rei

24 / she her/ aftg🦊 / true blood 🩸/ iwtv 🦇

[ravenneil]

Group project with a vampire

Godric X reader

Part 01 of 05

Rating: M

Themes: Typical vampires themes, blood drinking, IWTV references.

Summary

Manon Bell has always been drawn to vampires in theory: the forbidden desire, the beautiful danger, the monster close enough to hurt you and human enough to make you want it anyway.

Then she meets Godric in her Abnormal Psychology night class.

He is quiet, beautiful, and far too composed for a college student. When they’re paired for a project on why humans are attracted to figures of fear, Manon thinks she’s found the perfect excuse to talk about gothic novels, folklore and everything people are not supposed to want.

But Godric is not interested in vampires as a metaphor.

Part 01 : Fear as desire

Word count: 5,504 words

Godric only took night classes.

It was the first thing I noticed about him.

Not because I was watching him. Not at first. Plenty of students took night classes at the University of Dallas: people with day jobs, single parents, insomniacs, the kind of exhausted overachevers who lived on vending-machine coffee and spite.

But Godric never looked like he was sleepy in class.

He arrived after sunset with no coffee, no backpack, and no visible resentment toward the hour. He sat in the back row with his hands folded on the desk and listened quietly.

Most students in this class were avid note takers, yet Godric never wrote anything down. Sometimes I wondered if he had an eidetic memory.

I took my usual seat at the back of the class, tucked into the farthest corner where the fluorescent glare felt a little less agressive. I’d always had the unfortunate habit of nodding off during lectures—my brain choosing sleep the moment a voice settled into that steady, explanatory rhythm—and if I sat up front, it felt like I was dozing *at* the teacher, not just drifting. Back here, I could sag into my hoodie, blink myself awake when I caught it happening, and do it without guilt.

I’d picked this class mostly because it was the only one that fit my schedule, but the title had helped sell me: ‘Abnormal Psychology.’ It sounded edgy and a little dangerous, like we’d be dissecting serial killers and freaky stuff instead of memorizing terminology. Even at night, it seemed like the kind of subject that might keep me alert—or at least give my half-asleep brain something interesting to hold onto.

Professor Hale slipped in a few minutes late. The door clicked softly behind her, but the fluorescent lights still seemed to brighten when she arrived—hair neatly pinned back, leather bag hugged to her side, a faint flush on her cheeks like she’d speed-walked across campus.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not breathless exactly, just a little tight around the edges. She kept her smile anyway—too perky for the hour, too determined to sound awake—and swept her gaze over the room like she was taking attendance with her eyes.

She set her things on the desk with careful quiet, straightened a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening, then clapped her hands once, lightly. “Alright,” she chirped, brighter than the students deserved at night, “let’s get started.”

“Fear and attraction are closer cousins than most people like to admit,” Professor Hale said, writing ‘arousal’ across the board with a piece of chalk.

A few students snickered.

“Not that kind of arousal,” she said without turning around. “Physiological arousal. Elevated heart rate, shallow breathing, heightened attention. The body is not always precise in naming what it wants you to survive.”

I risked a glance in Godric’s direction. He wasn’t laughing or snickering. He was focused on the lecture, serious, like we were discussing the reproductive lives of tapeworms or something.

Professor Hale wrote another word beneath arousal.

PREDATORS.

The chalk squeaked on the last letter.

That got a little more attention. A few heads lifted. Someone near the front stopped doodling in the margin of their notebook.

“Now,” Professor Hale said, dusting her fingers together, “this is where things become interesting. In the animal kingdom, fear is usually practical. Efficient. An animal encounters a predator, and the body does exactly what it was designed to do. It runs, hides, freezes, fights, or dies trying.”

She turned back to us, her smile sharpening like she’d finally reached the part of the lecture she’d been waiting for.

“Humans, however, are inconvenient.”

A few people laughed.

“We seek fear out. We pay money for horror movies. We ride roller coasters. We go to haunted houses even though we know someone is going to jump out at us with a chainsaw. We read true crime before bed and then wonder why we can’t sleep. We become fascinated by serial killers, ghosts, demons, vampires—”

My pen stilled on the page.

“—all the things that, if encountered in real life, should send us running in the opposite direction.”

I tried very hard not to look at Godric that time.

I failed.

He sat perfectly still, hands folded, gaze fixed on Professor Hale with the same grave attention as before.

Which was disappointing.

Not that I wanted him to react. Obviously. That would have been weird.

But still.

“Fiction gives us a controlled environment for fear,” Professor Hale continued. “That’s important. Control changes the experience. A horror movie cannot actually kill you. A haunted house employee cannot actually dismember you. A roller coaster is frightening but you’re not actually falling. Your mind knows you are strapped in. Your body disagrees.”

She tapped the chalk lightly against the board.

“So the question becomes: why do we enjoy it?”

The room went quiet in that particular classroom way—not real silence, just the sound of twenty exhausted people trying to decide whether the question was rhetorical.

Professor Hale waited.

No one answered.

I lowered my eyes to my notebook and pretended to be deeply occupied with the word *arousal*, which I had underlined twice for reasons that were already embarrassing.

“Someone,” Professor Hale prompted.

Still nothing.

My eyelids chose that exact moment to get heavy.

It wasn’t my fault. Not entirely. The room was too warm, the lights were too bright, and Professor Hale’s voice had settled into that smooth, explanatory rhythm that turned my brain into wet cement. I would close my eyes for a minute.

“Miss…?”

I heard it distantly, the way you hear something from another room in a dream.

“Miss Bell?”

Something tapped my shoulder.

I jerked awake so hard my pen skittered off my notebook and rolled under the desk in front of me.

The guy sitting one row ahead pulled his hand back like I’d shocked him.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “She called on you.”

For one awful second, I had no idea where I was.

Then the classroom came rushing back all at once: fluorescent lights, chalk dust, twenty faces turned in my direction, Professor Hale standing at the front of the room with one eyebrow raised.

And Godric.

Godric, two rows over, watching me with quiet, unreadable attention.

My face went hot enough to cook an egg.

Professor Hale smiled in a way that was not cruel, which somehow made it worse.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap,” she said. “But since you’ve rejoined us, maybe you can help answer the question.”

A few people laughed.

Not loudly. Just enough to make me want to dissolve into the tile.

I straightened so fast my knee hit the underside of the desk.

“Sorry,” I said again, because apparently that was the only word my brain had left.

Professor Hale’s smile softened by half a degree. “Why do humans seek out fear in fiction? Horror movies, haunted houses, monsters. What’s the appeal?”

My mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Fantastic.

I could feel every set of eyes in the room turn toward me.

“I…” I started.

Brilliant.

A future scholar.

Professor Hale waited.

My brain, which had been asleep five seconds ago, suddenly threw every thought it had ever had about vampires, horror movies, and questionable personal interests at the wall at once.

“Maybe because it lets people get close to things they’re not supposed to want,” I said.

The classroom went quieter.

I blinked.

Apparently that had come from me.

Professor Hale’s eyebrows lifted. “Interesting. Go on.”

Oh, God.

There was no going on. That had been the whole miracle.

But everyone was still looking, and somehow my mouth kept moving without permission.

“I mean… monsters in fiction aren’t always just scary. Sometimes they’re attractive because they’re scary.” My fingers tightened around my pen. “Like vampires. In *Dracula*, the vampire is mostly this outside threat. Disease, corruption, seduction, all of that. He’s dangerous, but he’s still something the story wants destroyed.”

I swallowed, immediately regretting how many words were leaving my mouth.

“But then you get someone like Lestat in Anne Rice’s books, and it changes. He’s still dangerous, obviously. He’s vain and violent and not exactly a role model. But that’s kind of the point. People aren’t attracted to him because he’s safe. They’re attracted to him because he isn’t. He wants too much, feels too much, takes too much. He’s beautiful and forbidden and completely outside the rules people are supposed to live by.”

Professor Hale’s eyebrows lifted. “So the attraction comes from the transgression?”

“Maybe,” I said, my face burning. “Or from wanting something you know you’re not supposed to want. The fact that it’s wrong is part of why it feels… charged.”

The classroom went quieter.

I blinked.

Apparently that had come from me.

The second the words stopped, I wanted to crawl under the desk and live there permanently.

That was the problem with being shy. People assumed silence meant I had nothing to say, when really it meant I had too much.

I stared down at my notebook and prayed no one had noticed the word vomit for what it was.

Professor Hale, unfortunately, looked delighted.

“Very good,” she said. “Fear as transgression. Fear as sympathy. And, very often, fear as intimacy.”

My face went hotter.

She turned to the board and wrote:

FEAR AS DESIRE

DANGER AS INTIMACY

I risked another glance at Godric.

This time, he was looking at me.

Not staring. Nothing that obvious. His head had turned only slightly, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

But his eyes were on me.

I looked away immediately.

My pulse did something stupid

“The vampire is a useful example because the violence is rarely only violence,” Professor Hale continued. “The bite has long functioned as a symbol of intimacy, especially in eras when writing directly about sex was taboo or socially dangerous. It is penetration, exchange, surrender, contamination, pleasure, and fear collapsed into one image.”

The room had gone still in that awful way classrooms did when everyone was suddenly interested but trying not to look interested.

“Which is what makes it dark,” she said. “The fantasy depends on the same thing that makes it frightening: the predator is close enough to hurt you, and close enough for the harm to resemble tenderness.”

The classroom had gone still.

Even the guy who had snorted was quiet now.

Professor Hale tapped the board with the chalk.

“Which brings us to empathy,” she said. “Or rather, the appearance of it. Many fictional predators are compelling because they seem capable of understanding human feeling. They may be dangerous, but they are not mindless. They can speak. They can negotiate. They can desire. They can, theoretically, choose restraint.”

Her gaze swept the room again.

“So here is the question.”

She underlined PREDATORS once.

“If a predator understands fear, understands pain, understands the vulnerability of its prey, does that make the predator less monstrous?”

No one answered right away.

I definitely wasn’t going to. I had already used up my one accidental act of intelligence for the semester.

Then a quiet voice came from the back row.

“No.”

Everyone turned.

Godric had spoken.

He hadn’t raised his hand. He didn’t look embarrassed about that. He simply sat there, calm and still, as though the answer had been obvious and we were all wasting time pretending it wasn’t.

Professor Hale tilted her head, interested. “No?”

Godric’s gaze stayed on her.

“Understanding pain does not prevent cruelty,” he said. “Sometimes it makes cruelty more precise.”

The room went very still.

I felt the words move over my skin before I understood why.

Professor Hale’s smile faded into something more thoughtful. “That’s a bleak interpretation.”

“It is an old one,” Godric said.

A few students exchanged glances.

Professor Hale studied him for a second longer, then leaned back against her desk.

“So in your view, empathy does not redeem the predator?”

Godric was quiet.

Not unsure. Just careful.

“Empathy is not redemption,” he said at last. “It is knowledge. What matters is what one chooses to do with it.”

Professor Hale nodded slowly, then turned back to the board.

“Choice,” she said, writing the word beneath the others. “Good. That may be the most important piece.”

The chalk tapped once against the board.

“Fear, attraction, power, empathy, restraint. Remember those words. They’ll matter for your group project.”

A low groan moved through the room.

There it was.

The academic jump scare.

Professor Hale smiled brightly again, back to being perky and merciless.

“Yes, yes, I know. Tragic. You’ll survive. I’m assigning partners tonight.”

I looked up as Professor Hale wrote the project question across the board.

**Choose a cultural figure associated with fear and analyze why people are simultaneously repulsed by and attracted to it.**

I copied it into my notebook slowly, partly because it sounded important and partly because my hand still hadn’t recovered from the humiliation of being conscious in public.

[homoquartz]

if you spoke to lestat or louis about your pain, they would say, "your pain? what about MY pain?" but if you spoke about your pain to armand he would say "let me lobotomize you and you will never feel pain again." he has a solution-based mindset and we could all learn from him.

[ravenneil]

Found all the Sookie Stackhouse novels secondhand 🥹🫶

[ravenneil]

I’m left alone for 5 days and all I eat is breakfast foods and wine.

[vamplire]

did i consume the vampire media or did the vampire media consume me

[vamplire]

did i consume the vampire media or did the vampire media consume me

[lynxartt]

hard worker hard worker 😴

[ravenneil]

pov: Eric and Godric walk into Elena’s apartment next chapter and they meet her cat.

Merlin:

👁👄👁

Godric:

“…Hello.”

[ravenneil]

Used to have panic attacks as a teen and as an adult I don’t. I haven’t done therapy or anything just grew out of it. Now I keep calm and if I get too overwhelmed I just pass out 🫶

I’m like a computer that stops functioning🪄

[tsummies]

I can’t believe when Jean Moreau was 14 he threw his hair into a messy bun and went downstairs just to realize his parents sold him to One Direction to pay their debts ..

[ineedangstplease]

I too would be insufferable if I was 152cm tall

[ravenneil]

Consider joining my true blood community on tumblr 🩸 - if you want to fangirl about the show or share your fav ao3 fics feel free to join. It’s called Fangtasia ofc.

[ravenneil]

The vibes my true blood fics bring to the function

[ravenneil]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: True Blood (TV), Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Godric (True Blood)/Original Female Character(s), Eric Northman/Original Female Character(s), Godric/Eric Northman Characters: Eric Northman, Godric (True Blood), Bill Compton, Pam Swynford De Beaufort Additional Tags: Inspired by True Blood (TV), COVID-19 Pandemic, COVID-19 Lockdown, Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Human Trafficking, Human/Vampire Relationship, Vampires, Godric Lives (True Blood), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

It was supposed to be two weeks. It felt like summer vacation at first. Then office worker Elena finds herself out of a job in the middle of a global pandemic. The solution? Finding a job as a blood donor where she catches the attention of a certain vampire.

Based post great reveal and set during the COVID-19 pandemic.

I was inspired by the IWTV tv show and wondered how the True Blood characters would handle the crisis. Like those ancient vampires have lived through plagues before but a shutdown like this cut off their food source (confinement). I also love a good Godric centric fic and wanted to put something of my own out there. Hope you enjoy my fellow little fanglovers. <3

Weekly updates, every monday

[bayounoirewrites]

Eden Untamed Chapter One

The wind off the Mediterranean always tasted like sea-salt and crushed lavender. It was a biting cold that stung the throat. The sun over the Camargue delta was blinding, a blazing dome of white gold. Below, it turned the marshlands into a sheet of silver. She rode a white stallion, its muscles shifting fluidly beneath her. A half-stride ahead, her father’s mount matched the thunderous rhythm. Her father turned his head, his deep moss-green eyes crinkling at the corners. His laughter cut clear through the roar of the surf. “Hold your line, Lucine,” he shouted, a Fae lord commanding his daughter with absolute grace, “never look down at the muck. Look at the horizon.” 

Then the memory ripped away, fractured by the piercing shriek of the tea kettle on the stove.

Lucine gasped, her eyes flashing open as she pulled her hand back from the counter. The sudden noise sent a sharp jolt through her chest. She switched off the burner, silencing the mechanical scream as her pulse settled.

She wasn't on the white salt-flats of southern France. She stood in the kitchen of her historic Shreveport apartment. Overgrown pothos vines and hanging ferns draped the brick walls in quiet comfort. Her father was gone, executed by her mother’s enforcers in 1230 AD. Now, she was a ghost operating under a fabricated human paper trail.

She took a steady breath and poured the steaming water over a spoonful of dried rosebuds. Inside the glass teapot, the pale pink petals swirled and began to steep. The faint, sweet aroma of rose tea filled the small kitchen. It acted as a fragile shield against the anxiety tightening in her chest.

She carried her cup of fresh tea into her bedroom, setting it on the nightstand before changing out of her soft loungewear.

She pulled on a thin black sweater and bootcut jeans before stepping into her worn canvas sneakers. Her black backpack was already packed with her dancewear. She slung it over her shoulder and paused by the nightstand.

She took a slow sip of her tea and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her loose waves and soft makeup were already flawless. Satisfied, she massaged a few drops of a spell-bound perfume oil into her pulse points. It was a mask, engineered to smother the intoxicating, addictive scent of her Fae blood. She needed it before she stepped into Fangtasia.

With her magical armor locked in place, she grabbed her keys and headed out. She locked the door behind her and turned down the hallway. Her soft footsteps faded as she headed for the stairs. 

"Heading out early tonight, Cara?"

Lucine paused, her natural guard softening as she turned to face Mr. Henderson. Her elderly landlord stood near the stairwell holding a stack of mail. His face held a warm, grandfather-like curiosity.

“Yes, Mr. Henderson,” Lucine replied, her voice smooth as she offered a polite smile. She leaned into the easy rhythm of her human alias, letting the name wash over her like a necessary shield. “Heading south near the loop for an audition. I'm hoping to pick up a few extra night shifts.” 

"Well, break a leg," the old man chuckled, waving a hand of encouragement as he turned back toward his door. "Be careful on those Shreveport backroads after dark, kiddo."

“Always am,” Lucine murmured. She kept her expression light as she watched him disappear into his apartment.

The brief conversation left a lingering weight in her chest. It was a sobering reminder of the double life she had woven. She adjusted her bag strap, exhaling a slow, grounding breath as she walked down the stairs. Her human cover was airtight. Her sanctuary sat locked behind her. And the sandalwood and oud on her skin kept her safe. Sometimes, the safest sanctuary was the mouth of the lion. The vampire bar was a terrifying risk, but her mother's enforcers would never look for her there. Tonight, she braved the lion's den that was Fangtasia, hoping to use Eric Northman's domain as a shield.

The cool October air hit her as she walked to the curb. Her old, dark green sedan sat waiting in the shadows of the streetlights. In the dim twilight, fallen leaves rustled as they drifted across the hood. She unlocked the door and slid into the worn driver’s seat, tossing her backpack onto the passenger side. The engine hummed as the sedan pulled away, steering toward the isolated backroads. 

✦☽✦☾✦

Ten minutes south near the loop, a different hum vibrated through Fangtasia's floorboards. The empty room was thick with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap, sweet perfume.

Pam sat rigidly at a cocktail table near the main stage. Her champagne-blonde hair and bold red lipstick stood out in the dim light. She wore a leopard-print dress, sheer black pantyhose, and towering heels. Irritation tightened her expression. She tapped her manicured fingers against a clipboard of audition names.

Beside her, Eric looked entirely unimpressed. He was lounging back in his chair, his towering frame clad in a dark track suit. He propped his feet up onto the edge of the table. With his hands folded over his stomach, his vacant stare remained fixed forward. He was completely indifferent to the human spectacle unfolding just a few feet away.

“Next!” Pam snapped, waving a hand dismissively without looking up from her clipboard.

The first girl hurried off, making way for the next dancer who stepped straight up to the sound system. She popped a disc into the player, and a generic 80s metal song blared through the speakers. The girl threw her head back to shred an air guitar, launching into a vigorous headbang.

“Oh, stop. Stop!” Eric called out, his deep voice effortlessly cutting through the music.

The girl instantly paused, scrambling to turn off the sound system.

Eric blinked once, his expression bored and mildly annoyed. “Thank you, but we're looking for something a little less, um… ridiculous."

“I can tone it down,” the girl offered quickly, her hands hovering at her sides.

“I'd rather see you turn it off,” Eric replied, his tone flat.

The girl scoffed, marching back to the sound system to snatch her CD. She aggressively tossed it into her bag. “I know ya'll are vampires n' all, but you don't have to be such bitches about it.”

Pam stared blankly, “Actually, we do. Next!” She glanced down at her clipboard, scanning the next line, “Clara?”

Backstage, Lucine took a slow, grounding breath. As her anxiety faded, an effortless confidence took over. A deep red satin two-piece wrapped around her body, hugging her chest and hips. She stepped out onto the stage with hypnotic grace. Poised in six-inch heels, she walked to the sound system to load her disc.

Pam and Eric exchanged a subtle, satisfied look across the cocktail table. Their annoyance faded into a quiet, calculating interest as they watched her.

A crisp click echoed through the empty club as she pressed play. A slow, descending bassline dropped, filling the room with a sultry rhythm. 

Lucine tilted her chin, slowly running her hands over her body as she eased into a seamless head roll. Her loose waves spilled around her shoulders, seeming to float under the low lights. She slid down into a slow crawl, arching her back with a liquid grace. 

She was barely thirty seconds into her routine when Eric stood up from the table. As he strode toward the sound system, Lucine flowed seamlessly back up to her feet. He clicked the player off, plunging the empty club into an abrupt silence. 

Standing tall on the elevated stage, she let out a slow breath. An intoxicating, exotic scent drifted from her warm skin. The fragrance immediately cut through the stale club air. It hit Eric with a strange, magnetic pull. She was utterly mesmerizing, stirring a primal physical desire inside him. It had absolutely nothing to do with club profits.

Pam rose from the cocktail table and glided over to join Eric at the stage edge. Looking up at Lucine in unison. The two spoke in a low, appreciative chorus.

“Well, hello.”

Eric didn’t break his gaze from her. “I'll handle this one alone, Pam.”

“Oh, I could not possibly let you do that,” Pam replied, her voice laced with dry amusement.

Eric countered in low Swedish. “Stick härifrån. Den här är min.”

Pam gave a snarky head nod. “Selfish.”

“Insubordinate,” Eric countered smoothly.

Pam rolled her eyes at Eric's stubbornness, recognizing when she had lost a battle. Turning on her heel, she strutted back toward the bar and left them alone.

Eric stepped closer to the stage, looking up at Lucine with quiet appreciation. “Follow me to my office. We’ll handle your paperwork.”

Eric extended a hand, helping her down from the stage. Taking his hand, Lucine stepped onto the main floor, and he led her across the empty club toward his office.

✦☽✦☾✦

Eric’s office was a cluttered backroom with grey metal file cabinets and extra bar stock. A massive Viking sword hung on the wall behind his heavy desk. He gestured toward the seat opposite him. He handed the standard new hire paperwork to her across the desk, then sat back in his leather chair.

“On the clipboard, your name is Clara,” Eric noted, his deep voice carrying a quiet composure. “What do we call you on the floor?”

“Eden.”

A faint smirk touched the corner of Eric's mouth. “Eden. Very well.”

He leaned back in his leather chair, his tone completely casual. “The standard rules apply, Eden. You will perform your scheduled sets on the floor and private dances. I will feed and fuck as I please. 

Eric's gaze remained completely relaxed, as if he were stating a mundane fact rather than a demand. He assumed she would jump at the chance to offer herself up, just like every other girl who had ever sat in that chair.

Lucine stared right back at him, her tone cool. “I am not a fangbanger. I'm here to dance, but no one drinks my blood.”

Eric’s calm composure tightened into a cold glare. He wasn't used to humans standing their ground. The tension in the small room peaked, but his sharp business mind ruled his instincts. Her mesmerizing allure would make the club a killing, and he was patient enough to play by her rules for now. There was no point in losing a high-value asset over a technicality.

He gave a slow, conceding nod. “Just the dancing.”

Lucine reached across the desk to pick up a pen. She pulled the paperwork closer, but paused right above the signature line.

“Before I sign, I have a question,” she stated, her tone carefully even. “What are your poles made of?”

Eric watched her with a quiet, evaluating focus. “Pure brass. Why?”

Lucine glanced down. A thin, delicate scar wrapped around her left ankle. It was a permanent reminder of the iron shackle her mother and brother once used to hold her captive.

“I have an iron allergy,” she lied smoothly, returning her attention to him. “It irritates my skin. Won't make much money if I look contagious.” 

Eric accepted the excuse without a second thought. He completely dismissed the detail as a boring human problem. “The three smaller platforms all use identical brass. You’ll be fine.”

Satisfied that her Fae skin was safe, Lucine put pen to paper. She signed Clara Montgomery in an elegant, looping script.

Lucine glanced down. A thin, delicate scar wrapped around her left ankle. It was a permanent reminder of the iron shackle her mother and brother once used to hold her captive.

Lucine blinked the memory away and lifted her gaze. She slid the completed paperwork back across the desk. “When do I start?”

Eric picked up the sheet, his eyes tracking her across the desk. “Friday night. Seven o'clock. Don’t be late.”

Lucine stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “I'll see you Friday.”

She stepped out of the office, nearly running into a man carrying a crate of alcohol.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his frame dwarfing hers. Steel dog tags glinted against his deep brown skin under the dim neon lights. A cluster of jagged, uneven scars tracked across his right bicep. Despite his imposing size, his brown eyes carried a quiet, steady calm as he stepped back to give her room.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, his voice deep and perfectly even-keeled.

He didn't smile or attempt to flirt. He simply gave her a polite, cordial nod before carrying the crates across the room to the bar. Lucine watched him for a split second. Her senses picked up the heavy vibration of his vampire nature. Her eyes lingered on his glinting dog tags. An aching memory flashed behind her eyes and quickly vanished. The bartender wasn't Gautier, but the resemblance in their posture was striking.

✦☽✦☾✦

Swedish Translation: "Stick härifrån. Den här är min." translates to "Get out of here. This one's mine."

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Eden Untamed! This project is a absolute labor of love, and I can't wait to share her journey with you. Chapter Two drops soon.

[enigmaticpink]

I firmly believe what ever you’re obsessed with at 11/12 years old becomes a core part of who you are, regardless if you lose interest in it or not. Maybe some of you were lucky and were obsessed with warrior cats or smth, and if you’re real unlucky it was probably twilight.

[ravenneil]

I had a date planned tonight but I also might cancel it to watch the new episode of the vampire lestat lmaooo (when I say might like 99% sure)