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I'm scallioncreamcheesebagel, and this Dreamwidth page has all my Yuri Olympics bonus round entries! You can find me at the following links, both of which contain my main round entries as well.
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/scallioncreamcheesebagel (Writing masterpost)
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scallioncreamcheesebagel
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/5987.html?thread=1440611&posted=1#cmt1456995
Immortal and tumbling through the cold reaches of space, all that's left are the memories, and even those begin to fade after millennia.
Hold desperately onto the one thing that's left.
Immortal and tumbling through the cold reaches of space, all that's left are the memories, and even those begin to fade after millennia.
Hold desperately onto the one thing that's left.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/5863.html?thread=1220071&posted=1#cmt1290215
There was something new at the fish market.
Minali had only come to pick up something fresh for dinner like she always did. She wasn’t the type to be squeamish around fish, always ate the heads, not like her brother who whined about the eyes. She’d just never seen one stare back at her with a human face.
The mermaid eyed her with an icy glare, huddled up with the end of her tail hanging out of a basin much too small for her. The tail fin was torn up, almost shredded, though the injury didn’t look recent. Silvery scales covered her body up to her collarbone and hands–zip-tied together by the wrists. A sign emblazoned with Catch of the day! hung above her.
She’d never seen a mermaid in real life before, and certainly had never seen one at her local market.
“Interested?” the fishmonger, not one she had bought from before, asked. “She’s a pretty penny, but you’re never gonna see something like this again.”
“Is selling mermaids legal?” she asked.
The fishmonger shrugged. “You a cop? There’s no way she survives the sea anyway. You see that fin. These things aren’t stupid, that’s why nobody ever catches ‘em. Probably only went for the bait because she couldn’t catch anything that could actually swim away. Throw her back and she’d die. Might as well make a sale if it’s the same either way.”
Minali was frozen to the spot, holding her basket of dinner close. There were people everywhere, many also taking an eye at the mermaid, though everyone seemed to be scared off by the price tag. But soon enough, someone would surely come along who wasn’t scared off.
An image wormed its way into Minali’s head against her will: this mermaid, on her kitchen counter, her smooth neck under her knife as a pan sizzled with oil on the stove.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head until the image faded.
“I’ll take her.” The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
Before she knew it, she’d blown half her rent money and had a mermaid sitting in a wagon sloshing with water, which the fishmonger threw in ‘on the house’. The mermaid bore her teeth, sharp things meant for tearing apart prey.
“Can you understand me?” she asked.
To her surprise, the mermaid gave a quick nod.
“I’m not going to eat you.” Better to get that out of the way immediately. “I’m Minali. Do you have a name?”
The mermaid’s glare softened just a bit, though she still looked reasonably wary. “Ee,” she squeaked, like a dolphin might’ve. Minali doubted she was physically capable of human speech, even if she understood it.
“It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Ee,” she stammered, pulling the wagon along. “Do you… wanna go back to the ocean? Or, like, a specific part? Or do you wanna go back to my place? Because the fishmonger said–”
Ee interrupted her ramble with a swing of her bound arms, a finger pointing straight toward the ocean, nearly visible on the horizon.
“Got it. Oh, let me take care of that. I’ll cut the tie away.” Minali dropped the wagon’s handle, pulling a pocketknife from her purse.
Ee hissed, pupils constricting to slits.
“I won’t hurt you!” Minali raised her hands up, though one still held the knife. “Just the tie! Honest! So you can use your hands!”
After a beat, Ee hesitantly offered her hands, her eyes never leaving the knife.
Minali couldn’t possibly imagine how terrified she must be. Abducted to what must have been akin to an alien planet, sold as food, able to understand every horrifying detail of her situation, but unable to communicate herself or get away.
She took the offering preciously. “Thank you for trusting me,” she said, her voice soft. Moving slow, she brought the knife to the zip tie, stepping back as soon as it snapped.
Ee just stared at her, no less wary.
“I’ll take you back to the ocean. Just like you asked.” Even if Ee would die, it would be on her own terms, at least. Hopefully, she would be comfortable. Maybe she would be surrounded by family. She couldn’t know.
She replaced the knife, took the wagon’s handle back up, and continued on. As she walked, Ee reached forward to grab the fish out of Minali’s basket. She did not protest, and the mermaid munched away, bones and all, until the basket was empty.
At least the market was close enough to the sea that she didn’t have to worry about loading a mermaid into her car. Minali pulled the wagon to the end of the dock, sweat beading down her face.
“We’re here,” she announced, just because she felt like she should say something. “Do you need help out of the wagon?”
For a second, Ee seemed to consider, then held out her hand.
The moment Minali grabbed it, it was like the whole world flipped upside down, the dock falling away under her. At first, she didn’t even realize what was happening. Not until she hit the water.
Ee grabbed her by the arms, holding them to her sides, and placed her teeth around Minali’s neck. She could feel every prick ready to tear her throat to shreds, and squeezed her eyes shut so at least she wouldn’t have to see.
The teeth stayed there, second after second, not breaking the skin, until Ee pulled away with a smirk.
I could eat you and I won’t.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/5570.html?thread=1115586&posted=1#cmt1180610
Bitterbrush watched with squinted eyes as that strange mouse scurried around outside. She was absolutely ridiculous, and Bitter had never seen another mouse remotely like her.
Mice had coats of gray or brown or gray-brown, with a white underbelly. This mouse was white all over, aside from only her ears and nose and paws, which were a shiny black. She would be caught soon, standing out as she did, especially with the way she was moving. She kept running along a little, then stopping to sniff every single thing in her path like she had never seen a plant or a stick or a post before, not even bothering for cover.
Would it be better, if the strange, stupid mouse were the one taken up by an owl or hawk or snake or fox? It was one more meal that wasn’t herself. Then again, it was one more meal for the owl or hawk or snake or fox. One more well-fed monster with the energy to hunt her down.
No, it would be better if the strange mouse was protected after all. And she really was like nothing Bitterbrush had ever seen before. So maybe she was a little curious, too.
Bitterbrush chirped to the strange one, and even so far away, that caught her attention. She made a beeline right for her, still not trying at all to stick to cover. It was as though she’d never been outside before.
“What are you doing?” Bitter asked as soon as the strange mouse was firmly in her hovel. “You’re going to get yourself eaten out there, acting like you act, looking like you look.”
“Eat me?” she squeaked. “Who on earth would do that?”
“Almost anything!” Bitterbrush could hardly believe her ears. “Have you never been outside before?”
The strange mouse drooped down a little, looking smaller than she really was. “I haven’t.”
“You’re from in there?” Bitterbrush nodded to the house. She never went in there: the only building she ever went inside was the barn. There were different dangers in the house, different sorts of predators she knew less of. Better not to risk it.
But the strange mouse tutted no. “A different house. I was taken care of by a young human. She calls me Princess Minnie. But one day my human left and didn’t come back, and the bigger humans took me away and left me here.”
Princess Minnie shuffled further into the hovel, brushing against the nest. “I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. I want to go home!”
She was more helpless than a pup, in some ways. A pup needed to be cared for, but it would grow up and learn to fend for itself and leave the nest. Princess Minnie couldn’t do that. Even if she were taught, she would always be too easy prey.
There were times Bitterbrush wished to go home. It was hard to remember, it was so many and many and many months ago, more than three. It was before both of her litters were born and grew up and left themselves. But there was a time when she was a pup, when she didn’t have to worry about surviving, finding food, protecting her young. She simply existed in a warm pile with her siblings, and that was all.
And it was getting colder. And there was no one to pile with now, not with the pups grown.
“You can stay here,” Bitterbrush offered. “You stay inside like you’re used to. There is plenty of food. If we ever run low, you will have to leave, but for now you can stay. And when I have my next litter, you can watch the pups while I gather food. It will be good for us both.”
“Really? Oh, thank you, thank you!” Princess Minnie rubbed up against her, far too familiar far too quickly, but Bitterbrush found she didn’t mind. It was cute, in a way, like a courting male, but less annoying.
“Here. You can have some of my seeds and then we can cuddle,” Bitterbrush instructed. “This is your home now.”
Her very own strange mouse.
Bitterbrush watched with squinted eyes as that strange mouse scurried around outside. She was absolutely ridiculous, and Bitter had never seen another mouse remotely like her.
Mice had coats of gray or brown or gray-brown, with a white underbelly. This mouse was white all over, aside from only her ears and nose and paws, which were a shiny black. She would be caught soon, standing out as she did, especially with the way she was moving. She kept running along a little, then stopping to sniff every single thing in her path like she had never seen a plant or a stick or a post before, not even bothering for cover.
Would it be better, if the strange, stupid mouse were the one taken up by an owl or hawk or snake or fox? It was one more meal that wasn’t herself. Then again, it was one more meal for the owl or hawk or snake or fox. One more well-fed monster with the energy to hunt her down.
No, it would be better if the strange mouse was protected after all. And she really was like nothing Bitterbrush had ever seen before. So maybe she was a little curious, too.
Bitterbrush chirped to the strange one, and even so far away, that caught her attention. She made a beeline right for her, still not trying at all to stick to cover. It was as though she’d never been outside before.
“What are you doing?” Bitter asked as soon as the strange mouse was firmly in her hovel. “You’re going to get yourself eaten out there, acting like you act, looking like you look.”
“Eat me?” she squeaked. “Who on earth would do that?”
“Almost anything!” Bitterbrush could hardly believe her ears. “Have you never been outside before?”
The strange mouse drooped down a little, looking smaller than she really was. “I haven’t.”
“You’re from in there?” Bitterbrush nodded to the house. She never went in there: the only building she ever went inside was the barn. There were different dangers in the house, different sorts of predators she knew less of. Better not to risk it.
But the strange mouse tutted no. “A different house. I was taken care of by a young human. She calls me Princess Minnie. But one day my human left and didn’t come back, and the bigger humans took me away and left me here.”
Princess Minnie shuffled further into the hovel, brushing against the nest. “I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. I want to go home!”
She was more helpless than a pup, in some ways. A pup needed to be cared for, but it would grow up and learn to fend for itself and leave the nest. Princess Minnie couldn’t do that. Even if she were taught, she would always be too easy prey.
There were times Bitterbrush wished to go home. It was hard to remember, it was so many and many and many months ago, more than three. It was before both of her litters were born and grew up and left themselves. But there was a time when she was a pup, when she didn’t have to worry about surviving, finding food, protecting her young. She simply existed in a warm pile with her siblings, and that was all.
And it was getting colder. And there was no one to pile with now, not with the pups grown.
“You can stay here,” Bitterbrush offered. “You stay inside like you’re used to. There is plenty of food. If we ever run low, you will have to leave, but for now you can stay. And when I have my next litter, you can watch the pups while I gather food. It will be good for us both.”
“Really? Oh, thank you, thank you!” Princess Minnie rubbed up against her, far too familiar far too quickly, but Bitterbrush found she didn’t mind. It was cute, in a way, like a courting male, but less annoying.
“Here. You can have some of my seeds and then we can cuddle,” Bitterbrush instructed. “This is your home now.”
Her very own strange mouse.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/5121.html?thread=1052417&posted=1#cmt1072129
“You’re the one who said you wanted to see.” Tommie tugged on her sleeve. “Come on, let’s just go upstairs.”
Veronica ignored the pulling. There in the basement, locked in a large dog crate, was Tommie. But it wasn’t Tommie. Tommie was standing right next to her, still pulling insistently.
The Tommie in the crate mirrored Veronica’s wide-eyed surprise, staring up at her with unparalleled intensity. She shifted, pressing her forehead against the grating and threatening her fingers through the gaps.
“Ugh. Creep,” Tommie spat. “Well, there you go, since you didn’t believe me. I told you so. Anyway, let’s go. Seriously, I don’t like being around this thing.”
The Tommie in the crate didn’t look at her perfect double. She only looked at Veronica, with that same pleading face the real Tommie made when she was trying to convince her to go make a bowl of popcorn or get her phone or fetch a blanket so she didn’t have to get up from the couch.
“Sssure,” Veronica agreed slowly. It was all the confirmation Tommie needed: she ushered her up, slamming the basement door shut and locking all three locks firmly behind her, plunging her double into darkness.
“Well? Satisfied now?” Tommie asked, an unmistakable edge in her voice.
Veronica didn’t answer. She touched the basement door, the little bumps in the white paint. “Isn’t it a little cruel to keep her in a cage like that?”
“Um, what? It literally tried to kill me. More than once! It’s not like this was my first idea, you know,” Tommie scoffed. “Like, ‘Oh, OMG, I have a surprise twin! Better lock her in a fucking dog crate in my basement!’ A lot happened to get it to this point, okay? Besides, it’s not like it’s actually a person. I know it looks like me, and I’m very cute, but it is Not. Me. It doesn’t eat, it doesn’t drink, it doesn’t sleep. All living things need water, even bacteria and worms and shit, that’s like, basic biology. And this thing doesn’t.”
She badly forced a smile and poked Veronica in the chest. “So get any threesome fantasies out of your head, m’kay?”
“That wasn’t–you don’t need to make everything into a joke. I’m taking it seriously,” Veronica protested. “So what is it?”
“I have literally no clue. All I know is I don’t wanna get arrested for murder, and I don’t want a serial killer wearing my face in the news if I turn it in, and I definitely don’t want it running loose and killing me in my sleep. So this is what I’ve got.” Tommie sighed dramatically. “So now you know. So… I know that’s a lot to take in… but I’ve still got my question. What do you think about moving in?”
-
Every night since Veronica moved in, she laid awake thinking about the double in the basement, right beneath the floorboards.
She’d confirmed it, once, when Tommie was out of the house. The basement was right underneath the bedroom, their floor her ceiling. She could be looking up at her right now, only about a foot of flooring between them.
One night, she couldn’t take it anymore. She snuck out of bed, refilled her water in case Tommie found her and she needed an excuse. Then, down to the basement. The bar lock she could just flip open, the key to the keyed lock was hanging in the kitchen, and she’d memorized the combination that very first time Tommie had taken her down here months ago.
“Hello?” she called, flicking on the lights.
The Tommie in the cage squinted, shying away from the brightness.
“I’m sorry. Do you want the lights off?” Veronica asked, easing the door shut behind her.
“No!” she scream-whispered. Honestly, Veronica hadn’t expected her to speak. “No. Please, it’s so dark.”
“Okay. Okay. I won’t.” Veronica had the thought to sit on the steps, but walked down them instead, right up to the cage. She sat cross-legged on the floor, just barely out of arms’ reach. That should be safe. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Thinking what?” the double asked, wary.
“I just feel bad, I guess. Thinking of you trapped down here all alone.” Against her better judgment, she scooted forward, reaching out to brush a finger along the grating of the cage. “Do you have a name?”
The double shrugged. “Tommie calls me Dupe sometimes.”
“Did you have a name before that?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Dupe glanced down at the aluminum water bottle. “Can I have some water? Please?”
Veronica’s hand drifted to the cage lock, but she didn’t open it, not yet. “Tommie said you don’t drink.”
Dupe laughed, a joyless sound. “Tommie says a lot of things.”
She had to know.
Veronica unlocked the cage door, swinging it open with a creak she hoped wouldn’t wake her girlfriend. No sooner had she handed the water over than Dupe had it at her lips, gulping it down like she was dying of thirst. Only after shaking out every last drop did she hand back the empty bottle. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
“I wouldn’t call that kind. Just not cruel.” Her head spun, her world cracked in two. If Tommie had lied about this, what else had she lied about?
“Then you’re not cruel,” Dupe conceded. “Is it okay if I come out? Please?” Her voice broke. “Just for a little?”
Veronica stood. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
Dupe crawled out of the dog crate, legs shaking like a newborn fawn’s as she rose to her feet. She stumbled, but Veronica was just barely able to catch her in time.
“I’ve got you. It’s okay,” she soothed. “You don’t have to go back in there.”
“Thank you.” Dupe leaned against her, and they stayed like that for a minute, two, five. She was colder than Tommie–the only physical difference Veronica had noticed so far. Eventually, Dupe pulled back, steady on her feet now. “You have to go back. She’ll get suspicious if she wakes up.”
Veronica parted from her reluctantly. “Okay. Just–stay here, and I’ll figure something out. I’ll get something prepared for you, a plane ticket, I don’t know. I’ll make sure you’re safe. I’ll come again tomorrow night, alright? And I’ll bring more water, and food, and stuff. She won’t notice?”
“Tommie never comes down here anymore,” Dupe confirms. “Meeting you was the first time she’d opened the door in years, I think.”
“Years,” Veronica whispered. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back for you. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Dupe smiled. It was a smile she saw every day, on that same face, and it looked no different here, but it felt infinitely more powerful. “I can’t wait.”
Veronica padded back up the stairs. She did up the locks just the way they were when she found them, so Tommie wouldn’t notice, and headed back to bed.
-
When Veronica woke up hours later, one of them was straddling her with wild eyes and a knife pressed to her throat, while the other one laid dead next to her, warm blood pooling beneath the both of them.
It wasn’t hard to figure out which was which. Tommie’s corpse was still in her pajamas.
“Are you going to kill me?” Veronica whispered. For some reason, the thought didn’t strike as much fear in her as she felt it should have.
Dupe’s hand didn’t move. It didn’t slice, or stab, or saw. It trembled, just a little, not enough to split her neck open.
Her lips parted, and a full bottle’s worth of clear water spilled onto Veronica’s chest, just as cold as the moment she’d gotten it from the tap.
“I don’t know,” she said when it was all done, “I don’t know what happens now. I’ve never gotten this far.”
“Can I touch you?” Veronica asked. When Dupe gave her a jerky nod, she reached her arms up, sticky with the pooling blood, and cupped Dupe’s face. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Just stay here with me.”
The press of the knife left her throat. Dupe lowered herself down, so she laid on top, her head finding the nook between Veronica’s shoulder and neck.
Veronica wrapped her arms around her, and before long, Tommie’s body cooled enough that there was no difference at all.
“You’re the one who said you wanted to see.” Tommie tugged on her sleeve. “Come on, let’s just go upstairs.”
Veronica ignored the pulling. There in the basement, locked in a large dog crate, was Tommie. But it wasn’t Tommie. Tommie was standing right next to her, still pulling insistently.
The Tommie in the crate mirrored Veronica’s wide-eyed surprise, staring up at her with unparalleled intensity. She shifted, pressing her forehead against the grating and threatening her fingers through the gaps.
“Ugh. Creep,” Tommie spat. “Well, there you go, since you didn’t believe me. I told you so. Anyway, let’s go. Seriously, I don’t like being around this thing.”
The Tommie in the crate didn’t look at her perfect double. She only looked at Veronica, with that same pleading face the real Tommie made when she was trying to convince her to go make a bowl of popcorn or get her phone or fetch a blanket so she didn’t have to get up from the couch.
“Sssure,” Veronica agreed slowly. It was all the confirmation Tommie needed: she ushered her up, slamming the basement door shut and locking all three locks firmly behind her, plunging her double into darkness.
“Well? Satisfied now?” Tommie asked, an unmistakable edge in her voice.
Veronica didn’t answer. She touched the basement door, the little bumps in the white paint. “Isn’t it a little cruel to keep her in a cage like that?”
“Um, what? It literally tried to kill me. More than once! It’s not like this was my first idea, you know,” Tommie scoffed. “Like, ‘Oh, OMG, I have a surprise twin! Better lock her in a fucking dog crate in my basement!’ A lot happened to get it to this point, okay? Besides, it’s not like it’s actually a person. I know it looks like me, and I’m very cute, but it is Not. Me. It doesn’t eat, it doesn’t drink, it doesn’t sleep. All living things need water, even bacteria and worms and shit, that’s like, basic biology. And this thing doesn’t.”
She badly forced a smile and poked Veronica in the chest. “So get any threesome fantasies out of your head, m’kay?”
“That wasn’t–you don’t need to make everything into a joke. I’m taking it seriously,” Veronica protested. “So what is it?”
“I have literally no clue. All I know is I don’t wanna get arrested for murder, and I don’t want a serial killer wearing my face in the news if I turn it in, and I definitely don’t want it running loose and killing me in my sleep. So this is what I’ve got.” Tommie sighed dramatically. “So now you know. So… I know that’s a lot to take in… but I’ve still got my question. What do you think about moving in?”
-
Every night since Veronica moved in, she laid awake thinking about the double in the basement, right beneath the floorboards.
She’d confirmed it, once, when Tommie was out of the house. The basement was right underneath the bedroom, their floor her ceiling. She could be looking up at her right now, only about a foot of flooring between them.
One night, she couldn’t take it anymore. She snuck out of bed, refilled her water in case Tommie found her and she needed an excuse. Then, down to the basement. The bar lock she could just flip open, the key to the keyed lock was hanging in the kitchen, and she’d memorized the combination that very first time Tommie had taken her down here months ago.
“Hello?” she called, flicking on the lights.
The Tommie in the cage squinted, shying away from the brightness.
“I’m sorry. Do you want the lights off?” Veronica asked, easing the door shut behind her.
“No!” she scream-whispered. Honestly, Veronica hadn’t expected her to speak. “No. Please, it’s so dark.”
“Okay. Okay. I won’t.” Veronica had the thought to sit on the steps, but walked down them instead, right up to the cage. She sat cross-legged on the floor, just barely out of arms’ reach. That should be safe. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Thinking what?” the double asked, wary.
“I just feel bad, I guess. Thinking of you trapped down here all alone.” Against her better judgment, she scooted forward, reaching out to brush a finger along the grating of the cage. “Do you have a name?”
The double shrugged. “Tommie calls me Dupe sometimes.”
“Did you have a name before that?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Dupe glanced down at the aluminum water bottle. “Can I have some water? Please?”
Veronica’s hand drifted to the cage lock, but she didn’t open it, not yet. “Tommie said you don’t drink.”
Dupe laughed, a joyless sound. “Tommie says a lot of things.”
She had to know.
Veronica unlocked the cage door, swinging it open with a creak she hoped wouldn’t wake her girlfriend. No sooner had she handed the water over than Dupe had it at her lips, gulping it down like she was dying of thirst. Only after shaking out every last drop did she hand back the empty bottle. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
“I wouldn’t call that kind. Just not cruel.” Her head spun, her world cracked in two. If Tommie had lied about this, what else had she lied about?
“Then you’re not cruel,” Dupe conceded. “Is it okay if I come out? Please?” Her voice broke. “Just for a little?”
Veronica stood. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
Dupe crawled out of the dog crate, legs shaking like a newborn fawn’s as she rose to her feet. She stumbled, but Veronica was just barely able to catch her in time.
“I’ve got you. It’s okay,” she soothed. “You don’t have to go back in there.”
“Thank you.” Dupe leaned against her, and they stayed like that for a minute, two, five. She was colder than Tommie–the only physical difference Veronica had noticed so far. Eventually, Dupe pulled back, steady on her feet now. “You have to go back. She’ll get suspicious if she wakes up.”
Veronica parted from her reluctantly. “Okay. Just–stay here, and I’ll figure something out. I’ll get something prepared for you, a plane ticket, I don’t know. I’ll make sure you’re safe. I’ll come again tomorrow night, alright? And I’ll bring more water, and food, and stuff. She won’t notice?”
“Tommie never comes down here anymore,” Dupe confirms. “Meeting you was the first time she’d opened the door in years, I think.”
“Years,” Veronica whispered. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back for you. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Dupe smiled. It was a smile she saw every day, on that same face, and it looked no different here, but it felt infinitely more powerful. “I can’t wait.”
Veronica padded back up the stairs. She did up the locks just the way they were when she found them, so Tommie wouldn’t notice, and headed back to bed.
-
When Veronica woke up hours later, one of them was straddling her with wild eyes and a knife pressed to her throat, while the other one laid dead next to her, warm blood pooling beneath the both of them.
It wasn’t hard to figure out which was which. Tommie’s corpse was still in her pajamas.
“Are you going to kill me?” Veronica whispered. For some reason, the thought didn’t strike as much fear in her as she felt it should have.
Dupe’s hand didn’t move. It didn’t slice, or stab, or saw. It trembled, just a little, not enough to split her neck open.
Her lips parted, and a full bottle’s worth of clear water spilled onto Veronica’s chest, just as cold as the moment she’d gotten it from the tap.
“I don’t know,” she said when it was all done, “I don’t know what happens now. I’ve never gotten this far.”
“Can I touch you?” Veronica asked. When Dupe gave her a jerky nod, she reached her arms up, sticky with the pooling blood, and cupped Dupe’s face. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Just stay here with me.”
The press of the knife left her throat. Dupe lowered herself down, so she laid on top, her head finding the nook between Veronica’s shoulder and neck.
Veronica wrapped her arms around her, and before long, Tommie’s body cooled enough that there was no difference at all.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/5033.html?thread=869289&posted=1#cmt935081
Tseren startled as a little bell above her head tolled in high, tinkling notes. The human woman behind the counter, elderly for their kind, stifled a laugh: “First time?”
“Indeed.” She smoothed out her shirt. “I’ve been told one can obtain fresh blood here.”
The words still felt dangerous in her mouth, no matter how many times she spoke of it. Looking around, the rest of the lobby seemed to be deserted, only cementing her paranoia. Where were these supposed other vampires? Where were the humans, for that matter? The woman at the front seemed devoid of any sign of a bite, and frankly looked as though she may faint were someone to take more than a drop.
She took a step back, the bell in the door sounding again as she did. “If I’m mistaken, I can leave.”
“No, do stay,” the human encouraged, stepping out. “Welcome, we’re glad to have you. Here, I’ll show you to one of our baristas.”
Against her better judgment, Tseren listened. She could easily take the human in a fight if it came down to it, even in her peckish state. “Very well.”
“Follow me.”
The human led her through a many-doored hall, stopping at one of the rooms. Joanna ð–¹, the sign on the door read, bright red marker on a small white slab.
“Joanna’ll take care of you. Take your time, come see me at the front when you’re done.” The human patted her on the shoulder, knocked on the door, and hobbled back to the entrance.
Tseren opened the door.
The room was dimly-lit, a human girl–a woman, really, though all humans yet to live even half a century seemed impossibly young to her–lounging on a velvet couch. She wore a low-cut, wide-necked shirt, showing off several small bandages and healing bites of days past, more surely hidden under her flowing hair. She smiled as soon as she laid eyes on Tseren.
“Hi! Omigosh, a new face! I love new faces. I’m Joanna, what’s your name? Here, come sit.” The girl leaned forward, patting the spot next to her.
Tseren was not new, not to the world. She had lived through the time when vampires would hunt humans down and drain them completely dry, going weeks between large meals. She had lived through the time when vampires would lure their prey, have their food do the work of coming to them. She had lived through the time when vampires offered their services to the squabbles of humans, taking their payment in the blood of their enemies. Most recently, she had even lived through the several decades when one became able to purchase prepackaged cans of human blood at the store, whatever their kind deemed unfit for transfusion among their injured.
And yet, somehow, she felt her dead heart slowly pound in her chest, nerves creeping down her spine.
Had she ever fed directly from a willing human before? Surely, it had to have happened at some point, but nothing came to mind. Maybe she hadn’t. Hell, she probably hadn’t fed directly from a human at all since before Joanna had been born.
“Tseren,” she answered, blunt as the human girl’s teeth, sitting as instructed.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Tseren.” It became immediately apparent that she had made a mistake in her hand placement, as the one she’d let rest on the couch was immediately enveloped by Joanna’s. This close, her scent was intoxicating. No wonder she’d been hired in a place like this.
She looked to the side, studying the swirling floral pattern of the wallpaper. “Likewise.”
Joanna reached her free hand to touch Tseren’s jaw, tipping her head so their eyes met. “You don’t need to be nervous, this is what I’m here for. Just try to relax and enjoy your meal, okay?”
Any would-be words caught in her throat, leaving a jerky nod as her only reply.
With a giggle, Joanna swept her hair to her far shoulder, revealing more supple skin. “Go ahead. I’m all yours.”
“Okay. Um, thank you,” Tseren stumbled, chest tight. She gazed over the offered neck, picking out a smooth spot.
When she leaned in to bite, there was no scream of terror, no struggling to get away. Her fangs dug into her, finding the vein and staying there as she gulp down mouthful after mouthful of warm, savory blood, salty and delicious.
Joanna hummed in approval, melting into her. It was a strange response, for a human, but not one to go unappreciated. Even after Tseren pulled away, the smile didn’t leave the girl’s face.
“Feeling better?” she asked, taking a bandage from her pocket and plastering it over the new wound.
“Yes.” The ache in her stomach was gone. “This was… interesting.”
Joanna laughed. “Good. I like interesting. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. “You can check out at the front desk. Have a wonderful rest of your night!”
Yuri Shipping Olympics 2024 BR4: Epilogue
Jul. 11th, 2024 11:26 pmhttps://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3636.html?thread=425012&posted=1#cmt484660
you said "villainess isekai" and i couldn't resist
Fandom: Original work / Otome isekai
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 1296
CW: Heavily implied suicide (prior to the start of the story)
-
It was a nice fantasy, to imagine being sucked into a world where you knew all the rules. It was certainly better than real life. When the villainess isekai genre took off, she was instantly enamored. Story after story about regular women like her, taken to lands full of magic where they knew exactly how to manipulate every person and event around them. Even if they don’t know, they figured it out along the way. She imagined herself in their shoes, wished to be whisked away. She could do it even better.
One night, she became tired enough of the real world, and she got her wish.
She didn’t wake in her crappy apartment, the hard surface of her bathtub forming bruises where they crushed her skin against bone. She didn’t even wake in the hospital.
The dungeon was dimly-lit, torches casting faint light through heavy bars. There was little else in the room besides her, only the barest necessities for survival and a simple hammock strung up, where she lay.
Her name was gone. She could remember everything else about her life, even her online usernames. But whenever she tried to think of her name, it was like it had been carved out of her. All she knew was her body’s name: Alice.
Alice, the villainess of her favorite otome game. She’d completed a run one last time before her death. She had no doubt she could use her knowledge of the game and its characters to charm her way into a fulfilling life full of friends and love by starting the game as Alice.
But she wasn’t starting the game. This was the cell from the epilogue, after Alice’s murder plot had been discovered. There was no chance to avoid the doomed fate of the villainess: she was already here, picking right back off after the credits.
It was even worse than her previous life. At least there, she could distract herself with games and novels. Here, there was nothing.
Alice began to cry.
She curled up in her hammock and tried to shut it away. Maybe it was all just a bad dream. Even as she thought it, she knew better.
Sniffling, she held her hands out to the ceiling. Alice had fire magic. She was a prodigy, even, something she’d bullied Lillian about, the assumed-magicless protagonist. She could feel the magic waiting in her fingertips, just begging to be released.
Her hands stayed sparkless: she couldn’t. It hadn’t been mentioned in the game, but there was no way dungeons in a world like this wouldn’t have precautions for magic-users, right? She could draw more scrutiny, perhaps be executed. Or she wouldn’t inherit Alice’s talent, and she’d burn herself alive. Either way, she could end up reincarnating somewhere even worse. Maybe all she was made for were terrible lives, and she would be forced to live them all, death no longer a possible escape.
“Lillian!” Alice cried. She needed help, and Lillian was the only person she could think of. She knew Lillian better than anyone. She’d lived Lillian’s life tens of times, through every playthrough she’d painstakingly completed. “Lillian, help me!”
“Hey,” a gruff voice interrupted, a guard stepping into view from just beyond her cell. “That’s Her Grace, Duchess Lillian to you.”
She wiped at her face with the back of her wrist. Duchess. So this Lillian had gone down the Duke Norvin route. That was the tragic one, it always ended with Norvin succumbing to his illness, even in the ‘good’ ending.
“I need to see the Duchess. Please,” Alice insisted.
The guard scoffed on his way out. “Nice try.”
-
Over the coming weeks, Alice tried again and again to plead for some kind of visitor. She begged mainly for Lillian: she knew Lillian was kind, and if she could just have a moment of her time, she could get out of here. She tried for her father, too: Alice was a noble, and surely, her family would be able to at least get her better accommodations. That was a bust; it seemed Alice’s family had disowned her.
She felt more and more for the woman whose body she inhabited. They were more alike than she’d realized. She wondered where the old Alice had gone, if anywhere. Maybe Alice had gone on to a new life, too. Maybe Alice had felt the same thing she was feeling.
Finally, one day, she had her visitor.
Lillian was instantly recognizable, even in person, rather than the lovingly-rendered art Alice was used to admiring. Her flowing hair, fading from gold to deep orange to warm pink. Her eyes, even full of suspicion, shone like jewels. Her skin seemed to faintly glow, a remnant of the light magic she’d unlocked in the game’s climax.
A burn scar crawled up her cheek in the shape of a hand.
“Your Grace.” She performed a small curtsy before intertwining her tingling fingers behind her back. Best to hide those. “Thank you for coming to see me. I’ve been asking the guards to see you for some time.”
“I’ve been recently informed.” Lillian tried to sound stern, Alice could tell she was trying, but there was a gentle waver she couldn’t hide. “What is it you want, Alice?”
Alice dropped to her knees. “I want to beg your forgiveness.” She bowed her head. She didn’t know the customs, she didn’t have Alice’s memories, only what she saw in the game. But this seemed polite enough. “I was cruel to you, and I am sorry. I would do anything for a second chance.”
Lillian was silent for a moment. “I wanted to be friends, you know. When we met.”
“I’m ready to. I wasn’t ready before, but I’m ready now. I’ve changed, and I’ve come to realize I was jealous of you all along. I always wanted to be like you, to live your life. I would be grateful for the chance to even live on the edges of it.” She couldn’t even call it a lie. “Please, Your Grace. Have you ever known what it’s like to desperately need just one chance?”
She already knew the answer. Lillian had been the only one accepted to the program who couldn’t harness her magical potential, and was only accepted when she offered to do work for the university without pay. It would have been a ridiculous decision for anyone else, something else Alice had mocked her for, but of course it worked out for her in the end if you played it right. It was a game, and she was its shining light.
Lillian’s gaze softened. “I could take you on as a servant,” she offered hesitantly. “You would be paid fairly, but you could not leave for the duration of your sentence, and would be sent back to the dungeons for any attempts at foul play. That is the best I can give you. Is that… something you would be willing to accept?”
Alice burst into a grin. “Yes! That would be perfect!”
She would be out of this dead-end of a dungeon and back into the story. She could make something of herself. She could be around Lillian, bask in her light, witness what happens after the events of her favorite game.
It would be something to live for.
Lillian’s eyebrows raised. “Truthfully, I’d expected you to say you’d rather go to the gallows.”
“I said I’d changed, hadn’t I?” Alice stood, smoothing out her dress.
Lillian touched the scar on her cheek. “Perhaps you have.”
“Thank you for this opportunity.” Alice followed behind her, watching the way Lillian walked, mesmerized. She hadn’t imagined she would ever see her so animated, so real. More than anything, Alice wanted to reach out and touch her.
She refrained, for now.
you said "villainess isekai" and i couldn't resist
Fandom: Original work / Otome isekai
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 1296
CW: Heavily implied suicide (prior to the start of the story)
-
It was a nice fantasy, to imagine being sucked into a world where you knew all the rules. It was certainly better than real life. When the villainess isekai genre took off, she was instantly enamored. Story after story about regular women like her, taken to lands full of magic where they knew exactly how to manipulate every person and event around them. Even if they don’t know, they figured it out along the way. She imagined herself in their shoes, wished to be whisked away. She could do it even better.
One night, she became tired enough of the real world, and she got her wish.
She didn’t wake in her crappy apartment, the hard surface of her bathtub forming bruises where they crushed her skin against bone. She didn’t even wake in the hospital.
The dungeon was dimly-lit, torches casting faint light through heavy bars. There was little else in the room besides her, only the barest necessities for survival and a simple hammock strung up, where she lay.
Her name was gone. She could remember everything else about her life, even her online usernames. But whenever she tried to think of her name, it was like it had been carved out of her. All she knew was her body’s name: Alice.
Alice, the villainess of her favorite otome game. She’d completed a run one last time before her death. She had no doubt she could use her knowledge of the game and its characters to charm her way into a fulfilling life full of friends and love by starting the game as Alice.
But she wasn’t starting the game. This was the cell from the epilogue, after Alice’s murder plot had been discovered. There was no chance to avoid the doomed fate of the villainess: she was already here, picking right back off after the credits.
It was even worse than her previous life. At least there, she could distract herself with games and novels. Here, there was nothing.
Alice began to cry.
She curled up in her hammock and tried to shut it away. Maybe it was all just a bad dream. Even as she thought it, she knew better.
Sniffling, she held her hands out to the ceiling. Alice had fire magic. She was a prodigy, even, something she’d bullied Lillian about, the assumed-magicless protagonist. She could feel the magic waiting in her fingertips, just begging to be released.
Her hands stayed sparkless: she couldn’t. It hadn’t been mentioned in the game, but there was no way dungeons in a world like this wouldn’t have precautions for magic-users, right? She could draw more scrutiny, perhaps be executed. Or she wouldn’t inherit Alice’s talent, and she’d burn herself alive. Either way, she could end up reincarnating somewhere even worse. Maybe all she was made for were terrible lives, and she would be forced to live them all, death no longer a possible escape.
“Lillian!” Alice cried. She needed help, and Lillian was the only person she could think of. She knew Lillian better than anyone. She’d lived Lillian’s life tens of times, through every playthrough she’d painstakingly completed. “Lillian, help me!”
“Hey,” a gruff voice interrupted, a guard stepping into view from just beyond her cell. “That’s Her Grace, Duchess Lillian to you.”
She wiped at her face with the back of her wrist. Duchess. So this Lillian had gone down the Duke Norvin route. That was the tragic one, it always ended with Norvin succumbing to his illness, even in the ‘good’ ending.
“I need to see the Duchess. Please,” Alice insisted.
The guard scoffed on his way out. “Nice try.”
-
Over the coming weeks, Alice tried again and again to plead for some kind of visitor. She begged mainly for Lillian: she knew Lillian was kind, and if she could just have a moment of her time, she could get out of here. She tried for her father, too: Alice was a noble, and surely, her family would be able to at least get her better accommodations. That was a bust; it seemed Alice’s family had disowned her.
She felt more and more for the woman whose body she inhabited. They were more alike than she’d realized. She wondered where the old Alice had gone, if anywhere. Maybe Alice had gone on to a new life, too. Maybe Alice had felt the same thing she was feeling.
Finally, one day, she had her visitor.
Lillian was instantly recognizable, even in person, rather than the lovingly-rendered art Alice was used to admiring. Her flowing hair, fading from gold to deep orange to warm pink. Her eyes, even full of suspicion, shone like jewels. Her skin seemed to faintly glow, a remnant of the light magic she’d unlocked in the game’s climax.
A burn scar crawled up her cheek in the shape of a hand.
“Your Grace.” She performed a small curtsy before intertwining her tingling fingers behind her back. Best to hide those. “Thank you for coming to see me. I’ve been asking the guards to see you for some time.”
“I’ve been recently informed.” Lillian tried to sound stern, Alice could tell she was trying, but there was a gentle waver she couldn’t hide. “What is it you want, Alice?”
Alice dropped to her knees. “I want to beg your forgiveness.” She bowed her head. She didn’t know the customs, she didn’t have Alice’s memories, only what she saw in the game. But this seemed polite enough. “I was cruel to you, and I am sorry. I would do anything for a second chance.”
Lillian was silent for a moment. “I wanted to be friends, you know. When we met.”
“I’m ready to. I wasn’t ready before, but I’m ready now. I’ve changed, and I’ve come to realize I was jealous of you all along. I always wanted to be like you, to live your life. I would be grateful for the chance to even live on the edges of it.” She couldn’t even call it a lie. “Please, Your Grace. Have you ever known what it’s like to desperately need just one chance?”
She already knew the answer. Lillian had been the only one accepted to the program who couldn’t harness her magical potential, and was only accepted when she offered to do work for the university without pay. It would have been a ridiculous decision for anyone else, something else Alice had mocked her for, but of course it worked out for her in the end if you played it right. It was a game, and she was its shining light.
Lillian’s gaze softened. “I could take you on as a servant,” she offered hesitantly. “You would be paid fairly, but you could not leave for the duration of your sentence, and would be sent back to the dungeons for any attempts at foul play. That is the best I can give you. Is that… something you would be willing to accept?”
Alice burst into a grin. “Yes! That would be perfect!”
She would be out of this dead-end of a dungeon and back into the story. She could make something of herself. She could be around Lillian, bask in her light, witness what happens after the events of her favorite game.
It would be something to live for.
Lillian’s eyebrows raised. “Truthfully, I’d expected you to say you’d rather go to the gallows.”
“I said I’d changed, hadn’t I?” Alice stood, smoothing out her dress.
Lillian touched the scar on her cheek. “Perhaps you have.”
“Thank you for this opportunity.” Alice followed behind her, watching the way Lillian walked, mesmerized. She hadn’t imagined she would ever see her so animated, so real. More than anything, Alice wanted to reach out and touch her.
She refrained, for now.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3371.html?thread=355883&posted=1#cmt395307
Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3
Ship: Aylin/Isobel
Words: 706
Aylin was alone.
Her dearest Isobel had perished decades ago–she had no way of knowing how long now, no method of marking her mourning with every little anniversary, as though she would grieve less deeply on every other night without her. Even her mother, with all her power, could not reach her in this wretched place. No one but servants of villainy, cultists and that terrible necromancer, could reach her here. Not even Isobel’s father dared visit her after that first time, the coward.
And now, not even her own wings. Not content to harvest her very life, no, Balthazar had to take even that from her.
She roared and pulled at her chains, but try as she might, they held fast. Dark wizardry designed to snuff out her light. Blood trickled down her back from weeping wounds at every movement, the pain of it only fueling her rage.
Aylin would kill them. She would slaughter them all.
But when she finally sat down to rest, there were no feathers to wrap around herself as she wallowed, and she knew not whether hours or centuries awaited before she could fulfill her vow.
“Aylin?”
A gentle hand shook her shoulder, and Aylin’s eyes snapped open in a flash of silver.
“Aylin, it’s only me. You were crying while you slept.” Isobel’s voice, the one she’d yearned to hear for so long. Aylin tried to relax at its tone, but she found she could not.
“Damn it all.” Aylin sat upright. Her hands shook still. She had slain Ketheric Thorm; her hands should not be yet shaking. She should not weep beside her beloved.
Isobel rose as well. She huddled close, her hand going to Aylin’s back to stroke softly. “It’s alright, you know. It’s not a failing.”
“They do not deserve my tears.” The words came out angrier than she intended. She curled her hands to fists, but did nothing with them.
“There is a flower named after Selûne’s tears, you know,” Isobel went on. “Called just that, a beautiful midnight-blue blossom. If your mother could cry enough for a flower to be named after the event, you’re certainly allowed.”
Aylin hated it when Isobel had a point. Though at the same time, she could never hate anything about Isobel at all.
“I dreamed of your return to me so often that sometimes, I’m unsure which one is the dream and which is reality,” she admitted.
It felt as though she were admitting defeat, utterly infuriating. Balthazar was dead. Ketheric was dead. She alone had risen from Shadowfell, glowing and glorious.
How could it then feel like defeat?
She summoned her wings, flapped them once, then dismissed them just as fast, just to prove to herself that she could.
“This is real. I am real, and I am here,” Isobel assured her, as if it were perfectly natural to have to assure such a thing. She stole a quick kiss, an attempt to prove her point. “I am not going anywhere.”
Aylin knew that was not true. Isobel may have been revived, but she was still mortal. But she had long made her peace with that, so long as she was able to live out her days to their natural end this time.
“And I am ever grateful for it,” she said instead.
“Come, lay down. I know an enchantment good for fright.” Isobel patted the bed.
Aylin laid as directed. “Hah. I am not frightened.” Yet, she did not protest.
“Of course not, my darling. Te absolvo.”
With that, Isobel’s hands glowed sky-blue but for a moment, and Aylin felt as though her heart were wrapped in a warm embrace, the fear and unease and even rage driven straight out of it for the time being. It would not last, she knew, and she would not like it to–she was not one to run from her problems, even when said problems could not be cut down with a sword.
But she would not turn down a single night’s undisturbed rest, either.
“Better?” Isobel asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks now that they’d stopped, her fingers running painlessly along the scars traversing Aylin’s face.
One night of peace. She would face it tomorrow.
“Always.”
Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3
Ship: Aylin/Isobel
Words: 706
Aylin was alone.
Her dearest Isobel had perished decades ago–she had no way of knowing how long now, no method of marking her mourning with every little anniversary, as though she would grieve less deeply on every other night without her. Even her mother, with all her power, could not reach her in this wretched place. No one but servants of villainy, cultists and that terrible necromancer, could reach her here. Not even Isobel’s father dared visit her after that first time, the coward.
And now, not even her own wings. Not content to harvest her very life, no, Balthazar had to take even that from her.
She roared and pulled at her chains, but try as she might, they held fast. Dark wizardry designed to snuff out her light. Blood trickled down her back from weeping wounds at every movement, the pain of it only fueling her rage.
Aylin would kill them. She would slaughter them all.
But when she finally sat down to rest, there were no feathers to wrap around herself as she wallowed, and she knew not whether hours or centuries awaited before she could fulfill her vow.
“Aylin?”
A gentle hand shook her shoulder, and Aylin’s eyes snapped open in a flash of silver.
“Aylin, it’s only me. You were crying while you slept.” Isobel’s voice, the one she’d yearned to hear for so long. Aylin tried to relax at its tone, but she found she could not.
“Damn it all.” Aylin sat upright. Her hands shook still. She had slain Ketheric Thorm; her hands should not be yet shaking. She should not weep beside her beloved.
Isobel rose as well. She huddled close, her hand going to Aylin’s back to stroke softly. “It’s alright, you know. It’s not a failing.”
“They do not deserve my tears.” The words came out angrier than she intended. She curled her hands to fists, but did nothing with them.
“There is a flower named after Selûne’s tears, you know,” Isobel went on. “Called just that, a beautiful midnight-blue blossom. If your mother could cry enough for a flower to be named after the event, you’re certainly allowed.”
Aylin hated it when Isobel had a point. Though at the same time, she could never hate anything about Isobel at all.
“I dreamed of your return to me so often that sometimes, I’m unsure which one is the dream and which is reality,” she admitted.
It felt as though she were admitting defeat, utterly infuriating. Balthazar was dead. Ketheric was dead. She alone had risen from Shadowfell, glowing and glorious.
How could it then feel like defeat?
She summoned her wings, flapped them once, then dismissed them just as fast, just to prove to herself that she could.
“This is real. I am real, and I am here,” Isobel assured her, as if it were perfectly natural to have to assure such a thing. She stole a quick kiss, an attempt to prove her point. “I am not going anywhere.”
Aylin knew that was not true. Isobel may have been revived, but she was still mortal. But she had long made her peace with that, so long as she was able to live out her days to their natural end this time.
“And I am ever grateful for it,” she said instead.
“Come, lay down. I know an enchantment good for fright.” Isobel patted the bed.
Aylin laid as directed. “Hah. I am not frightened.” Yet, she did not protest.
“Of course not, my darling. Te absolvo.”
With that, Isobel’s hands glowed sky-blue but for a moment, and Aylin felt as though her heart were wrapped in a warm embrace, the fear and unease and even rage driven straight out of it for the time being. It would not last, she knew, and she would not like it to–she was not one to run from her problems, even when said problems could not be cut down with a sword.
But she would not turn down a single night’s undisturbed rest, either.
“Better?” Isobel asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks now that they’d stopped, her fingers running painlessly along the scars traversing Aylin’s face.
One night of peace. She would face it tomorrow.
“Always.”
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=336750#cmt336750
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 593 (2786 for the full story)
This is chapter 4 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=327534#cmt327534
THE FOURTEENTH DAY
No one came their way for over ten days.
Antigone had grown accustomed to starvation, given how little the townspeople had fed her during her imprisonment. Hyacinth was not, and a fragile human at that. They were reduced to licking the mixture of spilled mule’s blood and wine off the rocky ground, their only consolation being that they weren’t alone in doing so.
Their only blessing was that it rained, the water trickling through immovable rocks much like Antigone would have liked to. It kept Hyacinth alive, but also made her cold, despite how they huddled. Antigone had nothing in the way of body heat to offer her, not being one of the living.
Hyacinth developed a cough, and her swollen ankle looked worse for wear by the day, pus making its home there. Her scent was perpetually off, the aroma of illness unmistakable to Antigone’s keen nose. They had long run out of anything resembling food.
That was to say, Hyacinth had long run out of anything resembling food.
“Drink,” she offered, as she had every day. Antigone knew now to turn hurt head before Hyacinth could even offer the weak, shaking wrist.
“Enough. You’ve had my answer. You need your blood more than I do, this is hardly the longest I’ve gone without.” Antigone shoved it away, firmly pressing Hyacinth’s hand to her side.
“And when I don’t need it anymore?” Hyacinth countered.
It was not the playful banter Antigone had grown used to. The play-argument only reminded her of her hunger, it was true, but it was something. It was a show of care, it was evidence of Hyacinth’s spirit.
This was not that.
“Humans always need blood, especially the weak and ill. I’ve killed enough to know.” Antigone forced her voice sharp: this was no longer a game. Perhaps a dose of fear was what Hyacinth needed to end this charade.
There was no fear in Hyacinth’s eyes anymore, not like their first days in the tunnel. She reached up to cup her face. “Not the dead ones.”
“You’re not dying! This is not funny. Enough.” Antigone swatted her hand away again.
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “You take your own ‘enough’. Surely someone who’s killed can see when one is dying. Be practical.”
“When have you ever been practical?” Antigone snapped. “You’re the one always promising this magical land of beauty and kindness that will welcome me with open arms. You must know that’s untrue. Look at me, Hyacinth. I am a fanged, clawed beast of the night who steals babes from their mothers and drains them dry. A single person freeing us before you perish is surely more realistic than that.”
“I would have made it so,” Hyacinth sighed. “This, then: should I die, promise you’ll waste none of me.”
“It is a shitty promise.”
“You would deny a girl her last wish?” Hyacinth’s hand brushed her cheek again. Even with the cloying sickness, it was tantalizing, given how long it had been since the mule-wine. Antigone did not swat it away.
“...Fine. I promise,” Antigone conceded at last.
Hyacinth smiled. It had been more than a week since Antigone had gotten to see it. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go. I wish we had more time.”
She closed her eyes to rest as Antigone stroked her hair. She did not open them again.
Antigone let loose a wail when Hyacinth’s heartbeat stopped, but no matter how she screamed, nothing could fill the silence it had left.
And she had a promise to keep.
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 593 (2786 for the full story)
This is chapter 4 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=327534#cmt327534
THE FOURTEENTH DAY
No one came their way for over ten days.
Antigone had grown accustomed to starvation, given how little the townspeople had fed her during her imprisonment. Hyacinth was not, and a fragile human at that. They were reduced to licking the mixture of spilled mule’s blood and wine off the rocky ground, their only consolation being that they weren’t alone in doing so.
Their only blessing was that it rained, the water trickling through immovable rocks much like Antigone would have liked to. It kept Hyacinth alive, but also made her cold, despite how they huddled. Antigone had nothing in the way of body heat to offer her, not being one of the living.
Hyacinth developed a cough, and her swollen ankle looked worse for wear by the day, pus making its home there. Her scent was perpetually off, the aroma of illness unmistakable to Antigone’s keen nose. They had long run out of anything resembling food.
That was to say, Hyacinth had long run out of anything resembling food.
“Drink,” she offered, as she had every day. Antigone knew now to turn hurt head before Hyacinth could even offer the weak, shaking wrist.
“Enough. You’ve had my answer. You need your blood more than I do, this is hardly the longest I’ve gone without.” Antigone shoved it away, firmly pressing Hyacinth’s hand to her side.
“And when I don’t need it anymore?” Hyacinth countered.
It was not the playful banter Antigone had grown used to. The play-argument only reminded her of her hunger, it was true, but it was something. It was a show of care, it was evidence of Hyacinth’s spirit.
This was not that.
“Humans always need blood, especially the weak and ill. I’ve killed enough to know.” Antigone forced her voice sharp: this was no longer a game. Perhaps a dose of fear was what Hyacinth needed to end this charade.
There was no fear in Hyacinth’s eyes anymore, not like their first days in the tunnel. She reached up to cup her face. “Not the dead ones.”
“You’re not dying! This is not funny. Enough.” Antigone swatted her hand away again.
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “You take your own ‘enough’. Surely someone who’s killed can see when one is dying. Be practical.”
“When have you ever been practical?” Antigone snapped. “You’re the one always promising this magical land of beauty and kindness that will welcome me with open arms. You must know that’s untrue. Look at me, Hyacinth. I am a fanged, clawed beast of the night who steals babes from their mothers and drains them dry. A single person freeing us before you perish is surely more realistic than that.”
“I would have made it so,” Hyacinth sighed. “This, then: should I die, promise you’ll waste none of me.”
“It is a shitty promise.”
“You would deny a girl her last wish?” Hyacinth’s hand brushed her cheek again. Even with the cloying sickness, it was tantalizing, given how long it had been since the mule-wine. Antigone did not swat it away.
“...Fine. I promise,” Antigone conceded at last.
Hyacinth smiled. It had been more than a week since Antigone had gotten to see it. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go. I wish we had more time.”
She closed her eyes to rest as Antigone stroked her hair. She did not open them again.
Antigone let loose a wail when Hyacinth’s heartbeat stopped, but no matter how she screamed, nothing could fill the silence it had left.
And she had a promise to keep.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=327534#cmt327534
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 768
This is chapter 3 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=264558#cmt264558
THE THIRD DAY
Antigone woke to a gentle shove on her shoulder, warning her of the coming dawn. She allowed herself to be wrapped in cloth once more before they set out.
“It’s a few days more travel, with some stops here and there for trade–I’ll be sure to pick up some pigs’ blood or some such for you as well. You’d do best to stay hidden when we go into town, what with your pointed fangs and cats’ eyes and the rest.” As if anticipating her answer, Hyacinth added, “I won’t go far. You’ll be able to hear my voice at all times. I’d hate to leave my wagon unguarded even if it didn’t have such precious cargo.”
She gave Antigone a friendly pat on the head before sealing that safely away, too.
“After, us three–Barosus included, of course–will board a boat and set out for home, the island Iiezvus. A couple weeks’ journey, and there we are. You’ll love it there. The beaches are even more beautiful at night, when the stars all twinkle. You can meet my family–they’ll love you, they aren’t so shallow as to scorn you for being a vampyre alone–and you can rest in a true bed.”
“With you?” Antigone asked before she could help herself.
Hyacinth’s laugh was like that of a bell. “With me. Though I’ll need to be up during the day, unlike you.”
“I could take you out in the early evening,” Antigone offered in turn. “Or the early morning, before the sun. The night is my home anywhere. When I regain my strength, I can carry you as well as the mule or better. Certainly faster.”
“Oh, my. Perhaps I could retire Barosus to the pasture and you could pull my wagon,” Hyacinth said, amused.
Antigone dared to peek out as the dark glow of the covered sun disappeared from beyond the fabric over her face. They’d entered a tunnel, it would seem.
“I often make my home in caves,” Antigone commented. Made. Before the horror of the humans. Hyacinth had shared so much of herself and her home, it felt paltry in comparison, but this was all she was. “They’re safe from daylight even if I sleep long, and I can kill and drink anything else that tries to make it its home. I could,” she amended, running a hand up her now-wizened arm. “I will again, with enough blood.”
“Then you will,” Hyacinth agreed.
A distant rumble was the only warning they had before the rocks fell.
Antigone leapt from the wagon, tackling Hyacinth from the rider’s seat to the ground. A sickening, wet crunch and a mouth-watering aroma soon followed, but it was the mule, not Hyacinth. The creature itself did not make so much as a whinny, so thorough was its demise.
The wagon’s wood, peppered with rock, splintered against Antigone. But through her weakness, she remained straight-backed, her knees and palms dug into the gravel until the tunnel was silent.
“Antigone?” Hyacinth whispered under her.
“I’m alright,” she strained, collapsing onto Hyacinth’s chest. “And you?”
Hyacinth wrapped her arms around her, her breath shallow, and did not answer. Her eyes closed, and the only thing that kept Antigone from worry was the steady beat of Hyacinth’s heart against her cheek.
“Myself as well,” she said belatedly, after minutes laid so, her eyes opening. “We have to check for a way out.”
Antigone struggled to her feet, helping Hyacinth as well. She teetered to the side, keeping her weight off an ankle already swelling. “Where first?”
“There.” Antigone aided Hyacinth in walking, watching as she checked each barrier in turn. Experimental pushes did nothing, no matter which of them tried. It would have been effortless if Antigone had her strength, but it had been stolen from her by years half-starved and beaten. Even the corpses of the mule and wagon could not be recovered, only a small puddle of wine and mule’s blood leaking out from under the rocks.
“It’s no use.” Hyacinth sat with a huff.
“So you’re saying we’re trapped in here?” Antigone asked, joining her.
“I am. We’ll simply have to wait for someone to come this way.” She twirled restlessly at her hair, her words devoid of that joy they’d always held in their short time together.
It tore at Antigone’s heart to see her this way. She gathered Hyacinth up, pulling her into her lap and away from the cold ground. “You will not wait alone.”
Hyacinth offered her a smile, though it held less weight than any she’d given before. “And I’m glad for that, at least.”
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 768
This is chapter 3 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=264558#cmt264558
THE THIRD DAY
Antigone woke to a gentle shove on her shoulder, warning her of the coming dawn. She allowed herself to be wrapped in cloth once more before they set out.
“It’s a few days more travel, with some stops here and there for trade–I’ll be sure to pick up some pigs’ blood or some such for you as well. You’d do best to stay hidden when we go into town, what with your pointed fangs and cats’ eyes and the rest.” As if anticipating her answer, Hyacinth added, “I won’t go far. You’ll be able to hear my voice at all times. I’d hate to leave my wagon unguarded even if it didn’t have such precious cargo.”
She gave Antigone a friendly pat on the head before sealing that safely away, too.
“After, us three–Barosus included, of course–will board a boat and set out for home, the island Iiezvus. A couple weeks’ journey, and there we are. You’ll love it there. The beaches are even more beautiful at night, when the stars all twinkle. You can meet my family–they’ll love you, they aren’t so shallow as to scorn you for being a vampyre alone–and you can rest in a true bed.”
“With you?” Antigone asked before she could help herself.
Hyacinth’s laugh was like that of a bell. “With me. Though I’ll need to be up during the day, unlike you.”
“I could take you out in the early evening,” Antigone offered in turn. “Or the early morning, before the sun. The night is my home anywhere. When I regain my strength, I can carry you as well as the mule or better. Certainly faster.”
“Oh, my. Perhaps I could retire Barosus to the pasture and you could pull my wagon,” Hyacinth said, amused.
Antigone dared to peek out as the dark glow of the covered sun disappeared from beyond the fabric over her face. They’d entered a tunnel, it would seem.
“I often make my home in caves,” Antigone commented. Made. Before the horror of the humans. Hyacinth had shared so much of herself and her home, it felt paltry in comparison, but this was all she was. “They’re safe from daylight even if I sleep long, and I can kill and drink anything else that tries to make it its home. I could,” she amended, running a hand up her now-wizened arm. “I will again, with enough blood.”
“Then you will,” Hyacinth agreed.
A distant rumble was the only warning they had before the rocks fell.
Antigone leapt from the wagon, tackling Hyacinth from the rider’s seat to the ground. A sickening, wet crunch and a mouth-watering aroma soon followed, but it was the mule, not Hyacinth. The creature itself did not make so much as a whinny, so thorough was its demise.
The wagon’s wood, peppered with rock, splintered against Antigone. But through her weakness, she remained straight-backed, her knees and palms dug into the gravel until the tunnel was silent.
“Antigone?” Hyacinth whispered under her.
“I’m alright,” she strained, collapsing onto Hyacinth’s chest. “And you?”
Hyacinth wrapped her arms around her, her breath shallow, and did not answer. Her eyes closed, and the only thing that kept Antigone from worry was the steady beat of Hyacinth’s heart against her cheek.
“Myself as well,” she said belatedly, after minutes laid so, her eyes opening. “We have to check for a way out.”
Antigone struggled to her feet, helping Hyacinth as well. She teetered to the side, keeping her weight off an ankle already swelling. “Where first?”
“There.” Antigone aided Hyacinth in walking, watching as she checked each barrier in turn. Experimental pushes did nothing, no matter which of them tried. It would have been effortless if Antigone had her strength, but it had been stolen from her by years half-starved and beaten. Even the corpses of the mule and wagon could not be recovered, only a small puddle of wine and mule’s blood leaking out from under the rocks.
“It’s no use.” Hyacinth sat with a huff.
“So you’re saying we’re trapped in here?” Antigone asked, joining her.
“I am. We’ll simply have to wait for someone to come this way.” She twirled restlessly at her hair, her words devoid of that joy they’d always held in their short time together.
It tore at Antigone’s heart to see her this way. She gathered Hyacinth up, pulling her into her lap and away from the cold ground. “You will not wait alone.”
Hyacinth offered her a smile, though it held less weight than any she’d given before. “And I’m glad for that, at least.”
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=264558#cmt264558
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 817
This is chapter 2 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=309358#cmt309358
THE SECOND DAY
The girl was called Hyacinth.
Hyacinth wrapped Antigone in fabric to protect her from the dawning sun as they traveled. It was the first time she could remember being out in the daylight without burning alive, and though she welcomed it, the thought that the flick of a cloth would be all it took to plunge her back into that Hell kept her tense the whole ride.
Though she kept quiet, Hyacinth filled the silence. She was a merchant, traveling to collect exotic treasures to sell at a price befitting the effort of bringing them home: fabrics in rare, bright colors, the seeds of fruits and vegetables too fickle to make the journey in their fully-realized forms, strange metalwork contraptions intended for restraining a demon, glittering jewels and sweet honey and rich oil and wines the likes of which Antigone was sure she hadn’t drank when she still could–and now, her.
“Not that you’ll be sold,” Hyacinth was quick to assure her, “Rather, your knowledge.”
Antigone’s voice came muffled through her protective covering. “My knowledge?”
“Why, who better to teach the secrets of the creatures of the night than one such creature herself? What you have is priceless, you know. You could find yourself training royal guards back home, a pretty penny indeed. All yours, of course. I’d not take from one who has nothing.”
The cloth rustled threateningly around Antigone as she dared to curl up. “I don’t care for guards.”
“Then you will tell me all you know, and I will sell your knowledge in your place,” Hyacinth amended. “You will make me your pupil, and in turn, I will care for your every need. You needn’t so much as look at anyone you disdain.” When Antigone did not answer, she continued: “Linen and lambs’ blood, it all awaits you when we arrive home.”
Antigone did not have much in the way of knowledge, and without revealing that, she couldn’t know whether a mere demonstration of her hunting methods was what Hyacinth valued so highly, or whether she expected something more.
But Antigone was no mindless animal. She waited until dusk, when Hyacinth broke for camp and announced they were done traveling for the night. “I’ll admit, I’ve never felt so safe. Wolves would think twice rather than attack a vampyre and her companion.”
“Companion,” Antigone echoed under her breath. She shrugged off the fabric, emerging into the night. “I must hunt.”
“There’s no need.” Hyacinth took her hand once more, soft fingers curling over sharp claws, and led her to the mule at the wagon’s front. “Barosus won’t mind much, I imagine, so long as you’re gentle and leave her enough for tomorrow’s journey.”
Antigone had risked her life for less. One could never know how fiercely a sheep would be guarded, or if a lone night-wandering child would be missed. Humans could be fiercely protective of such things, and often woke in the night. Yet here this merchant was, offering her own blood and her steed’s all in the span of two nights.
“Thank you.” The words felt foreign on her tongue. She expected that if Hyacinth’s treatment did not change, they would quickly become routine.
Hyacinth rewarded her with a glowing smile. “It wouldn’t do to keep my vampyre unfed, now would it?”
As she drank from the mule, which only stepped nervously in protest, Hyacinth set up camp. There was only one mat, but Antigone did not mind. She had never used one, and welcomed soft earth over the floor of the cage she’d been trapped in over the past years.
“Come,” Hyacinth called when she finished, patting the mat.
“It’s not for you?” she asked.
Hyacinth laid down on it. “There is enough room for two, if you lay close beside me.”
Antigone scoffed, but obeyed. “You wish to be informed if I attempt to leave.”
“Perhaps,” Hyacinth admitted bashfully, “My only method of keeping you here is my words. Should you forgo me, I’d at least like an opportunity to use them.”
She wrapped her arms around her, Hyacinth’s stomach pressed against Antigone’s back. “Sleep. I will not let the sun or anything else touch you.”
Antigone had never had aid before. Somehow, illogical though it was, Hyacinth’s embrace felt safer than the damp dark of a cave.
“What happens when I have nothing more to offer you?” she asked.
Hyacinth smiled against her ear. “Then you’ll have a choice. You can either stay, or go.”
It should have been harder to say than it was. She was a creature of pride. But her years in the cage had made her brittle, and she no longer had the patience for such things. “Please… don’t leave me.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Antigone felt the brush of lips against her cheek. A kiss, just barely. “Rest, now.”
For the only time in her second life, she slept soundly.
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 817
This is chapter 2 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=309358#cmt309358
THE SECOND DAY
The girl was called Hyacinth.
Hyacinth wrapped Antigone in fabric to protect her from the dawning sun as they traveled. It was the first time she could remember being out in the daylight without burning alive, and though she welcomed it, the thought that the flick of a cloth would be all it took to plunge her back into that Hell kept her tense the whole ride.
Though she kept quiet, Hyacinth filled the silence. She was a merchant, traveling to collect exotic treasures to sell at a price befitting the effort of bringing them home: fabrics in rare, bright colors, the seeds of fruits and vegetables too fickle to make the journey in their fully-realized forms, strange metalwork contraptions intended for restraining a demon, glittering jewels and sweet honey and rich oil and wines the likes of which Antigone was sure she hadn’t drank when she still could–and now, her.
“Not that you’ll be sold,” Hyacinth was quick to assure her, “Rather, your knowledge.”
Antigone’s voice came muffled through her protective covering. “My knowledge?”
“Why, who better to teach the secrets of the creatures of the night than one such creature herself? What you have is priceless, you know. You could find yourself training royal guards back home, a pretty penny indeed. All yours, of course. I’d not take from one who has nothing.”
The cloth rustled threateningly around Antigone as she dared to curl up. “I don’t care for guards.”
“Then you will tell me all you know, and I will sell your knowledge in your place,” Hyacinth amended. “You will make me your pupil, and in turn, I will care for your every need. You needn’t so much as look at anyone you disdain.” When Antigone did not answer, she continued: “Linen and lambs’ blood, it all awaits you when we arrive home.”
Antigone did not have much in the way of knowledge, and without revealing that, she couldn’t know whether a mere demonstration of her hunting methods was what Hyacinth valued so highly, or whether she expected something more.
But Antigone was no mindless animal. She waited until dusk, when Hyacinth broke for camp and announced they were done traveling for the night. “I’ll admit, I’ve never felt so safe. Wolves would think twice rather than attack a vampyre and her companion.”
“Companion,” Antigone echoed under her breath. She shrugged off the fabric, emerging into the night. “I must hunt.”
“There’s no need.” Hyacinth took her hand once more, soft fingers curling over sharp claws, and led her to the mule at the wagon’s front. “Barosus won’t mind much, I imagine, so long as you’re gentle and leave her enough for tomorrow’s journey.”
Antigone had risked her life for less. One could never know how fiercely a sheep would be guarded, or if a lone night-wandering child would be missed. Humans could be fiercely protective of such things, and often woke in the night. Yet here this merchant was, offering her own blood and her steed’s all in the span of two nights.
“Thank you.” The words felt foreign on her tongue. She expected that if Hyacinth’s treatment did not change, they would quickly become routine.
Hyacinth rewarded her with a glowing smile. “It wouldn’t do to keep my vampyre unfed, now would it?”
As she drank from the mule, which only stepped nervously in protest, Hyacinth set up camp. There was only one mat, but Antigone did not mind. She had never used one, and welcomed soft earth over the floor of the cage she’d been trapped in over the past years.
“Come,” Hyacinth called when she finished, patting the mat.
“It’s not for you?” she asked.
Hyacinth laid down on it. “There is enough room for two, if you lay close beside me.”
Antigone scoffed, but obeyed. “You wish to be informed if I attempt to leave.”
“Perhaps,” Hyacinth admitted bashfully, “My only method of keeping you here is my words. Should you forgo me, I’d at least like an opportunity to use them.”
She wrapped her arms around her, Hyacinth’s stomach pressed against Antigone’s back. “Sleep. I will not let the sun or anything else touch you.”
Antigone had never had aid before. Somehow, illogical though it was, Hyacinth’s embrace felt safer than the damp dark of a cave.
“What happens when I have nothing more to offer you?” she asked.
Hyacinth smiled against her ear. “Then you’ll have a choice. You can either stay, or go.”
It should have been harder to say than it was. She was a creature of pride. But her years in the cage had made her brittle, and she no longer had the patience for such things. “Please… don’t leave me.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Antigone felt the brush of lips against her cheek. A kiss, just barely. “Rest, now.”
For the only time in her second life, she slept soundly.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=309358#cmt309358
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 602
This work will be chapter 1 of a 4-part series responding to prompts in this thread! AO3 link for the rest of the chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
THE FIRST DAY
Antigone hissed and scrambled back in her enclosure as light poured in. It wasn’t the cursed light of day, but the flickering flame of a lantern was nearly as bad: it meant a human was here to visit her.
This one was new. Her curled hair was unlike that of the townspeople, her dress finer. Her eyes, almost violet in the half-light, held none of the disgust Antigone had grown accustomed to.
“Oh my.” She held the lantern closer, trying for a better look, the key held loosely in her other hand. “You’re not a demon at all. You’re just a girl.”
Antigone had shed her clothes the night she ceased to be human, and could remember little before then. The townspeople had cut her hair when it started to mat, leaving her with little way of shielding her burnt and battered body from the visitor’s gaze. “What do you want?” she bristled, wishing her voice could be as sharp as her teeth.
“I have been sent to collect a demon and return it to the great minds of my island so they may learn about it and better protect our people,” she announced.
“I am vampyre.” Antigone bared her fangs, to little effect. She was the one in the cage.
The girl tilted her head in thought. “That’s close enough,” she decided.
“I am no demon!” Her voice cracked, the thought of what those with more calculated dispositions than the spontaneous torments of angry townspeople might do to her betraying her weakness. She hugged herself, a slight tremble running through her.
“Let me be clear.” The girl turned the key and pushed the door open, dissolving the barrier between them. “You’re hurt. It’s close enough for me to get you away from here.”
The scent of the girl’s honeyed blood flowing through her veins might have been enticing enough for Antigone to pounce, had she the strength. She did not. “And then what?” she spat. “Nothing will change. Your humans will be the same, until I manage to rip one of your throats out and escape. And it will happen.”
“They will not harm you,” the girl promised, stepping ever closer. “They only want to learn, and I will personally ensure your safety. It’s not right what they’ve been doing to you. You cannot help what you are.”
Antigone stared her down. “I don’t believe you.”
Her visitor knelt before her, their eyes level now. “Here.” She rolled up the sleeve of her dress, exposing soft skin. “Drink. You must be thirsty.”
She shouldn’t trust this woman. Her motives were painfully transparent: keep her complacent during their travels, then lock her up again as soon as she was right where the girl wanted her.
But she was being offered human blood.
Antigone dove in, clamping fangs tight around the girl’s forearm so she couldn’t pull away, drinking in the rich, crimson nectar that sprung from it. Her visitor winced and dropped the key, but didn’t pull away.
On the contrary, she set down the lantern and ran a gentle hand over Antigone’s back as she drank. It was the first gentle touch she’d felt in all the time she could remember, and before she knew it, a low purr rumbled in her throat like a tame cat.
She stopped herself before she could seriously injure her benefactor, pulling back with a final lick at her skin.
The girl rolled down her sleeve, stood, took the lantern, and held out her free hand. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. Just take my hand.”
Ever the fool, Antigone did.
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 602
This work will be chapter 1 of a 4-part series responding to prompts in this thread! AO3 link for the rest of the chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463
THE FIRST DAY
Antigone hissed and scrambled back in her enclosure as light poured in. It wasn’t the cursed light of day, but the flickering flame of a lantern was nearly as bad: it meant a human was here to visit her.
This one was new. Her curled hair was unlike that of the townspeople, her dress finer. Her eyes, almost violet in the half-light, held none of the disgust Antigone had grown accustomed to.
“Oh my.” She held the lantern closer, trying for a better look, the key held loosely in her other hand. “You’re not a demon at all. You’re just a girl.”
Antigone had shed her clothes the night she ceased to be human, and could remember little before then. The townspeople had cut her hair when it started to mat, leaving her with little way of shielding her burnt and battered body from the visitor’s gaze. “What do you want?” she bristled, wishing her voice could be as sharp as her teeth.
“I have been sent to collect a demon and return it to the great minds of my island so they may learn about it and better protect our people,” she announced.
“I am vampyre.” Antigone bared her fangs, to little effect. She was the one in the cage.
The girl tilted her head in thought. “That’s close enough,” she decided.
“I am no demon!” Her voice cracked, the thought of what those with more calculated dispositions than the spontaneous torments of angry townspeople might do to her betraying her weakness. She hugged herself, a slight tremble running through her.
“Let me be clear.” The girl turned the key and pushed the door open, dissolving the barrier between them. “You’re hurt. It’s close enough for me to get you away from here.”
The scent of the girl’s honeyed blood flowing through her veins might have been enticing enough for Antigone to pounce, had she the strength. She did not. “And then what?” she spat. “Nothing will change. Your humans will be the same, until I manage to rip one of your throats out and escape. And it will happen.”
“They will not harm you,” the girl promised, stepping ever closer. “They only want to learn, and I will personally ensure your safety. It’s not right what they’ve been doing to you. You cannot help what you are.”
Antigone stared her down. “I don’t believe you.”
Her visitor knelt before her, their eyes level now. “Here.” She rolled up the sleeve of her dress, exposing soft skin. “Drink. You must be thirsty.”
She shouldn’t trust this woman. Her motives were painfully transparent: keep her complacent during their travels, then lock her up again as soon as she was right where the girl wanted her.
But she was being offered human blood.
Antigone dove in, clamping fangs tight around the girl’s forearm so she couldn’t pull away, drinking in the rich, crimson nectar that sprung from it. Her visitor winced and dropped the key, but didn’t pull away.
On the contrary, she set down the lantern and ran a gentle hand over Antigone’s back as she drank. It was the first gentle touch she’d felt in all the time she could remember, and before she knew it, a low purr rumbled in her throat like a tame cat.
She stopped herself before she could seriously injure her benefactor, pulling back with a final lick at her skin.
The girl rolled down her sleeve, stood, took the lantern, and held out her free hand. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. Just take my hand.”
Ever the fool, Antigone did.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/2272.html?thread=197344#cmt197344
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 403
CW: Major character death
The blood wouldn’t stop coming, no matter how hard Lennon tried.
And oh god, did she try. They didn’t bring any first aid materials with them—stupid, so stupid, too late—but she tried her best. The rockslide had hurt Phila in ways Lennon had no hope of fixing, but if she could just stem the bleeding until help came, that would be enough.
Lennon pressed her already-bloodsoaked shirt into Phila’s abdomen so hard she could almost crush her, but it was no use. Something was wrong in a way she couldn’t fix. Too much blood. Lennon’s hands were slippery with it, pressing into tattered flesh and shattered bones, her body twisted and broken.
“Lennie?” Phila’s voice came out feeble and raspy, nothing like it was supposed to be. Just hours ago, she’d been so excited about their excursion that her cries of joy had scared the birds away. “I gotta tell you something. ‘Fore it’s too late.”
“Don’t say that!” Lennon admonished. “You’re gonna be fine. The ambulance is on its way. What is it?”
She tried not to think about how far they were from a drivable road. How the paramedics would have to trek through the trail to find them. How much precious time it would take.
“I love you.” Phila gave her a weak smile.
“I love you too. Always.”
“No, Lennie.” Phila wheezed, a little bit of blood coming out with it—not good. Coughing up blood only happened in tuberculosis and lung injuries. “I love you. Love-love. M’sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want things to change.”
The confession had Lennon reeling even more than she already was, her vision becoming blurry with tears. “Me too,” she choked out. “Since high school, freshman year.”
Phila tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a strangled cough. “Seventh grade. I win.” She reached a shaking hand up, tugging lightly on Lennon’s shirt-collar. “Kiss me before I go.”
Too late. Lennon could have confessed any time in high school, in college, in the years since. She could have had years upon years of kisses and more with Phila. A happy life together. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew she would never get that chance now.
Lennon leaned down for a kiss, completely unlike all the times she’d imagined it, her tears running onto Phila’s cheeks.
By the time she pulled back, Phila was gone.
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 403
CW: Major character death
The blood wouldn’t stop coming, no matter how hard Lennon tried.
And oh god, did she try. They didn’t bring any first aid materials with them—stupid, so stupid, too late—but she tried her best. The rockslide had hurt Phila in ways Lennon had no hope of fixing, but if she could just stem the bleeding until help came, that would be enough.
Lennon pressed her already-bloodsoaked shirt into Phila’s abdomen so hard she could almost crush her, but it was no use. Something was wrong in a way she couldn’t fix. Too much blood. Lennon’s hands were slippery with it, pressing into tattered flesh and shattered bones, her body twisted and broken.
“Lennie?” Phila’s voice came out feeble and raspy, nothing like it was supposed to be. Just hours ago, she’d been so excited about their excursion that her cries of joy had scared the birds away. “I gotta tell you something. ‘Fore it’s too late.”
“Don’t say that!” Lennon admonished. “You’re gonna be fine. The ambulance is on its way. What is it?”
She tried not to think about how far they were from a drivable road. How the paramedics would have to trek through the trail to find them. How much precious time it would take.
“I love you.” Phila gave her a weak smile.
“I love you too. Always.”
“No, Lennie.” Phila wheezed, a little bit of blood coming out with it—not good. Coughing up blood only happened in tuberculosis and lung injuries. “I love you. Love-love. M’sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want things to change.”
The confession had Lennon reeling even more than she already was, her vision becoming blurry with tears. “Me too,” she choked out. “Since high school, freshman year.”
Phila tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a strangled cough. “Seventh grade. I win.” She reached a shaking hand up, tugging lightly on Lennon’s shirt-collar. “Kiss me before I go.”
Too late. Lennon could have confessed any time in high school, in college, in the years since. She could have had years upon years of kisses and more with Phila. A happy life together. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew she would never get that chance now.
Lennon leaned down for a kiss, completely unlike all the times she’d imagined it, her tears running onto Phila’s cheeks.
By the time she pulled back, Phila was gone.
Yuri Shipping Olympics 2023 BR3: Love
Aug. 20th, 2023 01:53 amhttps://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/1869.html?thread=155725#cmt155725
Original characters
CW: Abusive relationship
Words: 301
Ica had fought at the beginning. She'd explained that it was a mistake, fessed up about the love spell, but she was too late. The Anamarie she'd fallen in love with was gone.
Anamarie was a more powerful witch than she was. She could have easily undone the spell if she’d wanted to. But the problem with tampering with someone’s mind was that she didn’t want to anymore. All she wanted was Ica. Gone were her passions for magic and puzzles, replaced only with a sick love that went far past Ica’s own mundane obsession.
An obsession that was long gone by this point, too.
But Ica had accepted her role as Anamarie’s by now, the fate she’d brought upon herself. There was no more banging on the door, no more trying to pick the lock, no more trying to break the magic force backing it all up just in case. There was no more yelling and hardly any more crying. She waited patiently for her to get home, the only stimulus in her otherwise-empty life.
Ica forced a smile as the door opened, just like she knew was expected of her. “Welcome home.”
Anamarie skipped in, planting a kiss on Ica’s cheek. She did not resist. “Thank you for the warm welcome, my love.”
It felt like Anamarie was praising a dog. Good girl, she might as well have said, Exactly as I trained you. She’d said she wouldn’t kiss her on the mouth until Ica was ready to give her permission, like they both knew she would someday, as her will to defy grew weaker and weaker. There was a time when Ica would have given anything to kiss Anamarie, to receive as much as a cheek kiss from her—and she had.
She’d given her whole life for it.
Original characters
CW: Abusive relationship
Words: 301
Ica had fought at the beginning. She'd explained that it was a mistake, fessed up about the love spell, but she was too late. The Anamarie she'd fallen in love with was gone.
Anamarie was a more powerful witch than she was. She could have easily undone the spell if she’d wanted to. But the problem with tampering with someone’s mind was that she didn’t want to anymore. All she wanted was Ica. Gone were her passions for magic and puzzles, replaced only with a sick love that went far past Ica’s own mundane obsession.
An obsession that was long gone by this point, too.
But Ica had accepted her role as Anamarie’s by now, the fate she’d brought upon herself. There was no more banging on the door, no more trying to pick the lock, no more trying to break the magic force backing it all up just in case. There was no more yelling and hardly any more crying. She waited patiently for her to get home, the only stimulus in her otherwise-empty life.
Ica forced a smile as the door opened, just like she knew was expected of her. “Welcome home.”
Anamarie skipped in, planting a kiss on Ica’s cheek. She did not resist. “Thank you for the warm welcome, my love.”
It felt like Anamarie was praising a dog. Good girl, she might as well have said, Exactly as I trained you. She’d said she wouldn’t kiss her on the mouth until Ica was ready to give her permission, like they both knew she would someday, as her will to defy grew weaker and weaker. There was a time when Ica would have given anything to kiss Anamarie, to receive as much as a cheek kiss from her—and she had.
She’d given her whole life for it.
Yuri Shipping Olympics 2023 BR2: The End
Aug. 4th, 2023 11:25 amhttps://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/1658.html?thread=109946#cmt109946
Original characters
CW: Major character death, unhealthy relationship, death wish
Words: 521
“I want it to be you,” Courtney cupped Loa’s face. Her hand was weak and wrinkled now, delicious veins visible through thin skin.
Loa pulled away. “No. I won’t, we’ve been over this a thousand times. I’ve indulged you much, but not this.”
But Courtney had never been one for normalcy- it was one of the things that had drawn her to her- and Loa knew she would not want an ordinary death.
Loa was no stranger to the deaths of human lovers, having grieved them many times throughout her increasingly-long life. She was prepared to do so again, as her newest love aged further and further.
The glint in Courtney’s eyes told her all she needed to know, finely attuned to her lover’s tendencies after six decades by her side. Courtney was well-aware of her past, and didn’t want to be lumped in with her other past loves. She wanted to be special. She wanted her death to hurt more.
Courtney pouted, insincere. “But it’s my birthday.”
“All the more reason I will not kill you.” Loa removed the hand from her face, holding it gently. “You’re only one-hundred, my dear. You might very well live several more years. Humans have certainly lived longer.”
“One hundred is long enough. Don’t you miss feeding from me?” Courtney’s grip tightened like a vice. Loa could have easily shaken her off, in a physical sense, but she’d always been weak inside, especially when it came to Courtney.
She looked away instead. “It’s not safe. You’re too frail for it.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you agreed,” Courtney insisted. “Just think about it. For once in a thousand years, you could really let loose. No holding back, no consequences, no moral dilemmas.”
Loa did yank her hand back at that. “What do you mean no moral dilemmas? It would kill you! I love you!”
But even as she refused, she could see the appeal. It was true, it was something she fantasized about often, to her own shame. Not with someone she loved, but with a faceless, nameless human. Being able to indulge herself, just once.
Courtney shrugged. “I’ll die either way.”
Loa was tired of having the same argument again and again. As much as she loved Courtney, she was tired of her less and less subtle attempts to manipulate her. It had grown stale decades ago.
And one-hundred was quite a long life for a human either way.
“Alright,” she finally conceded. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll do it tonight,” Courtney countered. “One-hundred years exactly. It’s perfect. I want it tonight.”
Loa nodded, defeated. “Tonight.”
Courtney beamed, like Loa had just promised her the moon and stars. No doubt, she was thinking of her legacy, the scars she would leave.
She craned her neck, the motion familiar even after so long without. The twin scars remained, from the days when they had done this nightly.
“Goodbye, Loa. I love you.”
Loa did not cry easily, but this broke through centuries of hardening herself to life, just as Courtney had intended.
“I love you too,” she whispered, and bit down.
Original characters
CW: Major character death, unhealthy relationship, death wish
Words: 521
“I want it to be you,” Courtney cupped Loa’s face. Her hand was weak and wrinkled now, delicious veins visible through thin skin.
Loa pulled away. “No. I won’t, we’ve been over this a thousand times. I’ve indulged you much, but not this.”
But Courtney had never been one for normalcy- it was one of the things that had drawn her to her- and Loa knew she would not want an ordinary death.
Loa was no stranger to the deaths of human lovers, having grieved them many times throughout her increasingly-long life. She was prepared to do so again, as her newest love aged further and further.
The glint in Courtney’s eyes told her all she needed to know, finely attuned to her lover’s tendencies after six decades by her side. Courtney was well-aware of her past, and didn’t want to be lumped in with her other past loves. She wanted to be special. She wanted her death to hurt more.
Courtney pouted, insincere. “But it’s my birthday.”
“All the more reason I will not kill you.” Loa removed the hand from her face, holding it gently. “You’re only one-hundred, my dear. You might very well live several more years. Humans have certainly lived longer.”
“One hundred is long enough. Don’t you miss feeding from me?” Courtney’s grip tightened like a vice. Loa could have easily shaken her off, in a physical sense, but she’d always been weak inside, especially when it came to Courtney.
She looked away instead. “It’s not safe. You’re too frail for it.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you agreed,” Courtney insisted. “Just think about it. For once in a thousand years, you could really let loose. No holding back, no consequences, no moral dilemmas.”
Loa did yank her hand back at that. “What do you mean no moral dilemmas? It would kill you! I love you!”
But even as she refused, she could see the appeal. It was true, it was something she fantasized about often, to her own shame. Not with someone she loved, but with a faceless, nameless human. Being able to indulge herself, just once.
Courtney shrugged. “I’ll die either way.”
Loa was tired of having the same argument again and again. As much as she loved Courtney, she was tired of her less and less subtle attempts to manipulate her. It had grown stale decades ago.
And one-hundred was quite a long life for a human either way.
“Alright,” she finally conceded. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll do it tonight,” Courtney countered. “One-hundred years exactly. It’s perfect. I want it tonight.”
Loa nodded, defeated. “Tonight.”
Courtney beamed, like Loa had just promised her the moon and stars. No doubt, she was thinking of her legacy, the scars she would leave.
She craned her neck, the motion familiar even after so long without. The twin scars remained, from the days when they had done this nightly.
“Goodbye, Loa. I love you.”
Loa did not cry easily, but this broke through centuries of hardening herself to life, just as Courtney had intended.
“I love you too,” she whispered, and bit down.
https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/1320.html?thread=34344#cmt34344
Fandom: Higurashi
Ship: Satoko/Rika
Setting: Bad end AU of Sotsu episode 14 - God-Entertaining Chapter Part 3
CW: Major character death, violence, suicidal ideation
Words: 275
"If you are someone who lives in loops... then I know what can kill you."
Rika swung her blade with all her might. It wasn't much, condemned back into her body from when she was a young girl again, but she was more used to this body than any other after so long. The fragment of Onigari-no-ryuuou sliced across Satoko's throat, blood spewing out onto her hands.
Satoko couldn't respond, her vocal cords hemorrhaging. After one hundred years spent wearing Rika down, molding her back into her dearest friend who would never leave Hinamizawa, she hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected Rika to fight back, at least not so hard.
She had died hundreds of times, but this was different. This was Onigari-no-ryuuou: she wasn't going to come back from this one.
Rika stepped away and watched as her best friend bled out by her own hand, the life leaving her eyes for a final time. It was over. Satoko couldn't control her infinite lives like a cruel god any longer.
What would happen now? Would Satoko come back the next loop like she'd been before, her ability to loop taken away? Would Rika have to act as her best friend again, like nothing had happened? Live with her? Or would Satoko not come back at all? Would people notice her disappearance, or would it be like she'd never existed? Was it even possible to break out of the loops without Satoko?
The worst part was that she still loved her.
Rika gripped the bloody fragment tighter, her own blood mixing with Satoko's. She had a way out now, if it turned out unfixable.
Ship: OC/OC
Words: 858
Picrews (because i couldn't help myself): Yumaswix (left), Rjutqiavn (right). Yumaswix should be beefier than this but alas that's the limitation of picrew. Picrew used
When Yumaswix heard the slow, thudding knock at the door, the last thing she’d expected to see was her.
Rjutqiavn did not stand proudly. She was slumped over against the doorframe, breathing heavily. Gleaming silver ooze seeped from a wound in her neck, visible through cracks in the fingers clamped tight over it. Half of one of her horns was snapped off, clutched in a shaking hand, still raised as if to knock again.
“Rjuti?” Yumaswix swept forward, catching her in her arms. Rjutqiavn collapsed into them, all her pomp and grit gone for the moment. “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t know where else to go.” Her throat hummed like the fan on an overheating laptop, the words barely audible beside it. “Lost the ship. This godforsaken fucking planet.”
“I’ve got you.” No more than a little heft was needed, Rjutqiavn was so small compared to her. Yumaswix carefully laid her down on the couch, sliding a pillow under her head.
Rjutqiavn groaned, half of her eyes squinting shut in the bright light of the living room, but she didn’t complain. “You’re not going to ask what happened?”
“I can guess.” The words held none of their typical amusement. She plucked the half-horn from Rjutqiavn’s hand–a slight, delicate thing, just like the rest of her, not suited to the military at all, not like Yumaswix was–and set it on the coffee table. “They’re going to branch again if you keep doing this. You’ll hardly be able to hold your head up for all the split ends.”
“I’ll live,” Rjutqiavn muttered.
“You’ll live longer if you stop fighting them.” Yumaswix peeled Rjutqiavn’s other hand from her neck, glimmering slime dribbling down onto the cushion. “Look at you. You’ve nearly been beheaded.”
“The work of your precious humans.” Rjutqiavn wiped her hand on the couch.
“It’s their planet, they have to defend it. You’re the one causing trouble.” Yumaswix wrapped her hands around Rjutqiavn’s neck, squeezing just slightly. “Now hush. I need to work.”
Rjutqiavn winced at the contact, but obeyed.
They stayed like that, the only sound the whirring of Rjutqiavn’s throat beneath her hands. Yumaswix let all her eyes fall closed, one after the other, breathing even, fins fanned out. Rjutqiavn was cold. She’d never been good at temperature regulation, not on her own. It had been fine when it was the two of them and Rjutqiavn had her to mimic.
Gradually, the oozing began to stop, and Yumaswix loosened her grip. “Better?”
“Yes.” Her voice was clearer now, only a quiet hum accompanying it. She tried to sit up, but fell back to the couch with a chk. “I need… to rest,” she said with a grimace.
“You can always rest here.” Yumaswix wiped her hands on the couch, too–it wasn’t like its state could get much worse, and she was far more reluctant to leave Rjutqiavn’s side. She drew a hand through Rjutqiavn’s hair, short and wispy, just as soft as she’d remembered it.
Rjutqiavn let her. “What about your friends?” she spat.
“They won’t hurt you. Not if I tell them it’s safe.” She traced a finger up Rjutqiavn’s uninjured horn, if one could call it that. Unlike Yumaswix’s own, thick and sturdy and all in one piece, Rjutqiavn’s were fragile, branching off into constellations like a deer’s antlers after so many injuries. She’d always thought they were beautiful, not that it could ever be considered healthy. “We could be like this again, you know, if you stopped. We could be together.”
“You’re the one who left.” Rjutqiavn half-heartedly swatted her hand away. “Don’t act like you’re not turning me in as soon as I’m healthy enough to walk.”
Yumaswix smiled bashfully, caught. “Why did you come here if you were so certain?”
“Whatever they do to me, it will be better than dying alone on a planet I hate.” Rjutqiavn snatched her half-horn back off the table.
“You talk like they’re going to torture you!”
Rjutqiavn gestured up and down her body. “If they do this when I’m capable of fighting back, I can’t imagine they’d be kinder when I’m at their mercy.”
Yumaswix couldn’t say for certain. Humans were not so unified, not like back home where she was one of few who didn’t belong. They all wanted different things, and while she could confidently claim that her friends wouldn’t harm Rjutqiavn out of fair combat, she couldn’t so much as guess at the intentions of those in power.
Not that she could very well let Rjutqiavn go. Either she would succeed, hurting humans in the process, or she would fail, and eventually die. Likely the latter.
“I will not let anyone hurt you,” Yumaswix promised.
“How? With sunshine and friendship?” Rjutqiavn mocked. “You care more about this planet than you ever did about me. You’re just–”
“Rjuti.”
Rjutqiavn stopped.
“I will not let anyone hurt you.” Yumaswix was rarely so serious. “By any means necessary.”
Rjutqiavn hesitated a moment. “Well, now I kind of want them to. Maybe that’s the way to finally get you to re-enlist.”
Yumaswix sighed, leaned in, and pressed her lips to Rjutqiavn’s forehead. “Get some rest.”