#enduringrcse

“-well that’s all they’re allowed to do.” came the irritated huff from the brunette as she sat sulking at the unwanted attention from two male humans across the bar. she stayed close and almost huddled against the other as she struggled with how to handle that sort of attention. it was something that was beginning to happen more and more lately- the opposite sex seeming to eye the young goddess. it was something she did not like in the slightest.

“i wish they would stop. its uncomfortable.”

She hadn’t meant it as anything but a cheeky jibe, but seeing Antheia close in on herself under the glances of the men quickly gave her attitude an adjustment. She knew what it was like to have unwanted advances from men-- what woman didn’t? Persephone remembered what it was like to be a young goddess, when her mother had shielded her from an onslaught of male attention in vain. She’d resented Demeter at the time. She looked at the men, who were smiling and muttering to one another, wolfish smiles. Then she looked back at Antheia. “Interesting you say they’re allowed to,” she remarked. Her own lips curled a little. 

“When I was your age, Artemis told me something that happened while she was out in the woods. A hunter came along with his dogs- she told me she could feel the animals there, and the prey they were hunting. But the man stopped. He had seen Artemis, spying on her from behind some trees. He should have kept on his hunt,” that was Persephone’s opinion, at least. “But he watched her. Idiot. A man who thought his eyes were worthy to look upon a goddess. So she set his own dogs on him to tear them out,” she finished with an amused charm. She respected the move. Her brows rose at Antheia, wondering how she would take the story.

“i’m coming-! i’m coming!” arms moved to work themselves into the sleeves of her robe as she padded towards her front door. she could already hear her baba scolding her for answering it to begin with in the middle of the night, but she pushed the voice back with a yawn of her own as she opened the door to the figure. then glared at the figure.

“really victor? what are you doing here at-” a glance over her shoulder looked to the clock in the hall. “-midnight. it is literally five minutes past midnight. is this some kinda prank to mess with me? i know you don’t like me being assigned to your project, but this is ridiculous-!”

Midnight - not so late, if you asked Victor Frankenstein. Especially after a night of drinking in his apartment, sitting in the center of scrapped plans. He could kill Finnegan. The plans they’d had - the plans Victor had - surpassed all work FinneCorp demanded of him now. Working with a partner, too, of course, was less than desirable. Strange, how after three whiskeys, he was thinking about Elle Amin. Her wide, flashing eyes; the irritated tug of her full lips. She was brilliant. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.

But she was an amateur. 

Finnegan had hired her for her genius, not for her experience. He’d partnered her with Victor for, as Victor guessed, a trial by fire. Foolish man. Stupid man. 

But perhaps Elle was not a fool. Perhaps she understood that she was intruding - and that it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault. She’d taken a job, been assigned. It wasn’t her fault Finnegan was a massive prick. It wasn’t her fault that she lacked Victor’s years of experience. It wasn’t even her fault that she was new to the space. 

Victor Frankenstein was not in the habit of making apologies. But at midnight, after three whiskeys, he considered it. After about five, he walked to her door. Stumbled. There was no grace to the way he held himself in her doorway, no modesty as his eyes flicked down the length of her neck and then back up to her frown.

“I thought you had better ways to keep yourself entertained?” The huntress gingerly sat up in her bed, careful with movement concerning her neck and the bite marks that were still sore from the previous night. Suffice to say the new bit of information was the first disturbing thing she heard that day and there was the creeping hunch that it wasn’t the worst thing she’d be hearing that day either. Still there was an annoyed look on her features as she looked to the vampire sitting on her bed and still watching her.

“-none of your other amusements were working at this time of day?” Because sleeping seemed to be the only freedom she got since being purchased by Amber. Sweet dreams of being free and doing whatever she liked in a world free from vampires. But sadly it always came to an end when she woke up like now. A part of her cringed internally waking to hear whatever possible snide remark came from the woman across about how she looked or her hair for starters. Amber seemed to have some kind of fascination with her hair and right now it was mess all around her features as she sat there in a slight half daze trying to wake up and be somewhat alert considering the company that was with her.

“Shut up,” Amber said. The faintest hint of affection crept into her voice. 

She wanted to push Elle back down on the bed and bury her face - and her fangs - into her sweet-smelling flesh. Rolling her eyes, Amber sank onto the bed beside Elle. With a twist of her neck, she looked over at her. In profile, even in anger, she was beautiful. She could understand Pavi’s desire to make a trophy of her. As far as humans went, Elana Amin was a fucking work of art. A goddamn masterpiece. Gently, Amber stroked Elle’s neck. Her fingers ghosted over the bruise. Amber Sweet did not allow herself tenderness in public. She was tough, rough, and untouchable. A bonafide ice queen. She had to be, if she didn’t want her shits-for-brothers to snatch her birthright away. If she didn’t want to be torn to pieces by hunters or the media. She didn’t know which would be worse. Thumbing the topmost part of the bitemark, Amber sighed. 

How did she tell Elle the release she felt in her present. Utterly intoxicated by her blood, fascinated by her good looks and sharp tongue, Amber could watch Elle all day. Awake. Asleep. As long as she was alive to give that lip, give that blood, give that escape.... The pulse under her skin was soothing to Amber. Perhaps that was why she said - 

Greedy eyes, glittering with desire from under heavily made-up eyelids, drank the little vampire hunter in. Her auction had been a spectacle. Vampires from the wealthiest families all bid for her but as the evening wore on, the highest, most heated bids were placed from three corners of the room. Each of the Largo siblings wanted her. Amber could imagine the girl’s hideous fate if either of her brothers had won her. She imagined her, entirely exsanguinated within a day by Luigi. She imagined her skinned alive for her face by Pavi and still forced to go on as a blood slave. But the pretty little thing was all hers. In a way, Amber was her savior. Smiling, she reached to stroke her newest plaything. Well-manicured nails brushed back the human’s hair so that Amber could glide her fingertips along the human’s soft neck. Beneath the skin, the little human’s blood sang its sweet siren song. How tempting it was, how easy it would be to sink her fangs into the girl now, while she was still bound! Instead, Amber untied the silk gag that silenced the girl.

“Get too mouthy and this goes back on,” she said. She tied the silk around her own wrist for easy access. She fussed with making it look like a corsage for a moment and then, without looking up, she said, “You’re so fucking lucky I got you instead of either of my brothers. Do you know what they do to girls like you?”

@enduringrcse: Elle/Erik, Elle/Finnegan

@unstoppablehopes / @thebelleoflucifersball : June/Amber? HMU if you disagree. I know we talked about Finnegan too.

@secondhandmckie: Molly/Percy

I can’t take any more of these, though. I’m capping at three partners so I don’t overload. 

Name: Deirdre Amin

Gender: Female

General Appearance: Deirdre’s long, black hair is extremely soft. It feathers around her face, often kept at a medium length. Her almond eyes resemble her mother’s in shape; her father’s in hue. It’s hard to tell where her pupils end and her black irises begin. Overall, she takes after her mother, smooth brown skin, full lips. She was born with what the doctors called “birthmarks”, however, that indicate she is unquestionably Diaval’s daughter. Feather-like ridges around her eyes, neck, chest, and back indicate that when she is old enough, she, too, will be able to shapeshift at will. 

Personality: Playful and flirty, Deirdre is the kind of girl people often underestimate. They seem to think that her bubbly exterior is all there is to her. They’re very wrong. Beneath a candy-coated exterior lies a clever, curious mind. If she wasn’t such a born performer, she might have been a pediatric doctor or nurse. She’s keen on science; it’s the numbers that trip her up. She’s smart and adept at reading people and caring for them. And perhaps that’s why people don’t take her seriously - her compassion is too often mistaken for weakness. 

Special Talents: Though musical, Deirdre has the uncanny ability to imitate other vocalists. It’s eerie, but she has fun doing it and it lands her all sorts of roles in musical theatre. Deirdre also has an ability she doesn’t readily tell others - the ability to shapeshift into a raven. 

Who they like better: Her father - they bond over being shapeshifters in a world of humans. Both are playful and kind, although Diaval does not appreciate his daughter’s flirty nature or occasionally reckless spirit.

Who they take after more: Elle, just a little more. Not much though.

Random Ships | Accepting!

Diaval/Elana Amin

Elizabeth Lavenza/Elana Amin

“True, but I think the last person who concurred that, apart from yourself, was probably Madame Curie. And you saw how they turned out.” World renowned heralded heroes- and more importantly died a slow painful death due to the radiation. Granted it did so much,but on the other hand she’d prefer a natural death that didn’t involve so much suffering. As to her coworker who, she didn’t doubt, had no qualms running around with a lightning rod if need be to support his research.

Victor Frankenstein was nothing if not dedicated and obsessed with his work.

Victor’s lip curled into a smile. He pressed his palms to the base of the whiteboard and leaned back, smudging his notes and his lab coat in one movement. Still, he smiled, studying Elle. She had a way with backhanded compliments. But still, it was a compliment, nonetheless.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d gladly die for my work if it meant the world would be a better place and my name went down in history as something more than a footnote.”

A footnote, of course, to his ancestor’s work. Victor would do anything - even contract radiation poisoning - to step out from the first Victor Frankenstein’s shadow. If Elle hadn’t figured that out by now, she had been ignoring everything Victor did, everything Victor said. But, he supposed, it wasn’t about his pride at the end of the day. Sighing, he gestured to the blueprints on the desk.