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luchiaAri, I'm putting this up so you can nag me into writing it more effectively.
Thank you.
---
Hybristophilia
---
Vigil Leroux let out a thin sigh.
“They will like you. No, you cannot jump out of the carriage. And yes, you have to come,” she said for probably the twentieth time in the last hour. Honestly, she’d heard of inferiority complexes before, but Quinn Johnson seemed to take the cake.
“Why are we going now, though? Why can’t we wait a couple more years?” Quinn urged, and since he was well aware of the fact that pleading to Vigil would get him nowhere, his eyes were all for his doting lover-slash-husband-slash-sire, Damian Helldirge.
Their baby talk was so sweet it killed. Their sex life was so healthy it was on overdrive. And the two were so madly in love with each other that Vigil sometimes just had to stare at them in amazement.
But now was not one of those times.
She gave Damian a Look. “Please tell me your horrid teaching hasn’t extended towards Quinn’s vampiric education on top of his sexual one,” she said, as pleasantly insulting as ever when it came to her companion. Plus it always helped to add in a jibe towards the happy couple’s sex life just for fun, not to mention it reminded Damian she still had yet to get her threesome.
Damian, as ever, rose to the occasion. “Well, I must say, you certainly gripe a lot for something you seem to enjoy.” He paused. “When you get it, at least.”
Per usual, Vigil gave him a thin, sardonic smile, mouth never opening. “And you still have yet to explain about the vampiric calendar to Quinn.”
“…there’s a different calendar?” Quinn asked, frowning.
“Yes. To simplify everything, you remove 323 years from the human calendar.” Damian explained.
“We celebrate the years of our kind, not humans,” Vigil added.
“See, Quinn, vampires are far younger than most humans seem to believe,” Damian said, slipping into his lecturing mode with his usual enthusiasm. It was a little-known fact that Damian Helldirge absolutely loved knowing more about something than you did. It probably came from his almost painfully ignorant background before he was turned.
“How young?” Quinn asked. As ever, he was quick on the uptake. “I thought there were legends dating back to…well, Egypt, at the least.”
“There are,” Damian nodded. “But those were just legends. It’s actually more of a surprise that we actually showed up than they foresaw it.” He paused. “Psychics are very, very real too.”
“But we’re not talking about that right now, though.” Vigil glared at the two opposite her.
“Right. Well, the first vampire turned someone the first time in the year 323 AA, so to vampires, that is the first year, period,” Damian stated. “Which, according to that-”
“It’s 1900,” Quinn said, smiling faintly.
Damian grinned at him. “I love your mind. Have I told you that recently?”
And there they went again. If the sugar rotted off her teeth, she’d be sure to make Damian foot the medical bill.
Dear gods she missed her boys.
Damian and Quinn’s “honeymoon” period, where neither had to confront anything other than Vigil’s bland sense of humor and an immense amount of sun exposure as they rode around the wild west, was over ten years now. Quinn should be a thirty-year-old father with the mayor’s obsessive daughter, but instead was a twenty-year-old-looking gay vampire frolicking about the center of North America with the love of his life. And Vigil.
The honeymoon was about to end, when their carriage finally arrived in New Orleans. Vigil would get to see her boys after almost fifty years, Damian could try and protect his darling from every other Jiardo-Line Vampire (since Quinn positively reeked love, and it was absolutely addictive to any vampire in the Jiardo line). Sure, there were only nine of them, but Sage alone had to count for fifty different pursuers.
The carriage rolled on, Quinn and Damian cuddled closer to each other, and Vigil tried to pay attention to the volume of Chaucer laid open in her hands and not the fact her boys were just a few miles away now and that she could practically FEEL them now.
“…Vigil, maybe you can read it better if you don’t try to strangle the binding,” Quinn suggested, and it was only then that she realized both covers of the book were snapped open to the extreme, pages almost flying out at the strings’ excessive stretching.
“Thank you, Quinn,” she sighed out, and shook her head, only to gasp. She’d forgotten to do up her hair this morning. She hadn’t forgotten to do that since some time in the 1700’s, in the years before even Damian.
“I was wondering when you’d notice that,” Damian added.
Vigil glared at him, and then, in a fit of desperation, pulled one of the strings out of her Chaucer’s binding. Quinn gaped, since he still wasn’t used to the fact they actually had enough money to afford a wasteful action like that. Vigil ignored them all, wrapping her long white hair around the top of her head as quickly and simply as she could, molding it into the simplest of knots she knew and tying it off with an expert hand. Sure, it was one of the older knots she knew, which probably meant it was from the 1500’s or so, but it was an act of desperation.
“That was very impressive, Vigil,” Quinn said, honest awe on his face.
“You should see what else she can do with her hands,” Damian said, stage-whispering to his husband.
Unlike the Quinn they’d known during the first few years of vampirism, this Quinn laughed, a carefree, amused laugh that couldn’t help but do wonderful things to Vigil’s stomach.
Dear gods did she miss her boys.
---
And yes, I AM going to keep being annoying and go on talking/posting/snippeting/ranting about Hemophilia, because it's consuming my brain, not to mention time, and really, if you couldn't tell, this is actually a brilliant plan to seduce people into liking my vampires, and possibly even iconing something for me, because YAY for icons.
...that is all.
Thank you.
---
Hybristophilia
---
Vigil Leroux let out a thin sigh.
“They will like you. No, you cannot jump out of the carriage. And yes, you have to come,” she said for probably the twentieth time in the last hour. Honestly, she’d heard of inferiority complexes before, but Quinn Johnson seemed to take the cake.
“Why are we going now, though? Why can’t we wait a couple more years?” Quinn urged, and since he was well aware of the fact that pleading to Vigil would get him nowhere, his eyes were all for his doting lover-slash-husband-slash-sire, Damian Helldirge.
Their baby talk was so sweet it killed. Their sex life was so healthy it was on overdrive. And the two were so madly in love with each other that Vigil sometimes just had to stare at them in amazement.
But now was not one of those times.
She gave Damian a Look. “Please tell me your horrid teaching hasn’t extended towards Quinn’s vampiric education on top of his sexual one,” she said, as pleasantly insulting as ever when it came to her companion. Plus it always helped to add in a jibe towards the happy couple’s sex life just for fun, not to mention it reminded Damian she still had yet to get her threesome.
Damian, as ever, rose to the occasion. “Well, I must say, you certainly gripe a lot for something you seem to enjoy.” He paused. “When you get it, at least.”
Per usual, Vigil gave him a thin, sardonic smile, mouth never opening. “And you still have yet to explain about the vampiric calendar to Quinn.”
“…there’s a different calendar?” Quinn asked, frowning.
“Yes. To simplify everything, you remove 323 years from the human calendar.” Damian explained.
“We celebrate the years of our kind, not humans,” Vigil added.
“See, Quinn, vampires are far younger than most humans seem to believe,” Damian said, slipping into his lecturing mode with his usual enthusiasm. It was a little-known fact that Damian Helldirge absolutely loved knowing more about something than you did. It probably came from his almost painfully ignorant background before he was turned.
“How young?” Quinn asked. As ever, he was quick on the uptake. “I thought there were legends dating back to…well, Egypt, at the least.”
“There are,” Damian nodded. “But those were just legends. It’s actually more of a surprise that we actually showed up than they foresaw it.” He paused. “Psychics are very, very real too.”
“But we’re not talking about that right now, though.” Vigil glared at the two opposite her.
“Right. Well, the first vampire turned someone the first time in the year 323 AA, so to vampires, that is the first year, period,” Damian stated. “Which, according to that-”
“It’s 1900,” Quinn said, smiling faintly.
Damian grinned at him. “I love your mind. Have I told you that recently?”
And there they went again. If the sugar rotted off her teeth, she’d be sure to make Damian foot the medical bill.
Dear gods she missed her boys.
Damian and Quinn’s “honeymoon” period, where neither had to confront anything other than Vigil’s bland sense of humor and an immense amount of sun exposure as they rode around the wild west, was over ten years now. Quinn should be a thirty-year-old father with the mayor’s obsessive daughter, but instead was a twenty-year-old-looking gay vampire frolicking about the center of North America with the love of his life. And Vigil.
The honeymoon was about to end, when their carriage finally arrived in New Orleans. Vigil would get to see her boys after almost fifty years, Damian could try and protect his darling from every other Jiardo-Line Vampire (since Quinn positively reeked love, and it was absolutely addictive to any vampire in the Jiardo line). Sure, there were only nine of them, but Sage alone had to count for fifty different pursuers.
The carriage rolled on, Quinn and Damian cuddled closer to each other, and Vigil tried to pay attention to the volume of Chaucer laid open in her hands and not the fact her boys were just a few miles away now and that she could practically FEEL them now.
“…Vigil, maybe you can read it better if you don’t try to strangle the binding,” Quinn suggested, and it was only then that she realized both covers of the book were snapped open to the extreme, pages almost flying out at the strings’ excessive stretching.
“Thank you, Quinn,” she sighed out, and shook her head, only to gasp. She’d forgotten to do up her hair this morning. She hadn’t forgotten to do that since some time in the 1700’s, in the years before even Damian.
“I was wondering when you’d notice that,” Damian added.
Vigil glared at him, and then, in a fit of desperation, pulled one of the strings out of her Chaucer’s binding. Quinn gaped, since he still wasn’t used to the fact they actually had enough money to afford a wasteful action like that. Vigil ignored them all, wrapping her long white hair around the top of her head as quickly and simply as she could, molding it into the simplest of knots she knew and tying it off with an expert hand. Sure, it was one of the older knots she knew, which probably meant it was from the 1500’s or so, but it was an act of desperation.
“That was very impressive, Vigil,” Quinn said, honest awe on his face.
“You should see what else she can do with her hands,” Damian said, stage-whispering to his husband.
Unlike the Quinn they’d known during the first few years of vampirism, this Quinn laughed, a carefree, amused laugh that couldn’t help but do wonderful things to Vigil’s stomach.
Dear gods did she miss her boys.
---
And yes, I AM going to keep being annoying and go on talking/posting/snippeting/ranting about Hemophilia, because it's consuming my brain, not to mention time, and really, if you couldn't tell, this is actually a brilliant plan to seduce people into liking my vampires, and possibly even iconing something for me, because YAY for icons.
...that is all.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 06:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 03:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 04:23 pm (UTC)Please please please please PLEASE email me that so I can yank it and use it and love you even more for ever and EVER!!!!