#I might one day against better judgement make a blog for this oc

[guhamun]

-Adds an oc on here-

[willow-salix]

This is going to be out of the blue and there's no need for a response to it, but I guess I feel like some of you deserve to get a peek behind my armour.

Facebook just gave me a memory from 7 years ago, showing me an album that I'd rather not see quite honestly, but you know when you're just drawn in even though you know it's against your better judgement? Yep, that was me just now.

The album is full of screenshots of the absolute shit ton of crap that I've had on the Internet over the years.

I was in the RP world for ten years, and in that time I was verbally and mentally attacked a lot, I was mentally abused, I was stalked, I was blamed for things I never did, I was used as a scapegoat for things I never did. I was the victim of unwarranted attacks that had my accounts deleted by fb so that I lost YEARS of writing.

I got my heart broken over and over again by people that claimed tk be my friends, people that claimed to love me but that were all too happy to dump me the second a better option came along. People that I sat up all night with, that I lost sleep over, that I went out of my way to help and support.

Some of them lied to me so throughly that they lied about who they were, where they lived, their job, their gender, their nationality, what other characters /accounts they had and everything else you could think of for over TWO years.

I've had one that claimed to be my best friend, sit on my couch, my actual couch, in my house and lie to my face. Lie to me and his long term partner and mother of his three kids that he wasnt cheating with a cheap bitch he met online (the third person he'd done it with I found out after) I only found out about her when she messaged me to tell me.

I stopped talking to him, after their friends started a smear campaign against me, and even then EVEN THEN, I talked it out and started talking to him again. But he turned it around and started blaming me and guilt tripping me again. So I cut him off. He stalked me. Like messaging my friend, posting things to me (actual letters through the mail) making new accounts to message me, buying new phone sims to call me. This was 6 years ago. He called me at the start of lockdown and left a message on my voicemail.

This man mentally abused me. He'd force me to talk to him when I had a problem and then he'd not like what I said, so he'd go silent and ignore me for up to three days, to the point that I'd worked myself up so much that I was apologising, that I was taking the blame for having feelings, only when he got that would he talk to me.

He was an alcoholic who worked in care if you can believe that, I supported him through him getting sober again, he still did all that to me.

I gave up on role play and let my character, my home, the one place I felt comfortable and safe, up. And I didn't go back for two years. I got talked around by someone, they made promises, I stupidly fell for it.

I then got used to bring their character back and to help them sort out storylines. I was then told they didn't want to work with me anymore because they had too much going on in their personal life, they blocked me and I then got screenshots that that had another writing partner already.

That broke me. That broke me and fandom and people and everything really.

I vowed never to go back.

Then I stumbled upon you lot. And I told myself not to get involved, not to start talking to anyone, not to start trusting again. Now look! Now bloody look!

I'm what... 500k + in a story that was never meant to be, I'm actually writing and collabing with people again and I have a character that I adore and feel just as comfortable with... And that is fucking scary.

It's sooooo scary. Like terrifying scary to me.

Because I'm having to trust again. Selene is like public property now, and I love how much everyone has accepted and adopted her and how they use her and write her too, that warms this cold, dead, suspicious heart of mine.

Because I can honestly say that Selene and John saved me and my sanity.

I am quite a sociable person, I love to chat to people and if I'm your friend I will go out of my way to do my best for you, to be there for you and to support you in every way I can. But I know I can be used and I dotn always see the bad in people. So I cut myself off and refused to allow myself to make friends again.

I was writing my novels and that was it. No interaction, no fun really. Then this loud mouthed witch blazed into my head, took one look at the spaceman and said "that one, he's mine, wrap him up I'll take him to go" and here she is.

They made writing fun again, they made it spontaneous and exciting, I suddenly had ideas again, people to talk to about the characters I love and it was hard. Because it was also good.

I had to trust the process, trust Selene.

But I'm also so wary. I'm wary that I'm gonna piss people off, that I'm going to annoy people with her and that people hate her. I know people don't like OCs' and I get major anxiety about that.

I've never had this amount of anxiety over stories before, never. Not my rp, not my novels, not the ones I did for class or competitions, nothing. This is singularly the most stressful writing I've ever done. Because these boys, they mean the world to me, they always have. They have always been my happy place since I was 5/6, they have always been my heart and home.

The problems I had in rp made me not like the books that I loved, the fandom I was in, because of peoples interpretations of the characters, the way they played them and the fact that they were so nasty to me. And I really really don't want that to happen here.

A few weeks ago I noticed that an account had bene set up that was clearly a piss take of me, of this account. And all the old fears and anxiety came rushing back. I instantly went running to Squiddy and Olliepig and basically tumbled around the group chat in a mess for a few minutes before I calmed down and realised what was going on and had a guess at who it could be.

But it's scary. Because I've been stalked, I've been badmouthed, I've had people make fake accounts of me to cause trouble, and it weighs on me.

Willow Salix is my author name, I had to choose that because my Pagan name (which I was writing under and still do on ff and a03) was too well known and my stalkers were reporting it every time I made a new account.

I had to come to love this name, come to see it as myself (willow is my actual real name btw) and feel comfortable with it. It's taken a long time, I've built my brand from it. I have five novels out under it. And to think of someone having an account with even a parody of that name gave me all sorts of chills.

I'm OK now, but yeah. Fun times.

So I guess... I just want people to talk to me. And I don't mean shine by ego lol, I mean that if I ever do anything to piss you off. If I ever say anything you don't like. If I ever annoy you with Selene or anything at all, PLEASE just come and talk to me.

I might put on a tough mask, and in general I am pretty hardy, but I'm a typical cancerian, hard outer shell, squishy inside.

Selene is my sanity in a home life that is far from easy, I won't go into major details but disabled husband, I'm a full time carer, he's majorly depressed and it's just... Yeah. Anyway, she's my refuge, she's my escape right now.

Actually making a side blog for her took so much guts, to allow her free rein to speak and act is scary as heck for me. Because I've been there and vowed to never go back.

The only good thing I took out of all my years of rp, apart from being able to make up a story pretty much on the spot, spontaneous replies, dialogue skills and character development, is my best friend in all the world @endellionaeternus who has seen it all and stuck by me through it all.

I have no real idea why I just typed all this, I guess I needed people to see where I'm coming from, and why Selene exists.

Yeah...

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 10

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo

Chapter Warnings: Discussions of bullying, death, injuries, and other tragic things, offset by a lil fluff at the end

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

A/N: Just want to quickly apologize for the 2 week delay in updating this story, but also this will be my 99th post on this blog which is kinda fitting once you read it, so I guess some things are just meant to be...

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 10: Good Grief

He met her at the designated place that evening, barely able to contain the mixture of excitement and dread that welled within him. On the one hand, Crosshair welcomed any opportunity to spend time with Joan, especially after she had shown interest in wanting to grow closer to him. She looked as beautiful as ever when she joined him, wearing her cute little shorts and signature smile.

But on the other hand, they were running out of time. He deployed tomorrow afternoon. How could they possibly grow closer in such a short window?

And how could he possibly say good-bye if they did? 

He led her through the set of double doors and down a long hallway, keeping his strides as relaxed as he could, despite his every nerve being on edge. She walked fairly close alongside him, but nothing too scandalous. Not that it was likely they'd be caught. This part of the facility was more-or-less abandoned, only used to house the more rarely-used supplies for the maintenance crew. Half the walls were stripped of their usual white sheen, revealing cracked plaster and dirty insulation instead. Only a few like himself knew it was a good place to go when in need of some privacy.

But there was also something here he wanted to show Joan. A way to help her understand his life as a defective clone. He wasn't sure why the idea had popped into his head earlier; he should have just suggested the simulation room again, programmed it to a nice, romantic beach or something. But it was too late to go back now.

They neared the door in question and Crosshair punched in the code. He gestured for Joan to walk in ahead of him, wanting to keep an eye on her reactions.

It was barely considered a room, more of a corridor that was meant to connect this hallway with another. A motion-sensor light flickered on as they entered. Miscellaneous boxes and crates had been pushed up against the wall on the left, dusty and unimportant. It was the righthand wall that gave this space significance. It had long been reduced to its concrete foundation, and chiseled crudely over most of its surface were names and numbers. The largest script was in the top left corner, only two symbols.

"Ninety-nine," Joan read out loud as she stood in the center of the room and looked over the wall in reverence. "This is a memorial."

Crosshair nodded. "All the clones who've died here, never stepping foot into battle. Most of them defects, like 99. Their names won't be found anywhere else. This... is their only legacy."

She nodded at him solemnly in understanding. He watched as she brushed her hands over some of the etchings, fingers tracing the lines as she read them over. There were mostly numbers, many of them not having lived long enough to find a nickname. One of his own batch-mates had been like that, only living a few short years before his defective heart had given out. 

Crosshair tore his gaze away from Joan to find his brother's number on the wall. Beneath it was the second lost brother, who had made it just a little longer. Scraps, they'd called him. He brought his hand up to rest alongside their names, frowning deeply at the memories they gave him.

He felt Joan come to stand next to him and he swallowed hard.

"He was sick all the time, but he kept trying," he explained. "He was worse off than me, and yet I was the kid who cried every night, and he'd talk me down. He'd tell me we had to keep fighting, we had to prove them all wrong. And then one day... he was gone. He'd failed some test and they just... they took him and...."

He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Thankfully Joan didn't need him to. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed reassuringly.

"They told me I'd be next," he said, his voice getting lower. "The Kaminoans. The training Sergeants. The other cadets. With Wrecker, Hunter, it was obvious they'd be useful, their mutations were fine. But me? What was I good for? Who could look at me and know what I was capable of?"

His words hung between them for a short while before Joan gave another squeeze of his hand.

"I'm so sorry, Crosshair," she said and he knew she meant it. "You deserved better. They all did. But... I know this might not sound quite right, but without that pain, you might not have become as determined and passionate and committed and loyal as you are now."

He finally looked away from the wall and down at her, surprised that she remembered the words he'd once written for her, all those months ago. The words he believed embodied who he really was.

"You didn't let your past break you. You used it to make you stronger. You should be proud of that."

He had never been told such a thing before. He'd never been given permission to feel proud, to take ownership of his life. It made him feel... relieved. To know that all of his struggles could mean something made the burden of grief that much lighter to bear.

And to hear it coming from Joan made him feel things, too. He realized he wanted to kiss her. She was standing somewhat close, her fingers were still grasping his own. She seemed to be enough at ease, comfortable here with him, even in such a sad moment. But he panicked and looked away before he could act on such impulses. He still didn't know what she wanted, or any of the things she'd alluded to having gone through herself. It didn't feel right to make to such an intimate move yet.

"Um, we can talk about you now," he stuttered awkwardly, overly aware of how clammy his hand felt under hers. "If you want...."

She laughed a little, but it wasn't a joyful sound. "I'm afraid my story's not any happier."

"Oh."

She cocked her head a little and reached up with her free hand to lightly touch the tattoo around his eye. "Didn't get a chance to tell you before, but I really like this. It's perfect."

He smirked but kept his eyes carefully fixed on hers, waiting. She seemed to be deciding what she wanted to say.

"Not sure if you've seen my own." She tried to sound playful, letting go of his hand in order to turn slightly and show off the splattering of tattooed birds around the thick scar on her thigh. "It's... kind of a memorial, too."

Joan looked toward the wall and took in a measured breath. "When the war started, my family did what we could to help. But then comes the Republic with its grand, shiny new army, and they tell us they've got it from here. Go home. My parents listened... I didn't. I couldn't. No, I marched up to the first battalion I could find and I told them I'd be helping them whether they liked it or not. They were the 116th, led by Commander Crowe."

She held a small smile on her face, fondness peeking through the sorrow like rays of sunlight into a curtained room.

"Your brothers," said Crosshair knowingly.

"Mmhmm.... They were so good to me. They taught me everything I know. We went through so much together. And then one day..." she looked over at Crosshair apologetically as she borrowed his previous words to tell her own story, "my speeder exploded, messed up my leg really bad. I did everything I could to try and fix it myself, but we were short on supplies and it just wasn't getting any better. Crowe insisted I go to Coruscant for treatment. I didn't want to, I hadn't been apart from them in years, but there was no choice."

And then the curtains were snapped shut and all that was left on Joan's face was sorrow. Sorrow and darkness.

"They died while I was recovering. All of them. A single missile to their ship somewhere in deep space. And that was it. No more 116th battalion. No more family."

Instinctually, Crosshair reached for Joan's hand as she had done for him. She seemed surprised, breaking out of her haze and looking at his hand like it was the only thing grounding her.

"I should have died with them," she said in a hoarse voice. "At least, that's what I told myself for seven months. Until Cody came. He'd been good friends with Crowe, knew all about me. He told me to get over myself. That I was still alive for a reason and that I did nothing to honor their memories by letting myself waste away. And then he offered me a job, said I could help some of his other brothers, the way I'd done for the 116th."

Slowly her sadness was fading and Crosshair was grateful. It was easier to hold on to his own pain and learn to live with it, but seeing the same feelings in Joan had scared him. He didn't know what to do to help her. As she wrapped up her story, though, he began to realize that he already had.

"He said it was an experimental unit and that none of you would look like, well, the regular clones, so maybe it'd be easier for me to get back into it. And it was. I knew I loved all of you boys from the first day. You were all confident and eager. None of the battle-worn spirits I was used to dealing with. You gave me life again. Helped me rediscover my purpose. My passion."

She took a step closer to him, holding his hand back firmly.

"You were the tough one," she smirked. "You're so calm and relaxed, so sure of yourself. Any time I felt anxious or like I wasn't making a difference, I knew I could count on you to put me at ease. Even when you were a little sassy."

She giggled, but Crosshair's mind was reeling. She thought he was the assured one? This whole time she'd been seeing him the same way he saw her?

"And then, you know, you stood me up that one day," she sighed dramatically and then it was his stomach that started doing flips as the regret from his actions returned. "Which happened to be the, uh, anniversary of their passing.... And I didn't think I'd be able to do anything that day, except that I knew you'd be coming by, and so I actually got out of bed and did some chores and saw other patients.... And I was trying to think of ways I could keep you for longer than just a consult on your injury. I was going to have you teach me darts and maybe help me sneak some good snacks from somewhere or ask to get a tour of your new ship...."

She was looking up at him with bright eyes and the thought of kissing her returned. She was definitely close enough now, and as he made eye contact, she couldn't seem to remember what she was going to say next, her voice trailing off into short little breaths.

"I really am sorry," he said, stalling for time. He wasn't sure why he kept hesitating when it was something he wanted so desperately. So much for her thinking he was confident.

"I know," she said softly. Was she leaning closer or was he?

"I... I'm leaving tomorrow," he said.

"I know." Both of their hands were clasped in each other's now, pulses beating rapidly beneath hopeful grips.

"And," he kept going, even though the space between them was continuing to grow smaller, "I've never done this before."

"I know." She grinned, and that undid him.

Whatever self-conscious walls he'd put up for whatever irrational reasons came crumbling down as he finally closed the gap and pressed his lips against hers.

[harry-leroy]

for the fic prompts, laertes and hamlet + “win” if you’re willing to write those two :)

Hi! I'm just having a look at my ask box, and goodness I know it has been a good while since I have even looked at things in my inbox. However, I just realized that I have not written anything (academically, or for fun) in several months, so I thought we would start with some fic prompts to settle back in with *words* again.

This was incredibly fun to write, though I am realizing how difficult it is just to get to 1000 words when writing prose - if anyone writes in prose on the regular, I bow down to you. I also kind of split up the characters (because of course I would), but I also used characters from that Hamlet play I posted snippets of earlier this year on my blog (because I'm obsessed with this little French OC boyfriend I've given Laertes), so that's the universe I'm operating in.

I'll leave it under a cut! Thank you again for all of your lovely asks (and if anyone wants to request a fic, you can totally leave something in my ask box, it just might take several months for me to get back to you ahahah).

“What is it today? I have grown bored of playing cards,” Etienne rolled over to kiss Laertes on the cheek, then on the nose, the mouth, marking a blazon with the repeated gesture.

“We all have,” Laertes returned, between breaths. “I have certainly grown too old to gamble,”

“Nonsense,” Etienne said. “You are young. Believe me,”

“Old in my heart then,” Laertes said. “They weren’t lying when they said France dulls a man’s senses. Libertines are about as common as beggars or whores. A fool I was to expect some kind of excitement away from Denmark,”

“Who else would give us our money?” Etienne asked. “No cards today, my love,”

“Swords then,” Laertes sat up, still following Etienne’s affection. “I can gamble with the rest of them, but perhaps I’ve grown soft in my physicality,”

“What? Do you intend to be a soldier when your fortune comes calling?” Etienne asked.

“If I must,” Laertes sighed. “You always challenge my thoughts, Etienne. More often than not, I find myself at a loss with you. I must win at something,”

“Do not trouble yourself with that loss,” Etienne pressed his forehead against Laertes’s. “Men like me must win at something, considering where our pithy fortunes are made. I merely tell you what I see. I must tell someone of interest,”

“What do you have to tell today?” Laertes asked.

“Even when you’ve put your cards away, you are still building your hand,” Etienne paused in his affection. “First, it’s sex, then it is gambling, then dancing, now combat. A fair hand, I will admit, though you are missing the winning trick,”

“Oh? What would that be?” Laertes asked.

“Diplomacy,” Etienne said, eyes grave, as though he were truly a way seer. It was like that with Etienne, Laertes knew. Every night was like having a counsel with a cautious God, profane as such a comparison felt. Laertes would often wonder if others had looked into Etienne’s eyes and saw the bold heaven he saw, the judgement, the doomsday book, written in fire. Some nights, he wondered if Etienne were real.

Laertes let out a laugh.

“Diplomacy is a dead man’s language,” he said. “Have you heard our new king? Just talking, talking, talking… the prince too. No one of any real consequence has ears, you know,”

“So, that is why you do not listen to me?” Etienne teased, placing another kiss on Laertes’s lips. To Laertes, it was God chastising him again, knocking down his attempt at pretty words in exchange for reason, self-reflection, guilt. Etienne kept talking between kisses. “Or to your father? Or to your sister? Because you are a man of consequence?”

“Some men must be,” Laertes’s face fell. “Whether we wish it or not,” In truth, Etienne was no better than any common whore. He took his gold and spent it where he could. He made love to other men under this roof, or perhaps out on the streets, if the price were high enough. France was nothing but a hell, gilded in pleasure to cover the sores beneath. Polonius was right to send a spy his way, though there were no real secrets to uncover. France was itself. Laertes his own self. The shame had long since melted away after Etienne’s tender kisses.

“Alright,” Etienne said, after a moment, tone brighter, keen on making the joy. In his heart, the love, whatever feeling came to him so fleetingly, last but only a moment longer. “Swords it is. Leave diplomacy for the little men. You better win. Make it worth my time to watch,”

* * *

“It is off,” Hamlet frowned. “The attack. It is all a simple matter of parry and riposte. Like the joke, you see, Horatio? Except I am at the end of it, stabbed through,”

Horatio only picked his head up upon hearing his own name, as he had been straightening the blade of his foil. His friend had been slightly off in his footing today, though it was nothing to wince at. Even in his tired state, Hamlet had still made a joke out of fencing, no matter how dire he made it sound. That blend of the humorous and the horrible was something only Hamlet could bravely serve and make it seem convincing, if not ridiculous.

“Would you like to stop?” Horatio asked.

“Stop? If only it were so easy… to stop.” Hamlet said before taking a sharp breath in and holding it, as if to demonstrate.

“I suppose, my lord,” Horatio said, his tongue quick despite how tired it felt, if only his friend would breathe again.

“Again, Horatio,” Hamlet rose to his feet.

“If you insist on it,” Horatio replied.

“What would you rather me do?” Hamlet’s temper rose, as it had been edging that way all morning. Temper appeared to be the curse of any royal line these days.

“I really don’t know,” Horatio shrugged with only one shoulder and readied his stance across their makeshift piste. “There are times when something such as a swordfight does not matter, in the end, win or lose. The world turns on and on, really, but… I speak too readily,”

“No,” Hamlet nodded. “No, you speak perfectly,”

“What is it that you fear, my lord? Truly? Deeply? Irrevocably?” Horatio asked, their friendship as schoolboys taking the greater part of his mannered reason.

“Truly?” Hamlet lowered his sword, “That what you say is true. That the odds are tossed against our favors by some terrible third hand,”

“The hand of God?” Horatio mused.

“Or that of my uncle,” Hamlet met the humor of Horatio’s tone.

“I could not imagine your uncle taking a sword against you,” Horatio said.

A moment passed. Hamlet turned away and off their piste.

“That is it though, is it not?” he asked, voice haunted. “He would not. He holds onto cards we cannot even see, much less imagine, until he plays them. Oh, and he plays them brutally, does he not?”

“I do not know what to say to that, my lord,” Horatio said after a pause, his manner returning, the Wittenberg friend lost once more.

“There is nothing to say,” Hamlet smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “That is how you know we have hit a truth. Even at Wittenberg, when the truths we hit were just beyond the reality of our real lives, hypothetical and such, it always did taste bitter. There is loss for all of us, right at the end of the bout,”

“But fight we must,” Horatio held out a hand.

“Yes,” Hamlet took the hand in his own. “Yes. Fight we will,”

[the-reaper-of-maidens]

Arrival

YEET, some Alcina x OC stuff, because I’m horrible with x Reader stuff. I suppose chronologically, this is the first in my Alcina x OC stories, since this is how my OC met the tall vampire lady~ It kinda ends a bit abruptly, but I wanted the smut to be its own chapter, lol. I know I have the good lady far nicer in this than she really is, but she’s kinda mentally flipped upside down with this nutty OC~ I hope I did the tall vampire lady justice with this, regardless!

TW: mentions of self harm, homophobia implied

The diminutive woman arrived at the castle grounds. Her brown eyes were weary and showed her depression. Her brunette hair was long, flowing freely in the cold breeze, and her jeans were doing a poor job keeping her legs from freezing. She had some nose and ear piercings, so they were especially cold. She shivered and pulled her bomber jacket tighter as she went in, adjusting her duffle bag. She was a bit of a horror blogger, though she ironically was scared easily. Recently, she ended her blog, figuring it was best to end while she was at her peak, so she didn’t tell anyone about her trip to this haunting castle that was reported to be sites of vicious attacks.

Really, the blogger was hoping for one more fright before moving on from her fame, or maybe she wanted to end her suffering, so she hoped to see a monster. Though she was well-liked online, her personal life was… awful, to put it lightly. The blogger certainly felt unsettled, taking a look at the foyer. She thought it was weird that the doors were totally unlocked, though she figured it was different cultural norms, since she was American.

And then… she saw one of them. The blogger started sweating as the witch stepped towards her, she didn’t think anyone still lived here. The tiny woman stepped back, trying not to wig out as the witch continued her creeping. She whipped her head around when she heard another door open, and that was when she started running, dropping her bag.

She didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to get away from them while trying to explore what the castle had to offer, despite her better judgement. Maybe she should have just turned tail when she saw the witch…

“Well, well… what an interesting visitor we have here,” a low, but darkly alluring voice called out, its owner crouching through a doorway.

The blogger froze like a deer in headlights as she saw what seemed to be an enormous woman towering over her. This woman must have been twice her height. Great, she thought, I have that creepy woman after my tail and now there’s this… hulking piece of… hotness. The blogger blushed a bit, this woman was just stunning, and she couldn’t help but get the hots for her despite being pretty terrified right about now. “S...sorry,” she finally managed to croak out. “I just got curious is all. I’ll just grab my stuff and leave now if you want.”

“How adorable, thinking you can just break in and enter someone’s house willy-nilly,” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu giggled charmingly and sinisterly as she eyed the petite woman, baring her claws. Of course, she felt it was a bit unfair for this especially tiny woman to go down easily; she usually liked giving her prey a fighting chance, it made the hunt all the more exciting. “I’ll give you a chance to run. If you make it out the door before my daughters or I can catch you, you’re free to go~”

Instead of running, though… the blogger just screamed and went down on her knees, cowering in fear. Her stomach was in knots, and she almost felt her breakfast wanting to come back up as she prepared herself for the worst.

The mutant tilted her head in curiosity and retracted her claws. Normally, most people took the chance to run off, but this one thought giving up and staying was a good idea. Alcina was suddenly interested in this strange human. “Hmm… you know what, I’ll call off my daughters. You pique my interest, how about we chat over lunch?”

The blogger was still shaking, though she mustered up the courage to open up her eyes. Though still anxious, she did relax a bit when she realized she was still unharmed. “I… yeah, sure. Lunch sounds good,” she stood up on shaky legs, unzipping her bomber jacket a bit. The adrenaline really heated up her body. Her stomach still felt a bit nauseous, though, so the thought of food didn’t sound appealing to the blogger at the moment.

“Trust me, I’ll make sure my daughters won’t bite. How about you go make yourself… comfortable in the meantime?”

Naturally, the blogger was still on high alert for the next few hours. She looked at her phone, tempted to make a blog post about all that happened, but she decided against it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be back in the limelight again… if she wanted to be criticized by her family again. She didn’t have any friends, really, so it wasn’t like she had anyone that would worry about her. She sighed, and Alcina caught the pained look on the blogger’s face.

“So… what brought you to my humble abode?”

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry…” the blogger fretted a bit. “Like I said, I got curious. I also used to run a blog about all sorts of scary monsters and stuff.” Of course, this was all lost on the vampire lady, so the blogger explained more. “A blog is kinda like a digital journal entry, you see. You write it up on your computer and post it up and everyone gets to see what you wrote. Kinda like a bulletin board, but it’s on the Internet.”

“And you… used to?”

“I… yeah. I just wanted to scare people about the things I write about, I didn’t want to be famous. But it happened, and I felt like I had to go along with the ride. Eventually, my folks found out. They’re… not the most supportive,” the blogger divulged. “So ending the blog was a little bit of panic and mostly my choice, because I knew I can’t handle juggling family issues and the blog.”

The mutant woman tsked a bit, feeling an odd sense of pity for the blogger. “How shameful of your family. Do they not have their own business to tend to?”

“Like hell that I care. I cut them off after I stopped blogging. I’ve got enough money to travel around as I please, so… if I’m stuck where I’m misunderstood and demonized, I can just fly off,” and the blogger had anger flash in her eyes for a second, which surprised the mutant vampire. “Imagine being in hillbilly hell, where everyone is a churchgoing fanatic, and you don’t fit what they want you to be. I don’t have friends. My family hates me because of who I love… the guys laugh, and the women? Well, they’re grossed out because I’m a woman and I’m... I’m not supposed to love women.”

“Ah, so you escaped when you finally had the chance,” Alcina wasn’t stupid, piecing together that the smaller woman was waiting for the funds to get out. It was admittedly rather admirable to the vampire, knowing that someone freed themselves of their shackles.

“It took a few years… but you can bet I hauled ass the second I reached my goal. Still, though… I wake up every day, and I’m dragged down by my self-hate. Like my demons follow me wherever I go, and it’d be nice if I can escape for real.”

Alcina shifted a bit, and she grinned mysteriously. “I know a way, if you’re willing to stay for the night,” she offered, hoping the blogger would accept. Perhaps this woman could give her her fix, since it had been a long while since Alcina had any fun in her private quarters. Though she had her witches, she really did see the three as her daughters… she just couldn’t see herself doing such an act with any of them.

The blogger blushed a bright red, trying to decipher what this extremely tall vampire lady meant by that. “...Are you asking me to sleep with you?” she sniped in. She wouldn’t mind it, per se, but she was certainly surprised at the proposal.

“I can tell in your body language, you’re in love with me~ Luckily for you, I don’t care what’s in someone’s pants or how they identify as when I put them to bed. All they need to do… is be a good plaything for me,” Alcina giggled seductively, tossing away any subtlety she might have had.

“I… hold on, just a sec,” the blogger ran off to the nearest bathroom to compose herself. She felt herself flush with heat as she took off her jacket. “Don’t… do anything stupid,” she told herself in the mirror as she washed her face with ice cold water. She was wracked with nerves, but she just couldn’t pass this up. Well, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like anyone back home cared about me, she thought to herself. The blogger took a deep breath to compose herself as she zipped her jacket back up and she went back out, her emotions put into check for now. “Sure, I’d like to stay for the night,” the blogger grinned awkwardly when she returned, fidgeting a bit.

“Trust me, you have nothing to fear,” Alcina purred, putting a hand on the blogger’s cheek. Of course, decades of experience meant she knew how to not crush the poor thing during their fun. This woman must have been half her size, if the height difference was anything to go by. “When you’re as tall as I am, you simply have no choice but to... adapt.”

“Hehe, lucky me. I’ve never… did any of that, obviously,” the blogger admitted, blushing as she shifted her weight between her feet.

“Oh? So you’re saying that you’re a maiden?” Alcina was definitely hooked now, leaning forward a bit. Having a new fling was always nice, but having a potentially new source to make another batch of Sanguis Virginis was always even better.

“What? You’re not gonna like, sacrifice me to some demon or something, are you? Or gut me with those huge claws… right?”

“Oh, no, not at all. It just has a rather poetic ring to it is all,” Alcina hummed casually, debating whether to get the blogger’s blood or enjoy the night with her. Then again, there was no hiding from the tiny woman that she was a mutant vampire, so she had to come clean. “Though,” she leaned back in her chair, “I’m admittedly not sure whether to ravish you or turn you into my wine. We need maiden’s blood for the wine, you see, since it’s just so... delectable.” Normally, the countess would have no issue deciding to turn someone into wine, but given the events from earlier that day... the blogger could make for a good plaything instead.

The blogger swallowed nervously. She had a feeling that whatever she would say, Alcina would manage to have her way. “...How much blood? Are you gonna… turn me? If not, can you not… like, kill me? I need my blood to live.” So many questions raced in her head, she was almost regretting accepting the offer. Almost.

“Charming. Don’t you worry, I won’t drain you of all your blood, should you end up being my pet instead~”

The blogger spent most of the day just relaxing in her room after lunch, thinking about her future. The money won’t last forever, after all, so she needed to start planning. So far, her hostess seemed amiable enough, despite the initial scare. “Ugh, think, think, think! What can I do for Lady Dimitrescu to make her enjoy my stay if I have to come back?” Or, perhaps, she could forgo her travels, instead staying at Castle Dimitrescu for the rest of her life in service to Alcina. She felt a cold in the air, the hairs on her neck standing on ends. She slowly turned and her eyes met with Daniela’s, who she learned earlier was one of Alcina’s daughters.

“Mother says dinner is almost ready, plaything~” the witch giggled, a strident laugh that made the blogger feel a pit in her stomach.

“I… thanks,” the blogger gulped in fear, following the witch for what seemed like forever. She still wasn’t sure what to think about Daniela, truth be told. She eyed the mutant vampire, and realized the mutant was still inhumanly tall, though not as tall as Alcina. She gulped nervously, wondering if she’d be tossed to the witch if Alcina decided she wasn’t good enough.

“Ah, our little guest. Thank you for fetching her, Daniela,” Alcina nodded, a smirk revealing her fangs a bit as she waved Daniela off to take a seat. The blogger looked around, watching the maids hustle and bustle, setting food out to the table. She saw two other women similarly dressed as Daniela sitting at the table, and she assumed they were sisters. That still didn’t make her less uneasy.

The blogger’s mouth watered a bit, smelling the food. If lunch was anything to go by, dinner would be spectacular. “Thanks for letting me stay for the night, Lady Dimitrescu. Tonight’s pretty cold, or so it seems,” she took a seat.

“Oh, it’s not an issue at all, and please… you may call me Alcina,” the vampire mutant purred, trying to get a bit more emotionally close to the blogger. She rarely had any romantic emotions, she usually felt they were in the way of the real action, but… she didn’t mind it when she did have romance flare up in her heart, if someone truly was interesting to her. She frowned a bit when the blogger didn’t take her bomber jacket off, even as she started eating. “Oh, come now, how long have you worn that jacket today? Surely, you must be sweating buckets in there!”

The blogger blushed a bit, mid-bite into her chiftea. “Oh, um… you don’t need to worry… Alcina. I’m not hot at all, trust me,” she tried to dodge, knowing the lady wanted her to stop roasting.

“Well, if you get it all over your coat, you’re going to have to wash it anyways. I’m amazed you didn’t do that at lunch earlier.”

The blogger just cast her eyes downward at her food, fidgeting a bit. She knew she was locked in; one wrong choice, and she would be dead, and she’d rather be alive and uncomfortable than dead. “You’re right,” and she took off her jacket, revealing scars and tattoos on her arm peeking out from the rolled sleeves. She shivered in the brisk breeze, but kept eating.

Alcina leaned back a bit, realizing why her guest refused to shed her coat. “Who did that to you? The scars, that is.”

“...I did,” the blogger clenched a fork, her eyes still downcast. “...Most of it, anyways,” she finally looked up and made eye contact with Alcina. “Some of it was from my dad.”

“...My apologies,” Alcina truly meant it. “I had no idea.”

“It’s fine, the scars are all in the past now,” the blogger took a sip of what seemed to be wine, perhaps a merlot or a cabernet. She coughed, she hated alcohol… “Sorry… I get that wine is good for dinner, but… I prefer tea,” she admitted. “Dad was an alcoholic, so… stuff like that makes me uncomfortable. I think maybe an Earl Grey tea with some cream and sugar would be nice?”

Alcina nodded and called for a servant. “Prepare a tea kettle for our guest here. Earl Grey with cream and sugar,” the vampire lady commanded. “My dear guest… I really am sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’ll take note of that next time you come here.”

“Um… actually, about that… I’ve been thinking, Alcina. The money I’ve got won’t last forever, so I was thinking of just staying here… working for you,” the brunette woman rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

Each and every hour, the blogger became more and more interesting to Alcina. It was rare for girls to come and willingly work here, unless they had some sort of death wish. “I see. Well, in that case, I will spare you, my dear... if you can tell me what you can bring to the table.”

“I can make music, and I can do art. Think of all the beautiful paintings I’d make of you~” the blogger cracked a grin. “But more importantly… I can help you bring maidens into the castle for your wine.”

“Oh?” That definitely rules out making her into wine now, Alcina thought, though she decided hours ago she likely wouldn’t do such a thing to her little pet.

“If you can turn me into one like yourself and your daughters, I will. I promise. I’ve… when I was twelve, I wanted to become a vampire so badly,” she admitted, snorting a bit. “But... really, Alcina. The maidens I’d hunt for you would be my rent payment, so to speak.”

Alcina seemed to consider it, sipping her wine, and smiling in amusement at that confession. The blogger seemed multi talented, at least, so it would be nice to have some entertainment if she wanted, though it was new that someone wanted to be turned, and she was tempted, though she’d have to talk to a certain Mother Miranda. “You’ll get your chance, my dear. Patience is the key here,” she reached over and gently grasped her guest’s hand. “Perhaps not now, but you can say goodbye to your past… to the pain… soon.”

Dinner was accompanied by lots of talk, mostly of the blogger telling Alcina all about herself. Soon enough, dinner was done, and Alcina invited the blogger to her bedroom. “A deal is a deal~ I promised you that I’d help you escape your self-loathing, and I will,” she offered a gargantuan hand to the blogger.