#pinkypirate

[nofearofwaves]

Summary: Kalique is no stranger to playing the long game. The loss of Earth to Jupiter Jones and her descendants is only a small obstacle to be overcome. However, it's always more fun to play with someone else, and Kalique intends to have a partner. Gift fic for pinkypirate.

Happy Holidays, @pinkypirate! I hope you enjoy your gift!

[jasecretsanta]

I’m gonna be a little late, but my gift should hopefully be posted sometime in the next few hours.

Nice! Thanks for the update 💜

[abrassaxe]

pinkypirate replied to your post: pinkypirate​ said: now I’m imagining him being...

Well that is a terrifying image, but it WOULD explain how he’s managed to stay calm after working for Balem for so long.

Coupled with his general, nihilistic inclinations? You bet your boots. It’s certainly a neat, and dreadful way to explain why he seems to handle himself so well around Balem (although, I suppose, your mileage may vary re: how well he does this). I’m 100% ready to unpack this in fic. But, of course, for my unfortunate and extensive backlog...

[abrassaxe]

pinkypirate​ said: now I’m imagining him being extra skittish around Caine because of his terrible experiences with canine splices.

I considered this possibility, too, but Mr. Night is actually pretty glib when confronted by Caine Wise (who proceeds to verbally threaten him, which, interestingly, is when Greeghan intervenes). Perhaps Mr. Night isn’t so worried about Caine Wise because as a lycantant, he’s still quite different from the kind of splices that he encountered once upon a time. Or, perhaps other splices aren’t used, and actual intergalactic horrors are employed, instead. Some vicious space!terrier, so to speak. So Mr. Night is usually pretty cool with whatever ungodly thing he’s subjected to, because he remembers that one time he was in a pit with a bunch of his fellow rat-splices and some eldritch abomination tasked to murder them all. In short, Chicanery Night has seen things.

[abrassaxe]

okay 10 and 15 for the fic meme :DDD

What inspires you the most?

The consumption of media, I suppose. Nature, from time to time, (like any good Romantic). I’m not too certain I have any one well that I draw from. Inspiration is a mysterious thing, and it can turn up anywhere, in any shape. Perhaps the best answer is just staying open. There are new ideas everywhere if one is willing to consider them. I mean, I went to see Jupiter Ascending for a laugh and got something else entirely.

Your guilty writing pleasure?

Not a one. It’s possible that I like writing death scenes a little too much, but I don’t feel guilty about that. I’m generally a guiltless writer. I feel a little bit of shame concerning some problematic schlock written by a younger me, but that’s about as far as it goes.

[abrassaxe]

pinkypirate replied to your post: Title: Deeds of Gift [Chapter 5/14] As...

Ax is so grrrreeeeeaaaattttt. Also Balem in white is such an amazing image, jupiters continued annoyance at abrasax sparkly things, and kalique’s just, everything. And!!!! Nods to chicanery’s spy network!!! Ax’s comment about him was so great.

I’m so glad you like them. I have become terribly fond of Ax. I’ve been really nervous about introducing OC’s, so it’s good to hear that they’re thriving. I feel like Kalique is underappreciated and underutilized in the fandom. I had to do something. She’s just too rad. And they’ll have to pry my Chicanery Night: Superspy headcanons out of my cold dead hands. Thanks so much for reading! <3 4cometrising replied to your post: Title: Deeds of Gift [Chapter 5/14] As...

Beautiful as always!

Thanks so much! <3 I’m so sorry it’s taken this long. Real life is meddlesome as all get out.

[abrassaxe]

pinkypirate replied to your post: Deeds of Gift [Snippet]

I’m so glad kalique gets her very own lizard.

Not just any lizard. The most chill lizard that ever chilled. The bluest most chill lizard. Kalique did some hardcore recruiting while Balem was down for the count, and close to the top of that list was “more space lizards.”

[abrassaxe]

Fragile Things

A little drabble for tumblr user pinkypirate​ whose Greeghan/Balem art makes me ask a few very important questions of myself. One of those questions is, “What in god’s name am I doing?” I think the first paragraph is enough to let you get a feel for what you’re getting into. No nsfw, just lizards.

I could crush him.

The thought has crossed Greeghan’s mind more than once, and it does, again, even as his clawed fingers trace, one after the other, down Balem Abrasax’s frail chest. The First Primary of the House of Abrasax lies beneath him on the floor, propped up on one elbow. By human standards, he’s lean, but to Greeghan, he’s gossamer. That pale flesh would yield easily, those delicate bones would snap under him. The golden gorget around Balem’s throat would not protect him; in fact, it would only serve to gag him. All of this, and his expression retains that unbearable look of certainty, the confidence of a man who holds life in one hand, and death in the other. Greeghan has seen both spill from his palms, and even that could become meaningless under the weight that he could bring to bear.

It would be easy.

He bares his fangs, sharp enough to rend and tear and make an end. Where most would shudder, Balem only smiles. Or… Almost smiles. His lips move. Human expressions are peculiar, at best, and nonsensical at worst. Even Tskalikin, who has been raised from a hatchling among them, had not been able to read them quite perfectly. Hot anger flicks at the pit of his stomach to think of Tskalikin, whose failures had not merited the death that had been dealt him.

“Do it.”

The sibilance of Balem’s whisper is almost enough on its own to make Greeghan shudder. He’s been found out, without even a word exchanged between them. This isn’t a new game, but it doesn’t stop Greeghan from putting some of his weight on Balem’s chest. Balem eases himself onto the floor; it’s useless to attempt to continue propping himself up. And the pressure increases. He is barely looking at Greeghan, now, something centuries old managing to distract him even as the pressure forces the breath from his lungs. Another strange look, the meaning of which the Sargorn expects never to be able to decipher, flits across Balem’s face. It isn’t panic. He seldom sees that from his lord. More often, he sees it in the eyes of his opponents when they realize just how outclassed they are. It takes more than raw power – there’s scarcely a Sargorn alive that lacks that – it takes precision. When he lets his claws press into Balem’s skin, they don’t draw blood, and his reward is a barely perceptible gasp. A wasted breath that turns to words. “More weight.”

“Yes, my lord,” Greeghan rumbles, and with that compliance, the playing field is altered. He has obeyed. And having obeyed, he cages the two of them in with his wings to press harder. He can almost feel Balem’s body creak, but the Entitled only rests his hands – so small, so soft – on top of his, silently demanding more, closer. That isn’t what this is, but just for a moment, it feels that way. He isn’t certain at what point he stopped thinking about crushing Balem’s ribcage, and started thinking about closing what little space there is between them. Humans are warm, as a rule, but Balem is exceedingly so, as if the thousands of lives sustaining his burn just under that delicate skin. Greeghan might leave the imprint of his hand behind, but he fancies that to do so would scorch his palm. There is a curious, all-distorting power around Balem Abrasax that turns the will to crush into something different… Something difficult.

Greeghan’s hackles come up, but his master is sure. Those soft, warm hands tap on the back of his, and Greeghan releases the pressure without thinking. He can’t pretend to understand any of this, any more, understand how his resolve became so fragile. Balem only sighs.

“Mr. Greeghan,” he begins only after a few slow, deliberate breaths, “get off of me.” And just like that, he stands. Just like that, he helps his lord, his damnable, murdering lord onto his feet. Just as he might have stepped back, Balem catches the front of his clothes. “Take me to my chambers,” comes the whispered command.

I could crush him, Greeghan thinks, but instead he lifts him into his arms and obeys.