The Lost Boys Paul - Tumblr Posts
Eddie Munson can’t be dead he has to be alive to see The Lost Boys (1987)
Michael Emerson is such a bisexual disaster, like what do you mean you jumped off a bridge because a group of hot vampires wearing dangly earrings and leather jackets told you to??
so uhh, I made a playlist for The Lost Boys if anyone is interested and wants to check it out
Paul made the other Lost Boys form a band with him but he’s the only one who practices like every night
Michael squints against the sun shining in his eyes, turning his head to take a longer look at the billboard welcoming them into Santa Carla. He breathes in the salty, humid ocean air, watching as the words “Murder Capital of the World” slowly fade into the distance.
He turns back around in his seat, a heavy sigh leaving him as he looks between his brother and mom in disbelief.
Well, still beats having to live with Dad.
-
aka the one where the boys try to get Michael to join their polycule. Figured I’d post this one here too in case anyone is interested in reading.
Okay hear me out...
...yes please.
So how do we feel about me writing a Lost Boys series? It would be where reader is teleported into their universe and saves the boys. I'm thinking there would be multiple endings, where the reader ends up with one of the guys.
After a long dry season im finally inspired to do more incorrect quotes!! Enjoy!
David and the boys stopped at a pharmacy before heading to a party
Dwayne: in this day in age it might be a good idea to take along some... protection.
Paul: What kind of protection?
David: Two armed Pinkerton guards. No, he's talking about... (points to the shelf)
Paul: A Nestle's Crunch?
David: One over.
Paul: An enema bag?
David: To the right.
Paul: Dentu-Grip?!
David: CONDOMS, PAUL! CONDOMS, CONDOMS, CONDOMS!
Hi guys! So I'm kinda in the mood to write again! Something cute for our boys. Someone give me some ideas please!!!
The guys run up on the Surf Nazis after they mess with Y/N
Greg: What the...
Marko: Go ahead! Finish your statement so I can bust your head to the white meat!
Paul: Yeah, that's right, he's gonna bust it to the white meat, and I'm gonna bust it to your damn cranium!
Dwayne: Say what you was about to say!
David: Let them words fall up out of your lips, little b*tch boy!
Fandoms and characters i write for
The fandoms i currently write for and the characters i write for
Stranger things
Steve Harrington
Eddie Munson
Billy Hargrove
9-1-1
Eddie diaz
Evan buckley
The lost boys
David
Dwayne
Marko
Paul
Criminal minds
Spencer Reid
Derek Morgan
Aaron Hotchner
Supernatural
Dean Winchester
Sam Winchester
Harry potter
Draco Malfoy
Mattheo Riddle
Theodore Nott
James Potter
Sirius Black
Remus Lupin
Marvel
Steve Rogers
Bucky Barnes
Wanda maximoff
Loki laufeyson
Natasha Romanoff
Twilight
Jasper Cullen
Emmet Cullen
Jacob Black
Sam Uley
Paul lahote
Teen wolf
Stiles stilinski
Derek hale
Outerbanks
Rafe cameron
JJ maybank
The lost boys plinks
Please don't watch these links if you are under 16
David
David vibes
Just david vibes
David vibes
Belly bulge
Dwayne
Breeding
Dwayne vibes
Breeding again i'm sorry but he has a breeding kink
Dwayne vibes
Marko
Marko vibes
Marko Vibes
Marko vibes #3
Marko vibes #4
Paul
Morning sex with paul
Paul Vibes
Paul vibes again
Paul vibes
Part One: Outlaws of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/ Western American AU Fanfiction)🤠🦇✨🖤
Paul was never going to be an outlaw.
It was never in his plans, being that he was the son of Santa Carla's most renowned pianist, pioneering the occupation for the last few years. From salon to open venues, he was at his father's side, learning all that there was to know. His fingers memorized each key like the back of his hand. That was until his father was turned. Since that night, he vowed that he would never allow another person he loved to fall into the same fate.
Paul's bubbling ambition to outstand his father's Mozart worthy talent had turned into dust. The roadmap that was so clear, his plans of getting better, to deviate from the same tunes and cut and copy songs that riled up crowds was no longer.
The wind had willed him here and who was he to fight against it?
Paul shoves his fingers deeper into the warm sand. No one.
"Marko!"
The slanting sunlight spread across the ground, giving a strong reflective gleam to pooling blood that lays under a vampire hunter. The face of the corpse makes him sick, claws drawn deep into his face, highlighting a broken jaw. He had seen the worst, but at the very end of their journey, this seemed to be the one that struck him the hardest. With the sun obstructing his view, his eyes find his closest friend.
Marko grips his stomach where the bullet had slammed into him, leaving a trail of blood splattered in the sand. His fangs glow in the light as he gasps for air.
"Marko, what happened!" Paul breaks from the treeline boarding the empty space besides Marko, the hunter and a single horse chewing at a patch of grass.
Slowly, Marco stops, lifting his bloody clawed hands away from his crimson stained tunic, revealing a completely healed spot. Paul tucks his golden locks behind his ear as he nears, trying to push off the panic attempting to burst at the seams. Marco reaches to the hunters belt, plucking away an obsidian encrusted dagger.
"We did it. Now you don't have to put us in danger anymore. Now we can be free." Paul's thoughts race around his head, filling him with a joy that weeks and weeks of journey and sleeping with one eye open couldn't bring him.
"Thank God!" He huffs, his boots slamming into the hot sand of the endless golden stretch.
Marko doesn't move. His blue eyes remain empty, leaving no remains of the gold that once filled them. They stay fixed on the horizon, the sun slowly dropping in the sky, painting the evening with hues of cobalt and violet.
Paul draws back from his childhood friend who he had tried so hard to accept despite the revelation of him being a vampire. It had been hard and deep in the facade of love and kindness that he had shown for his friend was the will to walk away. To accept defeat.
"What's wrong?" Paul's voice grows silent as his eyes draw to the dagger of Billy the Kid. This was the famed dagger that the outlaw carried, changing his victims into creatures of blood or himself before using it to change back to a man.
Marko shakes his head, flipping the black blade between his blood stained fingers. "You will accept me when I kill a part of myself."
"What?" Paul carefully curls his fingers around the boy's shoulder. His fingers work their way into his shoulders. "You know that isn't true."
Marko wipes the blood from his cheeks, eyes lighting up with a soft gold gleam again.
"Then why did you lead me to Billy's grave?" Marko looks at the broken gravestone and the hole that had once been there, half covering the skeleton.
"To help you, to set you free from this hunger." A burning feeling of annoyance grips Paul, all his hard work and dedication thrown to the wind. Time and a messed up reputation that only very good lies will have the power to clean.
"Free me?" Marko echos. "We killed men for this. You didn't free anyone Paul. If anything, you drove us into a well we can't crawl out of."
"Not true!" Paul snaps. "Those men stood in our way."
Paul knew he was right. There was no mistaking that. He did what he could, even if his morality was wrong.
"If I become human and we go back to that town, they'll execute us."
Paul blows a breath. "We'll become outlaws, just like Billy did until they forget about us."
"Or get shot and become the price for someone's prize money." Marko holds on to the knife tight. "I won't let you change me."
Paul didn't even have a chance to blink. Marko jumps in his path, kicking up sand clouds, The obsidian blade flashes as it slices through the sunlight. Paul steps back, stunned as his friend, his closest friend threatens him.
"You're just like them!" Marko yells.
Paul's mind floats back to their memories, their friendship. All that they have been through. This couldn't be the end. He could not let himself fall into the same raging hunger.
"This isn't-."
"-this isn't me?" Marko laughs. "That's right, while you were searching for fame, I was fighting for my life on the prairie and now the only way that you'll care about me is if I rid myself of the person who overcame that lonely struggle."
For @softchonk since you asked for more vampire cowboys 🤠💫 Hope you enjoy!
Part Two: Outlaws Of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/Western American AU Fanfiction) 🤠🦇✨🖤
Dwayne didn't know the future.
Yet those who thought that he truly could read a set of well illustrated divination cards bought into his predictions.
The stagecoach driver would find gold.
The rich woman with the hideous ostrich feather hat would birth the child of a millionaire who would come to invest in the biggest cattle stock of the US.
Overwhelmed with fool's joy, they'd bought it and allowed him on the stage passing through the outskirts of Santa Carla, the current location of the man that caused most of the bitter hatred that lived in his heart for the mass majority of his depressing childhood, wishing to know more about his heritage.
"Where are you from, Mister?" The rich woman he believed that he heard being addressed as Clara leans in, elbows dug deep into the fine silk and cloth fabric of her skirt. Her golden curls fall from her bun.
He didn't want to explain the complicated details out of fear that his cover might be blown. He was a lost boy after all, a runaway but what would it matter if he was approaching eighteen in only two days. The mystery that being under the guise gave him was too good to forfeit now. Mystery would be his friend.
Clara reminded him much of the women who would show up to his orphanage in the place of their husbands, parading about in handsome gowns and fake smiles that came at cost of having their names broadcasted in the daily print. He was never adopted simply because of his refusal to conform to their standards, to rid himself of the heritage, of blood that he knew was inside of him. He was of indigenous descent and wanted to know more. He refused to cut his hair and be like them. There was no way that he would allow them to take that from him.
"Does it matter where I come from if I know where I'm going?" Dwayne had taught himself how to make his voice as soft as duck's down, wrapping all those who listened to him in his binds. "For people like me, we go where our intuition drives us."
"I suppose." She winks her eye, the aquamarine eyeshadow shimmering in the light of the sun.
Dwayne turns towards the glass outlook, curling his fingers into the metal. The stage was far from what he was used too as the bars and glass reminded him of a cell and the gentle rocking shifting to massive bumps giving him the premonition that he's on a boat about to sink. Outside, long gone was the endless slopes of golden sand and stretches of nothing as it had become healthy grass patches, tall fences and uniquely American architecture. Pristine white houses dot the land, horses who've never missed a meal and children running and playing among the gathering of pine trees.
"Do you suppose that I'll birth a boy and girl?"
Dwayne doesn't draw his eyes from the beauty of the higher class homes, their dream worthy drawn carriages and the pastel colors that kiss the eyes. It's all so beautiful, yet, none of it seemed to call him like an outside looking in.
Clara clears her throat pressing against her cameo choker.
"The child will be a female."
"Then who will keep up with the investment?" She tries to hide the panic in her voice at such a revelation. "A woman bidding in stocks or keeping up with the numbers in cattle. How preposterous."
"She will be strong enough to handle it." Though he could know less about what the future holds, he felt a burn of annoyance at the woman's thinking.
Determined, Clara pushes against Dwayne. "Maybe I will try and by the grace of God, he'll allow me a son. Just like in the good book with Moses and Hannah."
Dwayne lifts his chin, hair falling in sheets from around his neck. "Tarot isn't known to run hand and hand with the bible. You will bear no sons."
"Maybe you should give the cards another read, just for the sake of-."
The stagecoach jolts back, nearly knocking him clean from his seat. The driver gives a sharp yell, stopping the horses as they snort and pull against him, kicking their hooves on the ground in an odd rage.
"Just because a male is born it doesn't mean that he won't be an addlehead."
Dwayne stands up, tipping his hat to the lady who doesn't say another word. Her eyebrows knit as the predictions of Dwayne of being a millionaire's wife seem to no longer carry as much weight as heavy as birthing a daughter.
"Be careful who you trust and the very best of luck to you, whatever you do with your fortune."
Leaving out the red door with nothing but a pack of cards and a will to find where he belongs, a strong fear fills him as he watches the horses in their madness, pulling and pushing with a strength that he never witnessed among the animals. The stagecoach driver seemed too focused on his whip, yelling demands that seem to carry no weight to say his goodbyes.
"What is this?" Dwayne, confused, steps onto the dust street. Instead of a home sits a building bigger than any he'd seen his life. This was no home, it couldn't be. He had heard rumors that his father was wealthy, but this wealthy? This madness!
Massive stone walls arch towards the hills, dipping below in the distance. Gargoyles hang above three stories of large windows plastered against brick walls. Pillars hold lions snarling at the entry gate that hold not a single crack or error. Perfection.
A shadow appears from the base of the gate, towering above Ambrose from behind the bars. "What brings you here to Atlantis Hotel?"
Dwayne's entire being could be swallowed up in the man's shadow, his face pressed into his skull and eyes huge. Meeting his eyes, he could melt in both the man's harsh glare and the heat of the summer sun.
"I'm looking for someone."
The guard's eyes knit together. "So is every other man."
"But I am the exception, Sir. I have coin to pay for my stay while I go about my adventures finding this special someone in their child's game of hide and seek."
"Coin?" The man barks. "You'll need more than a coin to get in here."
Dwayne smiles, trying to recall all the smooth interactions that he had seen men in the town use to make the bartenders give them free refills. Even if it doesn't work, he would have to try something.
"Of course." Dwayne places his fingers through the gate bars. "Coin is simply play money for men like me."
"You mean boys?"
Ambrose reaches into his pocket, revealing a rolled up fold of money. The roll, despite being large, wasn't filled with money but playing cards covered by one dollar bills.
The man's eyes nearly bulge at the sight.
"It isn't much but for some men this would be much more than poker money." He had repeated the entire conversation from something that he had overheard before on the streets between the cry of buggies wheels and horses.
The gates open and like a charm, Dwayne walks through the gates. With a flick of the brown tie that binds the money together, he frees a few dollars bills won from an earlier game at the last saloon he'd visited. It wasn't much but enough to buy him a room for the next day. Enough to help him find his father.
"We have beaches." The large man drones on, his sharp and overbearing attitude long gone.
"That is Santa Carla's speciality." Dwayne says blankly.
"And great fishing waters if that is much to your liking."
Dwayne stops, his eyes surveying the man. He has the upper hand now. "Do not kiss the ground that I walk on. I am not the president but a mere man blessed with money. Know your worth."
"Of course." The man pauses before lifting his finger to gather Dwayne's attention again. "Have you heard about the vampires that roam this town?"
Dwayne, drawn in by the silliness of the statement laughs. "Yes. I am one of them."
The design of the inside is far beyond his dreams.
Everything is more grand than the next, striking him as more of something that belongs to the future rather than the present of 1870. He couldn't find the words to describe the anger raging inside of him at the sight.
This is what my father owns. This is what he had and he pushed me away because of who my kin is, because of who he once loved. He was ashamed for nothing.
"Greetings, new commer." A voice calls from the top of the staircase. "You look quite young to be here. Rich father? Mother inherited a will or something more?
Nothing stands among the gold railing. A cold wisp of air swings past Ambrose, drawing him back. Taking a stance against whatever it could be, the owner of the voice lays idly against the counter of the lobby, pale blue eyes looking out. White blonde hair glows in the light of a oil lit scone in the shape of a majestic lion. A rather handsome young man, but it was no way that he could be older than him.
Definitely not who I'm looking for. He thought with disappointment.
"Cat has your tongue?" He croons, his voice deep.
Dwayne shakes his head. "No. I'm just taking in the designs."
"Really?" He turns his head, pushing his hands into the pockets of his tartan button up to revel a short writing quill.
Dwayne felt a burning sink through his chest. This person was toying with him.
"My name is David and yours?" He asks, reaching for a gold bound notepad.
"Dwayne."
David snickers. "Surely you have a last name?"
"I do."
"What might it be?"
"Stephans."
David smiles with his teeth, lowering his eyes in a near animalistic way. "You share a last name with our owner, Dwayne."
Dwayne could bite through his lip. "What a coincidence."
Part Three: Outlaws Of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/Western American Fanfiction AU Fanfiction)🤠🦇✨🖤
If Paul was to be turned, he was going without a fight.
Slipping through the branches of the trees with far from graceful grabs for the bark, only his fear in the silence of the woods propelled him. The canopy of dark green clustered pines remained still, not a needle moving among the darkness.
Night had come as everyday promised and with it was the truth that he would be caught. He didn't have the speed or the strength that Marko had or the hunger to hunt him in return. Paul had become prey now, losing his place as the shadow watching from afar as others found themselves trembling in his current position.
"Only a few hours 'till sunrise, then you can see yourself out of here. Only a few more hours." Paul's voice remained as a soft echo in his head as every thought was aided with a weak attempt to regain a steady breath.
Gripping on to the grooves of the tree, holsting himself farther into the crook of the thickest limbs, forcing himself into a much more comfortable position. Would he really have the will to hurt his closest friend or would he have to give in to his friend's monstrous actions? It was clear that Marko didn't want him dead but had a far worst fate in mind. Either he could accept the curse and live as a social outcast or try his best at taking down Marko and getting away scot free with a well crafted story of his heroism and fight with a dangerous vampire. He could be the hero that he had always strived to be. He could do something in honor of his father for one last time.
Paul felt a tear prickle at the thought of the day he had taken down his father, the person closest to him and it had been the worst agony that one could dream of suffering.
Could he do it again?
Paul's thoughts were becoming more and more overwhelming, blocking out the world around and below him. Armed with nothing but a stolen military knife and an empty pistol, his chance of hunting Marko in return was far too slim to even revisit those thoughts.
A rustle through the branches facing him snaches him from his thoughts as the forest lit with life. The cries and songs of the once silent birds of the forest filled that air so loud that gripping his ears became an instant response. The beating of wings sounded louder than his heart.
Kicking out at the slant in the tree, bark explodes from the surface, raining down on the ground below.
"I'm gonna die!" Reaching out for a higher hanging branch, his fingers barely found the separated twigs, pulling a few of the, off before gaining a stable hold. Blood dripped down his wrist as he held on tighter to the branch, swaying under his weight.
"You aren't gonna die, Paul. You're gonna live forever." A shadow hunched over the adjacent branch, hands on knees, golden eyes glaring and an array of forest dwelling birds perched on his shoulders. The gleam of a black and silver dagger slicing through the air caught Paul's eyes. The very thing that could save him or turn him.
Letting go of the branch, his stomach dropped.
Marco darted forward through the branches, weapon extended but not close enough to meet with Paul's skin. With barely enough time to balance on the branch below him, Paul summoned all the strength possible and swung forward. Grabbing his friend with a strength that he never knew that he had within him, the slant branch snapped. Paul fought for a grip on something, anything, but the claws of his friend dragged him farther into the air. Falling through the splay of branches, Paul had already come to terms with defeat.
The flock of birds surrounded them in a cloud of black, each one pecking at his skin and attempting to claw through the thickness of his hair.
Paul, barely able to make out Marko kept pushing against him, ignoring the fear of the steady fall to win. A sharp ring and the scream of Marko echoes as the branches of a short pine crash into Marko, tangling them both in a mess of pine needles. Holding on to him, both float feet above the forest floor as if they had never fallen.
It hit him with a sharp knowing like no other, They are floating.
He had seen Marko do it, but as he held on to his friend, so was he.
Searching his friend for the thing they had crossed endless miles for, he found nothing.
"Where is the dagger?" Paul screamed over the beat of one hundred wings, grabbing Marko's chin and tilting it so that their eyes met.
Marko simply snarled, fangs dangerously close to his flesh. His nails could rip him apart but aided with adrenaline, he was numb to the steady scraping of claws on his sides.
Marko's empty hands drive Paul deeper into a frenzy of anxiety. "Marko, you need that dagger."
With that, the air that had once held him so tight let go without warning, leaving him snatching at the air.
Hear me out. As a person who studies Paganism and even dabbles and animism, what if I was to write about the witches of Santa Carla. I feel like that would be so interesting. A coven of witches who are in love with the Lost Boys but are also hunted by the frog brothers and the vampire hunters. Get this, Star was once a witch in their coven-
Enough yes votes and I'll drop the plot....
"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."
- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)
Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.
Let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged on release day!
"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."
- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)
Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.