sari_malfoy

This and that

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 21:58:33 GMT

Have had no energy to post lately, not that I ever really posted any ramblings here.

Lately, I've started a new story on a new fandom and gotten feedback fairly well. Haven't really done anything in HP except read.

I've been reading a lot, and amongst fanfic I've read

- Fatso by Lars Ramslie
- Dark Lover by J.R. Ward (not finished yet)
- The Host by Stephenie Meyer (not finished yet)
- Sleepwalking by Meg Wolitzer (re-reading after several years, not finished yet).

I was also given Wetlands by Charlotte Roche, and will read that one as well as soon as I have time.

Alive and waiting for christmas.

Fri, 28 Nov 2008 12:57:51 GMT

That is all.

Original fic, "Bloodsuckers"

Tue, 10 Jul 2007 21:35:00 GMT

Here's another original fic, freshly betaed by lovely Aecyko.

Author:Sari_Malfoy
Rating:hmmm...not sure but it's somewhat decent
Genre: magical realism/psychology/scifi-fantasy??
Summary: "My best friend is a bloodsucker."

Leave a comment will ya? Just to say hi??

Bloodsuckers

My best friend is a bloodsucker. A fiend. I didn’t think it would harm our friendship, but it did.

I didn’t care about the girls and boys she had drunk from, or the people she had killed. She kept that away from me. She never fed too close to her home or mine. I found it so endearing when she told me she’d love to bite me if she could. We made do with what we had available to us. We only saw each other shortly before daybreak. That was the time she was most full of blood,content ,and didn’t feel as tempted to make me into one of them. Or, she didn’t feel as tempted to suck me dry.

It had been like that for a while. We had known each other for a year, and she had been out of the bloodsuckery closet for the most of it. We were like honeymooners, in love with ourselves when we were together. She told me she loved being the strong one, the dangerous one, the merciful one. She always granted me one more day without her biting me. I was her happy sacrificial lamb, in love with the thought of eternity in her eyes and my own blood coursing through her veins. I didn’t want to be a bloodsucker! I wanted to be its willing victim. I wanted her to use me as only she could, only to find out she couldn’t use me because I wanted to be used. Or something. It was complicated for the two of us, suffice to say.

First time she bit me was a shock. No warning, no hint. As she bit down on my neck, my mouth filled with my own blood. It felt very thick and warm and the semi-familiar taste of it was both sickening and fascinating because I knew if I was able to taste it, I would not make it out of this alive.

“Don’t worry, my pretty girl. I won’t kill you. I just had to taste you finally.

“How was I?” I asked as soon as I was able to draw a breath and speak.

“More than I could’ve imagined. I tasted your love in you. That’s so much better than all those strangers giving me their last moments of life. I mean, that’s powerful stuff, last moment! But it was nothing next to you.”

I glowed in the radiance of her high praises.

The second time was like a long awaited return to home. That time she almost took it too far, nearly killing me. I don’t know if I tried to protest, I was too caught up in the moment to understand any of it, really. I guess she noticed she was going too far and stopped. She rushed me to the hospital. I don’t know how she explained my state, or if she explained anything at all. It was close to sunrise, and she had to hurry home before her own demise.

She didn’t bite me for a long time after that. We talked and talked about it. I told her I wanted her to do it, that I didn’t care how far she took it. I wanted to lose my blood, and I wanted her to take it in. She resisted. Instead, she offered the same to me, to have some of hers.

The thought had never crossed my mind. I wasn’t interested in bloodsucking unless I was being sucked, but when she looked me in the eyes, hers filled with tears, asking me why I didn’t want her, I knew I had to. After thinking about it hard, I came to a conclusion it would be easier to drink if it wasn’t still warm, but then I realized it would coagulate too soon. Blood I could drink, but coagulated blood…no thank you. I had to drink straight from her. In hindsight, I think that’s when things started to change.

Some say blood is power. They’re wrong. Blood is pain. Or pleasure. Pain for the one you drink from and pleasure to you, or vice versa, but rarely the same for the both involved.

Her blood broke something inside me.

In the meantime it was getting harder and harder to explain things to my husband of three years. A mosquito bit me. I think it's just a little bit infected, I'll go have it looked at tomorrow, I promise. M is going through a hard time, I have to go stay with her for a couple of nights. I have to go stay with my sister, she just left J. Oh that bruise? J swung at her and missed, and he hit me instead. It's really nothing, dear. Doctor said I'm a bit anemic, no worries. She suggested I take some iron pills. Could you be a dear and get those for me on the way home? I have to do something tonight. With H. We're going to see a film. I don't know which one yet.

Poor excuses on and on. I don't know how he believed me. Maybe it is because we all believe what we want to. It depends on our own personal inclination, whether we want to believe the good or the bad. He wanted to believe nothing was wrong, so he did.

One day around midday, a little after having my first taste of blood (except for my own), I went for a walk and ended up wandering to her single-room apartment. I had a key that I had had made with me. I didn't take it with me intentionally, but I guess my subconscious was playing tricks on me.

I lingered with every step, soaking myself in the feel of her unique world, the one she had created for herself and for me. As usual, she was sleeping heavily and soundlessly, almost like a fresh corpse. A bottle of pills was neatly placed on the bed side table.

The walls were filled with pictures. Pictures of everything, of horror creatures, oriental bodies wrapped tightly together, animals in cages, animals running freely, movie posters, cartoon figures...she was intrigued by so many things. Her small bookshelf was filled to the brim with books she had bought and books she had stolen. Occult books, poems, geography books, pictures of old Renaissance paintings, sex guides, crime stories, biographies, Evergreen girls' books, you name it. She read it all. She had the worst case of a thirst for knowledge that I had ever seen on a single being. She wanted to know everything, read everything, taste everything, mold the world to be ready and waiting for her.

I took the scissors from her kitchen drawer (I knew where they would be) and started to cut off her dark brown hair. Soon it looked more than a bit like my own, done once in every three weeks in an expensive salon. I made a mental note to ask myself later what was I paying him for.

After cutting her hair I started stripping her clothes and replaced them with my own. We weren't a match made in heaven when it came to dress size, but I was just barely able to squeeze her into my jeans and T-shirt. They were more than a bit loose for me, but they fit her like a glove. I put on her pyjamas with the pictures of penguins on light blue icebergs and went to sleep on her couch under a Burberry blanket. I slept like I was on pills.

It was already getting dark when I woke up. I got up from the couch and took a good book from the shelf, The Art of making Noise, and walked to my bed. It was as empty as I had left it. I felt a bit tired and groggy still, but I knew that a good book would be the best beginning for facing the night and getting something to eat. The thought that gave me most happiness was that I would be meeting my best friend later tonight, if she was able to make up another wild story for her husband

Birthday today...plus Delicasy

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 12:12:44 GMT

Aecyko was nice enough to beta one of my "old", original stories so I decided to put it up here right away. It's called "Delicasy". To say much of the plot would be too much of a give-away but let's say it's about...a meeting between a customer and a client.

It's not overly long and it's completed, so go read! You know you want to!

Delicasy

The Japanese business man bows his head slightly and looks me in the eyes. This alone should be enough to make me feel uneasy. I remember hearing somewhere that, in Japan, eye contact between strangers is frowned upon. Why is this man looking at me so boldly, with a hint of barely hidden surprise in his eyes? Am I not what he expected? I know I am not pretty. You could say I am not far from unattractive. But this isn’t the reason he wants me here. I have other attributes that he craves, so why does his disappointed expression so irritate me? I am used to hiding my feelings and thoughts from clients, but something about this man bothers me.

It is always hard to go meet them on their turf. You never know what you’re going to find. Smiling, the man gestures to me to enter the room and makes little excited bows at me. This man is far from the inhibited Japanese man that I expected, I say to myself. I can’t wait to find out what he’ll do when we get down to the business side of the meeting. Rhetorically thinking, that is. I could wait all day, and would if I had the choice.

The room was spacious and almost empty: simple, stern furniture (low table and a sofa) and two paintings on the wall featuring Japanese lettering that was unfamiliar to me. This is all well and good, but I need a bathroom.

“I need some water before we start. Down there, I mean. Do you have a bathroom?”

The smile on the man’s face widens at my choice of words.

“Bathroom here. Follow me, please.”

He leads me to a small hallway and to the 1st door on the right. I go into the bathroom, and he leaves me alone.

Sometimes it still amazes me that I’m in this line of work. Giving in to twisted people, fulfilling their fantasies of me and my kind. And sometimes it amazes me just exactly how my boss managed to find me. He has never answered me; however, a week ago I found out I am not the only one. He has found himself--and his clients--a younger one. Prettier too, I suspect. I know I am becoming dispensable. That is the main reason I am in this apartment in the first place. One last gig before retiring.

The man I am meeting has pestered my boss about me for ages. For some reason, my employer had always declined the favour until now. I know he is making big money out of me; I don’t know what changed his mind.
I take off my clothes and water myself from head to toe. As soon as the water hits my legs, they are replaced by a fishtail. Well, just a tail. Fish have nothing to do with me, and I certainly have nothing to do with them.

A stranger might wonder how I plan to get myself back into the living room with my tail. That is very simple. I have done this before. I have great arm strength. It isn’t graceful to watch, but graceful is not my middle name.

The man has been waiting for me eagerly. He has changed from his 3-piece suit to a silken robe. His yellow-tinted skin makes a strange impact next to my pasty, almost deadly white skin and his own bright red robe.
I feel a familiar desire to cover myself from his eyes. This situation isn’t new to me, but it feels like the first time every time. With every client. With every man. Feeling ugly before his eyes doesn’t help either. I don’t want to be desirable to him. That would make the circumstances even worse. But like any woman in any situation, it is crushing to be in front of a man, naked, fearing or knowing he doesn’t like what he sees.

I needn’t have worried. All he sees is my tail.

He slides his hands up and down my scales. If I had skin down there, it would be filled with goose bumps. As I do not, he notices nothing and goes on with his quest. I’ve seen this before. All they want is a freak on a leash. A miraculous freak of nature they can pretend to control. With me, the controlling is easier than with, say, a werewolf. When I’m with a customer, I’m on dry ground. My only defense is my upper body, mainly, my head. And I use it when necessary.

Do mermaids and mermen have babies? Yes and no. Like with seahorses, it’s the male that carries the eggs. I have a crevice similar to the ordinary female organ. That is purely for pleasure. More so probably for the men than me, but it can be pleasurable when I am with the right partner. Needless to say, none of my clients are.

His hands are all over my body now. He licks my tail where my knees ordinarily are and breathes heavily, making a nauseating sound. My tail hurts and itches; it’s getting too dry. I wish this slow torture was over, and I could go home, back to my boss. I don’t know where I’m going to go when he replaces me with his new find. I’m not like all of the other girls that he owns.

The dryness of my tail starts to worry my client also.

“Change back when it dries? The fin? No. Umm…the tail?”

“Yes. Well not yet, but in half an hour or so.“

The man is happy with my answer. Whatever it is that he is going to do to me won’t last for 30 minutes, I gather. So far, he hasn’t wanted me to participate in this vile act. As soon as the thought occurs to me, as if he knew what I was thinking, he asks me to touch my own tail.

- “Lower. Lower. Please.”

The sound he makes is more a moan than words. I do as he wishes. I want to detach myself from the act I’m doing, so I think of the sea. Cool, clear blue water. The home I used to have. Where everything was simple, and I didn’t have to do things like these to survive. Where my tail was wet and didn’t itch and hurt and…

I have to force myself from scratching my scales off. The man wants me to caress myself softly, and all it makes me feel is an itch even worse than before. Not the kind he’s looking for. But men like these usually don’t want me to enjoy this, to get aroused. They want me to pretend. They know I pretend, and they know I know that they know. And that gets them off in the worst way.

The sound and feel of water all around me, deep in the recesses of the sea. The echoing voice of a manatee. I’m just one of the many daughters of the sea. I know no other family. I long for nothing else than to be reunited with my mother and slide and sink into her arms. Down there where it is cold and dark and wet, where I can forget there ever was such a place as Japan.

I feel him on top of me now. He keeps very still. He hasn’t done it yet. Maybe he wants to remember the moment, wait for it a little longer. His hand creeps up my crevice, and he cops a feel. He seems pleased. I don’t know why. His organ is made for a human girl, and I am not it. I’m not made for him. I’m cold, and wet (oh how I wish I was wet again!) and I smell of fish. He cannot find my smell very attractive to his sinuses. Then again, maybe he likes sushi.

He gets it inside. He makes three plunges, and then he is done. I lay under him, and imagine his fluid in me. It sickens me. But I’m relieved! Maybe he isn’t finished with me yet, but the worst part is surely over.
He gets up and goes to the hallway. I can do nothing; I have no will power. He opens the door and talks to someone in what I assume is his native language. This frightens me. I thought we were alone. The last time my meeting with a client ended with a party is a memory I don't wish to remember, and an act I don't wish to repeat.

More Japanese men appear. I think they're my client's henchmen. They don't look nor act as though they are his equals. One of them ties a cloth of some sort in front of my eyes, while the others pick me up and start carrying me somewhere.

Shellfishes. Crabs. Sea urchins. Starfishes. The Japanese men in their cloaks- -

--no. No men. Only dolphins. And pikes. A herd of whales. Mother ocean.

In Japan they have a belief--that eating the flesh of a mermaid can grant immortality.