#and also it's very funny seeing some of what's going on elsewhere in the edits lmao

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Wiki pet project is nearly done btw. I've ended up doing more than I ever intended to do here whoops

[thevibraniumveterans]

STAR WARS — The Acolyte

EP 7 — Choice

MAIN THOUGHTS:

I love that this episode was a throwback, a flashback to Episode 3 “DESTINY”, where the story is told mainly through Sol’s and Torbin’s eyes. As is always in Star Wars fashion, this was very much from a certain point of view.

Previously I’d theorized that the fire may have been spread by outside forces, but this was not the case; I’d also previously thought the witches died because of the fire, and again, I’d been proven wrong.

Also, interesting title of “Choice” versus Ep3’s “Destiny”; did Sol’s and Torbin’s choices result in what happened, or was it their destiny?

Spoilers in my thoughts and notes below.

- We open on Brendok, 16 years ago. This is clearly a flashback. Sol, Indara, Kelnacca, and Torbin. They search, but for what? Indara carries wields what looks like a metal detector, while Sol carries a portable machine-bag. He picks up a patch of moss and stuffs it into the case. No words are exchanged between the Jedi Masters.

- Later that evening, they sit around a campfire. We learn Torbin was a Padawan; was he Indara’s student? (Edit: yes.) Torbin speaks of wanting to go home, but is reminded of the mission he and the others are currently on. He thinks the mission has taken too long — “Seven weeks!” — but Indara reminds him otherwise. Sol says they’re searching for a “vergence”, defined by Indara as “a concentration of Force energy centered around a location”. Is this how Force-sensitive people know where to find other Force-sensitive people? That you don’t have to know where they are, but if you find their energy you would know where they are? Sol says that vergences are life-giving.

- Later the next day, the search continues. It seems now that the equipment they carry supposedly aid them in their search for this “vergence”. But how can machinery detect something that can’t be seen? Anything’s possible at this point. Indara isn’t sure that the vergence created life on Brendok.

- A lingering question remains; why do Indara and Sol wear gloves? He is instructed to fan out to continue his search, so heads out on his speeder. He arrives at a very small clearing, and comes across two translucent bird-creatures, the same creatures Mae and Osha were playing with in the first episode. He stills, then quietly follows the two creatures to a tree with yellow leaves; the same tree we saw in Ep1. This scene is Sol’s POV, and how he comes across Mae and Osha (when previously we had seen it from their POV).

- As before, the twins stop playing with the birds and walk off, trailed from behind by Sol. From his perspective, we see the twins being found by Mother Koril, but more importantly, we see that Sol realizes that he’s the first of the search team to realize there’s more than just the twins on this planet. He comms Indara to inform her of this.

- TITLE CARD!!

- Sol has followed the twins to the doorstep of their home. He keeps hidden, but watches as Mother Koril follows the twins inside. When the door closes, he steps up to the doorway, and presses a button, then looks up. The wall before him is formidable, it’s like he’s staring at a castle of some sort. He CLIMBS the sloped wall, and makes it to the top.

- Inside, he sneaks around, and witnesses the twins squabble before being disciplined by their other mother. He watches as she teaches the twins a lesson, then exits. But he makes a noise while leaving, so Mother Koril gets up to investigate.

- Elsewhere, he watches from behind as the witches conduct a short ceremony. Later that evening, he goes back to camp, and informs Indara of his discovery. Torbin overhears, and assumes, “Nightsisters?” Indara responds, “We do not have all the information.” But continues to say, “Besides, Nightsisters don’t raise younglings, let along raise them.” It’s funny how she says to not make assumptions, and then right away makes an assumption. The hypocrisy is telling.

- Sol tells Indara he’s scared for the safety of the twins. True, he does not have the full story either, and assumes the worst after seeing them being escorted away, being disciplined, and being prepared for a ceremony. He wonders if the girls will be “in danger”. Supposedly, Sol still has the best of intentions, but things sure look different than what we see happened in Ep3. He implores Indara to accompany him to the castle, and of course, Kelnacca and Torbin follow suit. Kelnacca jumps the controls, and the four Jedi walk in.

- A while later, they walk through a hallway, and into the plaza. They face the coven, introduce themselves, as we had seen in Ep3. Torbin experiences a vision, the surroundings around him change. In the vision, he stands alone, and we learn through Mother Anise’s voice, that he came from a poor family. Vision!Aniseya comes up from behind him, informing him that he might be trapped. She’s playing a mind trick on him, or at least, preying on his insecurities, his anxieties. She tells him he’s a “good Jedi” but states that he also has “natural desires you suppress”. (Which is what all Jedi (are supposed to) do.) Vision!Aniseya tells him that she can help him leave the planet, which lines up with how earlier he wanted to go home to Coruscant. She states this, but also tells him that Indara “denies” him that feeling. Which, from a certain point of view, is correct. She circles him while she speaks; this, to Torbin, is incredibly unsettling, and makes him feel like prey being circled by a predator. He stays silent, but states his earlier desire, that is, to return to Coruscant. Vision!Aniseya commands him to kneel, and Torbin’s body obeys, his eyes falling black. On the outside, Indara, Kelnacca, and Sol have no clue what happened. The Jedi leave.

- Back on the ship, Torbin sits, hunched over, processing what just happened to him. Sol tells Indara he feels a connection between him and Osha, but is informed Osha is “too old to join the Order”. (Yes, that was what described Anakin too.) He tells Indara again that he fears for Osha’s safety, and asks, “Who is protecting this child if not the Jedi?” It’s a pretty self-centered thought, but on the Jedi’s part, not necessarily on Sol’s part alone.

- The next day, Torbin meditates alone outside the ship. Mother Koril brings the twins, and Torbin brings Mae aboard the ship for the test. Obviously, Mae purposely flunks the test. Indara asks Mae what was going on last night, so Mae tells her, and upon prompting, says that the marking is part of the ceremony, and means that she and Osha would lead the coven (had Osha also been marked). Mae leaves, and Sol informs Indara what we already know: “Mae was instructed to fail.” He asks for permission to have a different, softer approach with Osha, and is granted the opportunity to do so.

- As we’ve seen before, be tells his story, getting to her heartstrings, telling her that she should be brave to speak her mind. She gets the answers right, of course.

- Indara runs the blood samples, and sends them to the Council for further deliberation. Later that evening, they gather at camp. Indara informs that the Council does not want the separation of the twins from their coven. After a little back and forth, Sol says he wants to do what’s best for Osha. (Might this have come from a genuine place of feeling, or is this what the Jedi always think, that they can just do what they think is right, regardless of what anyone else is thinking?)

- Torbin receives the test results, and is surprised that the twins have the “same symbionts”, because “even identical twins would have different symbionts”. Indara theorizes that there could be some form of manipulation enough “to split one consciousness into two bodies”. Torbin wants to go home so quickly, because he knows that the mission was simply to prove the existence of a vergence, and to him, the mission has done just that. Torbin speeds off alone.

- Elsewhere with Mae, she is being heralded to her room my Mother Koril, who says, “You want to stop Osha from leaving? Then stop her.” Though Mother Koril shoves Mae to the ground, the child is instructed to get mad. So she does.

- Outside, Sol instructs Torbin to not let the witches into his head again, and to follow him to get the girls.

- As we previously saw, Mae takes Osha’s book and locks her in her room, sets the book on fire, and drops the flaming book at the door. Mae, realizing the gravity of her actions, tries to stamp out the fire but watches in horror as the flames spread. She panics and calls for Mother Aniseya. (So it is Mae who started the fire and could not stop the spread.)

- It isn’t long before Sol and Torbin reach the plaza, and Sol asks where the twins come from, how they were created. Mother Aniseya deflects, by stating in no uncertain terms, “Someday, your ‘noble intentions’ will destroy every Jedi in the galaxy.” And from a certain point of view, this is or will be true.

- Mother Koril draws her staff, and Torbin ignites his saber. Mae has reached the plaza and is calling for help. Mother Aniseya seems to transform into a dark misty form, and Mae also partly starts to form into a mist too. Sol, spooked, draws his saber, and stabs the heart of the dark mist. Mother Aniseya reforms, and tells Sol that she was going to let Osha go anyway; and Sol is horrified by the murder he has just carried out.

- Mother Koril instructs Mae to run. By her room, Osha has seen the flames spread too much, and is about to escape. Mother Koril attacks Sol, but he does not draw his weapon.

- The flames have spread fast, and causes explosions elsewhere in the castle. Koril dissipates, and preys on Sol’s insecurities. Kelnacca seems to be standing there, saber lit. In this vision, however, Kelnacca attacks them. Perhaps it is that Mother Koril has infiltrated the mind of Kelnacca and this is not a vision. They continue to tussle, Sol on the losing end.

- Indara leaps to the rescue, using the Force to literally force out the witches from Kelnacca’s mind, and on this onslaught, the witches collapse elsewhere in the castle. Indara commands Sol to get the twins.

- Sol gets to the twins on the broken bridge and tries to hold both up, but strains to do so. Mae falls, unfortunately, so Sol leaps to catch Osha before she too falls.

- In hyperspace, Indara tells Kelnacca to tell the Council that they are returning home, and then turns to Torbin and reminds him, “I warned you not to interfere”. Was it his actions that has snowballed out of control? Indara also told Sol the same thing, but he just wanted the twins to be safe.

- Per Indara’s initial instruction per the Council’s decision, Osha and Mae were NOT to be separated from their family, but it seems Sol and Torbin did not heed directives and instead, followed their heart instead. Torbin asks what to tell the Council, Indara decides on the “truth”, that Mae burned the fortress. She specifically leaves out that she used the Force to indirectly kill the witches.

- We get to the point where Osha wakes and asks where she is and what happens; Sol tells her what happens.

[da12thkind]

Tumblr and The Old Internet Re-Awakens, An Opinion Essay

This is going to be a super long post about my thoughts on the current state of the internet, with a chunk of what I'm about to say having been stuff I've already said elsewhere on other sites. To save your dash, I'll be putting a READ MORE break.

The fact that Twitter and Reddit have basically been destroyed by their own hubris is both hilarious and sad. It's funny because "ha ha rich man's hubris" but also sad because this is very emblematic of the current direction many social media companies that have been at the top for too long are going.

Ever since the muskrat purchased Twitter, it was clear from the beginning that something seriously wrong had happened, with worse decisions to follow. Something I hadn't realized was just how extensive the ripple effects of this would be. Reddit is now being destroyed by their leader's desire for more and more money, as if they needed any more.

I've been having this conversation with my friends via Discord and with strangers on the Starmen dot net forums. The writing is on the walls. The internet is moving towards a future that caters to advertisers more than its users. If there's even the slightest hint of getting more money by screwing over users, the higher ups of a given site will be chomping at the bit.

Where does that leave us?

Well, with Reddit and Twitter both now in a state of complete and total self-destruction, albeit rather slowly, we have seen an influx of new and returning users. Fantastic! I love when an old place gets new life breathed into it.

That being said, I don't believe that Tumblr is the bastion of The Old Internet, far from it, and many of you would agree.

Instead, I think that the resurgence in Tumblr's popularity could be just the first step towards the return of The Old Internet. We have the power to go back to the days of making our own websites. Information on web design and web programming are available online for free, in addition to many places offering free hosting services for a basic website or blog that don't need many bells or whistles (just don't go to GoDaddy).

Tumblr, in my opinion, once you know how to use the advanced editing tools, can make for a great "Baby's First Web Blog." There are some users on here that have made GORGEOUS blogs that will absolutely blow you away.

What about peer-to-peer communications?

We've seen that Discord has been another victim to the plague that is internet gentrification. They've removed the discriminators for usernames, had a store put in, and so many other little changes that have consistently annoyed the end users.

That being said... Discord is not going to be falling apart anytime soon. It's still a fantastic way to connect with many people at once and have quick access to all your different communities.

However, you could make the case, and I certainly try to, that internet forums fulfill the same thing. It is true that forums for many topics have drifted into the void of internet history, but is that not simply the nature of the internet? Communities sprout up, thrive, have an internal way, break apart, and start anew. We've seen that with many Discord servers, albeit rather small ones.

I will still hold my ground that forums should be revitalized if we truly want to go back to the days of old.

What does the future hold?

I... don't know. Despite my vast horde of opinions, research, and second-hand accounts of what The Old Internet was like and how The Current Internet is becoming, I cannot say for absolute certainty that we will see a total collapse of these tech empires. At the very least, however, I do believe that they will become hollowed shells of their former selves.

I have yet to talk about YouTube and its history, and, to be quite frank with you all, I simply must avoid that topic for now. All I will say is that I implore my fellow content creators, specifically those that create Video On-Demand content for YouTube and TikTok, to look into creating your own websites to host your content in the event that something happens to these empires, too. If you don't have offline copies of your videos, do so when you can.

That will be it for now. Thank you for reading this essay. I love your faces. Stay safe.

[dykelawlight]

for the fanfic asks: 7, 35, 79 pls? love your writing <3

Thank you so much!! 💞

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

The phone is still ringing. Teru takes off her glasses, grinds the heel of her hand into her eye, and picks it up. If her voice is somewhat flat with irritation and gravelly with fatigue, that's going to have to suffice. “Mikami.” A familiar, amused little laugh trails down the phone wire and lodges itself directly into Teru’s brain. “Aren’t we all business this morning.” Yagami Light, Teru’s kind-of-not-really-she-wishes girlfriend, semi-frequent sex partner, constant object of affection and desire so desperate that sometimes Teru wonders how she survives it. She and Light and Light’s actual girlfriend of eleven years, L, had had a very successful one-night stand a while ago (the first time Teru had had sex of any kind, let alone any kind of indulgence in alternative lifestyle dynamics), after meeting at a fetish club in Shinjuku, that had transformed itself into something longer. Teru’s spent the last six months walking around with a daily ache in her chest (and occasionally elsewhere) that only abates when Light wants her. She likes L fine, too, finds her reasonably attractive, enjoys having sex with her, appreciates her personal brand of dominance ⁠— it wouldn't work if she didn't ⁠— but Teru would go to war and die for Yagami Light. “Hi,” Teru breathes.

35. What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

Hmmmm I think it has to be Hear No Evil 🫡 which is funny because I originally meant for that to be a short kind of comedic oneshot and then it just spiraled into what it IS which is like...a study in Misa ft. background Lawlight horniness. But I really like how Solid and Full ultimately came out, too! (Detecting a trend here of This Was Supposed To Be Short And Oops It's Ten Pages Long Now)

79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

Nothing you haven't heard already I'm sure! But my thing really is that even as addicted as I am to reading comments while giggling and kicking my feet I really only write stuff that is actively fun for me. Everything you see around tumblr about avoiding writing for the imagined bad-faith reader is soooo true. ALSO re: writing porn specifically my biggest tip is just vomiting out a couple hundred words of disgustingly horny dialogue and then letting it sit in my notes app for a couple hours and returning to edit it and add in breaks for action and stuff. I find that the pure undiluted grossness turns into some of the hottest stuff.

[omgfloofy]

State of the Fic: dal segno al coda

For the month of August, I made it my goal to hit 200k words across all three parts of dal segno al coda, the two preview fics, and the "Meanwhile, Elsewhere..." side stories to go alongside it.

I pulled it off yesterday! Yet I somehow feel like there's so much to do still. It's crazy. You'd think with 200k words, that there would be a lot done, but I mapped out all the chapters in a spreadsheet so I can have an 'at a glance' look at my progress, and I still have so much to write.

I'm thankful to having outlined the whole story already, though. So I know where I'm going with everything.

If you had a chance to read it, We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programming is the first of two preview stories for the whole fic. This takes place very late in the story, and there are a ton of references to events across all three parts of dal segno al coda in it.

I have a lot of progress done with Date Night, the next of the preview shorts. Where as We Interrupt is a bit intense, I hope that Date Night is just more fun and fluff, since it's stuff that couldn't be put into the main story and fit the narrative. Date Night should also be the first time the formatting and storytelling methods of the main story should be in play, whereas We Interrupt was more like something you'd read in the Meanwhile, Elsewhere... sidestories.

Nevertheless, I have an idea of where I stand on things. I might slow down a little just to get a breather on things before November, because I'd like to throw dal segno al coda back into NaNoWriMo again this year and see where I end up after that 50k push is done.

A sample from part 2 with Noctis and Luna is below the cut. This is, of course, unfinished and may change in the editing process, as always.

One of my favorite things of writing this has been Luna. Looking at stuff with her in Kingsglaive and in Dawn of the Future made me realize that she's a bundle of trouble wrapped in fanciful clothing, and tied off with a bow of prim and proper behavior. It's a LOT of fun to play with in some scenes, and what's even more delightful, is that Noctis was absolutely not been prepared to come face-first with some of these moments.

I also can't unsee the "Barbie Mugshot" meme now with Noctis and Luna because of this scene.

I'll let you all try and figure out why they were arrested in the first place and where they are for it, though. :D

--------

Noctis knew they were being held long enough for their identities to be figured out. He settled down on the bench and set his head in his hands. They were important enough that if anyone figured out who they were - which was possible with a little bit of work - everything about this plan would fall apart.

"Are you okay, Noctis?" Luna's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked up without any correction to his terrible, slouched posture.

Noctis lied, "Yeah. I'm fine." Whether she believed it or not, Luna simply set a hand on his back. He found that the gesture was surprisingly soothing, somehow.

Eventually, the silence between the two was broken as Luna couldn't contain her laughter. "I... have never had a mugshot taken before."

This got Noctis to sit up suddenly and he looked at her with his head tilted. "...you wanted to get a mugshot taken?"

"No, not really." Luna leaned back against the wall. She was seated next to Noctis on the bench. "It was just kind of..." A pause. "Neat?" She gave him a faint smile.

"Neat." Noctis repeated. He wasn't quite sure how to take this.

She rolled her eyes a touch and shrugged. "It is not every day that someone like us is arrested." A pause. "Like a normal person." Luna somehow sounded excited at this.

"Normal people don't get arrested," Noct complained. He might have even sounded like he was whining. Somehow, something in either his response or tone was funny enough to get another laugh from Luna. All he could do was give her a side-eye for it.

Clearly, she didn't care. "They certainly do," As Luna stood up, she patted Noct's head lightly before she walked to the bars. She clamped her hands onto them and tried to peek around the corner from them.

"A few years ago," Noctis didn't have a chance to say anything before she continued. "I read this book called The Message of the Haunted Bridge where the heroine, Faye, got a little too close to the secret, but the villain actually had a connection to the police. So to keep her out of the way long enough for his dastardly plan to kick off, he had them arrest her."

Luna turned around and leaned against the bars, still grinning. "I feel a little like her at this moment."

Noctis sat up, finally. "Except there is no villain with a dastardly plan. We just got caught somewhere we shouldn't have been."

"Doing," Luna added with a finger point. "Heroic deeds."

She was so confident with her response that Noctis just tilted his head back and bumped it against the wall. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. However, at the same time, he remembered reading her messages in the journal, about how lonely she was and that there was little to do outside of her duties as Oracle while she was in her golden cage.

He may have been a little confused at all of this, but at the same time, he couldn't help but find it adorable.

When Noctis mentally tuned back in, he realized that Luna was now talking about how Faye escaped her cell. With a sigh, he pushed himself up off the bench. She shouldn't keep talking like this when someone could come in at any point and catch them.

In fact, as Noctis walked up to Luna, she had already pulled a hair pin free from her braid. She quickly bent it until it broke into two pieces and then started to reshape one of the halves.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to pick the lock and get us out of here."

Noctis tilted his head. "You're going to what?" He wasn't sure he heard that right.

Luna didn't seem bothered by this at all. "Ravus taught me how when we were little."

"He taught you how to pick a lock." Noctis repeated, incredulously.

"He certainly did." Luna didn't look up as she answered, and instead jammed the half of the pin into the lock.

[dduane]

Hi Diane!

The young wizards series was formative for me, and the logic and beauty of The Speech have inspired me as I design my own magic systems and worlds. I recently convinced my partner to read the books for the first time, and we have a question: are Tom and Carl a romantic couple? I always read them as such, but the way you wrote them (at least in the old print editions I have) is ambiguous enough that I suppose they could just be platonic wizard partners. Sorry if this has already been clarified elsewhere, and greetings from Minnesota!

(waving at you) Hey there!

Briefly: The men on whom Tom and Carl are based were absolutely a romantic couple: partners for several decades, and (all along the way) one of my templates for what a perfect married couple would look like.

But, since (in one of those youthful indiscretions we keep hearing about) I actually named the characters after them -- after two real people, living in a sometimes very homophobic world; a world where both of them lived, working real (quite high-end) jobs and interacting with real people -- that wasn’t a situation I was ever going to write about “in the clear”, or discuss in public... at least not while the principals were living. Some privileged information is literally that: a matter that you are privileged to be entrusted with, and which it would be both a sin and a crime to reveal.

Would it have been smarter (in retrospect) to give the characters other names? Yeah. Guilty as charged. It was my second damn novel, people. Cut me some fecking slack!  -- And may you not do something so clueless on your second book.

Anyway. Did I give them other names?  No. Because when I wrote the first book in which they appear, it never occurred to me that all that many people would see it. And because I loved my friends, and wanted to say that where it could be heard, and thought it’d make them laugh. (It did. Repeatedly. The last words Carl Romeo spoke to me while still breathing, when I was telling him about Games Wizards Play, were: “Am I in it?” The answer was predictable and involved multiple words beginning with F, and a lot of snickering. He loved his on-stage time.) ...Back in 1983, I thought the reference would play out between us (in the book) as a small affectionate gesture and swiftly be forgotten.

(helplessly amused eyeroll) Forty years later... we see it didn’t quite go that way.

Here are links to the Tumblr messages where I’ve dealt with this issue in the past. (God, this is the Tom And Carl Masterpost, isn’t it? How Tom would laugh. [Carl would probably just wander into the kitchen, vaguely threatening to make lasagna. Carl was one of the best Italian cooks you could ever hope to know.]) (I may have to add some messages to this later, as I don’t think I’ve necessarily tagged all the originals correctly.)

Relationship issues

Invasiveness?...

Afterthoughts

Not my story to tell ...

Their last home remembers them

(sigh) My desk is littered with small gifts friends have sent me over the years, and about half of those are from Tom and Carl. I miss them tremendously. Without them, the Young Wizards series wouldn’t be what it is: because Tom was exactly as he’s played in the series -- thoughtful, funny, wise, responsible, a quiet power -- and Carl equally so: empathetic, smart, strategic, pragmatic.

And they loved the hell out of each other... not platonically.  :)

(Also, something I neglected to mention: we finally see them on stage for the first time as Not Straight (well, they wake up in bed together and then run out on an intervention; you’d think that would be diagnostic of something?), more or less in real time, here. ...I think they’d have approved.)  :)

And if you want to hear Tom’s voice, damn near as I heard it one afternoon (on a different subject, years back, in their little house up on Laurel Canyon): I caught it near-perfectly here.

[kae-karo]

Cool so I've actually been thinking about this. You know the suit shop / nerd store post? You tagged that as Kaeluc and only if you want to I need you to elaborate.

U ASKED FOR IT and tagging @epistemologys with whom i discussed this in great detail lmaoooo - also, for context (x)

some thoughts/hcs in no particular order:

kaeya as the video game/nerd store employee, diluc as the suit shop employee

kaeya def goes over at Some point for the actual purpose of getting himself fitted for a suit (for smth innocuous) - this leads to diluc panicking for 2 reasons 1 he thinks it's cause kaeya's going on a Date with someone and 2 kaeya looks really fuckin hot in a suit

kaeya mostly normally wears ripped skinny jeans + whatever logo tshirt they make him wear (think like...whatever they sell in the shop is considered fair game for uniform purposes) on occasion, he wears the traditionally women's cut shirts they have for sale, either with very low v-necks or wide scoop necks. this drives diluc absolutely up the wall bc he should nOT BE ALLOWED TO SHOW SO MUCH

(in the aforementioned situation diluc actually has to go elsewhere or take the excuse to help a customer caue if he spends too long staring at kaeyas collarbones he might actually perish)

kaeya has been ogling the suit store ppl for a while, lowkey fantasizing abt how they all must be so gentlemanly and really kaeya's kinda sick of all the shitty ppl he's dated (the exception to this is rosaria, with whom he parted amicably and they are still gaming buddies)

in the land of literally not safe for work: they absolutely hook up in one of the suit fitting rooms at some point. probably many points.

bonus points if they're hooking up BEFORE actually 'officially' dating. double bonus points if their first "date" is at the mall food court, aka the first time they hung out intentionally one on one and didn't have sex

their first outside-the-mall date, they're both trying so hard to make the other person comfy that they end up deciding to wear clothing they think the other would like more...aka kaeya shows up in a suit and diluc shows up in jeans and a tshirt sldkfjlsdfk

another funny first date idea - both of them trying hard to impress and/or to take the other on the date they think they'd like best: kaeya takes diluc to a super fancy restaurant (he had to pull a few strings to get a reservation), diluc takes kaeya to an arcade. best served together, where they go to dinner in formal attire then head over to the arcade that way lmao

at some point during their courting/pining stage, kaeya helps a customer at diluc's suit store pick out a very nice outfit - the manager sees it happen and asks kaeya if he'd like to apply. diluc is ready to hand over the paperwork lmao

edit: i should add that anyone who wants to is free to run with the idea for fic/art/etc! alas, i doubt this is ever something i'd end up writing myself, but if anyone else takes the core of the idea and runs with it, i'd love to see what you come up with! so please if you do, feel free to share with me or tag me so i can see!

[loliwrites]

It’s been awhile but I am back!

Pre-relationship A&A🥺. Maybe it is just a few weeks after they have met and they’re shooting the film Addi wrote. Something about it is off so she makes a change to the script forcing Alex to adapt quickly. After they shoot the seen Alex thinks that Addi hates it so he tries to make it up to her.

XoXo 🫁

PS. I have missed you🥰

Hannibal🫁 ! I've missed you too, friend! I don't know if you've seen, but we've got another Non on the loose. One I've affectionately deemed the Copycat Killer🫀 They're a cheeky little one.

Anywho, you know I'm always on my bullshit for pre-relationship A&A. I love good, ol' sexual tension (when it's consensual and goes both ways). And I like that you've come up with this suggestion because this sort of thing happens quite frequently. Maybe not so much with movies, but definitely with TV. You've got the script pages you're going to be shooting that day, and then all of a sudden, for whatever reason, the writer comes at you with brand new pages... sometimes an entirely new scene, and you're like, where the FUHCK am I supposed to get all of these props before we shoot this in 2 hours.

One moment you're on the green revisions and suddenly someone's handing you some fucking Goldenrod or Salmon pages and you're like why would you do this to me? Do you hate me? Do you live to make my life harder? The answer's yes.

We digress. The point is: the director gives Addi an ultimatum. Either she goes and rewrites the scene, or they'll have someone else rewrite it. And the thought of someone else butchering her movie makes her want to vomit, so she relents and hides off in some corner of the soundstage with her laptop and starts rewriting.

She's almost finished with it when she hears Alex come on stage. It's very evident when he arrives from his trailer. His lispy lilt of a cadence seems to float through the soundstage like music. He's also got a barrage of women that follow him. Addi thinks that's funny. That although they've been hired as hair, makeup, or wardrobe people, it's funny to see him walking around with a gaggle of women running after him, picking at his hair or his clothes for minuscule fixes.

She runs off to print the pages and get them to the people that need to have them. Any writer will tell you that this isn't the way they'd like to have their work seen. Written with such carelessness in a matter of minutes without the courtesy of planning or editing. And yet, Addi's handing over these new pages so a group of people can commit it to film. And if this truly is only a couple weeks since they've met -- surely before they trek over to Germany to finish principal photography, and maybe even before the sex scene incident -- then Addi's still in the phase of being polite and careful around Alex, despite feeling the flirtiness between them.

Alex takes the pages from her and starts to look them over, and it's evident to Addi that he looks a little thrown by the whole thing.

"It's brand new?"

He glances at her and she has to avert her eyes elsewhere because, shit if this isn't embarrassing. Handing Alexander Skarsgård some half-baked pages.

"They requested a last minute rewrite." When he doesn't respond right away, she looks back up at him. But he's just reading over her new words, and for the life of her, she can't tell what the expression on his face is. It doesn't look good.

To be honest, she doesn't blame him. She had to fill in a part of a dramatic scene that he'd probably been practicing for weeks, maybe months, to make sure he was hitting the correct emotional beats at the right moments. And now she flung new words at him. As if he's just going to be able to hit those notes off the bat when the cameras start to roll. She all but hightails it out of there, beyond mortified at the thought that he may think she's a talentless hack. If she had stuck around, she would've been able to hear what Alex truly thought sooner.

The scene gets underway and it's taking everything in her to remain in her little space in video village without bursting out in tears. Alex is... he's having a hard time with this scene. He's fumbling his new lines, he looks beyond distracted. Something's not clicking and the only thing that's changed are the words so her immediate downward spiral is that she's just ruined the movie she's worked so hard on. And more than that, it's evident that everyone on the crew has taken note of Alex's newfound difficulty with the scene. The director and producers alike are now all giving him notes and he's quickly becoming disenchanted with all the noise.

They struggle through. Somehow, someway, they feel they've at least gotten enough to splice together a halfway decent scene and the AD calls "moving on!"

Addi just nearly makes it out of her seat before she hears, "come with me," behind her. And the realization that it's Alex makes her heart drop. She looks back to find him already addressing the gaggle of women still following him, asking them to give him ten minutes.

Before he even receives the acknowledgment of his request, he turns for Addi, sets his hand on her upper back, and ushers her off the stage and into his trailer.

She couldn't feel more awkward if she tried. Alex flinging himself back onto the couch, Addi standing in front of him like she's waiting to be chastised. It hasn't dawned on her that he may have called her in here because she's looked positively gut-wrenched since she was tasked with the rewrite.

"What was that all about?" He asks, very innocently.

She shrugs, "they wanted a rewrite. Said I could do it or they'd find someone to do it. I know it was shit,"

He takes a breath, then pats the spot beside him on the couch. He's not satisfied until she actually does sit down next to him. "It wasn't shit, I just... I liked it the first way. I liked hearing your voice in the other version," he smiles at her when she looks up at him. "Not the studio's voice,"

"Well until you start cutting my paychecks, the studio gets what it wants."

Alex nods slowly. He knows how these things work.

“Sorry you had to change things around so quickly. I know you like to have time to prepare, and I handed you pages of flaming crap. I just—” she looks down at her hands in her lap. For a moment it’s nice not to have to be looking at his expression — one she knows would break her heart. “I just had to do what they wanted.”

Alex doesn’t cut in. Judging by the size of the breath she takes, he knows she’s not finished.

“And I hate that. I hate that this industry isn’t merit-based. I hate that it’s only about who you know. I hate that I’m at the mercy of executives who can’t even name the Axis Powers. Yet they’re telling me how to change a script all about the Axis Powers. And I hate how they can make me feel this stupid and worthless and not even give a shit that they’ve made me compromise a good story. My art. And mostly I hate that I want nothing more than to please them so I can stay in this industry for as long as humanly possible.”

Then slowly and quietly, Alex says with a smile, “you’ve made it.”

She flicks her gaze in his direction.

“You’ve made it as an artist when at the beck and call of authority, you push back for creative individualism. You’ve made it to the club. Glad to have you,”

Addi leans into him almost subtly; just barely resting her shoulder against his. “They don’t make you do anything to compromise the art,”

“That took twenty years.”

“And you’re a man. So that leaves me fucked and free at seventy,”

Without asking, Alex reaches around her shoulders and takes her into a hug. Truthfully, she’s happy he didn’t ask. Had he, she might’ve brushed it off under the guise of not wanting things to feel too emotional. But just as the embrace began, a knock on his trailer door quickly pulls them out of it.

He pauses and gives her his quick, undivided attention. “Good, kid?”

She nods, reassures, and all too quickly rises from the couch and heads toward the door. Alex moves too, and resituates himself in his makeup chair just in time for the entrance of his glam team. And like a fleeting breeze, Addi’s out of his trailer and on her way back to the stage.

[angelguk]

→ pu$$y fairy — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jungkook

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut + college!au + jeongguk and oc are in a weird fwbs without the friendship part just the benefits except jaykay lowkey has feelings + virginity au

warnings: virgin!oc / blowjob / we talk about dicks for a bit / oc is strange / jaykay is confused / cum swallowing / first times / not really edited / mingyu the meddling best fwend

soundtrack: on the way, jhene aiko + hold on (slowed and reverb), the internet

Jeongguk doesn’t hate Mingyu. He truly doesn’t. He is one of his closest friends after all; he’d held him up after Jeongguk had dumped half a keg down his throat and his legs had promptly collapsed.  He’d also been a successful wingman for when Jeongguk was aiming to add Seolhyun to the list of girls he’d bagged, sent pictures of his organic chemistry notes when Jeongguk had missed more than half of the classes in high school and didn’t laugh at him when he was heart-broken over Sua and borderline depressed. He was a true friend; someone Jeongguk could rely on. It was a simple brother-like relationship that Jeongguk deeply treasured. So no, he could never hate Mingyu – but he could absolutely long to punch that insufferable asshole in the face.

He should have known this was going to go downhill exceptionally fast the moment you stumbled into his room, wide-eyed and nervous in your unsure steps. When his pants had hit the ground, the shock in your eyes was a dead giveaway to how messy this whole arrangement was going to be. The second clear sign was when you jumped out his window because the sight of his bare dick terrified you.

And this was all the result of Mingyu being a meddling shit who didn’t know when to mind his business.

He remembers it with a clarity that makes his shoulders tense, how Mingyu had snuck you into the conversation while twisting a soju bottle in his hands.

“Yo… JK…. You mind if I ask you a question?” He’d said. Jeongguk shrugged, focused on flipping the meat on the grill because he was starving and the prospect of cooked meat was a lot more appealing than feigning interest in a conversation. “Alright…," Mingyu took his silence as a cue to speak. “Have you ever fucked a virgin?”

He should have known then. He really should have known.

“I don’t know. I don’t ask any questions when I’m hard,” Jeongguk had replied, unknowing of the dangerous path this conversation was guiding him down.

“Yeah and most of the time you don’t fuck on an actual bed. I’m not even surprised you don’t ask questions.”

“Hey!” Jeongguk had swung the tongs around. “I ask important ones, like consent and making sure we’ve got a condom around. But virginity? Not my concern.”

“Seems a bit…. Whorish to me.”

“Not whorish. I just have my priorities elsewhere… Like cumming for example.”

Mingyu had sighed as he poured him a shot, the air leaving his lips heavy. “I shouldn’t even be asking you to be honest. You’re a decent guy but your kind of a dickhead when it comes to sex.”

“How does not pondering on virginity make me dickhead? Again, as I said, priorities are elsewhere.”

“Dude you’ve never even tried to have meaningful sex at least once in your life. When was the last time you were actually emotionally invested in the person you were sleeping with? Hmm?”

The answer was Sua and he knew that but Mingyu was decent enough to keep her name out of his mouth, the judging look in his eyes saying enough.

“You know… I don’t do well with the whole emotional thing. I prefer it physical. It’s less messy. But what does this even have to do with virginity?” Jeongguk hated to admit it but he was somewhat interested in where this conversation was going. If only he knew it was leading to a massive train wreck of the one thing, he steered clear from – emotions.

Mingyu had just sighed again, tipping the soju bottle into his shot glass once more. “There’s a girl who I’d like you to meet.”

He’d scoffed, mouth stuffed with a perilla leaf wrap. “You know I don’t do blind dates.”

“It’s not a blind date,” Mingyu had retorted, the glance he threw at his friend’s direction precarious. “She wants you to take her virginity.”

Jeongguk had choked. Of course, he had. Even if sex didn’t mean much to him, taking someone’s first time like that felt very transactional. And Jeongguk wasn’t that big of a dickhead. But then Mingyu had opened his mouth, spewing various details about your life to him that he would rather have not heard over a KBBQ lunch. You were a friend from one of his business lectures, rather eccentric but sweet and funny. You were also a virgin and terrified of approaching men on your own, one of the reasons Mingyu had sprung up this arrangement. Jeongguk wasn’t one to fall into things like this but it was too late. Mingyu was a marketing major for a reason, he knew how to spin words in his favour, convince people into agreeing to things that they normally would not. And that’s how Jeongguk found himself staring at your retreating figure after you’d thrown your body right out his window, landing hard on the lawn of the house he rented with Namjoon and Seokjin. The crazy thing was that you’d gotten up immediately, not showing any sign of a broken bone or injuries, before promptly sprinting down the road to the bus stop. He should have known then. He really should have known. And yet, here he is, pants discarded on the floor of his room and his dick aching from being unrelieved for longer than it’s ever been, while you crouch over him, squinting at his penis like it’s a foreign object that could kill you.

“Could you please stop staring at my penis like that.” He says it out of frustration, but also the way you’re examining his length makes him feel self-conscious in a way he hasn’t felt like in a long time.

“Sorry,” you murmur, not breaking eye contact with his dick. “I’m just… fascinated. It’s rather….” The sentence tapers out and you swallow hard as if it pains you to admit it, “...Ugly.”

Jeongguk decides then and there he hates you.

“I mean... It’s not that it’s ugly!” you swiftly attempt to amend, catching the glare he directs at you. “It’s also big!”

“I know. And you just said it was ugly,” Jeongguk retorts, weighing the options in his head. Either get a poor blowjob from a girl he’s terrified of (but also bizarrely attracted too) or kick you out of his room and finish himself off. The situation sucks either way but it’s better than the last time when you’d leapt out of the window like a gazelle.

“I misspoke,” you say, gently falling onto your knees. You flash him a shy smile, a soft delicate little thing that makes your eyes glitter and Jeongguk instantly picks the first option. “It’s just different to what I expected it to look like.”

He scoffs, swallowing hard on the sudden lump in his throat. “There’s no way you haven’t seen a dick before. You don’t watch porn?”

The grimace you make is enough of an answer. “I have… Not all the time though, it’s too much for me sometimes. Also, it’s weird seeing it in real life and not, like, through a screen.”

“Noted. But still, it’s not that ugly,” Jeongguk murmurs, trying not to compare his penis to the visuals he has in his head. His pride is wounded from that comment he won’t deny it.

“It kinda is,” you reply. Jeongguk flicks your forehead in retaliation. “Ow! Why’d you do that.” There’s that stupid pout in your lips as you glower at him. He despises how his dick twitches at the sudden thought of your pretty mouth wrapped around his length. Despises it even more when you gasp at the slight motion trembling through him. “It moves?!”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk sighs, wondering how on Earth you’re over the age of twenty and still like this. “It does. Also, don’t insult my dick. It’s rude.”

“Sorry again,” you pause as if you’re considering whether what you might utter next is offensive. You open your mouth anyway, unable to comprehend the fact that your words are slowly chipping away at his ego. “It’s kinda scary that it moves.”

“Oh my god, you are the literal worst.” Jeongguk thinks his boner might evaporate. It’s a miracle it’s lasted this long. You’d sauntered into his room around half an hour again and he’d been hard from the get-go. Truly amazing his balls hadn’t shrivelled up yet. “You know you’re about to blow me off right?”

“I know… I’m stupid,” you counter, eyebrows furrowing together like you’re attempting to figure out exactly how Jeongguk’s dick works. It’d be very simple if you just asked him. It’s essentially an up and down motion, some swirls, a lot of wetness. Nothing too difficult. But when you glance up at him, the innocent glaze over your eyes almost hopeless, he can tell it feels the same as defusing a bomb. “I just… Don’t know what to do. Show me?”

And there it is - the foolish little thing that landed Jeongguk here half-naked on the edge of his bed in the first place. Even though you were mildly repulsed by the male autonomy you were still so eager to learn. Something Jeongguk didn’t know he would be into until you posed that question and his balls tightened in a way they have never done before.

“Okay,” he mumbles, hoping you don’t suspect the twitch that runs through his length when you say that. Not like you would, to be fair.

But then you sweep your hair back, lean in fast, no preparation or anything before your breath is brushing against his crotch and Jeongguk nearly screams.

���Woah, woah, woah! I thought you just asked me to show you? What are you doing?” Maybe he scuttles further down the bed, terrified of the rush of heat you send straight to his gut.  

Your eyes flicker upward, bright and ingenuous. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You’re not -,” Jeongguk sighs breath weighing through the air. “You’re not doing it wrong. I just think... We should go slow right? It’s your first time? Maybe don’t rush into it?”

“I watched a YouTube video and they said to do it like that,” you reply. Jeongguk can’t help but blink at you, brain reeling from attempting to understand your being.

“You watched a - never mind. You’re giving me a headache. And I thought you knew nothing. Porn would have been a better research alternative but to each their own.”

“I did it for preparation! I didn't know it’d be this nerve-wracking in real life. And, I told you, real dicks are gross. She used a dildo.”

“How is a dildo any different to a real dick?” Jeongguk fingers dig into the mattress a little harder when you lean it once more, gingerly resting your head against his knee.

“It’s just different. Less grotesque. And they come in various colours.”

He might just actually scream. “It’s literally made to replicate a penis.”

You sigh, your breath skipping against his skin. The room is suddenly tight, closing in on him and you’re not even really touching him. And then you catch your lip between your teeth, pressing down with a quick thoughtful bite. “I think you’re deflecting right now.”

“I’m not,” he splutters. “Why would I even be deflecting right now?”

“I mean, we’re having a conversation about dildos when your dick is hard and I’m meant to be blowing you. Sounds like deflection doesn’t it?” He hates the way your eyes glitter, bright and captivating as your gaze locks into his.

“Like I said,” Jeongguk retorts, “We should take it slow.”

“Okay then. I’m done talking about dildos unless you have anything else to add?”

“I don’t,” he murmurs, “Okay then, onto giving a blowjob.”

“Onto giving a blowjob,” you reiterate. And then, like a psychopath, you smile. “Where should I start?”

He hates that body is on edge right now, hands trembling even though he hides them by squeezing his bed-sheets tight. “Try giving it a lick first? You can put your hand around the base too - if you want to.”

“Here?” His knees nearly buckle when you wrap your warm palm around his length, grip firm around the base of his cock. But that’s nothing to the gentle lap of your tongue against the side of his cock, a quick little thing and nearly launches him off the bed.

“Oh - uh - yeah, there.” His voice sounds far off and without warning your mouth is against him once more, tongue a sinful little thing that slips along his length, wet and warm and so sneaky he’s unsure of what to respond with apart from an instinctual buck of his hips. It’s easy like this, your tongue pressed against his cock and your hands slowly dragging upwards, placing a perfect pressure along his length that leaves him sighing into the air of his bedroom. Your movements grow more direct, reading the increasing desperation in Jeongguk’s body as he moves closer and closer to you, waiting until you feel sure enough. And then, finally, your mouth sinks onto him.

He nearly whimpers. Nearly. There’s a heat pooling in his gut and ebbs through every muscle and nerve, the coil of his desire springing tighter with each inch that slips down your throat. You take him so well, Jeongguk can’t help but watch in awe, the wideness in your eyes making him harder than he’s ever been in his life. Even with your inexperience, the way you swallow his cock is obscene. It’s an imagery Jeongguk engraves in his memory, purposefully stored because he knows he’ll think about it whenever his desires override his logical thoughts again. You lap him up like you want this, a soft moan echoing from your throat and along his length as you move deeper, mouth plaint to his dick. He forces himself to sit still, give you the time to adjust, lick and taste to your leisure, forcing the impending wave of heat back down into his gut. He holds it there even when you move away, the sound of your wet mouth popping off his dick permeating the air.

And of course, you lick your lips afterwards, a swift swipe of your pink tongue against them, your eyes trained on his.

“Like that?” you ask.

Jeongguk’s going to die. He is. And you’ll be the reason why listed on his death certificate.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, chest tight with want. “Like that.”

You lean back in without question, mouth taking his length like you were made for it and your hand works against the parts of him you can’t reach just yet. His mind wanders as his eyes take in this sight of you, on your knees and mouth open wide just for him. Someday he’d like to see if you could truly take his length, all of it. Down your throat. Hard and fast like his hips wanted to go. But this is more than perfect. How you concentrate on blowing him like you want to see him spill himself down your throat. It’s almost adorable, the earnestness in your gaze every time your eyes flicker upwards as your mouth moves along his cock. He likes this more than he’s willing to admit, the slowness in your pace, how your tongue is shy sometimes when it laves against his tip. It’s a change from what he usually gets - and a welcome one too. A tiny part of him feels like it would be fitting to hold your hand. You’re so pretty too, especially when your lips are on him. He’d like to take care of you, see what your face looked like when his tongue was deep inside of you, know what your taste like as you moan out his name. He doesn’t even register the words as they leave his mouth, head lost in the images colouring his thoughts.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he can’t help the grunt, the pet name natural to him, “So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

And you hum like you like it - like you like pleasing him, sinking further down until his tip bumps against the back of your throat. The zip down his spine nearly sends him spiralling.

“Baby,” he feels it then, when your eyes shift to meet his, the snap in his gut. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum. You need to stop right now if you don’t want to down your throat.”

But you don’t, moving faster like the twitch of his dick in your mouth spurs him on, your lips firm as they wrap around him. He doesn’t hold in his moves this time, hips gently moving up to meet your mouth, the tremor running through his bulky thighs nothing but a warning before it hits him hard. A wave of heat, melting through his muscles as his eyes flutter shut, your tongue lapping him right up, no protest as he unravels down your throat. It’s over in an instant but Jeongguk feels like mush, head floating and his bones soft with how hard his back hits the mattress. You pull off his length a second later, letting him feel you swallow all of him first.

“Holy shit.” His mouth is still disconnected from his brain.

There’s a beat of silence, so awkward that Jeongguk shuffles himself back onto his elbows even though his bones feel like giving way. And then your laugh tinkles through the air, a soft gentle thing that makes his heart seize in his chest.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” you say, staring at him with an ease that spikes an urge to press his lips against yours in his heart.

“Oh,” he replies, like an idiot. “You liked it?”

“Well, it didn’t suck… pun intended. Your moans are really loud.”

Jeongguk blushes - he blushes - even after the stupid joke you made.

“Um, yeah. I do, I guess. Sorry, I kind of forgot to show you what to do. But you’re a bit of a natural, to be honest.” He abhors the diffidence in his voice.

“I guessed that,” you retort, the smile on your face hypnotic, “From your really loud moaning.”

“Can you - fuck how do you ruin any intimate moment when it happens?”

“Guess I’m a natural at that too,” you say it with a laugh, and Jeongguk can’t help the smile that tugs against his lips.

“Um,” he tries, fully aware of the front view seat you were getting of his soft dick. He sits up to try and shield it, feeling awfully exposed. “If you’d like… I could return the favour?”

“No, I’m good.” There’s zero hesitation in your voice and you’re up before Jeongguk can think of a decent excuse to keep you in his room. “Maybe another time? I’ll text you. Bye Jeongguk.”

It’s then he regrets not encouraging you to undress earlier, his assumption that this would be the worst blowjob of his life incredibly incorrect. Perhaps if your clothes were scattered around his bedroom he could have found a way to convince you into his sheets while you searched for them. But you’re fully dressed, already bounding out of his door like his dick wasn’t down your throat moments ago. He watches you go with forlornness, mouth dry with words he’s incapable of expressing at this very instance and his heart oddly warm at the sight of your skipping away with a carefreeness he admires. He still hates that you’re leaving, perhaps the only positive of this situation is that you’re using his bedroom door instead of his window.

“Bye,” Jeongguk mumbles into the vacant air. You don’t even catch it, shooting him a quick grin before you’re bounding down the stairs as if this doesn’t even matter to you. A stumble on a stepping stone to something greater. He plucks up his phone, pants still lost somewhere on the floor. Blocking Mingyu for twenty-four hours should be enough of a punishment, right?

mingyu the man [10:21pm]

bro..

you alive?

jaykay [10:26pm]

i focking hate u

u know that right?

mingyu the man [10:31pm]

you dont my g

how was it?

did she jump out the window this time?

jaykay [10:34pm]

worse

mingyu the man [10:37pm]

bro wtf wot she do??

jaykay [10:40pm]

she actually gave me head

mingyu the man [10:45pm]

????

how is that worse dude you’re just as weird as her

jaykay [10:46pm]

ITS WORSE CAUSE I LIKED IT

mingyu the man [10:51pm]

damn....

you like crazy coochie don’t you

jaykay [10:52pm]

WHAT R U EVEN

MAN FUCK

I HATE U

mingyu the man [10:53pm]

lmao u don’t i brought her into your life u lurve me

im best man for the wedding

not jaehyun

u got dat right

jaykay [10:56pm]

i hope you fall into a ditch and die

mingyu the man [10:58pm]

okay big man

you gon see her again tho?

jaykay [10:59pm]

....maybe

idk man im fucked up right now

like???

SHE JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW??

mingyu the man [11:01pm]

and u still invited her over to suck your dick again

crazy coochie got u bad bruh

jaykay [11:06pm]

FUCK U

mingyu the man [11:11pm]

mhmm if thats what u say

i have a class wid her to tomorrow

any messages u want to pass on?

hello?

[mingyu the man is blocked]

hello? jaykayyyyyy

JAYKAY

SEAGULL

damn he got it bad

[gambitimagines]

J’tadore Vous Part 5

Warnings: an alcoholic drink is mentioned. Kidnapping and short-term hostage situation and the word terrorist is used. Changed guns to lasers. Light disturbing imagery with blood! (No worse than a PG-13 movie.) Edit: Very light intimacy references, nothing graphic.

Edit: I know hospitals don’t ACTUALLY kick you out unconscious, but it sounded funny, and the plot had to keep moving.

AN: I know I get REALLY flowery when writing these. I was actually not a Jane Austin fan growing up, but re-reading, I’m sure it sounds like I was. (I’ve only enjoyed Sanditon  and reading Jane Eyre. It’s been too long for me to finish Pride and Prejudice. I’m just more of a modern romance fan I guess?) I’m also just a romantic soul. ^_^ 

Notes: 

WARNING (and small spoiler): The fact that you guys had kids is mentioned. If that bothers you in any way, read after   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ comes up.

déplorable=deplorable  musaraigne= shrew (It seems as with most languages that aren’t English, the subject matter comes after the descriptor...or whatever. I don’t really know grammar, despite being a writer. The computer does all the work!)

This is a PG blog and I don’t want to write anything too steamy because of my personal morals and feelings, so any of the usual stuff you might see elsewhere can be left up to your imaginations. but I’ll try and make the next morning after their romantic evening...savory. ;) I tried to go for a natural ending, but it may seem abrupt to some, I don’t know. Sorry? Trying to make a mini-novel I guess and making it flow isn’t always easy. To include every detail of their life would be boring, I did the best I could. Reader is in their late 30s by the end, give or take.

Lastly disclaimer: DO NOT use this as a guide on the off chance you’re ever kidnapped! In other words, don’t try this at home, kids! 

Thank you for reading this short series. Enjoy!

-----------------

One year later:

You:

You couldn’t believe it. It was finally the day of yours and Remy’s wedding. He’d come out of hiding from the public to be well known for a while and said it would die down in a couple decades or less, as with all celebrity statuses, but for now there were cameras flashing nearly every time you went out. One year was a relatively brief period to get to know someone for most people, but Remy had let his true self be known to you and neither of you had anything to hide. Everything was honest in your relationship.

You and your bridesmaids were getting ready at a local hotel. The actual wedding was being held in Times Square. Remy and you had balked at the idea at first, but Remy’s PR guy had said it was the right move. You weren’t always one for showy displays, but you only had one wedding with Remy and it was going to be special, the place was irrelevant.

“...And then she said ‘it was gin, not sparkling water‘!” Judy related an embarrassing story about you to your aunt. A less than flattering story. Judy was almost crying with laughter. 

“Judy, not that old story again,” You groaned, your hired stylist doing the finishing touches on your make-up.

“Come on, it’s your best one.” Judy caught her breath, “So did you ever find out what mister perfect is getting you for a wedding gift?”

“Nope. I snooped and begged for hints, but he only told me that it was expensive, which doesn’t help.” You said, looking at yourself in the mirror again. 

It had taken months for you to get accustomed to Remy being rich and getting you the finer things in life. Growing up in a modest suburban home, and then having to make-ends meet by yourself, you’d never got to experience true luxury. Remy almost had to force you to buy a designer wedding dress-You picked out a Vera Wang dress in the end-but you were coming around to being a kept woman. You had also gone through all the hoops of pre-marital arrangements. Had a signed pre-nup, agreeing to half of everything if things actually went sideways, but what was more, Remy had a contract drawn up to say that you inherited every cent of his fortunes on the tiniest off chance he ever died. He said he wanted you to be taken care of and to never again be in a destitute situation. (To which you argued your former living situation was far from destitute, but apples and oranges.)

“Y/N, it’s the hotel staff calling.” Your cousin Gracie handed you room’s phone.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N? Your father is here and says he wants to speak with you immediately.” 

You found it odd that your dad was at the front desk. He knew you were here getting ready, but he’d been on edge all morning, so whatever.

“Okay. Tell him I’ll be down soon. Bye” You hung up and told everyone you were headed to talk with your dad.

In the lobby, there was no one there and even the desk wasn’t being staffed.

“Dad? Where are you?” Something did feel off, but Remy had hired security. You felt safe.

You took a few steps forward. You felt more than saw ball bearings swing around you attached to thick rope, encasing your arms and torso. Sudden footsteps came up behind you and a bag was placed over your head. Strong hands turned you around and led you back out to the alley behind the hotel, tossing you into what you assumed was the back of a van (it felt bigger than a car and there were no seats, just floor.)

“Knock her out!” A male voice said.

The bag was taken off your head and you were facing two men in black ski masks and black jackets. You struggled, but it was useless as one of them forced some kind of vile of liquid under your nose.  

You quickly fell into unconsciousness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You woke up in a dank room with only a cot under you and dark blue tiles with grey, dirty walls. You were reminded of every horror movie and spy movie your older brother and sister had made you watch with them growing up. There were no windows and a cliche leaky pipe above you. You noticed immediately that you were no long wearing your wedding dress, but a black Henley top and jogger pants and socks. These creeps had taken the time to undress and re-dress you, making your skin crawl.

“It would’ve been a shame to ruin such a beautiful Vera Wang original,” A female Russian voice said on a speaker overhead.

“Hello? Who’s talking? You’re going to prison when all this is over!” You were angry, not crying and in despair. You were stronger than that.

“We’re going to be somewhere hot and sunny when your man delivers the kidnapping ransom for your pretty face, sweet thing,” A male voice said.

“We’re an underground group of, how would you call it...hmm...people who want to reform the world and aren’t happy with the status quo. Aren’t happy with what the governments are doing,” The Russian woman said.

“So...terrorists?” You said.

“WE’RE NOT TERRORISTS!” The woman went off the handle at you.

“Okay, no more using the T-word, got it.” You said sheepishly, “Still, whatever you want, you’re not getting it. No matter how long it takes, Remy is going to find me and you’re going to pay.”

“I don’t think so, little girl,” The Russian woman said. “Enjoy your stay. We’ll feed you. There’s a bucket in the corner.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You napped, you planned on how you were going to decorate the house, and most of all, you wondered how long it was going to take for Remy to find you. You didn’t have tools or weapons, so trying to break your way out of the situation yourself seemed stupid as well as dangerous. This wasn’t like the movies at all.

You just hoped you weren’t going to get sick in this unventilated, dirty place. Would it have killed them to just keep you in some abandoned house instead? At least houses had windows!

It took a while, but a plate of food came through a slot in the door on a tray with some water in a to-go restaurant type of cup. You ate, grateful. 

You exercised to keep going and for something to do. When you felt tired enough you went to sleep on the cot, but it was hard to get comfortable without a warm blanket over you. Eventually you fell asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

REMY:

The wedding had been cancelled after a ten-minute argument with your family that you hadn’t run away because of cold feet. Now Remy, your family and a few close friends were waiting in a hotel room with the police, waiting for a phone call. In between the argument and the present, there had been a kidnapping message delivered to Remy.  They were a small group that wanted half of Remy’s amassed fortune, a private jet and diplomatic immunity. They weren’t getting any of it. Remy LeBeau hadn’t lived thousands of years just because he had mutant genes. He didn’t cave into anyone’s demands and was smart as well as resourceful. He’d planned on finding you with or without the police’s help. He just had to find a moment to get away from everyone, gather up his gear and go once he had some idea of a location of where you were being held.

The phone rang. It was wired to get all the details. “Hello?” Remy’s voice was deeper than normal and dark. So much vitriol and anger pulsed through him. 

“Mister Lebeau, this is Missy. The woman heading your bride’s kidnapping operation. She’s safe. Have you considered our demands?”

“How about fifty-thousand and a small plane?” Remy offered, keeping them on the line. He listened hard for any background noise. Police sirens, people talking, anything that could make their location clear.

“Now, now. Fifty is less than a fourth of what you’ve got. You’re a billionaire. Even if you gave us a quarter of your earnings, you wouldn’t be in the lurch.” Missy said.

A police siren blared on the other end and Remy heard dogs barking. It could’ve been any part of New York, but some were worse off than others. They’d take her somewhere inconspicuous, even dank and gross. Which described any slum in New York City. which gave him a starting point at least. 

“You took the most important person in my world musaraigne déplorable. Best believe you’re not getting a penny from me if you’re not willing t’ negotiate and I’m getting her back, one way or the other. Second chances are over.” Remy pushed the end call button so hard the phone nearly cracked.

“Hear me out,” Remy said to the lead detective, a tall blonde woman with her hair in a wrap-around bun, “I think they’re holding her in one of the slums or inner cities. Might be a good place to look.” He could take one area secretly and the cops could cover others if they were willing. 

“It makes sense. Johnson and Ferrel, you start gathering up teams. I’ll stay with the family. Mister LeBeau, you can--where did he go?”

Remy had edged himself out the nearest window (they were on the ground floor) and was driving at top speed on the back roads, back to his house. He ran in, clicked the eye of the bird statue in his bedroom to reveal a false wall. His mask, trench coat, staff, belt and other gadgets were all there, still in-tact like he’d used them yesterday.  He threw on the Adidas long-sleeved spandex shirt and spandex pants with pink stripes he used for exercise, then the coat, loading up his gear. In less than fifteen minutes, he was off in the car again. None of the servants had seen him come or leave, so they had deniability. He turned off his phone. This wouldn’t make him look good, but Remy knew he could work faster than the police.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You:

You’d reorganized and redecorated your future bedroom and the back deck in your imagination twelve different times in the past two hours. It was day two of being kidnapped and nothing had changed. Even prisoners got to go out in sunlight.  You made it a point to exercise, so you wouldn’t get swollen feet or anything. Above all though, you kept imagining the moment Remy would rescue you. Sometimes it was with the police, sometimes it was him just blowing a hole through the wall. Other times, it was Remy quietly dropping down from the ceiling and pulling you out the door, knocking out your captors with cards like you lived in an action movie. Still, there was the thought that he would never find you, that these people would just give up and murder you outright.

Except you couldn’t think like that. Remy was smart, patient, persistent and had super-powers. He loved you and you knew deep down he would do anything to get you back. 

You got up and attempted to do another set of thirty squats and lunges, trying to keep your strength up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Remy: 

Six different slums and he’d found nothing! It was infuriating. Remy hadn’t slept since the night before the wedding, but he’d managed to eat here and there. He wouldn’t get anywhere if he didn’t sustain himself. He stopped at a gas station and looked at the map on his phone. The next unsavory part of town was smack dab in the worst part of New York. It was where the mob, murderers and thieves came and went daily. The poor barely survived there and the homeless avoided it at all costs. If you were actually being kept there, the people that took you were going to get double prison time if Remy had any say in it.

He steeled himself, driving the roads on his motorcycle, his heart in his throat while he ignored his tired body’s cries for sleep. His feet were sore, and his eyes were watering in the smog of traffic, but he would’ve swallowed burrs at this point to keep you safe. 

Remy’s motorcycle stopped on the road near a boarded- up store. He took off his helmet and started walking to the nearest dive. Remy had deduced some things in the past couple of days. They were keeping Y/N alive, so they had to get food for her. Whatever place they were keeping her in obviously wouldn’t have food or water on hand if it was in a slum, so it would have to be brought in.  Remy looked around and listened to customers conversations. Looked for the man or woman who seemed edgy and out of place. First time kidnappers were never calm and in-control, this he knew.

There. The white bald man with the scar on his left cheek picking up the food order. Four large bags, six drinks. He was looking around nervously, scratching his arm and face. Remy discreetly followed him out, seeing the man get into a white unmarked van with no license plate. Either the guy was in the black market, or that was part of the group that had taken you. Even the worst people around here had legal cars with plates, so that was a tell. Remy got back on his motorcycle, waited a few beats, then made sure to follow the white van with two cars between them at all times. 

The van drove for a short time before stopping at an abandoned building. White and large, three stories. He went around the back in an alley, not through the front entrance. Remy took his gear, went around the opposite way and scaled up to the roof with a grappling hook. The roof was dilapidated, so he had to be careful and look for the weak spots to avoid them. He listened, hearing voices, but couldn’t make them out unless he got closer.

He made his way to a good spot and listened, catching snippets of conversation on the wind through the city noise around him.

“Shouldn’t...call again.”

“...Doesn’t know what she’s talking...even if...”

“LeBeau can’t...we tried to...this way.”

“Just...make sure...fed.”

This was it! Remy forced himself to stay calm and get off the roof carefully. Once down on solid ground again, he masterfully blew out a hole in the side of the building as quietly as he could, like a welder cutting a piece out, instead of making one large, noisy explosion, he made several smaller ones. “POPOPOPOPOPOP!!” Soft sounds covered by the street noise, thank heavens. 

He eventually kicked in the wall, going inside. He could still hear the kidnappers talking, but walked softly, listening for any sound that signaled you were in one of the many rooms. 

Remy spotted the bald man walking away from a door as he looked around a corner. Remy flattened himself against the wall, holding his breath until the man turned a corner. He waited a couple minutes, then quietly made it to the door. Remy picked the lock in no time, slowly opening the door. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You:

You had just taken a bit of your food when you looked up and saw Remy standing there. You spat it out. “RE-”

You watched him lift a finger up to his mouth in a “shh” gesture. He walked over, being the quieter of the two of you, mouthing ‘Quiet. Follow me. Kiss later’.

You were smiling so hard your face hurt.  You stepped as softly as you could, but the jig was quickly up when a man with shaggy black hair in a leather coat rounded the corner. “Hey! She’s escaping and LeBeau is with her!”

Remy threw a barrage of cards, knocking the man unconscious as he slid several yards down the hallway opposite of you. 

Remy grabbed your hand and started running. You heard the lazers firing before you saw them. One grazed your arm.

“HKK!” Remy made a choking sound and you looked over, seeing him lurch forward from the hit, then falling back.

“Remy?! Remy!!” You caught him as he fell to the ground, the blood staining the left side of his chest...where his heart was.

You cradled him. “Baby, no, please. It-it’s not gonna end like this. You can’t die. Y-you’re not supposed to!”

“F-first time being shot at...figures,” He forced a laugh and a smile, “Cherie, it’s gonna be alright. You’ll be fine without me.”

“NO I WON’T!” You screamed at him.

Suddenly, the police piled into the hallway through the hole in the wall, at the same time the small terrorist group caught up to you on the opposite side. 

“Drop your weapons and get on the ground,” A policeman said. The group looked at each other. Four of the men gave up, but the woman stayed. She fired a weapon, but the cops were faster, knocking her out by latching a tazer onto her.

Meanwhile you were still by Remy’s side, watching him breath heavy. You had already pressed your hands to his chest to stop the bleeding. You were barely aware of the police taking the bad guys into custody and hauling them outside.

“Y/N, I’m so tired. Just wanted...to be with you...but death...it’s nice dirt nap,” Remy blinked.

“I love you,” You kissed him.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Remy closed his eyes, but he was still breathing. No longer heavy breaths. The ambulance came and took him in a stretcher, trying to stop the bleeding. They started to prep him for surgery, but...

“He healed up. It looks like he never got shot and he’s more than stable,” An older Black male doctor came out to the lobby to see you and your family. Your dad led you to sit in a chair as a thousand emotions hit you at once. The biggest of all being relief.

“He’s...he’s alive? He’s going to live?!” You were rightly confused, but figured mutant powers had a lot to do with it. Surely, Remy had powers even he hadn’t discovered because there had been no cause for it, even after thousands of years. 

“For many years, at least. Just add super healing to his list of powers then. It’s certainly not unheard of with mutants as a secondary power,” The doctor smiled, “You can go and see him within the hour. A nurse will let you back.”

You soon went and saw Remy, sleeping peacefully in a hospital bed, now unharmed and safe. The doctors and nurses deduced he’d been awake for about 48 hours straight, so he’d slipped into exhaustion and the bullet wound had healed his heart, back and chest in a just a few minutes.

Remy snored lightly. You sat next to him, crying quietly, thankful he’d made it through the ordeal.

Remy was home within a few hours, the hospital kicking him out, even unconscious, since he was healthy. He had woken up but for a few minutes long enough to make it to the bed with some help from your dad and older brother. 

Before joining your family in the living room for some lunch and iced tea to catch up and enjoy you being safe again, you laid in the bed next to Remy, watching him sleep. You squeezed his hand, watching his eyes dart in his restfulness, hoping his dreams were better than the waking world had been for the two of you in the past three days. 

“I’ll always be there for you, until my dying day,” You promise in a whisper. You kissed him, then went to join your family.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day, the wedding was back on. Remy woke up that morning while you and your family stayed in the various guest rooms overnight. Everyone had tried to talk him out of it, wanting the two of you to get some rest after the kidnapping, but he wouldn’t hear of not being your husband for another twenty-four hours after the past few days.

So, amid a sea of cameras and spectators, you walked down a red carpet in a Vera Wang gown fit for a queen holding a beautiful bouquet. You made it to Remy, whose face was nothing more than shocked at your beauty.

Soon enough you were saying your vows.

“I, Remy LeBeau take thee Y/N. In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer. I forsake all others and will stand by you our whole lives long, as long as we both shall live.”

You repeated the vows and exchanged rings while the cameras went off. Remy kissed you at the right moment, and everything was complete, in your life, head and heart.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 You woke up in your hotel, overlooking the streets of Italy in one of the bigger cities. You walked onto the balcony and enjoyed the late morning sun on your skin and the cool breeze tickling your powder blue chamise and matching satin robe. You felt Remy’s arms loop around your waist, burying his head in your hair, then trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“Good morning, wife.”

“Good morning yourself, husband.”

Remy’s smell of cologne was now familiar to you as his skin mingled softly against yours. The night before was gently etched into your mind for always. You remembered clasped hands, Remy’s warmth, and his vein-y, leathery, masculine hands making you forget every flaw you ever had with your body. With him, you were a Ming vase, a masterpiece, or a glass slipper. He’d treated you gently, but also treated you like a woman all in the same breath. In bed with him, your weight or the size of you didn’t matter. He loved you-mind, ideas, opinions, thoughts, inner and outer self-completely. 

“Was last night okay?” Remy smirked after turning you around.

You gave him a gentle shove. “It was _much_ more than okay! I’ve got a list of words for it.”

“So maybe we’ll order breakfast first and then you can tell it to me while we’re...you know,” He pulled you back into the room and onto the bed, laying on your back longways on the four-poster bed with a bedspread of cream colors and bright red rose print. 

Remy got over you, kissing madly. You laughed loudly as he couldn’t help but tickle under your arms between kisses.

It took several minutes before he found his breath again to call room service.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eight years later:

You watched Remy playing tag football in the yard with the twins, a boy and a girl, age six, and their cousins. It was fall and you were having family and friends over on a weekend. You’d all had a whirlwind life so far, especially when it started out with your wedding gift not being one, but two cars. (Your favorite type, brand new, in your favorite color, and then a little red convertible for fun.) You’d only gotten Remy an iTunes gift card and a bottle of good wine, since it was all you could afford before the wedding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s strange,” Judy came up beside you, handing you a mug of warm tea, “Remy doesn’t have a grey hair in sight. I know you’ve only been married a short time, but you’re starting to show. Me too, a little. Guess he’s just got those good genes.”

You’d let your family in on the secret after the wedding. You had spent the past week trying to convince Remy to let Judy in on it, and last night you’d worn him down. She had started getting suspicious lately, so it was only a matter of time before she put the pieces together.

“Come sit down. I’ve got a story to tell you,” You smiled.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

END

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan (Modern AU)

Ch Rating: T

Ch WC: 2169

AO3

Chapter 7

Another day at the office. Editing, emails and the ever elusive caller that enables equal opportunities for playing phone tag. A game Solas never enjoys participating in. The morning slides by and Varric is at his desk, twirling his keys around his finger.

“Lunch?”

Solas glances up and sighs. “I’m trying to get a hold of Seeker Pentaghast. Sera said she had more info on an agent that might have a lead on Crystal Red.”

“That sounds like a lot of maybes and probablys and a whole lot of I don’t give a fuck. You’re allowed to take a break and get some lunch.”

“What if they call while I’m away?”

“They can leave a message. Now let’s get out of here before we don’t have any time at all for food.”

Solas shoves back his chair and follows Varric. “I did pack a lunch today,” he mentions.

“Save it for tomorrow then. I’m craving some street tacos and there’s a truck just up the road. I’ll buy so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I am less concerned about finances and more concerned about getting food from a truck.”

“Ah, live a little Chuckles,” Varric says as he gives Solas a whack on the back.

“If living a little, as you say, means spending two days on the toilet. Perhaps I do not wish to live a little.”

“Well come with me and grab something else. I’m sure there’s something you’d find worthy of your tastes nearby.”

A half hour later and Solas is holding a taco that’s worth the regret he’ll experience from his future self. Some chipotle mayo dribbles down his chin and he swipes it away while pulling out his phone.

He checks his messages. One from Sarya and one from Veda. He taps on the one from Veda first.

Connor went home sick. Pick me up after school today?

He checks the time and swears. How did he not realize he took such a late lunch? She needs to be picked up right now. He dials her number as he stuffs his arms into his coat.

“Veda needs to be picked up,” he tells Varric as he shoves the remainder of his taco in his mouth.

“Got you covered,” Varric replies.

He mumbles a garbled, “thanks” then takes off down the street. Solas is just a block away from his car in the parking garage when she picks up.

“Hey papae!”

“Hello. I apologize. I just now saw your text. I will be late.”

“No worries. I can always watch the band practice until you get here.”

“I will be there soon.”

“Okie doke.”

He says he loves her and hangs up. Sprints the rest of the way down the street, half choking and wishing he’d at least drank some water but makes his way to his little car without incident. He hops inside. Starts it and zooms out of the garage. He’s speeding which has him checking his rear view mirror constantly. But of course, the city has a million stop lights and he hits every red one. He gets to her school later than he ever intended.

He parks, shoving his glasses all the way up his nose, and searches for Veda at the stadium. He spots her in the bleachers, chin resting in her hands and her copper braids coming undone in the breeze. He takes the stairs to meet her two at a time.

“I am so sorry to make you wait,” he says as he wraps her in his arms.

“Seriously, papae. It’s not a problem at all.”

“But what if it had rained? Or stormed like yesterday?”

“I would’ve just stayed inside. Besides, that didn’t happen.”

He sighs, berating himself a little internally. Then he walks with her back to the car. Slides in and clicks his seatbelt in place.

“What’s this?” Veda asks.

Solas glances over at her. She has Sarya’s camera in her hands. He hadn’t even noticed it there. He calmly says, “a camera.”

“Pssh, obviously. But I don’t remember you having a camera.”

“It’s a friend’s,” he says. “We went out for lunch and they must’ve left it.”

“Oh,” she says. “How was work today?” She’s still fiddling with the camera.

“It was work,” he says. Thankfully she easily dropped the subject. “Not much was accomplished.”

She gasps. “Your friend is so pretty. You’ve never mentioned her before. New coworker?”

“No. Just a new friend I met.”

“She looks familiar—and she’s a wonderful photographer. Maybe we should have her take some pictures of us. We haven’t updated our family photos since I was ten.”

“That’s a wonderful idea Veda. However, my friend is only visiting for a short while. I’m not sure there would be enough time to squeeze some family photos in.”

“Bummer. You look so happy around her.”

“I don’t always look happy?”

“You look a different kind of happy with her. It’s nice.”

He takes her words and holds them close to her chest. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

“Yeah,” she says, then she unloads a multitude of stories. How one of her friends got their tooth knocked out by a basketball in gym. How she accidentally used Elvhen in her Tevene class and didn’t notice until the whole class was just staring at her.

“Did you feel embarrassed?” he asks as they pull into the garage.

“A little. But I mostly found it funny. The way the other kids looked so confused.”

“Does anyone treat you differently when you speak Elvhen?”

She shrugs. “There’s a couple of kids who say stupid things but I don’t hang around them.”

“Veda, I’m happy to speak with the administration if your having trouble with other students—“

“While I appreciate that, I can handle a couple of kids who are jerks.”

“Very well but if you ever—“

“I know.” She slings her backpack in her back then kisses his cheek. “Can I go to Varric’s house? I want to see the cats and hang out with Cole for a bit.”

“Yes, so long as you check with—“

“Already did.” She steps out of the car. “Going to drop my stuff off inside then I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you want to leave. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay. See you later, papae.”

Solas sighs. He’s glad she still talks to him and he still gets to see her but there’s also this tiny ache in his chest that misses her always being around the house. But he reminds himself that this is a good thing. It’s just new and he pulls out his phone to read his messages from Sarya.

Hey I’m going to try and stop by your work around 3:15 today.

I stopped by your work but you weren’t there. Saw Varric though! He introduced me to everyone and it was fun! I really like Sera. She’s hilarious! And Merrill was so sweet! Anyway, hopefully I’ll see you sometime soon. 😉

—

“I fold,” Sarya says, she takes a drag from her cigarillo. Then throws her cards face up on the table.

“Already?” Han asks. “What a shame.”

“Your mind must be elsewhere, Sarya. I’ve never known you to throw a game,” Vilanti says as she shows her cards.

Han takes the game and lets out a whoop as he gathers them all to shuffle.

“I still can’t believe Dallen just up and left us. Did he say anything to either of you? About his plans.”

Both of them shake their heads.

“It’s really odd.”

“I don’t know why you care. Easier to keep yourself from using him. Easier for him to be happy this way,” Han says.

“Ouch,” Vilanti grimaces, then gestures for all the cards to be handed over. She shuffles.

“I do agree with that actually. It’s just that most who move on from our happy little family tend to give us more of a notice. We didn’t get to give him a proper goodbye.”

“I don’t mean to sound callous here Sarya, but you were the only one who cared about the guy. Makes sense why he moved on.” Vilanti deals.

Sarya picks up her hand and stares straight through the cards. “That’s not true.”

“Basically,” Han argues. He draws a card.

“Sometimes you both are mean.”

“Not mean. Just honest,” Han says.

Vilanti draws. “On another note, I heard Makon made a new friend today.”

“What?” Sarya nearly drops her cards. “Our Makon? Makon—stoic, quiet, unsociable Makon?”

“Yep. Met her at the gas station. She was passing through on her way to Wycome and her motorcycle broke down. He fixed it up for her on the spot and they exchanged numbers I guess.”

“What the fuck?”

“Good for him,” Han says.

Sarya draws a card. “Yeah, seriously. I hope that works out.”

“Our next gig is in Wycome and he plans to see her then.”

“Was it love at first sight or something?” Sarya asks. She folds and picks her cigarillo back up. Her interest in cards declining by the second.

Vilanti shrugs and plays her cards, taking the game. “By the way he keeps talking about her, I’d say yes.”

“What’s her name,” Han asks, gathering all the cards into a pile.

“Athi. Athi Lavellan.”

“Another Lavellan huh?”

“Guess so. Maybe she’s related to you two,” Vilanti says.

“Doubt it. Or if she is, it’s very distant,” Han says.

In the distance they hear yelling and smashing bottles. They all exchange looks.

“Wonder who the hell set Deshanna off—“

“Let’s go see if we can smooth things over,” Han says with a sigh.

“You two can go. I’ll probably make things worse. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“That’s because you push his buttons. Definitely better for you to stay here,” Han tells her.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Then she waves at them as they slip out the door and finishes off her cigarillo.

—

It’s dark and quiet and Sarya gazes longingly out the window at a small patch of stars. The only patch not hidden by the clouds. She sighs and startles at the sound of knocking. Straightening herself out, she rubs the redness from her elbows and opens the door.

“Solas,” she says it like she’s expecting him but she’s truly surprised. She steps out with him, shutting the door behind her.

“You forgot your camera,” he tells her, holding it out in his hands.

She takes it from him, hanging it around her neck. “Thank you. I should really start keeping better track of my things or you’re going to start thinking I’m trying to bait you or something.”

“I would bite every time,” he says, his hands clasped behind his back. There’s a certain sparkle in his eye and she can’t read him. But she knows she wants to kiss him. So without another thought, she stretches up on her toes and takes him by surprise. He is frigid and she panics, certain she has misstepped. After all, friends don’t kiss like that.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a little out of breath. “I don’t know what…”

Her words are caught on the edge of his lips as he captures her mouth again. His kiss is unreserved but not what she’d call passionate. Like the kiss of a long time lover. A kiss of promise. Of commitment. Her mind screams at her to let go while simultaneously wishing and longing for more. His leg is pressed into her inner thigh and despite the chill of the air, she’s certain she is on fire. Her nails are in his shoulder, the camera even hurts just a little as it presses into her chest, and she doesn’t mean to let out a moan but it’s too late for regrets as he pushes her against the side of her trailer. One hand above her and the other in her hair. With each breath she steals between kisses, she studies his face. Memorizes it and stores it for always. Freckles for days and the tiniest scar above his brow. The only sign of his age lies in the lines of crows feet near the edges of his eyes and she tells herself to ask if he has a skincare routine. He certainly seems the type.

She studies his closed eyelids, there’s two freckles on the right and a singular small one on the left and she notices that there’s even some red in his brows and wonders if they’d have red headed babies.

She gasps then. Pulls away. Why in the hell is she thinking of babies?

“Perhaps I should…”

“Kiss me again,” she says to him. She won’t let one ridiculous thought ruin the moment. She knows that she’s falling for him. Too fast, too soon but she’s holding on for another day.

When they break apart she doesn’t want him to go. But it’s too much to ask him to stay. So she waves goodbye then clicks her camera, saving the image of him walking away.

[redstaratmorning]

Headcanons and Musings of Pirate-y And Plunderous Proportions: Astarion Says What

Synopsis: Random musings and ramblings regarding and spawning from the differences between how Astarion says just one word, depending on your choices—“What?” This got very long and touches not only on Astarion’s difference in presentation in aforementioned moment, but also some discussion-thoughts to chuck onto the dashboard regarding some other elements of Astarion’s content thus far in Early Access, and some thoughts to add onto others’ speculations and wonderings (I did not save sources so pardon the lack of proper citation, oops. We’re going informal here anyway.) Spoilers for Chapter 1 BG3 scenes, plot, etc, under the cut in case someone hasn’t filtered out the tags. Trigger warning/content warning: some discussion of heavy topics is mentioned and explored, including starvation, abuse/torture, and trauma. Other topics of note for summarization include speculation on Astarion’s largely unknown as-of-early-access background and a touch of his possible pre-vampire morality leanings, possible mental state/trauma reaction in a couple of scenes, and vague speculation on Larian’s gameplan for Astarion’s arc ending. Gather thy party and venture forward, for here be dragons and lots o’ text, matey! [/stereotypical pirate accent]

“What?” Just that one word, between the goblin party and the tiefling party. If Larian keeps the body language and tone presentation more or less where it’s at now in Early Access, they are worlds apart and delightfully up for interpretation of just what’s going on in our favorite vampire spawn’s head. This won’t be an in-depth post about all the tonal and body language differences, just picking out a few due to personal constraints (ie too broke to buy this game currently.) Edit: And also a lot of other thoughts and ramblings tacked on, lol. On the one hand we have him at the goblin party, where he seems much more superficially comfortable there, knows what’s going on and knows what to expect—it feels like he’s done this kind of scene a hundred times before. The comfort of familiarity. Did Cazador throw “parties”, much like how he “invited” Astarion to dine with him? I wouldn’t be surprised if he mingled at regular dinner parties either before his turning, or perhaps after when he’s ordered to hunt for Cazador’s evening repast. I doubt the goblin party has anything as potentially horrific as what Cazador would have lined up on the nightly basis, which is why Astarion isn’t aggro’d: he’s in a position of power at this party after all, not a powerless one. A conquering hero, as he describes the MC. A Precarious position, as it turns out.

Circling back to that one word though, the way he says “what” in that scene after he propositions the MC and the MC picks the “Maybe. If you say please” line feels like Astarion’s response could be interpreted as pretty abrupt. On guard, perhaps, squaring up, offended, even perhaps lowkey challenging/hostile. Expressing social displeasure and possibly staring down the MC mayhaps? Could be, especially if Astarion’s body language remains as it is rigged now in-scene with that step forward, his shoulders shifting, the lack of a smile, that assessing glare, all combined with that flat tone of voice. The animation could just be temporary and subject to change, but if it does end up as more or less the final version of that moment’s depiction, it’s pretty interesting as a shift. I’d read it as potentially “not actually truly comfortable in this situation, just familiar and numb to it all”, especially when combined with some of his other earlier potential lines at the goblin party, such as the following: Astarion: So, what are we drinking to? Other than a pile of corpses. MC: That’s not funny. Astarion: Oh don’t be so sour - It’s a party. You did what you had to. Don’t be ashamed that you did it well. MC: I wish things had turned out differently. Astarion: And I wish I was drinking out of the skulls of everyone who’s ever wronged me. Life is tough. Although that’s not to say we can’t have a little fun. This supports the whole “has been through his personal hell and has adapted to survive it albeit not unscathed” story Larian seems to be going for with him quite nicely in the little tells and details. A sort of “take what joy you can even amidst the dark situation surrounding us” trauma-induced adaptation, coupled together with actual enjoyment on his part for killing. It’d be easy to say Astarion is moreso in his element at the goblin party, and to a degree he is—it’s one he is well practiced with in his current mindset. Compare now how he acts at the tiefling party—we can all agree he’s not having a good time, our friendly neighborhood vampire sulking in particular over the fact that “there’s a worm in [his] brain, [he’s] surrounded by idiots, and all [he] has to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar.” But the delightful thing is he’s complaining so vividly about it. The wine likely is worse at the tiefling party, seeing as they’re refugees, and the goblins had previously captured a duke whom they likely stole loot from and under orders from Minthara et al stored said goods elsewhere for a later date (likely some of said goods were consumed at the party if it happened. Edit: Shadowheart’s drunk dialogue at the goblin party mentions the goblin’s wine there being good, poor dear. Fascinating hints at her story and character in that scene though.) This is assuming Astarion is drinking wine at the goblin party, of course. He may very well be drinking something red and full-bodied there, just not made from grapes. But even in his complaints and presentation, he seems arguably more relaxed and less on guard compared to his demeanor at the goblin party. Let’s be honest, he doesn’t view goblins as equals or stimulating company judging by his various voice lines expressing his disdain, distrust and overall low opinion of them as vermin among other things. The fact that he’s willing to call the tiefling refugees idiots while in earshot of them? Definitely doesn’t respect them as a group—though he has a less negatively opined line regarding them earlier on if the caged goblin (Sazza) is killed,—which is not surprising given that MC and company at the time of the party just saved them from certain death. Astarion’s reaction however also reads as potentially at ease enough to say what he’s thinking. He’s not going to get murdered for saying so, and there aren’t any punishing power games at play with the refugees and do-gooders he’s found himself surrounded by. There aren’t any hedonistic shenanigans going on and the drinks are terrible, so it’s not an entertaining party for him, but one could make an argument that Astarion might actually be feeling more secure or at least less threatened-as-is/was-his-accepted-ongoing-norm there. Which might mean he’s feeling quite out of place, or even just not...entirely engaged with what’s going on around him and even within him as far as emotional states go. Would he casually pull the same stunt at the goblin party? If you’re a bastard to him, yes, but that’s not in the same emotional vein as his dialogue during the tiefling party at all. Loyalty from the goblins is fickle, the goblins worship the Absolute and those that are chosen by the Absolute—so long as said Chosen remain powerful enough to subjugate them and is in favor. Astarion knows this kind of power structure well: ruling by fear and power. With the tieflings? It’s not superiors-and-subordinates, it’s just...people. People celebrating surviving an event that could’ve very well and most likely would’ve ended in their deaths. Will he get to celebrate like that one day? That could very well be a painful and bleak thing to consider, and not something he wants to contemplate as of yet, based on his dialogue lines that demonstrate his fear of Cazador. How’s he supposed to get lost in the fun and revelry if the wine doesn’t even taste good to him? I don’t know wines, but I’m guessing from what little I do know and what I’ve read of flavor descriptors for wines hyped as good, it might actually be bad wine based on the adjective “sharp” when mixed with the rest of the description if the MC takes a sip. Sharp seems to suggest too many tannins, or maybe improper storage so the wine actually did turn to taste a bit more like vinegar, or maybe not enough sugar in the grapes used, perhaps? To be fair, I do believe there’s a non-conversation line somewhere of Astarion’s regarding solid food tasting terrible to him, but I can’t verify that so a pinch of salt there. Still, if his taste buds are aligned with regular living mortal ones for wine at least, RIP Astarion, he’s stuck with a terrible drink for the foreseeable night. Unless, of course, you know. ;D Compared to the tieflings, the goblins as a whole? As a group they’re a scraped together army of pillagers hungry for destruction and spoils. They don’t have ANY loyalty to you—in addition to being willing to betray you via murder immediately despite working with them when Sazza first brings you back to meet Minthara, there’s also when Minthara potentially opts to try to kill you post-goblin-party. If you persuade her not to, Minthara does mention “do not return to the goblin camp, as far as they were concerned you were destined to die tonight.” This is not a group to get chummy with, obviously. Doesn’t say good things about the Absolute’s followers in general, either, or the Absolute depending on if Minthara’s being honest about the Absolute intending that the MC dies after razing the grove. Minthara could just be lying to serve her own ends and is out to destroy any rivals for the Absolute’s favor, after all, I can’t verify that from dialogue exploration at present. So it’s not surprising that this is not a group Astarion is going to let his guard down around I’m sure, or around an MC that sided with the goblins, because fortunes can shift like the wind in a scene like that, and I think his utter lack of surprise at Minthara trying to kill you all (whether or not the MC had a romp with her) is potentially spawned because he recognizes this fact. He’s been here before, in another time, another place, with different faces, but he’s seen this play before. And the MC is just another face for the same old role of a player in this rat race for power when they side with the goblins, aren’t they? The difference this time though is: will they succeed and make it to the top? Is Astarion betting on the winning horse, or not? Far less reason and far more motivation to not be emotionally invested in anyone or anything around him because it’s survival of the fittest, and the most ruthless will be the ones who win—the MC just reinforced that perspective for Astarion, in slaughtering the tieflings. But Astarion isn’t fully corrupted yet, despite however much Cazador has twisted and tormented him so. Isn’t it fascinating, that the MC, one of the first people Astarion can actually interact with relatively freely without Cazador’s puppeteering influence hanging over him quite so acutely, is someone who might very well and very likely will have a huge impact on how Astarion develops and sees the world? For better or for worse, the MC will shape all the companions’ futures and perspectives it seems, depending on their choices. On a meta note, isn’t that thrillingly fascinating and engaging work by Larian Studios? Bravo, honestly. Continuing, for Astarion this could very well just feel like a better but complimentary and thematically continuous segment of the nightmare that is his existence under Cazador as it goes on: he’s a vampire now, and the world is only ever a power struggle between the strong and the weak, and he knows better than to ever be weak again. Kindness and virtue belonged to Before. Before he died, before he turned, before he was taken. Those are things in stories and fairy tales now, that belong to other people, other places and times, other lives—things that belong to the living, not the undead. Sentimentality, more universally-accepted morality, all of those Good™-aligned or softer feelings can feel like they have no place in his world now, on this darker path. But he knows what they are, not just in theory I think, but also perhaps knowing from memory and experience, however distant and faint. The way he speaks on many occasions has subtext that could very well suggest he wasn’t without a better side through implication and emotion. Which is not to say I think he was a shining paragon of virtue before he died—guessing based off of the dev team’s writing of him so far, I’m expecting nuanced and complex but ultimately very human (or elf if you’re being fantasy-based technical) morality with both merits and flaws, for polarizing opinions in the fandom. That being said, I’m holding off judgment on what kind of person he was before he was turned for now despite reading about pre-early-access, preliminary ideas the dev team had for his background. The reason I’m waiting to see what the dev team puts into the game for his backstory of Before, is because some of his datamined lines could be taken in a couple of different ways, and some of his emotional responses as is currently don’t track as truly Machiavellian or I’d say malevolent in nature for manipulation or otherwise. Granted, not all Evil™ acts stem from intentions to be malevolent. Sometimes people do evil both in-game and in life without really intending to, or recognizing that they do, nor seeing the harm they have caused or will cause (I’m looking at you, Mayrina.) Manipulative yes, but so far it’s looked like it’s for defensive purposes in a world that is out to hurt or kill him if given any opportunity whatsoever. Personally I actually wouldn’t even say he’s been really manipulative at all, but your mileage may vary. He lies because he’s afraid you’re going to murder him for being a vampire, and because he doesn’t want to reveal the cause of two centuries’ worth of trauma to someone he just met and likely can’t predict if they’re emotionally safe for him to interact with. Note: “emotionally safe” does not necessarily denote being sympathetic here, so much as “will their response cause me pain in some fashion?” from Astarion’s point of view, which does not necessarily require the MC to be mean to him though obviously that wouldn’t help. We touch upon why sympathy can hurt later on in this essay. And why would he expect sympathy in the other instance, regarding revealing that he’s a vampire? How often would we not murder strange vampires we just met in DND-worlds? Is that not a common response and practice in Faerun for the most part? They’re on the list of acceptable prey for a monster hunter to be kidnapped and taken to who knows what fate (probably nothing good we’re sure), and who would come rescue them? In all actuality: No one. If he wasn’t a companion he’d easily just be one more random encounter to kill—as he and all the companions are in the right circumstances, *cough cough* like when sacrificing anyone to Boooal *cough.* Astarion’s had little cracked moments where he seems to be showing genuine vulnerability, and I’d say he likely displays real genuine emotion plenty of times, just not all the time. While the vulnerable moments could be a ploy, were he the type to actually be fully acting, I’m disinclined to bet that he’d act in the way he does during those moments if he planned them out or even improvised. It could be a mix of both, where it’s both true but also an act of manipulation. Were it the last option, that would require more exploration of his character in various situations to determine imo. I still doubt that though. I think he’s a little too raw and real in his pain, anger, and aggression to say he’s being malevolently manipulative at the end of the day, at least thus far in chapter one. The MC’s choices may change and influence that, on the Evil™ route. I’ve been following some of the fantastic dash discussions on Astarion’s reaction to when the MC tries to comfort him (because of course I have, I’m here for BG3 content and Astarion content especially, aren’t we all here for the same party in his tag? Also hello fellow Astarion stans! :D I hope everyone’s having a good day), and if some of these datamined lines from Pjenn’s blog post are actually implemented and kept as canonical [link], specifically the ones Astarion says regarding heroes, I do think it ties in very strongly with some of what other folks have said regarding his recoiling reaction. Copy-pasted the potential dialogue lines of interest below: Astarion: Heroes. |said with disgust| Astarion: Heroes had two centuries to save me from my torture, but not one came knocking. Astarion: The strong had two centuries to pluck me from torture, but no one came. No, it was the mind flayers that rescued me. Astarion: I spent centuries as the victim of a corrupt man. It was the mind flayers that plucked me away from that. I very much enjoyed all the takes on Astarion’s potential motivations in his response, and I do want to chuck another idea into the fray that supports the vein of ideas that have him being truly afraid and then angry at the MC in that scene, with the speculation including those possible hero lines above as influence. Specifically, I’d like to bring in an outside comparison to part of Molly Grue’s reaction to seeing the Unicorn from The Last Unicorn animated movie for the first time, transcribed below: The Unicorn: I’m here now. Molly: [Bitter laugh] Oh? And where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent, young maidens you always come to? How dare you. How DARE you come to me now, when I am this. [begins to cry, heartbroken] Consider Astarion being shown kindness when he is now away from Cazador, not fully free or safe yet but not currently actively fully suffering Cazador’s torment all up close and personal. Consider that only on that very night before he was snatched up by the mindflayers, which might’ve been anywhere from only a day to a handful of days before this conversation about his nightmare, he was going out to falsely smile and lure some innocent—(“No innocents. You have my word.”)—or perhaps not so innocent, beautiful soul back to Cazador’s mansion to very likely die or be turned. How often must he do so? Is it every night he is ordered to go out and condemn someone else to that unfortunate fate? Do you think Cazador killed them cleanly? Quickly? Why would he, instead of agonizingly grinding out any last traces of sympathy his spawn might have through the guilt that they are the ones who “choose” who suffers and likely dies at Cazador’s hands that night? To give the illusion of choice is one abuse/torture tactic that can be used to break a soul that we see often in games: choose who suffers or dies. Cazador is unquestionably a personality who enjoys the psychological aspect of tormenting his victims, as evidenced by giving Astarion the “choice” to be either flayed or to “dine” on a rotting, dead rat, as well as other mentions of how he puts thought into torturing those around him. Astarion is still so fresh from his torment,—torment that is still technically on-going with the very real threats of resuming once more—he is emotionally bleeding enough arterial blood at the seams to fill a sea. His actions, words, and emotions so often metaphorically smell of blood, and not because he’s a vampire and the traditional role of a vampire being a predator among humanoids ironically enough, but because being a vampire spawn means Cazador. And Cazador means horror. Astarion has survived, yes, and it’s been hell. He’s still in hell, because he isn’t free yet. Not truly. It’s a desperate gasp of air, this taste of freedom, to dream that he could be free of Cazador. Imagine his feelings when he’s now in something like freedom, a reminder of what could be, what his life might’ve and likely was like once upon a time, an uncertain here-and-now where he has the possibility—just a possibility, and an unlikely one at that for most ordinary or less-than-ordinary people, not a certainty—of being free, and he’s just admitted to the horror that is Cazador. Admitted in this moment how much Cazador frightens him, how much just the thought of Cazador frightens him, how much the possibility he might be sent back to his master and having his previous tormented existence resumed truly frightens him. And the MC reaches out in sympathy. In acknowledgement that what Astarion has been through is horrifying. To look at this horror and say it is pain, and terror, and awful, that it isn’t normal. It isn’t something to ignore. It isn’t something to pretend is just everyday same old, same old, to numb and take off the edge as much as one can. That Astarion’s pain and fear aren’t to be sought out for entertainment or at best to be willfully neglected in an act of malice. That stark moment of contrast, like night and day, could bring the pain of two hundred years crashing down inside his head, all compressed into one moment. Feelings he tried so hard to survive through, ignore perhaps, suppress: fear, helplessness, loneliness, misery, anger, sorrow, hatred, pain, anxiety, distress, need. Memories, of so many instances that hurt in that moment and then continued to hurt for so long afterwards. How much must it hurt him, wound him, to lift his head for air and have a perspective outside of his suffering that is sympathetic...but knowing that nobody came to save him.  That perhaps, no one ever will, if he loses this so-called freedom and is dragged back under. That those that care, cannot help you. And that those that can help, do not care.  Why would anyone help him at this point after all? He’s a vampire spawn. A classically defined monster in the eyes of society, and he knows it. (”I’m not some monster!” / ”At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs.”) He must have been truly desperate in his starvation to chance anyone finding out he’s a vampire in the party. Not surprising, he can’t rest at the end of the day like the other companions can. He has to expend extra energy at that point to find food discreetly after fighting all day, and subpar food at that. (”Animal blood tastes like muck.” verification needed, it’s a conversational line in some branch of the morning-after he asks to bite the MC the first time) He’s not eating breakfast, snacks or lunch during the day, and he isn’t guaranteed to find food while hunting in the woods. Game might be scarce, he can be wounded or exhausted after a long day of fighting, and he wasn’t starting out in the peak of health to begin with either. He is a vampire spawn yes and apparently can take down large game such as boars to drain them, but that is a rough existence to condemn anyone to mechanically speaking. He knows what he’s risking, regardless of his int stat. But he takes that risk anyway. The character who is so survival driven, risking a very high likelihood of expulsion at best or death as the much-more-likely worst outcome of this attempt? His bite isn’t painless, and pain can wake a person up readily enough if they aren’t a deep sleeper, and how deep a sleeper are most people when in an uncertain and unfamiliar wilderness, potentially while hungry and cold, with the fretting fear of a agonizing death looming over their head? Even accounting for a lack of mental clarity from hunger and exhaustion and other factors, I find it deeply unlikely that Astarion is unaware of how big a risk he’s taking with the odds are stacked against him, rogue class or not. And even if he’s just thrown out of the group? He’s alone. Vulnerable. A target to be hunted by a much bigger, meaner predator. One that won’t kill him quickly, we can guess. His odds are much lower, on his own. Specifically his odds of not being dragged back to Cazador...assuming the MC doesn’t just turn him over to Gandrel. How terrifying is it to imagine that your suffering will never end, to be told it will never end, and then you are reminded of what it is like to not suffer for a time. To have felt the painful hope that maybe there is a possibility that you could escape an existence of torment...but knowing you very well might not? It is desperately bleak. It is no great leap of the imagination to hear Astarion saying—(or more likely thinking because this would be terribly vulnerable...but he might say something when pushed because he’s so full of sharp edges and bleeding insides still)—something similar to Molly Grue’s line in his own fashion, is it? Astarion: “[Bitterly laughing, mockingly so. As he speaks his tone breaks, an edge of raw, desperate hysteria slipping through, attached to centuries of pain turned to anger] And where were you two hundred years ago? A hundred years ago? Where were you when I still desperately thought in the deepest parts of my heart that someone might come? When I still had hope?  Astarion: [his voice turns low and venomous, raising in volume and accusation before finishing with a break on the final word “this”, a tonal admittance of how distraught and self-aware he is of what he’s had to do, of what he’s had to become to survive] How dare you. How DARE you say this to me now, when I am this.”  (the above lines are entirely fictional and are not from any in-game, data-mined, or otherwise official source or content) He’s been made to do so many terrible things, even just based off of the few lines we have heard in early access he’s been through so much horror. An hour of torture, a day, a month is so incredibly long. It can have such lasting impact on a person—PTSD, as we know it in this day and age. A year? Five years, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred? An elf he may be, but from a human perspective...he’s been tortured for lifetimes. Even as an elf, two hundred years is a long time. More than long enough to seriously alter how someone’s brain works—people are both amazingly resilient, but also so incredibly fragile. Cazador has had all this time to play with Astarion’s brain, honestly I find it impressive Astarion has any sense of self left after all this time. That he’s still driven to survive, that he still feels anything at all. (”It doesn’t look broken. But then again, none of us do.”)  It doesn’t surprise me that he’s intensely bitter when encountering the “paladins” of Tyr—(ie Anders and company if you know who I mean—and was that a Dragon Age 2 reference? If not that is an amazing coincidence with the whole Anders-Justice-Vengeance-Demon thing there)—if the MC asks something to the tune of “Don’t you wish someone had helped you when you needed it?” Oh. Oh that had to be a painful question for him. Astarion had his basic needs denied and abused, to ask if he wished that someone had helped him when he needed that and more, and no one came? Why was he denied but the paladins get help? Why does he have to be the hero when no one came for him, when no one very well might come for him when he might still very well be in dire straits in the near future?  I can see the possible desire to inspire sympathy intended in the question from the MC, but it can be so utterly without sympathy to ask that in some contexts, and in Astarion’s case it is. He was being abused and controlled without any way out—Anders and his cohorts opted into the deal with Zariel for personal reasons, not as far as I know under threat of imminent death, and they are relatively capable of fulfilling their end of the bargain barring their current injuries at the time. They certainly have more freedom of choice than Astarion and other vampire spawn ever did, and they were not being tortured right then and there. Warlocks, referring to Anders and co., might even have the option to get out of deals, a la Wyll’s personal questline hook thus far. Astarion can’t get out of his servitude from Cazador. Cazador holds all the cards, makes all the decisions, has all of the power. To compare Astarion’s situation to his face with that of the “paladins”? I’m surprised he wasn’t spitting fury, honestly. They still have normal elements to their day to day life, despite their devil’s deal. They are not being tormented on the daily—yet. They are not in hell—yet. They can get out. They have the possibility. A possibility Astarion didn’t—until now. And isn’t that the most fucked up thing, that it wasn’t a force of Good™ that saved him, but an even bigger monster than Cazador himself? He was saved—by mindflayers, intending some fate that was likely worse for him than before. Even when the Absolute’s hand begins to be revealed in all this, he is still a pawn among monstrous masters. What heroes there are in the world, won’t come for him. They never did before, and they didn’t now. Heroes are for other people, for realities aside from his own. They are for other people, living Other lives. Not his life. Forces of Good™ swooping in to save the day, to correct the wrongs of the world and to make things Right™ just isn’t his normal. Not anymore, if ever it was. His normal was warped by Cazador a long time ago. Is it a stretch of the imagination that if Cazador twisted “dinner” to be a choice between consuming a rotting, putrid rat corpse or being flayed on a nightly basis, turning “poetry” into the memory of a “sonnet” carved into Astarion’s back with a razor over the course of an entire night full of Astarion’s own pained screams? Is it hard to imagine that Cazador also took pleasure in turning other ordinary situations one might encounter in normal life into nightmare versions as well for Astarion and his other spawn? One illithid mind-power option shows Cazador controlling Astarion by holding his chin, though without any further context. Cazador wouldn’t have had to do more than that to invoke terror, after a certain point in time. It seems highly unlikely the gesture wasn’t followed up with more pain, though. Perhaps in that moment when he speaks of his nightmare in the first conversation and the MC reaches out to him in sympathy...Astarion was reminded of something. Multiple somethings, multiple moments, when Cazador reached out to him oh so casually, and it ended in pain and terror. The way the camera is framed as of the current time in early access, the way he flinches away crying “No!” so quiet and low, his eyes wide and staring just so, how he goes so far as to pull back almost entirely out of frame and the camera slowly pans to follow him? Perhaps that is just a stand-in scene, but as it is, even now, it emphasizes that he is I would argue genuinely afraid, and reflexively responding in what is likely his first opportunity to freely respond to his traumatically induced fear. The first opportunity where he wasn’t supernaturally compelled to do exactly as Cazador ordered him to, the first opportunity where he was likely not going to be tormented further for expressing his fear, for having his main tormentor laugh and delight in his distress. The first instance where he for a split second let his guard down, and didn’t expect to be hurt—until the MC reached for him, echoing possible memories of what happened last time someone (Cazador) did that. It’s not Cazador reaching for him. But...it is not Cazador. He doesn’t have to worry about Cazador hurting him right that second, but...will the MC hurt him, like Cazador did? Will they make it look like they’re going to help him, that he can trust them, and then betray him? (”How can you be so cruel?” / “It [Raphael playing games] reminds me of Cazador, taunting his slaves with hope when he knew the game was rigged.”) But they scared him. They scared him, and perhaps for a moment he was back there, in another time and place, where he knows, where he remembers, vividly, perhaps even recently, what normally would have happened to him. And how dare they make him feel that. (“I can do without reliving that particular night, thank you.” [Nightmare about Cazador dialogue, a separate scene if you miss the insight check from the first post-nightmare camp discussion I believe.]) He’s so raw and upset, both aggressive and defensive when he speaks about his nightmares in quite a few of his lines, asking and waiting to explain just why his nightmares are truly so terrifying, especially in the second-nightmare conversation. The way he speaks there, and in other scenes, makes me very disinclined to interpret him as actively intending evil in general so much as having been shaped to be ruthless through a centuries-long trial by fire that he isn’t free and clear of yet. Based off of how he reacts on more than one occasion, I’m personally inclined to take a leaf from Wyll’s book and say I do think he has more than just potential to be good. “Good™” being relative of course to his situation and undead-life—Astarion has GREAT potential as a character to explore not only what it means to be Evil™ aligned, but also what people on the meta perceive as evil, as well as what prejudices we may carry from that labeling.  He is I think very much an excellent walking morality test and ironically a mirror for the player’s character. What kind of person is the MC, in how they treat and interact with him. He is a complicated and morally-entangled character, and it is so very easy to only read him in the here and now within the stark, daylight context of societal’s average norms without looking at the very real, very recent nightmarish Twilight Zone reality he’s lived in that echoes through his words and story thus far. It’s a marvelous bit of echoing reality and real life here by Larian, truth be told: how do you tell people about your life, when it’s been a ceaseless, unending nightmare? With smiles, witticisms, and the occasional polished lie that bleeds out pain, for some folks anyway, including Astarion. He says he’s having more fun at the goblin party, but at the tiefling party? That’s probably the first time he’s been at a normal party where he hasn’t had to obey and fear Cazador’s orders and inevitable torment during or afterwards. That’s the first time in his entire undead existence when he’s been in a social situation like this without being afraid, hurt, or manipulated. It’s not a fun party on its own by his standards, but it is a safe party for him. In a way though, safety can be boring. A luxury, yes, but in this case? For him, boring. And boring...might very well be irritating, in an anxiety-turned-irritation fashion, because he’s not being tormented right this very moment. He should be finding something to enjoy, because in his normal everyday routine? In the day to day that he would expect, that his subconscious expects out of habit? Opportunity for any form of enjoyment must be rare indeed, twisted and tainted by Cazador’s ever looming shadow over every minute of Astarion’s vampiric existence so far. It could be anxiety-inducing, to not seek pleasure or some form of happiness or comfort while there is opportunity for it, in what one perceives as a respite from constant, on-going suffering. (”Why do you insist on exhuming the past?” - when you ask about his past in camp, after you know he’s a vampire. An unpleasant reminder of an unpleasant past, why would he want to dwell on it? He has enough pain to last him multiple lifetimes. Literally.) From the deep, deep depths of prolonged suffering, it can potentially take a great deal more intensity of sensation to feel anything at all, let alone something approaching happiness. (”For the first time in two hundred years, I felt happy.” [presumed Astarion-origin line after drinking from a sleeping companion] / “I feel strong. I feel...happy!” [after MC succeeds in persuading Astarion to stop drinking from their neck after giving him permission to do so.]) This isn’t even taking into consideration how vampirism might have impacted Astarion’s psychology on a metabolic/biochemical level, so to speak. Where Larian goes with that is still to be determined, though my money’s on they give him more a murderous edge and natural inclination—not unlike a Beast-lite version of bloodlust from Vampire: The Masquerade— but still keep his core traits very much human rather than supernaturally-alien/2D-cut-out-monstrous. (Or elvhen, if we’re being fantasy-world-linguistically technical here again.) Touching on the matter of monstrous behavior though...It is a powerfully understated moment of casual cruelty that Larian allows the MC to decide once and once only, if Astarion may also drink from people or only animals. It’s so fitting I don’t believe it to be coincidence that he was a magistrate in his backstory—isn’t the MC passing a judgement too on him, a sentence to change his life for the foreseeable future, possibly forever without realizing or perhaps not caring about the full extent of their actions? And one cannot forget Wyll’s comment about the rat diet. Oh, can you not hear the resonating parallel real life pain from how those ignorant of another’s hurts might unintentionally mock the person and hurt them so? How some might apply their own morality from their own life experiences, without looking at the full extent of the consequences of their actions? A life and perspective that more likely has never been tested under the lash and upon the rack of some of life’s worst possible realities? Even if Wyll and the MC don’t mean to be, it is so very, very cruel. It is beautifully painful, Abdirak and the goddess Loviatar would be proud. (”My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel...happy!”) To be denied not just better food, but the ability to think clearly, to feel well, the actuality of being happy as a norm? It is so very hollow an existence to feel so constantly weak of both body and mind, and oh isn’t it just the richest thing, that an MC might echo Cazador’s choice and power over Astarion thusly? It’s enough to make one laugh an Evil Laugh™ of appreciation at just how unthinkingly, horribly cruel a person can potentially be while playing a Good™ character. This is actually a level of genius on Larian’s part that I wonder how many in the audience will actually look at and appreciate the subtle horror of. The horror that we do this too, in real life, sometimes without ever knowing the seemingly small, far-reaching ripples of harm an unthinking phrase or comment can do when we don’t take another’s reality into consideration—that we don’t know what it is we don’t know. It is a fine piece of storytelling, to offer up a story with so many facets to reflect upon. It’s so beautifully crafted that Astarion speaks and dresses like a noble, that he can so easily be perceived as a person of privilege at first glance should one merely look at some of his surface behaviors and inclinations—remnant trappings of his distant past most likely, from once upon a time. It’s a delightful reveal and subversion that he, I think we can safely say, isn’t that. Perhaps he was, once, but he isn’t at this point in his life, not anymore. Appearances are deceiving, and doesn’t that just tie so nicely right into some of Astarion’s potential themes and behaviors? The lies that crack open as truth and pain come bleeding out from underneath? I do wonder how many of Larian’s audience have known hunger—and not known when the next meal will happen, what it might be, if it will have strings attached? The kind of hunger that follows you everywhere, that roots down into your bones and hollows out a home there forever more? It changes how a person sees things, how they act, how they think, even when they’re removed from being hungry all the time. One doesn’t need to be skin and bones to feel like one is starving constantly,—(I very much enjoy that headcanon just to clarify, I’m not intending to throw shade in any of this or future rambling)—to be kept on a hollow diet of empty calories that are enough to keep your heart pumping, but your body struggles because it doesn’t have the nutrients it needs in the amounts it needs? To feel your mind fog over with exhaustion and blanketed despair, a primal and low level desperation whittled down into a tired and numb, anxious background static from adrenal fatigue? Miscellaneous aches, pains and problems that seem unrelated but in reality, if only you knew, were because your body can’t function the way it should ideally, because you don’t have what you truly need? A very real problem in real life, for far too many people. And oh, the beautiful, casual, so very human monstrousness Larian lets us exercise here, knowing or unknowing. It is such a powerful, understated cluster of ideas. And I think Larian knew—someone on the dev team did their homework on both traditional starvation but also what one might call masked-starvation as no doubt other tumblr folks have also speculated, just based off of what we’ve seen and because of that Happy buff Astarion gets when he uses his Vampiric Bite ability in combat. It fits right into his whole theme of “what makes a monster and what makes a man?” (Sing the bells of Notre Dame~♪) But not necessarily asking that question only of him. Rather, asking it also of the MC. This fits into the game’s whole theme with the tadpoles, the choice of using the power and turning into “Something More Beautiful” as Minthara put it, of taking the darker path, it all fits so very well. I just want to applaud this because it’s not a major story-beat moment. It’s a companion-side-quest moment. It’s going to be for the most part seen as a combat-game-mechanic and head-canon defining moment, deciding if Astarion may feed on people or not. I doubt we’d see Larian actually changing Astarion’s demeanor much in how he delivers lines with a “allowed to drink people blood” code flag, as cool as that might be. It very well could factor into later outcomes but for voice acting I doubt they’ll make an entire second/third/etc set of each line spawning from that one seemingly small choice. It makes me very hopeful that Larian can handle such weighty themes so deftly thus far—we’ll have to wait and see if they can stick the landing once the game is finished, but boy oh boy their nuance and delivery so far is strong as steel and sharp as a double-edged sword right out of the gate. The studio is in a fantastic position to explore and to challenge people’s thoughts and ideas regarding character builds like Astarion’s imo, depending on how the dev team chooses to play it out. Seeing some of Gale and Shadowheart’s dialogue trees from the goblin party, I have high hopes that the dev team will allow a great deal of exploration and flexibility all across the moral spectrums, not only allowing us the option to drag the more seen-as-good-aligned characters down paths of moral corruption,—(note: I’m including Shadowheart in more neutral-ish territory for now but the fact that she seems to feel emotionally ill—guilty, one could say—at the goblin party and is busy trying to get drunk to drown that feeling out suggests to me she Definitely does have a more good-aligned moral compass to a nuanced degree)—but also the chance to drag more seen-as-evil-aligned characters along the path to more traditionally good endings and persuade them to see the benefits of playing nice with others per more classic Good™ societal rules (subjectively speaking ofc.) But Larian is also in a very precarious place too—speaking strictly of just the one character as the focus of this essay, Astarion resonates very easily through that very real fear, pain, anger, bitterness and so many other emotions as a result of what he has survived, is still surviving through, and struggling against: trauma. How bitter indeed would it be should a character—that people with very deep, real pain can relate to—not get at least the option for a well-crafted, hopeful and merciful epilogue? Oh the sympathetic pain that Larian could reap could be pain of the very worst kind, if they condemn him to only death and darkness with bleak endings that lack nuance and care. I’ve seen some posts where people worry about Astarion not potentially having a good ending, with possible unspoken implications that he might be railroaded into betraying the MC. I’d like to say that I think a lot of his subtext, even looking at the instances where he lies and the datamined details of the voice-acting-directions, would run counter to railroading him to only ever betraying the MC. I think straight betrayal is going to run as mostly antithetical to his core themes in a way. He might betray your MC—but it will likely be because the MC betrayed him first in a myriad of small ways, or in a big way. Approval-rating-system based choices are a very real possibility too, separately or as a part of the equation naturally, in addition to your major in-game choices. That would also include the scenario of betrayal through using the tadpole powers enough to be mind-controlled into having no will of his own, much like the other characters, including the MC. I do think we have plenty of good, solid reason to be very hopeful that he will have a possible good continuation—not ending. A continuation where he manages to free himself from Cazador with the help of his companions or perhaps dare he even say friends, manages to begin the process of healing the immediate pains of his trauma and learning how to truly live with all that he’s been through and all that he’s done, to have the possibility of not only living but living both happily and well for the most part? Who knows what else Larian Studios might have in the works for him and the other companions, as well as the MC and the story of Baldur’s Gate 3. But good outcomes for all seems like it very likely could happen, for all of the companions. His wiki page’s summary tagline hook in particular offers up that implied promise from the developers to the audience, I would say, “Astarion prowled the night as a vampire spawn for centuries, serving a sadistic master until he was snatched away. Now he can walk in the light, but can he leave his wicked past behind?” What that promise is, varies from creator to creator. In this case, based on the wording, I would say that potentially implies a satisfyingly well-crafted and engaging story wherein we find out and determine if the answer to that question is yes or no, and in a DND-based RPG full of choices that have an impact on the people and world around you? In a game genre that has a history of multiple, varied endings for your companions based on how you play? That checks out. Larian so far has been handling things admirably well in my opinion, and I’m willing to invest emotionally in this story they’re telling with the trust that they will deliver a good continuation and conclusion. But on the off-chance that somehow Astarion’s endings all turn out painful and tragic on the meta for the fanbase, that the associated intentional or unintentional messages wound and grieve those who recognize and resonate most strongly with the pains he has felt? On that off-chance, in that instance where we are left bereft and disappointed because of what happened to him or any of the companions or the story itself should somehow things go awry, then it would be your right to ask Larian the very same question Astarion asked you once: How can you be so cruel?

[iximaz]

Something that’s always eaten me about WWDITS

You know, I’ve never been able to get out of my mind the questions of who the fuck are the crew mental enough to risk life and limb filming a bunch of murderous vampires? Who has the lack of moral decency to film their subjects murdering innocent people?

Also, for that matter, are these guys getting paid? If so, by who? Which of the vampires’ idea was it to have a documentary made of them? And to what purpose? 

At least in the movie, as a sort of one-off, you could probably figure it’s Viago who wanted a film for him and his friends and paid the crew, who could have easily been a bunch of degenerates and didn’t mind filming people getting eaten, but come on, the vampire gang in the show don’t seem to have any clue about the modern day. 

So that leaves us with two options: Colin Robinson, or Guillermo. I can’t see Guillermo suggesting the documentary to begin with, that’s just not the kind of guy he is at the start of season one.

Which leads me to think it was Colin Robinson. We know his office job pays for the house, which cannot have been cheap, and it seems like Guillermo’s only job is working for Nandor (and Nadja and Lazlo) but he pays rent... so does that mean Nandor “pays” him out of Colin Robinson’s account, and Guillermo in turn pays the rent to Colin Robinson? Ah, tangent. 

My point is, it seems that by having the documentary crew around, the Staten Island gang keeps stirring up scenarios that feed Colin Robinson like no tomorrow. It also really wouldn’t surprise me if a part of their job “behind the scenes” was letting him feed off of them, which of course wouldn’t have been filmed or edited in because 1) no energy to do so and 2) well, who would want to show that? Totally unprofessional. 

So what does this crew, some of whom have been eaten already, or left at the bottom of a well, get out of filming the vampires?

1) There’s got to be a fat paycheque involved, to say the least, especially after the events of episode one; any sane person would have run afterwards.

2) Very possibly, they’re also hoping to be turned into vampires, but because the documentary is about the Staten Island group and not them, it’s never mentioned.

3) They actually work for a group of slayers and are using the documentary as a guise for learning more about vampires while their colleagues hunt elsewhere. (After the season 2 finale, however, this seems highly unlikely, even if a very funny possibility.)

Honestly this is just a bunch of tired 3am ramblings, but as a camera operator/photographer myself, sometimes the mockumentary nature of the show brings up a lot of questions about the people creating it in-universe. 

We’re probably never going to find out, but hey, that’s what fanfics are for.

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I | PART II

concept: a collection of happenings, the little moments with him. there will be many more parts. this is the first non-date of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 1,8k

warnings: none.

author's note: welcome to the third part of like... twenty. i already have a bunch of them written, so now i'm just going through and reading and editing. hope you enjoy :)

He hadn't noticed you yet, and it was becoming almost laughable.

You weren't hidden away, by any means. You were there, in the café, as arranged. Your very first premeditated and arranged meeting with Chris.

You'd be lying if you said that you hadn't rethought your outfit at least twelve times. You had started in simple jeans and a tee, upgraded to a skirt and tank, fucked it all with a summer dress, and now – after several iterations of similar outfits – you were sporting something in between. A tank top with the same jeans and a slouchy cardigan.

Honestly, you didn't know why you were so in your head about it.

Maybe it was because he'd seen you at your best, and then again in your work ensemble which was as close to your best as possible. Looking good meant more tips at the club, and VIPs tipped quite well if you didn't care too much about the degradation of having to flaunt yourself for it.

You knew it wasn't because he was famous – you didn't care much with that sort of thing, given your work leading to so many interactions with these perceived "betters" that the "starstruckness" of it all had long since worn down from a galaxy to merely a scatter of glitter. So what was it then?

Another five minutes passed, and he still hadn't seen you.

You glanced down at the sketchbook propped against your knee. You were seated in one of the unforgivably comfortable armchairs towards the front of the café, surrounded by college students buried in their notes or typing furiously away on laptops. You fit in quite seamlessly with them, you realised, managing to unintentionally chameleon yourself into their aesthetic. You had one leg tucked underneath you, the other curled to your chest, sketchbook close to you so no one could see what you were drawing. It was a very personal thing for you, your art.

Also mildly embarrassing, considering you had been drawing him.

You had no intention of finishing the sketch – you had started it the moment he entered the café and sat down, and continued in hopes that he would see and acknowledge you – effectively halting the process and leaving it alongside the so many other unfinished projects you'd accumulated over the years – so the meeting could begin.

You called it a meeting, because if it wasn't a meeting, it was a date. And you weren't going to be presumptuous enough to assume the latter, so you decidedly chose to believe the former. You were there to discuss the terms of your new and exciting job of looking after Dodger after all. If it was a date, however, it would explain the sudden apprehension you felt, and the numerous outfit changes, and the goddamn butterflies that sought to tear your stomach apart.

You'd met him before, this wasn't some new occurence. Hell, he'd even asked you to move in after just happening to run into eachother twice... Why the sudden nerves?

The longer time drew on in the café, the more it became a little game to you. How long would it be before he saw you? And how far into the sketch would you be when he finally did?

You had already finished most of his face, and were now working on his lips.

His eyes had been the hardest to capture at the time, because you'd spent so long staring into them in the past – during long conversations and across packed and busy bars – and it was as if you knew them too well to put on paper.

With his lips, the situation was almost entirely reversed. You hadn't paid them much attention at all and it was almost as if you'd forgotten what lips looked like in general. You glanced up from your work to see him talking to a waiter, ordering a cup of coffee – and you decided to watch his lips.

His lips were practically highlighted by the shadow of scruff on his strong jaw. How you'd never noticed them as prominently as you did now, you didn't know.

One thing about them, was that they looked soft. They looked soft, like they could kiss the breath out of you, leave you dizzy. And they stretched so easily into a thankful smile when the waiter returned with his order that it was impossible not to smile too.

The pencil moved easily on the parchment paper as you began to get to work, the gentle curve of the cupid's bow, to the small little upturn at the corners of his mouth, even in their natural position. You almost wished you'd brought colours with you, but you knew that no shade of pink would be a perfect match.

Another ten minutes passed, ten minutes of him checking his watch, his phone, sipping his coffee, tapping on the table... Ten minutes of you realizing what a total creep you were being.

But there was something so beautiful about him. Even in the small movements, it was entrancing to watch. You were outright staring, sketch pushed aside and finished, as good as it was going to get. It was one of your best, you admitted reluctantly. The attention to detail was bordering on mirror like, and you didn't know if that made you a stalker or if it made you a romantic. Not that you were considering romance with your future roommate, but you'd be a liar if you didn't admit the thought had briefly crossed your mind. Specifically in the "meeting or date" debate – one which you'd shut down with the agreement to yourself that it was a meeting, nothing more.

You decided then that this had gone on long enough, and if he hadn't noticed you by now, he never was going to. The last thing you wanted him to think was that you'd stood him up. Considering how you'd both met, and the message you'd sent to the person guilty of that particular crime, it wouldn't be the best look for you. Not to mention it was a fucking dick thing to do, in any case.

You unfurled yourself from the position you'd held on the couch, your muscles screaming at you in discomfort.

The foot you'd sat on was dead asleep, and wiggling it brought the onset of pins and needles. Groaning in annoyance, you rose unsteadily, sketchbook in hand.

The idea that struck you just then was a stupid one, but given the fact that all rationality of yours had been poisoned since you'd met Chris – you were still struggling to comprehend how he'd managed to convince you to move in with him so easily – you resolved yourself. It'll be funny, you told yourself.

Pulling your pencil out from where it was tucked behind your ear, you scribbled a quick note on the bottom corner, before tearing the sketch free from the pad. You moved around the café, making sure to keep out of Chris' eyeline. Not a difficult feat by any means, his focus shifted between his coffee and the door at almost perfectly timed intervals. You could feel his impatience growing – his brow furrowed, muscle in his jaw ticking. But also a familiar look you recognized from the other night: concern.

You reached the table at which he sat, but he didn't pay you any mind. His attention was elsewhere. You slid the sketch onto the table – as close to him as you dared – before disappearing to the counter to place an order, perfectly hidden behind a wall of strangers, but able to see his every reaction.

Your order was being made by the time he noticed the paper on his table.

He stared at it for the longest time – the sketch of him sitting at that exact table, wearing what he was wearing, frozen in graphite in his most revisited position of being utterly engrossed with all the newcomers slipping into the café, searching for the one face he was expecting. His shoulders stiffened – and then he saw the note hurriedly written at the bottom corner, and all tension dissipated.

The face he gets when he's looking for another cab to steal from some unsuspecting girl

You stifled a laugh when his brow furrowed – that adorable crease forming immediately – and realization the dawned on him that you were there, and had been for a while if you'd managed to get that sketch done and as perfected as it was. Your coffee was handed to you, and as you watched him swivel his head in confusion, you decided to put him out of his misery.

You walked deliberately and confidently into his eyeline, gently blowing on the hot liquid you clutched before giving him a charming – if not teasing – smile.

"Mr Evans, cab thief extraordinaire," you joked, sliding onto the seat in front of him. You placed the sketchpad you had tucked under your arm onto the table, sliding the pencil back out from behind your ear to place it on top in case it fell. You set your coffee down, lacing your fingers together before resting them on the table.

"Miss {your last name}, stalker sketch artist," he retorted, his mouth already forming a lopsided grin. Your attention was immediately drawn to his lips...

Stop it.

"Hey, it's not my fault you didn't see me. I needed something to pass the time while you were sat there being utterly oblivious."

He opened his mouth to respond, but words seemed to fail him. Chuckling, he looked down at the drawing again. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a sincere gentleness, one that stirred something in the pit of your belly. "It's really good."

"I had a lot of time," you shrugged the compliment off, like you did many you received before. You were accused of being too humble at times – if that were even a thing – and it annoyed some of the people around you.

"But you know," he leaned closer to you, almost conspiratorially. "A normal person would've just told me they were here."

There was a joking glint in his eye, and although he had tried to fight it, he found himself grinning again. There was something about being around you – it rendered him practically incapable of doing anything other than smile.

"Mr Evans," you paused to sip your coffee. "I am anything but normal."

"What exactly are you, then?" You tried not to falter at the sight of his tongue darting out to wet those perfect lips as he awaited your response.

"I, Captain, am fun. Something which you look like you need a lot more of."

He laughed, the sound warm and welcoming. "Is that so?"

You shrugged non-chalantly. "It is."

"I can hardly wait."

[humans4vampires]

Cold Heart

Context: This story was inspired by a tumblr post from tumblr user @cozycullens. The post outlined the potential for sappy holiday content that the original story lacked. The post noted that Twilight fans had to fill in the blanks; I thought it would be fun to write out what Valentine’s Day could have looked like for Edward and Bella. The timeline of this story edits the original canon, meaning the breakup in New Moon and subsequent recoupling happens earlier, allowing the pair to be reunited in time to spend both the Christmas holiday season together and Valentine’s Day. This is before the events are set in motion for the vampire army attack in Eclipse. I’d also like to mention that this story addresses a scene that occurs later in the timeline of the novel. I’ve edited it here to give Edward and Bella a bit of private time that is free of the pressures that the later happenings of Eclipse bring to the moment. In this, I have used direct quotes from Meyer’s novel, and I do not claim to own that content in any way. As stated, this is purely for fun and to share with my fellow Twilight fans.

READ PART TWO HERE

 ______ 

The dull blue grey light of the morning filtered through my window in a haze, waking me gently from inconsequential dreams. My natural instincts to unfurl myself from my usual swaddle of blankets to reach for him felt empty and unnecessary. Rather, I found myself spread across my bed in a sweaty mess of fabric.

“Edward?” I said softly, propping myself up to take in the room. I blinked quickly and tried to brush the mess of my hair from my face, speaking his name again as a question. There was no reply.

I tried to think back to the night before; I didn’t think he had gone hunting. No, he had surely been with me when I fell asleep. A compilation of Victorian poetry was open face-down on his side of my bed. We made the trip to Seattle a few weeks ago to get the book I needed to get started on my research paper. I had chosen the topic of Tennyson and Rossetti as an ironic gesture toward him – my very own post-Victorian era angel. He was reading his favorites to me, his voice a velvet whisper when I had fallen asleep in his cool embrace.

No, I was sure he had been with me throughout the night. I ran my left palm over the bare sheet beside me and felt the lingering presence of his wintry skin. It was unusual for him to leave before I woke. It was my favorite part of each day, and his. I was wondering what had called him away as I picked up the heavy text to see where he had left off. As I turned the pages to face me, a small piece of paper fluttered into my lap. The note he had left in his elegant script explained his absence.

‘Who are wise in love, love most, say least. Happy Valentine’s Day, love.’

He quoted Tennyson, I was sure, but the poem he had left open was not the same one he referenced. Instead, the book was open to Tennyson’s ‘Crossing the Bar,’ which was certainly not a love poem. I scanned it quickly, trying to garner any meaning from it without success. My mind was racing elsewhere, my heart beating quickly with exultant dread. So he had gone to prepare whatever exorbitant Valentine’s Day surprise he had planned. As fate would have it, this holiday had arrived on a school day and would provide a public audience to witness the surely over-the-top display Edward had planned for me.

Edward’s obsession with making the most of my human experiences had only intensified since reaching our compromise for Carlisle to turn me after my impending high school graduation. Christmas had been a deluge of cheer and merriment thanks to Alice, who was overcompensating for lost time with me – while also, just being Alice. I was still convinced it hadn’t snowed quite as much as she’d wanted and she had somehow managed a snow machine to fill in my yard for Christmas morning. Alice had laughed off my assumptions as absurd, but Charlie was still trying to work out how our yard had had a good three feet more snow than the rest of our neighborhood.

The halls had certainly been decked in Cullen home, too. It had to be visible from space from the sheer amount of Christmas lights neatly hung on every eave and railing. For the entire month of December, the house smelled of fresh gingerbread and pine. Every surface had been transformed with fresh garlands and shiny decorations. The fireplace in the grand living room was constantly crackling a gentle fire, flickering its light against the enormous tree trimmed with ornaments gathered over the many decades of Christmases past. And the gifts – oh – I couldn’t even bring myself to continue the thought.

I was brought back to reality, the sweet valentine in my shaking hand. I took a staggered breath and made a passing glance at the clock as I rushed to the bathroom. I tried not to think about the day ahead as I dressed. Charlie had already left for the station and the rest of my morning at home seemed to move in a blur of anxiety. I stumbled out the door in a black turtleneck, jeans, bean boots, and my mustard yellow coat. I thought my very standard attire might signal Edward to my disinterest in any outlandish public displays of affection. I drove slowly to Forks High School through the rain muddled snow. My truck dredged through the sludge into the parking spot beside the familiar silver Volvo.

The parking lot was already full and busy with the usual Friday commotion. I looked out my rearview mirror to take in the pops of pink and red from the Valentine’s baubles that everyone seemed to be toting. I had always found the holiday rather arbitrary – a well-marketed event to boost the sales of chocolates and flowers. Until my mother had found Phil, Valentine’s Day was usually spent in front of the television with a pint of ice cream, two spoons, and a chick-flick. I was trying to remember the last Valentine’s Day movie my mom and I had watched together when a quick knock on my driver’s side window snapped my eyes from my rearview.

The morning’s panic melted from my bones as I took him in. Edward was standing there, my favorite crooked smile on his lips, a single and perfect red rose held up in his hand.

“Good morning,” he murmured as I opened my door and got to my feet to stand in front of him. “Did you get my Valentine?”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “Tennyson?”

He nodded, a smirk crossing his expression. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

I felt a blush beginning to mark my cheeks and looked down at my feet as he handed me my rose. He moved to rest that now empty hand above my head on the frame of my truck, leaning to tighten the space between us. His free hand swept down my jaw, his gentle fingers stopping below my chin to tilt my head up. He bent down to press his lips to mine, his cool breath sending my delicate humanity into a tailspin. The kiss was, as expected, refined… at first. Unexpectedly, he draped an arm around my body to pull me closer to his frame. He lifted me effortlessly to continue the kiss as my free hand found its way around the base of his neck and into his bronze hair.

When his response became rigid and he began to return my feet to their reluctant ground, I realized I had forgotten to breathe. My legs trembled against the sudden gravity and he steadied me as I took in sharp breaths. He chuckled lightly and shook his head.

“What am I going to do with you?” he teased.

“With any hope, that, again.”

He took a slow step back and smirked, “I do enjoy sweeping you off your feet.”

My head was still spinning as I grabbed my bag from the truck and shut the door behind me. Edward took my right hand as we walked to class, my single rose in the left.

The rest of the day continued on and I was a happy bystander to the couples declaring their love for one another throughout the day. It seemed each period passed with another sudden delivery of roses, large teddy bears, or chocolates. Joyce Lowell in Government received a loud serenade from half of the school’s marching band, her boyfriend, Aaron, the faux-conductor. Each time the door to the classroom opened my heart skipped a beat with the fresh fear that Edward might have some embarrassing demonstration planned. I wasn’t eager to hurt his feelings and so I kept the question from him all day. I had cracked by fifth period when he finally asked, “Why is your heart is thrumming like a hummingbird’s?”

“I’m worried that you have a grand romantic gesture planned,” I took a sharp breath, anxious for his response. My heart rate only increased when he shrugged and walked ahead of me into the classroom.

I was at a loss for words when he chuckled. “Am I not allowed a grand gesture on Valentine’s Day?” Panic rushed through me before he continued in a more serious tone, “Do you honestly believe that my romantic displays are akin to those of someone like Mike Newton?”

His eyes glanced down at the trinkets gathered in my arms. I thought this tradition had been left in elementary school, but it seemed my friends still enjoyed giving each other Valentine’s treats. Jessica and Angela both had given me small paper crafts and chocolates to mark the occasion. Even Tyler and Eric participated, handing out boxes of tiny heart candies.

The only class Edward could not manage to work out to have with me our senior year was math – considering my being in a far lower level than was excusable for him to fail into. This, of course, was the only class I had exclusively with Mike. I had found it funny that it bothered Edward in the slightest; until today, when Mike seized the opportunity to give me a large stuffed bear, a rather huge box of chocolates, and a clearly handmade valentine. All platonically, Mike had assured me, as he was still on-and-off with Jessica and I was still very much Edward’s – only Edward’s.

I shook my head as I fumbled to stack all of my favors onto a pile on my desk, keeping the rose in my hand to tap lightly on the tip of Edward’s nose.

He tilted his brow at my playful gesture. “You have nothing to worry about. I simply have arranged for us to have a night alone. My family have their own Valentine’s Day traditions and we’ll have the house to ourselves. For this one night could we try to forget everything besides just you and me?” he pleaded, unleashing the full force of his eyes on me. “It seems like I can never get enough time like that. I need to be with you. Just you.”

“No,” I shook my head again. “Just you is good.”

The hitch in my tone caught his attention, but he didn’t have a chance to respond. Mr. Banner began lecturing on optics and light. I couldn’t focus on Physics; I could only hear Edward’s methodic voice repeating ‘I need to be with you’ again and again. Each passing thought brought a new blush to my cheeks that I tried to hide behind a curtain of my hair. I was sure he could hear my fluttering heart, but I couldn’t focus on that either. I was entirely clouded with thoughts of him. I stared at his strong hands, folded together in front of him on the table. How I imagined them on my body a million times, his cold fingertips grazing over my bare skin in the places he refused to wander. It was all I could think of the rest of the day.

When I was back in my room, a different blur of anxiety plagued me than when I had left it in the morning. Edward and I went our separate ways after school. He had filled me in on how exactly he had planned to handle the issue of Charlie. My father was still learning to trust me again and another night out of the house was certainly going to come under some heavy interrogation. I was technically still grounded even though Edward had been following Charlie’s very strict rules to a perfect degree. I was sure that Charlie hadn’t missed the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and I could only imagine the things he would think Edward and I would be doing if left alone. I was pressing the subject when Edward said, “Esme spoke with Charlie today and let him know that Carlisle is taking my brothers and I on a long-promised camping trip. You’ll be having a girls’ night with Esme, Alice, and Rosalie, as Charlie knows it. He’s been hoping you’d be spending more time with Alice soon.”

I felt a twinge of guilt for all the lying that had to be done to protect Charlie. This lie was much less to protect him from the perils of life threatening vampire attacks and much more about protecting him from the thought of his teenage daughter being alone with her boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. The guilt subsided when I remembered that I would get to be alone with Edward.

I stood in my room, hands steadying me on my dresser, knees shaking from the anticipation. The mix of emotions kept wracking me in waves. Edward had made it very clear; we could not be together physically until I was changed. My safety, was not something he was willing to jeopardize to satisfy any desire – which, to his credit, was entirely the reason I was alive. It was difficult to argue with Edward on that fact, but it was so incredibly difficult to argue with my own desires, still. And yet, I felt foolish all the same. I was so intensely human. Though he’d told me many times that he felt the same way for me, I knew he couldn’t possibly lust for me the way I did for him. I was able to reason that point logically, but part of me questioned it in this moment. Had he changed his mind?

I knew what was waiting for me at the Cullens’. It hadn’t been much more than a month since the last time I had genuinely spent the night there for a ‘girls’ night.’ Edward didn’t want me anywhere near Jacob and so Edward had been avoiding distant hunting trips to keep a close watch on me. Alice was all too eager to babysit to allow Edward a satiating hunt; it left me free to be played with as if I were her life-sized doll. That wasn’t what I was fixated on now. The image of the intricate wrought-iron bed burned in my mind. The thought of Edward and I wrapped tenderly in its golden threads made me quiver again, a sigh escaping my lips.

A knock at the front door made my heart stutter. I heard Charlie gather himself up off the couch to get the door. I stopped listening and only heard the light murmur of greetings as I rushed to find something appropriate to wear. What kind of outfit were you supposed to put together to seduce your vampire boyfriend? I was clashing hangers together across the pole, a bit frantic, when I heard her behind me.

Alice shook her head. “You look like you need to sit down. Let me handle this,” she said.

I decided it was better not to argue with her. I was, in all fairness, a mess, and there was only so much harm she could do with my own wardrobe to work with. She confidently pulled my small duffle from the top shelf of my closet and began packing things without truly looking at them. She had already seen what she would need.

I was sitting in my rocking chair when she looked back to me, still absently packing my bag. She looked like she was waiting for me to say something, but I swallowed uncomfortably rather than working up the nerve to talk.

She cast me a sympathetic smile as she removed something from my closet and tossed it toward me. “Try this,” she said.

I stood to change into the hyacinth blue sweater Alice had given it to me as a Christmas gift. Unlike many of the other fashion pieces Alice had tried to dress me in, I did like it. It was soft, probably a thin cashmere, with a plunging V neckline. It fit my frame tightly and was flattering in a way that I couldn’t justify being embarrassed by. She moved to my dresser then, digging through the very bottom drawer to pull out a short skirt she had also gifted me that I was not particularly fond of. Before I could argue, she slung it onto the bed.

“Work with me here, Bella,” she said sternly.

I pulled on the black skirt without a fight. Alice finished off my outfit with a pair of expensive black leather boots.

“And those were a gift from Esme, before you think of disputing them,” she lectured.

“No, I like them. At least they’re covering more of my skin,” I said, zipping them up.

Alice peaked her eyebrows, a smirk budding on her face as she closed my bag. I felt the rush of blood on my complexion again. “Alice – “

“Come on, let’s go before you lose it,” she said quickly, pulling my hand and leading me out of my room and down the stairs.

Charlie didn’t bother looking away from the television as we called a quick goodbye to him. Alice carried me through the slush in a movement so brief that I had no time to process it, placing me in the passenger seat of her small yellow Porsche. Forks blurred outside the windows and in the darkness of the car, it was easier for me to talk about what I was getting myself into.

“Does he…” I asked in her direction, not finishing the thought.

“I don’t think I should really say anything, Bella.” She answered, plainly.

“Since when do you keep things to yourself, Alice?”

She chuckled quietly, “Whatever I say now is not going to help. I’m just dropping you off. You’re not the only one with Valentine’s Day plans, you know.”

“That’s not fair,” I complained. “He’s seen whatever you’ve seen. He’s not going into this blind like I am.”

“Oh, yes he is,” she said proudly. “I’ve been careful to stay away from him today – and it’s not quite clear what’s going to happen. You’ve only been growing bolder in the last few hours.”

Bolder? I certainly didn’t feel it. In the light of the dashboard, I saw Alice turn to me as the car began to slow. We were already in the driveway. When the car stopped, I felt a quick breeze from the opening and closing of her door. She had slung my bag over her shoulder quickly before arriving at my door to help me to the porch steps. I doubted even Alice thought I was that uncoordinated to walk a few feet without falling; she was carrying me everywhere to keep the boots safe, I thought. She set me down on the porch and walked ahead of me into the house. I followed her in, confused.

“I thought you said you were just dropping me off?”

                  We were in the living room when she said, “I am. Edward isn’t here yet. He had an errand to run. He’ll be here soon and we’ll be gone – don’t worry.”

                  A fresh blush met my cheeks as I locked eyes with the another set in the room. Rosalie was perched on the edge of the sofa, bent over the coffee table arranging what looked like a large photo album. She had small papers and photos scattered all over the table, some in small piles on the floor beside her. She gazed up at me with the come-to-be-expected level of enthusiasm I generally received, but there was a hint of something else in her expression. It caught me by surprise and left me gawking at her silently. Rosalie’s appearance always struck me, but tonight she was especially beautiful. Her tight satin dress was just the perfect shade of red to compliment her equally satin skin, her golden hair a perfect, elegant twist, and her long bare legs crossed in front of her were only further elongated by her strappy, red stilettos. Alice had done her best with me, but I felt myself self-consciously tug at the hem of my skirt.

                  That inexplicable look that I had caught in Rosalie’s expression seemed to grow stronger as she gauged my assessment of her. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked back to what she was working on and I looked to Alice, who was dancing back down the stairs now. I hadn’t noticed her departure, but she was already redressed in an ensemble that mirrored the glamour of Rosalie’s. Alice bent one leg up behind her, fastening the tiny buckle on the strap of her heel, careful not to bend and crease the fabric on her burgundy slip-dress.

“Alright, Rose. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” Alice rolled her eyes at me quickly before Rosalie noticed. Alice had her keys in her tiny hands as she walked my direction to head for the door.

“I will see you tomorrow,” she said with a coy grin.

Rosalie was out the door faster than I could follow. I turned to Alice as she moved at a more mortal pace. “Where are you going?” I asked.

Alice waved as she replied, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bella!” The door was shut behind her then. I heard the muffled roar of her Porsche as she and Rosalie left me behind. I assumed that I was completely alone then. I was curious to know where they were going, but my mind was busy calculating other worries. I stood in the Cullens’ living room, taking in the sheer silence. The only sound was coming from the low burning fire still crackling dimly in the fireplace. I unlocked my tense limbs to move toward the heat. I stopped briefly to survey Rosalie’s project and flipped through a couple of pages on the bound album.

Were these all valentines? I picked up a few loose papers from the table and skimmed them quickly. It seemed that Rosalie had been collecting notes from her admirers for decades, compiling the highlights in an album with cards dating back to 1929. Some of the earlier letters were from when she was still human, if I wasn’t mistaken. A few authors were brave enough to sign their names, but most were anonymous confessions. I spent more time snooping through Rosalie’s valentines than I should have, but part of me thought that she must have wanted me to see them. Why else would she have left them all here?

I focused myself again and took a seat on the edge of the hearth.

                  I was glad I had a moment to gather myself and took the opportunity to take a few deep, but unsteady, breaths. Why was I so unnerved? I closed my eyes and tried to summon my buried fantasies of Edward. There I let myself imagine him, pulling me tightly to his chest, letting his lips roam my jaw, my neck, and the dips of my collarbones. What would he look like bare? I’d only been able to guess the parts of him that were always just beyond my reach. I let those thoughts in too, imagining my own fingers tracing patterns around the curves of his muscles. To bring him close to me, skin to skin – the thought alone painted my face in a soft blush. I bit my lip, letting go a full breath I had been holding. I opened my eyes then and immediately found him.

He was standing across the room from me, a statue of indescribable, sculpted beauty, leaning on the wall casually. He had a peaceful expression resting in his features, but his bright golden eyes were burning with something I couldn’t explain. My favorite crooked smile slowly crossed his lips as his eyes seemed to search my body. I blushed more deeply, a decision forming more firmly in my mind.

I loved him, purely, and every ounce of my body and soul ached to be his. It was exactly the reason I had asked him to change me himself. I wanted his venom to alter me permanently, his lips on my skin to be the last human sensation I’d ever feel. I wanted to be tangibly his, forever; for Edward to lay claim to me in an absolute and eternal way. If I was his, then he was mine. This desire burned in me more brightly in this moment than it ever had. But there were other human sensations I ached for now. And suddenly, I was sure I was not willing to sacrifice them.

Edward moved slowly across the room to perch in front of me. The height of the hearth and his tall body in a crouch before me, leveled us to be equally face-to-face. As he bent, he balanced a small, thin velvet box on my knees. I made no move to open it, so he chuckled lightly and opened it to reveal a small glittering heart-shaped charm. Even in the dim firelight, the brilliant crystal’s intricate cuts glinted countless sparkling rays of color. It was hung on a silver chain as thin as thread.

He was the first to break the silence.

“It was my mother’s.” He shrugged deprecatingly. “I inherited quite a few baubles like this. I’ve given some to Esme, Alice, and Rosalie throughout the years. So, clearly, this is not a big deal in any way.” I could feel his eyes on me, but I continued to stare down, not quite ready to speak. “A hand-me-down,” he reminded me sternly. “You said that was allowable.”

“I guess I did say that,” I said in a whisper.

He chuckled at my reluctance. “I thought it was a good representation,” he continued. “It’s hard and cold.” He laughed. “And it throws rainbows in the sunlight.”

“You forgot the most important similarity,” I murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

“My heart is just as silent,” he mused. “And it, too, is yours.”

I offered the box to him and moved to gather my hair away from my neck, turning to the fire. As he moved to clasp the chain around my neck, I said, “Thank you for both.”

His fingers seemed to linger on the skin of my throat as I turned back to face him. Our lips were only inches apart now. I moved my hands to wrap them around his neck.

“No, thank you. It’s a relief to have you accept a gift so easily. Good practice for you, too.” He grinned, flashing his teeth.                   His eyes wandered down to take pride in his accepted gift. I was grateful for the plunging neckline of my sweater when his gaze lingered where the crystal charm hung delicately above my chest. I made a mental note to thank Alice later and took a steadying breath. I began to feel cautiously optimistic. Perhaps getting what I wanted would not be as difficult as I’d expected it to be.

No, of course it was going to be just exactly that difficult. I cleared my throat lightly and braced myself. “Can we discuss something?” I asked. “I’d appreciate it if you could begin by being open-minded.”

He hesitated for a moment and returned his eyes to mine. “I’ll give it my best effort,” he agreed, cautious now. He unwrapped my arms from around his neck as he moved to put space between us.

“I’m not breaking any rules here,” I promised. “This is strictly about you and me.”

“Listen to your heart fly,” he murmured. “It’s fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings,” he repeated the analogy he had applied to me earlier in the day. “Are you all right?”

“I’m great,” I said formally. I wondered why I was being so formal.

“Please go on then,” he encouraged.

“Well, I guess, first, I wanted to talk to you about that whole ridiculous marriage condition.”

“It’s only ridiculous to you. What about it?” He was backing further away from me now.

I leaned closer to him, placing my hands on his knees to keep him near me. “I was wondering… is that open to negotiation?”

Edward frowned, serious now. “I’ve already made the largest concession by far and away – I’ve agreed to take your life against my better judgment. And that ought to entitle me to a few compromises on your part.”

“No.” I shook my head, focusing on keeping my face composed. “That part’s a done deal. We’re not discussing that now. I want to hammer out some other details.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Which details do you mean exactly?”

I hesitated. “Let’s clarify your prerequisites first – matrimony?” I made it sound like a dirty word.

“Yes.” He smiled a wide smile. “To start with.”

The shock spoiled my carefully composed expression. “There’s more?”

“Well,” he said, his face calculating. “If you’re my wife, then what’s mine is yours… So there would be no issue with Dartmouth tuition.”

“Anything else? While you’re already being absurd?”

“Time. I’m finding it quite ephemeral… like it’s slipping through my fingers,” as he spoke, he rose his finger tips to sweep a gentle line over my exposed collarbones.

I shook my head, trying to forget his distracting touch. “No. No time. That’s a deal breaker.”

He sighed longingly. “Just a year or two?”

I refused to give into his burning amber eyes. “What else?”

“That’s it. Unless you’d like to talk cars…”

He grinned widely when I grimaced, then took my hand and began playing with my fingers. “I didn’t realize there was anything else you wanted besides being transformed into a monster yourself. I’m extremely curious.” His voice was low and soft. The slight edge would have been hard to detect if I hadn’t known it so well.

I paused, staring at his hand on mine. I still didn’t know how to begin. I felt his eyes watching me and I was afraid to look up. The blood began to burn in my face.

His cool hand cupped my cheek. “You’re blushing?” he asked in surprise. I kept my eyes down. “Please, Bella, the suspense is painful.”

I bit my lip.

“Bella.” His tone reproached me now, reminding me that it was hard for him when I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Edward,” I said, nervous, staring at a freckle on my wrist. “There’s something that I want to do before I’m not human anymore.”

He waited for me to continue. I didn’t. My face was hot.

“Whatever you want,” he encouraged, anxious and completely clueless.

“Do you promise?” I muttered, knowing my attempt to trap him with his words was not going to work. But he was unable to resist my coaxing.

“Yes,” he said. I looked up through my lashes to see that his eyes were earnest and confused. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”

I couldn’t believe how awkward and idiotic I felt. I was too innocent. I didn’t have the faintest idea how to be seductive. I would just have to settle for flushed and self-conscious.

“You,” I mumbled almost incoherently.

“I’m yours.” He smiled, still oblivious, trying to hold my gaze as I looked away again.

I took a deep breath and leaned closer to him, pressing my lips to his. He kissed me back, bewildered but willing, his lips gentle against mine. I began to slide my hands from his knees, up his thighs and slowly toward his waist. I hadn’t gotten very far when I all but heard the click in his head as he put together my words and my actions, his lips freezing in place.

He pushed me away at once, his face heavily disapproving.

“Be reasonable, Bella.”

“Edward, I –. “ He had cut me off, placing a single finger over my lips to quiet me.

“No.” His face was hard.

I was surprised by my reaction to his dismissal. I raised my hand to swat at his. My action didn’t move him, of course, but he moved his hand from my mouth in response. “You are not going to shush me,” I said sternly. “We’re here discussing terms of an eternity together – marriage and other promises – but sex?” I said the word louder than the rest. “Edward, why can’t we talk about sex?”

He was frozen there, hands at his side, eyes locked on mine. I felt the charge of adrenaline passing quicker than it had come. We sat there for a moment in silence with only my quick breathing and rapid pulse as audio. I shifted my gaze down as the rush subsided. It took me a minute to recognize why I was staring at my freckle again, the blush returning – why my stomach felt uneasy, why there was too much moisture in my eyes, why I suddenly wanted to run from the room.

Rejection washed through me, instinctive and strong.

I knew it was irrational. He’d been very clear on other occasions that my safety was the only factor. Yet I’d never made myself quite so vulnerable before. It was hard to beg for the mercy of an angel.

Edward moved then, bringing his hand up to my chin to pull my face up until I had to look at him again. He scrutinized my face for a long moment while I tried unsuccessfully to twist away from his gaze. His brow furrowed, and his expression became horrified as I continued to fight off the onslaught of water in my eyes.

His other hand rushed to my cheek, his thumb stroking there reassuringly. “You know why I have to say no,” he murmured. “You know that I want you, too.”

“Do you?” I whispered, my voice full of accusation and doubt.

He held my face at my jaw now, his fingers on my neck at the base of my hair. “Of course I do, you beautiful, oversensitive girl.” He laughed once, and then his voice was bleak. “Doesn’t everyone? I feel like there’s a line behind me, jockeying for position, waiting for me to make a big enough mistake… You’re too desirable for your own good.”

It seemed like he wanted to press on, anxiety flooding him as it had me throughout the day. I took a breath.

“Tell me if I have anything wrong,” I tried to sound detached. “Your demands are marriage, college, more time, and a faster car.”

“Only the first is a demand,” he said taking a breath. “The others are merely requests.”

“And my lone, solitary demand is – “

“Demand?” he interrupted, on edge again.

“Yes, demand.” I said confidently, looping my fingers around his wrists and tugging until he dropped them. I was not going to concede, now that I knew he wanted this as badly as I did. I would have to be brave for the both of us. I kept my gaze locked on his, placing a hand on his chest to request more space between us.

Edward immediately responded, backing up slightly and resting on his knees with room in front of him. Without breaking the contact we had, I slid down so that we were both on our knees. I brought both hands to the collar of his shirt and began to unbutton slowly, never moving my eyes from his.

“Please,” I begged. “There is nothing I want more than you.”

He took a deep breath. I was surprised that it sounded a little unsteady.

“I could kill you,” he whispered.

I had the last button undone then and slid the fabric from his shoulders to the floor. I was gliding my hands down his chest and placing my lips over his heart when I murmured against his skin. “I don’t think you could.”

As I kissed him there, a low sound escaped his lips. A moan? My body ached in a way it never had. I felt electrified. My heart jolted, words tumbling out of my mouth to take advantage of the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. “Please, try,” I pleaded.

His hands were wrapped around my biceps then, his head bent down to bring his lips to my ear, making me shiver. “This is unbearable. So many things I’ve wanted to give you – and this is what you demand. Do you have any idea how painful it is, refusing you when you plead with me this way?”

“Then don’t refuse,” I suggested breathlessly.

He didn’t respond. I tossed my head back to catch my breath, letting my hair fall down behind me. Edward’s hands still held my arms firmly. “Please,” I tried again.

He bent his head to my neck. “Bella…” He shook his head slowly, but it didn’t feel like denial as his face, his lips, moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart sputtered frantically when his lips finally stopped to embrace my skin. The same low sound spilled from my lips now, which seemed to hit Edward with the same electrical shock.

His grip tensed instantly and I was sure he was going to push me away again.

I was wrong.

His lips were on mine, his hands pulling me up to close the space between us. His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the way his lips moved. When his hands moved into my hair, I locked my arms around his neck, tightening my hold on him. To my suddenly overheated skin, his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill.

He didn’t stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. So quickly that I wasn’t even sure how it happened, I was in his arms, his lips still exploring my skin, as we nearly flew through the house. Human velocity was not fast enough for him. We were in his bedroom then, still locked in each other’s arms as he fell onto his back on the bed.

The thrill of victory was a strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren’t unsteady now and my fingers traced the patterns I had dreamed of a thousand times. He was too beautiful. What was the word he had used? Unbearable – that was it. His beauty was too much to bear…

I was on top of him, our lips pulled together again and moving in heated sync. Edward’s hands were exploring my body. His hands were tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. All I wanted was my skin to be bare against his – his grip made it difficult to reach to remove my sweater, but not impossible. Just as I had my stomach exposed, cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was suddenly on a pillow.

His lips were at my ear again. “Bella,” he murmured, his voice warm and velvet. “Stop trying to take your clothes off.”

“Do you want to do that part?” I asked breathlessly.

“Not tonight,” he answered softly. His lips were slower now against my cheek and jaw, all the urgency gone.

“Edward, don’t –,” I started to argue, trying to free my hands and arching my body to mold myself more closely to him.

“I’m not saying no,” he reassured me. “I’m just saying not tonight.”

I had never felt frustration this way before. I was restless, eyes wild and questioning on his.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he laughed. “Out of the two of us, which do you think is more unwilling to give the other what they want? You just promised to marry me before you do any changing, but if I give in tonight, what guarantee do I have that you won’t go running off to Carlisle in the morning? I am – clearly – much less reluctant to give you what you want. Therefore… you first.”

I exhaled with a loud huff. “I have to marry you first?” I asked in disbelief.

“That’s the deal – take it or leave it. A compromise.” Edward pressed himself to me, urging me to accept his terms. His arms wrapped around me, and he began kissing me in a way that should be illegal. Too persuasive – it was duress, coercion. I tried to keep a clear head… and failed quickly and absolutely.

“How did this happen?” I moaned, and not in a good way. “I thought I was holding my own tonight – for once – and now, all of a sudden – “

“You’re engaged,” he finished.

“Edward, no.” I objected.

“Are you going back on your word?” he demanded. He pulled back to read my face. His expression was entertained. He was having fun.

I glared at him, trying to ignore the way his smile made my heart react.

“Are you?” he pressed.

“No,” I groaned. “No. I’m not. I just need time to think. I can’t think right now – give me some time to think.”

He kissed me again quickly. Another too persuasive kiss.

“Take all the time you need.”

He kissed me another time. “Do you get the feeling that everything is backward?” he laughed. “Traditionally, shouldn’t you be arguing my side, and I yours?”

“There isn’t much that’s traditional about you and me.”

Neither of us would surrender in this moment – that was clear. But there were compromises that were pending on the horizon. And, if nothing, I had this night to service my fantasies for awhile. I bit my lip and chuckled.

“I’m curious,” I sighed. “What exactly did you have planned for tonight?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he was up and out of the bed, a hand extended toward me.

I let out my last sigh of contest and threw my hands down on the bed to heave myself up. Edward laughed to himself as I slid to the edge of the bed and stood. I fidgeted in my sweater and straightened my skirt as I walked toward him. I took his hand and noticed him taking in my figure again.

I raised a brow. “Did you want to get back in bed?”

Edward chuckled again, shaking his head. “No, but please do remind me to thank Alice in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes as he led me from his bedroom and into the rest of our romantic evening alone.

PART TWO

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Twilight Saga world, which is trademarked by Stephenie Meyer and Little Brown Books. All characters referenced are owned by Stephenie Meyer, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the Twilight Saga. The story told here is of my own invention. This story is for entertainment only – fun – and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Stephenie Meyer for the creation of these characters and I in no way am profiting from the creation and publication of this story. Some lines are directly quoted from Meyer’s book, Eclipse, and I do not claim to own Meyer’s words.

References:

Meyer, Stephenie. Eclipse. Little, Brown, 2013.

Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, and W. E. Williams. Tennyson: Poems. Penguin, 1985.

[popculturebuffet]

Tex Avery Birthday Spectacular!

Hello all you happy people! And welcome to a celebration of the only cartoon director I knew as a kid and one of the finest whose ever lived, Mr. Tex Avery. 

Avery is a legend in the animation industry and rightly so. Starting out at a few other studios, and loosing sight in one of his eyes due to some tomfoolery at one, Tex was annoyed with the restrctive enviorment and eventually found his way to Termite Terrace, the animated shorts wing of Leon Schislenger Productions, aka the future Warner Brothers Studios and the makers of Looney Tunes. And his impact on the franchise is vast, cannot be overstated and I only learned about just how much recently: The man created Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny, created the prototype for Elmer Fudd, and created the design for Porky we’re all far more familiar with. 

Eventually though while he was happy there, his career when ended when he eventually got into a squabble with Leon schsinger over the ending of “The Heckling Hare” and left soon after. Given he got a four week unpaid suspension for it , a bit extreme given all he’d given the studio, I can’t blame him. He instead went over to MGM who badly needed his wacky energy, and thus got to go as nuts as he wanted, with creative control a better budget and the result was his peak and classic characters like Red and my personal faviorite and personal boy: Droopy. I will try and do a birthday thing for him next month, we’ll see if my rather packed schedule will allow for it. Point is I watched the guys cartoons a lot as a kid between looney tunes and his shorts being repacked for the Tex Avery show in the late 90′s, and until recently I had no idea the depth and scope of his career: The guy gave looney tunes it’s standard fourth walll breaking and made it a huge part of the industry, and he was the one to hlep htem break out of being a Disney knockoff and into what we know today. The guy has my utmost respect so today I honor him as the first animator to get one of my birthday specials: As is my standard ten shorts, my patreons get to pick one each (I now have two but she start’s next month so her benefits will too) if they so choose (Kev opted out of the porky pig one next week) and I went to my friend blah for a recomendation as he’s an avid fan of the golden age of animation and thus usually has a really good choice up his sleeve. Now that’s out of hte way join me under the cut for some shenanigans as old tex would want it that way. 

1. The Gold Diggers of 49 (1935)

This was Tex Avery’s first short with warner and the first of his I could find, not ot mention his first time working with Chuck Jones and Bob Clampett, who he’d mentor and go on to be the heart and soul of Looney Tunes and define the characters Tex created. And since this is more significant than his earlier work i’m coutning it as his first. And as a start it’s.. ehhhhhhh. 

I don’t blame him for it though.  Most don’t hit it out of hte park their first time up to bat, and frankly the deck was stacked against him. He was saddled with Beans the Cat...

No one brak no one. He was part of an attempt by warner to create a new star as part of a Little Rascals/Our Gang style group of kids debuting in the short “I Haven’t Got a Hat”. This short is notable not for Beans, who no one cares about, but for the debut of Looney Tunes first star: Porky Pig. Porky was just one of the various characters but the only one audiences really liked. It took some time for Warner to get the hint though, hence Beans starring here and Porky playing his girlfriend’s father.. and also now being much older than him for some reason. 

So instead of being a Little Rascals ripoff bean is now a mickey mouse ripoff, as the short gives me mickey mouse vibes.. but without the things that made those shorts actually good and feels mostly built on studios trying to make what they think audiences will like. There’s sparks of waht Tex would become.. but just not enough wiggle room for him to make something special. Also porky looks and sounds weird in this one and Bean’s girlfriend has a REALLY annoying voice. Oh and two horrible Asian stereotypes, because it was acceptable at the time but lord was it never okay. Then again I should be at least mildly greatful none of the shorts had blackface.. because tex apparently REALLY had a problem with that, something I obviously didn’t know as a kid as they edited it out but given most of his MGM shorts have “blackface edited out of x version”, yeahhh.... I may like the guy, quite a bit and feel those gags weren’t done out of malice.. but it dosen’t make them okay, they were never okay and he should’ve done better. 

2. I Love to Singa (1936) Thankfully our next entry is 800% better, as we get a classic from my childhood and probably multiple childhoods. Admittedly part of the reason this one stuck in my head is the title song, sung by a young jazz singing owl whose dad doesn’t like that he sings Jazz instead of classical, enters a contest and nearly looses singing classical to please his dad only for his dad to intervene and finally accept his son. It’s a wonderful story of acceptance with some decent gags, beautiful animation and one hell of a title track that will probably never leave my head. The song is really what makes this short and sometimes that’s okay. Also just to note so someone else doesn’t: This short was a parody of the Jazz Singer one of the first talkie’s.. and also a film that uses blackface and whose 80′s remake bafflingly also uses blackface for some reason. Yes really. 

3. Tortoise Beats Hare (1941)

One of Tex’s only four Bugs Shorts.. but given 3/4 of them are certified classics, and one of them involving a horrible stereotype.. to the point it’s part of the rightfully infamous “Censored 11″ and the ONLY one involving Bugs Bunny. 

So as I said, Tex has a bad history with casual racism, and while it was the style at the time and I don’t THINK he was actively malicious towards black people.. it doesn’t make some of his work any less harmful. The rest of his bugs work though is remembered for the right reasons: his first appearance, and early classic we’ll get to next.. and this standout everyone who saw it as a kid or an adult fondly remembers. 

You all know the premise: Bugs finds out, in an utterly brilliant wall shattering bit at the start where he reads off the crew names and then the title, that this picture will have him beaten by a turtle and taking offense to that challenges the guy. This is honestly one of the few Bugs shorts where he’s the out and out villain of the picture. He’s doing this race purely out of ego, yells at Cecil whose perfectly nice in this one, and in general is the bully set up for a fall he’d later be famous for taking on. But it works, both because this si early in bugs career so it’s entirely in character, and because Mel just really sells the obnoxiousness while still being funny. 

This short also has one of Tex’s trademark setups as this is essentially a prototypical droopy cartoon: A meek, goofy voiced protagonist whose shorter than his large obnoxious enemy and who torments him by showing up every where he’s going to be and casually doing it. Cecil even does so using an army of fellow turtles with Droopy later using a similar trick in one of his shorts. As a big Droopy fan i’m clearly not complaining and while Droopy would do it better, this short’s still a classic for a reason with tons of great bits and is a fun break from the usual bugs setup, though in full fairness the usual bugs setup is still solid gold so take that how you will. 

4. The Heckling Hare (1941)

Originally I was going to have Daffy in Hollywood in this spot as I thought it was on Max, it was not,  so I swapped it out with his final bugs cartoon. For the record his first, and Bugs, is being saved for Bugs birthday this summer. And honestly i’m glad I did because this was 7 mintues of pure joy that has another setup that Tex himself and other Looney Tunes animators would resuuse: Bugs being pitted up against a far dumber antagonist. One who often still fully deserves it but allows him to just have fun for several minutes at this dumb bastard’s expense. It works well here, with tons of clever gags, my faviorite being the two doing dumb faces with each other only for bugs to stop and pull out a sign as seen right above. 

It’s also an approriate capper to our warner made Tex shorts for the day, as this would be the one that got him fired. He and Schisnger argued over it and he got suspended as I mentioned and I found it again a bit fucking extreme. So did Tex and after a handful of shorts elsewhere, he’d move over to MGM, whose cartoons would ironically be bought up by warner. They needed a shot in the arm to compete with Disney and Warner and Tex was happy to provide hte needle filled with nonsense. And the results.. are pure gold. 

5. Dumb Hounded (1943)

I’ll admit as a kid I didn’t know Tex’s MGM shorts were theatrical, or any shorts but somehow I knew they weren’t looney tunes. Besidds obviously having hteir own show they just had their own tone and pacing and style. While the Looney Tunes aren’t bad, at all honestly, Tex’s work here was in a class by itself with MGM gladly giving him a higher budget and even more creative freedom. And the results speak for themselves and one of those results is one of if not my faviorite classic cartoon character. And since I might not be able to get to his birthday with one of these next month, though i’m certainly going to try march is just VERY VERY FULL. Anyways point is our happy hero was introduced here. And given i’m frequently depressed and often withdrawn, not that you could tell from my reviews here, I related to this depressed bulldog who always won anyway despite being an outsider, finding love, sucess and always beating a much larger, much more assholish antagonist. But Droopy is good on his own merits as his shorts are just that funny. 

This was true from Day One as dumb hounded is fucking perfect: The Wolf that Avery always used in his cartoons escapes from jail and is hunted by bloodhounds including our boy, who charmingly introduces himself with “You know what, i’m the hero”. From there it’s a simple setup but a great one as Droopy finds the guy.. then chases him from here to enternity with one amazing gag after another. Simple, utterly hilarious and the dawn of a legend, with the ending having Droopy go a bit nuts after getting his reward money before returning to his usual demeanor “You know what? I’m happy” So am I bud, so am I. 

6. Red Hot Riding Hood (1943)

Yup same year. Tex hit the ground sprinting. This one is his signature MGM toon and for good reason. Using his usual forth wall breaking style, both the wolf and red riding hood rebel when it opens with a typical telling, so it changes to a 40′s nightlife setting: Grandma lives in a penthouse and is man hungry, Red is a fanservicey night club act and the Wolf is a sexually harassing asshole who chases after here and has some over the top reactions to her that are iconic in some’s mind.

The short is gorgeously animated with Red’s dance sequence and Wolfie’s reactions being the highlight and the short isn’t as bad as it could be as the wolf is treated as a scumbag for hitting on her and generally being a creep. SO the first two thirds aren’t bad with nice touches like the narrator clearly improvising the new story. It’s just badly hampered by the last half where Grandma sexually harasses Wolfie and it just doesn’t work. This double standard stuff annoys me and “haha get it it’s funny when a woman stalks a man” isn’t funny. Wolfie stalking her really isn’t that funny either it’s just not you know an entire third of the film. So a classic for a reason.. but one that really has degraded with time. Still worth analyzing and what not, just not great. 

7. Who Killed Who? (1943)

Yes still. It was a good year. This is another one off like Red Hot Riding Hood and as is tradition since the Tom and Jerry one, my patreons each get to pick one and Kev selected this one. And this.. was a great choice. 

Seriously I could not stop laughing with a great gag a minute, WAY too many to mention, a classic ending, and just nothing but net the whole time. I don’t have much to say really.. but because this one’s just good. The whodunnit genre hasn’t really gone away, it’s cliches are welll known even today and this is a lovely parody of it that hits the ground running after a live action intro and runs right through the wall across a lake and straight into droopy “You moved.”. 

The only real observation I have other than “This is fucking awesome watch it immediately” is that the villian looks exactly like the Phantom Blot. Who knew the Phantom Blot was a live action guy with a weird haircut the whole time huh?  Seriously this one is a masterpiece, an instant faviorite, and I highly recommend it. 

8. Screwball Squirrel (1944)

As you can probably guess by how I lead it in this one is not very good. It is tex TRYING to make a bugs or daffy type character again and somehow failing at it. He created them, he did plenty of shorts like theirs with other characters and got how the cat and mouse antics of the old theatrical shorts worked.. so I have no idea how this one happened. 

I’m really not overselling it: The short is about Screwy, who hyjacks it from a cute widdle bunny clearly parodying bambi.. who he beats the shit out of, then decides to get things going asks a dumb dog to hunt him, then insults him to provoke him to attacking him. He then spends the entire short tormenting the poor dumb bastard who again HE PROVOKED. It feels like a poor imitation of dumb hounded, as while Bugs clearly outclassed the dog there, he’d die if he lost, so while he was punching down, he clearly didn’t have a choice and you can’t honestly blame him. Here, Screwy is fine, he just wants someone’s head to fuck with and spends a whole short torturing him. We don’t even get catarsis as while the dog does catch him at the end via  weird gag, they end up deciding to beat up the bunny instead. 

His voice is also just the worst, just utterly grating and making me wish an anvil woudl fall on HIM instead. Screwy would return for some other shorts but I have no idea why. This was easily the weakest of these ten shorts and I will probably not return to the guy next year.

9. Bad Luck Blackie (1949)

This is one i’d forgotten till I got a ways in. It’s also weirdly one of the only MGM Tex shorts on HBO Max as this was included in the Tom and Jerry collection for some reason, the dog in it clearly isn’t the tom and Jerry verison of spike... though the dog Droopy fought a lot was indeed called spike. Yes that is confusing, no I don’t know why MGM thought this was a good idea. 

 As a result though I have been saving giving out about this till now but seirously , put the tex avery shorts on HBO Max. Their on Blu-Ray, their on boomerang, especially Droopys. I do not get why they aren’t on here. I’m tired of them holding things out for the boomerang app when not everyone subscirbes to that. Let me have my morose dog dammit. 

That giving out aside i’m glad this one caught my eye via i’ts weird name as it’s another masterpiece. It also does what one Tom and Jerry short I reviewed, the one where tom’s a millionare,  earlier this month failed to: properly make it’s antagonist loathsome enough to deserve the parade of abuse he gets. With that one Tom is tourturning jerry for like 30 seconds, but Jerry torments him for most of 5 minutes. 

Here we get about two minutes of our lead kitten getting torremnted by a mean bulldog. It’s not only still a bit entertaining to lessen the horror just enough to be watchable but not enough to make the bulldog likeable, but it makes what happens for the rest of the short oh so fucking satsifying. While the previous short today really didn’t get the karmic ballance neded for a good classic screwball comedy short this one overwhelmingly does.

Our kitten gets some help in the form of Blackie, a professional black cat who agrees to turn the tables, sauntring across to a wonderfully catchy tune. any time the little guy whistles. The result from there is 5-6 nonstop minutes of comedy genius, as Tex finds new and creative ways for the cat to come out of nowhere, and even shakes things up to keep it intresting towards the end iwth the dog getting the whistle.. only for it to still not work out, and for our little kitten to get his revenge at last by painting himself black after the bulldog paints blackie white. As should be obvious by now, it’s really good, showing Screwball Squirrel was the exception not the rule. In general Tex was this good during his mgm and when he was at his peak we got gems like this. Truly sensational, watch it if you have max it’s under the tom and jerry section for some reason. 

10. T.V. of Tommorow A decent one I remember seeing as a kid. Not much to say though, it’s mostly a bunch of gags about “future” tv’s based on their viewer’s needs. Some good stuff.. not as good as most of what was here today but still better than the worst of it and still very memorable and part of a memorable tetralogy i’ll probably come back to when I do Tex’s birthday again next year. Not a bad note to end on though. 

Overall these shorts show just how strong a creator tex was, gleefully taking convention and ripping it to tiny pieces. As i’ve mentioned many times i’ll be coming back to his work next year.. and probably be watching a hell ofa lot more in the time between. Might even do a second special on him in between birthday ones. We’ll see how this does. The Tom and Jerry one sadly wasn’t quite the hit I hoped. 

Until then I have many other reviews. And since Today (This review is late) was supposed to be the 90′s tom and jerry movie but that turned out not to be on Max for some reason. I still plan to cover it some day i’ll just have to find it and buy it first. But tommorow if I have the time i’ll be continuing the Lena retrospective with an intresting little side trip. So until then, i’ts been a pleasure and you know what? Thanks for reading.