bakerstreet | Species doesn't stop romance

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[meme] shipping

Species doesn't stop romance

Interspecies Love Meme

Vampires and humans. Angels and demons. Ghosts and the living. The idea of "opposites attracting" is hardly a new one, but with the rise in popularity of supernatural creatures, aliens, and other sentient beings beyond our human understanding, the forbidden romance trope has been injected a shot of fresh blood- sometimes quite literally.

This meme does just that, taking the whole "not meant for each other" thing to it's most logical extreme. Of course, it's not always angst and depression. These days, mermaids and bird-people can have their relationships in peace to some degree.

Rules

Comment with your character, putting any preferences you have (ie, "humanoid characters only," F/M, etc). Also, be sure to note your character's "species" for others to reference (Name | Character | OTA | Human, ghost, mutant, alien, vampire, god, zombie-catgirl hybrid, etc).
Reply to others. If your characters aren't different species, feel free to AU or anything else like that.
Use the rng to determine your prompt.
Also I didn't think I needed to say this, but be excellent to each other. Dick comments and anon bullying are not on.

Prompts

Meeting: Did you know there were, I don't know, werewolves before this? Or maybe you thought all aliens were evil. Will this...thing change your perception?
Falling in Love: You know you're not the same, but your feelings don't care.
Self-Hate: Perhaps you're mad at the being you're in love with, yet you're more angry at yourself.
Can't Be Together: Whether for self-inflicted reasons or societal rules, you can't be in love with who your heart has chosen and it's putting a strain on you.
Pushing You Away: Things are getting too intense, and for both of your sake, you want to make friend/crush/lover hate you.
Beauty & the Beast: One of you is beautiful, the other hideous. Maybe, though, the beautiful one is ugly in the eyes of society, depending on where you live. Whatever the case is, you don't look the same.
Confession: Screw the rules, you're going to tell that sweet girl/guy/other how you feel! What can go wrong? Or this is something you've put a lot of thought into and you're scared, but you're going to do it.
First Time...or Not: Finally, the two of you are taking the next step and getting physical. It may go off without a hitch, depending on your...you know, or- OH GOD, HOW IS THAT GOING TO GO IN HERE. Wait, you have a...?
The Kinky Option: Hey, maybe being different will pay off. Think about it. A long tongue? Ghost powers? Sounds like it could be fun in the bedroom.
Prejudice: "What are you doing with that dirty monster?" "You know we can't be involved with humans!" "We don't take kindly to your type around here." Why can't people just leave you two be?
Facing Your Instinct: It's hard to be with someone when you want to suck their blood. Or eat their brains. Or possess them.
Because of Me: Your lover has been dragged into your fight or hurt by others of your kind. Now they're in the crossfire.
Standing Up For You: Hey, knock it off! I don't care what you think, he's perfect in my eyes.
You Don't Know You're Beautiful: The fluffy option where you're trying to make your loved one see just how much you care and how they're beautiful to you, no matter what.
Gifts: Show your affection with a gift from your culture.
Starting a Family: Can you even reproduce? Is it something you want to consider? Perhaps it's new ground to tread, so you'll have to be the first to think about it.
WILDCARD

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Anthro dog girl...thing. || Info here ]

[ worst hell creature that deserves no nice things. no actual fluff, please. ]

[ Bubble is a shape-shifting alien, which means she can look (and sound) like anyone or anything. Additionally, she prides herself on being a top-notch artist and does her best to provide a full fantasy for her partner/client. Neither gender nor species is of any real importance to her.

I prefer more consensual encounters on equal footing, since she is a sex worker in canon who doesn't seem too crazy about the prostitution aspect, but I'll play anything.

If you want her to imitate something in particular or a specific character that might be important to your character (ie, a love interest, a rival that's an object of ust, etc.), please link me a picture and shoot an info blurb my way.

Otherwise, she comes with Rihanna face by default. ]

[ I mean, if anyone... OTA if you're 18+ ]

[ i have this lady here, if you've an interest. i have a witch!verse and a vampire!verse both for her (although the latter isn't listed yet), or would be up for james being the one with fangs, either or. :) ]

[ Reading over her info, it sounds like they'd get along! Part of me thinks it'd be amusing if he were just a plain (lol) humie for this one for the power dynamic, but he could have the fangs and she could have magic if you wanted both? I know it's hard for me to choose.

Now as for their dynamic, it could be his typical spy playboy shit and trying to get some info out of her about her clients, but they could also be long-term FWB if you'd like the less nefarious route. Maybe they've done a few favors for each other in the past and she's a point of contact in his list? If this is set post-Skyfall she probably heard he was dead. ]

[ fangs are totes my jam, so him having those and her having witchy powers sounds amazing to me! (although really, james is awesome even as a plain old human, absolutely, but rng said both, so. maybe next time? ;D)

the latter dynamic sounds like a plan, although there can totally be nefarious shit involved there too, haha! dev's place is also a good hiding spot, if he ever needs one, and post Skyfall sounds perfect, given that particular nuance--maybe he needs a vacay or time to get over things? i'm super good with all the things, also. ]

[ Well it is James Bond and Bond is England's most accomplished hooker above everything else, so even though they're pals, if he needed something from her for a job... Well, he'd probably care more about her feelings than he usually does, but he'd betray her if he felt it was necessary. Maybe we can play with that later.

It's always nice to have a safe place to stay and lick your wounds. He's going to be a right mess since his mom just died in his arms pretty recently, so a vacay sounds good. The reunion could also be spicy if she thought for a hot second he was really dead hahaha. If you want, we could start with him either calling her or just showing up at her work? Probably to inform her that he's taking her out if the latter, like the shit he is. Or did you have another idea? ]

[ Dev's the same way, so she'd expect it, really, at some point. Probably be surprised if they didn't fuck each other over--figuratively--eventually.

I'm good for that scenario, and given that the entire manor went up in a really big explosion, and there were no survivors listed, even though she investigated with her own connections, somewhat more thorough than the "official" reports, she'd more than likely figure he went out with a fight, at least.

Spiciness isn't a problem in the least, and it might take his mind off of his grieving, somewhat, because yeah, having Mom quit this world in his arms was a pretty fucking traumatic thing, yo. Showing up would definitely have more of a shock value, and the good thing about being a witch is that she works from home, or he could find her out in the city somewhere, or just show up at her door, lol. Lmk know if this works and I'll toss out a starter! ]

[ It's just like Bond to just break into someone's house and be drinking their booze while he waits for them to come and notice him. We could start there if you're down! You can assume he's probably in a nice suit, maybe even a tux. Clearly if he is handsome he is above being reprimanded too badly, right? ]

[ there will be no reprimands, sir! just sincere relief and thankfulness that he's still breathing, whew! ]

Any witch with even a grain of good sense learned early in life to set wards around their places of residence. Locked doors, security systems, and even video surveillance were all well and good, of course, but witches didn't exactly spend all of their time on this plane of existence. Sometimes they ventured to others, and unfortunately, doing so tended to be akin to going through a revolving door.

Sometimes things came back with you.

So Devon had learned the ancient words of warding at her great-grandmother's knee, and by now it was practiced ritual to set them whenever she left her house for any reason. She felt safe, knowing her private sanctuary was secure from any and all intruders, physical or otherwise. Particularly since she kept a few 'special treasures' secreted about her abode which had no business ever returning to circulation.

When she returned home that evening, however, she immediately sensed a disturbance in the magical corona surrounding her residence. She felt its discordance, the unnatural weave of the magic, as if it had been disturbed but not broken. Immediately she went on full alert. There were only few creatures in all of existence capable of discording a Dun Broch witch's magic, and she couldn't fathom any reason one of them would be in her house.

A single word dissolved the warding magic, and Devon unlocked the door with the conventional key, opening it with enough noise to announce her arrival. Thieves tended to flee when surprised, she'd heard. But nothing stirred, and her careful examination of the townhouse's interior revealed no fiends from the aether lurking to devour her soul, but she knew someone--something--was here.

She crossed the hall from the dining room to the den, paused only a moment in flicking on the low lamps situated around the room, and gasped. She'd found her intruder. Seated quite calmly in "his" low armchair, a bottle of her finest Scotch open nearby and half-empty glass in his hand. Waiting. Still alive. Devon felt her breath catch and her heart nearly stop.

"...James--!"

Any spy worth his salt knew how to break into where he needed to be, if not by his own devices then through tools and manipulating other resources. The more skilled at various security methods they were, the better - and to be trusted by anyone, well, that was like getting themselves a skeleton key.

The thing about traditions, even magical ones, was that they were the easiest to crack. Old didn't always mean good in the spy world - mostly they meant exploitable. In the spy world, the longer a thing remained, the closer it got to being broken. Innovation was key to keeping out a spy.

Thus James Bond, one of England's oldest and prized spies, lounges in his armchair, swirling and sipping scotch that shouldn't be able to do a damn thing for him when it isn't integrated in someone else's bloodstream. Oh, he'd taken a little damage getting in here that should have killed a human, but he wasn't human; he was a vampire and that meant any poison and most curses fled from him like sweat did a mortal on a hot day. At this point pain, to him, was just a necessity of the job. And Devon was worth it. Maybe he'd missed the worst things because he wasn't trying to delve into her possessions tonight - he was merely trying to wait for her to come home.

"It's been a while," His voice is quiet but deep. He's smoking a cigarette and using one of the mugs from her kitchen to tap off the ash. She knows he quit it years ago, not because it hurt him anymore but because he needed to save his money for the vices and the living situations that were more important. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time. I was thinking I might take you out tonight. I know I'm a few dates in debt."

Blue eyes flicker to her, glowing unearthly pale in the darkness.

Edited 2018-02-04 09:01 (UTC)

"It's been two years--" she bit out before she could help it. Two years of mourning him, two years of sorrowing over the loss of quite probably the best friend she'd ever have. But then, a small voice reminded her, she ought to have known better. James Bond wasn't invincible, that she did know, but he was still damned hard to slow down and nearly impossible to stop.

She quirked an eyebrow as she spied the cigarette smoke--and using one of her good coffee mugs as an ashtray, the cheeky sot--and entertained a brief, very brief, vision of tossing him out on his ass in the cold, but it was dismissed as soon as she'd thought it. Nevertheless...

"The reports listed you as killed in action." The "official" reports, those from Mallory's files. Devon stepped further into her den, digging her fingernails into her palms to keep from running over and falling into his lap in a relieved, weeping tangle. Vampire or not, she didn't intend to let him off the proverbial hook that easily.

"Could you not find a phone, or perhaps a carrier pigeon, in the past twenty-four months?"

It was a testament to her sincerity, taking him to task for his absence. Despite their comfortable relationship, they had exchanged no promises, no vows; had simply been content to enjoy each other's company whenever possible, and leave emotional entanglements out of the picture. But Devon did, at least, care about him, which was the driving force behind her tart tone and mild censure.

She met those beautifully glowing eyes without hesitation or trepidation; if anything, a mild sort of exasperation. But James was James, that she well knew. "And just where did you have in mind, Mr. Bond?"

If it helped, he hadn't truly believed she'd given enough of a damn about him for two years worth of worrying? It definitely wasn't logical, putting up those kinds of defenses or hopes up when demonstrably he was subject to the whim of England... even the one which was currently smearing a few lesser spies over the telly for the sake of a dating game...

"How would I have possibly surprised you then, Miss Forrester?"

He's making the reality of his issues about her. He is a damn good spy, after all, though far from a perfect one. The pale lashes over his blue eyes flicker; he takes another drag off that cigarette. He has read her protests but he is now considering their merit. Maybe he's even stifling the little guilt it might have provoked.

"After your dinner, I wanted to take you to the casino, naturally. I've gotten myself a little dosh to burn."

He could lose the money in an instant - he's already made a budget for her tonight and that includes his life ( or unlife, as the case may be ) but he's a good gambler, she should know. He tends to win at cards and any game where it's less a thing of chance and more a game of bluffing.

"Did I catch you hungry, dear?"

He bats his eyes so very mildly, running his free hand down the length of a tuxedo-clad torso almost subconsciously before taking another sip of his cigarette. He dresses rather smartly when he occasions to, and tonight is such an occasion.

Devon wasn't entirely fooled. She was a witch, after all, and witches were experts in reading people. Even vampires. But entering into this sort of altercation was...wearying, and she was still a bit reeling from finding him hale and hearty, besides. Best to just...let bygones be bygones, and all that.

A gesture sparked the fire in the hearth to life, flickering golden light illuminating the vampire's shadowy corner. Devon exhaled a long sigh, but moved further to stand near his chair, reaching for and tugging on his hand to pull him out of it.

"I'm a bit peckish, at that," she admitted. "Perhaps something light, to start." The mention of gambling did bring a rue smile, however; she'd always enjoyed watching him play. But the mention of sustenance prompted her to inquire in turn, "And will you need to eat, as well?"

She'd never minded offering him her blood; the blood of a witch was a rich ambrosia, saturated with magic and could even be dangerously addictive to a vampire with a weak will. And it was a heady feeling, at that, feeling his teeth in her skin, usually not long after they'd tumbled into her large bed upstairs, both eager and hungry for each other in more ways than one.

The spark of fire in the hearth inspires a glance from the vampire - his sort must fear it, naturally, but James' interest was a distant thing, something that said 'I probably should have done that'. But he'd never been one who thought much about warmth, even when he was still mortal. The cold and the dreary rain of Britain was well endowed in him as the status quo.

"I did have a little something on the ride over, but if you'd be up for it..." His blue eyes flicker back to her. His lips curl a suggestive little smile. "I could eat."

He did love her blood since he'd been privy to its taste, just as much as he'd always enjoyed the scent of her in and out of carnal thrall, if not more. James doesn't necessarily have a weak will... but he does have a rather addictive personality. He doesn't need any part of the vices he's playing at now, but they do give him a little comfort. He suspects maybe her company will too.

In his heart of hearts, he does know he needs it.

"Would you like a drink before we go?"

He nods towards the bottle of scotch, as if it's his and not wholly, in fact, hers.

Edited 2018-02-04 19:26 (UTC)

Devon nodded, letting him pour her a good one, and taking the glass without hesitation. "I'm hardly dressed for an outing, love," she remarked, gesturing to her oversized sweater and leggings. "Let me change and do something with my hair," other than a messy ponytail, honestly, "and we'll be off."

She tossed back the whiskey--the situation called for a certain fuzziness, she felt--and giving the vampire a softly lingering kiss, headed upstairs to raid her closet for something to wear. No stranger to dressing to impress, experience lent her swift hands, and it was perhaps only half an hour before Devon descended from upstairs, green eyes still bright and lips breathlessly parted in exuberance.

"There," she remarked, twirling lightly. "I trust I'm acceptable now, hm?"

She'd offer a vein later, once they'd returned to the safety of her townhouse. She had no desire to stumble lightheaded and woozy about town all the night long, and after twenty-four months? He could wait.

"Take your time," Bond replies, ever so graceful and accepting of her protests about not looking presentable to go out. It's not like he actually came here expecting her in prime form. He'd have called ahead if he'd wanted that.

He likes seeing the witch a little out of sorts. It makes him feel better about himself, awful as that is. Her little sweater and leggings are so domestic, and damn if it isn't sexy for someone who rarely sees the reality behind the veneer.

James takes her kiss and barely represses the urge to make it more than the fleeting, consoling thing it is. God, but he needs Devon. He needs her strength. It's why he's here.

She returns to him in red and Bond can't help but think it's meant to be anything but a temptation. Devon does deserve some revenge against him - in fact she deserves a hell of a lot more than a slinky cocktail dress that's making him bite his lower lip.

"It'll do."

By which means he's looking forward to peeling or tearing this little number off of her, after their foreplay of a meal and gambling.

Edited 2018-02-04 23:29 (UTC)

Perhaps she had dressed with a little bit of temptation in mind--not that they usually needed any, honestly--but there might indeed have been a touch of feminine retribution involved in her outfit of choice. Devon took more than a little delight to see those lovely blue eyes brighten as they roved over her, definitely hungry.

But he'd opted for dinner and a little gambling beforehand, so she took his arm with fond alacrity and stepped out into the cool London evening. As promised, he provided her with exquisite food and champagne, and talk remained light, teasing, as it had always been between them, words not really necessary for understanding.

Later, she'd lounged at first near the bar, then later reclining on his knee, as he won hand after hand of cards, raking in quite a substantial amount, more than she'd witnessed him winning in a long time. Must have been her magical influence, she'd teased lightly, earning a pinch and a discreet nip for her humor.

She entreated him to carry her up to her door, however, insisting that her shoes were pinching her toes too tightly and she didn't want to ruin her stockings on the wet steps. A word and a gesture released the wards and Devon twisted around in James' grip to key open the door, pushing it open before returning her arms back about his neck and placing her lips to his cheek, a promissory kiss.

"Mmmm..." she murmured against his cool skin as they stepped inside, James kicking the door closed, "...you can put me down now, if you like..."

London was a world he'd come to know more or less as his home. He did know the ins and outs here, knew where they could go and be welcomed as esteemed guests. Was he showing off? Maybe a little. He did want her to have a good time, after all.

And he won the hand tonight with an almost disappointing ease. There was no Le Chiffre across from him tonight, no real agenda to sort. He only won the sort of money to fund his vices and the next year's rent for his flats.

He does carry her, after at least a little teasing protest and doubt about it to make her more insistent he does. They get back into the apartment and her statement provokes a little bark of a laugh.

"You recover quickly," James notes, his tone playful and knowing. She'd just wanted him to carry her like a bride up the way, he thinks. He carries her on, though, to his armchair, where he makes to drape Devon. He moves to gently whittle off those heels, one after the other, letting them clunk onto the floor. Bending at the hips, he presses a kiss to her stocking-clad knee and lets a gun-rough hand soothe up her ankle and down. He does make to gently roll his thumb into the ball of her foot, soothing under the pinched toes.

"Better?" He wonders, straightening up. Bond doesn't mind giving her a little foot-rub; he can tell she might be a little needy for him elsewhere and drawing it out a little... well, that's control even if it is generous.

Her feet hadn't really been hurting all that much, but Devon always enjoyed finagling James into the little things, such as carrying her from the car to her front door. And it was absolutely worth it to be gently deposited into "his" large leather armchair, have her shoes taken off and her feet given the royal treatment, so to speak.

She giggled softly at his machinations, idly wondering if this was part of his "apology", but not really caring either way. Wiggling her toes in their sheer casing, Devon cheekily reached out with one leg and hooked her foot behind James's knee, arching a playful eyebrow.

"Much better," she purred happily. She waved a hand, adding, "Come down here, I dislike you being so far over there." Perhaps the unusual amount of champagne she'd drunk all the night long had loosened any inhibitions she customarily held, or perhaps she'd simply missed the sodding bastard just that much.

Her giggles do prompt a larger expression out of him, a self-satisfied smirk shifting into a much warmer smile. He really doesn't mind being good to his lovers sometimes. Her foot hooking behind his knee prompts him to actually regard her face.

James takes her request into account but does stray a little longer to run his hand up to expertly pop the little digits of her toes on one foot. He does the other set too, just without the same foreplay.

Then he does lean over the arm of the leather chair, forcing her legs slightly open around his hips, and makes to kiss her. It's a decadent, lingering thing. When he breaks, it's to lay a few kisses down her throat on the way to her sternum. His hands slide up, making to pull the fabric of the dress down from her shoulders.

"Can you dim the lights a bit more?" He gives the witch a request, before he sucks the start of a pulse at the top of one of her breasts, skin that is still apparent above her dress tonight.

She squeaked when her toes popped, but welcomed him into her arms regardless, unabashed at hooking her knees around James's hips, dress hiking to accommodate her wiggling. Devon returned the kiss with definite interest, endeavoring to coax him back for another or two, but acceded when he began working the top of her dress off of her shoulders. There was a discreet zipper hidden on the side, but this was far more enjoyable. By far.

A brief whisper of her magic granted his request, the lamps flicking off and leaving the parlor shrouded with only the fire in the grate throwing golden shadows across the room. Then that talented mouth commanded the rest of her attention, the witch's back arching and her head falling back with a warm, soft moan, and her own hands feathering lightly over his head, down the nape of his neck and settling briefly on broad shoulders, fitted so well beneath that tailored jacket.

[ up for an alien ex-assassin? ]

[ Oh my god yes please. Let me know if you need any help coming up with a starter! ]

[ rng gave me 4 which seems kind of perfect? i'm totally game for them having met on earth or in space. maybe they had to team up together for something? i'm seriously game for anything. ]

[ That does seem perfect. Teaming up in the past sounds like a good plan - maybe they were even competitors over some macguffin but they ended up joining for survival or because they hated everyone else more than they wanted to kill each other, and got closer that way? I'm definitely fine with the thought they launched Bond out into space because lol like he's got any real limits. Now tho... I guess he was told he could screw any aliens he needed to for a job. but is still being reviled and disciplined against keeping even a semi-regular thing while he's away from Earth? Honestly typical England. ]