FANGSHONEY, hungry & divine ; a writing blog for ex politician's daughter turned vampire JESSICA SINCLAIR, now known as the cannibal baker, cowgirl killer, JESSIE TUCKER. the underground is a cannibal ( & vampire ) network that will eat your heart out with the most fancy dinners, and you're cordially invited. trigger warnings for gore, blood, vampirism, and gothic tropes. MY VAMPIRE ACTS LIKE A VAMPIRE. also at @bennettdiaries & @nailgore

WRITTEN BY MIMI 27 SHE. † 21+ only.

"T'do your weird lil syphonin' thing you got goin' on?" A set of brows furrowed, hands at her hips. "I'm thinkin' y'do, actually. My energy is already at an all time low, so it ain't really somethin' I'm just givin' you for free or nothin'," a beat, her hand threading through her hair before adding onto her comment, as if she didn't give him any room to interject. "An' I'm damaged goods anyway," A flash to her busted daylight ring. "Any sacrifices or haunting shit would have t'happen after dark t'make it count."

It wasn't like they were friends or anything, but they have cuddled before, so it isn't like they were enemies brawling and going head to head. If they were, this conversation would be a lot different. Jessie's morality begins and ends at keeping people she cares about safe, everything else is background noise. Large green eyes land on Kai sweetly, her hands moving to play with the strings on her hoodie. "Sorry t'disappoint."

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It happened before she knew of the ghosts. the deal, how it appeared on her plate, the travel across the country. It really was no big deal, not when she got the phone call mid belt of some top 40's pop song that spilled out from her red convertible's speakers. Jessie loved a road trip when she could feel the wind grazing her face, even more so when her fangs are let loose and she's digging one hand into something filled with sugar. The drive up was at least entertaining, but she could never look at a bag of sour gummy worms the same after the sugar rush she had given herself in order to keep driving straight throughout the night coming back from her vacation in Miami.

Spring break for a vampire is the same as a buffet, and despite finding human blood almost disgusting, she gorges herself a few times a year to make up for all the times she practices self control. This year she just so happened to indulge with a coconut in one hand with a little straw poking out, and a hunky hockey player in the other, eyes practically falling out of his head in both infatuation and with the way she squeezed against his windpipe so hard that his face turned purple. Jessie's never claimed to be a good person, halo on crooked enough even when she's considered the moral one surrounding her best friend's antics, which includes following Rachelle's advice for her to set up shop in California for no other reason than Rachelle's boredom and desire to see Hollywood as his fashion design career is taking off. Fame and immortality do not go hand in hand to Jessie, but she just gives the other a smile and lets him do his thing, including help move both into the biggest house she's owned in recent years.

Jessie's creative vision falls between cottagecore farm vibes and boho hippy, which contrasts her housemate's idea of dracula's castle coming to life with a chance of there being a sex dungeon somewhere in this house in their future, since Rachelle is anything but celibate and restrained to nightlife. Jessie will fight tooth and nail for a homey kitchen one way or another.

The two get down to business right away within the first week they're in the home. The large kitchen island is being cleaned off with a hum and replaced with a bed of flour to replace the pans of cookies that were already fresh out of the oven. The door swings open and shuts almost too cooly, before Rachelle's swinging up a large garbage bag as if it were takeout. "Just leave it on'th floor," Jessie murmurs, turning to the stove to let the pot full of mixed berries come to a boil within the juice. Rachelle did without saying anything else, and Jessie hums cheerfully as she rips open the giant garbage bag to pluck out a few bloodied limbs to plop into her pot. A finger or two, a blood filled organ. Jessie's fangs let themselves go at the smell of blood entering the fruit concoction and relaxes her shoulders a bit.

There's a shift behind her that she could hear, then feel, a slight tilt to her head at the weight of footsteps. It doesn't sound like Rachelle. The redhead blinks before forcing her shoulders down. "Breakin' an' enterin' int'a a lady's home is a sign of poor manners," Jessie mumbles, slowly mixing the limbs within the fruit. "So you've got ten seconds before you end up in my pie along with pretty boy down there."

SNOW FALLS AGAINST THE HARSH WIND. It's prickly, the month of January doing nothing but reminding Jessie about how much she would rather be in the sun than wallowing underneath fifty layers of material and wandering through the city looking for warmth. As a vampire she feels it all. Each drop in temperature, each speck of snow dotting against the apples of her cheeks.

There's a building not too far, a run down church with holes into an already decomposing place of worship. Jessie remembers when it was right side up, the sun reflecting off stain glass windows, the pews being soft underneath a bare thigh that was glistening in sweat after a ride on her horse, yet she wasn't exhausted enough to miss service. Jessie can feel the memory of Adam sneak up on her even more as she steps closer, a hesitance to move closer.

"It still smells like blood." Jessie says blankly, a slow blink to large green eyes. "It's buried under two feet of snow and yet all I can get from this place is blood and fire."

AND YET, HERE SHE IS. Orange strands pulled into a high pony as she's resting both hands on the counter with a tired shrug. "I've got nothin' better t'do." She says simply, eyes drifting towards the timer on the wall and then back to Chris. "Are you tryin' t'kick me out?"

THE COMMENT MAKES A LAUGH ESCAPE JESSIE, hearty, head tilted back a bit as if she said the funniest thing in the world. "Afraid?" It's sputtered out, a dismissive hand waving before tucking a few strands of fallen orange locks behind her ear. "Darlin', nothin' scares me 'bout myself, and if you think I'm the scariest thing t'come outta bein' underneath Adam, you're painfully mistaken, which you should remember by th'way you got kinda ruffed up last time I saw you." That role of intimidator has already been taken in bright shining colors. The words 'I might as well be a teddy bear compared to Rachelle' sits heavy on her tongue but Jessie doesn't think they're fully needed.

There's a step closer to Eden, the smile dropping within seconds.

"Don't act like you know who I am when you're one'v the reasons I'm like this, Eden." a beat. "You don't know anythin' but how to protect you and your own ass, you don't know a damn thing 'bout me so stop projectin'."

THE SUMMER NIGHT COMES WITH A WARM BREEZE, it brushes against her almost bare shoulders; Jessie's body being swallowed by a borrowed fur coat given to her by her friend still wandering through the city looking for fallen bodies of probably the man in front of her. The temperature is beginning to drop as the sun does, and while she can't be up at high noon at full capacity, dusk is good enough. Strands of orange fall against her lower lip, and with a swift movement, Jessie pushes it back with a humorless laugh, smile pinging itself regardless, the reflection of the moon beaming down towards a pair of light pink eyes. She hasn't fed in a little too long.

"Are you talkin' 'bout me, or you in this scenario?" Jessie knows her flaws, some of them being a tongue that can get her into situations, rejecting her bloodlust, and being painfully attached to by inquisitive minds nosey ass people while she's too friendly to fully push them away. She indulges this conversation with the same merit as the repetitive conversations that appear about her friend Rachelle. Standoffish yet oddly amused, and willing to crack a few jokes to make her exit easier. If she's the burnt child, powerful men, friendship, and endless trouble are the fire. Where Daniel sits has yet to be determined.

Jessie knows of Daniel. The two have yet to mesh and become intertwined into something worth exploring beyond a brief acknowledgement of the other's existence. "Ain't interested in bein' interviewed, Molloy, if you're lookin' for a new muse." His book sits half read on her nightstand, a little too real to stomach because it felt familiar enough where she can't brush it off as realistic fiction or a casual and humorous read like publications kept saying. Her story is interesting, but not one she dishes out to anyone.

THERE'S A BLOODIED CROWBAR BEING DROPPED TO THE GROUND AND LET SLIP BETWEEN HER FINGERS. One swing was towards the old man chasing her through the woods with a handgun that looked a little too much like a toy, whilst the other was thrashed against a car window until it shattered into a million pieces. The old man isn't dead, just bleeding out on the grass with gasps and swears — a veiny hand swatting to find his gun. Jessie didn't kill this man, but for a moment Jessie wished he had died upon impact.

There's a ringing in the redhead's ears as she reaches her hand around to unlock the door to the pickup truck where Trent and the horses rested in the bed. There was only so much time to get both Dean and Bullseye onto the back, but if one thing was for certain about both of them : It would be that those horses were just as much family as they possibly could be.

"DONT CUT YOURSELF ON THAT GLASS." Trent's voice erupts from the weight of her own beating heart. Always so caring, and Jessie? Always wearing shoes that don't fit the situation she's in. Her cowgirl boots are back at the house, and some things are worth sacrificing for her own safety. Her shoes are on the list, while Trent and the horses were not. Gentle hands brush at the excess glass from the window, trying to not cut her fingers at the contact.

"I won't," She reassures, turning to face him as the passenger side door swings open. "But one'v us has t'go get th' boys." And she says with urgency, heart thrashing against her chest with every second something isn't happening. Jessie takes a slow step closer to Trent, her flip flops crunching against the broken glass beneath her. brows furrowed as her back presses against the car door. "He's not gonna stay down forever, T, and we can't leave without them." She wouldn't leave without them, a non negotiable. "I can run t'the ranch," a beat, pressing the keys against the man's chest. "But you gotta be ready to keep drivin' if I can't get anybody but the horses on before the old pervert wakes up again." Jessie curls her fist around the keys, her eyes trained on him with a hope that he understands. That he'd be ready to leave her behind if need be. Jessie's been dead her whole life, she's not afraid of a man with a gun, even if it meant shooting her down once and for all.