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impractical) wrote2025-03-17 02:48 pm
impractical) wrote2025-03-17 02:48 pm
Entry tags:
open post 2025
leave a starter or prompt; happy to plot first via pm or plurk.
muselist here.
spoilers and nsfw possible, will mark in tls.
wip list of tropes and stuff i pretty much always want to play:
- lotus-eater situation, aka "you're living your perfect life and don't realize it's killing you!"
- pining! you know the hand flex gif from p&p? of course you do
- vampires...
- misunderstandings between people who have feelings for each other, i.e. thinking one of them is interested in someone else and it comes to a head in heated admissions of Feelings
- slow burn over a psl
- ALL the h/c, whether one or two-sided
- fwiw some of my favorite bstreet memes are morning after, train to the afterlife, drunk meme, find them dying, and insomnia
- text is always going to be a yes from me dawg
- classics: only one bed, huddle for warmth
- amnesia???
no subject
She gives it ten minutes. Fifteen. She doesn't need to breathe, but she takes a slow, deep breath as she listens to the water lap against the dock, letting the salt air sting her nostrils, anticipating the night that's to come.
Finally, nearing the limit of her own patience, Clea slips into the light. Her bare feet barely make a sound as she circles the woman.]
You're here for me.
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Her blood sings with adrenaline, pumping the drums of war. And then...one of them appears. The woman is nearly silent, appearing from the shadows as if she'd materialized from them herself, and Sciel's shoulders tense slightly in an automatic response.
It's not the first time she's caught any sight of one of the Dessendres, but it's the first time she's seen one up close. The vampire is...undeniably beautiful, as if she'd been sculpted from marble and brought to life with some dark magic. But when she looks longer, as the woman moves into the light, Sciel can also see the unnatural sharpness to the features. The cold eyes, the unmasked hunger.
It's disarming, having someone (something) look at you as if you're a meal. But this is her new reality. ]
I am. [ She should curtsy, or something. Pissing off the Dessendres in any way might make all they'd sacrificed be for nothing, but everything within her is screaming to rush the vamp and attack, or at least spit in her face.
What Sciel settles on is a short, stiff bow during which her eyes never leave the other woman's. ]
So, [ She says next, straightening up quickly, her posture still guarded. ] where are we going?
no subject
She raises a hand, pale green light trailing behind her fingertips, and a door shimmers into being, solid dark wood set in a dark marble arch. Some of the light solidifies into pale green flower petals that catch on the wind, a few landing on the stones of the harbour while others drift out to sea.
Over the whisper of the waves, Clea can hear the rush of this woman's blood through her veins, singing hot and loud. It's been too long since she's had someone like this, too long since she's sunk her teeth into someone whose blood was capable of setting her own cold body ablaze, and so it's with a certain amount of terse impatience that she opens the door and holds her hand out to the woman.]
Through here.
[Beyond the door lies Clea's personal chambers, littered with hints of the person she once was before the war: unfinished paintings stacked against the walls, stone or clay sculptures, mostly hidden under sheets, few of which could meet the exacting standards to which she holds herself, a harp gathering dust in a corner. Against one wall, an unlit fireplace. Against another, a four poster bed for those vanishingly rare moments she can afford to spend off her feet. These days, she really only uses it when she wants to relieve some stress with someone else; she never uses it for mere rest anymore, not daring to be alone with her thoughts. Against another wall, a wardrobe with the door open just enough to offer a glimpse of the simple, practical working clothes that Clea prefers.
She nods towards the door, urging the woman to walk through.]
Come along.
no subject
The door is summoned out of the air, and Sciel's heart beats a little faster with the raw power she assumes comes with that ability. What else can they do? Can anyone from Lumiére ever find some way to match them in strength, to put an end to this endless debt, or at least enough that they might defend themselves if they instead defy the Dessendres and allow the Dome to fall?
...It's a nice idea. One she knows some of her fellows have discussed, though there's no definitive movement yet. After all, the only ones who know the full extent of the vampires' power are those who never return.
When the woman opens the door, extending a hand to lead Sciel inside, her blood pumps even harder. It looks like her captor's personal chambers: the kind of tucked-away space that she'll need if she ever wants to have a chance to draw her scythe against this monster's throat. ...But, that's getting too far ahead of herself. At best, she'll have one opportunity, and it has to count. She'll need to be patient in order to suss out the best time to make her move. To see if there are any weaknesses to exploit. And, besides, she'd ideally be making the attempt against whichever member of the family had been the one to end Pierre's life, so she'd need to figure that out first, too...
For now, Sciel extends her own hand, allowing herself to be led through to certain doom with a warning of a smile on her face. ]
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The door closes behind them. The moment it clicks shut, it vanishes, leaving no trace that they were ever at the harbour save for a handful of scattered petals.
Once inside, Clea wastes no time in spinning the woman around so her back is pressed to Clea's chest, Clea's arm around her waist, their hands still locked together. Her free hand reaches up to brush a few stray wisps of hair from the woman's neck as she savours the visible pulse hammering in her throat, the sound and scent of blood, burning and blazing and thick and sweet, roaring just beneath the skin.
Her siblings would say that Clea the most vicious of them. Clea considers herself efficient. She has no interest in playing with her food, no interest in pretense. This woman will not survive the night. And yet...
Before she bites down on that inviting neck, she pauses, wondering.]
Why is it that someone like you would volunteer for this? You're young. Healthy.
[Not that it always matters who volunteers. Vampires hunger just as humans do and, just as humans, they can't go too long without food. If they can't catch sufficient prey in the outside world, and if there aren't enough volunteers here in Lumière, they have to take what they need to survive. But of those who do volunteer, this woman is a rare prize indeed.]
no subject
Merde. The monster is more impatient, or more desperate, than she'd thought. And Sciel realizes what may be a terrible assumption she'd had: that these things held their offerings for some amount of time, feeding slowly and getting the most out of each given person before draining them to the point of death. Obviously she doesn't know for certain what her captor's intentions are, the possibility...is something she needs to consider, and fast.
She'll need to draw all this out somehow. It's the only way she'll have any chance to do what she came here to do. ]
Maybe it's out of the goodness of my heart. [ Sciel is a good person, and she would put herself in the line of fire for others, but she won't pretend that had been her motivation. ] Maybe... [ Though she can't move much, her head turns just slightly, sharp eyes cast in that direction as if meant for Clea. ] I was just too curious about you.
[ "You," the royal you. The Dessendres. The vampires. As she stands there, in the jaws of a predator, she forces herself to relax, almost melting a little in the other's grasp. ]
You seem curious about me. [ Otherwise, possibly, she'd be dead already. ] And you're right to be. I'm not going to be like anyone else you've brought back here.
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And she can't afford to let this be, either. She can't have this creature leaning back against her like a lover languidly relaxed after a long night. She can't afford to admit she might want such a thing – not with this woman, but with someone – or that she's capable of feeling anything more than hunger and rage. So her hand tightens on the woman's wrist until she can feel bones grinding together. Her other hand winds through her hair, manoeuvring her head back and to the side – not a harsh tug but a deliberate, forceful gesture – stretching out her throat, further exposing that terribly vulnerable part of her to Clea's fangs.]
Oh? And why is that?
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The cold woman who has her trapped squeezes Sciel's wrist to the point of mild agony, yanking her head back to expose her neck even further.
Her pulse throbs in her throat, her carotid artery visibly begging for its life. ]
I know what kind of people we usually send. [ As Clea has thought, the citizens passed along are those who, generally, don't have much time left. ] When was the last time you had someone like me, hmm? Someone young, still...physically capable.
[ Her voice manages to be honeyed even with the fear and rage boiling beneath the surface. Do you remember a young man? Handsome, kind, bright a mind as anything? Did you talk to him at all before you murdered him? Or was it one of the others who did it?
One of Sciel's hands is still painfully bound, but she moves the other to trace along the vampire's, fighting the revulsion that it causes her. ]
When was the last time something interesting happened to you? [ Being immortal must get old at some point, right? And though she doesn't have a great sense of the situation, Sciel is insightful. She doesn't know this woman, but it's possible some amount of her chilly, stilted manner is because this has all become rote. ] The blood's what you need, but what about what you want?
[ Anything. Anything to live to see tomorrow. ]
I'm not saying don't feed on me, obviously. [ God, it's hard to manage to sound nonchalant when the whole of her is screaming to try and break free. ] But...if your usual habit is to drain someone all at once, that's a bit of a waste, no? The blood will still be here tomorrow. You could have your apertif tonight, then still have more for later. Some things are just so much sweeter with a little anticipation, don't you think?
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She's well aware there are people in the world who, for whatever reason, crave the thrill of bedding a vampire. She's usually disinclined to indulge them. But the line between hunger and arousal is thin, and she'd have to be blind to deny that this woman is beautiful.
With the woman's heat filling Clea's chest where they've been pressed together and the sound of her pulse throbbing in Clea's ears, Clea spins her around and slams her back into the nearest wall. Her hand remains, vice-like, around the woman's wrist as she pins it to the wall by the woman's head like a butterfly pinned to a board.]
This is what you want?
[Her eyes scan the woman's face, searching for... something. Even she couldn't say what. Her hips rock against the woman's, one thigh finding its way between her legs.]
We are not lovers, [she snarls. Her eyes flick to the pulse in the woman's throat and back to her face. She can feel that same pulse hammering in the woman's chest as she presses closer, can feel it echoing in the hollow, lifeless chamber of her own chest.] You will not fall asleep tonight cradled in my arms, or wake tomorrow in my bed with the expectation of my company.
[Once, Clea had been in love. She will never make the mistake of bringing feelings into her bedchamber again.]
no subject
What she wants is blood. Just not in the same way as the creature who would someday bleed her dry. ]
You're asking what I want? [ She's either unable, or unwilling, to keep from ribbing the vampire. ] How kind of you, mademoiselle fang.
[ Naturally, Sciel doesn't care to ask, or know, her name. Nor is she inclined to share her own. ]
It doesn't have to be that, if you're not interested. [ She may only bring men into her bed, if she brings anyone at all. But...the Dessendre woman's thigh is wedged between Sciel's legs, and there's something in what she says that makes her think this is a worthwhile avenue. Maybe there's even a defensiveness to it... ] But if you are, then that's not an issue.
[ She's not suggesting a long-term relationship, though she will try and draw this (whatever 'this' is) for as long as it takes to investigate and make at least one attempt against the life she seeks to extinguish.
Speaking of: ] Surely there've been at least a few others who had the same idea, while you still...entertained their company? I know most who signed up might not've been your type, but I also know your family has chosen some, here and there.
no subject
She leans forward to press her lips to the woman's neck again, and it occurs to her as the woman speaks, as her lips draw back to expose her fangs – just a taste, just something to warm her from the inside, to draw this woman's heat into herself – that she can feel the pulse in the woman's neck and in her chest, but not against the thigh wedged between her legs. There is nothing in the world that Clea is more sensitive to blood, and she knows where blood flows fastest when a human is aroused, and where it's not flowing now.
This woman is... not earnestly propositioning her.
And then comes that strange question. She draws back, frowning.]
Does it really matter, who amongst your people I've shared my bed with?
no subject
Shit. ]
Like I said: I'm curious. [ Not untrue, but certainly not the priority. Right now, her immediate concern is navigating this part of the conversation without ending up dead because of a misstep. ] We don't have any information about your kind, so this is really my only opportunity to learn.
[ What can she do to turn this around? There's at least one thing, right, that'll be a more surefire bet? ]
Taste me. [ Sciel says, her voice low, now lifting her free hand to move any remaining wisps of hair from around her throat. ] Then see how you feel about anything else after.
[ Just a taste, to sate the hunger that Sciel assumes has the monster more on edge. But if she takes it too far... ]
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Clea tries to keep focused on the woman's face, because her curiosity is piqued now. One doesn't offer oneself as a meal to a vampire out of mere curiosity, and she doubts the woman is purely self-sacrificing, or why would she bother playing at seduction? But her blood is singing a symphony that Clea can't ignore, that she wants to lose herself in, and every time she manages to fix her eyes on the woman's face, they are drawn inexorably back to her throat.
Just a taste.
She leans forward again, crowding even closer, pressing the woman between her own body and the wall. Her lips ghost gently across the pulse thrumming beneath the woman's skin, one brief moment to savour the anticipation, before her fangs suddenly, hard and fast, sink into the woman's throat. As she bites down, she catches another hint of that scent, familiar but forgotten. Where has she smelled that before?
But all her questions are soon wiped away by the rushing in her head and the heat blossoming in her chest and in her belly. A soft, satisfied groan breaks out of her before she can stop it, and she curses inwardly at the open need, the desire, on display.
She was right about this woman. She burns. And, if only for a few fleeting seconds, Clea feels very nearly alive.
Just a taste, remember.
The woman is lucky that Clea has a will of iron, or she might not be able to tear herself away.
Her fangs ease out of the woman's neck, and Clea licks a hard line up the strong column of her throat, catching any stray droplets of blood.]
Who are you? [she hisses into the woman's ear.] And what are you really doing here?
no subject
Time becomes muddy. When her mind is able to clear again, she'll realize with another dose of chilling fear that she could have been completely drained in that moment and wouldn't have lifted a finger to stop it. In the present, though, she's dimly aware that she's trapped between the woman and the wall, utterly at the other's mercy, but all she knows is the unnatural bliss that she feels, which courses through her and makes her blood sing as it's liberated from her body.
Yes, she's lucky. In this, at least: that the vampire does stop feeding, tongue catching any lingering beads that had trailed down after the wound. And Sciel crashes back into herself with a start, nearly shaking with the realization of what'd just happened.
Then comes the question. Cursing inwardly, she thinks that the feeding would've been one of her better opportunities to try something. ...Except, if she's honest with herself, she knows it'd have been impossible, with her enthralled so intensely. And now, with the Dessendre woman still holding her pinned in place and suspicious, she knows that her time is already up.
Even when she tries to summon her weapon -- the tool she'd once used for farming, with its twin deadly edges -- Sciel realizes another awful truth: wherever they are, she has no connection to the ability to draw the scythe into existence from nothing. She is alone, unarmed, and found out.
Her reaction is to tip her head back, cracking a strained smile. Putain de merde. ]
Sciel. [ She offers, sighing. ] I came to kill the monster that took my husband five years ago.
[ Deceit doesn't suit her anyway. So there's almost a relaxed ease to the way she admits the truth, faced with the near-certainty that she's about to be rent asunder by this powerful creature and join Pierre in death.
She'll at least get some of the things she wanted, in the end. ]
no subject
He'd tasted sweet. And he'd died in much the same position that Sciel is in now: pinned against the wall, his hands clutching at her in a mockery of a lover's embrace. She'd given what was left of him to Verso to drain.
And, true to her word, Clea has never returned to that flat, though she has idly wondered what sort of woman could inspire such devotion. And, she must admit, she understands now. One can tell a lot about a person by their blood, and this woman blazes like the sun.]
I'd be a hypocrite to blame you. [Given what she's done to two of the vampire hunters who killed Simon, and what she plans to do to the rest.] But there's nothing in this place you can use to hurt me. [It's not a brag, or a threat, merely a simple statement of fact.
She pulls back enough to look at Sciel, allowing the woman a little more space. But her hand tightens even further on Sciel's wrist, causing all those little bones to grind harshly together, a warning that a moment of leniency is not a stay of execution. She doesn't intend to break the bones, but she will leave an ugly bruise and a painful ache.
Her jaw tenses.]
All he asked of me was that I let you live.
[But she's had a taste now, and her body aches to feel that heat again, to take and take of this woman until there's nothing left, to feel the thrash of a heart in its dying throes, so intense Clea might imagine it were her own heart beating. And so the question becomes: does she honour her word to a man long dead, or does she take what she craves?]
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This is the one responsible for her husband's death. Sciel has her right here, in front of her. Clea is more beautiful and more horrible than the formless figure Sciel had imagined when she'd lay awake at night picturing her revenge, because that idea had been the only thing that'd kept her going lately. ...But she has no weapon, and there obviously won't be something lying around nearby that she can use to end it. That would be too easy, and life isn't easy: it's cruel.
(Briefly, insanely, she wonders if she should've ingested poison beforehand. Something that would flow through her blood and into the vampire's mouth. But, of course, she has no idea what does and doesn't kill a vampire, and it's just a consideration in hindsight anyway.)
Sciel is shaking with rage, which Clea will plainly see when she draws back, though it's otherwise clear from the hammering of her heart. The puncture marks at her neck still bloom a little with fresh blood, and the pinned woman swoons slightly, intensely lightheaded from the feeding and the revelation that followed.
There is no thought. There is only the instinct of the animal she's supposed to be. And so Sciel uses that little space she'd been afforded to throw herself to the side with the intent of biting down hard on the arm that holds her own in its grasp. ]
You're honourable now, are you? What do you care about a promise to a dead human, connasse? [ Whether or not she's successful in her spiteful, fruitless attack, Sciel will bare her teeth at Clea at the first opportunity, seething. ] I don't care what you say: I will find a way to make you suffer. And if you kill me, I will haunt you forever.
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She wrenches her arm away, grabs the front of Sciel's shirt with both hands, and slams her into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her. There's blood flecked on the woman's lips as she vows her revenge. Not much, but it only takes a drop.
Putain. Putain de bordel de merde. How could she have been stupid enough, slow enough, to have allowed this? How could she have— Putain.
It's in their natures, of course: Sciel runs hot, Clea is ice cold. Her rage is not loud, not screaming death threats and attacking wildly like a cornered beast. Her rage is still, a tempest seething beneath a placid surface. She can still feel the heat of Sciel's body against her as she closes the distance between them, glaring from beneath a fringe that's become increasingly disheveled, every muscle in her body wound tight as steel as she tries to work through what to do now. Her promise is forgotten, and whether she intends to keep it no longer matters. They've shared each other's blood, she and this woman, and that means, if she kills her now, Sciel will become a vampire.
That's not something she can allow.]
Listen to me, [she says, her voice as icy as her demeanour, as icy as the hands pinning Sciel in place.] I'm going to send you home, and you will forget that any of this happened.
[She's still hungry, she still wants, every animal instinct screaming at her to bite, to take what's hers, take all that heat and fire for her own, but, even if she were willing to go back on her word, she can't. Tonight must end with Clea unsatisfied.]
He's dead. [Just as Simon is dead, and there is, perhaps, a thickness to her voice that shouldn't be there, that belies a weakness, a grief, she would never willingly acknowledge.] Throwing your life away after his won't change that. [Nothing can change that. And Clea has to keep moving, can't pause to tear the whole world apart for what it's dared to take from her, because the war in which her family is embroiled won't wait for her to catch up. Her knuckles turn an even paler shade of white as she clenches her fists harder, fingernails digging into her own palms through Sciel's shirt.] Take this one chance to walk away.
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When her sight drifts back into focus, she fixes it again on the vampire. ]
"You're going to send me home?" [ She repeats, and then she laughs, lolling her head back and baring her teeth again in a mocking grin. ] That's what you say to a student who's been naughty, not someone who wants to kill you. Where is all that fear that the Dessendre family has inspired for so long?
[ Yes: she's goading. Sciel has no desire, no intention, to return home. There's nothing waiting for her there, since she's made up her mind about enacting violence on her way out of this life, and there will be no reasoning with her.
Distantly, perhaps, the ever-insightful woman notes the way that her captor talks about Pierre...as if she isn't talking about him at all. Her eyes alight as she reaches for this possibility, yanking it up into the light to be exploited. ]
Speaking from experience? [ She can't, won't, think of Pierre. How he'd died, how this monster had been the last thing he'd seen. How he'd bargained for his wife's life. Instead, she adopts what might otherwise be a pleasant smile, cocking her head curiously. ] If you haven't, I'd be happy to show you what it's like to lose someone you love. If you're capable of feeling anything but hunger, of course.
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When she speaks, her voice is still ice cold, still a little too thick, strained from the effort to keep it from breaking.]
Don't presume there is anything you can do that would hurt me.
[Not after what's already been taken from her. Not when Simon's screams still ring in her ears and she can't close her eyes for fear of seeing his last moments, forever seared onto the backs of her eyelids.
She releases Sciel's shirt with one hand so that she can run her thumb across the woman's bottom lip, wiping away a stray drop of blood. Hell, a weaker woman might rip Sciel's throat out just to taste her again. Even now, woozy and seemingly desperate to die chasing after her revenge, she is all but irresistible. The drops of fresh red blood beading on her neck are screaming out to Clea, and she can't help but yearn to run her tongue over Sciel's throat again.]
And I'm not going to hurt you, either. If you die now, you'll become what you'd call a monster. Just like me.
[Clea wouldn't consider herself a monster, of course. She's an animal, feeding on other animals to survive. No different from humans raising cattle for the slaughter, really; vampires are just higher up on the food chain. But Sciel has made her own opinion clear.]
You don't want that.
no subject
There must be something, though. Everything has a weakness. Would they not fall with enough violence? If you stabbed them through the heart, or cut off their head? There's not exactly time to experiment, and she doesn't have a weapon besides, but...
Her dark musing is interrupted by what Clea says next, which has Sciel frowning slightly.
What? ]
What're you talking about? [ That hawk-like gaze is fixed on Clea, studying every twitch of her features. ] "If I die, I'll become like you?"
[ Her tone is highly dubious, given how absurd an idea it is, and her own lack of knowledge related to anything vampiric. Besides, it's more likely that this thing is playing games with her, for...whatever twisted reason. Maybe fear changes the taste of the blood, she thinks, with another pang of loathing. ]
Right, fine, I'll go back. I'll go back and recommend to the Council that we no longer honour this agreement. You've been taking more than your share anyway, so if the threat was to open us up to attack from the Nevrons, then we'll prepare for that instead. You and your family would probably kill us all eventually with the excuse of this deal hanging over our heads, and, well...I'd rather go down fighting, knowing you're not getting what you want.
[ What they need, maybe. Because the frequency with which people had been requested, or were stolen away, had increased over time. And something about the way Clea has been looking at her tonight, as if she's starving...
What Sciel doesn't know, of course, is where she and the others in the city had come from in the first place. ]
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(Not that the agreement matters much. If the Lumièrians become too unruly, they can always be erased and new livestock painted in their stead. But that would mean more time, more energy, when there's a war to fight and not enough time or energy to spare.)
She can't help but roll her eyes in frustration.]
You want to die, then, I take it? I'm offering you the rest of your life, for whatever that's worth. But if you're that adamant to refuse it...
[She gave her word.
What does honour mean here? Her word won't feed her, won't give her the strength she needs to keep her family safe.
Sciel's ingested Clea's blood. She'll become a vampire if she dies now.
Clea can destroy the body before she rises. It'll take time, time that's wasted here instead of in the outside world where she's needed, where there's a war to fight and where her family is relying on her. But if it means she won't go hungry tonight, perhaps it's worth it.]
I'll grant your wish.
[Her hand slips around to cup Sciel's cheek, fingertips pressing insistently against the side of her head, holding her in place, as her other hand releases its death grip on Sciel's shirt to trace downwards to Sciel's waist, grabbing on and holding the woman flush against her body. Were she not a predator and Sciel her prey, it might seem as though she were about to kiss her. And for a moment, her lips against Sciel's throat are almost tender.]
no subject
...Of course, the revenge piece has already gone up in flames. But the vampire's teeth are at her neck, those hands pinning her in place, and to do nothing now would mean she could finally just fall into the inky blackness of whatever comes after and not feel this way anymore.
Just as she resolves herself (with some bitterness) to this, her eyes starting to flutter shut, she starts suddenly and those eyes snap open again. Because she sees her husband standing just over Clea's shoulder, exactly the kind, handsome visage she remembered from the last time she'd ever seen him.
Mon coeur, he says, and there's a plea in the term of endearment. Please. You know this isn't right.
And it isn't fair, of course, to see his ghost now. The frustrating, grief-stricken tide of it wells up in her throat, and she tries to turn her head so she can't see him, but Clea has her frozen in place. So she swallows roughly, trying to keep the emotion from welling up further and stinging her eyes. ]
I know, [ Sciel mutters, curling her hands into fists so the nails bite into her palms. ] but I...
[ Putain. It'd be so easy to give in, and then she could be with him again. But he's also here, staring at her with gently-begging eyes, and she wants to scream, she's so frustrated.
But she doesn't have a lot of time to debate it. So, with a rough, overwhelmed sound, she tries to pull back from the other woman as much as she can, teeth grit. ]
Wait. [ Now her attention is on the vampire again, face clearly lined with the anguish of an impossible situation. ] ...You can't kill me, fine, but consider what I said before: I can last. Make it so you don't have to take anyone else for a while. Maybe I can help your family, too, depending on how...much you need.
[ Is this the best scenario that remains to her? Not become a vampire, and also not have failed in being the sacrifice she intended such that someone else from home will need to be sent immediately?
Sciel stares hard at Clea, face a fresh mask of resolve. ]
Is that enough to satisfy you?