'Holy shit...' Marshall muttered under his breath, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes for the umpteeth time as he glared into his wardrobe in disbelief. There were only a couple of random items of clothing inside the closet, and none of the ones he needed.
Fairly predictably, his jockey shorts were unsalvageable and the jeans were kind of gross, so he had hung them over the door of the shower and washed them in true bachelor fashion, soaking them after he'd cleaned himself then wringing out the disgustingly grey residue that resulted down the drain (the shorts were shoved in a bag and binned without ceremony)(only shame). They wouldn't be dry again for a couple hours, and even though he had brought clothes in his duffel bag, he didn't know whether they'd be the kind he would willingly wear in front of his mother. She was picky and didn't approve of his rather grungy, torn up style compared to her no-loose-threads precision, and having her pick apart his aesthetic choices was not a lecture he wished to endure again. Honestly, he didn't even remember what he had brought with him. It had been a snap decision, as many desperate measures are.
The vampire went to pick up the bag from the floor where he had kicked it at some point over the morning, catching sight of his reflection on a small square-ish mirror on his desk-
Wait.
His reflection!?
Marshall dropped the bag on the ground and nearly tripped over it in his haste to grab the piece of polished glass propped up on a plain and unadorned silver stand. Raising it in front of his face, he grabbed his chin with his other hand and turned his face every which way, blinking at himself in shock. The reflection was transparent, and nearly invisible when he remained still, but movement brought out his features. It wasn't a trick of the light, he was seeing himself for the first time in-
Well, the first time in forever.
What the fuck?
He sat down on his bed and continued to watch the black-haired youth in the mirror with an odd sense of detachment. He knew what he looked like because he still turned up on photos and things (and he knew that he was good-looking, his track record was evidence of that), but this was different. The guy in the photo never made eye contact. Managing to stop himself from distrustfully eyeing the dude glaring back at him, Marshall turned his head and traced the lines of his jaw, still entirely weirded out that he could even do this. He had literally never seen his reflection before. His fangs were longer than he had thought they were, reaching the bottom of his lower lip instead of the points sitting in the middle.
He raised a hand to press his fingers along the jawbone, then yelped in surprise when the movement brought a shock of stinging pain along his neck. Marshall-lee lowered the mirror and realised that he had grazed one of his bitemarks with the nail on his little finger, and for some reaso- Whoa.
They were bright, bright red, the colour of a fresh wound instead of one that was over a thousand years old. The areas of normal skin surrounding the scar tissue also looked red and sore, and Marshall winced when he prodded them experimentally and was met with a sensation similar to an itchy scab being scratched. It felt good somehow, but it still hurt.
Well, that was new. The irritation there could be a side effect from how much physical stress he had just put himself through with his dream-fuckathon, though that had never happened after sex before, or after jerking off. At least he had never noticed it. If it was a regular thing, someone probably would've commented on it after centuries of sexual activity.
Something was going on here. Something that was more than unbridled lust, further discounting the notion that he was falling in love. Pfft, as if. Course he wasn't, that wouldn't happen without him noticing, and he sure as hell didn't think it would feel like this. No, this was beyond him and his control, an outside force. Something, or someone had done this to him.
Though that made the entire point of it even more murky. There was no fucking reason that would happen.
Maybe he was just going crazy. That would explain fucking everything, including the reflection. Watch out everyone, Marshall-lee's more cuckoo than fucking Simone. He just can't freaking help himself when it comes to fucking sixteen-year-olds in stupid little bunny hats with the most fucking gorgeous ass you ever did see.
Fuck's sake.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Marshall sighed and put the mirror back on his desk, unwilling to watch himself- if that really was him and not just a trick of his hormone-addled mind- scowl any more, then picked up the bag from the ground and dumped it on the bed next to him.
' Is the Queen occupied?' Marshall questioned emotionlessly to one of the guards standing outside the large, threatening black doors to his mother's throne room/ office. He had eventually chucked on a pair of black jeans and a red plaid button-up shirt. If she didn't think he was dressed to impressed, that was her fucking problem, and she'd be totally right because he wasn't. He was too busy stewing to care how he presented himself to her, and she could just get over that shit. The only reason he was even bothering to see her was so she actually knew he was home and wouldn't kick up a fuss if she found out through a third party. The gargoyle adjusted his breast plate and stood up a little straighter upon being addressed.
' I believe she may be-'
' Look pal, I don't care. Tell her her son is here to see her.' Marshall cut him off, folding his arms. The guard looked him over and raised an eyebrow, annoying the vampire with the questioning look, then conceded, bowing low.
' Yes, Mr. Abadeer. Would you like me to inform her that you have news?' Marshall frowned at him and shook his head in exasperation. What news? He never said he had anything of the sort. Or maybe he had and he just didn't remember because he was so clearly bonkers.
For the sake of Glob's left testicle. Grr.
' As you wish.' The guard replied, before slipping through the doors. Marshall landed on the ground and relaxed his pose, scratching the back of his head and huffing out a disgruntled sigh. The other guard was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, Marshall could tell and it pissed him off. He wasn't a zoo attraction.
' Take a picture, it'll last longer.' He snarked, letting the guard know he had been caught. The guard- this one apparently humanoid, unlike his superior- blushed and looked away sheepishly.
' S-sorry, it's just I know how it feels, uh Sir. I was so scared of telling my mum after my cycle completed and I had got my stepdad's daught-' The guard was cut off by the other returning, ducking through the door and throwing the younger one a look that made it clear he was not supposed to be talking.
' The Queen will see you, Marshall-lee.' He intoned ominously. Marshall was almost about to protest so that he could ask the humanoid guard what the hell he was talking about, but before he could, his mother's voice rang out through the door.
' Marshall-lee?' She called, both a question and a request. Marshall shot one last look at the humanoid guard, who gave him a thumbs up before cringing back to a neutral position at another scathing glance from the gargoyle, then floated through the door.
The throne room was large but narrow, a high ceiling making up for the lack of horizontal space much like the rest of the castle. There was a a heavy, rich looking red carpet stretching along the polished obsidian floor and up a flight of four steps that raised the other end of the room just enough that you felt small when you approached it. Black and red striped brocade curtain hung from the roof and were gathered by large golden ropes at the sides, framing a grand ornate armchair sitting at the top of the stairs.
Marshall was unimpressed. His mother was so fuckin' flashy. And coming from his theatrical self, that was saying something.
She was sitting in the chair with her knees crossed, vicious looking stilettos on her feet with blood red soles visible from his lowered elevation. Same old pin-striped skirt suit, hair scraped back into a bun with a few lonely curls hanging around her pointed ears, and judgmental red eyes which narrowed as soon as they focused on him.
She hadn't changed at all.
Marshall stopped just inside the door and let her look at him, waiting until she gave him permission to approach her. Even if he didn't come home regularly, he had been very well trained when she had forced him to live here. It was preferable to hours long yelling matches that occasionally turned into physical fights which his mother won unfairly with her limitless succubus magic. Bitch.
Yeah, they had reconciled, and she was his mom and he loved her, but he still didn't like her. You can love someone but not like them.
He didn't like her.
But she mattered to him. Family was a rather quaint notion for him, and one he would never rely on, but it was still a pretty strong connection to have to somebody.
Even if they were a psychopathic power hungry bitch. No wonder she had liked Ashley.
'Honey, come here.' Harelda said, a slight quaver in her voice and a funny intonation in her words. Marshall looked up from the ground and blinked at her, shocked. Did she- did she just call him honey? What? Since when had she ever called him anything but Marshall-lee? He didn't mind people skipping the lee out if they couldn't be fucked with it, he gave people nicknames becuase it was usually faster than saying their normal name. But his mother was always professional and formal, she had never used an endearment with him before (at least not after the mushroom war, she had called him Marshmallow when he was a baby. She had been different then).
Slightly suspicious, Marshall floated cautiously up to the foot of the stairs as his mother stood up and dusted off her skirt with a few quick flicks of her perfectly manicured hands. She clicked smartly down the stairs and stood elevated one step in front of him, keeping her eyes level with him. Marshall met her sharply analytical gaze for a few moment, keeping his expression completely neutral. Hi mom, how's it going. Nice to see there are some constants in this insane fucking world.
' Hey mom, I'm ho-' Before he could finish his sentence, his mother grabbed his shoulders and crushed his arms tightly around him, beginning to sob into the side of his neck.
The thing about constants?
He took that back.
' Oh, my darling little monster's all grown up! Marshmallow, I'm so proud of you, I didn't know if you would make it this far but look at you!' She gushed euphorically, clutching him so firmly it almost hurt. If he still needed to, he would've complained about not being able to breath.
' W-what?' He stammered, his voice cracking with the shock of it all. Who was this affectionate blubbering woman and what had she done with the business-focused harpy he was used to?
' You must tell me who she is- I hope it's a girl you're familiar with, and not a brand new relationship because that would be a lot of work for the poor dear otherwise- and whether you're trying for a baby. Though I won't be upset if you've decided not to, it's only your first cycle and I can wait for darling little grandbabies for a couple more decades yet I suppose. Oh Marshall-lee, my little boy! You're not my baby blood-sucker anymore!' Harelda teared up again and reattached herself to the frozen teenager.
Something inside Marshall had broken on the word 'baby' and it had taken the rest of her sentence for him to find his way back into the controls. He pushed her off of him and looked at her very seriously, holding on to the top of her arms. Harelda looked vaguely surprised but also curious.
' Mom, I have no idea what you're talking about, and you're scaring the shit out of me.' He pronounced clearly, his voice much more even than his emotions and his eyes so wide around his slit pupils it looked like his irises were being swallowed by a milky sea.
What the fuck was everbody talking about? He was now realising that he hadn't been going crazy, he had been kept out of the loop. Something was going on, and everyone knew exactly what it was but him. The knowledge that he wasn't insane placated him somewhat, but the alternative explanation, given that his mother was talking about fucking grandchildren, probably wasn't going to let him stay that way for longer.
' You- Marshall, you're not here to tell me...' Harelda trailed off, scanning his face analytically for a few moments before her face hardened again and she suddenly adopted a business-like air that Marshall was much more familiar with and sadly, much more comfortable with. His mother being affectionate was just too weird.
' Okay. Okay. I hadn't realised you and I hadn't had this talk. I thought that- Well, I assumed that you would've found out on your own by now considering you were so fiercely independent Marshall-lee, but as your parent it's my job to let you know these things. Come to my office.' She told him, straightening out her jacket and then turning on her heel and walking back up the staircase. Marshall followed her after a beat, a sense of apprehension dropping into the pit of his stomach that was almost- almost- more distracting than Fionna. You would've thought he had had enough of her for at least a day, and sexually he had (Well, he thought so. Maybe. The very fact he was unsure was ridiculous- five fucking times- but he had gotten over it. Desensitized, y'know), but now he was wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking, who she was with and where she was gonna run off to today.
Somehow his mother knew that, knew that a ladyfriend was driving him to distraction, but how the fuck could she know that? And what the hell did it have to do with babies?
Harelda's office was a similar size to Marshall's bedroom, the rectangular floor space maybe slightly longer but not much different. It was also much darker than the preceding room, lit only by a large roaring fire inside a marble fireplace in the back wall. There was a black tiger with red stripes- a living one, not a rug- sleeping peacefully in front of it.
Marshall mother sat down behind a mahogany desk in a swivel chair with a large burgundy velvet back. She gestured for him to sit on the opposite side, in a decidedly less expansive seat.
' You look hungry, have you eaten since you came home?' Marshall shrugged. He had drank all the red out of a curtain on his way to the bathroom because he had nearly fainted due to sheer hunger, but even after that he was still starving. That was a typical physiological reaction after fucking/wanking, not whatever was going on with his neck- wait, was that somehow involved with whatever the fuck was going on with him? Was that how everyone could tell?
Harelda's left arm turned into a tentacle and it whipped across the room and over to the door, yanking it open forcefully. It returned from its trip a few seconds later, holding a large wine glass filled with something that was too thick to be alcohol.
' Go ahead, I'll talk while you eat.' She told him, not so much giving him permission as commanding him to drink it. Marshall took it silently, slightly disappointed by how unaffected he was by the taste of blood. This stuff used to be the shit, though scarcity made it hard to come across and animal blood wasn't nearly as addictive as a sentient creature's blood was. He couldn't really be bothered with procuring it. Too much hard work.
' So.. Look, Marshall-lee, sometimes when a woman and a man love each other very much-' Marshall choked on the blood but managed not to spit it out.
' Stop right there. You're not giving me the sex talk.' He coughed out, shooting her a look somewhere between disgust and fear. Harelda blinked at him as Marshall put the glass down, reasoning that if that's where she had to start then the future of this 'talk' didn't bode well.
' I know about all of that, I'm a thousand years old Mom. Jeez.' He stated childishly, folding his arms. Harelda leaned forward on her desk and cupped her chin with one hand.
' Well, then what don't you understand?' Marshall felt himself start blushing. Ew. Why gob, fucking why did he have to talk to his mother about this shit? What the fuck is wrong with you, you twisted bastard?
' I have no intention of having kids anytime soon and I haven't told you I'm dating anyone so what makes you assume I'm with somebody and that I'm gonna be a fuc- Gonna be a father?' Marshall ended, his voice cracking on the last word in a way that he found highly annoying. He didn't even know if he'd ever want kids. Fatherhood was an entirely alien idea to him, seeing as he'd never had much of a father. And also because he was mentally stuck as a young adult, which he personally thought was great, but probably wouldn't make him a great dad.
' Well, because when you're imprinted, pregnancy often happens accidentally and the most diplomatic way of asking-' Marshall held up a hand, his eyebrows creasing together.
' Imprinted? What the hell is that?' He questioned, and a look of comprehension passed over his mother's face, and she laughed once, shaking her head at him.
' I see, I see. So you know all about sex, you just don't know about vampires.' She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. Marshall glared at her, blushing again.
' Mom!'
' Okay, okay, don't get your fangs all chipped Marshall-lee. I'll explain. Most species reproduce by having kids or by cloning, right?' She said, tenting her fingers together and raising an eyebrow at him questioningly. Marshall picked up the wine glass again- he was hungry- and nodded before taking a drink.
' Vampires are unusual in that they can reproduce parasitically, unique to the species. By that, I mean your venom. But a turned vampire, like you, shares no genetic material with the vampire that turned them. The venom burns out of the system once the job is done, it doesn't remain with the victim. Otherwise, I suppose that would've made your dad a 'father' twice over.' She ended rather philosophically. Marshall stayed silent, waiting for her to get to the point.
' However, vampires can also have children. I don't know exactly how that works, I just know it's possible and also in some ways preferable for the species for reasons that will become clear in a moment. Vampires are really easy to kill, Marshall-lee. It's an unfortunate fact, but a fact all the same. Sunlight, garlic, holy water, stakes... there's many, many ways you could meet your end. So imagine that a vampire somehow managed to survive for a very long time. Something about them, whether it's in their body or their mind must've helped them survive so long, correct?' Marshall nodded more slowly this time, starting to get a vague idea of where she was going, and not liking it at all.
' So it's only natural selection. The vampires who can't make it ostensibly die out without reproducing. Doesn't always work that way, but that's the theory. And those that live long enough- specifically, to around a thousand years old, you're a slightly late bloomer dear- reach technical adulthood. Vampire adulthood, never mind your biological age.' His mother finished, waiting for a moment and letting it sink in.
Marshall was right, he didn't like this at all.
She had pretty much just told him he'd finished puberty. Vampire puberty.
What the living fuck was wrong with the world that that was a thing.
Eww!
' Okay... got that, but that doesn't explain what the hell being 'imprinted' means.' Marshall pointed out, one side of his mouth twitching up slightly with the ickyness of it all. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with the topic as such- it happened to everyone, no sense being all hoity-toity 'bout it- but he was uncomfortable talking about it with his mom. Ugh.
' It does. Imprinting is I suppose, the equivalent of a bitch going into heat. But it's a little different for creatures as long-lived as you, and sentient, emotional ones at that. Rather than wanting intercourse with every female you see, there will be one particular girl- usually one you've had quite strong feelings for before the cycle begins- who captures your attention and will hold it absolutely. She will be all you want, all the time. Day and night, regardless of how she feels for you, she is the first thing you think of when you wake up and the last thing you see on the back of your eyelids before you fall asleep.'
Harelda watched Marshall's face for a moment, studying the way his expression changed.
' You understand what I'm talking about, don't you?' Marshall frowned at her, but it wasn't in anger. He looked upset, disconcerted.
' Is... How long does it last? Is it permanent?' He eventually asked, chickening out of the question that was really knocking around in his skull. He couldn't bring himself to ask that of his mother.
' Not... Usually. I don't think. Marshall-lee, I only know this as your father explained when he imprinted on me. Apparently, it usually comes and goes in cycles, once every quarter century. The sense of all-consuming attachment usually goes away if your imprint becomes pregnant, or if you don't act on the urges for a while. But I believe there's a chance, a small one, but it's still there. However, if that was the case, I wouldn't call it being imprinted anymore.' Marshall looked up and saw that she was daring him to ask. She wanted to see what he would do. He almost didn't, just to spite her, but went against the childish impulse.
' What would you call it?' She watched him for a few moments, her index finger on the side of her eye, the iris glowing softly in the firelight.
' I'd call it love.'
Marshall could feel himself start to hyperventilate, so he held his breath to help himself calm down. Maybe he didn't need air, but his lungs were still accustomed to the feeling and the sense of deprivation was still there which gave him something else to focus on.
He had convinced himself that he wasn't falling in love, that this wasn't the way it would feel. And he might have been right. Might have being the fucking operative here. Being able to tell had suddenly become a lot more complicated, because as far as he could pick up, he wouldn't know whether this feeling was just his nature or something more until well... Until he had sex with her. Until he fucking got Fionna pregnant.
That was not going to happen.
' How long until it goes away on it's own?' He spat out hard and fast, never even considering the alternative. His mother sat up slightly straighter and her eyes narrowed.
' Four to six months. Marshall-lee, do you mean to say that you've imprinted on a girl you're not involved with?'
Marshall hadn't heard the last part of her sentence, his mind turning into a panic of white noise as he tried to understand just how much he'd have to suffer for half a year in order not to rape/kill/ruin his friendship with/impregnate Fionna. The frustration. The distraction. The fucking laundry. Not to mention he'd have to completely cut her out of his life to keep her safe from him, and him safe from her. Her world moved so quickly compared to his that after half a year, there was no telling whether she'd even still consider him a friend.
The whole fucking point behind why he hadn't climbed into Rapunzel's proverbial castle and made off with her already was because he wanted to stay friends with her. She was great fun, as a person she was just somebody he liked to be around, and people he actually felt that way about were few and far between. Beside that, his affection was usually fairly ambiguous, and subject to change quite easily depending how well he knew someone. He never knew whether he'd like what lay beneath the surface.
But his feelings towards her had never wavered. He'd been annoyed with her, sure, but there were no parts of her personality that he truly couldn't stand. And further along, staying friends with her meant that in the future he would have a chance to date her if he really wanted to (and was able to make that decision without a biological fucking bias). She was too young now, both mentally and physically to be able to handle what he'd require from her if he was to give in to the imprinting. But if he didn't give in, or at least investigate the possibility of letting it happen, their relationship (he didn't like calling it that. But friendship sounded even more pussy-fied) would probably shrivel up and die.
On his left, a rock. On his right, excruciating frustration.
' Marshall-lee!' Marshall snapped out of his head, still completely aghast at the decision he would have to make and looked over at his mother, who seemed vaguely impatient.
' Marshall, who is the woman you're imprinted on?' It took him a little while to reply.
' She... you... you've met her.'
' So she's a girlfriend of yours then?'
' No, she's a friend. Just a friend, always has been, she's been far too young for me to ever look at her any other way.' Harelda's stance and tone immediately became disapproving, as she raised a single eyebrow in disdain.
' And how old is she now?'
' Sixteen.' She tutted at him, and Marshall scowled at her, annoyed at the assumption she was making.
' The reason I'm here is 'cause I didn't know about this fu- about imprinting, and I didn't wanna hurt her. And I haven't, by the way. She's just a kid, she wouldn't understand what she was getting herself into.'
' Indeed. She must mean a lot to you in order for you to deny yourself for the sake of her wellbeing. No wonder you imprinted on her.' Marshall felt as if he was simultaneously being lectured and psychoanalysed, and he didn't like either happening on their own so the current situation was intolerable.
' Like I said, she's my friend.' He spat through gritted teeth, throwing up a challenge if his mother was game to take it. She simply shook her head, rocking back and forth slightly on her chair.
' Not anymore, she isn't. She is your mate, Marshall-lee. Hurting her will hurt you too. An imprinting connection is far more than physical. 'Tis in evolution's best interests for the child to have two invested parents.' Harelda sighed, and leaned forward, holding one hand out as if she was weighing something in the air.
' If you believe you can tolerate being away from her for the necessary amount of time, then by all means you're welcome to stay home, son. If that is what you believe best for yourself.' The other hand followed, and she alternated the heights.
' However, if you care about her that much she probably has no small amount of attachment to you. It takes two. And although it's never said outright in any material I've read, it's heavily implied and I myself have a strong suspicion that imprinting is not necessarily a one-way connection. ' Marshall stared at his mother in surprise as she stood up and habitually dusted off her skirt again- same little flicking motion with her fingertips- then walked around the desk and kissed the top of his head.
' Stay here for a few days until you've made up your mind. If you can't survive that, then you'll have to go back. It's up to you, though.' She told him, before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her.
Author's note: Ta-da! So now you know that Marshall is not crazy or just a horndog, he has a legitimate problem (problem?) This is my own concept, looking at another angle of the common 'I can't help it it's just my nature' trope that comes up in alot of Fiolee fics. Usually that's dealing with bloodlust but what if the animalistic tendencies applied there overlapped into other aspects of his life? I don't see why not. So tell me, what do you guys think Marshall's gonna do? Stay and go crazy with want or give in and risk ruining their relationship (or so he thinks xD) We'll be checking back up on the blissfully ignorant Fionna next chapter (The imprint has affected her to some degree because they have already had sexual contact. It only kicks in for the partner once they've had sex normally, but Marshall did go down on her so that was enough) and Gumball may be making an appearance soon. R&R guys, I'd love to hear your thoughts! -WRA
