mettleborn

[mettleborn]

They move together on the dancefloor with slow precision in perfect synchronisation. In Russia you learn to dance like this from a very young age. Bortsov is quite accustomed to leading and keeps his gaze set on Polly’s, helping her to recognise the shifting of his body through sensation alone so that she may anticipate and react in time. For a moment he finds himself lost in the rhythm, this pleasing proximity enough to make it feel as if the rest of the room has faded away and only the two of them remain, captured by this moment in time.

The shift however, is abrupt; Igor’s body tensing rigid in response to a sudden sensation he has not yet identified - some natural instinct that causes his eyes to blink open quickly to survey the room – they’re being watched, intensely in fact, by a man at the bar who keeps trying to catch Polly’s eye. No mere voyeur would make his interest so obvious.

Drawing Polly closer, Igor slowly moves them into position to ensure her gaze now meets the man’s own.

“You know him?” The Pakhan whispers gently, continuing to dance, though clearly distracted.

The ambiance of the party exuded a cinematic quality, reminiscent of scenes lifted from opulent gatherings depicted in films. Every detail, from the lavish attire worn by the guests to the luxurious decor adorning the venue, seemed carefully curated to emulate a sense of extravagant sophistication. As Polly observed the affluent attendees engaged in conversations revolving around their material possessions and business endeavors, she couldn't shake the feeling of being a fish out of water. Raised in stark contrast to the privileged world surrounding her, she couldn't help but feel like an outsider amidst the glitz and glamour of the event, as if she were intruding upon a realm to which she didn't belong. However, Igor's steadfast reassurance helped alleviate some of those unsettling thoughts. Despite the lingering uncertainty, Polly found solace in his unwavering response. It would undoubtedly take some time for her to fully come to terms with the reality of her new life. Yet, in that moment, she couldn't help but smile at his comforting words. A warm sensation flooded through her, a sense of contentment washing over her as she reflected on the undeniable connection she felt with him from the moment their gazes first met. There was adoration in her eyes.

As they stepped into what appeared to be a grand ballroom, Polly's attention was drawn more to the opulent decorations adorning the space than the guests sitting near. Lacking familiarity with the attendees, she opted to immerse herself in the aesthetic allure of the event. However, her focus shifted back to Igor as he turned to address her, his presence exuding a comforting warmth that captured her undivided attention. As he extended an invitation to dance, a genuine smile graced Polly's lips. Though she was certain Igor possessed better dancing skills than her, she began to sway her hips to the slow rhythm, allowing herself to be swept away by the enchanting atmosphere of the moment. “Of course,” Polly responded with unwavering certainty, readily embracing the opportunity to engage with him in an intimate setting amidst the bustling social gathering. A hand traveled up from her chest to rest on the side of his neck, signifying a tender connection between them.

#[Igor Bortsov: let all I have lived be as if it were a dream] #Bratva Verse #polly x igor #Polly #wiinestories #((a shorter response because I couldn't resist jumping to this XD)) #Queue

[mettleborn]

As he walks slowly through the perfectly trimmed grounds of the Reed estate, William’s expression is one of calm ease, indeed, no one would suspect that only a year or so ago, had he dared to tread on these exact grounds, he would likely have been shot on sight. Still, it is not any sense of trepidation that he is currently concealing, rather it is a persistent and inescapable sense of annoyance - William does not wish to be here. Over the past few months he has grown tired of Florence and her incessant, insipid witterings, of her bible verses and generous ‘moral instruction’. Only two days ago she had said something so naively ridiculous that Cavendish had tasted blood from being forced to bite his tongue so hard.

He had watched at a distance as Sebastian and his siblings frolicked in the water together, and with a faint breeze at his back and the warmth of sun on his face, for a moment William had considered giving up on the whole affair entirely. That of course, was until he had remembered the corpse found in that same glistening body of water and how it had been used to defile his family name and with it fill Sebastian with hatred.

The investment opportunity he presents to the Reeds’; addressed directly to the ageing patriarch of the family, is one William has carefully selected. A business proposition that looks completely advantageous without appearing too good to be true. It is also a venture William can control the outcome of without the family ever knowing. In that sense the arrangement can be used to punish or to reward, depending on the Earl’s disposition.

It is an afternoon that seems to draw on forever, the smile on Cavendish’s face now beginning to ache due to forced sincerity. It is not that he truly despises these people, it is just that he has tired of them; none have held his interest like Sebastian, they are all simply too ordinary. A disturbing notion arises – is it Sebastian’s hatred of him that draws William in like a moth to a flame, not to transform it, but rather to bathe in it? Just another, in a long list of self-destructive acts?

Swallowing down his drink, Cavendish suppresses an unpleasant, subconscious shudder as Florence clutches his arm to lead him towards the dining room. He can feel Florence staring up at him adoringly, but can’t bring himself to look down and feign the same, even knowing how it might torment Sebastian. A nod is all Immanuel receives in response to his words; William knows feigned civility when he sees it and will not dignify it beyond faint acknowledgement.

Mention of the aggrieved temperament of the household cook, causes a small smile to creep to William’s lips, he’s quite sure his staff felt the same during the brief period they catered for Sebastian at Trematon as both guest and prisoner. In truth, William had never expected it would be a time he would recall with such fondness.

“Sebastian.” William finally asserts, looking his foe directly in the eye as he gently extricates himself from Florence’s expectant little grip. “A moment in private, if you will?”

Sebastian felt clammy, and uncertain for the first time in months of how much control he had over himself. The depth charge of William's final statement could be measured only by the growing darkness in Sebastian's usually shallow and penetrable eyes. He didn't speak for several moments. How could he - without revealing aloud what had just been announced without words between them, so that everybody in the room would know what terrible threat the air was charged with. Sebastian remembered very well what William had said would happen to his sister in due course. Yet he had a feeling now that he knew the game they were playing better than Cavendish did. 'I will never apologise to you, Lord Cavendish,' he said, with barely the breath to say it with. 'And nobody, especially not she, will ever love you.'

-

They still swam in the river at the bottom of the park where her body had been found. The water now ran clear as crystal, trickling along beyond the ha-ha, its surface swirling with reflections of all the pretty hues of a flower-filled Easter afternoon. Sebastian was at the house already, with two of his officer friends corralled to support him, and he made sure to ask no one what time the earl and his sister were to arrive. He hadn’t seen their carriage from the station traverse the long curve of the drive at the front of the house, though he had stopped for a moment about an hour ago and wondered if he had felt it. A shiver out of nowhere as he swam, which caused him to surface with an unexpected need to catch his breath.

Now, all laughter and jokes and flicking one another with water weeds, they waded about near the piles of their clothes on the bank, their shoulders shellacked with water and sunlight, as if they held up the sky itself. Until Sebastian heard sounds of voices from further up the park, and turned to see Lord Cavendish walking a pace behind Florence with the groundskeeper, on a tour of the estate. As he squinted at the man through the dappled light of some trees that screened him now and then from view, he suddenly felt cold; and the heaviness of the water in his hair and his eyelashes, dripping slowly from the tips of his fingers, brought back to life as if by a conjuring trick the early morning in the dead of winter when he had found his aunt’s body. He'd gone out looking at the first mention that she was missing. Her bloated stomach filled with water, her eyes grey as ash.

‘How did you like William’s speech on the Baltic Canal Company, Loake?’ Florence’s voice carried faintly down on the breeze.

‘Not half as much as your grandfather did, Miss Florence,’ came the reply. Sebastian thought for a moment he caught Cavendish’s eye, and looked away with an unspeakable, silent fury. The little figures, dwarfed by the great limestone facade and classical pillars of the house behind them that soared up to the sky, disappeared down a petaled path towards what was often called the ‘lovers’ boathouse’ and out of sight. 

His friends had had to leave before dinner, and, though already dressed, Sebastian had half a mind to go hungry in order not to see the earl again. He had thought that he could remove himself from it all, to let the earl play his little parlour game in order to allow his older brother the time to take over with some sophisticated plan. Immanuel Reed, with his sharp jaw, head of curls and long aristocratic nose, always had the look of an emperor about to be murdered by the Praetorian guard. He had been keeping Florence and Cavendish in close range - as if with lunge line and whip - and now he and Sebastian met in the hall outside the dining room. ‘What do you mean you’re leaving?’ Sebastian’s face turned pale. ‘Do you not see the danger we’re in? Does it not disgust you, to have a Cavendish walk the halls of the house? To go into the chapel, to drink the wine and to take Florence on his arm?’ Immanuel only looked stern as usual. ‘I think, Sebastian, that it is you who has brought this evil into your family’s midst, and it is you, therefore, who is the only one who can mitigate it. Lord Cavendish speaks very fondly of you. Very fondly indeed. I don’t wish to be embroiled in this friendship of yours. But I do demand that you end it. And I urge you to do so promptly.’ At this moment, indeed, Florence came through from the parlour, arm in arm with her beloved earl. It quickened the blood in Sebastian's veins to see the way his little sister - the thing he loved perhaps most in the world - gazed at the man he trusted least. Cavendish, tall, slender and noble - was an aristocrat by blood, albeit of some obscure kind. His looks did not reflect the soul couched beneath them. But perhaps, if Sebastian could draw them out somehow, his manners might.

‘Lord Cavendish,’ Immanuel turned to shake the earl’s hand. ‘I must return to Rome to tend to some business; but I shall make sure to have Sebastian keep me abreast of your involvement with Florence.’ Kissing each of his younger siblings' heads, and pausing to offer Cavendish a look Sebastian couldn't glimpse, he left. As he went, Sebastian turned to follow him out of the hall, but Florence’s fingers clutched suddenly at his arm. ‘Don’t upset the cook again,’ she said with a smile of warning. ‘Mummy’s only just persuaded him to serve William, he’ll try and leave again if you make a fuss.’

#[Lord William Cavendish - Earl of Cornwall] #Victorian verse #pupil of law #Lord Sebastian Reed #((Oh he's caught him on an off-day - make the most of it XD)) #queue

[mettleborn]

“This weather is testing enough!” Sam protests, wiping at the collection of snow that has started to cling to his face. The wind has picked up and it’s becoming difficult to see.

Considering her words, he glances down at the slope before them, they could ski down sure but they’re likely to meet their maker at the bottom – they’re badly outnumbered. They could call for an evac, but it’s likely to be the middle of the night before they arrive. Still, it might be their best bet.

As Jane mentions somewhere ‘tropical’ Sam can’t help but smile; it’s a lovely thought – sitting in the sun drinking out of a coconut somewhere together; they never did get a honeymoon, only a marriage certificate in fake names.

“Even Rambo would get shredded to pieces down there, I say we call for an evac and use the tent to camp out up here, somewhere in the trees near a landing spot to wait on them.”

With the message sent and the small white tent erected, Sam quickly shifts inside to join Jane. There is barely enough room to move and he is forced to lie flat by her side, staring up at the flapping roof as it is violently whipped by the wind. Its comforting to lie like this - they don’t do this at home, haven’t crossed that boundary yet, maybe they never will. Still, if it feels as nice as this, even when you’re stuck at the top of a frozen mountain, surrounded by people that want to kill you, then maybe he’ll ask when they get back to the apartment; ask if she wants to share a bedroom.

“You know, Hi Hi never gave us a honeymoon, we should ask for a week off, holiday leave, we get that right? Take a week and go somewhere tropical, off the clock. I mean, if you wanted.”

Perhaps the pair spoke too soon. It’s almost humorous now, everything starting in that kitchen, sealed in a pinkie promise. Don’t think they fully knew what they were getting themselves into—whether it was intercepting apparent lethal dead drops or clandestine surveillance. This mission was sort of both and neither simultaneously. Even in the short span of time together, they seemed to be dancing on some mighty thin lines. Some instances, she thinks thinks the agency knew exactly what they were doing pairing the two as the two can align such synchronized precision, it’s scary. Or in instances like this—they’re practically trapped on a mountain against an army—or in other words, doomed.

“This not romantic enough for you, darling?” El teases, still speaking softly enough to be heard only by him in the slight winded elevation—who knows, there could as well be snipers waiting for the next movement. Truly the evidence of Navy training, she thinks, but doesn’t allow said aloud. Now wasn’t exactly the time nor place for a quasi-fight. But, at the same time, this was exactly what they were hired to do. Adapt. But maybe if they had more information, they wouldn’t have to act on unclear direction and constantly add new pieces to the puzzle. And it seemed like John had a similar distinction.

“We should’ve spent more time doing recon, obviously, the bug wasn’t enough.” She takes a breath, air puffed up and blowing at the bangs that fell in her face. Cheeks rosy, nose numb, El was beginning to lose her love for mountaintop views and the excitement of skiing. “I’m starting to think that Hi Hi is playing the vague game on purpose. He’s testing us and we’re not doing too hot.”

She takes a second to think, pushing aside distracting dreams of hot chocolate or mojitos in the sand. “Okay, Cambrian’s dead. His posse thinks they’re chasing us down the mountain. We either camp it out for a while, climb down and take the fail or head back up to their station and see if we missed something. We obviously don’t have all the information here.” Slowly, El stands with hands on her hips.

“Next time, Hi Hi better send us somewhere tropical. I’m banking on Brazil or Australia. There’s gotta be some asshole doing illegal chicken fights we can wrangle up.“

Finally, her hand reaches for his, offering to pull John back up to his feet. “What’ll it be, Rambo?”

#[samuel silas] blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice #Mr and Mrs verse #El #Jane Smith #xgoldxnhour #((I couldn't resist the old stuck in a tiny tent together in a storm trope XD)) #Queue

[mettleborn]

Scared… in truth there was once a time when Samuel believed nothing on this earth could truly scare Nigel; a man Sam had looked up to his entire career, as a principled, unshakable leader. Of course, all that had changed after Stones had been sent over to Sacramento to assist with a brutal, violent case, one that in the end, had changed the man completely. There is nothing worse than having to mourn the loss of someone when they’re still standing right beside you.

To think Nigel might have been scared to see him, sits uncomfortably with Sam because, despite his anger, it’s not something he would ever want Nigel to feel because of him. Even now, when Sam wants to shout so loud his lungs ache, he can’t, because it’s not anger but sympathy he feels and he can’t help but detest himself for it; for harbouring old feelings that just won’t die, no matter how many times Sam buries them. They say unrequited love is the worst pain imaginable and frankly Sam would have to agree, though he can’t say 'wholeheartedly' - Sam’s heart’s not felt whole for a long while.  

Just to hear Nigel’s voice is enough for Sam’s shoulders to relax, for his stance to soften and his hostility to lessen; it’s difficult to stay furious at someone you’ve missed so much. Does Nigel know Sam would have gone with him, left this town and his position behind, if Nigel had only asked?

“Maybe that’s because there’s nothing you can say.” The bitter words come out before Sam can stop them, loaded with hurt and aching regret and guilt too - guilt because deep down he knows most of this isn't Nigel’s fault, and yet, he can’t help but blame him. He hates that hang-dog look on Nigel’s face and yet it always pulls on his heart strings. In truth, on some nights, usually the loneliest ones, Sam find himself wondering if it was all in his head; finds himself questioning if Nigel ever really loved him at all?  

“Are you okay? I mean, you came back? I never expected…” He pauses and looks down at his feet, letting out a tense huff before continuing. “Why now?”

In reality, Nigel wasn't entirely sure if he really was ready to come back to town. Was he ready to face his past? The life he left behind so long ago? The people (person) he left behind without a word? He wasn't sure exactly what had hurt the most in the situation. Leaving his job that he had loved, admitting to himself that he was not strong enough to stick around, or leaving Sam without an explanation. He couldn't even recall the exact process he had gone through in his mind as to why he felt it was a good decision to simply up and leave, but he just knew that he needed time.

He had returned to Australia for a few months, spent some time at an old friend's place to get away from everything. But knowing he had to return, he found a place on the other side of the country to settle down, working small jobs here and there to keep money coming in. Then had started the therapy, which had taken him a long time to even admit he needed. It took time, a lot of time, but between his sessions with his counsellor and checking in on Louise to see how she was progressing, Nigel was able to find himself back in a space where he did not suffer the nightmares every night.

That was when he began to put things in place to move back, setting himself up with a job before he did anything else to ensure that he would have some stability. Video calls to maintain his routine sessions, a place to live, and once he had moved his things in, he began thinking on how to approach the biggest regret he had. He planned to message Sam, tell him he was back and that he wanted to talk, if the other would let him. But he struggled for two days to find the right words that wouldn't make him sound like a jerk. By the third day, he was going to visit him after work, but it was that third day where everything had gone so very wrong. As Nigel approached the bank, he froze on the steps when he saw Sam stood outside the door with a look of... well, it was unclear how to read the look on his face.

"Sam, I..." Nigel trailed off, the tone in the other man's voice hitting him harder than he could have expected. "I've only been here a few days. I wanted to come and see you straight away but I was scared... I didn't know what to say."

#[samuel silas] blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice #Redwood verse variation #Nigel Stones #etxrnaleclipse #((We've only just began and it already hurts hahah!)) #Queue

[mettleborn]

The Doctor will see you now.

Please like this post for a small starter with NBC's Hannibal Lecter.

(Mutuals only)

#Self-reblog #I'll get to these at the weekend #Ooc post #Queue #Hannigram friendly blog #Will RP with mutliple Will Graham accounts #Hannibal rp #Hannibal Lecter rp #NBC Hannibal #Hannigram #Will Graham rp

[mettleborn]

Her home is impressive, old money perhaps, or old money conquered by new, regardless, whoever this woman is, she is one that possesses power. Alighting from the car, Duncan takes in every detail as they walk – every guard, every exit, every security camera…chances are he’s eventually going to need to escape this place too. When she dismisses her security, there is obvious puzzlement on Duncan’s face – does she not realise the danger she’s placed herself in? Perhaps this is her way of fostering trust? A dangerous game to play indeed, though Duncan is not averse to playing along.

At the sight of the bathtub, the old assassin smiles; is she planning to sponge him down?

“Not a bath of acid then.” He grins, watching her every move like a beaten bear waiting for the other foot to drop, for the next assailant to come crashing through the door and yet; nothing, well not quite nothing – there’s drinks and snacks.

Shifting over to the collection of foods, he rips open the bags, tearing at them hungrily – he’s eaten nothing but stale bread for days. Accepting the cold glass of champagne, Vizla gulps it down, then roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Placing the glass down beside her, he glances at the bathtub as his hands move to unbutton his fly.

“You can stay if you like.”

Stripping naked before waiting for an answer, Duncan moves to the tub and climbs inside it, smiling as some water cascades over the sides and down onto her polished marble floors. Hissing as the warm water seeps into his open wounds; the pain eventually soothes. Reaching for a nearby washcloth, Duncan places it between his legs for some modesty, where it bobs with the movement of the water, barely concealing the girth that lies beneath as he sits up a little straighter in the tub.

“Questions…” He repeats, now assuming she has accepted his invitation. There are many questions he could ask but he’d prefer to cut to the chase, to hear her spell it out in her own terms.

“What is it you think I can give you that makes you want to bathe me?”

Testing her boundaries, Duncan eases the glass from her grip. Gently placing it to the side, he replaces it with a sponge and offers her an expectant smile.  

Entertaining. That was what Alex thought first of this whole scenario. Who would ever get so lucky to save one of the most feared assassins of their time to maybe get a little benefit from it? It was as unlikely as a win of the lottery to get mister Vizla in that state where he wasn’t as dangerous as usual, that much was clear but that didn’t change the fact that she was aware of his still remaining potential. If she would push the wrong buttons here, she could be next on his target list and for a capable man like him it should be an easy game to simply choke her with one hand even if she did indeed know how to defend herself. Not acknowledging that fact and not taking it serious would be naive so Alex stayed pretty alarmed during the whole walk to her limousine and even within.

During the whole drive she said nothing, just staring out of the window while her hands on her lap tapped with her fingertips against the black leather pants she was wearing. There was nervousness in that little space they shared cause he surely noticed the knife she had always close to her body for her own protection, but she also wanted to give him the trust he needed to not attack her right away as soon as they would be alone in her apartment. Surely he could have told her people to come in with her for protection, but what she wanted from him was nothing to be heard for anyone’s ears. Should they all think she was getting herself a personal sex slave, she couldn’t care less if the outcome was what she wanted.

Seeing the colors of the city at night always reminded her why she was doing this. That this city needed someone to keep them alive before her father would ruin them to the ground. It was somehow bittersweet and made her always lost in thoughts even when they got out of the car where her security pulled him out right after her. Her night watchmen bowed to her and called the elevator which led up straight into her apartment with a security code and only as the door opened she raised her hand to gesture at her security to stay out. “We’re fine. Good night gentleman.” Alex knew it was tricky to keep them out of this, they could get suspicious and inform her father or even worse just insisted on staying to ruin all of this, but to her own surprise they just followed her command. Maybe Vizla was still intimidating with his presence enough to keep them quiet?

Alex enjoyed it and gestured at Duncan to get in, mumbling a firm “follow me” to lead him through her luxurious apartment and the big main bathroom where a bathtub had been already prepared. “Keeping my word.” she said with a confident smile and rested her hands on her hips while watching him for a moment with eyes that ran along his body. “I filled the bath with something that soothes the irritated skin. Nothing aggressive, it’s just what I use sometimes to keep my own skin as smooth as it is.” A mixture she learnt to make herself from her mother who had to know how to treat her own wounds inflicted by her husbands hands soon enough. Yeah, in taking care of wounds Alex was an expert. “You should see that.” With a playful wink she walked over to the tub and got one of the big towels out of the cabinet to place it on the chair next by. “I left some drinks and snacks but I didn’t know what you might like so… feel free.” There were different kind of breads in a little bowl, strawberries, crisps and chocolate bars presented as well as champagne, beer and simple sodas. He probably was in need of something eatable to get on track again, wasn’t he?

“I will wait in the living room so take your time. Unless… you need me to help you with anything? Or share a toast?” She sat down on the edge of the tub in a teasing manner and filled one of the glasses with champagne to raise it to him. “Any questions?”

#[duncan vizla] close your mind and pull the trigger #Polar verse #alexis vaughn #Alexis #((I love these two already in this new verse - Duncan's enjoying this!)) #Queue

[mettleborn]

Hannibal || Glitter & Gold

Stuck in my head, on repeat all morning - this song which I only know from this edit. 😂

#Just Hannibal things #Hannibal Lecter / guise #Youtube #((Playing it on my wya to work so I can then stop thinking about it. XD))

[mettleborn]

Bortsov can feel it; the visceral impact of his words; the painful electricity of suddenly exposed nerves. The honesty rendered is quite expected and indeed welcomed; when a man bears his soul, that is how you come to know him. Igor doesn’t feel he is exploiting his power by using it to force Jacobi to confess, in truth it is not his confession he is interested in, but rather his loyalty and that, Igor has learned, cannot come without first establishing honesty.

“No, they fucked up his head and continue to.” Bortsov asserts, though he’s well aware Jacobi was in part, complicit. It would be wrong to say he has the full details, but he knows enough.  

“We have all made these mistakes; the blood on our hands is often the easier thing to forgive, it’s the wounds of the heart that are harder.” He is silent for a moment, as if in reverence for the dead; you cannot rise to the position of Pakhan, without leaving a trail of bodies in your wake. Some he mourns far more than others.

Grinding out his cigarette, Igor rises to stand before moving to pour the assassin a glass of water. Handing it to him, he stands over him for a moment, studying him, sensing the strange grief that shrouds him, the weight alone enough to cause Jacobi to hang his head.

“If you work for me, it must not be to punish yourself. Do you understand? It must be because you want to. We’re a family here, how long have you been without one?”

He did not know what to make of it (and also knew far too well), the way a man of such a high rank wielding so much power sat there calm and gentle, friendly in a way that was familial but heavy, like a strong hand stretched out to help you regain your footing but that bore scars and signs of battle — of a hard life — who could as easily pull away or end up tightly gripping your throat, refusing you not only the offered shelter but take away the air needed to breathe. Jacobi knew well that what he was faced with was respect under dangerous scrutiny. Familial only to those that were a part of Bratva.

Jacobi did not dare claim that he was or was not a part, aware that his stance was perhaps a much more dangerous in-between than that, half-crossing a line with steps not easily taken back. Involved and yet not that involved, but enough to be a danger to those that opened their door for him in his time of need if he decided to misstep or backtrack. He was not a trusted member and yet in too deep, at least that was what he felt as he sat there inevitably listening and feeling his inner tension rising at the topic that was discussed (more so that he had to open up and speak so plainly about what he would rather forget) only for it to suddenly skyrocket at a name that was mentioned — and at how it was said.

Helpless he had to watch the Pakhan spit at the name. He had to blink, feeling sheer disbelief; stunted. Then the heat came. Then the tension returned. Then the anger surfaced, visible in the growing-stiff of his figure, at the twitching of marred fingers and the light twitching of the corner of his right eye, at the turning-white of knuckles then after his hands had sunken into armrests of the chair gripping them tightly.

How he would have loved to jump up right then and there, give in to the surge of feeling pushing him on, urging him to stand and not take it in silence. To set off and explode as his works always did, like a detonation to bamboozle the enemy, bogging down their radio traffic at a critical juncture. Or a penetrating bomb burrowed harmlessly in the dirt, before erupting like a volcano, sending scorched earth skyward in a hot and ashen cloud. Hot and bright and burning, the same that his blood felt coursing through his veins in anger that he fought to hold back, tried his best to not let it get the better of him. Not here, not now. Not in front of Igor Bortsov, because Jacobi knew that the Pakhan had every right to disdain the way he did. He knew that the Pakhan was not wrong in his scorn, either.

' Do you know why I chose you? '

Jacobi blinked. The voice of the man before him was strong enough to pull him out of his blind-raged stupor. With caution he continued to listen to every word that followed. An unsaid compliment given that he did not feel worthy taking. Instead he felt hesitant, again, felt the image he did have of the situation (and in extension the foundation of his own personal plan) shaken.

Bortsov offered out to him his strong, influential hand gifting him a promise yet Jacobi felt his own only trembling in turn. He watched the Pakhan lean to catch his gaze and in response grew stiff again, holding eye contact but recoiling ever so slightly with a lean of his own. He swallowed because the air hung heavy and dried up his throat. He could not help but feel stripped naked, like this very man was capable of reading him like an open book. Like Bortsov was capable of seeing right through him.

        “It's my fault, that he's—”, it was tried but he stopped himself, taken-aback by how hoarse his voice sounded. Forced to swallow again, his tongue flicked out afterwards in a sad attempt to wet his lips.

Then his gaze sank. In shame. Revealing a long-felt vulnerability that he had carried around like an open wound. He felt like a naive kid that was being listened to by the only adult that understood and was capable of dishing out a much needed cathartic punishment. He felt like a miscreant that had to drop onto his knees before a man of so much greater. A man that brought justice not only over himself but had the ability to have everyone atone for their sins.

        “I fucked up his head.”

#[Igor Bortsov: let all I have lived be as if it were a dream] #Igor Bortsov #Bratva verse #jacobi #pathopsychological #((smaller response - just to keep the dialouge flowing )) #Queue

[mettleborn]

𝖉𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝕴'𝖒 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖞?

18+ 𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖘 23 𝖞𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖒𝖚𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖔𝖋…𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕 𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖚𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖒𝖎𝖝 𝖔𝖋 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖈 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊𝖘

#Promo #Rp promo #Signal boost #Promo boost #((Really awesome blog and equally awesome mun)) #Queue

[mettleborn]

“𝙄  𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀  𝙔𝙊𝙐”  𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙏𝙎.  (N.𝙎𝙁.𝙒 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉.)

idk how to describe the exact thought process that led me to this idea, but basically i was watching a tonne of ins.tagram videos and i think i had hit the fourth video in a row using that interview where it’s like “love ya, bye.” “love ya…………..PFFT–” and i was like. in a way, that’s actually completely adorable, and i was thinking about all the different ways and contexts in which people say “i love you”, and now i’m here to make it everyone else’s problem! so bon appetit! DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST!! i will add to it in the future!! i already made a sfw (safe for work) version that can be found in the post before this one, but i promised u a spicy option, so here u go, here’s an ns/fw version ( aka DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN!! ), w spicy prompts that can be found at the bottom of the list, and remember, if you add to the list i will curse ur shoes to be squeaky 24/7. so just don’t add anything to the list, okay my loves? okay. enjoy!

[  FIRST  ]:     sender tells the receiver “i love you” for the first time.

[  PHONE  ]:    during a phone call with the receiver, sender absently tells them “i love you” for the first time before hanging up.

[  MOUTH  ]:     while standing across a crowded room from one another, sender catches the receiver’s eye and mouths “i love you” to them.

[  WEDDING  ]:    as they prepare to exchange wedding vows, sender gazes at the receiver and says “i love you” for the last time as an unmarried couple.

[  HEAT  ]:     while engaged in a passionate argument with one another, sender, in the heat of the moment, blurts out “i love you!” to the receiver. ( think of like, that glorious trope where people have a huge argument and then suddenly sb drops the mic with “because i’m in love with you!” and silences the other person. u know the trope! )

[  SLOW  ]:     after resisting their feelings for one another for a very long time, sender finally breaks down and reveals to the receiver that they love them.

[  SAVED  ]:   having believed they were both about to die, the sender says “i love you” to the receiver, only for both of them to be spared at the last minute and left to process the not-so-final last words of the sender.

[  OVERHEARD  ]:     sender reveals that they’re in love with the receiver to a third party, not realizing that the receiver, while out of sight, has just overheard the confession.

[  CHOOSE  ]:     sender, realizing the receiver is about to make a huge life-changing decision (literally anything, accepting a job offer, accepting a marriage proposal, leaving the country, ANYTHING!) tells the receiver that they’re in love with them, leaving them to choose between the sender and their original path.

[  DECISION  ]:     sender finds the receiver just as they’re about to make a massive decision that will have massive consequences for the fate of many people, possibly the world. accepting their fate, sender allows the receiver to continue, telling them that they love them, and then waiting to see whether the receiver choose to save the world, or destroy it.  (for the hero/villain vibes bc we STAN THOSE VIBES! )

[  LAST  ]:    believing it to be their last chance to confess their feelings for the receiver, the sender tells them that they love them.

[  ASK  ]:     immediately after saying “i love you” to the receiver for the first time, the sender proceeds to propose to them.

[  BEDSIDE  ]:     while sitting by the sick/injured/unconscious receiver’s bedside, sender reveals that they’re in love with them, unaware that the receiver is able to hear this revelation.

[  TEXT  ]:     before concluding a text conversation, the sender delivers one more text to the receiver, reading “i love you”, before ending the conversation.

[  SACRIFICE  ]:    just before putting their own life in danger to protect, save, or help the receiver, the sender tells them that they love them, and then proceeds to risk their life in an intentional self-sacrificing way.

[  BATTLE  ]:     as they prepare to go on a dangerous mission, sender shares a final moment with the receiver, and tells them they love them, just as they head out to fight.

[  TRACE  ]:    sender, believing the receiver to be asleep, gently traces the message “i love you” on the receiver’s bare skin with their finger.

[  LETTER  ]:     sender delivers a letter to the receiver that reveals their deep love for the receiver.

[  PRIVATE  ]:    sender confesses their love for the receiver by using a private joke or shared story that only the two of them know.  ( example: “remember the day we went fishing on the lake and you fell into the water because you thought that leaf was a shark fin? that was the day i knew i loved you.”  )

[  NOTE  ]:     on their way out of the house, sender leaves a small note for the receiver to read when they wake up, reading “i love you”.

[  UNSPOKEN  ]:     after a third party (or the receiver themselves) asks if the sender is in love with the receiver, the sender goes silent, unwittingly admitting that they do love them in the process.

[  KISS  ]:     unable to find the right words to express how much they love the receiver, the sender impulsively catches them and pulls them in for a passionate, deep kiss.

[  RAIN  ]:     sender reveals their love for the receiver while they’re both standing outside in the pouring rain.

[  HUSH  ]:     sender whispers “i love you” to the receiver while they’re both in a situation or context where they need to be quiet.

[  UNCERTAIN  ]:     while pretending/acting/undercover, the sender says “i love you” to the receiver, but whether they meant it or not is left unknown.

[  DANCING  ]:    as they slow-dance together, the sender takes the opportunity to lean in close to the receiver and tell them that they love them.

[  QUIET  ]:    on a cozy night in with the receiver, as they curl up together on the sofa/in bed, the sender says “i love you” to them.

[  RELIEF  ]:    upon reuniting with the receiver, whom the sender briefly believed to be dead, the sender emotionally embraces them, and says “i love you” in the spur of the moment.

[  LAUGH  ]:    while laughing at a joke/prank/story that the receiver is humorously displaying, the sender fondly tells them that they love them.

[  OVER?  ]:     after a mutually reluctant (and unwanted but necessary) break-up, the sender calls/visits the receiver and tells them that they’re still in love with them.

[  VOICEMAIL  ]:    sender leaves a voicemail on the receiver’s phone after failing to get through to them, and reveals their love for them.

[  ASLEEP  ]:     sender, having climbed into bed to cuddle the receiver (who they believe to be asleep), tells them that they love them.

[  INCOHERENT  ]:     while sick/feverish/intoxicated/otherwise incoherent, the sender tells the receiver that they love them, leaving the receiver to figure out if they meant it or not.

[  TRUST  ]:      faced with an incredibly risky situation, the sender decides to accept whatever plan the receiver decides on, trusting them with both of their lives and telling them they love them in the process.

[  DURING  ]:      while having sex with the receiver, the sender tells them that they love them.

[  AFTER  ]:     after having spent the night before together, the sender wakens next to the receiver, and, gazing at them, tells them that they love them.

[  COMPLICATED  ]:      despite having a strictly no-strings-attached se.xual relationship with the receiver, the sender, having realized they’ve developed feelings for them along the way, tells them that they love them, at the risk of losing them entirely in the process.

#Memes #Rp memes #((Please specify muse))

[mettleborn]

every time hannibal sows discord he has the smuggest smile ever

#Hannibal #Hannibal rp #Just Hannibal things #((This is and the little angry growls are my fav - he's such a bit.ch))

[mettleborn]

He’d heard the shot and immediately come running, only to skid to a halt before the body of a dead boy, one who likely turned only a few weeks ago; one who still looked mostly human. It’s a saddening, shocking sight, the kind that feels like a gut punch, though Silas can tell from the look on Ben’s face that this one has hit him more like a freight train. Carefully moving the body out of sight, Sam moves closer to crouch down beside Ben before softly touching him on the shoulder, his hand resting there for a moment, in sympathy and solidarity.

“It’s okay.” He soothes, not wishing to make Ben feel vulnerable, but at the same time eager to show him it’s okay to feel it; the despair this dead world has created and the tragic loss it has left in its wake. Licking his thumb, Sam gently draws the calloused pad across Ben’s cheek to wipe away a smudge of thick blood, in a motion that is reminiscent of Sam’s own Father, who would do similarly when cleaning chocolate from Samuel's face, as a kid, usually prompting loud protest from Sam.

“Hey, I found a bunker over there, saw the hatch buried in the dirt, we should probably check it out.” Rising to his feet, Sam offers Ben his hand, eager to pull him up, not only from the ground but up and out of the pain he’s currently seated deeply in. This is the best thing they can do for each other now; keep each other going.

“Maybe there’ll be some instant coffee, you never know.”

Reunion After Physical Trauma @mettleborn said: [ STARING ] for sender to find receiver sitting alone staring at a wall, covered in blood, and to touch their arm. (Ben & Sam)

The world had seemingly stopped around Ben, and there was a few brief moments where he feared that his heart had too. All he could see in his mind, no matter whether his eyes were open or closed, was the little boy's face. He had looked so much like Tomas, bringing up feelings that he had not dealt with for so many years. Seeing that little boy staggering towards him, bloodied mouth opening and closing with inhumane sounds escaping him... It almost made him glad that his son had not survived to see this world. But having to put a bullet in the head of a child, while it was something that he had done many times before, this time it was different. He sat there, covered in blood from the many creatures that he had taken out that afternoon, staying at the opposite wall in a trance as he tried to rid his mind of the image.

He only snapped back to reality when he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump.

"I- sorry... Sorry, I didn't realise you were there."

#[samuel silas] blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice #Reach for the Dead: TWD verse #ben hernandez #etxrnaleclipse #((okay but this is soft despite the violence and now I'm emotional XD)) #Queue #((Just had to reply XD))

[mettleborn]

“I’d drink gas station coffee right now, that’s how bad this is.” Sam chuckles with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Anyway, pleased to meet you Ben and yeah, we’ve been on our own for a long time now.” Watching as the dog lays down in the dirt, having clearly decided it’s time to take a nap, Sam smiles; it’s a clear indication Seamus senses no threat.  

“We’re just passing through I guess, looking for food, water, a working car maybe, but there ain’t much left. We’re going North, figure the winter will freeze them maybe, it’s a hard life sure, but might be a safer one.” He blushes slightly, realising he’s probably talking way too much; you get that way after being starved of human company so long. Ben’s an attractive guy and the fact Sam’s even noticed that at all, in a fucked situation like this, is not something Sam’s particularly proud of - focus Sam!

Heading North, that's the plan, though only because Sam currently has no other, over the past few months he’s exhausted all avenues of contact, the fact he stumbled across Ben at all frankly feels like a God damn miracle.

“If you could spare even a single can of food, we’d be grateful and hey, if you’re heading North too, you’re welcome to help us look for a vehicle.”

There was a tension in the air that was unfamiliar to Ben. He had been traveling alone for so long, no interactions with any other humans, that he had forgotten what it was like to have a civilsed conversation. But he was not about to let his surprise at seeing another person catch him off guard. It had been about three months since he last encountered someone, and that had not ended well - a bullet in his own arm and one between the woman's eyes. Having to take a life in a world where there was so little of it left had not sat well with him, but he had done what he had to do in order to survive. Since then, he had been wandering the streets without any signs of life around him beyond the occasional animal. Until now.

"Well, granted, I heard that on a radio line about five months ago. I figured nothing had changed... Everything went dead not long after that." Ben sighed, initially tensing when the stranger stepped towards him. But when the hand was offered to him, he realised how spending all these months alone and waiting for someone to kill him had left him distrustful. So he shouldered his rifle and wiped his hand on his jeans, giving the other man's a firm shake.

"Ben Hernandez." He replied, before a weak chuckle escaped him. "Never thought I'd say this, but I actually would kill for an instant coffee right now... Wouldn't catch me dead drinking that stuff before now." There was a pause as he glanced towards the dog, before back to Samuel. "You two out here alone? I haven't seen anyone in months, I thought... Well, I guess you understand."

#[samuel silas] blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice #The Dead Don't Die - TWD verse #ben hernandez #etxrnaleclipse #((okay...Sam worried about being low-key flirtatous even at the end of the world feels so accurate hahah XD)) #Queue #((I ran out of Gifs because I need Fassbender to do a zombie film XD ))

[mettleborn]

Lecter can hear the genuine concern in Will’s cadence, his words indicating he has likely become fixated on some pre-determined notion of both their future, and their end. Clearly, he considers their fates inexplicably entwined; is it their inability to separate themselves from one another that has determined Will to doom them both? Still, is it really so far-fetched to suppose that the end of their relationship will be any less bloody than its birth? Regardless, the fate Will Graham speaks of, he beckons far too soon – like a pupa that has grown tired of its quiescent chrysalis, one that hasn’t yet grown in the requisite ways required to fully emerge.  When the time is right, Hannibal will know.

“Awake, arise or be forever fallen. This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.”

A favourite quote from Paradise Lost that seems particularly fitting. Lifting his glass of wine, Hannibal gently rests the rim against his lip as he breathes in the heavy scent of good vintage before taking a small sip.

“If we fall, we fall together.” He assures finally, unafraid of confessing he is not infallible. “We are the same, you and I…does it not follow that we would face such a fate together, or not at all?”

Finishing the last bite of his meal, Hannibal carefully places down his knife and fork, as he studies Will in the low light with a searching gaze, considering the possible origins of his fears and the words he likely lacks the courage to yet speak.

“You imagine our end to be one that is unworthy of romanticising. Tell me Will, how do you believe this will end?”

Will smirked ever so slightly to himself at Hannibal's question, he was indulging in a meal prepared by the doctor knowing who was on the menu... Wasn't that enough of an answer? However, to put on more of a show for the other he will mirror Hannibal as he eats slowly learning to appreciate cuisine like the doctor. Even if his dinner had a name and a job and a family, Hannibal's cullinary skills still shone through which still left Will with a few contridictory thoughts.

"I think calling it a fall is a far more romantic description of what is going to happen between us," Will skips the question, heat crawling up his neck and to his ears. Was he too shy to admit that he was just starting to enjoy his time with the doctor? Could he not simply make one of his snappy little quips about how he enjoys slow cruises instead of fast joy rides?

There's so much he still has to learn about the older man, so much still he wants to explore so much that the idea that this is destined to end in tragedy tugs at his heart a little bit much like when young adults have the realization of their own mortality.

"What if your grip slips? What happens when we both fall?" This is the most geniune Will Graham has sounded in front of anybody in a long, long time. For a moment the look in his eye is almost pleading before he simply going back to his plate, shoulders relaxing for the first time in possible months.

#[Hannibal Lecter: Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me] #Hannibal Lecter #Hannibal Lecter RP #Will Graham #godforbidrp #((I'm laughing at how they dance around it so XD)) #((Hannibal - the fuck do you mean it won't be romantic? HAHAH!))

[mettleborn]

@kit-just-kit

Come Undone

22.02.22

#Igor x Evil Kit #Ship aesthetic #Ship songs #Thinking about that first kiss meme response and this song fits for Igor #((she's a bad influence and I love it because he's already so bad XD))

[mettleborn]

@wrathfulmercy

"I'll be fine

I'll be waiting patiently

'Til you see the signs

And come running to my open arms

When will you realize?

Do we have to wait 'til our worlds collide?

Open up your eyes

You can't turn back the tide"

#Rick and Sam: would you die for me? #Ship aesthetic #Ship songs #((Spotify is clearly coming for me this morning)) #((but holy shit this is them))

[mettleborn]

((Okay so I have caught up on replies and have loads in my queue. I've suspended my queue and I'm going to be posting them in little dribs and drabs so I get a chance to do a second read through and correct all my typos ha ha! All responses will be posted by this coming Saturday. I've still to get to most of my inbox.))

#Ooc post #Update post #Worked my butt off these last two weekends to get these 30 replies done - excited to post them!