#inwalksthenight

In the dark of the night, they resemble insects lazily swarming a hive.

The country club and golf course were overrun. The idea was to go there for the night; a place to rest and refuel before taking off, back to their nomadic existence. The idea seemed to be a good one. It was outside of the city, surrounded by the rolling hills of the golf course. There shouldn't have been any reasons for the risen dead to be there in mass.... But they were. Perhaps it was all those old timers that golfed, and couldn't outrun them. Whatever it was, it was a mess, and their idea of shelter quickly shattered.

Sarah turned the wheel, driving the car into another cul-de-sac. Maybe this one would have signs of life. Maybe there would be the soft glow of light coming from one of the windows. Maybe there would be more survivors. They couldn't be the last. The only sign of life was a gushing fire hydrant at the end of the street, and hungry moans sounding through the night even though all of their windows were rolled up.

The houses all were still so perfectly manicured. The yards and the paved driveways. She could almost imagine life hadn't changed so dramatically. She could imagine herself living here before all this happened, and found herself coveting for just a taste of that life. Not this life. Not what life had now become. 

People act ever so slightly differently depending on who they are around. Send me a ◭ and I’ll tell you something my character does or would likely do around yours that is unique or specialized to their interactions.

'The Operation' by Charlotte Gainsbourg

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A popular fanon headcanon about my character that bugs me

inwalksthenight:

If Jane's skin could turn any more pale, she would be as white as a sheet of paper. Her stomach churned and her heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. Her voice was caught in her throat; she could barely breathe. Her body trembled and her hands shook as if crippled with artheritis as she reached out to touch David's face. It was the first time in months since she last laid eyes on him, since she had learned about his kidnapping. For what? She later learned it was for research. Research?! The human race disgusted her! And why did they have to take what was hers?! 

“David...?” she at long last managed to choke out. Nothing made her want to fly into a rage faster than seeing the man she cherished most in such a condition. Now, she would not hesitate to kill whoever was responsible for this. 

Music to his ears. That was what her voice was. He had started to doubt whether or not he'd ever hear it again in those long days of agony. How long was he there for? Weeks? Months? Years? Time dragged on so long. And yet he fought. He had something, someone, to fight for. It had impressed them. Those pretentious assholes poking and prodding at him. Thinking they could use his immortality, could harness his power. The fools.

And, man, did he fight. They didn't realize what they were in for. David made it back to her, somehow. His memories were cloudy. But now everything was clear. Jane was there with him, her eyes full of concern and rage. It made him grin. How she cared for him always left him in awe. And times like these, he was able to see it so clearly.

Jane. She was unlike any drug he had ever had, but David was addicted.

Most of the time they had spent together was while he was recuperating at her house. And as close as they had been and as quickly as he had become enthralled by her, he still wanted more. But she was always so damned tight-lipped whenever he asked questions or tried to steer the focus on her. She could essentially absorb others, yet not let a drip spill as to who she was. She distanced herself, that much was obvious. The girl who couldn't touch, was untouchable.

And Jane could just lay her hands on him and know vast amounts of information about him. And, well, it bugged him that she had that advantage. David was jealous over it and decided that he could go about getting her to open up, in a slightly tricky way. Not by tricking her mind, seeing as how he had already told himself that he wouldn't do that. And she had ways of knowing if he did so, she could just pluck that memory from him, nullifying David's usual trickery and mind-games by being able to bring it all to light. There would be no secrets kept from this one. And he wasn't sure exactly how that would all work out; part of him was terrified that she would just up and leave any second. But, no, he wouldn't trick her into talking in his usual manner. There was something far more socially acceptable; drinking. Imbibing enough alcohol made the tightest of tongues go waggling.

There was a spot perched on the bluff, looking over the water, sheltered from the wind by rocks, secluded, perfect. Before picking Jane up on his bike, he had packed a few necessities. A couple bottles of booze and a blanket. Mix those with a great view and some stars and moonlight, and David could think of no better way to spend an evening with Jane.