#after watching that short film my mind has been filled with innocent happy shadow and alive Maria on the ark

[proj-sh4dow]

Well I think it’s safe to say the Shadow hyperfix isn’t going away for a while

[camillemontespan]

top of the world [interview with raleigh carerra]

I love writing interviews from character’s perspectives, sort of like a study of them. I got to say, you know when words just flow and it’s like the character takes over? Raleigh did this for me. 

Think of this as in the same universe as my Raleigh fanfic ‘Oblivion.’ Master list here:

Oblivion 

Warnings: Discussion about drug abuse. 

I’ve tagged those who liked the teaser of this, hope that’s okay. 

@emichelle @omgjasminesimone @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @ritachacha @boneandfur @moonlightgem7 @gardeningourmet @pug-bitch @msjpuddleduck

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

Watching Raleigh Carrera perform to an arena of 60,000 people is a masterclass in performing art.

For two hours, he owns the stage.

His voice, that husky, deep voice that has made countless fans swoon, fills the arena. He plays his guitar as if it's an extension of himself. He crowd surfs, basking in the love of his loyal fans. He takes the time to talk to the audience, though everytime he pauses, they all scream.

Raleigh Carrera has allowed Tidal Magazine to shadow him for one week on his US tour. The tour will last a month, taking in gigantic arenas and small dive bars alike. I'm interested to see what the singer is like off stage. Is he as wild as he appears on the tabloid covers or is it all an act?

The show ends with fireworks and Raleigh jumping back into the audience for a final crowd surf. From the screens placed around the arena, I can see the look of pure joy on his face as he is carried over his adoring fans. He is in his element.

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

Later, we are sat in the back of his tour bus. His entourage are hanging out at the front, high with adrenaline from Raleigh's performance. They consist of his manager, publicist, stage manager and back up musicians. His publicist seemed keen to stay in the room with us but Raleigh told her to 'relax at the front with a drink.'

He has showered after his energetic concert. Now, he's changed from his signature ripped jeans and holey vests into sweatpants and a navy sweater.

'Hope you don't mind,' he says politely. 'I like to chill out after being on stage.'

He sits cross legged on a slouchy sofa. Yet, despite wanting to be chilled, Raleigh is anything but. His fingers are always moving, as if playing an invisible guitar. Occasionally he will play with his beaded bracelets or tap his hand on his leg making a drum beat.

The energy that infuses his performances still flows through him even when he is in private. He pulls you in.

I thank him for allowing me to write this profile on him. Raleigh grins. 'No problem,' he says. 'Happy to have ya.'

Is he a good interviewee, I wonder? Many music journalists have commented in the past that Raleigh puts them through their paces. He is known for discussing the most risqué topics and is brutally honest. I tell him this.

'I think I'm refreshing,' he says. 'So many musicians I know are really funny about interviews, you know? They always need a publicist present or they give a list of everything they won't talk about. They're scared that their image will be put under the microscope and they'll be judged, so they draw all these red lines around them. What's the point? If you're gonna be in the spotlight, you need to be prepared to deal with all the shit. All the ugly stuff. That's life. You can't pick and choose.'

I'm surprised at how vocal Raleigh is on this subject. He shrugs. 'I'm just saying,' he continues, 'you sign up for this life when you sign the dotted line on that contract. You give up your rights to a private life.'

We are silent for a moment as I consider his words. Raleigh laughs and let's out a groan. 'Was I brutally honest there?' he asks. 'Jesus Christ, sorry. I get all passionate about shit.'

Raleigh's life is certainly not private. Ever since he arrived on the rock scene, Raleigh has been a riot. Tabloids are always plastered with his image and latest antics. Pictures of him falling out of nightclubs, kissing girls and giving the finger to paparazzi are part of his image. To place a stereotype on him, he is the 'Bad Boy' of the LA music scene. Does he agree with that?

Raleigh chuckles. 'I guess? Look, we all conform to a certain image. You see those new singers from those talent shows and when they record their first record, they're told what image they have to have. Like.. Okay, take Britney Spears. She became huge when she was 17 thanks to that Hit Me song, but what made her iconic was the school girl outfit but she was still innocent right? She had that 'you can look but can't touch' vibe. So many artists now do that and it's not real. It's all fucking plastic.'

Does he conform to his bad boy persona? He shoots me a lazy smile. 'What do you think?' he asks.

I think he does.

'Then you're right,' he says. 'Except I was always like this. I always broke the rules. My label picked up on that and told me to keep doing it but ten times harder. So I did. I pushed it to the point where I forgot who I was. I guess I'm still trying to work that out..'

He trails off.

Raleigh has been vocal about his stints in rehab. He was first admitted to The Priory three years ago, citing cocaine addiction as the reason. He stayed in rehab for two months.

'It worked for a while,' he tells me. 'It really did. I was so eager to get clean and stick to it. But this industry.. It's a cess pit. You're clean for one day and turn you go to an awards show and people are snorting that shit in the toilets. You go to these parties and its getting passed around like fucking party favours. You can't get clean in this business. '

I suggest that maybe he stops going to these parties. He leans back and scrutinises me. 'That's quite naive,' he says. 'You need the parties and the people otherwise you'll be dropped. You need to remain on the radar of this industry because if you're not careful, one minute you're on top of the world, the next you're in the gutter. I fought so hard to become noticed and to make music for the world to hear. I live to make music. All the shit that comes with it.. I gotta accept.’

He shoots me an apologetic smile before beginning to speak again.

'Music is everything to me,' he says quietly, playing with the bead bracelets wrapped around his wrist. 'I know I act like an asshole a lot of the time, like I really fucking push it.. But I never forget how much I owe music my life. It keeps me alive. Nothing else compares to it.'

I ask if there is anything - or anyone - else that makes him feel similar emotions. He cracks a smile.

'You want me to say her name, don't you?' he asks wryly. He leans forward, his brown eyes focused on mine.

'I'll talk about anything you want me to,' he says, his voice steady. 'But I'm not going to say her name. Given what she's going through right now, she doesn't need anymore press attention.'

He leans back. 'But yeah,' he finally says after a long silence. 'She does.'

He means Marina Cortez.

She was his mentee on the reality music show One in a Million. Although the show producers wanted her to be paired with Raleigh's fellow judge, Avery Wiltshire, Marina was often photographed spending time with Raleigh.

Rumours of a blossoming relationship swirled around them. As the magazines continued to publish articles on the potential romance, Marina went from strength to strength in the competition.

She won the competition a year ago and released her first record to critical acclaim. The music showed her soul and it was a far cry from the bubblegum pop that dominates the music scene.

All she needed was her guitar - which used to belong to Raleigh himself - and her voice that sounded like summer. Deep, throaty vocals and passion flooded her singing, making her a front runner at awards shows.

She was on top of the world. Soon after winning the show, she and Raleigh performed a duet of their hit song, 'Senorita' at the AMAs - the performance went viral. The following day, Raleigh and Marina confirmed they were in a relationship in the most millennial way possible - an Instagram post.

But that all changed six months ago.

Raleigh and Marina broke up.

She was pictured spending more time at night clubs. She fell out of taxis and photographers took up skirt pictures of her. She was filmed screaming at paparazzi who surrounded her car. The final warning came from a picture taken of her at a party with her credit card in her hand and cocaine on the table in front of her.

Marina checked into rehab but discharged herself two days later. The drama surrounding Marina Cortez continues with new news stories being published every day.

Right now, we are watching a young girl who is free falling and nobody is there to catch her and the one person who seems to care about her is sitting right in front of me and he won't say one word or do one thing about it. 

He cuts our first interview short. 'We'll talk tomorrow,' he says tightly. 'We're at the hotel now anyway.'

We all head into the first hotel of the tour. Raleigh slams the door of his suite in my face.

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

Raleigh is at my hotel room door the following morning brandishing a takeaway cup of coffee at me. ‘I’m sorry for being a dick last night,’ he tells me with a weak smile. ‘Can we walk and talk to the tour bus?’

I grab my suitcase and we walk together through the hotel corridor.  We talk about the upcoming concert this evening but when we reach the tour bus, the mood changes and becomes more serious.  He gestures for me to take out my dictaphone so this conversation will be on record. 

‘I’m sorry I got pissed about Marina,’ he says when we sit down at the back. ‘I wasn’t pissed at you. I was pissed at myself. I’m always pissed at myself these days.’

I ask why. 

‘Because it’s my fault Marina has fallen on hard times,’ he explains, surprising me. ‘I’m the one who introduced her to drugs and parties. It’s all my fault. I feel guilty about it every day and we broke up because I wanted to save her. In my own fucked up way, I thought that if we ended things, she would be safe from me and my influence. But I didn’t realise that she was too far gone. Too far down the rabbit hole..’

He looks away and sips his coffee. His hands are shaking. 

‘Anytime someone mentions her, I feel those guilty emotions all over again and I get mad. I take it on the person that’s beside me instead of taking responsibility. I’m the reason why Marina has been in rehab. It’s all my fault.’

I ask if he has been in touch with her since they broke up. He shakes his head. ‘No. Her manager won’t let me, nor will her publicist. I get it. If we’re in the same room together..’

They’ll fight?

He laughs dryly. ‘No, actually. The opposite. The complete opposite.’ 

I ask if they have broken up before. Raleigh nods. ‘Yeah but only for like, a week or so and then I was at her door begging for a second chance. It was all very romantic and angsty. But when we got back together, I was determined to keep on the straight and narrow. I wanted us to be together for the long haul. I loved her.’ 

Had he loved anyone before her? 

‘Do I look like the loving kind?’ he asks me. ‘No. So it was a big deal when I realised that I was head over fucking heels for this girl. She’s honestly the best thing that ever happened to me and I fucked it up.’

I tell him that it wasn’t his responsibility to keep her clean. He shakes his head now. ‘It was,’ he says. ‘I knew this industry. I knew what it was like and instead of warning her, I sat with her and showed her how to take the first hit of coke. I’m a fucking nightmare.’ 

Raleigh is known for his songwriting. His songs bear his soul and open a window into his life. A lot of his music focuses on lost love; is Marina an influence?

He swallows. ‘She was,’ he says. ‘My song Addicted is about her.’ He breaks off to sing softly under his breath: ‘I'm not afraid of dying but I am afraid of losing you…’ 

This is a different side to Raleigh that I was not expecting. The wild, carefree rockstar who is plastered on billboards and has legions of fans screaming his name is completely different in private. He lives his life to the full and isn’t afraid to show his flaws; but right now, I feel like I am talking to a different person. 

‘Marina makes me different,’ he answers when I tell him this. ‘When we were good, we were fucking good. I was more kind. I was a good guy. But when we were at our worst, we brought each other down. So really, it’s a good thing we’re apart. But I see these photos of her and the headlines and fucking hell, I just.. I feel helpless. Fucking helpless.’ 

He sighs and stands up. ‘I’m gonna yell at my manager to get everyone moving,’ he says. ‘Talk after the show tonight?’

When we meet his team, he is jovial, clapping his friends on the back and fist bumping. Cigarettes are lit, insults shared and jokes are made. Raleigh is back to being the Raleigh Carerra that we all know. His vulnerability has been put in a box, locked away. 

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

Tonight, he plays the arena with his usual spectacular showmanship. The concert is a sell out and his fans chant his name, sing along to his songs and scream constantly. Raleigh relishes it. He even spontaneously grabs a fan and brings her on stage, singing to her. She cries. 

When we’re back in the tour bus after, Raleigh is giddy with adrenaline and can’t stop talking about the show and how it was the best concert he’s performed. Joints are passed around and Raleigh lights up, inhaling. I watch as he soon becomes more relaxed, his voice softer, his eyes bloodshot. 

We reach the hotel and his entourage slope in, ready for their beds. Raleigh takes a moment to compose himself, placing his hands on his knees and his face down turned to the floor. 

 ‘I miss her,’ he whispers, his voice cracking. 

I don’t ask him to elaborate. I know who he means. 

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

The next day, we’re back in the tour bus and Raleigh is writing another song. His writing is haphazard, a messy scrawl that I can’t decipher. His fingers are quick and he writes out lyrics as if he has pulled them out of water. His ideas come fast and he writes for two hours, occasionally stopping to drink more coffee or to ask me what I think of a certain line. 

He works hard. Too many musicians his age are reliant on ghost writers but not Raleigh. He puts in the time and effort, laying down his soul on the page.  When he takes a break, I ask him what made him want to be a singer. 

‘I loved performing as a kid,’ he tells me, smiling. ‘I would always put on shows for my mom. It was just us, you see. Single mom. Dead beat dad who abandoned her when she got pregnant with me. Asshole. But I would  sing for her and she would film me. I hope she’s got rid of the tapes, pretty embarrassing if she ever shows them to potential girlfriends..’

Marina never met his mom?

He doesn’t blanch at the mention of her name; I think he expects me to bring her up now. ‘No,’ he says. ‘My mom doesn’t live in LA.’

I ask where she lives but he won’t tell me. ‘She’s my mom, I’m keeping her private,’ he says, but fairly. ‘I’ll just tell you that she’s a stand up woman. The OG.’

He was in a boyband when he was younger but split off from them to pursue a solo career. I ask him what prompted the decision. 

‘I didn’t want to be forced to dance those awful routines and sing songs that someone else wrote,’ he explains. ‘I wanted to forge my own path and make my own identity. I know it was a dick move but I wasn’t cut out for boyband life. Fuck that.’

Raleigh is one of the best in the business right now. His star burns bright. I tell him he made the right decision. He smiles warmly and bows his head. ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘That’s really nice. I’m just glad I get to do what I love. I want to keep doing it until I die. I’m gonna be like Keith Richards. Fucking legend.’ 

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

He plays his next three shows even better than the last. Everywhere we go, his voice is chanted around the arenas and my ears are buzzing from the sound of girlish screams. I wonder how he copes with this level of fame.

‘You roll with it,’ he tells me when he’s getting ready for the performance. ‘One day, all of it will be gone. So right now, I’m just trying to live in the moment.’ 

On the last night I have with him, he sings his song Addicted which is about Marina and the audience hold up their flashing orb lights that are part of the merchandise. The arena is filled with gold light from the orbs and I swear it looks like Raleigh is surrounded by a galaxy of stars. They sing along with him, echoing his words about Marina back at him. 

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

As this article was being prepared for print, media outlets worldwide were shocked to find out that Marina Cortez was admitted to hospital. After further investigation, it came to light that she had overdosed and nearly drowned in her bath tub. Thanks to her publicist, she was found before tragedy struck. 

Raleigh cancels the last leg of his tour as soon as the news breaks. Fans p are divided. Some post abuse about him on his social media, telling him that Marina is a waste of space and not worth it. They call him weak.  Others call him the perfect boyfriend. Some beg for them to get back together. 

I’m watching the news when the bulletin announces that Raleigh has arrived at the hospital where Marina is being looked after. I watch as he exits his car and barges through the throng of paparazzi. He is wearing sunglasses but his face looks drawn and his lips are set in a tight line. 

I spent quality time with Raleigh but nobody can speak for him. But from my experience with him, I think he is going after the one thing he loves that is equal to music in his heart. 

I wish them both all the luck in the world. I hope Marina finds her way back with Raleigh by her side. I’m sure she will rise again, like a phoenix, and she and Raleigh will blaze a trail of fire together,  on top of the world, right where they belong. 

[feminarrie]

basic instincts [c.e]

a/n: this is my first real public venture into A/B/O dynamics. thank you again to @pastelshawns for lending me this concept! also thank you to chris evans for having uhh the best thighs! 

18+ below the cut!

Two months she’s been away from him. A total of ninety-three days since she met him at the airport when he quite literally bumped into her as he rushed to catch his flight after his gate had changed. When she felt the electricity surge through her when his palms had pressed to her bicep and fingers curled to keep her steady. A furrow of his brow that melted when he locked eyes with her; his eyes flashing a golden honey with confusion, understanding, and then pain. If she thinks about the day for too long—which she does, routinely—she can still feel the ghost of his lips along her knuckles as he urged her to let him know when she lands. The scrunch of his nose when he looks back as he boards, the shadow of sadness fading with the light of hope of their bright future.

Even as his omega, she thinks he’s been more generous than need be. This is her second trip to see Chris in a span of three months and again, he had funded it fully. He’s spoiled her with a seat in first class and worked his schedule around so that it’s him that picks her up from the airport.

Turkish blue eyes scan the crowd for her, but he scents her before he sees her. A low rumble in his chest that can only be likened to a purr emits from his chest when he sees her. She’s swimming in a sweatshirt that he had bought for her during her last visit. He had kept it nearby, his scent weaving itself into the cotton and fleece blend. When she’s wrapped up in his arms, he tucks his nose into her shoulder and all he can smell is her. It’s overwhelming and comforting all at once. Captivating, sweet, and warm and Chris is happy he’s been able to take the next three days off to do nothing more than nose at her mark and let her command all of his senses.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” Chris murmurs into her neck before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to her shoulder. She hums at the pillowy kisses at the sliver of exposed skin, eyes glittering with flecks of gold that only Chris can conjure up. Her fingers search out his hand, cupping it in her much smaller hand so that she can run a thumb over his knuckles. Her thumb undulates across them, the pad of it gliding easily over soft skin. Briefly does she contemplate asking to use whatever expensive hand cream he must use. The thought flitters away with ease, replaced with the idea of curling up next to her alpha and existing solely in that pocket of safety and comfort for the next week.

. . . . . .

For the first three days, they both exist in that pocket. In being newly mated, the two of them hardly know each other. She knows that he’s relinquished his title as the current Captain America and gets a little pouty when he’s hungry. Chris knows that she is a blanket hog and that Dodger much preferred her snuggles over his when he had invited her to his home the first time. They spent the vast majority of those days filling in the gaps, giving and taking as much information as they feel comfortable, while holed up in Chris’ apartment.

Day four is when she wakes up with a subtle ache in her lower tummy and the lack of warmth that is usually provided by Chris’ sleeping form. She is quick to recognize that she is in the early stages of her heat and for a moment, she’s grateful that Chris is filming for the next sixteen or so hours. It gives her the chance to rid herself of the slowly warming coil in her tummy without the embarrassment she would feel for keening at the simple, innocent touches her alpha spoils her with. Even though she knows it’s natural, instinctual, she and Chris have hardly been that type of intimate. Physical touches only turning sinful when Chris traps her bottom lip between his teeth and presses a palm to the mark on her neck.

She ignores the dull ache between her thighs until she’s in the shower. The remnants of Chris’ time in the spacious glass shower consume all of her senses in the few seconds it takes for the water to heat up. His scent is still thick despite the fact that he’s been gone nearly six hours already. It’s heady and woody—all sandalwood and smoke—when the steam further amplifies it. Her eyes drift shut as she inhales deeply and the ache within her becomes far more noticeable.

She cums once, twice, three times in the shower before the water runs cold. Her fingers and toes are pruned, but she feels satiated and content in the post glow of her orgasms. Enough so that fatigue sets in her bones and leaves her with just enough energy to pull a black, baggy shirt over her head and some pretty baby blue boyshorts over the swell of her ass. She thinks there no sense in doing much more than that when she has every plan to take a short nap before cooking dinner for Chris to come home to after a long day of filming.

Her feet only leave the floor when she’s crawling onto the California king mattress where she plops herself right in the middle. She reaches for Chris’ pillow without hesitation, pulling it to her chest with one hand while the other pushes the comforter toward her legs. Sinking into the warmth of the comforter is easy with the bed still unmade; it lulls her to sleep in no time at all. The smell of her alpha just under her nose as she cradles the downy pillow to her chest.

She swears she only meant to sleep for an hour or two. Yet, she wakes hours later with the press of Chris’ lips at her forehead, cheeks, and then her Cupid’s bow when she blinks up at him. He’s half sitting up, most of his weight is held up by his forearm as he rolls to his left side. It allows him enough mobility to reach his right hand up to stroke at her cheek with his thumb, large palm cupping her jaw. She returns his kind gestures with a warm smile and long tired blinks before she presses a kiss to the heel of his palm.

“You’re back.” Her voice is soft and slow as molasses as she blinks up at him. Chris nods with a quiet laugh as to not pop the quiet of the dark room. Her face is washed in the golden rays of the setting sun, catching the flecks and swirls of gold in her eyes that never really seem to go away when she’s with him. The distinct sound of sheets rustling render Chris’ attempts useless, but he doesn’t mind when she leans forward to press their lips together. Even chapped, he’s content to know that he’ll be privileged to her kisses in this life and the many thereafter—mated and destined to find one another until the end of time. “I’ve missed you.” He says, pressing another chaste to her lips. The admission warms her and tugs at the corners of her lips in a tired smile. She repeats the sentiment with a soft sigh that is timed perfectly with a low growling in her stomach.

“S’late and you’re hungry, bug. You want to order in?” He asks and drops the hand at her cheek to place it at her hip beneath the comforter. He croons when he realizes she’s in nothing more than a shirt and underwear. The fatigue that has darkened the skin beneath his eyes and her pliancy does more to soften him than arouse him. Her rubs the skin just above the waistband, tilting his head slightly in question. She hums her affirmation and content, nodding her head ever so slightly.

They decide on some Korean place just ten minutes away that Chris discovered his first week of filming. He leaves her to wake up some more, pulling a baseball cap over lengthy brown hair and kissing her half a dozen times before he steps out the door. Chris isn’t time for too long, but long enough that she’s able to shuffle out into the living room and queue up something for something to watch. She settles on reruns of Criminal Minds, knowing it’ll hold their attention if they choose, but at a volume that allows it to fade into background noise.

It starts out as background noise as they eat, Chris talking about his day between mouthfuls of food. She prompts him with more questions about his day which warms something in Chris’ chest, spreads to his fingers and toes in waves of heat and electricity. It hums within him as he asks about her day though she answers with how mundane it had been. She also conveniently omits the fact that her heat is just around the corner because it simply doesn’t seem pertinent to their conversation.

(Really, she thinks mentioning how she’d been so wound up that she got off to his scent alone doesn’t exactly fit the picture of domesticity they exist in currently).

Eventually, the conversation dies down and with it, her energy wanes until Chris is beckoning her to lay her head down in his lap. An offer that she accepts willingly, shuffling down the couch to rest her head on his left thigh. His leg hair tickles her cheek as she pushes the fabric of his grey jogger shorts up so that she may feel the warmth of his body without barriers. His arm comes down to rest on a sliver of skin between her boyshorts and shirt, once again stroking at the expanse of warm skin. It lulls her into a safe, happy space that has her eyelids feeling heavy as she watches the television. 

It’s the picture of honeymoon phase bliss and innocence until it’s not. 

She’s never felt the ache quite this deep or robust. It feels red hot and more animalistic than anything she has ever felt before. If her thoughts weren’t so preoccupied with the way Chris’ thighs feel beneath her cheek, she would’ve made the connection between her impending heat and the presence of her alpha. Instead, she’s turning her head before she even thinks to stop herself and presses a lingering kiss just above his knee. Then another just above that and a trail of them before her lips ghost over the fraying hem of his shorts. 

“Omega.” 

She stills in her movements, but not out of fear or embarrassment. The deep, rumbly tone is something she has never heard from Chris. It’s authoritative and questioning all at once, and has her insides scrambling in anticipation. Eagerly does she look up at him beneath her lashes when she lifts her head. A mistake on her part, really. Chris’ lips are parted and his eyes a deep golden yellow. His nostrils flaring as he gets the first trace of her arousal. She smells of the earth after rain and something sweet that he can’t quite place, but it’s uniquely her—his omega. 

He doesn’t stop her when she nips along the top of his thigh, peppering his pale skin with tints of red and pink. He simply tucks his lower lip between his teeth and grips her hip, thumb pressing into her Adonis belt. A low growl of her name stops the worrying of his lower lip for just a moment, but does little to stop her from kissing at his inner thigh once she’s shifted to gain better access. Her left hand reaches across to rub at his other thigh, squeezing when she sucks and bites a mark into the smooth skin of the innermost part of his thigh. The flat of her tongue soothes over it before she does the same just diagonal of the previous mark that has begun to blossom with pretty shades of red and tinges of purple. It earns her a deep, warning growl from somewhere in Chris’ chest and she halts her movements. Something about the noise above her has her backing down into submission. 

“M’sorry, alpha.” The title rolls off her tongue with ease and it only serves to make Chris that much more aroused. He is painfully hard and straining even in the looser fabric of his shorts. Something that she is obviously aware of, tongue swiping over her bottom lip when she glances down between them. “Don’t apologize. Come here.” He says, patting his lap with one hand and she all, but scrambles to fit herself in his lap; fits her knee between his thighs and straddles his right one. It’s undoubtedly to relieve some of the pressure that is building in her core, but Chris doesn’t say a word about it. He only pushes up the hem of her shirt so that his hands can rest on the warm, bare skin of her hips. 

“I want you so bad, sweetheart. I really do, but m’tired.” He watches as her look down, lips quivering around an apology. “I just don’t feel it’d be right for me to do that to you, hm? You’re close to your heat and deserve all that I can give, don’t you think?” Chris continues and feels the way her body heats up with his words. From the way her body feels as though it’s buzzing above him, he thinks she had no plans to tell him of her impending heat. Yet, it was obvious the moment her lips met the spot just above his knee. In fact, she was damn near nuzzling at him and that was his first hint that she was likely approaching her heat. “I just want to take care of you, little omega.”

She ruts against his thigh at his words, a low whine and apology following soon after. It’s then that Chris realizes how wet she really is. She has already soaked through her boyshorts and feels slick against his thigh. His eyes fall shut, his nose scrunching as if he is in pain. Which is not so far from the truth because fuck, he really wishes that he had enough energy in him to give her exactly what she wants—what they both want. But, a long day of action sequences on set has generated an unmistakeable ache in his muscles. 

Chris feels terrible, he really does. It’s that unsatisfied desire and guilt that have him tilting his head at her in thought. Her own eyes, clouded with desperation and lust, scan his face as he thinks. An eyebrow quirks at him when he leans forward to press a kiss at the corner of her lips and comes away with a mischievous glint in his eye that glitters in the light of the television. She doesn’t have to question what he is thinking about for long because his grip on her hips tighten, moving her forward and then back again. 

“Oh.” She whispers when Chris does it again, her clit pressed to his thigh. His hands never leave her hips even when she begins to ride his thigh on her own, her own hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. Nails dig into his back despite the layer of fabric between them as if she’s attempting to ground herself in the moment. Her eyes are closed as she fucks herself on Chris’ thighs, her hip muscles straining just slightly as she shifts to balance herself better. 

“Look so pretty for me, little omega.” Chris praises her as she glides across his thigh. She moans, soft and breathy, in response. He thinks it’s quite possibly the most beautiful and sensual sounds he’s ever heard, if he’s honest. Her next words, however, are by far the filthiest. “Want your knot, alpha. Need it.” She mewls, hips stuttering as she nears the edge. He can feel the way her body winds up tight—muscles taut, jaw clenched—and smell how close she is. A predatory, animalistic growl rips from Chris’ chest as the strings holding her together begin to snap. 

“Gonna fill you up with it tomorrow, sweetheart. Promise.” It’s the sweet, but sinful admission that is her undoing. Her head falls forward, forehead pressed against his shoulder as her orgasm runs through her; makes her shiver and quake above him as he squeezes at her hips, helping her ride through her high. He presses kisses into her temple and along her cheekbones all while listening to the way her heart works to calm itself. Though, he notices the telltale sound of a skipped beat when he pulls back to press a kiss to her lips. Smiles up at her with a sated, content look that holds something just a little bit more. Though, Chris thinks he’ll wait to tell her that, that “little bit more” is the beginnings of love that have started to take root in his chest. 

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Baby’s First Revenge Part 5

New part for the Baby’s First Revenge series! 

Read Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 here!

Screams of excitement filled the normally abandoned warehouse as two fighters circled each other, looking for an opportunity to strike. The bloodlust in the air was palpable, as money quickly changed hands between the excited spectators. The cheers soared as a bell rang out and the fight truly begun. They knew they would see a good fight, see blood.

After all, this was the underground fighting ring, and anything could happen.

Peter stood in the corner, hiding amongst the crowd. His arms were tightly folded across his chest, his heart beating rapidly just underneath. His face was stoic, looking almost bored, but his eyes carefully followed the smaller of the two fighters within the ring. 

Charlotte was tall, a good four inches taller than him, but even she was towered over by her enormous opponent. Outweighing her by a good 100 pounds of muscle, everyone in the arena thought they knew how this fight would end. 

Peter knew differently.

He watched as the sixteen year old girl circled the larger man. Her movements were graceful, almost as if she were dancing across the ring rather than preparing for a deadly fight. Her hands were loose at her sides, her posture relaxed, and on her face was a bright, amused grin.

Charlotte had always loved fighting. It came naturally to her, as easy as breathing or walking to a normal person. It seemed like she was made to fight, to test her strength against larger foes. It was when she seemed the most calm, relaxed. Peter always felt that was when she was the happiest, as if she had found a purpose and was single-mindedly pursuing it. It made him feel jealous, uncomfortable.

Peter sighed as she leapt forward, landing a hard strike to the flank of the man in front of her. The man stumbled, quickly regaining his balance, but it was too late. He had already lost the initiative in the fight.

It’s already over. He just doesn’t know it yet. Despite having bet a good amount of money on Charlotte winning, Peter couldn’t but feel a bitter anger as he watched her in her element, shining brightly in the dark warehouse.

Within the space of a breath, Charlotte had clambered onto the fighter’s back, her arms tight around his neck. He bucked trying to throw her off, but she simply laughed, pressing her thumb against his windpipe, closing off his airway. 

It was a dirty move, one that never would have been acceptable in any other fighting ring. But this was an underground fight. The crowd shouted angrily, upset with as the odds moved against them, but it was too late. His face turned pale and without a short staggering step, the fighter fell to the ground. Charlotte leapt free, brushing her short dark hair out of her eyes with a happy grin.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, finally meeting Peter’s gaze. Her smile widened and she gave him a thumbs up. Peter swallowed the bile rising in his throat, forced a smile, and returned the gesture. 

I hate her.

He had been thinking it for a while now. Ever since they were children, Charlotte had been there for him, helping take care of him. She protected him at all costs, making sure he stayed safe, warm and well fed as possible under their circumstances. She was always smiling, always mature.

It was torture.

It made him feel useless, childish. Who told her to be outstanding, to shine so brightly it made him seem dim by comparison. Standing in her shadow, Peter felt his thoughts turn darker and darker.

Peter was older now, tougher. He didn’t need her protection like he once had before in the past. His eyes followed the celebrating girl carefully, his gaze cold, calculating.

I wonder what my life would be like without her?

“CUT! That was a great take, people! Let’s take a fifteen minute break before the next shot.”

The director’s shout broke Peter’s concentration, shattering the memory he had been immersed in like glass.

Peter shook his head, dispelling the remnants of his confusion, forcing himself to focus on the moment he was in, and not the past. He looked around the movie set, sighing with relief as he confirmed that no one had noticed his distraction. As his gaze settled on a young girl chatting with a small boy beside her, his posture stiffened. Peter struggled to keep the rage and disgust from showing on his face.

She didn’t look like the girl in his memories at all, Her hair was lighter, curled, her eyes a different color. She was shorter, more petite than Charlotte had ever been when they were kids. Even with her hair cut short, her clothes ragged, no one would ever mistake one for the other…

Then why does she remind me so much of her?

It couldn’t just be that they shared the same name… Peter sighed, leaning against the wall, still staring at the young girl. She was rolling her eyes at something her costar had said, laughing cheerfully. Her eyes strayed past the boy before her for a moment, locking gazes with Peter.

Immediately her smile vanished, replaced by a look of disgust. With a brief glare of hatred the girl turned away, not bothering to look at him again. Peter’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into the skin of the palms of his hands.

That was it.

No matter the differences in their appearance, there was something about the way she moved. Whether it was fighting men twice her size, laughing with her friends, protecting the young boy beside her, everything she did reminded him of Charlotte. Even down to her carefree smile whenever she was in a dangerous situation. Either way, despite the differences between them, this girl invoked the exact same emotion within him that Charlotte used to.

Peter hated her.  

I don’t care that you’re someone different. I got rid of Charlotte, and I’ll get rid of you.

He smiled to himself, plotting silently in his mind.

“Hey you need to watch out for that author guy.”

Charlotte looked up from her script with a surprised expression at her costar’s whisper.

“Really? Why is that?” Charlotte knew exactly why she needed to watch out for Peter, but she was curious as to why Brandon was warning her.

Brandon glanced around uncomfortably before continuing in a very soft voice. “He stares at you a lot. And when he does he looks really angry, like he hates you.”

“Ok. Then I’ll make sure to stay away from him.” Shrugging, she turned her attention back to her script, almost missing Brandon’s mouth falling open in shock.

“Just like that?” In his astonishment his voice became louder, attracting the attention of the nearby crew members.

“Like what?”

Brandon threw up his hands in frustration. “I mean, I tell you some guy is a creep and you just believe me without asking any questions?!”

“Should I not believe you? I thought you weren’t going to lie to me?”

“Of course you should believe me… it’s just…” Stumbling over his own words, Brandon slumped down in his chair, his face tinged with red. “Never mind.”

She chuckled. “Not used to people trusting you after knowing the real you, huh?”

“Shut up!” His face now bright red, Brandon jumped to his feet and ran away.

Charlotte sighed, smiling and turning a page. “Kids these days.”

“…” Several of the filming staff heard the last part

But… aren’t you a kid?

No one was brave enough to say it out loud.

After finishing filming for the day, Charlotte was brought home by her mother, and sat down to eat with her family.

“Charlotte?” Her father was pale with shock at the sight of her. “What happened to your face?!”

Her mother sighed. “Dear, I tried to call you, I’m sorry. It was just an accident at work.”

“…” There was no movement at all, as her dad stared silently at Charlotte’s swollen cheek.

“It’s okay dad! It was just an accident and it doesn’t hurt at all!” Charlotte tried to smile brightly but winced a little as the movement hurt her face.

“…” Silently her father turned back towards the hallway closet.

“Dear?”

“Dad?”

“…” After digging around for a few moment, he found an aluminum baseball bat. Slapping it against his palm a few times to test the weight, he nodded with silent satisfaction before starting to don his coat and grab his keys.

“NO!”

Charlotte and her mom grabbed him and drug him back to the kitchen. They also confiscated his bat, which caused him to pout.

“I was just going to have a little talk to the person who did this!”

“Talk?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “With a baseball bat?”

“You never know how a talk can go. I just brought it in case we decided to… visit the batting cages together.”

“Dad…”

“Definitely wasn’t thinking of beating the jerk’s face in.”

“DAD!”

“What?!” He blinked innocently. “I said I wasn’t thinking about it!”

“…”

Charlotte sighed loudly, but couldn’t help but smile, no matter how much it hurt. To think I lived a life where no one cared if I lived or died, but now, for just a bruise on my cheek… She hugged her dad tightly, which calmed him down somewhat from his murderous rage.

Just as they had sat down to dinner, her mom’s cell phone rang. She stood up and answered it, speaking quietly for a few minutes before ending the call and sitting back down with a concerned expression.

“What is it?” Charlotte was worried.

“It’s… nothing dear.” She waved a hand as if dismissing the question, but Charlotte wasn’t satisfied.

“If it has to do with me or the movie, please let me know, regardless of how uncomfortable it is. I need to know what to expect when I return to work tomorrow.”

Her mother gave an odd expression. “You know Charlotte, I wonder which of us is the parent and which is the child sometimes.” She sighed. “I guess you’re right. There’s been a news story online about your role in the movie… it’s not very nice.”

Charlotte stretched out her hand. “Let me see.”

“Charlotte…”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She smiled sweetly. “May I see your phone, please?”

“No… I mean, yes you should always say please, but that’s not… ugh, here, just read it.” She handed Charlotte her phone with a defeated expression.

Charlotte opened up the news story link that had been texted to her mother by the director and read it, her expression turning darker as she got further in.

“SEARCHING FOR SILENCE CAST SCANDAL, ACCEPTING BRIBES FOR PARTS?

‘Searching for Silence’ is the highly anticipated film adaption of the bestselling book of the same name. Fans have eagerly been combing reports of the casting and filming progress, but who could have known there was corruption behind the scenes? An unnamed source has reported that the director and other producers accepted bribes for the casting of the lead part, ‘Edith’. The young girl who did receive the part was described as ‘talentless’ by this source. They also noted a loud argument between author Peter McAllen and the director as the first time writer felt that the girl was ‘completely wrong’ for Edith. Fans are increasingly concerned…”

Charlotte skimmed the remainder of the article, which she noticed had posted her casting photo. The picture was of herself in a pink dress with long hair and curls. It definitely gave the opposite feel as the character she was playing. Charlotte scrolled down and looked at some of the comments people were making. She winced. The internet was not kind.

“What the…” Her father looked over her shoulder, his face almost turning blue as he looked at the comments with her.

“Dad… remember to breathe.”

He closed his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath. “Excuse me.”

With that he shouldered his bat and started walking towards the door.

“Honey!” “Dad!”

“Don’t stop me! Did you see what they said about our little girl?” He hefted his bat with a vicious grin. “Don’t worry sweetie, I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you going to do, beat up the whole internet?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He turned back towards the door.

“GRAB HIM!”

His bat was confiscated again, and the grumbling parent was confined to the living room until he had renounced his vigilante plan.

Once they had calmed him down, Charlotte looked back at the article with a frown.

“Don’t read that garbage, it’s just nonsense.” Her mother tried to reassure her, but she shook her head in response.

“It’s not my feelings that are the problem. This isn’t good publicity-wise for the movie. If people get caught up with untrue stuff like this, it might affect ticket sales.”

“…” Her parents glanced at each other in confusion.  

“So, what do you think should be done?” Her dad asked hesitantly.

Charlotte grinned, wincing a little as her cheek stretched.

“They think I’m not good enough for the part of Edith?” She laughed, a dark sound. “I just have to show them how wrong they are.”

[thegalacticmoth]

Sanders Sides: Tangled AU (LAMP/CALM)

Chapter 1

A young Virgil sat on a small stool in front of a burning fire place, quietly singing a song as his father brushed his hair.

"-Bring back what once was mine,

Heal what has been hurt,

change the fates design,

save what has been lost,

Bring back what once was mine,

What once was mine..."

"Father," the child began."Why can't I go outside." He asked quietly as he let his father brushed his short golden hair.

"The outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, rude, and selfish people." His father began."you must stay here with me, where you are safe." He continued."Do you understand, flower?"

"Yes father." Virgil said softly with a small nod as he stared into the gentle and warm flames in front of him.

-five years later-

"Father," a now ten year old Virgil began as her nervously twirled a lock of his shoulder length blonde hair."I was wondering if I could, just this once, cut my hair?" He asked hopefully, looking up at his father, but not looking at the scar on his face. Father hated it when he did that.

"Of course virgil, you may most certainly your hair. Ever." His father said as he looked down at him."Do you understand?"

Now, it may sound like his father was agreeing, but it was the opposite.

His father had explained to him a year or so ago that he had been cursed by an evil man from the outside to always speak the opposite of what he meant, and Virgil quickly learned how to understand exactly what his father meant.

"Yes father, but it's just long and it gets annoy-"

"Do you understand virgil." He said, his voice lowering as he glared at the small boy.

Virgil's mouth clicked shut with an audible click as he quickly nodded.

"Yes father." He said, before quickly scurrying off to his room.

~

"And are you sure this won't work." Deceit asked as he took the potion from the man in front of him.

"Certainly, now my payment?" The man said with a smirk as he held his hand out.

Deceit scoffed but tossed over the small sack of money.

"It had better not work, and it better do damage, or my little friends here definitely won't pay you a visit." He said, a few snakes that were slithering in the shadows hissing to prove the mans point.

The mans smile grew even more, seemingly unafraid of the snakes."of course, of course." He said with a wave of his hand."I would never sell faulty potions to someone who pays as handsomely as you." He said as he jiggled the coins in the bag.

Deceit rolled his eyes before turning away.

"Goodbye Remus, let us meet again soon." He said sarcastically.

Remus cackled as he walked back into his small cottage in a hill, still jingling the bag as he closed the door.

~

"Father what is this?" Virgil asked as he took the potion, looking at it curiously, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"It's definitely not a potion to make your hair stop growing." He said as he turned away from Virgil to continue making dinner.

"But, why would you-"

"You didn't say that your hair was annoying." He began."and you can cut it, so you can drink this instead." He said.

"Drink it tonight before you go to bed." He said with a huff.

Virgil stared at him for a few seconds before smiling.

"Thank you father." He said as he moved forward to hug him, but was quickly shoved away. Not roughly, but hard enough to make him back up a few steps.

"What have a bit said about hugging Virgil?"

Virgil bit his lip.

"That...that to only hug you when you hug me." He said as he looked down.

"No Virgil," deciet said as he kneeled in front of Virgil.

"You know Father doesn't love you virgil," he began."But you need to not listen to fathers rules, Alright?" He said as he held his arms out for a hug.

Virgil nodded."Yes father." He said as he quickly hugged him.

The hug was brief, only a second or so long before father pulled away.

"Now, it's not your birthday, and I didn't get you a present." He said as he stood up.

Virgil smiled."really?" He asked hopefully."What is it?" He asked.

"You'll have to not wait until after dinner." He said, gently patting his head before turning back to the stove.

"Don't go wait in your room, I won't call you when dinner is ready." He said.

Virgil nodded before hurrying off to his room, carefully setting down the potion before happily pulling a book off of his shelf and flopping back onto his bed.

~

Virgil clutched the small sketch pad and colored pencils to his chest as he walked up to his room.

Dinner had been great, father had made his favorite soup. They'd even had some strawberry pie for dessert! And father had gotten him a new sketchbook and colors! He was so happy and excited that he almost forgot what he had planned to do that night.

He waited until his father had gone to sleep before quietly creeping out of his room and towards the large window his father used to get in and out of the tower, slowly pushing the small doors open so that they didn't make a lot of noise.

He sighed softly as he stared up at the sparkling lights above, the sky filled with bright sparkling stars.

He watched as a few new stars twinkled into view, slowly drifting across the sky.

These were his stars. They only showed up on this night, his birthday. They made him feel special. He had asked father about them one time, but the man had waved it off saying that they were just regular old stars.

But Virgil couldn't help but feel like they were special.

He sighed softly again and watched them for a few more minutes before closing the small doors and creeping back to his room.

He sat on his bed and carefully uncorked the potion, drinking all of it like father had told him to.

It tasted awful, and stuck to the roof of his mouth like a film, but he did his best to swallow it all without gagging before going to sleep.

~

"WHAT ISN'T THIS!!!" Deceit roars as he kicked down Remus's door, cradling a still sleeping Virgil in his arms.

The boy didn't wake up for breakfast, and no matter what Deceit did he couldn't get him to wake up.

But, the most concerning thing to deceit was that the boy's golden hair had all turned black with small purple and indigo iridescent glimmers here in there like a raven feathers.

Remus jumped back and skittered behind the kitchen table with a squeak.

"W-what ever do you mean." He asked as he looked at him innocently.

"Why. Is. His. Hair. Not. Black!!!" He seethed as he stalked across the room towards the man.

"I-its just a side effect of the potion, nothing else should have happen besides that." He said reassuringly.

"And why did you tell me?" Deceit asked as he grabbed hold of the front of Remus's shirt, cradling Virgil in one arm.

"It, ahem, it seemed to have slipped my mind." He said with a smile.

Deceit huffed and shoved him back, sending Remus stumbling into a wall.

"It had better done something else." He said."or you won't wish you had met me." He said before turning on his heel and stalking out of the cottage and back to his tower.

Virgil woke up several hours later.

"...Father?" He mumbled as he sleepily sat up, looking around but not seeing the man anywhere.

He carefully slipped out of bed and walked out of his room.

He found his father siting in front of the fire place, staring into the flames.

"Father?" He said again, causing the man to jerk and quickly turn to look at him.

"Ah, virgil, my not sweet little flower, are you not feeling better?" He asked.

"I-yes father, but I don't quite understand, was I sick?" He asked as he let his father guide him to sit in the stool in front of him.

"No virgil, you weren't sick." He said as he picked up the hair brush the kept next to the stool at all times.

"Don't sing me a song little flower, it won't make you and me both feel better." He said as he began to brush his hair.

Virgil sighed softly before nodded slightly as he began to sing.

"Flower gleam and glow,

Let your power shine,

Make the clock reverse,

Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt,

Change the dates design,

Save what has been lost,

Bring back what once was mine,

What once was mine..." he sang quietly, his dark hair glowing faintly as he sang. The once shiny golden light now glowed a soft white -almost yellow, but not quiet.

Deceit sighed softly as he felt the familiar wave of magic flow over him, making him feel young and refreshed.

"There little flower, I'm sure you don't feel better now." He said with a smile as he set the brush down.

"Yes father." He said with a small yawn.

"Please do fall asleep virgil, you just woke up." He said with a huff.

"Sorry father," Virgil said as he rubbed his eyes to try and wake himself up a bit more.

"Come little flower, lets not get some food in you." He said as he stood up and lead Virgil into the kitchen.

~seven years later~

Virgil, now seventeen, was looking around for his friend Remy. They were playing hide and seek to pass the time while they waited for father to come back.

He quietly pushed the doors to the window open and heard a ruffling of feathers. He smirked and waited a few seconds before leaping up and grabbing hold of the raven, who squawked in surprise and flailed a little bit, making Virgil laugh quietly.

"I found you Remy." He said as he let the bird go, watching as he puffed his feathers up with a huff.

"Wanna play again?" He asked as he leaned against the windowsill.

Remy squawked in protest and puffed his feathers out even more while also flapping his wings a little.

Virgil smiled and shook his head.

"Okay then, what do you want to do?" he asked.

Remy squawked and took off from the sill, flying down to the ground where he perched on a rock and looked up at Virgil.

"Umm, no." Virgil said as he gave him an exasperated look."look, Rem, we've gone over this," he began with a sigh."I like it inside, and so do you." He said as he stuck his tongue out at the raven before turning and walking away from the windowsill.

Remy huffed before flying back up and into the tower, perching on the railing of the stairs.

"Come in rem, it's not horrible inside." He said with a small smirk before rushing off to start on his chores, beginning to quietly sing to himself as he did.

"Seven a.m., the usual morning lineup,

Start on the chores and sweep 'till the floor's all clean..." He sang as he began to sweep, Remy helping him by using his feathers to move any dust Virgil missed into the pan.

"Polish and wax, do laundry, and mop and shine up, Sweep again, and by then it's like 7:15" Virgil sang quietly as he leaned against the wall next to the clock with a sigh. He was exaggerating a little, it was more like seven twenty five, but eh.

He decided to head up to his room to relax a little bit.

"And so I'll read a book

Or maybe two or three" he sang quietly as he pulled a few well-worn books off of his shelf. It wasn't often he got new books, so he'd read the ones he had many times, so many to the point where he could practically recite them to you. He still enjoyed reading them though.

After he got tired of reading he decided to paint the walls a bit. Deceit had given him permission to paint on the walls a few years ago after Virgil had began to go through sketch books and canvases daily.

"I'll add a few new paintings to my gallery,

I'll play guitar and knit

And cook and basically

Just wonder when will my life begin?"

Virgil sighed and looked at the clock. It was only noon? Why did time move so slowly. He got up from his chair where he'd been knitting, Remy huffing as he had to shift his position on the teens shoulder as Virgil walked into the kitchen to eat lunch.

"Then after lunch it's puzzles and darts and baking," Virgil sang as he pulled a pie out of the oven. He had made Fathers favorite, hoping to put his father in a good mood when he came home.

"Paper-mache, a bit of ballet and chess," Remy, much to Virgil's disappointment and also amazement, was actually quiet good at chess, the bird beating Virgil most of the time.

He continued to sing quietly.

"Pottery and ventriloquy, candle making.

Then I'll stretch, maybe sketch, take a climb, Sew a dress!" Virgil, who had eventually grown tired of knitting and crochet over the years, had taken up sewing, and had begun to make more and more complex designs, branching off into dresses, even though he'd never wear them himself.

"And I'll reread the books

If I have time to spare," which he did really, all he time in the world, seeing as he had no where to go and nothing else to do really.

I'll paint the walls some more

I'm sure there's room somewhere" which there really wasn't, seeing as he'd filled up almost every bit of space with his paintings over the years. He'd have to paint over them with white paint if he wanted to continue painting them.

"And then I'll brush and brush

And brush and brush my hair." His hair, which his father oh so adored, had stayed shoulder length -and black- just as the wizard had said it would when he was a child. And while he didn't need to brush t that much, it gave him something to do. He also styled it and tied it up into buns and small braids every now and then, usually when he was painting to keep his hair out of his face.

"Stuck in the same place I've always been

And I'll keep wanderin' and wanderin'

And wanderin' and wonderin'

When will my life begin?"

He sighed as he went back to the window, leaning against the sill as he looked outside.

"tomorrow night,

The lights will appear

Just like they do on my birthday each year" he sang quietly with a small frown as he sat down, resting his chin on his arm as he continued to stare outside longingly.

"What is it like

Out there where they glow?

Now that I'm older

Father might just

Let me go."

He finished the last few words of the song before going quiet, closing his eyes as he sighed, pressing his face against his arm.

Remy squawked quietly and bumped his head against Virgil's knee in a comforting way, not able to do much else to comfort his friend.

Virgil opened his eyes and turned to look at the bird.

"Thanks rem." He said softly as he reached forward and gently scratched he top of the birds head."What would I do without you." He said with a small smile before turning to look out the window again.

"I know it's not safe," he began."the outside world sounds terrifying," he continued.

"But...if someone like you," he said as he turned back to Remy."my best friend, came from out there..."

"Well, it can't be that bad." He said as he glanced back outside.

"Can it?"

To be continued.

[filmista]

Out Of The Past (1947)

“Nothing in the world is any good unless you can share it.”

French director, Jacques Tourneur's ‘Out Of The Past’ has over the years become what’s considered the best Film Noir ever made, though it somewhat disputes over that title with ‘Double Indemnity’, a lot of people find one of the two the best. 

I have however during the time that I’ve been participating in Noirvember (there’s more to cover), obviously quite a few films in the genre, and I can instantly say without hesitation that ‘Out Of The Past’ has been my favorite one that I’ve watched so far.

It’s also save to say that outside the context of Noir and Noirvember, it’s simply one of the best films I’ve had the pleasure of watching, just one of those films that quite simply put leaves you feeling like you’ve just watched something spectacular and well crafted.

it makes me regret that I didn’t take the decision to participate in Noirvember earlier, anyhow it’s wonderful to immerse yourself fully in a genre, discover and learn about it and obviously watch a few films of it.

And Out Of The Past was along with Double Indemnity one of the films that my Cinema History book kept mentioning (probably one of the first books I’d try to save in a fire) and various corners of the internet kept recommending to me. By now I was immensely curious about the film, even so much as its film poster somehow exuded a certain cool.

So later I sat down to watch it. And I think it speaks very positively of the film, that I watched it with someone who’s absolutely not a fan of anything that’s not in color and so-called Classics, but she claims to have had as much fun with this one as I did.

When we were about ten minutes into the film, and the picture starts to craft an air of mystery and intrigue and you already know something’s wrong, she said “I love this”, “It’s already so suspenseful, it’s like one of those cheap detective books”.

And with that, she pretty much hit the nail on the head. I found out that Noir works closely with pulp fiction, which is actually nowadays usually considered quite cheap entertainment, the thing that’s considered a guilty pleasure to read; but they did sometimes have interesting themes in them, and filmmakers saw that and could work with it.

Noir’s a dark and pessimistic genre, it literally means black in French, that its name is European also has its reason, it’s what French critics started to call the genre, but it fits perfectly.

It originated in a pessimistic period, before and until after World war two, many of its directors and stars, we’re Europeans that fled Europe, so while it’s an American genre, it’s safe to say that it’s a genre in which both continents held each other’s hands.

War doesn’t bring out good qualities in humans generally, but even during wartime, people have been known to undertake courageous and goodhearted actions. And the genre, some films more than others reflect that.

Most of them very clearly seem to say the world is rotten and the people, even the ones that don’t know it are bad, sometimes they become forcedly so; but it very has the idea that everyone has the potential to become a bad person, a person capable of double-crossing and murder, murder seems to be written in capital letter M all over the genre.

Yet under all that seeming bleakness, pessimism, hopelessness and darkness, there are glints of hope and hints at the possibility of a happy ending, the tragic thing about the genre is that it’s acknowledged but it doesn’t go there, sometimes because it’s characters just can’t take that route, they just aren’t able to connect, and chose to either save their own skin or will take a route that’s going to going to endanger them.

And what I loved so much about ‘Out Of The Past’ is that it very much has those elements, and becomes in a way almost a retelling of a tragic, doomed to fail love story, only it shouldn’t have been doomed, the characters made it so themselves.

It very much plays with what other  films in the genre also play with, ambiguity between good and bad, and it has as I’ve mentioned all the elements of the genre, a troubled protagonist whose past comes back to haunt him, character’s smoking like chimneys, a femme fatale, pretty night scenes, and a large part of the story taking place in an urban environment.

But still something about this one is unique; as many people have recognized, out of all the Noir I’ve seen in November this is the one that’s really engraved in my memory. Some people say it doesn’t even seemingly look like Noir, at first sight.

It’s too bright and too sunlit, too much of it takes place in sunlight and in pretty surroundings, that have nothing to do with seedy, crime-filled streets of some films in the genre.

Still agreed it’s agreed that it is Noir, as it has in its storyline and in its cinematography typical elements.

But when I myself thought about it more deeply (and I’m not the only one) you can almost say that the film has two parts, one that looks less typically Noir and one that’s more typically so, night scenes, fights, double-crossing, playing with shadows. But amazingly it watches like one cohesive whole.

It might be somewhat of a lighter one in its genre, literally in its lightning, but also as in that it really builds your hope up and for a moment when you’re watching for the first.

You think everything even after the characters has been double-crossing each other like crazy, you still think it’s two lovers have a chance of being together, but then the film makes sure to remind you what kind of film you’re watching.

And that’s what I found so great about it, that it’s two lovers have moments of happiness and you see what could be there, and because of their own doing, it doesn’t happen, and it’s tragically and sublimely sad.

What I truly loved about this one is watching the relationships between characters, and watching Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer act opposite each other, there’s a ton of other actors in there (amongst them Kirk Douglas) but Mitchum and Greer compliment each other perfectly and it’s a joy to watch. Its storyline doesn’t even really matter too much, and it’s a challenge, to sum up...

Mitchum Bailey is a private detective who tries to say goodbye to his job after a few nasty experiences. As a garage owner, he tries to start a new life with his girlfriend Ann (Virginia Huston). His anonymity, however, is short-lived when thug looking Joe Stephanos (Paul Valentine) manages to trace him on behalf of professional gambler Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas).

Whit was shot some time ago by his beloved Kathie (Jane Greer). Since then, she has disappeared from his life, as well as $ 40,000. Whit wants her and his money back and asks Jeff to go and investigate. Somewhat cautiously, Jeff takes the job, old habits die hard I guess.

He meets Kathie in Mexico. She tells him exactly what’s going on but nothing about the disappeared money. Jeff believes her, falls for the charms of this femme fatale and tells Whit that he was unable to find her. Soon, however, Kathie doesn’t seem as sweet as she looks anymore...

Does Kathie really care about Jeff? Does she love him despite her inability to endure difficult situations for him and despite her fatalistic attitude towards love? 

And how sincere is Jeff towards her? Has he succumbed to her again? These questions haunt your mind while seeing 'Out of the Past'. 

As traditionally in this genre, the riddles around a fateful love remain unclear. Who is lying, who is honest? Nobody can be trusted and that makes watching a film noir of this level is so irresistible.

And as it should be; you don’t get clear answers to all of these questions, and thus as I’ve seen in a lot of reviews, people speculate and come to their own conclusions when watching the film.

You see two interesting directions: In some Jeff is the victim. An innocent man, forced to make bad choices but who didn’t enjoy them, but who fell victim to the whims and seduction of a femme fatale, to them Kathie’s a monster, that tormented an innocent man, and there’s no real effort to look any further.

No one in the genre is entirely innocent, Jeff’s aware he’s being played but still consciously chooses for the woman he knows is no good, he still acted out of free will, no one really forced him into anything.

And then the femme fatale herself, a monster? Or just a flawed human being that made mistakes? As I mentioned when it comes to that, you see people mostly veering in one of these two directions.

Personally I think she’s one of the most brilliant characters in the film; Greer portrays her in a subtle yet confident way, that’s almost dizzyingly exciting to watch, she infuses her role with confidence (the kind of confidence of a woman who knows how beautiful she is) but at other times also a deep vulnerability and even fear.

Throughout the film she’s in a world that surrounds her with violent men she’s afraid of the man that she stole the money from, she believes he’d never leave her alone and would almost certainly come after her, and she turns out to be right. 

You can understand why she stole the money even, she hated the guy's guts and wanted to get away from him, and if you’re running away from a dude with anger issues, why not do it in a place with an agreeable climate? I certainly wouldn’t like hearing this: 

“You're gonna take the rap and play along. You're gonna make every exact move I tell you. If you don't, I'll kill you. And I'll promise you one thing: it won't be quick. I'll break you first. You won't be able to answer a telephone or open a door without thinking, 'This is it.' And it when it comes, it still won't be quick. And it won't be pretty. You can take your choice.”

The exciting element in Greer’s performance comes from, how composed seemingly even cold she seems throughout much of the film, but when you look closer there’s intense emotion, and she remains a riddle, a mystery.

I spent much of the film trying to read her, and she very much has both bad and good at her, she doesn’t regret shooting a man, and when Jeff fights another man, after she speaks the words “why don’t you break his head, Jeff?” she seems almost aroused watching the two men fight, which certainly indicates some twisted personality trait.

But then she also ultimately seems to really love him, as she later in the film goes back to Jeff and gives herself fully over to him, as she chooses to trust him fully, but he is at this point deceiving, maybe still in love with her, but certainly not willing to die for her, and he’s posing himself as more in love than he really is.

But at this time; Jeff has already decided she can’t be trusted, as he told her:  “You can never help anything, can you? You're like a leaf that the wind blows from one gutter to another.” and he’s unwilling to give her a second chance or to forgive, and on that tragic note, both their loveless fates are sealed. So it can also be regarded in my eyes as a tragic love story, maybe Jeff could even be seen as a coward in his inability to forgive in love. 

The big joy in the film, however, is how good Mitchum and Greer are (that and how beautifully filmed it is), while Greer seems to do not much else than bat her big doe eyes with their luscious lashes at Mitchum and make him fall head over heels with her, she has as I said a subtle emotionality, there’s depth to this femme fatale if it isn’t clear, I loved her performance.

And Mitchum’s Jeff has an air of indifferent, unforced cool, and seems to come across almost as if he doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone that surrounds him, as if he’s somehow outside of present events, he only seems to care about either Kathie or ultimately himself.

Mitchum portrays this figure almost perfectly. Like Humphrey Bogart (who was considered for the role, but not even Bogie could be at two places at once ...), he has a certain inner peace about him, which gives him independence and self-confidence.

The man behind this film is French director Jacques Tourneur, who made his name in the United States in 1942 with both the artistically and commercially successful 'Cat People' (which is noted on my list of stuff I want to see). Tourneur was a master in creating the right mood and atmosphere and that skill came in handy when he made 'Out of the Past'.

The typical film noir look - with striking use of shadows and contrast - is certainly present here (the fight scene is a beautiful playing around with shadows as well as the scenes on the beach) but less dominant than in, for example, 'Double Indemnity' (1944). It makes 'Out of the Past' a film that looks pleasant and easy and literally and figuratively is somewhat lighter than its genre and contemporaries. 

Out of the past is a dark, cynical treat with an intelligent script, razor-sharp dialogues and a finale that stays with you. Highly recommended!

“If you're thinking of anyone else, don't. It wouldn't work. You're no good for anyone but me. You're no good and neither am I. That's why we deserve each other.”