#xmultimusesx

[twinklefairy-dust]

Starter: The Joint and Jackal

(CLOSED STARTER)

@xmultimusesx

It had been two days since the blood. Since the screams. Since the moon lit Remmick like something out of an old warning tale— and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since.

Azha hadn’t meant to end up near the joint. Not really.

She’d left barefoot, told herself she was just walking to walk— letting the dirt cool her soles, trying to quiet the thing inside her that hadn’t rested since that night. But the air felt different again. Heavy. Expectant. And when the low thrum of music drifted to her from down the hill—gritty, sweet, sinful— it curled its fingers into her and pulled.

Then she saw him.

Remmick.

[Azha ducked back, slipping behind a splintered porch post wrapped in rusted wire. She watched from the dark.]

[The bouncer squinted at him, unimpressed.]

“You ain’t on the list, stranger,” [the man grunted, arms crossed like a wall. His jaw looked carved from stone, his eyes sharp with suspicion.] “This place don’t just let any drifter in ‘cause he’s got a silver tongue.

[levixthxn-thegirl]

[ food ] sender brings receiver their favorite dish to cheer them up (paddy or Remmick to Ambrosia)

Nonverbal Prompts || OPEN

The cold air felt fresh against her flushed skin, a shock to her system that she desperately needed. It was tough day, not that she wanted to complain, or felt like it would do any good. Ambrosine didn't bother to put on a sweater, actually relieved she could get away from the heat for a bit as she sat outside on the garden patio to look up at the stars scattered in the cloudless night sky, and in her opinion, they and the moon looked even more brilliant in the winter. The opening of the door caught her attention, turning her head to see Remmick coming out with from the smell wafting off the bowl alone it was her favorite stew. That did make her smile.

"Thank you, Remmick.", she said warmly. "Want to join me? They called for shooting stars, they should be starting soon."

[thxwxlf]

She hadn't been out in this part of the woods in a while, especially this late at night. She was usually kept back at the ranch after that first vampire attack. Another had happened since she had gotten better, but she was kept safe that time around. She wasn't supposed to be out there, but she had to get away. She wanted some peace and quiet away from everything. So, she decided to ride out. She didn't worry about getting lost this time. If she did, she'd find her way back, but for now, she decided to dismount her horse and take a break from riding while the horse grazed beside her where she sits under a tree, tuning her guitar.

She didn't have a lantern that evening; the moon's light was just enough for her and the horse. When she finally got the guitar tuned just the way she wanted it, she softly hummed as she strummed before singing:

Time rolls by, the clock don't stop I wish I had a few more drops Of the good stuff, the good times Oh, but they just keep on flyin' Right on by, like it ain't nothin' I wish I had me a, a pause button

She then stopped, laid the guitar beside her, and pulled something from out of her pocket: it was a gold coin. His gold coin. She softly sighs, turning it in her hand a couple times, "Moments like those... Lord knows I'd hit it and give myself five more minutes," she huffs, wiping her eyes, "Fuck." It still hurt.

She stuffs the coin back into her pocket and watches the horse graze, but her eyes soon feel heavy. She knew she needed to stay awake but it was just... so relaxing out there, she just couldn't help herself.

While Stevie slept, her horse continued to graze quietly until he sensed something, or someone nearby , enough to make him uneasy and lift his head in alert.

Plotted starter for @xmultimusesx

[vyrulent]

continued // @xmultimusesx

Mrs. Westenra had taught her daughter that it was a woman's duty to push through pain. A women would face many pains in life: blood, cramps, bloat, childbirth, and heartaches. It wasn't a woman's place to show her pain too much for fear of causing a fret and fuss for the men around them. Lucy had been raised with those thoughts. While Remmick didn't seem to be making a fuss, she had felt the pain through their connection, the hive mind.

Settling beside him at the tub's edge, Lucy was careful in her movements as the washcloth moved over his bare back. Her heart ached for him. He'd been so brave and fierce. He'd been protective with predatory nature.

With little thought, she slid into the tub behind him -- night dress be damned as she settled in behind him. A kiss was peppered against his back as she carefully wrapped herself around him while she slid the washcloth over his still bloodied chest. Blood mixed with the water creating a sickly pink shade.

She knew they'd have to leave this place -- their temporary home, but a home nonetheless. She kept silent on that fact.

"You're so very brave, Remmick."

[anthologicals]

✎ = speaking in a different language.

manicured  fingertips  tap  gently  against  the  porcelain  handle,  her  mossy  hues  locked  onto  his  lips  as  he  murmurs  something  to  her  in  his  native  gaelic.  she  hasn’t  the  slightest  clue  what  the  hell  he  just  said,  but  judging  by  the  eager  lift  of  his  brow  and  the  sly  curve  tugging  at  one  side  of  his  mouth,  she  can  hazard  a  guess.  it  was  something  sickeningly  sweet  or  gloriously  suggestive,  something  @xmultimusesx  wouldn't  dare  to  repeat  in  english,  least  of  all  in  front  of  her.

the  thought  alone  makes  her  grin  into  the  rim  of  her  cup,  eyes  peeking  from  beneath  ink-black  lashes.  a  girlish  chuckle  breaks  out,  her  cheeks  warm  with  a  blush  she  doesn't  even  try  to  play  off.

❝   i  have  no  idea  what  the  fuck  you  just  said,  but  sure—     ❞  another  laugh  bubbles  out  again,  this  time  higher-pitched  and a  little  breathier.  ❝  fuck it! i'm  down-  let's  do  it!     ❞

[siritheshifter]

Fleabag

It was a vicious cycle really, when he wasn't hungry he'd end up in a barrelhouse or bar with money he had stolen to drink. There weren't a lot of things that Siridean really did for his own enjoyment, life didn't afford him that much. Things had gotten better since hanging out with Remmick- food was easier, and thus, it meant more time could be spent doing what he enjoyed. Drinking. Of course Remmick wasn't around to protect him during the day, and Siridean didn't always sleep or just wait around for the other man to wake up, nor did he always need the vampire's protection. But the thing about Siridean was, after he had a few pints or bottles in him, he had a pension of making other peoples angry. He loved plucking on nerves, and also didn't hold his tongue when people started shit talking. One could only imagine what he said or did this time around but a good number of men at the bar didn't enjoy the way the Irishman spoke to them.

An altercation ensued, broken bottles, fists and bar stools flying and given the number was four to one, Siridean was not the winner of this situation. He'd done a number on them sure, he was a scrappy man, but he was inebriated. They kicked and beat the fight out of him before picking him up by his baggy clothes and throwing him right out of the door of the establishment.

Siridean hit the dusty ground with a grunt, his face bloodied, bruised, along with his knuckles and arms, a piece of glass still somewhere in one of the cuts, his nose was crooked- broken, again. He spit crimson into the dirt before slowly pushing himself up with a wobble, stumbling backwards and accidentally into Madeline and her mother. He wasn't a very tall man at all, 5 ft even if one had to guess, relatively scrawny with the way his dirty clothes hung about his frame. Freckles under the dirt, blood and other grime, eyes as green as the woods and hair a wild array of russet. "Shite, sorry-" he mumbled to them, his voice sounding strange with his broken nose.

He didn't expect help, nor did he ask them for it, only began to shuffle his way to an alley to cool down and take stock of himself. He'd have to explain to Remmick what happened, probably, rightfully, be called an eejit for biting off more than he could chew. But oh well, such was the púca's life.

Tag: @xmultimusesx

[cursedfortune]

@xmultimusesx liked this post for a lil' thing baelor!

"I know a king may roam wherever he so chooses... but is it wise to do so without your guard?" A curious voice inquired from the opposite side of the creek. She had been enjoying the sound of the running water, a quiet moment she stole away from the festivities.

Mortem stepped out from the shadow of a tree, hands loosely held behind her back as she walked along the water. Black eyes fixed upon the king, keenly aware he was presently alone. She didn't intend to be threatening, but it came with a witch's nature regardless.

[dontquitonaccouname]

run, @xmultimusesx

For the second time in those short hours, the world as Joan knew it narrowed to the density of a single thread. She could hear him in the back of her mind - her husband, whose voice she would know even if she were deafened; whose connection to her went beyond sire to sired, beyond the realm of spirit and soul. She could feel his every word reverberating like they were being written on the inside of her skull. I don't give one good god damn about his plan, get back inside this goddamn buildin' b'fore I come get you.

The thought passed from her mind in the flicker of a heartbeat before it all went to hell. What if he does it? As if she wasn't privy to the flame-flicker of Remmick's memories in her periphery -- the Celtic Hare, North Carolina, Neshoba -- what if he does what he's been hopin' t'do? What if I can see her?

Not like this.

The stake didn't land where it should've.

That was what she told herself as a wave of agony overtook her, a pain so intense it congealed the hazy present into part of a memory. Fever-sick and trembling, gripping a fistful of his shirt. The nausea of wrongness; the pressure of a too-small infant struggling her way into the world.

She had gripped Pearline. Taken a handful of the youngest vampire's dress as though the silk would be grounding. All the while mixing the past with the present - pale-gone lips parted over too-sharp teeth. The way he said her name when he needed her to focus. Familiar pain, worse than backin' up into the potbelly stove in the old house when she an' her brother played too rough - but almost the same. Heat.

Like a physical sensation, she felt him struggling to move. To get up and go to her; to drag her back inside by her sleeve if he was capable. The whirl of panic, bein' beside her while she was in labor, blocking the door as Remmick's teeth sunk into his tender throat. Only times he hadn't been able t'save her.

Seconds. Precious seconds. Still holding on, barely conscious of the act, Joan pulled. The hoarse sound she made might've been coherent. It might've been run. It might've been directed at the others. Cornbread. Mary and Stack. People she should've felt all wrapped up in her, but couldn't. Everything was a swirl of Remmick's pain amplified and multiplied by the sweet new kiss of flame.

Little heels not meant for digging into soft earth sunk deep only to pull out jagged. Lungs that didn't need air struggled to push out enough. Go go go please I'm comin' Jo-- please I'm comin' heat God pain no.

The door.

The barn doors became heaven's blasphemed gates. And Joan became aware of her eyes, of the transparent membrane separating her consciousness from his, from Remmick, from anyone and everyone else. She could do nothing but give the young woman whose arm she'd gripped a curse-breaking shove into the ever-vanishing dark.