born to die ⁽ᵃᵘᵗᵒᵖᴸᵃʸ⁾

ANGER burns at the corner of the mouth, inside of his gums, at the very end of his fingertips. Patience is a virtue that he has cultivated over the years, working oh so hard to be cool and collected even in the face of BRATTISH behavior, but Bradley is pushing him too far this time. He does not strike him   -   although he wants to. He never found PAIN to be an effective motivator for Bradley, since The Boy likes it far too much for his own good.

                                                        If only he could make the boy UNDERSTAND.

             He is ready to make yet another rebuttal, angry words barely held back through clenched teeth, when the words  bite me  spill from the boy’s lips. His jaw drops open at the boy turns his back on him, and that is all it takes. The final straw, as it were. It only takes him three long, silent strides to come up behind him, and with one hand GRABBING his shoulder with painful strength, he yanks Bradley back, his other hand finding a fistful of hair.

             “How many times to I have to tell you to THINK CAREFULLY about what you say?”

 He obliges the boy’s statement then   -   although he was well aware that the remark was one of SASS rather than a genuine request   -   and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Bradley’s neck, his bite much harder than is truly called for.

                               For a childish moment, he thinks to himself     he started it.

               Bradley is yanked back by the carefully demonstrated force of Claude’s hand, fingers like a VICE as they press into the flesh of his shoulder. He hadn’t expected this to end well, but he could not have predicted this. He pulls his hair and Bradley gasps, a hundred mutterings of I’m sorry and please and harder in his throat when he hears his voice in his ear. It is not a NEW sensation, the way fear mixes with arousal and heightens both until it OVERWHELMS him.

                                                       Teeth sink into flesh and Bradley cries out in pain                                                        and shock, but something else, too. He LIKES it,                                                        the sick fuck! He finds himself hoping it will leave                                                        a mark on his smooth skin, one RED & PRETTY.

OUT OF WOODS ;;

inspired by this post. only for you, bruv.

               It’s no secret that Claude HATES messes. Specifically, Bradley’s messes. The man is inhumanly tidy, and truth be told, it drives Bradley INSANE. Why does everything have to be so clean and perfect? Why does everything have to be just so? The next time Claude demands he clean up after himself, Bradley finally SNAPS. That was 20 minutes ago. They’re still arguing.

               “What the hell is it with you?” He pouts, arms crossed over his chest in what he knows is a defensive posture, but he can’t be bothered to mind his body language at a time like this. “What did you expect when you said I could move in?” Of course, he hadn’t EXACTLY said he could move in in the first place, but it was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what he had been trying to tell him? “You know what? I’m over this.” He looks at Claude with dagger eyes.

OUT OF WOODS ;;

❧ @twitterpxted

Being a child of Zeus, Persephone has many sisters.

On this particular day, one her better days spent in the sunlight of the upper world, one of her sisters has taken her out into the woods to learn a thing or two about hunting. Or so she HOPES. Persephone finds the practice confusing and wholly unnecessary.

BUT she plays along.

She is strolling, bow clutched like the beginner that she is, when she stops suddenly. A buck – she can’t remember that POINT system her sister explained – stands TALL and proud in the sunlight.

She feels no desire to raise her bow.

Instead, she approaches him as quietly as she can, on careful feet as she looks for any sign of her sister. There is none.

               “You there.” she says and expects no response.                “Shoo, you’re in danger. There’s a hunter here                and she never misses. You must go now.”

Bambi feels a disturbance in the FOREST. As soon as godly splendor makes contact with the spring grass within his domain, he lifts his mighty head and snuffs the air.

               SHE is here.

                              He has picked up her scent before,                               but there is another scent this time,                               an unfamiliar scent. A STRANGER.

With silent steps, he makes his way out from the underbrush and into the morning LIGHT. The meadow is bare, the trees empty. It is a day that all things that dwell in the forest are familiar with after centuries of Her grace.

               On the days when SHE comes,                          they are NOWHERE to be found.

But there is another !! And She is what Bambi sought as he follows her scent, carried on the breeze by a gentle gust of summer air. At last he finds her, and she is BREATHTAKING.

               When she SPEAKS,                          Bambi stands and LISTENS.

Turning to her, he stamps his hoof in the dirt and lifts his head, showing her the long curve of his graceful, muscular neck. It smacks of a challenge, and that is precisely what it is.

               SHE will not kill him.

“     but why would anyone want to steal other people’s things? that’s sad. was that supposed to be funny? because now i’m a little sad. i wouldn’t ever want anyone to have their things stolen.     “  she draws in her lower lip, mewls and suppresses a pout. head canting, she kicks her feet at the ground. somehow extraordinarily moody, the joke wracked her into a lulled MELANCHOLY.

Claude lets out a SATISFIED hum as the creature walks over to him without pause, OBEDIENCE in its every step.

              He does so like having a PET that                                      cannot talk back.

He strokes the top of Bambi’s head briefly before setting down his father’s Bible and patting his thigh, a WELCOMING gesture.

       “Come sit. Where did we leave off?                    Corinthians?”

Bambi closes his eyes, content with the contact, until it ENDS abruptly. He looks up at Him. He is not looking back, rather he is intently focused on the dusty book. He likes that book. These days, it is rare that Bambi see him without it in hand.

He pats his leg invitingly, and the beast’s head cants in confusion before he is able to remember what was expected of him.

Nimble leg prods gracelessly at the Man until he makes his mark, and again with the other, until both hooves rest in his lap. He looks up with pleading eyes and gives a bleat of impatience. He feels as though he may DIE if he cannot be at His side.

          The words mean NOTHING to him.

          “You are NO fun.” she states simply and lets her           lip move into a clear and decided pout. “That           doesn’t sound familiar to me. Here, I’ve got one.”          

She FINALLY obeys his instruction to sit up, a downright cheeky grin on her face now. She eyes him like a kitten would a new toy. He IS something of a new toy after all, she barely knows him and she likes to push buttons, just to see how far she can go. Play with the flames to see how long it would be before she was BURNED.

         “Once upon a time, there was a GRUMPY little boy          who wouldn’t make friendly conversation with someone          who was oh-so-kindly paying him, and so she left and          he ate Hot Pockets for a month.” she giggled at her          own joke. “They don’t make an apple cobbler one.”

Her expression changed when she processed something he had said a minute ago. Nothing happened to me. She hadn’t said that aloud, had she? She supposed it was only a small leap from what she had said, but she had thought those words exactly. One of those little coincidences that always seemed to follow her around.

         “I like apple cobbler. I prefer peach though. It’s more          summery. That’s my favorite season, summer. I HATE          it when it’s cold out. All that snow and wind and dead          flowers.” the kitten’s eyes glinted bright. “What about          you, Hirschal? You like summer?”

          “Kindness has nothing to do with it.” He tells           her, blushing. “You PAID me for my services.           The payment isn’t an optional courtesy, it’s a           requirement. A boy’s got to EAT, and I refuse           to live off of Hot Pockets, or any other frozen           junk. You could have gone to any number of           artists who work for commissions in this city,           but you chose ME. I do realize that.”

He begins to turn in his seat to LOOK at her, but he stops himself. His gift is amplified by touch, not sight, but her eyes. Oh God, how those EYES were all too much to bear !!

          “It’s because I do something that no one else           can. My art, it’s... AUTHENTIC. It’s true. What           you’re paying me for, it’s not a painting, it’s a           look at your true self. Don’t you understand?”

She doesn’t. How could she? He feels waves of emotion, leisurely, against her champagne pink shores. She’s PLAYING with him, and he can see that. Little does she know the PRIDE she had earned. He NEVER talks this much to strangers. He looks at paint stained hands.

          “I’m not a little boy.”

                    A breathy mumble                     for his ears only.

                              It’s taken away                               by the silence.

                                             A SACRIFICE.

He cannot ignore how the paintbrush on the table beside him twitches. Fate draws closer.

          “I prefer the SPRING.” He tells her, refocusing           himself on the canvas. “I like warmer weather.           There’s a certain BRUTALITY to winter. I think           there’s something unforgiving about the cold.”

He pauses in his movements, then glances at her out of the corner of his eye while she gets distracted by a ROBIN at the window.

@twitterpxted

“I don’t know what choices and circumstances led to where you are – but if you care an ounce for Gail, keep her out of it. I don’t want my daughter hurt.”