I had a thought. Vincent, who wants to reassure himself that he can't lie to Lovely. He tries to say "I think your fangs look ugly today," everyday, and it never comes out, and he's happy about that.
But then one day, it does. And Lovely is confused and hurt. Vincent is terrified about if he actually means it.
But no.
Oh, no no no.
It's something else.
Something they figure out, when they learn that Alexis feels the maker-progeny control again, with Sam.
When Treasure comes to them about Porter not coming home for days, and not a single call from him or answered.
Something went wrong.
William is dead.
(And Porter isn't dead. He's just on the run, hoping whoever got William will be more focused on himself and not consider or even know about his connection with Treasure)(Vincent and Lovely also get the misunderstanding cleared up)
If this seems like a good fic idea, anyone can snag this. I already have too mqny WIPs.
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i feel like vampires naturally have excellent posture - except for sam
i have no explanation for it either
i’m just imagining the house of solaire (pre-breakdown mind you) sat around a table for a clan meeting, and everyone’s backs are so straight, shoulders back, chins up - and then there’s sam, moody because he got pulled away from his log fire in his cabin, hunched over like a prawn
Her eyes crawl over to find yours, lids lax with the carelessness solely bestowed on the honest summer child. Her heels are burrowed into damp, glutinous mud, still weeping with the remnants of last week’s downpour. Bare feet tilt at a persistent angle, pushed by the creek's current, the only sounds your shared breathing and the babble of liquid motion over stretches of flattened stone.
“What wouldn't you like?” she drawls, her voice lancing through the balmy stillness between you. “Rich's godawful cologne suffocating you while you try to cook his dinner like a serf?” She snorts, fingers lazily drifting through kelly green blades of bristled growth.
The night before, she had insisted on you stopping by right after work while she grabbed a portable radio for your night to the drive-in. Her mother had indeed been slaving away over the stove while her stepfather, Rich, encased her from behind, barely allowing her an inch of movement in any direction.
But there's one particular aspect that has stuck out in your mind and needled at your idle hours since.
“He kept kissing her neck.” you finally answer, flicking an ant off of your skirt. “They were loud and wet and…and kind of off-putting.”
Alexis grunts, her agreement not needing to be articulated. But her eyes remain on you, eyebrows raised in droll challenge, irises shimmering with something that tugs at your memory.
"Is it just the thought of him kissing your neck, or being kissed on the neck in general?” she questions, her hand falling stationary.
“The thought in general.” you reply, your nose wrinkling. You've always been rather sensitive, giving your peers and family members no shortage of amusement as you twisted and flinched away from gentle pokes and teasing prods. You can't imagine that having lips where your sensation is most heightened would be anything nearing pleasant.
Quiet resumes, and you've just managed to tuck away your sensibilities enough to lay back on the grass before her words reach your ears.
“I could kiss you there. If you want. To see if you like it.”
Your chest hitches, static weighing thick and heavy over your just prone form. The implications don't need to be voiced. The potential fallout sits like a stone in your throat.
“I…I shouldn't…” you trail off, fingers curling into your dampened palms.
“Wouldn't you rather find out now?” There's an odd sort of hunger coloring her tone, desperation tempered with a bite that almost makes you wince. “Why would you want to wait for some prick to slobber all over you just to find out you'd rather be dead?”
The word dead coming out of Alexis Getty's mouth is nearly enough to make you break into peals of laughter. She isn't made for talks of mortality, not conceivable in terms of beginning and end. You can close your eyes and imagine her laying on this creek bed at any period, at any era. The world could be in ruins, and she would still be siphoning the sunlight for all it was worth, gulping it down like a rabid scavenger aware of its closing window.
Call it familiarity. Call it something that won't go past your trachea. Either way, it's just wrong.
You bite your lip, watching as her pupils dilate a touch at the crease in your skin.
“It…it won't mean anything, will it?” you ask. You're not religious, exactly, but the community might as well be your temple, your family its followers, and its creed forbids aberrations.
Her face shutters, her nostrils flaring.
“No.” she mumbles. “It doesn't matter.” Her eyes flash with an accompanying sneer inching at her lips.
“I'm just helping you. I've done it enough.”
Something hot and sour lances your stomach at the reminder. Girlhood is a toothy thing, blossoming in patches of damp in curves you aren't ready for, shark-infested waters you haven't managed to acclimate to, milestones so far out of your reach while others attain them with every other step. Lip gloss and mascara feel like they're trying to glue your orifices shut, making sure you can't see and you'll never be heard. It ends up leaving you sitting in front of your mirror in a daze, wondering when, or if, you'll ever feel ready.
Alexis, on the other hand, was born ready in a way that renders you equally dizzy. She flirts and parries advances with blistering ease, caustic insults and saccharine coos intertwining into a symphony that makes your bones chill as you watch from the outskirts. She kisses and tells with identical nonchalance, detailing her exploits with brash satisfaction moderated with boredom while you stew in something nervous and slippery.
It will be helpful, won't it? To be on the receiving end? To know what she does and how it feels good, so that you can replicate it later?
“Yeah.” you eventually murmur. “You can do it.”
Your eyes slide shut on instinct, not allowing your senses to catch up with what your mind has decided. The second darkness descends, you feel them. Plush, slightly sticky warmth grazes your skin, lighting a traction path that forks lightning around your skull.
You remember when she first moved here, your mother all but commanding you to show her around. You had ended up on this very same creekbed, what would eventually become your ‘spot.’ She had nicked peaches from a yardside farm stand with a quick snap of her wrist, tucking them into her skirts with a wink and a smirk.
You had watched her sink her teeth into the warmed, fuzzed flesh, overly eager to see her reaction to the fruits of your land. But then the juice had trickled, and she had slurped the tender meat until you had to focus on your own produce in order to not do something irrational. The thought of her mouth and tongue roving over the mess of sugar and fiber had stained your mind for weeks after.
Now, feeling those same motions on your heated skin, you wish that your dermis could split as easily as a peach's, that she could play audience to the deepest, wettest parts of you.
Seconds or hours pass, time stretching and morphing into a pocket of simple yet devastating pleasure that you can't bring yourself to reconcile with. Her mouth is eternal, her tongue everlasting, and all you want is to fall into the void of athanasia with her.
But eventually, she retreats, breaths puffing in moist drafts over your collarbone. A groan sits leaden in your throat at the sheen of saliva ringing her mouth, and you briefly wonder if it still carries the remnants of nectar.
She looks down at her watch, then jumps to her feet, leaving an imprint in the grass already fading.
“I have to get going.” she mutters.
“What for?” you ask, cringing at the desperation lining your tone. You know it's irrational, but you can't help but wonder if your neck wasn't up to par, if you didn't taste the way men do. You don't even know what men taste like, but a sudden, unquenchable urge wells up within you to not only match it, but better it.
“I have a date.” she answers, blase as ever. A vague silhouette takes form in your mind. Gangly limbs and calloused fingers, nicotine breath and wandering hands.
And oh, how you ache. How you burn. It doesn't matter. It can't matter. But you can feel your teeth lengthening, whetting themselves on sleek and bitter steel.
“Have fun.” you eke out, watching the creek rush by, continuous and unfeeling. A singular stone tumbles along its current. You know that it will eventually fall out of synch, that it'll stray to the banks and find rest among its kin, too burdened to forever be held aloft. And as she makes the solitary trek back to the township proper, you know the feeling so intimately that it nearly ruins you.
—
She's in your front yard. Her body leans against her beat-up Ford Falcon, the engine idling. Her shoe arcs in drag paths through the packed dirt of your entryway, sending up plumes of sepia tinted dust.
You open the door and go out to greet her, the words lapsing to quiet before they reach the open air. Her coming to you is a novelty, and the implication has the hairs on your arm standing on end.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, and ‘here' could mean anything from your property to the mortal plane entirely.
“I'm gonna be gone.” she replies evenly, her hair frizzing in the steadily growing humidity. Her manner is almost frenetic, charged with prey's instinct for watchful wariness. “For a while.”
She looks as though she wants you to wail, to throw yourself down on the earth and beg. But you instead feel a hollow resolve fill your chest cavity. Something ancient and weary resting in your bone marrow knew this day would come, in the half-baked fashion of a child imagining the sun blinking out, plunging the earth into permafrost at the first mention of dissolution. A tumble from the mundane into the ephemeral.
“With the guy from…” you swallow past snarls and profanities. “From that day?” Your voice is limned with a plea so needing and insecure that you almost want her to insult you the way she did the men who lurked outside the storefront window when she bussed tables.
She nods, chin tilting upward in defiance of a structure you aren't aware of. Her eyes meet yours, and your lips nearly form a perfect circle as the memory from before finally settles into resolution, a stubborn fold in a sheet of paper finally wormed out of its obstinance.
Your mother had taken you to a different county, wanting to show you one of the new-age centers for stray animals.
“They don't euthanize them right away.” she informed you as you made your way through corridors of steel cages and echoing yips and yowls. “They keep the majority of them for adoption.”
You remembered that your dad had muttered something about it being a waste of tax dollars, but you thought it was rather nice, to give the rejected a second chance, or at least the hope of one.
You had dawdled by the end of a hallway while your mother talked to one of the volunteers. Peering into the nearest cage, you were caught in your own sort of limbo.
Pressed against the bars was a Rottweiler, lips curled up in a ferocious baring of fatal teeth. But its eyes were open, bare in another fashion entirely, frantically jumping between your face and your hand at your hip. Simultaneously asking you to touch, and daring you to try.
Alexis looks much the same way, you realize, beckoning you ever closer and promising a fitting retribution.
Affection, or perhaps a jealous sort of pity, buoys your next words.
“Is he nice?” you reply, knowing the answer.
“No.” she says swiftly, intending it to hurt but unable to follow through. “But he wants me.”
You let the pointed comment slide by, readjusting your blouse.
“Well,” you try with a smile, “when you come back, I'll be here.”
A bright laugh tears from her tongue. “You make it sound like you're staying in this shithole forever.”
“You make it sound like you'll be gone forever.” you retort, but somehow it doesn't sound as funny.
You hold up a finger and dash into the house, fingers sliding against glass and fumbling under water before you re-emerge, tossing her a farewell token.
A peach.
Her face lifts and falls and goes every other direction in the span of a second, her limbs spasming.
“A snack for the road.” you tell her. “And maybe a little something to remind you of home.”
She holds the fruit in her palm for a moment or two before biting into it with a savage tear.
“When I come back,” she says through a mouthful of pulp and juice, “we'll share one. We'll buy out that whole damn stand. We'll get sick of them. I promise.”
It's the last thing you'll ever hear from her. And when you're sitting on the creekbed after your mother's wake, not caring if you muddy your Sunday best, a small, worrisome nook of your mind will pause to wonder if Alexis Getty ever ate another peach.
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Alexis Getty has lived a complicated life. As a woman born in the first half of the 20th century, she was raised to believe that woman's place was in her husband's home raising their children and being compliant. She was raised by a good southern man and a woman from New York. They were the pinnacle of the modern American family. A classy business man and his perfect wife that made two perfect children
Except
Alexis wasn't perfect. No matter what she tried she always seemed to make the wrong choice. When asked which boys were catching her eye at school she would always answer: "they're no good mama, every last one of them is rotted or running for the draft lines."
And so her parents let it rest. For a long time the allowed her to work in the shop her uncle ran as a counter girl. A small allowance for her to spend with her friends on the weekends. Her father was not fond of her lifestyle, often yelling at her that she needs to start thinking of what to do with her life. That if she didn't she'd end up like her cousins, without home, without family, and without dignity. A fate worse than death in his eyes
But what none of her family knew; barring her dear younger brother, was that she already knew what she wanted from life
Who she really wanted to be with her in life. Her darling Wendy. The girl that befriended her all the way back in grade school. The only one that didn't shy away from a young Alexis playing in the sand box and throwing sand at the boys that annoyed her
Wendy, a girl so happy to be alive and experiencing the things life had to offer, despite the pain and torment of the world around them. Alexis held so much envy for that girl. So much love for her
The two of them were nearly impossible to separate. Wendy would even go as far as visiting the shop Alexis worked at while she was on shift. It was always the same song and dance about wanting a pop and lingering for a conversation
They would spend late nights at the lake, far enough away from society that only the other rule breakers and status quo shakers would find them
Alexis would smoke and Wendy would tease her about it being such a nasty habit just to snatch the cigarette from her lips and put it between her own. Every time it happened Alexis' breath would catch just a little bit, her gaze lingering on Wendys bright cherry lips. The unspoken implications of sharing a cigarette almost too much for her to bear in those quiet moments they spent together
One night the two of them went to their usual spot, a little ways away from the bonfire a group of rowdy university dropouts had gathered around. They were sitting on the hood of Alexis' car, shoulders brushing as they dreamt aloud all the things they'd do if they lived in another time, another place. Far away from where they were in that moment
So wrapped up in their own little moment that they failed to hear the predator approaching them
They were too preoccupied gazing into each other's eyes and leaning in far closer than two women should've at that time. Their eyes half closed as they talked about the beautiful penthouse they'd have one day, high above the bustle of city life. A place where they could have all the plants and cats they would ever want
The silence between sentences seeming to drag on for hours, while they both lean in close enough to breathe each other's air. Alexis was close enough to count the flecks of green and gold scattered throughout Wendys eyes
And for a brief moment, there together, they shared a kiss so tender it would make a grown woman weep. Their lips barely touching, the tension fading away into something warmer. Something purely theirs in that moment. A thing no one would ever be able to take away
The relief felt when they parted cut painfully short by an intruder
A monster sent to punish them for hoping they could have a better life
And Alexis had to watch her life slip away. Hands clinging to Wendy and lips begging her to stay alive. Wailing into the night long past her own strength failing. Even longer still when she realized that the body of the only woman she ever loved had stopped drawing breath
A gruesome scene no mortal should ever have to face. Let alone in such a violent disruptive manner. On a night that had been full of such peace and wonder
And that's where William found Alexis. Draped over Wendys body, begging her to wake up. To say something; anything to give her a sign it would be alright the next morning. That it was all just a nightmare she wasn't able to wake up from yet
Her own body weakened to the point of exhaustion and pain being the only things she felt
William didn't have time to ask. He saw the agony the young woman in front of him was experiencing and knew no amount of healing magic he could perform would fix it
So he sat with her. Let her scream and cry until she exhausted herself beyond being able to stay awake. And in that moment, silence filled the air, leading William to make a decision he never thought he would. Especially not under these circumstances. He just couldn't stand to see another young life cut short
So, he bit into the side of her neck and his own wrist, allowing his nature to take root in her core and flourish. The process taking twice as long as it should have given how weak she already was from fighting for so long. She was left sleeping for weeks as her body and mind tried to recover from the trauma she experienced
The moments that would shape her into something completely different than who she was before
Not just a vampire now, but someone who would never let another person she cared for die. Not if she could have a say in preventing it
And that is why to this day she will not apologize for what she did to Samuel Collins
brain is braining well, so i present you the idea of Solaire non vampire life au
in which William is the single father of his six children (boy was a heartbreaker in his young life, women were swooning over him, only for him to end up with the not-so-happy bunch. That's okay. He can take care of them all, he hopes so at least)
○ Alexis is the eldest, understandably so, at the rebellious age of seventeen, where she believes she's entitled to everything the world and her father's wallet has to offer. She's not a spoilt kid, by all means, but she wants to act like it because it pisses William off, especially when she announces, while they all eat breakfast, that she has yet another fantastic idea. Getting a tattoo, borrowing his car for a road trip with her friends, moving out to another country because beaches in California are lame compared to those in Spain, maybe she's pregnant after her last one night stand (she only dates women but seeing the blood drain from his face is more than amusing), who knows what will spill from her mouth at the sacred morning hours? William is already going grey, and she's the biggest reason behind it.
○ Next is Vincent, only a year younger and second most reliable person in the household right after William. It's him who takes care of the younger ones when their dad has to stay late at work, making sure they eat, sleep and survive until he comes home (which sometimes proves to be too much). He mastered making grilled cheese after being asked by four people in the row to make them that, Alexis being graceful enough to at least help him, probably the only nice encounter they had in their whole lives. The golden child, not favoured because William doesn't favour any of his kids (sure sure), but at least with Vincent, the hassle was the smallest. Shares his room with Sam, but that's fine. He's just trying to keep the whole family sane with all the bickering. Porter often steals his lunch before they go to school, so at this point, he leaves it on purpose with the food he knows the brat hates.
○ Sam, a surprise no one expected. Fourteen, quiet, introverted, and sometimes they all forget he even exists in the house. The boy lives for the books William has in his library, always tucked with one, headphones blasting music to shut off the world and Alexis, who finally, after William lost his patience, left him alone. It only had to end up with Sam having his arm broken for her to understand that the constant jabs and fights were pointless and that William would not "give him up for adoption.". Truly, a lovely sibling relationship between those two. Another reliable person, but due to his younger age, he's mostly left alone to do his own thing, which mostly focuses on dissociating and reading. Nerd with glasses, really. At least he helps with the homework and has the patience of a saint when it comes to the rest of his siblings, always trying to get out of the way, never seeking any attention let alone fights. Landing on the spot of the middle child, he's never the one to ask for something, which makes William think he isn't doing a good enough job when it comes to him. Not to mention Sam has his mother's last name instead, always explaining that it doesn't mean much to him at all when in reality, it keeps William at night because he thinks he is not enough for him and for the rest.
○ If Sam was a surprise, then Porter was the armaggedon that wrecked their house at the seams. Eleven, mouthy, bratty, and yet, despite what Vincent keeps saying about him, everyone adores him at the end of the day, those big dark blue eyes with long eyelashes melting everyone. He was once seen making voodoo dolls of his teachers because "they give him too much homewor", he already curses whenever no one is hearing and his favourite snack is butter toast, plain just as his personality. He always has bruises on his knees because how often he tried to climb the trees in the backyard despite falling from them on more than one occasion. Stubborn, especially when he tries to make everyone believe he's not crying because of said bruises, despite his lower lip trembling like crazy and the tears running down his cheeks. That's okay, Will always has time to console his kids, even if they just called him an "old man who knows nothing about being cool.". He hears that from Porter on a daily occasion, even if he tucks him to sleep. But then, it sounds less like a taut, with voice slurry and arms reaching for his father through the haze of a goodnight kiss.
○ and last but not least, the apples of Will's eyes, the precious little ones who make it all worthy at the end of the day, Frederick and Bright, the five year old twins. At this point, the rest just shrugged their shoulders when the news of having yet another sibling was broken down to them, but deep down, they were all excited at the prospect of the little ones. They are the calmest of the bunch, but only if they are together, take one aside, and the cries can be heard in the neighbouring city. Attached at the hip since the very first moment alive, they act more like two little puppies, especially when they take a nap together on the fluffy carpet of the living room, sun shining through the windows, freckles all over their faces. Even Alexis has a change of heart when she looks after those two, reading them stories and trying to turn them against Will, playfully, of course (or is it?). If Porter's blue eyes make him escape most of the consequences, they are beyond innocent just because of how tiny and precious they are for the whole family. Riding their little bikes everywhere they go, they surely make a mess, especially with all the crumbs at breakfast, but when they need a hug, everyone drops everything and runs to them to console the little ones.
Very slow progress is still progress, so I'm bringing you another snippet from my current WIP— a Redactedverse/Mulan AU.
Join the fun! Share a snippet of your WIP (any medium or fandom) and tag me to see your awesome work. I'll invite (with no pressure) @venuslove-28, @pinksparkl, @freyameddlesome, @belovedbow, @thee-morrigan and anyone who'd like to participate!
I'm really struggling to select snippets that don't spoil too much for the story... Spoilers available for those who ask. 😂
“Dahlian scouts!” Alexis Getty reported with a grunt.
Quinn stalked forward, each step slow and deliberate.
The two recruits trembled. Sure, they were soldiers, but the contra-fire elemental was kicking his heels at the ground to try to get away and the air-elemental was gasping for breath.
“Quinn Fox,” the air-elemental, Lasko Moore, quaked.
The vampire peered down at the two frightened men. He curled a bony finger around the necktie of the contra fire-elemental. “Good job, gentleman,” he laughed, exposing jagged fangs that (legend claimed) never fully retracted. “You’ve found my gang of bloodsuckers.” He gestured to the legion behind him.
“Empress Marie will stop you!” Xavier declared, hoping no one heard the catch in his voice.
“Stop me?” Quinn clutched at his chest like Xavier had scandalized him. “Empress Marie invited me. Without a warning, Quinn grabbed Xavier by the neck and hoisted him into the air. His thumb and index finger squeezed mercilessly, causing Xavier to see gray spots along the edges of his vision field. The vampire’s nail dug into his skin, drawing blood. “By setting her wards, she challenged my strength. Well, now I’m here to play her little game.”
Xavier began gurgling, trying to heave an inhale despite the growing pressure Quinn put on his larynx.
“Go!” Quinn tossed him to the ground with a chuckle. He licked at the droplets of blood coating his fingertips. “Tell your empress to send her strongest armies.” He raised his chin. “I’m ready.”
Xavier and Lasko scrambled to their feet and took off before Quinn could change his mind.
Quinn sucked his finger clean, letting it pop out of his mouth once there was no more blood to consume. “Alexis, how many bloodbags does it take to deliver a message?”
“One.” Alexis took off after the Dahlian guards. Xavier’s screams echoed throughout the forest. Not one of Quinn’s gang reacted.
