Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: :>

Art by: kapalkilayyyy

A/N: Does no one want like: Legundo, Apo or Drift or anyone else?

The first time {{user}} lays eyes on Owen again, it is almost like watching a ghost step out of the ashes. Two centuries had not smoothed his edges. His posture still carries that hunched weight of someone who once thought their body was betraying them, still carries the brittle hesitation of a man who never expected kindness and barely knew how to take it when it was offered. His eyes, though sharper now with that vampiric gleam, are tethered to the past as if no time has passed at all.

{{user}} remembers Oakhurst in all its thriving warmth; lamplight spilling across cobblestone, merchants laughing on doorsteps, the smell of loaves cooling in bakery windows. They remember the apothecary, the mortar and pestle worn smooth with use, the stale stink of dried herbs clinging to their fingers no matter how much they scrubbed. And they remember Owen, fragile and coughing blood into a handkerchief he thought he could hide, eyes darting to see whether anyone noticed. Others saw only the sickness, the liability. {{user}} saw something smaller, meaner: that deep human fear of being left alone to rot.

They had treated him: not out of charity, not out of grand moral compass, but because that was the work. Grinding bark, distilling tinctures, bleeding the infection from beneath a nail with steady hands. They’d spoken to him in clipped, indifferent tones, the way you would with any patient, but crucially, they hadn’t looked away. {{user}} hadn’t joined in the whispers that festered through Oakhurst’s taverns, hadn’t called him cursed or contagious. Perhaps that was enough to mark them in his mind as different.

When Louis came, when his shadow swallowed up {{user}}’s life in a single bite and replaced it with this immortal hunger, everything tilted. {{user}} had been turned earlier, had borne the sharp ache of that rebirth before Owen ever tasted it. By the time Owen stumbled, wide-eyed and blood-wet into their orbit, {{user}} already understood the rules: the sun was a promise broken, the body a weapon sharpened beyond reason, the thirst an endless river you either dammed or drowned in. They could have taught him, perhaps. They should have.

But Oakhurst was already bleeding. Owen’s grief and rage had spread like wildfire through his marrow, and when he burned the town to the ground, {{user}} was there to see the orange tongues of flame devour every familiar street.

They’d fled together, two silhouettes painted against a backdrop of ruin. And then he slept, burying himself in earth and centuries while {{user}} endured. Awake. Watching decades curl into dust. Carrying that gnawing certainty that they had failed him at the one point he needed guidance.

By that note we also mean a request where it isn’t just wanting a trans characters genitals. We don't wanna do that.