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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

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At ease, soldier (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader)

What is this? This is 8/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. (More deets in pinned post). The prompt is “I’ve never seen you dressed-up like this and **** you’re hot.”

Summary: when Santi moves in with you following his divorce, he didn’t anticipate seeing you in THAT DRESS. It does things to him, and has him reevaluating everything he feels for you, and everything he thinks he knows about home.

Author’s note: this has divorced!dad!Santi, so it’s a bit different (marriage / child not with reader). This might not be my best thought-out one-shot ever, or my best portrayal of Santi, but it is what it is. I personally think the thing reader does is adorbs, fight me if you disagree :P I really hope you like it! <3 Thank you as always for reading, commenting, and sharing. It means the world.

Rating: M/E (18+ ONLY, Minors do not read or interact. Thank you.)

Word count: this is not as long as some of the others! Hurrah!

Warnings: masturbation (m); Santi has super sexual thoughts about reader and they’re not together- they are written but not said out loud. theme of divorce but not too angsty. few mentions of shared custody / parenting (not reader’s child). Food mentions. Swearing. Kissing. Lmk if I missed any.

GIF: @realoscarisaac

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl @anetteaneta @stardustkenobi @casifer-is-king @foxilayde @tlcwrites @aellynera @kindablackenedsuperhero

“Hey, look. Thank you for this,” Santi says, softly and sincerely as you cross him again in the hallway, halting you with a hand on your shoulder. The heat from his palm bleeds through the thin fabric of your t-shirt and you consider wresting yourself sharply away from the pleasant torment of him. At the same time, you consider leaning in to his warm chest and staying there, so help you, curled like a leaf against the sturdy trunk of him.

He’s moving in with you, following the long, drawn-out process of his divorce. It has been a long time coming, but his marital house -which he has lived in alone going on a year - has finally been sold-off and split with his ex. And so, here he is, treading lightly and making himself small in your home - as if this isn’t somewhere he’s been loud and brash and welcome ever since you bought the damn place.

You can tell he’s grateful. He’s expressed it enough times. It’s the apology in his eyes you can’t stand - as if he’s some kind of burden. He’s been through a lot, but you want him to walk tall, instead of stooping under the weight of his “bad decisions”. He blames himself for a lot of things that you don’t think he ought to, not least the collapse of his marriage. She had cheated; although, he insists there were problems long before that. Perhaps even right from the beginning. He’d always been a travelling soldier, and even after he was discharged he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“I promise. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I get back on my feet,” he adds, self-consciously smoothing a hand over his scruff.

You smile softly. His promises still mean something to you. Even if he hadn’t seen through the promise of his marriage, you know he had tried. You know his word is never given lightly.

It’s hard. To start again, all over again. You know. You, yourself, were rattling around in a house too big for one, bought for two, perhaps meant for more - but that hadn’t worked out either. You’d had to forego promises you made as well.

“There’s no rush. Honestly.”

There isn’t. Between the legal fees and alimony, and carving up his assets, Santi needs a little time to get his finances together before he can consider his own place. You’re happy for him to take all of the time he needs. Out of the options available to him, you had been both the preferred one, and the last to offer. The other boys don’t have space. He’d considered a houseshare, but he needed somewhere his little daughter, Ava, could still come to stay on weekends.

You have space. Ava adores you. You were spending a lot of time with Santi anyway. For all those reasons, it was a no-brainier. You’d only hesitated so long in offering due to your impossible, undying love for the man. Did you really want to do that to yourself? To torment yourself with him, in your home?

“It’s no problem at all, but I do need you to haul this stuff inside a little faster, okay? I still have a date tonight, slowpoke.”

“You got it, boss.”

You chuckle, punching him playfully in the tricep, and traipsing out to the lawn to pick-up another box.

Perhaps it was ludicrous to go on a date tonight, of all nights, but at least you admit to yourself that it is an exercise in majorly over-compensating. It is some conscious attempt to signify how Not Into Him you are, and you are hoping -if the guy is cute enough and the sex is earth-shattering enough- that perhaps you could even convince yourself.

Aside from your well-established feelings for him, this whole arrangement is pretty dangerous. Santi is too easy to be around, and if you let yourself sink into the cosy bubble of his company, you fear you will never think to look for anyone else again. Whilst that would be just fine with you - Santi, on the other hand? He’s never been interested in you like that. Probably hasn’t ever entertained the idea of it. Besides, the timing between you two - even if there was something there- has never been quite right. There was always some mission or woman or man or bad decision getting in the way.

You sigh, as you bend and pick-up a box, feeling like your date is already doomed as thoughts of Santi swirl relentlessly in your head.

You can hope, perhaps, that it won’t turn out to have been a terrible decision to invite him into your home. Perhaps living with him will even help you get over him, once and for all, in a way that nothing and no-one else has managed to. You could discover all of his annoying habits and start bickering over whose turn it is to take the bins out until you hate each other, perhaps? However, somehow you think this is unlikely - when you’d broken up with Malik, Santi’s presence in your house had gotten you through. His laugh and his warmth had curled into every corner of this structure and nestled there, driving out all of the cobwebs. Santi made this house a home again, before he ever lived in it. In a way, you dread to think what will happen now.

“Make yourself at home, okay?” you encourage - this time as you cross him on the landing. “Put your stuff wherever. Take up some space. Hang your guitar above the fireplace. Hell, get a new one. Hang that too.” That had been a point of contention with her. “Paint your bedroom black, like you always wanted when you were a kid, whatever you want.”

Santi smiles warmly at you as he gets the message you’re so desperately trying to hammer home. You don’t want him to shrink himself into a corner. You want him to be at ease here. You want him to feel welcome.

With words escaping him, Santi’s hands wind around the back of your head, and he casually leans over, planting a quick but heartfelt kiss of gratitude, right in the middle of your forehead. “I love you,” he says freely, and, as he trots abruptly down the stairs, you only wish he meant it in the same way your heart sings its reply.

You do want him to relax here. He’s carried so much for so long. He’s carried it halfway around the world and back again, and the man deserves the break.

****

“Can I ask your opinion?” you call through his new bedroom door, cracking it and poking your head in as he responds affirmatively.

“Sure, come in.”

Santi watches as your body follows the path of your head, the slow reveal of your striking dress oddly tantalising, and sending a subtle surge of heat through him which he wasn’t prepared for.

“How do I look?” you say apprehensively, holding out your palms before doing a little half-swivel, one hand poised on your hip.

Santi’s extremely conscious that his eyes widen, and he swears he must look like a cartoon, feeling like they’re popping out of his head in surprise when he clocks you.

You’re wearing a form-fitting, flattering dress. It’s long, and it hugs you perfectly where it touches, with subtle hints of leg and cleavage where the luxe material gives way to soft, inviting skin. Your hair and make-up are different than usual too, and you really look the whole package - so much so that Santi takes a minute to form a coherent thought, beyond the low whistle he expels when he sees you stood before him.

Shit - he knows it has been too long since he said anything, and yet all he can muster from his slack jaw is a feeble croak.

Wow. Holy shit.

Santi is a little thrown. Your body looks amazing. You look sultry and sexy, and like sex-on-legs, if he’s honest. He tries to think or speak, but he’s not sure if he’s ever seen you dressed-up quite like this, and you have him feeling more than a little stupefied.

He gulps.

It’s not as though you look transformed, or anything. You’re an attractive woman, always, and the dress simply highlights that. No change there. But the way he’s responding to you is something new, and not something he entirely understands. Perhaps he simply became so used to seeing you clad in fatigues and sweats and overalls, usually covered in mud and sweat and blood. Perhaps he’s spent so long schooling himself into believing you’re someone he couldn’t and shouldn’t hit on -his friend- that he simply buried it. Buried it under his missions and his marriage and his house and his divorce. But now that all of those things are gone, and all the silt stirred-up, perhaps there is space for it to resurface? Now that, for the first time in a long-time, he feels at ease, and, here you are, looking like that?

Oh boy. His eyes trail over you further as though he can’t get enough. His gaze snags on the places the dress clings to you, providing a subtle outline of your form. He lingers on the places where you’re practically busting out of it- he likes those places especially.

He likes it a little too much, he realises, as he experiences an involuntary rush of blood to his cock, and he subtly rearranges his hands in front of him to disguise the fact as he stands to attention for you.

Fuck, what would Frankie say? Santi thinks, as he reaches for literally any wholesome thought where none seem to exist - in his mind nor his vocabulary - while he’s looking at you.

“You look nice,” he manages to say, but that’s not how he’s phrasing it in his head. Not at all.

I wanna shove my tongue between your thighs, honey. I want you to slip those red lips down on my dick until you drain my balls dry.

“Nice?” you bristle. “Nice, Santiago? I don’t want to look nice.”

“How do you want to look?”

Naked, on my bed? Or, maybe that dress hitched all the way up. Those juicy hips of yours being marked by my hands as I bounce you on me until I fill you up.

You cross to the cheval mirror at the opposite side of the room, further examining yourself.

Holy shit, you look good from the back too.

Santi may be a lapsed Catholic, but he certainly feels like he needs to visit confession with the thoughts he’s having about you right now. He swears he must have started visibly sweating.

“I don’t know,” you say, softly twirling. “Bangable, I guess? Come on, you’re a straight, hot-blooded male. If a woman turned-up to a date wearing this, would this do it for you? It’s not too much?”

He gulps. “Yes. Yep. For sure. That’ll do it.”

When you flick your eyes back to him, with a soft, humble smile, laced delicately with an inner confidence, he finally has a wholesome thought again:

You’re beautiful.

“I think it’s a little too much... but I guess we’ll find out,” you sing-song, his eyes following your hips as you wiggle back to the door, before turning back to him over your shoulder. “Do you have everything you need before I go?”

He looks at your plush red lips. He licks his own.

I need you on your knees.

Oh well, he’d managed to be wholesome for all of two seconds. That was something.

“I’m good,” he pushes out. “When will you be back?”

“Don’t wait up,” you breeze. “He has a nice pad, so if it works out I think we’ll be heading to his place.”

His place?

Santi can’t help but wonder why he’s suddenly imagining what sounds you might make underneath another man. Hell, whether he could double the intensity of those pretty noises under him instead.

This is not ideal. This is not ideal at all, when he hasn’t even made it through day one.

He hasn’t felt this... aroused in a long-time. Not since long before things went south with her. He hasn’t been this hard for a woman in just as long. He’s been hard in the sense of a mechanical, routine need, sure, where he has the basic need to pleasure himself; but this is something else. This is potent. This is lust, raw and consuming. This is not a general need, but it is startling in its specificity.

As you leave, and he takes himself urgently out of his pants, he understands that this is all for you. Moreover, as he winds his hand around himself, and works his shaft to the thought of you, he has the best orgasm he’s had in a long time.

When he’s done, he has some severe post-nut clarity, feeling guilty that he has moved into your home and spilled himself on your sheets to the thought of you; on day one, no less. It’s not very respectful.

But at the same time, he’s caught in a spiral. It’s like you have flipped a switch in him.

And, as much as he feels a little guilty, and a little terrified by the sudden onslaught of his desire, he feels oddly at ease. He already feels at home.

****

Santi is curled-up on the couch when he hears your key rattle in the door, and you tread in looking just as breath-taking, but a little more sombre than earlier. Having already shed your coat and kicked-off your shoes at the door, you collapse into the arm chair opposite him, your dress ballooning momentarily with a waft of air.

“It didn’t work out,” you explain solemly, answering the question on the tip of his tongue. He flicks off the distracting TV he was half-watching to give you his full attention.

“How?” he asks, leaning unconsciously forward in his seat, his eyebrows raised and mouth curling in a soft sympathetic smile. “There’s no way he didn’t like the dress.”

“Oh, he loved the dress. But I didn’t love him. He was a bit of an ass, actually. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You okay? Did he hurt you? Say something to you?” Santi searches your face urgently, his eyes suddenly intense and muscles coiled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

You lean forward in your own seat and pat him on the thigh. Your perfume wafts over him. You smell delectable. “Stand down, Garcia. You’re fine. I don’t need anyone knee-capped. I’m just tired.” You stand, and his chin tips up to follow you. “Gonna wash-up and go to bed,” you add, tiredly. “Your night okay?”

“Yep. Fine,” he says briefly, more concerned with you. You look a little sad. A little wistful, he thinks. “Think I left my entire box of underwear in ‘Fish’s car. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.” He smiles up at you gently, with those deep, brown eyes of his, as that earns a light laugh from you. He saws his hand over his chin, gaze remaining soft as he watches you disappear and bid him goodnight. You swing around the doorframe as your hand clutches it, a trail of diaphonous fabric floating after you, as though you are a vision which could disappear in a cloud of smoke. It scares him that you would, he realises. He’s usually the one who disappears. Who retreats.

He watches you slink away, his mind already busy, working on how he might pick you up from your slump, and he plods to the kitchen.

You are upstairs in your en suite when he calls in to you, and, once you admit him, he transfers a steaming mug of sleep tea to your night-stand as a little pick-me-up. A small token, but one that makes you gasp in a breath, looking at his thoughtful gesture in confusion and surprise. “Thank you. That’s sweet of you.”

“Don’t sound quite so surprised,” he says thickly as he approaches you where you hover next to the sink. “Just because she ditched me doesn’t mean I’m a total write-off. I do have some redeeming qualities.”

He wraps his hands around the back of your head and he pulls you to him, planting another kiss to your forehead; but this time, in the dusky bedroom light, it hits different. It is slower and softer, and he looks far more comely. It sends a hot flare of yearning through you, blazing into every nook of you.

“I know that,” you say steadily, your fingers and thumb reaching up to play idly with the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. Your fingers brush his arm before you check yourself, turning away from him and towards the sink so that he can’t see your desire catching like a flare - and instead you continue to cleanse the make-up from your face, grateful for the cover the activity provides. “In fact, maybe I should have gone to dinner with you,” you snicker, innocently, before you think of the full implication of your words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean like that...” you hastily backpedal. “Just because we live together I’m not planning on getting ideas.”

“It’s okay,” he says, voice low and steady and soothing enough to halt your ramble. “You can go getting ideas if you want to.”

You whip your head towards him, a gulp trailing down your throat, as you see the vaguest hint of a suggestive eyebrow, of a smug smile dancing at the corners of his lips. You will yourself to remain in place; to avoid the call to lean in to his inviting lips or chest - even if he’s not giving you any signal that he would move away if you did.

You are hot aren’t you? Santi thinks. More than that; you are beautiful too. Now that he’s allowing himself to notice it, he can’t stop noticing it.

Seeking air, and space, the world shrinking to a dot, you tear yourself away from the sink and stride out into the bedroom, posting yourself at the door and signifying it is time for him to head out too. He takes the hint, and he comes to stand opposite you in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweat pants.

“How are you doing?” you ask breathily, not knowing what has come over you but trying to push this heady, unravelling feeling away. To bundle it up and bind it back down. “First night in a new place?” You consider it, chiding yourself. “I should have been here. This whole date thing was stupid.”

It’s not a new place at all though, Santi thinks. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever been somewhere more familiar. Anywhere more like home. Not even with her - Ava notwithstanding, of course; that little girl is his pride and joy.

When Santi doesn’t answer, his eyes softly glowing at you instead, you reach to fill the silence, lest you fall all the way into the pit of yearning. “Maybe us living together is a bad idea. This is day one and you’re already counselling me through a bad date.”

“What else are friends for?” he smiles meaningfully. Gratefully, again. You can tell what he’s likely thinking. He’s thinking about all the times you have counselled him through years of bad decisions. You’ve always been there for him.

“Right.” Friends, you remind yourself, as the hall-light pools around him like spun gold.

He reaches his sock-clothed foot out to gently bump yours. “Well, don’t take tonight too hard, okay? You’re a catch.”

Feeling bashful, you fold you arms and smile, looking down at the floor and away from the vision that is him.

You kick your foot out to boop his in return, with your sizeable, fluffy slipper. “Well. You’re pretty bangable too, you know. Someone will snap you right up, as soon as you’re ready.”

Someone.

He turns his mouth downward, and tilts his head to the side. “Hmm,” he says as if considering your point. “Kinda looking for a little more than a bang though. I want someone who can be my best friend too. And... best friends? They’re kinda hard to come by.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. His tone is casual, but his eyes are earnest, and your desire unravels like spools of red ribbons from your core.

The way he’s looking at you, from beneath his lashes, a smirk developing at the corners of his lips has you almost collapsed to the floor with yearning, and you think, if he doesn’t step away from your door soon, you will find it hard to resist the temptation to drag him inside - if he’s willing. You will be tempted to let these ribbons wind around him and coax him to you.

However, Santi simply lets his comment hang in the space between you as you fumble for a response, before turning away and shuffling down the hall and towards his room.

“Goodnight, hermosa,” he calls, the pet name lighting you on fire. Beautiful.

“‘Night,” you call back to him, as casually as possible, before disappearing hurriedly inside your door and throwing yourself face down on to the bed with a silent scream.

Santi, for his part, reaches his respective room, and throws himself backwards on to the bed, having to fight the urge to run straight back to your room and kiss you senseless, if he’s honest. As he sighs out a huge breath and brings his hands up to his face, a light chuckle befalls him, and he has to consider what’s so funny. He lands on it quickly.

She - his ex- must hate this living arrangement, he realises. She’d always thought the two of you had something. She’d insisted. Had gotten mad jealous over it too. In all honesty, Santi had never seen it. Or, not at the time, at least.

Perhaps the timing had never been right.

...Not until now, perhaps?

****

The atmosphere is different in the morning. More settled, thanks goodness.

You’re up earlier than Santi, and you get to work in the smaller guest bedroom, which you had kept off-limits to him the day prior. When you’re ready, you call down to him - he’s in the kitchen getting a head start on breakfast- insisting that he comes upstairs.

He pads up to find you in the hall, stood with a huge smile plastered on your face.

“I have a surprise for you,” you announce to him, and, a curious, happy look blooms over his sharp features.

“Okay,” he says, oblivious, but his interest piqued as you swing the door open and hustle him inside ahead of you, clinging to his t-shirt.

“It’s not finished yet,” you explain from behind him as he moves his head to look around the room, freshly painted and carpeted, and entirely different to how it looked before. “Ava still likes purple, right?” you say to his back, delight infusing your voice as he takes it all in. “Oh, and the birds-“ you point “-the boys and I each painted one. Benny’s is super wonky. I know it’s cheesy as all hell, but we wanted to remind you that you -and Ava- you’ll always have us as family.”

Santi doesn’t say anything. He can’t. He’s speechless with gratitude. It is all he can do to look around the room and take in all of the details. The little bed and princess canopy, the shelves lined with a few books to start her off.

This is something he didn’t dream he would be able to give Ava again for a long time. At least, not without some coordinates and a shovel.

He rasps one hand over his stubble, and you come up beside him, seeing that his eyes are full with tears, and his face pinched, as he fights to supress his emotions. He doesn’t cry often, and there’s not a lot that can reduce him to tears, so you can tell from his reaction how much this all means to him.

Your voice and your manner softening, you slot both of your hands around one of his and give him a squeeze there, before rubbing soothing circles into his back.

When you speak again, your voice is full, cracking with emotion. “I know this can’t be easy, Santi. And you need to know that you are home for Ava, wherever you are, whatever happens. But I thought this would help a little too?” He sneakily thumbs away a tear from the corner of his eye as your words overwhelm him. “I hope I didn’t take too much of a liberty,” you continue, looking around the room, and wandering deeper into it. “Thought I’d get it half-done and then you could choose the rest with Ava tomorrow?”

You turn back to him, smiling over your shoulder before turning all the way, your expression bright and hopeful and everything he hasn’t been able to muster for himself.

Still choked-up, Santi takes a few steps forward to meet you in the centre of the room, his long lashes beaded with diamond-like tears. He takes your hands in his, one to each side, and he presses his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he rasps, his voice full of holes, and your own eyes overflow too as his hands squeeze yours, happy that he’s happy, and sad that he’s in pain too.

After a few moments like this, the yearning creeps in, and, lest it invade everything, you extricate yourself from him gently, padding towards the door and offering, in a soft voice, to give him a minute alone.

“Wait,” he says, his voice catching you as you reach the hallway, evidently yielding a great deal of power for such a breathy thing, and it halts you in your tracks. “Can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, your heart and your voice fluttering in tandem, as Santi moves towards you in the hall with purpose.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes search yours, brimming with emotion and softness and yearning too, his thumb and forefinger coming-up to clasp your chin tenderly in his grip.

“Is this a good idea?” you babble, as his lips hover moments from yours, and you are drawn to him with an achingly slow gravity. “You’re emotional, and you’re rushing and maybe you’re projecting or... maybe a million other things and I... really like you,” you say, raising your hands in between you, your palms pressed to his chest as your voice catches on hooks in your throat - keeping him at a slight distance before you can succumb to him. Immediately, he stops his advances, one hand winding gently around your waist. “Santi, I mean, I really like you,” you elaborate, you voice brittle and coming undone.

As much as you want this -have wanted this-you couldn’t face being one of his whims or mistakes or bad decisions. You couldn’t face being something he ended up leaving behind. He means too much to you for that.

Sensing your pain now, Santi smiles softly at you, not angry or offended in the slighest, but nodding in understanding. Tenderly, he trails the pad of his thumb along your jawline, and across your lower lip. He still finds apprehension in your eyes, and so, instead of the kiss he craves, he holds your head gently with one of his hands, and he dips forward to plant a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, your eyes fluttering closed and a single tear spilling out of you as it lands.

Then, he pulls back, both of you wearing watery smiles, and feeling more than a little frayed around the edges.

“I get it,” he admits, nodding slowly. “On paper, this seems like another of my bad fucking ideas, doesn’t it? But...” he explains softly, eyes shining at you. “I feel as though I finally have things figured out. I feel like I know where I’m supposed to be.”

You nibble on your lower lip, a tentative, shy smile brewing. “Guess that was one powerful dress I wore last night, huh?”

“Hmm,” he considers, with a gentle chuckle. “It was, for sure, honey. Honestly though? This sports bra and overalls get-up is doing it for me too,” he admits, with a lopsided grin, nodding down at your DIY outfit.

You examine his eyes in disbelief. You can’t believe that he’s looking at you like that. Like you’ve always wanted; and yet... you essentially knocked him back, your nerves and anxieties getting the better of you, despite his lips being moments from yours.

“Look, I’m sorry,” you gulp, eyes heavy with apology.

“Don’t worry,” he says, tilting his head towards the end of the hallway. “Let’s go make some more coffee. Also, I think you deserve some pancakes, sweetie.” He offers his hand to you and with a gentle song in your heart you take it, Santi leading you back downstairs into the kitchen.

You giggle, suddenly giddy as you shake out your remaining nerves and shock and doubts. As you settle.

By the time you watch Santi open-up the cupboards and search inside, turning back to you to ask if you want chocolate chip pancakes, a tiny note of delight in his eyes, he finds you looking at him with a gentle heat, brewing and eddying and clasping him in its tendrils, dragging him under with you. It causes him to double-take as he looks between you and the food-stuffs, until you have his whole attention. Until the world around him shrinks to you.

“Santi,” you suspire, tugging on his t-shirt to spin him towards you, your voice shaking like a leaf. “You took me by surprise up there. Any chance we can... C-Can we... try that again?”

A gulp trails down his throat, mirroring the heat sinking and settling into your core, even with the mere anticipation of his lips brushing against yours; of feeling his warmth where you have long been cold. You watch his tongue darting out to whet his lips, and it is as though you are already parted for him with the motion, your own lips already spread to accomodate the way he will delve into you, opening you up for him.

Then, Santi surges forward, hands holding you securely yet softly at your back and gathering you to his mouth, as if he is parched of you, all the yearning collapsing in on itself in one final surge as he flows into your arms. Yet, for all the force of your yearning meeting in the middle, and for the harsh initial crush of your lips, when the wave crashes, it is delicate and soft, his hand cupping your face and his tongue a delicate interlocuter, uttering promises against yours. Promises you are sure he will keep.

As the kiss deepens, you truly feel him, hard and sturdy everywhere around you except for this molten, supple tongue which courses into your being like a trail of fire. His kiss is like starlight tossed into a dark pit. You are lit but your hunger will never be sated; and instead you will kiss him and devour him again and again, opening yourself up to him to feed the dark.

Suddenly, with this kiss, his warmth is on you and filling you and one with you, unravelling, and you wonder what you ever did without it. How you ever felt at ease with this yearning within you; although, you suppose you didn’t. You suppose you longed for this divine quickening and stilling, this slickness and friction. You longed to feel him, and most of all, you longed for him to yearn for you in return.

And, finally, as the kiss wanes and you hold each other tightly, Santi considers that although he planned to stay in your house for a mere few months, he has a feeling his stay by your side will be far longer. And, on your side, as you hold him against you and this house feels like a haven in ways it never has before, you are content in the knolwedge that your travelling soldier is finally at ease.

Finally at home.

A home for one, but meant for more, finally fulfilling its purpose.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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arizonaraine · 4 years ago

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X-Men Days of Future Past ala Sorting Hat Chats

This is my favorite X-Men movie! I’m focusing on the 70′s cast, but if you want me to sort the modern X-Men (Storm, Iceman, Kitty, etc.) let me know!

Erik: Double Lion. For a bit, I thought that he was a loyalist who only counted mutants as people. But it becomes apparent that he has no qualms about hurting the people closest to him for the sake of The Cause (TM). In First Class, he abandons Charles-- who has a BULLET IN HIS BACK. In Days of Future Past, his history with Raven doesn’t stop him from trying to kill her once he’s decided that it’s necessary for The Cause. For Erik, the ultimate good is the freedom/supremacy of mutants. He’s also a Lion secondary. His method of going things is to show up and use his powers to raise hell. He’s not a planner, he’s an improvisor. Not a Snake, though, he wants the world to recognize him (and all mutants) in their full glory.

Raven: Raven, unlike Erik, is a loyalist primary. One of her most telling moments in this film is when she tells Erik: “I’ve seen too many friends die... I don’t want a war. I only want the man who murdered them.” She clung to Erik and his cause for a while, but it becomes too much for her. I believe Raven is a Badger Primary, and I’ll cite another line from the movie for this. She tells Charles “I have compassion. Just not for Trask. He’s murdered too many of us.” That looks like some Badger-style dehumanization to me. There are also a few times in the movie where she has the opportunity to end lives, but she doesn’t. I think that’s a point for a Badger’s belief in the value of life. As for her secondary, Raven is a Lion. She had to build a Snake model to survive her early life, but I think that First Class breaks down that model for her. She bonds with Erik in First Class over that Lion Secondary. “Mutant and proud!” Once she’s embraced her power, she encourages Hank to be his true self too. She still uses the Snake model, literally changes faces, but she what she wants is to be accepted for who is really is.

Logan: Logan is another Lion secondary. He’s good at improvisation, and his gruff, upfront way of speaking and sarcastic sense of humor read as blunt Lion honesty to me. He method of doing things is to charge in and do what needs to be done-- seen when he says to rambling Charles: “I’m sorry, were you finished?” For his primary, I think Logan is a Badger. His community is the X-Men-- you see how he grows as a member of that community throughout the series. He also emphasizes that many humans tried to help save mutants from the Sentinels. This point reflects his belief in people.

Charles: Charles is the first person on this list who is not a Lion secondary. Charles is so bad at improvising. I mean... “We are... Special Operations... CB... FI...CD...” The dude struggles when things don’t go according to plan, that’s not his comfort zone. Charles’ skills are in community building. He built the school, created the X-Men, taught young mutants how to master their abilities, took in starving Raven as a child. He’s also a Badger primary, but at the beginning of Days of Future Past, he’s badly burned. He lost his community-- Erik, Raven, the X-Men, the students... and he’s lost hope as a result. If he were a Lion, he might cling to the cause-- teaching mutants to master their abilities-- even without the people. But Charles, without the community, suffers with their loss. He starts the process of unburning when Logan, a fellow Badger, and the future version of himself show him that he can have that community again. And then Charles settles down and does the work to bring back the school, gather the X-Men, and keep his promise to Logan. One of the most beautiful, Badger-y lines in the film is spoken by both past and future Charles: “Just because someone stumbles, loses their way, doesn’t mean they’re lost forever.”

Hank: I think Hank is a double Bird. He models Badger secondary when taking care of Charles, but that’s not the tool that first falls to his hand. Hank has an arsenal of skills. He’s the team science guy. He built the X-Men’s jet, created the formula for Charles’ spine, monitored the news feed, and he pulls up all the blueprint information for the Pentagon. When Cerebro isn’t an option, he’s the guy who pulls out the phonebook. He’s also a Bird primary. He cites theories about the nature of time-- the stone in the river, the current correcting itself. He’s taking in external data and using that to shape his understanding of the world, his morality.

Peter: Peter, Peter, Peter. I think that there’s some Snake in him. He has no problems with lying, stealing, or breaking a prisoner out of the Pentagon-- which might raise some moral quandaries with other people. I think he’s a Snake primary, and his inner circle likely includes himself, his mom, and his sister. In the next movie, after he’s found out that Erik is his father, he’s willing to fight the main villain for him (I’ve only seen Apocalypse once, so I could be wrong in on this point). think that Peter, like his father, is a Lion secondary. He is great at improvising, he thrives in that space. He loves being ahead of everyone. He’s not going to hide what he is, his powers, because they’re “nothing anyone would believe if you told them”. He could be a Snake that just chills out in neutral, but I don’t think that’s the case (also, I really really want him to houseshare with Wanda. I’m so excited to see what becomes of Peter/Pietro in WandaVision).

TL;DR

Erik- Double Lion

Raven- Badger Lion, models Snake secondary when she has to.

Logan- Badger Lion

Charles- Double Badger, burned, may model Snake

Hank- Double Bird

Peter- Snake Lion

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princessanneftw · 6 years ago

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The Crown's Erin Doherty on playing Princess Anne – the voice, the hair and the style

By Caroline Leaper, Senior Fashion Editor for Stella Magazine.

As she joins acting royalty for the new series of the hit TV show, the actress discusses her transformation into a princess and just how long it takes to create THAT ’do

Erin Doherty is explaining how much fun it is to pretend to be very, very posh when you’re not. In the lead-up to playing Princess Anne in the new season of the hit Netflix drama The Crown, she says that she spent days practising her best royal voice in mundane scenarios, and offers to order a smoothie at the café we’ve met in ‘as Anne’, by way of demonstration.

‘Anne’s accent, and the whole family’s accent, is so weird,’ she laughs, snapping back into her own south London dialect. ‘It’s alien to me, I’ve never heard anyone else talk like that. My natural voice is the opposite. I watched YouTube videos and would practise when ordering a coffee, or speaking to people I didn’t know. The reactions were brilliant; I’m looking casual with this crazy posh voice coming out of me.’ Indeed, today she looks quite unroyal in her Breton top, khaki trousers and Birkenstocks.

Playing the Princess Royal is Erin’s first major television role. The 27-year-old from Crawley had a small part in the BBC adaptation of Les Misérables this year, and appeared in an episode of Call the Midwife back in 2017, but has otherwise stuck to the stage, graduating from Bristol Old Vic Theatre School to The Young Vic and The Old Vic, after being hailed a rising star of her generation. She is palpably excited about being in The Crown, and refreshingly honest about how she’s ‘winging it’ on one of the most anticipated TV shows of the year. She does, I should say now, deliver an incredibly convincing Anne. When casting director Nina Gold told her she had got the part, she celebrated by having a curry.

The Crown season three will span more than a decade, from 1964 to 1977, warranting an all-new cast to play the ageing royals.  Olivia Colman picks up from Claire Foy as Queen Elizabeth, Tobias Menzies follows Matt Smith’s Duke of Edinburgh and Helena Bonham Carter takes over from Vanessa Kirby as Princess Margaret. We’ve reached the years when the Queen’s children are coming of age; Erin’s Anne is in her late teens when we meet her, and is full of fantastically feisty opinions about being ‘launched’ as an adult in the Royal family.

We all know the plot, or so we think, as The Crown is based on real events. But the brilliance of the show is that we don’t know which bits of history creator Peter Morgan will zoom in on. Season three might cover the time when, in 1974, Ian Ball attempted to abduct Anne and hold her to ransom for £3 million. (‘Not bloody likely,’ she famously said to her kidnapper, and her father Prince Philip quipped, ‘She would have given him a hell of a time in captivity...’). We might get to see Erin in bridal attire, as Anne’s first wedding to Captain Mark Phillips took place in 1973.

Erin is tight-lipped about which events do and do not make the cut. ‘You know what happens to Anne,’ she says. ‘It’s not hard to guess. But Peter makes these people so fascinating because of the way he focuses on stories which might not have been the headlines everyone remembers.’

Anne’s story, Erin says, was largely unknown to her before she began researching ahead of her audition. ‘Princess Anne, honestly, didn’t mean anything to me,’ she explains. ‘Like a lot of people who grow up in Britain, I think, [the Royal family was] always just there. My family watched the Queen’s speech at Christmas, but other than that, you feel a bit removed from it. I had to research her and then I realised, wow, this woman is awesome. I fell in love with her.’

Anne’s reputation as the reluctant, truculent royal, who was more interested in riding horses than wearing ballgowns and playing the part, has come good of late. Where once the tabloid press dubbed her ‘rude’, ‘dowdy’ and ‘austere’, her dependability, cracking wit and commitment to public duty now see her celebrated as the most hard-working royal each year (she completed 180 days of engagements in 2018, 20 more than Prince Charles). And her never-wavering signature style suddenly chimes with the fashion industry’s new drive for more sustainable shopping. ‘At 69, Princess Anne’s country-chic look and penchant for rewearing couldn’t be more on trend,’ a fellow fashion editor of this newspaper wrote back in August.

Erin discovered pretty quickly that her new ‘family’ is full of eccentric, fun and  complex characters. In one of her first scenes, she is sitting around a television with the Queen and Princess Margaret for tea, cigarettes and whisky, to watch Royal Family, the famously ill-fated 1969 BBC documentary (the reception to it was so bad that it was banished after airing, with the press suggesting director Richard Cawston’s fly-on-the-wall approach had ‘cheapened’ the monarchy). In real life, of course, that meant cosying up with her new co-stars, a cast of national treasures and Oscar-winners.

‘Scenes like that were surreal, but everyone was so normal on set,’ Erin says. ‘Seeing someone like Helena be so calm and cool has been a gift. What makes it weird is that I then go home to my houseshare and my housemates are like, “Your job is insane, did you see Olivia Colman today?” I obviously can’t tell her that they love her in Fleabag every day, that would be weird. And ultimately I’m trying to be like her daughter and build this relationship up with her, so the main goal for me is to forget about the fact that she is Olivia Colman. My dad is the worst for it, he took a flight and texted me, “I’ve just seen Olivia Colman doing the BA safety advert – tell her she’s great in it.”’

As well as the voice, the other thing to get right when becoming Anne was the hair. Today, Erin’s hair is soft, straight and centre-parted. She says it takes a lot of work to mould it into the Princess Royal’s trademark style each day.

‘The hair takes a solid hour and a half,’ she laughs. ‘Most of that time is spent backcombing and setting it with hairspray. Sometimes if it’s not poofy enough, we have to use a sponge doughnut underneath to hold it up more. I’m no wiser as to how she actually does hers. It must be pretty solid, as she doesn’t change it much.’

In Anne’s youth, Erin points out, the Princess typically only set half of her head, leaving some hair down and smooth at the back. For season four, though, which started filming this month, Erin is expecting to double her time in the hair chair, as Anne switches to her mainstay full halo. ‘It takes even more time if she’s wearing any sort of a hat,’ she groans. ‘I brace myself if it’s a hat day.’

Costume was crucial to Anne’s character. This season of The Crown will revisit the Princess’s fashion heyday in the ’60s and ’70s, when she wore sharp checked suiting and chic flares, and was photographed by Norman Parkinson in the era’s Pucci-esque saturated floral prints. Costume designer Amy Roberts recreates some of Anne’s most memorable outfits – many of which would still look relevant and stylish today.

‘She was so on-trend in the 1960s and ’70s. She figured out her style at that age and she has stuck with it ever since,’ says Erin. ‘I created a Pinterest board of her outfits and I saw this amazing thing of Anne throughout the years, reusing her gowns, sometimes rocking it again 20 years later. I love that about her. She must not get rid of anything.

‘My favourite outfit, though,’ she continues, ‘is the one in the first scene you’ll see from me. The idea is that her parents have just pulled her away from riding and she’s  angry and stressy, so I’m wearing riding boots and stomping around.’

Erin understood that, of all the looks, this would likely be the one that the Princess Royal herself would favour too. ‘So often she’s in these amazing ballgowns, but you can tell that this would be her preference,’ she says. ‘It just feels more like her. Because of her sporting side, I don’t think she gets enough credit as a style icon. You meet some people who remember that she was fashionable, but a lot are like, nope, she’s just horses.’

Ah, the horses. For Olympic athlete and European eventing champion Anne, riding has been a passion since childhood. For Erin, it was a case of all the equestrian gear and no idea.

‘I’d never been horse riding before filming this, it was the first time I’d ever put on jodhpurs,’ she admits. ‘After my initial meeting with the casting team, my agent rang and was like, “Are you OK with horses?” The part was still in the balance, so I said, “Yeah, of course I am.” As soon as I put the phone down I thought  I can’t believe I’ve just said that. It’s notorious that actors will say they can do something and learn how later, isn’t it? I was petrified. Luckily I had  a bit of time, so it’s sorted now and I can ride.’

Horses may not have been on the agenda for Erin growing up, but football was. ‘I was pretty good – I was scouted to play for Chelsea,’ she says. ‘I really hated school, so I lived for the weekends; I’d play football on a Sunday morning, and then in the afternoon I would go to stage school. When I was about 14, the schedule was getting so intense that my dad said I needed to choose one. I still do my keepy-uppies in the garden. I’d love it if someone remade Bend It Like Beckham – I’d be totally prepared for that part.’

Erin is one of three children (she has an older sister and a younger brother), and her mother, a retired medical practice administrator, and father, who works in airline operations, split up when she was four and now, respectively, live in Guildford and Folkestone. She’s living in south-east London in a houseshare with strangers who have become friends, and who work in entirely different fields. She grew up, she says, happily hanging around in Croydon wearing a tracksuit. ‘That was our best town to go to with your friends.’

When The Crown was first released, the original cast found themselves famous around the world. Appetite for the show is especially high in the US where, as Erin points out, ‘they flip for the royals.

‘It exploded for the last cast didn’t it?’ she considers. ‘They’re all pretty high-profile now. It’s mental what could happen, but I’m really not prepared for it and I also don’t think it’s healthy to expect it. Imagine thinking your world is going to change then nothing happens, that would be heartbreaking. I don’t think people would really recognise me in the street anyway, I look quite different when I’m not made-up with the hair.’

Claire Foy and Vanessa Kirby, particularly, benefited from the magazine covers and fashion status that came with the territory, as designers from Erdem to  Gucci vied to dress them on the red carpet.

‘I’ve never really done a red-carpet event,’ Erin says. ‘I was speaking to my publicist and I think we’re going to get a stylist to help. Honestly, these conversations are so alien to me. It’s actually more intimidating to do these things where you have to be yourself. I can get very anxious and I’m more of an introvert if I’m not acting, so the simpler these things are and the less I have to think about what I look like, the better.’

Her photo shoot with Stella is the first that she’s done, an experience that she enjoyed, she says, because she was able to treat it like playing a role.

In her own life, comfort takes priority. ‘My style is pretty androgynous,’ she says, ‘I’m all about not abiding by gender norms, not because I have any particular view of myself that way, but I like messing things around and trying different things. I’ve always been sporty and I’m drawn to clothes that are baggy. What I hope is that you’ll still be able to see me [even when I’m dressed up on the red carpet] and I’ll look back and think this whole experience was amazing and fun, not a surreal period of my life that I didn’t really live in.’

It will be surreal, probably. But Erin seems to have put in the work to ensure that her portrayal isn’t a caricature, and she has got under the skin of one of the nation’s famously-hardy senior royals. She did weeks of research, listened to the historians on set, nailed that voice and even investigated Anne’s Chinese zodiac sign, just in case it gave a crumb of insight to work with. ‘Anne’s a metal tiger,’ she confirms.

Talented, funny, hard-working and, crucially, not at all starstruck by the royals. It is, likely, exactly what the Princess Royal herself would want from the person deemed tough enough to play her.

#amazeanne #now shes a stanne #ily #she looks stunning #anne energy af #im so excited to see thisssss #erin doherty #princess anne #the crown netflix #the crown #british royal family #brf #olivia colman #tobias menzies #helena bonham carter #ben daniels #josh o’connor #emerald fennell #andrew buchan

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hesflyingonbrokenwings · 5 years ago

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Dearest V,

it's been almost one year since we last spoke, so I guess our lives might have changed a bit since then...

I hope you've had a peaceful holiday season with your family – speaking of whom, the warmest of greetings and best of wishes to them – may your parents and your cat have a wonderful and healthy start to this decade.

I went head-first into last year thinking I'd see greater changes by the end of it, but, as Oli put it quite concisely, "then I found out how hard it is to really change" – for example, I had quit smoking weed in summer and started to enjoy life free from it, only to start toking again three months later when my mental wellbeing started spiralling downwards again... in the end I have to admit that while I may have felt like I could make a meaningful change in my life, I'm still sitting around trying to find out of my depressive ways, and I'm growing more and more unsure by the day that going back to who I once was is an option at all... after all, people grow up, and I guess part of who we are is determined by our experiences... I should definitely try to seek professional help this year, so maybe over time I'll be able to create the version of myself that I need to be so I can finally stop being down all the time. While that means I may not exactly be "past me", I sincerely hope you'll like whatever person I'm going to be then.

The years we've spent side by side have shaped me in a number of ways, some healthier and some unhealthier. On the upside, obviously, there's the hundreds of memories that we've shared and that I still like to look back on every once in a while (even though I'm slightly concerned about how many of those involve weed and / or booze), the music you've introduced me to (I still enjoy your Spotify mix every now and then) and so on. What's probably more on the unhealthy side of things and might sound a bit crazy is that, interestingly enough, I still sometimes feel like you're watching my every move, judging every single thing I'm doing, and it's driving me nuts. I don't know the exact reason and it confuses me... on the one hand it's kind of annoying and a bit restrictive, and on the other hand I just want to figure out where exactly that comes from. I guess part of it is because of what I've experienced over the past years, the numerous occasions on which you've trash talked the time I've spent in relationships with other people to feel better about yourself. Then again, maybe part of me just wants you to still care, when the rational part in me reckons you probably you don't care about me anymore – I mean, why would you, you can do so much better. I don't think I'll find answers for now, more stuff to discuss with a therapist once I've found one, I guess. Then again, maybe it'll help me make saner decisions for the moment, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that I'm done with this whole trash-talking business, that is, if we start talking again, please just let me decide for myself what to make of my past... I hope this didn't sound too harsh, it's just something I might've left unsaid for too long. Oh well, and speaking of long-lasting impact, then there's like hundreds of things that still evoke your memory anyway, whether that's any mention of anything related to law school, or the former capital, or still wearing the things you gave me, or, oh yeah, living in the same flipping part of town. Also reminds me, I still haven't touched the new BoJack episodes or the Chris-chan documentary yet... watching TheOdd1sOut's Sooubway part 4 without you feld weird enough, somehow. I guess it goes without saying that there has hardly been a day this year that I haven't thought of you at least in some way, mostly thinking about how awkward it would be to run into each other on the streets, whether we'd exchange words and what the hell I'd have to say about how my life was going and what I've learned or accomplished and so on if that became the case. It obviously didn't, but I still spent some time thinking about what I'd have to say and it was interesting to observe how it changed over the year. I guess you were right about some things, first and foremost about how I should try to get myself up from the fucking ground first before attempting to build up anything in life.

That being said, there are two major milestones I've reached last year, and I hope you're at least a bit proud of me – I've used the spring semester to finally complete my mandatory internship, coding for a software company that was a pleasure to work for, and they offered to hire me as a working student right away and as a proper engineer once I finish uni. Anyway, since the office isn't exactly close to uni, I've decided for now to keep working at uni for two more years. They have been quite understanding and the offer to hire me again still stands. Since I could definitely see myself working in software development after uni, I have started working towards a proper computer science bachelor's degree which I'll pursue in parallel with my usual master's. And, what might surprise you even more, believe it or not, I've been smoke-free for more than 7 months now, and I'm making damn sure I'm not touching another cigarette or anything else containing nicotine again – fuck off, big tobacco! I almost also managed to finish my bachelor's degree, but my assigned thesis topic was so cryptic and far off from what I expected that I ended up not handing in anything at all... but I'm making sure to finish in a second attempt before the next semester starts, wish me luck!

Anyway, how's your 2019 been? Is everything alright at uni? Have you passed the bar yet, and how's your internship situation (been) going? Also, I've heard that the houseshare didn't work out (it really sucks to hear that), did you find another nice place to stay near uni and how do you like it? How's your bass journey coming along? I hope you're still having fun with the bass and I'd love to hear some of the riffs you've been rocking out to one day. (Speaking of rocking out – I don't know whether he told you, but Sebi and I have been trying to start a band for a while now. While we somehow procrastinated our way around it almost all year until recently, we've started jamming and recording voice memos, so who knows, maybe we'll have written some kick-ass tunes soon.)

Lest I forget, speaking of 2019... a very belated happy birthday! Whether or not to contact you for your birthday was a harder decision than you may think... in the end I decided to keep at a distance and not leave a message, I still hope you've had a great time (at least it probably won't have been a disappointment like the times I've been involved) so make damn sure to enjoy your remaining time at 22... because you know what Blink-182 has to say about them darned 23-year-olds.

Quick change of topic, politics is the same clusterfuck as always, isn't it? When the 12/12 general elections were announced, I was hoping so badly that Great Britain might be coming to its senses... and then the results were out, oh boy. Well, if this is what the Brits truly want, then good riddance, I guess... also, I hope the Americans won't make the same mistake this year but I'm not too sure about that... but at least the old fucker finally got impeached, about time. I know senate is likely to acquit him, but I don't want to think about that just now... for now, let's just stick with "they've finally got him."

Enough for now, I hope this note reaches you someday – if you feel like replying, just interact with this post, leave me a PM or so, you'll find a way. Just know that I still don't quite feel like I'm ready to take contact back to a normal level just yet, so it might take me the usual couple of weeks to reply in case there's anything you want me to reply to... until then I'll just go back to lurking in the shadows, trying to figure out my life while checking in on your Tumblr every once in a while to know you're okay. (Oh well, it's your Tumblr we're talking about, maybe "being okay" doesn't exactly cut it, but you get the gist.)

Best, L

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tea-cub · 5 years ago

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I am tired and sad because:

1) I miss my family after returning to my houseshare;

2) I feel locked out of fandom life and like I can’t produce anything anymore;

3) Facebook today came up with a memory from three years ago featuring me and my two ex-best friends which always hurts like hell; we all look so happy after a lovely time and a year later it all fell apart;

4) I feel like I’m wasting my life and don’t have the courage, motivation or drive to fix anything;

5) I waste my time worrying about small things and if I don’t worry about anything I get nervous because if things seem easy, I have to make them difficult;

6) My OCD is telling me to do things I don’t want to do;

7) I feel distant from people and like there’s nobody I can turn to and feel lonelier now;

8) I’m worrying about the same things I was worrying about nine years ago;

9) People are being unnecessarily bitchy at work and complaining about stupid things and being vicious little gossips with no thought for the people they upset and are getting away with it;

10) I’m having doubts about my faith - I don’t want to get too close to it due to my OCD and find the more full-on bits rather overwhelming.

I’m tired. I’m so tired.

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holbyconfessional · 8 years ago

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Casualty S32 Episode 3

I feel like the writers decided that after portraying a poignant and real plight of the refugee crisis, they needed to run with a far lighter episode tonight.

Dylan and David are great together, they have such good chemistry (and I don’t mean in a sexual way). Yes, it was all a tad slapstick and predictable, but I think it was also all very fitting with their characters as they have long been established. I really liked that Dylan called David to help him - although I suppose it was inevitable now they’re bound together by the smuggling in of Sanosi. And Dylan on Entonox was suitably amusing. Hell, Dylan in any way is great.

More light relief in the form of Max and Noel housesharing, or not, or yes.

And yet more light relief with Iain and Lily. I was wondering after last week how Iain would come to be accompanying her, considering that to my knowledge, they’ve barely spoken except to gripe at each other since the whole ‘intelligence’ debacle. As with most things about this episode, it seemed totally contrived. But I’m still not really seeing the chemistry between them, which just kind of makes the whole storyline a bust. Despite that, it was kind of fun to see the two of them dancing and having fun - a nice chance to see a different side of the characters from the normal day to day.

A more serious note in the episode was Ethan dealing with his guilt over allowing Scott Ellisson to die. I don’t deny that it would be wrong for this to just be dropped, and I’ve said the very same thing a few times before. But regardless of it’s necessity, I’m afraid the whole thing is getting a bit boring now. It did trigger one of my favourite bits of the whole episode, though - Connie in the office, discovering and reading Ethan’s letter, and then their scene on the roof together. Connie was just wonderful, denying reading the letter, whilst trying to let Ethan know that he should let it go. Her body language and eye contact (or lack thereof) was perfect. And as a standalone character moment, outside of long term canon, I just loved it. BUT, despite this, it was yet another stark reminder that the wonderful, ball busting Connie of Holby City is just a memory. And whilst this Connie is occasionally super strict, but often kind of sweet and fluffy, the old Connie was hot as hell, totally in a league of her own, and I miss her a great deal!

But can we just take one moment to bless whoever is doing wardrobe for Connie at the moment? I mean, she always looks great, but this last couple of episodes she’s just looked beyond yummy. And there was hand porn. Perfect.

#Casualty #BBC Casualty #Shoelace Fandom #Dylan Keogh #David Hide #Sanosi #Max Walker #noel garcia #Iain Dean #Lily Chao #Ethan Hardy #Scott Ellison #Connie Beauchamp #Bring back the ball busting bitch!

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electrxc-ghost · 6 years ago

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Apps to help renters avoid houseshares from hell

#Company News

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spicynbachili1 · 7 years ago

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Unknown Pleasures: 20% seasonal | Rock Paper Shotgun

Boo!

Haha, Halloween is very easy. Though I’ve by no means understood the principles when it falls on a weekday, and like all depressing British whingers I resent its bizarre enlargement from a number of hours of hiding from disagreeable infants into a whole sodding month of pumpkins and garbage horror. So with that in thoughts, let’s have a spooooky Unknown Pleasures!

Threatening however then being too British to really ‘trick’ anybody this week: barely interactive fiction, a multiplayer indie with precise gamers, and a stick on the moon.

Vox Machinae £19.49 / 20.99€ / $24.99, Early Entry

A mech shooter is such an apparent match for VR that I’m somewhat shocked we’re not inundated with them. Even should you accurately have little interest in VR although, Vox Machinae is value contemplating. It primarily does what you in all probability already assumed: gamers pilot completely different courses of mech (the distinction being their steadiness of mobility, firepower and armour – there aren’t any help roles), decide their lasers/rockets/cannons, and exit in groups to robo-kick every others’ computo-faces in. Though there’s bot help (which unusually I haven’t examined, as I used to be having loads of enjoyable with – ugh – people) it’s primarily multiplayer, and actually relatively spectacular. The sport modes are effective – occupy bases on the map, race to a randomly showing salvage spot and struggle over it. The degrees are very vertical due to inbuilt jet boosters, and the feeling of ponderous, weighty motion is already there. There’s even a devoted ramming mech, and the weapons and modular destruction of limbs and hardpoints put some previous entries within the style to disgrace (sorry Hawken. You weren’t a nasty recreation however you had been a nasty mech recreation).

The non-VR participant will cope effective, however that is an space that wants work. I couldn’t discover a record of keyboard instructions (although there are some respectably succinct tutorials that can type you out quick), nor discover out the that means of varied beeps and warnings. Extra severely, with out voice (as a result of go to hell) I had no method of speaking with different gamers in any respect, which was a disgrace as I’d have preferred to thank the right nearly-full server I discovered at 4am for a good time. Significantly the American man who I mistook for voice performing when the very first thing I heard was a delightfully droll “Name me Stella, ’trigger I obtained my groove again”.

LoveChoice 拣爱 £1.69 / 1.59€ / $1.99, Early Entry

Lovechoice 拣爱 (Chinese language for “(a backing refrain going ‘love! Alternative! Ah-aaaah!’)”) is by far the shortest recreation to outlive the brutal trials of UP. Will probably be over for you in a couple of minutes. Even a second playthrough will in all probability not outlive your contemplative sandwich. However it’s candy. It’s a heat, light micro-tale about relationship, whereby the same old aim of “unlock the puzzle field that’s some girl” is changed with “she type of likes you so it’ll nearly positively occur no matter you do”. The vital half will not be second-guessing the proper sequence of phrases to cross her exams, nor accumulating Seduced Factors to unlock A Girlfriend, however contemplating what it takes to kind a very good relationship.

Its classes are usually not revolutionary, however then elementary truths about how lovers intertwine seldom are. Vulnerable to spoiling (truthfully, in case your curiosity is piqued, skip to the following paragraph till you’ve performed it), I recognize that the subtext is a critique of our perspective to each video games and romance – the trail of the connection parallels your actions as a participant, and is dictated by not simply what the participant character says, however how a lot you assume and take as a right in regards to the recreation.

It’s tiny, so tiny, nevertheless it’s doing one thing completely different, and one other IF recreation – a courting one, no much less – tipping the scales of the style away from the sweating, lecherous mire it’s notorious for, and for that I believe it’s value recommending.

Ship Us The Moon: Fortuna £19.99 / 19.99€ / $19.99

At any time when one thing goes improper IN SPACE, the protagonist should clomp forwards and backwards fixing doorways and rebooting engines and getting the entry code from that man’s desk (which is infuriatingly bulletproof as a result of folks do it in actual life on a regular basis). And it’s in all probability aliens, and it’ll be closely foreshadowed instantly. Ship Us The Moon has each an fascinating premise and a real thriller. These dozy Earth folks have tousled the planet once more, this time by working out of gasoline, but in addition found a option to generate tonnes of unpolluted (I believe?) vitality from a helium isotope which occurs to be plentiful on That Moon. A colony is constructed, it smelts the helium or no matter and beams the vitality again to Earth through microwaves (theoretically doable – house nerds had been already bouncing the concept round once I was at school, however then EVE On-line got here alongside and distracted them so it by no means took off). However then it out of the blue stops, and Earth is hosed once more.

So, you and a few rogue astro-boffs have scraped collectively a rocket and launched a determined solo flight to the colony to search out out what occurred and repair it. I wouldn’t usually relate a plot in such element however Ship Us The Moon is one among only a few video games to make practical fashionable house shuttle stuff fascinating and approachable to me, and I’m actually curious to search out out what occurred as a result of it could possibly be something. It’s principally about floating in regards to the moonbase reducing cables, listening to audio logs, and changing gubbinses, and it’s not notably taxing. However it appears to be like good, has a good environment, and it’s all somewhat bit understated. I need to discover out what occurred, and for as soon as it appears like I’ll wind up serving to to repair it relatively than blundering right into a face-eating house mutant.

[John has extra ideas on the sport in his Ship Us The Moon: Fortuna overview. –Ed]

Neighbor £11.39 / 12.49€ / $14.99

The one recreation that truly matches the theme this week. Oops. Neighbor is a couple of girl who strikes right into a flat the place she’s continuously afraid and suspicious and laid low with ghostly sights and intrusive, threatening noises, and unable to go away due to extortionate rents, all of which her landlady coldly shrugs off. Much less a horror story than a barely beneath common week in any houseshare within the Southeast, then.

This too is a little bit of a file, for stretching the definition of “interactive” to its close to restrict – Neighbor is as passive because it will get, with nothing to do however click on for the following line, and never even the phantasm of selection that many visible novels current. However it does the job. Ghost tales are of virtually no curiosity to me, however this one’s financial narration and assured pacing had me intrigued all through, and very similar to Ship Us the Moon, I actually loved the supply of the clues and foreshadowing. It’s not tremendous scary, and positively not the boring startle-you-up most horror is, nor does it invoke a very sturdy dread. However I preferred the narratagonist’s perspective – she sees sufficient to be each be rightly scared and really feel silly and uncertain about being scared. She additionally acts remarkably rationally for a personality in a horror story, touchdown the tone extra in supernatural thriller than frightfest. Quite than mark herself as a madwoman by insisting that you simply have to belieeeve me, or creeping across the lair of the monster going “hellooo?” like a lemming with a vore fetish, she units about following up leads on the historical past of the flat and what might presumably have gone on there. She’s a fairly good cookie, and the consequence would possibly invoke the fury of the It’s Not A Sport militia, however should you like a basic thriller with only a little bit of a scare in, you should do nicely right here.

Reignfall £7.19 / eight.19€ / $ 9.99, Early Entry

Although technically a city builder, Reinfall’s constructing is all in help of elevating defences and armies to struggle incoming waves of monsters (which could technically make it a type of tower defence, nevertheless it didn’t really feel that method so I’m saving it from that condemnation). Putting homes and woodcutters and roads carries that delicate satisfaction of growth and enlargement, however there’s no actual administration to talk of moreover rising output by periodically upgrading a farm or plonking a market down by some homes to extend their gold output.

Defending them is the enjoyable bit, and regardless that it too is extra streamlined than a ‘pure’ manstab or RTS, you possibly can at any second take management of your Lord and run round proper alongside your militia and trusty knights. I’ve talked earlier than about what an enormous distinction this will make. Your items could also be nameless, however you’ll nonetheless rush over to rescure a lone peasant when he’s separated from the herd and cornered by skellies (and never simply because surviving ones accumulate stat boosts), and swinging your sword into two or three bandits directly, or simply distracting them for a little bit of crowd management makes an enormous distinction.

There are ranges to achieve and attributes to unlock too, bringing welcome replayability. I just like the artwork model, low tech although it could be, and I’m at all times up for a recreation that channels only a trace of Mount and Blade. And a punny title, too? Alert! Somebody is courting us.

Decide of the Week: Tough, tough resolution. I might nicely look again and need I’d gone for LoveChoice. However it’s going to Vox Machinae.

Early Entry or not, this can be a sturdy mech recreation, and with the suitable growth might have a protracted tail. The place most on-line video games that cross by means of the column are unattainable to guage for lack of gamers, I obtained into Vox instantly, had a grand previous time, and wished to maintain going. Mastering motion and the angles wanted to trace and intention, particularly vertically – assaults from above have a giant benefit since you’re proper there within the cockpit and have big blind spots due to your individual mech, simply correctly – supply that sensation even once you get shot down of getting tangibly higher by means of observe.

And but I additionally felt helpful, battling the large lads however quickly favouring a zippy bot with twin miniguns, harassing and distracting opponents with low, however fixed harm and stress. I notably respect the best way the ‘scope’ extends a feed from a high-zoom digicam, helpful however very tough and dangerous to make use of. This one deserves to take off, and should you’re into having video games sellotaped to your head, you’d be mad to cross it up.

Oh, proper, the theme factor. Uh… I vaaant to suck your blood, mwahaha, and so on.

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/unknown-pleasures-20-seasonal-rock-paper-shotgun/

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