Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
The Closure.
0 ReviewsWhen an ancient vampire still hasn't found his Blood-Love, he returns back to the family to get his fix.
He you guys, um so I got my computer fixed (Wooh!) and I wrote this to apologize for the wait for IWBF... That story should be updated sometime tomorrow...hopefully.
Anywho, this is set in like, 1900's and stuff. I think it'll be a Two-shot. :P
Rate, review and enjoy my sweets.
S.L.
xO
October 15th, 1920.
He stood in the deserted graveyard making a cigarette watching the bitter weather take its tole on the landscape before him. Naked trees surrounded the graveyard, their branches twisting up into the sky, looking for comforting warmth. A cool breeze whispered through the air. There was a thin layer of frost covering everything making them sparkle and glitter in the sunlight.
Every now and then he would see a squirrel scurrying up a tree collecting the final few acorns before winter. It was mid October after all, it hadn’t even passed the best time of the year for him yet, where he could be his true self: Halloween.
Rubbing his black leather-gloved hands together he begins to walk down the all-too-familiar footpath to where he always met up with his…vessels.
Throwing his cigarette-butt away he puckered his lips and began to whistle the familiar eleven-note tune that he was world famous for. When others of his kind heard it, the hid away in the darkest corners they could find trying not to be confronted by him.
The sun was high in the sky and had snaked its way in front of the giant marshmallow clouds. Dipping his black Trilby hat lower he tried to shield himself away from the cancerous beams. He had a high dislike of the sun and given what he was, it wasn’t really a surprise.
He was now at the back of the graveyard and headed down the giant cracked steps checking the time from his pocket watch.
12:00pm. He had five minutes.
Reaching his sacred family tomb he stopped to admire it like always. The building was made from thick, black stone and two gargoyles looked down from the corners. The gargoyles were a mix of human, demon and bat. He tapped the giant wooden doors, listening to the noise vibrate through. Each door had a massive knocker (about the size of a human head) in the shape of a lion. A red ruby stone stood above the doorway the words:
Devi mantenere la tua anima come un segreto in gola!
He chuckled at his family saying and pushed up against the giant doors, opening them. Strength was another one of his strong-points.
Walking down the steps into the tomb he removed his black, suede coat, classic Rea Bans, his hat and leather gloves and threw them on top of a dusty tomb. He let out a sigh of content. He really loved this place. It was always so peaceful here. He was away from the constant, annoying burning in his throat that reminded him he had yet to find his blood-love.
Taking out his matches he began to light the oil lamps that were scattered around the room for visits like these.
Still whistling he unbuttoned his blood-red waistcoat and shoved the sleeves of his black silk shirt up past his elbows, revealing his unnaturally pale skin.
Hearing footsteps echoing off the walls he turns and leans against a pillar, running his hand through his slicked back black hair he turns toward the doorway.
“You’re late,” he states as a man walks through the doorway. He was tall and had a skinny frame. He wore a tailored black suit with a crisp, starched collared white shirt underneath. Underneath his dark grey Trilby was a layer or mousey brown hair that was slicked back. A pair of thick, rectangular glasses framed his hazel eyes.
“Sorry the boss wasn’t gonna leave me out. I had to tell him there was a family emergency,” the mousey-haired man says, taking off his hat and thick coat.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns toward the black haired man and takes in a deep breath.
“So why am I here Gerard?”
“I think you know Michael. Why else would have I called you here?” Gerard murmurs, flicking at his pocket watch, boredom showing on his hard face.
Sighing Michael looks over at Gerard, his face showing how much this man had affected his life. The prominent frown lines etched into his face from constant worry, black circles underneath his eyes from nights of restless sleep and of course, the two tiny pink scars that were carved into the left side of his jawbone, trailing down to his neck. They were his markers, how the others could tell that he belonged to Gerard.
“I thought you had given up on using me?” Michael sighs, absently rubbing his scars.
Gerard lets out a low, deep chuckle and walks toward the taller man.
“Michael you are one of my only…relatives left in this godforsaken place. Why would I ever stop?” Gerard smiles, tiny white teeth glistening in the candlelight.
“A relative? What am I? An ‘X’ amount of great-something-or-others to you?! I am tired of this, Gerard. My wife believes that I am having an affair for god sakes!” Michael snaps, face contorted in anger.
“I told you before that you are like a brother to me. Over my lifetime I have never met a descendant quite as…exquisite as you.” Gerard brushes his index finger along the base of Michael’s throat. “Don’t anger me. You seem to forget how much stronger I am than you, how easily I could end your life.” He traces his fingernail down Michael’s main artery, causing little beads of blood to bubble up to the surface. Michael stiffens as he catches the fiery look in Gerard’s eyes.
“All it takes is for me to push down a little too hard and that’s it. You’re dead. That’s the thing with you humans; you are all too easily disposable. But killing you would be a waste, would it not?” Gerard murmurs, taking a step back.
Michael lets out a sigh of relief as the other strolls over to a pillar and leans against it. He loosens his tie and collar and walks over to Gerard who is smoking another cigarette.
“Smoking? I never knew you could,” he says amused.
“It is not advised but I’m a rule-breaker,” Gerard shrugs flicking the cigarette but onto the ground. “Now lets get down to business, shall we?” he beams clasping his hands together.
He gives a weak nod and Gerard motions for him to sit on the top of an old coffin and to open his collar.
Removing his silk red tie Michael opens the first three buttons of his shirt exposing his white milk-bottle skin. His palms begin to sweat and his heart is beating loudly in his ears.
Gerard loosens his own collar and stands before him once again humming. He traces his thin hand down Michael’s neck quickly finding his artery. He massages it gently and cuts in deep into the skin with his razor-sharp nail.
Michael lets out a shout of agony but is quickly silenced when Gerard latches onto the wound and sucks hungrily.
Grabbing a fistful of Michael’s hair he yanks his head to the side, exposing more of his neck and sinks his now elongated canines into the soft, bleeding flesh.
His mind is filled with fiery, hot, red images of the undying hunger. Electricity was buzzing through his veins and with each gulp of the metallically sweet liquid he found it harder to control himself.
This sweet, delicious blood was far better than anyone else’s he ever had, including other decedents. Sure, all family blood was better than a strangers as it quenched the thirst for longer, but even Michaels was better. It was one of the reasons he kept going back.
Feeling the humans pulse beginning to slow down dramatically he pulls away with something of a growl.
He covers the wound in a thick layer of saliva causing it to stop bleeding and heal immediately.
Taking out a black handkerchief he wipes the edges of his mouth from blood and then shoves it back into his pocket. He turns back to Michael who was crouched over, panting heavily.
“You should go home to your wife. Buy her some flowers, maybe. Show her that you love her and you are not indeed cheating,” Gerard says, his voice thick.
Michael buttons up his shirt and wraps his tie around loosely. Putting his coat on, he sways slightly from the blood loss. Straightening up, he heads for the door.
Once at the doorframe, he stops and turns to Gerard.
“You will find your blood-love Gerard. It mightn’t be soon, heck it mightn’t even be this century but it will happen. You just need to be patient,” Michael says, voice wavering.
“Patience is not one of my strongest virtues, Michael. Now begonia,” he mutters tiredly, waving him out.
Obeying him, Michael walks out not glancing back once. He really did hope that Gerard found his Blood-Love. He didn’t want his future family to become the ancient vampires’ blood-vassals.
Sooo Whatcha think?
Bad, terrible, horrid?
Meh, lemmie know!
Hugs and cookies,
S.L.
xO
Anywho, this is set in like, 1900's and stuff. I think it'll be a Two-shot. :P
Rate, review and enjoy my sweets.
S.L.
xO
October 15th, 1920.
He stood in the deserted graveyard making a cigarette watching the bitter weather take its tole on the landscape before him. Naked trees surrounded the graveyard, their branches twisting up into the sky, looking for comforting warmth. A cool breeze whispered through the air. There was a thin layer of frost covering everything making them sparkle and glitter in the sunlight.
Every now and then he would see a squirrel scurrying up a tree collecting the final few acorns before winter. It was mid October after all, it hadn’t even passed the best time of the year for him yet, where he could be his true self: Halloween.
Rubbing his black leather-gloved hands together he begins to walk down the all-too-familiar footpath to where he always met up with his…vessels.
Throwing his cigarette-butt away he puckered his lips and began to whistle the familiar eleven-note tune that he was world famous for. When others of his kind heard it, the hid away in the darkest corners they could find trying not to be confronted by him.
The sun was high in the sky and had snaked its way in front of the giant marshmallow clouds. Dipping his black Trilby hat lower he tried to shield himself away from the cancerous beams. He had a high dislike of the sun and given what he was, it wasn’t really a surprise.
He was now at the back of the graveyard and headed down the giant cracked steps checking the time from his pocket watch.
12:00pm. He had five minutes.
Reaching his sacred family tomb he stopped to admire it like always. The building was made from thick, black stone and two gargoyles looked down from the corners. The gargoyles were a mix of human, demon and bat. He tapped the giant wooden doors, listening to the noise vibrate through. Each door had a massive knocker (about the size of a human head) in the shape of a lion. A red ruby stone stood above the doorway the words:
Devi mantenere la tua anima come un segreto in gola!
He chuckled at his family saying and pushed up against the giant doors, opening them. Strength was another one of his strong-points.
Walking down the steps into the tomb he removed his black, suede coat, classic Rea Bans, his hat and leather gloves and threw them on top of a dusty tomb. He let out a sigh of content. He really loved this place. It was always so peaceful here. He was away from the constant, annoying burning in his throat that reminded him he had yet to find his blood-love.
Taking out his matches he began to light the oil lamps that were scattered around the room for visits like these.
Still whistling he unbuttoned his blood-red waistcoat and shoved the sleeves of his black silk shirt up past his elbows, revealing his unnaturally pale skin.
Hearing footsteps echoing off the walls he turns and leans against a pillar, running his hand through his slicked back black hair he turns toward the doorway.
“You’re late,” he states as a man walks through the doorway. He was tall and had a skinny frame. He wore a tailored black suit with a crisp, starched collared white shirt underneath. Underneath his dark grey Trilby was a layer or mousey brown hair that was slicked back. A pair of thick, rectangular glasses framed his hazel eyes.
“Sorry the boss wasn’t gonna leave me out. I had to tell him there was a family emergency,” the mousey-haired man says, taking off his hat and thick coat.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns toward the black haired man and takes in a deep breath.
“So why am I here Gerard?”
“I think you know Michael. Why else would have I called you here?” Gerard murmurs, flicking at his pocket watch, boredom showing on his hard face.
Sighing Michael looks over at Gerard, his face showing how much this man had affected his life. The prominent frown lines etched into his face from constant worry, black circles underneath his eyes from nights of restless sleep and of course, the two tiny pink scars that were carved into the left side of his jawbone, trailing down to his neck. They were his markers, how the others could tell that he belonged to Gerard.
“I thought you had given up on using me?” Michael sighs, absently rubbing his scars.
Gerard lets out a low, deep chuckle and walks toward the taller man.
“Michael you are one of my only…relatives left in this godforsaken place. Why would I ever stop?” Gerard smiles, tiny white teeth glistening in the candlelight.
“A relative? What am I? An ‘X’ amount of great-something-or-others to you?! I am tired of this, Gerard. My wife believes that I am having an affair for god sakes!” Michael snaps, face contorted in anger.
“I told you before that you are like a brother to me. Over my lifetime I have never met a descendant quite as…exquisite as you.” Gerard brushes his index finger along the base of Michael’s throat. “Don’t anger me. You seem to forget how much stronger I am than you, how easily I could end your life.” He traces his fingernail down Michael’s main artery, causing little beads of blood to bubble up to the surface. Michael stiffens as he catches the fiery look in Gerard’s eyes.
“All it takes is for me to push down a little too hard and that’s it. You’re dead. That’s the thing with you humans; you are all too easily disposable. But killing you would be a waste, would it not?” Gerard murmurs, taking a step back.
Michael lets out a sigh of relief as the other strolls over to a pillar and leans against it. He loosens his tie and collar and walks over to Gerard who is smoking another cigarette.
“Smoking? I never knew you could,” he says amused.
“It is not advised but I’m a rule-breaker,” Gerard shrugs flicking the cigarette but onto the ground. “Now lets get down to business, shall we?” he beams clasping his hands together.
He gives a weak nod and Gerard motions for him to sit on the top of an old coffin and to open his collar.
Removing his silk red tie Michael opens the first three buttons of his shirt exposing his white milk-bottle skin. His palms begin to sweat and his heart is beating loudly in his ears.
Gerard loosens his own collar and stands before him once again humming. He traces his thin hand down Michael’s neck quickly finding his artery. He massages it gently and cuts in deep into the skin with his razor-sharp nail.
Michael lets out a shout of agony but is quickly silenced when Gerard latches onto the wound and sucks hungrily.
Grabbing a fistful of Michael’s hair he yanks his head to the side, exposing more of his neck and sinks his now elongated canines into the soft, bleeding flesh.
His mind is filled with fiery, hot, red images of the undying hunger. Electricity was buzzing through his veins and with each gulp of the metallically sweet liquid he found it harder to control himself.
This sweet, delicious blood was far better than anyone else’s he ever had, including other decedents. Sure, all family blood was better than a strangers as it quenched the thirst for longer, but even Michaels was better. It was one of the reasons he kept going back.
Feeling the humans pulse beginning to slow down dramatically he pulls away with something of a growl.
He covers the wound in a thick layer of saliva causing it to stop bleeding and heal immediately.
Taking out a black handkerchief he wipes the edges of his mouth from blood and then shoves it back into his pocket. He turns back to Michael who was crouched over, panting heavily.
“You should go home to your wife. Buy her some flowers, maybe. Show her that you love her and you are not indeed cheating,” Gerard says, his voice thick.
Michael buttons up his shirt and wraps his tie around loosely. Putting his coat on, he sways slightly from the blood loss. Straightening up, he heads for the door.
Once at the doorframe, he stops and turns to Gerard.
“You will find your blood-love Gerard. It mightn’t be soon, heck it mightn’t even be this century but it will happen. You just need to be patient,” Michael says, voice wavering.
“Patience is not one of my strongest virtues, Michael. Now begonia,” he mutters tiredly, waving him out.
Obeying him, Michael walks out not glancing back once. He really did hope that Gerard found his Blood-Love. He didn’t want his future family to become the ancient vampires’ blood-vassals.
Sooo Whatcha think?
Bad, terrible, horrid?
Meh, lemmie know!
Hugs and cookies,
S.L.
xO
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