Sits across from you, one leg folded over the other, tell me about these blue lock boys as vampires…
૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, sfw, vampires, descriptions of blood, blood drinking, hunting, manipulation kinda, perhaps kidnapping, gn!reader — not beta read !
⭑ notes — i want to say more but im eepy!! so let me know if you like this…perhaps i will elaborate or make it a thing hehe.
now ok i havent got this entirely fleshed out or whatever but … the blue lock boys as a sort of vampire hoard. like they live together and have been for centuries in a way to protect themselves from humans in modern times. they move and act as a group — going out on group hunts together for animal blood even though it doesn’t suffice.
of course they’re always fighting, who gets to drink what and for how long (rin and shidou are always top contenders for this, bachira too). who’s being reckless with their hunts (kunigami hates when they don’t hunt in an orderly fashion so they don’t get caught) who hasn’t actually been out hunting (definitely chigiri and nagi, they’re too lazy or too pretty)
the forests are running dry and people are starting to catch on the boys never age, they’re suspiciously pale, way too fast to be normal and so they’re forced to uproot their little clan to a new town, new aliases, new blood.
and that’s when you come in, isagi stumbling upon the trace of your pulse one night when hunting through the forest. you’ve heard the rumours, the ethereal group of men living hidden amongst the trees — who look like they’ve seen more of life than what they show. you’re so foolish to have gone looking for them. you should have stayed home.
the weather picks up, the clouds turn a brutish shade of grey and throw down their tears, chills run rampant up and down your body…not just because of the cold and something tells you to run. but a stranger appears in the distance, who looks gentle and kind. he asks if you’re lost, if you need somewhere warm to stay and for some reason you find yourself entranced by the velvet tones in his voice and his youthful, handsome face.
you poor thing.
little do you know, it’s isagi - from a pack of starving vampires who charms you into their hold. with his boyish persona and bright blue eyes. he’s dangerous, but oh you, silly little human you — you don’t know that yet. he’s not being kind, he’s after the thick, viscous crimson inside of you that calls to him like the scent of a hearty stew. you’ll make a fine little blood bank for the hoard of vampires back home. that’s if isagi feels like sharing.
it’s late and the weather’s, he tells you, you should come stay at the manor for the night. he’ll keep you safe. little do you know that he’s had his eye on your carotid artery for the longest time, he can ear every droplet of blush pulsing through your veins and rising to the surface as he flusters you. the way he touches you around the waist is not out of kindness, it’s to make sure other vampires in the area know that you’re claimed prey.
isagi’s home is both magnificent and creepy — it’s very foundations intertwined with strong ivory, granite gargoyles and dusted with fallen leaves. it’s too large for him to live in alone, no wonder he offered you a place to stay. it must get lonely, scary living in a place that looks like it’s straight from a horror movie.
you don’t feel right when you enter the manor, it’s dark. there’s no light. you feel off.
the floorboards creek with heavy steps, voices of all octaves that sound hungry bounce off of the walls and they only seem to get louder when a hot flash of fear spreads through you and your pulse quickens. you try to run but there they are… a man in every corner. a man too beautiful to be alive.
then, multiple pairs of cruel red eyes appear from the darkness, accompanied by sick laughter and the figures of men slink out of the shadows. you realise then that isagi is not who you think and nor are his friends. for when you run to escape, he speedily blocks you at the door with eyes as rich as the blood in your veins and a toothy smirk, showing off his pointed fangs. looking down at you as if you’re nothing but a meal.
he tilts your chin up to face him, tender as if he can’t rip out your throat at any moment.
“i’m sorry little blood bank but i can’t let you leave. i’ve captured the perfect prey, so i think that makes you ours now.”
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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
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This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?
At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.
I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.
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