quick vampire lottielee while I avoid making artfight references
been thinking about vampire/werewolf yellowjackets as of late. yes lotties bite would make more sense on her forehead like her scar but that isnt gay enough for me and its pride month after all
idk when i’m gonna finish this fic enough to actually post on ao3 but i like it so here’s today’s vampire laura lee scene (there is lots of context to this and i love talking abt my sillies so pls feel free to ask me anything)
359 words it’s not long
Lottie awakes with a sudden jolt of wrongness, the discordant echo of a dream, a pit in her stomach. There’s a moment of disorientation, the cabin strange and unfamiliar in the grey pre-dawn light, and she reaches for Laura Lee, like she does when she wakes from a nightmare or a vision or both, like she does when she just needs to know she’s there and breathing. She isn’t there. There’s the blanket rumpled on the floor in her usual place - close enough to Lottie that they can feel each other’s radiating warmth when the temperature drops at night, close enough to reach out and tangle their fingers together in the dark, but far enough away that they can not talk about it. There’s everyone else lying in heaps of sleeping human, Jackie snoring, Van snuffling as she dreams. There’s no Laura Lee.
It’s like that first day all over again as she stumbles to the door, looking out desperately for any sign of movement, a horrible sinking-falling-rushing as the world crumbles around her and yet stays perfectly still. The sun is still below the horizon, the early morning air frigid and heavy with dew, and it hits Lottie with chill through her threadbare shorts and the tshirt that was probably Shauna’s. She doesn’t care. She was already shivering before she got cold. Lottie runs barefoot for the treeline, searching for something, anything, she pushes past branches and ignores the scratches, screams Laura Lee’s name without care for who else or what else hears. Then she sees the red. A few metres away on the ground. Something small, and bloody. She drops to her knees beside it, blinking back tears, and there’s fur (and bones, and pink open flesh, and something dark coloured and organ-like that she doesn’t want to think about too much). Lottie’s so gentle when she picks it up, when she lays its little body carefully down again. As though she were handling a living breathing animal that she doesn’t want to disturb. Not a torn dead thing, with a squirrel’s glassy stare.
Laura Lee is easy to find this time: she just follows the blood.
