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 [TW] I grow cold, Tag - rigel
CAIUS AVERY
 Posted: Aug 27 2016, 04:19 PM
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WARNING
The following thread has been tagged as Mature and/or for Trigger Warnings for the following reasons: (I am also updating this each time we post to keep it current)

I thought that Caius and Rigel should be a TW of their own.

Graphic mentions of blood and torture. Seriously a lot of blood and a lot of torture.

Sadism about the blood and torture.

Graphic depictions of torture involving knives and cutting.

Homophobia (self-hatred)

Unhealthy BDSM relationship

Mentions of Dissociative Amnesia

Humiliation and degrading terminology

Mentions of past child abuse

Nothing about this is healthy or normal. Why are you reading our trash.

Please be aware of the content of this thread and do not continue if you are uncomfortable with the topics listed above.







RIGEL YAXLEY . 546 words
i take one look at you and i grow
cold
The manor was always cold. Caius had never grown used to it despite a lifetime of living in old drafty manors that his parents refused to update for fear of letting any outsiders into their home, and seven school years of the Slytherin common room under the lake. He would forever be putting more layers on under his robes to warm himself up. Tonight he had not only layered his clothes but had sat himself in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. He was waiting for others to return before he went to bed, it was his night to keep an eye on the dungeons and their inhabitants while one of the Lestrange brothers and Evan were… doing something he wasn’t quite sure.

The manor they were headquartered in had belonged to his family, had technically been a part of his inheritance, and he had been happy for his father to offer it up in service of their lord. The only downside was that it left him without his own home, and living with his parents was growing tedious. They wanted him to marry, but they hadn’t yet made any efforts to set anything up for him, and he knew they were growing frustrated with his lack of interest in bringing anybody to them for approval or opinions.

Caius wouldn’t be bringing anybody to his parents, but the tension and disappointment that he felt in his parents house was worrisome. Truth be told, Caius could never distinguish between actual tension in the home or tension his own mind was creating as he obsessed over the possibility of his father’s disappointment in him.

The group of his colleagues had been gone most of the day, and Caius was forcing himself to stay awake by drinking large glasses from a bottle of very old whiskey that he had brought up from the cellars. There were better ways to keep himself awake, but Evan had forbidden him from interfering with any of the prisoners in the basement while he was away. Evan was always running some sort of experiment with their captives, and Caius had never been one to argue against Evan.

As such, he had done his rounds a few times, only pausing to tighten the bindings on a few captives, his nerves skyrocketing from interfering that much, before heading back to the main floor of the manor. He had been staying here, in one of the smaller rooms on the east wing, for the past week. He wouldn’t be able to go to bed until another member returned to relieve him of his watch or Evan returned. Even if they returned, they would need to offer to take over, and Caius had never been very forward in asking others to, resulting in his taking the majority of watches over the manor.

He heard the front door open, which was a good sign, except for the fact that he was slightly drunk from the absent drinking he had been doing the past few hours. He would have to hide that, and he steeled himself for whoever he would have to interact with to enter the room, his right hand flexing protectively over his wand in the pocket of his robe.

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RIGEL YAXLEY
 Posted: Aug 28 2016, 08:33 PM
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Dynasty decapitated,
you might see a ghost tonight
Many people live their lives without giving knives a second thought. They view these magnificent tools as utensils, using them for meals and nothing else. Rigel learned quickly that a knife’s use for “cutting meat” applied to a much broader range of meats than they are often intended for. At age sixteen he stole one of the family’s steak knives and drove it into the heart of an alley cat that stalked by. The power of the blade penetrating skin and muscle sent a shiver of ecstasy to Rigel. This powerful weapon had been domesticated, relegated to a second-rate kitchen supply.

Rigel experimented with every blade he could find in the Yaxley household, and rapidly he began to notice that knives have a signature. Each blade carves the skin in a way unique to that particular knife. A smooth, razor-like knife cuts through the skin like butter, almost surgical in its precision. These knives are particularly good for carving skin and flaying. A serrated knife with a thicker blade is more violent in nature, tearing sinew and muscle apart as the blade saws through. These knives are for castration and amputation. A blunt knife requires force and patience, the trauma of the push being just as painful as incision. These knives are for stabbing and blood-letting.

Rigel’s personal favorite was a large, 10” steel knife that Vega had gifted him after their parents began to notice the notable lack of utensils in the cutlery drawer. Often his friends joked that he washed his knife more frequently and more thoroughly than he washed his own prick. Rigel let them have their laughs, but harbored a deep disdain for the way Evan would let dirty blood coat his knife for hours, if not days.

This knife was a precise instrument. Rigel could make the smallest incision and remove the intestines as easily as if he were swirling spaghetti around a fork. He could delicately cut the eyelids off without so much as scratching the cornea. He could flay and peel back the skin beautifully, as if removing the peel from a banana. Over all of this, however, Rigel considered himself an artist. Growing up in an upstanding pureblood household, Rigel had learned beautiful penmanship that now served its purpose. Rigel would use his playthings as canvas, labelling them with mudblood or traitor carved across their bare chests, decorating them with elegant quotes, and to thrill Vega, the occasional religious text.

The night air danced through the folds of Rigel’s robes as he hustled through the darkness. The bite of the cold made his hair stand on end, a feeling that he found invigorating. Tonight Evan and Rodolphus were off together, likely quarrelling over who had fucked more women or who was more feared by the mudblood community. Or perhaps they were in a dark alleyway off of Knockturn, sucking each other off where they wouldn’t be seen. Rigel’s body quivered with pleasure, and as quickly as it swelled, he bit down on his tongue roughly, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. Not now his inner voice hissed as he shoved the intrusive thoughts back into the recesses of his mind where they belonged.

Tonight, as his friends were off without him, Rigel had decided to make an impromptu visit to the prisoners currently residing in the Avery mansion. Rigel worried that his toys missed his face and would begin to suffer from separation anxiety. Evan lived in the mansion currently, and visited his dungeons daily to the point that it became almost a routine. It was time to liven things up. It doesn't do well to let things get too comfortable. Rigel had drank a few glasses of brandy and he was in particularly good humor. The image of the filthy prisoners, blood caked and stripped naked, chained to the walls of the dungeon lent a type of giddiness to Rigel.

Sometimes Rigel liked to think he was their favorite captor, using their pain as art. Occasionally he cooed to them as his knives burnt into their bodies, a sight that unsettled even the most aloof of spectators. Rigel studied, he took care in making each person into a masterpiece of pain and misery. Evan’s tactics often lacked imagination, they lacked the element that would make them extraordinary. His friends were often barbaric, sloppy, whereas Rigel took pride in his work, carefully crafting each incision, each removal, each puncture.

Continuing towards the looming mansion, Rigel clasped his hand to the prominent Dark Mark that decorated his entire forearm. He passed through the wards with ease, gliding through them almost as if he were flying. As he approached the door, his mind idly wandered, wondering who would be sitting watch tonight with Evan gone. The answer was inconsequential, he knew, as it was always a lower ranking Death Eater who would avert their eyes and hold their tongue for fear that he would cut it out. His mind would not be reigned, however, as it meandered back into the dungeons where his thoughts bent towards Caius Avery. Caius still lived at the estate despite it being used for headquarters, and part of Rigel’s subconscious needled him that perhaps this was truly why he came tonight. Angrily, Rigel shoved his hand into his robes, searching out his knife and holding his thumb firmly on the point, allowing blood to pool from the prick. Rigel’s jaw clinched as he reached out and opened the door with his free hand, silently cursing the unbridled, perverse thoughts that seeped through the cracks of his carefully constructed psyche.

CAIUS AVERY | 917 | I love this trash
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CAIUS AVERY
 Posted: Aug 29 2016, 07:21 PM
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RIGEL YAXLEY . 546 words
i take one look at you and i grow
cold
There was really no real reason that Caius should remain living in this house. Though his on paper, it had never truly been his. For some reason he couldn’t quite imagine being able to live in this manor, on his own or otherwise once the Dark Lord rose to power and no longer needed the manor to serve as headquarters. Too much had happened there.

There was also not much reason for him to remain at the house when it’s other permanent occupants were out. The prisoners were going nowhere, and Evan’s absences from the house tended to last a few hours at the most. Being the wizarding world's most wanted did not lend itself to long excursions, though Rosier often stretched his luck when Rodolphus accompanied him into muggle villages or to the homes of higher level politicians from the Ministry. Their wards were strong, their prisoners were undoubtedly secure in their bindings, the manor was undoubtedly one of the strongest fortresses in the world at this point.

There was something else in the manor that apparently needed watching.

Mrs. Rosier was a 17 year old whore who had slithered into their ranks a month ago with promises of heirs in return for a dark mark. She came with potions that she liked to force their prisoners to drink. She came with five older brothers that terrorized the dark lord's adversaries in different ways. She had shown up uninvited and had not left, her eldest brother returning with her one day with a trunk full of her clothes. Carina Yaxley had moved into the small room Evan resided in and weeks later had announced that she was pregnant.

Their wedding had been quick, very few people in attendance, and had taken place in the small bit of land behind Caius’ manor. It was fitting somehow, he thought bitterly to himself as he took a large drink of the liquor in his hand, that he’d been forced into watching Evan marry the slut on his own property. Caius had a place in this world, and currently that place was having the Avery manor in his name in case everything went to shit and somebody needed to take the fall. He was disposable. And he was currently serving as an extra set of eyes on Evan Rosier’s pregnant wife asleep in their room on the third floor.

He had never given much thought to the Yaxley family. Rigel spent time with Evan and Rodolphus, Caius had worked with him a few times. He did good work, he left his victims screaming and carved his words into their flesh. He had a sharp jawline and dark eyes, and walked in a way that had Caius refocusing his attention on literally anything else in the room in an effort to not watch his body move through space. Vega was a basket case, praying and chanting, helping his brother carve verses from scripture into those Rigel had strung up in the dungeon. He’d heard talk that he’d tried to exorcise his youngest brother a few times, Caius wasn’t surprised. He’d had little to no interaction with the twin Yaxley brothers, but he wasn’t particularly fond of either of them.

To be honest, Caius wasn’t particularly fond of anyone that he knew could and would harm him for looking the wrong way. He’d had the most interaction with Rigel out of all of them, and there was something about the man that made his skin crawl, made his head feel too light.

Caius turned to look as the door opened, his grip only vaguely relaxing on his wand as he watched Rigel come in the door. He almost sighed heavily but instead he took another drink. “Rosier and Lestrange are in town.” He said in lieu of a greeting as he heard footsteps in the foyer. “Your sister should be upstairs. Nobody else is here.”

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RIGEL YAXLEY
 Posted: Aug 30 2016, 06:43 PM
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Dynasty decapitated,
you might see a ghost tonight
The pureblooded world had collectively sighed when the Avery mansion was chosen to be headquarters for the Cause. The mansion itself was impressive, but, in Rigel’s opinion, the Avery family was anything but. The Averys themselves were noble enough when you examined their pedigree, but their personalities barely even grazed the top tier. In particular, he was thinking of the heir, Caius Avery, Evan Rosier’s lapdog and bonafide stalker. Rigel saw the way the soft, brown eyes of Caius lusted after his friend who saw him as barely more than a plaything, one more person to be added into his personal menagerie of nutjobs. It was sad, really, how submissive a grown man could be, but here was a spotless specimen, in the flesh and staring, well cowering back at him.

Rigel had always enjoyed submission without a clear answer to why. Well, he knew why but he liked to pretend that he didn’t. Life was so much easier that way. When nothing had an ulterior motive. But here he was, in this house, with this boy and Rigel wanted to hit him. To cause him pain, yes. But to also cause him pleasure. This was the boy that would openly embrace the blade of Rigel’s knife…even if he wasn’t aware of it yet. He had never considered another Death Eater as a possible lover before, namely because he didn’t trust the lowborn scum that populated the lower ranks. This boy, however, would take his torture with just enough fear that he would never tell. Something told Rigel, however, that he would never tell anyway. It’s easy to identify a self-loathing homosexual when you are one yourself.

Rigel took in the raw beauty of the youth who sat before him. He had noted the subconscious tightening of his muscles as he entered the room. Many were afraid of him; eyes darted away in his presence, bodies became eerily still. This last reaction tickled Rigel, as he was not some blind predator who only relied on the movement around him. If he wanted to hurt someone, there was not much in this world that could stand between him and that resolution. He could sniff out the nearest filth almost as effortlessly as he could carve calligraphy into a squirming prisoner. In fact, one time, his older brother Orion had insisted he ceased being so “off-putting” as if it were a masque he could wear and remove at his leisure. Rigel was aware of his affect, and he wasn’t fazed by it. On the contrary, Rigel found great humor in the terror he instilled in others, particularly when he considered himself one for a laugh.

Caius spoke in a tone that Rigel couldn’t decipher. The wizard sounded almost detached, rejecting the fear that was so apparent in his body language. Carina. In his indecent humor of joy, Rigel had quite forgotten that his baby sister resided in the mansion, now the pregnant wife of his best friend. The wedding had been much hastier than either families would have preferred, but Rigel’s parents were certainly thrilled that Carina had found a husband (and promptly born a child), despite the less thrilled demeanor they put forth regarding Carina’s newfound allegiance to the Dark Lord. For their wedding, Rigel had presented his sister with a handsome prisoner, dragged out in chains, sobbing for mercy. The mudblood’s chiseled abs bore a Biblical verse referencing the nature of love in holy matrimony (Vega had aided him in that), while ”CONGRATULATIONS” was scrawled beautifully across his arse. This gift, of course, was presented in the safety of the Avery mansion, away from the prying eyes of those unworthy, and Rigel’s brothers who would have wholly disapproved. They spent their lives keeping their sister away from a Cause that was clearly her calling.

As he regarded Rigel, Caius’ veins popped, punctuating his thinly toned arms. Rigel’s eyes raked across the sharp cheekbones and angular jawline that clinched in defiance? Or was it anxiety? Something stirred within, a something that Rigel kept closely regulated, clearly oppressed. A mixture of anger, violence, mischief and lust stirred within his loins. The way Caius had spoken revealed his opinion of Rigel, and Rigel weighed the possible reactions to his clear sexual advances. Interest? Unlikely. Confusion? Definitely. Fear? Most likely.

The prisoners that populated the dungeon called to him, but Rigel weighed this new purpose. His prick hadn’t been sucked for some time, and he had the strong feeling that he could chain this boy alongside the prisoners and fuck him in their blood. If not, this could be fun. The liquor within his veins propelled him forward, goading him to seduce this slight, yet sexy young man.

Rigel sauntered towards the couch on which Caius sat, the fire warming him as he passed by. ”I know where Rod and Evan are,” he spoke, voice dripping with sarcasm and a trace of something else. He fixed his eyes onto Caius’ as he slowly leaned against the arm of the sofa. ”And my sister isn’t my concern at this moment.” His voice purred, a potent mixture of aggression and coddling punctuating the vibrations. ”I came to see to the prisoners. You haven’t checked on them, have youuuu?” Rigel drew the last vowel sound out, the soft fierceness of his voice resonating through the room. There was something sultry and dangerous about the way he had spoken it, and he waited intently, eyes sharp, for his lesser’s response.

CAIUS AVERY | 911 | Yup. I'm TRASH
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CAIUS AVERY
 Posted: Aug 30 2016, 11:07 PM
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RIGEL YAXLEY . 1269 words
i take one look at you and i grow
cold
Caius had always felt this way. About everything in general, really, there was no particular trait about himself that he could single back and trace back to a certain point in time. He had always been attracted to men, since puberty hit he had watched them out of the corner of his eye, had always been aware of the way his friends spoke about the girls in their year in Slytherin house and was shocked to find that he felt nothing in response. His friends dated, so Caius had too, using his last name and his somewhat shaky place in the higher social rank of Slytherin house to get them to say yes. He kissed them, he feigned interest in their low cut shirts and short skirts. He joked with his friends about the girls he had dated. He even slept with them, sometimes, putting a great deal of concentration into the whole ordeal. He found them charmless, their bodies too soft, too yielding. He hated the way they smelled and the way they sounded in bed. He prefered angles and sharp lines, hands that would hold him down instead of reach for him.

He hadn’t slept with a man until he was 19. It was an act of desperation, he had gotten drunk and let somebody he didn’t know take him home. He wasn’t even entirely sure if it had been a wizard or not. He had let them hold him down, put their hands around his throat and fuck him, and he finally understood why his friends were so eager to sleep with anything that they could get their hands on. He knew it wasn’t normal, that it was wrong. He knew he would be disowned at best and killed at worst if anyone had discovered his proclivities.

Caius’ unfortunate interest in Evan Rosier had begun their third year of Hogwarts, as Evan started looking at girls in their year and having loud conversations about it with others. Caius knew better, and he’d kept his mouth shut, although he quietly catalogued the things that Evan noticed about girls. He’d always worked hard to stay in Evan’s good graces, had done what was asked of him, had let himself go past things he thought he wouldn’t be comfortable with in order to please the other man. Evan had always tortured and torn people apart, even at that young age. Caius had thought it would make him sick, but it hadn’t, and he listened and learned to everything Evan would teach him about harming others. It was a type of relief, almost, and even back then he felt a familiar haze come over his body.

He had first felt the way his brain slipped the first time Evan had taken him into the dungeons and shown him how to really torture somebody. It had started in his head until he felt as if his eyes were unfocused and he wasn’t really himself anymore. He had killed several people that day, but he had no recollection of it. It had worried him at first, and he found that it happened every time he picked up a knife. He must have done decent work because he was allowed to continue to this work.

Caius could always feel these occasional bouts of memory loss coming on, the swimming in his head, the brief way his eyes unfocused a few times. It happened in another way, though, whenever he felt bold enough to return to a nightclub and let somebody take him home. It had been nice the first time, he had been drunk enough to let somebody hold down his throat, and after enough time, enough whispered words and hits to the face, he had felt the haze coming on again. Instead of fighting it, fighting back, he’d let it consume him, worried that he’d come back a few hours later having no recollection of the event. Instead he’d remained present, feeling as if he were in the back of his own mind, observing and feeling instead of actively participating. It was nice, letting somebody else take complete control of the situation, letting go of his body. He’d felt drained when he finally came back to what felt like reality, his body cold and shaking. He felt like he’d been crying, like he’d ran a marathon.

It had scared him, despite how good it had felt. The next time he went out he’d desperately tried to reverse the roles, finding some way to have a little bit of power over any given situation. Power wasn’t something he often had.

He was uncomfortable under the look that Rigel was fixing him with as he entered the room, he could feel himself twitching under the scrutiny. He anxiously pulled a hand through the curly tangle of hair on top of his head and tried to relax further into the couch. He’d noticed Rigel before, of course he had, the same way the girls at Hogwarts had probably noticed Rigel whenever he entered the room. He was all angles and hard lines, dark hair and eyes. He was unfairly attractive, and he obviously knew so. It was the type of things that Caius found himself attracted to again and again, but he was very practiced at shoving those emotions down.

Caius straightened again as Rigel walked closer to him and fixated anywhere but on him, feigning disinterest. He wasn’t used to having to interact with others without a third person in the room, a social buffer that he could play off of to mask his constant state of paranoia and anxiety. He’d tried to avoid the gaze until it landed on his eyes and he stared back despite himself, listening to the smooth tone Rigel’s voice had taken on. He wanted to ask where Lestrange and Evan were at Rigel’s comment, but the way his voice dipped as he mentioned that his sister wasn’t why he was here had Caius somehow attuning to him. Usually when he heard Rigel speak it sounded completely different, rough and full of laughter, usually hearing the voice distantly as his head swam with a knife in his hands. Part of him wanted to lean into the voice, but he remained where he was, staring back intently.

The comment about checking on the prisoners had Caius shifting in his seat again. He had checked on them. Evan had told him to keep ‘watch’ over the manor as he left, and he’d done that. Sheer boredom had lead him to the dungeons to tighten their chains and bindings, absently walking through the room. Evan hadn’t explicitly told him to do so, and the paranoia had been quick to hit the second he headed up the staircase to the main level of his manor. Lying wouldn’t do him any favors here, even though it wasn’t guaranteed that Rigel or Evan would notice, or that it would even be cause for concern. By this time, though, it had been a few beats too long since Rigel had spoken without a response.

He nodded his head slowly, turning away and taking a slow drink from his glass. “I went into the room, yes.” He admitted carefully, schooling himself into keeping a neutral expression on his face, to stop himself from speaking so quickly. The way Rigel had spoke had commanded a response, and something in Caius had wanted to give it to him, and he knew better at this point. “I tightened a few bindings. Not much else to do when everyone’s out.”

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RIGEL YAXLEY
 Posted: Sep 1 2016, 08:43 PM
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Dynasty decapitated,
you might see a ghost tonight
Rigel had discovered his sexual appetites at a very young age. His friends began to chase after girls, they would talk about how their desires to sleep with these women, feeling their bodies against the girls’ delicate softness. They spoke of wanting to date, wanting an affectionate marriage, not a loveless betrothal. They spoke of romance, of love, of soft kisses and passionate lovemaking. And even as Rigel recognized that he couldn’t relate because he preferred the bodies of men - the harsh sharpness of their angles, the hard bodies encased in sinew and muscle, the roughness of their poorly shaven beards – he also realized he did not desire this love, this tenderness that was so commonplace. What he desired was rough, inhumane. It was pain. It was submission. He didn’t want an equal. He wanted a slave.

Women by their nature were subservient in Rigel’s eyes. Their soft bodies gave way to soft minds. They were more than happy to play the victim. Women were born to roll over on their back and present their belly and their twat for fucking. Rigel ached for more of a challenge. The idea of submitting, of breaking a man, a creature who was designed to be dominant, was irresistible. The humiliation of a once proud man, crumpled at Rigel’s feet, sobbing from their time together was arousing. Rigel liked to cut them with his knife, marking them with a brand of ownership. Watching the blood pool around his knife as he made his lovers into masterpieces was the best feeling Rigel could imagine. Their bodies pulsating from the mixture of pleasure and pain, gruffly thanking Rigel as he carved into their chests. He dreamt of chaining men in the dungeon, forcing them to stimulate him with their mouths, fucking their skulls as he pulled their hair, calling them vile, unforgivable names.

Rigel had never paid particular attention to the needs of those who he called upon to be subservient to him. He didn’t care much for what happened after he had finished fucking them, and Rigel had made it a bit of a tradition to always leave them with a brief Cruciatus Curse, reminding of their place in the hierarchy. Watching these vessels for his pleasure writhing in pain on the floor brought him great joy. He wanted them to know that they would always be his inferior. Living in the back of their heads should be a sense of ineptitude, of servitude. They were to tell no one. One had tried to tell, the weight of his secret too much to bear, but now that one was rotting in the dungeon, carved up as a warning to those that came after.

Finding a submissive was particularly simple for Rigel, who considered himself good at reading people. These men all had certain energies about them. They slunk a bit too low in their chairs. They averted their eyes from any direct eye contact. Their voices sounded questioning, unassured that what they were saying was correct. Quite often men did not see themselves as submissive, fighting against it as strongly as they fought against their own sexualities. These were Rigel’s favorite. It was amusing to watch a clearly inferior man power struggle against him, straining to assert his dominance when he was clearly outmatched. It felt good to have someone bow down to you, to indulge your every command without question.

Everything about Rigel exuded confidence. His walk was brisk, upright and smooth, each step purposeful and a bit daunting. He lived life with his head held high, his exquisitely crafted jawbone turned slightly up, signifying to those around that they were beneath him. Even the way he talked was enchanting but condescending, persuading even the most skeptical of followers to bend to his beck and call. He had first known he was a leader when he had found Vega killing birds in the backyard. Rigel had been sixteen at the time, but he immediately found himself ordering Vega around. Try it this way. Do that. Watching his brother follow his every command gave him a sense of pride. He, Rigel Yaxley, was in control of everything around him, and it felt good.

Rigel continued to hold Caius’ eyes, drinking in every bit of apprehension that swum there in the depths of the younger wizard. He could already read the body language of suppressed desire and slight terror twitching through Caius. Remaining stoic he deadpanned. ”And here I was thinking Evan had told his watchdogs to stay out of the dungeons.” Rigel sat completely still, waiting for the young wizard to squirm under the scrutiny. Of course, Caius had done nothing truly wrong, but Rigel wanted to see how he took criticism. He wanted to see this boy on his knees, cowering and begging forgiveness.

Rigel was particularly good at staring, as he had taken it up to unnerve his younger brother, Pollux. Pollux was infamous for his impassive stare, blank and haunting and emotionless. Rigel had found that the only way to combat the eerie influence of his brother was to stare directly back, grinning ever so slightly to mock the younger boy. It angered Pollux so much that Orion had promptly asked Rigel to refrain from doing so, out of fear that Pollux’s anger at Rigel would be redirected to an easier target: namely, their sister. So Rigel stared down Caius Avery, a slight twitch in his mouth threatening to betray his true emotion.

Finally, Rigel broke away with a boisterous laugh. ”Relax, boy. No harm done.” He studied Caius again and his eyes flitted to the half empty bottle of whiskey resting on the couch beside Caius. “So, are you going to offer me a drink?” Eyes twinkling, Rigel smiled mischievously and slid onto the body of the couch cushion, his body lightly grazing against Caius. He felt his own muscles tighten in anticipation against his will, and silently he cursed himself for his body’s betrayal. Caius seemed frozen where he sat, his face appeared as a mix of confusion and awe at the way Rigel Yaxley was behaving. Brazenly, Rigel reached across the boys lap and snatched up the whiskey. He gave Caius another grin that spread to his eyes, the alcohol in his system and the anticipation of getting laid making him indecently giddy.

Rigel took a long swig of the bottle, meeting Caius’ eyes as he did so. Lowering it slightly, he squinted at the younger wizard, contemplating the appropriate next move. With a slight chuckle Rigel leaned nonchalantly back against the arm of the sofa. ”But now it begs the question. How tight do you think restraints ought to be?” Smirking, Rigel took another swig.

CAIUS AVERY | 1117 | Don't ever let Rigel be a dom
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CAIUS AVERY
 Posted: Sep 2 2016, 06:47 PM
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RIGEL YAXLEY . 1068 words
i take one look at you and i grow
cold
Caius knew his own downfalls very well. He knew that he was attracted to power, that he followed it blindly instead of seeking his own. His father had yelled it at him before, but Caius had known long before that. His friendships at Hogwarts all revolved around power. Caius had never worked especially hard to climb the social ladder, but he had done his best to stay near the bottom, staying near those who had. His last name was easy to hide behind, and even Caius knew that he wasn’t worthy of his father's last name.

He so often felt as if he were lost. The child his parents hadn’t wanted and approved of even less, the boy who often walked into the wrong room at the wrong time as his father worked tirelessly with the dark lord. His presence had been entirely inconvenient, the Dark Lord abhorring the very idea of children. Caius had always been too underfoot, his father would have never approved of a nanny or a tutor, not with the company he kept in his home, and Caius had largely been left to his own devices. He had broken things, at first, knocking down family heirlooms and earning smacks to the back of his head, escalating to harming the house elves enough that his mother would come out of her room long enough to throw a few curses his way. He didn’t remember much of his mother, just vague ideas, feelings, a tightness in his chest, and he remembered her coming out to curse him when he wouldn’t stop laughing at the blood on her floor.

Really, if Caius had been introspective at all he would have seen that for what it was. Attention was given to him in the form of pain and abuse, of criticizing words, from those in positions of power above him. It made sense that he had sought this out, not knowing there was any other way of connecting with the people around him.

Caius had never been exceptionally bright, skirting through Hogwarts with just passing marks, and his position at the ministry now was mostly for show. Caius would never serve on any trial, could barely understand the notes he took on the books of law in his office. It was in title alone mostly, something expected of an Avery. He had acquaintances there, the same way he had at Hogwarts and among the Death Eaters now, but he didn’t feel particularly interested in any of them.

Honestly, he hardly felt interested in anything anymore, vaguely floating through his days of sitting at the top of the stairs to the dungeons and making sure nobody escaped. Sometimes he sat on the balcony in the guest room he stayed in and watched the front of the estate, waiting for the wards to go off. He wondered what would happen, if somebody approached, if the Dark Lord was found out. Azkaban, probably, he always thought vaguely, but he knew he would rather take his own life than sit in the cells in that place. He wondered idly what the dementors would be able to take from him- if they would find anything to draw out of him. The memories of his mother, he supposed. Usually, he finished the bottle by the time his thoughts went to that place.

He hadn’t felt particularly lonely growing up. He saw other pureblood children sometimes, when they attended church once a month to keep up appearances, occasionally somebody would have a birthday and Caius was expected to show up with his mother to some kind of celebration. It seemed asinine, to have a celebration. He’d asked his mother why he’d been made to attend these events, why the events were even held in the first place, and received some monotone answer about heirs. He had been left alone enough that the idea of anything else had been hard for him to grasp at first. He was off-putting, Evan had told him once, and sometimes he seemed like he didn’t know how to interact with other people. He hadn’t felt lonely until he realized how other people lived surrounded by others.

Caius forced himself to continue meeting Rigel’s eyes, although he looked away as Rigel mentioned staying out of the dungeons, and took another drink quickly. He was hoping the alcohol would hide the way the blood had drained from his face and he wanted to yell, wanted to ensure that Rigel not tell Evan what he had done. He tensed, finishing the glass and setting it in his lap, turning to look at the fireplace, still feeling eyes drilling into the site of his head.

He was nearly relieved at Rigel’s laugh, ensuring that he had done nothing wrong, and he twitched a bit, reaching a hand back up to tug lightly at his hair, a nervous habit he was still working to break himself of. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and Rigel would leave soon, having earned the reaction he wanted out of Caius, and go up the stairs to check on his sister, or down into the dungeon for the rest of the evening.

He was not expecting, however, Rigel to sit down on the couch, and Caius stared at the side of his head, frowning in confusion as he reached across him for the bottle of whiskey. “You want a drink?” He asked before he could stop himself, surprise evident in his voice. People didn’t just sit down and drink when Caius was around, and Rigel was sitting so close to him. He watched as Rigel took a long drink from the bottle and leaned against the sofa, his frown deepening.

Rigel wanted something from him, or out of him, he knew. Caius listened to the question and looked back towards the fireplace, a hand moving to his neck instead of his hair to rub at the skin absently, keeping his hands occupied. “What do you want, Yaxley?” Caius finally spoke, his voice flat. It would be easier to find out now so he could deal with it than to attempt to navigate a conversation. Caius already knew that he would say yes to whatever was asked of him, he wasn’t know for saying no to anyone, especially somebody close to Evan, in fear of it reflecting poorly on himself.

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RIGEL YAXLEY
 Posted: Sep 8 2016, 04:30 PM
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28 years old
Notorious Dom
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Dynasty decapitated,
you might see a ghost tonight
Rigel regarded the young Death Eater coolly, his hooded eyes carefully shielding the amusement that surged through him. This boy was out of his element, throwing words around in a reckless manner, careful to stand his ground while also avoiding offense. He had seen this in many of the lower ranking soldiers of the Cause, those who tried to prove their bravery and willingness to fight while also protecting themselves. Rigel and his two colleagues inspired fear amongst the muggle and mudblood community, but he could sense it in those that surrounded them in the Cause as well. There were whispers that Rosier was insane, ones that Rigel was unhinged and a sadist. These rumors were laughable to Rigel, as the words that were offered up as descriptors were merely used for something that the lesser folk did not understand.

So here he was, Caius Avery, the inferior wizard, trying to prove that he had a pair of testicles between the legs of his scrawny body. And here was Rigel, allowing this child to flex his muscles. He sat silently, thinking of the proper response to this pathetic attempt at a power play. He had seen the fear flicker through Caius’ eyes when he brought up the dungeons, and he had seen the subservience shining through, wanting to open his mouth and shout that he would do anything to remain in good graces. He could exploit this. He wanted to exploit this. Rigel had a feeling that this boy was gay, but even if he weren’t, he knew he could be persuasive. Or, rather, commanding.

”What I want is really none of your concern, now is it?” Any trace of a smile on Rigel’s face had disappeared, replaced with the impassive scowl that he so often affected. Rigel had always been one for joking and amusement, but his public persona was often the opposite. It was much easier for him to go about his daily work if those around him feared him, and thought that he was this monster he was occasionally purported to be. ”You’re a night watch in your own home. Learn your place and stay there.” Rigel knew Caius felt inferior, he could tell it in the way he sat, the way he dressed and especially in the way he spoke. And Rigel would tear him down farther than he thought he could go. He had done this many times before, and it worked like clockwork. The desire for acceptance and fear of rejection were a powerful things.

“Now. If you’re going to speak to me, I would use a bit more respect, boy.” Rigel sneered as he rose from the sofa, towering above the other wizard, his shadow engulfing him in darkness. Still holding the bottle of whiskey, Rigel took another long sip, drawing out the tension in the room. Removing it from his lips, Rigel held the gaze of the young Death Eater, his dark eyes accusing and challenging Caius. Maintaining contact, Rigel reached within his robe and slowly withdrew his favorite knife, the spotless steel glowing in the candlelight. Once fully unsheathed, Rigel looked at the weapon adoringly, quite possibly the only thing he had ever held this sort of affection for. He turned it over a few times thoughtfully, then stopped it with the blade facing upward. The blade itself was so thin and fine that it would be nearly invisible were one looking at Rigel head on.

Rigel grinned at the beautiful tool he held in his hands, and flitted his eyes over to survey the face of his company. Caius, as the lapdog of Evan Rosier, had often been in the presence of knives. Rigel knew this. Rigel had even heard that Caius would occasionally make use of a knife himself, tearing apart victims savagely and then losing memory of all that had happened. As far as Rigel was concerned, however, he had yet to be at the point of a knife, his own mortality flashing before his face. He had not true intention of mutilating the wizard, although Rigel wistfully imagined carving his name into his lean, well-muscled chest. But, this boy was a coward, he had it written all over him, and Rigel wanted to see him beg.

Lowering the point so that it was pointed directly at Caius’ forehead, Rigel took a step forward, closing the distance between the two men. His fist gripped the hilt of the knife firmly, but comfortably. Rigel had been in this position countless times before. One last time, before the games began, he swigged the whiskey, this time finishing all of the remainder. Rigel threw the empty bottle to the side, uncaring that the glass loudly shattered in the corner of the room. He would have Caius clean that up later. Rigel gestured with the flat of the knife, indicating for Caius to stand in his presence.

”Now. I think you ought to get on your knees, kiss my shoes and apologize. Otherwise I’d hate to think about what might happen. You see, it’s been quite a long time since I was able to use this knife, and I’m getting a bit impatient.” Rigel trailed off, letting the threat sit with Caius for a moment. Gravely harming a fellow Death Eater was not allowed, but from the way Caius’ pulse quickened the moment Rigel had arrived, he knew he believed the rumors. To him, Rigel could be a madman whose taste for carving was indiscriminate.

CAIUS AVERY | 901 | Don't ever let Rigel be a dom
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CAIUS AVERY
 Posted: Sep 28 2016, 12:02 AM
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RIGEL YAXLEY . 1084 words | I made you wait so long.
i take one look at you and i grow
cold
Caius was well aware of what some of his ‘colleagues’ said about him. He knew the whispers that circulated about all of them. For a group that valued loyalty and keeping secrets, the pureblood community had always been callous towards each other. Caius knew that Rosier and Lestrange, and likely even Rigel Yaxley, openly criticized other death eaters, and he knew in turn what was said about them. Psychotic, unstable, sadistic. Caius had always found those three traits to be a benefit when it came to serving the Dark Lord, thought that those words could likely be applied to their Lord himself; shouldn’t his followers exhibit the same traits?

Likewise, Caius knew the things said about him. Much of the same descriptors were usually followed by useless, pathetic, follower. He’d heard many conversations where people lamented the fact that his father did not have an Heir in spare before Caius’ mother had passed. All Caius could hope to do for his family at this point was get some pureblood pregnant and hope that he had a son to pass down the family name. Caius may have been a failure in the eyes of many, but he wouldn’t let the Avery name die with him. He would do what was in his power, what was his responsibility, to do his service.

He would always respond to men like Rigel. He would always do what was expected of him, he would always blindly serve their Lord, just as he would always be looking behind his back for a knife.

The shift in Rigel’s tone was sudden enough for Caius to shift any remaining attention to the other man, his back straightening and his eyes sliding down almost respectfully. It was an immediate show of subservience, he realized, that his automatic reaction was to basically bare his throat towards anybody in any position of power over him. Best case scenario was that he had managed to piss Rigel Yaxley off with a few simple words and he would yell, throw a few curses and leave. Caius was adept at the cruciatus curse, his body having long hardened enough to numb the pain, to resist the worst of it and remain emotionless on the outside, depending on the strength of the curse. Caius knew he would take it if Rigel took that course of action. It was concerning that he couldn’t think of a worst case scenario for mouthing off to Rigel Yaxley.

The Yaxley’s had been a quiet presence among the death eaters for much of Caius’ life, their father Edmund having been one of the oldest Death Eaters. Rigel was the spare, as were the three boys that came after him. He’d always wondered over families with more than one son, with what made the spare children feel important. Perhaps it was strength in numbers with the Yaxley family. The Yaxley’s prestige had slightly gone up as Rigel fell in with the death eaters at the top of the ladder, known for his sadistic approaches. Vega was nearly as bad as his elder brother, the twins closer to his age coming in a close second.

The words Rigel spoke stung and Caius turned his head away back towards the fire, taking a heavy drink of his whiskey and remaining silent. He wouldn’t aggravate him further, he wouldn’t bother to refute anything. The mansion didn’t even feel like his home anymore, the same way the manor his parents lived in had never felt like a home. It was a piece of paper with his name on it attached to his bank vault, a building with a bedroom he kept his belongings in.

Rigel stood from the couch and crossed in front of him, demanding respect before withdrawing a knife out of his pocket. Caius had his own knives in the bedroom a few floors above them, and just one hidden within his own robes as a form of last minute defense. Some days, the sight of a knife would cause his mind to tilt just enough for him to feel dizzy, and keeping them in his robes seemed to trigger that reaction more often.

He watched, his breath struggling to remain even, as Rigel took a step towards him, the knife close to his face. The knife was nicer than any that he owned, resembling the ones he knew Rosier favored. His breath hitched, barely audible, as he felt a darkness behind his eyes at the site of the weapon. This was how it usually started, and Caius steeled himself, trying to force his mind to stay in his body. Rigel had thrown the bottle to the side, and the crash fell on deaf ears as Caius watched the knife, his vision and perception narrowing to himself, Rigel, and the knife almost touching his forehead.

A threat like this wasn’t knew to him, but the knife this close was. Rigel was demanding, something about his knees and his knife and Caius felt himself slip a little further. He couldn’t let himself do what he thought Rigel had asked him, even though the low firm tone of the threat stayed in the back of his mind.

Caius shook his head, taking a slow breath in through his nose. Rigel was a dangerous person to make angry, and Caius’ brain helpfully reminded him of how much power the man currently had. Evan no doubt would trust Rigel over him, and Caius had long ago decided to never be on the wrong side of his favor. Angering Rigel would anger his friends, and he knew them to be more violent in how they killed than the usual threat of his father or the Dark Lord. He couldn’t anger this man, but he also knew that following those orders would result in more mocking, more shame for his position in the Death Eaters.

Death had been held above him before, at the end of many wands since he had been a small child, but this was the first time he truly felt a spike of fear shoot through his body since he had been young. “I apologize if you mistook what I said as disrespectful.” Caius said lightly, forcing himself to speak but remaining seated on the couch. He moved his eyes up towards Rigel, focusing on his breath. Maybe if he could move the knife out of his line of sight he could regain what control was left.

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