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bloodiedrogue · 1 year

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BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response.

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.”

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest.

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face.

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response.

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes.

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context.

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes.

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.”

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles.

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in.

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over.

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone.

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you.

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief.

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food.

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase.

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are.

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink.

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.”

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?”

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.”

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.”

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line.

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack.

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open.

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.”

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies.

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.”

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now.

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly.

“You fear me, don’t you?”

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills.

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.”

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear.

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire.

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you.

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in.

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross.

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold.

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open.

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull.

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood.

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare.

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.”

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?”

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close.

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code.

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over.

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought.

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fan fic #bg3 fan fic #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #summer writes

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see-arcane · 3 months

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Dracula has bitten me.

No, not the vampire. The book. Its pages attacked me through the twin menace of Dracula Daily and Re: Dracula (also on Tumblr as @re-dracula, so feel free to blame them), leaving me a wretched bloodstained fiend, cursed to scribble endlessly to spread undead horror throughout the land! Or its bookshelves, anyway.

I’ve already published a novella, The Vampyres, and am currently chipping away at a WIP called Harker, both with their grim gothic roots in Stoker’s novel. While you can learn more details through the attached links in the headers below, the summaries run like this:

The Vampyres

Set in the modern day, one very practiced bastard of a bloodsucker realizes that his fellow undead have started disappearing. All suddenly gone to dust and decay. Which would hardly bother him, except the entity responsible is now on his track. The eponymous Vampyre finds himself caught between a desperate investigation to uncover what this impossible psychopomp really is and making moves on an enticingly oblivious new victim he can’t wait to drain…supposing he keeps his head on his shoulders long enough to get a taste.

Harker

Jonathan Harker opens and closes the story of Dracula. He is the character who spends the most time with the dreaded Count in person. He is there for the torturous two-month stay in the gothic castle, he is there when the monster preys upon his beloved in the worst possible way, he is there at the very end of that vicious unlife. And yet, so many questions are left unanswered about him and what he endured between the lines. What happened in those missing dates within Castle Dracula? What happened as he ran through the Carpathians? And what was the source and result of that eerie change that came upon him on the 3rd of October? It’s about time we found out.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Fun stuff. Check out the previews available in the links if you’re interested! Also, my author website, See Arcane Scribbles, where there’ll be more info on how to get an eBook or print copy of The Vampyres, if you like.

Ko-Fi

In case you want to drop me a buck or commission some art.

Lastly, have some tunes for your contemporary or classic undead horror of choice:

#my writing #c.r. kane #horror #dracula #bram stoker #dracula daily #re: dracula #the vampyre #john william polidori #jonathan harker #harker #the vampyres #Spotify

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oliversrarebooks · 3 months

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vampire thrall time poll

If you had to be a thrall of one of the Bookseller vampires, who would you pick and why

#poll #vampires #alexander #fitz #lily #ruth #edith #jessica #jameson #maestro

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bridenore · 9 months

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HD Erised 2023 recs

Here are some of my favorite fics from @hd-erised 2023. Listed in alphabetical order.

Always the Last to Know by @nv-md [10k]

“I’m not napping,” Harry mumbled, his face still pressed to the floor. “I’m thinking.” “Salazar help us,” Draco muttered, walking around Harry’s prone body. Out of the corner of his eye, a bit blurrily, Harry watched as Draco lay beside him. “And what, pray tell, is so difficult to ponder that it requires a lie down?” Harry took a deep breath, very much considered lying, closed his eyes, and said, “Love.”

Clear Skies, Full Hearts by iota / @sorrybutblog [32k]

Harry loves everything about playing professional Quidditch – the rush of flying, the rush of winning, the rush of getting off with rival seeker Draco Malfoy. Harry’s the highest scoring rookie Seeker in the history of the League. He’s also, inexplicably, obsessively, hooking up with Draco. When Draco unexpectedly quits the League and disappears from Harry’s life, Harry doesn’t stop wondering what it all meant and if he’ll ever get another chance to find out.

Draco Malfoy, Bloodsucking Fiend by @kbrick [23k]

There are two things that Draco’s Auror partner, Harry Potter, must never know about him. One is that he’s a vampire. The other is that he’s been completely, pathetically, head-over-heels in love with Harry for years. But when the duo is trapped inside an old shop on Diagon Alley with no means of escape, Draco finds himself fiending for blood and unable to put even a modicum of distance between himself and the man he can’t stop lusting after.

How To Train Your Malfoy by @fencer-x [93k]

Good manners dictate that, when one’s best friend Apparates onto one’s doorstep holding the unconscious, haggard body of the schoolyard bully and begging for sanctuary, one ought to invite the two of them in for a cup of tea. Harry Potter sometimes wishes he weren’t so polite.

Jasmine in Bloom by @lqtraintracks [41k]

This is not something Draco can have in his life… Potter overturning all that he’s carefully cultivated. They’re not compatible and never will be. Draco’s been playing with fire. It just so happens that he likes how Potter smoulders before being allowed close enough to burn.

Last Time by bluefay / @thesleepiesthufflepuff [3k]

There are eight years of hatred and seven years of tolerance behind every tease, every blowjob, and every screw. No matter how it ends, though, Draco just hopes he doesn’t lose Potter as a friend.

Martyred by @doingthechachaslide [82k]

Harry Potter only wants one thing: to take care of the people he loves. After Teddy’s abrupt departure from his role as Andromeda’s caretaker, Harry decides it’s finally time to step up and handle the job himself. Castoff Manor, an old Black family estate, has never seemed as sinister as the stories make it sound, but it’s there that Harry stumbles upon ghosts, haunting family secrets, and a familiar, snarky blond gardener hell-bent on chasing him out. Maybe if Harry sticks around long enough, he’ll finally learn why all of Andromeda’s previous caretakers have fled without looking back.

Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship [118k]

If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked. And yet, here he was.

Nothing Gold Can Stay by @moonflower-rose [40k]

One summer evening, Harry Potter vanished in the middle of dinner with his friends. Four days later he came back. Sort of. Draco Malfoy is on the case.

The Room that Changed Everything by @multiverse-of-fanfic [18k]

When a sabotaged potion lands Harry and Draco in detention, Harry must wrestle with two uncomfortable truths: One, Malfoy the nemesis no longer exists. And Two, Harry is embarrassingly attracted to him. With the war behind them, can Harry and Malfoy build something from the ashes, or are they doomed to be enemies forever?

Sugarplum by @mallstars [27k]

The air crackled as it busied itself shifting around molecules, making way for a hefty slab of magic, and then there it was: the Knight Bus, squeezed neatly into a pocket of Wizarding space among stagnant Muggle buses, vibrant violet amidst a string of cherry red. The door sprang open. "Draco," said Potter, a little breathless, a little cheerful. He smelled of coconut lotion, Cockroach Clusters and a sloppy ironing charm. Lifting one hand off the steering wheel, Potter gave a small wave. He wore gloves. Fingerless, the leather black against the sunlight. Leather. In August.

Thickets by @wolfpants [17k]

When Draco returns to the UK after two decades of building his career as an internationally-renowned artist to look after his ailing, estranged father, he crosses paths with his former flame, Harry Potter, in the most unexpected way.

The Unplottable Time Conundrum by @writcraft [45k]

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

we have heard on high by @oflights [34k]

Reeling from the fallout of a bad breakup, Harry decides to find out who his soulmate is. The bad news: it's Draco Malfoy. The good news: Malfoy doesn't seem to know they're soulmates. The worst news: Harry might be falling for him anyway.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #drarry fest #hd erised

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vampireopossum · 2 years

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serious literary criticism time ! (cw for bestiality mention)

i’ve been reading Christopher Moore’s vampire trilogy (bloodsucking fiends / you suck / bite me) and i’ve been having a good time ! they’re pretty good books with solid plot lines and real-feeling characters, flaws and all. nobody in these books are perfect people, and that makes them perfect characters. if that makes sense, which it totally does.

big flaw i’ve noticed though is this: queerness is present in these books. but only ever as a joke or a punchline.

there’s five chinese guys trying to marry the male lead because they heard that’s a thing they can do in san francisco and they’re looking for green cards.

there’s a fortune teller who has Madame in their title, but is only ever referred to as he/him and the text seems to use them having a beard and being fat while wearing a dress as a joke (idk maybe this one’s ok, but it rubs me the wrong way).

there’s a time when the male lead (as a vampire) falls off a roof and into an alley and meets a trans woman. then, after like two sentences of flirting, he realizes she’s trans and immediately asks if she’s a man (which she answers like a champ, by saying that’s a “road she left behind” or smth) and starts being overly no-homo* about the whole affair (literally yelling “i’m not gay” as they part ways.) the trans woman is later referred to as a drag queen by a 16 year old, but that’s more about the 16 year old being weird and off-the-mark than anything else

there’s a teen boy who’s gay. and he writes erotic fiction between a self insert and a character with the same name as his pet rat. and everyone keeps making jokes implying he’s in love with the rat (and may or may not have actually done horrible things to it). that’s REAL yikes.

there’s a gay cop. and he keeps making really uncomfortable remarks about the male lead’s ass.

the female lead is slightly mean to some guy on the street, he asks if she’s a lesbian, and she screams at him loud enough to shatter the restaurant window behind her. then she’s slightly mean to some guy in line for a club, he tells someone else she’s a lesbian, and she tells herself she should’ve murdered him.

some guy has aids and wants to be vampire-d so it doesn’t kill him, and tries to shoot the female lead about it. also starts the conversation with “don’t worry i’m not gay, i got it from drugs”

i really do like these books. and from what i remember, Moore’s other novels didn’t have this problem. but he needs to get his act together soon, because this is getting exhausting

*btw the no-homo things is a long-spanning theme. everyone in these books is obsessed with not being gay. it gets old.

#christopher moore #bloodsucking fiends #you suck #bite me #literature #literary critique #literary criticism #criticism #oc

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 3 months

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Convenience Store Vampire, part 1

The sun was rising, leaving streaks of fire in a dying sky. The birds thronged out of their nests like a miasma of locusts, blotting out the light with their silhouettes. Mortal chattel swarmed the streets, beginning the trek to their drudgery.

I lounged on my chassis, sipping a cup of wine, a prince of darkness waiting to descend upon his dominion. I was the lord of things of the night, a member of the superior species. A vampire, in short. A bloodsucking, maiden-seducing, mind-controlling fiend.

As the clock struck 7, I drifted upright and out the door. Straightening my collar, I surveyed the hallway before me with an aura of disdain. With careful, elegant steps, I glided down the stairs and out the door.

Across the street from me stood my sanctum, the place I would spend my sunlight days. A throne worthy of one such as I, a mighty fortress-

Ah, who am I kidding? It was a convenience store. I was a convenience store worker. A convenience store vampire. The only thing I ruled over was rows of snacks. It was humiliating, but it paid the rent and the blood-price.

“Davey? Ah, good thing you're here, dearie,” Mrs Carter, a regular customer, said. Despite being several hundred years younger than me, she persisted in treating me like a little boy. “I've just run out of sugar! Jeannie is coming over today, and I was gonna bake some cookies for the littlies. They love the stuff, you know?”

I nodded absentmindedly as I unlocked the shutters of the shop, flicking on the fluorescent lights. Did she even know I was a vampire? With some people, it was hard to tell. “Come on in, Mrs Carter,” I told her, flipping the sign to ‘Open’.

“Speaking of which, do you have a girlfriend? A handsome young man like you ought to have a girl,” she said with a suggestive wink.

I gave her a close mouthed smile. “No, not really,” I said. Even the maiden-seducing part was a lie, I thought gloomily. Other vampires wanted nothing to do with me, other inhumans thought I was a joke, and mortals were too scared of me. There were those who liked the idea of dating a vampire, but those scared me. Besides, those sorts were looking for a prince of darkness, not a prince of restocking shelves.

“What a shame, dearie,” Mrs Carter said, humming to herself. “Say, my youngest is about your age, and she doesn't have a man either. Why don't I arrange a nice little date between the two of you?”

Her daughter was most assuredly not my age, I thought wryly. It would be more appropriate to date Mrs Carter. Nonetheless, I said, “Why not? Tell her I'm free every night.”

Mrs Carter brightened up, handing me her carton of eggs and a tenner. “That's the spirit, dear!”

I returned a handful of change. The nice thing about the compulsive counting of vampires was that I always knew how much change there was in the cash register. “Have a nice day, Mrs Carter,” I told her.

She waddled out of the store, satisfied, leaving me alone in my realm of microwave meals. That was generally how my days went. I worked in a quiet part of town, where we were lucky to see more than a dozen customers a day. There was no glory in it, no adventure or romance.

People tended to think of vampires as terrifying, powerful beings who played incomprehensible games of intrigue amongst themselves. By and large, they weren't wrong. Most of my kind loved sticking their fingers in every pie and their noses in everyone else's business. But some of us didn't like the high life, and some of us… Well, we really didn't have a choice.

I lounged against the counter, keeping a safe distance from the morning sunlight that filtered through the windows. My manager had had UV protection installed (as per the guidelines for diversity-friendly hiring), but it really wasn't enough. So I lurked in the comfortable shadow of the cashier, elbows on the plastic table and hands clasped together. In another time, another realm, I could almost be a tycoon making a business deal, I thought sadly.

Then the door opened, and I was back to reality.

A tiny elf stood there, her hair pale as snow and her eyes barely tinged with gold. I knew her, though she was not a customer, and I mustered up a smile for her. “Hash, what might you be doing here?”

Hash was another of my kind, a shapeshifter who ran about wearing the face of an elf-child. People had a tendency to distrust shapeshifters, so it helped when she stuck to one form. It took me a whole 13 decades to find out what she actually was, and another couple of months to understand her horrendous Paliodaen accent.

She pranced over and pulled me into a bear hug. “Jus’ came to check on ya, Dave! And-” She rubbed the back of her head awkwardly.

“Ya do know there's a dead Exorcist outside yer door, right? I think he's forming a ghost, too.”

(I felt like trying my hand at more cozy urban fantasy... Let me know what y'all think!)

Taglist:

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