The Lost Boys Dwayne - Tumblr Posts

Eddie Munson can’t be dead he has to be alive to see The Lost Boys (1987)

Michael Emerson is such a bisexual disaster, like what do you mean you jumped off a bridge because a group of hot vampires wearing dangly earrings and leather jackets told you to??

so uhh, I made a playlist for The Lost Boys if anyone is interested and wants to check it out

Michael squints against the sun shining in his eyes, turning his head to take a longer look at the billboard welcoming them into Santa Carla. He breathes in the salty, humid ocean air, watching as the words “Murder Capital of the World” slowly fade into the distance.

He turns back around in his seat, a heavy sigh leaving him as he looks between his brother and mom in disbelief.

Well, still beats having to live with Dad.

-

aka the one where the boys try to get Michael to join their polycule. Figured I’d post this one here too in case anyone is interested in reading.

So how do we feel about me writing a Lost Boys series? It would be where reader is teleported into their universe and saves the boys. I'm thinking there would be multiple endings, where the reader ends up with one of the guys.

Hi guys! So I'm kinda in the mood to write again! Something cute for our boys. Someone give me some ideas please!!!

*Laddie gets off one of the bigger roller coasters on the boardwalk*

Laddie: Whoa! That was so cool! Hey Dad, did you see that? Did you see me? Did you see what I did?

Dwayne: You so totally rock, Squirt! So give me five (he high fives Dwayne) noggin (he gently headbutts Dwayne)

BOTH: Dude

Dwayne: What are you doing in my room?

Y/N: Well I heard moans and screams coming from your bedroom so I figured...I should be part of it

The guys run up on the Surf Nazis after they mess with Y/N

Greg: What the...

Marko: Go ahead! Finish your statement so I can bust your head to the white meat!

Paul: Yeah, that's right, he's gonna bust it to the white meat, and I'm gonna bust it to your damn cranium!

Dwayne: Say what you was about to say!

David: Let them words fall up out of your lips, little b*tch boy!

Fandoms and characters i write for

The fandoms i currently write for and the characters i write for 

Stranger things 

Steve Harrington 

Eddie Munson 

Billy Hargrove 

9-1-1

Eddie diaz

Evan buckley

The lost boys

David

Dwayne

Marko

Paul

Criminal minds 

Spencer Reid 

Derek Morgan 

Aaron Hotchner 

Supernatural 

Dean Winchester 

Sam Winchester 

Harry potter 

Draco Malfoy 

Mattheo Riddle 

Theodore Nott

James Potter 

Sirius Black 

Remus Lupin

Marvel 

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Wanda maximoff

Loki laufeyson

Natasha Romanoff

Twilight 

Jasper Cullen 

Emmet Cullen 

Jacob Black 

Sam Uley 

Paul lahote

Teen wolf

Stiles stilinski

Derek hale

Outerbanks

Rafe cameron

JJ maybank

The lost boys plinks

Please don't watch these links if you are under 16

David

David vibes

Just david vibes

David vibes

Belly bulge

Dwayne

Breeding

Dwayne vibes

Breeding again i'm sorry but he has a breeding kink

Dwayne vibes

Marko

Marko vibes

Marko Vibes

Marko vibes #3

Marko vibes #4

Paul

Morning sex with paul

Paul Vibes

Paul vibes again

Paul vibes

Part One: Outlaws of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/ Western American AU Fanfiction)🤠🦇✨🖤

Paul was never going to be an outlaw.

It was never in his plans, being that he was the son of Santa Carla's most renowned pianist, pioneering the occupation for the last few years. From salon to open venues, he was at his father's side, learning all that there was to know. His fingers memorized each key like the back of his hand. That was until his father was turned. Since that night, he vowed that he would never allow another person he loved to fall into the same fate. 

Paul's bubbling ambition to outstand his father's Mozart worthy talent had turned into dust. The roadmap that was so clear, his plans of getting better, to deviate from the same tunes and cut and copy songs that riled up crowds was no longer. 

The wind had willed him here and who was he to fight against it?

Paul shoves his fingers deeper into the warm sand. No one.

"Marko!"

The slanting sunlight spread across the ground, giving a strong reflective gleam to pooling blood that lays under a vampire hunter. The face of the corpse makes him sick, claws drawn deep into his face, highlighting a broken jaw. He had seen the worst, but at the very end of their journey, this seemed to be the one that struck him the hardest. With the sun obstructing his view, his eyes find his closest friend. 

Marko grips his stomach where the bullet had slammed into him, leaving a trail of blood splattered in the sand. His fangs glow in the light as he gasps for air. 

"Marko, what happened!" Paul breaks from the treeline boarding the empty space besides Marko, the hunter and a single horse chewing at a patch of grass. 

Slowly, Marco stops, lifting his bloody clawed hands away from his crimson stained tunic, revealing a completely healed spot. Paul tucks his golden locks behind his ear as he nears, trying to push off the panic attempting to burst at the seams. Marco reaches to the hunters belt, plucking away an obsidian encrusted dagger. 

"We did it. Now you don't have to put us in danger anymore. Now we can be free." Paul's thoughts race around his head, filling him with a joy that weeks and weeks of journey and sleeping with one eye open couldn't bring him.

"Thank God!" He huffs, his boots slamming into the hot sand of the endless golden stretch. 

Marko doesn't move. His blue eyes remain empty, leaving no remains of the gold that once filled them. They stay fixed on the horizon, the sun slowly dropping in the sky, painting the evening with hues of cobalt and violet. 

Paul draws back from his childhood friend who he had tried so hard to accept despite the revelation of him being a vampire. It had been hard and deep in the facade of love and kindness that he had shown for his friend was the will to walk away. To accept defeat. 

"What's wrong?" Paul's voice grows silent as his eyes draw to the dagger of Billy the Kid. This was the famed dagger that the outlaw carried, changing his victims into creatures of blood or himself before using it to change back to a man. 

Marko shakes his head, flipping the black blade between his blood stained fingers. "You will accept me when I kill a part of myself."

"What?" Paul carefully curls his fingers around the boy's shoulder. His fingers work their way into his shoulders. "You know that isn't true."

Marko wipes the blood from his cheeks, eyes lighting up with a soft gold gleam again.

"Then why did you lead me to Billy's grave?" Marko looks at the broken gravestone and the hole that had once been there, half covering the skeleton. 

"To help you, to set you free from this hunger." A burning feeling of annoyance grips Paul, all his hard work and dedication thrown to the wind. Time and a messed up reputation that only very good lies will have the power to clean.

"Free me?" Marko echos. "We killed men for this. You didn't free anyone Paul. If anything, you drove us into a well we can't crawl out of."

"Not true!" Paul snaps. "Those men stood in our way." 

Paul knew he was right. There was no mistaking that. He did what he could, even if his morality was wrong. 

"If I become human and we go back to that town, they'll execute us."

Paul blows a breath. "We'll become outlaws, just like Billy did until they forget about us."

"Or get shot and become the price for someone's prize money." Marko holds on to the knife tight. "I won't let you change me." 

Paul didn't even have a chance to blink. Marko jumps in his path, kicking up sand clouds, The obsidian blade flashes as it slices through the sunlight. Paul steps back, stunned as his friend, his closest friend threatens him. 

"You're just like them!" Marko yells. 

Paul's mind floats back to their memories, their friendship. All that they have been through. This couldn't be the end. He could not let himself fall into the same raging hunger. 

"This isn't-."

"-this isn't me?" Marko laughs. "That's right, while you were searching for fame, I was fighting for my life on the prairie and now the only way that you'll care about me is if I rid myself of the person who overcame that lonely struggle."

For @softchonk since you asked for more vampire cowboys 🤠💫 Hope you enjoy!

Part Two: Outlaws Of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/Western American AU Fanfiction) 🤠🦇✨🖤

Dwayne didn't know the future.

Yet those who thought that he truly could read a set of well illustrated divination cards bought into his predictions. 

The stagecoach driver would find gold.

The rich woman with the hideous ostrich feather hat would birth the child of a millionaire who would come to invest in the biggest cattle stock of the US. 

Overwhelmed with fool's joy, they'd bought it and allowed him on the stage passing through the outskirts of Santa Carla, the current location of the man that caused most of the bitter hatred that lived in his heart for the mass majority of his depressing childhood, wishing to know more about his heritage.

"Where are you from, Mister?" The rich woman he believed that he heard being addressed as Clara leans in, elbows dug deep into the fine silk and cloth fabric of her skirt. Her golden curls fall from her bun. 

He didn't want to explain the complicated details out of fear that his cover might be blown. He was a lost boy after all, a runaway but what would it matter if he was approaching eighteen in only two days. The mystery that being under the guise gave him was too good to forfeit now. Mystery would be his friend. 

Clara reminded him much of the women who would show up to his orphanage in the place of their husbands, parading about in handsome gowns and fake smiles that came at cost of having their names broadcasted in the daily print. He was never adopted simply because of his refusal to conform to their standards, to rid himself of the heritage, of blood that he knew was inside of him. He was of indigenous descent and wanted to know more. He refused to cut his hair and be like them. There was no way that he would allow them to take that from him. 

"Does it matter where I come from if I know where I'm going?" Dwayne had taught himself how to make his voice as soft as duck's down, wrapping all those who listened to him in his binds. "For people like me, we go where our intuition drives us."

"I suppose." She winks her eye, the aquamarine eyeshadow shimmering in the light of the sun.

Dwayne turns towards the glass outlook, curling his fingers into the metal. The stage was far from what he was used too as the bars and glass reminded him of a cell and the gentle rocking shifting to massive bumps giving him the premonition that he's on a boat about to sink. Outside, long gone was the endless slopes of golden sand and stretches of nothing as it had become healthy grass patches, tall fences and uniquely American architecture. Pristine white houses dot the land, horses who've never missed a meal and children running and playing among the gathering of pine trees.

"Do you suppose that I'll birth a boy and girl?" 

Dwayne doesn't draw his eyes from the beauty of the higher class homes, their dream worthy drawn carriages and the pastel colors that kiss the eyes. It's all so beautiful, yet, none of it seemed to call him like an outside looking in. 

Clara clears her throat pressing against her cameo choker. 

"The child will be a female."

"Then who will keep up with the investment?" She tries to hide the panic in her voice at such a revelation. "A woman bidding in stocks or keeping up with the numbers in cattle. How preposterous."

"She will be strong enough to handle it." Though he could know less about what the future holds, he felt a burn of annoyance at the woman's thinking. 

Determined, Clara pushes against Dwayne. "Maybe I will try and by the grace of God, he'll allow me a son. Just like in the good book with Moses and Hannah."

Dwayne lifts his chin, hair falling in sheets from around his neck. "Tarot isn't known to run hand and hand with the bible. You will bear no sons."

"Maybe you should give the cards another read, just for the sake of-."

The stagecoach jolts back, nearly knocking him clean from his seat. The driver gives a sharp yell, stopping the horses as they snort and pull against him, kicking their hooves on the ground in an odd rage. 

"Just because a male is born it doesn't mean that he won't be an addlehead."

Dwayne stands up, tipping his hat to the lady who doesn't say another word. Her eyebrows knit as the predictions of Dwayne of being a millionaire's wife seem to no longer carry as much weight as heavy as birthing a daughter. 

"Be careful who you trust and the very best of luck to you, whatever you do with your fortune."

Leaving out the red door with nothing but a pack of cards and a will to find where he belongs, a strong fear fills him as he watches the horses in their madness, pulling and pushing with a strength that he never witnessed among the animals. The stagecoach driver seemed too focused on his whip, yelling demands that seem to carry no weight to say his goodbyes. 

"What is this?" Dwayne, confused, steps onto the dust street. Instead of a home sits a building bigger than any he'd seen his life. This was no home, it couldn't be. He had heard rumors that his father was wealthy, but this wealthy? This madness!

Massive stone walls arch towards the hills, dipping below in the distance. Gargoyles hang above three stories of large windows plastered against brick walls. Pillars hold lions snarling at the entry gate that hold not a single crack or error. Perfection. 

A shadow appears from the base of the gate, towering above Ambrose from behind the bars. "What brings you here to Atlantis Hotel?"

Dwayne's entire being could be swallowed up in the man's shadow, his face pressed into his skull and eyes huge. Meeting his eyes, he could melt in both the man's harsh glare and the heat of the summer sun.

"I'm looking for someone."

The guard's eyes knit together. "So is every other man."

"But I am the exception, Sir. I have coin to pay for my stay while I go about my adventures finding this special someone in their child's game of hide and seek." 

"Coin?" The man barks. "You'll need more than a coin to get in here."

Dwayne smiles, trying to recall all the smooth interactions that he had seen men in the town use to make the bartenders give them free refills. Even if it doesn't work, he would have to try something.

"Of course." Dwayne places his fingers through the gate bars. "Coin is simply play money for men like me."

"You mean boys?" 

Ambrose reaches into his pocket, revealing a rolled up fold of money. The roll, despite being large, wasn't filled with money but playing cards covered by one dollar bills. 

The man's eyes nearly bulge at the sight. 

"It isn't much but for some men this would be much more than poker money."  He had repeated the entire conversation from something that he had overheard before on the streets between the cry of buggies wheels and horses. 

 The gates open and like a charm, Dwayne walks through the gates. With a flick of the brown tie that binds the money together, he frees a few dollars bills won from an earlier game at the last saloon he'd visited. It wasn't much but enough to buy him a room for the next day. Enough to help him find his father.

"We have beaches." The large man drones on, his sharp and overbearing attitude long gone. 

"That is Santa Carla's speciality." Dwayne says blankly. 

"And great fishing waters if that is much to your liking." 

Dwayne stops, his eyes surveying the man. He has the upper hand now. "Do not kiss the ground that I walk on. I am not the president but a mere man blessed with money. Know your worth." 

"Of course." The man pauses before lifting his finger to gather Dwayne's attention again. "Have you heard about the vampires that roam this town?" 

Dwayne, drawn in by the silliness of the statement laughs. "Yes. I am one of them."

The design of the inside is far beyond his dreams. 

Everything is more grand than the next, striking him as more of something that belongs to the future rather than the present of 1870. He couldn't find the words to describe the anger raging inside of him at the sight. 

This is what my father owns. This is what he had and he pushed me away because of who my kin is, because of who he once loved. He was ashamed for nothing. 

"Greetings, new commer." A voice calls from the top of the staircase. "You look quite young to be here. Rich father? Mother inherited a will or something more?

Nothing stands among the gold railing. A cold wisp of air swings past Ambrose, drawing him back. Taking a stance against whatever it could be, the owner of the voice lays idly against the counter of the lobby, pale blue eyes looking out. White blonde hair glows in the light of a oil lit scone in the shape of a majestic lion. A rather handsome young man, but it was no way that he could be older than him.

Definitely not who I'm looking for. He thought with disappointment. 

"Cat has your tongue?" He croons, his voice deep. 

Dwayne shakes his head. "No. I'm just taking in the designs." 

"Really?" He turns his head, pushing his hands into the pockets of his tartan button up to revel a short writing quill. 

Dwayne felt a burning sink through his chest. This person was toying with him.

"My name is David and yours?" He asks, reaching for a gold bound notepad.

"Dwayne."

David snickers. "Surely you have a last name?"

"I do." 

"What might it be?"

"Stephans."

David smiles with his teeth, lowering his eyes in a near animalistic way. "You share a last name with our owner, Dwayne."

Dwayne could bite through his lip. "What a coincidence." 

Part Three: Outlaws Of Santa Carla (The Lost Boys Fanfiction/Western American Fanfiction AU Fanfiction)🤠🦇✨🖤

If Paul was to be turned, he was going without a fight.

Slipping through the branches of the trees with far from graceful grabs for the bark, only his fear in the silence of the woods propelled him. The canopy  of dark green clustered pines remained still, not a needle moving among the darkness. 

Night had come as everyday promised and with it was the truth that he would be caught. He didn't have the speed or the strength that Marko had or the hunger to hunt him in return. Paul had become prey now, losing his place as the shadow watching from afar as others found themselves trembling in his current position. 

"Only a few hours 'till sunrise, then you can see yourself out of here. Only a few more hours." Paul's voice remained as a soft echo in his head as every thought was aided with a weak attempt to regain a steady breath. 

Gripping on to the grooves of the tree, holsting himself farther into the crook of the thickest limbs, forcing himself into a much more comfortable position. Would he really have the will to hurt his closest friend or would he have to give in to his friend's monstrous actions? It was clear that Marko didn't want him dead but had a far worst fate in mind. Either he could accept the curse and live as a social outcast or try his best at taking down Marko and getting away scot free with a well crafted story of his heroism and fight with a dangerous vampire. He could be the hero that he had always strived to be. He could do something in honor of his father for one last time.

Paul felt a tear prickle at the thought of the day he had taken down his father, the person closest to him and it had been the worst agony that one could dream of suffering. 

Could he do it again? 

Paul's thoughts were becoming more and more overwhelming, blocking out the world around and below him. Armed with nothing but a stolen military knife and an empty pistol, his chance of hunting Marko in return was far too slim to even revisit those thoughts. 

A rustle through the branches facing him snaches him from his thoughts as the forest lit with life. The cries and songs of the once silent birds of the forest filled that air so loud that gripping his ears became an instant response. The beating of wings sounded louder than his heart.

Kicking out at the slant in the tree, bark explodes from the surface, raining down on the ground below. 

"I'm gonna die!" Reaching out for a higher hanging branch, his fingers barely found the separated twigs, pulling a few of the, off before gaining a stable hold. Blood dripped down his wrist as he held on tighter to the branch, swaying under his weight. 

"You aren't gonna die, Paul. You're gonna live forever." A shadow hunched over the adjacent branch, hands on knees, golden eyes glaring and an array of forest dwelling birds perched on his shoulders. The gleam of a black and silver dagger slicing through the air caught Paul's eyes. The very thing that could save him or turn him. 

Letting go of the branch, his stomach dropped.

Marco darted forward through the branches, weapon extended but not close enough to meet with Paul's skin. With barely enough time to balance on the branch below him, Paul summoned all the strength possible and swung forward. Grabbing  his friend with a strength that he never knew that he had within him, the slant branch snapped. Paul fought for a grip on something, anything, but the claws of his friend dragged him farther into the air. Falling through the splay of branches, Paul had already come to terms with defeat. 

The flock of birds surrounded them in a cloud of black, each one pecking at his skin and attempting to claw through the thickness of his hair. 

Paul, barely able to make out Marko kept pushing against him, ignoring the fear of the steady fall to win. A sharp ring and the scream of Marko echoes as the branches of a short pine crash into Marko, tangling them both in a mess of pine needles. Holding on to him, both float feet above the forest floor as if they had never fallen. 

It hit him with a sharp knowing like no other, They are floating.

He had seen Marko do it, but as he held on to his friend, so was he. 

Searching his friend for the thing they had crossed endless miles for, he found nothing.

"Where is the dagger?" Paul screamed over the beat of one hundred wings, grabbing Marko's chin and tilting it so that their eyes met. 

Marko simply snarled, fangs dangerously close to his flesh. His nails could rip him apart but aided with adrenaline, he was numb to the steady scraping of claws on his sides. 

Marko's empty hands drive Paul deeper into a frenzy of anxiety. "Marko, you need that dagger."

With that, the air that had once held him so tight let go without warning, leaving him snatching at the air. 

Hear me out. As a person who studies Paganism and even dabbles and animism, what if I was to write about the witches of Santa Carla. I feel like that would be so interesting. A coven of witches who are in love with the Lost Boys but are also hunted by the frog brothers and the vampire hunters. Get this, Star was once a witch in their coven-

Enough yes votes and I'll drop the plot....

"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."

- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)

Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.

Let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged on release day!

"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."

- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)

Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.

"A vampire is only as wise as his wit and strength. A wise vampire with none of that would have it better as vampire hunter bait. Leave the wiseness to the witches, Laddie boy, if you want to live."

- David, (Of Sharp Stones🌊)

Part one of (Of Sharp Stones, a lost boys fanfiction) "Ocean" coming soon after aesthetics, playlist, prologue and plot release on Wednesday 12th, 2023.

🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊

SECTION ONE: OCEAN

Chapter: Introduction//Prologue

Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.

Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.

Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!

Fanfiction playlist:

🎠Kimora🎠

Night has long fallen.

Upon the pier sits a gathering of birds, crying out my summons within their own strange language. The beat of their wings, silvery and onyx along with the song of their caws once had filled me with awe. Now it's only a nuisance and a reflection of my shortcomings.

A witch without her familiar is as dangerous as holding a wild viper, no protection in her craft or against those who seek to harm her. The birds call out to a familiar seeking a witch but it seems that all of them are too far from earshot.

"Maybe they're dead, Kimora." The blonde lays across my lap, his blue eyes tinted with flecks of gold. "Or deaf."

"Don't speak of misfortune." I'm quick to hush him. "Paul, you know what happens when a witch loses her familiar or worse, never finds them."

"Maybe you have found them." Paul reaches for my hand, his bracelets shimmering and clinking against mine.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Star has David. She lost her familiar but with him, she seems quite fine." Our hands intertwine, the cold of his fingers becoming less bothersome with the passing of months. They cling on to the warmth of a recent feeding, but it's quickly passing, leaving the warm tone of his skin to pale to his unique silvery gleam.

"But she's not. You can't be my familiar, Paul. That doesn't even sound right." I lean back and listen to the magic below, the blue and turquoise waves crashing on the shore of the beach. It sounds much like electric currents, shifting through the waves, up and under the crash in the way that fish do.

"Oh, am I far too lame, not magical enough?" The dramatic part of him itches to push at my core but I can barely hinder my laugh, the true me that all the harsh training and shadow work could never bury away for good.

"No way."

"Then what is it?" Lifting himself, he throws his head back to slap me in the face with his golden hair. His beads and bangles chime softly, even the hook of sapphire stone and vibrant sea glass I hooked in his hair creates their own song.

"You don't understand witches. Our familiars can't be humans."

"You talk about witches like you're some kinda secret club, much like us vampires but witches always have to be superior, you can't sit with us types." Paul jokes around. "Well, I'm not human."

"Familiars have to be ancient spirits in the form of animals," I say, pretending to be tired of going back and forth with him. "Not human, not vampire, not werewolf, not witch."

"I know." His breaths slow. "But what about us? When that animal comes, cat, dog, or whatever you'll have less time for me. Less time for our jukebox dinners, less time to play records or shred a guitar with me. I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you."

Paul has always been the small feeling of warmth that lasts in my heart through the lonely nights, the reason I would sneak away from the coven's beach house at twilight. When I had first met him I was far different, plump with pecan tan skin and a hunger for familiarity, a hunger for the snow-capped mountains and the endless wildness of home.

Now my muscles have formed from straining the magic within my blood, dancing with it, and burning my skin under the scorching Santa Carla sun. My body, one I was unhappy in had grown consistent in muscle mass, yet, still, I've found no peace in my self-perception. Paul was a force to be reckoned with on his own but still, somehow he'd remained playful and carefree.

It was what drew me to him amongst other listable things, of course.

He was the cool water on the scorching sand.

"Do you really think a familiar will change things?" I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek.

"You'll be doing much more magic." He whispers. "You and the coven might disband."

"Never."

"Star left the coven and joined us." He looks off in the distance as a ship rings its bell across the waves. The chime echoes in my head, ringing as I try not to get lost in my thoughts.

"She lost her familiar. It was no way that we could convince her that she was still one of us. She was also terrified of her family's judgment." I hold his hand tight.

We both sit in silence as the ship passes below us, heading towards the boardwalk. Leaning against his shoulder, I wonder if he truly believes it. Lines of bright gold lights up a clear path through the ocean as the blue and white hunk of metal slices through the waves.

"And you know how much Darla loves Marko and Dwayne has the hots for Angel."

"Yeah."

"Your uncontrollable powers and my hunger for blood." He chuckles. "We make one deadly duo."

"And none of us will age." I say. "We'll always be young."

I stand up, called to the trees by something that rings through my blood like the bells of the ships docked. I know it isn't that though because this sound is far too strong. It isn't tangible or has a source I can pinpoint. Though, it's personal.

Paul stands with me, the metal decor of his jacket jingling softly as we leave the wooden pier and head toward the beach. He silently follows close, not questioning my reasoning as he used to. It's our ever-growing trust combined with the little things that my magic has found that keep him from stopping me. Antiques and small trinkets, sometimes trespassers on witchland that made him a nice blood snack, and another picture on the missing board.

The lights of the ferris wheel and the millions of attractions splayed out across the boardwalk catch my eye but the feelings running strong through my veins keep me on my path, strengthening it so that if I wanted to break away from it, my attempts would be in vain.

The wood of the pier disappears into metal gates, chain link fences, and sand as we cross the threshold, the waters fading into golden sand stretches and shrubs. The salty smell of the water fills my nostrils, a smell that took nearly six months to get used to.

My eyes stay on the trees swaying in the wind, the shadows that dance on the forest floor through the space where light pierces through the veil of darkness. The birds on the pier, the servants of the witches lift and fade into the night as flashes of black.

Maybe it's my familiar. I doubt it though.

My feet don't stop as Paul steps to my side, his eyes filled with worry and a silent plea to turn around. It's unclear if he can sense that something is wrong. If even the vampire feels the stillness in the air, I know I should note.

The tree branches poke into my sides as I slap them away, moving farther and farther through the forest. They leave scars on my face, drawing blood as the pines reach out. The ground thins but my feet are dragged along by a sensation burning through my body, seeping into every part of my being. The sweet smell of pine hangs on the leaves, getting stronger with each step.

"No!" I fall to my knees as the earth slants downward, leaving me without a foothold as Paul does the same. Shocked, even he's not fast enough to hold us both up as we plummet down into the earth's pore.

Through the crashing and thrashing, nothing holds me. With every rock that my feet touch, they simply fall with me and the awkwardly twisting branches snap.

I dislodge pieces of the earth as I grapple at stones, slippery with what feels like ocean mist. My feet kick up stones and gravel as I fall. Paul calls me as he half floats, half falls through the space.

"Blood!"

Halfway through calling me, he stops.

With one last slam into the earth, it all gives away and I hit the ground with no warning. Pines cones and needles lay under my back with the occasional stone ripping into my skin.

The sky hangs above dotted with thousands of blinking stars, twisting and twirling in the night sky. They fall around the moon as if in mourning, a sign that had only happened during the final witch trials, the symbol that marked the last burning, never happening before or again in history.

Crunching on the leaves breaks my eyes away from the sky, the panic of Paul reminding me that this isn't some weird dream. That this is real and my blood, the life of me led me here.

"Kimmy." His hands find my face.

I look up and see his fangs and the tremble of his body, the attempt to keep himself from vamping out.

"What?" I lift my eyes to the circle of sticks that surround me against the trees, each stick only a few feet away from the other in the clearing with charred lumps attached to them with the smell of magic and blood in the air. I can barely make out what they are, but like some ancient connection that ignites the primal fear of all witches, I scream loud and guttural.

I gasp, dragging myself up despite the pain in my back and arms. My feet threaten to drag me back down as Paul fights against his hunger and true nature.

"No. No. No!" I scream to the poles, to the bones that remain, and the blood that seeps from the pine wood to the earth. Small crosses litter the earth, poking up from the litter of dried-out pine needles.

My magic threatens to burst from my veins and set the entirety of Santa Carla's forest ablaze but Paul's grip on me keeps me restrained. Not that could but I would do anything to calm my anger and fear.

The memories of this place go straight to my head with a hazy fog as I touch a torn piece of fabric from a frilly young witch's blouse that hangs on the splinters of the partially burnt pole.

The scene comes to me. It smells of sage and warm cinnamon pies, the dinners of the witches of the bluff, a coven far from the boardwalk but within walking distance of the beach. They had always been rather kind but different from my coven.

The witches of the bluff were far more open with magic as the sight of tarot cards, wands, crystal balls, and herbs come to mind, attractions to bring in humans, to make money.

The scene shifts to darkness, of the blue-tinted sky of the evening shifting into the night, of the first stars blinking around the moon. They're alive.

Screams come next and magic, oh, glorious magic. Gold and pink, cobalt and deep green as men dressed in black march with each witch carried and dragged with rope, their powers subdued with flames upon wooden sticks wrapped with cloth.

A young hippie witch, much younger than me, dressed in pink falls to the ground as a man pulls on her ropes with a cruel laugh that boils my blood. Pieces of sleeves rip as she fights against a pole, her magic, a flash of bright yellow flares from her palm so bright that the man who holds her rope shrieks.

She's so ferocious and strong but in the face of hatred, in the face of terrified men, she's nothing but a weak attempt.

I gasp, my lungs burning as life returns to me and the past fades away. The witches are no longer fighting for the last bits of life. They're long gone, burnt corpses above us like angels of death.

Paul holds me tight, suppressing his hunger. His claws dig into my skin as I linger at the foot of a pole.

My head twirls again and I hear her voice. The voice of our High Priestess calling in my head, her cries strained by sobs and gasps for air. Between her screams for help is the sound of leaves crunching as something heavy drags across the earth.

Her life flashes away like smoke, the scene of ropes binding her hands as magic the color of fire spills from her fingers as she tried to do what was right fades.

I know her intentions as if they're my own. She gave her life as the ropes of death snatched her noble existence away in little more than a few seconds. Now our coven is without a leader. Without a teacher, without a figure to keep us strong.

She's dead, snatched away from my coven when I should have been right at her side, even if that meant death.

And I'm without a glimpse of the faces and the bloody hands that took her away from me.