James Harris's Posts (4)

Like Father...

 

(Casually a dabble exploring a little bit of Neegan. PWP nonsense because hahahahaha that's me)

July 1981

--

"Alright kid, keep your fuckin' fussin' down."

Nothing like a hot, fresh bowl of screaming, upset child in the morning. When his ex mate called and said it was an emergency....this is not what he wanted. Or expected. He's already tried to run away from this responsibility before, but now he's stuck, once again, with an infant he hoped was dead on arrival. 

And little Jamie Harris was. 

Stillborn. The idea that his little mistake would stay that way kept him comfort. And then the little shit started to cough, started to move, and next thing Neegan knew was he was shacked with this thing, this creature dependent on his mother and on him. How the hell was he supposed to know this could happen? He's been sterile for years. Then along comes a human dragging him down a rabbit hole of partying and ecstasy, only to call him nine months later to scream that she was dying. 

But everything went smoothly. Blood loss, yes. An abomination, yes.

Stuck with a toothless offspring, yes.

He's only watching him for the day, she said, before he can fuck off. And he plans to. Maybe he feels like he owes her a favor, this is his fault, after all, assuring her he absolutely can not get her pregnant, only to be proven wrong. Neegan likes kids. But his own...it's just so odd. He doesn't know how to feel about the teething mess currently clinging to him. He was shocked li'l J didn't scream when he held him the first time. Instead, his son just stared at him with wide blue eyes, gave him a smile, and returned to chewing on his toy keys. But now his son is crying, and he has no idea what to do.

"What the fuck do you eat?" Besides breast milk, and even if it's to soothe, there's no way Neegan is attaching that thing to himself. As the boy continues to wail, Neegan furiously knocks things out of cabinets with one hand, frustrated. Baby food is puree. Why the fuck does his ex only have soup? The fuck can he do with soup.

"Do you eat soup?" He asks his child before realizing just how stupid that was. "Food. Food. People food. Foo- Ah," finally, an opened jar is resealed in the fridge. He sets the crying boy in a high seat and sighs, ears just about bleeding. James seems to be distracted with something, a toy, maybe. Neegan sighs softly as the crying finally turns to sniffles as he gets food prepared, dragging a chair over and sitting in it dad style, back to his front. Opening the can, he uses a small spoon coated in a thin cap of rubber to spoon some out. 

"This is fucking demeaning," he mumbles, realizing how far he's fallen. Here he is, feeding a monstrosity he's made like a doting, domesticated parent. On one hand, he feels utterly humiliated. On the other...

On the other he's noticed little teeth already poking out of his son's gums. Sharp ones. Little indents are left on the rubber and Neegan takes a moment to gently run his fingers over the little holes. James is happy again, playing with his toy and opening his mouth as an invitation for Neegan to feed him again. He has to admit, the kid is cute. And he does look like him. Maybe not exactly...but there's something there. Something in his eyes, maybe. The old Pureblood's never noticed just how pretty they are.

Realizing he's stared too long, Neegan clears his throat, placing another spoonful in his child's mouth. He doesn't understand what he's feeling. Is it a paternal instinct? A need to protect his child? Then why is it making him want to run? A million things are rushing into his head, giving him a massive headache and making him nearly hiss in frustration.

"You couldn't have just...not existed, huh kiddo?" He asks once James is done eating, as if he expects the child to answer. "I don't know to to feel about you. At all. I wanna...I wanna do something, maybe CARE but the cards aren't in the deck," he sighs. "and you're only gonna hate me when you find me again..."

Seems like he's made up his mind.

"Don't grow up to be a piece of shit like me."

--

"What?" James looks over at his father as he finishes burying the body of a rabid ghoul, taking a moment to dig his shovel into the ground to finally take a minute to rest.

"Wha? Nothin', Kiddo. I said nothing."

"Whatever," the Dhampir grabs his shovel. "You know, the more mistakes you make like this, the less likely I'm gonna be able to help you in the future, you know that right?

"Yeah, I know that."

"Good," deciding they're done, James turns on his heel back to his car. "You coming?"

"Yeah, son. I'm coming."

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Purebloods: Speculation

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Nothing much is known about Neegan Harris. The man vanishes in and out of history, changing his name as he goes. The latest iteration, Neegan, has been his chosen label since the birth of his son, and he seems to have settled on it as a name of power. With the rise of more ancient purebloods making their names known, he's made it a point to cement his name with the alphas of his species. What little is known about him is mostly passed on from his son, James, and those he's marked. Unfortunately, Mr. King was unavailable for comment, and his former mate Alison [REDACTED] has been admitted to [REDACTED].

Purebloods: Vicious vampire like cannibalistic creatures with intense desires to feed. Also known as a subspecies, they are faster, stronger, and hungrier than the usual vampire. Too proud to turn humans, they are bred, however, their dwindling numbers makes mating and breeding harder. The most recent and documented Pureblood is a halfling and a documented member of the Harris Family (Courtesy of Gary Howell).

Harris claims he is well over four hundred years old, but his immortality and appearance in early paintings suggest otherwise. Could be a coincidence? 

The documented Purebloods are those who are open about what they are. Neegan seems unafraid of people discovering him and turning him into a monster while his son seems more interested in a normal life. This makes the father aggressive and overbearing on his child, security footage has been found of the two arguing, covered in blood. If these are their victims or the blood of a fight between the two, they have never been caught in the act.

There are rumors he was a scientist for Project Rising Spirit. There are no official documentations.

Affiliations with Grendel are also unconfirmed.

Vitals

[REDACTED] Neegan Harris
Pureblood
400+ (estimated just over 900)
Uninvolved
Egotistical. Bitter. 

Marked:

Unknown number of women
Allison [Redacted]
Colin King

Do not approach.
Sightings are to be reported.

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Monsters Can't Play Pretend

Image result for coffee tumblr

Dialogue credit to Ray Garrsion as John Rookwood

New York.

Morning comes like any other. He wakes up wrapped around a smaller body, enjoying the sensation of heat in the cold, snowy winter. His move four months ago was abrupt, but wonderful. A home. Warmth. Someone to care about and worry about constantly, a sort of balance in the way he needs to keep that focus so he can enjoy something besides work. He spends a moment relaxing, enjoying the silent ambiance of the house until the heat kicks on. Outside the bedroom window, snow falls, sticking to the glass. Growing up in Florida, it was something he'd never seen. He was too far South for the snows in Northern Florida, but even now he's mesmerized all the same.

He sits up, reaching over to kiss his lover, ignoring his sleepy moans to be left alone before slipping out of bed. This was humanity. A job. A healthy relationship. Happiness. Years ago he never thought it was possible, but his hard work has helped him find a spot in the world where he's just...happy. Such a strange transition. He loves where he is, where his life is. For the first time he can probably say he's genuinely happy.

His morning routine is always the same- start a kettle of tea for his boyfriend, start coffee for himself, and long on to read the news. He doesn't like television, and the two of them never really have a need for it, so he's avoided getting some kind of cable service for a while now. Money he just doesn't want to spend, really. So instead he searches several news sites to get different sides and view points, trying to keep up to date on the humans and their shenanigans as the days pass on. For an immortal like himself, it doesn't seem as slow as he hoped. 

Emails from his new boss wait in his inbox, followed by one from an address he doesn't recognize. He reads and frowns, confused, unsure what might contain.

James Harriss | HarrissJ@Gmail.com

Subject: It's Allison

James,

It's been a few weeks. I hope I would here from you. 

Her typos are expected, reflections of her struggle to get her mind back into place.

I know you're angry. I'm so sorry. If I could relate to you just how sorry I am... What happened with you, your father, it will never go away. I know this. I miss you. I forgot about you. The stroke made me forget. I don't remember what I did to make you hate me.

He doesn't hate her. He doesn't know her. His childhood was spent much on his own, left to wonder what he's going to do with himself. He wants a family. Someone to just love him and remind him he has a home and can be happy. Years were spent waiting for some form of love from his parent, for her to tell him he was a good boy, that she loved him. He brought her gifts, talked positively about her, but it never seemed enough. Every boyfriend was referred to "daddy", he was told everything would be whole soon. 

I love you, son. I always loved you but it's so scary being a mom, especially when he ran out on us... Your father wanted nothing to do with you. I panicked. Please be safe. I see you on the internet. You've done so well for yourself.

I'm proud of you. I want to come see you.

Words he's never quite seen anyone say to him. He's someone taken aback, unsure how to process someone saying that to him. That they love him. That they're proud of him.

And then it dons on him how much the man in his bedrooms says the same thing with such feeling and love, and the sudden shock slips away. He wants so bad to relate to the blood in his veins, but there's something that's distracting him. 

"Aren’t you supposed to love your parents even if they treat you like shit?”
"No. That's not a rule anywhere."

He's right. That's not a rule. He has what he wants. Support. He's built his own family and made his own 

Allison Beitz | Allbeitz@gmail.com
Re: It's Allison

Mom.

I'm sorry. 

I've moved on a long time ago. I spent years trying to decide who my love needed to go to. For a long time I was torn between Neegan and you, then others who gave me winks of kindness. I wanted for so long to just have anything that would show how much someone loved me. I wanted you to love me.

I'm happy. I have someone I care about. I have a home. I hope that gives you comfort.

But I think seeing you wont do either of us any good.

I discussed it with John. We can't salvage this, Mom. 

I do love you, but I'm at the point where I need to make sure I'm okay, not everyone else around me. Maybe some day. But I just can't right now.

Wherever you are, please be safe.

Jaime.

The childhood nickname she used when she was sober, when she was happy. He stares at the context of his message, and then hits send. There's a somber feeling hitting him, but he knows he made the right choice. He needs to move on. From her, from Neegan, from  his past. She needs to be sober. He needs Neegan out of the way. 

The ticking of a clock distracts him a moment, reminding him he's home, and safe, and where he's always wanted to be.

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Hunger

Image result for tumblr blood 

Her son was always a little strange. Awkward. Careful around new people. Distrusting, careful, but never a deranged cannibal. She had hopped, prayed that her biggest mistake wouldn't affect the only thing she managed to make good in life. Her husband called her earlier complaining that James was failing school. That they had no money. That she was a failure. James didn't love her. She knew that. Her relationship with her son was strained and violent. But he cared enough to protect her when his step father threw blows and screamed at her all night long. Something about that touched her, though she'd never admit it. And now, she never would. The sound of groceries dropping on the floor is the only thing that awakens the nearly feral vampire from his feast. The instant he spots her, the nineteen year old drops the severed arm of his dead stepfather, gaping at her in horror at what he's done. “You...” She stares at him like he’s done something horrible. And really, he has. “What are you?” “I don’t know...” blood dribbles down his mouth as he rolls back up to face her. There’s something in his eyes she’s never seen before- a hunger. Something's changed in her son. Something she's never expected. She knew what Neegan was, she knew what he was doing to her...but her own child? "Get away from me." "Mom-' "GET AWAY FROM ME!" She hurls a shoe at him, then a book, then a suitcase. Whatever is near her. It took merely days to get his things together, what little there were, and leave. James hasn't seen his mother in nearly twelve years.


He spends the next ten years homeless. Ten years he was given food by an older man who worked for a deli. He would sneak out meats and bread, something to hopefully help the man living in the dumpster. But he was still hungry. He would feed only every once in a while, focused on keeping himself from breaking any laws or being noticed by anyone. Except for the kind man who helped him out. He felt like he owed him in some way and wished he could have done something. One night, the man invites him over for dinner, offering him a place to sleep. By this time he hasn't fed in weeks. He's skinny, gaunt, nearly feral looking. Something about his ding eyes and sharp teeth make him look terrifying. But his friend saw past that. He wanted to help. The poor man just wanted to help. "Here, kid. Have a jacket," it's a few sizes too big for him. He accepts it with a smile, but the moment he looks into the man's eyes he can see everything. Hear his heartbeat. There's a sudden clarity to his instincts that he can easily figure out a way to kill him and make it painless. He doesn't want to. He'll do everything in his power not to. But something is killing him inside and he hates it.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what son? What's-" he never finishes. James is already ripping his throat out, swallowing the bits of blood and flesh. The man screams, his cries turned into blood-gurgled whines. His hunger scares him, even as he feeds right now. How many more innocent people will he hurt. God, what is he doing to do... Suddenly, his feed is interrupted by the feeling of cold steel on the back of his head.

"Easy, bloodsucker," the man standing behind him has a funny accent, not quite British, but from the UK. "Put down the hand and we'll talk, a'ight? C'mon, away from the body." He does as he's told, silently dropping the limb. His face is permanently frozen in fear, his lips petrified in an "o".

"What do you want?" James asks, raising his hands above his head. "I'm not...I don't kill..."

"Then ah, explain that, yeah?" The stranger points to the body. "Look, kid, yer killin' shit. My boss hates vamps, y'know. So I gotta cut yer head off and then serve it to him in ona those fancy ass dinner plates dressed as a French maid," he laughs, finding that hysterical. "Unless you wanna make a deal."

He eyes the fake Englishman.

"What do you want?"

"I need someone to clean up my mess. My husband, poor man, he does most of that but I know he can't forever. I'm always busy. You clean up, you get fed, and maybe I teach ya a thing 'er two. Howsat?" He eyes this stranger with curiosity. Take the Hunter's offer, or die. Well, shit. This would be easy.

"Why spare me?"

"I like being diff'rent sometimes," he laughs again. "Fight me about it. C'mon. I got a couple of dealers to shoot. You ever hold a sniper rifle before?"

"No..."

"Well, clean up your mess there, and we'll talk. Deal?"

James looks between the man and the body, sighing.

"Deal."

Mick grins right at him, his coffee stained teeth almost as sharp as his wit. "Brilliant. Let's get to work, shall we?" 

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