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#never mind the donor disappeared
lavellenchanted · 2 months
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I love these snippets so much! If you're not tired of writing about them, what about Japril + 💗? :)
💗 Slow Kiss
The Fox Foundation Charity Galas were fun . . . the first two or three times April attended one. It had been a novelty then, getting to pick out a fancy dress to wear, guessing what sort of canapes would be served or who might be attendance.
It didn't take long though, for the novelty to wear off.
Sure, there's still the excitement of seeing some of the most pre-eminent surgeons in the country (and occasionally even the world) in attendance, but April rarely has the chance to pick their brains or talk to them about their latest achievements the way she would like to. Most of the evening is spent schmoozing the rich potential donors that the Foundation would like to make actual donors and they're very often more pompous than interesting. Not to mention poor dancers. Usually by the time the galas end, April's cheeks are aching with all the smiling, her throat's hoarse from talking up the foundation and her feet hurt from being in heels too long.
If getting those donations wasn't so crucial to the incredible work the Foundation was doing, she would skip them in favour of staying at home with a blanket and a good book. But they are crucial, and she can't leave Jackson to take it all on by himself. Unfortunately his face isn't enough to sway every donor, no matter how pretty it is.
She has, at least, managed to grab a few moments for herself tonight. The ballroom they've hired this year has several alcoves dotted along the walls that are very conveniently hidden from view by large, decorative potted plants and April's managed to slip into one so she can slip her shoes off for a few minutes. The cold marble of the floor is lovely against her warm, abused feet and she lets her head fall back against the wall and closes her eyes.
"If you think you're getting out of cozying up to Mrs Walker by hiding back here, you are wrong."
April jumps in surprise and opens her eyes to see Jackson watching her in amusement from the other side of plant.
"Shhh! Get back here or they'll see." Leaning out, she grabs his arm impatient and pulls him into the alcove with her. "I just needed a break, that's all."
"Really?" Jackson lifts an eyebrow. "So I don't have to remind you that I won the coin toss fair and square?"
They always toss a coin to see who will have to talk with Mrs Walker - a very wealthy old lady in her eighties who won't let anyone else get a word in edgewise and has an unfortunate case of bad breath to boot. Whoever goes to try and charm a little more cash out of her inevitably has to spend an hour listening to rambling on about how different the city is now to when she was a girl and an excruciatingly detailed report of her cat's health.
April pulls a face. "No, I will go and talk her. Just . . . not now."
Jackson laughs and looks around at her hiding spot. "I never realised you could even get back here. I just saw you disappear behind the plant. I thought maybe you'd found a hidden passage or something."
"I wish," she sighs, and he smiles softly at her and she knows he knows she's thinking about her childhood dream of being Nancy Drew (April can't wait until Harriet's old enough to start reading them). "But it's still fun. Makes me think of old movies or books where they're spying on people, or shady deals are happening. We could be getting up to anything back here."
"Anything?" Jackson repeats suggestively and April feels herself flushing.
"You know what I mean."
He just steps closer, so that he's leaning over her and she has to lean right back into the wall to look up at him; suddenly the alcove feels much smaller and warmer than it did a moment ago, but April can't say she minds, not when Jackson's eyes are darkening in that tell-tale way and trailing slowly down her body, making her heart race.
"Maybe, but I can think of much better things to do back here than spy on someone else." One of his hands comes up curl around the back of her neck, his thumb lightly stroking over her cheek. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"
"No, I don't think so," April point-blank lies, because he told her she looked gorgeous before they even left home. She'd been very pleased; tonight's the first time she's worn this dress, a strapless number of dark green silk that's fitted to her hips and then falls in a loose skirt to the floor with a slit up to her knee. And she's been hoping that Jackson will enjoy taking it off her when they get home.
He grins and bends down closer, so his nose grazes hers and his lips are so close she can feel the warmth of his breath as he whispers, "You are very, very beautiful."
"You think so?"
She brings her hands up to his hips, finding the belt loops on his pants and using them to pull him even closer.
"I do."
He closes the space between their lips bit by bit, pulling back teasingly every time she pushes herself upwards to try and speed things along, chuckling when she actually makes a noise of frustation.
"So impatient," he murmurs, and then finally kisses her.
With the hand on her neck he tilts her head to find the deepest angle possible, moving his mouth against hers in one long, steady stroke. His tongue sweeps out over hers, sure and purposeful, and he captures her bottom lip his teeth, and it's a good thing April's already backed up against a wall because already her knees feel weak and she's completely breathless.
He kisses her like they're not hiding behind a plant at his Foundation's biggest event of the year, but like they're at home and he has all the time in the world to kiss her thoroughly, until her body's on fire and she's desperate to feel his skin against hers.
Maybe he does take all the time in the world; she's not sure how long he kisses her for before he finally pulls back, leaving her panting and just a little dizzy.
He looks out of breath himself, his pupils wide and his chest heaving as he looks down at her.
"How long do you think we can stay back here before they notice we're gone?" he asks.
"I don't know," April replies, "But I'm up for finding out if you are. If you don't mind me taking a little longer to get round to talking to Mrs Walker."
"She can wait," Jackson says decisively, and bends down to kiss her again.
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farfromrealitypls · 1 year
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Dancing with the enemy
Summary: Exactly what the title says, nothing more, nothing less. One dance can’t kill you right? You could never ever think differently of him, right?
Warnings: language and mentions of drugs, abuse if you squint
“Ugh I hate you” you groaned into your phone.
“I hate you too. Text me when something happens” Sarah chuckled.
“I will. Bye” you chuckled back and hung up.
Of course you didn’t hate her. Right now you were just jealous of her, for getting out of going to this stupid event. Well too be fair, she didn’t just talk her way out of it, she was home sick with a cold. But right now you wished nothing more than to just be home with her and you definitely tried to get out of this aswell. No chance.
The annual sunset ball, hosted by the Cameron’s and your family. It was a charity event, well more of a celebration of the people who supposedly raised the most money. And yet, you never witnessed any changes on the cut. You just saw THEIR houses get bigger, their diamonds get shinier and their expensive cars become more. You stopped voicing how ridiculous you viewed all this and just went along, because you knew your parents worked hard to be part of this. But it was way easier to keep this positive mindset when Sarah was around, which she wasn’t.
You pulled your phone out one more time, just to text her again how much you disliked being here without her.
“Put your phone away!” You mom said with a stern tone and grabbed your wrist.
“Alright jeez” you obeyed and shoved your phone back into your purse.
“Mrs. Scott will be holding the speech any minute” she whispered and leaned into you, keeping her gaze on the small stage.
“Woohoo” you jolted sarcastically which earned you a warning stare from your mother, but a slight chuckle from your dad.
You sighed deeply and leaned back in your chair, taking a look around the party. Kooks, super kooks and super super kooks but you had to admit the scenery was quite nice. The decorations and the outdoor lights looked amazing. The sun was slowly setting, painting the clouds and sky in pretty colours and there was a light breeze, that made the heat bearable.
“May I have your attention?” The sudden voice echoing through the speakers turned your attention to Mrs. Scott, standing in front of the microphone.
“We will now get to the most exciting part of our evening”
You zoned out 2 minutes max into her speech and dragged your gaze across the guest’s, letting your mind wander and thinking about what your friends might be doing now, when you suddenly locked eyes with Rafe Cameron who seemed to be doing the exact same.
He just stared at you with his cold blue eyes, you refused to break eye contact first and he did the same. You kept staring him down, waiting for him to give in, but instead he started grinning at you, which made you frown and finally you rolled your eyes before taking your eyes off him.
You couldn’t stand him and you couldn’t think about anything slightly appealing about him. Out of all the arrogant, spoiled and hypocritical people you‘ve met over the years, he was the worst. You knew he found you attractive, but his flirting attempts have done nothing more, than to draw you even further away from him.
„And now I feel honoured to announce our 2 donors, who have managed to raise the most money for our charity”
Your mom elbowed you and you quickly snapped out of your thoughts and joined the applause.
“Our two biggest donors of this year are… Our beautiful hosts! The Cameron’s and the y/l/n‘s! Congratulations! Please step forward.“
Oh fuck, was the only thing you could think of. You hesitantly followed your mom and dad after she discreetly but slightly aggressively, pulled you out of your chair. You forced a smile and stood in front of Mrs. Scott, together with the Cameron’s. Everyone was staring and you just wanted to disappear. Rose and your mom were shaking hands and so were Ward and your dad.You glanced at Rafe and he just stood there, hands in his pockets and chewing on his bottom lip, not looking at you.
„Again, congratulations. And as every year, we would love for the two winning families and their two oldest, to open the dance floor for us this evening“
Your heart dropped and you started blushing, as you just now realised what this meant. You whipped your head up and immediately locked eyes with Rafe, who looked at you with that smug grin that made most woman crazy, but just annoyed the shit out of you.
Ward Cameron grabbed Rose‘s hand and lead her to the dance floor smilingly.
„Y/n!” your mom whispered through gritted teeth.
“No! Forget it!” you quickly snapped.
Your dad waited for your mom.
“Y/n! Don’t make a scene and dance with him” she pulled you into her and walked you over, closer to Rafe.
“I would rather die. Did you forget what he did to Pope? To JJ? To all of my friends?” You turned to face your mother and turned your back towards Rafe, trying to walk past her.
“It’s a tradition. Get over it. It’s just a dance, you don’t have to marry him!” were her last words before she left you alone and took your dads hand, joining the Cameron’s.
You let out a grunt and gave your mother a death stare.
Since everyone seemed to be staring already, you gave in. You walked over to Rafe and immediately wanted to turn around again when you saw his stupid grin.
He held his hand out for you and you took it while rolling your eyes and let him lead you to the dance floor.
He placed his hand on your waist and you hesitantly put yours on his bicep. You couldn’t stand this. Any of it. The music started playing and he lead you through it. You could feel his eyes on you but you refused to look at him. You have never been so close to him, he was much taller than you would’ve guessed and his hands were surprisingly soft. You felt his body heat radiating off him and his cologne smelled expensive.
You only did the bare minimum while dancing, purposefully trying to make sure everyone watching knew how much you disliked it.
“You don’t think I find this fucking stupid?” he whispered to you while leaning in a little. His deep voice surprised you and finally made you look at him.
You decided to ignore him and just scoffed, before you took your eyes off him again.
He swayed you in perfect sync to the music and you were a little surprised by his dancing skills.
He made you twirl and pulled you back into him, your back hitting his chest which made you gasp and his big arm wrapped around you.
“Can you turn that frown upside down and just behave for 5 minutes?” He growled against your neck before turning you again to face him.
“Don’t fucking talk to me” you snapped and stared into his cold eyes.
“Easy there princess” he chuckled slightly.
“I will literally slap you across the face if you call me that again”
He scoffed but didn’t break the eye contact.
“You sure? I might be into that” he winked at you.
“You disgust me”
“Oh please. I could make you spread those pretty legs for me if I really wanted to” he whispered and stared into your soul.
Despite all the people watching you, you slapped your hand across his face.
He closed his eyes for a second and bit the inside of his cheek before both of you took a look around, to check how many people actually witnessed what just happened. You two just kept dancing. Acting like it was all fun and games, faking a smile and laughed it off. The majority didn’t seem like they saw anything happen and the ones that did, didn’t seem to care, but both of your parents definitely saw it and you felt your mothers eyes on you.
He shifted his gaze back to you, licked the inside of his cheek and chuckled deeply. You smiled up at him, pleased with yourself that your warning was not just a bluff.
“You’re not as tough as you think you are” he rasped and spun you around one more time.
“Right back at ya Cameron” you said while spinning back into him, when the music finally stopped, you let go of him. Meeting his eyes one more time before you walked off.
You knew everyone was staring at you, including Rafe when you returned to your seat.
“What on earth happened?” Your mom squealed while taking a seat next to you.
“Doesn’t matter. He deserved it” you took a sip of your drink, avoiding eye contact.
“You two are unbelievable. I almost believe you are in love with each other!” she threw her hands up and you almost choked on your drink at your mothers words.
“The way you can never put your feelings aside for just 5 minutes! You are not a child anymore! You don’t get to behave like this.” she continued.
“Love?! It’s the freaking opposite! I can not stand him, if you didn’t raise me without a principle of hate, I might even say I hate that guy” you defended yourself, absolutely irritated.
“The opposite of love is not hate y/n! The opposite of love is indifference! And you clearly care, someone you don’t care about couldn’t make you that angry” she said stern, staring at you angrily.
“That doesn’t make any sense” you shook your head and frowned.
“Lord help me” your mom pinched the bridge of her nose before taking a sip of her drink aswell.
“Can I leave?” you asked annoyed.
“No. You will sit down and be quiet for the rest of the evening. You will sit here, look pretty and have kind conversations with everyone that comes up to you. Understood?” She said in a serious tone and you knew she meant it.
“Yes ma‘am” you said with a hint of mockery which earned you one last death stare of your angry mom.
Then she left. You sighed and threw your head back. This evening was even worse than you expected. You crossed your arms in front of your chest in frustration and closed your eyes. You tried to imagine you were somewhere else, anywhere but here.
The angry voice of Ward Cameron caught your attention and you lifted your head up again, shifting your gaze towards that voice. You saw Rafe backed into a wall and Ward standing in front of him, yelling and making angry gestures. You couldn’t hear what he was saying exactly but you knew it wasn’t nice. Rafe looked terrified and if you didn’t know better, you could’ve sworn he was close to crying. You tried to listen closely but just couldn’t make out any words, but suddenly you heard a slap, loud and clear. You saw Rafe stumble into the wall, holding his cheek. Ward quickly looked around and you took your eyes of them for just a second. When you looked back, Rafe stormed off, his eyes met yours when he walked past you and he knew that you saw what happened. He also knew this wasn’t the first time you saw Ward hitting him.
In that very moment you felt bad for him. He was not a good person by any means, but even he didn’t deserve that. And you wondered how he would’ve turned out if he didn’t have such a shitty farther. He may have tuned out loving and gentle and not totally fucked up.
You decided to sneak off to the bathroom to call Sarah, telling her about your crazy evening so far. You took a look around to make sure you mom or dad didn’t see you. Then you quickly made your way inside. You hated to admit that you slightly hoped to walk into Rafe, you didn’t exactly know why. Maybe because you wanted to see that he was alright, not that you cared. You also felt the urge to apologise. You felt bad for slapping him earlier, you still believed he kinda deserved, it but it also wasn’t right to hit him, especially when you knew his dad did that more than enough already.
When you were out of sight you took a deep breath and made your way to the restrooms. Before you could walk in, you noticed a little ziplock bag laying on the floor in front of the mens bathroom. You walked towards it and picket it up, dangling it in front of your face. A little bag with white powder in it. You scoffed because you knew exactly what it was and you were 99% sure you also knew who it belonged to. This evening was taking quite the turn and you didn’t know exactly how to feel about it. At least it was anything but boring.With heels klicking, you decided to find the suspected owner.
You walked outside, around the building, away from the party and from a distance you saw Rafe. He mumbled something to himself and seemed to be looking for something, then he let out a grunt and sat down on a bench next to him. The first few buttons of his shirt were open, exposing part of his chest and his tie was loosened. You almost had to admit he looked attractive.
You walked towards him as he lit a cigarette. When he heard you steps approaching, he turned his head to look at you, taking a hit.
“Looking for something?” you held the small bag in front of his face, daringly.
He shot up and it made you flinch.
“Where did you get that?” His voice was deep and he slowly stepped closer, staring you down. Your heart started racing and you didn’t know if it was because he was quite unpredictable or because he really did look kinda hot.
You tried not to look intimidated, even tho he looked pretty scary right now. He towered over you and got closer every second, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
“Found it on the floor” you hid it behind your back, taking a few steps back.
He chuckled deeply and it gave you chills.
“Give it back” he said in a serious and low tone, taking another hit and not breaking eye contact.
“Nope” you kept walking backwards but he followed.
“Give it to me” he made a fast step, it made you gasp and he was now only inches away from you. You stared up into his eyes and could smell the mix of alcohol, cigarettes and his cologne.
“No” you said stern and shoved the little packet into your bra.
His gaze went straight to you boobs, his eyes widened and he raised one eyebrow. He threw his head back and chuckled.
“You think that’ll stop me?” He tilted his head and leaned in even closer to you, his dark eyes made you feel like there was no air to breath.
“Touch me and see what happens” you warned confidently.
“Are you flirting with me?” he grinned at you and you saw him reaching for your waist, his fingertips slightly brushed over the fabric of your dress before you stopped him.
“Remember when you told everyone how crazy the kick on a glock 17 is?” you placed your hand on his chest and held him back. Your fingertips met the part of his chest that was exposed.
“My dad just bought a new one last week” you whispered and gently pushed him away.
He threw his hands up in defense and just scoffed.
“Fine keep it” he stepped back and walked backwards towards the bench. He sat down, leaned back and took a hit of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air.
“Sell it and buy yourself another one of those slutty little dresses” he gestured at your dress.
“You don’t like my dress?” you asked sassy and took a few steps towards him.
“I love your dress. That’s why I want you to keep buying more” he smirked, flashing his perfect white teeth.
“Imma flush it” you stated.
“You’re stupid” he ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.
“You shouldn’t be doing that shit anyway” you shook your head and took two more steps towards him.
“Go ahead. Lecture me mama” he said, clearly not taking you seriously before throwing his cigarette to the floor.
You just rolled your eyes and decided to leave. You didn’t have the energy to have this conversation. Why even try. You could hear your moms voice in your head:“because you care”
“Hey y/n?”
You stopped in your tracks. You believed you never heard him say your name and something in you reacted to the way he made it sound.
You turned to face him again, flipping your hair over your shoulder.
“I’m sorry about what I said earlier” he said slowly and almost softly. It truly took you by surprise and you almost didn’t know what to say.
He just sat there, leaning his forearm’s on his knees and his hair hung messily onto his forehead.
“You should be sorry for a lot more things Rafe” you made your way back to him, referring to everything he has done in the past.
He nodded and looked up at you.
“I know”
Who was this man? Because the Rafe Cameron you knew would never apologise. For anything.
“But I want to apologise too, you know, for slapping you” you said softly and shrugged. You meant it.
“Nah I deserved that one” he said, rubbing his neck and smiled, looking down at his feet.
You smiled at his response and stepped right in front of him, your dress hiked up your thighs a little and you crossed your arms in front of your chest.
“You know people might actually like you if you stopped being such an asshole” you saw him gulp as he slowly dragged his eyes from your exposed thighs right in front his him, over your body, up to your face.
“If I stop, people will except me to be nice all the time. I don’t fuck with that. I’m not anyones dance monkey” he said looking up at you, leaning in and you saw the corners of his mouth slowly turning into a grin.
“That’s too bad. I think you would l make quite the cute dance monkey” you gently pushed his forehead and took a step back again.
He scoffed and nodded to himself, accepting your rejection once again.
“Do you really hate me that much?” he asked and it sounded genuine. And for the first time you thought his eyes didn’t look as cold as usual.
“You know, hate is kinda against what I believe” you explained before slowly walking backwards.
“So you don’t” he smiled and kept his eyes on you, not hiding how he scanned your body again.
“I don’t know. I might make an acception just for you Cameron” you giggled, turned around and walked off, swaying your hips.
“You should give me a chance” he yelled after you.
“Change and I might” you yelled back and smiled to yourself at your response.
You meant it.
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thenightfolknetwork · 4 months
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Hello,
So I was turned by accident about a decade ago. I struggled. I won't lie, several people disappeared because of me before I understood what was happening and was able to ask for help. I stayed in self-exile from people I could hurt for a long time, only making contact by phone with my loved ones for over five years. A little extreme, I know, but it was the option I was most comfortable with and most of them understood. I got through it, re-entered society and now have a near-complete grip on my feeding to the point where I can have donors.
When I told my friends, sapio and creature, about this personal milestone they were so, so happy for me. They threw me an amazing party and a couple of them even surprised me by volunteering to be donors themselves. It honestly brought me to tears, I'm so, so lucky to have them.
I gave them links, information packets and ways to stop me should things ever go too far, then we started feeding sessions, and that's where it began.
As it turns out, one of my best sapio friends… Well, it happens that feeding gives her a lot of pleasure. When she discovered this, I asked regularly if she wanted to stop sessions, but she said no. I'm asexual and feeding doesn't do anything for me (probably for the best given my history) but I don't mind, honestly? It actually makes me feel better that she's getting something out of it in exchange, and after some research, the rules and aftercare surrounding kink helped make the whole experience more comfortable for me and my donors.
This has been going on for a good six months, but things between us have started getting… weird.
Her heartbeat pounds every time she sees me. I find her continually glancing down at my lips, even when we meet up outside of feeding. I'll be talking and realise she hasn't said anything for ages, she's just sitting there staring at me with this little smile that I've never seen before.
She touches me any chance she gets too. Don't get me wrong, physical affection is the best, big hugger, me. But while it's not excessive; it is noticeable that she leans on me, puts her head in my lap, and adjusts my outfit when we go out. Small things that we did before because we're friends, just more. A lot more.
She's also become a little… jealous over feeds? For her height and weight, I can only take so much blood before it’ll put her out of commission for more than a couple of days and she knows I have multiple donors - hell, she knows my other donors - but I think it upsets her now in a way it didn't before. 
I'm really concerned that it's going to cause a rift of some kind, but I'm also worried that this has been bad for her in some way.
Have I given my friend some sort of Pavlovian response to me due to the nature of our feeds? Or worse, have I somehow put her under some kind of thrall? 
I can reassure you with absolute certainty on one front, reader: it is not possible to accidentally enthral a person. People with extremely strong powers of magnetism might find they have unconsciously exerted more influence over those around them than they intended, but never to the degree of full thralldom. In practice, the effect is barely distinguishable from the effect of natural charm.
Indeed, there are plenty of figures in history who have been thought, at one point or another, to be exerting magical influence on those around them, only to prove to be enjoying nothing more than the inherent social benefits of good looks and elegant manners. The claim that Hollywood is full of malevolent nightfolk tricking the humble American everyman with their magical wiles, for example, is a favourite among conspiracy theorists.
I think it's also safe to rule out the possibility of Pavlovian conditioning. Your friend is an intelligent adult, and while she may associate your feeding sessions with general feelings of comfort and pleasure, she is still very much in control of her own behaviours.
I'm afraid the solution seems to me at once far simpler and, in its own way, far more complicated. She's flirting with you.
Your friend already felt close enough to you to volunteer as your donor. She trusts you and enjoys your company. To that, you added the potent mixture of spending time with her in an intensely personal and vulnerable situation, paying her close attention, and performing an act which gives her a great deal of physical, erotic pleasure.
In short, I think it very likely that if your friend does not already consider herself in love with you, she is well on her way. This might be a comfort, in some ways – the worst case scenario here is a broken heart. Painful, perhaps, but not usually life-threatening.
You need to talk to your friend directly. Get this all out into the open, and then work together to find a solution. I understand you're concerned this will create a rift between the two of you. But it is far better to take that risk than to try and sweep these feelings under the carpet and just hope everything will be alright.
And the thing is, everything really might be alright. It might be that nothing needs to change. If you feel comfortable with your friend's romantic feelings, and are able to enjoy her increased physical affection and personal attention, then by all means, enjoy yourself.
However, I want to be extremely clear upon this next point. You do not owe it to her – or to anyone else – to embark upon a romantic relationship. You did not “lead her on”. That kind of thinking is nothing more than social pressure to conform to amatonormative expectations of love, sex and romance.
If you don't want your relationship to take on a romantic dimension, you need to draw that line clearly and firmly, and stick to it.
Finally, if that is how you feel, I would also strongly recommend removing her from your roster of donors. The alternative just feels rather unnecessarily cruel.
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saintmeghanmarkle · 3 months
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A Little Christmas Present by u/SecondhandCoke
A Little Christmas Present Disclaimer: The stuff I share is Hollywood gossip from a relative who is an executive in the film industry. Gossip should never be taken as fact until confirmed. I share these stories in the name of fun and while they have many times been later verified, some have been woefully far from the mark. Bear this in mind while reading. -SHCSome of you asked for some gossip given that I see my relative during the Holidays. News is sparse this time of year, but he did tell me one thing: In the wake of dealing with the PR nightmare that was Omit Scobie's ridiculous book, WME purportedly called the ILBW in for a serious meeting about the future of their working relationship. She was basically told they would not have one if she doesn't stop the smearing of the Royal Family. They will not market any mem-waaaaah! from Meghan riding on the back of the Dutch translation debacle once again spelling out why she and Harry feel hard done by, and that any more venturing out on her own to push out more attacks would result in her being on her own completely. They also intimated that their working relationship maybe over regardless as she's already done significant damage to her reputation. So that's it; take it or leave it. I hope everyone celebrating Christmas has a wonderful holiday. I'm sending out virtual box of popcorn 🍿 for each of you to enjoy as we gear up to watch the 2024 season of This One & That One after the New Year. How many pictures of random uncomfortable looking Archies and Lilis will we see this year? How many donors will Archewell have? 1? -4? What illicit substances will Harry use to try to escape the reality of his horrible life?Will Meghan take so much Ozempic that she actually disappears? Will they divorce like they are always rumored to be on the brink of but never actually do? How many parking lots will Meghan stride through like a gazelle on a savannah? How will Catherine make Meghan cry this year? What the hell IS Clevrblends? All this and more in 2024. post link: https://ift.tt/yUb6wBe author: SecondhandCoke submitted: December 25, 2023 at 05:32AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit
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get-your-fics · 2 years
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I.O.U.
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Summary: You met the wrong one on the wrong night.
Pairing: Dark!vampire!Timothée x fem!vampire hunter!reader
Word count: 6.3k
Warnings: Non-con oral (female receiving), biting, blood, mind control, slight breeding kink
Note: this is for @cocoamoonmalfoy’s Jack o’ Lanterns in July Writing Event! i chose the song “Wrong Turn” by Kim Petras as my inspiration for this fic. thanks cocoa for hosting such a fun event! it definitely got me in the spooky spirit 🧛
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You promised yourself you’d never step foot in a place like this, and yet here you were.
You stood in front of the bouncer who was at least a head taller than you with biceps thicker than your legs. The flashing light of the neon sign above him reflected off his shiny, bald head. “I need to talk to the crypt keeper.”
His stoic expression didn’t shift a smidge. “State your business.”
“It doesn’t concern you.” Your face was just as blank.
He stared at you for a moment, sizing you up. “He’s in the middle of something.”
“Well, then tell him to clear this schedule.”
He cracked the tiniest hint of a smirk. “Or what?”
“I’ll have my buddies down at the station come talk to him instead, and who knows what they might find inside?” You leaned closer. “Or you can save yourself the trouble and take me to him. It’s your call.”
The tugging at the corners of his lips disappeared. His face hardened, his eyes boring into you like you’d break if he stared long enough.
You must’ve won out, ‘cause he gave in. “Follow me,” he grunted before turning around and marching into the club.
You stood at the threshold, staring down the staircase leading to the depths below. You could feel the shuddering bass of music thudding in your chest, and blood red lights pulsing like the beat of a heart illuminated the way down.
If there was a staircase to heaven, then this must be the way to hell.
You shook off your apprehension and took a step forward, then another, and another, until you were halfway down the steps and swallowed in the black abyss.
It’s been twenty years since the discovery of vampires. After some initial friction, a truce was called and vampires were fully integrated into society. There were enough willing donors that both sides agreed to coexist in peace (though maybe they were more afraid of what’d happen if they didn’t).
You still had your doubts though, even despite the influx of romance novels and chick flicks painting vampires as misunderstood creatures. You knew when the cold, chilling breath of a monster eased down your lungs that they were anything but human. These were bloodthirsty killing machines who would stop at nothing to enact their every sadistic urge. The only difference between them and a wild animal was they were better at hiding it.
It wasn’t long until places like this started showing up, underground seedy clubs where thirsty vampires could go to feed and bite junkies could get their fix. The Crypt was one of the most notorious, the owner only known as the crypt keeper even more so. You should’ve known it’d only be a matter of time before your line of work required you to venture inside.
You descended the last step into the den of thieves, the thundering squeal of an electric guitar hitting you full force. Wails and moans rang out above the incessant noise, though it was hard to tell if they were out of anguish or pleasure. You supposed there wasn’t really a difference here.
It was the dead of night, and the club was at its liveliest. The air reeked of sex and smoke, and you wrinkled your nose at the coppery scent of blood. It smothered your nostrils until you felt like it was nearly suffocating you.
You sidled between undulating bodies as you followed after the bouncer. It was too dark to tell if people were giving you weird looks, though you were sure you stuck out like a sore thumb. You caught glimpses of silhouettes enshrouded in shadow, half-naked bodies clad in leather and lace moving together in a hypnotizing rhythm. You thought you saw a flash of white teeth, and your hand shot to the handle of the machete you kept in a holster strapped to your thigh.
It was still resting there when the bouncer’s broad shoulders stopped in front of a beaded curtain. He parted the beads with his large hands and held them open, gesturing for you to go in first.
You eyed him as you passed by and tentatively entered the room. It was a lounge outfitted with enough crush red velvet sofas to seat twenty people, but it was largely empty. The din of the club fell away behind the curtain, replaced by a loud slurping noise and a high-pitched keen.
Your eyes followed the source of the noise to find a couple on the sofa. The woman’s head was thrown back and her body arched. Her eyes were rolled back until only the whites were showing, and her lips were parted, allowing a litany of breathy moans to flow out.
The man was hunched over her, his sharp shoulder blades rippling under the fabric of his suit jacket. You could only see a mess of dark hair where his head met her neck, the strap of her dress pulled down low enough to expose a pink, perky nipple. His hand disappeared under her skirt, though you knew what he was doing judging by the way her thighs squeezed together.
That loud sucking sounded again, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You knew that sound all too well. You’d heard it countless times before, the first when you were a little girl hiding in your parents’ closet.
“Sir,” the gruff voice of the bouncer broke you out of your thoughts, and it caused the man to stop drinking too, “there’s someone here to see you.”
He lifted his head from the woman’s neck, still turned away from you. “Can’t it wait?” he groaned.
“I’m afraid not,” you spoke up.
He whirled around to glare at you, and you weren’t at all prepared for the face you were met with. Even contorted in frustration, he was still strikingly beautiful, with silky locks of raven hair framing skin as smooth and pale as marble. His features looked like they’d been carved as such, from the sharp line of his jaw to the sculpted curve of his cheekbones. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared into bright red eyes framed by thick, dark lashes.
His expression evened out as he looked at you, his forehead going placid and his brows no longer drawn low over hooded eyes. His gaze raked over you long and slow. Blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, and he quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. Besides the smear of red, there weren’t any stains on his attire. He was a neat eater. You wondered how long he’d had to practice.
He waved away the bouncer lazily. “Leave us.” He turned to the woman beside him. “Go get bandaged up, my dear.”
She tugged her strap up her shoulder and shimmied the hem of her dress down as she stood up. She walked past you in a daze, her eyes out of focus. She was covered in bite marks from head to toe, some fresh and pink and others old and silvered. Every inch of her skin was marred with scars like track marks, but your gaze caught on the one on her neck. Blood dribbled out of the puncture wound, the skin around it puckered with scar tissue. She’d been bitten there before.
It was obvious she was a bite junkie. Several more just like her were probably a stone’s throw away in the club, people addicted to the high when they’re bit and the stupor that follows after. Some get hooked after surviving a close encounter with a vamp, while others actively sought it.
The bouncer and the woman exited the lounge, leaving you alone with this disarmingly stunning man. You were still taken aback as he stood up from the sofa. You’d expected the crypt keeper to look like… well, the crypt keeper. Dried up and wrinkled with a milky film over his eyes and paper thin skin so translucent you could see the veins underneath like some of the older vampires you’d seen.
But the man before you didn’t look any older than you, boyish with a healthy shine to his hair and a youthful glow to his skin. Though you knew better than to trust the appearances of vampires. Some were known to shapeshift into other forms, even using a glamor to make themselves more appealing to their prey.
“You know, it’s rude to interrupt someone during a meal,” he said, his voice as clear as the peel of a silver bell.
You steeled yourself, refusing to fall victim to his trickery. “This is important.” You stood up straighter, elongating your spine to make yourself as tall and intimidating as possible. “It can’t wait.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” he held his arms out wide, “what can I do for you, detective?”
You furrowed your brow. “I’m not a cop.”
“Oh, I know. But you run with them, don’t you? You help them out when they’re in need of some vampire expertise.” He tilted his head. “And if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…”
“How do you know that?” you snapped.
He chuckled, a smirk spreading across his face. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. It’s in my best interest to watch out for anyone who could become a threat to my business.”
“And you think I could be a threat?” You quirked a brow.
He shrugged. “I think if you know what’s good for you, then you won’t.”
You folded your arms over your chest. “Now I think I’m the one being threatened.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “I mean no harm, though I can’t say the same for you.” He cocked his head like a curious puppy. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you’d be caught dead in a place like this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I can feel your hatred for my kind practically rolling off you in waves.” His lips parted in a grin. “It’s quite potent. Tangible, even.”
Your brows inched up your forehead, the only physical sign of your shock at how perceptive he was. “Then you should know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
“The floor is yours, my dear.” He gestured to the sofa. “Make yourself at home.”
You didn’t move a muscle. “A woman is dead. The police found her drained of all her blood.”
“A vamp, no doubt…” He stroked his smooth chin.
“She was covered in bite marks.”
“…And a bite junkie!” He threw his hands in the air. “Excuse me, darling, but I fail to see how I’m involved in any of this.”
“Because some people I talked to said she was a regular here.” You reached inside your leather jacket and pulled out a photo. “Does she look familiar?”
You held it up to him. He leaned closer as his eyes scanned over the image taken at the crime scene of a bruised and battered corpse left to rot behind a dumpster. Her dress hung off of her body in shreds, and her jugular had practically been ripped out, her head all but separated from her shoulders.
He whistled low, observing the carnage. “This is quite a piece of work you have here.” He tapped his finger against his lower lip, the rings adorning his knuckles glittering in the low light. “I may have seen her face around once or twice.” He glanced up from the photo at you. “You’re not here because I’m a suspect, are you?”
“That depends.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Is there a reason you should be?”
He didn’t look fazed in the slightest. “Whoever did that,” he pointed to the photo, “is a monster, and I can assure you” he pressed his hand against his chest, “I’m no monster.”
You gritted your teeth together. “That remains to be proven,” you muttered under your breath.
He clicked his tongue. “A stickler for evidence, are we?”
You stuffed the photo back in your jacket. “Do you know anything that is relevant to the case?”
He hummed. “I may know a thing or two.” He smiled at you. “But what’s in it for me?”
“I don’t haul your ass down to the station for obstruction of justice.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not a cop, remember?”
“But it wouldn’t be hard to get a warrant to tear this place apart.” A smug smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “And I don’t think you’d want all your dirty little secrets brought into the light of day.”
“I promise you, dear, everything here is above board.” His grin was a little too wide for your liking.
You raised a brow at that. The rumor mill ran rampant, and you’d heard plenty of speculation that The Crypt harbored more than just freaks and addicts. You’d heard talk that the club was merely a front for a blood smuggling operation, most likely from unwilling participants. And after talking to the owner for long enough, you wouldn’t be surprised if it all turned out to be more fact than fiction. “Then maybe you wouldn’t mind if I made a call to the station.”
“You’re not the only one with friends on the force.” He wagged a finger at you. “And who knows how long all that could take? By the time you get officers through the door, your killer could strike again.”
You swallowed hard. That was enough to make you pause. You couldn’t risk any more innocent human lives falling victim to some out of control vamp. You put that above anything else, even above your own well being.
It appeared he’d called you on your bluff.
“What do you want?” you asked tersely.
You wanted to smack the resulting smirk off his face. “Nothing much, really.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a favor.”
“Get to the point,” you seethed.
“It’ll be for a later date, like an I.O.U. of sorts.” He sauntered closer to you elegantly, like a panther stalking its prey. “One day, I will call upon you, and you will have to be prepared to do whatever I ask. In exchange, I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.” He outstretched a pale hand to you. “Do you think you can live with that?”
You stared down at his normal, unassuming hand, nothing out of the ordinary, no visible trace of the unbridled power and strength you knew lurked more than skin deep. You knew better than to underestimate the wiles of a monster who could pass as human.
Maybe you had tread the way to hell, and now you were making a deal with the devil.
“It better be fucking worth it,” you hissed before gripping his hand tight.
His skin felt like ice against yours, no blood rushing through it to give it warmth. He gave your hand a firm shake, squeezing just enough to make your spine go rigid. A smirk toyed at the corners of his lips, and you glowered at him. He could shatter every bone in your hand as easily as snapping a pencil lead if he wanted.
He let go of your hand. “Now that I think of it, there was an incident involving this young woman a few weeks back.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “One of the vamps had gotten too rough with her and had to be escorted out. After all, we’re not animals here. We treat our playthings with respect,” he teased.
You grinded your teeth together, but let his jab go. “What was his name?”
“It started with a C… Charles…” He snapped his fingers over and over to jog his memory. He perked up. “Charles Henry, I believe it was. I can’t be sure. I didn’t have so much as a conversation with the man.”
“That’ll do.” You took out your notepad and jotted the name in big letters across the yellow page.
“Will that be all?” He moved closer until his expensive cologne invaded your senses. “Or can I offer you a drink?”
You looked up at him, unamused. “Not unless you’re ready to call in your favor.”
His lips peeled apart into a wide grin. “Oh, no. I’m saving that for a rainy day.”
You blinked at him. “Then I’ll be on my way.”
“Thank you for stopping by.” He bent at the waist in a mock bow. “I do hope you catch him. The last thing us vamps need is someone going around tarnishing our reputation.”
You scoffed. “Good luck with that.”
You turned and started back the way you came. You froze in your tracks when he called out behind you, “Oh, detective?”
You wanted to correct him yet again, but instead you whipped around, staring at him expectantly.
“Your jacket.” He gestured to the garment, a taunting smirk on his lips. “Red’s a good color on you.”
You rolled your eyes at him before stepping through the beaded curtain.
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You caught up to Charles Henry before he could claim another life, but by then, the damage was already done.
Word spread about what he’d done to that woman far and wide, and it wasn’t long before tensions between humans and vampires were back on the rise. There were less willing donors, which meant less blood and more hungry vamps. Bloodsucker safe havens like The Crypt were forced to close their doors, either due to lack of business or the police cracking down on illicit vamp activity.
The demand for a private investigator who specialized in hunting down creatures of the night was at an all time high. People seemed to crawl out of the woodwork looking for vamps for one reason or another: justice, vengeance, or downright hatred. It didn’t matter much to you. The more of them off the street, the better.
Your work kept you busy, but that didn’t stop the crypt keeper’s vague request from looming over your head like a dark rain cloud bound to storm at any minute. You jumped every time the phone rang (which was a lot these days), and when you answered, you waited to hear the cool, alluring cadence of his voice on the other end of the line, but it was never him.
When you found a free moment, you were usually in bed, staring at the ceiling and willing yourself to sleep that would never come. Thoughts of what he’d cash in his favor for swirled in your head. You wondered if he’d make you drive a delivery truck full of smuggled blood bags across the border, or tamper with police records or sneak into evidence lockup, get you to sweep some run-in with the law under the rug. The thought of him making you kill someone made your blood run cold in your veins, and you’d have to shake yourself out of it, steering your train of thought to the most recent case.
You were way in over your head, and you didn’t even know what he wanted from you yet.
When he finally called upon you, it was through an envelope slipped through the mail slot in the door to your apartment. It was sealed with an intricate crest stamped into thick, red wax. It looked like something straight out of the medieval times.
You cracked it open and were even more baffled by the letter inside. Your eyes scanned over the cursive words written in black ink:
I request your presence tomorrow afternoon at The Crypt. I hope I do not have to tell you what happens to people who renege on their deals, my dear.
-T.C.
You read the letter several times over until the words started to blur together. It was short and to the point, yet ominous and threatening nonetheless. If the initials weren’t enough to give away who it was from, you could practically hear him purring “my dear” into your ear with that snide tone of his.
Your stomach was in knots as you went to The Crypt the next day. You thought about not going, of course, but that was out of the question. If you didn’t show up, you had no doubt he’d send his men to come get you. He’d already made it plenty clear that he knew where you lived.
The same bouncer from the other day was at the door waiting for you, and you couldn’t help but revert to humor as your defense mechanism. “Miss me, Baldy?”
He didn’t say anything, but judging by the blank look on his face he wasn’t amused. He turned and descended the staircase wordlessly. You figured that was your cue and followed him down.
It was strange seeing the club in daylight and completely empty, not a soul in sight. It felt fundamentally wrong, even more so than when it was packed from wall to wall. It was flooded with fluorescent light, no longer saturated in a deep red hue. Part of you thought it appeared with the presence of the moon and vanished when the sun rose.
Instead of taking you to the private lounge like last time, the bouncer guided you upstairs to what looked like someone’s apartment. He stopped at a door, rapping his large knuckles against the wood before calling out, “She’s here.”
There was a pause before a low, raspy voice replied, “Send her in.”
The bouncer opened the door and gestured you inside. You barely managed to step past the threshold before the door slammed shut behind you. You looked back at it, a voice in your head screaming at you to turn back, but you suppressed your survival instincts.
You turned back to face the four poster bed draped with white linens and scarlet chiffon. There was a figure sitting on the far edge with his back to you as still as a statue. You couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.
You crept a step closer, the floorboards under your foot creaking with the movement. The windows were boarded up, so you had to squint to make out the figure in the dark. “Cryptkeeper?” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper, but deafening in the otherwise silent room.
There was a beat before the figure wheezed a breathy laugh. “Please, call me Timothée, darling.” The mattress groaned in complaint under him as he shifted to face you. “After all, we’re about to know each other a lot better.”
You couldn’t stifle the gasp that left you as you took in his appearance. His skin was impossibly pale and clung to his bones like shrink wrap. His hair hung limp from his head, the color dull and lifeless. A pair of shades obscured his eyes, and his lips were dry and cracked. He looked like a talking corpse.
“Oh, my God.” Your brow furrowed. “What happened to you?”
He rose to his feet, and your gaze fell to his silk robe hanging off of his wispy frame. He looked emaciated, every ridge of his ribs showing. He was nothing more than skin and bones, like a strong breeze could blow him over.
He lowered his head as he reached up and removed his shades. When he looked up at you, your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were pitch black like shark smelling blood in the water.
“You did,” he seethed.
Your muscles locked into place, your feet rooting themselves to the floor. “What are you talking about?”
He scoffed, and you flinched at the harsh noise. “Don’t act like you don’t know. Because of you, all of my usual meals are suddenly busy.”
“Because of me?” Your temper flared. “Maybe it’s because people are starting to wake up and see that we’re letting monsters who could kill us if they so choose walk the streets.”
“Where would you rather see us? Behind bars?” He cocked his head. “Or maybe six feet under?”
You clenched your jaw. “That wouldn’t be enough and you know it.”
He laughed, though it was more condescending than out of amusement. “You do know your stuff.” He grasped his hands behind his back. “Perhaps on top of a funeral pyre then?”
You didn’t respond, merely meeting his intense stare with one of his own.
His lips curled into a smirk. “So your true feelings are finally revealed.” His voice was hoarse. “Well, your undoing will be by your own hand. It’s because of you that I know what you owe me now.”
“Get on with it,” you hissed through gritted teeth.
He coughed out a chuckle. “Eager, are we?” He quirked a brow. “I don’t think that’ll last once you hear what I ask of you.”
“Just tell me what it is.” You pressed your lips into a thin line.
His smirk widened to an unabashed grin. “Since my usual meals are all preoccupied because of you, the least you could do is fill in for them.”
Your lashes fluttered as you blinked at him in disbelief. You couldn’t quite understand what he was saying at first. “You want me to… to…” you trailed off, unable to voice it aloud.
“Let me feed from you?” he finished for you, a teasing smirk toying at the corners of his lips. “I warned you you wouldn’t like it one bit, darling.”
You shook your head vehemently. “No, no way. I refuse.”
His brow furrowed. “That’s not how this works.” He rounded the side of the bed. “You agreed when the time came, you’d do what I asked of you.”
“I never agreed to do that,” you spat.
“So you go back on your word then?” he argued. “You’re not a woman of honor?”
“I have more self respect than to let a leech feed from me like a parasite,” you bit.
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath like he was steeling himself. “I can hear your heart beating from here, you know.” When they opened, his eyes were somehow even darker than before, like two blackholes sucking you into them. “It’s taking everything in me right now not to tear open your throat with my teeth and drain you dry.” It seemed like you’d finally managed to rattle him, his carefully crafted image unraveling to reveal the brute underneath. “You should be supplicating to me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” It wasn’t your first time being confronted with a hungry vamp, and you doubted it’d be your last either.
“You will be.” He took a step towards you.
In a flash, you reached for the machete strapped to your thigh and raised it in the air. He was in front of you in a flash, moving too fast for the human eye to comprehend. His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could bring the machete down.
You tried to shake him off, but his vice-like grip didn’t budge an inch. Even starving, he still possessed more strength than you. You stood nearly nose to nose, both snarling in each other’s faces. The silver blade of the machete gleamed high above your head.
“What are you going to do now, detective?” His dark eyes seemed to take up the whole of your vision. “You can’t escape.”
You refused to let his taunting get to you. You were sure the bouncer had locked you in, but you’ve scraped by the hair on your chin out of worse messes before. He must have some sort of weakness you could use to your advantage.
He hummed in amusement. He leaned closer until his breath ghosted your lips as he whispered, “Drop it.”
Your expression went blank. Your mind emptied of all thoughts until your head was hollow except for his words bouncing around inside your skull. Your hand went slack, and the handle of the machete slipped from your grip. The sound as it clattered against the ground futilely was like a bomb going off.
His command stopped ringing in your ears, and you snapped out of whatever trance he’d put you under. “How did you do that?“ you breathed.
His lips peeled apart into a smirk. “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”
You stared at him in disbelief. You’d heard stories of vampires who had mind control abilities, but you’d merely thought it myth, and you’d certainly never witnessed any before in the flesh. He was clearly older and wiser than his boyish appearance would have you think.
So much for him having a weakness.
He let go of your wrist, and your arm dropped to your side. “Get on the bed.” He stepped away from you, finally giving you space to breathe. “Lay on your back.”
You internally screamed at yourself to stop as you made your way over to the bed, to not listen to him. But it was like your own body had betrayed you and was holding you hostage. You felt like you were inside a waking dream and all you could do was go through the motions and see how it would play out.
You did as he said, laying with your back against the mattress. He climbed on after you, hovering over you. “Good girl,” he praised, reaching out to stroke your cheek with his finger. “See? Isn’t it so much easier when you obey me?”
You didn’t answer, choosing to stare up at him in disgust instead. You could feel your pulse pounding, blood rushing in your ears. He traced an invisible line down your face and over your jaw. He stopped at the hem of your turtleneck, snorting.
“Did you really think this would be enough to deter me? A flimsy piece of fabric?” He hooked his finger under your turtleneck and pulled it away from you before letting it snap back into place. He laughed as you winced.
His eyes ran lower down your body, a growl rumbling low in his chest. “I wonder what you’ve been hiding under all this leather.” He sat up, straddling your waist. “Take off the jacket.”
Your limbs started moving before his words even fully registered. You lifted yourself up as much as you could with him on top of you and shrugged off your jacket. Once it was down your arms, he tore it away from your body, tossing it across the room.
He stared down at you through hooded eyes as his hands smoothed down your sides, lingering on your curves. “Much better,” he practically purred. He reached down and fiddled with the button on your jeans.
Your muscles tensed as your brow wrinkled in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“I’m a man of taste, detective.” He smirked up at you as he dragged the zipper down. “I prefer my meals to be slightly… aroused. It gives the blood more flavor.”
You blanched as he rolled your jeans down your thighs. No, you weren’t in a dream. You were in a nightmare.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who despises our kind so much.” He tugged your jeans off your feet. “Tell me, why is your hatred so vehement?”
The words felt like they were ripped from your throat. “My parents were killed by a vampire when I was little.”
His expression barely even changed as your boots were next to go. “Really?” He shed his robe, and it joined your clothes on the floor. “And yet you managed to survive the encounter?”
“They hid me in the closet and sacrificed themselves.” You felt like the memory was replaying before your eyes as you recounted it, like you were watching blood spray on the bedroom walls as you peeked through a crack in the door, listening to the tear and squelch of flesh in horror. “He was so distracted by the blood I was able to escape.”
“Your parents were that tasty, huh?” You would’ve smacked him if you had control of your limbs. “I suppose if anything was enough to cement your prejudice against us, it would be watching your parents get slaughtered before your very own eyes.”
He grabbed your legs and parted them with ease. He settled in between them, his face inches away from your fabric-covered core. He hummed, his breath tickling your skin. His gaze was laser-focused on your core. “You’re already wet, and I’ve barely even touched you.”
You didn’t believe him until his tongue ran up the length of your slit over your panties. You couldn’t help the yelp that escaped your lips, squirming on the mattress under his ministrations.
He let up, but not for long as he ripped your panties away with ease. He dove back in, his tongue poking through your petals before finding your clit. He lapped at the sensitive nub with kitten licks, driving you wild. Against your better judgment, your hips bucked up into him, seeking more friction.
He latched his lips onto your clit and sucked. You threw your head back until you were half hanging off of the bed. You were embarrassingly close to orgasm, though in all fairness it had been a while since you’d been touched.
He pulled away and replaced his lips with his fingers, rubbing fast circles over your clit. “Almost there, you’re so close,” he cooed. “Just a little bit more…”
He coaxed you closer to the edge until your legs were twitching. Just before you hit your peak, his head reared back. His mouth opened to expose a flash of deadly sharp fangs. There was no time to protest before they sunk into your thigh.
Your back arched as you let out an agonized scream. White hot pain spread throughout your entire body so bad your vision blurred. But just as quickly as it happened, his fangs retracted, and the pain gave way to the most blissful pleasure you’d ever known.
The moan that left you didn’t even sound like it came from you as he sucked at the wound. Your orgasm hit you without warning, sweeping you under a tidal wave of pleasure. It felt like you were outside of your body floating on a cloud as you rode your high.
After what seemed like hours but you knew reasonably had only been minutes, your body sagged limp against the bed. Your chest was heaving, and your skin was sticky with sweat. You weren’t sure if that was one long orgasm or one after another in succession.
Even though your head was still spinning, you sat up enough to look down. Through your bleary gaze, you saw blood trickling down from where he lapped at the bite mark on your thigh, red staining the sheets. He pulled away and ran his tongue over his lips.
“Sorry, I’m not usually this messy.” He swiped at his mouth and licked his fingers, careful not to waste a single drop. “I guess that happens when you go hungry for too long.”
He looked up at you from in between your legs. He was healthy again, with a radiant glow to his skin and a plumpness to the apples of his cheeks. His eyes were no longer dark but instead a bright crimson, colored with your blood.
There was something nagging at you in the back of your brain, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. He peered at you curiously. “You crave it again already, don’t you?” He tilted his head. “That release only I can give you.”
You turned your face away, hoping that if he couldn’t look into your eyes he couldn’t see that he was right. Every cell in your body was singing at his proximity to you, begging him to bite you again.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get what you want soon enough.” He crawled over you until your body was covered with his. “I’ll get you addicted to me, just as addicted as I’ll be to you. My own personal little blood whore.”
Your eyes welled with tears. It wouldn’t be long before the after effects set in, before your veins felt like they were on fire. You understood now why bite junkies were willing to kill, cheat, and steal for their next fix.
“We’re connected now, detective, and with civil war on the horizon, you should be grateful to me.” He reached out and brushed his fingertips along your jaw. “We won’t stand for being ruled by our food for much longer. It’s only a matter of time before a riot breaks out and grows into a full on rebellion, all because you couldn’t let one little naughty vamp go.”
A tear rolled down your cheek before you could stop it. You wished you’d never stepped foot in The Crypt that day, that you’d just turned around and marched away. Then none of this would’ve come to pass.
“But I’ll give you a place of importance among the chaos. You’ll give rise to a new generation, a breed that will put an end to the fighting.” His hair hung around you, forming a shroud. “Most vampires don’t have the… willpower to impregnate a woman without killing her, but then again, most vampires aren’t me.”
You sniffled. Feeding from you was just the precursor to what he really wanted.
His lips pulled apart into a grin, his fangs glinting in the dark. “That’s why I brought you here, detective. I chose you for a reason. Your stubbornness, your resoluteness, is going to come in handy down the road.” It was like he was reading your mind, and at this point for all you knew he could. “Together, we’ll be their salvation. They’ll worship us as their rightful leaders.”
Your chin started to wobble. He faked a pout. “I told you you’d be scared.” He tilted your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “This is where you belong, under me. I’ll make sure you never forget your place again.”
You suppressed a sob. Your luck had finally run out. There was no way out of this one.
You were at the mercy of a monster.
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secondgenerationnerd · 2 months
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Can you tell me about Kathy Brandon & maya ducard from Epsilon squad?
Of course!
Maya is the daughter of Morgan Ducard, an assassin that was killed by none other than Damian Wayne. She originally was going to get her revenge on Damian, but joined him instead. Her mother was Latina and died when she was young, her father being mixed (black and Caucasian). She fluently speaks multiple languages, but french is her comfort. She learned to be invisible until she needs to make an impression.
Kathy is an alien refugee from a planet that was attacked by The Krogg. Her grandfather, Kobb Branden, escaped with her. In my mind she was little when it happened, under 5yo, so most of her memories are on earth. She and Jon grew up together, and the Kent family lowkey adopted her. Her grandfather turned out to be evil, trying to turn Jon against his father. He’s killed unfortunately (see the comics for her backstory.
No joke, they met after Maya was spying on Kathy and Jon. Kathy sensed her and threw her into the pigpen
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This is the exact pannel I saw that made me ship them lol
They do live together on the Ducard farm, Maya finally having a room she can decorate how she chooses to, which is baffling.
They do have a guardian living with them while they’re underage, but for the most part the girls are on their own. It’s an adjustment for both of them because, even if Morgan and Kobb weren’t good, they did take care of them.
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They eventually open up a flower shop together, which brings a lot of joy to their lives. Maya learned the language of flowers so she could send messages to her friends.
Could kathy use her powers to get a lot of the farm work done? Yes, but some of the chores she does prefer to do herself.
They have a mental link, so they literally talk without words. When they join Epsilon, the all female team, they are very comfortable with each other and that helps them with the others.
Maya and Sin Lance knew of each other, both were actually betrothed to Damian at one point, but they have a deep understanding of the trauma they’ve gone through.
Maya has a life long fear of just…disappearing. Of her team, who she considers her sisters, just forgetting who she is. Like she was never there.
Kathy has a fear of losing control of her powers. She knows how powerful she is. She knows how much damage she can do. She pulls her punches when she has to, but there’s always that fear she won’t be able to stop.
Maya is a curvy queen, dressing in a lot of skirts and flowy bottoms with tighter tops. Kathy is jeans, flannel, t-shirts, etc.
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They start dating when they’re 16, after crushing on each other for months. They had their first kiss after dancing in the rain. They got horribly colds and it was totally worth it.
They get married and, through an anonymous sperm donor, have two daughters—Azalea May “Aza” (Maya’s biological daughter) and Rosemary Grace “Roro” (Kathy’s biological daughter). Maya carried both their daughters and, due to a sudden hemmorage, had a hysterectomy after Rosemary.
They are their mothers’ daughters, regardless of biology 😂
Azalea ends up with Peter Kent, Jon and Mar’i’s adopted son. Roro ends up with Nerissa “Rissa” Baker-Curry, Max Baker and Artur Curry’s daughter. Their partners joke about them having royal taste
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naoyaslut · 1 year
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The Hills Ch. 17
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Minimal/ageless blogs will be blocked!
pairing: ran haitani x femreader!+18
warnings: profanity
wordcount: 3,858
t@glist: @alice-smutthoughts , @dumbbitchuni-versity, @renxnana, @nemoyr , @baggymcqueen @tojitsukaisen @megumilashtech , @smexyair
"Look at you, you are just glowing!” 
Sivir had been fussing over you for the last hour after inviting you to sit with her and a few other women at one of the oversized tables at the banquet.  One of her hands rested idly on the small rounded bump through the grey gown that you wore.
Placing her champagne glass down on the table she turned to beam at the other women seated at the table as she continued to gush over you.
“Look at her, isn’t she just adorable?”
All the attention you were getting was making you uneasy, your face was hot with embarrassment as everyone seemed to be eager to get their chance to question you about you and your dutiful husband.
“You have to allow me to have a small get-together for you, a baby shower.  You can invite a few of your friends, your family, whoever I’d love to host it.”  Sivir smiled retrieving the crystal champagne glass to take a drink of the rose-colored alcoholic beverage.
To stop her sickly-sweet attention you agreed, you wanted her and her friends to stop giving you so much attention it was unnerving you.  Though you enjoyed Sivir’s company and the way she acted as if she were a mother to you, something about it was strangely inappropriate.
Glancing over your shoulder as she returned to some of her guests, your eyes faintly scouted the room.  You were looking for Ran.  He disappeared with Keishin a while ago after the two dismissed themselves, to talk about... whatever it was that they talked about.  You tried your best to not get into the semantics.
“Excuse me, ladies,” standing from your seat, Sivir saw you off as you retreated from the table.  You needed to find the restroom, at this point your bladder felt as if it were close to bursting. 
Quickly scampering across the large venue, you eyed the patrons coming and going most of them preparing to depart for the night.  The auctions were done and you assumed the donations for the RPD were firmly accounted for by the staff working for the party. 
There was never anyone at these events that you knew, maybe a police officer or two... Kenji had been one of them.  Pushing the disturbing thought to the recesses of your mind, you stepped into one of the larger restrooms on the other side of the building.
It was brightly lit, and outfitted with classic marble and gold trimming.  Rather elegant, you noted before passing two women standing in front of a large gold-framed mirror.  They were going back and forth with one another, one of them had a glass of champagne in her hand, lips painted in the most vibrant red lipstick you had ever seen.
Making your way into a stall quickly, you sighed in relief upon finally being able to relieve yourself.  The loud voices of the women talking were crystal clear, you weren’t attempting to eavesdrop, but you were given a live show without having to even try.
He was the biggest donor again; he has a knack for stealing the show at all these fundraisers.  Even his date was gorgeous, did you see?  Almost as tall as he was.  Blonde hair too, I’d kill to be on his arm for a night.
Finishing up your business in the stall, you fixed your dress and ensured everything was in place before flushing the toilet and unlocking the door.  Washing your hands in silence, you glanced over at the two women, gossiping.  It was mostly what women their age did at events like this.
Mr. Haitani, right?  He is pleasant on the eye, apparently, he’s a great talker as well.  I wonder what else he can do with that mouth.
Turning off the faucet of the sink, you began to dry your hands off on a cloth before depositing the towel into a nearby trash bin.  Leaving the immediate area was first on your priority list.  Listening to... whatever nonsense these women were spouting was beginning to irritate you.
You trusted Ran.  You trusted Ran.  Clicking your tongue defiantly, you left the restroom and made your way back to the immediate center of the building.  Passing through the ballroom your eyes darted from left to right, seeing if you could catch a glimpse of your date.  He had to be done with his business by now.
There was no way that Ran went through all of the trouble of actually proposing to you, the mother of his child, the night before.  Just to do something as foolish as bringing another woman to the same event that he brought you to on the same night.
That’s just downright... stupid.  Stupid.  Until you finally got a glimpse of your knight in shining armor standing at the bar with a very tall, slim, blonde.  Just as the women in the bathroom had described.  Her arm was linked with his, her mouth pressed affectionately at the angular of his sharp jaw.
You stood, confused for a solid three seconds before she pulled away from him, a sugary sweet smile plastered on her lips with obvious stars in her eyes.  Snapping yourself out of your own stupefacient, you glanced nervously from one end of the building to the other.
Something uncomfortable was beginning to bubble within your chest.  You weren’t sure if it was nausea or if it was disgust.  It could have been one and the same.  Your head began to pound as you attempted to pull your thoughts together, perhaps the woman was just an acquaintance.  That had to be it. 
Swallowing your doubts, you made a beeline for the bar set on interrupting the two of them and making your presence known.  The thought of another woman touching him, let alone fondling him as she was caused a bitter taste to blossom at the back of your throat.
Were you being naïve?  You didn’t know, but you were about to find out once at for all what he was up to.  As you drew near, you were able to make out a distinct tattoo on the side of the woman’s neck.  It was a Bonten tattoo, the same one that Ran had on the front of his neck.  The one that was smartly covered by the turtleneck he opted to wear underneath his suit.
He never exposed it when the two of you attended anything like this, but his woman.  She freely flaunted it, with no attempt at covering it with makeup or anything. 
She was a member of Bonten?  Your resolve seemed to crumble the closer you got, your mind going over the possible scenarios that were going to happen once you confronted him.
Would he dismiss you as if it were none of your business?  Your heart hammered against your ribcage once you were at an appropriate distance, clearing your throat as you shot Ran a questioning look.
The woman turned first, her eyebrows drawing up in surprise as a half-smile found its way onto her sultry features.
“Oh, well aren’t you just the cutest thing.” she drawled, her eyes going over your elegant gown and fixing itself on the obvious sign that you were very much expecting a child.
The two of them were no longer intertwined and it seemed that Ran had put a considerable amount of distance between the two of them.  He appeared agitated, his expression softening a bit once he turned to see you standing there.
Ran turned so that he was facing you, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to your forehead before swiping a stray curl behind your ear.
“I was just on my way to find you, how are you holding up sweetheart?”
You flushed in embarrassment at the prominent display of attentiveness, you felt your stomach twist in dread for thinking negatively otherwise. 
“I’m okay... you were just gone for a while, everyone else is starting to depart,” you replied timidly, your gaze inadvertently finding itself on the blonde who stood rigid as she watched Ran giving you all of his attention.
“We can head out; I needed a drink before we left...” He sneered at the seemingly unwanted guest before drawing his arm around your waist.
The blonde pouted, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with acrylic nails that were painted in a coat of shiny black nail polish.
“Ran, you’re not going to introduce me to the woman who stole your heart?” she stepped forward, placing both hands on the round of your belly and running her thumbs along the swell of it.  “Whom you so readily put a baby in?  I’m dying to know how you met.”
Ran’s initial movement went unnoticed by you, but his hand had grasped hold of one of the woman’s wrists before pushing her hands away from you.  He clearly did not want her touching you.
“Ivy.” his voice erupted in a low growl; it was almost animalistic.  “Don’t fucking touch her,”
In just an instant, his mood had gone sour, and he was directing you away from the woman and toward the entrance that so many others were using to leave. 
You allowed him to guide you away hesitantly glancing over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of “Ivy”.  She appeared to be livid, her feline-like features twisted up in a scowl.  She clearly wasn’t happy.  Who is she?
Although you wanted to ask who the woman was, you avoided asking the question.  Ran already seemed to be on edge on the drive home.  You weren’t sure if it was because of the woman or if it had something to do with what was discussed with Keishin.
Either way, you weren’t going to find that out.  Ran wasn’t going to share anything with you, it was clear in his stiff body language.
Resting a dainty hand on Ran’s thigh after he passed the highway exit that would take the two of you home.
“You missed our exit,” your gaze went out the window following the exit sign before you glanced back at him in confusion.
Ran acknowledged your announcement by squeezing your hand lightly and sending you a quick glance, followed by a tight smile.
“We’re going to stay in a hotel tonight.”
You didn’t bother to ask why.  He seemed to be in a mood, something was bothering him, but you didn’t want to delve into it right at this moment.
The hotel that the two of you went to appeared to be an expensive one, The Ritz-Carlton.  It was enormous, with over 50 floors of rooms, including pools and gymnasiums.
Ran checked in at the front desk and you overheard him booking the room for an estimated week or so.  Your confusion grew, the longer Ran lingered in your presence clinging to you like an overly attached child. 
He held you tight to his side, eyes searching the lobby of the hotel before the both of you disappeared into the elevator to ride up to the room.  He was obviously on edge and seemed to be going the extra mile to be sure that nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.
Hooking your free arm around Ran’s, you leaned into him looking up at him as the two of you rode the empty cart up in silence.
“Ran, are you feeling alright?” He had to know that he was acting out of character, normally he was very diligent in hiding his discomfort or agitation.
Meeting your gaze, Ran smiled, his body language softening just the slightest.  With that, he hovered over you a sly grin replacing his stoic expression. 
“Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” he asked as he leaned down to brush his lips against your cheek.
You nodded, because well, you were.  Ran was acting… strange.
“O-of course I am,” your face began to grow warm with embarrassment at his proximity, with his long arm now slung over your shoulder.  “I love you Ran, a lot… and I worry about you.  Nonstop,”
You eyed him seriously but in return, all you got was a blank wide-eyed stare.  He appeared to be taken aback, a long 5 seconds ticking by before he regained his composure.
Startled by his sudden change of demeanor, you stepped away from him trying to make sense of the Cheshire grin he wore a hint of rosiness at his cheeks.
He closed the distance almost immediately pulling you back toward him, causing you to voice a complaint.
“Ran what are yo-”
His lips sealing against yours interrupted your rebuttal, his tongue aggressively swiping toward the back of your throat as if he were trying to swallow you whole.
You relaxed into the sloppy kiss your fists bunching into the fabric of his suit jacket as you became intoxicated by his scent.  He must have been drunk, you thought, but you surely didn’t mind the affection that he had been giving you tonight.
When he pulled away from you were out of breath and the surprise was clearly visible on your face.  Ran swiped his thumb across your bottom lip to wipe away the wetness of the kiss before cradling your cheek in his palm.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
“Any updates?”  Detective Vancouver stood passively across from Naota as they conversed outside of RDP.
“Nothing detriment, though I was able to briefly interview Ms.L/N.” Naota looked about at the passing traffic before giving the FBI agent his attention again.  “I’m expecting her to reach out at some point, or perhaps she won’t.  She had some sort of bodyguard with her and he clearly wasn’t going to allow me to ask her any further questions.”
Vancouver arched a brow in interest whilst fumbling around in his coat pocket.  “Bodyguard huh?  For just an ordinary woman?  Interesting.”
“Digging a little bit into her past, I found something interesting.  Nothing to do with the current case, but If I bring it up I’m sure it will make her want to talk a little more.” Naota shrugged, “Or it may send her running for the hills.”
Vancouver scratched the back of his neck before he pulled out a small notebook where he had jotted down some notes of his own.  He initially wasn’t interested in what Naota had suggested about his case, but he did some digging of his own with the help of his own people.
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that she is more than likely tied to Bonten.  From what my team has observed recently, she is likely involved in a relationship with Ran Haitani.  Haitani is keeping his distance from Bonten as of lately, we can’t tie him to any criminal acts but he’s probably running the legit side of the angle.  He was just spotted at one of the banquets that the police commissioner had.”
Naota’s eyes widened in surprise, his thoughts going back to y/n and the “state” she was in.
“That must be why she has a bodyguard… Imagine Kenji Oh locking Ran Haitani’s girlfriend in a holding cell without probable cause.  Do you think he’d be furious enough to kill Oh?”
Vancouver shook his head before putting away his notebook.  “That’s all speculation, there’s no evidence to support any of that.  You have nothing, Tachibana.”
“I’m just thinking out loud, when I do find something you’ll be first to know.”
“Ran is really serious about this-, child?” Ivy seethed, slamming her fist against the top of the bar so hard that it caused the bottles and glasses littered across it to shake momentarily.
Hanma glared at the woman from the corner of his eye from the sofa he was sitting on.  Ivy had found herself again in his club of all places venting her frustrations to him.  He found it rather obnoxious considering he, personally had been trying to keep his distance from Ran and his playing thing to save his own ass.
At least he’d never find out that he was the one who gave Oh his own address.  That ship had sailed long ago and for now, he was safe.  Hanma pinched the bridge of his nose as Ivy began to complain once more from her seat across the room at the bar.
“He even got her pregnant!  She was wearing an engagement ring!  What the fuck happened while I was locked up?  Don’t men believe in loyalty anymore?!”
“Ivy, for christ's sake…shut the fuck up.”  Hanma stood up crossing the empty room located in the upper room of Tantra before slipping behind the bar to fix himself a drink.  “There’s nothing you can do about this, a man wants what he wants and that sure wasn’t you.”
Ivy scowled in return, it seemed as if her resolve was only strengthening.
“I have to do something about this, Ran was mine first.  He still is.”  Ivy watched Hanma as he poured his glass of scotch before tossing the whole glass back.  “Shuji, you have to help me.”
Hanma poured another small glass of scotch tossing a few ice cubes in after.  He narrowed his eyes before he shook his head.
“I’m out, you’re on your own Ivy.”
Ivy smiled sardonically, before leaning across the bar. 
“Come on Shuji, for old-time sake.  You know I’ll make it worth your while.”
By day three of your stay in the hotel, you awoke groggily on the king-sized mattress resting comfortably on your back.  You could feel the weight of Ran’s face resting on your shoulder a heavy limb thrown across and over your belly.
This was the longest that the two of you had spent with one another without Ran disappearing to do who knows what in the middle of the night.  It was comforting to wake up in the large suite with him next to you.
He was still fast asleep, his soft breathing humming against your ear as you tried to pull yourself upright.  Ran shifted momentarily readjusting his arm only to pull you closer to him and wrap you in his long limbs.
The room was dim due to the heavy drapes being drawn but you were certain it was well past noon as your stomach had begun to growl waking you up from your slumber.
“Ran,” your voice was scratchy and heavy with sleep.  Placing a soft kiss on Ran’s jaw, you watched as he shifted beside you tucking you underneath him.
“Mmm, what’s wrong?” He asked, lazily lifting his head eyes still sealed closed as if he were too tired to open them.
“It’s time for breakfast, I think.” You gave him another kiss and he unfolded his arms around you before sitting up to swing his long legs over the side of the mattress. 
He sat upright for a moment or two rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he reached for the hotel phone and held it up to his ear.  He was ordering room service.  This had become a daily ritual for the late mornings that the two of you shared over the last few days.
After putting in the order, he glanced down at the clock.  It was only a few minutes after nine, the two of you didn’t overdo it too badly today.
You watched Ran as he stood up admiring the way his muscles tightened and flexed together as if synchronized while he stretched to chase away the stiffness in his body then observed him as he slowly walked into the bathroom.
It had been three days.  Three days that you haven’t opened your mouth about the blonde woman at the banquet the other night.  Feeling as if it would put a damper on the time, you two were spending with one another, you hesitated to bring it up.
The question had been eating away at you the entire time, no matter how much Ran touched and fussed over you the question just seemed to pop up at the most inappropriate times.  You really needed to know, you wanted to know.
You held your tongue for about an hour.  Once the two of you had eaten breakfast and ended up lying in bed wrapped in each other’s arms.  Ran sat up abruptly and pulled your legs into his lap before running his hands over the bottoms of your feet. 
Your calves tensed and then relaxed when you realized he was just massaging your bare feet, something that he found himself doing ever since he found out you were pregnant.  He seemed to be distracted enough, running his hands over your smooth skin and rubbing out the would-be knots in the arches of your feet.
The television was on in the background, but it was muted while he worked on you his glance finding the screen every now and then.
“Ran,” you mumbled, leaning against the pillow propped up behind your back.
He hummed an acknowledgment, giving you a quick glance before his attention went back to your legs and calves.
“Who was the blonde the other night? An old girlfriend?” you asked the question thoughtfully, you weren’t upset and hoped he didn’t think you were. 
His hands stiffened briefly before he began to knead the back of your calves not really bothering you to spare a glance.
“If I told you no, would that make you feel better?” he asked flatly.
Pursing your lips you leaned towards him squeezing his bicep.
“I’m just curious, you didn’t seem to like her very much… but she was obviously still into you.”
He sighed under his breath turning his eyes on you, the hands that were rubbing your calves now carefully squeezing at your thighs.
“She wasn’t my girl or anything, just someone I used to fuck around with.”  His eyes dropped from yours down to the curve of your lips before making eye contact with you once more.  “Often.”
Raising your brows in surprise you reclined against your pillow swallowing down any other questions.  He was being relatively honest, that was all you were asking for.  Progress.
“Okay.” You shrugged, pulling your legs underneath and flashing him a faint smile.
Ran sat up arching a brow in confusion, he wasn’t expecting you to not question him further.
“That’s it?” he asked incredulously.
Blinking in surprise, you smiled laughing a bit under your breath, “Yes, why?”
“You don’t want to know anything else?”
“Is there anything else I should know?” Canting your head off to the side you eyed him suspiciously.
“No.  Just… make sure you let me know if she ever approaches you, hm?” Running a hand through his hair he shook his head as if he were uncertain about his next words.  “If she goes out of her way, to make contact with you, you tell me immediately.”
Nodding hesitantly, you agreed.   He seemed adamant about staying away from her.  She was probably dangerous; she was a member of Bonten.
“Now,” Ran’s voice brought you out of your thoughts, both of his hands latching around your ankles.  He began to pull you across the length of the mattress throwing your legs over his own.  “Come and sit on my face for a bit, I’m starving.”
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You know what? We're running with this plot bunny. Fairy Light AU! Here we go.
How it starts is roughly a month after the move, Cholé has been doing everything her egg donor of a mother has told her to do in a last mad effort to gain her approval, but she's breaking under all the pressure, wondering if this why Zoé had so little of a personality, cause Audery had striped it away via years of intense scrutiny so that when she finally rebelled all she had left was acting and wanting to be good.
Cholé had just finished yet another task for Audrey and went to confirm that it was done just as asked, only for Audrey to declare it as "horrible, utterly horrible." And for her to start again from the very beginning. This starts a fight between the two of them that ends with a rather thunderous "NO!" from Cholé as she ends up releasing most of all the pent magic in her system as a burst of lightning.
This burst only knocks out Audrey, but everything else is far less lucky as nearly a quarter of London has their breakers trip from the sudden surge. Cholè, thinking she had just killed her mother as Audrey is laying on the ground motionless (she doesn't notice that she's still breathing thanks to all the packing she's doing.), runs out the building and just keeps running.
Cut to two weeks later, Cholé has been practically living on the streets, renting a tiny studio apartment (think the size of judy's apartment from zootopia A.K.A. a f*#%ing shoebox) and has been running herself ragged hiding from police, even though they have no idea to be looking for her cause Audrey never bothered to report her as missing cause she thinks that Cholé will return on her own, just like so many models came crawling back to her when they couldn't break into the industry with other fashion workers.
It's during the second week that Cholé sees Lord Winter and Firebug in person for the first time. She mainly stays hidden in a nearby alleyway, watching the heros take the villain of the week, with her wanting to both run again and join in, the want to be a hero painful in her heart. They remind her so much of Ladybug and Chat Noir, yet couldn't be more different. Lord Winter takes charge while Firebug follows, yet both keep each other's backs the whole fight.
It's not until after the fight that something happens. While Lord Winter and Firebug are distracted with their own "job done" fist bump, one of the goons manages to stand up without being noticed and is about to sucker punch one of them is when Cholé acts, or rather her instincts kick in. Before she can even fully realize what she's doing, she gives the goon a lightning charged shoulder tackle clean through the wall of a nearby building.
Lord Winter and Firebug feel a rush of wind behind them, followed swiftly by the sound of a brick wall collapsing. They look just in time to see someone or something charged with lightning come running out of the building at breakneck pace  and disappear into the alleyways. While they're checking the building out, Cholé has made it all the way back to her apartment and is mildly freaking over her using her powers again, even of did save someone.
She saved someone… she was a hero again for but a brief moment… maybe she could… no, that was ridiculous,utterly ridiculous… but maybe…
Maybe she could be a hero again…maybe if she did, Ladybug might forgive her, even if it was years down the road… maybe… maybe she'd be able to see Pollen again…
Cholé made up her mind. She'd be a hero again, one that Pollen would be proud of. But first she needed a hero name for this new hero. All the heros in Paris had animal based names, but Lord Winter and Firebug had a far more fantastical feel to them, almost like they had just stepped out of a fairytale. Hmm… fairytales and lightning… fairy…light…that's it!
Fairy Light smiled to herself, for the first time since she had lost Pollen, she saw a path forward, towards a brighter future for once.
HELL YEAH HELL YEAH HELL YEAH
Side note: Bridgette's Hero Name is Lady Firefly!
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wiredaughter · 6 months
Text
@tropetember #20: horror
Doll Parts
outlast × mother gooseberry/ofc × dracula's castle inspired × frankenstrein boogaloo × 1038 words × ao3
Life is painful as it breaks through this body in waves of electricity and heat, but not more than usual. It shocks its nerves alive, making me grind these teeth and finally, open these eyes. My eyes, I figure I'm alive enough to call them mine by now. I risk a look around, in time to see a figure disappear to the right of the table I'm strapped to. I curse silently, stop when I realise my vision is perfect again. About a week ago I got a metal rod through my left eye, and my donor had such astigmatism it was quite useless. Well, not anymore. Rather vainly, I wonder if she managed to match the colour this time. I'm cold, now that the current isn't running through me, but I'm always bare in this table so that's nothing new. I take the chance to stare myself down, take account of what is mine and what will be from now on.
My breath is shallow, fighting its way through my trachea and I can still feel the wolf closing its jaws around it, so I've probably got stitches. Stitches, like I care. By now I'm just like an used voodoo doll. Wrapped in sickly pale skin like old books. My mood is always in the gallows after a resurrection, and realising I've lost two fingers doesn't help. My new pointer finger doesn't quite fit my usual fist, and when I raise my hand as high as I can to examine it I see its complexion is also a bit of a miss. It's almost as long as my reconstructed middle finger that, while glaringly not mine, looks somewhat better since I only lost from the intermediate phalanx up. Lost. As if, I didn't lose shit, it got torn by the wolfs on steroids she keeps around the castle. Because she's not letting me leave. The though has me instinctively trying to break off my restrains, she's got no right to keep me here.
I drowned, first. Dove off through my window and tried to make it for the shore. It was still winter, and I knew I was dead as soon as I hit the water. It was a reassuring thought, if I died then she'd never get me, and the ultimate victory was mine. Right. She said it was good I did it, the cold helped keep the body in conditions while she figured out the science. Science, or curse, that keeps me waking up to the electric charge, laid out like a slab of meat in display. At first, I despised everything about it, but now I don't think I mind. Deadset as she is on bringing me back, there's no way I don't eventually get to escape. I wonder if she realises she's only making me smarter, stronger, more resistant to the pain every time I draw my newest first breath. A month ago I couldn't even make it out of the castle, now I've got out and into the forest before I lost. Who could have known about the wolves, I mean, you'd think they'd go for easier prey. I raise my hand to my face, an ugly thought fighting for my attention, run my fingertips along my skin. If she gave me a new eye it means I needed a new eye. Which means the beasts probably ate the old one, straight from my face. My breath catches when I find the sutures running down my cheek. I calm myself down, I've seen her work and she's a veritable restorer. When I blew up the main doors and got a piece of debris to my jaw so hard it dislocated, she fixed it so well you can only see the scar if you get close. And nobody gets close but her.
And she comes closer, now that I'm no longer struggling, clothes in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Rather than letting me up she raises it to my lips, and I drink. I didn't notice I was shivering until now, hot liquid putting how cold I truly am in perspective. Not for long, though, as she frees me and helps me stand. My legs feel decayed, whether from the pure adrenaline run that lead to my dead or the electricity beats me. She doesn't mind as I lean on her for support, and I don't mind playing along. She hands me the tea and I finish it in long gulps but stay silent as she dresses me, hands covering every inch of the body she's remade for me, voice fussing about something I cannot care to hear. As usual, I kick the shoes away, and as usual she allows that.
The floor is so cold in my feet I find myself regretting that as we walk to her chambers to finish our tea, and as soon as we're seated I fold my legs to burrow them into the folds of her skirt. She looks smug at that, but I focus on my tea. She reaches for my left hand, traces the stitches, 'So you've met the wolves last night. Let me be clear, I suggest you stay off the woods in the future.'
'Does that mean you're calling me a carriage?'
'Now, why would I do that?'
Her smile is warm and she's passing me the sandwich tray but I'm nothing if not difficult. I turn my nose up at the offer. 'I want scones.'
'Last time you wanted finger sandwiches.' Her voice is patient, and gets me to pick up one. I examine it. 'You could at least try it.'
'Last time I hadn't had my face half eaten in the wilderness.' I toss the sandwich over my shoulder, fix her in a curious look. It's her move now. Undeterred, she pours me more tea, so I continue. 'Did you go out to find me or did you send the help?'
'Listen...'
'You know, I'm getting out of here, sooner than later.'
She closes her knees, trapping my feet between her thighs and I put up my token struggle as she leans in with a complacent smile. 'Later, rather than sooner if you keep skipping meals.'
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KeyMates Snippet: Sophie Sees The Future Sometimes
A fundraising gala. To promote more psychic research.
Sophie would like to say that she was brought in to be an inspiration. A person who was helped by the studies and findings of the Lady Gilmouth Institute of Extrasensory Perception. Because she truly did appreciate what they had done so far. She might not be alive if they hadn’t been there.
But she also wasn’t a fool. They needed money from rich donors. And rich donors wanted interesting things to look at and coo over. So for tonight, Sophie was playing the part of a walking lab rat, dolled up in a dress that poofed up at the skirt, and her hair pulled straight up.
“It’s getting late.” Sanchez, her file handler, noted as they did another circuit of the room, “Sure you don’t want to get to bed now? We can take care of these folks for now.”
“I’m sure.” Sophie agreed, fighting back the urge to yawn. Sanchez relaxed a little. She knew their paycheck was reliant on this going well, and their most visibly powerful psychic disappearing an hour into the event did not classify as ‘going well’.
A man walked up to them, sharp suit, bright tie, and even brighter cufflinks. Were those diamonds?
“Ah, you’re the new feather in Old Liggy’s cap, aren’t you?” He asked, eager but not rude. He carried himself with too much confidence to be rude. And he must be a longtime benefactor too, if he was using the LGIESP’s long-suffering nickname.
Sophie nodded, giving him a soft smile, “I’m Sophie Carmichael.” She introduced herself.
“John Ruth.” He returned, holding his hand out for a shake. Sophie didn’t take it, letting the moment hang between them. An icy glint solidified in his eyes.
“I don’t- I don’t shake hands.” She murmured.
“Sophie…” Sanchez murmured behind her, disappointed. That was all the prompting she needed to raise her hand accordingly. Bracing for the hit before it even came. Touch itself was never something she was opposed to. She enjoyed human contact. It was what came after the scrape of skin and skin, warmth seeping in from a living outside force that she dreaded.
Sophie was no longer in the ballroom. She was outside. In the midday sun. Surrounded by flakes of snow. John Ruth was still standing in front of her, but he was no longer looking at her. He was looking at something behind her feet. Right through her. With a look of grief that she wished she had never had to witness before.
She turned to follow his gaze, almost unsurprised to see the boy lying on the road in front of the distraught man. There was a bloody gash peeking through his curly brown hair, and tire marks on his clothes. His chest was not rising. She knew he was dead. Just as she knew by the blood splattered across the man’s suit that it had happened in front of John Ruth.
Then the handshake was over, and they were stepping away, back inside the ballroom. Because for all rights and purposes, Sophie had never even left. Still, she took sharp breaths, trying to distract herself.
“Papa!” The sharp trill of a young boy called from across the ballroom, frightfully loud amongst the quiet mutterings of the rest of the party. A boy of about age ten dashed over to them, practically vibrating from excitement as he tried to sweep his curly brown hair back into the gelled style a nanny must have made for him, “Papa! They have a chocolate fountain with the marshmallows!”
John Ruth laughed, and turned to follow him, all thoughts of Sophie out of his mind.
Judging by how he looked, Ruth the junior had five more years left. Sophie hoped they used it well. If that was to be the worst moment in John Ruth’s life… she hoped that he made enough good ones to make up for it.
Even if he had been a bit of a prick to her.
--
Sophie's true power is being able to see the worst moment in someone's life. Whether past or future, when making skin contact with that person. Also the force field powers. She has those too.
To those not in the know, keymates is a web serial of two psychics with a mindlink in a QPR. There's a bunch of content for it already on this blog (its most of what this blog is dedicated to), but full arcs will begin being put out during October. Hope you check it out :)
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executiioner · 8 months
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[ DEFEND ]
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SHE HAD A HABIT OF MAKING FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES. she wasnt particularly friendly, usually wasnt looking to be buddies with the creatures that went bump in the night. on paper, it would be a conflict of interest. but the government didnt like to document what she did for them on paper, not without a black sharpie near by. her relationship with lestat started mutually beneficial. he was a resource to hunt down naughty monsters who didnt clean up their messes and she was the necromancer in his back pocket should he ever need to call in a favor. two strategists adding pieces to their board.
well, his first favor came in the form of a soirée and dangerous fanged visitors from across the pond.
the venue was decorated to match lestats expensive tastes and deep pockets. everything was impeccably refined down to the crystal glasses and fine table cloths. there were only twenty esteemed guests and the others were walking blood donors in cocktail dresses and bowties. as far as she could tell, they were volunteers desperate for the high that came with being dinner. while it left a bad taste in her mouth— not her circus, not her monkeys.
anita raised a glass to her lips, idly sipping her wine as she watched the room. classical music played behind the chatter, muddling conversations together but thats not why she was here. she clocked the visiting vampires the moment they got within a mile of the building. they were fucking old, oozing with power that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. it was like being in a room knowing three people had bombs strapped to their chests.
" now what is a beautiful woman doing all the way over here? "
she almost jumped at the sudden presence next to her, forcing herself to remain calm despite the rapid pace of her heart. she hadnt even felt the man near until he was right next to her, too distracted by the amount of raw power around her. by the look of his smile spreading across his handsome face, he knew it too. it was suffocating having him so close while forcing her magic to remain trapped in its cage. they didnt want to play their hand too soon but she was regretting letting lestat pick out her outfit. maybe she could stick her siletto into the mans eye—
" not a social person. just here to be polite. "
" i never thought americans were very polite, " the vampire stepped closer toward her, invading her space to trap her between his body and the wall. she didnt flinch, meeting his gaze with an intense one of her own. her hand tightened on her glass, her magic hummed under her skin. " especially those who show up where they dont belong, witch. "
she could feel the pull of his power as he gazed into her eyes, attempting to slide past her defenses. she tried to close the door on him, shove him out but it felt like pressing her body against the door with a tornado on the other side. he wasnt fucking around. he wanted in and he was prepared to rip apart her mind piece by piece to do it.
" monsieur, " a stern voice broke through, a familiar lithe body moving between her and the other vampire. his tone was curt but not rude, toeing the line between insult and distraction. whatever the man was doing had disappeared when he looked at lestat. the necromancer finally felt like she could breathe, taking in a quiet inhales as her empty hand moved to rest on lestats lower back. a quiet gratitude while touching something familiar to compose herself. death knew him, seeping through her touch to feed him its power against its new adversary.
it fed lestats mind images of what lied inside the other vampires, the desire to consume the 'witch' and break her like he had done centuries before on the back of the spanish inquisition. along with his deep seated jealous hatred for the infamous vampire lestat. it was a smart move to play welcoming committee, observe the board to make calculated moves on their own terms.
yet the king and his knight found themselves trapped in a game with an enemy neither knew they had.
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sur-un-fil · 2 years
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Ink demonth 2022 - Prison
How did Joey deal with the problem of Sammy being corrupted by the ink?
Chapter 11: 1946
"Sammy?"
The iron curtain remained closed and all Joey could hear was the thick, vaguely threatening silence that reigned in the deserted recording room. He sighed.
"I know you're here. I want to help you. "
He found it a little difficult to keep a calm tone, as this sudden burst of murderous madness could have had disastrous consequences at a time when the Studio was going through a slightly complicated period. Fortunately, he'd realised this early the next day, as he often hired as early as six in the morning to work quietly, so he'd been able to deal with the problem before anyone came across the bodies. He would have to silence the few witnesses who had managed to escape, yes, but one thing at time.
"Please, Sammy. I'd like us to talk about this. Will you let me in?"
But the musician was playing dead. 'Probably he really is now,' Joey thought absently as he continued to pound on the door of his sanctuary, calling out to him in a voice that sounded worried. Contact with the ink was deadly. The musician - who would never play music again - had been the only one exposed to it without first being sacrificed and then subjected to the machine. He had probably been slowly eaten alive, limb by limb, seeing himself changed in horror without knowing how to stop the corruption. As well as losing his mind, and begun to worship Bendy to the point of sacrificing people to him as some believers sacrifice sheep.
After two minutes, he began to toy with the idea of asking Caym to force his way in, pressed for time, when the curtain finally rose with a sound of crumpling metal. Joey was safe, and he already knew what he looked like from the surveillance tapes, yet he flinched slightly as Sammy emerged from the entrance full of musical instruments. He pursed his lips in disgust at the mess. Since his disappearance, Sammy had had to continue consuming ink and he had ended up completely transformed by it. He was unrecognizable now, without his fine features, his clear eyes and his blond hair. All that remained of him was an inky black body, with stained clothes and a smooth face. Unfortunately, it was impossible to save him. Joey had done enough research to know that the ravages of the ink were permanent. So because of a silly accident, he was losing an excellent department head, as well as having another problem.
"Back off, Joey! You mustn't come near me. I... I don't know how long I'll be conscious. The Voice..."
'A flash of insight? Good.'
"It's all right, Sammy. I'm here to help you. We're going to fix it."
The ink man shook his head.
"I don't think we can fix anything. I've... God, I killed people yesterday."
"I know. But I cleaned it up myself, no one will find out."
"You clea... You took that risk?"
"It seems to surprise you, but yes, of course. How long have we known each other? Fifteen years? I know you're not a killer. I had to help you, that's what friends are for, right?"
Yes, he'd known that from the start. Sammy didn't have broad enough shoulders to accept getting his hands dirty like he did, and the fact that he was freaking out like this only reinforced his point. It was a good thing he hadn't included him in his grand plan, and he'd never told him what he was really doing with the machine and all those donors that had to be replaced all the time.
"Come on. You're probably scared, but trust me. I know how to heal you. Everything will go back to the way it was. You can forget this nightmare and go back to your music, we just have to go together to the ink machine."
'To Caym's summoning pentacle, to be precise.'
"Yes, I wish... I wish it would stop. I don't want to hear the Voice in my head anymore, Joey! And I don't ever want to have to do what it tells me to do."
"Follow me, and you'll be free of it, I promise," he replied, holding back a skeptical grimace. How easy it was to blame someone else, imaginary or not, for the horror of some of our actions. Sammy probably didn't want to face what he had done.
They almost ran to the locked shed that contained the ink machine, while Sammy cried, his hand crushed over his lipless mouth. Joey was too busy making sure they didn't meet anyone to really pay attention, and he didn't see him as a man anymore anyway. What he was dragging around by the wrist was no longer the quiet, loyal supporter who had listened to him so often, nor the talented composer he had trusted. He was just a shadow, an imprint. One more donor to the machine.
Joey unlocked the heavy wooden door, the one to which only he and Thomas had the key, and pushed Sammy inside. He stepped in behind him, and relaxed as soon as the door was closed.
Ignoring his worried questions, he walked over to the machine. Beneath it, invisible to the others, was drawn in animal blood the great summoning circle that linked Caym to this dimension. This was the easiest place to make contact with him and the place where the demon had the most power. Joey placed his hand on the cold metal of the machine, and immediately felt a small shock in his chest. He didn't need to call out to know that Caym was paying attention. He addressed him in a loud voice.
"Get rid of him. He is no use to me anymore."
The answer crept painfully into his head like the start of a migraine.
'I can lock him in the Studio, and make sure no one knows he's there. He won't be seen or heard. But on one condition.'
Joey hadn't expected the demon to do him a favor without taking advantage of it. He lifted his chin.
"What's that?"
'You'll keep hearing his screams.'
Joey shrugged without glancing at Sammy, whose black tear-filled eye sockets had widened.
"Okay."
The machine turned on of its own accord, and a thick spurt of ink shot out of the big main pipe, forming a shimmering wave as tall as a man that shot past Joey and towards Sammy. The ex-musician shrieked in terror, holding his hands out in front of him to protect himself, and begged for help. Joey stood still and watched as the wave washed over Sammy and engulfed him in an instant, cutting off his voice. The silence fell abruptly. The wave reformed and slowly returned to the machine with the caution of a sated boa. Then it crashed into the metal and disappeared as if it had never existed. Joey sighed. Problem solved.
"Now, let's see what we can do with the witnesses..."
NEXT
PREVIOUS
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komorebi-art-blog · 1 year
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Pt. 1
It's going to be a long post. As always, the second mother @koyato
Briefly about AU. Basically it's "66 didn't happen", but we went a little further. The story consists of three stages: Pale Sky, Rainy Season and Endless Meadow. AU is not only about clones, but the story begins with them and follows them, especially in the first two parts. Pale Sky tells about the Clone Wars and how the Empire fell before it was born. Rainy Season tells about the attempt of clones and other creatures to survive the crisis and find their place in a galaxy that has changed forever. And Endless Meadow tells about a newfound home and a new chapter of history.
Warning, next comes an unfiltered mix of headcannons and canonical rumors, keep in mind that this is just an AU. And there's a lot of cruelty, no graphic descriptions, just depression.
Tet, a defective clone.
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It all started with the eyes. To begin with, I don't believe that all clones are identical. It's almost physically impossible. Firstly, genetics is still incredibly complex and unpredictable. Secondly, Kaminoans are never 100% satisfied with their work, they are always trying to achieve perfection. And to achieve perfection, you need to make at least small changes, which can lead to mistakes. And thirdly, we know from the Clone Wars that they literally have no choice, without a pure donor, DNA is gradually becoming unstable, they need to make risky changes. But that's not the bad part.
We know how Kaminoans treat clones. They are their product, a product that must be perfect and meet the standards.
From the Legends, we know what happens to "defective" clones. "They disappeared mysteriously in the late hours of the night and were never seen again." They were terminated. This can only apply to clones with real physical disabilities, and not little things like a different color of hair or eyes. But in fact, for Kaminoans, these are not little things.
Kaminoan society is built on a strict caste system, and the position in society is determined by the color of the eyes. No matter who you are, you will always be in your place, like a cog in the mechanism of the city. Because if you're not in your place, the city will collapse into the ocean, burying everyone with you. This is why Kaminoans with green eyes shouldn't exist. The green color is considered as a mutation, and the very existence of Kaminoans with such eyes is unacceptable. Because deviations are dangerous.
Isn't a different eye color in clones an equally unacceptable deviation? Eugenics is literally burned into the Kaminoan subcortex. Why should there be other standards for clones?
However, I don't think that clones with deviations were necessarily killed. They are expensive to produce, and practical Kaminoans will do anything to benefit from their mistake. Drugs, modifications, experimental methods of training and brainwashing can be tested on defective clones. They are a very good resource of organs for transplantation. And it is very convenient to make suicide soldiers out of them. They simply won't live long enough to become a problem, but they will have time to benefit.
One of these soldiers was Tet. CT-1917 at that time. He is not from the first, but from one of the early generations over which the Kaminoans had complete control before the arrival of the Jedi. And he wasn't supposed to survive. His bright, almost glowing blue eyes didn't give him a chance at a normal clone life, if you can call it normal. He grew up like a lab rat, surrounded by sterile walls, buzzing appliances and the smell of medicines. As a child, he was almost isolated from his brothers, which did not help with his mental health. Countless physiological and mental tests, continuous training, experiments with drugs. Not bad enough to drive him crazy, enough to cause deep-seated horror. From early childhood, he began to squint his eyes. Only with a helmet on, he can open them completely without panic. He grew up with terrible anxiety because he had to work three times harder than an ordinary clone just to get a chance to survive. He has learned to stand at attention even when no one is looking. He learned to be loyal to the Republic because of which he went through all this. He learned to lie. Just to have a chance to break out of Kamino.
And he did it. He brought his grades to perfection. He was able to get into a group of defective clones like him, training under the paratrooper program to become cannon fodder in white armor and clear the way for real soldiers. Clones like them won't survive their first mission. But a quick death on the battlefield is better than being disassembled alive for organs. And it's still a chance.
He survived. He was picked up by the paratroopers of the 212 battalion, whom he soon joined thanks to Commander Cody. He was slowly getting used to the company of his brothers and life in GAR, so different from Kamino. He even got a name and a tattoo. But terrible fear and paranoia were destroying his life faster than it was being built.
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writingrose29 · 2 years
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Déjà vu
Pairings: Steven Grant x Reader
Summary:  When, by a curious twist of fate, two roads converge once more.
AN: This is a sequel to Strangers as well as a companion piece to Ch 3 of Two Birds, another glimpse into Steven’s mind before switching POVs. Post- Moon Knight Canon
Word Count:  3475
Prequel: Strangers Masterlist
Ao3
Two Birds Masterlist
It was difficult at times, for both of them. Trying to find a balance to avoid shutting the other out of the world, especially after reeling from the events of Cairo. While they have found a type of acceptance with each other, it did not mean coexisting was easy, especially after returning to London. Marc did what he felt was right when it came to making amends, managing to get Steven his job back at the gift shop at the National Art Gallery. How he managed to pull that off, Steven wasn’t sure, but the surprise was pleasant and made his heart swell. It didn’t stop either of them from looking for another job, however, for neither of them wished to deal with Donna nor to be stucking hearing her when co-fronting.
For now they created a schedule that worked for them both, with Steven fronting for mornings, throughout work, and for an extra hour afterwards while Marc decided to front all day during the weekends and the remaining time. Despite this, Steven noticed that Marc seemed to prefer staying in the backseat, even during his time. He tried bringing this up, his fear of Marc retreating within himself growing, yet was turned down everytime.
He was still worried though.
When the divorce papers were finalized it hit both of them, but Steven knew that it hit Marc the hardest. While Steven was saddened, he understood her perspective. So much had changed and so much was revealed, at the end they were two different people on two different paths. The lies and secrets had cut too deep to be fixed. Despite her promise of them remaining friends, his heart still stung in pain.
Marc, however, disappeared. For over a month it was as if Steven was back to his old life. The life with Gus and his phone calls to his mum. The silence was far louder and harsher when Marc vanished, as if he never existed in the first place. It worried and unsettled him more than he would admit, terrified him to his very core.
He came back without a hint or sign, acting as if nothing ever happened. Steven tried to breach the topic, he was worried for him after all, yet Marc refused. Instead he denied and shut him down rather quickly and was bullheaded to stay like that so Steven relented. Though he made sure to keep a closer eye on him, to make sure he knew that he was there for him if and when he was ready to talk.
They lived their life in a routine, something that brought comfort in their life. The only oddity being the occasional odd bruises and sore muscles that Steven and Marc would wake up too. Then there would be times were minor injuries that had occured throughout the day would be absent the next morning, leading to both men to wonder if they even existed in the first place. For a brief moment their minds would flash back to Cairo, the random blackouts they both claimed to experience at the same time, but Steven would shake it off. He never lost track of the days, not like with Marc, so it surely was just a restless sleep. He could tell Marc believed more was to it, the wary look in his eyes whenever Steven caught him in a reflection, yet he said nothing. If he was suspicious then he kept his ideas to himself.
His routine at work, however, was disrupted suddenly on Monday. It was that morning when billionaire philanthropist, scientist, and inventor: Sir. Percival Beaumont passed away, something that Steven seemed unable to escape from. It was covered on the news, every single news channel, as well as the radio. For a man of such well renowned, neither him nor Marc heard of him. Even his work wasn’t safe from the news, however it made some sense as it seemed he was a rather large donor to the gallery.
A tragedy was what people were saying, a bright soul gone too soon. Steven couldn’t argue against that, dying from heart failure at sixty five did seem sudden. Not out of the ordinary, but shocking.
“His poor family,” he had muttered under his breath as he listened to the broadcast once again discussing it, briefly catching the mention of his adoptive children.
Yeah Marc agreed.
On Wednesday it was decided that the Gallery was going to put on a display in honor of the man. Despite the mournful reason for this, Steven did feel a bubble of excitement as it meant the Egyptian section will be front and center once again. Apparently Mr. Beaumont was also a lover of Ancient Egypt.
He had offered his help to Donna, only on the chance that she may relent. She did not, in fact she was as rude and dismissive as usual.
It reminded him to place job hunting higher on his priority list.
That was how he found himself sitting alone on some bench at the park (another area that benefited from Mr. Beaumont’s gracious donations), eating a vegan wrap all while occasionally muttering his irritation to his one constant companion during his lunch break.
“ ‘Stick behind the counter Stevie’, 'Just focus on the job you had lost once before Stevie’ Oh bollocks. Rich coming from someone who didn’t even know the correct number of the Enneads.”
Which is why I’m telling you to apply for that University job Steven
“But what if I’m under qualified? Blimey what am I saying, of course I’m bloody under qualified.”
Marc scoffed, rolling his eyes in the reflection of the cup of water resting on the arm rest of the bench. You are just as knowledgeable, fuck even more knowledgeable than anyone else with a degree. Just try.
Steven sighed, taking another bite of the wrap. Perhaps Marc had a point, but it doesn’t mean that they would see it the same way.
He glanced at the dreary grey sky, the cool wind dancing across his skin. As he went to take a sip of his water, his eyes were quickly drawn to a figure standing several meters away. How could he not, as she seemed to be a beacon of color in the grey afternoon. Even from where he sat, he could see the vibrant coloring of her clothes, making her stick out like a sore thumb in their surroundings. He was not the only one staring, for it was an odd scene to be met with. While some would call the outfit attention seeking, Steven felt that the bright warm colors were a welcoming sight to behold, a break from the dreary London scene that he was presented with today. Her attention seemed to focus on the statue that he had passed several times while walking through this park on different days. It was a gift from the city to Mr. Beaumont, a formal thank you for his donation. Though the bust of his head was now frequent with bouquets of flowers.
The strangely dressed woman seemed to tense up, her head tilting to the side before turning around. Her eyes met his, causing him to quickly avert his gaze back to his water and to be greeted with Marc smirking at him while shaking his head.
Nice one
He glared at his cup, his face burning slightly. He didn’t mean to stare, god what if that poor woman thought he was a creep? Not that he could blame her.
“Hello,” a voice spoke out. Hesitantly he glanced up, mortified to see the strangely dressed woman now standing in front of him. Her hair was a mass of wild curls ranging from ringlets to loose waves, appearing tangled and windblown. Dark bags rested under her slightly bloodshot eyes, the darkness popping in comparison to the vibrant pink and reds she wore.
“Hullo,” he said, “I uh,” quickly he cleared his throat, “I didn’t mean to stare at you. It is just…”
She waved off his concern, “It’s fine,” she took a drink of her smoothie, a bright orange color, “Can I sit here?”
Steven gaped at her before nodding his head, moving over slightly to give her more personal space.
The stranger sat next to him, the smell of roses greeting him. He blinked as he took in the smell. Something about it, that and her alto voice seemed familiar. Like an itch in his brain trying to remind him of something.
He glanced down at Marc, wondering if he was feeling the same only to be greeted with Marc’s pointed stare being directed at the stranger. His body tensed in the reflection, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Have we met before?” The question left his mouth before he could register it. The stranger glanced at him, tilting her head slightly with raised eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, flustered, “It’s just…I could’ve sworn I saw you before. Well, it feels like I have.”
The stranger shrugged, “Maybe. I sometimes travel for the odd job Erik gives me every so often. Or maybe I have one of those faces.”
He found himself disagreeing with her statement. He couldn’t imagine mixing her up with someone else, something about her just screamed at him. Like light to a moth.
He thought of asking if she had ever been to Chicago, something that Marc was demanding. It wouldn’t be too outlandish, considering her American accent.
Instead he let out a nervous chuckle, “Yeah perhaps,” he decided to agree with her, “Sometimes I’m surprised my head’s on straight, though at times I think it is screwed on wrong. Sorry about that.”
“Crowded mind?”
He blinked, his throat feeling dry, “Huh?” Did she know? No, how could she?
The stranger gave him a tiny smile. “Y'know, lot of thoughts.” She tapped her head to make a point.
Steven let out a sigh of relief and nodded, “Yeah, something like that.” He glanced over her, now noticing the strong smell of alcohol that was nearly covered by the smell of roses.
She hummed, “Why I have two jobs. Easier to stay out of your head when you’re too busy to get stuck.”
Steven looked at her wide eyes, ignoring the paranoia coming from Marc, his once again repeated demand to leave. Why he was so incessant he wasn’t sure, she seemed like a perfectly fine person and his lunch break wasn’t up yet.
“Two jobs? Blimey I can’t imagine juggling that,” he almost mentioned that had a hard enough time keeping one nevermind two but decided not to. “Is that why you left the states?”
She shook her head, “Nah. I just do research at the New York’s Natural History Museum plus some work at a school for gifted children somewhat nearby. Gotta pay the rent somehow.”
“Bloody hell. I have always wanted to visit the Natural History Museum,” he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice, “What research do you conduct there? Must be a lot of options huh?”
“Biological anthropology, but sometimes I help out in the archaeology sections if needed. Though the biggest disappointment is the fact the exhibits actually do not come to life at night.”
Steven felt his smile grow, “Disappointing innit. Can’t believe Night of the Museum would lie.”
The woman snorted, “I know right. Complete false advertisement,” she took another sip from her smoothie, “What about you Steven? Where do you work?”
Steven paused, his smiling quickly morphing into a frown. “How did you know my name?” He didn’t tell his name did he? He glanced at his reflection in his cup of water, the worried and unsettled expression Marc wore gave him the confirmation he needed.
She looked at him, pointing to his chest. He followed her finger, his face burning when his eyes met the metal name tag pinned to his shirt.
“Ah,” he rubbed the back of his head, “Yeah that would do it huh?”
She nodded her head, a teasing smile on her face.
He cleared his throat once again and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I, uh, actually work at the National Art Gallery. Funny innit, the two of us in similar areas eh?”
The woman beamed at him, her eyes lighting up. “Are you a tour guide?”
The feeling of embarrassment crept within him. Slowly he shook his head, deflating when she watched the light leave her eyes as if she was disappointed in the news. “Uh, I actually work in the gift shop. A professional gift shopist y'know.”
She hummed, glancing away from him. “Do you enjoy it?”
Steven could only shrug, not sure exactly what to say. “It's…fine,” he decided. It wasn’t like he wanted to spill his irritation about his job to a complete stranger. Especially to someone who seemed to be going through something on her own, judging by the dark bags under her eyes and the smell of alcohol that was almost neatly covered by the scent of roses. “Though we are holding a new exhibit theme for that bloke who just died. Apparently he was a big donor for the arts.”
It seemed his words caught her attention as she stared at him with a new found intensity, her attention fully on him. It was an almost suffocating feeling, and for a brief moment he felt the urge to listen to Marc and to leave as quickly as he could.
“Percival Beaumont? He donated to the Gallery?”
Slowly he nodded his head, “Uh yup. Big donor. Big fan of Ancient Egypt. Must’ve been an interesting bloke.”
She continued to stare at him, it was almost as if he could see the gears turning in her mind. A frown grew on her lips as her face remained puzzled. Slowly she turned away from him, sipping her drink before stretching her arms and legs. He watched in silence as she started to itch the back of her arm, never speaking a word.
Something isn’t right Marc said again, his voice nearly fading away. Give me control or leave.
Steven shook his head, deciding to shove Marc away from his mind. They would talk later, right now he couldn’t handle his constant interjections.
“Is…everything alright?”
His words seemed to pull the woman out of his thoughts. She forced a smile, a smile that Steven easily recognized in Marc, and nodded her head.
“Yeah, just realizing my stay here may end up being longer than I expected.”
“What did bring you across the pond?” She raised her eyebrows at his abrupt question.
“Not that it’s a bad thing or anything,” he quickly added, “It is just. It seems you are dressed for a celebration?”
She wore a sour smile, “Close. A funeral.”
Steven paled, his eyes widening in horror at her words. A funeral? Oh bloody hell he mucked it up now. Quickly he wiped her sweaty palms on his pants.
“I am so sorry,” he sputtered, “I didn’t mean to-”
She shook her head and let out a harsh laugh, “Don’t be, he was a piece of shit. Shit human and shittier father-adoptive…whatever.”
Despite the causality in her tone, he could see the tension growing in her hands. The narrowing of her eyes as she glared at the statue in front of them.
“Are you alright?” He asked gently, “You look like…” he trailed off. How does one tell a stranger that they looked like death?
Her smile grew, “like shit?”
He winced at her words but nodded nonetheless.
When she sobered up she shrugged. “I’m not sure anymore. Never have been that great with discussing and identifying emotions more complex than the basics.”
He watched with a slack jaw as she popped open the plastic lid of her cup, took out a flask from her purse, and dumped what smelled like vodka into her drink before resealing it.
She took a large sip, her nose scrunching slightly and shaking her head.
Steven felt confident in thinking she was not fine, not at all.
“Uh,” she waved her tall cup, “Pregaming the shitshow and nursing a hangover. Our family reunions rarely go well so…Prost!” She took another long sip.
He just stared at her in concern, his mind quickly thinking back to Marc before turning towards her.
“I guess I thought I would be happier, I mean…” she frowned, taking a long sip, “At first I thought it was bullshit, the man didn’t seem like he had enough humanity in him to kick the bucket, but…” she sighed, rubbing her cheek, “And now I’m here, procrastinating. Not sure if I have the energy to deal with my siblings bullshit…”
“I would reckon it is okay to feel conflicted over it all,” he said slowly, placing a comforting hand over her free palm. “Not one right way to grieve the loss of someone who was supposed to care for you or the lost potential of it.” He of all people should know.
She looked at him, a type of stare that made him feel naked. As if she was seeing him, through him, and everything that made him him. The woman placed her drink down and squeezed his hand lightly, “Thank you,” she whispered with a weak smile, “Do you always comfort random strangers who bug you?”
“Sometimes we all need an ear to talk to, yeah?”
She nodded her head, releasing her grasp on him. He felt himself frown at the loss of her warmth.
The stranger went to say something but before she could say anything a familiar tune started playing, causing him to straighten his back slightly.
Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
'Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too-
The woman sighed, unlocking her phone when she saw the caller ID. “Yes?”
She gave him an apologetic smile that did not match the irritation in her eyes
“As well as expected. I gotta say I wasn’t expecting you to call.”
Whatever the person said caused her to stiffen. She stood up, her eyes glancing around the park before her eyes rested on the black limousine that was slowly pulling up across from them. Steven frowned, a nervous feeling settling over him.
“You,” she sputtered, “Have you been tracking my phone?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up slightly as she groaned softly.
“What-”
She pulled the phone away from her ear, gaping at it. “I hate this family,” she muttered as she put her phone back into her pocket.
“Are you alright?” Safe?
She nodded, “Yeah, just my ride’s here. I guess the shitstorm started.” She glanced down at him, his heart quickly speeding up when she sent him a warm smile. “Something tells me we’ll meet again. You’ll be surprised how small the world can be.”
“Is that a promise?” A small part of him hoped she would say yes, that this wouldn’t be some lone meeting to be forgotten in time.
She nodded, “Maybe I’ll need a tour guide,” she mused.
He smiled at her words, at the confidence she had in him, a complete no one.
Her eyes widened, “Oh I almost forgot,” she held out her hand, “I’m Alessandra, forgive the bad manners.”
He shook her hand, enjoying the warmth radiating from her as he tested her name.
“See ya around Steven.”
Alessandra left as suddenly as she had come into his life, taking away the colors with her.
He stood up, tossing the half eaten wrap into the bin as he watched her enter the black limousine to be taken away.
With a sigh he made his way back to the Gallery, back to his routine.
Avoid her Steven Marc voice was back, loudly echoing in his mind and disrupting his thoughts.
Steven scoffed, shaking his head. “What do you know, she seemed perfectly kind,” he muttered under his breath.
Marc snorted, shaking his head. I saw people like her, knew people like her. She’s bad news Steven.
Steven bit his lip, preventing the word vomit from coming out. How he wanted to inform him that she reminded him of someone he knew as well, someone he just happened to share a body with. Yet he didn’t, a small part of him felt that Marc already knew that
I’m just looking out for you Steven.
Steven shook his head, a bubble of irritation growing inside him. Of course it would come back to this conversation.
Steven glared at the store window where Marc stood, his back stiff and jaw clenched. “I’m not a child in need of protection. I can make my own decisions Marc,” he hissed quietly before stalking back to work, refusing to acknowledge his headmate.
Perhaps they still had some work to do when it comes to cohabitation.
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rosalinesmind · 2 months
Text
Coffin Beat
The master's experiments at achieving enlightenment were not going well. He had already achieved immortality, what more could he possibly want? He had heard through his circle of vampire cohorts that if one were to drain a victim or familiar at a certain time of day then one would achieve, for a indeterminate period, enlightenment. Living forever means you're trapped with your thoughts most of the time and achieving enlightenment would bring the master a sense of piece whilst his body lived forever.
That at least, what was his 14 missed calls on my cell phone were leading me to believe. We have a precarious understanding where I know my role as a familiar (willing food in some circles, housekeeper in other, slave and coffin bait in the less understanding smear circles). So if I'm using my off hours to pursue my own passions, such as entertaining guests like I am tonight in tonight's basement movie viewing, the master knows to keep his distance, unless he'd uncovered a new theory and wanted to try it out.
Being willing donor to a vampire isn't much different than donating blood, except for the part where I enjoy it. The wrist, ankle, and neck were all familiar entry points for donation but the master tended to bring the experiments to feeding as well. We'd tried the back of the knee, the inner arm, anywhere where one could affix his mouth and achieve suction. If I was in a bratty mood and wanted to tip the delicate scales of our relationship I would request the femoral artery. The master's long tongue made exploring around that area quite pleasurable for me. As well as the sensation made the after pain more bearable.
14 missed called and a few indecipherable texts (we were still working that out). I borrowed some ashen toilet paper from a guest (another guest's cat had been chewing on the other roll) and moved to the bathroom to multitask. Familiar still have all the human normal body functions and the necessary evacuations that come with them.
"Master." I said into the phone, trying my best to sound patient. He'd interrupted the best part of the classic slasher movie we'd been watching."
"I have it, Darlie" he breathed into the phone. My colleagues say that the experiment must take place as the sun's rays begin to peak above the horizon. That way when my mind begins to shut down it will achieve a higher sense of awareness unlike anything we've ever experienced." I knew the "we" he was referring to didn't include me. Whatever our symbiotic relationship was, it did not include him seeing me as an equal among his kind.
"I'll be right up," I said glancing back into the basement. We're almost finished here". The guests had been disappearing one by one as the evening wore on, but the hypnotic effect of watching a horror movie and the level of deceiver enchantment I had placed upon the basement (hey, being a familiar has some perks), that the guests hadn't noticed. The ghouls had been in a feeding frenzy lately and had been taking the guests more frequently to their underground cells for disfigurement at a rapid clip this evening.
"Bring one of them with you," the master hissed into the phone, "Preferably a young male, in case I need more pints." "Of course," I said, and hung up. The guest with the black cat, Max (probably the cat and the boy's name), I couldn't remember, had been eyeing me suspiciously all evening. Cats tend me to be more aware of their surroundings, especially when it involves magic. And Max the human may be socially inept but intellectually he was no idiot. His social awkwardness prevented him from coming out and saying anything outright, for the mix of people in the basement with him were people he specifically wanted to impress and never would have imagined being in the same location with. So for now, he'd keep his trap shut. His cat however, might have to pay a visit to the swamp later.
The swamp was in the back part of the yard backing up into the woods. The caretaker was a man named John and his corgi named Candy. Their job was to take care of the alligators and other creatures that lived in the swamp, but they'd been missing for a few days now and it might be time to investigate if their bones have started to surface. Either way, it might be time to investigate taking a trip to show Max the cat, and throwing him in.
Exiting the bathroom I looked toward the egress and saw the beginnings of pale pink lines coming in through the window. The sun was beginning to rise, we didn't have much time. "Come on Max," I said, walking up to him and extending my hand, let's go upstairs." "It's Ted," he replied, taking my hand. "The cat is named Max."
"Sure," I said, knowing neither of their names would matter in a few hours.
The next morning, as the master was mixing his elixir with a combination of Max, Ted, and my blood to take before his body died for the day, he looked over at me lying on the floor in a state of post donation brain drain fatigue.
He made a *Tsk, tsk, tsk* sound which sounded even more irritating as his fangs met his tongue, "It wouldn't do to have you laying about all day, Darla, don't waste precious daylight. Go and make yourself useful." His tone was more teasing than critical, but he had a point, there was work to be done. I tried to sit up but felt a dizzy spell and slumped against the wall. Hey, at least it looked fairly similar to a bow. "Of course not, master.", I said, "I have a list of chores and tasks to complete this morning." He smiled ruefully and walked into his room to drink his blood cocktail and report his findings to the rest of the Pricks (I'm not kidding, that's the name they came up with for their cohort) the following evening.
After a few hours I stretched my neck and spine, hearing every disc crack as I straightened and stepped out into the sunlight of the rear yard. It has a slight overgrown look, which was as much the fault of the creatures we housed back here as it was to keep strangers away, plus it lead an ambience of abandonment to the house. I was looking for any excuse not to go into the basement, in case the ghouls and gremlins hadn't cleaned up their mess from the previous party. In the backyard I saw several spiderwebs that had taken over one area of the back deck. I knew I would have to pass through them to get to the toolshed and I didn't want to wake Abarat, the giant, venomous spider who helped take care of any unfortunate visitors who happened to scale the fence on a dare or a whim. There was also the mysterious woman I'd seen wandering around the basement last night to worry about. I had assumed the was a party crasher or another guests date that I hadn't accounted for, but she looked to ethereally pretty (almost hidden behind her gothic makeup) to be hanging out with the normie crowd. Was she an associate of the master's? A coffin baiter trying to sneak in? Whatever it was, she had insofar gone unnoticed by the master, at least to my knowledge, so that would have to remain a problem for another time, unless she happened to stumble into Abarat's web while she was at it. Speaking of which, I wasn't looking forward to walking through the web but I had to push through. It not only pissed off Abarat that she had to do her work all over again, but left me feeling sticky for the rest of the day. I pushed through, yelling, "It's just me Aba!" hoping she would hear me and not come barreling down the web with her legs thundering and fangs out, mistaking me for dinner. What a nightmare.
In the backyard I set food out for the amorphous creatures who today resembled giraffes, the last time they'd been in this form they'd attracted the next door neighbor's child to climb the fence and attempt to pet them, which lead to one of them swallowing him whole. This displeased the parents' greatly as they witnessed the feeding so I had to pour in a lot more glamour and reach down the creatures through to pull the child back out, with a warning that giraffes were dangerous and maybe he should play with Legos instead. After feeding the animals and throwing more sticks, brambles, and briars around the border (no sign of Abarat thank gods), I opened my senses to feel if the master was asleep yet. There's a constant humming in my head that only quiets when he's asleep (dead, however you want to look at it. Sensing silence I went back to the toolshed to grab my motorcycle and head into town.
The tavern that the local familiars tend to frequent is a shambling hold in the wall, colloquially known as Coffin Beat, which hosts several gothic dance parties as well. The name displayed to locals during the day is "Coffin Beans" and hosts crochet circles, open mic afternoons, and boasts locally grown and roasted coffee beans with different blood syrups. I was meeting two of my familiar friends here this morning to trade news and to ask about the mysterious girl I had seen the previous evening.
Kerra saw me from her table underneath the waning and left her conversation with her red-headed companion to break into a run toward me. "DARLA!" she squealed, her blonde braids bounding behind her as she threw me into a glomp before I had time to step off my bike, "YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT I HEARD."
"Easy," I told her reproachfully squeezing her back as much as my aching back and neck would allow. "It was a rough night. Master was experimenting again."
"Amsterdam?!" she said, "Again? What now?" I filled her in on his latest experimentations with enlightenment.
"That's not so bad," she replied, grabbing my arm and half dragging me to the table where Torrin sat, probably nursing a strong hangover cure no doubt. "at least he hasn't asking you to donate other liquids in with the blood, like urine." "Or make you test the concoctions first to make sure they're not poisoned," Torrin snorted. "WHAT?!" I exclaimed taking a seat beside them. "Who's doing that?" "Paris," Torrin said, which was the name of her master. In our circle it's common to refer to our masters in code in case anyone might be listening, usually after a city or famous place they're associated with. "But it's ok," Torrin went on, pointing to her drink which was colored a deep read and teaming. "Drinking this afterwards helps." I was afraid to ask what exactly was in it. It's true that remaining a familiar for a long time (Torrin had been with Paris at least half a century) can begin to change your physiology to help your body cope with the more demanding particulars of the position, a few decades of having familiars die from poisoning, intestinal bursting, and combustion had shown the masters that adjustments had to be made to our weak and fragile bodies if they didn't want to have to replace us every few months.
"Torrin!" Kerra whispered eagerly, "You're missing the point! We have to tell her."
"Tell me what?," I asked waiving the bairmaid down to order a triple espresso, "Who's coming?"
Kerra and Torrin looked at each other conspiratorially before they both said at the same time, "Oslo."
Oslo was a master vampire in central Europe who it was rumored to have been searching for a replacement for his familiar after the last one sacrificed herself to a hunter who had broken into their home. She had saved Oslo but he had had to flee and was supposedly perusing the area. He was gargantuan, with an insatiable appetite for sustenance and familiars alike. He tended to go through them pretty quickly. None of us exactly wanted to be his familiar but hey, a job was a job, and there were plenty of familiars in the wings who were waiting for a master to change them.
"Is he coming to one of the gatherings here?" I asked.
Kerra nodded vigorously nearly shaking the able. How much had she had to drink before I'd gotten here? "We've heard rumors he's sending his second to the dance this weekend." Oslo's particular size made being conspicuous fairly difficult in a crowd, so he often sent his second in command, Cyrus, as an agent in first to arrange a meeting.
Torrin brought out a tablet from next to her seat and begin scrolling through a list. "I've been working with Art on a potential list of familiars to recommend to his service. There's about four or five who would be a good fit."
With the excitement of another master vampire entering the city, there would be double the celebrations and the masters in the surrounding cities would be in a particularly good mood with an excuse to get together, the woman I'd seen in the basement last night completely slipped my mind. By the time I returned to the house a few hours later to feed myself and take my iron pills, I'd nearly forgotten all about her.
I had made plans to meet Torrin and Kerra at the gathering the following night at Coffin Beats, where a lot of the familiars came on their night off to dance, drink, and blow off steam. This was also the event Cyrus was planning to attend to verify candidates from the list Art and Torrin sent. I had a nagging thought at the back of my mind that I would see that woman again, but whether she was a friend of the master's or an enemy sent from a rival belfy, remained a mystery.
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emdotcom · 5 months
Text
I've been quietly cooking summat that I've not mentioned to another soul. I have no plans to do much of anything with it, other than stew, so, here goes:
Tw for themes of ableism, lobotomy, child cruelty.
If you could have all the difficulties & strifes in life just snipped away, & get everything you've ever wanted for free, delivered on a silver platter, would you want that? If I told you that with a few simple operations, I could take everything you don't like about yourself -- your bad habits, disorders, the things that makes other people shun you, anything like that -- & just take it away, wouldn't you want that? No matter how much it costs?
The idea is that, in this little world I've set up, humanity has been able to nail down exact portions of the brain that cause all those foul, undesirable traits that make like harder for everybody, down to being able to just pluck them out. &, Better yet, we've been able to find the exact parts of the brain that give us those good traits that make you valued & desired & loved, enough that they could just... Stitch those in, in the place of all those nasty things they just cut out.
We know these things, down to an exact science. But we don't know how to replicate them.
No matter what you do, no matter how perfectly you recreate & integrate, there is some intangible spark that prevents artificial brain matter from working as intended. So, of course, you'd need a brave volunteer for those shiny new good traits -- a donor.
For the amount of money you get for more desirable traits, there's always going to be somebody willing to sell these things away. Of course, wouldn't it be more efficient to just cultivate it?
Did you know children pick up new information far faster than adults do? There's theories on why, a sort of necessity that demands you pick things up quickly, so you can survive. Here, though, it serves our purposes just fine. They've very malleable -- you can mold kids into honor students, then just clip that knowledge out of their head & into the skull of the highest bidder. What happens to the kid? Well, they've just lost a considerable amount of brain matter that you're certainly not replacing, so you just... Send them back to school again, have them develop a new skill you can take, again & again, until there's nothing left to steal away.
That's the setting. A sort of boarding school used to cultivate young minds, marketed as a home for troubled & abandoned kids to be turned out into proper adults, but really just a slaughter house full of spare parts.
I've got ideas, yeah, mostly about a teacher -- a machine designed to turn out as many excellent students as fast as possible, but one that's cottoned on to the fact that they're slowly sending these kids to their doom. They work hard to teach & parent these kids & make them as good as can be, & then the kids disappear for a little while. When they come back, they're missing a few pieces, & all the work they & that child just put in has been robbed away, leaving a broken & upset child behind. &, Still, they have to teach -- you can't go against your basic programming. If you teach too many too well, you'll lose them, & if you teach too few you go in for a recalibration, & then you'll lose pieces of yourself. You're trying to work around your limitations, all the fail-safes etched into every line of code to just remember what is happening & try to help as much as you can without being noticed, but it's never going to be enough. You have a limited memory, when it comes to your students -- when you meet a new one, the oldest entry gets deleted. You're etching down faces & names onto scraps of paper, what their favorite colors were, how fussy they were when it was time to sleep, anything you can remember so that this little bit can't be taken away, too, but you come back to this paper & you don't know any of these kids. Even though it's all your hand writing, you've never seen any of them before.
I have idea about a student, a new one, one that notices how often their classmates have "episodes" & come back different. One that notices their teacher acting strangely.
No idea what I'll do with this, though.
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