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rjalker · 4 months

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god this took an hour but here you go. The Black-Vampyre, in actually readable text.

I haven't even read it. I have no warnings to offer you until I read it tomorrow.

"how can you edit text without reading it" strategically blurring my eyes. so I could edit the Astounding Stories of Super-Science stories without getting spoiled for the very end of the thing.

The Black-Vampyre was published in 1819, and according to wikipedia and the other tumblr post I just reblogged, it's about a slave who is murdered, comes back as a vampire, and gets revenge.

what else happens? IDk. There's a really fucking long poem at the end though. this was apparently published under a pseudonym so I guess we don't actually know who wrote it.

so, it could be super racist. I'll find out tomorrow. sorry if you read it now and it turns out it is super racist. I'd like to hope the people on the original post would mention that if that were the case but. well.

anyways this is public domain. download it. please. save it. share it. email it to yourself and your friends. print it out. it's fucking readable. Here's the original PDF for your nightmarish comparison.

the names were originally in all caps like in a play, and I'll make a version without that tomorrow. but like I said. I would like to go to sleep.

enjoy. hopefully. goodnight.

The Black Vampyre;

A Legend of St. Domingo.

By Uriah Derick D’arcy

So have I seen, upon another shore, Another Lion give a grievous roar; And the last Lion thought the first—A BOAR!

-Bombast. Furios

_______

SECOND EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. NEW -YORK: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.

1819.

TO THE

AUTHOR OF “WALL-STREET.”

MY DEAR SIR,

CHARMED with the success of your anomalous drama, which, without aspiring even to the character of nonsense, has already seen three editions, I have been myself induced to venture on publishing; with the sanguine hope of also scraping together a few shillings, in these hard times. Permit me to inscribe this tale to you, with a fellow-feeling for your lack of genius; and a fervent hope, that our names may be encircled by the same evergreen in the temple of the Muses; and that we may long flourish together, on the same pedestal, embellishing and elevating the literature of the Auction Room.

I remain, My dear Sir, Your affectionate Friend, And obedient Servant, THE AUTHOR.

Introduction

If any person should have patience to read the following narrative, and can discover the Author’s drift, it is more than he can do himself. If it be thought exquisite nonsense, it is more than the writer dares hope: and if it be pronounced simple, stupid, and unadulterated absurdity, his own private opinion will perfectly coincide with that of the public. He began to write without any fable, and before he had found any had spun out the thread of his ideas.

This tangled skein of absurdities is now exposed to criticism, from the laudable motive of showing, of how much nonsense an individual may be delivered, in the short space of two afternoons; without any excuse but idleness, or any object but amusement.

The prominent descriptions, which it is here attempted to ridicule, are fresh in the memory of all who have read the “White Vampyre;” and to those who have not, the Superstition must be so familiar, that it is unnecessary to make useless extracts.

That the Author may not, however, be misunderstood, it may be necessary to state, that in the speech of the Vampyre, he had no design of descending to that meanest of all intellectual exercises, a travestie on authors who are justly admired: but meant, if any thing, simply to show how passages, which were fine in their original use, when garbelled by the ignorant and tasteless, become a melancholy rhapsody of nonsense.

“But first on earth, as Vampyre sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent; Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet, which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire; As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem. But one that for thy crime must fall, The youngest, best beloved of all, Shall bless thee with a father’s name— That word shall wrap thy heart in flame! Yet thou must end thy task and mark Her cheek’s last tinge—her eye’s last spark, And the last glassy glance must view Which freezes o’er its lifeless blue; Then with unhallowed hand shall tear The tresses of her yellow hair, Of which, in life a lock when shorn Affection’s fondest pledge was worn— But now is borne away by thee Memorial of thine agony! Yet with thine own best blood shall drip Thy gnashing tooth, and haggard lip; Then stalking to thy sullen grave, Go—and with Gouls and Afrits rave, Till these in horror shrink away From spectre more accursed than they.”

-BYRON.

The Black Vampyre

Mr. ANTHONY GIBBONS was a gentleman of African extraction. His ancestors emigrated from the eastern coast of GUINEA, in a French ship, and were sold in ST. DOMINGO remarkably cheap; as they were reduced to mere skeletons by the yaws on the passage; and all died shortly after their arrival, except one small negro, of a very slender constitution, and fit for no work whatever. The gentleman who purchased him, charitably knocked out his brains; and the body was thrown into the ocean. The tide returning in the night, it was washed upon the sands; and the moon then shining bright, the gentleman was taking a walk to enjoy the coolness of the evening; judge of his surprise, when the little corpse got up, and complaining of a pain in its bowels, begged for some bread and butter!

The PLANTER supposing his business to have been but half done, kicked him back in the water. The element seemed very familiar to him; and he swam back with much grace and agility; parting the sparkling waves with his jet black members, polished like ebony, but reflecting no sin- gle beam of light. His complexion was a dead black;—his eyes a pure white;—the iris was flame colour;—and the pupils of a clear, moonshiny lustre;—but so peculiarly constructed, that, though prominent, they seemed to look into his own head. His hair was neither curled nor straight; but feathery, like the plumage of a crow. Having paddled again on shore, he came crawling crab fashion, to the feet of Mr. PERSONNE.The latter gentleman, in considerable alarm, (not knowing whether it was Satan, Obi, or some other worthy, with whom he had to deal,) mustered up sufficient resolution, to tie a large stone round the boy’s middle: then, with a main exertion of strength, he hurled him into the sparkling ocean. He fell where the reflection of the moon was brightest, and sunk like lead; but immediately rose again like cork, perpendicularly, with the stone under his arm; while the radiant lustre of the planet retreated from his dark figure, exhibiting in its most striking contrast its utter blackness!

In this predicament, he came buoyant to land; surrounded, as he seemed, by a sphere of magic lustre. He now walked up to the Frenchman, with his arms a-kimbo, and looking remarkably fierce. Mr. PERSONNE’S particular hairs stood up on end,but being ashamed that a little negro of ten years old, should put him in bodily fear, he knocked him down. The Guinea-man rose again, without bending a joint; as fast as Mr. PERSONNE could upset him, he recovered his altitude; just like one of those small toys, fabricated from pith, tipt with lead, called witches and hobgoblins by the rising generation!

The PLANTER, in utter amazement and despair, took hold of the child by both his extremities; and pressing him to the earth, set down upon him! Then, halloing for is attendants, he ordered a tremendous fire to be kindled on the sand!! This was accordingly done. The GAUL congratulated himself on his perseverance and sagacity; and as he had never heard of ignaqueous animals, was confident that though the water fiend was so expert in his own element, he could not stand the fiery ordeal. The boy, meanwhile, lay perfectly passive, as if he had been a mere log; but presently, when the pile was all in a light blaze, with a sudden expansion, like that of a compressed Indian Rubber, he popped Mr. PERSONNE up into the air many yards, and he alighted head-foremost into the fire, where he had intended to have dedicated the sable brat, with his nine lives, to Moloch!!!

Whatever the negro was, it is notorious that Mr. PERSONNE was no salamander. He was rescued from the pyre, which, like Hercules, he had, (though unwittingly,) erected for himself; looking like a squizzed cat, and having apparently no life left in his body. The attention of the domestics was drawn entirely to their master; who soon betrayed signs of animation, though he exhibited a most awful. spectacle: being one continual sore and blister. “His whole body was one wound,” as Virgil or some other poet has hyperbolically expressed himself.

Mr. PERSONNE, when he perfectly recovered his senses, found himself in his own bed, wrapt in greasy sheets, and smarting as if in a Cayenne bath. He called for a glass of brandy,—his dear wife EUPHEMIA,—and his infant son, who had not yet been christened. His lady, with streaming eyes, presented herself before him; and, after tenderly inquiring into the state of his health, told him, (with a voice interrupted with sobs and hiccups,) that when she went in the morning to see her baby, whom she had left in the cradle, there was nothing to be seen, but the skin, hair, and nails!!! She declared that there never was such another object; except, indeed, the exsiccation in Scudder’s Museum!

On the receipt of this horrid intelligence, Mr. PERSONNE was seized with a violent spasmodic affection; and shortly after expired, muttering something about sacre, and the Guinea-negro!

The amiable, but unfortunate Euphemia, was thrown into several hysterical convulsions; as well she might be, poor woman! when her husband had been made a holocaust, and served up like a broiled and peppered chicken, to feed the grim maw of death; and her interesting infant, the first pledge of her pure and perfect love, had been precociously sucked, like an unripe orange, and nothing left but its beautiful and tender skin. The disconsolate widow caused her husband to be embalmed; and he was buried amid the lamentations and tears of all the funeral; much regretted by all who had the honour of his acquaintance, particularly by his negroes; who could not soon forget him; as he had left too many sincere marks of his regard upon their backs, to be ever obliterated from their recollections.

Time, as all the Greek tragedians, Solomon, and others have remarked, is a benevolent deity. Mrs. PERSONNE’S grief yielded to the soothing hand of the consoling power; and her bloom and spirits returned with more lustre and elasticity than they had before exhibited: as the rose, that had drooped in the fury of the passing storm, erects its blushing honours, and shows more beautiful and vivid tints, when the squall is over!

Many years after these occurrences took place, while EUPHEMIA was in second mourning for her third husband, she was indulging in the luxury of solitary grief; and reading Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, and The Melancholy Poems of Dr. Farmer, in an orangerie. The refreshing breezes from the ocean, which now tempered the sultry heats of the declining day,—the soft perfume of the opening blossoms;—and the mellow tints of the evening sky, shedding that holy light, so dear to sensitive hearts, diffused a calm over her soul, wrapt in the contemplation of departed days. While lost in this pensive reverie, she perceived two strangers approaching her, in the extremity of the long vista of the grove. One of them was a coloured gentleman, of remarkable height, and deep jetty blackness; a perfect model of the CONGO Apollo. He was drest in the rich garb of a Moorish Prince; and led by the hand a pale European boy, in an Asiatic dress; whose languid countenance, slender form and tristful gait, were strongly contrasted with the portly appearance and majestic step of his conductor!

They both saluted the lovely widow, and after an interchange of compliments, accepted her polite invitation to set down, and take tea with her in the bower. She learned from the elder stranger, that he had brought out a cargo of slaves, whom his subjects had lately taken prisoners in war; and whom he had resolved to dispose of himself; as he was desirous of seeing the world. His Page, he said, was an orphan, left by a slave merchant in Africa.

The manners and conversation of the PRINCE had an irresistible charm. The regal port was manifest in his gigantic and well proportioned frame; and majesty was conspicuous on his brow, without its diadem. The turban and crescent had never graced a nobler front; but the win- ning condescension of his tones and language, while they could not banish the feeling of the presence of royalty, removed every restraint incident to that consciousness. He criticised the works, which EUPHEMIA had been perusing, with masterly precision; and displayed more knowledge than even the accomplished ideologist of Lady Morgan; with infinitely more discretion and good sense.

It is remarked by the Abbe Reynal, that there is a peculiar elegance and beauty in the complexion of the Africans, (when the eyes and nose are accustomed to their hue and odour.) This truth was realized by EUPHEMIA, as she gazed on the open visage of her illustrious guest. She thought surely that in him Nature might stand up and say “This was a man!” And certainly it is only the weakness and imperfection of our human senses, which, penetrating no further than the surface, is for ever deceived by superficial shadows. The empyrean is always blue, whatever vapours may float in our contracted atmosphere. And if we gaze on the rows of skulls, which festoon and garnish Surgeon’s Hall, we can apply no standard, to determine their relative beauty. They are all equally ugly; and the block of Helen might be mistaken for that of Medusa. Shakspeare, true to nature, has also remarked, “Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies’ eyes.”

The beauty then, the royalty, gentility, and various accomplishments of the BAMBUCK monarch, made captive the too sensible heart of the French widow. She forgot her ogles, graces, and even her loquacity; rooted to her seat, and fixed in immoveable contemplation of the AFRICAN’S face. What peculiar feature or lineament attracted her attention, she knew not: his eyes, though bright, did not sparkle; and the iris, though of a more vivid red than the roseate line in the rainbow, emitted no scintillations. In fact, his whole countenance seemed to look, and to perambulate her own.

The conversation gradually assumed a more empassioned and amorous complexion; and the little page, (who, though meagre and emaciated, evidently showed that he was no gump for his years,) taking certain broad hints, cast a mournful and intelligent look on the widow, said he would fetch a short walk in the plantation, and left the orangerie.

The PRINCE then spreading his glittering sash upon the grass, went down on his knees upon it; and broke out into the most ardent exclamations, of love and admiration; and professions of constant attachment. He said that the flat-nosed beauties of Zara; the scarred, squab figures of the golden coast; the well proportioned Zilias, Calypsos, and Zamas on the banks of the Niger; and even the great Hottentot Venus herself, had never for a moment made the least impression on his heart! His passion was a mystery to himself; its origin secret as the sources of the Nile ; but full and impetuous as its ample channel, when replenished from the celestial fountains of ABYSSINIA; while if Mrs. DUBOIS would shine upon its waves, its enlivened currents would fertilize his vast dominions, in the luxuriant realms of central Africa; making them to fructify yet more abundantly, with burning gold, and radiant diamonds!!!

What female heart could resist such pleadings, and the compliment implied in such a preference? When ZEMBO (the page) returned, the parties had agreed to be privately united on the same evening. The ceremony was accordingly performed, on the spot, by the family chaplain of Mrs. DUBOIS: not without many remonstrances on his part, as to the impropriety of marrying a negro. The PRINCE did not see to resent the affront; which, by the by, he had no right to do; as the priest got nothing for the job. ZEMBO, too, was extremely restless; till Mrs. DUBOIS gave him some sweetmeats, which seemed to quiet his conscience; after which he took some stiff punch, and fell asleep!

About midnight, the PRINCE came to him; and, shaking him by the ears, bad him rise and follow him. His bride was hanging on his arm, in an enchanting dishabille; and did not seem to be in perfect possession of her right senses. ZEMBO mournfully followed the new married pair.

They went silently out of the back door, with cautious steps, and proceeded through the orangerie. No breath of wind was stirring. The moon was on the zenith, surrounded by a pale halo of ghostly lustre. When they had crossed the plantation, they came to a place of sepulture; where the dark cypresses, and lugubrious mahogany, admitted but sparse and glimmering streaks of funereal light; which, falling on the rank foliage, the white monuments and broken ground beneath, presented a thousand dusky shapes, flitting in the dim uncertainty dear to superstition.

Vague terrors seized on the mind of the bride; and she began very naturally to inquire, what was the use of getting out of a comfortable bed, and trailing through the heavy dew, in her undress, to such an unusual spot for midnight recreation.

They now stood near the spot, where her three husbands, several children, and the skin, hair and nails of her first baby, were deposited in a row. At the foot of a tamarind, lay her third son; whose christian name was SPOONER, and who died, according to the tombstone, in a fit of intoxication, aged seven years and six months. On him she had bestowed a greater share of tenderness, than any of her other offspring; and his loss had caused her most affliction. The African, making observations on the grave, began to strip himself very expeditiously, assisted by ZEMBO; who seemed to recover from his blues; and by his activity and eagerness, manifested his expectation of soon seeing some fine sport.

Presently the two genii, or gentlemen, or whatever they were, turned towards the East, and performed certain antic prostrations; throwing handfuls of earth three times over their heads. Then returning to the tomb, they tore up the sods with ravenous fury; and soon drew out the last- mentioned son of the Lady, and threw him on the grass, beside the grave. ZEMBO fell as fiercely upon the corpse, as a hungry dog upon his dinner; but was arrested by the AFRICAN, who lent him a severe box on the ear, which sent him blubbering to a corner of the cemetery.

What added both to the mother’s horrors and admiration, was, that the body of her child was perfectly fresh, and the olfactory nerves experienced no unsavoury sensation from its proximity; while its cheeks were diffused with so deep a tinge of scarlet, that they shone like ruddy fireballs in the darkness of the spot. Her husband drew a golden goblet from beneath a large stone; then, bending over the corse, he scooped out the heart, with his long and polished nails; and, having pressed the blood into the chalice, mingled with it some dark particles, gathered from the newly turned up earth. From the pure and scanty lymph, which gushed near by and flickered like a streak of quicksilvery-light in the moonbeam, he added a third ingredient of the potion. Then seizing his passive and trembling spouse by the throat, and presenting the unnatural mixture to her lips; he cried in a hollow voice, whose very inflection thrilled through each fibre of its victim,—“Swear, or if that is against your principles, affirm, by this dirty blood,—and bloody dirt;—by this watery blood,—and bloody water;—by this watery dirt, and dirty water;—that you will never disclose in any manner, aught of what you have seen and shall see this night. Call them all to witness your wish, that in the moment when you even conceive the thought of perjury, your bowels may burst out, and your bones rot! Swear and drink!”

The affrighted woman murmured, (as articulately as the iron gripe of the monster would suffer her,) that she was not thirsty; and had not breath enough to aspirate such a terrible conjuration. “No trifling;” roared the fiend, “you have not a moment to deliberate.” But his bellowing and threats were vain; and he found to his mortification that he had gotten the wrong sow by the ear, or rather by the throat. She stuttered out, in the most pitiful accents, which would have softened any heart (but a Vampyre has none,) that though she was by no means partial to the delectable confectionary of the pharmacopeia, calomel and jalap, ipecacuanha, rhubarb, and tartar-emetic, she would rather take them all, collectively and individually, than the unchristian decoction he held against her teeth.

Foaming with madness, till the white slaver flowed down his sable limbs, the African hurled MRS. PERSONNE, DUBOIS, &c. &c. on the grave of her first husband, and stamping violently on the earth, it seemed to heave as with the throes of an earthquake. Immediately the tumuli yawned. The ponderous stones and slabs were shaken from their ancient sockets; and the ghastly dead, in uncouth attitudes, crawled from their nooks; with their hair curling in tortuous and serpent twinings; and their eyeballs of fire bursting from their heads; while, as they extended their withered arms, and tapering fingers, furnished with blood-hound claws, their gory shrouds fell in wild drapery around them, transiently revealing their forms, bloated as if to bursting, and often incarnadined with clotted blood, yet warm and dripping!!!

The Lady, (as those who have been in similar predicaments may suppose,) soon lost her recollection; not, however, before she had seen ZEMBO busily employed in tearing up the grave of her first husband; she saw herself surrounded by the spectres, and lost all consciousness.

When reason and sense returned, she found herself in the same place; and it was also the midnight hour. She was laying by the grave of Mr. PERSONNE, and her breast was stained with blood. A wide wound appeared to have been inflicted there, but was now cicatrized. Imagine if you can, her surprise; when, by a certain carniverous craving in her maw, and by putting this and that together, she found she was a—VAMPYRE!!! and gathered from her indistinct reminiscences, of the preceding night, that she had been then sucked; and that it was now her turn to eject the peaceful tenants of the grave!

With this delightful prospect of immortality before her, she began to examine the graves, for subject to a satisfy her furious appetite. When she had selected one to her mind, a new marvel arrested her attention. Her first husband got up out his coffin, and with all the grace so natural to his countrymen, made her a low bow in the last fashion, and opened his arms to receive her!

What were the emotions of this fond couple, when, after a lingering separation for sixteen years, they again embraced each other, with the ardour of an affection equal to their earliest transports, and which their long divorce served only to increase; tenderly inquiring into the state of each other’s health; and the accidents which had befallen them during their disjunction. They forgot even their hunger and thirst; and sitting down on a tombstone, made a thousand inquiries; which, however, they related to family concerns, might not be as interesting to the reader as they were to the parties concerned.

Mr. PERSONNE, however, looked rather glum, when he learned that his Lady had been thrice married, since his decease. But she assured him, that she would never more tolerate the addresses of another suitor: and as for the two husbands, they were rotten enough by this time; as she was confident they had not attended the Vampyre Ball, on the preceding night. As for her sable spouse, she trusted that he would never again appear to interrupt their happiness. But while she was expressing this hope, the gentleman in question, (like his relation below, according to the old proverb,) came upon the ground, with ZEMBO. Mr. PERSONNE, having neither sword nor pistols at hand, armed himself with a gigantic thigh-bone; and warned the BLACK PRINCE to stand upon his guard as he meant to punish him severely.

But ZEMBO, rushing between the parties, raised his hands in a supplicating posture; while the generous monarch, making a Salam to his antagonist, begged him, keep himself quiet, and look behind him. They both turned round on this intimation, when, to the utter confusion of the Lady, her second and third husbands, Messieurs MARQUAND and DUBOIS, arose from the graves, where they had been lovingly deposited by the side of each other. They both advanced to salute their wife; but Mr. PERSONNE, brandishing his thigh-bone, warned them to stand off, as he had the first title to the Lady. Much confusion would have ensued, had not the African Prince interfered. He told the gentlemen that so delicate a point could only be settled in an honourable way; and proposed that Mr. MARQUAND and Mr. DUBOIS should first settle their difference in a personal encounter; after which Mr. PERSONNE might give the survivor gentlemanly satisfaction. To this all parties assented.

As they were already stripped, the combatants shook hands, to show their mutual good-will; and proceeded to action, without further ceremony. Mr. DuBois soon brought claret from Mr. MARQUAND; who, in returning the compliment, fibbed Mr. DUBOIS so severely in the bowels, that he lost his wind; and gasping for breath, smote the air on all sides, without any of his blows telling. He came to the ground, and his bones rattled as he fell. But soon recovering his breath, he made a desperate attack on Mr. MARQUAND’S sconce; and favoured him with so terrible a facer under the gills, that he fell incontinently like a bull smitten in his front; but entangling his own heels with those of Mr. DUBOIS, they both came simultaneously to the ground; striking their heads against different tombstones; and knocking out their own brains.

They rose again, refreshed like the giant of old, by their grappling with the earth, and all the better for the loss of their wits, which, indeed, was a mere trifle. But the AFRICAN, who had no time to see more sport, fixed them to the sod by his superior strength; and ZEMBO dexterously pinned them fast, by driving stakes through their hearts, with a large sledge hammer, (which he carried about his person for such emergencies.) During the opera- tion, their roaring surpassed that which is performed by the Lioness, when bereft of her whelps; but as soon as they were fairly nailed to the counter, they lay motionless and breathless—a horrible pair of spectacles of sin and misery!

The AFRICAN assured the Lady, that she need never fear their second resurrection; and Mr. PERSONNE politely offered to settle their controversy, in any mode most agreeable to the PRINCE:—either to box with him on the spot, or appoint a meeting in future, with pistols, rifles, small or broad sword; or else they might toss up, who should set fire to a barrel of gunpowder. The PRINCE said that quarrelling was all nonsense, and offered his hand; but Mr. PERSONNE refused, saying, “Don’t be too familiar, Blackey;” and renewing his threats of cracking him over the noddle with the thigh-bone.

The generous monarch pocketed the affront. “You have been,” he said, “sufficiently rewarded, for the cruelties you practised upon my person, several years ago. I forgive you, my dear sir, what you performed, and intended to perform on me. Here is your son, who has grown considerably, as you may observe; and I assure you that his education has not been neglected. To his exertions last night you are indebted for your revivification. And as, you may remember, you were embalmed, you have kept quite sweet and fresh ever since your interment. Amiable and virtuous VAMPYRES! may you long enjoy that tranquillity and contentment, which your merit and accomplishments so eminently deserve! A vessel lies in the port, ready to sail for Europe in an hour. The Island is no longer a place for you. Here is money to pay your passages, and all I have to say, is, that the sooner you’re off the better.—Farewell!” So saying he departed, without waiting for the acknow- ledgments of the party.

Mr. PERSONNE and his Lady, whom we shall again call by her first marriage name, did not exactly comprehend what their dingy benefactor meant, by bidding them take French leave of the Island, like pickpockets and outlaws; but, as they were yet wondering at their own existence, like Adam and Eve, the first day of their creation, and as they had reason to believe the PRINCE a potent magician, who could rouse the dead from their searments, and turn the planets from their courses;—for these reasons, they concluded to follow his bidding, without any impertinent scruples. But as the keen edge of their hunger had been whetted by delay, they would fain have taken supper, and digested a little something wherewithal to strengthen them, before they set out.

ZEMBO, who had filled his own breadbasket very lately, and was in no such urgent necessity, protested with all the vehemence which filial reverence would permit, against the unseasonable gratification of their unnatural craving; and recited with just emphasis and good discretion, an extract from Counsellor Phillips’s harangue, about “the cannibal appetite of his rejected altar;” which his parents did not understand, and of course thought very sublime! But even this master-piece of mystical eloquence would have been delivered in vain; had not the boy given other reasons of such cogency, that they licked their lips—cast a longing, lingering look at the grave-yard,—and followed him without more opposition.

They prosecuted their nocturnal march, through closely woven and solemn groves; until they descended into a profound valley, where the light of the pale planet of magic adoration, streamed and quivered on serried files of bright armoury. The leader of the band seemed to have expected their arrival; and mutual tokens of recognition passed between him and ZEMBO. The whole company then set forward their array in silence;—

No cymbal clash’d, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armour’s clang, The sullen march was dumb.

By continual descent, they seemed to have penetrated the bowels of a cavern, whose ramifications ran under the sea; as they heard a murmuring roar, as of the ocean, above their heads. The party, by the instructions of ZEMBO, dispersed themselves in different directions; until they had enclosed the interior of the rock where its largest chamber was, to speak catachrestically, so artfully concealed by nature, that no one, not instructed by an adept in its subterranean topography, could ever have detected the secret of its existence. It had been, in former days, a place of deposit and asylum for the Buccaniers; and its situation had been since known only to the Professors of the OBEAH art, who held here their midnight orgies.

Mr. and Mrs. PERSONNE, guided by their son, were placed in a situation, where, through the crevices of the inner partition of the rock, they could observe what was passing in the interior.

It seemed, at first view, a vast hall of Arabian romance; supported by immense shafts, and studded with precious stones; so various and beautiful were the hues, which the different spars assumed, in the light of an hundred torches, blazing in every quarter, and illuminating the farthest recesses of the cave. The walls were decorated with other appendages, which added to the mystery, if not to the embellishment of the scene; being irregularly stained with blood; decorated with rude tapestry of many coloured plumage;—and stuccoed with the beaks of parrots;—the teeth of dogs, and alligators;—bones of cats;—broken glass and eggshells; plastered with a composition of rum and grave-dirt, the implements of NEGRO witchcraft!

At one extremity of the extensive apartment, on a kind of natural throne, sat several blackamoors in sumptuous Moorish apparel; whom, by their swollen forms, and remarkable eyes, Mrs. PERSONNE knew to be GOULS; and among whom she recognised her late husband. The whole range of this vast amphitheatre, sweeping from before the throne, was occupied by slaves, rudely attired, and imperfectly armed with clubs and missiles; a decent platoon of black-guards were posted be- fore the Vampyre monarchs; and, in the centre, a band of musicians performed an exquisite symphony. The soft strains of the MERRIWANG;—the lively notes of the DUNDO;—and the martial accompaniment of the GOOMBAY, made, with their united noises, a discordant harmony, whose powers the lyre of Orpheus could not equal; and which would certainly be enough to frighten all the hosts of Pandemonium.

The oratorio being finished, the AFRICAN PRINCE arose, and making an obeisance to the company,—cleared his throat, and began to address them as follows:—“Gentlemen and Vampyres!”—but the VAMPYRES expressing their resentment against this breach of etiquette, he corrected himself: —“Vampyres and Gentlemen!”—but the NEGROES were no more willing to come last, than the Vampyres, and a loud growl accompanied by a slight hiss, again interrupted the orator. He was not, however, disconcerted, but like Mr. Burke, thundered out an iteration of the offensive sentence.

“Yes,” said he, “I repeat it, Vampyres and Gentlemen? Shall not the immortal precede the mortal?— Shall not those whose diet surpasses the nectar and ambrosia of celestials, precede the ephemeral race, who fatten on the unclean juice of brutes,—the rank essence of esculent productions,—or the nauseous liquor of the distillery? (applause—hear! hear! and see-boy! from the Vampyres—groans from the negroes!) Gentlemen of colour! I appeal to yourselves; shall not the descendants of the Gods be named before the offspring of the earth-born image, whom Titan impregnated with celestial fire?—For Prometheus was the first Vampyre. You must all know, as you have undoubtedly read Æschylus, that the vulture, who preyed on his liver, was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He is called a dog, which makes him a quadruped;—he is represented as ερπωυ, creeping, which proves him an insect; and is said to have wings, which shows that he was a bird. Now, from this amphibious monster have descended the Crows,—the Jackalls,—and the Bloodhounds;—the pirate Bat of Madagascar,—and the man-killing Ivunches of Chili;—the Sharks;—the Crocodiles;—the Krakens;—the Horse-leeches;—the Cape-cod Sea Serpents;—the Mermaids;—the Incubi;—and the Succubi!!! (loud cheering from the Vampyres.) From Titan himself, descended the Cy- clopes, and all other ancient and modern Anthropophagi; and, in lineal descent, the Moco tribe of our own EBOES, to whom I have the honour of being related. Those of you, too, are his posterity, who, after your deaths, return to your native land—the true Elysium; where the balmy bowl of the Coco, the soft bloom of the ANANA, and the coal-black beauties of the clime of love, shall for ever reward your fortitude, and steep in forgetfulness the memory of your wrongs. (hear! hear! from the negroes.) But none of these genera or species of our order, must longer engage your dignified and charitable attention. I come to ourselves, full- blooded—unadulterated—immortal bloodsuckers!—To ourselves—whether Gouls,—or Afrits,—or Vampyres;— Vroucolochas,—Vardoulachos,—or Broucolokas—To ourselves—the terror of the living and of the dead, and the participants of the nature of both;—To ourselves—the emblems at once of corruption and of vitality;—blotted from the records of existence, and replenished to repletion with circulating life;—abandoned by the quick, and unrecognised by the dead:—‘at once relics and relicts;— rocked on the bases of our own eternities;—the chronicles of what was—the solemn and sublime mementoes of what must be!’ unqualified approbation from both sides of the house.)

“The estate of Vampyrism is a fee-tail, and may be docked in two different ways. The first mode is the sanguinary practice of perforating the subject with a stake; and this is final. The other is produced by the gentler operation of the narcotic potion you behold in this phial; by whose lenient and opiate influence, the individual is restored to the plight, in which he was previous to his death, or his becoming a Vampyre, and belongs to the OBEAH mysteries.

“But to come to the object of our present meeting. Sublime and soul-elevating theme!—The emancipation of the Negroes!—The consecration of the soil of ST. DOMINGO to the manes of murdered patriots in all ages!—No matter whether the bill of sale was scrawled in French or in English;—No matter whether we were taken prisoners, in a battle between the LEOPHARES and the JAKOFFS, or in a skirmish between the SAMBOES and the SAWPITS;—No matter whether we were bought for calico and cotton, or for gunpowder or for shot;—No matter whether we were transported in chains or in ropes—in a brig, or a schooner, or a seventy-four—the first moment we come ashore on ST. DOMINGO, our souls shall swell like a sponge in the liquid element;—our bodies shall burst from their fetters, glorious as a curculio from its shell;—our minds shall soar like the car of the æronaut, when its ligaments are cut; in a word, O my brethren, we shall be free!—Our fetters discandied, and our chains dissolved, we shall stand liberated,—redeemed,— emancipated,—and disenthralled by the irresistible genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION!!!” (Unparalleled bursts of unprecedented applause!!!)

Such was the report of this oration, taken down in short hand by ZEMBO; of whose extraordinary sagacity so many proofs have been exhibited; and who was never unprovided with materials for any emergency. The fiery oratory of the Prince communicated such inspiration to the auditors, that the whole mass of their thick blood leaped up with the quickening pulse of anticipated freedom; they danced and sung, with violent gesticulations, like perfect Corybantes; but unfortunately, their Phyrricks were interrupted by the glittering bayonets of the soldiery; who poured in upon them from every quarter, and hemmed them in, with a bristling chevaux-de-frise of steel. The Vampyres, surprised but undaunted, unsheathed their sabres, and drew up in a gallant style, as if determined to die game; being, indeed, assured, that like so many Phœnixes, they would rise from their own ashes, as often as they might be cut down.

A desperate conflict ensued, during which Mrs. PERSONNE observed the phial, mentioned by the Prince, lying on the ground; and very thoughtfully put it in her ridicule. The slaves, seeing how the business was likely to terminate, prudently sneaked off, while the attention of the military was occupied by the Vampyres. The former were violently exasperated to find all their labour so unprofitable; since while they themselves were wounded by every blow of their opponents, the latter, like so many ninepins, were set up, as fast as they were bowled down; bending to the storm, like masts on a tempestuous ocean, and rising again upon the billow in perpendicular triumph.

But, being instructed by ZEMBO, the soldiers pinioned them as fast as they fell; and prevented their rising, by sitting in great numbers on their bodies; though the task was somewhat like that of detaining quicksilver beneath the fingers. The PRINCE, however, still fought desperately. Brandishing a huge scimitar in either hand, he swayed his arms like the sails of a windmill; while limbs, heads, and bodies flew about him, curvetting and dancing in the air; as when the ingenious Mr. MAFFEY pulls to pieces a coach, or an old woman, children, chickens, friars, and petticoats dance about in wild confusion, till the artist’s hand again brings order out of chaos:—Or, as when the renowned knight of the BED-CHAMBER, whose name eternal vases shall record, saw the ungenerous caricature on the wall, wielding a ponderous jug, he smote the innocent tables, chairs, and bed-posts, and strode victorious over the gory field: So fought the PRINCE; till being neatly pricked in the spine, unexpectedly, he soused (as Johannes Porco Latinus remarks) “in principia fundimentalia,” and was immediately set upon by a host. So when a Gœtulian lion is pierced by the light bamboo, overpowered by the hunters, he struggles in his thrall like an Enceladus under Ætna, and dies at last with heart-wrung tears of anguish, and re- verberating roars of hatred!!!

Stakes were immediately procured, and the whole infernal fraternity securely disposed of: as their compeers, described by Homer,

With burning chains fixed to the brazen floors And lock’d by hell’s inexorable doors.

With their bellowings, the vast chambers of the subterranean rung like the caverns of Delphos, when the inflammable air was fired by the crafty priests. The Inhabi- tants of the Island started up from their slumbers in shuddering terror, and believed that an earthquake was rumbling beneath their feet.

Mr. and Mrs. PERSONNE and ZEMBO lost no time in trying the effects of the African’s stolen prescription. Being thrown into a tranquil slumber they were conveyed to their plantation; and awoke the next morning, perfectly well, excepting slight colds in the head. Mr. PERSONNE, having been in statu quo, for sixteen years, was now much younger than his lady; a circumstance, for which she was not at all sorry; and which he himself declared by no means displeased him. The remainder of their life was serene as a tropic night; —illumined by the mild effulgence of domestic love;—fanned by the soft aspirations of peaceful bosoms;—and enlivened by the fire- fly scintillations of rapture!!!

ZEMBO, to whose taste and ingenuity they were indebted for their happiness, and who was baptized with the Christian name of BARABBAS, after an uncle of his mother’s, recorded what the reader has perused. One only circumstance, like one of those claps of thunder, frequently heard in the unclouded sky, passed over the tranquillity of their bosoms. Mrs. PERSONNE’S fourth husband’s child was a mulatto, and of Vampyrish propensities; of which his mother and Mr. PERSONNE were never able entirely to cure him, having used up all the African’s preparation.

The intelligent reader, (if any such there be,) will remember that this narrative commenced with the name of Mr. ANTHONY GIBBONS, of whom nothing has since been said; and whose adventures (to use a FORUM trope) “must remain buried in the bowels of futurity,” until a more convenient opportunity. He is a lineal descendant from the last-mentioned mulatto; and the manuscript, which is now given to the public, was transmitted to him from his ancestors. He is a resident in Essex county, New- Jersey; and candour requires us to state, that he is no relation to his celebrated namesake at ELIZABETH- TOWN; as it is notorious to all who have had the pleasure of witnessing the size of the latter gentleman’s waist, that he has too much bowels for so diabolical a profession; and it is to be hoped in charity, that though he is such a delicate morsel, when he is laid in the sepulchre of his fathers, he may not prove a titbit, to GLUT THE THIRST OF A VAMPYRE!!!

Moral.

N this happy land of liberty and equality, we are free from all traditional superstitions, whether political, religious, or otherwise. Fiction has no materials for machinery;—Romance no horrors for a tale of mystery. Yet in a figurative sense, and in the moral world, our climate is perhaps more prolific than any other, in enchanters,—Vampyres,—and the whole infernal brood of sorcery and witchcraft.

The accomplished dandy, who in maintaining his horses,—his taylor, &c.—absorbs in the forced and unnatural excitement of his senseless orgies, the life-blood of that wealth which his prudent Sire had accumulated by a long devotion to the counter,—What is he but a Vampyre?

The fraudulent trafficker in stock and merchandize, who, having sucked the whole substance of an hundred honest men, is consigned for a few weeks to the sepulchre of the jail; and then, by the potent magic of an insolvent law, stalks forth, triumphant with bloated villany, more elated in his shameless resurrection to renew his career of iniquity and of disgrace,—what is he but a Vampyre?

The corrupted and senseless Clerk, who being placed near the vitals of a moneyed institution, himself exhausted to feed the appetite of sharpers, drains, in his turn, the coffers he was appointed to guard,—is he not, I appeal to the Stockholders,—is he not a Vampyre?

Brokers, Country Bank Directors, and their disciples—all whose hunger and thirst for money, unsatisfied with the tardy progression of honest industry, by creating fictitious and delusive credit, has preyed on the heart and liver of public confidence, and poisoned the currents of public morals, are they not all Vampyres?

The whole tribe of Plagiarists, under every denomination;—The Critic, who. by eviscerating authors, and stuffing his own meagre show of learning with the pilfered entrails, ekes out his periodical fulmination against public taste;—the Forum Orator, who, without compunction, barbarously exenterates Burke, and Curran, and Phillips,—the Second- handed Lawyer,—Scholar,—Theologue,—who quote from quotations, and steal stolen property:—the Divine, who preaches Tillotson and Toplady;—what are they all but Vampyres?

The Empiric, who fills his own stomach, while he empties his shop into the bowels of the hypochondriac;—the Bibliopolist, “who guts the fobs” of the whole reading community, by ascribing to Lord Byron works which that author never saw; the philanthropic Contractor for the Army, who charges more for lime and horse-beef, than his quantum- meruit for the best provisions; who sets up his carriage and his palace, by blistering the mouths and destroying the intestines of thousands,— what are these but Vampyres?

The Professors and Disciples of Surgeon’s Hall, who, when a fine fat corse is rolled out of the resurrectionist’s budget, set up a howl of horrible transport, like he anthropophagous Caribs in Robinson Crusoe;—glut their gloating eyes with the pinguidity and unctuousness of the subject; and whet their blades like Shylock, impatient to attack the ilia,—what are they but Vampyres?

And I, who, as Johnson said of an hypochondriac Lady, “have spun this discourse out of my own bowels,” and made as free with those of others—I am a VAMPYRE!

Vampyrism; a poem

Utrum horum mavis accipe.

SOLOMON LANG & LAUNCELOT LANG - STAFF, Esquires.

GENTLEMEN, FROM the Gazette of August 17th, I am happy to learn, that you have entered into an alliance, offensive and defensive. The ties of kindred and the attraction of sympathy, one would think, ought to have brought about this union much sooner. You are, I believe, of one family;—although I am ignorant from whence LAUNCELOT has taken the Agnomen of STAFF: and I am equally unable to divine, why you have both docked the Nomen of your ancestors, which hath been written LANGEARS from time immemorial. Whatever may be your reasons for disowning your consanguinity to the great GENTILE family, the literary and political worlds rejoice, at least, in this consolidation of the talents of their two most distinguished members. The parity of intellect,—the similarity of taste,—the pungency of sarcasm possessed by both parties, justify the expectations formed by the public, from this conjunction of two such great luminaries. Both are imbued with that modest confidence, connected with the consciousness of superior talent. SOLOMON is formed, perhaps, of more impenetrable stuff: LAUNCELOT has more of the irritability and exquisite sensibility of genius.—Ira quidem communiter urit utrumque; but SOLOMON taketh the driest knocks with a good grace; LAUNCELOT is sooner thrown into a fever, and frets, to use a classic quotation of his own, “like a bear, with a sore head.”—SOLOMON is the better grammarian: LAUNCELOT hath, occasionally, greater command of language. Solomon, as he states, composes ideas and types simultaneously, a la mode de Wooler; Launcelot has the advantage of seeing his ideas embodied in black and white, in their flight from his brains to the printing office.— LAUNCELOT the FIERY, may be likened to the mad ORESTES: SOLOMON the PATIENT, to the faithful PYLADES.— SOLOMON is original in his own way: LAUNCELOT purloins from Swift, and Rabelais and others.—SOLOMON, pilloried in his own press, with no ally but the gray mare, bravely receives the missiles of the whole legion of editors; LAUNCELOT has only to open his mouth, or saw the air, or make a leg, on the literary stage; and all the gods of the Philadelphia gallery, pipe their shrill catcalls in discordant unison.—The castigation of both is equally dreadful. SOLOMON, with his “Good morning, Mr. Coleman,” and “Rot the sarpent,” condenses all his wrath into a laconic sarcasm: LAUNCELOT elaborates books, to the great terror and discomfiture of Gifford, Southey, and Scott. The Quarterly Reviewers received a death blow, because they could not find out the wit of the Scottish Fiddle; and the translator of Juvenal has never dared to show his face, since Mr. LANGSTAFF promulgated to the world, the secret of his origin. Poor Mr. Hall, the editor of the Port Folio,— because he criticised that Poem, (than which, in the language of Croaker, “nothing can be flatter or funnier;”) according to the canons of Martinus Scriblerus,—said Hall has been severely bemauled for his temerity. Many a heart-burning hath he experienced, from the caustic of Salmagundi Redivivus—Godwot!—magni nominis umbra!—On the whole, “none but yourselves can be your parallels.”

Allow me to dedicate the following rhymes to your firm; which will, I have no doubt, stand secure, amid all the present wreck of matters, and crashes of credit. Profound ignorance, bolstered by vanity, sits firmly on it own fundamental principles. Farewell, Gentlemen, accept the considerations of my high esteem—

Fortunati ambo—si quid mea carmina possunt, Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet aevo!

-URIAH DERICK D’ARCY.

VAMPYRISM;

A POEM,

IN this blest land, where valour burst The links which bound his children erst, And rent the vail whose darkness hid Legitimacy’s monstrous creed;— Where all that since the world began Had sway’d the sacred rights of man, With ancient dreams had past away, And bare in all its weakness lay;— Here reason, in triumphal hour, Asserted too her conquering power: From mountain, valley, plain and flood, She exorcised the shadowy brood

II.

When freshening gales had swept the mists, That wildly wreath’d the mountain crests, No cloudy spectre o’er the storm Reveal’d the terrors of his form;— When evening breezes curl’d the wave No wraiths disturb’d the wandering brave,— When lost in darkness, down the side Of craggy mount their path they tried, And stunn’d by torrents deafening roar, Downward were hurl’d, to rise no more; Men said their balance they had lost, But never laid it to a ghost.

III.

No more, around the guarded gold, Their wake were pirates seen to hold;— No elves the midnight circle tript; No fairies lunar vigils kept; Genii nor devils rose—except, Indeed, that once in godly Salem, Blue laws and preachings seem’d to fail ’em; Bed bugs and rats their slumbers broke, On Beelzebub they laid the joke; Took brandy to expel the fiend, Which answered quite another end! Old ladies then to swim were taught, In amorous league with Satan caught;— And some were hang’d:—but now no more ’Tis fit to rake up that old sore.

IV.

Of late the pole its fiends has sent, The ‘tarnal Yankees to torment; By water witchcraft long distrest, In vain with all their might they guest; Till when their gumption seem’d to fail One captain got him by the tail; But metamorphos’d, (such their story,) The wizard gave the man the go-by Turn’d out a tunny fish to be, The “shallowest monster” of the sea.

And now they swear with might and main, That Monsieur Tonson’s come again: And Marshal Prince, his wife and daughters, Off Nahant, saw him walk the waters. The coachman there and Mrs. Prince Got at the odd fish several squints; But Mr. Prince, for weak his eye was, Look’d at him through a mast-head spy-glass; And took, lest men his word should doubt, An ugly likeness of his snout, With all the bumps the monster bore— He says, thirteen—his wife, two more.

VI.

In Morristown we’ve heard a ghost Wrought wonders to the people’s cost. ’Tis not long since, on New Year’s night, The devil gave three bad boys a fright; Who o’er their whiskey took to cursing, Spoke disrespectfully of his person, His government began to libel, And on the back-log put the bible.— But these things are of little moment, Unworthy of a further comment.

VII.

Yet SUPERSTITION! though thy throne Be rear’d in wilds and woods alone, Where the rude wanderer of the glen Invokes the souls of martial men;— Adores the torrent thundering loud; Calls on the spirits of the cloud;— And o’er the black and bursting heaven, Sees Ariouski’s chariot driven;— Yet, queen of terror’s sheetedband! Fiends worse than thine affright our land, While, stalking from their ghastly homes, The VAMPYRE host infuriate roams!

VIII.

Behold that EXQUISITE divine, Fit to hang up for fashion’s sign. In classic mould his wig is shear’d— SO SAUNDERS says—by all rever’d— (Yet much, with deference, due I doubt If Saunders’ science could make out Apollo’s nob, if slic’d off well, From J—n G. B—t’s bust to tell— Both are stuck up in the Academy— Yet for this query think not bad o’ me.) But to the Dandy—’neath his chin Hog’s bristles fiercely fence him in; One corset back his shoulders throws; His bowels other bones enclose; His ample chest is bullet proof, With cotton cram’d and such like stuff; And for his clothes—but here’s enough. For ere the printer’s tardy imp, Shall bid in type this doggrel limp, The swifter ninth part of a man Shall change the passing mode again; And waists now short shall then be long. All that’s now right shall then be wrong!

IX.

How came that puppy by his gig? What taught him how to look so big? For this behind the measur’d board His father scrap’d the growing hoard— Like him the pyramids who rear’d, To leave behind no name rever’d For, on the bowels of the heap, His revels shall this Vampyre keep; Till vigils late—and generous wine, And—things that suit no lay of mine; Have left him soon to die and rot, Be laugh’d at, pitied, and forgot! His species and his line to trace, And count the honours of his race, Let Mr. Wynkoop soar as high, As Scythia’s Cynocephali, And Mr. Langstaff dive as low As he, and he alone, can go;” Let this quote Greek—that crack stale jokes, The theme is worthy of such folks.

Lo! thro’ the bustling world of trade, What monsters march in long parade; Gorg’d with the substance of a host, Swelling they strut with empty boast; The bubble burst, and credit fled, The money’d quack proclaims them dead;— Bailiffs in haste the corpse escort;— The turnkey says his service short;— Awhile in jail their bones repose, Till lo! the dungeon doors unclose! Insolvent laws, with potent spell, Have wrought the wondrous miracle; Their words of might the dead restore; And even more bloated than before, From that deep sepulchre, to prey On all the gudgeons in his way, Of shameless resurrection vain, The VAMPYRE BANKRUPT stalks again!

XI.

Temples of Mammon! O beware What priests the golden chalice bear! And let not hands profane approach The tempting, costly shrines to touch! Have we not seen what secret stealth Has suck’d the vitals of your wealth, When the weak dupe, quite drain’d himself, Grew hungry for the luscious pelf; Nor did his secret orgies end, Till fail’d a whole year’s dividend. And now once more in open air, Have we not seen the Vampyre pair, Stalk forth, from jails and juries free, In all the pride of infamy?

XII.

O HERMES of these latter times, I hail thee in unworthy rhymes! Great ALCHYMIST, whose art alone Has found the philosophic stone! Thou arch magician! to whose hand Alone is given the hazel wand, That finds the veins of glittering ores, Great DOUSTERSWIVEL of conjurors! What though thine art itself despair, And all the pageant fade in air? While harmless mobs thy doors assail, And blustering butchers curse and rail, Above thine own Flaminian roll’d, Shall thy triumphal chariot hold Its course majestical along, Before the whole admiring throng!

XIII.

O JACOB! JACOB! thou art keen, As thy great namesake;—him, I mean. Who manag’d for himself to keep The best of crafty Laban’s sheep. Immortal VAMPYRE of our age! O might this unassuming page Be read by all, whose fobs must bleed, Thy ravenous appetite to feed Behind thy coach and four might I Roll in an humbler tilbury; Beneath thy wings might D’ARCY’s name Soar to the solar blaze of fame!

XIV.

Plumb from the giddy height I fall, Amid whole herds of Vampyres small, CRITICS, who worn out common place With Author’s pilfer’d entrails grace; The FORUM spouter—barbarous Turk! Who rips up Curran, Phillips, Burke, And thunders forth bombastic centos, Of wasted time the sad mementoes; All those who QUOTE at second hand, And what they quote don’t understand; The PARSON who in sleepy tone Evangelizes Tillotson; All PLAGIARISTS,—concise to be,— Are GOULs of high or low degree.

XV.

The QUACK with brick dust who provides, Wherewith to line his own insides; Who fills up all his hungry chinks, While to a ghost his patient shrinks; THOMAS who vends as Byron’s own The works of doggrelists unknown; Honest CONTRACTORS, who are able To cheat both government and rabble; Who, worthy of the scourge and gallows, Set up their equipage and palace; While blister’d mouths deep curses pour And tortur’d soldiers writhe and roar, Who eat the beef of horses dead, And craunch corroding lime for bread— These, as the sufferers all agree, Are of the GOULE fraternity.

XVI. There are whose tongues around them throw The gall with which their hearts o’erflow, Like those from old Medusa’s head, Where’er its venom’d drops are shed, Earth’s verdure fades;—rank poison springs; Snakes hiss, and dragons spread their wings. Pale Dian’s hopeless votary old, Crabb’d, ancient dames, and bachelors cold, Nay e’en the blooming maid—will hie To the foul feast of calumny; On wisdom, worth, and reverend age, Beauty and wit, they glut their rage; And fondly hope, that as they tear The limbs of murder’d character, Their own fair fame shall prouder swell, Fatten’d upon the feast of hell!

XV.

There is a spot, unknown to fame, Where Vampyres haunt their hold of shame When ENVY left her noxious cave, Along Passaic’s winding wave, (Though Ovid has this fact forgot,) She linger’d by one cherish’d spot; She left her benediction here, The ground became for ever sere; Infected by her scatter’d slime And tainted to all after time; Whoever tastes its baleful food, A Vampyre longs to feed on blood— The blood of honour, virtue free, Fame, confidence and chastity!

XVIII.

But wouldst thou, in thy purpose bold The demon orgies foul behold— Mark where the SONS of SURGEON’S HALL, Upon their foul purveyor call; And lo, the plunderer of the tomb Brings up his budget in the room; Rolls out, their ardent gaze before, A huge, fat negress on the floor; Then with a savage howl they roar! Like cannibals, prepar’d to roast Their pris’ners on some barbarous coast; Like Shakspeare’s Jew, the joyous band Whet their keen blades with eager band; While all the putrid limbs excite Their foul and Vampyre appetite.—

XIX.

And what am I, whose spider skill Has thus contrived this sheet to fill; From my own bowels spun the lay, Until I find no more to say? Before to all I bid adieu, Confess,—I AM A VAMPYRE TOO!

#The Black-Vampyre #Public Domain #Public domain stories #Public Domain poems #Poetry #Black Vampires #Uriah Derick D’arcy #Rjalker transcribes The Black-Vampyre #didn't actually have to transcribe in this case #just fix all the fuckups and get rid of all the bullshit

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dollfat · 11 months

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becoming a werewolf would fix me tho

#becoming a vampyr wouldn't fix me

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mangekyuou · 1 year

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my phone went out on me….🗿🗿🗿

#☆ — LUST FOR A VAMPYR.#i need my phone bro😭😭#going to see if i can get it fixed tomorrow idk #if not gotta get a new phone ig😭😭#THE GAMES WHERE I NEED TO CHECK IN EVERY DAY NOOOOOO

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see-arcane · 2 months

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BOOK UPDATE

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, etc

Good news! Matte version author copy came in the mail!

It's not as rust-colored as the previews are showing, just a bit muted. (Though still a way different palette than the eBook cover.) It still looks okay for the paperback's front graphic, but you can tell by the tagline up there that there's still an issue...

...namely that the red isn't translating too well with the text. It's legible, but hazier than the crisp white. If the glossy version doesn't fix the colors and let everything pop right, I'm worried I'll have to swap to all-white text to be safe. <:/

The current finish was swapped from matte-to-glossy as of now--I had to switch so I could get a glossy edition author copy sent and do the comparison--but it's still up in the air as far as which cover may wind up the Final Version that people order. Just want to keep everyone in the loop as far as what to expect with this thing, which is ???

Obligatory reminder that, whatever their current state, The Vampyres will be available March 15th (this Friday!) in print and eBook*!

*Which is still perfectly lovely with no cover ink issues to worry about, harrumph.

Also, on the brighter side, I get to see my disclaimer in person now :)

>:}

#why can I not simply will a book into existence through sheer willpower #it isn't fair I tell you #the vampyres #my writing #the vampyre #dracula

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 9 months

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Faerie and Vampr

Chapter Five

Half the patrons of Marco’s Bar and Grill thought Erik had a hand in the markings on the women’s bodies. The other 50 percent thought that some of the vampire’s from bigger towns or cities had bitten Maudette and Dawn when they were out bar hopping, and they deserved what they got if they wanted to go to bed with vampires. Some thought the girls had been strangled by a vampire, some thought they had just continued their promiscuous ways into disaster.

But most importantly, everyone who came into Marco’s was worried that some other woman would be killed next. Tamara couldn’t count the times she was told to be careful, to watch her vampire friend who popped up in town recently, told to lock her doors and take the day shift instead. Lloyd came in for both commiseration and suspicion as a man who’d “dated” both women.

He had come by the house one day and stayed around for about an hour while Nana Sylvia and Tamara tried to encourage him to keep going with his work and doing what Lloyd normally does. But for the first time in Tamara’s memory, her handsome brother was really worried. She hated that he got himself mixed up with those women. It’s unfortunate what happened to them, but now her brother could be in trouble with the law for something he didn’t do.

Tamara didn’t try to dwell on the deaths of the two women. Although everyone else was suspicious of her brother and Erik, all she could think about was that kiss two nights ago. His lips, so soft and skillful, had her dreaming of what it would be like to roll around in the sheets kissing him all night long. The dream didn’t go further than kissing, which was enough to have her pink and white panties wet waking up that morning, but the possibility of sex with Vampyr Erik did cross Tamara’s mind.

It was the evening for Crimson Mist. Tamara finally pulled a simple dress from her closet after going through half of her dress collection and littering her bed. She felt it was perfect for the occasion. It was a nice date dress, if you wanted the personal interest of whoever was your escort. It was a body con dress. Tight and black. The fabric was clinging to every dip, curve, and valley. Her brown skin glowed and her cleavage showed. She completed the look with metallic silver high-heeled sexy sandals, a delicate sterling silver chain necklace that draped between her breasts, and silver hoops. She put on light glam makeup and wore her hair in a fresh wash-and-go.

Nana Sylvia’s eyes widened when she came out of her room.

“Sugar, you look beautiful,” she said. “Aren’t ya’ gonna be a little cold in that dress?”

Tamara giggled, “No, ma’am, I don’t think so. It’s pretty warm tonight.”

“Ya’ sure?” Nana Sylvia pressed. “a nice white sweater, the one I got ya’ for Christmas—”

“Okay, how about I grab my moto jacket just in case it cools down?”

Tamara looked and felt sexy. Something she rarely gets a chance to feel. She was pretty excited about going on a date with Erik, though she kind of asked him herself and it was more of a fact-finding mission. Plus, it’s his bar. Would it count as a date at his own business?

“See,” Tamara showed Nana Sylvia her moto jacket, “This goes well with it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m not tryna tell ya’ what to do.”

Tamara kisses her Nana on the cheek. A knock on the door had Nana Sylvia moving faster than Tamara to be the first to open the door. She fixed her silver hair that was styled in a low bun and adjusted her house dress with different tribal patterns on it. She gasped with excitement and opened her arms in true grandma fashion, pulling Erik’s cold body into a warm embrace.

“Erik! It’s so good to see ya’ again! How are ya’, handsome?”

“Takin’ it easy, Miss Sylvia. Ya’ lookin’ beautiful. I hope all is well wit’ ya’.”

“Oh,” Nana Sylvia blushed. “It's well. All is well. Come in! Come in! Darn moths…”

Erik chuckled, swatting a few away before shutting the door behind him. His eyes scanned the foyer with immense joy before they fell on Tamara standing awkwardly to his right.

Erik wore a white beater that left little to the imagination— an eight pack and pecs to match. Black jeans that fit tighter at the ankles and loose in the waist were on his lower half. He had on a moto jacket himself but it was black and white. Tungsten steel pendants hung from his neck and various rings in tungsten accessorized his thick fingers. Onyx earrings bejeweled both ears and high top black and white vans were on his feet.

When he saw her, Tamara wasn’t sure if she’d overdone it because he seemed really annoyed. His face went quite still. His eyes flared. His fingers curved as if he were scooping something up with them. Tamara had to remind herself that she couldn’t hear his thoughts. The one person who she’d give anything to listen in on.

“Is this okay?” Tamara asked anxiously. She felt the butterflies in her belly.

“…Yes,” He finally spoke. But his pause had been long enough to get Nana Sylvia’s attention.

“Look, sugar, ya’ got this man speechless!!” Nana Sylvia laughed, “My Tammy is the prettiest girl around!”

“Oh, yes,” Erik agreed, but there was a curious lack of inflection in his deep voice.

Tamara didn’t know what to think. She wanted to call the entire date off then. What was his fucking problem? Screw him. This isn’t a damn date anyway. Tamara stiffened her back and walked up to him, linking her arm in his.

“Ready?” She said with her own annoyance.

“Yes,” Erik turned to Nana Sylvia with a pleasant half smirk, “Good-bye, Miss Sylvia. It was a pleasure seeing ya’ again.”

“You as well, Erik, you two have a good ol’ time. Take care of my sugar foot!” she said, waving them out of the house.

“Nanaaa,” Tamara fussed with a whiny voice.

“Girl, hush.” Nana Sylvia said.

“Always,” Erik chuckled before he looked down at Tamara, guiding her down the porch steps.

Nana Sylvia waited in the door until they were both safe in his flashy sports car. It’s so black Tamara couldn’t see it until they were standing right in front of it. Erik took her jacket and held her door open as she slipped inside. He shut the door softly and like lighting he was on the drivers side and entering. His car had that new car smell and it was so pristine. The leather seat was warm and molded into her body comfortably. He kindly turned on the AC and she buckled herself in.

Erik took off and Tamara loved how smooth the car drove. Like the tires were gliding on water. Smokestack Lightning played from the Bluetooth in his car and Tamara glanced over at the way he drove one-handed with his left hand while his other hand rested in his lap. She gripped her clutch tightly in her lap, trying to find a way to break the ice.

“I’m sorry I’m not dressed to your liking,” Tamara said sarcastically, staring straight ahead of her.

Erik came to a slow halt in the woods just a mile from the road.

“Who said all that?” Erik asked, his voice very gentle.

“You looked at me like I did something wrong by wearin’ this dress, Erik,” Tamara snapped.

“I’m just doubting my ability to get ya’ in and out without having to kill someone who wants ya’.”

Tamara slowly turned to look at Erik.

“You’re being sarcastic.” She turned her gaze back in front of her again but her heart was racing.

Suddenly, Erik’s hand gripped her chin, forcing her to turn and look at him.

“Do I look like I am?” Erik asked.

His dark eyes were wide and unblinking.

“No…” Tamara admitted.

“Then accept what I say.”

He let go of her chin and Tamara sat back in her seat while he resumed driving.

“So…ya’ like it then?” Tamara asked with a small voice.

Erik licked his lips and then stole a look at her dress before turning his attention back onto the road.

“I love the dress. A lot.”

His eyes went to her again and he scanned her body from head to toe. He took a deep breath in and released it slowly. Tamara glanced over at his lap and she noticed that he was clenching his right fist.

“Thank you.”

“Ya’ welcome,” Erik shifted his hips. “What are ya’ wearing on ya’ skin?”

“Huh?” Tamara touched the side of her neck with her fingertips, “Oh, oh uh…Tom Ford. Lost Cherry.”

“That scent was made for ya’. It enhances your natural pheromones…”

Tamara jumped slightly when Erik pressed his face into her neck and inhaled. Her eyes flashed to the road and he was driving in a straight line to her surprise. He reselfaced and his eyes were low like he was on a super high. Tamara pulled down the mirror above her to apply more gloss to her lips. The choice of music went from blues to R&B and Tamara admired his taste in music. He’d been around long enough to experience it all.

“Can we roll the windows down? I’d like fresh air if that’s okay…please?”

“I gotcha,” Erik switched off the AC and brought the front two windows all the way down, “good?”

“Perfect,” Tamara’s long spirals blew in the wind and in her face. She smiled to herself, a surge of confidence overcoming her.

“What are ya’ smilin’ ‘bout?” Erik asked with a smile of his own.

“Nothingggg,” Tamara smoothed hair from her eyes.

“Do I have to get it out of ya, little one?”

“How will you do that?” She turned to look at him.

Erik simply placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed it gently. Tamara’s back stiffened and she looked down at his hand. She knew he could grip her harder than that, and the thought turned her on. He started stroking her inner thigh and she gasped. He caught that.

“Are ya’ gon’ tell me, baby girl?” His black eyes fell on her and he arched a single thick brow.

“…Okay,” She rolled her eyes, “I like that you like what I’m wearing…I like that I made ya’ happy.”

“Why was that so hard to say, Tammy?”

“I don’t know,” She blushed.

“I make ya’ nervous, Sugar?”

It wasn’t a question.

And why did Sugar sound so good Rolling off his tongue?

Tamara didn’t respond.

“It’s okay. You make me nervous too.”

Tamara didn’t believe that for a second. She looked at him with an accusatory stare. Erik caught her looking and cracked a dimpled smile.

“Seriously. It’s hard for me to act normal around ya’. I’ve never had this close of a relationship with a human in over eighty years. I’m constantly in my head, trying to impress ya’, tryna’ fight ma’ urges…”

Tamara let his words sink in. She didn’t know vampires could get nervous. She smiled again knowing that she made Erik nervous. This vampire sitting next to her.

“We’re not so different,” Erik smirked.

Tamara suddenly had the courage to kiss him. She leaned over in her seat and pecked Erik’s cheek. He blinked twice rapidly as if brought out of hypnosis and looked at her. She giggled and shook her head before turning her body fully in her seat. Tamara slipped her feet out of her sandals and brought her feet up to rest on his dashboard but paused when she realized what she was about to do.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright—”

“I’m so used to doin’ it in Lloyd’s truck—”

“Put ya’ pretty feet up there, I don’t care.” Erik said.

“Ya’ sure?”

“Yes.”

Tamara stretched her legs. She noticed Erik admiring her toes with nails painted white and a gold anklet with the letter E on it.

“Thank ya’ for the kiss. But it wasn’t exactly the kiss that I wanted.” Erik said.

“You’re driving right now and I didn’t want to distract ya’ too much,” Tamara replied.

Erik pulled over on the side of the road and put the car in park. Without a word or a warning, he was out of the car and on Tamara’s side within one breath. She watched as he opened her door and held his hand out for her to take. After slipping on her heels, Tamara grasped his hand with a curious look on her face. Erik shut the door and walked her around to the trunk of the car. In a black night that hugged the skin, that brought full comfort to the soul, the headlights became like lighthouse beams.

“What are we doin’ out here, Erik?” Tamara questioned with an ethereal voice.

Her back is towards the car and he’s standing in front of her. He’s so close now that her ass bumped the trunk and she realized that he’d trapped her. She looked him in the eyes, waiting with bated breath. Erik’s hands molded into her waist and then he lifted her to sit on the trunk.

“I want a proper kiss.” Erik said.

“We’re wasting time.”

“Not when I own that motherfucka’…”

Tamara tilted her head in thought. What was there to think about?

“I’m trying to decide if you deserve it—”

Erik had his hand in her hair and his lips on hers. Tamara gripped his biceps and squeezed, her body leaning forward to press against his chest. Erik’s hands moved to cup her face and their heads swiveled from left to right. His tongue swiped her bottom lip to grant him access into her sweet mouth and she parted her lips for him to divulge.

The pouty softness of her bottom lip against the plumpness of his upper lip sent shock waves through her. The evening breeze blew her curls into Erik’s eyes and his locs fell over his forehead from the movement. Tamara broke the kiss and Erik’s eyes noticed how swollen her lips were. He could taste her gloss on his lips and tongue and their eyes met with emotions so strong words couldn’t describe.

“Maybe we should…get goin’,” Tamara said with a feathery voice.

Erik could hear her heart pumping through her chest. With his enhanced night vision, he could see the perspiration clinging to her exposed skin and the stiffness of her nipples. If only he had X-ray vision. Her hair is shiny; like black silk and she smelled like sweet almond milk and cherries.

“Why are ya’ in such a rush, Tammy?” Erik asked.

“I–I’m not.”

Erik gave her a disbelieving look with a smirk, “it’s just kissin’, baby girl. I promise I’ll excuse my hands and…other things…until ya’ give me the green light.”

He heard the tremble in her breath.

“Ya’ seem to enjoy our kissing a lot so,” Erik took one of her curls and wrapped it around his finger, “Ya’ want more?” His lips were so close to hers, “‘Cause I do.”

Tammy closes the space between them and with her arms around his shoulders she takes the lead. Erik’s right arm came around Tamara’s waist and her back arched, pressing her soft chest against his vigorous chest. As she nibbled on his bottom lip, Erik’s right hand smoothed down her back until he picked her up to straddle him. The split in her body con dress made it easier for her legs to come around his tapered waist. Both of his hands palmed her ass and his rigid dick would have caressed her sex if it wasn’t for him sitting her back down on the car. She would have been so ready to take him with how wet she is. He could smell her arousal and it was just as sweet.

“Ya’ right, let’s go.” Erik said between breaths.

His fangs had materialized during their kissing session and Tamara hadn’t noticed. She was having a hard time catching her own breath.

“Okay,” She smoothed her hair from her face.

She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“Patience, baby,” Erik said, stroking her chin.

His fangs popped back in and Erik picked Tamara up and spun her around before dropping her to her feet quickly. She gasped, staring up at him flustered until a bright smile graced her face.

“I can’t stay mad at you for long,” She admitted.

“I wouldn’t want you to. It breaks my undead heart,” Erik replied jokingly.

They got back in the car and resumed their drive to Crimson Mist with his hand on her thigh and her feet on his dash.

Crimson Mist, the vampire bar and nightclub, was located on Bourbon Street. It was situated within an alleyway and secluded. The name of the place was spelled out in jazzy red neon above the door, and the facade was painted black, with a red door providing color contrast.

Erik walked around to open Tamara’s door, and he helped her out with one hand while shutting the door with the other. With an arm around her waist, Erik guided Tamara towards the entrance where two bouncers were carding people before entering. When they noticed Erik approaching, one of them opened the door for him to enter. She could sense that those men were both vampires and Erik detected her nervousness.

They were standing in a little boxy entrance hall with red lights.

“Breathe, Tammy,” Erik whispered into her hair, “Stick to my side at all times.”

Past a black velvet drape, Tamara got her first comprehensive look at Crimson Mist’s interior. Everything was black and red. The walls were covered with upholstered paneling that reminded Tamara of sound proof foam. There are two bars on each side of the club, a stage for entertainment and another stage with a throne chair situated on it. Random stripper poles with beautiful women twirling from them. The music was deafening, the people were dressed in leather, chains and whips. The lighting was dim, of course, nothing unusual about that.

Vampire groupies and tourists were among the majority of patrons and it made it easier to distinguish the undead from the living. Some of the living looked ridiculous with their capes, fake fangs, and painted blood. They were extraordinary, and extraordinarily pathetic. The undead were like real jewels in a bin of rhinestones. They mostly favored dark clothes too, but were more interesting.

With Erik still clinging to her, Tamara continued to look around with interest and amazement and some distaste. All eyes were on them, probably because of Erik. He leaned down to whisper to her.

“You look like a white candle in a coal mine.”

Tamara giggled, and then they strolled through the scattered crowd of people to the bar. There was a never ending supply of alcohol on fancy glass shelves behind the bar and Tamara could also see bottled blood either refrigerated or warm in cases for the vampires. The laminated menu attached to the sticky bar top in black marble had signature drinks like a bloodthirsty martini or a blood orange margarita. Tamara ordered a Fangria and accepted the drink from a smiling bartender that showed his fangs. Tamara returned a nervous smile.

“How’s it going, boss?” The bartender asked. “This pretty thing is your meal for tonight?” He nodded towards Tamara as he put her drink on the bar for her.

“This is Tamara,” Erik pulled her closer to him, “She has some questions to ask tonight. I figured I’d bring her along to see if she can get the answers she desires.”

Tamara looked up at Erik with a slight frown.

“Anything, beautiful,” the Indian bartender with long coal black hair looked at her with hungry eyes.

“Do you know anything about these two women,” Tamara retrieved her phone from her clutch, presenting the photos to the bartender, “Or this man here,” She pulled up a photo of Lloyd.

“Yes, to the women, no to the man, though he looks delicious,” said the bartender, smiling at her again, “Is that your husband?”

“No. That’s my brother. I just wanted to know if he’d been around here with any of these women. Have ya’ noticed any men around these women?”

“…that’s something I wouldn’t know,” he replied quickly, his face closing down, “that’s something we don’t notice here. You won’t either. Ain’t that right, boss?”

Tamara looked up at Erik again and he had an expression with practiced control.

“Thank you,” Tamara said politely, realizing she’d broken a rule. It was dangerous to ask who left with whom, evidently, “I appreciate it. Thanks for the drink.”

The bartender looked at Tamara considerably.

“Let me see the girls again,” he pointed at the photo of Dawn’s picture, “that one, she wanted to die.”

Tamara leaned in to speak closer. Erik stood behind her now, both hands on her waist.

“How do ya’ know?”

“Everyone who comes here does, to one extent or another,” he said matter-of-factly. Tamara could tell he took that for granted. “That's what we are. Death.”

He chuckled and Erik joined in on the laugh. Tamara shuddered. Erik’s arm found its way on her arm, drawing her away to a vacated booth. Tamara pulled her arm away from him, clearly irritated, and just then she was blocked by a statuesque woman covered in tattoos and wearing a black lace shawl with bell sleeves, a black corskirt that hugged her curves, and a patent leather black clincher. Her hair was styled similar to those pinup girls from the 40s and her bold red lipstick made her lips look sultry.

“Finally brought your play thing to the establishment. How sweet.”

Tamara arched a brow at Lana and she was ready to say something just as unpleasant but Erik cut her off.

“Lana, this is Tamara. Didn’t get the chance to speak last time with everything that happened.” Erik said.

“I don’t recall wanting to speak to her last time,” Lana cocked her head to the side, challenging Tamara to say anything with her deadly stare.

“Lana,” Erik’s eyes narrowed and his voice went deep, “Do I have to remind you of our discussion earlier?”

Lana’s demeanor changed with one look from Erik and a bright smile replaced her face. She gave Tamara a flirty wave that Tamara didn’t return because she could see that Lana was only playing nice because Erik told her so.

“Can’t return the gesture? Let me find out this sweet little fragile thang ain’t so sweet.” Lana teased.

“I don’t do well with fakes,” Tamara replied.

Lana’s brows rose with humor and her beautiful smile with sharp white fangs didn’t seem to affect Tamara. Erik was losing patients with her disrespect and from the way Erik looked, Tamara didn’t want to stick around to see what he had planned for his progeny.

“Trust, the feeling is mutual.” Lana replied.

Lana strutted away from them to the throne chair that Tamara gathered belonged to Erik. She left Erik standing there and slid into the booth. He joined her and sat across from her, his pitch black eyes scanning the room before they came to a stop on her.

“This is reality, Tammy.” Erik said.

“Do you think I came here with you to die? Because I didn’t,” Tamara argued.

Erik laughed, and if it wasn’t for her anger towards him, she would have folded. The smile and the dimples get her every time.

“What’s so funny? You knew I wasn’t going to get any answers coming here, didn’t you?”

“…And ya’ knew that yourself. Love the determination by the way, nice touch,” Erik smirked.

“You really get on my nerves,” Tamara glared at Erik.

Erik laughed harder, “Not so fast, baby girl. We just had a moment not too long ago. You want me to give ya’ a reminder?”

Tamara kissed her teeth and Erik puckered his lips to mimic their kissing followed by a deep chuckle. Tamara rolled her eyes at his childishness.

“C’mon, fuck those dead women. You know ya’ brother ain’t do that shit. Let’s just enjoy the night.”

“And you, right?” Tamara said.

“And me. We had this discussion two nights ago, baby girl. Finish your drink off so I can get ya’ a new one.”

“So, what is this then? A date? You didn’t even properly ask me on a date to even consider this a date—”

“It’s a way for you to see my world a lot closer. And for the record, princess, I would never bring ya’ here for a date.” Erik quipped.

“I don’t even think you know how to date,” Tamara fired back.

Erik slipped in beside her now, boxing her in. Tamara refused to look at him as best as she could.

“This isn’t the place to take a woman like you on a date. You deserve more than this. Just because I own it, doesn’t mean I like it.”

Tamara stared at Erik confused, “What?”

Erik exhaled frustratingly, “The only reason that I own this bar is because I have to. The vampire government forced me to. They wanted me to come up with a way to welcome humans for entertainment and fun. I’m bored with all of this…”

“Then sell it,” Tamara said, “Have ya’ thought about that?”

“Yes. But I would prefer that the vampire hierarchy not track my every move. This gives them a way to be distracted. Everything that goes on here stays here. That’s the rule. As long as I follow that rule, I’m all good.”

“What constitutes fun for you then?”

Erik’s eyes scanned Tamara’s body. She finished off the rest of her drink, the blossoming warmth of the alcohol spreading through her.

“Going for a long drive, flying, visiting a museum, cooking, reading, dancing…just to name a few…”

Tamara’s icy demeanor melted away. She was interested in knowing more about him besides the fact that he’s an attractive vampire.

Flying?” Tamara asked.

“Yeah,” Erik smirked, “It’s a rush.”

“I–I didn’t know vampires could fly.”

“We can do a lot of things,” Erik said with a half smirk.

“Then why drive?”

“When I’m with a human, I’d prefer to drive. Flying with you looking all pretty would be a disaster.”

Tamara giggled, “How considerate of you. Flying sounds peaceful.”

“I can show ya’ one night. Take you up into the clouds so you can see Louisiana from above.”

Tamara’s hazel eyes went wide with excitement. Erik couldn’t fight the smile that appeared on his face. She’s so adorable.

“I’m scared!” Tamara giggles, “I’ve never even been on a plane.”

“You’ll love it.” Erik took one of Tamara’s hands, staring at her nails.

“You said cook…”

Erik licked his lips, “Yes.”

“Were you a chef?”

“I was a food artisan. My parents had their own shop where we would sell our own items.”

“…so that means you could cook for me?”

“I will cook for you. I can tell ya’ when something is undercooked or overcooked. I could tell ya’ when something is toxic for ya’ to consume. I know what flavors work well together, how to make wine…better than most of these people who call themselves chefs.”

The music was loud and aggressive and it had everyone crowding the dance floor. The pole dancers worked over time to entertain everyone. Bottle girls went around to supply more drinks, and Tamara had a few more herself. She was too shy to ask Erik for a dance. But she could see that he wanted to. Three Six Mafia had the whole club banging.

A fang-banger with a banging body and a perfect weave approached their booth. Tamara was half-hidden by Erik finishing her drink, but still, they’d all seen him enter with her. She was gorgeous, like those models in music videos. She bent across the table with her titties almost popping out to get her mouth about two inches from Erik.

“Hi, dangerous,” She said with a sultry voice. She tapped Erik’s bottled blood with a long acrylic fingernail painted scarlet, “I have the real stuff.” She stroked her neck to make sure he got the point, “Why don’t you come with me so you can have a taste?”

Tamara took a deep breath to control her temper. Erik was her date. She waited to see what he would say and if it was anything other than turning down her advances, Tamara was leaving. She wanted to mush her in the face but she held absolutely still so she wouldn’t give Erik any cues on what she wanted.

“Ya’ don’t see that I’m with someone? Just actin’ all bold coming over here?” Erik said with narrow eyes.

“She doesn't have any puncture marks on her neck,” the girl observed, acknowledging Tamara’s presence finally with an amused look as if Tamara being next to a vampire was a joke. As if she didn’t belong at Crimson Mist.

“Like I said, I’m with her.” Erik said, his voice not so gentle this time. He grabbed Tamara’s hand and rubbed it with his thumb, “I’m sure you’ll find what ya’ want somewhere else.”

“They say you have a big dick to match those big fangs,” She licked her lips.

Tamara gawked at the girl. Erik wasn’t her man but the nerve of this bitch to boldly say that in front of her. Erik chuckled and it irritated Tamara. What the fuck is so funny?

“Don’t matter what you heard. You ain’t gettin’ nothing from me.” Erik said.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” She sat up, rolling her eyes at Tamara.

“Yes I do,” Erik said.

The girl kissed her teeth and stumbled away.

“You okay?” Erik turned to check on Tamara.

“Yeah.” Tamara looked down at her empty glass.

“Want another drink?” Erik asked.

“Sure.”

Erik didn’t have to get up from his seat. He just raised his arm and a server; a human from what it looked like with bite marks on her neck as well, rushed over. She was hypnotized by Erik’s presence and Erik had to repeat the order to her. She hurried away and Tamara noticed more women looking towards the direction of their booth, even men.

“You haven’t said anything since that chick came over to the table,” Erik said.

“There’s nothing to say,” Tamara replied, with great self-control.

“Why’s that?”

Tamara exhaled, “I shouldn’t have to say anything. You handled it respectfully and that’s all there is to it.”

Erik smirked, “You could have sent her on her way.”

“I’m not the one to get into petty fights with a woman no matter how disrespectful she was. And I wanted to see how you would handle it. I would have been gone if it was the other way around, Erik. You should be happy about that.”

“I am happy. And you’re the only girl I want, Tammy.”

Tamara’s stomach did somersaults.

“Do you want me wit’ you?” Erik asked her in a hushed tone that was similar to a ghostly whisper.

The hard planes of his body pressed into Tamara’s much smaller one, blocking her against the wall of the booth. The dim light above them made his skin glow and his perfect face was close to hers.

“What do you think?” Tamara looked from his lips to his eyes.

“Ma, I’m asking you,” Erik arched a brow, “That vampire over there scanned you twice.”

“You’re teasing me,” Tamara looked towards the direction Erik was focused on.

The vampire he indicated was handsome, in fact, radiant; a faded cut with green eyes, tall and broad shouldered, sepia skin without fault and iridescent. He was wearing boots, jeans, and a vest. He had this vicious look in his eyes and when Tamara looked up at Erik he had the same look but it scared Tamara more.

“His name is Dean,” Erik said.

“How old is he?”

“I’ve known him since the 20s. I’m the oldest vampire in this bar.”

“He looks mean. Why is he glaring at me?”

Erik chuckled, “We’re all mean, Tamara. Very strong and very violent. And he’s glaring because he’s trying to control himself from coming over here and taking you away from me. He knows that won’t happen.”

Dean gave Erik a mischievous smirk and started towards them as if gliding across the floor. Tamara’s breath hitched and Erik didn’t move. Dean took a seat across from Erik and Tamara with a bottle of True Blood in his hand.

“Erik. I expected to see you sitting on your throne.”

“Not tonight. I’m here with this beautiful girl.”

“Hmm, I can see that,” Dean smirked handsomely at Tamara, “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Tamara.”

“Ooo, I like that. And you smell,” Dean’s green eyes sparkled with intensity, “Delicious.”

“She’s mine.” Erik snapped.

Dean stared at him with annoyance.

“I didn’t come over here to take her from you, Erik. I know she’s yours. Every vampire in here knows. That’s why none of us came over here to take her ourselves. But I can’t deny a sexy woman when I see one.”

Tamara blushes. She tucked her chin bashfully at Dean’s compliment. He’s definitely a smooth talker. Erik was smoldering. Tamara’s hand on his arm kept him under control.

“I want to ask Dean a question if that’s okay?”

Erik’s jaw clenched, “Go ‘head.”

“Have you seen either of these women in this bar?”

Dean studied the pictures with his thumb grazing his bottom lip. Erik wasn’t going to take his eyes off of Dean. He knew exactly what he was capable of.

“I have been with this one,” Dean said coolly, tapping Dawn’s picture. “She liked pain.”

Dean shot a glance at Erik and there was an unspoken bond there that Tamara was curious about.

“This one here,” he flicked his finger at Maudette’s picture, “was a pathetic creature.”

“Thanks,” Tamara put her phone away.

“Erik, why haven’t you brought your friend around before?” Dean asked.

“Me and Erik are new friends,” Tamara responded with a bright smile to him, seeing that Erik was too irritated to speak.

“Aren’t you so sweet,” Dean observed.

“Not especially,” Tamara said.

Dean stared at her with surprise.

“Well, then maybe you should bring your new friend around more often. If she can handle Crimson Mist, she can handle anything.”

Dean reached for Tamara’s hand and Erik’s hand zipped past her to grab a hold of Dean’s throat. Dean laughed and Erik’s fangs popped out making him look like a true monster. Tamara had a hand pressed to her chest and she was frozen in fear. The speed at which they move will never get old to her. Erik squeezed down on Dean’s neck and slammed him against the table, standing above him. Dean hisses at Erik with his sharp fangs.

“She’s…mine. If ya’ don’t want to lose your head, I suggest you keep your fuckin’ hands to ya’ self.” Erik warned Dean with an animalistic growl.

“Erik…it’s okay, calm down,” Tamara said with a soothing voice.

Erik let go and Dean stood up with a smirk. Tamara was given a full on view of his perfect six pack and the v-cut of his waistline. The table had a crack in it and Dean’s bottle of True Blood was knocked over. Dean dipped his head in farewell at Tamara and glided into the crowd, disappearing from sight. He didn't want to stick around. It seemed as if everyone was immune to violence in Crimson Mist.

“You seem to be telling everyone that I’m yours,” Tamara muttered.

“It’s vampire tradition,” Erik explained again with annoyance, “If I pronounce you mine, no one else can try to feed on you.”

“Feed on me, that’s a delightful phrase,” Tamara said sharply.

“I’m protecting you,” Erik said, his voice not quite as neutral as usual.

“I don’t need—”

She was stopped short. Erik took her by the chin and he turned her head to him. He looked so hard into her eyes that she thought she had tunnels burned into her brain.

“You don’t need protection? Is that what you were gonna say?”

“…I was, but then I thought about how you saved my life. And how this killer is murdering women who associate with vampires in any way.”

“…And you shouldn’t have to worry because I’m going to protect you. No one is going to hurt you, Tammy. I promise that. Do ya’ hear me?”

Tamara exhaled a shaky breath and then nodded her head in response. That wasn’t enough for Erik.

“Words?” Erik said.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Tamara glanced at the people at the bar dancing and drinking and on the verge of hooking up.

“Is that really the only thing on their minds?” Tamara said with a roll of her eyes.

“What are they thinking?” Erik questioned.

“Sex, sex, sex.”

Every single person in that bar had sex on the brain.

“What are you thinking about, Tamara?”

“Not sex.”

“Ya lyin’ to me?” Erik asked with a playful look.

“I was thinking about dancing but I don’t know if I should.”

Erik stood up from the booth and took off his moto jacket. He held out his hand for Tamara to take and she did. He led her out of the booth and to the dance floor. The sea of people parted for them and they found a spot in the middle of the dance floor under red lights.

Rihanna- Work had everyone moving their hips and when Tamara heard her new favorite song it was like liquid adrenaline being injected right into her bloodstream — just enough to make her tingle and start to move her own hips. She wound her hips in a circle, her arms came up and she felt loose and sexy. Erik stood there watching her with commanding eyes and a half smirk that showcased a deep dimple. His skin beneath the lights looked warm to the touch and the contours of his muscular arms had Tamara wishing he would wrap them around her.

While some danced, others stood around watching her move like a temptress with her hands in her hair and her slim-thick body moving with explosive sensuality. Tamara got so lost in the song that she felt as if she were the only one there. She threw her head back and did a little two step, eyes closed and a bite of her bottom lip. When Drake’s verse came up, Tamara placed her hands on her thighs and dipped her hips down to the floor where she did a little slow whine.

Erik came up behind Tamara and held his hand out so he could guide her back up. She threw her head back to get the hair out of her eyes and giggled when she locked eyes with Erik’s intense expression. The song switched to PARTYNEXTDOOR- Wus Good/Curious

Good, lovin, feel so, numb

Ride me, 'til I'm, 'bout to, cum

I see, you are, 'bout to, clim-

-Ax so, oh, girl, don't be, shy

Is you ready?

Is you ready, baby?

You seem ready

You seem ready, baby

Girl tonight I won't be selfish

It is all for you (yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah)

Girl, my bad, I just can't help it (just can't help it)

Girl, you taste so…

Tamara faced Erik and he took her by the hand, twirling her so that her back was against his torso. Tamara could feel the powerfulness of his body against her feeble frame. She went still, allowing him to guide her movements. One of his cool hands came around to rest on her lower belly and he brought her left arm up to drape over his shoulder. He started doing a slow yet rhythmic two step and with the hand on her stomach he guided her to follow his movements.

He pressed his face into her neck and Tamara’s heart pounded with nervous excitement. He exhaled through his mouth and then inhaled deeply through his nose and her eyes fluttered shut. The pressure from his hand forced her bubble butt to press into his crotch. The two step transitioned into Erik grinding on her, forcing Tamara to follow the motion of his hips. His free hand wrapped delicately around her neck, using his finger tips to stroke over her pulse. She felt the crotch of her black lace thong grow wetter.

Hey, shawty, this what I'm here for, I'm ready (I'm ready)

Are you downtown when I'm round town, I'm ready (I'm ready)

Girl, just let me know what's good

Girl, you're beautiful

They won't know, they won't know what we do

Girl, you're beautiful

No, no, they won't know what we do…

The DJ did a dope mix and PARTYNEXTDOOR- Break From Toronto changed the slow motion movements to more of a bend over and pop that ass. Tamara turned to face Erik and she had her arms around his neck and they started grinding their hips against each other. Vibing to the song with smiles on their faces and their foreheads pressed together.

That smile on your face

Makes it easy to trust you

Those in- (yeah), those in- (yeah, oh), those in- (yeah, oh)

This what 'Sauga feel like in the night time (ooh)

Watch what she do when the light shine (ooh)

Drunk niggas tryna talk in the strip club

Shawty silhouette looks like a dollar sign (ooh)

Caught-caught up (caught up)

That's just how a nigga brought up (brought up)

Blow ones for you loonie ass niggas (ass niggas)

Straight bills for you toonie ass niggas (ass niggas)

M-M-My niggas bigger than the bouncer

Roll up in the bitch still smell like an ounce (like a ounce)

Right quick, right quick

Tight jeans on, so she feels my shit, ayy (feel my shit)

Tell me somethin' good, baby

Tell me somethin', tell me somethin' good, shawty (yeah)

Come bring it to the hood, baby

Bring it-bring it back to hood, shawty (ooh, ooh, ooh)

Tamara suddenly becomes bashful and hides her face against Erik’s chest. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her.

“Why are you acting so shy right now, baby girl?”

“I’ve never done this–dancing on a guy before!”

“C’mere…”

The song changed to something Tamara wasn’t familiar with but it was definitely bounce music. Erik knew the song and he grabbed Tamara by her hips, turning her again and he arched her back. She gasped in shock, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder keeping her in that position. It was more of an ass shaking song. Jealous, envious women watched Tamara twerk on Erik, wishing it were them being bent over.

Tamara looked back at him and his lips parted and she could see his fangs. His tongue dragged over the pointy tips, lips looking moist, eyes unblinking and scanning her body dangerously. She flipped her hair over and brought one hand above her head, ass bouncing on his stiffness poking her in the booty. She swayed her hips with each bounce, feeling tipsy and getting lost in the music, mistaking his iron hard dick for a nonexistent belt. Erik held her hand up and let her do her thing, tilting his head to watch the way her ass moved in that cinching dress.

“Damn,” Erik spoke gruffly against her ear,“you got some ass on you, girl…best fuckin’ dancer I’d ever seen.”

Tamara blushes, “Thank you!”

“I ain’t know you could make it move like that, ma!”

“Now you know!” Tamara shouted over the music.

When the song was over, Tamara couldn’t look Erik in the eye. He was all over her. He pulled her into his embrace with a hand on her ass and his other hand smoothing her hair out of her face. He brought his lips to her ear, the hand on her ass now rubbing up and down her back.

“You wanna get outta here?” He whispered in her ear.

She looked up at him with a bat of her lashes. He had a hungry look in his eyes.

“Yeah…” she spoke with a feathery voice.

They had driven back to Tamara’s home already, but Erik had Tamara straddling him in his back seat. They had been kissing for a while now, Erik’s white beater off and the straps to Tamara’s dress hanging from her shoulders. He had her hair in his right fist and his left hand rubbing all over her ass. Tamara combed her fingers through his locs, amazed at how soft his hair is. Heads swiveling from left to right and they couldn’t get enough of each other.

“Erik,” Tamara looked down at him, “I want you too.”

Erik’s onyx eyes blazed with desire. He pulled her in and his lips found hers again. Harder, wetter, and maybe this could lead to even more. Tamara wanted it badly and Erik wanted it more than her. He’d been waiting to have her. Waiting for his moment to make her his. He was so close. She still needed to open up, and Tamara wasn’t an easy girl. He loved that about her.

Tamara broke the kiss again which frustrated Erik.

“I have to go. I didn’t expect to be out this late.”

“Work?”

Tamara nodded her head solemnly.

“Call out,” Erik tilted his head at her with a bite of his lower lip, “For me?”

“I can’t. I picked this shift up.” Tamara whined.

“What shift is it, Tammy?”

“…night.”

Erik kisses his teeth, “Aight, ma. How ‘bout I come see ya’ tomorrow? We can go for a drive…I’m staying here for the weekend to check on my new place…”

Tamara looked at him with confusion, “New place?”

“A smaller home away from home basically. St. Tammany is where I wanna have a private place for myself. I purchased a home right across the cemetery and it’s being fixed up as we speak.”

“Do you have other homes all over the world?” Tamara asked.

“I do…one in Jamaica, Haiti, Cuba, Nigeria, LA, New York, Miami, St. Thomas…”

“Wow.” Tamara was amazed.

“Hm,” Erik chuckled, “I’d like to show you them one day…”

“Tamara climbed off of Erik’s lap and sat next to him. He refused to let her open her own door. He left the car and jogged around to open the door for her, holding his hand out for her to take. Erik picked her up and twirled her around again before placing her on her feet.

“Goodnight, Tammy,” Erik whispered before giving her one last kiss.

Tamara stood on her tip toes and rested her cheek against his for a moment.

“Thanks for taking me.”

Erik grabbed her hand, swinging it as they walked up to the house. Within the porch, Tamara opened her door while Erik waited for her to make it inside. She looked back at him over her shoulder and waved, Erik returning the gesture. Tamara closed her door and pressed her back against it.

Meanwhile, Erik was driving to his nearly finished home. It was an Acadian style home which is a true representation of the Louisiana style homes. Influenced by French and Canadian styles, these houses feature steeply pitched roofs with dormer windows, and large covered porches or galleries, often wrapping around the house. Acadian homes often have raised foundations to help protect from flooding, and the exteriors have shutters and decorative brackets. Interiors often have high ceilings with exposed wood beams, and are designed for open, airy living in the hot and humid Louisiana climate.

The interior is old world gothic and Victorian while his other home is more minimalist with steel. He had a new coffin for Lana and himself installed in the basement while the rooms had beds with automatic windows that were timed to open during nightfall. Truthfully, Erik purchased this home secretly to be away from the other vampires and Tia. He wanted to spend time with Tamara as much as he could without everyone knowing where he was. Lana much preferred the other home, so Erik would only spend time there if work was needed to be done.

He walked around the luxury double-staircase foyer with optimism, the polished maple hardwood beneath his feet causing his footsteps to sound more pronounced. Deep purple, black, and gray decorated the first level. Each of the five bed rooms has its own complimentary color such as maroon, and navy blue but black will always be the main scheme. He had a feeling Tamara didn’t like his home back in New Orleans because it held a memory she didn’t want to recall. They could make new memories here.

Erik took a seat on a black sofa throne chair in solid mahogany wood, Crystal tufting, and a gloss black finish. His black fireplace was handcrafted to look like skulls giving it a more haunting look. He reminisced about the evening, unable to stop himself from smiling. Tamara looked stunning. He loved when she dressed up. He couldn’t get over how beautiful her hair is. She looked amazing. Dancing with her made him feel alive again. Kissing her made him fall in love with the act all over again. As much as he wanted to make love to her, he will be patient.

Erik wanted the time to be right for her. She’s a virgin and that made it harder for Erik to give into his urges. He’ll have plenty of time to fuck her, but first he needed to take things slow and ease her into what sex with him will be like. Erik stood up to head up the stairs to the master bedroom. When he entered the room decorated in black and gold, Erik activated the automatic windows all over the home and undressed. Naked, he climbed in bed beneath the silk black sheets and stared up at the high ceiling.

Erik shut his eyes and a sensation overcame him. Eyes remaining closed, Erik could sense Tamara dreaming. It was like a deep psychological bond and he could feel it growing stronger. Since Tamara drank his blood the night he saved her life, it created an eternal bond/spirit union between them. He can feel the strong sexual and romantic energy, and it was difficult for him not to go to her and fulfill what she truly desires.

He couldn’t see exactly what she was dreaming about, and he desperately wished he could. She was in distress, tossing and turning, unable to peacefully sleep because of the nature of her sex dreams.

Mmmmmahhhhunh…

Erik’s eyes shot open.

Was this really a dream or…

Erik…Erik…Erik…

He sat up, silk sheets pooling around his toned hips.

Erik rolled his neck. Every muscle in his body flexed.

Yes…right there…don’t stop…please…

He couldn’t take it.

Erik was out of his bed and with only his jeans on, he sped out of the house and across the cemetery to Tamara’s.

Back at Tamara’s, within her bedroom, evening air trickling in, Tamara is dressed in a white babydoll lingerie nightgown, her curls resting on top of her head with a satin scrunchie. The cotton sheets are kicked to the foot of the bed, her legs spread open and one hand between her legs, rubbing her clit. Hard nipples pointed to the ceiling, Tamara has her eyes closed, envisioning her vampire between her legs devouring her. The way he moved his tongue over hers when they kissed let her know that he knew how to use it well.

“Fuck,” Tamara moaned softly.

She brought two fingers down to her entrance and sank them deeply inside. She couldn’t believe how wet she was. Tamara sat up on one elbow, knees to her chest, toes curled, and bottom lip between her teeth.

Visions of his black eyes staring up at her from between her legs has her walls quivering.

“Eat me…taste me…”

She felt her body begin to tense up. Tamara’s mouth dropped open and she came all over her fingers unexpectedly. She needed more. That was her second orgasm and she knew she could give more.

“I can’t stop…” she moaned.

This is the most she’d ever masturbated.

“I’m so wet for you…”

Just when she was about to attack her clit with her fingers again, she could hear a sound at her window. Sitting up, Tamara fixed her nightgown and climbed down from her bed. Opening her curtains, she jumped back in shock at Erik looking up at her. He’d been throwing broken branches at her window.

“Erik?”

“Can I come up?” He asked.

Tamara looked from left to right before her eyes fell on him again.

“Yes. I’ll get the door—”

Erik had scaled the wall and crawled into the room.

Tamara was stunned.

“How did you?—”

Erik put a finger to her lips. He looked down at her through the curtain of locs against his forehead. Tamara noticed that he wasn’t wearing any shoes and he was shirtless. Erik inhaled and he followed the scent to Tamara’s fingers.

“Erik?—”

He grabbed her hand and sucked on her fingers. Tamara’s breath hitched. He sucked hard, Tamara growing weak in the knees.

“You taste…so good…”

He opened his eyes and Tamara could see a red ring around his pitch black irises.

Tamara looked up at Erik confused.

“I could hear you…playing with yourself.”

She opened her mouth but no words came out. Tamara looked away from him, embarrassed to even meet his piercing gaze.

“How? Were you standing outside my window the entire time?” She asked with a timid voice.

“Nah,” Erik touched her cheek, “Remember the night I saved your life?”

“Yes,” Tamara leaned into his touch.

“You drank my blood. When you do that, it creates a bond between the vampire and the human. It’s similar to the bond of a maker and progeny but the only difference is I can’t call on you.”

“Really?” Tamara was shocked, “So that means…”

“Yes,” Erik smirked, “I know you’ve been dreaming about me. At least up until now…”

Tamara sat down on her bed and Erik sat next to her.

“You were pleasuring yourself.” Erik said.

Tamara toyed with the lace trimming on her nightgown.

“I was,” She shot him a quick glance before looking back down, “This is so embarrassing.”

Erik scooted closer, lifting her chin.

“Tell me about your fantasy. Please?”

Tamara looked him in the eyes and exhaled.

“I was…fantasizing about you…between my legs…”

Her natural pheromones smelled so good it triggered his fangs to pop out. Tamara flinched slightly but soon she reached out to touch one of his fangs.

“Tamara,” Erik grabbed her hand, “Can I watch you?”

“W—watch me?” She felt her face heat up.

“I’ll sit right here and watch you touch yourself.”

After an internal struggle, she slowly laid back and nervously looked up at Erik.

“I can’t sleep when you keep moaning in my ear.” Erik said.

Tamara fixed the straps to her nightgown and one shaky hand came down to lift her nightgown. He couldn’t see her pussy when she dropped her legs open, but he could see the wetness she created in her white panties. She turned her head away from Erik, eyes closed while her fingers rubbed slow circles around her clit.

Erik sat there with his fists clenched, eyes low and his mouth watering to taste her. He’d never wanted a pussy in his mouth this bad since his wife. She smelled out of this word. A pleasant floral scent wafted from her skin and she smelled like honey in between. She whimpered, refusing to moan, and it frustrated Erik. He could see her hand moving rapidly. And Erik could hear how gushy and wet she was.

“Fuck, Tamara, you sound so sexy…it’s okay to moan…it’s just me and you in here…you look so beautiful…”

She turned her head towards him finally. The tops of her breasts were teasing his eyes. She was pleasantly horny and being such a naughty girl. She licked her lips at him and that pretty mouth fell open.

“That pussy is so wet…how do you want me to eat that pussy, baby?”

“I…”

Her legs shook and Erik grunted.

“That was my third orgasm.” Tamara giggled into her pillow.

“Take your panties off.”

Tamara sat up and slipped her panties off.

“Give them to me.”

She slid them over to Erik and he snatched them up, smelling the soaked crotch of her panties. She watched him, aroused at how much he loved her smell. He placed them within the pocket of his jeans and looked over at her. Tamara gained enough confidence to place her fingers against his lips. Erik licked them while his eyes were locked on hers.

“Tamara…”

She tilted her head at him. Erik’s cold hand reached out to stroke the gold anklet on her left ankle.

“What does the E stand for?”

“It’s for my middle name. Elicia.”

“That’s pretty,” His fingers dragged up the back of her calf, “pretty just like you…”

“Erik?”

“Just say the word, Tamara, and I’ll taste you. I’ll eat you and make you cum…”

She stared at him with desperation. Erik waited, his eyes searching hers.

“Yes,” She whispered.

Say less. Erik had her on her back in top speed. He climbed on top of her and kissed her deeply, passionately, hungrily. Tamara raked her fingers through his locs, pulling on them whenever Erik would tongue her down. He used his fingers to gently pull the straps of her nightgown down one by one, revealing her c cup breasts with perfectly round areolas and small nipples. He studied them closely — every blemish, freckle, and mole.

“Beautiful,” Erik looked at her, “You’re beautiful, Tammy.”

He let her hair down and continued to trail his kisses down her neck. Tamara moaned softly, thrusting her chest up. Erik kisses down the side of her neck, over her jawline, between her breasts and then each nipple. Tamara cupped the back of his head when he finally wrapped his lips around a nipple. Her head went back and she whimpered repeatedly.

The pounding of her heart was deafening. Erik couldn’t stop it if he could. The veins in her breasts aided in the hardening of her nipples against his tongue. He imagined the taste of her blood on her breasts. The constant cries and whimpers had his dick so hard. Erik popped a nipple out of his mouth and Tamara looked down at him.

“Why did you stop?” She fussed between breaths.

“I want you to take this dress off…please?”

Erik wasn’t used to saying please.

“Okay,” Tamara sat up, breasts mouthwatering.

She lifted the nightgown over her head and sat it on the bed next to her. Erik’s eyes dragged down her body. She had the softest most delicate skin. The most beautiful brown skin. Erik could see the top of her pussy and it was completely hairless. Smooth like satin.

“Lay back for me, baby girl.”

Tamara made herself comfortable on her elbows. Erik was kneeling above her with her legs pressed together.

“I’m nervous,” Tamara admitted.

Erik kisses both of her knees to relax her.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Open up for me, Tammy.”

She chewed on her bottom lip before spreading her thighs slowly. He could see her legs trembling. The more she opened her legs, the stronger the smell of her sex. It took all of his supernatural strength to hold back from forcing her legs open and pinning them back at the ankles with brunt force. He had to remind himself that she is inexperienced with this. He had to ease her into the pleasures.

When her legs finally fell open, Erik let out a deep groan. It was possible to have the most perfect pussy. Fat, juicy, and a work of art that needed to be a canvas painting in his room. The wishbone shape of her inner folds were engorged with her arousal and he could literally see the remnants of cum leaking from her tight opening. He could kiss this pussy all night long. He needed all that pink in his mouth right now.

“Mmm…mmm…mmm.”

Erik dipped his head between her legs and started kissing her outer lips. She watched him with curiosity, sweet moans filling the room. He resurfaced, looking up at her with deep desire.

“Thank you for giving me the honor to eat this beautiful pussy.” Erik said.

He used his entire mouth and began sucking. She’d never felt this before. It was intense. He sucked everywhere. She sat there on her elbows watching him with timid eyes and parted lips. Whenever he would suck on her clit, Tamara would whimper with a tremble of her inner thighs. His tongue flicked and dragged all over her pussy, loving the way it tasted.

“Please don’t stop,” Tamara whispered.

She placed one hand on the back of his head when he was back on her clit again. Tamara was startled by Erik tapping her wet entrance with his finger. She sounded like a puddle down there.

“Erik,” Tamara thrust her hips, tilting her pussy into his mouth further. He stopped sucking her clit to look at her.

“Whatchu want?” Erik asked.

Tamara looked anywhere but at him, “I want you to finger me…”

He really wanted to stuff her with some big dick.

“You gotta look at me and ask, Tammy.”

She looked at him, “I want you to finger me.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want.”

With his middle finger, he took his time sinking in. She instantly clamped down on his finger. When Erik went to pull his finger back before pushing it back in, her walls were acting like a suction. He could only imagine how that would feel on his dick. Mmm.

“You’re so tight, baby…”

He couldn’t believe how wet and tight she was. He tried adding his ring finger and Tamara hissed.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Your fingers are thicker than mine.”

“I’ll go slower.”

She relaxed as best as she could. Erik needed to add another finger. The more she opened up, the easier it would be to fit his dick in. He’s girthy with length and a fat tip to match. Too much for Tamara to handle right now.

“Tammy…you gotta keep your legs open and out of the way.”

Or I’ll do it for you

“I can’t help it–oh my goddess—”

He had two fingers knuckle deep. Erik wasted no time pumping. He kissed along her inner thighs and watched her face. She had her eyes closed and her head thrown back. Her breasts were bouncing and her hair was frizzy and wild. She was mesmerizing.

“You are making a big fuckin’ mess on my fingers, baby…look at this pretty pussy.”

Tamara watched Erik finger her. In and out, in and out, she moaned his name and all over his hand she came. Erik savagely licked his hand and the cum from her pussy. Sitting up, Erik with his speed pinned her legs back. He smirked down at her before going in to eat her again.

“Erik,” Tamara moaned.

She didn’t want him to stop. He had her clit between his lips again and she could feel herself getting close again. His primal eyes were locked on her hazel eyes and it was the most erotic experience. He even did it when he flicked his tongue over her clit at top speed. It felt like a vibrator. She stared at him with tears of pleasure rolling down her cheeks and a strangled moan escaping her mouth. Her toes flexed towards the ceiling and she began to convulse. Her struggling moans were music to his ears.

He stuck his tongue so far up her pussy, he sucked her up everywhere, he licked and licked until he covered every inch of that pussy. His fingers went deep and he sucked them dry just to do it again. His princess was famished. Erik looked at her with his lips dripping with her cum and what would make this even better is if he could only bite into her.

Sleep overcame her within seconds and Erik watched her sleep for an hour before he covered her with her blanket and kissed her cheek. She had enough for one night and needed her rest. He fixed his erection and patted his back pocket to make sure her panties were still there. He didn’t want to leave her, but he needed to get some sleep himself. The day was approaching and he began to feel weak.

Erik climbed out of the window and jumped down, landing on his feet. With one final look up at her window, he sped off into the night and back to his new home.

Nana Sylvia was sitting in the living room the following afternoon, her stories on the TV and a fresh glass of homemade lavender lemonade in her hand. She had one elbow propped up on the back of the couch, watching Tamara pounce around the house like she was on cloud 9. Now, she’s dressed for her shift, same heavenly smile on her face.

“You’ve been in a really great mood, Sugar. The date was lovely?”

Tamara took a seat next to her grandmother for a second so she could enjoy a glass of lavender lemonade herself.

“It was great, Nana. I had a lovely time.”

Tamara smiled into her glass.

“I hope he’ll still talk to The Descendants next Friday evening about The Revolt.”

Tamara forgot to confirm that with him last night. She was so distracted with the kissing and the head…

“He’s stopping by Marco’s tonight. I’ll ask him then, okay?”

“Thank you, baby,” Nana Sylvia shut the TV off and stood up, “Let me gon’ on and get myself together. A friend of mine is taking me to the farmer’s market in about an hour.”

“I should get going too.”

Tamara grabbed both glasses and washed them while Nana Sylvia went to freshen up. She twirled the sponge inside one of the glasses, staring into space. She kept replaying last night’s events. She kept repeating the way Erik ate her pussy and fingered her. Despite the blush on her face, her legs are weak and her pussy is sore. She took a soothing bath and it helped a little. If this is what it felt like after fingering, she couldn’t imagine the discomfort when they finally have sex.

She quickly rinsed the glasses out and sat them upside down in the dish rack, drying her hands off on her shorts before grabbing her work bag and leaving the house. It was almost 3 in the afternoon and she had to hurry so she wouldn’t be late. In her beat up car, she started it up and drove off. Her eyes combed the trees across the cemetery to see if she could make out his new home but the trees were so overgrown it acted like a wall blocking it from view.

For an afternoon, Marco’s Bar and Grill was surprisingly busy. Tamara parked in her usual spot near the back door and slipped inside after Terry came out to empty trash. The country music filled her ears as Tamara combed through a pile of clean aprons, folding one in half before tying it around her slender waist. She moved carefully to the front of the house and clocked in, looking up to find Tara at the beer tap filling a glass for Detective Bellefleur.

“This is your third beer, Andy. Aren’t you on duty?”

Andy mumbled something before walking away back to his seat.

“Fuckin’ drunk red neck—Tammy!”

Tara squeezed Tamara tight.

“Bitch, I thought you were off today?”

Tamar grabbed a note pad and pin from a basket.

“I was. But since everything with Dawn and the new girl’s availability, Marco asked if I could work tonight.”

“How ya grandmama and dem’?”

“All is good with Nana. Lloyd I hadn’t seen in almost two days. The police won’t leave him alone.”

“I’m guessin’ that’s why Andy is sticking ‘round. They've been questioning a lot of men in this area. I just think Andy has it out for Lloyd.”

“How ya’ figure?” Tamara questioned.

“He’s envious. Lloyd is handsome, in shape, and a pussy magnet. Andy is the opposite of that.”

“Well, if that’s the reason then Andy can go fuck himself. Can’t control being ugly and unwanted.”

Tara laughed boisterously.

“What side does Arlene have?”

“She’s taking care of this area.”

Tamara walked over to her side around near the pool table and locked eyes with Marco chatting it up with a regular. Marco’s chocolate brown eyes locked with hers and he winked at her. He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves rolled up and a white T-shirt underneath, faded light blue jeans, and his lucky pair of cowboy boots. His usually low cut with waves had grown out some and it’s sprinkled with gray hair to match his stubble.

Tamara walked up to an older woman she recognized but didn’t remember her name. She’s one of Nana's friends. Tamara took her order and walked around to the other tables to see if anyone needed anything. Back at the bar, Tamara went to the server’s window and called off orders to the cooks. She blew a kiss to Lafayette and took her place next to Tara with her drink tray ready.

“This is gonna be a long night,” Tamara fussed.

Tara noticed how she kept checking her phone and fidgeting like she was growing impatient. It was bothering Tara so much that she had to stop what she was doing to call Tamara out on it.

“Girl, what the hell is wrong wit’ you?!”

“I’m sorry,” Tamara smiled, “I just can’t wait to see him.”

“That vampire?” Tara asked with disgust.

“Don’t do that, Tara. I really like him…”

Tamara never felt so giddy.

“What do you like about him?”

Tamara couldn’t contain her blushing.

“He protects me, he’s an amazing kisser, he can dance and I love to dance. He’s smart, charming, strong…among other things.”

Tamara giggled at Tara’s expression.

“Bitch…you let him hit?”

“No–no. Not yet at least,” Tamara looked around before getting closer to Tara, “he went down on me.”

“What?!” Tara shouted.

Eyes fell on them and Tamara had to shush her.

“What? Tamara Elicia Bordelon!”

She couldn’t stop laughing.

“I can’t believe…” Tara raised her brows, “You nasty girl…”

“I’m still not over it. Tara…it was amazing.”

Tamara leaned against the counter and closed her eyes with contentment.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Tamara said with an angelic voice.

“Why don’t you snap out of it and take these drinks. You don’t want Marco thinkin’ something is wrong. This conversation ain’t over, Tammy!”

Tamara took her drink tray and went back to work. After clearing her tray, she slipped past Detective Bellefleur’s table.

“Tammy! I need a word with ya!”

Tamara stopped and looked at him with annoyance.

“Whatever you want to discuss can wait until I’m finished working.” Tamara sassed.

“Where has that brother of yours been? Out getting himself into trouble?”

Tamara sat her tray on the table and leaned in to Andy.

“Did you just interrogate me while I’m at work and you’re off duty?”

Andy’s pudgy face went red with anger.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Andy. My brother didn’t do this—”

“And that vampire?” He argued.

“AND Erik. Did you go to other people’s jobs and question them or did they come down to the station?”

“I offered for ya’ to come to the station—”

“And I’ve been busy. Still doesn’t give ya’ the right to ask me questions for everyone to hear.”

“When I’m detective it does!” Andy fired back.

(This freak and her vampire know something I can feel it)

(She’s so defensive. I bet she knows her brother is guilty and she’s covering for him)

(Ever since that vampire came to St. Tammany there’s been nothing but murders)

(Wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up dead next)

Tamara stormed off and bumped past Marco accidentally to get to his office. She slammed the door shut and the bar seemed to go still after that.

“Nothin’ to see here!” Marco yelled.

Tara rushed from behind the bar and she was making a beeline for Andy.

“You son of a bitch! How dare you—”

“Tara….calm down, go back to the bar. I’ll handle this.”

Tara’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She looked at Marco and then back at Andy before going to comfort Tamara.

“Andy. What the hell did you do to my waitress?”

Andy gave a nonchalant shrug in response.

“You’re cut off. No more beer. It’s time for you to go.”

“You can’t throw me out! I’m the law!”

Andy slammed his beefy fist down on the table. The kitchen doors swung open and Lafayette and Andy’s cousin, Terry, came over to the table.

“Andy, c’mon cuz. You gotta go. I already called Auntie. She knows you’re coming.”

“This is some bullshit,” Andy stood up and pulled out his wallet, slapping down two crumpled up bills, “Fuck all of you!”

Marco, Lafayette, and Terry watched Andy storm out of the bar.

“Let me go see how Tamara’s doing.”

Marco walked to the back and when he approached his office door, he knocked twice and waited. He could hear shuffling and then Tara opened the door with a hand on her hip.

“Is his drunk ass gone?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Marco slipped past Tara, “Tammy?”

Tamara was lying on his leather brown sofa with her knees to her chest. Tara left them alone and shut the door. Marco sat next to her and started stroking her arm with his hand.

“It’s gonna be alright. He’s gone now.”

“I could hear everyone else’s thoughts…”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. He could tell she’d been crying.

“Andy pissed me off so bad that I let my guard down. People really think Lloyd is responsible. They’re calling him a murderer. They think Erik put a curse on the town.”

“Tammy, you can’t let these people get to you. All they do is talk, talk, talk. Nothin’ else better to do.”

Marco took his thumb to wipe away her tears. He studied her beautiful face with longing and his eyes fell to her lips. He desperately wanted to kiss her.

“I am worried about ya’. I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to ya’”

Tamara gave Marco a gentle smile before hugging him. Marco slowly wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his nose into her mane and inhaled. Hibiscus and coconut. It was lovely.

“Thanks for always checking in on me—”

Marco pressed his lips against Tamara’s soft lips. The sound of their lips smacking when he broke the kiss to look at her had his stomach fluttering. Tamara stared at him with shock, unsure of what to say at that moment.

“Say something, Tammy.”

She turned away from Marco and stood up. Marco followed her and waited for her to speak.

“Why—why did you kiss me?” She questioned.

“Because I love you, Tammy—”

“I’m Erik’s.”

Marco closed his eyes.

“This never happened, okay?”

Tamara rushed out of the office and Marco kicked the side of his desk angrily.

Tamara paced back and forth outside of his office door. She couldn’t believe her boss just kissed her. And he loves her? She took a deep breath in and held it for three seconds before walking back out to the front. When she got there, Tara was at the bar mixing drinks and there stood Luke with his tall, brawny frame. He was wearing a distressed muscle tee and denim cut offs with his work boots on his feet. His tawny skin was covered in sweat and he had his cap on backwards, the Bordelon fishing logo printed on it.

“Hey, Tammy,” He smiled at her, “How’s everything?”

Tamara returned the smile and nodded her head that everything is good.

“Marco had to get Andy out of here. He was being real disrespectful questioning Tammy about Lloyd. Where is Lloyd anyway?”

“He’s laid up with some chick. I covered for him today at the dock. I’m ‘bout to go cook up some crawfish for my mama and dem.”

Tamara was too distracted to even pay attention. Marco walked out and he glanced over at her with sad eyes before entering the kitchen.

“Tammy?” Luke called out to her.

“Yeah—sorry–I gotta get back to work. Good seeing ya’ Luke.”

“Hey,” Luke grabbed her hand gently, “Don’t forget about lookin’ into a new car. I spotted your car out back and we really should get ya’ a new one.”

“Shit, I forgot all about that—I’ll let you know.”

She squeezed Luke’s hand affectionately and walked off.

“You got it bad Luke,” Tara teased.

“And what about you and Lloyd?” Luke asked.

“We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout me and Lloyd!”

“Mhm,” Luke took a seat at the bar. He grabbed the neck of his bottle of Bayou Peche IPA and took a swig while his eyes never left Tamara, “I’d like to take her out sometime. Wine and dine her. Spoil her.”

“Not if your mama can help it,” Tara laughed.

“Ain’t my mama business.”

Tara shakes her head and walks away to the other end of the bar to make drinks.

As the day turned into night, the bar became overwhelmingly busy. Lloyd showed up with Luke and a couple of their friends. Tamara noticed a pretty girl clinging to Lloyd’s arm and Tamara had never seen this girl around before. She’s 5’5, brown skin, sandy brown hair styled in a sleek bun, and a tight lime green dress hugging her curves. She was covered in tattoos and piercings and had this commanding energy about her. Tara spotted Lloyd and when her eyes fell on the girl she rolled her eyes and went back to yelling at some drunk man.

“I’ll be out with your hamburger and fries,” Tamara rushed over to the servers window, “Hamburger with Cajun fries!”

“Coming!” Lafayette shouted.

The doors opened up and Tamara turned around just in time to see Erik strolling in. He wore a black muscle tee with a graphic of Billie Holiday on it. He had on gray denim joggers and on his feet gray and black Jordan’s. He accessorized with his favorite tungsten jewelry and added multilayered leather bracelets to his wrists. He stood there, staring Tamara up and down before curling a finger for her to come to him. She walked up to him and Erik tilted her chin up before leaning down to kiss her.

Everyone in that bar watched him tongue her down. Tara had to remake a beer because she had overflowed it. Lloyd and Luke watched with disapproval. Marco was furious. And the other patrons whispered. Tamara refused to let her shields down.

“That was unexpected,” she whispered.

Erik smirked, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Tamara tucked her chin and batted her lashes bashfully.

Erik grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss. Tamara’s lips parted and she felt her eyes glaze over with desire.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Tamara slipped her hand out of Erik’s and he tapped her on the booty with a bite of his lip for good measure. As he walked with his sinful gait, his onyx eyes scanned the bar. People seemed to cower beneath his gaze, some were in a trance, others were angry with his presence. Erik didn’t give a fuck about any of it. He flopped down in a vacant booth seat with his legs swinging and his arms draped over the back of the seat. Tamara brought him out a chilled bottle of O negative and placed it in front of him.

“Figured you might be thirsty,” She smiled at him.

Erik sat up and with his hand he snaked it up the back of her leg and over her ass. Tamara rocked back and forth with a big smile.

“Thank you, princess.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, I meant to ask. Would you still be able to talk to The Descendants at the church next Friday evening? Nana wanted me to ask.”

“Of course.” Erik opened his True Blood.

“Okay,” Tamara lingered, “I’ll be back to check on you.”

Erik chuckled.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Go ahead.”

Tamara turned to leave with a pout. She made it back to the bar and locked eyes with Tara who was giving her a ‘we need to talk’ look. The doors opened with a hard shove and in walked the three vampires Tamara dreaded ever seeing again.

Diane, Bruce, and Woo.

They walked in like they owned the place. Tamara glanced over at Erik nervously and he was already looking at her. All three vampires made their way over to Erik and made themselves comfortable. Tamara gathered courage and strolled over to the table. Erik’s eyes shot up at her and he didn’t look happy about her coming up to the table.

“If it isn’t the pretty little human!” Diane laughed, “So, this is where you work? How adorable.”

Bruce and Woo laughed.

“Can I get ya’ anything?” Tamara asked, clicking her pen.

“Already got our meals covered, darling. But thanks for being so sweet.” Bruce said.

“Erik,” Diane reached out to stroke his hand, “We’ve been looking for you. Wanna get out of here and have some fun like the old days?”

“Got a real treat for you back at Tia’s,” Woo said.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a request?” Erik said.

Tamara could sense something was off.

“Nothing suspicious going on! We just miss you,” Diane drapes her long leg over Erik and licks the side of his face, “Why don’t you come and play with us?”

Tamara squeezed her notepad hard. She glared at Diane for the audacity.

“Get your leg off of him.” Tamara spoke with rage.

Woo and Bruce exchanged looks.

“Excuse me?” Diane turned and looked at Tamara as if she lost her mind, “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“Back off, Diane,” Erik warned.

Diane looked from Tamara to Erik and laughed.

“Aww. You two are together?! How cute!”

Tamara’s eyes twitched. She looked at Erik who was just sitting there allowing Diane to throw herself all over him. What was he doing?

“Erik?” Tamara folded her arms.

“Why don’t you get back to waiting tables, honey.”

“There’s a stain on that one there,” Bruce pointed to the table behind her.

Tamara didn’t hide the hurt in her eyes. Erik clenched his jaw and held her gaze.

“Why don’t we go pay Tia a little visit.” Diane whispered to Erik, “She’d be happy to know you’re doing just fine with your little obsession.”

Tamara stood confused. The name Tia stood out to her. She locked eyes with Erik again to see if he would speak but to her disappointment, he remained silent. What was he so afraid of? He’s older and stronger than all three of them. He could take them all out with a snap of his fingers.

“Erik, what’s going on?” Tamara asked.

“Go back to work, Tammy.” Erik replied with a stern voice.

Diane, Bruce, and Woo slid out of the booth, looking down on Tamara. Erik stood up and Diane wrapped an arm around his waist. Tamara glared at him and Diane cocked her head to the side, studying Tamara’s face with amusement.

“It’s okay, little human chick, he’ll only be gone a little while.”

Diane’s hand strokes Tamara’s cheek and she slapped her hand away causing Diane to grip her wrist. Erik grabbed Diane by the back of her neck and flung her across the room where she landed on her back hard. Lloyd, Luke, and Marco had pool sticks in their hands, making their way over to them. Bruce and Woo turned on Erik, crouching down in an attack stance with their fangs. Diane moved with accelerated speed and snatched Tamara up by her hair.

She screamed, gaining Erik’s attention who tried rushing to her aid but Bruce body slammed him on the table, breaking it in the process. Erik expertly reversed so that he was on top of Bruce and he lifted Bruce up by his neck with a sharp piece of broken wood to his chest, ready to strike. Woo tried to lunge at Erik but Erik was too swift, knocking Woo back so hard he slid to the other side of the bar. Erik stabbed Bruce in the chest which was enough to wound him and back hand slapped Diane so hard blood splattered.

“Hey! Back off my sister, fanger!” Lloyd shouted with rage.

“I think it’s time for y’all to leave!” Marco yelled.

The vampire trio looked at the sticks in their hands and laughed.

“You can’t be serious? You pathetic humans! What the fuck is a pool stick gonna do—”

“Wanna find out?” Luke said.

All at once, everyone got up and scurried to the front. Lloyd pulled out his gun and pointed it at Woo’s head.

“I’ll put a bullet in your fucking head!” Lloyd shouted.

“Just leave, we don’t want no trouble, Tammy,” Marco motioned for her to come to him, “C’mere.”

She took one step and Erik gripped her wrist. Tamara tried to pull her arm back. Lloyd turned his gun on Erik.

“Let go of me!” Tamara screamed.

Erik looked at her with a mixture of confusion and anger.

“Tammy!” He yelled.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER!”

Lloyd pulled the trigger and Erik was swift on his feet in a blink of an eye, snatching up Lloyd’s gun. His fangs popped out and he was chest to chest with Lloyd, eyes wild and menacing.

“Stop it, Erik!” Tamara shouted with tears in her eyes.

“You stay the fuck away from her or it’s war,” Lloyd growled.

Erik smirked dangerously at him.

“She’s mine.”

“This is fun,” Diane said with a vicious smirk.

“She don’t belong to you,” Luke grabbed Tamara’s hand.

“Get the fuck out! All of ya’!!!!”

Erik held his hand out for Tamara to take and she refused to go with him.

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” Tamara spoke with a tremble in her voice.

“This is getting boring. You coming or not, Stevens?” Woo said while inspecting his nails. Bruce wasn’t too happy about Erik still tagging along after being stabbed.

“I was hoping for more blood to shed! I could use some fresh blood,” Diane spoke excitedly.

“Just go,” Tamara wiped her tears away. “Fucking go!”

Erik backed away towards the door and Diane, Bruce, and Woo were right behind him. They dashed at lightning speed out of the bar and Tamara broke down.

“Tammy,” Lloyd wrapped his arms around his sister, “It’s okay…you’re safe.”

“That was some scary shit,” Luke had a hand to his chest.

“He showed his true colors. How could he put her in danger like that?” Marco said.

“Because he’s a vampire. They don’t have feelings. All they know is to kill. It was only a matter of time before he tried to attack Tammy.”

Tamara shoved away from Lloyd and ran to the back of the bar. She grabbed her things in a rush, so ready to get out of there and away from everyone. She couldn’t understand why Erik would disrespect her like that? Embarrass her in front of everyone?

“Hey, Tammy,” Tara and Lafayette wrapped their arms around her, “Shhh, it’s okay, girl. I’m so sorry.”

“I just need to get out of here.”

“I’ll take her home.”

Lloyd and Luke walked up with Marco trailing behind.

“I can drive.” Tamara argued.

“Not that piece of shit. I’m takin ya’ back to Nana’s. Let’s go.”

Luke grabbed her things and walked out behind Lloyd. Marco rubbed her back before watching her walk out of the bar. Luke helped her in the back seat and she laid down with tears streaming down her face. Just when everything was going so well. Maybe it was for the best.

@goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @hearteyes-for-killmonger @imagining-greatness @chaneajoyyy @uzumaki-rebellion @theeblackmedusa @daddiespamm @lisayourworries @bellleame @ratedbadgal @bombshellbre95 @cecereads209 @cancerianprincess @dameshaemonique @6lack-1otus @thickemadame @thickeeparker @stinkalinkkkk @1lavender-menace @ehniki @electrixit @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @washillary @bakarisprincess @melodicheauxxlovesfood @bxolux @sweet2krazee @bluesole16 @90sisthenew80s @ispywithmylileye @geemamii @unbotheredblackchild @nubianbabee @adoreesun @blackpinup22 @nayaxwrites @dersha89 @honeytoffee @thickianaaaa @modelmemoirs @why-wait-4-eventually @angelicniah @queenfaithmarie @soulfulbeauty19 @asweet-serendipity @kartierkitten @iamching07 @ladymac82 @bbygirlwiththatass @cydneyloo @sexysativa605 @chrisevans-world @aijha @novaniskye @princessxotwod @callmemckenzieee @blowmymbackout @lahuttor @momobaby227 @blackerthings @neesiewrote @kenbieee @palmstreesallday @kokokonako @richgirlaesthetics @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @beautybyfire @abluesforlyssa @xo-goldengirl @mbakuetshurisprincess @4ftwonder @raysunshine78 @sensitivelegend @sourbabynaee @gotbeefbitch-blog @joonswan @cool-fancyone @efonteno @akimi-youngblood @badassdoll @shyblackgurl @childishgambinaax @teheeboo @skylahb @gigafaex @readingaddict1290 @circeaphoenix @xsweetdellzx @carewornblackgirl @queengodiva619 @certifiedlesbianbaddie @seyven89 @jamaicanqueenaa @soufcakmistress @eyeknowmywrites

#vampireerik #faerie #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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the-aranea-chronicles · 3 months

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⥉ Welcome to my blog! ⥉

⥉ About the Author ⥉

Update as of 7/4/24: I'll be lurking on tumblr every once in a while, but otherwise I don't know when I'll be properly active. Easter went... well, a spiked cement ball to the face would've been far more preferable.

Call me Aranea or Ara, a 22 yr old Aussie gal who is ever so slowly working on her novels. Not picky on what pronouns you use for me. I've been writing since I was 14, and been on and off tumblr just as long.

Have a part time job, volunteer at Vinnies, and working on a cert IV. Also practice witchcraft.

Current interests: Dragon Age, Dragons Dogma, Mass Effect, Skulduggery Pleasant, and Vampyr. I also play the Sims 4, so might even post some of my characters that way.

Favourite genres: Fantasy, horror, paranormal, science fiction, and historical.

Other platforms: AO3

Personal tag: #ara rambles

⥉ About This Blog ⥉

Open to asks about my OCs, world lore, or just wanting to drop in and have a chat!

Mainly using this blog to share lore, snippets of my novels, things that amuse me and worldbuilding.

Current Novel WIPs:

Monstrum (Which, yes, is loosely based on my fanfic under the same name) A God who never wanted to be a God, sea elves, sapphic dwarven Goddess, polyamory is pretty much the norm, cursed tome that exploded a temple, MC works out he's a transman... What more could you want? Oh wait, there's one more thing: son of God who died multiple times and came back wrong each time, is currently possessing MC's meant-to-be-dead mother! Oops.

Quondam

Takes place centuries before Monstrum, when The Maker was only a sorcerer who wanted a better world... and now deals with the consequences of taking over as Sovereign of the World. Surely she can change her world without destroying it?

[Un-named]

Crash landing on a unknown planet, memories wiped... The A.I. with corrupted data, known as Thio, calls them Viator, but is that their name? Or a title? The only thing Viator knows is that they were thrown into a black hole... and now have a ship to fix, and to find civilisation.

⥉ DNI ⥉

Pro-contact paras, anti-lgbtq, anti-otherkin/therian

My OC tags:

Link to dividers

#writblr #writblr community #writblr intro #writing community #writing #writer community #writers on tumblr #female writers #monstrum

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unseenwizzard · 9 months

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Ok, so maybe I'm reading into this... but.

I think the witch books really prove granny's (and I guess a few other magic users) rule about not using magic to medle in politics and how any time you use magic to alter something you keep having to use stronger and stronger magic to keep it that way.

Stick with me here pls. Spoilers for all the witches books ahead!

In wyrd sisters, they win and get Verence crowned because granny breaks her own rule and uses magic to interfere. She uses it on the entire kingdom. And it was the right choice to interfere, and the entire kingdom literally begged her to do it (and all the townspeople begged nanny)

buuut...

In lords and ladies, Verence is the one who planned the wedding for midsummer and sent to Hwel and tomjon for the play the elves used to help break through the dancers. Granny told him not to give magrat a chance to worry her way out of marrying him and kept magrat in the dark and pushed her away.

After that, well, the gentry. happen. The entire kingdom is affected, a witch was the one who powered the circle in the first place, and only stronger magic than granny used in wyrd sisters can fix it

Then.

Verence invited the vampyres. They want to take over the entire kingdom and turn them into blood.. cattle? Only more witches, a magic ax, and an even stronger and smarter granny can beat them.

And sure. A lot of this was necessary to create an interesting narrative five books in with all those characters but it still seems like every threat to Verences crown is because of a magical being and the witches have to step in and stop it every time.

The disc and its magic is so unpredictable and seems to work through things and use them so I could see it using magical creatures to try rebalancing what granny changed. (and the beings trying to take over are at least as terrible as the duke and duchess)

And it's s so interesting that even though granny thinks she's always right but also always exempt from her own rules she was right about the rules and wrong about being exempt.

Maybe this is nothing but it feels like something to me...... 🧙‍♀️🧙

#discworld #gnu terry pratchett #granny weatherwax #lords and ladies #carpe jugulum #maybe o should stop posting while high?#nah.#verence #wyrd sisters #nanny ogg #this was gonna be one paragraph but i kept thinking of more ans more things #esme weatherwax #og #srry verence i love u but ur so dumb sometimes

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yoonkinii · 1 month

Text

We Were Human

Pairing(s): Ascended!AstarionxReader

Part 2:

Synopsis: Astarion died as soon as he became something the world has never seen before. No one noticed the damage before it was too late and the Astarion everyone loved was lost to the new one. No one could notice when the turn was slow and silent. He slowly lost the playful glint in his eyes. Lost the love he gaze upon me with. Lost everything that made him the man I loved. Oh, how I would give anything to get him back. I would gladly give up my damned soul for him.

Aka you are transported back to the past in order to prevent ascended Astarion from losing himself the only problem? You don’t have a lot of time.

Masterlist

Warnings: Gore, blood, cruelty, cursing, death/murder, mentions of using oneself unwillingly, abuse. Its ascended astarion, prepare for the worse.

Note(s): For the sake of the plot- Astarion will not automatically be damned from the start. In this world, Astarion becomes lost to the ascension overtime until he becomes the ascended vampire we know him to be in the game. Another note that should be highlighted is that this story will be told from the first person perspective since it benefits the story more than any other perspective.

You will also notice various things being different from the game. For example, Karlach will be able to stay in the ‘human’ world and she fixed her heart. (I love my girl, I’m not sending her back), Szaars palace has a different layout cause the one in the game was stupid. There will be more that you will notice in the future so beware.

Thank You.

The water was warm against my skin, chasing away the chill that coated my flesh like second skin. After my whole breakdown with Astarion, he had to step out to assist Gale with Wyll. If I was remembering correctly, the city was being rebuilt by everyone still left alive and Wyll had taken on the position of Duke. Everyone in my little team ended up with a high ranking position, each controlling a certain decision when it came to rebuilding the city. Karlach was paired with Damon with rebuilding homes and stores. Shadowheart and Halsin took care of the injured. Lae’zel looked over people working so they don’t fall out of line. Jaheira and Minsc left the city looking for survivors that may have found misfortune. Gale was sort of Wylls advisor, using his vast amount of intellect when Wyll need it. And Astarion was the Lord of Szaars place, an already powerful figure just by title. Even more powerful when the very first ascended vampyre owned it.

Astarion left with Gale, muttering something alone the lines of ‘mortals can’t do anything’ but agreed to help regardless. It was a little strange to be back in the position of the hero of Baldurs Gate and not confined to one room. I can’t help but find myself waiting to wake up, to open my eyes and be greeted with the same dark ceiling. I wait and wait but I never wake up. None of it felt real and I was scared it wasn’t real; that I somehow died in my sleep and was just replaying my memories.

That was an absurd notion. He would never let me die. Not when my life was controlled by him in every aspect.

The door to the bathroom opened gently, a familiar face entering. She paused in front of the now closed door, eyes trained to the floor as she bowed slightly at the waist. Her green wide eyes glanced up at me nervously, orange hair pinned back with some clips.

“Lucinda.” I greeted her with a smile, singling her to come in with a nod.

Lucinda was one of the first servants we ever hired to serve in the palace. She lost her entire family in the final battle and was lost without a loved one or home. She was also the first spawn Astarion made- minus me.

Flashes of tangled limbs, Lucinda’s hair, and his dark gaze watching me flashed in my mind. I couldn’t help but grimace at the memory. I had walked into our shared room without a second thought only to be faced with him bedded with Lucinda. Even in the darkened room, I could see the love filled gaze Lucinda gaze into him while he watched me with a raised brow as if I was the one in the wrong. I sobbed my heart out that day- or my figurative heart out.

Lucinda tried to smile back at me but it looked strained- like her skin wasn’t used to moving like that. That was how she usually was. She was quiet but efficient and half the time she felt like a ghost, silently walking around the palace and doing what was expected of her without a single complaint.

Even as she got closer to me, I didn’t feel any hatred towards her. I knew she was one of his victims, knew that she fell for the false promises and loveless lyrics that danced on his tongue. I also fell for them.

Lucinda wordlessly assisted bathing me, gentle and nimble fingers making sure every part of my body was clean before offering me a towel to dry off. We were both silent even as she fit me into my gown for the evening. She tightened the bodice, pinned my hair up in a crown of braids, and dangled silver jewlery from my ears and neck. I stood before a mirror, eyes slightly widened as I looked back at my reflection. My reflection ws another privilege I had lost from him. It was so simple for him, taking things away from me without a second thought. He could give but he could also take. My throat tightened as I recalled how I was able to stand in the sun and now I could even see my reflection.

My eyes trailed over my gown and I had to admit that Lucinda picked something splendid for today. The maroon dress was made from rich, luxurious fabric that had a subtle sheen to it, adding a touch of opulence to the overall appearance. The bodice of the dress was tailored to perfection, creating a flattering and regal appearance for my body. Intricate silver thread adorned the neckline and cuffs, depicting carefully crafted whirls of life on the fabric.

The neckline of the dress was boat shaped, covering most of my chest but still exposing my collarbones. The sleeves were long and flowy, the cuffs of my sleeves almost creating maroon waves; swishing with every movement of my hands. The skirt of the dress was full and cascaded to the floor and even though it was long, I could still move freely. Just like the neckline and cuffs, the hem of the dress was adorned with the same intricate threading.

My lips were painted with color and my eyes lined with kohl to accentuate my features. Lucinda gingerly placed black heels before me- offering her hand to help me balance as I put on the heels. Once done, I looked at my reflection once, nodding with acceptance.

“Astarion is with Wyll still, correct?”

“Yes, My Lady.” Lucinda replied so softly that if there was any other sort of noise in the room, I would’ve missed her response. “Lord Astarion has not returned from the Dukes.”

“Thank you, Lucinda. I will be heading over there now.”

She nodded her head, bowing at the waist as I turned to leave the bathroom. Exiting the bathroom, I walked down the halls I had been locked away in. I noticed that some decorations were missing- we must have not gotten them yet. The palace was made up of two stories. Upon entering, a grand foyer awaits, featuring double sweeping staircases parallel from each other. The staircases were carpeted with a dark red runner leading to the second floor before continuing down the halls of the second floor. The walls were decorated with various tapestries purchased from various merchants. The double staircases create a sort of entryway to the reception room appointed with fine furniture and gilded fixtures.

After accessing the second floor via that staircase, it branches out left and right. The halls create a sort of square shape, if someone was to walk left and follow down the hall, they would end up at the opposite of the staircase they used to get up. The whole palace had dark wooden floors in every room and dark walls that constantly casted the palace in a permanent shadow, even with the windows open. The halls are lined with a series of private chambers and living quarters. The servants quarters take up most of the left side of the second floor, various rooms provided from them- even if Lucinda is the only current servant. Towards the second floor, in the middle of the two halls, lies Astarions study. An exquisite study with towering bookshelves and the same exquisite furniture that can be found around the house. The back wall of his study, across from the entrance to it, is made out of pure glass. Differing window panes were used to create a floor to ceiling window-wall that showcased the city below.

Our shared bedroom is down the hall from his office. If someone was to exit his study, take a left and walk down the hall until they turned the corner, the first door on the left would lead to our chambers. Upon entering, the canopied bed is pressed against the middle of the wall, black lace curtains offering privacy whenever needed. To the left of the bed, there were doors that lead to a private balcony that was large enough to adorn a small table and two chairs. I usually found Astarion reading there when he had enough free time. There wasn’t much in our room, other than the usual litter of Astarions book collection and a small work desk pressed against the corner of the wall next to the balcony doors. Astarion rarely ever used it, choosing to do his work in his studies. The walls were adorned with artwork but the most notable one was the portrait of not only Astarion and I but everyone in our small little team. All of us were wearing smiles on our faces, even Lae’zel who seemed to have a permanent frown etched onto her skin. That portrait hung above the work desk and there were a few times I had caught Astarion looking at it as he sat at that desk.

I finished climbing down the staircase, heels clicking against the wooden floor that was exposed from the lack of carpet covering it. I exited the palace and was greeted with the same scene I saw the first time I stepped out but less people were out. This wasn’t surprising since the sun was already starting to set. I followed the familiar path to where I knew Astarion would be, weaving and dodging people that were too busy to notice me passing by. A few did notice me, waving and calling out to me. I could only offer a small wave and smile back as I passed down various streets. The city looked almost unrecognizable with all the decimated buildings and death clinging to the air.

Finally reaching the building I was looking for, I opened the doors and was created with a long hallway with many doors lining the walls. It was somehow even busier inside than outside. People were walking to and from between rooms, carrying various things. Some were even running, expertly dodging those that weren’t in such a hurry. Voices merged, creating a muddle of echoes bouncing off the walls. I was only able to catch glimpses of conversation as I walked down the hall to the large wooden double doors at the end of the hall.

“No, no, we can’t use that material because…”

“What are we going to do about the limited space in the cemetery…”

“...funds are not being included when it should be you imbecile…”

Pushing the doors open, the hinges made no sound as I slipped through. Immediately, I was greeted with five males crowding around a large oval shaped table placed in the middle of the room. I only recognized three of them; Gale, Wyll, and Astarion. In my, I guess, other life, I had never stepped foot into this building when Astarion was called upon. I was too busy documenting expenses and checking who needed what in order to rebuild.

Wyll glanced up from where him and everyone else in the room was looking down at the parchment on the table. He smiled, tilting his head to the side- offering me to stand next to Astarion. Taking him up on his offer, I walked to where my husband stood, his back facing me. He didn’t bother looking behind himself to see who entered the room, he probably thought it was a servant coming in with new documents.

Gale spoke up from his position beside Wyll, his hand once again rubbing along his jaw in thought. His eyes flickered to me as I stood across from him next to Astarion. He nodded in regard before continuing with that was being discussed before I walked in,

“They have to be dealt with now before they are able to turn into something worse.”

A simple glance down at the table was all I needed to know what was going on. It was a map of Faerûn, several circles drawn indicating different camps strung out along where the shadow cursed lands were. Well, former shadow cursed lands were at since the land was cured because of Halsin and some of my help.

“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning slightly over the table to catch a batter look at the map. A hand trailed down the small of my back before resting on the right side of my waist. A soft kiss was pressed to my head as Astarion pressed his body against my left side of my own body- like being away from me was hard for him to do.

“Nothing too dreary. Just some Goblin camps that keep sprouting about the shadowed lands.” Astarion replied, sounding like there was nothing to worry about. I could hear the smile he wore on his face as he spoke. Rolling my eyes, a knowing smile took over my face as I crossed my arms, “Yes. Goblins congregating. Nothing serious.”

Wyll cleared his throat, “I know we have to deal with this situation soon but we don’t have any manpower to spare. Not with everything still in shambles. I am only suggesting to hold off until we have more able hands.”

“If we wait any longer, these damn things will already be in the city, wreaking havoc!” a deep and gruff voice cried out. I looked to the owner of the voice, his bright red hair contrasting against his olive toned skin. He was lithe and a little shorter than Astarion. His brown eyes almost feline like as he glared down at the table, his lips curled in a snarl. The manner and tone of his voice did not suit someone who appeared like him but then again, many things in this world didn’t suit it.

“Then what do you suggest, Doran?” Astarion replied, his voice laced with venom as he said Dorans name. Astarion eyed the younger male, raising a brow towards him mockingly.

Doran glowared, mumbling under his breath as he looked away from Astarion, fists clenching at his sides. A deep sigh resulted from the interaction, causing me to look at the final man in the room. He appeared older than the rest of us, graying beard lining his jaw, grayed hair sitting close to his skull, wrinkles from age sagging against his skin. He was shorter than all of us, his bear bell sticking out from under his clothes and thick arms massaged his temples in annoyance. I regarded him with a tilt to my head, wondering who he was and why he was here. I wondered the same thing about Doran but I knew they were meant to be here as well.

I cleared my throat, drawing everyone’s attention towards me. Licking my bottom lip, my gaze met Wylls, “They are right. These Goblins need to be handled immediately.”

Wyll opened his lips to retort but it died in his throat as I raised my hand to continue speaking, “I understand we don’t have the resources for this currently and that is why I am going to be handling this myself.” As I spoke, my mind flashed to what I knew from the future. I can only remember small glimpses of this situation and that’s because when it happened in my true life, I took no part in it.

The goblins were a problem, we didn’t have resources to deal with them and as a solution, Astarion went by himself to handle them. When he came back, he smiled less.

If I am here back in the past with a second chance, I was going to take advantage of it. If this is the first instance where Astarion took a step toward becoming him then I would do something I didn’t do in my time. I was going to go along with him.

“What?” Astarions voice rang out in the room, the hand on my waist tensing. “What do you mean?”

I looked up at him, brows pinching together in thought, “Well, it makes sense” I continued, “We don’t have enough people to spare to send out so why not spare me? I’m sure my skills are equivalent to at least ten soldiers.” I looked over at Wyll, brow raised in question. Wyll was in thought for a few moments, a breath being released from his pursed lips,

“Well-” He drawled, “It’s not a bad idea.”

I clasped my hands together in glee, before anyone could say anything else, “Then it’s settled!”

“Hold on. You must be a lunatic for thinking I am just going to let you go alone.” Astarion argued, his hand gone from my waist and now placed on his hip as he looked at me like I really was a lunatic.

I cooed, stepping closer to him so we were chest to chest, “And you are so cute for thinking I was going to go alone to begin with.” I pinched his cheek teasingly, nose wrinkly in delight, “You’re coming with me.” I said as I walked past him to the exit. A few seconds ticked by before he exploded in curses and whining about getting dirt under his nails.

“Darling, are you sure about this?”

Astarions voice questioned from across the room as he stood in front of a mirror hanging on the wall, fusing over his hair. The room was illuminated by several candles placed on wall mounted holders, the sun had gone an hour ago and casted the world in darkness.

I huffed out a small laugh, combing through my hair as I sat on the edge of the bed, “What do you mean? Of course I am sure. I thought you would jump for joy at the chance of leaving the city.”

Astarion eyes narrowed at me as he finally stepped away from the mirror and made his way towards me. “Me?” He placed his palm against his chest, “Be excited about leaving the city and all the comforts it has to offer. Oh, Yes, I am very excited.” His tone was filled with sarcasm as he sat beside me on the bed, my body bouncing slightly from his sudden weight being applied. He wordlessly grabbed the brush from my hand, gently running it through my locks and running his fingers through it every so often.

A slight pout formed on my lips, “What’s the big problem? You don’t want to spend quality time with me?”

He snorted, something only he would ever do with me, “Love, I would be chained to you if I was able. I just don’t find the whole ‘natures delight’ very appealing after being in it for so long.” I turned to face him, beaming at him with a smile,

“That’s what makes it fun! It will be just like old times, only this time you aren’t holding a knife to my throat.”

He gasped in mock shock, “How dare you bring that up? I needed help against an admirable foe and you told me to handle it myself. I was very hurt.” His chin lowered, accentuating the pout on his lips as he looked at me through his white lashes.

“It was a boar! Not an Illithid. You flat out lied to me.”

“Yes but that is beside the point. I needed help and you didn’t give it to me. I thought you were a kind soul.”

“I am a kind soul. I was just preoccupied with a whole worm in my skull.” I reasoned, refusing to look at him. I can’t lie, I may have come off a little rude when we first met. Sometimes even Shadowheart teases me for it since she just stood by and watched. My hair was pushed behind my shoulder, revealing the skin exposed from the new nightgown I had on. It was simply, just white satin that stopped mid thigh, the straps thin like most of my nightwear.

Soft lips pressed against my bare shoulder and my heart swelled. It was things like this that I missed most of all, the little things he would do to me. How he would reach over towards whenever I was near, the random kisses pressed softly against my skin like a butterflies touch, catching my gaze from across the room only to smile at me, to just be near me.

His lips were then pressed against my cheek before breaking away and going to his side of the bed. The sheets rustled under his movement as he peeled back the bedding and slipped under it. I moved to get under the sheets as well but froze as I turned. It somehow slipped my mind about his sleeping habits and how he used to sleep in only nightwear pants that hung low on his hips. His back was turned towards me as he reached over to place his shirt on a nightstand beside the table.

Silently getting other the covers and laying down, I couldn't help but reach over and have my fingertips graze over the abused flesh. He flinched like I hurt him and I flinched back in return.

“I’m sorry.” I blurted out, keeping my hands close to my chest.

He looked over his shoulder at me, ruby eyes dimly lit against the warm light. His features seemed warmer as well, he almost seemed to be kissed by the sun and not the pale vampire people are used to. I looked away from him, ashamed by my actions as I focused on watching the ceiling. My gaze snapped back to him as his fingers brushed against my cheekbone. He was now on his back, propped up by his forearms,

“It’s okay. You can touch it.”

That was all he said before he turned and exposed his back to me once more. I stared at his back wide eyed, not believing what was happening. Even in my true life, I had never dared to touch his scars. They told a story that I believe he would rather hide and ignore cause they serve as a reminder. Only a few people know about the scars and even then, they never bring it up so I didn’t either.

Shifting closer to him, I was meer inches away from his back as the tips of my fingers gently traced the part of a ritual carved onto his delicate skin. Mysterious word that I could not read regardless of knowing the purpose it served. A few minutes of silence passed as I traced his past with such a gentle touch. I was afraid that touching too hard would break him even when his tormentor was gone, he never really left. He lurked in the shadows of the halls, taunting Astarion. There were a handful of times I could remember Astarion breaking out into a cold sweat from seeing a figure in the corner of his eye, a scent that was too familiar, a phrase being said came from the mouth of a ghost. During those times, Astarion would lock himself away from the world and it was only once that I was able to enter the room and what I had found broke me into a million pieces.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory to fade away into the recesses of my mind. I sighed through my nose, pressing my forehead to his back as my hand draped around his waist. In an instant, his hand laid atop mine, squeezing it. Perhaps he was imagining a life without the freedom he has obtained, a life where he was never captured by the absolute, a life where he never pressed a knife to my throat, a life where none of this ever happened. Perhaps he imagined all that and squeezed my hand to remember that this was all real.

Perhaps I should’ve said something to him but I didn’t. Not as sleep dug its claws into my skin and pulled me under.

Word Count: 3966

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moontheoretist · 9 days

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I recreated my Warden from DAO in BG3. But now I noticed that I made a mistake and didn't remove "history" from her skills. As if lady luck was in my favor, she seems to be failing history rolls that would throw me out of the immersion that I'm playing someone who fakes being Faerunian xD I picked spells for her that are the most similar to DAO starting spells. It's hard to find the exact equivalents but I did it.

I chose a wizard because of the Circle and then at level 2 Necromancer because my Warden Amell is an entropy mage and Necromancy has the most spells related to siphoning life energy and stuff like that (also I wanted to try it). Now only to figure out Arcane Warrior / Battlemage.

I used some mods to give her nice and unique nighty night clothes.

Of course I had to dye them in the typical Grey Warden's colors.

I picked up Shadowheart and funnily we managed to enter the Crypt from the beach, so we went at the crypt first, robbed the sarcophagus, fought the skeletons etc. We just didn't tackle the full robbers party, because when I tried we died. So I accepted that killing 2 was enough and left the crypt and got a funny deception quote xD

"You have awoken me from my slumber - now I crave your blood!"

I faked being the big bad sleeping in the crypt and they run away xD

Then I recruited Lae'zel and Gale. We went to full rest and learned what the fuck is ceremorphosis. Then we went to sniff around the crashed Nautiloid. Astarion tried to kill me (very Zevran of him) and I headbutted him, because why not. I'm a Grey Warden Commander dammit, no elfy rogue will scare me (again). Then we recruited the guy, fought the goblins at the Grove. I used the first merchant as a fake reason why I could equip modded armor in the Warden's colors:

(This is a face of someone who hates being woken up at night).

I asked Astarion who the fuck he is, he said he is a mere Magistrate and then we had to long rest, because I wasted all my spells on goblins and bugbear to save that one Tiefling with the soul coin and look at that, Astarion went for the neck exposing himself right away, because his cutscene is connected to full rest and we had to full rest. If we only had a half-rest he would first go to hunt alone. But anyway, he wanted to drink my blood and I said "Are you mad?" because I play a person who has taint in their blood, so it's dangerous even for an undead to drink it. Who knows what could have happened!? Anyway, thanks to the fact that we have found several copies of the Curse of the Vampyr books in the crypt that contained basic information, we faked knowing what a vampire is, and as of now nobody suspects a thing. Safe!

Astarion went away unhappy none the wiser that he just dodged a possible "turning into a Darkspawn" bullet. Then in the morning we had a conversation where we acted as if being a vampire was totally fine, and I didn't just call him mad for wanting to drink my blood.

I was looking out for you, you will thank me someday.

BTW apparently I can't change +5 to history, because it's fixed:

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dragon age #dragon age origins #warden amell #grey wardens #hero of ferelden #shadowheart #astarion #gale #lae'zel #blight #taint #vampirisim #faking being faerunian

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sanamwrites · 3 months

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12 Feb 2024 Update Log

The Vampyres Are Vampyring Update

Major Changes

“Visits” has been changed to “Parts”

Added Markus’ Part 1 (2603)

Added Lucas’ Part 1 (2962)

Minor Changes

Fixed a writing inconsistency in Gray’s prologue chapter (0.2) Because before it seemed like you didn’t know Lucas Pierce, now it’s clearly mentioned that there’s history. (Word count: 4246 -> 4274)

Added negative relationship stats on Grim’s Visit 1. Now she decides against pursuing you if you’re shitty to her. This does lock you out of her romance, so don’t be a douche! (3435 -> 3695)

Added some more page breaks on Grim’s Visit 1

Fonts used on headers and cover/dashindon cover has been changed

Notes

Special thanks to @tai-420 who sent me an ask with some writing inconsistencies, I appreciate their help immensely. I haven’t gotten to everything yet, but thanks for the help!

I decided that Visits made things confusing so, to simplify things, they’re now just Parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, etc, these are the RO-specific chapters

I have a confession to make. I have a hard time writing about strictly straight people. In terms of “canon,” all the ROs are queer in some way or another to allow for all MCs to romance them, and I’m pretty sure it’s obvious that they are all queer but in case it wasn’t obvious, they’re queer

Markus, however, is the straightest of the bunch. Boy would’ve been a straight male with a different author but not this one

Onto Lucas! I wanted to mention that he has a particular set of repeated behaviors that will be explored through his route. He’s toxic in a non-obvious, subtle way.

A lot of the characters are based on experiences I’ve gone through or people who’s habits/personalities I’m writing about, but Lucas… I’ve never met a Lucas? I’d love advice on how I’m writing his route

Previous Word Count: 58.5k

Current Word Count: 64k

→ or 59k without command lines

→ or 29k per playthrough

Difference: +5.5k words

#if wip #the truthkeeper if #choicescript #fantasy romance #interactive fiction #interactive novel #game wip #suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome!#update log

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cleolinda · 1 year

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Varney the Vampire: Chapter 12

Chapter 11: Oh boy, Gothic ableism feat. implied racism; Charles Holland has Plans

Chapter XII.

CHARLES HOLLAND'S SAD FEELINGS. -- THE PORTRAIT. -- THE OCCURRENCE OF THE NIGHT AT THE HALL.

This chapter is fully twice as long as the previous one, so you can imagine how I felt when I got a couple thousand words in and it just! kept! going! It's 4900+ words, y'all. Colin Robinson feasts tonight. As such, it's helpful to me to break it up into sections—like movements in a symphony, really, except that all four movements are inhumanly long renditions of "Free Bird."

I. PREVIOUSLY ON: Charles Holland still feels a way about it (530+ words)

As noted in the previous chapter, it would have been one thing if Flora had been a strumpet, or if Charles Holland (who I literally cannot just call "Charles," that's just how it is) had fallen out of love with her, but Flora transparently trying to break up with him For His Own Good gives him a sad. The reason she wants to break up is also pretty alarming:

Fortune he had enough for both; death had not even threatened to rob him of the prize of such a noble and faithful heart which he had won. But a horrible superstition had arisen, which seemed to place at once an impassable abyss between them, and to say to him, in a voice of thundering denunciation, -- "Charles Holland, will you have a vampyre for your bride?" The thought was terrific.

Oh, the thought is fantastic. "Will you have a vampyre for your bride" is PEAK goth; in my opinion it's 100% relationship g—oh. You mean it's terror-ific. I mean... if you have no sense of adventure, I guess.

II. Charles Holland looks at a painting (670+ words)

Charles Holland is settling down in Flora's room to wait for a motherfucker to try it. We're looking at the painting of Sir Ancestor von Spookyportrait, who is wearing a 1700s coat that matches the handful of cloth pulled off Varney. You see where we're going with this.

The picture, as a picture, was well done, whether it was a correct likeness or not of the party whom it represented. It was one of those kind of portraits that seem so lifelike, that, as you look at them, they seem to return your gaze fully, and even to follow you with their eyes from place to place.

Spooky trompe l'oeil (OR IS IT?). Impeccable vibes.

For a considerable number of words, Charles Holland remains staring at this painting:

"I shall now," he said, "know that face again, let me see it where I may, or under what circumstances I may. Each feature is now indelibly fixed upon my memory -- I can never mistake it."

This will obviously become a plot point.

III. Charles Holland tries to move a painting (840+ words)

After the panel containing the picture had been placed where it was, it appeared that pieces of moulding had been inserted all around, which had had the effect of keeping it in its place, and it was a fracture of one of these pieces which had first called Charles Holland's attention to the probability of the picture having been removed. That he should have to get two, at least, of the pieces of moulding away, before he could hope to remove the picture, was to him quite apparent, and he was considering how he should accomplish such a result, when he was suddenly startled by a knock at his chamber door.

POINTS:

holy shit the probability of the molding I don't give a fuck

Suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, at Charles Holland's chamber door: Poe's "The Raven" was published in the U.S. the same year, 1845, that Varney the Vampire began serialization. I'm not saying there's a connection, I just think that's fun.

Random knockings in dark halls also made me think of my favorite TV genre: paranormal investigation.

Now, while I'm primarily a Ghost Files/Buzzfeed Unsolved fan because having an actual skeptic completely changes the usual Ghost Show vibe, I also enjoy a ton of shows on Discovery Plus that involve investigators getting spooked and flipping the fuck out. (Honestly, the real appeal of any of these shows is the personalities involved; it's not like I actually need to see eight different takes on Waverly Hills Sanatorium.) One of my favorites is the recently-canceled, soon-to-be-revived Destination Fear, where a group of friends ride around in an RV and torment each other in dark abandoned buildings that may or may not be riddled with squatters. Sometimes there is a stray cat. I suspect a lot of it was faked, and I honestly don't even care. They are constantly hearing random slams and knocks and voices, maybe, and shrieking in panic when a camera falls over, and I love it. What I'm telling you is, I am basically imagining Charles Holland as one of the Destination Fear kids in their solo sleeping arrangements, trying to decide if he wants to go barreling after this ghost or not. This is an experiment in fear and he can't call Dakota on the walkie and say he wants to peace out because he can't let this location get the best of him!!:

"I will remain the occupant of this room come what may, happen what may. No terrors, real or unsubstantial, shall drive me from it: I will brave them all, and remain here to brave them."

The thing is, it's "an odd sort of tap -- a single tap, as if some one demanded admittance, and wished to awaken his attention with the least possible chance of disturbing any one else." This happens, like, four times, and Charles Holland keeps flinging the door open and no one is there. I have no idea who this is supposed to be—it can't be Varney, because he has enough corporeal substance to be unable to haul himself over a garden wall, and therefore he can't vanish instantly. If it's a ghost who can vanish, we've never heard of them, and I don't recall that we do later. I am forced to conclude that it is one of James Malcolm Rymer's creditors asking if he's gotten his pay by the line yet.

IV. Charles Holland and Henry look at a painting (1020+ words)

At last, Henry emerges from his own bedroom at the sound of Charles Holland repeatedly demanding who the fuck happens to be tapping, rapping at his chamber door, and now Charles Holland is vexed that he looks like a coward who couldn't handle it. In contrast, the Destination Fear kids are always walkie-ing each other to GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW, A FALLING BRICK DID ME A SCARE!!! and then pelting through the ruins of some heinous crumbling hospital past a Tall Dark Mass named Red (it's always named Red) and maybe a couple of crawlers (there's always a crawler) to save each other from nothing in particular. I've watched the entire series like five times. I would pay good money for an adaptation of Varney where Charles Holland and the Bannerworth brothers are panicking at each other from the various mansion bedrooms over, like, tin cans tied together with string.

Anyway, Henry and Charles Holland look at the painting of Ancestor von Spookyportrait and try to pry it off the wall. It's painted on a panel rather than a hanging canvas. Someone has recently pried it off and put it back! It's eminently priable! They cannot do it, for they do not have any tools to do so, except then they have a knife out of nowhere that they can use, because you keep knives in bedrooms the way you do crowbars and swords, and they finally get the portrait off the wall.

There is nothing behind the portrait.

"There is no mystery here," said Henry. "None whatever," said Charles, as he tapped the wall with his knuckles, and found all hard and sound. "We are foiled." "We are indeed."

V. Someone shoots a vampyre, again, maybe (790 words)

Even as he spoke they were both startled by a strange clattering noise at the window, which was accompanied by a shrill, odd kind of shriek, which sounded fearful and preternatural on the night air. "What is that?" said Charles. "God only knows," said Henry.

I didn't have a whole lot of sympathy for Henry back when he was moping around the family crypt, but I'm starting to get on board now. What WAS that? God only knows for 800 words of it, Henry. God only knows.

The two young men naturally turned their earnest gaze in the direction of the window, which we have before remarked was one unprovided with shutters, and there, to their intense surprise, they saw, slowly rising up from the lower part of it, what appeared to be a human form. Henry would have dashed forward, but Charles restrained him, and drawing quickly from its case a large holster pistol

What? Do we also keep pistols in bedrooms? Flora's bedroom? Did Charles Holland just know to bring his trusty Large Holster Pistol with him from Somewhere in Europe? Do we keep them in cases or holsters? What?

He pulled the trigger -- a loud report followed -- the room was filled with smoke, and then all was still.

Like, this is great. Cinematic before there was cinema. And then Rymer has to dither around with hundreds of words about how the smoke blew out the only candle they had (I hope to fuck y'all have matches), and the window latch is too fancy for Charles Holland to fathom and he needs Henry to unfasten the fastening because the fancy fastening is known only to Henry, and then Rymer goes into the perfect bullet hole in the glass that did not cause any cracking or "starring," and I had to go take two Advil and lie down. Like. I can't. I cannot when Rymer does this. I mean, I comprehend perfectly what's happening. I just. I Just. So what are we, 3000 words into this chapter about staring at paintings? SUDDENLY AN ACTION SCENE BREAKS OUT. Henry's brother George and their mother's—somebody—Mr. Marchdale rush in! Henry flings the fascinating fastened window open! Henry and Charles Holland and Marchdale (eventually) leap down to the garden in "a wonderfully short space of time"! Indubitably, here is the terrestrial location where the vampyre must have gotten his sad ass shot, again—

But nothing is there. No blood. No vampyre. No "revivified corpse" that Charles Holland was so sure they'd be able to net, and that was the foundation of his optimism. Woe:

"Human means against such an appearance as we saw to-night," said Charles, "are evidently useless."

VI. You must leave Spookyportrait Manor (200+ words)

A brief movement in the symphony, but an important aspect:

"My dear young friend," said Marchdale, with much emotion, as he grasped Henry Bannerworth's hand, and the tears stood in his eyes as he did so, -- "my dear young friend, these constant alarms will kill you. They will drive you, and all whose happiness you hold dear, distracted. You must control these dreadful feelings, and there is but one chance that I can see of getting the better of these." "What is that?" "By leaving this place for ever."

We've seen in previous chapters how Henry just cannot cope with any vampire-themed revelations, and maybe I'm too hard on him for that—mostly it's because I always see him in contrast to Flora, the actual victimized person, who has wailed a good bit less about it. But I've always liked that literary Victorian masculinity seems to leave more room for tears and expressing distress (many of you are familiar with this from Dracula, I'm sure, and that's one of my favorite things about it), so maybe I should take that into consideration. However you see it, the serial has definitely established that Henry is very emotional about the Whole Vampyre Thing. But why Marchdale breaks in now, while Henry is merely "silent" and "lost in wonder" with Charles Holland, I don't know. Should we consider this sus? Unsure.

What's important about this to me, however, is that Henry does bring up that he doesn't want to be Driven from the Home of His Ancestors—but also, that they can't afford to flee the mansion and, by necessity, sell off the property cheap to pay their creditors and have anything to live on somewhere else. How many times have you yelled at someone in a horror movie to just LEAVE! WHY DON'T YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE?!? Well: money.

VII. As regards Flora (870+ words)

"As regards poor dear Flora," said Mr. Marchdale, "I know not what to say, or what to think; she has been attacked by a vampyre, and after this mortal life shall have ended, it is dreadful to think there may be a possibility that she, with all her beauty, all her excellence and purity of mind, and all those virtues and qualities which should make her the beloved of all, and which do, indeed, attach all hearts towards her, should become one of that dreadful tribe of beings who cling to existence by feeding, in the most dreadful manner, upon the life blood of others -- oh, it is dreadful to contemplate! Too horrible -- too horrible!"

Quick recap: in the previous chapter, we discussed 1) the weirdness of this serial conflating a contagion with a "race" or "tribe" of beings; 2) the way Victorians often associated mental illness with both violence and [racist bullshit here], and 3) the way that they also cast all of these things as a "family stain" that must not be passed to your children, and yet, 4) Flora is also visually coded as being white, fair, "pure," and immune to any stain. Marchdale's blathering touches on the contagion idea without confusing it with heredity, at least. But Victorian ideals of beauty were tied up in whiteness (source: there are so many), so that historical subtext is present. Also, the word tribe: not a great usage right here!

That said, I also have a long-suppressed rant about the way people don't get that Lucy Westenra needs to be played as sweet and pure and lovingly innocent (I think wanting three husbands is very sweet! Desire isn’t impure! Wait why are Victorians throwing me in an asylum), in order to underline the real horror of the woman we knew, corrupted into an unrecognizable predator. And that's the excellence and virtue and purity of mind that make Flora the beloved of all—which sounds very Lucy to me—that Marchdale is talking about. Ultimately, if you put that paragraph under the microscope, you can isolate what you need to discard and what you could keep, and the sweetness of character is something that works.

Meanwhile, I have the temerity to claim that James Malcolm Rymer is long-winded. Go off, Charles Holland:

"Then wherefore speak of it?" said Charles, with some asperity

We're back to the thing Rymer mentioned umpteen thousand words ago: how Marchdale and Charles Holland hated each other on sight, for (allegedly) no reason. Charles Holland does not appreciate your bullshit, Marchdale, and he "will not give into such a horrible doctrine!" Marchdale tries to backpedal with a reply I had to read five times to parse, but I think he is saying that if anything could make this whole Vampyred Flora situation worse, it's that Charles Holland is such a stand-up dude and it's a shame the young couple can never marry now. BET? says Charles Holland. "May Heaven forbid it!" ripostes Marchdale, who just. cannot. quit:

"Oh, fancy, then, for a moment, the mother of your babes coming at the still hour of midnight to drain from their veins the very life blood she gave to them. To drive you and them mad with the expected horror of such visitations -- to make your nights hideous -- your days but so many hours of melancholy retrospection. Oh, you know not the world of terror, on the awful brink of which you stand, when you talk of making Flora Bannerworth a wife."

Aaaaand here we are back at the Do Not Propagate the Family Stain discourse. I told you.

That said! It is a Vampire Literature Trope that the vampire preys on the people who were closest to them in life, particularly a betrothed, from Lenore and The Bride of Corinth forwards. As noted on that very handy Wikipedia page, Byron's The Giaour (1813) specifically says that first, the vampire will first "ghostly haunt [its] native place, / And suck the blood of all [its] race"—daughter, sister, and wife included. I can't say what Rymer did or didn't read, but if he had Byron in mind, the idea is twisted so that the wife/mother, the Victorian "angel of the home," is the predator: extra unnatural.

Meanwhile, Henry is trying to get Marchdale to stop, but Marchdale just! will! not! Charles Holland will hear no more of this!! "Fine, I'm done," says Marchdale. "YOU COULD HAVE JUST NOT," says Charles Holland. "It was my SOLEMN DUTY," bloviates Marchdale. Charles Holland uses sarcasm!! It's so wordy effective that Marchdale abruptly threatens to flounce:

"To-morrow, I leave this house," said Marchdale. "Leave us?" exclaimed Henry. "Ay, for ever."

So now Henry has to coddle this asshole's disingenuously hurt feelings—I really wanted to like Marchdale, but come on, y'all, this guy is every mother-in-law on AITA. "I was just trying to help, I guess you hate me!!" Have you seen the Reddit essay about "boat-rockers" and their enablers? Basically, Henry has to get Charles Holland to steady the boat with him, even though the latter just got here and has no desire to cater to whichever random, non-Flora family member. Charles Holland does manage to say that if saying he's sorry Marchdale got his feelings hurt is an apology, then he'll say that he's sorry Marchdale got his feelings hurt (it's not). BUT KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT FROM NOW ON, YOU DON'T EVEN GO HERE:

"I will not allow this monstrous superstition to tread me down, like the tread of a giant on a broken reed. I will contend against it while I have life to do so." [...] "Come weal or woe -- come what may, I am the affianced husband of [Henry's] sister, and she, and she only, can break asunder the tie that binds me to her."

Which Flora already did two chapters ago, like, five times, but in a very "I clearly don't want to say this but we can't just talk to each other like normal people or there wouldn't be a plot" way, so I'll allow it. *gavel*

Varney the Vampire masterpost

#varney the vampire #vampires #long post #victorian bullshit #wtf this is so long I apologize #this is truly the short version #vampire studies

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