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CHAPTER 1: “KILL ME WITH A KISS, OH!”

Summer, 1986. Those bathroom tiles feel cold against your skin as you lay dying, staring up at the ceiling. The single lightbulb sways, burning a bright image against your retinas. It almost lulls you to sleep, but the blood collecting in your throat and causing you to choke maintains your focus. Listen, you hear a voice whisper in your ear, this is nothing personal. Only two hours before, he was rocking your world before your father would come home and turn it upside down, instead. No son of his would ever be caught dead with another man. But you are a rebel - a real piece of shit with an attitude - according to him. So you disobeyed him and brought home a stranger from The Haçienda; a secret dive for people like you. It was your first time and your last. Your heart stutters, trying desperately to keep you alive. Ba-dum. There is a continuous ringing in your ears, gradually getting louder. Ba-dum. An almighty migraine pummels the side of your head. Ba-dum. As the corners of your vision begin filling up with a creeping darkness, you take the time to stare back at him. How could a monster be so handsome? With his striking green eyes, black hair slicked back and slightly curling at the nape, alongside a sharp jawline that was pressed against your collarbone earlier, it was easy to see why you willingly invited him in. Ba-dum…ba-badum… You die in a puddle of your own blood that night, cold and alone. But the first thing you do upon opening your eyelids is fill up a bucket with diluted bleach and grab a sponge, taking over an hour to clean the tiles to avoid being reprimanded. It was tiring work and you wobble down the hallway to climb into bed afterwards, ignoring the way your blue sheets still smell of him. A strong mixture of Joop! and Murdock pomade. A loud banging on the door startles you awake, followed by a series of slurred words that fill you with dread. Ivo…Ivo, come here. You hate your name in his mouth. But your heartbeat remains still behind your fragile ribcage as the handle rattles and your father stumbles into the dark of your bedroom. He reeks of alcohol. You know the drill by now, anticipating the sting of a metal buckle against tender skin as he drags the bedsheets of your body. But it never comes. Something feral takes over you and the carpet and walls are stained with his blood, finally putting an end to your torment. It feels like a breath of fresh air, except it never quite reaches your lungs. It takes you four days to leave, unable to comprehend this new found freedom. All you can do is watch your father starting to decompose in the same position as you left him. It is a long time coming. On the first day, you listen to a mixtape containing the sounds of Depeche Mode and Billy Idol in a bid to calm down. It fills the daunting silence. On the second day, your manager at the pub you work at rings your house and bombards you with questions concerning your whereabouts. You tell her that you quit, before pulling the phone off the kitchen wall with minimal effort. It scares you. On the third day, your hands start to shake as a ravenous hunger causes your stomach to cramp. You reject the cold pizza from yesterday in a mess of black sludge, and a voice encourages you to consume the clotted blood sticking to the carpet. It makes you both nauseous and satiated. On the fourth and final day, determination drives you to make a decision and you eventually stuff your guitar and belongings into a large duffel bag, loading up your second-hand Ford Escort once the sun is down. It causes you to cry as you leave your childhood home behind.

CHAPTER 2: “OUT OF THE DEEP AND INTO THE HURT.”

You make it to the nearest petrol station upon a wing and prayer, cursing yourself for not filling it up yesterday. But that night shift at the pub was a killer on your mood. To make matters worse, all you have is moths in your wallet and not a single note stuffed between the seats. You slowly make your way out of the car and begin filling the tank, trying not to appear suspicious as you know that your next move is high-tailing it. As you replace the nozzle and slink back to the driver’s side, the cashier makes direct eye contact with you and begins making his way towards you. If you had a heartbeat, it would be manic. Images of ripping the phone off the kitchen wall flash through your mind and you grip your car keys, hoping to avoid conflict. But a woman nearby gives the cashier money, sending him away with a laugh that tells you she is your salvation. Are you stupid? Sally gives you a lesson on staying under the radar that night, before becoming your confidante and teacher over many decades. Her ragtag group of misfits - The Renegades - welcomes you as one of their own, guiding you through this confusing and peculiar period in time. They show you how to feed and fight, arming yourself with the point of your fangs and a baseball bat with the words ’Nothing Personal’ etched into it, offering care and patience as your body goes through its terrifying changes. You all live inside a condemned warehouse where you park your Ford Escort near the dumpsters every night, making your way inside to be with your found family. It has become a routine and you have never felt more loved and seen. But the routine is broken as you return home sometime in Spring and find the place on fire. The red and yellow flames light up the endless black sky, thick smoke billows out from the many windows, and The Renegades are no more. You have been discovered by those who wish to harm your kind. A sad sense of Déjà vu hits you like a sucker punch as you drive away from the scene, gripping the steering wheel with The Clash crackling through your car speakers as you enter yet another chapter in your undead life.

CHAPTER 3: “WE ALL RUN FROM THE MANIC MEMORIES.”

Although Hell seems to be chasing you, your Ford Escort thunders down the road at breakneck speed in a desperate attempt to run. Everything becomes a blur. But you slow down and tell yourself not to be so stupid, as Sally once told you. You can do this. The Renegades taught you everything you need to know to make it on your own, right? Right? As you pull into a 24/7 motel in the middle of nowhere, you bag a room by mesmerising the clerk; a very handy skill to have learned. The bed is a solid slab as you lay down to stare up at the ceiling, formulating a half-baked plan. By the next evening, you head straight for the city where you drift and pick up odd jobs that never question why you only work night shifts. Perhaps you think it will heal your heart, but you take up residence in a disused factory where a corner becomes your bedroom. You try to make it pretty with fairy lights, posters of your favourite bands, and a few things belonging to The Renegades. It gives you a false sense of belonging somewhere.

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// Ｈｅｙ, Ｒｕｄｙ, ｔｅｌｌ ｕｓ ａ ｂｉｔ ｍｏｒｅ! // ➥ POWERS/ABILITIES: IMMORTALITY. DISGUISEMENT (TO APPEAR HUMAN). ENHANCED STRENGTH, HEARING, SIGHT, AND SMELL. STEALTHY. NIGHT VISION. SHARP FINGERNAILS. FLIGHT/LEVITATION. MILD TELEPATHY. MIND CONTROL/HYPNOSIS/PERSUASION. ABLE TO CLIMB WALLS OR HIGH PLACES. FAST HEALING (TO HIMSELF. SALIVA ALSO HEALS AND ACTS AS AN ANAESTHETIC). COMMUNICATION WITH SPIRITS. CAN BE SEEN IN MIRRORS/CAMERAS (BUT REVEALS HIS TRUE SELF). ➥ RESTRICTIONS/WEAKNESSES: ENERGY DRAINING. EMOTIONALLY CONSUMING. FIRE/SUNLIGHT. SILVER. STAKE THROUGH THE HEART. DECAPITATION. HOLY WATER/HOLY GROUND. HAS TO BE INVITED IN. NO SHADOW. WEAKENED AFTER THREE DAYS WITHOUT BLOOD. UNABLE TO CROSS RUNNING WATER. NORMAL FOOD AND DRINK IS INSTANTLY REJECTED IN A MESS OF BLACK SLUDGE. ➥ DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: SCAR ACROSS HIS LEFT EYEBROW WHERE A BEER BOTTLE WAS THROWN AT HIM. SCAR OF PUNCTURE MARKS ABOVE HIS RIGHT COLLARBONE. LARGE BURN SCARRING ON HIS LEFT BICEP AND QUATRE OF FOREARM FROM BOILING WATER BEING POURED ON IT. MULTIPLE STRIATIONS UPON BACK AND LEGS FROM BEING HIT WITH A BELT. VAMPED OUT, HIS VEINS APPEAR BLACK UNDERNEATH SEMI-TRANSLUCENT SKIN AND HIS EYES BECOME MURKY YELLOW WITH RINGS OF RED, ALONGSIDE MANY ROWS OF FANGS. ➥ INNER WORKINGS: DYSLEXIC. ADHD. AMBIVERTED. TALKATIVE. PROTECTIVE. PUNKISH. RECKLESS. GENTLE SOUL. ➥ INVENTORY: FORD ESCORT MK3. LARGE DUFFEL BAG CONTAINING GUITAR AND CLOTHES. SMALL CLOTH BACKPACK CONTAINING MOBILE PHONE, WALLET, CHAPSTICK, PICTURE OF HIS MOTHER HOLDING HIM AS A BABY. RAY-BANS (USUALLY ON HIS FACE). GOLD CHAIN (NEVER TAKEN OFF). DIAMOND STUD IN LEFT EAR. ➥ ARSENAL: OWN FANGS/SHARP FINGERNAILS. WOODEN BASEBALL BAT WITH THE WORDS ‘NOTHING PERSONAL’ ETCHED INTO IT. KNUCKLEDUSTERS. SWITCHBLADE. 

[ ADDITIONAL LORE ] [ VISAGE ]

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GENERAL GUIDELINES

Hey, babes! My name is Benny (he/him, 30s) and I live in England. I’ve been writing for goodness knows how long. Thanks for reading my rules :)

♡ This blog is NSFT (21+) due to containing dark themes and potential smut. Given the vampirism, I will occasionally reblog pictures of blood and other gruesome images untagged. 

♡ Super big on detail, so I very rarely write one-liners. Depends on how tired I am, really. Multi-para or novella replies will make me fall in love with you, though!

♡ Never be afraid to send Rudy random asks or prompts, even if you followed ten mins ago. I should have plenty of memes for you to choose from, but if nothing fits, go ahead and make something up! Go wild, get creative! 

♡ Open to shipping, but I prefer chemistry before that happens! Since Rudy is mentally stuck in the decade (80s) he died in, and because of how his father treated him, his foot is barely out of the closet. So it will take some convincing for him to fully admit his sexuality. He is very open to pre-relationships, however, such as friends and enemies…etc! I absolutely love talking OOC about our muses dynamic, so I might bombard you with stuff that relates to them. I’d be overjoyed if you showed the same enthusiasm!

♡ Not restrictive in terms of fandoms (crossover friendly), but I might be a bit clueless when it comes to some of them. I’ll try my best, though. Open to canon, multis, and OCs. Males, females, NB. Throw them all my way! This house is safe, darlings!

♡ I prefer some plotting so I know where to go, but definitely happy to discuss anything part-way through a thread, especially if we get stuck on the direction.