au where Cleo's mother lives and either Cleo gets turned later in life (the likelier outcome) or we get pensioner Cleo (why do men only get to grow old, I demand variety) and either way, you get a stabler Cleo, but still one who has been surrounded by vampires their whole life and their social skills are slightly skewed
Snippet inspired by a post from @lightblueglazedterracotta :)
.
By the nature of their upbringing, Cleo was not familiar with traditional family dynamics. They had their mother who was... well, Cleo could admit she was perhaps not the archetypal maternal figure, but she did go by the title. Even so, Cleo was fairly sure that what they felt towards Morcant’s human ward was not parental affection.
Siblings, maybe?
But human siblings didn't usually have 60 years between them, which kinda left an aunt-nephew bond, and Cleo was nobody's aunt.
All that really mattered was that they were family, in that kinda nebulously fucking weird way that overlapping vampire covens tended to be. Cleo's mother was good friends with Abolish's... whatever Morcant was, and that worked for them. They didn't need to put a label on it, because everyone who knew them, knew what the connection was.
Or, at least, that was how it had been.
"How do you two know each other?"
The other newcomers to Oakhurst had watched the unexpected reunion with the kind of blatent curiosity that could be expected for an eighty-something pensioner and a maybe-butler being on easy speaking terms.
"We're family," Cleo said, because the best way to lie was to tell a kind of truth.
"Distantly related, or...?" fished one of the strangers.
"Cousins," Cleo supplied. Once you got past the inner ring of familiarity, pretty much every relative was a cousin of some distinction. "Myself on my mother's side, and Abolish..."
She faltered, because Morcant hadn't so much adopted Abolish as acquired him, but she suspected that was the kind of answer that didn't fly well with mortals.
Cleo snorted. "What? You think my mother and Morcant didn't just accidentally send us both to the same dead-end town? Shocker. I might need to sit down."
Abolish looked down from where he was fixing up the roof of Cleo's temporary home. "You are sitting."
"This is a protest sit. It's different."
"If this is about the cousin thing–"
"Oh, I'm furious. Low profile, my mother said. Don't attract any unnecessary attention, she said." They took a long draught of the town's first meagre attempt at brewing, and grimaced. "Fucking employed."
"What would you call it?"
"I would avoid calling it anything because it's none of their damn business." She admitted defeat on the ale. Even getting drunk wasn't worth that. "Why did Morcant send you here? Correction," they added, "why did he say he was sending you?"
"Family business."
"Is that, like, 'family business,'" and they made the quotation marks somehow audible without any helpful gestures, "or actual family business?"
"Actual."
"Oh."
"And there was something about a cure to vampirism."
"I knew it."
"You?"
Cleo shrugged. "You know my mother. She doesn't explain anything if she doesn't have to."
"She sent you here to mess with Morcant," Abolish translated.
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a short scene inspired by this post, aka Abolish having a very grey-sexual time in the bloodloathing divorce au
[contains: an off-screen blowjob, smoking, non-consensual voyeurism (the voyeur isn't really consenting either tbf), unhealthy relationships]
*.*
Abolish stared down at the small tin, mentally dividing the contents, trying to decide if he could justify breaking into his increasingly limited supply.
Another heavy moan from the house behind him solidified the decision.
"Fuck…"
Scott's voice carried thickly through the air. Abolish started packing the tobacco into the paper.
He wasn't paid enough for this.
He had been doing a routine patrol through the town, when he had noticed the window to the clinic was pushed slightly open, and had heard quiet voices filtering out into the night air. Why the Doc hadn't rescinded Scott's invitation by this point, Abolish couldn't begin to understand. He had paused, but the discussion had sounded calm enough that he hadn't felt the need to intervene. He wished he had, because by the time he realised what direction the conversation was going in, it was far too late to stop it.
Scott couldn't have closed the goddamn window behind him, at least? Abolish thought bitterly. He brought the cigarette up between his lips, freeing up his hands to check he had easy access to a stake. With stake in hand, he raised a finger to the end of his cigarette and summoned the power he usually used to light the lantern hung at his hip. He'd run out of matches a week ago.
He took a long draw, savouring the warmth of it against the chilled air of the night.
"—so pretty on your knees—"
Scott was just quiet enough that Abolish didn't hear the full string of babbled praise. That explained why he hadn't heard anything from the Doc for a moment, though he didn't imagine him to be particularly vocal in bed.
… Not that he thought about what the Doc would be like in bed, of course.
God, this mission had gone so far past the initial briefing.
He wondered for a moment if maybe he should be going in there and stopping the series of increasingly bad decisions Legundo was making. But his job was to simply make sure Legundo didn't go down a path that put innocent people in danger. Giving his murderous ex-husband a blowjob wasn't the best decision the Doc had made, but it certainly wasn't the worst.
Abolish idly twirled the stake in his hand as he took another draw of his cigarette. He couldn't bring himself to begrudge Legs. Abolish had been watching Legundo's stress levels slowly and steadily rising as the weeks trapped in Oakhurst dragged on. He knew something was going to give — and soon — so he had been trying to make plans on how to mitigate some of the risk. He hadn't got to the point of considering putting the man on his knees, but…
Well, now the image was being so viscerally presented to him, he couldn't really argue with the fact that it would be some damn good stress relief for him.
Just a shame about his choice in partner.
"Fuck, there that's— Fuck."
Of course Scott was vocal during sex. Abolish leaned back against the stone wall of the back of the clinic and closed his eyes for a second.
He opened his eyes again at the sound of quiet footsteps crunching on the gravel. He locked eyes with Cleo, who was crossing from the fields back to her house. They paused, clearly taking in Abolish's expression.
"—fucking good to me, baby—"
Cleo visibly winced as Scott's words were cut off by a particularly loud moan.
'My sympathies,' they mouthed at Abolish. He gave them a grateful nod, and they hurried on their way.
"—there fuck, don't stop—"
At least it sounded like things might be drawing to a conclusion soon.
Abolish didn't want to have to light another cigarette.
He hoped this would be a one off situation, and Legundo would come to his senses quickly. Maybe he just needed to be reminded that there were other (better) options.
*.*
A/N: Slowly easing myself into feeling brave enough to write smut again with the divorce au horrible toxic polycule being idiots :) Maybe Abolish should put Legs on his knees after this......
(Scott knows Abolish is there and is very much putting on a show for him).
au where Cleo's mother lives and either Cleo gets turned later in life (the likelier outcome) or we get pensioner Cleo (why do men only get to grow old, I demand variety) and either way, you get a stabler Cleo, but still one who has been surrounded by vampires their whole life and their social skills are slightly skewed
Snippet inspired by a post from @lightblueglazedterracotta :)
.
By the nature of their upbringing, Cleo was not familiar with traditional family dynamics. They had their mother who was... well, Cleo could admit she was perhaps not the archetypal maternal figure, but she did go by the title. Even so, Cleo was fairly sure that what they felt towards Morcant’s human ward was not parental affection.
Siblings, maybe?
But human siblings didn't usually have 60 years between them, which kinda left an aunt-nephew bond, and Cleo was nobody's aunt.
All that really mattered was that they were family, in that kinda nebulously fucking weird way that overlapping vampire covens tended to be. Cleo's mother was good friends with Abolish's... whatever Morcant was, and that worked for them. They didn't need to put a label on it, because everyone who knew them, knew what the connection was.
Or, at least, that was how it had been.
"How do you two know each other?"
The other newcomers to Oakhurst had watched the unexpected reunion with the kind of blatent curiosity that could be expected for an eighty-something pensioner and a maybe-butler being on easy speaking terms.
"We're family," Cleo said, because the best way to lie was to tell a kind of truth.
"Distantly related, or...?" fished one of the strangers.
"Cousins," Cleo supplied. Once you got past the inner ring of familiarity, pretty much every relative was a cousin of some distinction. "Myself on my mother's side, and Abolish..."
She faltered, because Morcant hadn't so much adopted Abolish as acquired him, but she suspected that was the kind of answer that didn't fly well with mortals.
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What's a vampire instinct / biology headcanon you want to use in a fic, but haven't managed to find a place for yet?
sort of cheating with this answer because I did technically mention it in my latest fic but it was a throwaway line irrelevant to the plot so I’m gonna expand on it here.
A human’s emotional state influences the flavour of their blood. Vampires actually, as a general rule, enjoy the taste of stress hormones, and that’s why they so often taunt and play with their prey.
Different vampires will enjoy different emotional flavours and that influences their hunting style.
That’s also one of the reasons why vampires prefer human blood to animals, humans have a wider and more complex range of emotional flavours in their blood.
A Matter of Necessity (2800 words) by vampire_bug
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Vampires SMP
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: AbolishRegret/Scott Major | Smajor1995, Pearl | PearlescentMoon/ZombieCleo
Characters: AbolishRegret (Video Blogging RPF), Scott Major | Smajor1995, Legundo (Video Blogging RPF), Pearl | PearlescentMoon, MythicalSausage (Video Blogging RPF), Rendog (Video Blogging RPF), Martyn Littlewood | InTheLittleWood, ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF), InfiniteDrift (Video Blogging RPF), Shelby Grace | Shubble, Jack | Pyroscythe, Apokuna (Video Blogging RPF)
Additional Tags: Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, mutual fascination, Comfort, Whump, Angst, Broken Bones, Blood and Injury, Sleep Deprivation, Putting Abolish through The Horrors, Non-Sexual Intimacy, immovable object x unstoppable force, we're back in the fucking building baby~, yes beta we live like crossfangs
Summary:
Crossfangs in a hole, round two electric boogaloo~
Or…
Abolish falls in a pit trap and is found by Scott.
So funny to me that after the spontaneous combustion of Scott Goldsmith shipping scene in the past two months which made both Avidscott and Majorscythe obsolete, we once again fight each other in two camps: Bloodloathing and Crossfangs
Except this time we're all living in harmony talking about Scott kissing men that hate him
Rating: M | Status: Complete 2.7k words | Abolish-centric
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, major character injury, ambiguous/open ending
At sixteen years old, Abolish undergoes an important assessment as part of his training with the Organisation.
(Ten years later, he remembers his training).
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
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The Cure was a myth. It should have been a myth. Vampirism was eternal. To be embraced, to take the gift and become one with the night, it was irreversible. That was how it was supposed to be. There was always the night, so there would always be vampires.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A/N: Heyo! So, unexpected inspiration struck from this post by @grithogirl and got me writing What Morcant Did while waiting for Abolish to return, from the POV of the locals :) I wrote most of this on my commute to & from work, so this is fairly short, and plenty silly.
.
The King's Arms was an inn which didn't see much in the way of wayfaring patronage.
Oh, there was nothing inherently wrong with the village. It was simply that 'nothing inherently wrong' extended into 'nothing at all'. There was no through road to necessitate a rest stop, and no festivals to draw in a tourist trade, nor historical repute to attract the academic kind.
All it possessed were fields carved out of the forest, and that damn cursed village to the west.
And so, travellers who found the village were usually very lost, or just realising how lost they were, and went back the way they'd came as soon as the innkeeper marked them on a map.
Nobody stayed at the King's Arms.
"He's been here a week now," said the butcher.
The butcher, the baker, and the candlemaker watched the elderly gentleman take a lone seat in the corner of the inn.
"Do you think he's turned around?" asked the candlemaker. He tapped his head. "Some old folk, you know, they forget where they've been."
"Old Martha still thinks she's running the mill some days," the baker said by way of idle agreement.
"Do you let her?"
"I don't dare stop her."
"John says he seems all there," said the butcher, bringing their conversation back to the stranger.
The baker snorted. "John's making a pretty penny off his stay. He'd make an argument for a cow if it paid its coin on time."
They communally watched him order the steak and ale pie, and – again communally – winced. Locally, that option was known as the stank and stale, and was best served up far, far away.
"What do you think he's doing?" the candlemaker asked.
"Making poor dinner choices," the baker replied.
"I thought John used your pastry for the pie," the butcher said.
"He uses your cows."
"I mean, staying here," the candlemaker said.
The baker shrugged. "Sarah's boy says he's hired out every third day to drive the man's carriage down into the woods to the west."
The candlemaker and butcher consider this.
"Last third day was a Sunday," said the butcher.
"To the west?" the candlemaker asked. "You mean, towards the abandoned village?"
"Cursed," chorused the butcher and baker both.
"Sarah's lad says they drive down to the same spot each time and just wait for hours," the baker continued. "Then when the light goes, they ride back to the inn."
"Maybe he lost someone," the butcher said.
"Oakhurst fell 200 year ago."
"He's an old man."
"Not that old."
Regardless, the three stared at the stranger, just to assure themselves.
The man glanced over their way and offered a wrinkled smile.
They decided their drinks were far more interesting.
.
"Do you think he's dangerous?"
It had been a fortnight since, and the stranger – a Lord Morcant Thornvale, or so the rumours went – was still at the King's Arms.
More to the point, he was still ordering the stank and stale.
At the butcher's question, the candlemaker appraised the alleged lord behind the safety of his stein. "I doubt it. I mean, he's just an old man. What could he do?"
"How old was Maurice when they caught him?" the baker asked.
"Who's–" the candlemaker began.
"Maurice, Maurice, he catches the mice and fleas," said the baker in a sing-song tune, "and if you please, he'll take your face and knees."
"Ratcatcher," the butcher supplied sympathetically. "He was 73 when he bludgeoned a neighbour to death over a fence dispute."
The baker added, "Before your time."
"I'm older than you," said the candlemaker.
"You've only lived here 20 years."
"23."
"Point is," said the butcher, "there's no age limit on murder."
They glanced over to the man who was, inexplicably, eating the pie without immediate and sudden bowel regret.
"I can't imagine him bludgeoning a man to death," the candlemaker said after a long, dubious moment. The pie seemed to be shaking that resolve a little. "It'd get all over his nice shoes."
"He could have a second pair."
The butcher snorted. "Sure. Secret murder shoes. Do you hear yourself? Anyway, no one's died."
"Yet," the baker added unhelpfully. "Anyway, you've got to wonder what he's waiting for, going to the outskirts of Oakhurst."
"Or a who," the butcher said.
"It's Oakhurst. It'll be a what."
.
A month passed, and there had been no sudden deaths.
Well, apart from Samual the wheelwright, but if he'd wanted to stay alive, he shouldn't have clambered up a tree in a thunderstorm, even if his best hat had blown up there.
A month gone, and Lord Morcant Thornvale (the locals had accepted the name, if not the veracity of the title) had moved from notable oddity to background curiosity. He was still hiring out Sarah's lad to drive down to the westward boundary, and still eating at the King's Arms without incident, and after a certain point, people ran out of things to say.
Mostly.
"John's Daisy's is getting married next week," said the candlemaker.
"And you know he'll still charge for drinks, the stingy bastard," grumbled the baker.
"When your Kate got married, you charged twice the usual for pastries at the wedding," the butcher said.
"Pastries ain't the same as ale. People need their drink."
"Do you think he should be invited?"
Both butcher and baker paused in their budding argument. They didn't ask who, for there was only really one option in question. "Why?" asked the baker.
"Well... the whole village'll be there."
"He's only been here a couple of months."
"It took two years before you were invited to anything," added the baker to the candlemaker.
"I turned up anyway within a month of moving."
"Yes, but you weren't invited," stressed the baker, not maliciously, but honestly.
"You're only local once you can trace your family back three generations here," the butcher said, grinning, but there was more truth in it than was probably comfortable.
"It just seems rude, if the whole village's going."
"He can show, if he likes," the butcher said. "He won't, though. It's on a third day."
.
"He's waiting for his grandson."
"What?"
The baker slid onto the bench, three steins of the King's Arm's finest hal'penny ale balanced between his hands. Only a little was spilled in the attempt. "Thornvale," he said. "Sarah's boy asked what he thought he'd find, and he said he was waiting for his grandson."
This information was digested with all due gravitas. For good measure, ale was also digested in the proceedings.
"No one's lived in Oakhurst in 200 years," the butcher said eventually.
"Maybe he's living in the woods," the candlemaker suggested.
"Not if he's got any sense." The baker took a long draught of his ale. "Everyone knows the wolves are migrating eastward this time of year."
"Wasn't there that old mansion in the woods?"
"Sure, but that's been abandoned for well over a decade."
The butcher was quiet. Then, "The family had a little boy. What happened to him?"
"They all died, didn't they?"
A silence settled across the table as everyone came to the same deeply uncomfortable conclusion, but didn't want to be the one to voice it.
"Sometimes Old Martha thinks her Gus is still alive," the candlemaker said, after a long pause. He was finding his drink extremely fascinating. "She came down here last week, looking for him."
"It happens, sometimes," the baker said, but even he sounded morose.
"Do you think he knows? That he's been here for months. Or do you think he's still in that first week?"
"Someone should tell John," said the butcher. "It's not right for him to keep taking the old man's coin, even if he does have plenty."
"Where else is the old man meant to go?" the baker asked. "Who knows if he's even still a lord? Lords shouldn't be turning up without the proper entourage."
"What exactly did Thornvale say to Sarah's lad?" the candlemaker asked.
"Only that his grandson would be back any day now."
That failed to put any minds at ease.
"Do we tell him?"
"You can't tell folk like that that kind of news," the butcher said. "It'll be gone by tomorrow, and then what'll you do? Break his heart all over again?"
"We can't just–"
What they couldn't just was rudely interrupted by the inn doors opening, and a young man making an immediate approach at the bar.
The man couldn't have been more than mid-twenties, but he carried enough of a military air that the King's Arms' patrons did their best to look busy. He tapped at the counter. "I'm here to settle up Lord Morcant Thornvale's tab," he said.
John the innkeeper startled, which was just as well, since the rest of the room had fallen silent. "Old Thornvale?" he asked. "Is he leaving?"
"Yeah. Business here's all finished."
John made an admirable attempt at sounding casual. "You must be the grandson, then."
The stranger paused. "Sure." He didn't sound like he was lying, but he did make it sound like there were several caveats and asterisks affixed to the relationship. "Do you have the bill?"
The innkeeper passed a much-scribbled paper. He hadn't expected the old man to stay so long, and his bookkeeping looked accordingly.
"Oh, for goodness–" Thornvale's grandson cut himself off. "Dinner," he said. "Every evening?"
"Finest steak and ale in the village," the innkeeper said, and his patrons worked even harder to stay interested in their drinks. A few chokes rasped from those unlucky enough to have been imbibing at the time.
"He doesn't even–" Again, he cut himself off, and left half the village to forever wonder what Old Thornvale didn’t even. "And breakfast?"
"He complimented our chef on the bacon."
Which was another wonder, because the King's Arm's chef cooked the bacon so briefly, it could probably be put back on the pig.
"Of course he did."
As the man passed over the payment and headed for the door, John paused in his counting. "He's going to be fine, right?" he called. "Old Thornvale? Only, he's been here a while, and the whole village's gotten fond of him."
"Damn," said the butcher. "Guess even John's got a heart."
"He wouldn't have if the bill hadn't been paid," muttered the baker.
The stranger – the maybe-grandson – lingered by the door a moment, and so the entire room saw the disbelieving grin and eye-roll. "I don't think you need to worry about Morcant."
ok if i MUST /silly (I LOVE having any excuse to yap about my world building <3)
gonna start with vampiric social feeding and feeding etiquette cause I have lightly touched on those in the fic so far.
Obviously the vampires in the stink bug au are extremely social and hierarchy driven creatures, and feeding plays a role in that.
The dinner Scott hosts in chapter 4 isn't just a production and him trying to recapture some of his former glory, it is a genuine bonding experience for the coven. Eating together as a coven solidifies their connections, and solidifies the hierarchy of the coven.
In chapters two and four, Scott uses specific feeding order to both discipline and reward his fledglings. In chapter two, Scott feeds Shelby first, both as part of the 'fostering' process (forging a sire bond with them) and as punishment for Pyro. Then the reverse happens in chapter four, Pyro is rewarded for doing a good job setting up the dinner by getting the best cut of meat first.
Scott is the Coven Leader, and most of the time this will mean he gets to feed first. By giving that right to a member of his coven it makes a statement.
To allow an outsider to feed before himself is an even bigger statement.
During Pyro's turning (which occurred basically the same as canon in the au), Scott allows Owen to feed first. This is very much a peace offering, and an attempt to endear himself to Owen. He gives Owen a great honour, so he can use that goodwill to bring Owen into the coven easier. It is equal parts olive branch and noose.
The unfortunate thing for both of them is Owen is completely unaware of coven dynamics and etiquette. There is an instinctual element to it, luckily (for Scott) so there is still some respect built, but he does not realise what an enormous honour he is being given when Scott lets him feed from Pyro first. But that also means he doesn't realise what manipulative power he is putting in Scott's hands by accepting.
There's some fun Scott and Owen stuff in the next chapter (which is almost finished, will be out in the next few days)
I need a bit more time to flesh out my thoughts on vampire lines and stuff, but will defs make another post about that specifically when I have more solid thoughts
A thing i find myself doing a lot when it comes to Abolish Veylocke (when im not torturing him with the very concept of emotions) is making his off-work personality be such a Little Shit. Like, he has to perform professionalism and poise for days on end, of course he'll allow himself to be the complete opposite when he's off the clock. 'Thank god I'm done with these lunatics' is one of the mildest things he's said after a disaster mission, and that's only because he'd been in character 24/7 for two months at that point and forgot to be himself a little
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aro ace agender autistic abolish,,,,, the way you write him is so perfect im putting him in a centrifuge
aaaahhhh thank you
the way Abolish Veylocke slowly infected my brain is so funny. He consumes me. Any moment of the day ask me what I’m thinking about, it’s probably Abolish Veylocke
I made that post ages ago about aro ace agender abolish and lots have people have said “also autistic” and you are all so correct. I mostly only don’t loudly headcanon characters as autistic because I don’t have the time/energy to do the research I feel I would need to do to portray them as such accurately. Autism does run in my family but I was the skipped sibling, so I have some personal experience but not huge amounts.
but yes Abolish Veylocke is getting spun around in my mind like when the washing machine reaches max spin cycle and it sounds like it’s gonna take off. Abolish make brain go BRRRRR indeed.
So I was thinking about v!Abolish, fork found in kitchen, and Im a big fan of the butler to Scott idea and he was just awake for 600 years while Scott was asleep and then Scott wakes up and he has his incredibly loyal butler still.
Well what if Scott wakes up and Abolish has got sick and tired of the man over the last 600 years. And while on the outside he seems to be doing everything Scott wants him to do, he is actually working with the humans to kill him? And does multiple attempts on his life which he is able to ward off as,
“There was a bag on your back, I had to get rid of it sir.”
“With a stake?”
“It’s what was in mind hand at the time sir”
“Through my heart?”
“Swung a bit too hard sir.”
Rant below. 😁
The reason Abolish now hates Scott is up to you but a couple of ideas are
Maybe the circumstances which Scott was put to sleep was something like they gave Scott a choice between death or enchanted sleep and Scott, who really didn’t want to die and hadn’t slept in centuries, chose sleep, but the curse accidentally spread to his servants but they weren’t put to sleep, in fact they couldn’t sleep and they just lived, most killed themselves within the first 200 years until it was just Abolish who kept pushing forward but his hatred for Scott kept growing as to him, Scott knowingly chose to make his servants, Abolishs friends, suffer this fate.
Maybe he had been getting annoyed with vampires before and was thinking of leaving but then curse hit and all of a sudden he couldn’t leave Oakhurst and so was stuck with everyone, (maybe everyone else was stuck but I like to believe Scott chose his “most loyal” to stay with him and attend him so everyone else could leave). This meant he just got angrier and angrier and angrier at Scott and vampires in general.
Maybe he was okay with Scott beforehand because he thought all vampires were just like that and anyways he had a contract to keep up with so he served Scott loyally and then when Scott went to sleep he took care of the castle and Scott. But then he met Louis and realised not all vampires are as evil as Scott, and it wasn’t Scott being a vampire that made him evil, it was Scott being Scott and so vowed to stake the man for his crimes.
Whatever the circumstances are to make Abolish hate Scott, when Scott wakes up and the events of vsmp start, Abolish has a crisis because he is stuck between, I have a job to do, and, This man is a plague to the world.
But yeah, I just really like Butler Abolish…
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