#glorifiiedgore

[chancestook]

“ DON'T FUCKING CALL me that. ” the usage of her full first name is almost akin to being stabbed, she thinks. ( dramatic much, cece? ) her tone is firm, voice raised ever so slightly. it wasn't quite yelling, that she couldn't get away with. albeit, a tone daring to become a yell was close enough. as @glorifiiedgore steps closer, she takes a step backward. as spine makes contact with the railing, one fact becomes exceptionally clear: there was nowhere else to go. expression sours, brow furrowed.

( "how do you even know that guy?" ) it's easy to pick up on, if one really listened. that hint of jealousy that dripped from his question. egging it on wouldn't be in her best interest, & yet... “ what, i'm not allowed to have friends now? ” arms fold 'cross her chest, defensive. as if she'd truly be with someone of that age simply socially. “ from work. ” a regular who has hit on her on one too many occasions, though she wouldn't admit to such a thing. surely the advances were bound to become worse thanks to this entire thing.

maybe she should've thought it through, rather than simply acting out of spite. too late now. ( "did you fuck him?" ) there's a moment where she's rendered speechless, perhaps considering the possibility of such a thing. ( disgusting! ) then, expression shifts as a smirk settles upon painted lips. “ oh, you want to know? getting off on being cucked now, is that it? ” a laugh, “ i'm not telling you shit. you don't want me here? then get out of my way, i'll leave. ” / continued from here.

[therapardalis]

[ @glorifiiedgore's Santiago, from here.]

Yes the song was annoying, but possibly not for the reasons Pope imagined. The main issue Thera had with it was that beat-wise it was a banger, the kind that worked into her subconscious in a way that made her want to move. A shift of her shoulders at the least, at best (worst?) the kind of hips-and-torso dance she'd learned in countries a long way from there. Quite a few times over, as the years went by.

Silly lyrics, though, when applied to the group at their table. The sort of thing they'd all sing along to for no-one in particular, or that Santiago would pretend was for her, just to make a scene. And she would protest that he could just fucking stop, though she knew he wouldn't until the song was over.

But yes, the beat. It managed to roll in under her skin just enough to throw her off her game when cards were being dealt. That and ... whatever he thought he was doing down there, fingers like an annoying mosquito that tempted her to squash them between his leg and hers.

Jostle like a couple of kids elbowing for space and bugging the shit out of their teacher along the way. Or ... something else. Something that had her side-eyeing him for a moment as the music played.

Frankie started the old story again, one she'd heard before but always made her laugh, two chopper pilots connecting across the table - he could throw in the extra technical talk and she would understand. She waited until the end, barely noticing the cards (and not mentioning the song had finished, in case Pope decided to do the 'What's New Pussycat' prank with it instead), then, "So," Cheerfully, as if it were a perfectly innocent question in a perfectly innocent way, "have you heard about the 'flying naked' idea?"

She let that land, taking a sip of her drink and picking up her cards, "I still have the telegrams."

[natura1order]

DEATH DOES NOT move, her gentle touch does not fall. these moments of pure tenderness, letting herself linger for longer than she knows she should, always seemed to end in disaster. she knows better, they both do. ( "rio, please." ) the name causes a tightness within her chest. everything felt far more intense when she took a flesh-covered form. ( rio. riorioriorioriorio. ) “ you don't have to call me that, just because i am within this form. ” that is a fact she must be certain @glorifiiedgore knew. the way she appeared would never change what they both knew: who she truly was.

“ is this not what you want? ” a beat, “ be honest with me, marc. if you truly wish for me to stop, tell me. look me in the eye & mean those words. ” as lips press against her palm, the answer is clear. despite the hopelessness of the entire situation, neither truly wanted her to retreat. neither wanted to watch her tear the fabric of reality to disappear once more. they wanted her here, with him. it nearly feels meant to be, some sort of divine pairing. as if she believed in such things.

his touch is warm against cool skin, form leeching the heat from him. what she wouldn't give to feel more of his warmth. this was a terrible idea. she swears she could imagine khonshu lecturing him already. “ would it not be better to simply give in for once? ” / continued from here.

[odditymuse]

˗ˏˋcontinued from here .ᐟ ꒰ @glorifiiedgore ꒱

There was something oddly. . . peaceful about it all. After everything, after dealing with it all — maybe they could pretend like things were just normal now. Layla knew it couldn't last, wouldn't last. Too much had gone down, and she still had more questions than she ever had before, when it came to the man beside her. Yet Steven's constant rambling eased something deep within her, left her to ignore those questions for now. It was much easier to watch him. To look up into the sky as he explained each little constellation before them. She knew them well herself, yet still listened. Still let her eyes drift to his profile as he spoke. There was nostalgia in it, but in a manner that didn't quite make sense, you know? she'd never experienced Steven Grant, but the body he shared was so personal to her. Laced with so many memories. . . Leaning over felt easy. He was apologizing, smiling awkwardly, forcing that dimple of his to pop into place. Her lips found warmed, tanned skin before she could think much of it. Wide eyes, her name sounding like praise more than anything. She had to think just how different Steven truly was, to Marc. Some of it still made little sense to her but this? This was strangely okay. Seeing his rosy cheeks in the moonlight. Hearing the hitch in his breath. Layla's lips twitched, her own laugh something soft, not harsh in the slightest.

"Well, I didn't give you much warning, did I? Is that. . . alright?" Those questions returned. she could only think of the divorce papers probably still somewhere in her bag, not having been spoken of since the day Steven told her he would never divorce her. . . "The dimple was a little irresistible, I won't lie." Was it considered flirting, if technically Marc was still her husband? Was it alright to do so, with Steven? She remembered his lips across her own, back then. Awkward, unsteady, off centered but warm.

[savagecuhnt]

“Don’t worry about it. I was already awake.” ( Maybe for Al & Rose in our modern AU verse?? )

nightmares plagued her slumber. dark images of a painful past. The horrors of growing up in a hospital for the clinically insane. The perverse doctors and staff. She sits up in a cold sweat, gripping Al for dear life. It takes a moment for her to come to, to realize she's in the safety of her home and her husband's embrace. "I-I'm sorry." she sighs, inked digits coming up to brush sweat soaked tresses from her face. "I had the nightmare again."

petite frame curls up into a fetal position, snuggling as close as possible without climbing onto his larger form. "I'm glad you're awake, and I didn't actually wake you." glacial orbs gaze up through the darkness, searching for his familiar features. The moonlight was enough to catch a reflection his concerned orbs. such a comfort to see those eyes. His eyes. almost a fear that it would be those of the doctor's from her childhood. "are you okay?" she questions, now curious to know what keeps him from a decent night's rest. "was I moving too much?"

[therapardalis]

[ @glorifiiedgore's Leto from here.]

Thera watches him go, and in the space of a long exhale her shoulders sink, come to rest as she notices Gurney's approach. He's the Warmaster, but also one of those who accepted her, trained her, brought her from a promising import from the Ecazi military to elite fighter of the Atreides'. What she's achieved here he's watched and encouraged. And that is why the doubt conveyed by his warning slices deeper than he might intend.

Those same shoulders turn rigid under his hands, voice both a whisper and a hiss. "What the hell do you think I've been doing?" Bitter as black coffee, eyes a blade too sharp for any Holtzman shield to turn - a cub baring her teeth at the leader of the pride.

They put her here. That bubbles up behind, silent but fierce. That it was the Duke who initiated the touch, who engaged proximity, and that Gurney had no idea what 'remembering her place' meant holding at bay. A lesser woman would have crumbled, a lesser woman would have confessed.

Lesser? Or stronger? She doesn't know anymore.

But they'd put her here, at Leto's right hand, his companion, his shadow - and now they're tossing her aside, leaving her behind while they squire him off to see which noble virgin can jump through the most hoops. And he's letting them. That pauses in the base of her throat, spreads through her chest like rainfall over flames.

He's letting them. It settles, deeper and more solid, and when she glances toward Paul the glint in her eyes has become ... resigned.

"Yes, Young Master," Cool, formal, a nod to show that she's listening before she looks toward his father's desk, moves to it in search of pen and parchment, "How may I serve you today?"

[therapardalis]

[ @glorifiiedgore's Santiago, from here.]

I hate mysteries, Thera thought to herself in return. Ones she couldn't solve, and especially those that were within her reach but being kept away. Shit had gone down. That was the only certainty she had about it, along with the bald fact that Tom was dead. But the hows, the whys ... why had Pope left Colombia, why were five ex-Delta Force boys out in the jungle at all?

Why was this a civilian funeral and not a military one?

The questions were obvious, and the answers danced in Pope's eyes, in Frankie's, Benny's and Will's. Every marked silence, every glance exchanged, every half-hidden flicker that lined their grief with guilt.

The fabric of the tie slipped in her hands, just a fraction; thin end a little too long, the knot in the wrong place. It was easier to start over than to tug here and tuck there, trying to adjust.

You don't have to go, he said. Her gaze lifted to his face and something in her, just for a second, wanted to take the out. She'd seen so many funerals - some a relief, some too soon, some where she'd gone just to make sure the bastard was dead. Could she be excused for missing this one? No. She'd known Tom, not very well, but as a friend of a friend she'd been warming up to like the others. And her friend was standing in front of her, Adam's apple engaging its own little war with the knot of the tie.

With that mystery lurking sharp-edged in his eyes. Thera exhaled, absently smoothing the ends so they lay flush in the middle of his chest. "Do you want me to go?"

[therapardalis]

[ @glorifiiedgore's Poe Dameron from here.]

Thera's face fell. More than she would have preferred it to, and definitely more than most people had seen in years. Something, not quite a lump and not quite a lance, seized near the base of her throat. It wasn't upset, it wasn't pain - the nearest word would be guilt, the small quiet horror of someone realising she'd kriffed up.

She'd meant to help. Meant to start fixing up the fighter while Poe was possibly getting his arse handed to him by the General, make it some sort of pleasant surprise. But from the look on his face it was apparently only the second part.

" ...Oh." There was no graceful way to get herself out of this. She'd assumed, guessed wrong, and acknowledged that even as a smaller, more plaintive voice wanted to protest her good intent. She straightened up, put aside the hydrospanner she'd had in hand. "I'm sorry, I overstepped." Her voice was calm, matter of fact; a sting rustled around in her thoughts, her chest, but she didn't let it through. Poe didn't deserve to be snapped at, or to hear any petulance in her voice - and he definitely didn't need to know how long it had been since she'd even tried to do someone a favour.

No, this was on her. She'd messed up, just like she figured she would at some stage. Somewhere in there was even a tiny spark of relief that it had finally happened. She'd gotten too close, to relaxed around him, and here was the reminder that she shouldn't.

"I'll leave you to it, then." A small casual nod, ignoring the way the mental 'I told you so's' had started circling like muddy water at a drain. She gave a small jut of her chin toward the little droid, "Thanks Beeb. Catch you later." Then turned and walked away.