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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@4mbrose-de-s1las
AMBROSE DE SILAS | ASKS OPEN
`` as above , so below. ``
ran lovingly by @spellbound-multi
basics:
Ambrose: 39y/o, he/him (but he doesnât mind they), gay man.
mod: 18, he/him exclusively, uhh idk
Important:
welcome to nsfw so long as youâre 18+, asks are open, anon allowed. go crazy, darlings.
creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the divider!
Reminder beneath the gif
â David Cronenberg, Consumed
Charles Baudelaire, from The Flowers of Evil: Poems; "The Possessed,"
[if I hadnât appointed Bowie as Ambroseâs face claim, I would absolutely make it Richard E Grant or perhaps Hugh Grant⊠who knows]
I was tagged to do this Love Pawsona quiz and share my result. Thanks for the tag, @chaoticfandomgirly !â€ïž
Awww, a cute little capybara! Iâm happy with that! đ
I tag @littleblackraincloudofcourse @dontcallpanic @starry-mist @smowkie @all-or-nothing-baby @katries @dear-massacre @tkandbuck @firstdegreefangirl @foreverthemomfriend @kinkykinard @tulipfromtheinternet and anyone else who wants to play. No pressure on anyone who doesnât!đ
ty for tagging me @novemberhush
i'm sure these results will shock no one
thanks @littleblackraincloudofcourse this was super cute à«źê°Ë¶á” á á”˶ê±áđ€âš
tagging: @totilo1 @cedarxwing @greenfinchwriter @collapsingchurches @aomiinwonderland @glendylucast @sleepyfranz @brassic-bitch @scattered-under-moonlight @hold-the-devil-well @stromuprisahat @elvisqueso @coco-saurio @ninoochat @daimiyamoto @junaslagoon @lbctal @renecatstuff @challengers @suchawrathfullamb @a-grief-observed @hootybal-lecter @sailorbowie @pesky--dust @mongooseundertheporch @love-songs-for-emma @voiid-prince & whoever else wants to do it <3
[Will version]
[Ty for the tag btw, and sorry I'm late!!!] [Open tags because. uh. man I have no clue]
[mod version]
[mods under the cut]
The room held a tension unlike what usually enraptured the two men, the only sounds being the pattering rain and the occasional scrape of steel on ceramic. Ambrose ate quietly, occasionally pausing to sip his wine.
âI must admit, I rarely cook for others,â He said quietly upon swallowing, glancing down at his plate. âHow are you finding it?â
Ambrose levelled Will with curious stare, though something else lingered in his vision that was all too unfamiliar. A slight glint in his eye seemed to throw the atmosphere off, as if the man knew something Will didnât.
[:3]
Will wasn't quite sure of what to make with the tension, feeling it as something familiar, if in smaller doses and with different people before. One person. One he couldn't afford to think about. Still, he trudged through it, focusing on the thankfully delicious food and alcohol, pomegranate lips and electric blue eyes meshing with the brightness of the meal. He looked up as Ambrose spoke, swallowing his bite before responding, "I couldn't tell, it feels like you do it often. It's very well done, I appreciate it- Haven't had a meal this nice in..... a long time honestly." It'd be nicer if he could figure out what the fuck was going on, but that wasn't relevant at the moment. Probably. "Are you enjoying it so far?"
Ambrose hummed noncommittally around a cut of meat, preening slightly at the praise as he set his cutlery down. âItâs not the worst Iâve ever made, but I suppose you wouldnât know, would you?â
His eyes met Willâs a moment longer, a darkly satisfied glint in them that provided no further explanation. âI donât often eat like this. My palate is a bit shit, Iâll be honest. This is a bit much even for me.â
The man made an attempt to diffuse the tension by going back to eating, the edge of his knife grazing along the meat. âDo you prefer your steak rare? I didnât think to ask before I started cooking.â
"I wouldn't," He agreed, albeit little apprehensively, feeling a little bit of hope at the preening. Maybe this was normal...? "But still, I mean it. You did well." Will tilted his head at that, looking at him for a moment curiously before asking, "Not as judgement, but what made you think my palate was worth any of this?" Unless it wasn't for his palate, which was probably only "better" than Ambrose's because of simple necessity. The.. odd glint seemed to suggest that theory as well, quiet disettlement only growing within him. "I do, yes, but really as long as it's not well done I don't care. It gets a bit chewy for my taste." He followed example, taking a sip of his own wine and looking at him over the glass.
You did well.
Ambrose wouldnât like to say he was obsessed, though those three words seemed to send him on an internal spiral that lasted for all of the time it took to swallow his bite. At Willâs next words, he looked up, head tilting 45 degrees to the right.
âThe meat was on offer, plus Iâd been meaning to actually cook something at some point,â He said, glancing down at it with a slight furrowed brow. âI say âon offerâ, it seemed to be quite fast going, so I figured Iâd get hold of some before the end of the season.â
As if to offset the weird phrase he used, Ambrose sipped his wine, a little bit staining his lip a purplish-red. âI used to prefer mine blue, but now I canât really get behind eating raw meat. It never tastes right.â
Will gave a hum at that, accepting it easily before Ambrose continued on. It seemed he tried to cover what he said strangely with something even more strange, ticking something familiar in him. Uncomfortably so. Like he were watching a fledgling of something he'd witnessed in the past as a full grown adult, some grotesque thing wriggling out of a chrysalis. The worst part was that all those past things had acclimated him, changed his mind somewhat, so now.... Now he didn't care as much. He didn't like the possibility of things being hidden from him, especially in regards to his food, and the way he was going about... gloating [?] was weird as hell, but he really didn't care as much as he should. He was unsettled, sure, but not genuinely freaked out or one weird thing from leaving as he should have been. "..... I'm relieved you stopped eating it raw, it can give you salmonella at best and e coli at worst. That's probably what made it taste weird in all honesty."
Ambrose thought briefly to the cuts of meat in his fridge, stashed away in the box at the very back, however he said nothing of them. âIm not a fan of getting ill, I suppose.â He said, staring down at his food.
âIâve started catching it fresh,â He said off-handedly before another sip of wine, his tongue swiping across his lip to wipe up the rest of it. Ambrose peered up at him, his eyes slightly duller than they were all those months ago. âI prefer the runners, to be honest. Adrenaline adds to the flavour.â
He paused when he realised what he said, staring down at his food for a moment or two before continuing to eat quietly. Ambrose decided to say nothing of it, the grip on his knife a little too tight to be just holding it. A bad feeling stirred in his gut, though he couldnât work out if it was his guilt finally manifesting to claw at his throat or a fear of being caught.
...... Yeah he was totally not eating beef. He looked at him for a very, very long moment, seeming to calculate something, before coming up with a sum and looking down at his food, continuing. "The fear makes it bitter, and that's hard to neutralize as an old friend taught me. To each their own, and I can't really find a difference with my palate, but that's what I've heard."
Ambrose shrugged gently, staring down at his meat. âI often worry my cookingâs too bitter. But Iâm sure the animal is just as bitter about being dead,â He said, crossing his legs. âSo I suppose itâll be bitter regardless, should you have your morals intact.â
He set his cutlery down to pour himself more wine, setting the bottle down for Will to take should he want some. âAn old friend⊠is that right?â Ambrose said, head tilting to the side as an unfamiliar jealously brewed in his chest. âAm I privy to this friend?â
"I think the animal doesn't care. It can't, it's dead," Will said quietly, shaking his head in amusement, ignoring the slight nausea that slid up. "I also think you're projecting onto that.. animal."
He took the silent offer of more wine and poured some himself, taking another bite despite his revelations out of habit. "Ha... I rather hope not, but perhaps. Regardless, he's of no consequence anymore, I haven't spoken to him in quite a while. Why, are you jealous?"
âProjecting? Onto him?â Ambrose scoffed, shaking his head. âDonât be silly, Will. Iâve done many things, but projecting my own abhorrent moral compass onto others is far above me.â
A terrible lie to partially disguise an even worse truth, a disgraceful attempt at covering his back whilst also adding a tint of humour to the atmosphere. He looked up at Will a moment or two, another scoff passing his lips. âJealous of somebody who couldnât keep up with you, it seems.â
Ambrose looked at him again, eyes settling on the column of Willâs throat. âI like to keep my things to myself, I hope you donât mind my possessiveness.â
Will just raised a brow at that over the curve of his wine, a silent, 'Mhm?' permeating the air at his horrific attempt of a lie. "Whatever you say, Ambrose." "No, not.... not technically. We just wanted different things." At least, that's what he figured. It wasn't really that different though, was it. Not with how plentiful it seemed to be. He resisted the urge to cover his throat just barely, fingers instead trailing over it lightly, accidentally drawing even more attention. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the air thick with some kind of turning point. Prey or willing victim perhaps? ".... I can't say I do honestly," He said after a moment of thought. Truthful for once. It was familiar, if heavy in its knowledge that it gifted him. No escape from the keen eyes it seemed. "Owning something often means it'll consume you just the same you know."
ââWanted different thingsâ,â He mused, crossing one leg over the other. âIs that code for a nasty break up?â
Ambroseâs electric blues lingered on Willâs throat for longer than what was deemed appropriate. He traced the rim of his glass with manicured nails, the tips filed down to a sharp point. At Willâs words, he smiled, chuckling to himself.
âAnd if it does, then I guess weâll both consume eachother, wont we?â He purred, head tilting to the side.
"No, no... We were just good friends, I assure you." Technically not incorrect, but... Who knew really. "We had different paths in our lives and those didn't include each other in the way we wanted." He could ignore the bad to enjoy the good though, as he was doing now, thought perhaps that could probably be more classified as looking very cautiously and poking it with the toe of his shoe. Will found himself looking away for once, focusing instead on the pale, long fingers trailing over his glass, the static electricity-esque feeling of their gazes meeting too much. "Yes, I suppose," He hummed, thinking it over for a moment before asking, "Would you want that? To consume me I mean."
He looked into his wine in thought, admiring the deep purplish red in the glass. Ambrose chose to ignore his previous words and instead focused on what was said afterward, hand landing gracefully on the table.
âI⊠donât think I could deal with the aftermath. Iâd miss you too much,â He mused, reaching for his steak knife. Ambrose thought for a moment, an uncomfortable silence filling the room before he eased it with a slight chuckle. âNo. No, I couldnât. I like you the way you are.â
There was a quiet, nearly hesitant knock on Ambrose's door, probably Will from how often he's been visiting, but that thought thrown into doubt by the sheer nervousness nearly radiating through the wood. Opening it revealed a slightly more cleaned up Will Graham, in a salmon button up, [tucked into his pants, ironed,] and nicely fitting slacks, [also ironed], carrying a lacy black box and a bouquet of pink tinged orchids. [Cliche, he knew, but wow the flower section was so scented, his head hurt for a while after looking in that.] ".... Happy Valentine's day- I wanted to give you these, thought you'd like them. I'll be out of your hair in a second."
Ambrose had been expecting a visit from Will, so when he heard the knock on the door he went straight to it. He himself had put together something nice as he normally did, dressed in a simple white poet shirt (or something akin to it, it appeared to be missing the usual flair such a shirt would come with) and corduroy dress pants.
He greeted Will with a smile, his eyes flitting down to the things in his hands. And with that, Ambrose felt his heart swell, his mouth falling open slightly. âOh, Will. These are beautiful,â He gushed, gently taking the items from his hands. âThank you very much. And please, come in. Itâs likely to rain today, and I donât want you to get caught in it.â
Ambrose ushered him inside and shut the door with his foot, his hip brushing against Willâs as he did so. âSo, what brought you here? Unless it was just a sweet gesture, which is adorable.â
He looked over at him inquisitively, setting the box down and putting the flowers in an empty vase close by. âThese are beautiful. Orchids, alongside its other meanings, also represent love and beauty.â
Let's all make ourselves as little guys! Everyone is welcome to join!
little guy maker / ăĄăŁăĄăăăĄăŒă«ăŒ my third picrew :0 (first two were years old, ive since deleted them) please credit @reelrollsweat on tumbl
Here's mine:
Tagging: @silentwillowwhisperer @hecateisalesbian @mushr00mswirl @mischievousmary
Its so cuteeee
TAGGING - @jeongyunhoed @savingsallow @chosoette @eternalera + YOU đ«”đš
I wasnât tagged but this is too cute not to do
@duncanvizlasleftballsack @rose-bunny-28 @scabbedlasagna @aaronzsbiggestsuperfan + anyone else .. those are just the peoples whoâs usernames I remember
@my-mom-named-me-duck @fermented-cat-official @basilstars0-o
Open tags !!!
open tags because I'm tired
[Mod picrew below cut because I'm being self indulgent] [Open tags!]
AMBROSE AND MOD
Heâs so fine omfg
reblog to fucking bite the person you reblog from
The room held a tension unlike what usually enraptured the two men, the only sounds being the pattering rain and the occasional scrape of steel on ceramic. Ambrose ate quietly, occasionally pausing to sip his wine.
âI must admit, I rarely cook for others,â He said quietly upon swallowing, glancing down at his plate. âHow are you finding it?â
Ambrose levelled Will with curious stare, though something else lingered in his vision that was all too unfamiliar. A slight glint in his eye seemed to throw the atmosphere off, as if the man knew something Will didnât.
[:3]
Will wasn't quite sure of what to make with the tension, feeling it as something familiar, if in smaller doses and with different people before. One person. One he couldn't afford to think about. Still, he trudged through it, focusing on the thankfully delicious food and alcohol, pomegranate lips and electric blue eyes meshing with the brightness of the meal. He looked up as Ambrose spoke, swallowing his bite before responding, "I couldn't tell, it feels like you do it often. It's very well done, I appreciate it- Haven't had a meal this nice in..... a long time honestly." It'd be nicer if he could figure out what the fuck was going on, but that wasn't relevant at the moment. Probably. "Are you enjoying it so far?"
Ambrose hummed noncommittally around a cut of meat, preening slightly at the praise as he set his cutlery down. âItâs not the worst Iâve ever made, but I suppose you wouldnât know, would you?â
His eyes met Willâs a moment longer, a darkly satisfied glint in them that provided no further explanation. âI donât often eat like this. My palate is a bit shit, Iâll be honest. This is a bit much even for me.â
The man made an attempt to diffuse the tension by going back to eating, the edge of his knife grazing along the meat. âDo you prefer your steak rare? I didnât think to ask before I started cooking.â
"I wouldn't," He agreed, albeit little apprehensively, feeling a little bit of hope at the preening. Maybe this was normal...? "But still, I mean it. You did well." Will tilted his head at that, looking at him for a moment curiously before asking, "Not as judgement, but what made you think my palate was worth any of this?" Unless it wasn't for his palate, which was probably only "better" than Ambrose's because of simple necessity. The.. odd glint seemed to suggest that theory as well, quiet disettlement only growing within him. "I do, yes, but really as long as it's not well done I don't care. It gets a bit chewy for my taste." He followed example, taking a sip of his own wine and looking at him over the glass.
You did well.
Ambrose wouldnât like to say he was obsessed, though those three words seemed to send him on an internal spiral that lasted for all of the time it took to swallow his bite. At Willâs next words, he looked up, head tilting 45 degrees to the right.
âThe meat was on offer, plus Iâd been meaning to actually cook something at some point,â He said, glancing down at it with a slight furrowed brow. âI say âon offerâ, it seemed to be quite fast going, so I figured Iâd get hold of some before the end of the season.â
As if to offset the weird phrase he used, Ambrose sipped his wine, a little bit staining his lip a purplish-red. âI used to prefer mine blue, but now I canât really get behind eating raw meat. It never tastes right.â
Will gave a hum at that, accepting it easily before Ambrose continued on. It seemed he tried to cover what he said strangely with something even more strange, ticking something familiar in him. Uncomfortably so. Like he were watching a fledgling of something he'd witnessed in the past as a full grown adult, some grotesque thing wriggling out of a chrysalis. The worst part was that all those past things had acclimated him, changed his mind somewhat, so now.... Now he didn't care as much. He didn't like the possibility of things being hidden from him, especially in regards to his food, and the way he was going about... gloating [?] was weird as hell, but he really didn't care as much as he should. He was unsettled, sure, but not genuinely freaked out or one weird thing from leaving as he should have been. "..... I'm relieved you stopped eating it raw, it can give you salmonella at best and e coli at worst. That's probably what made it taste weird in all honesty."
Ambrose thought briefly to the cuts of meat in his fridge, stashed away in the box at the very back, however he said nothing of them. âIm not a fan of getting ill, I suppose.â He said, staring down at his food.
âIâve started catching it fresh,â He said off-handedly before another sip of wine, his tongue swiping across his lip to wipe up the rest of it. Ambrose peered up at him, his eyes slightly duller than they were all those months ago. âI prefer the runners, to be honest. Adrenaline adds to the flavour.â
He paused when he realised what he said, staring down at his food for a moment or two before continuing to eat quietly. Ambrose decided to say nothing of it, the grip on his knife a little too tight to be just holding it. A bad feeling stirred in his gut, though he couldnât work out if it was his guilt finally manifesting to claw at his throat or a fear of being caught.
...... Yeah he was totally not eating beef. He looked at him for a very, very long moment, seeming to calculate something, before coming up with a sum and looking down at his food, continuing. "The fear makes it bitter, and that's hard to neutralize as an old friend taught me. To each their own, and I can't really find a difference with my palate, but that's what I've heard."
Ambrose shrugged gently, staring down at his meat. âI often worry my cookingâs too bitter. But Iâm sure the animal is just as bitter about being dead,â He said, crossing his legs. âSo I suppose itâll be bitter regardless, should you have your morals intact.â
He set his cutlery down to pour himself more wine, setting the bottle down for Will to take should he want some. âAn old friend⊠is that right?â Ambrose said, head tilting to the side as an unfamiliar jealously brewed in his chest. âAm I privy to this friend?â
"I think the animal doesn't care. It can't, it's dead," Will said quietly, shaking his head in amusement, ignoring the slight nausea that slid up. "I also think you're projecting onto that.. animal."
He took the silent offer of more wine and poured some himself, taking another bite despite his revelations out of habit. "Ha... I rather hope not, but perhaps. Regardless, he's of no consequence anymore, I haven't spoken to him in quite a while. Why, are you jealous?"
âProjecting? Onto him?â Ambrose scoffed, shaking his head. âDonât be silly, Will. Iâve done many things, but projecting my own abhorrent moral compass onto others is far above me.â
A terrible lie to partially disguise an even worse truth, a disgraceful attempt at covering his back whilst also adding a tint of humour to the atmosphere. He looked up at Will a moment or two, another scoff passing his lips. âJealous of somebody who couldnât keep up with you, it seems.â
Ambrose looked at him again, eyes settling on the column of Willâs throat. âI like to keep my things to myself, I hope you donât mind my possessiveness.â
Will just raised a brow at that over the curve of his wine, a silent, 'Mhm?' permeating the air at his horrific attempt of a lie. "Whatever you say, Ambrose." "No, not.... not technically. We just wanted different things." At least, that's what he figured. It wasn't really that different though, was it. Not with how plentiful it seemed to be. He resisted the urge to cover his throat just barely, fingers instead trailing over it lightly, accidentally drawing even more attention. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the air thick with some kind of turning point. Prey or willing victim perhaps? ".... I can't say I do honestly," He said after a moment of thought. Truthful for once. It was familiar, if heavy in its knowledge that it gifted him. No escape from the keen eyes it seemed. "Owning something often means it'll consume you just the same you know."
ââWanted different thingsâ,â He mused, crossing one leg over the other. âIs that code for a nasty break up?â
Ambroseâs electric blues lingered on Willâs throat for longer than what was deemed appropriate. He traced the rim of his glass with manicured nails, the tips filed down to a sharp point. At Willâs words, he smiled, chuckling to himself.
âAnd if it does, then I guess weâll both consume eachother, wont we?â He purred, head tilting to the side.
Hannibal 1.01, "Apéritif"
The room held a tension unlike what usually enraptured the two men, the only sounds being the pattering rain and the occasional scrape of steel on ceramic. Ambrose ate quietly, occasionally pausing to sip his wine.
âI must admit, I rarely cook for others,â He said quietly upon swallowing, glancing down at his plate. âHow are you finding it?â
Ambrose levelled Will with curious stare, though something else lingered in his vision that was all too unfamiliar. A slight glint in his eye seemed to throw the atmosphere off, as if the man knew something Will didnât.
[:3]
Will wasn't quite sure of what to make with the tension, feeling it as something familiar, if in smaller doses and with different people before. One person. One he couldn't afford to think about. Still, he trudged through it, focusing on the thankfully delicious food and alcohol, pomegranate lips and electric blue eyes meshing with the brightness of the meal. He looked up as Ambrose spoke, swallowing his bite before responding, "I couldn't tell, it feels like you do it often. It's very well done, I appreciate it- Haven't had a meal this nice in..... a long time honestly." It'd be nicer if he could figure out what the fuck was going on, but that wasn't relevant at the moment. Probably. "Are you enjoying it so far?"
Ambrose hummed noncommittally around a cut of meat, preening slightly at the praise as he set his cutlery down. âItâs not the worst Iâve ever made, but I suppose you wouldnât know, would you?â
His eyes met Willâs a moment longer, a darkly satisfied glint in them that provided no further explanation. âI donât often eat like this. My palate is a bit shit, Iâll be honest. This is a bit much even for me.â
The man made an attempt to diffuse the tension by going back to eating, the edge of his knife grazing along the meat. âDo you prefer your steak rare? I didnât think to ask before I started cooking.â
"I wouldn't," He agreed, albeit little apprehensively, feeling a little bit of hope at the preening. Maybe this was normal...? "But still, I mean it. You did well." Will tilted his head at that, looking at him for a moment curiously before asking, "Not as judgement, but what made you think my palate was worth any of this?" Unless it wasn't for his palate, which was probably only "better" than Ambrose's because of simple necessity. The.. odd glint seemed to suggest that theory as well, quiet disettlement only growing within him. "I do, yes, but really as long as it's not well done I don't care. It gets a bit chewy for my taste." He followed example, taking a sip of his own wine and looking at him over the glass.
You did well.
Ambrose wouldnât like to say he was obsessed, though those three words seemed to send him on an internal spiral that lasted for all of the time it took to swallow his bite. At Willâs next words, he looked up, head tilting 45 degrees to the right.
âThe meat was on offer, plus Iâd been meaning to actually cook something at some point,â He said, glancing down at it with a slight furrowed brow. âI say âon offerâ, it seemed to be quite fast going, so I figured Iâd get hold of some before the end of the season.â
As if to offset the weird phrase he used, Ambrose sipped his wine, a little bit staining his lip a purplish-red. âI used to prefer mine blue, but now I canât really get behind eating raw meat. It never tastes right.â
Will gave a hum at that, accepting it easily before Ambrose continued on. It seemed he tried to cover what he said strangely with something even more strange, ticking something familiar in him. Uncomfortably so. Like he were watching a fledgling of something he'd witnessed in the past as a full grown adult, some grotesque thing wriggling out of a chrysalis. The worst part was that all those past things had acclimated him, changed his mind somewhat, so now.... Now he didn't care as much. He didn't like the possibility of things being hidden from him, especially in regards to his food, and the way he was going about... gloating [?] was weird as hell, but he really didn't care as much as he should. He was unsettled, sure, but not genuinely freaked out or one weird thing from leaving as he should have been. "..... I'm relieved you stopped eating it raw, it can give you salmonella at best and e coli at worst. That's probably what made it taste weird in all honesty."
Ambrose thought briefly to the cuts of meat in his fridge, stashed away in the box at the very back, however he said nothing of them. âIm not a fan of getting ill, I suppose.â He said, staring down at his food.
âIâve started catching it fresh,â He said off-handedly before another sip of wine, his tongue swiping across his lip to wipe up the rest of it. Ambrose peered up at him, his eyes slightly duller than they were all those months ago. âI prefer the runners, to be honest. Adrenaline adds to the flavour.â
He paused when he realised what he said, staring down at his food for a moment or two before continuing to eat quietly. Ambrose decided to say nothing of it, the grip on his knife a little too tight to be just holding it. A bad feeling stirred in his gut, though he couldnât work out if it was his guilt finally manifesting to claw at his throat or a fear of being caught.
...... Yeah he was totally not eating beef. He looked at him for a very, very long moment, seeming to calculate something, before coming up with a sum and looking down at his food, continuing. "The fear makes it bitter, and that's hard to neutralize as an old friend taught me. To each their own, and I can't really find a difference with my palate, but that's what I've heard."
Ambrose shrugged gently, staring down at his meat. âI often worry my cookingâs too bitter. But Iâm sure the animal is just as bitter about being dead,â He said, crossing his legs. âSo I suppose itâll be bitter regardless, should you have your morals intact.â
He set his cutlery down to pour himself more wine, setting the bottle down for Will to take should he want some. âAn old friend⊠is that right?â Ambrose said, head tilting to the side as an unfamiliar jealously brewed in his chest. âAm I privy to this friend?â
"I think the animal doesn't care. It can't, it's dead," Will said quietly, shaking his head in amusement, ignoring the slight nausea that slid up. "I also think you're projecting onto that.. animal."
He took the silent offer of more wine and poured some himself, taking another bite despite his revelations out of habit. "Ha... I rather hope not, but perhaps. Regardless, he's of no consequence anymore, I haven't spoken to him in quite a while. Why, are you jealous?"
âProjecting? Onto him?â Ambrose scoffed, shaking his head. âDonât be silly, Will. Iâve done many things, but projecting my own abhorrent moral compass onto others is far above me.â
A terrible lie to partially disguise an even worse truth, a disgraceful attempt at covering his back whilst also adding a tint of humour to the atmosphere. He looked up at Will a moment or two, another scoff passing his lips. âJealous of somebody who couldnât keep up with you, it seems.â
Ambrose looked at him again, eyes settling on the column of Willâs throat. âI like to keep my things to myself, I hope you donât mind my possessiveness.â
The room held a tension unlike what usually enraptured the two men, the only sounds being the pattering rain and the occasional scrape of steel on ceramic. Ambrose ate quietly, occasionally pausing to sip his wine.
âI must admit, I rarely cook for others,â He said quietly upon swallowing, glancing down at his plate. âHow are you finding it?â
Ambrose levelled Will with curious stare, though something else lingered in his vision that was all too unfamiliar. A slight glint in his eye seemed to throw the atmosphere off, as if the man knew something Will didnât.
[:3]
Will wasn't quite sure of what to make with the tension, feeling it as something familiar, if in smaller doses and with different people before. One person. One he couldn't afford to think about. Still, he trudged through it, focusing on the thankfully delicious food and alcohol, pomegranate lips and electric blue eyes meshing with the brightness of the meal. He looked up as Ambrose spoke, swallowing his bite before responding, "I couldn't tell, it feels like you do it often. It's very well done, I appreciate it- Haven't had a meal this nice in..... a long time honestly." It'd be nicer if he could figure out what the fuck was going on, but that wasn't relevant at the moment. Probably. "Are you enjoying it so far?"
Ambrose hummed noncommittally around a cut of meat, preening slightly at the praise as he set his cutlery down. âItâs not the worst Iâve ever made, but I suppose you wouldnât know, would you?â
His eyes met Willâs a moment longer, a darkly satisfied glint in them that provided no further explanation. âI donât often eat like this. My palate is a bit shit, Iâll be honest. This is a bit much even for me.â
The man made an attempt to diffuse the tension by going back to eating, the edge of his knife grazing along the meat. âDo you prefer your steak rare? I didnât think to ask before I started cooking.â
"I wouldn't," He agreed, albeit little apprehensively, feeling a little bit of hope at the preening. Maybe this was normal...? "But still, I mean it. You did well." Will tilted his head at that, looking at him for a moment curiously before asking, "Not as judgement, but what made you think my palate was worth any of this?" Unless it wasn't for his palate, which was probably only "better" than Ambrose's because of simple necessity. The.. odd glint seemed to suggest that theory as well, quiet disettlement only growing within him. "I do, yes, but really as long as it's not well done I don't care. It gets a bit chewy for my taste." He followed example, taking a sip of his own wine and looking at him over the glass.
You did well.
Ambrose wouldnât like to say he was obsessed, though those three words seemed to send him on an internal spiral that lasted for all of the time it took to swallow his bite. At Willâs next words, he looked up, head tilting 45 degrees to the right.
âThe meat was on offer, plus Iâd been meaning to actually cook something at some point,â He said, glancing down at it with a slight furrowed brow. âI say âon offerâ, it seemed to be quite fast going, so I figured Iâd get hold of some before the end of the season.â
As if to offset the weird phrase he used, Ambrose sipped his wine, a little bit staining his lip a purplish-red. âI used to prefer mine blue, but now I canât really get behind eating raw meat. It never tastes right.â
Will gave a hum at that, accepting it easily before Ambrose continued on. It seemed he tried to cover what he said strangely with something even more strange, ticking something familiar in him. Uncomfortably so. Like he were watching a fledgling of something he'd witnessed in the past as a full grown adult, some grotesque thing wriggling out of a chrysalis. The worst part was that all those past things had acclimated him, changed his mind somewhat, so now.... Now he didn't care as much. He didn't like the possibility of things being hidden from him, especially in regards to his food, and the way he was going about... gloating [?] was weird as hell, but he really didn't care as much as he should. He was unsettled, sure, but not genuinely freaked out or one weird thing from leaving as he should have been. "..... I'm relieved you stopped eating it raw, it can give you salmonella at best and e coli at worst. That's probably what made it taste weird in all honesty."
Ambrose thought briefly to the cuts of meat in his fridge, stashed away in the box at the very back, however he said nothing of them. âIm not a fan of getting ill, I suppose.â He said, staring down at his food.
âIâve started catching it fresh,â He said off-handedly before another sip of wine, his tongue swiping across his lip to wipe up the rest of it. Ambrose peered up at him, his eyes slightly duller than they were all those months ago. âI prefer the runners, to be honest. Adrenaline adds to the flavour.â
He paused when he realised what he said, staring down at his food for a moment or two before continuing to eat quietly. Ambrose decided to say nothing of it, the grip on his knife a little too tight to be just holding it. A bad feeling stirred in his gut, though he couldnât work out if it was his guilt finally manifesting to claw at his throat or a fear of being caught.
...... Yeah he was totally not eating beef. He looked at him for a very, very long moment, seeming to calculate something, before coming up with a sum and looking down at his food, continuing. "The fear makes it bitter, and that's hard to neutralize as an old friend taught me. To each their own, and I can't really find a difference with my palate, but that's what I've heard."
Ambrose shrugged gently, staring down at his meat. âI often worry my cookingâs too bitter. But Iâm sure the animal is just as bitter about being dead,â He said, crossing his legs. âSo I suppose itâll be bitter regardless, should you have your morals intact.â
He set his cutlery down to pour himself more wine, setting the bottle down for Will to take should he want some. âAn old friend⊠is that right?â Ambrose said, head tilting to the side as an unfamiliar jealously brewed in his chest. âAm I privy to this friend?â
The room held a tension unlike what usually enraptured the two men, the only sounds being the pattering rain and the occasional scrape of steel on ceramic. Ambrose ate quietly, occasionally pausing to sip his wine.
âI must admit, I rarely cook for others,â He said quietly upon swallowing, glancing down at his plate. âHow are you finding it?â
Ambrose levelled Will with curious stare, though something else lingered in his vision that was all too unfamiliar. A slight glint in his eye seemed to throw the atmosphere off, as if the man knew something Will didnât.
[:3]
Will wasn't quite sure of what to make with the tension, feeling it as something familiar, if in smaller doses and with different people before. One person. One he couldn't afford to think about. Still, he trudged through it, focusing on the thankfully delicious food and alcohol, pomegranate lips and electric blue eyes meshing with the brightness of the meal. He looked up as Ambrose spoke, swallowing his bite before responding, "I couldn't tell, it feels like you do it often. It's very well done, I appreciate it- Haven't had a meal this nice in..... a long time honestly." It'd be nicer if he could figure out what the fuck was going on, but that wasn't relevant at the moment. Probably. "Are you enjoying it so far?"
Ambrose hummed noncommittally around a cut of meat, preening slightly at the praise as he set his cutlery down. âItâs not the worst Iâve ever made, but I suppose you wouldnât know, would you?â
His eyes met Willâs a moment longer, a darkly satisfied glint in them that provided no further explanation. âI donât often eat like this. My palate is a bit shit, Iâll be honest. This is a bit much even for me.â
The man made an attempt to diffuse the tension by going back to eating, the edge of his knife grazing along the meat. âDo you prefer your steak rare? I didnât think to ask before I started cooking.â
"I wouldn't," He agreed, albeit little apprehensively, feeling a little bit of hope at the preening. Maybe this was normal...? "But still, I mean it. You did well." Will tilted his head at that, looking at him for a moment curiously before asking, "Not as judgement, but what made you think my palate was worth any of this?" Unless it wasn't for his palate, which was probably only "better" than Ambrose's because of simple necessity. The.. odd glint seemed to suggest that theory as well, quiet disettlement only growing within him. "I do, yes, but really as long as it's not well done I don't care. It gets a bit chewy for my taste." He followed example, taking a sip of his own wine and looking at him over the glass.
You did well.
Ambrose wouldnât like to say he was obsessed, though those three words seemed to send him on an internal spiral that lasted for all of the time it took to swallow his bite. At Willâs next words, he looked up, head tilting 45 degrees to the right.
âThe meat was on offer, plus Iâd been meaning to actually cook something at some point,â He said, glancing down at it with a slight furrowed brow. âI say âon offerâ, it seemed to be quite fast going, so I figured Iâd get hold of some before the end of the season.â
As if to offset the weird phrase he used, Ambrose sipped his wine, a little bit staining his lip a purplish-red. âI used to prefer mine blue, but now I canât really get behind eating raw meat. It never tastes right.â
Will gave a hum at that, accepting it easily before Ambrose continued on. It seemed he tried to cover what he said strangely with something even more strange, ticking something familiar in him. Uncomfortably so. Like he were watching a fledgling of something he'd witnessed in the past as a full grown adult, some grotesque thing wriggling out of a chrysalis. The worst part was that all those past things had acclimated him, changed his mind somewhat, so now.... Now he didn't care as much. He didn't like the possibility of things being hidden from him, especially in regards to his food, and the way he was going about... gloating [?] was weird as hell, but he really didn't care as much as he should. He was unsettled, sure, but not genuinely freaked out or one weird thing from leaving as he should have been. "..... I'm relieved you stopped eating it raw, it can give you salmonella at best and e coli at worst. That's probably what made it taste weird in all honesty."
Ambrose thought briefly to the cuts of meat in his fridge, stashed away in the box at the very back, however he said nothing of them. âIm not a fan of getting ill, I suppose.â He said, staring down at his food.
âIâve started catching it fresh,â He said off-handedly before another sip of wine, his tongue swiping across his lip to wipe up the rest of it. Ambrose peered up at him, his eyes slightly duller than they were all those months ago. âI prefer the runners, to be honest. Adrenaline adds to the flavour.â
He paused when he realised what he said, staring down at his food for a moment or two before continuing to eat quietly. Ambrose decided to say nothing of it, the grip on his knife a little too tight to be just holding it. A bad feeling stirred in his gut, though he couldnât work out if it was his guilt finally manifesting to claw at his throat or a fear of being caught.
[me when the insect in my DMâs tells me to do something]
The room held a tension unlike what usually enraptured the two men, the only sounds being the pattering rain and the occasional scrape of steel on ceramic. Ambrose ate quietly, occasionally pausing to sip his wine.
âI must admit, I rarely cook for others,â He said quietly upon swallowing, glancing down at his plate. âHow are you finding it?â
Ambrose levelled Will with curious stare, though something else lingered in his vision that was all too unfamiliar. A slight glint in his eye seemed to throw the atmosphere off, as if the man knew something Will didnât.
[:3]
Will wasn't quite sure of what to make with the tension, feeling it as something familiar, if in smaller doses and with different people before. One person. One he couldn't afford to think about. Still, he trudged through it, focusing on the thankfully delicious food and alcohol, pomegranate lips and electric blue eyes meshing with the brightness of the meal. He looked up as Ambrose spoke, swallowing his bite before responding, "I couldn't tell, it feels like you do it often. It's very well done, I appreciate it- Haven't had a meal this nice in..... a long time honestly." It'd be nicer if he could figure out what the fuck was going on, but that wasn't relevant at the moment. Probably. "Are you enjoying it so far?"
Ambrose hummed noncommittally around a cut of meat, preening slightly at the praise as he set his cutlery down. âItâs not the worst Iâve ever made, but I suppose you wouldnât know, would you?â
His eyes met Willâs a moment longer, a darkly satisfied glint in them that provided no further explanation. âI donât often eat like this. My palate is a bit shit, Iâll be honest. This is a bit much even for me.â
The man made an attempt to diffuse the tension by going back to eating, the edge of his knife grazing along the meat. âDo you prefer your steak rare? I didnât think to ask before I started cooking.â
"I wouldn't," He agreed, albeit little apprehensively, feeling a little bit of hope at the preening. Maybe this was normal...? "But still, I mean it. You did well." Will tilted his head at that, looking at him for a moment curiously before asking, "Not as judgement, but what made you think my palate was worth any of this?" Unless it wasn't for his palate, which was probably only "better" than Ambrose's because of simple necessity. The.. odd glint seemed to suggest that theory as well, quiet disettlement only growing within him. "I do, yes, but really as long as it's not well done I don't care. It gets a bit chewy for my taste." He followed example, taking a sip of his own wine and looking at him over the glass.
You did well.
Ambrose wouldnât like to say he was obsessed, though those three words seemed to send him on an internal spiral that lasted for all of the time it took to swallow his bite. At Willâs next words, he looked up, head tilting 45 degrees to the right.
âThe meat was on offer, plus Iâd been meaning to actually cook something at some point,â He said, glancing down at it with a slight furrowed brow. âI say âon offerâ, it seemed to be quite fast going, so I figured Iâd get hold of some before the end of the season.â
As if to offset the weird phrase he used, Ambrose sipped his wine, a little bit staining his lip a purplish-red. âI used to prefer mine blue, but now I canât really get behind eating raw meat. It never tastes right.â
