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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Cold Hearted ( But I still want it)

Taehyung x Oc

Organized Crime AU !

Violence, Sexually Explicit Content, abusive undertones.

Unhealthy relationships.

“I’m meeting Jimin at that club in Itaewon for lunch. The new one. Keep the Aston Martin ready. I’ll drive myself.” Taehyung’s deep voice echoed through the room and his deputy hastened to acknowledge the order, a curt nod and quick phone call soon after.

I glanced at my husband, expectant.

“Take me with you.” I whispered, soft because he hated it when I raised my voice.

He didn’t reply.

At least not to me.

“Just me. My lovely wife will be dining by herself in her room . Maybe then, she’ll remember what happens when she blatantly disobeys me. ” He barely spared me a glance and i clenched my fists.

I hadn’t gotten out of this god forsaken place in a month. I felt stir-crazy and trapped. It was a punishment, a way he controlled me and i hated it but I also hated myself for giving him a reason to punish me.

It had been a reckless act of rebellion, done in a moment of frustrated anger and i had regretted it almost at once.

I’d been upset because Taehyung had been ignoring me for work. i had missed him. Missed being in his arms, missed lounging around his office. Sitting on his lap while he held meetings in the large conference rooms.

A quick kiss with some stranger in a pub was all it was supposed to be. Just to remind my husband what he was missing out on.

But the idiot hadn’t taken no for an answer, had tried to push me into a bathroom stall and Taehyung had found me like that, screaming my head off with some drunk off his ass idiot trying to yank my dress up.

It hadn’t ended prettily.

The man had begged for forgiveness and so had I.

But Taehyung wasn’t one to forgive and now, thanks to my impulsive act, a man lay dead at the bottom of the Han and i was locked in this house for a month.

The bruises from that night, when he’d tied me up to the bed and fucked me so hard I cried, still decorated my thighs and hips.

But apparently, it wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t done punishing me yet.

The resentment was all consuming.

The simmering hurt, that feeling of being considered worthless, of being seen as a fucking toy... of being looked at like I didn’t deserve his attention..it always swelled and swelled till I snapped.

And then he would punish me for doing exactly what he had wanted me to do.....right until I snapped again . it was a vicious cycle.

how dare he. How fucking dare he.

I stared down at the man kneeling in front of me, his gaze dripping with lust as he carefully rubbed liniment on my feet, fingers soft and gentle as he massaged the balls of my feet. His touches were reverent and worshipful almost, like he’s touching something valuable.

He also looked like he wanted to stick my toes inside his mouth.

The pig.

I’d wanted to go out to get my hair done , a manicure and a pedicure. But Taehyung had shut that down. Apparently the lecherous fool on his knees before me owned some expensive salon in the city.

Taehyung was still angry, and apparently he had meant it when he said he wasn’t letting me out of the house till i learned a lesson.

I hated him. But I had only acted out because I loved him and missed him and it was confusing. Infuriating.

I grabbed the soft fur throw on the back of the couch and wrapped it around me.

I exhaled sharply, looking away to the side, where my husband sat behind his desk, long legs propped up and stretched out like a jaguar on one of the lavishly crafted tables, dressed in a white shirt and a black jacket.

The shirt was snow-white unlike the blood that stained his fingers. The same fingers that were wrapped around a gun, the bullets out, the safety on as he carefully ran the muzzle up and down his torso. The gun was pretty much a prop with him.

Kim Taehyung did not use guns.

He used his knife.

I was broken out of my thoughts when a finger traced up my ankle and up my shin, right to the inside of my knee. And then further up to my thigh .

The touch foreign and unwelcome made me jump.

“Leave. Get the fuck away from me.” I snarled as I pulled my leg away, no longer stomaching the man’s touch. He was being blatantly lewd in his touches and i didn’t want it.

Taehyung gave me a lazy look, clearly startled by my voice, breaking the stillness of early morning.

“That better not be directed at me, princess.”

I swallowed.

“No..I...he...” I pointed at the man on the floor who seemed to have suddenly realized what he had just done. He held his hands up, eyes blown wide with fear.

My husband looked to us, eyes landing on the man giving me a pedicure.

Taehyung smelled fear like a shark sensed blood in the water and I saw him straighten, eyes narrowed, body thrumming.

“Is something wrong?” His gaze shifted to mine and I didn’t miss the way his fingers fluttered to his waist, where his trusty dagger stayed holstered to his hip.

I swallowed.

It was seven in the fucking morning.

Way too early to see some poor bastard lose his entire hand for groping the wife of the biggest mob boss in South Korea.

“Nothing. I’m just tired of your sick little games! ” I snapped , syllables coated with anger and that’s bold even for me. Bold and reckless and possibly a little suicidal.

Lashing out at Taehyung in front of his sub-ordinates, acting out in front of his men. Its a big no no and I hate myself because surely, surely I’ve made things worse for myself.

Taehyung’s brow rose.

“Leave us. “ He said harshly.

The men in the room didn’t need to be told twice. I watched as they scurried out with a speed that was impressive. Icy dread washed over me as I drew my knees up to my chest, wrapped both arms around my legs and crawled back into the couch as he stood up so fast , the chair he was in went crashing to the wall.

Tongue sandpaper dry and eyes wide, I leaned back fully, staring at him as he slowly walked over, face still and serene and perfectly beautiful and altogether terrifying.

“I think... I’ve been going too easy on you, little one..” He said gently, tone softly lilting and I closed my eyes when he reached out, fingers closing around my jaw, squeezing hard.

“I’m sorry....” I blurted out , because futile though it was , apologizing, I couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if I didn’t.

He hummed.

“Your father’s dead. “ He said casually.

My heart leapt up into my throat and I scrambled to get up but he held me down , pressing me into the couch with his weight as he began yanking on the buttons of my blouse.

“Taehyung!! Why?! “ I whimpered. “ You promised...you promised you wouldn’t kill him!” I sobbed when yanked the silk fabric off my body, leaving me naked from the waist up. He grabbed my arms, turning me over till I was face down over the armrest , breasts pressed into the rough fabric of the couch as he made quick work of the rest of my clothes.

Taehyung loved fucking me naked when he was fully clothed. It was his way of reminding just how different the two of us were.

“And i didn’t! “ He grunted, yanking my skirt and panties down with ease.” Jimin did, when your father tried to plant a mole in his drug team.”

I flinch when he gripped my thighs hard, spreading my legs.

And then it all happened too fast : the clink of his belt buckle , the pull of his zipper and then the hard length of him, pushing in, splitting me open as he bottomed out inside me.

Taehyung draped himself over me, every inch of him covering every inch of mine, the fabric of his silk shirt soft against my bare back and I flinched when he took the end of his tie, still knotted around his neck and stuffed it into my mouth, gagging me.

The harsh pull of his fingers in my hair left me reeling and I screamed, sound muffled by the thick wad of the fabric in my mouth .

He kept his grip on my hair taut, yanking my head back just enough to sink his teeth into the curve of my neck, knees braced on the couch as he fucked into me in controlled thrusts, each push of his hips rubbing my body raw.

“Know who’s taking over after your father?” He hissed, hand leaving my hair to wrap around my neck and squeeze.

I whimpered when he pressed in just a little harder, hips jerking forward with a vengeance, enough force to move the hardwood oak couch we were on. The same couch that had taken four people to carry in.

“Jeon Jungkook.” He snarled and I whimpered when his hands fumbled with his waist, my eyes going wide as I tilted my head, watched him grab the dagger out of its leather sheath.

Oh god...oh god no...

Was he going to kill me? Slit my throat?

Fear rendered me witless and I buked wildly, trying to throw him off but it was impossible . He was too damn heavy and too damn strong.

“Remember him? Your precious boyfriend? “ He sneered , licking the skin behind my ear, lewd and disgusting as he sucked a hickey on the sensitive skin. “ The wonderful young man you were supposed to marry? Kind, generous Jungkookie who was going to become a surgeon and rescue you from this cruel world of crime you were born into?? ”

I sobbed out at the sharp pang of hurt that lanced my heart. Long buried memories surfaced and I had to bite my lips to keep them down , to stop my mind from splintering into tiny broken pieces.

“Guess the lure of the darkness was too much for your little bunny after all.... He’s going to be a gangster. He’s going to be a murderer and a monster and the best thing...he’s going to be just ....like...me...” He hissed, and I shrieked, when brought the dagger down, slowly carefully, till the sharp edge of it rested right over the skin , just behind my ear.

I felt the touch of the knife edge on my skin and closed my eyes. The sting was sharp and excruciating and i closed my eyes in agony and although I couldn’t see it, I knew exactly what he was carving into my skin. The slanting lines, one and then another.

I felt the sharp pain of the cut on my neck, just as he pulled the dagger away, my head throbbing as I felt wetness bead over my neck and spill, staining scarlet the couch beneath my head.

“There. Now you wear my mark.” He whispered, kissing the back of my neck. “ And now you’ll wear me.”

He lifted himself up off me and before I could process what was happening he flipped me over, grabbing my leg and throwing it over his shoulder before fucking into me, hard and fast.

“He’s going to start a war, i hear. A war over you. He wants you back , my love and I find myself hating the thought of losing you...” He hissed, fingers playing with my nipples, tugging and pinching till my eyes watered.

I felt my eyes rolling into the back of my head, pleasure blooming against my will and I whimpered when he pulled the tie out of my mouth, replacing it with his tongue.

Taehyung kissed me gently, a contrast to how he fucked into me and I felt myself unravel in his arms, body spasming as he pressed his thumb against the bundle of nerves at my entrance,.

“You’re mine little one ...” He whispered against my lips as I came , clenching down around his hardness, my breath loud and raspy and ruined. “ You’re mine and he can’t have you!!!”

I found myself breathless and choking as he chased his own pleasure, hips ruthless as he rammed into me and I dug my fingers into the couch, as he gripped my waist, hard enough to bruise .

He shuddered as he came, spilling into me in a sticky wet mess that made my thighs damp and I could only tremble like a leaf caught in a storm.

It took me a second to realize that he was fully clothed and I was naked.

I shook as he pulled up and away from me. Grabbing my clothes, I made to move but his fingers caught my wrists.

“No.” He said sharply, glaring at me .

I swallowed.

“Tae...”

“Drop that and come sit on me cock.”

I felt my eyes tear up in protest.

“Please, don’t...”

“Didn’t you fucking hear me.” He sat back on the couch and I watched as he casually stroked his dick again, still half hard.

Shaking, I moved to stand in front of him, letting him maneuver me till I was sitting on his lap, straddling his hips, the warm thickness of his cock slipping into my wetness with ease.

“Stay that way, “ He whispered, pulling me closer till I lay on his chest, cheeks pressed against the fabric of his shirt.

I gripped his shirt on the sides, fingers and legs trembling. He threw the fur throw on the both of us, covering my body from just below my shoulder blades.

“Is he here?” He called out suddenly and I stiffened.

Who?

“He’s here sir.”

“Send him up.”

I felt my entire body go stiff.

No. No.

“If you fucking move, the love of your life will leave this room in a body bag.” Taehyung whispered softly.

I sobbed.

After a three whole years , this wasn’t how i wanted to see him.

Footsteps behind me and then the sharp , sharp intake of breath.

“Taehyung.”

Jungkook’s voice rang through the room and I closed my eyes.

“Jungkook-ah..... Such a pleasure. Please excuse my wife, she’s still a little exhausted from.... stuff.” He chuckled. “ Sit down . What can I do for you?”

“She’s bleeding.” Jungkook’s voice was shaking.

I startled.

Taehyung hummed, thoughtful.

He ran his fingers over the cut behind my ear, gently and i winced .

“This? Just a way to remind her ....and everyone else...that she’s mine.” Taehyung smiled.

Jungkook’s chuckle was so familiar and so soft and I fought the urge to turn around and look at him. I couldn’t If I did. If I saw his face I would break down entirely.

“Nothing is permanent hyung. Not in our world. What’s yours today can be mine tomorrow. Isn’t that how it works? .”

Taehyung stiffened, gripping me harder around the waist.

“You’re being rude, jagiya . Greet our guests.” Taehyung hissed, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to turn around and I sobbed out in shock, scrambling for the fur throw as it fell off my body, clutching it to my breasts as I stared at Jungkook.

He looked devastated , eyes pained and brimming with hurt for one second before going obsidian with rage.

“I’m going to fucking destroy you for this, Taehyung. " Jungkook swore. “ I’m going to tear you limb from limb, bury you six feet under and piss on your fucking grave, you son of a whoring bitch,.”

Taehyung merely chuckled.

“I look forward to it , Jungkookie.” He said carelessly, hugging me closer. “ Now leave. I intend to enjoy the company of my wife. You should get one for yourself, doctor. They make perfect playthings. “

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s note : Well... its a one shot but I hope you guys liked it !!

#taehyung smut #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #taehyung gang au #bts gang au #taehyung fic #bts smut #bts au #bts smut fic #bts fanfic #bts fics

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popcornaddict500 · 3 years

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A little trinket shop

-Here we have a little drabble with Volaris, and @bastart13 's lovely apprentice Abosede. <3

1212 words, more under cut.

“Here’s the clay you ordered, Illume.”

“Thanks, just set it down there,” Volaris said, smiling at the delivery boy.

With a huff, the boy set the big pack down and left the shop.

It was silent, save for the soft sound of carving. Volaris sat at his desk, black hair tied in a bun. He was carving a crow out of a small block of wood. Occasionally he muttered something to himself, or brushed at his stubble. His lilac eyes flicked around the room.

A cup of hot coffee was on his desk. The entire surface of it was littered with tools, shavings and leftover pieces of clay. ‘I’ll clean it up,’ Volaris said. But he still hadn’t gotten to it... A single lantern stood on the counter.

There weren’t many customers that day, but he wasn’t bothered. He liked lazing around.

The shop wasn’t very big, but it was full. The shelves were full of figures, mostly animals or creatures, but also trinkets and decorative tiles. Most were made of clay. Not all of them were painted, but some were. Others were made of polished wood. A bunch of them were made of metal, mostly the ones you could hang from your ceiling. There were also some items made with jewels or crystals.

A dragon the height of his desk stood on a pedestal, near a corner. It was fully made of hardened white clay, and there were many details. That took him weeks to complete. He didn’t paint it, because he worried that it’d ruin his hard work. Paint wasn’t always an improvement.

“Hmm.. Where’s the black paint…” Vol dug around in a cabinet on the floor. “Not here…” He accidentally kicked a bucket over, and wood shavings poured out. “Damn-”

The little bell hanging on top of the door rang, and someone walked in. Volaris jumped and knocked his head against the cabinet.

“Hrk-! Oww!” He clutched his head with a groan.

“Oh! Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah. I’m good, don’t worry.” He got to his feet and blinked at the stranger. But he needed to look up. “...H-Hey there.”

He’d never seen this person before. So tall! He swallowed, straightening himself out a bit.

“Welcome to my shop, miss-...?” He tilted his head.

“Abosede.” she smiled. He gave a slight grin in return. “Nice to meet you, I’m Volaris.” He bowed his head and went to sit back at his desk.

He couldn’t help but be embarrassed though. He must’ve looked like an idiot… He shook his head and returned his attention to what he was working on before. Ah, but damn, he still hadn’t found the paint. He got up again to search for it.

“Wooow.. Where did you find these?” The visitor asked, looking at the shelves and gently running her fingers along some of the figures.

“Uh, I made them,” He responded, face buried in a dusty closet.

“You made them?” Abosede looked impressed, although he couldn’t see.

“Well, yes. I’m working on a bunch more as we speak!” He peeked at her with a grin, pulling out a bottle of black paint, along with a small can of iridescent powder.

“What are you making now, then?” She got closer to the desk to take a look.

“A crow… and a black cat.” He held up one of the figures to show her.

“It’s so detailed… Impressive.” She turned one of the pieces over in her hands.

“Heh, thank you.” He fiddled with his carving knife. “What brings you to my humble shop?” He glanced up at her with a smile. Beautiful, he thought. Vol looked away when she caught his gaze. He wasn’t usually this awkward.

“Well, I was told a gifted crafter lived here somewhere. Looks like I found him!” Abosede beamed.

“Aw, I’m not that good..” Volaris tried not to blush. “You flatter me, miss.”

“But look at all your work! You should give yourself more credit.” She patted his shoulder. This time he did blush.

“You’re too nice… but thank you.” He glanced up at her before returning his attention to painting. “...Have you ever made stuff yourself?”

“Oh, all the time! I love crafting!”

“Ah! Then you must know how nice it is! it’s quite calming to me.”

She nodded. “Yes, I can totally understand that.”

“What do you usually make?” He looked up at her with a grin, dusting some blue, iridescent powder on the crow’s wings.

“I weave and embroider a lot. I also carve, like you do… Oh, and beadwork too! But that’s just to name a few.” Abosede made a thoughtful noise and leaned on the desk to look at his work.

“Ohh, I’ve wanted to try weaving for a while… But I don’t get a lot of time,” He hummed. “But gosh, that’s amazing! You must be very talented!” He smiled, setting the finished figure down on the edge of his counter. “I’d love to see sometime. I don’t meet a lot of folks who enjoy crafting too..”

“No?” Abosede turned to look at some more of the figures.

“Nope. Where I’m from, where I used to live, there were hardly any crafters. Most people were just merchants or farmers. My dad made pottery, though.”

“Hmm, I’ve met a bunch of crafters and handworkers in this city though,” Abosede said, peeking on one of the higher shelves.

“Hah, well… I’m not too good at finding things. Or people.” Volaris chuckled.

“Ooh! Is this a crane…?” She picked up one of the figures.

“Could you show it?” He leaned a bit closer, holding out his hand. She gave it to him. “Mrm. Yes, indeed. This is a red-crowned crane.” He gave it back to her with a musical hum.

“Oh, I love it. It’s so detailed!” She ran her fingers along the delicate lines.

“Heh, I’m glad! That piece was actually requested by a patron. But multiple people liked it, so it’s a part of my collection now.”

She stared at him for a moment. “You take requests?”

“Uh, sure? I can make a custom made one for you, if you’d like that.” Volaris tilted his head.

Abosede grinned. “In that case,” she began, reaching into her pocket. “Do you think you could make one of these?”

She showed him a picture of her familiar, a crested crane.

“Ooh! Sure, I haven’t made one of those before… But it shouldn’t be too hard. Is that your familiar?”

“Mhm! Her name is Ife.” She beamed.

“Ah, lovely. Sure, I could do that. Give me about 3 days. Would you like it in clay, or wood? And would you like it painted?” Vol blinked curiously.

“If you could make it out of wood, that’d be great. And you can paint it, if you’d like.”

He nodded, taking a sheet of paper, and writing it down. “Mind if I borrow the picture until it’s done?”

“Sure.”

Vol stretched and pinned the paper on a clasp. “Gotcha,” He chuckled. He looked up at her. “Hey, maybe next time you visit, you could show me some of your works? I bet it’s all beautiful.” He smiled and rested his head on his hand.

“Oh, you’d like to see? I can do that.” Abosede hummed.

“Hm-hm. Then I’ll await your next visit, dear.”

#my writing #volaris #drabble #apprentice abosede #❤❤❤#This was really fun to write uwu

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laurenairay · 4 years

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Pumpkin Carving - A. Burakovsky

Summary: carving pumpkins with your boyfriend Andre and your nieces gets a little competitive.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: minor injury (nothing serious, but a little blood), super cuteness

A/N: Burky is such an adorable goofball, I love him 💚

“Did you seriously injure yourself carving a pumpkin?” - prompt is from this list - one of the autumn/fall stories I promised myself I would write. Written after encouragement from @jamiedrysdales - and thank you to @itsbadgerbadgermushroom for hyping me up with this one! 💖

~~~

Any time you could spend with your nieces was a blessing. Now that you’d graduated college and were working full time, the amount you saw them had massively decreased, so the weekends that you were able to, you definitely took advantage of being the best aunt you could be. This weekend was only a few days before Halloween, meaning it was time for your annual pumpkin carving competition – every year your two nieces would each draw a design in marker pen on their pumpkin and you plus another adult would do the actual carving for them (usually their mom). Whoever had the ‘best’ design would ‘win’ (of course they both got a prize) – it was just a silly little bit of fun but you treasured the family tradition.

This year you’d roped your boyfriend Andre into helping.

He’d only met your nieces a few times in the year that you’d been dating, the schedules not really having worked out, but as soon as you’d suggested the pumpkin carving he was all in. He’d arrived at your apartment nearly an hour before your nieces were due to arrive, buzzing with excitement (and maybe a little too much caffeine), to help you set up the carving stations.

Oh yes, you took things that seriously.

Either side of your dining table you set up old newspapers, 2 medium sized pumpkins, 2 thick markers and 2 thin markers, as well as the small pumpkin carving knives that you and Andre would use.

“Will this bowl do?”

You whipped your head around, smiling at the plastic bowl your boyfriend had brought in from the kitchen. That size would be just about right, good job Andre.

“Yes, perfect for the guts,” you nodded.

“Guts?!” Andre yelped.

You couldn’t help but giggle, making him blush deeply.

“The insides of the pumpkins – the stringy, gooey, seedy bits that need to be scooped out before we can draw and carve. I like to separate the seeds out later and roast them for snacks,” you grinned.

“Sounds disgusting. I’m in,” Andre grinned back.

You dug out the kids-size aprons you kept for arts and crafts activities and draped them over the back of the chairs, before putting your hands on your hips. Yes, this would do nicely. You jumped slightly as Andre slid his arms around you from behind, but melted into his embrace as his hands settled on your waist.

“You really put so much thought into this, don’t you?” he murmured.

You bit your lip, but nodded. “Yeah, it’s one of my favourite times of year and the girls love it too. It’s messy, silly and fun – we always have a good time,”

Andre smiled into your neck, pressing a light kiss behind your ear, making the skin tingle slightly. “I’m excited to share it with you,”

You spun around in his arms, smiling up at him as your slid your hands up his chest, his hands moving to rest on your ass.

“I’m excited to share it with you too,” you said softly.

Andre just smiled a little wider, before leaning down to kiss you.

You lost time exchanging slow sweet kisses, tongues light and teasing, never building to anything raunchy but just a gradual swell of intensity that had your body buzzing. You could feel Andre half hard against your stomach, but you knew it wasn’t going anywhere before your nieces arrived – that just wasn’t the vibe at all. Just being close to him, running your fingers through his curls, touching him, tasting him, that was all that you needed right now. Eventually your kisses slow down to a few gentle pecks, until you were breathing heavily. Andre’s lips were lightly swollen and pink, his eyes a little wide, and you knew you looked the same way. Damn he looked good.

“I’m going to, uh, get some drinks ready?” you said, a little breathless.

Andre just nodded, licking his bottom lip. Damn. You quickly turned and walked away, unable to stop the stupid smile on your face. You really did feel so giddy around him sometimes.

It was only a few minutes later when your doorbell rang, so placed the glasses of juice on the table before heading to let your nieces in.

“Aunt Y/N!”

You grinned at their squeals, laughing as they threw their arms around you. “Are you two ready to have fun carving pumpkins with Andre and I?”

“Yes! Is he here already?” your oldest niece asked, clearly excited.

You nodded, smiling down at her. “Yeah he’s here – why don’t you two go wash your hands and put your aprons on,”

They ran past you with happy cheers, making you laugh again as you bid goodbye to their mom. How they had that much energy was beyond you. By the time you reached them at the carving stations, they were both already sat down with their aprons, wiggling in their seats in anticipation. Andre winked at you, making you blush a little.

“Alright, who wants to be paired with Andre?” you asked, rolling your eyes playfully at him.

“Me please!” your youngest niece said immediately.

You could see the relief in Andre’s eyes that he hadn’t been a reluctant choice – you’d told him he wouldn’t be, but you were glad that you were able to prove yourself right. He sat down next to her, big smile on his face, and you sat down opposite him next to your oldest niece, who beamed at you.

“So, rules,” you said firmly.

“Rules?” Andre asked, pouting.

Your nieces giggled. “Squishy guts out first. No peaking at the other drawing. And only adults use the knives,” your youngest niece said simply.

You saw Andre make a face again at ‘squishy guts’ and grinned at him. This was going to be fun.

It took a little while for your nieces to scoop out the pumpkin guts and seeds, Andre more than happy to just pass the bowl back and forth, and after they’d washed their hands again, the drawing began. Your oldest niece had decided on having a cat face on hers this year, which looked pretty cute, but you had no idea what Andre and your youngest niece were drawing – all you could see was them whispering to each other every now and again, pointing at their pumpkin.

You didn’t think you could love this man any more than you already did, but seeing him so sweet with your niece just made your heart so happy and full. You honestly didn’t know what you’d done to deserve such a genuinely kind guy. He was so cute with your niece - what more could you ask for?

“I think we’re ready,” Andre announced.

You looked down at your oldest niece who nodded back to you. Ready it was then.

“Be careful with the pumpkin knife, Andre. It’s small but it’s sharp,” your youngest niece said suddenly, frown on her face.

Andre nodded solemnly. “I will do my very best to be careful,”

Well at least he was honest. You grinned at him, picking up your own knife, earning a grin and a wink back, his foot pressing against yours under the table. So sweet. You set to work with your pumpkin, carefully cutting out the pieces of the drawing that needed to go to achieve your niece’s desired design. You could see her smile growing wider as her drawing came to life – that was exactly why you did this every year, encouraging her creativity in such a fun way.

You were nearly finished with your carving with you heard Andre yelp, his knife clattering to the floor. “Blood!” your youngest niece whimpered.

“Did you seriously injure yourself carving a pumpkin?” you mused, carefully putting down your own knife.

Andre bit his bottom lip, nodding as he clutched his hand to his chest, shielding the injury from your niece. Oh damn. It wasn’t just his pride that was hurt then. You smiled down at your oldest niece to reassure her, before walking round the table to where Andre was.

“Close your eyes,” you told your youngest niece, waiting until she did so to hold out your hand to your boyfriend. He winced but uncurled his fist, a smear of blood masking a small shallow cut to the side of his finger. Okay, not as bad as you thought.

“It won’t need stitches, but it will need cleaning out and a bandaid,” you said softly, letting go of his hand.

“I didn’t think it was bad. It was just…”

“The shock?” you offered.

“Yeah,” he nodded, blushing a little. Bless him.

You beckoned him to stand up, pressing a little kiss to your niece’s head, murmuring that she could open her eyes now. “Stay here girls – I’ll just clean up Andre’s little cut and then we can finish, yeah?”

They both nodded, so you walked out to the bathroom, Andre trailing behind you.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted as soon as the door closed.

What? “What are you sorry for?” you frowned.

“I ruined pumpkin carving by getting hurt,” he mumbled, seeming to shrink in on himself a little.

Oh no. That wouldn’t do.

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly, cupping his face with your hands, making him look at you, “my nieces are having so much fun and that hasn’t changed. We just need to clean you up and wash the knife, that’s all,”

“You’re not mad at me?” he asked quietly.

Your heart broke a little at the sadness on his pretty face, and you shook your head.

“I promise I’m not mad,” you insisted.

He bit his lip, unsure, so you leant up to kiss him, waiting until he’d relaxed enough to kiss you back to tug on that bottom lip with your teeth, making him whimper softly as you broke away.

“I mean it. It’s all going so well, so let’s clean up and get back out there,”

“Okay,” he nodded, a little breathless.

“Unless you’d rather stop the pumpkin carving?” you teased.

Andre shook his head quickly, making you laugh. “No! We have a competition to win!”

That’s the spirit.

#my writing #andre burakovsky #lauren writes autumn #andre is super cute but super clumsy #andre burakovsky x reader #andre burakovsky fic #andre burakovsky imagine #andre burakovsky blurb #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl blurb

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capesandshapes · 3 years

Note

"snowflake the fairy and her boyfriend BRAD" capes no

Fuck you, this is an invitation and since you asked for it on anon everyone else has to suffer through it too.

Learn about Snowflake and her mystical boyfriend Brad below the cut.

I'm going to give you some background, and by that I mean, I'm going to humiliate myself awfully beforehand: When I was a kid, I freaking loved the Winx club and I would wake up at six am on Saturdays to watch it. Since Winx club began to air with I was eight years old and took a long hiatus in America around the time I turned ten/eleven and my parents also coincidentally had a bunch of computers laying around for me to play around and type on since my dad worked for IBM-- it's safe to assume that I spent nearly every free moment of those three years thinking about this cursed concept and plotting these awful books.

So like, the Winx club was aired on PBS in the midwestern market at an ungodly hour since they also served the east coast, and I would literally go to sleep the second the sun went down to watch it. I was kind of a weird kid, so I always pretended that I was tuning a tv to turn to my favorite channel before bed and so forth, then I'd have these dreams that I was pretty in control of.

And again.

I was obsessed with Winx.

So, obviously, I had these dumb dreams about winx fairies and all of that, but the show wasn't going exactly how I wanted it after like a season (thanks freaking RIVEN) so I drifted away from that and started dreaming about, writing about, and obsessing about my own rip off winx.

Enter, Snowflake. Red hair, blue eyes. Fire powers, even though her name was Snowflake. A clear rip-off of Bloom, but like picture more dresses and she's a fairy who lives in a fucking igloo.

Snowflake started out clearly interested in two men who, I shit you not, were named Brad and Joey. Brad had blonde hair and blue eyes, he was a rip-off of bloom's boyfriend but shirtless 90% of the time and fucking useless. Joey broke my heart. Joey was a rip-off of good old Riven, the love of my young life, only add a cool, tough tattoo on his arm that was a literal knife with the word 'hurt' underneath it.

Snowflake started out as a princess who went to a boarding school, but eventually, I realized that I didn't need the rest of those bitches around (by that I mean literally all of the other students). So Snowflake was a princess who hung out in her kingdom and had like three friends who were decidedly beneath her; Stacey, Edna, and Kay. Kay was Joey's twin sister. They were basically yes girls with one note personalities, save for Kay, who was like Snowflake's best friend and had light powers that were totally ripped off of the Dazzler and useless 90% of the time.

The meat of the story is that there was this older fairy who wanted to melt Snowflake's home and flood the world. She was named Carly because, surprise, I was bullied by a girl named Carly. Carly (in the story) bit people, but like, not as a vampire thing, she just like ate them? You didn't die or even bleed, and the part would grow back, I think I just thought that cannibalism was a pretty mean thing to do.

And also Carly wanted to abduct Snowflake to make her melt the world because Snowflake was basically a glorified lighter.

This all sounds twice as stupid when I write it out.

Anyway, so Snowflake's main boo was Brad, since Joey would have random fits and decide to be evil every once in a while and that was 'annoying'. The problem with Brad, however, was that he was a classic himbo and always got captured and had to be saved from the evil lair (an apartment inside a literal volcano) -- They always caught Brad because, I have no idea why, the idiot of the year was always hanging out in a hot tub and I'm pretty sure that's because that was the only way that my little brain could comprehend him being shirtless all the time as I needed him to be.

But eventually, like the eighth time Snowflake came to rescue him, Brad died. Like, Snowflake saw him across the clearing and this villain literally pushed a fucking boulder on him. I outlined in word and printed out on one of the five pieces of paper my parents would let me have every day (To keep my sister and I from stealing and printing on a whole ream) that this man literally had a boulder rolled on him. Like, Carly climbed up the stairs, went to a ledge, and had the fucking time to roll a boulder on him while Snowflake was talking.

And her spirits were crushed almost as flat as Brad was.

So like Snowflake decided to go out with Joey who was like, "have you ever considered being evil idk it's occasionally fun" and became evil and melted the world? Listen, trauma can change a girl.

Then she became a mermaid and brought her friends back as merzombies

But she wasn't happy, even though she could now wear black and cut her hair? Also Joey kissed with tongue and Brad didn't, so that should have been a major plus.

I really think it was just because Joey wore a shirt all the time, but who knows.

Snowflake's dead parents who died off-screen sometime showed up as ghosts and told her that she could do anything with the power of love. She asked them to stay, AND THEN THEY LITERALLY SAID SOMETHING LIKE, "sorry, we can't be here with you, you can do anything with the power of love, but we're not in love with you, DAUGHTER."

UNDERWATER

Snowflake cried on Brad's FLAT body and the tears somehow touched it and he was brought back to life and then immediately started to drown because I had a baseline understanding of biology, and by that I mean I understood that people did not breathe water.

Brad dying a second time in front of her made her powers explode

so, somehow, she unlocked all the powers of the HTRAE (THAT'S THE WHOLE UNIVERSE'S NAME, NOT THE PLANET. It's Earth backwards, because technically the planet is just inside earth-- Listen I can't explain this shit very well) and froze her kingdom again

and then suddenly like, controlled all the elements. Like bam, she is nature, bitch. This includes metal. No idea why. Just elements plus metal, which again, not an actual element there.

But it couldn't be over, because I'm from the midwest and my grandma is the head of the church commitee. Ten year old Beth knows how love and romance work, okay, she knows how to craft a fucking story and where to end it.

so I was like I guess her and BRAD get married. And then Joey came back to fight for her hand and he won, but Snowflake didn't love him so she froze him? EVEN THOUGH SHE LIKED HIS TONGUE KISSES.

SHE CRIED BECAUSE OF THE TONGUE KISSES I SWEAR.

And then her and Brad literally got onto a horse to ride into the sunset and made out-- With tongue.

and that's just like a really brief summary of my actual hundreds of printed pages (10 pt font) of nonsensical plot that was going to make up the Snowflake Series, and as an eleven year old I was convinced that this would sell for millions of dollars and everyone would be so impressed that they'd carve, 'Creator of Snowflake', into my tombstone.

#this is the worst thing i've ever explained/written on here

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statticscribbles · 3 years

Text

Branch Evolution

Summary: There’s a reason the Ghoulies phrase is ‘Evolve or Die’; also featuring my personal headcanon about Malachai’s family

”What is it Lance.” Malachai snaps at the boy who nervously stands in front of him. “I was just wondering..” “No fuck off; I’m not giving you a day off or listening to your teenage woes; or college essays or… Fine you got ten seconds; spit.” “How did the Ghoulies come to be?” “I started the gang; you idiot.” “But why; how and-”

“You keep asking questions and i’ll…” Malachai doesn’t finish; hand brushing over the knife he keeps embedded in the couch. “Course; sorry to bother you.” “Hey kid; grab a milkshake at pop’s would you.” Lance nods gripping the list and money that Malachai had tossed to him. He leaves to laughter and Malachai settles back into his chair.

“Seriously how did you form.” Penny asks fingers curling around the beer bottle she’d gotten. “You should know; you’re old enough to remember us forming.” Malachai grins at her and she laughs, shaking her head. “I may be but I never knew you before this southside; issue shall we say.” Malachai grins and sighs through his nose. “Liar.” He snarls, shoving past the incoming Ghoulies to retreat into his bedroom.

”I don’t give a fuck! That’s oppressive and outdated and SHIT!” Malachai stumbles back when the fist hit’s his jaw and he growls standing up and sneering. “You can beat me till I’m half dead but like hell I’m letting my baby sister do that snake dance for a bunch of fuckin’ pervs. Least I have morals.” “It’s a Serpent right! It’s our laws!” “Laws can be changed; she’s-” “Just cause she’s your kid sister don’t make a difference; my kids will do the trials just the same if they want to join.” “We’re by blood ain’t no need for us to play initiate. We already live and breathe as snakes; we don’t have to prove ourselves to-” Malachai doesn’t finish shivering slightly as FP throws him out of the Wyrm. “You stay the fuck out Malachite.” FP sing songs and Malachai stands up, shoving FP back into the Wyrm.

“You call me that shit name again and I’ll rip the crown from your fucking dead fingers.” “But that’s who you are kid; crown prince of the Serpents, a jewel in the gang’s crown just like your sister. You did the trials and so will she.” “She’ll do ‘em but not that fuckin’ stripper dance you pass off as-” Malachai ducks his head sighing when Tall Boy pushes himself between the two. “Come on let it go; just for now; we ain’t accepting new members anyhow; it’s off season.” “Yeah, too many jobs, not enough bodies.” FP nods to Malachai who huffs before returning back to his house and trying to avoid the shouting that hasn’t stopped since his sister ran away.

Malachai doesn’t see FP again until two months later; he pushes it off as strategic job assignments; that FP wanted to avoid Malachai annoying him for as long as possible. All it did was give Malachai more and more of a motive; pulling at the ears and heartstrings of the Serpents and the other southsider’s that were loyal to him; that were indebted to him. He crafts himself a fringe community; pulling in anyone the Serpent’s shun; be it those that failed the trials; or those that were double crossed. Even a few of the die-hard snakes assure him they’ll stand with him; of course this is purely due to them falling out of favour with FP but Malachai will take what he is given and let it grow and evolve.

“Malachai, come on kid.” FP hovers in the door frame and Malachai half looks up from the couch, his upper body jerking forwards before the rest of him twists off the couch. “I ain’t a kid FP, just under ten years younger than you, and already head of the gang, took you years, and being in your daddy’s pocket to make it this far.” He grins and his teeth gleam in the shadows. “Ki-Malachai; seriously is this really over those dumb job assignments; I can-” “You can’t do shit FP; you lost your main source; the candyman and the flowers are mine now; you just slither on out of the garden of eden that is the Southside; go on.” “Enough; when will you see this is the problem; we should be united; not divided; the southside is all our homes; we all belong here.”

“Tell that to those that didn’t make it in the gang; those that you pushed and gave the worst jobs because they talked back or got too mouthy about traditions and rules like me. You dug your own grave Snake King.” “And you’re the fallen angel to save them from my wrath?” FP snaps back and Malachai tilts his head back laughing. “When did I call you a god in this FP? When would I ever worship you?” FP grimaces.

“Malachai just dissolve this little game and come back; I don’t want this…” “Want what FP; to fight for your territory? For your members? What happened to the snakes being a family? To the law; no serpent stands alone.” FP turns away and sighs dragging his hands down his face before he grabs Malachai and shoves him to the ground. “Don’t move kid.” It’s the last thing Malachai obeys from FP.

“What happened?” Penny asks, looking at the scar on Malachai’s back that runs onto his ribs, the skull tattoo covers most of it. “Cover up.” She rolls her eyes and jabs him, pulling his shirt as he covers it back up. “Let me see it kid.” She hisses at him and he grips her bandaged wrist shoving her off of him. “Serpent’s never shed their skin right?” He snarls in her ear. “As a snake you should know when one rattles and when to stay away.” Penny’s eyes widen surprised at how his voice drops down into threatening; how his words drawl out mimicking FP Jone’s speech pattern. Penny mulls it over slightly unsurprised that Malachai would use FP as a role model; the man was running a successful gang after all.

“So that’s why you’re so into the snakes; they’re like your ideal gang.” “They ain’t.” Malachai snaps and Penny arches an eyebrow. “Well it’s obvious the Serpents are a sore spot for you; not have the stomach to make it in?” She taunts wondering how easy it’ll be to rile him up if the implication of touching a bar fight wound was enough to make him bristle. “You shut it.” “Oh no dead boy walking. I’m going to talk about my gang as long as I want. The Serpents are my family and even if they cut me out I’m still one of them. And I want back in.”

“You think you’ll get special treatment cause you’re their lawyer? Being special like that; being more than a random member don’t get you nothing when you commit a crime against them.” “Sounds like some of your members have experience with that.” Penny grins but wipes it off her face when Malachai just nods to the other ghouls clustered around. “Out.” They follow his order and each pat Penny on the shoulder, none of them look her in the eyes.

“You should know better Penny. You should be more careful. Evolve or Die. Stop talking about the half done snakes and start talking about what we all become when we die; ghouls.” “Oh so scary; spooky ghosts.” She laughs carefully maneuvering her wrist out of Malachai’s reach; he simply leans over her; fingers digging into the bandages until he sees red on them. “Listen Penny. Evolve or Die.” “I get it your dumb catch phrase.” “You think getting a little skin off your arm hurts; that after throwing yourself at my mercy they’re gonna let you back in?” “God they must’ve rejected you something fierce.”

“No; I made it in. I was just like you; except i didn’t want to ride FP’s dick straight into a high position or jail. I wanted to stop all the shit they praise and pass off in the Serpents. I wanted them to be better; to grow.” He grins at her and she stares in his eyes as hers widen in fear “Evolve or die. You catch my drift Penelope?” Malachai hums and then swipes his hair back pulling it up so it’s out of his face; miming as if it’s slicked back. “Malachite.” He breathes into her ear and she stiffens.

“Oh; you really didn’t know then? How; cute.” He pauses returning back to his chair and tapping the wall. Before Penny can move the Ghoulies swarm back in and she retreats outside; shaking and unable to look at Malachai.

“Told you then?” Lance asks, offering a shake towards her from another Pop’s run. Penny’s convinced he’s doing something besides playing gopher but she’s not really sure of anything anymore. “Malachite Topaz; one of the great-grandkids of the Serpent founders. Yeah shocked me too when I found out. How’d you figure it out? I managed to see his scar; nasty piece of work.” “Yeah can’t believe he; how did he get it?” “Same way you got yours; Jones carved him up.” Penny turns looking horrified. “Jones carve-” “Yeah something went off in FP that day; he was right mad according to everyone that saw; pinned Malachai to the ground and sliced off his serpent tattoo; poor kid got it on his side and back; one of those big snakes eating itself.” “He’s older than you.” Is all Penny manages to say trying not to picture a younger Malachai on the ground alone and bleeding. “Yeah; he treats us like family; i think it’s cause of his little sister; I’m the same age as her apparently. We go to school. I give him updates whenever he needs.”

“And when does he need?” Penny laughs a little and Lance waves the shake in his hand. Penny thinks back to how he seems to always have on in his hand; what she had thought a teenage addiction was the second cover up she’d seen that day. She thinks about Malachai for a moment longer; how desperate he is to appear tough; to appear strong and she doesn’t have to wonder for very long why anymore; she slowly unwinds the bandage on her wrist surprised when Malachai’s hand offers her clean ones.

“You should wash it first; it’ll burn like a mother fucking asshole but it’ll be better that it getting infected and you ending up half dead in the hospital.” “Course; Evolve or die right.” She tries to be casual; tries to wave off his concern but she lets him lead her back towards the house of the dead and she wonders if it’s really all that bad to come back as a ghoul.

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#malachai x reader #malachai reader insert #malachai riverdale #tommy martinez #tommy martinez imagine #riverdale request #riverdale reader insert #riverdale imagine #riverdale #malachai x you #malachai x y/n #stattic

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Flower Files, Part 3 (Rajalaskam, Witney) - Albatross

AN: The third installment of Flower Files featuring Rajalaskam and Witney

Chapter 5 - Rajalaskam

Step. Step. Squish.

Perfect, Willam thought to herself, Just. Fucking. Perfect.

Even before looking down, Willam knew exactly what had just happened. She had just stepped into a very mushy, very rancid pumpkin. She could feel the gooey, decomposing rind brushing against her bare toes. Gross!

“Ugh,” she groaned out in disgust as she pulled out her foot from the mess. It was all over her beautiful heels!

“What happened?” came the distracted reply from Alaska, squatting down just a few feet away and examining yet another pumpkin.

It was her fault Willam was in this mess. Alaska had wanted to pick out pumpkins for the autumn display outside their house. Some would be carved, others merely decorative, but she needed at least one other person to help her carry them, she explained to her girlfriends earlier that week. Raja was quick to point out that she had to work that Saturday morning. It was very calm, very mild the way she said it but that slight curling of her lips, as well as the teasing glint in her eyes as she turned Willam’s way, let her know she was anything but sorry to miss this little adventure. So all that was left was Willam, who made sure never to work on weekends, especially in the early morning.

Goddamn it.

She tried to talk Alaska out of it, offering to buy her “one of those pumpkin spice crappuccinos or whatever” instead but Alaska was not having it.

“As tempting as that sounds,” she noted with a hint of sarcasm, “No.”

Willam had sighed, loudly and expressively. She knew she wasn’t going to win this; in the end she’d always end up giving into Alaska, but that didn’t mean she’d go down without a fight. Smiling back at her girlfriend, Alaska tried to entice her with, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Don’t you remember picking out pumpkins when you were a kid?”

“No.”

“It won’t even take that long, promise.”

“Bullshit.”

The back and forth went on for another five minutes but as expected, Willam eventually gave in. At least, she consoled herself, it’ll just be a quick trip to the supermarket. Alaska can pick out the pumpkins while Willam stays in the nice, warm car and then she’ll help carry them after Alaska has found her favorites. Should be done in 30 minutes. 45, tops.

Or so Willam thought.

What Alaska neglected to mention was that she intended to pick out her pumpkins directly from the patch…and that of course meant walking up and down the endless rows examining Every. Fucking. Pumpkin.

All while Willam pulled the heavy cart behind her. In heels, no less!

She had rounded on her girlfriend with an intense glare the moment they pulled into the lot and Willam realized what was going on. Of course Alaska would want to do it the old fashioned way but why for God’s sake did she have to pull Willam into this utter ridiculousness?

“Jesus Christ,” she complained, “I’m in heels for fuck’s sake!”

“You’re always in heels,” Alaska pointed out sedately as she exited the car, “And I told you to wear comfortable shoes.”

“These are comfortable!” Willam argued, following after her, “On solid ground. Not this disgusting mess…And is that fucking manure over there?”

Alaska merely shrugged as she led them over to the wagon rental. Though she tried to hide it, a devilish little smirk was curling at the edges of her lips. Willam was so going to get her back for this! And Raja.

Lucky little bitch!

She had little doubt Raja knew exactly what Alaska meant by picking out pumpkins. Probably arranged to be working today so she’d get out of it.

Oh, Willam was definitely going to get both of them.

She complained for the first 10 minutes, non-stop, loud and annoying as only she could but Alaska was unbothered. She paid little attention to Willam’s whining. After all, it was nothing compared to her own temper tantrums. And she knew Willam would trail off sooner or later.

As the vocal complaints turned to disgruntled mumblings, Alaska felt free to enjoy herself. She loved the thought of picking out pumpkins straight from the farm; there was something quaint and wholesome about it that reminded her of childhood. And she loved that she got to experience this with one of her girlfriends. She would have preferred both but she was sure she could rope Raja into decorating the display with her later. Maybe she could even convince Willam to carve a pumpkin or two with them…

Two hours slipped by, Willam trudging along the rough path with the wagon following behind her and Alaska constantly bending over and examining each pumpkin she thought might belong in her display. There were only two more rows left to inspect and then they could call it a day. By this point Willam was dazed and resigned to her fate. She distracted herself with lazy thoughts of how to get revenge on both of her girlfriends…maybe in bed…maybe not…but when her foot sunk deep into the rotten rind of a pumpkin left a little too close to the path, she was sharply awoken from her distracted state.

A shiver had travelled up her spine as the cold, gooey insides seeped between her toes while Alaska asked her what was wrong. It was here Willam began her complaints anew but to her slight relief, they actually worked this time. Alaska had taken a look back at the wagon and the last pumpkin in her hands and decided this would be enough to at least get her started with the display piece. She might need to pick up an extra pumpkin or two from the grocery store but they could leave the fields now. Willam was being a relatively good sport earlier so it was the least Alaska could do not to force her to continue walking with all that gunk on her foot.

As they arrived back at the stall to pay for their finds, Alaska took the opportunity to pick out a few extra gourds and mini pumpkins to accentuate her display. She was quick about it, knowing Willam’s mood was gradually growing worse, but to her surprise Willam actually picked up one of the small, dark green mini pumpkins on her own. Perhaps she wasn’t as annoyed after all?

As soon as they were in the car, Willam tore off her heels and retrieved a few napkins tucked away in the glove box to properly clean them off. Before Alaska drove off, she pressed a quick kiss to Willam’s cheek and thanked her for coming along.

Though Willam would never admit it, the kiss and heartfelt ‘Thank you’ had mollified her. But she still had a reputation to uphold and continued to act irritated all the way home.

Barefoot, she helped Alaska empty out the car of their purchases and bring a few pumpkins of choice indoors for carving. While Alaska washed them off in the sink and set down newspaper over the table, Willam scurried off to change into something much more comfortable. By the time she returned, in a pair of skimpy, skin tight shorts, a well-loved T-shirt, and her hair done up in a messy bun, she found Alaska already sketching out the first Jack-O-Lantern’s face. A few smaller pumpkins had been left off to the side, misshapen or oddly textured, just the way Raja liked them. She knew Raja would not disappoint in whatever she decided to do to decorate them.

Alaska’s pumpkins, however, were kept charmingly simple. Triangle eyes and nose, scattered teeth in a wide grin, she even sketched out ear holes on the sides.

Willam watched her for a few moments as she completely absorbed herself in creating the perfect cutesy faces for each pumpkin. Then Willam let her attention drift back to the singular pumpkin she had picked out. She knew exactly what she wanted to do with it and after the morning she had, felt it was a deserving purpose for the little gourd.

She made quick work of washing the miniature pumpkin and lightly marking where she wanted to cut. She was unusually careful not to cut too deep, Alaska noticed. Her gaze kept drifting back to her girlfriend out of both curiosity and slight concern. Willam was always a chaotic force whenever crafting was involved, and then throwing in a knife as well? Alaska’s heart never raced harder than when she saw Willam haphazardly cutting into something while ignoring all safety precautions or gentle warnings from her girlfriends.

Alaska was just about to begin carving her second pumpkin by the time Willam had removed a section off the top of hers and cleaned out the innards. She carelessly licked the pumpkin guts off the knife, making Alaska’s stomach queasy in process. But before she looked away for her own sanity, she noticed Willam’s face contorting in the cutest expression of mild disgust. Alaska couldn’t stop her lips from curling as she refocused on her own crafting.

Her attention was soon divided again by Willam running back to the kitchen and rummaging through the drawers, then off to the bathroom and strangely towards the bedroom as well. She came back with the oddest collection of items; a cheap metal flour sifter from the dollar store, a screwdriver she picked up somewhere, one of Raja’s clogs that Willam regularly made fun of, some kind of plastic tubes, and-

Wait.

Now Alaska realized what she was doing.

She’d seen Raja demonstrate this so many times (though her efforts were always a bit more organized than this).

Willam was making a bong out of her mini pumpkin. Alaska had to laugh, because of course she would. How had she missed the gears spinning in Willam’s head as she picked out the pumpkin from the stall?

“Gonna share that when you’re done, right?” Alaska asked, amusement in her voice, as Willam tried to hammer the screwdriver into the pumpkin with Raja’s clog.

“Maybe,” Willam replied distractedly.

Read as ‘of course,’ Alaska noted with a grin.

They continued their projects for the next hour in relative silence. The dining room table was a mess of soiled newspaper, pumpkin guts and random disassembled household products Willam had collected for her home-made bong. She was still experimenting with getting it just right when Raja arrived back home. She had immediately made her way towards the kitchen, following the sounds of clatter and clanging to find her partners each engaged in their own tasks at the table. Willam was the most focused and didn’t notice her right away until she felt Raja pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She didn’t say anything but the hint of a grin as she worked told Raja more than enough. Though she had to wonder why one of her clogs was left laying on the table. Moving on to Alaska, she pressed a kiss to her cheek as well, wiping off some of the dried pumpkin guts Alaska had missed earlier when she tried to clean her face.

“You ladies have fun today?” she asked, arms wrapped around Alaska’s waist as they both watched Willam pouring a half-empty bottle of water into the little pumpkin.

“No,” Willam complained briefly before taking her first hit.

“I did,” Alaska countered. “Wish you were there though.”

“Yeah, you could’ve pulled the fucking wagon,” Willam muttered.

Raja chuckled lightly as she moved over to sit next to Willam and relieve her of the pumpkin. “Next time,” she promised, taking an experimental hit off Willam’s questionable-looking bong.

“Not bad,” she commented as her lips broke free. Willam made a noise of agreement as well as a few mental notes of what to do better next time. But it came out surprisingly effective for a spur of the moment decision.

The pair passed the pumpkin back and forth for another round as Alaska finished the last of her rudimentary cleaning. She laid out a fresh spread of newspaper for whenever Raja started her own carving. She motioned over to the collection of odd and unusual pumpkins before relieving Willam of her bong and taking a few well-earned hits.

While the two continued to share the homemade bong, Raja’s gaze travelled to the other end of the table to inspect her pumpkins and begin brainstorming for ideas. A few thoughts were brewing but she’d definitely sketch them out on paper first before marking up any of the pumpkins. One thing she did notice right away brought a smile to her lips.

“They’re perfect by the way,” she complimented Alaska. “You know how much I like the weird ones.”

She glanced over to Willam, now taking another hit, and nudged her lightly in the side. Willam stared blankly for a moment, wheels turning in her head, as Alaska struggled not to outright laugh. Then, after 2 or 3 seconds, Willam’s mind caught up with what Raja had said and she immediately stuck her tongue out. “Fuck off,” she laughed out in a huff. “I hate both of you.”

“Yes, and we hate you, too,” Raja murmured, pressing a brief kiss to Willam’s grinning lips.

Chapter 6 - Witney

“Dandelions are kinda pretty, don'tcha think?” Courtney blurted out as she and Willam trekked through the park. Her gaze had been wandering around the huge open space that surrounded them. It seemed like everything was in bloom right now, whether it was the flowers on the trees or the wildflowers off in the distance, but especially noticeable was dandelions scattered in amongst the grass.

Irritably shifting their overpacked cooler from one hand to another, Willam remarked, “I think it’s a weed.”

“Still pretty,” Courtney countered, picking up one just off the dirt trail they were using and holding it out for Willam to see.

Despite Courtney’s usually infectious smile, Willam just looked at the object derisively for a moment, shifted the cooler yet again, and commented, “Still a weed…but not the useful kind.”

Laughing lightly as she bent down to pick up another long stemmed dandelion, Courtney pointed out, “Dandelions are plenty useful. Bees love them.”

“Bees love any kind of flower,” Willam muttered, trying to keep from huffing as she continued to struggle with the cooler. Maybe if she tried carrying it with both hands?

“They’re nutritious too,” Courtney chirped away, plucking up another flower, “…can even be used for medicine.”

It was here Willam stopped in her tracks for a hot second to give Courtney a look of concern. “Please tell me you don’t actually eat them,” she groaned in mild disgust.

Courtney’s laughter echoed through the park as she veered off the path again and replied, “No, but it’s still good information to know.”

“Right,” Willam grumbled sarcastically. Looking up ahead, she was relieved to find the picnic table was finally within sight. Just a few more feet.

Bending down to pick up another few dandelions growing clustered together, Courtney added in, “And it helps that they’re so easy to grow.“

“Again; because it’s a weed!” Willam shouted back as she rushed on towards the table. She dropped the cooler as soon as she was close enough and not a moment too soon; her fingers felt like they were about to break off!

She shook her hands trying to regain some of the feeling back in her fingers before sitting down and unpacking their weighty lunch. Courtney was still off the path, about 10 or so yards away, picking the blooming dandelions with the longest stems. When she finally had a nice little bundle in her hand, she rejoined Willam at the picnic table. Renewing their conversation, one Willam had hoped was finally done, Courtney stated proudly, “They can even grow through the cracks in concrete. That’s perseverance.”

“That sounds stolen from a motivational poster,” Willam countered with an eye roll. Despite her firm stance that dandelions were just a weed, she could feel a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, especially once Courtney corrected her with a lazy, drawn out, “Maybe borrowed.”

For the next minute or two, Willam focused her energy on setting out their lunches while Courtney fiddled with all the flowers she collected. Willam didn’t pay much attention to her, instead she was sorting through what food was definitely hers so she could finally eat. She hadn’t realized just how starving she was until she could finally see the food laid out in front of her.

She was nearly finished with her task when Courtney mused out loud once more, “And it’s fun to blow all the little seeds off and watch them float away.”

“If you say so,” Willam replied distractedly. Just about…Done!

“I do say so,” Courtney teased. When Willam looked back at her, ready to announce that they could start eating, she found herself having to pause. Those stupid little dandelions were gone and Courtney’s hands were currently behind her back. Willam eyed her up suspiciously as Courtney maneuvered her way out of her seat and circled the table until she was sitting right next to Willam. She could barely contain her grin, an act that did nothing to ease Willam’s concerns that she was up to something. Then, very carefully, Courtney withdrew her hands from behind her back and announced, “And…they’re the best flower to make a crown out of.”

No sooner had she said it than Willam found a small crown of poorly tied dandelions resting on her head. Immediately, she gave Courtney a withering look, imagining whatever little bugs that hitched a ride on those flowers now crawling in amongst hair, but Courtney just beamed back at her. She looked so pleased with herself, it was a struggle for Willam not to crack even just a little smile.

Sighing softly in defeat, Willam shook her head and shifted around to remove her phone from her pocket. As she unlocked it, she could hear Courtney giggling next to her, saying, “Alright, you can take it off.”

But to Courtney’s surprise, instead of immediately snatching the handmade crown from her head, Willam simply held up her phone, angled just so, and snapped a series of selfies. With her own cocky, satisfied little grin, Willam informed her, “After lunch I will.”

Squealing in delight, Courtney pulled her in for a brief kiss. Just a small way to thank Willam for humoring her, even begrudgingly. Forgetting the food for now, Willam suggested taking just a few more pictures together. “For Instagram,” she reasoned. But by the end of the day both of their profiles had been loaded with multiple stories of them enjoying their time in the park and in a few carefully angled shots, Willam’s flower crown could still be seen resting on her head well into the late afternoon.

#rpdr fanfiction #raja gemini #alaska thunderfuck #willam belli #alaska x raja x willam #courtney act #witney #lesbian au #poly #rare pair #fluff #flower files #albatross #picnic date #pumpkin patch #pumpkin carving #submission

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veleno-fiore · 3 years

Text

To the ex-best friend

I write this more for myself than anything, because I blocked you on everything that I ever had you linked to. My tumblr, facebook, twitter, instagram, even in my phone. But sometimes I wonder if you would ever look at my posts to see if I was doing fine if I didn’t have you blocked. I wonder because sometimes I want to do the same for you. But I know it would only bring pain on myself even more and I don’t want to mourn a single thought of you any longer.

I understand now what it means to pretend someone is dead, rather than moved on to something else. Did you do the same for us? Or do you still shove our names in the mud, to better shine on your own? Portray us as the villains in the story, and you the polished white knight in stainless steel armor when really all that means if everyone else’s reflection on you is your own facade?

I can say honestly that I don’t experience a sense of betrayal often. Not since maybe middle school. I learned after being bullied for so long to keep my friends close and few in numbers. I believed after all the hardship I had been through, how my mind and heart began to learn how to sift through the weeds to find the good ones, that I had become a good judgement of character. I’m happy to say most of my friendships never turned into bitter and hateful break ups.

Most. Not all. You were the one that broke the streak of good ones.

See, most of my friends that I no longer speak to before don’t manipulate the way you did. Most just fade, drift to pursue their own passions and careers in their lives. I can understand that because I have done the same and faded away from some of my own best friends. But it’s never a bitterness that I taste on my tongue when their names cross my minds. It’s nostalgic, fondness, and good memories that come to mind.

Your memories have now been tainted, sour and bitter and only make me recoil in disgust and agony like a poisoned polished knife that I lovingly crafted for you was thrust right into my heart the second I placed it in your hands.

Friendship and trust is very much that. You spend years, forging a blade of the finest steel over the hearth. Your hands become calloused, you spend so much time working out all the little bumps and imperfection until it is smooth and brings a smile to your face because for once YES you have made something that you are truly proud of that you put all your heart into it.

Then, you give it away. You lay that beautiful knife in another’s hands, a gift that you put all your soul into creating. I can say I’ve done this with a few people in my life that I would trust them with my darkest of secrets.

I hold their knives in turn, and I protect them with it and wield them in their defense. There are three, and they know who they are.

I gave you one too. I thought, “surely after 10 years of holding this knife, I can trust them with anything.” I believe you may have given me yours as well. You’ve certainly told me things that seemed personal enough that you would never want them told anywhere else. Lord knows I’ve poured enough of my soul into it, I would think you’d have a similar trust in me.

But I’m not so sure. Because after 10 years, things began to change. You grew tarnished, bitter. But it wasn’t a sudden change in that. You’ve always had a rusted edge to you, quick to lash out at anything and anyone. There were no grey areas to you, it was always they were wrong and you were right. And if they were wrong, they deserved to burn.

But this time, it was towards us. To anything we said. It had begun to feel as if even among you, where once I thought it was as easy as walking through a field of soft grass it had turned sharpened like jagged stones in the bottom of a volcano. Each moment hurt and threatened to carve us open. They had begun to grow weary. I can’t blame them. But I’m stubborn, and did my best to walk through the fire and embers that burned away at me.

But it only grew hotter and burned and scorned me with every step.

Do you know the most foolish thing I have ever done? Each time you would erupt and disappear, I would be the one walking through lava to bring the fire back to us again. I pursued you each time, to try to patch this friendship up, even if we weren’t in the wrong. We would stand in the fire, and the fire would never cool.

There were never apologies. You would continue to burn us and I forced us to stand there and endure like nothing was wrong.

And for that, I’m sorry to my two that I forced that onto you. Maybe this could have ended much sooner than it did if I wasn’t so firmly set in my belief that everything could be solved with communication.

I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was slicing my own hands with the dagger I trusted to you.

In the end, what sparked the final crack was something that feels so minor and petty. But, you left. And for once, I did not follow after you. I decided, “if they want to come back, they’ll come back. Let’s leave them be.” Granted, that was after the initial attempt to tell you as you screamed that they hated you that they didn’t. And you told me you didn’t want to talk about it. Not to me, not to anyone.

So, I did as you requested. I left you alone. And I stayed true to that. We all did.

Three. Weeks.

After three weeks, you began to stab at us. Laying vague messages all over, even going so far as to threaten a false lawsuit at us. I wish I could say I was being poetic there, but no that actually happened. You began to stab at our backs that were turned to give you your requested time of silence.

That’s what made the spark turn into an eruption.

My two were done, instantly. They cut ties immediately with you, screaming into the night out of well-deserved frustration and anger over your actions.

I handled my pain differently. I mourned. I sobbed. I cried so hard through the night I hardly slept and felt so much pain in my chest I felt hollow inside. My dagger that I had spent so much of my time and energy and love into making for you was plunged right into my chest by your hand, and it hurt.

Then, we met others. Others that you had hurt in the past. As much as I didn’t want to believe at that moment that you were a bad person--even with the dagger still piercing my chest--they knew things about you that no one else would besides us.

It was the final straw. And where originally the idea was to absolutely ruin you, we stopped. We cooled down. All three of us began to mourn and only wanted to move on. It was clear there was no salvaging anything, but if there was some way just to get some sort of closure on it all, then that would suffice.

So, I took the plunge to contact you. I didn’t want to discuss with you, only tell you to unblock him so HE could talk to you.

And the first thing you say to me?

“Three weeks. Is it for more insults or cussing out? He can save both. As you can.”

No one “cussed you out”. Your definition of cussing someone out is CALLING them out on what they’ve done.

I ask you why you’re getting pissed at me, when I’ve done nothing to you. I have stayed radio silent on this entire matter on every account I own.

You say, “You’ve all had three weeks to talk to me.” And then you proceed to give me a message to relay to everyone else because, “I expect you to.”

And then, at that moment, I was done. I reached up, gripped the dagger you thrust into my chest, and ripped it out and all my frustration and anger from 10 years of silence poured onto you like a tsunami meets a volcanic fire.

I yelled, screamed, and said everything that was on my mind. How YOU had the chance to change everything. How YOU had the ability to message us first. How YOU were the one that blocked us. How YOU were the one that asked for silence. How it was ME that would always try to pick the pieces up again. How it was ME that would try to put all of us back into the same room and try to patch it all like we weren’t just in WWIII. How YOU were the one who was silent too in this entire endeavor.

And then, I was done. I was bleeding as I took the steps I needed to make to heal myself. I blocked you on everything I could think of. I deleted you from my phone contacts.

But, I forgot to block you there for a moment.

And you texted me. “Okay. Sorry it had to come to this. Love you.”

Did you ever really love me?

So at times like this, when my mind comes to you and wonders, “did they ever mourn the loss of me? Of 10 years of friendship that we shared?”

I remind myself that it doesn’t matter. Because this tie was broken a long time ago, with the first scars you laid on me.

I was the one who held out my hands for you to cut.

Now, I am the one taking it back.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

The Christmas Event, Part One

For you Dex/Wright Farling people who have wondered how Dex and Wright got along early on, they, uh… didn’t. But the Christmas Event is the catalyst for the way everything else will change between them, and here is Part One!

This is a collaboration between @spiffythespook and myself. Wright Farling and Jordan are her OCs, while Dex and Karen Renford are mine. Please heed content warnings.

Karen is 28 in this piece, while Wright and Dex are 25 and 23 and Jordan is thirteen.

CW: Whump involving a minor (not much, primarily at the beginning and offscreen), some mouth whump (knife in mouth), caning, blood, dehumanizing language, pet whump, noncon touching and kissing, references to noncon

Karen Renford had never visited for Christmas before, but Wright had ensured that everything would be perfect when she arrived. All he needed to do was finish up just… one… thing.

Wright took Jordan’s chin in hand, tilting his head up so he could better run the flat of his knife over the boy’s cheek. Kindness kept his eyes down, kept very still even while he trembled. He knew by now how to be good. Wright smiled and slipped the tip of his knife between the boy’s lips, gently scraping one of his teeth.

“Open, darling,” he murmured. Jordan did, his eyes fluttering as he tried very hard to stay still. Wright slid the blade in to rest on his tongue, which he felt press back when Jordan swallowed back the pool of saliva that had gathered so quickly.

The doorbell rang its pleasant, soft tune, but Kindness jumped nevertheless. Wright tsked when the boy pricked his tongue, blood on the tip of the knife. “Close, darling. Hold this for me between your teeth.”

Fear-filled eyes glanced up at him and Wright’s hand was suddenly up and out, ready to respond. The boy’s eyes were down quickly. He closed his teeth, sweat gathering on his brow and eyes closing tightly with focus. “Mhm,” Wright ruffled his hair and walked past his bound, collared, kneeling boy, leaving him on the floor by the tree as he went to get the door.

He smiled brightly at his guest when he opened. “Karen! Darling. Merry Christmas.”

Snowflakes rested without melting in Karen Renford’s long, elaborately twined and braided auburn hair. She had on a calf-length camel-colored coat and no doubt something immensely stylish underneath.

She smiled warmly back at him, holding up a bottle of red wine. “Wright! I think we only just beat the storm. I might have to ask you if we can keep using your guest room a day or so longer than we planned. But, maybe you won’t mind so much if I brought gifts, like the best wine I’ve ever had, and, ah… other things. Speaking of other things I brought…”

She snapped her fingers and a tall, thin young man - about the same age as Wright - seemed to materialize at her elbow. His dark hair was cut short and he wore a green leather collar around his neck with DEX stamped in gold on the front. Wearing a sweater that perfectly matched in color and dress pants, it was only the collar - and the way his eyes were fixed slightly down, a little blank - that gave away what he was.

Wright’s eyes skimmed over the young man, and then he took the bottle with a murmured, Beautiful, and set it down on the side table inside.

Dex was carrying a pile of boxes of varying sizes in one hand and the handle to another shopping bag full of even more, all of them pristinely gift-wrapped, in the other. A long, thin, custom-carved bit of shining black wood stuck out of the bag, tipped on the end with pristine silver that had a sharpened end.

Wright blinked in surprised at the sight of the boxes. “Oh, darling. You shouldn’t have,” he smirked, knowing full well that it was no skin off her nose - in fact, she enjoyed bringing an excess. “Of course, I would love to have you stay longer over the holiday. Or forever, but I know how you like your space~”

He stepped back, opening the door to invite them in. Wright himself was dressed well for the occasion - a dark blue, well-fit turtleneck that brought out his eyes, his best pants and shoes. Simple, but all excellent quality. He had been playing, after all - wouldn’t want to wear anything too light in color.

“Gifts under the tree, please, Dex. Say hello to Kindness, I’m sure he misses you.” He kept his eyes on Karen, held out his hand to her as he closed the door. “Allow me take your coat, love. I’ve got the house just the temperature you like.”

“Honestly, Wright, you spoil us.” Karen gave a short nod and Dex moved only at her command, walking into the house with his eyes fixed on his next goal, on fulfilling the order he was given. He never looked at Wright, but there was already a hint of a flush to his face, and a cold glint in his eyes.

“One perk of a job like mine,” Karen said, sliding her coat off her shoulders to reveal the slim dark sweater and pants she wore underneath and kicking off her casual slides to leave by the fire, “is that you might have to work 14-hour days but they never try to keep you at holidays. It’s not like the products even know what day it is. Plus, I wouldn’t want to do anything else - we’ve made some real inroads with conditioning you’ll have to hear about.”

Dex’s eyes skimmed over ornaments and lights without taking much in before he glanced to the side, to see Jordan. He signed hello - his signs were shaky, but he was getting better at them. Then his eyebrows furrowed, just slightly, in something like real concern at the knife in his teeth as he glanced back over his shoulder at Wright and Karen.

Jordan looked up at Dex and nodded in response to the hello, trying to offer a bit of a smile. He would’ve signed back - he’d been learning along with Wright - but he was bound.

“Oh, lovely. I look forward to hearing about that particular topic. You always achieve such marvelous things,” Wright smiled. He paused a beat, before he turned to frown at the two boys. “Snitch, I didn’t hear a response. Don’t be so rude.”

Jordan felt a shock of fear at the name, swallowed, flushed, breathing heavily as he tried not to cut himself. He looked up at Dex, swallowed again, tried to figure out how to do this. He held onto the knife tightly between his teeth, but raised his lips and tried to manage a hello from the back of his throat.

Wright hummed happily. “… and to our lovely guest. Recall the holiday.”

His chest heaved, but he looked over at Karen miserably and attempted Merry Christmas. He almost cut himself on the S’s and the hard beginning of Christmas, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

“Hm. Good boy. What do you think, love?” he smiled to Karen, tilting his head.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” Karen breathed out with real appreciation. “Wright, the work you do. Well, mine is obviously far more clinical, but you know I never miss an opportunity to appreciate this kind of… genuine craftsmanship. Honestly, I don’t think I have a single coworker who could ever match you, and it’s what we do for a living. You… you give these boys a gift.”

Wright bit his lip a bit, as she spoke, smiled, let his emotions play over his face like he did for no one else. He paused a moment after she spoke. “Thank you, darling. There is a real difference between what we do for pleasure and what we do for money. I have such freedom to craft, and I wouldn’t be as… tidy… without inspiration from you. So thank you doubly, I suppose.” His smile grew wider. “You should see how well he doesn’t listen, now.”

Dex kept a careful eye out, and when the two monsters were looking at each other, he signed a quick I’m sorry to Jordan, mouthing the words along with it. He didn’t even know for sure if Jordan could understand the sign, but he always seemed to know what he was trying to say, anyway.

Jordan nodded back, just a little. His name wasn’t Kindness without reason, he thought painfully - and he wasn’t about to stop being kind just because Wright liked it.

“What do you say,” Karen said brightly, “we pop open this wine and get started? The weather outside is frightful and if I don’t have to catch an early flight any longer, well… we might as well get to have some fun tonight.”

Dex winced.

“That sounds lovely. Come with me to the kitchen if you like - or cozy by the fire and I’ll be over,” he said smoothly, taking up the bottle and all but dancing to the kitchen. Really, he was too free a spirit for the kind of spirit he was. He found the corkscrew in a drawer and opened the bottle himself, collected a pair of wine glasses that would compliment this particular one.

“If you don’t mind, love, I’ll take the fire - I’m still shaking the cold out of my bones, not to mention that rocky plane landing.” Karen stretched, feeling her spine move and muscles shift, a hint of a nagging ache in her lower back from the plane ride. First class could only do so much, after all. Although the champagne helped.

“Twenty-eight and it’s all downhill from here,” She mused, smiling over at Jordan and ruffling his hair with her hand as she moved past him to settle onto the couch close to the fire. “You’re looking lovely, little one. Much more well-behaved than the first time I met you, hm?”

He heard her coming and sat very straight, but he still wasn’t prepared for the touch. Jordan flinched a little, nicking his tongue on the knife in his mouth. His eyes followed her and he swallowed again, oh-so-careful, and nodded in response.

Wright called from the kitchen. “Would you have Dex bring this cheese tray I prepared earlier?”

“Of course, dear. You know Dex is always at your absolute disposal. Dex. To Wright.” Karen snapped her fingers again and Dex moved with speed and a grace that made it look much more effortless than it was. His shoulders were tense as he moved into the kitchen, his eyes on just about anything but Wright Farling.

Wright’s eyes remained on Dex the moment the boy walked into the kitchen. “On the counter, here. Discard the wrap, please.” He gestured to the corner using the hand which held the wine bottle. When Dex moved to take the tray, Wright stood too closely to him, leaning his one hand on the counter and stretching the glasses out in the opposite direction, fencing the other man in.

He smiled when Dex turned, first making sure the man wasn’t looking him in the eye… and then looking down over him, observing.

“You’re less nervous, handsome,” Wright mused, head tilting to the side. He grinned widely. “Mm… less here.”

Dex froze with the meat tray in his hands, his fingers tightening around the cool metal edge of the tray until his knuckles were white. It was pure instinct, and Dex knew it wouldn’t do him any good - it never did, with Mr. Farling - but he pressed himself back against the countertop, trying to put some space between them unobtrusively, without making it obvious.

He couldn’t sign, with the tray in his hands, so all he did was swallow hard - feeling the leather of his collar shift along his throat - and slowly nod, keeping his eyes fixed on a point just over Wright’s shoulder.

He couldn’t quite stop the shudder, and Wright cottoned on to that like blood in the water. He leaned forward over the collared man, awkward though it was with the tray between them. Wright’s eyes remained on Dex’s, made sure he was still following that one simple instruction he had for every boy. He hovered inches from Dex’s neck for a long moment.

Then smirked and leaned closer, mouth open. He scraped his teeth closed on Dex’s neck, not catching skin, and then pressed a soft kiss over the graze.

At the press of lips, Dex flinched back and made an odd, hoarse low noise, moving to mouth a please don’t that never left his throat.

Wright’s eyes darkened as he pulled away. He stared a moment, sighed, and then set down the wine bottle firmly on the counter, slowly pushing it back and out of the way. He took the tray out of Dex’s suddenly-trembling hands and set that down, too, then took the man’s jaw tightly in hand and pressed rather closely to him, legs nearly touching.

“Doesn’t Karen teach you not to flinch?” he said, head tilted in such a way that implied a coming kiss to the mouth. He waited.

Dex forced himself to stare at the copper pan hanging artfully on the opposite wall and carefully brought his hands up, too aware of Wright’s fingers on his jaw. He signed I’m sorry, but they were pressed so close together now that his hands grazed Wright’s shirt.

“Mhhhmmm,” Wright hummed, “I’m sure you are.” He leaned in to press his mouth to the corner of Dex’s, eyes still open and watching. Held for a beat. Pulled away.

He knew it was a trap - Wright Farling was always a trap, and Karen always always smiled and let Wright do whatever he wanted to him - but still, as Wright pulled back Dex’s dark eyes flickered to meet his. It was only a moment of eye contact before they widened in panic as he caught himself. He looked quickly back to the side, trying to focus on the light off the copper pan against the wall.

His hands jerked, a little, signing I’m sorry again, a little desperately, the signs bleeding into each other as his hands shook.

Wright smiled and laughed softly, reaching past Dex and over the tray for the bottle of wine. He shook his head. “Get the tray, Dex. Come on,” he said, as if good-naturedly.

As he returned to the living room, he noticed Jordan’s eyes set on the floor in front of him. “Oh yeah, that knife… hm, in a moment.” He gave Karen her glass and poured her wine first, waiting for her to indicate enough.

Karen had settled herself in quite contentedly, with one of Wright’s beautifully vibrant, fur-lined cable-knit throws pulled over her lap and her feet up on the couch to the side, looking up at the tree with all the delight of a child on Christmas morning. She maybe let Wright pour for just a touch longer than was altogether seemly before giving him an impish little smile. “Thank you, Wright, that’ll be lovely as a start. I know you are always stocked with the best, but I had this with dinner a few weeks ago and thought you really needed to try it.”

“I’m always open to new things,” he smiled, pouring himself a modest glass. He smelled and tasted, inclined his glass and then set it down. “Lovely. You’re so thoughtful, darling - you spoil me.”

Wright walked over to his kneeling boy, hands in the pockets of his trousers as he took in the view. He tilted his head slightly to watch Dex, just behind him with the tray of meat, cheese, and fruit ready.

He was back to his distant emotionless expression, but Karen noted the not-altogether-hidden flush in his face. Her smile widened, just slightly - not with warmth or joy but with a predator’s instinct for a prey animal’s discomfort.

Karen sat up, taking a long drink from her glass, and slowly leaned over to catch Dex’s attention as he set the tray on the low-set coffee table. “Dex, darling.” Light brown eyes raised, briefly, as his lips thinned. “You’ll be attending to Mr. Farling’s needs while we’re here. The poor dear hardly has the time for real company, what with the time involved in his project. You always have such fun in my dear friend’s bed, don’t you?”

Dex’s eyes fluttered closed, and he took in a slow breath, trying not to admit to himself that the flush in his skin went deeper, and darker. He always ended up in Wright Farling’s bed sooner or later.

Wright smiled, not at all hiding his gaze as he checked Dex out. He turned his attention to his own poor boy, though. Wright crouched, hands clasped between his legs, and looked over his Kindness. Sweating, drooling around the blade. Nude, perfectly complemented by the warm Christmas tree lights.

“You won’t flinch for me, will you darling?” he said playfully. Jordan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He shook his head very slightly as Wright took the handle of the knife. “Good boy. Suck.”

Jordan’s eyes widened and went to the ceiling, then the floor, everywhere but at Wright. But he didn’t flinch. He squeezed them shut, soon, slowly closing his mouth around the blade, dreading the consequences of obeying the command.

Wright laughed. “No, no. Stop. I just wanted to see, love-” he smiled as Jordan heaved a breath and a couple tears tracked down his cheeks. Wright took the handle. “Good boy. I won’t ruin your mouth, don’t you worry. Open up, I’ll slide this out.”

Karen took another drink, watching with fascination, her eyes locked on the little demonstration of abject obedience.

If she exhaled a little more audibly than normal, well, that was to be expected, wasn’t it? You could hardly ask her to maintain composure when shown the work of an absolute artisan in a field she sometimes felt was far too full of journeymen simply out to make money.

Dex kept his eyes away from them - it was all he could do for poor Jordan, all he could do for himself - and sank to his knees next to the spot where Wright had been sitting, hands laying on his thighs, fixing his eyes on a particular string of Christmas lights until they lost focus and became pretty, blurry little orbs that meant nothing.

"Sweet boy,” Karen said, eyes still on Jordan. “Sweet, sweet boy. Will your Kindness be staying up late with us this evening? I daresay we’ll be up long past his bedtime.”

“Hm. He certainly can,” Wright murmured, taking his sweet time extracting the blade. The moment it was fully from Jordan’s mouth, no longer even resting on his lip, the boy inhaled loudly, almost like a sob, chest heaving. Wright cupped his cheek and slowly ran his thumb over the bone. Then he gave Jordan a couple light pats there - more like slaps, really - and walked over to sit down by Karen’s feet.

He rested his arm - knife still in hand, wet with blood and saliva - on the back of the couch, legs open, body facing in her direction. He patted Dex’s head and reached for his wine. “I have been so looking forward to this time with you, love. What do you want to do, late this evening?”

“Hm, well. We’ll have to open gifts - I bought your sweet Kindness a few things. Clothes, mostly, I saw a few things when I was in New York last month… well. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll of course take them back if I overstep.”

She waved her hand again, unoffended and unbothered either way. Wright of all people understood her penchant for gift-giving, a way to show affection when she couldn’t - and wouldn’t- touch. Wright nodded, understanding and figuring it couldn’t hurt to put the boy in clothes now and then.

“As for us… Remember I told you about my work expo back in September… the industry is really running with new ideas and I picked you up a few things, too, alongside my usual ‘too many’ gifts. Dex, show Mr. Farling.”

Dex jumped into motion as soon as his name was spoken, moving to the tree to pick the long, shining black cane - unwrapped, it would only ruin the moment to try and wrap something so instantly recognizable - and bring it back. He hesitated, one hand trembling just slightly, before he went back to his knees to hold it out.

“This, Wright darling, is brand new. Built to last.”

Wright tipped back some wine, looking at his friend with a measure of surprise. He set down the glass on the table. He admired Dex on his knees for a moment, before taking the cane in hand and admiring it, too. The weight in his hands, the smoothness of the wood. Yet, calculated, he looked over at Karen again questioningly. “I’m flattered, love, but the skill level doesn’t yet match the tool. You really do spoil me,” he said, pouting slightly. He kissed the end of it, if only because he couldn’t kiss her - and Dex was no replacement.

Karen smiled at him over the rim of her wineglass, looking perhaps the youngest she ever had, thrilled just to see him hold it. “We have time to work on that,” She said brightly. She had a flush to her face from the wine - a weakness she didn’t often indulge in, in front of others, because she never let anyone see her less than perfectly composed… except for Wright, of course.

“The skill level may not yet match… but we can fix that. Dex, hands out.”

Wright hummed softly, amused and appreciative, and rotated the cane loosely in his hands. Dex looked up and over at her, surprised, and opened his mouth as though he’d protest. When she crooked an eyebrow, his mouth snapped shut again and he brought both hands slowly out, palms facing the floor, knuckles displayed. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes on the floor, though, and looked at the cane through his eyelashes with his chin tucked down, absolutely focused on it.

“Your problem, darling, is you never pull punches. It’s a strength, and I adore you for it… but when you’re handling something as precise as this, you have to pull the blow at the last second, make the moment last.”

“So you’re saying this isn’t for beating men to a pulp,” he responded jokingly and moved to his feet, his hold still relaxed on the implement. “Alright. Single-handed or both? Actually - would you demonstrate, love? I’ll watch to learn and not simply admire this time.”

Karen’s smile widened as she leaned over to set her wineglass down, shifting the blanket from her legs and standing up, slowly, giving it some thought and casting a critical eye at Dex, whose tense shoulders relaxed, just a little. “If I’m going to demonstrate, we’ll need a better canvas. Shirt, Dex.”

Dex’s shoulders tensed again, and in silence he pulled the sweater he was wearing off over his head, folded it neatly, and set it in a perfect square of cloth on the coffee table. Without waiting for the order, he moved until he was out further into the floor, in an area with more space. Wright took the opportunity to pour himself more wine, sipping as he watched.

Karen gave a little hum, happy to see the thoughtless obedience in action - happier still to have Wright see it. She walked, bare feet on the beautiful floors, until she was standing behind him, surveying the scarred but currently mostly unmarked skin. “Lucky for Dex you didn’t wait until I was three glasses in,” She said, tapping the cane lightly on Dex’s back.

Dex flinched, but then stilled himself, keeping his eyes focused on the floor.

Wright laughed softly, eyes dark with pleasure and sadistic admiration. She was beautiful. Dex was… Dex was her ever-more-perfect work. He circled them slowly, leaving enough distance for Karen to reach as she needed. The image of them together, in seasonably warm light, was divine art. Speaking of divine art-

“Kindness, if I hear a single whimper from you, you’ll regret your very existence. So keep quiet, darling,” he warned. Wright prefer nothing disturb his peace.

“As I said, the secret is to pull your strength at just the last second, while still maintaining control over the blow.” Karen’s voice had gone into something of a lecturing tone - still warm and melodic, but with the easy authority she held over her coworkers at the Facility. “First, I’ll show you - although I suppose it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

When she brought the cane down for the first strike, her arm barely seemed to move - it was with surgical precision that she decided on the right spot, set herself to aim, and the black cane went through the air with a soft ssshhh before - indeed with the barest bit of a pause - it came down in a perfect vertical line right down Dex’s spine.

He jerked forward, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants, hissing through his teeth. Then, slowly, he forced himself to lean back into the starting position. Wright inhaled softly, soaking up Dex’s reaction. And then he replayed what he’d just seen in his fresh memory, attempted to quickly hide it away. Hm. Well, that wouldn’t do long-term, but it would for a moment.

“I could do a few more for you? Or I’d be happy to help you. Some of the younger handlers have no clue what they’re doing, it’s really atrocious… I give a lot of lessons at work.”

“Let me try a couple, and critique me. I don’t think I’ve quite got the right image, but after I undoubtedly fuck up, I’ll be happy to watch you demonstrate again. Do you mind?” he held his glass to her and extended his hand to take the cane. Dex felt heat behind his eyes, and closed them tightly.

This was going to hurt.

Wright copied her grip, aimed to strike a line parallel to hers, then readjusted. “Oh, fuck-” he muttered, figuring he was overthinking it, and then hit. He did genuinely forget to pull at the last moment and winced at the resulting sound. Not, of course, because he disliked hearing pain - because he’d forgotten.

Dex was half-thrown forward by the force of the blow this time, catching himself with his palms on the floor, crying out. Along his back the line was straight enough, but instead of the simple red weal Karen had brought to the surface, the second line was deep and already beginning to well up with beads of blood. Still, Dex pushed himself back on his hands and went back to starting position, breathing harder now, starting to sweat.

“I’ll redo that.” He did, and held back. This line went parallel on the other side, and Dex only jerked again, the low hiss his only giveaway that it still hurt. Karen stepped up close, head tilted, looking with clinical expertise at Wright’s work.

“Dex? Thoughts?”

Dex, hands shaking, signed left hurts, right better. Thank you. Then he dropped his hands back to his thighs, closed his eyes, and tried to keep his breathing even, waiting for the next round. Wright inhaled sharply at the gratitude - oh, he was far too appreciative of that, far too soon.

“See the difference, Wright?” Karen indicated the two marks on either side of Dex’s spine. “If you hit like you did on the left, you’ll knock them out from the shock before they learn anything. Pull your strength like you did here, though… you could keep going with Dex all night and he wouldn’t pass out until dawn. Never hit to draw blood - the blood will come, love, it will. You have to hit for the pain.”

“Mhm, I see-” he responded, eyes on her more than Dex. He could look at Dex as he hit him. Wright was flushed now, pupils dilated, and not from wine. “I see how this works for you. Very useful - much easier to manage than cutting. Show me a new angle, love. I have vertical memorized.”

“I just don’t have the patience for cutting like you do, I think,” Karen admitted, taking the cane back from him, considering its dangerous black shine. “The cane is… faster.” She considered for a moment, and then her expression brightened, stealing another sip of wine from Wright’s glass with a look of pure mischievous joy on her face. He took the glass back and drank from it, pleased to share. “You know what… let me show you something I’ve been working on with Dex to present at work. This one is a bit tricky, but it’s fun. Twenty-Three, Dex.”

Dex swallowed, licking at his lips, betraying his nervousness as he shifted first onto hands and knees and then slowly lowered his chest to the floor, palms flat on the ground and hips up in the air behind him.

“Oh, lovely,” Wright smiled.

Karen didn’t hesitate, only walked away from Wright and around to the side in a few quick motions, and the cane came down across his back in a perfect diagonal from the top of the rightmost mark to the bottom of the left. Dex jerked, just slightly, but didn’t even hiss this time. “You have to have a bit more control, but there’s a bit of added excitement with the legs available, don’t you think? Makes them sing.”

Another quick few steps, another slash of the cane - this time across the backs of Dex’s thighs, right over the fabric of his pants. Dex jerked hard and cried out in pain, fingers moving as if he could dig his way through the floor, only barely holding himself still.

Wright finished his glass, for now ignoring a problem that roused between his legs. He would’ve moaned at the sound alone if he had less control. “Would you show me again? I’m afraid I was distracted by the wrong… form,” he smiled, finally tearing his eyes away from Dex.

Karen laughed.

The cane flew through the air again, with perfect surgical targeting, and Dex was caught fully off-guard this time - too distracted by the sound of Karen’s open, honest laughter to brace himself. He collapsed briefly onto his stomach on the floor, cry more gasp than sound this time, and struggled to push himself back up into Twenty-Three fast enough.

“Well,” Karen said, considering him as he moved, legs shaking. “Someone stopped paying the proper attention, and this time it wasn’t you.”

“I saw that time. I can take it up, unless you’d like a couple more strikes. You know…” Wright hummed, set down the glass once more, and leaned down to press his hand to Dex’s lower back. “If I hit him here, horizontally, and didn’t pull my hit… I’d end up paralyzing him from the waist down.”

How was that relevant? Oh, it probably wasn’t. But Wright was still thinking it - easily distracted - and he found his thoughts rarely displeased Karen.

Dex froze under Wright’s touch, just barely back into form. His eyes were on the floor, carefully focused, but wide and the whites showed all around them.

Karen let the moment draw out, watching Dex’s back move rapidly with his breathing, up into Wright’s hand and away from it as best he could, again and again. Let the silence grow - watching her boy’s face. Then she held out the cane. “Why, Wright, darling… I’m not sure Dex likes you.”

Wright smiled and looked down at the boy, head tilted. Dex swallowed hard, closed his eyes tightly, and rested his forehead on the floor, every muscle tense.

“That’s heartbreaking,” he said, in an amused tone that clearly indicated otherwise. He stood and took the cane, but let the end rest at that point he’d touched a moment ago, still thinking about that. Mute and paralyzed, what would Dex manage?

Dex’s back shifted at the light touch of the cane. He fought an instinctive urge to get away from it, forced himself to hold still only with serious, visibly obvious effort.

Wright smiled, laughed softly, and then pulled the cane back and adjusted. He really had missed Karen’s form for the diagonal strikes, but he figured he’d do his best. He lay two hits, one soon after the other, crossing Karen’s at perfect angles. He likely hadn’t pulled enough, and expected that he’d bruise or break the skin a bit.

Karen watched with clinical detachment, if still looking entirely too amused, as Dex hissed with each strike, fingers curling into fists, keeping his head against the floor. “Hm. Not bad, Wright - he’ll bleed a bit from that one, but the other really is lovely. See, this…” She stepped in, drawing a finger up the growing red welt, the soft beads of blood smearing, and Dex made a soft, pleading sound in response. “… this isn’t bad, for bleeding. He’ll feel it for days. If you were in training as my employee I’d reprimand you for it, but this is for fun, so… for entertainment, this little bit of blood isn’t going to be a problem. He’ll still heal fast, without scarring - unless you want him to scar. Then you can just disregard all I said about pulling your strength. Hold on, I want to pick up my wine.”

Karen stepped quickly back over to sweep her glass up from the coffee table, glancing over at Jordan, then back at Wright. “He really is quiet this time. Last time I was able to get here for a visit he was nowhere near this well-behaved.”

She paused, then with a dismissive wave said, “If you promise to pull your strength enough so he can walk, have a chance at Dex’s legs. I don’t allow anything that damages my boy for life, but I trust you.”

“Hm. I promise,” he responded, eyes now on Jordan. He’d saved those memories - frustrating as fresh boys were, terribly behaved as they were, the end result was nothing without the memory of how they began. “Play with him, if you like. He’s been very good lately. Not finished, but very good.”

Wright held back his strength and pulled, laying three strikes over Dex’s thighs to run parallel to Karen’s. Then he smirked and held the cane between the man’s legs, riding up his perineum to his cleft. “You’ll want to be very still, Dex,” he murmured.

Dex was in a world of pain from his shoulder blades down, eyes closed to try and ride out the worst of it - but he stiffened at the press of the smooth wood between his legs, let out a low soft whimper, not quite a plea.

It wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t beg with words and Wright would only have taken begging as encouragement, anyway. He closed his fists tightly enough that he could feel his own fingernails pricking into the skin of his palms and nodded, head still pressed to the floor, feeling the slightest hint of gratitude, in some dark place inside him, that Wright had given him warning at all.

Wright gave him that moment of pause before laying the threatened strike - light and fast, but Wright could imagine the hell of that pain.

Dex screamed, and then collapsed again, making choked-off animalistic sounds hoarse in his throat. He didn’t push himself back up this time, too lost in the pain.

Karen watched with bright, sparkling eyes, unwilling to look away for even a moment.

Wright bit at his lip, eyes closing as he listened. This was the music he loved. On one hand, he ought to keep going, to correct Dex for not pushing himself up. On the other…well. He was generous. “Up,” he said, reaching down to hook his hand into Dex’s pants and maneuver him back onto his knees.

Jordan whimpered softly from where he sat, and Wright… stopped. He let go of Dex, turning to his own boy - defiant and pleading, but not very wise. Wright knew the trading game he was being roped into, and his sense of fairness and his desire to inflict punishment warred with the pleasure he could indulge if he ignored his boy. Jordan knew, too - instinctually, nothing he could articulate - and he made eye contact as he whimpered again.

Karen rolled her eyes, looking over at Jordan with the expression of someone pissed off that the intermission came so soon during an opera. “Really?” She asked, raising her eyebrows, taking a long drink of her wine. “Now?”

Jordan swallowed and glanced at Karen, keeping his expression carefully schooled before he looked back at Master. He ought to worry about her, but he didn’t care.

Dex, breathing in a mix of harsh pants and low whines as the pain radiated through nearly all of his body, looked up still at the whimper, meeting Jordan’s eyes, trying to shake his head and struggling even to manage that much coherency. He tried to take a deep breath - it didn’t work, but trying still counted for something - and his fingers grabbed at the fabric of Wright’s pant leg. He pushed himself all the way up to kneeling, whining with the pain, and signed, hands shaking and barely intelligible, No, please, not him. He is good.

Wright’s attention was recaptured by Dex’s fingers on his leg, and the impressive fortitude of the other man. It was satisfying, but not enough. “No, he isn’t. I told him to be quiet,” he said, hand clenching the cane tightly. He was furious. Jordan couldn’t have done this any other day? After he was just praising him, too.

He stared back at the boy, giving himself more time before he did anything hasty, trying to calculate. Punishment was necessary, but he was vaguely aware that the boy was controlling him.

Finally, with a breath like a man coming up from a long swim underwater, he laughed and smiled at Karen. “Would you punish him for me? I’m busy,” he added, tilting his head at Jordan… who suddenly looked lost. He hadn’t thought of that.

Karen finished the rest of her wine in one long drink, setting the glass carefully down on the table and looking at Jordan again, in a different way. Calculating, considering. The warmth in her face when she was looking at Wright was gone all at once - as though a light switch had been shut off, and what was left was something very dark indeed. This time, Jordan was afraid.

“Of course,” She said, softly, her head slowly tilting. “I’d like your leave to untie him, though. Rules of engagement?”

“…Fine. I don’t care,” Wright grit his teeth. “Keep him alive and able to move.”

A sense of dread curled in Jordan, an anxiousness that came with not knowing. Wright never set such loose boundaries, and he never didn’t care.

Dex pulled in a harsh breath through his nose and let it out again, dropping his hand from Wright’s leg and staring, fury and resignation warring in his face, back down at the floor.

He looked at Dex at the movement, circled the man and lay a fresh vertical stripe on his back. “What are you pissed about?” he snapped, not looking for an answer, and followed up the stripe with parallel.

The constant throbbing between his legs had overwhelmed Dex’s usual control over himself during a caning and he jerked forwards again, hard, with each stripe, unable to stop the sounds he made. The expression on his face, though, he couldn’t hide - furious anger that he could do nothing with, that Wright was doing this to children, where Dex at least was a grown man who had signed up for… not this, but something like it even if he didn’t remember doing so.

His hands jerked, finger twitching, as he fought the urge to sign something incredibly stupid.

Wright ignored that for now, focusing on caning a cross-hatch of sorts into Dex’s back instead. For now.

Karen moved to Jordan, watching him with cold eyes as she undid the bindings one by one, taking her time. Her movements were businesslike, clinical - there was no hint of intimacy in any of it. As though Jordan weren’t human at all. He didn’t mind - in fact, he preferred the clinical touch over Wright’s uncomfortable ones.

“I flew straight from a very intense day at work for this get-together,” She said in her low, warm voice. “Do you understand? Don’t answer that, children don’t ever understand the work adults do. I brought Dex for a reason, child.” She gripped Jordan by the chin, jerking it to meet her eyes - she had no rules like Wright’s, and wanted him to understand that he could not rely on the same expectations with her.

“I was enjoying myself. And now you’ve gone and upset maybe the best person I’ve ever had the honor to know. I do not enjoy that. Do you think Dex appreciates you getting yourself injured on his behalf, Jordan? Do you think he appreciates your kindness?”

Jordan had been glaring at her, ready to spit something at her about Wright being the ‘best person’ she knew and that not being impressive at all. But what she said about Dex caught him off-guard. He tried to look over, out of the corner of his eye, to see if Dex was mad at him. It had been an accident - he thought he could distract Wright… Jordan wasn’t used to having someone else to think about, and that had been so painful for Dex.

Dex had curled over himself on his knees on the floor, taking each hit without trying to escape it. He glanced up, catching Jordan’s eyes on him, and managed a hint of a thin smile - some attempt at reassurance - before Wright’s next blow hit and he tried as best he could to swallow the sound of pain.

He jerked one hand towards his face - figuring the first thing a kid would do if he was learning sign is look up the curse-words - and managed to sign bastard. Then dropped both hands to sign limp, rolling his eyes back towards Wright. Jordan felt a little laugh in his chest, but he didn’t let it up. He was very careful not to let it up, even if his eyes brightened a little. His eyes stayed on Dex until Karen started to talk.

“You don’t see it - I understand,” She said with something like real understanding and compassion. Jordan’s eyes flicked back to her. “Children are so weak for animals and insects. One day, if you’re good, if you learn, you might walk out of here. My Dex never will. Please understand, Jordan, I don’t enjoy hurting children. That’s not the direction my interests lie. But for you… well. Wright is an artist. I can’t touch what he can do to you.” Her eyes drifted to the kitchen, thinking. “But I can try, if nothing else, to be a pale shade of the master.”

Jordan wanted to be quiet. Being quiet was good, pleased Master, didn’t hurt. “…can’t,” he muttered.

Wright paused, the sounds stopping along with the strikes.

He…he understood. What Wright was doing to him. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “You… um…” oh, speaking was hard. “… you don’t guard.”

A chuckle, from Master. He was in a better mood now. Wright watched Karen curiously.

Karen’s eyebrows raised again, but without the condescending coldness from before. Instead, she looked more interested than anything else. “That is correct. I do not guard. I am not Dex’s guardian, darling, I am his owner. I have a piece of paper, in my home - and copies in safety deposit boxes, in my office, and Wright has a copy himself, of course, just in case - stating that I am his owner. If I were to die in some… unfortunate accident… Dex would not walk free. He would come here, to live with your Master, when my belongings went to my listed next of kin. Do you understand? Your mercy - your willingness to step up for someone else - is admirable. But this is… more like throwing your hands in front of a whipped dog than protecting another person. Do you still use a gas-flame stove, Wright? I need to sterilize something.”

Dex was staring at Karen slightly wide-eyed - apparently surprised to hear the bit about the next of kin.

“Yes, I do,” Wright nodded.

Jordan had been dazed, overwhelmed by the information - it was a lot to understand. So his response was a little late. “Um… I would… I would do that for a dog,” he murmured. “Dex is a little more than a dog, right? I would do that for a dog.”

“Well, thanks for telling us. I’ll have to teach you some self-preservation,” Wright said, shaking his head a bit.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Karen tsked, clicking her tongue against her teeth, and moved gracefully to standing. “That is so disappointing to hear. Stand up, Jordan. I appreciate your forthright honesty tonight, but you can’t escape the discipline you’ve earned by interrupting your Master’s evening.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder, catching the remaining unhidden surprise - and more than a little worry for Jordan - on Dex’s face. A flicker of that cold smile again, and Dex shrank back, just a little, almost leaning back towards Wright without realizing it.

“We’ll be in the kitchen, darling,” Karen said to Wright. “I trust you with mine. I hope you’ll trust me with yours.”

“Of course,” Wright nodded. Jordan followed Karen into the kitchen, trembling most of the way. He glanced back at his Master, suddenly realizing how much safer he was with Wright, but Wright wasn’t looking.

No, he was more focused on Dex. He crouched in front of the kneeling man, cane perfectly balanced across his thighs. “That was pretty interesting, wasn’t it? What do you think, Dex? Are you a little more than a dog?”

Dex was breathing carefully, now, trying to balance the pain in his body with some measure of control over it. His eyes stayed focused on the cane in Wright’s hands, his own lifting to respond, then hesitating.

Finally, he took a deep breath and set his jaw into a hard line. Doesn’t matter, he signed, moving slowly - more from the pain in his back but he felt a spark of dim hope Wright would think he was being condescending. You hurt me. More than dog, yes. He paused one more time, deliberating. His eyes flickered to the kitchen doorway and then back to the cane. More than you. All you do is hurt. I can handle hurt.

Wright didn’t particularly care why Dex was signing slowly - it helped him, anyway. He tilted his head, thinking about the words. It might be the most Dex had ever said to him at one time. “I don’t know if hurting is all I do. Maybe Karen will let me borrow you a while, one of these days, and I’ll show you what I do. I mean, have you seen Jordan lately? You think he’s so good because I only hurt him?”

Dex’s eyes flared, and without thinking - because if he had, he would never have done it - he grabbed for the cane.

#whump #captivity #conditioning #caning #tw: blood #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon kissing #whump involving a minor #minor whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #lady whumper #distant whumper #sadistic whumper #tw: minor whump

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stattic-writes · 4 years

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Branch Evolution

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author-morgan · 4 years

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Phobia ☤ Alexios

five - on the shores of fate

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

THE BEACHES OF Samos are among the most beautiful to Irene –especially when enjoyed with a skin of famed Samian wine. Dionysus surely blessed the vineyards and vintners of the island. Indeed, the merchant had exclaimed after offering Irene a taste of the previous year's vintage. She'd compared it to ambrosia. If the Olympian Gods drank nectar, it would be Samian wine!

A golden eagle lands on a piece of driftwood, clutching a large fish in its talons. The bird tears a hunk from the writhing bakallaros, swallows, then turns its piercing eyes to Irene. "Ikaros!" A voice calls on the wind. The eagle looks up, scans the cove then returns to its feast, though Irene is not so eager to forget the call.

"Ikaros!" The voice calls again, closer than before. A man steps from the trees onto the white sand, gaze flicking from Ikaros to a woman. She is standing with sword and spear in hand, face set in grim determination. "How did you come by that?" He asks, pointing at the broken spear in her hand. It bears an odd resemblance to the one he carries.

Her kopis is still splattered with blood from a mercenary who attempted to collect on a bounty prior in the day. She has no qualm about mixing it with the blood of another. "Don't come any closer," Irene tells him, raising the spear and sword.

"Who are you?" The man asks. Ignoring her warning, he takes another step. After the people he's fought today, she looks about as dangerous as a wolf cub.

"No one of importance," she answers –tone sharp. He shakes his head and sighs. Irene looks between the man and eagle that now perches on his shoulder. There are rumors among the islands of a misthios and a tamed golden eagle. Until now, they have always seemed like just that, rumors and legends though she is reluctant to believe he is more than just a man. "You're the Eagle Bearer," Irene notes, lowering her weapons but not her defenses.

The man crosses his arms, shrugs. "Perhaps, but most call me Alexios." He offers his name in hopes she will tell him hers, but Irene remains silent. "Who are you?" He asks again.

"Someone far from home," she quips, not willing to relinquish her identity so easily to a stranger –a misthios no less. It doesn't matter if he is the mythical Eagle Bearer, he still kills for drachmae.

"Enough riddles!" His voice rumbles with anger. He is annoyed and tired and wants answers. "How do you have that fucking spear?!"

Irene lifts her chin, grip tightening on sword and spear. She does not wish for the day to end in bloodshed. "I don't know you, and I cannot trust you, thus I cannot tell you."

Alexios steps closer to the small fire and Ikaros takes to the sky –his features are sharpened with dark shadows cast by dancing flames. He wants answers but Herodotus' words echo in his head. Don't forget, brute force is useless when finesse is required. It seemed a common trait for women to require finesse. "What will it take for you to trust me?"

She ponders the question. There is something she could use the extra muscle for –the task doesn't necessarily warrant trust, though. "I'm hunting Eurymedon," Irene announces. Alexios is surprised by the mention of the Athenian strategos. "He's put a hefty bounty on my head," she explains. Two thousand drachmae for the person who brings her to him, alive and unharmed. The general meant to teach her a lesson in respect –she shudders at the thought.

He raises his brow –clearly questioning the reason why she is looking for such an esteemed general. Irene flushes as she remembers Eurymedon's actions in the Temple of Hera. "I turned down his drunken advances. Broke his nose and dignity." In retrospect, she should have broken a lot more than his nose for the things he said and did.

Alexios laughs –there is a spark in her. He finds it alluring. "If I help you find him, will you tell me your name?"

THE HERAION TREASURY is heavily fortified, though by night most of the guards are sleeping in barracks or at their posts. They move like shadows, working in the dark. Alexios has fought side-by-side with people before, but no one has ever moved like her. She is steps ahead of enemies, as quick as Hermes and deadly as Ares.

He kicks a corpse from his sword and looks over his shoulder to see Irene pushing her broken spear through the neck of a guard from behind. She steps in front of the man before he falls and pulls the spear out the other side of his neck. Grace and brutality have never mixed until now.

Eurymedon retracts the bounty, swears it was a mistake and vows it will never happen again, nor will he speak of what happened this night under pain of death. Irene isn't sure if her harsh words are what drove him to the decision or the knife Alexios holds at his neck. Either way, she tosses the scrolls promising payment for her return into a smoldering hearth.

For the time, Irene has made a small cave her residence. It sits half-hidden beneath a waterfall in the forest and is only accessible by a slim strip of stone bordering the pool and cliff-face. It is a shallow cave filled with trinkets from previous inhabitants. Embers burn red and orange in iron braziers.

Irene discards her sword, glances down at the dried blood on her hands and arms. "What do I owe you for your services?" She asks –there was always some caveat to receiving the help of a sellsword.

Alexios laughs. She was more than capable of carving her way through the treasury guards and convincing the general of his error. "Answers," he replies, crossing his arms. "Who are you?" He inquires for the third time. Something about her is familiar –like a waking dream.

She draws in a slow breath, having given her word to the Eagle Bearer. "The bastard daughter of Amytis and Apollonides of Kos," Irene tells him.

He looks uncertain, but her fear and apprehension are enough assurance she speaks the truth. "You are descended from Xerxes?" He asks, bewildered. People have claimed to be descendants of the Persian king before, but she is the first person he believes.

She nods –wondering if she had just made a mistake by speaking of her heritage, but she is tired of being nobody, of having to craft cleverly told lies. "My name is Irene."

A smile tugs at his lips as he leans back on his hands. "Goddess of Peace," Alexios muses –to him she looks like war and chaos. As if Athena, Aphrodite, and Eris all had a hand in crafting her. "Funny name for a Persian."

As a naïve girl, she didn't understand how one person could create peace. Truthfully, Irene still doesn't understand what she is meant to do. Vengeance drives her now. "Hydarnes told me my mother hoped I could bring some semblance of unity between our nations." The princess glances across the fire at Alexios –he looks like someone driven by vengeance too. She holds out the broken spear. "This is the spear of Leonidas."

He reaches behind him, frees the other half of the broken spear from his quiver and lays it across her folded legs. "I know," Alexios replies. The end he possesses is larger and more ornate, with a single fuller of bronze running down the center of the spearhead. The misthios picks up the other half, runs his finger along the blade's edge –it tries to bite into his skin.

Wordlessly they fit the broken ends together. A jolt of power shocks them both. Irene's eyes flick up to meet his. The boy on the mountain. Alexios sits back on his haunches in disbelief. The girl on the ship. They both want, no need to know more. After a heavy silence, he speaks. "I sail for Athens," he tells her, "and there's always room for another fighter aboard my ship."

Her business on Samos is now complete, and it has been far too long since she had last returned to Attika. Besides, sailing with the Eagle Bearer is likely more eventful than traveling via the Athenian fleet. "Very well," she replies. They will depart at dawn to return to the ship and then Athens.

Irene rises and sheds the outermost pieces of her armor, begins walking toward the cave's entrance and waterfall. Alexios clears his throat when she unfastens the closures of her chiton. "What are you doing?" He asks, caught off-guard by her libertine display.

The princess looks back over her shoulder, holding her robes in place. "First impressions are important to me. I may be a fighter, but I am still a woman." She does not enjoy being covered in filth or having dried blood beneath her nails. It would be a shame if Alexios' crew mistook her for just a cut-throat. "Look away, misthios," Irene instructs, stepping out of the puddle of linen at her feet and into the water.

#Alexios #Alexios x OC #Alexios Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #story: Phobia #my writing

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quinlinkin · 5 years

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take it from me ( i’d be lost without you ) ↳ Q’s twdg writing challenge

character(s): mitch, willy ship(s): n/a word count: 656 author’s note: so i decided to go the more wholesome route with this one, bc honestly mitch & willy's bromance gives me so much life and i could cry about them all day long

[ ao3 link ]

*credits to the wonderful @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale for creating this challenge! you can view the entire prompt list + further details here. happy writing!!

― ☼ ―

day two ; knife.

As the sun steadily falls down beyond the horizon in a sea of vivid colors, the still evening air is interrupted by the sound of dull, rhythmic scraping.

A piece of narrowed wood in hand, Mitch drags his blade along the surface with expertise, molding and shaping the mental image in his mind into true form. It’s not as if he needs another knife. Yet in an abandoned boarding school caught amidst the end of the world, there’s only so many things to do in order to maintain one’s sanity.

Whittling remains at the top of his short list of hobbies, and it’s not uncommon for him to be shadowed by a certain someone as he does so. Tonight should be no different, as the boy who’d previously been kicking at the embers of the nearby fire had predictably gravitated until he’s hovering quite literally over his shoulder.

And, in true Willy fashion, the quiet ambiance doesn’t last for much longer after that.

“How’d ya get so good at that?” His familiar, raspy voice cuts through the air, right next to Mitch’s ear. He’s used to it, by now.

“Practice,” he answers simply, focused eyes never leaving the ongoing project in his hands. Multitasking undoubtedly comes in handy when dealing with Willy. Otherwise he’s sure he’d never get anything done.

Not that he actually minds, of course.

“How much practice?”

Mitch spares a fleeting grin. “A lot. Patience helps, too.”

Hands perched on the arm of the couch, Willy extends his elbows to get a better look, chin brushing against Mitch’s hair. “Hm…”

It’s a testament to how well he knows him, for that’s all it takes for Mitch to know he’s caught his interest. “What’s on your mind, bud?”

“Could you- I dunno, if you’re not like… too busy or anything… Could you maybe teach me how to do that...?”

The subtle grin on Mitch’s face grows a little wider. “Ah… You finally want to learn the ways of the master, huh? Well, it’ll cost ya big time, y’know...”

He turns his head to regard the younger, and can’t resist the laugh that escapes him as he catches sight of the slightly confused look on his face.

“I’m just fuckin’ with ya,” he smirks, before patting the free spot on the couch next to him. “C’mere. Grab the other piece of wood there, and take out your knife.”

Willy, as Mitch has previously learned time and time again, is a fast learner. He’ll attribute the certain talent to his endless amount of enthusiasm towards just about everything, and unsurprisingly, the very same applies to weapon carving. He’s surprised he hasn’t been asked to show him how to do it before now.

Once Mitch had laid out the basics, they’d spent the better part of a couple of hours working together on their separate tasks. It’s the most silent Willy has been in a long time, only speaking whenever he required help or advice.

Willy’s loudly broken focus indicates that he’s finished with his craft.

“Done!” he announces, raising his hands up high as if he’s part of some sort of competition despite the fact that Mitch has long since finished his own carving.

“Well? Let’s see it.” There’s already pride in Mitch’s voice, unmistakable as he gestures towards the object clasped in the younger boy’s elevated hand.

Willy, as chipper as always, beams a crooked-toothed smile. He holds out the wooden knife directly in front of Mitch’s face, so close that his eyes cross. From a quick once over, it appears rough and messy, sporting an uneven, partially gouged handle and a crooked blade.

To Mitch, it’s perfect.

“Hell yeah! You’re a natural, dude.” Well- somewhat. He’s sure the shoddy knife is functional, at least. It’s a solid first attempt, in any case.

Willy’s grin is unwavering. “You think? Maybe someday I’ll even be as good as you!”

He’s met with a mirrored grin. “Maybe.”

#twdgdrabblechallenge #twdg #twdg mitch #twdg willy #Q writes

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knittedkikwi · 4 years

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I found a solo rpg!

So, Mark Hulmes has been playing Ironsworn on his personal stream because it has the ability to support solo play. I finally took some time to watch a little bit of it and, me being me, jumped right into my own campaign. I had this idea of finding out what happens if you make a character with no past. Could you come up with a coherent story for someone starting with amnesia? Solo play relies a lot on you rolling on random generator tables and then making them fit into the situation. Could this be used to reveal a character’s past or would it just turn out crazy. I’m gonna try it and post it here. I’m writing out the campaign as I go as if I were writing a story (with random inserts of the rolls I’ve made so I can remember what I’ve actually done.). I’ve written up her story so far below the cut if anyone’s interested. Be warned, it’s long and I am not a writer. Let’s see how this experiment goes, shall we?

The first thing Mira noticed as she awoke was the complete lack of light. The second thing was the staleness of the air. It was getting harder to breathe and she was starting to panic. Adrenaline surged through her as she took stock of her surroundings. There was something heavy resting on top of her and her hands were wrapped around it. It seemed to be poking her palm, so she released it and started feeling outward. It was a small space, the walls felt like wood. Mira brought her arms up and braced them against the top panel of this box. Using all the strength she could summon, Mira pushed upwards. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the panel moved. Dirt cascaded down on her as she continued to push. Coughing, Mira sat up and looked around. She was in a cheap pine box, whose top was about four inches below ground. Someone had buried her, but she didn’t know who, or why, or even where she was. Come to think of it, she didn’t know who she was either. She knew her name was Mira, but nothing else.

Mira sat there a while longer to get her breathing under control before attempting to stand. When she did, something heavy fell from her lap with a sold thunk. Her glance down revealed a battle axe, the hand worn smooth with use, the blade showing wear but the edge razor sharp. She frowned. A handle that smooth shouldn’t have been poking her hand, so what had she felt earlier. Mira picked up the axe the axe with ease, despite it being quite heavy. There, hidden under the axe’s head, was a piece of paper. It was folded small enough that it could easily have fit in her palm. She picked it up and unfolded it, revealing writing on the inside.

“Mira-

You must flee. You are no longer safe here. I will catch up with you when I can.

- R”

Odd. The confirmation of her name was reassuring, but she couldn’t remember where she was running from. And who was this R she was supposed to meet? She started rifling through her clothes to see if there were any other notes. Unfortunately, she was only wearing a simple dress that she supposed had been cream colored, before the dirt bath, and a green cloak. The cloak caught her interest. Symbols she did not recognize were embroidered all over it in black thread. What could that mean? Mira supposed the only way to find out was to find a village and start asking questions. Now if only she knew which way the village was…

Mira wandered the woods for hours before she was found by an elf named Dotani Kerihu. They were surprised to see her, but showed her compassion nonetheless. They traveled with her for a month, teaching her how to hunt and navigate the area she now knew was called the Deep Wilds. Dotani showed her how to craft a simple shield, light a fire, set snares, and, eventually, how to befriend animals. Mira seemed to have a special affinity for owls and manage to convince one to travel with them. She named it Gabriel, though she does not know why.

She doesn’t know why she does a lot of things. Her axe, for example. When Dotani was trying to show her how to split wood for a fire, Mira was immediately able to choose the precise point on the log to split it cleanly into two. When her axe stuck into the stump they were using as a base, she was able to wrench it free as if she had done it hundreds of times. Dotani let her borrow the whetstone he used on his daggers one evening. Before he even had a chance to start explaining what it was or how it worked, she was running it along the edge of her axe with the ease of someone well versed in the practice. She found herself going through what she assumed were training stances every night. She wished she knew where she learned them. Dotani seemed impressed with her form, finding very little to correct.

Eventually, Dotani lead her to the edge of the Wilds. They explained that due east was a large village named Grimtree. It was safe and she would likely be able to find work there. Hopefully she would be able to find answers. He gave her a token before they parted, a small wooden circle with a symbol carved on it. They explained that should she ever return to the Wilds and need Dotani’s help, find someone and show them that token. Then Dotani disappeared into the dense forest and Mira headed off on the first leg of what would hopefully be the journey to her past.

Mira stumbled into town, nervous about what she might find. What she ended up finding was Sadia Chandra, the owner of the only inn in town. Mira knew she needed someplace to stay and realized she would not have much luck with the general populace once she saw the distrustful looks from the townsfolk. (Not that she could really blame them. She’d washed her clothes as best she could, but they were still stained from her time underground.) So she headed to the Dragon & Raven Lodge to see if she could make some sort of arrangement. That’s where she met Sadia, barking orders at some long suffering waitress while simultaneously getting people room keys or extra blankets. Sadia was a sever woman with a eyes that always made you feel like you’d done something wrong. She nearly threw Mira out when she asked to pay for a room through work. Mira mentally thank Dotani for everything they had taught her as she played up her skills as a hunter and laborer. She was eventually able to convince Sadia to let her stay in exchange for running odd errands and helping at the inn whenever needed. The room wasn’t much, but it was clean and had hot water. Sadia even gave her a sensible set of work clothes (although this might have been because Sadia couldn’t stand that dress. Mira kept it in hopes that it might mean something later on.).

After a month, Sadia even trusted her to make a purchase from the traveling merchant, Themon Kai. He had been in town when Mira arrived, but she hadn’t paid any attention, being rather focused on find someplace safe to stay. Now, she was seeking him out with a couple of silver pieces to hopefully purchase more cutlery for the inn. Themon was easily found, seeing as he wore more elaborate clothing than most of the folks in town and had the voice to match. He was set up in the square, shouting about his wares and laughing with customers as they talked. He seemed to know everyone in town, including Mira somehow. When she approached, he remembered seeing her pass through and remarked that she looked considerably better than last he saw her. Surprised, Mira found herself having a quite enjoyable conversation with him. Looking over his wares for new forks and spoons, Mira spotted some old armor that intrigued her. Themon caught her eyeing it and explained he’d picked it up from an old shield maiden who retired several years ago and no longer needed it. The price was 5 gold pieces, but he might be willing to lower it if she could tell him a good story.

Mira had no money beyond what Sadia had gave her for errands, but she couldn’t get the armor out of her mind. Mira asked Sadia if she could take extra jobs at the inn to earn some money. Sadia begrudgingly agreed (Mira thinks Sadia’s starting to warm up to her, even if she won’t admit it) and Mira started making money for the first time in her life (as far as she could remember, anyway). It took a couple of months, but Mira saved up the 5 gold for the armor. Themon had been through town a few more times and Mira found she really enjoyed his company.

This time, though, she had a mission. She wanted that armor and some extra supplies if possible. When Mira marched up to Themon, he seemed to already know what was on her mind.

“You look as if you intend to purchase some armor!” He said with a smile.

“I do, and some other items if you have them. But first, let me tell you about the first thing I remember.” Mira told him as much as she could about waking up in the grave, befriending an elf, and eventually making her way to Grimtree. She left out the note, sharing that felt a little too personal, but tried to dramatize in a way she knew Themon would enjoy.

By the time she finished, Themon appeared simultaneously delighted and concerned. “You most certainly have had an interesting few months. I believe that story was well worth a discount. Let’s say 3 gold for the armor. And….take care, Mira. If what you just told me is true, you must have run afoul of some very dangerous people. Don’t go charging into adventure foolishly, or you may end up in the same place again, but you won’t wake up that time.”

Mira gave him a nod, “I am aware, Themon. Though I may not know why I was there, I intend to not repeat the same mistakes. But I do need to uncover who I am, one way or another.”

“Alright, just so long as you’re careful. If you start traveling, we’ll likely run into each other again. While I stay mostly in the Havens, I have been known to go to more far-flung areas from time to time. Keep me updated and I’ll see what I can do about keeping you supplied.”

“Thank you, Themon. I look forward to it.”

Mira walked back to the inn with her armor, a new knife, some basic provisions, and a plan to start travelling around the Havens in search of her past. The next morning though, bells started ringing as the townsfolk swarmed to center of town. Emelyn Sayer, the Head Woman in town, was standing on the porch of the main hall. She was a cheery woman with a powerful voice and the ability to get her way no matter the resistance. She had lead the town well the past few years and people tended to rely on judgement and level headedness. So Mira was shocked when she saw Emelyn looking frazzled. Emelyn seemed to return to herself after a moment and her voice rang out clearly over the square.

“Townspeople, 140 years ago, when this town was founded, we made an agreement with the Firstborn of the Deep Wilds. We would protect their realm and in exchange we received the Iron Shield to protect us. That shield has hung in the Main Hall ever since to keep us safe from the monsters that roam this land. But now, it has disappeared. Stolen in the night, leaving us exposed. I need a volunteer to find whoever stole the shield and return it to us before the terrors of the land realize we are vulnerable.”

Gasps were heard throughout the crowd as Emelyn spoke. Mira knew of the Iron Shield. It was always hanging behind the Head Woman’s chair. Sadia had told her that it had never rusted and never needed polishing. This was her chance! She could test her skills and her armor now before heading off to find her past.

“I will go!” Mira shouted, “I will find the Iron Shield and bring it back.”

Emelyn looked at her appraisingly and then looked to Sadia. Mira wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn she saw Sadia nod ever so slightly. “Step forth, Mira, and take the Iron Vow.”

Mira worked her way to the front of the crowd, excitement thrumming in her veins. The townsfolk parted for her as she got closer. Those faces that had seemed so distrustful her first day now showed some dawning respect as she pulled her axe from her belt and knelt in front of Emelyn.

“Mira of the Deep Wilds, do you swear to find the Iron Shield and return it to the people of Grimtree?” Emelyn did not state it, but Mira understood what would happen if she failed. The village would be raided and this small community she had started to like would be destroyed.

Gripping the iron of her axe head, Mira made her oath, “I swear to return the shield to its rightful place here in Grimtree, or die in the attempt.”

#rpg #ironsworn #classic amnesia start #let's blindspot/mollymauk this

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faemoria-arch · 4 years

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¨ i hope gemma hasn't bothered you yet , ¨ it's the first time since toothiana took her stay in the defender's house that he acknowledges his personal assistant openly , removing his gaze from the schemata he had been analyzing to look at the vastaya . it truly is no wonder why , considering she had not been hired by his own choice , but most would've found it strange . not that he can account tooth for most , really ¨ i know that woman can be uncalled-for at times . ¨

¨ we have met , ¨ comes immediate answer , off-handed as though remarking on something straightforward && unnecessary of true consideration as the weather . ¨ hard-working , efficient she despises me with a passion i would find almost 𝓪𝓭𝓶𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮 if it were not , in the end , still very trite . ¨ however , conversation within jayce’s workshop is not only rare but also near-always SECONDARY && toothiana can feel that his attention has shifted to her , lending the subject far more 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓽𝔂 despite the impassive tone to his comment , conscious or not . accordingly , toothiana sets down the knife && piece of wood she had been whittling to the side of her seat on the edge of his workbench to offer a more dedicated acknowledgement in kind .

a moment is taken to determine how best to explain what has amounted from scattered encounters over the past weeks with the woman in question . the disapproval was plain from the beginning , even after gemma had ruled out some of the less reputable arrangements that could explain the vastaya’s sudden && reoccurring presence . still , things had started out with a certain attempt for ARTIFICIAL pleasantry from the woman , truly befit of a facet cut on the surface of piltover ;; requests that did not end as a question , suggestions that were not meant to be options , always when jayce himself was not present as though toothiana might otherwise look to 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓮𝓵𝓭 herself through him && be left vulnerable to demands otherwise . as though she were naive enough not to see the thinly veiled methodology of ‘ courtesy ’ present throughout piltover . then , seemingly pressed on patience through lack of results ( && perhaps unsettled by everything 𝓮𝓵𝓼𝓮 about the vastaya ) , the assistant took turn towards a demeanor far less reserved at which point a crucial mistake had been made , because the queen of memories was consequently made privy to how easy && amusing she could be to distress through nothing but simple dismissal . && yet , while that may have served for a regular source of otherwise scarce-found amusement within this city just some weeks prior , toothiana has consideration for another in mind as of late . gemma’s behavior towards her IS undoubtedly upsetting when seen for what it reflects of a larger picture ( making it , as she says : trite ) && to find her own personal amusements with a situation wherein toothiana knows there is no true capability of fulfilled 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽 is , by all means , a bitter one at its core . the vastaya has , however , now played witness enough to the influence gemma holds on someone positioned less-readily to merely cast the continual judgement && criticism && misaligned expectations aside to know she has no desire to exasperate it , even when jayce himself is clearly all-too accustomed . thus an effort to merely avoid his assistant has instead been taken , for the most part . ¨ the disdain she holds for me is a drop in an ocean , ¨ toothiana expands , seeing no reason to pretend it does not still contribute to something , insignificant as it may be on its own . ¨ but what she seems to hate most of all is that she holds no authority over me . when i shrugged off the underhanded remarks meant to deter me away && now laugh off the candid ones when they follow , i have had no status for her to threaten , no bridges to burn or failed expectations or an image to tear down further than plenty already 𝓼𝓮𝓮 it . to her i imagine i am undeserving to not only be here but of any manner of 𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯-𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓽 . && yet she knows nothing of who i am or the life i have lived outside a very narrow lens crafted by a very narrow piece of the soul of this city && so i cannot even bring myself to covet her respect . ¨ toothiana takes hold of her knife once more , grabs the carving in process ( a replica in the making of a hextech vehicle jayce had pointed out the week prior ) && looks to return to her task . but not before adding pointedly :

¨ she brings far more strife to you than she can even offer me . ¨

@defensator ♦ sinday ? more like . . . sin-mpathy && earnest concern day .

#[ why do my responses to these things from you always get so long ?? ]#defensator #» เอกภพ ; an old magic ‚ sharp and unforgiving #» สายใย ; defensator | the energy of attempt is greater than the surety of stasis; you can be carved anew by the details of your devotions .

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years

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MyDesign IX

“What’s on the menu this evening?”

Will felt the look before it had happened, Hannibal’s piercing eyes already searching his for the real question that hadn’t been asked - who’s on the menu this evening - and judging whether he was ready and prepared for the answer to that question. Brown and hazel collided, a battle of wills and storm of darkness between them as the silence dragged on, until he looked away, conceeding defeat in the silent standof rather than let it agonisingly continue.

“Ah, well this evening you’ll be enjoying duckling a la d’albufera.” The chef smiled congenially, serving cart pushed before him as he rounded the edge of the table. Will was to his right as always. A position that had been laid out for him since he first ate at the table with the other, and reserved for him each time since unless decency dictated otherwise. The flourish as Hannibal lifted the serving platter to the table and carved off a ham wrapped, golden brown duck leg and breast alike, half a bird each despite a full second bird still trussed and laid out upon the serving tray as if to display the hedonistic decadance of Hannibal’s meals - food prepared never to be eaten, surrounded by additional indlugence in the form of delicate flowers, outlandish bones and crafted display alike. The portion was laid gently upon the plate before him, followed shortly after by a small array of delicately placed mushrooms in a brown sauce that looked to be from the roasted birds themselves and a reddish-brown sauce sat between them in an intricately designed boat. “Roasted ducklings with smoked ham, designed in hearts to replace the birds feathers. They are trussed and roasted within a covered pan to swelter in their own juices before browning; the mushrooms are basted in the juices...”

“And the sauce?” Will gestured with a nod towards the boat as Hannibal plated his own serving before wheeling the cart slightly back from the table. As the other man sat, he lifted the boat to pour a delicate drizzle of the sauce around his plate before doing the same for his guest.

“The Albufera sauce - a twist on a supreme sauce with chicken veloute, creme fraiche, sweet bell peppers and veal stock. It was crafted for Napoleon’s Marshal Suchet after a victory against the British al Valencia. A delicate yet rich sauce, not always in favor but perfect with duck in such a fashion.”

“I’m sure it will be. I apologise that my palate may not be quite so refined as yours to enjoy it.”

“Nonsense, Will, appreciation does not require knowledge or understanding, simply a willingness to appreciate what you are experiencing.” Hannibal set down the boat, and set about cutting a small section of duck breast with the neatly laid ham feathers into his fork, swiping the bottom of the meat through sauce before lifting it to his mouth. Will always found watching the other man eat to be something powerful - even more so now he had become aware of what was served so frequently at the table. The long pause as the chef would hold the forkful in his mouth, savouring the flavor and texture of the dish before he would consume had always felt to Will like an intrusion to watch, as if he was viewing something so private and hedonistic that if he were any more bound by the niceties of society he would be forced to look away; but instead he would watch, as he did now, while the other man revel in the fruit of his labors. The other’s eyes would close, his nostrils would flare just slightly to draw in the scent of the food which Will hoped his unfortunate aftershave would not impact on, and if the dish was particularly good there would be the quietest, softest groan of appreciation before Hannibal would return from whatever place the mouthful would take him to his space at the head of the table. Swallowing, and swiftly following with a small sip of the pinot noir for the evening, the older man gave a pleased nod as if in agreement to himself or approval of his work before continuing his statement to the other. “If you are open to the experience, you will enjoy it immensely.”

“Perhaps that is where I struggle. Opening myself up only ever seems to get me into trouble.” Will replied, the words tasting and sounding bitter as he followed the other man’s steps, slicing a forkful of his dish and begining to eat. Perhaps he was right about it being his struggle, the food barely tasting all that extraordinary to hims tongue that was promised by the level of enjoyment the other man seemed to experience. He couldn’t help but wish for something simpler, something less refined and more fluid than the rigidity of a duck covered in meat feathers, something that was rich and decadent but also filled him with the punch of childlike joy. Something chocolatey. “But the cooking as always, is impeccable. Thank you for the meal.”

“Of course, Will, any time I would gladly have you for dinner.”

The double meaning went unacknowledged as both men proceeded to cut their next pieces of the dish and sank into a companionable silence. The sound of cutlery on china, the chink of metal and the chime of glass lifting and setting down on the table top was all the sound of the room for the next few minutes as they began to eat the indulgent feast.

As he finished off the breast and began slicing pieces off of the leg portion of his dish, Hannibal broke the silence again, startling Will with a quiet clatter of cutlery. “I am thinking of having a dinner party next Friday night with a few of our colleagues and a few other guests. I have extended an invitation Margot Vergner, I believe you two have met on occasion.”

“Yes, our paths have crossed a few times.”

“You also compared notes on your psychiatrist and treatment, if I recall correctly.”

Will actually let out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding his head as he took a sip of wine to clear his throat. “We did indeed. Margot approached me regarding my thoughts on your...”

“More unorthodox practices?”

“Amongst other factors.”

“I was hopeful you may provide a familiar face for her around the table, given the remaining seats will be taken up by our colleagues and some old friends of mine. Jack Crawford, if he is well enough, as well as Alana of course.”

“This almost sounds like a set up, Hannibal.”

The laugh that collected was almost as foreign a sound as the man it came from, a harsh and unfamiliar noise that caught on Will’s ear and tugged as if trying to coax one of his own in response. Both men knew the amusement of such a suggestion, and finishing their meals, Will gave a small nod in agreement as he removed his glasses to clean, avoiding the other’s eye altogether.

“Well regardless, you can count on my being there. Both for your feast and for ensuring that Ms Verger enjoys her evening.”

“It should be an enlightening event.” Hannibal spoke quietly as he finished his meal, setting his knife and fork gently on his plate in the correct positions as he took a sip from his glass. Each of them had had two already, and Will knew the last remaining from the bottle would go to the host rather than himself, as his drive home would not be too long away unless- “Would you care for a digestif or an espresso to end the evening?”

“Coffee would do just fine- please let me.” Will rose to his feet as his host did the same, hands reaching out to collect both main plates with practised ease before Hannibal had the chance to arrange them himself. The other man gave him a small, approving nod before the intently searching look was back upon his face as Hannibal ushered them both into the kitchen space.

It was now fairly frequent for them to end a night with a coffee in the informal yet lavish kitchen space, and most evenings had begun starting in the same space as well, Hannibal working like a professional or master at his craft while Will would offer assistance and be relegated to mincing garlic or peeling potatoes. One day he may even not have them repeeled and turned by the other man with enough dinners.

The host clicked the espresso machine into life while setting the water of the sink to run. Will had watched the other man enough to know that he would want to be in charge of clearing off the plates and disposing of any pieces uneaten in his own precise fashion, and always did so once company had left, leaving Will to set the plates down nearby the sink and rest against the island counter instead of pacing about the space unthinkingly.

“Do you believe Jack will be able to attend?” He hadn’t realised the thought had stuck with him until that moment. That the idea of facing Jack again for the first time since the ambulance had pulled away from his farmhouse, and in such a public setting, was making him uneasy. Will’s previous discussion with Hannibal regarding the dangerous person’s who had both appeared and disappeared at his property marked what he knew would be a topic Jack would be unlikely to hold back from bringing up - regardless of the public nature of the event or the number of people around.

“He may do. I believe he has been recovering well since I last saw him before our session last week. I should expect he will be up for polite company by next Friday at this rate.”

“Ah.”

“Did you wish to avoid him for some reason?” Hannibal’s question would have seemed and sounded innocent coming from any other person. Any other person would not have had no inflection in their voice, no shift in their facial expression and no smoothness to the delivery of the question, any other person would not have been asked to bring up the topic of the serial killers on the loose by the man in question just five nights earlier. “If you wish, I can avoid extending the invitation to him should the idea be untenable to you.”

“It’s fine Hannibal, Jack would know something was wrong if you did not invite him to your next soiree. And I will be busy keeping Margot company.”

“Yes, I would believe that she may act as a satisfactory block to Jack’s more vocal proclivities.”

“Exactly,” Will nodded as he took the small espresso cup, just finished as Hannibal had made his way through the steps of grinding the beans, pressing the grounds into the header, and extracting the deep, dark drink from the procedure. He took a small sip of the ristretto-style provided to him, bitter and sharp, and all around again missing that chocolatey flavor that Will found himself craving at all hours of the day now - when he woke up, when he fell to sleep, when he had a coffee or sat down to a meal, when he thought he saw a flash of gold somewhere out the corner of his eye, when he caught a whiff of something on the air that smelt of metal, rust or blood and sometimes vanilla, when he lay back on his bed and heard the snuffling noises of Wilson and the crew, when he took a sip of the espresso prepared by Hannibal...

Taking another sip as Hannibal began working through the process for his own cup, Will asked quietly, “Did you have any chocolate?” only to receive that same, unnerving laughter in response.

---

“You thinking about inviting me over for a nightcap?”

“I didn’t realise you’d like one.”

“I would if you were willing.”

The question came out of the blue as the pair walked out on the icy pavement outside of the house after a night of elaborate dining, stifled conversation between duller and stupider persons than themselves, and attempting not to share knowing looks between them as they watched the careful masterpiece of Hannibal’s orchestra of humans milling about and pander to his every gesture. Will Graham was not sure that the woman beside him understood the exact extent of each look they shared, but it was a shared experience nonetheless. That she was now asking, as they stood toe to toe in the cold night air as they’d each bid their farewells and made their excuses to leave slightly earlier than the revelling sheep, and what she was now asking seemed completely foreign to him.

“I’m fairly certain I don’t interest you, Margot.”

“It’s not about interest, it’s about trust, Will.”

He could see the words flash before his eyes - “don’t” “Trust” “me” “we” “Can’t” “do this”. - the memory jarring him to the last woman that had been in his bed and the sharp ache that her leaving had left behind. Leaving things between them unfinished. Blinking his eyes and seeing the speculative look on the woman before him, so pretty and yet so cold, so soft and yet so broken, so close in just a handful of ways that he found himself nodding and offering her his hand before they walked back to his car.

The firelight was soft when they reached his home, his family all kept a respectful and quiet distance in the back rooms of the house after a brief greeting to the couple. Two glasses of whiskey were poured, and Will leant back against the dresser as the woman sipped at her drink consideringly as she paced about the room, almost like a skittish, scarred animal, uncomfortable in a new place and waiting for the other foot to drop.

“So this is about trust?” His question cracked within the quiet air between them, but it did not distract her from her pacing.

“Yes, this is about trust between us, Will.”

“It’s good to trust.” He replied, hand gripping tightly about his drink as he swirled it speculatively without having lifted it to his lips even once since they had arrived back to his home. His mind was on the word, how hard and soft it was at the same time - hard to make yourself learn to trust and soft in its safety when it was earned - just like her and her. Raising his drink, Will took a small sip before adding slightly sharply. “Better not to.”

“My optimal level of trust is usually zero. But I trust you.”

“I don’t trust you.” The selfloathing in his voice, and the response itself, he knew was not directed to this woman’s comments even if it was equally true. He did not trust Margot, but it was even worse that he still did not trust her.

There was a sharp sound, almost like a laugh but more like a gasp from the brunette as she sipped at her own drink before she replied to him. He could hear her breath reverberate in the glass, that huffed sound bouncing around in the tight glass space before escaping to his ears. “I don’t need you to trust me.”

“What do you need, Margot?”

“What happened to your window?” The change of topic made him bite back a small, dark smile. It reminded him of the evasion in topic she did, the way that she’d switch it or pull a rug out from underneath him rather than answer a question. The similarities continue to pile up as the dark haired woman turned to look at him, a slight undeterminable frown on her face.

“Stag got lost in a storm came through it. Got a few scratches getting him back out.”

“Are you scarred?”

“Probably more than I know.”

Margot turned on her heel to face him at that, glass to her lips and the remaining contents tossed back down her throat in one fluid motion. He felt his own press together at the sight. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He felt off balance in the conversation again, staring at the woman in slight confusion as she approached him, hand reaching out to set her glass on the dresser top beside his arm. She was really meaning what she said, she was pressing and pushing at him verbally, pulling at him to give into whatever it was she was after from him.

Tilting his head away, Will replied sharply, eyes not leaving the two green eyes staring back at him. “I don’t have the right parts for your proclivities, Margot.”

“You have the right parts for what I need.”

The dark haired woman approached another step, hands moving smoothly to unbutton the first of her shirts latches with ease. As she moved for the second, he blinked realising his own had replaced hers originally to stop her but instead finding his own fingers feeding button through hole and sliding the silky fabric from her with ease. He felt the tug as she began working on his own scratchy flannel shirts buttons. It had made him stand out at the dinner party - surrounded by those in fine silks and fabrics wearing the rough and worn shirts he always did; the divide between himself and those Hannibal played with jarringly obvious.

Shirts slid from shoulders and bared flesh to one another; her fingers slid over his bullet wounds as easily as his slid over the surgical scars that riddled her back - “Who did this?” “My brother, who shot you?” “A friend.” - but leaning in to kiss the side of her neck he could swear he missed the feel of raised, scarred skin that his heart dreamt was there.

From there, it was a simple movement to the bed, Margot pushing him down with a firm hand on his bare chest to the centre of the bed before climbing ontop of him. Her body may have been marked and scarred, but as his hands ran along her back and across her taunt stomach, he knew they were in the wrong positions. Margot’s lips on his, teeth working at his bottom lip as she spread ontop of him tasted like whiskey, wine and the peppery sauce from that evenings meal. They weren’t sweet at all, and they weren’t dangerous either.

Leaning up to her, he could hear the gasp as he surged towards her off of the bed, that little gasp he remembered so fondly and haunted his dreams ever since that night. The small hitch in her voice as he moved to her neck, lips brushing against raised circular scars like a bite but smaller than any dog should make, he could feel her pulse racing beneath the scarred skin and the small, tiny moan he ripped from her.

His hands stroked across her hair, the dark curls of Margot’s forming under his fingertips as she kissed him back - passionless but attentive, the type of kiss that seemed perfunctuary rather than desired, but she still writhed above him as he rolled them over, her smaller frame beneath his own. The worn, cotton sheets bunch under them and move with them both as he repositions them as he thrusts within her. The tiny sound of pain at the unplanned and unprepared space makes him want to apologise, but the sound is wrest from his lips by the next kiss.

Pulling back from her lips, he opened his eyes to a pool of gold and her face staring back up at him, that infuriatingly haunting smile and a warmth in her eyes, deep brown pools of chocolate reflecting a love he knew wasn’t for him back at him as he leant back into her, She had her hands in his hair, tugging slightly on the ends as she rolled her hips beneath him in time with his own movements. She moaned, deep from within her chest and throat, not catching but releasing loudly as they moved in tandem, her nails raking along his back and head thrown back, pushing into the pillow beneath her in agonised bliss. Her neck glistened with sweat, pooling between her collarbones, and he leant in to taste at her,

He heard a small gasp as his lips on her neck again, the hands pushing and pulling at his shounders until he leant up, her dark red nails that had contrasted with her silk blouse for the night dug into his skin with a small hitched noise. This was about something for her, something that he could provide but not necessarially him that was needed. Margot gasped again as her hands drew him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t him kissing her though, he knew that. He knew that it wasn’t his lips pressing against the woman he once fancied’s lips; Alana had barely spoken three words to him the whole night but he had talked to him at length. The brush of their mouths, the tangle of their lips, and Hannibal’s hand wrapped around her throat drawing a sharp gasp from her mouth as Will leant back into the kiss again. The hand on his neck squeezed that little tighter, a thumb brushed against the underside of his jaw while Hannibal remained in charge. He was always in control of this. His arms wrapped around her tightly as he moved above her, the motion so in time with Will’s own and the needy sound-

It was such a beautiful sound to him, that high pitched gasp, the tiny whine that she needed something, that she needed him, that she wanted him was so intoxicating. The feel of her beneath him as they moved together, before he shifted to his knees, pushing and pulling her around to match against him, her back to his front and his hand wrapping around her neck in place of the other’s, her blonde hair caught between his fingers and spreading across his shoulder as she gasped and moaned and squirmed against him for more. Somehow he knew this was happening, he could feel her around him taunting him as he moved to thurst harder into her.

Margot let out a surprised noise at the shift, and her legs shifted for his access with ease but not with the knowing awareness that she had had. His other hand wrapped around her middle, fondling at a breast which was too full and too rounded for the vision he had. He instead traced a patch down her front to tangle between the hairs and brush against the thing she was whimpering for him to touch as they continued the dance.

Her head turned to kiss him, and he felt the brush of her nose and the scent of vanilla wafted over his senses, stealling away as he felt the brush of his hand against the side of her face before the pair kissed like they would never do in reality. Outside of this bubble, outside of this world as Will moved harder and then slower into the other woman, a replacement in the real world as she was filled and stolen by someone else and not by the man he could see tracing his lips along her jaw, large doctor’s hand wrapped tightly and squeezing even harder against her throat.

It was with a cold rush down his spine that Will knew that this was what he wanted, the icy feeling watching as Hannibal tugged on her ear with his teeth and her mouth was thrown open in a state of ecstasy, her eyes fluttering open and the dilated pupils almost swallowing the brown of them fully as she stared back at him. His hands wrapped into her hair as Hannibal’s hand traced along her marred neck, before he drew her lips to his for another taste of her mouth, another taste of her.

He pushed her down on the bed again, back to a more standard position with ease where he could feel the same was occurring far and near to him, Margot’s legs wrapped around his hips as he continued to thrust forward, rocking between both hard and slow as he could catch the sight of gold beneath him, wanting this to last as long as he could as he kissed her again, deeply and with all the longing he’d felt since she lay on his bed that very first night. The other’s hand was hard as he traced along his back, guiding him and pressing forward just as much as Will himself did in time and in tandem in two separate beds joined in this night. Her own was further away still, but the gasps were as close as if they were in his ear.

Pressing into her again, Will turne his head away from the confused yet blissed out face of the brunette towards the dying fireplace onto to stutter out on the pacing at the sight, the dangerous dangerous sight of the dark manthing rising from its place before the fire. The dying light of the flames glistened and died upon the inky black skin as the stagman rose, white eyes focussed sharply where Will began moving again in earnest - whether it was fear or something else spurring him on as he stared down the unblinking eyes of the monster, he couldn’t admint.

Turning away from the vision, Will let himself get swept up in the feel of her - scarred stomach pressed tightly against him, the swell of her hips wider than the other woman’s and her nails, bitten and blank, clutched at his arm as she rocked up beneath him from so so far away. He sank down into her, trailing his lips from her jaw to her neck to the same scar between her breasts, lovingly adoring them as her fingers moved to his hair again, egging him on and whining so beautfiully at his movements and touches.

Looking back at the flames, he couldn’t see his own fire any more but the ornate design he knew would only suit the other man’s tastes and across the endless expanse of bed, their legs trapped in sheets and blankets as he moved, the inky skin pressed hard against her tanned body, languidly moving against one another as her hands dripped red and her body surged against the black mass moving into her. She was silent as she always was in his dreams when it was the angel of death and not the reality, but he could see the pleasure strewn across her face as her hands wrapped around the jet black antlers as the other thrust deep into her. Her hands pulled and pulled before the bone gave way, peeling the stag horns and black residue that had coated him from his skin, revealling the fragile and longing man beneath the cold, dark outercoat he had begun to develop under Hannibal and the stagman’s tutelage. He was reborn and freed as the inky darkness dropped from him at her gesture, small inky drops falling to her skin and rolling off of the bloody, scarred surface of her as his ink soaked hands wrapped around her bloody ones as he came with a groan and she melded against him for one last kiss, chocolate and blood coating the taste of her tongue.

Rolling off of her, Will turned his head to look across at the other, her dark hair matted and sweaty from the activity as her green eyes stared towards the ceiling. There were no words to be shared, there was no need for them between the two of them at this point - in some way, Will knew they had both gotten what they had needed from the other; and turning to look up at the familiar ceiling bathed in the dying golden light from the fireplace as Margot righted herself and began dressing again, he could almost believe himself when he told himself that if he just closed his eyes he could be back there with her so far away, wrapped up in a tight embrace as they drifted off to sleep like she would with him, rather than the cold ending of his own interaction or the falsified closeness of Hannibal and Alana’s.

---

#AU stories #my design verse

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