Like Blood and Oxygen
[masterlist]
CW: mental breakdown, obsessive thought patterns
The chandelier casts a golden light across her bedroom, a candle spreading the sweet smell of vanilla, and it makes Mireille want to vomit. It makes her want to reach into the fire, to take it into her palm and squeeze and choke the light out of it. It makes her want to rip the chandelier down, execute it on the ground, stamp on each jewel until it cracks and shatters beneath her bare feet.
Instead Mireille paces in front of her mirror, as tall as the ceiling, golden frame like artwork –fucking artwork, it’s fucking art, she is fucking art–, money spent on a horrid shade of gold, more money than her stupid fucking servants will ever have, and
What.
Does.
It.
Matter.
Why care at all.
Because her stupid fucking nightgown sits horribly on her curves, silky red doing nothing but making her skin crawl and no one will see her anyways it doesn’t matter but it does. For the hundredth time she fumbles with the fabric, draping it on her breasts, flowing over her hips, just long enough to cover what it has to. Maybe instead it should cover her whole like a grieving widow or a burial shroud for all she’s worth.
She could rip her skin off with her teeth, undress herself to the bone, bare veins and sinew if that would make her be something. Mireille knows what she should look like, she knows, every fiber knows, and yet the gown hides her waist and there is no one to touch her, to see the work of art she has spent her fucking life creating and what worth has art if it isnt being looked at.
They should be grateful, grateful to lay eyes upon her smooth skin, shining blue eyes, luscious hair, her voice and her body and–
And yet they don’t. They do, but not really.
Not. Enough.
It’s not enough, none of it is, but how is that her fault? It’s not. Of course it isn’t.
Mireille has friends, and they love her, they fucking love her. She’s gorgeous and elegant, each movement deliberately poised, it's like second nature, it’s her nature and her job. She leaves kisses like burns and burns like kisses and both leave a mark on the world that will never fade.
Instead, it will twist and scar, a never healing wound but at least it is a reminder.
Mireille should be at the center of their thoughts, the center of their world, their universe. She should be their star and their sun, granting them warmth and light when she feels like it. They should strive for nothing more than to please her, read her thoughts and treat her right, touch her right and kiss her in worship that comes from the heart.
She doesn’t need to ask for it, she shouldn’t! If they were the right people, they would know, instinctively. They would know the meanings she so carefully covers in words and jewelry, would read it like the bible, would examine every intention. They would know and they would love her.
Love her like she was created to fit their souls, to fulfill them. Only her closeness is sweet relief, wishful satisfaction. Love her like warmth, like the sun, like blood. Love her like oxygen.
Love her.
Love her.
Love her.
Please.
Taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @sowhumpshaped, @clickerflight
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Kane & Jim #55: Feeding
Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist
content: recovery, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker
happy 2 year anniversary to kane & jim~! hard to believe it's been 2 whole years since i started writing...
wrote while listening to melodies of refresh by tenno gabni
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Kane woke and looked to the door. Just like every morning the past week, it was a normal door. No silver. No lock.
He changed and washed his face, creeping upstairs with the hesitancy of someone who knew he wasn’t allowed, despite knowing full-well that he was: Jim had made that clear. He felt too quiet, his ankles free of chains.
It was early morning, early enough that the sun hadn’t risen yet–that terrifying tell-tale glow didn’t shine from behind the curtains. Jim wouldn’t be awake for hours, resting upstairs while Kane slunk around in the dark, in his own house.
Kane couldn’t fathom how much trust that must have required. He still couldn’t believe he’d earned that much.
The fact that Jim was still feeding him his own blood was a miracle in itself. He’d given a time limit of one month. One month for Kane to get used to freedom, to going out on his own, traversing society like a normal person after years as a prisoner. An adjustment period, Jim had called it, his mercies never-ending in the face of Kane’s fear of running to and from the border on his own.
There was no way Kane could ever repay it, not in a thousand years. But he at least had to try.
He turned the knob on the stove. It was something familiar, having owned a stove himself for heating up the contents of blood-packs in his time before he came to own Jim. Human stoves, like their food itself, were more complicated: four burners instead of one, all with dials offering various degrees besides just ‘on’ or ‘off’.
And it was something he hadn’t done since before.
The circle of flames flickered to life, blue and hot and threatening.
He quickly turned it back off, luckily managing to control his strength and not break the delicate knob.
Deep breaths, Jim had said, more times than Kane could count now. Look at me. You’re okay. No one’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe here, remember?
Kane took a deep breath in, playing Jim’s soothing affirmations through his head, exhaling slowly. That’s it, there you go, the memory of Jim’s voice encouraged. You’re alright. No hurting.
After a few more of those, he turned the burner on again. The flames flicked back to life, and Kane watched them silently.
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Jim woke, shook off the nerves, and marked another day off his calendar. Seven days down, twenty-one more to go, and then no one will take his blood ever again.
He could stop it now, if he wanted to. He knew he could. Kane hung on his every word like he was some kind of divine prophet. But once he stops, Kane has to start getting blood from vampire territory, and he’d have to talk to his parents to get the money to buy it… and it was too obvious he wasn’t ready.
Jim knew that feeling, going from years of captivity and isolation to suddenly being a person again. He knew how hard it was, even with support. There was no reason for Kane to have to rush into it immediately. The guy could barely go outside at night on his own he was so afraid, and he was a vampire. No, a month’s time would do him well.
Still. He couldn’t help but count the days until it was over.
As he stepped into his slippers and headed downstairs, he stopped in his tracks, hearing someone futzing around in the kitchen.
It was going to take Jim a while to get used to that, Kane roaming freely in his house. At night, even. He knew he could ask Kane to leave once he finds his bearings, but… despite the deep-seated terror, he knew he was safer with Kane here than without. Kane brought Laken home, after all. If any vampire came for him, Kane would save him, too. At least, he hoped so.
He continued down. “Kane?”
“Good morning!” came the cheery reply. That set Jim’s nerves at ease, at least. Right. Kane was friendly, now.
“Morning. You sleep okay?” Jim asked. As he made his way through the living room toward the kitchen, he noticed a distinctly… delicious smell. That couldn’t be right.
“Better! And you?” Kane appeared in the doorway, a big, fanged grin lighting up his face. It was a sight Jim had already long gotten used to by now, one that brought him pride instead of fear.
He shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. Hey, are you, uh… cooking?”
Kane held out a hand. “I am! Please come sit?”
Now he was smiling, too. “Haha, okay.”
Jim took his hand and let Kane lead him to the kitchen table, where a plate full of blueberry pancakes sat. They looked a bit off–undercooked, a little torn up–but the fact that they were there at all was astounding.
He sat down. “How did you even do this? You don’t cook.”
“I watched you,” Kane admitted sheepishly. “In the mornings. I really wanted to make you something, and I didn’t want to waste food by just guessing and doing it wrong, so I started paying close attention, and this seemed like the easiest thing to copy… are they okay?”
“Well, let’s see!” Jim cut into one– definitely undercooked. It oozed out around his knife, but Liz’s failed attempts at cooking had given him ample practice in this field. He popped it in his mouth without a care. “It’s great, Kane. Especially for your first time ever cooking anything. Thank you.”
Kane brightened up even further at the praise, sitting in the chair adjacent. “I know it’s not the same at all, but I wanted to feed you too, somehow. Like you feed me. I was wondering… if you could teach me to cook?”
“You don’t have to–”
“I want to,” Kane insisted. “I really, really do. But I don’t want to impose! I can always ask Laken.”
Jim cut away the less-done bits of the pancake he was working on, scooping up another bite. “Alright, if you’re really sure. Yeah, I can teach you. Doesn’t human food smell, like, really bad to vampires, though? Like it’s rotten or whatever?”
“I’ll manage.” Kane bore no obvious worry of the issue. Clearly, a bad smell was not something that registered to him as a concern any longer. “Thank you.”
It wasn’t until Jim had finished his breakfast and was about to get up that Kane spoke again, the smile fading from his face. “There was something else, actually.”
“Oh?” Jim put his plate and utensils back down.
Kane got down from his seat to kneel on the floor.
“Kane, buddy,” Jim said softly, sliding into that placating tone he always used when trying to calm the vampire down from one of his panics, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. It’s– it’s to show respect. Please.” As Kane looked up at him with those intense red eyes, Jim could see no fear at all.
“Well, okay then, I guess. What’s up?” he asked.
“I want to thank you. For everything,” Kane spoke carefully, as though each word was precious. Rehearsed. “For taking me away from the hunters. For not hurting me, even though you could have, even though you had every reason to. For helping me calm down when I panic. For feeding me, your own blood, even though it’s so hard for you, just so I wouldn’t starve. For giving me clothes and bedding and music and happiness again. You gave me my life back, but I owe you so much more than just my life. Because without you, I wasn’t dead, I was– I was there. And you saved me.”
Tears welled up in Kane’s eyes as he stared up reverent, overcome with emotion. “And I was thinking about all the times I’ve apologized to you, I was too afraid to do it right. I was just– I really was sorry, I’ve been sorry for a long, long time, but in those moments, I’ve always just been focused on not being hurt… but you would never hurt me. I see that now. Jim, I am so, truly sorry for hurting you. For every single time I hurt you, big and small, for those five years and since, I am so, so sorry. I was unimaginably cruel to you, and no one deserves that, but especially not you. I know that back then I told you the opposite, but I was wrong. You deserve to be happy! And I took that from you.”
Kane placed a hand over his heart. “And I swear to you, I will make it my life’s mission to give you back that happiness. I am loyal to you, Jim. Forever.”
He put his hand down. “That–that’s all. Thank you for listening.”
Jim sat in silence for a moment, absorbing it all. Wasn’t this why he’d originally taken Kane in? Wasn’t that the excuse he’d used– he wanted Kane fear-free enough to have an actual discussion about back then, without him devolving into a terrified, sobbing mess? He could do that, now. How long had he been waiting to hear Kane admit that he hadn’t deserved it after all? Fifteen years?
Oh, he was so unprepared for this conversation. He needed all kinds of psyching-up before they could have that talk.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Kane added quietly. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Right. Yeah,” Jim said, snapping out of it. Just because Kane was ready didn’t mean it had to be now. It could be any time, when he was ready, too. “That’s… wow. Hey, it’s okay,” he tried, far more comfortable comforting Kane than the other way around. He grabbed a tissue, handing it to him. “I mean, not the–not what you did. I mean it’s okay now. Um, thanks, is what I mean, I guess. For really apologizing.”
Kane wiped his eyes. “It’s the absolute least I could do. Everything I have is something you’ve given to me. Nothing hurts anymore.”
“Good.” His sincerity brought a smile to Jim’s face. “You know, maybe cooking isn’t the best idea if you’re afraid of burns? It’s not gonna happen every time, but even I get myself once in a while. Just thought I should warn you.”
“You give me blood,” Kane pointed out. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. “Plus, you’ll be there. Right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.” Jim patted him on the shoulder.
Kane smiled back up at him. “Then I’ll be okay.”
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