Now for something -almost- completely different! (also vampires, otherwise new)
“What were you like then, tell me a story about the great detective in his prime.”
“I was not a detective in my prime, flower…and you do not want those stories.”
“You were turned by an ubervamp centuries ago that's got such a hateon for you he's murdering his way through Europe about it and you're telling me I don't want that story?”
“Yes, I am. I was a different creature then, a vile thing not even fit to haunt the memories of those it destroyed.”
“Then don't tell me those bits, tell me about Lucient. Was it love, your first love?”
“No, and yes…and I maintain that you do not want this story.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“You truly want the particulars of your dear old dad’s wild nights ravishing another man while bathed in the blood and viscera of our prey?”
“... that a trick question?”
“Very well, flower. Our story began then as I begin now, on a warm summer evening, at the dawn of a new year…”
—
1700 held promise for my hometown—a tiny seaside port on the tip of Calabria—we had seen some fame and a great deal of loss and were running headlong into a fresh year with a fresh century on top.
And I, well, I was pensive, cautious, perhaps even cynical while I stood gazing at the moonlit sea. My family were silk traders primarily but we were vendors, not ferrymen. I had grown up around ships, watched them come and go and marveled at all the colorful folk who sailed them. Yet I never set foot on a ship myself.
Not until that evening…and soon after I would forget the safety and comfort of solid ground.
Ethereal, his beauty, there exists no other word. He glowed in the light, his near pearlescent skin a mesmerizing contrast to the bronze complexions I was accustomed to. Nevermind the litheness of his figure, the feline grace in every twist and curve as he walked the dock.
I couldn't look away.
Then he caught me staring, admiring, lusting.
It was later he admitted to following me to the docks, that I caught his eye in the square as the sun set and he had to meet me—taste me. But he had to be certain, had to know if I…desired the attention of men.
“Dad, tell me you didn't hop into bed with this man on the first night.”
“Do you want this story, flower?”
“I asked for it, didn't I?”
“Then refrain from interrupting, if you can.”
“Fine, but if this is going where I think it is…”
“It is, and it isn't. Patience.”
We spoke at length that night, first by the docks, lit by glimmering moonlight and then in the candle-warm glow of his ship’s cabin. Clothed, both of us, though decidedly less than we began—our stations required fashion of many layers.
I do not recall falling asleep yet I began the new year beside him at midday, groggy and weak. Later, when more was shared, he would tell me he fed on me in the throes of passion. A passion I had no recollection of. Not even a kiss could be found in my memory.
But I didn't care. Not that day, not after that night, not with the heady syrup of his voice echoing through every fiber of me.
Father was furious when I came home, too late to start the day, behaving inebriated despite the lack of drink. I slept through much of the day, tossing and turning to the sounds of my parents arguing.
Lucient came to call at sunset, at my front door. Such charm, such cunning he displayed with my parents. They all but sold me to him before he left, before we left. To begin my new life as a sailor on a merchant ship.
On Lucient’s merchant ship, the Lune Royal, his precious Regal Moon.
“So, what, he fell in lust with you and invited you onboard the next day to be his juicebox?”
“As he put it, I enchanted him, made him feel alive and he wanted me close.”
“But you guys didn't do anything that first night?”
“To my recollection, no. He said we kissed, he became impassioned and fed on me…nothing more.”
“And you believed him?”
“Then? Yes. After another forgotten evening, however, I began to doubt…”
I woke in our cabin clothed in naught but a sheet. Lucient stood before a mirror and I watched as he studied the empty space that should have been his reflection. I hadn't noticed its lack prior, but when I did I gasped.
And in that escape of breath he was by my side, cool hand on my cheek.
Does it frighten you, my sweet, to learn I am not as you, not breathing, not warm, not alive—do I?
I said nothing. His eyes shined as bright as moonlight, even in the dim of the curtained cabin. Too bright to see beyond, to find answers in. So I found his lips instead, then the cool sweetness of his skin.
He navigated mine too easily for it to have been the first I felt it was, but I didn't question it then. Didn't care then, I fell to sensation, to longing, to the ache he'd fed in me—to him.
With that act, that unspoken acknowledgement and acceptance of what he was, I became his.
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I think one of my favorite things about pokemon is that every single one of them is SOMEONE'S favorite. Like yeah everyone loves legendaries, and everyone loves the powerful ones like Dragonite, or the hyped up powerhouses like Lucario or Gardevoir or Mimikyu, and there's oodles of love for funky little guys like Falinks, and incredible popularity for the photogenic ones like Snom. There's the weirder picks, like Tropius is absolutely stunning, and Dragalge is living its best life. There's runner-ups, like Dunsparce who I think got a Fandom specifically for just sitting there in the pokedex, being weird? Or Vanilluxe, who got so much hate on release but I think has a lot of defenders now specifically due to having so much hateon release.
But then there's just, the random-ass creachers most people forget about. Like, you know there's someone out there who loves Stantler with all their heart and was completely over the moon about Wyedeer. Every pokemon is Somebody's favorite, their special little guy, their best friend. And that love is always valid and that's delightful.
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Slightly peeved at being accused by somebody I know as having an unjustified hateon for David Ten/nant so just for the record, I came to look down on him when he, the guy you can't swing a cat around in British media land without hitting him because he's fucking everywhere, so obviously not short on paid work, decided to play that serial killer in that show.
I will not name the show or the person it Is named after, but they were an horrific serial killer and we don't even know the names of all his victims because he prayed on vulnerable young gay men in a time when being gay made them Exceptionally vulnerable, and that the total lack of giving a shit about the gay community contributed to this happening.
I believe if we're going to talk about true crime it has to be non fiction and based around honouring the victims and pointing out societal bias and/or police bias that allowed their deaths to happen so it does not happen again. I do not want to watch a super cult famous dude play the serial killer in a show named after said killer!!!
Having these shows happen not only contributes to making awful people watching them want to be so bad that they get a show as well, but it's just like how plastering the names of mass shooters across the news encourages the Next one to do it to be famous!! It is also further disrespect to people who were disregarded when they were alive and ended up dead because of it and are now being disrespected further literally just for people's casual entertainment.
So despite populace opinion, my dislike of DT stems from things other than my dislike of the tenth doctor. He has done things I actually just think are plain shitty. Who knew?
This is just like that current netflix show rn about that American serial killer that the families are disgusted by.
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