#i don’t think it’s erika sears? i can’t remember!!

[autoneurotic]

art block so bad. i want to paint i can picture the style i want to paint in but cannot make it happen

[thewitchandthebeasthimself]

The Witch and the Beast Himself: Chapter 11

I stood directly across from Izaya in my apartment with a fireball in my left hand, prepared to take him on. He stood across from me in my kitchen, posed in a fighting stance with his flick blade out and pointing at me. While he was right that I didn’t want to damage my apartment in any way, I needed to make it clear that he was not welcome to invade my home and that messing with me was a bad idea.

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me?” Izaya taunted me in English. “Or are we going to get this over with?”

“What are you even talking about?” I replied in English. “Why are you doing this to us?! All I wanted was a nice and peaceful life here but you continue to butt in!”

“I’ve already explained myself to you,” He responded. “Plus what made you think you were going to have a ‘nice and peaceful life’ here of all places? This city is brimming with dangerous savages and criminals. Nothing about this city is ‘nice and peaceful’. You signed up for this life once you moved here and started dating Shizu-chan, the most savage of them all. If you’ve found your person yet, then you should probably leave this city while you can.”

“I did find my person,” I replied, thinking of Celty. “And a few other great people along the way. They’ve become really great friends of mine and I am thankful to have them through all of this! Nothing you say is going to change my mind!”  

Celty’s outside! I thought. I need to get her attention, she could help me stop him!

“Yeah yeah,” Izaya waved his flick blade around as if to emphasize that he did not care either way. “They’ll turn on you once they find out who you are if they haven’t already.”

“No, you’re wrong,” I said. “Some have already seen it and continued to stay by my side.”

“I’m afraid that's where you're wrong. I’ve spent nearly my entire life watching and observing humans. They will turn their back on you the moment it is necessary for them to. Or worse, use you only for your power.” Izaya taunted. “You know why, (your name)? Because they’re human! All your friends are humans. It’s natural for humans to deny ideas and situations that they can’t understand even if it’s staring them dead in the face! Or they'll use you for their own means; they won't give a damn how you feel in the process because all you did was become beneficial to them. And that’s one reason why I love all humans, (your name)! I love every single one of them! Even the dangerous ones that make up this lovely hellhole!”

“You’re a fucking psychopath, Izaya. I’m done listening to you. Last warning, get the FUCK out of here RIGHT NOW before I burn your ass!”

He smirked at me as if my warning did not faze him, holding up his knife again. “You’ll realize it soon enough, (your name). I know every one of those humans you hang around. I know Celty. And I sure know that beast you're in love with.”

“I’m done listening to you!” I yelled angrily, charging at him with my fireball in hand to swipe it at him. He dodged me again by jumping to my left.

“Oop, too slow!” He laughed as he dodged my attack.

About as quickly as he jumped away from me I felt a jab of searing pain in my left side that pulsated throughout my body. I felt every move he made in almost slow motion as he shoved his flick blade into my side and quickly yanked it out. It took me a minute to realize exactly what just happened.

He stabbed me!  

“Ahhhh!!” I screamed out. My fireball went out as I bent over and held my side in pain. Struggling to catch my breath, I gasped as I looked up to see him point his blade in my face with an inch of my blood dripping from the tip. The sight of it shocked me, causing me to go hazy. My strength drained from my body; I began to feel weaker and weaker as I realized that he stabbed a vital pressure point. As I lost more blood I fell down on the ground, unable to move my body and gasping for air.

Dammit, I fucked up. After he mentioned Shizuo, I didn't stop to think about what I was doing before I acted. And now it has cost my life.

Izaya laughed at me again. “You didn’t see that coming, did you?! You’ve been hanging around Shizu-chan for too long! Unfortunate for you, you don’t have Shizu-chan’s retard strength! Well it was nice knowing you, (your name) and thanks for the blood. I’ve heard that a witch’s blood has powerful magic of its own, which I will put to the test. Buh-bye now!” I watched with blurry vision as he walked over to my living room window to jump out of it until a shadowy figure jumped over my body. It appeared to pull a bright silver katana straight out of it’s arm and lunged at Izaya. He quickly spun around to intercept its attack with his blood-coated flick blade. The clash of the two weapons caused him to lose his grip on his flick blade and sent it flying towards me. I watched in a dark daze as the flick blade slid and stopped in front of me as the two figures continued to fight. The last defining feature I caught of the shadowy figure before blacking out was it’s glowing red eyes.

**************************************************

Everything was a blur as I went in and out of consciousness. I caught glimpse of me laying down with my head in someone’s lap and being pulled by a black, shadowy horse drawn carriage. In another I heard Shizuo yelling incoherently at the top of his lungs. The rest was endless floating in the complete darkness of my subconscious with an unbearable, shooting pain in my side.

Multiple times I felt myself being drawn closer and closer to a comforting, faint light in the dark. Each time that I started to float towards it, the excruciating pain in my side lessened. But the closer I got to it, the clearer it became to me that once I reached it, my life on Earth was over. I thought of everyone that’s ever been in my life: Mom, Dad, some of my old friends in the US, the friends I’ve made here, and Shizuo. I would never see them again. I would never get to see my parents again. I would never get to laugh and talk about anime and manga with Erika, Walker, and the rest of the van gang. I would never get to become better acquainted Celty and Shinra. And most of all, my relationship with Shizuo would not continue. I would never get to feel his touch, experience his light hearted playfulness, or his sweet, warm kiss again.

And worst, I will never get to tell him I loved him.

Maybe Izaya was right. Coming here may have not been best decision in my life. I should’ve stayed hidden in Salem til I grew old, tired, and passed away of old age. But then again, maybe it would be better to just let myself go because now I get to experience the Paradise that awaits me at that the end of the light.

I thought of Izaya and all that he’s put me through. As much as he wants to taunt me and make me feel like garbage for coming here and falling in love with Shizuo, if I let myself die then that would mean Izaya won. He would continue to go after Shizuo without me around to be there by his side. He would have proven that I should’ve never came and that living a nice and peaceful life in this city would be impossible. I can’t allow that. I can’t allow that fucker to win! And I sure as hell can't leave everyone I know and love behind. Most of all, I can't leave Shizuo behind.

I planted myself in my hazy black dream, causing me to feel the pain with full force, as if I were stabbed a second time. I felt myself fall through blackness, down to the Earth, and crash land on my back, causing me to wake up, coughing and gasping for air. I woke up in a bright, white room which appeared to be a hospital, lying on a bed. I was wearing a hospital gown and had a hospital blanket draped over my chest. When I tried to sit up, pain seared from my side through my ribs. I winced and groaned before accepting the position I was in and lying back down.

“Ughhh, this sucks,” I groaned in English.

I felt a faint energy at my feet that jumped up. I was then greeted by Shizuo, who leaned his face into mine for a passionate kiss and an extremely light hug. Once he pulled away I seen expressions on his face that I had never seen before: worry and fear. He had been crying. He wiped the tears from his face, causing me to tear up a bit myself.

“You’re finally awake.” he said softly in Japanese. It took me a minute to process what he was saying to me as if I suddenly forgotten how to speak the language. I then understood what he said, replying in Japanese, “How long was I out?”

“It’s been about a week.”

“About a week?!” My eyes widened. “It felt like I was only out for a few hours.”

“Nope, it's been much longer than that. We thought you were...dead.” he shuddered. “Celty and that Saika girl rushed you to the hospital as soon as they could. The nurses eventually told us all that you could've died at any moment and that you were barely hanging on.”

“That's… that's crazy. I really had no idea it’d been that long. I'm sorry I was out for so long.” I said, feeling tears forming in my eyes.

“You better stop that shit,” Shizuo lightly joked, the skin around his eyes and cheekbones becoming red and puffy as if he were about to tear up himself. “And don't apologize to me about it. Neither of us saw it coming. You’re really lucky that the Saika girl happened to stop by when she did.”

“Who’s the ‘Saika girl’?” I asked.

“Um, shit, I can't ever remember her name. She lives next door to you, has glasses, big boobs…”

“Anri?!” I gasped. Was she that black shadowy figure with red eyes that I saw fighting Izaya before I passed out?

“Yeah, her!” Shizuo snapped his fingers as if I jogged his memory. “She told me everything that happened. She said that she noticed something really weird was going on in your place so she went to check on you. That’s when she saw that cockroach there and he’d stabbed you.” Anger spiked in his voice once he mentioned what Izaya did, but tried to contain himself. I could feel in his energy that he did not want to lose his temper in front of me in my condition. “She followed him after he jumped out your window but her path was blocked by those Blood shits. After slashing a couple of them and freaking them out, she said she ran back to your apartment to see Celty had went in and discovered what happened. They also found that he dropped his blade beside you before he took off.”

“Yeah, I remember that part, Anri knocked it out of his hand before I passed out.” I recalled, realizing that the black shadowy figure was definitely Anri.

“After that, they brought you here. I didn't find out until later on that night when Celty called Shinra.” Shizuo pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes before continuing his story. “I tried to go after the shithead to make him pay for what he did to you but I couldn't find him.”

“You’re getting creative with your nicknames,” I joked with him. He looked at me with seriousness in his face that made me lose my smile, seeing that he was no longer in a joking mood. I decided that I should be more considerate towards him since he had to wait almost a week for me to wake up.

“I'm just… I'm sick of this.” Shizuo said. “I'm sick of him butting into my life like this all the time and now he's brought you in the middle of it. I don't know what to do anymore. Maybe we should break up so that he'll leave you alone.”

“No!” I jumped up so quickly that the pain in my side sharpened. I winced a bit at the pain before lying back down and continuing, “I had some time to think about our relationship while I was pondering on my deathbed. Despite what he's put us through lately I don't want to break up. That would just mean that he won and he'll keep doing this to you until one of you kills the other. Plus did you honestly think I’d just agree to something like that?”

“Yeah… you're right.” he replied, taking in every word I said.

“I know I fucked up. I reacted to fast which allowed him the advantage. Normally I think my fights through before I act but I guess I was just so angry at him that I might've underestimated him at the time. But I promise that won't happen again.”

“I really hope so,” Shizuo said. “Because this will not be our last fight with him. The fleabag is up to something, and we need to stay prepared for whatever it is.”

“Of course,” I said. “I'm prepared to take on anything knowing that you'll be right there with me.”

He leaned his face back into mine, smiling gratefully.

“You know something, (your name)?” Shizuo said.

“What?”

“You look so beautiful right now, even like this.”

“Oh stop it, there's no way you could think that at a time like this.”

“I do think that. I think that about you all the time, no matter where we are or what we're doing.” he paused for a minute to watch my face, then said, “I’m so glad I didn't lose you. I missed you so much while you were out of it. It would've really sucked if you died on me before I even got a chance to say that I loved you.”

I looked into his eyes, taken aback that he finally said it to me. “I missed you too, Shizuo. So were you telling me that you loved me just now?”

Shizuo leaned his face into mine for another kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me so that I would not have to raise up to him. He pulled back slightly to confidently say, “Yeah, and I'll say it again: I love you, (your name).”

I giggled in excitement and pulled him into me for another hug.

“I love you too, Shizuo Heiwajima.”

[churchyardgrim]

I already posted this bit once before but here have an updated version with Extra Suffering, bc this prof character was created to be pathetic

The door cracks open approximately an inch and a half, revealing a sliver of face, pinched in suspicion.

“Who are you? Janitors? Telemarketers?”

Harker gets the feeling the man’s never seen either. “Doctor Pelman?”

The face blanches. “Students?” The door snaps shut, a muffled “Not on my life!” audible through it. Repeated knocking produces similar results, and one or two shouts for them to go away.

Harker rubs her forehead in frustration. “Doctor Pelman, we have questions!”

Through the door, “So do I! Plenty of them! Don’t need any more, thanks!”

“About the man in charge of Rotlieb.”

That gets them abrupt silence. It goes on long enough to worry, and then long enough that Erika’s able to pick the lock. When it finally opens it reveals an office in a permanent organic state of disarray, a downright impressive collection of antique globes, and a squirrely looking man halfway out a window that doesn’t look like it was designed to open.

Harker lunges, grabs, pulls.

After a brief scuffle they manage to get the doctor into a chair, Ifian standing helpfully in front of the pried-open window like a very colorful brick wall.

Doctor Pelman shakes his head, hands twisted together. He has the look of someone suffering long-term illness; his bio on the university site says he’s in his late 30s, but in person Harker’s having a hard time believing anything under 50. Under other circumstances, she’d chalk it up to academia.

“You can’t be asking me these things, there, there’ll be consequences.”

“Listen, we need to know,” she’s trying to keep her impatience from showing, not entirely successfully, “we need to know what we’re up against.”

That makes him laugh. “So don’t go against him! Get out of here, change your names, give him something juicy and valuable on your way out so he doesn’t chase you across the continent.”

Harker eyes him sharply. “Did that work for you?”

That shuts him up. Harker pushes on. “Look, I somehow have something he wants and if I could give it up without dying, we wouldn’t even be in this mess. But it’s not worth my life.

Pelman just shakes his head adamantly. “And it’s not worth mine to help you.” He looks up, eyes pleading. “Don’t you understand, he’ll know!

Harker’s jaw clenches, blunt teeth grinding together. “And if you help us he’ll never get to you! If we can take him down, if we can win—”

They’re both yelling now, straining to be heard, to be listened to, and Ifian steps between them as effectively as a mute button, cutting them both off. Erika puts her hands on Harker’s shoulders, pulling her back a step. She seethes, argument stuck on why won’t you listen to me, and it’s an effort not to lash out.

The goat is silent in her head.

There’s a frail-sounding exhale, then: “You know what he is, you must have some clues already.”

Ifian answers, “We did research, but there’s no way to tell what’s real and what’s fake. We found stories of vampire watermelons, it can’t all be true. And the stories my grandmother told are different than what the books say, there seem to be regional differences.”

Pelman sits back down, looking tired. “I don’t know about regional differences. Some of the myths are real, but for all I know they’ll only apply to him and no one else. Sunlight, silver, stake through the heart, that sort of thing. Maybe decapitation, fire. He doesn’t like garlic but it’s not going to stop him. Don’t bother with mirrors or crosses, they’ll probably just make him mad.”

He looks up, sallow and sad. “He eats people, you know that? Even if it’s not your blood he takes, he’ll eat your life, he’ll use your people against you and, and by the end of it he’ll have you thanking him for leaving you alive, with whatever shreds he didn’t see fit to take.” He swallows thickly, trembling. “He can’t be fought. He can barely be survived.”

Harker blinks slowly, quiet. Will this be her, after? Will she be this broken? He’ll use your people against you.

The conversation still rattles around her brain for a while afterwards, she barely tastes the coffee they get on the way home.

“That’s what we can use; what should we watch out for?” Erika had asked, ever pragmatic, covering all their bases.

“He’s fast, he’s strong. He could throw you around like dolls,” was Pelman’s nervous reply. After a slow inhale, he continued, “I-I don’t think that cane is for show, he limps, sometimes. He’s been around centuries, who knows what else he’s tangled with. He must have lost some fights, at least some. He’ll mess with your head, though, put thoughts in that aren’t yours, make you want things…”

He’d trailed off then, shuddering slightly and staring off into a point on the carpet that seemed to stretch forever.

Erika pulled him back. “And his situation? Is there anyone close to him we should know about?”

“I… I don’t know. He’s got minions, servants.” His brow furrowed. “The last time, there was a kid…”

The women glanced at each other at that. “A kid?”

Pelman nodded. “I don’t know why, I don’t… I don’t remember what he said to her. God, a kid in a place like that…”

There’s children involved now? Christ… Harker sucks absently on her straw for a minute before realizing she’s only getting foam and air.

She sighs, chucks the empty cup in the nearest bin, and shoves her hands in her pockets. Ahead of her, Erika is keeping up a running stream of verbal thoughts on what they just learned; she’d been taking notes on her phone, and shows Ifian a passage or two, asking for input.

Harker lags a step or two behind, lost in thought.

————————————

Days pass.

It’s late, edging on midnight, when there’s a knock on Pelman’s door. He looks up, having just gotten into the flow of grading; even through his obtusely constructed office hours, the nuisances commonly known as students still manage to find him for advice and questioning, and some of these papers are infuriatingly complex. He’s forced to actually read them, instead of merely passing off a grade based on font choice and title.

His guest knocks again. He groans internally. “Enter.”

Then he leaps to his feet, boredom fleeing before alarm. “You, I— I wasn’t expecting—”

“I have been occupied, as of late,” Gregory drawls, sweeping into the room as if he owns it, “with a matter of great importance to me.” Red eyes flick to him, feeling like a physical force. “Imagine my surprise when I learn my quarry had paid you a visit.”

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but the lie sticks in his throat like glue. Gregory rests his cane against the desk, holding his weight awkwardly, and advances.

“What did you tell them, Victor?”

Pelman steps back, reaching for balance. “N-nothing, I— who? Tell who?”

Gregory’s cool hand touches his collarbone, slides up around his neck, pushes him back the half step against the bookcase. “What did you tell them?”

Pelman squeezes his eyes shut, pulse pounding in his ears. Those women, he can’t. He can’t just give them up so easily.

But he can no more resist this almost-man; the hook this thing buried in his brain tugs, pulls out a litany of words speared on its end, trailing like colorful handkerchiefs. His mouth moves of its own accord, and it’s all he can do to hold back just a scrap, keep a shred of information for himself, and pray Gregory doesn’t go looking further.

He does not.

He is too busy putting pressure on Pelman’s neck, squeezing until he rattles an inhale. “You wretch,” he hisses, “do you know what you have jeopardized—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. The pressure on Pelman’s windpipe lessens, long fingers loosening. He wheezes, swallows roughly.

“You are getting expensive to keep, Victor…” the vampire hums. “You have less and less to give me, and then you go and make foolish decisions like that…”

“I—I—I can come up with more,” Pelman babbles, self-preservation instincts kicking into gear. “I’m, I’m almost done with those diary pages, just give me more and I can translate them. Th-the tenure panels aren’t that important, I can't get someone else to do that, I can… I c-can…”

He trails off, stuttering uselessly; Gregory had slid the hand cradling his throat up, tilting his head up and back, humming pensively. Pelman’s heart makes a painful leap. “No.”

Gregory leans forward, nostrils flaring to take in the scent of Pelman’s skin, parchment and nervous sweat. The professor presses himself back painfully into bookcase, a shelf digging painfully into his spine.

“No, no no no please, please I—”

“This is your own fault,” Gregory whispers, breath damp against Pelman’s throat. “You could have sent them away. You could have lied. You could have even brought them to me directly. Instead you betray me, and you know I don’t take kindly to that…”

The touch of his lips makes Pelman flinch, an obscene parody of a kiss.

The bite is quick and clean and makes Pelman release an aborted sound of pain, pinned soundly to the shelves behind him. It hurts it hurts, searing through him horribly, making his extremities tingle. Gregory’s weight against him is insistent, one thin arm snaking around his waist.

“Please, st-stop…”

He moans weakly, sweat shining on his face. The pressure under the pain intensifies, the unhurried sucking sensation making his stomach turn. He’s lightheaded, overwhelmed, and his hips jerk sporadically as his mind is washed out of everything but a litany of no no no (yes yes yes.)

After a solid eternity, Gregory’s mouth recedes, his long tongue passing over the wound languidly. “Mm, good.”

He releases Pelman, who promptly crumples, sliding down in a barely controlled fall. He presses a hand to the still-oozing bite, whimpering. Still conscious, though. That’s an improvement.

Gregory turns, his searing attention lifted from Pelman, and stalks to the door, snatching his cane from its resting place against Pelman’s desk. “I will expect your assistance with this matter, I have to fix the mess you made.”

“Yes…” Pelman murmurs, hazy; whatever he says.

The door clicks shut, and he is alone.