Mostly Because I Cant See Her Making That Choice Without Significantly Less To Punishherself About - Tumblr Posts

But how do they meet? And how quickly do they find out about the other’s nature?

When you spend your childhood learning how to hunt monsters, being told your role in life is to protect the uninitiated civilians surrounding you until your likely brutal death, some habits are hard to let go of. Even when you become the very thing you were destined to fight. You’ve learned over the past few years that not all who are monstrous are monsters and not all are monsters are monstrous. The OCS has helped with that. 

You’d known of the OCS, growing up. Hunter groups were rare and ones that lasted as long as the OCS even rarer. You’re parents hadn’t approved of them. The singular hunter group that accepted human and beings that were distinctly non-human into their rank. Joined by the common cause of protecting those innocents. You’re parents had often scoffed a dismissal at the OCS for their hubris. Warning that the OCS would be betrayed by the evil it invites, one day. Despite a thousand years worth of days in which that had never happened. 

You hadn’t set out to be an independant hunter. No one in their right mind would take on such a suicidal tasks. That’s rather the point, wasn’t it. After the *incident* you weren’t in your right mind. Your future was taken from you. Not with sharp teeth and spilled blood. With sharper tongues and bruised hearts. A single mistake to be met with a life time of penance. Insufficient. Just like you were. They took your destiny, took your weapons, took your safety net. But they could not take your training. 

When you saw all the signs pointing out a fresh risen zombie was hunting in Woltshire you didn’t even hesitate. You’d learned about hesitating. How much it could take from you. Luckily for you salt is common. Luckier (debatable) for you, you could walk off the broken leg. And arm. And rib. And countless bloody scratches. Your clothes were not so lucky but you were old enough that your trust fund was truly yours so they were easily replaced. It was after the coven of want to be witches who were going to sacrifice a group of school children, and entire too long spent regrowing your skin, that you decided if you were going to do this (you were) that you needed specialized equipment to do so. (You didn’t, not really, but for all you were significantly harder to kill now it still hurt. Mostly, it was so much less effective and you didn’t want anyone else injured. Not because *you* were too slow.)

That’s when you meet Mary. Some two bit gun runner in Spain offhandedly mentions your not the only ‘hunter’ seeking special gear. You make a mental note to avoid any of his other clients, just in case. Far too likely they’ll decide your their next target than that they’ll let you go. Not that you’d blame them. You’ve yet to hurt an innocent. So far. You can recall hours of learning that shows you it’s only a matter of time. You’re success at avoiding this other hunter. You know how they think. It’s how you think.

Then you stumble across a wraith demon. Not a demonic. Not a fell visitor. A full on demon. You only know because your senses are more attuned then they were as a human. You’re half certain if you were still human you would have missed it, would have dismissed this as a bad human. Not a possessed human. He smells off. He smells off and you don’t know how because you’ve been avoiding your changed nature so hard you failed to train your new senses. Another failure lays at your feet. And penance, the only penance for it, must be stopping this wraith demon the only way you can. 

You don’t have to equipment to fight a demonic creature. Divinium would be best but that’s rarer than phoenix eggs. (You’re family has exactly one knife of pure divinium and one sword with a divinium edge. The knife is the weapon they are proudest of in their collection.) Failing that certain religious iconography can affect demonics. Hopefully one can even affect a wraith demon. If only you had a contact within the Church. Or, well, anywhere really. You need back up. It’s not even a matter of this is a suicide mission alone. It’s a matter of you could die and have absolutely no impact of the wraith demon. It is with great reluctance that you ask your gun runner to arrange a meeting with his other hunter client. 

She’s not stupid. She comes with back up. Which is a great first sign. Her body language is all confident contained violence and her eyes are open, assessing. You like her immediately. (Would you have if not for that other set of instincts weighing upon your mind?) Your in public so she’s not in her full hunting kit. Again, another good sign that she still pays attention to blending in. What she is wearing is good quality and well looked after. Worn just a bit, just enough that human you may not have noticed (you would have, your mind was the only area you could reasonably out preform those you hunted). 

“You Beatrice?” Her voice is brisk but not without care. Her back up, lurking far enough away in the dark human eyes would have only seen a blend of shadows, keeps the scope of their gun trained diligently on you. You wonder if they looked for your back up. If they thought less of you for not having any.

“I am,” you agree. You gesture at the other empty chair at your table. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits, body half turned to the entrance. Ready to fight or run as needed. “You can call me Shotgun Mary.” She must see the pinched look in your eyes at her moniker because she laughs. “Or Mary if you must.”

You nod. “If that’s comfortable for you, it would be my preference.”

She chuckles again good naturally. “You wanted a meeting?”

No more time being wasted with meaningless pleasantries. Good. “I did. I’ve come across something I cannot handle on my own. I don’t know that you’ll have resources for it either,” you caution, “but I find myself bereft of other resources.” You’re aware you sound uncomfortably formal. You can’t help it. You need her help. (You kind of want her to like you.)

“You gonna tell me what it is or you wanna dance around it some more?” Mary questions gently. You can tell she’s been in this long enough to have learned some things are harder to address than others. 

Asking her to take a leap of faith that your right and this isn’t a trap is something you are particularly loath to do. Even before the incident. “I have found a,” you wet your lips in unbearable display of nervousness and unconsciously drop your voice, “wraith demon.” You scan her eyes, wondering if she heard you. If she believes you. 

A vampire flashes into the cafe and your halfway up, knife in hand, when you notice that Mary didn’t flinch at all due to the vampiric display. You flick your eyes into the dark street and see Mary’s backup in gone. No, not gone. Pulling out a chair from the table beside yours with a squeal that makes you flinch. You sit back down, sliding your knife back but keeping your hand close. Mary’s eyes watch you patiently, her own hands dropped under the table and likely gripping her own weapons. A gun, likely, based on her moniker. Probably not silver shot. More things respond poorly to much cheaper shot like cold iron. Unless they knew what you were and came prepared. “You saw her,” Mary says knowingly. 

She gives away more than you think she intended. They didn’t expect you to see the vampire in the dark shadows of the street. They thought you were human. They know you’re not now, even if they don’t know how. They work with vampires. Which means either Mary and her back up are independents, like you, or they’re part of either the Coalition or OCS. If they’re Coalition then Mary is human, because she’s not vampire and the Coalition works with only humans or vampires. The vampire smells mostly like you’d notice as a human. Just, stronger. The deep, rich smell of dirt mixed with the metallic undertone of blood. It’s not unpleasant, despite the stories she’d heard growing up. There’s a mid tone smell you’re unfamiliar with. You mind insists of describing it as the comfort of shadows, the safety of darkness. You don’t know if it’s a smell unique to this vampire or if your nose is just capable of scenting it now where it couldn’t before. 

“Yes,” you admit. There is no harm in admitting that which they already know. Something you intended to admit anyway to prove you could be trusted to have found a wraith demon. “My senses are,” you search for a neutral word, “heightened.”

Mary hums. “This is my partner, Shannon. Shan, this is Beatrice.”

“A pleasure,” Beatrice says while holding out her off hand to shake. Something that would but them both in a fairly vulnerable position but something Beatrice’s upbringing insists she do when they sit so close together. Shannon takes her hand and Beatrice feels a flash of comfort from the cool of Shannon’s skin against her often too warm (now) hand.

“Sorry for the scare,” Shannon smiles congenially. “I heard what you said.” She shares a knowing look with Mary and they both catch your confusion. 

“I have no proof,” you offer apologetically. “Nothing beyond what my own senses have experienced.” You know it’s a paltry amount of proof. Painfully insufficient. Perhaps you’ll use that as a title of your memoir should you ever write one. 

“Why’d you come to me about it?” Mary asks, voice even. You can hear something beyond it and again curse your avoidance of your non-human traits. With training you might be able to figure out what’s going on beyond what you can see. 

You look down at the table for a moment before meeting Mary’s eyes as unflinchingly as possible. “I don’t know anyone else.” Unsaid but you suspect not unheard is that there’s no one else *you* could go to. No one just stumbles into this life, this world beneath. Not if they plan to survive. “I couldn’t just, just let it hurt people.” And now your begging. Great.

Mary and Shannon share another significant look, micro expressions flashing quickly in silent communication. Shannon turns to you with a grin so wide her fangs peak out. “Well, guess it’s your lucky day. We’re with the OCS and we’re here to help.”

Turns out the OCS was the perfect place to ask for help against demons. It was something of a speciality for them. You wonder why you never knew that. If they were just so good at keeping that quiet or if your family intentionally downplayed their strengths. After that first wraith demon you were officially offered a chance to join the OCS. You take it. You expect to find a cause worth fighting for. Your surprised to find a family too. 

You spend years with your new family. Fighting for innocents against those that would harm them. You still have moments with the OCS where the hatred you were ingrained with comes bubbling to the surface. Most of those are no more than small pauses while you incorporate a new understanding of an old subject. Shannon and Mother Superion, the OCS’s base leader, are both vampires. Mary is actually part dwarf. Lilith has a Snoligoster ancestry she’s still figuring out (which is all sorts of terrifying after meeting Lilith). Camila, who joins after you but is no less loyal or driven, has jinn somewhere not to far away in her family tree. Humans are vastly outnumbered by non-humans in the OCS. You are able to overcome those internalizes hatred’s for your new family. You just haven’t quite figured out how to extend the same compassion towards yourself. 

Perhaps it’s due to some, deeper, fundamental part of your nature. You are wilder. Less controllable. Shannon and Mother Superion come the closest to empathizing. They were driven by impulses they could hardly control for years when they were first turned. Of course, that was many years before they met you. You can logically acknowledge they must have felt similarly but you can’t emotionally convince yourself it’s true. There are other vampires in the OCS, at other chapters. None younger than Shannon. 

All vampires at the OCS were turned by Adriel. An ancient vampire whose death was the sole purpose of the OCS. An incredibly powerful being with control over demons. He passes along some unique traits to all his descendants. Traits that make OCS’s vampires among the most powerful and deadly in the world. You’re a little confused at how he can still be turning vampires when he’s, supposedly, been locked away since the OCS was first founded. You become significantly less confused when a hunt goes bad. Very bad. Bad enough that Shannon’s perforated by divinium shrapnel and half feral trying to heal it. You’re too busy fighting off armed gunmen to hear the whole conversation but you manage to hear Shannon whispering at Mary to “take it out, please, you won’t survive if I-”. It’s impossibly private and you volunteer to buy them time before you hear more. 

You return to Shannon dead, smelling of so much blood and earth and Shannon. To the heavy uncertainty if she’s truly dead or the coma dead of a healing vampire. To a grief stricken Mary wondering if she’s just lost the love of her life. To an apologetic Camila and an angry Lilith. To secrets you didn’t realize existed until your not invited to understand why your family is breaking in front of you. Mother Superion enforces a week long break while the healers look into Shannon’s state. Mary stays, because she’d never leave Shannon. Lilith stay too, to look for something no one wants to tell you about. Camila stays to help Lilith in apology for loosing it. 

So basically it’s only you that leaves. Fine.

Fine. 

You hadn’t realized how much time training and fighting had taken up in your day until suddenly it doesn’t. What are you supposed to do with sixteen unscheduled hours? You decide to do the tourist thing in the city you’ve been living in for nearly three years now. Somehow, you’d never had the time before now. The museums are gorgeous and inspiring and oddly repetitive after three. The bars are not gorgeous or inspiring and repetitive after two. You probably should have just gone home after the museum tours instead of trying to be ‘normal’ by going to a bar. It wasn’t even like you drank there. You’d never risk your self control like that. 

The sun has dipped over the horizon, only the yellow orange glow of street lights make it bright enough to see. You wander for a bit, wondering if it’s you or the creature inside you that feels restless. You smell her before you see her. See her before you see them. You’ve been training you sense of smell. Embarrassing as it is to be able to tell when your comrades have been canoodling with nothing but a sniff. Half way down an alleyway you catch the soothing scent of dirt, the sharper scent of blood, the soothing smell of darkness. Vampire. Judging by the lingering scent of death, a new one. You follow the trail, waiting to sniff out this vampire’s sire. Wanting to reassure yourself that a new vampire hasn’t been left utterly unattended in a heavily populated urban area. Movement in front of you draws you eye. 

She’s magnetic. The smile on her face, the curiosity in her eyes. The way she approaches everything like it’s a new present just for her, just waiting for her to unwrap it. She trails her hand along everything she can reach, rough stone, cool metal, smooth glass, the warm arms of people who walk too close. She embodies herself and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize this girl who is so alive and in love with life is the vampire you were following. 

The newly raised vampire with no sire anywhere around her. The newly raised vampire with a pack of human men fanning out behind her with lethal intentionality. Idiotic human men with no understanding that in this confrontation they won’t be the predator, they’re about to be the prey. Part of you (a mean part that you worry comes from your human half) is tempted to let them spring their trap and reap their unplanned rewards. The other part (the part that’s spent a lifetime saving people) couldn’t bear to wonder how she’d feel if her first introduction to her new state is a collection of bodies around her. You can imagine it all too well (even if you knew your bodies were as guilty as hers). 

The men call out to her, asking if she’s ok. She turns to them with wide eyed wonder. “I think I might be dead,” she says. They hesitate and you, fool that you are, decide that you can’t stand to see her smile destroyed. You step forward. 

i just binged warrior nun season 1 and its mostly ur fault (i did want to watch it originally but life and procrastination and what year is it?) and i'm grateful and i need to sleep now, but also i didnt need more characters to rotate in my brain but they are There now and since most of my current thinking space is monster romance i now have on one hand: werewolf beatrice and on the other: mermaid ava so my hands are full and its because of u so u get to hear about it ;)

beatrice from a monster hunter family, the family disgrace after letting herself get bitten by a werewolf.. being removed from the family business, living a mundane life as best she can, removing herself from the city for the full moon. ava as a newly turned vampire - done by someone careless? - who is stoked to be alive but lowkey devastated that she can’t go into the sun. doesn’t know all that much about vampires. hates that she can’t take the lords name in vain anymore bc it was one of her favourite swears. seemingly unconcerned by her own monstrosity. seemingly delighted by beatrice’s monstrosity (just delighted by bea in general but bea is determined to misunderstand ofc)

Beatrice & the horror of losing control over herself. beatrice & the acknowledgement of monstrosity, of being pushed out pushed away despised reviled by the people who she had worked so hard to be worthy of. Beatrice, who prides herself on control & measured reactions, measured wants, who meters out her life like she has to ration it, make it last

ava, hungry for life, for blood, for everything & anything delicious she can get her hands on. spoiled, selfish, greedy maybe. but why not? the heightened reflexes the heightened awareness. the decadence of being alive. the heat of blood the lure of it. the kindness the joy the laughter the exuberance the drive of her.. she wants to sink her fangs into the world & drink her fill