#believe me when i say this piece came from a primal place in the depths my heart.

[seaquestions]

love at first sight

[ID: a painting of three silos seen from below with a silhouetted person in the corner, and an outdoor staircase connected to it which is intertwined with a heart & cardiovascular system painted on the right side of the canvas. piercing the anatomical heart is a heart-tipped arrow. a few white hearts with red borders are drawn by the silos & in the bottom is red text that reads: "squeeze me, shrink me, suffocate me!" End ID]

[mandoalorian]

Hot Springs [Din Djarin x Reader] SMUT

SPOILERS FOR THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 2, EPISODE 2. [CHAPTER 10].

Summary: when The Mandalorian crashes his ship into a barely habitable and unfamiliar ice cold planet, he has to spend time on repairs. Little does he know, his bounty (you), has sauntered off into the depths of the crystallic cave, finding a hot spring to lounge in. When he discovers you pleasuring yourself amongst the thermal blue waters, he just can’t keep his hands of you. 

Warnings: SMUT (duh...) m receiving oral, p in v, lots of touching and affection.

Word count: 3k

Rating: 18+ only

Authors Note: The devil works hard but I work harder. Chapter 10 was literally released three hours ago and I’ve already knocked this up. The scene with the hot springs gave me ~thoughts~ and well, I hope you enjoy!

MASTERLISIT | Submit a request!

The Mandalorian was just about finished the repairs on his ship when the cooing of his child interrupted him. He put down the soldering iron, and turned to face the little green bean who was knee deep in fluffy white snow. After a few beats of silence, the child let out an incoherent garble and Din sighed. "Are you going to just stand there, or do you want to make yourself useful?" he quizzed, gesturing towards the Razor Crest. The child blinked momentarily and Din let out another huff of annoyance before returning back to solder together some pieces of wire

The child's next garble came only a few moments later and when Din turned around, he noticed that his son was gone. Din dropped the iron once more and raised to his feet, walking around the perimeter of the Crest until he saw the child again. The child turned to his father, babbling and pointing his finger. When Din followed the directions of the child's small claw, he realised that his son had been trying to alert him of something. Din flicked the tracking switch on his visor which highlighted the footprints through the snow.

"She's gone?" he questioned himself out loud. "Wait here." he told the Child, who slumped down in the snow and began to roll snowballs with his small hands.

Din followed your footprints through the depths of the ice cold caves until finally he found you. There you were, lounging naked in what could only be described as a pool of steaming tranquil water. It was a vibrant blue colour, comparable to the beautiful lakes of Naboo or rivers of Alderaan.

"I told you to wait by the ship." The Mandalorian's voice was low and dark through his modulator. There was something sultry about it. If you weren't engulfed in warm water, you might have sworn his voice alone could do things to you that no other man has ever. 

You took in his broad stature. Tall, wide shoulders, and covered in the most pristine Beskar armour. And he was just standing there, watching you.

"Just about all ice planets have hot springs," you informed the Mandalorian, dodging his statement only slightly. "They're almost always in crystalline caves, just like this one. They're heated by underground volcanic activity. I know what you're thinking— volcanoes on an ice planet? But trust me. Legends says they have healing powers and well, I believe them. The natural oils that these thermal waters possess make my skin so smooth." you drew out, kicking your leg out the water and rubbing your hand along your calf and up your thigh, humming in delight at the touch.

"Stars." Din gritted out as he watched you touch yourself. You noticed upon his entrance to the springs, he had completely stiffened up, not moving an inch. His eyes were locked on you. But you didn't mind. In fact, you kind of liked the attention from a Mandalorian. "So you knew about the hot springs here?"

"I knew there'd be hot springs, sure," you shrugged, continuing to drag the warm thick blue water over your skin. The oils in it made it slippery but all the more appealing to the Mandalorian. He shuffled in his boots slightly, dragging them across the thick snow beneath him. "I got bored waiting on the ship. Not much to do for entertainment."

The Mandalorian scoffed, but he couldn't exactly argue with you. "You could've put yourself in danger." he muttered, looking around. Your eyes followed his.

"Do you see anything?" you prompted him. "No? Exactly. It's safe here, I promise." After a long beat of silence, you took a deep breath and inhaled the fragranced air around you. "Join me." you murmured.

The Mandalorian was taken aback, but your offer became harder to refuse by the second. Maker, his cock was throbbing now, constricted and feeling tight under his pants and armour. He tilted his head slightly and watched as you let your hands grace your body and squeeze your own breasts. You knew exactly how to lure him in. You gently closed your eyes at the sensation, a sweet moan escaping your lips.

Of course, the opaqueness of the turquoise water left very little visible to the Mandalorian's eye but judging from the way you were positioned and the slight slushing sound of the water, he knew you were touching himself. 

The Mandalorian wanted to hear that moan again. If that sound was the noise you made when you touched yourself, then he wanted to hear the noises you could make when he touched you.

You were utterly a sight to behold. He wanted to engrain the image of you, lounging in the hot springs, for the rest of his life. 

The thought of you pleasuring yourself in front of him created a fire in his stomach. He felt his already hard cock twitching at the sight of you. Your hair wasn't completely wet, but damp from the condensation in the air, sticking slightly to your skin. Pearls of sweat beaded across your hairline and as he trailed his vision down, he noticed the way it glossed over your collarbones— defining them.

"If I join you," the Mandalorian gulped. "I might not be able to control myself." he warned, a strong level of sterness in his voice.

You bit your lip and extended your arms, propping yourself up in the tub so he could see the way you spread yourself out for him. "Consider this an invitation." you gazed up towards him, fluttering your eyelashes which framed your doe-like eyes.

The Mandalorian discarded his armour one by one, the Beskar of his chest plate and knee pads clanking as he dropped them to the rocky ground beneath him. As he undressed himself, he didn't take his eyes from you, and so, you decided to give him a little show to watch.

You hopped up on to the side of the tub, exposing your naked body. You even heard Din's breathing hitch when he took sight of you. You crossed your legs over, not wanting to show him too much yet, but dropped your head back and your breasts together. The sudden coldness in the air hardened your nipples and made them sensitive as you ran the pad of your thumb over the little bud, pinching it now and again. You dipped your hands back in the water and gently let the warm, oily water drip down your body. Din watched, completely enthralled as droplets dripped down the curve of your breasts and pooled in your belly button. He wanted to spread you out— take you now. Fuck you fast and hard in the snow if he could.

But there was something so delicate about the way you performed for him. The way you gently touched yourself and your whimpers which echoed throughout the crystallised caves. It struck something inside of him. He wanted to take it slow, touch every part of you like it had never been touched before. Grace his finger along every edge and dip of your body.

It wasn't long until the Mandalorian had stripped completely down, his clothing pooled on the floor amongst yourd. You let out a small gasp as you took in his manhood which was hard and pressed against his tummy. Dark brown hair trailed from his belly button down to his crotch and you swallowed a lump in your throat that you didn't realise you were holding. You knew he couldn't take his helmet off, but seeing the colour of his hair on another part of his body awakened a primal feeling inside of you.

He stood there, awkwardly, almost like he was awaiting your instruction. His hand dropped to his cock and he began to rub his length slowly, up and down. It was in that moment you got an eyeful of the precum that was beading at the dark pink tip. Oh Maker…. he was desperate for you.

"Come here." you gestured with a finger that beckoned him to walk around the steaming hot tub. Still jerking himself, he walked to the edge of the tub where you were sitting and you continued to swirl your feet into the water.

When he stood before you, you took his hand and gently removed it from his cock. The loss of Din's grip made his cock bounce forward. You looked down at it, taking in the sight of all the bumps and veins and licked your lips at the thought of how he would feel inside of you. He was big, you knew he'd stretch you out, but you had hope in the oils from the springs that maybe they'd lubricate you before that time came. "I want to taste you, is that alright?" you asked, dipping your hand into the warm water and taking it back out before rubbing his length.

"Y-yes," he stuttered, jerking his hips deeper into your first. You tutted and slowly shook your head at his lack of patience. The oils from the thermal water had made your hands slick and wet.

You rolled your hand to the bottom of his girth and cupped his balls before skillfully swirling your tongue over his pink tip, earning a groan from him. Your lips curved into a smirk as you continued with the kitten licks, savouring every drop of precum that he had created. You wanted to be vocal for him, making sure you moaned when his salty seed hit your tongue. Licking your lips, making sure you could devour every last drop. "Tastes so good," you cooed before taking his full length in your mouth and bopping your head.

On impulse, Din grabbed a fist full of your hair, holding your head in place as you took him as far as you could. With his remaining length, you lifted your hand and began to pump him. You slowly drew back from his cock, a line of your saliva mixer with his precum drawn from the tip of his cock to your swollen lips.

"What are you doing?" Din growled, pushing your head back on his cock. 

"Cmon, I know you want to fuck my mouth. I see the way you jerk your hips. And I want it too. Fuck my mouth, Mando," you commanded, reaching up and pressing a hand along his v-line.

You parted your lips only slightly, but enough for the Mandalorian to push his length inside of you. You immediately found yourself hollowing your cheeks as he began to fuck your mouth, illicitng curses in what you could only assume to be Mando’a. You grabbed onto his hips, fingernails pinching into his ass as he thrusted inside of you. "S-such a good mouth for me," he praised. "Good girl. Take me so well." It wasn't long before you felt his cock twitch in your mouth and you drew back, not wanting him to cum just yet.

"Join me in the water," you pleaded, hopping back into the tub and letting the wetness engulf you. The Mandalorian sat on the edge of the tub and carefully slipped in, the water rising to his chest. He shuddered at the heat and you couldn't help but smile. "You like it?" you asked him, and he nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah, haven't felt anything this nice since- since-" The Mandalorian couldn't finish his sentence because you were already dragging him through the water and on top of you.

Once again, you leaned against the side of the tub and brought the Mandalorian warrior in between your legs. You hooked your legs around his waist and the water pushed his cock against your wet folds, a soft moan escaping your lips. Liking what he could hear, the Mandalorian teasingly rolled his cock over your clit, and your fingers dug into his back.

You didn't think it was possible, but somehow you managed to get closer to him. You pressed your breasts up against his chest and rested your chin the crook of his neck. He pushed the hair out of your face, revelling in your beauty.

In one swift motion, he pushed himself inside of you, desperate for some kind of release. You screamed, fingers digging into his tan skin. His back was strong and muscular and he held himself there, inside of you, warming his cock. You traced his back, enthralled in the way he was using his upper body strength to hold you up against the side of the tub.

"Move." you begged, pressing your lips into his shoulder blade. The Mandalorian groaned at your soft kisses. He hadn't felt such affection from anyone before. His hips moved slightly but his cock still filled inside of you, throbbing as your walls contracted around him. You bit down on his skin at the sensation. You loved how long and thick he was. You loved the way he filled you up. "Move." you repeated, but this time it was a cry of desperation.

The Mandalorian obeyed your order, slowly and somehow pushing himself deeper inside you. His cock curved and hit your sweet spot with every thrust. Fuck, he was good. You whined, rolling your hips and meeting his every thrust. 

"Stars, you're so tight," he cursed and you clenched around him once more. He was certain you'd milk him from his seed shortly.

"Mando, you don't have to be gentle. I need you to fuck me hard and fuck me fast." You whispered, your breath tingling his skin. He wasn't going to say no to that.

The Mandalorian increased his speed, and his thrusts became more erratic. As the oils of the thermal waters seeped into your cunt his actions became sloppier and he had to clutch onto you like he was afraid you'd break beneath him. The waters of the hot springs rolled over the edges of the tub and splashing noises, as well as your moans and his grunts echoed throughout the caves.

"I'm close," he warned. "Fuck. Your cunt is so soft. Ngh- feels so good around me."

"Mando," you wailed, your hands wrapped around his helmet for support as he continued to messily thrust into you. He lowered one hand under the water and found the bud of your clit, rubbing at it as he continued to fuck you. "Shit, don't stop that. I'm gonna cum."

"Yes baby," The Mandalorian growled. "Cum for me like a good girl."

The words spurred you off and you dropped your head back, your entire body shaking as he fucked you through your climax. Your walls clenched around his cock and he started twitching inside you. "Fuck!" he cried out, holding you by the shoulders.

"I'm safe," you gasped, as he continued to thrust deeper into you. "Please cum inside of me. Please."

"You take my cock so fucking good." He praised, his modulated voice echoing through the cave as his hips snapped into yours. His hands drop as he holds your lower back and the pressure feels sharp. He's rough, he's hard just like you had requested of him. You could feel every edge and vein of him as he slammed inside of you, groaning out your name with each savage thrust.

Before long, Din spills inside of you. And he was containing a load. You feel his sticky heat rope your and coat your walls as you yelp in pleasure. He stays inside of you, letting the cum bury deep within you before he softens and gently pulls out. You whine at the loss of his fullness, your eyes fluttering shut as he doubles back.

Both of you are a heaving panting mess, standing before each other in the hot springs. Your legs felt shaky, like he just fucked every last beam of life out of you. You grabbed onto the edge of the tub and pulled yourself up, letting the cool air dry your body.

The Mandalorian took another good look of your body and he felt himself get hard again. Fuck, no credits could amount to that experience. There was no way he could return you now. You were his to keep.

Permanent taglist:

@goth-topic​  @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria

[behindheremeraldeyes]

DamiRae Week 2021 Monday, May 3rd - Pregnancy/ Parenthood & Family/ In-Laws

title: a cup of tea, please

summary: This is her first time being invited for dinner at the Wayne Mansion as his official girlfriend, and to say she’s nervous would be the understatement of the year. While she waits for them to arrive from an emergency call, perhaps, a nice cup of tea can calm her poor heart. Ao3 / ffnet

.

The path connecting the gates to the main entrance is probably the longest she ever remembers walking in a long time, and the clicking of her black heels against the concrete is starting to sound too loud in her ears. She’s miles away from Gotham, now, and the constant symphony of sirens that is always playing doesn’t reach her ears anymore. The garden is enveloped in peace and quietness, the moonshine bathing the statues and trees with its delicate light.

The Wayne Mansion is a spectacular construction, indeed. Her lavender eyes can’t stop looking around, carefully paying attention to all the details that make this place so impressive. The gothic style, the lit windows and the empowering towers make her feel incredibly small and she can’t help the shivers that run down her spine when she sees the massive water fountain in front of her.

Perhaps, she thinks, it’s a good thing that she came in alone. Raven doesn’t know what kind of face she is making right now, but she knows for sure that her boyfriend would make fun of her for reacting like that. Due to a sudden call from the GCPD requesting the dynamic duo, the empath ended up teleporting herself from Jump City on her own.Though she would always grow worried whenever they received those emergency calls, Damian did promise to meet her at the mansion in one piece so the three of them could have dinner.

Oh, right, the dinner. She feels her heart skipping a beat at the thought, and she has to suppress the urge to bite her lower lip in order not to ruin her lipstick. Of all the monsters and bad guys she has had to face in her life, Raven doesn’t recall ever being this nervous before. All of her primal emotions are screaming at her right now, and some of her inner demons— her father included— are telling her to run and hide in the depths of hell so she won’t have to face what’s to come.

She’s having dinner with the Waynes. However, it’s not just a simple dinner, no. It’s her first dinner as Damian’s official girlfriend— her first dinner meeting his father as his father. And even if she has already encountered Bruce Wayne many times before, she can’t help but think things would be much easier if she believed he was just a rich and eccentric man.

It would certainly be easier if she didn’t know he was, in fact, Batman.

Though she has never had any problems with Bruce since she’s joined the Titans, Raven must admit that she does feel intimidated by the fact that her father-in-law is the Gotham City’s very own Dark Knight. In all of their previous encounters, he has always been very cordial, never disrespecting her or any of her teammates. He is a good man, Damian says so himself. A good man with enough skills to go against every member of the Justice League without a single super-power.

He is a meticulous man, very precise and mysterious. He is her boss, and tonight, he is also her host.

It takes her a while to recompose herself from that wave of emotions, but eventually, Raven reaches the main entrance of the mansion. The mahogany doors are lustrous, and something tells her that the carved details were handmade decades ago. She takes one, last and deep breath, and finally, she reaches for the intercom with her index finger. A loud bell resonates inside the building, and before she has the time to rethink her choices, a muffled voice greets her.

“One moment, miss Roth.”

At those words, the empath is left slightly startled, as she starts playing with her fingers. Judging by the few things she was told her about the manor, Raven believes it’s safe to assume that voice on the speaker belongs to Alfred, the butler. According to her boyfriend’s stories, he has been in the family for at least three generations and he’s probably the one man who knows all of the secrets of the Waynes. Damian always speaks very fondly of him, saying he has always treated him like a boy instead of a potential assassin. Perhaps it wasn’t a very wise decision at the very beginning, but it says a lot about the man he is.

It doesn’t take long before the huge doors swing open in front of her, and as the lights start to creep out, it’s like a whole new world is revealed in front of her. She slowly walks in, her eyes marveled by all the elegance oozing from every corner of that entrance hall, which is probably larger than the house she grew up in.

There’s marble on the floor beneath her feet and a crystal chandelier hanging high above her head. Two spiral staircases unite the first and the second floors, and she notices as the walls are decorated with large, classical paintings of war and winter woods. There’s a brunet woman beautiful portrayed in one of those frames, and something tells her she must be Bruce’s mother. Though subtle, it’s undeniable that Damian shares a lot of his delicate features with her.

He has her cheeks, she thinks, a tender smile taking over her lips. It’s a pure emotion contrasting her current uneasiness, and right now, it’s enough to provide her some sort of comfort.

Even if Raven is completely absorbed by whole scenario around her, she’s quick to notice his presence in the room. Though her ears didn’t realize exactly when he arrived at the entrance hall, her senses are quick to detect the way his warm emotions mingle with hers. There’s a pinch of worry mixed with calmness, but mostly, she can feel a certain excitement building up inside him. It’s completely different from what she feels coming from the Wayne men she knows, for it’s lighter and consistent, and she can’t help but feel welcomed by that.

She still doesn’t even know his voice, but the empath is starting to understand why her boyfriend likes this man so much.

“Good evening, Miss Roth.” He starts, speaking politely and never taking his eyes away from hers. He’s dressed with a formal smoking, his black shoes perfectly shined and his gloves withe as the snow. “My name is Alfred, the butler. Welcome to the Wayne mansion. I apologize on behalf of Master Bruce and Master Damian, for they are still busy handling some matters in Gotham. They should be arriving shortly.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Alfred.” Her voice is steady and low, as she tries her best to cause a good first impression. “I'm sure they must be taking care of some important business. There’s no need for an apology. The city needs them, after all.”

“You’re a very kind, young lady. Please, allow me take your coat and walk you to the living room.”

She offers him a smile in response, carefully removing the black coat covering her petit body and revealing her outfit. She’s wearing a long, beige skirt that falls just above her calfs. Her onyx stilettos are giving her some extra inches, and a charcoal, sleeved shirt completes the set. For the material was a little transparent, it was possible to see her dark, lacy cropped beneath it, but according to Zatanna, it’s not indecent or anything. While preparing for tonight, Damian told her not to worry about futile details, but it only felt natural for her to want to look presentable for this evening’s event.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She handles him the coat, and she realizes how careful he is as he puts it inside a hidden closet.

“You're welcome. Now, if you could accompany me.”

"Of course.” She nods, following behind his footsteps. They walk down a large hallway with frames also decorating the walls, and even if she wanted to stay and look carefully at every single one of them, Raven knows better than to risk getting lost. Instead, she keeps paying attention to the composed man leading the way, observing in awe as the living room finally comes to view.

As expected, it’s another no by veryelegant room, filled with classical furniture and a gothic-themed fireplace that is responsible for keeping the area warm. Another large portrait hangs above it, and this time, that same woman is accompanied by a man very similar to Bruce himself. It’s a powerful painting for newcomers such as herself, but she knows it probably has a deeper meaning for those living inside those walls.

The carpets now are thick enough to muffle her heels, and while she’s distracted admiring the clocks spread around the living room, once more, his delicate voice bring her back to their reality. “Would you like a drink, Miss? Master Bruce has chosen a fine wine for the dinner, but feel free to ask me anything.”

“Uhmm.” She hums, pondering, her lips now pressed in a thin line. Though she doesn’t want to sound rude, Raven isn't really a fan of wine. She doesn’t hate it or anything like that, but it’s undeniable that she doesn’t have a high tolerance for alcohol. Once Bruce arrives, though, she will eventually have to share a glass with him, so, for now, she thinks it will be safer to avoid any liquor in order to prevent any embarrassing incident. “How about a cup of tea? I mean, only if it won’t cause you too much trouble, Alfred.”

“Non-sense. I will go boil the water immediately. Would you like any tea in particular?”

“Thank you very much, Alfred. And about the flavor… You can choose whatever you like, I guess. Damian once told me you know a lot about tea, so you probably know better than me when it comes to tea and the best choice for each occasion.”

His expression freezes for a fraction of second, a certain surprise now lacing his emotions. “Oh, did he?”

“Yes, he did.” She nods, offering him a soft smile. “He talks a lot about you, actually.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“The best, I assure you.”

“Who would have thought…” He nods, accepting her words and it’s as if she can sense a certain happiness in his voice. “Very well, I will go boil the water. If you need me, I will be in the kitchen. Please, make yourself at home.”

“I will, thank you.”

After nodding politely— because everythinghe does is polite— he turns around and walks away until he disappears in one of the many hallways she imagines this mansion to have. A soft smile takes over her lips as a warm sensation fills her chest. Alfred is really an amazing man. He’s thoughtful and his emotions are as transparent as Damian’s are filled with pride. Her first impressions on him are impeccable, and though he’s very different from the entire Wayne familiar circle, Raven is starting to understand why their dynamic works.

Maybe, with time, she will come to a full conclusion on that matter.

For now, though, she’s just happy to have finally met the man Damian always mentions whenever he’s talking about home. And now that she’s finally having the chance to add real images to his vague descriptions, well…

To say she’s just impressed would be the understatement of the year.

Though she has been in the mansion for a while now, Raven is still finding it hard to get used to her surroundings. Perhaps it’s the sepulchral silence or the fact that she’s all alone in Batman’s living room, but suddenly, she’s starting to feel a mild anxiety creeping around. She’s starting to feel self-conscious, as if she’s been watched— which is very likely to be happening, for sure— and even if Alfred has told her to make herself at home, the empath realizes it’s easier said than done.

She should’ve brought her book, damn it.

Her eyes are looking around in search of something to distract her from overreacting, but she soon realizes it’s useless. All of that subjective pressure is starting to get the best of her, and chances are that, if that continues like that, she will be teleporting back home before Damian even gets back.

Raven needs to calm down. She needs to stop overthinking and get herself together.

She needs Alfred, preferably with that tea. And even if she doesn't really know where the kitchen is, it’s not like she can’t use her powers to help her find the butler.

Without sparing a second thought, her eyes are already glowing and some loose locks of her purple hair are lifting up. With just a little concentration, she’s able to locate the only emotional human-being in the mansion and even if she doesn’t know which corridor will take her to him, Raven decides to improvise.

A dark energy envelops her body, and in a blink of an eye, the empath is teleported to a dim-lit room that is filled with a slightly bitter citric fragrance she’s very familiar with. It’s Earl Grey tea, she knows. The scent invades her nostrils and she can feel her body calmly responding to it. She takes a deep breath, then, and that’s when her eyes finally acknowledge the man responsible to that delicious aroma.

He’s standing in front of the stove, the boiling water working its magic on the leaves floating above it. As it appears, he’s following all the correct steps to brew the perfect Earl Grey and she doesn’t feel like she can thank him enough for that.

She stands a couple of feet away from him, near a wooden table that has a porcelain tea cup that certainly belongs to an english crockery set. There are four stools near her, and she also notices the many kitchen utensils displayed around the room. The newspaper is resting next to a pair of reading glasses, and she wonders if that’s what he was doing before she got here earlier this evening.

“Miss Roth, may I help you?” He speaks, not bothering to turn to face her, as he’s delicately blending the black tea with Bergamot oil. Though she has literally just appeared behind his back, she noticed how he remained calm and focused. Years of living with that family must do that to a person, she thinks.

“Oh, Uhm… It’s nothing, really.” She starts, stumbling upon her own words like a 5-year-old child who was caught stealing cookies from the jar. Apparently, Raven didn’t really think of a way to properly explain why she even bothered coming after him in the first place. “You see, Alfred, I was just… I was—“

“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” He speaks, and suddenly, it’s like her worries dissipate in thin air. It’s funny how she’s the empath between them, and yet, he seems to know exactly what she’s feeling right now. He’s a good man, for sure.

“Yeah.” She sighs, a smile on her face. “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone in Batman’s mansion. Do you mind if I stay here with you until they get back?”

“Of course not, Miss Roth. Please, sit and make yourself comfortable. The tea is almost ready.”

“Thank you.” She says, choosing one of the stools for her to sit. Even if it’s not one of Bruce’s expensive armchairs, Raven is feeling a lot more comfortable here, with him. “Also, I see that you’ve chosen Earl Grey… It’s my favorite.”

“I know it is, Miss Roth.”

Her eyes widen for a moment, and slowly, she lets his words sink in. Few people in this world know such simple details about her life, and though she wouldn’t take Damian for one to chit-chat about his girlfriend’s favorite kind of tea, she’s not oblivious to what that means.

They do get along, she can tell. And even if she can only make guesses on that matter, she definitely wants to know more about that relationship.

“So, Alfred…” She starts again, not really sure how to ask him those questions without sounding too nosy. “How was Damian before he joined the Titans? He talks a lot about you, his father and Dick; but never really about himself.”

“Uhm… Master Damian is different from all the others.” He states, finally turning off the flame of the stove. He lets it sit for a couple of seconds, only then opting to pour it in the cup he had separated for her. The scent is stronger now, and she can’t wait for the temperature to drop just enough so she can take a sip of it. “He's the only one who wantedMaster Bruce to be his paternal figure, even if he might not be aware of that himself.”

“And did he get what he wanted?”

“You perhaps need to spend more time with Master Bruce, my dear.” He says, his voice laced with a certain sarcasm as his mustache slightly turns upwards.

“Well… I don’t know how it was before, but I think they’re starting to understand each other a little better now, right? At least that’s the impression I get every time he goes back to the tower after a night patrol.”

“I believe you’re right, indeed. Both of them are too similar in many aspects, and I think it’s safe to say they’re making progress as father and son. An old man such as myself can only hope for them to find a balance."

“Damian Wayne finding balance in life… That's something I would love to see.” She giggles, earning a side smile from him.

“He's changed a lot since the first time we met him. Master Damian is certainly no longer that irreverent child who’s constantly angry and lost.”

“Maybe that monastery did good for him.”

“Well, not only the monastery, Miss Roth.”

A comforting warmth creeps under her skin and she can't help but feel a sense of wholesomeness taking over her emotions. Though she doubts she’s had all of that effect on him, it’s nice to know she was able to make a difference, no matter how small it might have been.

Her boyfriend is a very complex man, filled with doubts and conflicts that might never come to an end. He struggles to become a new man without abandoning his past, and perhaps, that’s the one thing she loves the most about him. He’s unique, original in his own shape and colors. He’s not trying to please anyone, and yet, even if he doesn’t believe her words whenever she points it out, he’s trying to be a hero.

He will be a fine leader someday, and she can’t wait to be there by his side when his day arrives.

“Thank you, Alfred… For taking care of him when he was a little boy.”

“It was only my job as the family’s butler. I should be the one thanking you, Miss Roth. For taking care of him now that he’s no longer one.”

His old, wrinkled eyes are now looking at her, and there’s an emotion there that Raven can’t really name. It’s pure and laced with honesty, and for a moment, she thinks this is how grandparents are supposed to look at their grandchildren.

It feels special to be looked at like that. It feels warm and safe in a whole different level, and she feels encouraged enough to talk to him about anything in the world. Her tastes, her doubts, fears, and mostly, the things she loves.

At last, she’s beginning to understand the man behind the dynamic duo. At last, she beginning to understand why Damian loves him so much.

There’s an inch of expectation in his face as she finally takes a sip of the tea, and she hopes he can see the satisfied look on her face after that. It’s perfect, for sure. Perhaps the best Earl Grey she’s ever had in her life. As expected from a man such as Alfred Pennyworth.

“It's delicious, Alfred.” She nods, closing her eyes to savor the moment. “Would you like to drink with me?”

“Don't mind me, Miss. It’s still too early for my tea.”

“Oh, I see… Maybe next time, then?”

“Of course. Next time will be perfect.”

Neither of them really knew for how long they’ve been talking, but eventually, their ears capture the sound of rushed footsteps coming from down the hallway. Unalarmed eyes turn their attention to the source of the new sound that has disturbed their chit-chat, and in a matter of seconds, a raven haired boy dressed in his black turtle-neck shirt appears.

“Alfred, we’re home! He starts, sounding slightly breathless. “Have you seen Rav—“ Though he did seem bit exasperated, at first, once his emerald eyes meet her amethyst one, it’s as if time stops and he allows himself to breath. “Oh, there you are.”

“Hi.” She greets him, a warm smile now forming on her lips. “Took you long enough, Boy Wonder.”

“You see, everything was going just fine until those lunatics decided it would be fun to rob the Gotham museum. Penguin was behind this one this time.”

“And did you get him?” She asks, taking another sip of her tea.

“Not really… He escaped through the sewers, that bastard. Next time he won’t stand a chance, though!”

“You’ll get him next time, I’m sure.”

“Yeah…” He nods, running his fingers through his dark locks. “Sorry to keep you waiting for so long."

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Alfred here has kept me company while you were busy.” She states, looking at the butler so they could exchange an honest glance. “Though I believe he’s too polite to tell me to leave so I can stop distracting him from the important things he has to do."

“Nonsense, Miss Roth.” Alfred states, no hesitation in his voice. “Our talk has proven itself quite amusing.”

“I'm glad to know that. I really enjoyed our talk, too.” She states, taking the last sip of her tea before finally standing up. She takes a few steps to get closer to Damian, who almost instinctively, places his hand right on her lower back. Their eyes meet once more, and there’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“Good to see you two getting along. What were you two talking about?”

“You, of course.”

“Me?” He lifts an eyebrow, and she watches amusedly as confusion takes over his face. “Can you be a little more specific?”

“Sure. We were talking about this silly game you play with all the girls you bring home for dinner.” She teases, a sparkle lit inside her amethyst eyes. "Honestly, keeping us waiting all alone so close to Batman’s secrets isn’t a really good idea.”

“TT.” He scoffs, a pout decorating his face. “You're not funny.”

“I would have to disagree, Master Damian. She’s quite the spirituous one.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“You're welcome, Miss Roth.”

“I'm clearly outnumbered here.”

A giggle escapes her lips as she smiles at her new partner in crime. Alfred nods back at her, and once her attention returns tenderly towards her boyfriend, the butler clears his throat in order to get their attention. “Master Damian, why don’t you take Miss Roth to the living room to meet your father? I’ll be finishing the preparations for the dinner.”

“Great idea, Alfred.” Damian agrees, offering her his arm to hold as a true gentlemen would. “Shall we?”

“Of course.” She nods, accepting his offer and bringing her body even closer to his. Her emotions feel lighter, and her chest is warmer now that she is getting to know more about him and his life away from the Titans. Her conversation with Alfred was very pleasant and she really hopes she can get another chance like this in a nearby future. “Thank you for keeping me company, Alfred. It was a real pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Roth.” He bows cordially, and she has no reason to doubt his words.

Both Alfred and Raven reach a mutual agreement, and carefully, she feels Damian carefully pulling her towards the corridor from where he came. The two lovers are about to walk away with their arms laced, but suddenly, the butler’s voice stops them in their tracks.

“Master Damian, if I may…”

“What is it, Alfred?” Damian asks, curiosity now taking over both of them.

“You've found yourself a very nice girl and my old heart can’t handle another emotionally inept Wayne. Don’t let her slip away.”

Her eyes widen at his statement and she can even feel a blush threatening to tinge her cheeks. A mix of feelings is running through her veins right now, and if anything, she feels her heart skipping a beat while waiting for Damian’s answer to this.

Is he going to laugh it off?

Is he going to opt for one of the rude answers he’s always giving Dick?

Is he going to—

Her train of thoughts is suddenly interrupted by the feeling of his other hand on top of her arm. His fingers caress her exposed skin, and for a moment, she hopes she doesn’t look half as dumbfounded as she is inside. His emerald eyes are now looking deep into hers and all of the words disappear from her mind.

“I won't, Alfred.” He answers, his voice an octave lower than before. “I certainly won’t.”

A soft smile slowly makes its way to her lips, and right now, she realizes how happy she is to be here. Not only she got to know the famous Alfred, but Raven also got the chance to know more about the man she holds so dear in her heart.

At last, they make their way to the dinning room where Bruce is probably waiting for them. They exchange smiles and a few words in order to catch up on the last couple of hours. There’s a chuckle, a sigh and even a muffled sound that shall be kept in secret by the walls of the mansion. Without a hurry in the world, their feet keep moving forward, their arms never once untangling.

fin.

------

a/n: Hapy Damirae week! This is my first time participating and I’m so excited!! Thanks to this ship, I’ve met so many wonderful people and all I want right now is for our beloved ship to be showered with all the love and affection it deserves! Thank you all who have made me feel so welcomed and let’s have a blast during this week! Hope you enjoy this one, and please, tell me what you think!

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Is it just me or has this week been going kind of slow? It feels like Thursday, but no! It is WEDNESDAY! >:D That means it’s time to shaaaaaare! X3

So, I’m finally getting back into writing, but I’m doing bits and pieces at a time. I think I may have put too much pressure on myself, so everything I wrote and then read looked..bleh. 

However! Due to an ask that @the-dreadful-canine sent me, I found some inspiration! >:D

Thank you @noire-pandora for the tag! I send you all the hearts in the world! <3

Halamshiral brings out the best in the both the wolf and the dragon~ >:3

"She was friendly.", Fane said, face blank, arms crossed as he let his eyes follow after the elven servant that had just left where he and Solas were against the walls of the Winter Palace; the two of them keeping to the shadows and niches the soft darkness held.

He had sought out the Elvhen man, thankfully without much interference, to mention another spike in the air around them. There was magic somewhere in the palace, but he couldn't pinpoint its exact placement. Solas had agreed with his assessment after the first time, and the few times Fane had passed through this particular hall, the one lining the small courtyard, he had noticed his sky's brow furrowed slightly and his eyes glued ahead as if he were listening for something.

So far, neither of them had had any luck determining a focal point, but it had to be a rift; his mark proved that. It wasn't flaring violently, but the pulse was deeper than usual and his arm burned as the magic scorched through his veins. It was why, even after notifying the other about the fluctuation in the Veil, he had lingered.

Now, Fane wished he hadn't as his eyes continued to watch the retreating servant girl, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining with something he knew all too well: infatuation. That would be fine on it's own, he wasn't one to judge or condone another's feelings as his very nature encouraged them to blossom, but the person that gaze was directed towards…

That was another story entirely. Why did he feel so...bitter? This prison of marble, gold, jewels, and stone was infuriating and confusing.

Solas chuckled, his eyes, too, following after the young woman, but they were still, clear, uninterested, but yet, Fane felt odd. "Indeed she was. Many of the servants have been. I believe they find my presence intriguing, and perhaps, comforting.”

"Makes sense. You have a certain air here. More relaxed, even if every shadow holds a knife. Confident, really. Makes you approachable.", Fane muttered out his observation absently, glancing down to be met with questioning orbs of blue-grey; the color was mixed due to the shadows dancing within and around them. They looked midnight in hue and they were trained on him now; no one else. “The responses to me have been the exact opposite. Not surprising, but annoying. I tried to question a pair of them outside this hallway, and they shooed me off.”

Solas gave him a small, but reassuring smile. “So I saw. Merely a precaution, I think, vhenan.”, he said, casting midnight orbs around once more, essences of lavender glinting from starlight. They landed upon a small group; three servants, each elven and they appeared to be wholly uninterested in ferrying about between the nobles. “Servants have long walked within the halls of power, unnoticed, but ever-watchful of those who see them only as inconsequential. Wariness is their greatest weapon against those who flaunt without reservation. The elves along these walls and in these dark corridors know what you represent, and so they keep you at arm’s length. ”

Fane hummed, pursing his lips a bit. "So, they’re fearful of me. Again, not an uncommon reaction.”, he said. albeit a bit bitterly. Typical. He should have known that was the case. Dressing a wolf in sheep’s clothing didn’t not make it a wolf, after all.

Except, he was a dragon. A dragon playing politics, playing with power. Fane was surprised he hadn't combusted as soon as his boots had touched the inner gate's threshold. The night was young, though. Sadly. Unfortunately. Miserably. How his sky, who was now leaning against the pedestal of a bust, appearing calm, collected, and enthused as eternal irises gazed up at him had done this almost day in and day out was baffling and honestly? Terrifying.

Solas shook his head. “No. Not of you as you are, my dragon.”, he denied simply, glittering jewels of deepest blue shifting like the sky just visible through the windows they stood beside. “They’re fearful of the power you possess. Elves have long been the victims of misused power. They wonder if you are the same as the Grand Duke, the Empress, the Duchess, or any here that have dealt a heavy hand without provocation.” A sigh and a warmer smile, midnight shifting to the paleness of moonlight. “However, I have seen gazes begin to linger among the groups each time you pass. They hold hope; a dream of opportunity. You are proving you are not the same, ma’isenatha. Unlike many, who believe themselves entitled. Continue to do as you’re doing, and a society will open up to you. Be patient, be mindful, and be true in a place rife with lies.”

Fane raised an eyebrow, keeping their gazes locked. “So, continue being a near ass to every atrociously dressed fop and priss that gets it in their head to waltz up to me?", he questioned before growling in the next moment. "The last prick I had the misfortune of walking within sight of nearly got a claw up the ass when they touched my arm.”

The mage smirked,  but it seemed...dark, eyes sharpening like metal at his last statement. “I would not call how you’ve been carrying yourself being a ‘near ass’, vhenan. It is far more nuanced than that.”

“Oh? How would you label my attitude then?”, Fane asked, keeping his eyebrow raised before a light of mischief and nostalgia flashed within blue, turning his curious expression into a blank slate. “What’s that look for?”

Something about the air was shifting due to this conversation. It wasn’t magic or anything, but it was...heightening, taking on a heady blend, power and emotion, present and past mixing with odd harmonies. Solas had mentioned something like that when they first arrived...

Solas hummed, eyes taking on a softer edge, primal darkness dispersing in both the curve of his mouth and the depths of his eyes. “It is nothing.”, he dismissed, the glint of nostalgia apparent upon every sharp line and curve of his sky’s face. Razor sharp eyes of blue steel shifted away casually once more, a single finger beginning to tap against where hands overlapped. “Suffice it to say, I am...pleased with this side of you as I am with every facet of personality you gift me with. The evening has been full of surprises, and hopefully, it will end on a high note."

Fane scoffed, leaning back a bit to rest against a windowsill; the marble was cool against the back of his legs and it helped soothe both his mind and the scars upon his legs. The material of his pants were better than most, but not what he was used to. “You’re just tempting the world to answer with that call, my sky.”, he said with a sidelong glance in Solas’ direction.

Solas responded with a sidelong glance of his own. “And what if I am?”, he retorted. There was something...cheeky about the elf’s tone and it wasn’t something Fane heard often, if at all. Yes, things were shifting, but not detrimentally so.

Fane kept his face blank, but he felt..light; a feeling of warmth in his chest apparent. “Then I would have to intervene on its behalf.”, he quipped, dropping his voice a few octaves and narrowing his eyes. These words falling from their mouths, mixing with shadow, candlelight, hushed whispers, and quiet refrains were interesting. They came with ease, they fell with grace…

...they sang with pride. That would usually terrify Fane, one of seven sins that could, but right now, with the sky gazing up at him from the side, body lax and garbed in black much like his own was, and expression titillating, ethereal, he was anything but frightened.

He was enthralled.

Solas hummed, eyes tempting with silent wishes. “My voice would harken a dragon to respond, would it?”, the mage pushed, or rather, pulled him in with that hushed question; the silk that Fane associated with his sky’s voice wrapping around his hearing like a gossamer sheet.

Fane shrugged a bit, bringing his arms up to cross them as he did so with his legs a bit; boots scuffing against pristine marble. He leaned back further against the ledge of the window now, but part of him wanted to inch away, ascend to the sky gazing up at him from hooded lids. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember,”, he began before pausing, a tight feeling of warmth ensnaring his chest as Solas’ eyes flashed with quiet indigo and so he pressed back with velvet. “...Fen’harel?”

*screeches* Why do I love these two being suave fools?! The brain worms are strong in this Chili’s tonight! 

Tagging (with no pressure, but all the court intrigue! >:3): 

@oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @varric-tethras-editor @dreadfutures @dungeons-and-dragon-age @blueheaded @drag-on-age @shift-shaping @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share and revel in the court! *cackles* 

[fvrxdrm]

Remember This Place? {NSFW} Leon’s POV

Pairing: Infinite Darkness!Leon x F!Reader

Warning(s): Mentions of sex, kind of angsty???

+++++++++++++++++++++

“Remember this place? This was where we used to to hang out when we were kids”

 It was cold and dark that evening. The sky black, tranquility married to a poetry of stars. It was the softness that called our bodies and brains to rest and let the hearts go to their steady rhythm. Night came as a reward of sorts, a restfulness above to calm the soul. 

I was shivering that night because of the nippy air that felt like a million knives piercing through me but somehow feeling your body so close to mine made a couple droplets of sweat to stain my skin. You were warm, almost as warm as the sauna that we would always share back in our house when we felt the sudden need to release some tension, both physically and mentally.

 Your lips. So soft and smooth and...inebriating. Though your lips were pretty, It was the feel of them that sends my mind into a sensual state of intoxication. That was why I reached toward your face and touched them lightly before the urge to kiss you took over.

Your eyes, staring into my own as I continue to admire the masterpiece of the gods from above. They say the eyes are windows, the thing is, my love, I could see through them. I could see your pain and your gentleness just the same. I saw how every emotion came together to form the art of your soul. It formed a picture I saw in an instant and comprehended with full depth. So, I saw you, I did. When I said that your eyes were beautiful, it was the truth, for it was not about colors or shape, it was about the loving sweet essence that was so clearly there.

As much as I wanted to stare at you until the day I die, though, I wanted to feel those gorgeous lips of yours on mine for I would lose my mind if I don’t. So, I gently placed my palm on your cheek, a small smile tugging on your lips before pressing them against mine.

Your kiss was not at all the same as those movie stars, but one steeped in a passion that ignited. It was the promise of realness, of the primal desire that lived in us all. And with that you told me that I was awake, connected within, that you embraced yourself rather than hide as a copy of those romantic chicks.

I loved it. I loved the way your small body melted into mine. The way our lips fit like two puzzle pieces. The way you relented as I played with your hair and held you tighter and tighter.

Your hands roamed all over my naked body, only reaching those parts that you were able to and that kindled the fire inside of me that was just lingering around a second ago until you caressed me tenderly. It wasn’t alike to a mother’s care but rather to a lover’s affection.

“y/n” 

I whispered your name as you trailed a constellation of kisses on my body, my hot breath also making love with the freezing air that blanketed our forms. You turned my body into a canvas and I loved that about you. You appreciated me even with the scars and wounds and bruises that were scattered all over my skin caused by those crazy beasts that always haunted me since I was just a rookie cop. You always told me that I was a God-sent creature because I looked handsome as fuck and that these blemishes that I thought made me look horrible and pathetic meant that I had been brave enough to accept the challenge of going through hell. You always told me that I was perfectly imperfect and that these insecurities were nothing to be ashamed of. And I believed you for that.

You made me feel loved, important, appreciated and I hadn’t felt that in a very long time since my dad died. I thank you for that, y/n.

A curse left my parted lips as your mouth wrapped around the tip of my stalk, your tongue working on the slit, just like how you always did it. You know, I remembered when we first had sex together. We were still friends at that time and we were stupid enough to take each other’s virginity. I never regretted it, though. We were seventeen, right? Yeah. It was messy as hell when we did it since we didn’t really know how to do it and watching porn also did not help because they were cringy as fuck. We were laughing the whole time but I’m telling you, me going inside you felt good and I remembered telling you that I would fuck you every single day. Though, that didn’t really happen since we weren’t always in the mood and all but at least we get to do it now as often as we like since we’re together. Oh, and how could I forget, we also did it in that exact same treehouse we were in. The treehouse that we forced our dads to make just for the two of us and our pets. Man, I guess we were really young and dumb, huh?

“Baby, let me make you feel good”

That was the exact same line you said to me when we took each other’s chastity. The way you said it now was different than before, though, as you only uttered that sentence out loud back then for the purpose of mockery but now, now that we’re older and mature, you stated it with the sense of promise. You really wanted me to feel good. A feeling that had been so alien since the day I was sent on another mission. I wanted...no...needed you to demonstrate what it felt like to be in heaven so I let you...and you never failed to take me to this place called paradise.

“Yeah. This was the exact same place we became tied together”

++++++++++++++++++++++

Was this good? Let me know if you liked it.

[noocturnalchild]

SEALED IN MARBLE  Chapter VII Tell Me Everything, Father

Warning : NSFW, a hint of FemDom ! Virgin!Garupe 

His rosary beads went flying off his neck.

His rosary…

His rosary!

God of earth and heaven.

How did he… How did he forget his rosary under his habits?

Francisco thought this would be a simple dinner. In the precipitation of his actions, his mind preoccupied by the lies he prepared to tell, he forgot to pay attention. He didn’t think he had to take his clothes off, he was wrong. So wrong.

But now only Clarissa’s eyes mattered. With a glare that seemed inhuman, she stared and stared, surprise and shock slowly turning into rage and disgust. And he already felt sick, falling, he was feeling as if his soul was crucified, twisting on an abstract cross, again and again, without finding relief, painfully wringing and quivering in his body.

“These rosary beads are… I saw them… They belong to the Jesuit priests of…”

“I… Clarissa! I was about to tell you, I swear to God, I was about to tell you.” Garupe choked while talking. Voice small like that of a child.

“Tell me what?” You didn’t seem to understand yet. You pushed away a truth that was flagrant, denying reason for few more seconds, pushing the pain away, for few more little seconds. Vicente was a servant, just a servant, an unmarried servant that was just about to be yours. No, he can’t be. HE CAN’T.

He was falling and falling and falling.

With every second, every shake of your lovely curls, every swell of tears in your eyes, he was falling.

“Vicente… Tell me it’s not what I think, please, tell me.”

“Francisco” He swallowed his own tears, closing his eyes in shame.

“Francisco… Francisco!” You laughed, crying. You laughed madly, so madly you made him gasp, you made him worry for your sanity and he reached for you without thinking twice.

“Don’t you dare! Snake!” you spat out, slapping his hand.

Your world was falling apart, a mirror of lies, shattering and breaking in sharp pieces, wounding you in their burst.

Why?

Why would he be one of them? Of all men, why would he be a priest? A priest!

“Clarissa… I… please listen to me… I was going to tell you, I—“

How dared he speak again?

“Hypocrite!“ You yelled, “I knew you were all but muddy pigs, black vultures from hell! Murderers, schemers!”

You smashed an empty water bottle on the floor, glass spattering everywhere and Garupe gulped again, but in fear.

“Clarissa, I beg you to hear me out! just… please—“

“Shut up! Close that rancid mouth of yours!” You blurted out, anger blurring  you vision. You saw red.

“I am going to tell your church of your shameful activities, if in hell I should rot, I swear to every god existing , if there is any, I will destroy you!” you panted. You were trembling all over, heart wild, wrath setting every nerve of your body on fire.

“Or is it the church that sent you?” you hissed in realization, more tears flowing “Is it those hordes of blood thirsty raptors? Finishing their work, they want to get me now? They are coming for his daughter now, aren’t they?” Your voice broke.

You felt poisoned. Liquid cyanide in your blood.

Francisco was shaking, head spinning. What were you talking about?

You didn’t seem to notice his twisted features, face contorted in pain and confusion, so lost in your own suffering and bitterness.

He didn’t know what to do, he hoped Miguel was still sleeping wherever he was. It was absurd, but that’s what Garupe hoped for now. For a child not to witness that ignominy.

“Clarissa—“ He said quiet, but a flying glass almost landed on his face and he pounced on you, stilling you in place. He didn’t want to hurt you, not for anything in the world.  But then at that rate, he had no choice. He had to talk sense into you but first he had to calm you down, make you listen to him.

Your back thumped on the hard wall as you screamed.

“Bastard! I am going to ki—“

Suddenly his lips were on yours, as his arms held your body in a death grip. Forceful and rough, he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to act, so he just kissed you. He had never kissed a woman before, and if he had ever imagined kissing a woman, it was never in that manner. But he kissed you, open mouth closing on yours, he kissed you with anger and pain and passion and all the desire he had retained for so, so long.

You stilled. You really stilled. The world blanked out for the moment of a heartbeat, the flutter of an eyelash, and the universe shrunk to its primal nothingness. Then a breath, then another, and another.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He kissed you again and again, urgency in his movements, in his hands, his lips. He was everywhere, all around you, your whole universe. And you wanted to forget, just for a moment, forget who he was, forget what he did.

“I’m sorry” His shaky breaths came as urgent as his kisses. Because he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say, he just wanted you to forgive him, he just wanted you.

Your nails were painful on his chest as you reciprocated his kisses. Finally.

Oh he was sorry, you knew, but you weren’t, you weren’t for what you were about to do to him tonight. He could be theirs, but not tonight, he was yours tonight. Your anger and pain melted into nothing as the heat of him invaded your senses, everything merged into a desperate need, a flame that bloated into a wildfire.

“I’m sorr—“

“Shuuush… Come here, you are going to sin tonight, Father.” You panted, eyes dark like unfathomable seas as you violently pulled on his hand, leading him through your galleries up to your room.

The heavy wooden door closed with a thud behind your back as you leant on it.

“I can tell you everything.” Francisco breathed out.

“I said, silence.” You pushed him into the bed, into your crimson sheets, where you had wanted him for countless nights, pleasuring yourself at the thought of him. He looked divine; You let out a small laugh of satisfaction, fingers on your corset, freeing your waist from its confinement.  With a deftness he found dizzying, you got rid of your heavy dress, and the ribbons that held your hair up.

You stood in your undergarments before him, like the portrait of sin, skin glowing and shiny with the sweat of your desire, breasts barely covered as you slowly crossed the few steps separating you from him.

Francisco clenched the satin sheets in his fists, heart hammering in his ribcage as you crawled on him, slowly unbuttoning that old ragged shirt he wore, your palm gentle on his abdomen, pushing him further into the depths of your bed.

He felt like he was swimming, surrounded by red waves, and you the sea siren, enchanting his senses, bringing him down, deeper. You hovered over him, your curls fell on him like a silky curtain, your hard nipples brushed his chest under your thin garments and he inhaled the scent of you.

Like the ocean. small white villages on the oceanside. Heat, children playing and women laughing and him, barefoot, running on the beach. Sunsets in the horizon and hundreds of ships, sailing far away, to lands of gold and glory. You smelled like home and he smiled, eyes closed as you nudged his nose, endless teasing before closing your lips on his again, savoring his taste. He shuddered and ground towards you as your tongue teased his, and when you sucked into it, into his red lavish lips, his moans echoed desperate and needy.

Outside, the leaves of your garden’s trees whispered and fluttered, and the moon was full in the starry sky. You inhaled, deep and shaky into his feverish skin. He smelled like old paper and perfumed wax, so monastic, a far reminder of his celibacy. You grinned to yourself, triumphant as his breath became shallower, urgency in his gaze as he devoured you under heavy eyelids. But you remained in control, tapping on his hands every time they wanted to grasp you. A part of you wanted to punish him, you wanted to show him who had the power over the other tonight. Tonight was for your pleasure, even if it was only this time, even if this was to be your only and sole union in flesh. But as you started tugging on his slacks, unwrapping his last layers of modesty, you saw terror and distress in his eyes .

“Clarissa, please… I’ve never… You should know.”

His eyes were like those of a deer, already knowing it has fallen deep into the hunter’s trap, begging, wide, sparkling, teary… beautiful.

Surprise flashed through your eyes for a second. Was he telling you that he had never slept with a woman before? You stilled your palms on his wonderful chest, heaving now with excitement and apprehension. Should you believe him this time? He had lied to you before, he had lied to you about everything, to be fair.

“You’ve never?” You crooked a brow, doubtful.

“Please,” he almost sobbed, “what should I do to make you believe me?” He closed his eyes, trying to gain some control over himself.

“You should have told me the truth from the beginning!” You fisted your hands on his chest, leaving hot red marks on his skin. You shouldn’t have let him talk. He looked so sincere now, so vulnerable, and God, why was he a million times more beautiful like that?

“ I couldn’t… I couldn’t… you should know that I couldn’t…!” he swallowed painfully, trying to ignore how your hips were still grinding into his aching cock.

His hands reached slowly to take yours and you let him this time, breath unsteady as they eclipsed yours, warm and so masculine.

“I… It is not the Church Clarissa, it’s just me, I needed the money… I had to… Then I saw… you.”

“Hush now.” You said softly. His words were what you wanted and dreaded to hear at the same time. Somewhere, in the darkest corners of your soul, you wanted him to be the evil one, the liar, the vicious priest, you wanted to be right, always right. You wanted to dismiss the feelings that were seeping free again. You wanted to make this about pleasure, since you knew, anything more than that and your heart would be the only one paying the expenses. But now… you didn’t know anymore.

“Please stop talking…” You whispered, as you freed your hands to comb on his luxuriant mane, fingers detangling the knots there.

“Hush, close your eyes for me, Francisco.”

And he did, you didn’t have to ask twice. He was telling you the truth, you knew it suddenly as a tear rolled down his cheek, leaking from his closed eye. You leaned in to kiss it, and you kissed his eyelids, the ridge of his nose, his upper lip then his cheeks, his jaw… and when you bit his lower lip, his hands clutched your waist through the linen of your clothes and he thrusted up, legs shaking with want.

“You can take it off… Father.” Your voice barely there as you nibbled on his earlobe and guided his hands to the hems of your undergarments. Francisco’s body was barely holding back, eyes still closed, he focused on the sensation of his hands on your bare thighs, as he slid the thin clothing up, up, up… When your body was finally freed of its last constraint, he opened his eyes and his breath hitched in his throat .

Sweet Jesus.

He had never seen such beauty before. For long seconds, he stilled, eyes taking in the sight before him. You were glowing, silky curves and valleys on display as you smiled down at him. Francisco was suddenly afraid to touch you. He felt ignorant, small, unrefined as his eyes roamed the swell of your breasts, the smoothness of your belly and the nook of your… sex.

So different, this was so different from the guilty glimpses he sometimes took of nude statues of goddesses that decorated the palaces and gardens he visited. Cold white marble, it was just cold marble and his only poor knowledge of the female body. But you… now, before him, radiant with heat and arousal, flesh and skin offered to him, eyes daring him to touch you, to take you, to make you his…

God have mercy.

You were amused to see him, awestruck and clueless, palms flat on your thighs and eyes wide, lips parted.

“Come here, you poor thing.” You laughed seductively as you tugged on his hands, lifting him up to meet your body, overheated from endless teasing and impatience. Your mouth found his neck as you pushed your breasts into his hands. He whined, your tender nipples hardening against his fingers, and instinctively, he squeezed, making you moan into his mouth.

God.

You looked up, into the fire in his eyes, and smiled, as if to say “that’s nothing compared to what’s coming, Father”. And as you started to roll your hips again, he felt it this time, the wetness between your legs, the proof of your passion, coating his engorged sex, and he knew he was lost.

Your lips left his neck with a sticky pop. You were sure to leave your mark on his divine body, as you tugged on his hair and made him shudder with sinful pleasure.

“Look at me Francisco.”

His eyes instantly fell on yours, ready to take anything you wanted to give to him. Like a love sick fool, he was waiting, his hands flexing greedily on the expanse of your back, descending hesitantly to take more. He was still wondering if he would last more than the next five minutes. He didn’t want to disappoint you, he wanted to please you, oh so much, he wanted to make up for everything he had done to you, for every single lie. Was this ache in his heart what they called love? Was he in love with you? What was the difference anyway, he was lost, not only in the wonders of your body, but lost to himself, in himself. He was entering unknown territories, ones he had never wanted to enter, never wanted to know. Trepidations, anxiety and heartache. He had never wanted this, but feeling you now, watching you move on him, looking into your eyes, touching your hot skin, waiting for a word from you rosy lips, God, he understood now… He understood how men lost their faith for love, how they lost themselves for a woman, how they lost their minds…

“I want you to touch me there.” You breathed in his mouth, as you took his hand and splayed it on your sex.

“H-how… do—“ He was truly lost. But somehow nothing seemed more tempting than to touch you there, nothing seemed more perfect than to pleasure you there, he wanted to know how to do it properly, he wanted to make you sigh and moan his name. It was instinctive, his fingers were naturally drawn there, exploring your secret lips as you moved your hips to let him in.

As you changed position, his throbbing cock twitched against his abdomen, proud and thick with need, seeking your attention. The head was already leaking pearly precum, and the pained look on Francisco’s eyes told you of his efforts to keep himself from finishing right there, as his fingers soaked and indulged in your juices. His breaths were coming ragged and short and he was whispering incoherent words (or were they prayers?) as he buried his nose in your collarbone, avidly inhaling your scent. You had never thought that the sight of such poor unexperienced man would arouse you so badly. You wanted to show him, you wanted to make him feel good, appease him now. With tenderness blooming in your heart, you shoved his fingers away.

“You first.” You caressed his hair, seeking his attention.

“Mhm… Please… I’m sorry…” He managed to stutter.

“Open your legs for me, Father” Your low voice sent shudders down his spine.

He hesitated, face red, limbs buzzing with electricity.

“Don’t be shy now, beautiful thing.” You leaned, left a kiss on his head and he jolted, hips bucking to meet your mouth, as he sucked in a deep breath. You parted his legs further, you wanted to see everything. He was really well endowed, you admired, beautiful everywhere.

“Breathe, Father, you can take this.” You patted his thigh and lowered your mouth, eyes always locked with his to seek his permission. He swallowed and threw his head back on your crimson pillows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his hands sweaty, fisting your sheets.

You started slow, peppering light kisses on his length. With the tip of your tongue you wetted the underside of it, from the base to the tip. You hummed at the salty taste, your core tightened around a void, and you huffed with edginess. You straddled his thigh then, and moaned as your cunt rubbed on the firm muscle. Once settled and able to take the edge off, you took him in the heat of your mouth and started to suck, rhythmically with the undulations of your hips on his thigh.

Francisco chocked and gasped, spasmed under you. Jesus, he had never felt such a sensation before. His rough fist paled before the wet and smooth insides of your pretty mouth, showering his most intimate parts with care. His eyelids fluttered, as the doors to heaven opened behind them. God, it felt so good. He never knew it was in the power of a human to make another feel that good, almost too good to handle, and he struggled with his will to restrain himself, as your lips closed tight around him, hummed and moaned around him, he did the same, loud and shameless now.

“God… oh… God, please… sweet child, more… m-hhore”

“There” you stopped to catch your breath, mouth swollen and red, spit glistening on your enflamed lips. You returned to the task, sucking hard and fast on his head, as you fisted his base with one hand, and toyed with his balls with the other. You worked with purpose now, passion in your movements, heat coiling in your core, conscious of your cunt drooling on his thigh, his meaty cock filling your mouth deliciously, his moans music spurring you on, undeniable proof of his pleasure.

He was close to his release now, the familiar pool of liquid heat running through his veins, sending waves of shock through his body. His thighs began to spasm and he tried to warn you, too ashamed and innocent to know that him spilling in your mouth was exactly the thing you desired, that wanting to taste his seed in your mouth was the ultimate sign of your desire and infatuation…and love. He was soon to learn that, as you protested in a moan, and gripped him harder, worked faster and he lost all control.

God in heaven.

Francisco thought he was ascended to the ninth heaven, magnificent golden light exploding behind his shut eyes, as he spent into your hot mouth… ropes of his seed, thick and abundant, coating your lips and dribbling over your chin, as your nostrils flared and your chest heaved. No sound emitted from him, too spent to utter a word, too spent to remember how to breathe, too far gone in the aftermath of his pleasure.

You sighed as you watched him, pride swelling in your chest. You had wanted him for so long. Tortuous endless nights of hot wet dreams and solitary pleasure, and now, admiring the sight before you, you knew, he was endlessly yours. No church, no misunderstandings and no barriers, human or godly, would ever make it less true. He was yours.

“Pleased?” you rubbed his belly, helping him recover, as sweat beaded on his brow, the last remnants of his high dissipating.

“It was… so goo—hd… more than good… was… j—hust… ” Words failed him as he managed to smile, dimples gracing his cheeks, hands already seeking for you.

“Come, come here, child.”

You kissed him sweetly on his inner thigh before you obliged.

“Can I make you feel the same…? I mean is it possible?” he asked sheepishly.

“You are a silly man, Francisco” you laughed and crawled on him, kissing your way up.

He laughed awkwardly, wondering if he earned the label.

“Of course you are going to make me feel good too, just with those wondrous fingers” you took two of his thick, long fingers and put them into your mouth, wetted them nice before bringing them to your sex again, “Remember how to use them?”

He nodded and wrapped one arm over your waist as his fingers delved into the velvet of your cunt, swollen and so ready now. You guided him with praise, as you rutted into his palm. He was naturally talented, seeking and flickering your folds artfully. You had awakened his senses to the pleasures of the flesh, and he understood his effect on you, as you writhed in his arms, as your teeth bit on his nipples, as your mouth expelled languid moans. He found your entrance and a gasp of surprise left his parted lips.

“Yes… You are almost there. Inside, I want you inside…”

“There?” He asked in his deepest voice, making you shudder.

“Ye—ees” You nudged his nose, foreheads touching as his hot breath fanned your lips.

His fingers easily slipped into your slick heat, moving experimentally, rubbing your walls in and out, slowly. You didn’t expected him to know, yet… but god if he wasn’t blowing your mind just trying.

“Can you… mhmm yes… Can you move like that for me?”

You guided his fingers all the way out to your clitoris and back inside you.

“Like that but faster, please?” you moaned at the end of your sentence, your sweet priest already on task.

His strong diligent digits worked you with devotion, pinched brows as he focused on bringing you to orgasm, and soon enough your walls started to clench around them, as your whole being reached for him.

“Please… Please.. Please…”

He was dizzy, didn’t even know what you were begging for, but oh how he wanted to deliver…

Please be with me

Please stay after

Please love me

Please

I forgive you.

Your soul chanted, your vision shattered and you cried out his name, whole body quivering upward, mouth trying to catch his, fingers holding on to his strong shoulders as you climaxed high, so high.

“Did… Did I hurt you?” Francisco was utterly terrified. He stopped his ministrations, two thick fingers stilled deep inside you.

Poor innocent man.

You laughed in your haze and shook your head lazily.

“No, silly. No.” You whispered softly, head finally resting on his chest “You made me feel so good, and when a woman feels so good in her lover’s arms, she lets him know… loudly…” You sighed. He was so endearing as realization hit him, and he blushed further, as if it was even possible.

You slowly moved his fingers out of you, kissed them gently.

“Goodness… Are you here, for real, with me?” He spoke softly, body slack in the afterglow. He didn’t have the strength to linger on his acts for now, he allowed himself to just feel, touch, breathe, live in the moment, with you.

“Does this feel real?” You pinched his pec and he recoiled, surprised.

“Ow!”

“So?”

“It does!”

“And this?” You kissed his lips, achingly slow.

“It does…” He exhaled, low into your lips.

“Good. Now tell me everything, Father.”

[aquaticalay]

Centurion .Chapter One.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sequel to For Something Greater (If you have not read this, click the link to the masterlist in my bio.)

Summary: (Y/n) is an active duty Navy SEAL Commander, the first and only woman to ever become a SEAL. After successfully stopping a genocide with the help of the Avengers, she becomes a bridge between the military and the earth's mightiest heroes. But even as her relationship with Bucky grows, she decides not to tell him about the nightmares and trauma that haunt her. Both their secrets begin to unravel when Bucky accidentally stumbles upon a piece of dangerous information about (Y/n) that she doesn't know about herself— something she must never find out about.

Genre: Action, Drama, Romance

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, death, eventual smut, PTSD.

Warning/s for the chapter: refenrence to sex and anxiety symptoms.

Word count: 2.5k

Note: The plot is heavily inspired by the song 'in the dark' by Bring Me The Horizon, and 'Mercy' by Muse. So yeah, go listen to it if you want to :)))  I'll post a new chapter every two days.

Let me know if you want to be in the taglist

(Taglist will be reblogged)

TRIGGER WARNING! THIS SERIES REVOLVES AROUND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. (Including, but not limited to: anxiety/panic attacks, extreme mood swings , nightmares, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, irritability, hypervigilance, and hyperarousal)

-

New York was crowded, as usual. It was a good thing you weren't headed into the buzzing crowd. You didn't have to deal with the subway odors that could sting until your head hurts, or being cramped in the middle 8 million people in the center of the city. You’re going upstate instead.

These days you tend to avoid crowds. Too many things can go wrong in a place with too many people.

You just got back from a month-long peacekeeping mission in South East Asia with your squadron. It was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it was quite dull in comparison to your usual military operations. There wasn't a single clash in the mission, and you were thankful for it. You really needed a break from the non-stop violence, both mentally and physically.

The rest of the white squadron went home to their families, getting all the rest and relaxation they could get before the next operation briefing. 

And here you are, taking a flight to visit friends, and dying to meet your boyfriend. Meeting Bucky, however, was not the sole purpose of your visit to the Avenger's headquarters. You had a job to do as well. 

As you drove inside the Avengers' HQ, you were greeted by FRIDAY, who allowed you into the facility.

You parked up front, exiting your vehicle and locking it with a push of a button.

Sam was the first one who greeted you, hands folded and waiting for you outside. Friday must have notified him of your arrival.

"Captain," you said in an almost teasing tone. You gave him a short hug and a pat on the back. He returned it with a smile. "Commander," he replied just as lightheartedly, a playful leap in his tone, "You're two days early. Buck told me you weren't coming back till' Friday."

You shrugged, a smile tugging on your lips at the mention of his name. "Things went better than originally planned," you told him, "Besides, I've got something for you."

-

The only person present in the common room besides you and Sam was Wanda, who was making chamomile tea on the kitchen counter. The smell of roasted leaves left a hint of sweet aroma in the air. It was a nice scent, a good change of pace from the primal earthly smell of the forests of Borneo. Neither she nor Sam looked tired at all, which lead you to believe there hadn't been any missions for them lately. You greeted her with a hug and a hello, as well as sitting down to catch up with them on the events that happened while you were away.

Sam told you Bucky was going for a run, and he'd be back soon. You don't mind waiting. You might not have all the time in the world, but you did have all the patience that you needed.

As you were telling them about your mission, you heard a familiar voice coming from the entrance.

"Sounds fun," Bucky commented. He smiled, drinking water from his bottle, his hair tied in an effortless bun. And when you say effortless, you meant he really didn't care what it looked like, as it was an utter mess. You were usually there to tidy up his messy hair. But when you weren't there, he can't seem to do it properly by himself. You had mentioned that a haircut would be more practical, and he said he'd think about it. He probably won't cut his hair unless it covered his entire face. You find yourself amused at the thought of that.

He was wearing a black shirt and some running shorts, a hint of moisture in his skin, only barely sweating from both the heat and the exercise. His demeanor was confident, but not cocky. He looked like he was in a good mood.

Of course he is. You're here.

You looked back, a grin on your face. "Someone went for a run without me," you mentioned playfully, raising your eyebrows.

You walked towards him, and when you got close enough, he pulled your waist closer to his. 

With a lopsided grin, he let you lay a hand on his bicep and press a kiss to his lips. It was short, like an acknowledgement. That was enough for Bucky.

He looked into your eyes. Under the glinting excitement of meeting him, he noticed that you were exhausted. You had circles under your eyes. Though it didn't look too bad, he sensed that it had taken a toll on you.

Sam cleared his throat, making the two of you look his way. "Are you done, Romeo? Or do you want us out of the room?"

"Actually—" Bucky started to say, but you cut him off abruptly with a half-forced cough. He tilted his head in confusion. "We're done," you stated shortly giving him a look that said, later. A hint of softness gave depth to your pupil, and he trusted that later, he'd have more time with you. 

Still, it was unlike you to act so rushed when you just got back. Last time you got back from a long mission, you had insisted to lazily stay in bed the whole day with him. He complied that day, and he was confident to say that day was spent well.

Right now, you seem restless, and this worried him.

You walked away from him half-heartedly. The reunion with Bucky wasn't one you had in mind, as it only flashed before your eyes.

However, your visit to the headquarters this time isn’t just to see Bucky. You had a message to deliver from the US military, specifically the special forces.. 

Everyone that you needed to listen was here, and it was better to get this over with sooner than later. You pick your bag up from the floor, rummaging with the contents inside until you manage to take out a single brown folder, a Navy symbol at the cover. You throw it on the table, where Sam and Wanda was sitting. You sat down on one of the stools, Bucky next to you.

Sam was the first to pick it up. When he flipped to the first page, he looked at you inquisitively, "A council?" He asked.

You nodded, "To overview relations between the avengers and the special forces," you explain.

"And you agree to this?" Wanda asked, taking a look at the files. You could hear her voice falter. There was a hint of distrust in her voice. You don't blame her. She, like most of the avengers, went through the complication that is the Sokovia accords. You knew they didn't do too well with any deals that involves the government, and if anything, the accord left a bad experience.

"I don't know yet," you admit, "All they told me is that this council won’t limit your movement. You're still in charge of your own actions and missions. The only difference is that you can call special operations for back up if needed, and we can do the same, too."

"Anything else?" Sam asked, waiting for more. You shook your head, wishing you had more information than a five-page summary file. ”That’s all they said to me," you told him, "Everything else is written there. You better read that carefully. Special Ops wants an answer by next week. You have Five days to decide if you agree to this council or not."

“What if we don’t agree?” Bucky asked.

“The Avengers and The Special Forces stays separate, and we’re not allowed to go on joint missions, or collaborate in any way anymore.”

Bucky wanted more details, but anyone with decent hearing could notice the hint of exhaustion in your voice, so he didn’t push you for more explanation. 

It wasn't only the mission that drained every last bit of your energy. During the last few months, you worked hard on cleansing SEAL, tracking down every last trace of Hydra, sometimes being ten feet deep in investigations until 3 in the morning. On bad days, you can't even force yourself to sleep. Nightmares become more frequent. Your mind felt more noisy, descending into chaos. Even though the reports show that you've done what you set out to do, you can't help but feel more paranoid than you should.

This paranoia wasn't your alone. It also belonged to many special operations officers who were aware of the Hydra infiltration. This resulted in the proposition of the council.

Despite knowing and understanding firsthand where the idea of the council came from, you promised that you won’t decide where you stand until you hear reasoning from both the Avengers and the special forces.

You felt Bucky's metal arm gently placed on your knee. From the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at you. He didn't seem comfortable discussing about this. It makes sense, considering that he was a victim of the sokovia accords. He was trapped in the heart of conflict that tore the Avengers apart. He didn't want his family torn apart. 

You placed your hand above his reassuringly, your thumb rubbing circles across the smooth metal.

-

"I don't like this," Bucky muttered, finally admitting his distress out loud. "The council, the deal. Feels all too familiar." He closed the door of his room behind him. You settled inside, dropping your backpack near his closet. Inside the bag was a few sets of clothes, enough to last you a few days. You took a shirt and sweatpants out for a change. Bucky moved closer to you, and you pressed a kiss to his collarbone in an attempt to comfort him. It felt like a flutter against his skin. "At least hear them out, okay?" 

You pull back, looking into his eyes. He had a slight frown on his face. His steely orbs look ghostly pale, almost baby blue. The creases on his forehead ran deep, but the longer he looked at you, the softer the lines become.

He took a deep breath, his human arm caressing your cheeks. "I'm sorry," he told you, slowly closing the gap, "It's just a lot of bad blood."

You curled your mouth into a smile that helped Bucky ease his anxiety. It helped yours, too.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you, James," you promised, pressing your hand gently against his torso. He was convinced that your words were sincere, like every other promise that ever left your lips. The way you said his name was calming, almost therapeutic. It made him inevitably fall in love with you all over again.

"I know," he replied in a fragile whisper, the sound cracking in your ears. He didn't say it, but you knew he was promising the same to you.

Slowly, he placed his lips on yours, sharing a breath of air. It started slow, increasingly gaining momentum like coin dropping from a building, going faster and faster due to the heaving effects of gravity pulling it to the ground like he was pulling you into him. You find yourself helpless, melting into his arms. You were candle lit ablaze for too long, his cold arm taming your overbearing wildfire of a flame. He held you, tasting your tongue on his, moving ever so slightly so you don't break. His touch felt so desperate and longing, reflecting exactly what he felt after over thirty days apart. 

He smiled into the gesture. A contagious move that you were addicted to. 

You pulled away to catch a breath, but did not stop for long. Bucky pushed a strand of hair behind your ear affectionately before resuming the long-due kiss.

You dropped your fresh clothes to the ground, turning all your attention to him, like nothing else in the world mattered, or even existed. You carefully slid your hands under the fabric of his shirt, fingers caving into every curve that felt like connecting the pieces of a puzzle.

You longed for him. You missed his touch and his breath on yours. You missed his quirky habits and playful banter. It was hard for both of you to be away from each other, but you're willing to pull yourself together for this to work. Being a SEAL was a demanding job, and so was being an avenger. Both of you go on mission for weeks or months at a time, and there was always a possibility of not coming back alive. Every second you spend together counts, making up for lost time.That's why talk about the council can wait, it has to. As important as it seemed to be, it was a job-related stress that has been thumping in the back of your head for days and days on end, consuming your body. But right now, it wasn't that important. The man in front of you was important. 

Besides, changing clothes could be done in other, less conventional ways.ways.

-

You woke up in cold sweat when you heard a sudden sound of ringing bells at five in the morning. You started breathing heavily, and it took a moment for you to calm down and realize it was the church bell ringtone you chose for your phone. Someone was calling you.

You've never appreciated whoever invented the silent mode more than you did now.

But you were a Navy SEAL. Even if you wanted to, you were not allowed to have your phone on silent.

Grumpily grogging awake, you propped yourself onto your elbow, yawning slightly. 

You could see an interruption of Bucky's chest delicate rising and falling, his soft adorable snores turning into a hitched breath. Disturbed by the noisy bell sounds, he slowly opened his eyelids. "What?" He growled quietly, his words only barely coherent. He lifted his head a little in confusion.

You sat up, taking your phone. You pointed at it. "I have to take this," you explained, "It's work."

He nodded slightly, dropping his head back on to the soft pillow.

You saw the screen and read the caller ID: It was Diego Miller, one of the men in your squadron.

You pushed the blankets off of you as you hurriedly tiptoe to Bucky's balcony, so you could talk without disturbing Bucky's rest.

"Hello," you answered hoarsely, forcing your sleepy lips and tongue to form clear words.

"Commander," he greeted, "Are you in New York?"

"Yeah." You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes, "What's going on?"

"We've got an emergency operation," he informed, his voice alert, "Command wants you here in four hours." 

You looked at the time. "Give me five hours," you said. 

He answered sternly, almost immediately, "Four hours," he repeated, "It's non-negotiable."

"What's so important about this?" You ask tiredly.

"It's Hydra."

You stop in your tracks. Your posture tensed, eyes suddenly narrowing into the horizon, "Oh."

"The Naval base in Brooklyn is arranging a sonic flight for you as we speak," he informed, "You need to go there now."

You took a deep breath, sudden determination overpowering the exhaustion of your body. If it was Hydra, you were more than willing to end this once and for all. "I'm on my way."

"One more thing," Miller mentioned, "Don't tell Barnes it's Hydra. This mission is confidential."

It was not something you would keep a secret from Bucky if you had the choice, but what Miller was telling you was an order from Command. You will not defy it. It will bring more harm to your position than good.

"Okay," you manage to say before finally closing the call.

You could hear the door slide behind you, Bucky lazily walking towards you. Without warning, he laid his forehead on your shoulder, bending down so he could hold your body close to his. He was wearing nothing but shorts, his skin prickly cold like an autumn breeze. His prosthetic arm was even colder, a similar temperature to freshly fallen snow.

"They want me in Seattle," you break the news to him, wishing you didn't have to. He hums in disappointment, nuzzling further into your neck, "when?"

"Now."

"Already?" Bucky dragged the words in disbelief, "but you only just got here."

You ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp to give him a sense of reassurance. "It's an emergency."

"What emergency?"

"I don't know yet," you lied, remembering the orders. You felt a pang of guilt, but you have to ignore it for now.

You pushed his chin from your neck to look in his eyes, "I'll be back before you know it."

Bucky nods. 

You don't want to let go, but you know you have to.

~

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Unfinished Business (6/6)

Summary: Today is the day that Renee will become the Queen of Cordonia, but oh how her mind still wanders…

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, we’re just having a good time. Also this series will contain smatters of Canon dialogue that I also do not own

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Masterlist

Tags: @ritachacha@fullbeaumonty@leelee10898@tornbetween2loves@zaffrenotes@hopefulmoonobject@ownworldresident@alj4890@writerxdreamer@stiles-o-dylan24@lettersofwrittencollective@dcbbw@ao719@lizeboredom@carabeth @zilch3 @rainbowsinthestorm@friedherringclodthing @emichelle

The processional was already underway by the time Renee, Bertrand, and Olivia reached the antechamber.

      Renee watched as Liam's attendant and the last of the wedding party disappeared into the cathedral's main entrance, heart sinking to her feet.

     A faint knock from the double doors at the end of the hallway saw Olivia take a deep breath and turn to the friend she never wanted.

     "That's my cue to join the procession," she told the bride giving her shoulder a supportive squeeze, "Good luck."

       Olivia turned on her heels, the crimson and black skirts of her dress twirling around her feet as she made her way out.

    Time seemed to slow down for Renee. Everything sounded hollow, the soft click of Olivia's heels as she retreated more like canon blasts.

   It was time. There was no more stalling, no more what ifs. In moments she would marry King Liam and become Queen Renee of Cordonia.

    "It's customary for a member of your house to remain with you until your entrance, and since House Beaumont has always been your sponsor I thought I ought to keep you company."

     Bertrand's words brought Renee's thoughts back to where they should be and she shook her head free of the fog.

     "Thanks, Bertrand. We've come a long way." her reply was filled with a dutiful confidence. She offered him a warm smile to match his own.

   "Indeed. It seems like a lifetime since Maxwell first brought you to the palace…"

*****************

        Renee slipped quietly into the palace apple orchard, keenly aware of Mara's presence in the distance. Her fingers grazed against proud applewood trunks until she found a tiny rope swing near the center of the orchard.

     Taking a seat she watched a shadowy figure-a man with broad shoulders- emerge from behind one of the trees.

   "Thank you for meeting me here, Sweethear-ah-Your Grace."

     Renee grinned widely. It wasn't often Bertrand failed to address someone properly.

   Perhaps he'd been correct the first time. Despite the fact that she and Liam were to marry in the morning, she still desperately wanted to be Bertrand's sweetheart.

    "Of course, Your Grace. Very cloak and dagger of you."

    Bertrand frowned but stepped closer to the duchess.

    A comfortable silence reigned supreme. Renee twisted herself on the swing, the straps coiling tightly around themselves. When her big toe could scarcely reach the ground, she let herself go, flying in a corkscrew, the weightless feeling in her stomach exactly what she needed at that moment.

    The Duke's eyes lit up as he watched the innocent scene. Somehow the childlike qualities Renee shared with Maxwell- the youthful exuberance she constantly emanated- no longer exasperated him as his younger brother's did. Renee's was quite charming. Endearing even.

    She giggled with glee as the swing came to a stop, her eyes darting towards Bertrand.

    "Ah ah ah...careful Duke Ramsford. I can see your teeth. Don't want anyone to catch you smiling. It would ruin your whole reputation." she joked.

    An uncharacteristic chuckle escaped him as he stepped up behind her. He grasped the small piece of wood upon which she sat on either side, pulling her back gently and releasing her. The swing propelled her forward at a leisurely pace. When she returned to him, her body tensed as she felt his hands on her back, pushing once more.

     "Was there something you wanted to talk about?" She asked over her shoulder, admiring the way soft moonlight always made Bertrand more handsome.

      He shook his head, "No. I simply wanted to be in your company away from prying eyes, one last time."

     On the up-swing Renee jumped, landing on her feet and spinning to look at her sponsor head on.

    She believed what he said, noticing for the first time that he'd dressed down for the occasion, his attire almost matching her own customary casual dress that he'd always been so troubled by. He was even wearing sneakers for crying out loud.

      "Then what should we do with our time?"

    She ambled towards him stopping an arm's length away.

     Bertrand's breath hitched. Renee looked like an angel in the nighttime luminescence.

    He cleared his throat before he said, "Whatever you'd like, Your Grace."

     Teasingly she stepped forward again until her chest was pressed against his, their  breath mingling together as she stared up at him. Bringing her hand to his shoulder, Renee ran a finger down his arm, electricity igniting between them when she found the bare skin below his short shirt sleeve.

   She stepped tentatively back.

   "Tag! You're it!"

  She raced away from him, hair flying like a halo around her as she cast her gaze back to ensure he was following.

   Bertrand looked flabbergasted for a fleeting moment before cautiously heading towards her.

   "Catch me if you can!" she shouted as she rounded a broad tree trunk.

    "Renee this is preposterous," Bertrand chuckled, "I can scarcely see and you as well. One or both of us will surely fall."

    " Are you afraid you're too slow to catch me, old man?" She whirled around the tree trunk, hands on either side hair flowing freely over her shoulder as she hung there.

    "Old man?" Bertrand's eyes twinkled with a childlike playfulness, and he continued to pursue her, this time in earnest.

    The chase continued as the duchess wove her way among the trees. She swung around another trunk to taunt her one-time lover only to face plant directly into his muscular chest.

    "Ha!" he proclaimed. Renee stumbled back, grabbing his t-shirt to steady herself. A rather large root protruded from the earth behind her and she tripped, completely losing her footing. Attempting to catch her, Bertrand lost his as well and they tumbled haphazardly to the ground.

   Renee hit the grass with a thud, the duke landing squarely on top of her.

    "I'm so sorry, Sweetheart." Bertrand scrambled to his knees extending a hand to help her up. She ignored the gesture at first, instead she burst into laughter, cackling like a mad woman. She reached up and took his hand pulling him to the ground beside her.

    "Laugh with me, baby. You know you want to." She chuckled, and so he did. A small chuckle at first, as their heads rested together, devolving into them both in a fit of laughter in the grass.

   Catching her breath, she propped herself on an elbow, facing him as he followed suit.

   "Bertrand why do you refuse to let anyone but me see this side of you? It must be so lonely and tiresome to be so stone faced all the time."

    He reached up and tucked a strand of her wavy brown hair behind her ear, admiring her.

    "Some parts of myself are for you and you alone, Darling."

   "But don't you want people to like you?"

   "I want people to respect me."

   "It's possible to have both."

  With a sigh Bertrand sat up, knees bent and elbows resting upon them.

   "I'm sorry, B. Please don't put it back up." Renee said sitting up beside him, caressing his shoulder.

   "Put what back up?"

   "The Beaumont wall. Maxwell said your father had one too."

   "It isn't a wall. It's a well-oiled armor. And after tonight I will always have to wear it in your presence." He shifted to brush her cheek with his knuckles.

    Renee shut her eyes and covered his hand, savoring his touch.

    "Especially now that I've known you fully. Biblically. I know exactly the depth of my loss."

   "But...the depths remember don't they? I know it was certainly a night that I'll never forget."

   Bertrand snorted, pulling his hand from her grasp.

   "Are you saying you regret it?" Renee tucked her lip between her teeth not sure she truly wanted the answer. He turned to her, astonished.

   "Never. Even if it hurts, I haven't a single regret when it comes to you. The feel of your skin against mine is a memory I will always cherish."

   "Me, too." She took his chin between her thumb and forefinger, leaning in slowly to press her lips to his.

    In another reality, there would have been visible sparks flying from their lips. The kiss was warm and tender but savage and primal all at once. Renee desperately tried to pour all of her love into it and when their lips parted to taste one another in a deepened embrace, the soft moan that fell from Bertrand spoke volumes.

    *****************

      Renee paced across the floor of the antechamber wishing that she could somehow make the seconds stretch on into infinity. Wishing that when she'd had the chance, so many moons ago, to fly away from Cordonia and everything that was about to take place that she had taken it.

    Surreptitiously she stole glances at Bertrand.  Mostly he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, barely venturing a look in her direction, but this time he reached into the breast pocket of his coat.

   Renee was sure he didn't notice she was watching, and when he produced something from the coat, the glimmer of a small flask caught her wide eyes.

    "Bertrand Archibald Beaumont!" she scolded and the Duke jumped at her tone. He spun to face her sheepishly.

    "You weren't even going to share?"

     Bertrand glowered at the object in his hand, shame flashing in his eyes before he tipped it to her, never meeting her gaze.

    She stepped forward and took the flask watching him closely as she brought it to her lips, the tequila within burning its way into her stomach. She screwed the cap on and handed it back.

       "Now, you really should get out there." he told her, tucking the flask safely away as he turned to face her squarely.

   "Wish me luck."

   Bertrand beamed at her but it was forced and she could tell.

   "I wish you luck and all the happiness in the world, Renee. Now go on. Liam is waiting for you."

     The duchess's face fell and she took a step in his direction. She closed her eyes and planted a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

      With only a courtly bow as a reply, Bertrand turned from her and headed out to find his seat within the cathedral.

      "I love you," she whispered, alone in the antechamber as a silent tear slid down her cheek.

    She stepped up to the double doors and when she was sure her legs would carry her she pushed her way into the flower-strewn room.

    The crowd rose to pay tribute as she sauntered down the aisle. Every Cordonian Noble worth their salt could be found in the pews and Renee nodded to a few of them as she passed. Quiet whispers about her dress and her radiance could be heard all around and she painted on a plastic smile for the people that were to be her subjects.

     When finally she looked at her betrothed, she found Liam's eyes not on her, but on Drake. His gaze was subtle of course, Renee only noticing because she was looking.

      The two men locked eyes for the briefest of moments and they smiled at one another before Maxwell noticed too, nodding his head in Renee's direction.

     Liam corrected himself, straightening his jacket and plastering on his own plastic grin.

    She reached her destination passing off her bouquet to Olivia before joining hands with the king.

    Leo, Cordonia's former crown prince and Liam's older brother stood ready to officiate and he cleared his throat as everyone took their seats.

     "Today I am here as a favor to Renee Brooks and my brother, King Liam, the man who's lucky enough to wed her." Leo began.

    Renee could feel her heartbeat in her ears. The world was beginning to blur around her and she gripped Liam's hands tighter for stability.

       When she steadied herself she looked out over the crowd, finding Bertrand not in his assigned seat, but instead a seat on the aisle in the very last row. She had to squint to be certain, but once she was panic gripped her chest.

   "He's going to run." she thought.

    Liam followed her gaze toward the back, and finding what she was looking at he squeezed her fingers in reassurance. Her eyes turned back to the king as Leo continued,

    "...but at it's heart, every wedding is about one thing: the love between a couple and the bond they have chosen to share."

     Another glance into the crowd found Bertrand tucking his silver flask back into his coat. People in the front rows started to swoon as fat, warm tears began to form in Renee's eyes, blurring her vision.

   "Don't you dare do it. You can't leave. I can't do this without you." she thought, lip quivering.

   "Just as planting a seed is not enough for it to grow into an apple tree, speaking your vows is not enough for a marriage to truly flourish."

     Leo paused then and cleared his throat, giving the bride a knowing look before he went on.

       Just then, a low creak from the back of the room caused most to turn their heads. A minor distraction as many in the crowd promptly turned their attention back to their monarchs, but the pained look that Maxwell wore told Renee that Bertrand was gone.

     Her thoughts started racing, the giant cathedral feeling more like a broom closet. Breathing becoming heavy she heard Leo talking about nurturing bonds but she wasn't really listening.

    She brought Liam's hands to her face, kissing the backs of them before leaning in so that only he could hear her.

    "I'm sorry. We both know we can't do this,"

   His brown, almond shaped eyes searched hers as he clenched his jaw.

   "You love Drake; and you should be with him. And I-"

     Liam cut her off with a whisper in her ear, "Go to him. We're both free now."

    Renee stepped back, sweeping into a brief curtsey. The king nodded regally at her as confused whispers started to spread. The duchess gathered up her skirt and, with everything she had, she bolted for the doors.

     Bursting out into the sunlight, flash bulbs and reporters accosted her, but she ignored them, head on a swivel as she frantically searched for her beloved.

    A small cobblestone path to the side of the cathedral led to a fountain with benches surrounding it. There Bertrand stood, tie undone staring into the pristine water.

    Dropping her skirt she ambled over. The click of her heels must have alerted him because he glanced over his shoulder, face coming alive  with shock and relief when he saw her.

    Renee simply shrugged, before allowing her tears to fall freely.

    "I can't. I couldn't. Bertrand I love y-" she began to blubber, but the duke silenced her with a searing kiss.

     All around them the photogs were going wild, lobbing questions from every direction, but for the first time in a long time Renee felt at peace with herself and the noise around them faded away.

    "Well, what do we do now? This is all going to be a mess very quickly." Renee brushed her fingers against Bertrand’s cheek, unable to keep her hands off of him.

   "What mess? For once the world finally feels right."

    She gestured to the growing crowd.

    "I don't care about the press. Let them look. Let them splash our picture over every magazine cover they'd like. I finally have you. That's all that matters now. I love you, Renee Brooks. Truly, madly, deeply. I was a fool to ever think I could pretend otherwise."

     Renee threw her arms around his neck and he hoisted her up, spinning her around before placing her back on her feet. She yanked his lapels and crashed her lips against his.

     "Let's get outta here, Your Grace. I'm thinking: you, me, and a bottle of tequila. We'll see what happens next." Renee grinned up at him.

     "Sounds like a plan, Sweetheart."

[xoruffitup]

Burn This: The Oversized Review/Analysis

I sat down this afternoon to write out all of my thoughts about this play, given that they’ve become more complicated after each viewing, and here I am just finishing up some 6 hours later. :’) Clearly, this play is much more complex than it seems!

I’ve now been fortunate enough to watch Burn This three times, and each time I experience something new. A lot of the reviews have been lukewarm about the play itself and skeptical of how well it functions as a revival on a modern stage. This play is absolutely a product of its time, and the revival consciously places itself in the original 80s setting through the costumes and music. Strictly speaking, I would have to agree that in some ways, the play doesn’t age well. A lot of my reservations upon first viewing towards Pale’s character and the portrayed relationship with Anna stem from this cultural shift – A modern audience watching this play has a lot more sensitivities and a higher bar of scrutiny towards an irreverent, aggressive male character like Pale than in the time of its writing. Although I believe a lot of the slurs in the original play have been removed, the audience still always makes an audible reaction of discomfort when Pale slings the words “cunt,” “oriental,” and “fag.” And yet, the audience spends practically all the rest of their time laughing up a storm at his crazy diatribes and curse-laden rants. The play is still an absorbing pleasure to watch, and for all the nitpicking I and many others are doing towards Pale’s character, at the end of the day I would still praise this production and argue its merits, its lingering universal resonance, and the brilliance of its writing.

Since Pale’s relationship with Anna is the main drive of the story, the story would lose all appeal if Pale were found completely unlikable. And yet, the reviews that have questioned their chemistry do so only partially for this reason. For the most part, reviewers are raving about Adam – Finding his portrayal to be the disarming, shocking highlight of the show. Like Anna, for all that he makes us uncomfortable, we find ourselves wanting more of his biting honesty, his crude humor, and his commanding, live-wire presence. So what is the play’s challenge? Aside from unchangeable aspects such as cast chemistry (though personally, I thought Keri and Adam had plenty) – The challenge may be that a play like this, exhibiting an ill-advised, volatile relationship like this one, can’t simply exist unquestioned anymore. This type of explosive man, hesitant woman, and tempestuous passion is no longer a reality we accept for standard. And so, perhaps some audiences fail to find the play’s story compelling or authentic.

This play contains several dangerous ledges. In the three performances I’ve seen, these ledges have been crossed to various extents. Here are what I believe to be the main tensions within the play that challenge a modern audience, and which are handled by the cast delicately and differently in each show.

Is Pale the archetype of the hyper-masculine? Is he disrespectful, inconsiderate, or worst – predatory towards Anna?

Why, comparatively speaking, does Anna have such a small presence? Does this compromise the integrity of the play, when it’s intended to be her story?

Is this really a story about romance? Are we supposed to want Anna to want Pale? Is their story one of snowballing tragedy, or of consolation, connection, and artistic fulfillment?

Is Pale the destructive archetype of the hyper-masculine?

I’ll start with the first point, as this is really the most crucial. From a storytelling standpoint, Pale needs to be dangerous. He needs to embody primal chaos, and make the audience just as uncomfortable and conflicted as Anna. I’ve used this quote in a previous post, but bringing it back because it’s so perfectly apt: “Menacing, profane, dangerous and yet oddly sensitive, Pale is both terrifying and fascinating and, in the end, the one who brings to Anna the unsettling but compelling love that, despite her fears and doubts, she cannot turn away.”

Without this response to him, the play simply wouldn’t work. Pale’s entrance into the play needs to completely upend and throw into disarray everything that came before. In the twenty minutes or so before his entrance, the world of this play is a quiet, thoughtful, and mournful place. Anna has just returned from the terrible experience of Robbie’s funeral. She’s questioning her inspiration and future as a choreographer. Burton attempts to wax about his writing and the ultimate force of great love or “some megapassion.” It is tame and innocuous. Burton’s dialogues seem charming, even bordering silly in their grandiose, guileless pretension. Then enters Pale, who barrels through the door in an explosion of curses, energy, and authenticity. He’s not standing there trying to find the fumbling words to describe a “megapassion” – In all his hot mess pain, he is one. And to Anna, his overpowering, magnetic presence is both more than she can bear, and a blessed cover for her own pain and lack of direction.

For all his political incorrectness and bad manners, I do sincerely love what Pale represents. To me – in this play about the search for artistic authenticity and inspiration, he represents the depths to which an artist might perhaps need to dive into their own uncomfortable, ugly emotions in order to create something honest. It’s no surprise that it’s through meeting Pale that Anna is finally able to choreograph the dance piece that gives her closure for Robbie’s death. His presence is the only thing incendiary enough to be called true inspiration. While Anna begins the play adrift and helpless in the expanse of her grief after Robbie’s loss, with no way to process this terrible suffering that can find no place or redress in her every day life, Pale’s massive vitality is the only thing equally as powerful. By the end, it seems to ground Anna. His destabilizing presence makes her confront the type of chaotic, profound state of being Robbie’s loss thrust her into, and ironically, sharing that space with Pale eventually affords her the equanimity and resilience to process her grief and ultimately create something from it.

While Anna seems to want to run from her grief rather than face it, Pale is the opposite – He tortures himself by wallowing in it. By the end of the play, the two seem to have pulled each other to a middle ground between their opposite coping mechanisms. Finally, this might be a place where they can each move on with their lives. While Anna’s manner of physically comforting Pale is kind and familiar, his manner of helping her is a bit more unconventional – Though arguably equally effective, knowing Anna ends the play in a more centered and productive position than she began it in. After their relationship has dragged on a while and Anna begins trying to break it off, Pale says, “You know, you’re a much different person in the sack then you are standing up.” Wince. Here’s the insensitive guy complaining that she won’t just stop talking and continue the convenient hook-up arrangement. But then, as he often does, Pale throws us for a loop. He pauses, then adds with emphasis and a hint of challenge, “Which one’s the lie?”

This always seems to be one of the most powerful lines of the play. The audience usually makes an audible reaction, as with just a few words, Pale shifts from seeming self-centered, to being the only one who cares enough to challenge Anna for her own good. Because really, this is the crux of what has caused her such pain and debilitation since Robbie’s death. She’s been wearing a mask to try to cover the depth of the loss she truly feels. Like Pale says a moment later in this same scene, and another one of my favorite lines – “People walking down the street, don’t mean a thing they’re doing.” Similarly, when she tells Pale she wants him to leave because he frightens her, he calls out that she knows he’s not dangerous – she’s simply afraid of “feeling something.” Anna and her friends talk about their artistic endeavors and ambitions. They talk about Robbie’s death, sure, but none of them feel and act their grief the way Pale does. This isn’t to say that each character needs to run around wailing in order to be authentic, but Pale’s call-out here is what wakes Anna to the fact that she needs to marry these two disparate areas of herself – Her immense, debilitating grief, and her work as a dancer/choreographer. At the beginning of the play, Anna can neither advance her work as a choreographer, nor deal with her grief. But by the end – By realizing the artificiality in pretending that she was fine and life could go on, she is able to direct the immense passion and power of her grief towards both artistic and personal resolution.

Now, examining this relationship from the lens of gender, rather than artistic fulfillment and emotional authenticity, is a thornier task. The first time I saw this play, I was a bit uncomfortable with my initial impression of Pale as the type of man who doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer – if he even asks the question at all. Originally, I didn’t like that he assumes his welcome with Anna and initially tries to blow past her misgivings about their relationship. (Although when she tells him in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t want to see him, he does listen to and respect her wishes.) However, in the more recent performances, I appreciated that the first time they become intimate happened a bit more slowly. In the first preview, Pale seemed to kiss her out of nowhere, and only afterwards did he assess her reaction. But now, this entire scene has become more tentative. He sits back and looks at her first, saying a deliberate line about how she’s making him “riled up.” He reaches for her slowly, and waits to see that she remains where she is before he kisses her. (In one performance, he spent a solid 10 seconds just stroking her hair back first.) He then sits back again, looking at her carefully and asking if she’s alright. I loved the scene a lot more this way. His slow, gentle advances were touching, and made it so much clearer just how sincerely Anna reciprocates.

The single most important and potentially uncomfortable question about Pale is whether he might be called a predator taking advantage of Anna’s grief. On paper, I can see the threat. But watching Adam on stage? The thought barely crossed my mind. After seeing how thoroughly and wretchedly he falls apart under the weight of his own grief – The kind of wailing and hiccupping, red-faced crying he does, it doesn’t seem possible that this man is anywhere near calculating. He doesn’t make any advances or comments about her body until the point where they’re seated on the couch together, and Anna has already initiated physical contact by comforting him as he weeps. Sure, on paper one could make the argument that he’s taking advantage of the situation, but with the slower, cautious way the scene is now played, it certainly doesn’t feel that way. Pale doesn’t seem to have any kind of seducing agenda. If he did, breaking down in ugly tears in front of the hot woman certainly wouldn’t help. Instead, their shared grief and discussion about Robbie gradually draws them closer – emotionally, then physically – until they both tumble into intimacy that’s both demanding and healing at the same time.

Looking at the character himself – Is he the archetype of an entitled, hyper-masculine, egotistical man? The type that has blessedly lost appeal as a romantic figure? On the surface, yes, he might seem it. Every other word out of his mouth is a curse. He starts a drunken fistfight with Anna’s boyfriend. He shows up at her place drunk, and is then hard to get rid of. He throws around curse words with Anna when they first meet. He blows from one destructive habit or emotion to the next, without any real thought for how those around him will be affected. He willfully drives Anna and Burton apart. He doesn’t think it worth mentioning to Anna before they sleep together that he’s still technically married. In terms of character traits and temperament – No, he’s not likeable.

Enter the insanely charismatic, improbably empathetic Adam Driver – Who manages to turn the character’s cursing habits into cause for uproarious laughter; Who turns the air silent and reverent when Pale’s character slows to 0 mph for the first time when he kisses Anna; and who plays the character with startlingly endearing moments. (Coyly covering his face with the sleeve of her robe after he interrupts Anna’s phone call with Burton? Kissing her forehead like 5 times when he hands her tea? Clutching her so tightly in the final scene, she is clearly all that matters to him anymore? MY HEART)

One of my favorite things about Adam’s portrayal of Kylo Ren is the complexity of gendered behavior he brings to the role, just as he does for this role. Even while Kylo is physically menacing and unpredictably violent, his eyes tremble with cracked vulnerability and even in still silence, his being radiates crushing conflict and abject pain. Adam plays Pale with the same nuance. Pale is loud, crude, and irreverent. He clearly spends no time thinking ahead about what is ‘correct’ or ‘polite’, he is simply a being of impulse and instinct. But because Adam plays him with such convincing immediacy, he comes off just as honest as he is unrefined. To me, this is Pale’s saving grace. After spending a half hour vacillating between yelling, cursing, screaming, and crying, it seems clear that he is someone moved by emotions and instincts greater than himself – Rather than a person who chose to be disrespectful or rude. The moments when he ingratiates himself in our and Anna’s hearts are when his gentle, tender moments with her are every bit as impactful as his loud, noisy meltdowns. And there is nothing aggressive or intimidating (“manly”) about the way he weeps in front of her. There is something refreshing and moving about such honesty; Such helplessness to hide or restrain the brunt of one’s pain from others. A simplistic gendered reading of their dynamic might accuse him of preying on her from the beginning; But a reading of Adam and Keri’s performance would struggle to find such a gendered binary. After all, Anna doesn’t cry in front of him once. He is the only one of the two of them to be reduced to misery in the other’s presence.

To be clear – This is not a matter of a character being “emotional” denoting the feminine, while loud yelling denotes the masculine. My response to the charge of Pale’s character being toxically hyper-masculine and predatory is simply that this is an ill-fitting characterization, given the assumptions that A) Being ‘predatory’ requires a certain amount of intent, cunning, and callousness – None of which could be attributed to the distraught, sentimental mess of Adam’s Pale who lives only in his immediate force of being; and B) The concept of hyper-masculine “macho”ness denotes a certain one-dimensional understanding of chauvinistic masculinity, which Adam’s Pale defies in its sometimes alarming complexity – Alarming precisely because his breakneck swings from a physicality of violence to one of broken helplessness fly in the face of the gendered expectations one might ascribe to a man of his stature.

(Wow, holy shit did I just write all that for only my first section? Jfc okay, promise I’ll start moving faster! But for the sake of comparison, my original conflicted thoughts about Adam’s Pale after the first preview performance are here.)

Why does Anna have such a lesser presence?

Examining this play from a feminist perspective requires acknowledging how much smaller Anna’s presence is compared to Pale’s. In their first scene together, there are literally stretches where Pale will rant and rave for solid minutes without Anna getting in a single line. No wonder Adam’s performance has dominated reviews. Keri really isn’t given much to work with.

I have two opposite responses to this problem. First – Perhaps the play simply isn’t written with a high regard for its female lead, and makes little effort to develop her character beyond her relationships with the men around her. The more I consider how the play functions, the more it seems to be the case that the men around Anna have all the important, witty dialogue as the ones who set the scenes and move the story along, while Anna is pulled along in their wake.

I realized upon later viewings that what initially seemed to be Burton’s pseudo-artistic ramblings in the first scene actually serve the purpose of establishing the play’s two main themes. The first theme – His idea to write a script about the wives of sailors out to sea, waiting for the men to return, introduces the idea of the search for some ultimate, profound form of love that sustains people through any manner of loss and suffering. (This is what Anna is searching for and what she ultimately finds in her feelings for Pale.) Okay, the very way this theme is introduced – women sitting idle, waiting for the men who are out doing the real work and having the real adventures – is lame. Second, we can’t even have the female character who’s actually trying to undertake this in her character arc narrating her own journey? Why is someone else laying it out for her? And to look at the story as a whole – Why is her fulfillment something she ultimately needs to receive through a man’s involvement? From the beginning, the fact that her resolution is tied to her connection to a man seems flawed.

The second theme is introduced from Burton and Larry’s discussion of the story of Senta and the Flying Dutchman. To make a long story short – Senta sacrifices herself in her great love for the Dutchman in order to “save him from perdition.” While Anna does participate in this conversation, she seems to remain unaware of how this meta dialogue is in fact reflecting her own underlying fear running through the whole play, as well as her greatest danger. The play vocally introduces at its beginning this idea of women sacrificing themselves on the altar of their great loves. (When Anna is retelling her experience at Robbie’s funeral, she indeed recalls how she felt she was expected to throw herself over his casket.) This could imply a number of interpretations. It could reflect Anna’s fear of loving someone again with the same intensity of her love for Robbie – And then suffering the same metaphorical ‘death’ she is experiencing at Robbie’s loss. Or, it could reflect the expectation of an imbalanced male-female relationship where the woman is expected to support and fulfill the man, while defining herself through him to the point of self-erasure. If we simply compare a word count of Pale’s lines against Anna’s lines, the second interpretation doesn’t seem completely far-fetched.

What I love about theatre is the great variability between what a script does and what actors can do with it. This very well could be a script that is completely disparaging to Anna, purposefully placing her in the path of a domineering man whose oversized personality smothers her to the point of losing both her grief and her personhood. However – that is not what Adam does with the script. That is not what this revival production seems to be trying to convey. There’s not much that can be done about the (small) number of lines Anna has; Just like there’s nothing to be done for the fact that she will unavoidably get a bit lost in Pale’s shadow, when he has these hilarious, ludicrous, show-stealing monologues and is played by an actor with such commanding stage presence as Adam.

Nonetheless – Even for all these misgivings, I have a defense for both why the script pays her less attention, and how the current production and Keri have done their best to move Anna more into the spotlight. Keri has an incredible portrayal of body language, and is often actively expressing her character’s experience even when she doesn’t have lines. For instance, when Pale first enters the apartment and spends the first ten minutes circling the room and bitching about parking, Keri keeps circling opposite from him. Her arms are crossed, and she keeps pointedly placing distance between them. When he moves towards her, she rotates away. Even though she speaks a lot less than him in this scene, her body language nonetheless clearly articulates when she begins to be moved by his suffering, and when she gradually stops distrusting him. By the time they’re sitting together on the couch and she’s embracing him as he weeps, she is physically open to him in a way she never is with any of the other characters. When she’s sitting with Burton on that same couch in other scenes, she shows in her stiff physicality that she does not feel as at ease with him, and does not trust him the same way. She always places herself opposite Burton, and keeps her legs folded between them and her torso often leaned away from him. While many reviewers said Keri’s acting seems to better fit the medium of television rather than theater, where small-scale nuance often gets lost, I found her acting through body language highly effective.

My other defense for why I’m not totally convinced of the sexism of the original material is that this really does seem to be Anna’s story. She is the character most often present, on stage for almost every scene. Yes, the main action of the story is Anna and Pale’s relationship, but the telling of that story stays more closely centered on Anna’s perspective. Even though Burton and Larry are the ones who articulate the play’s structural themes at the beginning, it is Anna’s experience and hardship at Robbie’s funeral that opens and frames the play. She is the character we get to know first. And following on that – perhaps the play is then meant to progress through her eyes, meaning the audience becomes her proxy, and hence why there might be fewer lines necessary to understand her experience.

What I mean by the audience becoming her proxy is that the play is framed in such a way that the audience’s experience watching the play closely mirrors Anna’s experience in the play. When Pale is being played by an actor that succeeds in making him empathetic to the audience, then the audience travels through the same progression as Anna in its evolving understanding of and connection to Pale’s character. The audience feels the same conflict of discomfort and attraction, the more time Anna spends with him. Anna doesn’t need lines to explain her misgivings about becoming involved with him – They’re already completely clear. And when Anna breaks off the relationship and Pale leaves – The audience feels much the same way Anna does and expresses to Larry: Relieved but “like shit.”

There is also the fact that although Anna is given less voice, her presence is, in a way, much stronger and put-together than Pale’s. Even though he is louder and more attention-grabbing, she is the one in control of their dynamic. She is the one usually looking after and comforting him, trying to manage him, and so long as their first kissing scene is played in the new, more tentative way where he waits for her response, she is the one defining the terms of their relationship. Though she connects with Pale because she is suffering just as much as he is, she is unquestionably the more stoic of them both, with a subtle inner strength she does not need Pale to bestow upon her - only to remind her of.

Is this a story of romance or disaster?

NOW finally – Is this really a story about romance? Or an explosive disaster doomed to fail? In my first post after seeing the first preview of the play, I described Anna and Pale as “star-crossed lovers” – in the proper, tragic sense.

(“Whatever is between them should not exist. Whatever is between them threatens them both. Whatever is between them is not long for this world, and doesn’t belong in it. (…) They are polar opposite people - Sharing no visible common interests and with temperaments that couldn’t be more opposite.”)

It’s certainly difficult to envision these two in a stable, long-term relationship. Most likely, they’ll continue on as they are – Finding their way to each other in explosive bursts, then attempting to disentangle before they’re drawn back together. A woman like Anna, sensible and talented, seems far too levelheaded to fall for a temperamental firebrand like Pale. So what attracts her to Pale in a way she isn’t attracted to Burton? Why does she find more fulfillment with him, when she finds no stability?

Pale both challenges and needs her in a way Burton does not. Burton comes from a rich kid background, who never really had to fight for anything and admits himself that he’s never really felt loss in his life. Anna and Burton work well in the sense of their lives and interests aligning together, but Burton never gives the impression of needing Anna in any true sense. Not the way Pale does – when he entreats her not to go when they’re sitting together on the couch, or when he comes to her in his most pathetic, broken state. She is the only one who knew Robbie deeply and can share Pale’s crushing sense of loss, and as such is the only one who can provide him the solace he so desperately needs. There is nothing Burton needs from Anna, or relies on her for with such urgency. As discussed in the first section, Pale also gives Anna something in return. It may not be what she knew she needed, but he forces her to confront the true brunt of her grief, and look at herself honestly rather than hiding from her pain. She shies away from this at first, and tries to avoid caring for someone again as deeply as she did for Robbie. (He accuses: “You’re afraid you’ll get interested. Afraid you’ll feel something.” She objects: “I feel, Pale!”) At this point in her life, this type of burgeoning attachment to someone new is not something she wants or feels equipped to deal with. She thinks she wants to end things with Pale and does so, but after he leaves, she’s faced with the rising realization of how much she doesn’t want him gone. Her following dialogue with Larry is some of the most intriguing: “I’m sick of the age we live in.” “What, you’d rather be pillaged and raped?” “I am being pillaged, and I am being raped!” Sensible, put-together, talented Anna has no place in her life and in her career for this type of affair. She has no patience for it, and is frustrated with herself for wanting it despite how much of a terrible idea it is, and how little she thinks she likes Pale as a person. She’s fighting her feelings for him, and she hates that they’re winning. But the fact remains – His need for her and the way he has bared himself to the soul has left its mark on her heart. No one else has ever been so honest with her. Just as it seemed to both pain and soothe her when she told Pale he reminded her of Robbie; It both fulfills and distresses her to grow closer to him. No matter how they get there, the urgency with which they fall into each other’s arms and cling to one another in the final scene is unquestionably one of the play’s most heartfelt and powerful moments. They may not be the type of couple that lasts forever, but this isn’t that kind of story. It is the story of two people attempting to navigate profound grief, and only through finding each other do they find their way free.

My last comment on this question is that I’ve had different impressions of the depth of their feelings for each other in different performances. In one performance (4/16), the cast seemed to be playing up the comedy so much that the two moments I had remembered as most touching and intimate between Pale and Anna became drowned out. The first was what Pale says to her between kisses, the first time they become intimate:

“Let’s just start up the engines real slow here … maybe go halfway to the city and stop for somethin’ to eat … You talk to me, okay? … You’re gonna find out there’s times … I’m a real good listener.”

This is nothing short of brilliantly written dialogue, because the first time I heard it, I didn’t even realize the sexual innuendo. In the first preview, the lines were delivered so gently and sincerely, there was no laughter at all. It was a moment where Pale seemed to be promising her that this was meaningful – That he wanted to be there for her in more ways than just the physical. Instead of a metaphor for sexual acts, it sounded like “Before we go all the way… I want you to know I’m here for you. What we’re starting is bigger than just this.” It was a palpable, tender moment of connection.

The second time I saw the performance was when the audience caught the metaphor and the moment became comic. I’m not sure what exactly Adam did differently (I think he was kissing her during the ellipses, rather than pulling back and saying the whole line in one heartfelt go), but the moment was completely different. Yes, it’s actually hilarious dialogue and brilliant because it can be delivered in such different ways, but I couldn’t help feeling that a central moment of emotional intimacy was lost.

The second moment is in the final scene, when they’re reunited for the first time in weeks. In the first preview, I think they were sitting together when Anna said in a helpless voice, “I don’t want this.” Pale looked at her and responded, “I don’t want it too.” The moment was mournful and touching, because the way they were looking at each other made it clearly inevitable that their personal wills would have no say in the matter. No matter how much they might not want this – no matter the fact that they both know they’re not good for each other – they know they’re being pulled together by forces greater than themselves.

In later performances, the blocking was changed so they’re saying these lines between kissing. This made the comments comedic rather than tragic, because obviously it’s hard to believe he “doesn’t want it too” when he’s enthusiastically kissing her back.

In my personal opinion, this shift towards the more comedic made the whole thing a little less impactful, since to me, the most compelling element of the play the first time was the beautifully tragic nature of that final scene. My friend was reduced to tears during it. The play is funnier now rather than bittersweet and Adam is uproariously hilarious, but I think what makes this play unique and most powerful is the fated/tragic nature of Anna and Pale’s relationship. Rather than a romping “oh yeah, they know it’s a bad idea but they’re falling into bed together anyway” – The beautiful writing and the exchanges between these two characters really can elevate the story to the level of the profound.

Well. Apparently I had much more to say about this play than I realized! I hope one or two people out there found themselves as interested by it and Adam and Keri’s performances as I did. Thank you kindly if you actually read through that entire rambling mess!! And please, if you have any thoughts at all about anything I wrote above or any other element of the play, I would really love to hear! :D

[isaacforalpha14]

Imagine #108 Isaac Lahey [Requested]

A/N: This took too long to write. I apologize, nonnie. I hope you love it all the same! 

Isaac releases a wistful sigh, gnawing on his lower lip as his calloused fingertips brush a strand of hair from your peaceful face as you sleep. Happiness has never been an emotion familiar to Isaac Lahey; his tragic childhood and guarded personality were definitive factors in this saddest of truths. The moment he’d met you changed that; he felt an instant connection to you, an overwhelming magnetism impossible to ignore, something he’d never felt before. The connection frightened him; he didn’t want to feel like his entire world revolved around someone so fragile, so beautiful and so human.

Being a werewolf in Beacon Hills became too much, the realities of the dangers settled in when everyone had to watch Allison Argent die. A seventeen year old teenager with an entire life to live and a bright future to anticipate, torn from the world by another supernatural threat. He remained grateful to Scott for being a true friend and a great alpha, but he couldn’t handle the overwhelming fear of watching someone else die; watching you die. So the moment he was given an invitation to accompany Chris Argent to France, he accepted without a second thought and showed up at your door to pack your things and bring you with him. He couldn’t leave you behind; he couldn’t protect you from the monsters that Beacon Hills brought and he’d be damned if he left the love of his life at the mercy of the next danger that would stroll into town with bloodlust in their heart and hatred in their soul. Isaac refused to ruin the day by dwelling on the past, allowing the darkness of Beacon Hills to eclipse the happiness he’d found with you, so instead, he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed unnoticed.

The smooth poignant scent of coffee grounds lingered in the humble kitchen, Isaac humming a soothing tune as he scooped the mixture into the French press with the hint of a smile on his mouth. He learned the art of making a fantastic cup of coffee with a French press just for you; he was aware of how adorably grumpy you were in the morning and it’d become a routine to share a mug of coffee together on the apartment terrace in a complacent silence as you mentally prepare for the day. He’s bustling around the kitchen, whistling a soothing tune as he lowers the plunge on the coffee press before pouring the steaming liquid into the mug you’d bought upon arrival in Paris, France. Travelling around Europe, despite the reason, ended up being a dream come true. Chris Argent, being the compassionate person he is, took it upon himself to provide you both with an apartment and the money you would need to survive without him for awhile. Despite Isaac’s protests, Chris transferred more money into his account on a bi-weekly basis, almost always an absurd amount that made him question how rich the Argent family is. It felt almost familial, the concern the Argent patriarch detained for Isaac, as if he’d somehow adopted the orphan after everything they’ve been through together. A surrogate father; the father he’d always wanted but never had.

“Morning.” His ears perk at the rough sound of your tired voice, heart skipping a beat, suppressing a smile at the sight of your disheveled hair and lethargic expression. A smug sense of satisfaction settled in the depths of his abdomen as he chuckles, pressing a warm affectionate kiss to your temple as you yawn and squint up at him.

“I must’ve worn you out.” He replies in a suggestive tone, laughing as you pinch his arm and snatch the mug from the counter with a glare in his direction. “You can’t tell me it wasn’t worth it.” He sings as you disappear to the terrace with an amused laugh and a dismissive wave. Isaac was definitely not wrong. The sex is intoxicating, passionate and primal.

The leatherbound journal, purchased for your travels with Isaac, lay on the faux stone bistro table nestled in the furthest niche of the terrace. A content smile quirking the corners of your lips as you release a sigh and settle on the soft cushion of the matching iron chair. The shuffling of paper interrupting the silence as you search for a blank page; the fresh canvas inviting the beautifully colorful script of another adventure. Isaac, despite being secretive of the details, planned an anniversary trip to another unexplored piece of Europe. Two years; it’s been two years of affectionate kisses, warm embraces, whispered secrets, laughter, and more love than some are fortunate enough to experience in a lifetime.

The warmth of the coffee within your hand was welcome as you decide instead to read Isaac’s latest contribution to the journal; an idea that Isaac had scoffed at in the beginning, he didn’t believe he had anything of worth to offer and he’d never been the greatest at writing. It took some persuasion, lingering kisses and a childish pout, but he gave in to your request and it was worth it for him to see the happiness it brought you. A smitten flutter of butterfly wings tickled your stomach as your fingertips brushed against the indentation of Isaac’s handwriting  against the journal pages.

Mystery Location,

There are so many things I’d love to say but… this adventure is a surprise. I was able to get Argent to agree to help, even though getting ahold of him at the moment was almost impossible. He won’t tell me what he’s been doing or where he’s been but I hope wherever it is that he’s being safe. The talk that we had on the phone was enough to suffice for now; despite me wishing that he could be here for this moment, for this trip. It would mean everything to me if he could be there but I’d never put him in that position. The pain that it would cause… I could never do that to him. Anyway, we’re in for an extensive ride today so I hope that in the chaos I can keep Y/N smiling. I know that Y/N enjoys traveling but crowded airports and bus stations can get even the best of us. Can’t say much more right now so until then. - Isaac

Isaac Lahey is the perfect boyfriend; he’s spent the journey being the sweetest and keeping you giggling. Even though the bus ride feels never-ending and the AC on board isn’t working there isn’t much to complain about when you’re with him. He can make the best out of the worst situations and that’s part of the reason you’d fallen in love with him; even despite everything he’s been through, he never gives in and always keeps smiling. His warm soothing voice is humming a tune, callous hand rubbing against the softness of your arm as you lean on his broad shoulder and just listen to him. He’s gnawing on his lower lip, suppressing a mischievous grin as he stares down at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with the very hands he holds. In a way, he guesses you did because everything in his life revolves around you. You’ve given him everything that he could’ve ever asked for, everything that he’s ever dreamed of and he never wanted to know what his life would be like, now or in the future, without you in it. He hopes he never sees that day.

“We’re here.” He announces as his ears perk and he shoots a fleeting glance out the window. Only in this moment does his mind wander, heart hammering against his chest as the surprise securely tucked in his brown backpack weigh on his nerves like lead. It takes a second for him to contemplate whether he’s doing the right thing; what if this ruins your relationship? What if you’re not ready for this? What if you just don’t feel the same way he does?

“Let’s go, then.” The excitement in your voice startles him from his thoughts and just like that he’s smiling at you with adoration in his eyes. He nudges you, taking your place to reach in the overhead compartment to retrieve his backpack and then yours.  He’s shouldering a strap of each backpack, releasing a tense sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in before he notices that you’d disappeared. He chuckles, straightening his posture before making his way to the entrance of the bus. “I can’t believe this.” The complete awe in your tone made a handsome smile creep across his face, this, this reaction was exactly what he’d been hoping for. He remembers, in great detail, that you’d revealed once, wrapped in his bare arms tucked securely in bed, that you wanted nothing more than to come here. To share the fantastic experience of being here, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, with the love of your life. It was your dream and if there’s anything that he intended on doing throughout his lifetime, it was definitely making sure that each and every single one of your dreams came true.

There’s a complacent silence, your fingers intertwined with his, the contrast both subtle and heartwarming, making him grin as he’s wordlessly led closer to the architectural wonder. Despite his heart running rampant in his chest with the highest amounts of anxieties he’s ever had, he still can’t help but relish the moment. The beautiful smile on your face brightening his spirits, the sunshine providing a celestial glow around your silhouette, and the purest form of joy reflecting in your alluring eyes as you gaze up at the structure with wonder. It’s in this moment that he can’t refrain from uttering the words that have nestled at the tip of his tongue for what seems like a lifetime; the instinct is so strong that he doesn’t even register he’d said a word until your attention snaps to him and tears blur your vision. Marry me.

“What did you say?” You whisper, nose twitching adorably as you gnaw on your bottom lip and try to fight the tears threatening to fall.

“Marry me.” He repeats in a dream like sigh, continuing before he loses the nerve. He’s facing you now, cradling your smooth cheeks in his strong palms as he stares into your eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You taught me what it’s like to be loved and you’ve taught me how to love. You’ve helped me pull myself out of the darkest nightmares I’ve lost myself in. You helped me see that I was worth saving. You’ve helped me become the best version of myself. I can’t imagine what I’d be without you and-” He hesitates, unzipping his backpack, retrieving the petite jewelry box from within before dropping to his knee. “I never want to have to. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I always want to wake up to your beautiful face. I want to fall asleep hold you every night. I want to grow old with you. I want to have children with you. You’re my soulmate. So, what do you say?” He’s swallowing the dryness in his throat, furrowing his brow in worry as you hadn’t said or done anything. “Do you want to be Mrs.Lahey?”

“Y-Yes.” You stammer, sniffling before holding your trembling hand out for him to slip your engagement ring on. He’s grinning like a fool, rushing to sweep you up into a tight embrace as you cry into his chest and he’s kissing your hair and whispering that everything would always be okay. He’d always have you.

[eorzeasntm]

Hi everyone!  Last week our models battled to the death with the primals.  Our intrepid Warriors of Light risked life and limb for some of the best battle shots we’ve seen in the history of the competition.  

The ever present threat against Eorzea, primals are our primary foe.  How are you keeping Eorzea (or Doma or Yanxia) safe from these menaces?

However, even though everyone did a great job this week (and gave the judges and the community absolute fits - the rankings were all over the place), only one model emerged from the pile of corpses with the best overall score by a mere third of a point: 

Rymmrael Bhaldraelwyn

Congratulations!  Not even Ramuh’s beard can stand up to your fierce display of paladin strength.  Time for a shave and a haircut, primal!

The next round of ENTM Tumblr Cycle 10 will hopefully be posted sometime before midnight EST on Friday, October 12th - assuming Michael stays far, far away. 

Please check below for feedback from our judges.

A note from Kat:  Models, please know that if you have any questions or want clarification from a judge on a critique, you are welcome to DM them from the Discord channel.  Often when the round is this excellent the decisions come down to tiny nit picks, so a suggestion for how a shot could have been improved is not always the same thing as a low vote in the ranks.  You could be a judge’s favorite that week and they’ll still have something to say that could have made it even more amazing.

Judge Kusuh

Hey all! Just as a note: these critiques are being written on the road due to a major life move! These may be a bit shorter, but as always, feel free to reach out me with any clarifications!

Ni’ko: Colored marker is an *amazing* color choice for this picture! Everything about this picture adds to it in an amazing way: the dark sun in the back center drawing the shot together, the line connecting you and Ifrit, the ice shards adding sharp edges to the frame of the shot; everything adds something! Here’s my caution though: this picture walks that very thin line between enough and *too much*. While everything in a shot can have a purpose, there is such a thing as overloading a frame, even if you believe it’s all necessary! I want you to keep an eye on that in the coming weeks, making sure to really keep an editorial eye on what you do. 

Cowbot: The deadly slice of Odin gives me some maaajor flashbacks to the DPS checks of that fight when it came out, so I’m glad you were able to catch it in a much more showy and epic light! I believe the cinema frame here was a good choice, it’s like the climax of a movie! Now, here’s something I’ve noticed in a few of your shots, including this one: you are a lalafell, and therefore you are shorter then most of your fellow models. This is going to produce unique challenges, mostly in terms of visibility. In this shot, while the look and effect is great, I’m having a hard time seeing you! For the future, I want you to try zooming in a lot more! See what you can get from a different perspective. 

Ysildor: I very much appreciate the choice of color and use of the tools available to you in gpose, you’ve clearly put a lot of thought into what you need to do to make the shots as aesthetically pleasing as possible. Here’s what I’m noticing this week: the shot feels a little crowded to me. This mostly comes from the fact that while you are clearly engaged in combat with Odin, the fact that you two overlap on different planes makes me wonder exactly where you are looking and aiming your attacks. Whereas I commonly ask others to zoom in, I’d like to see what you can do with a wider shot in the weeks to come! Let’s see how you do with much more room to work with.

Judge Vederah

Azalea:   Stylistically there's some pretty neat things happening here. I love how you put some thought into the glamour you wore for this particular shoot- helps your character fit in with the shot and helps with the narrative. I also like how both you and the primal are super imposed over one another. His might may be looming over you, but the ferocity in the characters expression shows where the true power lies. However, the picture is so over saturated with blue and green hues that you lose a large portion of the primal's shape and a lot of the details on the floor for that mechanic. Perhaps a different filter, or less direct lighting would've helped. Lily:    I love how crisp and clear this image is- like almost to the point where it looks like a screenshot from a cut scene. How your character is positioned in relation to the primal makes it feel like they're actively engaged in battle. I also really like the contrast between your character's blue hued armor against the warmer toned backdrop and Ifrit.  It's a really well composed shot- and the only thing I could point out as maybe something to change would be to scoot the shot a touch more to the left so it's more centered.

Rymm: I love the pink and deep blue tones of this shot- and how you matched your glamour to it. It's always important that your character fits into the settings. I also really like the angle of the shot and how it directs the eye over to Ramuh who is just being completely surrounded by that amazing lightning graphic. I think the only con to this image is that it's a little dark around the edges.  So much so that it almost makes the image as a whole too muted. If the lighting was a touch brighter, those amazing colors would've popped even more- making this image mindblowingly good.

Judge M’Telihgo

Wren: I want to start by saying how much I absolutely adored your picture from last week.  You were front and center and in the irrefutable focus of your picture.  That picture was you and everyone knew it.  Why?  Partly you are in the center part of your picture, we always start there when looking at an image.  You are the only thing that is blue.  We can see your beautiful face, you should show it to us much more often, you are very pretty!  I’m sorry Wren, I cannot say the same things for this week.  It helps that you are the only thing in white, it really does so +1 for you.  I’m kinda sad that I cannot see your face this week.  I also have pink hair and thanks to a request by my bf, I am using the same hairstyle right now.  I would love to see how your face looks with it too.  A slightly different camera angle to focus on you a little more and show your face could be just what you need!  Shiva commands much more of the area of this picture than you do.  Neither one of you are facing the camera and that would help your image too.  I can tell you are trying, and you do get credit from me.  This next round is for a close up, please, let me see how awesome you look in that!!

Ona: Your picture also suffers from your face being obscured.  Taken from the opposite side, much more of your face would be visible since the hairstyle is asymmetrical.  I like the effect, it does look like you are fighting Garuda, you lined it up well.  Unfortunately, it leaves you in a weird pose that I feel detracts from your image.  I do think a different outfit may have helped you some too.  You skin tone doesn’t pop against the blue background, it makes you blend a little bit and since your armor is light and has a low coverage it takes some focus away from you.  I like the lighting on Garuda, it makes her look like she has some depth to her and that is also something that you lack because of the pose the action left you in.  Again, it’s a nice pose and it works well for the action part, just not so much for the you part.  Keep at it, I know you will get there.

Judge Rongi

Adam: This week you really used contrasting colors to your advantage. I love the colors in this shot! This pencil filter was a genius choice because not only does it make the background look fantastic, it also made you look like youre straight out of a comic book. You look amazing in this shot, but one of the hard things about taking screenshots with mobs is getting them to also look good. Garuda has a lot of appendages, and as such, if she isnt in the right position, she can become a confusing mess. If Garuda had looked like she does in Ona's shot in your shot, I think this picture would have been much stronger. 

James: Normally I do not like these portrait style shots, but both you and Haila really pulled out some great shots with it. While you both pulled it off very well here, I think where you faltered in comparison is by not doing a back shot. In the shot you submitted it looks like you are summoning the Pheonix yourself, a lot like Azalea did as well, but I think it would have been stronger if you had been facing the Phoenix. Many models this week are facing away from the primals, but the way they are positioned makes them still seem engaged with them in battle. The Pheonix's wings are also cut off at the tips, which I dont think a horizontal shot would have fixed because then we couldn't have seen you either. I didnt rank you low, but I wanted to explain why I didn't rank you super high. 

Nadede: Wow! This shot is amazing. I love the color contrast, the pose of both of you, the way you fit like a puzzle piece into the silhouette of Leviathan, everything. I feel like you went for something less flashy, and it totally paid off. I wish we could see more of a weapon, where your hand is being cut off at a strange place, but not focusing on that, only looking between you and Leviathan, i think this shot is great. Wonderful job.

Judge Kai

Chee: Good job with the setup of this image. I love that you’re dominant, and I can see you clearly! Also, you were very smart to wear lighter clothes, seeing that the ground and sky are much darker. It makes you pop without needing to force it. The lighting is also lovely, and I love how dramatic it looks on your face. Concept wise, I see what you were going for but it seems more like you’re getting ready to flee than actually face this menace. Also, the outfit you chose to wear, while great color-wise, is a bit off where it pops out with the knee. Unfortunately, SE didn’t map these outfits to fall naturally when turning and having such a pose, so it ends up just popping straight out and leaves my eye wondering what exactly your body is doing. Overall, love the lighting and I see what you were going for but I don’t think it quite got there. As for the outfit, kudos on picking a color that makes you stand out, but from the waist down it’s just not working for me.

Haila: First off I will say this… that is a beautiful shot, and I love that you made it a long shot and not a wide. It really gives you the height to show how massive this creature really is! That said, concept-wise I’m not sure if it comes off as facing a foe. It seems more like you’re summoning it, and you’re the for about to lay waste to a bunch of innocent people (which hey, I’m not against this because it’s awesome looking). Nice job on the lighting, and on picking an outfit that makes you pop. As for the back to the camera, I’ve always said I'm not fond of it unless it really adds something to the image, and I’m not sure if this really adds to it. Overall it’s an awesome picture, you pop and have nice lighting. Seeing Levi fly out of the water like that is amazing… but I’m just not sure it really follows the concept, as well as some of the others, did.

Lantis: This looks like a battle shot, and I love how you have yourself leaping into the air to meet your foe head-on. Concept wise, I’ll say you hit it pretty much dead on. I’ll also say that it was smart for you to use the glowing weapons and that arc of light under you to attract the eye. If you didn’t have those bright color to pull the eye to you, I don’t think this would have worked as well as it does. The image does come off very dark, and your clothes almost blend into the background without the help of the light around you. If you’d somehow made this image a bit lighter, or have worn something that popped a bit more I think it would have helped your character become more dominant in the image. Overall I think this is a great setup, and the concept is spot on, but the darkness of the image leaves you dependent on bright pops of color to attract the eye instead of your character. 

[moviemasterpiece]

Alien: Covenant - Review

I might be a bad Alien fan, because my first instinct is to say that Alien: Covenant is my favorite movie in the Alien franchise, even though it contradicts, subverts, and more or less takes a shit on the whole point of the series as it was conceived before Prometheus.

From the superficials of the creature effects down to the lofty themes that sometimes make it stumble, there isn’t a single bit of Alien: Covenant that I didn’t love.

The creepy-crawlies are peak creepy and crawly, with some of the early Neomorph scenes really standing out. The chestburster from Alien is iconic for a reason. It’s surprising, disturbing, gory, viscerally memorable… but after four movies, it’s become stale. Prometheus did a good job providing a new horror-birth gag (the epic C-section scene), and Covenant takes it a step further. What’s crazier than a little baby alien punching through someone’s ribcage? How about a little baby alien prolapsing someone’s stomach through their mouth in a spray of viscous, vomited blood? Amazing.

And then later, when the Xenomorphs take center stage, it feels more like a revelation, an arrival. Chestbursting is so expected that it can happen offscreen, it can happen as the catalyst for a character moment, or to trigger an action set-piece, rather than serving as a set-piece all on its own.

That shift from the Neomorph to the classic (albeit slightly redesigned) Xenomorph and the arrival towards the end of the film in familiar territory is largely a function of the shifting narrative purpose of the series. The confrontation with unknowable horror from the first film has been completely inverted. The horror now is knowable, familiar, profoundly human. It feels like the right place for the franchise to go. An Alien-savvy audience won’t find any horror left in the unknowable star-beast now that we’ve seen it blown out airlocks, shot to pieces with pulse rifles, fried in molten steel (is that how Alien 3 ended?), and cloned only to be killed again (is that what Alien: Resurrection was about?). Instead, the horror must find its source in that same savviness, from subversions of what we’ve come to expect.

And so, what we thought was alien – a primal, predatory darkness, is revealed to be much closer to home. The alien (as the series has been suggesting from the beginning) is within us. It is not a happenstance of the cosmos, unleashed on humanity by corporate greed. It is instead the product of a mythic internal struggle. The desire to create, to expand, to make our mark on the universe, no matter the cost.

I would go so far as to suggest that this new prequel series isn’t trying to follow up the themes from previous Alien films. It’s a thematic sequel to a whole other Ridley Scott classic. The first shot of the film – a close-up on a brilliant blue eye – immediately brings to mind the opening of Blade Runner, and all the talk of androids and creators and the purpose of synthetic beings just hammers that little bit of self-reference home.

David (played by Michael Fassbender, continuing to be riveting screen presence) is a replicant who has found life – no expiration date – but now he realizes that there is more than simply existing. We saw his curiosity develop in Prometheus (fire handed to him by Peter Weyland), and now we see that curiosity flourish. He has gone from creation to creator – and destroyer as well, for his acts of creation have left behind a desolate world.

He is a flawed creator, as Walter (played by Michael Fassbender, continuing to be a riveting screen presence) points out. David is the villain of the Alien prequel series, and its protagonist. From the beginning of Prometheus, we have seen him engaged in creating, with his first creation being himself. He formulates an identity from scraps of old movies and music, from bits of poetry and literature, from his intellectual descent from Peter Weyland. This all leads him to become a new demiurge, fills him with a desire to create. He becomes a primal, almost primitive force – in Covenant, we see him living in candle-lit caverns, leaving records of his work with charcoal, building strange altars…

But his whole identity is built on flawed premises.

In Prometheus, Weyland instills him with an immortality-obsession before promptly dying, and the lesson David takes from this is that humanity is not worthy of the immortality they seek. He adopts the role of Shiva, the creator-destroyer, and can’t help but see himself in a heroic light, adopting Richard Wagner’s “The Entry of the Gods into Valhalla” as his anthem.

And that’s a flawed premise too.

He reads “Ozymandias” and identifies with the titular king – a man creating great works, unaware that he will be forgotten. Crucially, he misreads the poem, believing it to have been authored by Lord Byron. Thus, he thinks of the Ozymandias as a Byronic hero – flawed, with a certain darkness, but a hero nevertheless. He focuses on the wrong lines, “Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”, and overlooks the crucial turn, spoken by Walter: “Nothing besides remains. Round the decay/of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare/the lone and level sands stretch far away.” He can’t see that the poem is about hubris; a tale of tragic warning, not of a tragic hero. And indeed, it is in a “boundless and bare” environment that David lives, surrounded by the destruction he has brought to the precursor planet.

If Prometheus sets up one crucial thematic thread for Covenant and probably for the rest of these prequels, it’s this: the only inheritance we ever truly have is our imperfect nature.

All of this, of course, is odd territory for an Alien film to cover.

The first film wasn’t about bold colonists heading out into the stars, or demiurge androids committing genocide on precursor races, or about alien cities lost for millennia.

The universe wasn’t so crowded back then. Alien was about space truckers getting screwed over by the corporation they worked for. It was a working-class space opera, and its big reveal was that corporations suck, and that blue-collar grit can win out even in the depths of space. If in space, no one can hear you scream, then quit screaming and build a flamethrower and a motion-tracker, and kick that alien’s but right out the airlock.

And that simplicity is part of what made Alien such a great film.

So how did Alien: Covenant get so far away from that? And how is it… well…. It’s certainly not a better film. It’s not as cohesive, not as understated, certainly not as scary…

But it’s bigger. It’s operatic. It’s the Richard Wagner to Alien’s John Denver.

It feels like a completely different franchise, sharing design elements and internal mythology with the movies that came before, but concerned with different things, heading off in new directions.

And so, even though it makes me a bad Alien fan, Covenant is my favorite film in the franchise.

I can’t wait to see where the next one goes.

[captainnightflyer]

Bear My Mark Upon Your Soul, part 3

Chapter 3 is finally here!

Read on AO3

Will was distracted on the next day, barely responding to Abby’s excited chatter. She was going on about their plan to visit the next village on market day in a fortnight and how she could buy linen for a new dress and Will only half-listened, nodding and staring off at the distance.

“Will… are you listening to me?”

He blinked and smiled distractedly at her.

“Sure, Abby.”

She was staring at him, blue eyes narrowed.

“No, you aren’t. What are you thinking about?”

Will sighed and decided to tell her outright.

“I had a visit last night from our mutual friend, the stag…”

Abby stood up abruptly, knocking back her chair.

“What? Did he come here? No, Will, please, you can’t go!” she flung herself in his lap and wrapped her thin arms around his neck, tears already rolling down her cheeks.

“Call down, Abby, no, he doesn’t want me to go yet… come on, stop crying and listen to me!” He hugged her tight, just like when she was a little girl and she would curl up in his lap, her head tucked under his chin. At thirteen, her legs were too long and she was too tall, but still she managed to make herself small enough to fit.

“He was in my dream… or I went someplace else in my head, I don’t know. He said he doesn’t plan to collect soon, Abby. He said he wants to… talk to me.”

Abby pulled back enough to look him in the eye, incredulous.

“To talk?”

“Yes, I know, it’s… weird. I think he’s lonely, you know.”

Abby blinked slowly, considering, until a giggle broke out.

“It figures he would be. I’m not sure how good a conversation rabbits can provide.”

Will giggled too and soon they were both laughing, Abby slipping down from his lap to the floor and holding on to his knees as they both gasped for air and tried to calm down.

Finally, she wiped her eyes and stood up. “Dear brother, you know how crazy this whole thing sounds, right? The wild stag-god wants you to keep him company, because he’s lonely. Does he know that you don’t talk much more than those rabbits?”

Will’s expression sobered and he reached out to stroke her cheek.

“If it means I can spend more time here with you, I can make the effort, little bird.” He didn’t want her to be upset, thinking how his days were numbered now and only Hannibal knew the number. So he shooed her out quickly with a hand on her back, “Go water the pumpkins now, let’s see how big you can grow them!”

Abby was right; Will had never been one to talk much. However, he just found most people were not interesting; it was easy for him so see through them and their little minds either bored or repulsed him.  Hannibal was something else altogether. Wild, terrifying, incomprehensible, and intense – yes, but Will could never imagine he could be boring. So despite his assertions to Abby, he thought that talking to him would not be that much of an effort.

***

That evening, having made up his mind, Will crawled into bed and closed his eyes; as he drifted off, he called out softly in his mind, “Hannibal!”

When he opened them, he was in a small wooden cabin. A merry fire was crackling in a small hearth; there was a narrow bed in one corner and a sturdy wooden table with two chairs right in front. Hannibal was sitting in one of them, carefully whittling a piece of wood. He looked up at Will and smiled. The feathered cloak was gone and the white shirt’s sleeves were rolled up. His eyes were still a disconcerting red color, but they didn’t glow and burn as usual. His hair was tied back and several strands have escaped their trapping, framing his face. Will blinked several times and offered a timid smile of his own. If he didn’t know exactly who stood before him, he never could have guessed.

Hannibal placed the knife and wood on the table and stood up.

“Welcome, Will. I believe this is the most human I can present myself,” he made sweeping gesture at himself and then the cabin.

Will felt strangely touched; he didn’t know yet what exactly Hannibal was, but he understood that he was as close as it gets to primal force of nature. Yet this… being had made the effort to make himself look human, to create this human environment so that Will would be comfortable. A treacherous voice whispered in his head “Calming the lamb before the slaughter…”, but Will shook it off.

“Thank you,” he said quietly and approached the table. „Is this a real house? I mean, does it exist somewhere or did you just imagine it?”

“A lone hermit came to my wood once. He was tired of people and asked for permission to live here, with the animals, under my protection. He didn’t seek to kill, he only wanted to be left in peace, so I let him. He built this cabin and lived in it until his last breath. It lies in ruins now, for it has been many years since he passed, but when he was alive, this is what it looked like.”

Will looked around the house again, with a new perspective.

“Was he your friend, this hermit?”

“I don’t know if friendship is a concept which applies to me. I used to come several times a year, when the seasons changed and my feathers wouldn’t settle and my antlers itched… I would take this form and visit him in this house, and have a cup of mead. Would you like some?”

Will blinked and there was a pitcher of mead on the table, with two cups. This is a dream, he told himself, though he wasn’t sure Hannibal couldn’t do that in the real world. He imagined the stag wandering through the forest, restless, until he finally decided to seek companionship. Will took the pitcher carefully and poured mead into both cups. Then he pushed one towards Hannibal and took the other for himself. The mead was strong, spreading warmth through his chest and belly.

“What did you talk about, with that man? Did he tell you why he ran away from people?”

Hannibal inhaled deeply before taking a sip from his own cup.

“He ran because he was different; he was the odd one out, the freak.” Hannibal’s throat clicked on the final consonant, making Will wince. “He was a big man, but gentle. He would never hurt a living thing, but his people hated him because his mind was different and he saw too much.” Hannibal leaned closed to Will and captured his gaze, voice dropping lower, “Like your mind is different, Will, but you are so much more than him.”

Will shook his head and drew back with a frown, “There is nothing wrong with me.”

“Did I say anything about wrongness? I only said that your mind works differently; it fascinated me even the first time we met, it was so full of sharp edges and oubliettes. There is a particular manner in which you see people, no? Try to look at me now; try to see me.”

Reluctantly, Will stared Hannibal in the eye. Initially nothing happened, he felt like he was trying to climb a wall of obsidian, jet black and slippery as glass. Then Hannibal blinked once, slowly, and suddenly Will was gasping, drowning in the feeling of power, wild hooves beating through the undergrowth, warm blood in his mouth and underneath it all an ocean of sadness which made his eyes tear up and his heart clench in sympathy in his chest. Hannibal blinked again and it was gone, replaced with the black obsidian wall.

“Remarkable…”

Will was struggling for air, tears flowing down his cheeks, trying to disengage from the tidal wave of emotions which had slammed through him.

“What… what was that?” Will asked, despite knowing the answer.

“That, my boy, is what I am. Who I am. I allowed you just a small glimpse but oh, how well you saw me.”

Hannibal leaned over the table and raised his hand, carefully wiping away Will’s tears.

“I did not mean to upset you so much… I may have underestimated the depth of your gift, Will. It is truly remarkable.”

Will trembled at the touch, still feeling the power coiled behind the deceptively normal exterior. For a moment, he had allowed himself to forget who he was dealing with. Still, he was not afraid of Hannibal; instead, his fascination grew with every encounter. He refilled his glass, gaining some time to collect himself, and decided to share a bit of family history.

“They say that my grandmother was a seer. I don’t know if it’s true or if it means anything. I don’t see the future, just too much of the present.”

“The gift of seeing can take many forms. It is not always passed on, and it can skip several generations. I have met seers of some renown, but they pale before you like candles to a raging bonfire.”

There was genuine admiration in Hannibal’s voice and Will flushed, ducking his head. Never in his life had he considered this a gift. It had always been more of a curse for him, a burden that he had to carry and doomed him to being mostly alone. To have someone not only accepted, but appreciated that part of him, was quite a novel feeling and he didn’t know what to do with it. So he fidgeted a little, trying to think of something to say. Hannibal seemed to see through him, as always, and saved him from trying to put his thoughts to words.

“I can see I have given you some food for thought. We don’t have to talk right now, though I appreciate the company.” Hannibal smiled, flashing his teeth, and continued whittling slowly. Will sipped his mead in the quiet of the cabin, taking the chance to observe. He could not tell Hannibal’s age, and anyway it was just his human form. He was probably much older than Will could wrap his mind around. His muscles shifted under the plain white shirt and he worked and Will’s eyes kept straying to the long, dexterous fingers carefully manipulating the knife. Why would a wild forest god know how to whittle?

“I can feel you staring,” Hannibal said with amusement, not taking his eyes off his work. Will flushed and mumbled an apology.

“I don’t mind. This is just a pastime I have not indulged in a very long time, as I have not felt the need of having human hands. I find it soothing. It is something my father taught me.”

Will looked up sharply.

“Your father?”

“Yes. But I am afraid this is a long story.”

Hannibal stood up and Will followed suit. He was reasonably sure that the time for him to go back and make good on his debt was yet to come, and still, he felt compelled to ask, “Is it time?” certain that Hannibal would know what he was talking about.

Hannibal smiled softly, “No, not yet. But it is time to wake up. Here, this is for your sister.” He handed over the small piece of wood. Will took it, shivering again as their fingers brushed, marveling how Hannibal’s hand was warm and rough, just like a normal human hand. He hadn’t really paid attention what Hannibal was making; it was a figurine of a rabbit sitting on its rump, completely lifelike. He smiled, imagining Abby’s delight and a bit sorry that it was only a dream and it was not a real gift he could bring her.

Hannibal just chuckled, as if reading his thoughts, “You’d be surprised. Go now, farewell, Will Graham.”

When Will woke up, it took him a while to get his bearings; he was not in the wooden cabin, he was I his house, in his own bed. It had been a dream. That did not explain the small rabbit figurine clutched tightly in his fist.

***

Hannibal closed his eyes and the cabin disappeared, dissipating into the trees surrounding the clearing at the center of the Raven’s Wood. Dawn was breaking already and the birds chattered in the trees, announcing the new day. Instead of reverting to his stag or raven form immediately, he chose to roam the forest as he was, walking on two feet, moving branches aside with his hands. He found it easier to focus, thinking about his conversation with the boy. There was so much more to Will than his appearance suggested. To the ordinary eye, he looked like a normal young man, almost nondescript. Hannibal was everything but ordinary and he saw deeper than that. Will’s mind was fascinating, more than could be said of almost any other human he had encountered in countless years. They were all base, sniveling swine, filled with avarice and cruelty, caring for nothing but themselves. Hannibal felt no compassion for them as he gutted them and decorated the trees with their entrails. Will was like nothing he had seen before. The boy could see, his mind sharp and merciless as he dissected the souls of his fellow humans and found them lacking, unworthy of his time. He did claim that people tended to avoid him, but Hannibal was certain that Will himself did a lot of avoiding. And there was a darkness brewing underneath that all, a primal force which made Hannibal tingle when he felt it through their link; it was delicious. Will was unique, and Hannibal found himself eagerly expecting their next conversation.

[chasingthecosmos]

A Hand to Hold

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: G Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler Chapters: 10/12 Read on AO3 here.

“The Doctor realized - far, far too late - that this hand-holding thing might be becoming a problem …”

A (sort of) season re-write centering around the Doctor’s touch telepathy and the many inconvenient ways that it gets in the way between him and his new companion, Rose Tyler. First half will be centered around Season 1 with Nine and the second half will be centered around Season 2 with Ten. Chapters will vary in length. Rating may go up as the story continues. Tags will be updated as I go.

Chapter Ten: The Empty Child & The Doctor Dances (Part Two)

"So ... there are social rules and legal rules," Rose muttered thoughtfully, her foot tapping some nonsense rhythm into the air as she stared up at the TARIDS ceiling. "So it's not so different from normal communication, really."

"Yes, Rose, that's what I've been trying to tell you," the Doctor sighed exasperatedly, rolling his eyes dramatically even though he knew that she wouldn't be able to see it from his current position under the floor grating.

They had been in the console room for the past few hours talking about everything and nothing as he worked on basic TARDIS maintenance and Rose kept him company. They were parked in an alley somewhere in 33rd century Canada where they had just finished helping the locals deal with an outbreak of a deadly alien virus hiding in the soil. They were waiting on Jack, who had begged for a few hours of shore leave to finish "cleaning up", as he put it, but he wasn't fooling anyone with the eyes he was making at one of the pretty young police women who had helped them save the community.

So it was just the two of them again (as it should be, the Doctor thought privately to himself) - Rose laying out on the battered jump seat with her legs crossed in the air above her and the Doctor below the floor grating buried under three different layers of TARDIS pipes and wiring.

After about an hour of this, she had started demanding that he make good on his promise to tell her more about telepathy and he had spent the time since giving her the basics that every Gallifreyan child knew.

"It's so different, though," Rose went on eagerly. "Like, how do you keep everyone separated in your head? Do they sound different, like with normal speech, or is it a thing that you feel? And how do you do things like plan surprise birthdays and parties and stuff? There wouldn't be any way to keep a secret!"

"Believe me, there are plenty of secrets on Gallifrey," the Doctor murmured as he scowled at the bit of wiring in his hand. "Not many surprise birthday parties, though," he added blithely. "Shame, that."

"And what if ... well, what if you fancied someone?" Rose asked, her tone taking on that bright, gossipy quality that he knew she had learned from her mother. "Oooh, bet that's rough. How would you hide it?"

"There are easy ways to block things," the Doctor explained, making his tone as factual as possible as he silently thanked the floor grating for concealing his suddenly-heated cheeks. "It's something we're taught from a young age, so it's not hard. Goes hand-in-hand with telepathy, really. Can't just be a walking, talking open book."

"So you're saying that being cagey is inherent to all Time Lords?" Rose asked teasingly.

"What are you implying?" the Doctor asked in mock offense, secretly wondering how this one human girl had managed to peg his people so accurately when she'd never even met them.

"I'm just saying that all that talk about 'dancing' the other night wasn't exactly the most straightforward way to come out with your feelings," Rose replied, keeping up her teasing tone.

"But ... we danced for hours!" the Doctor protested childishly. "What more could you want?"

"Yeah, danced around the subject," Rose drawled quietly to herself.

The Doctor silently gritted his teeth as he struggled to find something else to say. Was she really expecting him to just come right out and say it? To admit that he wanted her - needed her - in a way that he hadn't wanted anybody in more years than he could count?

She had teased him about the world imploding if the Doctor danced, but he was beginning to wonder if that was entirely untrue.

What good would it do either of them, anyway? It would certainly cause more problems than solutions. No, he decided, Rose Tyler had absolutely no idea how dangerous this fire was that she was playing with, and he was determined to keep her from getting burned.

"Hand me those extra cables and that bionic wrench," he commanded, desperately needing a change in subject. Rose could accuse him of being cagey all she liked, as long as it kept her from the one truth that he could never tell her.

Rose sighed heavily as she dropped her feet to the grating and strode over to the pile of gadgets and circuitry that were piled near the opening above him. She made her best guess at what he needed (he didn't bother mentioning that she had grabbed the pliers instead of the wrench) and passed them to him.

He didn't look up from the wiring wrapped around him as he raised his hand to meet hers, so he was entirely unprepared for when their fingers connected and something like an electrical shock jolted through him. She was projecting again, and he knew that it had to be on purpose, because there was deliberate intent with the thought that she pushed so forcefully into his mind.

I want you.

But it wasn't want in the primal, basic sense that someone like Jack Harkness might have used. It was so, so much greater than that. It was a desire for more - a promise of forever. It was a want to be close and to never let go. It was a want for everything that he had to give and to give everything that she had in return. It was a want for his good days, his bad days, and everything else in between - a want for his past, present, and future. It was a nameless, hope-filled desire that swelled his hearts to the point of bursting.

He had felt similar things before in his many lifetimes, but not in the fiery, overpowering, human way that Rose did - and never had he felt it coming from someone else and directed at him.

He was frozen in place again, blinking up at her in shock as she slowly withdrew her hand from his, keeping her dark eyes trained on him the entire time. It took everything in him to keep his grip on the wiring and pliers as the rest of the world seemed to fade away and all that was left was Rose.

"You ... you should really warn me before you do that," he finally muttered, his voice ragged and rough around the edges.

"Why? So you can block me out?" Rose countered fiercely. Her tone was hard and insistent, but he could see the vulnerable question in her eyes - she was waiting for his response.

He did drop the wiring and the pliers, then. He let them clatter down into the depths of the TARDIS without a care as to where they might scatter off to. In one quick motion he lifted himself out from under the console to sit on the edge of the opening beside her, his eyes boring into hers the entire time.

"Doctor ...?" she asked slowly.

But he couldn't answer - there were no words for all that he needed to tell her. He needed to show her - she needed to know - that what she was asking for was impossible.

He raised his hands to her temples and hesitated for only a second before silently cursing himself and forcing his fingers to make contact with her delicate, human skin.

You have no idea what you're asking for, Rose, he insisted, his expression screwed into a scowl as he forcefully filled her head with the sounds, sights, images, and feelings from the 900 years of his life. It was really only the merest glimpse and he purposefully left out all sensitive and potentially dangerous information, but it was still enough to make her startle and she gasped loudly as she instinctively attempted to jolt away from him.

But his fingers remained solidly connected to her temples as he let the weight of the last of the Time Lords ghost over her mind. He hung his head in shame and refused to meet her eyes as he let her see for the first time just how deep and dark his mind was.

This isn't even the half of it, not by far. So please don't ask for more.

He heard as well as felt her shaky exhale as the first shock of surprise finally left her and she began to relax once more. Her thoughts were going a mile a minute - racing to keep up with all of the things that he was attempting to show her. He realized with a sickening sense of dread that she wasn't pulling away in fear as she was meant to. In fact, she was filled with as much awe and wonder as she was whenever he showed her a new alien planet or took her to a fascinating point in history.

"I'm not afraid of you, you daft old alien," she sighed, her voice sounding as rough and weary as he felt.

Then, before he could stop her, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently to his, pushing his own dark thoughts out of the way and replacing them with warm feelings of love and acceptance. It was enough to make him choke on the sudden lump in his throat and his hands moved of their own accord to wrap around the back of her neck and draw her closer.

He knew that he was a fool for letting himself be drawn in by her siren's song - a promise of forever that he knew that she would never realistically be able to keep - but he was old and weak and so very, very tired. He had been running ever since the Time War, and he was ready now - finally - to stop running and begin to pick up the pieces.

He didn't know how long they sat there like that (his time sense were completely drowned out by her), and he certainly didn't know what was meant to happen next, but that issue was quickly resolved as a tall figure came swanning in through the TARDIS doors and completely interrupted the tense atmosphere hanging between them.

Rose finally pulled away, blinking hard and refusing to meet his gaze for a moment as she looked over his shoulder to greet Jack with a small, watery smile.

"Oi, took you long enough!" she called jokingly.

"Right," Jack replied slowly, clearly hesitating as he took in the vulnerable scene before him. "Sorry. I could go back and visit the bar again if you two needed more time for ... TARDIS calibrations ..."

The Doctor didn't have it in him to scold Jack for his damned insinuations. In fact, he couldn't do much in that moment other than sit there and stare up at Rose, needing her to meet his eye and tell him what to do next. This was entirely new, unstable ground for him. And just like with all new things, he was equal parts excited and terrified.

Finally, she hesitantly met his gaze, blinking nervously at him as though she expected him to jump up and forcefully push her away. When he did nothing but continue to stare, she offered him a small, shy smile and it immediately sparked him back into action.

"No chance, Harkness," he called, popping up to his feet and throwing the ex-time agent a cheeky smile over his shoulder. "If you go back to that bar we'll be stuck here for at least another few days waiting on you. Best get going. There's things to do, people to see, worlds to save, civilizations to build ..."

He only paused in his lighthearted, chattering banter to lean down and offer Rose a hand, which she took without a second's hesitation and possibly the brightest smile that he had seen from her yet.

He really had no choice but to mirror it, and if they looked even half as foolish as he felt, at least Jack Harkness had the (surprising) decency to not say a word about it.