psychic damage from fucking? also i need vampires to live
That's definitely one way to accrue psychic damage. Probably you could confess to your lover that you have some absurd fetish right in the middle of it, and see how that changes the entire vibe of your fuck. We all know how people are full of surprises. Good luck. My favorite way to give myself psychic damage is to get really drunk and think about the fact that wizards aren't real and that I will never be able to live the life I was meant to live: up in a wizard tower in near-total seclusion and my only social function and stream of income would come from divinations for petty nobles-- yes, your ex-wife has cursed you! and the only way to reverse this curse.... ah.. Is to give me a big roasted boar and an entire basket of pears! I do not make the rules my liege & am afraid that this is the only way
As for the vampire stuff I recommend VtM: Bloodlines the videogame. Enjoy! And you can find out what clan you would be on the official VtM website. I'm Hecata
Author's Note: June 3 @unwholesomeocweek - Necrophilia. AO3 Link
Every now and then, Wynter desires something more than blood to satiate her thirst.
Content Warnings: Necrophilia, murder, strangulation, smut, references to Night Road, Elena Prodan, Aila mention.
It was time again. She could feel it in her Blood. That strange calling, that lustful yearning for something more than satiating her thirst. She wondered if part of this was Aila’s doing, and that her body which housed the elder’s soul was infested. Was her Blood thickening quicker, so that soon she would no longer be able to stomach bagged blood and blood let? Yet she knew that this hunger had always been within her, tamed by her uncle, then let loose again into the wild when she had turned. My god, if only he could see her now, what would he think?
Wynter stirred from her dreamless sleep, making out the various silhouettes in the dark that she had grown accustomed to. Elena’s arms wrapped and legs locked around hers. She turned to her side, pressing her cold, inanimate lips against her ghoul’s, stealing her warmth, the slickness of her saliva, and feeling the buck of her hips as she squeezed her nipple between her fingers.
“Fuck, babe,” Elena sighed. “Any plans for tonight, or could we lay in?”
She hissed as Wynter stroked her sensitive spot through the damp fabric of her panties, her touch chilled as ice.
“Hunting season,” she murmured between kisses, hearing Elena groan with disappointment at her reply.
“Ugh, come on, girl…” her ghoul whined. “Quit being a fucking clam jam!”
By now, the gusset of Elena’s underwear was soaked. A pity, really, but it had to be done. Tonguing Elena’s lip piercing, Wynter gave her bud a light pinch, causing her to jolt in response. Then, she sat up on her bed and tugged her clothes on.
“Fucking tease,” Elena grumbled, languorously following suit.
Still, Wynter never apologized.
Was it fair? No.
Did she like her? Maybe.
Was she using her? Yes.
Shrugging, she stated, “There'll be plenty of time for that later. Tonight, I need you to clean up for me.”
Elena huffed, but nodded, ruffling the wispy, platinum blonde strands of her pixie cut before she stretched her arms out and yawned.
Cruising along the streets in her ghoul’s Datsun, they parked at the start of a predefined route that Wynter had mapped out previously like a fairground. A route that she knew like the back of her hand. She had memorized the layout with its entrances and exits, the choke points and open areas that gave the illusion of breathing space.
What was the point of hunting if she did not prepare for it? People often blamed bad weather, bad timing, bad setups, bad aim, when really, all of it could have been prevented by rolling up their sleeves and putting in the ground work. Work that she knew all too well when she had cut her teeth as a courier, including her much-illustrious stint in Tucson. To leave it to fate was to watch every golden opportunity fade into the wind.
With a little more color and vigor to her now, Wynter stepped out of the car, allowing her body to acclimatize itself to the imitation of being human. As she swung the door shut, Elena saluted her before circling around the block, keeping an eye out until she would be needed again.
Tuning into her keen senses, she assessed her surroundings. It was a little far out from the center of town, which meant that the neighborhood was not too lively, but not entirely desolate either. Surrounded by oak and maple trees, there was a gas station built in the ’50s with a late night diner attached, serving dishwater coffee and greasy fast food. Beside it was a dingy bar that had seen better days, but its cheap drinks and pool tables made it a relatively popular haunt for students. Outside of this were a bunch of small buildings, both owned and empty, that scattered across the main road. Further up was a dirt road with a secluded graveyard and long, flat plains.
It was still early in the evening that she could see vehicles passing by, unloading then driving off, guests trickling in and out of the establishments, loitering around to smoke and enjoy the cool breeze, or heading onward to other destinations. So many places to be, so many sights to see. There was plenty of time to take her pick of the litter. Wynter hummed, smelling the corn sweat and sour decay of the season’s leaves in the air. Then, overlapping it, the distinct aromas of those standing closest to her. They were malleable, shaping and shifting as she drew nearer.
It was always a gamble with what would set her off. The scent of cologne, the smoke from a cigarette, a lock of lustrous hair, toughened, wizened hands, the pout of a Cupid’s bow. The list went on. There was an unpredictability and randomness to it. Something she couldn’t exactly plan for. It kept her on her toes—she liked that.
This time, it’s the color of his eyes. Electric blue, like a flash of lightning in a tornadic storm. A look that could pierce her whole. He’s young, even younger than when she had been Embraced. Someone with the rest of his life ahead of him. Arriving on his own, he stumbled over his feet like a newborn duckling as he shuffled into the bar. She trailed behind him, keeping her distance and avoiding the uneasy stares of the patrons around her.
Shy and awkward in his mannerisms, he couldn’t even look the bartender in the eye when he ordered a drink. He glanced around the room as if he were waiting for a date, but recognized nobody. There wasn’t a reason to check his phone, Wynter knew, because he didn’t have anyone. He exuded a quiet sensitivity that made her debate whether he sketched portraits or scribbled poems under the covers when everyone had gone to sleep. She tracked his patterns, how long it took him to finish his drink, whether he would order another, and the intervals when he used the restroom.
Just as he was fidgeting with a restlessness that indicated he might leave, she swanned over, casually brushing against his shoulder as if it were an accident. It was enough to catch his startled gaze as she burrowed under, branching into all of his senses, his extremities, feeling the nakedness of his conscience merge into her own. In a split second, his eyes darted away, the fear of intimacy making him blush.
Wynter gave him a smirk as she continued past nonchalantly, letting the sensations he experienced wash over hers in a shared bond. There was the taste of bitter hops on her tongue, and a sudden lurch in her gut, as if she were free falling. She had marked him, and now he was hers.
It didn’t take long for him to wrap it up for the night, paying for his tab before walking out the front door. She followed his tracks, but went off in the opposite direction, and waited at a point further along the road. When she saw him reach into his pocket for his phone, possibly to get a ride, she whistled softly, like a call she had learned for hunting game.
When he peered up in her direction, she had gone, causing him to frown and scratch his head, as if he had imagined it. Only then did she reappear, like a ghost flicking under the street lamp. Coyly, she placed one foot directly in front of the other, heel-to-toe, and then again, repeating the process before shifting her weight and twisting her body with the sway of her hips. He heard the sliver of a giggle as she beckoned him, and he swallowed hard, intrigued by this strange apparition.
As he moved toward her, Wynter pivoted on her heel and strode off briskly. Each time he picked up the pace, she matched it, and soon, he gave chase, yelling after her, “Hey, wait!”
He was so absorbed in catching up that he didn’t realize she had vanished. When he came to halt, crouching over with his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, he found himself completely alone on a narrow and unknown footpath. Sweat poured down his brow and he could feel the burn in his legs. He fished out his phone again, the screen light illuminating his anxious face, but before he could find his bearings, a petrifying growl erupted from behind him.
He caught sight of Wynter, harrowing and grotesque in her true monstrosity. Her jaw was extended into an uncanny position, as if the slit of her mouth had ripped at the sides, and froth dribbled down her elongated fangs. Without a second thought, he screamed and bolted forward, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him.
She pursued him, gaining in speed, but held back to a nominal degree, just to grant him the false hope that he might escape. Like this, she toyed with her victim, enclosing in upon him, driving him to the spot where he needed to be. At last, she saw it nearing, the metal gates of the cemetery that had been serendipitously left open, inviting them into its arms.
A cry rang out as the man tripped over the slab of a gravestone, and he tumbled face flat onto the ground. As he tried to scramble to his feet, she spun him around and pounced on top of him, before winding a wire rope around his neck. He struggled against her grasp, and although she was of a smaller physique, his exhaustion coupled with the element of surprise put him at a disadvantage.
With all her strength, Wynter tightened the garrote, causing him to sputter and choke. She watched in fascination as his eyes bulged, and his face changed shades like fall leaves. First red, then purple, then blue. Tears streaked down his puffy cheeks and saliva drooled from his swollen lips. She lived through his fear, his anger, his sadness, his confusion, as a series of questions arose. Of—Why? Why? Why?
Why me? What do you want with me? Why did it have to be me?
I didn’t do anything wrong. So, why?
Oh god, I don’t want to die. Please, why?
There was a certain melancholy and thrill with taking away the life of someone so young. She didn’t even know his name, yet what she experienced through their uncanny connection was precious to her. Everything he felt while he was strangled to the point of death. The moment of asphyxiation. The way the light left his eyes. The ebb of violence ushering in the sublime. It filled her with such an immense joy, her cup was abundant and overflowing. And soon, her own crimson tears started to fall as she laughed through her sordid weeping, the sounds she made almost indistinguishable from an animal in distress to one in heat.
Wynter rubbed herself against him, the bittersweet arousal coming in thick and heady. Panting and moaning as she felt his muscles convulse before relaxing, the skin along his jaw sagging, making his cheekbones more pronounced. His mud-caked fingers had stopped their clawing and he lay on the tufts of grass beside the headstones, muted and serene, like a sleeping angel.
She wiped away the scarlet droplets that had spilled down her cheeks with the back of her hand, their cloyingly sweet fragrance lingering afoot. Caressing the waxen pallor of his neck, she traced the outline of the garrote which had dug in deep. Her body was moving on its own accord, still grinding against his hips as she leaned over, kissing his frigid gray lips with fervor and devotion.
It only made her hungrier, as she suckled his plump flesh, parting them before licking along his limp and bloated tongue. The bulge in his soiled pants gave her pause, until she vaguely recalled such a phenomenon that occurred after death. Ripping his clothes open, she found his hardened erection, wet with stink and fluids, and gasped wantonly into his mouth.
Lithely, Wynter shed off her undergarments and took him all the way in, hissing at the fullness of his girth. Wrapping her hands around his abused neck, she rocked her hips, riding him viciously and savagely, grunting and yowling as if she were in a frenzy. Within her crushing grip, she felt the spine of his neck crack, and a wave of euphoria flooded every fiber of her being, as she let out a broken wail into the stillborn night.
Shuddering, she lifted herself off him, drawing in rapid, shallow breaths like a remnant of a memory while she redressed. The sweat that oozed from her pores disgusted her, along with the moist patch on her back. The nefarious craving and desire that plagued her had dissipated and she was lucid again. Kindred she met often claimed that no other feeling could compare to the act of drinking, but secretly, she differed. An anomaly among anomalies. Even her diablerie of Aila hadn’t come close to what she felt in her brief incursions.
Kneeling by the corpse, she retrieved her set of syringes from her leg pouch and got to work, extracting it for what it’s worth, not wanting a good source of blood to go to waste. Up until today, she didn’t quite understand what made her so adverse to drinking straight from the tap. What was different from plunging her teeth into a vessel compared to her kind, which she could tolerate? Did she find it unclean? Uncouth? A reminder of a life she no longer had? It had confounded her sire, Chiara, who regarded her habit with disdain, but never once bothered to correct it.
As Wynter fed herself from the tools of her trade, allowing the tepid blood to splash past her throat, an ominous, dark shadow loomed over her. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end as she stiffened and bristled, readying herself for an attack. Where the hell was Elena? Wasn’t she meant to be keeping watch?
Her ears pricked up as a voice spoke. A voice she knew through and through.
“Tsk tsk, you’re a fussy drinker, ain’t you, princess? You know… if I have to wean you off again, I will. And this time, you can bet your ass it's a promise, doll.”
It was husky, tired, and worn. It was intimate and familiar. It was home.
My story for Prompts of Darkness, hosted by @vampemoqueen and @porcelainseashore! It mentions a character who belongs to @girlnextvore (not saying who to avoid spoilers), who also made the divider.
This features Helena Van Houten on her 30th birthday. If you wanna read it in Ellipsus with the Open Dyslexic font, you can do so here.
It's late morning, and I'm preparing for a more quiet day in my home.
My family is asleep since all of them work nights. Various people work around the houses during that time so I'm not completely alone. I'm attempting to get all the knots and tangles out of my hair; simply existing gets it all out of sorts. Mama used to help me do it, but now she's on third shift so I need to do it alone.
Could I ask for help from somebody else? Yes, but I despise most people touching my head.
I'll go with a more simple look for today, since taking it all off later to change into my party outfit would be too much work. Besides, it's my birthday, I can dress however I want as long as I have clothing on. And if anybody who's awake has issues with a hoodie and PJ pants, that problem is theirs alone. Looking at the time, I decide my hair is brushed enough and that breakfast is far more important.
Tying my hair back with one of my ribbons, I stand up from my vanity and step outside of my room. One of the people hired mainly to keep me company pauses, a smile on her lips.
"Happy birthday Helena."
"Good morning Melody, and thank you!" I carefully walk past her to head downstairs to the kitchen. I'll do a light breakfast, I think, and then spend some time reading. Making a little parfait, I make my way into the dining room. I pause upon seeing a wrapped box with a tag on the table.
"Open upon waking up - Palmira" Oh, it must be a present from one of our close family friends; Palmira Reyes. I fondly recall when we met her and her associates a few years ago. Each one promising a special gift upon our next birthday after we'd known each other for a while. I had noticed that none of them seem to age, but upon the promise to learn why, I didn't investigate further.
All I know is that I am now the last one to receive that gift, and it will be tonight.
I pull the box over to myself after I finish my breakfast, I do not wish to forget to eat after all. I carefully unwrap the present, setting aside some of the wrapping paper. It's purple with black bats all over it, it's really cute, and it will fit in marvelously in my current wrapping paper album. After freeing the box, I see a second tag.
"If you see any matching mourning rings, set one aside - Palmira." Hm, interesting.
Upon opening the cardboard box, I am greeted by beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous stained wood. A dark oak, if I were to guess. Pulling it out very carefully, I can see it's an older jewelry box. I even find the keys attached with a string to one of the handles. And as I set it down, I can hear it rattle.
Oh, Palmira knows me so, so well.
It's on the taller side, and in the middle is two little doors with etched glass; the doors have little locks, which is what the keys for. I will certainly find necklaces in there on a little round turning mechanism with hooks to put things on. On the sides of the doors are the drawers; two shorter ones on top and one longer one on the bottom that also have a lock. Taking my new keys, I unlock the middle first.
The necklaces are nice, and I set one aside for tonight. It'll be perfect with my outfit! The shorter drawers hold earrings and broaches, which I don't need tonight. The bottom drawers, however, house the things I want the most. Which, of course, are rings.
And oh my, there's a lot of them!
Before I sort through them, I stand and go to get my sorting trays. Well, I say trays, but they are long, shallow drawers that I found at an estate sale years ago for cheap since the standing jewelry box they belonged to was gone. And they are perfect for ring sorting. I very carefully pour the rings into one and sit down to begin sorting.
Pretty much all of them are perfect, with only a few going into the second tray for me to sell or give away. And, to my surprise, I find two mourning rings! Which is pretty rare since most people keep the ones from their family, or donate them to museums. And there's something more rare about them.
They match.
The bands are of average width, gold on the inside with inscriptions and black on the outside with gold detailing. In the middle of the outside of the band, is thin gold that was shaped to look like a casket. The inside of the casket is black with a painted, hazy white skull. The casket is sealed with a clear material.
Carefully, I pick one up, put it on my right ring finger, and find it fits.
Keeping it on, I set the other one aside. It's not my size, and was clearly meant for another person in the family. I keep Palmira's note in mind, and I will find something to keep it in for later. I go back to sorting the rings, putting the ones I desire to keep away before setting the others aside. Standing, I pocket the spare ring, carefully pick up my new jewelry box, and bring it upstairs to my bedroom.
I have time to kill, and I'm feeling a good book at this time.
It's now night, and I'm getting ready for my party.
Shortly after sunset my family came to visit me while the main house next door was being prepared. We had some quiet time together while I opened my birthday presents from them. Mama helped me brush my hair after so I did not have to struggle like I did this morning before she wandered back next door to help finish preparations.
I pause, staring at myself in my mirror. I'm mostly dressed, my make up is done, and all I need to do is tie back my hair. I nervously twist my new ring on my finger, just looking at myself in my over sized button up shirt that I put on to protect my clothing from make up. The thoughts about my new gift tonight wash over me, nerves whispering briefly in my ear.
But I want to know what comes next.
I finish my own preparations, removing my shirt before heading down to my den.
Sitting in one of my refurbished arm chairs, I wait for the familiar sound of the front door opening and two sets of feet entering my foyer. It soon greets me, and I turn my head to the open entry way that connect the two spaces together.
"In here." Palmira is the first to enter, with her close friend Deysi following right behind her. Nothing needs to be said, and I stand as the first woman steps to me.
"Happy birthday, Helena." She kisses the top of my head, smiling, "How are you feeling?"
"Thank you Palmira. I feel a little nervous, but I'm more excited than anything." I look to the other woman, "Good evening, Deysi."
"Hello birthday girl." She steps over, also kissing the top of my head. "You ready for that party?" I nod my affirmation.
"Good, did you sort through the rings?" I show Palmira the ring I'm wearing before pulling the matching one out of my hidden pocket. "Oh, how excellent! Let us head over then." She takes one of my hands as I pocket the ring again. I follow behind, with Deysi behind me.
"Now, you're going to be seeing a lot of people from your family's birthday parties this past year. However, there are three women here tonight especially for you. Do not worry about the why, you will find out later. I know what to look for when you interact with them, okay?"
"Okay."
"Deysi?"
"Aye, I know what to look for as well." I hear a chuckle, "They did bring presents for you too, kiddo. Don't sweat the details, you got this."
Do I?
All the usual people are here. A table sits in the middle of the biggest room in the house, and it's piled with presents. I will open those later, after my main gift. I stifle my curiosity as I work my way through my guests. I do not know all of them personally yet, but I manage to recognize them enough to properly greet them all.
The mysterious Dunsirn lady even comes to greet me herself.
After some time, I'm approached by Palmira. She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder as she guides me to a more quiet area of the house. It seems most people were told to steer clear, for now, and they have listened. Aside from Deysi and three women I've never seen before.
Two are proper, in full black suits, and are white. The first has buzzed hair, which I think may be black, along with friendly green eyes. She smiles at me as she presents a plushie; a white bunny with black spots wearing a pair of blue overalls. I'm not given her name, but I thank her for the present. The second has shoulder length, wavy brown hair, though her brown eyes are much more serious. She doesn't give me much of a reaction as she presents me the blue bunny plushie, which clearly came from an Easter selection at a store.
The two of them seem nice, but my eyes do not linger on them. The third woman, however, catches me off guard.
She certainly stands out in her three piece, dark green suit with a pop of snake skin in her vest. The suit complements her skin color, brown. Her hair goes to the back of her neck, mostly brown with darker roots on top. She wears over, gold glasses with no frame on top. A brief smile crosses her lips, allowing me to see her tooth gap. She has multiple earrings in one ear, which is impressive. Her right hand features a stylized tattoo of a snake with its mouth open, with what looks like an eye that's vertical in the middle.
In the few seconds I look her over, I notice her chest tattoo due to her leaving the top of her shirt open. Along with the scars on her face, and her nose ring. After a moment she holds out another bunny plushie; this one is based off my beloved crème d’Argente and is wearing a little yellow sundress.
I carefully take it, thanking her. She smiles at me again, and I feel my heart flutter.
I hear Palmira whisper to Deysi, but I don't fully catch it. Maybe something about "this one", which means nothing as of the moment. I am soon guided back out to the main party to go have some of the party food. I hold my new bunnies close.
But I hold my crème d’Argente the closest.
It is eleven PM, and Palmira is guiding me to the door down to the basement. I hand her the ring upon her request, she takes my hand, and we go down together as the door closes behind us.
And soon, I get my gift.
I now know what I am.
I get a brief lesson from Palmira, about what is going on. She calls me kindred, a Cappadocian. She tells me I will get more lessons, of course, just like my family. But for now, she wants me to enjoy the rest of my party. I clean myself up, and we head towards the stairs.
She quietly hands me the ring I had set aside while still human. I'm given a quiet nod, and I think I begin to understand as I look at her and Deysi. The way the two are always together, the way she stands behind my sire. My mind goes to the three women at my party, and I understand completely. Quietly, I turn and go upstairs, opening the basement door to see the woman from before.
