#vamp au

[howisjoostfanfictionforfree]

Sorry to anyone waiting on the fic!

I have been chipping away at it but it's been slow with how busy I am.

Good news is I got over being stuck on the one part I was having trouble with and my term is over soon so I will actually have time to work on it!

I have a vision, I just need the uninterrupted time. I'm actually really excited for this next part. Reader's troubles are far from over.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Will you ever consider writing a clexa vampire fic?

I wrote one!

Granted I was still very very, whew, very new to writing and I think I could probably maybe somewhat do a lot better now 😅, but I did write one. I'm a slut for vamp stories so

[bytedykes]

[ID: Ink drawing of Phoenix Wright from Ace Attorney. He's drawn in bust and grinning, drawn with wolf ears and sharp teeth. There's a pink and blue star sticker above him. /end ID]

werewolf phoenix to test a new pen i got

[sashabeloved]

There is a rough scratching noise from the next room.

Jack puts down the cleaning supplies and goes to see what it is, he assumes it's Tanner at first.

[archimedeez]

Jack notices he is falling asleep and shuffles to the kitchen to get coffee about it.

Dell is sitting at the kitchen table, looking over some plans. He is chewing on what seems to be one of Tanner's bones.

[parsleyartist]

Complex hairstyles to vampire culture is like an engagement ring! (knowing that, Monty will now make more complex hairstyles for Carmin🤭)

Short comic as a continuation from Carmin's hairstyles !

(oc Monty by @quinndecker )

[elflutter]

Hiii just came across your vampire!march au/fic idea! Could you tell us any more about it?

omg thank you so much for asking!! ♡

i'm still in the early stages of writing, so everything is subject to change! here is some info about the characters/settings that i have bouncing around my brain as i write! i'm also working on character moodboards that i'll probably post at some point

and i'm heavily leaning towards proper enemies to lovers for this story *rubs hands together evilly*

fields of mistria march x farmer vampire!au headcanons below the cut! (sfw)

march

✧ older than he looks, but not old old. he is still a relatively young vampire. turned in his 20s, now in his 40s or 50s.

✧ olric is his biological brother and they were turned around the same time.

✧ they've lived in mistria for 7 years or so. their condition is secret. the villagers haven't really noticed that they don't age much- with the effects of potions/magic, it is not terribly uncommon for aging to be slowed somewhat (kind of like plastic surgery in today's world)

✧ march struggles with vampirism more than olric. when he was first turned, march struggled especially with self-control.

✧ he hasn't fed on a human in more than a decade. he feeds on animals. the other villagers believe he is a hobbyist hunter, he'll bring back animals to the shop to process.

✧ he uses the leather or antlers in some of his projects, but he is a blacksmith first. he stores the blood for use over the week or so between hunts.

✧ his greatest desire is for his existence to mean something. his greatest fear is that he is nothing more than a monster.

farmer

✧ f!farmer (planning on 2nd person pov but i am still on the fence)

✧ "retired" adventurer, familiar with hunting monsters

✧ suspicious of and unfortunately attracted to the grumpy blacksmith

✧ pathological need to help others sometimes at your own expense

✧ moving to a derelict farm and rebuilding a partially destroyed town is your idea of a "relaxing retirement"

olric

✧ olric literally 100% eats rocks idk what to say

✧ he's kind of a himbo because the iron in the rocks isn't exactly enough to like... meet all of his nutritional needs. but he's happy. so it's fine.

✧ happy rock muncher olric lives in my head rent free i'm so serious

thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers ♡

i also went back and tagged everything i've posted so far about this wip under #vamp au

[daisychainsandbowties]

tagged by @the-darkness-does-not-bargain for this six sentence thing🥰🥰 the rules are you post the last six sentences of what you’re writing but i’m going to ignore that and post this chunk that is coherent since i take a long time to say anything🥰

from my ot3 vamp au😘

///

“humans have more… choice about it. you can decide not to eat meat at all.”

she traces the tips of two fingers across Ava’s chest, and this time it does not feel demonstrative - or, maybe the word she wants is deliberate. beatrice isn’t trying to test the waters anymore because they are already pink-frothed with blood. her expression is faraway.

“most of us don’t though,” Ava tells her, shivering, even though the brush of fingers across her chest is only an idle animation. it is not trying to make her breath catch but she is every metaphor for a moth to a flame. she is so drawn to, so helpless against these hands.

ava tries to hold onto the thought that the body obstructing the moonlight is old. it has habits she cannot fathom. but she doesn’t really think that Beatrice is teasing her now; just touching, in her odd reverent way.

ava has never felt anything close to holy

and good, good. she knows now that no holy water or consecrated ground can stop an angry ghost still girl-shaped from filling a room up with blood, but still. on the off chance that being better would make her a poison to them she is happy to lay here, profane and just-fucked and hopelessly drawn to the girl with eyes like bloodshot halos.

she stirs on the backseat – they are impossibly tangled up now in the almost-dark. just moonlight leaking in, air through the window beatrice rolled down, after they were done. ava coming down, still shaking. watching beatrice use her forearm to wipe Ava’s cum off her chin. an odd, practical sort of motion that turned Ava on all over again.

“besides. you can do that too, sort of.”

“I drink blood, Ava. there’s hardly any vegetarian option in that.”

Ava rolls her eyes, realising belatedly that her head is resting on Beatrice’s discarded coat. she has the shirt back on but unbuttoned, gaping open to show a scandalous slant of stomach. Ava likes that she is unsculpted – her tummy faintly soft when Ava kissed it. there’s a false note of reassurance in that – how beatrice not a statue but a warm girl.

“no, but you could hunt bad people, instead.” she feels her voice take a turn toward quiet, “is that what you do?”

twin wicks of gold observe her through the darkness and beatrice takes a long, unnecessary breath. “some of us do that. i think, at least, since lilith gives any coven a wide berth and you don’t often meet solitary vampires out in the wild. we are avoidant creatures by nature.” she shuts her mouth then and Ava can see a pattern of self-reproach in it as she presses her lips flat against her teeth. “but no, i don’t do that.”

“oh”

she gives Ava a very sad smile (she could almost have taken it in her hands, it is so palpable), “i have eaten poets before.”

“were they good?”

[mrghostrat]

Ao3 is down :(

I usually pick one of my bookmarks to read a few chapters of before sleep, like a bedtime story kinda

And the one I started last night was your vampire au (again)

My bedtime story noooo ;-;

(Silly goose didn't think to save any fics in case of this exact scenario)

(Woefully unprepared)

STAY STRONG AO3 SOLDIERS 😔 i haven't downloaded that one either, though it was the next one i was going to format 😭 OHH but at least i have the original file!

take this, friend 🫡

[kowaindar0u]

"You care a lot. I see it." Yuichi, from Kogarasumaru 🥺 (@zantedeschia-praesul)

[ nice things to say to people ]

It's been an awful day.

This evening Saseki had gotten the majority of his things moved in and was now officially living in their apartment. He should have been happy, excited, even if a little nervous.

But he had somehow severely underestimated just how agonizing it would be to stay in such close proximity to someone-- someone he loved so much, nonetheless-- while he was almost starving.

He'd told Saseki he had left something at work and needed to go get it, insisting his friend stay and unpack while he left.

Yuichi isn't a good liar, but he thinks maybe Saseki at the very least understood his anxious nature and figured perhaps he needed to get some air. He loves how understanding he is, but it feels so, so shitty to lie to him, ever.

So indeed, he goes to the one place he knows should be peaceful, and at this time of late evening is relatively free of people, for the first time since he'd become a vampire, and Kogarasumaru had found him at his favorite bench.

He's a bit surprised--pleasantly so-- that he doesn't feel the same 'stress' that he does around most people. But, he reasons, that's why he liked to talk to him in the first place. And, like always, the man had clearly clocked that he's troubled (though it'd be hard not to).

"...Of course I do," Yuichi agrees, wringing his hands together as he closes his eyes. He's been trying to explain his feelings about this situation as vaguely as possible so as not to give himself away or, heavens forbid, scare the other man. "I don't want him to get the wrong idea, I... just... I wonder if we made a mistake... I know I was worried about being able to live with him, but I-I just didn't expect myself to react this... poorly..."

[laurzvahll]

a vampire hunter Sol doodle that i did on the plane :3

[sashabeloved]

Dell is late coming home from work.

His boyfriend was waiting with the lights off, he stares silently.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Which clexa would be super into their astrology sign?

My first thought was how funny it would be if Vamp Clarke got super into astrology 🥴 girl's been undead for like two centuries and yet busts out in the middle of an argument like "gAH you are such a fucking Cancer sometimes 😠"

Lexa just standing there, fangs out like, blood and barbecue sauce on her titties like: 🧍‍♀️

Really tho probably MBFW in the early days of being together. I could absolutely see Clarke getting several whole love and compatibility charts done for them, just because. Lexa wouldn't really buy into it too too much, but she's also a soft mushy bag'o'lesbian bones when it comes to Clarke so she'd go with it and humor her until the fervor wore off. But there'd still be minor butting of heads, of course, because rationally Lexa would be like, "My love, you know this is just— I mean look, this one says we aren't compatible at all."

"Ok but this one says we can be ultimate soulmates and that our sex life would be explosive. Which it is. So I think we both know what the truth is here."

"... The truth that we're only going to validate what we want to hear to begin with?"

"God you're so smart, baby 🫦"

[lawrusso-reallyshortstories]

More Than A Dream..

Daniel is running into an empty school hallway. His lungs and throat are on fire from how much he is, it burns, but he can't stop, or he will catch him.

The insistent steps behind him were still following him. Tears start to form at the corner of his eyes, making his vision a little blurry. Every breath he was taking hurts his poor lungs, his body was screaming from pain but he couldn't stop, or he will catch him.

This sensation of fear is getting more and more into his system when he felt that his body was giving up and at the moment he slow down, a hand catch him and throw him into the ground, making the little amount of air leaving his body with a big gap.

The tears that were hanging into his eyes runs down his now red cheeks and he was looking at the imposant figure which was holding him down on the floor.

The blond hair of the guy were turning a metallic gold under the moonlight, his blue eyes were shining into excitement at the view he had under him and his smile was devilish by the way his strangely sharp canine were showing.

Johnny Lawrence is sitting on top of him with all his weight, pinning him in the ground by holding his wrist, making it impossible for Daniel to escape.

Daniel was totally out of breath, every breath of oxygen bringing a burning sensation through his body. All his body was burning and even with this, he couldn't chase the sickening feeling of fear that was making his bag run cold.

He looked at Johnny shinning eyes and start to move, trying to get away from the other boy without success. Anger mixing with fear start to built into his belly, he became more violent into his movement and that seems to amuse Johnny even more.

Daniel: " Leave me alone man! I did nothing to you! Leave me alone! Why can't you just fuck off?! I'm sick of you beating me up just because I'm with your ex! Just leave it! You are ridiculous! This all bullying shit is ridiculous! And you are weird- you're always glancing at me I can feel it and that's fucking creepy- you're a creep Lawrence! A fucking creep and weird dude!"

He kept saying every little things that came up to his mind, letting his anger out on the other guy.

Johnny tighten his grip on Daniel's writes, making him whine. He approaches the other's boy face, turning to go to his ear before to whisper.

Johnny: " If only I could leave you alone Larusso, I would have done it just after the beach but I can't. You're fucking everywhere I go-"

A low groan escaped his throat, making Daniel shiver and still, he didn't dare saying a word, every bit of anger disappeared.

Johnny: " your scent is so intense, it is driving me crazy- every time that you are too close I want nothing but to devour you-"

Daniel was confuse, what kind of nonsense was he talking about? Did he finally lost it? Is it the day Daniel is going to get kill by Johnny Lawrence into the damn corridor of his school during night? What was he doing here by the way? Why Johnny was speaking weirdly and have long canines? Why was he pinning him down like this? Why was he actually not hating that?! All of his thoughts got blocked when the other boy speaks again.

Johnny: " I can't hold myself anymore Larusso- I need you like I need water- I am so thirsty and that is all your fault- to make me running behind you like that, chasing you like you were a delicious pray."

Johnny pushes himself away from Daniel still dangerously close, looking into those big brown eyes of his, seriously, he looks like Bambie with those ridiculous big eyes. How dare he looking so cute and being an annoying little shit at the same time? Does he knows how much it is driving him crazy? How much he wants to punch him, making him bleed and than drinking his blood? He can't hold himself anymore, not when he had him looking that adorable and tasty just for him.

Johnny's eyes went red all of sudden, startling Daniel. The other boy's eyes went impossibly big, making Johnny groan again, he get closer to Daniel again, using his free hand to take his chin, turning his face to the left so his throat was at his mercy. He looked at the beautiful tan skin that was inviting him to come and put his fangs here.

Daniel start to have tears again, totally terrified by the action of the other boy.

Daniel: " J-Jhonny please..Don't do that I...{I don't want to die!} I'm sorry for what happened but please.."

Johnny: " Shut up Larusso- I've been enough patient and I won't back down anymore"

Strike first.

Johnny licked Daniel where he wanted to bite.

Strike hard.

He bites hard, making the other boy groan, his hands balling into fists.

No mercy.

He starts to drink his blood and Jesus fucking Christ he could moan for how good it tastes- it was sweet and a little sour, just like the boy's attitude, his skin was so smooth against his lips and his little cries- it was driving him to the edge. He drinks big gulps of his freesheet blood, biting hard so it came out more easily.

He backed up after a second to take a little break, breathing. Wow..it was amazing, he tasted so good. He looked at the other boy again, saying the way his eyes went blurry because of the tears, how defenseless he looked, because of him. A feeling of excitement runs trow his vain, making his pants feeling tight around his crotch.

He turns Daniel face so he could look at him. He licked the other boy's lips, making him shiver.

Johnny: " you taste so good, you are so good Daniel. I don't want to stop. I want to drink you all night and consume you entirely until nothing is left"

Johnny went down again and started to drink again but this time, Daniel was moaning. He was feeling light headed because of the blood loss. He could feel Johnny's fangs on his neck, piercing his neck with a nice pressure, making his blood pulling out, his lips were soft and wet from his blood, he could feel the other's erection on his belly, feeling his own wakening.

Daniel heard his alarm ringing and oppen his eyes instantly, kicking it shut. He woke up with cold sweat and a hard one. What in the hell was the dream- It felt so real- He could feel the place where Johnny had bite him, touching it slightly with the tip of his finger.

He groans when he noticed his dick on his boxer and decided to wake up and take a shower.

He went to school, parking his bike and went to Ali and her friends. He wasn't really paying attention to the morning gossip, too preoccupied with his dream or nightmare he didn't know, and unconsciously looking for the blonde head.

When he saw those hair, he felt his heart quickened. Johnny was standing at his usual spot by his motorbike with his cobras. He probably felt eyes on him because he looked directly at Daniel.

At this moment, it felt like the time stopped, they looked into each others eyes. Johnny started to smirk, his eyes went a little red and Daniel shivered, feeling like that dream was actually not one, feeling his face becoming hot and touching the famous place in his neck.

The end.

Song associated: "Once Upon A Dream" by Lana Del Rey

[parsleyartist]

Carmin's hairstyles! Monty made those for her (she can't see her reflection)

[COMM OPEN]

[daisychainsandbowties]

Sunset, car, lake with Lilith

she wakes to wetness, again. this is not so unusual - now, here, feeling damp breath crawling over the cartilage that writhes up the landscape of her throat. 

catching on a cut, stinging wetness tugging at her like teeth wrapped around the fullness of a bottom lip. pressing down and breaking, breaking-

but she can’t break anymore. the cut is open and lingering because she asked it to. this, according to beatrice, is one of her bad habits. a sentence whose ending always comes with a cough drop tone wrapped around it.

“why?” tracing the slope of her throat or her forearm or her abdomen, variously trailing blood. “do i always fall asleep listening to your wounds?”

“they do not make noise, beatrice.”

“to me they do.”

she sleeps better this way - bleeding, sour from wounds that make the fear leak out of her, the tension in her shoulders, her jaw, her mouth. so many years and she can’t sleep easy until she knows the hurting has been done for the night. no waking up to it and the taste of whiskey on another tongue. 

they have words for this now.

big, and bright and shiny

PTSD and trauma and coping mechanism

lately lilith has been learning about how steam engines work. 

beatrice is curled up against her, wearing both lilith’s shirt and her own because she is new and weak and cold about it. ten years as a vampire is not very long and sometimes lilith can still taste the human in her when they are hungry on the road and the urge to drink is so powerful that they stand face to face. lilith with her fingers curled around beatrice’s elbow and wrist as she opens up the long pretty vein in her arm.

cupping her mouth around the spill. up, looking up through the messy fall of blood to see beatrice with her eyes shut. exultant.

her fingers always twitch when she’s being tasted. head tilted back to expose old fingerprints of blood at the cusp of her jaw and against the nape of her neck from her own less skilled application of her teeth to where lilith is soft on the inside of her wrist.

“what do i taste like?” she always asks this when the pair of them are walking afterwards, unsteadily. it’s a stupid thing to do, really, but lilith is half in love with the need for it. how beatrice takes to staring at her like she’s a meal.

she has always tasted divine.

but,

“right now?”  and her red-slicked nod and-

watery, with hints of lemon spiking at the back of lilith’s teeth. usually she is sweeter because she tends toward women. prefers to eat them – (“the quiet of it. once you’re in their throats they are very quiet. and soft”)

she talks like a predator now, wiping blood off her mouth and onto her sleeves with a wry twist to her lips as though she knows about lilith out the back of their house on rainy days trying different chemicals to get the red-brown out of linen, silk, cotton cuffs. too much caution in her.

“what do i taste like?” and the lie running after it.

“oh, the usual. citrus and heat.”

they are sleeping in the ruins of a building. once a café, lilith thinks, because she keeps shifting around on broken teacups and cutting the skin on her back. she lets these small annoyances fade though they steal at her strength. the cuts go away and they are gone, smooth and vanished and she hates it a little bit that her body takes everything now like bruises. those, she has had all her life in various places.

perhaps that’s part of it. the bleeding all day long from certain cuts – stinging, aching, darting pains instead of dull ones. this way her agony is like a flash of light in the dark, and  sometimes that is almost the same as feeling something good.

broken teacups bite her as she fits her body around beatrice to make the ground into a soft shape, a girl shape. by sunset there will only be ribbons of red following the slopes of her ribs where they crawl to her spine, following all the slants of all her muscles.

it is peaceful, save for distant explosions. the sky might be eggshell blue outside but no trace of light makes it through the rubble and thick canvas that lilith piled up on them. beatrice, exhausted, sleeps with her head on lilith’s naked chest. they are sore and bruised in the way of the undead (invisibly).

blood streaked on limbs, a stripe of it tucked under bea’s jaw. lilith can sense it in the dark because she is a monster and grown old in it. she is all of 500 years.

a huff. beatrice stirring in the dark, exhaling hard and her breath is carrion. their last meal sits uneasily inside her. she is not used to this. times when the world is ruin and the blood knows it, runs with it and tastes of it and there is nothing you can do but sit and wait for people to be happy again. they taste better that way.

lilith likes when the world is quiet.

as it is, even lilith’s guts have clung to her spine and there is a strange tugging in her belly like the feeling you get when you fall asleep on a long journey and wake up minutes from home. it is, hand in hand, a sensation like hunger and also the knowledge that outside it is sunset. outside there is night, falling.

it washes over them both and lilith stirs, frets under her breath. decades ago, she would slip out into the city just as night fell and cut things fine with the last faint slivers of day still reaching down certain streets at certain angles. tight-knit Prague and Paris with always an accommodating doorway to lounge in, to watch the light retreat from her.

to test its burn on the ends of her fingers.

but they are nowhere now. camped beneath broken teacups and overturned tables and the fangs inside of lilith’s gums are aching. hunger is an odd thing for a vampire; closer to lust in lilith’s estimation and now it makes her hands achy and her gums hot, and all she wants to do it turn her back on the flares and the smoke and the sound of distant shots. maybe there is somewhere warm and wet on this continent where a little bit of blood will not be missed.

here, no one is missed but everyone has gone missing.

the war is dying, but not very fast. lilith can smell Molotov and Cyrillic script on the wind in one direction. American cigarettes in the other. the memory of blood in the back of her throat.

but she holds still in the quiet dark, clinging to the last dregs of sleep, the last mouthful of this warm fog. 

beatrice’s hands are… somewhere. she is all contorted around lilith, moving in her sleep and moaning and whimpering and saying half-sentences so suddenly it often makes lilith jump. her palms…

(lilith shuts her eyes, concentrating on placement. she could play a whole chessboard with her perfect stillness)

…they are flat against the sheen of sweat on lilith’s back, pulled meniscus-taut by the closeness and the cold.

certain people disabused her of the notion of god when she was young, but still lilith thanks Him for the fact that she can sweat. there it is, slippery on the hands that hold her – a sort of nonsense barrier between them.

i miss fucking you, she thinks. a terrible want to have here, somewhere far east of France and not quite in Russia. war-torn, smoke on the air that slips through shattered masonry to find them. ghosting over the shapes of two girls, huddled together as though for warmth. 

(as though, as though, as though)

and yet beatrice shivers a little in her sleep and lilith tries to make more of herself. she is always doing this.

she knows the body tangled around hers. how it feels on her tongue and what to do with it, to it. hips pushing forward, bea bea bea sitting in her lap with lilith’s fingers busy between her legs.

bea’s head lolled back on her shoulder. the slow play of tongue & teeth over untested territory while bea’s hands twitch at her wrists, wanting desperately to grab but afraid to interrupt the rhythm of lilith fucking into her and lilith every so often asking how many fingers. demanding a number. 

at times, on certain days, she can convince herself that she knows what beatrice wants.

(how she fucked you because you listened to her and liked her and looked at her. and she wanted to be an archaeologist and go digging things up in the desert and then she met something terrible. a girl.)

(and she ran to confess her sins and you found her. and she called you an angel before she died)

waking up so beautiful, so bloodred when lilith took her hunting the first night. she is not shy about it – the part of her that is not human but still another sort of animal.

(you, telling her “you don’t bite the blood, you suck it” as a body thrashed beneath her. a boy, pretty and very alike beatrice if you glanced, if you cared as little for gender as lilith did)

(later and, “you don’t bite this either, you suck it.”

“lilith, i will get right back out of this coffin.”)

lilith can feel the body tucked against hers under the blanket, one leg wrapped around hers, a hand low on her stomach, brushing the waistband of her boxers. two fingers stuck underneath in sleep grazing the utmost trim of her hair. she can’t remember if they fucked last dawn. it would have been impolite of them, but now the whole countryside is a graveyard and there’s nowhere else to fuck but in ashes, in ruins, in the dirt.

she looks down, eyes adjusting quietly to the dark as it steals the last few whispers of light that makes their little space faintly luminous in just the wrong way for lilith’s eyes. she is a nighttime thing. beatrice’s fingers unearth themselves, tucked into lilith’s boxers. she tries to remember – it would have been slightly sad, of course, the pair of them whimpering somewhere in that near-collapsed house before dropping down into their hasty grave.

if they did fuck, those fingerswill still taste faintly of her, of both of them, of bea laying there, staring at lilith as she fucked herself. she is tired now from all the bad blood in this direction. Europe is malnourished and afraid and angry and the blood tastes of it and is not filling. not rich and loud like American blood.

so, lilith has been taking care of them both. she has the energy for it and she has been attentive in the past. she has watched beatrice fuck herself for long enough to know what she likes. her fingers circling, brushing, darting fast & slow & then steadier. 

the little needy arch of her hips toward her fingers because she waits a little longer than beatrice does to put fingers inside. wet sounds. lilith leaning down to kiss her, brushing the back of bea’s knuckles where they’re fisted in her shirt.

memories. fog. sleep. 

licking into bea’s mouth and feeling those fingers wander up, tugging at the edge of lilith’s jaw until she breaks from her. spit-strand following, clinging, connecting them both before snapping back toward the O of bea’s mouth. when they have eaten it is a long dark thread.

bloodred.

she is grateful for this – for the fact of bodily fluids and how beatrice sounds when she is half-mad with it and she is, often, more than half-mad. tangling her hands in lilith’s hair, slick with saliva or blood or other things entirely. lilith is always combing hard knots out of it and enduring the shadow of beatrice behind her, watching.

for the sake of this she misses their bathtub back across the ocean. claw-footed and sturdy as a steamboat. now the rivers carry everything away before she can watch the evidence unfold, bloom in the water above the refracted sight of hers or beatrice’s naked body beneath.

“you have made a mess of me”

and beatrice is always making her own candlelight with her own eyes, sitting low in the water or off to the side of the tub with a book open in her lap. “ and i promise to do it again.”

here, underneath the rubble, it is warm and hazy like death, and lilith does not want to wake up. she shuts her eyes again, whispering to all her restless limbs that there is no blood about, anyway. there is nothing worth moving for while beatrice is here, breathing out of habit and turning the air coppery with her exhales.

“goodnight,” she whispers to the only creature who has seen the truth of her and lived. who knows the rest of it. everything that makes her feel small.

who has seen the paintings and, indeed, slaughtered a whole train carriage of men to retrieve one of them. she thinks of last night, near sunrise and (yes, they did eat yes. the taste and the tingle of bea’s mouth was red and red and red)

down by the lake where lilith was mostly staring at the reflections of stars on the water and the little flies that dart across the surface. the reeds singing.

the tip of a bayonetted pressed to the back of her neck. roughly because it had to pierce thick winter coat. it had to draw blood. lilith turning, unconcerned, ignoring the German voice telling her to do things with her hands.

he’d pressed the blade in, harder, and she’d let it slice a crescent from the tip of her spine to the column of her throat. she knows German but is ungentle toward that tongue, that night. she can smell corpses out on the lake.

and there she was. in the trees like a silhouette poured onto the landscape. her eyes lighter than the rest of her. golden and terrible in their hunger. they’d been thinking of fishing, even though lilith hates the taste of fish blood. at least swine are close to humans and cows are close to dogs and dogs are eating most of the same things humans are, now.

to the trees at large (the small shape inside them), lilith spoke. “i have one on the hook, darling.”

and the rest was violent.

very.

but she is always beautiful. beatrice, bloodred. kneeling beside the body of that soldier as though in prayer (she hasn’t done this in years. the praying that was once a muscle in her, seizing into genuflection at the slightest excuse but she has not done it since that night

the confession booth and lilith’s hands turning it to kindling. the scent of oiled wood in the air when the priest ran and she put her fist through his skull. just to be dramatic, to show beatrice that she could. for the sake of that, too, she’d stepped on his femur to slip back toward beatrice 

“i lay down with the devil, and she has roots in me” 

and in that thick sharp crack of bone, she broke something in beatrice too)

now, she only kneels as though in prayer. blood dripping off one exposed canine, off her jaw, onto the collar of her shirt though she has no other, no spare. and they have nothing in this war-torn place. 

lilith once knew it as Europe. home. 

she watches her lover drink, head tilted back as the body beneath her twitches, wheezing. she has broken him cleverly. something spinal and final and slow, but he could live for hours still. his wrist gurgles blood to mingle with mud and discarded shells and exploded ordnance, down on what passes for a beach in what passes for a world. the war is almost over and lilith’s grasp of the Russian tongue is useful here. perhaps it will be for a long time. 

“just like the others.” beatrice says when she stands at last, licking blood off her lips. she comes close (thoughtless about it. an old choreography of theirs) and lilith checks over her shoulder and the boy still breathes, so she teases a few missed spots of blood from beatrice’s mouth. slow, careful licks all the way to the edge of her jaw.

she expects this to be disarming but beatrice speaks anyway.

it’s alright. lilith loves her for this among so many other things. “the blood is weak here too.” she hisses (really does, and lilith feels herself react. not with fear) 

beatrice makes no mention of it. she is in her archaeologist mood. the one where she stares at bones or rocks or impressions in the ground for hours, like there is meaning anywhere but in eating and in fucking and in loving and being loved. she leans her head into lilith’s chest now for the reminder of her heartbeat or for her heat or-

well. inchoate reasons, as always 

“my theory is rubbish,” she sighs.above the killing cut of her mouth, beatrice’s eyes are the colour of dropped coins, and lilith mourns nothing but she regrets this. losing the deep pitch-touched brown they were before.

god, this creature is dramatic. a sigh she feels on her throat like a wet kiss. “the boy wasn’t malnourished at all. should have tasted lean but fat-laced, even on dry rations and stolen sausage, but…”

she spits onto the ground, red-tinged. 

“the war is inside them.” 

lilith smooths her bloodstained collar. “are your answers truly worth all this?” she does not bother to gesture.

“they have to be.”

she was already pulling away (carelessly strong now that she had eaten), jarring lilith’s elbow a little in departing. pacing down toward the shore, and it took a moment of staring at her back for lilith to remember her throat.

open. right.

many parts of her, then, had wanted to follow beatrice to the shore. to ask her what if, what if

what if they are not worth it? what if we find nothing here about the origins of vampires? what if you are a child still looking for god? what if i am tired?

and she was tired, so she just turned and stepped over to the still-twitching boy to make him dead. he was making the night creatures too quiet and she was not hungry in any case. tomorrow she would eat fish for their haemoglobin. or whatever terrible thing lived in the living and made her move.

now, in the coppery dark, lilith looks at the thing beside her. they will go further today and see bad things and in the end, she thinks, it will be just them. it will always be just them and that is the bargain she struck.

with a human girl in a church (running from you) who wanted so badly to repent, or to never ask for forgiveness again. a vampire is a long promise to make.

she would make this one again.