Assorted Notes

(It’s late, and a thousand apologies for that, but here it is!)

Secret Santa for the SS Wayhaven Event hosted by @otomefandomevents

“Anonymous” ( @diamndwitch) requested surprise kiss ft. Leonardo da Vinci ~~~

Some days being a muse seems like the most fun you have had. There’s no paperwork, you don’t have to conceal what you are, and generally whatever you do Leonardo tends to be inspired.

Then there are days like this. Da Vinci’s workshop is overflowing with noble ladies and models come to see the handsome young genius. The gaggle and press of humanity, the cloying perfumes and tittering false laughs, the coy looks–it’s annoying. Furthermore, Leonardo is oblivious to it all, so excited to have an audience to talk about his theories and designs to that he doesn’t realize no one cares to listen to what he’s saying.

You can hear him still, his voice full of genuine delight. Closing your eyes you can see him. A touch of peacock green on his cheek from the landscape he had been working on in the early hours of the morning. Sleeves rolled up so he doesn’t get them stained with paint–a lost cause, given that they’ve already been stained with oil and ink–the neck of his shirt open to help combat the heat of the summer.

It’s not like you can fault the other humans for fawning over Leonardo, but you hate being pushed to the side. It feels like you’re something that could easily be replaced, any one of the chattering people in Leonardo’s workshop the next muse.

You frown. You’ve heard of the co-dependency being a muse can foster, but you had always thought it exaggerated. Surely it was the human who needed the angel muse more, right?

But sitting here, you question your past assumptions. Having Leonardo’s entire focus on you, that incredible mind of his racing as he touches you reverently with calloused hands, exploring your body, learning about every inch of you–it’s intoxicating. Addicting.

And then to see him ignore you in favor of attempting to give an impromptu lesson on how birds fly to a bunch of pedestrian humans–

It hurts. You go from being the center of his universe to being a cloud drifting across the sun, forgotten the moment it passes.

“There you are!” Your eyes flash open and you sit upright, causing your chair to wobble. Turning around, you see Leonardo framed in the doorway to the interior of the second level.

“Here I am,” you agree tacitly.

“Come, I wish to introduce you!”

You shake your head at Leonardo’s enthusiasm. Being recognized or well-known isn’t in your interests.

“Come on! I wish for them to understand that I am only half the man they think I am, as without you I would be nothing,” he pleads, boyish charm wearing down your defenses.

“I shouldn’t,” you protest.

He grabs your hands, tugging you into the interior of the shop. “You should,” he counters.

You stop, toe-to-toe with him. Your head tilts to one side, a silent question about why he stopped. Then you find yourself backed into the wall next to the door, rough, warm hands pulling your face to Leonardo’s.

The kiss is hungry, needy, his nose bumping against yours, teeth clacking together until he slows down, focusing on your upper lip, tongue tracing each contour before he pulls away.

“What was that for?” You can hear the surprise in your voice.

“Because I can. And because you inspire me, but you mean so much more,” Leonardo breathes, darting in for another kiss.

A voice calls up the stairs. “Maestro da Vinci?” 

In the world of Blood Moon Rising and We of the Night, vampires are not quite the living dead. They are a supernatural transformation, and can produce offspring. A born vampire is a vampire born of two vampire parents. The incidents of birth are extremely low, and almost unheard of if at least one of the parents is not a born vampire. Born vampires tend to be stronger, inheriting traits and strength from both parents. Bitten vampires tend to inherit the strengths of whatever vampire sires them, but generally cannot achieve the same power levels or prestige as a born vampire. However, since the number of born vampires is extremely low compared to those bitten, most of the time it’s not an issue. From the game: “Natural predators, dhampirs possess the keen senses of a vampire and their superhuman strength but do not suffer from issues with sunlight. They still struggle with bloodthirst as well, and possess no natural ability to perform magic.”

Dhampirs are the product of a vampire/human, dhampir/vampire, dhampir/dhampir, or dhampir/human. The strongest dhampir are usually the first generation offspring of a vampire/human combination, with dhampir/dhampir and dhampir/vampire being relatively similar in strength, and dhampir/human being the weakest. Unlike vampires, dhampirs can walk in daylight. They require both normal human food and blood to live. Their bite is usually painful, however, as many are incapable of mesmerizing/have the same ability to release endorphins and encourage blood clotting with their saliva like vampires do. They can feed on vampires, though this practice is considered taboo except for in extenuating circumstances.

For the most part? If you want to submit a couple more, here’s a spreadsheet of what I already have. No ETA for completion, but if there’s something you’re hoping for (or a character who has no requests!) you can add a few more. ((Also note that duplicate requests do not mean another short--1 short per character x prompt. No getting 4 heated kisses for Alice, sorry folks!))

Taylan is, in your experience and for the time you’ve known him, the softest spoken vampire you’ve come across. At least, when it comes to humans. He tends to hold back less with dhampirs or vampires, mostly because he’s not afraid to tell them when he disapproves of what they are doing or the way they are carrying out laws.

And being a magistrate, his word carries weight.

Around you, however, he’s been almost shy. A single touch can make him lock-up, freezing in place, eyes staring at you as if you might flee.

The first time you had kissed him you had to remove the dusty old tome from his lap, lift his reading glasses out of the danger of falling completely off his nose, and knelt in the chair to stop him from fleeing.

Since then all you have to do is look his way and he gets a silly smile on his face, loses his train of thought, and just stares at you.

Tonight is different. Maybe not noticeably so to any other day this week, but compared to two weeks ago, definitely. And it’s easy to guess why.

As a human, at least from the bits and pieces you’ve picked up, Taylan didn’t smoke, or drink. He didn’t eat any type of meat from a pig, He was a man dedicated to peace, and not unaccustomed to fasting.

Fasting as a human, however, doesn’t have the consequences that fasting as a vampire does. Born vampires can do it, though you’ve never heard of one doing so; they’ve never been human, and see blood as their right.

As a bitten vampire, however, Taylan needs to have regular meals of blood, else he could become feral.

“What is the point of having a blood servant if you never drink?” Yara’s voice is harsh, condescending.

“It’s a despicable habit!”

“And you think being in love makes it worse. Fine. Starve yourself. Go feral. Rip out their throat. But don’t come crying to me.”

There’s no time to get out of the way as Yara sweeps past, not even sparing you a glance. She saw you, but she’s said her piece. She had to know you were nearby. That was a show for your benefit, at least on her part.

Taylan probably hadn’t noticed.

Quietly you enter his study, glimpsing an arm propping up a head, his dark black hair spilling across his hand, concealing it. His eyes are closed, but his skin has an unhealthy gray pallor underneath the rich brown. Between the behavior and now the physical manifestations, it’s clear that he hadn’t gotten blood from elsewhere as he had told you he would.

You’ve heard that’s a side-effect of vampires being in love: a lack of appetite for blood other than that pounding in the veins of the objects of their affection. At least, when it comes to a vampire being infatuated with a human.

“Taylan.” His head jerks up, eyes flashing open, the slit pupils obscuring too much of his emerald eyes, their normal luminosity dull. He struggles upright in the chair, rubbing a hand over carefully maintained beard.

“You should be resting. It’s past dawn.” Your eyebrows climb up as you carefully kneel in front of him.

“Says the vampire who hasn’t eaten in weeks.”

One side of his lips twitches up, showing a glimpse of extended fang. He was definitely hungry.

“That’s not your concern,” he argues, though his eyes have wandered to your exposed neck, and his top lip keeps edging up.

“Yes, it is. I care for you Taylan. That means making sure you are taking care of yourself.” It’s easy enough to reopen the split in your lip you acquired sparring, and the second he smells the blood he leans forward, sniffing, eyes drifting closed.

“This isn’t–”

“Just kiss me.”

You don’t have to ask twice. He surges forward, hungrily sucking your lower lip into his mouth, tongue sweeping over the wound. Then you’re falling back onto the floor, Taylan’s hand cushioning the back of your head, a pleased growl shaking his chest.

Your lip starts to tingle, a touch of aphrodisiac in the vamp venom hitting you as he renders you breathless, teeth teasing at your upper lip, fangs ghosting across your tongue. There’s the taste of iron in your mouth, as well as the taste you’ve come to associate with Taylan, the closest you can compare it to being spiced date wine, only sweeter.

He’s never been this rough with you before, never this hungry or demanding, this eager and intent. When he pulls back, the split in your lip has sealed and feels old, but instead both your lips feel swollen and tingle.

“You look amazing like this,” he murmurs, and hunger isn’t the only thing driving him now. You let your chin drop back, exposing your throat.

“Why don’t you leave a few marks elsewhere?” you suggest, fingers stroking through his locks, comforting him.

None of my other games are in the forum as of yet! I won’t give out more of the ROs than I’ve already said today, but I will give the deets on the ones I’ve said. Also realize that the non-humans age differently than humans.

BMR: Megalithic, she/her, 173 years old. Beck, dhampir, they/them, 82 years old.

We of the Night: Cael: Dhampir,he/him, twin of Ciara, 46.

Ciara: Dhampir, she/her, twin of Cael, 46

Eadoin: Dhampir, he/him/they/them, younger half-sibling of Cael and Ciara, 31. 

Maite: Human, she/her, 22.

Taylan: Vampire, bitten, he/him 231.

First kiss ft. Leo

~~~~

The first thing you notice is that he has grown. He was still tall last time you saw him, and muscular, but it was lean and softened by youth. There’s a new sharpness to his form, harder angles reinforcing that he is no mere boy, but a man as he claims.

You can tell the instant he sees you. Leo’s entire face lights up, his smile radiant, splitting his cheeks as he jogs towards you.

It shouldn’t affect you this much, yet as he grows closer your heart seems to beat faster, your tongue twisting itself into knots rather than help you speak.

“I was afraid I was late,” he greets you, a faint flush adding a dash of red to his cheeks.

You glance at your watch. To think you thought showing up fifteen minutes early would be enough. Just how long had he been waiting here?

Leo offers you his arm, which you take more out of habit rather than a conscious decision, the werepanther alpha drawing you close to his side. “Well, not late. I’ve, uh, been here a while,” he admits, flicking his eyes towards you.

“I was afraid you might change your mind,” he add.

You don’t respond to that, because the thought had crossed your mind more than once. He seems young to you, but in comparison to your lifespan, all humans are. Maybe it’s because of how you met. Maybe it’s because everyone around perceives him as much younger than you. They’re not wrong, but they fail to comprehend just what kind of scale you measure your life in versus a human’s.

“You’re thinking that you shouldn’t have agreed to this date.” A wry smile answers your wide-eyed attempt at consternation. “You don’t have to say it.” He shrugs.

“I--Maybe.” It’s your turn to lift a shoulder, absently following Leo down onto the ledge of a fountain.

“You waited for me.” Leo disentangles his arm from yours, but he doesn’t move away, staring at you with reverence.

“You asked, and human time isn’t of great import to me,” you respond.

“It is for me,” he murmurs, tracing over the contours of your face with his eyes, as if committing them to memory. “Each moment I get to spend with you I cherish. I hated not being able to visit you. Emails, texts... it’s just not the same.”

“Well, now you have me here, in the flesh,” you answer.

“I do.”

The silence stretches on, the two of you locking gazes. You vaguely remember something you heard about not getting into a staring match with a cat, but you can’t remember where or from whom.

“Can I--can I kiss you?”

The question catches you off-guard. You consider it, weigh the merits versus the potential consequences. Technically you’ve been dating for a while, and it’s not like there’s anyone else around to be annoyed by public displays of affection.

“Yes.”

Leo leans closer, and after a moment you lean in too, letting him finish closing the distance. A brief press of lips, warm, and soft--and then’s it’s gone, Leo moving back, his eyes crinkled with joy. Reflexively you reach up and touch your lips, looking at him with a silent question.

“Every bit as amazing as I’d thought it be,” he says, standing up and offering you a hand. You take it, still confused.

“That was your first kiss, right? And that was it?”

Kiss to a specific spot (over the heart) ft. Xeri

~~~~

Xeri always tends to find the most interesting places to sit in, and in very strange positions. It’s no different today. They’re on the couch, but their feet are over the back and their head over the front, dreads brushing the ground despite their short stature.

To top it off, they’re reading a book. The fact that you can read the title clues you in to it being upside for them. As they flip a page, you hold up a finger. 

“Upside down and backwards?” 

“Only way to engage enough of my thought process to prevent myself from feeling anxiety while I wait for you,” they respond idly.

“TV not enough, huh?” You strip off your coat and shoes, leaving your gun and badge on the counter for the moment.

“Raises too many question about the strangeness of human behavior. Plus, far too many characters interested in others for their physical beauty with an end-goal of sex. Repetitive, boring.” Xeri lowers--or is it raises for them?--the book to the floor, and rolls over so they’re on their stomach.

“So no binging Webflix with you then?” you ask, folding yourself onto the floor in front of the couch.

“Different scenario, different outcome,” Xeri responds, stretching their arms out and tugging on your ears. They find them fascinating, their own form of aural intake more similar to that of an earth snake.

“Oh? And what’s the difference there?” you ask, brushing some of their dreadlocks out of their face.

“An answer you already know, yet demand to hear anyways. It’s an obvious answer. You.”

You grin. Xeri lets go of your ears and rolls over again. “Sentiment is strange.You know the truth, yet you would rather hear it from my lips than merely accept that you know the answer and move on.”

“Sentiment is strange,” you agree, running your hands through their hair, noticing that they’ve added more ornaments to it. “But you said it yourself. Being around you makes everything different, makes it better.”

Xeri pulls away, twisting and contorting until they’re sitting in an upright position. You rise up onto your knees. “My heart is yours, and I’d like to think yours is mine,” you murmur, kissing the spot over their heart through the black tunic they have on.

Color stains Xeri’s cheeks, and they scoff. “You are aware Reapers do not have hearts, yes?”

Rolling your eyes, you clamber onto the couch, Xeri promptly claiming your lap, tucking themselves into your body. “Metaphorically, then.”

My choice ft. Charleston~~~~You can feel him behind you, a solid presence. Idly you rub at your forehead, sitting up and grimacing as your back and neck pop. “Why isn’t it enough that we catch the criminals? Why do we have to do all this paperwork too?” you complain, shaking out your hand.

“If you stayed caught up on it, it would be less tedious,” Charleston rumbles, leaning over the back of your chair. “This is from over two weeks ago.”

“Some of us have to at least attempt to be good parents,” you say defensively. You had hoped one of the perks of being a human undercover would be less paperwork, but you’re starting to think there’s more of it.

“You are a good parent,” Charleston informs you, reaching over and turning off the monitor.

“You know it’s hard to fill out anything if I can’t see,” you start, and then groan as two rough hands start massaging your shoulders.

“What was that? Don’t stop?” Charleston’s voice lilts with amusement as you melt into his hands. 

“Uh-huh,” you grunt, eyes closing as you lean back into his grip. It’s a good thing no one else is here, because the sounds spilling from your lips are positively indecent.

“All that tension doesn’t help. Need to say supple and flexible.” His voice is closer to your ear, dropping in volume and key. It goes straight down your spine, causing you to shiver.

“You complaining that I’m not flexible enough for you?” You ask as your neck is rolled to either side.

“I think we may need to put you through your paces.” Teeth scrape over the shell of your ear, and you shiver, skin breaking out into goosebumps.

“And how--” Again, your words are interrupted, this time by a gasp as Charleston’s chapped lips brush against the nape of your neck, his hands pressing you down, a reminder of his strength. His breath is warm and moist across the small hairs, each brush of his mouth causes little jolts of pleasure and anticipation to go through you.

Then he’s gone, and a short whine of protest escapes you.

“But unfortunately, that has to wait until someone is caught up on their work,” Charleston muses, looking completely unaffected.

You grimace, flicking the monitor back on. “Tease,” you mumble.

Beck is leaning precariously over the side of one of the mechs that Meg has deemed better off as scrap parts. That’s never been something to deter them however.

You approach, wondering how safe it is to be dangling by one heel above a cluttered assortment of tools that look like they would be at home in a torture chamber.

Beck doesn’t look up--or down--from their task, brow furrowed, their perpetual scowl looking, at least from this angle, almost like a smile.

You lean against a covered part of the mech, trying to ignore the way you’ve already managed to get oil on you. How Beck remains clean is beyond you. Then again, Beck is the kind who could stare at dirt and send it crying back to it’s home without batting an eyelash.

“What.” It’s not a question, tossed at you as Beck slams their hand against part of the mech, forcing it to creak and move in the direction they wanted it to.

“I’m back and wanted to check-in on you,” you reply, glancing casually around the hangar. Even on the best of days it’s hardly full, only the stragglers like yourself still left behind at this base. Beck is probably the second highest ranking officer here, still. Of course, you don’t fit neatly into the hierarchy, which drives them insane.

Growling--a true dhampir growl, showing their fangs--Beck pushes off the mech, somersaulting to the ground in front of you and drawing themselves up to their 5′ 9″ height. Their presence looms larger than that.

Maybe because their hair is sticking out at all angles. Your lips twitch, and Beck scowls harder, striding towards you.

“Do you find my athleticism amusing? Perhaps you wish to chime in on my dealing with a lowly task such as maintenance,” they snarl.

“Porcupine. Prickly on the outside,” you comment, straightening up and meeting them halfway. Their red-orange eyes bore into yours, though they seem a touch softer.

“You never seem to take me seriously,” they complain.

“I do. But I also remember someone talking about life being too short and uncertain in these days to dwell on everything,” you respond. It’s easy enough to lean forward, starting at their bottom lip and coaxing their mouth into a smile, tongue flicking out to tease their fangs--and then leaping back, lifting a hand to your mouth, eyes wide.

Beck blinks, and then starts to laugh, a strange, rasping sound you’ve never heard from them. They reach out and play with your hair. “Quite a shocking kiss, wouldn’t you say? A real hair-raiser.”

You stare. “Did you just make a joke? You just made a joke. Did I die? Is this the kiss of life?”

Beck snorts. “You assume I would bring your troublesome self back a second time?” they demand, arms crossing.

“You know you love me,” you tease, still feeling a tingle in your lips.

The Nephilim game is a companion game to SoS, occurring concurrently with SoS (hence why we see little of Auriel and Serathiel as they have their own issues to deal with). You play a nephilim. I’ve shared the beginning of the game a few places, and I’ll repost it below. Blood Moon Rising and We of the Night take place in the same universe. BMR is a prequel story, and you can play the very old intro demo here (it is not current but gives you an idea of who Megalithic is at least). Blood Moon Rising occurs at the end of the reign of humans as vampire become supreme, and you play as a mage/vampire/dhampir who is a spy... or you would be, if you knew what you did. Nicknamed Elysium because you were brought back from the brink of death (fields of Elysium) by the vampire elder Rhiannon, you must determine which side you are really on--the humans, who seemed doomed to fall, or the vampires, the power just beginning to rise. Either way, you will have to try and emerge with your life while navigating a double life and uncovering your true loyalties.We of the Night occurs roughly 20 years later. Orphaned, you were taken in by the elder Rhiannon, an uncommon practice. Generally vampires don't raise humans. But you've been honed to be a weapon for rebellion. Now is the time for you to try and carry out your sacred duty, as a Nightingale, someone who relies on words and guile to seduce people to your side, or a Nightmare, someone who uses the blade to strike and remove obstacles.

You and a group of your human peers are sent as a group of slaves to one of the outlying strongholds, where you have to decide if you'll stick to the plan or try to create a different life for yourself.I’ll share an excerpt below for that as well.

I think most of the conversation has been in the discord! Auriel and Sarethiel have a bit more on them here because they are two of the other archangels and we encounter them in this game, but the rest haven’t had much said about them (though I’ve talked about wereotters before). Quick run-down on the others I listed:

Sara is a doctor specializing in demonology and the darker occult. She has an archdemon bound to her (one of the other teammates). 

Seth is the other doctor on staff. He tends to focus more on research and catering to weres, though he himself is a human with a very minor ability to use magic. 

Awkward kiss ft. Iro

~~~~

You look at her, arching an eyebrow. Iro blinks. You jerk your head in a ‘come here’ gesture. Her eyes narrow in response.

Once again you jerk your head and she saunters over, one hand on her hip, her eyes promising there will be retribution for summoning her.

Beside you, Alice balks. “What is *she* doing here?” she hisses. Iain places a hand on her arm.

“I invited her,” you answer, scooting further into the curved booth so there’s room to sit.

“Why?” Alice demands at the same time Iro says “Begged, more like.”

The booth goes quiet, Stephanie’s mouth hanging open, Charleston looking bored, Alice murderous, and Iain pale.

“Because we’re dating and I want my girlfriend to get to know my co-workers.”

“Are you freaking mental?” Alice demands, trying to surge up from her spot. Iain uses both hands to grab her shoulders and keep her seated.

“Jealousy is such an ugly emotion, Detective Hudson. Try to keep it in check,” Iro responds, fluttering her lashes, a wicked smirk curving her lips.

“Wait--”

Your protest is stifled by her lip-stick clad lips meeting yours, her nails forcing you to tilt your head up or suffer their wrath. The angle is uncomfortable for you, as is the glares boring into your back.

Iro pulls away after a sharp nip to your lower lip, potentially drawing blood. It feels tender, and a quick swipe of your tongue confirms that while it’s not bleeding, Iro’s lipstick is smeared across your lips.

She looks perfect as ever as she takes her seat beside you, razor smile shining at Alice. “Be a dear and pass the chips, won’t you?”