![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I'm bored and restless. In the beginning stages of another epic Cain/Glitch story but far too fussy to focus on that alone.
Bring on the requests! Same limits apply as last time: Cain/Glitch or Ambrose/Cain; please no deathfic (at least not perma-death), bloodplay, etc. I'm pretty vanilla in my abilities! Make requests in the comments and I'll do my best to give you something for your time.
Bring on the requests! Same limits apply as last time: Cain/Glitch or Ambrose/Cain; please no deathfic (at least not perma-death), bloodplay, etc. I'm pretty vanilla in my abilities! Make requests in the comments and I'll do my best to give you something for your time.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
Cain is inspecting the old cells below the palace. He pauses outside a corner cell to write something down and when he looks up something in the cell catches his eye. Walking into the cell Cain traces his fingers over the carved words, 'MY NAME IS AMBROSE'.
Where it goes from there is up to you.
From:
no subject
Would you be able to link me the story, please?
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Cain could feel, deep in his core, everything that happened within these dark walls. While his own sentence had been to live alone, encased in tin and tortured with his own failure, others had not been even that lucky. Walking these halls with his notes and crudely drawn maps felt like walking through a nightmare of bitter resentment and hollow words.
Cement floors stained with things Cain would rather not consider mocked him from beyond barred doors. Some were open, some still closed. Scratches on the walls caught his eye every now and again but he kept going, noting on his drawings the cell numbers and descriptions.
It was the careful, tediously created gouges in the wall of the last cell in this corridor that drew his focus. When he read the words, his vision blurred white and suddenly he was sitting on the floor, sharp pain radiating up his back from the fall.
He left the papers where they had scattered and crawled on shaking legs across the cold, rust-colored floor. His hand rose on its own accord, tracing trembling fingers over the crisp, clear letters. 'MY NAME IS AMBROSE.'
It was a desperate reminder for a frighteningly brave man.
This was where Glitch had been born.
From:
no subject
I love everything about it, your words seem so carefully chosen and they just hit you like "BAM!". I'm so adding this post to my memories.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
So other than the words themselves I don't think so.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject