Lamis (Lunacoln) and Lugosi (Lucycoln) both belong to Salvo1985. Lester and Ramona are mine.

Lugosi Loud looked dour, with his black hair and perpetually tired eyes, but he was actually a chill guy...if he did say so himself. He liked playing Call of Honor online, pwning newfags, long walks in the woods hoping he'd stumble across a half buried treasure chest like one of those kids in The Goonies (cha-chiiiiiing), and writing, that last one especially. Writing ruled. There was nothing more satisfying than sitting down at his desk, popping a Monster, and writing Law and Order fanfiction while listening to Vaporwave on Spotify. He fucking loved police procedurals. One of his favorite shows was Dexter not because he was a serial killer (okay, you kill bad guys, great, so does Superman), but because he was a forensic technician, AKA one of the unsung heroes of police work. You see the SWAT guys getting commendations from the city and their pictures in the paper, but you never hear about the boys in the back - the pathologists, technicians, criminal profilers. Theirs is a thankless task, and Lugosi respected the hell of out them.

So much so that one day, he was going to join their ranks.

He was thirteen, gangly, and kind of pasty, so that would have to wait. For right now, he contented himself with writing crime stories. He started off with his own original stuff, but when he posted it on Fictionpress, no one read it. He had fifteen up (fifteen!) and, like, three reviews. His first Homicide: Life on the Streets fic got twenty-eight favs, thirty follows, and fifty reviews - fuck original fiction, fan fics is where it's at! The only problem was he couldn't make any money off them. He tried. The Law and Order fandom is surprisingly active so he figured, hey, why not open commissions? Tell me what you want, and I'll write it. Five bucks every ten thousand words.

Yeah.

That, uh, that didn't pan out. The one guy who tried to hire him wanted a fifteen thousand word Lennie Briscoe x Jack McCoy smut story full of "gay creampies in the squad room."

Uhh...I'll have to get back to you on that.

Not really.

He couldn't make money, but he was still the biggest writer in the fandom. He had nearly a hundred Law and Order stories under his belt running the gamut from horror to romance, and everyone knew his name. People did fan art of his stories, headcanoned his OCs, and even built a sub fandom around his AU Law and Order: Monster Unit series, where the gang fights (and imprisons) various fantasy and horror monsters, like Dracula. That was his highest viewed story and had the sickest plot twist ever - Munch was a vampire all along and worked against the monster unit from the inside...until Briscoe staked his ass.

Yep, he was hot shit and he knew it. Give it a few more years and he'd be writing for the show itself.

On the side, of course, since he wanted to be an actual cop and not a poser.

Anyway, it was early Friday evening and cool purple twilight pressed against the fluttering window screen. Lugosi came into the room with an armload of supplies, bumped the door closed with his hip, and dropped the stuff on his bed. A case of Monster. A couple bags of M&Ms and Almond Joy, a pack of cherry pull 'n' peel Twizzlers, and a lamb gyro from the place down the street in a Styrofoam container. Gyros were the shit. Really messy, though; you can't just eat them at your computer, but then again, he didn't eat anything at his computer. He couldn't afford a new one, so he minimized the risk of spillage where he could. He'd drink a Monster, but when it wasn't it his hand, he made sure it was waaaay on the other side of the desk.

Grabbing a can, he went over to his chair, dropped in, and popped the tab. He took a long, thirsty drink, sat it as far away as he could, and opened his laptop. Presently, he was working on an epic multi chapter fic that followed the career and personal life of all the detectives and prosecutors from the fifties to the nineties and named after a Steely Dan song. So far he was up to 1998 and so close to finally being done he could smell it. The way he saw it, he had four more chapters before he could end it, the final one taking place on September 11th as the detectives rescued people from the Twin Towers (one was going to die in the collapse, he wasn't sure which yet). It was gonna be awesome. Right now, he was on the chapter where Briscoe suffers a fatal heart attack in the squad room - Lugosi saw him sinking to his knees, clutching his chest, and shaking his fist impotently at the ceiling. Two days from retirement! Yes, he knew a cop dying right before retiring was a cliche, but that applied to being killed in the line of duty. This was an act of God. Totally different.

He logged into his Google Docs account and was just about to open his story when a light knock came at the door. Lugosi tensed and shifted his eyes in the direction of the offending sound. Everyone in his family knew not to bother him on Friday and Saturday nights but they still did it. Last week it was Leanne looking for the book on serial killers she lent him (and which he promptly returned on finishing), and before that it was Leah wanting advice on what she should get hers and Leanne's boyfriend Palmer McBride for his birthday. You're a guy, so you should know. What, are all guys the same now? Pretty sexist.

Wonder who it is this time.

"It's open," he called.

The knob turned and his older sister Lamis poked her head in. Fourteen with shoulder length brown hair, big, green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, Lamis was the bane of his existence. It's not that she was a bad sister...oh, no, quite the contrary, she was a great sister. A little too great. As in, she'd hound him for sitting inside all day and oh, you need to drink something other than Monsters, they're really bad for you. Mom didn't give a shit if he watched ISIS execution videos (which he didn't, btw) but God forbid Lamis walk through the room in time to hear someone say ass on TV. *GASP* Turn that off right now. He mentioned something about cliches earlier, get this: Lamis literally told him one time You're going to catch your death if you don't put your coat on. C'mon, it's only forty degrees. You act like it's the Arctic.

As irritating as she could be, he had to remind himself that blah blah because she cared blah blah. That made it a little more manageable, her not being some high riding bitch on wheels like Aunt Lori supposedly was when she was younger. Mom said they called her Hitler behind her back, then attacked and tied her up one time. Your father tried to take over but it didn't work. As a kid, Dad was apparently a little pushover, kek. Too bad he wasn't a kid anymore.

Where was he? Oh, yeah, Lamis's face was wedged between the door and the frame, and she looked like she wanted something. Lugosi turned back to the screen. "I'm busy. Please...don't ask me to do anything."

Her brow creased and she opened the door all the way. She wore a purple and pink plaid shirt and tight hip hugger mom jeans that she probably literally borrowed from her mom. She wore a golden peace sign medallion around her neck and...wait a sec, eye shadow? "Did you forget?"

"Forget what?" he blurted.

"About our date."

Date? Lugosi's head spun so hard it almost fell off his shoulders. The last time he checked, he and Lamis weren't an item - he was with Ramona Santiago and she, Lamis, was with their brother Lester the Child Molester. That's what Lugosi called him because he was a puffed up, pompous asshole in a dumb sweater vest who never had anything nice to say about anyone. Sixteen and still sporting that hard to lose baby fat, his face was a minefield of acne and his shoulder length dirty blonde hair was so full of grease Lugosi kept expecting John Travolta to pop out of it and start singing. I got chiiiiills…

Unless the universe shifted and everything got all jumbled up, he and Lamis didn't date, so...back to my fan fic. "I don't think Lester would like that," he said. He hovered the cursor over the doc and clicked it. Rank on rank of text scrolled across the screen. There were 150k words in this chapter alone, so it would take a while to load.

Lamis crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. "Turn the thumblock on your way out," Lugosi said and took a sip of his Monster.

"Our double date?" she asked. "You and Ramona and me and Lester?"

Okay, now he knew she was freebasing. There was no way in hell he'd agree to go on a double date with her and Lester. She was fine (though kind of like hanging out with his Mom) but Lester could eat a dick; Lugosi would rather hang out with a legit child molester than with his older brother. At least a pedo would be bro enough to give you a reacharound. Lester would just look at you down his nose and call you pathetic like Principal Skinner in that old meme Dad kept sharing on Facebook. "I never heard anything about a double date," Lugosi argued. "Sorry."

Lamis hanged her head and sighed. "I told Lester to tell you. Ramona and I set it up the other day at the church bake sale."

"What were you guys doing at a church bake sale?" Lugosi asked.

"What do you think? Stuffing our faces with free samples. We bumped into each other and...double date." She shrugged her shoulders casually up and down.

Lugosi nodded. "Alright, well, no, Lester didn't tell me."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head like a disappointed mother. "He's so forgetful sometimes. Well...I'm telling you now. Ramona's gonna be here in ten minutes so be ready."

Damn. Torn between his two great loves: Ramona and his epic fan fiction. For a boy of thirteen, this should really be a no brainer - choose the girl, the fan fic can wait. Lugosi wasn't normal or something and had to really think about it. He and Ramona had been together four months and Lugosi liked her...a lot. He'd been with his fan fic for longer, though, and really liked it as well. Which one's gonna jack you off at the end of the night, though?

Kek, trick question, neither. He and Ramona hadn't done anything yet aside from hold hands and kiss. He wanted to - very badly - but, despite looking badass, he was kind of timid when it came to pushing things along. Ramona was like Lamis in a way; she had a couple younger siblings and played responsible older sister a lot, so she was a little on the lame side. But in a good way!

As such, however, he didn't know how she'd react to him taking it to the next level and grabbing her tit or something. She might be all for it, or she might not be. If he took a gamble and lost, their relationship may never recover. We've been dating four months, pervert; guess you're all about sex just like the other guys. Such a faux pas could change her perception of him...and even if it didn't, it'd be embarrassing as hell.

"...up, okay?"

Lugosi blinked. "Huh?"

"I said hurry up, okay?"

Oh. He glanced longingly at the computer screen, then stuck out his bottom lip. "But Reel -"

"Your fan fic can wait," Lamis said exasperatedly. "Your girlfriend should come first."

Lugosi opened his mouth to argue, but his position was indefensible. His girlfriend should come first. Ramona was like...hmmm, what's a good analogy...a funky looking flower that opens up under only the right circumstances to reveal an inside so beautiful it brought tears to your eyes. She wasn't the most traditionally attractive girl, but Lugosi thought she was hot - the funky looking part referred to her personality. Her mom, Ronnie Anne, had a reputation as a bully when she was a kid even though she never did anything to anyone - except punch Dad in the face when he randomly kissed her, but hey, that kind of constitutes sexual assault, so he brought it on himself. Ramona, on the other hand, earned her rap ten times over. She teased everyone, bullied the weak, and talked back to the teachers with every other word. She used to go really hard on Lugosi - calling him fag because of his long hair, kicking the back of his seat in math class, passing him by in the cafeteria and slapping his tray out of his hands - but one day, on his way home, he cut across the athletic field and stumbled across her sitting on the bleachers and crying into her hands.

His first instinct was to spin around and get outta there - she struck him as the type of person who'd beat the shit out of him as punishment for seeing her in a moment of weakness (hey, don't cry in public then) - but the high, kneading sounds of her misery clawed at his heart strings. He sat down next to her and, well, long story short, they talked for a while about her problems. Her home life wasn't the best (nor, admittedly, was it the worst): Her dad was some fat slob in a wife beater named Poppa Wheelie who worked at the junkyard and drank cheap beer from the moment he got home in the evening to the moment he passed out in front of the TV, and her mom worked three jobs to support them. They were poor, lived in a rundown trailer in a cemetery of hopes and dreams masquerading as a mobile home park, and barely had a pot to piss in. Her clothes were all ratty, second hand castoffs and her cell was a legit Dollar Store Tracfone that she had only because Lugosi bought it for her birthday. He felt like shit handing her a ten dollar phone, but her face lit up with excitement and she gave him a big, grateful kiss, so...it was all good.

Sigh. Now he felt all warm and fuzzy and taking the night off from his fic didn't sound like such a bad idea.

Also...it'd be a lie to say his heart wasn't the only thing that was warm right now. Maybe tonight he'd try something small - a butt pat or a neck kiss, just to see how she took it. With a little luck, she might take him to second base.

Or even third.

Hot shit, fuck my fan fic.

"Getting ready now," he said and jumped to his feet.

"Alright," Lamis said, "we'll be in the living room."

The door clicked softly shut behind her and Lugosi went to his dresser. He was clad in his at home attire - dark blue basketball shorts and a white T - which functioned as going-outside attire too. This occasion called for something a little less...idk, skanky? He took his shorts off, grabbed a pair of jeans, and pulled them on. Next he rummaged around for a shirt. One habit he inherited from Lucy-mom (he called her that after a character's nickname in a book, but only to himself because it was kind of retarded) was wearing black a lot. Not because he was some lame ass emo poser like she was as a kid, but because black's a good color. It's understated, goes with anything, and, c'mon, it looks nice. He didn't know if he wanted to wear it tonight, though. Bold colors like red and blue looked weird on him, so most of his wardrobe was black, gray, white, and dark blue. Not much to choose from.

Hm.

He took out a black thermal undershirt and held it up, his lips bunching in consideration. Oh, wait a sec. He returned it and pulled out an identical garment, only this one was a deep shade of maroon. There we go. He pulled it on, snatched a pair of socks from the top drawer, and sat on the edge of his bed. He put the socks on, then his tennis shoes, then got up and returned to the dresser for a little Old Spice - the awful burning meant that it was working.

After a quick pit stop in the bathroom to gargle with Listerine, he went downstairs. Lamis sat on the couch with her legs crossed and her phone in her hand, endlessly scrolling through Facebook, and, oh yuck, Lester stood impatiently by the front window and peered through the slat in the curtains, his arms crossed tightly over his doughy chest. He looked extra dorky in a pair of tan slacks and a green sweater vest with yellow zig zags across the chest over a white button-up (where'd you get your fashion sense, buddy, Urkel?). His posture was stick-in-ass, and his lank hair was you're the one that I want, ew ew ew. You could practically see drops of grease dripping from his split ends. What Lamis saw in him, he'd never know. He suspected it was kind of a...what's it called when a girl only likes you because she thinks your pitiful ass needs love? Not pity per se, like, she was legit into him, but mainly for the baby bird effect, you know, nurturing a wounded little creature back to health.

Or maybe it was something else. He didn't know and didn't really care. It wasn't his business.

Lugosi went around the edge of the couch and dropped down next to his sister, making her lift like a wave. "Not so rough," she muttered, still scrolling, "you're gonna break the couch."

"Sorry, Mom," he said.

"Don't be smart."

Across the room, Lester snorted. "He couldn't if he tried."

See? This is why no one likes him except Lamis and, I guess, Dad and Lisa, but even Lisa called him out for being an insufferable ass. He said I learned from the foremost on the subject expert and she grounded him for a week.

The house was so peaceful with him banished to his room.

Lugosi opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Lamis cut him off. "Lester," she said with a long suffering inflection, "that wasn't very nice."

"The truth rarely is."

Lugosi flushed. If Lester didn't outweigh him by a hundred pounds (and if Lugosi wasn't kind of weak and noodly), he'd punch him in the nose.

"Knock it off, Les," she said.

Lester grated. He hated being called Les, but wouldn't correct Lamis - she knew that, which is why she did it. She had him firmly by the balls and using his hated nickname was like an admonishing squeeze.

Lugosi couldn't let the older boy walk, though, he had pride and junk to think about. "Yeah, Les," he sad, putting a mocking twist on the final word. Lester's face turned scarlet and he looked like a steamed vegetable, only smarter. He tightened his arms sullenly around his chest and leaned to look out the window.

"Where is she? The reservations are for eight-thirty and it is…" he checked his watch "...seven-fifty-one. We're going to be late."

Lamis hummed. "The walk there takes fifteen minutes tops. Ten if you can keep up."

Part of Lamis's wannabe mom routine was harping on Lester's weight. They used to go to the YMCA every afternoon after school, but Lester "accidentally" destroyed a 1,500 dollar treadmill and they got kicked out - Lugosi was certain he did it on purpose so he'd be banned and not have to come back. Not one to be deterred, Lamis took him on 6am jogs and stayed on top of him about eating healthy. Guy couldn't even have a single M&M without her flying up his ass. He did everything she asked of him, though, and with minimal bitching too.

"I can keep up just fine," Lester said, "one just never knows what obstacles they might encounter on their way."

Lamis favored him with a blake stare. "We're going down the street for pizza. Two blocks."

"The Titanic sank in an area far less than two blocks," Lester pointed out, "anything could impede our path."

Lamis seriously meditated on his words, then frowned. "Just relax."

"Fine."

Within two minutes, he was tapping his foot on the floor. In three, he started to drum his fingers on his arm. By five, he positively thrummed with nervous energy. Lamis snorted at something on her phone and shook her head (oh, you!), and Lugosi stared at their watery reflections in the surface of the darkened TV screen.

"Ah, there she is," Lester said, "and moving at the speed of welfare."

A sudden fist of rage grabbed Lugosi by the throat and dragged him to his feet. "Hey, fuck you," he spat and balled his fists.

"Lugosi!" Lamis cried, shocked.

He ignored her and zeroed in on Lester's fat, pimply face; his cheeks burned with righteous indignation and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a sneer. He didn't care if people insulted him, but he wouldn't stand for anyone saying shit about Ramona. She had it hard enough as it was without dickheads like Lester making fun of her. She didn't show it, but shit like that hurt her deeply, and half the reason she was a bully, he thought, was to strike first before other people had the chance to hit her.

Lugosi dried too many of her tears over the past four months to take shit like this lightly. "Don't fucking talk about her like that," he snarled, "you fat piece of shit."

Lester's jaw clenched and he took a step forward like he was going to do something. Fine, fatass, let's do it. Lugosi started toward him, but Lamis snatched him by the back of his shirt. "Knock it off!" she roared. "Both of you!"

Lester came to a halt and glared at Lugosi. "He -"

"I don't care!" Lamis yelled. "You were being an asshole. Again. Every time you get in front of other people you act like this."

"It's how I am," Lester stated.

"No it's not," Lamis said, "you're sweet and caring when it's just us, but you're a jackass the rest of the time. Lay off everyone. I'm sick of it."

Panic flickered through Lester's eyes and if you looked closely enough, you could see the drawing terror of a man who realizes he's on really thin ice with the woman he loves. Lugosi drew immense satisfaction from it, and even more so when he bowed his head contritely. "I'm sorry," he said. He did not try to justify his actions, and that alone, combined with the abject tone of his voice, melted Lamis's icy features.

"I just want to have a nice night, okay?" she asked. Lugosi pulled away from her and smoothed out his shirt. Break up with his ass, he thought, that'll teach him. Instead, she brushed past him, went over, and laid her hand on his shoulder, almost like he was the victim. Lugosi rolled his eyes. Yeah, go coddle your little fat boy.

Lester sighed. "I apologize for my impertinence."

She flashed a wan smile and rubbed a circle between his shoulder blades. "You should really apologize to Lugosi." Her brow pinched ever so slightly and her eyes took on a threatening cast, like the sky before a thunderstorm. "That was a really nasty thing you said."

"I know," Lester moaned. He looked up at Lugosi with abject pleading. "Please accept my sincerest apologies."

When someone uses that phrase - sincerest apologies - you know they're lying. In fact, a good rule of thumb he learned from aunt Luan, the comedian turned mountain dwelling survivalist, was this: If it sounds like something a politician would say, it's a falsehood, don't believe it. Lamis was looking at him, her brown eyes big, moist, and brimming with hope. Accept it and move on so we can have a nice evening. Please?

Before he could say something to shatter the fragile peace between him and his brother, the doorbell rang.

You're lucky Ramona's here, dick, otherwise I'd call you another mean name.

"Yeah," he said and went to the door, "okay."

Lamis deflated a little, but Lester didn't have any snappy comebacks in that sweater vest of his, so she didn't crash all the way back to earth.

At the door, Lugosi paused and sniffed his armpits, then cupped his hand in front of his mouth and blew of puff of air. He was suddenly very conscious of how he looked, smelled, and sounded (like a teenager with a reedy, breaking voice). Ramona wasn't superficial and their relationship was built on a far more solid foundation than dayum he look fine, hollar at'cha girl, but he still wanted present the best version of himself.

She deserves nothing less.

*Girly, lovestruck sigh*

Rolling his neck like a boxer limbering up for tonight's main event, he turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Ramona Santiago stood on the step with her hands behind her back. Light danced in her liquid brown eyes and a sly little smile touched her thin lips. Fourteen and taller than him by a full six inches, Ramona wore her black hair in lush pigtails held in place by butterfly clips. Unevenly chopped bangs swished across her unibrow and when her smile widened, her jagged teeth peeked out of her mouth like fangs. She was clad in a pink, sleeveless square neck dress over a white T-shirt, tight black leggings with an ugly floral scheme, and cheap pink Crocs from Walmart. A silver heart locket attached to a braided chain nestled in the hollow of her throat and a bracelet dangled from one slender wrist.

"Hey," she said, somehow managing to sound shy.

Lugosi smiled. His stomach did a flip and when he caught a whiff of her shampoo on the summery wind, his dick stirred and muttered in its sleep; a pang of horror rippled through him and for a second, he was certain Ramona would see it and think he was a perv. I can't even walk up to your door without you popping a boner? Lester's right, you're pathetic.

If she did, she made no sign. She bent deeply at the waist and playfully puckered her lips. Lugosi did the same and gave her a quick, chaste kiss. He considered slipping her some tongue, but the few times they "went to France" as the kids say (okay, he was the only kid who said that), they did so after lots of hand holding, talking, and snuggling on the couch. Swapping spit wasn't really something you do right off the bat. Right? It's like pudding. Ya gotta have your meat first.

They reluctantly parted and Ramona rocked on her heels. "Sorry I'm late. Dad sent me on a beer run before I left."

Beer run?

When Lamis spoke inches behind him, Lugosi jumped. God, you're worse than Mom. "You bought beer?" She sounded scandalized, like a Victorian lady confronted with bare ankle, and if he turned, Lugosi was certain her hand would be pressed to her chest .

Ramona shrugged. "Yeah, I buy it all the time."

"Where?"

"Flip's."

Lamis made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "Figures. That man has no scruples."

The smell of sulfur filled Lugosi's nose, denoting the presence of evil, and he knew his brother was behind him before he even opened his mouth. "Can we please leave?" he asked. "It's getting late." His tone wasn't snide as it was before; he sounded legit worried. Dude, chill, it's three blocks, we got plenty of time.

"Yes," Lamis said, "we can leave."

And that's how it all began.