𝖇𝖎𝖘𝖌𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖎.

     P I N N E D   P O S T  ->  V A M P I R E K N I T T E D  !

Independent/selective/private rp blog for Deacon Brücke, from the 2014 film What We Do in the Shadows. Written by Vi. 

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       A small frown forms on the vampires lips when the other flicks at the paper crown . He jerks it away from Deacon’s reach , smoothing the bent crinkle that had formed from such a disrespectful action .  “ That’s just rude . ” he comments , eyes focused on the flimsy crown in his hands . It’s no matter . He takes great pride in having acquired it , and once it’s as clean as he’s able to get it ( or risk damaging it more ) , Viago gently raises it over his head and slowly drops it down to wear .

          ALL HAIL , KING OF BURGERS : VIAGO VON DORNA SCHMARTEN SCHEDEN HEIMBURG !

          “ It would be YOU’RE MAJESTY . Considering I’d be king and not a nobleman . ” eyes roll , though a playful grin is fashioned beneath it . “ Perhaps I could knight you . ” Of course , all this to avoid the more technical questions that his flatmate had posed , and dark eyes cast upon the computer , making a mental note to ask GOOGLE which countries his new kingdom ruled over . Surely it’s more than just a building in the middle of Wellington .

          “ Do you know what this could mean ? ” he taps his flat-mate’s arm , excitement unrelenting , “ People flock to these locations like cattle , fattening their bellies up . I could rule them ! It’s a slaughterhouse for us to indulge in ! ”

When his rudeness is commented upon, Deacon doesn’t even try to resist the urge to roll his eyes. But there’s no malice in it, and he smiles as he watches his flatmate fiddle to straighten out the bent point of the crown. 

He then watches Viago set the crown atop his own head, and this time he scoffs. Deacon still thinks he looks stupid, and he isn’t afraid to tell him as much. ❝You look stupid.❞ But it’s said with the hint of a smile, and he reaches out to adjust the crown to sit ever so slightly crooked. He’s mindful not to crumple the flimsy paper more than he already has. ❝Looks cooler this way.❞

❝There is no way I’m calling you ❛your majesty❜. You are fussy enough as it is, can you imagine how much more you would nag me? No.❞ He pauses.

❝But being a knight would be pretty cool. Maybe I could manage a little ❛your highness❜ if it makes that much difference to you.❞ Deacon has to grin, because even though this is just a silly little exercise in imagination, he likes the idea of being Sir Deacon Brücke. 

Okay, admittedly the whole situation does sound like a good source of food, but Deacon has a couple of concerns. 

❝And what about when the vampire hunters find this slaughterhouse? It might draw too much attention. Seems easy to get caught.❞ (It feels very strange to be the responsible one, for once. Deacon is not supposed to be responsible.)

                The nameless feud between werewolves and vampires seemed as timeless as the one between cats and dogs ,      but just like them there were exceptions between .      That’s what Anton and his pack seem to have found with the particular house of vampires .     Still ,     house visits weren’t something he really expected .      Which is why his eyes grow wide in surprise when he sees it’s Deacon at his door .

Regardless a smile’s quick to form at the greeting he’s met with seeing as he knew there was no malicious intent behind them .     “  How’s it going ,    mate ?     Come on in !     It’s a cold one tonight .  “     He insists with a pat to the vampire’s back before letting him go on any further even though Anton wasn’t sure if they even got cold – maybe something to ask later considering it seemed like Deacon came here with a purpose .

Anton listens with a bit of a smirk over lips at the form in which their transformation is described ,      body shifting closer once he spots the jersey being referred to and his eyes light up with glee at the sight .      And he delicately takes the jersey to inspect all the details and admire them .      “  Wow ,     you knitted this yourself ?  “     He holds it up inspecting the size ,    “  Yes ,     that should fit nicely .  “      He’s thoroughly impressed ,    of course he didn’t know how knitting worked but he’s sure it was very time consuming especially with so much detail .     “  Is that a wolf sleeping ?  “      Asked excitedly .     “  That’s bloody brilliant that is !  “      He almost just wants to keep it at home to just admire because it’d really be a shame if it got caught on a tree and ruined or torn some how .     Hopefully blood staining won’t be too much of a problem since it was darker colors .

“  I wouldn’t dream of it ,     mate .  “     He reassures quickly .     Well ,     he certainly wouldn’t dare ask for another he’d be too embarrassed and devastated about it getting ruined in the first place .      Eyes fall to the bag and he brings that inside before bending down to look through it a bit .     Ah ,     his was different than the rest and it does make him feel rather special Deacon put more work into his .     He stands then ,     slinging the jersey over his shoulder .     “  Thank you !     The guys will love it .     I love it .  “      

A nod’s given with the evident face saving and Anton can’t help but laugh quietly to himself with how obvious it was to him .     Likely because of the times he’s caught the pack trying to be this casual about things .     It’s very sweet actually .     “  Can I –  “     he asks with his arms out for a hug ,     “  Or’s that too much ?  “

In all honesty, Deacon can’t remember how exactly he found out where Anton lives. Too late he wonders if this is maybe a little weird, just showing up like this, but by now the werewolf has already opened the door. 

❝Thank you,❞ he mutters quietly when he senses an invisible wall drop at the invitation inside. He steps in but has never been to Anton’s house before, so he just lingers awkwardly in the entranceway, wishing he had his trusty knitting needles and yarn to keep his hands busy. Since he doesn’t, he just folds his arms over his chest and tries to make it look natural.

❝Yes,❞ he says in answer to the question. ❝I like to knit - sweaters, scarves, gloves... I made Stu a scarf once, but then we had to throw it in the ocean.❞ For once, he doesn’t want to start shit, not when the vampire-werewolf relationship has made such progress, so he doesn’t finish with the obvious ❛because we thought you all killed him.❜ Glossing over the subject, Deacon leans over and points at the little woolen wolf with a grin. 

❝Much cuter than the real thing, eh?❞ It’s just playful teasing, betrayed by the look of pure excitement on his face. His chest puffs out in pride at the praise - it really is ❛bloody brilliant,❜ in his opinion it’s one of the best sweaters he’s ever made. 

❝So long as we’re clear. No catching it on any sticks or stomping it down into the mud with clumsy heavy paws - none of that!❞ The message is probably already evident, but he raises an eyebrow, just for added effect. He’s a little placated to hear Anton likes it, loves it even. ❝You’re welcome,❞ he says somewhat stiffly; it’s not something he’s really used to saying.

But the request for a hug takes him a little off guard, and so he eyes Anton skeptically. 

❝Hmm, well, you see this is a new jacket, and I would rather not get werewolf smell on it...❞ Automatic protests immediately begin to fall out of his mouth, before Deacon realizes that he really would quite like a hug. Deacon, in actual fact, enjoys hugs almost as much as he hates people knowing that he likes hugs. So his grumbling falters to a halt, and after a few seconds of silence he steps forward and accepts the offered hug. 

❝Okay. But do not tell anyone,❞ he mutters muffled into Anton’s shoulder, certain that the werewolf heard him anyway. Sensitive hearing, and all that. 

As his hand took her own, free hand followed as she listened to his story unfold. Like herself, Deacon held his own tragedy when it came to love, and perhaps that was why she found herself drawn to him like no other vampire in the flat. They’d been unlucky in life, but Lucy felt a change in her luck since growing so much closer to Deacon. Love had bloomed within undead heart where she believed she’d never feel such an emotion again. 

Fingers absently danced over his own before she moved forward to press a kiss upon his lips. Lips ghosted from his lips to across his jawline, down to his throat before she lifted her head once more. Bright blue eyes stared up at him, love and adoration reflecting within the depths of cerulean pools. 

“I’d never run from you,” nose brushed against him as she moved with vampiric ease into his lap. Arm fell around his shoulder as she made herself comfortable sitting side saddle in his lap. “I love you too much to ever purposely hurt you.” 

And she meant it. Lucy loved everyone in the flat that she’d come to know, but Deacon had found a place, a nest, within her heart. There bond had been nearly immediate in her opinion and she never wanted to be without him or that spark of excitement that rushed through her whenever he was near. 

“I could, maybe, eat this other Lucy if you’d like…”

Talking about Lucy (the first Lucy in his life, that is) was always difficult; it was something Deacon would have liked to forget, but at the same time it was impossible to forget something that had had such a big impact on him.

❝I was too quick to fall in love, and that is why I am afraid of falling in love again. And - and if I admit that I am in love, then maybe the same thing that happened before will happen again. And everyone I love either dies, or leaves.❞ Any other time he would be embarrassed at saying such decidedly ❛uncool❜ sentiments, but once he had started it was like he couldn’t stop. Deacon squeezed Lucy’s hand again, as if trying to ground himself. She had already seen him at his most vulnerable anyway.

He blinked in surprise at the little kiss, but welcomed it, kissing back firmly and then tilting his head to allow her better access to his throat. And that look in her eyes - it was incredible how much she loved him, and Deacon knew he didn’t really deserve it. He wrapped an arm easily around her waist, his other hand resting gently on her outer thigh. ❝I know.❞ What he really wanted to say was ❛I love you too,❜ but the words stuck in his throat. And it sucked, because he wanted to say them, and he knew she probably wanted to hear them. 

❝You know I do not like... this.❞ Deacon hoped she understood that ❛this❜ meant being vulnerable, and not being with her. 

His fingers stroked fondly at her waist as he smirked, genuinely touched by the gesture. ❝It is a nice thought, but I think she is long dead. It was a long time ago and she had many enemies.❞ It was a long time ago, which was why the hurt was not as fresh as it once had been. But the idea made him laugh, and he pulled Lucy a bit closer.

          Never would be the correct answer to Deacon’s question , but now Viago feels as if he would be caught in a lie of his own creation . “ Deacon … ” nose crinkles with disapproval , shoulders shirking off the use of a curse word . Always so crude , that one . He has half a mind not to respond to him and continue with inspecting the blouses that had come back from the dry cleaning .

          “ Do you know how hard it is to kill royalty if you aren’t in their tight knit circle ? ” No . Not even Viago could answer his own question . “ But I did ! I did tonight , in fact ! You know that building where the king of the burgers lives ? I got him !He left his castle donning his crown . ” A toothy grin shows itself as he shows his flatmate the paper Burger King crown he managed to sneak into the home without a mob in sight to stop him .

While not really managing to be in touch with the modern world himself, Deacon is pretty sure Burger King is not a kingdom in the typical sense. Almost 100% sure. And the crown Viago is holding - well, it is only paper, and is that blood soaked into it? Any crown that you couldn’t wipe blood off of was a pretty shitty crown, in Deacon’s opinion. At the same time, though, Deacon has rarely ever seen Viago look this proud, and he would feel like a bit of a dick if he ruined it. 

❝You know what? Okay. Yes. Good job, Viago - now you can be king of the burgers too if you want.❞ He reaches over and flicks the paper crown, unable to keep himself from doing that much in the way of teasing. Because that crown is definitely less than impressive.

Deacon and werewolves had... a difficult relationship, to say the least. They had in the past, anyway; things were a bit better now, and if the notion hadn’t been completely stupid he would almost say he was growing fond of them. His denial of this fact might have been more convincing if he wasn’t currently standing outside Anton’s house, with a bag of gifts at his feet. 

❝Ah, there you are, stupid werewolf!❞ The term ❛stupid werewolf❜ held none of its former venom, and Deacon tended to use it now almost as a friendly greeting. (Not that he would ever admit that, of course.)

❝I thought that perhaps, for the next full moon, when you are whining and barking and slobbering all over the forest, you might like this.❞ This was, in fact, a soft hand-knitted sweater, skillfully made by none other than Deacon himself. It was a soft brown in color, featuring a darker brown wolf that was curled into a ball, peacefully sleeping beneath a glowing yellow crescent moon. 

❝It is big, so that when you are transforming and get all fucked-up, you won’t rip it. Sweaters are not easy to make, you know, and if you somehow wreck it don’t think you’ll be getting another! Because you won’t!❞ He could, perhaps, be persuaded to mend it, but it would not be without whatever Deacon deemed a suitable amount of complaining. But he continued, gesturing down towards the bag on the step - which was packed full of more oversized sweaters.

❝You can give these to the others. Or don’t, I don’t care!❞ Deacon prodded the bag with a booted foot, barely sparing them a second glance. They had all been much easier to make, anyway; they were all solid colors, with no designs. Anton’s sweater had been a special one. 

               ❝ Then I guess it’s a pretty good thing that you’re standin’ here instead of Viago. ❞  Sookie knew that she would get more than a questionable look and a ‘what happened to you?’ comment. She would be ridiculed until every drop of blood she left in her wake was cleaned up out of the house. Did it matter that it was blood and he was a vampire? No. It mattered that the house needed to be kept tidy, even from blood. She sighed and looked down at the dress. She really liked it, too, and forced herself to make a mental note that she shouldn’t buy or wear white anymore.  ❝ Just, before I make any more of a mess, can you grab me a black garbage bag outta the kitchen…please? ❞

❝Ha, is that your way of saying you are glad to see me?❞ Deacon flashed a cheeky grin, but then quickly grimaced at the prospect of actually having to get up out of his comfortable seat. 

❝Ugh! Fine... whatever. But only because if you drip any more then Viago might blame me for it, and then he will nag and nag until I am stuck scrubbing it...❞ What he really needed was a new familiar, but that was irrelevant. Sauntering lazily into the kitchen, Deacon rooted around in the kitchen cabinets until he found something vaguely resembling a garbage bag. 

@nottwilight​ said: {From Nick} ❝What happened to all of the O positive bags in the fridge?❞

Vampire Themed Sentence Starters || Accepting

The O+ blood bags were, in fact, not all gone - there was one lingering in the bottom drawer, specifically hidden away from the hungry eyes of all who were not Deacon - but Nick didn’t need to know that. Deacon scoffed, as if the answer should be obvious.

❝What do you think happened to them? We drank them! I had a few - it was a very long night last night, got to keep my stamina up.❞ He winked, his intention to make it pretty clear exactly what he’d been doing all night to drain his stamina. Then Deacon frowned, his brow furrowing in irritation.

@vyrulent​ said: 🕯 lucy wants to know everything <3

Send 🕯 for Deacon to Talk About Someone from His Past || Accepting

Remembering the past could sometimes be difficult for Deacon, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He was not used to opening himself up like this, stripping away the standoffish layers to reveal something far more vulnerable - but he would do it, for her. She deserved to know his past, even if that involved telling her about his lost first love. 

❝Okay, so - ❞ He faltered, took a lengthy pause, and tried again.

❝You are the second woman named Lucy in my life. The first was a long time ago, I was... still a young vampire. Only a hundred years old, maybe.❞ Drawing in a long breath he did not need, he reached for Lucy’s hand and squeezed it gently. 

❝There was a woman I met, in a nightclub. She was gutsy, and brave, and maybe a little bit cheeky. And I thought I was in love with her. Kind of stupid, I get that now, but you know, one night, an erotic dance, a hand down the front of my pants in a bathroom stall - I got a bit carried away. I wanted to ask her to marry me then and there.❞ Deacon chuckled, half in disbelief at the follies of his youth and half in surprise that he hadn’t actually proposed on the spot. 

❝But she ran away on me, and that shit really fucked me up. She - she broke my heart.❞ Pointedly avoiding eye contact, he silently plucked at a loose thread on his cuff with his free hand before he began anew.  

@harkcr​ said: “ what if I uninvite you?”

Vampire - Human Starters || Accepting

Quite honestly, Deacon had no clue what would happen if he were to be suddenly uninvited. He did not know much about the limits of his vampire abilities, but he did know one thing: he did not want to find out. So he simply shrugged, and crossed his arms over his chest in what was hopefully as nonchalant a fashion as possible.

❝Probably nothing. I mean, I’m already in, aren’t I? What, if you uninvite me, am I magically going to be pulled out of the door? I doubt it.❞ It was entirely possible, actually, but as long as he ridiculed the possibility there was a low chance of it actually happening (in Deacon’s mind).