It had been innocent enough when you first started writing them. A friend had suggested you write letters to yourself, to try and work through and understand your own feelings. Only, writing to yourself had felt stupid.
With a dry smile, you had decided to write a letter as if you were writing to Dracula himself. The idea was amusing enough, and surprisingly, you were able to be genuine with your letter, though you still didn’t express too much of how you felt.
The next day, feeling a touch of childish whimsy, you took it with you on your walk, and put it in the mailbox in town. it had no address or return address, but you thought it amusing all the same. Until a reply showed up at your doorstep a few days later.
It unnerved you at first, that someone had not only replied, but somehow known where to reply too. They seemed to have taken great care to make it realistic too, the paper of both the envelope and letter itself, feeling expensive and thick, and the writing done in elegant cursive.
After a few days, you decided that the correspondence couldn’t hurt, and so you replied to the curious letter, explaining the reason for your first, and apologising. It took only two days for a reply to come, after you had mailed yours, the same way you had before. There was acceptance there, and a tentative offer for you to continue. And continue you did.
Before you knew it, you had been writing to your stranger for over a year. Your letters with the stranger (call me Vlad, my dear) had become more personal, the two of you sharing things that you hadn’t really been able to voice before. It was nice to pretend that Vlad was real, and genuine with his stories and emotions. They chased away some of the darkness in your mind, and made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t so lonely and detached from the world.
Not all good things could last however. Your home life was only getting worse, and despite being an adult and having a job, you knew there was few options for you, if you left.
You started to lag in your responses with Vlad, your comments becoming darker and shorter. Eventually he questioned you about it, and you admitted that things were getting worse, and that your mind was taking you to increasingly dark and dangerous places. You honestly weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on like this.
By the time his next reply came, you didn’t have it in you to check. You knew it was all a lie, something funny and amusing to pass two peoples time, but it had felt like more than that for a long time, and your foolish heart apparently didn’t know the difference either. Your replies had become prompt with each other over time, never taking more than two days to send to the other, but your mind and heart were too clouded, and your motivation had died. A few weeks passed, and the letter sat unopened still, as did two more that had arrived.
You were in the midst of a loud shouting match, or rather being shouted at, when there was a knock at the door. They cursed at you and stomped over to it, going to see who it was, while you stared blankly at the wall, tucking all the emotions away. You flinched as your name was shouted, and hesitantly made your way to the front door, wondering who the hell would be looking for you of all people.
Standing there, an umbrella held overhead to block the rain, was an incredibly tall and broad shouldered man. His pale skin stood out starkly against his expensive black suit and long black hair. Pulling his sunglasses down off his face, you found your eyes locking with the dark hellfire seeming to burn within his own. His expression softened slightly from the cold intimidating look he had held, and he gave you a small smile.
“Hello my dear….”
Looking up, I felt all colour draining from my body. “Y… you’re real,” I whispered, fear mingling with awe and euphoria in my voice as a tear fell down my face.
He gently reached a hand out, cupping my cheek as he nodded. “You thought I was…otherwise, devotchka?”
So short, but made my heart ache (in a good way). Thank you Darling.
Ok but hear me out, the vampire Carmilla? who turned into a cat? elegant? only drank from her lover’s left breast?
If I could write ship fics this would be the perfect Momojirou au. Come on.
You either have Momo the lesbian vamp, smitten with the beautiful young Jirou who swoons at the attention of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen.
Or high class Momo who waits at the balcony for her mystery shrouded lover to visit each night, Jirou having stolen her heart long ago and promising to steal her away into the night.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.
Oscar Wilde – The Picture of Dorian Gray
Pressed against his side, icy arms wrapped around your waist, nimble fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt to rest on warm skin.
“Darling, you’re absolutely freezing.” you mutter quietly.
He chuckles, cool lips pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.
“Cold as a corpse I suppose.”
You crack a grin, elbowing him lightly and causing another moment of laughter.
Even though you’re well aware he couldn’t eat any of it, it still seems rude only preparing a meal for yourself. The knife clicks against the cutting board when fingers, warm and careful slip onto your torso.
You jolt, spinning around and raising your blade to the neck of-
“Darling?” you are met with the face of your beloved, who looks only slightly interested by the knife hovering an inch from his throat.
He only lights an eyebrow at your actions. “Is everything alright, my love?”
You slowly lower your weapon, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Oh, I am perfectly fine.” Taking in his appearance and noting the odd blanket wrapped over his shoulder “Are you ok?”
The tone of your voice as you glance at the rather warm hand that was pressed against you makes him grin,
“Completely as well.” he hums. “I thoughts maybe an electric blanket might solve our earlier dilemma.”
He pulls you close, pressing himself against you, heat resonates through his skin. You can feel the warmth still radiating from the small blanket which is still on high
You rest your chin on his shoulder, nose pressed against his strangely hot neck where the blanket had been resting, one arm reaching around to hold him close.
“This feels weird.” you mumble against him, words tickling his skin. “Unnatural.” you add.
His laughter is deep, you already know the joyous expression on his face before he pulls away.
“More unnatural than the flesh of the living dead?” The twinkle in his eye tugs at your heart.
But you only roll your eyes, not attempting to hide your smile.
“Oh yes, cuddling with corpses has always been my preference anyway.” You turn back to the food you were preparing.
Oddly warm arms slip around your waist once more, your over leans down to rest his head on your shoulder to watch.
“It smells delicious, my love. Outdoing yourself once again.”
You scoff, momentarily curious to if he ever tasted half the ingredients while alive.
“But,” he grins, fangs slipping out and grazing your neck teasingly. “it could never be near as diving tasting as you, my sweet, sweet beloved.”
“Do you want to eat before or after me, dear?” As you finish your task.
He pretends to give it thought, making a little sound while re-resting his chin on your shoulder.
“After. Your tiredness is perfect for stealing more affection and cuddles.”
Your lift your and it hand slips through his silk-like soft hair causing him to sign in content.
“Agreed, but without the blanket please?” Moving away from him to finish your meal.
He chuckles again, sliding the fabric off and folding it neatly.
“Does it truly bother you that much?” He inquires.
“I’m used to the frigid touch of someone who hasn’t had pumping blood in centuries, thank you for the attempt though.” you turn, pulling him to you and place a kiss to the corner of his familiarly cold lips. “You really are so sweet.”
Your sweet touch causes him a lovestruck and dopey smile, he would surely blush if he could.
“If I go bathe in ice could we cuddle sooner?” The near childishness in the voice of such a ‘creature of the night’ makes you grin.
“Too cold.” He pouts at your words, shoulders falling limp.
“Besides,” you hum, “if you ever need warmed up I’m sure I could get my body to suffice.” You peak at him, tongue tied and someone more pale.
“How would that work?” He gulps, mouth suddenly very dry.
Toad's Cave 