#( answer. / && dom brennan )

[dxsole]

💍 LET DOM BRING DIDI HOME TO MAMA LEONA

💍 WHAT IS HAPPENING? | Not Accepting.

Initially, she laughs; not at him but because he gets down on his knees and she suddenly has no clue what he's doing.

It's not like she hasn't been proposed to before either— although, those rare times tended to occur when both parties were obscenely drunk or they were in bed and the post-coital haze made everything seem like a good idea, including impromptu marriage.

But no. They're unbearably sober and she's yet to do anything lewd; he knew exactly what he was doing. Sound mind and all that. Maybe that's why she suddenly can't breathe. Oh, Didi thought she was God's gift to mankind and people should be running over each other for a chance to love her— but this is different.

This is Dom. She can't seduce, manipulate, or extort it out of him. He just cared. For her. What's even more incredible is she knows she could be so much worse, and he'd probably still stay. Forgive her. Work with her because it's her. Or try to, at least.

Not give up and run like she did with other people before it could be done to her. In all her years, no one has ever broken up with Didi Despereaux, because she could tell when the luster wore off and she had to hurt them before they could realize the awful truth; she's horribly human. Painfully so at times.

There's a brief moment when he's on his knees where she can just feel it creeping up; she could leave tomorrow. Act like none of this ever happened. Act like he wasn't so important to her. Act like she had not intertwined her hand with his and wished it could always be this way. She could be so, so cruel...if she wanted to.

She didn't want to. "You mean it." It's not a question, just a statement she's trying to say with all that bravado she's known for. "You want me to be Mrs. Brennan? Your wife, hm." It's a silly question, he's literally got a ring out.

Didi doesn't wait for an answer to that though as she just pulls him by his stupid coveralls to kiss him. There's some whistling and clapping from somewhere behind them in the shop. Didi pays them no mind, she's busy right now.

"Hm, alright." She replies once they've pulled away, still trying to have the upper hand in this situation (Didi has no upper hand. She can feel her body vibrating from how stupidly happy she is). "You know I'm going to make your life hell, right?" Didi still has a grip on his shirt and is furiously nodding until he nods along with her. "In a good way. A fun way, hm."

There's really no fun way to make someone's life hell, but if anyone could figure that out, it's probably Didi.

[quantummindclassicalheart]

a dream of flight

Inspired by @tali-zorahs's art of Laerryn and Loquatius, 1223 words about their first dance (and what comes after).

It has always been easy for Laerryn Coramar to take the lead in her life. She has always charted her own course, probed and tested every limit with a methodical and exacting eye for detail.

Centuries after her city falls, other arcane seekers will find bits and pieces of Laerryn’s machinery and puzzle at their intricate workings. Even with the whole apparatus before them, it is doubtful many would even begin to comprehend what the Architect Arcane has wrought.

For each system within the arcane engines, conduits, and capacitors of Avalir is optimized by her hand, forming a beautiful design that is as elegant as it is functional. And of all the people in this city—a city filled with mages and artificers and all manner of brilliant arcanists—she is the only one who can see it in its entirety. And she is the only one who sees what it could be.

It is her gift to be so singular. It is her burden to have no peer.

So Laerryn is accustomed to leading.

And yet. When Loquatius Seelie asks her to dance, she thinks to herself—it might not be so bad to follow, once in a while.

It’s not for his slick words or his effortless charm that she trusts him. Laerryn has known many schemers who have wielded charm like a ornamental knife that one realizes too late is not just for show. No, it is the man between the masks who intrigues and perplexes her in equal measure. It is the light shining through a multitude of stained glass faces whom she wants to know better. And to be honest, he is the only genuinely interesting person at this party (with most of the other guests ranking just below the hodmedods in terms of their capacity to carry on a stimulating conversation).

“Would you care for a dance, Madame Architect?” says Loquatius, all perfect teeth and meticulously sculpted cheekbones. She wonders idly if he’s focus group-tested different facial structures to find out which ones people found most charming and/or trustworthy. It’s not lost on her that he’s chosen his words carefully so that he can spin them as cheeky or deferent, depending on how she responds.

As she’s pondering this, it takes a few seconds for her mouth to catch up to her brain. “Um. Yes.” She blinks. “That sounds good. And just Laerryn is fine. Titles are…” She hesitates to say unnecessary, because she has worked damn hard for this one.

“…titles are for strangers,” she concludes. And even though they have only known each other a few weeks at this point, the words nevertheless ring true. Even now they are not strangers, and for all that is to come, they never will be again.

“All right. Laerryn, then,” says Loquatius. “I hope it’s all right that I take the lead here? You’ll have to forgive me if my moves are a little out of date. The last time I visited this plane, this dance hadn’t been invented yet." He shrugs apologetically.

Laerryn pauses for a moment, trying to figure out if he is joking or not. Analysis: inconclusive. She ultimately decides it’s irrelevant and nods politely, taking his hand as he leads her gently out onto the ballroom floor.

Right on cue, a new song begins to play. Out of the corner of her eye Laerryn sees the music is coming from a small ensemble of self-playing five-stringed instruments, their strings a fine gold and synthetic alloy and their sound amplified by a permanent sonic enchantment. Her thoughts shift briefly to their construction and whether similar techniques might be incorporated into some sort of maintenance apparatus for the engines that power the city.

She doesn’t have much time to dwell on this particular bit of spellcraft, however, as her eyes meet those of Loquatius (he has been graciously waiting) and on the next downbeat he is sweeping her into the dance.

Though she is capable, she’s not used to dancing the follow role. Her first instinct is to take control, ensure that the right sequences of steps are executed precisely on time and in tempo. But Loquatius, flexible and fluid as he may be, is no pushover, and there’s a playful glint in his eyes and a smile on his lips as he deftly redirects her momentum into a pivoting step that whips the two of them around in a tight orbit.

She wants to calculate and analyze and predict, to calibrate the torques like she’s done so often in her laboratory-cathedral beneath the gilded city streets. That would be easy. Natural. Familiar. But she looks at him—sweet Avalir, she looks at him—and decides instead to follow his lead.

And take the lead he does. Loquatius is light on his feet, endlessly creative with his steps and generous with his cues. He is smart and confident and decisive and he’s never been more attractive. In this moment, Laerryn thinks of the twelve Eldritch Batteries that power the city’s engines, and she thinks of the weaving channels and circuits through which their ether flows.

That’s how she feels now, in his arms. She is raw distilled potential, flowing in an intricate design towards a distant goal that is simultaneously impossible and inevitable. On a night much like this one and not too far off in the future, her city will fall. Laerryn Coramar-Seelie will fall, and her beloved with her.

But in this one shining moment, they are here and they are together and they are flying. And nothing else matters.

As the music comes to a climax, Loquatius spins her to hook her right arm around his neck, shifts his own hand to the small of her back (she can feel the steady pressure supporting her weight), and lowers her into a dramatic final dip. They’re both a little out of breath and a little sweaty (though the latter is easily cleaned up with a bit of Prestidigitation), and she looks up at him through a bit of a haze.

Gradually, he helps her back to her feet and they make their way off the ballroom floor.

“I hope that was as good for you as it was for me?” says Loquatius, and though the innuendo’s not lost on her, Laerryn also observes there’s a sincerity in what he says.

“Yes, that was… actually really fun. Thank you for the dance.” She can see the wave of relief wash over his face, though it’s immediately replaced by that picture-perfect smile he loves to wear.

“Believe me, the pleasure was all mine. Guess I’ll Seelie you around, Laerryn.” He flashes a pair of finger guns at her, then turns to rejoin the party.

As she watches him walk away, Laerryn runs a quick mental calculation. If he leaves, it could be weeks before she sees him again. But if she stops him now, maybe their fun doesn’t have to end just yet. To be honest, it’s the easiest calculation she’s ever done.

“Hey, Quay?” she calls out. “You doing anything later?”

He stops. “I mean, just schmoozing and boozing like you do at these things. Why, you got a better idea?”

“I might have a few. Quick question, though. Academic curiosity,” says Laerryn. “As far as your shapeshifting abilities go: is your face the only thing you can change?”

[semperardens]

“Are you drinking whiskey?” - kitty to dom. avestaproduction

THIS MEME | Accepting       ( @avestaproduction / Kitty )

       “ Not tonight, darlin’. ”  Dom shook his head, hoping some of the fog that inhabited it left with the action. Hard liquor would only add to that and while he would have loved nothing more than to drown himself and take the edge off, he knew better. He knew it wouldn’t help and it would only hinder him if he had to act quickly. Always on his toes... He needed to get out of this life.  “ Just water for me. ”

[insomniacscanons-archive-blog]

Secret/forbidden kiss for Pam and her fave broody wolf

Kissy kissy | @semperardens 

She had needed to take his blood. It was either that or she’d die the true death, and she thought (hoped) he wouldn’t wish that on her. As it was, Pam never had a clue what he was thinking. Or if he felt anything beyond mild annoyance at her. But, he’d given her his neck in an effort to make her strong. He’d held her body up against his own, warming her with that great heat that all who could shapeshift possessed. 

Pam had felt his fingers in her hair as he held her, his head tipped to the side, and her lips pressed to the hot skin under his jaw. The scent of him was wild and overwhelming. Her fangs were already straining, wanting to get at the blood she could hear rushing in his veins, but Pam kept herself in check enough to be gentle with him. Her arms wound around him when she finally did bite, drinking deep from him. There was a knocked out wolf on his way to being dead at their feet. Pam was bloody and he was naked. None of it mattered. He tasted wild, like she had imagined. His fingers went tight in her hair as he growled, a warning? She didn’t know. Either way, she pulled her fangs from him and ran her tongue across the punctures to seal them. Leaving her arms around him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, he was not letting her go yet.

She kissed his neck, then his jaw, and finally his lips. A quick, soft kiss, and untangled herself from him. That was not allowed to happen. Their kinds hated each other. They should hate each other. “Thank you.” 

[artbreaths]

answer the 20 question and tag 20 people!

tagged by @immodicvs thank you!  ♡

name: aleksandra

nicknames: alex

orientation: -

nationality: polish

favorite fruit: watermelon, pomegranate, blueberries, cherries and strawberries

favorite season: autumn 

favorite book(s): the secret history by donna tartt and the shadow of the wind by carlos ruiz zafon

favorite flower: rose, lily ,orchid, forsythia and freesia

favorite scent: air after rain

favorite color(s): black, gold and silver

favorite animal: pigs, cats, wolves and dogs

coffee, tea, or hot cocoa: tea

average sleep hours: it can be 3-4 or 7-9

cat or dog person: both

favorite fictional character(s): ian gallagher, micky milkovich, helena, sherlock holmes, jim moriarty, noora amalie sætre, isak valtersen, even bach næssheim, william magnusson, eddie lane, will graham, hannibal lecter, temprence brennan, jack hodgins, dr. lance sweets, jane doe, rich dotcom, roman, 11th doctor, clara oswald, edward nygma, jerome valeska, bruce wayne, barbara kean, annalise keating, laurel castillo, connor walsh, frank delfino, oliver hempton, danny rand, jessica jones, kilgrave, elliot alderson, tyrell wellick, dom dipierro, sun bak, riley blue, hernando fuentes and captain jack harkness

number of blankets you sleep with: one or two

dream trip: iceland 

blog created: 2016 i don’t remember exact date

number of followers: 341

i tag: @chaleurette @pattroklos @eclairer-le-ciel @therepublicofletters @star-eaters @athsna @vincentsunflowerss @euripidex @iluminacje @odysscy

[semperardens]

TAG DUMP - DOM BRENNAN

[insomniacsmuses-a]

♢: Forehead or cheek kisses (Dom and Gabi)

Intimacy | @semperardens

She had the baby on her hip as she entered the shop, taking a moment to breathe in the fuzzy smell of motor oil and dust that meant Dom. She loved it. Her free hand held a basket full of food, he’d forgotten lunch, and Gabi was delivering it.

He was bent over a car, something classic and shiny in the best kind of way. Sleeves rolled up. Back to her. She took time to appreciate his ass in those overalls before Harper squealed out “Da!” and started to reach for him. 

She evidently knew Da from behind, too.

Dom turned and grinned. He leaned down so Gabi could brush a kiss over his cheek, and Harper could do the same. “We brought lunch.”

[insomniacsmuses-a]

Ѡ (Dom to Gabi)

Nudes | @semperardens

[text: Baby Daddy] You know, if that had come before I had to be on, I’d have reported on a grisly dog fighting ring with a pleased blush on my face.[text: Baby Daddy] But since it was after and I’m in my dressing room....[text: Baby Daddy] naughty.jpg

[insomniacsmuses-a]

Ѡ (Dom to Gretchen)

N00dz | @semperardens

[text: Knight in tarnished armor] Well. Damn. [text: Knight in tarnished armor] Is that your way of saying Hi Gretch. Come over and put this in your mouth?

[insomniacsmuses-a]

"Gabi, will you marry me?" (Dom. It's here!)

Marriage and stuff | Accepting | @semperardens / Dom

They’d been together long enough that yes, she had started to hope for this question. Had wished for it. Gabi was old-fashioned in at least this way, or she might have asked him herself. Maybe.

Still, it threw her when he asked. She stopped what she was doing, turned to him, and slowly, so slowly, started to smile. Tears filled her eyes and she nodded, quick, jerky nods, because she was incredibly shocked and happy and giddy. Her arms were around him in a blink, her lips peppered his faces with kisses. “Yes, yes, yes! Of course! I love you.” 

Her lips met his. A sweet kiss. A soft one. “I love you, I love you....” she whispered. “I always will.”

[insomniacscanons-archive-blog]

Accidental nudes from Dom to Pam

Nudies | @semperardens

[text: Mr. Broody] Well, I cannot say I am surprised.[text: Mr. Broody] Congratulations are in order, I think.[text: Mr. Broody] Though, I guess I am surprised to be the recipient of such a lovely photograph.