melchior-caito-blog

[melchior-caito-blog]

[melchior-caito-blog]

“It's the blood that haunts me, I can't fall asleep Cause it's ruthless, and don't tell me you're ruthless too When there is blood on the streets of Baltimore Kids are getting ready for a long war Maybe I was born in the wrong skin But those sheep are rolling in the mud again Ohhh it haunts me, tell me it haunts you too”

[melchior-caito-blog]

sarpelui‌:

A  LAUGH  NEAR  INAUDIBLE  escapes  to  bury  itself  among  the  flames  around  them  .  there’s  a  moment  and  it’s  subtle  ,  where  memories  coincide  well  with  his  memories  just  enough  to  act  like  nicotine  burying  itself  in  the  lung  .  it’s  in  that  moment  —  he’s  reminded  of  his  cigarette  and  another  drag  is  taken  .  after  all  ————  for  what  purpose  would  it  be  to  display  sour  intent  to  the  ill  fated  caito  ?  they  live  in  the  shadow  ,  the  sins  of  their  father  reign  terror  upon  their  spine  and  the  cobra  leader  cannot  help  but  wonder  if  he  knows  .  ❛    perhaps  you  haven’t  heard  of  the  noise  this  town  has  been  making  these  past  few  weeks  .    ❜ there’s  something  discomforting  that  aches  behind  his  ear  ,  a  slight  disembodied  reminder  that  balthazar  was  a  father  ,  a  husband  ,  a  leader  .  the  ashes  in  petran’s  wake  paid  no  homage  to  that  ,  instead  left  the  rest  of  it’s  remnants  broken  ,  charred  at  the  core  and  every  breath  jason  took  was  a  reminder  of  such  ————————-  this  BONFIRE  was  more  telling  than  it  all  .  valdez  would  burn  ,  but  for  the  next  hour  or  so  ,  it  would  live  in  it’s  fallacy  of  peace  and  a  laughter  could  be  shared  between  false  brothers  one  last  time  .  ❛    no  ,  that  was  you  he  was  referring  to  ,  the  way  you’d  book  it  down  the  halls  of  the  mansion  ,  the  only  way  they  could  find  you  was  by  ,    ❜  a  pause  ,  he’d  hoped  those  very  hallways  would  turn  to  nothing  ,  ❛    the  echoes  of  your  shoes  against  the  walls  .  how  many  times  did  he  send  me  to  chase  after  you  ,  hm  ?    ❜  another  pause  ,  but  this  time  it’s  to  coat  his  lungs  once  again  . it’s  daunting  the  way  blatant  lies  fall  from  their  lips  ,  as  if  nikolas  petran  was  a  fool  to  have  forgotten  his  old  life  ,  before  everything  had  been  shaken  .  his  own  awareness  was  clear  in  the  way  he  sometimes  wondered  what  his  life  would  be  like  if  he’d  stayed  at  savage  side  ,  one  thing  was  for  certain  ,  he  wouldn’t  be  running  the  organization  ,  he’d  be  an  operative  likely  ,  or  having  gone  his  own  way  ,  left  town  like  he’d  always  dreamed  .  now  roots  planted  ,  something  melchior  could  understand  ,  he  believed.  ❛    who  are  you  trying  to  bullshit  huh  ?  i  was  around  when  you  first  started  talking  you  think  i  don’t  know  you  ?    ❜  and  it’s  said  with  a  laugh  ,  a  tight  lipped  smile  before  he  sighs  ,  one  last  moment  ,  it  would  all  go  to  shit  eventually  .  ❛    i’m  sorry  you  felt  compelled  to  come  back  ,  you  know  what  this  town  does  to  people  .    ❜

Ah. Niko is referring to the shootout. Melchior arrived only a few days after, but it was enough to get a gist of what had happened to disturb the ‘quiet’ of Valdez. “Oh, I’ve heard of the noise this town has been making these past few weeks, but it sounds like the same old song, brother. One gang pisses off another and it’s enough to justify a massacre. Ain’t that how it always goes?”

They mutter this. Keep it low so Niko can choose to ignore it. Christ, maybe Melchior should go back to smoking too. Something to counterbalance this bitter taste… They turn their collar up against the cold, but also up against the little trip down memory lane. It’s Niko’s turn to be sentimental. Has Melchior always been running? The way Niko reminisces now, it certainly sounds like it. Was their laughter still embedded in the walls? If you knocked on the wood and listened carefully could you still hear the ghosts of the memories? Niko’s words are  enough to bring him back. They can’t help but slip a little back in time. “How many times did you actually catch me? I’d say it was a 50/50 split. But I remember the first time you weren’t there to chase me.” Because Niko had run away himself. “I ran and ran and tripped on the stairwell.”  Melchior rolls up their left sleeve. They tap their the faint silvery scar there. “Even have this little guy to prove it.”

Finally, the other calls him out and Melchior cracks a smile, laughter spills from him like yolk, golden. Who are they trying to bullshit? “You, but clearly it’s not working.” They say with chuckle. “ Man, I have...” a sigh “...missed you.” Their shoulders that are hunched up around their ears like a fortress, relax slightly.  They can only find in themselves to shake their head. It’s too late for anger. They just want to tilt their head back and enjoy the stars now.  “’What this town does to you?’ You’re not going to even take the least bit of blame for it are you? Classic. That’s so… dad.”  Everything’s a fucking Shakespearean tragedy and no one takes responsibility for anything. Niko is more like Balthazar than he cares to admit. “Guess he did do a good job molding you into his image. Making you into the perfect tool or whatever…”

They don’t say it to be cruel or maybe they are so entrenched in cruelty they don’t recognize it when it slips past their lips. To them it’s just… plain, simple, true.

[melchior-caito-blog]

icegods‌:

it had become almost like a ritual for him, to sit in the rubble of his home as the construction workers did their best to accelerate the renovations, none of them willing to deal with jason’s temper for longer than the absolute necessary. he’d spend the time he wasn’t in mikaela’s inside his burnt down office, drowning his sorrows with a bottle of scotch— the bottle itself had belonged to balthazar, locked away in the basement. safe from the fire, but also not exactly a memorable drink. balthazar had most likely been given as a gift years prior, and not being his alcohol of choice, had forgotten about it. the good bottles were all either broken by jason’s feet or missing entirely. it had been a note-worthy archive, bal had always enjoyed old, expensive alcohol; while jason would spend a lot of money on jewelry and tailored suits, balthazar spent exorbitant amounts of money on his whiskey, wine and vodka bottles. and still, in fifteen years living together, jason could count in one hand how many times he had seen balthazar drunk. it was a show of the man’s self-control, a future jace had always admired and been inspired by. 

❝ hey, kiddo. welcome home. ❞ he said, surprise coloring his tone as he looked up from his spot on the turn up couch, the leather was some-what untouched by the fire, but there were holes and gashes all over the seating; it was clear the cobras had destroyed it before setting his home on fire, and the implications of it only made him angrier. how many times had he sat on that couch, watching balthazar work, finding little ways of dragging the man’s attention to him. how many times had they sat melchior down on it, either to berate him or congratulate on some life achievement ? and now it was ruined, a perfect metaphor to what the cobras had done with his life. ❝ you pinky swear you won’t run ? because i’m starting to consider getting you one of those backpack leashes, smelly. ❞

Smelly. Smelly Melly. A childhood name that made Melchior roll his eyes. Even now that muscle memory was difficult to fight off. Here he was, heart beating anew, fresh with understanding, and there was a his father, making a fucking dad joke. He wanted to groan at that. Maybe I’ll come back when you can act like an adult, dad. But he didn’t. ‘Welcome home.’ The phrase seeped into the cracks of his soul and sealed them shut. Home. This was it. This felt right.

The running was over. They’d taken their guilt and locked it away. It rattled around like a creature trapped in a box, but Melchior paid it no attention. Maybe it would break through the box, maybe it would die of asphyxiation. For now, it was just… set aside. Melchior slung his bag off his shoulder. “Pinky swear, dad.” He gave a soft chuckle. “One of those backpack leashes? You’d never. Those are tacky and we both know you have more class than that.”

Sunlight filtered through the window. The daylight showed different aspects of the study, how deep the damage really was. The fire and the Cobras weren’t to blame for the entirety of it - there was the desk and the upturned drawer Melchior had split open to get to the albums. Melchior unloaded them from their bag now. Corners were singed and some pages were smeared with soot. For the most part though, they were intact. Their heart gave a fierce clench at the sight of them. The Cobras had tried to erase these moments and had tried to erase his father by burning this place down. His palms ran over the leather binding and Marius’ words ricocheted  around in his mind.

As long as you’re here, they’ll never fully succeed.

They forced their throat to say these words to their dad: “I mean it. I’m here.”

The smell of the bottle Jason had found his way into nestled in their lungs and, apart from that, Melchior knew he was going to be smelling smoke for a long, long time. He reached over for a window, threw his shoulder against it so that it would crack open. Fresh air slipped in with the cold winter.

“And? Well?” They finally said after a few moments of silence as they brushed a few splinters from their palms. “What are we going to do about this?”

Fire was fire and this destruction was irreversible, but maybe from the ashes something could finally be born anew. Melchior turned to their father and was once more overwhelmed with all that they had left him to handle alone. Melchior’s guts were, plain and simple, mangled. Now they were trying to pick them apart, untangle them without striking anything vital. 

[melchior-caito-blog]

[melchior-caito-blog]

hamlet’s dad: son you need to avenge me

hamlet: oh ABSOLUTELY

hamlet for the next four and a half acts:

[melchior-caito-blog]

[melchior-caito-blog]

At first, Melchior tries to convince himself to go looking for his father even though he knows exactly where he is going to find him. And for the first time in a long time, his heart and his bones don’t listen to him. They lead him, immediately, up the front lawn of the Caito mansion. How odd it is, to call it that, when it is simply the house that saw the days of his youth. There is someone stationed at the perimeter when he approaches the premises and it is clear there has been an increase in security. ‘Good,’ Melchior thinks as he steps up to the doorway, messenger bag of photo albums slung over his shoulder.

❛Just here to see - ❜

They let him through.

He finds his dad in the Room That Once Was.

Melchior had been living with the pain for months, so long that he’d stopped noticing it. He’d stopped noticing his heart existed in his chest at all. Instead, he learned how to empty himself out. He invented emotion. He chose how to feel. His heart had become a machine, through which he fed a very precise particular code. But when he sees his dad, in his father’s burnt down study, this spell breaks. His heart gives a single, mighty beat and it’s all flesh and blood again. He knows what he has to do. He doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know why. He just knows. He wonders, briefly, as he stands there on at the edge of the doorway to the study (like some creature that needs to be invited in), about how much pain Jason has been in too. Melchior’s barely caught any sleep, but when he sees his father he knows that somehow Jason has managed to catch even less.

Finally, when his throat gives him permission, he manages a:  

❛Hey, Dad.❜

His voice is little more than a rasp of its of own. He clears his throat.

❛Thought I’d find you here.❜

His words are twisted with emotion, but there still feels to be a great canyon between him and his father in just the few hands of space that exist between them. How can that emotion carry over such a vast space? His words must make it to the other side hollow. Still, Melchior endeavors. 

❛I want to finish our conversation. Promise not to run this time.❜

@icegods​

[melchior-caito-blog]

sarpelui‌:

« melchior caito  ▬   nikolas petran  »

THERE’S  SOMETHING  UNSETTLING  in  their  admission  ,  it  has  the  ability  to  crack  the  leader  upside  the  head  with  a  two  by  four  if  he’d  indulged  in  allowing  someone  else  to  carry  it  .  internally  ,  he  cringes  .  of  course  they  missed  their  family  .  didn’t  they  all  —  in  a  sense  .  ❛    some  of  the  boldest  tragedies  start  out  that  way  .  ❜  vague  as  it  pulls  in  on  the  nicotine  from  his  cigarette  ,  he  bellows  out  a  gentle  chuckle  that  was  unintentional  considering  the  task  at  hand  —  the  conversation  .   ❛    as  to  be  expected  ,  melchior  .    ❜  he  responds  in  kind  ,  truth  ,  but  vague  .  finally  ,  he  looks  to  them  with  a  softened  expression  ,  their  timing  couldn’t  be  more  terrible  —  he  knows  this  ,  but  the  words  never  come  in  warning  .  TRAGEDY  after  all  ,  it  bleeds  through  the  caitos  like  sewage  ,  and  for  that  niko  near  pities  the  other  .  he  would  have  helped  them  ,  taken  them  in  if  they’d  asked  .  perhaps  it  was  too  late  ,  to  think  otherwise  would  be  …  delusional  .  ❛  it’s  a  quiet  night  ,  it’s  good  to  enjoy  it  ,  so  i’m  trying  to  do  just  that  .  it’s  good  to  see  you  back  in  town  ,  what  have  you  been  up  to  ?      ❜

Running. What they’ve been up to is running. As if they’re going to tell Niko that. The man holds no claim to knowing about the guilt they feel, he’s given up his right to it hasn’t he? Besides, Melchior has learned to push that guilt down and... well, they are running no more. 

❛Quiet?❜ They throw a glance back at the crowd of people. All of Valdez is here. There’s food trucks and teenagers and community all clustered together under the night sky. Hardly quiet.

But - ❛Sure.❜ - technically, it is quieter here by the bonfire. There’s only the sound of the crackles and pops as the flames eat the wood.

❛It’s good to be back.❜ Was it? ❛Haven’t seen the meteors since I was six. Could barely keep myself awake till midnight back then. I’m looking forward to them now - Dad used to describe them as streaks of fire across the sky.❜

Now they’re just being sentimental. The most they’ve let themselves be since perhaps the funeral. Melchior throws down a steel door on these feelings almost as quickly as they emerge. Like second nature, they slip into something more casual. ❛I’ve been good. Visited Europe, took a quick stop in the Middle East, came back and am settling in. You know. Getting back into the swing of things in good ol’ Valdez. Just… living the life I’ve always wanted.❜

This last bit is such a fucking lie, it’s said like a test. Niko will spot it a mile away… but maybe that’s the old Niko. The one that might as well have been a brother. Jury is still out on the one Melchior is talking to over this bonfire. They aren’t going to claim to recognize this creature standing in front of them just yet.

[melchior-caito-blog]

esmcrcldaa‌:

it was actually UNSETTLING to be out and about after the fire. esmerelda always had been the paranoid type, but now ? leaving her loft was an unpleasant thought. but if one thing remained the same after the tragic events that took place at the caito mansion was that people still needed their drugs. hell, they needed them now more than ever. so that’s why she headed to sharp’s, her fingers itching to get rid of all the excess product she had. it’d be just her luck to get busted and esme questioned if even nia could get her off the hook in this political climate. shit was just a mess. thus far she had sold nearly half of the coke she still had on her, a few pills. people weren’t really nipping like she thought they would be. maybe it was time to call it quits for the night. head home. when a familiar figure appeared behind the bar, the brunette’s stomach sank. esmerelda kept out of the vast majority of the drama and violence that went on between the cobras and savages ( despite being a member of the later for years now ), but seeing melchoir after the fire, well, it sent a pang through her heart. she couldn’t just walk away without saying something.

slipping from her secluded, dark corner of sharp’s, esmerelda inspired all the strength she could muster, anxiety running rampant. she wasn’t even the one who had lost everything. she had no right to feel like this. the brunette offered melchoir an unsure, timid smile, single dimple on full display as she sunk into the barstool in front of them. “ hi, ” she greeted tentatively, “ um…a long island would be great, ” fuck she felt awful even asking them for a drink, black painted nails tapping against the wood. “ i’m… really surprised to see you out and about. ”

Well if it wasn’t Esmerelda. Melchior’s lips twitched up into a smile at the sight of her. This bar was a little too big for her tiny frame, like an oversized coat, it doesn’t fit her quite like her order does. Vodka, tequila, rum, and gin all slugging it out in one glass. Disparate elements that somehow go together. The sweet face, the black nails, hanging out in Sharp’s, how did those things go together? Somehow they slugged it out in Esmerelda.  

“What’s with the look? You look like you needed this long island two hours ago.”

Her words hit them like a stone. They turned their back to her, mixing the drink away from her so she wouldn’t see the way their features winced.  

“Ah. Cause of the fire?”

When the faced her once more, they had the long ice tea in hand and a good natured grin on their face.

“It’s fine,” They said and their words felt hollow even to them. What was happening to them? They used to be so good at living in comfortable deceit. They fixed the cuff of their flannel, rebuttoning it to be just a little tighter. It was a habit that came from a whole childhood going to boarding school and wearing uniforms. Back when they were just a mess of limbs still growing into their own. 

“It was the only room in the house not being used. All things considered, if one of them was going to burn down - shoulda have been that one -”

A stray thought: wonder how their dad was handling it. They’d yet to see Jason since the - well. Since the night on the hill where the two of them had exchanged a few sentences and a brief hug before Melchior turned around and hightailed it out of there. Classic. They shrugged their shoulders at Esmerelda instead of finishing off their sentence and after the briefest of pauses, pulled a handle for one of the stiffer drinks towards themselves. They hunkered down, shoulders hunching forward as they return to resting their arms on the counter.

“Seriously, don’t look so worried, Es. I’m fine. Besides, I’m the one supposed to be looking out for you. Are you okay? You weren’t anywhere near the fire were you?”

[melchior-caito-blog]

He’s been holding onto so much anger over the course of the last few days. The fire has left him charred on the inside and the sting of the personal attack has only festered. There’s the determination to right the Cobra’s wrongs and fix everything broken... but then comes an unexpected knock on his door. The front door swings open and it sweeps away these harsh things from inside him, as if they are nothing but cobwebs. Marcelline’s face sweeps him clean.

His heart gives a joyful shout. She must hear it all the way from where she is standing. Why is she all the way over there? Is she avoiding him? Rude. 

Then again - has he been avoiding her? Absolutely. Coming back to Valdez meant coming to terms with having to confront her. Melchior decided somewhere along the way that he was perfectly content with not picking at old wounds. Everything moves very quickly in this moment though, too quick for him to work through the shock, the realness of her. He feels the air, still held in his lungs, expand.

He hits her like a freight train. Or so she used to tease him when they were younger, begging him to let her breathe, all the while laughing and wiggling in his insistent arms. He wants her to remember that now. That and… well, Melchior is a lion and when lions are left alone they starve. They scoop her up into their arms, pull her off her feet, and tuck their nose into her neck. Press their forehead against her shoulder.

“Hey stranger.” He says without moving from his spot. “Are you pulling a John Cusack? You’re missing a boombox.”

Melchoir’s Cottage, 6:43 PM

She lets the winter wind take hold of her darkened  amber curls, as she gathers her thoughts. Marcelline had no previous plans of being here this evening, it was a spur of the moment decision. She stands outside his cottage, debating whether to go knock on the door or go back the way she came.

She’s stuck with a sickening bittersweet taste on her tongue, and she cannot wash it away. The fire at the Caito mansion is a victory. Those flames were cast in the name of retribution. There is no action that can be done without a consequence to follow. It’s a victory, she keeps reminding herself this. It’s a win for Cobras,  and a loss for the Savages.

A loss for Melchoir, too.

This is what Marcelline can’t ignore. They’ve been on her mind since the moment news broke. What the hell is going through their mind? How are they handling this all? They must know what’s happened, they have to. She is aware they are back in Valdez, and has been for at least a week. She caught a glimpse of them, seven days prior. They were slipping out of some bar, and had faded quickly into bustle of the street. Supposedly, Melchior works at the bar, according to the chatty bartender, who also gave away details of where he is staying.

She’s still hesitating and doesn’t go to the door. Instead, her feet stay perfectly planted on the lawn. There’s a chance she may not be wanted, she clothed in snakeskin after all. Marcelline thinks about turning around, she begins to, but when she hears the front door creak open, she stops.

Her ocean eyes soften when she spots them, a small, forced smile laces her lips. “Hey stranger.”

@melchior-caito​

[melchior-caito-blog]

poise-n‌:

There was a what? Larkin looked away from the person and towards his car. Which, yes, had it’s light on. “Aw, c’mon- could’a sworn I turned that shit off.” How long had it been on? Probably since he had gotten home last night. 

The back of his head was rubbed and he let out a long sigh. “Thanks- for the heads up and the compliment.” There was a whine that cut through the middle of his sentence. Missy tried to wiggle her way through again, and he let his dog stick her head out from between his legs but that was it. “I hate to ask this ‘cause ya already helped me out, but would ya mind distractin’ her? If I close the door on her n’ get my keys- she’s gonna scream gooddamn murder.”

They watch with the slightest traces of amusement in their gaze at the lively individual. “Of course, wouldn’t want to subject anyone to that.” Crouching down, Melchior let the dog sniff his hand before delivering a few choice scratches behind the ears. Yes, Melchior was a dog guy.  The majority of their childhood was spent at boarding school and of course dogs weren’t allowed there. But Melchior never even had the chance to raise one at the home, at the Caito mansion, because there was always the off chance a Savage would be allergic. The lack of a dog was a small absence from Melchior’s childhood that absolutely  killed them even as an adult. 

Look at those ears! Look at those eyes!  

This was one tenacious dog. She shuffled around Melchior and tried to catch a glimpse of her owner as he strode towards the car. 

“Whoa. Hey. He wasn't kidding was he? Really do got to distract you.  Hey! What’s her -” The stranger was already out of earshot and so Melchior dropped the question about her name. Had he introduced her? Melchior couldn’t remember. It was late. They gave the dog another ruffle behind the ears. “So here’s reason number one I shouldn’t have a dog.” Melchior muttered down to the sweet wide-eyed creature. “I’d give you a name that was utterly pretentious - like Apollo - or give you a name that was utterly ridiculous - like Frankenstein.” Another set of head scratches. “You look like a Frankenstein.”

[melchior-caito-blog]

dadivosos‌:

            the tension at the estate was tough , she could barley stand working there but she did so —- for hours on end. however , she needed a break , she needed to get away from it all.  she figured sharp’s would be a safe spot , she chose to be ignorant about the things that occurred only a couple of months prior.  however , now with the fire cobras felt prideful.  serafina did not really have many connections to the savages , she found they really took their name to heart.  this was no different and it was tedious. 

          glass nearly empty a she drank the remnants as her eyes focused on the small screen in front of her.  eyes seemed to move a thousand miles per second as she read, doing whatever she could to calm herself.  being out and not having the expertise everyone else did was a threat , but she did not want to feel claustrophobic. 

          “ another glass of sauvignon blanc , “ she extended her glass towards them.

Pretty eyes. That was his first thought about her and it wouldn’t be his last. He had a thing for those. He took the glass from her, almost incredulous at the drops of honied liquid that sat at the bottom.

“Another? Didn’t even know we had that stuff here.” He held up a finger as he glanced around. “I can’t remember the last time someone asked for a glass of sauvignon blanc. Let me see if I can find the bottle.”

There - on the counter over by the Jack. Melchior plucked the bottle from its roost. Would you look at that, seemed they did have some. Sharp’s, so it seemed, was a smidge classier than Melchior gave it credit for. He poured her a fresh serving, its bouquet a foreign scent in this place. He was reminded of the days he spent in France, here and there, especially the bits spent in wine country.

"I have to ask - what’s a girl like you doing drinking a white in a place like this?”

Whiskey. Rum. Scotch. Bourbon. Tequila. Vodka. Gin. The go-to. Wine, though. Wine was odd at Sharp’s. 

[melchior-caito-blog]

kyaxxhines‌:

Kya liked to go to Sharp’s it was nice to go to a bar where she didn’t have to serve the drinks every once in a while. She smiled at Melchior then placed her order “Crown and Coke please.” She said as she pulled some cash out of her pocket and handed it to him. She wasn’t planning on staying too long so she didn’t feel the need to open a tab. “How are you doing today?” She asked with a soft look in her eyes. Everyone had been pretty on edge lately and she thought that checking up on some people might ease their tension.

They don’t even count the cash. They know she was good for it. Crown and coke. Classic. They tucked the bills into the register and grabbed the handle of Crown.

“No tab, huh?”

Did she feel the need to check up on them? A surprising amount of people were doing that since the fire. Did they exude an air of being on the verge of a breakdown or something? Evidently.

“Fine. Another day in Valdez. Fell asleep on the porch again, slept on my shoulder weird.” They shrugged and rolled their neck once to demonstrate. They intended to keep the conversation light, enjoyable. No point in bogging it down with the morose.

“Way more curious to hear about you. What else are you up to this evening that warrants making this a one drink stop?”

[melchior-caito-blog]

tosinistolive‌:

           Melchior Sauda, now that name surely didn’t ring any bells, yet she couldn’t shake off the feeling as if she had already heard his first name somewhere. Though, she’d remember it, it wasn’t exactly a common name, just like her own. “I like it, it’s different. Just like mine.” Yet, instead of giving him her name, the blonde offered him a smile as she followed his actions, wondering what kind of tequila would he serve her. There was no such thing as a bad tequila, but there were a lot of different shades of it, and Nika preferred the better one, the richer in the taste. 

            “Oh, I see, now you’ve got me in your hands; smart move, smart move,” thanking him for the shots, the blonde looked aside, realizing she was all by herself at the bar counter, which was good. She’d have the bartender all for herself, plus no people would be harassing her with their pathetic attempts of trying to get with her.  “It’s just me.” Lately, it’s always just her, isn’t it? If she drinks with her fellow Cobras, she usually drinks at Andy’s or finds herself within the walls of the Petran home, yet more and more she had once again turning into a lone wolf, the one who’d find solitude the happiest place ever.

           “Miss? You know,” she raised her brows, “I could very easily be married, you can never really know these things, darling.”

Different, like hers, she said and yet here he was, still nameless. He found the small challenge fun and was convinced he’d have her name before the night was up. Melchior laughed at her declaration that it was a smart move and he poured a fifth shot to join the row. This one was for himself. “Smart move. Oh yeah, here’s me, putting my Master’s degree to great use.”

Melchior’s M.B.A was rotting in its glass case and Balthazar Caito was rolling over in his grave. The tequila was needed. Maybe the Clase Azul instead of Patron was more for him than her. Melchior, wasn’t really a person to judge and have opinions on things like tequila, but the fact of the matter was that he was still very much a person who just inherently knew the tiers in quality of such things. Most tequila, despite the $10, $20 difference in price was just about the same in terms of taste. It’s only when there was a marked change in price did you start really noticing the difference. Why did he know this? The old money in him died hard.

Melchior pulled his shot glass towards him. “Mmm. That would be easier to believe if you had a ring on. But, perhaps you are married - in which case -”

They held up the shot glass. Ready to throw it back after a quick toast. “To your partner. They’re missing out on a lovely evening with a lovely woman.”  

[melchior-caito-blog]

📩 text message -> melchior & steph.

STEPH: it doesn't sound fake. totally real.

STEPH: what's up with you and grape flavour?

STEPH: i like grapes.

STEPH: no, no, no. if you stay away and tucked at home, and go with your very civilian life it won't find you

STEPH: but no, you just have to put yourself out there, don't you?

STEPH: i wish we were still in school :(

MELCHIOR: Grapes are fine! It's things that are grape flavored that suck.

MELCHIOR: Like, there's something to be said for utility maximization, marginal utility and the amount of grape jolly ranchers in a jolly rancher bag

MELCHIOR: Anyway. I'd rather talk about that then pretend I'm going to stay tucked away.

MELCHIOR: [unsent] i gotta do this.

MELCHIOR: [after a few minutes] Me too.

MELCHIOR: Miss summer vacation. Don't miss the uniforms.

[melchior-caito-blog]

😉 What are my muse’s fetishes/kinks?

is this nsfw? Probably not, but under a read more just in case. 

Yeah. Melchior is totally into that #dom life. He might let a little role-reversal happen when things start to get heated, but it won’t be long before he’s flipping them around on the bed or repositioning them so he can be in control once again. Tbh this is probably a manifestation of feeling a lot like his life is out of control if we want to go all psychological on this shit. But he’s also very much about ‘possession,’ - bruises, hickeys, scratches you name it, he’s about it. And I think he’s a lil turned on by jealousy? Which is probably bad - on both ends: if Melchior is jealous he’s definitely going to want to fuck his partner and if his partner is jealous, he gets turned on by that? That is probably bad I’m not going to psychoanalyze that too hard.

So yeah! I’d say he’s into light bondage, he gets really into people being loud for him and telling him what they want - and then not giving it to them right away. He likes biting and scratching and sucking. I’d also say he’s super into like, emotionally connected sex with certain people - in fact! His favorite position is probably missionary because it’s how he feels closest to the the other person. That said, he’s also totally into roughing up his partner so they feel it next day.

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk.