#sitdsnips

[bardicbeetle]

WIP INTRO - Safe in the Dark

Oh hi, been a minute, I have finally gotten around to this:

(Image Credit - Ezra Chevalier - carrd - ko-fi)

Summary:

I will try to be concise, which is difficult with a project that has been ongoing for nearly half my life.

Alex Blackwood's first night in the supposedly safe, incredibly small state of Vermont starts with frigid wind and gunshots, and ends–somewhat confusingly–with bad coffee and a warm place to sleep.  Abruptly they find themself slowing down, staying in place when all they've done the last eight years is try to outrun nightmares and parents who aren't even looking for them.  The group that takes them in has its quirks, the nighttime schedule, the lack of any substantial food in the house, answering questions Alex has before words ever come out of their mouth.

When they discover their new housemates are a little closer to dead than alive–and that they're well on their way to becoming the same–their choices narrow to death in every direction.

Between an eternity of murder and a human lifetime of fear–was there really any other option but to stay?

Stats:

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Contemporary Horror (Vampires, it’s always vampires)

POV: 3rd person, Multiple POV character, usually contained to their own chapters with occasional deviation.

Word count/goal: 40k/95k

Draft: hopefully final draft, (Oh, you want a number? Eh, somewhere around 33? I’ve been writing this since 2011. I do not have the energy to count anymore.) It is the first installment of what I am now aware is probably at least a duology if not a trilogy

content warnings: vampire typical violence / mental health issues / mind control / hallucinations / body horror / familial + child abuse / murder / graphic depictions of violence / suicidal ideation / themes of depression, loss, and lack of control.

Character introduction posts to come <3

Feel free to browse the snippets that have already been posted using the Safe in the Dark/sitd tag.

/ Spotify Playlist / Tumblr tag /

With this post also comes the proper launch of my patreon! Which has been up but I did not want to promote it until I actually had an intro posted, and life has been really a lot this year. My patreon is non-hierarchical, meaning all the tiers grant the same rewards. I may eventually start running my fun mail through it again, but that is a project for a later time.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter

[bardicbeetle]

"do not try this at home" is just every single scene of Isaac training his friends to become vampire hunters. however. there is a particularly bad one. So.

They’ve both become careless.

It’s hard not to when it’s been months of nothing going wrong.

Alex has taken to occasionally fighting Tom and Carrie at the same time, just for a change in how things usually run. Isaac does the same at times—but there’s no danger for him.

Alex would have said there was no real danger for them either.

But they’re having a little too much fun with it.

Not quite paying enough attention.

They twist out of Carrie’s reach and freeze because Tom had been waiting right behind them—while they managed to move slightly off from where he’d guessed, there is still a stake in his hand and power behind it and—

Alex steps back.

It’s more of a stumble.

Stake embedded in their left side, just under their ribs—

Everything stops.

Pain blooms like wildfire in their abdomen, pulsing white hot around the edges of the wood.

They turn towards the bar, towards Isaac—

Their vision shimmers, darkness rapidly encroaching into a tunnel that’s going to drop them to the floor but—

Isaac is there in an instant, one arm wrapped around to help them down and the other joining theirs overtop of the stake where it is still sticking out of them. They think maybe he says something. It’s hard to focus, he’s so close and the pain is blinding and the blood is there and waiting and— Alex squeezes their eyes shut. Mumbles a string of profanity and slowly—having to push past Isaac's hand trying to keep it in, it's not helping anything, it's just hurting, more bleeding won't kill them, but they cannot think with it there—pulls the stake back out. It’s still stinging like all hell but the relief is instant, there is no longer a fire being set inside their skin.

Blood pulses out over their fingers where they push up against the wound, balling that part of their shirt up in an attempt to stay it a little.

“Carrie,” Isaac’s voice sounds so far away, “the cooler out back, bring me one of the silver thermoses. Tom, get something to clean this all up.” His hand replaces their own, pressure on the gaping hole in their side.

Two sets of footsteps vanishing.

“Do you need—”

“Don’t.” Alex hisses before he even gets the words out. They do, they need blood now and a lot of it, but they aren’t taking it from him. Not like this. Not when they aren’t sure if they could stop. “It’ll be enough.”

Carrie makes it back first, they can smell the uncapped thermos before Isaac hands it to them. Eyes still shut, undoubtedly red, there isn’t going to be any hiding this soon, but they can try for another few seconds. The thermos goes empty in what feels like two swallows, cold but familiar, sending a brief tightness to their chest—

—and then it all vanishes.

~*~

Alex goes limp in his arms, and the thermos tumbles out of their hands across the floor.

Isaac is not panicking.

He is very decidedly very deliberately very entirely not fucking panicking.

It takes a second to register that fresh blood has stopped pulsing out over his fingers from the wound in Alex’s side. When he looks down, it’s to find that it has scabbed over entirely too quickly—that’s good—probably—aside from having to crack stiff blood away from his fingers—dammit.

“So,” Carrie’s voice holds every bit of accusation he would expect. Tom isn’t back yet. Doesn’t matter. He has to do this now. God he doesn’t want to. “I’m about 99% sure that was full of your blood, barring some sort of miracle cure wounds juice just hiding out in the back of your basement—which kinda begs a what the fuck, Isaac?”

He just looks at her. No explanation to be found. No words willing to fall. No excuses. Nothing.

Everyone is alive.

More or less.

Nobody is dead.

Alex is alive. Alex is alive and unconscious and no longer bleeding and despite the fact that they are no more than dead weight in his arms they are not dead.

Breathe.

He really doesn’t want to do this.

Though he also doesn’t know who he was kidding trying to pretend there would ever be any other outcome. This was always coming, somehow, someday. He could lie and say he thought he had more time—but the truth is just he was banking on never having to explain, never having to open this particular mess up to his friends—

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, I didn’t think I pushed that hard—”

“—Tom.” Carrie cuts over him as he returns. “It’s not your fault.”

There is a cold edge to her words.

Maybe Isaac is imagining it.

It’s all his fault.

It is.

“Why are you both just sitting here don’t we need to—”

“—they’ll be alright.” Isaac says, voice cracking already before he’s even begun. “Was that the last thermos?”

“No. Two more.”

“I hate when you two do this shit—” Tom starts and then his eyes zero in on the thermos that Alex had dropped, where it leaks remnant red into the concrete floor. “—no.”

“Yeah.” Carrie responds, “Whole time. Start talking, Raes.”

Isaac can’t.

He can’t do this.

Both his friends are still speaking and he is no longer registering the words as any form of English. Muffled peanut parent speak, his ears are ringing, Alex isn’t breathing—it’s fine, they don’t need to—he doesn’t want to deal with this, wishes he were anywhere else, wishes he hadn’t been such a fucking idiot.

He jumps hard when Tom puts a hand on his shoulder, looking up to find him crouched beside them on the floor. “Hey,” quiet and gentle, “let’s get them on the couch, okay? We gotta clean the floor.”

Isaac nods, but finds his limbs don’t really want to respond. Tom carefully lifts Alex out of his arms, depositing them on the couch before coming back to kneel beside Isaac.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice still soft as he takes Isaac’s hand, the one that’s still covered in blood. “We’re all okay. We can talk in a little bit—but I need you to move too, alright?”

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0

@inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill /

@ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr /

@h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur /

@oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea /

@albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @revenantlore / @vampireposter /

@outpost51 /

Share an excerpt that needs a "do not try this at home" label.

Check the reblogs to read others’ responses!

If you’d rather make your own post, no problem!

Click here for more “share an excerpt” tips.

[bardicbeetle]

sitd mini snips - first sleep

“Glad everything has been established,” Daniel says, settling more comfortably. “Can I please go back to sleep now?” When Jesse does not answer, he adds: “D’you want to stay? You can stay so long as you shut up.”

That does absolutely nothing to help Jesse regain the use of speech.

It doesn’t matter though, Daniel’s face breaks into a little half smile and he pulls Jesse the rest of the way down with him. And Jesse lets him. Ends up laid next to him in bed, Daniel feels cool to the touch, a few degrees off from what could be realistically classified as normal. Just cold enough to be noticed.

And he hasn’t got a heartbeat.

Which is less alarming than Jesse thinks it should be.

A lot less.

Still.

He lays there, in the blacked out room, and the man beside him falls back asleep—really fast, all things considered. And surprisingly at ease?

He looks softer in sleep.

Like a weight is lifted.

Somewhere, in staring at him.

Jesse drifts off as well.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @revenantlore / @vampireposter / @outpost51 / @theharpywrites

[bardicbeetle]

It’s much worse being on the bike when he’s properly awake. Properly sober. Properly watching scenery fly by in a terrifying blur while he tries not to think about how nice it is having no choice but to be practically glued against Daniel. Has to be in order to keep them stable on the bike. To move at the same time while going far too goddamn fast.

He wonders if this is just how motorbikes feel or if Daniel is confident enough in his own immortality to be reckless about it. Jesse wouldn’t know. He’s only ever been in this position with someone who can’t die. And who—realistically he thinks—must not care if Jesse dies either.

They get as far as Monterey, Daniel leaves the main roads for dirt until they hit a cliff overlooking the bay. Maybe he is planning to kill Jesse tonight. Throw his lifeless body to the sea when it’s done and then go back to that little apartment and never think about him again.

It wouldn’t be surprising.

“I like the green,” Daniel says as he takes the helmet back from Jesse, who is dragging fingers through the hair he had dyed a handful of days prior. “It suits you better than the black did.”

Jesse curses the way his stomach flips at those words. Wonders how much better Daniel’s eyes are than his, if he can see where warmth is staining his face. “Thanks,” Barely audible, “where the hell did you drag me to?” it elicits a laugh that has him going redder, he can feel it.

Shit, he would give a lot of things to keep making Daniel laugh like that.

“Don’t worry, if I’d planned to kill you I’d have done it back home.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely comforting.”

“Good,” Daniel says, “it shouldn’t be.”

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings s / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur r / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @revenantlore / @vampireposter / @outpost51

[bardicbeetle]

sitd snips - priority of fear

“So…No coffin?”

Why did he say that?

Why on Earth did he say that?

Daniel looks as though he is wondering the same thing, mouth open to respond though all that comes out is an exasperated laugh. “I’m sorry, am I not living up to your Dracula fantasies well enough?”

“I—no—first of all, that isn’t—” Jesse is tripping over himself in a way he isn’t familiar with, “—you complained in your note about how fucking bright your apartment is���wouldn’t a coffin sort of, fix the whole need for blackout curtains?”

“Check back when I wake up early and burn the living shit out of myself, see if your suggestion still makes sense.” Daniel rolls his eyes, slipping a helmet from where it hangs off the handlebars of a motorcycle. Because of course there is a motorcycle.

Jesse’s stomach drops a couple feet.

Not quite to the ground but enough, enough that he stops.

“You’re bringing me back on…that?”

The quirk of an eyebrow, amusement in the smile that statement earns him. “I didn’t let you fall while you were unconscious did I? Don’t tell me this is the thing that scares you, Jess.”

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites /

@blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart /

@betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting /

@ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr /

@h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose /

@flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye /

@abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity /

@revenantlore / @vampireposter / @outpost51 /

@mr-orion /

[bardicbeetle]

sitd snips - afternoons

Daniel lets out a long sigh, pushing himself up and running a hand through is hair to keep it back out of his face. He looks far from properly awake, pulling both legs up to sit criss cross and supporting his head with one hand. Jesse can see him swallow a yawn before he actually speaks. “Fine, I am barely coherent— make good use of it.” The words don’t sound as hostile as Jesse thinks they’re meant to be.

“Last night—”

“Yes.”

“All of it?” Jesse asks, getting a little frustrated by being cut off again “You—”

“Killed that guy, yes. Offered to kill you, yes. Carried your unconscious body two miles and then drove you back here, yes.” He pauses, stretching his arms toward the ceiling, back arched like a cat. “Without dropping you on the asphalt I might add—does that cover it? Can I go back to sleep?”

“I think you’re kind of glossing over the whole killed that guy part.” Jesse says, sitting back on his heels. “In like, seconds, with your fucking teeth.”

Daniel nods solemnly, “Mmm, you’re right, I’m forgetting the part where I had to make that look a whole lot less like vampire bullshit, and a whole lot more like a run-of-the-mill stabbing. Throw another twenty minutes in for that.”

“Look, if you’re just gonna screw with me—”

I love early days with these two <3 I love that neither of them has any fucking idea what to do with the other one.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @revenantlore / @vampireposter / @outpost51

[bardicbeetle]

sitd snips - in what is not believing

cw for mild emeto

“Later. I promise. Are you okay?”

All they can do is shake their head, “I—I didn’t—” Why won’t their stupid tongue cooperate. They feel like they’re going to be sick.

“C’mon, lets get you inside—a shower might do you some good.”

Hot water.

Hot water and steam would be good.

Though the idea is an unpleasant reminder that there is blood dried to their face, to their hands where they had tried to wipe it away, staining the front of their jacket—

“Alex.”

They nod, following Daniel inside and upstairs.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’ll be right here.”

And that’s how they stay for a while. Alex scrubs their skin raw, watches the runoff going down the drain fade from pink to clear. Then sits on the floor of the tub, water at their back, and heaves. Nothing comes up. They swear they can hear liquid sloshing around in their stomach but it stays firmly and stubbornly in place. Maybe that’s better. Maybe seeing more evidence would be worse.

They settle back against the spray.

“I might have killed him.” it’s quiet and broken

“You didn’t,” Daniel’s voice comes from the other side of the curtain. They can vaguely see his outline where he’s sitting on the bathroom floor, back to the wall. “you’d know.”

“That’s the last part, isn’t it.” It’s not a question, they aren’t even sure why they’re saying it, he’s right, they know. They don’t really know how they know. But the understanding is there.

“That’s the last part.” Daniel is quiet for a moment, “Why didn’t you wait for one of us?”

What?

“I—your friend didn’t explain?”

“Friend?” That word is sharper than Alex expected it to be.

“Eric. He was here when I woke up—he—he said there was really no point in thinking it over—” they pause, tip their head back into the water a moment. “—I guess I believed him.”

Except it hadn’t really felt like believing. Something about the moment feels off.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter

[bardicbeetle]

You do not want to die. You haven't wanted to die since six months after you ran. Thirty-five years ago. Since a woman stronger and braver and angrier than you will ever be carved open her own skin just to keep you alive. The same woman who tonight sent up a mistake and a mess you could have avoided in flames.

Neither of the people who love you believe you when you say that you are not trying to die. They have, admittedly, good reasons not to believe you. But neither of them understand. Both of them are too settled in their own decisions. Both of them came to this willingly in one way or another.

You are not doing this for yourself. You are not doing this to be a coward or a martyr or anything other than whatever is left in you of the shadow called good. You are doing this because nobody should have to see a fraction of what you've seen, and now someone has, now they have and it is--inescapably, unarguably, entirely--your fault.

So you are doing the only thing you know how to do.

You are giving the only choices you have access to.

And you do not know if you are hoping for one or the other.

In either case, you are hoping the affected party forgives you.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir /

[bardicbeetle]

sitd bsi (or maybe a proper snip I am still deciding) - take what you need

Hi, completely unedited and also suggestive content under-cut. Do I need to put it under cut, probably not it's very tame, am I mostly asexual and feel a tiny bit weird about tagging folks in something that even hints at sex? Yes. Will I get over it because I want to share it since early days Jesse and Daniel wreck me as a person and i'm a goddamn adult? Yeah.

So here have some consensual blood drinking that is totally definitely not immediately post anything else happening (lie), anyways this piece brought to you by Teeth from Aviators.

There is a singular line break indicating a POV change.

Enjoy <3

“You’re cold again,” Jesse is talking around things and he knows it, he cannot bring himself to fucking care right now. “you—”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Jesse just shakes his head, pulls Daniel towards him and finds no resistance in the motion. Daniel follows, lets himself be tugged back into Jesse’s lap, forehead resting on his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.” There’s no bite to the words, no malice, Jesse can still see the ghost of a laugh in his expression when he looks down.

Daniel will push him back into the bed and they will fall asleep like this. He knows that.

Fuck it.

“You promised not to do this to yourself again,” Jesse says softly, fingers tracing lightly up Daniel’s back, scar to scar to scar. “I told you—I don’t mind—”

“Jesse,” It’s mumbled against his skin, “sleep.”

“Take it,” Jesse growls, fingers threading through Daniel’s hair and pulling him back enough to look in the eye. “I know you need it, drink.” It’s low and sharp, and his fingers dig into Daniel’s side as he speaks.

He is rewarded with the slow slipping shut of Daniel’s eyes, the barely audible fuck that comes before he lets Jesse guide him back. Lips to throat. Teeth to pulse.

He is also not awake enough to lie to himself and say that Daniel’s teeth in his neck isn’t doing things to him this time. He could lie last time—he almost died—this is different. He can feel every time Daniel pulls away, the sharp sting of air on an open wound—the heat of his breath and drag of his tongue just before teeth follow into another bite. Daniel is exhausted and starved, but not to the same point he was on the beach, this is controlled, this is—

—fuck.

The next time Daniel pulls back, Jesse feels blood starting to run down between them, warm and then cooling in the air against his skin. None of the bites ever bleed long. Someday he’ll bother asking why. Not right now. He drags Daniel up, back to his lips—the taste of his own blood should probably be a lot more unsettling and yet. He thinks maybe it’s offset by the sight. Eyes blue and then red and then back. Like Daniel is trying to keep something in. Keep a handle on it.

There is a small part of Jesse that wishes he wouldn’t.

Daniel laughs into the kiss, small and breathless and Jesse has the distinct feeling he has thought something too loudly again.

~*~

At some point or another, Daniel is going to regret this.

Not right now, mind.

Not while he’s got blood in his mouth and Jesse’s hands in his hair.

So Daniel gives in to it. Drowns himself a little in the endorphin rush that comes with Jesse’s blood right now. Drags teeth from his throat down his chest just for the shiver it elicits and the way Jesse drops his head back and moans.

This is unfair to one of them.

Maybe both of them.

It’s going to make tomorrow night a lot harder.

But for now he’s going to pretend that doesn’t matter. Take a goddamn break from thinking about how much of a mess this has all become and lose himself in the fact that Jesse touches him like he’s precious. There are nails digging into the flesh of his back and a hand wrapped up in his hair but both are controlled like Jesse is afraid of hurting him. Jesse pulls and guides him along and demands that Daniel take what he needs but it is all within an undercurrent that he won’t push too far.

It’s not that night on the beach again.

The promise goes both ways.

Daniel broke his half.

Jesse is holding his.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter

[bardicbeetle]

sitd bsi - the baring of teeth

Today I start NaNo (but that is for the daytime hours) So tonight, have a little blatant self indulgence, have an alternate ending that never was for The Massacre(TM) Warnings for vampire typical violence and blood, and given the context, major character death <3

“Do you think you can stop this?” Eric cracks a smile again, Alex’s blood dripping across his face. “Do you think you can hide from what we are?”

Their legs are shaking. It’s not going to be long before they give back out. “There is no we here.” Alex spits back. “This is a sick fucking power trip you’re pulling. None of them are like you.”

Eric laughs so loud it seems to echo inside their head. “Oh sweetheart, I don’t know what they told you, but Daniel is worse than this. He has always been worse.”

“Shut up.”

“D-”

“I said shut up!” The words leave Alex in a scream that drags all the air from their lungs. It doubles them over, but for a bare moment, Eric is silent.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Alex whispers, slowly pushing back up to stand straight, “Or how bad you think this is for me, but I have been through too much—lost too much—to let this be the end of it. I’m not about to lay down and die just because some jackass wants to play god.” Every word carries them another step forward, Eric matches them until his back is to the wall. He’s smiling again, that split open grin, not really a smile, just baring teeth.

Alex is hoping for some kind of miracle.

Because once they run out of words, they’ll have nothing.

Somewhere, they wonder if killing Eric would count.

Somewhere else they wonder if they even care.

If he would let them.

If any of it matters now.

“You stand there and think you can make this fucking hurt me—calling me by the wrong name and telling me the people I care about are monsters��I know monsters. I’ve spent my whole goddamn life getting as far away from them as I can. So kill me if you want, make me kill that girl if it gets you off, but you’re nothing, and the second I can, I will take you with me.”

He laughs again, softer, private almost. Like it’s not for them.

“You want to, don’t you.” It’s the first thing he’s said all night that doesn’t carry an edge of mirth. That doesn’t play like some sort of sick joke. “You’re barely upright, barely alive, all rage and adrenaline and desperation. You want to rip into me just to shut my mouth if nothing else.”

“Stop it,” Alex growls, staring him down and fighting the urge to shut their eyes to the vision he’s painting. Everything is so hazy at the edges they’re not sure if the next blink will even result in continued consciousness.

“You think it would feel good don’t you,” Eric whispers, leaning back against the wall now, body relaxing into the brick. “You’re not wrong, nothing better than the moment your fingers run red—but it would be wasted on me. Wouldn’t fix anything. Wouldn’t sate anything.”

“Stop.”

“It’s her you want,” He nods towards the bar where that woman had vanished. Lilacs. Sweet and cloying and overpowering—

Alex shakes their head, regrets it when the room spins. “No. No.”

“Pity,” Eric mumbles, and they wonder again if it’s just for him. It’s not like the rest, it doesn’t project like the words he speaks at them. “I’d let you, you know.”

And those words don’t sound like him.

Alex hears Daniel.

Hears their discussion in the darkened yard.

If I really thought you couldn’t do this, if you didn’t want it—

I’d let you.

I’d let you.

Eric has a stake in one hand—the one he’d made them drop at the house?

“One more round then, —?”

“Stop fucking calling me that.”

He raises both hands in surrender, eyes never leaving theirs.

“Fine. One more round, Alex.” He holds out the stake, blunt edge towards them. “You can kill me, or I can kill you and flower-girl over there. Catch.”

It’s still horrid and mechanical, watching their body move without their own input. But Alex catches the stake as it’s thrown towards them.

“No getting out of it this time. Me, or both of you. Decide. Now.” The room goes airless with those words, heavy and vacant in a way that makes Alex almost drop to their knees.

Decide.

Decide.

I’d let you.

Something breaks.

The haze at the edge of their vision goes red.

Alex has moved before they really realize what’s happening.

To his credit—fuck that, fuck him—Eric is true to his word.

He lets it happen.

Alex’s next moment of clarity is with both hands wrapped around the stake where it’s lodged in his chest. Sliding down the brick with him, inches away from breathless laughter that is getting wetter and redder with every heave. Nothing is different. Nothing changes. Their body is still screaming and raw and starving.

It's almost a relief.

“Told you,” Eric chokes out, one hand lifting to their face. Still wet with the blood of one of the many dead. Alex’s blood now mingling with his own as it runs from behind his lips. “but just in case—kill her.”

~*~

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir /

[bardicbeetle]

blatant self indulgence - mourning what is not lost

hi it's be sad about daniel hours. you're welcome.

Sometimes there is a mourning for things not had.

The back side of an I love you that begs to grow old together.

They won’t. Him and Jesse.

That’s okay.

Sometimes Daniel thinks without Jesse he wouldn’t be here. It’s true. However much he denies it every time the other two try to press that he does not take well enough care of himself, that he does not value his own life for anything, that he is too quick to offer up a sacrifice unasked for. Maybe he would still be in that little apartment, too bright, but close to the water. Maybe Amalthea would have found him sooner.

He knows what would have happened in one case.

If he’d gone through with it.

Made good on his promise and killed Jesse like he’d asked.

But the truth is that was never going to happen, not even from the start.

So he hadn’t been in love then. It was still impossible to shake Jesse off, to deny him anything but that. The closest thing to standing in sunlight that Daniel could get. The closest thing to being selfish he would allow at the time.

That either of them would.

They are both vastly different people than they were in 1989.

And Daniel cannot wish for a world where they would have been normal. Happy. Short lived.

Because Jesse would have died young.

And a part of Daniel would have died with him.

But sometimes, possibly when he’s in a mood to regret, he wonders what it would have been like to grow old together. Whenever Sarah is around, and he sees lines on her face that would paint Jesse’s the same. When Jesse throws out that he is—technically—nearing sixty. When Daniel remembers he’ll be eighty in a years time.

Most of the time though, he is beyond content with the fact that he will have Jesse for as long as either of them wants. As long as they both feel like continuing to exist. There will be arms to fall asleep in. There will be hands that touch him more gently than he deserves. There will be a smile so bright it puts the stars to shame.

It would be nice to grow old together.

But sometimes, it is nicer still, not to.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter / @outpost51

[bardicbeetle]

sitd snips - in returning lost time

There is both comfort and terror in the familiarity of Daniel’s childhood home.

In the things that have not changed (the mailbox still hanging from a single nail on the tree out front) and the things that have (the driveway is paved now, the doors have been painted a deep red that would make him laugh if it didn’t feel like a cruel joke.)

He is trying very hard not to run.

Thinks about Madeleine telling him that it is better more often than not, to not have just disappeared.

He is distinctly trying not to remember that it’s been twelve years.

That it’s been twelve years and he still looks 23 (does that really make him 35? Does all the time he can barely remember count as time?)

He knocks.

He waits.

He holds onto the door frame in an attempt to steady himself.

The door eventually opens to reveal a woman taller than him by a good handful of inches, dark haired and brown eyed and scowling and the scowl turns into shock and a quiet breathe of what he thinks is Italian for something like you piece of shit but he’s rusty so it might honestly not be—

And then Lucille is cursing him out six ways from Sunday and dragging him forward across the threshold into a hug.

“Good to see you too, Lu.”

“Shut up, shut up, how dare you—where have you been—”

He refrains from the urge to mumble dead. He doesn’t think that will do him any good.

“—get inside—you’re telling me all of it, now.” She drags him in, barely releasing him enough that he can walk properly.

“Luci—”

“Don’t Luci me, you don’t get to be dead for twelve years and try to worm your way back into my good graces. I’m not Eleanor, I don’t think God has blessed the ground under your feet. Talk.”

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter

[bardicbeetle]

sitd snips - poor decisions are made

“Alex. Alex.” Hands on their shoulders. Face close to their own. Red eyes. A heartbeat stuttering back into rhythm. Metal and salt and heat and—

Daniel.

“Hey,” His voice is soft, grip on their shoulders firm enough to bring them back down. “breathe.”

Blood.

Pain sparks through their jaw and down their throat.

Their eyes start to drift, towards the ground behind him and the—

“—Hey,” Barely sharp, but it makes them look back. “Eyes on me.”

Red eyes fading blue.

But otherwise, otherwise nothing. Still Daniel. Still normal. Still a person.

Not a monster.

Alex’s hands flutter at their sides, eyes burning, throat burning worse. “I—” They want to hug him, they want to bury their face away from the thing they are desperate to see, they want to see the body and they don’t want to be anywhere near it and oh christ they want to see it so badly—

The hands on their shoulders let go, released and exchanged as Daniel wraps arms around them and Alex dissolves. They dig their nails into his jacket and cling like a child, scared and hiding from the world around them, from the thoughts rushing untamed like a dam broken open.

The worst part may not even be the body they are refusing to look at, as badly as they want to.

It's not the smell of the blood now inescapable.

It’s the echo in their head that is their father’s voice and not.

The body and the blood, the body and the blood.

It is the centering of something new in something they are desperate to escape.

As awful as the thing is on its own.

Memory colors it all worse.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir /

[bardicbeetle]

sitd snips - dead and not gone

“Don’t Luci me, you don’t get to be dead for twelve years and try to worm your way back into my good graces. I’m not Eleanor, I don’t think God has blessed the ground under your feet. Talk.” She snaps the last word, and sets a kettle on the stove before sitting down at the kitchen table and beckoning him to join her. “What happened?”

Madeleine’s words swim through his head.

About trust.

About truth.

“I died, Lu.”

“Obviously it didn’t stick, elaborate.”

Daniel just stares at her. “You—you’re not—surprised?”

Lucille frowns slightly, not angry this time, but sad. “I—well…” She gets up without another word, disappearing into the doorway the leads off into the living room. She’s only gone for a moment, returning with something in her hand.

She lays a hag stone on the table.

Daniel’s.

The one he’d found in the river when they were children.

The one he’d worn every goddamn day of his life. Until that last stupid fight the night before the funeral.

…The night Amalthea found him.

The hag stone is split in two.

Nearly down the center.

He is struck by a horrible urge to laugh.

Because of course it was broken.

“It broke the night you left. I found it in the morning, I couldn’t decide if it was from you throwing it at me or—” Lucille pauses, “—but then Jamie Dawes’ body turned up the day after and you had disappeared and—” She slams a hand down onto the table, “—and how dare you, how fucking dare you make us all think you were dead, and make me think it was my fault and—”

Daniel pulls her back into a hug.

She doesn’t fight it this time.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @vampireposter / @outpost51

[bardicbeetle]

sitd snips - rush

Moira Hart is in so much shit.

The gun is still smoking and one of her bosses is dead and the other one is definitely going to kill her as soon as he finds out and she needs to be running but all she can do is stare at the slowly spreading pool of blood along the floor. Stare and think about how she really should have asked more questions before accepting a front desk position that didn’t request any form of ID and required her to carry a loaded gun around—but she was desperate and the pay was good.

And now one of her two very volatile bosses is dead on the floor.

She doesn’t know if this is Anthony or Milo. She’s never been able to tell. They’re fucking twins. They should color code or something.

Where had the kid run off to?

He was bleeding pretty bad and—

One of her bosses is dead on the floor.

Right.

Right.

She should be running.

She should be running but the door to the main hall slams open and the gun in her hands is raising again and she’s thinking less than she should be and—

—Shit has that guy been shot already?

“Wait!” He’s got his hands up in surrender before he’s all the way through the door, “Please—we just—oh fucking hell!”

And he’s noticed her dead boss.

Anthony.

Or Milo.

It doesn’t matter.

“Move and you go just like him.” Moira growls, grateful the panic has her voice dying and low. “Who the fuck are you?”

But there are already more faces peering around the door—more kids—jesus fucking christ.

“I think,” the guy says, slowly dropping his hands, eyes not leaving the corpse “we are on the same side.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yup.” He’s still not looked back up. “Sarah take everyone else outside.”

“I’m not leaving you—” It’s a blonde girl who speaks, no older than fourteen or fifteen. Still, older than most of the people behind her.

“—wasn’t a suggestion sissy, I’ll be right behind you. And so will—” He finally looks back at her,

“—Moira.” She says, finally lowering the gun until it’s pointed at the floor again. Very nearly still pointed at Anthony-or-Milo. “Why are you looking at him like that?”

“Because I was really sure I’d killed him already.”

Shit.

Fucking shit.

Both Moira Hart’s bosses are dead.

“You’re bleeding.” She says again, because the spreading stain of bright red creeping from the guy’s stomach is hard to look away from and she’s pretty sure this is what shock feels like.

He shrugs.

Is she dreaming?

Was she too slow?

Is she the one dead on the floor and this is just some kind of messed up hallucination as her brain spasms itself to oblivion?

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir /

[bardicbeetle]

“You can do it again,” Jesse says quietly once they’re back at the apartment, showered and dry and in Jesse’s case fed. “I don’t mind—and if it makes things, easier—if—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jesse asks, and it comes out a little more defensive than he intends. “You very clearly have a problem with getting blood consistently otherwise—and it’s not like I’m doing anything else with it, because as far as me and anyone else not currently fucking undead is concerned—my blood might as well be poison.”

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @revenantlore / @vampireposter / @outpost51