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#but there is a bit of annoyance
homkamiro · 3 months
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"Love, huh?"
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negativespace06 · 8 months
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hedgehogs!
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leqclerc · 8 months
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Sebastian Vettel and Charles Leclerc talking in the media pen post-Spanish Grand Prix 2019
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3416 · 4 months
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Mitch and Auston's media availabilities after being put on separate lines the first time this season | 11.27.23
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melit0n · 1 month
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Hands down, Give is one of Sleep Token's yearn-iest songs. Ever. It's not on par with TLYW, Jaws etc. (because that's a whole different layer of Sleep Token's yearning onion), but it's got a kick to it.
When I say that song is the epitome of desperate, I mean it.
Without thinking about it too much, the first time I listened to it my first thoughts were 'ah, okay, wanting to give all for your lover and be able to trust them, got it', but then I thought about it a bit more.
Like with all Sleep Token songs, it has a bit of an eerie undertone, which borders on slightly obsessive, depending on who you're talking to, with the lyrics. We have "I picture you when you are all alone", "I am the shadow, you're a passenger", "I'll be the limit of your light again" and, of course, "give me all that you can give" with "and if you want to give me anything, then give (give in again)".
Vessel is describing himself as literal darkness; he's a shadow in the gloom and whoever this is is a star glowing in the darkness. A light he aims to dampen because he wants a taste of that light. A taste of them.
However, it's this desperation for attention that gets me. "Give me all that you can give" is an easy example; he's desperately giving all he can possibly give in hopes of getting the same, or more, back. It's repeated over and over, half begging half demanding with soft dulcet tones and promises that he'll be watching for their enemies, to let them know that they contend with him etc.
Give becomes this two-faced thing of someone giving with all their might to someone who is afraid to trust, bringing up empathy from us, and someone who will not accept anything except everything. It's this sexually charged fight between who is a victim (or if there really is one here) and who is the abuser.
Further, to "give in" is to 'cease fighting or arguing; admitting defeat.' It's something primal and angry hidden under, or rather, mixed with passion, and it's incredibly well hidden.
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skitskatdacat63 · 11 months
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Everyone's comparing the Max-George interaction to Max's one with Esteban from a while ago, but for me, it really reminds me of the Seb-Daniil torpedo one 😭😭
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tswwwit · 7 months
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Dipper has at least ONE super-extra-long reincarnation with Bill after being bitten by a vampire.
Bill's absolutely thrilled about this development! Dipper, though - he's way more grumpy about this lifetime, what with needing the special sunscreens and not getting to eat garlic bread.
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hwaitham · 2 months
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al haitham does not come home frm work 2 surprises of mi scantily dressed in prettie pink lace n ribbons bound about my wrists but instead his living room full of different instruments i hv brought back after deciding to learn to play them on a whim n sheet music scattered all over d floor . tehe :]
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compacflt · 9 months
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I just wanted to say as someone who has stumbled across your blog and has read your Wednesday wips and posts about anything topgun related that your thought process and consideration of mav and ice, specifically their political beliefs and relationships with their own identities, is honestly so impressive and cool. You have brought such realism and life to these characters which is just so refreshing to see. idk i just wanted to express how cool and awesome i think that is
Because of the thought into these characters does it make it difficult to like them or understand them if you have differing opinions from them? for me personally i feel like if i were to ever actually have a convo with ice or mav regarding identity politics i would actually start to lose my mind (like how one feels when your dad or fun uncle talks for too long at thanksgiving dinner). If it does make them difficult to like, does that make it difficult for you to write them sometimes?
oh yeah! i think, my ice i really empathize with & really love & really could get along with, once he grows out of the sexism of his teens & twenties, but my maverick drives me crazy. someone sent in an ask a while ago that was like “WHY is cyclone simpson your one true love??” And it’s because i too would absolutely hate maverick & hate working with him lol. people who are overly cocky & un-self-aware & a bit self-centered make me CRAZY. (narrator voice: compacflt is a hypocrite as all these things also apply to compacflt.)
Politically… It’s difficult to say. no one really wants to hear the intricacies of one person’s political journey, which is why i won’t give you mine, but suffice to say—since the start of the russian invasion of Ukraine, and my semi-concerted effort to learn more about the political landscape of modern warfare, my own personal beliefs have shifted a whole bunch. definitely aided in that shift by my top gun fic project that specifically aims to understand the conservative straight-passing male mindset as it relates to military matters… there are many end goals to a project like mine, but one end product is a filter you can take away and hold up in front of your eyes and see the world through it. When writing from the eyes of a conservative straight (passing) white man, your priorities totally shift. I had to write from the perspective of someone who doesn’t care about identity politics. Because they don’t! A core tenet of conservatism is very proudly not caring about that stuff, and being very annoyed when people (usually left-of-centers) make that stuff very visible and want you to care about it! “Don’t shove it in my face,” etc., etc. Don’t force me to care about this taboo, private thing I really don’t care about. It violates my freedoms, or whatever, to be forced to care—or even bear witness to—stuff that i don’t care about. Etc. And then, to be nominally a part of that community that you really, really don’t care about, and then to be told that you have to care about it because of your publicity… people asking you to be proud of something that has had a negative connotation for much of your entire life… that’s not a transformation that happens easily.
Jesus, I could write an essay about this. I have, several times by now in responses to asks over my blog. But there is so much that I could talk about. I think… I really worry that some of my writing falls into the first of the below categories:
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I really try not to romanticize conservatism in my writing—I tried to show that ice and mav’s happiness is the price they pay for their conservatism. They’re actively choosing to be unhappy—but because they prioritize their honor over everything, due to EXTERNAL PRESSURES they cannot control, and which I think are often ignored in the fandom space for one reason or another. The fact of the matter is, in 99% of IPs, characters prioritize something other than their sexualities. It’s never Maverick’s personal identity that is at stake in either Top Gun or Top Gun: Maverick, because he has built himself so impermeably masculine that there are no grounds upon which to question his personal identity. He just isn’t thinking about it. He’s thinking about how to get into Charlie’s pants, how to win the Top Gun trophy, how to uphold his promise to Goose, et cetera. If he’s fucking guys on the side, it’s because he wants to and because hes maverick and he does what he wants without thinking about it—that’s the whole point of his character, from a story-construction standpoint. That’s his archetype. He’s a renegade maverick superstar who is both thoughtlessly brilliant and thoughtlessly dangerous. He’s thoughtless. His priorities are to survive and to look cool doing it, and that’s it. He is a savant in the Naval Air Force, where honor is your lifeblood, who feels he has been dishonored by his own family name, and who willingly joined the conservative post-Vietnam Navy right when/after Ronald Reagan was elected President, and who wears cowboy boots and who disrespects women to their faces, and who is eager to get into altercations with Soviet-Chinese-DPRK-X-second-world-country-coded-but-EXPLICITLY-Soviet-manufactured-Mikoyan-Gurevich-MiG-28s(-F-5s-painted-black)… I’m sorry. In my opinion, the conservatism is baked into him as a character. I find it extremely difficult to separate him from his conservatism, because in some ways his patriotic conservatism is his raison d’etre. IMO if you take that away from him, he ceases to exist.
Same thing with Ice and his unwillingness to openly rebel or go against the grain. That is his whole reason to exist in the story at all. I know that I’m saying this in a fandom space where the whole point is to change characters & put them in different situations (fanfic) but… in kind of a perverse self aware way, as in I know I sound ridiculous and pretentious, i guess i don’t really understand an impulse to change the core tenets of a character irreparably in fanworks. We are shown that ice always goes by the books in TG. Then we are shown that he achieves the fruits of that labor (four stars) in TGM. So he is rewarded for never rebelling, whereas Maverick, who always rebels (but NEVER in a way that challenges his personal identity), has stagnated in the ranks at full-bird O-6. And that’s Ice’s character. That’s what he’s there for in the story—he’s a tool to show us the value system of rank and prestige you earn by following the rules of the Navy. Why take that away from him? That’s his priority! Canonically, that’s his priority and reason for existence! And historically the way to achieve that priority is through conservatism.
And you ask me if it’s hard to like my ice and mav. Yes, but that’s not my choice. The movie already did that for me. They are not, I’m sorry, likable people. I am not a straight white conservative male writing about straight white conservative men to validate my own beliefs—I’m a queer AFAB person of color writing about straight white conservative men because I want to understand the limits of their conservatism. What they do and do not care about, and what it takes to make them care. And from what we are shown in TG… ice and mav would not care about ME. At all. And they would not want to be forced to care about me. Ice’s casual careless dismissiveness… “the plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies’ room…” mav following Charlie into the bathroom… turning the key in the ignition and driving away while pretending not to hear her… “what?? i can’t hear you! 🙉” … they do not care. They have no desire to care.
Again. Maybe I subscribe to a very very old-school and labored and pretentious ideology when it comes to writing… I know a lot of people write just to have fun. I do not. I wish i could, but I don’t. And when you’re not writing to have fun, you don’t have to like the characters you’re writing about. They’re nothing more than tools at your disposal to get your point across more effectively. No, I don’t like them! Of course not! My ice is cruel and cowardly and careless and hypocritical and subservient and weak, and my mav is demanding and dangerous and dismissive and oblivious and so, so, so unbelievably bitter.
And that’s what my story needed, to get my point across. So, shrug. My point was my priority. I don’t care too much about the characters themselves.
Re: icemav & identity politics. Part of hopefully selling this story is the attempt at empathy for the conservative male, to bring this discussion back to the top. Why write fiction at all if you’re not going to write about people different from you, and why write about people different from you if you don’t want to understand them? So… part of trying to understand them was to understand and have empathy for this shift in priorities. Conservative guys do not want to care about labels, or sexual orientations, or, God forbid, discussion of their gender identities. I can kind of see Ice tolerating it by the end… but, there are limits. Again, it’s supposed to be private. I think he’d chafe against getting labeled gay—he wouldn’t want to be called the first gay compacflt, or SECNAV, etc. He can’t say, “i slept with like a hundred fifty women before I even MET the ONLY man ive ever slept with,” because that’s like intensely private personal information!! No one deserves that information, but people still want to call him gay, even though in his head he really is not!!!! Again—from the conservative perspective, it’s a public imposition of left-wing, overly sexualized, too-neat labels and politics onto an area of life that has typically been kept private and respectable—I don’t agree with the conservatism, but I can at least empathize with it. Pre-Maverick’s death (pre-coming to terms with it), it would’ve been shameful & embarrassing to him; but even after coming to terms with it, it’s still not something he “takes pride” in. I think he thinks of it like this—most people aren’t proud of being straight. Like, it’s weird if you are. Same thing with being proud of being white, etc. Why be excessively proud of things you have no control over? Why not take pride in your ACTIONS—for instance, his career that he has actively sacrificed so much of his pride for? I can really empathize with that thought. I don’t necessarily agree, but I get it, especially in his professional circumstances, where he has so much to be professionally proud of, and yet people keep wanting him to publicly care about this private part of him he has no control over and can’t change.
Maverick though. I think he’d be actively hostile about talking about it in public. He Does Not Care. he does not want to care. It’s all an insult. They call him the first openly gay Ace cause he’s married to another man— “okay, but, like, I’m not. Stop calling me that. Neither of us are. Oh my god we have slept with so many women. Stop calling us that.” Ok then what do you want us, the press corps, to call you? First openly bisexual Ace? “No that’s worse!! That’s a word some teenager made up and doesn’t mean anything!! I’m sixty years old stop asking me to talk about this stuff im too old.” What do you have to say to LGBT kids who want to go into the navy? “😎👍 there’s a place for you etc etc. Let’s go back to talking about all the planes I shot down.” Maverick does what he wants without thinking about it. That’s the core tenet of his character. Very conservative. Don’t ask him to care too much.
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Idk. No I don’t like them. But I understand them, if that makes sense. Like their conservative anti-label logic does make emotional sense to me. So that’s part of what I took away from this project, for better or worse… probably worse: I understand why conservatives don’t like the modern over-publicity of sexuality. They don’t care and they don’t want to care. And because they are small-C conservative, my ice and mav still don’t care lol. So, yeah. It doesn’t make them hard to write, because thats why I wanted to write them in the first place.
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uselessalexis165 · 2 years
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Quick things I made with the comic creator (17/?)
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cactusringed · 3 months
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psylunari · 1 year
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No but--
That scene when Dazai tells Kunikida about being a former Port Mafia executive. Kunikida was “the only one who didn't know it”. His usual working duo, and perhaps the closest people in the ADA. Kunikida should know, but doesn't, up to that point. I was thinking, why is that, exactly? I don't think Kunikida is just oblivious.
What if Dazai thought “such a morally upright guy couldn't ever see me in another light if I introduced myself from my past, not my present”? What if Dazai didn't want Kunikida to think poorly of him, and hid it on purpose?
Dazai was once “a person with a reputation”, and a frightening one. Odasaku dared to approach him despite that, also despite the hierarchy imbalance. Ignoring/reconsidering first impressions isn't something many people are willing to do.
What if he started fresh without any reputation this time?
Everyone knew that already. Dazai didn't care much about “what they'll think of me”. It “doesn't matter”.
Except for one specific person.
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tyrantwombat · 11 months
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No, but seriously, can you imagine how utterly surreal it is to be Song Taewon and have two of the most unhinged people on the planet both decide to become intensely invested in your life and health after knowing you for like five seconds? One of them uses aggressive mob tactics to try and get you to let them chauffeur you around, the other is a little guy you could crush with your pinky on accident who hunts you down in the middle of a pit of monsters with a packed lunch convinced you will starve if he doesn’t personally feed you. You have to play an intense game of de-escalation at literally all times to keep this same random guy from calling and yelling at your boss about your sleep schedule, and this is still an improvement on that time you barely convinced him it wasn’t necessary to utterly annihilate your place of work to get you more vacation time. The other one has probably historically attempted to set your closet and/or you yourself on fire so he can buy you clothes.
You just want to live your corporate slave life and resist the dark yearnings of your soul in PEACE but instead you’re having to dodge two very powerful men who both desperately want to take care of you.
#song taewon#reading sctir#obviously this is only like microscoping in on one thin layer of their relationship but it's a really funny one#let's also talk about how this would be hilarious if stw really WERE the Just Some Guy he desperately wants to be#but he's turning up at yoojin's home with bloody sleeves and yoojin's housekey he violently extracted from a potential home invader who is#also his coworker#like he's just returning tupperware but also as a subtle threat to express his mild annoyance#infamously choking him out a little at their very first meeting out of concern#shj wants to give stw nice things and also pry his ribs open with his bare hands and stw is like#'ew'#but only about one of those things#hint: it's NOT the violent intense and personal death option#like it would be funny enough if stw really were just some guy yes but instead he's like THIS and that makes it even better#and all three of them would have a lovely time on the lake learning to fish under shj's watch#and aLL OF THOSE THINGS EXIST SIMULTANEOUSLY#or at least that's the impression I get I'm only like a quarter through the novel so far#it's great though I love it#like look I've mentioned before how book!yoojin is totally obsessed with taking care of song taewon but I canNOT overstate enough how#OBSESSED he is with taking care of song taewon#it weirds stw out a little bit and it's amazing#he gets pretty intense about it at one point and I love that whole scene but I. I shouldn't continue. I won't stop.#and shj flat out admits at one point that he made a similar offer to stw that he makes to yoojin - the whole credit card deal thing#and when stw turned him down shj responded by going 'oh so I need to try harder?'#song taewon existing and having morals has the same effect on hyj and shj as birds at a bird feeder on the other side of the window from#a couple cats#enrichment in the enclosure or something lol#okay I'm accepting I will never actually stop rambling about this you don't even KNOW how many tags I deleted here#okay I'm done#not really
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harocat · 8 months
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People who don’t like Xiao Lanhua are weak and won’t survive the winter.
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lokh · 2 months
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LISTEN listen shuro wants to be more genuine and open and needs to learn to not be a pushover. literally Who better to practice with than laios like Literally
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A Day Late: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling
Beatrice scrambled through the rose garden, tripping over the deep gold skirts she'd worn specifically to look nice for her host. Where was Beast? He wasn't in the library, dining room, conservatory, aviary, music room, ballroom, study, parlor, billiard room, or any of the castle towers. She'd thought she'd find him brooding in a melancholy corner, awaiting her return, but she was running out of melancholy corners and beginning to get frustrated. Where could an eight-foot-tall dog-tiger-monkey man possibly hide?
The garden had changed. The usual balmy summer had become oppressively hot and humid. The roses drooped. The damp air clung to Beatrice's skin and red curls escaped her hairpins and frizzed around her face. Where were the sparkling sunshowers that kept the gardens moist? Where were the playful breezes that kept the air fresh and cool? Beatrice hadn't seen so much as a fluttering curtain to indicate the presence of an invisible servant. Everything was silent. Still. Dead.
Half-mad with anxiety, she raced down cobbled paths and across the wide lawns where she and her Beast had played so many games of croquet. Past fountains where they'd splashed each other in ferocious water battles. She trampled beds of pansies and tore holes in hedges and prayed the invisible gardener would forgive her. If Beast meant to get revenge for her delay in returning, he was doing an excellent job of it, but when--yes, when--she found him, they would have words about how a single day of waiting did not justify throwing your guest into a blind panic.
She checked every bench in the garden, navigated the entire hedge maze, and even took a raft to check the bottom of the lily pond. When she came ashore, she leapt a short hedge and found herself at the far end of the south lawn, where the lush grass gave way to rougher scrub as the palace grounds approached the surrounding woods. A creek babbled over stones, separating forest from palace, and not far from its bank, Beatrice saw a lump of tawny-striped fur covered in a familiar blue cloak.
Beatrice raced to Beast's side and found him barely conscious. His fur was dull, his eyes were glassy, and he panted in the heat. The sharp teeth sticking out of his pointed muzzle were as dry as his black nose.
Beatrice struggled to catch her breath, then gasped, "Beast! What happened?"
Beast lay curled up on his right side, legs bent to his chest like a newborn babe, while he clutched his long tail in one monkey-like hand. Softly, he said, "You broke your promise." 
How could he be so maddening? "It was one extra day! I haven't seen my family in nearly two years! I thought you could manage without falling into a melancholic decline!"
Beast squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw against some internal pain. "I told you. Three days only. Or I waste away and die."
"I thought it was a metaphor! You know how dramatic you get!"
He shook his head. "Rules of this place."
Beatrice's stomach sank. Though the sun shone hot as ever, it seemed to Beatrice as though a cloud had blocked all the light. She didn't...he couldn't...
Had she killed him for one extra day at home?
She clenched her jaw to hold back tears, furious that she was even considering wasting time by crying.
Beatrice pulled off the Beast's cloak, revealing that he was clad in the loose white shirt and rough brown trousers he typically wore in the gardens. She knelt beside him and snarled, "You can tell whoever runs this place, from me, that I am sick to death of their rules." She started loosening the shirt's laces, grinding out words with each piece of the string she yanked from the bindings. "Life imprisonment because my father stole a rose. Required daily marriage proposals. No dessert unless you eat the vegetables first. And now this!" She pulled out the entire string and threw it aside in a huff. "And worst of all, you follow those rules. You call yourself a beast, but you're just a fluffy little chicken."
Beast grimaced, and sounded apologetic as he rasped, "Not like...those rules. Law...like gravity."
Oh, was he really going to lecture over semantics when he was dying? "And that one's breakable! Haven't you heard? There are men in the south who fly in balloons. You can break any rule you want if you've got enough gumption." She grasped his muzzle in her hands and turned his head so he met her eyes. "Do you understand? You are not going to die on me."
Even though he could barely hold open his eyes, a corner of his wide mouth twitched upward. Good. He had enough life in him to laugh at her. "I'll try."
"You will do more than try." She stood and looked around wildly, desperate for something that could help. Where were those servants?
"You're just overheated," she said, willing it to be true. "Nothing to do with me. You're the one who came out here covered in fur in this eternal July."
Water. She needed water. She rushed to the creek and cupped what she could in her hands. She brought it back to him and he lapped at the scant film of droplets that she managed to hold through her mad flight. It barely dampened the tip of his tongue, yet Beatrice rushed back to the creek again, again, again, not knowing what else to do and thinking that any water was better than leaving him here to fetch other tools. Knowing him, he'd die the minute she walked away.
She babbled as she worked. He couldn't die so long as she kept him distracted, right? "It was one extra day. I didn't think you'd mind. My eldest sister has a new baby. The smiling-est thing you've ever seen. Four months old. I nearly stuck her in my bag and brought her with me. I couldn't leave so soon when there were babies."
Beast lapped weakly at the water in her hands, his eyes shut, as if merely moving his tongue was exhausting.
"My father begged me to stay," she said, desperate for him to understand. "He's gotten so old since I last saw him. I was afraid he'd be dead before I got leave for another visit."
Now Beast lay dying, and all she could do was bring sips of water. There had to be a better way to help him.
Her eyes fell on the cloak and inspiration struck. She gathered it up in deep blue folds, carried it to the bank of the stream and dunked it beneath the water. She fumbled it, dripping, into a ball against her chest, then staggered back to where Beast lay and squeezed as much water as she could over his body.
That woke him up. All his limbs jolted and his eyes opened wide.
"Good," she said with triumph, mercilessly squeezing more water from the saturated cloak. "You wake up and pull yourself together."
She squeezed the last of the water onto his tongue, then carried the cloak back to the river, shouting back to him, "You're the only dog-tiger-monkey-man thing in existence, you know. If you die, you'll be responsible for the extinction of an entire race, and you don't want that on your conscience, do you?"
She dunked the cloak back in the stream, shivering from more than the cold shock of the water. I don't want it on mine.
What if this didn't work? What if he died? Would she be set free? Could she even call such a life freedom? What would her life be without his morning grumbling and his terrible jokes? Who would listen to her ramble about the books she never finished? Or try the bread recipes she burned? How could her life have any joy, without him there to ramble through the gardens with her, or trounce her at billiards, or put up new curtains in her room, or talk about...well, everything, in a way she could with no one else?
It didn't matter because he wouldn't die. She couldn't let him.
But there were things she had to tell him.
She hefted the water-soaked cloth, struggling to gather it in her arms. "You know what I decided, in that extra day at home? It wasn't home anymore. Oh, it's nice. My family's there. Good memories. But I was homesick that fourth day. For the palace. For you." She gathered a heavy fold of the cloak against her chest while another one slipped from her grasp. "It seems that I love you. And the very next time you propose, I plan to marry you."
If the situation hadn't been so desperate, Beatrice would have looked back to see Beast's reaction. After she’d refused him five-hundred and twenty-eight times, her acceptance would be a shock. It had shocked her, that night at home, to realize how much she missed the nightly proposals, and how slim her reasons for refusal were getting. 
Behind her, Beast said weakly. "You'll...marry me?"
The cloak slipped from Beatrice's arms, and she cursed under her breath. "Yes, you overgrown throw rug, but first you have to live long enough to do it."
That was unfair. He deserved an explanation. She reached under the water for the cloak, but the current pulled bits of it just beyond her grasp.  "You’re as much a prisoner here as I am, so I can’t blame you for that anymore.  Your face is kind of endearing, now that I’m used to it. And marriage doesn’t seem so terrible now, not if it’s with you. You’re much smarter and kinder and more fun than any of the human-looking men I know. And you’re much more patient with my temper and my tongue.”  
"Beatrice."
Beast's voice, filled with awe, sounded stronger. The dousing must have done him good.
She sprawled across the bank and flailed an arm beneath the water, catching a corner of the cloak. "You’re too good of a man inside to really be a beast. You said once you had human parents, didn't you?"
"Beatrice."
The cloak slipped away again. She stuck her arm in the current, almost up to the shoulder, and snapped,  "Will you quit distracting me?"
At last, she snagged one edge in her left hand and continued, "Not that I mind if you naturally look like that. You can’t help the way you were born. But have you ever considered that it could be an enchantment? Maybe we could find a way to break it, after we’re married.”
"Beatrice, look at me."
Beatrice was offended at the hint of laughter in Beast's voice. Enchantment wasn't a completely ridiculous idea, not in a place like this.
"I know what you look like," she snapped. She rose to her knees and pulled the wet cloak halfway out of the water. "Doesn't mean you always looked like that. Maybe you're enchanted and just forgot about it."
A heavy hand gripped her shoulder. A human hand. A male hand.
Beatrice shrieked and pushed the hand away, scrambling backward along the bank like a crab. A tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired man stood over her, grinning like a madman.
Beatrice glanced wildly around. How had he gotten here? Had he come from the forest? He looked rough enough, wearing nothing but a long white nightshirt. Someone's escaped lunatic relative? Or maybe he was the true master of this place, the one who'd made all those maddening rules.
She looked to Beast for answers--except that Beast was nowhere in sight. No sign of him save the matted grass where he'd been laying a minute ago. Beast had been weak. Vulnerable. Had this stranger finished him off? Perhaps she’d run out of time, and the rules of this place had dissolved what was left of him. 
She reached further up the bank and seized a fallen branch with a thick shaft and a spray of branching twigs. Madman or mad fairy, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She hefted her weapon, pitiful as it was, with all the menace she could muster in her small form. "Stay back!"
The stranger backed away, hands held protectively before him, but his eyes sparkled with laughter. "Beatrice, don't you recognize me?"
There was something familiar in his voice, which might explain how he knew her name. Cautiously, she rose, the branch still held protectively before her, to examine him more closely. Recognition flashed like a lightning bolt. "The narcissist!"
The stranger gaped. "Excuse me?"
Beatrice examined the features. She was right. She was sure of it. She'd know those green eyes and sharp cheekbones anywhere. The clothes were different and the hair was longer, but the face was identical.  "The man with all the portraits!"
How she and Beast had laughed over those portraits, which seemed to haunt every corner of the palace, far outnumbering any other faces in the artwork. The sitter could be seen wearing military dress in the foyer, riding clothes in the library, and evening dress in the ballroom. He had posed in summer, winter, and spring, and had been painted with hunting dogs in autumn. A child version of him had even posed, sulking, next to a standing globe in a portrait hung in a back hallway. She had privately dubbed the subject a narcissist–a man with so many portraits was far too in love with his own face. 
Now the vast array of portraits made sense. He was the master of the castle, maker of the magical rules, come to deal with her now that Beast was...no, he wasn't dead.
She brandished the branch again. "What did you do with Beast?"
"Nothing. You--"
She whacked him with the branch. "I did not kill him!"
He pushed the twigs out of his face and backed away. "Beatrice, my love, please!"
She whacked him in the stomach for that one. "I am not your love."
"Then why," he gasped, doubled over and wheezing, "did you just agree to marry me?"
Beatrice froze. What did he mean? Had he overheard...?
She was missing something here.
She discarded her theories and looked at the evidence afresh. Beast dying. Beast missing. Portrait man here. Wearing shirt a lot like Beast's that was far too big for him. Talking, now that she thought of it, in a voice remarkably similar to her Beast’s. 
She threw the branch aside. "I am the biggest idiot alive!"
The man caught his breath and stood upright, grinning ear to ear. Even his smile looked a bit like Beast's. "I'd agree," he said, in Beast's velvet, teasing tones, "except that I'm still living."
Beatrice leaped toward him, flung her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and mud and rotting fur. She’d never smelled anything sweeter. "I told you that you were enchanted."
#
Beatrice sat with her Beast on the riverbank as the sun sank toward the horizon. The enchanted high summer had given way to the mellow autumn of the outside world. A castle full of servants, now visible, roamed the grounds behind them, greeting each other with joy as they celebrated the end of the enchantment, but Beatrice had yet to move from the river’s edge. She had too much to discuss with her prince. 
Her prince. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around it. His Royal Highness Prince Matteo Adriano Edmondo Nicolo, twelfth son of King Inocenzo of Bellarosa, had rejected a fairy’s marriage proposal, and consequently found himself cursed into the form of a beast until a woman accepted his hand in marriage. 
“Was that all it took?” Beatrice exclaimed. “You could have told me sooner!” 
Matteo laughed. “It wouldn’t have been much of a curse if I could have told you.” 
“You could have hinted!” 
“Daily marriage proposals weren’t hint enough?” 
She laughed, acknowledging his point. “What a pair we make–a girl too dense to accept a prince’s proposal and a prince obnoxiously in love with his own beautiful face.” 
Matteo raised one of his perfect dark brows. “Why do you insist I’m vain?”
“Your royal highness, no one needs that many portraits of himself.” 
He threw his hands up in feigned distress. “I’m royal! My mother commissioned them!” 
“You didn’t need to display them so ostentatiously.” 
“You think I had a choice?” His manner suddenly became subdued. “The fae arranged that. Made it impossible to forget what I’d lost.” 
Beatrice took his human hand in hers. “I’m sorry I delayed so long.” 
He pulled her into an embrace. “I’d say you were right on time.” 
Her stomach twisted with guilt. She hadn’t been on time. 
She rested her head on his shoulder, still barely able to believe he was alive and well. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the mental image of his dying beastly form. “What if I hadn’t accepted?” she asked. “Would you truly have died?” 
She felt the rumble of his answer in her own chest. “Yes.” 
“Why?” 
“Under the terms of the curse, I would remain a beast until you accepted my hand in marriage, or until you left and doomed me to death.” 
She looked up and gaped at him in amazement. “And yet you let me leave.” 
“I wouldn’t die immediately,” Matteo said, “and I couldn’t deny you the chance for happiness. So long as you returned before three days were over, neither of us would come to harm.” 
Despite the risk to himself, he had taken the chance. He had trusted her.
And she’d returned after four days. 
“I nearly killed you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” 
“I still should have come back when I promised.” 
He ran his thumb along her face. “Under the circumstances,” he said with a laugh. “I think I can forgive you for being a single day late.” 
She put her hands and his shoulders and met his gaze straight-on. “You really are far too forgiving.” 
“You saved me from my curse! I’d be worse than a beast if I refused to forgive you after that.” 
He’d left her such an easy opening. She couldn’t resist the chance to tease him. “You’re worse than a beast now, your highness. You’re not nearly so lovable without the tail."
He became strangely subdued at that.
“Beatrice,” he said at last. “Do you truly wish to marry me?” 
A natural question, perhaps, given her number of refusals. But she really wished he’d quit asking. "Of course I do. It broke your curse. What more proof do you need?"
He looked down, suddenly shy and earnest as a schoolboy. "Do you still wish it? You agreed to marry a beast, not a prince with too many portraits."
Beatrice laughed at that. She couldn’t help it. “How shallow do you think I am? If I agreed to marry you as a beast, I'm certainly not going to refuse you just because you have a little less fur."
His face eased. She was glad. She'd seen him in enough distress today. 
Another thought struck her. "Did you mean it? Do you really wish to marry me, or did you just propose to get your pretty face back?"
Matteo threw back his head and laughed. "Beatrice, darling, I've loved you since the day you tied a knot in my tail for defeating you at billiards.” 
Beatrice grinned, the last of her doubts flying away. "Then it’s settled. I'll marry you, you'll marry me, we both love each other. Does that sound right?"
Matteo pulled her in for a kiss. "That sounds like an excellent plan."
When they pulled apart, a cool wind came off of the river, and Beatrice shivered.
"I wish I had a cloak to offer you, but someone threw mine in the creek," Matteo said.
"You're terrible!" Beatrice said, but she accepted his arm and his escort back toward the palace.
As they crossed the south lawn, Beatrice said, "You know, I'll have to go back to my father's soon. Someone has to tell my family about the wedding."
Matteo nodded. "Of course. Under one condition."
She pulled away and looked up at him in exaggerated disgust. "More rules? I thought we were done with all that."
He waved a hand to dismiss her protests. "I think you'll find these conditions acceptable." He numbered his points on his fingers. "You may return if I can accompany you. And this time, you can stay as long as you like."
"That's two conditions."
"Do you object?"
Beatrice took his arm and continued walking toward the lighted palace. It was good to be home. "Not at all."
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