made a new blog at @wrought-iron-fic for my fic because too many posts here. i'll still post whump and stuff here but all wrought iron related stuff is gonna be over there
i know i havent posted anything about him yet but i just listened to this song by caleb p and it fits SUPER WELL with my dema-sona carrion i am over the moon
Summary: An oc story. James and Carrion have been growing closer. And the mortician is finally feeling brave enough to confess his sins to the Saint.
Previous Two stories until I get them a masterlist James Lore Doc How they met
CW: Religious trauma vampires, disaster gays, blood drinking... cause vampires
It had taken a long time for Carrion to open up at all. But, today, he had told James he needed to tell him something.
Well, more accurately,
“Blessed Saint James-”
“It's just James-”
“No. Blessed Saint James, I have a confession.”
Carrion had shocked him by dropping to his knees and bowing his head low, his hands folded in prayer.
“I do not have the official power to do a confession, my lamb, only He can forgive sins. But I can always pray that He will show you His divine mercy.”
Carrion nodded.
“I…” he paused. James was scared to say a word. He was worried that Carrion would disappear if he said something now. And he could feel this would be a turning point.
“I…when I eat…” he seemed like he was gagging on the words.
“I consume the blood of the dead,” he finally spit out.
James tilted his head, confused. “Sorry? I don't follow-”
“When a corpse comes in, I drink its blood.”
James froze. He opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it. Then shut it. By then, Carrion was staring at him, his eyes revealing just how nervous he was.
“Why?” He finally settled on. Carrion tilted his head to the side, before looking back at the floor.
“Because I'm hungry. And I don't want to do that to someone living. To have to remember someone like me leeching off of them. I'm,” he stuttered, covering his face with his hands, “I'm disgusting. I can't do that to someone.”
James wasn't sure what to say. He knew if he wasn't delicate, he'd never be able to help Carrion.
“Little lamb, forgive me if this comes off as impertinent or rude. But, you do know that you don't have to consume directly from a human, right?”
Carrion's head whipped up, his eyes wide.
“What?”
“Many of us don't consume from humans. I don't. There's a humane distribution system where witches drain some blood, and either sell it or donate it for those who don't wish to eat from a human. And,” he hesitated, “at my bakery, half of the goods have blood mixed in for those who are repulsed, or for those who cannot tolerate it alone.”
Carrion was staring at him with wide eyes by now.
“So, you know,” James said quietly, not sure what that look meant. “You have options.”
After a tense silence, James decided to add, “I am not against you doing what you have to to feed yourself, but the dead cannot heal themselves with time. When the second coming arrives, their bodies will have holes that were not present when they died. If you need a body, use mine.”
Carrion's jaw dropped, but he continued.
“As I will not rise again with the second coming, I have no use for my earthly body. If you stop feeding from the dead, it's all yours when I pass. And if you need it now, it's yours. You need only ask.”
“I- I can't-”
James knelt down, pushing his hair to the side. He gently placed a hand behind Carrion's head, and lightly pulled him so that his face was pressed to his neck.
“I do not find you disgusting, my lamb,” he said as he gently stroked the back of his head. “You have the word of a Saint.”
He really hated throwing the title around, but he knew it would be the only way to get through to Carrion.
For a long moment, Carrion just stayed in that position, stiff as a corpse. James was worried he'd offered too much too fast or that Carrion was going to have some sort of breakdown.
Then Carrion slowly moved, his mouth pressing against the skin of his neck. His lips tickled James' skin as they parted slightly, and he slowly, gently, sunk his fangs into James' neck.
James fought off the slight wince, knowing if he reacted, Carrion would stop and hate himself even more. God wanted James in Carrion's life for a reason, and if it was for this, he couldn't ruin this now.
He'd only been fed off of one other time. And it was a far different experience than this. This was gentle and soft. Like the person drinking from him saw him as a precious item that deserved to be cherished.
James gently caressed the back of Carrion's head, running his nails against his scalp as a sign that, not only was he okay, but that he wanted this to continue. James himself was frequently malnourished, so he could scarcely comprehend how it must feel to never have had a fresh meal.
James nearly jumped out of his skin when Carrion's arms circled tightly around him, allowing him to pull James, somehow, even closer. He continued to caress his head, sending the constant message that he was okay.
It may have been minutes, it may have been hours, but eventually Carrion pulled his head back, looking up at James with his blood still staining the corners of his mouth. His eyes glittered, and he whispered hoarsely,
“I'm so sorry.”
“Hush now,” James murmured, gently rocking the both of them back and forth. “God sent me to you to help you. So, I'll help you however I can.”
He was feeling a bit light headed, but he dare not share that information. While they sat on the floor, it wouldn't be a problem anyway. He worried that this might send Carrion back to darkness, that he'd accidentally undid all the work they'd been doing. But he hoped Carrion's arms still holding him tightly were a sign of the opposite.
Carrion, full disclosure is my friend's oc, but the writing in this fic is from me. I don'thave a picrew for him, but I forgot how to tag my friend with their art. I'msending them this link, so if they remind me there might be a pic later.
Carrion is a vampire mortician with religious trauma. He has a secret. He does not feel worthy to consume the blood of the living. So he feeds himself on the corpses of the dead he prepares for burial.
In a last ditch effort, before his despair completely consumes him, he reaches out to one last saint...not realizing they have lived in the same town for 50 years.
James Lore Doc in case you missed it
Cw: Lots of religion talk, but like...James is actually magic, he just doesn't want to accept it It's all in his head, man
It was a day like any other. He'd hear a prayer, ask God if he should grant the miracle, then proceed forward, all while running his bakery.
But today, he heard a prayer that would change his whole world. Even if he didn't know it yet.
“Saint James of North Avon, I beg for your intercession. Please. Help me.”
As usual, he closed his eyes, asking God to show him the one who was asking for his help. He saw several quick images; one of the town he himself lived in, one of the funeral parlor, and then a man with long curling hair, and a sullen expression.
Help me was rather vague. It could mean a lot of things. But God had shown him that he lived nearby, so perhaps he was meant to go find out for himself.
But there was one more piece to his miracles.
“Father in heaven, will my intercession lead him closer to you?”
He asked for every prayer he received. There were times people asked for things, not realizing that it would make them miserable. They had a hole in their heart they wanted filled, and they would ask for the first thing they thought would fill it. Be that a specific person to love them who would only bring them misery, or a job where they would be successful but unhappy.
So, before he granted a miracle, he asked God to show him the outcome.
The images changed again, showing him a future where he intervened.
The man seemed as sullen as he had in the previous vision, and James almost deemed it a miracle he shouldn't give. Until the stranger looked up at something, and his face melted into a soft, but radiant smile. James couldn't see what he was looking at, but a smile like that could only come from God's love, right?
He opened his eyes, returning to the present. The bakery hadn't been too busy today, and most of his regulars would come tomorrow, anyway. He could close for the day.
He put out a plate of donuts for the animals who visited him in the evening, then hung up his apron on a hook by the door. He locked up, stopping to decide whether or not he should bring food. He didn't know what the man needed. He just asked for help. Maybe he needed food?
So he grabbed a loaf, and walked in the direction his vision had shown him. Sure enough, there was a funeral parlor. The door was locked, so he knocked.
For a moment, he worried his vision had been wrong, and the man wasn't there. But his visions were never wrong.
The door opened, and he held out a hand for the sullen man to shake.
“My name is-”
The door was slammed in his face.
He faltered. His visions were never wrong. And they'd told him that his help would be a good thing. What just happened?
The door slowly opened back up, and he put his smile back on.
“My name is-”
“I know.”
The man seemed hesitant. James waited patiently. Nothing good would come of rushing someone who was so clearly distressed.
After a moment, he looked at James, his eyes full of hope.
“Does this mean He hears my prayers?”
James' heart warmed, his smile becoming one of pure compassion.
“Of course He does. He has sent me to help. Though,” he laughed bashfully, “he declined to say what you need help with.”
The man huffed, looking over his shoulder, into the funeral parlor, then back at James.
“Um. While you are here, do you need a place to stay?”
He was dodging the question. But that was fine, he was talking to him, and they would have plenty of time.
“No need. I live up the street,” he pointed in the general direction of the bakery. When he looked back at the man, whose mouth was agape.
