so here's the deal. beneath all the colonial brick and the overpriced studios and the fucking traffic on storrow drive, there's a whole other boston. vampire crews run out of the north end—not the touristy parts, but the basement doors you'd never notice. they're not sparkly. they smell like wine and old blood and they WILL rip your throat out if you owe them money. the brujas and cunning folk are up in roxbury and dot, working out of triple-deckers that look normal from the street. werewolves? yeah they exist. don't go hiking the fells alone after dark. just don't.

the veil—that's what people call the whole "humans can't know" thing—is held together by like twelve exhausted people. crooked cops, mediums who are one panic attack away from quitting, and this one ancient leech who's been around since the revolution and talks like a fucking gilmore girl. it's a mess. but it works. barely.

you're one of the hidden. maybe you're a sanguivore working graveyard at a dunkin drive-thru (don't laugh, we have THREE of those characters already). maybe you're a bestia nocturna who lives under the zakim and eats pigeons. maybe you're just some BU freshman who saw a ghoul eat a homeless guy and now you can't unsee it. whatever. you belong here now.

welcome to the 617. the real horror isn't the monsters. it's trying to find parking.

➡️ 21+ only. we're adults. we act like it (mostly).

➡️ real face claims only. no AI slop, no anime, no art. give us a person with pores and a bad haircut. actors, musicians, influencers

➡️ open and accepting..

➡️ zero tolerance for ooc bullying.