#it was an eventful evening

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- Danse en rouge [end]

By the time we found the last target—that we would manage that evening—our glee was running out. All we’d done swirling hot and sharp in our shared minds, all of what they’d done blended with to sour all the joy we’d scraped and clawed and bitten.

Yet we weren’t done with our task, and the past wasn’t done with Lucient...

We found them in a broad, empty hall, tucked away in a corner that offered meager privacy for what they were engaged in, lined as it was with tall windows—a sight for any outside to see were it not for the curtains.

There were three in all; a man of generous height and build in a gorilla mask, a man of meager height and build in a pigeon mask, and a tall rubenesque woman attached to each and squished between them in a bear mask. The hearts on their cheeks unnerved more than the shape they’d arranged themselves in, and the grunting song they sang—though both were certainly unnerving.

Watching them mesmerized, the three of them in such sync, so perfectly fit in rhythm that I could not imagine them in any other configuration.

But Lucient, of course, could.

He was part of their set and through sharp flashes of moaning, sweat-soaked memory I saw precisely how he fit into their lustful puzzle. And the heat of their hands, the wet of their tongues, the cruelty of the devices they employed to torment him in every flash ignited me.

I was ravenous for their death and with that murderous blood yet popping, my thoughts giggled with all the ways I could inflict it.

Lucient shook beside me, stepping away from the sight of them, the memories, and flattened against a wall. Breathing too quickly, too short, I would not touch him—much as my fingers begged—or soothe with kisses as my lips ached to. Familiar that breath, his fear, and I knelt before it, before him, and laid my head on his stomach.

Unusual the gesture perhaps, but one my mother once employed for me after an especially harrowing encounter at one of her parties—one that had a certain socialite banned from future soirees as well as our business. It surprised me, my mother's face, but not in fear and I had grasped for her hair, for something soft and safe.

Just as Lucient did then, after the initial shock and flinch, he touched my hair, petting it—blood-soaked as it was—until his breathing steadied. And with his touch, he steadied mine, the red thinner in my thoughts, cooling as he sunk drying fingers down to my scalp.

“My treasure,”he breathed, quiet but clear,“I fear I don't deserve you…”

And I stood then, to hold his face in my hands—lifting his mask and smoothing bloody curls from his cheeks—and lay my forehead on his, whispering, “Then you clearly have no sense.”

I hoped for a smile, but he only sniffled as the memories throbbed, joining all the others he’d suffered that evening in tangled flashes. “Perhaps,” he whispered back, looking down, trying to keep wet eyes from me, “I lost it in all their flesh.”

Wiping his tears, smearing all the red that coated him, I kissed that perfect pout and smiled, “Well, we should go dig it out then, shouldn't we?”

He managed to keep the giggle quiet as he replaced his mask and returned to the corner, their song yet playing loud enough not to worry of detection.

We took the men first, quick as we’d become—connected so thoroughly through thought—it was instant. Teeth in neck, dagger in chest, they choked and oozed bright and red but we didn’t dawdle, didn’t play as we had been.

The woman, however, we drained, shared. Catching her as she fell—without the men to keep her stable—we took the space of her lovers, if not their positions. Our arms wrapped so close around her, to keep her trapped should she run, I couldn’t stop her lips from stealing my fingers, or the face Lucient made as he tried not to laugh at me. But with how caught in her lusts she was...our teeth digging into her neck and shoulder hardly registered beyond louder moans.

And her blood. Oh, her blood. As heady syrup it flowed; sweet, decadent, warm as fresh pastries it was—it was home. I was a child again in that bite, indulging in home-baked sweets. Dough crunched, ever so, in my teeth, jelly coated my tongue in warm fruity sweetness. Lucient swayed with me, with her, lost to the same sensation, the same memories but I knew—from enough small peeks—that he’d never had that in truth. But with all that blood filling me, washing away the lust for death and destruction, I wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

Yes, in the midst of our killing spree I was thinking about where I could find this man a warm, freshly baked pastry. That was the power of the blood, why it mattered who one ate—and how much of them. Because a taste wouldn’t do much, but we weren’t tasting, we were devouring and that bear was a meal.

Leaving her, and her paramours, seated by the window we went after the next target with contented grins, filled with a warm, numbing bliss. And we both concluded then that, aside from her blood being positively scrumptious, the woman in the bear mask had been drunk out of her mind.

The final targets on Lucient’s list—and the worst, I would learn much later—were outside, in the back of the manor, sitting by a poorly lit fountain.

We were so very happy when we found them. A warm, fuzzy happy that steals ones inhibitions and sense. Had anyone seen us they would have, correctly, assumed we were inebriated. But there weren’t any others in that garden. Nor anywhere near that fountain, which I found strange, but it did seem that all of Lucient’s targets were removed from the other partygoers.

And, before he could hear how loud I was wondering, I asked, My dream?

“Yes, treasure,” he slurred, giggled, right, no talking, they might hear...

Why are they alone? I kept to my point, and to thought—mostly because I couldn’t feel my tongue.

Tiger and Dog, He asked, leaning on me as I leaned on a wall, both of us hiding beneath a balcony—and I giggled with the thought of what I’d see had we been in the front of the manor.

All of them, I tried to focus, but it was growing more and more difficult, on your list. All we’ve...eated? Aten? Divorato. They were all alone.

My...clients...are special, His thoughts were slowing, his weight heavier on me, Ones no one else would take, no matter what they paid; the dangerous and, uh, dégénérer.

I mostri, he had referred to them as ‘degenerates’, but I named them monsters and then I realized none of the memories I’d seen of his showed his fangs save those with the witches, so I had to ask, because you’re a vampire?

He giggled, slapping at my chest, No, silly treasure, I’ve only been this for a couple years.

I grabbed his shoulders and stared at him until he looked at me—wobbling as he was, narrow his eyes—and said, “What?”

His eyes widened and he checked the couple by the fountain, but they weren’t there, so he sighed and looked back at me, “We’re done here, treasure. I can’t...do like this. I’ll get them at their home. Later.”

“This does not answer my question of ‘what’?” I held him steady, the swooning of that blood fading in the revelation of how recent his fangs were.

“I know,” he patted me again, “but I’m pretty sure I just heard a scream, a scared scream,” he giggled, shook his head and tried to speak clearly, “I will explain whatever you want later. Now...ship.”

[heartorbit]

and so love has come to an end

[egophiliac]

everyone out of the way, this is the only thing I'm going to be thinking about from now on.

(okay, there is one more thing)

[coulsonlives]

Holy shit, Shapiro had his ass handed to him. This is so satisfying to watch.

[cy-lindric]

His Majesty's little meow meows (from La Dame de Monsoreau)

[cosmonavo]

The biggest sin in that game is that I can't dating this freak skeleton man

[obliviouspoptart]

can we talk about how a broadcasted american presidential assassination attempt and Y2K happened not even a week apart

we don’t even live in interesting times anymore, we live in enthralling times

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

4.2 spoilers but it's interesting how Scaramouche and Furina were both made as replacements. But while Ei saw Scara's humanity as a flaw, Focalors thought that's what made Furina perfect.

I need the two of them to interact

[itseghost]

the captured! quest was so funny that i actually drew multiple things at once

[aniseandspearmint]

I am curious, bc I just ran across one of those, 'everyone remembers where they were when 9/11 happened!' things so-

This isn't meant to be a commentary on the event, just whether or not you remember where you were/what you were doing when the news hit.

As an example, I was home sick, doing dishes, when mom yelled for me to get in the living room RIGHT NOW.

[heartorbit]

if we could stay connected, just like this

[rubikor]

you can take your mora

[bloominflowers]

🦊💛

[improvapocalyps]

You have 90 minutes to complete. (original poem: r.a.)

In participation of the MCYT Recursive Exchange 2024 hosted by @mcytrecursive!

Inspired by know that all my love will be your breath (i will save you when your lights go out)

[text under cut]

1. Have you ever been in love? (Please circle your answer.) a. It's me and him b. Our hearts beat in sync c. Our lives intertwined

2. Do you understand what you’ve done? (Please circle your answer.) a. I couldn't do anything b. I lost my balance c. I doomed us both

3. It's been god knows how long since you felt phantom hands on your neck and there is no one in sight. If you were soul-bound to him and both of you died at the same time then why are you still waiting in the void? Please answer clearly, in full sentences. (Not a correct answer：I just wanted to see him one more time).

4. Define two (2)： Fate | The feeling of his forehead against yours Curse | The moment you realise he isn't linked to you anymore

5. True or False： i. It was your fault. ii. You wish you had met him under different circumstances. iii. You can’t regret a single moment that you had him. iv. You would do it all over again if you could. v. It ended long before either of you said anything.

thumbnails:

sketch cover thing for imgur link:

[captainkirkk]

I want to see characters being taken care of in an explicit and worshipful way. Home-cooked meals. Hair brushed and braided by gentle hands. Little gifts just because.

I want to read about characters who are not used to kindness being bombarded by acts of service. This trope works romantically and platonically. Give me found family and acts of service - all the ways a character is wrapped up in wordless, explicit care after years of cruelty and having no idea how to handle. I need it.

[fantastic-nonsense]

however bad of a day you're having, know that it's not nearly as bad as whatever the Crowdstrike security team is going through since waking up this morning