provocative-envy: drippairing: james potter x narcissa blacksetting: modern, non-magical, vampire/va

provocative-envy:drippairing: james potter x narcissa blacksetting: modern, non-magical, vampire/vampire hunter austory concept for rare pair march madness 2020Being a vampireis about blood. Drinking it,craving it, needing it—inheriting it, too. Narcissa’sfangs come in on her sixteenth birthday. There’s a gleaming, cherry-red Porscheparked outside, wrapped in a giant white bow, ostentatious, impractical; the keysare almost certainly already sitting on the breakfast table downstairs, waitingfor her. She can smell the porcelain platters of steaming egg whites andrubbery turkey bacon, the cut-crystal goblets of fresh-squeezed Splenda-spiked grapefruitjuice. Her sensesare all enhanced. Heightened. Exaggerated. Her skin is ice-cold, butter-soft,and her stomach is positively rolling at the thought of food, at the thought ofanything but blood.It’s herbirthright, this legacy, this rare genetic quirk.It’s a mark. She’stwenty-one when the mainstream media finally catches on to the realities ofvampirism. Twenty-four when the laws are changed. They’re harsh, frustrating, restrictive.Human donors can’t be compensated, can’t be bought or bribed or blackmailed orotherwise coerced into accepting a bite. Enforcement is spotty, at best, buther last name, her reputation, her family’s reputation—it’s a problem.JamesPotter, too, is a problem. Narcissadoubts she would’ve ever even noticed him, actually, if it weren’t for Sirius—Sirius,who walks around now with bullet belts and hand mirrors and vials of garlic oiland deadly-sharp silver daggers and can’t seem to stop embarrassing himself;Sirius, who’s lurking with James Potter in the dimly-lit shadows of abar that neither of them are technically old enough to be in. She doesn’tbother wondering why they’re there. What they’re there for. Huntershunt, and predators prey. James Potteris the easier target, frankly.He’sgood-looking but casual about it, good-intentioned but defensive aboutit, and he kisses her like he doesn’t want to, like he can’t help himself, rightup against the door of his car—a comically expensive black Jeep with spotlightsand mud flaps and enough weapons secreted away that there’s something vaguelymilitaristic about it. There’s a crossbow in the backseat, a quiver of silver-tippedbolts lazily slung onto the floor, on top of a mess of gas station receipts andRed Bull cans and wadded-up gum wrappers and dirty gym clothes. Teenage boydetritus. A strip of condoms stashed in the glovebox. It’s amusing,for a while.Public opinionon vampirism continues to trend downward, reaching new, dramatic, increasingly violentlows, and James Potter continues to show up at her apartment in the middle ofthe night, sweaty and agitated and very often bloodstained. He probably thinkshe’s being subtle, checking her freezer for blood bags without barcodes, feigningidle curiosity as he flips through a stack of unopened mail on her coffee table;he’s funny, though, smart and arrogant and earnest and volatile and just the tiniestbit mean, too, the kind of mean she recognizes, fundamentally, if onlybecause it’s what she used to see when she looked in the mirror, before shecouldn’t look in mirrors anymore.  He doesn’ttrust her.He doesn’t likeher.He truly, obviously,actively seems to hate her, to be honest, seems to hate what she is and who sheis, and it isn’t until it hurts to realize that, to think it at all—it isn’tuntil then that Narcissa begins to understand how massively she’s miscalculatedthe scope of her own investment in him. In this game, in their game. In howshe’s always planned to end it. Because huntershunt, and predators prey.Blood comesfirst, though, and isn’t that a shame? — -- source link

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