#and that is a direct quote! i was so shocked it was immediately committed to long term memory

[pasta5284]

on beautiful days like these i am reminded of the time we were all hanging out at the park during pride last year and my ex said "i could never be friends with people whose idea of a good time is sitting at the park for a few hours"

[subliminalbo]

Mind Control in the Wild #3: Shivers

Hotness: 1 Context: 4 Creativity: 4 Final Score: 2.33

CW: Sexual assault

You can watch Shivers for free on Tubi.

While mind control creeps into David Cronenberg's early work enough to make you wonder if he's a secret weirdo like me (this is a joke, Cronenberg is such a fucking weirdo), none of his films come as close to an EMCSA plot as 1975's Shivers. Often miscredited as Cronenberg's feature film debut, I would say that it is his first notable film.

Like many of the shock horror films of the 1970s, Shivers was panned by contemporary reviewers for its violence and gore. Also like many of the shock horror films of the 1970s, it's not really that gory at all. In the 80s, Cronenberg would codify the body horror genre with films like Videodrome and The Fly, and Shivers does play with similar tropes, but it never goes as far into the gore as you might expect. It does feature plenty of bloody parasites being vomited up and the eruption of one from a host's stomach that would be replicated to better effect a few years later in Alien, but the horror in Shivers is largely found in the actions of the parasites' hosts.

To put it more bluntly, David Cronenberg's Shivers is about sex zombies. It's an apocalyptic story where humanity ultimately succumbs to a parasitic invasion that, to use a direct quote from the film, turns the world into "one beautiful, mindless orgy." I imagine that it watches a lot differently for someone who doesn't have a mind control fetish.

There's enough brutality in this movie that I felt the need to include the content warning up top. It is about people being compelled by preternatural forces to commit sexual violence and ultimately that's a big reason that it ranks so low in the hotness category. There is a lot of mind control sex in this film, but there isn't a moment where it's being played for anything but horror. It may not be very scary to a hypnofetishist, but it's more likely to make you interrogate your fetish than to scratch an itch.

The entire film takes place within a large apartment complex in Montreal where a mad scientist has developed a sexually transmitted aphrodisiac parasite with the intention, I guess, of making the world sexier. The disgraced professor uses one of his young students as a guinea pig, and we open on him brutally murdering her before killing himself. The medical staff at the apartment is left to piece together the story, learning too late that the professor's student was a carrier of the parasite and that she was sleeping with several men in the complex.

The first third of the film is largely dedicated to this mystery while establishing the handful of characters that we follow. It's very slow, but once the parasites begin infecting the tenants, the pace ratchets up. From a story structure, it checks a lot of boxes for me. We get enough of a glimpse of these characters' everyday lives that we know who they are and we feel for them once the weird shit starts happening, but that also makes it more exciting when these characters become victims. I preach a lot about the importance of establishing characters in mind control stories before throwing them into the mind control. There are many scenes in Shivers that introduce random strangers who immediately become victims, but there are plenty of long set ups and payoffs. The film ends with every character infected; what we're really watching is the serial recruitment of an entire apartment complex.

I've used that word "zombies" to describe the infected, but it's not exactly one to one with Romero's living dead. In some scenes they shuffle around mindlessly, but in others they speak clearly and appear capable of (mostly) rational thought. The infected are alive, which means that they can be easily killed. In one scene, we see an infected tenant flee from gunfire, so we know that they retain a sense of self-preservation over the compulsion for sex. Cronenberg's follow-up, Rabid, features a far more straightforward zombie apocalypse where the infected shuffle and growl and leak shit from their orifices before ultimately falling into a coma and dying. If the parasites in Shivers aren't fatal and its hosts are just super horny forever, is it really an apocalypse?

Shivers is the kind of movie that exists on the boundaries of hypnofetish content but never fully crosses over. It's not interested in being sexy with its premise at all, it's a body horror movie. To anyone who might be interested in watching it, my biggest warning is that Cronenberg is known for taking things too far, and in a couple scenes he shows that even children aren't immune to the parasitic infection. It's nothing explicit, but the implication is enough to make it the only genuine horror in the movie and likely a reason to avoid it.

Still, it's hard not to respect the influence that Shivers has on the squicky mind control community. Later parasite invasion movies would go much harder in the zombie apocalypse direction, like 1986's Night of the Creeps and 2006's Slither, the latter of which features a parasite in the bathtub scene that is reminiscent to one in Shivers. But beyond influences in mainstream media, you can see Shivers' DNA in random hypnokink webcomics or EMCSA stories or in those parasite porn videos that are everywhere on Reddit. It's a classic case of one man's horror is another's kink. So watch it with caution: it's a little boring, it goes a little too far in one direction while not enough in another, and the parasites look like dried turds.

[happy-mokka]

Good Grief

Mark (Dan Levy) is happily married to Oliver (Luke Evans). They have a beautiful relationship, a nice (probably unaffordable) house in central London and are both successful in their jobs.

On the way to a business trip to Paris on Christmas eve, Oliver dies in a car crash involving the taxi taking him to the airport.

Smitten by grief, Mark gets the support of his two best friends, Sophie (Ruth Negga) and Thomas (Himesh Patel), both staying by his side him during the next months.

Right before the 1 year anniversary of Oliver's death, Mark finds out that Oliver actually had an appartment plus lover in Paris and actually had planned to talk to him about it once back from the Christmas business trip.

Shocked by this revelation, that his marriage hadn't been that perfect after all, he persuades Sophie and Thomas to accompany him to Paris to check out the appartment and find out more about that unknown part of his partner's life.

The trip opens up old wounds, not only for Mark but for his friends as well and leads to long overdue catharsis in their friendship...

The title and the first 10 minutes of the movie put the focus on the loss of a beloved person and the immediate consequences of trying to handle the inevitable grief...

But soon it shifts and the central theme becomes that of friendship.

Romantic relationships are the key goal of most people, but when push comes to shove, its your friends that become just as important and help you managing the unmanageable.

Dan Levy, who also wrote and directed the movie, did a beautiful job in casting Mark's friends and writing great character that all add up to the story.

Ruth Negga as Sophie is amazing. She fiercly stands by her friend Mark and tries to get him out of his sorrow and into dating apps again. She is funny and drives her friends with so much energy through their lives. On the other hand she fears commitment to her long-time boyfriend and ends the relationship on the night he was asking her to marry him, out of fear of the actual safety he would provide to her... So with this in her "backpack", she is firmly determined to just have a big party and lots of fun on the Paris trip.

Sober And Selfish. Oh My God, That’s The Title Of My Memoir. (Sophie)

Thomas, played by the adorable Himesh Patel, is the voice of reason in their relationship. He is also gay and was Mark's boyfriend years ago for a short time. They managed to stay friends and so he doesn't twitch, when the time comes to help Mark and stand by his side.

Sometimes You Have To Do Things You Don’t Want To Do To Get To Where You Want To Go. (Thomas)

Dan Levy plays Mark and he does that with the whole spectrum of his abilities, between gut-wrenching pain and grief on one end and incredible warm and funny charm on the other.

Sometimes You Lose Sight Of What’s Going On Around You Because You Just Want To Breathe The Same Way You Did Before. (Mark)

I’ve Been Lying A Long Time To A Lot Of People And It Feels Really Heavy. Like I’m Swimming With My Clothes On, And I Can’t Take Them Off. (Mark)

Despite the sad start, the movie really ends up as a beautiful heartfelt story and left me absolutely positive behind on the couch. Some crying was involved, true, but in a good way.

Loss, death, grief but on the other hand friendship and tons of tons of love. That is its message.

The last but not least quote comes rather towards the end of the movie, and unexpected at that from Mark's brittle lawyer. But it beautifully sums up the movies message and also my feeling on it:

As it turns out… to avoid sadness… is also to avoid love. That hindsight is a discomfort that you will forever mistake for indigestion.

After all, where there is love, there is always

[animefreak1145]

The Brilliance of Break On Through

Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War Mission Break on Through—An Analysis

I have replayed the campaign of COD:BOCW numerous times—too many times truly. Did a whole playthrough where it was Hardened and soon I’m sure I shall do Veteran(something I have never done for any COD game. Not even Hardened.).

All missions have their own unique qualities—parts where the player gets a little rush of adrenaline depending on the kind of mission and how they choose to play it (Nowhere Left to Run just a plain shooting match while Brick in the Wall you can choose to remain stealthy like the good spy you are or go crazy like an eager homicidal maniac).

Even within the safehouse, there are plenty of little details to discover if you take the time to look around and observe everyone. Or, everything. (The radio if turned to a Russian station/correspondence, Adler changes it back immediately before Da Nang mission. Watching Park’s body language, as you talk to Adler and she periodically looks over to you two. Adler suspicious when you go to the Red Room or the locked room with the arcade. The T.V. being turned on in the Red Room)

But the amount of details, details, in the mission Break on Through is outstanding. I have played this mission more than any other due to me wishing to look at all the details. There’s so many, I think I may miss some. And I can’t show them off all to you cause I suck at creating gifs and don’t know how to transfer that from Xbox to my phone.

To lighten it up a bit, I won’t focus on the four different scenarios you go through—at least not each one. That would take too long and I do not have gifs/pics to show it off since Tumblr limits it to ten anyways.

I will, however, try to guide to what parts of the game you all can explore if you choose to do so. As well just how detailed they did this mission.

I am going to start with the different statements Adler says to you throughout all the Scenarios(17, 6, 11, 1). We only go through four in the actual game—but the fact it goes up to 17 or possibly more shows just how far they went in and messed with Bell’s mind.

Now, Adler seems to be a bit bipolar on how he talks to you whether or not you listen to him and all his directions. Either totally blasé and cold to giving you and pumping you up with more MK or meds, or actually a tad concerned and patient as he guides you through.

If You/Bell Stands Still/Does Nothing:

Example 1

“So you did nothing? What were you, in shock?”

He throws the words callously, mocking. As if Bell isn’t confused and lost at what is going on. He even sounds irritated that you might actually be in shock due to these memories that are just fake—not even real. Not like what he has.

Example 2

“What’s wrong with Bell?” -Adler

“I’m not sure. . .” -Park

“I guess we’ll just wait on you to proceed, Bell.”

The contrast is dizzying. He sounds concerned when he asks Park on what could be wrong with you. If he pushed you too far and now you’re just frozen. And, instead of rushing you due to how the fate of half of Europe is at stake, he decides to give you space. Just wait for you and you’ll come out of it soon enough.

He does these sort of reactions numerous times. Jumping from intimidating to the Adler we knew as the player, as Bell—kind and always in your corner that believes in you. He switches tactics based on what he believes will work really—or he just felt really on edge at times and threw the farce that you two were friends out the window.

Other examples include:

Scenario 11–Napalm Strike-in the lab in the room where you were brainwashed

“Christ, what’s happening with them?”-Adler

“A mild seizure. Sims, past me a benzodiazepine.” -Park

Again, concerned. Worried. Almost…at unease?

In the lab—tripped up on drugs. If you run through the tight shrinking hallway back and forth like so(I suck at making gifs, I’m sorry):

“Why is Bell repeating themselves?”

Or

“Bell, stop speaking in circles.”

Now, as others may have suspected, Bell is talking to everyone as they’re stuck in this horrible loop of mental torture. Most likely muttering, hands clenching and arms pulling against the straps of the gurney, moving their head back and forth depending on what they’re seeing. I always saw Bell as muttering quickly in Russian as they go through all of this—their mother tongue where it may comfort them as they’re panicking and speaking to Adler.

It’s just a nice detail showcasing how exactly Adler knows that Bell is on script—Bell saying what they’re seeing and doing and what’s going on. It shows also just how hard they put Bell through the ringer(badum tss. I’ll leave now).

All the details too when the game shows how the drugs they put in Bell affects you. Like so. The hallways appearing long. The lights looking yellow. You feel so fast—look how quick you can run. Run towards the Red Door that Adler so desperately wants and maybe this can stop. Ah, why is it running away from you? What’s going on?

I don’t know about you, but I was so lost and confused at what was going on my first playthrough. For the majority of this mission, the possibility of me being brainwashed didn’t reach the BACK of my mind till probably I actually saw the flashes of scenes about Vietnam and calling Bell a subject. So like right here.

I personally thought that I had a repressed memory or something due to me going through the Vietnam War. That whatever I saw with Perseus, I—or rather Bell—repressed it from our mind due to how violent or horrible what we saw or experienced was. And that Adler suspected and just really wanted to know about it.

I didn’t expect for the man to actually brainwash my character—us—Bell! The game made Adler your mentor, who always defended you from Hudson and believed in your skills very highly. How he and Bell were basically perfect partners when the two of you were together.

It’s amazing—cause I think that’s what the developers were going for. The absolute trust. The loyalty. The denial that ‘maybe Adler is being a little harsh but hey, this is to help Perseus so it’s okay?’ It’s perfect. Because I’m sure that is what Bell actually felt in real time.

Yet, if you go through the total rebellious choice of not listening to Adler, some thing’s make sense. The Rebellious Side shows you way more than if you just listen to Adler like a Dutiful Soldier.

You go through this room if you choose the rebellious route, the T.V.’s automatically turning on the closer you get. Of Vietnam. And now, all those T.V.‘s that turned on by themselves(the Red Room, Lubyanka, Cuba) make sense. You were actually being brainwashed. Poor Bell probably can’t ever have a turned off/broken T.V. again. The trauma.

Said trauma being shown multiple times too. Not just the T.V.‘s. But the absolute terror that Bell felt, before they became Bell, with Adler.

Like do you see this? This terrified me when I saw it at the end of the hallway. I just saw a red shadow in the distance and I legit thought I was about to be chased. Call of Duty became a horror game(I also went through the door to the ground too my first playthrough, so before this I went through zombies and I think my heart was going to jump out my chest) I thought. I didn’t want to get closer. I had to, with each step I see that it’s not a shadow but a body. And than I see the familiar jacket, the sound of whirring in my ears and see it’s Adler’s head being twisted back and forth, side to side, up and down, in a speed that in inhumanely possible.

Makes one wonder if Bell themselves sees Adler as inhumane. Not human. Adler seeming to just be a god in their head. All the Adler shaped rocks/boulders you go through and see. Even one point the V.C. becoming Adler and you killing him over and over and dead bodies of Adler being everywhere.

The man has entered Bell’s head and won’t leave. Just like Adler won’t leave Bell alone.

Heck, there’s one point in my playthroughs of this mission I was by the bridge yet there were parts of the lab by it. I jumped towards it, noticing down below there were different floors of the lab that eventually reach the ground. I jumped to reach the next floor and missed and I died.

And Adler mocked Bell committing suicide.

That was the kicker really that Adler truly is indifferent towards Bell. Like complete disregard. I know it’s fake. We know it’s fake. Adler knows it’s fake—but to Bell, it felt real. That’s the crazy part. All of this—this whole sequence feels real to Bell so each time they die they actually feel it. It’s insane. It’s cruel.

But we all know that Adler isn’t known for his kindness. Still like his character though, he’s layered.

I don’t have the exact quote he said, didn’t wrote it down like the others. I was shook he said it at all.

Moving on to the final details I’m going to talk about.

When you go through the room, I believe this comes out for both rebellious and dutiful, really depends. You see it filled with post it notes, articles, plans, and newspapers. And you see once more just how Bell has been scarred.

I don’t know Russian or German, but I imagine the notes are similar to what the English one’s say. If I’m wrong, please point it out.

There’s also post it notes which I believe is in code as well due to all the numbers—I’m not sure what those could mean since I am no decoding expert.

Poor poor Bell. And with all these pictures and plans—of Adler included—it begs the question that Bell may have been warned about the famous America’s Monster beforehand. Had to have—since Adler is basically Perseus’s adversary due to how stubborn the American man could be. It just adds more to the story, despite Cold War having quite a short campaign, they made it up somewhat with all these details everywhere.

When you finally and actually reach the room.

As you grow closer to the table, to your chair in the conference room while everyone else seems to have their own spots, there’s something I noticed.

There’s glasses. As well as a hat. And it’s Bell’s. Or at least, it used to be. Why else is it on their side of the table? By their chair? I believe it might be reading glasses due to all the decryptions Bell does, whether on paper or through a computer, it’s hard on the eyes. (I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed this. For look at @second-vtoroy ‘s Bell)

I believe through the brainwashing, Bell might not need glasses anymore. After all, apparently they were a smoker like Adler before too but they took that out of you. What else they changed of Bell? It makes one wonder how far they truly went into molding a person.

Which just adds onto how mind boggling this mission is—this game is. This is my favorite COD game, despite how short it is. The details and choices and interactions with everyone and able to create your own character(albeit it’s very standard and not specific but it’s good enough for me) is AMAZING. I’ve always been a sucker for RPG’s and able to get that even a little in a COD game? Truly wonderful.

I couldn’t touch on everything because it would’ve gotten long, but the fun of the Break on Through mission never gets old. It’s genius multiple ways you can do it. All the details. The feelings you feel as a player as you go through it.

They truly did a unique job with this and I hope they continue with this type of game storytelling. Hopefully longer as well.

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this rant basically!

Gifs made by me and used the video down below to help.

https://youtu.be/t6QkmkGGHSQ

[darling-i-read-it]

Hassun

2x03

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, dead bodies

Author’s Note: It is 2am. Second wrench has been thrown. 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary : As Will's trial begins, his colleagues have to pick a side. The case takes a chilling turn when someone starts recreating the crimes he's accused of.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll​

(not my gif) 

@/theladyaysha made most of these gifs

You stared in the mirror of your home. Your hair wasn’t working with you but with the music in the bathroom you felt a sense of calm. You fixed the bracelet you were wearing and adjusted the jacket you had put on over one of your more formal dresses.

Hannibal looked in his mirror, buttoning up his shirt. This was a day he had presented himself to attend for a while. Although he wasn’t quite sure how it would turn out he was prepared for it. Perhaps.

Will had to look at the bars in his cell and hope that his tie was on correctly. You did his ties and he had never actually properly learned. But he was more worried about how the day was going to go. 

The three of you took a deep breath at seemingly the same time in three different places. 

-

The courtroom was cold. You walked inside and caught the eye of Hannibal who had an empty seat beside him. You wanted to sit next to Alana or someone but you couldn't’ see her. You just didn’t want to sit alone. 

You weren’t sure if it was appropriate but you walked over to him and sat down wordlessly. Hannibal glanced at you but you just held your clutch in your lap, looking forward. You could feel Hannibal look over at you.

“I hope you don't' mind,” you whispered. He shook his head.

“I understand.” 

One of the side doors opened and Will walked in. His eyes looked elsewhere and you wouldn’t blame him if he was off fishing somewhere. He caught your eye and Hannibal’s. He gave you no emotion but you gave him a small reassuring smile. 

  By the time the trail began you were already on edge. Hearing words come out of a ladies mouth, speaking the worst of your boyfriend was something you never imagined you’d do. 

Eventually Jack came out and you leaned against Hannibal, almost involuntarily. Hannibal turned to you a bit but didn’t say anything, perhaps just reading your emotions. 

“Rather than being tormented by the work he did, Will Graham enjoyed the cover his role at the FBI gave him to commit his terrible crimes,” Marion Vega, the lawyer said to the courtroom. You tensed but Will didn’t seem to react. Granted you couldn’t really see his face.

“I don’t believe that to be true,” Jack said. You raised an eyebrow. You turned to Hannibal and he looked equally surprised. 

“Did Jack just say something...sane?” you whispered so only he could hear. Hannibal scoffed quietly.

“Agent Crawford?” Vega asked. 

“Will hated every second of the work. Didn’t fake that. His girlfriend harped on me for weeks and continues to do so. She didn’t fake that. He hated it and I kept making him do it,” Jack stated. You nodded, agreeing despite no one looking at you. 

“Why then, when you gave him the opportunity to quit, did he refuse?” she asked.

“Because he was saving lives. I was warned by more than one person if I pushed Will, I would break him. I put checks and balances in place, then ignored them. And here we are.” You were astonished. 

“Looks like he did hear you,” Hannibal muttered. 

After Jack stepped down everyone started to file out. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to talk to Will but when his lawyer ushered you over you came happily. 

“Leonard Brauer, you’re the girlfriend yes?” 

“Last I checked.”

“She’s the girlfriend,” Will said, rather stoically. 

“I want you to be prepared to testify. I don’t have you on right now but I’m hoping to get you in to testify for character,” he said. You nodded quickly.

“Anything I can do. I’m working with Alana as best I can,” you said honestly and Brauer nodded as well. 

“That’s much appreciated.” You turned to Will and he met your eyes. You gave him a kind smile.

“I like your hair,” you said. He laughed quietly.

“Thanks. I like your dress.” 

“Thank you.” 

Brauer got handed a package and he started to open it. He dumped it out on the table as you and Will stared at each other and an ear fell out. You were barely surprised.

“You know, if I had a dollar for everytime I saw a severed ear…” you said quietly. 

-

The ear laid in front of you. You were standing beside Hannibal, Bev, Price, Zeller and Jack who all were looking at the ear curiously. 

“One thing’s for sure. Will Graham didn’t do it,” Beverly said. You nodded although no one expected anything else. 

“Although, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Zeller said. You let out a stiff sigh and Hannibal nudged you a little.

“The timing is deliberate, choreographed to drop the ear at the start of Will’s trail,” Jack observed.

“Such a gift has great significance,” Hannibal observed.

“A gift,” you muttered. “Interesting way to put it.”

“From who?” Jack asked.

“Wil claimed someone else committed the crimes he’s accused of,” Hannibal suggested. “It’s what Y/N believes.”

“Will said that someone was you,” Jack whispered.

“Perhaps he was half right,” Hannibal said and you turned to him, glad to hear that. You and Hannibal were not in the best speaking terms right now but you understood you had a common goal. Zeller looked annoyed. 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

-

Hannibal sat across from Will at a table. 

“It seems you have an admirer,” Hannibal suggested. 

“It seems you kissed my girlfriend and suggested she love us both,” Will said, his voice monotone. 

“Yes.”

“You aren’t going to deny it?”

“I care deeply about you and Y/N. I believe that someone else may have committed these crimes and I believe we may have aligned wishes.” 

“That gives you no right to kiss my girlfriend.” 

The two of them stared at each other. Hannibal noticed that Will did not seem to be angry. He seemed more confused, perhaps even amused.

“That is not the priority here,” Hannibal stated simply. “You got an ear in the mail.” Will nodded.

“Are you assuming I’ve given you permission to continue to pursue Y/N?” 

“Are you?” 

Will was caught off guard a bit but bounced back quickly. 

“I don’t know.” 

A beat of silence.

“How far would you go to help me?” Will asked. 

“It hadn’t occurred to me to send you an ear,” Hannibal said quietly. “But I’m grateful and intrigued that someone has.” 

“Gratitude has a short half-life.”

-

You walked with Hannibal into a charred house. 

“Wanted to give us a warm welcome and still leave something to find,” Jack said as you looked over the dead charred body over antlers. It heavily resembled the pictures that you had seen on your kitchen table, just after the copycat killer stuck. The murder that presumabley Will had done

“An arresting piece of theater,” Hannibal said.

“It’s Will Graham’s greatest hits,” Zeller said.

“Are we addressing the elephant in the room? The charred, mutilated elephant right over there,” Price said. 

“Could we have been that wrong?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“No. We couldn't,” Zeller countered. 

“The evidence we found was immediate and almost presentational. May as well have been gift-wrapped,” Bev said.

“That’s what Will said about Cassie Boyle when she was found in that field. “Field kabuki.””. Jack was having doubts. You could feel it.

“There wasn’t any evidence before Will was apprehended and there hasn’t been any since,” Bev muttered. 

“What impact could this have on Will’s trial?” you questioned. Jack took this and thought about it before a moment. 

“Hopefully a lot of impact.”

-

You stood in the room with Alana, Will and Brauer. 

“I’m confused,” Alana said. “We are-”

“We are heading one direction and now, we are heading another,” Brauer said.

“You’re going to abandon your defense strategy, the entire case you’ve built...mid-trail,” Alana muttered. She turned to you. “You’re okay with this?”

“It makes sense to me.”

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Brauer said, walking over to the table that you were all sitting around. “Not only reasonable, fashionable. There’s a killer on the loose, demonstrating all the hallmarks of Will Graham’s alleged murders. Somebody out there likes you,” he said to Will. 

“This is just because you honestly don't think he did it,” Alana said, only to you.

“I am a woman of my word,” you said. 

“She somehow got it where she wanted, which she does often enough,” Will said and you nodded happily.

“Did you kill someone to do it?” Alana asked sarcastically. 

“No but someone did. Someone who likes Will enough,” you muttered.

“I won’t have to call you in the stand,” Brauer said. 

“Who will be taking the stand in my place?” 

-

Hannibal took the stand. You watched the hope crash and fall before your eyes. The defense was ruled inadmissible and you felt an anger in your heart that you hadn’t felt in a while, if ever.

You stood up as the court was dismissed for the day. You walked up to the judge as Will was taken out. 

“May I talk with you?” you asked. You put on your best girl smile.

“About this case?” 

“Perhaps?” He let out a sigh. He wasn’t supposed to but you were pretty. Perhaps this would go in his way. You tried to look as ditzy as you could as he nodded a little.

“Come to my chambers.”

-  

You couldn’t think. Your hands were bloody and you were shaking. The door behind you swung open and Hannibal stopped in his tracks at the sight he was looking at. 

You, blood on your hands and the bashed in head of the judge. You shook your head and continued to shake, the blood staining your clothes.

“I..I didn’t…” you started but you were such in shock you couldn’t say anything. Hannibal walked forward. He wasn’t going to say that he wasn’t coming to kill this man but seeing you with his dead body was something he was not prepared to think about this afternoon.

“I’m surprised it isn’t Jack Crawford,” he said quietly. You had enough heart to scoff at him. 

“He was gonna kill Will,” you said very quietly. Hannibal nodded and looked down at the body.

“I’m going to clean this. The BAU are going to come and look over a crime scene that I made for this and I’m going to make it look like the man who is recently trying to help Will out. You will not come with me to see the body.”

“I have to. You can’t go without me,” you whispered. Your eyes seemed elsewhere. Hannibal took off his coat and put it over you.

“Wait in my car.” 

-

Forty five minutes later you were in Hannibal’s home, freshly showered and wearing his clothes. You were staring at your hands, trying to figure out how you had killed somebody. Your anger had gotten the best of you but how? Bashing someone’s brain in...you could barely think about it now.

“I want Will,” you pouted, voice breaking. Hannibal walked up to you and sat beside you on the couch.

“You can’t tell him.”

“I have to. I tell him everything,” you said, looking at Hannibal. 

“Don’t tell him this.” 

You shook your head and looked over at Hannibal, still feeling like you were shaking. Hannibal put his arms around you and you put your head on his chest. He held you until you fell asleep.

2x04

[spudinacup]

Spinels Character Analysis:

Now that the comic has caught up to this point I can go on a bit of a tangent here and rant about my logic behind Spinels progression through the first seven pages of the SU AU Gone Wrong comic. 

Let's dive right in then, shall we?

Spinel’s Character Break Down and Emotional Complexity: 

This is gonna be one hell of a long rant so putting Readmore here. 

[This isn’t proofread so if there are grammar or spelling mistakes we’ll all have to live with them]

Spinel as a character is rather complex and predictably unpredictable in how she reacts to situations. In Pixar, they have a concept they like to refer to as the spine of the character. This is the basis of who they are and will drive all their decisions throughout the story. A prime example of this is Woody; his spine is to protect his kid and ultimately get back to him. This drives every one of Woody’s decisions. By being separated from Andy he feels that he will be hurt by his absence and as such seeks out a solution to this dilemma. As a whole, Spinel’s spine, so to speak, is rooted in her insecurity; more specifically her insecurity around rejection. It’s part of what made her so appealing to the fanbase and also to the viewers of the film. It almost seemingly justifies her murderous intent and ability to cause such havoc and devastation. 

When looking at the concept of insecurity and abandonment you’ll find articles referring to child abandonment syndromes. TMI moment; but I was abandoned by my genetic parents and have an unfortunately extensive understanding of the sensations revolving around this kind of trauma. Spinel in many ways was a child for Pink, she was a playmate. This doesn’t imply that she had any maternal connection to Spinel but if you compare her situation to that of a child dealing with this kind of neglect it aligns very similarly. Spinel did not choose to be made, she was born into Pink’s service and felt that was her world. She revolved around Pink and was there to please her whims. She was immature yes, but so is a child. 

In an article by Lynne Namka titled, “The Many Causes of Feelings of Insecurity and Abandonment,” she analyzes the impacts and results of this kind of abandonment.

“Some abandonment issues can be related to physical security and fears of survival of the physical body. Rejected children can fear annihilation if their emotional and physical needs are not met. The external rejection and lack of love are internalized by the child along with beliefs of being unworthy, undeserving and unlovable. These children can grow up to become jealous and insecure in their relationships.” 

Everyone at some point in their lives has felt tossed aside or dejected by society or others and this drives home further that feeling of connection to this character. It as a rather smart choice for the Crewneverse to go ahead with such a character archetype considering the themes of forgiveness and friendship in Steven Universe.

The problem with a character that is based so heavily around the concept of rejection is their reactions upon being confronted by it. We see this demonstrated in the film through each of Spinel’s actions. This sensation of being left behind is strong enough that even while dealing with amnesia and being rejuvenated to an earlier state the emotional trauma still rears its ugly head in the form of aggression.

Upon arriving at Earth in the film Spinel proclaims that she is there to kill Steven Universe and even continues to state in the concluding scene that:

 “You know I came here to take my anger out on a bunch of strangers, but now that I know you... I want to kill you even more.” 

This again coincides with the concept of Abandonment Rage. To quote another article of the same name from Lynne Namka:

“Blind rage often comes out of the anxiety and terror of being left behind. Domestic violence expert Donald Dutton defines abandonment rage by saying, “Rage often comes after fears of feeling abandoned and helplessness. A child is made furiously angry by a parent’s threats to desert him but on the other hand, he does not express that anger in case it makes the parent actually do so….the anger of a parent becomes repressed and directed at someone else later on.” Repressed anger then becomes displaced or put on someone else after frustration builds up to a boiling-over point.”

This is the progression of Spinel’s character arch prior to reaching Steven. She has had this melting pot of anger boiling inside of her festering and mixing into a whirlwind of hate and repressed frustrations. Spinel is experiencing a catathymic crisis, a term coined by the Forensic Psychologist J. Ried Meloy. To put it simply, its where the individual's anger becomes a catharsis for feelings of vulnerability. Its a moment of disconnect from one’s logic and instead allows their actions to be driven by this anger lacking any logical perceptions or thought behind it. Webster's definition is as such: an unexpected explosive outburst of impulsive often destructive behavior understandable only in terms of unconscious motivation 

So now that we know where her head was at before confronting Steven, what happened after she killed him?

The Impact of Steven’s Death:

Spinel’s actions with the rejuvenator are rash, fast, and not well thought out. There’s been a few great analysis on Tumblr that follow this line of thought. 

 As a whole, Spinel is playing with the Crystal Gems but her aim is true with her weapon. When she strikes down Amethyst, Garnet, and Pearl its with a single slash straight through the middle, it's effective. What better place could you aim to cause immediate results? On the slim, and probably impossible but work with me here, chance that it didn’t work immediately or at the very least didn’t poof them, there’s no walking away from that impact. It effectively disrupts their physical form and forces them to retreat into their gems.

The intention of the injuries inflicted on Steven follows this same kind of logic. Spinel was attempting to cause as much damage as possible as quickly as possible. 

Steven Universe is Pink Diamond, she knows this, or at least he has what’s left of her. Diamonds are difficult to kill as we learned during Steven’s trial. 

So why was she trying?

 In my opinion, it was because she was attempting to remove the obstacles that were in her way to being Pink’s friend. She was envious. Under all the hurt and misdirected anger, she still feels abandonment. While it may enrage her she still longs to be accepted and craves that solace of belonging again. Pink Diamond was her world, she was all she had, that absence has left a void that little can fill.  We ultimately see this envy and desire manifest in the climax of the film as she fights Steven and ultimately crumbles under her own emotional state before the injector combusts.

After removing the obstacles that are the other gems she turns her focus upon Steven. The rejuvenator would revert him back to a prior state. If it brought Pink back, great she’d have the source of her anger. If it reverted his powers and Pink was really gone? Fine, she’d be done with him soon enough. It wasn’t a logical decision, it was an emotionally driven and rash conclusion of her abandonment. 

When she attack’s Steven her first blow takes off Steven’s arm. I wanted this to stand out to the viewer upon their viewing of the comic. It's drastic, impactful and leaves one unsettled by the sensation of having some ripped violently from their person. The arm is in many ways if you look between the lines, an analogy of P!Steven’s situation. He has been lopped off what made him whole and is only half of a person in his current manifestation. There is no way to efficiently reattach that limb with the flesh expiring in his arms.

The second of her attacks follow suit almost immediately following the amputation of Steven’s arm. She attempts to recreate the action she did with the Crystal Gems and cut him in half. Again, this being an efficient and fast way to destabilize him and poof the gem. However, Steven is half-human. So worked up by her own feelings of entitlement to the violence and grief Spinel is blind to the blood that flies from his injuries and only realizes what has happened once she can no longer swing wildly. The second blow ultimately was the fatal one while also what forces his gem out of his body. Amputates his gem, if you will.

Unshown in the comic is Spinel realizing something isn’t right however it was actually the first image I did for this AU shown here: 

The rejuvenator becomes stuck within Steven’s torso, it doesn’t go all the way through him.  This isn’t normal and gives Spinel’s mind enough time for her actions is starting to sink into her. With this comprehension comes with it the confusion of what she is seeing. 

[-credit @thelostmoongazer​ for this illustration.] Spinel has never met a human. Spinel has never been to Earth. Spinel has no concept of what an organic is asides from the small critters from the garden she presumably spent her entire life within. She has been isolated, abandoned, and now she’s thrust into the world blinded with rage that has left her unable to perceive the vulnerabilities of the individual she is facing.

In this instance Spinel panics and throws her weapon aside alarmed by the strange liquid she now finds her body splattered with. She attempts to distance herself from the collapsing Steven, the atrocity she has just committed, and the expanding substance that gushed from his body's fractures.

Gem’s poof, that is our understanding of their forms being disrupted. The Crystal Gem’s had poofed, Steven, however, Steven hadn’t. 

This is when Pink appears:

As a direct result of her attack upon Steven, P!Steven is given space and room to reform himself. This immediately puts Spinel in the position of not only feeling confusion and shock of the situation she’d put herself into as her temper begins to subside and she watches the pink glow overtake the field they stood within. There is a sensation, we’ve all felt it before, its the same one you feel when you get caught with your hand in the cookie jar by your parents. It isn't that she regretted her actions, its that she regretted being caught. 

Not only right after it dawns on her that something is wrong but, as she assumes, the very person she’d been driven to this near insanity by.

She reverts a bit here, tries to resolve some of the issues with the newly reformed Pink. She tries to connect with them and apologize for what they were seeing, for what she had done. Underneath her resentment, she doesn't want to be hated by Pink, asides from that she is almost uncertain what she desires. All she knows in this situation is that things have not happened as they should have and now she has been caught. 

It’s when P!Steven speaks to her however that a switch gets flicked. As I explained earlier in the post, Spinel fits rather well within the box of abandonment rage. She is a character-based within insecurity that reacts with aggression when she feels threatened as a way of protecting herself. 

In these few short panels, P!Steven not only displays disapproval of her, but his change instance implies aggression immediately making her revert to a more defensive state. 

This is what causes her change in tone and ultimately the change in her behavior. She is no longer remorseful because she was caught, she’s being rejected again, by the same gem again. 

Adding a cherry on top, upon realizing that it wasn’t even who she perceived to be she feels tricked and made a fool of. Somehow, he wasn’t Pink. He hadn’t reverted into his beginning state, no, that pest that kept her from obtaining what she selfishly desired was still present. Her resentment for that craving boils back into her insecurities and feeds the explosive desires beneath it. Rather than apologizing further she takes hold of these emotional shelters and dives into what she feels the most comfortable with, her anger. 

Which brings us to today’s page, where we see that beginning to be acted upon. Surely she can fix this, at the very least resolve that judgmental stare that lingers on her. She can make things better for herself.

She won’t let herself be rejected again. 

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk.

Sources:

[Insecurity and Abandonment] [Abandonment Rage] [catathymic definition]

[SU AU Gone Wrong Comic Master Post]

[kidofthekat]

Salty Outcasts - Chapter 3

Chloe

Chloé woke with a pounding headache, grabbing some paracetamol, she checked the time. 11am. Damn. She had slept her Saturday morning away. She changed into her usual outfit but without her flashy, diamond-studded belt. Another look around her room, and Chloé walked to the empty lift. The Grand Paris had lost about a third of its business since… it happened.

“Good morning Chloé.”

“Good morning Mother.”

“Chloé.” Her father didn’t even look up from his newspaper.

“Father.” What gave him the right to act like this? Mother was mean and ruthless, but she had never committed a crime. Father on the other hand, he had bribed his way into power and honestly no-one would be surprised if he were helping Hawkmoth. What gave him the right to act as if he was somehow more moral, or a better person? Chloé was seething as she sat as far from the Mayor as possible while being at the same table.

The silence was painful to all. Even Jean-whatever looked uncomfortable from the other side of the room.

Audrey Bourgeois sighed, “This is my fault.” Chloé raised an eyebrow, this was new. “Chloé, I was no mother to you, and I should have raised you better.” Andre looked like he wanted to intervene before she raised a hand to placate him. “By no means am I excusing you of your behaviour.”

“I should hope not.” Audrey gave her husband a small glare before continuing.

“But I am still at some fault. I will be a better mother to you. I promise. And darling, I’m sorry.”

Chloé nodded and opened her mouth to reply but Andre beat her to it. “Sorry? You’re sorry? Why are you sorry? She… she is a damn TERRORIST.”

“She is your daughter.” Chloé started to silently cry.

“Not anymore.” Andre got up from the table not sparing a glance at the younger blonde and only nodding at his wife as he made his way up to his office.

Sobbing, Chloé ran out the hotel’s double doors leaving Audrey to wonder what the hell had happened to her already dysfunctional family.

*

Alix skated past the Couffaine houseboat, second guessing the absolute trust she had put in her future self. ‘Go to the Seine.’ Alix scoffed. ‘To quote Uncle Iroh, sometimes the best way to solve your problems is to help someone else.’ She had been happy violently spray painting while beating herself up about not standing up for Marinette sooner, but no, future!Me just had to give me advice, who am I meant to be helping anyway?

She almost scoffed again before realising she was starting to sound a lot like a certain blonde heiress, who she was sitting by the Seine? On the ground? Well something must be wrong.

“Yo, Chloé, what’s up?

“Go away, Kubdel. Don’t you have hair to dye and skates to ugh I don’t know”

“Well someone’s off her game today, want to talk about it?”

“I don’t need your pity, Kubdel.”

“I don’t pity you Chloé, and I never will. You have made too many mistakes and hurt too may of the people I care about for me to find it in myself to pity you. But, I’m not heartless. You are in pain and so I am going to help, so I’ll ask you one more time, do you want to talk about it?” Alix’s tone was harsh and unforgiving, snapping the disgraced hero out of her thoughts.

Nodding, Chloé waited for Alix to sit beside her. “My father said I wasn’t his daughter anymore.”

“Woah, that, that is bad.” At Chloé’s muffled sob, she clarified, “I meant bad parenting, every kid makes mistakes, some bigger then others, but either war he should be there for you and help you grow not turn you away the second you put a mark on his perfect reputation.”

Chloé snickered, “Oh trust me, his reputation is far from perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but people at least think he’s a good guy even if he is as corrupt as Hawkmoth,” Alix raised an eyebrow at this assessment, few people would compare their father to Paris’ emotional terrorist. “I, on the other hand, am trying to do good for once in my life and everyone still sees me as a villain.”

“No-one sees you as a villain, just a bratty rich kid.” Alix’s joke fell flat as Chloé got to her feet and stared at the skater, face red with fury.

“My father called me a terrorist.” Her voice was deadly, but low enough to avoid drawing in any onlookers. It took Alix a few seconds to overcome the shock that any father would say something like that. Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine her old man even thinking such a thing.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered.

“I mean is it even worth it?”

“Yes! Yes it is.” Alix stood up, placing a hand on Chloé’s shoulder, her eyes were filled with fury, though none of it was directed at the blonde.

A bike bell sounded behind her breaking Alix’s intense glare and saving Chloé from burning under it. Turning around, the two girls saw a teal-tipped boy cycle towards them.

Luka smiled, immediately calming them down, skipping normal greetings to give Chloé a side hug and some advice.

“To quote uncle Iroh,” Alix frowned at that, again? Seriously? Yes, he is one inspirational guy, but two people in one morning? “It’s time for you to look inward, and begin asking yourself the big questions: who are you? And what do you want?”

“I, I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, you don’t have to know just yet.” Luka smiled again. “I’m guessing you both skipped breakfast this morning.” He took their silence as a yes, “Let’s go to Marinette’s bakery, they have great croissants.”

“Sure you don’t just wanna see Marinette?” Alix nudged Luka, who instantly went a shade of red that rivalled Ladybug’s suit.

“Maybe.” The girls laughed a little, dragging the blushing boy behind them as they set out to the bakery.

Thank you @flufflepuffle296 for proof reading! Also thank you readers for reading!

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@kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @lilkymilky @mythogaychic @aestheticnpoetic

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

This Too Shall Last 

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: This is based off of @dumb-bitch-starker‘s post that you can find here! I saw it and had to try my hand at it. I’ve got some personal experience with marriage young, so it was a fun one!  Warnings: NSFW stuff - lots of fluff, be ready!  Summary: 

Peter Parker is from a small town in rural Virginia. After winning the National Spelling Bee, he's given the opportunity to go to an advanced private school. Midtown is where he meets Tony Stark, a brown haired boy with an affinity of beating him to the punch. They grow up together and find that what they were looking for wasn't all that far away. This is the story of how these two move from friends to boyfriends to husbands.

Or, the one where Peter Parker is a genius and has an epic friendship turned romance with Tony Stark.

Read it on AO3 here

For Peter, being smart was his foot in the door to a world that for the longest time, he could only imagine. In the town he lived in with is Aunt, there was one school that catered to all of the grades, K-12. There were two stop lights and a singular gas station nestled in the heart of town. Aside from a handful of transplants, most of the town’s population consisted of long lines of families and those that were establishing them. May still had her mail delivered to her by the same man from her later childhood.

All and all – getting out of that place was the only option and luckily – Peter was blessed with the means to do it.

After winning the National Spelling Bee at the young age of 6, Peter got several scholarship offers for some of the private schools around the Virginia area. It would have been nice to actually get away from his little town and go to one of the more prestigious ones – but May needed him around and could only truly afford to see him go 45 minutes away instead of the several hours some of the other schools offered.

Midtown Private catered to the rich of the Virginia Beach area – Peter understood that immediately. Even as a young kid, he realized that his old backpack and battered shoes were something completely different compared to the people around him. It didn’t take a genius (even though he was,) to catch onto the fact that everyone else had drivers drop them off – he watched them file out of their pretty cars from the bus stop every morning. There wasn’t much to be done, though – the opportunity was there, and he planned to take it.

Despite all of the differences between him and the rest of the student population, Peter excelled. After a few days in his second-grade class, it was obvious that the people around him were also of another caliber in the classroom. In his old school, he spent most of his days completely bored. Since the first day at Midtown, Peter felt challenged – his brain finally stretched the way it needed to be. His classmates were able and more than willing to participate in the classroom. A brown-haired boy with quick hands beat him to the punch a lot of the time – but he didn’t mind, there was something to be said about someone just as interested in the information.

At the end of his first week, Peter found out who the brown-haired boy was. His eyes were still wide from the initial shock of walking into a lab that he could fit his entire house into. There were so many different tools and instruments he’d never seen before – things that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. It looked like a scene out of some of his favorite science fiction movies that played late at night. He sat down at the closest cluster of chairs and looked around with marvel.

The chair at the desk next to him moving on the floor brought him out of his excitement induced trance – he cracked a smile when the brown-haired boy sat down. “You’re the new kid, right?” he asked – the question rattled off without an ounce of hesitation. There weren’t many kids his age that behaved that way; his difficulty making friends stemmed from a lot of things and that was one of them. Tilting his head, Peter took him in for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m Peter,” he finally replied, his body shifting slightly in the seat to see the other kid a little more clearly.

They met eyes for the first time then, the brown of the other’s eyes reminding him the color of milk chocolate melting on the stove. For some reason, that made him feel a little calmer – the hue reminding him so much of fondue night with May.

The kid was smiling at him, his hands flipping open the folder he pulled out of his bag. “Hi. My mom makes me introduce myself as Anthony – but that name is stupid, so just call me Tony.” While he spoke, he slipped a worksheet in front of Peter.

“Do you like science like you like math?” Tony asked him, his eyes looking at the sheet briefly, then straying back in Peter’s direction. It felt weird, having someone understand his likes without evening knowing him – Tony pinpointed him just by observing. He wondered, not for the last time in his life, just what else Tony effortlessly observed about him.

Glancing down at the paper, his eyes lit up when he recognized the microscope on it. Just last Christmas, he got a small lab set that came with beakers and a microscope – he spent hours taking it apart and putting it back together for many weeks after that. The reading level of what he was looking at surpassed even what a class like this would provide for them – so he was immediately excited.

“I love science. I’m going to go to space one day,” Peter muttered, his eyes still looking over the paper in front of him. He wondered where Tony got it – the board at the front of the room said they were looking at the different types of rocks and there wasn’t an accessible microscope in sight. “This is a light microscope, right? What are you looking at with it?” He finally pulled himself away from the difficult information, his brain on fire.

He couldn’t tell if Tony was on the verge of excitement or blowing up at him, the look on his face a little unreadable. “You want to go to space? I want to build rockets. I’ve been trying to read through a book about Apollo 13 – but that words are kind of hard.” He shrugged then, his hand reaching over to take the sheet back from Peter’s desk.

“I don’t know what I’m going to look at yet – my dad said I needed to learn more about it before I could touch his expensive equipment.” Tony made the infamous air quotes and rolled his eyes – the look on his face making Peter laugh.

“My aunt says stuff like that, too. She bought me a starter lab kit last year for Christmas – and I’m terrified to break it. I may never get anything cool ever again, if I do.” He crinkled his nose, the thought making his brain hurt a little. “I’ve taken the microscope in it apart and put it back together a bunch of times – I can help you, if you want,” Peter added in after a second, his eagerness in the suggestion apparent.

Tony took a second to answer back – his cheeks were turned up in a smile, but he stayed silent, regardless. “Okay,” he said simply, a soft look on his face. “Sit with me at lunch – I want you to tell me more about this lab kit.”

That day was forever engrained in Peter’s head – he later came to find out that Tony, who was Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark, the frontrunner in plane, boat, and submarine technology and construction – was the smartest and most sought after friend in the entire school. People did not talk to him for weeks after they sat together that first day at lunch. It was laughable that something as silly as that was the thing that made him an outsider.

For years, Peter ran in the same circle as Tony in a lot of ways. From that fateful day in science on, Tony sought Peter out as a lab partner. Even being in a school where everything was advanced, both boys were more than capable of bigger things. Tony invited Peter to his dad’s lab every now and again – despite how much May hated having to drop him off at the fancy gate whenever he went.

After proving his worth and commitment to thorough research and a safe approach, Tony got access to a lot of cool things; a few of these things he shared with Peter. Between third and sixth-grade, Peter and Tony built a different (and progressively more advanced) robot each year for the science fair. Being friendly with someone like Tony was like being shown a different world; both the boy’s personality and background contributed to that, too. He learned something new about the boy every instance they spent any time together.

Middle brought the ability to do extracurricular activities – an opportunity in which Peter took complete advantage of. Enjoying the robot building process so much, Tony convinced him to join the Robotics team. He also found himself recruited to the track and field team after a startlingly fast mile during physical fitness week. Both activities were so much more than he ever thought imaginable for himself – so he went above and beyond to be amazing at them.

Running came naturally to him, he quickly came to find out. All of his middle school years were spent going to conference, regional, and national meets. The year before entering into high school, Peter broke the 1500-meter record and won a middle school national championship. Walking onto a new campus the next year, Peter found himself embraced by the teammates he had previously and the new ones he gained – not for the first time, he felt surprised by the odd dynamic of the people he luckily found himself surrounded by.

The opportunity to get ahead in college came around his junior year. He took all of the AP science classes and passed with ease, so there wasn’t much left in his high school to take – a select few that were of similar academic standing were cleared to take dual enrollment classes that would count as college credit. There were tons of science he was going to need in college, the ability to knock out a few of them was too hard to pass up.

He barely made it to the early college campus before his first class started late one September – the bus was running behind again and had been all week. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Peter took a seat towards the back of the class – the person next to him none other than Tony Stark. “I thought I’d see you here,” Tony mumbled towards him as he settled in, the now very, very, very handsome boy’s cheeks curling up into a grin. “Did you have to run to get here?

Looking around for a second, Peter noticed there wasn’t much happening – the front of the class empty, no professor in sight. “From the bus stop, yes. The earlier buses always run a little late,” he explained, his chest finally relaxing, the tightness ceasing now that he wasn’t running at full speed, anymore. It felt good to sit down after that.

“That’s no bueno, Pete – I need my lab partner fresh and on his toes. You can ride with me,” Tony stated, his voice definitive, the tone just barely shy of being bossy. “We’re both going to the same place – I don’t mind.” He finished his words with a smile, the look enough to make him laugh a little.

There wasn’t any reason not to accept the offer – the thought of not having to take the bus four times every day sounded pretty dang good. “Okay – if you really don’t mind.” Peter reached across and placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, his fingers tightening. “Thanks, Tony,” he murmured, his eyes alight.

Tony tilted his head a little, brown eyes watching Peter closely for a second before he nodded – his eyebrows arching. “I really don’t mind. You’re welcome, Pete.” As he spoke, the door opened and the professor walked in, everyone in the class straightening up – the authority of the person at the front of the class still respected at their age.

For the rest of the day, Peter didn’t think too much about Tony or his offer, there were too many interesting things being thrown his way. It wasn’t until they finished their Biochemistry lab that Peter even remembered the offer. Tony caught up to him out in the hallway, his glasses slipping down his nose a little when he stopped in front of Peter. “You don’t have practice until later, right? Want to study for a bit? I’ll take you back when we’re finished. That lab report could use a little work before we turn it in tomorrow,” Tony spoke with such confidence, the quirk in his lips natural looking, not forced like it might’ve been on Peter himself.

The glance down at his wrist was unnecessary, without looking at his watch, he knew it was pushing 2. He wouldn’t need to be back to the high school until 4:30 and with a ride, he didn’t have to worry about catching the bus. “That sounds okay to me – I think I finally figured out how to do the last problem set,” Peter replied, his thumbs slipping under the straps of his backpack. “I think I saw some good reference books when I was in the library yesterday. Let’s head that way.”

That afternoon started a chain reaction of studying together every day after class, the two of them nose deep in books until Peter’s alarm went off. The first couple of times it happened, the dirty looks were numerous – then they got smart about it. Since they were in the early college program, classes ended at the same time every day – so, they rented out a study room and spent the two hours in there, instead. The whiteboards were good for everything they were trying to accomplish, anyway.

One afternoon about halfway through the semester, Peter walked out of his last period lecture hall completely done in. Practice the day before kicked his butt and they were running low on food in the house. He snuck in a granola bar earlier – and his metabolism demolished it before he could even think about being at least somewhat satisfied. School breakfast that morning ran out a earlier than usual, so he was feeling it.

When Tony stepped up to his side a couple of minutes later, Peter looked at him blankly. “I don’t think I’ve got it in me to study today, Tony – I’m exhausted. And starving. Mostly starving, honestly,” Peter babbled, his right hand settling on his stomach – he hoped if he got there fast enough, the growl wouldn’t sound between them.

Peter rolled his eyes when they both heard the gurgle – a spot of red pressing into both of his cheeks almost instantly. He pressed against his stomach a little more firmly then, his thoughts willing the damn thing to shut the hell up. Chancing a glance up, Peter was surprised to see empathy in Tony’s eyes. Despite knowing him relatively well, there was no real way of anticipating how the boy would react – Tony worked on a scale of differing levels of sarcasm. He figured it would take the rest of his life to truly understand the rules to Tony’s game – but it felt good to see the other at least respond positively to his insignificant troubles.

“We’re so caught up on everything, Pete – I’m sure the library can do without us for the day. Do you want to go grab some food? There’s this place, Chester’s, they make the best burgers.” Tony spoke while he fidgeted with his hands, his body much like his mind – always moving, never quite satisfied.

At the mention of food, Peter’s stomach growled again, his mouth watering, too. There were a few dollars in his pocket, the idea of using it to afford food sounded like an excellent one. He nodded his head excitedly, eyes bulging a little. “Yes, that would be amazing. I’d eat your shoe if you seasoned it right. A burger sounds delicious,” Peter agreed, his feet already antsy to start moving towards the door and closer to the food.

It took a little while to get used to driving around in Tony’s fancy car. The contrast to May’s broken-down Chevy made his stomach churn a bit – but on the other hand, he got a little excited about it, too. The black Audi drove like a dream and had an engine that could easily become something too fast for its own good. The inner console was completely touchscreen and the family AI, FRIDAY, could be reached with the controls. One day he expected to walk out to a car that would drive itself.

Settling into the passenger seat, Peter felt better than he did all day and tried not to think too hard about that. In the past couple of months, Peter’s feelings about Tony went from neutral to completely over the hill for him. It wasn’t hard to feel that way about the other, though – Peter knew that from being in school with him so long.

Girls and boys alike would trip over their feet to get his attention. Yet, no one managed to catch it. Tony kept to himself for as long as Peter could remember – no matter how much people wanted him, he didn’t budge. Now that he was starting to feel the same way about the other boy, his stomach felt a little funny – like a weird mixture between giving a speech and watching Batman on TV.

There wasn’t any hope for his silly feelings to be returned, Peter knew that. He couldn’t claim to be a genius without understanding the reality of the situation in front of him. Even still, Peter was unable to keep a lid on it and found himself smiling over at Tony more in the last three weeks than in their entire existence together. Not for the first time, Peter wondered if Tony knew – his friend was too smart not to.

The drive was pretty easy – there wasn’t much traffic at that time of the day, so they were skating down the highway in Tony’s beautiful car in no time. He fiddled with the screen for a while before The Used started to play – the throwback making Peter laugh outright.

“I never pegged you for a 2000’s emo fan,” Peter said through the chuckle, his brain already supplying the lyrics to the song, regardless of his own taunt. Lots of things happened in the early days of Peter’s life – he found a weird kinship with the early 00’s songwriters; their grief and pain were tangible, and he liked that.

Peter watched Tony drum on the steering wheel with one of his hands, the other loosening and clenching with the beat. It was easy to tell that Tony was not a stranger to this type of music – the chorus of Bird and the Worm started and they both broke out singing it, their voices surprisingly meshing together pretty well. “I’m full of surprises, Peter Parker. I also happen to like old rock, too. What do you have to say about that?” Sarcasm dripped from the words, each one settling in the pit of Peter’s stomach – each one making that little flame of want grow the slightest bit bigger.

Catching himself smiling, Peter turned his face towards the window, the cityscape of Virginia Beach flying by them. “I think that’s okay by me. I kind of like surprises. Makes life a little more interesting. I don’t like tomatoes – I’m sure that comes as a great surprise to you,” Peter retorted, his own joke pulling a chuckle from his lips.

Tony shook his head, eyes breaking from the road to glance in Peter’s direction. “Something tells me there’s a lot more to you than just not liking tomatoes. For instance – you can run a 1500-meter race in under 4 minutes. Now that, my friend, is very surprising. I probably couldn’t even make it around the track once in 4 minutes.” Tony joined him in laughter then, the self-depreciative statement nowhere near the truth – Peter could see the obvious signs of that in the way his bicep bulged when he turned the wheel.

“It’s always a surprise to me, too. The last lap, I’m always just running on pure instinct, adrenaline, and dopamine. I didn’t know you knew that, though. We’ve never really talked about it before,” Peter realized, his thoughts manifesting in the words slipping from his mouth. Over the years, they spent so much time together and never broached the layers beneath the surface. Peter felt compelled to change that, even if it was for his own sick pleasure of knowing more about Tony, of having little pieces of him that not a lot of people get access to.

“I like statistics. Me and a couple of the guys from robotics got together to watch last year – it was cool to see the variance in all of our time guesses. You’re talented, Pete. That’s pretty hard to miss.” Tony shrugged then, his hands returning to their incessant drumming on the steering wheel.

Peter was glad for Tony’s shift in attention – the pink color on his cheeks already embarrassing without getting caught out by the boy he wanted to impress. Despite the roaring redness in his face, Peter wrapped himself in the knowledge that Tony noticed him and let the hum of his feelings crank up just a little bit louder.

That first burger stop led to a change in their routine – instead of hitting up the library, they camped out at a table in the corner of Chester’s dining room and studied. At least, it started out as studying. The topics progressively moved from Biochemistry to track and field – then even further past that into a much more personal territory. Peter learned that Tony’s parents weren’t ever around and when they were, he was avoided at all costs. In turn, Peter told Tony about his parents and uncle Ben – about the travesty of the start of his life and the small town he couldn’t wait to get away from.

He figured out pretty quickly how good it felt to simply talk to someone, especially a someone that seemed to understand more than anyone else Peter could remember encountering. Tony listened so intently, like Peter’s words were ones he needed to absorb and digest. Peter felt heard, the feeling so novel that he almost didn’t understand it – that burning sensation of actually being acknowledged. The similar look in Tony’s eyes when Peter gave him the same attention clued him in, though – the boy across from him seemed just as eager to have a pillar to lean on.

And interestingly enough, he chose Peter for the position.

A couple of days before finals week, Tony and Peter were in their normal booth at Chester’s – their shoulders pressed together to look at the textbook between them. The ringing of Peter’s phone shattered the peace of their study sanctuary – he let out a soft sigh at the break in concentration. Answering it swiftly, Peter was surprised to hear the Stanford Track & Field team coach on the other side of the line. After listening intently, Peter dropped the phone back to the table – his chest alight from the news he just received.

“That was Mike Eskind from Stanford – they want to bring me out to campus for a visit when next semester starts.” Peter looked up to catch the tail end of Tony’s huge smile – the look making his guts churn with that all too familiar heat. Shaking his head of the thought, he beamed back – their eyes locking.

“Holy shit, Pete!” Tony exclaimed, his voice the loudest pitch Peter heard him use all day. The boy jumped out of his chair – their gazes still connected. Peter followed suit without much hesitation, his entire body thrummed with excitement and pent up energy. Tony threw his arms around his hips and pulled him close – the throb of the other’s joy enough to make Peter suck in a breath, his own arms wrapping around Tony’s to join in on the embrace.

It felt right – being wrapped up in Tony’s arms. They were solid and warm, the presence of them on Peter’s hip grounding him, keeping him in the moment – the one where he got some of the greatest news of his life. He felt Tony’s head turn a little bit, his breath now gusting against the length of his neck. “Congrats,” Tony mumbled into the skin there.

Pulling back, Peter felt his grin widen, their arms not leaving each other. In the years to come, he wouldn’t be able to say who leaned in first – but all of the sudden, they were kissing. Tony’s lips were warm like the rest of him, the fullness of them pressing elegantly against Peter’s.

The initial kiss was soft, the chasteness of it a little like taking the first sip of a drink to test the flavor. Peter knew in that instant that nothing else would be as good as this – the smooth taste of Dr. Pepper, french fries, and a thing that he could only describe as Tony. It was intoxicating and enough to realize just how fucked he really was.

They inhabited the same space for another couple of moments, then Tony pulled away – one of his hands moving from Peter’s hip to cup his cheek. “I’ve wanted to do that for forever,” Tony whispered, his forehead tilting forward to rest against Peter’s. “Forever,” he mumbled again – the singular fact that they were in the middle of a public restaurant not registering to either of them. Peter closed his eyes and let himself relax into the embrace.

“Me too,” Peter replied after a while, his eyes opening for a brief second before Tony leaned forward and pressed their lips together again. The thought that maybe this might be a thing from now on made his heart skip and his head tilt a little further to the side, deepening the kiss.

Later that night, Peter thought so much about that kiss – about how utterly perfect the first one he ever got was – how, out of all the people in the world, Tony chose him to be on the receiving end of his affection. After getting to know the boy, Peter understood just how big of a thing that was – he didn’t get any in his home life, it made total sense that being able to give it wasn’t the easiest thing. Yet, it seemed to be earlier that day, the memory of Tony’s lips still ghosting across his own.

----

Finishing out the semester with all A’s, some college credit, and a boyfriend still felt surprising – even two months later when he slid into Tony’s car bright and early in the morning. This new ritual of theirs started when winter break ended, and their high school classes started back up. Since they didn’t have any early college stuff until the middle of January, both boys were free to do what they wanted after 11 every morning. Peter didn’t have any commitments until track practice at the end of the day, so they capitalized on it. His lips were so chapped by the end of the three weeks of freedom they had, and the boys were closer than ever.

He still didn’t understand why Tony wanted to drive 45 minutes in both directions to come and get him – but he wasn’t going to complain. Not having to sit on the bus so early in the morning was a beautiful thing, and all the extra time he got to spend with Tony was even better. Sometimes they were early enough to stop off and get some breakfast – and sometimes they skipped the McDonald’s and took advantage of the extra time; Tony’s back seat felt like a second home after so much time in it.

Though they were always all over each other, things hadn’t escaladed between them. Peter knew the feel of Tony’s cock through the tightness of his jeans – he knew the face Tony made when he came in his pants, but that was the extent of it. For a while, Peter worried that Tony would be mad at him for keeping things low level between them. The emotional feelings he felt for the other boy were so strong – he could only imagine what adding more to the physical sense of those feelings would be like.

With the thought in mind that junior year was the most important and the hardest, Peter and Tony kept their hands to themselves more or less and merely enjoyed being in each other’s company. When they weren’t making out in the back of Tony’s car, they studied at Chester’s or in the library, and spent time with May.

She initially wasn’t on board with the whole relationship when Peter first told her about it – then Tony came to the house for dinner and charmed her pants off. The deal was pretty much sealed after that. Tony seemed to enjoy the family aspect of being with her, and Peter enjoyed the look of happiness on his face too much to deprive him.

Peter thought that track season would put a damper on things between them, but it only seemed to strengthen their bond. Tony didn’t have anything other than robotics going on after school and they were currently on a break until championships at the end of the year – so he came to all of Peter’s meets. By the middle of the season, Peter’s teammates recognized Tony and May as his cheering section – and when things got really intense, many of them would join the pair in cheering Peter on. This was his year and the closer he got to it, the more Tony being there meant – the fact that the other cared about him enough to stand in the hot sun and rainy days was motivation and pushed him harder than he ever thought imaginable.

Winning nationals that year felt so sweet – his entire season was more than amazing and a lot of it had to do with all of the love and support he felt on a constant basis. So, it was easy to finally let Tony have the little bit of love they hadn’t experienced with each other yet. It seemed like the perfect celebration for an achievement that most people couldn’t even fathom – let alone achieve three times. The look of pride on Tony’s face made the decision pretty simple. Not even May looked at him like that – like he was the most prized trophy in the world and that Tony was the true winner here, not Peter.

It wasn’t nearly as awkward as he initially thought it might be. Tony spent a long time prepping him – the view of the boy with sweat on his brow and a look of pure concentration on his face something Peter didn’t ever want to forget. He came more than once throughout the process and when Tony did finally press inside of him, the burn of the stretch felt like the lactic acid build up at the end of a race – something he could easily push through. Watching Tony fall apart above him was almost as good as the rush of intense pleasure when his boyfriend finally found his pleasure center deep within. The utterance of his name never sounded sweeter than when Tony gasped it in the throes of pleasure – his lips finding Peter’s as he rode through it.

Slumping together on the hotel bed after they were done, Peter relaxed into Tony’s arms – the other’s soft hands ran over his hair, lips pressing against his neck every couple of seconds. “I love you, Peter Parker. I love you and I’m so proud of you. So proud, Petey,” Tony mumbled, his lips against salty skin disguising some of the words – but Peter heard enough. His heart picked up its pace, the organ not used to this sort of rush. He loved Tony – that much was obvious to everyone that got to see them together. Never in a million years did he think Tony would be the one to say it first, though.

“I love you too, Tony. Thanks for being here. Not just today, either. You’ve been the best support I’ve ever gotten. I can’t thank you enough,” Peter whispered back, his eyes a little teary. Between the exhaustion of his two days of racing and the emotional roller coaster of it all, Peter felt drained – and that meant a little more susceptible to being smacked in the face with his feelings. Looking over his shoulder, Peter reached for an awkward angled kiss – the move stopping the tears in their tracks.

Without missing a beat when they pulled away, Tony pressed a kiss to his neck and shoulder, hands traveling down Peter’s side. “You deserve it. Not just because you’re good – even though you’re fucking amazing. You bring a lot of things to the table, Pete. The more people get to see that, the more they realize just how big of an asset you are. Why do you think your teammates came up with us to cheer you on? You make an impression – you’re the greatest person I’ve ever known.”

Peter turned over to get a better look at Tony, the boy’s words so big. Now that they were facing each other, Peter could see the post-orgasm flush on Tony’s cheeks and the soft smile his lips seemed to be in on a near permanent basis these days. He pressed a kiss to the edge of his smile on both cheeks, then licked his nose in jest. “I think you’re just biased, babe,” Peter decided to say, all of the other words he could have blurted out stuck in the filter – his head everywhere and nowhere all at once.

The rush of air against his cheek when Tony laughed made his body shudder, the goosebumps taking over his flesh a nifty side effect to the soft sound of his boyfriend’s happiness. “You’re probably right.” His reply was quick and followed by a series of kisses against both of Peter’s cheeks. Tony’s hand ran hypnotically from the middle of his back all the way to the top and then back down again – his entire body now completely relaxed into the comfort of his favorite person.

As most do, their relationship changed a little bit after that. With the summer months ahead of them, there wasn’t much else to do other than spend time together. Tony’s parents left the day after they got back from nationals and would be gone for the rest of the summer – which meant they got run of the huge Stark mansion, just the two of them. They spent way too many hours in the lab constructing a couple new versions of some of their older robotics models – and fucking over available surface, too. It was one of the best summers Peter could remember and they didn’t even leave the city.

Throughout the week, Tony took Peter back and forth between his place and May’s – he still needed to do track workouts and such, so he used the mornings away from Tony to do just that. After his last win, it felt important to make sure he kept at it and tried to advance even more than he already was. He committed to Stanford at the end of the school year and didn’t want to give the school a reason to rescind the opportunity they were giving him. He and Tony were both polishing up their essays before sending in their applications – he still needed to get into the school to actually be able to go be an athlete there.

Peter felt lucky, spending the summer days surrounded in the haze of his love for Tony and the fun they could so easily have with each other. Most of his summers before were spent doing odd jobs around town to make a few extra bucks and counting down the days until he could get back to Midtown. It was miserable and Peter dreaded everything about it.

Not anymore, though – the days were dwindling down way too quickly; the freedom of the summer was too sweet to want to give up.

Regardless of his desires, senior year started without much preamble. The beauty of being with someone as smart as Tony came with having every class with him – even their early college classes on the other campus. Each day got to start and end with Tony, the exact way Peter preferred it.

About halfway through the year, May pulled him aside before he could walk out the door – her eyes filled with concern. “Pete – don’t you think you and Tony might be getting a little bit too serious? We haven’t had dinner without him in months,” May said, her face pinched up tight with discomfort. “It’s just – you’re in high school and you two act like you’re a married couple.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his lips – the truth of that statement hitting him square in the chest. They did and there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t like that fact. Life with Tony in it was easy – more natural than breathing, even. It never crossed his mind, how the time they spent together might look to people around them. Tony brought him joy and happiness – and those feelings quickly became the sole focus in his life. He felt good and there wasn’t anyone who could take that away from him – not even May.

“Yeah, we do. And that’s okay. It’s not unhealthy, or anything. I like being around him, May. He makes me happy. Isn’t that what you want – for me to be happy? He’s my best friend. I’m not going to give up on the way that makes me feel – even if you think it’s too much.” Peter didn’t wait for her answer, he simply pressed a kiss to her cheek and walked out the door – the black Audi sitting there immediately making him feel better.

Settling into the seat, Peter buckled himself in before reaching across the middle console to put a hand on Tony’s thigh. “Want to know what May just said to me?” Peter asked, a soft smile on his lips. The thigh under his hand moved as Tony adjusted, his boyfriend turning a bit in the seat to see him more clearly.

“That sounds like a trick question – but I’ll bite. What did May just say to you?” Tony put the car into gear and pulled forward, his hand grabbing Peter’s and tangling their fingers together. “If it’s juicy girl talk about me, I definitely want to know.”

Peter brought their joint hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to Tony’s knuckles – his nose rubbing there for a second. Tony’s hands were always warm, the constant presence of it one of his favorite things about the other boy. “She said we act like a married couple. I can’t lie – I liked the sound of it.” And he did – very much, almost to the point where he wanted it to be the case.

Tony must have liked the sound of that, too – his fingers squeezed Peter’s tightly, his head nodding vigorously. “I too like the sound of that. We might as well be. You’re not ever going to be able to get rid of me,”

Not that he wanted to anyway, Peter thought to himself. The rest of the drive to school, Peter kept the thought at the back of his head – his brain already moving in a billion different directions. They were heading out to California together in the summer, Tony already had plans for their house (though, he failed to share them with Peter,) and his boyfriend was right – there’d be no getting rid of Tony now that the attachment was created. Peter didn’t think either of them wanted to know what it was like to be without the other.

As the year mark of their relationship crept up, so did early acceptance time for Stanford. Between finals week, making goo-goo eyes at each other, and waiting by the mail – Peter felt a little bit of stress. There’d be another opportunity to get into Stanford later on the year, his entire future wasn’t riding on this acceptance letter, yet, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying about it nonetheless.

His record was spotless – but weirder things have happened in his life and he was unable to let himself relax completely. Tony would get in, that was a given – everything about the boy shouted pristine. And despite not wanting to lean on the Stark name, Tony couldn’t escape the prestige that his family offered him.

When the letters did eventually come, Peter almost passed out when he saw the ‘Congratulations’ in the first sentence. He spent so many sleepless nights brainstorming back up plans for no reason. The ability to drop all of the stress and worry away was like lifting the bag from his head – Peter could breathe fully for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Tony pulled him into his arms and pressed a kiss to his lips, the touch lingering only for a moment. “See, you were worried for nothing,” Tony whispered, his nose brushing against Peter’s softly. “Proud of you, Pete.” He kissed him again, this time his lips lingering for a couple of minutes.

The pride they felt for each other made the celebration of their acceptances into college that much sweeter – Tony took his time with every aspect of it, his fingers reverent, his thrusts long and thorough. He pulled every ounce of pleasure from Peter’s skin, while whispering sweet words of nothing the entire time. As Peter hit his peak and felt Tony tumble down with him, the thought of forever came back and hit him again – there was a lot to be said for spending the rest of his days just like this; completely and utterly absorbed in everything Tony was and could be.

----

The rest of the year went pretty quickly after they came back from winter break. Peter scheduled his final semester to be as easy as possible – between the hopes of having his best track season and starting a life with Tony, school was the last thing on his mind. There weren’t too many options for the more advanced classes, anyway – their aeronautical engineering classes the next year would be more than enough.

Some of the best parts of the end of their senior year didn’t come from school or the track. Tony surprised him with a scavenger hunt around Virginia Beach to ask him to prom. The day ended with Tony at the end of their favorite dock with a single red rose. The other knew there wasn’t any need to even ask – they simply put on nice suits the year before and danced the night away. Yet, the fact that Tony went out of his way to make it special felt pretty damn good.

They rode in one of the Stark limos to the big hotel Midtown always held their prom in and spent the entire time making out in the back seat. For some reason, Tony’s fire burnt a little hotter that night. He pulled Peter close and kept him near when they were standing with a couple of the different groups of people they were friendly with. The last slow dance of the night ended with Tony pressing soft kisses to the shell of his ear and muttering about how much he loved him. Getting into the back of the limo, Jarvis didn’t even try to engage them in conversation, he simply rolled up the window and pulled the car away from the curb. Peter couldn’t remember a time when Tony’s touch was so hotly determined.

Their good time at prom translated into an abundance of energy for Peter – the rest of the school year and track season went by in the blink of an eye. Before anyone really knew it, he was lining up for his last ever national’s meet – that thought making his heart thump against his chest. Track was going to get him exactly what he wanted out of his life – it felt a little weird to be closing that particular chapter.

Settling onto the line, Peter closed his eyes and got himself to his spot – the place somewhere in his mind that he could just relax and let his body go. He’d been sprucing the spot up a bunch over the past year, this season one of season best yet because of it. After another second, the gun sounded and Peter took off, his eyes snapping open and completely focused on the run ahead of him.

As he turned the corner of his last ever straightaway in his high school track career, Peter found himself smiling. The last few steps felt like his best yet and when he crossed the finish line to the announcer saying his name over the speaker, he raised a hand in the air and let out a shriek of victory. What a way to end what turned out to be some of the best years of his life so far. Getting there meant so much, Peter couldn’t have done it without the people in the stands supporting him. He looked up to catch eyes with Tony and frowned when he didn’t see him. After a quick look around, Peter noticed him at the edge of the track, a smile on his face.

Tony stepped onto the track; his strides purposeful towards Peter. Tilting his head in question, Peter narrowed the space between them – “Tony, what are you doing?” Peter asked, his face pulling into a grin despite his confusion.  “The next race is – “ he started, but was shockingly interrupted by Tony getting down on one knee before him. Whatever was going to come out of his mouth next was stopped in its tracks, his brain all of the sudden narrowed down and completely focused on the person in front of him.

“This is a long time coming, Pete. I know we’re young and there are so many things that are going to change here soon – but I want to be with you when they do. Growing with you these past couple of years has been the very best thing in my life. You put a smile on my face, and I want that for every morning – every day, for the rest of the ones I have left. Marry me, Pete.” Tony flipped open the box of a simple white gold band, the elegance of its basic nature something that made the rightness of the situation standout. The decision seemed pretty easy after that.

Pulling Tony up, Peter crashed their lips together – his sweaty face and the crowd be damned; his best friend and very favorite person just asked him to share forever. He broke the kiss before it could get too heated, their lips separating just enough for Peter to mumble “yes” in the space between them. The world was narrow for a few seconds as Tony slipped the ring on his finger, a huge smile on his face.

“Well, folks – it looks like our record holder and national champion just got engaged; congratulations, Peter Parker!”

His face flushing, Peter urged Tony off the track and out of the public eye – his heart was pounding, and he wanted so much just to have Tony wrapped around him and nothing else. “I can’t believe you did that. We’re getting married,” Peter exclaimed when they were nestled into the safety of the team spaces under the bleachers. Tony was full of surprises and constantly sweeping him off of his feet. It wasn’t necessary – they both knew that. They were solid and nothing was going to change that. Yet, the weight on his left ring finger spoke volumes, the sweet whisper of the rest of their lives together, and the gentle murmur of a commitment that Peter knew Tony was never afraid to give him.

The glitz of excitement lasted all the way through the metal ceremony and the near constant interviews he gave for a couple hours after that. Everyone wanted to know about the gorgeous stranger that stepped up and asked for his hand. They were curious about everything except his last run around the track – and Peter couldn’t blame them. He didn’t have any interest in talking about running when he could still hear Tony’s words in the back of his head, each one fresh – each one trying to dig a hole in his brain and stay there, to be remembered and kept close.

Peter wasn’t naïve, he knew exactly what getting married young would be like. There were still adult things he didn’t know how to do and leaving May’s house to not only go to college, but be someone’s husband – it was scary. The thought of not having Tony with him, for any reason, was much more frightening than anything else, though; he could learn how to do the laundry and pay his taxes, his genius level intelligence needed to be good for something.

Getting back to the hotel room, Tony pulled Peter through the door and proceeded to slip his hands under the warm-up he’d been wearing since he took off his uniform. His skin was dry now, but Tony’s touch brought the goosebumps rushing back, the surface feeling like it might crack and break all over the carpet if Tony’ didn’t keep touching him. A loud cough from the other side of the room stopped them in their tracks – Peter’s eyes widening when he saw May sitting there, a weird look on her face.

“May – what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting you later?” Peter asked, his brain trying to recall when he gave May his room key. She’d been staying at the nice hotel across the street on Tony’s dime, his boyfriend adamant about making sure May was taken care of. Moving a little, Peter felt Tony’s hands fall from under his shirt, the boy grabbing for his palm, instead – their fingers tangling.

It would have been nice, to marvel in the fact that from here on out, they were going to be together. May didn’t seem to have the same idea, though. She stood and closed a little bit of the space between them – the fact that both parties were standing not lost on Peter. He knew her battle tactics – staying on her feet was the easiest way for May to prepare for an attack. Peter bit down on his lip and prepared for the worst – whatever she had to say, it probably wasn’t pretty.

Turning to Tony first, she looked him square in the eye, her lips moving without any sound coming out for a moment, the woman obviously searching for the right words. “When you asked me if you could marry him, I didn’t think you meant ten minutes later!” May exclaimed, her voice cracking a little with the intensity of it. “I would have liked to have gotten some pictures, or something.” She shook her head, then moved her glance over to Peter, eyes now soft – the heat in them gone the second she started talking at Tony.

“And you – you know you’re only 18, right? Marriage isn’t a joke. Picking up his underwear for the rest of your life is taxing and takes a lot of work. Are you ready for that? To be someone else’s before you even figure out who you are?” May’s questions were valid, her empathy obvious in every action she ever made with Peter in mind. His aunt only wanted to see him excel and succeed – he couldn’t hold her worry or curiosity against her.

Dropping Tony’s hand, Peter narrowed the space between himself and May, his arms wrapping around her shoulders to pull her into a hug. “Do you remember what Ben used to say? When the bones are good, the rest don’t matter. There’s no cracks in the foundation, May. It’ll be okay. I’m scared, too – but I want this.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek then, her arms tightening as the words seemed to sink in.

He knew using Ben against her wasn’t the fairest thing he could have done – it was obvious she felt his loss so sharply still, all these years later and she was still so desperately in love with him. His uncle’s words were ones that stuck out, though. Even as a young kid, Peter knew things weren’t always good for them.

It was a struggle to pay rent with their meager jobs – they were constantly pulling at everything they had to make ends meet; for Peter and more importantly, each other. Peter’s favorite memory of the man was when he pulled both Peter and May into his lap – he looked around the room and said, “this house won’t crumble – the bones are too good.”

And for some reason, that stuck with him. At 5, he had no idea what it meant. He looked around for days to find the bones of the house. Then Ben died and he watched May do everything she could to keep things afloat – the literal backbone of the little family unit that they were. Finding himself with Tony finally made the words mean something to him – the foundation of their relationship was strong enough to keep whatever they decided upright and standing, regardless of the things that came their way.

Tearfully, May looked between them, Peter back by Tony’s side, their hands tangled together once again. “You’re such a dick for using Ben, Pete – but you’re also right. And no matter what I say, you’re going to do what you want. I’m not stupid enough to lose either of you because I’m trying to be a responsible adult,” May stopped then, shaking her head and filling the space between them with silent steps. She embraced them both, one arm around Peter and the other around Tony – both her babies now. “I love you – both of you. Even if you are a couple of idiots.”

Tony’s parents weren’t as kind and made their opinion about it pretty clear. Peter stood next to Tony while Howard berated him about bad decisions and getting ahead in life – his heart broke with every word, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from busting open. “Why do you care now? I’ve known Tony my whole life and you’ve never been this interested in what he does. I spent almost every day with him last summer and you didn’t call once. It seems like it’s a little late to have such a strong opinion about his behavior now, Mr. Stark.”

Everyone in the room looked at him for a couple of minutes – the silence sitting heavily in the already toxic air around them. Tony broke the trance and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, his lips pressing against the side of his head. “I fucking love you,” Tony murmured. He pulled away and grabbed Peter’s hand, the clank of his boots heavy on the floor as he started to walk out of the room. Neither of his parents said anything or tried to stop him – so they walked down the stairs and left.

There wasn’t anything holding them back now.

----

They decided to be understated about it. Tony used a hefty portion of the funds he miraculously did not get cut off from to buy plane tickets to Hawaii. With May in tow, Tony and Peter got married on the beach in Maui – the sunset in front of them and flower crowns made with the local flora in their hair. The man that officiated the ceremony was a native on the island and took them around to all the best spots in celebration – it was absolutely gorgeous to see the beautiful place from such an insider perspective. Their hired photographer took pictures of them on the beach right as the sun was setting. The whole day absolutely magical, despite the fact that it was just the two of them for most of it.

May stayed in Maui when Peter and Tony left to spend their last week before heading to Stanford together in Honolulu. Their penthouse suite was bigger than his entire childhood home and had the most amazing view of the beach from the balcony at the back of the room. They spent their wedding night getting tipsy with May, so it would be the first night they spent together as husbands – and Peter was a little nervous.

For whatever reason, it felt like a totally new thing, being intimate with Tony now. They were the same people – still Peter and Tony, the young idiots in love. And yet, his heart pounded hard against his chest when Tony wrapped his arms around his hips from behind, his husband’s face settling over Peter’s shoulder. “I can hear you thinking all the way across the room. What’s on your mind, husband?” Tony questioned softly, the movement of his jaw a nice weight against him.

“It’s nice to be able to call each other that, isn’t it? Husband.” Peter reached up and placed his hands on Tony’s, his body relaxing back into him.

Tony moved a bit, giving the side of his neck a kiss. “Yeah, it is.” He pressed another kiss against Peter’s skin, and then another – his lips roaming across all the bare pieces of his neck and shoulder that he could find. “You’re the one, you know? I’m glad I finally get to have the world know that now, too.”

Turning in Tony’s arms, Peter wrapped his own around the other’s neck, their chest’s flush together. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the gentle beat of Tony’s heart against him – the rhythm of it steady. “Your possessive nature is kind of my favorite. I’m yours, Tony. Forever and ever.” Peter whispered the words, his nose brushing back and forth against Tony’s. “I love you, husband.” He finished off the sentiment with a kiss, his lips slipping across the other’s until he opened up to him, their tongues tangling.

It didn’t take much to stumble their way inside and land on the large bed in the middle of the master bedroom. The hotel chose a high thread count sheet set, Peter sighing when he relaxed against them. Tony really did go all out. Thoughts were soon replaced by nothing but feeling, Tony’s lips devouring his for minutes at a time, his husband only pulling back enough to catch a quick breath, then driving back in.

Tony took his clothes off one by one. He started with Peter’s short sleeve button down. He’d been growing some facial hair, and it tickled when he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of Peter’s chest. With only three buttons undone, Tony got sidetracked – his mouth finding first the right nipple, tongue and teeth toying with the nub until it was hard and air sensitive. Only then did he switch, the man taking his time to get his desired result out of that one, too.

Nimble fingers finished the job, the tips of them caressing the lower part of Peter’s stomach and ever so slightly under the waistband of shorts and boxer briefs. He didn’t waste any time at all, either – he pulled the button of Peter’s pants out of the loop and tugged the offensive garment down. That beautiful mouth attached itself to the bulge in Peter’s underwear, the warm air making him toss his head back – his traitorous hips thrusting up off the mattress to get more friction.

Peter slid his fingers into Tony’s hair when he pulled the waistband of his underwear down just enough to let his tongue run over the very tip of an already leaky cock. He couldn’t control the babbles that were coming out of his mouth, most of them not even words – just breathless pants and choked off syllables. Tony worshiped at the alter and took his time slipping his boxer briefs completely off, tracing the length of his cock with eager fingers and tongue, then finally closing his mouth around him completely.

The tight grip at the base of his shaft kept him on the edge of his seat for what felt like forever. Both of Tony’s hands were on him, one hand gripping tight, the other moving with his mouth on the downward stroke – it felt like a fire being stoked from the outside in. “Tony, you’re killing me – I’m so close,” Peter mumbled, his hips thrusting up uselessly into the tight grip of his husband’s hand. Brown eyes completely taken by a lust-addled pupil looked up at him, a glow there.

“Cum, then,” Tony challenged, his lips barely coming off of Peter’s cock to get the words out – he felt the hum of every single one.

He wasn’t one to not listen to directions, so he did just that – Peter’s fingers tightened in Tony’s hair, the strands bunched up between them. “Oh, fuck – “

It took him a second to come back around, his eyes blinking the black dots from them to get a better look at the man between his legs. Tony was still laving his sensitive erection with his tongue, his eyes closed, a look of complete contentment on his face. He watched him long enough to feel the heat bubble in his gut – arousal coursing through him once again.

“Mm – back already. How do you want me?” Tony asked, looking up to catch Peter’s eye. He reached down to tug Tony up, his weight settling on top of him once again. He pressed up and gave his husband a kiss, the taste of himself still fresh on Tony’s tongue. The way the essence of who they were tangled together never ceased to drive him crazy – the underlying taste of Tony below the bitterness so intoxicating.

With Tony over him again, Peter could feel his hardness pressing into his hip – the tip wet, small dribbles of precum dripping from it as they kissed and thrust against each other. Breaking away, he let his fingertips brush Tony’s cheeks, a small smile on his face. “How about you sit back and relax for a minute – I’ll show you exactly what I want.” Peter laid another kiss on his lips before using his hands to push at Tony’s chest, his husband moving without much prodding.

“Sit back against the headboard,” Peter instructed, both of them adjusting until Tony was propped up against the back of the bed, creamy thighs straddling him. With eager hands, Peter reached over to the bedside table, his boy scout of a husband leaving the essentials there when they first got in. “Always prepared,” Peter said with a giggle, the lube bottle swinging between them. Uncapping it, Peter poured a generous amount on his fingers and let it warm up – the slickness something he couldn’t wait to feel.

Sitting up a little, he widened his legs across Tony’s lap, his finger finding his own entrance and pushing in. it still took a little while to get used to, the feeling fingers inside of himself, but Tony’s hands running up and down his thighs helped, his entire being relaxing. “You look good like this, Pete. Your eyes are glazed over and your skin is flushed. The running gives you these amazing thighs – and watching you put your own fingers inside yourself… I want to be those fingers, Pete. I can’t wait to be inside of you,” Tony babbled as he watched and caressed, his eyes glued to Peter’s.

He threw his head back, all of his nerve endings on fire – the delightful tug-o-war between the naughty words coming out of Tony’s mouth and the stretch of his own fingers. It was hard to break away from the intensity of his husband’s gaze, but he needed more – he swiftly replaced one finger with two, a groan slipping from his lips from the delightful burn. “I can’t wait either, baby. I can’t – I need you.” He was groaning, the words dripping from his lips without much of a run through his brain to mouth filter.

Neediness in mind, Peter rushed through the rest of the prep – the tease of it doing its job – Tony was mindlessly thrusting up against him and his own body was humming with want and heat; all of it so very delicious.

Peter uncapped the lube again and poured a generous amount directly onto Tony’s cock, his husband opening his eyes wide – “Fuck, Pete,” he shouted, neither of them all that worried about the noise level. He gripped Tony tightly and spread the slick down his cock, his length glistening when he pulled away. “Please, baby – “ Tony mumbled, his hands gripping Peter’s hips tightly as he settled over him.

There wasn’t much finesse to the way Peter simply sat back and took Tony’s length in – he felt the biting burn of stretching muscles and the tight grip of his husband’s fingers, but not much else. His legs were spread wide, his hips merely rolling to keep the entirety of Tony in him, the tip of his dick sitting just barely against his prostate. With the small thrusts up Tony couldn’t hold back, Peter’s innermost pleasure spot was constantly getting serviced, the divine ache of It out of this world.

It didn’t take much time for Tony to start to lose control – “Move, please – more… I need more.” Tony wasn’t much of a talker when they got to this portion of the evening, he showed his pleasure and appreciation through the touches, each caress saying something different, portraying his feelings in that instant. It sent a jolt to his core and spurred him up onto his feet, his arms holding onto Tony’s shoulders for dear life.

Tony’s hands moved to grip an ass cheek in each one, his hold helping Peter lift up a little more. He moved rapidly, then – his control swiftly shot, the shift in position pressing Tony in a little deeper. The only sounds in the room were the slap of skin on skin and harsh breaths – Peter whimpering every few thrusts down against the tip of Tony’s cock; his insides burning, the heat eating him up cell by cell.

When Tony started to lift his hips to meet his thrusts, Peter saw stars – his orgasm rushing over him without warning. “Tony, oh god – “ his cock emptied between them, each splash of cum coating Tony’s still flexing abs.

The rhythmic clenching of his hole must have been too much – Tony came undone beneath him only seconds later. He gripped Peter so hard he could already feel the bruises starting to form there. The delightful wetness within him made him clench again, the move drawing a long groan from his husband’s lips.

“You’re going to kill me one day,” he mumbled, his hands brushing up the length of Peter’s back as he leaned against him. “But what a way to go.” Peter shut him up with a kiss, their shared laugh almost as amazing as the love they just made.

The rest of the week was spent much the same – Peter and Tony tangled up together. They walked along the beach and spent time exploring each of the islands – one of the days, they met May for lunch and talked about all of the cute island guys that she’d been gathering up the courage to talk to. It was pretty perfect – a good way to relax and enjoy the last couple of days of freedom before the fun started.

Tony didn’t let him leave the bed all of the last day. They bought movies on demand and ate really expensive room service. After the burn he got the day before, Peter was grateful to spend the day in the air conditioning, his body worshipped by his very new and very beautiful husband.

----

They said goodbye to May at the airport and took a left when she went right. Peter was expected to check in for track workouts the very next day. It was hard to see her crying face take the corner – Peter wouldn’t get to go back to Virginia until winter break and when they did, it was only for a week. The indoor season would take up so much of his time, he wondered for a while if he’d be able to keep up with the aeronautical engineering program. There wasn’t any point in worrying, though – they hadn’t even gotten there yet.

After the 5-hour flight into Palo Alto, Tony got them a car that took them to their brand-new town house. It was the first time that Peter saw it, so he brushed off the tiredness and explored the two-story home – Tony must have spent a lot of time ordering furniture while Peter took care of their clothes and other belongings.

The entire house was set up – and their books for the semester were sitting on the dining room table. “I had Jarvis come ahead and set everything up for us. He wanted to buy us a wedding gift, but I thought a week in California for a little bit of interior decorating was a good trade-off,” Tony said, his hand caressing Peter’s cheek when they finally settled into the bar stools in the kitchen. “Do you like it?”

Peter moved quickly out of the seat, wrapping Tony in his arms before his husband could move or even think. “It’s perfect. There’s so much space, I won’t even know what to do with myself. I can’t believe this is ours,” Peter replied, a little bit of awe in his voice. It felt weird to be on his own for the first time, but also amazing – they were finally together, finally on their own, and completely free to start their life together.

Of course, it took a little bit of adjustment to get used to things. Tony didn’t do a lot of his own cleaning growing up and Peter washed the dishes for May every night – so it took more than a few discussions to come to a compromise that worked for them both. When Peter was unhappy, Tony listened to his complaints and tried his best. Peter tried to do the same for his husband and most of the time – it worked. The times that it didn’t, there was enough space for the two of them to separate and cool off. Fights were never major, though Tony sometimes tried to make them so.

It was funny – how different married life actually was to what he pictured in his head. There wasn’t much difference to their relationship. They laughed together often and explored the city – when Peter had track events, Tony went with him. People looked at them oddly when Peter introduced Tony as his husband – many of them telling them both that they would have never guessed they were gay, let alone married. Peter merely smiled and pulled Tony towards him; a soft kiss being pressed to the man’s cheek. “Yup, gay and happily married,” he always replied, a soft smile making the words as convincing as they were true.

Tony took a job in the physics lab during their second semester freshman year, his need to fill the time even more pressing now that Peter would be gone pretty frequently. It gave them a bit of separation and made coming back together a lot sweeter. Right before Peter left for his first ever college track meet, Tony took him to the plant nursery to pick out a couple of the foliage he’d been looking at. They initially wanted a pet but figured that a plant dying would be much less scarring than a dog or a cat.

They went home with a whole selection of house plants – a spider plant, a lucky bamboo, some ponytail palms, and a sword fern. They were perfect for the back part of the house where the morning sun peaked in. They would be successful parents one day and that journey started with the plants that they picked out with care. It was fun to argue about how to arrange them and when they ended up on the floor with nothing on but a little dirt from a tipped over pot, Peter figured they’d do an okay job keeping their little babies alive.

College track was a lot different than the high school circuit – the abundance of meets making it a little harder to recover and by default, Peter a little grumpier than usual. A Thursday after a long practice, Peter came home to an empty house. He’d been looking forward to pouncing on Tony, his need for comfort almost overwhelming to the point where he was a little pissed by his husband’s absence.

Pulling out his phone, he called Tony, his head tilting when he heard the man’s distinct ring up the stairs. A soft sigh left his lips when he saw Tony on the bed, fast asleep. All of the bad feelings slipped from him – his face pulling into a grin. The siren song of the love of his life looking so cute in bed pulled him in, too – Peter kicked off his shoes and wrapped himself around Tony, his eyes slipping closed within moments.

The smell of bacon woke him up a little while later. Glancing over at the clock, Peter saw that it’d only been a couple of hours. Grinning at the thought of overcooked pig, he climbed out of bed and hobbled down the stairs, his body still a little sleep addled.

The sight of Tony at the stove was heartwarming, he wasn’t the best cook – he never had to make a meal for himself before moving out here in his life; but he tried, and that was enough. The one thing Peter knew he could make was bacon, though – his stomach grumbled hungrily at the thought.

“Hey, husband,” Peter announced, his voice making Tony turn from the stove with a slight jump.

“Hey yourself. You’re looking good, Pete. That little bit of sleep did you good, baby.” Tony smiled at him warmly, the bright look in his eye never dulling, the intensity of it only seeming to glow more as the days passed. It felt good – to be loved like that. So selflessly, with so much of a person that was willing to give him absolutely everything.

Walking over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, Peter grabbed his hips, fingers squeezing. “Yeah, thanks – its been a hectic couple of weeks. Conference is coming up, so they’ve got their foot on the gas with training. Speaking of – I can get you a pass, if you want to come.”

Tony flipped the burner off and went about putting things on plates, his husband turning with his hands full to nod enthusiastically at him. “You know I want to come, Pete. I haven’t missed one of your meets yet. It was kind of fun to go to Idaho a couple of weeks ago – I’d never been before.” He set a plate in front of Peter, a glass of orange juice following it a couple of moments later. “I’m going to get your distance coach to like me one of these days.”

Peter ate with one hand, the other playing with the fingers tangled with his own. Tony talked a bit about his day in the lab and told him about the copy of notes he made for Peter that was sitting on his desk in the study. He simply let him talk, Peter luxuriating in the clarity of being with Tony. It didn’t matter if he had a shitty day or that he was tired all the time – having Tony to come home to was nice – better than nice.

A couple of weeks later, Peter was getting ready for a race when one of his teammates came up to him, a question evident in his eyes. Letting out a breath, Peter turned his attention to him. “What’s up, Clint? I’m sure the rumor mill is churning up something good.” Peter said sarcastically, his arms still swinging in an attempt to keep himself warm.

“Why are you married? You’re talented, you’re hot – you could have anyone that you wanted. Instead you’re tied down. Why? Everyone wants to know why.” Clint didn’t beat around the bush, the blush on his cheeks the only sign that he felt a little bit embarrassed by the question. Peter grinned, the question one he could easily answer.

“Because I love him. He loves me. We take care of each other. He’s my best friend. I wanted to be with him forever and so did he. There are lots of reasons.” Peter’s smile grew when he saw Tony coming his way, his husband carrying a Gatorade and a hot dog, the bottle being thrust his way the second he was close enough to Peter. “Because he buys me Gatorade without asking,” Peter added, his arm wrapping around Tony’s shoulder.

Twenty minutes later, when Peter was pulling up from his push through the last lap, he looked up to see a group of his teammates sitting with Tony, all of them clapping and cheering with him – his husband hopping around like a madman. When they caught eyes, Tony stopped, his fingers coming to his lips to blow him a kiss. He mouthed ‘I love you’ at him – Peter’s heart stopping a bit at the softness of his cheeks and the look of pure affection on his face.

Peter ran to the edge of the track and grabbed the edges of the fence, a huge smile on his face. “I love you too, Tony Stark.”

Opening up the text from Clint a couple hours later, Peter couldn’t help but laugh. Tony looked over his shoulder to see a picture of Peter clinging to the fence, the shot of his side profile showing off the huge smile on his face. “Loving me looks good on you,” Tony whispered, his lips pressing against the shell of Peter’s ear.

“Yeah, it really does.”

[hartears]

Closer than neighbours : Lee Juyeon

Genre: fluff, slight angst, drama, criminal au

Summary: When Juyeon is caught on camera from engaging in a 50 million dollar heist, every policeman in town is searching for him but his main problem lies with you.

Direct quote: “I’m not just the guy living across the street.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” the policeman asked as he stood by the doorstep. It was roughly 5 am in the morning, you were exhausted especially because of the events of last night which had involved partying and drinking till dawn. You had literally just gone home minutes ago and jumped in bed for a few seconds before you heard the doorbell ring.

“Wait who are we talking about again?” You drowsily replied, receiving a groan from the officer standing in front of you.

“Lee Juyeon, your neighbour. I heard you were quite familiar with him.” The man was obviously annoyed. With a slight hint of attitude laced in his tone of voice and relentlessly tapping his shoe to the ground to convey his restlessness to find Juyeon and his impatience to deal with you, you weren’t having it. You should be the one annoyed, having to wake up way too early in the morning just to answer questions that they can’t seem to ask respectfully. You spare him a glare, trying to avoid anymore time wasted on answering questions than sleeping.

“I don’t know, 2 days ago?” The man writes it down on his little notepad.

“He hasn’t contacted you since then?”

“No. Look officer, I don’t know where you heard Juyeon and I were ‘familiar’ from but I can assure you, if he was ever in trouble or anything, I’d be the last person he’d ask for help from.” You respond casually and the officer only nods along with it, thankful to allow you to return to bed.

“Alright then, that’ll be all for today. If you have any other information, please feel free to contact us, good day.” The man walks off and you scoff at his automated response. You don’t let it bother you as you were too tired to feel anything as of right now. Whatever situation Juyeon had gotten himself into, you were concerned but the fact that he hasn’t bothered reaching out to you or ever mention the upbringing event of robbing a 50 million dollar diamond made you feel that your 10 years worth of being neighbours and friends meant nothing to him. You felt you and Juyeon weren’t as close as you thought and what makes it worse was that you never had the chance to talk him out of such a dangerous path, because you never knew. Shrugging away your thoughts and hopping into bed, you manage to catch at least 10 minutes of sleep until a loud thud wakes you up, causing you to suddenly sit up from your position.

That couldn’t have been the usual stray cat that typically visits and hops around the garbage bins. It sounded like an intruder that somehow managed to enter through the bathroom window. Immense fear spread through your body, releasing in the form of sweat. You weren’t prepared to take on a stranger, you didn’t have the energy. Grabbing the closest threatening object you found in your room, in your case, a wireless table lamp, you snuck over towards the bathroom where all the noise seemed to be getting louder and louder.

“Fuck!” You heard a very familiar voice grunting and whining through the hallways, nonetheless you tightenend your grip on the lamp, preparing to swing as you reach the bathroom door.

“Here goes,” you mumble to yourself, “1, 2, 3!”

You jump in the room, raising the lamp up in the air only to realize that nobody was inside. You stood in the center of the room confused and looking like an idiot.

Or so you thought until the bathroom door swung close and Juyeon stood behind hiding. You almost screamed from his sudden appearance reflected in the mirror but he covers your mouth almost immediately with his right hand, his other arm laced around your shoulders, roughly bringing your body towards him. Your cheeks redden from the heat of his body being pressed against yours and you pray to yourself that he doesn’t notice it.

He whispers in your ear, “if I let go, promise you won’t scream?” There was something different about the way he spoke. It wasn’t as soft or shy and awkward like he usually was, he sounded cold and minacious, which had you shuddering and convinced for a moment that he was as dangerous and fearful as the news portrayed him to be. You nod your head gingerly and he slowly releases his hold on you.

“So you saw the news about me?” he asked and you nod your head once again.

“Juyeon what is all this about? And why are you here? Why appear now? Do you know how shocked and worried I was to see you on TV? What’s going on?” You bombard him with questions and he raises both hands in the air to gesture for you to calm down.

“Look, you’re the only person I trust right now. I’d rather not say much about what’s happened but I need you to let me stay here until I find someplace else to lay low.” If Juyeon is going to break into your house especially if he’s now proclaimed as a serious threat to society and not want to tell you anything, you’re not going to accept his answer.

“You can’t just barge into my home unannounced, let you stay for a while and expect me not to ask questions. I’m worried about you Juyeon,” he looks you in the eyes once his name rolls off your tongue but you’re unable to make out the expression he’s giving you.

“Oh really? You’re worried?” He said rather harshly and sarcastically. You’re slightly hurt that he doubts you.

“Um yes, I care for you. Why are you saying it like that?”

“I don’t know, you tell me, you’re the one partying even when you know what I’ve been up to.” He responds, his voice beginning to sound incensed and aggressive.

A frown appears on your face and you’re starting to understand why he’s upset. You went partying yesterday night because you felt dejected from the fact that Juyeon hadn’t told you anything and your desire to forget about the possibility of never seeing him again because of the crime he committed. You could see how he may have taken your choice to have ‘fun’ under such circumstances the wrong way but you do believe he should try to understand your point of view.

“How did you even know I was out?” He shrugs whilst scowling and you sigh at his petty behaviour. There was nothing to be so stubborn about, he made it clear to you that your friendship was quite one sided. “Don’t get mad at me, first of all, I see you on the news and have no idea whether to believe you’d pull such a stunt. And second, you let me deal with the cops, everyone is forcing the idea that you’re a criminal down my throat and I’m confused whether I know you or not. Do I defend you or do I say nothing?” You can see his expression falter a little from guilt but he immediately hides it and continues to retaliate, returning the same level of firmness in your words.

“Of course you defend me, I’m not just the guy living across the street. We’re more than neighbours, I’m your friend. You do know me.” He pauses to observe your face briefly and gruffly adds, “Partying and getting wasted sure told me otherwise.”

He was turning it back on you and of course this only added to your frustration having to endure such a shitty morning.

“Why are we even arguing? All you’ve shown me is that I don’t know you at all. You’re a criminal now Juyeon! Think about it, are you even the same guy that buys me pens with adorable figurines and decorations on them? Am I supposed to believe that you’re still the person to cower in fear watching horror movies or a thief that stole a $50 million diamond?”

He fills the gap that seperated the two of you and engulfs you in a hug. “I’m sorry, it’s just..I don’t want the only person I trust to leave me. If I don’t have you then I don’t have anyone.” His voice tickles your ear making you smile and snuggle into his chest. His hold on you tightens and he closes his eyes, allowing the comfort of you being in his embrace consume him. “I’ll tell you everything and I won’t ever keep you in the dark again. Why don’t we talk in your room?” He suggests and you nod, playfully grabbing his wrist to lead him into your bedroom.

part 2? this honestly didn’t go the way i initially planned it to :(

[voidvoyeur]

GIVE A MAN A MASK ...  

As always, a disclaimer that this is my personal lukewarm take, imbued in my portrayal. I do not regard the following analysis as an objective truth to all - but an important facet to the writing and characterisation on this blog.

The use of masks in the horror genre has consistently been a crux to unsettle its audience. By not showing a face we perceive as ‘true’ there is the instinctive notion that such a character who wears a mask has something to hide. A masked villain is intentionally separated from their cast of heroes, victims and extras, all of which are unveiled. In Michael’s case, his mask is meant to unnerve these characters before it terrifies, at first sight forcing the onlooker, Laurie, to question whether she has something to fear at all, if she is being too superstitious - especially on Halloween of all days.

 This is achieved with the mask’s design, an uncanny impression of a man’s face (originally William Shatner’s...). The facial structure alludes to an initial, unremarkable presence of a passing stranger, but the hollowed, black eyes and impossibly white pallor intrude - presenting a loss or absence of humanity. One of the most succinct explorations into this effect is by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas in Masks in Horror Cinema: Eyes Without Faces, most relevantly quoting J.P. Telotte, ‘[the mask] is neither grotesque or distorted nor natural, but more resembling the face of a dead man.’ With this analogy, it becomes clear that Michael’s face serves as a reflection of the fate of his victims, inhabiting both the fear he evokes and death he inflicts.           Doctor Loomis prophecises this in his monologue, detailing the ‘blank, pale, emotionless face’ and ‘the blackest eyes, the devil’s eyes’. What makes this a prophetic monologue is that this reading of Michael’s maskless face becomes a reality which we and Laurie have experienced, and will continue to do so with Michael’s ‘mask’. It is now an argument of whether the mask is a mask at all, but Michael’s true face. If Michael himself is aware of this encapsulation of both fear and death, then Loomis is a mouthpiece for Michael’s own self-fulfilling prophecy, embracing the belief of being ‘pure and simply evil’ - using the mask to enact his role, as Murray Leeder claims, ‘Like an actor in a Greek drama, [wearing] his villainy plainly on his face,’ but I would modify that it is not ‘on’ his face but ‘as his own face.’           In Dead by Daylight, his place as a killer among killers still may not deter from how eerie he is to see from a survivor’s perspective. Applicable is thegamingmuse’s analysis of Valtiel in Silent Hill 3, ‘He looks more human than almost all the other creatures we see, but that only makes him more upsetting. The similarities make the differences stand out all the more.’ Michael stands within the space between the familiar and unfamiliar, what we know and what we don’t know. In the film, he demands to be looked at, especially in Haddonfield where he agitates the suburban safety of the town. And when he is not in the scene at first glance, he still demands to be looked for because we know he doesn’t function within the same physical laws as a human, but we do not know the exact extent of what that power means.           When comparing his 1978 mask to the 2007 remake’s, the original mask’s ‘wholeness’ is much clearer. For the most part, Carpenter and Hill’s Michael is pristinely presented - his mask unblemished, suggesting a fully realised sense of self in both his role and belief of being a villain. In contrast, Zombie’s Michael is damaged and deteriorating. Befitting the director’s more psychological interpretation of his character ambling between the role of victim and villain - a cracked and marred mask portraying a more ‘damaged’ and unstable sense of self, a malformed identity hinged upon reuniting with his sister - and when he fails to do so that mask and identity becomes all the more ‘incomplete’ in the sequel. Whereas in 1978, Michael is (presumably) completely extricated from his family after murdering Judith, assured and arrogant in his character of stalker, perpetrator and killer. What is notable is its only point of damage would be a hole in the neck from Laurie stabbing him with a knitting needle - leaving a permanent mark in the same area of anatomy Michael exploits to overpower his victims through strangulation. Her action in the narrative showing her refusal to be disposable — consequentially having ‘living’, tangible proof.           She, along with Loomis, is one of the rare few to try and prove his mortality - only to result in him getting back up, asserting his enduring immortality. This immortality is even foretold in his face, ever watchful with an unblinking stare - bearing a likeness to ivory statues and figure sculptures throughout Western art history, depicting culturally significant fictional and historical figures. Just as sculptors like Michelangelo, Bernini and Rodin have brought such characters to solid life, Michael is immortalising himself just as these statues are commissioned to immortalise their subject, mythologising himself (which ... considering his fandom cult status). If he is likened to a marble statue then he assumes the infallibility of the same material, his silicone flesh does not decay. Simultaneously, we know he can move therefore we are prey to an ominous atmosphere, led to think when he is not immobile within our line of sight, he is still able to walk behind us without our knowing. It also raises the question of if his mask is what grants him infallibility to death...           In contrast to his impassive white mask, his smiling clown facade at the start of the movie seems to be a hyperbolic mockery of emotion. Compared to Zombie’s choice of Michael wearing his most recognisable mask when murdering Judith, Heller-Nicholas stating, ‘Here the mask has a distinctly adult look, and on Michael’s body it suggests he is a child capable of committing ‘adult’ crimes.’ Whereas in the original, the clown mask has a disarming playfulness and infantile innocence, further adding to the shock reveal that this was a child who killed his older sister. For five minutes (or a few seconds if you were unaware of his age) he fits within the uncanny child trope, defamiliarising what we expect a child to be capable of, the unmasking of a child doubles as the unmasking of a killer. More so is it unnerving to consider how much in the same way clowns exist between comedy and tragedy, evoking laughter from their audience with staged stunts going awry and choreographed misfortune, the young Michael derives joy from the tragic act of murdering his sister. It is also important to note that Judith immediately recognises her younger brother while he is masked, solidifying he will be the mask he wears. Fifteen years later, his victims are deprived of this same familiarity and knowledge.            The sinister truth of the clown costume is brought home all the more when Jamie Lloyd chooses similar garb as her trick or treat outfit in Halloween 4. Later fulfilling - or possessed by - the same prophecy of evil when killing her foster mother at the end. Throughout the movie, everything she feels is written on her face, she is unmasked and entirely honest in her terror, pain, brief happiness and sympathy until she has inherited Michael’s evil, the red pom-pom nose referencing Michael’s own crime when he was a child, while the eyemask also references his visibly void gaze now – adopting his mask’s dead-set impassivity with her own face.  Again, the child’s crime is shocking but there is no moment of unmasking, rather the opposite: an inherited mask.           Even beyond the Halloween franchise, the significance of Michael’s mask is brought back into the pop culture consciousness through the subversion of other killers in the same genre. In Scream, Wes Craven creates a direct relationship with Halloween while transgressing from it, parodying the slasher horror formula. This is even evident when comparing Michael and Ghostface’s masks; the two are similar in their pitch black eyes and white faces but where Michael’s is intended to evoke fear in the audience and narrative’s victims, embodying a disturbing synonymity between an everyman and dead man, Ghostface’s mirrors the screaming faces of the audience and characters - mocking their fear. Much like Jamie Lloyd, Ghostface credits a certain lineage to The Shape, but where Jamie unwittingly follows in her franchise father’s (or uncle’s) footsteps, Ghostface is the teenager trying to rebel against his forefather’s conventions.           Ultimately, Michael’s mask serves as a blank page or screen to project our fears, ideals and theories onto. As much as anyone, including his own psychiatrists, would want to know why he wears a mask, there will be a range of readings that can only be individual interpretation because the only certainty is the mask is designed, as a cinematic device, to be emotionally provocative of caution and fear. Nonetheless, my own interpretation is exactly that - he wears it to primarily provoke a reaction and to witness the expression of those who witness him, knowing full well he is personifying the horror his victims suffer -- and we as an audience experience.

[doctorgerth]

Prompt Winner #4

Winner: @doflomingos-glasses

Prompt: “Did you just slap my ass?” / “Actually, I firmly grasped it.” / “Did you just quote Spongebob?”

Description: Sabo got a booty and you wanna grab it and give it the attention it deserves. Turns out, Sabo likes the attention way more than you had anticipated... (modern au) (fem s/o)

Rating: Sabo smut, but also some funny moments!

Warnings: cursing, explicit sexual content, Sabo’s delicious ass 

Note: nothing much to say here! NSFW begins under the cut

Firmly Grasp It (Sabo)

NSFW

Prompt Story

(Word count: 2198)

You watched with fervor as your boyfriend stood in the kitchen, cooking a rather delicious smelling dinner for the two of you. Thankfully Luffy and Ace weren't home to smell the savor of the steaks he was cooking, otherwise your perfect opportunity would be amiss.

Sabo had no idea you were watching him, and you could hardly contain your giddiness at his every adorable facial expression, so concentrated on his preparations. Your breath hitched in your throat as he started whistling a song you weren't so familiar with, but it sounded like sweet music nevertheless. His hips danced a little, swaying a ever so slightly to his tune, and you knew he would be embarrassed as hell if he were caught like this.

You stood in the doorway, hiding as much of your body behind the wall as possible while you ogled, practically entranced by Sabo's little cooking show tune. He was absolutely adorable, but the way his hips swayed, causing his backside to sway and jiggle in consequence had you sweating buckets. You didn't want to admit it, but you were entirely enamored with Sabo's ass.

Your nails dug into the wall with his every move and you bit your lip to suppress your lecherous desires. This wasn't meant to be a seductive scene by any means, but his body always wowed you in more ways than one. Quite honestly, everything he did was sexy as hell to you. How could someone be so sexy without even trying?

It was currently 4:03, and you knew Ace would be off work at 6:00 and Luffy was staying at Zoro's house for the night. You had Sabo and his magical ass all to yourself for at least a little while, and you were determined to take advantage of that. For the past few weeks, Sabo had developed a habit of gently slapping or groping your butt in passing. It didn't always lead to more, sometimes it was a strictly casual greeting, but still, it left your heart beat racing uncontrollably at his suggestive touching.

And you wanted to give him that same feeling. During your more intimate moments, you never thought to focus on his backside, at least not nearly in the same affectionate way he treated yours. Would he like that? You've always admired his butt from afar, perhaps it was time to give it the attention it deserved.

With mouse-like steps, you tip-toed towards your lover. Thankfully, he was far too engrossed in his cooking to really notice your presence, so you made your way behind his figure with ease. For some reason, you were insanely nervous, like you were about to commit something inexplicably wrong. You gulped to yourself as your shaky hand went reaching, clouded by lust and desire as his hips began swaying more fervently. His perky ass was yours for the taking, and so you took it with great need.

With nimble fingers you quickly ghosted over the curvature of his booty, then squeezed with eagerness at his left ass cheek. You were completely satisfied as it was just as firm yet soft as you had predicted. What you didn't predict, however, was the way his body jolted at the unfamiliar sensation. He knew it was you immediately, but your lewd notion definitely caught him off guard. His spatula dropped to the floor, bringing you back to your senses and you seemed to freeze in your thoughts. Your hand quickly retreated as he turned to look at you, a quite unreadable expression on his face.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, waiting to hear him scold you.

"Did you just slap my ass?" He questioned, eyes narrowing in your direction.

There was an awkward pause for a minute as you gathered yourself to respond to his question. Why did this catch you so off guard? You were just grabbing your boyfriend's butt! That's completely normal right? Why did his questioning stare make you feel otherwise?

"Actually, I firmly grasped it." Was the first thing to spill from your lips and you instantly wanted to crawl in a hole and die there. What the fuck was wrong with you?

He scoffed, a smirk graced his lips in amusement at your choice of a response, "Did you just quote Spongebob?"

You fought the urge to face palm yourself as you just shrugged and smiled innocently, knowing you were incapable of making any logical sense beyond this point of utter embarrassment. With swiftness, he turned to a knob on the stove, instantly switching the burning eye off. Your head was swimming from uncertainties as his face was still indecipherable even as he approached you.

It wasn't until his face was merely inches from yours and he rested his hands loosely along your hips that your mind seemed to unravel, focusing on the playful look that gleamed in his eyes. Waves of blonde fell along his face, clouding his appearance to where he looked almost devilish for a second as his hands trailed down to grip ferociously into your own cheeks. You gasped at the force of his fingers digging needy markings into your skin.

"Mighty touchy today, aren't we, (Name)? If you wanted a piece of this ass you should've just said so." He smirked, lifting you up onto the island before you could even blink in response.

He secured your thighs around his waist, pulling your shamefully aching core against his hard on, a small moan escaping his lips at having you so close to him. His lips trembled above yours and for a split second his eyes changed to a look of innocence, silently asking if he was acting a little too rough with you. The both of you were utterly shocked that just a simple butt grab had Sabo pinning you onto the island, his cock mindlessly rubbing against you in desperation, but you accepted it graciously as your lips latched onto his without hesitation.

Your lips melded together in an instant, tongues dancing while little mewls escaped from the both of you into your heated mouths, hands roaming eagerly along each other's bodies and in each other's hair. It was if you were trying to absorb each other whole, no contact was ever close enough as you both only craved more and more of each other against your heated bodies. You had absolutely no idea where such desperation for each other came from, but you paid it no mind as you allowed Sabo to ravish your body to his heart's content.

Clothing was discarded everywhere along the kitchen floor within minutes of your heated making out, the both of you taking full advantage of your rare alone time. Sabo's massive hands went for your breasts, licking and sucking and biting at them once they were free to explore. Your head threw back in ecstasy at his ministrations, nails scratching into his shoulders and biceps which flexed deliciously under your claws. As he came up for air, he kissed you harshly one last time before pulling you to the very edge of the island, spreading your legs even further for him.

A lone finger quickly found it's place between your slick folds, teasing just the entrance of your aching pussy, "Sabo, please..." you whispered as your head fell into the crook of his neck in exasperation.

He chuckled to himself before plunging his digit deep into you, eliciting a sweet wail from your throat, "So needy. You were the one groping me, you dirty girl."

You blushed at his words, but accepted his penetrating finger with the utmost desire, keeping your legs spread wide and bucking against his every movement. Another digit was added and you clawed at his back, a hand trailing further and further south to give his booty a little squeeze. He gritted his teeth, a bit ashamed at how much he enjoyed such a simple touch, nevertheless he harshly pounded his fingers knuckle-deep into you at your notion.

Though your body was being rocked by his fingers, you smiled against the skin of his shoulders, completely satisfied to know you had so much power over Sabo now. Your fingers traced over the smoothness of his bare ass once again and his fingers retreated from you, the loss of sensation enough to stop you dead in your tracks and whine in response.

"You think you're slick, don't ya?" He muttered, not even warning you before he plunged his throbbing cock inside of you. Your entire body shook from his rough actions, but considering how turned on you were, your tight cunt adjusted well to his size, swallowing him in his entirety. Sabo wasn't prepared for it, and he groaned hoarsely into your neck, fingers digging into your hips in sweet agony.

You moaned right along with him, and as soon as he gathered himself he began a steady pace inside you, thrusts already a bit rougher than normal. You were driving Sabo absolutely mad with your sensual touching in such an uncharted area. He never realized he'd enjoy his ass receiving some loving attention from you, but he needed so much more of it.

"Fuck, touch me baby, please." You smiled amidst your cries of pleasure, and it didn't take a genius to know just where he wanted your touch. To have your sexy as fuck boyfriend beg for your touch really caused a burning heat to pool at your abused pussy. Your hands eagerly flew to his ass with a swift smack and his hips bucked savagely into you in response. He was worried he had overreacted and had hurt you in the process, but the way you moaned his name and squeezed his ass with admiration reassured him to keep going. Your groping only encouraged him to fuck into you with more intensity, your body writhing uncontrollably under him by his rapid movements.

Every squeeze of your palms on his ass was like an electric shock shooting up into his hips, inspiring them to drive into you with increasing force until you were practically screaming his name, sure enough to let the neighbors know just what was going on next door. The two of you could care less as this new found passion from Sabo was sending you closer into blissful euphoria by the second and though his mind was clouded from pure lust at your naughty groping, he only wanted you to scream louder for him.

His hands slid from your hips to grab onto the sides of your ass, sweat dripping from his golden locks onto your connected bodies. He could feel your cunt tightening around him in anticipation for your release, and that only sent the chills of his own impending release throughout his being. He couldn't possibly fuck into you any harsher, but the way your nails dug into the softness of his ass while you came all over his cock, he couldn't help but buck into you with utmost force as he finished inside you with a loud, desperate call of your name. Your limp body finally released it's hold onto his back side and you fell back against the cool marble counter, chest rising and falling rapidly in order to catch your breath from the intense session you two just had.

Sabo released the last of his load inside you with a small whimper before collapsing on top of your tired body to lazily trail kisses along your damp skin. His fingers interlocked with yours in a reassuring manner, something he always did to apologize for being rough with you, but it wasn't as if you ever cared. You always enjoyed the way Sabo rocked your body so well, and no matter how rough he was, you could always feel every ounce of his love for you. The way you eyeballed his post-sex face, and the smirk he offered your teasing eyes, you both knew that this butt admiration wasn't going to end any time soon.

Bonus:

The house was quiet as you rose to the kitchen to make some cereal for yourself. All of the boys were still asleep, disregarding how late in the morning it was becoming. You waltzed into the kitchen, stretching your arms and yawning rather loudly as you reached for a clean bowl, gathering the rest of the necessary items for cereal shortly after. Your mind was still a bit clouded by sleep, so you couldn't feel Sabo's burning eyes staring at your back side.

He watched you intently, and waited for the perfect moment to approach you, like a predator preparing to attack its prey. The way your ass cheeks were poking out ever so slightly from under your pajama shorts had Sabo ready for the kill. When you were completely distracted by your pouring of cereal, Sabo took his chance.

He approached you quietly, completely catching you off guard as you dropped your cereal at his sudden presence flushed against you. A large hand went to cover your surprised yelp, lips already trailing along your neck, full of desire. His dick pressed firm against the curvature of your ass, hips gyrating sensually against it and you could feel his cock twitching in desperation. You couldn't help but heat up at his bold movements, squeaking a little as his free hand cupped your cheeks, squeezing them with vigor.

"Firmly grasp it." He whispered seductively in your ear.

[jeanjauthor]

Death is a result of story, writers.

Death is a really powerful story-beat.

Give your other characters--and most importantly, your readers--a moment to absorb what just happened in that story.

It does not have to be at the moment of that death, however.

Famous example? Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

Specifically, when they have to leave Gandalf behind; the characters cannot stop to mourn.  They have to keep running.  It is only when they get all the way outside that they can take a few moments to absorb and reflect upon the impact of Gandalf’s actions, and having to leave immediately, with an unknown but most likely not super-short span of time passing before they finally get free and clear of immediate danger.

This is not to say that all such moments need to be put off!  If your characters have the time to realize what has happened, absorb it, react to it, internalize it, and realize they need to carry on to the next moment in the story, let them do so.

But even if they (and your readers) have to “wait a few pages first”...let them still have that moment to absorb that story-beat.

Because death and devastation are powerful things, and we need to show the humanity of our characters in reacting to it...and teach our readers it’s okay to care for these characters, and to mourn them.

Spoiler Cut for one of my book series:

The first series in my IaVerse (pronounced ee-yah-verse, not Lah-verse), Theirs Not To Reason Why, deals with this in a couple different places.

In A Soldier’s Duty, we see the main character, Ia, having to end the lives of not only raiders, but the life of a woman in their less than merciful/civilized grasp.  Not because she wants to, but because she has to preserve the future timeline that will save the most number of people possible.  It’s a case of “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few” in a very brutal way.

I wrote in that scene that Ia wanted to take the time to mourn, to regret, but could not.  The clock was ticking for her.  specifically for her.  The reader got that pause in the way Ia, in her internal monologue, regretted not being able to pause.  No one else needed that pause, however.  Ia needed, but could not have it.  The reader needed it as well, and got a little glimpse of it.

In Hellfire, we see Sung firing his gunnery turrets against orders, and we go through Ia’s strong reaction, her utter shock as all her efforts to direct the future explode and shatter.  She cannot take the time to react to this shock, but she does anyway--and we see her backup pilot taking the helm to save the ship from a collision that should have been avoided, if Ia hadn’t gone into shock.

This is another beat wherein the reader gets to absorb what just happened, and realize that time is still progressing.  Pausing for a death isn’t always an option, not just for the point-of-view character (throughout that series, it was always Ia), but for the other characters as well.

Ia paused, swept up in the horror of realizing everything--including the deaths mentioned a couple paragraphs above--had just been rendered pointless and wasteful.  That pause almost got her ship & crew killed.  Though only Ia knew the full scope of the problem, felt the full breadth of terror that accompanied it, the other characters felt some concern, some consternation--and then had to go right back to work, because there was no way to stop the battle still surging around them.

(Btw, in real life situations, you don’t get to stop and drop to your knees on the battlefield, clutching at your slain mentor, your dying king, if the battle is still engaged.  Someone will come up to you to stab you while you’re preoccupied with your grief, if there are any enemies anywhere near you.).

At the end of Damnation...yeah, Ia told her crew that if they go on that last mission with her, the odds are extremely high they won’t be coming back.  But we learn about this days before the actual final scene.  And we get multiple moment, not just one or two or three, multiple story-beats to absorb the impact of that sacrifice.

The first one is when Ia demands to know if her chaplain wants to die, and her entire crew jumps to their feet, At Attention, to give her their unified, assertive reply.  We, the readers (hey, I’m a reader, too!), weep along with Ia when she reacts to that unified Sir, yes, sir!

We get an entire scene of Ia presenting Black Hearts to her crew--normally not given to anyone still alive--to shove in their faces just how deadly the upcoming battle will be, if they stubbornly stick with her to the end.  We even get a follow-up conversation between Ia and the Admiral-General about the presentation of those Black Hearts (given post-mortem to the family of soldiers who died in combat), to absorb that story-beat.

We also get two more moments:

We get the recorded speech of Young Ia, a day or two before entering the military in the first place, explaining that she knows she is going to have to kill to save the future, to fight in combat, to murder in secret, and to commit to the xenocidal destruction of the entire Salik race (with a token attempt to warn them and get them to change their minds, which she knows precognitively they will not do).  That speech is intermingled with scenes from the real-time combat taking place, of Harper telling Ia he tried to get Feyori help for that teeny-tiny-sliver-of-a-speck-of-a-chance that they might somehow survive, but could not, plus the subtext of how he (standing in for the whole of the crew) accepts their rapidly approaching fate.

And...we get that last epigraph, which also serves as the epilogue closing the story, and serves as the link tying the theme found in the very first eponymous book, A Soldier’s Duty, to every other book in the series, An Officer’s Duty (with its expanded corollaries), Hellfire, Hardship, and Damnation, because the theme of a soldier’s duty--and an officer is a soldier in the end--all the way through the hellfires, hardships, and final damnation of war.

With that last epigraph, a quote from her interviews, Ia clearly accepted her highly probable death a long, long time ago, and has just as clearly stayed at her post, kept to her watch, and faced down all her foes, physical and metaphorical...because doing so was her duty as a soldier.

...No, some might say that using that many story beats just to impact on the readers one (final) death scene miiiiight be a bit much...  But consider these thoughts instead:  it was a scene involving over a hundred and fifty brave souls, all of whom chose to participate in that story-beat.  It was a moment that included all the other deaths along the way.  It was a moment acknowledging that there are still deaths awaiting up ahead, via Ia’s prophecies, deaths that must happen if the greater good of the many is to be preserved in any way.

In my opinion...it isn’t the moment when the Damnation vanishes from existence, the actual moment of sacrifice, that has the most impact.  It’s the moment when that last line in the epigraph reminds everyone of just how important all such sacrifices are.  Not just the characters in that book, but of the sacrifices found in every story in every culture that every soldier, sailor, airman, marine, coast guard, fireman, EMT, etc, have ever made. All in the goal of saving the lives of not just the people they already know, but the people they may never know, and all the people they could ever, never know.

The impact of a great story is found in the absorption of its great moments.  Those great moments can be terrible, horrible, and even sublime-in-the-original-sense, as well as being silly, hopeful, or even blissful (such as the Happily Ever After of a romance story, as well as the belly laughs found throughout a comedic tale).  It’s in how we, as writers, connect our readers not only to the events, but to the emotions, reactions, and consequences of those events.

Find ways within the story’s context to give your readers those moments of absorption, reflection, and emotional connection to the actions and consequences of what all just happened.

[fakeyellow]

Another short 15 minute drabble based on the events of BB2 Chapter 2 from Kamilah’s POV. 

She’s in the middle of a board meeting with her Clan members when she receives it.

“HELP”

Without a second glance at the papers laid out in front of her and the expectant faces waiting on her to make a decision, Kamilah is out of the office and on her way to Amanda’s apartment.

Fury and terror is pumping through her veins; it had only been an hour since their time together, an hour since she had confessed to feeling fearful for her lover.

Seven months are but the blink of an eye in the long life she’s led, but somehow during those seven months, Amanda has made herself an indispensable part of Kamilah’s heart. That Amanda is now in danger makes her throat constrict with the possibility that…

No, she will not fail her.

She slips into that darkness inside of her, the cold, deadly part of her that rages and thirsts for the hearts of those who dared lay a hand on her heart. She will make them all pay, she will rip them apart to pieces with her own hands, and she will enjoy feeling their pathetic lives come to an excruciating end.

She dials Adrian and gives him directions that he quickly agrees to because he can recognise the killing calmness of her voice. Anyone who disrupts her now will meet a swift demise.

Kamilah finally arrives at Amanda’s apartment, and the door is already open. She remembers now that Lily had also been attacked here and she curses herself for not having made Amanda move sooner. When she is in her arms again, she will rectify that mistake.

Remnants of a shattered lamp lay at her ground, and Kamilah is immediately drawn to it, to the small bloodstain on one of the pieces. It’s not Amanda’s but her blood is drawn to it in a way she hasn’t felt in years, and Kamilah feels her breath stolen away.

It can’t be.

Gaius.

Adrian calls at this moment and she rips herself out of the momentary stupor she’d fallen into. He’s gained a lead into where Amanda is being held and she forces herself to refocus. She needs to find Amanda.

She arrives at the Musea Sanguis and Adrian is long gone in its depths, in search for Amanda.  And though she longs to join him, she is too shaken.

She needs to make sure that Gaius is safely locked in the Sarcophagus. He may have Turned her but he is her responsibility. She was the one who championed him and stood by his side for so long, keeping a blind eye to many of the atrocities he committed and even committing them with him.

She needs to know he is still locked up, unable to reach any of them.

----

Kamilah’s mind is still whirling with the implication that Gaius escaped, was in Amanda’s apartment, took her, when she finally steps foot into Jameson’s quarters. She sets eyes on the woman frantically panicking in Adrian’s arms, enrobed in a beautiful, blood-red dress, and in the next second, Adrian is pushed to the side while Amanda is finally, finally, in her arms.

Their hearts are both still racing, beating in synchrony, and Kamilah pulls back, hurriedly scanning the younger woman all over for any sign of hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Kamilah. I tried to fight them, but Gaius was so insistent...”

She suppresses herself from betraying any reaction to his name, but Adrian is not so composed and he tenses in shock, looking to her for confirmation.

“Did you say… Gaius?”

“The Onyx Sarcophagus is empty. Gaius is free, ” Kamilah confirms, and Adrian looks as if all of his energy has left him. But Kamilah turns back to Amanda, placing a hand on her soft cheek, and looking straight into her rattled eyes.

“The people who did this… who dared… they’ll pay. They’ll all pay.”

I wanted to show more of Kamilah’s reaction to MC’s kidnapping and rescue, since she’s focused only on Gaius when they’re reunited in the actual chapter. Honestly, I think they just had to have Kamilah say some of her later lines in that scene to convey her worry, so that’s what I did. Somehow, Kamilah ended up going to find Gaius like in the actual chapter instead of going straight to MC like I originally wanted to write but oh well. 

Italicised text means they're quotes from the chapter.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Behind Closed Doors (Sam-centric, Dean/Cas coda post 14x15 “Peace of Mind”)

Distractions. Sam needed distractions. If he was learning how to be comfortable in the Bunker again, he needed something that could keep the ghosts of his friends and teammates away. Dean and Cas drop the perfect one into his lap. Will it work, keep him tethered to a place he wants to call home. Or, as someone told him, is there no chance for his happiness - the price he pays by being a Winchester.

(Link to ao3)

           Sam stayed in the Bunker. It wasn’t easy, and there were times he wanted to leave. When Maggie and all the others’ ghosts struck him fiercely in their haunts, and he came to with tablet in one hand and keys in the other. Then he’d think of his family, of Dean and all the bags under his eyes. He made it all the way up the steps only to walk back down with his head hung in exhaustion.

           The fifth time that happened, Sam figured a change in scenery might help. Not in the way his body craved, sun in his face and miles away. He opted for somewhere closer, where they were lucky Michael found no one to kill.

           Surprisingly, the kitchen had been empty during his rampage. After the main room, it was the second hub where people gathered to talk and enjoy themselves. Cooking ten helpings of a regular meal, clinking glasses together to toast a hunt well done. Dean claimed the kitchen as his the second they found the Bunker, and after coming back from Michael was thrown off by the activity within. The learning curve on sharing was a harsh one, but Dean understood in the end. Now, even Sam could tell Dean missed it. He moved like he was accounting for others to be doing the same around him, as if he wasn’t the only cook left.

           Jack was there at the sink washing out a plastic container. Next to him there were a few more, each laid out and drying. Sam paused, unsure whether to disturb him. He waited too long. Jack finished and turned, catching Sam in the opening. Smiling, he placed the dishtowel down. “Sam,” he greeted, “how are you?”

           “I’m – uh…” Sam waved his tablet, “I’m reading.” Walking into the room, he glanced at the rows of Tupperware. “What’s all this?”

           Jack followed his stare. “Oh, I was cleaning these out for Dean. I was using them to hold different foods for Felix –“

           “Felix,” Sam said, “your snake right?”

           “Noah’s snake.”

           Sam frowned, “The Gorgon? Well, yeah it was – but he’s yours now.”

           Jack kept smiling, focused on all the drying containers; stare locked on the largest one. “He wasn’t mine, really. He wasn’t happy. But I think he’s happier now, where he is…”

           Sam’s brows rose to meet his hairline; thoughts whirring, trying to understand what Jack meant. Before he could ask though, a loud clatter sounded from the other side. They directed their attention back towards where Sam was, where Dean and Cas now stand.

           His brother and his angel friend met their questioning looks with easy grins, Dean’s wider than Cas’s. They walked forward, shoulders brushing with every step. Sam bet that their hands would have, too, if Dean’s weren’t occupied with a familiar-sized box.

           “Hey,” Dean said, “Family meeting?”

           Sam shook his head. “No, I just got here a few minutes ago.”

           “I was busy cleaning,” Jack told them, “Dean, you’ll be happy to see that all of your containers are now free for use again.”

           Dean deposited the box on the counter. “Really? So, what did Felix end up liking?”

           “It doesn’t matter,” Jack said, “Felix wouldn’t have ate because he was unhappy. So I made him happy.” His simple shrug unsettled Sam, as well as Cas. He noticed how he stiffened when Dean brought up the snake, and unusual sight when in the presence of his brother. His wide eyes met Sam’s from across the counter for a brief moment, but then they ducked back to the box, dragging it over to unravel the twine. Dean hadn’t noticed, instead repeating his brother's earlier expression. The question hanging around the snake goes unanswered, again, as Jack moved the conversation along to ask what Dean and Cas were doing.

           The easy set of his features returned as Dean described what happened. “So apparently while we were all doing… everything, a little day went by without me noticing. Luckily Cas here reminded me and we went out and remedied the situation.”

           “What day are you talking about?”

           Cas opened the box to show the others what was inside – a golden, flaky, and steaming pie. “Pie day,” Dean practically moaned.

           Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, it’s not about pies, it’s about the math term. March 14th? Three-point-one-four –“

           “No math,” Dean cut him off with a weak glare, “you’ll only ruin its taste.” He slid the box over to him, his hands resting over Cas’s until the angel pulled away. It was a delayed response, the digits twitching before ultimately coming to rest under the table. Sam’s hackles rose.

           “I doubt explaining mathematical concepts will affect the pie’s tastes, Dean,” Jack said, his voice covered in the thinnest layer of confusion.

           Cas sighed. “It was a figure of speech, Jack. An irrational response since pie tends to make Dean go… crazy.”

           Dean snorted. “Not the only thing that does that…” he muttered under breath, his soft gaze at Cas very obvious to anyone watching like Sam was. “Although I was a little… excited –“

           “Excited?” Cas huffed, “If I weren’t driving we’d have ended up in an accident. Although maybe that’s what you were looking for with how you acted –“

           “Hey, your car could go faster than what you had her doing! I was only helping you get there –“

           “Pushing on my leg wasn’t helping,” the finger quotes made Dean snicker. “Besides,” he added, smirking, “Not like you could have actually force my foot down any harder onto the pedal.”

           Dean scowled at him. “You sped up a coupl’a times.”

           “Maybe I wanted to go faster?” Cas shrugged, stealing the pie back and walking around the counter towards the cutlery. “And was only humoring you by doing it when you pressed.”

           His comment caused Dean to gasp, flailing a hand over his chest. “I can’t believe!” he cried mockingly, “Cas? How low… and with the very car I gifted you? The hours I spent fixing it, painting it a color you’d like –“

           “Yes well,” Cas interrupted his routine with a slam of a drawer, “maybe you can do more for me and get plates out?”

           “I don’t need a plate, Cas –“

           “Plates.”

           Dean submitted, moving over to the cupboards on the other end of the kitchen counter. “Fine,” he sighed, “Sam, Jack – you want a slice?”

           Sam, too stunned by the exchange, said nothing. Jack declined, picking up a nearby book and moving over to the table across the room. While Dean and Cas worked, Sam left them as well to join Jack. While he engrossed himself in his book, Sam pretended to do the same with his tablet. However his eyes and mind were stuck on the other two men in the room.

           They returned to the counter, the pie unboxed. Surprisingly, Dean held two plates in hand. Sam watched Cas cut two slices out for Dean and himself. He didn’t know which was stranger – his brother willingly sharing pie or Cas having some for Dean’s sake. They all knew that food and angels were not on friendly terms. Still, Cas managed a thin slice onto the second plate. Dean made up for Cas’s portioning by slamming a large scoop of ice cream down next to it. He must have dug it out when Sam wasn’t looking.

           “Dean that’s far too much!”

           “C’mon, it brings out the flavor.”

           “I couldn’t really taste it to begin with.”

           “Then you need all the help you can get.”

           “I’m perfectly fine with – Dean!”

           Dean swiped a dollop of ice cream onto Cas’s nose, grinning all the while. Cas’s eyes crossed to try and see it. The vanilla melted almost instantly under his intense focus. “Dean,” Cas repeated, voice tinged with the usual bitter honey he coats his brother’s name in. The sweetness always came with a little bite, where Sam believed Cas infused a little of his grace into it – to reach that certain pitch on the gravel.

           Dean sighed, but cleaned him off with the very same finger that committed the crime. Then, he sucked it off. Maintaining eye contact with Cas the entire time. Sam blushed as he popped it out from behind his lips, like he saw something he shouldn’t.

           Which he might have? Dean and Cas near constantly kept conversations between themselves, Sam always getting snippets either at the tail end when their fire slowly returned to a simmer or relied on his understanding of Dean’s facial cues. Their relationship confused him, especially when they acted like this. Like they kept a secret in their smiles, only for the other to see. Like sometimes they could kill each other in one second and then never want to think of the possibility that harm could come their way.

           Like Justin and Cindy were supposed to be if it wasn’t ripped from the past and forced onto unsuspecting people.

           Sam’s heart skipped a beat, the connection that his brain rattled off immediately frying the entire system. At first he tried course correcting, that there were no similarities between his brother, his friend, and a married couple. He must have drawn the wrong conclusions.

           But was he wrong, given all that he’s seen? Dean and Cas converse in their own language, one seeped in subtext that Sam never had the time to analyze. He still doesn’t, except with how they’re acting now there’s no other way to read. It took half a second to name the emotion humming under each careful touch. Love.

           They wrapped up meal prep, Cas putting the desserts away. Dean carried his pie over to their table, and Sam busied himself with the tablet. Clicking blindly, he was glad to land on an app that made him look like he wasn’t spying. It was very obvious, his shock barely hiding his reactions. Luckily Dean and Cas were too wrapped up in each other to notice.

           Dean ruffled Jack’s hair, drawing him away from his book. Sam pretended to be put out by his interruption. “I know you two nerds don’t want pie, but me ‘n’ Cas are gonna put on some flicks, we’re doing it roulette style so who knows what we’ll land on,” he turned to Sam, “it’ll be fun, getting out of our heads and shutting that shit off for awhile.”

           Cas joined them with his own plate in hand, slotting into the space next to Dean so only their shoulders touched. It felt right, seeing them together. The longer his realization stuck the better he seemed about it. So Sam shook his head and waved his tablet at them. “Sorry, but I’m already having my own fun.”

           “You sure?”

           “Yes.”

           Shrugging, he moved onto Jack. “What about you? If you want you can even let the snake watch – but I better not see it slither anywhere!”

           Jack smiled and declined as well. “And don’t worry, Dean, the snake won’t be a problem anymore.”

           Sam’s nerves stung like they did earlier, back when Jack made a similar comment. Cas must have installed the same alarm system Sam had, as his spine stood as straight as his. Dean let the words fall to the side, the only signs he heard it being the odd tilt of his head and squint that was better suited for Cas.

           He opened his mouth, as if to ask Jack to clarify. Cas stopped him, tugging at his sleeve. “C’mon,” he said, “We don’t have a lot of time to enjoy our meal before the ice cream melts…”

           “That’d be criminal,” Dean chuckled, Jack's warning forgotten. “All right, we’ll be in the Cave if you need us. Don’t do that unless it’s necessary.” He led them out, his hands placed possessively around his favorite things – one on his plate of pie and the other Cas’s shoulder.

           Sam waited until they were a good ways away, then pushed his tablet to the side. He reached across for Jack’s book and laid it on top of his device. “Hey,” Jack said, “I was reading that.”

           “Can I ask you something?”

           Jack leaned his head to the right. “Of course.”

           “What do you think of Dean and Cas?”

           Jack frowned. “What do I think?” he parroted, “Well, Dean is very funny and kind… he’s been checking in on me when he can, even though I know he’s been tired. And Cas is loyal, always willing to go the extra mile to make me more comfortable. Both of them have been a little… much recently, but it comes from a good place –“

           “No, no,” Sam said, “What do you think about… them.”

           “I – I don’t think I understand your question?”

           “Them,” he stressed, again, “Y’know… Dean and Cas. Them…” he threaded his fingers together. “Together.”

           “Together… oh!” he said, “You’re asking me about the relationship between Dean and Cas.”

           “So there is one?”

           “No,” Jack told him, “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

           Sam screwed his eyebrows together in confusion. “Are you sure?” he asked, “I mean, they were acting like a married couple.”

           “Yes, I’ve observed their actions around each other, their behaviors. Dean and Cas match everything that I’ve learned when it comes to love and commitment and ‘good relationships’,” his air quotes reminded Sam so much of Cas, he nearly rolled his eyes, “Except if you were to ask, I’m sure they wouldn’t admit to being one.”

           Sam sprung back, shocked. “What – are you serious? Have you… have you asked?”

           “No,” Jack said, “I just… know.”

           “You do?”

           “Maybe it’s because of my powers,” Jack shrugged, “Or it’s something leftover from Michael I can’t really explain… I do, though.”

           He ran a hand through his hair, mulling over Jack’s words. “They’re not together but… but there’s something there, right.”

           “Well I would think that’s obvious, even without my powers.”

           “I mean, yeah…”

           Jack blinked his doe-like eyes at Sam. “It’s not a bad thing, right?”

           “No! No, it’s… it’s unexpected,” Sam explained, “I mean, not really that unexpected. I’ll admit I had some suspicion but…”

           “But what?”

           “Well, when Cas… died, the day you were born, Dean was devastated,” he said, “Unlike anytime I’ve seen him before, even different then after all the other ways we lost Cas over the years.”

           “I remember that,” Jack nodded, “Dean was… not the best to be around.”

           “Understatement,” Sam scoffed, “Anyway I had inklings that maybe there was something… more than friendly feelings. But when he came back Dean did… well, he didn’t do what I thought a Dean in love would do. I mean they hugged, and Dean smiled and was excited for life and… there wasn’t a kiss. Figured I let my imagination run wild because of Dean’s grief. Because there was no grand change in their relationship – no cosmic shift.”

           “…Should there have been?”

           It was a simple question, but it struck at the core of Sam’s understanding of his brother. He repeated the question to himself, searching the wood grains in the table underneath him. They weren’t found there, instead hidden within the memories he peeled back to study.

           Dean put on airs, puffed his chest bigger than it was. He acted like the overconfident flirt, with a cocky attitude and devil-may-care attitude. It was all a trap he wanted others to fall for, so as to not see what was slumbering underneath. His bravado nothing more than smoke and mirrors that Sam, once more, fell for.

           There wouldn’t have been any grand gestures. When Dean cared, he showed it in ways you wouldn’t notice unless you really looked at it. Smothered down the intense feeling behind simple actions, blowing it off as if what he did meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Like his feelings weren’t a big deal.

           And seeing how Cas learned everything about humanity from his brother, Sam knew his friend was the same.

           They showed their love in different ways. Dean opened himself up to Cas. And Cas stayed with Dean. To them, those were the same as moving mountains and bottling sunshine.

           “No,” Sam said, smiling once more, “Not for them.”

           “I agree,” Jack told him, “Their pace might be maddening for some, but the gradualness of it seems fine for both of them.” He stood, then, shrugging. “Although they may never reach the tipping point, how they do things.”

           “What do you mean?” An icicle plunged from above and into his heart at Jack’s apathetic phrasing. “Don’t you want them together? Don’t they want to be with each other?”

           “Well of course,” Jack said, “It’s nice what they have now, but it’ll never be anything more. They won’t let themselves have anything more. When it comes down to it, we’re Winchesters. The needs of others matter more than what we want. We’ll always be pushing our happiness away so others can enjoy it. Always doing what’s best for others when they have no power to.”

           Sam deflated at Jack’s somber message, his barbed comments stinging. Jack stared at Sam, a knowing look to his eye that tickled his hunter’s instincts. The irritation stayed with him, even as Jack left. “I’m going to finish this in my room,” he said, “Goodbye Sam.”

           The loneliness weighed on him, more than ever in that moment. Jack’s words played on repeat, causing Sam to spiral within. At his lowest, a lone voice broke though the pessimistic mission statement of his family. It wasn’t Dean’s or Cas’s, Jack’s, even Sam’s.

           It was Maggie’s. “Sam!”

           He startled, whirling around, trying to find her. He only realized, seconds later, where her voice came from. Swallowing the thick chord of nerves that lodged in his throat, Sam shuddered.

           Staying in the Bunker would help. It’s his home; he won’t let it be taken from him.

           Still, Sam pulled his phone out and dialed for Mary. “Hey mom,” he said, “What’s up? Nothing really… …Why am I calling? Well I wanted to see if you needed any help on a hunt. …Resting? Sure, I had my fill but…” Sam glanced at where Jack left, “but I don’t really have the luxury of resting. Other people need me, now more than ever.” Sam listened as Mary sighed over the line. She drew the conversation out longer, checking to make sure he was committed to helping. Ultimately, she relayed the information to him.

           He hung up; assuring her he’d be on the road in fifteen. It didn’t take long for him to gather his things. The real delay came from debating how to tell Dean. Sam settled on a note, left out on the counter for anyone to find.

           His brother would be angry. Dean would call and text, clipped things where the annoyance was clear as the sun on a cloudless day. But he’d understand.

           Because Sam stayed in the Bunker. He stayed for as long as he could. It wasn’t easy, with ghosts all around. His time was better spent helping the ones that could move on.

[livmoose]

Va, Tosca!

I’ve been fascinated by ‘Tosca’ since three years ago, when I first heard it in Kiev opera. What motivated me to dig deeper was the stubborn anti-Puccini bias of music critics that started with the opera’s (nay, it's antecedent play’s) premiere and didn’t really cease by this day. Which I cannot understand at all: ‘Tosca’ is literally one of the most popular operas in the world, outperformed only by such eminent names as Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, Mozart’s ‘Die Zauberflöte’, Puccini’s own ‘La Boheme’ and Bizet’s ‘Carmen’. So what gives?

‘Tosca’, original poster, 1899

The premise of this 3-act opera by Giacomo Puccini is rather simple: a villain wants a girl who loves a boy who loves her back and also helps revolutionaries. And also it’s a tragedy, like in a Shakespearean Everybody Dies kind of tragedy. You can pretty much guess the plot from there.

What I personally like about this opera is the combination of lightning-fast plot (the action takes place within several hours on June 17-18, 1800), finely developed character portraits, and music that explains and foreshadows everything you need to know.

Naturally, I don’t take the vague criticisms of ‘Tosca’ all that well.

Ha più forte sapore [bits of history and background]

Puccini’s opera is based on a 1887 5-act play ‘La Tosca’ by Victorien Sardou.

Puccini had seen La Tosca at least twice, in Milan and Turin. On 7 May 1889 he wrote to his publisher, Giulio Ricordi, begging him to get Sardou’s permission for the work to be made into an opera: ‘I see in this Tosca the opera I need, with no overblown proportions, no elaborate spectacle, nor will it call for the usual excessive amount of music.’

M.J. Philips-Matz ‘Puccini: A Biography’

I found this quote, and it instantly clicked: it’s exactly why I like ‘Tosca’.

In contrast to Sardou’s initial work, Puccini’s opera is much more succinct and direct. It has almost zero overblown dialogues and soliloquies that don’t promote the plot or develop characters (well, maybe there is this one lyric soprano-tenor duetto ‘Amaro sol per te m’era il morire’ [‘Only for you did death taste bitter for me’] in act III that’s a bit too long for my taste, but even this slow moment is essential because it gives the audience an opportunity to breathe as the final shockwave looms closer). But the rest of it is actually interesting to see and hear.

For me, ‘Tosca’ is one of the very few operas that are targeted at people who are not fifteen and overly dramatic adult audiences who don’t need same things repeated at them all the time and who can catch what is happening without seeing each and every small detail. Puccini squeezed Sardou’s acts II, III and IV into a single second act, and it works. We as an audience don’t need to see the whole scene at Cavaradossi’s house to understand what happened there. We can use our imagination to paint the rest of the picture.

Looks like the critics do not agree with me on this one.

Perché, perché, Signore [criticisms galore]

The infuriating part about the critical landscape of ‘Tosca’ is that the critics don’t seem to agree on a single point of reproof. Some complain that the opera is too wordy; others, conversely, are not satisfied with the plot rushness (the view that both librettists of ‘Tosca’, Illica and Giacosa shared). Critics called the opera ‘three hours of noise’ that lacks style and cohesion. Julian Budden [opera scholar] faulted the ‘inept handling of the political element’ while commending ‘a triumph of pure theatre’. Burton Fisher [opera writer] described the sensuous love duet ‘Qual’occhio’ as ‘an almost erotic lyricism’ and ‘pornophony’.

Is it just me, or do the critics dislike ‘Tosca’ precisely for the nuances I love about it: coherence of the plot, acute and restrained drama, absence of excessive political speculations (it was not meant to be goddamn ‘Les Miserables’) and, well, musical puns? More on that later.

Not to say ‘Tosca’ didn’t receive its share of praise. Charles Osborne [music critic] believed the plot of ‘Tosca’ was taut and effective while the characters had enough opportunities to shine both in terms of dramatic development and musical elaborateness. Some also praised the richness of Puccini’s score:

[Puccini] finds in his palette all colours, all shades; in his hands, the instrumental texture becomes completely supple, the gradations of sonority are innumerable, the blend unfailingly grateful to the ear.

Ippolito Valetta [music critic] ‘Rassegna Musicale’ in ‘Nuova Antologia’

The aspect of criticism that I did find explainable was based on ‘disconcerting vulgarities’ as put by Gabriel Fauré [composer]. To be honest, the opera really does not lack in violence: Tosca undergoes sexual assault, is broken by the need to defend her chastity with murder and by the death of a beloved, and finally commits suicide. For the public back in 1900 such developments truly could be regarded as a bit too much.

For modern audiences, however, the events are nothing to be shied away from. The opera aged exceedingly well, not losing a bit of its attractiveness in romantic and dramatic sense. Even more so, the criticism that ‘Tosca’ still receives today makes little sense. Joseph Kerman’s [musicologist] remark on ‘Tosca’ as a ‘shabby little shocker’ from the middle of the century, well after the actual real-life shock of two world wars and the brusque shift of public morale, was way off the mark. Thomas Beecham [conductor] bitingly responded that anything Kerman said about Puccini could ‘safely be ignored’ (it almost makes one thing something personal’s involved).

Besides, some modern scholars share my perception of ‘Tosca’s treatment:

Scholarly presses and journals still deeming [Puccini’s] operas too popular to be worthy of serious study continue to shoot themselves in their collective foot.

Deborah Burton ‘Tosca’s Rome: The Play and the Opera in Historical Perspective (review)’

By Burton, Puccini was often simply ‘snubbed by the musicological establishment’. The fun part? Puccini put on his Scarpia persona to cynically and kind of affectionately if you ask me describe ‘Tosca’ as ‘zibaldone’ [‘hodgepodge’]. He referred to it as ‘a vile opera’ and ‘quella putana di Roma’ [‘that Roman whore’]. If this isn’t love.

Già, mi dicon venal [quick glance at the initial play]

Similar criticism of abundance of violence was applied to Sardou’s play. Tosca’s behavior was deemed ‘unchaste’, and the brutality disturbed both critics and theatre fans. Jules Favre [statesman] even called it ‘cette pièce vulgaire, sans intrigue, sans caractères, sans moeurs’ [‘vulgar piece, without intrigue, without characters, without morals’].

The most offensive part of the play was, apparently, Cavaradossi’s torture. Even off-stage, his screams prodded the critics to warn women against seeing ‘La Tosca’ as the play could ‘inflict irreparable injury on persons yet unborn’.

Despite this, the play was an immediate success. It toured around the world, and even the harshest critics couldn’t ignore its dramatic effect:

As to the play itself, I will only add that it is offensive in its morals, corrupt in its teaching, and revolting in its brutality, and yet everyone who admires acting is bound to see it.

Cecil Howard [theatre critic] ‘La Tosca’, ‘The Theatre’

So. Let’s see what threw people in such a dismay, shall we.

Io de’ sospiri [plot and why it’s good]

Sylvester Feodosiyevich Shchedrin ‘New Rome. Castel Sant’Angelo’, oil on canvas, 1823

It all starts with Roman ex-consul Angelotti escaping the clutches of tyrannical justice. The fugitive runs into Mario Cavaradossi, painter and Bonapartist who agrees to help him. Two men are interrupted by Mario’s passionate lover and Roman opera celebrity, Floria Tosca. After a fit of jealousy she leaves the church, and Cavaradossi leads Angelotti away from the city to hide in his villa. Right afterwards, Baron Scarpia, chief of police and the embodiment of tyranny emerges on stage and, when Tosca returns, devises to use her jealousy to lead him to Mario and Angelotti.

Second act is all about torturing Cavaradossi (off-stage) and Tosca’s gradual breakdown. Scarpia demands the location of Angelotti, which she surrenders to save Mario from suffering. Then Scarpia tries to force Tosca to give herself to him, which she agrees in exchange for her lover’s life - only to stab unsuspecting Scarpia with a knife.

The rest of the main cast dies during the third act. Mario’s ‘staged’ execution appears to be not so fake as Scarpia promised. Tosca, inconsolable and heartbroken, jumps to her death as the soldiers, who discovered Scarpia’s body, corner her on the ramparts of Castel Sant’Angelo.

The plot pretty much follows Sardou’s play, although the action was tightened (mostly by avoiding obvious plot turns) and the list of characters sharply compressed.

Sardou’s act III features a scene that is not present in Puccini’s opera: Cavaradossi’s villa, the painter, Angelotti, and later Tosca and Scarpia. One of the things I liked about the opera is that it doesn’t have this scene. It’s excessive and basically tells nothing that audience couldn’t have picked up from the unobtrusive operatic dialogue in act II. Puccini - Sardou 1:0.

Obviously, Mario’s execution was not fake. In the play, Spoletta reveals this fact to Tosca. In the opera, he at first misunderstands Scarpia’s order (hilariously so, as he nearly confesses the whole thing to Tosca), which allows the audience to guess their scheme. 2:0 for subtlety.

In act II, Scarpia questions Mario with the backdrop of Tosca’s cantata performance off-stage, in the depths of Palazzo Farnese. 3:0, this whole piece is just gorgeous.

Puccini wanted ‘La Tosca’s plot stripped of everything excessive (which is, lamentably, a rare practice for operatic genre):

[Puccini] cut Tosca to the bone, leaving three strong characters trapped in an airless, violent, tightly wound melodrama that had little room for lyricism.

M.J. Philips-Matz ‘Puccini: A Biography’

Ignoring criticisms, Puccini also persevered in his clear vision of how the ending should be - by the way, nearly the single thing he and Sardou agreed upon. A good thing undoubtedly; I’d hate for this to happen:

Puccini’s librettists also disliked the suicide, and an alternate ending for the opera was (briefly) considered: rather than leap, Tosca would go mad, collapse, and die on the body of her lover (presumably of Sudden Operatic Death Syndrome).

Susan Vandiver Nicassio ‘Ten Things You Didn’t Know about Tosca’

Pure gold of a remark. Thank you, Susan.

‘Tosca’ is a very tight, succinct work, beautifully paced. I like how the acts are structured and developed. Act I, the longest one, was clearly meant to be expositional. Also, it’s the melodramatic one, with inclusion of comedic motifs that significantly lighten the mood (think the character of the Sacristan and continuous good-hearted mocking of Tosca by her lover).

Act II is unexpectedly macabre: there’s not a trace of the lightheartedness of act I. A real drama ensues, with torture, violence and grim ending (Tosca murders Scarpia in cold blood, which I, as a cynic, viciously enjoy every time). This act is also shorter while it still has enough room for Scarpia’s intricate manipulation and blooming deconstruction of Tosca. The characters are well-developed and nicely motivated (at least in part Sardou’s merit).

Act III is the shortest (just over 20 minutes), and it’s a full-on tragedy. The final plot twist was hardly intended as one. This act is an emotional roller-coaster. Combining hope and death, it is based on fragmented pieces, which makes the whole thing feel real, not operatic. The opera ends strong and loud, and it’s perfect that way. The audience is left with the sense of tragedy that is not undermined by unnecessary lyricism of long pre-death arias (like in Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, I absolutely hate the last act). With the rush of events, the delay at this point would be unendurable.

‘Tosca’ is chaotic in its final scene, just as it should be. Tosca the character makes the (suicide) decision in a blink of an eye, and I absolutely love the impression that she makes it out of egotistical motives: she is to be captured by the soldiers - not because Mario is dead. This is the kind of nuance that defines the difference between real living people and operatic character embryos. When the opera ends, I always find myself speechless and anguished not irritated at how annoyingly long it takes for the characters to die (looking at you, Verdi).

E lucevan le stelle [characters breakdown]

Palazzo Farnese, 2018. Now French Embassy in Rome

First and strongest impression about the characters of ‘Tosca’: gosh, they are not dumb! So it is possible.

One of the major appeals of ‘Tosca’ is that the characters feel like real people instead of archetypal damsel in distress, knight in shining armor and flat cardboard villain. Although Scarpia bends a bit in that direction, being completely satisfied with his villainous villainy, he acknowledges it, giving off the air of a ‘connoisseur of evil’ instead. William Ashbrook [musicologist] recognized Puccini as a portraitist who honed lifelike characters. Even the smaller characters like the Sacristan (‘an avaricious hypocrite’), Angelotti (exhausted but proud-spirited escapee) and Spoletta (when Scarpia says ‘jump’ he asks how high a perfect minion) are miniature studies of human nature. ‘Tosca’, in his opinion, is a portrait gallery of real-life people.

Floria Tosca [soprano]

For some unfathomable reason, ‘Tosca’ is defined as a melodrama, which is totally different from how it feels with its darkness and the fact that everybody of significance dies in the end. Wiki says melodrama is ‘a dramatic work in which the plot, which is typically sensational and designed to appeal strongly to the emotions’ - basically, plot over characters. Instead, [scenic] tragedy (defined by Google) is ‘a play dealing with tragic events and having an unhappy ending, especially one concerning the downfall of the main character’.

The latter is literally the plot of ‘Tosca’, especially as the title character undergoes a whole set of the most traumatic experiences (concessions to conscience, attempted rape, murder in defense, witnessing torture and execution of a loved one) in a span of just several hours. This set of experiences naturally draws a basis for her downfall (literally): under stress and with no opportunity to think thoroughly, it is not surprising that Tosca commits suicide.

She is strong-willed and passionate, pure-hearted (which is probably why she doesn’t see through Scarpia’s schemes) but not stupid, loyal but also jealous. More out of habit, if we to believe Julian Budden [opera scholar]:

[Cavaradossi, act I, scene 5] Mia gelosa! [My jealous [Tosca]!]

[Tosca] Si, lo sento, ti tormento, senza posa. [Yes, I feel it, I torment you unceasingly.]

All in all, she is a harmonious character in dire circumstances, and it’s a true delight to observe how Tosca, despite how broken and devastated she is, finds the power to oppose her offender. This is the real plot twist (character twist?) of the opera - and I assume the reason that ‘Vissi d’arte’, Tosca’s major aria (an emotional plea of a character who is about to betray her very self) is so well-known and recognized.

Mario Cavaradossi [tenor]

In comparison with Tosca, Cavaradossi is a deceptive character. At first glance he might appear rather flat: nothing more than a loyal lover and a proud revolutionary. Upon closer inspection, however, the audience discovers liveliness and realism many male operatic characters severely lack: he jokes with Tosca instead of oh-so-common sickeningly sweet sighs of love. He knows her flaw of being prone to jealousy - but doesn’t take it too close to heart. He listens to her without interruption as she tells him about Scarpia’s advances (for sure, I was waiting for a hateful scene where he would scream ‘how could you’ at his lover and bang his head against a wall). And he actually knows how to appreciate that she willingly sacrificed her purity for his sake (and he sings an aria about it, too: ‘O dolci mani’ [‘Oh, sweet hands’]).

Besides the believable romance with Tosca, Cavaradossi has excellent dynamics with Scarpia. As the news of Napoleon’s victory arrive, Mario - once tortured - cannot resist the urge to relish in how stars turned for his nemesis:

[Cavaradossi, act II, scene 4] Vittoria! Vittoria! L’alba vindice appar che fa gli empi tremar! Libertà sorge, crollan tirannidi! [Victory! Victory! The avenging dawn now rises to make the wicked tremble! And liberty returns, the scourge of tyrants!]

Tosca tries to stop his prideful speech, aware of how this flows right into Scarpia’s intention to lock revolutionary Cavaradossi up. But Mario is lost in his surging emotions and forgets both himself and his lover at this moment - truly a detail each of us can relate to.

And also Cavaradossi seems to know that his death is not going to be faked - a twist that no one but pure-hearted Tosca is fooled by. He doesn’t believe in Scarpia’s generosity for a moment, and so he doesn’t even try to pretend he is surprised but ironically ridicules the mere idea of a magnanimous villain:

[Cavaradossi, act III, scene 3] Scarpia che cede? La prima sua grazia è questa… [Scarpia yields? This is his first act of clemency…]

Unbelieving but relieved by Tosca’s appearance and intoxicated by her hopeful rambling, Mario chooses to spend his last moments languishing in her presence: he doesn’t want to spoil this time for neither of them. Beniamino Gigli [opera singer, performed as Cavaradossi] wrote in his autobiography that ‘[Mario] is certain that these are their last moments together on earth, and that he is about to die’.

This interpretation of the character is common among the opera singers:

Unlike Floria, Cavaradossi knows that Scarpia never yields, though he pretends to believe in order to delay the pain for Tosca.

Tito Gobbi [opera singer and director]

However, instead of displaying understandable despair, Cavaradossi falls back to his original optimistic self and starts to subtly mock Tosca’s attempts to teach him how to die theatrically. She replies with ‘non ridere’ [‘you mustn’t laugh’], and he softly reassures her. They’re just so sweet together without the usual operatic mawkishness.

(I suspect Tosca is not entirely convinced of their unscathed escape from the clutches of now-dead Scarpia, as well. No wonder she feels uncomfortable at the prolonged preparations.)

Baron Scarpia [baritone]

The villain of this story was actually the first among the main cast to catch my attention. Scarpia is just so explicitly entertaining in his sardonic wickedness. Still, I can see how he could be interpreted as the least 3-dimensional of the three.

Scarpia is a clever interrogator and a talented manipulator. He knows where to hit and when to push to get the answers he needs. Pressing Tosca more and more, he breaks through her defenses until she is frustrated and annoyed to the point of losing her self-control:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] L’Attavanti non era dunque alla villa? [So, the Attavanti was not at the villa?]

[Tosca] No, egli era solo. [No, he was alone.]

[Scarpia] Solo? Ne siete ben sicura? [Alone? Are you quite sure?]

[Tosca] Nulla sfugge ai gelosi. Solo! Solo! [Nothing escapes a jealous eye. Alone. Alone!]

[Scarpia] Davver? [Indeed!]

[Tosca] Solo, sì! [Yes. Alone!]

[Scarpia] Quanto fuoco! Par che abbiate paura di tradirvi. [You protest too much! Perhaps you fear you may betray yourself.]

Tosca, with her passionate, fiery temperament, explodes - Scarpia knows about this peculiarity all too well and is able to use her outburst as a clue in his investigation. He continues the pressure all through act II: Mario is tortured, and Tosca is forced to listen to his agony. She eventually crumbles, unable to persevere in keeping Mario’s secret:

[Tosca, act II, scene 4] Nel pozzo… nel giardino… [In the well… in the garden…]

This confession is so succinct, just like the rest of the dialogue in this opera. Tosca doesn’t say ‘wait, I’ll tell you everything’, doesn’t try to play for time; she just betrays the whole thing in two short phrases, without specifying what she means. There’s no need: they’re on the same page.

And then Scarpia goes one step beyond and acknowledges his villainous ways, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing but makes him a bit more caricature. Delightfully so, but still. While Tosca nurtures released Cavaradossi to conscience, Baron cunningly waits for the opportune moment, and strikes, ordering Spoletta to bring in Angelotti. He gloats at Cavaradossi, smugness dripping off of him: see, she betrayed your trust! Mario, tortured, exhausted, half-conscious, falls for it, throwing Tosca’s hands away:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] Nel pozzo… del giardino. Va, Spoletta. [In the well… In the garden. Get him, Spoletta.]

[Cavaradossi] Ah! M’hai tradito! [Ah, you have betrayed me!]

Cavaradossi picks this up from the dialogue between Scarpia and Spoletta - again, no one clarifies anything. Like you do in real life. Subtlety y’all.

Now that the villain has Cavaradossi locked up and preparations for his execution in progress, he is one step away from getting what he wanted from the start. Tosca consents to sleep with him but still cannot conceal her hatred, unavoidable ‘you can have my body but not my heart’ trope, which doesn’t stop his lust in the least - on the contrary, inflames him more:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 5] Che importa? Spasimi d’ira, spasimi d’amore! [What does it matter? Spasms of wrath or spasms of passion…]

Naturally, when Scarpia is finally killed by Tosca, the audience is bound to feel satisfaction and not regret. Even Floria, the established virtuous character, has no shame as she recognizes Scarpia as the ultimate threat:

[Tosca, act II, scene 5] Ti soffoca il sangue? Muori dannato! Muori! Muori! Muori! È morto! Or gli perdono! E avanti a lui tremava tutta Roma! [Is your blood choking you? Die accursed! Die! Die! Die! He is dead! And now I pardon him! All Rome trembled before him!]

But Scarpia is a disillusioned aristocrat rather than a one-dimensional villain. What lets him gain more flesh is his motivations - get rid of the rebels (for power rather than ideological considerations) and get the girl (personal gain), - his backstory and notoriety among the revolutionaries, working relationships with other characters and the fact that he continues to live through his actions (arguably the main theme of the opera). Even when dead, Scarpia continues to serve as a villain of the story: Mario dies, and Tosca shouts her curses at him:

[Tosca, act III, scene 4] O Scarpia, avanti a Dio! [Oh, Scarpia, [we meet] before God!]

This gives weight to the character as Baron doesn’t disappear as soon as he dies. His life and death both have consequences. His actions have lasting power - a feature that fictional villains far too commonly neglect.

Even though Scarpia possesses some cartoonish features, he is far from being as simple as Wile E. Coyote. Meep meep.

Vissi d’arte [finally, let’s talk music]

Riccardo Manci ‘Mario Cavaradossi singing ‘E lucevan le stelle’, inspired by the tenor Giancarlo Monsalve’, 2014

William Ashbrook described Puccini’s music as ‘telegraphic’ and ‘highly charged’. The reason behind such an impression is the combination of several major leitmotifs that interact, evolve and explain the story. Fugitive motif, love of Tosca and Mario, Scarpia’s theme, torture motif, Tosca’s theme and Cavaradossi’s farewell to life are used as a patchwork that tells the story. These leitmotifs - what Edward Greenfield [music critic] calls ‘Grand Tune’ concept - are memorable and unique, as well as quite distinct from their musical surroundings:

Puccini does not develop or modify his motifs, nor weave them into the music symphonically, but uses them to refer to characters, objects and ideas, and as reminders within the narrative.

Burton Fisher ‘Tosca: Opera Study Guide and Libretto’

Torture motif is one succinct example of how a single simple melody is used to pump up the mood. It first appears as a foreshadowing with Scarpia’s forming intention as he learns Cavaradossi was taken into custody:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 2] Meno male! [Not bad, not bad!]

It grows more and more pronounced as Cavaradossi is questioned - threatening but not quite powerful yet. On the backdrop, Tosca’s cantata also gains volume and solemnity - pure delight mixed with anticipation of terror:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 3] Questo è luogo di lagrime! Badate! Or basta! Rispondete! [Beware! This is a place for tears! Enough now. Answer me!]

And the theme finally loses its careful insinuative tone and thunders at full volume when Scarpia orders Mario into the torture chamber, right before Tosca’s eyes:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] Mario Cavaradossi, qual testimone il Giudice vi aspetta. [Mario Cavaradossi, the judge awaits your testimony.]

The melody elaborates with Mario’s torture heard from off-stage, reaching its breaking point as Tosca breaks and reveals Angelotti’s hiding. It repeats again after Mario is released - slow and woeful, intertwined with Tosca’s and Mario’s love theme that is now devoid of its previous light hopefulness.

Statue of Michael the Archangel, Castel Sant'Angelo, 2018

I love how music acts as a separate character in the opera. It talks to the characters, responds to them, inquires and leads the conversation. In act I, while Cavaradossi sings about his love to Tosca, the Sacristan reprovingly grumbles about obscene youth on the background. Besides, here lies the great benefit of veristic [realistic] opera that allows the characters to have duologues - Mario and Floria sing their lines separately in a conversational form rather than a boring duet.

Music gives the opportunities of quieter moments, to talk in phrases but also in gestures. During act II, Tosca uses gestures a number of times to answer Scarpia: a nod of the head, a wave; subtle yet expressive. They nearly don’t talk while Scarpia writes her a letter of safe passage. This quiet scene also allows Tosca’s character to unfold, her decision to feel earned. She sees the knife, she hesitates a moment; then she grabs it and hides behind her back: the decision is made. No words necessary; the score allows the characters to be silent while it tells and develops their story.

And it also allows the characters to talk all at once, without listening to each other. By the middle of Act II, as they learn about the battle of Marengo, Mario starts to shout about victory, Tosca tries to shut him up, and Scarpia reels about hanging the revolutionary. They clamor; chaos ensues, and music supports the flurry of eddying noises by playing disparate motifs. The best part about this scene is that it delivers the message loud and clear, on both levels of plot and emotions.

Talking about Puccini’s score, it’s impossible to ignore the musical cohesion and integrity: each of the three main characters has their theme and their own designated aria that allows them to shine. Moreover, as each of their arias happen once per act, I enjoy the interpretation of their dominance: Scarpia in act I, Tosca in act II, Cavaradossi in act III.

Act I. Scarpia’s ‘Te Deum’: lust, menace, church bells

The theme of the villain is played out in contrasts that reflect his character: cunning and smart - but ruthless and just on this side of crazy. Scarpia is also a figure of power, both literally and figuratively, and he is foreshadowed in the score long before the actual appearance of the character on stage. As Baron is first mentioned in the conversation of Angelotti and Cavaradossi, his dark theme abruptly breaks through the much less strident music:

[Angelotti, act I, scene 6] Tutto ella ha osato onde sottrarmi a Scarpia scellerato! [She has dared all to save me from that scoundrel Scarpia!]

Immediately, this menacing ascending theme is associated with the villain. Later, as he enters the stage, no one calls him by his name, yet the audience immediately recognizes him as Scarpia as he is accompanied by that same simple motif.

The appearance of Baron sobers and darkens the mood instantly, his leitmotif invading other themes unscrupulously. Establishing yet another contrast, his conversation with Tosca is escorted by the tolling of bells that lasts till the end of act I. Scarpia raves about his poison spreading through Tosca’s thoughts, and his unnerving, acrid soliloquy transforms into the solemn Adagio religioso in ‘Te Deum’.

This superposition of profane lust of a ferocious man and sacred sublimity of the Catholic chant is what makes the audience shudder. The final ‘Te aeternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur’ [‘Everlasting Father, all the earth worships thee’] should be the solemn virtuous hymn to God but instead the act ends with Scarpia’s theme reiterated in thunderous chords - an ominous admonition of impending threat. Brilliant. Act I definitely belongs to Scarpia.

Act II. Tosca’s ‘Vissi d’arte’: plea of a broken soul

Second act is all about tempo. The action rushes forward non-stop. Scarpia gives Tosca less and less time to think, to estimate her situation, pushing her to her into the abyss (count how many falling jokes I make through this post). However, he misjudges Tosca’s limits and pushes her just a bit too far.

The point of no return for Tosca is her aria where she asks God why she has to endure all this suffering.

[Tosca, act II, scene 5] Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore, non feci mai male ad anima viva! […] Nell’ora del dolore perché, perché, Signore, perché me ne rimuneri cosi? [I lived for art, I lived for love: never did I harm a living creature! [...] In this hour of pain, why, why, oh Lord, why dost Thou repay me thus?]

The score is lyrical, slow and wailing as Tosca mourns her faith. The aria ends with a low sob that is nearly spoken with raw emotion instead of sang. (Fun fact: while today the opera is probably most well-known for this aria, Puccini didn’t really like it and wanted to cut it out of the opera altogether; in all honesty, it does lack the musical potency of ‘Te Deum’ and ‘E lucevan le stelle’ even though it’s a palatable piece that delivers the idea of character deconstruction rather well.)

Tosca is left completely broken. Modern sopranos commonly fall to their knees while performing this aria, and there’s a good reason: when Tosca finally finds the power to stand up, she is a different woman. For me, this is when the main plot twist happens: usually, heroines in operas are meek and hesitant instead of decisive and offensive. Tosca breaks the pattern and shoves the knife through her offender’s ribcage. She owns act II.

Act III. Cavaradossi’s ‘E lucevan le stelle’: I die in despair

This aria is so renown even people who dislike opera have heard it at some point. It starts with a subtle, tender clarinet solo (possibly the most well-known operatic clarinet theme of all times). The melody is forced up but then sags, losing its power. It’s the pace of destiny, dragging and sorrowful, measuring what little time Cavaradossi has left. This is Andante lento composed in minor key and slow tempo - something that Mosco Carner [musicologist and conductor] calls ‘Puccinian lament, reserved for a character in an extreme situation - death or suicide’. Perfect to denote present anguished dolor.

Mario meditatively recites the first two lines, which feels like an improvisation. The audience witnesses an extremely intimate although fragmentary memory that ends in a grieving ‘muoio disperato’ [‘I die in despair’]:

Puccini insisted on the inclusion of these words, and later stated that admirers of the aria had treble cause to be grateful to him: for composing the music, for having the lyrics written, and ‘for declining expert advice to throw the result in the waste-paper basket’.

William Ashbrook ‘The Operas of Puccini’

Bravo, maestro!

I dislike the currently popular hysterical sobbing at the end of the aria that can be heard from modern tenors (e.g, in staging of ‘Tosca’ at La Scala). It sounds as a ‘hoquet tragique’ [‘tragic hiccup’] that jumps out too much and is slightly out of character - such rendering is more appropriate for Tosca’s character not Cavaradossi’s.

Still, this is arguably the most beautiful, heart-wrenching lyrical aria I’ve ever heard; I’m literally still not over it, after 3 whole years of listening to it, sometimes on repeat. Also, Placido Domingo is the best  Cavaradossi, shut up I’m not wrong (1976 film starring him and Raina Kabaivanska is wildly enjoyable).

As a bonus, act III (specifically its beginning and ending) deserve an honorable mention. Despite where the plot says the most dramatic moment of the plot is, for me, it’s the beginning of act III. Here’s the pinnacle of the opera: the contrast between the serene aria of a shepherd boy accompanied by the love motif - and the grim, heavy, shuddering theme of Cavaradossi’s farewell that the orchestra splashes on you as if it is a bucket of ice cold water. The music swells - you wait for the volume to stop growing, but instead it just tears through your eardrums.

The timpani are impossibly good for this piece. Intruding the peaceful, pastoral Roman morning full of hopeful dreams and the colors of sunrise, they suddenly throw the audience into the pit of pure unadulterated horror. Trembling and vibrating on low frequencies, they gift you with the feeling of earth opening under your feet, sucking you into the dark depths you’ll never get out of to see light - say farewell to life.

Similarly, the ending is extremely powerful. The drums start slowly at first, setting the rhythm. Before Cavaradossi’s execution, the orchestra is subtle and insinuating; it accrues and thickens in its vicious predictions. After the shots, as Tosca discovers Mario’s death, the tempo breaks through the roof. The music is desperately, deafeningly loud, it screams of tragedy. And, well, I am aware of the plot of the opera by now, but I’m caught off guard every time. I blame this on music. It just so perfectly reflects the mood of the events; it’s pure gorgeousness that gets to my very core every time.

There’s another point of criticism I need to mention in regard to the final theme that ends the opera: against logic, it is Cavaradossi’s farewell instead of more fitting love theme or, even more appropriately, Scarpia’s motif. This I cannot disagree with as, plot-wise, using this theme would provide the dramatic closure for the opera. However, given my love for theme of farewell, I cannot find the heart to dislike Puccini’s choice after all. Act III is largely focused on Cavaradossi, and the finale acknowledges this.

...Undoubtedly, Puccini was a genius. It’s not easy to comprehend the mastery with which he weaved a handful of simple motifs into a powerful story I cannot stop listening to. But also, there’s this:

Puccini’s sense of humor was often of the schoolboy variety, and he found risqué musical puns irresistible. In Act II of the opera, after Spoletta has assured Scarpia that ‘everything is ready’ for the execution of Cavaradossi, the Chief of Police turns to Tosca and softly asks, ‘Ebbene?’—’Well?’ She says nothing, and the score tells us that she indicates her submission by nodding her head. But at her silent reply the orchestra, anticipating the two-note theme of the ‘execution’ motif, plays the two-note phrase, A and C, or in Italian solfeggio, La and Do. The syllables, in addition to being musical symbols, also happen to be words in Italian: the words ‘La do’ mean ‘I'm giving it,’ and it is the usual way for women to say, I'm ready to give ‘it’ (to you).

Susan Vandiver Nicassio ‘Ten Things You Didn’t Know about Tosca’

It is quite possible there’s more of such minutiae. I’m not sure how to feel about a piece that simultaneously cracks me up and throws me into a pit of despair. But I definitely like it - that much I know.

Castel Sant’Angelo, 2018

Recondita armonia [some fun trivia]

The tone of the dialogue was elevated quite a bit. Get this: comforting Cavaradossi after he was tortured, Tosca says ‘Ma il giusto Iddio lo punirá’ [‘But a just God will punish [Scarpia]’]. The initial line was ‘Ma il sozzo sbirro lo pagherà’ [‘But the filthy cop will pay for it’]. Far less distinguished, my dear.

Puccini visited Rome specifically to mimic the early morning bells. Kudos for authenticity. Also, initially, the composer spent an ungodly amount of money to cast the bells he needed for the performance of ‘Tosca’. The orchestras till today have difficulties satisfying the composer’s vision.

Sarah Bernhardt, an actress who became the prototype for Tosca in Sardou’s play, while performing in Rio de Janeiro in 1905, injured her leg in the final scene when jumping from the rampart. As a result of poor treatment, she lost her leg ten years later. Gory.

Two of the most famous opera singers chose this opera as their farewell: Maria Callas as Tosca gave her last performance in 1965, and Luciano Pavarotti as Mario Cavaradossi in 2004.

In one of the performances with Placido Domingo as Mario Cavaradossi, his son was featured as a shepherd boy.

Before Puccini got to write ‘Tosca’, Giuseppe Verdi expressed his interest. He didn’t like the ending though and wanted it changed - I think we’ve barely avoided another ‘La Traviata’ there, oof.

Oscar Wilde saw ‘La Tosca’ and believed the torture scene was great as it showed how far people can go (no wonder; he was working on ‘Salome’ that evoked indignant discontent of the critics in a similar fashion). George Bernard Shaw also saw the play and, while disliking it utterly, still predicted it would be great as an opera.

In Sardou’s play, Cavaradossi gained a reputation of a Bonapartist in large part because of his mustache. That’s the conclusion I’ve made after seeing these two quotes: ‘Even his mustache was suspect’ and ‘Tosca’s confessor told her it marked him as a revolutionary’. This is gold.

[bcbdrums]

Another unpopular opinion

If you’re not into the Star Wars animated universe, stop reading now. If you are, this is about the ending of Rebels.  With a big preamble.

It’s also expected that if you’re reading this, you’ve seen Rebels and will get all the references.  I say that because...I never know when my elementary school students will find my online presence (seriously...I dread the day when a kid comes up to me and says they’ve found me anywhere online).  Moving on...

Let me start by saying I’ve never been a huge Star Wars fan.  Saw the original trilogy when I was age 7, and it was WAY too much for me at that age.  Also didn’t help that we watched it all in one sitting... (Just finished visiting my great grandma, literally walking out the door as she turns the TV on, SW is playing and my dad turns around, walks back in and sits down on the sofa and doesn’t move for the next several hours.  Apparently he hadn’t seen it since it first came out, and this was the 90′s.)  Then Episode I came out when I was 12 years old and, per George Lucas’s direct statements that SW is for 12 year olds...Ep. I is still my favorite to this day.  I quote Jar-Jar regularly.  But that’s a different unpopular opinion and not the topic of this post.

Anyway, Eps II and III came out, watched them, and then SW basically went out of my life.  I didn’t have cable and so even though I was aware of it I couldn’t watch CW on cartoon network.  Fast-forward now to Ep. VII, Rogue One, Ep. VIII, and Solo.  I had the same “it’s a good movie” feeling about VII that I’d had about II and III, I thought Rogue One was better, and then we came to VIII.  As I left the movie theater I realized...I’m not sure if I like this movie (another topic to leave for another day).  But Luke’s death got me a bit fixated on SW in general, so my journey into SW began.

I decided to rewatch EVERYTHING chronologically to decide if I liked Ep. VIII.  Started of course with my fave, Ep. I and went from there.  And then I remembered there was an animated series I had never seen...  I watched CW and I LOVED it.  It’s incredible, and I’m so so excited that it’s coming back, even if for only 12 episodes.  So after CW I watched III, and then realized again...there’s yet another animated series I haven’t seen or really heard anything about.  I looked into Rebels.  And let me tell you, text posts don’t advertise it well.  I expected to hate it based on the written word.  Thought the animation looked stupid based on stills from the show.  But, when I commit to something I do it.  So it was time to watch Rebels.

It took me awhile to get over the lack of animation quality (I prefer CW), but by the end of the pilot episode I was hooked.  Incredible characters, well-acted, well-written, well-developed, and a totally believable world.  Not since Ep. I had I been drawn into the SW universe so completely and loved it so much.  So, it went on.

Sadly I did get spoiled regarding the ending of season 2 due to the SW wiki.  And that terrible spoiling made me swear-off reading about things I want to watch before I watch them.  I will never be spoiled again.  But anyway...as I’m binging this series I realize...it’s not done yet!  It’s still being produced!  And what episodes remain, you ask?  “Jedi Night” was the next one to premiere.

So for the first time in my life I got on Disney XD and watched Jedi Night the day it came out, and the subsequent episodes as well.

And then like anybody who obsesses over fiction, I immediately took to tumblr.  And through the rest of the series I was consistently shocked by the hate and denial pouring out.  Now, I guess I shouldn’t be, since all anyone seems to pour out is hate.  But it was even more shocking to me because really...that ending was great.

We all knew from the beginning that Kanan was doomed.  Even he knew it.  And I don’t mean because of Yoda, I mean because he would have showed up later if he was still around.  It would have been a far worse ending for him to a) be a coward and not continue helping the rebellion, or b) be entirely out of character and only help a tiny group of rebels.  Neither are viable options and are worse, because they would destroy the character we came to love.

We watched Kanan grow over the series.  He got over his hatred of clones, he got over his fear of the universe trying to kill him, AND he actually began believing in the cause and coming back to who he was (a Jedi, in case you forgot).  Seeing him fight for the rebels and actually believe in it for himself, not just because of Hera, was great.  Which brings me to the secondary aspect of his character development--a Jedi in love who does it right.

That’s got to be the best love story I’ve ever seen.  And...there’s nothing else to say about it.  It was perfect.  Well done, Filoni and crew!

So I ask you, should Kanan have regressed into this...universe-fearing, hate-in-his-heart, living-in-denial person, ignoring who he is and either just sticking with one tiny group, OR leaving the rebellion entirely?  It would be entirely out of character.  And realistically doing that would mean leaving Hera as well, because of who HER character is.  She’s in that rebellion for the long haul.  And to change her story and make her...go settle with Kanan somewhere and forget the rebellion (like that clone...the other human who married a twi’lek...some french-sounding name), or again just be in a small part of it...that would be extremely and obviously out of character for Hera.  The whole series is her trying to make the rebellion bigger.  And we know from the finale, she was fighting in Rogue One while pregnant!  There’s no way she would have gone for less.

Point is, for Kanan to have lived would have killed the story because it would have required either he or Hera to be out of character, which is far, far worse than a character getting a hero’s death.

Star Wars has never been a story about happy endings.

Kanan’s death seems to be the biggest thing people hate, but I will briefly mention Ezra and the purrgill.  The entire series has spent deliberate time on his special Force-connection to nature, so the purrgill’s arrival in the finale, while surprising, was more of a... “what!?  oh, of course!” moment for me.  Ezra calling on animals to help is entirely in character for him.

I actually expected Ezra to die, but having his and Thrawn’s fates being unknown is outstanding.  So we do get a bit of a happy ending in that way.

And to those displeased with the fact that the last battle wasn’t Rogue One, well...again, have you really been watching the show?  That wasn’t part of the story for THESE characters.  And what would that have done, really?  We already have another outstanding story in Rogue One.  Making the Rebels characters somehow...instrumental to that story’s success would cheapen the story of Jyn, et al.  And similarly, just putting the Rebels crew there and NOT having them be instrumental is cheapening to them.  These characters needed to end THEIR story, not someone else’s.

For those interested, I continued my SW binge but haven’t yet brought myself to watch Ep. VIII again.  But CW and Rebels I’ve already rewatched twice!  Quality entertainment.  Outstanding acting, and outstanding storytelling.  The Rebels ending was great.  

You’re free to not like something.  But could you talk about it in a way that’s...less hateful and more intelligent?