#sdverse

Essentially, one of the most basic forms of magic is ignition. Magic is at its core a source of energy, and/or a method of manipulating energy, and if you shove enough energy into anything combustible, it's probably gonna combust.

not me jumping outside my comfort zone! y'all know already I like writing essentially rom coms. Or vampires. Or vampire romantic comedies. But this time I decided to try something new. It's something I've personally wanted to read for a while but haven't seen anything, so if you know of any good fics, lmk

Essentially this is me practicing

massive trigger warning: this involves knife play resulting in bleeding and cuts, if that's something that triggers you, I urge you to please, please skip this. I don't want to trigger anyone. Also if you decide hmm I wanna try, do NOT use this fic as gospel do your research. I’m not qualified to give advice on this. Anytime you try anything bdsm related do your research and talk about it thoroughly with your partner 💖

Anyways, enough of me stalling. Let's fuckin gooooo

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Daya had never been happier in a relationship than she was with Bosco. The sex was incredible, but somehow they were two months into the relationship they’d never had a discussion about kinks, which was something that had been on her mind as of late. 

One night, she was laying with her head on their lap as they watched Scream, specifically the part when Billy licked the fake blood off of his fingers. Daya looked up and couldn’t help but notice how… invested Bosco was. 

Art by @bloodsbane

Jack (He/him)

Age: ~2 years?

Personality: Curious, kindhearted, ferociously loyal. Can and will kill people, but will think over other options if necessary. Simple, which is not the same thing as stupid. Likes fresh meat, poetry, and listening to music.

Unhinged about: Poetry, seeking out new experiences.

Magical Abilities: Healing factor, rust-resistant metal teeth and claws, inhuman agility, keen smell and hearing, banshee scream.

Backstory: Created by necromancers as an enhanced undead weapon, but instead of a mindless zombie puppet, he ended up a Real Boy. (Necromancers are furiously baffled by this, as this has never happened before, because it's not supposed to happen, necromancy doesn't work like that--) For some reason he was dumped in the woods, where he was eventually discovered by Caleb Cooper when the locals called Sacred Darkness about the "mysterious animal attacks."

Art by @wholemleko-art

Caleb Cooper (He/him)

Age: Physically 19, chronologically 250+

Personality: Quiet, diligent, blunt, selfless to the point of self-destructive. Does Not Kill. Clings to politeness as a roadmap for social situations. Deep down genuinely believes he's capable of overcoming anything, so when bad things happens it's because he didn't try hard enough.

Unhinged about: Cooking.

Magical Abilities: Vampire.

Backstory: Turned into a vampire by his best friend Thomas Killian in 1780, and went on to form a clan with him and travel the world for the next 200 years. In the 80's, his clan was targeted for recruitment by the Renaissance Men cult. Less than half of them escaped with their lives when they refused, and the wounded and grieving remnants were discovered by overzealous monster hunters, leaving Caleb the only survivor. Caleb avoided the company of other vampires afterward, and later joined Sacred Darkness. Under their employment he has dealt with a number of catastrophic magic-based threats. His solitary nature, highly unusual among vampires, has earned him the nickname "The Lonely Hunter".

@morning-softness reblogged my Caleb bio post with these tags, and I'm so glad you asked! The short answer is, Caleb's vampirism created his attitude towards cooking.

The long answer is that SDverse is urban fantasy, not horror, so vampires are a fantasy sophont species rather than always-antagonistic monsters. They're just folks! And sure, you have your Count Draculas and your Henry VIIIs who see humans as livestock to be subjugated and fed upon, but that has more to do with them being royalty than them being vampires. Vampires can subsist comfortably on a liter of blood every few weeks, far less than it would take to kill someone; it takes a lot of gorging to get to the level of power and indestructibility of Count Dracula, and as Count Dracula proves, that gets you noticed, and all it takes is a handful determined best friends to slap you back down. There's a reason the world hasn't been taken over by bloodthirsty overlords; most vampires just don't want to.

So your average ham-and-egger vampire isn't going to have the power, resources, and preexisting authority and mystique to get away with terrorizing the local populace. If they're discovered, they're more likely to have people charging out with torches and pitchforks than cowering in their homes. So, they have about two options. Either they get really good at stealth, never stay in one place long enough to be noticed and, most importantly, don't get greedy when they feed. Or, they can deal openly, and fairly, with the humans they feed on.

It's not uncommon for vampire clans to have permanent or semi-permanent human entourages, who trade their blood for protection, monetary payment, or whatever goods and services the vampires can provide. These arrangements can be exploitative, of course, but most vampires who take this route know that what you put into it is what you get out of it. A vampire that takes good care of their humans is a well-fed vampire.

Caleb's clan had a number of human members over the years, two of whom ended up turning and joining the clan permanently. As a human, Caleb had learned to cook out of necessity, both to directly feed himself and as a skill he could be paid for. As a vampire, he took it up again, got very good at it, and found a lot of joy in feeding his humans healthy (iron-rich, of course) meals. As the centuries passed, he was always on the lookout for new cookbooks, and new advances in medicine and nutrition. Gotta keep those humans happy and healthy, so they can keep you happy and healthy, too.

For years I was using "colony" because haha bats, but more recently I sort of divested my vampires from an obligatory connection to bats (just didn't make sense anymore given some other vampire worldbuilding lore I'd come up with) so I was casually shopping around for alternatives and finally settled on "clan" instead. I figured it'd be fitting to use a word that also describes blood-related groups, and in a way the members of a vampire clan are connected by blood, one way or another.

At last, his constantly darting hands found the rip in his jacket. Caleb couldn't remember when that happened. Further investigation found two more rips parallel to it. Only then did he recall the short tug as he'd hurried away (fled) while Sol called after him to stop. Sol must have grabbed at him, and Caleb hadn't even registered it until now, seeing the evidence of Sol's claws.

Had it been a parting shot? An attempt to hurt him, or an attempt to stop him?

Caleb blinked, and then he was on the roof, needle and thread in one hand, jacket in the other. He couldn't remember deciding to come up here, much less the climb itself. But he was on the highest point of the slant, with a perfect view of the streets and houses and yards all around. The wind was strong and regular, carrying scents to him from far and wide.

If he'd had a heartbeat, it would have slowed. He wasn't a deer in the meadow anymore; he was a bird circling overhead. When danger came, he'd be the first to know and the last to touch it.

Maybe this was why Jack liked high places so much.

The sound of scrabbling below him drew his gaze, and he spotted Jack climbing out of the open window, gripping the tiles with all fours. His nostrils flared, and he turned his face toward Caleb and began climbing toward him, as easily as a four-limbed spider.

Caleb continued to sew the rips.

"Hi," said Jack, pulling himself easily to Caleb's level.

"Hey. Need anything?" The simple, repetitive act of sewing was almost enough to banish the tremors in his hands.

Jack's face turned toward the jacket. He had no eyes to see, or even to point in a direction, just blind pits that occasionally wept black fluid, but his tilting face seemed to follow the needle all the same. His nostrils flared again.

"Did he hurt you?" Jack asked.

Caleb jabbed himself with the needle by accident, and continued sewing.

"Did he--"

"What do you want me to say?" Caleb snapped. "Yes. Obviously."

The only reason the jacket was ripped and not the rest of him was because Caleb had already been running.

"Just being in the same room hurts. And he can't keep his damn mouth shut--"

Oh sweet thing, I forgive you. I've missed you so much.

Sol's voice rang crystal-clear in his mind, so vivid that he might as well have been sitting on the roof with him, whispering to him. The sense memory of breath on the back of his neck made Caleb twitch, snapping the needle between his fingers.

"Damn it." He flung the broken needle, the thread, and the torn jacket away from him, sending it sliding and rolling toward the edge of the roof. It hung there precariously, moments away from falling to the ground below.

Jack stared at him for a moment, then shifted closer, slowly, one inch at a time. When Caleb didn't pull away, he flopped over Caleb's lap like an oversized cat. Caleb curled his fingers instinctively in Jack's coat, claws puncturing the thick canvas.

"He hurt you before?" Jack asked.

Caleb swallowed the urge to claw at his own neck, just to make the breath memory stop. "Yeah."

Jack was quiet for a while. A deep rumble started in his chest; if Caleb knew a little less about him, he would have mistaken it for a purr.

"If you saw him tomorrow," said Jack. "He would hurt you then?"

Rasping out a shaky laugh, Caleb tightened his grip. "Yeah, probably."

Jack shifted beneath his hands.

He rose up, claws digging into the roof for purchase: wicked sharp metal fused with the flesh on his feet and fingers. One hand skimmed across Caleb's knee, not cutting, but reminding.

Jack's forehead tapped lightly against Caleb's, nearly transferring a black tear from one face to the other.

"Then he will not have tomorrow," said Jack.