Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel, DC, the 2014 movie, Lucy or The 100
Warnings for mass murder, regular sexual assault and force feeding.
Sort of a not good sequel to Awaiting the inevitable. Could be changed and have alternate sequels done instead.
The feast of blood and pleasure
It was a beautiful night, darkness bathing the landscape, the stars sparkled above in the blanket of blackness, but it was a dour night for one certain young woman. Although, that could be debatable, she had found. A young blonde woman by the name of Clarke Griffin.
To her, there was never a day which was beautiful, since they day when her mother's life was stolen.
Her mother, who Clarke admittedly could confess, perhaps did not love her. Clarke recalled how her mother had treated her.
And that was not the way a loving parent gave their child care.
Abby Griffin, Clarke's biological mother, had not loved her daughter. Clarke knew this. But knowing that her mother no longer lived, hurt her deeply.
But twin passions existed within her.
A passion of pain and sadness.
And a passion of glee. Of satisfaction.
Her mother had never loved her. That was perchance why she was so pleased. Her mother never loved her. And now her mother was no longer in this world.
It made her happy, but wasn't it proof that she was a smear on her family's name to feel such a way?
Not that it mattered any longer.
Her mother was dead. Everyone, but her friend, Wells Jaha, who had come down in the dropship years ago, were dead. Everyone, but Callie Cartwig, who had come down in the Ark, were dead.
All of them murdered. Their throats sliced open with the most cruel and sharp of claws. Their blood drunk by the most wicked and hungry of maws.
Gone were the people who Clarke had known and grown up with on the Ark. Gone were those who had come down with her in the dropship.
And she loathed herself for being happy, knowing that.
She should never be pleased by that. Never. But she was.
She remembered how the assaults had gone on and on. She had been told as many times as the people of the Ark and the dropship had the chance to, that she was a "waste of space." That she was "worthless." That she was "unwanted."
It was the same message which she received regularly from her biological mother.
Clarke had tried so hard to prove that she was worthy of the love of others. But she could never receive the love she wanted.
She was only loved, if she did as they wanted.
Abby Griffin's love, like the love of most of those on the Ark and most of those on the dropship, was the ultimate conditional love.
She was unlovable in their eyes, unless she did as they said. And even then? It was never enough.
Which was why perhaps, she knew that she should be happier than she was.
But a mass of her somberness, was not just because of all the deaths around her.
It was because she couldn't forgive herself.
She was a monster.
She knew that. She was turned into a vampire, as soon as all of those around her were killed.
Those that had slaughtered and fed on those around her, were vampires. That was what they were.
And they had made Clarke into one of them, against her will.
And they had shown her exactly wat their idea of love was.
The vampires who had turned her; nineteen women named Niylah kom Trikru, Maria Hill, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, Diana Prince, Wanda Maximoff, Shayera Hol, Brunnhilde, Lucy Romanoff-Natasha's half sister, Mari McCabe, Tora Olafsdotter, Pepper Potts, Beatriz da Costa, Helena Bertinelli, Dinah Lance, Sigrid Nansen, Melina Vostokoff, Carol Danvers and Hela Odinsdotter, were more than happy to give her eternal life, and to give her all of their love.
Clarke had heard of sexual overstimulation. But had never experienced it before the vampires who as it turned out, were Clarke's mates, had violated her repeatedly that night.
And she was loathe to admit that she had enjoyed every moment.
They had taken her and taken her; their fingers thrusting into her; into her mouth, into her cunt, into her anal hole.
Their tongues had been next, probing and thrusting.
Then it had been the various toys they had at their disposal.
They had cloaked her with silk blankets, wrapped her up between them, pressed them into their soft flesh, their warmth, and had made her know endless painful pleasure.
That night, Clarke had wept in pleasure and had enjoyed every action they had taken, though she hated herself for it.
Wells and Callie were vampires now, as well.
Clarke, much as she wished she could hate her mates, she could not, for she both felt the connection with them, had felt it, as soon as she had seen them, after she was turned into one of them, and because they had kept Wells and Callie alive and had turned them, for Clarke's sake.
Wells and Callie both wished to resist Clarke's mates, to protect Clarke, but Clarke and Wells and Callie all were sired by the same vampires.
They did not have the power to go against those that had made them.
For all Clarke's resentment of her nineteen mates, she had seen much which had fed her soul.
There was much of the world which she had witnessed now, all thanks to her mates, who would happily take her to any country that she wanted, should she so ask.
She had seen beauty unlike any she had ever imagined witnessing, back on the Ark.
But it didn't hold back the pain of the betrayal that her mates had caused her. They had won her trust, then had broken it; shattered it into pieces.
There was one thing which Clarke would not allow her mates to force her to do.
To feed.
Clarke learned that vampires didn't die immediately from not feeding. Not even new vampires.
It took years for vampires to die of hunger, even young ones like Clarke.
Wells and Callie had fed, though they only fed on animals and on blood bags.
But Clarke hadn't fed yet.
And she could see how it was killing her mates. And this? This brought Clarke such pleasure that she didn't dare utter it.
She could see the pain, the sadness in her mates' eyes as they watched her become more and more emaciated.
Clarke's friend and brother, Wells, and Callie, the woman who was more of a mother to her than her biological mother, Abby used to be, even had pleaded with Clarke to feed, even if it was only from blood bags.
But Clarke couldn't. She refused, strongly.
She couldn't feed. And if her mates were grieving her possible foreseeable death because of it? All the better, right?
But it seemed that her mates had reached their limit.
Upon finding Clarke almost emaciated to the point of death, finding her asleep in her bed, barely strong enough to lift herself up? Clarke's mates snapped.
There were a series of snarls around Clarke, waking her up, waking her in time to see their glowing, enraged eyes as they lunged for her.
Lucy as the first to grab her. Lucy grabbed her left arm and dragged Clarke up.
Mari and Lucy held Clarke between them. Shayera and Niylah each raised one of their hands, their other hands going to their wrists, allowing their claws to extend out, becoming as sharp as knifepoints and slicing their wrists open, letting dark blood seep out of the wounds.
Clarke's eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen, and she struggled against the grip of both Mari and Lucy.
But it was no use.
She was much younger than all of them. And even if she wasn't? She had starved herself for years now.
She was far too weak in body to fight them, even if her spirit bore steel.
She felt her waist being grabbed and held fast and she looked behind her to find Natasha holding her tightly.
Shayera and Niylah both stepped forward.
Niylah's hand, which retracted its claws, took hold of Clarke's chin and forced the young woman to look at her.
The young blonde vampire was helpless, as Niylah raised her slashed wrist and forced the blood from her wound, down Clarke's mouth.
Clarke was starving. Her hunger knew no bounds, and so when she smelled that delectable liquid of someone's life source? She couldn't hold the animal inside her back any longer.
Clarke snarled and opened her mouth, fangs slipping out, the blood flowing down her throat as Clarke's eyes closed and she loosed a low rumble from her mouth.
The blood overflowed her mouth, but she cared not.
Behind Clarke, several of her mates laughed, at last witnessing their young mate feed.
If feeding from her sires and mates was what it took for Clarke to at last break this absurd fast which she had inflicted upon herself?
Then so be it.
But they would make it far more worth Clarke's while than just being fed, oh, yes they would.
They approached where Lucy, Mari, Niylah, Shayera and Natasha had Clarke captive.
Yelena, Wanda and Melina stood by and Natasha, Mari, Lucy, Niylah and Shayera noticed Yelena pushing her fingers into her mouth, slathering her three fingers up and they chuckled, all too aware of what was about to happen.
Which was why Niylah moved back as she fed Clarke her blood, allowing Yelena to reach her hand into Clarke's pants, fingers gently pushing into Clarke's cunt, stroking and spreading.
Clarke's moans turned soon into broken screams as she bucked into Yelena's hand.
At Clarke's ecstasy laden cries, all of Clarke's mates with her, grinned, chuckling.
Shayera couldn't resist; she walked around Clarke, her hand which was not bleeding and retracted her claws, reached up to her mouth, put two fingers into her mouth and lubricated them, then pulled her fingers out and reached behind Clarke, between Clarke and Natasha, and pushed her hand down Clarke's pants, hand brushing down Clarke's buttocks, and pushing both those fingers into Clarke's anal channel.
Clarke whimpered, then cried out as the stimulation continued and the laughing continued into the night.
Oh, all of Clarke's mates knew that they had done something utterly deplorable to her, but they knew they could offer so much more that would make her pleasure and happiness far outweigh any regrets they had.
And they would prove to her that it was worth it.
Author's note
Originally meant for it to be daylight in this fic, but for some reason decided to make it night. I have no idea what I'm even doing with these fics.