Werewolves, Vampires and Crooks (F looking for takers)

[Maeve]

52. Something to Come Home To



"Well, what's he doing then?" Her future father in law asked his tone just this side of exasperated.

"He's mowing the lawn," she whispered, gingerly peaking out behind the curtain and ducking back before he could spot her. All she got for her concern was a barking laugh and a "Tell him to do mine next".

"This isn't funny," she whined, hating the sound of her voice, "He just showed up and I'm pretty sure he's the cop that put Marcus away."

"Now listen girl, Marcus can do two years on his head and if you want to be part of this family you're going to have to prove you can do. He's probably one of the pigs on the payroll and Marcus sent him to keep an eye on you."

"I don't like it," she protested, nearly jumping out of her skin when Marcus Jr. started crying. Nap time was over it seemed. "Can't me and the baby come stay with you and Pam?"

Even though she knew he covered the end of the phone she still heard Pam call out 'That whore ain't coming here' loud and clear.

"What more do you want? We gave you the house didn't we?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly, lifting the edge of the curtain again. A stone dropped in the bottom of her belly. He was stopped mowing and was staring at her. He grinned and blew her a kiss. With a gasp, she dropped the curtain. "Please," she tried again only to have him tell her to be strong before he hung up the phone. Even though her lifeline was gone she clutched the mobile just in case as she rushed from one door to the next to make sure they were locked before barricading herself into the nursery. Her baby was crying and clutched him to her shaking frame.

There was a knock at the door.



Despite the ominous tone of the description, this is another story that could be either sweet and light or dark...probably still sweet though. It's either a tale of wooing or possession. If it inspires, pm me.

[Maeve]

53. What We Lose in the Fire

V1.



"Why should I care?" He asked, tapping a Sterling against a cigarette case that cost more than Violet Fizz made in a year.

"Cause it was your club," Vi insisted, stamping down on knock-off black pumps that rocked in protest.

"Now it's my insurance check," He said, blowing out more smoke into the acrid atmosphere that was once the most happening night spot for girls like her and boys that liked girls like her.  "Say, what are your tits made out of?"

"Help me find who lit the match and you can find out."


V2.



"So you're like one of those broads that talk to the dead?"

"There's no trick in talking to the dead, handsome. It's getting the dead to talk back and I make them awfully chatty. " Chakara told him, pulling the various tools of the trade off, fake coins tinkling.

"I need someone who talks to the dead, for my boss."

His boss, the boss of the underworld. The one this shop was in hock to. Rumor had it he had started to be tormented by all those who had wronged, especially those he had put in the ground before their time.

"I could do that, but you need to do something for me baby boy. There's someone picking off my friends and I need a bad man do bad things."




So, it originally started out as one story and then another plot jumped out at me along the same lines but didn't really work mashed together... Anyway, that's why there's Version 1 and Version 2. Another thing about these plots, I don't think I'm necessarily qualified to play any of the parts. However, if you like any of these and want to play them, pm me I would love to read your work! Also, for some reason I see this story set in the 1980's but do what you want.

[Maeve]

54. Serial Killer Small Talk - TAKEN

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

The rhythm didn't soothe the savage beast, not today. Today it beat out the raging, swirling ugly thoughts in her head. The ones that made skin feel too tight and thinner than paper, ready to be ruptured at any time by that damn silver bracelet welded onto her right wrist.

She was dancing with the mop by the time her favorite song came on.   

"I didn't know you liked music," he said behind her, locking the door. She flushed red and then turned the radio off, "I like it when you're not here."

He didn't respond. His silence her only inclination that he was upset by her insult. "I'm hungry," he told her petulantly. Just like that, whatever protection spell the music had cast broke into a million bloody shards.



In retrospect, she calls herself a dumb bitch for not recognizing the signs earlier. That no flags were raised when he asked her personal questions, his deep, still eyes searching for confirmation of the truth. That he only came into the bookstore at night. That despite the fact that he was awkward and kinda creepy, he had no trouble leaving with whatever girl he wanted.

She had brushed it off. He was good conversation once she got over the initial heebie-jeebies he gave her and nights at the bookstore could be long and dull even for a night owl like herself. Eventually, she felt almost safe when he was around. There was something quiet and unsettling about him, but she didn't mind when he directed it at some of the less desirable elements that stumbled into the store after dark. As to him asking whether she had family (no, not that she spoke to), whether she lived along (no, she had her cat and parakeet), and what her plans for the future were (future? what future? can't afford school and despite her bookworm ways she had been a shit student anyway. Figured she would just work here until they sold her the place or people stopped reading entirely), she figured it was because he was socially inadequate and had boundary issues. Nothing out the ordinary when many of her customers were also varying levels of socially awkward. Hell, who was she to judge? She was bad at boundaries to, but she just never let anyone get beyond hers and if they tried she would wrap herself up in a cloak of thorns, or a really snarky comment. As to him using the store as his meat market? It wasn't like he was unattractive and obviously the vibe he had worked for him. It wasn't like all of those girls disappeared.

No, none of those things raised a red flag. Life went on as it always did. Until one random Friday night, when she was finishing a book on the Haymarket Riots and seriously craving Ramen, he came in more agitated than normal. Her stomach sank. He was going to ask her out, she knew it. She was already prepping her speech in her head, the one where she would let him down gently. Tell him that she could only commit to herself and even though she really liked having him come in and keep her company it just wouldn't work between them. Or she could do what she really wanted and throw the book at his head while she yelled at him for ruining their friendship, cause there was no way that they would be able to go back to the easy camaraderie that they had both worked so hard for.

Instead without saying a word, he laid down a silver bracelet with his name engraved on a bed of filigree.

"Holy fuck, you're a vampire."



So unwilling thrall/unconventional vampire story. I have a hankering to play the F character in this but I could be persuaded to play the M role.

[Maeve]

55. The Outlaw and the Gravedigger



It wasn't his fault that they hadn't taken him seriously. That his cousin's friends decided to insult and when he responded in kind demanded satisfaction. He had never held gun a before he agreed to pistols at dawn.

As a medical student, he knew what would happen to his body upon his death. The punishment for those who died in duels was dissection, a fate and shame he would not put his mother through. So we went to the one women he knew was comfortable with corpses. He purchased them often enough from her. He gave her gold, what little he had and told her to intercept his corpse before his fellow students could get their hands on him.

It wasn't his fault that they showed up drunk and that their bullet struck a tree while his hit home. Duels were illegal but between gentlemen, charges were overlooked. It seems he was not considered one of them and now with a price on his head he finds himself in circles and a profession he never thought possible.

"Highwayman is a good look  on you," she tells him, "How will you spend your time before they catch you and make you dance on the gallows?"

"Revenge, you want to help?"



Only half a plot on this one. I just really like this pair for some reason.

[Maeve]

56. Go Questing They Said - CRAVING



This was not the nerdiest thing that she had ever done for Thad, but it was damn near close.

They had been friends for years, ever since she bloodied the nose of their communal bully in second grade and had been thick as thieves ever since. Their town was too small to support various communities of freaks, geeks, and outcasts, so they hung out together even though they were more different than they were the same. She was an outspoken artist and aspiring photojournalist. Thad on the other hand, Thad liked dragons and Sci-Fi and animes with disproportionately build females.

Still, he had shown up (in a suit!) to her one and only art exhibit in her hometown before she headed off to the University of Oregon and argued (loudly) with her teacher who called her 'needlessly provocative' to cover up her lack of talent. So yeah, when he wanted to do the Medieval VR at their D.A.R.E. sponsored after-prom event, she agreed.

It was obvious that something was wrong, not just that they had been 'beamed down' with the Prom King and Queen and the Class President. It was too...real.

They were supposed to be in a badly pixelated castle fighting blocky knights and rescuing a blonde stereotype. Instead, they were in a forest so real that she could spell the worms in the earth and feel the shade of the ancient trees. The others are marveling at the technology but her and Thad, they're trying to figure out how to get back. When they all realize that they're stuck, that's when they start freaking out. Maybe it's a dream? Why would I dream you? Maybe someone spiked the punch? Didn't drink it, I'm not poisoning my body with high fructose corn syrup. We only paid for an hour, maybe it will only last an hour?

It lasted for longer than an hour. She's not sure how old she is now - late 20's, early 30's?

It's almost fun for the first year. Thad was in his element. It's live action D&D and all his research for campaigns was paying off. It was wacky hijinks on good days and moral lessons in friendship and understanding on bad. Even if this is all a fever dream they could have a few adventures before they go back to the real world.

It lasts until Thad takes an arrow in the chest. It's not in an epic battle against a big boss. It's running from bandits over a stolen lute. She held him when he died two weeks later of what she can only guess was a staph infection.

It's not fun after that. It's harrowing. They're fighting hunger daily and her teeth are starting to wiggle by the time winter comes around. For a flickering moment, she thought that hardship would bring them together rather than them selling her for a few lousy loaves of bread and a ratty blanket that she hopes is infested with plague.

She's exotic and growing up with a decent diet makes her prettier than most, so she ends up in the royal harem rather mucking out stables or in the local brothel. She fears the worst but no lord comes to act the worst scenes of a bodice ripper. She's left alone, to wander, to read, to learn. At least until his younger brother comes back from some war she had no idea was going on. He spends a year undressing her with his eyes, finding reasons to catch her alone, and doing everything he can to overcome her objections. It seems that the concept of her as a person with the ability to say no doesn't occur to him but what does give him pause is that she belongs to his brother.

Until that winter festival that is. She's a fucking Christmas, or whatever they call it here, present. By New Years she's in a new castle with a new...lord. That year her resolution is to escape. She does, it takes time and a great price but she makes it out and runs back to the forest.

She isn't looking for the fuckers who sold her, she hopes that their bones are bleached by now. She isn't even really looking for a way back. She's looking for...well not exactly for what finds her. A group of rebels fighting an even barbaric king in the South than the one they're living under now. With little choice available, she teams up with the 'Merry Men' (even if they don't get her pop culture references) and learns how to shoot a bow. In a few years, she's a master at that and guerrilla warfare in general. Things are going well. She's found a cause worth dying for and a group of guys that she thinks she can call friends.

Until that one cold autumn morning, not unlike the day that her friends betrayed her. There's a visitor at their camp, a royal one. A prince that wants their help defeating their mutual enemy, one that he has faced before.

She's tight-lipped when he pulls his horse up next to hers, waiting for him to explain his presence there. Had he been looking for her? Was he going to try to take her back?

"You haven't asked. Do you care?" He murmured, not meeting her eyes.

"About what?"

"Your son."

[Maeve]

57. Chains as Fine as Spiders Silk -



She's his favorite patient by far. Her gothic tragic past, which rivals any of the heroines in those penny dreadfuls she loves, calls to the romantic in him. So much so that when he gets a position as head doctor of a country asylum he takes her with him. Since he can't cure her, he can at least make sure that she dies in fresh air and away from the sin of London that doomed her.

'Are you witch or are you fairy,' she hums as she wanders the lower levels of this converted ancient estate. Here the white tile gave way to cold glinting stone and the cool air is welcome on her fevered skin. She needs this respites. The time alone to think and escape her doctors smothering care. He's kind enough, even if she knows what men like him truly want. To repressed to ask or admit to themselves that there are claws hidden in their kindness. It's not like she can turn down whatever affection he bestows on her. This is better than wasting away and then being swept out with the rest of London's filth.

She coughs, fresh blood spatters across the floor and her chest burns like hellfire. Clutching her chest and using those same unforgiving stones for support she limps back upstairs to her doctor's tender mercies. She never notices the curling black smoke behind her or the golden eyes that follow her.

[Maeve]

58. The Lady and The Cowboy - CRAVING



She's the good one, the proper one. She's a lady. Her sisters say it's easy for her. She's not much too look at and with a personality to match, she just doesn't know how hard it is to resist temptation when it comes calling. Even her father tells her to be grateful for her dowry, otherwise, she'd end up a spinster or worse she'd have to learn how to type.

She's certainly not the sister who would end up in bed with a cowboy who she met in a Parisian gin joint the night before. The only thing that makes her not slink away from the red-stained sheets is the cheap tin ring on her finger. That finger.

It was something, she supposed, that even in her godforsaken state she had insisted that he marry her. It would be a scandal but she would have to get it annulled. Perhaps if she moved quickly it would only be a ripple and not a tidal wave. After all, no one really believed what young women did in France.

"Mornin' Darlin'," he drawled, kissing her shoulder and she suddenly remembered why she had said yes when he asked. "Having regrets?" He asked, running his thumb over the ten cent ring.

She's not sure what to say. He's handsome in the milky morning light, wearing nothing but that lazy smile and she can't think of a single regret.

When they step out of the car and are greeted by the myriad of servants at her families grand estate and her father's scowling face, then she can think of several. He stands out like a sore thumb and rubs every member of her family the wrong way. Her mother snaps at her that she's a fool, he only wants her for her money and let's see how long he hangs around when she only has herself to offer. Her father makes note of his every misstep. Her sisters laugh behind their hands. Her heart still thumps every time he looks at her.

The only one who is friendly with him is her cousin and greets him like an old friend.

"I say, old chap when I told you my family would be happy to have you I didn't think you'd take it so literally."

"I don't think your Uncle feels the same way."

"That's only because you haven't told him how your family owns most of Texas."

"He ain't gonna yet either."

"No?"

"I want to make sure she loves me before she knows she's married to a millionaire."

"Show off," he laughed and passed him a Martini.



I'm in the mood for a screwball romance. Hit me up if you are too.

[Maeve]

59. Occupational Hazzard



"What we got tonight?" He asked his camera at the ready.

"'Nother dead whohoor," the uniform told him as he let past the tape, "Not really worth your time."

The whore in question was laid out on the sidewalk, a beautiful corpse circled in chalk and men with pencils. Another night in the city, another body. An occupational hazard for a working girl to meet the wrong trick, maybe the beat was right and he should go see if that robbery two blocks away had better snaps. Cept the body on the ground isn't just another whore, it's his whore. Suzie and him had been regular since before he could afford her, every other Thursday except for high holidays.

It's a Wednesday night and he's taking pictures of her rapidly cooling corpse.

It's Thursday night and he's drunk when she shows up. Literally, one moment he's bleary-eyed in his dark room and the next she's sitting on his desk in a dress to die for.

"Shouldn't you be at the pearly gates?" He slurred.

"And miss our Thursday, over my dead body," she smiles and crosses her legs. God she had great legs, he thought, reaching out to rest his hand on her knee. All he gets is an awkward half fall to the wood of his desk.

"Plus you still owe me a sawbuck."

"You came back for a debt Suz?"

"Consider it a retainer," the ghost tells him, "You're going to find out who killed me."

"So who killed you?"

Suzie opens her mouth but nothing comes out, she tries again before she shrugs, "I can't tell you outright. Not how it works, but I can tell you to go talk to Detective Warren."

"Warren?" He sneered, taking a long swig from the bottle of gin, "I fucking hate that guy."



This story came out of binge-watching film noir and reading up on Weegee (who obviously inspired the photographer). Got a hankering for smoke-filled bars, no good dames and gin-soaked talent? Send me a wire babydoll.   

[Maeve]

60.  Just His Lady - CRAVING



"Fine, don't tell me," she says, throwing up her hands.

"I've told you," he responds as he brings out the first loaves of the morning.

"Yes," she smirks and her voice drops to a theatrical whisper as though the walls have ears, "You're a bastard prince, the scrouge of your kingdom who had to flee in ignominy once they grew fearful of all the destruction in your wake." Her voice jumped back to normal as she crossed her arms and glared at him, "Which is why rather than go and conquer your own kingdom you've married a baker and are content to live out your days in a tiny, provincial coastal village."

He tapped her on the nose and kissed her forehead, "That's right. In this whole wide world, you're the only good decision I've ever made."



The main plot of this story would be when his kingdom finds that they need a man they once considered too ruthless to rule and the baker finds out exactly who she married.

[Maeve]

One Ring To Turn The Tables

 

Once upon a time, her family had performed for Kings. Now her meager Carnivale can barely feed themselves and the animals. The performers only half-joke that they would be fed to the lions and tigers, as the animals are more precious than them when the times comes.

She's a widow and at her wits end. It seems her husband, the inspired match her father had conjured for her, had been a con man of epic proportions and had left them with less than nothing. It seems that it will all come to an end sooner than she would like to admit until a man shows up. One that wears the face of her dead husband but has the smile of the devil.

"What if I told you I could make it all real? No more tricks. The magicians would perform real magic, the horse with a horn glued to its head would be a unicorn and acrobats would really fly."

Her heart stopped and without hesitation, she nodded. "Where do I sign?" She asked, knowing full well the script to any morality tale. He took her hand, slid on a ring and said: "Till Death or debt do we part."

[Maeve]

Vulnerable

She's always been a little off. A little strange. Sweet, but strange. 'Away with the fairies', as the cook used to say. Still, she's the favorite child of the Master of the estate's mistress and therefore is left to roam the woods and the garden. Never bothered by tutors or suitors, never asked to join the dull working world of adults. That is until everything ended. The Master died, as did his mistress when their carriage overturned. The servants were asked to leave and the estate remained empty, except for her wandering the grounds like a ghost.

That's what he thinks she is when he first sees her. Some sprite, like the kind found in the stories his Uncle used to tell him or maybe a siren from his fellow sailor's tales.  It isn't until she sits at his knee like a faithful hound that night before a raging fire that he realizes the estate he inherited comes with other perks.

[Maeve]

61. Mortal Instinct - CRAVING



'Aren't you too old to be a vampire?' Is something that Claudette gets asked at least twice a year, and has been for the past century and a half. As though she had no right to immortality since she did not obtain it when she was a bouncy twenty-something or a stately woman in her early thirties that could hide the damage of gravity through sheer glamour. Instead, she was given the bite on the cusp of her 40th decade by an admirer of her work. Little had she known as she entertained her newest patron that evening that when he spoke of the wonder of the Sistine Chapel, he remembered when the walls were blank. After too much conversation that sparkled as brightly as the champagne that she lamented how she felt the weight of how little time she had, and how much she wished to paint, sculpt and draw forever.

Be careful what you wish for. Her patron had made it so she could create for centuries to come but she would do so in his service, one boring portrait at a time. She's displeased him lately, so she's fallen so far down the food chain that she's being given the scraps. At least that's all she can think when her new houseboy is delivered. Recently released from prison and not fit for human company but deemed suitable to clean her gutters and open a vein on demand. 



Another unconventional thrall story. Let me know if it inspires.

[Maeve]

62. Sale of Stolen Goods



Metas, Mutants, 'Differently Powered Individual', call them whatever you want, he just calls them profit. They're easy to get ahold of. Most of them can't really control their powers, or don't want to or think that these gifts they've received are substitutes for brains and they can restart their pathetic lives as supervillains. Means they end up prisons, insane asylums, rehab, or other vulnerable spots where his agents can snatch them up for the block.

Payday is every six months or so, depending on stock, and it is an event. Strictly black tie. With every nefarious but well-heeled soul in search of special powered bodyguards, courtesans, assassins, or more niche purchases in attendance. Where the poor lost souls end up? If the check clears, what the fuck does he care?



I've been binge watching shows with superpowers and this trope keeps popping up. Course the day is saved before anyone is sold in these family-friendly entertainments, so I'd like to do a plot about the aftermath.  Unlike my other plots, I don't really have a character in mind.  If you do, or if you want to see this as a group game and are willing to gm, hit me up.

[Maeve]

63. Fortuna Bound



It's hard to beat a man with when he has the goddess of fortune on his side.

The Warlord that has ravaged his country is said to have her displayed naked in a gilded cage in his throne room and as long as he possesses her shall never know defeat. Their graveyards attest to how many have tried.

Jase is no warrior but with his brothers dead and the future of his village bleak, he thinks it's his duty to at least try. Even if it means his life. Brawn has failed and since Jase lacks military skill he sticks with the gifts he does have. He's limber, cunning and can tell a good tale. He won't last minute in the brutes court if he comes at him with a sword, but with a joke and a set of juggling balls? Seems the warlord likes a chuckle. As does the most beautiful woman he's even seen, trapped in a cage at the pleasure of her master. 

This should be easier than he thought. Lull the warlord into trusting him and then make away with his prize. Except he has competition. The Warlord already has a fool, one who seems quite content in her position.

[Maeve]

Abandoned by Reason - Looking for a new Loki- TAKEN

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Two points before we begin -

1. I normally don't do fandoms. I usually prefer original storylines (Don't believe me? Check out my request thread and if anything tickles your fancy, drop me a line), which is why even though this story does have canon characters, don't feel like we have to follow canon storylines. The one exception to this is Loki's exile and eventual return.

2. This is with Jag's blessing. I originally started doing this story with them, however, they can no longer continue. I love this story and character and am dying to pick it up where it left off. That does not mean that I don't think the story will change with someone else playing Loki. I am excited to see how things change with a new author, that being said there are certain plot points I would like to keep.

A brief synopsis of this plot is that Thor worried over Loki's ever withdrawn nature sends Eira, a poor but pretty court climber, to his chambers in hopes of luring him out to a feast. There is a miscommunication and Eira ends up spending the night in his chambers instead. That should be the end of it, however, the next day Loki discovers Thor's involvement in his tryst and decides to take his revenge on Eira. Tricking her into thinking he's fallen for her, all the while plotting her eventual disgrace and banishment from polite Asgardian society.

This, of course, proves more complicated than he thought. In the end, their relationship is not revealed by him but causes the same outcome. In fact, he's outdone himself. By the time he's exiled, she's declared a traitor.

That is about the middle of the story.

Here is the story so far. I would love it if we could just start from the last post. If you're interested PM me.

https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=286111.msg14079191#msg14079191

[Maeve]

64) Now that I am Beautiful -


It had started when her father, in the same foolish vein of Lear, had asked each of his daughters how they loved him. Her sisters had said more than rubies and pearls, gold and materials things, the stars in their heavens and life itself. She had said as meat loves salt.

For that, she became Cap o' Rushes. Turned out of doors and without a farthing, she became a scullery maid in a lords house many miles from her home. Disguised in coarse materials, her pretty face is unknown the lord's son, and her once white hands chap under hard labor.

The come the balls. Where she catches his eye in dresses that outshine the moon, then sparkle like the stars and finally one as brilliant as the sun. He tracks her down, discovers her despite straw that covers her face and her grease-stained smock and claims her as his bride once he finds that she is not just a beauty, but a noble one.

A fairy tale ending to her months of hardship.

Except she can't forget the names he called her, how he shoved and abused her and how he continues to do so to the other servants now that she is his wife.



Another not quite so happily ever after...

[Maeve]

Simple & Clean

 

He had first been brought to the madhouse against his will and had planned to escape in dramatic fashion in front of one of the doctors. Turn into a bat or fog, something that would make them question their long held beliefs.

That was until he realized what a pot of jam he had landed in. No one believed the patients when he nibbled on them. There were no angry mobs with pitchforks after him and the kitchen never used spices, let alone garlic.

There was her as well. The maid who cleaned up after the lunatics. The mad beauty was a patient herself but once he convinced her, she would be his immortal bride  and his kingdom would be complete.

[Maeve]

65. Hero's Made of Celluloid



Her boss is The Hawk. A suave spy who protects his adopted homeland from foreign agents who wish to destroy the American way of life with a dry wit and cunning plan. At least he is in the movies. The only thing he really shares with his on screen persona is that neither of them every met a Martini they didn't like.

It doesn't stop the overflow of fan mail that comes in daily. Part of her job is to reply to each letter. Most just require a signed head shot.

Some though, they're pleas for help.

She should have ignored them. She's not sure why she doesn't. Maybe it's cause she misses who she was during the war. Or maybe she picked up something on the front. It's the only explanation that she can come up with of why her newest hobby is vigilantism. 



1940's superhero plot line - if you have a hankering for a Peggy Carter story line I might talked into turning this into a fandom - if not but this still strikes your fancy let me know and we'll hammer out a story.

[Maeve]

She watched him from the window every day. He is the one shining ray of light in an otherwise dreary life. Her husband was already old by the time she married him, an old associate of her father who was kind enough to save her from poverty. Now that she's been a wife from a decade her husband is ancient and overdue for the touch of the reaper. He thinks that his longevity is due to the keeping out the world and so the doors and windows were closed and she becomes her own jailor.

He is free. Poor but free. She makes up stories about him. That he is a gypsy, that he is one of the good people, that he is a magical merchant and his wares do marvelous things. That this poor boy is a prince in disguise and has put aside his royal finery to court her, a woman below his station that had snagged his heart. It's the way she spends her mornings. She never imagines that he would knock on her door.

[Maeve]

66. CI Benefits


The pills don't work for everyone. That's the rub. They're working on improvements to the formula but for the 30% of the population that don't fit the ideal mold, well fake it till the next generation that might work for you. Hopefully there won't be side effects.

Like not working and turning your previously standard sex drive up to 11. It's not that sex is outlawed in their great state, but it's kept in it's place. It's a physical necessity for optimal health. Like a jog or prostate exam. It certainly had nothing to do with desire, or lust. Heaven forbid love.

Love was replaced with duty decades ago.

She had been behaving, she pleaded to the judge. She'd been a normal girl, trying her best to get a position under the Crown Council as a field educator. She'd been taking her pills, it wasn't her fault that her pills turned her into a sex crazed bohemian. Didn't she deserve mercy?

Turned out mercy was making her a tool for the police. To avoid being declared redundant she was used to infiltrate resistance groups, to sniff out hidden stores of art, underground concerts and to make sure the orgies she found herself were fully underway by the time her handler screamed 'this is a raid'. He would remind her of her duty and thank her of her service but all she wanted to do was curl up in his arms and ask for him to comfort her. She was getting worse, not better. It didn't help that his eyes were starting to soften when he looked at her, that his hands lingered when he pulled her away from the other prisoners and the perfunctory pat on the head at the end of each mission was starting to sound a lot like praise. 




Think a XXX version of Equilibrium. 

[Maeve]

Of Preys & Strays

Man is the most dangerous game...but maybe not the poor collection of creatures that his master has him bring to his private hunting reserve. It's been a family tradition for years, passed down father to son. How the men of the Zandorf family prove that they've manhood. So he goes to the city and rounds them up - the drunkards, lunatics, orphans of foreign wars and syphilitic whores. The ones that won't be missed.

He didn't like it. He wouldn't step foot in church even on Christmas Day but he always said a pray at the crossroads every time he goes to get the latest batch.

This year though, it's time to put an end to sin. Been ten years coming. Since the hunt where she had beaten at his door begging to be let in. A clap of thunder muffled the sound of the slamming door as he deprived the men on horseback of their prey. It had been her who hatched the plot. To take a few of the healthier ones, the ones that look like their survive the winter and nurse them like a viper in the counts bosom. This year when his first born would make his first kill and prove himself worthy of his fathers title, they would be waiting in the woods.

[Maeve]

67. Spirit Within the Hand



"She was as beautiful as I am ugly," Her patron finally said, the red curtain pooled at her feet as she looked at the canvas with wistful sorrow. St. Euphemia was a good choice for a theme, she conceded, it allowed for this final monument not to be gruesome but didn't hide the violent evidence of her death, even if the lions refused to eat her the Romans had tortured her for days before. Genevieve was a beautiful girl, whose pretty face had attracted the worst sorts. She should know, she used to attract them too. If possible she was more scandalous than her fallen friend. She would pose for portraits and sculptures, for any artist looking to conjure up a vision of Venus in a new nubile muse. Her last lover made sure she no longer looked like Venus. Thankfully she was already married to a none to interested husband. He was content sopping up her family fortune at her Uncles hunting lodge, hoping he'd be mentioned in the will. He left her to forge a name for herself at Versailles. She wasn't just supping on the pleasures of the flesh when she posed, or wasted hours in sensual delight with the artists when they finally dropped their brushes, she was learning. She honed her talent to surpass many of the men who wished to capture her beauty for themselves.

Her patron, crudely known as the ugly duchess, made sure to keep her in work and she repaid her with loyalty. To the point that she braved the morgues of Paris to retrieve her daughters body so as to re imagine her as a saint. To craft her injuries as the brutal lashings of martyr suffering for her faith, rather than the wear of the river as she drunkenly feel down the stairs.

Or so she had thought.

"How did you get those?" She asked her model. A prostitute of high regard she had only managed to book due to her recovering from an attack.

"My man came at me with a knife," she said, "Ruin your painting?"

"No, they just look distinctive."

Genevieve had had those marks.



Set in Versailles at the Affair of the Poisons, this story follows a young artist as she tries to solve the murder of her friend who bit off more than she could chew. 

[Maeve]

68. You Have to Fight for Love



"You don't have to love him," Her mother snapped, tugging on her hair as she tried to shape it into something flirty. "All you need to do is get him to sign the contract."

"By marrying him, Mom." Her voice cracked at the end, "He's crazy, he'll kill me."

Her mother squeezed her shoulders, "Honey, they all seem crazy. You know what your brothers are like. Your father was worse when I met him." She sighed deeply "This is important, we wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

"I know Dad will do anything to keep the best fighters, but auctioning off his daughter seems a bit much."

"It's not just about the talent dear, it's about the business. We don't get this kid, we're going to lose the club. Everything your father and grandfather worked for. Just keep that in mind on your date tonight."



Arranged marriage? Kinda. Beauty and the Beast? Sorta. Samson and Delilah? Sure.

This could be about boxers, wrestlers, or something along those lines.

[Maeve]

69. Broken Clocks



As soon as she sees it in the kitchen she scrambles to gather up the young princes and make good their escape. The boys argue with her, unhappy that she's pulling them away from the first feast they're allowed to attend. They're both dressed up as warriors, with red brocade jackets and small gold crowns on their heads. Some loud and obnoxious courtier had slapped them on the back as he pushed tankards of ale into their hands, telling them that they were men now and would see bloodshed soon. They try to resist her as she pulls them away but she pays them no mind, nor to the scene she is likely causing. That she's attracting the attention of their Uncle. All she can see is the bulls head, it's tongue lolling out of its mouth and it's eyes glassy as the blood pooled into the silver plate.

The most galling thing about ending up in a stinking cell in some godforsaken backwater wasn't the food (it was like they never heard of spices), or the damp (did it ever stop raining?), or the greeting he would get upon his arrival back to civilized lands (Gordio did love an 'I told you so') no, it was that these misbegotten, backwards, uncultured barbarians had real magic. He had sashayed himself across the continent on twin powers of charm and slight of hand. Always one step ahead of the law if he couldn't dazzle it and his aristocratic patrons, leaving them both panting for more as he took off with their jewels and their ladies virtue before any became the wiser. He had been trained by the most talented of huckster adventurers. There wasn't a scam he didn't know. Turning lead into gold, contacting the dead, that he was a seer of unseen wisdom, before he reached his tenth year he was convincing the local magistrates that he was a new Ambrose the Wonder Child and by the time he was twenty he had been through thirteen different titles, everything from Colonel to Cardinal. This was supposed to be two weeks of easy comfort at a quaint antiquarian fortress, seducing the lasses, joining in some hunts and wowing the locals with the wit of enlightenment, before he returned warmth of the continent. All he had to do was best their local charlatan whom he was sure was some outdated, moth eaten alchemist peddling some scheme so old it had whiskers on it and he was home free. Except what he met was not a magician, but a real live witch. He was great but even he wasn't that good. The penalty for failure was death which would be his fate if he didn't make it out of here. Thankfully where luck deserted him his own talents did not and while his rough hewn guard was anxious to snag a mutton chop from the feast, he snagged the key to his cell. Or, as he tries for the 15th time, so he had thought.

The only safe way out of the castle now is through the dungeons. She practically flies with the boys behind her, no longer resisting as the danger became apparent. She needs to get them out, or they'll end up missing their heads just like the bulls. It's the only reason she's listening to the fa de da that came to steal their silver and squeeze them of their hospitality assuming that they were nothing more than country bumpkins.

"C'mon, it's just over there," he gestured to the key hanging at the other side of the room, "Free me from my cage and I'll free you from yours," he said, holding up the key he had previously knicked from the guard, "Or I'll yell. Maybe I'll even be commended for my loyalty."



A questing story of a rogue and witch trying to save the lives of the true heirs to the northern throne by getting them to their aunt across the great sea before their wicked uncle kills them all. I have many ideas for this one, if it casts a spell on you let me know.

[Maeve]

70. At Best Shadowy and Vague



He hadn't meant to fucking kill her. He was just trying to impress the boss. Scare some stupid blonde bimbo that had thought she could fucking steal from them. Then the dumb slut zigged when she should have zagged or maybe his vision from starting to blur from all the pot and pcp Tomboi had given him and that machete was buried so deep in her neck it took three of them to get it out.

What the fuck were they supposed to do with the body? Tomboi wanted to put her through the wood chipper. Zipnuts was yelling about how they needed to call the boss to tell him that he wasn't getting his two grand. Spraken kept trying to fuck her.

He knew what to do. What was the point of having a goth sister into all that Satanic shit if she couldn't do him a solid? Raising the dead should be like the first they teach you after how to sacrifice goats. Turns out it was third, right after they showed you how to decode all those backwards lyrics in rock albums. Whatever, now he didn't need to worry about a dead girl who wouldn't be able to tell him where the missing goods were. Now he had to worry about an undead girl on a mission from hell to send the devil as many sinners as she could before all hallows eve or else end up the Devil's bride.