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𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐬  ( next gen )

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why does @hatigave still trust me? the world may never know….

“Oh—pspspsps!” He reaches out and slaps Jack twice on the cheek when the other man’s eyes start to grow heavy, demanding his attention despite the earlier blood loss. “None of that. I have one more thing to show you first: a demonstration I think we’re all going to enjoy. ¿Entiendes español, verdad? No me mientas, Jack. I know about your friends in Havana.”

Jack reluctantly nods, and that earns him a smile. He smacks Jack’s cheek again, this time just for the pleasure of the sting. He steps away from Jack, running a finger over the spines of a few untitled books. He chooses one seemingly at random, red as a ruby, and sets it down on the desk when he hears a familiar step ascending the creaking stairs. She won’t be long now.

“This is a demonstration…of control. What it takes to play with fire without getting burned. I want you to take note of it.” He takes a seat opposite Jack, stretching his long legs out and making himself comfortable as he speaks. “You’ve thought too highly of yourself for too long: let me show you what your own arrogance had blinded you to.”

As if on cue, there are two brusque knocks on the door followed by a protesting cry from the door hinges.

“Cap’n? Ye—” the words jam up in her throat for just a moment when Anne looks into the room and sees Jack, of all people, looking back. “—ah, ye…wanted to see me?” She turns her attention to Silva as best she can, but it’s hard to ignore the elephant in the room. Her gaze darts off despite her best efforts. Silva lifts his eyebrows and his hands at Jack as if to say tada!, turning only partway over his shoulder to address Anne.

“Dominio sin fuerza,” Silva whispers to Jack first, as if sharing a secret. He could be a funny sort, and Anne’s Latin was rusty at best. Some kind of dominion of sin—some theatrical shit dreamed up to spook Jack, probably. “Anne, please, your hat and coat. Leave them at the door.”

Jack’s eyes jump from Silva’s face to Anne’s, his face filling with confusion as Anne willingly strips herself of her self-described armor. There’s misgiving in her expression, but not enough to stop her, apparently. Her eyes mostly stay on Silva still, who smiles placidly unseen by her as she follows the order. Catching Jack’s eye, he does it again.

“The sword too, hmm? And the gun. You can keep your knife on your belt if it stays in its sheath, though.” Jack tears his attention away, sure Anne’s about to spit in the face of this “demonstration” rather than denude herself further—but holster and scabbard come away, hung up beside the rest. She starts towards them before Silva stops her with an upraised hand. Her expression is agitated but…expectant, as if used to this. Jack’s mind boggles further, his eyes following suit as he watches the feral bitch he’d found follow orders like a well-trained hunting dog.

“Fetch the book from the desk. The red one.” With another impatient glance at the back of Silva’s head, Anne does as he commands, picking the book and turning back towards them but not bothering to approach this time. It’s obvious to her now that Silva’s doing…something. Whatever it is, uneasy as she feels witnessing it, it’s clearly making Jack three times as uneasy—she’d be stupid not follow along, especially when the rules are so clear.

Until nothing happens.

“…now what?”

“There’s a marked page. Read from it.” A long pause. Silva knows what he’s doing, knows when Anne needs prodding. Knows when that frustrating habit of self-doubt raises any sort of obstruction to his domination over her. “Anne?”

“It’s…in Spanish.”

“We’ll forgive your accent.”

Another long pause. Silva licks his lips, preparing to prod again, when Anne attacks the journal with admirable tenacity, her own pride swallowed right in front of them.

“Ha pasado una semana desde la última vez que escuché—”

“That will do.” Anne glances up, annoyance flaring in her eyes—but she’s quick to smother that, much to Jack’s dismay. She would never have done that around him. Silva smiles and continues twisting the knife. “Here, let me see it.”

Anne brings it to him immediately, but no sooner is it in his hand then it’s on the small table beside him. Her agitation is growing, but she hasn’t once denied a request. Hasn’t even asked why. Across the room, Jack feels like he’s sinking, slipping sideways through a crack in the world. What’s happening? A compliant Anne, irritated but not storming—how? Why? How?! The hellcat had clawed him back at nearly every turn!

“Sit.” It’s almost an invitation coming from Silva. Anne glances at the limited options—beside Jack, back at or on the desk, in Silva’s lap—before moving to shuffle past Silva and at least place herself nearer the action.

He stops her again, amused this time, staring at her instead of him. (And why shouldn’t he stare at her? The phoenix he’d guided since finding it in the ashes of its past, the hand of God supervising creation.) Dominio sin fuerza. She offers her throat willingly every time.

“On the table, I think.” Ah, he’s crossed a line. Anne opens her mouth to argue and Silva tuts at her. “Please, indulge me a little longer. We’re almost done.”

That pacifies her. Of course it does. She’s such a simple creature in that way, so willing to extend trust to anyone who speaks to her kindly. Yet another imperfection he’ll have to hammer out, but there’s time for that yet.

And besides, it’s so useful right now! Anne sits on the table as she told, and Silva rewards her with a hand on her thigh. He pets it, unhurried and possessive, a jealous pet owner proving they’re the better liked to company. Anne tenses, but not in the way he’s sure Jack’s been hoping. Silva can clock the exact moment Anne’s world narrows down to his hand on her thigh, and gives her an encouraging squeeze when it does so. She needs so little encouragement to redirect her attention to him. He hasn’t decided if that’s good or bad yet, flattering though the attention is apart and aside from that.

“Do I hit you?”

“No.”

“Deny your needs?”

“No.”

“Berate you publicly?”

“No.”

“Fuck you?”

“N—pardon?” Anne manages to tear her gaze away, finally looking back up into Silva’s face. It’s almost as if Jack has ceased to exist, a state of being that does not suit him in the least. Silva is nothing if not patient.

“Have we fucked? Had intercourse?”

“This is probably the most ye’ve touched me. Ever.”

He rewards her with another squeeze, but it isn’t enough to shift her focus back down. That’s fine.

“What contracts have I made you sign?”

“None.”

“But you still do what I ask. Why?”

“I…dunno.”

“Dig, cariña.”

“I…s’pose I want to?”

“Because you trust me,” Silva supplies.

“Because I trust ye,” Anne echoes. Silva smiles when she does and pats her leg, standing back up.

Jack’s outraged. It’s in his wild eyes, in the flare of his nostrils and the increased moistness of his gag. He can see in this demonstration the seeds he himself had started to plant—but now bearing fruit! Of the wrong kind! To the wrong man! Even when he stands, useless Anne doesn’t move to take his seat, like she’s bloody enraptured by him. Ridiculous!

Here's your reminder to Click for Palestine today! 🕊

I wanted to emulated a scene that one of my favorite artsist did of Batman and Black Mask which looks quite tense and is just pure perfection!

On my end, the main characters turned out alright (except I suck at rendering metallic textures like on Black Mask’s mask (pun intended)). The rest is MEEEEEEEH

I mean when you look at the post, you can see the colors blurring to convey the rain, the fog and the perspective. I obviously am noooooowhere near that skill level so I did my best !

Good thing is, I guess I figured how Black Mask’s thugs will be looking like 🤣🤣