravings and unique solutions

PAIRING: vampire! y. jungwon x vampire! reader GENRE: vampire au , established relationship, fluff | WORDCOUNT: 2.2 k WARNINGS: slightly suggestive , mentions of blood n bites

You do your best to ignore it, the aching sensation radiating from your teeth. But the pain is insistent, throbbing twinges extending from your gums down into your jaw. 

The feeling is almost enough to make you cave, to call your boyfriend and whine for any sort of relief. Almost. Instead you sigh, eyes flickering out the large windows looking at the expanse of the city, the light of the stars competing with the fluorescent buildings and signs. 

It had been weeks since you'd last left your apartment, you weren't ready, not fully turned or prepared to navigate the world in your new form. Jungwon’s words, not your own, and as much as you missed walking the bustling streets with him, you knew he was right. 

There's a faint hunger in the back of your mind, one that had become all too familiar these past weeks. Your brain supplies memories of warm tteokbokki, noodles and dumplings despite knowing that none of the former options could satiate your appetite. As your skin lost its warmth, your heart slowing in its cavity, you had lost your palate for real food, instead craving something that you currently had no way to get on your own. 

Wincing as another stab of pain steals your attention. you run your tongue gingerly running across the edge of your teeth, feeling out the sharp edge of the unfamiliar fangs that had begun to protrude. 

“I thought I told you to tell me if it hurts,” a low voice cuts through the silence, your heart jumping at the disruption. Even after years of dating, you could never get used to your boyfriend appearing abruptly from the shadows. You snap your mouth shut, glancing over to meet narrowed feline eyes with poorly feigned nonchalance. 

“It doesn't hurt, I’m fine,” you say breezily, drawing a scoff from Jungwon. He stalks forward, reaching out to cradle your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. The icy temperature of his skin is a welcome sensation, and you lean into his palm letting it soothe the flaring ache in your jaw. 

“And you expect me to believe you when you're acting like this?” Jungwon mutters unamusedly. You crack your eyes open from where they had fluttered close, sweeping over his furrowed brows. Despite his best attempts at maintaining his stern expression, he was given away easily by the way his eyes softened upon making contact with yours. 

Jungwon knew your stubborn mannerisms well, that you would rather suffer than admit to him that you needed his help. Which is how he knew that once you had set your mind to joining him as a vampire you wouldn't relent until your wish was granted. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from trying for several weeks to convince you that it wasn't a necessary change. Promises that he would still love you regardless of how you aged and no he didn’t mind that one day you might be mistaken for his sugar mommy rather than his centuries younger girlfriend. His last comment had earned him an indignant scoff rather than an enamored smile like he had been expecting, and he had spent the rest of the day sucking up to you for your forgiveness. 

It had taken many arguments, tears, warnings, pleading kisses and long conversations on what exactly eternity together detailed before Jungwon had surrendered. His coven had been ecstatic at the news, congratulating him with hearty claps on the shoulder and teasing ‘about time’s. 

In all honesty, the pair of you both knew that when it came down to it, Jungwon would much rather have you by his side forever than let you wither away. You were his, and he was yours, and when he thought about an eternal lifetime with you his happiness was poorly concealed. Jungwon only wished that it wasn't at the cost of your own humanity. You would no longer be able to enjoy your favorite foods, your cheeks wouldn’t redden to the same degree when he teased you, you’d have to see your loved ones leave this earth, one by one. 

The guilt ate at him more than the pain ate at you, and that was your main motivation to hide the truth. So you did your best to swallow back the complaints and whines that threatened to spill from your lips, unwilling to see guilt swimming in his red tinted eyes. It’s a futile attempt, given that Jungwon could pick up on the waves of pain through your newly formed blood bond, his attentive eyes catching each wince.

Sighing in exasperation, Jungwon grasps your chin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb, ”Open up for me baby, let me take a look at your fangs.” You consider insisting you’re fine, that his examination is entirely unnecessary, but the thought is dismissed by the firm look Jungwon gives you, and you comply baring your teeth as best as you could. 

You wait patiently as Jungwon inspects your teeth, tilting your chin up to grant him a better view. Instead you take the opportunity to admire your boyfriend's handsome features, the slope of his nose and the angle of his jawline. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his neck, decorated with traces of your lips and two faint puncture marks, long healed to where they looked more akin to moles than scars. 

From his close proximity you can smell an enticing fragrance wafting from his body. Jungwon always smelled good, of warm amber and clean linen sheets, but there was another underlying scent that caught your attention. There's blood pumping through his veins, fresh blood, Jungwon had recently hunted and fed. The thought causes your vision to cloud, hunger prickling at the edges of your mind.

“Baby,” Jungwon calls out softly, and your eyes drag away from his neck, struggling to find his own in your dazed state. “You're literally drooling,” he chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear and tugging on the lobe affectionately. 

He had noticed your wandering attention, the way your stare locked onto his neck, a red tint slowly creeping into your eyes and your fangs fully extending against the pads of his prodding fingers. It was a good sign, your instincts were getting stronger and your senses sharper. Soon, you'd be a full fledged vampire. 

A slight flush spreads across your cheeks, the best it can with the limited blood flowing through your system. “Sorry,” you apologize meekly, embarrassed at the prospect of being caught openly salivating over him. 

Jungwon only coos at you teasingly, leaning down to peck your pink cheeks, and then grazing his lips against the slightly raw puncture wounds on your neck. Unlike other injuries which would quickly be remedied by their healing abilities, the initial bite, meant to turn you into a vampire, required much more patience, only closing when the transformation was complete.

The skin on your neck was still broken and bruised but as much as it pained Jungwon to know he had caused you hurt, it also gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction to see the mark he had left on you. He always loved littering your skin with love bites but seeing them fade was his least favorite part. His bite mark would forever remain, a testament to the vows you had made to each other the day he had turned you. 

“Nothing to apologize for my love, I drank extra today because I knew you'd be hungry. C’mere.” He tugs you towards the couch, sitting down on the plush seat then pulling you unceremoniously onto his lap. 

The minuscule distance makes your fangs push uncomfortably against your lips, unable to deny the alluring scent wafting from your boyfriend. You wait for Jungwon to bite into his wrist and present it to you, the way he had fed you each time these past few weeks. 

Instead Jungwon just smirks at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leans back against the cushions. “Well? I thought you were hungry baby, come kiss me and bite me.” You splutter, panicking at the mere mention of having to bite him, but Jungwon merely laughs in response, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back. 

“Don’t be nervous, your fangs are more than ready to do the job and I’ll stop you if anything goes wrong. Remember darling, you bite firmly, sink your teeth in to make a clean wound instead of ripping tissue. As soon as it's secure, you release some venom to alleviate the pain, make it feel nice for everyone and only then do you start to drink. The hardest part is stopping before you do too much damage but I’ll let you know if you're getting to that point okay?” 

“Wonnie, I don't want to accidentally hurt you-,” you start to protest but Jungwon cuts you off with a firm kiss to your lips. 

“You’ll be fine. I promise. If you don’t trust yourself, trust in me, hm? You need to drink so you can feel better and who better to practice on than me? Come on love, I promise I don’t bite,” he murmurs cheekily against your lips, inciting a roll of your eyes, a derisive laugh escaping from your chest at the irony. 

Shaking your head in mock exasperation, you concede, leaning in to plant a peck against Jungwon’s smirking mouth. You trail kisses lower until you've reached the hollow of his neck, ears pricking as soft satisfied sighs escape from his parted lips. 

Angling your head, you finally sink your teeth into his skin, your hands finding his shoulders for support. Jungwon's grip on your waist tightens for a split second until you release your venom, relaxing as the pain subsides and gives way to pleasure. 

 A metallic flavor floods your mouth, relief washing over you as the pain and hunger ebb away. Instead you focus on the taste against your tongue and the way Jungwon strokes your hair tenderly, pressing mumbled praises and groans against the side of your head. 

It's when you begin to feel nearly intoxicated at the feeling of feeding that Jungwon whispers into the hollow of your ear softly, “Alright sweetheart, it's time to stop drinking. Let the last of your venom out and then retract your fangs, help the wound close up, you're doing so good for me baby.” You follow his instructions as best you can given the foggy state of your mind, finally pulling away to look into Jungwon’s eyes. 

He rests his forehead against yours, cupping your jaw fondly, “You did perfectly darling, I'm so proud of you,” Jungwon tilts his face, slotting your lips together, fingers tangling into your hair to bring you closer. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders melting into his embrace. He sighs into your mouth, humming contently at the faint taste before reluctantly pulling away. 

“You were so good baby, soon you'll be able to go out and hunt for yourself no problem,” Jungwon beams at you. Still dizzy from the rush that drinking gave you, blood rushing in your ears, you settle into his arms, burying into the crook of his neck.. 

“I’d rather just have you hunt enough for the both of us and just let me drink from you,” you bat your eyes at Jungwon sweetly and he snorts in response. 

“You must really be blood drunk if you expect me to act as your personal Uber eats for the rest of millenia,” he teases, pinching your cheek. 

You huff petulantly, “Considering I’ve been your walking bloodbag for the past few years I think you owe me at least a year or two of the same.” 

“Not my fault you smell so yummy,” Jungwon noses at the column of your neck, his fangs grazing the skin, “how could you expect me to want anything else?” 

You try to push his face away from your neck to little avail. Jungwon held you tightly in his grasp, knowing you were just being difficult to mess with him. “Well your pickiness and lack of self control is the reason all my neighbors think I get my neck mauled by a bear every night. I refuse to start hunting, you’re just gonna make me into your personal juicebox again,” you grumble, giving in and letting Jungwon continue his ministrations. Vampire my ass, if anything he was more akin to an overgrown kitten, always nuzzling and nipping at your neck. 

Jungwon leans back far enough to knock his head into yours playfully, “Yeah right, you love when I give you love bites.” You go to protest but Jungwon cocks his head challengingly, his eyes daring you to try and deny it. The words die in the base of your throat, and you swallow harshly, your face heating as you look away, muttering half hearted insults under your breath. 

“Did you say something sweetheart?” Jungwon asks teasingly, and you widen your eyes in mock horror, knowing that with his heightened senses he had very clearly heard every word. 

“Just saying how much I love you darling,” you blink up at him, with a saccharine smile. 

Jungwon laughs, his dimple on full display, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips. “I love you more baby, even if that means I have to hunt for two for the rest of my very long life.” You give a satisfied hum and cuddle happily into his hold. Forever seemed a lot less daunting in Jungwon’s arms. 

a/n: ,,,,,idk what to say about this one. I wanted to give you guys something bc MTM is taking so long and I'm about to leave for vacation,,, and this ended up being the product of my 2am thoughts.... hope u enjoy :)

perm taglist: @hoonsunivrs @pkjay @thatfeelinwhenyou @lacimolela @ttalgi @cieluna @ahnneyong @luvlee1313 @meowmeowhoon @llama-lyna @dmoki @w3bqrl @16doie @itsvynnie @saintells @given8taken @yakjw @miukityy @meowwonie @simp4jakesim @teddywons @flowertothejungwon @skywithf1 @yur1a1 @nyeonglover @fallingenluvv

[perpetualexistence]

We Drive Each Other Batty

Alenoah Week Day 4: Royalty/Vampire AU

Alejandro Burromuerto is an absolute menace to the kingdom of Wawanakwa. He comes from a legacy of vampires that strive to control as much land as possible. He's only recently set his sights on Wawanakwa, and within a year he's enthralled three towns into being his local blood bank. Life is pretty good for him.

He's so confident in his abilities that he decides to go directly for the castle itself.

Aaaand almost immediately finds himself caught by King Chris's personal bodyguard, Chef, who knocks him unconscious with a pan before he can enthrall Chris.

The smart thing to do would be to kill Alejandro. But Chris is a petty man who prefers humiliating people.

Who better to ask how to do that than his personal court-wizard-in-training who Chris specifically because he's snarky and petty?

Noah gets dragged into this and comes up with an idea. If he likes mind controlling people so much, then let Alejandro be on the other side of things. Tinker with a familiar bonding spell to turn Alejandro into a familiar. He'll be forced to listen to someone else's orders, and can't harm anyone except in defense of his wizard. Plus, if done right, it can have the added benefit of making him 'fun size' thanks to having to categorize Alejandro as a bat to make this work. That way his vampire strength and speed won't be as much of an issue.

There's two problems with this plan.

One, the bond can only be created with a wizard who doesn't have a familiar yet. Most adult wizards do. It's even a requirement to bond with a familiar at some point in a good amount of magic schools.

And two, the bond is usually done with two consenting parties. Since Alejandro would be fighting it the whole time, keeping the familiar bond would be an active effort on the wizard's end. It's possible if you find a wizard with enough power, but good luck trying to convince a wizard to be a spell battery.

"Say, kid. You don't have a familiar yet."

"Mclean. Don't you dare."

"Think of it as a new part of your job description!"

"I'm not going to deal with a psychotic vampire for your sick amusement!"

"Sure you are! Do a good enough job and you might get a better holiday bonus this year!"

Thus Noah has accidentally sealed his fate to being stuck with a 4 inch vampire who is absolutely livid at this humiliation.

They both hate this situation so much. Alejandro can't mind control Noah because that's the first thing Noah ordered him not to do the second Alejandro woke up tiny, confused, and pissed.

Noah can't just leave Alejandro alone in a cage in his room all day because the longer and further he stays away from Alejandro, the weaker the bond and the more likely Alejandro will break free from it.

Alejandro keeps trying to persuade Noah that he's learned his lesson the non-magical way. And Noah shuts him right down because he knows that's a lie.

If Alejandro's really being difficult, Noah has no issues with throwing him into a bird cage and ordering him to shut up for a while. Noah really wishes he could just order him to shut up forever, but Alejandro starts fighting against the bond even worse when he can't speak, which usually ends up giving Noah a headache. Temporary relief is the best he can manage.

That and taking him to Chris to see what humiliation Chris and Chef have decided to put Alejandro through for the day. That usually brighten's Noah's day.

Alejandro still gets his own little revenges in. He looks for every loophole under the sun within Noah's orders. He banters at every given opportunity.

He'd love to give backhanded compliments to Noah in front of people that aren't Chris and Chef. However, no one else is allowed to know that Alejandro is still alive.

Letting a vampire live is a big no-no, even if Chris approved of it. Vampires still need generous amounts of blood to survive. Animal blood works somewhat, but it's more like living off rations. Vampires can only get full nutritional value from a human. Which doesn't really endear humans to vampires. (Part of Noah's job is to let Alejandro feed from his as well. It feels more like four little needles than a serious bite, and thanks to Alejandro's new size he doesn't feel that woozy when Alejandro has had his fill. Noah doesn't mind it nearly as much as he pretends to.)

Plus, Alejandro did get some of his hooks outside of the castle, so there's a decent chance someone could recognize him and decide to take advantage of the fact he's easily killable. So when around others, he takes full bat form and pretends to be a regular familiar. He's lucky he can at least talk with Noah telepathically so he doesn't have to be completely mute.

Still, it's not all bad. Now that Alejandro is, magically speaking, a bat, he can actually experience sunlight. He'd always used the metaphor 'you're as radiant as the sun' when charming others. It's a different thing entirely to actually feel its warmth.

Noah takes notice the first time when Alejandro is completely silent for once. He sees Alejandro staring directly at the sun in awe. He actually looks kind of cute sweet like that.

Except Alejandro is staring directly at the sun, and so Noah has to snap Alejandro out of it. He isn't just going to someone blind themselves, even if it is Alejandro. It's almost a shame to see the mask fall back on his face. (Too bad he didn't notice the flicker of shock at someone showing concern for Alejandro's wellbeing.)

With forced proximity, the two start to learn more about each other.

Alejandro learns about Noah first since he can't help but observe the fact that Noah is reading textbooks, but he hasn't seen Noah attend school once. When Noah isn't reading, he's catering to Chris and Chef's whims.

Noah still seems to be doing just fine, though. He knows Noah is advanced for his age based on what he's reading and how much he gloats about it. Still, if he was advanced than Alejandro would expect a tutor to be guiding Noah along to suit his level. The only adults he's seen consistently during his stay with Noah is Chris and Chef.

Alejandro points this out to Noah, and receives a long rant from Noah in return.

See, Noah's completely self taught. Before Chris, his family couldn't afford to get him a tutor. This isn't inherently a problem. Some wizards will take on apprentices for their service rather than for payment if they see potential in a particular student.

The problem is no one wants to teach a child who wants to learn dark magic. Nobody that Noah would ever want to meet, at least.

Noah could lie about not wanting to learn forbidden magic. But he'd always risk getting caught by whoever's training him. Not to mention the risk of getting himself killed because he was performing something dangerous without anyone to save him.

Plus, he considers it incredibly stupid that dark magic is a taboo subject to learn. The reason why creatures like Alejandro get away undetected for so long is because everyone else is more than happy to stick their heads in the sand. Their solution to combat evil is to simply not talk about it. As if that's just going to make it magically go away.

The only real way to learn how to counter it is to study it. It's like how making an antidote for a poison requires a bit of the poison itself so your body knows what to fight against.

Hell, it could even be used for good! Even something like Alejandro's hypnotism. It can lull a growing angry mob to not be stupid. It can force a different evil bastard to do something good.

But no, people like Alejandro screw it over for everyone else, and now any time he tries to make these arguments he's 'the bad guy' or 'should be barred from magic for everyone's good'.

Noah got lucky. Chef found him when he was insulting yet another wizard who shot down his chance at apprenticeship. He might have forgotten angering someone who can throw fireballs isn't the best way to guarantee your own safety.

Chef dragged him away and attempted to yell some sense into him. When it was clear that Noah was still just as defiant, he dragged him directly to Chris. Who ended up liking his spite and sarcasm, and offered him the job of court-wizard in training. It was hard for Chris to find any wizard willing to stay with him too long. And he's got plenty of dark magic crap that he has stored away. Both of them get what they want!

Noah wouldn't learn how demanding Chris was and how he'd make people put a lot of effort into stupid tasks that drive less patient people mad until later.

He took the deal because it was the best he was going to get. He knows he's being underpaid compared to what a regular court magician would be making. But for as much as Chris is a pain of a boss, he's given Noah exactly what he's wanted. He'd dare to say that Chris and Chef cared about him. Though Noah will refuse to say if he feels the same way about them.

Alejandro can't help but admire Noah for that. Deep down past that apathetic, snarky exterior, there is someone who's capable of ambition. Or at least capable of using spite as a motivator.

Alejandro's mask slips as he ends up sharing how he can relate. He gives off the airs of a vampire who's been around for at least a century or two. Truth be told, he's only a couple of months older than Noah. He's aging as a human would, for now.

He, and his lineage, are born vampires rather than bitten. Hence how he can have multiple thralls at once and transform into mist or a variety of animals. Bitten vampires are lucky to be able to hypnotize one person, and are typically limited to the advanced strength and speed.

So he can certainly one up the average vampire...but not other born vampires. Or vampires who have actually lived for centuries. He's still considered nothing more than an insolent child not to be taken seriously.

He does have the expectation on him to expand the Burromuerto influence. But he's constantly being compared to other relatives and their accomplishments. Particularly that of his brother José who has a couple of decades over Alejandro's head.

Alejandro has been working hard to close the power gap. He's been training to be as strong and fast as possible. His hypnosis works so well because he put in the work to learn how to actually charm people. The magic is to make sure the feeling stays for longer than it would naturally. But getting people to do what he wants? All him.

And it's still not enough for anyone else. So he decided to get a headstart on the family tradition. He was supposed to wait until he came of age, but he was already strong and confident in himself. Going off and succeeding early would prove everyone else wrong.

He'd been doing so well, too. He hadn't even needed to kill anybody. Unlike most of his family, he doesn't particularly care for it. Not because he cares that much about humans. But because he sees it as a waste of a resource. Sure, you can inspire fear into others with a death. But that fear can easily turn into outrage, and rebellion. It will be harder to control a population that is actively working to fight against you. Much easier to charm them and have them not even realize anything is wrong. Everyone is alive, and there is nothing to worry about. They just have to give a bit of blood every once in a while. And for that, Alejandro would make sure nothing else would dare to touch them.

That last part of the story concerns Noah. A lot. But it's...nice? That Alejandro cares? Enough to value a human life. Considering the rest of his family, it's a miracle Alejandro's got anything resembling compassion.

And at least he's finally being honest about something for once. Noah prefers honest but callous to kind but insincere. This part of Alejandro's still concerning...but he likes it more.

It's the start of these two doing more than just argue with each other. Alejandro's still not happy about being small. He complains about it just as constantly. But it's no longer lashing out at Noah. Noah doesn't really throw him into the time out cage anymore. Alejandro is gentler when he bites into Noah's neck to feast. Noah is less tense when it happens. He leans into it more. They bicker still, but they're actually willing to work with each other.

It's how they figure out a loophole. Neither can't really use their own magics to their full potential anymore....but they do now have access to each other's magic. They just have to be willing to train each other in it.

On Noah's side, Alejandro is trying to teach him how to hypnotize others through charming them. It doesn't go well. Noah's terrible at giving compliments. Changing his wardrobe to accentuate Noah's looks doesn't help when he doesn't flaunt them. That shopping trip to get Noah a new outfit definitely didn't awaken anything in Alejandro. Except it does. Noah is indulging him in one of his favorite activities. He looks cute in some outfits, hot in others. Noah mocks, Noah teases, Noah banters. It's just Noah, actually. Noah's cute, and he's also hot. Oh no. Alejandro's got himself a crush. ...MOVING ON FROM THAT-

Eventually, it clicks. This isn't working because Alejandro is teaching Noah how to be a Burromuerto. Which Noah certainly isn't. To charm someone, you have to work with what you naturally have and exaggerate it. Noah has snark. Use that to insult people that his victims would hate, not the victim themselves. Nobody likes being insulted, but everyone has something that they love gossiping about. That's Noah's in to get others to open up.

Then, there's the actual ask. Noah can't directly say what he wants all the time. Sometimes that may work, but sometimes what he wants is directly opposite to what someone else wants. He can find out when it's safe to be direct or not through gossiping. Then, if it's not safe? Make them feel safe. People underestimate Noah because of his age and figure. Use that.

Noah's just a pathetic, cute scrungly little guy who doesn't do much. What's the harm in letting him take a dangerously powerful grimoire off your hands? He's not going to do much with it. He's just curious.

Noah grins with pride the day he's able to hypnotize a guard who constantly abuses their power into humiliating himself.

On Alejandro's side, Noah's willing to teach him shadow magic. He wants to start with teaching Alejandro how to change their shape, and then move on up to making them solid.

There is also teleporting through shadow, but Noah's not teaching him that. That would give Alejandro the ability to leave Noah. Which would be bad for the whole 'keep Alejandro in check thing'. For no other reason. Noah wouldn't miss him. Not one bit. They just have to stay together for practicality. That's all. Let's get back to talking about shadows.

Alejandro assumes this should be a piece of cake. It's just another form of manipulating, just with a thing rather than a person.

He's terrible at it.

He coaxes, he begs, he pleads with the shadow to just move, and it refuses him. He's cursing in Spanish at an inanimate object.

Noah laughs at him for this. This earns Noah some curse words.

Noah tells him to stop treating magic like it's a person to be charmed. It's not. It's a thing. It follows orders so far as you figure out the right language. You tell it what you want, and then it gives it to you. No convincing, no tricking. Just asking.

Alejandro can't ask for one thing when he means another. That just confuses the magic and makes things not work. He needs to be direct for once in his life. Trust in his own ability to make something happen. Not in his ability to trick someone else into making something happen.

It takes Alejandro a while to just ask the magic to do what he wants.

I can't figure out how it'd work on Alejandro's side yet. Probably because I haven't yet defined the kind of magic he can do. 'Standard wizard fair' isn't going to cut it if this is coming from a personal bond/something that's intrinsic to Noah that would simply take a different form with Alejandro. It'd definitely have something to do with tying into how Alejandro doesn't actually NEED to charm people/force them to like him to get what he wants. His problem would definitely be that he's trying to force the magic to go exactly how he wants it to go. But magic's not something that likes being tamed like that. So Alejandros's got to learn to effectively say what he wants and just trust in his own abilities enough to make it happen.

When he does?

Alejandro shows off with a little shadow puppet show. He orchestrates puppets no bigger than him from atop Noah's bookshelf. It's endearing, it's sincere, and Noah is screwed because he is in love with this little vampire.

The more they teach each other, the stronger they grow. Neither realize it, but the bond is no longer draining each other.

They learn about this when someone attempts to mug Noah when he's running one of Chris's errands. The mugger grabs an Alejandro in bat form and slams him against stone to stop Noah from using magic. Alejandro is alive, but in a daze. Noah immediately makes tendrils of shadows to fling the mugger into the nearest wall, then hold them aloft in the air. He's running for Alejandro who's mumbling, asking if Noah is alright.

Noah doesn't know healing magic, but he's putting all of his focus into figuring out something to help Alejandro. It's working somewhat. Alejandro's head is clearer, though his body is still damaged. Noah puts more effort into making sure all of Alejandro is better. So much so that he doesn't notice a second mugger coming to check on their partner, who is now sneaking up on Noah. Noah is grappled before he can react, and is dragged away kicking and shouting.

Alejandro acts before he can think twice about it. The next thing he knows, he's standing at eye level with both of his newest victims. He hisses, his fangs bared, ordering them silent before they can scream about his presence. They are to release Noah and grovel.

The muggers do so without hesitation, their eyes glazed over. Alejandro wraps his arms around Noah in a hug. His grip is tight. He is at his full strength and could crush whoever he desired. He is gentle with his querido and plants a kiss on his forehead.

Alejandro wants so badly to drain them dry, but Noah takes priority. The muggers are to leave, turn themselves in, and forget the type of magic Noah and Alejandro used, and their faces.

The muggers leave, and the two are left to look each other in the eyes for the first time.

They stare for a while. Neither of them quite sure of what the other wants to do right now. Noah's the one who breaks the silence first.

"This late growth spurt's a bit much, wouldn't you say?"

Alejandro snorts at the absurdity.

They agree to keep the familiar bond as it is. It still lets them communicate with each other telepathically, and lets them use the other's magic.

They'll have to hide the fact that Alejandro is at his full strength, of course. Particularly from Chris and Chef. Alejandro tries and finds out that he can shrink at will now. Truth be told, he doesn't mind it anymore. (He's touch-starved, and rather enjoys being held and pampered by Noah.)

Alejandro also promises not to go enthralling everyone.

"Just five thralls will suffice."

"No."

"Two?"

"No!"

"One? I'll even make it Justin. Just imagine the things we could have him do."

"...No."

"You hesitated!"

"Stop tempting me!"

"Is it really tempting if you were already thinking it?"

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"That's not the point!"

The two stop when they realize that bombshell just got dropped.

They finally have proper confessions and decide to start dating. Alejandro immediately offers to turn Noah into a vampire so they can live together. Noah immediately shuts him down. Alejandro's sad until Noah explains.

One, that's a huge commitment when they've literally just started dating. And two, if Noah did that now then he'd have to be a teenager forever. He hates being a teenager NOW. An eternity of that? Hell no. In the future though? They can come back to this, and Noah'll let him know if he changes his mind.

Alejandro is more than happy to wait.

Fun little side note: Alejandro's got a bat form, and I already know exactly which species he is!

Meet the vampyrum spectrum! Also known as the spectral bat, or the great false vampire bat. They're carnivorous little guys who eat birds, rodents, and uniquely, other kinds of bats! Part of their natural habitat covers Peru, and they're also fun in that while most other bat species are polygynous where it's just one male with multiple females, these guys are mostly monogamous! Perfect for Alejandro!

[klutzymaiden123]

Writing a Magical Girl AU of Hey Arnold! and currently obsessed with how Arnold unknowingly wants to chase both sides of Helga.

The door that he had unknowingly began watching, suddenly was thrown open and a familiar girl marched out. Arnold recognised her dirty blonde hair immediately; the way she swung her fists and her face had set itself into its signature frown.

He hadn’t even noticed that he had begun staring at the Pataki house. Micah lived close to Arnold, so it was only required that he walk down the block.

Arnold narrowed his eyes when Helga held the door open and a small body followed her from the gap.

It was . . . was that a cat? He stopped. When had Helga gotten a cat? As far as he knew, she hated cats. And—he blinked—did it have purple eyes? Was that even possible?

He was brought from his internal questioning when Helga slammed the door shut in a huff. Arnold figured that she was, once again, in one of her moods, no doubt from another argument with her dad. But . . . something about her appearance was off. He didn’t know what it was . . . he scanned her form—she was no longer wearing her school uniform. She had adorned her usual baggy jeans and worn hoodie. That wasn’t out of the usual, Helga preferred to wear clothes that kept her from being noticed. His eyes jumped to her face and he then realised why she seemed so different—Helga wasn’t angry. She was serious.

Her complexion was smooth and steady like glass. She had her jaw clenched, lips pressed into a line. She looked at her cat, who he swore he could see nodding, before she pulled her hood over her face. Her eyes moved upwards and for a moment, Arnold’s heart jumped into his throat as he thought she caught him looking. Her eyes had always had that electric look, the type that either zapped you in their zest, or pulled you along for the ride. But then, Helga dropped her gaze, her stare melting into a ghostly wisp, before she and the cat dashed down the street, rounding the corner out of his sight. 

He sighed in slight relief. She hadn’t noticed his staring. Her eyes had barely seemed to even register that there was a window across from her, let alone that that someone could be watching her from it. She seemed much too tired for the thought to even occur to her.

But then, he frowned. Why had she seemed so tired?

Not that it was his business, but something about Helga seemed . . . off. Different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed like Helga from last week and Helga today were two totally different people. When Arnold had knocked her over today, he had expected her to jump up with smoke pouring from her ears. He expected for her face to be red, for her to threaten to hit him, maybe even spit on him.

But she hadn’t.

Instead, she had looked at him—somehow, it seeming like she wasn’t actually seeing him—and apologised. Her, Helga Pataki, had apologised to him.

Even Gerald had thought it strange. In fact, his best friend was convinced that that wasn’t even Helga, but actually, an alien in disguise who had disposed of the real Helga Pataki but hadn’t been smart enough to study up on her character.

‘Helga Pataki—that girl never apologises,’ Gerald had stated as he stuffed chips into his mouth. ‘She probably doesn’t even know what an apology is! It’s totally an alien, I tell you! An alien that wants to eat our brains then take us over! And it’s starting by disguising itself as Pataki, although why they would wanna pretend to be her, I do not understand.’

Arnold frowned, thinking on it.

He hadn’t liked how Gerald had talked about her. He knew Helga could be rough, but she wasn’t bad. And even if she were, she had never been as bad as Gerald often described her. How their grade would describe her. He knew that technically, Helga had never been his friend, but he remembered those times from their childhood, when she would reveal to him that side to her. The side that wasn’t what everyone thought of her, what she thought of herself. The side that dreamed, the side that was gentle. The side of her that loved, loved so ferociously that she would race to the ends of the earth to protect. The side of her that cared so much that she had to pretend that she didn’t and had learned to keep her cards tight to her chest.

That side. The side that Arnold—truthfully—still thought about.

He wanted to brush off Gerald’s theories, but given what had transpired, Arnold was embarrassed to admit that perhaps there was some truth to his best friend’s words. Because apparently, monsters and girls with superpowers existed. Were aliens even that far–fetched anymore?

Arnold couldn’t get that look out from his head.

The one that she had given him on the bus. It had been so chilling. For as long as he had known Helga, she always had this intensity. It burned from her gaze like a force. She had begun dressing as she did, so she could sink back into the crowd. But Helga Pataki had always had an edge to her and regardless of what she wore, Arnold thought she would always stand out from the crowd. She couldn’t help herself. And that was something he had always admired about her.

That’s why the look that she had given him, it scared him. Her gaze lacked their usual intensity. They no longer were burning with her passion, that inner light that she had kept trapped behind glass. When her eyes had moved to his, it felt like her mind was elsewhere and she wasn’t really seeing him, even as she apologised.

It had made him curious and throughout the day, he couldn’t stop peeking in her direction. He wasn’t sure what he was specifically looking for, other than some understanding. Something that maybe he would find that would make everything click. But she had remained like that for the remainder of the day—lifeless. Empty. She had gotten in trouble for wearing pants rather than the mandatory skirt, but even that didn’t seem to get a reaction out of her. She had that blank look as she had simply muttered, “Must’ve forgot.”

Even Lila had seemed curious about it. She had shot him a look from where they were all sat at the back of the class.

Come to think of it, why had she worn pants today? Helga didn’t much care for rules, but she also didn’t like calling attention to herself. Surely, she’d know that if she disobeyed the rules like that, then attention was exactly what she would receive.

Arnold watched that corner. She had long disappeared, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. He almost wanted to follow her. He had watched as Lila had been brave enough to approach her, even chasing after her when she had walked away. He had remained behind, because as curious as he had become about her, he also knew that she was adamant about her boundaries. That she had created a small space for herself and she didn’t want people walking into it. She hadn’t said anything to him this morning, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t eventually break from her silence to yell at him if he crossed those boundaries. Although, he pondered whether it would be worth it, because at least then she would be feeling something rather than nothing.

He wanted to follow her, but he didn’t. Because they weren’t friends—nor had they ever been. Arnold liked Helga and didn’t mind the thought of pursuing a friendship with her, but given what had happened years ago, he doubted she would ever be interested in starting anything with him. So, as his not–friend, it really wasn’t his business what Helga did. He didn’t—and shouldn’t—care.

So, why did he?

🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋

But Blue Jay . . .

Arnold wasn’t sure why he hung back like he had. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to turn up. She had disappeared and so should he. But something twisted in his chest when he thought about that. Because what if she came back? He wanted to see her again. She was a colour he had never experienced before. A sound he wanted to keep hearing. She had a tall and electrifying presence that stung the air and everything around him. She was beautiful and dazzling and . . .

And her eyes . . .

He couldn’t shake them from his mind. They had been carved into his head, something he could wash away from his memories. When she looked at you, it felt like shooting stars had you pinned to the spot. Electricity shot through you, but it didn’t hurt. It excited you. It excited him.

They stirred something in him. He didn’t know what. He wanted to chase after her to find out what.

He knew that he wasn’t different from anyone else. Everyone stared at her in awe. Of course they did, she was magnificent. Her presence enticed enchantment and beckoned everyone towards her. He couldn’t get that image out of his head when she had been walking towards them. It had felt like a scene from a movie that had been caught in slow motion. Light had rolled down her back and fanned out beneath her neck and shoulders like she was an angel. The wind had whipped her hair around her face, making it dance beneath her chin and over her chest. Her hair was a cascade of golden curls but when the light caught it, her strands were turned into gilded ringlets. She had looked like a goddess.

But then, she had looked at him and he felt like he had been struck with lightning.

Because her eyes—they were beautiful, but . . . there was something about them. Something that made him feel like he was taking part in a scene he had already experienced. That her presence, as beautiful and hazy as it made things, it wasn’t as foreign to him as it had felt before.

But why? What was making him feel like this?

🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋◽️🦋

If you're a Sailor Moon, Buffy, Winx Club, Miraculous Ladybug, Wonder Woman girlie, or just a Shortaki fanatic, this is for y'all (because I am literally all of you)!

To read it, check it out here!

[cyncerity]

Feel like it’s important to mention: the karlnapity vamp au is currently getting a story outline, which I’m notoriously bad at doing.

So somehow along the way it became Will Wood inspired??

Anyway i’m now gonna be using the tag Vampire Culture AU and that’s the name now!!

also every chapter is a different Will Wood song lyric, here are the first three chapters in order: “Didnt they want your blood? So why apologize when you turn blue and cold,” “On a fucked up Saturday night,” and “Bad things happen to good people, good things happen to me.”

i’m very excited if you can’t tell

also if anyone has any lyric suggestions they think would fit a vampire story send them please!! I love getting asks and I love Will Wood (and Will Wood and the Tapeworms, I’m taking lyrics from both ((and maybe also A Verbal Equinox but i don’t know them as well))) he’s literally like my favorite artist rn and I wanna find more fans

maybe if you send a lyric that I already have in the outline, I can give you lore >:)