Famous last words. Gertrude’s back was against an alley wall, her dark hair spreading over the brick behind her head, her eyes shielded by sunglasses despite the dark. Her lipstick was a deep red, like blood. Better for hiding the wounds she inflicts by biting them. Nervous? Perhaps. But more the holding herself back. The holding back her unfiltered self as she went through every day under the guise of someone much sweeter than she could ever hope to be.
The party had been fun. Some interesting interactions. None of them amicable, she had to say. Most of that was her fault, however. Gertrude enjoyed toying with people. Playing with them. Fucking with their minds in some sense, or at the very least, prodding them into irritation. Why was that? An act of forced isolation? Gertrude had wondered a few times if that’s why her actions were so antagonistic. With the grasshopper, for one. He was fun. Pissed off when the night began, elevated when she left him. She prided herself on the spiral of that interaction. But there was another. Something that sparked something in her.
She remembered his meek smile. His sort of pleading look. And it wasn’t at the casino. It was much farther in the past. It was years ago, starting innocently enough. Well, a lie that was. Couldn’t be innocent. Gertrude crushed any sense of innocence from any situation the moment she could. The moment she realized his little puppy dog eyes, the reason, at first, that she nicknamed him a pup, her eyes darkened in mischief. Not lust until later, and even so, he was someone she could live without in the ways they interacted. Sexually. But he was someone she felt a pull to in a different way. In a dominating way. And him, ever so eager to obey.
The woman had cornered him outside the coffee shop that day. A cloudy day, crisp with a breeze snapping through the city streets. Gertrude had waited by the back door when he came out. Stopped him. Well, more than stopped him. Hand on the wall behind him. Cutting off the exit. He was tall. Most were tall compared to Gertrude. She thought it might be harder to convince him to come with her, but he was already shaking. Sorry. But what for? She smirked at him then and led him, somehow, back to her tiny apartment. Decorated, one would think, with all the things that would make a sweet high school teacher a sweet high school teacher. But no. She introduced him to something a bit darker that day. Curtains drawn. Doors shut. All lingering traces of her sweet persona were shed as she pushed him back, and him all too confused but all too willing.
A flash in her mind erupted, sparks flying behind her shielded eyes, and in a moment, she could recall him out of breath. Her towering above him, her face a cruel smile. A child, in her mind. But at the time, most everyone was. While it was her jawline that looked like it could cut you, it was her words that did most of it. Her razor wit. Her sharp tongue. Her mind was wasted teaching high schoolers about botany. She should have taught lessons in power. Control. But she could teach that another way. In that room. In that moment. One on one.
She remembered her barking orders. And him, again, just so eager to please and be pleased. Gertrude, her mind still wandering the moment, caught a glimpse of his eyes rolling back. She couldn’t tell, even now, if it was out of ecstacy or deoxygenation... her fingers still firmly grasping his throat, her voice a rasp as she teased him. And him unable to do anything about it. Merciless as she had bound his wrists, effectively restraining him against the vintage bed frame. And even while he was drifting in and out, she made rough kisses and lasting bruises down his neck. His Adam’s Apple marked delicately by wine lipstick and a crushing mark. Forbidden fruit. But of course, Gertrude wasn’t one to take restrictions well.
A steady rhythm dissolving into a frantic chaos and the echoic moans, whimpers, and pants were the last thing that Gertrude could focus on before the doors to Sin City opened and music poured into the streets. Lights polluted the sidewalk to a degree, and Gertrude pushed the glasses further up her nose with her index finger. Her eyes had refocused as she saw a few girls leaving, giggling and murmuring amongst themselves. Innocent. No. Not if they were leaving Sin City. Gertrude had to remember, pessimistically, the failings of this place.
She wondered if she should go home. It was a Friday night after all. Or... a Saturday morning. But the idea of not having to teach those brats now was fresh in her mind and she knew she had all weekend to recover. Not that she often needed recovery time. Stamina was a nice perk to her youth.
It seemed as if the steady flow of people leaving at this prime hour of 3:00AM yielded no results. After all, so many superstitious were ready to head home at the beginning of the witching hour. Gertrude didn’t blame them. But she was a witch and she didn’t fear it. She pulled herself out of the alley and was about to head back, a familiar silhouette graced the pavement outside. She stopped, noting the distinguished height. The posture. The pose. And she smiled to herself. No one was around. There was nothing to be nervous about. Or at least... for her. Him? She wasn’t sure. Depended on what lasting trauma had far outlasted the bruises on his chest and the scratches on his neck.
Her presence was made quite clear in a moment as her own silhouette appeared across from him, under the flickering street lamp. She seemed like a shape in the blackness, but he would be able to tell it was her, surely. After all, one does not simply forget the shape of such a woman.
“Lovely night, isn’t it, love,” she says, her voice a taunting hum. Glasses coming off her face, hung on the low cut collar of her coat. Her eyes ablaze despite the dark. She approaches him, saunters up until there is no differentiation between their shadows. “Working late, are you?” Her voice is a seductive whisper. “I felt neglected, you know. Never did get a taste of that charm the other night. Pity. You know I enjoy a good...” Her smile twisted, her neck craned to whisper close to his ear, “thrill.”
Gertrude had a philosophy. A very simple one, at that. She had decided long ago, between hatching the plan to murder her entire family and kidnapping a child to raise for her power, that it was much easier to have fun than to be easy. She liked that plan. She enjoyed the freedom of just, stepping outside of the acceptable lines and going rogue. And of course, watching people squirm was fun.
Which is why she was here. Sin City. Well, Gertrude thought, the entire city itself is a sin but alright. Sometimes Gertrude just wants to tear down the walls of her classroom, or shatter the greenhouse with a bat, or even just burn down everything she can. Daily underestimation will do that to a person. The effect of cheap glasses and soft spoken-ness is like a drug on the average person. Numbs your awareness.
Even still, with these thoughts, she laughs privately at the joke. She knows all too many people who would be happy to share the sentiment. But she shakes her head and looks around from her place tucked up against the bar. She enjoys being able to see everyone, while still blending into the background. And just her luck, her target strolling right around. There’s a smirk, and she’s pushed off from the bar, nonchalant as all hell until there’s a cross in paths. There’s a slow-motion collision. A forced confrontation. And Gertrude loved that type of cornering. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she says as if delightfully surprised. Her voice is almost charismatic, and loud enough to attract a minor amount of attention, “if it isn’t the man of the hour!” Her arm’s around his shoulders, holding him as if he were a friend, so there wasn’t really any bolting from this situation. She’s lithe, graceful, charming, and she wonders if he catches the dangerous look in eyes and smile. “I’ve missed you, love! How are you?”
meme: the car broke down in an unfamiliar part of town, and our muses are lost | @absolut0g
As the car spluttered beneath them, Tom leant back slowly in his seat. “Noooo,” He whined. The male hit his hands against the wheel a few times before turning to Zero. “Looks like we’re fucked to be honest, mate.” Tom turned back and looked around the area. Absolutely none of it seemed familiar. “Fully, gone in dry. Fucked.”
[ ◈ ] my muse makes a drunk confession to your muse.
@absolut0g
It had been a while. Too long. He missed Devan. So, he did something he almost couldn’t believe, and went to get drunk. At Sin City. If Devan was ignoring him, he’d go to him. He had a few--more than a few-- drinks before he saw Devan, and when he went up to him, he didn’t really know what he was doing anymore. He almost forgot that he had a black eye and some discoloration around his neck and a slightly fucked up voice from being choked and lifted by his neck. Not to mention he probably also looked exhausted. And he was just drunk. When he caught up to him, he put his hand on his shoulder and spun Devan to face him. “Listen, I need to be honest with you,” he said without even saying hi or anything. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me, but I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Fuck he was dizzy. “Dev, I need you, okay? I’ve done a lot of shit recently and I don’t know how much longer I’ll last without you, okay? I’m honestly scared of what I’m gonna do. So, I’m sorry for whatever I did. Please, just... stop ignoring me.”
He wasn’t sure if Devan was actually sick or just had too much to drink, but it didn’t stop him from sitting there next to him, keeping a trashcan ready for just in case. He was asleep now, or at least pretending to be. And if he thought that would get Jack to leave, he was mistaken. He just sat back in the chair, letting out a breath. After a moment sitting in the silence, Jack got up to get Devan another water, just in case he woke up needing it. When he got it, he gently woke him. “Dev, hey. Let’s move you to your bed, okay?” he said softly, helping his cousin off the couch, making sure to move slowly so he didn’t get sick again. When he finally had Devan in his bed, water on the nightstand, trashcan next to the bed, Jack went back to the living room. He sat on the couch for a minute, leg bouncing a bit. Should he leave? He didn’t want to, but there was a part that was telling him he probably should. He wasn’t even sure if Devan wanted him there. After a brief internal debate, Jack decided on staying. But he’d probably leave in the morning before Devan woke up. But for now, he was staying. Hopefully that was alright.
Send me a ship and I will answer the weird questions:
Who puts up the holiday decorations? Jack. He’ll also ‘help’ Zero decorate his place, even if he doesn’t want him to. Who eats the others uneaten pizza crusts? Jack, since there are times when Zero sees the crust as calories he can’t afford.Who always forgets to pick up their wet towels in the bathroom? Both of them, though Devan seems to forget more often than Jack. Who talks smack while playing video games? Both of them. That’s all their conversations are when playing video games.Who watches Jeopardy and calls out the answers? Jack, while Devan probably calls him a nerd. Though, if he knows the answers, Zero will try to answer before Jack, which usually results in Jack trying to argue that he knew that too, and that he was just thinking about something else.Who is more likely to cry over a sad book or movie? Jack.Who sings along with the radio? They both do, together. Probably will sing awfully along with duets. Who falls asleep on the other? Depends on who worked later and who’s less sober.
Jack looked at the table. “You made this,” he asked, a little surprised. “I didn’t know you cooked. So what’s the occasion?” He gave devan a smile. “Is it ‘favorite cousin day’ and I forgot?” He took a seat, trying some of the meal. “Shit, doesn’t matter. This is pretty good.”
