安娜—

falling into an empty grave, excavator upturned, bitten; fascinating is certainly a word for it. isaac shudders at the intruding memory, shakes it off like the dog he is often likened to. the sarcasm curls up along her mouth, and isaac is drawn to that form of kinship too, as familiar as the painted warmth of her eyes. like coffee or a black hole — he's undecided on their level of depth, perhaps because he is yet to compare them to the ancient dust of the burial grounds he so often frequents. brown isn't just brown, after all. even if she could be as old as dirt.

not that isaac'll ever ask. some magazine he read in his formative years said women don't like that question: how old are you. contrary to popular belief, isaac doesn't have a death wish, he's just a little bit more intimate with the threat of it than most. considering how much bullshit he's survived so far, it would be pretty stupid to set himself up for another one-on-one sparring session with the grim reaper.

perhaps people should liken him to a cat instead.

it'd make a hell of a let more sense. huh.

" pretty sure being possessed would screw up the deal i made with the fair folk, so personally, i'm not too upset i've missed out on that pleasure... even if the cost is you finding me less interesting. " maybe there's a flirt in his tone? there's a light in his eyes that wasn't there before. as strangeness surrounds them, a siren echoes in the background; the hustle and bustle of city life he might never get used to. beacon hills was always so quiet — too quiet. new york city feels like a love letter to the people who can't sit with silence. people like him.

“Well, the night is young. Still plenty of time for a possession or two.” Other things too, of course. All the possibilities trail up the hook of Ana's mouth, none of them particularly innocent. What was that saying? There's a thin line between a bad time and a good time. Ana toes it carelessly.

Family in New York is an oversimplification. That, like everything else, has been diluted too. Four hundred something years and the word 'family' starts to lose its shape, starts bleeding into other things. Mother-savior-captor-enemy-clone. It always goes back to blood. What a god damn cliche.

“France is the opposite of culture, petit loup. You'll learn this later.” Ana gets to her feet first, so she can look down on him for a moment. It's always better seeing someone from this angle, having them look up at her. She savours it while she can.

" yeah, well, guess i'm an edgy pre-teen stuck in a twenty-something year old body after all... " it's a real show-stopper, the realisation that he has far more in common with the spandex-wearing powered people in the comic books stuffed beneath his abandoned family home in beacon hills than the university students he surrounds himself with in some twisted attempt to blend. these days, he feels more of a kinship to the trenchcoat-wearing brit with an affinity for inverted pentagrams than anything.

the look in her eyes reeks of something humanity killed aeons ago, something erring on the dangerous side of curious. he pushes away the urge to crack ana's head open just to find something in it that he doesn't already know.

vampires, werewolve, nogitsune, oni, darach...

really, isaac hasn't been asking himself the right question until this thought slips into his mind unwarranted, like a niggling, burrowing worm chewing at his brain-matter: what would john constantine do?

" so an original enemy and a botched experiment walk into a bar, " he starts, like he doesn't have the intention of stopping. isaac looks at her then, blue eyes twinkling in the golden hour as he meets her smile with a complementary smirk. " i'm not a grudge holder. " or a werewolf, but that's just semantics. whatever isaac is, it's becoming startlingly obvious beacon hills mislabeled its inhabitants. whatever he is, it's better to be presumed otherwise. " —also haven't ever been possessed, unless you count the time i decided it was a good idea to be gainfully employed at a graveyard. one of my better choices as a teenager. "

his jaw flexes as he wanders down memory lane, tongue pressing flat against the ceiling of his mouth. head tilting, isaac considers a stray thought, placing it under the microscope in his mind: does ana bleed? and if she does, is it even her own blood? she smells like a dusty, ancient thing — like long-abandoned books hidden in a cathedral, walls soaked in mildew that crumble upon touch. it isn't the worst thing he's smelled. it isn't a smell worth suppressing a memory for.

erica... he shivers.

She laughs, as if he'd actually made a joke. The rhythm of the conversation flows a little too smoothly. Talking is usually such a chore. “I'm sure your stint as a teenaged crypt-keeper must've been fascinating.” The sarcasm curls up along her mouth. Second nature, really. Her mother's always hated when she takes this tone of voice. “Shame you've never been possessed. You were just starting to become interesting.” Ana smiles here. It's only mostly a lie.

She lets his question sit for a moment. Hooks one leg over the other and considers. The truth is easy. New York is where it all started, so New York is where it has to end. She taps her foot against the ground, thinks of her mother buried under the ruins of the church, and wonders if she'll be able to recognise her still.

“Visiting family,” is the answer she settles on. It's too simple a truth, but at least still a truth. “The pizza's just a bonus.” And meeting him was something of a detour. Ana lets herself take it anyway, because she's yet to actually make her decision.

If another hundred years were to pass...

𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

" that's a lot of blood. "

" it isn't mine. "

" what did you do ? "

[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "

" come on. have a taste. "

" holy shit, are you okay ? "

" it looks worse than it feels. "

" you should see the other guy. "

" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "

" lean on me. "

" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "

" . . . gross. "

[ standing over a body ] " oops. "

" is that a fucking body ? "

" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "

" what the hell happened ? "

" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "

" at least it wasn't me this time. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "

" i'm not scared of you. "

" you don't scare me. "

" shut up and let me help you. "

" i got your shirt all bloody. "

" let's get you cleaned up. "

" that looks like it hurts. "

" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "

" we are so fucked. "

" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "

" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "

" the fucker deserved it. "

" red looks good on you. "

" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "

" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "

" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "

" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "

" this isn't what it looks like. "

" it was an accident. "

" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "

" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "

" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "

" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "

" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "

" you're bleeding. "

" what the fuck happened to you ? "

" you're getting blood on the carpet. "

" sit down before you fall down. "

" that looks like a you problem. "

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet

sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver

receiver finds sender covered in blood

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding

sender helps receiver clean up after a kill

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb

sender licks receiver's blood off a knife

sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb

sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver

receiver finds sender stood over a body

sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean

sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood

sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed

sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)

receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze

sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone

sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand

sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face

sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them

sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver

sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall

sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled

receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off

sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver

sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse

sender takes an injury meant for receiver

sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood

sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone

sender punches receiver in the mouth

receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust

sender helps receiver bury a body

sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3

sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3

sender leans on receiver for support

sender kills someone to protect receiver

receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it

sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver

receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself

sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip

" dracula does seem more your speed, " he agrees as his arms fold over his chest. leaning back in his chair, isaac indulges the off-beat thought that quickly unravels the folly of his own youth: derek hale.

in his defence, he was sixteen, not twenty-one. that's got to count for something, right?

“Your life sounds like something an edgy pre-teen would make up.” Monsters crawling out of the dark, or sitting across the table in science class. The cruelties Ana has suffered at the hands of, have always been so terribly human. “Nogitsune... the yako? Don't tell me you got possessed.” Some part of her is hoping for yes, for something to have left some physical impression, something she can pick at.

Werewolf versus vampire is much less fascinating by comparison. Nothing new here to discover, though she is admittedly curious about what would happen if she were to bite him. How would werewolf blood taste?

“Just keep those teeth to yourself and we'll be fine.” The bigger crime would be if he was a bore, which, thankfully, he isn't. “Well, vampires were only ever a response. Nature put werewolves on earth and humans responded by making vampires. If you look at it like that, werewolves were the original enemy, to everyone, and vampires were just... a botched experiment in an attempt humans made to protect themselves.”