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hellzabeth · 3 years

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i have opinions about The Prince of Egypt musical adaption and you’re going to listen to them: An Essay

So, quick disclaimer: The Prince of Egypt is one of my favourite movies of all time. The casting, the music, the animation, I think it’s one of the top-tier movies that have ever been made. I went into seeing the London West End production of PoE with a full expectation that nothing I saw on stage would ever live up to how much I love the movie. I was fully aware there are plenty of limitations to what can be shown live on a stage with human actors and props.

That being said, I was enormously disappointed with how the whole thing was handled.

The Good

Now before I launch into a whole tirade of what I didn’t like about the production, it does behoove me to say what I think they did do well.  

The casting of the role of Moses was done fantastically, as was Miriam, Tzipporah, and Yocheved. The swings and the ensemble were really engaged and well placed, going through lots of quick changes to go from Hebrews to Egyptians to Midianites and back. 

The two Egyptian queens, wifes of Seti and Ramses, are actually given names, lines, and character beyond being simply tacked onto their respective kings. We get to see how they feel about the events happening around them, and there’s even a scene where Ramses meets his wife and courts her, whereas in the movie, she stands in the background and says nothing. This is one of the areas I was hoping the musical, which would naturally have a longer run-time, would expand on, and I was pleased to see the opportunity was taken.

Light projections on enormous curtains were used to very good effect, taking us instantly inside the walls of the palace and then out to the desert.  

Over all, the work was really put in to be engaging and emotional, and the orchestra really worked to deliver the right musical beats. 

One of two stand out scenes as being done very well was the opening “Deliver Us”, which included a bone-chilling moment of Egyptians separating a mother and her baby, with her screams as she’s dragged off-stage, and the blood on the guard’s sword. It really brings home the fear as Yocheved tries to lead Aaron and Miriam to the river with her, not to mention Yocheved’s actress nailed the lullaby.  

The second was at the other end of the show, “When You Believe” was beautifully performed by the whole cast, though it was somewhat stunted by what came before...

The Bad

Oh boy.

So the main problem with this show is not the music, not the staging, not even that sometimes the ensemble was a little off-beat (the lai-lai-lai section in Though Heaven’s Eyes comes to mind). Any mistakes there can all be forgiven, since sometimes things just happen in live performance, someone’s a bit off or something’s just not possible to do on the budget allotted.  

The problem is in the script.

The Prince of Egypt movie is a story that stands not only on the shoulders of its fantastic music and visuals, but also on its emotive retelling and portrayal of the characters within - mainly Moses and Ramses. And while the stage musical does spend a lot of time with the two mains, it neglects two other, incredibly important characters.

Pharaoh Seti, and God.  

In the movie, Seti strikes an intimidating figure. He is old, hardened, and wise in the ways of ruling his kingdom - and is voiced by Patrick Stewart, who brings his A-game to the role. Both Moses and Ramses admire him and look up to him immensely as young men, and the relationship he has with both of them deeply informs their characters as the story progresses. It’s from Seti that Moses learns that taking responsibility for your actions is the respectable thing to do (and later, the true horror of having your idol turn out to be not what you think), and it’s from Seti that Ramses takes a huge inferiority complex.

There are two lines that Seti gets in the movie, one spoken to Moses, and one to Ramses. These two lines define Moses and Ramses’ actions later on in the story:

To Ramses - “One weak link can break the chain of a mighty dynasty!” To Moses - “Oh my son... they were only slaves.”

Guess which two lines are absent from the musical?

One Weak Link is turned into an upbeat song, rather than shouted at a terrified and cowed young Ramses. Instead of being openly a traumatic, internalised moment of negative character development for Ramses, it’s treated as a general philosophy that Seti passes down to his son. Instead of a judgement that is hung over Ramses’ head like a sword of Damocles, lingering in his mind through the whole story and coming up in a shouted argument with Moses later, it’s said and then moved on from.  

The “they were only slaves” comment, on the other hand, is absent entirely. This changes Moses’ relationship with Seti enormously, as well as his relationship with the Hebrew people. Upon finding the mural depicting the killing of the slave children, Moses is appropriately horrified, and Seti shows up to comfort him and defend his terrible actions. Moses leaves this interaction... and then sings about how this is indeed all he ever wanted! He has no moment of horrific realisation that his father thinks of the slaves as lesser, as lives that can be thrown away. This means that the scene where he kills the guard doesn’t lead into a discussion of morality with Ramses as he runs away, but rather Moses breaking down about his heritage as though it’s a negative, instead of something he’s realised is just as valuable as his life as an Egyptian. Instead of Moses being shown as having a strong moral core that protests against the idea of any life being lesser, he bemoans his Hebrew blood loudly, and makes little mention of the man he killed. His issue that causes him to run away is being adopted, rather than his guilt that he’s a murderer, and nothing Ramses can say will change it.

Later on, we don’t see Ramses express this opinion either (in the movie - M:”Seti’s hands bore the blood of thousands of children!” R:“Hah, slaves!” M:“My people!”) so it seems the core reasoning for the necessity of the extremes God had to go to in order to convince Ramses to let the Hebrews go is completely gone.

Which leads us into God Himself, as a character.  

God is a tricky topic in general. He is hard to talk about as a concept and as a character, and even harder to depict in a way that won’t offend someone. The Prince of Egypt movie always struck me as a very good depiction of the Old Testament God - vengeful and strong-willed, commanding and yet nurturing, capable of great mercy and great cruelty in one fell swoop. God is incredibly present in the story, a character in and of Himself, speaking with Moses rather than simply commanding him. The conversation at the Burning Bush is bone-chillingly beautiful. Moses is allowed to question, he’s allowed to enquire, he’s allowed to express how he feels about God’s choice, and God is given the chance to respond (and reprimand, and comfort).

In the musical, the Burning Bush scene lasts all of two minutes, during which God (the ensemble cast, acting as one moving flame, speaking in unison) monologues to Moses, and Moses is not given room to question, talk to, or build a relationship with God. Later on, once some of the plagues have gotten underway, Moses rails against God, flinches in his resolve, and tries to back out... and God says nothing. It’s Miriam and the spirit of Yocheved that convince Moses to keep going. As a character, God is nearly absent. Even when it comes to calling upon the Plagues, or parting the Red Sea, God’s voice is absent. Moses does not pray. He does not even use the staff that God encouraged him to pick up as a symbol of his becoming a shepherd of the Hebrews out of Egypt.  

It’s these little changes, these little absences of such vital lines and presences, that ends up changing the whole vibe of the show. Seti is more like a dad than an emotionally distant authority figure, and God is more like an emotionally distant authority figure than a character at all. Ultimately, the whole feeling that one is left with at the end…

The Ugly

… is that the script doesn’t like God, or religion in general.

A bold statement to make, considering the source material is one of the central biblical stories in EVERY Abrahamic religion. Moses as a figure is considered so important and close to god, that The Prince of Egypt, even with its sensitive portrayal, cannot be aired in a number of Islamic states, because it’s considered disrespectful to depict any of the prophets, especially an important one like Moses. Moses is arguably the MOST important prophet in the Jewish canon.

However, I haven’t highlighted one of the most noticeable script changes - the elevation of Hotep, the high priest, to main antagonist.

In the original movie, Hotep is a secondary villain, a crony to the Pharaohs, bumbling and snide and two-faced. He and his fellow priest Hoy are there primarily to juxtapose how charlatans can control power through flattery and slight of hand, reassuring Ramses that Moses’ miracles are merely magic the same as what they can do. They even get a whole villain song, “Playing With The Big Boys” which is a lovely deconstruction of lyrics vs visuals, where while the priests boast that their gods and magic are much more powerful, in the background the staff, transformed into a snake by god, devours and defeats the priests’ snake handily. The takeaway from the song is that God’s power is true, and doesn’t need theatrics.

It’s a good little nugget of wordless world building. And it is completely absent from the stage musical, with only a vague reference to the chant of all the gods names.

Hoy is gone, and Hotep is the only priest. He actively speaks out against the Pharaoh, boasts about having all the power, and is played as bombastic and proud. He’s a wildly different character, even threatening Ramses at one point. In the end, it’s shown that Ramses won’t let the Hebrews go not because he has inherited his father Seti’s cruel attitude towards the lives he considers beneath him, but because he is being actively bullied by the priest, and will lose his power and credibility if he doesn’t do as he’s told. Ramses is even given a whole song about how little power he really has. The script desperately wants us to feel sorry for Ramses’ position and hate the unrepentantly, cartoonishly evil priest.

That’s another matter as well - a LOT of time is dedicated to making the Egyptians more human and sympathetic, portraying them as largely ignorant of the suffering beneath them, rather than actively participating in slavery. Characters speak out of turn without regard for formality and class, even to the royal family. They are casual, chummy even. And this would be fine - in fact, it’s good to have that sort of third dimension to characters, even ones who are doing reprehensible things, to show the total normalcy and banality of evil - if it were not for the fact they still include a completely open-and-shut case of evil right next to them.

Hotep has no redeeming features. And on the other side, God is barely present, certainly not in a relatable context. Moses has several lines about how cruel and unnecessary God’s plagues are - and you know what, in this version, they are unnecessary! Ramses is not the stone-hearted ruler that his movie counterpart is, he has no baggage over being a potential failure, because it was never really given to him in the same way! By taking away Ramses’ threatening nature, numbers like the Plagues lose half their appeal, as the back-and-forth ‘you who I called brother’ lines between Moses and Ramses are completely absent. Moses is faithless, and is less torn between the horror of what he’s doing and the necessity of it for the freedom of his people, and more left scrabbling for meaning that he doesn’t find. And the only thing hanging over Ramses is Hotep nit-picking everything he does and threatening him, which is considerably less compelling than the script seems to think it is.

This is best exemplified at the end, when all the issues come to a head. The angel of Death comes and takes the Egyptian first borns (which was actually a well done scene), and the Hebrews leave to a rousing rendition of When You Believe. But then we cut to Ramses and Hotep, with Hotep openly threatening to revolt against the Pharaoh - whom was believed, especially by the priesthood, to be a living god! Hotep is so devoid of redeeming features he cannot even be trusted to stand by his beliefs! - unless Ramses agrees to chase after the Hebrews. Reluctantly, Ramses is badgered into the attempt.

Back with the Hebrews, Moses parts the Red Sea… not with his faith, not by praying to God for another miracle, not even by using his staff as in the most famous scene of the movie… but by holding out his hand and demanding the ‘magic’ work. Setting aside the disrespect of Abrahamic religions to call one of the most famous miracles “magic” (and my oh my, if there was a fundamentalist of any religion in the audience they might have gasped to hear it), it again belittles the work of God, and puts all the onus on Moses, not as a conduit for God’s work, but as the worker himself. Then, the Egyptians arrive in pursuit, lead by Hotep, not Ramses. Moses sends the Hebrews through first, lead by Miriam, and stays behind with Tzipporah… to offer his life in penance to Ramses! The script has completely stripped both Ramses and Moses of their convictions towards their causes, and Moses cannot even stand by his decision to lead his people.

Then, in a moment of jarring melodrama, Moses has a sudden vision that Ramses, his brother, will one day be called Ramses the Great (an actual historical Pharaoh who reigned 1279-1213 BCE). There is no historical evidence that this was the Ramses that ruled over the Hebrews (there are 11 Pharaohs called Ramses through the history of Ancient Egypt), and maybe if the scene was acted a little better, it wouldn’t have been so sudden or jarring. Even more jarring, is that then Hotep arrives with the rest of the army, and Ramses refuses to lead the charge into the parted sea. Hotep does so himself, and is the one to have the final dramatic moment, being crushed under the water.

The Takeaway

After watching the show, I’m afraid I could never recommend it as either a play, an adaption, or even as a faithful retelling of a bible story. Its character drama isn’t compelling enough to be good as a standalone play, with it two main characters declawed and their core motivations reduced to a squabble between brothers rather than a grand interplay between two cultures and ideas and trauma handed down from their father. As an adaption of the movie it’s upsettingly bad, with grand numbers like the Plagues rendered piecemeal and fan favourites like Playing With The Big Boys missing entirely. As a retelling of the bible story, it’s insulting, completely cutting God out of the equation, taking no opportunity to reintroduce Aaron as an important character (which he was, in the bible, as Moses was a notoriously bad public speaker, with a stutter, and Aaron often interpreted for him) and more importantly, completely erasing God’s influence from the narrative.

I don’t know who this show was… for, in that case. If it wasn’t for drama lovers, movie fans, or people of the faith, then who the hell was it for? Why change such a critically acclaimed and well-beloved story? Why take away all these defining moments? If you wanted to tell a story about how religion is the true evil, how God can command people to do terrible things, and how those who uphold organised religion like Hotep are unrepentant, one-dimensional monsters… why would you tell that through the Prince of Egypt?

Underwhelming at best, infuriating at worst… just watch the movie. Or read Exodus. At least the Bible’s free.

#the prince of egypt #the prince of egypt musical #PoE #review #essay

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em0avacado · 3 years

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Supposed To Be (Angel Reyes x Reader)

summary : uh first it’s sad but then it’s..... not as sad. there’s no real plot. Angel slowly falls in love with his best friend.

trigger warning : UUUHH FILTH, mentions of cheating, broken hearts, also - all things dirty near the end.

word count : 2.1k

It didn’t rain much in Santo Padre, that was a given, it was basically the desert. So on the rare occurrence that it did, you’d dwell in it. Sitting inside, against an open window, and listened to the water pelting against the glass, washing away the sins of the small town. But this time, you were soaked to the core, water hitting your head, your toes touching every puddle that was in her path, her heels not being very water nor cold resistance. The storm inside your heart mirrored the one that riddled the quiet streets. If it weren’t for your red, puffy eyes, one couldn’t even tell your cheeks were tear stained. Shivers hit you bones as she stepped up the front porch of your best friends house. Someone you loved so dearly, but someone that you’d pushed away, all due to the asshole you found buried deep in your only other friends pussy. It wasn’t the first time, either, for some odd reason, the first time, you’d been inclined to believe his sobbed apologies, you knew people made mistakes, and though this wasn’t one you’d forgive, you found yourself doing so. In your weak state, one you hated showing, despising how it felt to be so vulnerable to anyone, especially someone you hurt. You nearly fell into Angel’ s arms when he opened the door, wordless sobs racking your chest. You told him everything, and he listened, that day he swore that was the last time he’d let some lowlife break your heart, even if it meant he’d have to kill them.

You ended up moving in with Angel, the situation you had been in wasn’t ideal, and it took a while to really get yourself back but when you did? The sight was unbelievably gorgeous, after seeing you so low, seeing you on his step, eyes swollen, throat raw, hair a mess, clothing tattered, it was breath taking seeing you shine again. You allowed yourself to really feel the pain for a while, wanting to get that part over with, so you didn’t find yourself crawling back to someone like your ex again, and it almost felt.. like you’d been reborn in the rain that night. You took it one day at a time, within the first few days you didn’t get out of bed, then you did, starting with small tasks before you went back to bed, then you started going back to work, not intending to be some sort of mooch.

It was one night, a few months after living with him, he came home his usual time, around eight, stopping at the door when he heard the music blasting from the inside. Furrowing his brows when he heard you screech along, you were far from a singer, but he’d pay thousands to continue to hear the pure joy in your voice as the words pitched. He opened the door as quietly as possible, and when you didn’t notice him, he walked further in. He saw you dancing around the kitchen with a wooden spoon in your hand, using it as a microphone, you wore a sports bra, and plaid pj shorts that clung to your hips as you moved them, not at all to the rhythm. “My pride still feels the sting, you were my everything! someday i’ll find a love like yours!!” you sang brightly, more meaning behind the words than you’d like to admit. You jumped when Angel finished the lyric, lifting your spoon as a weapon, ready to strike as he sang “she’ll think i’m superman, not super minivan!” he laughed, then she did, finishing the song, she turned the radio down, and they carried on making dinner and talked about each other’s day.

It was the time that Angel had a really rough day, after being taught for years by ex lovers, and surely society itself that it wasn’t okay for him to express his emotions, you showed him that he’s allowed to be comfortable in himself and you, no matter the day. The storm cloud around his head was dark, his chest felt heavy, his limbs dragged. He’d ignored the “hello” he got from you after he came home, he went straight for his room, keeping it dark. Furrowing your brows, you gave him a few minutes before you went inside. Climbing into the bed, you lifted the sheets and wrapped your arms around his sleeping form, when he woke up, he saw you, sleeping with him in your grasp. He looked at you, watching you in silence, the heavy heart that say in his chest, lightened, you were there for him without asking the slightest of you. You made him feel safe.

It was that one friday, where he was supposed to be on a run, you were supposed to have the house to yourself so you ran around in a shirt that went down to mid thigh, an oversized shirt. his. oversized shirt. The club had gotten home early from a run, they were supposed to be home tomorrow, he could’ve stayed at the clubhouse. The Mayans had planned a party, but Angel felt himself missing you, it’d already been over twenty four hours since he saw you last and he felt the withdrawals. So, naturally, he went home, the house was silent, you were in bed, on top of the covers, bedroom door wide open, like a book, and your hands between your legs. Your head tilted back, eyes shut, he could tell you were close, so close, the small sources of light in the room bounced off your glistening skin. You didn’t withhold your moans, you were supposed to be alone, so of course you’d let yourself feel it.

He watched as you brought yourself closer and closer to that delicious climax that curled your toes, he felt like he should look away, like he should walk away and forget he ever saw that but his mouth watered at the sight, utterly star struck. He was about to walk away, leave you to it, his pants growing tighter, he wanted to give you your privacy but that was over the moment his name escaped your lips, in a soft, angelic moan. Disregarding his kutte quickly, he went up to the corner of your bed and cleared his throat “you called?” he asked, raising a brow at you as you scrambled to find cover, widening your eyes quickly, bringing you down from that high quickly and pulling your legs closed but he stopped you with a finger to your knee. “no, baby. lemme see that pretty pussy.” he nearly growled, a shiver ran down the length of your spine. Inhaling deeply, you slowly spread your legs again, putting your glistening heat on display for him.

You felt the bed shift as he got on, dipping with his weight, he ran his fingertips over your soft skin, a ghosting touch causing a litter of goosebumps to rise on your skin. You watched him closely, the suspense killing you slowly, you clenched your muscles around nothing, your desire for him burning hot as he just looked, awe struck. “This all for me?” he asked, his eyes meeting yours, and when you didn’t respond, looking at him in silence, he reached up, grasping your chin between his forefinger and thumb, adjusting your face roughly. “I asked you a question.” he said, his voice stern, and so velvety smooth.

“yes.” you mustered, caught up in arousal and nerves.

“yes, what, princess?” he asked, his free hand ghosting up your inner thigh, making you want to whine for his touch, shivering once again.

“yes, it’s all for you.” you nearly whimpered but did your best to maintain your composure.

“I want to taste you, may i?” he asked, eyes still on you as you nodded eagerly, and you didn’t need to say it twice.

He started at your knees, peppering soft kisses down the inside of your thighs as he lowered himself. Now laying between your legs, he placed little butterfly kisses everywhere but where you needed him the most. You whined, and squirmed, you wanted him, so, so, bad. His eyes met you again, looking for your reaction as he dove between your legs, starting to devour you the moment he made contact. His tongue trailing between your folds, lapping up your juices, leaving no part of you untouched. He wasn’t a religious man, but he knew right then, that if anything was the forbidden fruit, it was you. He was completely lost in the way you tasted, and your head was swimming, the moment he focused on your clit, you lost all and any control you had. You gripped his hair tightly as your orgasm ran through your body, arching your back, you ground your hips against his face, cumming quickly. But he didn’t stop, selfishly lapping up your climax, he pushed his thumb against your clit and just continued, you began forcing your legs shut around his head, pushing off the bed, you cried out his name and panted until he pulled his face away. Your cum dropping from his beard, he looked proud.

Panting, you thought he was done,maybe he’d fuck you next, but no, he sat up, wrapped his arms around your hips, pulled you closer and dove back in, he fucked you with his tongue for a while, getting you going again before he plunged two fingers in your tight hole and went to town. He curled them when he knew he should, and continued with the assault on your clit until you gripped onto any and everything you could, shoving pillows off the bed, squirming away, pushing at his head. He didn’t stop, nor slow down until you shook, moaning his name, and sprayed your arousal all over him. With a proud smirk, he added a third finger, quickening the pace of his fingers as you came harder than you could ever remember.

Then he gave you a moment to relax, pulling away, he set you down, leaving you a panting mess as you slowly came down. Looking at him after you opened your clenched shut eyes, you saw him undressing himself, and felt yourself get excited all over again, despite the utter exhaustion that washed over you. You sat up in a puddle of your own creation, and reached forward, you wanted to touch him, return the favour, but when he pulled your hand away, and flipped you on all fours, he set a pillow beneath your waist. Stroking himself before he slid in slowly, quickly, you stiffened, feeling him stretch you out, you cried out his name in pleasure. You knew you wouldn’t last long, but based on the way he swore under his breath, you knew he was in the same boat. He gave you a few moments to get used to his size, before he drove himself into you, hard and fast, his rhythms didnt slow or get sloppy, hearing you scream his name is what kept him going, until you came for a third time, he slapped his hand to your clit, circling his finger on it quickly as you shook. Crying of pleasure into the bed, the next thing you felt was him finishing inside you, pull out slowly, only to watch his seed slide out of you in a slow drip.

Collapsing next to you, he painted as you tried to collect yourself. He grabbed onto you carefully, pulling you into his side and wrapping his arms around you. “holy fuck.” you managed to whisper after a few minutes of catching your breath, he looked down at you, and nodded his head in agreement.

He picked her up, climbing out of bed with her he set her on the bathroom counter, running her a bath. “stay here, baby. I’m gonna toss your shit in the wash.” he hummed, kissing her forehead. So she did, she waited, and if she tried to get up her legs wobbled uncontrollably. He came back like he promised, her bed newly dressed, he set her in the tub and got in behind her. He slowly washed her, soaping up her limbs “You know, [Y/N] theres no point in not wanting to cross a line now so.. I fell in love with you, the day that I came home to you dancing in the kitchen, the way your smile glows and the way you light up a room on the darkest days.” he admitted in a soft hum, trailing his fingers over your wet skin.

“I fell in love with you, too. I can’t tell you when, I don’t know when, I just know I woke up one day and you were it.” you spoke the words Angel had always wanted to hear.

#angel reyes x reader #ez x reader #mayans fanfic #mayans mc #fanfic #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes fanfiction #clayton cardenas

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ciaran-archive · 3 years

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Serious question. How do you write long stories? Is there a technique or advice for that? No matter what story I have in mind, I can't seem to tell it in anything longer than 1 to 2k. Writing 5k is tiring already, where do people seriously get that stamina to even do 50 or 100 or 200k? It's mind-blowingly amazing.

there is nothing less worthy or amazing about writing shorter fic - i know writers who struggle with it, and i’ve come to inhabit that position somewhat myself, though i’m determined to stay in practice. it’s a different skillset, that’s all. your fics aren’t worse for being shorter.

that said i will not deny that longer fics generate far more engagement from fandoms simply by virtue of updating more often → being on top of the ao3 tag when people first open it → getting more clicks and being considered less ‘frivolous’ (which is bullshit, but what can you do)

if you’re dead sure you want to write longer fic, i would first recommend reading this post about writing drabbles, which i promise is relevant to the point i’m about to make.

Because drabbles are about one moment. You don't need to know exactly what happened before this moment of dialogue, or what happens next, or what's happening around it. You don't have to do any of the planning you might do for a longer fic, but you also don't have the space to let the scene lead in and develop naturally. You've got 100 words.

a lot of writing a longer story is about establishing the scope of your story, deciding what beats you want to hit. there are a lot of ways to go about this; [some people like to outline. i don’t outline, ever, so if you want help for outlining you should look at the other sources on the internet. there are quite a few.] i’m going to talk about the way i’ve learnt to do it.

so when i’m writing a short fic, the thing i’m considering is one or two ideas, and one or two moments (short in this case being under 5k). this also depends on the style i’m going for - fics with sparser styles can fit more scenes, if i’m going for my usual style, each scene takes about 700-2000 words at least and therefore takes up more space. a lot of how i eased into writing longer fics was focusing on stylistic changes - you can push up the word count of a fic by going moment by moment. note the difference between:

They’d been standing next to each other as they spoke; now Felix turned to him in the rain, startled by the admission of weakness. He reached out clumsily, bumping his hand against Ryan’s until he took the hint and grabbed on.

and

The rain made it near-impossible to hear Ryan speaking, but the harshness in his voice would’ve been audible through a hurricane. “So you ran away,” he said, like he hadn’t expected this.

“Course I did,” Felix snapped. “What was I supposed to do? Stick it out and let her kill me?” I almost did, he added under his breath.

Ryan’s sensitive werewolf ears, of course, caught that. “I’m glad you did,” he amended, as though it pained him to admit it. “I would’ve - I did the same. It’s all you can do, sometimes.”

Felix turned to him, blinking through the curtains of water. Ryan was slouching in the downpour, eyes narrowed elsewhere. Mostly he was startled by the admission of weakness - rare in a person who prided himself so thoroughly on being reliable and independent. He reached out, struck by the urge to offer whatever clumsy comfort he was capable of; his hand bumped against Ryan’s, and he held it there until Ryan caught up and wove their fingers together.

His hands were wet and cold, and he gripped so hard Felix’s very human bones ached, but he wouldn’t have pulled away now. Not when he’d been the one to offer.

it’s not even that one is necessarily better than the other - they both work, and they’re working in different ways. they’re set in the same scene, conveying the same beat - reaching out to comfort someone in the wake of vulnerability. it’s just that one is longer, and therefore gives you more room to - set the scene (rain, being unable to hear each other) - use dialogue to show what is being told in the first example - convey extra information about the characters (actually, if this was a scene i was writing in a fic or novel, the stuff about ryan being a werewolf would already be known to the reader, so i would use that space to convey something else about ryan in that moment) - elaborate on felix’s internal state: the transition from defensive to curious/surprised to gentle - linger for a sentence or two on the moment of connection

this is about unraveling a scene and making it bigger than it was, breaking it apart into tinier beats and describing each one in the narrative. what happens when you do that and your fic doesn’t get much bigger still?

back to scope! we understand, as people who read and write and live, that the part of a story that you choose to depict in a narrative is not the entire story: events happen off-screen. some of them happened before the story started, and they will continue to happen after the story ends. the narrative is only showing you an arc, a particular series of events.

when you’re writing fic, you have in fact tremendous amounts of flexibility when it comes to the scope of a story. you can write something that is about a single moment in canon, and trust that your audience is following along because they have the context already. so you don’t need to waste time on setting it up, which often means - if you’re given to a certain kind of fic writing (canon compliant / small divergences / missing scenes / character studies) your fics will end up not being very long because you’re not reiterating what you don’t need to reiterate. your idea is small because it inhabits a small space, is squished between canon events, and so doesn’t ever get bigger. if this is what is happening, it’s good, and you should try to preserve this going forward.

people who are writing longer fic are, simply, working with bigger ideas*. they’re not just going “what if he said what he wanted in this scene instead of going home?” and writing the bit where they kiss immediately after - they’re also going “what if this changed everything in the future? what happens if they tackle all their problems together from now on? what new problems arise from this?”

*hopefully they are working with bigger ideas. i have seen longfics that are just incredibly fucking tedious because the author swallowed a thesaurus and had a tenuous grasp on plotting to begin with.

that’s for a canon divergent fic, presumably. you might also be writing a post-canon fic, with its own set of pre-fic events and a new set of problems to deal with. currently, for example, i’m writing a fic where akira and goro were dating after canon, broke up, and stayed together in a deeply dysfunctional way after that - and the consequences for them now that they’re forced to deal with the mess they’ve made of their lives, together and apart. so now they have to deal with: the catalyst for dealing with their old problems, which is a problem in itself, and their old problems, which have been festering for a really long time.

which forms the core of the scope i’m talking about. i have to go through a bunch of scenes to set this fic up - i need to show their old problems and their new problems, i need to explain why the old ones haven’t been dealt with already, i need to set up the potential for dealing with them and the necessity of doing so, i need to give them places to start, and also i want to allow them to fail so they can choose to start again. i know these things because i have some idea of the kind of story i want to tell. if i didn’t know this, my story would not go anywhere by itself, and i would have to start outlining scene by scene the way people who actually outline do it, and i hate doing that because then i never write.

if you can outline and it doesn’t make you want to chew wood, then i highly recommend picking up the habit. it’s very useful, and the methodical approach is a fantastic failsafe for the moments when you (me) get stuck on your fic (breakup au) and have to stop writing for several weeks in order to figure out a single fucking plot point that will let you move forward and

anyway.

so yeah! to sum up;

find a larger scope for your story

get in the habit of picking apart beats into discrete moments and guiding the narrative through them

learn to outline if you can

last thing - which is perhaps the most vital and least reliable - stamina.

you WILL lose interest in half the longer fics you write. it WILL suck. if you think you know pain because you have 700 words of a fic and can’t get through the last 400, i promise you it is like that but much worse because you have 7000 words now, or 17000 words, and you are stuck with no way forward. it will suck so BAD.

don’t beat yourself up over it. once you’re in the habit of writing something long, you will retain that habit, and be able to apply it elsewhere. the words aren’t wasted, they’re practice, and they’re worth what they’ve taught you.

but! all the scope and internal scene-building and outlines won’t help you if you do not (and this is not as bad as everyone makes it sound) actually write. you HAVE to learn to actually write. you have to figure out what you like about writing and make a longfic outline [/ scene beats notes chart / themes mind map / tumblr tag of inspiring quotes and photography] that consists entirely of stuff you love and then you have to sit down and write your fic. it is not terribly scary. it’s okay to fail, but you also have no way around this.

i hope this helped, and good luck!

#writelogging #ok 2 rb #anon #asks

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spirit-of-the-void · 4 years

Text

Ebony and Ivory- Bonus Vergil Ending

Author’s notes: So. This took me a really long time to write, and...well...I dont really know what to say about that. To be honest, the V ending got a lot of complaints, and it really tore down my motivation and confidence for this fic, for writing in general. Not to mention I was trying to get my life together for the beginning of this year, but the virus shit kind of ruined everything so im just...dead for the most part. Shit sucks, I’m tired, but...I felt bad about never giving this ending, so i did my best to make it something worth reading for you all. Im sorry it took so long, im sorry i never write or post anymore. Im just really doing my best to get through each day, and im really grateful for those of you who stuck around, and those who didnt

Heres to, hopefully, more writing in the future.

Bonus Chapter

Vergil’s alternate ending

So lost in the gravity of the moment, minds addled and fogged with sadness, pain, and rage...neither man heard you.

The Outsider didn’t notice you snap out of the pocket Void he held you in, didn’t hear the shattering of obsidian and the distant howl of a thousand voices screaming their denial, their sheer despair at your choice. After all, this place was a part of you--The void wanted it too, ached and craved and begged for his punishment. The man who caused you so much pain, left abandoned and alone to suffer all the agonies a world could offer. Surely this could not be, surely you weren’t making this choice, willingly embracing this agony in all its absolute brilliance?

It hurt, it hurt. The pain was so fresh and alive, it rattled through your bones and spread like boiling, freezing water through every joint and tendon. Memory had always been your burden, from the moment you entered the Void to every fresh breath of it you drew to fight being swallowed whole by the inky abyss. And now those memories were like brands, searing into your skin and leaving scars so deep that they were numb. The burn didn’t stop, and neither would the images that came with them.

Images of your baby. Your son--Nero.

The instant you relieved that moment, saw his tiny form peppered with a tuft of white hair upon a shivering head you screamed, thrashing against the obsidian hands holding you back. One by one they shattered, shards drifting into absolute nothingness like dust floating on the breeze. More and more they came, trying to wipe it all away. And still...you writhed, shouted, held onto every moment, every pain. The guilt was more agonizing than anything else, sending your limbs trembling and mouth open in a soundless cry to join the ever shrieking masses. You left him, you forgot him. Your flesh and blood, your son left on a doorstep alone to grow up feeling abandoned and neglected.

No amount of power could change what had happened to your mind, to your body bleeding out on a sidewalk. Strength was just a fleeting concept then, a whispered promise of brighter futures than your soul was made to endure. When that agony returned, when the tragedy of that day struck it left you shattering and broken, glass upon the ground begging to be picked up again. You weren’t like that anymore.

Strength was no longer an empty promise, it was something real and tangible. You could hold it in your hands, cradle it and nurture it with everything you had. It existed in the laughter of friends, in the feeling of holding a loved one’s hand, deep breaths of ocean air and memories made in that place of tragedy that were so bright. For so long now ignorance had been your enemy, snatching away so much happiness and leaving you wanting. Losing V, the Outsider’s betrayal, this--if only you had known, if only things could change. If only. You were tired of those two words, the taste of them now foul and bitter like poison shoved down your throat. There it choked, spat out with more force than ever thought capable. No more ignorance, no more hiding from that deep, aching pain and regret--you knew now, and by the Void itself you would die before not knowing again.

It felt like hours had passed before the hands finally stopped coming, a gasp escaping your lips like you had been held under the ocean’s weight the whole time. Finally, a breach. You crested over that familiar surface of water, falling upward until the familiar glow of the Void finally met your eyes. Obsidian hands managed to break your fall, eyes swimming with dizziness and tears while everything sank into the very core. Vergil, your love, abandoning you, the order, the pregnancy, Nero--everything. This was the make or break moment, the time to sink or swim. You lay on the cold ground for some time, treading the waters of your own mind and trying not to drown while the Foresight screamed in unbearable pain. You would not break. You would not break. You would not break.

You wanted to remember, wanted to remember everything. There were so many things that had to be said, apologies to be made, love to give. You wanted to weep at the feet of your son, to beg and plead for forgiveness and tell him how absolutely loved he was from the very start. To make up for lost time, to change everything without the fear of shattering apart. The past could not be fixed, mistakes were now written in stone. But you knew that didn’t have to mean the future had to be bleak. You remembered now--That deep feeling of love, meeting Vergil that first time and pouring everything into him. His betrayal had stung to your very core, had left your past self weeping along in a cold cell. But...that love wasn’t gone. It didn’t justify Vergil’s actions, but you knew now. No longer ignorant, having been so close and deeply in love with the human part of him he rarely showed. V, the broken man who wanted nothing more to be protected and loved.

Now you knew both sides of the man you loved, and you didn’t want to lose that again.

Clarity seeped through the pain, weaving together the pieces left behind and keeping you solid. A wheeze escaped your lungs, sounds fading in and out as you struggled to rise from the ground. The Outsider’s voice, Vergil’s, the Void. Promises of punishing the son of Sparda, of leaving him still loving you while V was here to keep you happy and ignorant. Denial scraped along the already-battered walls of your head, gaze lifting just enough to see a blurry vision on the precipice of the endless sky. There the Outsider held Vergil up by his collar, framed by an endless glow without stars and no sun. Neither had noticed you, so lost in the Void’s howl and in the Outsider’s chiding promise. It made your teeth grind, head swimming with desperation and the unrivaled need to stop this, to stop everything. No more--no more pain, no more suffering, no more punishments.

You dragged yourself, body trembling uncontrollably as the Foresight battled every inch of it. A fail safe, meant to protect you from memories that might bring about shattering. Right now it definitely wasn’t helping, but that didn’t mean you would stop. The hard ground of the debris scraped your legs as you went, but they were practically numbed by everything else. Whale oil rising like bile in your throat, eyes black and reflecting the Void’s glow like obsidian crystals. Your tears glistened, dew on their surface, falling steadily through the harsh, wheezing breaths. Clearer now, clearer every second. Vergil stared sightless ahead, eyes glazed and empty as he accepted the Outsider’s fate. His look of defeat shook you, made every cell scream out in denial and sorrow. Both of you were so young, so foolish, so desperate, so headstrong, so hurt--not anymore, not. Any. More.

“Vergil Sparda, this is your punishment for hurting my child.”

Enough. We’ve all had enough.

The Outsider jolted when you reached out, grasping the back of his jacket with shaking fists and pulling yourself upright. What a sight you must have been--body riddled in scratches from dragging yourself, pale and shaking while the wind whipped your hair into a senseless mess. The deity immediately gasped, dropping Vergil’s limp form in shock and leaving him sitting on the edge of the debris, jolted back into sense. For a brief moment, your eyes met. Agonized, horror-filled blue staring into the glistening black, reflecting so many emotions, apologies, and regrets. When he was like this, his expressions reminded you so much of V. You knew what he was seeing, feeling, remembering. Seeing what his choices wrought, the tragedy and despair left in the wake of an arrogant child’s selfishness and fear. And that’s what he looked like now--unabashed vulnerability, tears in his eyes threatening to drip down already-wet cheeks. That past was done, it was gone and left in the rubble of memories that longer mattered.

Here, now...that mattered.

“Y/N…!” The Outsider rasped in horror, griping both your shoulders as you grabbed the lapels of his jacket without letting go. It caused him to crouch to your level, expression filled with panic and shock as he continued on horrified, “You shouldn’t be here, you still...still--How did you manage to--”

You couldn’t explain, couldn’t give him the chance to send you back again. You choked on a shuddering breath, arms reaching up around his neck and pulling closer into the only embrace you had ever shared with the deity. The one who gave you life, saved you from the abyss and spent the past few years trying not to let you break--his methods were not the right ones to take, lingering in cruelty and the very pain he knew too. How could you expect a creature who knew nothing but the empty, mindless howl of the Void to know anything of comfort and affection? He had no one to teach him mercy, to remind him of what humanity was like. To let go, no more pain of betrayal, no more anger.

He froze when you rested your face on his neck, body held against his as wind whipped around you both mercilessly. There was no warmth, not physically--but his chill was a comfort all its own, a familiarity that kept you from shattering and calmed the Foresight into a low hum.

“N...no more…” Your voice was so tiny, a broken sob against his frozen skin as you squeezed tighter, “Please...please...No more.”

The Outsider swallowed hard, body still rigid as his hands very gently settled on your back. Like he was holding glass thinner than paper, on the verge of breaking. He grit his teeth, you could hear the grinding of his jaw from this close.

“You’re suffering,” He managed to rasp out, voice shaking with restrained emotion as one hand threaded through your hair, “My child, my only precious flower--you remember don’t you? You remember what he--”

I remember. I remember remember remember. And I never want to stop.

“I don’t care…!” Your body shook harder, voice taking on the hard edge of resolve even while tears swam in your vision again. The memories hadn’t stopped, they refused to cease in their brutal assault. Vergil never coming to save you, the pain of being shot, giving birth alone and soaked to the bone. Blood on the sand, your son’s wail on the wind. His face, his tiny hands… You sucked in a shaking breath, heart aching as a broken whimper slipped from your lips, “Please...don’t take him from me...I can’t lose it again…”

I want to know him. I want to know Nero as my son. I want to know Vergil as my everything.

You didn’t want this pain to be a reminder anymore. You wanted to make new memories with your child, to make up for all the mistakes and everything he lost. To go on without knowing, to live in ignorance as his friend and listen to him speak of the sorrow that came with being abandoned...you would rather die. Guilt was not a stranger, and you knew it was possible to grow and heal from it again. Because you weren’t that broken soul in the Void anymore, having tasted what a happy life could truly be like at the very core of your being. A perfect word would have been Vergil coming to save you back then, stealing you away to a quiet place to give birth and raise your child together as better people, to move on. But this world was far from perfect, and that was okay. To learn, to move on and grow from what happened seemed too good to be true, but it was all you wanted, all you had.

Vergil stared at you with absolute agony, those tears managing to trickle out against his will down sharp cheeks. You loved remembering him, those special first moments. Getting to hold his hand, a first kiss, that night...it had been everything, bringing familiarity to the time you had been with V. Of course the poet felt so right, so deeply familiar and necessary--your body remembered him, saw the black-haired human in every tender, vulnerable moment with Vergil. Getting to have them both was such a blessing, to learn that part of your soulmate so intimately and without restraint. He held so much back, drowned out by fear and pride that continued to choke his happiness. Things could change, they had to.

The Outsider sucked in a sharp breath at your words, hands shaking where they gripped the back of your blouse. You could teach him too, could help him remember what empathy felt like underneath the howling Void.

The cold has numbed you, but it doesn’t have to be that way.

“I...I could return V to you…” The Outsider whispered, staring over your head into the empty abyss as the wind continued to howl for everything you had lost, “That man, he...he hurt you, broke--You. I almost lost my only child, the only gift this wretched place allowed me.”

In a way, the deity was a child too, not understanding his own emotion and lashing out in kind. All this nonsense had been born in how much he cared for you, so much that the idea of losing you scared him into cruelty. It wasn’t right, he hurt you and the people close to you in the process. It couldn’t continue like this anymore, not on the path of revenge and tragedy.

You let out a soft breath, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to push back the tears. Your pain wasn’t helping him see clearly, nor was it aiding you in any way. It had to end, this ceaseless cycle—The Outsider needed to understand that you could handle this, that you could grow and stand on your own feet while carrying the weight of these memories around on your shoulders.

“I know what that feels like,” You whimpered, breaths attempting to slow but still hitching with each swallowed sob. That fear he felt, the panic...you felt that all and more, “Please, father...don’t make me lose my child again.”

You felt him suck in a shuddering breath, eyes a glassy black as they stared over your shoulder into the abyss. In all the time you knew the Outsider, he had never shown emotion like this. Muscles locked to the point of shaking lightly with strain, air pressed through his nostrils like he was afraid opening his mouth would release an unwilling scream of denial. Because you knew deep down, knew he could understand your desire to keep these memories. Seeing you lose Nero had to hurt him too, bringing on the unwilling fear of experiencing the same thing once you almost slipped away. He had tried the only way he knew how, and now…that fear was caging you in, born of desperation and panic that kept the entire ocean at bay in the hopes of saving you from drowning. But he could never stop it from trickling through, not for long.

You delicately ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the wind send the short locks tossing back and forth. He felt so...human, real and solid. You were willing to bet he wasn’t always the God of this place, that his vulnerability and immaturity had roots in something deeply human. He froze sharply at the contact, hands squeezing the fabric of your blouse so tightly you wondered if it had started tearing.

“If I could take you away from this place, I…” You whispered, eyes closing softly as your body battled exhaustion, “The Void has made you cold, father. I just...I cannot let these feelings go.”

You leaned back just enough to stare at the Outsider’s face, obsidian meeting obsidian and reading each other’s faces. His eyes were wide with unrestrained desperation and sorrow, echoing so many years spent in this miserable place without the sun. You placed both hands gingerly on his cheeks, thumbs stroking along his high cheekbones as if waiting for tears to be shed.

“Father,” You whispered, voice aching with so many things better left unsaid as you stared at him steady and imploring, “Ignorance won’t protect us anymore.”

You hear Vergil suck in a breath at that, air dragged through teeth clenched so hard they might crack. The Outsider’s reaction was no different, those obsidian eyes wide and face a blank mask of shock and regret that showed no signs of fading. You knew what he was thinking, knew that desperate horror of watching you come so close to shattering, to becoming one with that deep, endless abyss. He was not used to fear, he was not used to being afraid. And that was something you could understand, something you wished so terribly to ease in any way you could. But this pain was so necessary, the deepest ache in your chest that gripped with icy fingers and refused to let go--shattering or not, painful or not...the memories were yours, and you wanted to keep them. You owed this to yourself, to Vergil, and especially to Nero. There were so many things you wanted to say to your son, and those things needed to happen above all else.

There was a pause of silence between you all while the Outsider froze in place, seeming lost in thought as his endless gaze seemed to bore into your own. The only thing that broke the tense air was the howling winds from all around, even the moaning chorus of suffering voices seeming to quiet as they waited for the Outsider’s choice. If he decided against you, there would be a fight that could not be won, a fight that would more than likely end with you shattering from the stress already on your body. That was a risk the Outsider couldn’t afford to take, even with all the powers he held over you. The deep burn of foresight, icy veins of the Void’s magic as it traveled through your body--every breath was given to you by this ancient being, every bit of life you now carried each and every day. Without him, you would have never met Vergil, and for that you would always be grateful.

The Outsider did not move for a very long time, only leaning back after his black eyes finally blinked at you. His hands slowly lowered from your form, falling back limply to his sides as he looked away, something akin to regret flashing across his face. Exhaustion and acceptance followed like close companions, his eyes so very tired as the man rose to his feet, leaving you kneeling on the floor before him with a pleading expression on your face. For a moment, he could only stare down at you with more sorrow than one creature should carry, the chilled winds of the Void making his hair blow wildly in several directions. He looked more ancient than ever, the years spent in this wretched place more than showing on a face that was far too young to look so lost. The Outsider stared at you as if prepared to lose you forever, and that was the moment you realized he had finally made his choice.

“...I only wanted to keep you safe,” He spoke so softly, tone feather-light and echoing through the space as if he had screamed it out to the chorus of the Void. He rested one shaking hand upon your hair, eyes closing as his voice became ragged and somehow even softer, “I did not wish...to see you end.”

You nodded once, fresh tears dripping from your black eyes and onto the debris underneath you. The pain of his betrayal, every place you had traveled to, the lost memories and empty dreams...He didn’t know what else to do to keep you from shattering, fueled by desperation and that cruelty he knew so well. You didn’t want to hold onto it any more, these deep feelings of anger and regret that threatened so strongly to overtake you. They were nothing more than a burden now, and inexcusable weight that clung to your shoulders with sharp, unyielding claws. They had been your companions for far too long, and now...now they needed to leave.

You gripped the Outsider’s wrist tenderly with both hands, turning his palm over so you could press a kiss to it. He sucked in a sharp breath at the action, listening quietly as you replied in that hoarse, ragged tone, “I know...and I will be safe...I will,” Your black eyes raised, the color finally slipping back into your normal tone, the whites returning and glistening with tears, “Let me remember the people I love.”

You could see the lingering hesitation even as the Outsider pulled his hand away, eyes downcast and body stepping back toward the precipice. His gaze lingered for a moment on the form of Vergil, seeing the way he looked at you in absolute agony, the tears slipping down the sharp line of his jaw and the shattered expression in his eyes. There was remaining resentment there in those obsidian orbs, but he clenched his jaw and said nothing to the Son of Sparda. If you had to guess, the Deity knew that the only words that could get through the half-breed’s thick skull would have to be yours, and he wasn’t about to interfere with that again. So he paused only to look back at you again, face slipping back into his usual, neutral expression before you watched him disappear into a cloud of obsidian crystal shards without another word. You could understand that he needed time again, needed to process everything before addressing it again.

He didn’t take away the gifts he had given you, at the very least. But the burn of Foresight was now gone, leaving only the familiar chill of the Void as it seeped through your limbs. For a minute you could only wheeze, trying to get the chaotic storm of emotions in check and feeling Vergil’s gaze linger on you with its familiar intensity. There were so many things between you now since the trials, since you attacked him in the Qliphoth. Those memories from Fortuna, of your first love and traveling together around the city--they mingled with every terrible, unspeakable event that took place after, all the terror and suffering that threatened to cloud out all the wonderful things. At the forefront was the guilt, the aching regret about what happened to Nero, of leaving him on the orphanage steps. It tore you up inside like razor blades, so very painful and absolutely unyielding.

You slowly rose to your feet, turning towards the Son of Sparda with small steps and watching as his gaze lowered toward the ground. He didn’t dare look up at you as you approached, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths and hands shaking at his side. Vergil had never looked this way to you before, so lost and filled with absolute emotion. It reminded you of how V had acted in the Qliphoth tree, the desperate pleas and the guilty torment of knowing that he would have to leave you at the end of his mission. God, you were so grateful for getting a chance to know that side of him, to love his human half in its entirety before it eventually returned. Those moments were so precious, to witness the vulnerable things he tucked away behind all that anger and pride...All Vergil had wanted was someone to save him, to be loved and cherished like any other person wanted too. And you had more than enough love to give, leaving no room for anger or grudges left behind from past mistakes.

When he spoke, his voice came out low and hoarse, its tone and cadence barely managing to whisper over the Void’s howl, “Why...Why did you choose to remember? He...He could have made you happy, could have given you back the man who knew how to cherish you. But you...you…”

You ignored the question, sliding both hands through his slicked back, white hair and lingering there for a few moments while he breathed faster. Tension was there in his trembling shoulders, in the way those icy blue eyes stared down at the ground and refused to look away. You could feel it now, those walls he kept up for so long bending under the weight of regret, of truth and long desired affections. What point was there in fighting things now? At the end of the day he could no longer hide what he wanted anymore, could no longer hide behind the shield of indifference or spite. All that could possibly remain now was guilt and regret, of self loathing that had seeded itself deep inside since the moment his mother had died. Vergil had so many reasons to hate himself, for things that weren’t even his fault, and for things that didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was leaving those mistakes behind, remembering the good things and striving to do better.

He had that ability inside of him, you knew he did. The ability to change, to atone for his sins.

“Why?” Vergil continued to ask, breathing growing more and more ragged as you lowered yourself in front of his hunched form, both hands cupping his chilled cheeks and forcing his tormented gaze to rise up to meet you. There was agony in its depths, denial and confusion that made your heart ache so terribly, “All I’ve ever done is hurt you…! I...hurt everyone, took from everyone--V could have given you everything you wanted, without the things that make me who I am.”

You rested your forehead against his, tears forming on your lashes like dew drops and dripping in crystalline droplets onto his thighs. You could feel it when his breath hitched again, sounding like he tried so hard not to cry.

“...We don’t have to hurt anymore,” You whispered, voice soft and just as ragged as his own. Both hands rested on his chest, smoothing over the lines of his vest and feeling his heart race through the fabric, “That man who made me so happy is a part of you, Vergil...It was that same part of you that brought me so much happiness in Fortuna, that you buried under the fear of vulnerability. You made mistakes, we both did...All I want now is to move on from them, to be happy with you, with Nero--we owe that to him after all he’s endured.”

You felt his jaw clench at the mention of Nero, knowing exactly what went through his head. Your child, shivering in the cold and wailing for parents who were both gone, a little boy growing up thinking that he had no family, that they abandoned him without a second thought--then as an adult, having his arm ripped off by the man he learns to be his father, left bleeding on the garage floor in pain. Years and years of not knowing, of aching to learn who his family was, then one strolls in and literally takes a whole limb. The agony that must have caused, and now...now there was still more to learn, the truth hovering so close and the boy didn’t even know it. All those things had been mistakes, yes, but it was Vergil who had to own up to them, who had to learn and try to do better. And that had to be the hardest part, to learn from one’s mistakes and not sink into the pit of self-loathing to cope.

You let out a slow breath, trying to gather your words through the storm of guilt and emotions that still carried from the regained memories. Each breath felt like ice, words coming out hoarse yet firm as you told the son of Sparda, “You...You have to let those things go, Vergil, you have to talk to your son...Please...please. Please don’t leave us again, learn from what has happened and do better.”

We both can do better. For all of us.

You heard him swallow audibly, hands clenched into fists at his side as Vergil fought every ounce of instinct he had built up over the years. To hide his emotions away, to swallow them down and feel nothing but resentment and anger like it would somehow protect him. Self loathing was at its core, the final wall of his defenses once everything was gone. At the end of the day you knew that Vergil needed to learn how to be happy, to live with the things he had done and make reparations for them as best he could. Protecting others, doing things for the sake of good and not greed...those parts of him were real and tangible, you had held them in your arms once, kissed them with tender lips. They had been true and filled with so much emotion, and they wouldn’t just go away at a swipe of the Yamato.

Vergil finally looked up to meet your gaze, the faintest hint of tears clinging to his grey lashes as you swiped them away with your thumb. It was still so odd to see so much emotion on his face, torment obvious and out in the open.

“...How can you still love me after all of that?” He whispered incredulously at the look you wore, one of deep adoring and exhaustion as you continued to cup his cheeks, “I...I don’t understand. I don’t deserve it.”

His words made your heart ache terribly, thudding away in your chest like a caged bird trying to be free. Vergil’s was pounding too, closer to hard fists on steel walls of a person trying so desperately to escape a deep agony.

You stared into his eyes as steadily as you could, voice coming out soft and reassuring as you explained, “Because love isn’t about deserving it or not, it’s about feeling emotion... and acknowledging it without running away,” You reached down, threading your fingers with the trembling digits of his own and giving a light squeeze, “Vergil Sparda is meant to be mine, and I don’t want anything else but that...I want to be with the one I was made for, and...that person is you.”

You broke me, and I broke you...I think we’re done breaking each other, aren’t we?

All that was left was to pick up the pieces.

You were shocked when Vergil’s arms pulled you against him hard, wrapped around your waist and squeezing as he buried his face against your shoulder. You could feel his ever breath, hear it rattle and shake with rasping sobs that had ached so desperately to be free this whole time. God, it felt good to finally be held by him again, every precious memory returned and emotions so very raw. You could feel them now, everything he had bottled up inside pouring out like water from a shattered glass. How it must have felt to finally acknowledge so many years of repressed emotion, to embrace someone without the heavy shackles of pride or hesitation. You embraced him back with accepting arms, eyes squeezing shut at the relief that came with being with the one you loved again. Whole and complete, just as tender as when he was V yet somehow more bittersweet.

This was everything you had craved without even knowing it.

You pressed kiss after kiss to his neck and shoulder, breaths slowing and the hollow ache in your heart finally fading at his touch. He was so strong, body holding fast against yours and the lines of it so very familiar. The storm inside was familiar too, you an anchor for the son of Sparda when he needed it most.

“...I…” Vergil whispered after some time, voice low and hesitant as he swallowed back some of his emotion. You could feel his arms squeeze tighter, face pressed to your neck as he admitted, “I...I love you...Even back then, when I left, you...I thought about you the entire time I was on the ferry, yet I just...just…”

Forgot. That was the Outsider’s doing, wiping Vergil’s memory so that when you returned he could be punished without any complications. You let out a soft breath, leaning back to touch your forehead to his once again just as the portal started forming underneath you--crystalline hands curled upwards, gently wrapping around your forms as the Void’s hollow wailing grew louder and louder. As if saying goodbye, crying out in mourning for something that it felt like it was losing. Even if he wasn’t visible, you could feel the Outsider watching you both, his trepidation like a tangible force that filled the empty skies of the Void like thick, hovering storm clouds. He was afraid for you, he was lonely and alone. But you would not be leaving for good--even with the dark memories it carried, the empty blackness was a part of you, and so was the black-eyed God who resided there. You would return again someday, after having a chance to heal.

“I know,” You whispered to Vergil, feeling the Void’s howl ringing sharply in your ears as it started to fall away, “It’s over now, that pain is over. Let’s go home, and see our son.”

~~~

~Four Months Later~

You could tell it was still in the early hours of the morning, the sun barely peeking through the curtains of your bedroom in orange, pink colored hues. Warm--everything felt warm now, safe and comforting as you had sought for so long. More than anything, things felt correct, like every missing piece of your puzzle had finally fallen into place. Absolute in its entirety, perfected in its security. The way light air billowed through the windows, making curtains drift in a slow dance of dark blue fabric in the direction of your bed--Vergil’s arm wrapped around your form, his steady heartbeat under your ear and the warmth he shared with your body. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt peace like this, a rightness that seemed to fill up your form like honeyed milk and bringing with it a sleepy peacefulness that made it incredibly difficult to rise for the day. Then again, you were a better morning person than the son of Sparda, who would no doubt awaken surly and annoyed as he usually did.

So many things had happened in the past few months since you returned from the Void, so many things and so many emotions to work through. You had fallen onto the sand with Vergil by your side, Nero and the others rushing out to meet you in relief and worry at the way you both looked--even more so when you collapsed upon the white haired boy and sobbed, refusing to let go as apology after apology had burst from your lips. Eventually Vergil was able to coax you into letting go, and then...well, you had to tell Nero everything. Every regained memory, every terrible tragedy and all the things you so desperately wanted to say sorry for. He had to know how much he was loved, that you so terribly wanted to stay with him but circumstances never allowed. He listened to it all in wide eyed shock, but you had the feeling that he could sense for a long time that there was something that tied you both together, something neither of you could understand until now.

You were telling the truth, and he couldn’t very well deny that. His best friend had been his mother all along, and that was a lot to take in. He was struggling with the knowledge, but not as much as the fact that he wasn’t abandoned for being a half demon, that his mother went through so much terrible tragedy and died on the steps of Fortuna’s orphanage. All those years of searching and filling himself with questions and resentment, all of it for nothing. His mother had come back eventually, and that whole time he thought himself the older one, like he was meant to protect her like a little sister. Things had become such a mess, weaved together in chaotic knots that took a solid hour to weave with Kyrie there to support Nero while he absorbed it all. You were shocked to see that this info was somehow a relief to him, and even more so when he embraced you like a mother as if it was somehow the easiest thing in the world...like he had wanted nothing more.

Mind you, Nico was in absolute shock about all of this--she kept staring in slack jawed awed at you and Vergil, unable to wrap her head around any of it. You, one of her closest friends, had given birth to a punk like Nero? How the hell was such a thing supposed to make sense?

Naturally, the very next thing Nero did was punch Vergil square in the jaw.

Both you and Dante had to hold the hot-tempered devil hunter back as he shouted curses at his father, railing into him for everything he had done to you and all the pain he caused. All his childhood questioning, all the pain--if Vergil hadn’t been such a dick so much suffering could have been avoided. You protested in between that things were fine, that it was in the past, but the son of Sparda didn’t say a word, didn’t fight back for once. Her merely sat on the ground where he had landed after the blow, rubbing his jaw with one hand and staring blankly at the ground. He was trying so hard, you could tell--sorrow lingered in the depths of his icy blue eyes, mingling with self-loathing as Nero reiterated back all the terrible things he had done and what a terrible person it made him. You wanted to stop him, but...Nero deserved to speak his mind, and Vergil had reparations to make.

After some firm discussions on the matter, you and Vergil agreed that it would be best to stay at Devil May Cry while things settled down, to find an outlet for the son of Sparda that would actually let him help people. Kyrie and Nico were both disappointed that you’d be moving, as were the children, but...right now was a sensitive time for Vergil, one where you were too nervous to let him be around things that would only make him feel worse. Until his head was sorted out, Fortuna was too much of a terrible memory for you both to literally live in the location of, and staying at Devil May Cry would be for the best until that was sorted out.

Regardless, the next few months passed somewhat peacefully. You and Vergil joined Devil May Cry, and set about fixing Redgrave City and rescuing any survivors still trapped inside. There were buildings to be fixed, roads that needed repairing, and broken families that needed to come back together. You knew this would be hard on Vergil too, but it was absolutely necessary that he try to make up for all the terrible things he had done. Every life taken in his pursuit of power would weigh on him for a while, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon, but...this did help. It was a while before the son of Sparda wasn’t listless anymore, that you could get more emotion from him that wasn’t guilt or regret. Mind you, Dante being irritating did help with that, but even he was worried the first few months when he would taunt Vergil and get nothing but sadness from his brother.

The surly man had been through too much trauma, seen too much. Having you by his side was his only anchor for a long time.

Which led back to present day, you wrapping a leg around his waist and letting out a heavy sigh of impatience when Vergil still slept soundly. You would think that someone like him, all pride and silly rules, would be much better about getting up in the morning. Instead, he was somehow worse than Dante, all annoyed grunts and exhausted stares as he dragged himself downstairs for a cup of coffee or tea. At least Dante would come down sleepy but cheerful, usually around noon or one o'clock in search of day old pizza. You knew trying to wake the son of Sparda up would not be an easy task, but you knew that there would be missions today that needed preparations--Nero and Nico would be joining you, after all, and there was nothing more exciting than the idea of spending time with your son.

You hummed softly, slowly rising from where you lay against his side and sitting up on Vergil’s lap with mischief in your gaze. It was surprising--he had taken months to get used to sleeping next to you without jolting awake in defensive positions, and even longer to get used to you touching him. So the fact that you could now settle your entire weight on his waist and place your hands on his chest was a pleasant show of how far he had come. Christ, he was such a beautiful man--those grey lashes were resting against his cheeks, face peaceful and calm in rest with messy hair and kissable lips. You could have stared at the hard line of his jaw for hours, wanting nothing more than to nibble it with your teeth and smooch for hours on end. Such a hard urge to resist, especially considering that he definitely should have been awake right now to start getting ready.

He stirred a little bit when you leaned forward, kissing a slow line from his shoulders and neck to that jaw you had been admiring so much. He was so very warm, and hard by the feeling of him pressing against your ass. It would be fairly hard to stay asleep with you rubbing on him like that, worshiping his chest with your mouth and hands while he stirred just a little bit more. There was no denying that low, rumbling hum of sound that came from his chest, peaceful expression shifting into something far grumpier as he stretched out under your hips. Reminiscent of a mighty panther waking with a low growl, eyes still not opening even as you leaned your face against his neck and gently bit where a vein pulsed steadily under the skin.

You weren’t surprised by the low rumble of his voice under your ear, sounding incredibly tired and slightly grumpy as he groused, “I thought you agreed only to awaken me early for emergencies, brat.”

There had been some sort of agreement--but you were a little too distracted to remember it, tongue sliding up his warmed skin with a soft purr of, “But it is an emergency, my heart...I’ll simply perish without your help.”

You were being a bit cheeky this morning, feeling a surge of mischief and glee when his hips couldn’t help but shift slightly underneath yours. That pressure had to be a bit constricting on his cock right about now, but you weren’t getting much of a reaction out of him yet--he never did fall for your dramatic claims.

“Oh?” Vergil murmured, eyes still not opening as you bit down on his left earlobe, heartbeat quickening in your chest as he continued on, “Will you now? You certainly have a lot of energy for someone close to perishing.”

That last word turned into a bit of a grunt when you purposely rubbed yourself against his cock, feeling its hard length shift and squeeze between your bodies. To be honest, this was probably doing you in more than him, that firm pressure on your clit making you moan breathily and lean against his form like a cat in heat. Your panties did nothing to sully the friction, arousal making its home in your abdomen and pooling warmth down into your core like melting honey. Vergil was certainly able to catch your mood, letting out an amused rumble of sound when you breathed heavily against his neck, rutting against his cock again with absolutely no shame. Honestly, a past version of you might have been embarrassed to act like this, especially with someone as prideful as the Son of Sparda. But you well enough by this point that he wasn’t phased by your unabashed desire--rather he enjoyed when you gave him this kind of attention, like it stroked his ego.

It definitely did.

“Vergil…” You whined, wrapping both arms around his neck and pressing your entire body against his when he purposely tilted his head to the side as if feigning sleep, “Don’t be mean--I let you sleep longer today that I did yesterday.”

He chuckled lightly at that, finally cracking one eye open to stare at you in his typical, superior sort of way. Honestly, you were a bit dazed for a moment at how handsome he was, white hair a tousled mess on his pillow and lips curving into a bemused little smirk at the desperate expression on your face. Vergil had a special way of looking absolutely, arrogantly smug, especially when he knew how badly you wanted it. But he was also weak to your pleading, and even more so with you all over him and looking so very tempting in just a tank top and some panties--he’d be a foolish man to refuse you in even the most dire situations, although he had to get his fun in somewhere.

The half-demon clicked his tongue, head tilting back and eyes closing again as he replied to you in a purposely sleepy tone, “Maybe you should ask me nicely, doll, and I’ll think about indulging you.”

You bit your lip, knowing full well he wasn’t about to walk around aroused for the better part of the morning, especially not with work to do and especially not while meeting with your son. But it would be silly of you to call him on that bluff, especially since he was prideful enough to prove you wrong just for the hell of it. And quite frankly, you’d lose out far more than him with such a foolish game.

A sigh left your lips, body falling limply against his in a show of defeat, “...Please?” You murmured softly, chin resting on his chest as you stared at him imploringly, “Please, Vergil?”

His smirk widened at that, showing his pearly white teeth in accompaniment with his equally smug reply, “You could always try calling me ‘sir’ just to sweeten it a bit, brat.”

“Now you’re just pushing it.”

It warmed you thoroughly when your huffed reply made the half-breed laugh, the sound sleepy and smooth as he finally yielded and wrapped both arms around your form. It felt so good to be held by him, your body made to fit against the hard lines of his own. the sensation only grew deeper when he rolled over to press you into the bed, mouth catching your lips in a deep kiss and hands holding him up on either side of your head. Whatever grumpiness that plagued him upon waking faded away with your tongue stroking over his, breaths mingly and hips pressed against each other in a slow grind. You’d be hard pressed to miss his desire now, especially with him rutting it against your wet heat in those slow, deep presses that made your breath catch in desperation. Christ, you were needy--and he absolutely adored that about you, wanted to indulge every chance he got, even if it meant teasing you a bit first.

You were panting when his mouth slipped to your jaw, a growl in his throat while he kissed a line down to your chest and lingered there for a moment. You practically trembled when one hand tugged up your tank top, those kissable lips latching onto one nipple and making your hips rise at the slow, purposeful suction he gave. Christ, his tongue...he was merciless this morning, absolutely ruthless. The half breed swirled the wet appendage over the sensitive bud in his mouth, making you whimper and fist his hair with both hands. So sensitive in the morning, becoming a writhing mess under his ministrations in a matter of seconds. He let out a satisfied hum, blue eyes looking up at you from under his lashes as he released your breast with a hollow pop, moving onto the next.

You were already drenched by that point, anymore foreplay absolutely not needed, but that wasn’t stopping Vergil. He would willingly draw this out hours if you had it, bringing you to the edge of orgasm over and over again without satisfaction, until you were sobbing with need. And then he would be the opposite other days, literally making you come over and over until you were begging to stop, until the overstimulation was too much. Unfortunately, today offered very little time with all the plans in mind, so he could only get his fun in short intervals. Honestly, you could have taken two of him with how aroused just the morning wanting had made you, and that was plainly obvious when the half-breed tugged your panties down your legs, tossing them to somewhere in your room.

You practically sobbed with need as he plunged his fingers into your sheath, the slide easy and wet as he tested your resistance, finding absolutely none. Your toes curled into the bed sheets, head tilted back as he kissed along your neck and jaw with those fingers working below. Curling inside, searching for any sweet points and making slick, lewd sounds with every thrust. You could only squirm, at his mercy and trembling with a building orgasm in your lower half. God, why were you always so sensitive? He had just barely started and you felt already inches away from coming on his fingers, hips rising to meet him as a desperate moan left your parted lips. No wonder he could overstimulate you so god damn easily--without edging you would just orgasm easily without much work at all.

“Ahhh...ahhh...g-god, please--” You whimpered against his neck, hips rolling against his hand as you squeezed your eyes shut, “Vergil...Vergil I’m so--”

“Already?” The son of Sparda murmured, stilling his fingers and chuckling at that half-choked sound of desperation you made in response, “I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that, doll.”

You weren’t really in the mood to be prideful today, his teasing barely registering with you as the feeling of that orgasm started to dull. It was so very disappointing when his digits left your throbbing insides, a trail of slick following them as proof of your arousal. That might have been a bit embarrassing if you had any shame left, but that wasn’t really the case after everything you had been through with this man. The son of Sparda seemed pleased, icy blue eyes lingering on his fingers before drawing them into his mouth, tasting your essence as he leaned back to gaze over your form with a hint of adoration in their depths. The way Vergil looked at you, lingering on each scar and left over wound from battles past...it made you heart only ache more, body desperate for his affections and warming further as you stared back with a pleading expression of your own.

Luckily enough for you, Vergil seemed to be far more merciful today, placing both hands on your thighs and pushing them back and apart. You bit your lip, knees up to your chest and held there right where your legs bent with his strong hands. So exposed, spread nicely for him and ready to be taken. The half-breed gave you a look that told you not to move your limbs in the slightest, letting go so he could pull down the thin, cotton dress pants hiding his length from your eyes. You could have moaned when the hard appendage slipped free, precum already beading on the tip smeared away by his thumb and looking so damn perfect for you and you alone. God, he was beautiful everywhere, cock lengthy enough to press deep inside and thick enough to spread you without hurting too much. And with how aroused you were, it would be absolutely painless, your body practically aching to suck him inside and feel each stroke along your inner walls.

Vergil didn’t seem keen on waiting any longer either, pressing the tip against your folds and sucking in a breath as he stroked over your clit for a few seconds, just savoring the wet warmth. You were trembling, toes curling with anticipation and heart pounding quickly in your chest when he finally pressed it against your throbbing entrance, Vergil gritting his teeth at the way your body molded around his length. A perfect fit, his cock slipping easily inside and buried deep in a matter of seconds. Your eyes rolled back a bit in your skull at the feeling of his tip brushing your cervix, filling you up entirely and leaving not a single inch that wasn’t being touch by him. You had no doubt that he could feel your every breath, every shift of muscle as you fought the urge to rut against him as the desperation grew higher.

“G-god, please…” You whimpered, shuddering when he leaned over your form and pressed both hands to your legs again to press them back. The movement shifted his cock inside, burying it just a bit deeper and making you gulp in a quick breath of air, “F-fuck...fuck…”

“So crass, my doll,” Vergil hissed, voice breathless as he leaned down to nip at your neck again, “You’re absolutely drenched...you must have really worked yourself up this morning.”

That was certainly an understatement. When he slid his cock out of your throbbing sheath it was a wet slide, plunging back in with a wet sound that seemed overly loud in the quiet of your bedroom. A choked whimper left your lips at the pace he began to set, wasting no time in being gentle with you with how obviously you wanted it. Your hands blindly reached for him in the mess of sensations scattering your thoughts, one wrapped around his neck and the other burying itself in his hair as your lips pressed hard together in the next instant. Vergil always kissed you the same way when you made love, like he was starving and you were the first meal he was allowed in so many years. You could only hang on as his cock plunged in and out below, roughly pressing your hips into the bed as each breath mingled desperately between your molding lips and tongues. Desperate, mindless, both seeking pleasure from each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was. Vergil felt like home, felt correct in the best way possible. Body to body, legs wrapping around his waist now as he fucked you into the mattress--one hand cupped your warming cheeks, the other bracing himself upwards so he didn’t crush you with his weight. Each soft sound of pleasure that came from his lips was like music, panting gasps or subdued moans that strained with each thrust into your sheath. You loved looking at his face, seeing him come undone with pleasure and lose all composure as he shared his body with you, became vulnerable with you.

You were so close now, his hips grinding against your clit with each thrust. It was quite the sensation, feeling his cock bumping your cervix every time he buried himself deep inside and feeling so very filled to the brim. The growing orgasm was coming much faster than you thought it would, your body still just as sensitive and absolutely trembling as it pushed for that pleasure like your life depended on it. Christ, how would you be able to work after this? He was so easily making a mess out of you, and something about that was absolutely tantalizing. Not that he was any better--you could already tell he was getting close too, the son of Sparda burying his face against your neck and body tense as he ground himself inside of you with a desperation that was starting to match your own.

“Y/N...fuck…” He hissed, voice low and breathless as he pressed his mouth to your skin, words slightly muffled as he moaned, “You feel so good, I can’t--fuck--”

You couldn’t even form a reply other than a wordless moan of your own, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm started to crest. It throbbed through your insides, hips jolting upwards as a half sobbed cry of release left your lips and your body clenched around him like a vise. The half-breed grit his teeth, the tightening around his cock sending him to his own peak shortly after. His hips stuttered in their thrusts, a hoarse groan muffled against your skin as he buried himself deep to fill you up with his load. You could have melted at the feeling of him spilling inside, body going limp with satisfaction and toes curling into the mattress as you rode out the storm of pleasant sensations. Warm, thick, and so very deep--making love to him felt so perfect, and getting to have him again and again was more than you ever thought you’d be allowed. Bad memories, pain, suffering...they couldn’t have been further from you both at that moment, quietly coming down from your orgasms in the safety of your bedroom.

You don’t know how much time passed with you there, Vergil’s body pressed to your own but careful not to crush you with his weight. The throb of pleasure was quieting now into a warm glow, limbs limp and body deliciously spent as you let out a soft, contented sigh. An ideal way to spend your day involved staying like this with him for hours, maybe longer, and getting to enjoy each other as much as you wanted. That wasn’t likely today, but it still felt nice to lie there for a few moments, sharing warmth and listening to both heartbeats slow to something far more tame. Your fingers idly traced patterns on his relaxing back muscles, your other hand in his hair and gently stroking the slightly damp locks out of his face. You could feel him melt under your touch, breathing evening out considerably and eyes closing as he savored the comfort of your affections for just a bit longer.

He never wanted to stop feeling them. And neither did you.

You expected him to pull back as he always did, to kiss you on the lips and remark upon how you should probably start getting ready. Instead, you were surprised when he let out a soft breath, tone low and uncharacteristically gentle as he wrapped both arms around your spent form.

“I love you,” He murmured, stroking one hand up into your hair and pressing a tender kiss to your jaw, “Thank you...for loving me, for...choosing me.”

Your breath caught at his words, that familiar pang of emotions squeezing your heart as you recognized the vulnerability and hesitation in his tone. Even after four months, you could feel how each past mistake weighed upon the son of Sparda, making him feel undeserving of you, undeserving of anything. No doubt Nero’s constant reminders weren’t helping with that, nor did the Outsider’s trials all that time ago. You wished that there was more that could be done to ease his pain, but knew that the only way that he could change for the better was to embrace the mistakes and do better in the future. He was, after all, half human.

So you wrapped both arms around his neck, heart beating faster in your chest as you pressed your face to his silvery-white hair and smiled softly, voice absolutely truthful in your reply to the son of Sparda.

“I love you too--and I will always choose you.”

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shyinadarkplace · 3 years

Text

Ville Vallo & Taurean (OC)

warning: this is shameless smut so 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

All the guys are out of the house , away on work or just idk stuff, Taurean has had the house to herself for a few days and while she is glad to have the solitude she's got an ache that needs to be handled. So she decides to distract herself knowing that attempting to get herself off will only leave her frusterated and in a worse situation she does what any sane person does....opens the windows in her house, puts fans in the windows, closes the blinds at the top , connects her phone to the home entertainment system ( like Lucien hooked it up so every speaker will play what ever is synced) , turns on her favorite playlists and starts cleaning like a fucking mad woman. Now we aren't talking light cleaning this is like deep cleaning moving shit reorganizing all that, she's really out here trying to burn energy. All the while she is absolutely rocking out to every song, she's dancing around, jumping, headbanging all that. Evening is approaching and finally she has made her way to the kitchen, while doing dishes and her favorite song comes on, Wings of a Butterfly. She is belting every line, and she can't stop thinking about Ville Vallo. The man is a literal god...of music to be precise. She listens twice and the dishes are done. Four times and she is just drifting around, thinking how Ville would feel in...no no can't let herself go down that road but fuck...

By the time the intro starts for the sixth time she has butterflies, she feels that knot low in her belly aching and her mind wanders, would a god of music even...then she feels someone press up behind her. Before she can turn and attack, their hands pin her on the counter. oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck not good not good the guys are gonna kill me , shit! But then the person starts to sing....

"Heaven ablaze in our eyes

We're standing still in time...."

Taurean gasped . The next words to the song didn't play through the speakers but the melody continued…

"Hello darling." Ville softly rumbled pressing his lips into the crook of her neck inhaling deeply. "Oh sweet girl, you smell amazing....and your voice is rather stirring." Taurean moans arching into him as he presses a rather impressive member against her ass.

"The blood on our hands is the wine

We offer as sacrifice"

Ville trails kisses down her neck and shoulder grinding against her, while still keeping her hands pinned to the counter. For the moment anyway.

"Ooh fffuck. Ville ." Taurean grinds her hips back desperate for more friction. A lightning fast smack to her bare thigh (thanks to comfy short shorts perfect for cleaning) makes her yelp in surprise.

"Tut tut sweet girl. Be patient. I give you my word by the end of the song," he paused smirking noticing the delicate scarring that formed butterfly wings on her back, he decided he would trace every line with his tongue as he nipped right between her shoulder blades grinning at her mewling little moan,"every desire you have will be fulfilled."

"Now tell me sweet girl, do you want this? Do you want me to fill and stretch you, strum your body like I do an instrument.?" Taurean nodded her head. "I need words." Taurean's head was spinning but in the best way.

"Yes. Yes please. I want this." What happened next was nothing short of ecstasy.

The music surrounded Taurean; it was around her and in her. Her skin buzzed with the sensation. Ville loosened his grip on her hands and ran his hands up her arms circling one around her throat applying just the slightest amount of pressure. She felt the muscles in her thighs shake as her wetness began to trail down her inner thigh. As Ville's other hand caressed down her body, toying with her breasts, tracing the curve of her hips, all her clothes vanished. One second she was facing away from him the next they moved rooms, her back against a wall , her hands above her head, with Ville's bare thigh between her legs pressed against her heat. Her soft little moans made his cock jump.

“Come on, and show them your love

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul, my love Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul

This endless mercy mile

We're crawling side by side

With hell freezing over in our eyes

Gods kneel before our crime"

"You want to cum sweet girl?" Ville's voice was electric, husky and full of erotic promises. Taurean nodded, not entirely sure when the knot in her belly had become so tight but she felt like she was already on the edge. And he'd hardly touched her at all.

Ville gripped her hip with one hand grinding her against his thigh, until she caught on and started herself. Then he leaned back slightly watching. She was certainly a sight. Her lips parted , waiting for him to dominate them. Her whole body flush from arousal, slightly glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as she worked herself furiously against his thigh. Her chest heaving as she panted, cursed and moaned all for him. Her perfect tits begging for attention. When Ville bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth while gripping her hip, grinding her soaking wet cunt harder against his thigh, Taurean's head hit the wall when she screamed in ecstasy even as her pussy clenched around nothing and ached to be filled. When he bit her other nipple, rolling it between his teeth then sucking to soothe the pain, another orgasm slammed into her and her body convulsed as she squirted , making a mess of them both. Ville felt like he was going to go absolutely feral.

"Come on lets show, them your love

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul,

my love Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul...

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

Don't let go…

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul"

Taurean collapsed slightly against Ville as he released her hands once again . Her hands went to grip his shoulders as her whole body seemed to quiver.

"Ooh, fuck you," Ville said lifting her wrapping her legs around his waist holding her quivering body against him as he kissed and sucked every inch of skin he could currently reach. "You darling are absolutely ....breathtaking."

Taurean felt like she was sated until Ville cupped her face and took her mouth. There was a give and take. He both demanded and begged, craving the taste of her mouth and her moans. Taurean ran her fingers through his soft tresses tugging , he in turn rewarded her with groans. The sound of which sent heat straight to her core. As Ville kissed her, exploring her mouth, tasting and teasing, he walked toward a bed room he didn't give a fuck which one , he just needed somewher to lay her down and take her.

"Ville...please...fuck me." her plea was throaty and breathless. He kicked open a door and laid her on the bed taking her mouth again .

Ville lined himself up and Taurean arched into the feeling of his cock pressing into her, whimpering. Ville grabbed her chin, locking eyes with her.

"I can't hold back...can you take it all? Tell me now."

The only answer he got was Taurean wrapping her legs around him effectively pulling him balls deep inside her. Her moans were the sweetest thing he had ever heard as her tight little cunt adjusted to his length and girth. Ville groaned and growled against her neck . "Darling ...you feel...incredible...oh fuck"

Face still buried in her neck Ville slowly pulled his cock out, Taurean gasped at the sensation of every vein dragging against her velvety walls, when just the head of his cock rested inside her he stopped and looked deep in her eyes and slammed into her. She was lost . So high in her headspace that staring into his brown-black eyes it was like staring into the abyss, but instead of darkness there was music...his voice echos through her very bones. Ville's fingertips brushed up her abdomen as he plunged back inside her. Her whimpers and moans were nothing short of fucking angelic. He kept stroking her skin from her sensitive clit to the pulse point of her throat .

With each down stroke that matched the thrust of his cock she arched and writhed beneath him. Ville was a god . The number of women that he had pleasured since his youth numbered in the hundreds, but this little minotaur was by far the best. He felt a spark in his soul as her nails dug into his forearm, he kept strumming her as set a ruthless pace. Driving deep inside her.

Taurean could not explain how the fuck He was doing it , every stroke of his cock kissed her cervix in the most delicious way possible , every stroke of his fingers against her skin ignited every cell in her body, she constantly felt just on the edge of cumming . Tears stung her eyes and streamed down her cheeks....

"VILLE PLEASE" She needed to cum , needed it more than she needed to breathe.

Ville groaned the way she was milking his cock was driving him wild. Her poor little body would have cum at least three times by now if he hadn't stopped it...he had to have her at the same time he came. He was so close. Her tears of pleasure excited him, her whimpers made his cock throb, her pleas stoked his fire...an idea struck him ....he captured her mouth and devoured her in a kiss that would bring gods to their knees. It damn near brought him to his knees . She clung to him for dear life, her nails leaving angry red furrows in his skin. He tore his mouth away from hers and growled into her ear....

"....my sweet...little muse....sing for me..."

"Ville....I...Caaaann'tt.."

"....love...Please.....sing for...me.."

Taurean couldn't resist ...she took a deep breath…

Come on, I'll show you my love

Rip out the wings this butterfly

For your soul, my love

Rip out the wings this butterfly

Ville lost all control , as her words wrapped around him...oh fuck she improvised ... her voice sent chills up and down his spine...her dripping white hot tightness had a vise on his cock and fuck it felt so good…

"That's it sweet girl... fuck yes...go on.." He felt the tell tale tingling forming at the base of his spine...he was gonna cum before the song was over....he threw his head back groaning , slamming into her roughly simultaneously pulling her down to meet each thrust....

Taurean felt his cock throb... she moaned ...and got a wicked idea...he hadn't let her cum yet ...she'd return the favor…

For your soul...

Rip out the wings of this butterfly

Don't let go…

Her words struck him like a truck.... he felt like he was about to explode and yet couldn't ....wicked little minx ...he rolled her nipple pinching hard...smirking as her eyes widened, he knew and she knew that he did...fuck.

Rip out the wings this butterfly

For your soul

Rip out the wings of this butterfly

For your soul

"FUCK ! VILLE ....VILLE ...PLEEEEEAASEEE!!!!" And then she screamed the last line that she had omitted before…

"LET GO!!!!!"

As his cock kissed her cervix she arched and screamed in pure ecstasy with tears running down her face, her hot silky walls spasming around him. With one final brutal thrust his cock throbbed he threw head back and gave what can only be described as a roar as he exploded sending rope after rope of thick hot cum deep inside her.

Ville carefully thrust ever so slowly as brought them both down from a high neither had felt before and he caged Taurean beneath him, gently wiping her tears. Almost surprised when she pulled him down for a slow deep kiss nibbling his lip

"I feel.....light headed...ville..".

He groaned at the sultry sexed out sound of her voice feeling lightheaded as well

"little muse...so do I ...that was ...incredible..."

He gently pulled his softening cock from her twitched pussy. She whimpered at the sensation. He leaned back and admired the absolute mess they had made.

"Hold on a moment let me get you some water and a cookie..." as he spoke, the items appeared on the bedside table. He lifted Taurean and set her up against the pillows and gave the now opened water to her as well as the cookie. "Rest a moment , I'll get us both cleaned up.." before he could walk away Taurean grabbed his hand .

"Wait ..." she broke the huge cookie in half , offering it and the other bottle of water. " Doms need after care and you look about to crash ...please."

Ville was taken aback for a moment no one had EVER taken the time to notice or care about him after...he sat down next to her and took the cookie and water , eating and drinking in companionable silence . Once done got up and went to the bathroom he had noticed , found a washcloth cleaned himself ,then getting another he wetted it with hot water, keeping it warm in his hands he strode out and kelt by the bed...he looked up at Taurean . "Allow me ..." she nodded and whispered " thank you."

"of course ." Ville gently cleaned away the mess they had made aware of how sensitive she would still be.

Taurean noticed how loving and attentive his actions were and suddenly felt tears ...ah shit .

" V-ville...dropping..."

Without a thought he jumped up and climbed into the bed behind her bringing the thick warm covers up around her shivering body. He wrapped his arms around her and played with her hair humming something resembling a lullabye until her breathing deepened and evened out. Before he knew it he too fell asleep .

They both awoke to four men ranging from big as all fuck to slim athletic, standing at the side of the bed arms crossed , dangerous smirks and cocked eye brows.

The two largest looked at each other and grinned . The one with golden eyes spoke and sparks danced on his tongue...

" Oh Little One, that was quite the show."

"It really was Kitten." Said the one with storms in his eyes.

The one with emerald green eyes spoke next "Baby girl I bet you are starving"

"You know our little Sweetling is always hungry after a good fucking and a nap." said the one with maroon eyes.

Ville smirked and caged Taurean beneath him, she went to protest and he whispered appealing to her bratty nature, “If you are going to be punished little muse, might as well make it worth it. Yeah?” She shrugged and giggled, then he started kissing her hard and deep until she was moaning against his mouth and arching against his body. Ville almost laughed while Taurean smirked ever the brat at the sound of four alpha males growling ....

maybe there was yet more fun to be had..

#smutty #original writing

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fangirl-imagines · 5 years

Text

Let Me Show You (How Much I Love You)//Barry Berkman Smut

A/N: This was my first time ever writing smut so please be gentle. This is a very soft smut so if you’re looking for kink this is probably not for you.

I’m so sorry Bill.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, top reader

Prompt: After another hit, Barry finds himself questioning if he’s really a bad person. You decide to prove to him how wonderful you really think he is.

You had been having a good day. You didn’t want to jinx it but you were almost positive you had nailed that audition today for a short part on a soap opera, you’d stopped and treated yourself to your favorite coffee to celebrate, and Barry was supposed to get off work early today so the two of you could spend the rest of the day together. You couldn’t wait.

You were grinning and humming to yourself when you turned your key in the lock to your apartment and stepped inside. Your smile dropped though when you stepped into the living room and saw Barry sitting on the couch, head buried in his hands and sniffling. Your heart jumped into your throat, immediately worrying that something terrible had happened.

“Barry?” You breathed, dropping your purse into a nearby chair and rushing over to the tall man, hunched over on your shared couch, and dropped to your knees in front of him. “Barry, what’s wrong?”

He looked up at you and shook his head, running his hands through his hair and tugging harshly at the roots. His lips were pursed and without his hands in the way you could clearly see how red and glassy his beautiful green eyes were.

“Did something happen? Are you hurt?” You rushed out anxiously. Your hands squeezing his knees where your hands rested to keep your balance. At your last question he laughs a humorless, wet laugh and his bottom lip trembles again.

“Oh Barry.”

Your chest squeezed painfully at the sight of him so upset. Slowly you crawled up onto the couch beside him and gently untangled his hands from his hair and brought them up to your lips, kissing the rough skin gently. He looked at you and smiled weakly.

“What happened?” You ask gently after a while. Barry closed his eyes, the tears weren’t coming as harshly now, coming in slow, stray drops now instead of in a steady stream.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?”

You froze, sitting up straighter and looking at him curiously. He slowly withdrew his hands from yours and brushed away his tears, gazing at you pleadingly. You knew your answer immediately but were careful with your words.

“Barry, I can honestly tell you that in the time I’ve gotten to know you, you have proven yourself to be one of the best people I know. You’re caring and passionate and you are probably the strongest person I’ve ever met! You’re fucking amazing, Barry!”

You tilted your head to make sure you were looking in his eyes when you spoke so he’d understand how sincere your words were. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes when he looked back at you.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, yeah of course I do!” You stopped and drug your bottom lip through your teeth, still carefully considering how to articulate to this wonderful man in front of you just how you felt about him. “Barry, you-, you’re human. Sometimes that means making mistakes and doing things you regret but that doesn’t make you a bad person.”

You assured, referring to his time in the marines but not knowing how close to home your words struck for Barry. He sniffled and nodded at you. You could tell he still didn’t quite believe you.

“Hey,” You pleaded, reaching up and cupping his face in your hands. “I mean it okay? You’re wonderful.”

His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his hand coming up to cover yours. He stroked thumb in small circles over your skin. He smiled at you gently and you felt a familiar flutter in your chest you often felt around Barry coupled with a deep yearning to push the sadness from his eyes. You couldn’t help yourself but to lean forward and press your lips to his. He stilled in surprise but quickly kissed you back, his thumb continuing to rub soothing circles on your hand until you deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

He moaned against your lips. His hands traveled down your arms to your waist, pulling you in closer until you were pressed together. When air became a necessity you pulled away, still staying flushed against Barry, both of you gasping for breath.

“Are you sure-?” Barry asked before you cut him off with a quick peck on the lips and a nod.

“Let me show you how wonderful you are.”

You had never seen Barry blush before but it was a sight you would never forget.

His cheeks were tinged pink but he grinned shyly at you, “I love you.” He spoke bringing that fluttering feeling in your chest back.

You lifted up on your knees on the couch to get a better angle and kissed him again, shivering when he worked his hands under your shirt and glided them gently up your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path. You grabbed onto Barry’s shoulders and threw your other leg over his side, straddling his lap. You shuddered when his hands cupped your breast under your shirt and shook your head, trying to keep your composure. You wanted to make this about him today.

You weren’t sure what had happened to him but he needed whatever affection you could offer him. You wanted him to know you were here for him, that you loved him no matter what.

Barry’s hands squeezed your chest when you began to kiss from the corner of his mouth, down his chin, and across his jaw. Gently nipping his skin as you kissed and sucked across his jaw to his ear, you felt something stir inside of you at the breathy moan his released.

“Arms up.” You whispered in his ear.

He did as he was told, pulling his hands out from under your shirt and lifting his arms for you to drag his shirt up and over his head, tossing it into the floor. You didn’t give him a chance to recover before you placed your mouth back on his neck and wound your fingers in his hair to tilt his head to the side enough to give you better access; careful to keep your touches gentle. He groaned deeply from the back of his throat making your heart race.

This was so far out of the realm of anything you had ever done before, but you tried to keep your nerves in check and focus on Barry. You continued to press open mouth kisses up the side of his throat, savoring the feel of his warm skin under your lips and the closeness of him against you.

The pads of your fingers massaged his scalp gently in slow circular motions. Barry bucked his hips up against you suddenly, taking you by surprise and eliciting a breathy moan from you at the friction. Your fingers tighten in his short, dark locks and he bucks against your core again with slightly more precision this time making you cry out again and close your eyes. You grabbed onto his shoulder with one hand to steady yourself while your other hand left his hair and settled against the base of his neck, resting at the curve of where his shoulder met his neck.

“Y/N, please-“ He gasped, “Stop teasing me, sweetheart.” Barry asked, the husky, thickness to his voice and his soft pleading making you smile, knowing the affect you were having on him.

You felt your confidence grow slightly with the knowledge that Barry was enjoying this. You smiled and leaned back to look at him. His hair was messy from your tugging, his neck was red and patchy where you had worked your way up his throat, and his pupils were blown wide. You smiled gently, leaning forward and kissing him softly and slowly. He slipped his tongue into your mouth making you groan.

His hands that had rested on your waist, moved up your sides then down to the hem of your shirt. You pulled back, panting slightly and shook your head. You lifted your hand and brushed your fingertips over his cheek bone in a feather light touch, memorizing the way his eye’s fluttered shut at your gentle touch and smiled when they opened back up.

“I love you so much.” You whispered, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips again. “So much.”

Pulling back, you lifted your arms and let him pull your shirt off over your head. He tossed your shirt carelessly into the floor, your eyes following its path. You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more vulnerable now without anything to cover you but when you met Barry’s gaze you were surprised by the awe that you saw there. His eyes were glued to you, all traces of green gone except for the thinnest of rims around the edges of his wide pupils. You shrugged sheepishly. He tilted his head up and kissed you again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He mumbled against your lips.

You almost laughed but instead kissed him back, running your hands up his chest and cupping his jaw in your hands.

“Hey, let me take care of you okay?” you asked gently.

He stared at you for a moment, he wasn’t used to anyone ever wanting to take care of him. You smiled at him warmly, like he was the best thing you’d ever seen and coupled with the softness of your touch and the soft warmth that your lips left over his body was overwhelming. He could do nothing but nod at you and watched your every move carefully as you slipped out of his lap and onto your knees in front of him. His breath hitched. You tried to keep your fingers from trembling as you unbuckled his belt. You had to move slowly to keep from fumbling but with the sound of clinking metal undid the belt and pulled it from his waist, Barry leaning forward slightly to help you.

You smiled up at him trying to keep your nerves at bay as he helped you work his jeans down his legs and off into the floor. Your breath caught at the sight of the tent in his boxers staring back at you. Your stomach tightened with anxiety and excitement knowing what was about to happen.

You hooked your fingers under the waist band of his underwear, feeling the soft material under your fingertips and taking a deep breath. Barry opened his mouth but all coherent thoughts cleared from his head when you pulled down his boxers in one fluid motion and the cold air of the apartment hit him.

You swallowed your nerves harshly and looked up at Barry who was watching your every move with careful concentration. You ran your hands up his thighs and then raked your fingernails back down them in a feather light gesture. You smiled at the way his breath hitched and he gasped needily when you moved your hand back up his thigh and over, stroking him slowly.

“Y/N…” He moaned out in a gravely voice.

You stroked him slowly and gently, keeping your touch lighter than he needed earning a gasp and a moan from him each time. Suddenly you pulled your hand back and stood up. Barry whimpered at the loss of contact until he saw you were working your way out of your pants and underwear. He leaned forward and roughly helped you to yank them down before settling his large hands under your knees and yanking you forward, back into his lap.

“Wow!” You laughed when you landed back on top of him, grabbing onto his shoulders again to keep from toppling.

Barry kissed you again though, much more roughly this time. You moaned against him and ground yourself down on him. You could feel him pressed against you and couldn’t wait anymore. You pulled back from the kiss, stroking Barry’s face gently and kissing the tip of his nose. His hands were trembling against your thighs. Biting your bottom lip between your teeth harshly to keep quiet you rocked your hips forward and back slowly, dragging your slit over him.

“Baby-“Barry groaned cut off by you pressing your lips against his and reaching between you to line yourselves up and sunk down onto him.

You gasped against his lips, pulling back and leaning your forehead against his for a moment as you adjusted to this new feeling of being fitted so closely together. You closed your eyes tight breathing deeply but they fluttered open when Barry kissed over your cheekbone without separating your foreheads, keeping you in the moment with him.

“Are you okay? Is this-,” He cleared his throat sounding slightly pained, his grip on your waist tightening, “Is this okay?”

You could only nod, kissing him again a little messier this time.

“This is very okay.” You joked weakly, shuttering and smiling at him.

“I love you.” He whispered to you adding to the growing feeling of warmth in your body.

You settled your hands on his shoulders for leverage and began to slowly and steadily rock up and down in his lap. Barry moaned harshly, tossing his head forward and settling it into the crook of your neck as you moved. His breath was hot against your skin, intensifying the closeness you felt to him in that moment if that was even possible. His hands slid up from your waist around your back where his arms locked you between them. You could feel them tightening when your fingernails dug into his shoulders as you began to bounce faster.

Remembering something you’d read once; you rolled your hips in a circle earning a moan from Barry that was more like a sob against your shoulder.

“Fuck!” He groaned making you smirk gently.

You ran your hands down his shoulders, smoothing gently over the small, crescent moon shaped ridges your nails had left and repeated the action again. But you were caught off guard when Barry suddenly snapped his hips up and into you.

“Oh!” You gasped, at the sudden movement. Barry quickly thrust back up into you, creating an uneven but needy pace. “God, Barry.”

You moaned at his movements, grasping onto his forearms for support from falling against him as you were jostled by his thrust. His lips worked purposely at the base of your neck, working a bruise there. You gasped as you felt a warm coil in the bottom of your stomach, growing tighter but still not quite enough.

“Barry,” Your voice shook, breathlessly. Barry pulled back from your neck and looked you in the eyes. You felt the clenching in your stomach intensify. “I-, I just need, need a little more. Just a little more.” You choked out brokenly, but Barry knew what you were asking.

He slipped one hand from your back and down between you, rubbing his thumb with a gentle but firm pressure, giving you what needed. It was only a few short seconds before you felt the coil in your stomach unravel and the warmth of your orgasm washing over you leaving you breathless. You fell forward against Barry for support, panting for breath. Barry’s thrust became sloppier and needier beneath you as he got closer to his own release. You pressed a kiss against the red marks you’d left on his shoulders and heard him moan in your ear.

“Y/N, I’m-,” he groaned, “I’m almost-,” He bucked roughly against you with another rough moan.

You wound your fingers into his hair and shushed him reassuringly, “Just let go sweetheart. Let go.”

With one last push Barry came hard with a cry, his body tensing and then going slack beneath you. He was panting for breath, coming down from his high when you tilted your head up to face him. He seemed completely relaxed, his eyes half closed, the worry lines in his forehead smoothed out, and lips parted as he tried to catch his breath, pulling up in the corners when he looked down and saw you smiling at him. Your heart already racing felt practically bursting at the overwhelming intimate closeness and love you felt in that moment.

You rested your forehead against his shoulder, catching your breath. Barry let his head lull to the side and rest in your hair, placing a chaste kiss there, stroking his hand up and down your back lazily. You stayed like that in a comfortable silence, not sure nor caring how much time had passed. Neither of you were in any hurry to separate from each other.

Eventually you could feel him start to go soft inside of you and had to move before you both became too uncomfortable in the same position. Barry held your hands and helped you to climb off of him onto shaky legs. Everything felt shaky and light now, warm pin pricks from your nerves traveling all over your body.

Reaching around in the floor, you grasped Barry’s shirt and pulled it on. You brushed your hair back out of your eyes and felt Barry’s arms wrap around your waist and tug you back down onto the couch.

He had laid down on his back, a throw pillow under his neck and pulled you to lay across his chest. His arms wrapped firmly around your back, he held you close. His eyelids dropped in the tell-tale sign that he was fighting off sleep. You couldn’t believe how adorable he looked in these rare, vulnerable moments. Blindly, you grabbed the blanket you keep folded over the back of the couch and haphazardly covered you both with it.

You pressed a soft, open mouthed kiss over his chest then laid your head down over the same spot. You could hear his heart beating in his chest and under your fingertips.

“I love you, Barry Berkman.” You whispered against his skin and heard the way his heart beat quickened.

You missed the tears welling in the corner of his eyes, stinging as he blinked them away but felt the kiss he pressed in your hair as he tangled his fingers there and massaged your scalp gently. He still wasn’t sure that he deserved you or any of this really. But what he did know was that you loved him and that,

“I love you too.”

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stardustjem · 3 years

Text

The Meadow

First fanfic and first post so I have no idea if I’m doing any of this right. Please help.

Includes: Darkling, Alina, mentions of Mal

Set almost 60 years after Ruin and Rising.

It had been 58 years since the Shadow Fold fell and Ravka was free. It had been 56 years since the young man and the white-haired woman had moved to Keramzin and reopened the orphanage. In those years the couple was rarely seen apart. They could often be seen standing in the corner of a crowded room holding onto each other as if there wasn’t the chaos of a dozen children screaming around them. Often, the young man would steal soft kisses from the white-haired woman and in return she would quietly gaze at him in adoration and flush lightly through her cheeks. Time did not dull their devotion to one another, but slowly the young man’s hair turned gray and his strong back began to hunch. The white-haired woman’s skin began to leather from years of working out in the sun and slight feathered laugh lines formed around her eyes from years of smiling at the young children around her feet. But she did not age quite so drastically as the man. Eventually, she began to be very grateful for her thick white hair that hung around her shoulders. Otherwise, she would have begun to look like a daughter than the devoted wife she was.

Tonight, again, sleep was elusive. It had been 6 months since the white-hair woman felt the arms of her husband wrap around her lithe waist. 6 months since his lips pressed softly to her forehead. 6 months since she laid her head on his chest and listened to him breathe in the dark. The old familiar ache of loneliness had begun to creep into her bones. During the day, the shadows danced out of the corners of her eyes and she expected to feel her beloved sweep in next to her and shower her with kisses like he had for so many decades before. At night, she lay cold and empty in the bed they once shared. After all these months his scent was finally fading from his pillow that she clutched to her and hers was once again wet with quiet tears.

She had been sickly and thin for most of her life, but now even she noticed the bones protruding from her rib cage and the hollow, sallowness of her face. She heard the whispers and couldn’t miss the looks of pity and concern from her staff, but she never acknowledged them with more than a weak smile when they offered to take on her duties for the day. Sighing deeply, the white-haired woman climbed out of bed and picked up a light shawl that she had carelessly dropped in the corner of her room days ago. Perhaps a walk in the meadow would be good for her?

The night air was warm for late September. The white-haired woman slipped silently out of her room and down the stairs, careful to tip-toe around the boards she knew so well that would creak or moan and give her away. She carried a small lantern and a blanket with her, intent on sleeping in the meadow, their meadow, for a few minutes or hours.

When she was a child the darkness petrified her, but as a young woman she grew to appreciate the balance of the cool darkness to bright heat of the sun. Even still, a shiver ran through her despite the thick air as the shadows swirled around her and her lantern. She walked slowly into the field and spread her blanket on the sun-dried golden grass, listening to it crinkle under her slight frame as she laid down. At 75, she had no business stepping as lightly and easily as she did, or sleeping on the ground for that matter, but truth be told, she could pull her hair under a hat and be mistaken for a young 30-year-old. Her body only showed signed of neglect, of not eating or sleeping, not age. The scar on her shoulder, given to her in a different time, a different life, twinged lightly as she rolled onto her side to look at her surroundings.

She lay there listening to the songs of the crickets and the rustling of mice and owls. She had begun to doze off, enveloped in the symphony of night creatures when she felt a foreign, but familiar, tug in her gut. She pulled the threadbare shawl closer to her, pressed her eyes together tightly, and beseeched her body for just a few moments of rest, of forgetfulness. Again, she felt the tug and her body responded, opening her eyes and her chest before her mind could fully remember what that feeling could possibly mean.

As she opened her eyes, sitting in front of her on her blanket, a dark figure with pale skin surveyed her. His grey eyes studied her face and her tightly coiled body, knees to chest. He didn’t speak but slowly moved to tuck a stray strand of silvery white hair behind the woman’s ear. She stared at him in disbelief, blinking in the lantern-light until his cool fingers touched her cheek. At his touch, she gasped and scrambled to her feet, her whole body shaking in shock and more than a little fear. “I’m dreaming,” she finally whispered. “You’re dead. I watched your body burn. I killed you.”

“All of Ravka watched the Sankta’s lovely body burn as well. And yet, here you stand in front of me.” The man cocked his head and gave a wry smile. The shadows from the dying lantern swayed over his face. The woman could see thin white scars marring his otherwise perfect skin. Her shoulder burned in a way it hadn’t done in years.

When she found her voice in her dry and raspy throat she croaked out, “How are you here? Why are you here? I’m and old, powerless woman. What indignity can you possibly wish on me now?” Suddenly, she thought of the children innocently sleeping in their beds a few stones throw away. She glanced nervously up at the house and began to slowly move to put herself between the scar-faced man and the house.

As if reading her mind and sensing her concern, the man made a guttural noise. “I have never put children in danger. Do you really still think so lowly of me even now, my Alina?’

She sucked her lips to her teeth as if she’d been slapped. Only her husband used that name with her. No one else had used that name for her in over 50 years.

“Why…How…Are You Here?” She demanded, punctuating her question. Her voice had lost the edge of fear and was now low and hard. Her fists clenched tightly over her chest.

Groaning lightly, as if he was trying to mask a deep pain, he pushed himself to his feet to stand across from her, his eyes took in the woman in her entirety. He lingered on her frail arms, pulling her thin, golden shawl tighter in an attempt to cover her sheer shift, before moving on to her bare collarbone. Her chest rose and fell quickly and he was momentarily mesmerized by the hollow in her neck filling as she tried to control her breath. Slowly he met her angry, fearful eyes.

“I would have hoped you’d be happier to see me,” he said coldly. “Living as an otkazat’sya has made you weaker” he spat the word. “You look so frail, Little Saint.”

The woman bristled at his words. Her eyes flashed and anyone watching would have sworn the dimming lantern flared.

“So, you’re here to insult me, Darkling?” her voice was strong and briming with hurt and anger. “Yes. I have lived a safe, happy life as an otkazat’sya. No war. No Lies. Not being used as a pawn. My husband and I have given love and a home to hundreds of children. You may have lived for centuries, but my “insignificant” and “weak” life has brought more into the world than you ever could.”

Ignoring her anger, the Darkling looked around, feigning concern, “Ah yes, where is the Tracker? It’s been so long since I’ve seen his scowling face. I would like to give my regards to the old man.”

The woman’s sun-kissed face went pale. She clutched her chest as if the man in front of her had actually taken a dagger to her heart, mimicking what she had done to him so many years before. Her demeanor fell and her anger and fear were replaced with fresh grief and the empty pangs of new loneliness. Her shoulders slumped. She lowered her head and turned away so her aggressor wouldn’t see the diamond tears glimmering on her raw cheeks. In a flash of black and shadow, she was caught as she wavered and sunk to her knees.

“I’m sorry, Alina. That was cruel of me. Truly, I’m sorry for your pain. I warned you that their lives were fleeting. You deserve to be happy and shining.”

The woman called Alina stared at him incredulously as deep sobs bubbled up inside her chest. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I am a powerless old woman. If I’m lucky, I will die soon as well!”

The dark man shook his head and held her to his chest. “My Sun Summoner, Grisha power cannot just disappear. It’s not magic, it’s science. It’s in your blood, bones, core. You have been powerless for all these years because your subconscious thinks it’s safer. Because you have suppressed it. Like when you first came to me all those years ago, you’ve blocked your own abilities to live this life. Haven’t you wondered why you barely age? If you had been using your powers all these years, you would not have aged at all.”

Alina suddenly felt dizzy and waves of nausea rolled over her. She pushed herself away from the man who had haunted her dreams for years after his supposed death. Her skin felt hot and cold all at once. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face, and finally choked out, “You think I didn’t try? You think I wanted to give them up? You think I wanted to live all these years … empty?!”

“I think your body and mind did what they had to do to protect you and give you the easy, uncomplicated life you had longed for.” The man sighed and brought his hand to his chest, absently rubbing the spot where the Sankta’s dagger struck.

Noticing the movement, Alina pulled herself up and attempted composure. Glaring at him through unshed tears she hoarsely whispered, “I’m going to ask you again. How are you alive? And why are you here?”

The Darkling sighed again, appearing more tired and ragged than she had ever seen him. He stared thoughtfully into her deep brown eyes.

“By all rights, I should be dead. Or should have stayed dead. I did die. But, like your…Mal…,” the Darkling said her husband’s name for the first time, out of respect for her pain, “the power tied to me from my grandfather, from Morozova, showed mercy. You’re not the only one with followers, Sankta Alina,” he jeered, “there are some powerful Grisha who did and still do support my cause of saving our people. I’m still healing. Or maybe I’m not, maybe the pain of your dagger will stay with me for eternity. At least I will always have something to remember you by.” He put his hand over his old wound and gave a grim smile, then put his head down to break her gaze. “I’m here because I’ve felt your sorrow for months and I couldn’t bear it any longer. I haven’t felt anything from you all this time, I truly believed you dead. But then I felt a deluge of raw pain and loneliness and I knew it must be you. I could only assume what had happened since you were closed to me. Tonight, I called and you opened the gate. So here I am, Alina. I’ve waited so long for you. You are my forever, after all.”

He looked up again, his grey eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Alina sat back on her heels, trying to take everything in.

“So, I…called to you? I have my power to summon… you?” she sounded incredulous. She had lived a lifetime of feeling not-quite-right. While filled and fulfilled through the love she shared with her husband, there was an emptiness that couldn’t be explained. She thought her power had vanished. In her mind it had been a fair trade. Her power for Mal’s life. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t long to roll the balls of light between her fingertips or feel the power of the sun course through her.

Suddenly, without thinking, she flung out her hand and grabbed the bare skin of the Darkling’s wrist in one hand and held the other open. Her shawl fell off her frail shoulders to the ground next to her. She closed her eyes and willed her power back. To her shock, she felt the barriers that had stood for so long crack and crumble insider her. After a moment, she felt a hot flash of pain searing through her and she cried out to the night.

“Alina…” the Darkling whispered, almost reverently.

She looked down and in her palm she held a small sun.

“Alina, my Alina. You’re glowing.”

A soft but powerful light was pouring from the white-haired woman seated in the meadow. She glowed golden under the moonlight, as if every inch of her was on fire.

After half a century of separation, the Darkling leaned over her and gently kissed her cheek. Still glowing, and suddenly not empty or alone, Alina released his hand and met his lips with her own. She cupped his cheek with her hand gently. As their lips pressed together, her soft glow flared out, racing over the dry grass like the noonday sun. The Darkling shut his eyes tightly to keep from being blinded and called the shadows around them to keep the balance. The kiss was not hungry or needy, or with the heated passion of her youth. It was gentle and healing. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. She pulled herself away from his lips, but laid her head on his chest.

“Oh, Aleksander,” she breathed, “Thank you.”

Her light dimmed and extinguished. He pulled back his shadows and the two held each other silently in the moon bathed meadow.

“Alina, I’ve missed you.”

#darklinafic #darklina #darklinafics

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centuryofdean · 4 years

Text

When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 18

Author Note:: So sorry for such a long update! Life has been hectic. I promise the next one won’t be so long!!

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+. NSFW.

Warnings:: Language, Violence and Scenes of Sexual Nature.

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Kili

The company and some of the people of the town were led into the large home. The man of the town, the Master they called him, settled us down in the dining room. All of the table and chairs were of course too large for us, but we made do by sitting on books and other items provided for us.

Soon the room was filled with food and ale. Each of the dwarves were indulging themselves in the supplied drinks and morsels. The room was very warm though it did not ease the chill in my bones. "Durin's day is in nine days," Fili murmured quietly from the end of the table we were sitting at. Laurel was once more perched on my lap, toying idly with the courting braid in her hair. The sight brought warmth to my heart.

"I don't fully understand what is going on I suppose," she muttered.

"Uncle was given a key to open a hidden door on the mountain," Fili supplied easily, "during the light of Durin's day is only when the door will be visible. Then, and only then, will we be able to enter the mountain without the beast that lies within knowing."

Her lips pursed together tightly as her eyes still combed the festivities. "What then? Slay a dragon when it sneaks upon us?"

"It slumbers in its horde of gold," I laughed softly.

Pine green eyes widened in astonishment, "Hasn't anyone ever told you lot not to poke the sleeping dragon?"

Together my brother and I smirked, a few chuckles leaving our lips in amusement. Of course we knew not to wake a sleeping beast. Honestly I did not know the true intentions of what was to happen once we got to the mountain. Master Baggins was acquired so that we could have him retrieve the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain. Once Thorin had the stone, I knew not what would actually transpire. How were we to actually kill Smaug once we gained entrance to the mountain?

Soon Laurel rose to get food, leaving Fili and I alone.

"You have gone about this all differently than you should have," he spoke as soon as she was gone. It was one of a few moments that were actually alone. Usually Laurel was with us.

"Things are different in her world. Suitors usually make the first advance. Some women ask their suitors to court, but those are far and few between. Laurel is not the type for it though, she prefers for the suitors to do the asking and courting," I sighed, watching as she worked her way across the room to talk to each of the company members. Dwarrowdams were meant to initiate courting. Not the dwarves.

"She accepted the braid, but does she accept the courting completely? I know you mentioned you were having difficulty with her," he asked.

It was true, even if she accepted the braid I did feel as if she was still holding back. There were times where I could see the spark in her eye, the same spark that burned deep in my stomach when I looked at her. Other times she looked upon me with sorrow and guilt. The messages I saw were hot and cold and passionate and disdained. It did not make much sense at all.

The pain in my thigh flared fiercely for a moment, bringing a gasp softly to my lips as I clutched at it. "I am not sure. She seems to have not changed much at all on the subject, I still see the battle in her when she looks at me," I tore out. "Why is it not easy?"

Fili laughed full-heartedly, "Because you love her! All the other maidens were meaningless. If they did not fall for your charm, you moved onto the next one. Laurel is fighting you and you will not move on because you love her brother! I have not seen you look so struck before!"

Of course I loved her. There was no question on it.

"The jealousy was on her face when we were in Mirkwood," Fili murmured as he tried to remain silent.

"I would not doubt it," I muttered, "Tauriel has not given up on trying to obtain me as one of her playthings."

"Laurel was more concerned with her likeness of face."

"There is a reason for that," I groaned remembering the day I came across Tauriel in the pub.

It was about three years ago when I woke in the morning with a need that could not be met. Laurel haunted my dreams once more, though this time she was covered but in thin fabric that left nothing to the imagination on to what was under it. She was sprawled out across the sand on a cloth in the broad sunlight. Eventually she traveled into the water to swim idly. The water cascaded down her form and caressed her curves beautifully.

It was a very good image, but waking with it in my mind had me frustrated. It was only then that I discovered my attraction of her, but I felt ashamed and unfulfilled at the same time. That day I hunted until sundown only to come across nothing. To end the miserable night I ended up in the Gilded Ghoul with a tankard of ale to keep me company.

Tauriel entered the building with an air about her. Instantly I saw the beauty of the elf. At first the resemblance did not meet me. Instead I was struck by her perfectly sculpted face and the breath of her bosom. I was amazed how she sought me out to drink and talk with me. Soon our words became bold and I invited her back to my home for a more private conversation. We both had drank too much, and evidently were too loud trying to sneak into my room.

The elf maiden was taken with me and kissing me with earnest. Together we were tangled in my sheets, her body completely nude under me, my own still trying to catch up.

"Oh Kili," she whimpered when my lips attached to her breast.

"Mmmm, yes Laurel," I replied.

The elf didn't hear the difference in name, since it was so similar, but immediately I knew my mistake. When my eyes opened I realized everything that had transpired. She looked like a spitting image of my Laurel, almost. There were differences, but I had picked her just for her similarities to my human girl I had fallen for. That is when my door burst open to reveal Thorin.

"That elven maiden I brought home when Thorin burst in was Tauriel, I self-consciously chose her because of her similarity to Laurel," I muttered. "She is upset thinking I chose her because she looked like Tauriel."

Once more I amused my brother more than I should have. He clapped me on the back. The heat finally started to become too much for me to take, so I rose to retreat outside for the freshness of air.

The limp I walked with gave me away to my green eyed beauty, for she followed me the moment the night air brushed my skin. "Are you alright," she asked, hand touching the width of my back.

We walked a distance as the snow fell softly around us.

"I will survive," I breathed deeply through the pain. Once we came to the dock I settled down onto the wooden surface to gaze over the lake. Just on the other side was the mountain we dreamed about for years. The cold night air cooled my skin slightly.

"We are almost there," I grabbed her hand and held it tight as my thigh throbbed, "almost home."

I could hear the hesitation in her voice as she paused before speaking, "Kili, Thorin may like me more now than before, but I was not given permission to live in the Lonely Mountain. I was only told I could come and go as I please."

"That is nonsense," I pulled her closer, "you have nowhere else to go."

"I will go stay with Bilbo as I was told," she murmured, "I already talked it over with him just moments ago."

Rage suddenly filled me to the brim. Why was it battle after battle with this woman? Did she not truly care for me as much as I cared for her? My hand snatched away from her own. "What of us? The Shire is almost one full moon's journey. It would be nearly impossible for us to be together," I muttered.

I jumped up and hissed as pain ripped through my thigh, feet thundering as I stomped down the dock. "Kili! Come back," she called after me.

"Why? I have fought hard for you to remain by my side, and you are going to deny me even still? How is that just to me? How is that what I deserve for everything that I have done," I roared. Soon we were toe to toe, her face gazing up at me with more than guilt. Her trembling hands rose to grasp at my face.

Suddenly I was weak and could no longer hold myself up. The ache and pain in my leg became so unbearable I crumpled to the ground I walked upon.

"Kili!"

Soft delicate fingers traced my face and nose, holding me close to her. "You're sick." My eyes closed heavily. When they opened again her face and that of Fili's were staring down at me.

With tugging and pulling I was dragged by my older brother. The heat was burning me alive, the lushness of my skin was hot to touch. The weakness that held me was terrifying. Was this what it felt like to die? Never before have I felt such a dread in my core, one that had breath hard to find.

Laurel was banging on a door. When Bard's face appeared as seen us, he snarled in our faces.

"No! I am done with dwarves!"

Just as the door was attempted to be shut, Laurel put her boot between the frame and the door, slamming her palm against the wood, "Good thing I'm not a dwarf Mister Bard!"

They stared at one another for a long moment before she whispered just loud enough to hear, "He is sick, and we need help. We have no one else we can get that from but you."

Slowly the door opened as we crossed the threshold.

Previous Chapter << Chapter 17: Across the Chasm, Beasts Lie

Next Chapter >> Chapter 19: Admitting the Heart Knows Where Home Is

#kili fanfic #kili fanfiction #kili x reader #kili x oc #kili durin #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #when lightning strikes #kili durin x reader #kili durin x oc

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letterboxd · 4 years

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Human Resources.

Kitty Green talks to our London correspondent Ella Kemp about “putting the audience in the shoes of the youngest woman in a toxic work environment” in her new film, The Assistant.

The long-undervalued job of a Hollywood assistant has come into stark relief thanks to recent events, and the stories that are being told of assistants’ experiences, working conditions and pay rates are jaw-dropping. (Episode 422 of the Scriptnotes podcast is well worth a listen.)

Filmmaker Kitty Green was well ahead of the conversation; her first narrative feature, The Assistant, quietly premiered at the Telluride Film Festival last August (and the Berlinale in February). Dubbed by many as ‘the first post-#MeToo movie’, it is a remarkable portrait of a young woman navigating just another day in the office. Except this is not just another office, and so many things are wrong about this day.

Starring Julia Garner (Grandma, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Electrick Children) as Jane, the assistant to the predatory head of a New York-based film studio, the story zooms in on the details of her routine—the tedious tasks, the belittlement from her colleagues, the oppression from her mostly faceless boss—with such laser-sharp vision that by the end we feel we know Jane deep in our bones.

Green has previously directed the documentary features Ukraine is Not a Brothel (2013) and Casting JonBenét (2017), the latter a meta-documentary that also hones in on the neglect and exploitation of young women, albeit under a different light (it is now streaming on Netflix). While Green’s documentary experience bears fruit in her attention to detail, the narrative form of The Assistant allows for a focus on mundane tasks and micro-reactions that documentary might not have access to.

Various Letterboxd reviews mention the anxiety-inducing way The Assistant allows us to watch Jane “probe her place in the established, tacit system of complacency… knowing that everyone around her is motivated by self-interest to pretend it doesn’t exist” (Josh Lewis). “Green encourages her viewers to pay close attention to what’s really going on beneath the surface,” (KristineJean) in “a horror movie of soul-sickening ambience” (Scott Tobias).

Though The Assistant’s film festival run was cut short, and the closure of cinemas around the world hurts for a lot of us, there’s something about the claustrophobia of social distancing and the intimacy of the small screen that maybe suits this picture. Nevertheless, seeing the film in a cinema in ‘the before time’ highlighted for Alyssa Heflin the ocean of different opinions that can come from misunderstood subtext: “Watching this in a room where you can hear people snickering at the girl and asking what the point of all this is adds a certain extra… incendiary level to an already deeply angry viewing experience.” Indeed, discomfort and crossed wires seem to define the messages at the core of The Assistant.

Kitty Green talks to Ella Kemp about the influence of Chantal Akerman, the infinite watchability of Julia Garner, and the oddness of growing up with a Nazi-free edit of The Sound of Music.

Jane (Julia Garner) takes another call from the boss in ‘The Assistant’.

The Assistant is your first fiction feature. The subject matter feels so immediate—what made you choose to not make a documentary of this, given your track record in that realm? Kitty Green: I went to fiction film school, and I made fiction short films. I then found work in documentary, so I made two feature-length docs. With this one, I was looking at exploring the micro-aggressions, the tiny moments, gestures, looks, glances, behaviors that often go overlooked when covering the #MeToo movement. We often talk about the bad men and the misconduct, but this is more about a cultural, structural problem. So I was hoping to amplify the more quietly insidious behavior that we need to address if we really want things to improve. A fiction film allowed me to hone in on details—close up—and the way you can take an annoyance through the emotional experience, putting the audience in the shoes of the youngest woman in a toxic work environment.

How did you decide to keep the timeframe to just one day in Jane’s life rather than fleshing it out over a longer period? The lead character is in such a complicated position. It’s such a difficult set of circumstances, the machinery that this predator has created around himself. I wanted to untick that, to discuss how difficult it is to be a young woman in that environment. So the day, the routine, was really important. What she was experiencing, how she was experiencing it; every task she did I gave equal weight to. Whether she was photocopying, binding something suspicious, you experience it as you would if you were in her shoes. That was important to me.

I had my fists clenched the whole time, when she’d be eating cereal, or washing up mugs, waiting for something awful to happen. Totally. It’s exploring misconduct, but it’s also looking at a whole spectrum, from gendered work environments, toxic work environments, through all these environments that support predatory behavior. I was interested in what the entry points are, without conflating those issues and being able to explore all the cultural systemic things we need to unpick to move forward.

The film is so focused on Jane, played by Julia Garner. How did you choose her? The script is pretty bare when it describes who she is, she’s just Jane. I didn’t have anyone in mind, really. I told my casting agent that we’re watching this character do the most mundane tasks, so it was important that she was striking. I said I needed someone infinitely watchable. I had seen Julia in The Americans and I remembered being struck by her, so I immediately wanted to meet her. She really understood the script, it worked out beautifully. We got to create the character together, we had a month of rehearsals where we really went through where she was emotionally at any given point, and Julia is wonderful so it was great.

Matthew Macfadyen and Kitty Green discuss a scene in ‘The Assistant’. / Photo: Ty Johnson

And Matthew Macfadyen—his character feels so crucial and his performance so pivotal, even in just one scene. What were you looking for when casting him? I’ve been a fan of his for forever, but I hadn’t seen Succession. Apparently the character has some similarities? I’ve only watched Succession in the past week… Somebody had to send me a clip to prove he could do an American accent! Matthew really brought something to that character and took it to another level. It’s so insidious what he does. He and Julia worked so beautifully together, it just got better and better every time.

How did you feel watching Succession now and seeing Matthew as Tom Wambsgans? Tom still feels different somehow. But I’ve had a good time watching it, he’s so great. There are parallels for sure!

The language you use in the film is so careful, so much is in the subtext. How do you build tension from these empty spaces? We had a great visual team who were lighting it in an interesting way. There was a lot of oppressive fluorescent lights. The sound was also very important—we had an amazing sound designer, Leslie Schatz, who does a lot of Todd Haynes’ stuff and Gus Van Sant’s. He’d done Elephant, which I thought was phenomenally sound designed. He sent out a team to record every kind of buzz, hum, whir, and we created a lot of tension in that soundscape. It heightens these moments when you can really feel the hum of the fluorescent lights or the alarm of the copier. Things like that are authentic to the world, so it doesn’t feel like you’re manipulating an audience, but they do add a dramatic tension.

During The Assistant’s various film festival screenings so far, audience reactions have been quite varied. Some people find it uncomfortable, some have found it funny. What would you hope an audience member would take from it? Who found it funny…? That’s a strange reaction, and a little terrifying. I think it makes some men uncomfortable and maybe their reaction is to laugh as a way to hide that discomfort. I get a lot of men come up to me afterwards and say, “There are things in that film that maybe I have done.” Those conversations are really important. There’s a scene where the men lean over Jane’s chair and correct her email, little things like that which can be quite patronising even if a lot of men think are helpful. But there’s a point where they cross a line, where maybe it isn’t helpful anymore and it’s a little insulting. I’ve had a few people who are bosses with their own assistants who have watched the film and have said they’re going to treat them a little better, and that maybe they’re wrestling with their own guilt. I think those conversations are great.

Julia Garner prepares for a take on the set of ‘The Assistant’. / Photo: Ty Johnson

What is your favorite one-woman-show performance, where one female actor entirely carries the film? A big influence on The Assistant was Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. It’s just one woman going about her housework. I remember seeing that in film school and being bowled over by it, I’d never seen anything like it.

Do you have a favorite scene that has ever taken place in an office environment? Offices… I mean, I love The Office? I watched it in preparation for this, even though there’s seemingly nothing in common except for the ways of the photocopier…

It’s important to inhale that kind of comedy while working on something more intense, right? For sure, that helps.

What is your favorite on-screen argument? I watched a lot of them to prepare for the HR scene, as it’s a confrontation between two characters. There’s a scene in Steve McQueen’s Hunger, which is a seventeen-minute dialogue. It’s an incredible scene. It’s not an argument but still some sort of confrontation. I was interested in scenes like that which are really long and stand out from the rest of the movie. James Schamus, one of my producers, made a film called Indignation, which has a confrontation between two characters, which also influenced the structure of what I was doing. I also just watched the latest episode of Better Call Saul in which there’s a sixteen-minute confrontation, which I thought was pretty remarkable.

What was the first film that made you want to be a filmmaker? To be honest I’m not sure. I got a video camera when I was eleven, and I started playing with it in our backyard, making little movies. It wasn’t that I saw a film and tried to replicate it necessarily. But I do have a strange story…

I had a copy of The Sound of Music in which my father had edited out the Nazis, because he was worried I’d be scared of them as a kid. So I have this strange 40-minute version of the film that ends at the wedding scene… And I always thought that was The Sound of Music, and then in high school I figured out there’s this whole other storyline I never knew existed. I guess that taught me the power of editing! I had to go back and rewatch what I’d seen, and it definitely made me think of the craft more as a viewer.

‘The Assistant’ is available to watch on VOD platforms (including Hulu) as of late July.

#kitty green #the assistant #directed by women #female director #independent film #telluride film festival #virtual screening #virtual release #metoo #payuphollywood #hollywood assistant #timesup #juliagarner #matthewmacfadyen #patrickwilson #succession #bettercallsaul #chantel akerman #letterboxd

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discardedimage · 4 years

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The Day When Man was Born

For those interested in a theological “explanation” of what is going on in the short story that follows, scroll to the bottom. Not everything is explained there, but you will understand the basics of why I constructed the narrative this way. It is obviously fictional but it is meant to illustrate aspects of real expectation. As explained at the bottom, this is not about the Second Coming and the general resurrection.

In the six thousandth year since the Creation of Heaven and Earth, at the dawn of the Fourth Age, these things happened…

The skies were brighter than the children of Adam had ever seen them- and the brightness was of a different sort than the brightness of the ages past. Here one color was not brighter than the other- nor did one glory overwhelm and conceal others, as Sol had indeed concealed the stars of Deep Heaven until that day. All instead beheld the whole rainbow- indeed, each saw the whole in its every part. In the blueness he beheld great yellows, woven together perfectly and so becoming perfectly themselves. In the reds he saw brilliant purples and crystalline golds and colors first seen and named on that day. Each radiance was a mirror of all the others. All saw, and most rejoiced- and of the few who were repulsed even then, most were healed. (Of the very few who would not be unbent, I know nothing.)

“And now”, said Heaven, “the time has come for the real beginning.”

For three ages He had worked. And though the stench that came in the dawn of the first age had thickened the air of our world, the real smells were not overcome. In the second age He mustered an army, and when its number was ready, He came to lead it to war. At the close of that age he struck fatally the fallen prince of this world upon his head. And so He who had before worked in secret blew His trumpet and laid siege to the dark lord’s stronghold. In the third age He made great war against His enemy, and at the age’s end, when the black archon boasted of his great strength, the siege broke him and cast him down. And though still many ages were to come before the world had been made ready for that Great Morning of which this was the smallest taste, it was a fuller dawn than had been rumored even among the wise.

“Children of Adam! You have seen and sorrowed much, and you have forgotten many things you once knew- though never as much as your enemy meant. Today, I call your memory forth from the grave. Go now. Be my Likeness. Rejoice, dance, sing, love. I made you a world- now I shall through you make endless worlds. The door that my servants held shut on my command, the door which was even hidden from your knowledge until the latter years of the third age, I now open to you. Rise into the first heaven beyond your sky-curtain and come to the silver gate which leads to Deep Heaven. Breathe into that world life. Plant its forests, call forth its seas, and cast its sky-curtain according to what pleases you. Give Luna her swarms, her swimmers, and her flying things. Take the great beasts of this world and cause their offspring to become the great beasts of that world.”

As these things were spoken, the Great Host- though still invisible- rose into song. Those who heard it were never sure whether it had words or simply was word. In our tongue, the song was a little bit like this:

In all the ages that have gone

There was no road to Heaven’s throne

The passage through had been concealed

And silver Gate was firmly sealed.

Come, O Man, ascend and see

The Gate has opened gloriously

Give her birth, Man, crowns bestowed.

And make her light thus sevenfold.

The song did not end, but rose into a great harmony with the voice of Heaven, which then continued:

“In ages past I sent my celestials to you. In these ages, you shall go to them. They have long awaited your coming, and their joy is to receive Adam’s children and to do them obeisance. You have seen, heard, and tasted the scents and songs of High Heaven which have always been whispered on the air of your world. You have drunk from that world’s fountains and have done so rightly. Drink more deeply and make from it a new birth for all worlds- from the Gate of Luna to the farthest corner of Deep Heaven. For as your sorrow was mine, so also will my delight be yours. I have delighted in making a world, and He who delighted with me is with you. As you rejoiced in the world I gave you, so also will I rejoice in the worlds you give me, for in you is the Counselor who gave me counsel from when time began.”

And all bowed and worshiped. Things hidden in past ages were made manifest- they saw the dancers of the white flowers, heard the small folk of the hills, and beheld the Creator’s great host- from the Seven Lord Archangels of Heaven’s Heart to the Forever-Children of the Lord’s Throne. Things seen in past ages were understood, and things forgotten long ago were called to mind at last.

----------------

Some Words of Explanation

To give a little insight on what shapes this short story- my personal view is that prior to the World to Come (that which comes after the bodily resurrection of the dead) there will be a lengthy period where Christianity is perfectly triumphant and the human family united around the one Lord Jesus as King such that what we today call “Christian theology” is simply taken for granted, though understood at a profound and deeper level. While there is a great deal underlying this idea (which isn’t as idiosyncratic as you might think if this is the first time you are hearing it), the fundamental point is this. When God made Adam, He made Him a partner in the task of completing and glorifying the creation. Adam went astray but the Lord Jesus came to bring redemption. For the past two-thousand years that accomplishment has been working its way into the bones and blood of the human family (the corporate “Man” of Genesis 1 who is the Image of God). I expect that it will be worked into us - through a great judgment and redemption, a death and resurrection - relatively soon.

2070 will mark, according to my understanding (see the chronology of scripture as demonstrated in a five-hundred page set of essays by James Jordan), the beginning of the seventh millennium. The conclusion of the sixth millennium, read according to its spiritual significance in the corresponding creation days, will see the true birth of Man- the human family. With that, it will be his mission to spread throughout the cosmos and bring the divine presence into it. The completion of that task will take some time. But read through the lens of biblical typology, that’s no surprise. Joseph is the paradigmatic Messiah, and the dream of his exaltation is linked with the messianic seed of Judah in Genesis 49:8-12. Joseph was sold to the nations for silver by his family, rose to greatness among the nations while taken for dead by his family, and then was reconciled with his flesh. Jesus was sold to the nations for silver by Judas and His Jewish family (just as Judah came up with the idea of selling Joseph - Gen 37:37) and has risen to greatness among the nations of the world. But the river which flowed from Jerusalem to bless the world must circle back to Jerusalem (Isaiah 66) so that Jesus will be reconciled in love with His Jewish family.

Yet the vast majority of Joseph’s reign takes place after his reconciliation with his family. Symbolically in this narrative frame, the bringing “up” of Joseph’s “bones” (the word for bones in Hebrew also means “self” and refers to the core being of a human person) to the land of promise signifies the general resurrection. So in my expectation, the generations of grace and beatitude will make the six-thousand years of sin and warfare pale in comparison. The devil will be humiliated utterly the presence of God spreads from one end of the cosmos to the other as he watches helplessly. Yet this is a preparation for the real beginning- the World to Come. There we will be summoned by God to share in His ongoing work in ways simply ineffable at this moment. It is a horizon beyond which we cannot look in this age.

The above narrative describes not the dawn of the world to come, but the “real birth” of the human family where the Presence of God is manifest to the whole human race as plainly and obviously as you see the words on this screen. While I don’t want to say too much on this, I do believe that this is the “Era of Peace” spoken of in both Orthodox and Catholic prophecy and Marian revelations. According to the Torah God brings the consequences of sin out to three and four generations- but His mercy is shown to thousands. We’re not even close to one-thousand generations today. (Three and four generations is meant literally, and so I think “thousands” is meant in the same way, though I certainly wouldn’t rest my whole case on this point.)

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eldonash · 4 years

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New Order for the Brood || Orobas & Carrington

Summary: Orobas and Carrington establish mutual relations and agree to bringing the vampires together in due time. Off camera they shop for a house for the future brood. @carringtonblackwood

Set up

Orobas was a man who listened, and observed. Information was always a vital piece to survival. He had taken great advantage of this new era and online shopping. If they needed any supplies at all, amazon was one click away to putting it on their doorstep the next evening. It was glorious, and dangerous for a man who had a decent amount of money. It was a shame he couldn’t shop locally often. He was walking calmly down a street in downtown, window shopping their wares while their doors were closed late in the evening. Orobas contemplated if he could get one of the owners to stay open late one night, let him shop their store alone. It would be worth their time and money. Pausing his easy strides, he stared into the window of a suit store, admiring their choices when he heard whispers up the road. Faintly, but with a peak of interest that lured his gaze in a different direction.

Carrington was also a listener and an observer. It was partly how he’d managed to survive for so long. By knowing what was happening in his immediate surroundings. And beyond. Beyond being the community he currently lived in. Whether it was Europe, Japan, Scotland, or here in White Crest, Carrington made it his business to listen to the whispers that drifted through the air. Lost words of conversations carried on the breeze. Rumors that slipped from tongues loosened by alcohol or drugs. Or even by the occasional bit of compulsion. Tonight, Carrington had merely gone for a walk to clear his mind of too many racing thoughts. He had no real destination in mind. No real purpose to his steps other than to let the relative quiet of the evening settle in around him. It wasn’t until the murmur of voices reached his ears that he paused. It was a subtle thing, the way he simply… slowed to a halt. His eyes never the pavement that he’d been frowning at for the duration of his trek. Until he’d pinpointed the source of the sounds. One had grown suddenly frantic… the other sharp and raised, though it still tried to be quiet. Carrington’s eyes slid towards the side-street, and he waited a beat before turning his path towards the growing sounds of conflict.

Orobas curiously turned down the alleyway near him. It's darkness was almost impenetrable less the other side which faintly glowed with a street lamp in mirrored reflection to his position. There he stood for a few seconds, this silhouetted figure blocking the pathway as he stared down, head cocked slightly as he suddenly smelled blood and the muffled choke of a seized throat. Something delirious spun his mind into visions of war and murder, and an insane, almost amused smile twitched his dead muscles into an eerie expression. He walked into the alleyway, seeing another figure on the far side lured in. The more steps he took, the sounds turned into gasps and shuffling as a punch sounded, and someone started coughing as they caught their stolen breath. When he was about ten steps away, he didn't look at the two humans hurting each other, but on the other. "Hmm, seems the world finds it time we meet,"

The scent of blood curled through the air, overlying the dirty, damp smell of the dimly lit alley. Carrington knew the sounds of a struggle, and his instinct was - and had always been - to intervene. If it was necessary. Though he had spilled his own share of blood in dark corners all over the world. Some in self-defense, some in anger. Some in the desperate desire to feed on something warm and living as it struggled and cried out against him. The latter was the flash of a past life that Carrington pushed down fiercely and firmly. He was no monster that preyed on the unsuspecting and unconsenting. The blood he took was freely given. Unless it was that of someone that deserved death. Hunters, slayers… those that harmed the weak and the innocent. Their blood had coated Carrington’s blade time and time again. But this was no hunter attack. Nor was it one of his kind feeding on an unwilling victim. This was a mugging of some sort. Another punch and the sound of forcibly exhaled air sounded through the alley. But it wasn’t this that had Carrington’s attention. Let the humans sort it out between themselves. No. His attention was on the figure that stood less than a dozen paces away. A figure he didn’t recognize, but at the same time, he did. Like recognizes like, after all. Carrington tilted his head slightly, studying the other. Finally, he gave the tiniest dip of his head. “So it does. But what would the world have of us, I wonder.”

One of the people pushed the other back down on the ground, wrapping their hands back on their throat and slammed their head to the ground. The crack of bone ignited old memories, ones filled with desires and bloodshed over a battlefield. Their hand reached out for him, and Orobas had a mind to grab it, to pull them up and into his embrace only to see the realization as they met with another monster. One that was hungry-- someone who was far, far worse than the one attempting to kill them now. He placed his hands into his pockets and relaxed his shoulders, further ignoring the humans. "I'm patient-- perpetually, and you know-- the world always delivers me who I require. I anticipate what immortality means and how much of the life we can remember and enjoy every waking moment, but I’m usually wrong." He seemed almost happy, "I have been waiting hundreds of years to meet you, and it is now that we do, it's extraordinary how that happens. Do you wish to chat?"

The fight between the two humans was becoming a distraction. Carrington wasn’t one to let someone die needlessly, so as the underdog’s skull cracked against the concrete, he frowned. It wouldn’t do to have someone get killed here tonight, especially if someone had seen him enter the alley. Carrington doubted he’d been spotted, but one couldn’t be too careful these days. “I am as well,” Carrington said of patience. “Immortality is both a blessing and a curse. Though the definition of either of those things is all relative. Depending on what the world decides to bring us.” The stranger’s words struck an odd feeling deep in Carrington’s chest. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it also wasn’t a good one. It was more… to be determined. One thing was certain, however: he did wish to chat. “That it is. That we should meet after so many years, at this very moment in time.” So Carrington nodded that he did indeed wish to chat. But he also had a mind to finish the human squabble himself, before it got out of hand. “A moment, if you will.” And that’s all it took. A moment. Before the man with his hands around the other man’s throat was being slammed against the alley wall. A flash of a blade as he tried to stab Carrington. But the vampire had his fist in his hand before the blade made contact. He squeezed just enough to hear bones break. The human assailant cried out, but Carrington covered his mouth. A few whispered words, and a heavy dose of compulsion, and the man slumped. Carrington let him go, and he staggered off into the street, heading to the police department to turn himself in for assault. But having forgotten all about Carrington and the other vampire. The man on the ground groaned, and Carrington hefted him to his feet. The smell of blood was all around him, but he was alive. Another bit of compulsion and Carrington sent him on his way to the hospital to report the attack, and also forget about the other two men. “Shall we?” Carrington asked, giving the other vampire a small tip of his head.

Orobas would always, and forever, care about his kin to an obsessive, and almost absurd protective point. He was an evil creature to the core, but he had a code he liked to follow, which placed other vampires always by his side first over being enemies. Just like with Harsh, someone he felt deeply with for the longest besides his maker, seeing another vampire who carried the air of age, and wisdom felt like coming home again. He smiled as the fight broke up, the two humans blurry in mind and compulsion as they staggered off. Orobas was intensely curious about what caused it, but other matters now were much more important. He moved away from the dark alleyway, calm, steady, and content in the company. Typically, he'd introduce himself as his new name, but between kin, he didn't mind being honest. Often curious if such a thing was known when legend around it existed. "My name is Orobas Ash," he offered one of the biggest secrets right away to show his trust already. "Are you staying in White Crest for a while? Our kind moves often, don't we? I like it here. This weird little town. It's different than anywhere else in the world."

Carrington had been born to be a knight. His father before him done so, and Carrington had followed in his footsteps, serving his king and the people until it had cost him his human life. Yet even in this second life, Carrington refused to lose his humanity. His sense of honor and purpose. And while he was always a champion of his own kind over the lives of those that sought to harm them - slayers, hunters, and the like - his loyalty to his species only went so far. As he’d told Matty, the vampire slash addict he’d met in another alley much like this, if he couldn’t hold his tongue and made the mistake of tipping off the hunters in town to any of their kind, or Carrington himself, Carrington would cut off his head. He had no loyalty at all to cowards or traitors. But to those that didn’t deserve to be harmed, Carrington would step in when needed.

The humans moved away, and Carrington forgot about them as he took up the slow pace of his companion. It was rare he met someone that felt as old as he was. Carrington didn’t know how he knew this. Call it a feeling, perhaps. But he didn’t question it. It wasn’t until the stranger revealed his name that the odd feeling in Carrington’s chest returned. The unnameable one from before. Orobas Ash. If Carrington’s skin was capable of having goosebumps, they would’ve raced across his skin at the very utterance of that name. Because Carrington had heard that story. And in his naivety at the time, thought it merely a legend told among humans and vampires alike. The flick of Carrington’s eyes to other man’s profile was the only indication of his surprise. Though he was quite aware that the name could be fake. Could be. But Carrington was quite certain it wasn’t. Christ. “I was born Carrington Bishop.” He nodded in agreement of how often those like themselves moved. “It’s Blackwood these days.” He turned back to the road ahead. “I find myself wanting to linger awhile. There are… things keeping me here. By choice this time. Things the world never told me about until I found them.”

"Sounds romantic," he mused gently, curious if that was the real answer or if it was because they were able to call it home. Orobas often wondered what his birthplace looked like now in modern times. He's not been back in South Korea in hundreds of years though, big cities and sprawling neighborhoods would surely devour such a little village. "I had a revelation about a decade ago. A child, school-age, came up to me without an ounce of fear. And you know what they did, Carrington? They placed beautiful flower petals into my hands and lifted them--" he did the motion gently, "right to my face and told me to smell it. Such innocence, this shocked me. It was the first time in my life I wanted to see this little human live their entire life in peace. That is what's here. White Crest is a place of mystery and wonder. I cherish it."

“Perhaps,” Carrington said, his tone giving away nothing. It was the truth, such as it was. There were people here that he cared about, and wanted to be around. Be with. He hadn’t had a place he’d called home for a long time. Not in two hundred years at least. White Crest was slowly starting to feel that way. And that both thrilled and terrified the vampire. As the other man mentioned a revelation, Carrington glanced at him again. His expression was attentive and curious, and as the other revealed the source of this turning point in his immortal life - a human child, of all things - Carrington found his expression softening ever so slightly. He heard truth in the other’s words, and when Orobas was finished with the tale, Carrington gave him a nod of gratitude for sharing it with him. “‘The soul is healed by being with children’,” Carrington mused aloud. “And I couldn’t agree more. There’s something about this place. It…” He paused briefly, searching for the words. “It’s as if, as you said a moment ago, the world finally decided it was time for something. And brought us here.”

Carrington held the same level of sentiment as he did about children. It was challenging to express his emotions clearly, his face stoic, and still less, he managed to smile, but his words, now they could always get to the point. "I tend to speak candidly when I'm not dreaming about the universe caring about the immortals," Orobas joked lightly, offering a chuckle. "We have been brought here, to this one little spot. Have you ever once in life considered settling down with more of our kind? All our life, my maker and I have been together, running, country to country, war to war, but this isn't what we want anymore." He glanced over, shoulders square, and holding a fondness in his gaze. "We'd like to think we could all be together, keep each other safe."

Carrington laughed slightly, the sound warm and soft in his throat. “I find the universe rarely cares for any of us, no matter what our species. It exists as it always has. And when we are all dust, it shall continue on until the end of time.” Though there was humor in his voice as well, his own emotions were usually a whorl of sensations and thoughts that had to be wrangled and sometimes forcibly tied down before they could be expressed clearly. Especially the ones that gave him pause. The ones that shook themselves to life as their conversation continued were just these sort. Old emotions, dry and cracked and stiff from years of disuse. “My maker and I haven’t seen one another in over a century. He still lives - I can feel that much - but…” He shook his head, slipping his hands idly into his pockets. “... I haven’t heard from him since the turn of the last century.” What it must be like, to always have someone there with you. Someone that understood. That just… knew what it was like. Knew you better than you knew yourself. As for the rest. “I settled once,” Carrington said quietly. “But not with another like myself. He was a witch. I… tried to convince him to let me turn him, both to cure the wasting disease that was killing him and so that we might be together, but he wouldn’t have it.” Carrington swallowed. “I’ve not considered settling again. Until recently.” He glanced over at Orobas, noting the soft expression on the other vampire’s face. Carrington wondered if that’s how he himself looked when he talked about a certain doctor he’d grown quite fond of. The notion of a group of vampires existing together for mutual companionship and protection wasn’t unheard of. But it had been a long time since Carrington had heard someone speak the idea out loud. “I could…” He hesitated briefly, before pulling his thoughts together again. “I could certainly consider it. And I’ve a friend who might feel the same.”

"Not that it's our business-- but I'd hope you could find out what they are up to. We can help you if you need it. Pull old contacts." Orobas felt very saddened by this news. What would his existence be without his maker? Haxian did so much to encourage him, to be this other conscious in his mind that to even think about not being with him even for a few nights seemed-- impossible. They likely had a codependency problem, not that they were aware or cared. He frowned sadly at Carrington not knowing where his maker was. At least they weren't dead like Harsh's. "That's-- unfortunate," he said about their partner but didn't understand the emotion Carrington felt for this other person. Never sure about love, especially with a human as well as he should. Even though Orobas tried, he never grasped it a way a human could follow. His steps paused, genuine pleasure exposed. "Wonderful. They are welcome; we are working on a location. We have enough money, but precautions are wanted to go into it, which will require a bit of compulsion to keep the humans out of our business. Taking our time will only ensure it will be safe. Do you have a progeny?"

The offer to help locate his sire was a kind one, and Carrington nodded, stating that he would certainly give it some thought. To see the man again after so long would be… Carrington wasn’t quite sure he had the words to express that particular emotion right now. Carrington could almost claim codependency as well. But not with his sire. Though they had been extremely close, that bond was different from the bond he’d felt with his partner. The love was a different sort of love. An all-encompassing one that had left Carrington hollow and near out of his mind with grief when the man he’d loved more than his own life had passed. It had taken two centuries to even start to consider moving on. And as soon as he had, a man came into his life who was… good and kind and pure. Who made Carrington remember what it was like to feel short of breath and flushed, to have your heart race and your palms sweat… who looked at Carrington in a way that would’ve taken his breath. If Carrington had had any to give.

“Yes, it was,” he answered simply, not wishing to linger over that particular subject. Though his tone conveyed the sadness that still remained, even now. The subject changed, however, and Carrington paused as Orobas did. “One can never be too cautious these days. I came here initially because there was talk of the Hunter population being rather large. They’re out there, as I’m sure you know.” Time was fortunately on the side of the immortals, so even if it took a long time to make a place secure enough for more than a few vampires to meet, it would be well worth it. “How many are you so far? If I might ask?” Carrington knew several others like himself, but had no real numbers as to the actual vampire population in White Crest. “And no. I don’t,” he said of any progeny.

Orobas spent centuries hunting down innocent people. From slaughtering entire ancient fishing villages in south China, or in New York when the skyscrapers were newly forming and penthouses could be splattered in red. Now, Orobas quelled urges he’s had since the beginning, even-- as a human he was someone who killed without feeling. Though redemption was a fickle thing in him, he knew deep down he needed a focus to keep it up, and being with other vampires, seeing them all thrive together here without hunters picking them off. It could be enough to humor retirement until Elder status. Then-- well. “I know of a few I could humor being around, though, I haven’t quite pitched anything yet. I’m not some revolutionary type, but I have met a werewolf in town who has the fire for it. It’s something else to see.” He chuckled. “We have time, I’m in no rush, never have been with anything. Hunters will always exist, and I have taken pleasure in killing off entire family lines.” His grin sharpened, as if knowing the one before him might know that feeling too. “White Crest will always need hunters to kill the things going after humans, eliminating them here isn’t the point. It’s in making sure we are untouchable, unreachable, and too powerful for them to bother. They can worry about the other monsters of the world, and we-- can just exist in our immortality until it grows boring.”

Carrington had spent centuries hunting down people as well. Except his mission had been the opposite: hunt down those who would persecute and harm the innocent. Be they human, vampire, fae, witch, or otherwise. He’d done his share of merciless killing in what he considered their defense. Though he was old enough to know that along the way some innocents had paid the price for his actions. Or lack thereof. Carrington huffed slightly at the thought of being a revolutionary. “Neither am I. Once, perhaps. But not now.” He made a curious sound at the mention of the werewolf who had such a constitution, and tucked the fact into the back of his mind to explore later. Carrington’s expression turned a bit more serious as they moved briefly to the subject of hunters. He gave a small nod of agreement, even if there had been no pleasure taken from killing others. Not in a long time at least. “I’m not interested in the ones that hunt monsters. Only in the ones that harm the innocent.” The idea of being untouchable was… a tempting thought process to fall into. But no one was untouchable. Everything could die, even immortals. But the idea of being something the hunters didn’t dare bother with was appealing to Carrington. “The idea certainly has merit. But you know there are those foolish enough to see a gathering of our kind as some sort of threat. And take issue with it.”

Orobas agreed. “Probably, likely, either way-- it will be interesting. There are already places we all group up in, locations filled with supernaturals in town and they tend to look the other way or know stepping in would be too dangerous. That, is information I want to take advantage of,” Orobas offered a curious glance over, but it held no malice or evil intent. Simply a gaze, all consuming, like he was still surprised they were on the same page. “Would you like to walk with me some more Carrington? To see the houses I have in mind? Another opinion on the manner would be welcome, and the company.”

It was true. There were already several bars and establishments meant solely for their kind dotted about town. So it wasn’t as if such a gathering was unheard of. Perhaps it wouldn’t be seen as so unusual. Or as something that would draw unwanted attention. “Of course,” Carrington smiled in agreement. “I’m quite a fan of good real estate. Though the American obsession with the Colonial style will never cease to confuse me.” They walked on into the night, voices quiet as they disappeared into the shadows. What would come of it, only time would tell. But as they both knew, they had that in spades.

#x: carrington #x: new order for the brood #violence tw

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scrumptiousalpacadeer · 4 years

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Paul Thomas Anderson’s THE MASTER and what it may teach us about mind-control vs freedom Post-Covid

So last night I watched The Master. It was a most pleasing way to spend a Saturday evening; alone, with two cats draped on the sofa and windowsill respectively, and it rounded off a pretty pedestrian Saturday mostly spent mowing and raking the lawn and scattering grass seed whilst *Boo finished reading Jacqueline Wilson’s Rose Rivers whilst occasionally appearing at the back door to yell; ‘mama, you’re driving me nuts with your gardening!’ Somehow I’d been looking forward to scattering my grass seed all week - the promise of moist new green growth on our dusty brown patches. Thing is - and there is a lesson in here somewhere - the grass seed box said it covered 10m square - I guess I got a bit carried away and basically I ran out after one corner. So one corner of my lawn will look like Eden, and the rest will continue to look like some deserted Sicilian scrubland... That’s life, baby, I guess.

So anyway, The Master....dear God. There are many ways I could go with this...Firstly undiluted, scope, wonder, singular sensitivity, impossible mastery, extreme importance and sheer exalting, agonising beauty of Paul Thomas Anderson’s films is the subject of another post. (I’m still on a high from the explosive visceral experience of watching Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood and that was, what, 5 years ago? 10 years ago?) Then The Master came out in 2012 and P.T.A. raised his game even more.

I could, and will another time, talk about the astonishing gift Joaquin Phoenix afforded the world with his embodiment of his character, Freddie Quell. (I say ‘embodiment’; ‘performance’ always strikes me as an incorrect way of describing an actors full immersion in an imagined character’s inner life.) To my mind, Freddie is one of the most affecting, heart-breaking, occasionally funny and downright truthful portrayals of a ‘broken’ man; an exiled, psychologically damaged, wild and lonely spirit who roams the world, desperate for love and acceptance, clearly one of the great ‘un-belonging’ of the post-war world in America. In one the open scenes he simulates fucking an over-sized figure of woman carved in sand on a hot beach, for the amusement of his army pals. In the final scene of the film, after his long long incredible journey , we see him caressing this sand woman again, resting his next to a large sandy breast. Oh poor dear Freddy Quell; my tears ran with him last night; knowing myself in this second viewing of the film, to be so like him. Perhaps one day I will be able to shake Joaquin Phoenix’s hand and say ‘thankyou so much for Freddie.....’ I often feel like that with actors work that resonates through the bones.

I could also talk about how Philip Seymour Hoffman was possibly the greatest screen actor of his time, and how crazy it was that the world didn’t seem to mourn his tragic early death. Was it perhaps because he died of an accidental heroine overdose? - and this, well, didn’t sit very well with Hollywood. His embodiment here of Lancaster Dodd, charismatic leader of philosophical cult movement The Cause, is breath-taking. But then all his performances were breath-taking. I had a dream about him once (whole other post entitled CELEBRITY DREAMS coming your way); we were kind of friends even though I knew he was dead and his face kept appearing on billboards all over London. If, when; I meet him in the spirit world, I’d like to shake his hand and thank him for Lancaster Dodd and Brandt in The Big Lebowski, and Truman Capote, and also for providing me with one of the most pivotal theatre experiences of my life. August 2001, Edinburgh Festival, I witnessed his production of Jesus Hopped The A Train at The Gilded Balloon; this was running gold theatre. Within half a second of the play ending the entire full house erupted to it’s feet like we’d all been tasered from the floor. Thank you Philip...you gave me faith then that theatre is important; that art comes from dark places and revives...

I could talk about the astonishing crashing score composed by Radiohead’s guitarist Jonny Greenwood.

I could also talk about Amy Adam’s terrifying portrayal of Lancaster’s icy wife Peggy and her utterly brilliant final put-down to Freddie: “you either do this for a billion years, or not at all...” (she’s referencing Freddie’s abandonment of the cult she’s set up with her husband, but this line, I feel, could apply to motherhood...….)

* * * * * * * * * *

It usually takes me two viewings for a films deeper meaning to seep in, and last night I was struck by what I see as the heart of the film. The core of the film is relationship between Freddie Quell and Lancaster Dodd; it’s an uncompromising study of male vulnerability and the cosmic search for ‘a father figure’... On a bigger scale, its about how those in positions of assumed power and influence ( Dodd) rely on the adoration and worship of those whom society deem ‘worthless’ (Quell). It’s about the fragility and corruption of a society whereby a man promises freedom and empowerment to his followers (Dodd devises a system of ‘processing’ whereby he takes initiates back to past traumas through a curious mixture of interrogation and hypnosis and ‘cures’ them; he posits that his vision can cure leukaemia and will bring about world peace) and how those ‘disadvantaged’, the great ‘unloved’ can be absorbed into such an attractive lifestyle. In one painful scene, Freddie is taken to a party at a mansion, filled with monied people and luxurious things. Freddie is dressed smartly for the occasion; but is sweating with nerves and orders a scotch at the earliest opportunity, before hiding away in a side room and stealing an ornament. It took me back to my own exile, when, at the age of 17 I landed at Brentwood Boys School in Essex, and cut off from my parents, shattered from my sister’s suicide and a lifetime of confusion, I nonetheless attended many a glorious party; a perfect size 10 and top of the class, I knew how to say all the right things. But, like Freddie, I knew I didn’t and wouldn’t ever fit it. Like him, I would often sneak off to the side rooms, get off my head drunk to hide my shame and hopeless, and cause some fight..

In the end, despite himself, Freddie starts to see through Lancaster’s bullshit and returns to his life on the road. Though The Cause had given him a home, suits and ties, friendship, respect and a certain ‘standing’ that he could only have dreamed of, as he confesses to Peggy at the end, before returning to his own brand of personal lonely freedom; ‘it’s just not how I look’.

* * * * * * *

“Don’t you know, They’re talking about a revolution it sounds like a whisper Don’t you know you’d better run run run run run run run run.....” Tracey Chapman

Talkin’ About A Revolution

What I find heartening and deeply exciting about these early post-Covid times, as the first chinks of sunlight pour in through windows that have separated us from friends, lovers, fellow man for so long, is that people are choosing freedom. In small ways, perhaps, but I get the overall sense that for many people, fear has had its day. As my dear friend said over tea the other day; ‘people are thinking fuck this, fuck it, we wanna fuck’....well, exactly.

It was this dear friend I met up with in her wood a few weeks ago; we hugged each other day, and it was such a joyous relief to see her I told her that if I got the virus and killed me, oh fuck it, it would be worth it, just to sit next to her by a river on a sunny day...

I’ve had two other conversations lately to support my little theory; a particularly cheerful friend of mine turned up with her daughter unannounced on my doorstep couple of weeks back - they had a bag of clothes; would Boo like them? Initially we did the ‘2 m’ thing, paying homage to THE RULES as dictated by the blessed government of this land; I hovered on the threshold of my kitchen - she stood outside by the flower-pots. Then I broke the rules; ‘look, do you wanna come in?’ - That was it. The ice was broken - and she stood, blond, beaming and glorious with her big sunglasses on, in my little kitchen - along with her daughter and mine, and I could literally have feasted forever on the sheer joyous fleshiness of having three other living homo sapiens near me. That sunny day in early June, two women in a small village in Sussex chose freedom. ‘I’ve just had enough of all this virus stuff’ she said ‘I’m even dreaming about it! I’ve just had enough’.

Then last week a friend came over with her three glorious girl children and told me how her youngest, a endlessly sweet six yr old, had ‘hidden behind a tree with her friend so that they could have a hug’. Lets think about that for a moment; six years olds hiding behind trees to have a hug. Its pretty damn sad. And weird. This friend had been on full on paranoid lockdown due to one of the children’s potential serious health issues - but she’d reached breaking point. ‘I’ve had enough’ she said. And that day her girls and my daughter raced up and down the stairs and around the garden in glorious flagrance of any state prescribed social distancing rules.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In the end, Freddie breaks free from his master’s and The Cause’s control and continues - we assume - his lonely drift around the world. In their final agonising meeting, Lancaster reveals the smashed ungenerous ego of a despot thwarted by his adoring lover: ‘if I meet you in a future life I will show you no mercy, you will be my sworn enemy’. Freddie, emaciated, tearful and ever desperate to belong, asks Lancaster to reveal to him how and where they’d met in a previous life... He knows it’s bullshit, in the way I knew my father was incapable of loving me, but when you’ve got a Krakatoa sized hole in your heart, you just can’t stop hoping somehow...pledging allegiance to a resplendent asshole is somehow better than our greatest fear; the abyss of loneliness and isolation. Lets face it; freedom is pretty terrifying after such a long stretch of captivity.

That’s the thing in these Covid times; we always have a choice. We have a choice now, whether to be continue to be afraid or whether to choose freedom. Whether to cut loose and go racing into the desert on a motorbike back to his first love, like Freddie does, following his own destiny, not succumbing to control forces that on the surface entice him into a richer more glamorous life.

And I’m not talking about being an complete idiot and denying there’s a serious virus still on the loose, or hugging scared people in the street to prove a point, and I’m not denying that many people are extremely vulnerable - I’m talking about something entirely different; that deep inner decision that calls in all of us - whether to choose the uncharted waters of freedom, or rest in an all-too familiar fear zone.

To conclude, my dear friend Matilda sent me this book ‘Big Magic - Creative Living By Fear’ by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love (I’ve just watched the film its rather good I think...) Anyway, there’s this great chapter called Fear Is Boring which rang through me, growing up as I did drenched in the anxiety of a Munchausen Syndrome-by-proxy mother (WHOLE other post...) - but here’s what she says about the time, age fifteen, she ‘wised up’ to fear and chose another way:

“I noticed that my fear never changed, never delighted, never offered a surprise twist or an unexpected ending. My fear was a song with only one note - only one word, actually - and that word was “STOP!”

Dear reader, I’m shitting myself with the best of them, but I’ve had enough of fear. I’m not stopping. I’m going. What do you say?..... xxxx

Big love from Christine

#paul thomas anderson #joaquin phoenix #philip seymour hoffman #elizabeth gilbert #fear #freedom #post covid freedom #exile #post traumatic growth #jonny greenwood #cult #male ego #filmmkrs #film art #grass seed #social distancing #social isolation #amy adams #american films

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sweetpea-skarsgard-blog · 5 years

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My Church Offers No Absolution // Roman Godfrey Imagine *smut*

((okay this one is really long, and it is my first smut piece that i have ever written for tumblr, so bare with me please! as always, comments and messages are always appreciated for feedback! Somewhat inspired by Take Me To Church by Hozier.))

Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Blood, Light Choking, Unprotected sex, just general heathenism.

Roman Godfrey… now that man was an enigma to most, and a mystery to others.. Thankfully you found yourself on the latter side of things… a mystery could be solved, but an enigma in itself was unsolvable. Something to be dwelled on for the ages until something else came along- only to rot in your mind driving you insane the more you tried to comprehend it. Of course Roman Godfrey fit this description for most people.. But at the same time, having grown closer to the millionaire playboy- you found that he was a bit more comprehensible than you would have ever guessed before.. Or maybe it was just your way of getting under his skin that warranted such a thesis.

Of course, even given that conclusion, you were still at a loss when a cryptic text message popped up onto your phone, biting your lip as you opened it and read the small block of text. “Y/N, come to my house..bring an order with you.. Urgent.” Sure to anyone who knew about Roman’s condition, they wouldn't be confused in the slightest- but the thing that struck you as strange, was the fact that you had done a delivery just earlier that morning, stopping at his home and taking a five gallon cooler filled with his favorite, Type A- even if he often insisted that he didn't have one. The deliveries were rare now that he had started treatment.. But this new message was a bad sign.

Could he have been losing control again? And- could you manage to spare a few extra bags, when your blood drive had only yielded a mere twenty five this morning? Sighing to yourself, you shook your head. No, you wouldn't disappoint him- but at the same time.. Only two bags would have to be enough to sate him for now. Then again, you feared what would happen if he became too desperate again.

Blood delivery.. It was Roman’s least favorite way for finding sustenance.. But then again, now being the CEO of Godfrey industries, it wasn't like he could go around like he used to, just finding a random hooker, fucking her and then getting what he was really in need of- a fresh vein. For now he would have to deal with the bagged shit.. Not that it was all bad of course. The one good thing about this situation was the fact that he could see you, his little delivery girl- ready to come at his very beck and call.

Of course your relationship was merely professional- or at least that was how the two of you had tried to keep it at first. But over the months of visiting the young tycoon, you’d grown rather close, even staying for coffee as your curiosity piqued.. you’d requested to watch him drink it- the blood. Of course you believed that upir existed.. In a town like Hemlock Grove where the unthinkable seemed to happen at every turn… but to actually see proof of it before your very eyes- it was enough to make anyone gasp in disbelief.

What you didn't know about was the fact that Roman had his eyes on you, more than the deliverer of his favorite meal- but as a walking juicebox yourself.. Often finding the man eyeing your neck so often that it made you swallow thickly before you stepped out of his abode. There was something about the carnal and predatory way he looked at you though- it made you shiver and something ignite with a passion inside of you- no matter how morally corrupt it sounded. How you would think to give yourself up to him as a meal- it was a lustful notion for sure.. But with those steely green eyes of his, and commanding presence, how could anyone resist him? If he hadn't been born into what might as well have been small town royalty, you would have sworn he’d steal the throne for himself with a single look.

So dutifully, you did as you were told, loading up a fresh new cooler with five bags, before making your way over to the Godfrey residence, that seemed to be out of the way of all other homes in the area. And rightfully so. Of course, Roman needn't sully himself with the presence of others- but rather- keep them away from himself when the urges became too strong. That was one thing that you’d come to admire about Roman after learning of his affliction.. The way that he clung to his humanity at every turn, and seeked out alternatives to his predatory ways, as opposed to just giving in and killing runaways, and transients.

Knocking on the door, it was quick to be opened, Roman himself standing there with a tense disposition as he looked you over before biting his lip and ushering you in. His hand graced the small of your back, gently pushing you to join him in the kitchen, before you set down the cooler, his long fingers immediately prying it open. “Fuck.. i needed this.” he almost moaned, immediately opening up the cooler, and taking out one bag. His teeth ripped into it, and you jumped slightly- the ripping sound and sight of blood dribbling down his chin making you shake, but also quiver in a less than fearful way. His demeanor was different than before, and his clothing and hair mussed up as if he were in a fight. The house also seemed to smell of bleach, and certain things were missing from where they once sat untouched… Something had definitely happened here.

“Roman.. Is everything alright?” you said after finding your voice, putting your hand on his shoulder gently, before realizing that touching a upir while feeding might not be the best thing to do in the moment. And rightfully so. His gaze turned on you, as he put down the now empty bag, his hand reaching forth to wipe at his mouth with his sleeve.

“No.. I am not.. Everything is fucked.. My treatment.. It is fucked.” he grunted, looking down at you and stepping over, his tall body towering over yours, before you got a somewhat timid expression. The treatment.. For the upir gene.. He had been going through hell for it- but what could have happened?

“I-I’m sorry.. “ you commented, looking up at him, as he backed you up against a wall.. All Roman felt on the other hand was a hunger.. Nagging at him from the inside. Since giving into his nature in order to save Nadia.. Well he had no choice but to reverse everything Johann was doing to change him back- make him human. And now, when every gene had been remutated- it was coming on with a vengeance.. All Roman wanted to do was consume… and though the blood bag had somewhat sated his bloodlust- there was a whole new kind of lust inside of him that he had yet to satisfy, and it stood before him in a simple black skirt, and sweater.. So innocent and his for the taking.

But even with the eyes of a hunter, he noticed your scared look, his eyes softening for a moment, but in a way that wasn't really a caring disposition.. more -so in disbelief that you would even give a shit about what was going on with him. You were the delivery girl. When had he allowed you to worm yourself so deeply into his life.. And why did he give a fuck what you thought? That was appalling to Roman, a man who had never thought to give someone such power over him. Not the way that your innocent look seemed to affect him. He was the monster- and you seemed almost saintlike..Unlike Peter, he was the Big Bad Wolf.. and all he wanted in that moment was to consume you, in so many more ways than one.

“It doesn't fucking matter.. “ his voice reached a lower tone, one hand reaching up to rest on the wall beside you, as his eyes trailed over your features, down the skin of your neck, and rested on your pulse point for a moment. The sight of which made him absolutely shiver due to the rush of blood that he swore he could hear pounding in his own ears.

You were sure that this might be the end for you, your heart racing in your chest, though in strong contrast to your fear, a tightness gathered in your stomach, and an ache formed between your legs. How could the man looking at you like you were his next meal turn you on to this new height.

Roman reached out, and trailed his fingers against the soft skin of your jaw, tipping your chin to look up at him as a small line of blood remained trailing down from his lucious and pillowy lips. “I am a lost cause.. I was born to be evil.. Just like you were born to be good.” he said with a slight resignation, his fingers now grasping at your chin, and holding you tight to look at him. “My bitch of a mother made sure of that… Maybe I should give in.. Hmm Y/N? Just be the monster that Olivia wants me to be.. The monster that I was meant to become.” he grunted, your breath hitching in fear… and that was what Roman expected.. Fear.

However, he did not expect any words in return, or your back bone as you seemed to only defy him, even as he was clearly the one with the supernatural upper hand. “You are not a fucking monster Roman Godfrey.. You could give in.. but I know that you won’t. I have seen that from how you are with others.. You’re not.. From what I can tell, even now .. you’re not a monster.” you left Roman in disbelief

The brown haired man lifted an eyebrow, and then nodded, stepping back for a moment and letting his hand fall from the wall.. He didn't like this- he didn't like the way your eyes seemed to stare into his soul, making him soften. He didn't like the thought of your innocence not fearing his darkness.. Maybe he would just have to make an example for you. “Oh sweetheart.. I can show you just how much of a monster I can be.” the man commented, before pushing your body up against the wall. You gasped in shock as his large hands cascaded over your body girpping at your hips, and then pressing himself between your legs. You were effectively pinned now.. The ache between your legs turned into a burning sensation, his bulge clearly growing and pressing into your clothed core.. Roman soon allowed his his lips to attack yours with a fervor that you had never felt before, leaving you breathless, but in a sense that you would rather have this moment than ever breathe fresh air again.

Letting out a needy moan, you parted your lips from his hesitantly, your human lungs not seeming to agree with the thoughts of devotion roaming your mind… but to Roman that was of no consequence, his lips moving down to your neck, and finding your pulse point, as his hands dug into your hips with an intensity and purpose you had yet to feel with any other man. Once his lips were on your neck, your fingers were gripping into his back, feeling the muscles tense up as he attempted to control himself, his teeth now sharp and gently nipping at the skin.

Just one taste- that was all that Roman needed from you to drive him into a frenzy. Having been around you for the past few months alone had driven him crazy.. That sweet perfume that you wore, along with your flushed cheeks and rosy lips. The blood inside of you had to be champagne, compared to all of the other boxed wines you had delivered to him.. But alas, he held himself back.. For the time being- no matter how much he wished for a taste.. He couldnt have you dying by his hand, or his lack of self control.

Gasping at the contact, you feathered your fingers into his hair, arching your back against him, while also nudging your skin from between his teeth- the man grunting and gripping further at your hip, before letting his hand roam down to your ass. He groped at the soft flesh for a bit, before he pulled away, his lips slightly reddened from his actions, but not bloody in the way he had wished them to be. Roman let his lips traill against your throat, dragging his nose up your jaw before he moved back and held you with him, now straddling his waist as he made his way up the stairs. “R-Roman.” you whispered, looking up at him with big doe eyes, that had only heightened in intensity at you arousal. Was he really intending to take you to bed?

No part of you wanted this to stop- but at the same time you knew that this was going to be an experience that you would never forget.It was almost as if you needed a moment of silence to collect yourself and realize that this was happening. Roman let go of his grip on you, letting you fall back onto the satin sheets of his large bed, your breasts perked up as you watched him in anticipation. The very sight of you made Roman’s skin crawl, and his cock ache with want. The man reaching down to the hem of his long sleeved shirt, and pulling it over himself before he spoke. “Looking at me.. Those little fuck me eyes... I can smell the fact that you want me. But why would a good little girl like you be into such a fucking heathen like me huh?” he asked, trailing his fingertips up your exposed leg, towards your thigh, and then dipping underneath your skirt. He wasted no time in trailing over your inner thighs with that one hand, igniting something within you before he dipped between your legs and rubbed at your now soaked and aching core. “Fuck.. already wet… what am I going to do with you?” the tall man inquired, using his other hand to unbuckle his pants, that were now feeling a bit strained due to the pressure on his cock. God he wanted to feel you- thrust inside of that silken and tight pussy that he knew just rested beneath those soft cotton panties.. But he would deny himself that pleasure for the moment.. He needed a taste first.

His hand left your core, leaving you writhing as you bit on your lip, careful not to draw blood and instill a frenzy in the man.. But at the same time, maybe that was something you wanted. The lust in his eyes only getting more intensified as he ran his rough fingertips underneath your sweater, pulling it over your head to reveal your perky breasts that were resting bare for him. Your nipples were already erect for him, only making him groan at the sight before he leaned down and peppered kisses across your chest. You were struggling to keep quiet at this point, ever since his hand had left your heat, and groped at your breasts, his hot breath warming your skin, as he left hickies here and there, just claiming what was rightfully his.

Roman nipped and sucked at your sensitive skin, savoring every pant and moan that escaped your lips- even when slight whines were evident from his tugging and pulling at your nipples. His hand moved from one of your well cared for breasts, down towards your panties, where he slipped inside touching your bare heated pussy and stroking at your clit as his lips trailed down from your breasts to your stomach. Once he had reached his mark, Roman wasted no time in uncovering your pussy, his fingers and teeth making short work of ripping the fabric right off. He didn't give a fuck if those were your favorites- he just needed you naked and dripping for him- both of which were easy for him to take. Dark green eyes met yours for a moment, as if he were considering all of this.. Sure he wanted to claim you, and consume you.. But at what cost? How would he end this night and.. Would you still be breathing? Would he lose control.. Or give in to his most carnal urges?

Seeing his inward battle, you nibbled at your lip gently and looked down at him, giving him a slight nod, before you spoke. “Roman fuck… please just do something.. I - I need it.” you panted out, Roman’s eyes darkening from the approval before he roughly spread apart your legs and started to lap hungrily at your pussy. His lips were skilled in knowing just what to do- teasing at your clit while his fingers rubbed at your labia, and pushed into you. Those eyes were enough to bring him back to what he wanted- you.. He needed you to touch you. Even as a distraction from his world that had just gotten ripped apart at the seams. You would be the one to mend him.

You moaned loudly, gripping at his hair, and tugging, Roman only grunting in response as moans and groans coursed through your body- an exquisite vibration that nearly sent you over the edge in itself. “Ah! Roman… I’m close” were the words that signalled for the attractive upir to stop his movements, pulling back immediately and licking at his lips, before you whined and looked down at him in dissatisfaction.

“Not so fast.. You’re fucking enjoying this too much. “ He growled, making you pout slightly in shock over what had come of you. The way he licked at his lips let you know that he was savoring the flavor of your arousal- but he wanted more.. No- he needed more.

You were lying there, begging for him, for his lips or his cock to touch you in ways that you had only dreamed about- and up until now he was obliging. Though even in his efforts to push you away and show you what a true monster he was, you knew that they would be of no avail, and in fact were doing the exact opposite. The thought that fuckign the daylights out of you would push you away? Boy was he misguided, even as he took the moment to exercise control.

Roman was his own person.. Complicated yes, but no monster, even as he lifted you up and held your hair behind your head. “I want you to suck my cock.. And know that I can fucking make you if you don’t agree.” he mentioned nonchalantly, his fingers caressing your cheek before you nodded gently, and then brushed your fingers over the bulge in his pants. Roman bit his lip as he watched you, nimbly pulling down the zipper, and then his boxers, so that they all fell down together. Roman felt relief from the pressure, but winced slightly as his cock slapped against his stomach from the buildup, precum already dripping down fromt he tip as he looked down into your innocent eyes.

However, you were still a bit busy staring in awe to get to work, needing a bit of a reminder as Roman gently tugged your ponytail and looked down at you. “Get to work.. Before I decide to stop being so nice to you..” the man threatened.. That alone was enough to drive you a bit insane, before you nodded, taking his tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it, before bobbing your hand up and down his shaft. He guided your head gently with his hand, as you became more comfortable, letting go of the ponytail and massaging at your hair, as you tried to take him further. But even as you tried to get him as far back as your throat would allow, you knew that you couldn't completely take the well endowed man.. It would need some practice for sure. That practice being something that you would surely welcome.

“Pretty little thing.. Not even needing to be compelled to suck my cock.. But yet you fear me enough to do all of this… You know what I fucking am.. And it terrifies you, doesn't it?” Roman asked, keeping your head down as you sucked him, groans erupting from his lips before he pulled you back and you wiped at your mouth, saliva having started to dribble down your chin, mixed with some of his precum.

But that couldn't be further from the truth, and finally, after all of his ranting and dirty talk you found your voice to respond. “No, I am not afraid of you.. Fuck.. I want this- I have wanted this.. And no matter how ‘depraved’ you say I am, I don't care.. You’re not a fucking monster.. “ you panted, catching your breath as Roman looked at you.

That response took him back, making his hand drop from your hair, and letting it cascade down again, framing your face. He felt his cock twitch, as it stayed in your hand, making him bite his lip and then shake his head. “We’ll see about that.” was all that he could say in response.. Because if he had let himself think about it any longer- he might have believed you. Roman put his hand around your throat, and then pushed you back gently, laying you on the edge of the bed, before he tenderly spread your legs again. Despite his slight grip around your neck, you could tell that he was now being gentle. He didn't want to be the monster that he said he was… the monster that everyone was trying to make of him. Maybe just maybe- you were the one who was right for a change, that he could be something other than what others made of him

Roman lined up his cock at your entrance, ghosting it over your clit for a moment before he pushed into you, filling you up to the bri. The man groaned deeply before pulling out a moments notice- his actions repeating in the most delightful of ways as his skin met flush with yours. His head tipped forward as he grunted and continued to pound into you, his hair growing a bit messy as if fell over his face. Your hand held to his arm, but not to move his hand from your neck- rather to keep it there.. Constricting ever so slightly.

Roman let his thumb brush over your cheek and lips, his body moving down to press further against yours as your breasts bounced with each thrust. Taking his thumb into your mouth, you sucked gently, causing him to elicit a drawn out groan, before he moved his hand away from your throat, allowing your moans that had been held back to rip through and fill the room.

Roman was by no means quiet either though, his own groans and strings of words like ‘fuck, shit, and damn’ filling the room as well. It was a chorus to the carnal sin of man, the slap of skin on skin, moans, gasps- but damn if it wasn't a beautiful song.

As Roman continued to thrust, he lifted one of your thighs, attempting to get a better angle as he changed your position, now knowing that he had found his mark when a sound resembling a scream left your throat. “Roman!” you yelled, only making the man smile sloppily as his wet thumb went between your legs and rubbed vigorously at your clit. He could feel you constricting- and as you reached your peak- he was very well nearing his own. Roman loved the sounds of your ecstasy as you screamed his name to the heavens.. A place he was content to never visit, if it meant he could continue to fuck you to no end. But to no end was an expression as he reached his own limit, still taking time to trust in and out before he pulled out and let his release coat that of your inner thighs and stomach.

It was amazing that he was still standing over you at the foot of the bed- with how he had just spent himself.. But the night could have gone much worse, Roman collapsing at your side, as he reached forth a long arm for one of his cigarettes, and a lighter. However spent you were, you took the lighter from him, and lit the cigarette, Roman looking over at you for a moment, before blowing smoke up at the ceiling.

“You’re wrong.. I mean you’re a fucking cute delivery girl.. But you’re a naive little thing if you think that I’m not a monster.” Roman commented, looking at you with a lazy gaze.. Even if he was a bit happy that you didn't subscribe to that belief, not that he would care to admit it, even after failing in making his point.

Shutting your eyes for a moment, you just took a breath and rest your hand on his shoulder touching at his skin gently. “You may physically be one- but.. I can tell. You haven't given up on your humanity… not yet at least.”

Roman looked at you in disbelief.. But then again after what had happened- no matter how much he had wanted to show you his monstrous side, bite into that soft skin, make you bleed and consume you. Those eyes kept him soft, unable to hurt the young woman writhing underneath him in passion. “Fuck.. you think you’re my therapist or some shit?” he sighed out, smoke billowing to the ceiling.

Maybe one day he would believe you.. Maybe one day he could be as good as you insist he is inside… something that he tenderly wanted to believe.

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