Fracture | One | Two | Three | Four

Medusa Risen: Indiscretions 

“This was the noise that started it all. And it must have been good at the time, under the haze of black fingernails and red wine. Girls are Angels. When they fuck its glorious. When they love its to the moon and back. No reservation. No regrets. Just passion. And I get that, really I do. But it’s The White Women that are the problem here. They cast her out. Threw her to the Dogs. Athena disowned her for her indiscretions. Even if she didn’t know at the time that she’d been proposed in arranged marriage. The Director cast her out too. Because she’d allowed her son, her Jardani, her Baba Yaga to deflower her. To give over her first time because it was love. But was it really? When a man gives himself inside a woman, the cost is high. He’s bleeding himself dry. Loosing part of his soul to give in to her pleasures and needs. And a man will do it again and again and again, self destructive, completely possessed. It’s an addiction, sex. It’s dark, it’s dangerous. And you want it, crave it 24/7 once you’ve had your first taste of the fruit. No wonder they cast Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. Wouldn’t you bite the apple too? Wouldn’t you also bleed a little for an indiscretion?”  ~ S. D’Antonio

“Santino...he’s going to kill me right?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, raw with passion. Lalienna bit her lip, turning to her ex sister.

“Yes...and then me.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, hiding a smile. “God, he’s going to kill me. He’s jealous. Jealous jealous jealous. He hates when a man even so much as looks at me...” she laughed, shaking her head, falling back on the mattress.

“Hmmm...I suppose not telling him is out of the question?” Devina turned on her stomach, kicking her feet distractedly. Lalienna nodded.

“No, I could never lie to him. Plus, he’d be able to tell. He’s smart. And I’d smell like another. He’s picky about the perfume I wear.” She smiled, thinking of her lover. So far away...where was it he said he went to? Rome? Austria? She couldn’t recall. Somewhere far and annoyingly distant. She was so bored. And then she saw her sister from the tower...and they drank...and then she snapped out of her daze after cumming. To be fair, it wasn’t as good as when she was with her dark Italian, but it wasn’t bad. “What about your husband? Hmm?” Lalienna prodded, turning the attention to devina as she stood, finding a large shirt to slip over herself. She threw devina one as well, stretching.

“He doesn’t pay attention to me like that. He won’t notice.” She rolled her eyes, standing as well. “I’m hungry.”

“I’ll order room service. It-“ She was cut off by her phone ringing. She already knew who it was. He was the only one to use that cellphone. She swallowed. “Don’t make a sound.” She warned, grabbing it and answering it. “Papi!” She smiled, falling on the mattress.

“Hello, bella. How are you, amore mio?” His accent sounded throughout her ears bringing a heated sensation to her core once more. She sighed. It had been too long.

“Missing you.” She replies simply, playing with a necklace he had gotten her a while ago distractedly. “How is your business?” Her tone sounded more annoyed than she intended. He chuckled deeply, making her sigh.

“It’s good, my bella. I’ll be home shortly. We will have a nice romantic dinner.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want food, papi. I want you.” Another chuckle. He was killing her.

“I know, darling. I miss you deeply...” he sounded distracted. She hoped he was as disturbed as she was. If not, he was about to be. She looked to where devina was. She had gone to the bathroom.

“I miss you deep inside of me.” She smirked as he gasped, shocked. It was her turn to laugh, biting her lip. “I just want to feel you. I want your touch. I want your moans as you thrust into me, calling me your good girl...” she paused. She was no longer a good girl. He was going to be pissed. So so angry. “Papi, please come home soon...” she finished her thought, whining.

“A few more days, bella. I’ll be home soon...fuck, you drive me insane. You have me all worked up now...” he growled. She smirked and laughed.

“I can help with that, papi. All you have to do is ask.” She enjoyed this. She was going to pay for it later...but she’d enjoy the hell out of it now. There was a pause on the other line. She waited patiently, humming softly, teasingly.

“Please, Lalienna. I need to see you. My angel...my goddess. Mistress.”

“Give me a few minutes, papi.” She hung up, throwing her shirt off and setting it to the side. With the right angles, she sent herself to her sugar daddy, waiting for his response.

A minute passed. And then another. Ten minutes. He hadn’t responded. She was getting nervous. Then he called. Angry.

“What the fuck is on your neck?” He snapped. No hello. She cursed herself, not realizing what she had done.

“I-papi...please-“

“Lalienna, answer me.” Was his strict reply. She sighed, shifting to sit.

“I missed you. So much, papi-“

“So that gives you the right to fuck some other man?” He snarled. She shrunk into herself, shaking her head.

“No no. It wasn’t...it wasn’t another man, Santino. I swear. I swear. It was my ex sister in arms from the tower... we- we ran into each other. We drank...fuck, I’m sorry papi. I’m so so so sorry.”

There’s was silence. Only the sound of his breathing could be heard. “Say something, Santino. Please...”

“We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

The phone disconnected. She let out a cry, eyes wide. The way he said talk implied there would be no talking involved... well, maybe her on her knees, begging. Begging for forgiveness. To her master. Her god. Her daddy. A beating. Maybe a bit of blood and that would satisfy him. He’d forgive her... then fuck her until she couldn’t walk, showing her who she belonged to...who could really make her cum and scream. She shivered at the thought, her flower throbbing. She’d be screaming his name. She’d be writhing under him.

And she’d take it. And she’d love every minute of it. Because she was a good girl.... his good girl.

————

@laserglassspider // 😇 @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat

Neon Halos

- Various Artists

The disconnect between us is not permanent.

What If We Cultivated Our Ugliness? Or: The Monstrous Beauty of Medusa

caravaggio medusa details

Black is not a colour.

It’s a tone I’m told.

Any artist or photographer would agree.

So, what are we to do with all these black flowers in my garden?

Devoid of colour and full of tone.

Full of life

And growth...

R.I.P Helen Wick

"It is under the shelter of each other that we flourish." ~ Irish proverb

Trope challenge JohnxHelen

Prompt: I’m your new neighbour and I got locked out, help!

Some days didn’t end. This one certainly wasn’t about to anytime soon. In fact, it had successfully earned a spot in Helen’s top three bad days of all time and I once lived in a house with twelve girls and two bathrooms.

Jesus.

I run my fingers through my hair, the stress seeping through me. I slam my fist against the door, fully aware that it will do me no good. I fucked up. I massively fucked up.

I had been in such a hurry to make it to my new job on time after oversleeping that I had grabbed the wrong keys. Rather than my new little house that I had scraped enough together to set a downpayment for, I had grabbed the keys to my old apartment out of habit.

I set my head against my door, eyes closed as the rain pours just feet away. Between the hectic and overwhelming first day at work and the lack of a vehicle, I’m ready to pass out and not wake up. I’m already soaked from the mile it took to walk back from the bus stop.

But I can’t get inside.

I loop around the house in a last, desperate plea to the universe to have had past me leave a window open. No such luck.

“Fuck!” I scream, coming back around to the front.

I’m in the rain now. There is no point in seeking shelter as I am soaked to the bone.

I rub my temple.

I’m locked out.

I haven’t made a spare set of keys.

My best hope was the realtor office in New York City, which was thirty minutes by car, much longer by bus.

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. I still have the number of the realtor saved but as I turn the phone on, I am only met with a blank screen. I click it on again. Nothing.

“No, no, no.” I half-sob, trying a hard restart. Nothing.

Water damage. That was the only explanation. I hadn’t protected it and the poor phone hadn’t stood a chance in this utter downpour. I couldn’t even check the bus schedule or call for a taxi to take me to the train station.

I close my eyes and count to ten, even as my body shakes in the cold.

Radical acceptance, I remind myself. I preach it every day to kids I have worked with. Some things are beyond my control. I cannot change the circumstance. I can only accept them and move on.

God, no wonder my kids thought I was nuts.

How the hell was I supposed to accept this?

I don’t know when the next bus is coming but my only other choice is to break a window. And I can’t afford to fix that, not yet.

No point in wasting time. I walk to the end of my driveway. I chose the house because it was affordable. Partially because of its size, and partially because it’s in the middle of nowhere.

The realtor had told me that there were no neighbors close by. There were a few closer to town down by the bus stop but I had been warned that the homes were gang affiliated. The other was a man about half a mile up the road. I hadn’t met him and the realtor told me not to expect to. The old owners had lived at the house for six years and they had never spoken a word.

I like the road itself. On a bright day, it’s peaceful. You can almost forget how nearby Jersey City is just listening to the birds chirping and the quiet rustle of the trees. Today, though, it seemed unending.

I see headlights on the trees before I see the car. It’s small and black and must belong to the man up the street. No one else comes this way.

The car slows down and pulls off to the side, coming to a stop ten feet ahead of me.

The door opens and a man steps out. “Need a ride?”

He’s tall and handsome. Dark hair down to his shoulders with a beard to match. He was wearing a three-piece suit. He doesn’t seem to mind that its being quickly drenched in the downpour.

I shake my head, “Just going to the bus station.”

“The bus doesn’t come back around until nine tonight.” That’s what I was afraid of. “Are you the new owner of the little blue house?”

I nod.

“Where are you trying to get to.”

“New York.”

He nods, assessing the situation. “Why don’t you go home and change and I’ll drive you to the train station?”

Fuck, I really don’t want to have to admit this to myself let alone the attractive neighbor.

“It’s okay.” I tell him, “I’m fine with walking.“

"And waiting in the rain? At least let me take you back home so you can dry off and wait there.”

“I’m locked out,” I say, and I’m suddenly desperate to explain myself to this stranger. “I grabbed the wrong keys and my phone is water damaged and I sold my fucking car to get enough money for a downpayment on the house.”

He nods, “is there a set of keys in New York?”

I shrug, “it’s where the realtor is. It’s my best shot at getting in.”

“I live a mile up the road. Why don’t you come with me, get dried off. We can look up to see if the realtor is even open this late.”

“I…” it’s far too much to ask a stranger, “I can’t ask you-”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Please.”

The rain was pouring down around us. Two minutes to help a stranger and he was as soaked as I was.

I bite my lip, “are you sure?”

He nods and motions towards the passenger door.

I notice the logo on the car as I get closer. He’s driving a Mustang.

Fuck.

I open the door and he climbs back in. The seats are leather and I can’t imagine what sitting on them soaked will do.

“Don’t give a damn about the seats.” He says, “come on.”

I slide in and he turns the heat up. I only notice now just how fucking cold I am.

He starts the car. I wrap my arms around my middle and clench my jaw to try and stop the chattering of my teeth.

“Thank you,” I say as he drives us up the road.

He nods. “I’m John.”

“Helen,” I reply. “I, uh, obviously just moved in.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitches. “You work in New York?”

“Jersey City. I’m a social worker.”

The twitch becomes a smirk. “That’s a place that needs it.”

He wasn’t wrong. Not only was my new place of employment massively understaffed, but the entire city was also lacking enough social workers to reach all the adolescents in need of support.

He drives through an open white gate and his house comes into view. Christ. It’s modern. Sleek. A mansion in its own right, sloped and slated. I can’t even imagine what he must do. He taps a button attached to his sun visor and the first of a four garage spots opens. He pulls in and I see no other cars.

He puts the car into park and climbs out easily. I unbuckle my belt and follow. Everything is white. Pristine. I’m almost afraid to step on the floor but I am more afraid to make him wait. I hurry after him as he walks up to the door.

We come up into a huge living room.

“I have a shower upstairs you can use. Warm up.”

“Please.”

We go up another set of stairs. There’s a small hallway with a few bookcases and a set of leather chairs. There’s an open door to a bedroom. Plain and white walls with white furniture. He enters and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him. He opens a bureau and pulls out a dark grey henley and a pair of black sweatpants.

“Shower’s through here.”

I follow him into the room and to the master bath. Christ. The view from his balcony is gorgeous, looking out over the green hills. The bathroom itself is huge. There is a large shower, stand only, with blue tiles. The shower alone was the size of the bathroom at my old apartment. He sets the clothes down on a vanity table and pulls a towel from beneath it.

“Take your time.” He tells me and leaves me alone. As soon as the door closes, I undress, desperate to get these wet clothes off. I let them fall to the floor and cross the room, turning on the shower.

The water pressure is amazing, the warmth spilling from the faucet and over me.

I stay under the water until I no longer feel my teeth chatter and then I wrap up in the fluffy towel supplied to me.

I dress quickly, drying my hair with the towel.

His clothes smell so fucking good.

I step out of the bathroom. His bedroom is empty but his clothes are left, airdrying, on a hook by the door.

I follow the path that I came up, through the door, down the stairs. He walks out from a door as I come down the stairs.

“Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

He nods, “It’s a bit late for coffee but I have some. Or tea.”

“Honestly, with the day I’m having, I’ll take coffee.”

That corner of his mouth twitches yet again. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Cream. No sugar.” I follow him into the kitchen. He has a laptop set up on the breakfast bar. I climb up on a stool. “Can I…?”

He nods and I search up my realtor. Office hours… closed at five.

“Fuck.”

“Closed.”

“Yes.” I rest my head against my hand. Next step, next step…

“I might be able to help.” He hands me a plain green mug and I gulp down the bitter drink.

“You’ve already helped me so much.”

He smiles softly and climbs up onto the stool next to me. “I had… a rocky past as a kid. May or may not have done some breaking and entering. Do you know what kind of lock you have?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s standard in the knob lock.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Five minutes, tops.”

“Seriously?”

John nods. “Honestly, my advice to you is to get a new lock. A couple. Houses without obvious security, especially away from neighbors, are easy targets. You would have been a classic mark back in my day.”

I smile, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll go grab my tools. Take your time.”

I nod my thanks.

He comes back with a handful of lock picks.

“Jeez.”

“I was quite the rebel.”

“I imagine. What do you do now?”

“Contracting. Political.”

I hum, “In New York?”

He nods, “Center of political culture.”

“How’d you get into that?”

“I was recruited. What about you? How did you get into social work?”

I sip at my coffee as he sits back next to me. “I was a foster kid.”

John nods in understanding, “I grew up in an orphanage in Belarus till I came to the US at six.”

“Dead or abandoned?” I wouldn’t ask so carelessly for most people but I got the feeling he was like me. It had been coped with and he had moved on.

“Dead. Dad died before my mom even know she was pregnant and she died giving birth. You?”

“Taken from the home when I was four. I had an aunt who tried to adopt me and got in the way of any couples adopting me until I was eleven. And eleven-year-olds in the foster system…” I shrug, “Bounced around some. Group homes for a bit during the teen years. Then back in foster care until I aged out.”

John nods again, “This world is fucked. I ran away the people raising me when I was fourteen.”

“Street life?”

He nodded. “I was lucky that I could pass for eighteen as soon as the beard came in. Picked up jobs where I could find them.”

“Broke into houses when you couldn’t?” I asked, not unkindly.

“Something like that.”

I finish my coffee.

“It’s hard, trying to navigate the world without guidance.”

“But you had a good social worker?”

I shake my head, “God no. He was the fucking worst. Maybe he just had too many kids on his caseload but I was at the bottom of his list. He would ignore my calls, not call me back for weeks at a time. Didn’t listen when things were bad.” I shrug, “He’s why I became a social worker. Because I want the next generation to have it better than I did. So less kids fall through the cracks.”

I stand up from the chair and John leads me back down to the garage. I’m thankful we don’t have to go out into the rain just yet. It barely takes a minute to make it from his garage to my driveway and, this time, John has preppared us with an umbrella. He climbs out of the car with it and runs over to my side to open my door.

Together we rush up to my house.

John takes out a set of lockpicking tools and kneels at my door.

“Really glad no one drives down this road.” I say with a small smile, “I wouldn’t want to have to explain this.”

John chuckles and inserts two of the tools, eyes squinted in fixed concentration. I watch as he wiggles one of the peaces, tilting his head to the side in what looks like slight confusion.

“If you can’t get it, I can look for a locksmi–”

There is an audible click and John twists the knob open.

My mouth drops. I look to him and the open door in awe.

“That was it?”

He smirks and climbs to his feet, “Like I said, you need to get some new locks. Nothing with a tumbler. At the very least, you need a deadbolt. But even that can be picked.”

“Jeez. Thank you. So much. You literally just saved my day.”

“No problem.” He says picking up his tools, “I appreciated the company.” He opens the umbrella, about to walk back to his car.

“Think, maybe, you could teach me to pick locks sometime?” I ask, “You know, if you have the time.”

John gives me a nod with a soft smile. “Tomorrow?”

I nod back. “Tomorrow.”

Maybe it wasn’t the worst day.

I bled. I cried. I apologized.

Now forgive me.

————

There’s something sinister and cruel about making someone wait. They know what’s coming. They know the storm is on its way. But when...thats the real trouble. When will it come? When. When. When. When?! But that was your plan, wasn’t it? She marked me, so you marked me worse. You made me wait... to think about my sins. You asked me if it was worth it. If she was worth it.

No. Never. Because I fucking want you. Only you. And I’d choose you again and again. I’d tear my heart out for you. I’d break my own bones, my ankles and dance for you. I would bring you the moon if you asked for it. I’d break myself if it’d mean you’d be okay. So here I sit with my sin. And I wait. And wait. And wait...wondering when.

Summary:

The chemical processes of love are transformative and comparatively terminal. Can you forgive the beast that eats you alive whilst you look him in the eyes?

Special Agent Will Graham finds himself acquitted of criminal charges whilst The Chesapeake Ripper is still at large. In the midst of this cruel battle of minds, Dr. Hannibal Lecter receives a letter from an old friend. A decade of history between them sets the foundations for a devastating web of manipulation, seduction and murder.

Join the dinner table. This original novella invites the audience to experience a sumptuous and brutal cascade of erotica and violence.

And one day.... She'll take it all back.

JW. Blood of The Raven King

Get Up

------- Fight back.

----------There's a reason for yesterday.

-------------------You've got this. You always did.

If you let cloudy water settle, it will become clear. If you let your upset mind settle, your course will also become clear.

Buddha