#vesiriel

[lenuslenus]

I imagine the shot count is forty-something to Dravenn, two for Ves 🥂

@indifferentminds @dravenn-dark

Posemaniacs for the dance inspirations!

[dravenn-dark]

A spooky little blurb... Happy Hallow’s End!

[Trigger warning! Dark themes, mild gore.]

The kitchen was full of life, though the kind of relaxed, mid-day weekend life that liked to permeate Skyfire Manor. A disheveled confessor, hair pulled into a messy plait and sleeves rolled up. A plain linen apron cinched the taper of his androgynous waist, and flour dusted his slightly flushed cheeks— was he even using flour over there? Dravenn’s ears twitched and he looked up from his seat near the corner, tainted gaze wandering the counter top. Of course Vesiriel was using flour; some twenty pies sat cooling all across the kitchen, in the breeze of the open windows and across tables, stacked on shelves…

What were the potatoes for again? The criminal looked down to the bucket of peelings below him and the knife in his hand, flaying thin strips of yellow flesh from the vegetable in neat, even spirals.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before,” Vesiriel commented though a smile, wiping his fingers clean upon the skirt of his apron. Red streaked the linen, bleeding through thread after thread. “But of course a monster like you would be an expert potato peeler! I think every confessor should have a butcher in their kitchen.”

Dravenn’s head tilted further to the side, a tingle tickling the back of his neck and raising the fine hairs there. His shoulder rolled with a sudden discomfort of sharp pin pricks traveling down one arm to numb his fingers, his potato then promptly dropped into the bucket beneath.  It landed on the heap of dismembered hands now resting within it. The miscreant flexed his arm, willing the persistent pins and needles to subside as Vesiriel bent forward before him, blood stained hands coming to rest upon his spread thighs. The younger elf’s voice lowered, as though to keep words private between them. “Do you suppose he’ll ever go away? I think he’s looking for his hands.”

The screaming howl of a wounded beast rose from the dining room beyond, the sound of shattering glass and crazed cackles of laughter following shortly after.

“I can’t sleep at night with him here, dear sinner. He’s keeping me up,” Vesiriel said through a frown, and Dravenn flipped the knife in his hand slowly.

Through the doorway staggered the howling man, arms cut away at the wrists and a knife embedded in his abdomen. His red hair was matted with dirt and blood, strands webbing across his scowling features. He let out another wail of anguish, the stump of one arm bumping against the knife’s handle, trying to pull it free. “How can I go there looking like this?!” He cried. “We’ll show up together with you looking like that and me looking like this!”

From behind, Dravenn felt the advance of cold fingers, sliding along the sides of his neck and curling around his throat, threatening to yank him back. To yank him downward. He stood suddenly, the chair behind clattering to the floor and Vesiriel staggering backwards into a table, knocking pies onto the floor. Blood ran from the crumbling pastry, and the confessor knelt beside them to try and scoop the sticky red filling back into the shells with a noise of panicked dismay. Dravenn spun, one arm still tingling and hanging limp at his side while the other swiped with his peeling knife, catching nothing but the thick and tattered robes of the spectre standing behind him. It’s bony fingers reached out to him again, a deep and rasping voice like nails on a chalkboard drawling from beneath its hood, “Time to go back home. You’ve borrowed enough time here…”

A sharp intake of breath saw him wake, the miscreant’s head jerking up from his pillow and looking around the familiar rented room in Orgrimmar. The window was open to moonlight and a warm breeze that smelled like spices, warmed rock, and sand. The unsettled haze of the dream began to lift like a veil drawn back, though his tingling arm and fingers didn’t retreat along with it. He looked down toward the younger elf curled beside him, slender hands wrapped tight around a muscular bicep and nails denting little half-moon shapes into olive skin. With a little work the criminal managed to shift that surprising grip from his arm to Frank— a stuffed bear that had been looking more and more worn around the edges as of late. A calloused palm gave a quick pat to each of their heads in turn, then the man swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand. An empty tea cup sat on a nearby table, the tampered contents drank in their entirety by the confessor before bed. He wouldn’t stir until late in the morning, and by then his sinner would be back to greet him, as if he’d never left at all.

As Dravenn pulled the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and quietly slipped out of the room, the last ghostly wisps of his strange dream pulled away from him like frail threads breaking free, leaving him with only one lingering question...

Would he really be any good at peeling potatoes?

[ @indifferentminds​, for appearance by weird dream Ves <3 ]

[lenuslenus]

For @indifferentminds

Happy Hallow’s End!

[lenuslenus]

@dravenn-dark​ & @indifferentminds​​

[lenuslenus]

Vesiriel and his Sinner For my very wonderful friend and writing partner @indifferentminds! Thank you for the commission! 

[lenuslenus]

“How are you at stitching, confessor?  Ah... I think some of the fastenings have come loose from my soul...” @indifferentminds

[lenuslenus]

Dravenn and Vesiriel being caught during... uh... ‘confession’.  ;D @indifferentminds

[dravenn-dark]

Share any thoughts you have upon seeing this rare photo of Vesiriel. -- “Ah... who took this photograph?  Did I take this?  ...It is for me to keep though, right?”  Lips pursed as a fel-tainted eye wandered over the image.  “What a sensual little thing he is, hm?  The gods gave him a peculiar power over me.  What those parted lips wouldn’t drive me to do...  It’s a good thing for me that the boy doesn’t understand all the cards he holds in his hand.  Mn.”  The criminal gave pause as his thumb began tracing lines between the beauty marks of Vesiriel’s torso. “... Ah.  Forgive me.  There’s... there’s something I need to go do.”  The corner of his smirk twitched wider. (I love this picture. <3)