S A M S O N

“Monsters aren’t simply born. Monsters are made by those who nurture them.”

[samson-clemens]

Richard “Samson” Clemens is a mutant with the ability of feral mind. he has been in new york for 16 years where he spend most of his time as a sex worker at the crimson veil and an underground fighter. when i think of him, i think of bloody water pooling in the shower, piss-yellow eyes, and dimly lit bedrooms. he is affiliated with the brotherhood.

UNDER THE CUT: BASIC INFO / FULL BIO  / CONNECTIONS  / POWER INFO

@c23intros

INTRO

>>Task #1: The Mutant Situation >> Pinterest

BASIC INFO

FULL NAME: Richard Samson Clemens AGE: Thirty-eight D.O.B: 5th September 1960 GENDER: Cis-Male PRONOUNS: He/Him/His FC: Pablo Schreiber

BIOGRAPHY

cw: violence, sex work, prison.

Richard Clemens was a loved child, for the first few years of his life. Born from a one night stand, his poor young single mother had no idea she was carrying a mutant. She wanted to look after him, but the cards were always stacked against her. Richard has fond memories of cobbled together birthdays and holidays, his mum making even a simple cupcake feel like a birthday feast. Disowned by her own family if she kept her child, unable to work with a young baby she simply made do.

Richard would sit on the doorstep in the summer, or in the bathroom with a Walkman when her clients came round.  The only problem was no amount of love could fix her son. His mutation was obvious from birth: deathly pale skin and piss-yellow eyes with red rims. His tempers were terrifying, even as a young baby his strength meant she needed to constantly replace things broken in his wake. Not to mention his voracious appetite, he was sickly until she realized he needed an incredibly high protein diet. Raw beef was his favorite, the easiest thing to sate his endless appetite with. As much as she loved her son, she couldn't do it anymore. A growth spurt at ten years old made it impossible. Richard was put into foster care, and his young mother was finally welcomed back to her family. A Beta level mutant with a difficult to control mutation is not easy to place in foster care. Usually malnourished and taunted, Richard started committing petty crimes early on. It was simply to feed himself, at first, then it simply became a bad habit. Bouncing around the system, Richard essentially raised himself and did a poor job of it. Crimes stacked up: losing his temper and lashing out, petty things at first that had him thrown away for a couple of days escalated.It was a slightly longer stint that introduced him to ways he could make money following his primal instincts.

Some prison guards were fascinated by his appearance, were drawn to his strange, animal magnetism. Samson had accidentally followed in his mother's footsteps. His first time trading his body was for more freedom. A few rough fucks and he could convince the guards to get him his own cell, extra food, and privileges. Bouncing around the East Coast, Richard finally found himself in New York and things started to fall into place for him.When he began working at the Crimson Veil he decided to give himself a stage name of sorts, Samson stuck both inside and out of work. It was fitting that the beast of a man had an on the nose name. The name truly solidified itself when a client of his told Samson about underground fights she would bet on, told him he'd be perfect for it. And he was. For the first time in his life, he could keep out of jail and keep a job. Two jobs, technically, whilst both were technically not legal it kept him out of worse trouble.Sometimes he works simply to expel all of his extra energy. Finally able to really settle into life, Samson felt if he'd just been accepted as a mutant and not treated by human standards he could've been comfortable much sooner in life. Samson actively sought out the early whispers of the Brotherhood and has been a vocal, violent supporter of the cause.

POWER INFO

Feral Mind  “User can tap into a primal instinctive state of mind, which can release an unstoppable rage that allows them to perform in vastly increased capacity, taking and inflicting damage that they couldn't or wouldn't in their normal state. In some cases, the user's mind descends so far into the feral state that, mentally, they are little more than wild animals.”

FULL POST [X]

CONNECTIONS

COMING SOON...

@c23intros

[samson-clemens]

SAWYER!

There’s a grumble; almost a growl, really. Not unfamiliar territory to Sawyer, because nobody likes being told they need to spend money on their car. It doesn’t bother him. If he’d been a little jumpy on first sight of Samson, it had been because of his mutation, and the implicit violence of his fangs. He’s calmed down now that that knee jerk response is out the way, and is able to approach this as any other customer transaction.

Unfortunately, clutch replacements are pricey, and there’s only so many ways to deliver the news. “Two hundred bucks. Ain’t cheap, I know, but we can get you set up with a payment plan so you just pay a bit toward it each month. Just one of them things, unfortunately. Clutches usually only got about sixty thousand miles before they wanna give up.” He adds that last bit as something of a salve, in case part of Samson’s annoyance is thinking he might’ve done something wrong as opposed to it being just a pricey but necessary bit of maintenance.

“Nah, I’ll take the hit in one.” He could cover it if he put in some hours, make up for the chunk he’s going to sink into his tin can. The thought drains him more than he’d care to admit. Samson sucks on his tooth, letting the fang poke, nearly pierce, his tongue. “It’s part of my mutation,” he begins to explain as his nostrils flare. He drops into a seat pinches the bridge of his nose, gives his excuse knowing full well it means jack shit, “Getting angry.” An understatement, for sure. But he’s already feeling like it might take more energy than it’s worth to keep talking or explain himself anymore than that. He’ll simply have to wait it out.

[samson-clemens]

EZRA!

         “sure, part of the trade. i’ll have to work a fair bit harder to beat you on that. ‘course, i’d also have to keep count. never saw the point in that.” ezra’s bodycount—sexually or otherwise—is a list too long to bother with. easier to enjoy the moment while it lasts and shove it away in a mental box to collect dust, afterwards. “decent, but not plumped like yours. more of a shag carpet than a proper pillow.” distracting himself with another drink, he leans into the touch samson offers. it’s something, at least, if more tranquil than his usual preference. “get them toyed with much? or just admired?”

“What do you want, Ez?” he says with a smirk, shown only to the ceiling but heard in his voice. He wonders if Ezra could get off from humiliation alone. His attention shifts back to Ezra in this rare moment of something close to tame. “You want me to tell you about people that I let fuck me cause you’re stuck here with nothing more than a cuddle? I let some people grope them, play with them, fuck ‘em if they’re very lucky.”

[samson-clemens]

EZRA!

         it’s a painful reminder of what he’s lost. despite that, ezra only cuddles up more, determined to drown out his own troubles the only way he knows how—drugs, sex, and copious amounts of violence. if he can’t have one, he’ll double up the other two. “all the meat,” he laughs, taking another long gulp from his bottle. “must be the kind. i take plenty of meat and my chest isn’t nearly as fantastic as yours.” he laughs again ( at his own joke, of course ) for good measure, afterwards letting his eyes fall shut. just for a moment, just to listen to his breathing. his heartbeat. it’s strong and steady, but different than will’s. it breaks his brief moment of fantasy in a way that twists in his guts.

“Pretty sure I’ve had more of that meat, too,” the line isn’t delivered with much enthusiasm. Tired of working wasn’t a lie, simply a half truth. Ezra’s eyes flutter shut. He even looks peaceful like this. Samson tips his head back, looks at the ceiling. A hand wanders, idly playing with the hair at the nape of Ezra’s neck. “You got a decent pair on you,” Samson comments idly, voice trailing off, empty words and jokes for no reason other than to fill the silence. He has another swig of his beer.

[gh0stprncess]

the horny and the sad are battling for top spot

[samson-clemens]

VICTOR!

keep reading

One more. Lights shift, fade, shadows touch him more than the lights. Like they’re under a canopy of leaves, like they’re anywhere but here. Like they could be anyone else. Victor presses against his side, warm and overwhelming.

A miracle Samson puts up with Vic. He shakes his head, “Don’t—don’t.” It’s as though he hasn’t fully absorbed what Samson told him, as though he’s not the lucky one. The lucky, undeserving one. You deserve better, goes unspoken, not because it’s implied but because Samson can’t find the breath for the words. Because he doesn’t want this to end. Still out of his mind with a sensitive cock held in Victor’s slim hands. It’s a conversation he can’t have two orgasms in.

One more, for Victor. In case this is the last time. Samson moves Victor’s hand as a sign to keep going, “Last one, baby.” Eyes squeezed shut, head tipped back, pushing hard against the bed frame as Vic starts up once more. Pleasure bordering on pain, he’s going boneless, giving in entirely to Victor.

[samson-clemens]

EZRA!

         “don’t threaten me with a good time, now,” he teases, amusement flickering in his expression. it’s all in jest. ezra may be the type to push his luck, but there are lines even he won’t cross. he respects samson enough that he’s comfortable keeping things contained. he can, after all, always find someone else more willing to indulge in his appetites. “right they are, for that. hard to compete with a pair like yours.” bringing a hand up, he lets hair tickle at his palm. wonders how many clients he’s had that actually appreciate his good looks, as opposed to the weapon between his legs. “what’s your secret for that? if i didn’t know better, i’d say silicon. ‘course… you probably just throw a bird over your shoulder every now and again, don’t you?”

 “They’re 100% natural, darling.” It’s impossible to feel like Samson is going to do the right thing by leaving, the fact he can sit here, cuddling a guy that tortured another mutant and there’s no real hatred for him. Hell, the bastard almost looks sweet, leaning against his chest, idly feeling the hair on his chest as he’s cracking jokes. “I throw more than a few ‘birds’ over my shoulder.” Samson scoffs, he’d actually gotten that request a few times, “Think it’s all the meat.” Knocking back more of his beer, he considers actually letting loose a little. Just for tonight.

[samson-clemens]

HALE & TIFFANY!

“No, it’s not.” It’s not fucked up. Tiffany says this firmly, before their lips meet in a kiss that tastes like metallic fear. She really, honestly doesn’t mind. Sort of the opposite, in fact: she loves it when Hale feeds from her. Craves it. It’s an addictive feeling, and she knows her mind is growing hazy and confused, forgetting what they’re so upset about, until Hale’s tail wraps around her waist and tugs her away.

She makes a soft sound of protest, muffled in an oomph as she is tugged, rueful at the loss of Hale’s touch. For a moment Tiffany wants to fight her way out of the tail and back to her, before the distance allows her the clarity to remember what’s going on.

And in any case Samson throws a pretty effective bucket of cold water over the situation with his catch-up statement. The Brotherhood. Huh. “Okay.” Tiffany says, processing. With practiced efficiency she pushes away any emotions and rubs her eyes, and tries to think practically. He’s leaving the Brotherhood, and they know about his relationship with Hale, so they might come looking for her. “So they know about you guy’s relationship? Do they know where Hale lives?” Tiffany looks at Sam, steady and unwavering. She’ll be mad about him potentially putting Hale in harm’s way later, once she knows the damage. 

It takes a moment for Hale to snap out of her feeding trance. As soon as she notices her tail is wrapped around Tiffany, she feels sick. She could’ve hurt her — fed too much and killed her. It’s happened before with people who didn’t matter to her, but the thought of killing her girlfriend? It tears her up inside. Makes her heart feel heavy, and her eyes watery with tears that are ready to spill over. She tries to keep it together for Tiff and Samson’s sake, biting down on her lower lip and closing her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she pushes her emotions down. Trying to stuff them into a small box in the back of her mind. 

“I don’t care about your fuck ups, I care about you. I care about what’s going to happen to you. Stop letting your pride get in the way. It’s not embarrassing to let me fight with you.” Hale would rip people to bloody shreds for Samson. Tear flesh from bone with her fangs and claws. She’d do her best to decimate the Brotherhood if he’d let her. It’d probably be impossible, but she’s willing to try and that’s what matters. She’s ready to lay her life on the line for him, but he doesn’t want her to. It’s frustrating because she knows he’d do the same for her.  Still, she has to listen to his wishes. She also can’t risk putting Tiffany in danger because she’s fighting a fight that isn’t her own. “I just want to help.”

She listens as he tells Tiffany the truth — Hale had expected him to lie to her. It’s strange that he trusts her with this secret. Her hand reaches for Tiff’s, and she squeezes it gently, trying to reassure her that things will be okay. Even if the Brotherhood come snooping around, Hale feels strong enough to protect the both of them. “I’d kill for both of you. If the Brotherhood find me, then so be it. They’ll get no information out of me. They can’t kill me,” she shrugs. They can put her through endless torture, but she still won’t spill any secrets. “Besides, I can see auras through walls and doors. I’ll know if they’re outside before they even get to my door.” @samson-clemens​

Samson can only hope she listened to him when he told her to never speak to Ezra, when he discouraged any friendship with Mark. There were bound to be others he missed, other brotherhood members who would cross her path. “You won’t,” he says with a little despair, “I’m sorry. You won’t know from aura alone. You…” Another reason for Hale to hate him, another lie. A lie by omission, but a lie all the same, “Some of my friends, some of our friends, they’re brotherhood too.”

This he thinks, is not something Tiffany should here. Not the names at least. Shaking his head, he can’t stand how stubborn Hale is being. She learnt from the worst, after all. “Hale—” he’s beginning to regret talking to her, to telling her about this at all. Only Samson thinks no-one would believe her if she told them she never knew. “I’m telling you… so if they do come knocking you could say you never knew. Not until I told you my plan to leave. I don’t want you to lie. I just…” I can’t tell you where I’m hiding. “I’d rather you tell them everything than deal with any pain cause of my fucking stupid decisions.”

It’s difficult to look at Tiff. Telling her he’s brotherhood was the easy part, she could probably guess. Samson likes to think he knows his sister well enough that she may not tell Tiffany anything too personal. He simply wanted someone to know why, even if in the end, the why didn’t matter. “You would survive, your girlfriend wouldn’t.” After a pause. “Can you meet somewhere else?” He suggests, it feels wrong. Making even the slightest plan to protect a human. It’s Hale’s human, though. He’ll have to make an exception even if Samson still can’t look Tiffany in the eye’s, though.  @tiffany-chiba​

[samson-clemens]

VICTOR!

keep reading

Samson gives in. Vic moves over him, kisses him, licks, tastes, and he can only keep whining and rolling his hips. Legs parted further and he groans. Victor’s hand feels hot and cold and heavy on his legs. Another spark of sensation, overwhelming him once more as the lights touch him, “Sparky.” The pet name slips out on a moan, the lights. Those fucking lights, like Victor can’t get enough of Samson, like his two hands and his mouth aren’t enough.

Every word from him is torturous. Pretty and fucked. The thought of Vic thinking he’s pretty, looking at him and even moaning at just the thought of him: even after knowing him. And he talks. With that beautiful voice of his, and that filthy mouth, he talks. “Yeah—” Sam manages, not much else at the thought of mirrors of getting to see Vic as he fucks him from behind. 

The first time he moans Samson in his ear, he’s gone, hips stuttering, a growl and a moan in his chest. Coming, again with a shout and then a whine as he pulls his back into the bed away from Vic’s hand, away from the thrill and ache of too much. Fingers still in Vic’s hair curl tighter, and with an open mouthed moan he kisses whatever and wherever he can reach on Vic. “Fuck, baby, baby, give me a second,” his free hand takes Vic’s, the one holding his cock, a brief reprieve. Samson still twitches, can’t fully control the sporadic little thrusts that make him whine.

[samson-clemens]

EZRA!

        true to his expectations, samson doesn’t ask again. he knows that he can trust him to accept his answer, even if something is amiss. he’s the type to deflect, too. i’m tired of working. ezra knows that isn’t the truth. you know how it is. samson knows that ezra isn’t being honest, either. they can lie to each other and have that lie accepted, if not believed. “there’s the dicky i know and love,” he teases, plopping himself down on the couch beside samson. “scout’s honor, won’t touch a hair under your waist.” instead, he cuddles up against his chest, taking a long drink from the plastic bottle in hand. it’s disgusting. he can practically feel it’s poison working down his throat. it’s exactly what he needs. “anyone ever tell you that you’ve got an exquisite chest, mate? great pillow, really.”

Despite the fact it’s Ezra, there’s always some level of fondness for the other guy. He leans into the way his mutation affects his very nature just as much as Samson fights his. Difficult to blame him for his actions, like blaming a cat for catching mice or birds. Bringing them to your doorstep as a gift. It’s the only language Ez seems to understand. Besides sex. Dipping his head down, leaning a chin on the top of Ezra’s head, “You know if you touched a hair I didn’t want you to, I’d kill you, Ez.” it’s said with a sort of fondness a death threat should never carry. Especially a genuine one, he’d make sure Ezra didn’t enjoy that death. Quick, not drawn out. He’d hate to go out like that. “Yeah, actually,” Ezra will move slightly as Samson laughs, a gentle shake, “Been told I’ve got a pretty pair of tits more than some of the girls.”

[samson-clemens]

BLAKE!

“I’m not worried,” she provides a little bluntly, shrugging as she rounds the corner and then glances back to him with a light smile. “You’re a big boy. You can obviously take care of yourself.” Blake knew this firsthand, considering the times they’d gone sort-of toe to toe — even if she knew that was slightly different, since that’d been in the context of the Veil, and he’d never gone full feral against her. She’d only ever witnessed it, here in the ring. “I’m just curious. Saw Cherry the other day, and she said you two hadn’t talked for a while.” Blake drops this casually enough, but she’s watching for his reaction closely. It’s a significant fact to couple with his apparent upset.

Samson’s almost envious of the casual ease Blake has simply existing. Walking into places like she belongs, and she does, because she decided she does. Pacing around, slow, quietly, he can feel her slowly winding up to the real reason she’s here. Whatever is on her mind. Thankfully, just as she doesn’t pull punches in any sort of arena, she doesn’t wait to ask what she’s here for. Saw Cherry the other day… Samson’s shoulders sag. It’s for her safety, it’s just temporary. “Some stuff’s come up it’s… ” He’s such a shit liar, jaw tensing, that same feral rage bubbling in his chest, “ Complicated. How’s—how’s she doing?” He knows it’s cruel to ask, that he should be talking to Hale, himself, not going through someone else. He just needs to make sure he can get the right people on his side. Or even tolerate him before… before he tries to live a life. A paranoid thought ticks over. He can’t let it go. “‘she put you up to this?”

[samson-clemens]

VICTOR!

keep reading

Two more. Just two. “Fuck—” his voice wavers at the thought of it, at the way he’s too sensitive already. Maybe one, maybe just one more for Vic. One more for himself. He’s already feeling boneless, even as he’s basically fucking Victor’s hand. Which he points out, and Samson can’t help but groan. A laugh at him, calling him eager yet quiet.  It’s rare for Samson to ever be able to shut off his mind during sex. He’s either trying to not tip over into feral, or his role means he can’t let go. 

Right now: he’s letting go. He thinks he’s losing his mind because for a moment, one brief moment, the ropes of lights draped over him actually caress him. A touch too light to be certain it happened. Samson’s hand moves blindly to run fingers through Vic’s hair, to nuzzle his face into him. “Keep going, Sparky—” another moan, bordering on painful. He almost wants to jerk away, to stop. Almost. He wants to be fucking brainless by the time Vic’s finished with him. “Faster, baby, please.”

[samson-clemens]

EZRA!

         “thanks, love.” quicker than he should, he slips away for the ethanol—the whole supply, which is actually a bit more than expected. then again, samson always has been the type to get into an odd scrap or two, hasn’t he? when ezra returns, he sets himself down on the couch next to his friend, already unscrewing the cap of his first bottle. “wrong? no, course not,” he laughs off, taking a long swig of the horrid liquid. “just… you know. if i can’t get it from you, i’ve got to settle for doing it the old fashioned way.” he winks, another deflection. nothing is wrong. except everything, that is. “you know how it is.”

You know how it is. “Guess so.” Samson takes a swig of his own drink, disbelief clear in the way he doesn’t ask again, the way he eyes out Ezra. If he had any intention on getting drunk, he’d probably have to join Ezra’s disgusting drink of choice. Something is wrong, that much is clear to Samson. Neither wants to talk about. “C’mon, you know I aim to please.” He’s quick to cave. It’s difficult to drop the instinct to entertain, to please others. He lounges back, puts his arm on the back of the couch, an open gesture for Ezra to settle next to him. “Won’t fuck you but you can have a fondle. Nothing below the waist.”

[samson-clemens]

SAWYER!

Sawyer’s grateful for Sam’s kindness, obviously. He’s grateful for everyone’s kindness. It’s just fucking overwhelming. For years every touch was a punishment. Any kind word he might receive was whispered like a secret because you didn’t want those in power thinking you were too happy. Now, as much as kindness means to Sawyer, it hurts too. It hurts like antiseptic in a wound.

So yeah, he’s grateful for the kindness, and particularly for the fact that the kindness extends to realising that it might be a hard topic for Sawyer to go into any sort of detail on, turning the conversation back to the car. Twisting the rag around his fingers to remove the worst of the oil, Sawyer heads back to the notebook on the battered old desk to make another short note. “Well, there’s good news ‘n bad news. Bad news is your clutch is a goner. Good news is it’ll only take thirty minutes to get it swapped out, and I ain’t too busy so I can get her sorted for you now. You’re welcome to wait, grab yourself a coffee if you like.” He gestures to the little table with the coffee pot on it, a few clean mugs, and a small assortment of sugar and creamer. Ralf says that coffee is cheap as hell but makes people happy, so it’s worth having a little coffee station for customers. Breeds loyalty, or something.

Sawyer takes the out of Essex conversation, so Samson decides to drop it. He’ll have to ask Jess about him. Good news bad news is always hwo it goes here, he’s at least prepared for that. Embarrassingly, really, Samson had to spend the whole trip over here preparing himself to get angry. Not at Sawyer, just at himself. At the feral beast sitting beneath his ribcage that wants to ruin everything over even the slightest inconvenience. “Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, not aimed at Sawyer but still pissed off, can’t be cheap, even if it’s a quick job, “How much?”

No matter the cost—he needs a car—with a nod and a grunt he moves over to the coffee. It’s a perpetual cycle: getting angry, getting angry about being angry. At least Ralf knew what Samson was like, unlike this new guy. It doesn’t do much for Samson besides the slightest uptick of his heart rate, but it’s better than doing nothing. 

[samson-clemens]

JESS!

outside of ( most of ) her fellow escapees and january, there had never been a pillar quite like samson – someone steady and warm and, most importantly, familiar. but it may very well be argued that samson was the only one familiar in a sense further than its literal definition – familiar, like this was not the first life they’d met in. she wasn’t religious or spiritual, far from, but if rebirth existed… they had known each other in each life. and she hoped that that feeling, and that not straying from him, was enough to get it all across: she loved him, too. 

“ it’s no thing, ” she replied with a smile of her own. “ as long as you’re happy with him – and ya seem t’ be. ” did she know the extent of their relationship ? no – no, she had just learned that he had an in with the omegas to begin with. but even if they did not make each other happy in that typical, romantic sense – even if they were just friends – the sentiment stood. as long as whoever this was made samson happy.

FIN.

[samson-clemens]

VICTOR!

keep reading

Things are easier if he can stop thinking: simply be in the moment and Sparky makes it so easy for him to give in. Victor calling him good, throwing a leg over his thigh, cuddling into him. “There’s no part of you that doesn’t feel good,” Samson mumbles out as Vic’s lips are pressed against his jaw. Again he tells him he’s being good and the praise, so rarely given even in this context, makes him putty in his hands.

Samson’s a goner. Go ahead. “Victor—” his name said like a prayer, the tail end followed with a load moan as he comes. His hands search blindly before holding onto Vic’s arm, moaning loud (louder than usual for Vic, needier for Vic) and he makes a mess of himself. Hips jerk up, no longer holding back as he’s practically fucking himself into Vic’s hand. Spent, with a mess of Vic’s hand and his own stomach—his whole torso marked with his own and Vic’s cum all lit up by the ropes of light Sparky has constricting over him. He doesn’t stop Vic, but simply holds on, ready to ride the way as long as Sparky wants him to.

[samson-clemens]

EZRA!

         ezra can tell that something, if not the excuse given, is bothering samson. even so, he chooses not to pry… for as long as the drinks aren’t out. maybe later. “i haven’t, but how hard could it be? all you’ve got to do is ignore the poke, mate.” despite his own internal torment, he offers a wide, needle-toothed grin. there’s no shame in ignoring the problem, after all… even if his approach has shifted. “you worry about the beers. i’ll—” he leaps to his feet, pausing briefly in thought. “wouldn’t happen to have rubbing alcohol tucked away somewhere, would you? need a bit of a kick in the head, tonight.”

Samson scoffs when he says ‘ignore the poke’. Simply enough, funnier to think Ezra wants to be the big spoon, then. Samson’s slower to stand up and pull the beers out. “Medicine cabinet in the bathroom.” It’s not far to the fridge, and Samson’s lazy, so when he drops onto the couch, he opens the beer with his teeth, flinging the cap onto the table. When Ezra’s back, likely with his whole supply of rubbing alcohol in tow, he watches him. “Something wrong?” Sam asks, it’s not uncommon for Ezra to need some pain, but usually it’s said with a little bit more glee.