won't you come?

no one sings like you anymore.

[melcavill]

Jennifer Connelly in Winter’s Tale (2014)

[christophernolan]

It’s time everyone woke up.

DOLORES in WESTWORLD | 3x05 ‘GENRE’

[nightcars]

i want to taste you. / @enginire

the flowers come, expectant of nothing. audrey works to break a cycle they both know existed before her. too soon, some would say, but the frequency in which she'd come into the club before all this meant that showing up wasn't out of the ordinary, and avoiding contact would only confirm melanie's suspicions about her interest. no amount of work could convince her to break this promise.

a single kiss had brought her there, and the ride home leaves her nervous — she isn't expecting it. ( there's a change in her eyes that makes for more than the excitement of receiving a bouquet. her simple gesture, to the outside world, was simple. to her, it was a step without expectation. and when expectation had been set aside, surprises occurred. )

in the rush between work, home, the florists, she doesn't expect to spend the late hours sprawled across melanie's bed — jaw pleasantly aching. but she was, arm over her waist, exchanging kisses she could not have dreamt up months ago. between them, a smile that reappeared, unable to deny it resurfacing. something had shifted, making the warmth blooming in her mind more present, clearer. wrongly, she'd assumed they were finished, if only for now. focused on her, audrey had found her enjoyment there, not needing anything else, more than satisfied to have watched ( tasted, and felt ) each of the darker haired woman's orgasms. the memory would be enough for some self relief in a later moment. "you don't have to." it comes with a degree of vulnerability she hadn't considered, in a long, long time. her fingers stroke the small of her back, willing to let her, but as driven to make it known she was content — if bashful. "unless you want to, i wasn't expecting it."

[nightcars]

you’re not wearing any underwear. / @enginire

the teal isn't incredibly flattering on her. natural red clashes with wilford's chosen color, and on occasion, audrey opts for black. not tonight, to her frustration, stuffed into the hospitality suit and just as filled with the day's complaints. ( a sink leak in second, a review of the the plant bed turnovers in ag sec, negotiation with the guilds in third — prepared to convey mr wilford's interests, and compromise. it was her way, not his, and so it required added work and time meant to pretend to communicate interests to the engine. )

wilford's right and left hands made up him in his entirety, and the lie kept was not without increasing stress. that stress found an outlet in the engine, within the group of engineers that kept to the engine. it wasn't melanie's day to enjoy all the train had to throw at her, but like it or not, the day's retellings would find her either way as audrey entered the engine.

her venting lasts a few seconds— the new list of needs, compromises with the guilds, loose panels in the bowling car ( other non emergent things to fix later ) and ends with fingers dancing across her thigh. "not anymore." not since shedding half her outfit, bottom teals and tank remaining. "the skirt is next to go." she touches melanie's wrist, offering her permission, reaching for the zipper of the seated woman's suit.

"and your eyes are supposed to be on the track, engineer."

[christophernolan]

I lived in hell. But there was beauty in it.

DOLORES in WESTWORLD | 3x07 ‘Passed Pawn’

[christophernolan]

Hello, Lover.

DOLORES in WESTWORLD 3x04 “The Mother of Exiles”

[nightcars]

you know you love an excuse to wear your fur. / @enginire

new eden wasn't the lush green some had been promised, but the sound of fresh water, and the tolerable cold was something new. audrey had picked her and the train above all, ignoring the imploding of their relationship to focus on the other safety and comfort snowpiercer could provide over the promise of the unknown. she'd been at her best on the train, in a space that valued music and her, over a new world where her skills were close to obsolete.

it had come full circle anyway, and they'd stopped, to her fear. while others left the train, the nightcar did as they saw fit, away from the windows. city streets didn't await her, and though audrey had once enjoyed trips to snowy mountain regions, she had never been a hiker. melanie hadn't gotten that message, naturally, as only hours after their arrival, they were sitting some height above the defrosted lake framed by rocks and snow. it was the first real use of her sensible pair of boots.

company and wine won her over for the walk, as melanie opted to be endearing. it was a strange sudden shift in course— they hadn't had time to speak, not like they used to, since before she'd left for the weather station. that changed, in the middle of passing a bottle of wine between each other. this woman was softer company than her teal counterpart, warmth and humor radiating from under the beanie on her head. "so few occasions when fur is appropriate on the train." more in recent days, when wilford had run the train, and audrey had used clothes as a buffer for his advances. ( the more she'd worn, the more space between them, as the world continued on without her. ) "it's warm out here, but not that warm. you're teasing me."

[enginire]

this is the realest yet — she can feel each movement, each twist of her arm and each touch at her cheek. she feels the way she seeks her pulse, the way the warmth spreads through her from her chest out, and the way there's now something hard and plastic pressed into the corner of her mouth. (it's sweet — sickly sweet, and gooey, but mel sucks down a mouthful and lets the rest fill in the corners of her teeth before gulping it down again. it's an energy pack, from what she can tell — sugary.)

if this is a trick, it's a cruel one.

"where's this from?" audrey never brings anything with her — just heels and the yearning memory to keep fucking going because without that, she'd be curled in a corner two weeks ago, watching the last of the rats scurry from one end of the room to the other. that's the confusing denominator in this situation — they've been here before, with soft yet demanding fingers, gone too soon into the mist of her own breath fogging up the computer screen before her, but never like this. never so real.

"how is alex?" if it's real, she'll play along. if it's not, then it's only a few hours until she's alone again, shivering into her cot and waiting for the cold to take her completely. if it's real, then she needs to know about alex, about the train, about what's happened since she's left — why they didn't stop, how wilford inevitably got back to his throne in first. that's what she needs to know. whether she'll ever get back there or not — that's another question. (they can don the breachsuits in the next revolution and retrieve the data wrapped tightly in the warmest part of the room and pray to whatever's out there that the cold hasn't brutalised the hard-drives, and they'll find nothing but a skeleton wrapped in her sleeping bag. that's not the concern here. the mission was a success, no matter what happens now.)

another glug of honey before she pushes it away from her mouth, raising one hand to stop it from being squeezed between her lips.

"no — for you too." wherever it's from, they need to ration. need to figure out what they have before it turns into a have not.

"aren't you cold?"

[nightcars]

determination makes up what education she doesn't have. spending hours as the headwoods's lab rat doesn't make her able to gauge what the cold had done to her, and what isolation had made worse. her urging succeeded in getting some of the pouch into her, to her relief, as cold turned melanie into something distant — someone not all there, after loneliness and what she assumed to be hunger. she was piecing together each of her comments, of where she would've gotten the food brought with her from the train. reality must have been out of grasp, and she would return her to it.

the truth was that her association to alex had been peripheral for the last days, kept apart by intention as wilford prepared to leave melanie behind. losing a mother once was enough, losing her for good was a reality no one should have had to face. audrey knew it twice over, and even without knowing, could imagine how that felt. "alive and well, but she needs you back on that train. we all do." no matter what, they all did — few were more necessary to operations than her.

selfishness existed too, to have her back, to see her well again, despite knowing that she had shifted in mind. the cold had made her something different, someone distant, and she wasn't certain a return to earlier warmth was possible. ( little left on her is smooth, now. her voice, all but gone. the girlfriend melanie knew, lost in part to pain. ) her fingers squeeze the packet, coaxing more into melanie to return her to health. anything, to get there.

"i'll be fine. you'll need to finish the rest soon." need, non negotiable.

her eyes didn't leave her now, unwilling to focus elsewhere. if this was their last few days, or hours, she wanted to remember. "no. i'm different now, i don't feel the cold like i used to. do you feel warmer?"

[cculters]

˚ · .✧˚ · .✧˚ · .  fingers embraced the glass, blue eyes briefly gazing upon the amber inside before tasting it upon her curled up lips. the tongue collected a lonely drop, before she said,  ❝ oh, i'm well aware of the nature of that friendship. ❞ voice remained nothing but honey, though the vinegar underlying it surprised even marisa herself. comprehensible it would be only if she'd indeed cared for the man or has the vanity overtook her soul as much for the jealousy to fry her insides in old days ? now barely a distancing memory of it. . . ❝ he can be torturous with his set of records. though, i must admit, your choice of words is truly captivating. ❞  marisa crossed her legs, turning sideways on the stool, eye boring in hope to see the tiny sting she subtly intended to inflict — the power of being one of the few who, allegedly, remained in direct contact with him. ❝ & the reason it had been, indeed. but for however long . . ? given the recent. . . disturbances. ❞ the tail & the third a constant struggle, threatening with wavering the — so far — well remained balance. has the hospitality tried to keep peace all along, other approaches called for a trial. ❝ he knows you've become people's guideline, audrey. . . they look up to you & he wishes you could remind them of generosities he offers to each & every one of us. i'm sure he wouldn't like to be forced to look for more reasons. ❞     ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

[nightcars]

wealth was captivating. to some, it was the possibility of financial freedom, won most often by a series of numbers in a lottery before the freeze — or occasionally, a lucky break. for audrey, it had been gifted to her shortly after birth, a prize for having been plucked out of the arms of a single actress for a sum of money paid to an agency that would have changed her life. instead, she'd been sent on her way, childless, while the girl she'd fought to name audrey took on another name, and another family. ( that unmistakable, recognizable wealth dripped off marisa like molten gold. )

"i appreciate the compliment." barbed as it was, being rude would cause more trouble than needed. the click of melanie's heels downtrain, ready to remind her of her place, and of the precarious balance from first to the nightcar. a balance that was meant to oppress those who made the train run, and reward those who sat in fancy dining rooms and day tripped to the ocean car. ( and gossiped, about each other, about themselves, about the tail — who did nothing other than suffer. ) suffering more than audrey in the moment, subjected to threats.

"the rebellions have nothing to do with my work here. i do what i can, in this car, to heal wounds, and i entertain." simple, perhaps, but meaningful. her purpose, when joseph would have preferred something more carnal. what audrey did to feed revolt was quiet, unable to be traced back, in order to maintain neutrality. busying herself at the bar, one surface away from conflict, her eyes attentively raised, expression careful — curious, in her line of questioning to come. "there are only so many honeyed words i can use to sugar coat what some here don't have, that others uptrain have in excess. i can sympathize with their plight. joseph is generous, for certain, and his sacrifices in the engine are noted— but i hear much different of the patrons in first class."

[nightcars]

can i go down on you? / @enginire

the reality of not being touched by melanie like that doesn't dawn on her, until that moment. it's enough to touch her, to appreciate every inch of her engineer with abounding affection, kisses down her neck, chest, up her thighs. she does it again and again without complaint, enjoys the back arching, shaking orgasms earned more than her own. ( who could prefer rushed fingers alone in her bunk more than seeing her laid out on silk, arms high above her head, twitching and begging and for her? who needed anything more than that? )

with all said and done, with the engineer laid out against her many pillows, audrey hardly noticed any of her own need. always secondary, by choice, and necessity— on occasion, touch was too much for her, a reminder of times where it had always been work. but none of this was, none of it had reminded her of it. audrey lay on her side, elbow under her head, tracing fingers over her hip. her question surprises, and settles, until she can think of an answer.

"do you want to?" want, not obligation, she doesn't expect anything from her, and wants her to know it. ( expectation is a line easy to cross, and though she'd never given her a reason to believe otherwise, that still simmered quietly in the back of her mind. it was an irrational fear to think time spent with joseph might have made her cruel or demanding. ) her fingers slide upward, touching melanie's ribs, appreciatively stroking a place previously kissed. "you can. it's been a long time—"

[nightcars]

palm: taking the receiver’s hand, the sender brings it to their mouth, and places a tender kiss against the receiver’s palm. / @timesense

gentleness is different here. the proximity on snowpiercer meant that each offering was more intimate than elsewhere, where it couldn't be delivered without ever seeing that person again. it was a closed system, the same faces aboard the same cars ( all except the tail ), until the last revolutions. there was no avoiding someone after intimacy or estrangement, certainly not with the gentle kiss delivered to a palm. flushed — charmed, audrey smiled.

"very sweet of you." very, she thought. ( nothing like the eyes that settled on her so often, expectant, not all kind. not like this. ) she allowed her to keep that hand for a moment longer, lingering. "what can i do for you tonight, river?"

[spaceslayer]

You’re a creature of beauty… and power.

[nightcars]

you’re still the love of my life. / @enginire

still. seven years of distance, of belief that she was dead, and melanie still thought of her. for seven years, everyone aboard big alice had been dead to the world, audrey along with them. the truth had been that her time spent trackside hadn't resulted in boarding — but watching snowpiercer depart, rolling down the rails, as chaos ensued around all around them. ( crowds and hopelessness and bodies, all a recipe for disaster as the world sunk further into despair. ) if not for wilford, enraged and confused, spotting her among the more warmly dressed, melanie's belief would have been true.

instead, the rushed time meant to outfit the supply train was filled with anger. who, but her, could be looked at to explain why her engineer had abandoned them. no narcissist could see the error in their ways, and so fault lay with everyone around them. ( what could she have said to be left behind, doomed to an end with the businessman she'd left for her engineer? a lover's spat, played out, without cause that she could offer him, or herself. ) gifted the time to think over her failures as big alice became an option, a vessel for the forgotten, soon to be on a mission of revenge.

without melanie, there was no challenging her worst fears. no inner voice to dispute each assumption, from their time spent tucked away on dates being solely to hurt someone else, to simply having forgotten. grief and anger, ran their course as the culling occurred. by the time they'd found snowpiercer, audrey had settled into something in between — that no matter the reasoning, that chapter was closed. pain, cold, and scarring filled every day after, and melanie cavill became a memory. it was strange now to be standing with her, in her cabin, holding pictures from another life.

the audrey in them was lost to time. singing turned to humming, to silent finger tapping. she no longer entertained, and below the neck, bore scars and marks from cold tests that left most of her barely recognizable. her throat was tight as she spoke of love. a quiet exhale followed. "i'm not that woman anymore— i don't know how." by necessity, to keep herself from joining those that were no longer useful, well aware that disagreeing would jeopardize her place as a bargaining chip worth keeping — only not to be needed as one. the picture, still between her fingers, made her wish she'd had some of her own. "you could have anyone else here. you could be happy."

[fleetwoodmar]

evan rachel wood in into the forest (2015)

[notmorbid]

mabel.

dialogue prompts from season 3 of mabel, a podcast by becca de la rose.

you can save everyone else but you can’t save yourself, can you?

i broke every mirror in the house.

i looked and looked, but never found you.

do you think i am like you?

i have loved nothing and no one but you.

people are not half as complex as they think they are.

i am a lot of things, but i’ve never once been weak.

i don’t have any pity in me.

i never learned to drive. did you know that?

you don’t mind giving me some privacy, right?

i got more than i bargained for, that’s for sure.

have you ever been free in your life?

sometimes i wonder if anything outside of myself exists.

what wouldn’t i do to keep you?

i do not exist for you. i do not exist for anyone.

i want you to always be able to find me.

i should stop projecting, shouldn’t i?

i believe you. i believe in you.

what were your friends like?

you can call me whatever you like. it might even be true.

i am feeling uncharitable towards you.

what am i to you, really?

do you still want me now?

i am a sharpened, vitriolic thing. 

i wish i was good, but i’m not.

you are your own. you belong to yourself. 

i have made a religion of you.

i am never playing the game you think i am.

i am the labyrinth and i am also the minotaur.

i can’t imagine a version of myself that would not love you.

it isn’t your fault. none of this is your fault.

i’ll set myself on fire to give you light.

i’m here, aren’t i? so come on, let me in.

we can’t both be the sacrificial lamb. one of us has to be the knife.

you’re always so right. it must be such a burden.

i’m with you because i want to be.

i’m here because i want to be.

i know how to defend myself. i’m not sure i know how to respond to genuine affection.

i don’t know what you want from me. usually i know, but i don’t with you.

you don’t know what you mean to me.

[nightcars]

pain is your fc losing their fansite in real time

[enginire]

@nightcars: sender lifts receiver's chin, invoking eye contact.

it's been a long night. she spends most of it on her knees until the ground feels as though it's going to fall out from under her. (this work is a constant precipice — one decision away from the rug being pulled out from under her. that's how it feels. the rock is one choice away from falling in her stomach, or two steps away from hurtling down the train in one huge, unavoidable schism. they'll crown her or kill her, and the former is as likely as coming out of this... situationship with audrey unscathed.)

her head dips at the thought, her breath shallows, and audrey does everything to keep her in the moment. this is what matters. right now, the two of them — not first, not the engine, not anything that happens in between the walls or the rebellion beginning to rear its ugly head down in the tail. this matters. the way audrey touches her, whispers pretty nothings in her ear and keeps her close (in every way) until the tense knot in her chest is able to unravel itself at least for a few minutes. it takes time, effort, a whole ritual of letting go and giving in to the now.

the eye contact lasts for as long as she's willing to hold it, audrey's finger dipping under her chin to keep her there, in the moment. don't run away from me, meI — she can hear it, everything unspoken in the moments they share, everything there but so far away.

meI's hand wraps around the toy nestled between audrey's hips, carefully, languidly — as though the eye contact is doing anything but burn between her thighs, and slowly, carefully, she takes her in her mouth. (she wants audrey to empty her head too. she wants her to only see this, the now that they've been chasing all this time. she wants her breathless and choking back a fucking gasp because of the way the silicon hits the back of her throat as she pulls her in further — she wants every part of her, every emotion, every heady point, every hurt and every passion. she wants this more than the fucking engine, and it's taken her til now to really see that — want. need. selfish as it grows in the pit of her stomach and yet.)

her hand sneaks under the toy, sliding the base of her palm up the inside of her thigh, and her thumb aims surely against the underside of her cIit. a hand is snaked into her hair, careful as she guides the slow bob of her head, but their eyes remain locked. this is the now, with one hand anchored at audrey's hip and the other trying to coax her over the edge, and she doesn't wait for the other shoe to drop, or the decision that causes it all to tumble. this is the now.

[nightcars]

her days are spent hearing other people's pain. audrey promises to let someone hear her own, but delays it as time passes, speaking little to a few, and internalizing everything else. snowpiercer's strife finds an outlet in the isolation chamber, where the experience was centered around release, and healing. sitting between screens alone offered less, no warm body to offer her comfort as her mind floated to the worst, recalled it with incredible detail — leaves it behind there, when the moment called for it. some of her nights are spent unwinding another, instead.

it isn't all selfless. melanie needs the grounding, and trusts her with the honour of carrying her through it. she does, often, hosting the head of hospitality, tangled for as long as they can steal from the train. the desire to stay convinces the elder woman to set some boundaries, not to have to leave in the middle of their stress relief, and deny both of them what they wanted more than having to return to routine. ( melanie had taken calls, wrapped around her fingers and tongue, resigning herself halfway through to leave to handle a nonissue instead of enjoying the rest of the hour. with time, she learns to stay. )

before restructuring her priorities, this wouldn't have been possible. audrey's hand kept dark hair together, strands tangled in her fingers, as melanie knelt between her legs. she doesn't expect it, but comes to the realization soon enough to cradle her chin, guide her toward the strapped length between her legs. "you're so good for me." praise came naturally, the opposite of everything received outside of this room, where the elder was responsible for the outcome of her decisions. here, the only ones she was responsible for was conveying her own level of comfort.

here audrey doesn't have to look away, save face and pretend that she doesn't get as much out of this as melanie does. ( too much affection outside of this space would give her away, send her running away from want — from the reality of her feelings, that stemmed beyond passion. ) overthinking, despite the reality of her emotion written across her face, eyes blown as lips parted to wrap around the toy, and steal away all of her composure. her breath hitched, turned ragged as she mapped her eyes — blue lined exterior, greens, topped with a warm gradient of color reminiscent of sunsets. eyes that wanted, and wanted her.

she's never been so focused. ( they could have been anywhere in the world: her chicago apartment, full of everything money could buy. the first new york flat, smaller than a cabin in second. anywhere in between, if audrey could have seen anything else but melanie. ) pink lips, tongue that touched nothing but the silicone, inspiring her imagination to revert to the sensation of how they felt against her own skin — hot kisses, stolen inside the doorway to the nightcar, fingers between her thighs, when she allowed it, her mouth, feverish against her neck.

the rising and falling of her hair filled hand in time with her head bobbing, guided, kept her half lidded eyes burning. "you look so pretty like this, with me in your mouth. so deep." a world's worth of art, destroyed, and none of it could have been close to equal to her. a thumb stroke against stretched lips — a surprised hum and pleasantly surprised moan as melanie's own sought out the bundle of nerves below the base. ( soon to spell trouble, for her self control. )

composure was audrey's specialty. functioning to let someone else come apart was safe, comfortable in expectation. it takes her to distance from that pattern, to teach her something new about the vulnerability the engineer gave freely, and deserved in return. she's flushed now, struggling not to whimper in time with a soft press of her hips. ( eyes, open, fluttering under her gaze — sight and touch overwhelming. cosmic. her throat, dry. the line of words so easy to summon at any point in time no longer so accessible. her back, pressed into the chair hard. toes, curling in her heels. her thighs, shaking — muscles twitching. between them, wetter after being touched, eager for more. )

release comes racing, faster than the engine, crashing into melanie's mouth and hand. her name, tumbling in a gasp from still painted lips— transfer proof, sparing any marks to be noticed later. audrey's fingers further curled into her hair, tugging, moaning her end into the space between them. losing sight of melanie only to relieve her fluttering eyes, sinking down into her seat, she sighed in satisfaction. the pads of her fingers released dark hair to brush it back, appreciative, the other stroking down a cheek in silent praise. "that was— clever."